Dark Roads Always Lead Home Darlene M

DARK ROADS ALWAYS LEAD HOME

DARLENE M. GLASS

Bachelor of Arts in Business: Management/Marketing

Mount Union College

May 1991

submitted in partial fulfillment of requirements for the degree

MASTER OF FINE ARTS IN CREATIVE WRITING

at the

NORTHEAST OHIO MFA

and

CLEVELAND STATE UNIVERSITY

May 2018

©COPYRIGHT BY DARLENE M. GLASS 2018

We hereby approve this thesis

For

Darlene M. Glass

Candidate for the Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing degree

For the department of

English, the Northeast Ohio MFA in Creative Writing

And

CLEVELAND STATE UNIVERSITY’S College of Graduate Studies by

______Imad Rahman, Committee Chairperson

______Department & Date

______Caryl Pagel, Committee Member

______Department & Date

______Michael Geither, Committee Member

______Department & Date

______David Giffels, Committee Member

______Department & Date

______Date of Defense

DEDICATION

I dedicate this thesis to Marie, my wife, my best friend, my biggest supporter. Thank you for the endless hours you spent reading, editing, rereading, listening to me read, missing

me while I hole up in the office, the spare bedroom, campus, random houses and coffee

shops to write, and especially for letting me spend buttloads of our cash to get this

degree. I couldn’t have accomplished any of this without your constant support, time,

love, and encouragement.

DARK ROADS ALWAYS LEAD HOME

DARLENE M. GLASS

ABSTRACT

This thesis is a work of fiction. It includes the first half of a novel-in-progress and three short stories. The plot driven novel, Red Plane, is about a woman, Alexis, who discovers her hidden passion for murder, while dealing with and preparing for the homecoming of her mother, who has been in prison for fourteen years for murdering her husband, Alexis’ father. The rest is a series of short stories: Breakfast at Mel’s is a surreal tale of a man who wakes up in a bizarre dream and has to make a choice between good and evil; Smalltown

Adjustments follows Prajan, an Indian man, on his trip to a grocery store in--the very caucasion--Smalltown, Ohio; The Escape Claws introduces us to Clem, a stray cat who wakes up in the hood and must fight to survive the mean streets of Cleveland until he finds a place to call home.

v TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

ABSTRACT…………………………………………………………………………… v

RED PLANE………………………………………………………………………...… 1

BREAKFAST AT MEL’S……………………………………………………………. 141

SMALLTOWN ADJUSTMENTS………………………………………………...….. 151

THE ESCAPE CLAWS………………………………………………………………. 164

RED PLANE

Tall buildings make me smile. I think of them often when I wake up like today at

3:00 a.m. I am standing atop of them, looking over the city, the wind in my face. Then I jump over the ledge, falling unto the city, the wind in my face, the soft swishing sounds as my body floats left then right then left. Then peace. My mind was racing with everything I had to do today. I tried to chant myself back to sleep.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

Fill out paperwork for mom’s release.

Sleep.

Go see court ordered therapist. Tell her what she wants to hear so mom can come home from prison instead of going to a nuthouse.

Sleep.

Go to work.

Sleep.

Work on living room.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

And then there’s mother. Waiting for me to bring her home from her own prison.

To my own prison. Keeping me here. To keep her here.

Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

I feel like the universe is playing a sick joke by letting me wake up every morning.

CHAPTER 1

“Before we start I have to inform you of my guidelines. If you tell me something that I feel is a situation of imminent danger to yourself or someone else, I am ethically obligated to report it. What that means is that if I feel you are going to hurt yourself or someone else—“

“I know what that means,” I interrupted her before she continued to make me feel stupider than she was already trying to do.

“Good.”

“I’m only here because the court ordered this, Dr. Finch,” I said to the therapist’s round face. I tried to read something in the dark brown that surrounded her large pupils but it was futile. I wondered why the lights were so low in here. Was it to keep the crazies calm? Was it to make us feel cozy and safe so we would tell them everything?

“Why are you here?” Like she didn’t know why I was here. Let the games begin.

“You know why I am here,” I told her calmly.

“I need to know that you understand why we are here,” she said.

“To see if I am fit to take care of my mother so the prison psychiatrists can feel comfortable letting her come to live with me when they parole her,” I spewed at her.

“And why is your mother in jail?”

“Isn’t that all in your notes?”

“I need to hear it from you?”

“She’s in jail for stabbing my father twenty-seven times with a kitchen knife.” I was fighting hard to keep the lump in my throat down and I felt like I wanted to vomit. I

3 don’t think I had ever said that out loud before. I was getting warm. I could feel wetness between my breasts and under my armpits.

“You okay?” I tried to sit back and look relaxed.

“Fine. Are you okay?”

“Why did your mother kill your father?”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that since she hasn’t spoken since that night. But

I’m sure you already know that,” I said trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. The room was so small. The paneling may have been painted white, but the straight, vertical grooves, made it still feel dark brown. And it was getting so hot in there. I could smell the leftover scent of flowery perfume lingering from the person who sat here before me. I tried to ignore it. I folded my hands on my lap and smiled.

“Do you think it had anything to do with your brother’s suicide?”

“Maybe you can tell me. You’re the expert in human behavior. I’m just a carpenter.”

“Do you like being a carpenter?”

“I love it. Do you like being a therapist?”

“We’re not here to talk about me.” Me neither.

“I thought we were here to talk about my mother.”

“We have to make sure you can take care of her.”

“She’s mute, not crippled.” She opened her mouth as if to say something and then thought better of it. If she thought she was going to get to me, she was kidding herself.

There was an awkward moment of silence before she continued.

“Let’s switch gears for a moment. Where will she live?”

“I have a house I am renovating. It’s half done. By the time she’s released everything else will be finished.”

“Where is the house located?”

“In Cleveland. The Old Brooklyn Neighborhood.”

“That’s a nice neighborhood. And who else will be living there?”

“Just us.”

“Not dating anyone?”

“Not at the moment.” Where was this going? This was such a fucking waste of time. “So, about bringing my mother home.”

“Are you angry with your mother for killing your father?”

“Not angry so much as confused. I mean, she must have had a good reason to one day out of the blue go apeshit and stab the fuck out of her husband. Something had to trigger it.”

“Let’s talk about Bobby.”

“Bobby’s dead. And yes, logically, due to the fact my mother killed my father after Bobby hung himself in his bedroom, they must be linked. But why he killed himself,

I don’t know.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t. My father is gone, my brother is gone, and for all practical purposes my mother is gone. What’s to think about? It can’t be changed. It is what it is. So I get up every day and put on my big girl pants and go to work and live my life. That’s all I can do.”

“That’s what you do, but how do you feel?”

I feel like my skin is crawling and I need to get out of it. I want to rip my flesh apart and let my organs fall to the ground, covered in blood. I want to tear off my head with bare hands just to get it to stop for one fucking minute. Every little thing is getting under my skin. All day I hear people talking, cackling, chewing, sneezing, coughing, breathing and I want to strangle each and every one of them. I am so edgy and despite what my shaking hands and jittery limbs may look like, I am tired. So fucking tired.

I am tired of feeling like this. I am tired of waiting for a death that is nowhere in sight and yet I can’t solve my own problem. The hands that could bring me peace are tied behind my back with fear. The fear of failing. What if I fuck it up and it doesn’t work?

Then everyone will know how fucked up I am and how I couldn’t even kill myself right and thinking about it just drives me more insane and it does not help stop the freight train running through my body. I want to hit something or someone but more than that, I want to cut my wrists open because I know that will bring me relief. I know that the second that the skin begins to open, from the blade sliding across it, I will feel better. I will sigh with relief. It will release some of the darkness that fills me and I will breathe calmly again. I could try to run but I will never be fast enough for it not to catch up to me. I could hide, but it is omniscient. It will always be faster, stronger, and smarter than me.

That’s what I feel.

“I think our time is up for today doctor,” is what I said, pointing at the small clock on the desk. The big hand pointed at the eight showing we still had ten minutes, but I was done. She blinked slowly and nodded. Condescending mother fucker.

“Okay. We’ll continue next time.” I got up and left without saying anything. This is why I don’t go to therapy. They fucking overanalyze everything and want to make

6 everything related to your mother, abuse or sex. Jesus fucking Christ. She tried to get me to rip open my soul and I tried not to reach across and punch her in the face every time she asked me a stupid question she already had the answer to. They loved playing those games. Mind fuckers.

I ran down the four flights of stairs and out the back door. My hands were shaking, my heart was racing, and I couldn’t shake this crawling feeling under my skin. I bent over, tried to breathe, and threw up all over the side of the building. I would have cried if I could.

I wish I could have told her that, no, I’m not fit to take care of my mother. How am I supposed to take care of her when I can barely take care of myself? I spend my days working and my nights thinking of ways to kill myself. I like to walk over the long concrete bridge that takes you into the heart of downtown at night and stare up at the large stone guardians that line the bridge. I walk to the edge, lean over the rail, and feel the wind in my face and imagine myself flying through the air feeling free and weightless. The only sound would be the air whizzing past my ears and the lights from the city calmly and brightly welcoming me into oblivion where I could finally get some fucking sleep.

But then who would take care of my mother? I’m the only one left.

CHAPTER 2

I woke up this morning gasping for air and in a cold sweat. I was dreaming of

Bobby. Bobby hanging from his bedroom ceiling. Bobby with a noose around his neck made out of dark blue ties, like the kind he wore in grade school. Bobby, his short dark hair, usually spiked up, productless and flat. Bobby, wearing his favorite Ohio State T- shirt swinging back and forth like a pendulum. His Metallica poster in view, out of view, in view, out of view. There is music playing in the background but it’s muffled and I can’t make it out. His green eyes wide open, like mine were. It was the same dream I always had over and over after he died and throughout my mother’s court proceedings.

The same dream I hadn’t had since she was locked away.

I never actually saw him hanging there, but I saw the pictures at the police station after my father was killed. I didn’t need to see the actual body. That was enough. I looked at the clock and it was 5:17 a.m. I stared at the numbers glaring at me as I tried to slow my breathing. It was Sunday. I had a visit with my mother today.

“Hello Mother,” I said to the clicking of the door latching behind me. I winced at the loud sharp tone it made. “How are you today?” Nothing. “Same as last week I see.”

Nothing. It was always nothing. She just sat and stared and said nothing. I tried to read something in her eyes but they were blank. Dead. Dark. I’m not even sure why I kept coming. Hoping I guess. Hoping she will wake up and tell me something, anything. What was I going to do with her when I got her home? If I got her home.

We did our usual. I brushed her hair and painted her nails while I talked and she listened. I like to think that she was listening anyway. Sometimes I read to her. Usually poetry or something historical. She used to love to read books on Colonial times and her shelves were filled with poetry books, from Dr. Seuss to Maya Angelou, and everything in between.

“So, I’m working on the new medical building at Cleveland State. Lots of cabinets and this cool wood slatted ceiling. Never did anything like it before. It’s been a pain in the ass but fun too.” I stopped brushing and looked up at the top of her head.

Nothing.

“The house is really coming along. I can’t wait for you to see it. And you can meet my friends, Lanie and Kenny who are helping me on it. They’re carpenters too.

You’ll like them. Kenny can be kind of a jackass sometimes but really he’s a sweetheart.

And Lanie, well, it’s hard not to like her.”

I finished her hair and sat down across from her. Nothing.

“I saw the court therapist the other day. Asked a bunch of questions they already had the answers to, like they were trying to catch me in a lie or something. No wonder you don’t talk, I wouldn’t either if that’s what I had to put up with. I have to go back again. Fun. So, keep your fingers crossed and maybe you’ll be coming home soon. It would really help you out if you could say something to the court.” I looked into her eyes. Through her eyes.

“It would really help me out if you could say something to me.” I took her hands in mine and choked back the tears that wouldn’t spill.

“I just need to know you’re in there.”

CHAPTER 3

Mom’s visit took all the calm I had in reserve and I needed to do something destructive or productive, so I called Kenny. He would either feel like drinking or drywalling. Either way I could blow off some energy and being around him would keep me out of my head.

“What are you doing?”

“Why?” he asked.

“Just leaving mom’s.” I didn’t need to say anything else. We had only known each other a couple years, but it felt like forever. We bonded over our inabilities to talk about emotional shit and our basic disdain for most people.

“Me and Ken Jr. are on our way into a movie. We can probably stop over after if you want.”

“No, that’s alright. Just thought we could hang out.”

“Call Lanie. I bet she wants to hang out with you.” I couldn’t see him but I heard the smirk in his voice.

“Jealous?”

“Always.”

“Enjoy your movie. Tell K.J. hi for me.”

“Will do. Call Lanie.” Jackass. I hung up without a goodbye. I couldn’t call

Lanie. So I texted her.

Me – Busy?

She didn’t answer right away, so I started the long drive home from the prison back to Cleveland, thinking and overthinking every fucking thing that happened in the

10 therapist’s office. I still didn’t understand why I had to go see a therapist. What the fuck do they care what happens to my mother once they release her? She served her time. It’s really none of their damn business.

Lanie still hadn’t answered by the time I got home, which was probably for the best. So I spent the better part of the evening making to do lists. I was glad I hadn’t blown my dad’s death benefit. Fourteen years of interest was sure going to come in handy. It wasn’t much, but it would be enough to get the house together. It felt weird using it but fuck it. It was stupid not to use it. It’s not like he’s going to need it. Kind of funny that I was using it to bring the woman home that made it possible for me to have it.

I looked around at the bare studs in my living and dining rooms. I didn’t know how I was going to get everything done in time by myself. After this, I still had her bedroom to do and get the basement in some kind of functional state. I hadn’t even started on my bedroom. That would be last. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the plaster and lathe ceiling will collapse on me and put me out of my fucking misery and then I won’t have to worry about my mother, therapists, working on this piece of shit house I bought, and why the fuck Lanie wasn’t answering my text.

CHAPTER 4

Monday morning came and I took my ten-minute drive downtown to the new building we were working on at Cleveland State University. I had been there a few months and things were going good. It was a nice job. Nice finish work; Inside; Easy parking; Close to home and not one, but two women’s port-o-potties. You never see that on a construction site. And Santa was my foreman. He used to be a teacher at the training center when I was an apprentice but got tired of going to the same place every day and there may have been an incident with the director, so he came back into the field.

The first time I met Santa was in class. I was sitting in the front row at the

Carpenter Apprenticeship Training Center wishing I hadn’t drank a whole pot of coffee but I had been up all night. Not an uncommon thing for me back then. Or now. He walked in, slightly hunched over like he’s spent a lot of time looking down on people, even though he was as short as my five-foot-five self and looked a lot like Bob Vila or an ornery Santa Claus, hence the nickname. He sat down without saying a word and just stared at the class. He unscrewed the lid off his green Stanley thermos and poured coffee into a cup. He took a sip while glancing back and forth at the clock on the wall and the paper on his desk. I could tell he was still waiting for someone. The clock struck seven and he got up to shut the door. As he was about to shut it, some guy with brown hair and droopy pants tried to stop him so he could get into class.

“You’re late. You have to go to the office to sign in,” he said in a thick Russian accent.

“I’m not late,” said the guy.

“It’s seven oh two. Class starts at seven.”

“You’re gonna make me go the office for two minutes? That’s bullshit.” Santa just smiled and shut the door in his face as he laughed in this slow, sinister laugh,

“Heh heh heh heh.”

I smiled and knew I found a kindred spirit. Since then, I’d taken a lot of his classes, even after my apprenticeship ended. And when he started running work, I was the first person he called to join his crew.

We were drinking coffee and looking over the schedule to divvy out work assignments in the storage closet we called our lock up. Shelves lined the walls with screws, tools, caulk and other construction stuff.

“We’re getting a new laborer today to help with cleanup,” Santa said. “I am going to send him up with John and David to get the next floor cleaned and ready for your crew. When are you going to be done on the second floor?”

“Tomorrow. Should be done by lunch,” I said. It was nice being entrusted in leading work. Not many of the guy foremen would give that to a woman, but there were some who weren’t insecure assholes who saw me as a carpenter first instead of a woman who might show them up.

“Alright. That’ll give them plenty of time.”

About 6:45, the crew started filing in. Everyone signed in, got their assignments, and filed out. At 6:58 the new laborer walked in.

“Where do I know that guy from?” asked Santa as a head peeped in, looking around, lost. It didn’t hit me until he walked in the door and I saw his smug little face in full view, confused as ever.

“That’s Pencil Douche,” I grumbled under my breath.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he said. “It is him,” He said as he took off his reading glasses.

“WHADDYA WANT?” He yelled at him through my ears and scared the shit out of me. It scared the shit out of him too. He froze. You could see the recognition come across his face as he looked at the two of us. He wouldn’t forget us, like we wouldn’t forget him.

I had a class with him back when I was an apprentice. Santa too, I guess, since he was teaching it. All morning in class this guy had been acting up, talking, not listening, just being an ass. After break, we started a lesson and he interrupted Santa and asked him for a pencil. If Santa’s thermos would have been glass it would shattered in a million pieces from the force of his hand squeezing it. I expected it to come flying at this idiot.

He took a sip and slowly set his cup down.

“A carpenter always has a pencil,” he said and then continued on talking like nothing happened. So then he asked me.

I wanted to smack his side-ways sitting baseball hat right off his fucking head. I looked down at my three sharpened pencils lying neatly next to my notebook and said,

“No.”

“You can’t let me borrow a pencil?” he said, leaning back into his chair. I gripped the pen in my hand so tight my knuckles were white. I slowly set down my pen, looked at him and said, “I can, but I won’t.”

“You have three of them.” The room got so quiet you could hear his breathing getting faster and heavier.

“Yes I do. A carpenter always has a pencil.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly.” What a fucking dumbass. He was pissed at me for not giving him a pencil. At that point, everyone was watching us. “Let me ask you a question. When you left the house this morning, where did you think you were going?”

“What?” he asked, gritting his teeth.

“Did you know you were coming here today?”

“Yes.”

“So when you left your house, on the way to school, for carpenters, it didn’t occur to you that maybe you should bring something to write with?” I turned forward in my seat and looked at Santa, who was smirking.

“Bitch.”

I wanted to reach over and smack the shit out of him but I stopped myself. I took a few deep breaths and said,

“A bitch with a pencil.”

The whole class busted up. Except him. And for the rest of the week he was referred to as Pencil Douche. Needless to say, that week just went downhill after that. He wouldn’t let up that I embarrassed him in class and kept harassing me until he finally did something I couldn’t blow off. During our workshop time, we took a break and when we came back some of my pieces had been switched out with someone else’s garbage. I told

Santa and he found them on Douche’s work table where he had already nailed them to his other pieces. Luckily, the idiot forgot to erase my initials that I had marked all my pieces

15 with, like Santa had told us to do. Even then he still tried to deny it. Last I heard, he got kicked out of the program.

“I’m Rick,” he stammered.

“I know who you are. Whaddya want?” I was loving this, watching him squirm.

“I’m a laborer. Jim told me to come here today,” he said.

“So you couldn’t be a carpenter so you became a laborer, huh?” Santa wasn’t one to mince words. Rick didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to; his pursed lips said it all.

“Well, sign in there,” he said pointing to the list on a table in the corner, “and go to the third floor and look for John or David. You’ll be with them today. And I don’t want no bullshit. You give me any trouble and you’re gone.”

He signed in and left quickly. Luckily, I didn’t have to see him for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER 5

Between the therapist, my mother, and seeing Pencil Douche, I needed a well- deserved drink. I parked my van at home and walked the couple blocks to Tracy’s bar. I had barely stepped foot in the old building, when a beer appeared on the counter.

“You’re too good to me.” I gave her a hug over the bar and sat down.

“It’s not free.”

“Damn. And I thought you liked me.”

“I do, but I also like paying my bills.” She pointed to a table along the back wall with pizza and wings. “The food’s free. Help yourself.”

Tracy and me had been friends since high school. We went off to college together but she stayed long after I was gone and finished her Masters in Psychology. After a year in practice, she inherited the bar from her father and never went back. She said she liked it better. She still got paid to listen to people’s problems, but this was a lot more fun. She is one of the few people I trust and one of the only people I can really talk to.

“I’ll take it.” I got myself a plate of food to wash down the beer.

“So, how’s momma?” I was trying not to notice that I could see right down her shirt as she leaned on the counter to talk to me, her beautiful brown breasts greeting me.

“Momma’s the same. Maybe coming home soon. If the court therapist says I can bring her home.” My phone buzzed but I ignored it. It was probably Kenny and I couldn’t deal with him today.

“It’s about time you got some therapy.”

“Funny.”

“It wasn’t meant to be. You’ve been through a lot of shit. It couldn’t hurt to talk to someone about it.”

“That’s what I come here for. I’m helping you use that Master’s Degree.” She just shook her head. She does that a lot with me.

“How’d it go?”

“I surely wasn’t going to tell them anything or they’ll think I’m too crazy to bring her home.”

“Not telling them anything is a sure way to not bring her home.” My phone buzzed again. What was his problem?

“What do you mean?”

“Everyone has emotions, Alexis. With everything you’ve been through it’s normal to be angry and hurt. Hiding from it doesn’t make it go away.” Her golden hazel eyes were boring into me. I felt like she was crawling inside my head. She knew me better than anyone. Including me. “When you bury shit it has a way of coming back at you.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. Nothing a .45 or a bunch of pills wouldn’t handle. If only I had the guts.

“So you keep saying. My point is that if you don’t show any emotions with the therapist they are going to think you are too detached and possibly a little sociopathic.

And then momma ends up in a psych ward. Is that what you want?” My phone buzzed again and this time I silenced it. He needs a girlfriend so he can stop bothering me.

“I don’t want that. I want her home. Even if she is a shell, she’s still my mother.”

“And you know, if you give this a chance, you might actually get something out of it.”

“I doubt that, but for momma I will give them what they want.”

“Now that that’s settled, who keeps texting you?”

“It’s probably Kenny,” I said. I looked down at my phone and smiled. It was there before I knew it.

“Wow. What’s that on your face? Is that a smile. Who is it?” She grabbed the phone as I was trying to text back.

“Give me that back.” I reached for it but she backed up too far behind the bar.

“Who’s Lanie? And what does she want to help you with?”

“She’s just another carpenter.”

“Riiiiight. Just another carpenter that makes you light up.”

“It’s not like that. She’s young. 22.”

“That’s only, what, 12 years.”

“It’s not like that.”

“If you say so.”

I have to say so.

CHAPTER 6

I stopped at the gas station to fill up and get coffee before work and guess who I saw there, hanging on the side of the ice machine in front of the building, talking to some guy in a sweat suit, smoking a cigarette. I put the pump into my gas tank and leaned against the front of my van. I could hear him going on about those Muslim terrorist mother fuckers, his words, not mine, and something about Isis and over there. I looked right at him and at first, he tried to hide, but when I didn’t look away, he came over to me. I could tell he was giving himself a pep talk as he got closer and his shoulders got taller.

“Still the same bitch you used to be?”

“Why am I a bitch?” I balked back.

“You got me kicked out of the Carpenters,” he said.

“You were the one who stole my work, asshole.” In my head I was dousing him with gasoline.

“Only because you were being such a bitch,” he said. “You made me look like an asshole.” He moved forward more and I gagged as he got closer to me. All I could smell was stale cigarette smoke and body funk.

“First of all, you made yourself look like an asshole. When I told you no the first time, you should have let it go, instead of trying to make me look like a bitch because you can’t come to class prepared.” I had to stop for a minute because I swear I was going to hurl. He fucking reeked. “Second of all, you need to take a fucking shower because

20 you’re making me sick. And maybe wash your clothes once in a while.” I stopped pumping, hung the nozzle up, and grabbed my receipt and he was still standing there.

“Look, apparently the universe hates both of us by putting us on this job together so let’s just go to work and try to forget all this bullshit. It was a long time ago and I have moved on.”

“Easy for you, you didn’t get kicked out,” he scowled.

“Again. That’s your fault, not mine. Grow up and take some responsibility for your own self. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to be on time for work.” I got in my van and started the engine and as I started to pull away, I heard him say, “There’s no excuse for you.” I stopped and looked back and he was actually smirking.

“Really? Is that all you got?” I laughed as his face dropped and I drove away, throwing my imaginary match and watching him burst into flames in my rear-view mirror.

I didn’t say anything to Santa when I got to work because I knew he would do something and I didn’t want any trouble with this guy. I just wanted to work. Today I got to do some real carpentry work. Wood, wood, and more wood. I pulled out my hand plane and felt the cool metal against my skin. I ran my fingers over the wooden handle and gripped it firmly in my hand. My flesh melded with its flesh. I held it up and turned it upside down so I could feel the blade and check its depth. It was so sharp. I wonder if it would work on skin. I wanted to feel it slicing through epidermal layers, the muscle. Feel the warm blood--. The buzzing from my phone cut off my train of thought. Who was disturbing my zen?

Kenny – Can you do me a favor?

Me – What?

Kenny – Pick up KJ from school? I have to work late and his mom is out of town again.

Me – Sure

Kenny - Thanks

Kenny’s ex was out of town a lot. A Doctor’s Without Border’s thing. He didn’t mind, that just meant more time with his teenage son. Maybe I can put KJ to work. He was going to be a good carpenter one day, but not if Kenny has anything to say about it.

“He’s going to college. I’m not going to watch him beat his body up every day like we do so he can be a cripple by the time he can retire.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth it.” He rolls his eyes every time I tell him how much I love being a carpenter.

After I left college, I went through my share of crappy jobs. Tracy saw an ad for a pre-apprenticeship program and told me to go check it out. After our first hands on

Saturday, I knew I wanted to be a carpenter. I didn’t even realize it was an option for women. Since I was a little kid, I’d been building things. We never had a lot of tools at home; a hand saw, hammer, things like that, but we always managed to make whatever we wanted because we couldn’t afford to buy it.

Me and Bobby built our own sandbox out of wood we found on the tree lawn.

One of the few memories I have of my dad showing me anything mechanical, was when he helped us build our own fort. Me and Bobby scrounged for weeks to find enough wood to build it. We even found a door with the hinges on it. Dad spent an entire weekend with us - one of the few I remember him not working - showing us how to use

22 all the tools we did have. We drew up plans for the shell and he helped us build the whole thing. I don’t know if he really enjoyed it, I think he was just tired of us bugging him to help us. I never saw him build anything else.

After that, we were kind of on our own with building stuff. But that didn’t stop us.

There were plenty of people around, neighbors and my parents’ friends, who were willing to teach us stuff. Bobby was always willing to help me even though he was never really good at the building part, but it didn’t stop him from giving it his all. He was good at the math and designing parts though and could wire anything. We made a good team. Our mom helped us when she could. She was good at scrounging materials for us, always bringing stuff home she found at garage sales or on someone’s lawn. She gave us the leftover house paint so we could paint our fort to match. I remember the day we finished it, looking at it in all its imperfect glory. The roof wasn’t quite even and the door was a little small for the opening, but we had a window. We hung an old Chief Wahoo banner over the glass for a curtain. We even had light. Dad was mad at first, when he saw we tapped off the garage power line, but had to admit he was impressed when we turned on the lights and nothing caught fire. We were so proud of ourselves. It was ours.

