Heather Renee

Deliverance

2010-01-24T14:29:00.000-08:00

Black stained tears drop onto my dusty Kleenex, as particles of white fluff disperse into the air like the seeds of dandelion clocks I blew into the wind in the late springs of my youth. My grandma’s Kleenexes were always dusty, pulled out from her “pocketbook,” crumpled, a mixture of leather and peppermint gum. Sometimes, lavender and vanilla lingers, absorbed from the metal tube of her lotion.

My Kleenexes, however, smell of this room.

The air reeks of latex, bleach, and sorrow as I draw in the thick, weighted air into my healthy lungs along with a hint of the cream cheese from my morning bagel.

Nauseating.

Breathe.

Just breathe.

The dinginess of the room is highlighted by the bright fluorescent awfulness of the lights as I stare at a young couple sitting on the equally dingy sage green overstuffed loveseat; a look about them empty- absent of love, or, even more likely, an exact representation.

Who knows what love is anyway?

“Mina Powell, right this way,” calls a sing-songy voice strikingly dissonant to the hushed, exhausted atmosphere of the room. The nurse looks towards me, eyes as icy, if not icier than the bitter cold metal ultrasound machine she places on the jelly covering my recently protruding belly.

I was told to follow a nurse down the hall to room number 6, at the end. She had on white orthopedic shoes that squeaked as she walked. When we reached the room, I was told to undress and wait for the doctor. After what felt like forty-seven minutes of waiting, he finally entered the room, accompanied by a Spanish nurse who barely spoke English. I began feeling dizzy, nauseous, freezing cold, and feverish all at the same time, and I apparently passed out, hitting my head on the Toxic-Sharps box hanging on the wall.

When I finally came to, I was lying face up on the skinny rectangular table doctors like to call a “bed,” staring at the butterfly and ladybug fluorescent light cover. I sat up, gulped down a long, heavy breath of clinical air, and walked out of the room, and down the unfamiliar hallway.

After this, I didn’t hear a word the nurses were calling towards me- something about rescheduling. Instead, my sister grabbed my left hand and squeezed it slightly, if not tightly, and together we walked out of the clinic’s front door, followed by the local church group’s prayers for the salvation of my soul. And I knew that I was saved.

"Skittles"

2010-01-13T06:10:00.000-08:00

“What should we do now?” This question is a recurring one in my life. I can’t drive anywhere like my brother Mike can, Mom’s never around to take me anywhere, and my Huffy got a flat tire last week. A flat tire my 5 year-old neighbor, Grady, decided he could fix and is now completely irreparable.

First, he made the hole even larger by shoving the nail-removing side of the hammer in the formerly miniscule hole, and then he tried to blow it up with his mouth like a raft or something. And get this. The kid even tried to cover the hole with duct tape as fast as he could, telling me “id’ll cost vu five dowers and vu wucky vu get vhe famuhwee discount.”

Needless to say, Grady’s “patch work” didn’t quite fix the flat and when I showed my mom the newly expanded hole, she told me that we didn’t have the money right now to fix it and I’d have to wait until Christmas. What she really meant was that her Viriginia Slims and wine coolers were the top priority for any spare money after rent and bills, and how dare I be so selfish!

Christmas. December 25th. That was July 18^th. Five months of no bike. That’s like almost a half a year. So as you see, my dilemma is an unfortunate one. And besides this, I’d been grounded for the past two weeks as well because I got detentions at school. My friends Ashley Bellman, Julie Kraus, and I were making each other pass out in the bathroom by breathing as deeply as we could for like ten seconds and then holding down the veins in our necks to make one another fall to the ground. When you woke up, it felt like you had been asleep for hours. It was so much fun. We actually got away with doing it for a while- that is, until Ashley hit her head on the tampon machine in the bathroom and got a concussion. After that, we were all put into a month’s worth of detention, and almost all of us got grounded at home, too. I guess I can’t complain, though. It’s kind of hard for me to actually be grounded, considering my mom’s rarely here to know if I’m following the “groundation” or not, and my older brother Mike never tells on me. He hates our mom and telling on me would involve actually talking to her.

“Hello…Earth to Kristen…I said what are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know. We can watch a movie.”

“Which one?”

“We can watch Titanic again.”

“God Kris, we’ve seen that movie at least ten times in the past month. No movie. I wanna do something different. I’m so bored with my life.”

Kristen’s two grades behind me in school and all of my other friends in my own grade always ask why I’m friends with her. Really, we only became friends because our moms work together as nurses at the hospital, but she’s actually okay. Most times. Unlike my other friends, Kristen always lets me decide everything. What to watch, what game to play, who goes first, even what to eat. I guess it’s because I’m older and she thinks I’m cool. She tells me that all the time. I like that about her, too.

“I’m gonna call Josh.” I went over to Kristen’s room phone. It’s one of those see-through ones where all of the colorful wires and workings inside are visible. Her parents bought her a separate line. She’s so spoiled. I don’t know who she’d be calling so much that she’d need her own line, however. Maybe that’s why she calls me sometimes and has absolutely nothing to say. She’s just trying to get calls to show up on the phone bill so they don’t take it away. As if they would. She’s an only child. She has her own bathroom.

