Purgatorium

  A few minutes later, we meet in front of the dressing room attendant, who directs us to our respective dressing rooms. Madi and I come out intermittently, showing off outfits to each other. We laugh, ridiculing each other’s choices playfully.

  I try on another suit, walk out, and look in the mirror. I recognize it as the same suit I wore every day in the other world. I look at the price tag: $1,599.99. I find it both funny and sad that something I seem—in the other world—to find so casual, is something—in this world—I can only dream of affording.

  “Okay, I think I found it!” Madi calls out from her dressing room. I turn around as her door opens. She looks stunning. An elegant white dress is draped perfectly over her slim but curvaceous form. I am surprised she likes it, thinking that she would find it too classy. She looks simply…magical.

  Madi looks transfixed by my suit. “You…” she says, and stops, apparently at a loss for words.

  “You…as well!” I reply back.

  She looks in the mirror for a second and then puts her hands over her face. “Ugh, don’t look! I need to go do my makeup!” she says. “We’ll take it,” she says to the dressing room attendant as she turns and walks over to a small cosmetics section at the back of the store.

  Though stunned by Madi’s beauty, I try to get into the evening, for her sake at least. Suddenly I am distracted and anxious about getting more of my novel written. I look down at my wrist, wondering what the time is. I forgot I lost my watch and I think about how I wish I could afford one.

  A store employee carrying a small tray of colognes approaches, asking, “Can I interest you in any of our fragrances, sir? I would suggest the Blue Omega; it’s one of our Wednesday daily deals.”

  A worried look crosses my face. “What’s today’s date?” I ask.

  “Why, it’s the sixth, sir,” he replies.

  “I totally forgot!” I say. “It’s our one year anniversary, my girlfriend’s and mine, that is. I can’t believe I forgot. I need to get her something. Do you have any Wednesday daily deals on the women’s side?”

  “First things first,” the employee replies, spraying a little of the Blue Omega on my wrist. I hold my wrist up to my nose. Very nice, I think to myself.

  “Follow me,” says the employee. I follow him across the store to the front of a glass case with necklaces inside. The employee points to the diamond necklace in the middle. “That is our Wednesday daily deal,” he says. “It’s twenty-five percent off, today only.”

  I squint a little to make out the tiny price tag under the necklace: $3,500. “A steal at just three point five K,” says the employee, smiling. I think anxiously about how buying the necklace would mean having to use the money I was saving for my book.

  The employee, still smiling, but seeming a little impatient, continues, “But if it’s still too expensive for you, I understand. One has to be careful with tight budgets.”

  I feel ashamed, both that I cannot really afford the necklace and that I cannot buy something nice for my own girlfriend. Quickly I respond, “No! No, I’ll get it.”

  “Fabulous! I will meet you up front!”

  As the employee unlocks the case and reaches in to pick up the necklace, I hear a voice whisper to me, “Steal it! Come on!” There’s no way I can sacrifice the money I’ve been saving for my novel for this, I think.

  “Wait!” I find myself saying to the employee. “Can you leave it unlocked so I can surprise her with it?”

  The employee smiles at me, flirtatiously. “I knew there were still romantic guys like you around! And my mom told me there weren’t any left!” He walks away humming “Frosty the Snowman.” I look around. Seeing that no one is nearby, I quickly reach in, take the necklace, and put it in my left inside jacket pocket.

  I close the glass case, turn around, and I am shocked a little to see Madi just a few feet away, walking toward me. Her face is tastefully made up.

  She smiles at me. “Well, am I not something else?” Madi does a small spin, showing me her dress. For a moment, I forget all about the necklace and stand there, stunned by her beauty. “Left you speechless, did I? Well, you don’t look so bad either,” she says blushing. “Not a bad pick if I do say so myself,” she continues to say to me, looking at the price tag on my suit.

  “True, but I’m putting this back,” I say.

