Saved By The Music

by Selene Castrovilla

  “Dinner? Didn’t we just have breakfast?”

  “You slept through the day. I was playing Vivaldi for hours.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Hey, I need the practice.” He tousled my hair. “Oh, I almost forgot … I had one interruption. When I had to sign for this…”

  Axel left the room and then tried to re-enter while carrying a big, fat stuffed penguin with a red bow. The bird was obese. It got wedged in the doorway, and Axel had to shove it through. “It was hell squeezing him through the hatchway,” he said, balancing the penguin on my lap.

  I hugged it. “Axel … it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen! How’d you know I love penguins?”

  “I could just tell.” He sat on the bed’s edge. “Only kidding. I’d like to say I’m psychic, but all they had besides him were teddy bears, and you weren’t so thrilled with them on your throw.”

  “I love him!” I gave my penguin a peck.

  “Read the card,” he said.

  “Waddle it take for you to feel better? Hope this flies. Love, Axel.”

  ”I never claimed to write like Shakespeare,” he said.

  “I think it’s beautiful. A little corny, but from the heart.”

  “Waddle you name him?”

  “Okay, now you’re pushing it.” We both laughed. I regarded my new friend, tweaked his beak. “Hmm … he’s paunchy, he looks like he takes himself way too seriously, and he makes me laugh. I’ll name him Falstaff.”

  “I like a girl who knows her Shakespeare,” Axel said.

  “Thanks for this—and for everything.” I moved Falstaff aside and hugged Axel. “Especially for talking to Aunt Agatha.”

  “You mean last night?”

  “No, today. I heard what you said.”

  “You did? I closed the door so you wouldn’t.”

  “I listened at the door. I thought Aunt Agatha was gonna give you a talking to. Anyway, that was nice, what you did.”

  “I had to make up for that dream thing. So am I upgraded from jackass status?”

  I smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Good to see a smile. I haven’t been doing such a good job with that, huh?”

  “You’ve been doing an excellent job—with everything.” I grabbed his hand again. “I don’t know how I could have gotten through yesterday—”

  “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just grateful I walked in when I did.” He kissed my forehead.

  “So what was Aunt Agatha doing in there, while you were talking? She hardly said anything.”

  “She was doing shots.”

  He laughed at the look on my face.

  “Jeez, just kidding! She was listening and considering, that’s all.”

  “She’s never gone that long without speaking. I thought she was getting pissed.”

  “No, she actually … she actually looked like she was gonna cry. She feels really bad.”

  “Huh.”

  He reached his hand like he was going to slap me on the leg and then stopped, probably remembering my bruises. “So, you want a bean burrito? I’m kinda hungry.”

  I shrugged. I really didn’t want to eat at all. I knew I couldn’t get out of it, though.

  But the thing that had been eating at me needed to be voiced. “Axel, I have to ask you something.”

  “Hmmm … sounds serious. Do I need the vodka?”

  “You may …”

  He gave me a half amused, half nervous look and held my hand tighter. “Okay… . I guess I’ll go get it if I have to. Shoot.”

  “I found the razor blade in your drawer.”

  His face went blank and pale. He pulled his hand away, got up, left the room.

  In the time it took me to follow him, he was already sitting with his vodka at the table.

  “Axel … I saw the blood on it.”

  He didn’t say anything, wouldn’t look at me. Just eyed the glass, tossing back three shots in a row.

  “Axel … talk to me.”

  He didn’t answer. Took another shot, slammed the empty glass down.

  “I’m scared… .”

  He focused on me. I never saw so much pain in someone’s eyes. “I don’t wanna go there, okay? Don’t be scared, and don’t worry about me. But I can’t go there.”

  I wanted to do something. Yell at him, beg him, hug him … but I just nodded.

  “Can you leave me alone for a few minutes?”

  I nodded again and went back in the bedroom.

  That went well.

