Dreaming In Color

by Charlotte Vale-Allen

  "You're history, Auntie Helen," he said, lifting the gun and taking aim. "I always wanted to do this." He smiled again. Again there was an explosion of sound and pain. This time in her shoulder. She couldn't hear, and the whole left side of her body had gone dead. She couldn't take her eyes off him, although peripherally she could see blood on her sweater. She kept looking at him, arbitrarily convinced that he'd stop now because she could see him, and he could see that she saw him. They were staring at each other. But whatever it was he saw only seemed to fuel him.

  There wasn't the slightest hint of anything human in those eyes. The gun roared again, then again. Pain consumed her. Still she kept looking at him, watching him tuck the piece of paper into his pocket as he gazed back at her, smiling. He actually seemed happy. She couldn't make sense of it. How he could appear so happy? She studied him, looking for some sign of remorse, some small indication that he was human, that he cared even minimally about the effects of his actions. But he just kept on smiling, as if having the finest time of his life. And all she could think was that she was seeing the living incarnation of the devil. She'd never believed in graphic black-and-white distinctions, with God representing everything good and the devil representing everything evil. But she was seeing it, right there in the kitchen of the house she'd lived in all her life. And the devil wasn't a red-suited demon with horns and a tail. He was an ordinary-looking man, of average height and weight, with dark hair and demented eyes and a bloodchilling smile that revealed his tobacco-stained teeth.

  "Thanks a lot, Auntie Helen." He blew her a kiss, then turned and walked down the hall toward the door. He didn't look back. He went out, closed the door.

  She looked up at the wall phone, thinking she'd call the police now, but it was too far away, she felt too sleepy. All she wanted was to close her eyes and go to sleep. She had to warn Bobby somehow, told her body to move. It wouldn't. It didn't seem to belong to her anymore, didn't want to respond to her commands. Her ears were ringing, waves of sound washing in, then retreating. And the air reeked of gunpowder, making it hard to breathe. She'd just close her eyes for a minute. Then she'd get to the phone.

  Her head impossibly heavy, she allowed her eyes to shut. She felt very cold and knew she'd have a stiff neck when she woke up. If she was going to take a nap, she really should go get the afghan from the sofa in the living room. But she was too tired even to think about moving. She'd sleep for a few minutes, and then she'd get to the telephone. She would. As soon as she woke up.

  * He was so high he wanted to start singing at the top of his lungs. He could-n't hear a goddamned thing, but he felt absolutely great as he climbed into the Firebird. Bobby was in Connecticut and he was gonna go get her. But first he had a few things to do. He'd go home and get cleaned up, then head over to Garvey's for something to eat.

  There were a couple of people poking their heads out their front doors as he took off but he didn't give a shit. He'd blown goddamned Helen away. It'd been the greatest high of his life. He hadn't been sure he could do it, and that first shot had been kind of hard to squeeze off. But he'd done it, and she'd gone flying across the room like some huge invisible hand had whacked her one. Whacked. Yeah. He had to laugh. It was perfect. Blood all over the place, and the look on her fucking face, like she couldn't believe it. Beautiful. He'd seen his mother, made out to himself it was payback time for every stinking, rotten thing she'd ever done to him and to his dad, too. Rubbing shit in his face, locking him in the fucking closet for hours at a stretch, pounding on him when he hadn't done anything, dragging him around by his goddamned hair. And letting his dad die out there on the cement path, taking her time calling for an ambulance. All those rotten Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners when she'd said, "Yeah, thanks," for the presents he'd gone to the trouble to buy her even though what he really wanted was for her to keel over dead right in front of him. That one was for you, Dad, he thought, loving the feel of the car, the surge of power as he eased his foot down on the accelerator.

  The gun smelled fantastic; he loved its smell, rubbed the gun over his cheek and lips, then sniffed the barrel, breathing in as deep as he could.

  He pushed the gun down between his thighs and got hard instantly. He'd never had such a rush, such a fantastic high. He tightened his thigh muscles, enjoying the ache in his groin.

