by Tiana Laveen
“What other smells do you like? What are your favorites?” She linked her hands around her knee and swung her leg to and fro. He imagined those legs crouching over and over to put down boxes and large, overstuffed envelopes. He imagined her calf muscles to be quite strong. Rain, sleet, or snow, she’s out there. Well, not sleet or snow, but that’s the slogan of the post office.
“Freshly mowed grass… rain… tulips in the springtime… slow cooked navy beans and onions… new cars… worn leather…Kool-Aid… bleach… newborn babies… strawberry lip-gloss… baked chicken with rosemary. What about you, Kane?”
“Gasoline… car oil… rain… baking bread and chocolate chip cookies… pumpkin pie… old libraries… pennies, you know, that smell they leave behind when you’ve been holdin’ them in your hand too long… pinecones… freshly sawed wood… gun smoke.”
“I like pinecones too, and burning—”
“Burning leaves,” they said at the same time.
Their gazes hooked like the fingers of lovers. Intertwined.
He swallowed and took her hand. She pulled back, then came closer as if rethinking her natural inclination to create distance. Leaning in, he swept a strand of her hair out of the way. They smiled at one another.
Who was this extraordinary woman who’d walked into his world holding inked fragments of his life, typed across pieces of paper called mail? Who was this person wearing a black rose like his own etched on her body and a pendant representing his favorite game? She occupied his thoughts and chased his bad dreams away. She was within him.
“You’re a real special woman, Jessica. You’ve returned to the funny farm, housing a nut of one. Thank you for daring to step foot back in here. And on top of it all, I see you’ve come bearing gifts.” He pointed to the picnic basket she’d set on the oval, glossy wood table.
“All right, first of all, Kane, yeah, you are a nut and if you thought I was going to lie to you and say the opposite, then you’re expecting too much of me. Don’t believe I’ll sprinkle sunshine on this. Lower your expectations.” He burst out laughing. “Secondly, you’re a hypocrite though, ’cause you sure enough said that we shouldn’t do things like that; you just got on me about talking about being fat.”
“I did get on you about it and I’m not taking it back. It’s not the same.”
“It is, but that’s okay.” She ran her hand along her thigh. “Didn’t mean you were wrong to feel the way you do, so I’ll let that go. Thirdly, You can call me Jess, and thank you for what you said. Special can mean a number of things though.” She smirked. “I call my friend Melissa special sometimes when she does something ill advised. Something downright silly like iron a grilled cheese sandwich instead of just putting it in a skillet.”
“Like a panini?”
“A puh what?”
“Never mind. Is it all right if I still call you Jessica? I prefer it.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. Why do you prefer it though? Just curious.”
“Because Jessica is a nice name. That’s a woman’s name, but Jess can be used to describe a man or a woman. I’m in the presence of a lady.” Her lips twitched as if she were fighting a grin. Her cheekbones plumped and did that thing they did—rise up high and glow a deep red.
“Cool, so let’s see what’s in this picnic basket!” She lunged for it.
“Wait a minute! Wanna play a game first?”
“Nope.”
Invisible hands squeezed his heart. That old horrible friend, anxiety, had a full tank of gas and was running on all eight cylinders. The heat started at his toes and worked its way up until his scalp tingled.
She set the basket on her lap and flipped one side of it open, revealing the red and white checkered liner beneath a selection of fried chicken, grapes, crackers, potato salad and a bottle of wine.
“Take a peek. You’re going to love this.”
“Now here you go spoiling me! You know I can’t handle this sort of good treatment!”
The woman cracked up laughing.
“Wasn’t nothing to it. Now come on, stand up.”
He did as asked. Taking his hand, she held the basket with the other.
“Where are we going?”
“To your kitchen back door to get to your backyard. When I was over here the other day, I looked out that pretty window in there and saw all this land you live on. This is pure paradise. Got a gazebo and lake out back. You’ve got everything. Just so pretty.” They took several steps and then she stopped suddenly. “How do you feel right now? On a scale of one to ten, one being calm as can be and ten being wanna cry and tear your skin off, what’s going on in your head?”
