Although he was clandestine about it, Jack had picked up dangerous and unsavory habits during High School. He knew how I felt about drugs, so we never talked about it. But I could tell. As Jack graduated from Twelfth Grade, he also graduated into something that had nothing to do with school. It was something perverse, and it escalated after Senior Grad.
He didn’t sleep for two months and he needed help. Frequently, he’d call in the middle of the night, just to shoot the shit. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and turned off the ringer before I went to bed. But when I forgot to turn it off, he’d call until I picked up. He rambled on about the strangest things and spouted paranoid delusions. Once he even challenged me, accusing me of screwing Elizabeth when he wasn’t around.
He was self-medicating. I knew it. I had been doing some volunteer work at a drug rehab center in Romulus, and I developed firsthand knowledge of the classic signs of drug abuse: a manic personality, constant jitteriness, and rambling at a mile a minute.
Then there were the extreme mood swings. I’d watch him fondle Elizabeth one minute, and the next he’d be telling her to piss-off and give him space. He’d also tear me a new one, frequently and without any warning whatsoever.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, was as pure as Twenty-Four Karat gold and would have nothing to do with drugs. But we didn’t talk about his affliction. I wasn’t sure if she knew, but I was about to find out that it dominated her as much as it did me: for our group was about to be dismembered by the fall semester when Jack turned the corner and began down a road that would forever seal our fates.
Today, the only thing that provides modest comfort is the knowledge that while I burn in Hell, at least my obsession will stop haunting me the day I die. I can’t say the same for Jack.
***
I finally found out what really happened between Elizabeth and Jack.
It was the last weekend of summer vacation. Elizabeth was leaving for Boston on Monday, so we partied the entire week. Starting on the Monday before, our binge culminated that weekend at her parent’s cottage, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. The cottage was nestled beside a lake, in a valley with a sweeping landscape. We swam, drank, danced and ate – the last gasps of an adolescence that’s made peace with its short life.
The teenage body is a miraculous piece of machinery. I didn’t know what a hangover was until I was well into my twenties. By that time, it was too late to appreciate the remarkable powers of recovery that were once taken for granted. But regardless of age, the body can take only so much.
Saturday’s sun rose in spite of our week of non-stop drinking. We moved around gingerly. But we were determined to make the most of our final night together. A greasy breakfast would soak-up the ill-effects of Dionysian revelry. But we didn’t get off our asses until mid-afternoon. It took that long for the lumps of blankets on the floor to stir from their post-alcoholic stupor. We wanted Canadian beer – the alcohol content is higher and you only have to be nineteen to buy it. A friend of ours – we called him Bunny – was on the five-year plan in High School, so he was the prescribed purchaser.
It was almost dinner time when we crossed the border at Sault Ste.-Marie. While the others went in search of Canadian beer and bargains, Jack, Elizabeth and I sought out our greasy, hangover-cure food. I had my heart set on bacon and eggs and thankfully, the diner we found served an all-day breakfast.
The week was perfect. We laughed and built memories that would last forever. With one night left, it seemed that while one adventure came to a close, a new one brought hope for a promising horizon. But Jack’s designs didn’t kowtow to anyone. The prick chose then to break her heart.
We were nursing what we thought were hangovers – if we’d only known. Jack was unusually quiet while Elizabeth and I discussed university, academics and Thanksgiving. The summer had watched while he avoided committing to anything: she wanted a long-distance relationship but he’d shrug it off every time she brought it up. And now, he was about to cut his losses. What’s one more night of pussy, give or take? I saw it in those glistening eyes. It was time to rip the Band-Aid. New opportunities awaited.
We chowed down on bacon, Texas Toast, eggs and home-fries. Greasy enough to be a buffer for our last night together. She looked at Jack and stroked his arm. A gentle, angelic smile formed on her face. I munched on a piece of toast slathered with peanut butter while I stared at her and sighed.
God, she’s beautiful.
