Falling Back to One

by Randy Mason

  “Perhaps I should tell you what it is she couldn’t say to you herself.”

  “Sure. Go ahead. Knock yourself out.”

  The doctor paused, then said, “Micki had some very disturbing dreams recently. But even more importantly, these last two weekends—when she stayed at your apartment—she had flashbacks.”

  Baker’s brow furrowed. “She dropped acid?”

  “What?”

  “LSD flashbacks?”

  “Oh! Oh, no. These are memory fragments of traumatic events. You’ve probably heard about this sort of thing with Vietnam vets. The experience is very vivid. It feels like it’s actually taking place in the present.”

  Baker sat up straight. “So she’s remembering stuff.”

  “Yes, but these are horrible memories.”

  He slumped back. “So being with me—staying at my apartment—is triggering horrible memories. Great. Just great.”

  “I think you’re misinterpreting this.”

  “Oh, really? And just how do you figure that?”

  “It’s only because she feels safe enough now—safe enough with you—that these things are being able to surface.”

  He let this sink in. “So what is it she remembers? Or are you not allowed to tell me?”

  “She wants me to tell you the flashbacks as well as the dreams, but I need to know if you’re ready to hear them.”

  Nodding, Baker adjusted his weight in the chair, then sat back to listen.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  WHEN THE DOCTOR WAS finished, Baker was silent, his mind still racing, everything he knew about Micki falling into place. Put into a different context, her odd and over-reactive responses had taken on a completely new meaning. The pain in his heart was unbearable.

  “You’re certainly very quiet,” the doctor stated. “Have you nothing to say?”

  “What’s there to say? What does Micki say? What does she make of all this?”

  “First I’d like to hear how you put all the pieces together. I’m interested in your professional opinion.”

  “I’m no expert in interpreting this kind of stuff.”

  “I think you’re trying to avoid the issue.”

  Extinguishing his cigarette, he said, “It’s sick. I don’t even want to say it.”

  “Please.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m basing this, you understand, on more than what you’ve just told me; I’m taking everything into account.” The doctor nodded, so he continued, “I think her father pimped her out—sold her for sex since she was just a little baby. I think he had photos or movies taken for kiddie porn, too.” When the doctor said nothing, Baker began to feel disconnected—as if time had stopped inside the little office. He could feel his face growing hot: perhaps he’d been way off base.

  But then Lerner slowly nodded. “Micki sees it that way, too.”

  His eyes grew moist.

  They sat awhile until the doctor stood in closure. “I can’t tell you any more than that.”

  Baker remained seated.

  Her voice gentle, Lerner said, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sergeant, and we can continue then.”

  “I just—I need a minute.”

  “Why don’t you let Micki see how you feel?”

  “Because she already saw me about to cry last week. Right now I think she needs me to be strong.” And the very act of stating that seemed to pull him back together. He arose, feeling even taller than usual as the doctor passed to open the door. Then he stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut behind him.

  Micki was standing just in front of the opposite wall, her expression vacillating between a defiant “fuck you” and a desperate plea for comforting.

  Arms outstretched, he said, “Hey, kiddo. Come here.”

  Her lips started to tremble.

  He took a step forward, opening his arms wider. She flew into them with such force that it was more like the full-body check of a hockey player than a child accepting a hug. But he held her close, and she buried her face in his chest.

  “Everything’s going to be all right,” he said as he smoothed her hair.

  She knew as well as he did that that was a wish more than a prediction. But it was exactly what she needed to hear.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  WHEN HE FLIPPED ON the switch, the entryway was flooded with light, the apartment beyond still draped in shadow. Silent. Empty. Baker locked the door behind him.

  Gym bag, drugstore purchases, and jacket were tossed onto the club chair while he made his way to the kitchen, going straight for the Coke. Ice cold, full of fizz, two glasses disappeared, one right after the other as he gulped them down, relishing the burn. Then he took out a brown paper bag, the pungent aroma of its contents seeping into the air and causing his stomach to growl. An unexpected guest in his refrigerator, the leftover half of a sandwich inside would never know the pleasure of even a single overnight stay.

  He took it out and placed it on the counter, layers of heavy white paper wound around it, tightly folded, neat and precise, as if it were a present. Once unwrapped, it sat proudly and fearlessly in the middle of the plate while he licked his fingers clean of the golden-brown mustard that had oozed out from beneath the top slice of bread. He brought it to the table and picked it up with both hands. But despite his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling, he sank his teeth very carefully into the thick pile of spicy beef on rye. Gould hadn’t been lying last month when he’d said the place he was recommending—a small establishment in Rego Park—had some of the best kosher deli in the city. And as Baker took another bite, a grin spread slowly across his face.

  After the session with Dr. Lerner, he hadn’t wanted to take Micki straight home. He’d suggested getting something to eat and, to his surprise, she’d agreed. And though it was obvious they were driving quite a bit out of their way, Micki didn’t say a word. Baker parked half a block down at a meter, and they hurried out of the cold to be greeted at the door by warm, humid air saturated with the scent of hot pastrami and knishes. Alone on a nonexistent line, they stood next to the cash register, where a sign said “please wait to be seated.”

