As an Old Memory

by Vic Kerry

  The nightlight shoved into a plug halfway up the staircase lit the way to his room. When Josh stepped on the landing, a floorboard beneath the carpet creaked as always. He and Thomas called it the sneak-in alarm. One of his parents would be flying out of their bedroom and up the stairs, red-faced and in the midst of giving him a lecture. He walked the few steps to his bedroom without a single parental unit popping up. Great effort was taken to close the door quietly behind him. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but he didn’t want to tempt fate.

  “Where have you been?”

  Josh almost screamed but caught it before it slipped out. The strain made his throat feel raw. It took him a moment to answer.

  “What are you doing in here, Thomas?” he asked.

  “Waiting for you. Do you know it’s a school night?”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Dad,” Josh said back. “I’m glad you’re all so concerned about my safety that no one came to check on me.”

  “Why would we? I told the ’rents you came back ages ago. I figured you’d slipped off to meet Jessica and finally taken the cellophane off your pecker and made a move.”

  “I was taking a walk around the block.”

  “Long walk.”

  “Something took hold of me, like a primal feeling. I started running and ended up at the old gym when the explosion happened.”

  Thomas turned on the lamp beside Josh’s bed. The light showed the curious expression on his face. “What explosion?”

  Josh rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it. “Don’t give me that. The shock wave knocked the air out of me. It had to shake the windows if nothing else.”

  “I promise I didn’t hear an explosion. I thought you’d snuck off,” Thomas said.

  “Did you hear all those dogs howling?”

  His brother shook his head. “I think you might need to go the doctor with Grandpa Sim. You may have caught his Parkinson’s.”

  “Get out of my room,” Josh opened the door. “You can’t catch Parkinson’s, and I’m not crazy. It happened. You’ll see. Folks at school will be talking about it tomorrow.”

  Thomas walked out of the room with a shrug of his shoulders. The nonchalant, sarcastic gesture made Josh angry, and he punched his brother as hard as he could in the shoulder. Thomas flinched and let out a yelp. Before he could throw a punch, Josh shoved him out the door and locked it behind him.

  “That’s okay, I’ll get you tomorrow, Grandpa Sim,” Thomas said through the door.

  Josh had it coming tomorrow. His brother might be two years younger than him, but he was twenty pounds of muscle heavier and a good three inches taller. The punch he packed could make a rhino cross-eyed. It was still worth it, though. He took off his clothes and pulled on a pair of faded red basketball shorts with the number twenty-three flaking off the leg and crawled into bed. He left the lamp on.

  Sim sat at his kitchen table with the phone book opened and the portable phone beside it. He’d been looking up the number for Dr. Sharp. Before he could dial up the doc, the phone rang. It had been Johnny House. They hadn’t spoken in ten years. The sound of his old friend’s voice had taken him a minute to recognize. Even though he’d wanted a pleasant conversation about the old days, Johnny had broken some unpleasant news. Marshall Williams had killed himself the night before.

  The news had streaked through him like a lightning bolt. It had been even longer since he’d talked to Marshall, but they’d been good friends for most of their early life. Sim never figured he’d be one of those old men prone to suicide.

  Johnny hadn’t known the details, except that Marshall’s son had found him at breakfast time. He was a bit happy he didn’t know how his old friend had done it. It might give him ideas. After his diagnosis of Parkinson’s, Sim had decided he would end it all when the time was right. There was no reason to lose your mind and act like a child. Plus, he had far too many skeletons locked up in his closet to let out once he went batty.

  The phone at Dr. Sharp’s office rang twice before the colored receptionist answered. Her thick molasses accent gave her away. Sim almost asked for the white nurse but didn’t. The receptionist worked him into a 10:00 a.m. appointment. He’d have enough time to get ready and get over there.