“Josh?” Kristen starts twirling her light brown hair around her index finger, a nervous habit I always see her mom correcting her for. “Ohhh. Mike’s friend Josh? Oh yeah. Your brother’s cute friend you always talk about.” Always talk about? Well, I guess that’s true. How could I not talk about him all the time? Not only is he, like, the hottest guy I have ever seen, but he’s also funny and smart. He’s over at our house all the time and unlike most of Mike’s friends, he actually pays attention to me. I love that about him.

“Be quiet for a sec, Kristen, hang on.” She’s always asking me questions. She’s like that annoying three-year-old who asks “why” all the time. I’ve learned that sometimes it is best to just ignore her and move on. She doesn’t understand grown up things anyway.

“Hey Josh…Yeah…Uh huh. Okay. I’ll see you in 15 then. Bye.” I hung up the phone and Kristen just stared at me, sitting in her leopard print butterfly chair.

“Where will you see him in 15? He’s not coming here. He can’t come here.”

“Relax. Don’t get all crazy. I’m not meeting him here.”

“You know my mom won’t ever let us leave! Especially with a boy…and yours wouldn’t either.”

“Get real. My mom is never home long enough to even notice who I leave with, let alone if I even left…Well, just tell your mom that I felt sick and so I went home.” I didn’t know how to break it to her that she wasn’t going to be coming with me. I mean, I like her and all, but she would just embarrass me in front of them.

“Oh right, and you think she won’t call your mom and check!?”

“My mom’s working the night shift. She wouldn’t call her at work.”

“Well, my mom would have to take you home anyway. You don’t have your bike here.”

“Just tell her Mike picked me up.” Before Kristen could argue, I pushed out the screen on her bedroom window and stepped onto the gray roof tiles. I figure it’s better to exit this way than to risk running into Kristen’s parents.

We have been out on the roof before when we’ve stolen wine coolers and cigarettes from my mom’s “special” fridge in my garage for other sleepovers, but this was the first time I reached the ground. I had this escape maneuver down to a fine art at my own house, but Kristen’s room seems so much higher off the ground.

“Throw me the fire escape ladder,” I whispered to Kristen from outside the window, reaching my arm inside.

“But it’s still in the box. My mom will wonder why it was out and I’ll get in trouble.”

“Oh, calm down. Tell her you took it out so that it would be quicker to get to if a fire really happens or something.” Getting impatient, I crawled through the window, back onto the thick cream carpet and grabbed the box from her hands. Surprisingly, she took it back.

“I’ll open it.”

“Okay. Just hurry.”

Kristen passes me the unraveled white safety ladder and I climb down. It’s so not as easy as the chick on the box makes it look, and when my sneakers hit the grass, I throw the rope back up in a big glob of white rope. Not once, but four times, before Kristen finally catches it.

“Bye! I promise we’ll do something fun tomorrow. Whatever you want. We can even watch Titanic again if you want.”

“I hope you don’t get in any trouble, Amanda. Please be careful.”

“O-M-G, you sound like my freaking mom. Now remember, tell them I’m sick and Mike came to get me.” Kids. You have to explain everything more than once.

Sneaking around the side of the house, I reach the road behind Kristen’s house and step onto the black asphalt street. It’s still warm from the 80-degree summer sun heating it all day, and I have the weirdest feeling in the pit of my stomach, emanating through my entire body. I feel kind of nauseous mixed with the anxiety before getting a shot at the doctor’s office, mixed with the feeling you get when you’re standing on the edge of a tall building or looking down from a balcony. The feeling like you may fall at any minute. I always get this feeling when I’m about to see Josh. Even when I’m just thinking about him. Which happens all the time. Because he’s around all the time. Because he has icy blue eyes that make me want to say “touch me here” like Kate does to Leo in the car in Titanic.

At the end of the road, near the entrance to Willowbreeze Estates, I can see the headlights of Josh’s car. I reach into my pocket and pull out my new tube of Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers and take my hair down out of my ponytail, before deciding to put it back up because of the big bump caused by putting it up kind of wet that morning. Act cool, Amanda. Act cool. I take a deep breath, and I continue walking towards Josh's car.

* * *

“Hey Josh....uh…where’s Mike? I thought you said that he was with you?” Standing in the open window of Josh’s Honda I can’t decide whether I should open the door to the car and get in, or wait until he asks me. Wait. Yeah, wait for him to tell you.

“We’re meeting him. Don’t worry. I was just about to call him. Go ahead, and get in.” Crawling into the car, I can feel the slight vibrations of the subwoofers in the back shaking the seats and kinda rattling the trunk. I really don’t understand why they like the bass so loud anyway. Mike’s car is like that, too, and mom always yells at him because she thinks he pisses off the neighbors when he comes home at night.

Pulling out of Kristen’s neighborhood, Josh turns up the music and the bass gets even louder, and I actually like the way the vibrations feel on the seat.

“Where are we going?” I asked as loud as I could over the sound waves.

“Oh, I just have to stop at CVS real quick, and then we’ll go meet up with Mike and some of the other guys.”

Josh pulls the car into a parking spot near the back of the CVS parking lot.

“Do you need anything in there?”

“No. I’m good. I can go in if you-“

“Nah. That’s okay. Just stay in here and I’ll be right back.”

Sitting in the car, I can’t help but look through his CD case. It’s all burnt copies of stuff and I can’t even tell what music he likes. I mean, from what I have been hearing he only likes rap and hip-hop, but I’m really interested to see if he likes anything else. Anything that’s considered real music. Maybe I should make him a CD of some music I think he’d really like. My friends love my mix CDs I make them for their birthdays.

Oh, here he comes. Put the CD cases away.

