She lies directly in front of the door. Her black mourning dress is wrapped around her shapely legs. The dingy carpet around her is littered with demolished tissues and dog toys. Marcellus’ golden ears perk up as my voice floats through the air.
“Amelia. Get up.”
She doesn’t stir.
“No. Not today.”
There is no sadness in her voice just that matter-of-fact tone that people have when they are really sure of something. Marcellus, Kellan’s dog, whimpers at the sound of her voice. His tail sways as he rises to greet me. The tattered couch cries as I lean onto its back.
“What’s going on?”
She rolls onto her back. Dried charcoal streaks line her face. Carpet fuzzies cling to the smashed side of her unruly, chestnut locks. She stares, not at me, not at Marcellus who is licking her cheeks and prying on her clasped hands, but at nothing in particular.
“Do you remember…Do you remember when the four of us went bowling?” An odd smile tugs at her cracked, bleeding lips. “The band? And when Charlotte threw the ball across three lanes? She made a strike…Is that what it is called? A strike?”
“Yeah, Amelia, a strike.”
“A strike…” Clearing her throat, she starts again. “And do you remember the walk to dinner? How pretty it was outside? The sky was purple and the rain was pouring, but we were all too drunk to care?”
She’s still not looking at me.
“And the food? At that place? On Magazine Street? What was the place called?”
“Semolina’s.”
“Yeah, Semolina’s. We had the waiter so flustered he dropped Charlotte’s wine in her lap…”
“We can’t change anything now, Amelia.” I slide to the floor next to her. Her hair is crunchy between my fingers. I pull her trembling body to mine.
“You know? The tears just won’t come anymore. I try. It’s just not fair.” Her voice is barely a breath now.
“It’s not our fault, Amelia”
My own voice sounds weak and unsure. It wasn’t our fault…As much as it hurts, I can only try to convince myself (and Amelia) that there was nothing we could have done to stop Kellan from doing what he did.
“But, see, it is. I shouldn’t have slept with you. I loved him. I loved him more than I love myself…”
The blood rushes to my face and I can feel my nails threatening to pierce my skin.
“But you love me.” My voice drips with insecurity. The statement presents itself as a question. “You didn’t love him as much as you love me. Don’t try to change the plot after the book is published. You wouldn’t have changed a damn thing and you know it.”
I stare at Amelia with disbelief. I destroyed my relationship with Charlotte. I betrayed Kellan. MY best friend, Kellan Montoya Jenkins, the kid that I used to play catch with in grade school, the big-eared class clown that taught me how to pick up girls and drive a car was gone because of my relationship with this woman. I wanted to scream. I wanted to shake her until she realized what she was saying, what her words were doing to me.
“But if I would have opened the door, I could have calmed him down, I could have…”
And in that instant, it all comes rushing back to me. I can no longer hear Amelia’s obnoxious rambling. My ears roar with the sound of the gunshot and the shattered glass. I see the pink mist fly from the back of his head as he crashes to the ground. The steely scent of blood and the sweet sulphur of the gun smoke fill my nostrils, gagging me. I can feel the warmth of his blood slipping through my fingers as I reach for him. So much blood, more blood than I had ever seen in the ER. Red stripes painting the door behind him. The neighbors in the apartment next door, screaming broken English into their phones, the scratching of their bodies against their doors, struggling to see what has happened. I sit there as his life escapes, as his heart stops beating. I don’t feel it, I hear it.
“He would have listened to me because he loved me.”
“He was going to kill you, Amelia. If I hadn’t been there, he was going to shoot you just like he shot himself.” I’m pacing as if pacing will somehow erase the crushing feeling pounding in my chest. I stop pacing and my legs refuse to continue support. The floor rushes up to break my fall. She calls my name. I try to smile and speak. I want to let her know not to worry, but the room fades to black as her frightened screams turn to whispers.
