Tail

by Julian Duenker

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  Slaps from the palms of the sun pressed red marks in Susan cheeks. She felt them sharpening her cheek bones before she could see anything. Her eyes were shut tight afraid to accept her situation. Her boots took a few seconds for their leathery skin to realize what had happened last night. But when they did, they left even worse marks then the sun.

  The sound of traffic was quiet, pausing and prepping for the morning to start. With the sun barely climbing over the rooftops, it could only have been five or six o’clock. Susan was awake at that point, but refused to open her eyelids. As the memories of last night slipped their underwear back on, Susan decided to ease herself into reality by the sound of the city alone.

  The sound of her wet fingers splashing underneath her was calming, yet also disgusting because she didn’t know exactly what they were splashing in. That realization abruptly cracked her eyes open. Pulling her hands up with jolted fear, she stared at the puddle beneath. O thank god, she thought, relaxing herself back into a depressed hunch. It was just a rain puddle taunting worse notions.

  She was laying in an alley way between a drenched stack of discarded cardboard boxes and a large metal bin. Her clothes held on tightly to drink infused fun from the last night. Her boots stuck out from the wall with her left knee arched to the sky. A tear in her jeans pointed directly towards her. She fixed her view on it and wrapped her eyes in the few threads that hung loose.

  It was the cool grip before the thundering punch. A few seconds, half a minute to be super precise is how long it took for Susan to sink back into the normal current of human emotion. For that half minute she felt cold, empty, void of any reason to care about her frozen fingers and light pockets. It comforted her as if all her ties to life were cut.

  Nothing sifted through her mind, apart from the odd car that sliced passed. The walls didn’t make sense either, with their layered bricks appearing foreign to her. Everything around her was new, as if dripping with blood, wrapped in a coat of wasted placentas. Ugh. Water felt fresh to her as she dragged the tips of her fingers through the thick of the puddle as if discovering it for the first time. Bloody thick and as cold as the mouldy drink taste that collected in the seams of her drooling jowls.

  Then another slap straight across her cheek, starting at the bridge of her nose and ended under her left eye. Just like the sun except this time the burnt marks came from her boots stamping and pulling her back onto their ground. Innocently created fun was great and all but her boots refused to last too long in a self-pitying fantasy. Images of Charlie and Sam flooded into her forehead slapping and clapping their hands up against the inside of her skull. It resulted in an expected headache that would cling onto her for the remainder of the day.

  She stood up with hurried breathing and brushed her jeans, feeling the need to remove any perverted dust that might have collected over the night. Her hands went straight to her pockets. Her gaze was locked onto the lack of indentation. Yup, no phone and no money. All that was left inside her pocket was her set of keys. They were lonely, crying their hearted rings to a clatter as she pulled them out into the air. Susan hooped the keys around two fingers and raised them to her chest. Desire started to knock on her knees but every time she looked to see what was causing her wrecked joints, she saw nothing but a haunted and tightly wrapped image of Mathew. Susan paced around the alley with every step sharpened by the events of the past few weeks.

  Every three steps she would look down to her pockets, hoping that she would see some form of bulk to her jeans. She desperately wanted something to be there, and every time she looked down she was left empty. Then she decided to do some slapping of her own. The alley took the brunt of it. Flung boxes bruised by the tips of her boots. The morning silence was torn by the frustrated howls coming from Susan. She held her chest wrapping her hands until they met behind her back. Puddles erupted upwards as if trying to re-join the clouds. Saliva tore from the edges of her mouth and left as balls of spit. If possibilities allowed her, she would have ripped the bricks from the wall beside her and ate them. She was also hungry.

  The knocking of a door could be heard, but all Susan saw was the wood that she rested on. It was clearly old with scratched marks of its age through oddly toxic worn blue paint. She held a few torn strands of her chequered shirt in her right palm with her thumb caressing and stretching the material. The door opened with mumbled words hidden behind the slow swing. Kevin was half dressed with his attention fully on trying to fix his shirt.

  Not knowing who was at the door he spat out a fisted gesture. “Who the? At this hour?” then his sentence broke when he lifted his chin to see Susan hanging herself at the foot of the door. Her face was tired and her shoulders drooped down to her hips demanding the comforting grip of family.