  * * *

  I didn’t know what to do with myself. Between my own fucked-up life and Axel’s apparently also fucked-up life, I could barely think straight.

  Falstaff seemed to be glaring now, like he wanted to flip me the bird.

  I sat on the bed and saw the towel lying between the pillow and the wall. It must have come off in my sleep. I’d never brushed my hair out, and now it was going to be one big, fat skaggy knot.

  God, I really had no right to be a girl. I didn’t dress the part, and I didn’t act the part. I couldn’t handle the simplest girly requirement. I couldn’t even bring myself to put on makeup.

  Unlike my mom.

  That made me think of Saturdays with Mom. Every Saturday, it was the same thing. I waited all week for Mom to come home, and on Saturdays, I waited for her to take me out. To our big Saturday breakfast at the diner. The one time we sat across from each other at a table and could be together.

  But to get to the diner, I had to survive an endurance test.

  She rose leisurely, then had to sort through piles of clothes in her room and on the banister to find something to wear. Then came the makeup. The makeup was the worst. I couldn’t believe how long it took her to put that brown base stuff on. She spread it around and around, smoothed it, dabbed at it… . Finally, it was time for the powder. How many times could she hit herself on the nose with a puff? Then the eye shadow … eyeliner … mascara.

  It was lunchtime when we left to have our breakfast at the diner, to face each other without facing each other. Our standing appointment for talking about nothing.

  It was always after one o’clock; you could count on that.

  “Whatcha doin’?” Axel leaned in the doorway, looking stupefied.

  Seeing him made me want to burst into tears. For him or me, I couldn’t say. “Thinking about my mom.”

  “Yeah? What about her?”

  “None of your business.”

  Gee, that wasn’t nice, was it? I was mad at him, kind of. Because of the razor blade? Because of him not talking about it? Because he’d chosen to pickle his brain on vodka?

  Because he was flawed? Was I that self-centered?

  He nodded, unoffended. “Okay.” He flopped next to me, knocking Falstaff on his side and firing vodka breath in my face.

  “Do you mind … ?” I asked, waving the smell away.

  He hiccuped. “Mind what?”

  I sighed. “I can’t deal with you drunk.”

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “No?”

  “No. I’m impaired. There’s a difference.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “I can still perform most tasks, but with greater difficulty. It’s a trade-off. Because the task of living becomes doable.”

  That would’ve been funny if I hadn’t been crying.

  “Aw, don’t cry, Willow.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I’m sorry I’m letting you down. Maybe you should go back to the barge. I’m almost positive Agatha’s sober.”

  I cried even harder.

  “Okay, okay. I’m an asshole. Please don’t cry.” He squeezed me tight. It hurt my bruises, but I didn’t tell him.

  “Oh, God, Willow, I wish I had what it takes.”

  “To do what?” I asked into his sleeve, my voice muffled.

  “To … be.” His voice had that intensity again, and this time it was frightening.

  “To be what?” I asked.

  “Just … to be.”

&nbs
p; 20

  A Walking Shadow

  Axel released his grip, then got up. “Enough. I said I was gonna take care of you, and I am. Let’s eat.”

  He nuked us bean burritos from the freezer and served them with salsa. I didn’t know if he did it with greater difficulty or not. I’d never seen him nuke burritos before, but it didn’t require much skill, anyway.

  I picked at the filling and the salsa, leaving the tortilla part. Axel watched me eat.

  We ate across from each other in silence. The mushy bean filling made my teeth feel like they were sinking into mud.

  “Good?” he asked when we were almost done. His voice and gaze were steadier now. The food must have sobered him up somewhat.

  I nodded.

  “You wanna go for a walk?”

  “I don’t think so. My legs ache.” I got up, headed back into the bedroom, and sat down.

  Axel followed me. “How ’bout a game?”

  “What?”

  “Charades.”

  “I thought people played that in teams.”

  “So we’ll be a team.”

  “Then what’s the point? We’re not playing against anyone.”

