by Kat T. Masen
Hazel is quick to praise him. “Fred, laughter is the best medicine. Don’t be discouraged by your neighbor’s discontent.”
Jerry grunts, prompting Hazel to ask him the same question. “Nothing made me happy, except for when I saw this kid fall off a bike. Yeah, maybe then I snickered. Kid deserved it, was showing off and all.”
Hazel chooses her words carefully. “Jerry, we talked about seeking joy in others’ pain.”
“Yeah, so what? Kid thought he was King Shit.”
“He’s just a child, he has yet to learn the consequences of his actions,” Hazel reminds him.
“Big fucking deal. I was a kid, too, okay? Do you think they cared about what they were doing to me?” he answers back in a sinister tone.
“Jerry, who was there to show them right from wrong? They knew no better. Your brothers felt the pain you did, and unfortunately, their way of dealing with the hurt and resentment was to take it out on you.”
Jerry pulls his knees to his chest and begins to rock back and forth.
Hazel softens her tone. “We must understand a cycle can be broken. The actions of the past don’t need to repeat themselves. We need to look at the whole picture, understand the story and what lies beneath.”
She turns to look at me and gives me a slight nod. Great. It’s now or never, right?
My throat feels dry. God, what I’d do for a scotch on the rocks right now.
“I was sitting in a café. The lady beside me ordered a red velvet cupcake. Reminded me of this woman I was fond of… well, was in love with. At least I thought it was love, I think.” My thoughts and words come out jumbled. I sound like a moron.
“I hear hesitation surrounding the word ‘love?’” Hazel asks.
“I don’t think…” I struggle to get my words out. “I thought I loved Chelsea. She was my neighbor, and I was crazy about her. She’d tease me, taunt me, and I just took anything, any scraps she would throw my way. I was convinced I loved her, but I was seventeen. Who falls in love at seventeen?”
“I fell in love at seventeen… with my hand.” Jerry laughs.
Penny slaps her hand on her knee, letting out a huge roar.
“Ignoring your age, what feeling do you remember about her? What feelings do you associate with love?” Hazel’s questions leave me stumped.
“She was beautiful. She had long brown hair, the kind that looks like it belongs in a commercial for shampoo. It was so silky and smelled like vanilla. Used to make me weak in the knees every time I was near her.” I smile, remembering her fondly, something I haven’t done for a long time. “Chelsea was a daredevil, everything I wasn’t. It scared me yet excited me at the same time. It would make me so angry when she’d sneak guys home and screw them in her room while her parents were in the living room watching The Price is Right.”
“Sounds like my kind of girl!” Penny giggles.
“She liked sex, all right. Maybe too much.” The knots in my stomach tighten, leaving me slightly out of breath. “The night she died, I told her I loved her.…” Bowing my head, I attempt to fight back the pain threatening to invade every part of me. “You should’ve seen the look on her face. I had never seen that side of Chelsea it was like she was honored. I don’t know, I can’t explain it, but that face haunts me to this very day.”
“Haunts you or eases the pain?” Hazel asks for clarification.
“Both. Sometimes my memory of her face is so clear, and other times I can’t remember, and it frustrates me. Those are the times I can only see the flames.”
The group is silent for moments on end. Great, I’m the lunatic in here.
“It’s common for many people to forget the good and remember the bad. It’s important that you try to remember as many good things as you can. For instance, I try to remember every Sunday when my family would leave church to head down to the ice cream parlor.” She smiles.
“The same church where your family was shot?” Jerry asks in shock.
“Yes. Every Sunday for ten years we walked down that same path, and every Sunday was a joyous occasion until that very last one.” Hazel’s face doesn’t change, and I wonder how she can remain calm while reliving that disturbing memory.
I start to find my voice. “The nightmares plague me, the same scene over and over again. Chelsea driving the car into the tree, and the flames engulfing it before my eyes. The feeling of being helpless, watching her body dragged from the wreckage and hearing the paramedics pronouncing her dead. The only thing that stopped it was a woman I met named Charlie.”
