It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  “Here,” I whisper. She seems to turn her head like she heard me, but it might just be the light again, that infernal theft-deterrent bulb my dad thought necessary as if this were downtown Philly and not backwater Sugar Creek. “Right here, Aunt Evie.” This time she does look at me, I can see the light shining in her eyes, I can see the faint smile toying with the corners of her mouth. On the table, her hands fold together as if in prayer, and my voice is as soft as the rustle of leaves outside when I tell her, “These are Dan’s clothes but it’s me, Evie, I promise. Dan’s still asleep. You’d like him, I just know you would.”

  “Michael,” she sighs.

  My name sounds like forgiveness in the gray light. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. For not coming sooner, I add silently. For not telling you about who I was before, about Stephen or Matthew when I came last time, or Dan when I called you on the phone earlier this year. Of everyone in this house, I think you alone would’ve understood, Evie. You would’ve accepted me for who I am. You would’ve told my mom to grow the hell up, told Aunt Sarah to lay off me, told my brother to mind his own business. You would’ve been on my side, Evie, I just know it. So why aren’t you here? Why the hell aren’t you here?

  Tears blind me and I wipe them away with the back of my hand, upset that I’m crying again. Is this ever going to stop? And now my nose will stuff up, I’ll lie back down and wake again with an even greater headache, my sinuses clogged with tears and what should have beens and why nots. Maybe if she accepts my apology, everything will be alright. If she’ll just look at me the way she’s always done in the past, without judgment, without regret, without pinning the crimes of the world and whatever she might feel inside on me like everyone else seems intent to do…maybe that would be enough to let me move on. If I heard the words in her voice one more time, don’t worry about it, Michael, it’s going to be alright—

  But when I lower my hand, she’s gone. A trick of the light, then, and God knows there’s so much of it. She was never there in the first place, she couldn’t have been—she’s dead, passed, gone, however you put it, she’s not coming back. She didn’t just say my name, she wasn’t here. I’m sorry, Aunt Evie, I think again. For everything.

  For a moment I’m not sure what I was doing. Talking to Evie, my mind replies, but why am I out here in the first place? Not because I heard her and came out to chat. My gaze wanders around the room but she doesn’t appear again, she’s gone back to wherever it is spirits go. I don’t question if she was there or not—she was, I saw her, I heard her, she was as real as the pumpkin on the counter, the light in its eyes as bright as a headache.

  Aspirin.

  In response, the pain behind my eyes throbs once, a weak echo of what I felt when I first woke up. Still, I don’t need it lingering like a bad memory. I think of Dan and the brief sexiness I felt when I slipped on his clothes. He’s in that bed alone—I need to fix that. But first…

  There’s a bottle of aspirin in the medicine drawer, just as I thought. Nearly full, too. My hands shake when I twist off the cap. Four pills—no, three. No, four, because I don’t want that headache coming back. When I put the bottle back in the drawer, I notice another one, brown, obviously prescription, Valium written on the label. Without thinking I pick it up and shake it. The tiny sound of pills rattling together startles the silence of the house around me. Palming the aspirin, I open the Valium and dump a handful of the pills out. They’re small and yellow, a hollow V in the center of each one. Penny’s pills, prescribed to get her through today. I wonder how long she’ll need them? No refills, the bottle says. I wonder if they work.

  Before I can change my mind, I take two of them. Mother’s little helper, I think, only it’s not Mom they’re for, it’s her sister. And maybe me, if things get bad enough. Two should suffice.

  At the fridge I stand in the cold glow of light and pop the aspirin in my mouth, then drink straight from the half-empty carton of milk to wash them down. My milk, I bought it. I consider tossing down the Valium, too, but I don’t need them yet. The aspirin should be enough. Please, I pray. The pain is starting to come back, as if the sight of Evie sitting at the kitchen table had startled it into submission and now that she’s gone again, it’s remembered it has a job to do and hopes to make up for lost time by driving deep into my brain. It’s the milk, spiking into my head like ice, so unbelievably cold that it’s almost tasteless, and I squeeze my eyes shut against the light, the pain. All I can think of is Dan asleep in our warm bed. I can almost feel his arms around me.