  Without finishing his cold coffee, Sim got up and started his morning routine. He walked to his bathroom and started the shower, not giving the hot water time to warm before he climbed in. Eventually, the water started steaming. Sim lathered the bar of soap in his hands and began scrubbing himself. He believed in two things when it came to bathing: Ivory soap was the only soap a man should use, and no real man should ever use a washcloth. The only exceptions were the men in the coal mines and mechanics, who bathed in Joy dish detergent. They were manlier than him, because they didn’t care if their skin completely dried out. His hands chapped too easily and cracked open too often to use straight dish detergent.

  Alan used Dove, a lady’s soap. What was worse, he let his boys use the same thing. They’d all be lucky if those two grandsons didn’t end up queers. He didn’t worry too much about his youngest grandson, but Josh concerned him. The twerp was scared to ask a girl out and never talked about girls. He buddied around with girls, probably styling their hair.

  Sim washed his hair with the same bar of Ivory. The sparse hairs he had on his head didn’t need a specific shampoo. He let the concern over his possible queer grandsons wash down the drain with the suds. The room floated with steam when he stepped out onto the cold tile floor. An old towel lay on the floor as a rug. It squished beneath his feet because he never let it dry out. There was no point. He was the only person who showered at his house.

  The mirror over the sink looked silver with condensation clinging to it. He cleared it off enough space with his towel to shave his face. Although Sim dreaded looking into that mirror, he refused to go out of his house with whiskers. Back in his time only beatniks and pinkos wore stubble, or even worse, those stupid goatee things. He noticed some of the younger men wearing those now, boys who came from good families. The one thing he’d give Alan credit for was not letting his boys wear facial hair.

  The shaving cream cooled his hot skin. He made a few passes with his razor without looking at his reflection. The broad strokes could always be made without staring at your mug. Once that was done, he had to look to get the more sensitive areas.

  Sim focused on the reflection of the bit of skin beneath his nose and under his lip. He looked himself over, only staring at his skin to check and make sure he’d left no stubble. As he stood back to wash his razor, he made the mistake of taking in the whole of his reflection. As it had been, a blurry blob floated in the air over his shoulder. Today, the dark places at the eyes were more pronounced. The face even had the beginning outline of a nose. He hoped Dr. Sharp could give him something to stop the hallucinations before he had to take matters into his own hands, which at that moment shook worse than they had in a long while. He didn’t want to admit that it was from fear, instead of that stupid palsy disease they said he had, but he couldn’t deny it even to himself. That face scared him, because he was starting to recognize it.

  Alan and Principal Chapman stood in front of the gymnasium door. They had bus duties in the morning until after Homecoming. Alan couldn’t figure out why the principal, who could bow out of any activity that he made the regular teachers do, took bus duty before school. He could think of a million other tasks that were better.

  The Hassle twins, both red haired and freckled, walked past. Enoch shook Alan’s hand; Amos shook the principal’s. Once the freshmen stepped into the gym and the door closed, Chapman wiped his hand on his pants leg.

  “I think he licked his hand before he shook mine. That was too moist to be a sweaty palm.”

  Alan looked at his hand. “I think I came out clean.”

  Principal Chapman had a disgusted look on his face. “I think that I’ll go wash this off.”

  “Before you go, I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.” />
  “Can’t it wait? I’m getting grossed out.”

  “I’m afraid the bell will ring, and the chance will slip away.” Alan shoved his hands into the pocket of his khaki pants. He brought out a moist towelette from KFC. He got a handful of them every time his family ate there and carried around a few for such an occasion. “Use this.”

  Principal Chapman took the small packet and tore it open. The alcohol smell wafted out as he rubbed it over his hands. He balled it up and tossed it across the hallway into the garbage can. Leanne Walpole and Garrett Miller walked past and into the gym as he did so.

  “Good shot, Principal Chapman,” Leanne said.

  “Nothing but net,” Garrett chimed in.

  “Thank you,” he said as the door closed behind them. “That will tide me over for a few minutes. What is it that’s so important?”