I wondered what Bobby would be doing now as I took the plane firmly in both hands and ran it along the edge of the desktop, letting the shavings fall to the floor. I made another pass and this time I dumped the shavings in my hand so I could feel them.

Every muscle in my body relaxed. Just feeling those shavings took me to another world.

A world where I am calm and relaxed and not screaming inside for someone to cut me open and put me out of my misery. I could do this all day. Santa introduced me to the plane and after all these years, this is still my favorite tool.

About an hour to go and I pass Pencil Douche as I’m coming back from the bathroom. He’s leaning in a doorway with his back to the hall talking the electrician’s ear off.

“I did six years for manslaughter. Yeah, I seen some real shit go down in there. It was fucking crazy, man. But see I was smart, kept my nose down, read a lot of law books. See they screwed me at my trial and…” I heard as I walked by. I was tempted to linger and hear the rest but the electrician looked irritated and I didn’t feel like hearing a bunch of bullshit so I went back into my room. He talked for quite a while until the electrician finished and left. Then he comes in the room where I’m working, dragging a broom and shovel behind him.

“You done yet? I have to clean this room,” he said.

“I’ll be done in about half an hour but I’m done cutting and sanding so you can clean.” He started to say something, then stopped, then blurted out,

“I’ll just come back,” and walked away.

At the end of the day, I went down to our lock up and Pencil Douche was getting chewed out for not finishing the second floor.

“That girl wasn’t finished so I couldn’t clean that room,” he said, his back to me.

“The girl was finished half an hour ago and I told you I was done cutting in there so you could clean and you walked away. Don’t blame me for you not doing your job.”

He flinched when he heard my voice. I could not believe he was blaming me for another one of his fuck-ups.

“You have fifteen minutes left,” Santa said to him, “get your ass up there and finish that room.” Douche bumped me as he pushed passed me and left the room in a huff.

“I can’t believe he’s blaming me because he’s a lazy fuck.”

“He blames you for everything,” said David, who was walking in the door, taking his gloves off. “He said he got kicked out of the Carpenter’s school because of you and then his dad kicked him out of the house because of it. He hates you.”

“He’s not the first guy on a job to hate me, won’t be the last.”

“No, I don’t mean like when the guys normally hate you because you’re a girl. I mean this guy really has a thing about you. I’d watch your back. I think he’s a little off, you know, upstairs.”

“He’s off alright,” I said laughing.

“You know he’s been in prison, right? The dude killed his best friend. They were drunk and got in a fight. He said he woke up next to him and his friend was dead, but who knows. Either way, I’d steer clear.”

“So he can’t even kill someone right is what I’m hearing?”

“Joke if you want, but I’m telling you to be careful. You never know with people like that. They snap,” he said seriously.

“I hear you.”

CHAPTER 7

I had forgotten about Pencil Douche by the time I pulled down Foreman Avenue and the high school came in to view. I hadn’t been over here in years and its block façade hadn’t changed much. I remember walking those institutional halls for the four years I was there. That’s where me and Tracy met. Cheerleaders, if you can believe that. Only one year of rah rah rah for me though, then I had to get a job. Welcome Kmart shoppers.

That sucked but I was one of the first of my friends to have a car. And I paid for it.

The kids started filing out and I spotted KJ, his blond hair covering half his face.

He kept it as long as they would let him, to his collar. But he kept it all to his collar so he could let it hang over his eyes, avoiding the teachers’ gazes. He never liked anyone to see what he was thinking. Just like his daddy. Just like Bobby. He wore his hair the same way when he was fourteen, but longer. He opted out of Catholic high school for public school so he could wear his down to his ass and no one would care. Except dad.

“You look like a fucking girl,” he told him more than once. Bobby would just ignore him and mom would calm dad down until the next week when Bobby did something dad didn’t like. He always seemed to go straight for the hair. I think that’s the only reason he left it long, until he had to cut it when he got a job working for a local newspaper.

I got out of my van and waved KJ over. He smiled when he saw me. I had only known Kenny and KJ a few years, but we seemed to get really close in that time. I think

KJ latched onto me since his mom wasn’t around much. I think he thought I would be more nurturing than his dad. He was wrong.

“Hey sexy,” just like his dad. “Where’s dad?”

“Working late. Want to make some cash?”

“What do I have to do Mrs. Robinson?” He put his head down and tried to look coy, but he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m not that old honey. And not into young boys.”

“Bummer.”

“Get in smartass. I have real work for you,” I told him as we got into my van.

“At least you’ll teach me something. Dad won’t teach me nothing.”

“That’s because he doesn’t want you to have to kill yourself like we do every day.”

“That’s for me to decide.”

“And one day, when you are on your own, paying your own bills, you can. Until then – “

“His house, his rules,” he grumbled.

I was looking at him instead of in front of me when I pulled out of my space onto the road and almost hit a hooker crossing the street. Why did the hooker cross the road?

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” Her tiny purple skirt was so short, I swear I could see her vagina.

“Use the crosswalk,” I told her. Next thing I know she’s storming over to my door. She was just about to say something else when she saw KJ.

“Be nice Rose, she’s my aunt. It was my fault, I was distracting her,” said KJ, his big white teeth shining brightly through his pink lips.

“Well, if I woulda know it was you sweet thing, I wouldna said nothing.” What the hell was happening?

“How the fuck do you know him?” I grilled her. She smiled and I just wanted to punch out the teeth she had left. She smelled like cheap perfume and cum and had so much make up on, a drag queen would think she had too much make up on. KJ patted my leg.

“Relax Alexis, it’s just Rose. She’s cool.”

“Cool? She’s a fucking hooker. Why do you know her? You aren’t paying this skank –“

“Chill out. We’re just, a, friends. Help each other out from time to time. No sex stuff going on. I don’t need to pay for that,” he said smugly.

“No you don’t honey,” said Rose loudly and they both started laughing. I felt like

I was in the Twilight Zone.

“Hey, you stay away from him. There isn’t anything you need to be getting from this boy, you got it?” I rolled up my window and nearly ran over her foot as we drove off, tires squealing to show her I meant business.

“What the fuck was that, KJ?”

“Oh, chill. She’s alright. She doesn’t bother anyone that don’t want to be bothered.”

“And I guess you like being bothered.”

“She’s funny.”

“Funny? That’s why you like her? Right”

“And she sells good weed.” Did he just say that? Fucking smartass. I had to pull over to keep myself from smashing into something.

“Let’s see if your dad thinks so. I am sure he would loooove to meet Rose.”

“Aw, c’mon. I didn’t say I bought weed from her, but some of my friends do.”

“Sure, your friends buy the weed.”

“I don’t have money to buy weed. Dad keeps me on a very tight allowance. Don’t say anything to him, please,” he pleaded. “He’s just going to freak out and then he’ll call the police and then Rose will never get her kid back. So she fucks dudes for money? Who cares?”

Lucky kid.

“I don’t care if she fucks dudes for money. I do care if she’s selling drugs to children.”

“Well, we aren’t really children…”

“That’s your argument here?” He had nothing else. Just the fear in his eyes of me telling his dad. “Are you telling me the truth? You aren’t buying anything from her?”

“I am not buying anything from her.” He looked me right in the eye when he said it, his eyes on the brink of tears.

“Good, because here’s another lesson you won’t get from your dad. Don’t buy drugs from a crackwhore. They cook that shit up in basements of abandoned buildings with bleach and Sudafed. It’ll kill you.

“Okay mom,” he spewed.

“I can call your mom if that’s how you want to play this.”

“Like she would care anyway.” Now the tears were falling. Dammit.

“I’m sorry your mom isn’t here. Her work--“ I said, trying to justify his mom’s absence.

“Fuck her work. She cares more about strangers across the world than she does me.”

What was I supposed to say to that? He was right. “Can you just take me home? I don’t really feel like doing any work anymore.”

Nice job Alexis. Way to make the kid feel like shit. All over a hooker. Fucking hooker. Why can’t she be respectable like the rest of the working girls over here and stay away from the kids? Didn’t she have any morals? She makes it bad for the rest of them just trying to make an honest living.

I took him to the Taco Bell drive thru before dropping him off. It’s amazing how fast a boy’s attitude can change when presented with free food. I made him promise to stay away from her, no matter what she was offering, and he said he would, but who knows.

Lanie was texting me on my way home. By the time I pulled in the drive, she was sitting on my front stairs. Fucking impeccable timing. She was still dressed in her work clothes; faded jeans and work boots. A bandanna covering her long blonde hair that matched her fluorescent orange shirt. What was it about a girl in work boots?

“Are you avoiding me?” she asked as I walked over and sat down.

“I’ve just been busy.” It was true. I was avoiding her gaze though.

“You weren’t answering my texts.”

“You didn’t answer mine the other day either.”

“I was at my mother’s.”

“Me too.”

“How is she?”

“They’re gonna to release her into my custody if I can ever get my house together and pass some fucking therapist evaluation.”

“The house is easy. I can help. I am more than good looks and charm, you know.”

I looked up and she was smiling. She had great teeth.

“You should go,” I said.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing. You don’t have to do nothing at all.”

“I said I would help with the house and I meant it. No strings... Unless you want them.”

If I still wasn’t thinking about KJ and that hooker, I probably would have taken her up on her strings and showed her what she could do with those big white teeth. Fuck.

I could not get that fucking crackwhore out of my head and that’s the last thing I wanted in my head if I was fucking Lanie.

“It’s nothing to do with you. I’ve just had a bad afternoon and I don’t really feel like working on the house.” Her smile faded. “Or anything else.”

“You sure?” she asked me, her tone changing to concern. I nodded. It’s all I could do. She got up and hugged me, which made me cringe. Not a hugger. It makes me so uncomfortable and I think she sensed it. She backed off pretty quickly when she realized

I wasn’t reciprocating. “Call me if you change your mind.”

CHAPTER 8

I was having a pretty good day at work until Pencil Douche had to ruin it. I was going down to the lunchroom and several people were waiting outside the room for someone with a key to the door. We have lots of tools in there so we always keep it locked. Danny was on his phone trying to ignore Rick, who was talking off Joe the apprentice’s ear about war and the military. What Rick didn’t realize was Joe was a veteran and only let him ramble on because he was new.

“He’s actually pretty smart,” Joe told me one day. “I mean he’s crazy and sometimes he is talking out his ass, but he’s pretty up on a lot of stuff. Kind of scary, actually, that kind of crazy and smarts is fuel for a big ‘ol fire of fucked up.”

We walked in the lunchroom, which is not that big and everything echoed in there and Pencil Douche comes walking in continued his conversation in his outside voice.

There was no way I was listening to that shit all of my lunch. Danny had said softly to lower his voice but I don’t think he heard him.

“Alright, let’s just chill out, it’s lunch time,” I said as he passed the chair where I sat down. He let everyone else that showed up file in and then stood right in front of me.

“Are you trying to dictate to me what I’m allowed and not allowed to say?”

“In this lunchroom, yes. This is a community lunch room and no one wants to hear that shit,” I said. He just stood there looking at me with a I can’t believe this bitch just said that look. Everyone was quiet, of course. Bunch of pussies. After about a minute of him staring at me, I opened my lunch box and started to eat. He finally sat down and

32 was quiet the rest of lunch. He sat at the table writing in this notebook he always carried in his back pocket.

After lunch we all filed out and I waited so I could make sure the door got locked.

He had filed out first but after the last guy was gone, he came back around the corner and sidled up beside me.

“You know, if a guy would have told me to shut up, we’d be taking it outside,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“Well, I didn’t tell you to shut up, I said to chill out.”

“Well, if a guy would have told me to shut up, I’d be taking him outside to handle it,” he said again.

“Again, I didn’t tell you to shut up. Look, this is a community lunchroom and we try to be respectful and some of the things you say are offensive-“ He cut me off and started spewing again.

“Well, I just find that Americans-“

“Look, I don’t care what you think, this isn’t the place for it so just shut the fuck up already. Now you can say I told you to shut the fuck up.” I left before he could say anything else.

So, I had to tell Santa what happened.

“I’m calling the superintendant,” he said.

“No, don’t call anyone. He just talking shit. I only told you because I’m sure you’ll be hearing it through the grapevine and I’d rather you hear it from me.”

Well, of course he did call the super and then they had a talk with him and then I had to talk to HR and it turned into a big fucking deal it didn’t need to be. The HR lady

33 asked me if I wanted him gone and I said no. Like I was going to be the girl who cried over some dumb shit some dumb asshole said. In construction, girls can’t say anything without becoming the bitch, so I knew better than to say yes and frankly he didn’t scare me. He scared the guys more than he did me. They started walking me to my car to protect me. Yeah, gimpy Gary and old Ramon were going to protect me. I’m pretty sure if something went down, I’d be the one doing the protecting, but it was nice to see they had my back, even if it was for the thirty second walk to our cars. Too bad they didn’t have my back in the lunchroom.

So a week or so went by and we avoided each other as much as possible.

Wednesday we were still doing trim and finished that floor by break and moved our tools up to the next floor, where they were still cleaning. They were almost done, so we started on the North end of the building. I went to get some material and when I came back I saw

Douche going through my tool cart.

“What the fuck are you doing in my cart?” I yelled at him. He jumped back.

“I was just looking for a screwdriver,” he lied.

“Bullshit. Once a thief, always a thief, you fucker.” I ran over and pushed him into the wall and got in his face. “I ever catch you in my shit again, you’ll be picking my hammer out of your fucking skull, you got it?”

“What’s going on?” David asked, coming around the corner and pulling me off of him.

“This rat fuck was going through my cart.”

“I was just looking for a screwdriver,” he said.

“You mean, like the one that’s in your pocket?” asked David, glaring at him.

Douche looked down at his pocket and didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He knew he was caught. David looked at me. “What do you want to do?”

“Keep him away from me.”

“Get out of here, asshole. You’re not even supposed to be on this side of the building.” Douche side-eyed me as he walked out of the room. David asked me again what I wanted to do and I told him to just keep him away from me and watch him. I didn’t want any trouble.

Well, David told Santa, who told our Superintendent and once again, Douche is gone, because of me, of course, as he made sure everyone knew when they threw him off the job. I thought I held a grudge. At least when I do, it’s legitimate. This guy was fucking crazy, so crazy that when I went out to my van, I had four flat tires. A pencil sticking out of every one of them. Santa saw and was pissed. He said he was calling the cops. I told him not to, I really didn’t need the trouble, but he was already talking to someone before I could stop him. Without video or physical evidence though, the police couldn’t really do anything. Apparently the three cameras mounted on the light poles are there for show. They took a statement and gave me a copy for my insurance. What a waste of time.

The next morning, I got there early with my four freshly plugged tires and looked up Douche’s info on the computer. Shit, he lived only a few blocks away from me. That’s why he was at that gas station. Good to know.

So, I went to work and was enjoying a peaceful day and just after break Santa texted me and told me to come down to the lockup. Bring your tools. I knew that couldn’t

35 be good. When I got down there, the laborer Business Agents were there. I was getting thrown off the job for assaulting Douchebag.

“Just be grateful he didn’t want to involve the police and charge you with assault,” one of the B.A.’s said.

“Grateful? I should be grateful that I’m getting thrown off the job because some asshole was trying to steal my stuff? Fuck you.” I looked at Santa, who I knew couldn’t do anything. “This is bullshit.”

“I know it is,” he said.

“Look-“ the B.A. started to say something but Santa stopped him.

“You look. You did what you came to do now get the fuck out of here,” he said to them and walked them to the door.

“I’m sorry,” Santa said after they left. “I tried to talk to the super but he didn’t want more trouble so he said I could at least lay you off.”

“Whatever. This guy needs a good ass-kicking.”

“He needs more than that,” said Santa.

I tried to do some work at home but I couldn’t get that asshole out of my head.

Later that evening I was standing in the kitchen eating a cold piece of pizza and noticed the piece of paper I wrote his address down on, lying on my counter. I finished my pizza, grabbed the paper and my keys and went on a drive. He lived on a rundown street not too far from me. It’s a good thing he got thrown out of the Carpenter’s because this house is a disgrace. He has no carpenter skills at all. The porch roof was caved in, the paint peeling, a makeshift handrail made out of what looked like PVC pipe and of course, no grass.

There were beer cans piled on the front porch next to a lawn chair and a coffee can that I assume was for cigarette butts.

I sat for a moment with the van running and turned off my lights. He wasn’t home but I could hear a dog barking in the back yard. He was probably getting drunk somewhere, having a good laugh to himself. I didn’t really know what I was going to do, but I knew I wanted to do something. I had to think this through. As Santa always told me, you should always have a plan. I saw some lights rounding the corner so I took off. I wasn’t prepared to confront him and I didn’t want him to see me.

CHAPTER 9

The phone buzzing woke me up. I looked at the clock. 7:15 am.

Santa – how are you?

Me – fine

Santa – working on getting you back

Me – don’t bother. I could use the time off. I have lots of work to do.

Santa – sure?

Me – yeah

I rolled over and pulled the blanket over my head. I laid there, in the dark, staring at the underside of the blanket until I couldn’t take breathing in my hot breath anymore.

So I stared at the ceiling for a while, hoping to fall back asleep. No go.

“Fucker.” The longer I laid there, the madder I got, so I got out of bed. I needed to do something, so I cleaned up the house a little so I could actually do some more work. I was tired of tripping over shit trying to get something done. I hate cleaning, especially construction mess. About mid-morning my stomach started growling and I opened the fridge; more leftover pizza. I really needed to buy some food.

I got in my van and drove to McDonald’s. I noticed a big rusted blue truck that had been behind me since I turned off my street. When I pulled into McDonalds, it pulled in behind me. I decided to go in since the drive thru line was long. I parked and the blue truck pulled in the line. Fucking paranoid.

I didn’t see the truck when I came out and then I knew I was being paranoid. I drove home and stopped at the convenience store around the corner from my house.

There were no spaces on the street so I parked in the back. When I came back out, holding my coffee and bag of chips, I noticed the truck parked next to my van. I ain’t that fucking paranoid. This was too much of a coincidence. I looked around and didn’t see anyone so I walked over to my van. As I was unlocking my door – SMACK - right on the side of my head. I never saw it coming and I went down like an oak that had been hit in the trunk with a big fucking piece of wood.

“What the fuck?!” My coffee cup was lying on the ground by my head and coffee was all over the side of both our vehicles and on the ground. It took a moment to focus. I could feel blood coming out of my nose. I looked up and saw pencil douche. He was standing there with a two-by-four in his hand. I recognized the gold ring he had on his thumb. What kind of guy wears a thumb ring anyway. He leaned over me and practically spit on me when he talked.

“That’s what happens when you call the cops on me bitch. You can’t prove anything and now my probation officer is on my ass. Back the fuck off or next time it won’t be a two-by-four.” I wanted to grab him but I could barely move. I don’t know if he had more of a speech planned but he stopped when we both heard the bells on the convenience store door as it was opening and he freaked and took off.

It took me a minute to get my bearings. I sat up and wiped my bloody nose on my sleeve. Normally, the sight of the blood would perk me right up, but all I felt was defeated. I took off my bandana I had on my head and used it to stop the blood that was coming out of my nose. The shock was starting to wear off. I knew because the throbbing started. I used everything I had to get in my van.

My head was pounding on the ride home, luckily it was a short one. I reached in the glove box and pulled out a pill bottle. Everything else in the box fell on the floor but I wasn’t letting that bottle go for nothing. It was a mix of extra strength Tylenol, Ibuprofen, and there might have been some codeine mixed in. I don’t know. I shook a few pills in my mouth and washed them down with the warm Dr. Pepper I had sitting in the cup holder. My face was killing me and my nose was still bleeding. I hoped it wasn’t broken.

I grabbed a beer from the fridge and an icepack from the freezer when I got home.

I turned on the shower and stripped down, trying to hold the icepack on my face without pushing too hard. I looked in the bathroom mirror to see the damage. My nose finally stopped bleeding. It was already swelling. I had a huge gash on my cheek that could probably use a few stitches and the whole left side of my face was red. My nose hurt like hell but it didn’t feel broken. It just hurt. Everything hurt. I jumped in the shower and let the hot water beat on my back. I let it run down my face but it hurt more than it helped but I knew I needed to clean it off. I leaned over, grabbed the wall, letting the hot water massage my back, and breathed long deep breaths to calm myself. And as soon as I was, I could feel the tears forming. He isn’t fucking worth it. I stood up, took a deep breath, and got myself together.

“Suck it up. No use crying about it. What are you going to do about it?” I could call the police. I could call Santa. Or I could take care of it myself. I couldn’t let it go this time. I got out of the shower and when I looked in the mirror again, with all the blood washed away, I still looked like shit. I knew I should go to the hospital but then they would start asking questions, the police would come and I just didn’t want all that trouble. I couldn’t have all that trouble right now. I grabbed the first aid kit and put some

40 suture strips across the cut on my cheek. I covered that with a few large Band-Aids and got dressed.

CHAPTER 10

When I got in my van, holding a bag of ice to my face, I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do, I just knew I had to do something. I drove by pencil douche’s house. His piece of shit truck was in the drive but the lights were out. I kept going and drove around the corner. I drove another block and parked my van. I threw on a black hooded sweatshirt I had in the van and grabbed my knife and a crowbar. As I was closing the door I caught a glimmer from the shiny plane I had carefully placed on my tool shelf.

“Hmmmm.” I grabbed it and put it in my pocket. You never know.

I put my hood up and started walking, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. In hindsight, the crowbar probably looked a little suspicious. I tried to keep it to my side, in line with my leg so it wasn’t that obvious. Good thing they were out of the fluorescent green paint the day I was painting all my tools. See, everything happens for a reason. I was really pissed and settled on purple, but man I wanted that green. But now I see that it was the right choice. Wow, you can barely see the street lights on his street. They really need to cut those trees down. The ones on my street are the same way. You know, would it hurt these people to throw down a little fertilizer, maybe cut their grass once in a while.

It’s amazing how one street looks so nice, everyone keeps up their lawns and yard and then you turn the corner and it’s like a different part of the world. It’s like cars aren’t the only thing that stops at the stops signs on the corners, but common sense, pride and intelligence does too. I stopped when I saw his house.

I was across the street and I couldn’t see in his windows because of course that fucking hilljack had towels hanging on them. I looked around and saw the house a couple

42 doors down was for sale. Good luck with that. I walked over, took the sign out of the ground and laid it beside the porch. I sat down on the front steps and watched the house. I could hear his dog barking and whining. I was trying to figure out what to do, if anything.

I could knock on the door and hit him with the crowbar when he answered. I could throw a rock through his window. I could break out all his car windows. I could wait until he goes to sleep and then sneak in and beat him to death in his own bed.

Ooohhh, I like that one. I should have brought some duct tape. Damn. I could always walk back to the van and get some. Man, my face still hurts. Good thing I brought some more pills. I downed a few more and waited for them to kick in. Maybe I should wait until tomorrow and when he leaves I could sneak in and wait for him and then when he comes through the door I could pound him. That barking is driving me nuts. Doesn’t he hear that incessant barking?

I had to shut that dog up. Or better yet, let it go. I crossed the street and went around to the back. The dog was smaller than I expected from his big bark. He quieted as soon as he saw me and started whimpering. His scraggly tan hair was matted and his eyes were all glassy. Poor thing. He looked like Benji. I went over and petted him. He was so sweet. He didn’t deserve this.

“I am setting you free, buddy.” I kissed his little head and was about to unchain him when I felt an arm around my neck.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing with my dog?” I tried not to panic but my heart was racing and he was squeezing so hard.

“Setting that poor thing free,” I choked out the words.

I couldn’t breathe and was feeling light-headed. I tightened my hand around the steel crowbar and swung it as hard as I could over my head. I heard a crack and felt it make contact and his arm dropped from around my neck. I swung around and hit him again before he had the chance to do anything. He fell on the ground, grabbing his head. I hit him a third time, in the chest this time.

He was clutching his chest and mumbling.

“You fucked with the wrong person you rat fuck!” I said gritting my teeth. He started gagging and spitting up blood and was fading out. I was about to swing again when I saw a light go on next door.

“Shit.” I grabbed his legs and dragged him in the house. I surely didn’t need the neighbors coming over. By the time we got in the house he was out of it. I laid him on the kitchen floor and watched him bleed. His head was gushing pretty bad and the blood was running out quickly. I watched it fall between the cracks in the hardwood floor. Slowly I watched the beautiful red bliss drain from him. Magnificent!

I bent down to check his pulse. Suddenly his hand was in my hair, trying to pull me down. My hands joined together and wrapped around his scrawny neck and I squeezed as hard as I could. He tried to keep pulling, but he was no match. The Jaws of

Life couldn’t have gotten my hands off of him. I tightened my grip. His eyes were bulging, blood was coming out of his mouth, and he was gasping for air. He was trying to talk, to beg for his life, but it was no use. All I saw was red. All I felt was calm. It was like floating through space and time. A white space where the music is pleasant and soothing and the white is not bright, but soft. Welcoming. Comforting. I was wrapped in

44 a soft blanket amongst the white. My adrenaline was pumping and I was wide-awake but my body was so loose. So relaxed.

“Who’s the bitch now mother fucker?” His eyes started to close, his hand fell from my hair, and his breathing stopped. He was gone but I didn’t want to let go. That was the most amazing thing I think I have ever felt in my life. Fuck me. My hands began to hurt, so I let go of his neck and just sat there on top of him. I wasn’t even breathing heavy or anything. You’d think my heart would be racing or I would be freaked out, but it was just the opposite. I felt, how do I describe it, like for the first time, I was at peace.

My mind completely clear, focused, no random thoughts, no racing, just one clear vision.

Wow.

I am my mother’s daughter.

I watched the pool of blood travel downhill to the dining room like a slow flowing creek until it reached the carpet.

“Those are some unlevel floors. The Amish must have built this house.”

I knew I should have felt bad or something, but I have to say, I had never felt more amazing in my life. What a fucking rush.

I heard the dog whimper and it brought me back to reality. I looked around at all the blood.

“Fuck. And this is why you need a plan.” I couldn’t clean up that much blood and

I couldn’t hang around to try to find any evidence I may have left. There was only one thing I could do. I looked down at Pencil Douche’s corpse.

“Got a light?” I dug through his pockets and found a lighter and a half smoked joint. I gathered up some paper and magazines and made a pile around his body. I was

45 about to light it when I remembered the block plane. I pulled it out of my sweatshirt pocket. I grabbed Pencil Douche’s arm and slowly ran my plane against his skin, peeling off a thin layer. I wrapped it in an envelope I found on the table and put it in my pocket.

I checked to make sure the coast was clear before I lit the paper. Before I left, I grabbed the bag of dog food that was by the back door. I took the dog, leash and all, to leave no trace of the dog, and ran through his back yard and out into the alley behind his house. I dumped the cheap dog food in a dumpster as we walked to my van. The dog jumped right in the van with no prodding. I think he was actually smiling. And so was I. I was ready to burst the whole ride home.

