“I’m here to take you home, sis.”
“I don’t need to go back there.” She said. “I’m on my way–
She glanced over her right shoulder, eying the battered brown suitcase leaning against the other side of the bench. The big brass tacks bordering the top and bottom were streaked with tiny scratches; it had more wear and tear on it than their father.
“Daddy’s worried sick about you. He wants you to come home so we can eat breakfast together.”
“I’m not hungry.” She hissed. “I’ll wait until Reginald picks me up so that I have real food. The kind of food cooked by–”
“the best chefs from France?”
A line of confusion creased Dawn’s forehead as she gawked suspiciously up at him. He patted Norm’s shoulder and, with a low painful grunt, knelt down beside of the bench. Cooter was three years older than his little sister, which meant old age was still playing hell with his bones.
“How–” She muttered, her face creasing with disbelief. “How did you know?”
“I’ve known for a long time, Dawn. And so have you.” He said, his voice brimming with sympathy. “Everything you’ve told everyone was the same thing he told the other women he scammed. Do you remember when you stole Momma’s brooch from her jewelry box Daddy put in the attic and pawned it in Johnson City?”
Her face flushed with shame, a tear protruded from the corner of her right eye and cleaved a lucid trail across the patch of rouge still blooming across her cheek. Her face devoid of any expression, she mumbled through pursed lips before raising her voice so that everyone could hear.
“He said that if I sent him some money he would send me a ticket in the mail and then he would meet me at the bus station and take me–”
“‘to his castle on the hill overlooking London and make you his bride’. You weren’t the only he told that story to, sis. He’s not real. Reginald Barrington is just a fake name made up by somebody who lied to steal your money. He didn’t really love you, Dawn. He lied to you just like he–”
‘Lied to everyone else’ was what Cooter wanted to say.
Norm had been informed of the situation by Dawn’s father, Bo Matthews and did his best to keep it under wraps. Thanks to his secretary Hannah, it didn’t take long for everyone in town to know what happened. He never understood the validation people got from spreading gossip but that’s what you get when you live in Small Town America; people with nothing better to do than cut people down behind their back.
Dawn leaped up from the bench, her face twisted with mad feral hunger and gave a pained gasp. She lunged at Cooter and began to pound her tiny white-knuckled fists hard against the center of his chest. He stood ramrod still, his body never faltering under the damage she failed to inflict.
Realization led to foolishness, which then led to her being angry at herself for believing Reginald’s deceitful fantasy. She’d gone to great lengths such has treating her family aside like garbage and selling her deceased mother’s most prized possession to be with that cold, heartless bastard. If there was one thing a person could always hold onto, the one thing that would always meant the most, it was love; pure and unconditional love.
Norm would’ve intervened by now but not today. Not on the third day of the third week of every month when everyone in the town of Madisonville could set their watch and find this woman sitting right back on that very bench, bragging about and waiting for a man who never existed.
The crowd gasped in unison. Norm flashed an authoritative stare at the crowd and raised his hands in a calming gesture.
Her resolve diminishing with each passing second, Dawn’s fists slackened into a slow-motion barrage of gentle taps; her arms grew weak from exertion and flopped down against her sides. Her hair lay across her head in light brown tangles as a river of sweat beads and tears slid down her face and distorted her makeup, sending rings of wet black mascara oozing down her cheeks. Her head slumped toward the middle of her back, she drooped over and sat down on the edge of the curb.
Norm heard a chorus of faint whispers rising up from the crowd; he could see that a few of them were crying. Cooter stooped down, cradled his little sister’s hips, hoisted her off of the curb and onto her feet. He crouched down to retrieve her suitcase from the sidewalk, his eyes still constricted from lack of sleep, and walked beside of his little sister.
Her head resting against his right shoulder, she wiped the mass of jet-black mascara from her face with her right hand and lowered her arm back down. Norm breathed a sigh of relief, shook his head and drew a long pocket of wildflower air deep into his lungs.
“He said he loved me and that–”
"he'd take you for his bride." He reminded her while snatching her suitcase from the sidewalk "You'll make any man a beautiful bride, sis. It just won't be today."
As Cooter carried her off, her misguided aura parting the crowd like Moses, Norm sauntered into Lizzie’s Café with the sad realization that all it took was a few sweet words to whittle the human soul down to nothing more than a broken heart.
A DIFFERENT KIND OF THERAPY
This story is for all of the bullies out there.
We hope you’re happy about everything you ever did.
The following conversation was recorded on April 26, 2018 at 10:15 p.m. It was found six hours later by two uniformed officers from The Logan City Police Department at 3:45 p.m.
Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Doctor Moore.
No problem, sir. I’m sorry I didn’t get your last name.
Ryan Hudson. I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important, but I had to see you.
(Door clicks. Shuffling footsteps)
It’s a nice day, isn’t it? I like it when the sun bounces off the edge of the skyscrapers. It makes them look like knives.
Huh?
