Dream Smashers

by Angela Carlie

  I sit next to her, unsure if I should say anything, so I don’t. A few moments slip past, and then she rests her head sideways so I can see her face and she can see mine. Raccoon eyes and clown nose, she giggles heartlessly. “That was a trip,” she says through thick voice.

  “What happened?”

  She wipes her nose on her hand, sits up, and then rummages through her purse. “Do you remember when I became known as the ‘go to’ girl?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she means.

  “Oh please.” She snorts in a nose full of snot. “You don’t have to play stupid with me. I know what people think of me. It’s not true, though.” She pulls out her mini-mirror to fix her face.

  “So, uh, why do people think that you party all the time?”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it.” She wipes the mascara from around her eyes with a tissue. “You know Justin Daniels, right?”

  “The football guy, right?”

  “Yeah.” She puts the mirror down. It’s as though fixing her make-up has turned her back into the Angel of this morning before the weird church emotions exploded from her. Except the whites of her eyes are all pink now. “Total prick. We went out in, like, eighth grade. One day, he snooped around my mom’s room while I was in the bathroom, and found my mom’s stash of pot and stole it.” She shakes her head and exhales through her stuffy nostrils. “It was an entire pound.”

  “Oh, is that a lot?” Stupid question.

  “Duh.” She rolls her eyes and then squirts a couple drops of Visine into each of them and blinks until the drops disappear behind her green and now brilliant white balls of vision. “Oh, it’s only, like, three-hundred and fifty bucks. Probably some jail time if he got caught with it. But the point is, he stole it from my mom and then told the entire school that I gave it to him after he fucked my brains out. As if he was the best fuck I’d ever had. Crazy stupid.”

  I never heard that part. Only that she sleeps around and can get drugs and booze and stuff like that. “But what about James?” I blurt before thinking.

  “What about him?”

  “Didn’t you get him started on crank?”

  “Are you serious?” She tosses her make-up and mirror back into the purse. “He was a tweaker when I met him.” She shrugs. “I don’t do any of that shit. Never have. In fact, I don’t even drink or smoke pot.”

  “Is that why you were crying, because everyone has a wrong impression of you?” I pick up a pebble and write my name on the cement.

  “Not really.” She takes a deep breath, shrugs and looks down the quiet road. “Church and Jesus songs kind of get to me, I guess. I wish I could be like those people in there.” Her head nods back toward the church. “They have so much faith that everything’s going to be okay.”

  Drops of water fall from the sky, one, two and then a bucket full. We jump from the stairs and run back into the building where the faithful sing praises to Jesus, giving Him their all, and causing strong girls like Angel to sob like a baby.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “She seems nice.” Evan’s mother steps toward Evan in the hall where he waits for the girls to come from the restroom after the service.

  “Oh, hi, Mom.” He leans against the wall and shoves his hands in his front pockets. “Yes, she’s nice and sweet, too.”

  Mother adjusts the purse strap on her shoulder. “Is this one in school?”

  Evan sighs. “She’s a junior at Washington High.” He knows what’s next. What church does she go to? Who are her parents? What do they do? And he’s prepared to tell her that it doesn’t matter. That Autumn means a lot to him and if Evan means anything to his mother, she would trust him for once in her life. He’s seventeen and old enough to have a girlfriend and she needs to accept that fact.

  “You know the only reason I chased those other girls off is because they weren’t good enough for you—”

  “Yes, Mom, but that’s not for you to decide.”

  “Let me finish.” She clears her throat. “As hard as it may be for me, I’m not going to do that anymore. I want to keep you protected and hold you close for the rest of your life, but I can’t. You’re your own person.” She grabs his arm and pulls his hand out of the pocket. “And all grown up.” She holds his hand and leans against the wall next to him. “It’s about time you had a little more freedom.”

  A sadness fills Evan that almost equals the excitement spilling from his pores. Almost. He wraps his arms around his mother and holds her close before kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom!”

  She smiles. “I love you, honey.” And then turns to leave.