There’s a cough in the room, but I’m too late to see who it came from.
“Tell us about this Charlie?” Penny places her hand on mine, conflicting me in every which way.
“She looks like Chelsea, beautiful, smart. God, she’s perfect.”
“And?” Penny waits in anticipation.
“She was in love with someone else. I had no chance.”
“Women think with their kitties, I should know, after all.” Penny flicks her hair behind her shoulder.
“Honestly, Penny, you’re such a—”
“It’s getting old, Jerry, much like your outfit,” Penny mocks.
I interrupt the both of them. “Charlie isn’t like that. She loves him, always loved him. You can’t compete if there’s no competition to begin with.”
“So, then why are you here?” Fred asks.
Million-dollar question. Why am I here?
“Because losing Chelsea and Charlie forced me to do drugs. I’m my own worst nightmare. I know I need to find a way to move forward in my life without using people to replace what I lost.”
Hazel places her hand on her heart. “My boy, you’ve just passed that first step, accepting what you need to overcome.”
It was exactly like in school, the teacher praising you in front of the whole classroom. Inside I feel the relief wash over me, Penny leaning over to squeeze my hand with delight. Fred begins to clap, acknowledging my achievement. Jerry sulks, as usual, then in a bold move, leans toward me and sticks out his fist. I knock fists with him, weird but okay. Whatever.
My eyes wander over to the mystery girl. With her sleeves up, I can see red marks just above her wrist. There’s no mistaking them, some are old scars, and others look raw and new.
They are cuts.
I beg her with my eyes to look in my direction. She’s a girl in pain, maybe more so than the rest of us in this room. With every cut that scars her pale skin, I want to mend her and give her the hope she needs. Whatever it is about this girl that pulls me in, I need to control it. Something has a hold of me, and with alarm bells ringing in my head, once again, I have to stop trying to find the next obsession.
Everything comes to a halt when I watch her head lift, and her eyes stare directly at mine.
There’s something familiar about them. I’ve seen them before. I wrack my brain but come up with nothing.
This is a huge fault of mine and exactly what I do every time. I think I see people from the past in my present.
Breaking her gaze, I shake my head, clearing my thoughts.
“Darling, you up for a drink at the bar around the corner? My treat.” Penny pulls a twenty out of her cleavage.
I nod and laugh at her antics, only to miss the mystery girl leaving the room, vanishing without a trace.
“So, one day, my father catches me dressed in my mother’s church clothes parading in front of the bathroom mirror. He beat me to a pulp, leaving me for dead. It was the last time I ever saw that sick bastard.”
Penny’s horrific life story can only be heard with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. There are parts that had me in stitches and others that made me want to wring the neck of the man who brought her into this world.
We have been sitting at the bar, playing a game of ‘let’s take turns telling our tragic stories’ followed by a strong shot of tequila.
“Okay, my turn,” I slur.
Penny enjoys being asked questions, unlike me.
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br /> “So, what exactly is happening down south? Do you like men or women?”
A laugh escapes her mouth, almost spilling a peanut she’s eating. “Don’t have the money to get frankenweenie chopped off, and I’m all about the man.” She slides closer to me before grabbing my forearm and laughing off her comment. “Sweetie, you’re drop-dead gorgeous, and I’m certain that any woman who’s been near your ding-dong has been sat… tis… fied.” She clicks her fingers, then gracefully pours more tequila into her glass.
“Penny, I’m all about the pussy. No offense.” I chuckle.
“Sweetie, no offense taken, but if you need a good whack up your backside, you know where to find me.”
The thought made me squirm in pain, not pleasure. I wonder if Eric would be interested. For God’s sake, Julian, don’t play gay matchmaker. That’s such a chick thing to do.
Curbing my curiosity, I ask the question that’s been bugging me for days. “So, what the hell is up with you and Jerry?”
“Urgh, he’s such an immature little brat who needs a sitting in the naughty corner to think about his actions,” she complains.