I got the dog in the house and took a shower. I got dressed and put my skin souvenir between two layers of paper to dry. I grabbed a beer from the fridge, went out back, and started a fire in my fire pit. I threw in the clothes I had on and set my crowbar in there to burn off any residue. When my neighbor came stumbling over, I was roasting a hot dog.

“Whatchya up to? Cooking some dogs?” Harry asked.

“Yep. Hungry?” Between the darkness and his being so wasted, he didn’t even notice my face.

“Sure. Working?” he asked as he took the hot dog I offered him. I took another one and shoved the pointed spear through it.

“Was. Got laid off yesterday.”

“Whatcha gonna do?” he asked.

“Work on the house for now. Enjoy life.”

“Hear that,” he said and took a bite of his hot dog along with a few mustache hairs. “How you plan to do that?”

“I think I finally figured it out, Harry. I just need a purpose. And I think I found it.” He rolled his eyes and laughed.

“I know you’re a carpenter and everything, but if you start turning into a Jesus freak or something I’m gonna have to cut you out.”

“Believe me; Jesus has nothing to do with it. Jesus wishes he could do what we do.”

“Whatever, but if you start walking around in a robe I’m gonna call the white coats,” he said and raised his beer bottle. I raised mine to meet his and smiled. Beer has never tasted better.

CHAPTER 11

Today was the first time in like, well, forever, that I haven’t wanted to fling myself off the Lorain-Carnegie Bridge. That’s quite a feat for me. I feel so alive I can barely contain it. I thought I would feel some remorse, or freaked out or something like I am supposed to feel, but instead I feel on top of the world. That douche bag had it coming anyway. I still can’t believe it. I should have done it a long time ago. I so get why people do this. I wonder if this was how my mother felt when she killed my father. What a rush.

I mean, I don’t think I could do it to good people. I would feel bad about that. At least I think I would feel bad about that. I should feel bad about that. Anyway, why waste your time on good people when there are so many inconsiderate, selfish, hateful fucks out there who need to be taught a lesson. Ok, so maybe they won’t learn anything when they’re dead, but at least the rest of the world won’t have to put up with them.

I laid there looking at the clock in disbelief. It was 8:42 a.m. Not only did I sleep in, but I slept through the night. I don’t remember the last time that happened without a lot of alcohol involved. I looked over at the mutt lying at the end of my bed, snoring away. He looked so peaceful, kind of like douche lying on his kitchen floor. His chest rising and falling slowly. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I sat up and tried to catch my breath. His body lying there was vivid in my brain and the reality of what I did set in. I killed somebody. Shit. I could end up in jail like my mom. What would happen to her if I went to jail?

“Fuck. I can’t believe I did that.” I started gagging. I jumped out of bed and ran to the toilet but nothing came up. I grabbed the rim of the toilet seat and closed my eyes.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. I was torn with how I felt and how I knew I should feel. I should feel bad, shouldn’t I? I knew I should, but I didn’t and that bothered me more.

I got up and brushed my teeth. I washed my face and looked in the mirror. My gash was covered in dried blood. I picked at the cut and it started to bleed. I wiped it with my finger and tasted it.

“Mmmmmmm.” When that warm salty blood hit my tongue, I instantly felt a calm come over me and all that panic melted away. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I do know that I had never felt more alive and clear-headed as when my hands were wrapped around his throat.

I looked at my hands over and over and relived the moment. I could still feel my hands around his neck; his pulse beating in my hands. It was so fast and as I squeezed, it got slower and slower until, finally, it stopped. His eyes still stared up at me, bulging, bloodshot, pleading. Pleading with me to stop. I couldn’t have if I wanted to; my hands were frozen there, getting tighter and tighter and tighter.

I don’t know which felt better, that or when I smashed his skull with my crowbar.

It was like in junior high when I hit my first home run, when you make contact and you know it’s going over the fence. The sound of his skull cracking was like music to my ears. The first sound was like a good top forty song you can’t get out of your head and the second sound was like a symphony that envelopes your entire being and stays with you forever. Beethoven never wrote anything so intense.

And the blood, oh, the blood. I wish I would have slit his throat just so I could have seen more of it. I know there was a lot, but I could have used more. I still can’t believe it. Red is my new favorite color.

I laid back down in bed and snuggled up to Max. That’s what I’m calling him. I wonder what happened when I left. I hope I didn’t leave anything behind. I guess I’ll know if the police come knocking on my door. They might anyway, since we had the confrontation and all. I better be prepared. What was I doing? Shit, I have no alibi. Sitting by the fire with drunk Harry sure isn’t going to cut it. I can’t really say I was home because I’m sure someone saw me leave the house. Fuck, what am I going to say? I could always say I went to the park or something. Yeah, that’s good, I went to the park and read. I should have planned better. Of course it’s not like I planned to go and kill that guy, it just happened. I really just wanted to scare him and honestly I probably wouldn’t have even gone to the door. I was too nervous. But that fucking barking was too much; I couldn’t ignore it.

I can’t believe I was still lying in bed. I must have dozed off during my mental meltdown. Wow, my ceiling really needs repainted. It looks like shit. You can see the lathe boards through the plaster, which I am surprised is still on the ceiling. Well, I guess

I will have time since I’m laid off. Maybe I’ll get some shit done around the house. I bought this shit hole a year ago and half the rooms are still gutted. I can’t procrastinate any longer. Mom’s going to be coming home soon and the house has to be ready.

I got out of bed again and jumped in the shower.

“Ow, that still fucking hurts.”

When I got up, I looked in the mirror to see if my face looked any better after washing it. I brushed back my long, black hair so I could see my eye better. I really needed a haircut; it was almost past my shoulders. I’ll put it on the list. Shorter might be

50 better anyway; less chance of it falling out somewhere you don’t want it too. Maybe I should shave it off. That might be a little too extreme.

Wow, it looks like I got hit in the head with a two-by-four. That sounds about right. The gash was scabbing over nicely, but the bruising was bad. I needed to ice this baby up some more. I wonder if I have any foundation around here. Good thing I don’t have anywhere to go. I thought maybe a shower would make it look better, but guess what, it didn’t. A lot less blood, but still all black and blue. Oh well, I consider it a battle scar. I may have lost the battle but I definitely won the war. Ha.

CHAPTER 12

I gathered up all the electrical material I had and started in the dining room. The kitchen, bathroom and one of the bedrooms were already done. Necessities first: Toilet, shower, food and then sleep. I put some Madonna on the radio and went to work. Wow,

Like a Virgin has a completely new meaning to me now.

“Like a Virgin, ooh!…killing for the very first time…” Before I knew it, I had the whole dining room wired and the electrical boxes put in. I didn’t even realize it was one o’clock. I stopped and ate some leftover Chinese I had in the fridge and went to work in the living room. I finished that room in no time. There really isn’t much to it. A few outlets, a couple switches, a light box in the ceiling and cable wires. Then I decided to run speaker wire for surround sound, just in case I get the big flat screen I want. Maybe I should kill someone richer, that way I could get money out of it too. Kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I wonder if that’s where that saying comes from.

I dragged bag after bag of insulation from the garage until I completely finished insulating the two rooms. I hate this shit, it’s like needles in your throat and I even wore a mask. I wish I could have gotten the blue jean insulation, but it’s expensive, and I really couldn’t bring myself to put hay in my walls since I live in the middle of the city. With my luck, cockroaches from my neighbor’s house would get in there and start a whole new colony and before you know it, I would have moving wallpaper. Aaauuuggghh. It makes me shiver, just thinking about it.

Next, drywall. I dragged a bunch of sheets in the house and leaned them up against the wall. I ordered a pizza and checked my phone. I had three texts-two from

Kenny. I really think he hangs out with me just because he wants to get in my pants. He is cute and if I was going to fuck some guy again, I would fuck him, but I try not to fuck people I work with. Don’t shit where you eat. That’s advice I learned the hard way.

The other one was from Lanie. She’s been hitting on me, I think. Maybe it’s all in my head or maybe she’s just fucking with me. Either way, I know I should stay away from her because she’s only twenty-two. A twelve-year gap is one thing, but she’s just a kid. Of course, we don’t work together. So, does that count as a work person? I know I’m just making excuses. I should get it out of my head. She’s too young and I would break her heart. I just want to fuck, not move in.

Kenny wanted to know if I found work yet. Not that I was looking. I wrote back.

Me- No. I haven’t looked. Getting things done around the house.

Kenny - What are you doing?

Me - Finished insulating, getting ready to hang drywall. Want to mud it for me?

I hate mudding.

Kenny - I’ll do it for a blow job

Me - You wish asshole, I don’t know if it’d be worth smelling those sweaty balls

Kenny - I’ll shower

This was going nowhere good so I ignored him and read Lanie’s text.

Lanie - Waddya doing?

Me - Working on the house, getting ready to drywall.

Lanie - Want help?

Me - Shouldn’t you be out clubbing on a Saturday night?

Lanie - Broke and bored

This is probably a bad idea too. Maybe she is just bored and wants to learn from the master. Or maybe she’s looking for free beer. Help would be nice. I’m probably reading more into this whole thing anyway. I’m sure she doesn’t want someone as old as me when there is a smorgasbord of young pussy out there.

Me - I have beer and just ordered a pizza. Come on over.

I wrote the words and hesitated. Should I, or shouldn’t I? I was feeling so pumped up and might do something stupid. I shouldn’t send it. Of course I was hitting the send button as I was thinking about it. Too late now. Maybe she will say no.

Lanie - b.r.o.

Fuck.

Me - ok

I started hanging the first sheet when my phone was beeping again.

Kenny - Well?

Me - Lanie’s coming over

Kenny - You dirty old whore

Me - To help me hang drywall dickhead

Kenny - Is that what you ladies are calling it these days?

Me - She’s too young. Besides, she wants a girlfriend and I just want a fuck buddy

Kenny - You really have some commitment issues

Me - I like my space

Kenny - How’s that space in your vagina?

Me - Don’t worry about me, I do just fine. Fuck off, I gotta go. I want to get this done tonight so I can mud it tomorrow

First, adventures with pencil douche and now Lanie was going to be sweating, breathing, and being fuckable right here in my house. By ourselves. It was too much.

This week was not going how I planned.

I need another shower.

CHAPTER 13

I heard the phone beep again but I was in the middle of hanging a sheet of drywall so I ignored it and by the time I was done hanging it, I forgot about the phone. I had one whole wall done when I heard the pizza guy coming up the front stairs. I shooed Max away, who came running as soon as he heard the knock, grabbed some cash, and met him at the door. He started talking about the weather and then saw I was hanging drywall and continued his blabbering telling me about how he hangs drywall, because of course a man always thinks he knows how to do it better. Whatever Chatty Kathy, I just want my pizza.

I tried to be patient though and nod and smile and be polite. Luckily, Lanie pulled up just as he was starting another story. She took the pizza box from the guy and pushed me in the front door.

“Thanks,” she said. “Have a good night.” He took the hint, although subtle it was not. Lanie took the pizza box in the kitchen and set it on the stove. Max was at her feet, sniffing the air. She gave him a pet and I let him outside.

“When did you get the dog?” she asked.

“I found him wandering down the street. He didn’t have a tag so I brought him home.”

“He’s sweet,” she said.

“Thanks for getting rid of the pizza guy, I never thought he’d shut up,” I said as I got out some paper plates and grabbed two beers from the fridge.

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because I love their pizza and I don’t want him to spunk all over it the next time he brings one.” She stopped and looked at the pizza, questioning every white spot.

“Why’d you have to say that? Gross.”

“Just eat the pizza. It’s not like you’ve never tasted spunk before.” She shook her head and gagged. “Never?” She shook her head and pointed at me.

“More than I care to admit,” I said. I grabbed a piece of pizza and shoved it in my mouth. “Mmmmmmm.”

“Gross, but I’m too hungry to care,” she said. I just shook my head and laughed.

“You going to tell me what happened to your face?”

“That’s what I get for trying to hang drywall myself,” was all I came up with. I kind of forgot about it all day. She came over and gently touched my face and I flinched.

“Does it hurt?” When she touched my face, I was instantly excited. I mean, shivers and everything. I stepped back from her touch and took another bite of my pizza.

“It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.” I grabbed another piece of pizza and walked in the other room. She followed me and looked around.

“I think you’ve done more in the last week than in the last six months.”

“I seem to have some new motivation.” If only she knew.

“Your mom is good motivation.” Okay. Sure. Mom. “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she joked. “At least you got a couch,” she said, pointing to the lone piece of furniture in the living and dining room combined.

“I gotta have something for guests.”

We each ate another piece of pizza, drank another beer and started hanging drywall. A few more beers and twenty sheets of drywall later and we finally stopped for a

57 break, mainly because I had to pee. When I came down the stairs from the bathroom, she was bent over my couch picking something up. Even in her baggy work jeans, her ass still looked good.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Focus.

She had pretty soft fingertips for a carpenter.

Drywall. Drywall. Drywall.

“We’re almost done,” I said. “Want another beer?” Anything to get me out of the room.

“Sure,” she said as she grabbed her knife that she had dropped and stood up. I nearly gasped at the sight of her holding that sharp blade in her hand. What is it about a woman in work boots holding a sharp blade? I wonder if she’s ever cut anyone. Killed anyone. Imagine us, the dynamic duo, slicing and dicing our way through all the assholes of the world, spilling blood, and her naked body covered in red while she sticks that knife into someone over and over and…

I left the room when I realized I had stopped breathing.

I was so focused on the knife before, that it wasn’t until I came back with her beer that I noticed I could see her sports bra through her soaking wet t-shirt. It clung to her wonderfully flat stomach. Tight, toned, lean, young. My head was in a bad place. I was still so high on blood and guts and the beer was only accentuating it. I needed some release for all the energy I had.

When I handed her the beer, her hand touched mine and I was wet again. She was looking right at me and I couldn’t look away.

Walk away. Walk away. Walk away.

I thought if I said it in my head enough times, one of us would have walked away. We both just stood there, taking slow sips from our bottles, staring.

“Thinking about that spunk again?” she asked.

“What?” She wrapped her mouth around her bottle and then started licking it.

Fuck me. “Stop that, please.” She started laughing.

“That’s what you were doing to your beer bottle.”

“I was?” She nodded and smiled. I wasn’t sure if she actually moved closer to me or if it was my imagination, but I could smell her now; a mix of sweat, cologne and oh yeah, there it was, wet pussy. Oh god.

“Yeah you were. Thinking about that spunk?”

“Not exactly,” I said in almost a whisper. It took all my energy not to jump her right there. I was smarter than this. This was a bad idea. I tried to look away. I heard some people walking by on the street and I tried to break the moment by looking out the window. I could feel the cool night air coming through the screen and wished it would cool me down.

“So, what exactly were you thinking about?” I know it wasn’t my imagination that she was getting closer, because her face was so close I could smell the beer on her breath. She was definitely coming on to me. Calm down, I told myself.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

“This is definitely a bad idea.” The words were coming out of my mouth, but I wasn’t moving away.

“Why? I’m single, your single.” She started kissing my neck softly, whispering in my ear. “We could have so much fun.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” I said as I leaned my head back. She wrapped her hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer. She stuck her beer bottle under my shirt, gently pressing against my stomach. I shivered when the cold bottle touched my sweaty skin. She got a chuckle out of that one.

“Don’t you like girls?” Now I could feel the bottle tip circling my nipple. Fuck me right now. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I didn’t want to fight it anymore. I wanted her tongue, her fingers, that fucking beer bottle, in me. Right. Now. I didn’t care.

I wrapped my fingers in her hair and yanked her head back.

“I love girls,” I said and shoved my tongue down her throat. She reciprocated and

I dropped my beer bottle on the floor and wrapped my other arm around her. Her tongue was so far down my throat I felt like I was giving head. I wanted to eat her so bad. I felt her bottle on my neck. Our lips parted and she poured beer in her mouth and then filled mine with it. I correct my earlier statement. Beer never tasted so good.

“I got another place you can put that,” I said.

“The beer or my mouth?”

“Preferably your mouth but I’m open for trying new things.” My mouth was on hers before she could say anything. I pushed her back against the wall. Why did I not want to do this? I couldn’t remember now. I knocked the beer bottle out of her hand and

60 licked her neck, from her collarbone all the way to her ear where I took a nice nibble from her lobe. “Does every part of you taste this sweet?”

“There’s…only…one…way…to find out.” Hmmmm. A dare. She knew me better than I thought. I pushed my body against hers and rubbed my thigh between her legs. She was trying to get her hands on my zipper but I grabbed them before she could and pressed harder into her. “You’re killing me, Alex. Let my hands go so I can touch you.”

I pushed her hands above her head and moved my thigh up and down slowly. I liked having this upper hand.

“Maybe I like your hands like this, then I can take complete advantage of you.”

There is something to be said for having power over someone. I knew she liked it, because she was bigger, younger, and stronger than me; she could have easily turned the tables on this whole situation.

“Whatever, just fuck me already,” she said and I let her hands go. She was unbuckling my belt when we heard the front door open.

“Oh yeah. Drywall my ass,” Kenny said loudly. Fucker.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I asked, glaring at him.

“Lock the door next time,” he said, laughing. Lanie instantly stiffened up. she couldn’t even look at Kenny. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. Do you mind if I watch?”

That did it, she was outta here. She grabbed her coat and headed for the door.

Kenny stepped aside to let her pass. I followed her out the door and grabbed her just before she hit the stairs. I pulled her to me and kissed her, but she quickly pulled away.

“C’mon, don’t go, things were just getting good.” I brushed the hair out of her eyes and she smiled. She looked at the door. “I’ll tell him to leave. And this time, I’ll lock

61 the door.” She was too embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was coming over.” I kissed her, trying to change her mind but she was already gone, so I backed off. “Promise you’ll come back so we can finish this?”

“The drywall?” She didn’t seem this naïve two minutes ago.

“What do you think?” She walked down the stairs, got in her truck, and left without looking back. Dammit!

CHAPTER 14

I flinched at the sound of that door slamming. It was as loud as a gavel. A gavel slamming down on the judge’s bench after she sentenced my mother. There wasn’t much to debate since she had already confessed. After she finished stabbing my father, she got up, walked slowly down the stairs, went right to the phone, and dialed. Her first call was to my aunt and the second to 911.

Mom – “I just killed my husband. You should probably send someone.”

911 – “Excuse me ma’am? Did you say you killed your husband?”

Mom – “Yes,”

911 – “Do you need an ambulance?”

Mom – “No. I don’t need an ambulance. He’s dead. I made sure of it.”

911 – “Someone is on the way. Can you tell me what happened?”

The operator kept her on the line talking until the cops got there. They came in guns drawn, but it wasn’t necessary. She was sitting in his chair, covered in blood, talking on the cordless phone with the 911 operator and smoking a cigarette. I watched from the stairwell as my high school friend, Jenny, helped her fellow officer handcuff her.

After the operator hung up, she never spoke again. She nodded no to a lawyer, wrote out her entire confession, signed it and never looked back. even after I got to the police staion and begged her to say something, to talk to the lawyer my aunt got her, she refused. At least then, she would nod, blink her eyes, something.

Over the years she just became more and more detached. I don’t know if it was the drugs they had her on or being in prison or the combination, but eventually any form of communication just stopped. I knew part of her had to be in there because she still functioned. She used the bathroom by herself, fed herself, dressed herself, she would even do what you told her. But it was robotic. She was robotic.

After Pencil Douche I thought I finally understood what my mother felt when she stabbed my father. But why did she fall asleep and I wake up?

CHAPTER 15

I watched Lanie drive away, went back in the house, and shut the door. I can’t believe she left me hanging like this. And I couldn’t even relieve myself with Kenny here.

“Thanks, asshole,” I said as I pushed passed Kenny, who was already drinking my beer, and went to the kitchen to get myself one. I let Max in from the backyard, who ran right upstairs to bed. I stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room and took a swig.

“When did you get a dog?”

“I found him wandering down the street.”

“I texted you I was coming over. You were the one who said nothing was going to happen. How was I supposed to know?”

That must have been the text I ignored.

“I really did try to resist her, you know. She’s just so…fuckable. Now I think I know what blue balls feels like.”

“I know a way to relieve those blue balls, you know,” he said smiling. I tilted my head and looked at him while I leaned against the doorjamb and took another drink. He just stood there with his skinny legs and long blond hair, drinking his beer with this shit- eating grin on his face and I thought, why not? It’s just fucking, right?

“Alright, let’s go,” I said as I straightened up.

“Seriously?” His eyes got wide and I think his voice may have raised an octave or two. I undid my belt and started unzipping my pants and he just stood there.

“Yeah. C’mon, take ‘em off.” I pointed to his pants. “But I’m not blowing you, we’re not cuddling after, I’m not making you breakfast, and you’re gonna help me finish this drywall when we’re done.” He still didn’t move. I think he thought I was joking. I dropped my pants to the floor and stepped out of them. I walked over and grabbed his crotch, which, shocking, was hard. “Well, you wanna or not?”

Suddenly he was Speedy Gonzalez. He unzipped his pants, almost fell taking them off because he still had his boots on, stripped off his shirt and everything else but his socks. He stood there naked, not sure if I was really going to fuck him or just laugh.

I looked down and was surprised at what I saw. I had seen them in magazines but never up close and personal. I looked down at his uncircumcised penis. He saw me looking.

“Momma was a hippie,” he said.

“Got a condom?”

“Sure do.”

“Well, c’mon hippie boy, let’s get on with it.”

He put on a condom and practically tore my shirt and bra off, along with my underwear. He tried to kiss me and I backed away quickly.

“We don’t need to do all that. Let’s just fuck.”

“No problem,” he said as he grabbed me and bent me roughly over the couch. He stuck his fingers inside me to test the wet, wet waters. “Wow, she really did get you going.”

“Less talking, more fucking.” He grabbed my hips and shoved his cock inside me.

I hadn’t had one inside me for quite a while and I have to say it felt good. Unfortunately

66 not good enough. Once I knew it wasn’t going to happen I pushed myself up and him off me.

“I got more skills. Let me –“ he started to offer.

“Get on your back,” I told him. And he did. Men are so easy. I straddled him and took him inside me. Moving slowly up and down as he raised his hips in perfect rhythm. I bent over and put my hands on his chest. His head was back and his eyes closed. His adam’s apple was rising and falling with his movements. I moved my hands slowly upward until they were on his neck. He looked up at me and smiled. “You like that?”

“Harder,” he said. He closed his eyes and pushed his throat into my eager hands. I massaged the bump in his throat. I could feel my excitement rise as I tightened my grip around his neck more. It would be so easy to strangle him right now. I rode harder as my hands tightened more and more. I felt his nails dig into my ass and I was suddenly aware of the white color forming around my knuckles. I started to back off; I didn’t want to hurt him. He looked up in disappointment.

“I could hurt you,” I warned.

“Right,” he scoffed. “Squeeze harder.”

“I could kill you, you know,” smiling as I slowly rose my hips. He pulled my ass back down.

“Then kill me. Just don’t stop.”

“Beg me to kill you,” I said.

“Kill me,” he said and I grabbed harder with my hands and my thighs.

“I can’t hear you.”

“KILL ME. KILL ME. KILL ME.” he tried to scream but sounded more like gasping. I tightened harder and fucked him faster and faster. He was gasping for air, but I kept riding. Die, mother fucker, die. I was cumming and I couldn’t stop. I kept riding him faster and faster and gripping his neck tighter and tighter. I could feel his pulse slowing under my fingers and then everything went white and I was floating.

The next thing I remember is Kenny gripping my wrists tight, shaking me, calling my name, bringing me back to the present moment. He sat up, holding my hands up in front of him and realized I was fighting his grasp. I stopped fighting and relaxed.

“What the hell happened to you? Where were you?” How do you explain heaven?

I rolled off of him and laid on my back, staring at the ceiling. He leaned over me. “That was so fucking intense.”

“Sorry, not sure what happened there.” Sorry came out of my mouth but I don’t think I really meant it. I mean, I don’t want to hurt him, he’s my buddy; but man that felt so good. It was like the best of both worlds. It was like killing him and fucking him at the same time, although I know I got more out of the strangling than his dick inside me.

That’s so fucked up.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said as he laid his head between my breasts. “But maybe we need a safe word for next time.”

“Next time? I don’t think so. This was a one-time thing.” When did every one become so fucking clingy?

“Are you really going to tell me you don’t want that to happen again? I know you enjoyed it; I have a soaking wet crotch to prove it.”

“I could’ve really hurt you,” I said quietly.

“I’m a big boy.”

We laid there until our breathing slowed. I stared at the ceiling and he stared at my nipple. Once I heard him snoring I was instantly annoyed. I can’t believe he fell asleep on me. Jackass. I pushed him off of me and got up, which woke him up.

“Where you going?”

“I’m not your fucking pillow; go home if you want to sleep.”

I got up and went upstairs to take a shower. I felt dirty, and not just from all the cum.

I was done and dressed and when I came back downstairs, he was still lying there naked. I grabbed my wallet and phone off the counter and got my keys off the hook in the kitchen.

“Where you going?”

“To get a beer,” I put on my coat and headed for the door. Suddenly he was awake now.

“Wait for me.”

“Hurry up.”

“Can I least jump in the shower so I don’t smell like sweat and cum?”

“Go ahead.” He ran up the stairs and as soon as I heard the shower turn on, I was out the door.

CHAPTER 16

I walked in the bar, threw two twenties on the counter and told Tracy I wanted to get drunk. She tossed back her long black hair and laughed. That was her thing. I’d seen her do it a thousand times and it always looked like the first time.

She set a Bud Light on the counter and opened it for me.

“So, what are we drowning this time, sorrows or bruises? What happened to your face?”

“Work, no big deal.”

She leaned over the counter and there were the ‘girls’ staring me in the face. I definitely missed my chance there. Not that she’s into girls, but there were a few drunken nights in college I could have had her. I guess it’s better I didn’t or I’d have her clinging to me too.

“Hello,” she said trying to get my attention. “My eyes are up here.”

“Sorry. It has been a really fucking weird week.”

“Tell me about it. I could use some drama besides my own.” Well, I got smashed with a 2x4, killed someone, almost fucked Lanie, and did fuck one of my best friends.

That about wraps it up.

“My week has been so beyond drama, you wouldn’t believe half of it.”

We both turned as the door opened and in walked Kenny, hair soaking wet and out of breath.

“Fuck.” I chugged the rest of my beer and pointed to bring me another. She waited until Kenny sat down before she even moved.

“Thanks for leaving me, jackass.” I couldn’t look at him. I stared at Tracy and motioned for my beer. Again. She went to the cooler but never took her eyes off us.

“Do you want anything Kenny?”

“The same. Can we get some shots too?”

“Anything in particular or just whatever I decide to give you?” She set our beers down in front of us.

“Man, what is up with you ladies? Are you both PMSing?”

“She’s not a mind reader, ass. What do you want?” I blame this on this ‘getting in touch with your feminine side’ that makes these new-age males so fucking sensitive.

Buck up, buttercup, and grow a pair.

“Tequila, and pour one for yourself,” he said as he looked her up and down. Still a man after all, I guess. He could at least be a little subtle.

“Thanks, but I’m working.” She gave us our shots, a bowl of lemons, and a shaker of salt. He picked up the salt and was about to lick his hand and looked over at me.