No matter how I tried to get over her, I couldn’t fight the forces of the universe anymore than they were going to give me a pass. Everything I knew, everything I wanted, everything I dreamed of…they encircled her. Enshrined her. She was the center of my singular universe. Buddha, Mohammed and Jesus Christ all rolled up into one.
Jack was playing plate hockey with his fork and home-fries. But her touch shocked him out of one of his famous trances. He peered at her with irritation, apparently angered that she yanked him from whatever twisted dream distracted him. She was used to the look and chose to ignore it.
“I was thinking. You could come to Boston for Thanksgiving. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get home until Christmas break.” Jack stared sullenly at his breakfast, and I sensed the rolling of his eyes. He was contemplating drop-kicking a home-fry with his finger at the group of people next to us when he abruptly yanked his arm away.
“Fuck that.” A black, angry monotone was the soundtrack to his fingers, which selected a strip of bacon and lifted it to his face. He tugged at it gingerly, holding it between a thumb and forefinger before he took a decisive and fatalistic bite. Right in half, like her heart.
“Look for a new man in Beantown.” He chewed through the bacon, as if mastication was thought, and my heart plummeted to my grease-laden stomach.
Oh no.
The implication of his words spread into her soul like a rapidly-spreading virus. He seemed to contemplate his next words, but there was nothing really in his head, except maybe the new conquests that he planned.
“Seriously. I’ve already got new targets. Find some too. Get laid, get over it. Accept it and move on.” Words which were painfully familiar to me. He placed a long, cruel emphasis on ‘move on’ as he bit off another chunk of bacon. Like it was the head of freshly-caught prey he’d been toying with.
I crumbled with her. But as if his finality wasn’t good enough to rip her heart out, he chose to add a final stomp for good measure.
“I don’t need long-distance romance shit. We had fun. But you weren’t the only one. Fun’s over.”
Words can do things that are far more devastating than a gun or a baseball bat. But Jack had the ability to make words become nuclear fission. She caved. The giddy, excited schoolgirl on the eve of new adventure became a wasted blob of sorrow and agony.
I finally empathized with her. I knew how she felt. Finally, she experienced what I’d experienced. It happened in mere seconds. Seconds that spanned the space of Jack’s ill-chosen words. Seconds for her to comprehend meaning, implication and devastation. And seconds for her to react.
She pushed her chair out from beneath her. She sobbed as she stormed out of the restaurant, a lonely soul torn apart in the midst of a hurricane. He ate his breakfast and smirked while I watched him. A sad mask had fallen over my countenance. But Jack didn’t believe in masks, and the pride and contentment that flowed over him stunk like a rendering plant. Every horrible feeling that tore at me since I fell for her came to bear.
Empathy or apathy? What I’d just seen didn’t surprise me, even though it was hard to believe that anyone – even Jack – could be so cruel to a beautiful creature like Elizabeth. But I didn’t know if my feelings were for her plight, or uncaring residual memories of callous biting wounds that barely healed over. Scabs upon scabs.
Enmity? Contained rage clawed at me. I would have given my life for her. Done anything within my limited power to be with her. Regardless of my heart’s purity though, he managed to do something that I never could. Win her body.
I envied and sometimes hated him for it.
He picked her up like a sealed condom, and like a condom he used her and then tossed her in the toilet. And only after flaunting his victory for four excruciating years did he cavalierly flush the commode. My mixed feelings for this person – who I often called friend – were the raging storm that was to become the conflict of my life. In a dire and most destructive way.
Revelry? I was relieved that it was finally over, and begged to whatever God was listening that this ending would have the finality that I craved. Of course I wanted to run after her, but her female friends would support her. I’d find her later and console her like the good friend I pretended to be.
Anyway, I wanted to make damn sure that he wasn’t going to flip-flop and ruin it for me. I knew that he fancied toying with people’s hearts, and the drugs made him unstable. I would be supportive – very supportive – of the breakup. And I’d only be satisfied when I was sure he wasn’t trolling for make-up sex.
