The car ride home was silent. We’d left the house as clean and sanitary as we could. An unspoken vow was made to never speak of it again. At least I made the vow.
Bowie was left with some food in his bowl though the cat seemed clever enough to manage foraging amongst the neighborhood bird community and neighbor’s indirect charity to his cause. Something in the way he looked at me with those mismatched eyes told me that I was working far harder to assist him than I should. I understood why Miss Almost-Aunt kept him around, he was far more likable company than the other inhabitants around the block, though I did find Bowie a little snooty.
We found no air fresheners of any modern variety; instead we lit some incense located close to the air conditioning unit. The smell of lavender filled the air, hinted with a tickle of chemical wash. It would have to do. Considering the rank odor of decay and lingering death that we walked into, this dizzyingly fresh aroma would suffice.
Rebecca and I didn’t speak for a few days. After the trip there was reason for her to be angry with me. It was unfair that her family was the one laying down the minefield that I stumbled through. This was of course not on purpose but some days I’m left to wonder, paranoid delusions and all.
I also found myself growing an aversion to meats. This lasted several days. By the weekend I could not stand it any longer and purchased a crispy chicken burger at the closest drive through dive. I was not quite up to the hamburgers yet. Seeing meat in the grocery store conjured images of blood, red washed walls and that tiny potato leaned on the crisper drawer like a child’s forehead pressed on stained glass. Come to think of it, I didn’t purchase fries with the chicken, this may be the cause. Post traumatic stress must be something more acute than this. Therapy may be in store down the ways for me.
When we did talk again it was with reservations on both sides. Like dating at the beginning all over again we didn’t want to dredge up any stories the other might get upset over. I know that should she mention her ‘aunt’ I would sour and if I mentioned that refrigerator or Bowie her face would darken. So we talked about my job and career hunt, chatted about her school work. We had lunch quietly and spent the week apart.
Something in all of this didn’t sit well with me but this whole trip to her ‘aunt’s’ was the last in a series of unfortunate events. Granted some of it was drama on my side but we saw it all through together. For now we needed some time alone to process it.
After the week long contemplation I got a call on my way home from my menial job tending to the general populace’s every drugstore need. Rebecca was on the other end and sounded better than when I’d last seen her. Actually she sounded downright chirpy. The way she asked how I was doing and her obvious excessive smiling on the other side of the line. “What’s going on?” I asked her.
I thank God sometimes for Rebecca’s honesty in the face of certain direct questions. She didn’t squirm or miss a beat. “My mother’s coming for a visit.”
I can, within a marginal doubt, say that everyone has heard the song, The Devil Went Down to Georgia. Now having said that, this has little to do with Rebecca’s mother, for instance, there is no fiddling, and at the end of the day the devil collects. I have watched Rebecca fiddle hard against the woman but age and the bitterness that comes with it have hardened her mother to any young fiddle technique.
“Is your dad coming?” I ask, hoping for a silver lining. Her father is a lot like me. Though I guess psychologically that makes sense for Rebecca.
“Not this time.”
“Did she eat him?” I ask, a sheepish grin growing on my face.
“What?” I could hear her suppressing a laugh.
“You know, unhinged her jaw, clasped him with those clawed and colorful appendages and stuff him slowly down her gullet. Her body bending and expanding to compensate for his mass and her saliva slowly…”
She coughed and stopped me. “Will you come by?” She sounded better.
“Sure.”
“Tomorrow night.”
“What?” The short notice was a little startling. “When did you hear she was coming to see you?”
The line went quiet. “A few days ago.”
“Shit hon, I need at least a few days to brush up on my Aramaic and dust off my King James Bible and crucifix.”
“Shut up. I haven’t had the best week.”
“Considering the few month’s we’ve had this has been the easiest week yet. Between my cousin and my dad, your family and their,” I paused to find a polite word, “crap.” couldn’t find one, “I would say that this week has been pretty relaxing.”
“Does everything have to be a joke?” Her hackles were rising, but I, following the guidelines set by my father and his father before him and all men everywhere, was clueless.
“Sure takes the edge off of things.”
She began to huff and seethe. “Forget it, don’t come by. I’ll deal with it myself.”
“Deal with what? Your mom? There’s nothing to deal with just lay down, play dead and soil yourself, she’ll grow bored and move on.”
I’ve made her hang up on me before. Not proud of those days, like I’m not proud of this one. I hung up and drove a little faster than I usually do, home.
I knew that I should call her back and apologize. Instead I did nothing but wait.
My family is far from perfect. In fact my family is as dysfunctional as Rebecca’s. I think the idea is that each has their own style but screw up their kids evenly. Depending on the kid we deal with it or don’t and move on or remain where we are.
