Ace protected his family until his sisters enrolled at Northwestern University, where they received academic scholarships. After careful planning, Ace pulled off a “big score” one night by taking down a South Side drug lieutenant and making off with a stash of nearly fifty grand. That very night he had moved his family to an apartment he’d already rented in Skokie. He literally had to force his mother to go, but his sisters understood, once he explained everything to them. If they stayed, they would be killed. He gave his sisters $35,000 and hit the road. He never saw any member of his family again. For a while, his sisters wrote to him until he quit sending them a forwarding address.
He called every year or two to hear the latest news. His mother lived with her professionally successful daughters until she died –– alone, without a man. At the time, Ace was in prison in Michigan. His mother was the only person he’d ever really loved and she’d rejected him for what he’d become because of her decisions. He’d had a love/hate relationship with women ever since.
Kandie jogged him awake and the nightmare ended. “The kids are in bed, Ace. I sent Country home. You’re staying here with me tonight.”
He smiled and didn’t object. He was home, again, if only in his imagination. For a fleeting moment, he regretted the fact that he’d eventually have to throw Kandie and her family away, just like he’d been a throwaway kid. An object people used but didn’t love. Love had died in Chicago a long time ago, and the dead never come back to life.
11/The Circles Of Life
Shortly after the sun rose Wednesday morning, Carmen quietly moved her easel and five-by-eight foot canvas onto the apartment patio, leaving the sliding door slightly ajar so she could hear Marisa when she awoke. Carmen hoped that the early morning solitude and exceptional light would inspire her, even though it was cold, with the temperature in the fifties. At least, the paint wouldn’t run or freeze. She wore a warm, green velvet jogging suit, and had pulled the hood over her head. She also wore cotton gloves with the finger tips cut out up to the first knuckle. A portable heater sat in the corner, plugged into the patio electrical outlet.
She’d been mulling over in her mind for months an idea about a painting that captured the essence of the universe and life, and inspired thoughts about the future. It would contain elements of symbolism, impressionism and realism all at the same time. An oil and canvas tour de force. Although the idea was egotistical and ambiguously ambitious, Carmen had always believed art should be soaring in its purpose, otherwise what was the purpose? She planned to organize the painting as nine circular panels in three rows. Each panel would portray significant evolutionary events, proceeding from left to right and top level to bottom level, as if one were reading the lines on a printed page. They would all barely touch, creating four rhombus shapes in the middle of the paintings and two triangular areas on each of the four sides of the painting, plus four triangular shapes in each corner. These spaces would contain small, transitional renderings of the elements that led to or created evolutionary change. She had no idea about the details. They would have to be inspired; otherwise, it would amount to nothing but a canvas covered with paint.
Carmen didn’t feel optimistic about her chances of success, but everything, even inspiration, had to have a beginning.
Inside the first sphere in the upper left hand corner, she began painting her vision of the Big Bang that created the universe. Next would be the formation of planets. Where these first two panels touched and created the top triangular space, she planned to paint a fusion of elements that formed amino acids, the primary elements of life. The other triangular space at the top might include representations of sperm, eggs, and DNA punching their way into the third sphere. Perhaps the next to the last circular panel on the bottom row would feature development of a new species melding carbon and silicone-based life forms. A cyborg, maybe. The last panel would represent innovative means of space exploration. In the bottom right corner space, Carmen planned to steal a technique from a seventeenth-century master and portray the moon as a mirror reflecting another dimension of the multiverse.
Her thinking ran way ahead of the actual work, so Carmen decided to simply begin and see what happened. Then, the painting would either flow and take on a life of its own, or it wouldn’t, in which case she’d recycle the canvas and paint something else over the top of a universe that had failed to unfold as she envisioned it. Perhaps God had the same problem in the beginning?
Two hours later, about the time her arms and hands began to ache and her fingers started to cramp, Marisa startled her by saying, “What’s that?”
