Behind Calvert Cliffs (5)
“15, you fuck.” Rich stood staring at his father, biting his tongue, his incisors pressed hard into the flesh. “Don’t give me that look, Richie.” “Pop, you realize that doesn’t mean fuck-all. You’re gonna be lookin’ at a murder rap regardless of whether you shoot whoever this Siegfried & Roy wannabe is or the tiger does the dirty work for you.” “Yeah, I know, Rich. I know. But, I’m fresh out of options right now.” “No you’re not. You’re fresh out of easy options. Look, I know you’re down. But you’re looking at this all wrong… ” “How am I looking at this wrong? What do you know about it, Rich? What the fuck could you possibly know about it? You got your whole life ahead of you.” He paused, now staring wide-eyed at his son, his voice cracking and his eyes welling. “Look where I am, kiddo. I got nowhere to go.” Albert's teeth clenched. “This is the only way.” Rich rolled his eyes. “Dad,...” Albert balled his right hand into a fist, rose it above his head and slammed it into his open left. “Fuck, Rich. You’re not fucking listening. This is the only way.” “O.K., I’m leaving. That’s it.” As Rich started to walk away, Albert yelled his son’s name. Rich turned around. Albert’s eyes darted a bit, then looked at the ground. “Son, I’m begging you. I need you here,” he said through trembling lips. Rich sighed deeply. He looked at the thinning gray hair on the top of his father’s head. It was combed over from the left in a feeble attempt to veil his pink scalp. Rich could remember when that hair was thick and black as a puma’s coat. He remembered spending long hours as a child watching his father on the boat, pushing and lifting for hours before the sun rose-- like some powerful, unrelenting machine. Rich bit down on his tongue again. “Alright, you got five minutes.” “Okay, let’s do this,” Albert replied, beaming. “Go stand watch at the door.” “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Rich began walking to the door. Albert breathed deeply, then walked to the tiger cage. The cat was sleeping in the center, curled into a massive ball. Albert bent on his knees and reached in with the syringe. He could not quite reach her. He laid down on the ground, sticking his shoulder as far into the cage as he could, his face pressed hard against the bars. He strained harder, his face turning bright red and grunts emanating from his throat, but still he could not reach. “Fuck.” Albert got up and paced furiously back and forth. He stomped back to the cage and shoved his arm in again, the veins on his neck sticking out like miniature garden hoses. “Fuck. Fuck me.” Albert withdrew his arm, sat on the floor, and slumped against the cage. He buried his face in his hands. “God-Fuckin’ damn it. That’s it.” “Gimme that needle, Pop,” Rich piped in. “What the hell are you talking about, squirt,” Don responded. “If your dad couldn’t reach the goddamn tiger, how are you gonna do any better?” “Pop, give me the needle.” “Look kid, it’s over. We’re done.” “I can do this.” “Rich, Donnie’s right. My arms are longer than yours. Look, it’s over. Just drop it. You didn’t want this anyway.” Rich walked over to his father and snatched the needle from his hand. “Rich, what the hell are you gonna do?” Rich slowly opened the latch on the cage and tentatively began opening the door. Albert slowly rose to his feet. “Rich, lock that goddamn thing right now,” he whispered half-heartedly. Rich placed the syringe in his mouth and climbed into the cage on all fours, slowly crawling toward the beast. Her massive side rose and fell as she breathed, like an ocean wave before it crests. Her whiskers twitched as she slumbered in deep R.E.M. sleep. Rich’s heart pumped spastically, blood thundering in his ears. He left a sweaty handprint with each step. The tiger snorted, freezing Rich. When she continued to lay still, and Rich was certain she was still asleep, he continued onward. Reaching her, he took the syringe from his mouth and gently placed it into the beast’s rump. His eyes remained fastened to the cat’s face as he pushed the syringe’s button inward slowly. She rubbed her paw against her face and snorted again. Rich withdrew the needle and slowly backed out of the cage. As he exited, Albert closed the cage door and embraced his son tightly. “You did it, kiddo, you did it.” He turned to Donnie. “What’d I say? Is this kid my good luck charm or what?” “You got some huevos on ya, kid. I’ll give you that much,” Donnie responded. “Alright, let’s bolt,” said Rich. “Right, we’re gone,” Albert responded. The three walked briskly out of the room and continued down the hall. Albert put his arm around his son’s neck and whispered into his ear. “Thanks, kiddo. I knew you’d come through for your old man.” Rich just stared ahead, down the corridor. He could not feel his legs as they pushed his feet