  A kitchen door opened, and a waiter with little hair but lots of wrinkles, grunted at them and said, “Follow me.” Shuffling forward, he led them into the midst of the fully mirrored walls of the tiny restaurant while Micki pointedly stared straight ahead at his skinny, stooped back. But when they’d reached their table and were waiting for him to put their menus down, Baker caught sight of their reflection, a grin spreading across his face much as it had just now. He’d nudged Micki and motioned with his chin for her to look at the silvered glass, as well. Side by side, the two of them looked like different-sized versions of each other.

  Their overstuffed sandwiches arrived in short order on thick white plates that were placed on the table with a heavy clunk and a curt, “Enjoy.” Neither Baker nor Micki actually ate much of anything, and neither of them said much of anything, either—big gaps of silence in between small talk. And yet, it didn’t feel awkward.

  Late afternoon turned into early evening, and other patrons, most of them elderly, began arriving for dinner. Baker asked the waiter to wrap up the rest of their meals and they’d left. Then he’d dropped Micki off at her apartment. But only because she’d insisted.

  He finished off a third glass of Coke, surveyed his empty plate with disappointment, then called Dino’s Pizzeria for a small pie to pick up. After that he hung his sweaty gym clothes in the bathroom and his jacket in the closet before putting away the drugstore items—including a new box of condoms. With all of the conflicting studies and stories about dangers and side effects, Cynthia had become increasingly concerned about staying on the pill. She’d switched to an IUD, but wasn’t entirely confident in it yet. And after what she’d just been through, well, would he min
d using condoms, too, for just a little while longer?

  As he was slipping the box inside the dresser drawer, pushing it underneath some underwear and socks, his eyes fell on the copy of Playboy tucked away in the back. Heavy, glossy, and slick with its own sense of style, it was something he’d always taken for granted—simply bought without giving it a second thought. But nothing in the world existed in a vacuum. This magazine was the genteel end of a spectrum of materials for which, and from which, a lot of evil and ugliness had been, and would be, perpetrated on women. And young girls. Even little baby girls. Baker closed his eyes. He wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep.

  When he left to pick up his pizza, he made a quick detour to the garbage chute first.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  UNABLE TO SLEEP, MICKI stood in the darkness, letting the moonlight wash over her. Spilling in through the window, the pure white light felt soft upon her skin, and minutes passed illuminated in the cold, spectral glow.

  She wondered what Baker was doing.

  After her session, when she’d gone with him to the deli, he’d asked about her classes, about her teachers, about Tony and Sal at Bel … But eventually he’d asked if she’d be afraid to stay over at his place again. She told him “no.” At this point, it seemed just as likely she’d have a flashback at her own apartment as his. She’d rather be at his place anyway—though she didn’t tell him that. Besides, she might not have another flashback for a long time. Dr. Lerner said her mind would only unveil as much as she could handle, and she was finding it difficult to deal with what she already knew.

  She got back into bed and bundled herself up in the blanket, feeling very much alone until she recalled Baker’s arms wrapped around her. She’d felt safe there. Very safe. But he couldn’t hold onto her forever.

  chapter 38

  OVER THE NEXT FEW weeks, Micki gained some weight and stabilized there. Although still very thin, she no longer appeared gaunt. She also began asking Baker questions:

  “If I live with you, will I have to change schools?”

  “No, of course not. You’ll go in with me in the morning.”

  “Okay, I—” Her eyes grew wide. “Oh …” This was the reason why he hadn’t returned to his squad right away. But it wasn’t until the following day that she asked, “What about my job?”

  “If you really want one, you can get one near me. But until you graduate, you don’t have to work at all unless you want to; I can more than afford to take care of you.” When she looked skeptical, he added, “There are guys with my salary who support a wife and kids. Believe me, it’ll be fine. I can always moonlight.”

  “But why do you want to do all this? I mean, what’s in it for you?”

  And so he tried to explain that being a parent was supposed to be a giving thing, that the giving itself made you feel good. He said he didn’t expect anything in return, but then added, “Well, maybe a little love and appreciation would be nice.”

  Chewing the inside of her lip, she looked away.

  A few days later, she asked, “What if sometime I wanted to, y’know, um, have a friend over?”

  Trying to keep a straight face, he asked, “A friend of the male persuasion?”

  “Um—well—yeah.”

  “I suppose … I suppose that would be okay; I’d rather know where you are and who you’re with than not. What about you?” he asked. “How’re you going to feel when I have Cynthia spend the night?”

  And Micki tried to imagine what that would be like, for she’d never thought about it before, had never considered that he would ever ask her such a thing, either. “I’d be okay,” she finally said.

  And so it went until she had nothing more to ask. Still, he didn’t get his answer. Yet they’d fallen into a comfortable pattern: she spent Sunday afternoons with him and stayed overnight, sometimes Monday nights, as well. She also made good use of his laundry room, more than happy to stick it to her Laundromat. Baker forced himself to be patient.

