SLClimer - Rumours of the Grotesque

by Rumours of the Grotesque (v1. 0) [lit]

  Then, as Daisy reached for the shade, I lunged for her. Seizing Daisy by her stinking hair, I wrestled her under control and held her arms behind her back. Mama screamed with outrage, but I knew it was my only hope.

  "I'll break her neck, God damn it.” I wrapped my free arm beneath Daisy's chin.

  "And I'll kill this one. We'll be even.” Mama calmed down, realizing she still had the advantage.

  I had to fool her, not let her get to me. Daisy was the only thing she seemed to love. Still, I had to get her to drop the gun. Kayla was still in danger as long as that pistol was pointed at her head. My heart was bursting from my chest, the sweat so thick I could barely keep my grip on Daisy. Then, I saw Mama squinting as the light hit her in the face again.

  "Drop the gun and let us go, lady.” I started moving back toward the window.

  "Never, you stupid boy. I'm the FAT LADY, I'm famous. You'll be the daddy to all my grandkids and maybe some more of my own! I'm gonna count to ten and then..."

  I was directly in front of the window now. “Think you can count that high, you stupid bitch?” Desperately, I tried to anger her, distract her from my sister.

  "Don't call me that!” she shouted, trying to see me through the spectrum of stars playing on her face. “One ... two ... three..."

  All of our lives, Kayla and I were the best of friends. It didn't matter that we were more than eight years apart; we were like twins. My own parents had made us this way through years of invisibility. We thought the same thoughts, liked the same things, had the same dreams. Two people couldn't be closer than me and my sister. And out of all the times that it seemed we could read each other's minds, I prayed to God she knew what I was thinking right now.

  I loosened my grip on Daisy's neck, but not my hold on her hands. Swiftly, I rammed my elbow into the old glass of the huge window. The first blow only made the pane shake, but the second and third brought the window down in a shower of glass.

  Stabbing though the window like spears, intense sunshine bathed Mama. Recoiling and unable to see, she pointed the gun in my direction. A single shot rang out, but missed me. The second shot, though, slammed into my shoulder. White-hot fingers of pain shook my shoulder, and I felt blood pouring out of the wound.

  "Kayla! Run!” I grabbed my shoulder, trying to make the pain disappear.

  Mama was blind in the sun, and she waved her arms wildly trying to get a clear shot. A third gunshot ripped through the afternoon air. I waited for what seemed like eternity for a new source of pain, but it didn't come.

  Then, Daisy became heavy. I couldn't manage to keep my grip on her, but it wasn't because she was struggling. Contrarily, Daisy was slumping. I let her fall forward slightly and caught her with my good arm. I tried to see Kayla in the light, but my eyes were stinging from the intensity. My arm beneath Daisy was getting hotter and wetter as the seconds ticked.

  "You shot your daughter!” I yelled the instant I realized what happened. “You shot Daisy!"

  Mama ceased ranting, and as she squinted in the brilliance, she could see Daisy slowly falling to the floor. I couldn't hold her up any longer. Suddenly, I heard Kayla yell from outside the house as she went for help. My baby sister had escaped. The pain in my shoulder, and the weight of Daisy was almost too much to bear. My blood dripped down my arm, and Daisy's was now soaking my pants.

  Mama roared with rage and anguish. Screaming Daisy's name over and over, she shielded her eyes to see us in the light. Outside the birds were singing and traffic could be heard on the main drag two blocks away. Holding Daisy as best I could, I realized she was still my best defense against Mama's gun. There was no telling how many bullets she had. But I was losing my strength as the blood gushed from my shoulder and Daisy became more of a burden. I didn't even know if she was alive.

  My eyes became used to the return of light to the room, and I could see Mama in her chair. She was the color of leavened bread dough, with the same consistency to her bloated flesh. Tears streamed down her jowls, and she waved her arms wildly. There was no gun in her hand; it now rested in her lap. Precariously, the fat lady tried to get up and come to her daughter. But it was like she had forgotten how to walk. She struggled against her own weight, and it drove her back into the chair each time. There was too much to lift, too much work and not enough muscle.

