Cabin Fever

by Shani Greene-Dowdell et al.

  The last time he came home like this, I sprang into action. Wishing I was big enough to protect her from him, I got out of bed and was on my feet, ready to protect my mother as best I could. At only forty pounds soaking wet, I had no chance against my six foot three, two hundred pound father, but I couldn’t let him beat her again.

  A glance around my room halted my steps. The old, dull carpet and wood-panel walls disappeared. My mother’s whimpers no longer pierced the paper-thin walls. I wasn’t in our old trailer. I wasn’t the little boy that couldn’t save her. Instead, I was a 28-year-old man who never lived down the worst night of his life.

  With clenched fists, I punched the air, imagining I knocked my father’s head off of his shoulders. I wanted to kill the man he used to be before he changed his life.

  As I swung at the invisible target, I hated him for the way he treated her. I wanted to punch something, but he wasn’t there, and hitting the air was cheaper than banging up my battered apartment walls. Some holes needed repairs from nights I awoke from a nightmare and took my anger out on the apartment’s structure.

  Grabbing the half drank bottle of Samuel Adams from my nightstand, I turned it up. The hot beer glided down my throat, calming me a little. My nerves required something stronger. Only something that would take me out of my misery would help me get back to sleep before it was time for work.

  Jayne’s beautiful oval face entered my mind like a ray of sunshine. My heart rate settled down, and my breathing returned to normal. It was killing me not to be with her. Ever since she put me out of her apartment two weeks ago, she avoided my calls, and she hadn't initiated any.

  Two weeks of torture.

  Two weeks of chasing monsters from my dreams.

  Two weeks since I set foot through the doors of Tech-Likely.

  Losing Jayne felt like losing my mother all over again. Old wounds had opened up completely, and I was spilling blood that no one could see. I could no longer in good conscience work for my father. I didn’t understand the significance of my dreams, and I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that his actions took her away from me, but the most prominent memory I had of my mother was him hitting her and her screams that followed.

  I sat down on the bed and looked at the picture of Jayne on my phone. Before Jayne, I didn’t allow myself to get too close to a woman. I didn’t want to hurt someone I was supposed to love. I feared my relationships would be doomed. Macon men hurt the women they loved.

  I didn’t show signs of being like my father, but I was his spitting image. People always reminded me of how much I was like him. He was a reformed man, but I couldn’t unsee the things he did to my mother when I was younger. Visions of the black eyes, the red cheeks, the limp in her walk after he attacked her flashed in my mind.

  Memories of my mother’s smile were faint, but I had pictures to remind me of her warm, heart-melting eyes. I remember her telling me everything was going to be okay, but in the end, it wasn’t. I missed my mother every day. Somehow, when I was with Jayne, her warmth was reminiscent of my mother’s.

  I walked over to the dresser, which held lined up bottles of liquor. Looking at my choices, I felt Dusse cognac was the best choice to tamp back the memories tonight. I poured a full glass of cognac and began my vicious cycle of self-medicating, trying to numb the pain—something I’d been doing since I was fourteen.

  Alcohol was the only way I knew to survive the guilt of not saving her—the only way to keep from going insane.

  I awoke the next morning at 10 a.m. I pulled the cover back over my head to shield my eyes from the light. After ten minutes of snoozing, I dragged myself out of bed and went to the bathroom.

  When I walked back into my bedroom, my phone started ringing. I tossed the covers back to look for it, hoping it was Jayne. Shuffling through the sheets, I spotted the phone. Bruiser’s number flashed across the screen.

  “Yo.”

  “Hey, Xander, man. You still sleeping?”

  “No, I’m up. About to get in the shower.”

  “Okay. I’m still in Atlanta, but I wanted to check to see if you were still able to help with security at the Gospel Fest in Georgia tomorrow?”

  “Glad you called. I had forgotten all about it.”

  “I figured you would forget, but I need you there. I’m getting a nice payday for this one, and I want to make sure it is completely covered.”

  “No worries. I’ll be there.”

  “Cool. Remember, it’s a weeklong event, so I rented cabins for the team.”

  “Good. A vacation on your dollar? I’m definitely down for that. Text me the address to the cabin, and I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Cool.”

  I was silent for a moment as I thought about asking him to do something I never dared to do before today. “Bruiser, will you be busy later this afternoon?”

  “Alise and I are hanging out in Atlanta for a few more hours; then we’re coming back to Lafayette. What’s up?”

  “I have somewhere important that I want you to go with me?”

  “Sounds serious. Is everything good, Xan?”

  “Yeah, I just have some loose ends I need to tie up, and I want you there with me.”

  “Sure thing.” His tentative tone didn’t match his words. “I’ll be back around four, and I’ll come over to your apartment. We can go from there.”

  “Thanks, Bruiser.”

  “Anytime, Xan. I’m almost afraid to ask where we are going. With you not being a jokester, telling stories about the women you’ve smashed after the club or any other outlandish thing that you normally talk about, I’m starting to wonder if you’re depressed or something. Are you okay?”

  “I’ll let you know after we go where we have to go today.”

  “And now you’re being cryptic. But okay, I’ll wait.”