  He saw from the sun marks on her forearms that she had been outside the entire night. He instinctively reached for her, suffocating her with his worn arms. The comforting grasp from Kevin fulfilled her built up demand for warmth. In an instant she felt her bones evaporate and slide out of her, riding each heavy breath that resulted in dust spouting before her mouth. Her organs seemed to have disappeared underneath the folds of her weight. She felt light, almost empty and unaware of what she was doing. The tighter he gripped the further her entrails and guts seemed to distance themselves from her wrecked stomach. Then her brain and whatever organs were leftover in her body just danced their way to the exit. Her arms felt like cotton bags and her boots had forgotten their existence entirely. The relationship she had with his shoulder was all she needed. Some great breakfast as well.

  Not many words were said next apart from the few spattered bits of info about what happened last night. “Stole my phone and my money and left me in an alley.” He insisted on her getting some sleep. Prepped the house with warm walls and heated tea cups. He helped her walk up to her old room dragging and carrying her light weight and empty organs. He was surprised she was so light which solidified her feeling that way. Shit maybe all of my guts did just disappear... I’ll have to remind myself later to check if I still have everything.

  They went up the stairs which was still covered by shades of Mr Black. Morning hadn’t erected yet. They neared her room and Kevin reached out his left arm to the door. Susan could walk, she wasn’t limping with a desire for pity. She just felt the need to hold onto Kevin for the trip to her room.

  Her father’s room was shut, barred from any rolling eyes frolicking about in the place. Kevin forced her childhood bedroom door open with a straight push without bending his elbow. Her room rested in the same foetal position as when she had left it. Her bed was made with perfect tucked corners and her pillow teased the edge of the bed, prepped to fall, and prepared to hit the ground.

  Susan sat down on her bed. Her adrenaline from a lack of sleep had cooled down and she was left pulling her eyes back into their respective sockets. Kevin closed the curtains and walked towards the fringe of the door. As he waddled he realised that his belt was still only half closed. Susan fondled the edge of the bed wrapping and filling her palms with loose clumps of her pale quilt cover.

  Once he fixed his worn belt he rested his attention on Susan. With one hand on the frame of the door he said; “I’ll be in the garden working, cleaning really.... if you need me all you have to do is call me. If you are too tired and shocked to do that, then send me a message through telepathy. I’ve been training a lot lately and I think I got the hang of it.”

  “That’s great and all, but working in the garden at this hour?” she said with heated lips. “Now that I’m up I might as well do something.” the laughter slipped out from his cheeks with a slight shake to the wrinkles of his face. Hair sharpened and curved in watery forms around his scalp reminding Susan how early it was in the morning. With one stroke he drove his hand through his hair forcing it to make friends with acceptable appearances, and then he left.

  The door closed and sound from the city seemed to kill itself outside her window. Tossing and distorting m
etal arms to the morning routine. Susan lay down on her bed and flung her limbs into whatever position. She always hated her pillow. It had a tear right up along the head of the cover, which frustrated her every second night. Of course she was never truly bothered to replace the pillow cover. She told herself it was due to her sentimental attachment to it, but the truth was she was just too lazy to do anything about it. Her boots were well aware of this as they slid from her ankles.

  Tilting her head to her right she saw a scratched mark etched into the wall next to her. It was a simple drawing of herself as a child, with anorexic limbs more akin to stick art. The light blue paint from the wall tore the edges for the picture with thin penned lines re-drawing the outline. She had a happy smiling face plastered into the round head. She could only have been eight or seven when she drew it.

  The drawing’s limbs were sharply bent upwards. Susan reached her hand out to touch the drawing. She didn’t know specifically why, apart from an incessant feeling to touch the picture as if its crudely drawn edges were the portrait of calm. Half way to her destination she halted her arm and pulled it back to the blanket.

  As she lay back in her bed with her arms placed atop her chest she chipped away at thoughts that stuck to her boots like chewing gum. The drawing reminded her of Kevin’s sister, her aunt, a missed lifetime. They hadn’t talked about her since Kevin’s health warning at the wall. It was reflex not to acknowledge the tortured and ruptured vein. It was best to let it rest and wait for the clot to do its job. Not this time, however. She saw the vein protruding from her own mattress. It was rough and frightening. To let it deal with its own pain would have torn further into the lining of the bed. With that Susan jumped the blanket and connected her legs with her boots once more.

  Everything was prepped, all the words that needed to be said, all the looks and acknowledgments that needed to be shared. Yet despite this she found it difficult to move herself down to Kevin. The longer she took the more her idea of a heartfelt conversation was pulled apart and all that was left was the need for acknowledgment. Ok if that’s all I need to do, then fuck it, I’ll just do the minimum. I’m tired, he is tired. It’s not like we are going to have a deep conversation anyways. With her justification neatly packed and bowed like a Christmas present she walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Kevin was standing at the back end of the kitchen facing the kettle. He had his ripped work shirt on. A large orange stain spread across his right thigh. Susan’s plans were sliced by the noise of Kevin’s pill box opening and closing. He knocked a few back without the need for water.