  The more she labored, the more frenetic her movements became. Her gigantic arms flapped as she tried to get out of the chair. Suddenly, Mama lost her balance and tumbled into the small table upon which rested the kerosene lamp. As she fell onto it, the glass cracked under her girth. Kerosene soaked her halter top and spread out along the floor.

  Fire from the wick ignited the fuel, and Mama burst into flame. The burning kerosene spread beneath the chair, torching it as well. Her screams of sorrow were now wails of pain as fire consumed her body. Mama made it to her feet as the flames licked skyward, charring her skin from pasty white to pomegranate.

  Daisy was dead, I could feel it in my heart. I let her body slide completely from my arms, and I looked for a way to escape the house. Mama's burning body was torching everything in the room. It was only a matter of time before the whole house was an inferno. The window led to bushes just beyond the front porch. Agonizing with my shoulder, I straddled the frame and let myself fall into the shrubbery below. In the distance, I could hear the sirens; Kayla was safe. And in the house, I could hear Mama burning to death.

  My Dear Companion

  "Mr. Bryant, you want another cup of coffee?"

  He lifted his ancient, withered head from the half-empty cup and looked at her pretty smiling face. Norma Jean, the name on her uniform, echoed in his brain. He pushed out a quiet laugh, partially wheezing, partially dying.

  "Not much left around here, is there?” he finally said.

  She gave him a friendly caress on his bony shoulder sheathed in polyester. “You're okay, Mr. Bryant."

  "I suppose so, there ain't much else to do."

  Norma Jean poured coffee into the stained mug before moving on to the next patron in the diner. She was so friendly and happy; Mr. Bryant liked that in a woman. Too bad those qualities hadn't always been with her. Mr. Bryant could look into her face, past the makeup and bleach job, and see the real Norma Jean. She was a waitress now and happy to be one.

  Mr. Bryant could see little kids playing in the hot summer weather outside on the sidewalk. A fire hydrant had been cracked open, spraying them with water. One of them had a little white dog with only three legs. The dog was so elated to have a little boy to play with. And the child was happy, too. He finally had a dog like he always wanted but could never have. They were the happiest pair he'd seen in such a long time. The puppy jumped into the boy's arms, and they got soaked by the hydrant.

  Norma Jean was on her way back through the diner to greet more guests at her door. Like a butterfly checking a flower, she hovered near Mr. Bryant's table. “Mr. Bryant, ain't the coffee good today?"

  "It's good every day, hon.” He smiled at her, “I was just watching the kids and that sweet little dog."

  "Yeah, that little boy's been waiting for that dog for as long as I can remember. About as long as you've been sitting in this booth, Mr. Bryant.” She grinned that million-dollar grin, but now it was worth much more.

  Mr. Bryant returned the smile. “Are you happy here, hon?"

  "I wish I knew how to tell you how much.” She looked out the window as a little girl joined the boy and dog. “Maybe about as happy as that little girl is to see her brother again."

  The boy and girl held hands; the dog nipped and jumped playfully at them. “Time for them to move on,” Mr. Bryant whispered with high lonesome.

  "Yeah, time for them to move on.” She looked down at him. “Are you gonna be okay?"

  "Soon, I hope."

  "You hang in there.” Norma Jean smiled and moved on to a new patron who had just entered. Mr. Bryant turned in his booth to see who had come in. It was a nice-looking man, but he seemed all confused. That's a fam
iliar expression, Mr. Bryant thought. Poor boy. Norma Jean was scanning the diner for space for the new customer, but all of the seats were filled. People were lined shoulder to shoulder at the counter, and all the booths were full. Waving his hand, Mr. Bryant caught Norma Jean's eye just as she was about to turn the young man away.

  "Hon, he can sit with me."