“ Hey. Alright we’re good to go now,” Josh said as he threw a CVS plastic bag in the tiny backseat of the car. “Can you dial Mike for me?”

Josh hands me his cell phone, a flip-phone with a bright blue cover with money signs on it, and I scroll to “Mikey” on Josh’s cell phone book. “It’s ringing.”

“Yo Mike…yeah, I’ll be there in 5…Yeah, I got it already,” Josh says and then snaps down the top of his phone, looking over at me. He smiles briefly before slamming the shift into first and peeling out of the CVS parking lot.

* * *

We arrive at the Steak-n-Shake on 86^th street and I can see Mike’s car and some of his other friends. Excited to see other people I know, I jump out of Josh’s car and walk over to talk to Mike.

“What are you doing with Amanda, Josh?” Mike asks while walking up to Josh, who is lighting up a cigarette over by another group of guys.

“Oh, she called me from her friend’s house and said she wanted to leave, so I went and picked her up.”

I can’t hear what Mike and Josh are talking about because they’ve moved too far away from me, but I have a feeling Mike is pissed off, so I walk over to him.

“Go home, Amanda. You shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t you be at Kristen’s? I can take you home now if you want.”

“No Mike! I never get to do anything, you always have all the fun.” As I am talking, Josh walks up and puts his arm around Mike’s shoulders.

“Come on, Mike. It’s just one night. She can go home with us later. And like you said, your mom is at work. It’s cool.”

“Alright, but this is never happening again, Amanda. Do you hear me? God, Josh. I could fucking kill you.”

“Calm the fuck down, man. It’s all good. It’s gonna be a good night.” Mike and Josh were awkwardly laughing, Josh more than Mike who needs more convincing, and start to walk back to Josh’s car.

“Come on, Amanda. Get in!” Mike yelled back to me.

“Where are we going?”

“Quit asking questions,” Mike spoke back to me, borderline yelling at me. “God, kids ask so many questions.”

* * *

“What are we doing at Motel 8?”

“Amanda, I told you to quit asking questions,” Mike repeated. “You know, Josh, I’m just going to take her home. I’ll come right back.”

No way is he taking me home. “I’m sorry, I’ll quit asking questions. Just let me stay.”

“Just let her stay, dude.”

“Fine. Get out of the car,” Mike says, grabbing the plastic bag from CVS out of the glove compartment. What the hell was in that bag?

Mike pulls out a hotel room key, and about three other guys get out of a small BMW who parked next to us. I’ve only met one of the guys, but I guess they’re all Mike’s friends from school.

When we’re walking into the room all I can smell is stale smoke and mold, and all I could see was a trashy print of a beach, a broken down TV with foil on the antenna, a bed that I wouldn’t let my dog sleep in, and a rickety little table with two chairs, which looked like the newest furniture in the room. I sit down in one of the padded chairs at the table, but Mike immediately tells me to get up so he can sit there. Standing in the corner of the room, I can tell that the other guys are wondering what I’m doing there. I don’t really care what any of them think, though. Just Josh. I hope Mike being pissed off at him doesn’t keep him from talking to me tonight. Maybe I should just go up to him now and ask him about the CDs I looked through in the car.

After fixing my hair in a dirty mirror hanging on the wall that was rusted along the outer edges, I hear the crinkling of the CVS bag, and look over to see Josh and Mike taking three red and white medicine boxes out and emptying their contents onto the small wooden table between the chairs. Looking around at the other guys, they all start to put out their Newports in the green motel ashtray, and walk over to the table as well. What’s so cool about some medicine from CVS?

I walk over to see for myself what they’re doing and see that each of them are popping the little red pills out of their foil and plastic encasements and downing them with Dr. Pepper. Not one or two, as directed on the box, but like twelve each! Next thing I know, Josh is handing me a packet with about six left and he tells me to take them.

“What the hell, Josh?! Don’t give those to her. She can’t take fucking Skittles. Are you fucking crazy?” Mike pulls the packet out of my hand. Skittles? What?

“Whoa. Sorry, man. I only gave her half of what we’re taking.”

Mike just walked away pissed off, and went back to drowning more of the little red pills with the Dr. Pepper. After taking the pills, some of the guys sit down on the disgusting bed and start to watch the jank TV that only picks up NBC and CBS, despite the advertised Free HBO! Occasionally some other static-filled channels come in when the rabbit antenna was turned the right direction, but they all seemed content with whatever they could get. The other guys were standing by the table smoking.

About five minutes later, Mike’s conscience gets to him, or possibly the pills, and he decides he needs to take me home.

“Give me your keys, Josh. I’m taking Amanda home.”

Josh tosses Mike the keys. “Hurry back.”

Walking out of the hotel room door, the warm summer night air hits my face and I start to feel the same nervous anxiety I felt walking towards Josh’s car earlier that night. I had managed to swipe two foil packets of the “Skittles” whil the guys were all looking at the TV, and I put my hands in the front pocket of the hoodie Mike gave me to keep them from rattling.

After Mike unlocks the passenger door, I slide into the seat and reach over to turn on the music.

“Don’t touch that, Amanda. Jesus.”

“God, why do you treat me like such a baby in front of your friends?”

“Because you are. And by the way, you didn’t see anything tonight, do you understand me? I picked you up from your friends and I took you home, and you went to bed. Got it?”

“Yes. Geez. I got it. You don’t have to be so mean to me about it, Mike.”