He swallowed and glared at the back door. It was quite a distance away, but he could practically feel his palm against the doorknob, turning it. He shuddered at the thought.
“Six.”
“All right. Take two more steps with me.” They walked in unison. “Now?”
“Still a six.”
They took three more steps.
“Now?”
“Seven.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re closer and you’re making me nervous by asking!”
“No, that’s not the right answer, Kane.”
“Yes, it is! In this case, you can’t tell me what the right answer is. I can only tell you.” He pointed up ahead, now holding her hand harder than ever.
“I’ll say it again. That’s not the right answer. Your feet aren’t scared.”
“What’s that got to do with anything? Feet can’t be scared.”
“Yes, they can. Your entire body can be running on nothin’ but pure adrenaline. Every muscle in your body reacts to whatever that brain of yours tells it. If you tell your feet to move because a fire is spreading in your house, your heart will pump faster and fear will save your life. You’re trying to preserve yourself because for one, you don’t want to be in pain. Being burned alive is painful. Your air is cut off, you can’t breathe. You’re coughing and carrying on and before you know it, you’re engulfed in flames.”
“What’s that got to do with my situation here, Jessica?”
“What you feel is similar to that, only your feet wanna go outside because that’s what you’re used to. That’s what they remember. Feet are there to move, and not simply go around in a circle within the confines of your house. God didn’t give you two working feet to be cooped up in here! They know it, but you don’t. Your feet remember what it felt like, Kane, to travel down a field with a pigskin tucked under your arm. Your feet remember the feel of water beating against the bottom of ’em as you swam in the lake.
“Your feet remember trudging past people to get the best seat in the movie theater before they changed the shit to having to pick out our seats in advance. Your feet remember dancing at a club, not just in yo’ living room! Your feet don’t give a shit about your phobias or hang ups; they just wanna be free! Your feet are a part of this situation, like Chess pieces on that board. Your feet are the queen, your heart the king. They travel! Where your heart leads, your feet will follow. It’s your turn. Move!”
He blinked back tears as she dragged him closer to the door. He looked behind them and his body drew cold, his heart sinking. But something in the way she was speaking to him made him want to try. To fight. To be somebody…
He jerked back as they stood within inches of the door now. Sweat oozed from his pores, soaking him as though an invisible bucket had been placed above his head and its liquid contents dumped on him. His heart nearly burst out of his chest. She released his hand, marched over to the window, and pulled the curtains wide open.
“Do you see this?” She placed the basket on the window sill.
“You can’t do this as you are, Jessica. This takes time!”
“You tried it your way and it didn’t work. You said so yourself. You’ve had time. Plenty of it. Every day, you’ve had time. Every afternoon, you’ve had time. Every evening, you’ve had time. Every day, you got sicker. Every day, you
talked to therapists, read self-help books, gave yourself pep talks. Practically every night, you’ve had nightmares.”
“How’d you know that?” He swallowed hard and fisted his hands.
“’Cause I know what happens when you’re haunted and afraid. It’s this heavy cloud that won’t go away. It just looms over you, blocking the sun, the view, the bright side of life. It even follows us in our dreams. We can’t get a minute of peace! This is the view from the bottom. You’ve thought about going outside and staying, then that thought went away because you let that head talk your heart out of it. You’re hooked on being afraid. It feels safer than doing what is best. Now what do you see out this window?”
“But you told me I didn’t get this way overnight so it would take—”
“Stop clinging onto a heap of excuses that make sense but don’t offer any solutions. Therapy works for some people. Church works for others. Books work for quite a few. For many though, jumping in head first is the solution. The only way to conquer their fears… our fears. Like I’ve said, you’ve had a long time to deal with it on your own but look at you. Where has it gotten you?” He dropped his head. “Fine man like you cooped up in this house! Prisoner to these walls! Do you know how many women around these parts would be calling dibs on you if they knew you existed? I’m not standing here to lie to you, baby! You’re fine as wine, just as handsome as you wanna be, and you’re smart, educated, funny, a great dancer—so much to offer! But you’d look even better out there in the sun. Now, what do you see?”
