Remains

by J. Warren

  I stopped sweeping at that point. Alvin Turner had always been a quiet kid. Every time I see one of those movies about a quiet kid who goes on to be a champion, I think about how I saw Alvin Turner when he was a kid. Quiet, handsome, smart; everyone liked him. His dad was the town mechanic; he and Alvin got along really well. They went fishing every weekend. Hearing how he’d beat up Kevin O’Mally made me smile. I felt for a moment, that day that I should have stayed in the boxing class. I should have been the one to punch O’Mally’s lights out. I wished that I’d have been there to see it.

  Alvin handed me back my change. “You hear much about that case?”

  “Case?” I asked, coming out of my memories.

  “The bones ‘n all.” He closed the till slow. I shook my head. “Rumor has it that they’re some kid’s, like I said. Perfectly preserved is what they’re saying, like someone buried them already picked clean.”

  “Anyone seen them?”

  “Nobody ‘cept Aiken and Clarke.”

  “Jim Clarke?” He’d been our high school basketball coach and one of the science teachers for years. We’d always known he worked for the police, but I never imagined that he was a coroner. It was starting to feel like much longer than a few years since I’d been back. The last few times, though, I guess I hadn’t been very social.

  He nodded. “The same.”

  “I thought he’d have retired a long time ago.” I said, putting my arm around the paper bag, hugging it close.

  “People say the same thing about ol’ Headache, too. There was talk about nigh on a year ago that someone was gonna run against him for Sheriff. Never happened, though,” Alvin said. I nodded. “Who all knows your back? I should see if maybe I can find Darlene Parker and—”

  “Nobody,” I said.

  He stopped, and his grin faded some. “Suit yourself. Maybe just you and me, then. We’ll go down to the Stop and have a few.” The Last Stop was the bar out by the interstate. When they’d come along and expanded the town from four intersections to eight, the owner had saved the stop sign that used to be the last one before leaving town. The place was famous for collecting bits of the town’s history on the walls. Nothing took pride of place like that stop sign, though; it hung dead center, over the bar, like some sort of religious symbol.

  “Sure,” I said, smiling with everything but my eyes. I picked up the groceries and walked for the door.

  Alvin waved. “I’ll call you up at your mom’s place.”

  I could see him in the glass on the door as I walked out.

  Pulling up in the driveway, I thought about how much Alvin Turner had changed after he did putting out Kevin O’Mally; how all the girls seemed to pick on him less. I thought about how his acne had cleared up, and how he’d stopped hanging around with his dad. He got dates. I wondered why he hadn’t made it out of town. I thought, I’ll try to catch up with him tomorrow, as I slid the car into park, and shut the lights off. All the lights in the house were off, as well. They’d all gone to bed. I got out of the car and walked up the steps.

  “Hi,” Sarah said, and I jumped. The end of her cigarette flared in the dark.

  “Hi.” I shifted the bag around to the other hip.

  “You were gone a while,” she said, even though it wasn’t true.

  “Yeah,” I said. The bag was getting heavy. The cigarette flared again in the darkness. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Nothing really; just thinking.”

  I waited for her to say something more. When she didn’t, I stepped past her. She stood and walked behind me. I started to rest the groceries on my knee to try the door, but she glided past me and opened it.

  “You coming in?” I asked.

  “No,” she said, turned, and sat with her back to the door again. I waited a moment, and wanted to say something, but didn’t. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

  I kept my hand on the door. “I don’t know. Not like dad, I guess.”

  “That’s not a good answer,” she said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because, Michael; you can’t define something by simply saying what it is not. That’s not a definition,” she said. I opened the door.

  “Oh.” I walked inside and used my foot to close the door. I was worried I’d trip over something in the dark on my way to the kitchen, but I didn’t. I even remembered exactly where the steps were. I had just finished putting everything away when I heard the front door open. I closed the refrigerator at the same time the front door closed. I heard footsteps go up the stairs. I stood stock still in the dark, empty kitchen for a moment, though I couldn’t tell you why. After a while, I tiptoed up the stairs to my room.