Carmen looked at her daughter standing inside the apartment behind the sliding door. She’d left it cracked for the sole purpose of hearing Marisa when she awakened to get ready for school. Carmen opened the door. “I don’t know for sure. Take a look. Tell me what you think.”
“I don’t have any thoughts right now. It’s too early.”
Marisa had slept in athletic shorts and a tank top with a blue bow on each shoulder strap. It fit tight enough to outline her budding breasts. Her long, dark curly hair framed an angelic face. Carmen came into the apartment and reached out to touch a real work of art.
“I should paint you again,” Carmen said, wrapping her arms around her daughter.
“No, don’t. We already have enough pictures of me. Everyone knows what I look like.”
“You don’t think I could improve on a photograph?”
“Probably. I’d like blue eyes, if you don’t mind.”
“I could do that.”
Marisa pointed at the canvas. “What will you call it?”
Carmen frowned. “Maybe The Big Bang. Tomorrow. Smorgasbord. How about Life Goes Round and Round?”
“I like your realism better, especially the one of the street in Paris. Tell me again when you were there?”
Carmen responded while moving her canvas and painting supplies inside. “Years ago in my student life, which I loved, incidentally. Being a lifelong student would have suited me just fine.”
“How come you don’t just paint a bunch of pictures and sell them at art fairs, like the one they have every summer in the Plaza?”
There’s a song about that, Carmen recalled. In the story told by the singer, he planned to travel and perform while his girlfriend sold her paintings on the sidewalk. “It’s an idea," she conceded, thinking she might talk to Richey about it. Maybe they would decide such a lifestyle was possible, and begin planning to live it together.
“Who’s taking me to school today, you or Grandma?” Marisa asked.
“Grandma. I’m going in late this morning because I have to meet a client for dinner. Grandma will pick you up after school, too. I should be over at her house to get you by eight. Okay?”
“Okay, Mom, but you work too much.”
“It’s not my idea, believe me. Go get ready for school. I’m going to take a shower. Grandma will be by in about a half-hour.”
Carmen took off the jogging suit and threw it on her bed. When the knock came on the door, Carmen thought it likely was her mother. She put on a purple robe and walked to the front door. She looked through the peephole and saw Richey.
“Everything okay?” she asked, opening the door. She hadn’t seen him since last Wednesday, a week ago. He’d called on Thursday to say he had the flu. She’d called him at his home several times after that, but the answering service picked up.
“I heard there was a free breakfast here,” he said.
“If you make it yourself. Mom’s coming soon to take Marisa to school. I was just getting ready to get into the shower. I got a half-hour then before I need to get going.”
“Can I get in with you? I have some dirty thoughts.” He was enticed by the lightweight robe that clung to Carmen’s curves. Her black hair hung loose and framed a perfectly formed face and flawless complexion. Richey was surprised that a younger man hadn’t snapped her up long ago. He’d been lucky with women. Shirley was good-looking and smart, too. Richey
didn’t want to blow his second, and perhaps last chance, at love, even though he usually had a hard time defining it.
About this time, Marisa came out of her bedroom, wearing an ankle-length red and gold dress.
“Richey, what are you doing here?”
“I came for breakfast.”
“Grandma and I go through Mickey Dee’s on the way to school. You wanna come with us?”
“I’m too old to be teachable. I’ll just make some coffee while your mom takes a shower.”
“Mom was up early. You know why Richey?”
“No.”
“She heard tapping on her bedroom window about five o’clock this morning.”
“Really?”
Carmen explained, “I was afraid to open the blinds and find myself staring at some maniac. While I stood there trembling, Marisa did it. She wasn’t afraid at all.”
“And?”
“It was the sprinkler system,” Carmen explained. “It comes on apparently about five a. m. and waters the grass, although the grass is turning brown and dying. I don’t know why they still have the sprinkler system on in October. Anyway, for some reason, it hit my window today.”
“And you say it sounded like someone tapping?”