  I cross the kitchen, keeping away from the pumpkin and the emotions shifting through its hollow head, but at the door to our room I have to stop and look back at the table one last time. I guess I hope Evie will be there again, watching me, the smile in her eyes finally reaching her lips. You’re right, she’ll say, I do like him, and for a breathless moment I actually hear the words, though she doesn’t materialize again. I do like him, Michael. Everything’s going to work out just fine, you’ll see.

  “I hope so,” I whisper to the empty kitchen.

  Dan snores softly as I enter the room, closing the door behind me to cut out that light. I fumble for the suitcase again and find it in the darkness. The Valium get shoved into the pocket of what I hope are my pants, not his. Then it’s off with the shorts, the shirt, and back into bed, beneath the covers, into my lover’s arms where I belong. When Dan mumbles something incoherent, I whisper to him, “I saw Evie in the kitchen. She likes you, baby, just as I knew she would.”

  His arms tighten and he snuggles closer as if trying to warm me up. I’m so damn cold. I cuddle into him and try to think of nothing at all as I stare out the window, where the sky has begun to lighten with the coming dawn.

  Chapter 46: The Morning of the Funeral

  I don’t manage to get back to sleep. Instead I wait until the watch on Dan’s wrist reads quarter after five and then I get up, I just can’t pretend anymore. I’m awake, that’s all there is to it. The house is still quiet as I dress in his shorts and shirt again, and the kitchen is mercifully empty when I step out of our room. I hear a few muffled snores from the living room as I pass by the closed French doors on my way to the bathroom, but no one else seems to be up. I don’t see Evie, either—it’s just me this time.

  I take a shower, making it quick because I don’t want Dan to wake up alone, but also I can’t afford a long, invigorating shower—I’ll never hear the end of it if I use all the hot water. When I’m done, the mirror isn’t even fogged, and I can hear footsteps above me, the others waking up, probably hoping to snag the bathroom first. I take my time, brushing my teeth, running a razor over my chin even though I don’t really need a shave, moussing my hair into the middle part look that I think makes me look smarter than I really am. All I need is a blazer and khakis and I’m set for a day at the office, but I didn’t think to pack anything remotely dressy. This was supposed to be a weekend at my parents’, nothing more. No nights at the opera, no fancy dinners out on the town—they live in the heart of Virginia, twenty miles south of Richmond, in a small city where the streets roll up at dusk. Fortunately it’s autumn and I have a few dark clothes tucked into the suitcase, or we would’ve had to stop by the house on the way up here after all. But brown should be okay, I hope, and I know Dan has a pair of black jeans he can wear. We’ll make it work.

  While I’m toweling off, the door knob starts to turn, first one way, then the other. It’s locked, thank God, or whoever it is out in the hall would’ve busted in on me. “I’m in here,” I call out, as if this isn’t evident.

  There’s a light knock, and then my sister’s voice comes in a harsh whisper, right up against the side of the door like she has her face pressed to the wood. “Michael. What the hell are you doing?”

  I slap the door with the towel and laugh at her little yelp of surprise. “What do you think I’m doing?” I ask as I wrap the towel around my waist. “Can’t I take a shower in peace?”

  The knob turns again, harder this time. �
�You’re done,” Caitlin says. She kicks the door for emphasis. “I heard the water turn off hours ago. So unless you’re in there jerking off—”

  Without warning, I unlock the door and yank it open so fast, she has to catch herself on the jamb to keep from falling into the tiny bathroom. “I am not jerking off,” I tell her, indignant.

  My sister stands there in a black t-shirt and faded boxers she obviously slept in, her hair a tangled mess and her eyes ringed with dark circles of makeup she forgot to wash off. “Not anymore,” she mutters. Stepping aside, she motions impatiently. “Well? You just gonna stand there all day or what? Others need to shower, too.”

  A dozen retorts run through my head, but I discard them all. This is Caitlin, the queen of comebacks. So I just gather my clothes up from the floor—Dan’s clothes, actually—and I push my way past her into the hall. At the last possible moment, I reach behind me and slap her butt, hard enough that my hand stings. An angry cry escapes her throat, but she’s already in the bathroom and I’m dancing down the hall, laughing because I got her this time, I got her, with none of her reflexive retaliation. In the kitchen I see Ray, pouring milk into a bowl overflowing with cereal, and my laughter turns to unstoppable giggles. I have half a mind to tell him that I drank straight from that carton earlier, and I just got Caitlin good, and my headache’s gone, thank God, and Evie told me she liked Dan…but I don’t. My brother looks up at me with his bed-frazzled hair and bloodshot eyes, frowns at my bare chest and the towel draped around my waist, and has the audacity to mutter, “What?” as if I’ve lost my mind.