Rebecca’s mom, Agatha, was one hell of a woman some time ago. Strong, bold and just the right mix of sexy and stern. I don’t say this from experience. This is all second hand from the look that Rebecca’s dad gets in his eyes when he looks at his ex-wife. That sort of love lost.
When she met Henry, he was a climbing writer, sharing his views about things in some editorial that’s become either modernized by the internet or has faded into oblivion. She on the other hand was some top notch mortgage broker and was on her way to some executive position. So when Rebecca and her older sister came along it was decided that Henry would stay home with the girls.
The abridged version of their life growing up was that the older girl grew close to her mother and Agatha loved having a protégé while Rebecca grew close to her father becoming her father’s closest thing to a son. Somehow Agatha resented Rebecca for choosing her lowlife father.
Divorce came and went. The girls went with their mother and Rebecca learned to grow a thick skin and mature quickly. She moved out when she started college and met me. There’s a lot missing but those stories have their place.
The following day I dressed at the end of my shift, put on a deep blue dress shirt. Touched up my hair with some moisture from the water fountain and made my way over to Rebecca’s place.
I stood in front of her apartment door preparing myself. My frustration and opinions bottled away. Just before I knocked the locks began to unlatch. I stood frozen watching the doorknob turn just a few inches from my grasp. When the door swung open Rebecca’s face filled my view.
She’d brushed her hair and put on that quick touch of makeup that lets her face come alive. I was speechless when I saw her. “What are you doing here?” her forehead creasing with concern, fear and anger.
“Sidney.” Her mother cheered behind her, “I was just asking Becca about you. You’re coming to pay for dinner, right?” She laughed at her own joke, “Nonsense, it’s my treat.”
Rebecca locked the door and stalked past me. Agatha placed her hand on my shoulder, her nails inches from my jugular. After slitting my throat, I wondered, would she bath in the fountain of my blood or drink from it like a garden hose? “So how’s finding a job with that degree of yours?”
My mouth remained closed as she guided me along. I knew a one sided conversation when I heard one.
“Tough times these are. Difficult for some of us to stay afloat.” She smiled at me, nearly perfect teeth like a brand new grand piano winking back at me with a glimmer of reflected light. “Shame, my daughter Cici had her job lined up the first day out.” Cici is Nancy, Rebecca’s older and flawless sister.
I felt a thump of pulse on my forehead and sighed. Agatha talked me all the way to her car, where Rebecca stood, arms folded against the back door.
* * * * *
We had dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. I was forced into sitting next to Agatha while Rebecca sat alone on the opposing end of the table. I don’t know quite how I ended up on this end of the table, I’m sure that I was placed by a very persuasive hand. The woman was a marvel, she could control a person’s actions with applied pressure to the shoulder and the grace of her tongue, no matter what nonsense it spewed it was all about tone.
Agatha spoke on about her last visit to the restaurant, the food she had tasted, company she kept. She told some humorous anecdote about embarrassing a waiter. I couldn’t tell when she segued into different topics, I was busy not existing behind my menu. Rebecca was burning tiny eye holes through hers trying to penetrate my shield listing the daily specials.
When the waiter came and introduced himself, he took a moment to look back and forth at the three of us. He blinked harder than normal and droned on about the soup and fish of the day. Agatha asked him about the soup as I took a peek over the top of my menu to see if the stare down had taken a reprieve.
Rebecca was watching her mother as the older woman rambled. Rebecca rolled her eyes and resigned herself back to the menu. When she noticed me watching, her eyes hardened and I quickly dove beneath the ramparts of the specials section. I waited out the siege while deciding that I would order a burger and not over complicate the evening.
Appetizers came and went. Agatha had ordered popcorn shrimp and chuckled at how cute each crustacean looked battered and crisped golden. I remained quiet and smiled when spoken to. Agatha praised me on my securing of a job, albeit a simple one, and my success at living alone. All the while Rebecca just sat watching her mother lay brick after brick of praise, building a foundation on which to build walls of cooperation or a structure she could demolish should I prove less than useful in whatever scheme she schemed.
When my burger came Agatha asked me to evaluate and present her with a review of the meaty sandwich should she ever deign to eat like the masses do. I grumbled an agreement.
Rebecca received her meal with a blank stare and a hollow thank you to the waiter. The way she sat with her shoulders slouched reminded me of our trip to Miss Almost-Aunt’s house. It reminded me of any time she spoke with her family, with an exception for her father. I extended my leg under the table and gently tapped her calf. I hoped that it would provide reassurance that I was still here and with her. She looked up at me and pulled her lips tight across her face in a rough attempt at a smile.