Friday, April 24, 2009
A Man and His Dog
I stare at him as he works on the sleek black cycle. The tail of the scorpion that rests on his upper arm escapes from the sleeve of the tight t-shirt as it struggles over his hard, pronounced bicep. The tiny mole disappears into his mouth with a purse of his full lips. He’s long and devoid of fat except for the round curve of his stomach, the beginnings of a beer belly though he quit drinking months ago. He wraps his hand around a screw on the bike’s handlebars. It looks so small in his large hands.
Chodyn lumbers over. He’s fat, though Marcus will never admit this, the dog is fat. He’s a funny looking creature. 145 lbs of fat slathered muscle jiggle with each heavy step. His silvery tan coat sparkles as he crashes down beside me on the cold concrete floor of the shop. He forces his large snout into my palm and nibbles at my hand. Marcellus, my much smaller companion, bounds around the corner from the showroom. He leaps onto the larger dog’s back and growls playfully. The pit bull mastiff mix snorts and drools on Marcellus. They tumble into a scooter, almost knocking it to the ground.
Marcus is looking at me. Not grinning, not smiling, just staring at me as I stare at the dogs. Watching as I push my unruly black hair from my eyes. A sad smile crosses my face as I look into his bright brown eyes. Marcus walks over and separates the dueling animals, snatching his friend by the scruff of the neck.
“You know? There’s only two things in my life that I could always rely on…Alcohol and my dog. And now that alcohol is out of the picture, I’m left with my dog.” His voice is rich and deep filled with only the slightest drawl to tell of his Southern Louisiana roots. “And my dog would never betray me.”
I don’t know if this is a dig at my infidelity, or his own, but I know a dig when I hear one.
I clear my throat and study a grease spill beneath my heels. Marcellus trots up to me jumping, begging for attention. I lean down to pick him up. The tan and black dog proceeds to remove my make up with his tongue wagging his tail with ever lick. In that moment, I get what he is saying. Dogs are innocent, childlike, and they love unconditionally.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m here. Even when you’re gone on another one of your sexual escapades, I’m still here. I’ve never intentionally done anything to hurt you. I’ve always been there for you…I think it’s pretty apparent that no matter…” My throat begins to close and my eye twitches threatening to spill tears. Marcellus leaps from my arms, tumbling ungracefully onto the grease spot. His coat is now covered with oil and kitty litter. I laugh to keep myself from crying. “No matter what you put me through I am here for
you…I am here with you. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”
His grips my chin between his rough hands and pulls my head up so that I meet his stare. He’s silent momentarily. The corners of his eyes tug on the corners of his lips and a small, tortured smile crosses his face. He places his large thumb over my mouth as he leans down to kiss my forehead.
“I know that. I never said you did. I’ve never thought for a minute that you would.” He turns his back on me, swiping a towel and a water bottle from the counter. He spritzes the water onto my dog, rubbing the towel across the drying litter. Marcellus tries to bite him and the towel as it musses the fur. Without looking at me, he continues. “I’ve made mistakes. I cheated on you. Every chance I got, I slept with her. You didn’t deserve it…Hell, you deserved revenge. But I know that you’re too good for that kind of petty shit. When you told me you had sex with that other man in our bed…You were lying because you wanted to hurt me.” He’s still not looking at me.
A single tear slips from the corner of my right eye. I catch it in the tip of my artificial nail. I look at it; grey from my supposedly waterproof mascara, it catches the light from the shop, and glitters on top of the white acrylic. I wipe it on my leg leaving a thin black streak on my otherwise spotless khakis. I got my painful revenge. I beat myself up over it for months. I had convinced myself that no matter what he did to me, there was a reason for his insanity. But for him to sit here and tell me that he didn’t believe that I slept with that man…It stung worse than the actual act. “So you’re telling me that you are so self-important that you don’t think I am capable of the same actions as you? You’re really going to sit there and call me a liar?” My face is hot and my lips quivers. My knuckles have turned white from digging my nails into the palm of my balled fist. I imagine slapping him. I can almost feel the slight burn as my hand meets his face. I can’t hit him. Instead, I spit. I spit, disturbing the brake dust that has settled on the smooth concrete.
He jerks his head up and glares at me. “Watch your temper.”