“Wanna make it interesting?” Him and that devilish smile. He was so fucking cute. He was even cuter when he was on stage singing with his band Sraw Rats. Star

Wars backwards. He had that kind of presence that makes all front men fuckable, the smoldering way his eyes bore into you, the lanky swagger, the snarky grin. He just wasn’t that great of a singer. Good enough for a garage band, just not for radio.

“Uh, no. I don’t want you touching me.” We licked our own hands, salted, toasted, and just before we drank he said, “You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Tracy heard him and her eyes got wide. I scowled at her, my warning to shut the fuck up.

“I gotta take a piss.” Kenny got up and headed for the bathroom and Tracy wasted no time in calling me out.

“Did you fuck him?”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe. Either you did or didn’t.” I motioned for another shot and smiled. “You whore. When did this happen?”

“About an hour ago,” I said and downed another shot. I motioned for another.

“I’m confused. Well, I think you’re more confused than I am.”

“It’s just sex. I was horny and he was there. That’s all. He caught me in the heat of the moment, you could say, and I needed some relief.”

“He caught you masturbating? Classic. I changed my mind, I do need a shot.”

“No, he didn’t catch me masturbating. I had company and he walked in on us right before clothes started coming off and she freaked out and left. Yada yada yada.”

We, licked, drank, and sucked this time.

“There’s no yada yada yada in this story sister. Who was the girl?”

“Just a girl. Another beer please.”

“Was it Lanie?” she teased.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I just fucked one of my best friends and now I will never be able to look at him the same way again.”

“Is he all hairy?”

“I thought he would be too, but he’s not. I think he shaves his chest.”

“What was it like doing a guy after being with women?”

“It was actually pretty intense. I just focused on his hair.” And his neck. And my hands on his neck. And my hands tightening around his neck. I downed my beer and motioned for another.

“You sure this was a one-time thing?”

“Definitely.” I sounded surer than I was. Who else could I strangle and fuck at the same time. Not a lot of women into that. I would bet Lanie isn’t into that.

Kenny came out of the bathroom and we were both staring at him.

“What?” he asked, and we burst into laughter.

“Well, with the long hair and skinny legs, he does look a little feminine,” Tracy said.

“Who’s feminine? I know you aren’t talking about Lanie.” He sucked down his shot and I punched him in the stomach when he sucked his lemon and he choked.

“What happened to, ‘she’s too young’, ‘I would only break her heart’?” asked

Tracy.

“Yeah. She told me the same thing,” said Kenny. “’She just wants a mentor.’

Yeah. The only thing she was teaching her was pussy 101.” I hit him again and he spilled his drink; I couldn’t help but laugh. The shots were kicking in and I was feeling too good to be mad. And he was right.

The drinks kept flowing and when I got up to pee, I nearly fell over. I went to the bathroom and when I got back, Kenny was halfway over the bar trying to sweet-talk

Tracy. I grabbed my jacket and waved goodbye.

“Hey ladies. There’s plenty to go around for everyone,” he said outstretching his arms and pointing to himself.

“As much as I would love to see Tracy naked, I’m drunk, I’m tired and I would like to have one friend that I haven’t fucked. Goodnight, Tracy. I’ll leave the door unlocked for you Kenny.”

“Tell momma hello for me tomorrow,” said Tracy. Fuck. I completely forgot about that.

CHAPTER 17

Oh. My. God. I think my wish is coming true. I am dying. Right here. Right now.

It’s not how I imagined it. No glorious blood flowing from my wrists. No wind in my hair as I sail from the top of Fenn Tower. No splattered brains on the wall. Just me, here on the bed in my own stink. Now I remember why I don’t get completely shit-faced anymore.

Oh, there he is, my old friend coming up my throat to visit. Hello vomit. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom. I almost didn’t make it to the toilet before I emptied what I could only imagine was everything I ingested this past week. I threw up until I was dry heaving and laid there on the bathroom floor. The cold tile felt good on my face. If I could die here, right now, that would be fine. My head was killing me and I really needed some water but I couldn’t get myself off the floor. I don’t even know how long I’d been lying there when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Are you alright?” There are angels and they look like Lanie; tall, blond and tight as fuck.

“Nothing a lot of aspirin and water won’t cure.” I sat up and leaned my back against the wall. “How’d you get in?”

“You really need to learn to lock your door,” she said.

“So, what brings you here? You wanna pick up where we stopped last night when you ran out the door on me. That wasn’t very nice you know.”

I pushed myself up off the floor and stood next to the sink, mainly to hold me up.

My head was pounding and I really needed some food. I grabbed a bottle of Tylenol and downed five of them.

“What did you expect?” That was a good question. It’s probably good she left. I put some toothpaste on my toothbrush and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like shit.

“I don’t expect anything, Lanie.” I was too tired and sick for this right now.

“Maybe it’s good we got interrupted.” I knew it was stupid as soon as it left my lips. I shoved my toothbrush in my mouth before I added another appendage to my foot. I could see tears welling up in her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I brushed my teeth and stared at her. I didn’t know what to say. This is why I don’t want a girlfriend. Oversensitive. And you can’t hide shit from women; they always know when something’s up. I rinsed my mouth out and watched the suds go down the drain.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I do know I need a shower.” I turned the water on without looking at her. I almost fell over taking off my socks. Luckily, she caught me. My head was buried in her chest and I could feel her heart racing. She smelled good. She sat me down on the toilet seat and took my socks off. I held up my arms and she lifted my shirt above my head. She was trying not to look at my naked chest, which was just too cute. I wouldn’t have been so shy or nice. And she was being so nice, so of course I had to ruin it.

“You can touch ‘em if you want. But I am way too nauseous to touch yours right now.”

“You can be a real asshole, you know?”

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” I started laughing. I have a habit of doing that at inappropriate times. She, however, did not find it funny and I knew this because she picked me up and threw me in the shower. Not set me in the shower, but full out tossed me in so hard I smacked the back of my head on the back of my shower. I was just glad I got rid of that porcelain tub. When the water hit me, I threw up again, all over myself.

“You need help,” she said and left me to wallow in my own puke. I’ve been hearing that lately, too.

Once I finally got myself cleaned up, I felt a little better. I opened my dresser drawer to get a shirt and there was the skin, still wrapped in the paper. I opened it up and rubbed it between my fingers. It was dry and firm and it felt good in my hands. I put it in my pocket.

I headed downstairs and on the stove was a McDonald’s bag and coffee. She may think I’m an asshole, but she thinks enough of me to leave me breakfast.

CHAPTER 18

“Hello mother,” I said. Nothing.

“How are we today?” I asked as I sat across from her. Nothing.

“I got the new Poets & Writers today. Your favorite.” Nothing.

“Let me see your nails.” She held them out for me on her lap. They still looked good. Working in the prison library didn’t do much damage to the polish.

“So, I filled out all your papers. I have another visit with the shrink tomorrow.

That should be fun. The first one was a laugh riot. I don’t understand why they have to bring up all this old shit. Can’t we just focus on what’s next instead of something we can’t do anything about?” I opened the magazine but didn’t start reading. I looked at her.

I tried to read something in her eyes.

I lowered my voice to barely a whisper and got close to her ear.

“I want to tell you something. I can’t tell anyone else. You’re the only one who will understand. I really need to talk about it before I explode.” I leaned in further so I was certain she was the only one that would hear. I killed someone, is what I wanted to say. I liked it, is what I wanted to say. I want to do it again, is what I wanted to say. But the words wouldn’t come out. “I’ve been dreaming about Bobby,” is what left my lips.

Did she just stop breathing for a moment? Did she twitch? I looked at her face and I swear I could see a flicker of something. “I know you heard me.” I leaned in again. “I see him hanging from the noose.” Nothing. I leaned in again. “I need to know what happened.” I leaned back to look at her eyes. If she was in there she wasn’t showing it.

I watched her face as I continued.

“I think about me in his place.” Nothing.

“I think about the knife.” Nothing.

“I think about the blood. I think about the dark red blood. It’s soothing.” Nothing?

I was hoping for something. Anything. But nothing.

I was almost home when my cell phone rang. It was the prison psychiatrist.

“Hello Miss Collins. This is Dr. Drake.”

“Yes, Dr. Drake. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering what happened with your mother today?”

“The usual. Why?”

“She’s crying.” He said it so softly I thought I must have misheard him. I pulled over to the side of the highway so I could concentrate.

“What did you say?”

“She’s crying. Your mother is crying.”

Holy fuck.

After I got off the phone, I got out of my van and walked around to the other side and paced back and forth along the gravel berm. She heard me. She heard me. She had to fucking hear me. Why else would she be crying? I knew she was in there. Well, I hoped she was in there and mother fucker, she is.

I was still pacing when I saw the lights. Bright red and blue flashing lights, pulling up behind my van. Fuck. Shit. My heart was pounding now. I could feel my face getting hot.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

The cop car pulled up behind my van and two cops got out. I didn’t look at their faces right away but I could tell one was male, one was female.

“Everything okay over here?” asked the male cop as he made his way to the back of my van. Well, if this was it, at least I had some good news before I got arrested.

Somehow, it made me feel a little better about it. I slowly walked toward the back of my van, my hands in plain view. He was standing there, hand on gun, ready. The female cop was approaching me from the front of my van, having circled around and now behind me.

I was so focused on him, I didn’t even know she was there until she spoke.

“Did you break down?” Odd question to ask someone you were about to arrest for murder. I wasn’t even sure I could talk but I opened my mouth anyway.

“I pulled over to take a phone call,” was all I got out. The male cop relaxed and took his hand off his gun.

“Oh. We saw the van and you over here and thought maybe you needed some help.” I let out a breath and relaxed a little myself. I walked over to him where he was standing behind my van and the female joined us.

“Alexis.” I let out a breath as I heard her familiar voice. It was Jenny, my old friend from school. We had been pretty close growing up, but lost touch after I left for college. I had lost touch with a lot of my old friends. Me and Jenny ran into each other here and there, but I couldn’t go back, especially after everything happened with my mother and Jenny was the one who responded to the 911 call. It just felt strange. I hadn’t seen her in a couple years; the last time at her mother’s funeral. Not the best place to catch up.

“Jenny, how are you?” I asked.

The male cop left us to call in and let dispatch know what was going on. After, he leaned on the back of the squad car and lit a cigarette while we talked. I was still nervous, but seeing Jenny made me feel a little better. And the fact I wasn’t in the back of the cop car with handcuffs on didn’t hurt.

“Is everything alright? We don’t usually get people stopped to take a phone call.

Most people just keep driving.”

“It was about my mother,” I told her.

“How is she?”

“She cried today.” She curled up her face. “For a woman who hasn’t shown any sign of emotion for fourteen years, that’s so fucking huge.”

“That’s good then.”

“I still can’t believe it. I want to drive back but visiting hours will be over by the time I get there.”

“Anything I can do?”

“No. Thanks though. Hopefully, she’ll be coming home soon.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“It’s funny to hear a cop say it’s good a murderer is being released,” I said.

“A cop who knew your mother well. I’m still not sure she deserved the time she got. There had to be a good reason for her to do what she did. It was so out of character for her. She wrote poetry, for fuck’s sake. I remember how nice she was and how she made the best chicken noodle soup.” She smiled and leaned against the van next to me, holding up her hand and making the shape of an O. “And she would serve it with those little oyster crackers. I always thought they were so fancy.”

“I guess you never really know what’s going on in someone’s head, do you?”

“Did you ever find out why she did it?” That didn’t take long. That’s one of the things I always liked about her, though, she was always right to the point.

“No.”

“There had to be a reason. I never knew your mother to be crazy.” Did that make me crazy too?

“You don’t have to be crazy to kill someone,” I said defensively.

“No, that’s true. I just meant it was shocking. Your mother was so level-headed.

She seemed to have it all together. I always admired how she always seemed to have control over everything. Nothing out of order. She was fucking perfect.”

“Maybe that was the problem.” Maybe it was. I couldn’t take any more questions, even from her. “Well, I’m sorry to make you stop. I’ll get going. It was really nice to see you. Maybe we can get together for a beer and catch up somewhere not on the side of the road.”

“We should. And I actually do mean it.” I didn’t. And then she was giving me her number so I had to give up mine. Maybe she was just being nice. Hopefully, she was just being nice. I didn’t need a cop nosing around, especially one so close to home.

CHAPTER 19

“She what?” asked Tracy into the phone.

“She cried.”

“I am so happy that your mother cried Alex.” That sounded weird.

“So, I should tell the therapist that, right? That I am happy that my mother cried.

I’m on my way in right now.”

“Just be honest, Alex. She needs to know you feel something and I know you do.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious. I’m not saying vomit fourteen years of pain into her lap, I am saying give her something so she knows you’re not a shell.”

“I gotcha.”

“Good luck. And congratulations. By the way, what did you say to her?”

“I took your advice. I was honest.”

“Good morning Dr. Finch,” I said smiling. I sat down on the flowered couch across from her and my eye was immediately drawn to the wood-framed mirror behind her. It was painted dark gray and was slightly off from the straight lines on the white painted paneling it was hanging on.

“So, it looks like some progress has been made with your mother.” How the fuck did she already know?

“Way to steal my thunder Doc. I was going to open with that.”

“Do you see this as a show?”

“Don’t do that. I’m feeling too good to let you ruin it.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to.” She seemed sincere, but you can never be sure with mind fuckers. They are master manipulators. “Did something happen with your visit?”

“Just talked, as usual. Well, I just talked.”

“What do you talk to her about?”

“Just stuff.”

“Stuff?” I was trying to follow Tracy’s advice but I really wasn’t sure what the right answer was. Be honest. Tracy’s words ringing in my ears.

“You know, just stuff.” Murder, mayhem, how I like strangling people. “I tell her about what’s going on in my life, the house, work. I read to her.”

“So what do you think happened yesterday that caused the breakthrough?”

I could tell her about Bobby, about the dreams, but I had to be careful of what she might use against me.

“Not sure. Maybe she is excited about getting released. Maybe it’s finally sinking in.”

“How did you feel when Dr. Drake called?” How do you feel? How do you feel?

How do you feel? She needs a new fucking question. Be honest.

“I couldn’t believe it.”

“Keep talking,” she encouraged. The mirror frame had exes etched in between the lines, making it look like a game of exes and ohs, without the ohs. A crooked game of exes and ohs. I looked back at her.

“I was happy. Really…happy.”

“It sounds like that’s not a feeling you have too often.” How about not at all. Give her something, Alexis. Yes, Tracy.

“I’m not sure I know what happy is anymore.”

“What do you mean?” What do you mean, what do I mean? Was I speaking

Chinese?

“What don’t you get?” She looked down at my hands, which were clenched together in my lap. I wanted to put my hand in my pocket and touch the thing I knew would make me feel better but I couldn’t without making a production out of it. I’d been keeping the skin there now, in my pocket. Just knowing it was there made me feel better.

Touching it made me feel calm.

“What is happy to you?”

“Happy is happy. I don’t know. Feeling good.” Every muscle in my body was tightening. Happy. I don’t know what the fuck that means. We sat quiet for what seemed like a fucking eternity but what was probably only fifteen seconds. I could hear muffled voices through the walls. The longer she stared at me the more tense I got. I knew she could see it and I was trying to breathe myself down.

“What do you think happy means?” I asked her.

“I think it’s different for everyone. For some people happy means all sunshine and rainbows, for some it’s living a fulfilling life, and for others happy means making it through the day without killing themselves.”

“That’s not happy, that’s surviving.” It was out before I thought about it. I let out a deep breath and felt my body relax a little. She saw it. She sees everything. Constantly watching every little motion I make; reading something into every movement.

She’s staring again. I can’t take the silence when she does that. Her eyes staring into mine. Through mine. Trying to look inside my head. It was like being brain raped.

“The house is coming along,” I blurted out. I had to say something.

“Good.”

“The living and dining rooms are almost done and mom’s room is next. It will be all ready by the time she gets out.”

“Do you think you are ready for her to get out?”

“More than ready.”

“Have you thought about how it’s going to be taking care of someone who doesn’t communicate? It can be quite frustrating on a day to day basis.” Not as frustrating as sitting in this tiny little office, with that crooked frame staring at me. It was at least an

1/8” off from the groove in the paneling. How could she leave that like that?

“It’s not about me, it’s about her.”

“It’s about both of you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“It is.”

“I don’t know what you want from me,” I said through clenched teeth.

“I just want to know you understand what you will be dealing with.”

“Just tell me what you want to hear so you’ll sign the papers so my mother can come home. I just want her home.” I could feel the tears, but I was fighting them back down.

“I can’t help you Alexis, if you won’t let me.”

“You know what would help me? Send someone to mud my drywall. That would really help me.” I could tell she didn’t appreciate that by the sigh she let out and the disappointed mother-like stare she was giving me. I can read body language too. “Help my mother get home. That would help me.”

I was done for today.

CHAPTER 20

I shouldn’t have been surprised when they came knocking on my door. Two male detectives. One black. One white. Two jackets. Two ties. Two guns; that I could see. Just like on Law and Order. I half expected Lenny Brusco to pop out and make some random smartass line like only Lenny Brusco can do.

I shut Max in the bedroom, threw on a dress, and went downstairs to open the door. They introduced themselves and I welcomed them in as I kept reminding myself to breathe. They sat on the couch and I stood across from them, leaning against the wall, my hand in my pocket, fingers on my security blanket, trying to look casual.

“We’re here about Rick Maccione.” Don’t act stupid. They know that game.

“The laborer?”

“Yes.” Say something.

“I thought that was done with.”

“Why do you say that?” Damn. Think.

“The business agents said he wasn’t pressing charges. All I did was push him. He was stealing stuff from my cart.” Nice save. Breathe. They thought they had me for a minute there. They’re studying me. Looking me up and down.

“You had an altercation with him?”

“Altercation sounds so serious,” I said coyly, trying to look demure and small and feminine. They didn’t move a muscle. “We were at work. I came into the room and he was going through my cart. I pushed him away and told him to stay away from my stuff and then the other laborer came in and separated us. He got laid off that day and I got laid

88 off the next because the Business Agents said I assaulted him and the company didn’t want any trouble so they laid me off.”

“Were you upset with him about being laid off?”

“He did me a favor. I needed some time off to work on this house and didn’t want to ask for it. I’ve been laid off for less. That’s how it is in construction. Especially for women.” Black cop nodded and wrote something down in his notebook and then looked up.

“Well, thanks for the information, but we aren’t here about that,” the Black detective said. I looked puzzled. Well, I hope I did. “He was murdered.”

“You’re shitting me,” I gasped. “What happened to him?” I asked, trying not to look excited.

“He was bashed in the head and then his body set on fire.” I widened my eyes, trying to look horrified. White cop clicked his pen. I cringed. It was so loud.

“Holy shit. Are you serious? I mean I didn’t like the guy, but that’s pretty vicious.” They looked at each other. What do the innocent do on Law and Order? “Wait a minute. Are you here because you think I did it?”

“We are checking all leads, ma’am, anyone who had problems with Mr.

Maccione; anyone who had been with him in the last few days. We are questioning all his coworkers, friends.” Mr. Maccione. Ha. It almost makes him sound respectable. “His name was mentioned in a police report you filed about four flat tires on a white van.”

“That was my boss who called the police. I told him it wasn’t worth it because we couldn’t prove who did it. He gave them Rick’s name because we had just had that altercation, as you called it, the day before. I’ve been broken into downtown before so I

89 chalked it up to city parking. Shit happens.” They both shook their heads in agreement.

Black cop looked around the room. Keep looking, nothing to see here.

“What happened to your face?”

Now white cop was tapping his pen on his notepad. Why wasn’t he asking any questions? Did he think the Black cop would intimidate me more? Not with that sexy bald head of his.

“Dropped a piece of drywall on my face. Hazards of home improvement.” I laughed. Sort of. They just stared. Not sure if they bought that or not. “Well, what do you need from me?”

“An alibi.” They were trying to catch me in something.

“For when?” I knew a trick question when I heard it. They told me the night it happened and I paused, looking like I was going through my memory bank. “Well, I’ve pretty much been here working on my house,” I said looking around, “or hanging out at my friend Tracy’s bar. Oh, wait. Me and my neighbor, Harry, sat around the fire, roasting some dogs and having a few beers that night after I was done working for the evening.”

“Will Harry corroborate that?” They put away their notepad and stood up.

“Don’t see why not,” I said. If he wasn’t too drunk to remember. He was drunk a lot.

“Thank you, Miss Collins, we may be in touch.”

“I’m usually here or down the street.”

I watched them walk down the front stairs and over to Harry’s. He wouldn’t let them in or they might see his nice little “garden” he has growing in his spare bedroom.

They talked to him for a few minutes and then left. Harry waited until they drove off before coming over.

“I thought they were here to bust me,” he said laughing. “What was that about?”

“Some dude from my job got murdered.”

“And they think you did it?” he laughed. “That’s funny.”

“It’s funny alright.”

“Well, I told them we were here getting drunk by the fire, so you’re all good.”

My alibi was a drunk telling the cops we were getting drunk. Who could argue with that? I laughed and said,

“Yeah, Harry, all good. Thanks.”

CHAPTER 21

After hanging the last sheet of drywall, I looked at the pile of painted woodwork in the middle of the dining room floor. The sound of the late summer rain outside set the mood for the travesty that lay in front of me. The previous owners were not kind, layers and layers of chipped paint covered the red oak trim. Max was lying next to it on his back, the fan blowing on his stomach.

“What a sin, Max,” I said to him. “Painting all that beautiful old oak.” He was upset about it too; I could see it in his eyes.

It would be a pain in the ass, but I couldn’t put it back up like that. I decided to give myself a break from the shit work and do something I might like, but I needed some good stripper and some cabinet scrapers so I headed to Woodcraft.

I shook the rain off my jacket before I opened the door. The moment I entered the store, I could smell sawdust from the class they had going on. Something about that smell just brings me down to a state of calm. The store can be overwhelming when you first walk in. Top-notch power saws, sanders, and planers in the front and rows and rows of quality tools any woodworker would love to have. A short, plump Hawaiian guy with spiky hair asked me what I was looking for. I told him I was stripping some old woodwork and he helped me pick out what I needed. He set my stuff aside on the counter and I continued to browse.

I went right over to the bins of exotic woods stacked neatly against the side wall.

Mahogany and purple heart. Four kinds of maple and wormy chestnut. I ran my fingertips

92 along every piece as I walked by. And then there it was. The bubinga. Red and white striped, like blood flowing down a freshly painted wall, making this beautiful piece of nature. It wasn’t even that big but it filled the room. I pulled it from the bin and held it flat in front of me. I traced the dark red lines with my fingertips and felt the grain beneath my skin. I felt heavy and alive in the same moment. Relaxed. Calm. It was like the warmth of hot chocolate sliding down your throat, while sitting in front of a fire, wrapped in one of my grandmother’s handmade afghans on a cold winter night.

“Gives you a hard on, doesn’t it?” I would have been pissed had I not recognized his voice. I turned around to see Santa standing there, smiling.

“Stronger than Viagra,” I said. His loud laugh echoed throughout the store.

“What are you working on?” he asked as I put the piece back in the bin. I couldn’t justify spending $32.95 on such a small piece of wood with no practical use at the moment.

“My house right now. I actually came to get something to strip my woodwork. I just got distracted.”

“You going to get it?” he asked, picking up the piece of bubinga and caressing it softly with his entire hand. He held it to his ear like he was listening to it.

“For that price, I better have a project before I buy it.”

“Sometimes you have to look at something a while for the project to present itself.”

“Humph. Never thought about it like that.” I nodded my head slowly and stared at the wood.

“Have you heard about our friend?” he asked.

“The police questioned me.”

“Me too,” he said. “Sounds like someone gave that rat fuck what he deserved.”

“Sure does,” I said. Was he insinuating something? Did he know? He couldn’t. I had to stop being so paranoid. “Well, I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Looking for paying work yet?” he asked.

“No. Just keeping busy on my house right now.”

“I can make some calls for you,” he offered.

“No, I’m good. I have a lot left to do and I kind of needed the time off.”

“Well, if you are looking for any side work, I have some stuff around my house I need done if you’re interested.”

“Maybe,” I said. He put the piece of bubinga under his arm and we walked to the counter together. We made our purchases and walked out to the parking lot.

“Here,” he said, handing me the wood.

“You got this for me? I don’t even know what I can do with it.”

“You will. Take it home. Set it somewhere you can see it. Let it fester in your brain. Eventually, you’ll figure out what to make with it. All at once it will appear in your brain when you least expect it. The thing to remember is to have a plan before you start so you don’t get stuck in the middle of it, not knowing how to finish it. And you wouldn’t want to waste any of this beauty here.”

“Thank you so much.” I held it in my hands carefully, gently.

“You can thank me by making it into something.”

“I will.”

CHAPTER 21

I got home and took the piece of wood into my workshop in the basement. It was the only organized place in my house. I held the piece of bubinga up against all the other pieces of wood I had on my shelves. I had neat stacks of pine 2x4’s and 1x6’s. I had some poplar I got from school, some random pieces of mahogany left over from the Case

Western Reserve University dorms, oak from the Cleveland Museum of Art and some walnut and cherry I picked up from a table project. I placed it on my workbench and looked at it. I took the skin from my pocket and placed it on top of the striped lumber. It looked good together. I didn’t know what I was going to build yet, but I knew it would be big.

“We’re going to need some more wood,’ I said to Max, who was lying under my workbench. His ear twitched and he yawned.

CHAPTER 22

I was just getting ready to open the five-gallon bucket of drywall mud when

Kenny texted me.

Kenny – home?

Me – yes

Kenny – can we come over?

Me – sure

It wasn’t even a minute after I hit send and Kenny was standing at my front door.

“Why didn’t you just knock?” I asked.

“Didn’t want to walk in on anything.” He half smiled and I let him in.

Kenny came in but KJ was still sitting in the passenger side of his pickup truck. I looked out the door and shrugged my shoulders at Kenny.

“His girlfriend OD’d,” he said.

“That sucks. Why’d you bring him here?”

“He won’t talk to me. I can’t get hold of his worthless mother and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe he’d talk to you.” Yeah, ‘cause it went so well the last time. “C’mon,” he pleaded. “I’ll mud these rooms for you.” Fuck.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I told him as I walked out the door.

I climbed in the driver’s seat and shut the door. KJ wouldn’t look at me.

“Sorry about Ashley,” I said. He just stared at the dashboard, his head against the window. “So. What happened?”

“Ashley got some bad stuff.” He sniffled, trying to hold back the tears.

“Who’d she get it from?” Silence. I knew the answer but I wanted him to say it.

“You can tell me or I can call my friend who’s a cop and have every fucking officer in the city of Cleveland at your school tomorrow tearing apart lockers.”

“Rose,” he barely whispered.

“I can’t hear you,” I scolded him.

“ROSE. She got it from Rose,” he said and then burst into tears. I leaned over and wrapped my body over his shoulders. I didn’t know what else to do. He cried for ten minutes, which seemed like a fucking hour. I never know what to say to people when they’re crying. What would the therapist say?

