by APRIL ASHEIM
Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit that he loved books. In fact, he loved books more than he loved people, and definitely more than he loved animals. The only thing he loved more than books was Allah, for it was Allah who created the great minds that created great books. Sometimes when Spring was asleep he would wander around his den and run his fingers along the spines of all of his books. Hundreds and hundreds of beautiful books. He felt like the Count from Sesame Street as he touched each one. "One book...two books...three books...(pause, cue lightning bolt)...three beautiful books! Ah-hah-ha!" There was so much knowledge sitting on those shelves that he could get drunk thinking about it. If he could absorb every bit of information from every one of his books he could control the world.
Sam cocked an ear, listening for Spring. She must have disappeared into the bedroom. He trotted out to his lawn chair. A breeze brought the scent of the book back up to him and he squirmed in his chair as he recalled one particular memory, the evening Spring was gone all night with her sister for a girl’s night out. He was alone in the house. The lights were low. Bach was playing on the radio. He felt that familiar longing and pull in his trousers.
He checked to make sure the driveway was empty, that she hadn’t forgotten anything. Seeing that the house was clear, he tiptoed to his den and pulled a book from his shelves. His hands slid over it, his fingers trembling at the feel of leather beneath his palm. His thumb fell into its grooves and bumps and dents, and he moaned with each new crevice he explored.
"Economics in a New World," he shuddered. He held it to his cheek for a long, delicious moment.
And then he licked it.
"Oh God." He was going to the Muslim equivalent of Hell for certain. But he didn’t care. His tongue forked out, digging into the gold lettering inscribed by some master. The taste of it was so strong, so primal he thought his pants would burst. He ran to the bathroom with it and locked the door. Spring knew nothing, of course. By the time she had come home the book had been replaced and she was none the wiser.
"Now those little bastards are going to be touching my books again," he said, imagining them sweeping into the house with their tiny, sticky hands, defiling everything he held sacred. He tasted the acid that bubbled up from his esophagus and took a swig of cold coffee to wash it away.
Sam wondered why, in retrospect, he had decided to keep his relationship going with Spring after he learned about The Twins. They were five-years-old when he met her, and when she mentioned she had boys that age he almost thought it was sweet, until they descended upon their home like the hounds of hell. They were loud. Hyper. Twitchy. Always doing stuff. Always talking. Always getting into everything. Touching things with filthy hands. Fiddling with things that shouldn’t be fiddled with. Arguing over everything.
The worst part was that Spring always took their side. Always.
"Pookie, the boys were touching my books again. Can you tell them not to?"
"God, Sam. They are kids. You’d think you’d want them to be interested in reading."
They’d stand there, grinning at Sam, smug little Omen children waiting to push him over the banister. The only reason Child Protective Services didn’t take them was because no one would have them.
Sam was getting upset thinking about it. He looked at the title again. Secrets From the World’s Best Day Traders. His hand shook. But Spring and Lanie were both home. He gave the book a promissory peck. Another time.
Nine
Lanie took a stroll around the neighborhood, a nice walk to do her heart and lungs some good. She puffed on her cigarette as she took in the scenery––pretty, cookie-cutter homes with neat lawns and gingerbread shingles. In the window of each home she saw faces––mothers, fathers, children. Most looked happy and content. It made her want to gag.
"Maybe I’ve stayed in one place too long," Lanie said, nodding at a young couple pushing a big-headed baby in a stroller down the sidewalk. "I could look up some of the old gang, go back on the road." Lanie tried to remember where she put her address book, and then realized it didn’t really matter anyway. None of her old friends had permanent addresses.
How do they live their lives like this? The same people and places day after day. Don’t they lose their fucking minds?
A stray cat meowed and Lanie leaned over to scratch it. The cat hissed and Lanie backed off. Too bad, she really would have liked a familiar.
As she rounded the corner she kept her eyes open for what type of people might live on the other side of her daughter’s fence. There were three houses that might all line up to Spring’s backyard, and Lanie stepped lightly as she approached the trio of homes. In front of the first were two red bikes, probably belonging to children. In front of the second was a fixed up hot rod, probably circa 1960 something. And in front of the third stood a young man cleaning out sporting equipment from his garage. Lanie smiled and waved at him. He paused a moment, looked behind him, and waved back. Then he hastened into the house.
The sky was beginning to darken.
"Fucking global warming," she grumbled, sucking in the last puff of her cigarette before tossing it on the sidewalk. "...Making the days short like this."
She was about to turn the corner back to her own street when she saw movement behind her from the middle house. She turned in time to see a middle-aged man with an impossibly thin frame jump into the hot rod and zoom away. He had a long, hookish nose and not a hair on his head. The gleam of the waxing moon hit his scalp in a familiar way. Like an eagle. A majestic bald eagle, she thought, and almost skipped home.
"How well do you know the neighbors?" Lanie asked, opening the door. Her daughter was wiping her brow with the hem of her dress.
"I can’t talk now, Mom. Look at this!" Spring slammed a stack of envelops onto the table. Lanie picked up the top one. Someone had drawn a bright, red, frownie face in sharpie on the cover of it, with an arrow pointing to the words Cancellation Policy.
