My phone spasmed in my pocket sending a tingling sensation up my spine and alerting me to its urgency, of course this had to happen while I’m driving home from work. Gingerly, while keeping my left hand affixed to the wheel I worked to withdraw the device from my left pocket. This is of course contradictory but I favor my right hand greatly, if asked directly I will say it is my favorite with my left hanging forlornly at my side. The phone was not difficult to extract. Pressing on the bottom portion of my pocket to draw it to the surface like you would a tenacious pimple or a willful roll of toothpaste. Eventually it slid from its nest and ceased demanding. Grumbling to myself, I flipped it open and squeezed the keys til a dial tone murmured through the ear piece.
The excited and always encouraging voice of my woman caressed my ear, that tart way she can say hello that would discourage relatives from remaining long on the line. “Hello dear.” I respond as honey-dipped as I can muster while wrestling the contraption to form to my face.
She softens, “Hi there.” A great weight rolling off her shoulders with a soundless crash to the floor. “I was just calling you.”
“Seemed like you were expecting someone else?” It sounded like a statement but I toned it to fit either scenario.
“My aunt,” Her voice quieting with a sigh, “she’s been calling all day about her place.”
I concentrate and try to either read her mind or recall enough details about the aunt she may be speaking of to seem involved. Neither comes through. “Family aunt or one of the…” I trail off seeking the kindest way to place it, “one of those family friend, almost-aunts?”
Hope I did well enough. I think to myself.
“Almost-aunt.”
“What about her place?” The cars around me don’t understand my need for concentration, they veer and turn aggressively forcing my hand back to the wheel and my neck to contort in efforts to seize the phone.
“She left to go see her family and has some neighbor checking her place.”
I can feel the length of tale about to be spun and try to head it off. “So what does she need from you?” Grinning to myself for my maneuver.
“Well apparently she doesn’t trust the lady and there’s some bad blood over the neighbor’s bird being killed or lost and having to do with my aunt’s cat...”
“Almost-aunt.” Even with the correction my smile still faded.
“…Almost-aunt’s cat. So there’s no trust and it ends up that she wants me to go and check on the house and make sure that the canary woman isn’t duping her.”
“It was a canary?” My mind slowly returns to concentrating on the road. The question fires without my knowing.
“It doesn’t matter what it was or is. We have to go check the house.” Her anger begins to simmer.
My mind works out the logistics but my mouth replies dumbly, “Is? To imply that it’s not dead? What’s this about ‘we’?” I know that the questions are dumb but that doesn’t stop them from feeding the flames of her fury, they begin to leap and lash at me.
“Are you going to pick me up or am I meeting you at my aunt’s house?”
Her fury and the coming arguments are beyond my control now; my mouth decides to go for it. “Almost-aunt and I’m on my way to get you.” I can feel her trying to focus on not hanging up and throwing her phone. I mutter a quick goodbye before she growls her farewell.
The phone call ends and I nestle the phone between my thighs to prevent having to retrieve it again from my pocket.
I will say that I love this girl, what I will not say is how much her family bothers me. Right now though, I have to deal with her dealing with them dealing with their crap. So I guess from what I learned in math about transitive relationships, that whole a equals b and b equals c so whatever equals whatever, means that I’m dealing with her family’s crap.
* * * * *
The car ride from picking up Rebecca to her ‘almost-aunt’s’ ensues in silence. I know how mad she is at them and how mad she will be at me for it that I enjoy the passing tranquility. The quiet washes over me, cleaning me, marinating and preparing me to be presented as the feast for my woman’s scorn. If it wasn’t for the ambiance of traffic and radio static it would almost be Buddhist.
I look over to her from time to time, her shoulders droop each time her family calls and this time is no different. Her eyes stare blankly at the glove compartment and her hair is a mess, probably from grabbing at it in frustration. I do hope that the hair thing is over her family and not my aggravatingly cute nature or so it’s been called.
My hand seeks hers like a blind pig digging for truffles. It roots around the edge of her seat then makes its way onto her thigh and searches high and low. Finally she grabs my hand and squeezes. I look over for a second to asses if the squeeze is bad or good. Her eyes look at me weakly and she fabricates a smile. I squeeze back and can only imagine the level of insanity that her family wrought this day.
After half an hour of driving I exclaim, “How fucking far does she live?”
Rebecca smiles and looks out the window at what I can only imagine must now be farmstead and cattle herds or possibly Canadian wilderness and overly friendly bears.
Because my sanity demands it and I’ve lost my zen nature with this particular ride I ask, “So who called first?”
In her reflection I see the smile vanish, the shoulders descending into her ribs. “My mom.”
“Of course.” I mutter to no one.
Her distance from me grows, our words are scripted by now, we’re just playing our parts. I try to change the subject to bring her back to me. “So what’s the story with Mistress Finch and the supposed homicide?”
“My aunt’s cat…” it pained me to sit by without cutting in, “use to free roam at night. Mix it up with the other cats I guess. Came home every morning before God and my grandmother woke just in time for her to wake herself and feed it.”
“Is it just the one cat? Typically crazy aunts travel in packs or prides I think they’re called, with many cats.”
“No just the one anyways…”
The drive continued for 10 minutes while I heard some story about a cat that killed and probably ate a bird was accosted by an old, angry and emotionally shaken woman with a broom. He was called oh so many names but was never charged with avicide. Eventually he was placed under house arrest on suspicion alone. The cat’s street reputation apparently never recovered and when he does escape he typically returns with an assortment of cuts and bites that require tending by an oh so lonely and out of touch, almost-aunt.