He was quiet for a spell then inched towards her. They stood so close to one another, he was practically leaning into her.
“I see… grass… shrubs. I see the clouds in the sky and it looks like the sun may be setting soon. I see my neighbor’s boat.”
“Mmm hmm, you have to inhale that grass before you forget what it smells like. I need you to run your fingertips along those shrubs, see if they feel prickly or soft. You can’t touch the clouds and you can’t smell them, either, but you can look up at them with me and tell me what you think they’re shaped like. A rose?” She looked up at him. “Let’s go.”
Picking up the picnic basket, she unlocked the back door and swung it open. Meanwhile, he was sure his very soul was going to jump out of him and run off. Just like when he took out the trash, he gave himself internal pep talks while keeping his eyes practically glued shut. He forced them open when they got to the stairs. They walked out onto the deck and in no time, he was down the steps. They creaked under their weight.
With his sneakers on, he couldn’t feel the grass he was now stepping on, but the slight crunching sound told him everything he needed to know as each green blade bowed down for him.
“Inhale…” Her voice sounded like wind, or maybe, she was greater than the breeze that moved the trees.
He followed her instructions, his brain screaming for help. A choppy breath escaping his mouth, he licked his lower lip, feeling the dryness of the sensitive flesh. The air seemed to move with them as they navigated farther and deeper into the backyard.
“What’s it smell like?” she asked, a sense of satisfaction and determination in her motions.
“Sweet and hickory. Smells like somebody is barbecuing and it’s blending in with your perfume.”
“How do you like it?”
“Your perfume?”
She laughed. “No, all of the smells blended together. How does it suit you?”
“I like it. It suits me just fine.”
A few more steps and they were within feet of his gazebo. She slowly released his hand to reach into the basket and pull out a neatly rolled blue blanket. She laid it out, her chess board pendant swinging back and forth as she hummed a song he didn’t recognize. He took a step back, then another. He felt safe as he went for the third, toes pressed hard into the sole of the shoe. He moved in reverse like an old VHS tape on rewind. Static. Panic. Wonder.
“I know you aren’t betraying your feet right now. Ain’t no way you would dare do a thing like that!”
Her voice shredded his temporary hold on peace. How had she seen what he was doing? She had her back towards him as she set the plates and cups on the blanket. She reached for her phone and clicked on her music app. ‘Let’s Hear It for the Boy’ by Deniece Williams started to play. Dropping her phone on the blanket, she spun in his direction, her gold jewelry gleaming in the slipping sun rays. Fists in the air pumping for God’s attention, her face smiling, she sang the lyrics, going into a full-on karaoke spell.
A reciprocating smile jammed in his throat as his heart beat slowed.
“Let’s hear it for the boy!”
He stood there watching this lone ebony flower swaying her wide hips back and forth, flinging her head back to an old 1980s tune he’d not listened to in over a decade. Taking another step, then another, and a few more, he found himself standing on the blanket. Minutes later, they were sitting facing each other, cross-legged, knees almost touching.
While he was trying to read the invisible writing on the walls of her heart, maybe she was doing the same? It certainly felt so.
She served him the food and he savored every bite. He could taste a hint of cumin in the delicious potato salad. She kept digging into the basket and producing more and more goodies until they were full. He had no idea how long they’d been out there, but it was getting dim. If it weren’t for his porchlight, they’d have been in almost complete darkness.
“I can’t sing, can’t hold a note in a bucket, but I like it,” she said, out of the blue.