“What’s his story?”
“I’m not certain on the details, only what Fred has told me. He was beaten by his brothers when he was younger. Happened for years, and apparently, they would make him lie to his parents that kids in the neighborhood were doing it. The sick thing was that they would do it in front of other kids to show off. Kinda like a bet.” She slams a shot of tequila down, wincing as it burns her throat. “So, one day he was so badly hurt that he was rushed to the hospital. He told his parents everything, but they refused to believe him, so when he was twelve or something, he ran away to live on the streets.”
“That’s fucked up. How old is he?” I couldn’t help but feel sorry for Jerry after Penny’s tell-all story.
“I think he’s like twenty.”
“He looks so much older,” I wondered out loud.
“The streets will do that to you. Okay, enough serious talk, are you up for some fun?” she asks with a devilish grin on her face.
“Sure, Penny Tration, lead the way.”
We’re sitting at a table with Hazel and a room full of people playing bingo. The last time I played this game was probably in the eighties with my grandparents and their old-folk friends at the nursing home. The only thing that changes is that I’m now full of tequila. Bingo and tequila equal a very entertaining Thursday night. Unlike me, Penny holds her liquor without too much drama. When she yells out bingo, I burst out into a fit of laughter causing everyone to turn and look at me. I’m not sure what’s so funny, but I can’t stop, and it isn’t long before Penny and Hazel join in, which only adds to the hilarity of the situation.
***
“So, let me get this straight, you were out all night drinking tequila and playing bingo with a drag queen?” Tristan questions, scratching his head in confusion.
“I never said ‘drag queen’!” I yell defensively.
“Okay, tranny, then?”
“I don’t know, I probably should’ve asked when it was appropriate to ask,” I admit.
“When is it ever an appropriate time to ask that question?” Tristan snickers.
Sitting up from the couch, my head is ready to explode. “When you’re playing truth and on your tenth shot of tequila. Anyway, what the hell are you doing here?”
I didn’t notice it earlier, but Tristan has two Starbucks cups sitting on the table. I grab one and take a sip, hoping it will cure my pounding head. Mmm… fresh coffee.
“Eric’s gone to New York for a few days, so I thought why not spend time with my favorite uncle!” He cheers.
“I’m your only uncle,” I point out.
“And a great one at that.” A cheesy grin is plastered on his face. Not immune to his buffoonery, I shake my head with a smile.
“Aw shucks, kid, nice spiel. Now, what do you want?”
“Nothing.” He smirks.
“Okay, so what’s been happening at Eric’s?”
Tristan’s shoulders perk up like a meerkat on watch. “What do you mean? Nothing’s happening.”
“Geez, don’t bite my head off. I’m merely asking how things are going,” I huff.
“Sorry. Good. Great. Um… it’s fine. Eric is busy a lot with work and stuff.”
“Sure. I know when he worked in New York for Charlie, they were inundated with new clients. LA must definitely have its share of work with all the celebrity shit that goes on around here.”
“Yeah, he tends to come home late and is such a bitch when he’s tired. Take, for instance, last night… I cook this awesome meal, and all he does is complain that he has a headache and then goes straight to bed. I slaved over that meal for hours,” he complains.
“You sound like a married couple,” I say casually.
“Wh… why would you say that?” He stumbles on his words.
“Because you sound like a married couple… lighten up, kid. Eric has his own life. Don’t forget that you’re living under his roof.”
Tristan stays for the next hour before leaving to attend an audition for some infomercial. It’s for some crazy device that cooks meals in less than two minutes. It’s laughable, but being a great uncle, I wish him luck.
Again, I find myself alone, anxiously waiting for a response from Mr. Grimmer. If I don’t hear anything by the end of the week, I’m going to take the initiative and contact him. This limbo feeling is getting old.
Thursday rolls around, and before I know it, I’m back sitting in the circle of troubles.
Everyone is here, chatting away about last night’s episode of Survivor, from who is deemed as playing the game to who’s making alliances. It’s a light-hearted conversation, and even Hazel joins in, not caring the topic has swayed into reality television instead of the power of healing.
