Easy
Mercedes Siler
Copyright © 2018 Author Name
All rights reserved.
Dedication
For my big-hearted kids and supportive partner.
And for the people who take in strays with no expectations.
Chapter 1
I roll from where I’m lying on the sidewalk to throw up in the gutter in my parents’ neighborhood in Glendale. I’m surrounded by my friends and million dollar houses full of idiots who never look up to appreciate the blue skies and fluffy white clouds as they drift by. Blue skies the color of happiness. Happiness is too strong a word. Perhaps the word I’m looking for is contentment, or placidity, or the next step up from mind-fucking sorrow.
Pauly pulls me, excessively rough. “Come on, Ez, don’t puke again, man! People have probably already called the cops. I can’t get arrested again, man. My dad’s running for deputy sheriff. If I mess that up for him he’s gonna kill me.”
Pauly doesn’t think I can pull it together. He’s wrong, though. I’m the best pull it togetherer in the whole world.
I get up and follow my friends. Like a sheep. I’d rather be an amoeba. Amoebas eat all things. Amoebas eat sheeps and pigs.
“Ez! You’re freaking me out, man! What’re you talkin’ about? What the hell’s an amoeba?”
I hate vomit. I hate having my shirt stick to my chest. I hate sweating profusely, and I hate the paranoia. Why doesn’t Pauly know what an amoeba is? Weren’t we in the same biology class in school?
Jake hands me a lit cigarette. I never use to smoke. I kept my body clean like a temple and only used myself in my rebellion, mostly.
“Hey, Ez, you want me to walk you home?” Pauly asks.
“Naw, it’s alright.” He just wants to see Abby, my sister. But she’s not interested and even if she was, I still wouldn’t have him take me home just so he could see her. And even though I feel weird and my vision is all tunneled out, I think I can make it home. I think.
“Yeah, okay.” Pauly takes his cigarette back like an asshole.
“Do I look stoned?” I want to fly under the radar, and I can’t if I’m obviously impaired.
“Yeah. You do. Your eyes are like cat eyes, when they’re all hunty. Same orange color too. He looks like a fucking cat,” Jake laughs at me.
I fix my hair, but all I have is crazy zings everywhere. “How about now?”
They all laugh at me.
Whatever. I don’t care.
I flip them off as I walk away.
There’s a big gate and a huge green around my parents’ house like a golf course. The green and the trees go on forever. They’re meant to keep our lives private from the outside world where women have the right to speak and God’s wrath isn’t a constant threat. Some people would consider us fortunate for the way we live. I don’t always agree. For one thing, the windows are not climb-in-able. Another thing is I always feel like I’m Frodo taking the ring to Mordor walking through the place; it’s perilous and it takes forever.
I hop the fence and walk through the forest to the lawn to the house stopping once to heave from the exertion. It’s not really a forest, it’s just some trees.
I think I might die.
“Zechariah, Zechariah, let down your hair!” I yell up standing under my brother’s window. He’s older than me by ten months and Abby is younger than me by ten months. He could be gone and living in the dorms at UCLA and partying it up, but he chose to stay home so he could kiss our father’s ass with more ease.
“Ezra?” He pokes his head out the window to look down at me.
I don’t know anyone else who would be yelling at his window to get in the house. “Yeah. I’m coming in.” I climb the lattice to his window and fall in onto his floor.
“Oh my Lord, Ezra. You reek! Why didn’t you come in the door?”
I forgot about the door.
“Get out of my room. Gross.” He looks at me, feeling sorry for my lost soul. “Get out!”
I hug the wall as I make my way down the corridor where there’s a rail and a drop to my right, to the room with the black door.
Jake and I painted my door last week to piss off my dad, and, also, because darkness consumes my soul. I’m glad we did because I don’t know if I would have been able to find it otherwise.
I lie on the floor. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I can smell myself and the carpet. It smells like vomit and dust, and vacuum cleaners and fake flower smell. I don’t like it.
I’m completely wasted all the time.
*****
My window faces west, so the sunset comes straight in like a friend you never want to see again…every damn evening.
It was the orange glow that made me regain consciousness just now. I’m still lying on the floor breathing in the smells of the old carpet.
I get myself up and into my shower, washing the day away.
I do the shampoo and conditioner thing. My hair is crazy. If not conditioned properly, I can’t go outside.
The fog has cleared so I look at myself in the mirror as I do the rest of my getting-ready-to-go-out routine. My eyes are terrifying. I look like I haven’t slept in three years.
As I exit the bathroom, I see Jake is sitting on my bed. “Hey, Easy.” He grins.
I go back to get a towel. When I return he’s lying on my bed, arm over his face, belly exposed.
He wants me to go out with him tonight. We were out all night last night and that six hours of sleep I just got on my floor has done nothing for me. And something feels off about today, but I have to keep Jake out of trouble while he does his thing. “What kind of party is this going to be?” I ask. He has a circle of parties he hits when he needs money or his dad’s in town. There are those I like and those I don’t.
“I don’t know, hermano, I just gotta get away from home.”
“Your dad’s home?” His dad is a big, scary, mean, drunk, child molester monster.