  Kevin turned around on the spot surprised to see Susan out of her bed so fast. “Fuckin hell... please tell me you aren’t walking around the house like a ghost scaring me like shite again. I thought you had passed that phase.” He said jokingly holding his hand up to his chest.

  “Oh it wasn’t a phase... I’m still at it... except I haunt other people’s houses now. They don’t find it nearly as funny as you did.” She said reciprocating his quiet laughter.

  “I don’t know how you remember it but... I never laughed. Not once.... you know I still have your ghost dress costume thing upstairs. Moths were at it last year but it’s... in good condition.” Kevin said as he placed his pills back into the press. Susan stood at the tip of the stairs waiting patiently for the necessary words to slip out of her. To her surprise nothing came out, leaving her to entertain her cold and tried knees. She wrapped her hands around her waist as Kevin walked out the front door into the garden. “And so why can’t you sleep?” he said as if expecting her to follow him out into the garden with him.

  The sun woke its crusted eyes to the skin of all the plants and trees in the garden. Branches curled slowly to the purring wind. It was as if the garden was tied to the idea of slow motion, and it was so frustrated by it, is that it spent all of its time trying to turn it off, waving back and forth looking for the off switch. Naturally since everything shifted in slow movements it took a while for the branches to reach the invisible off switch. The sight of the slow floral distress relaxed Susan.

  “I don’t know. I mean I do know. Guess I just have stuff on my mind.” she said planting her eyes in his erratic movements and jumps. He took a while to respond to her. His attention was divided between his daughter and all the plants that he raised from birth. Grabbing a brush from the wall beside the front door he walked onto the edge of the dipped oval shape path at the centre of the garden. The bizarre dip had collected an orgy of torn dead leaves and other various wasted greenery. With one hand on the stone edge he heaved his body and dropped into the deepest dip of the path. Why he felt the need to jump instead of walk an extra meter lay within his need to shock his knees. The force from landing a meter onto the ground shook aged tremors up his thighs. Refusing to acknowledge the slight pain, he acted according to the age that he wanted to be.

  “You can sleep in my bed if you want. After last night you need rest. And don’t bullshit me on it, you know it as much as I do that regardless of how strong you are, rest is always required... so what did you wanna talk to me about?” he said sliding his words down the hilt of his broom. The shaft was chipped and splattered by years of abused paint resulting in the brush end suffering from PTSD. Regardless of the screeching cry it made every time he scraped it across the ground he still forced it to work.

  “Why do you have to be so busy while we are talking, can’t you just give me a proper minute? Always giving the garden so much attention. I feel as if you aren’t listening to me then. Please don’t let this be like the field accident again.” Susan said digging her boots into the fringe between where the grass and stone connected. Both pieces of garden felt equally as cold and wet. Her left arm was free at her side with her other hand holding onto the lip of her shirt. The brisk drink of the wink wind poured up through the gap in her top which left her impatient and fantasising about returning to bed.

  “Fine, fine, so what’s bothering ya?” he said raising his head. His attention was boxed and packed to mimic that of a colourful present. It was a genuine present made from very real care and worry. The more he looked at her the more he realised how bothered and stunted she felt.

  Susan was expecting this moment. It was the entire reason why she got out of bed. Yet it felt like a surprise. The present was placed in front of her, lying crooked on the uneven grass. She opened the present.

  “I always thought our family needed to be bigger, more... somehow. I don’t really care anymore... take a break from the garden once and a while... for me?” Conversations born from the guts of hearts were far and few between for Susan and Kevin. They survived on passing words and a genuine need for each other. For that moment to come placed at the tip of her boots was new and frightening to her. Those few miserable words were as far as they would get to talking about their family.

  Susan shared a few lovingly cooked seconds with him. Her eyes darted from his strange pupils to the bottom of his broom. Still holding onto the bottom of her shirt she turned and left. The front door was open allowing Susan to smoothly transition into bed. Then finally the tortured trees had reached the “off” button for the slow motion that they were trapped in. Abrupt turnings and swift shifts commenced at the tips of all the branches acting as celebration for their freedom. With that the wind sped up throwing everything around. It brushed and flung Kevin’s hair from all the corners of his scalp. He had one hand placed on the broom and two feet lost among the dead leaves.