“What do you need from me?”

“To bring Ashley back.”

“Maybe Jesus can bring her back for you.” He glared at me. I guess he didn’t think that was as funny as it was to me. “I’m sorry. I tend to blurt out inappropriate things when I don’t know what to say,” I told him.

He looked up at me. “Are you gonna tell dad about Rose?”

“I think I have to. I probably should call the cops.”

“Fuck.”

“What does she have on you?” He wouldn’t answer. “You’re not fucking her, are you?”

“No!”

“Good.”

“Just a few blow jobs. But they were free.”

“What the fuck KJ? One, she is fucking nasty. And two, you have a girlfriend.”

“She wouldn’t put out.”

“There’s gotta be a dozen girls who would—“ I stopped and took a deep breath.

“It doesn’t matter. Were you buying drugs from her too?” He looked away. “Dammit KJ.

I told you not to fuck with her.”

“I know. I know. Stop fucking yelling at me.” He grabbed his head, bent forward, and started crying again. “I know. I know I fucked up. I know. I know I fucked up and now Ashley’s dead and it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

This is why I should never have kids. I grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up to face me.

“It’s not your fault KJ. You didn’t make the stuff. You didn’t force the stuff down

Ashley’s throat. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s that fucking crackwhore. And Ashley’s. This is why we tell you to stay away from that shit. Do you get it now?” He didn’t say anything.

“Answer me,” I shook him.

“I get it!”

“Good. And it’s not your fault.”

“Got it.”

“And talk to your dad. He just wants to help.”

“I know.”

We sat there for another fifteen minutes so we both could calm down a bit. Well, he was calming down, I was thinking about Rose. That fucking cunt. I told her to stay away from him. I should call the police. Maybe I’ll call Jenny. What would I tell her?

Hey, I knew this crackwhore was selling drugs to kids but I didn’t bother calling you before because my friend’s teenage kid, who buys drugs from her, asked me not to. That sounds good. Kenny won’t be pissed at all. I knew I shouldn’t have let that go. It could’ve been KJ lying in the morgue.

Maybe I can handle this myself.

CHAPTER 23

By the time Kenny and KJ left, my mind was racing and I was ready to burst out of my skin. I got in my van and went looking for Rose. I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight, I didn’t want another mistake like Pencil Douche. If I was going to do something I had to do it right. Make a plan.

I went driving around the school until I saw her, standing on the corner, bleached blond hair in a ponytail with roots two inches long. She was wearing a catholic schoolgirl uniform. Probably traded one of the students for drugs. She’s crafty, I’ll give her that.

Perfect market over here by all the catholic school kids. I watched her go in and out of an old run-down house a block over from the school. She should use some of that skank money for some new front stairs before she falls and breaks out the few teeth she has left.

I parked around the corner, put on a hoodie with the hood up and took a walk down the street to scope it out closer.

It’s a typical old colonial. Looks like there’s a side door. The back is fenced in with a six-foot wood fence that looks like it could use a coat of stain, or be torn down.

The gate was hanging off the hinges and the whole side was slanted about twenty-five degrees. There’s probably a back door also. I really needed to get inside. I hung back at the corner and waited.

A young girl came walking out quickly and looking around to make sure no one saw her. She headed towards me. She passed by me and the overwhelming smell of weed smacked me in the face. I waited until she rounded the corner, out of sight of the house

100 and stopped her. I tried to avoid looking right at her while we talked. I didn’t want her seeing me too well.

“Is her stuff any good?” I asked.

“You a cop?”

“No, I’m not a cop. Just looking to buy and wanted to make sure it was cool.”

“Her stuff is okay. Cheap anyway.”

“Who else lives there?”

“It’s just her. But she’s packing some serious heat in there.”

“Is that where she does her sex stuff too?”

“Why, you interested?”

“Maybe. I just didn’t want to get all cozy and get gang-raped by her entourage.”

“Ha. I don’t think anyone would want to work with her. She’s kind of a bitch. I wouldn’t fuck her though. She’s kind of nasty. I am sure you can do better.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said softly.

“How much you willing to pay?” That woke me up.

“Are you offering?”

“I could do you better than that skank and I’m clean.” I don’t remember the girls in school acting like this when I was there.

“How old are you?”

“How old do you want me to be?” I had to get out of here before I slit her throat to save her from the life of slutdom she was headed for.

“Do me a favor. Get a job. A real job, not this kind of job. You’re a cute girl. Stop hanging out with Rose and get your shit together because if you don’t you’re gonna end

101 up just like her,” I told her as I handed her a twenty. “Now get the fuck out of here before

I call your mother.”

“Your loss,” she said. I just shook my head as she walked away.

On my way home, I got a phone call from Lanie, not a text, an actual phone call, which I ignored. When I pulled in my driveway, I saw she left a message:

“Hey, sorry I left you like that the other day, but I was pretty mad. I would have called sooner, but I really didn’t know what to say. I don’t really know what to say now, except that I miss talking to you and seeing you and if it means we can’t be together for that to happen, then I can live with that. I would rather see you as friends than not at all even though that’s not what I want, but if that’s what you want I’ll deal with it. It’s my problem, not yours. Anyway, I’m gonna hang up before I make more of a fool of myself.

Call me if you want.”

I hate women. They know just how to pull at your guilt. Friends with Lanie.

That’s what we had been until the other day, why couldn’t we go back to that? We never actually had sex. Actually, it was better than sex. It was amazing. I should call her. I picked up the phone but stopped before I hit the talk button. I looked down at the picture staring back at me from my phone. You will eat this girl alive, Alexis. You will break her heart into a million little fucking pieces and then crush them with your work boots. Oh, but she’s just so fucking cute. Incredibly fucking cute. I remembered the feel of her lips on mine. That tongue. Oh, I could imagine what she could do with that tongue. Great, now I was horny. Stop thinking about her. That’s all I have to do, stop thinking about her.

It was hard but I restrained myself from calling her. I’d sleep on it.

102

By the time I got in my house I had worked myself into a frenzy and had to do something with my hands. I took Max for a walk, hoping to burn off some energy, but it didn’t help. After weighing my options between stabbing Rose to death tonight, fucking

Lanie or some random person or myself or being productive, I chose the latter two. After a quickie with myself to bring me down a little, I moved on to being productive and got a coat of mud on my walls. It was a pain in the ass, and tedious, and I hated every minute of spreading that white pasty goo on the wall, the knife scraping against the paper finish.

But at least it’s started.

103

CHAPTER 24

I woke up at 3 a.m. and kept trying to chant myself to sleep.

Sleep, sleep, sleep.

I have another coat of mud to do.

Sleep.

Then I have to sand it.

Sleep.

I have to go get paint.

Sleep.

I should probably make some calls for work.

Sleep.

Lanie called.

Sleep…

Fuck. I might as well get up now. I remember reading an Erica Jong book and in it, the character said you could beat insomnia by showing it you don’t need sleep, so just get up. I rolled over and looked at Max lying beside me, snoring away. Great. At least someone’s getting some sleep. I stared at him, willing him to open his eyes. Didn’t work.

I got up and made some coffee. I checked the mud and it was dry so I got my taping knives from the basement and geared up for round two. It went faster than the first coat, which I was grateful for, even with me redoing spots over and over. The thing with drywall mud is you need to knife it on and let it dry, but I keep going over and over it until it’s perfect – which it never will be – and I end up just screwing it up more. But I

104 can’t see paying someone to do something I can do myself. I have to force myself to walk away. I turned on the ceiling fans. Hopefully it would dry fast so I could finish this today.

I took all the trim to the garage, laid out the pieces, and put some stripper on them. While I waited for it to work its magic, I went up to my mother’s future room, hopefully, and took it in. I hadn’t touched this room yet and had it closed up all summer, so the smell of dirt and dust was strong. It smelled old. The wallpaper was in shreds. I don’t know how the fuck it happened; it looked like a herd of bobcats had a fight in here.

Aside from that, it wasn’t too bad. The trim wasn’t painted, so that will save some time.

No major holes in the walls. The wood floors looked like they just needed a good cleaning.

I sent a text to Kenny to ask him to borrow his wallpaper steamer. It was 6 a.m. I figured he’d be up for work by now.

Me – Can I borrow your wallpaper steamer?

Kenny – Sure.

Me – If you leave it on your porch, I will come pick it up.

Kenny – You have keys, I will leave it in the kitchen. Someone might steal it from my porch.

Me – You really should move.

Kenny – Yeah, because your neighborhood’s so much better.

Me – Touche.

Kenny – Were you trying to spell douche?

105

Me – Tooshay, you idiot. Just leave the steamer, I’ll pick it up sometime this morning. How’s KJ?

Kenny – Better. He finally talked to me last night. He’s alright. Still won’t talk about where she could have gotten the drugs though.

Me – Neither did we.

Kenny – TOOSHAY.

I was in the garage stripping the last bit of paint off of the woodwork when I saw

Kenny’s truck pull in the drive. I looked at my phone and saw it was 8 a.m. Why wasn’t he at work? He came into the garage, carrying the steamer. He came over and tried to hug me but I backed away.

“What’s that about?” he asked, surprised.

“We’re hugging all of a sudden?” I asked.

“Well, I thought after, you know, we were more than just friends.” He set the steamer down.

“You thought wrong. You caught me at a very, let’s say, vulnerable moment. I was pretty buzzed and you happened to walk in at a very opportune time – for you anyway.”

“I think you enjoyed it just fine,” he said. “There’s no reason we can’t be friends with benefits.” He was smiling that Kenny smile. It would be easy to be with him. I mean, there’s not many people I could strangle like that while I was fucking them, but I could very easily lose my friend if it went wrong. And if my history is right, it will go wrong. I’d rather have the friend.

106

“I don’t want to lose my friend when I fuck it up, so let’s just chalk it up to a thing that happened and move on.”

“Well, you probably would fuck it up,” he said joking, then seriously added, “but

I don’t want to lose you as a friend either.”

“Good. So, why aren’t you at work?” I asked as I stacked the last piece and picked up a pile of trim to take into the house. Kenny grabbed a pile with his free hand and followed me in the house. We set the trim down in the living room and he put the steamer on top. I looked at the mud and saw it was nearly dry.

“So, work?”

“I wanted to make sure KJ got to school alright and be able to go get him if he needed me. I don’t know what to do with him.”

“Love him. That’s all he wants.”

“I do love him.”

“Well, you need to show him. He feels like his mom is constantly abandoning him, he needs someone he can talk to.”

“He talks to you,” he said.

“Because I listen,” I said as I gathered my mudding tools from the sink where they were drying.

“I listen.”

“You parent.”

“Someone’s got to.”

“It’s easier for him to talk to me because I’m not invested like you are. But you’re his dad, he just needs to know you have his back.”

107

“I do have his back,” he said. “I have your back too.”

“Great, how about you have my back and do this last coat for me while I strip the wallpaper?” He gave me a sneer. “I’ll buy you breakfast.” I knew he couldn’t resist a free meal.

So, we went to breakfast, came back, and got to work. I really didn’t think he would, but he finished the last coat of drywall mud while I made a wet papery mess of mom’s bedroom. I walked around and inspected the bare walls. A bunch of nicks here and there, mostly from my scraping and the apparent claws, but a skim coat and we’ll be ready for paint. After he finished the living and dining room, he did the bedroom too.

Maybe I should fuck him again so I can get the other bedroom and the basement done.

108

CHAPTER 25

Kenny went to pick up KJ from school and I started sanding the dry parts. When the phone rang, I was distracted with the music I had playing and didn’t look at the number before I picked it up and answered.

“Hello Alexis,” came the screeching voice from the other side of hell.

“Hello Aunt Bernice,” I said, trying to hide the annoyance in my voice. Every time this woman calls it’s trouble. It might be coincidence or it might be she is Satan herself just looking for ways to make people miserable. I don’t know who’s worse, her or her lecherous son. I always hated going to family functions at their house when we were younger. He was a few years older than me and every chance he got, he had his hands on me, tickling me, touching me, trying to hug me. I would tell his mother and she just laughed it off,

“Oh, he’s just teasing you. That’s what cousins do.”

Yeah, cousins who fuck their little cousins. I didn’t really get it then, I just knew he creeped me out. As I got older I always made sure I had to work on days we would be going to their house just to avoid him. But there were rumors, always rumors. Of course, with her as a mother, constantly keeping him under her thumb, it’s no wonder. They always seemed a bit too close. I’m not saying something was going on, but after my uncle died, he became the man of the house.

I haven’t talked to her in six months. She called then to see how my mother was doing. I got an idea, go fucking see for yourself. She refused to go the prison after her first visit there.

109

“I just can’t stand to see her like that,” she said, while she tried to drum up some tears. Like I was supposed to feel sorry for her. Like I want to see my mother like that.

It’s always about her. She’d been calling about every six months since the call that took my mother away.

I was going to surprise Bobby. He had a poetry slam competition and I skipped classes that day to come home and see him read. It was about noon and Cleveland had already reached peak temperature of 32 degrees and the ground was covered in snow from the storm the night before. The sun made it feel warmer than it was or maybe I was just excited to see everyone. I hadn’t been home since Christmas break and I was feeling homesick. And since it was a special occasion I knew Mom would be making her crockpot brisket. I could smell it the whole car ride back from Kent State to Cleveland. It was Bobby’s favorite. Bobby always got brisket and I always got fried chicken on big days and that day was a big day for my little brother. He won second place in a poetry competition and he was going to read and they were going to air it on local TV. We were both hoping maybe Dad would finally stop making fun of him for spending time writing instead of playing sports.

I was surprised to see my Mom’s car in the drive. I wondered if she’d called in sick because it wasn’t like her to take days away from her teaching at Ben Franklin

Elementary but I figured it was just a special day. Her Ford Focus was really getting rusted but she refused to get a new car. “It still runs,” she would just say when we ragged on her about Rusty, as we called it. I grabbed my laundry bag and walked to the front door. I thought by then I would be smelling the Lipton onion soup mix broth my mom

110 always cooked her brisket in, but the only thing I smelled was the familiar scent of

Clorox, which she used to clean everything. Damn.

I opened the side door, stepped into the kitchen, and dropped my bag. Nothing was cooking on the stove and there were dishes piled in the sink, some with food still on them. That was weird. Mom must not have seen that because she was a neat freak.

“Scrape that food off your plate before you put it in the sink, that’s how you get bugs,” she would constantly have to remind us. It was strangely quiet considering both my parents were home. I could hear the motor from the fridge, but otherwise, quiet. Dad worked second shift so he would be up by now. Then it hit me, the thing I don’t like to think about, ever. They’re probably having sex. Gross. I just hope they’re in their bedroom and not in the living room or something.

“Hello?” I called before I rounded the corner into the living room. No response so

I walked into the living room. Empty. The large console big screen was black and there was an empty beer bottle sitting on a coaster on the side table next to Dad’s recliner, directly across from the TV. Other than that, everything seemed in place. The pillows on the cream couch were perfectly in place, blankets folded and setting neatly on the bottom shelf of the glass topped coffee table where they’re always folded.

I stepped through the dining room and heard a shuffling sound. Maybe it was a swishing sound. I’m not quite sure, but it was a sound. I walked up the stairs and called out hello again but no answer so I walked slow, you know, just in case. The last thing I wanted to see was my parents naked and bumping uglies. Their bedroom door was wide open and it was quiet. I glanced inside and it was empty too. Everything in their room had a place, unlike our messy rooms. All the stuff on the dresser was neat and organized,

111 even where Dad laid his wallet and keys every day when he came home from work. My mother’s artwork perfectly spaced on the wall. Flowers, trees and forest creatures carefully placed on the wall over their mahogany headboard. But something was off. The bed. The bed wasn’t made. “A well-made bed shows a well-made person.” She said the same thing about how we dressed, even if it was black leather and tennis shoes, there was a way to wear it. Neatly.

I realized the sound was coming from my brother Bobby’s room. Maybe he stayed home today. I knew they definitely wouldn’t be having sex in his room, who knows what was on those sheets. I turned and started down the hall and with every step I took, my stomach sunk a little deeper. It’s like in the movies when someone knows something is wrong but doesn’t know what and they keep walking anyway, that’s how I felt. Something wasn’t right. I could see it now, the dishes, the unmade bed, something was wrong. The swishing sounds were getting louder. Did Dad have a heart attack or something? I tried to pick up my pace down the hallway which seemed extremely long all of a sudden but my legs began turning to rubber.

“Mom? Dad?” I called but no one was answering but I knew someone was there because I could hear heavy breathing, but not like sex heavy breathing, like strained heavy breathing, like when you’re carrying something heavy or running or something. I was about a foot away when I saw the blood.

There was blood on the door jamb, the carpet, the door.

“What the fuck?” I said as I entered the bedroom and was splattered in the face with blood and I instinctively closed my eyes for a moment. I wiped my eyes and opened them and started screaming.

112

“MOM! STOP!” I ran over and grabbed my Mom, who was straddling my Dad, who was lying face up on Bobby’s bed, and stabbing him. She was stabbing him. Over and over and over again. She was breathing heavy and plunging hard, the knife making the swishing sound I heard from the hallway. All I could do was grab her from behind.

We both fell backwards on the floor and I hit my head on Bobby’s desk, knocking a black

BIC pen—the only kind Bobby liked--on the floor as she fell on top of me. She was still breathing hard and I squeezed her until I felt her limbs relax.

She dropped the knife on the floor and breathed into my body. I’m not sure how long we sat there before she finally sat up and turned to face me. I was crying and she was crying and neither knew what to do. I couldn’t even wrap my head around what I just saw.

“Oh, Alexis, are you okay?” she said as she took my face in her hands.

“Am I okay? I—“ I’m not even sure what I was going to say before she cut me off.

“I’m sorry, Alexis. I’m so sorry.” She said, tears streaming down her face.

“Mom, what happened? Did he do something?” I asked her.

She looked at him and said, “He didn’t do anything.” Then she looked back at me and wiped blood off my face. Her eyes weren’t the bright green they usually were.

Something had come in and took the light out of them. She looked like she was trying to smile but the lines on her forehead wouldn’t let her. She stood up.

She was looking at my father’s bloody body. We heard a gurgle in his throat as he took his last breath and I felt the happy that once filled this house exhale through a throat filled with blood. My Mom took a deep breath.

113

“He didn’t do anything,” she said again and walked out of the room, leaving me there on the floor, my Father’s blood smudged on the front of my blue and gold Kent

State sweatshirt, wondering what the fuck happened in the last couple months since I’d been home.

We had just been sitting around the Christmas tree eating turkey and mashed potatoes and my mother’s homemade pumpkin pie and opening presents. I could still see her smiling face as she opened the new set of oil paints we got her. She loved the oils.

Permanent. Colorful. Strong.

How the hell did we go from that to this? It made no sense. They were happy.

They seemed happy. What could my dad have possibly done to deserve this? I was just glad Bobby wasn’t home to see this. Shit. Bobby. How was I going to tell Bobby?

Bobby was probably sitting in class, silently practicing his poem while ignoring the teacher. A daydreamer. That’s what they always called him. Doesn’t pay attention, always off in the clouds. But his head was never cloudy, always crystal clear with ideas and words and blueprints. He had a very mechanical mind and it never stopped. “An artist’s mind”, my Mom always called in. “You get that from me. Our brains never stop.”

We both got our mother’s artist brain, which is why we don’t sleep well and can never stay focused. The only time Bobby could really focus is when he’s writing. I wished I had that.

The smell of cigarette smoke broke me out of my head. Who was smoking? I knew it couldn’t have been my mom, because she didn’t smoke, which is why I never told her I smoked. I shook my head and pushed myself off the ground. I tried not to look at my father’s body lying in front of me but it was hard not to. My whole body tightened

114 up and I shivered. My heart felt like it was trying to burst out of my chest and I ran out of the room.

I was at the top of the stairs when I heard a knock at the front door. Then I heard it open and then voices. Official voices. Police voices. I started down the stairs and looked over the bannister. My mother was sitting in my father’s chair smoking a cigarette and holding the cordless phone. I saw my pack of Salem Lights on the table beside his empty beer bottle. My Mother took a slow drag and didn’t even look up when the female officer, Jenny, with the long brown curly hair approached her, placing her gun back in her holster. Jenny, who had to tell me Bobby killed himself the day before. Jenny who watched my world come crashing down.

And then Aunt Bernice showed up. She came up the stairs, the short tight curls on her head wrapped in a babushka and the sun was causing a glare off her shiny freckled forehead.

“Alexis! What in God’s name happened? Anna called me and told me to come to the house,” she screeched.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Well…uh…” she stammered. Truth telling was not her strong suit.

“You don’t have to lie Aunt Bernice, I already know about Bobby and I came home and found Mom,” I looked around, suddenly aware people were watching us and

Jenny’s warning to not talk to anyone without a lawyer rung in my ears. I lowered my voice to barely a whisper and scowled to Bernice, “and found Mom stabbing Dad to death. So why don’t you tell me what the fuck has been happening here because I have no fucking idea.” I instantly regretted telling her about my Mom. She couldn’t keep a secret

115 and never missed a chance to let my Mom know how much better her suburban life and engineer husband was than my mom’s life and factory-worker husband. I didn’t even know why my mom would call her. My hands were clenched and I wanted to hit the snarky look off her face so bad. Luckily, for Aunt Bernice, Jenny showed up at that moment with another officer. She couldn’t leave so he had to take me to the station.

“I want to see my mother.”

“Okay. I will warn you. She has not spoken a word since we arrested her.”

“Of course she’s not going to talk to you without a lawyer? We watch Law and

Order. I want to see her. She’ll talk to me.”

But she didn’t talk to me. She just stared at me, twisting a thick strand of her hair between her fingers. Her eyes were glazed over like they had doped her up but they hadn’t. It was just her. Her and her empty eyes. Staring. Boring into me. Saying nothing.

After twenty minutes of me talking and her staring, they took her away. She walked out the door and I was left there. Alone. And every time I visit her, I am sitting there. Alone.

“How’s your mother?” She asked.

“She’s getting released soon,” I said.

“Really?” Quiet.

“Where is she going to live?” Oh, that’s what she’s worried about. She sure couldn’t go live with Aunt Bernice, her only sister.

“She’s coming here. She’s staying with me.” I could hear another call coming in but I ignored it.

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“How are you going to handle her? You know, with everything.” How would she know anything? She hasn’t been around to know anything. I wanted to scream at her and tell her what a selfish bitch she was, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good. I just needed to get off the phone.

“We’ll be just fine. We’re both working with a therapist and there will be home visits to make sure everything is going okay.”

“Oh. Well…good. I’m glad she’s coming home. If you need anything…” Her voice trailed off. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.

“Well now you can visit her. I know jail was difficult but now you can visit with her without the bars.” C’mon, let’s hear the excuses now.

“Well, uh, sure,” she stammered. “Let me know when she gets home.”

“I sure will Aunt Bernice. You take care now. Thanks for calling.”

Bitch.

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CHAPTER 26

I looked down at a missed call from Lanie while I ate some Doritos and Max watched me, sitting patiently, waiting, drooling, until I threw him one. I debated calling

Lanie back and thought better of it. I didn’t really need the distraction right now. So I went shopping for house supplies instead.

When I walked into Harbor Freight Tools the first thing I saw was a machete hanging on the end of an aisle. And it was on sale for $5.99. How is that possible? I picked it up, thinking it had to be pretty cheap, but aside from the black plastic handle, it had some good weight to it. So I threw it in my cart. You never know when that might come in handy.

I love this store because you never know what you’ll find. Where else can I find pet supplies, machetes and metal detectors all in the same aisle? I picked up Max a new chew toy and a rope. They must have gotten a shitload of those machetes because they were in practically every aisle, along with the enormous amount of zip ties they sold. Not only were they hanging in every aisle, but they had their own section with multiple sizes and colors. So I bought a couple packs. Red, of course.

I picked up some latex gloves and painting supplies: rollers, brushes, pans, plastic drop cloths, and such. I got some nails for my nail gun and new safety glasses. As I cruised up and down the aisles, I threw in a few items I thought might be useful, like a tarp, flashlight, duct tape and a hunting knife, like the one from Rambo. I caught a glimpse of a black duffle bag long enough to throw a baseball bat in, so I threw that in too. Just a few things to have around the house.

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As I was rolling my cart to the register I passed a display of hand planes. There were a few block planes and such, but what caught my eye was the three-pack of brass planes. They were beautiful. I pulled them off the shelf and inspected them. Each one was at a different angle and conveniently small enough – about as big as my thumb - to fit nicely in your pocket.

The costume shop was right next door so I swung in there and bought a wig and a mustache. I stopped at TJMaxx to see what else I might find. I picked up a set of knives, a new stalking outfit consisting of all black, and a few pots and pans. I might need to learn how to use something besides the microwave when mom comes home. A woman side-eyed me when we passed each other in the bathroom aisle. I wondered if I knew her from somewhere but I couldn’t place her. I was racking my brain trying to figure it out when I saw an employee do the same thing. He was not as blatant about it but I caught him out of the corner of my eye scrunching up his face at me. Then it hit me; I probably looked homeless in my stained jeans and paint splotched shirt. I hadn’t planned on going anywhere else when I left the house, so I didn’t bother to get all gussied up for the suburbs. I looked right at him and he turned his head.

“Yeah, I work for a living,” I sneered at him.

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking anything,” he stammered.

“Yeah, right,” I huffed at his little weasley self. “Someone’s gotta build these places, you know.” His eyes got wide and he tried to casually back away.

“I-I-“ he tried but I cut him off.

“Walk away little man, walk away before you embarrass yourself more.” He turned and quickly walked towards the back. This is why I avoid shopping after work. I

119 stood there looking in his direction until he was gone, him giving one last look before escaping into the back. I usually don’t say anything to these people but he just pissed me off. Can’t a girl go shopping in some dirty clothes without getting some looks? I was having a good day, too.

I trekked on and walked the art aisle, lined with various pictures and paintings, well, pictures of paintings. A bright orange and yellow one caught my eye. The artwork was half-hazardly stacked on the display, pieces on top of pieces. Tucked partially behind an Ansel Adams print was an actual painting. The back of a woman rising out of the water, holding out her arms, with this beautiful sunrise in front of her. The bright light reflecting the morning sun off her arms made her look like her skin was on fire. I knew that feeling. I turned it over to see the price and caught the title, A New Day. I threw it in my cart.

On my way home, I drove through my old neighborhood on the hunt for a little hole in the wall restaurant that sold the best Puerto Rican rice. I passed by my old school, that closed only a few years after I graduated eighth grade. The church, St. Barnabas’s, on the corner was a magnificent structure with large peaks rising out of the ground on each side of the main entrance. I pulled in the lot across the street and turned off the engine and just sat, remembering how many days me and Bobby spent in that place. He was an altar boy. He never liked doing it, but dad insisted on it. He said it was his duty.

“It’ll be good for you to do something besides play video games and writing in that notebook. I did it when I was your age. It builds character,” I remember my father

120 saying to Bobby as tears streamed down his face. “And wipe those tears off your face.

It’s just Sunday mornings, it won’t kill you.”

