She sat at the kitchen table, absently kicking her legs back
and forth between the rungs of the chair. It was one of those high tables that
made it so even the leggiest people had trouble getting their feet to touch the
floor. Her hair hung in stringy tangles around her face, the remnants of a
ponytail working itself free in the back.
“Sophia,
hand me a beer out of the fridge.”
Leaning
back on two legs, the girl silently reached into the ancient Frigidaire and
extracted a brown bottle of cheap beer.
The woman,
her hair equally as dingy, was wearing a brown robe and pink bunny house
slippers. She smiled a grimacing pantomime, revealing teeth colored with years
of nicotine and drugs.
“You bein’
clean, I didn’t think you’d come back thisway,” she muttered.
Sophia
shrugged. “You could get clean too, y’know.”
She laughed
a rasping, hacking sound that shook her entire body. “Yeah. I could.”
~
“Stephan, your dinners getting
cold!” his mother yelled up the stairs. The boy, more a man really, ignored the
harpy’s voice, and concentrated on the guitar in his hands. It belonged to his
brother Thomas, 4 years his senior. If he had still been living Stephan would
have gotten an ass-kicking for even thinking about touching the strings. As it
stood though, Stephan figured he’d rather face Thomas’ ghost haunting him about
the guitar, than letting him go altogether.
Ironically, it was Stephan who made
the magic happen. Thomas had bought the guitar to pick up chicks, mostly.
Somewhere in his mind, he vaguely wanted to be a rock star too. But not because
he loved the music, no. He craved the fame and fortune and pussy that went
along with it. Stephan had enjoyed his brother’s attempts at notoriety, quietly
sitting through his jam sessions and encouraging him appropriately. But then
there had been The Accident.
So now Stephan had the guitar, not
wanting to do anything with it other than create something new, something
stirring. He closed his eyes against the noise of the outside world and
continued to strum and sing along quietly. Everything he played sounded the
same, he realized. The notes were all bluesy wails that faded into nothingness.
The words were falling from his mouth without thought behind them.
“STEPHAN
GET DOWN HERE NOW!” his mother’s voice screeched, cutting his solitude with a
sharp blade. With a sigh, he set down the instrument. He didn’t want to play
anymore anyway. He realized, as the cloud of concentration slipped away, that
he’d been singing about his brother.
~
“Sophia,
hand me a beer,” her voice rasped. Her hair, falling loosely in clean waves
around her face, reflected gold in the stray beams of sunlight that made stripes
across the room. The brown-robed figure in front of her was scrubbing the
counter and listening to the radio. I’m a
spy… in the house of love… I know the dream… that you’re… dreamin’ of… I know
the words… that you long to hear… I know your deepest, secret fears…I know
everything… everything you do…everywhere you go, everyone you know…
The Lizard King’s voice cried, Unsettling as this was, it
gave her a small comfort knowing that there was someone out there that knew
what was inside her soul.
Brown Robe
pulled a pack of Reds out of her pocket and lit one with the flick of her
orange Bic. “This shit’s creepy,” she exclaimed as she exhaled. “Talkin’ about
bein’ there and knowin’ things he shouldn’t.”
Sophia
shrugged. “I like it. It’s beautiful.” Brown Robe cocked an eyebrow at her,
leaning one arm against the counter, viciously sucking the smoke out of the
cigarette in her hand. “It ain’t like you to care much about one thing or
th’other. You suddenly got an ear for music? Miss Princess Lady here knows
things now, huh? They teach you Music Appreciation 101 there at the jailhouse?”
She cackled at her own wit, causing her lungs to seize, transforming it into a
haggard cough
“I didn’t
say that,” Sophia softly murmured. “It’s just pretty, is all.”
Brown Robe
continued to cough and cackle simultaneously, producing a hideous cacophony of
ghoulish sounds. As they subsided, she shuffled her way to the La-Z-Boy situated
in front of the television. It was an ancient set, and one of the only pieces
of actual furniture in the house. The couch had long ago been sent to the curb,
where it sat for 8 months before the city finally came and hauled it off.
During this interim it continued to sit next to the dumpster, and became a
favorite hangout for the Mexican family down the street.
Folding chairs scattered
haphazardly around a card table that sat in the corner and a coffee table
almost too low for comfort, positioned to the left of the recliner. The wood
was spotted with water rings and half-empty 75 cent Styrofoam cups from the
Phillips up the hill.
She eased
herself into the chair in a catlike fashion, gingerly placing her weight into
the seat. Giving a grunt of satisfaction, she popped the leg rest out. The T.V.
was already on, sending out blue-green waves of reality colored garbage. Brown
Robe leaned over the chair and grabbed a green plate. It was chipped on the
side, from where someone had dropped it, and there were crackle lines through
the center. She picked up a syringe and a white and blue capsule off the plate.
Balancing the tray on her lap, she grabbed her spoon from between the seat
cushions.
As this
balancing act carried on, Sophia sat hunched in the corner, sucking on a Camel
Light and staring mutely at the T.V. in front of her.
~
Dinner was
always an interesting affair in the INSERTNAMEHERE household. Stephan stumbled
down the stairs, already setting his mind into the autopilot mode it went into
when forced to deal with his mother. And, as an added bonus, he noticed as he
came entered the kitchen, his sister and her husband and their 2.5 (Bertha, the
dog) kids would be joining the affair.