  “Thanks again, Bruiser. You’re the best friend I have.”

  “Xander, have you checked your temperature today?”

  “I’m serious, Bruise. Thank you for being a good friend. I love you, big guy.”

  “I—I’ll see you around four,” Bruiser barked and hung up the phone.

  I chuckled lightly. It was hard for him to open up, but my friend loved me too.

  I began to scroll through the few pictures I’d snapped of Jayne. One was of her dancing after she’d won Mortal Combat three times in a row. The beautiful curve of her lips as she smiled and taunted me with her win made me laugh. Instinctively, I pulled up her number and held my finger over the call button. Then, I hit the button.

  After a few rings, her beautiful voice flooded the line.

  “You’ve reached Jayne, and I’m busy slaying dragons. Leave a message if you want to get slain next.” The sound of her voice made me fist the phone. If I could replace the phone with her, I would hold her tight and never let her go. Damn, why did I miss her so fucking much?

  “Jayne, it’s Xander. If you get this message, give me a call. I miss you.”

  Leaving that message left no doubt about what I wanted. I wanted to be slain next. I got up and took a shower, and about five hours later, Bruiser came walking through the front door. I was sitting on the lounger in the living room, reading The Company of Archers series, which the Game of Thrones TV series was based.

  “What’s up, Xan? I’m coming in,” I heard Bruiser’s gruff voice before I saw him stroll into the living room. He walked in all carefree like he paid rent here.

  “Bruiser, man. No warning knock or anything? What if I was getting busy in the living room? You would have walked right in on me,” I teased.

  He wiggled the door key in his hand. “You gave me a key, remember? Besides, why would I think you were in here getting busy. Word is, you’re scared of pussy these days.”

  “Is that the word? Maybe I’m just scared of certain pussies.”

  “Whatever, Xander, man. I came as fast as I could because you sounded like you were bad off. What’s up?”

  “Aw, look at the big guy. He does love me.” I
extended my arms for a hug. “Bring it in for a brotherly hug!”

  Bruiser flipped me a bird and sat down on the sofa. He picked up the book I was reading and scanned through the pages. “Good grief, what is going on with you, Xan? You’re playing around now, but earlier, you sounded like you lost everything in the world. And what the hell are you reading?”

  Ignoring his questions, I continued to goad him, “What? No hug for your brother? Is that how it is, Bruise?”

  “Just like that!”

  I humped my shoulders. “Be like that then.”

  Bruiser kicked his feet up on the wooden coffee table. “Where is it that you want me to go with you? Why did you sound like some girl fucked you and ran off with all your money earlier?”

  I chuckled. “A girl leaving after I fucked her. That never happens.”

  “Seriously, Xander? Is that all you have to say?”

  “No, I—” I began to get serious before I shut down completely. “It’s my mother. I want you to go with me to her gravesite. I’ve been thinking about how she really died. Not the story my father told the police.”

  Bruiser looked confused. “You said she fell and hit her head on a nightstand in your parents’ room.”

  “She did hit her head, but I think my father pushed her down in the heat of a fight. Well, I say fight, but it was more of a beating. He used to beat her.” I felt helpless admitting that bit of truth to someone. I held the things that I saw happen in that house for so long because I didn’t like feeling like the helpless little boy that let his mother down.

  “Riley?” Bruiser asked as shock registered on his face. “Riley wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Staring at my closest friend blankly, I didn’t know if he could handle the truth. He loved my father as if he were a part of his extended family. My father was the reason we were friends today. He brought Bruiser to a brotherhood meeting when I was ten.

  After my father got out of rehab, he started taking me to these meetings. He said the brotherhood would show me how to be a leader. At the meetings, they talked about the importance of embracing our race and ethnicity the way other races did. Mr. Holloway, Channing’s father, who was the leader, laid out a plan to keep the power of America in the hands of what he called the “true Aryan leaders.”

  I spent my time there making jokes about the older brothers’ appearance and the things they said or did. I would have Bruiser laughing until he started coughing up his guts, then he would get in trouble for not paying attention. His father was in prison for shooting a black guy at the time, and he was bitter about it. He felt the shooting was self-defense, but the legal system saw otherwise. Knowing Bruiser missed his father, I did my best to make the big kid laugh and enjoy the moment.

  On the rides home, my father would scold Bruiser for interrupting the meeting with his laughter. “I take you there because the brotherhood is important to uplift the white man, who are the true rulers of the world. You need to pay attention and stop clowning with Xander. Yeah, Xander, you haven’t gotten caught, but I know you’re involved. If you guys don’t pay attention, you’ll be a lost generation.”

  Bruiser would glare at me, but he never told my father I was the one who was clowning the whole time and that he was only reacting to it. A true friendship blossomed out of our time at the brotherhood. But I stopped going to the white supremacist meetings when I turned fourteen.

  By then, my dad’s business was becoming more demanding, and he didn’t have the time or energy to make me go. I became defiant and refused to attend when the memories of how he used to beat my mother came flooding back. Ironically, those memories were triggered by something he did to Wanda, a woman he was dating.