Above its massive wood doors, was a window larger than any other I had ever seen, with an ornate wood carving covering it, creating this artistic flower with a cross in the middle. The stone, black from age and pollution, was accented by the white painted wood on the windows and the light blue pattern of connected vees that surrounded the peaks.

We had to go to mass every Sunday when we were in Catholic school. I was never much into church but I was into the church itself. While I was supposed to be praying, I spent my time looking around in awe at the intricate stained-glass windows that surrounded us as we were enveloped in the smell of incense and spirit of the holy ghost. Holy ghost. What kind of bullshit is that? I never did get that one. All I could picture was Casper the Friendly Ghost with a halo around his head flying around the church. I went through motions and sang all the hymns but my heart was with the carved life-size statues and the painted arches along the main walkway.

The best part though, was the underground tunnel that connected the church to the rectory. It’s the kind of tunnel that horror movies are made of: low arched openings made of stone; brick walls covered in years of dust and dirt; spider webs and creepy crawly things; and the smell. That musty old, rotting corpse smell. It was the perfect place for the annual haunted house the eighth graders used to put on.

Aside from that hidden gem, it was truly an amazing piece of art itself. And now the stained-glass windows were boarded over and a for sale sign hung on the doors.

As I sat in my car, I got a call. Jenny. Holy shit.

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“This is so fucking weird that you called me right now,” I said.

“That has to be the strangest greeting I have ever gotten,” she said laughing.

“I am sitting in the parking lot across from St. Barnabas’s right now. I can’t believe you just called me.”

“Maybe it’s divine intervention,” she said. “Maybe God is trying to tell you something.” Great, another Jesus freak.

“You’re not going to start quoting the bible, are you?” was out of my mouth before I even thought about it. I may, just may, have sounded a little angry.

“No,” she said laughing, “When I left that place, I never looked back.”

We decided to meet for coffee. Why not? It would give the mud some more time to dry and this was just too weird not to go. I met her at a local place, halfway between her house in Lakewood and mine in Cleveland. It was a typical coffee shop, with awesome pastries and free Wi-Fi.

“I can’t believe it’s for sale?” she said as she ran her hands through her long curly brown hair. Something about the way she did that made me suddenly aware that I was sitting across from a cop. I wondered what she would think if she looked in my trunk right now. Huh. I wonder if that’s why she really called me. She’s just chatting me up, trying to get me to let my guard down.

“I wonder where all the nuns and priests went,” I said.

“I know Sister Mary Ann left the order. She got fed up with all the bullshit I guess. That’s what my mom told me anyway. Father Hall died a few years back.” The

122 only good priest there. “Father O’Lani died last year, of, get this, drug overdose and sexual asphyxiation.”

“No way. How come I didn’t hear about that?”

“It’s not the kind of thing they like to get out. You know, like all the pedophiles.

He wasn’t into kids though, just S and M stuff. Lots of videos and shit in his room.”

“That’s hilarious. And he was such an asshole to me. Before my confirmation, he told me I should check out some other religions before I committed myself to

Catholicism. Granted, he was right, but what a fucking hypocrite.” I shook my head and took a sip of my black coffee. Figures.

“What about father Joseph?” She cringed at the sound of his name.

“Moved around. Like a lot of them.” She didn’t say the word but I knew she meant pedophile.

“Fucker. He always creeped me out.”

“Yeah, right? He creeped everybody out,” she said looking into her coffee cup. “I think he’s at St. Jules in Rocky River now.”

“They didn’t move him very far.”

“No place would be far enough.”

My phone started vibrating. I looked down.

Lanie – Still mad at me?

I ignored it.

“So, how’s your kids doing?” I asked her.

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“Good. Brandon is just started high school this year and Marianne is in the sixth grade.” She looked like she was going to say more, then stopped. The look on her face changed and she leaned in over the table and lowered her voice. Here it comes.

“Can we get something out of the way because I am sitting here really just wanting to catch up and I can’t stop thinking about the Maccione case. I know they questioned you.”

And there it is. I took a sip from my coffee cup, trying to hide the shaking that I felt in my body.

“They did. He flattened all my tires so of course they would. They questioned my boss too.” I set my cup down slowly and put my hand in my lap. I was suddenly aware of how muffled all the background noise sounded. I could hear voices, but no words, music, but no melody. “I told them what I knew, which wasn’t much.”

“Well, you don’t have anything to worry about. The guy has more than a few people who’d want him dead. He’s been involved with the whole drug scene for years, buying and selling. His mom claims he was out of it, but we see this all the time. The parents never know what their kids are up to.”

I took a breath and my hands stopped shaking. I wrapped my hand around my cup and lifted it to my lips.

“Well, I wasn’t worried, but thanks for letting me know.” I took a swig. “And thanks for bringing it up. I was worried you brought me here to pump me for info.” I laughed as I said it, hoping it sounded like a joke.

“Yeah, right. There’s no way you could have done what they did to this guy?”

She said. Why not? I had to stop myself before I said the words aloud. “It had to take a

124 lot of force to strangle that dude to death. And that’s after they bashed his head in.” I had to tell myself not to smile at the vision in my head.

“Wow. He must have really pissed someone off.” She just nodded. My phone vibrated again, breaking the moment.

Lanie – I am an (butt crack emoticon).

I smiled and Jenny busted me.

“Whose heart you breaking this time?” she asked.

“What? Why do you assume I’m breaking someone’s heart?”

“Aw, c’mon. You’ve always been a heart breaker. Don’t get me wrong, you were always nice and treated people good, there was always just…a disconnect. You never fully gave yourself.

“Hmphh. Well, you’re right. I haven’t changed much in that department.” My phone was vibrating again.

“How bad do you want to call her right now?” I just smiled. More than I cared to admit.

“If I was smart, I would delete her number from my phone.” I could still smell her on me.

New text.

Kenny – Waddya doing?

“And then there’s this guy.”

“You haven’t changed at all.” I guess not.

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“Let me give you some advice. When you’re horny and drunk and one of your best friends offers sex, walk away. Because no matter how many times he says we can still be friends, I know that every time he sees me he’s picturing me naked.”

“And you know that because you’re picturing him naked too.”

“It was really nice seeing you again Jenny.” She laughed as I shrank.

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CHAPTER 27

When I got home, Kenny was sitting on my front porch. I grabbed the painting supplies and painting, leaving the murder kit in my trunk. I opened the front door and he followed me in.

“Where’s KJ?” I asked.

“His mom came home,” he said softly.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. She’s better at the consoling stuff than I am.” He picked up the painting I bought. “Nice.”

“I thought so.” I pounded a nail in the bare living room wall and hung it up.

“Done.”

“Who needs paint on the walls when you have a painting?”

He said he came to work, so I got out the sanders and went to work on the upstairs bedroom. Well, let him do most of the work while I cleaned up the mess and hung paint swatches on the wall downstairs. When he was done, he grabbed us both a beer and asked what was for dinner.

“I don’t know. You wanna order or should I pick something up?” I stood back and looked at the wall. “Waddya think?”

“I think I’m hungry and don’t care what we get and I like the green,” he said. We?

“Me too.” I looked at all the swatches placed on the wall in a perfect pattern.

Different shades of green, orange, beige, and blue with a random pink thrown in. How’d that one get in here?

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It made me think of Rose and her short skirt and nasty fucking teeth. I could feel my jaw clenching at the thought of her fucking herpeed pink lips on KJ’s dick. I wonder how many more of those kids she was fucking with and how many of them she killed with her fucked up meth she was selling. I needed some reds.

I straightened the orange for a third time and stood back again.

“It doesn’t make it look any better if you straighten it a hundred times.”

“Sure it does,” I moved the swatch from the living room wall to the dining room wall.

“The orange is just as ugly in here,” he said.

“I like the orange. Maybe just a darker shade.”

While we stared at the orange, Max started barking, knowing before we did that someone was at the back door. Who the fuck is here now? One day. I would like one day with some fucking peace and quiet. Kenny could see I was annoyed since I didn’t move from my spot to answer the door, so he did it. I was still staring at the swatch when he came back in the dining room. What was it about the orange I couldn’t shake?

“I like the orange.” I spine tightened at the sound of her voice. Calm down. Relax.

No reason to panic. Breathe. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. God, she smelled good. I could feel her breath on the back of my neck as she towered over me. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. Just don’t touch – she put her hand on my shoulder as she leaned in to get a better look. Fuck. Relax. Relax. Relax. “Of course, the beige is nice too, if you like boring.” She stood upright again and took her hand off my shoulder.

“What is up with you dykes and the orange?”

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“I just like the orange,” said Lanie. “It is the color of the sex chakra, you know.”

Not another yogi. A chick I was fucking around with in college dragged me to a couple yoga classes and I hated every minute of it. All that hippie-dippie get in touch with your feelings crap was annoying. The only good thing I got out of it was how to breath myself down; and a few amazing orgasms. “And it matches the painting.” She pointed to the painting I bought. Ah, that’s why I like the orange. “Maybe put the orange in the bedroom.” I couldn’t see if she was smiling, but it sure sounded like it. I had to get out of there.

I smelled fried something and went into the kitchen and saw KFC bags on the stove.

“Thanks for bringing dinner,” I said. Why did she bring dinner? I could see if I called her back but for her to just show up, with food. A bit stalkerish for me. Now I know I need to pull back from her. But I wasn’t going to turn down food. I was starving.

We all made plates and sat down at the card table I set up in the dining room.

“So what made you decide to just drop by with food?” I couldn’t help myself.

“Kenny said you guys would be here, so I told him I would come help and he said only if I brought food.” I leered at him and he just smirked.

“So you two pen-palling now?”

“No, we’re on the same job,” she said. Then she finally got it. “You didn’t tell her

I was coming?” She threw a roll at his head. It bounced off, he grabbed it and took a bite.

“I must have forgotten,” he said with his mouthful.

“You’re an asshole,” she said to Kenny. She looked at me. “I’m sorry. I should have known better since you never called me back. I’ll go.”

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She started to get up from the table but I grabbed her arm before I even thought about it. I knew I should let her go, but I couldn’t. I mean, I literally, physically couldn’t let her go. My hand was frozen in place. She looked at me, waiting for me to say something. How long was I holding her arm?

“You don’t have to go. We were actually going to go get paint if you want to do that.” She looked at Kenny then back at me.

“Are you sure,” pleading in her eyes.

“Yes.” She could see I meant it so she sat down and I swear I heard a sigh of relief. “And I’m sorry I haven’t called you back. I’ve had a lot going on.” I looked up at her glassy eyes. They were the kind of sky blue you could lose yourself flying in.

“She can’t eat if you don’t let go of her arm,” said Kenny, I am sure feeling a more than a little uncomfortable.

“What, Jackass?” He motioned to my hand, which was still holding her arm tightly. “Oh, sorry,” I said as I jerked my hand back. Get it together Alexis. Eat your food. Eat your food and don’t look at either of them.

I had to break the tension in the room, so I told them about seeing Jenny and St.

Joseph’s.

“It’s for sale,” I said, just making conversation. “It’s really a cool building.”

“You going to start your own church?” joked Lanie.

“Hers would be more like a cult,” said Kenny. “I could see it now. A huge church filled with atheists bitching about the Catholics. It would be just like catholic church except no kneeling.”

“Whatever ass. I was just making conversation.”

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I finished my potatoes and took my plate into the kitchen. I grabbed a glass of water and stood in the doorway, looking at the two of them. Kenny was facing me and

Lanie had her back to me. If I could just meld them into one person, I could have the best of both worlds. Her body and his swagger. Humph. This was weird. Kenny motioned to the door with his eyes and I shook my head no. I didn’t want him to leave us alone. I wanted them both to leave. I had so much to work out with Rose that this distraction was putting me on edge. I put my hand in my pocket and found my friend. It was hard, but felt good as I rubbed it between my fingers, my heart rate slowing with each stroke.

“Are you really considering buying it?” asked Lanie.

“I would just be interested in how much a church goes for,” I said.

Lanie turned around to look at me.

“Are you really an atheist?” Here we go. Yet another reason I don’t like getting close to people. They’re always judging you.

“I’m going to Lowe’s to get paint,” I blurted out and grabbed my keys.

I walked out of the house and got in my van.

“I’ll come with you,” Lanie said as she climbed into my passenger seat. Then the side door opened and Kenny jumped in. I took a deep breath, put the key in the ignition, and started the van.

“If I hear one word about religion or god, I’m throwing you both out.” Why is everyone so obsessed with religion? If people spent more time worrying about themselves and doing what’s right instead of separating people with labels, then the world would be a much better place. It may have been weird, but no one spoke the whole way to Lowe’s and back and I was good with that.

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When we got back, Lanie went up to the bathroom, which gave me a chance to scold Kenny.

“Why did you invite her?”

“I felt bad about scaring her away the other night and since your little speech the other day, I thought I would make it up to you.”

“Next time, don’t.”

“I thought you liked her?”

“I just don’t want her to get hurt,’ I said.

“So don’t hurt her jackass,” he told me as he took off his coat.

I was putting drop cloths down on the living room floor when Lanie came back downstairs. Kenny was in the dining room doing the same. She came over to me.

“I’m a big girl. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” She said it and walked away. I really didn’t need this shit today.

On a positive note, Painting done.

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CHAPTER 28

While Rose was hitting up the school kids, I went to her house to check it out.

There was a back door liked I hoped there would be. Wood fence. Nice privacy back there. I tried the back door and it was unlocked. The smell of stale perfume, stagnant smoke, and body funk hit my nose and I gagged. I looked around the kitchen, which was surprisingly very clean and organized, despite the odor. I listened but did not hear any noise, so I continued on.

I was suddenly aware that very part of my body was charged up. And I was smiling. My heart was pounding, but in a good way. I was excited to be stalking a crackwhore; excited to be walking through her house, planning where I would slit her throat. Planning where I would lay the plastic so the beautiful red blood doesn’t seep into the beautiful hardwood floors. I don’t remember the last time I was this excited about anything.

The whole house was spotless. And nice. Really nice. I can’t believe she brings johns back here to fuck. Into the dining room, my eye was drawn to her built-in china cabinets and her awesome thick wood table. I really need to get some furniture. I wonder where she got that table. It was awesome. And the longer I was in there, the less I smelled the funk. Just like pet odor or paint smell, the longer you’re in it, the less you smell it.

The rest of the house was just as nice. Upstairs there were two bedrooms. One set up for her and one looked like a party bedroom. There were lotions and condoms and various dildos and toys on the nightstand and it smelled like cum. I thought K.J. said she

133 had a kid. Shouldn’t one of these rooms be set up for them? You know, should she ever get them back? I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? The kid is better off without her.

In the closet in her bedroom, she had a locked cabinet and a safe. Must be where the drugs and money are. The lock on the drug cabinet would be nothing. I wish I knew how to crack a safe. I wonder if Kenny did. That wouldn’t work. If I learned anything from watching Discovery ID, never involve anyone else. Someone always caves. My text ringtone went off and reminded me I had to get out of there before she came back.

Kenny – Ready to come back to work?

I didn’t really want to, but I knew I needed to get back to work though, for my mother’s sake, and I could use the cash. Dad’s money wasn’t going to go that far and I can’t let a crackwhore have nicer furniture than I have. Doesn’t seem right.

Me – Yes

Kenny – Tomorrow. I’ll call you later with details.

Me – Okay

I studied the party room, mentally noting every detail. Like a blueprint, the plan began to form in my head. I saw it all; from where I would stand to attack her, how I would grab her, how to hold the knife, where I would lay her down for her last dying gasp. Clarity, what a beautiful thing.

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I left out the back door and carefully made my way to the street. I walked to the end of the block and as I was rounding the corner, I passed her. I held my breath and put my head down, hoping she didn’t remember me. Luckily, she was too busy texting to even notice me.

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Chapter 29

I sat down at the bar and Tracy set a beer and a menu down in front of me.

“You seem chipper,” she said.

“Chipper? Did I go back in time?”

“Haha. What are you so happy about?”

“Very productive day.”

“Good. It’s nice to see you smiling.”

“Feels good to smile.”

“How’s momma?” And there went my smile.

“I guess fine. I haven’t been able to get in to see her. I am done redoing her room though. Just need some furniture.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah,” I said and took a swig.

“You don’t sound very excited?”

“I am. I’m just worried how I’m going to take care of her. I’m not even sure I can leave her alone. What happens when I’m at work?”

“Maybe get someone to watch her?”

“A babysitter?”

“A caregiver.”

“Same thing.”

“A babysitter is for children. A caregiver is for adults.”

“Semantics.”

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“It’s all in how it sounds.” I pointed to the grilled cheese and fries on the menu and handed it back to her. My usual.

“You sound like the therapist,” I said.

“How’s that going?”

“Well, I think your advice might be working. She seemed happy with my

‘opening up’” air quotes, “last time.” She shook her head at me.

“I wish you would give this a chance. She might be able to actually help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You just said you needed help.”

“I never said those words.”

“Semantics.”

I had nothing.

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CHAPTER 30

“Hello Mother,” I said as the door locked behind me, my body flinching at every click. I was hoping it sounded steadier than it felt. For the first time in years, I was nervous. I think I was worried about her actually talking to me. There was a certain comfort in knowing nothing was going to happen on our visits. It made it easier to visit. It made it easier to leave her here. She didn’t look up from her book, but she did stop reading.

“What are you reading?” Nothing. I sat down in front of her and looked at her book. “Ada Limon,” I stated. I bought her that about a year ago, for her birthday. “Well, I guess you must like it.” Nothing. I couldn’t play this game anymore. I took the book from her hands, set it on her side table, and looked directly at her.

“I can’t do this today, mom. Dr. Drake told me what happened after I left last time.” She didn’t raise her eyes I but I felt her stiffen, and so did my jaw. I leaned in to whisper in her ear so the walls couldn’t hear.

“I need you to talk to me. I need to know what happened that night. Why did

Bobby kill himself? Why did you kill Dad? I need to know.” I leaned back enough to look in her eyes. I couldn’t read what was there, but there was something. It had been so long since I’d seen anything, I didn’t know what it was. I leaned in again.

“Was he the only one?”

I put her hands in mine and looked at her again. She still didn’t say anything and I was kind of glad. I wasn’t ready for it. But her eyes were glassy and that was enough. I let out a deep breath, finally, and sat back in my chair.

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“I guess I just thought you’d finally give me something. I’m crashing here.” I said. I could tell she was on the brink of tears and part of me wanted to take her all the way. I deserved that much. After coming here week after week, year after year, her never speaking, never touching, never anything, I deserved something.

“I need you to talk to me.” Silence. “I have no one else. Don’t you get that?

You’re it. I have no one else I can talk to about this.” Silence. The lump that was in my throat was being replaced by the quick breaths now coming up from inside my chest and my hands were clenching tighter around her hands. I could feel her hands squirm inside my grip. I leaned back into her.

“If I don’t talk about it, I don’t know what I might do. Don’t you see that?” I looked at her. How could that not get anything?

“I know you see that.” She tightened up again. “I understand why you won’t talk to anyone else, but I don’t understand why you won’t talk to me.” No words. No tears. I stared at her for a while, hoping she would break. I needed her to break. So I could break.

So I could let myself break. I could feel her hands squirming and I realized my hands were clenched so tight I might actually be hurting her, so I let go of them and grabbed her shoulders and pulled her towards me. I thought if she got any tighter she would break, but

I couldn’t help it. Maybe we would break together and they would find us, shattered into a million shards of flesh swimming in a pool of red and finally I could feel what she was feeling. I wrapped my arms around her and put my mouth to her ear, whispering softer this time through clenched teeth.

“You have to do something, Mother, because if you don’t, they won’t let you come home and if you can’t come home, you’ll end up in a padded cell somewhere until

139 you wither away and die. And I may not know anything else about what’s going on inside your head, but I know that neither of us wants that.”

140

BREAKFAST AT MEL’S

The coffee is gone, but you can see there is some warm iced tea left in the pitcher on the counter. At least it has caffeine, you think. You slowly, painfully, point to the pitcher without saying a word.

Flashing white lights.

“I was just going to make a fresh pot of coffee if you want to wait,” says the waitress.

How does she know you want coffee? Do I look like I need it that bad?

“Yeah, I can wait. How’d—?” she cuts you off before you can finish your sentence.

“Honey, you’ve been staring at that pot for ten minutes,” she says in her slow southern drawl, with a smile.

She seems familiar.

141

But you can’t place her. Her large bleach-blond bouffant is old-fashioned and her accent is too Southern for the lower west side of Cleveland.

She seems out of place.

Well, maybe in the right place you guess, just not in the right time. She has on a nametag but you can’t read it. Your mouth is open but your brain can’t connect with the scene. Where were you and how did you get here? You are sitting in a diner that looks like it has not changed– or been cleaned –since the seventies.

Your head is throbbing.

You feel like you’ve been in a fight.

Blood on the front of your Abercrombie shirt.

Cuts all over your hands.

The last thing you remember was getting in your Mustang and driving. Funny, but you can’t remember where you were going, just that it was dark. It’s all a blur.

Flashing red lights.

“Excuse me,” You say to the waitress.

She sets a glass of water and three pills on the counter. Your head hurts so bad you don’t even ask what they are.

You swallow them, chase them down with the warm water, drinking so fast and hard it spills down your chin, mixing blood water blood water, leaving pink streaks through the still wet blood.

“Thanks,” you mutter hoarsely. “You have today’s paper?”

You think maybe that will give you some clues as to what is going on. You don’t ask,

142 because you aren’t sure what exactly to ask. They’ll think you’re crazy. You think better of confirming that with inane questions.

“Are you sure you are ready to see the paper?” comes a deep masculine voice from behind you.

You turn to see who the voice came from. You can see the open paper the man is reading but the man himself is hidden from view.

“What?” You ask the man.

You can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“I said, are you sure you are ready to see the paper?” he asks again slowly.

He drops his paper.

You drop your jaw.

He reveals himself.

It can’t be.

Flashing blue lights.

“Rex?” You ask softly. “What’s going on here? I feel like I’m in the Twilight

Zone,” you slur slowly.

Rex smiles and calls you over to his table.

You sweat as you get down off your stool. You look back at the waitress, who is wiping the counter and chewing away on her gum. You turn back to face Rex.

Your head feels like it’s under water and the dingy paisley wallpaper is dancing in circles. I am either in the middle of a freaky dream or I need to stop partying so much.

You take a deep breath, trying to focus.

143

“You are not dreaming and you are not inebriated…anymore. This is all real.

Well, real to you anyway,” said Rex to you.

“Hey Flo,” he yells to the waitress. “Will you please bring my friend here some breakfast.”

“They can kiss my grits,” she says to him, smirking at you.

“Be nice, Flo. Our friend has been through enough already.”

“Comin’ right up,” she reluctantly replies as she cracks her gum.

“How’d you know what I was thinking? You reading my mind?” You ask Rex.

“Everyone here knows what you are thinking. If you concentrate hard enough, you can read our minds also. This is your world; you created it. Well, sort of,” replies

Rex.

“What are you talking about?” you ask Rex.

You must be dreaming.

How else is it that you can be in this crappy diner being waited on by Flo, that’s where I know her from, she’s Flo from “Alice”, which must mean this is Mel’s diner and you know you are dreaming for sure now because there is no possible way you could be sitting here talking to your dog that died when you were twelve. Rex remains quiet and you swear he is smiling beneath that thick layer of coarse black and white hair.

His eyebrows a little grayer.

His eyes a little blacker.

His voice a little…uh…humaner.

“I guess the next thing you’re gonna tell me is that my mother is in the bathroom and Abe Lincoln is due anytime now,” you say sarcastically.

144

“If you want that to happen you can make it happen. Just imagine it,” says Rex as he sips his coffee.

What should you do? You don’t know what is real and what is in your head.

Maybe you went crazy and you are in the loony bin.

Maybe you’re dead and this is heaven. Of course heaven would always have coffee ready.

Maybe you’re just dreaming but it feels so real.

And why won’t he give you the paper? You wait until he picks up his coffee cup and grab the paper.

Drunk Driver Who Killed Woman and Child on I-77 in Coma, reads the headline.

And there it is, your picture. It’s an old one, but anyone could tell it was you. You graze the article, not comprehending, but understanding.

77 South. Mustang North. Southbound lane. White Minivan. Adult woman.

Daughter. Dead. Your eyes blur, tears forming.

And everything goes white.

You awaken to the sound of a bell as the front door opens.

You see your mother as she enters the diner. She looks exactly like she did fifteen years ago when she walked out the back door, to the rail yard, to the tracks, to her death.

Same white dress. Same pink flowers. Same ponytail. Same red scrunchy. Same black slip-ons. Same scuff marks showing through the layers and layers of shoe polish she continued to cake on them.

“Mommy, I’m so glad you’re here,” you say with relief.

145

You run to hug her. Her arms make you feel safe as they wrap around and around you like a blanket of boa.

“You were always a bad seed my dear,” she says softly as she holds, as she strokes your head. “You and your brothers. I guess it is my fault, really. I did abandon you. I had to, I couldn’t take it anymore. That’s why I faced the train,” she explains.

“Were we so bad you had to kill yourself?” you cry.

“Well, it was that and I also got tired of finding your father screwing those coeds of his. Could you imagine how embarrassed I would be if that got around?” she says and lets out a broken chuckle.

She grabs at your shoulders, pushes you from her cold body, looks straight in your dark eyes. You swear you can see fire inside her pupils, dancing orange-white flames radiating heat. Suddenly you smell bacon frying. And then you notice that is the first thing you have smelled today.

Then you smell the blood on your shirt.

Then you smell your mother’s Chanel No. 5.

Then you smell wet dog.

Then you feel the bile rise in your throat.

“Do the right thing here. Don’t go back. The only thing you have to offer is pain.

We all can see it,” she says, sincerely.

Shocked. Speechless. Stranded.

You hadn’t seen your mother in fifteen years and this is what she has to offer you?! She gives you a kiss on the cheek. She smiles. She walks out the door.

Soft beeping sounds.

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Your stomach lets loose all over the gold speckled linoleum floor and

now you smell vomit and

now you hurl again and

now Flo throws you a towel and

now you wipe your face and

now you compose yourself.

“What the hell just happened?” You screech to Rex.

“What’s going on?” You ask and sit back down.

The walls are closing in again. Brown paisley turning colors, changing shapes forming, your mind entranced. You feel like someone is sitting on your chest and they won’t get off and the air is thin and you keep screaming but no one can hear you and you start clawing at the invisible person sitting on your torso but you are grasping at nothing and gasping for air.

Suddenly you feel a jolt of pain. You fly to the floor.

And everything goes black.

When you open your eyes, you are back in the booth across from Rex and your breakfast is sitting before you. Two yellow eyes staring up at you, taunting you.

“You have to make a decision quickly. If not, you could spend eternity in Hell,” says Rex sternly.

“I. Still. Don’t. Know. WHAT THE HELL YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!”

Your patience is wearing thin. The dogs in the picture of the Dogs Playing Poker on the wall above Rex’s head start talking and their mouths are moving and words and barks and strange howls emerge from their lips in deep, quiet, echoes.

147

“You are in a state of flux.” Rex is talking. “You can…choose to live…same dreadful life…or you…choose…”

You are trying to focus. Trying to listen.

