by Nico Laeser
Emily had given her all the love and security that a child could ask for and allowed her the opportunity of a good home and good schooling. Cassie was a good student, particularly enjoyed biology and chemistry, and hoped for a career in medical science. After seeing her mother grow old and require constant care, Cassie had altered the course of her education to better suit a career in nursing. She had taken care of Emily until her last breath. Cassie continued in her efforts to become a nurse and volunteered at the nursing home where my Aunt Anna worked, and they would later employ Cassie full-time.
Years later, she and Anna left the nursing home to perform live-in care for me, and have done ever since.
CHAPTER 15
I am vegetable
A large percentage of the doctors and specialists that have seen and studied me over the past nine years are of the opinion that I am no longer the Danny that my parents knew. At first, they would talk about me in hushed voices or behind hospital doors, and I would just watch their mouths move. My father would become visibly agitated, and my mother would begin to cry, shooting glances back at me through the glass.
After a couple years, they would no longer leave the room or talk out of earshot. The doctors would deliver news of my condition in a very matter-of-fact way, the way a car mechanic delivers news of a blown head-gasket. They would talk about the chance of me being cognizant or in a vegetative state, but in their opinion, more likely the latter. After various scans, they would inform my parents of how much of my brain had been eaten away, and that there was no way of stopping my body from attacking the scar tissue and destroying even more of my brain. On occasion, I was positioned in such a way that I could see the scanned images, resembling cauliflower with the perforated characteristic of Swiss cheese.
I have gotten used to people staring into the bowl from inches away, tapping on the glass to see if I will respond, and I remain hidden in the eye socket of an inanimate skull, waiting for the intruding voyeur to leave.
Over time, my parents relented to the idea that I was gone. I think that this was the only way for them to cope with the loss of their son; if I was gone, then they could mourn and grieve, and eventually, move on. I would still catch the odd glimmer of hope in my mother as various options to try to communicate with me were exhausted, the last of which, was the twitching finger.
I had overheard my mother ask doctors and specialists for help, and occasionally, she had asked God for help, but none were seemingly able. I have done a great deal of pleading with God, but after nine years straining to hear the faintest murmur, I have given up on the idea of a god, or at least the idea of a god that cares about me.
CHAPTER 16
I am mineral
I look like a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound lump of clay, a face punched into it and adorned with asymmetric features, eyes in the sunken knuckle indents, a nose formed by the gap between my creator’s middle fingers, and a gaping hole spooned out of the clay for a mouth.
If we were all created in God’s image, then maybe I am just a poor representation, a degrading sculpture produced by incompetent or inexperienced hands and an embarrassment to God. Maybe I am a perfect re-creation of God, and this is why he, like me, is no longer able to communicate and why countless daily prayers go unanswered. Maybe life is a test, and maybe I failed that test before reaching adulthood. Maybe that is why I have been locked in purgatory for the last nine years, or maybe there is no God, no heaven, and no hell.
***
To Marcus, I am a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound lump of gold, which he will harvest, nugget by nugget, to pay for the upkeep of a bright red 1972 Mustang, a new car stereo that almost drowns out the sound of the engine, and designer sunglasses that hide the effects of an over-active social life. He will use the harvested mineral to pay for the rented luxury penthouse apartment that he boasts about frequently on his brand new top-of-the-line cell phone, which allows me insight to his life vicariously through eavesdropped conversations with what he would call his friends.
“I’m here for a couple hours; I’ll swing by after,” Marcus says into the phone.
“Oh yeah? No, I’m done with that one, she’s too needy.” He leans on the table and peers out of the window, presumably to admire his prize possession, the 1972 Mustang.
“How old are they?” He pulls out his keys and points them at the glass. I hear a peep and there is a brief yellow flash.
“So I guess I’m buying the booze.” He sits back down in Cassie’s chair and leans back, running a hand through hair that is unaffected by the gesture.
“Cassie gets here at eight,” he says.
“Danny boy’s nurse.” He looks me in the eyes for the first time in over a week.
“She’s alright, I’d fuck it,” he says through a smirk, and winks at me.
“Alright, later.” He sets his phone down gently on the table.
“I feel bad for you, Danny boy, there’s a lot of pussy in this world that you are missing out on, guess that just leaves more for me though,” he says and raises his eyebrows.
Marcus leans forward on the table between us. “Even if you could talk, who would be interested in anything you have to say?”
“Knock, knock.” He punctuates the words with the rap of his knuckles on the table.
“Who’s there?” he says and shakes his head slowly, “No one.”
CHAPTER 17
I am the author
“They told him it was a grand mal seizure,” Anna says.
“Did they say what caused it?” Cassie holds my arm outstretched and pauses for a beat to look at Anna.
“No, but he says that he has to go back for more tests; he says that he was in the kitchen preparing food for the next day and then he doesn’t remember anything, until he woke up in the hospital,” Anna says.
“Is he going to be okay?” Cassie continues to contract my arm at the elbow, steps around to my right, and begins to rotate my shoulder.
“He seems fine now; he said they want to test him for epilepsy,” Anna says.