  “Don’t. You. Dare!” she says sternly, but playfully. “Besides, it’s too late. I already bought it.”

  She raises her elbow for me to hook my hand through. I can’t help but smile, my heart beating rapidly as I remember the necklace inside my jacket pocket. I look to the front of the store and see that the employee is up on the left, helping a very well-dressed older couple. I put my arm around hers and we walk to the front door, pull it open, and walk through. She laughs. I laugh in response, nervously.

  “Where to now, my lady?” I ask, now down the block and almost out of sight from the store. Madi points across the park to the lighthouse restaurant. It looks oddly familiar to me, but I cannot remember where or when I have been there.

  “Okay, but something’s missing,” I say, stopping and reaching inside my jacket pocket. I carefully pull out the necklace. Madi looks at me, shocked. I smile. “And you probably thought I forgot.”

  She looks into my eyes, stepping closer and turning. She pulls her hair out of the way. I carefully put it around her neck and latch it.

  “No one has ever given me something this nice,” says Madi, her eyes slightly wet. I can see the worry on her face, the tense set of her shoulders and slight furrow of her brow. Her face relaxes and she smiles at my scrutiny. “And no returning it and putting the money back in my account. I know you.” She looks at me, knowing I knew that was exactly what she was thinking.

  “Now, where were we?” I say, lifting my elbow for her to hook her arm through. She takes my arm and we laugh the way we think rich people would, and walk across the street into the park. I look nervously over my left shoulder to make sure the employee is not outside searching for me. The Ferris wheel soon hides us away to where we can just blend in to the crowd.

  The lighthouse restaurant is dimly lit. A small fire burns in the fireplace to the left of the back windows where patrons stand with drinks, talking and looking out over the expansive bay. To the right of the front windows there is a black grand piano with the key cover open.

  A man dressed in a tailcoat jacket walks calmly from the kitchen door to the bench. He sits down, stretches his hands out, adjusts his position on the bench, and begins to play. The piano looks very familiar, I think.

  Madi and I sit at a table in the middle of the room. The same table I always seemed to sit at in my prison, I think. I turn to face Madi. She looks especially stunning tonight. I try to tell her how beautiful she is, but I once again find I can’t move my mouth. My body starts to feel numb again. Music from the piano overwhelms me.

  My mouth opens and, instead of saying how beautiful Madi is, I find myself saying, “Happy one year anniversary pretty girl!” I raise my glass to hers. The glasses, half full with red wine, make a clinking sound. Both of us take a sip.

  Madi suddenly looks up at the piano, recognizing the song, and smiles more widely. She sings quietly, almost whispering, along with the music.

  I smile, listening to her. “You really should pursue singing professionally,” I say. Madi frowns skeptically. “I know I tell you that all the time, but I’m serious. You have a terrific voice.”

  “When I am ready, I will be ready. You know this,” she says to me, taking another sip.

  “You know I’m not just telling you to be nice.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you are,” she says to me, flirtatiously.

  I notice Madi looks restless, uncomfortable as always, with compliments about her singing. “Hiding talent like yours away is like slapping God in the face.”

  “Is that so?”
Madi says, a note of sarcasm in her voice. Undeterred, I nod definitively. “Well, I’m going to slap you in the face if you don’t pick out what you want to eat.” She draws out a laugh and looks at the menu.

  I hear a silent voice whispering into my ear again. “She doesn’t care about your well-being. She wants you to drown in debt.”

  “Fine. Let’s not be rich then,” I interrupt.

  “You know my priorities,” Madi says, trying to explain. “Let’s not talk about this now, okay?”

  “Right, I do. Because living in a cramped loft on the east side of town is the ideal, safe environment,” I rant. “A car that only stalls out half of the time is reliable enough. Let’s see here, have I covered everything? Oh yeah, Dollar Tree is the best place to pick up the finest steaks.”

  “Oh, please, keep going,” Madi scoffs.

  “Oh, I can keep going, all right.”