I hit the button on the door to roll down the window and reach my arm outside to feel the air. It runs through the little blonde hairs in my arm, and I lie my head back on the headrest and think about Josh. He must really like me if he wanted me to stay.

* * *

I remember reading the boxes in the motel room, and “skittles” were actually called Coricidin Cough and Cold medicine. I have been talking to Kristen about them the past couple of days at school and she’s agreed that she will try them with me tonight since my mom is working the night shift again and I’m staying over there. I just had to promise her that I won’t leave this time. And when I told her “I promise” I made sure to cross my fingers, because if Josh calls and wants to meet up I am so out of there.

At five o’clock my mom drops me off at Kristen’s house on her way to work, and Kristen and I go immediately out to the swingset in her backyard.

When we get back inside, we go down to the basement to play video games and get on AOL like we normally do, and I hide the pill packets I stole from the motel in the drawer of the toy cash register. We used to hide my mom’s cigarettes there, but Kristen’s mom found them one time and took them away. Apparently she never said anything to Kristen. I’m sure she figured it was me who brought them there anyway.

After eating Papa John’s with her parents, a tradition we have every weekend I sleep over, we went back down to the basement. It was about 8:30 p.m. by now, and that was about the time Kristen’s parents disappeared into their bedroom, or as her dad goofily called it, “the Cave,” while holding up his claw-hands with an idiotic expression on his face. Nerd.

When we get downstairs, I walk over to the cash register and open the drawer to take out the Coricidin. I suggest she should turn on a movie so that we can’t be heard upstairs and they just think we’re watching a movie, and Kristen pops in Scream 2. Walking over to the couch with the foil medicine packets I tell Kristen,“Now the guys took twelve each, so I guess since we’re younger and we’re girls we should only take like eight. And if we don’t feel anything, we’ll take more.”

“Uh…okay. Hang on, let me go get something to drink with them.”

“Do you have any Dr. Pepper?”

“Uh…yeah.” Kristen says as she pulls out a can from the mini-fridge in the basement kitchenette.

When she gets back I already have the pills popped out of their foil seals, and we each pop them into our mouths, chasing them with cold Dr. Pepper. After taking all eight pills, it becomes a waiting game.

After about twenty minutes, I start feeling really drowsy, and I see Kristen about to fall asleep on the other side of the L-shaped brown suede couch.

“Kris, wake up!” I yell in a whisper. “We can’t fall asleep. I think we need to take more. These aren’t working.”

“I just want to sleep. Let’s just go to bed.”

I walk over to the cash register and I take three more pills out of the foil and plastic pack, popping them out one by one and chasing them again with the Dr. Pepper, and lie back down on the couch across from Kristen.

“Amanda, I think I need to go tell my mom what we did. I don’t feel well.”

“No, no, no. We can’t do that, Kris. Just give it a minute. I’m already starting to feel something. You should take more, too. Hang on.”

I pop out three more pills for her and she swallows them, still laying on the couch in front of Scream 2.

About five minutes later the sleepiness lifted, and Kristen sits up on the couch and starts giggling. “Yeah. I think it’s working.”

My head is pounding and my vision is all blurry. I feel like I’m almost outside of my own body, looking in on myself, and it’s a really euphoric feeling. Like I’m floating or something.

Every sense is heightened, and Kristen and I just sit on a bundle of pillows and blankets on the floor and crack up to Scream 2, a movie that usually scares the shit out of us.

After the movie’s over, we walk around the basement trying to find new “cool” things we’ve never noticed before. Eventually, we make it back to the mounds of pillows and blankets and pretend they are gigantic mountains we can climb, and one of the misfit Barbies hanging around the basement climbs them with us.

At about midnight, Kristen’s mom came downstairs to check on us to make sure that everything is okay because we are usually upstairs by that time when I stay over. The first sound of her coming down the stairs makes me tense up, and my heart begins beating faster than I have ever felt it before, and the double, maybe triple, vision returns. I can actually hear my heart and I think it’s going to pound out of my brain, not my chest.

When she turns on the lights, this feeling gets even more excruciating, and I realize that if I am feeling this bad, Kristen must be experiencing it times a million. By the look on her face, I’m right. Her mom looks at her daughter first, then at me, and she has a panicked look in her eyes. Darting over to Kristen, she holds Kristen’s face in her hands and stares closely into her eyes, forcing her to look back.

Then she looks at me with the same fierce look, the agitation of a mom who just figured us out. The look of a mother who actually cares and isn’t fucked up herself.

“What is wrong with you, Kristen?...Kristen, answer me! Why are your pupils so big?!” I couldn’t help laughing. So inappropriate, but I just bust out laughing at the situation, and Kristen can’t help herself either and joins in. We’re laughing, rolling on the floor, and reapeating “taste the rainbow,” unable to catch our breath.

Fed up, Kristen’s mom told us to sit on the couch while she searched the entire basement, trying to talk a confession out of the both of us. Finally, she finds the mostly empty Coricidin packets, and picks up the phone to call my mom.

Shit. She’s calling her at work. She’s going to be so pissed at me for being bothered at work. Grounded again. Shit.

After she hung up the phone, she looked over at me, holding her hands on her hips, one leg popped out.

“Dave!” she yelled to her husband, and he emerged from the “cave” and stepped into the living room. “Dave,” she said sternly, now holding Kristen’s head and stroking her hair. “The girls have overdosed on cold meds and I’m taking Krissy to the E.R. I’ve seen this before and I think she needs her stomach pumped, and I have no idea how much she took and-”

“And what about Amanda?” Dave interjected.