  I can’t tell him. I just shake my head and pat him on the back, fresh laughter bubbling up inside of me as he dumps the last of the milk into his bowl, the fucker. “That’s my milk,” I say.

  When I pick off a few flakes of cereal from the top of the bowl, he slaps my hand away. “You want some, go buy more,” Ray growls, covering the bowl protectively. “Don’t eat mine.”

  “Don’t worry,” I laugh. Everything seems infinitely funny all of a sudden.

  His eyes narrow in distrust. “What’s with you today?” I shrug, I don’t know. Just playing around, I reach for his bowl but he jerks it away, splashing milk and cereal on the counter. “If you’re going to be like this later, you might want to take something now to calm your ass down. Mom’ll shit.”

  I think of the yellow pills I swiped earlier—do I need them yet? I don’t think so. This is just nervous energy setting me off. “Lighten up, Ray,” I tell him. It seems like I’m always telling him that, lighten up, he’s too damn serious for someone so lazy and unambitious.

  “We’re going to a funeral,” he reminds me. With one hand he sweeps the cereal from the counter into the sink, leaving milk streaked behind. “Unless you forgot—”

  “I didn’t forget.” I just don’t want to think about it until I absolutely, positively have to. Before he can say another word, I duck into the back room and close the door on him and his calm your ass down bit. Jeez, try to be nice to him and he wants to know what’s wrong with me. See if I goof with him again.

  I’m well aware of the fact that in another five hours, I’ll be sitting in one of Morrison’s ostentatious viewing rooms, listening to an uncle ramble on about how wonderful Evelyn Mendelton was and how much she’ll be missed while trying everything I can not to stare at the coffin. God, I hope it’s not open. I’ve never seen a dead body before, except on TV and in the movies, and even on the nightly news, it doesn’t seem real to me. If I walk into that funeral parlor and the coffin is open, I’m going to need more than two little pills to get through that, a hell of a lot more.

  There’s enough sunlight now to get dressed without turning on the light. Squatting by the open suitcase, I find the pants with the pills in the pocket—a pair of my dark brown khakis, just as I hoped, they’ll be fine for the funeral. Beneath them is a sweater the color of freshly turned earth, Dan’s black jeans, a gunmetal gray button-down shirt of his that will work. Evie was never one for extravagance—her idea of dressing up to eat out was cleaning the dirt off the kids’ faces with a warm washcloth before we all piled into the car for McDonald’s. I don’t think she’s going to be overly upset that we’re not in suits to see her go.

  As I stand, the towel falls to pool at my feet, the terry cloth warm and damp on my skin, a sharp contrast to the cold hardwood floor. Naked, I shuffle through the suitcase again in search of underwear and socks, riffling through handfuls of Army green briefs and the gray socks Dan favors, looking for something of mine. One tan sock is folded into a t-shirt of his, its mate blending in with his socks. He’s become such a part of me in these past few months, hasn’t he? Integrating himself into every aspect of my life until I’m not sure where I end and he begins. What would I do without him? I hope I never have to find out. Love you, I think, glancing over at the sleeping form on the bed.

  Dan stares back.

  He has the covers fisted to his mouth, and above the quilt, his eyes glisten in the meager sunlight. For a second we just stare at each other, him hidden beneath the blankets and me bare-ass in the middle of the room. Then his eyes crinkle in an unmistakable smile and I laugh. “How long have you been watching me?” I want to know.

  “Long enough to be sporting wood,” he replies.

  I laugh again and pull a pair of my own underwear from the depths of the suitcase as if by magic. “I hope you’re enjoying the show,” I say, facing him so he can watch me dress. I put a little wiggle in my hips as I work the briefs up over my thighs, then turn about face and tease him by tugging the underwear up over my ass inch by excruciating inch. “Like what you see?”

