The singing, the snow, the whistling wind and the cold. It all came together in a fairy-tale setting. Her face was illuminated by moonlight, the singers’ candles and lighted words in the snow. My heart was filled with such warmth that I was dizzy with emotion. And when she smiled at me and started to cry, I realized that I was the luckiest man alive.
“Oh Malcolm.” She stifled back a sob as she looked at me with those eyes. Once so beautiful and inspiring, now they were filled with sorrow and confusion.
I can’t.” She gently grasped my hand. The one that held the ring. Firmly, she pushed it back toward me.
I knelt before her, prostrate. My jaw fell. Wide-eyed amazement became a blur. A terrible, horrible, incredible blur. I think the singers stopped singing, but even today I can’t remember.
She sobbed as she looked down at me. Reached out to stroke my hair, so gently, so softly. The look on her face was one of sorrow. And one I’ll never forget, for on that night it became etched in my brain and in my heart. Forever. Pursing her lips in a sorrowful frown, she lowered her head and spoke softly through sobs.
“God, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. I can’t.”
The pain and astonishment in my face must have cut her deeply. She looked around, as if wondering whether to discuss it there. But she shivered and clasped her arms around her shoulders. Looking at me with sad eyes that I’d never seen before, she shook her head. As if finalizing a debate in her mind.
I was paralyzed by the realization of what transpired as she fell to both knees, kissed me on the lips and hugged me. Ineffectually, I tried to process what was happening.
Then, as if she realized her folly for kissing me, she stood up, turned and quickly walked away. I watched her hair dance erratically behind her as she disappeared into the night. It flowed around her neck and taunted me one last time, as she half-ran out of my life.
I was still on one knee, holding a two-Karat diamond ring. Even in my confusion, I noticed the singers. They turned and made a hasty retreat while I lowered my head.
I knelt there for several minutes before my knee started to sting from the icy snow which seeped through my pant leg. Finally, I sighed and slowly got up. I watched my rapid puffs of breath, as they flowed out of my mouth and nose, floated upward and quickly dissipated.
I looked up at the moon and the stars and cursed them silently. For I had no one else to yell at. Icy flakes of snow fell onto my cheeks and quickly melted when they touched my hot flowing tears.
Chapter 50
It was a horrible mess.
I didn’t even bother to get my luggage at Father’s place. I went straight to Detroit Metro and caught the next flight to Montreal. I drank during the entire flight. And when I got back to my townhouse, I kicked the door open and plugged in the Christmas tree. A grim reminder of lights that probably still melted snow in the shape of the words, ‘be with me forever.’
As I drank glass upon glass of single malt, I gazed at my perfect Christmas tree. Pink Floyd pounded my brain like a freight train roaring through my decomposing soul. I listened to every tragic piece of music that I had. I cursed and yelled. Paced around the room like a madman. I asked no-one: ‘what the hell happened?’ And I hated her for not giving me an explanation.
I tried not to wonder if she was waiting for me to call. Waiting to give me an explanation. I laughed out loud. I cursed her once again and told myself that it was just as well. She wasn’t meant for me. There was something seriously wrong with her. Something that I hadn’t noticed before. I thanked my stars that I had found out in time. I was so lucky to be free of her. I only regretted not realizing it sooner.
I wanted her so.
***
The next day – Christmas Day – I was sprawled on my couch while I downed glasses of Scotch. I lamented and pondered. I closed the shades so that the only light in the room was produced by the lights from my fake Christmas tree. Glistening grew incessantly, starting with fine little points which turned into blurred distortions. They twinkled at me like perverted stars.
Watching the tree reminded me of my proposal. ‘Be with me forever.’ At one point I seriously thought about taking it down in a drunken haze. But as painful a reminder as it was, the pain gave me something to latch onto.
It was like there was a rave inside my head. I clenched my jaw and fed myself Scotch. All the while staring at the small box which only hours before resided in her pocket. I had slipped it in before we left for church. During the service, while everyone else prayed for a world full of peace and friendship, I prayed that she wouldn’t find it before it was time. I had patted myself on the back for my ingenuity.