  “Love you, too, Mom!” Evan says after her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Jacinda looks up into the gray morning sky. “Couldn’t you at least give me a fuckin’ break with the weather? This is a huge step I’m taking. You could help me out by stopping the God damn rain.” Slivers pound her face. “Of course not. Thanks! Thanks for jack shit.”

  She marches on through the downpour and shoves her hands into a denim jacket. She could easily just say, “Fuck it,” and go back to the shelter, but nothing worth anything comes easy she’s told.

  Her brat ain’t gonna have anything to do with her, but she has to try, has to ask her for forgiveness for all the years that things got messed up. Eventually, Autumn will understand that it wasn’t Jacinda’s fault and accept her. It’s not like Jacinda made her sleep on the streets or nothing. Jacinda’s the one that had to do that. The brat got to sleep warm and sound in Ma’s house. At least she had that, right?

  The Road Church is one of those supposedly non-denominational churches, or so says some fuck-up at rehab. Ma says Autumn’s at the church now with her friends. What in the hell she’s doing at a church, Jacinda has no clue.

  Not a single visible soul around to notice Jacinda’s sorry-ass standing, waiting, freezing in the rain at the bottom of the church steps. Stupid steps obviously aren’t meant for her because they go up. Her steps most likely will go down. She laughs and wonders if she’ll be hit by lightning when she takes a step up.

  The time on the clock tower across the street reads ten o’clock when Autumn exits the front doors. Jacinda hides behind a lamp post to watch and wait for the perfect moment to talk to her.

  She holds her breath and futilely wipes the rain from her brow. Autumn’s rejected her hundreds of times. If she rejects her again, it won’t be nothing new. What’s new is that Jacinda’s sober. What’s new is that this time her rejection might sting. It’s Jacinda asking Autumn, and not the other way around.

  Some kid, a good-looking guy, holds Autumn’s hand. They walk down the stairs. Jacinda waits. Autumn looks up into the sky and smiles, as if she has so much to be happy for—a kid at Disneyland that just exited Cinderella’s castle. What the fuck? Disneyland ain’t nowhere near this church in this fucked up town and in the rain no less. There ain’t nothing here to be so joyful for. Nothing but dead-end relationships and souls looking for their own Disneyland through drugs and shit. This prolly’s the perfect time to talk with her. While this state of delirium covers her reality.

  Jacinda steps from her hiding place just as they reach the bottom of the stairs. Autumn doesn’t seem to notice her. The shower suddenly stops. Cold air blows through Jacinda’s soaked clothes, chilling her to the bone. Fuck me. A beam of sunshine penetrates the carpet of clouds above, shining on Autumn’s child-like face.

  Jacinda moves forward, head down, on a mission that could cost her life, or so it feels. This must be how a killer stalks his prey just before he reaches the poor sucker. Does he have the balls to do it? Or does he just pass and loath himself for being such a chicken shit later?

  Her ears ring, her mind floods with emptiness. If she’s gonna do this, she needs to say something now.

  Just a few feet away.

  Autumn talks to her guy-friend, oblivious to Jacinda, laughing at the weird weather or something. And then, she passes. Shit! Sh
it, shit, shit. Chicken shit.

  Jacinda turns, out of shear frustration, to look at their backsides. And, without a clue of what the fuck she’s going to say, and out of a need to fulfill her mission, she blurts, “Autumn! Wait!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I turn my head, but it’s not necessary to see for me to know who’s calling for me.

  Evan stops and says in my ear, “It’s your mom.”

  I guess I’m not allowed to have a good day. She looks different, wet for one. One of her drug-friends probably submerged her in the river. She’s shaking, blue almost. Not as thin as last time. Good. It’s important to have meat on your bones. Better for the cannibals and probably even for health and strength and stuff like that. Her eyes find the ground before she steps forward.

  Oh God, I hope nothing’s happened to Grams.

  “So, hey,” she forces out.

  If Grams was hurt, she’d be tripping out or something. Well, she usually trips out over anything. But today her calmness makes her seem almost normal.