  My skin gooseprickled as I slid out of my pants and shirt. I hesitated before taking off my underwear, feeling dirty doing it. Then I was under the covers, their crisp iciness against me. Rubbing my eyes with my thumb and forefinger, I yawned, and drifted slowly further and further downward.

  NINE

  My foot must’ve found a way out from under the covers or something. It got a little cold. I kept thinking that I’d just get out of bed, turn up the heat, and then get back in. It was Tuesday, my day off. I didn’t have to go in, so I could just sleep. As my eyes drifted open, I saw the room. I panicked for half a second thinking ‘oh, god, where am I? where am I?’ Then I remembered.

  On the wall were still the posters I’d had when I was young; comic book heroes, the space shuttle, etc. They were nicer than bare white walls, but I didn’t particularly like them. I didn’t read comic books, really. People had given me the posters for Christmas each year and I’d taken them, put them up more out of a sense of duty than anything else. I didn’t want them to come over to the house and then see that the posters weren’t up. They’d decide never to give me anything for Christmas again.

  The space shuttle was pretty, but I wasn’t all that interested in NASA. Most people I know weren’t. Sarah said “Why are we spending millions and millions for a program that doesn’t feed the homeless or get medicine for third world countries?” I didn’t know what to say to that. The light coming in through the curtains was slightly blue. A fly was washing its legs near the top of the curtains.

  I stretched. My whole body moved in one long wave. I tried hard not to make a noise, even though it felt good. I listened to myself breathe. My eyes traveled over the room again. I lifted a small part of the curtain. I sat up to look out the tiny hole I’d made. Frosty fog clung close to the ground and the sky was gray, overhead. Breaks between the clouds were only there for seconds. Still, I could tell they were moving really fast. In the yard, the leaves were drifting down off the tree in droves with each gust of wind. I heard someone moving up the stairs.

  I knew it was my mother. She was going to her room to wake dad. That meant that breakfast was done. I relaxed again, letting the curtain fall. I stared at that same ceiling I’d stared at for hours when I was young. All the same little faces and scenes played out in the dots and shadows. I thought about the dream I’d just had, putting my hands under my head. In the dream, I’d felt bodies squirming against me; lots of them. It felt like they were trying to grow up through me, as if I were dirt. I’d had flashes of being both the soil, tickled and caressed by the sprouting seeds, and my young self, sitting Indian style under clear plastic sheets, watching.

  I noticed a spider’s web in the corner of the room.

  I remembered that I needed to adjust the timing on mom’s car; it’d run pretty rough last night. I thought about maybe asking dad to help me. Then I thought about how he’d argue and tell me I was using the wrong tools. I decided to do it myself, and if he came out to ask, I’d already be too far along for him to help.

  I heard my father’s voice down the hall. He was gruff, even on good days. When I was small, he had always had the best voice for imitating one of the bears in the Goldilocks story. Later, it had gotten a rough edge to it. It still produced that reaction, I found. My toes curled under the sheets hearing it. Just l
ike then, I felt that any moment, he was going to open the door and start yelling at me. I became aware that I was naked under the sheet. I got up and put my pants back on. I went for the door just like I would back at my house, when I heard my mother’s voice. I rummaged around and found my shirt and slid into it. I opened my door slow. It used to creak, and I didn’t want anyone to hear me coming down, yet. I groaned under my breath, but no loud noises came. I smiled, and walked out into the upstairs hall. The bathroom door was open a little, gray light flooding out from it. The tiles would be freezing cold on my feet.

  There was the sound of springs groaning and my father’s breath escaped him. I wondered if he’d ever been young enough to stand up without making a sound. The thick smell of breakfast came up the stairs. I looked down the hall and Sarah’s door wasn’t open, yet. I looked at the hall clock, still ticking away where it had always been. Seven-thirty. I hadn’t slept nearly as late as I thought I would.