As I got drunker, I smiled grimly. It didn’t matter whether she found it or not.
When the phone rang shrilly, I came to. I had drifted off. I picked up the phone and focused my eyes on the tiny screen. It was Jack.
I really wanted it to be Elizabeth. So when I saw his name on the phone, I swore and began to put the handset back on the table. But in the short moments before the voicemail kicked in, I realized that I needed someone to talk to. I pressed ‘talk.’
“Hello.” I was not prepared to be jovial or even admit that I knew it was him. Frankly, I was spoiling for a fight.
“Mal! Merry Christmas! How are things?” I paused and took another gulp of Scotch.
“Marvy. How are you?” I pointed the remote at my stereo and turned the volume down. It was overwhelmingly loud. There was a pause on the line and I heard some shuffling and random static. I took another drink and swayed in my seat. Holding the phone to my head and not caring if he said anything.
“What’s wrong? You sound horrible.” I laughed softly and took another drink.
“Well, you got that right.” My head bobbed up and down as I pondered whether to tell him what happened. Admitting to Jack, of all people, that I had loved and lost was a horrible prospect. Especially because it was Elizabeth. What I really wanted was to be alone with my misery. But I sighed deeply and realized that I had no right to be righteous, moralistic, condemnatory or petty.
“Elizabeth and I. God, Jack, I can’t even talk to you about her. Even after all this time.” I regretted saying it. I knew he was going to come back with a petulant and dismissive comment. Or even worse, make a reference to when he and Elizabeth went out together. I began to hate myself for even trying to connect with him.
“What happened?” I began to sob uncontrollably.
“Jack, I proposed to her tonight. I realized that she’s all I ever wanted, all I ever needed. So I bought this beautiful ring, arranged a romantic setting…God, it was perfect. I knew. I just knew that she was going to say yes! How could I have been so wrong?” I barely managed to piece the words together, and began to sob as I realized just how lonely I was.
I miss her.
I repeated things, because I was barely making sense. I told him how I hired the singers and set up the scenario. How I got down on one knee. And I told him how she reacted and how it made me feel. He listened carefully and didn’t comment for several moments. I listened to the long pause, filled with static and the eerie, nonexistent sound of Jack’s mind working.
Finally, he responded. But it wasn’t with the supportive shoulder on which I needed to lean.
Dammit! You pathetic asshole. Do I have to do everything for you?”
Easy, mate. This can only be touched by me.
“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” The words trembled out of my mouth and I tried to parse what he meant by that.
“Nothing worth talking about. Look. I don’t understand. I never did. Your feelings are foreign to me. I never understood your bizarre attachment to the little bitch. But I know you’re going through something. Be tough, for Christ’s sake.” He sighed and I could imagine him shaking his head.
“It’s Christmas. Cheer up.” I choked back a sob while something changed in Jack and he found a moment of supportive clarity.
“God. Malcolm, I’m so sorry.” Even though he didn’
t realize what he was saying, the words were still fresh in my mind. The same words she had said to me when she ripped my heart out. Once and for all.
“Listen. I won’t pretend that I can imagine what you must be going through. But you have to be tough. God! On Christmas Eve, the bitch! Mal, it’s going to be alright. Just focus. And don’t do anything stupid.” I laughed. Even drunk, the irony slapped me in the face.
“No. Nothing stupid. Check.” I was sarcastic. Even though his uncharacteristic advice tried to reach me, I didn’t give a fuck about anything.
“Mal, listen.” There was a long pause filled with static. I almost cared about what he was going to say next. I was in the pit, staring the devil in the eye and Jack was reaching down to haul me out. I didn’t respond. It was my acquiescence. Besides, I didn’t feel comfortable talking. I could barely form a sentence.