We finished breakfast and left the restaurant. As we strolled down the tiny streets of Sault Ste-Marie we occasionally ran into friends. I kept a nervous eye out for Elizabeth, in the off-chance that she might come back and confront him. I was close now, and nothing was about to get in the way. Not even her. And it seemed like we ran the entire course of the town and could see no more, when we happened upon the shop that changed Jack’s life, and mine along with it.
Not knowing that at the time, it was just a diversion to get him off the street and out of public view. It was a small Antique Shop. Outside, unassuming. But something in the display window caught his attention.
Most of the pieces were small, uninteresting curios. Nothing spectacular. But one item stopped him in a way that a salivating Mountain Lion freezes an unsuspecting hiker. I faced the street and scoured the area, ready to rush him inside if I saw her. As I maintained my vigil, Jack prodded me. Inwardly, I snarled at his touch.
“Look at this.” A strange timbre amplified his voice. Despite irritation, I turned to see him pointing at an amulet. The anger I felt toward him subsided briefly, and I put my face to the window.
It was small. About the size of a quarter, forged and carved in silver with rough edges and asymmetrical circularity. It hung from a fine silver chain, no more the original chain than Jack’s virginity was intact.
The amulet appeared quite old, but it was the image carved on the face that made it special. It was the image of a winged youth. In full flight, his body was outstretched while he soared near the heavens, naked save for wings attached to each arm. The sun seemed to blaze with intense heat overhead. But around the youth’s arms, small particles like feathers and droplets of liquid escaped with reckless abandon.
It was really quite exquisite. For something so small, the detail captured the moment with fascinating conviction. Although I’m no expert when it comes to art, I could understand why it caught Jack’s attention.
Unwelcome reality returned when he poked me in the arm.
“C’mon. I want a closer look.” I happily followed him inside. Off the street, we were buffered from any chance of Elizabeth’s reprieve, should she have desired it. The store seemed cluttered to the point of bursting at the seams, but everything was ‘appropriate.’ Tiny walls were lavishly decorated with a myriad of strange and curious pieces. It was cluttered but not tacky, eclectic yet tasteful.
A small man stood behind the counter. Quite short, his thick glasses distorted his eyes. Perhaps in his mid-fifties, his balding cranium was redeemed by tufts of pepper-grey hair that hung loosely over his ears, and veins popped out of a jovial little face and a bulbous red nose. He had enjoyed a drink or five in his time.
“Bonjour! ça va?”
“Bonjour.” Jack’s American accent was obvious to the point of screaming. Trips to Windsor allowed us to abscond with a little French, but only enough to get in trouble.
“Parlez-vous anglais?” The bulbous man smiled and nodded.
“Oui, I speak English. May I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to see something in your window.”
The little man nodded and waddled to the front of the store. Jack pointed out the amulet while I suspiciously examined the contents of the odd little shop owned by an odd little man.
The eclectic collection of crystal and silver, tiny trinkets and baubles looked like they had a story behind them. Nothing was new, and while first glance said ‘worthless pieces of junk,’ the display case along the counter laughed out, ‘we accept all major credit cards.’ The shopkeeper fished out the amulet and handed it to Jack.
“This?” Jack carefully cupped it in his hands. He held it like he feared it would fly away if he didn’t guard it closely. The trance commenced.
“It is quite fine, n’est-ce pas? C’est très vieux. Very old.” Jack stared at it and nodded. He hadn’t heard a word the man said. He held it up to me and I squinted. Upon close scrutiny, the craftsmanship proved to be quite intricate. Detailed feathers fell away from the wings. There were even beads of sweat covering the boy’s outstretched body.
As it spiraled on the chain, the price tag on the back gave both my eyebrows a reason to get off their asses. I shook my head at Jack. You’re crazy. Money may have been no object to him, but I was brought up believing you didn’t spend it recklessly, no matter how much you have. He ignored me and focused on the shopkeeper, who didn’t mind at all if Jack shelled out a ton of money.