Cassie pulls her chair in close and sits down. Her lips are tight together and her brow furrowed. As she rolls my wrist in her hands, she says, “Poor guy.”
She interlocks her fingers with mine. “Today is the last day of my course. Did you call Marcus?”
Anna moves behind Cassie and stares through the window. “I left a message for him yesterday to be here in the morning. I guess I should have been more specific.” The morning sun falls into the long lines grooved into her cheek that now appear the same color as the dark pink where her lips meet.
“I can probably still call them and ask to go in the evening instead,” Cassie says with my other hand now in hers.
One of my eyes decides to rest, and the other struggles to focus. I let them close, and I can no longer feel Cassie’s touch.
“Don’t worry about it, Cass, I’ll take care of Danny,” Anna says.
“I started reading The Chrysalids to Danny; I can leave it here, if you want to read to him.” I hear the dampened jingling of keys and open my eyes as Cassie pulls the book from her bag and places it on the table.
“I’ll do that, Cass. I’m sure his highness, Marcus, will show up at some point.” As Anna turns away from the sun, the pink lines blend into the blue-black shadows of her skin.
Cassie stands up and puts her arms around Anna. “I’m so glad he has you, Anna.”
The shape of Anna’s arms seems cut out of the back of Cassie’s white uniform. “You’re a good woman, Cass, we are all lucky to have you in our lives.”
“Thank you, Anna.” Cassie lets go of Anna and gathers her things. “I had better go.”
Cassie turns back to me. “I’ll be back after my course Danny.”
Anna says, “I’ll see you later, Cass.”
“See you later.” Cassie smiles and walks out of my view.
Anna sits down across the table and smiles at me as if recalling a happy memory of the boy she once knew. She begins to read from the boo
kmarked page, and I let the words play like a movie in my head.
***
Anna’s voice is eventually drowned out by the sound of the Mustang’s engine, accompanied by a thumping bass metronome. A few minutes later, Marcus saunters into the dayroom.
Anna places the book down on the table and turns to Marcus. “Good morning, Marcus.”
“Morning,” he says.
There is an awkward moment between them before Anna relinquishes the chair to Marcus and asks him if he would like coffee.
He nods and sits down opposite me as Anna exits the room.
Marcus picks up the book and moves the bookmark forward about forty or so pages, which bothers me more than it usually does. I make extra effort and move my gaze between lolls, back and forth from him, to the book.
He studies me for a minute and frowns. “What? You want me to read some more to you?” he says and picks up the book.
“Once upon a time, there was a shit book that I’m not going to read to you. The end,” he says and places the bookmark at the back before closing the book.
He removes his sunglasses and sets them over my eyes. “It’s rude to stare.”
Anna returns a few minutes later with his coffee, and looking at me, she says, “What’s going on here Marcus?”
“What?” he says.
“Why is Danny wearing your sunglasses?” she asks.
Marcus rolls his eyes and yawns.
“Here, looks like you need this,” Anna says and puts the cup down firmly on the table.
“What the hell is this?” Anna picks up the book and pulls the bookmark from the back. “There’s no way you read all of that while I was making your coffee. If you don’t want to read to Danny then don’t, but leave the bookmark where it is.”
Marcus stares up at Anna for a second. “Why don’t you run off and mind your own business, and let me do my job.”
“Excuse me?” Anna says, “It is my business. Why don’t you actually do your job, instead of just sitting there?”
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he says and glares at her.
“I have been a part of this family since long before Danny was even born. Danny is my nephew; who do you think you are? I don’t know how you still have a job. You are nothing but a disrespectful child and a leech on this family,” Anna says and walks out of view.
I watch his eyes follow her out, and under his breath, he says, “Fucking nigger.”
I leave my body and exit the room. I move around the large glowing figure of Anna in the hallway and continue out through the open doors at the back of the house.
There is a glowing orange figure pouring blue trash into one of the garbage containers outside, and I make my way toward him. Without breaking step, I collide with the figure and the pungent smell of garbage fills my nose, his nose. Blue and yellow fade quickly to the greys and greens of the real world and sound begins abruptly. I drop the empty garbage can and steady myself, holding on to the side of the large green bin. I make my way around to the front of the house, checking the man’s pockets and retrieving the staff keys to the house.
I see the bright red 1972 Mustang parked on the blacktop driveway in front of the house, and I hike across the grass and gravel toward it with the keys clenched in my fist. I make sure that Marcus is not watching through the dayroom window, just feet away, and stoop down next to the driver side door, digging the key into the paint and carving with deep straight lines.
On my way back to the garbage can, I pick the red paint from the grooves of the key and return them to the same pocket. I pick up the garbage can and hold it out in roughly the same position it was in, before leaving the body and returning to my own.
CHAPTER 18
I am ready
“Who the fuck did it?” Marcus stands with his bony fists balled up and his face sticking out about ten inches in front of the rest of him.
“How should I know? I’ve been in here the whole time; why don’t you ask the cleaners?” Anna says.
“I’m going to find out who did it, Anna,” he says.
“Maybe someone just walked by and scraped it by accident,” Anna says, shrugging her shoulders.