“You shouldn’t be alone right now. Especially not now. I’ll be there on Saturday.” Three nights alone to swear at the Christmas tree. I didn’t know how to respond. I was huddled in my own crapulence and there was only room for one. “Are you there?” I sighed.
“I’m here. Saturday’s fine.”
“Good. I’ll make you forget about her. Once and for all.” I sensed him smiling and I clenched my jaw. It would take a lot more than Jack’s twisted sense of right and wrong to cure this chronic disease.
“Fine. I have to go.”
“Mal. Be cool.” I nodded as if he were sitting right in front of me. I suddenly thought about New York.
No split-second decisions. Unless you count my decision to show you that you can have whatever you want.
“I will. Maybe I do need your brand of oblivion.” He chuckled.
“Now you’re talking! Merry Christmas. I’ll see you Saturday.”
“Merry Christmas.” I instantly hated myself for saying it. The words were hollow and meaningless to me. I pressed ‘end’ and turned the music back up. I drank more Scotch while I thought about the past year. I considered and exhausted every angle while I stared at the Christmas tree.
In the solitude of my own private Hell, I relived everything that had happened over the years. A disproportionate wave of realization and guilt flowed over me. Amplified by my weaknesses. Elizabeth, Jack and the tremendous amount of alcohol I imbibed like it was a painkiller for my chronic pain.
Later in the evening, when I was really drunk, I slouched over my Scotch and a half-burned cigarette. Peering through glassy eyes and crying uncontrollably, I picked up the cigarette and flicked off a quarter inch of ash.
I held it over my hand for a minute before I pressed the red-hot tip into the middle of my right palm. Although the searing pain focused me, I didn’t cry out. I just clenched my jaw and held it there for about ten seconds before I pulled it away.
I looked at the dark red dot that adorned my palm. And I focused on it. The pain that shot up my wrist, instead of the pain that would rack my being until I died.
I sobbed myself to sleep.
Chapter 51
I awoke on Saturday refreshed. Maybe even excited. I was relieved that I didn’t cave to my weakness and call her.
I’d been imbibing heavily for days, but the prospect of Jack’s visit – and what it represented – gave me cause to focus. I whistled when I walked into the living room. Sunlight peered through the windows and greeted me in a way that was somehow comforting. I marveled at the day while I peered out the window. Mounds of snow – it had snowed heavily the night before – were being pushed out of the way by plows that moved through the streets like lumbering elephants.
A woman trudged by with two small children bundled up in winter clothes, and I smiled. That is, until one of the children pointed directly at me and I realized I was standing in the window wearing nothing but black briefs. I made a hasty retreat from the window and attempted a chuckle while I went to the kitchen in search of coffee.
I cringed as I looked at the moldy filter. Apparently, I hadn’t made coffee in awhile. I placed my foot on the trashcan pedal and gingerly dropped it in the receptacle. I found a mold-free filter and fiddled with it for a moment before I pried it away from its brothers and sisters. Flipping the lid off of the coffee tin, I let the scent find my olfactory senses. I placed several scoops in the filter and added water. A most wonderful gurgling ensued. It began to work its magic.
Freshly-brewing coffee wandered into my nostrils and I realized how famished I was. With the exception of two slices of smoked meat pizza on Christmas Night, I hadn’t touched a morsel in days. Briefly, I debated whether to eat or shower. I opted for a hot shower. I had to wash the dirt and frustration of the past couple of days off of me.
But it wouldn’t come off easily. I kept replaying everything that had happened to me, like a DVD set on continuous play.
God, Malcolm. I’m so sorry. I can’t.
The words popped into my head like a shrill scream. Frowning, I walked to the bathroom and stripped my clothes off. Overheard words from high school poured over me like the water from the showerhead.
It’s some kind of Dissociative Disorder. Apparently, it’s complicated by a form of Psychopathy. I tried desperately to scrub years of abuse, heartache and grime from my body. And tried to make sense of the confusion.
Black blood.
Easy, mate. This can only be touched by me.