“Fuck you, Marcus.” I shock myself, but the damage is done and the words continue to spill from my lips. Regret will hit me later, but in this moment, I don’t give a damn. A shocked look covers his face. “Four years of this BULLSHIT and I’m tired.”
He starts to speak, but I’m not done yet. “Four years of your lies and you manipulation and your self-important attitude and you know what? I’m done. Now. This stops right now. Cam wasn’t the only one. How about you ask Lou? Yep, Lou. Ask him about the fun we had when you were at work. Go ahead. Call him.” I pick up his phone from the wooden shelf and chunk it across the room. Though it was in one piece when I threw it, it’s now in several. The keypad is under one bike and the battery rests in the kitty litter oil mixture.
“What the hell?” Marcus jumps up and begins collecting the pieces of his precious electronic black book. The look in his eyes is frightening. I’ve seen this look before and with this look, things always end badly for me. Not this time. “Don’t even think about laying a hand on me.” The wrench in my hand is heavy and awkward. I’ve never once said anything back to this man. Never once have I raised a hand in my defense. I’m lost and shocked at my own actions. I look down at the wrench. When I do, he grabs my wrists, shaking the lead tool from my grip. The dogs are barking now. Marcellus bites the ankle of his boot. With a swift kick, my tiny friend whimpers and flies across the room. I slam the tip of my pointy toed stiletto into his shin. He releases my wrists. Blood flows freely down the back of my throat and over my lips as the bones of my nose shatter under the weight of his large fist. I scream and begin to choke. Marcus’ best friend growls, furious that someone is harming his master. Chodyn throws all 145 pounds at me pushing me backwards onto a bike. I feel my back snap over the kickstand of the machine. Marcus yells something as he reaches for Chodyn’s collar, but it’s too late. The dog closes his massive jaws around my neck. Teeth tear into my flesh and I lose consciousness.
Chodyn lumbers over. He’s fat, though Marcus will never admit this, the dog is fat. He’s a funny looking creature. 145 lbs of fat slathered muscle jiggle with each heavy step. His silvery tan coat sparkles as he crashes down beside me on the cold concrete floor of the shop. He forces his large snout into my palm and nibbles at my hand. Marcellus, my much smaller companion, bounds around the corner from the showroom. He leaps onto the larger dog’s back and growls playfully. The pit bull mastiff mix snorts and drools on Marcellus. They tumble into a scooter, almost knocking it to the ground.
Marcus is looking at me. Not grinning, not smiling, just staring at me as I stare at the dogs. Watching as I push my unruly black hair from my eyes. A sad smile crosses my face as I look into his bright brown eyes. Marcus walks over and separates the dueling animals, snatching his friend by the scruff of the neck.
“You know? There’s only two things in my life that I could always rely on…Alcohol and my dog. And now that alcohol is out of the picture, I’m left with my dog.” His voice is rich and deep filled with only the slightest drawl to tell of his Southern Louisiana roots. “And my dog would never betray me.”
I don’t know if this is a dig at my infidelity, or his own, but I know a dig when I hear one.
I clear my throat and study a grease spill beneath my heels. Marcellus trots up to me jumping, begging for attention. I lean down to pick him up. The tan and black dog proceeds to remove my make up with his tongue wagging his tail with ever lick. In that moment, I get what he is saying. Dogs are innocent, childlike, and they love unconditionally.
“I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m here. Even when you’re gone on another one of your sexual escapades, I’m still here. I’ve never intentionally done anything to hurt you. I’ve always been there for you…I think it’s pretty apparent that no matter…” My throat begins to close and my eye twitches threatening to spill tears. Marcellus leaps from my arms, tumbling ungracefully onto the grease spot. His coat is now covered with oil and kitty litter. I laugh to keep myself from crying. “No matter what you put me through I am here for
you…I am here with you. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”
His grips my chin between his rough hands and pulls my head up so that I meet his stare. He’s silent momentarily. The corners of his eyes tug on the corners of his lips and a small, tortured smile crosses his face. He places his large thumb over my mouth as he leans down to kiss my forehead.