He nods. “I saw his truck in the driveway and drove the other way.”
I hand him a shirt and my leather jacket.
“Sorry about puking on your shoes, too.”
“I’m sure I’ve puked on your shoes and if I haven’t, I probably will.” He shrugs it off. If any of us are involved, there will probably be puking.
“Yeah, you have. But I didn’t mean to get us so messed up.”
For a while I was numb and going through the motions of breathing to live. The pain has been creeping back in for a while, and it’s at the point where if my mind is running free, I can’t think about anything else.
Getting completely wasted helps.
Something’s wrong with Jake though. The way he’s looking out of my window with that expression is not his normal look.
“Are you eating with us?”
“Your papa’s not gonna like that. But if you’re itching for a fight then sure, I’m down.”
I grab my baby sister on the way downstairs. She has a nanny but I like holding her. Jake and I have both been taught that men are mostly for making babies, putting a roof over their heads, and yelling when they make mistakes. But we also understand what we’ve been taught by our parents is not the only way to be. He doesn’t quite share my infatuation with the baby though. He has so many brothers and sisters that babies aren’t a novel idea to him, but he understands it and doesn’t make fun of me.
When my mother was pregnant with her I was taking a break from school. I’d never thought of dying so much as I did then. Every day I thought about not getting up. Following my mom around during the day helped. Holding Hannah helps, too.
I hold her tightly and look at Jake. He has that weird look again.
“Are you okay?” We’re going to be late for dinner and Caleb Jones is going to be pissed, but I stop
at the bottom of the stairs to look at him.
“I’m scared,” he says quietly.
“Of what?” I’ve never known Jake to admit fear.
“Of what my dad is doing to my family while I’m doing this. I can’t do this much longer.” He pets Hannah’s little baby cheek. He looks at her for a moment and sighs. “Come on, Easy. Your own monster awaits.”
My father is nothing but an old, white, Baptist minister’s son who turned into a rich, asshole attorney and whatever else he can put his fingers in to pull out gold in the community. Compared to Jake’s monster, he’s nothing.
“Do I still look stoned?”
“Yeah. You should fix your hair, cabron.” He fuzzes my hair, grinning.
We make our way to the dining room from the kitchen, kissing the housekeeper on the way. She’s a real nice lady. She’s fed Jake and his brothers and let them sleep in the kitchen pantry before.
My father hates it when I enter from the kitchen, and when I’m about five minutes late. And I brought Jake. And I’m holding the baby. We might as well be walking into fire and brimstone. They’re all sitting around the table with their hands in their laps, waiting to eat until everyone is present. The housekeeper puts another place setting at the end of the table for Jake.
“So, you decided to grace us with your presence, and with this riffraff no less. How considerate of you,” my father says in his old Alabama accent. “Have you kept the Lord’s blessing away long enough? Shall we say grace?”
“Yes, go ahead.” Answering his rhetoric pisses him off.
“Ben, why don’t you say grace.” His eyes narrow. That’s the beginning.
“Yes, Ben, why don’t you?” I agree.
My oldest brother, Ben, says a prayer to a judgmental, vengeful God. I try not to listen to their prayers anymore. I believe God loves me and doesn’t dwell on my imperfections like they do.
Ben is in medical school. He’s home for probably the last summer under the Jones roof. He’s sitting closest to our father with our mother across from him. Our little brother Micah, Is sitting next to Abby. He’s a really good kid. He’s starting kindergarten next year. Abby is just about to start her second year of college.
“I don’t know what you two see in each other. All I see is a couple of doped up homosexuals playing house, and Jesus sees the same thing.” Mr. Jones, my father, is talking to me but looking at my mother who keeps her head down, nibbling at her food while he continues to rant.
The red crawls up my skin from the anger in the pit of my stomach. I watch my sister’s cheeks bloom pink with embarrassment for me, and my little brother looks at me, trying to see what his father sees. Jake shifts in his seat, sitting up straighter. And my weak mother, sitting beside her husband, is not saying a damn thing for her son. Abby looks at me in defeat. She tries hard to make me strive for peace and I always fail her. She holds her hands out for Hannah so I give her over after one last look.
I look into Mr. Jones’ ice blue eyes with my own the color of fire. “Sir, I hope Jesus doesn’t see anything the same way we do. Jesus was made in God’s image, and he is a God of love.” This is the way we fight.
“Do not be misled, Ezra. Jesus detests what is bad and what you do is deplorable in his eyes. You are an abomination.” He tries to piss me off by accusing Jake and me of being gay lovers. He couldn’t possibly believe it, given my history with women.
I don’t have to look at Jake to know he’s just eating his food and making Micah laugh while the rest of the table has gone quiet, waiting for my response.
“For a supposed man of God, you certainly know a lot about unclean things. All you ever talk to me about are my perversions, the things you think I do. Your thoughts, not mine.” I glare at him.
“I know what the Bible says about people like you and your friends. You will not be inheriting God’s Kingdom.”
“I believe God loves you. And if God can love you, he can also love me.”