  “So, I was wonderin’ if you want to have lunch or something with me some time.”

  Eating lunch with my mom could be a nightmare. I can picture it now: Jacinda’s chowing on a burger and then I say something that doesn’t sit right with her. Something ridiculous like, “How ‘bout the weather we’re having?” She flips out and starts swearing at anyone and everyone in the restaurant for no apparent reason. Her fangs pop out of her decayed mouth and then she starts biting people and crap.

  “Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She tries, or so it seems, to be nice. I don’t recall a time when she was nice without wanting something in return. But this time her niceness isn’t all gobbley-gooed with fake-niceties. She seems. Sober.

  I try to speak, but my words spill onto the ground.

  She shoves her hands into wet denim jacket pockets, probably out of insecurity because those pockets shouldn’t be warm unless she has electric heater pockets or something. “Okay, well, that’s okay. Maybe another time?” She turns to walk away.

  “Wait,” I say.

  She turns back, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes—jumbo size black olives.

  “Yes,” I say. And that’s all I say too. No other words appear in my mouth.

  “Really? You’ll have lunch with me?” She sounds like I just told her a miracle or something. That she won the lottery, but not the gazillion dollar one, the thousand dollar one or that I found a cure for cancer, even though she doesn’t have cancer.

  “Yeah. Sure.” I shrug.

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s school,” I say.

  She frowns.

  “But, if you want, I can leave early.” Here I go again, trying to be a pleaser.

  Her forehead scrunches in thought. “I forgot about school. You probably shouldn’t miss, huh?” She’s not really talking to me, but to the worms squirming in the puddles, or to the puddle itself for all I know. “I guess leaving early won’t hurt.” Now, she talks to me. “Okay. I don’t have a car, but can ride the bus to the house. Say, around noon?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great.” She looks behind me and smiles at air.

  “Oh yeah...” I’m with others. “This is Evan.” I twist to face Angel and introduce her, too.

  Jacinda waves. “Hi.” A sincere smile forms on her face. She looks like Jacinda, but I’m suspecting that a body-thief snatched her body and has used it for good deeds. But out of all the bodies in the world, I don’t know why a body-thief would choose a rancid one like Jacinda’s.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Yep. See ya.” I half-wave.

  “It was nice to meet you Ms. Winters,” Evan says. I look up at him and roll my eyes to his extra-cheerful grin. Mr. Goody-goody.

  Jacinda stops mid-turn, and with a grateful smile, she nods her head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Monday, November 16th

  Awkward and silent as a blind date, we walk, two complete strangers strolling down the sidewalk. We approach Matt’s Cafe, a gray building in desperate need of a paint job. An old guy with a yellow-stained beard and a Sherlock Holmes pipe in his mouth holds the door open for us. We enter a wall of nicotine stale air.

  “Maybe this ain’t such a great idea, eating here,” Jacinda says. “You know all the smoke in the air can’t be good. Isn’t second-hand smoke bad for kids or something?”

  “Ha!” It’s a little late to fill the role of concerned mother. She must be kidding. Expecting to find humor in her face, I only find a conflicted expression. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. You tell me. I’m new to this.”

  “Yeah. You’re serious.” I laugh under my breath. This has got to be the weirdest forced concern I’ve ever seen. “Don’t you fret. I live with a smokestack, remember? Thanks though. I appreciate the concern.”

  We sit at a table in the center of the retro tainted café. The geriatric rush must have already left because we are the only patrons sitting at a table. Bar stools near the kitchen hold the weight of two hairy toads hacking up their lungs. But outside of them, the café is empty. I’m pretty sure the reason Matt hasn’t replaced the faux wood walls and outdated décor is because it disguises the inch of smoke residue that covers everything.

  A feather-feel tickles the bottom of my right foot. I tap it on the ground, but with my Converse on, the itch doesn’t go away.

  “So what’s this all about? We’ve never gone out for food,” I say, hoping the intensity of a conversation might douse the now yearning-to-be-itched skin trapped inside rubber and canvas.