  With her beautiful smile lighting the way, Norma Jean led the wary stranger to the empty bench across from the old man. “That's so nice of you, Mr. Bryant."

  "I know what it's like to be the new kid in town.” The old man gestured to the seat. “Take a load off, son."

  "Thanks.” While he sat, his eyes roamed the joint.

  "You hungry?” Mr. Bryant asked.

  "No, thanks."

  "Coffee?” Mr. Bryant gestured to Norma Jean who was already heading in their direction with a fresh cup.

  "Yeah, that sounds good.” He looked across at Mr. Bryant's compassionate face. “Thanks for sharing your booth. I was kind of lost and tired of looking for a place to get out of the sunshine."

  "This is as good a place as any, I suppose."

  Norma Jean silently filled their cups and went away.

  "Where are you from?” Mr. Bryant asked.

  "From Detroit.” He sipped the coffee. “Mmm, it's good."

  "Can't say I've ever been to Detroit.” His eyes saddened. “My wife's from Detroit, though. We met a long time ago. Her name was Kathy."

  "Is she...?” the new man asked.

  "She's not with us,” Mr. Bryant sighed.

  "I'm just so confused lately,” the man replied. “I'm sorry for being so rude. My name's Richard Smith."

  "Nice to meet you, Richard.” Mr. Bryant extended his hand. “I'm Mr. Bryant.” He looked into the young man's big brown eyes. “It's nice to talk to a fresh face around here."

  "Is there a phone?” Richard felt around for some spare change in his pockets.

  "No, I'm afraid not,” the old man replied. Then, he drew Richard's attention to the street. “Look at all those kids having a good time. I remember when I was that young."

  Watching the children made Richard's impatience wane. The kids danced and played in the spray, laughing, skipping, and running.

  "Whose kids are those?” Richard asked. “It's not safe for them to be playing unattended."

  "They're fine, we got our eye on ‘em."

  Richard studied Mr. Bryant's face as the old man looked out at the children. His age couldn't really be determined. Although his face was like wrinkled tissue paper, his eyes were lively and blue. The more he watched the children, the younger he seemed. But then, he would suddenly stop and his expression would turn solemn.

  "This diner is lonely,” Mr. Bryant said to Richard. “I hope you eat quick."

  "Are you waiting for someone?"

  "A long time, I've been waiting a long time."

  "If they aren't coming, why don't you just go home?"

  "Because I haven't seen her for as long as I can remember."

  Richard smiled; he understood that sentiment. “I know how you feel. I miss my Emily right now. That's who I wanted to call."

  "Don't call her, son. Just wait for her here."

  "Here? She doesn't know where this place is. I don't even know where this place is."

  "She'll be able to find you, I've seen it a hundred times.” Mr. Bryant's voice was a whisper, “Sometimes sooner than you really want to be found and sometimes it takes too long."

  Richard was silent; he didn't know what to say to his companion. Both drank their coffee, and Norma Jean came around with warm-ups. She always had a pleasant word of encouragement for Mr. Bryant who seemed ready to give up at any moment. His eyes reflected the loneliness in his heart. Richard felt a tug of his own as he thought of Emily.

  Suddenly, he looked up in the direction of the diner's door. Norma Jean was greeting a new customer. Richard's face erupted into the biggest expression of joy and surprise Mr. Bryant had seen in a long time. Turning, Mr. Bryant saw Norma Jean pointing in their direction. The beautiful young girl at the door rushed through the crowded diner. Richard stood, just in time to receive her warm embrace. Mr. Bryant looked up at the young lovers, his eyes happy yet lonely.

  "Mr. Bryant, this is my Emily.” Richard was overflowing with emotion.

  Emily had the same confused expression that had been on her husband's face a little while ago, but now it was mixed with genuine rapture. “It's nice to meet you."

  "I've heard a lot about you,” Mr. Bryant said. “Richard loves you very much."

  "I know he does.” Emily kissed her husband. “You had me so worried. I couldn't find you and I drove all night."