  The smell was on his hands, too. He held first one then the other under his nose, inhaling the smell of power. He was king of the fucking universe; he could do anything. His chest felt like it had swelled up to at least a forty-four. He felt huge, like the goddamned Hulk. Fantastic! And he was suddenly so hungry he could eat a fucking horse. He'd get a double cheeseburger with bacon and a plate of well-done fries, none of that uncooked pale shit, but well-done. He'd tell Garvey to make sure those fries were golden. He could practically taste them. His mouth was watering, and the gun was hot between his legs. He sniffed his hands again, then licked his fingers, tasting the bitter, metallic residue on his skin.

  He couldn't wait to chow down. His stomach was growling. Jesus, but he'd loved it. He was halfway tempted to set off after Bobby there and then, forget going home, forget eating, just floor it and take off for the highway. Get to Connecticut, find the bitch, and take her out by inches, fuck her every way to Sunday, then shoot her in each arm, then the legs, then watch her flop around for a while before blasting her in the chest. But he had plenty of time and the advantage of surprise. He'd stick to his plan, go home and take a good hot shower, change into clean clothes, throw a few things in the car, then head to Garvey's. After that he'd play it by ear. He had all the time in the world, and he was going to enjoy this, prolong the high, keep it going until the very last minute.

  Twenty-Nine

  Penny dreamed the tooth fairy came and sat on the side of the bed. She looked just like Melissa but she had on a white sparkly dress and carried a magic wand with a star on the end. Penny thought she was beautiful, and the tooth fairy didn't even mind when Penny touched her sparkly dress.

  "You get a wish with the first tooth you lose," the Melissa/ fairy said. "Anything you want in the whole world."

  "Anything?"

  "That's right," the Melissa/fairy said. "Anything at all."

  "I don't know what to wish for," Penny said, and sat looking at the flat white tooth in the palm of her hand. She poked her tongue through the gap in her teeth, then looked again at the tooth fairy, saying, "You look like my friend. Are you Melissa?"

  The tooth fairy smiled and said, "No, I'm not, but we always choose a human form we like."

  "You mean you can look like anybody you want?"

  "That's right."

  "I wish I could do that," Penny said, thinking with a giggle that she could be a Ninja Turtle, or one of the Jetsons, or even a giraffe. It was a good thing she didn't have to choose, because she couldn't decide who she'd be.

  "You have to make a wish," the Melissa/fairy said very nicely.

  "Right now?"

  "Right now."

  "But I don't know what to wish for," Penny said, worried. "I have to think about it."

  "Oh, dear," the Melissa/fairy said. "You were supposed to have thought about it already."

  "But I didn't know. Nobody told me."

  The Melissa/fairy looked at her magic wristwatch, then gave a little shake of her head. "I'm afraid time's running out, Penny. You've got to make your wish now, or you'll lose it."

  "Okay," Penny said anxiously, trying hard to think of what to wish for. "Wait just one minute. I'm thinking."

  "Only one more minute," the Melissa/fairy said. "I have quite a few other children to visit tonight."

  "Okay," Penny said, thinking as hard as she could. "Just another second." Should she wish to be the richest little girl in the whole wide world? That would be greedy, and her mom said it was wrong to be greedy.

  But maybe it would be okay to ask for a little money, and she'd give it to her mom. "I wish for …" Wait a minute, How much should she ask for? The seconds were ticking off
the magic wristwatch. "I wish for eight, no, wait. I wish for twenty hundred dollars."

  The Melissa/fairy waved her magic wand and the tooth disappeared from Penny's palm. A stack of money replaced it. She counted the bills. There were twenty of them. When she looked up, finished her counting, the Melissa/fairy was gone, and Penny felt bad at having wished for money. She should have used her wish to help other little children, or to save the rain forest the way Mrs. Corey told them about in school.

  She got out of bed, being careful not to disturb her mom, and went to put the money on the night table beside her mom's bed. When she woke up, Mom would be surprised and happy, and she'd say now they could get the Honda fixed up or maybe they'd go to Disneyland. That'd be good. Her mom would be glad, Pen decided, getting back into bed. And wait till she told Granny and Auntie Eva that Melissa was the tooth fairy! They'd be so surprised.

  Bobby gasped, "No!" and heaved herself into wakefulness, putting out a shaking hand to turn on the light. She looked slowly around the room, mentally chasing Joe back into the shadows, pushing the dream away. Penny had kicked off her blankets. Bobby got up and drew them back over her, then stood for a time watching Penny sleep.