“Yeah. The pattern is from left to right. It goes tap, tap, tap and moves on. About thirty seconds later, it swings the other way. Tap, tap, tap. Spooky when you don’t know what it is, Richey. Now that I know, it’s funny. Marisa called me a ʽfraidy cat.’”
Richey approached the eleven-year-old and wrapped her in a bear hug, partly because he hadn’t held and hugged Ethan enough. Marisa smelled nearly new, not yet used up by the world and beginning to smell stale. “So your momma is a big baby and you’re the brave one in this house?”
“She wanted to call the cops,” Marisa said, spoofing her mother.
“Oh, I did not!” Carmen replied, laughing affably. “But I did stay up and paint, so maybe it really was a subtle message: tap, tap, tap: ‘get to work.’”
“I went back to sleep,” Marisa said, matter-of-factly.
“Did you call anybody?” Richey asked.
“I’ll call the office later today. They’ll fix it.”
“It’s probably just the alignment of the sprinkler head,” Richey guessed.
“I’m getting into the shower, guys.”
Richey went about fixing coffee and Marisa joined him in the kitchen. “So, what’s going on in school nowadays, kid?”
“Oh, you know, Richey. Math, English, art, that kinda stuff.”
“Study hard, Marisa and go to college and make something of yourself, or you’ll have to work at Biederman’s the rest of your life.”
“Oh, Richey, you’re so funny.”
He recalled the urine sample he’d given Beems and Kryck and decided that was funny. Now.
Grandma came about the time the coffee began to percolate. She and Richey exchanged awkward pleasantries without her asking or him offering to explain why he was in her daughter’s apartment this early in the morning. Richey was satisfied to allow Mom to think sexually explicit thoughts. Then, suddenly, Marisa bolted out of the bedroom door with her coat halfway on and a bulky backpack slung over one shoulder.
Carmen came out of the bedroom, again wearing the robe. She used a towel to dry her hair. “Mom, Marisa wants to go through McDonald’s, okay.”
Grandma said, “That’s fine, but I already had breakfast. C’mon, Marisa, or we’ll be late.”
“Bye, Mom, bye, Richey.”
After Marisa and her grandmother left, Carmen went back into her bedroom. Richey poured a cup of coffee and sat at the kitchen bar until Carmen reappeared, cinching up a belt on a black dress. She ran her fingers through her shiny, cascading black curls, which was apparently all they needed to fall in place.
“Are you over the flu?” she asked. “Did you see a doctor?” Carmen gave him a hug while he sat. “I missed you.”
Richey sighed deeply and jumped in. “I got fired at Biederman’s Monday night.”
Carmen poured coffee into a mug and maintained a studied silence before she said, “It’s probably for the best. It was a nowhere job. You got something else in mind?”
“Maybe. I talked to Marshon about some things.” He paused and took a deep breath. “Shirley is getting married in a few weeks. That has nothing to do with my getting fired or finding work, but I thought I’d mention it.”
“You talked to her?”
“Yeah, she came down from Chicago to tell me the news, and get some of her stuff out of the house.”
“When was that?”
“Last Thursday.”
Carmen didn’t ask if there was any relationship between Shirley’s visit and the flu that laid Richey low over the weekend. “Well, at least she didn’t phone in the news. You guys have a good talk?”
He bobbed his head. “Yeah, it was nice and civil. Very civil, in fact.” He fought back the sudden threat of tears. He could have told Carmen that he’d accepted the blame for the failure of their marriage, although Shirley had said blame wasn’t important now. That they both would remember the good times — the good part that was Ethan. That he knew in theory why their relationship had fallen apart, although that knowledge came retrospectively. He should have done something to stop his marriage from unwinding, but he hadn’t. Richey didn’t say anything, in fact, because it might sound to Carmen as if he wished his marriage to Shirley were still intact. That if he’d been a better human being and a husband, they would never have met; that this conversation could then have occurred only in another dimension, such as one Carmen might paint.