  Then one day, after school, she said she needed to talk to him. Alone—for Marino was in the office on the phone. But once they were in an empty classroom, she couldn’t meet his eyes for more than an instant. His heart sank, the atmosphere suddenly as oppressive as the room’s drab interior.

  “I—” She stole yet another quick glance, only to note the hard set of his jaw. After she awkwardly cleared her throat, she said, “I got my period.” And then she turned her head to fully look at him, only to see his face had gone blank. Her own face grew hot: he’d told her to tell him this if it happened; it wasn’t like she’d ever want to. This was, after all, a very female thing. To have to tell him this while he towered over her …

  “I—I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he said. “But that’s great.”

  “Yeah, oh joy!” she shot back.

  He chuckled. “I admit it doesn’t sound like much fun, but”—his expression grew serious—“it’s a good sign, Micki. You know that, right?”

  She shrugged, then watched his gaze shift to the far end of the floor. She could practically see the wheels turning in his head, spinning around feverishly. When he finally looked back, her face was full of suspicion.

  He said, “I know I told you that you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor—”

  “I’m not going! You said I wouldn’t have to go if—”

  “I know what I said. But the truth is, you’re already sexually active, so you should be getting regular checkups anyway.”

  “But I’m not really active now, right?”

  He gave her a shrewd look.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “How come you didn’t say this before?”

  “Because I …” He put his hands on his hips. “Look, I’m not going to make you go this very minute. But in a year, if you haven’t gone already, I’m going to insist.”

  Micki didn’t respond. She was too busy trying to grasp that, a whole year from now, Baker fully expected to be a part of her life.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THAT SUNDAY, OVERNIGHT CLOTHES packed and waiting on the bed, Micki was scribbling furiously, finishing as much of her history homework as she could before Baker arrived. In the middle of answering the third of five questions, she heard a car door slam, and she closed the heavy textbook along with her loose-leaf. She heard Baker’s voice as he approached the stoop, and then another male voice—which she recognized—answering back. When she peered out the window, she could see the top of Gould’s head behind Baker’s. Her nostrils flared. This was their time together—and Baker hadn’t even asked. She listened to them making their way up the stairs, but she didn’t open the door until Baker knocked.

  Seeing her expression, his smile faded. “I—um—I forgot my smokes. I’m just gonna run down to the corner. I’ll be right back.”

  Micki gaped while he beat a hasty retreat. Then she clamped her mouth shut and gave Gould an acid glare. With crisp, purposeful strides, she went over to the desk and sat down to resume her homework.

  Not knowing what to do with himself, Gould remained in the doorway. Eventually he entered the apartment and closed the door. “Okay,” he said to her back, “Jim’s little routine was pretty lame. But the truth is, I wanted to come here so’s I could talk to you.”

  Without turning around, she replied, “Well, you’re here and you’re talking to me, so I guess you got your wish. Now you can go home.”

  Micki couldn’t see, but Gould was fighting back a smile. He walked up beside her. “Look, Micki”—he lightly placed his hand on her shoulder—

  She leaped up, nearly overturning the chair while he jumped back, heart skipping several beats.

  “Don’t you touch me!” she hissed.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Alls I want is to apologize for what I did when you were in the hospital.”

  “Well
, y’already apologized; the nurse told me so.”

  “I don’t feel that was good enough.”

  “I say it is, okay?”

  “No, it’s not okay, okay? You’re the most important thing in Jim’s life, so I need to make it right with you. I did what I did because I was only thinkin’ of him. Y’have to understand how tight him and me are; we go way back.”

  Micki’s face said she couldn’t care less.

  “C’mon, I owe him my life.”

  “What?”

  Gould’s eyebrows shot up. “Y’mean he never told you?”

  She eyed him cautiously.

  He pulled a chair out for her, then sat down on the other one himself. After a moment’s pause, she joined him.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THERE WAS SILENCE: GOULD had finished. Not once had Micki interrupted or even asked a question, though her features had undergone several subtle transformations during the telling.

  “Yeah, okay,” she finally said.

  He was careful that only his eyes were smiling when he said, “Just so’s I’m sure: you and me are okay, then?”

  Chair legs scraping against the floor, she stood up. “Uh-huh.”

  He stood up, as well.

  But then her eyes narrowed. “So how much do you know?”

  Using his thumb and index finger, he absently smoothed his mustache. “I know some—not everything.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “I know what happened that night between you and Jim.”

  She looked away.

  “No one else knows.”

  Her eyes flashed. “So whatta y’think, huh?”

  “I think Jim made a terrible mistake that he’ll never forgive himself for.”

  There was a flicker of shock before her eyes narrowed again. “But whatta you think of me?”

  All sorts of things started going through his head. In their brief time together, she’d revealed far more than she knew. There was so much he wanted to say. All that came out was: “I think you’re gonna be all right.”