  “Are some of the students planning a massacre anniversary dance for Homecoming?” he asked.

  Principal Chapman nodded his head. “A small group of them came to me and asked for permission to theme the Homecoming dance that way. I shot it down. It was one of the worst ideas ever proposed to me. It’s like the…” he paused to check if any students stood in earshot, “…doofuses haven’t ever seen a horror movie.”

  “I knew you had done that, but a few of them are apparently planning to have their own dance at the old gym.”

  “That is news to me, but I don’t have jurisdiction over the old gym. I’ll have to tell the superintendent.”

  “Could you, please? Because I was driving past there last night, and I’m certain some of the kids had broken in. There were lights in the windows.”

  “Did you stop by to check?”

  “Of course. All the doors were locked, but the lights went out after I started rattling them. It must have spooked them into laying low.”

  “I’ll definitely pass it on to the superintendent. We can’t have something like that going on.” Principal Chapman looked at his hands in disgust. “That thing from KFC isn’t going to get it.”

  “Thank you for hearing me out,” Alan almost shook his hand but caught himself.

  “No problem. I know you have a very strong connection with that event. Hold down the fort. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Principal Chapman hurried down the hall. Two more students walked into the gym. Alan didn’t know their names and barely recognized them. They were freshmen. Not enough time had passed for him to get acquainted with what the football team called fresh meat.

  Josh and Thomas walked up. They both looked like they’d jumped out of bed and rushed to school.

  “Do we have to go in there? It’s only a few minutes until the bell,” Thomas asked.

  “Rules are rules. Principal Chapman’s helping me out. I can’t bend them.”

  Thomas looked around with his hand over his eyes like a sailor in a crow’s nest. “Where’s he at? I don’t see him anywhere.”

  “He had to go to the bathroom to wash his hands. One of those weird Hassle twins licked his and shook Chapman’s.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Thomas said. “I’ll have to thank the Horrible Hassles.”

  “You’ve got better sense than that,” Alan said. “Get in there before the he gets back.”

  Thomas licked his palm and held it out to Alan. He popped the back of his son’s hand and pushed him through the door. Josh stood there with his too-heavy backpack dangling from his shoulder by one strap.

  “Use both straps,” Alan said.

  “I’ll look like a total geek,” Josh said.

  “Is there something you needed, or are you trying to get me in trouble?”

  “Why didn’t you and Mom wait up for me last night?”

  “You didn’t get in late.” He was a bit confused because his sons never confessed to breaking the rules.

  “Well, I wasn’t, but you weren’t concerned I was outside when that explosion happened?”

  He was confused now. “What explosion?”

  “The big one that was strong enough to knock me down while I was running past the old gym.”

  “You walked all the way there?”

  “I ran all the way there, and most of the way back, after that explosion.”

  “I think you dreamed that, Josh. There was no explosion last night. I don’t even think it thundered.”

  Josh looked confused and a bit downtrodden. “If you say so, but I’m positive it wasn’t a dream.”

  Alan spied the principal walking around the corner. “Go on in. We can talk about this later.”

  Josh nodded and disappeared into the gym as Principal Chapman came into visual range. Alan smiled at him

  “Feeling better?”

  “Much. Those Hassle twins are weird,” the principal said.

  “My son Thomas calls them the Horrible Hassles. My other son, Josh, asked me a strange question.”

  “Boys will do that. Was it a sex question? Those were always the hardest for me to answer with my sons.”

  “No, he asked me about a giant explosion last night. I didn’t hear anything, not even a loud cricket, but he was so insistent.”

  “I was grilling out last evening and had to go out several times until bedtime to smoke. My wife has a new policy of no smoking in the house since we renovated. I didn’t hear a thing.” Principal Chapman shrugged. “Boys his age are weird. It’s all those hormones.”

  “He’s seventeen. I think puberty has ended.”

  “A boy never gets through with puberty. We learn how to hide it.”