against the ground; felt like he was being carried by conveyor belt. Suddenly, he heard a rapid scuttling on the concrete floor, like nails on metal. Before he could turn around, Albert’s arm pulled him to the ground violently, slamming his skull hard against the pavement. Rich could hear nothing but a screamingly high pitched note ringing in his head as loud as a foghorn. His cranium throbbed numbly and his vision had blurred to the point that he could make out only vague shapes. He craned his neck and saw a huge amorphous orange blob encased in a hot white glow, thrashing wildly. Rich called out to his father, but could hear nothing through the note. He staggered to his feet to run but slipped in a warm puddle of liquid. His stomach convulsed, splattering vomit across the floor. He stumbled to his feet and ran again. * * * “55 miles an hour, 57, 50, 52. Jeez, slow night. Doesn’t anybody speed anymore?,” Rich thought to himself as he lay in wait behind a billboard on route 235 across from the Red Door, a dive bar only recently furnished with wooden floors, replacing the dirt and saw dust that had previously been its trademark. “I’m almost ready to pull somebody over just to break up the monotony.” He looked down at the clock—2:35 am. “Do we want a boy or a girl? East Asian, Latin American, or Eastern European? How about African? I don’t know, maybe it’s not a good idea to adopt outside your own race. Maybe that’s just asking for trouble—for you and the kid. Maybe Eastern European is the way to go—maybe Russian.” Rich reclined in his chair until the dashboard completely obscured his view of the road. He held the radar gun high in the air, watching the numbers blink on the screen as the cars rolled by intermittently; 50, 58, 47, 53, 6. “What the fuck?” Rich sat upright. A Chevrolet Country Squire station wagon with wood paneling and eaten tan paint rolled by at a snail’s pace. Its windows were rolled down in spite of a whipping wind and sub-20 degree temperature. The driver was so short that he had to sit completely erect to see above the steering wheel. His hair was slicked back perfectly in spite of the wind and he wore a pair of dark shades and a button-down gray shirt with black pinstripes and a large collar. Rich got out of his car, incredulous at what he was seeing. He jogged around to the driver’s side door and walked alongside, staring at the man in disbelief as he continued his slow roll down the highway. “Where’s the fire, buddy?,” Rich asked. The driver turned to him. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kemosabe. I’m all kinds of zoning out here.” He continued to roll on. Rich leaned into the window and pulled the emergency break. The car came to an abrupt stop. “What’s the problem, officer?” “No problem, I just wanted to commend you on your extraordinarily conscientious driving.” “Thanks, Kemosabe. Have a great night.” The driver released the brake and continued to roll. He got about six inches before Rich opened the door, grabbed him by the collar, dragged him onto the asphalt and forced him face down on the asphalt to handcuff him. “Hey,” the man said softly. “I’m just drivin’ here.” “I don’t know what you’re on, buddy, but we’ll figure that one out when we get you to the jailhouse.” “Alright, alright. I’m peaceful, I’m peaceful.” “Don’t move, fuck-o. I’ll be right back.” Rich left the man face down on the shoulder of the highway and made his way to the cruiser to get out his ticket book. On his way, he heard the voice of his Dispatcher, Bernice, through his walkie-talkie, “Rich, what’s your location?” Rich lowered his head and clicked the receiver. “I’m on 235; just busted a dopehead. What’s up?” “Richie, you need to get down to St. Mary’s General.” “Why? What’s going on there?” “Rich, just get down there. You need to go.” “Bernie, what are you talking about?” “It’s your wife, Rich. It’s Reggie.” “What’s going on? What’s wrong?” “Just get down to the hospital, they’ll tell you there.” “Bernie, what the hell are you talking about?” “She’s gone, Richie.” “Gone where?” “It was a brain aneurysm. She went in with a bad migraine and it turned out to be much worse than that. She’s gone.” “What do you mean? She’s in perfect health. She’s barely had so much as the flu her entire life.” “Just get down to the hospital, Richie. You need to get there now.” “Christ, though, what if it’s a brain tumor. Oh, my God, what if it is a tumor? I mean we gotta get her a doctor—maybe that black guy up at Hopkins. What’s his name—the one that was on 60 minutes last month.” “Richie, you’re not listening. She’s dead.” Tears began streaming from Rich’s eyes. “She’s gonna want me to bring her pillow. She’s always hated sleeping in hotels because she needs her pillow to be just perfect—not too soft and not too hard. And those goddamn hospital pillows are like rocks. And