"My insurance is cancelled. Great huh? And that’s just the start of it. The landlord wants to charge us one hundred dollars more a month for you to live here. I thought I told you not to tell anyone." Spring looked exasperated and Lanie wondered if she was having problems with irregularity. She had something for that, but decided not to bring it up yet. Timing was everything with these types of issues.
"I didn’t tell anyone." Lanie said. "I got ethics."
Spring gave Lanie a full once over. "I guess it’s pretty tough to hide you." Lanie watched as Spring tore the envelops into a dozen tiny pieces and emptied them into the garbage can. Obviously she did not want Sam to find them.
"Well, if you’ll excuse me, I gotta go take a crap. I wouldn’t plan on going in there for a while if I were you. Just giving you fair warning." Lanie popped a prune in her mouth and thought if she timed it right she wouldn’t have to wait on the pot but a minute or two.
"When...if...you ever get done, I could use your help, mother. The boys will be here tomorrow and I want the house clean." Lanie watched as her daughter wiped the table with one of Sam’s socks.
"They live half the month in a van with their unemployed father. This is fucking Nirvana as far as they’re concerned." Lanie paused, feeling the pressure of the prunes settle in. "Why the hell do the courts allow that, anyway?"
Spring shrugged. "I think he’s sleeping with one of the social workers again. I can’t figure out why else they’d let him keep shared custody."
Lanie licked her lips. She knew why. "Jason has a way about him. Even I’ve felt his sex appeal."
"God, mother!" Spring frowned. "But I have to agree with you." Spring leaned back against the counter and wiped the sock to her forehead. "I think Jason is going to try and get more child support. He says his restless leg syndrome makes working impossible."
Gurgle, gurgle, thump, thump. The prunes were knocking. But Lanie wasn’t about to leave her daughter feeling unsupported. "What? That’s nuts! The whole court system has gone to hell, I tell you. They should make that man get a fucking job. Perry
Mason never would have allowed this."
Spring groaned. "I’m not about to have the Perry Mason argument with you. Again."
"You could turn him in for selling dope," Lanie suggested, hoping to draw the conversation to the close. She looked fleetingly down the hall in the direction of the toilet.
"He doesn’t sell. I don’t even know if he uses anymore." Spring searched the entryway closet, and Lanie watched as she moved her collection of boas from side to side. "Do we own a vacuum?"
Lanie leaned back and laughed. "Where do you think I buy mine from? You think I put a rolling paper under my pillow and the reefer fairy pays me a visit each month?"
Spring gritted her teeth and stormed towards Lanie. "If you ever, ever say those things in front of Sam, the boys, or the social workers who pay me those lovely visits, I will boot you out so fast you won’t have time to wipe the scuff marks from your butt."
"It’s for medical use anyway. It’s not like I’m doing it cuz I like it."
Spring looked at her sideways. "Insomnia hardly qualifies as a medical emergency. If you wouldn’t play video games all night you might sleep."
Lanie crossed her arms and stared at Spring. "What crawled up your butt this morning? Sam still not giving you any?"
"No, but that’s not my problem." Spring looked at the wastebasket with the shredded letters. "Things are difficult right now, Mom. My life isn’t turning out anything like I planned."
Lanie looked from Spring to the No Smoking sign Sam had scotch taped up on the kitchen wall. "Whose is?" she asked and trotted to the bathroom.
Ten
It didn’t take John more than one full week to realize that coming to Phoenix had been a mistake. The employment application ad had been misleading.
"Artist, my ass," he said when he discovered his job would be airbrushing off the wrinkles and veins of women who modeled in the penny saver ads. His artistic talents were being wasted. To compensate, he tried his hand at painting in his apartment at night. But everything he created was flat and uninspired. Not much better than his pictures of corn. What he needed, he decided, was a muse. But muses were few and far between in this oven city and he considered, not for the first time in the last seven days, going back to Samson.
"You could always look up Amy," Pete suggested helpfully on the phone. "I hear she’s single again. At least get laid while you are choking on the heat. Kind of like a souvenir."
"You do realize that’s your cousin?" John asked, too tired to even be disgusted.
Pete chuckled on the other end.
"Give it a few more weeks and see what happens. You were so sure about going. I’m sure whatever you are looking for is bound to pop up sooner or later."
John heaved an agreement into the receiver and went back to watching the cartoon network.
He had been certain at the time but maybe he had just been crazy.
Spring was summoned to Kimberly’s office the moment she arrived into work.
"Don’t hate me," Debbie said, handing her the neon pink post-it note. "...I’m just the messenger."
Spring entered the room and was relieved to see that Sarah was also there. Kimberly stood akimbo before her, like the warden of a POW camp.
"First things first," Kimberly said, never taking her eyes from Sarah. "Jane wants you to come up with an act to perform at the city centennial. Something lively and relevant. Maybe a dance."
"A dance?" Sarah’s thin knees clattered together. She looked at Spring for support.
"Kimberly," Spring said. "Sarah can hardly walk in that thing, let alone dance."