  The bell rang. Alan and the principal moved out of the way as the students burst through the doors. He worried a little about Josh. There was no reason both of them would have been drawn to the old gym on the same night. Certainly, it was too far to run because he felt like it. He needed to visit his Aunt Charlotte after school today. There was no particular reason.

  Sim sat on the white paper that covered the vinyl exam table. The gown he wore left him feeling cold. At least the nurse let him wear his pants. He had no idea why he should have to take off his shirt for this examination. Dr. Sharp didn’t need to hear his lungs to give him more medicine to stop him from seeing that face.

  A polite knock came on the door, but before he could say anything, Dr. Sharp stepped inside. He carried a brown folder with a red sticker tab with Mc on it. The doctor pushed the door closed without looking at it or Sim.

  “Jill tells me that you are having some hallucinations,” he said, finally looking up from the folder.

  Sim never liked the look of Dr. Sharp. His head bulged out at the forehead, and his eyes sank too far back into his head. “I’m seeing a face in the mirror. I don’t know if that’s a hallucination or not.”

  “Is it your face?”

  “If it were my face, I wouldn’t be coming to see you. I’m not some kind of idiot.” Dr. Sharp looked a bit annoyed, but Sim didn’t care. It served him right for asking a stupid question.

  “I meant is it an afterimage of your own face, or that of somebody else?”

  “I don’t think it’s an afterimage, but I can’t tell who it is. The face is very fuzzy and out of focus.”

  Dr. Sharp pulled up a short rolling stool with his foot and sat on it. He flipped back in the chart as he scooted closer to Sim. The wheels squeaked on the tile. “According to what I wrote when you were seeing faces before, you could clearly see them everywhere. Are you seeing this face in one particular mirror?”

  “No, I see it in every mirror I look in. I reckon it’s in every reflection I look at.”

  “Whereabout is this face?”

  “Over my shoulder.” Sim pointed over his left shoulder. “It hangs about the level of a man standing two or three feet back.”

  “What if the wall is closer than that?” the doctor asked.

  “I guess it’s closer.”

  “It’s only a head, not a neck or shoulders?”

  “A head, and it’s growing clearer.”

  Dr. Sharp stood up and took out
his stethoscope. He did the normal things with it. Sim followed as instructed, although he thought the whole thing was pointless. Nothing in his heart or his lungs caused that face.

  “Your heart is fine. Your lungs sound a little congested, but no more than usual. All your other vitals checked out okay. I don’t think you have any kind of oxygen blockage.” The doctor sat back down. “I don’t think this is part of your Parkinson’s either.”

  “Why did I waste my time coming here?” Sim catapulted off the table and jerked the gown off his torso.

  He pushed past the doctor and grabbed his shirt off the hook on the back of the door. Dr. Sharp pivoted around on his stool but never stood. Sim buttoned his shirt and tucked in before the doctor said another word.

  “Were you in Vietnam or Korea?” he asked.

  “I was in the Coast Guard during Korea. I never had to go over there, and I was too old for ’Nam.” Sim shoved his shirttail into his pants. “Why?”

  “Have you ever had anything very traumatic happen to you?”

  Sim snorted. “Yeah, a lot, but I guess not being from around here, you wouldn’t know.”

  “About what?”

  “The massacre.”

  “Is that when those kids were murdered, and that black boy was lynched for it?” the doctor asked.

  “The same. I’m the one who found the bodies. Well, my sister found them first and passed out. I found her and the bodies.”

  Dr. Sharp nodded his head. “That’s traumatic. Sim, I think the face has to do more with something called PTSD or post-traumatic stress disorder. Sometimes when men are in war or see horrible things like you have, it causes damage to their brain. It can cause hallucinations.” He jotted down something on a prescription pad. “That’s a medication that helps with psychosis. It might make you a little drowsy, but I think it’ll work.”

  Sim took the scrip, folded it, and shoved it into his pocket. “Is that it?”

  “Yeah.”