  I brushed my teeth, and when I looked up, into the mirror, it wasn’t me. Where was the tiny face, with high cheekbones and hair cut much too short? Instead of that boy, looking back from the glass was a long face, skin stretched taut over it. I finished brushing and spit, then looked at my face again. I wondered when the last time I’d really looked in a mirror was. The wallpaper hadn’t changed, the shower curtain hadn’t changed; why was I different? I heard the creaking stairs; people moving toward the kitchen. I waited until I didn’t hear them anymore, then shut off the light, and walked out.

  I remembered which stairs would creak, and avoided them. When I was three-quarters of the way down, the place where the dividing wall ended, I stopped. One more step and I’d be visible to whoever was in the living room or kitchen. I knew the minute I did, there’d be questions, answers; talk. I smiled and waited, listening. I wanted this to last as long as I could make it.

  Two years since the last time I’d come to stay: it seemed like it was five minutes ago. I’d loved it, but only the silent parts. I only liked the times when people were quiet and just—I don’t know, just being, I guess. I think there’s some Japanese religion that talks about that; how people are only who they really are when they’re quiet and don’t know anyone is looking. I liked that idea. Susan had told me about it one night; how she sometimes watched me after we were done. She said ‘it’s the only way I know anything about you at all.’ I didn’t know what to say to her, so I’d just gone to sleep.

  I moved down to the next step. When I was little, I still used to be safe here; I could peek around the little half-wall and see what was going on if I stood on my tiptoes. Of course, now I towered over it.

  My father sat in the recliner with the television going. It seemed like the television was always going in the house. The air was heavier down here; almost stale and hot. In the kitchen I could barely see someone moving around near the sink. I moved down one more step, just about to put my foot down on the floor when it creaked. My father moved the top edge of the paper just far enough to see me. I looked down and told myself to remember that that one creaked, now, too.

  “Mike,” he said.

  I tried to smile, but something wouldn’t let me.

  My mother was just walking in from the kitchen, carrying my father’s plate and a cup of coffee. I felt stupid, standing there grinning. She smiled at me. “Good morning,” she said. She didn’t look as she sat my father’s mug down beside him. I knew if I lifted it, there would be a dried ring from the million other times she’d set it in exactly that same place. “Breakfast is ready. Sarah isn’t up yet, though. Would you go wake her?” my mother asked. I didn’t really want to, but I did anyway.

  My sister hadn’t completely closed her door. It was old habit from when we were small. For a long time, even a while after Katy left, we’d go in to each other’s rooms in the morning. I’d wake up from some dream, or she’d wake up and be lonely. Some reason always came up. It wasn’t until Mom took Sarah off to the market with her just after her fifteenth birthday that it stopped. I didn’t figure out why for a long time.

  Through the crack in the door came her smell, like rain on wheat. I closed my eyes and smiled, trying to remember. There was a small flash of something, far back in my mind. Wheat growing up to my chest and chasing something, the sun bright and gentle overhead. I came back as the door creaked a little. I’d leaned forward and nudged it open.

  As usual, she was buried under covers. I could only see a toe on one end, and a strand of hair on the other. I moved in, walking as lightly as I could. I remembered trying to think of myself as a balloon, holding nothing but light, hot air for years, every time I snuck in. I crawled in on the left side of the bed, and settled myself down into the mattress. The covers were all bunched around her. I waited.

  “Michael?” a muffled voice with no body asked.

  “Yeah,” I said. The mound of cotton began to move and after a moment, a head poked out. The eyes were squinted closed.

  “What are you doing?” she mumbled, her mouth pulling back into something resembling a smile.

  “Mom says breakfast is ready.”