“Well, Marcia told me not to take her in and she’s sending Mike over to pick her up.”

“That incompetent, lazy-”

“Dave. Not our place…you stay here and wait for Mike, and I’ll call you when we

get her in the ER.

Dave’s comments get me ina rage. Even though I’m completely aware my mom is like the shittiest mom ever, I can’t handle hearing it from someone else, particulary loser ass “caveman” Dave.

Thirty minutes later, Mike shows up at Kristen’s door. Dave takes Mike aside to talk over what his wife found while I sit on the couch, really drowsy and on the brink of passing out.

Mike walks over to me and helps me off of the couch, holding me up with one arm, and we walk to the front door.

“Thanks again, Mr. Schwartz. My mom said she’ll call you in the morning. I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” Sorry he had to deal with this. Sorry my ass. You got me into this.

* * *

When we get home I see Josh’s car sitting in the driveway. Josh must be staying over tonight. We walk inside, and Josh is sitting on the couch. Mike tells him what happened and I go into my mom’s room, which is closest to the living room, and crawl under her covers.

I wake up and roll over to look at the clock and it’s 5 a.m. My mom should be home any minute. I get out of her bed and see Josh lying on the couch, still watching TV.

“Where’s Mike?”

“Oh, he went to bed a while ago. Are you feeling any better?” Josh sits up on the couch and moves closer to me. “You know, he was really worried about you tonight.”

“Yeah, he’s always worried about me. He doesn’t think I can handle anything on my own. We were fine. Just having some fun, just like you guys.”

I look over at Josh and he’s looking down at his cell phone. “Who are you calling?”

“No one. I think I’m gonna go home. I just can’t sleep right now.”

“Don’t go. I can’t sleep either. I’ll watch TV with you.”

“Yeah, but your mom will be home soon and who knows how that will go.” Then Josh stands up, grabs his cell phone and wallet off of the coffee table, and stretches with both arms in the air. He starts to walk towards the door and I follow him. “I’ll walk out with you. I need some air anyway.”

When we get to the driveway, near his car, I tell him bye. Standing on my tiptoes, I reach around the tops of his shoulders and Josh hugs me, lifting me off of the ground like he always does. But this time, when he lowers me back down to the ground, I don’t let go. I hang on around his neck and I start kissing him on his neck. Then we start kissing on the lips for about thirty seconds before he pulls away. He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand and stares away from me, down the dimly lit street.

“But I thought you wanted this…you picked me up that night…and you wanted me to stay that night. You like me, don’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Amanda, but you’re Mike’s baby sister. I’m sorry you got the wrong idea.” Josh pulls my hands off of his shoulders and holds them together between his palms as he pushes them back towards me. “I think you should really go inside and get some sleep…I’ll see you later, k?”

And he climbs into his Honda, and drives off without looking back.

* * *

When I walk into the house, I turn off the TV and walk upstairs to the bathroom I share with Mike. I step into the bathroom, turn on the shower, and strip off my clothes. Looking in the mirror at myself, tears start running down my eyes, blurring the mascara that I wore that day. I pull out a washcloth, hold it under the showerhead to get it wet, and scrub the makeup off of my face so hard that my cheeks and forehead turn bright red. My mom is home now and I can hear her knocking at the door, yelling at me that we are going to have a “serious discussion because I am getting out of control.” Blocking her out completely, I wash my face and step into the shower and feel the warm beads of water running over my by now swollen eyelids, and I sit down in the bottom of the tub, my head between my knees, and let the water run down my spine. Washing me. If only it could wash away this pain. The pain of messing up everything with Josh. The pain Kristen is feeling getting tubes shoved down her little throat. The pain of Dave’s words. The pain of it being the truth.

When I get out of the shower, I dry off, throw on the same clothes, and go into my bedroom. I hear my mom’s footsteps climbing up the staircase and I quickly lift up my window, pop out the screen, and step out onto the roof tiles, down to the plush unmown grass, dizzy as I’m coming down from the pills, dizzy from coming down the side of the house, dizzy and spinning. Spinning out of control.

"Everything but those swans" conclusion.

2009-07-04T07:46:00.000-07:00

Paul called the next afternoon asking if I wanted to meet him the next morning. He told me that he had some time off in the morning and that his wife was going out of town to visit her parents for the weekend. I figured just seeing me wasn’t cheating, and I knew that I had been celibate now for two years. I know control. It’ll be fine. I’ll meet up with him this one time and that will be it.

I called Marie that night to see if she wouldn’t mind coming over in the morning to watch Emma while I was out, and she eventually agreed. After she got all Nancy Drew on me, that is.

We met at a restaurant called Cloverleaf in the next town over. One of those towns not even mentioned on the map, let alone my GPS. Because of this, we spent the entire 20 minute drive talking on the phone. A nice prelude to what could have been the most awkward meal of my life, but also a gigantic mistake. Not only was Paul gorgeous, but he also made me laugh, and with everything going on in my life with Emma and my job it felt wonderful just to laugh.

After we finished eating I had perfect intentions of getting back into the Corolla, driving back to Shelbyville, and never talking to Paul again. My intentions were good. Let’s just get that in there. By actions, however, were per se a little different.