  “Then we’ll definitely win.”

  He actually had a point. “Okay. You go first.”

  “This is a Shakespearean character,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. Big shocker there.

  Axel clutched at his chest, pretending to be mortally wounded. He staggered and swayed, dipped, and collapsed onto the floor.

  “That could be almost any character from a tragedy,” I pointed out.

  He got up, grabbed the towel from the bed, draped it over his head, and then made stabbing motions against it.

  “Polonius behind the curtain,” I said.

  “You got it. Your turn.”

  “This is a founding father,” I said. I rubbed my mouth and made a face like I was in pain. I pointed to my teeth. Then I made a chopping motion with my hands.

  “George Washington,” Axel shouted.

  “I cannot tell a lie. You’re correct!” I said.

  We played several rounds. Axel was a horse, a chair, Napoleon Bonaparte, and a midnight snack. I was a fish, a car, a basketball, and King Lear. (Hey, two could play at Shakespeare.) We played until our sides ached from laughing.

  Then I had to sit down. Axel sat next to me on the bed.

  Without warning, the sorrow ambushed me again, like a highwayman lurking in the shadows of the road. I leaned my head on Axel.

  He hugged me. “What’s wrong?”

  “It hurts so much.” I grabbed up some of the fuzzy teddy blanket and twisted it.

  “What does?”

  I released the blanket, gathered it again. “Being me.”

  He kissed my forehead. “I’m here for you. You’re not alone.”

  “I’m just a big piece of crap. Worthless.” I twirled the material around, around, around.

  “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.”

  “Yeah, so beautiful that you couldn’t stand the thought of being with me.” I clawed at the blanket now.

  “That’s not true! I told you… . I couldn’t do that to you. It’s because of me, not you.”

  I was digging into the fleece, like I wanted to rip a hole in it. “You didn’t want me because I’m”—the word was a torch setting fire to my insides—“fat.”

  “Fat? Jesus, Willow, a twig is wider than you. You’re like a human toothpick.” He stared at me with worried eyes. “Willow, you know you’re super thin, don’t you?”

  I didn’t answer. What I knew and what I felt were two different things.

  “Hello?”

  “Yeah,” I said, through fresh tears. “I know I’m thin on the outside. But on the inside, I’m really fat.”

  “I knew you were starving yourself with those stupid carrots. Didn’t your mom ever notice?”

  I shook my head no, scattering tears.

  “Your aunt?”

  “She questioned me a little, but she kept letting it slide.”

  “Guess what? I’m not. Starting tomorrow, you’re eating whatever I tell you to. Period.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  My words exploded from my mouth. “They always picked on me at school, I was so fat. Now at least they leave me alone. Don’t let them do it anymore, Axel. Please.”

  “Calm down. You’re getting hysterical,” he said, using my face as a water slide for his fingertips. “You can eat without getting fat.”

  “No, I can’t.”

  I was trembling. The thought of going back to school like I used to be was too much.

  “You’re killing yourself, Willow.”

  “And you’re not?”

  He laughed—a strange, twisted laugh. “Not yet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Relax. I was just kidding.”

  I wanted to believe him, but the tortured look in his eyes was no joke.

  * * *

  After all that, I was ready to collapse. It was like I hadn’t rested at all, let alone slept the day away.

  Axel looked pretty wiped, too. “You want me to lie down with you again?” he asked.

  I nodded yes. “I’ll try not to bite.”

  Axel shut off the lights. I crawled under the covers, and he followed, putting his arm around me. He made me feel safe, something I hadn’t felt for as long as I could remember.

  This was friendship, I realized. Being with someone you could argue with, confront, resent, bitch at, even bite on occasion. Someone who, at the end of the day, both literally and figuratively, offered you refuge against a brutal world.

  * * *

  I woke to the sound of a woman’s voice in the galley, along with Axel’s voice, which was mixed with confrontation and stress. He was asking her what she was doing there. Then the bedroom door shut again.

