Damon

by Vanessa Hawkes

  Damon was suffering.

  And I couldn’t stand it.

  “Did you know,” I said, “that Damon’s dad has the same mental condition as Mama? Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  “Really?” Aunt Cynthia said, glancing at Damon. “Well… I suppose it is.”

  I wanted to ask what she thought about the possibility of Gram and Elliot having an affair, but I knew I was going to have to let that topic go. At least in front of Damon. He was already upset.

  I tried to think of what else to say. “Did you know I’m still working there?” I asked her. “At the drugstore?”

  Damon reached under the table and squeezed my hand. He frowned at me for not sticking to the topic, and for not getting enough information. “Ask about the secret,” he told me.

  Aunt Cynthia blinked at Damon, then gave me an affectionate smile, so I’d know she still intended to stick up for me, even if she hadn’t been there for years. “I did, hon, and I’m glad you’ve had them around to depend on. They’re just the greatest people.”

  “They are,” I said. Tears came to my eyes at the thought of my old pleasant life. A life I would never enjoy again. It was easy to forget all the horrible days of that old life when I felt sentimental. “But they’re getting old and I’m worried.”

  She reached over to pat my hand. “Oh, I know, hon. There’s nothing you can do.”

  Damon growled and pushed his chair back forcefully. He strode out of the room, holding his head with both hands.

  We watched him leave. Then Aunt Cynthia leaned closer and spoke in a hushed voice. “Honey, he’s not well,” she said. “I’ve been watching him. I’m afraid he might be dangerous.”

  “I know. And he knows. But he’s not dangerous.”

  “Are you sure you want to get mixed up in something like this again?” She seemed genuinely worried. “You don’t have to feel responsible for everyone with problems. You already give your whole life to your mother.”

  “He’s not like Mama,” I tried to explain. “He’s found some way to control it. See how he just walked out instead of throwing his chair across the room or upending the table? And yesterday when he got upset at the hotel, he just shot his mouth off instead of hurting someone. And all without medication.” A sense of pride swelled inside me and I wanted to shout to the world how incredible he was. He was so strong.

  “How long have you known him?” she asked.

  “Long enough.” I couldn’t very well tell her I’d known Damon less than a week. It would have sounded ridiculous.

  “Long enough to see all his sides?” she asked with hard-earned wisdom. “Honey, I’m worried about you repeating a pattern with Damon.”

  “I don’t care. I love him.”

  “He’ll get worse. He’s still young. Your mama wasn’t very bad in the beginning, either. For years she was able to pass for normal.”

  “I know he’ll get worse, but so will I, and at least we’ll have each other.”

  She laughed at me. “Oh, no, sweetie, you’re not like your mother. You never have been. You’re just fine. I know you must be worried about it, but trust me. I can tell.”

  Could she now? What would she say if she knew I drank blood and heard voices? “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not breaking up with him.”

  She wouldn’t stop staring at me as if she thought I was ruining my life, so my mind raced to think of something to divert her attention. I pushed my mug of coffee toward her. “Could I have some coffee? I can’t wake up.”

  “Sure,” she said, glancing at the empty doorway, “I just didn’t think he needed any caffeine.”

  “Good idea. Do you remember a man named Elliot Jennings?”

  “Uncle Elliot?” She smiled. “Of course. His last name wasn’t Jennings, it was Jenkins.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “His wife shot herself. I remember he had the cutest little grandson he was keeping. We just about adopted him, your grammy and me.”

  I gratefully took the coffee she delivered. “That was Damon.”

  Her eyes widened and she gaped at me. “That was Damon? No.”

  “Yeah. Really.”

  “Well, my god…. And now….” She stared at the doorway where Damon had exited. “I always wondered what had happened to him.” She frowned. “But his name was David. We called him Little Davy Crockett, because he had this little coonskin hat. His name was David Jenkins.”

  “I know. He goes by Damon now.”

  “Why?”

  I could only shrug. “Damon!” I called. When he stepped up to the doorway, I decided to just ask him. “Why’d you change your name?”

  “Because I like it better. It’s who I am. I had it legally changed.”

  I turned back to Aunt Cynthia. “That’s all right, isn’t it? If he had it legally changed?”

  She nodded. “I wish I could change my name sometimes.” She grimaced at me, knowing I hated my birth name. “You know, hon, we tried to talk her out of it,” she said, “but she was your mother and she had final say. Your gram said we could call you Maggie and it would be okay.”

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter anymore.

  She waved at Damon. “Come sit down, honey. I didn’t realize who you were. Do you remember me? I’m the one who used to take you to the drugstore to ride the mechanical pony and get a root beer float.”

  Damon strolled into the kitchen and sat down, seeming much more relaxed. “I don’t remember that.”