I did get into the Corolla, but rather than driving back to my house, I drove to a grocery store parking lot. I removed my keys from the ignition, checked my lipstick in the mirror, and jumped into Paul’s Ford instead. I say jumped, but it was more of a grab onto the door handle and heave myself up a step and eventually into the gray upholstered seat kinda move. Not so graceful, but at least it evoked a laugh out of Paul.

We turned into a slightly hidden driveway after we passed a large brick Hayes mailbox. His house way down a long gravel driveway situated with a dense wooded area surrounding all of the house but the front. It was a house just like out of that Rachel McAdams’ movie The Notebook. The huge wraparound porch. The beautiful hanging ferns and potted flowers. Everything but those swans.

Well, this is home.

It’s really nice. Your wife must be quite the gardener.

Well, she used to be. It’s me who has to keep up with all of it now. She’s not really been herself lately.

What do you mean not her self?

She’s just up and down all of the time. She’s manic depressive, bipolar. I dunno. Some made up psychiatric bullshit they diagnosed her with. But I promise you this, it’s the medication that makes her crazier than she was before but she won’t stop taking it. Her life coach says it’s best she stays on them.

I didn’t really know what the hell a life coach is. The mysteries rich people. But to keep the conversation flowing, and to keep my mind off of Paul’s dick, I acted like I did and asked him more about his wife. From what I could gain from our conversation, he met his wife in high school and they got married the summer after their senior year. It was the classic story of young beautiful wife lets herself go. According to Paul, she got fat and then needed something or someone other than herself to blame it on so she got some hippy dippy life coach who was going to turn her life around.

Then, rather than helping her lose the weight and getting her shit together they told her she had mental health issues, prescribed her to all sorts of psych meds, and poof. No more Paul’s wife. Just some robotic woman constantly bitching and complaining walking around his house. Sounded like a rough deal.

After our fourth glass of Merlot, Paul grabbed my face by my chin and turned me towards him.

You’re beautiful, Rachel.

And that was that. I was two years celibate no more.

* * *

After Paul and I had been seeing each other for about two months, things started getting more difficult. His wife hardly ever left anymore, and she called all the fucking time. I swear to God, that Bitch has some serious trust issues. I don’t know how Paul puts up with it. That, plus her crazy ups and downs. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just divorce her already. He tells me all the time how he has never loved anyone the way that he loves me. We’re perfect together. Fuck, maybe the psychotic bitch will OD on her Valium one day and just get it over with.

Eventually, Paul bought an old house in town that he told his wife he wanted to flip for profit. His wife. God, I don’t even know her name. Anyway, this property became the perfect excuse as any time we wanted to see each other, he just had to be “overseeing” the progress on the house. This didn’t change our biggest issue, however, as we still had to drive pretty far out of town to meet up so that no one saw Paul with another woman.

When I was on my way to meet him at our Thursday night meeting spot (The Motorist Inn in Newbury) my cell started ringing to my favorite AC/DC ringtone. It was Emma’s school. Again.

This time it was the school counselor instead of the principal. For fuck’s sake. An elementary school needs a counselor? What kind of issues is a six year old going to come up with? Bed wetting at slumber parties?

The next morning I pulled up to Shelbyville Primary prepared to be told Emma was suffering from some mental problem and she needed therapy. Hell, maybe she’d suggest the same “life coach” Paul’s wife was seeing. Life coach for a six year old. Wow.

When I walked into the office a woman was waiting for me. It was the counselor. She looked about 38, in a grey pencil skirt and form fitting white blouse. She was actually really pretty. In that fresh, I haven’t had a day of stress in my life sort of way. I guess I would say my type of pretty is the rough, been around the block, but I’m still kickin’ sort of way.

Hi Mrs. Jeffries, please sit over there. Can I get you anything?

No. I really need to get back to work so can we just get to the point?

Emma and I have had a few conversations since Mr. Schumacher called you in a few months ago and I’m very concerned about her.

And…?

Well, she tells me that you have been dating someone and that you are not really around anymore. Rachel, she told me that sometimes you leave her alone in your house all night? Is that true?

Shit. Lie. Think of a lie.

On very rare occasions, but honestly Emma is a very mature young girl. I’m sure you’ve noticed.

Mature, yes. But Rachel, she’s still a six year old girl. That is illegal. You do realize this, right?

Oh great. I can hear it now. Social Services knocking down my damn door.

I actually didn’t. You can trust me that it will never happen again, though. Really.

I hope not. Rachel, your daughter has told me that she will start talking again if you stop dating. Now I realize as a young widowed mom this is a huge request. You must continue living your life, too. But maybe you should wait until she’s a little older. For her to understand more about the world around her. She needs you right now.

After about twenty minutes I told the counselor that I had to get back to work, that I was going to change, that I was going to be a better mom. Hey, anything to keep the government out of the whole ordeal, you know? She really did open my eyes a little bit, though. A little bit.

I shook her hand and walked out of the office. She shut the door after I left and immediately my cell phone started ringing to Lonestar.

Hey baby. Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I’m late for work and I had to come in to talk to Emma’s counselor and-

Just as I was about to finish my sentence I looked at the gold embossed name plate on Emma’s counselor’s door. MRS. VICTORIA L. HAYES.

I’m sorry Paul, I need to stay home with Em tonight.

Alright, well tomorrow morning then? I can meet you at the Cloverleaf.

No paul, I can’t meet you anymore. Your wife is lovely, by the way. Nothing like you described actually.