  “Well—”

  “Sorry.” Unable to ignore it any longer, I shove a butter knife down my shoe—back and forth, up and down. It reaches the spot giving me instant relief. A shiver of satisfaction passes over me.

  Her mouth relaxes while she watches me push the utensil into my shoe. The leathery pale skin on her face doubles her age, maybe even triples it. At least the inflamed rashes and sores are gone, but the scars will probably be there forever.

  “I’ll use this one,” I say and pull the knife out. “Sorry. It totally drives me bonkers when I get an itch.”

  Her lips close and turn into a forced half-grin. “So, is that boy you were with yesterday your boyfriend?”

  “Yep.” I twirl the butter knife in my fingers. “He really gets me.”

  Jacinda’s face surrenders all color.

  “You know,” she whispers. “I’ve really missed a lot. You, I mean.” Her thin, no-longer-cracked lips shiver. Color finds its way back into her face, rosy cheeks and nose to match her eyes.

  I stare. How can she possibly miss me when she’s never known me?

  “What can I get you two?” A twenty something plump Plain Jane wearing a dirty white shirt and apron hovers over the table, smiling down at me. She must be new.

  “Um.” I clear my voice. My stomach feels icky-like, vomit-like, I just ate a thousand Twinkies-like. “Can I just get a root beer and an order of fries?”

  She scribbles on her handy pad. “And you?” It’s Jacinda’s turn to receive a smile from the waitress.

  Without taking her eyes off of me, Jacinda says, “A cheeseburger and Coke.”

  “Okay then. I’ll be back in a jiffy with those sodas.” The waitress turns to waddle away.

  “What do you mean? When did you miss me?” My voice booms at the end.

  Jacinda tenses, looks around the café and then back at me—jerky, tweaky. “Shhh! Jeez, Autumn. All the time.”

  “Then why don’t you ever come around?” She never missed me. She’s lying.

  Plain Jane plops two sodas on the table and drops two straws. “Your food will be up in a jiffy.”

  “Thanks,” I say, not taking my attention off the biological mother who has never wanted anything to do with me until now.

  “I went straight to rehab after the hospital. I’m clean now.” She unravels the paper
on her straw and sticks it in her soda. “There came a point when I was, like, ‘Man, I’ve really shit all over my own daughter. I should at least hang out with her or live with her.’ It was the worst fucked-up feeling I’d ever had in my entire life.”

  Really! Really? The worst ever? What about the time she abandoned me in a dirty creepy alley when I was a kid? The time that she held a knife to me and threatened to kill me? The gazillion times she stole money from Grams and Gramps? What about the time that she thrashed Grams’ house and stole her spoons to sell for her stupid drugs? The time she screwed my biological father—a married pastor, no less—and found out she was pregnant? I’m sure she had to have felt pretty bad then. So, this feeling is worse than all that. Huh, I guess I’ve been right this entire time thinking she’s as numb as a paralyzed dog.

  Questions, thoughts, feelings, but no words. It’s not even possible to express to her my feelings without yelling, let alone to make her understand. Her brain is probably the size of a walnut now. I read that meth kills the brain. Now, after sixteen years, she expects me to pretend that none of that happened?

  “What?” She says defensively, like I should tell her what I’m thinking, and takes a sip of Coke.

  “You—”

  Plain Jane smacks two steamy plates onto the Formica along with a bottle of Heinz Fancy Ketchup. “Is that all I can get ya?”

  “Yep,” Jacinda says.

  “I’ll just leave your check here. Holler if you want anything else.” She turns to serve the two truckers that just sat on the remaining bar stools next to the hairy toads. One hairy toad on the far left lifts his butt cheek to dig into his crack. Gross.

  Jacinda dumps a gob of ketchup on her plate. “What were ya gonna say?”

  “Nothing.” There is no point saying anything to her. She won’t get it. I sprinkle Matt’s Fry Seasoning onto my greasy lunch.