* * * * *
Apparently this woman lives in a condo located in the middle of no way out and good luck finding me. When we arrived, couldn’t believe that we were checking in on the place.
The windows were all but sealed shut and curtained from the inside. The door had seen better days and should probably stand besides a warning about splinters not to mention the iron gate which should also have a sign but instead that reads “Seek immediate medical attention if jaw begins to lock after opening.” Vines limply held onto similar iron bars protecting the kitchen window. I wondered if the almost-aunt lived like this or had left on vacation some decades prior.
I let Rebecca out while I circled the lot looking for some faintly painted visitor spaces. Finding them and walking around the neighborhood back to the house I found the gate open but had to risk my gentle skin to pressing to wooden door open.
“Bowie.” Rebecca’s voice sounded pleading as she called for the cat to show itself.
“David Bowie?” I called in after her.
“Different colored eyes.” Then she continued, “Bowie.”
I walked through the house noting how squarely this woman fell into the spinster category. Although there was an aroma to the air that was not the musty smell of an attic long forgot. I followed it.
“Bowie.” Rebecca continued to call as I followed the smell that was becoming a stench.
It peaked in power and repulsion in the kitchen. My mind began to hum as it numbered the possibilities. Dead body, dead bodies, dead cat, possibly long dead bird. As my brain rounded on more logical ideas I shouted back, “Did your almost-aunt cut the power?”
“Bowie! Yeah she did. BOWIE!”
I stared at the refrigerator the same way I imagine Pandora must have stared at that box. That feeling curling tight inside me knowing that I should not while the desire arrested me with the need to know what. Unlike Pandora I did not believe that once the evil within was let out that there would be hope left alive inside the refrigerator much less within me.
My fingers curled around the handle as Rebecca poked out from the stairwell. “I can’t find…” Her statement paused while she watched me ignore her and satiate my dark curiosity.
The door peeled open with a wet and sticky sound and burped a bubble of sick revolting gas into my face. My throat contracted to prevent the vile air from entering my lungs or stomach. That I could both taste and smell it set my stomach upon itself, attempting to implode and leave me with its contents.
The jars along the door were leaking and gelling with their various sauces and condiments. The milk stood resolute and stern daring anyone to try and stir it from its vigil. The contents of tupperware on tupperware had been claimed by a teal organism that I swore winked at me with its cheekiness at having stolen leftovers. But none of these were the culprits of the lurching my stomach was doing.
Along the sides of the refrigerator and down the edges of the door frame, hardened blood streaked down the walls. Crimson claws had raked down this interior and left this ruby remainder. Down it went into a pool upon the bottom shelf. It had been too much for the subtly depressed shelf to hold. It had slipped down into the crisper drawers where it lingered with the vegetables that I could only imagine had gained the ability to sing and fruits the skills to dance. In the blood soaked drawer a single potato watched me with one of its many eyes through the tinted plastic. Its demeanor begged for death.
Rebecca was slowly walking towards me, staring at the contents of the refrigerator and approaching slowly. She made little noise as to not startle me or the refrigerator but I think it was more the refrigerator.
My eyes traced the bloodied lines up to the freezer door. Having come this far and still holding my breath I reached for the handle. Rebecca mouthed quiet protest from behind me in vain. This door also came open with a slick and wet crackle.
The true nature of the odor was revealed to me like an epiphany. Enlightening and humbling. My fascination alone kept me from dropping to my knees in grotesque worship then doubling over and adding my own liquids and smells to the mix.
Within the freezer lay a chicken waiting its judgment. Several steaks and a pound of ground beef were beginning to collect and reform the shape of a cow. Sausages lounged in their intestinal casings conversing about the pleasant shift to a warmer climate. The water that must have once filled the ice trays had long since left, leaving flys to hop between trenches as their children crawled over each of the meats present at this corrupt council.
Tearing myself away from the sight and smell, I ran to the door. When I next occupied my head I found myself staring at the porch ceiling. My back was sweat soaked and pressed against the hot brick tile porch. Inside I could hear scrubbing. Not bathtub cleaning scrubbing, industrial machine maintenance and sanitization scrubbing.
I rolled up onto my feet and held steady against the wall as my body reoriented itself with, well, itself. Staggering in I found Rebecca elbow deep in the refrigerator with a cloth tied round her face like a bandit and thick yellow gloves on her hands. The gloves were already splotched with blood, it looked like I had walked in on the cleanup for a nasty homicide. The blood that once dripped down the walls was now smeared across the sides tinting them pink. Nearby a garbage can sat unhappily with contents that did not require my inspection.
“Sweetie,” My stomach felt as though it had already vomited even though I saw no evidence of where and threatened to do so again, “why don’t we just leave this and agree to tell no one.”
She ignored me and continued to grind at the walls with a towel wrapped around steel wool.
“Baby, we can drag this fridge out and set it on fire. No one will know.”
Still scrubbing.
“Beccy please just walk away from this.”
Her eyes darted up to mine then as quickly as they had risen they fell back to their work. In that moment I felt that she would have no problems cleaning up my murder if I persisted.
“I’m going to go look for the cat then?” I smiled in hopes of drawing some mirth out of this dismal situation.
She continued scrubbing.
I walked away before sighing and started looking for this almost-aunt’s acquitted bird murderer.
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