Trying my best to stay in the conversation, I anxiously wait for mystery girl to turn up. It’s already half an hour into our meeting and nothing. I figure she’s given up, perhaps it got too hard. That thought scares me, the harm she could do to herself.
Tonight, Penny opens up about her past, her attempts to contact her family with no luck, life on the streets, and her take on how people react to her lifestyle. It’s heartbreaking to hear the pain and ridicule she endures almost every day, yet she has the strongest backbone out of anyone I have ever met. She may have been beaten physically, but mentally, she’s as tough as nails.
During her confession about falling in love with a married man, the door creaks, and a body slips through, taking a seat at the back.
Mystery girl.
My eyes wander of their own accord, my brain following like a lost puppy. Today, she’s wearing a T-shirt which reads, ‘I Like Boys That Sparkle.’
Great, one of those vampire-loving chicks.
Her arms are visible, no jacket or sleeves to cover the scars and cuts. She is very pale, odd for living in California, but maybe she isn’t a native or one of those folks who claims they never tan like albinos.
Her fiery red hair is covering her eyes as she continues to bow her head. Scanning the rest of her, I stop at a shiny piece of gold which catches my attention. Nestled on her left hand is a gold band. She’s married.
Time to back the fuck up. I turn away to clear my mind of the ray of thoughts swirling around. It’s not like I’m here to score, so who cares that she’s married? What you feel is just genuine concern for someone other than yourself. Her scars are laid bare for all of us to see. What caused them is now piquing your curiosity. That’s all.
Penny’s loud voice distracts me. “Let’s call him ‘Mr. X.’ So, we were seeing each other for about six months. I thought he was the one. He was confused, I understood that. Pushed into a life he didn’t want, married, two-point-four children, white picket fence, drove a Prius.”
“A Prius?” Jerry sneers.
“Uh-huh. Like I was saying, he was living this double life. So, one day, he tells me he’s leaving all t
hat for me. What’s a girl to think? I was over the moon! We had picked out an apartment to rent. He even started bringing things over, and then one day, he vanished.”
Fred leans over and pats Penny on the back. “I tried to find him, and according to everyone, he had left town with his family. A year later, I ran into him at the airport, random fluke. He was there with his family and pregnant wife. I was still hurting. Why me? Wasn’t I good enough?” Penny cries.
Hazel hands Penny a box of tissues as the tears stream down her face. Perhaps her strength was masking her weakness. Her sobs are loud, ugly cries.
“Have you thought for a moment how you played a role in ruining this sanctity of marriage?” The voice comes from mystery girl.
She speaks and sounds like she’s ready to go to war.
“Of course, but honey, a man tells you he loves you, you take those words to heart. Sometimes your heart won’t see or care about anyone else,” Penny defends herself.
“Well, even though he’s a right prick, he should be thanking his lucky stars he still has his family,” mystery girl states angrily. She lowers her head, her words barely audible. “I wonder every day why he was taken from us. I wonder if there’s anything I could’ve done to keep him alive. When I look at my son, I wonder if he feels the pain I do. Sometimes I think I’m healing, but then something happens… his song comes on the radio, someone walks past me with the same hair color. Or even that stupid baby soap ad that comes on where the family is hugging it out.”
The group is quiet, allowing her to voice her feelings.
“That baby soap commercial gets me every time,” Fred confesses.
Jerry and Penny nod in unison.
She tugs on her shirt to hide the nerves. “What family does my son have? How can a family be just a mother?”
Hazel speaks up, “Family isn’t defined by a dad, a mom, and a child. Family is a feeling, not a status. When I lost Richard and George, I asked the same exact question.”
“Why didn’t you remarry or have more children?” mystery girl questions Hazel.
“I was in my early forties, and having more children wasn’t really in the cards for me. As for marriage? I’ve dated other men. In fact, I’ve been together with Miles for almost four years now.”