Kimberly gave Spring a wan smile and tapped her chin. "I’m thinking..." She paused. "...Fred and Ginger."
"Fine. We’ll figure it out. Can we go now?"
Sarah looked paler than usual. Spring touched her arm and noted that it was warm.
"Not yet. These promotional videos need to be delivered to all the VIPs in Phoenix. Today." Kimberly picked up a stack of DVDs from her desk and divided them between Spring and Sarah.
"VIPS?" Spring held up a DVD. On the cover was a cartoon depiction of Casey in a ten-gallon hat. In rodeo scroll were the words Cover It Up or Cut It Out, Cowboy.
"Business owners. CEOs. The Mayor."
Spring tried again, hoping Kimberly had a pragmatic side. "Can’t we mail them? It will be cheaper in stamps than in gas."
"Jane believes that personally delivering them will help establish a bond with the community. Going as Casey is a good political move."
"As Casey?" Sarah’s eyes widened with disbelief.
"She doesn’t look like she’s feeling good." Spring said, looking at her friend. "Maybe it’s not a good idea to put her in the costume today."
Kimberly surveyed the woman. "If she is healthy enough to eat that entire box of donuts I saw her inhaling earlier, she’s healthy enough to do her job." Kimberly pointed towards the door indicating that the discussion was over.
Though it was only May, the heat was unforgiving. Sarah panted as they carried Casey out to the car. “I don’t think I can do this today,” Sarah moaned. “I’m not sure what’s wrong but I haven’t been feeling good all morning. My stomach hurts and I’m peeing so much I should be wearing diapers."
"Maybe you should use a sick day and go home," Spring suggested.
"I can’t! I’ve used all my sick days. And I wasn’t even sick."
Spring stood in the parking lot wondering what to do. Putting Sarah in that costume would be dangerous. "I could wear the costume," she said, swallowing.
"What?"
"I could wear the costume. You can drive your car and I can be Casey." Spring bit her lip before she could take back the offer.
"Thank you!" Sarah said, relief rolling over her face. "I would have puked if I had to put it on today. It stinks inside. Like kitty litter that hasn’t been scooped in a week."
Sarah’s car was small and Spring felt claustrophobic. Sitting in the passenger seat in full costume, she tried to breathe in as much air as she could. But each inhale only succeeded in shrink-wrapping the material tighter onto her body. Sarah flipped through a variety of channels from rap to country as she sped down the highway towards their first destination.
"Ever wonder about life?" Spring asked, trying to push out her words through what she guessed was the mouth hole.
"You think too much," said Sarah, lowering the volume on a country song Spring had heard many times before, but never knew the name of. "Thinking leads to expectations. Expectations lead to disappointment. Better not to think."
Outside the car she watched the metropolis whiz by. The city had grown a lot in the last few years. Smaller towns had melted together making it one massive landscape of adobe dwellings and superstructures. They were on their way to their first location, a private gym that Jane thought might play the videos while its patrons exercised.
"I hope this place has a bathroom. I need to pee again," Sarah said as she pulled into a long curved driveway surrounded by beautiful landscaping. A large sign with fancy black lettering announced Members Only.
Spring laughed and shook her head. "I guess the Universe has a sense of humor."
"Yeah," Sarah said, nodding to a curious woman who walked by. "A very mean one."
Eleven
1984
Spring glanced nervously behind her, sure that she would see the disapproving stares of her parents. All alone. She let out a relieved breath. Time was short. Someone would soon notice that she was not manning her booth and her father would be scouring the fairgrounds looking for her. But she had to see it. Her first close look at a real school.
Spring pressed her face into the chain link fence that separated her from the buildings on the other side. She could hear children laughing, talking excitedly, being told to line up for lunch. "Pizza day," a woman said. She could see artwork taped on the windows, testimony to the learning that occurred inside. She imagined the boys and girls with their crayons and glue sticks, making holiday decorations for their f
amilies. For their homes. It made her stomach swim.
A little girl ran out of the main building and towards a smaller one, but upon catching glimpse of Spring, changed direction and skipped towards her. Spring was about to run but her curiosity was far too great to leave.
"Hi," said the girl. She was wearing a purple jumpsuit and two ponytails secured by fluffy pink pompons.
"Hi," Spring said. "I like your jumpsuit." Spring reached through the fence to touch the material. It was soft and warm. Corduroy, like Daddy’s jacket. Spring wanted to climb the fence and play with the girl but she didn’t dare. Her mother was against public education.
"Thanks!" The girl beamed. "I like your dress too. All those flowers. Where did you get it?"
Spring paused. Lanie had made it. Lanie made most of her clothes. "At the mall. I had an Orange Julius, too." Spring had never been to the mall but had seen a few on the TV
The girl nodded. "Where do you live?"
Spring paused again. No one had ever asked her that question before and it made her nervous that she did not have an answer. She concentrated and thought for a moment. "In a castle on a hill. You can come there sometime if you want."
The girl laughed. "You’re funny." She reached through the fence and touched the ends of Spring’s hair. "I wish I had your hair."