“I can’t sing, either.” He took a hard gulp of wine, then looked around them. The trees were turning into the dark shadows again. Monsters that waved thick, uneven arms with gallons of nightmare fuel stuck to them like barnacles on a reef. Closing his eyes for a little while, he calmed himself with the song of internal warrior whispers.
It’ll be okay… you’re safe.
“Kane, shhhh now. Don’t let it win. There’s nothing out here that can hurt you.”
He hadn’t spoken a word but his feet must’ve told on him. They must’ve twitched while his heart fell on hard times and his mind fought a battle that everything else within him was destined to lose. And then, it happened.
“I gotta go back inside.” He jumped to his feet and brushed off the crumbs from a biscuit he’d spread with honey and butter.
“You felt it. The rain,” she said with a smile. Leaning back, she took a leisurely sip as if the sky wasn’t pissing on them both right in that instant. “When’s the last time you felt rain on your skin?” All he could do was stare at her while his muscles tensed and locked. She took another sip, got to her feet, and ran one finger along the top of his ear. “Felt it tickle you, just like this? Smelled it? Not from an open window, but from being right there in the midst of it?”
“It’s been a long time.” He turned to walk away but felt a grip on his shoulder. It was a demanding grip, the kind he could get away from, but if he did, he’d leave disappointment in his wake. She slowly released him and when he turned toward her, she was removing her shoes. Standing there on that blanket were now two feet that looked so shiny, they seemed greased with oil. The toenails were cut super short and glistened with bright red polish that popped against her rich complexion.
“I can’t stand the rain! ’Gainst my window!” she crooned, clapping her hands. She sang loud and strong, as if she were born to do it. Her voice was offkey, but that made the sound all the more beautiful.
He felt another drop, and then another. Gripping his shirt, he spun around, making himself dizzy. Her voice carried the notes, her mouth open like a fish, the hook of the song in her throat. He ran and ran and ran! Heart thumping, spinning darkness, speckles of light and confusion. He screamed and tumbled to his knees. Her voice carried like angels transporting souls to the pearly gates. He felt hands, a million and one through the touch of only two, softly pulling at him, making him stand like a man, blocking out the trees. Her voice was soft and billowy
, also fending off the trees with their twisted wooden teeth and shadowy eyes. Palms cupping his cheeks, she looked into his eyes.
He trembled and cried out. His feet felt as if they were sinking. The grass became quagmire and his weight pushed him down, gliding him across the Devil’s back.
“You can only see my eyes, right? ’Cause it’s dark out here and you ran all around this yard away from the light, back, then away again. That’s the lies your mind tells you, boy. But you just watch me work.” Her gaze narrowed on him. “I’m that black puddle beneath the blue glacier. Too shallow to drown in, too wet to ignore.”
“You are the light! The beacon and the circle.” She wrapped her arms around him and he fell apart against her, loosening the screws of his brain that barely clung to reality. “It’s the trees!” he wailed.
“Mmm hmmm.” She rocked him to her chest. Her perfumed body was erotic, warm, comforting within the flesh of a living seraph. “Trees got roots. They’re jealous of you because you’ve got feet.”
His heart grew tight at her words.
“I saw… trees… so many trees… The car rolled. It tumbled, and all I saw was… trees! Mean, big trees! It was dark, pitch black… Upside down… a bit of light… the smell of blood… It smelled like iron. I could… could taste it… Pain on my leg… lost consciousness… I died… we all died…”
Gentle strokes to his hair. Then, he felt a kiss against the top of his head.
“I crown you, King Kane. No matter what happens for the rest of the night, you became a king again today. Tomorrow you may struggle. The next day, too. This isn’t over, but you won this battle, Kane. You won it fair and square. You beat the game.”
He smiled as his eyes welled with tears. He gripped at the fabric of her shirt, holding tight to her as if she were a flame, the only thing that could destroy the dark trees.
“It is a game, isn’t it? A game against my own brain…”
“Let’s hear it for the boy…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Pancakes and Phobias
Jessica lay in bed, staring blankly at her beige bedroom wall.