  After a minute or two she turned the light off and went into the kitchen to get a cigarette. She took a deep drag, then looked up the stairs. It would have been good to sit and talk, but Eva wasn't up there. She'd phoned at around ten to say she'd be home in the morning. She was spending the night with Charlie. She'd sounded kind of abrupt on the telephone, but Bobby decided that was because it embarrassed her to have to phone home like a teenager. It had to be hard for her, Bobby thought sympathetically, a grown woman obliged to let her aunt know where she was almost every minute of the day.

  She sat down and tried to think about beautiful things. At first her mind, like a disobedient child, kept wanting to go back to the nightmare. But gradually she was able to focus on a magnificent garden, with carefully laid-out flower beds and winding pathways leading down to the ocean.

  Penny threw her pillow aside, saw the three five-dollar bills and whooped with excitement. Grabbing the money, she said, "I'm gonna go show Granny!" and flew up the stairs before Bobby had a chance to say a word.

  Penny knocked at the door the way she was supposed to, then ran inside and climbed up on the bed, exclaiming, "Look what the tooth fairy gived me, Granny!"

  "Aren't you the fortunate one," Alma said, enjoying Penny's excitement. What she loved about children was the completeness of their emotional reactions. They hadn't yet been tainted by exposure to the larger world and so displayed their joys and woes without inhibition, holding nothing back. Their eyes and their thoughts were clear, and they laughed or wept without restraint. She truly loved children, especially this child. Penny reminded her daily of the simple pleasures of her own childhood, of the many good moments she'd experienced in the course of her life. Penny was an unexpected gift. She could no longer sit for hours indulging in death dreams because at regular intervals Penny would come hurrying in to see her, bringing the bounty of her enthusiasm. "What are you going to do with all that money?"

  Penny settled cross-legged atop the bedclothes and looked at the bills in her lap. "Maybe," she said, thinking, "I'll buy something nice for my mom."

  "That's very generous of you," Alma said, "but I think the tooth fairy would expect you to buy something for yourself. And I think perhaps your mother would too."

  "You think so?" Penny gazed wide-eyed at Alma.

  "Oh, I think that's the intention."

  "Weelll," Penny said, "maybe then I'll get some books and some crayons and some cut-out dolls. Or maybe I'll buy a new winter coat for Mr. Bear. I don't know. It's a big bunch of money, the most I ever had."

  "You'll have to think about it." Alma smiled, fairly assaulted by fondness for this sprite-like child. It was the same battering at the heart she'd felt when she'd had to explain to a six-year-old Eva that she was going to be staying on in this house because that's what her mother and father had said they wanted. The first time she'd told her, Eva hadn't had very much of a reaction. And Alma had been greatly relieved, having anticipated a wrenching emotional scene. Weeks went by, and then one evening the little girl had announced she wanted to go home now, and Alma had crumbled inside at the prospect of having to explain, again and more clearly, that Cora and Willard Chaney were never coming back; translating death into practical terms a child could comprehend. One of the worst moments of her life. She herself had lost a sister she'd loved far more than she'd ever realized, and the pain had eaten away at her insides like acid as she'd held the child and introduced her to the facts of death. Over the years, she'd suffered that same sensation of dissolving inside whenever one of the particularly energetic little girls at school was sent to her office to be chastised for insubordination. She might never have carried a child of her own—except in certain remarkably real dreams she'd had from time to time, when she'd lain naked on a table in a sterile room and pushed an infant out of her swollen body—but she'd mothered dozens, even hundreds of girls. And she'd treasured certain moments—instances of minor revelation—when she'd seen a child's eyes brighten with comprehension, or with relief, or in response to an affectionate display. "You'd better run along now and get dressed or you'll miss the school bus."

  Penny said, "Okay," and knee-walked across the blankets to give Alma a noisy kiss on the cheek before she climbed off the bed and, clutching her money, went hurrying off. "See you after school, Granny," she sang, closing the door with care before scampering off down the hall.

  Alma sank back against the pillows, thinking about Eva, wondering how long it would be before she announced her intention to marry Charlie. Not long, she thought. Now that Bobby had proved herself capable of taking care of everything. Eva was essentially free. A month or two, and she'd move on. It was good. It was time. The greatest gift a mother gave to her child was its freedom. She wanted Eva to have hers once again.