After that, I turned off my phone, threw my bag over my shoulder pulling my hair out from under the strap and walked out the school’s heavy front door and over the crunching gravel parking lot. I leaned against my car, my back pressed against the hot red metal.

"Everything but those swans" continued...

2009-06-26T09:04:00.001-07:00

The day following the carnival, Emma begged me to stay home from school. I don’t exactly know what happened to her the day before at the games’ tent. She refused to talk, and to be completely honest, I didn’t really care to listen.

I got a call at about 2:30 that afternoon, however, from Em’s principal Mr. Schumacher asking me to come in to pick up my daughter. We need to talk.

The basic scenario was that the principal needed me to talk with Emma about speaking more at school and/or send her to some fucking overcharging bullshit therapist who doesn’t take Medicaid. He went on and on about how she will not respond in class and doesn’t talk to any of the other kids as if it would all have been a shock to me.

I guess I didn’t really know what the problem was, but I was shocked when he told me that they wanted to hold her back a grade if her social skills didn’t improve. I didn’t even know they could do that. I mean, she always scores impressively high on all of her standardized tests, and she’s always done her homework. I don’t even have to oversee her work. Unlike my student days, she just gets it done without me having to ask.

Sitting in my dark red 99 Corolla I tried to talk to Emma about just talking every now and then to appease the “system.”

Sweetie, I know you’re shy, but maybe if you just answered a question every now and then, or maybe made a friend, the school would let you stay in the same class.

Emma just sat there, circling her thumb over and over again on her iPod dial.

Emma, I am not some fucking teacher. Look at me.

Answer me.

Answer me now!

Finally, I slammed on my brakes and pulled over on the shoulder of State Road 67. I grabbed Emma’s face by her chin, yanking her face towards mine.

What the hell is wrong with you? Why can’t you just be a normal little girl? You’re always causing problems for me. Don’t you get that? I don’t have time for these games.

A slow tear rolled down Emma’s soft freckled cheek and into the red mark left by my harsh fingers and she simply turned to her window.

Fuck you.

It was all she could say. And it wasn’t in a whisper.

* * *

One week and three days after the festival incident, I ran into Paul

Hayes once again. Why the hell is it that I have gone seven years without seeing this guy in the same small ass town that I have now seen him in three times in less than two weeks? Who knows, Paul and I could have passed each other a number of times and I am only noticing now.

Maybe human brains are only wired to remember those we have made some sort of contact with or connection and all other faces, no matter how many times you pass them on a daily basis, are filtered out and lost. Maybe I filter out people who do not filter out myself; therefore causing those awkward moments when a person smiles at you as if you are an acquaintance and you have no fucking clue who they are. God, I hate that.

Anyway, like I said, one week and three days after the festival incident, Paul Hayes showed up at the small travel agency I work for- Travel Time. My favorite way to pronounce it is like “Hammer Time,” with hammer substituted with “Travel.” Stop. Travel Time. But this is only in my head, of course...excepting the few times I have rapped it to perk up Emma. Hey, she might not catch the 90’s M.C. Hammer reference, but I’m pretty damn good with voices, so you get the picture.

So Paul walked into the office and asked to speak with someone about cruise options in the Caribbean when he saw me pass and looked at me pseudo-shockingly.

Well, hey there, Rachel. I didn’t know you worked here.

That’s because you never asked where I worked.

Oh, well it’s good to see you anyway. How is your little girl doing? I hope everything is okay, you left so quickly that I didn’t get to say-

Emma is fine. We’re fine. I better let you get back to Marie to talk about this cruise you’re planning.

You know there’s no cruise, Rachel.

And at this point, I, Rachel Jeffries, would normally have seen red flags all over the situation yielding stalker, creeper, run. Stop. Travel Time.

Instead, I looked at Paul’s slightly crooked smirk, his rough calloused hands nervously flicking the end of the pen attached to a springy cord, and asked Paul if he wanted to get some coffee.

Five small bells on a string jingled as we walked out of the front door of the office. Marie, my boss and the owner of Travel Time, put them up there four years ago so that we would hear when customers came in. A completely ludicrous idea when you think about the fact that we get about two customers, if that, in an entire day. Furthermore, the business area consists of two rooms totaling about 600 square feet. Oh, and one of those rooms is a bathroom. But I guess if all three employees were in the bathroom at one time when a customer came in those bells would really come in handy. Right.

We walked up to the window at The Wave Coffee Bar. Paul ordered the Typhoon Vanilla Iced Latté. I got a Regular Roast, one sugar, one cream.

Alright. I’ve got one Typhoon Vanilla Iced Latte and a Wavin’ regular with one dash of sugar and one splash of ocean foam for the lady. That’ll be $3.66.

A beach themed coffee shop in the Midwest. Who’d have thought ?

I sat down at the one table in front of the small, refurbished drive-thru coffee shop and waited until Paul came over with the drinks. He looked even better than he did at the fair.

So, how long have you worked at Travel Time?

Oh, about five years now. I met Marie through my husband’s parents and she gave me the job as sort of a part-time gig for extra money, but after Rich passed away Marie hired me full-time. It’s really not so bad.

Paul watched me talk and didn’t even touch his coffee. Every now and then he would play with the buttons on the side of his cell phone, but other than that, it was all eyes on me.

What about you? Do you have a day job, or do you just spend your time figuring out where unsuspecting women work?

I actually just have some real estate properties in the area, and other than that, I do some work around my own house that I’m currently remodeling. That’s about it.