  I thought about pressing my ear against the door, but it seemed wrong to intrude on whatever Axel was involved in out there. So I sat on the bed, listening to their voices without hearing what they said. Axel sounded very upset. Then I heard something fall. It sounded like the books stacked on the floor.

  What the hell was going on?

  Then there was silence. I waited a few minutes to make sure she was gone. Then I came out.

  It had been the pile of paperbacks that fell. They were scattered around on the floor.

  Axel leaned against the stove. His eyes were glassy, and he was wringing his hands. My presence didn’t even register.

  “Hey,” I said. “You okay?”

  He turned toward me, but kept his head down and said nothing. He kept wringing his hands. What’s wrong with him?

  “Axel …”

  “Did … did you hear?” he asked softly. “Did you hear everything?”

  I shook my head no, but I wasn’t sure he saw it. “No. I didn’t want to eavesdrop on you.”

  He let out a sigh, seemed to loosen at this.

  “What is it, Axel?”

  “Nothing.” Finally, he stopped messing with his hands. “It’s nothing.”

  I wanted to hug him, but there was this invisible wall around him now.

  I bent and picked up The Catcher in the Rye, putting it on the table.

  “Omelet?” he asked, still looking at the floor.

  “Sure,” I said.

  He went to the cabinet, rattled some pots and pans around, and took one out. Then he opened the refrigerator and took out the eggs. He did all this without so much as a glance in my direction.

  I stooped and began picking up more of the books.

  Hearing a cracking sound, I looked toward Axel. He’d dropped an egg. Clear ooze seeped around the shattered shell. I thought maybe the yoke had survived whole, but a second later, orangy yellow slipped out from under the fragmented pieces, mixing into the ooze.

  Axel dropped, just like the egg. He curled into a fetal position on the floor, his arms buckled around his legs, his head buried aga
inst his knees.

  His cries were high-pitched and disjointed. They came out in a jumble, then stopped, then erupted again.

  I sat next to him, leaned against his trembling body, and put my arms around his waist. I had no idea what was going on, but whatever it was, it was bad. Really bad.

  There was nothing I could say, so I said nothing.

  Even though I held him, I couldn’t get near him at all. He’d built a fortress around himself that was impossible to break through.

  It was up to him to raise the gate.

  21

  Soul Kitchen

  Axel lifted his head. His eyes were red. He stared ahead at his bookshelves, avoiding me.

  The galley stank of the woman’s perfume. My sinuses were clogged from it.

  “She raped me,” he said. His voice was flat, almost dead-sounding.

  “What?”

  “The woman who was here … Marianne … she raped me, when I was thirteen. I mean … you know … statutory rape.” He stopped, swallowed. “It wasn’t like … like I fought her.”

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s married to one of my dad’s friends. A city councilman.”

  We sat there for a while, stewing on that revelation. Then he said, “After a few times, she passed me around to her girlfriends, too. Like some kind of X-rated Ken doll to play with.”

  “Oh, God, Axel… .” It all made sense now, Axel’s reactions to my wanting to have sex, his trying to stop me, protect me. “Axel …” I held him close, and again, we sat without words.

  Then he said, “I didn’t think she’d show up here when I called her yesterday. I never dreamed she’d come herself.” He had a bit of a coughing fit then.

  I got up and got him a can of iced tea.

  “Why’d you call her?” I asked as he sipped.

  “I did it for your aunt.”

  “What do you mean?” I got some paper towels and bent down to clean up the egg.

  “I asked her to do some fund-raising for Agatha. Go look on the counter. There’s a stack of checks for her.”

  I finished with the egg. Then I picked the checks up from the counter.

  The first one was for $5,000. It was payable to The Music Barge, Aunt Agatha’s nonprofit organization. The second was for $3,000. The third was for $10,000. I shuffled through the stack. There had to be at least thirty checks, all in the thousands, all made out to the barge.