“You’ll not disrespect me or Jesus. You and your boyfriend need to get out of my house. I’m not dealing with your bullshit tonight, Ezra.”
I stand and so does Jake. I throw my napkin. “I’m not gay, but if I was I’d wear it proud every day to piss you off, you self-righteous bigot.”
“I’m not in the mood to deal with your childish philosophies, Ezra. Get out before I call the police.”
I stand, slamming the heavy chair back.
“Get the hell out of here, Ezra.” He shakes his head in disgust and goes back to eating.
We walk back through the kitchen and up to my room. I have to get money and stuff. I like to have everything I need in case I’m gone a while.
We walk across the grass and through the forest to Jake’s car. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He hands me cigarettes so I can smoke away the anxiety of riding in cars. “Ready?”
“Yeah. I am.”
Chapter 2
We park about a block away from the party. Not too long ago we were at a party where the cars were so packed in around the house we couldn’t find ours afterward. We were wandering when the cops started following us and saying shit. We said shit back and they beat the hell out of us and took us all in to the police station. Pauly’s and Darry’s parents came to get them. Jake spent the night in jail. I got dropped off at my house and never saw the inside of the police station.
We stand in the open doorway. My brain feels like it’s going to melts with the loud music. Jake nudges me and we walk in. In every corner on every couch on every bank of pillows there are people having sex, doing lines and drinking. Jake looks around for the guy he’s supposed to meet, and I look around seeing dirty, fogged over sex eyes looking at me because we’re at a coke party and that’s what they do. As soon as I sit they’ll all come and start touching me, asking for coke and talking about my eyes or whatever and most of the time they’re not asking, they’re taking.
They’re playing Dead Kennedys and there are people around our age slam dancing in one room and we jump in. I love the pain of bodies slamming into me, physical contact from complete strangers who know me for a millisecond and then move on to know someone else in the same way. I love looking at myself in the mirror later and seeing bruises I don’t remember getting, and being caught in the whirlpool, not thinking of anything else but sound and movement.
I got punched, though, and I am not going to get my face ruined. Not tonight just for the sake of dancing. I have a job interview coming up and my nose is perfect the way God made it.
We find a seat and they flock to us like crows heading to their nests at sunset. I drink like no tomorrow because I’m both revolted and devoured by desire. It’s a hard contradiction to stomach. My skin is crawling and my body is acting of its own accord as it’s touched.
Something in the corner of my vision is bothering me, beyond the girls trying to get me to kiss them, and turning to Jake when I don’t. I shouldn’t look. Should I look? It’s been my experience that not looking is pretty much always the wisest course of action.
But wisdom is often lost on me.
I look around, trying to find what my brain is telling me to see.
There are more dirty cokeheads coming toward me and they’re obscuring my vision.
I see it. I see her. She’s handcuffed to something above her head. She doesn’t look like everyone else. She’s not dressed up to party. Her hair is an ethereal shade of pink. There are a couple of guys doing things to her body, but she’s staring at me with the lightest and most beautiful silver eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re locked with mine and they’re angry. One of the guys is grabbing her boobs in a way that isn’t nice, and it isn’t because he likes them, it’s because he wants to hurt her and she’s so beautiful to me I don’t want to see it. She looks super young. She has to be. A tear is sparkling in the corner of her eye, and I’m totally wigging out. She’s freaking me out looking at me like this and seeing her naked body and what those guys are doing to her is causing
an intoxication induced freak out, especially since I don’t know how old she is.
Being handcuffed has to be one of the worst things ever. Not having any control and being at other peoples’ mercy is not good. Any number of crazy things could go wrong, especially at a party this big, with so many drugs. What if there’s a fire? Those guys aren’t going to stay around to make sure she’s okay. They’re going to run to save their skin and leave that beautiful little girl to die.
She breaks her gaze and turns her eyes to the ceiling.
“Jake,” I whisper and tap him, still watching her.
He nods and looks at her too. “I think she belongs to him. I’ve seen her before.”
I look at where he’s pointing. It’s some fat sleazy fuck talking up some other sleaze. I think I’ve seen him before. He’s one of those porn guys who tries to pick up on the girls. I don’t like him.
I hear sirens.
Everyone who can, runs. And the people who can’t are left behind, lying around, stoned into oblivion. I wish I was the type of person who stayed around and helped. I’m more of a get the hell out of Dodge type of a person.
Jake is pulling me but the booze has already made me foggy. I think I want to make sure the girl is okay, but I can’t see her. Jake pulls at me and yells for me to run but I find myself waiting to see if the girl makes it out.
The crowd clears.
She’s gone.
I run after Jake who is running to the back of the house. He disappears out the window and I do too. We get to the street and start walking casually.
We sit in the car, catching our breath and drinking the rest of the champagne. He tosses the empty bottle out the window and starts driving. “Where to Easy?”
“I dunno. I smell like dirty girl.” The words slur together in my mouth. I hate it. I wish I never knew how bad stuff made me feel.
“Me too. I wish they’d run with us sometimes.” His words are slurry too.
I shake my head. “It’d be okay if they were normal girls.”
Easy Page 1