  Aunt Cynthia was unfazed. “I used to have to bribe you to get off that thing. You would have ridden it from sunup to sundown if I’d let you.” She laughed out loud. “You used to come up and yank on my arm and jump up and down yelling, ‘Take me to the pony, Cinny!’ That’s what you called me because you couldn’t say Cynthia. ‘Take me to the pony, Cinny, I’m dying!’ And then you’d roll on the floor moaning till I’d finally take you in.”

  Now I laughed out loud and it felt so wonderful. I hadn’t realized I’d be able to laugh again. “I can see it. God….”

  Damon blushed and sucked in his cheeks, staring off. “That was David,” he whispered. “Not me.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean to embarrass ya, hon,” Aunt Cynthia said, still laughing softly. “I just thought you were the cutest thing. I can’t believe it’s you and I didn’t even know. I just thought you were Maggie’s boyfriend.”

  Damon found his composure and draped his arm around my shoulders. “I am. And more.”

  “How in the world did you two come together?” she asked. “And how’s your granddad doing?”

  Damon didn’t seem interested in answering, maybe his voices were talking his ear off, so I stepped in. “His grandfather died. He remembered living with us and came back to see it, and we met.”

  “Oh, no,” Cynthia wailed. “Uncle Elliot’s gone? I’m so sorry.” Tears came to her eyes and she used the collar of her shirt to wipe them away. “I really loved him. Him and your Grandma Beverly both. Why didn’t anyone tell me? He was a true friend to Mama.”

  “They were close?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. They grew up together.” She reached over and gave Damon a tentative pat on the arm. “She never would have gotten over Daddy’s death without the two of them. Your grandparents. They came and stayed with us and helped take care of everything. Sonya and I were still kids and we didn’t know what to do.” She turned to speak to me. “Mama completely withdrew after that. She locked herself up in her room and wouldn’t come out. There wouldn’t have been a funeral at all without Uncle Elliot and Uncle Chester to take care of things. Your gram was lucky to have such good friends.”

  I nodded, thinking the same thing. I was lucky, too, to still have some of those friends in my life. And I hadn’t even called Chester yet to tell him why I’d missed work, why I’d defied him, why I was acting crazy. I didn’t want him to tell me I was wrong or in danger or ungrateful.

  But then I imagined Bella pacing around the store, worried about me. “Can I borrow your phone? I need to
call Chester.”

  “Oh, sure, hon,” Cynthia said, getting up. “Let me get it.”

  She returned in a moment with a cell phone and handed it to me. I’d used a cell phone a few times over the years and after a moment figured out how to work it. I looked at the clock and saw it wasn’t even six yet. I decided to call the store, knowing he wouldn’t be there yet. I could leave a message, telling them everything I needed them to know without actually having to talk to them. I told them I’d taken Mama to stay with Aunt Cynthia in Knoxville, and then I apologized for running off without calling. I assured them I was fine. I couldn’t think of what else to say and finally hung up feeling about as sorry as I’d ever felt in my life.

  I hated feeling like a coward. But when it came to disappointing those I cared about, I simply couldn’t face it. I wasn’t quite grown up enough yet. Though, with my twenty-third birthday coming up, I knew I wouldn’t be able to use that excuse much longer.

  I sat back at the table and checked on Damon. He was sitting sideways in his chair, with his back to Cynthia, leaning forward and shaking all over.

  “Did you tell them I said hi?” Cynthia asked.

  I handed her the phone. “They didn’t answer. I had to leave a message.”

  The conversation fell flat and we all sat there, engrossed in our own thoughts, and voices. I was encouraged that mine hadn’t returned, but I could tell Damon’s was giving him hell. He was blinking so fast I couldn’t see his eyelashes, and shaking his head faintly as if in silent conversation. He clutched my hand as if he were hanging over the side of a cliff.

  I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Shut up in there and leave him alone.”

  He looked at me, then Aunt Cynthia, then jumped up. “Be back in a minute,” he said on his way out the back door.

  “Where are you going?” I called, but he slammed the door behind him.

  Aunt Cynthia patted my hand. “What’s wrong with him, Maggie? Exactly.”

  I looked at her and shrugged. I wasn’t sure I should tell, but Damon’s condition was to the point there was no use pretending. And Cynthia wasn’t like other people. She would understand. “He hears voices. They drive him crazy. I don’t think he’s paranoid schizophrenic, he doesn’t hallucinate the way Mama did. I think he’s just a little delusional. Maybe bipolar. But I haven’t seen him depressed yet. Well, maybe a little last night about what happened at the hotel. But it wasn’t bad. He’s mostly manic, and obsessive. And compulsive.”

  Aunt Cynthia let out a dark sigh. “I just can’t get over the coincidence. These disorders don’t come around every day, and now for Elliot’s boy and grandson to have it, too?” She blinked hard and let out a long breath. “You know David’s father murdered his wife. He beat her to death with his bare hands.”