  “How about this?” Madi says a little coldly. “I will promise to do something about my tragically withheld singing career just as soon you finish the bestseller you’ve been working on for...how many years is it?”

  I roll my eyes while spinning the wine in my glass around. I have heard this refrain from Madi many times before. “Well?” she says.

  “I happen to have gotten some really good stuff down on paper lately,” I say defiantly.

  “Is that so?” Madi arches her eyebrow.

  “Yes, and once my book finally gets published, you’re going to wish you never made that promise.”

  “We’ll see,” she says with a soft heart.

  “We will! You and I will be bathing in money!” I say, throwing up another toast.

  “Money can’t buy you love.” Madi lingers on the last word, in that maddening way she always does when she wants to try to make a point. “Speaking of love…” begins Madi.

  “Let’s not start this again,” I interrupt, curtly. “Look, you know how strongly I care about you. Can we drop this?”

  Madi crosses her legs, leaning back, feigning indifference. “You’re going to end up exactly like your father, aren’t you?” she says, not looking at me.

  I reach into my jacket pocket, pull out a cigarette pack, flip open the lid, and remove a smoke. I reach back into the pocket and feel around for my lighter.

  “I am not at all like my father,” I mutter, looking at the piano player and realizing I left my lighter in the fitting room. At this moment, I notice a waiter coming through the kitchen door. He looks like Raphael.

  The waiter walks to our table. “Your order will be ready momentarily,” he says. “In the meantime, do you have everything you need?”

  I look at the waiter more closely now, feel an uncanny sense of terror overcome me. Before Madi or the waiter can say anything more, I blurt out awkwardly, “Do you happen to have any matchbooks…maybe at the bar?”

  The waiter looks quizzically at Madi and then back at me. “I am quite sorry, sir,” he replies carefully. “But we do not allow smoking anywhere in the restaurant.”

  I lay the cigarette beside my empty plate, look up at the waiter, and bark rudely, “Who said anything about smoking?! Can a guy just want a matchbook to remember the great service he had on this fine night?”

  “Pardon me, sir?” The waiter leans back away from me a little stunned, forcing a smile.

  “What is your problem?” Madi asks, shooting an embarrassed look at me. She looks up at the waiter. “Everything is fine here,” she reassures him. “We’re okay, thanks.”

  “Very well. I will retrieve your meal,” the waiter says politely, seemingly already over the shock as he turns and starts back to the kitchen.

  “I think I have a matchbook in my purse,” she says quietly to me, still looking embarrassed. She searches her purse and after a few moments, pulls out a matchbook and places it in front of me on the table. The matchbook is the same shiny silver kind Raphael uses. “I grabbed it when I was in the girls’ bathroom. So I could remember this wonderful moment we are sharing,” she says sarcastically.

  “I’m serious. What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, clutching the matchbook.

  “You’ve been getting so stressed out lately.”

  “So?”

  “So? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Who said you have to do anything, Madi? I gave you a nice necklace. What else do you want?”

  “Only you would think that buying me something expensive would keep me happy. I’m trying to get you to open up.” She reaches behind her neck, unlatches the necklace, and places it in front of me beside the matchbook.

  “When are you finally going to open up to me and tell me what’s going on?” Madi asks pleadingly, leaning in to try to reassure me. I breathe out heavily, trying to calm down a little. I feel uncomfortable and pressured. “I mean, we’ve been together for a year and you still haven’t told me a thing about your past, except that you don’t like your dad.”

  I sneer and say, “Look who’s talking! What about you? You clam up all the time. Like when we’re on the highway and drive past rest stop signs. You freak out. And then, when I ask you what’s wrong, you go completely quiet. What’s up with that?”

  “Don’t drag me into this,” she says.

  “Why not? You’re more than willing to interrogate me!” I say, gripping the table edge with both hands.