  An arm snakes out from beneath the covers, grabs the waistband of my briefs, pulls me back stumbling to the bed. I shriek with laughter as Dan grapples with me—his hands are everywhere, my stomach, my chest, my legs, my cock. With a sexy growl, he kisses my shoulders, the back of my neck, my cheek, anywhere his lips can touch. “Dan!” I cry, putting up a light resistance to his roaming hands. Everywhere he touches, I feel palm-shaped patches of lingering warmth stain my skin, and his kisses leave wet imprints all over my upper body. Like a trapdoor spider, he tries to pull me under the covers with him, but I kick and fight in defiance until my laughter turns breathless. “Baby—”

  Pressing his lips to my ear, he tells me, “Stop.”

  The result is instantaneous—I stop thrashing and just lie in his arms like a rag doll, my head back on his shoulder, my heart beating wildly in my chest. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing along my collarbone. “Don’t fight me.”

  “I’m not.” His hands stroke my stomach, my legs, soothing me. Maybe this is what Ray meant, something to calm me down. I close my eyes and never want to open them again, just lie here in this embrace and feel these hands petting me quiet. “I love you, too,” I murmur. “I was just playing.”

  Dan’s lips smile in the hollow of my throat. “I know.” He works his way up my neck to my mouth, turning my face towards his as we kiss. “Are you ready for today?” he wants to know.

  I shrug, an awkward movement lying like I am in his arms. “As ready as I can be,” I reply. I realize that isn’t quite an answer.

  But Dan nods, as if he didn’t expect anything more. He studies me for a moment, our faces merely an inch apart, and this close I can see the stubble growing in above his ears, thick wires of hair that he’ll see in the mirror today after his shower and shave away to a dark smudge. “You saw your aunt last night,” he says.

  It’s not a question. He means Evie, I know he does, and when I slip out of his arms, he lets me go. I slide off the bed, tugging my underwear up over my nakedness. The sound of the waistband snapping into place is loud between us. Kneeling on the floor, I turn and fold my arms on the bed, rest my chin on my wrists, look at him peeking out from the blankets like a little boy. “I thought you were asleep,” I tell him. Last night, after coming back from the kitchen, I was fairly certain Dan wasn’t awake when I got back into bed.

 
; He pushes the covers away enough so he can run a finger along an invisible line on the outside of my forearm where the hair seems to end. “Maybe I dreamed it then.”

  “No,” I assure him, “you didn’t.” I bite at the back of my hand and stare into the promising shadows where the covers have pulled away from his body. There’s a hint of muscle, one nipple dusky with darkness, then a tantalizing stretch of shade that runs the length of his chest to gather at his waist. When he pulled me onto the bed, I felt his wood, a hard shaft poking into my hip with an almost obscene insistence. I wonder if we have time to take care of that now. It’ll turn the discussion away from the dead woman I spoke to last night, at any rate. “I thought you were asleep,” I say again.

  His response is simply, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Actually now, by the light of day, last night seems unreal to me—maybe I was the one dreaming, I don’t know. But if I say no, Dan will think I’m shutting him out again and that’s the last thing I want to do, especially at a time like this. “I had a headache,” I start. Holding my eyelid shut, I tell him, “Here. It woke me up.”

  Even though the pain is gone, he leans forward and kisses the bridge of my nose by my right eye as if that alone would have been enough to make everything better. I close my other eye, too, and let him kiss me—I don’t have the heart to tell him that the pain has gone away. “Thanks, baby,” I whisper as he lies back. Jokingly, I ask, “Where were you at three o’clock this morning?”

  “Right beside you,” he says with a laugh. “You could’ve woken me up.”

  Something in my chest swells with sudden emotion. I love him, have I said that? I say it again just so he can hear the words, and they earn me another kiss, this one on my lips. “I didn’t want to bother you,” I murmur. He’s about to say I’m not a bother—the words are on the tip of his tongue, I see them in his eyes—but before he can set them free, I hurry on. “I just got up to get some aspirin. They keep it in a drawer out in the kitchen? And that pumpkin Caitlin made was on the counter, all cut up and spooky and shit. Then I heard something behind me.” I pause—it sounds silly now, did I really see Aunt Evie? It was just everything catching up with me, perhaps, the unspent emotions and the constant fighting, the headache, I’m sure that was a factor in it, too. “It wasn’t a ghost. More like…I don’t know, like she was just there, sitting there like she came downstairs for a midnight snack or something. She wasn’t…” I trail off, I don’t know how to explain it. “She wasn’t all white or see-through or anything like that. I don’t know, Dan, it was just her. She looked exactly the same way she did the last time I saw her, she looked alive, stupid as that sounds.”