her blanket. She’s gonna need her blanket.” “Richie.” Rich’s voice began to quiver uncontrollably. “And her mattress. I need to get Lizzie’s mattress.” “Rich, you need to get down to the hospital right now. I’m telling you, you need to collect yourself and drive very calmly down there. Are you listening?” Rich unhooked the receiver from his uniform and slammed it to the ground, shattering it into dozens of small plastic shards. He leaned backward against the cruiser, and slid to the ground, stone-faced. “Hey, man. What’s going on? Are you upset?,” Rich’s prisoner asked. Rich banged his head back against the cruiser door, paused, then beat it again repeatedly. When he was done, he stopped and rested his head against the door once more and began sobbing spastically. “Look, whatever it is, how bad can it be? I mean, regardless, the sun is gonna shine tomorrow.” Rich stood up, walked over to his captive, his eyes opened furiously wide. He grabbed the man by his hair and lifted him off the ground and shouted in his ear, “My wife’s dead, you goddamn junkie! Shut your worthless fucking mouth before I beat it shut! Rich let go, dropping the man to the asphalt. His head slammed against the asphalt and one of the lenses from his sunglasses shattered and fell off. Rich walked back to the car, sat down again, and rested his head against the door. The man again laid flat on his stomach. He strained to lift his head from the road and observe his captor. Rich looked up. The flashing red and blue lights of the cruiser glinted across the man’s eye over and over, in rapid succession. A grin spread across his face, wrinkles expanding across his temples. Rich turned back to face the road. He began sobbing again, pulled his legs tight against his chest, placed his head between his knees, shut his eyes tightly and pressed his hands against his ears. He stayed in that position for about a minute. When he lifted his head, his prisoner was nowhere in sight. Rich stood up, pivoted both ways to look up and down the road, and ran into the woods in chase, branches smacking his face, until the brush and vines became too thick to be passable, forcing him to turn back to the cruiser. * * * Jason walked into Jackie’s room. He stood over her as he had on their first meeting. Her eyes were sunken and her skin had grown gray. It clung to her skeleton like Saran wrap so that she more closely resembled a breathing mummy than a living person. Jason lowered his head again to get a closer look. “You know what they say,” she whispered through a hoarse voice. Jason smiled. “How are you feeling today, beautiful?” “I feel wonderful.” She struggled to get the words out and spoke haltingly. Her eyes were barely open and Jason could tell that she was having difficulty focusing them on him. “My doctor…” She paused to cough, then continued, “…and my hospice nurse came by this morning. They brought the real shit with them this time. I mean, I’m talkin’ about some primo morphine, man.” “What’d your doc say?” “I asked him if I’m gonna be able to run the Boston marathon next month.” Jackie broke into a violent coughing fit. She regained her composure and continued, “He seemed to think the odds were against it.” Jason smiled again. “What do doctors know anyway?” “You’re tellin’ me. Last week, I asked him how long I got to live. He says… He says ‘three weeks, that’ll be a thousand bucks.’” She paused to search her memory for the punch line. “I says, ‘I don’t have it right now,’ so he gives me another three weeks.” Jason laughed. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you, Jackie.” His eyes began to well up. “These last months have been… I don’t know. I mean… before you…” He choked on his words and turned his head away in an attempt to gain his composure. “Fuck, I’m just so fucking scared for you. It has to be terrifying where you are right now. I’m just so fucking scared.” “Hey look, Sparky. Don’t sweat it. Don’t worry about me. I’m ready to go.” She stared at him intently, searching for her next words. “This is gonna sound like the morphine talking, but I’m actually excited. I mean, it’s not everyday you get to find out if there’s actually an afterlife. You spend your whole life wondering what happens at this moment. It’s like… it’s like the end of a pretty good movie. So, I don’t know, but now that the check’s already in the mail, I honestly just can’t wait to see what happens next.” The tears streamed down Jason’s cheeks. “Say, I got you a going away present. Let me go get it.” Jason stood up and started for the door. “Wait, before you go, give me a hug, kiddo.” Jason bent down and embraced Jackie. She grabbed his neck and held with every bit of strength she could muster. “I love you, Jason. Please don’t forget me. Don’t let me disappear.” “You know I won’t, Jackie.” She let go and slinked back into