“Even though the marriage is over, it was a difficult conversation, because of all the history Shirley and I have together,” Richey admitted.
“I understand,” Carmen said. “I met my first husband, Miguel, in college at a Hispanic cultural fair. Not that I’m culturally centered south of the border. The Salazars are third-generation Mexican-Americans. I can’t speak Spanish worth a damn. Anyway, Miguel and I got married a couple of years later and had Marisa right away. It lasted five years. Did I tell you about all this?”
“In bits and pieces. Did Miquel cheat on you?”
Carmen shrugged. “He found someone else. I don’t know whether that’s cheating or his good fortune. They’ve been married almost five years now and have two daughters.”
“He live around here? Does he see Marisa very often?”
“He and his new wife moved to Phoenix, but Marisa sees him two or three times a year, including a couple of weeks in the summer. He’s good to her.” Carmen paused. In her attempt to see into the past, she looked at the walls and ceiling, as if a clearer vision would appear there. Then, she looked directly at Richey. It was mutual confession day. Maybe it would strengthen their relationship; maybe not.
“I think of Miguel now and then, especially after looking at Marisa sometimes,” Carmen continued. “It’s probably something I shouldn’t tell my current boyfriend, if I had an ordinary boyfriend. But I think you’ll understand, Richey. I don’t think of Miguel with longing, or hope that he and I will get back together again. It’s just my history. Mine and Marisa’s. If you don’t remember your history, you can’t learn, right? You continue to make the same mistakes. I also can’t hate Miguel, or even put him out of my mind, because then I’d have to hate part of Marisa. Like you can’t hate Shirley because of Ethan. So, we remember what was good in our past relationships, chalk the mistakes up to life, and remember that it wasn’t entirely our fault that things didn’t work out. We’re part of them and they are part of us. We should remember them well. And, we should get on with our present lives. You’re in my life, Richey, until you decide not to be.”
Richey hugged her and the tears flowed onto her shoulder. “Jesus, I can’t believe how beautiful and smart you are, Carmen. Don’t leave me yet. I’m trying to get it together.”
“You will, Richey. We’ll come up with something. We’re veterans of life. We know what works
and what doesn’t. Let’s think about it for the next few days and talk it out this weekend. We can come up with a plan, if we want to.”
Richey saw Carmen to her car and watched her drive away. He’d spent the wee hours of the morning at Denny’s drinking coffee and thinking. He was hung over and needed a Bloody Mary. The Stadium didn’t open for another couple of hours.
Then, he thought about the sprinkler system attack on Carmen’s bedroom window. He walked over to that side of the apartment building and located the sprinkler head near the sidewalk. It was one of those that jerked through a 180-degree arc, flipped back to the beginning and then started over. He squatted and examined it, but didn’t see anything that seemed broken. On top of the head was a gold-colored, Phillips-head screw. Richey concluded that tightening the screw probably reduced the range of the spray.
He walked around Carmen’s building looking for a control box. He found it on the next building. A combination lock secured the metal box. Richey walked back to his car, opened the trunk and looked around. Then, he took out a bolt cutter, a pair of pliers and a Philips head screwdriver. Back at the box, he used the bolt cutter to remove the lock. He opened the lid and looked at the insides. He turned the clock ahead to about five a. m., and heard the water lines buried beneath the grass begin to gurgle. Like Carmen, he didn’t understand why they were watering in October, although the apartment complex grass was greener than anywhere else in the city. Maybe it was part of their rental strategy — green grass right up to the first snowfall.
He returned the bolt cutter and pliers to the trunk about the time the sprinklers began to work. He walked over to the errant sprinkler and watched as it once again peppered Carmen’s window. He bent over the sprinkler head and turned the screw about a half turn clockwise. The water stream retreated a few feet; another adjustment and it fell just short of the building wall. Richey derived an inordinate sense of achievement from this small victory, which, unlike anything else in his life in recent days, went just as planned.
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