“It says, ‘Knock, knock,’” Marcus shouts.
“Hey, don’t yell at me, I didn’t do it,” Anna snaps.
“No? Well, whoever did is paying for a new paint job. That’s the original paint,” he says.
Anna turns and leaves the room, shaking her head, and Marcus stares at me. “I know she fucking saw that note. You can say goodbye to Aunt Anna; I’m going to have that cunt arrested.”
His phone vibrates on the table. He looks at it and ignores it. When it stops vibrating, it says missed call, and I notice that the time is 5:46. Cassie won’t be here until around 8:00 this evening.
I watch him tapping on the table and cursing under his breath.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” he says, glaring into my eyes.
I would love to have the use of my body for long enough to deny him the further use of his.
Marcus stands up and spins my chair around to face the television. My body slumps sideways, then forward, and the floor accelerates to meet my face. I hear a pop and hiss, and see one of the apparatus stands fall slowly to the ground. Inside, I flinch as it lands inches from my outwardly unresponsive face.
“Fuck,” Marcus shouts, and I see him reach down to pick up the stand.
My vision starts to blur and does so increasingly with a distorted pulsing rhythm as colors begin to appear like electrical sparks in front of my eyes. My field of vision begins to narrow, and there is immense pressure inside my head. I begin to panic as my senses are replaced with kaleidoscopic color and a high-pitched squealing. Everything is swallowed by darkness, and a dull throbbing pulse beats in my head.
The pulsing lights begin to slow, and shapes move in front of me. A low rhythmic murmur of mechanical sound swells; from somewhere, there comes alternating sounds, like a blowtorch gasping for breath between bursts of flame. The smell of bodily excretion is strong in my nostrils, and the sounds evolve into the whir and hiss of medical apparatus. Greasy representations of light move from right to left, and a black cross settles in the center of my view. A black shape moves in front of the light and descends to one side of the cross.
I can hear what I think is Anna’s voice. It sounds dull, and every syllable that rises in tone is accompanied by a tinny ringing whine. I cannot understand what she is saying. The light is obscured by another black blur, and more muffled voices utter dull vowel sounds that I cannot understand. A sudden pain stabs its way through the side of my head, and all I can hear is squealing. The sound seems wrapped around whatever is drilling through my head, and sharp electrical shocks travel the wiring of my brain.
The sharp pain begins to dissipate and is replaced with a dull but lingering pain. The oscillating squeal serves as background music to a singular thought. I hope that this is what it feels like to die.
CHAPTER 19
I am an epidemic
The windows of my cage are smeared with grease, and I can no longer see through them. I can only make out fragments of conversation between the distorted blaring high-pitched tones, like that of a nursery rhyme played through the speakers of an ice cream truck.
Cassie’s voice hurts like brain freeze. Tinny crackled consonants and screeching siren vowels cut through the white noise, and I strain to understand any of it. From the odd word spoken in a lower register or maybe lower volume, and with me having to fill in the gaps between, I think that she is saying something about someone being tested for meningitis or encephalitis.
Anna asks something, and I can tell it is a question because of the rising intonation, but I can’t make out the words.
Marcus speaks, and through the hiss, I can make out his every word. “I have to get checked out?”
Cassie whistles and drags her nails down a chalkboard.
The only thing that I catch from Anna’s response is “Grand mal
seizures.”
I hear Cassie’s heels on the floor, moving away, and each step echoes with a squeal. The shrill exchange continues, and my heart begins to sink, knowing that I will never hear her soft voice again.
Marcus hisses, “So everyone has to get checked out? Mr. and Mrs. Stockholm, the cleaners?”
Anna adds dissonant harmony to the screeching chorus.
“I’m not calling Shelly about some bogus epidemic,” Marcus hisses.
Cassie’s voice carves through the static and the note rings out as I leave my chair. I view the three yellow glowing figures in the room and push my eyes to meet the white glow of his. Color returns as does my vision and I am standing opposite Cassie. I glance back at the chair, and for the first time, I feel sympathy for the creature in it.
Cassie says, “Marcus, two people have collapsed after suffering grand mal seizures; it’s unlikely that it is just a coincidence.”
I walk slowly toward Anna, and she gives me a puzzled look. “Goodbye, Anna,” I say and put my arms around her.
Anna flinches for a second and says, “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
I let go of her and approach Cassie who is wearing the same expression as Anna. I put my arms around her and hold her gently.
“What are you doing, Marcus?” Cassie says.
“Goodbye, Cassie,” I say.
I want to tell her that I love her, but I know that it is his face that she sees and his voice that she hears. I pull away and walk back toward my chair.
“Goodbye, Danny,” I say as I pick up the machine stand and pull it, sparking as it pries free from the wall socket and away from Danny.
There is a pop and hiss as the air expels from the reserve. In a continuous motion, I turn and lift, hurling the machine through the dayroom window. The glass clangs and shatters all over the table, all over me, and then the floor. I stand for a couple seconds admiring the bright red 1972 Mustang parked right outside the window that now has my ventilator half-embedded in the spider-webbed windshield and resting in a dent caved into the black stripe on the hood.