“to stay here…make amends…you can move up instead of down.”

Rex takes your head in his paws. Your eyes and mind focus on his mouth, barely hidden beneath his snout, the sound of his voice, the tone in his words.

“But if you do not make a decision quickly, you will definitely go down,” Rex states seriously.

“Why can’t I live and just change my life?” You ask sincerely.

Laughter explodes all around you. You look around at the people now filling the diner to capacity. They are all laughing. All pointing. At you. Ex lovers, Ex friends, Ex family. People you barely recognize. And a few animals.

“Why are they laughing at me?” You ask angrily.

“You won’t change; that’s a given,” Rex replies, once he can contain his laughter.

“You are a terrible person.”

You feel your heart

“Everyone here knows it.”

pounding on your chest wall

“You have stolen, cheated, used, abused, and abandoned them.”

trying to escape

“Hell, my tail still never grew back.”

throbbing in your head

“This is your only chance at redemption.”

148

clothes soaked with sweat.

What should I do? I’m not ready to die. Who the hell do these people think they are anyway? Pain is part of life.

Code blue calling.

Life. You had never given it much thought until now.

Suddenly the light shining through the dirty storefront glass becomes clear and every face becomes clearer as you look into the crowd.

“All these people you hurt,” Rex says.

“Well I was hurt too,” you sneer at them. “What makes you so freakin’ special?

I’m willing to live with the pain, why can’t you?” you challenge them.

You feel your blood boiling and your heart is racing as you look into every set of eyes burning through you and judging you and hating you and wishing you were dead and you know what your decision has to be.

“I want to live,” you say with defiance. “And maybe I will burn in hell but I will make it my mission to spend the rest of my life taking every one of you down with me.

You’ll be sorry you ever laughed at–“

Your words cut short, invisible hands grabbing at your throat, pulling you, dragging you down into a dark, vacant space. Your stomach turns hollow. Sounds echo off walls of the emptiness. Your head is floating--but not with--your body it seems.

You can see Rex and Flo as you spiral downward. Rex and Flo looking down upon you; snickering.

You feel heat rising.

Your skin tingles.

149

Pain.

You now realize that it isn’t Rex but someone way more powerful than him.

“You know Flo, they just do not get it,” you hear Rex’s muffled voice, but the words don’t match up to the movement of his lips.

“I try to do the right thing and give them a chance but the bad ones can never resist revenge.”

Flo nods in agreement.

“They do not seem to believe that there is no gray area. It’s His way or my way.

Of course, my way is much more fun.”

And they both laugh and laugh and laugh as Rex’s body twists and turns and transforms into The Horned Beast.

You watch helplessly as he puts his arm around Flo, his dark, hairy claws softly drape over her shoulder and he raises your cup and he drinks your coffee and Flo cracks her gum and they’re both smiling.

And everything goes red.

150

SMALLTOWN ADJUSTMENTS

Heads turn as you step out of your ten-year-old Honda Odyssey, the exhaust cracking as you shut the engine down. Kelly, your wife, keeps telling you to get a new car. It’s starting to rust, Prajan, she tells you. But you like your Honda, it’s just broken in, you tell her, the rust complements the dark green color. You know how us Indian men are honey, we buy Japanese because they last forever and if we keep buying new cars, we’ll never have a new house. But you’re a doctor, she says, people will think you’re a bad one if you drive around in that thing. She worries about appearances.

That’s how she grew up, worrying about appearances. When you live in a very small, very white town in Ohio, people know everything about you and your family. And they know when someone doesn’t belong. Like you. Right now. Standing in the grocery store parking lot next to your starting to rust Honda, wearing dark brown skin like it’s just natural to do so. And although you and your wife don’t live here in Smalltown, Ohio, you’ve been coming to town with Kelly for fifteen years and eating at the local Italian

151 restaurant every holiday and Mother’s Day and whenever else you visit your wife’s mother here, today it doesn’t matter. Today you are standing alone in the parking lot, which you’ve never done before. Your wife, already at her mother’s house, called you before you left your house and asked you to pick up her mother’s birthday cake. Of course, you told her. I can meet you there, she said. I think I can handle picking up a cake, you say, your voice dropping a few registers to sound more assuring.

Your wife’s family doesn’t let you go to the grocery store in Smalltown, Ohio by yourself because they worry about your safety. Don’t ever walk around here alone at night, Kelly’s mother tells you. I don’t care if Marie, your wife’s sister, says you’re the right kind of brown, (you know, Indian brown) you’re still brown and dark brown at that and you can’t be walking around at night with dark brown skin. It might say 2018 on the

Smalltown Herald, but in some heads around here it’s still 1861 and the Deep Old South.

Okay, Momma, you tell her, I’ll be careful, you say, but you don’t let things like that bother you. It’s second nature to be on your guard. For the most part you try to laugh stuff like that off which is why you ignore the turned heads and walk right up to the store with the automatic door and walk right in like it’s perfectly normal.

In Chicago, you rarely had this issue. That’s where your family lived when they moved here from India. Your father left his sawmill in the hands of your brother and he brought the rest of you to America, the land of openness, and opportunities, and a land of great dreams to be achieved, he told you and your siblings as he slurped down homemade arhar dal, with your mother’s secret ingredient, which you found out years later was cilantro. With hard work, we can earn, achieve and live a great American dream, he would tell us over and over from the time we left the port in Sagar, until long after we

152 dropped our luggage in Chicago. He didn’t think his American dream included all five of you living in a cramped one-bedroom apartment of one of his cousins. But it wasn’t forever and all of you became successful doctors, and nurses, and engineers, and what not, and all was good. You couldn’t help falling in love with a white girl from

Smalltown, Ohio, you explained to your family, and packed your bags and moved to the big city that was adjacent to Smalltown, Ohio. You offered to move to Smalltown, but after going to school in Chicago, your wife couldn’t go back to two street lights and only one fast-food restaurant, and the smell of cow shit. Bigcity, Ohio, is just big enough and we’ll still be close to my mother, she said. At least they have street lights there, you say, not like Sagar, where it’s a free-for-all and the cow shit is in the middle of the road. She laughs when you tell her these stories. She thinks you like to exaggerate.

So, the door opens and you walk in and more heads turn as the smell of celery fills your nostrils. Not all of the heads turn. Some are looking down at the fruits and vegetables that greet you when you come in the door, trying not to look at you, using their peripheral vision that keeps them aware and unnoticeable. One woman, trying to look casual, takes her purse from the top of her shopping cart and puts it over her shoulder. You notice, but pretend not to. Used to it or not, it still hurts.

Clad in your red polo shirt and tan cargo shorts – or half pants, as your cousin called them as he laughed at you when you stepped off the plane on your last trip to India sixteen years ago – you fit in right in with the rest of the Smalltown guys. Your wife’s sister, Marie, told you that you should wear your lab coat if you’re going to be walking around town because if people know you’re a doctor they’ll leave you alone. If you’re a doctor, it’s okay, just ask Dr. Agas, the Filipino doctor. Most of the people in Smalltown

153 are his patients, so his family gets a pass. But you don’t because, aside from occasional chaperoned trips to your wife’s mother’s favorite Italian restaurant and the grocery store, your wife’s family keeps you sheltered from the rest. But you know that’s worse because if people got to know you, they would love you. You’re charming, funny, smart, always full of good advice and really down to earth. Who wouldn’t like you? You shouldn’t have to tell people you’re a doctor. Although your father would have preferred a neurosurgeon, your mother was proud you chose to be a chiropractor and acupuncturist, being part of a long line of homeopathic healers in her family line. Americans are too quick to take a pill or cut someone open, she would say. You have chosen a noble path, Prajan, she told him as his father just shook his head. He’s still a doctor, she would defend. But he shouldn’t have to tell people that.

The key is to walk with purpose. At least it works in Bigcity, Ohio. In Bigcity, if you walk with purpose and passion, you’re less likely to get mugged. You’re not sure that works for looky-loos, but you do it anyway, not because you’re trying, but because that’s just how you walk. You walk past the produce section without your lab coat, smiling at anyone that glances your way. Some smile back. Some are always polite because that’s how they were raised. Some don’t really care that you’re brown but would never tell their spouse/mother/father/sibling that. They like their small-town life; the quiet, the security, even if they have to deal with some racist talk. It’s not like they’re the brown ones.

You walk past the hot food bar, down the canned goods aisle and over to the bakery like you know just where it is, because you know right where it is, because it’s not your first time here, it’s just your first time here, alone. You pass the butcher on the way and ogle the nice cuts of porter house steaks. Here, in America, no one chastises you for

154 your love of beef. Sacred or not, cows are tasty. Of course, you’d never admit that to your sister who complains that you’re too American. That’s why on your visits to her, you eat the vegetarian meals she makes for you with joy, not just to be nice, but because you miss your Mother’s home-cooked Indian dishes, which Malati has perfected, especially her samosas. And you know you there’s a McDonald’s around every corner.

You reach the bakery, and the smell of fresh bread and sweet raises your happy level as it’s intended to do. The rows of pastries and croissants and fresh strawberry shortcake lining the display case make your mouth water. There are three young girls, probably high school aged, standing, talking behind the counter. You look right at them and they look right at you and you smile at them and nod, the appropriate hey I need help nod, and they respond inappropriately by ignoring you. Blatantly. They go back to talking, probably about you now, huddling closer and in perfect sync together, while using their super peripheral skills to keep an eye on you and pretend not to notice you standing there, without your white wife, needing help.

When you met your wife in Chicago she told you about her town but you laughed it off. It’s just because they’re sheltered. It’s the new millennium, I tell her, not 1952

Alabama (all of which you know about from T.V.) and I’m not black—the wrong kind of brown, the ghetto brown—according to your wife’s sister, Marie. People in my town like certain things, says Kelly. They like their family close, their guns loaded, their deer fresh, and their beer cold. But most importantly, they like their neighbors white. Now who’s exaggerating, I told her. But now, standing alone at the bakery, in 2018, while three white bakery attendants ignore you, you see what she’s talking about. This must be what black people feel like all the time, you think. Being Indian affords you a certain luxury of

155 people thinking you’re educated and well-behaved, a business owner like the guy who owns the 7-11 in the middle of town, but right now, you get it. You get how they must always feel on their guard and have to act a certain way in certain situations, like shopping in the 7-11, so people don’t think you’re going to mug them when all they want is to pick up their wife’s mother’s birthday cake, pay for it, and return it home and celebrate another year passed.

The lady and the purse flashes in your brain, which didn’t seem all that big a deal at the time, but now is screaming in your head. You get out your cell phone and start to hit the lighted numbers that are assigned to your wife so she can meet you up here to get the cake, when a nice young girl comes all the way over from the deli counter to help you, her red pony tail waving behind her. Can I help you, Sir? She asks you. Apparently, other people are too busy, she says as she leers at the three girls. By the tone in her voice, it’s not the first time. So, you think maybe it’s not my skin color, maybe they’re just lazy.

You put your phone away and look her in the eye. Not only did she come all the way from the adjacent deli counter, she called you sir. She won’t be staying in Smalltown, that’s for sure, you think. You tell her you are here to pick up a cake for your wife’s mother and she doesn’t react, or think anything of it, she gets the name, gets the cake, and opens it for your inspection. Looks great, Amanda, you tell her after glancing at her name tag. She closes the box, hands it to you, smiles, and says, have a nice day. You know, like you’re used to. In the Bigcity.

You say thank you, take the cake, and proceed to the register, where you have to do this all over again. At least there, they can’t ignore you, right. A statement, not a question. Along the way to the register you stop in the wine aisle. A nice bottle of

156

Vallone Malbec would go really nicely with some cake, but their Indian wine selection was non-existent. You may be down to earth and drive a ten-year-old Honda but you know your wine. And right now, you know you need some wine. After the bakery incident, most people of color would get out of there, but you’re not most people. You’re going to show them that you’re just a normal person doing a normal thing like buying cake and wine and acting normal, just like them. You will be the example that makes all their racism fade away. Plus, you just really want some wine. You get it from your mother.

Wine was one of the few American things you and your mother could bond over.

You could talk about anything over a nice wine, except your white American wife who doesn’t believe in Allah, which you always counter-argued with, but Momma, we went to

Catholic School, and she would argue back, what does that have to do with anything, it’s our culture. She was always polite to your wife, but when you were alone, she would often bring it up how you disappointed her dream of you giving her Indian grandchildren, even though she had five of them already. You would just nod and apologize over and over, even years after your wedding and you were seeing her off at the airport on her way back to India after your father died. It’s the American dream, Momma, just like Dad wanted us to have, you would say, and look what the American dream got him, dead from cancer, she would say, and you couldn’t argue with that. Then four months later, your mother, feeling lonely, called you from Sagar and told you she was just glad you found someone that made you happy and you couldn’t argue with that either.

You decide on a local Moscato from Gervasi Wines and head into the sectioned off area where they sell the liquor. You also really want some whiskey. Your wife’s

157

German mother really likes her highballs, and you really like your wife’s mother, even though it took her years to warm up to you, so you will buy her some Gentlemen Jack whiskey because that’s what she likes with her ginger-ale. You pretend not to notice the cashier pretending not to watch you, the only one in the liquor section. The gray-haired man in the grocery store apron, with the name tag that says, Laverne, finally approaches you. You look at his name tag and think, what an odd name for a man. Laverne. It makes you think of the T.V. show, Laverne and Shirley, and you unconsciously look to the left side of his shirt for the cursive L you think is going to be there. It is not.

What are you looking for, he asks you, attempting, but failing, to be pleasant and seem like he’s being helpful. He wants you to think he’s being helpful, but you know he’s just really trying to get you out of there as soon as possible without you stealing anything.

Do you have a smaller bottle of Gentleman Jack, you ask, and he responds, whatever’s on the shelf. Okay, you say, and grab the big bottle, because who couldn’t use more whiskey anyway, and he follows you to the counter. He goes to the other side and you see smaller bottles behind the counter. You are going point it out and ask for one, but decide against it. Pick your battles, your mother always told you, and you decide this one is not worth it.

Maybe he just didn’t see them, you think. But you need to know so you ask him for the bottle of Captain Morgan that is right next to the small bottles of Gentlemen Jack and he turns, runs his hand along the names, over the Gentlemen Jack, and grabs the Captain. He turns and you smile and nod and look him in the eye a little too long. His eyes are droopy and the bags under his eyes tells you he’s had a long day. A long life. You can’t decide if he realizes his mistake and knows it’s too late to correct it or if he’s just oblivious. Either

158 way, he looks down because the eye contact is making him uncomfortable; brown, white, or whatever, people don’t like direct eye contact, especially if they’re guilty.

You are reaching for your wallet when you hear your name, Hey Dr. Naidu, fancy meeting you here. It’s one of your patients from the big city where your practice is. You say hi and say something funny and she laughs. You say birthday and she says fixing

Momma’s shed and nod. Both your wives are from Smalltown, Oh, and both their

Momma’s still live here, but you both know that you, she and your wives couldn’t live here. Not comfortably. But you can visit and fix things and pick up birthday cakes because you love your family and where they live isn’t as important as who they are. You say goodbye and she disappears down an aisle and you turn back to the cashier, cash in hand. This time he tries to smile and offers to ring up all your groceries for you but you tell him that’s okay, I have some more things to pick up. He rings up your alcohol, you pay and say thank you for all your help, pleasantly and smiling, and go on your way.

You pick up some flowers they have on display and you make your way to the register with your cake, your wine, your whiskey and rum in the paper bag with the receipt stapled to the top. You pick the register with the young dark-haired girl with the pony tail because she smiles at you and there is only one person in line. You glance over the candy at the register as the scanner beeps with every swipe of a bar code. Between the beeps you hear two men in the next aisle talking loudly. You try not to listen but your ears perk up when you hear Trump – beep - finally getting rid of the Muslims -beep. You tense up and cringe when you hear, next he needs to work -beep-Niggers back to Africa.

Your body reacts instinctively by looking up at the two men in the next lane. Both clean cut, one in blue jeans and a button-down shirt and the other in a painter’s uniform, both

159 looking right at you. Okay, maybe Kelly wasn’t exaggerating, you think, and before you can catch yourself, you laugh out loud and say, good thing I’m Indian, and laugh some more, and an American, and turn away, hoping they thought it was as funny as you tried to make it sound, controlling your breath through your open smile.

Thankfully, the cashier is ready for you and just as she’s about to ring you up, the manager comes running over and gives her some mundane task to go do. He robotically asks you if you found everything you were looking for as he quickly rings up your items.

And more, you said, smiling through aching teeth. He doesn’t respond. He tells you the total, you insert your chip debit card with controlled precision, put in your code, remove your card, and take the receipt he hands to you. You tell him to have a nice day and smile and he gives you a, you too, through clenched jaw.

You wait by the door to watch the men from the aisle drive away in a gray F150, an American flag attached to the antenna waves at you as it turns toward the exit, revealing the confederate flag bumper sticker as it pulls away. You can’t help but laugh to yourself, as you shake your head at the contradiction. Clearly, The Great American

Melting Pot was not part of his Schoolhouse Rock! collection, like mine was.

You step out into the sunlight and squinting, head for your car. You put the items in the back of your ten-year-old Honda and get in and turn the key. The only sound is clicking. You pop the hood and get out of the car and you hear someone behind you.

They didn’t mess with your car, if that’s what you’re thinking, he said. You turn around and it’s Clarence, who works at the bank. Clarence, who used to sit idly at his teller window while customer after customer avoided him. No one would go to him because he’s black, your wife’s mother told you, but I went right up to him and now everyone

160 goes to him because he’s so nice, she said. When he approached you, he smiled, and you didn’t need to introduce yourself because he already heard all about you from Gladys, your wife’s mother, now Clarence’s good friend. You turn, let out a breath, and smile, and shake his hand and exchange pleasantries. Although, I’m surprised they didn’t after that show in the grocery store, he said. I heard Nigger and got the hell out of there. He tells you he’s been waiting in his car for you to make sure nothing happened. You tell him thanks and think it’s the starter on the car. He tells you you need a new car.

You are both looking around under the hood when a man approaches you. He’s a big man (vertically and horizontally), white, arms full of tattoos; one a big Jesus, which makes you think of the Jesus from St. Joseph’s convent school back in India. Same color robes. The guy had a beard, that if white, would make him a great Santa Claus. You both straighten up, eyes wide, still a little jumpy, when he asks you what you’re doing.

You’re instantly seventeen again and doing donuts in an old brown pickup truck on the property your uncle Mandeep and his business partner, Doc Smith, owned. They had acres of open land surrounded by woods and Doc had given you and your cousin,

Harish, the keys to his old rusted out Ford and told you to have some fun. You raced across the tall, unkept, half-dead grassy fields, laughing and shouting woohoos. You didn’t realize you had crossed the property line until the truck died after hitting a large mound that sent you sailing in the air and two grizzly looking white men aiming shotguns, surrounded the truck. Shaking, you listened as one of the men said the only reason they didn’t shoot you two spooks first, was they recognized Doc Smith’s truck. At least that’s what you think he said, because his hilly accent was so strong you could barely understand him. You both apologized, got the truck started with shaking hands,

161 and went back to Doc’s house as fast as you could and never went out by yourselves there again.

You and Clarence look at each other, sending psychic messages of, I got your back and oh shit. Car won’t start, you say. What’s the problem, he asks roughly. Starter, I think, you answer. You try to start it at his request and he agrees. You get out your phone to call your wife and he suddenly realizes who you are. Kelly’s husband, right, he asks.

You ask him how he knows and he laughs, there’s not a lot of Indian dudes around here.

He introduces himself, Greg, mechanic shop owner and former high school sweet heart of

Kelly. He shakes your hand and Clarence’s hand, says he’s heard about Clarence, of course, but his wife does all the banking. You notice he has a big smile under all that hair and a sparkle in his eye. Your muscles unclench. He helps you and Clarence push the

Honda across the street to his shop and he drops you off at your wife’s mother’s house.

You hesitate before walking in the door, knowing your wife is going to laugh about your car and say I told you so and she does, right after she gives you a kiss hello and says thank you for picking up the cake. Who dropped you off, she asks. Santa Claus,

I tell her. She shakes her head and takes the cake. She asks you how the grocery store was and you say fine, and smile. If you were at home, in the city, you would probably tell her what happened, but here you just smile and nod and say everything is fine. But she gives you that look, you know, the knowing one, the one that says, I know it wasn’t but thanks anyway.

You give your wife’s mother her flowers and a kiss and a hug and say Happy

Birthday Momma. You light the candles and your wife, Kelly, pours the wine in glasses for you and your wife’s sister, Marie, and gives a beer to Marie’s husband, Billy, while

162 you carefully mix the whiskey and ginger-ale for your wife’s mother, Gladys. Right before she blows out the candles, she says, thank you, Prajan, for picking up the cake, I hope it wasn’t any trouble. It was fine, Momma, no trouble at all, you say, and smile, and give her a pat on the shoulder, because, here, in Smalltown, Ohio, that’s what you’re expected to say.

163

THE ESCAPE CLAWS

CLEM

I had him trapped in the alley, caught between the very dumpster he led me to and a brick wall. Four brick walls to be exact, and I was by the only entryway. My first day hunting mice and I got one already.

I am a mighty hunter.

He was on his hind legs, shaking, holding out his front paws at me like he was gonna punch me or something. I laughed. Gimme your best shot, I told him.

We stood there, motionless, for quite a while, staring at the each other. I could see the fear in his beady little eyes. His desperation shone through like a red nose on a clown and it made me more excited. I knew I had him.

I was exhilarated. Every nerve ending in my body was on fire. I held still, looking at him, daring him to make a move. I could see his dark pupils darting back and forth,

164 trying to figure out how to escape, and then the stillness, when he realized there was no escape.

I waited. He waited.

When it happened, it happened so fast. He knew he had to try or die, so he did.

First, his tail twitched and then he darted. Right at me! And then before I could even think about it, I pounced on him. My whole body soared through the air and I was on him in an instant. I felt my claws dig into his flesh and I knew he was mine. I held him there for a moment, stared into his eyes and then, I bit into his tiny head.

My teeth sunk in and blood squirted into my mouth and as I tasted the hairy blood, a thought entered my head—this is disgusting. I spit him out and tried to throw him but one of my claws was stuck in his back and I couldn’t shake him. He was squealing and now I was squealing and I kept shaking him. Finally I broke him free with my back foot and he went flying across the alley and smacked up against the back wall.

He shook his head, stood up, and ran past me out the entryway. I foamed up my mouth, like I used to do when Alfred would give me medicine, to try to get rid of the taste. So gross.

It had been the most exciting moment of my life. But it was also the worst. It was at that moment, as I watched the mouse scurry away into the darkness, a trail of blood behind him, that I realized that I was never going home again.

It was about two years ago that I woke up somewhere in the hood. I opened my eyes and looked up at the morning sky, still dusk. I could see the moon. My head was fuzzy and I was lying on some grass. I don’t remember ever feeling grass before. I don’t

165 remember much of anything. All I remember is needles. Needles coming at me, poking me, plunging deep into my flesh, the pain searing through me. And then…

Anyway, it took me a while to get steady enough to even sit up and see where I was. Once I could focus, I could see there were lawns, soft green grass that felt cool between my toes. I liked it. There were houses all around me: big ones, little ones, a few nice ones and some pretty shabby ones. Not any new ones, though. And there were trees!

Lots of trees lined the street. And birds! I could see birds in the trees, chirping and singing and it sounded so beautiful. Just like Rosarita. Rosarita, yes, the white bird…in the metal cage…who sang. I remember her. She sang all day. and all night. Actually, it was kind of annoying after a while. I remember her cage, her white feathers and then, ugh, nothing. Blank.

I stood up and tried to figure out where exactly I was. I wasn’t sure what happened, but I knew one thing--I was a long way from home; wherever that was. None of this looked or felt familiar. None of it felt right. so here I was, somewhere in the hood, alone. Alone and hungry. Really hungry.

I wandered the streets for days, weeks, looking for something familiar. Looking for something that felt like home. But I found nothing. Food was hard to find at first, before I knew where to look. I tried to eat the grass. It smelled so good, I figured it had to be good. I did. It went down easy. Came back up easy too. I hate to throw up. I kept looking.

I had heard that cats ate mice, so I looked for them. Not so easy. Don’t get me wrong, I found them. They seemed to be everywhere. I just couldn’t catch them. Those mini-munchables can fit in a hole smaller than my paw. And fast. So fast. I mean, I’m

166 pretty fast too, but it was much harder than it looked on TV. On TV, the cats were always catching the mice. Me, not so much. Then.

But wait, where did I see them on TV? I remembered sitting on a couch, a brown couch, with a guy with short hair…Alfred. Alfred! That was his name. We would watch

TV and laugh and cry. It was all coming back. The apartment, Alfred, Rosarita. What happened to Alfred?

Surely, something must have happened to him. He wouldn’t have just abandoned me.

Would he?

I kept running toward home and the mice kept running away from me. Sometimes

I just liked to follow them, see what they saw, eat what they ate. That’s how I found the dumpsters. Jackpot. A plethora of food, especially the ones behind restaurants. What’ll it be tonight? Chinese, pizza, how about a little Italian? I never had so many kinds of food.

It was weird at first. Still not crazy about tomato sauce, but when in Rome, they say. Or in my case, when in the dumpster…

Eventually I did catch that mouse and it was at that moment, when I watched him limp away, tattered, alone, and going who knows where, that I had to stop hoping for

Alfred to come rescue me and start looking for a new home.

I cruised the streets a lot. Met some other homeless cats too. Lots of homeless cats. Got in a few fights. Got in a few lady cats, too, if you get my drift. Never did that before, either. Better than the grass. Who knew. It was a whole new world. Colonies everywhere. That’s what they call us on the streets. People have gangs. Cats have colonies. Colonies of hood kitties roaming the city streets; cruising and bruising, calling and mauling.

167

I didn’t stay with one group for too long. It depended on the food source and who the leader was. There was always a leader. And the leader always ate first. Usually the colony would hang around one or two particular houses. There are the houses that leave food on the front porch. Sometimes random houses throw some meat or something by their back door, but the good houses feed every day; always a bowl full of cat food. It wasn’t the fancy stuff I used to get from Alfred but it tasted a lot better than dumpster mac and cheese and you didn’t get a mouth full of fur. I shiver just thinking about it.

MISS KITTY

Yeah, dat Clem, he ‘tempted ta take me down once. He came a saunt’rin’ up dem porch stairs like he wuz jus’ goin’ ta eat ma viddles. Oooh eee. I showed him who’z da boss ‘round here! I been livin’ these streets fur four and a haf years now. I earnt leader. I had ta fight ma wayz to dis p’zishun and he needed to learn the roolz. Leader eats first.

Newbeez last. Scrawny Sammy and ma pussy posse s’rounded him like the cowboyz s’rounded dem Apachees long time ‘go. He started shakin’ and cryin’ like a babe. Oooh eeee. He hel’ his ground fur a momen’, I’ll give ‘em dat. But den he ran! Ran like a dickens. Oooh eee. We jes laughed and laughed. Ska’rdy cat! He shur could run tho’.