  "Mr. Bryant said you'd find me.” Again, they hugged.

  Norma Jean then came up behind the couple. “I'm so glad she came for you. It's time for you to go. There's plenty of people waiting for a table."

  "Thanks for letting me wait with you,” Richard said.

  "You're welcome, son.” He settled back into his booth, alone again.

  He saw Richard and Emily walking out toward the road. They greeted some of the children with hugs and kisses, and a few of them followed as they continued to walk down the sunny street. Mr. Bryant sighed and looked at his coffee. It was nearly empty and what was left was cold. Then, the familiar coffee pot was there to pour for him.

  "I'm almost tired of waiting, Norma Jean.” He made little circles with his spoon. “I'm starting to forget."

  "No, don't ever stop remembering,” he heard the waitress say. Only instead of Norma Jean, it was the voice of an old woman. “I didn't."

  Mr. Bryant slowly raised his head to see the face of the new waitress. He hadn't seen that face for as long as he could remember, but it was her nonetheless. Still beautiful with curly silver hair and warm eyes that twinkled when she smiled.

  "Kathy,” he cried as he rose to meet her.

  They fell into a deep, warm, familiar hug. Mr. Bryant sighed, and she took up his weight. He'd been waiting so long for her.

  "I waited for you,” he whispered.

  "I knew you would.” Kathy put the coffee pot down on the table.

  Norma Jean came up from behind and touched the couple. “See, Mr. Bryant, I told you everything would be okay. Now, I hate to rush you off, but there's people waiting for your table."

  "Yes, of course.” He touched Kathy's face once again and gave her eyelids a tender kiss.

  Norma Jean walked them to the door as a lone busboy cleared the table and wiped it down. She held the door for them. “I'll always remember you, Mr. Bryant. Every time I bring coffee to that table, I'll think of you. It was nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Bryant."

  "Please, call me Kathy."

  "Okay, bye-bye Kathy.” Norma Jean grabbed a menu as a new customer entered the diner. “Hold on, it'll be just a second while we clear the table."

  Norma Jean walked through the crowd, smiling and greeting many of her customers that had been there awhile. The new customer followed her to the table, and Norma Jean put the menu in front of her. The young woman held a newborn in her arms and a toddler was tagging behind.

  "Hi,” Norma Jean smiled, “would you like some coffee?"

  "Oh, that sounds good. I'm waiting here for my husband.” She gave her little baby a tender kiss. “We got separated from him and found this place. It's too hot out there for the kids. Is there a phone?"

  "Don't worry, he'll find you.” Norma Jean tousled the hair of the little girl. “Hi, sweetie, would you like some crayons and a coloring book?” The tiny girl nodded. “Okay, I'll be right back.” Norma Jean paused and looked back at the table as she walked away. “I didn't forget that coffee either."

  By Any Name a Devil

  Pausing, Ed tapped the ashes from his unfiltered Camel into an ashtray shaped like a female breast. He stared at it often, recalling what it was supposed to mean as he was fired from Mutual Life Insurance Company. It was a gift from Mr. Prescott, Mr. “Mutual” himself. You were a bi
g boob, Ed, that's what it meant. You can't sleep with the boss’ daughter—and wife—and still be employed. The ashtray was overflowing with spent butts, chewed gum, and crumpled Post-It notes: it was a big boob for a big boob.

  That was five years ago. He had to gather his thoughts, fish them out of the perpetual hang-over that was his mental environment. Sometimes he wished he would just get hit by a car out on Elvis Presley Boulevard and die happy in the shadow of Graceland.

  But Ed Cooper's life always fell short of being blessed. As a kid, he was the one caught stealing when everyone else got away with it. In college, he was the one who missed out on the scholarship because he was second-best. And as an adult, he was the adulterer caught with the boss’ wife when a dozen men had done the same thing. Ed couldn't stand life; it wasn't fair. He was sure of one thing, however: everyone wins the lottery once in their lifetime. His turn was coming, he was convinced.