her bed, exhausted. “I’ll be right back.” Jason went out to his car and retrieved his gift for Jackie. He came back carrying a black Run DMC tee-shirt. “I thought you could…” Jason stopped in mid-sentence, noticing that Jackie’s eyes were closed. He hovered over her again, placed his index and middle finger on her carotid artery, but felt nothing. He leaned down, stared into her placid eyes, and kissed her on the lips. Jason left the house. The full pine trees and bare oaks that spread across the neighborhood were caked in snow and covered in ice from branch tip to trunk and formed a crystalline canopy. Dusk was approaching and snow began to fall in round, fat flakes. Jason walked to the center of the yard, pulled a large black wool cap from a pocket in his jacket and put it on, along with a pair of leather gloves. He pulled his hood over his head and laid down, his arms folded over his chest and stuck his legs sticking straight out. He stared into the sky. He thought to himself that the flakes looked the way stars might to an astronaut passing them as he sped through space. The clouds were cottony and pink from the setting sun and they swept slowly across the sky like giant glaciers. Jason laid still until time lost track of him. The snow built up all around him until it covered everything but his face. A warm sensation swept over his body and his eyelids gradually gained weight until they shut. He drifted. When he opened his eyes, he found himself in the dead of night in a valley crowded by colossal mountain silhouettes. The stars flickered like tiny silent bonfires; their light emitting a dim glow over the landscape, casting it in shades of gray. The floor was covered in a bed of wild flowers stretching to the horizon that captured and amplified the light of the stars, shining like a bright neon blanket of reds, purples, and yellows. A thin dirt path ran beneath Jason’s feet and meandered ahead like a trickle of water between the toes of giants. A breeze calmly flowed, whistling a soft, hypnotic tune. Mist cloaked the land in gray spectral wetness, breathing long and delicate inhales and exhales. Jason walked along the path until it ended at a circle of fifty or so figures gathered around a fire, dressed in multi-colored robes and hoods that shrouded their faces. The robes were tinted in the same fluorescent colors of the valley flowers and swirled on the fabric in smooth motions like creek water over rocks. They were as blindingly bright as molten lava freshly bubbled from the earth so that Jason had to squint to look at them directly. The gatherers did not seem to notice Jason. Their attention was focused squarely on the center of the flame. Jason walked into the circle and the gatherers parted for him without turning their heads. Inside, he saw Jackie standing, her eyes, too, transfixed on the fire. He walked beside her and took her hand. Her face appeared as it had earlier that day, still pale and emaciated. She wore a bright white robe that reached the ground and trailed several feet behind her. It had wide sleeves that dangled at her sides and a large hood that hung at her back. She looked at Jason and smiled nervously. A vigorous wind blew across the valley and sent the grass into a wild and primitive dance. The fire’s pops and crackles startled Jason, causing his face to flinch and his arm to involuntarily fly up to protect his face. It emitted a smell like burning flesh that he hadn’t experienced since he placed his hand over a candle during a power outage when he was three. The odor made his eyes water and the insides of his legs tremble like jelly. He looked over at Jackie again and she flashed him another smile-- still nervous, but more serene-- that reassured him and quieted his trembling body. He studied the flame and saw his own reflection. Letting go of Jackie’s hand, he approached it and gazed into the eyes of his image. He was drawn by its pupils, which looked like two black suns set in the center of a galaxy of spider’s webs. They pulled Jason’s eyes into their orbit and he acquiesced. A silence washed over his ears and eyes, pure and total, muting his every nerve and consuming him with a euphoric feeling of warmth. Suddenly, he saw the circle of gatherers and the fire from far above the ground. The flame climbed high in the air, illuminating the valley in a blinding light. It was then quickly extinguished, leaving a pile of ashes. Darkness enveloped again. The circle of gatherers dropped their hoods, revealing their heads to be giant dandelions. The breeze picked up again and scattered their seeds. The robes were left standing like phantoms in space. A pink cloud formed over the earth and opened up in a downpour, the liquid melting the clothes into the ground, their colors growing dim as they seeped into the earth.
Copyright © 2004 P D Addio |