  Wanda was helping him bring in the groceries, and she dropped the bag that held the carton of eggs. She bent over to pick everything up, and he walked into the living room from the kitchen and went ballistic on her.

  “Damn, Wanda! Fuck. I paid eighteen hundred dollars for that carpet. Why in the hell couldn’t you just walk into the kitchen and not make a fucking mess?”

  She glared up at him with both a look of disbelief and shame. Standing to her feet, she was eye-to-eye with him when she said, “Riley, I tripped on a lump in the carpet. It’s not that big of a deal. I will get it up, damn.”

  “There is not a lump in my carpet!” He was yelling now. “Sit your ass down before I put you on it. Don’t you touch my fucking carpet. You’ll probably mess it up worse.”

  Wanda gasped. “I—I never thought you would talk to me this way, Riley.” She searched my father’s eyes as he tried his best to calm down. She was getting acquainted, and I was getting reacquainted with the monster living inside of Riley Macon.

  I walked over and started to pick up the items that had fallen onto the floor.

  The monster retreated. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

  “Save your apology. You won’t get a second chance to talk to me like I’m shit.”

  Wanda kicked a container of butter as she stormed out of the house and walked down the street on foot.

  My father didn’t go after her. Instead, he looked at me with an apology in his eyes. “I’m sorry, son. I lost control.”

  As I raised from the floor where I was gathering up the groceries, I stared at him. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, I’m sorry, son. I lost control.”

  Those words.

  They were the words he said to me the night my mother died. I had run into their bedroom and found my mother lying near the nightstand with blood coming from the back of her head. “I’m sorry, son. I lost control. I didn’t mean to,” were my father’s words to me as he stood there wide-eyed with shock.

  I never had a coherent thought of my father being my mother’s killer before that day. After hearing him yell at Wanda, the night he killed my mother replayed over and over in my mind. I couldn’t shake it. Riley Macon was a murderer who got away scot-free.

  “He would hurt more than a fly, Bruiser. He killed my mother. The night my mother died, he came home in one of his rages and started hitting her. Her screams woke me up from my sleep. They stopped along with one final blow, her head making contact with the nightstand,” I said as I came out of my thoughts.

  “Are you saying that—”

  “Yes, he beat her a lot when I was younger. I can’t remember much about being around her except the way she smiled at me. But now, when I think about my father, I only remember how bad he treated my mother. Very bad. He was always hitting her, and she was afraid of what he would do. Very few people know that he was a functioning meth addict before he went to rehab and cleaned up his life. Well, I know that he didn’t go to rehab until after my mother’s death. The next day he checked himself in.”

  Bruiser swung his feet off the coffee table and sat straight up, staring at me intently. “No—” his voice drifted until the rest of his thoughts fell back into his mouth.

  “Yeah, Riley Macon. The man who everyone thinks is this likable tech genius killed my mother. It’s one of the biggest secrets in my family that I’ve never told anyone. It’s the reason I’ve never been able to get close to Jayne. I’m afraid of what my secret might do to her. Afraid I’m like my father.”

  “So, that’s why you push Jayne away?”

  “Yes.”

  From the look in Bruiser’s eyes, he was starting to understand, but he still wasn’t ready to believe my father could be a killer. “Maybe it was a mistake. You said your mom hit her head on the nightstand, right?”

  “He got out of it by saying she accidentally fell and hit her head. He got away with it because, despite his drug use, he was a computer information specialist at the hospital, and people in this town loved him. They still do. Instead of wanting to see him go down for murder, they wanted him to get help for his drug addiction.” But where was the help for my mother?

  Bruiser frowned. “This is some heavy shit, Xander. I had no idea you were carrying all of this around. You�
�re always in a good mood or getting other people in a good mood. This would have made me wreck shit, not try to make others happy.”

  “I don’t know, Bruise. It’s like my mind wouldn’t let me piece it all together until it thought that I was ready. I’ve been hanging out with Jayne the past three months, and I hadn’t even thought about it, but when she stopped talking to me, it all came back to me, even clearer this time. I know he did it.”

  “What do you want to do about it? I mean, are you going to talk to law enforcement?”

  “What good would that do? You know how close the men from the brotherhood were to him. Most of them were on the police force at that time. Whatever they wrote in their reports is probably bullshit, but how would I be able to prove it. I was only four at the time, and everyone will think I don’t know what I’m talking about. He got away with it,” I said somberly. “And I have come to terms with that.”

  Bruiser dropped his head into his hands. “This is deep, Xander.”

  “I know you love my father, but he was a monster,” I emphasized.

  Bruiser looked at me as if he wanted me to say more but also was afraid of what I might reveal about a man that he respected. My father may be a reformed man today, but he wasn’t a good man to my mother, and this was news to Bruiser.

  I had become a pro at masking my inner feelings. I morphed into this full of humor, charisma, and lively character that everyone loved to be around. Now the truth was out, and I couldn’t bury my feelings any longer.

  “That’s why I asked you to come over. I want you to visit my mother’s grave with me. I have never been there without my father. I want to go there and apologize for not helping her.”

  Bruiser looked at me with sincerity in his eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for what happened, Xander. You were just a little kid. There was nothing you could have done.”