Sounds like a life of luxury.

You have no idea.

He was right. I had no idea. Never in my life had I known anyone who didn’t have to keep a job to pay the bills, and I for damn sure have never caught a break. I stayed home with Emma until she was almost two, but it was too hard on Rich and some months he couldn’t come up with enough money on his H-VAC salary. I wonder if Paul has any clue how lucky he is.

Just when our conversation started, Paul’s cell was ringing to Journey.

I’m really sorry, Rachel, but I have to go.

Oh, it’s okay. Who was that?

It was my wife. She wants me to drop the checkbook by the Primary school.

Wife? What the fuck? Of course. I finally meet a guy that I am even semi-interested in. Of course he’s fucking married. Ironic, isn’t it Alanis?

Can I have your number before I leave? I’d like to meet up with you again sometime.

And I wrote down my name and my numbers on the back of a Wave Coffee Bar napkin and watched Paul walk back to his Ford, Marlboro dangling from his bottom life, in the same jeans he wearing at the Citgo when I first saw him.

* * *

"Everything but those swans"

2009-06-23T04:35:00.000-07:00

Here is a little preview of the short story I am basing my first novel off of...

I first met Paul standing in line at the Citgo on Fourth Street. He was wearing the same old Bears jersey that makes an appearance every game day. The thing I remember most, however, is the way he winked at me before turning to the gum-cracking cashier to ask for Marlboro Lights, thanks sweetie. He pushed open the thick sticker-covered door, shoving the box into his back pocket, perfectly fitting into the rectangular shape of many packs past. Despite the wink, Paul didn’t look back. He just climbed into his Ford F350, cranked down his window, and lit up a Marlboro, completely oblivious to my glances. It was the first time in over two years I even noticed a man, and as much as that threw me off, he caught my interest. I was hooked.

The following week at the Shelbyville Festival of Lights, Emma and I ran into Paul again. Literally. We were snaking our way through the crowded line for the ice cream stand when Emma tripped over a pineapple whip cup on the ground. Pulling me down along with her hand in hand, I forgot about the other one. The hand that carelessly shoved our triple stacked fudge swirl waffle cone straight onto a blue cotton button-up shirt. It was Paul.

Oh, I’m so sorry, she just tripped over this, and-

It’s okay. There’s no need to apologize. Can I get you another cone, little lady?

No. Thank you for the offer, but we’re the ones who ran into you. Sorry about your shirt.

I handed him a thin white napkin while simultaneously trying to subdue Emma who wouldn’t stop pulling on my arm. She wanted me to bend down so that she could whisper into my ear. This was the only way Emma has communicated with anyone but myself since Rich passed away. She does the arm tug, or a poke, and when I lean down, she whispers into my ear what she wants me to relate to the other person. Contrary to most kids, she wasn’t begging me to get her more ice cream; she just wanted to get away from Paul.

Well, how about you two sit down on one of those benches and I’ll bring you over whatever you want. From the looks of things, you like chocolate?

Paul teasingly looked at his shirt, followed by the wink. If only Emma wasn’t standing right next to me I would have looked into those eyes and told him to take me to his Ford and fuck my brains out. We’d walk over the crunching gravel parking lot and he would push my back against the hot red metal of the truck. And then I would get fucking real because I’ve never said anything like that to a man my whole life. But hey, even the nice girls can have naughty thoughts, right?

Emma, quit pulling on mommy’s arm. Emma kicked her foot at the gravel in a dejected pout only a cute blonde six year old can pull off. Okay, I guess so. But you really shouldn’t.

It took all the strength I had to hold onto Emma’s rejecting hand as we walked over to the benches by the business tent. Watching Paul standing in line I couldn’t help but notice how women looked at him when he walked by. I mean, it was hard not to look at him. He had short sandy brown hair, just the right length to grasp when you weren’t gripping his firm tanned shoulders, or touching his-

Emma wouldn’t stop poking me in the arm. She wanted to play one of the games in the tent where you lift up a rubber ducky and receive a dinky little prize correlative to the color of paint on the bottom. Cheap ass carnival games.

I guess, Em, but please stay right there and come right back.

I was so caught up in watching Emma walking to the games tent when Paul came back with the ice cream. He handed me one of the cones as he looked around for Emma.

She’s right over there playing a game, but she’ll be right back. Thanks again. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I caught your name.

That’s because I haven’t told you yet.

God, he’s so fucking sexy.

My name is Paul Hayes, and the mysterious woman who was staring at me at the Citgo is?

I’m Rachel. Rachel Jeffries. And my daughter’s name is Emma.

I could feel the blood rushing to my cheeks. Well, I guess he did notice me after all. God, am I that obvious?

I could hear Emma’s screams as she ran towards me with tear filled eyes. She enclosed her arms around my waist, tugging on my cashmere cardigan to pick her up. It had been years since I had carried her (minus a few trips from the car or couch to her bed here and there) but this time I couldn’t feel the extra weight at all. I didn’t say goodbye, and I didn’t look back for a wink.

* * *

More to come soon! :)

Biography

2009-06-23T04:21:00.000-07:00

A 2008 graduate of Indiana University Bloomington with a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and Creative Writing, I have an artistic background in the arts including music and sketching, but have always had a specific passion for writing poetry and prose. Following this passion, I decided to follow the career path of freelancing my writing and editing in hopes to build a strong client base whilst completing my first novel, based off of the short story "Everything but Those Swans."