Ne’er seen ‘em agin.

CLEM

Miss Kitty and Scrawny Sammy may not seem too badass on their own, but when they are all coming at you at once, there’s only one thing to do. Run. Run as fast as you can. Run as far as you can.

168

So a loner I stayed. Roaming place to place but never very far from where I woke up that day. Every so often I’d return, hoping to find Alfred. The trees still bloomed white flowers and the grass was still as green, but still no Alfred. I don’t know why I kept going back. Hope I guess. Even though I knew there was none. A hopeless cat in a hopeless hood. Hunting critters I couldn’t eat and fighting bullies I couldn’t beat. A poet,

I know it.

I was about to give up and end it all; go find some big mangy mutt and let him use me for a chew toy. I tried to drown myself but I could barely get two inches in the water before I jumped out. I sat in the middle of the street all morning, but cars kept stopping and going around me. Even the little people with baseball bats just wanted to coo over me and pet me. So I let them. What else did I have to do?

It was on one of these down days, while lying in the dirt with my head down, trying to suffocate myself, that I heard a commotion. I pulled my head out of the muck and saw a few other cats walking in the same direction.

PEANUT

I remember that day. The sky was looking bloody gray. I knew rain was coming. I felt the raindrops on my tiger-striped fur whilst I was crouched on the side of the white garage. I had been stalking this one particular bright red bird all morning. Oh, he was lovely. Bright plumage and a nice crown. He was splendid. I had to have him. But, alas, the rain thwarted my hunt and I was forced to gather the others and lead them to the porch, where it was dry.

169

The food bowl was overflowing and Mel, our resident leader, was already partaking in the feast. She thinks she is better than the rest because she has such distinctive features and long black and white fur. I will admit, she is fabulous, but she is no Princess Diana. The usual crowd was in attendance: Timmy, the tortoise shell-haired kitten, Evette, gray domestic short-hair but thinks she is a princess, and, of course, Bruce, orange and white short-hair, handsome brute, but shy. He always waits on The Crazy Cat

Lady’s porch next door until everyone is done and hopes for a few morsels to be left for him. We usually leave him something. We feel sorry for him.

BRUCE

I can’t stand them uppity pusses. I just wish I didn’t need that food so bad or I’d be outta here.

PEANUT

That was the day Clem appeared. Oh, he was magnificent, with his tall stature and orange and white short mane. He looked a little tattered, a little hungry, but still stood tall and proud. But not too proud as he neared the porch. Clearly, he was aware of the colony protocol. Quite brilliant as well.

CLEM

The cats were all headed somewhere together, so, unable to bury myself alive, I got up, shook myself off, and followed them. I could feel the rain start to pelt my back as

I neared the house they had gathered at. Not a bad place. No palace, but better than some

170 of the other houses I’d seen. Actually, as I looked around, there were several nice houses.

Quiet. Lawns mowed. Except for the house next door, that looked like it’d seen better days with its missing attic window and ivy growing out from the siding, this place seemed nice.

I looked up at the house where the cats had gathered. A white house, wood porch, long drive, small front yard but nice flowers in the front. There was a bowl of food by the front door that a black and white long-hair was eating from. There was a tortoise shell kitten sitting at the end of the porch, a stern-looking gray tiger-striped sitting on the railing, and a beautiful gray cat, who paused for a minute to check me out. At the jungle house next door, there was an orange mutt cat sitting on top of an old plaid chair lying on its side in the middle of the porch.

I stopped on the sidewalk in front of the house. The others looked at me with leery eyes. I turned and slowly approached the porch stairs. The leader turned slightly so she could see me out of one eye while eating. The others stood, on guard. I walked up the stairs and sat on the top one. I just sat there to let them know I didn’t want any trouble. I had to be careful. One wrong move and I might lose an eye. I had to play my cards right if I was going to eat and I was too hungry to take a chance.

So I waited.

I waited until, Mel, the black and white leader, was done. I waited until Timmy was done. I waited until Bruce, the orange cat with the weirdly large foot that looked like the Incredible Hulk in mid-transition, was done. I waited for all the others to eat before I made my move. Luckily there was still some food in the bowl when they were done.

They all backed away but stayed close. Then they gave me the nod. I was good to go. I

171 was still on guard though, you never know. That’s how Willie lost his eye. Thought he was good and when he had his face in the bowl, they pounced. But I didn’t feel a threat and I have a pretty good sense of danger. Living on the streets will do that to you. So I ate. I ate until the bowl was empty. And when I was done they came over and sniffed me.

I held still and let them do their thing and when they saw I was no threat, they relaxed.

Then they backed off. Whew!

MEL

Clem seemed alright. He had good manners, unlike some of the other young’uns around here. He smelled okay too. A little dirty, he needs to work on that. Just because we live on the street doesn’t mean we have to look like it. Kids today, no sense of keeping themselves looking proper. But he had potential, so I showed him around. I took him to the back yard where we usually hung around. There was a pond with a fountain and fish in it, a bird feeder, and not one, but two squirrel feeders. They were too fast for me anymore, but once in a while I got lucky and caught a sparrow. They get mesmerized by the fountain and that’s when I pounce. These young whippersnappers try to chase ‘em.

You can’t chase ‘em in the sky, young fools. I don’t take everyone back there, but I liked

Clem so I thought maybe I would take him under my wing. Clem, he seemed strong.

CLEM

This place was an oasis. Water that tasted like fish, fish I could catch, squirrels, and sparrows. An array of game just waiting for me, the mighty hunter. I took a few drinks from the pond and sat down to clean myself. I looked around at all the loveliness

172 that was hidden from the street. Green grass, logs to do my nails on, an endless source of flavored water. I found paradise in the hood.

All that afternoon I hung out there, drinking the koi-flavored water from the pond and stalking sparrows off the feeder. They’re fast, those little buggers. I was just about to catch one, when I heard a car coming up the drive and in the moment I turned to look at the silver cavalier coming up the driveway, it got away. I would have chased it but now I wanted to check out the car. I jumped up on the wood fence that surrounded the yard to get a better view. The door opened and out stepped a mid-sized woman with brown hair.

She talked on the phone as she got her purse from behind the seat. Just as she was about to shut the door, I heard a squirrel barking. On top of the garage there was a squirrel barking at her, leaning so far over the front I thought she would fall off. The woman saw her and said hi baby and opened the garage door. As she went in the garage I watched the squirrel jump onto a planter and down to the ground and in the garage, where the woman fed her a peanut.

After I saw her feed the squirrel the first day, I took off. I didn’t leave so much as hide. Better safe than sorry. She could be like The Crazy Cat Lady next door the others told me about. She’s got food and shelter but once you go in you disappear. Stay out, they told me. The next day, it was the same routine. She pulled in, Abby, that’s what the woman called her, barked at her from the driveway this time and ran up to her and the woman fed her peanuts. This was the same woman who filled the food bowl on the front porch, as I saw earlier that morning. Hmmmm. Interesting, I thought. Interesting until I saw him. The Beast.

173

The second day she noticed me watching and called, come here kitty, but I just froze. She held out her hand but I hesitated. She crouched down and held out her hand and said, here kitty, again but I didn’t go. Then she went in the house and came back out, but this time she wasn’t alone. This time, barreling out after her was The Beast. The big black and white Beast. He ran into the yard and went to the bathroom right in the grass.

Like he couldn’t have found some dirt to do his business in? Even homeless, I can still find some dirt to do my business in. Anyway, then he was barking and he ran around and found a Frisbee and then growled at her with itn in his mouth. Bring it here, she told him and he did and she threw it again and he brought it back again. This went on for a while and I finally got bored and went to the front porch.

So, about a week went by of this same routine, when The Beast, or Murphy, as she calls him, noticed me behind the fire pit watching him. Before I knew it he was running towards me and as fast as I could get my paws on the ground, I was running. I jumped the fence and ran next door. I looked over and Mel was laughing at me. She can be a real jerk.

So I hung around there for a few weeks, avoiding the dog and chasing sparrows and eating the free food and just chillin’. As the weeks rolled by, I figured out why Mel was laughing. I was running from a beast that wasn’t really a beast. Big, yes. Beast, no.

Mel would walk right up to The Beast and they would sniff noses. One day I saw Mel walk in the lady’s door and in her living room. The Beast was right there and all it did was look at Mel. Didn’t bark. Didn’t chase. And it was then that I realized why. Mel didn’t run. He only chased when you ran. I still wasn’t going in. I wasn’t going out that

174 way. But even though Mel went in, she always came out. Had to be a reason, so I just stayed out, even though the lady kept trying to lure me in.

MEL

I think it was the fourth or fifth time that Murphy came barreling after me and my hip locked up right when I was about to dart away. I couldn’t move. I closed my eyes and waited for the inevitable and then I felt his hot, stinky breath on my face and then nothing. I opened my eyes and he was walking away, just like that. He didn’t want to eat me after all, he was just curious. He was just a big baby wanting some attention. I didn’t have to run anymore. Thank Goodness.

CLEM

As time passed I got more used to the lady and would actually let her pet me. She seemed to like it and boy could she scratch a head. I’d let her pet me for a while before I got tired of it. Then I’d snap at her. Just for fun. Remind her who she was dealing with in case she had any funny ideas about cat stew or something. Us cats aren’t big enough to kill a human so it’s important to do things like that to make them think we can’t be messed with. It’s amazing how something so big can be so hurt my tiny claw. Big babies.

The leaves fell and the snow was right behind and I was getting really comfortable in my new place. You know, looking out the window from a warm apartment, the snow always seemed so pretty to watch. The way the flakes would come falling down on the grass and the way it laid on the trees like a sparkling soft blanket, it always mesmerized me. What I didn’t know about snow is that it’s really cold. Really,

175 really cold. And when the wind blows so hard you have to close your eyes, it literally freezes the snow onto your fur. If I had balls, they would have frozen off.

We lost Timmy. Found him froze to death behind the garage. So, when the lady from the jungle house next door picked me up to take me in her house, I didn’t put up a fight. Now, I’d heard the stories about The Crazy Cat Lady but I thought it was just the others being catty, I never really believed it until I went into that place. I’d seen other cats in her windows before and didn’t think anything of it. They looked happy enough. I had no idea the lady with the long gray frizzy hair was hoarding them.

The first thing I noticed was the stench that smacked me in the face when she closed the door behind me. I was gagging from the smell, and this coming from someone that licks his own butthole. There were cats everywhere. Bowls of food everywhere.

Poop, pee, everywhere. I knew I had to get out. I couldn’t stay there. I’d rather freeze to death than stay there. There were so many cats and I could feel them moving in on me, all around me, and they were all meowing and it was so loud and I was getting dizzy and I ran to the door but she wouldn’t open it. I was trapped. Things got fuzzy and I passed out.

When I woke up, it was morning and the cat lady was making breakfast. I sat and waited. She had to leave sometime so I pretended to be asleep. She ate, filled all the cat bowls, and grabbed her keys off the counter. I readied myself. I had slowly been scooching closer to the door. She opened the wood inner door and I readied myself. As soon as she opened the storm door, I made my move. I darted through her legs, smacking my head on her calf but I didn’t care. I had to get out, or die trying. I ran and didn’t stop running until I hit the road and then I ran some more until I ran out of breath, which didn’t take long for me.

176

In the morning, I made my way back to the good house and kept my distance from The Crazy Cat Lady. I wouldn’t eat off her porch anymore and definitely didn’t let her pet me anymore. That was a close call. I tried to warn the others but sometimes some cats just aren’t strong enough to hack it out in the wild, so they move in, no matter how bad it is. Not me. I’m a survivor. And I did survive that winter. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.

Spring came in and I made myself a goal of gaining back the winter weight I’d lost. I tried finding more food sources but it was getting harder and harder to roam much since I’d lost the weight. I wasn’t feeling very good at all. So, I mostly hung around the house. I’d learned that if I didn’t run from The Beast, he wouldn’t bother me. It kind of became fun. He would come over to me and I would just drop to the ground, roll on my back, and he would sniff me and then walk away. Stupid beast. Kind of sweet, actually.

Things were nice there. Sometimes I would sit with the lady on a bench by the pond while she read and I watched the birds. And let me tell you, by then I was catching a bird almost every day. I still couldn’t eat them, but I did enjoy playing with them. Then they’d fall asleep and I’d leave them in the grass to rest. It was the lady who called me

Clem, The Mighty Hunter. Of course, she also called me a jerk for killing the birds and mice I would catch and play with. At least eat them, she would say. It’s not really nice to kill them for no reason, she would say. I think they liked playing with me. We had fun together. them trying to fly or run away, me catching them over and over and over. Good times. Good times.

Spring turned in to summer and it was getting hot. But I was cold. I could barely eat and my bones were showing. I didn’t know what was happening but I did know I was getting a lot more cuddling and petting from the lady. I started going into the house when

177 she’d let me. Just checking it out. I’d roam around a little and then leave. I thought about staying but then thought, why? So I can get comfortable and then when you least expect it be tossed out again? No thanks.

Clem, you’re getting so thin, she’d said one day. I really don’t think you can survive another winter out here, she’d said. I’m a survivor, I told her. But she didn’t listen. Instead, she put me in the car and took me to the doctor. Next thing I know I was getting prodded and poked and stuck with needles. But then she brought me home and took me in the house and showed me a clean litter box and a bowl of my very own and a water dish of my very own and The Beast seemed glad I’d come inside. It was great. Too great. Too great to resist. So I found a nice spot on the couch and I took a nap. I was just so tired.

So, I stayed and it was pretty sweet. Two square meals a day, my own toys, nice comfy things to lay on, lots of things to keep my nails filed on. I would eat breakfast, take a nap, play for a few minutes with Murphy, take naps with Murphy, watch TV with

Murphy. Murphy’s not very active. I would go outside and hang with my colony and then come back at night when I got hungry. I don’t know why I held out. This was the life I’d always wanted. I mean, Alfred’s was great, but I never got to go outside. I realize now that it wasn’t so much a home as it was a prison. He was holding me back from my true potential. And now I had the best of both worlds. I came and went as I pleased and was starting to put on some weight again. I think Mel might have been a little jealous that she wasn’t taken in. Well, she had her chance and didn’t take it.

Life was being good to me.

The lady was being good to me.

178

Murphy was being good to me.

Murphy was pretty sweet. No beast at all. I just like to call him that. He’s a big oaf really. Kind of dumb really. Dumb and sweet, the perfect combination. He just doesn’t realize his own size is all. He seems scary when he’s running at you, all 55 pounds of him, but he always stops just in time to not pummel you. He’s so starved for attention, he’s willing to do anything for you.

Not sure how long it was before I was back at the doctor again. My lady was worried that I was still thin and lately I’d been limping. My hips were hurting and it was getting hard to walk. Not ready for a walker yet, but they were pretty sore. So more poking and prodding and then my lady and the doctor were talking while my lady scratched my head. I was hearing things like FIV and leukemia and the lady was asking, should I just put him down? I’ll let her know when she has to stop petting me and put me down, what would this doctor know about what I want? And they were saying some other stuff about irresponsible to let him out and something else but I got distracted by a rabbit on the next table over. I really wanted to chase it but my lady just snuggled me closer so I let her. She seemed sad and I knew it made her happy to pet me.

So apparently, the doctor gave her some medicine for me, which was disgusting and no fun to take. My lady would wrap me in a towel, pry my mouth open, and shove in a pill, then close my mouth and rub my throat and it felt like I was not only suffocating but being strangled to death and no matter how much I tried to free my paws and give her the claw reminder that I’m done with this, I couldn’t. She kept saying it would help me but it was hard to believe her when she said it while basically crushing my head.

179

After a long nap that day I was ready for some air so the next time she was letting

Murphy out I ran to the door. But when I tried to walk out the door, my lady stopped me.

She picked me up and said I couldn’t go outside anymore. Something about me not allowed to be around other cats. You’ll get them sick, she said. The doctor said no, she said. What? What was I hearing? What do you mean no outside? I tried to get out of her arms, but she was too strong. Murphy came in and she closed the door and my head went fuzzy and I passed out.

MURPHY

So that was even easier than I thought it’d be. Mel was so willing to get rid of

Clem, you know. He was competition. I knew Mel was sick, even if she didn’t. I’d seen it before, you know. I’d seen a lot of things around here. We have had a lot of cats over the years, you know. Some in the house, but mostly hood kitties that just hung around. Since

Digit, our six-toed antagonizing cat died ten years ago, there had been no one steady. She used to scatter my toys all around the house, you know. I would put them back in a pile and then she would do it again and then I would get yelled at for leaving my toys on the stairs, you know, and in the toilet and wherever she decided to put them. We had Jack for a short time, but then he went home. He was a jerk anyway, you know. Wouldn’t play with me. All he did was hiss and run away. Big doodoo head.

And then Clem came around. I mean, Mel was here first and didn’t run from me, but she was not interested in playing with me at all, you know. She’s kind of a meany, just ask the other cats. She puts on a front, but she thinks she’s better than everyone else,

180 you know. She should look in the mirror once in a while. I think she’s inbred, you know.

You know how they can be. Well, this time her meaniness paid off for me.

I knew my master liked Clem, she was petting him all the time, you know, snuggling with him, cooing over him. She likes to pet me too, you know and I let her, occasionally, for short bursts. See, I just hate being touched. It makes my skin crawl, you know. It’s like a thousand slimy maggot squirming under my fur. Yeah. I know. So I thought if she had someone else to smother to death, she’d stop messing with me. And

Clem’s cool, you know.

I like him, but I have seen a lot of crazy stuff in my thirteen years. Like a lot of dead cats in the road, you know. So I knew if Clem was always going out he’d be dead before you knew it, you know. Yeah, he’s lasted this long, but that would change. See, when cats start going inside, they get comfortable and then they get careless, you know, and then they run out in the road and get killed. That’s usually how it goes. The Crazy

Cat Lady next door does it to a lot of them. She lures them in, keeps ’em for a while and then tosses them out, you know? What’s that about?

So maybe getting him infected with a fatal disease wasn’t the best solution, I know, but I didn’t have many other options. So, I did what I had to do, you know. I know my master well enough that she would keep him and take care of him. Look at him. He’s already gaining weight and he seems happy, you know. He’s got two meals a day, toys-- that I wish he would not leave lying all over the place, what’s wrong with keeping them together in one spot?—a whole house to run around in, and a warm safe place to sleep at night. What else does he need, you know? Outside is overrated. I hate when my master

181 leaves me tied up the yard. There’s bugs and spiders and dirt, you know, and don’t get me going on the rain. If I didn’t have to pee and poop outside, I would never leave the house.

CLEM

So I don’t know how long it’s been since I got locked in, but it seems like forever.

I miss the warmth of the sun on my face. I miss my friends. I can see them from the window milling about. Free. I beg them to help me. But they don’t. I thought they were my friends, but I see now. They knew all along. Mel just laughs. I feel like she may have had something to do with this, but I could just be paranoid. How could I have been so stupid? I should have known there was a reason she didn’t want to stay in the house.

Anyway, things are definitely different now. I mean the house hasn’t changed any but things feel different to me. Toys that once seemed like gifts to entertain me now feel like little furry bribes, all part of the ploy to lure me in. The bed doesn’t seem as soft and the food seems to have lost its flavor. I find myself over analyzing everything the lady-- my captor--does. She is acting the same and doing the same things but now I’m more alert to the little things. Like, I used to think she was cleaning my litter box so I had a clean place to do my business, but now I think it’s more for her benefit than mine. And she started giving me treats. Delicious, irresistible treats. Surely this is another ploy to keep me from trying to run.

I’m not sure what I am going to do. I watch Murphy go out several times a day and wait by the door for my chance to escape. I don’t understand why he can go out but I can’t. But he’s been great. He nuzzles me, trying to comfort me. I think he’s confused also. Maybe he will help me escape.

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MURPHY

So far, so good. Clem’s tried to get out a couple times, but my master is too quick for him, you know. I still don’t get why he wants to get out. It’s starting to get cold again.

I thought he was smarter than that, you know. I’ve been doing my best to keep his mind occupied and keep him happy. We chase each other around the house. I let him snuggle up to me, which, you know, is an issue of mine. But, you know what? It doesn’t bother me when he touches me. Actually, I kinda like it. He’s warm. I’m still not crazy about his claws, though. Neither is my master, you know. He keeps clawing the furniture. She yells at him, but he doesn’t seem to care. He just looks at her and then claws again. She usually has to get up and grab him off the couch. I know he can’t help it. It’s just something cats do, you know.

CLEM

So, I’m trying a new tactic. I have begun clawing the furniture. She yells at me and pulls me off the couch but that’s about it. I walk on the counters, which she hates. I climb the woodwork and dig my nails in so deep that it grooves the wood when I slide down. She keeps asking me where I think I’m climbing to and I just want to tell her, I’m climbing to my freedom. I figure that if I destroy enough things maybe she’ll throw me out. I hate destroying her things, but I am at a loss of what else to do.

MURPHY

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Clem helped me get on the bed today. My arthritis keeps me from jumping anymore, you know, but he showed me that I could climb on a chest at the end of the bed and then get up. We have taken over half the bed at night and most of the day when my master isn’t home. I think he’s coming around. My master really likes him, you know, so

I am doing my best to keep him happy. She seems happy.

CLEM

I did it, I escaped. I pried the wood door open with my nose and paw when the lady took Murphy out. I stretched up and was able to reach the handle with my paw and it took a lot of force, but I pushed it hard and the door opened. Aahhh. Fresh air. I walked in the back and saw them. I shouldn’t have done that because then she saw me. So I ran to the front. She called me and I ignored her. She put Murphy in the house and came looking for me. I would have just run and run but I find I don’t have the same stamina I had before. And it is so cold. I forgot how cold it can get outside.

She called me again and I looked and we made eye contact. She started to run after me and so I ran. I ran next door to The Crazy Cat Lady’s porch and she followed me, calling me. C’mon Clem, don’t make me chase you. She came up on the porch and I ran across the street and into the neighbor’s back yard. Their yard is a lot bigger than the lady’s back yard. And they have a swimming pool. That would be good for Murphy’s joints. I heard her calling me again. I was hiding in the corner of the yard when I saw her coming down the drive. Clem, c’mon home. Don’t make me chase you down.

I darted past her and down the drive. I stopped at the end of the drive and looked back. She was still coming. She was relentless. She neared and I ran across the street,

184 back to her driveway. C’mon Clem, please stop running. She crossed the street and I ran in the back yard and hid behind the garbage can. That was a big mistake. I couldn’t see her but she must have seen me because she grabbed me and picked me up and hugged me. She called me a jerk, but she petted me while she said it.

Back to the prison it was. Murphy seemed happy to see me, though.

MURPHY

Clem got out today, you know. I don’t know how, but he did. That little bugger’s pretty crafty when he wants to be, you know. My master went after him and caught him.

Glad she caught him, she’d be pretty unhappy if he got away. She’s pretty attached to him, you know. I let him have my treat today, but he didn’t like it very much. So I didn’t try to eat his.

CLEM

She put a collar on me today. One of those no choke collars. Had it off in about ten seconds. Not my first rodeo, sister. Amateur. I’m planning on a different escape tactic. I’ll keep you posted.

MURPHY

Clem got a new collar today. This is the second one he’s gotten, you know. The first one he got off right away, you know. It has a tag on it with my master’s number in case he gets out again. I think if he gets out again he’ll never go to another human ever.

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CLEM

I fell asleep under her car tire. I got out some time in the night through the basement window. It wasn’t easy, my front paws are a bloody mess and I lost a tooth. I tried to run but the pain was too much. I had to lay down. She saw me when she let

Murphy out this morning. I was too sore to run. So, back again.

MURPHY

I licked his paws for him. My master cleaned them up but I knew it would make him feel better. And I think it did, you know. She’s going to have to do a better job if she wants to keep him in the house or she’s going to lose him. I’m gonna have to do something, you know.

CLEM

My paws are better now. Murphy licked them clean. It was so gross. Every time he comes in the house now, he pushes me up the stairs, where I perch by the door, waiting for my next chance. I’m beginning to think he’s helping the master keep me captive. Probably just being paranoid. I think he just likes me. But I better be careful with him.

MURPHY

Clem was clawing the couch again, you know. But that’s not the worst of it. You should see the basement floor. He clawed holes in the spongey floor. My master was so mad, you know. I thought for sure she was going to get rid of him after that.

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CLEM

Today I clawed through the spongey floor in the basement. I knew that would do it. She’ll surely get rid of me now. She’s really mad.

MURPHY

She took him away in a cage, you know. Not sure what’s happening. He may have done it this time, you know.

CLEM

She put me in the cage and I thought she was going to dump me at the pound, but we ended up at the doctor again. The doctor was saying how healthy and good I looked and how she couldn’t believe how well I was doing. I think he’ll be fine, she said. And then another shot. And then I passed out.

MURPHY

He’s back. Not looking too good, you know, but he’s back.

CLEM

Today, I woke up somewhere in the house, the living room I think. It’s foggy. My feet are wrapped in bandages and I can’t feel my claws anymore.

MURPHY

187

She took his claws out, you know. OMG, I hope I’m not next. I mean, I won’t miss those damn things diggin’ in my side when he’s kneading me, but still. That’s messed up, you know.

CLEM

It’s over for me now. My paws are healed but I’m now less of a cat. My plan backfired. I thought destroying her stuff would free me and instead, it imprisoned me more. I won’t be hunting anymore. Every time I crouch down and try to pounce, I lose my balance and stumble left or fall over all together. Sometimes I get up, sometimes I lay there and stare at my master, willing her toes to fall off so she can see how I feel. It doesn’t work. At night, while she’s sleeping, I bite her toes, hoping I can get even one to come off. It will take some time, but time is all I have now. I can’t texture the curtains anymore like I used to. The new ones are so smooth and plain. When I stretch my legs up the side of the couch, I don’t hear the lovely scratching sound that used to soothe me. I shake. I can’t protect myself anymore. Sure, I still have my back claws, but they don’t help me when I’m trying to run away fast or climb up high to avoid an attack. How am I supposed to survey all my kingdom? I can’t see it all from the ground.

Sometimes I can still feel them and for a moment I get excited, thinking they grew back, but when I go to grab onto something, a toy mouse, the curtain, Murphy, my paw just slips off and I fall back down to reality. I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. My master seems happy. Good for her. When she’s not paying attention, I slap her in the face. Nighttime is the best time. I can really get some good hits in when she’s sleeping. I bat her lashes, which wakes her up. I know it’s silly, but it makes me feel better. I’ve

188 made a game of it. I see how many times she’ll brush the invisible annoyance off her face before she finally opens her eyes or rolls over. Last night was seven.

So, I have resorted to the fact that this is now my life. I sit by the window and look at the green grass I’ll never feel between my toes—my hideous, deformed toes—and the birds that will forever elude me. I watch the others, watching me from outside on the porch. Sometimes they cry and sometimes—many times—I cry. Sure, she bought me new fancy food and gave me my own soft blanket, but it’s only stuff. I’ll never be whole again. At least I have Murphy. He’s a good friend. I realize he can’t help me. He’s just a dog.

Escape is futile.

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