“I know that. I never said you did. I’ve never thought for a minute that you would.” He turns his back on me, swiping a towel and a water bottle from the counter. He spritzes the water onto my dog, rubbing the towel across the drying litter. Marcellus tries to bite him and the towel as it musses the fur. Without looking at me, he continues. “I’ve made mistakes. I cheated on you. Every chance I got, I slept with her. You didn’t deserve it…Hell, you deserved revenge. But I know that you’re too good for that kind of petty shit. When you told me you had sex with that other man in our bed…You were lying because you wanted to hurt me.” He’s still not looking at me.
A single tear slips from the corner of my right eye. I catch it in the tip of my artificial nail. I look at it; grey from my supposedly waterproof mascara, it catches the light from the shop, and glitters on top of the white acrylic. I wipe it on my leg leaving a thin black streak on my otherwise spotless khakis. I got my painful revenge. I beat myself up over it for months. I had convinced myself that no matter what he did to me, there was a reason for his insanity. But for him to sit here and tell me that he didn’t believe that I slept with that man…It stung worse than the actual act. “So you’re telling me that you are so self-important that you don’t think I am capable of the same actions as you? You’re really going to sit there and call me a liar?” My face is hot and my lips quivers. My knuckles have turned white from digging my nails into the palm of my balled fist. I imagine slapping him. I can almost feel the slight burn as my hand meets his face. I can’t hit him. Instead, I spit. I spit, disturbing the brake dust that has settled on the smooth concrete.
He jerks his head up and glares at me. “Watch your temper.”
“Fuck you, Marcus.” I shock myself, but the damage is done and the words continue to spill from my lips. Regret will hit me later, but in this moment, I don’t give a damn. A shocked look covers his face. “Four years of this BULLSHIT and I’m tired.”
He starts to speak, but I’m not done yet. “Four years of your lies and you manipulation and your self-important attitude and you know what? I’m done. Now. This stops right now. Cam wasn’t the only one. How about you ask Lou? Yep, Lou. Ask him about the fun we had when you were at work. Go ahead. Call him.” I pick up his phone from the wooden shelf and chunk it across the room. Though it was in one piece when I threw it, it’s now in several. The keypad is under one bike and the battery rests in the kitty litter oil mixture.
“What the hell?” Marcus jumps up and begins collecting the pieces of his precious electronic black book. The look in his eyes is frightening. I’ve seen this look before and with this look, things always end badly for me. Not this time. “Don’t even think about laying a hand on me.” The wrench in my hand is heavy and awkward. I’ve never once said anything back to this man. Never once have I raised a hand in my defense. I’m lost and shocked at my own actions. I look down at the wrench. When I do, he grabs my wrists, shaking the lead tool from my grip. The dogs are barking now. Marcellus bites the ankle of his boot. With a swift kick, my tiny friend whimpers and flies across the room. I slam the tip of my pointy toed stiletto into his shin. He releases my wrists. Blood flows freely down the back of my throat and over my lips as the bones of my nose shatter under the weight of his large fist. I scream and begin to choke. Marcus’ best friend growls, furious that someone is harming his master. Chodyn throws all 145 pounds at me pushing me backwards onto a bike. I feel my back snap over the kickstand of the machine. Marcus yells something as he reaches for Chodyn’s collar, but it’s too late. The dog closes his massive jaws around my neck. Teeth tear into my flesh and I lose consciousness.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
and again
I've done it again...done something extremely risky, dangerous, and irresponsible that could jeopardize not only my school and work, but also my life and my freedom.
I can't deny it anymore. I need help.
I hate AA. I don't like the concept of Celebration Recovery. I haven't heard of any other groups to help alcoholics get sober and straight.
I can't keep doing irreversible damage to my body and mind in search of fleeting happiness. It's not healthy...And I will die.
And I will fail...That is a fate worse than my own demise.
I can't deny it anymore. I need help.
I hate AA. I don't like the concept of Celebration Recovery. I haven't heard of any other groups to help alcoholics get sober and straight.
I can't keep doing irreversible damage to my body and mind in search of fleeting happiness. It's not healthy...And I will die.
And I will fail...That is a fate worse than my own demise.
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