“What took
you so long?” she demanded in that wheedling tone that mothers worldwide can
all miraculously hit.
“Guitar.”
He always attempted to use one word responses when asked direct questions. She
never actually listened to his response anyway; more used that moment to catch
her breath.
“Anjelica
and Houston (no joke, one of those bizarre yet hilarious coincidences that
occur frequently in human interaction. Their last name is Smith, not as cool)
are here,” she continued, smiling graciously at the couple. This smile
encompassed their children, Ariel and Jasper, a tow-headed terror duo. When
separated the children were actually pretty charming, no more or less evil than
normal kids. However, when Ariel, 2 years senior to her brother Jasper, got a
hold of his willing mind and naïve nature… Well, suffice it to say that it was
generally anything but pleasant.
Stephan
took his seat, awkwardly positioned in a triangle of his mother and his sister,
with Houston on
his left.
“So, you
think you’re as good on that thing as you think you are?” Anjelica started the
conversation. It wouldn’t have truly been dinner at the INSERTNAMEHERE’s
without a snide remark or two made in Stephan’s direction. Being the youngest
child in some households afforded that child a certain comfort in the role as
the baby. Not here. At one point it might have, but since Thomas was no longer
there to diffuse the tension, there was no forced goodwill for the sake of the
middle brother.
“Guesso,”
Stephan replied through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.
“Stephan,
don’t talk with your mouthful,” his mother spat, more out of habit than actual
concern.
“So I hear
we have some exciting news from you two,” Mother continued, looking
meaningfully at Houston and Anjelica.
Houston colored quickly,
his ears turning an alarming shade of red in a short amount of time. He fiddled
with his fork, picking it up and setting it down several times while clearing
his throat. Anjelica rolled her eyes.
“Oh
honestly.” She sighed, a deep sound that encompassed her frustration and his
ineptitude. “I’m pregnant. We’re having another baby.”
Houston’s face, if
possible, turned an even darker shade of red and he choked on the piece of pot
roast he’d been chewing for the last five minutes.
“Oh like
they don’t know we have sex. We’ve been married five years and have two
children. Where is it you think these brats come from? The stork?” she laughed,
spearing a green bean with her fork and shoving it into her mouth viciously.
“I’m not a
brat mommy!” Ariel piped up, leaning over to look into her mother’s eyes.
“Me
neiver!” Jasper agreed.
“No of
course not, Mommy didn’t mean it,” Anjelica murmured absently, touching each
child quickly on the cheek.
Mother
clapped her hands and forced a smile, going on as if Anjelica’s outburst hadn’t
occured.
“Isn’t that
wonderful? I’ve always wanted a house full of grandchildren.” She wiped a tear
away, though Stephan figured it was more for show than actual emotion.
Father just
grunted and said, “Pass the mashed potatoes.”
No
one said anything else for the rest of dinner. A comfortable quiet settled on
the room as they finished their meal. Stephan and Mother cleared the dishes and
she brought out a pie as Stephan began to load the dishwasher.
“Who wants
dessert?” she asked gaily. Tonight she was attempting to be her
“Martha-Stewart” self. Mrs. INSERTNAMEHERE had several versions of herself,
each one spiraling into an opposite direction. Stephan found her
Martha-Stewart-Self the most irritating; as she embraced such a ridiculous
persona that so far stepped out of the norm of reality as to be creepy.
“Me! Me!”
Ariel cried, jumping up and down on her chair, causing it to wobble back and
forth precariously. Like clockwork, Jasper chimed in.
“Me!me!”
Their cries echoed back and forth, occasionally overlapping into a cacophony of
childlike jabber that resembled the sound of a bird having its tail feather’s
pulled out one by one.
“Calm down
children, Grammy will get it for you.” Mrs. INESERTNAMEHERE graciously served
each of the children generous portions of cherry pie, which they immediately
attacked with their forks. Within seconds their faces were covered with sticky
red goo.
“And an
extra large slice for you darling,” she said as she handed Anjelica her plate.
“Since you’re eating for two now.” She winked. Although Mrs. INESERTNAMEHERE
had never really mastered the art of a sly wink and it came out looking more
menacing than playful.
“Glad at
least one of us can give you grandkids ma,” Anjelica nearly shouted, so Stephan
could hear her above the clink of the dishes in the kitchen. “What with Stephan
being like he is and Thomas gone…”
At the
mention of her middle son’s name, Mrs. INSERTNAMEHERE’s face lost all color.
Her hand trembled and she nearly dropped the pie pan. Mr. INSERTNAMEHERE
reached out and caught it, barely, and set it on the table. He shot his
daughter a glare and reached his hand out to his wife.
She shook
it off and absently patted his hand before abruptly turning and walking into
the kitchen. Stephan stood there, hands clad in rubber gloves, clutching a
plate and stared at his mother. She didn’t even register his presence, even
though she’d stopped and was standing right next to him. A single pathetic
sound passed through her lips, a wounded, tiny unearthly thing. She shuddered
and tried to shake it off, reaching into the cabinet above the sink and drew
out a bottle of whiskey.
Her
Martha-Stewart-Self reasserted itself temporarily and she reached into the
cabinet for a tumbler. A healthy 3-fingers of whiskey purled into the glass and
was immediately downed in one gulp. She repeated this process twice. The façade
vanished.
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