Something wasn’t right. But I was missing it. It should have been so obvious. But it was barely out of reach. I toweled myself off and dressed. And if nothing else, my cogitation helped me find one truth. Something I could never have admitted to myself then.
I blame myself for everything that happened. Her words. While strange and without meaning to me then, suddenly they made sense. I had been kidding myself. I lied to myself by believing that somehow, someday, there would be a way for us. I dated whores and let Jack set me up with meaningless women because I thought that there would be something more for me.
If only I didn’t get serious about anyone else. If only I waited for her to come back to me. If only…
There was no turning back.
I looked at my hand. It felt better, although it was still sore. The wound was angry and throbbed with retribution. I smeared burn ointment on it and tightly wrapped it with a bandage.
It was close to noon. As I prepared to leave for the airport, the phone rang. I walked to the desk in my living room and looked at the display. Blocked Caller. I put my coat on and sighed as I left the townhouse.
***
The snow piled into tall banks like frosted evil clinging together. A miserable gray slush covered the streets and in the distance, dark clouds loomed. Another heavy snowfall was coming. I shivered while I waited for the car to warm up. My gloves were made of thin Italian leather, more suited for aesthetics than practicality. The one on my right hand was tight, a result of the bandage, and I favored it by holding the steering wheel with my left hand. As I put the car into gear, I realized that Jack’s timing was good. I needed a break from this shit.
While I drove, I watched the cars which passed me on the highway. I thought how bleak and lonely they each looked. They each had their own contained sense of self. Many were covered with clumps of frozen snow and ice that hadn’t been cleaned off after the storm. Even at 90 miles per hour it didn’t come off.
The cars made a simple statement that was not lost on me. Each one contained lives. Each one was independent and incognizant of other cars. Other lives. Each one was headed to a particular destination. Odds were that no two cars had the exact same destination.
But, if by chance one was to stray on the unsteady, slippery pavement that tenuously held it in place, then the collision with heretofore unrelated cars would have devastating effects on each car that was involved. The lives inside would have no choice but to be cognizant of each other – for the brief moment that they had to be cognizant – before they were dead. Thousands of cars, traveling in seemingly similar directions. But not one of them going to the same ultimate destination. An ap
propriate metaphor for life.
An appropriate metaphor for my life.
I was filled with apprehension as I pulled up to the arrivals gate. Jack’s plane arrived early, so when I arrived he was already standing there jumping from one foot to the other. I knew he wasn’t cold, because he was decked out in a thick sweater and warm wool coat. Besides, it wasn’t that cold. As I stopped beside him and rolled down the passenger window, he looked at me with irritation.
“It’s about FUCKING time!” Paranoia glared at me and I shrugged. He’s off his meds.
“Jack, you’re early. Jesus.” He nodded and gestured to his bags.
“Okay, OKAY. Just get these in the trunk and let’s get out of here.” I shrugged and popped the trunk. As I got out to help him load the bags, I noticed that his skin was pale and clammy. There was a strange look hiding behind his eyes. We got into the car and I looked at him. As if trying to communicate telepathically. He looked back with wide, animated eyes.
“WELL? Get the fucking lead out of it!” I shivered and put the car into drive.
“Jesus. Do you have any booze?” I shook my head, but his mere mention of it made me regret that I didn’t. I could’ve used a drink. “I sat next to some fat bitch who couldn’t shut up! And she had the most foul breath you ever smelled. God! What a hum. I could barely contain myself. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had to tell me about every fucking child, grandchild and son-in-law. She had pictures to boot. Christ. Ugliness does beget ugliness.
“And then there were her medical ailments. Oy Vay! I told her that she should check herself into the Mayo Clinic. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her that they would take her for free. I told her that it was a medical marvel that she’s still alive. Damn!” He giggled, I think. It was more like the preying chatter of hyenas. Jack had the jitters, and that made me nervous.
I scoured my pockets in search of a cigarette. After fumbling for several seconds Jack handed me a pack. I lit one. It eased my scattered nerves.
The House that Jack Built Page 33