Nothing. I was just saying that it’s a nice day.
My son is going on a class field trip to the zoo today. He’s pretty excited about it.
I bet. I know you have other patients to see so I’ll try to be–
It’s okay, Mister Hudson. You’re the only person I have scheduled today so there’s no rush. I’ll be closed until Tuesday because I’m going to Cleveland this weekend.
Vacation?
Funeral. My best friend died.
I’m sorry to hear about that.
That’s okay. What is it you wanted to see me about?
I can’t shake this feeling no matter how hard I try. I need to find out even if it’s the last thing I do. Aren’t you going to write all of this down?
No, I’m recording it.
Really? That little thing will record everything we say. It doesn’t look like a tape recorder. At least not the ones I remember.
Yeah. It looks like a ball point pen but it beats having to write everything down.
(Moore clears his throat)
That’s cool.
So, what it is that’s–
Sorry (sighs) How can people be so inhumane these days? Is there any kindness left in this world? We’ve got so much going on around us that we never take the time to embrace every second of our life and treat people as we’d like to be treated. Where I come from, respect is a two-way street; you give it, you’ll get it.
To be quite honest, some people have to do so in order to establish dominance.
I’m not saying people can’t be social with one another but why can’t they just not measure our necks for nooses.
If you disrespect them, don’t be surprised if they do it back to you.
(Moore clears his throat)
That’s what I thought, too but then I started to think about something that happened to me when I was a teenager and it made me think otherwise.
Tell me about it.
Are you sure?
It’s what I’m here for (Moore scoffs) isn’t it?
True. Well I wasn’t part of the popular cliques, you know. I never went out for any extracurricular activities because my parents were always dragging me
from one town to the other because my father couldn’t hold a job to save his ass, so it didn’t really make much sense for me to make–can I get a glass of water?
Sure.
Thanks.
(Footsteps padding across the room. Faucet hums, then dies. Glass tinkles)
Please continue.
I was thirteen and very shy around most people, but my only friends were the books I liked to read. I read a lot a poetry and horror fiction and I still do. They’re the only things that managed to stick around in my life.
Books are a great distraction.
Then I got to realizing very quick that being different didn’t mean you were accepted for who you were. It just made me a bigger shit magnet for every swinging dick in that–
(Silence)
What’s wrong, Mister Hudson?
I’m sorry I didn’t mean to cuss.
It’s okay. I’ve heard much worse coming from my other patients. Please continue.
So, then they drag me to this crappy little town called Logan because my father wanted to be closer to his family although they didn’t give one iota of shit about me or my mother. And it wasn’t like I could say no because I was thirteen but then I also like to think that Mom just went along with it so he’d shut the hell up about it.
Was he ever abusive toward you and your mother?
He liked to beat us up on days that ended in ‘why’
It’s a common thing for victims of abuse to give in to their abusers demands in order to make their lives easier for them and their children.
Anyway, I had to go this school on top of this hill and they had these pansy ass colors, too. Who the hell walks around wearing purple and white? I wouldn’t be caught dead in those colors if I–are you okay, Doctor Moore?
I’m fine.
You were biting your lip just a few seconds ago. Are you in any kind of pain?
My knee’s been giving me fits, but it’s okay. Keep going, please.
I was walking to my locker one day when my books were slapped out of my hand and they spilled out onto the hallway. My Superman comic slid under some kid’s shoe and he stepped on it and left a big shoeprint on it. One of the teachers was nice enough to come and help me pick everything off the floor and then write me a note so I wouldn’t get wrote up for being tardy.
Did you find who was responsible for slapping your books out of your hands?
A couple of eighth graders named Travis Wilson and Jason Adler.
And did you confront them?
Oh, hell no. I didn’t want to make matter worse, so I ignored them in the hope that they would do the same. You know, respect being a two-way street and everything. But then I realized they were the gym teacher’s assistants and not only did they pick me last in all of the activities but they told everyone a bunch of rumors about me that weren’t true and really hurt.
I’m sorry to hear about that.
That’s okay. But then nothing hurts more than when your parents believed them no matter how many times you told the truth.
Was there anything about that place that you liked?
One thing, maybe.
Okay, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Was it your favorite subject? Did you make friends with a teacher?
Her name was Sandra Mohler.
A girl, huh?
There are girls and there are angels. She was an angel. Five-foot-nine, long dark-brown hair and the most gorgeous green eyes.
Did you ever ask her out?
If I was too shy around other people, what makes you think I was gonna do that?
Even if she turned you down, it would’ve helped you shake off your shyness. The only thing you should’ve been afraid of was what she would’ve said.
I never got the chance to ask her out especially since–
We can stop here if you like.
No, I need to get this off my chest or it’ll keep tearing me apart.
If you insist but I need to inform you that if I reserve the right to stop the session at any time.
I bought a notebook and started writing all of these poems about her. My private thoughts and feelings were in these poems, too and I only did it because I knew she’d never go for a lump like me but then I thought that I would give them to her one day to let her know how I really felt. I mean, girls like poems, don’t they?