The waiter came by and asked if we were alright or in need of anything. Agatha smiled at him and graciously thanked and excused him. As he walked away she turned to her daughter and in a rare moment of decency spoke to her without hint of malice. “Dear, are you alright?”
Rebecca looked up in surprised. She began mouthing something but couldn’t find the words. Her voice had been replaced by awkward quiet noises.
Her mother smiled and continued, “Isn’t the waiter cute?”
I choked on a particularly luscious piece of bacon and medium-cooked beef.
Agatha ignored my sputtering noises and talked to her daughter in loud confidence, “He looks like he takes the time to work out.”
“Excuse,” I coughed the word and tried to clear my throat, “Me.” The words sounded weak to myself.
Rebecca’s brow furrowed, fear and confusion consumed her features.
Paying Rebecca and me no mind, Agatha went on, “Imagine the size of his penis.” The words hung in the air.
Finally choking down the food and clearing my throat I took a deep breath. “What is your problem?”
Agatha turned slowly to me, her surprise was almost genuine. “Excuse me?”
“Agreed.”
She huffed and smiled, “Just how do you think you can disrespect me?”
“What?” I could hardly believe what I was hearing.
Rebecca took a deep breath and closed her eyes. I imagine she was trying to push the whole situation aside with her mind. Had I not been so invested in the coming argument I may have noticed.
“What do you have that makes you believe that anything you say has weight or merit?” Agatha’s words cut into and infuriated me.
“What allows you to be a bitch towards…” my words were cut short as a woman a few tables over screamed as though her soul was being wrenched from her earthly body.
I turned to see what the commotion was about. The table had erupted into a flurry of napkins sprung from laps and utensils clattering to the floor. The napkins floated amongst the chaos like gliding doves as people screamed “Rat!” and “Roach!”
I turned back to our table to find myself eye to eye with Agatha. Our eyes locked for a moment when she struck me across the face. The blow shocked me and snapped my head hard to the side where I saw a large brown splotch dart around the floor, a blur of speed and fear.
“Mom!”
I barely heard Rebecca’s cry over the ringing sound from my ear being clapped. Likewise I heard little of the cacophony of noise playing through the restaurant as people wailed and others tried valiantly and clumsily to stomp out the brown splotch from the earth.
Agatha had lost the hint of a smile playing at the edge of her mouth, replacing it with a look of scorn. I imagine the social game she had planned for the evening didn’t go as planned. I believe she didn’t expect me to call her a bitch so quickly. Our previous arguments had seen me endure worse before cracking and fighting back. Never had I crossed the line of verbal abuse.
I turned back to the table with my sight unfocused and my hearing slowly returning. Rebecca was beginning to find herself amid the maelstrom and drew herself up. Agatha was brimming with retaliation.
Waiters began pouring into the dining area of the restaurant trying to triangulate the creature’s position with the guests while issuing apologies by the handfuls. The manager and his assistant ran public relations while the employees scattered and formed kill squads.
Agatha looked at Rebecca and with a hard word barely audible over the mass panic and persistent ringing, ordered her to the car.
Rebecca deflated and her eyes glossed over. Whatever spirit had risen there had fled.
They fought their way out of the restaurant and through the waiters posted at the door like sentries, silencing the guards’ protests with a look.
I was late in realizing what was happening. With my wits still uncollected I stumbled through the crowds as they turned from frightened mob to enraged patrons.
The manager and his faithful sidekick tried to argue down several tables but were out shouted. As I neared the door I heard the sound of shoes mounting a table as the manager shouted for order. I pushed through the guards while the manager began addressing the crowd amidst the claps of shoes stomping after the brown splotch and orders being passed between squads of cooks and staff.
As I exited I shouted for Rebecca’s attention, calling her name in an attempt to break the spell. She stopped and turned to look at me.
Agatha stopped and said something to her daughter with a scowl contorting her face. Rebecca ignored her and walked over to me. “Don’t.” She said. My heart stopped for a moment on seeing the look in her face.
“Let him find his own way home, the little,” her face twisted and she seemed to struggle against herself when she yelled, “prick.”
“Please don’t.” Was all I could hear. Rebecca turned and walked away. She didn’t look like the girl I had spent the last few years with. Instead she looked like the girl I met. In fact she looked and acted exactly as she did when she first introduced me to her mother. I felt like I had lost her again for the second time in these last few weeks.
Rebecca walked away as her mother whispered, “You can do much better than that…boy.” They began to walk to the car. Agatha took one long last look at me and chuckled.
Inside the restaurant there was a final slam and someone screamed, “Yeah!”
No comments:
Post a Comment