  She nodded, her head making a rustling sound against he pillow. She didn’t move to get up. Neither did I

  “I’m glad you two finally decided to come down,” my mother said, placing the pitcher of orange juice on the table. Again, I knew that if I looked, I’d find a ring there.

  “I’m thinking I might get under the hood of your car today, mom,” I said, picking up toast. Sarah rolled her eyes. “What?”

  “If mom wanted her car fixed, Michael, she’d take it to a mechanic. She’s not an idiot,” Sarah said, moving her eggs around with her fork.

  “I’m aware of that,” I said.

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you,” My mother said at the exact same time. “Albert,” my mother called, shifting her gaze up into the living room.

  “No.” I almost dropped the toast, “No. Don’t tell him.”

  “Why not?” mom asked.

  “Just—I want to do it for you by myself. As a present,” I said. Sarah rolled her eyes again, and sipped coffee. My father never responded, which was just as well. I got up and brought the plate with the leftover eggs back to the table.

  “Are you going to go and see Jayne Killian today, dear?” mom said to Sarah. I waited. As if on cue, Sarah rolled her eyes, and let her fork clink against her plate.

  “Yes,” she said, exasperated, and then under her breath, “although, I have no idea why.”

  “I imagine it would be nice to see old friends when you come back in town,” mom said. She wasn’t going to leave it alone.

  “Especially when they’ve become nothing more than baby factories for their fat husbands,” Sarah said to the plate.

  “Sarah! Honestly, such talk,” mom said, making a half-hearted swat at Sarah’s arm.

  “What?” Sarah asked, “it’s true, isn’t it?”

  “You could be nice to her,” mom said.

  “What do we have in common anymore, Mom? I have a college degree, for god’s sake—”

  “I will not have cursing at this table, young lady!”

  “Gosh sake.” Sarah rolled her eyes as she picked up her fork again. “What do I have to talk about? She changes diapers, I write novels.” In the living room, my father turned up the television’s volume.

  My mother went on eating as if she hadn’t heard Sarah at all. I waited, my shoulders tense, “What about you, Mikey? Will you be visiting while you’re here?” I almost asked her who she expected me to go visit with, but stopped myself. I had thought about trying to visit Alvin Turner today. I’d also thought about going out to the field, although I wanted to save that for late tonight. I thought about maybe going out to the gravesite, too.

  “I dunno, Mom.”

  Silence fell, interrupted by forks clinking against plates and the television.

  Sarah got up from the table. My mother pretended not to watch her, but did. I waited. I remembered being younger, and the first time K
aty had ever stormed away from the table. My father had said something about one of Katy’s “new” friends, and she simply stood up. She dropped her napkin on the floor pushing her chair back, and walked out of the dining room. Sarah and I hadn’t looked at each other, but we were looking directly at each other. My father took two more bites of his meatloaf, excused himself, and followed her. They screamed at each other for another hour and a half in her room. I remembered the tension in the house later, the way no one could sleep. All night, all I heard were the sounds people make when they want everyone else to think they’re sleeping; springs creaking, coughs, sighs.

  Sarah turning off the tap woke me from the memory. “If you’re finished, too, dear, you can go,” my mother said. She always said that to me, because I always stayed with her until last. I didn’t want to go, though. Sarah walked past dad, out the front door. I wanted to stay, though.

  TEN

  My father only came out once while I changed the oil in mom’s car. Sarah was with me the whole time, though. She sat on the pavement, smoking, as I rolled under or out from under the car. He walked out into the garage about twenty minutes after I’d started. I could tell it was him by the heavy leather shoes he wore. I could see them from under the car. Sarah stubbed out her half-done cigarette.

  “How’r things going?” my father asked. In his voice was something strange. I heard him grunt and start to kneel down. I crabbed out from under the car before he could.

  “Fine, dad, just fine.” I pretended I needed a wrench. He stopped mid-crouch. I sighed a little, thinking of his knees.

  “Would get out here myself and do this once in a while, but it gets so hard to get down there, you know,” he said.