It depends.
I was writing two and three poems a day and every one of them was about the dreams I had of her and the life I dreamed of having with her. The way her top lip slid up to show a little gum every time she smiled and the way her eyes glinted in the overhead lights when she stared up at the blackboard during class.
You’d gotten this far. Why didn’t you show them to her?
It wasn’t like I could hide them forever. I was standing beside of my locker one day and I hung my Red Sox cap on the inside hook when I saw Sandra standing at the other end of the hallway inside of her little clique of friends and laughing about something one of them said. I took my journal out of my bookbag and started writing my next poem when my notebook was snatched right out of my hand and when I turned around that stupid prick Jason was holding it over my head and then his fat ass boyfriend slammed me up against the wall and held me there while he read every line out loud to everyone in the hallway and when he was done he’d tear out the pages and crumple them up and drop them onto the floor. Each word he read was like a knife in my heart and he just kept plunging that blade into my heart and soul deeper and deeper and deeper inside of me, laughing while all of my private thoughts were no longer private but laid out on the table for everyone to see.
Did any of the teachers come out to help you?
Yeah, after everyone else laughed me right out of that place. I ran home screaming and crying and I begged my parents not to make me go back and they–
(Hudson sniffles)
–made me go back there and then everyone called me names and then the principal took me aside and told me that Sandra’s parents threatened to sue if I didn’t stay away from her so I never said a word to anyone at all for the rest of the time I was there. And the nightmares were something too, Doc. All I could hear was their childish laughter and then snippets of my personal thoughts echoing through the hallways of that cruel and sadistic place. There are times when I dream about being a father but then I realize that they’re gonna have to face tough times like that and I say no no no I’m doing this to them. I’m not going to subject them to that kind of disrespect.
Life is full of challenges, Mister Hudson. It’s how we persevere that makes us the person we are.
Why couldn’t they just respect my space and leave me alone? Why do people have to be so inhumane to the kid standing in the corner doing nothing to no one? I’d rather bash my toes in with a sledgehammer then go about the rest of my life knowing that I had anything to do with–
I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you thought. I’m actually a proud graduate of–
I know you are. I know more about you than you think.
What makes you–
You have a wife named Penny who works as a secretary at a local accounting firm. Your daughter Erica goes to Logan Middle School and she’s captain of the volleyball team.
I think we’re–
No, I don’t think we’re done, Doctor Moore. Or should I call you by your real name, Travis Wilson.
(Silence)
Don’t tell my name didn’t ring a bell? I mean there was only one Ryan Hudson who attended Logan Middle School.
If I could just go on record and say that I’m–
You’re only saying that because you’re afraid of what I’m capable of doing. You took your wife’s last name because you did–
SHUT UP!
It wasn’t very hard to find you especially since they put your picture in the health and medicine section of the local newspaper. It was right next to the caption LOCAL DOCTOR WINS NATIONAL–
You never loved Sandra like I did, you little twerp! I’d been talking to her in gy
m class for the past two years while you were off writing your sappy-ass sonnets and acting like you were too chickenshit to say anything to her.
Now there’s the Travis Wilson I remember from high school. The same sadistic, broke-ass prick who bullied everyone because if his life sucked then so should everyone else and that’s not how this works.
(Glass slides across table)
I’m not going to do anything to your family for what you did to me because then that would be wrong. It doesn’t make sense for me to go after them for the pain you caused me.
(Silence)
Why so quiet, Doc? Josh wasn’t as quiet even after I cut the brake line on his car.
You killed Jason?
I’ve been pretty busy these past few weeks. I even paid a visit to Sandra, but just in case you’re–
How is she?
Sitting poolside with a margarita in one hand and the pool boy’s dick in the other. She didn’t turn out to be any different than the girls she used to hang around with. Married to some cee-eee-oh by their thirties, drinking Bloody Marys’ and cabana boys until three and blah-blah-blah.
You’re an asshole, you know that.
You’re the asshole, Travis. You and Jason and that fucking school and my parents made me the asshole I am today. By the way, Jason’s death is going to be a closed casket deal since that fat fuck didn’t have a chance in hell of stopping his car before it hit the tail end of that semi at ninety miles an hour.
What’s-what-what–
(A soft gurgle fills the background)
Are you okay? You don’t look too good, doc.
I can-I can’t-my throat is–
They were right about aconite. It really does work.
Call-call the–
(A loud bubbling sound fills the background)
You sweat profusely, and you have an irregular heartbeat and then you slowly start to ashphyx–
(A soft thud followed by the sound of shattered glass)
Well, I feel so much better now that I’ve got all of that off my chest. I think I’ll take a drink too. No sense in having it all go to waste. Oh, shit. I didn’t know we were still recording so I’ll just go ahead and take a sip and-mmm that is some good water. Let’s just go ahead and shut this—
Dark Avenues Page 17