  Upon arriving home, Eva went directly to the kitchen to begin preparing breakfast for her aunt. She was putting bread into the toaster when Penny came running in, practically dancing with excitement.

  "Lookit all the money the tooth fairy gived me," she said, showing Eva the bills.

  "That's wonderful," Eva said, and bent to lift Penny into her arms, smiling as she swung the girl in a circle. "The tooth fairy came to visit you." Holding the child, she felt a sudden, wrenching sadness along with a heightening of her guilt. How could she wish that Bobby would pack up and leave when it meant removing Penny from the household? She loved this little girl. More importantly, so did Alma.

  "Yeah!" Penny beamed, then her brows drew together as she tried to remember. There was something about the tooth fairy she'd wanted to tell Granny and Auntie Eva, but she couldn't think what it was. "I gotta hurry and get dressed. Granny said."

  Eva put her down and Penny said, "Oh, I forgot," and went to put an X through that day's date on the calendar. Then she ran toward the apartment door, stopped and looked over. "How come you're wearing the same clothes from yesterday?"

  Taken aback by the child's acute powers of observation, Eva said, "I slept over at a friend's house." She'd forgotten the way small children seemed to notice the things you thought they wouldn't and were fairly oblivious of the things you imagined they'd see. Penny had the ability to make Eva feel transparent, just as Melissa once had and, to a large extent, still did.

  "Oh!" Penny nodded. "I'm gonna sleep over at Emma's, maybe, on Saturday if Mom says I can."

  "That'll be fun."

  "Yeah." Penny grinned, then hurried downstairs.

  Eva shook her head and moved to pour herself some coffee. Penny constantly reminded her of those years when she'd been engaged in full-time mothering. For a few moments, leaning against the counter sipping her coffee, she imagined what it would be like to have another child, to find herself pregnant at forty-three. One of her former editors had just had her first baby at the age of forty-two. Women were waiting lat
er and later to start having families. Age was no longer the deterrent it once had been. She thought of the strenuous lovemaking of the previous night and felt a twinge in her thigh muscles. A few months off the pill and she might easily get pregnant. But she knew she wasn't going to begin all over again with another child. She enjoyed her freedom—or at least she had, prior to Alma's stroke—even if she did suffer the occasional pang, missing Melissa's need of her. She'd loved being Mel's mother; of course she still did, but it was very different now. She'd evolved into an adviser and a confidante. As the parent of an adult child, she was free primarily to worry about the plethora of misadventures that might befall Melissa. So Eva worried—both waking and sleeping—about car accidents, rapists, caustic cruelties inflicted by snotty students, madmen with guns opening fire in a crowded McDonald's, fire, swimming and boating mishaps, all sorts of sickening things. But she made a conscious effort never to burden Melissa with her fears, just as Alma had kept hers to herself during the years she'd mothered Eva.

  Through the open apartment door she could hear Penny telling her mother to hurry, then the low husky murmur of Bobby's voice. Eva buttered her aunt's toast, thinking about the things Bobby had told her and her own overwhelming disgust at hearing those things. Under impossible circumstances, Bobby had managed to do a fine job of mothering. She was, as Charlie had said, a first-rate care-giver. She was unobtrusive, conscientious, generous, and gentle. At Eva's urging, she'd given voice to the alarming details of her marriage and now Eva could scarcely bear to look at her. Bobby's past and present vulnerability infuriated and oppressed her, made her feel like screaming. But it was wrong to feel the way she did.

  She'd solicited and accepted the woman's trust and was now playing a game of mental handball with it. God, but she wished Bobby would go away! The anxiety was like heavy-grade sandpaper, roughening all her surfaces. Contradictory emotions had her swinging first one way, then the other. She'd sat at that table and told Bobby she didn't deserve to have been treated the way she was. But a part of her didn't believe that. Just as a part of her insisted that Deborah had somehow contributed to her own undoing. Her common sense and compassion argued that none of this was true. No one deserved to be beaten or to die because she had a husband who was out of control. What she'd told Bobby had been the truth. So why couldn't she put aside her squeamishness and simply accord Bobby the respect she deserved?