  The waiter approaches our table carrying two silver, cloche-covered plates. “Pardon me. Your meal is ready,” he says, placing the covered plates in front of us. As he pulls back the silver lids, a feeling of horror overtakes me, but I can’t understand why. It’s the same meal I get each time, I think to myself. “Is there a problem, sir?” asks the waiter, noticing the change in my face.

  I abruptly stand up, knocking my chair over behind me.

  “Where are you going?” Madi asks, pleadingly. I step back away from the table. I am in control now, I think. I hear the sound of sand cascading, getting louder and louder. I gasp. The Valkyrie senses me changing things. I need to stop before it sees me.

  “Talk to me!” Madi continues pleading, standing up, grabbing her purse, ready to follow me.

  Suddenly, I step back to the table, grab the wine bottle, hold it up to my mouth, and swallow two mouthfuls. The warmth of the alcohol on my throat calms me slightly. I put the bottle down, loosen my collar, reach inside, and unlatch the coin necklace I am wearing. I drown myself back into my thoughts, letting the reins go.

  I look around not knowing what is happening. I pick up the matchbook and the cigarette, walk out on to the outside balcony, lean against the railing and, hands slightly trembling, light my cigarette. I start walking up the set of stairs to my left, dragging on my smoke, feeling the nicotine calm my mind.

  The staircase spirals around what seems like a large metal cylinder. I look up and see the glow of white light flashing above me. It’s really a lighthouse, I think. I reach the top, step closer to the railing, and look out over the bay, taking a long drag of my cigarette.

  The full moon shines bright over the water, releasing a certain calm inside of me. I hear someone in high heels coming up the stairs behind me. In my periphery, I see Madi take the last few steps up before quietly arriving next to me. We both just stand there on top of the lighthouse, looking out over the glittering, moonlit water.

  “Are you okay?” Madi asks softly.

  I look at my coin necklace. “I do not remember much of my father before my mom died,” I begin, still looking at my coin. “He was the ultimate man’s man, always fixing stuff around the house. He never asked anyone for any help. My old man wanted to do everything by himself.” I take another drag from my cigarette.

  “My father never once said ‘I love you,’” I continue, blowing the smoke out. “Not to me, at least. Nothing like my mom. She told me she loved me at least twice every single day. Sometimes I thought she was
trying to make up for the affection missing from him.”

  I look out at the bay and think of my mom. “I guess that’s why they suited each other. I remember my mother’s kindness and love. She loved to dance.” I smile slightly, still looking out the window at the water. “She taught me everything from the waltz to the mashed potato. She loved singing too. She sang me to sleep almost every night. She had an old record player and tons of albums. Her favorite, though, her absolute favorite…was ‘Running on Empty’ by Jackson Browne. I still remember her singing it to me as clearly as if it were last night. Best song ever, that song, especially when my mom sang it to me. It was probably the main reason why I started running.”

  Madi nods, saying nothing, but looks over at me. She is probably hoping I will give her a kind look in return. I continue staring out, not wanting to show her my emotional soul.

  “I love that song,” she says, almost whispering.

  “When times got hard, though, my father sold all her records, even her favorites.” I take another drag from my cigarette. “My mother also loved taking pictures. She had one of those old Polaroid cameras. Growing up, that thing was like her third arm. She always took pictures, pictures of everything. I have a box full of those old pictures. But there’s not a single photo of her in there. She was behind the lens, never in front of it.”

  I pause a moment, remembering the images, ordering them into a coherent chronology. “My father kept his feelings to himself, which drove her crazy. He then cheated on her and told her about it. She forgave him. Though I think she only stayed because of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Madi responds quietly, still watching my face.

  “Even though he never told me, I could see my father never really forgave himself. After the cancer took my mom, my father shut down. He never came home a lot. Always working. Never went to any of my races. When I turned eighteen I left. The only time I hear from him is when I get a card from him on my birthday. Says something simple and never ends it with….” I stop for a second as I try fighting back the tears.