“It is made of platinum. It dates back to, oh, sometime in the 17th Century.”
“What about the image on it?” Jack was excited. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. He probably equated its value with the price tag. I sneered and feigned interest in antique opera glasses.
“The image? It is Icarus.”
“Icarus?” The little shopkeeper seemed to struggle with the right words and his veiny face squinted for a moment.
“Oui, c’est quoi le mot encore…c’est un personage d’un mythe. Uhm, a myth. Grecque. A Greek myth.”
“Icarus,” Jack held it between his fingers and pondered the name.
“Oui. He wore wings made of feathers and wax. And when he flew too close to the sun, they melted and he fell to his death. It is a very tragic story.”
Yeah, right. I stood there and shuffled from one foot to the other. This guy just found a new sucker and was reeling him in. He must have been an accomplished fisherman. I was getting antsy and I wanted to find Elizabeth, so I tapped Jack on the shoulder. He barely looked at me.
“I’m going to find everyone. You coming?” He shook his head and peered at the amulet.
“I’ll catch up to you.” I wasn’t even there. He had found the object of his desire.
And I found mine. She had somewhat composed herself but wanted to return to the cottage. To get far, far away from Jack. Rejoicing with all the angels that blessed me, I said I’d meet her there later.
She made me promise not to bring him back with me. Delighted that his explosive words shattered her misguided feelings for him, I promised. But I didn’t know how I’d accomplish that feat. If I couldn’t convince him, she told me, don’t bother coming. Praying that I could convince him, I made my way back to the shop and found him walking out with a bag in his hand.
“You actually bought that thing,” He didn’t respond. Just held the bag like it was the lost treasure of El Dorado.
When I told him that Elizabeth didn’t want to see him, he shrugged and my insides pranced to some song I’d never heard. He simply nodded and agreed to drop me at the cottage. He’d get a room in the Soo. Awesome!
During the drive he was quiet. One hand gripped the wheel while the other stroked the small bag next to him. When we finally arrived, I told him I’d give him a call when I got back to Detroit. He only half-acknowledged my words.
When I closed the car door, a vague whisper trailed off of his lips. It was a raspy exclamation of newfound love.
“Icarus.”
Chapter 7
I watched Ja
ck drive away.
While the crunch of tires on gravel dwindled into the sounds of the night, I stopped and observed my surroundings. The night air was fresh and crisp. It smelled really green, but a cold green with a twinge of the yellows and reds that already announced their return. Summer waned and September loomed. The sound of his car a distant memory deep in the night, the only noise left was stillness broken occasionally by the chirping of a cricket, or the rustling, restless noises of the forest. The lake which presided over the cabin shimmered and rippled as pure white rays of moonlight mirrored off its surface.
I stood and shivered for what must have been five minutes. A sweeping sky covered me with the obsidian blanket of night. Unimpeded by city lights, the stars were vast wispy clouds. They reminded me of Elizabeth. So beautiful, so entrancing. And so unattainable. My steady deliberate breath tried to resuscitate the night with white puffs of moisture that quickly dissipated. It was getting cold.
I wasn’t disappointed with the day’s events. Still inundated with resentment over the unnatural bond between them, I was delighted that they were finally torn asunder. My pain had been a hermetic seal around my soul since the day that I thought she smiled at me while she fell into his sticky web of self-involvement. I suppose I should have felt guilt for taking pleasure at the split-up. But I didn’t care that I rejoiced. Apathy, the bastard child of pain and heartbreak, was in its sixteenth trimester. It was far too late for an abortion.
So I stood there and tried to stay warm, contemplating what next? while I watched the stars. My arms clutched my shoulders, and as if they were her holding me, I smiled.
I stirred from my self-imposed daze when my clammy skin reminded me that I was still standing outside. As I walked to the door I marveled at how the crunch crunch noise of my feet broke the pristine stillness. The sound reset my mind and gave me something new to feel.
The House that Jack Built Page 5