  “I know. Bella told me. And I think you’d better call him Damon. He doesn’t want to be David anymore.”

  “My god,” she breathed, shaking her head. “He was such a bright, happy little boy. It breaks my heart.”

  My gaze turned to the back door where Damon had just fled. “Yeah, mine, too.”

  ***

  Hours had passed and Damon still hadn’t returned. I was worried to the point of nausea. And I was hurt, deeply crushed, that he would run off and leave me on the day I needed him the most.

  The voice still hadn’t returned, but it was like waiting for a bomb to go off. Every second felt like my last. I couldn’t concentrate. And I was acutely aware that I was all alone with my problems. If the voice came again I couldn’t run to Mama for help, and certainly not to Aunt Cynthia.

  And so I began to have all sorts of doubts. Maybe Damon had just been looking for someone to take care of him, and now that I was unreliable, he’d left to find someone else.

  Maybe he really was mean and had been trying to drive me crazy all along.

  Or maybe his voice had attacked while he was driving and he’d crashed his car into an embankment or an eighteen-wheeler.

  Or, perhaps, he’d gone to find a private phone, to call Dr. Sanderson and tell him that I’d finally gone over the edge and needed to be admitted.

  “Honey, why don’t you come eat some lunch,” Aunt Cynthia said. “I made tuna salad.”

  I didn’t want to give up my spot pacing before the front door, with only the screen blocking my view of the curb where his car should have been. “In a minute.”

  “You’re upsetting your mother,” she whispered.

  I stopped and turned around to see for myself. Mama sat on the sofa, watching me. Her expression was blank, but she was wringing the hem of her cardigan with agitation.

  “Sorry, Mama,” I said and forced myself to walk away from the door. “Damon left and I’m worried about him. Nobody’s coming for you. Nothing’s happening.”

  She continued to wring her sweater. It took her a little while to wind down after being upset. I sat in the boxy, scratchy chair to wait. But I couldn’t stop my knees from bobbing and I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

  “Angelface,” Aunt Cynthia called, leaning around the doorjamb, “come in here for a minute.”

  I jumped up and walked too fast into the kitchen, almost colliding with her as she checked to see if I was coming.

  “What?”

  “You’re bouncing off the walls,” she told me. “Sit down and eat a sandwich. You had an early breakfast.”

  I sat down but I couldn’t slow down. Oh god, could this day get any worse? Now I was having an anxiety attack.

  Separation anxiety.

  Co-dependent, co-dependent, co-dependent, little birds sang in my head.

  Every nerve in my body vibrated and my thoughts darted so fast I could barely see straight.

  I couldn’t breathe!

  I had to get outside, in the fresh air. The kitchen was thick with cigarette smoke. I ran outside and grabbed hold of the post on Aunt Cynthia’s little covered stoop, gulping in as much air as I could.

  The breeze was fresh and cool and so delicious it made me dizzy. I held onto the post and slowly opened my eyes.

  Greenery surrounded me everywhere I looked. The most vibrant greens I’d ever seen. It was so beautiful and clean and alive, so refreshing, like a cool drink of water.

  I wanted to fall face first in the grass and just stay there until I turned green, too.

  “Honey, your sandwich is ready,” Aunt Cynthia said through the screen door.

  “Can I have it out here?”

  “Well… sure, I don’t see why not.”

  The last thing I wanted was food right then, but she had gone to the effort and expense to fix it for me. I sat down on the steps and took the plate when she joined me outside. She sat down beside me, so I had no choice but to try to put a dent in the tuna sandwich she’d cut into four sections, like Gram used to do.

  “Here’s your juice,” she said, setting the glass beside me. “You need some vitamins. Don’t knock it over.”

  I threw her an annoyed glance. My nerves had calmed some but my temper hadn’t improved.

  “You know what I was thinking,” she said in a brighter voice. “My lease is up at the end of the month and I’ve enjoyed seeing you and Sonya so much. I thought maybe I’d move back home. I could take Mama’s old room and help out with the work and expenses. You’d have more free time. What d’ya think? Would you mind that?”

  “Well, Damon’s using that room. But--”

  “He is?” she interrupted with obvious offense. “Well, I wasn’t gonna say anything, but you know the house is legally mine. Mama left it to me alone. I just didn’t want to uproot you and Sonya.”

  “You don’t have to threaten me,” I told her, holding a potato chip like a weapon. “I was just going to say that Damon could move into my room.”

  She rubbed her forehead then reached for her case and lit another cigarette. “I’m sorry, hon, I’ve just been under a lot of pressure lately. I guess you’re old enough to hear these things now. I lost my job and I had to sell some of my things to
pay last month’s rent. I haven’t been able to come up with this month’s yet. When you get my age it’s not easy to start over. Especially when you have no real skills. I didn’t get anything out of my divorce except debts.”

  “I’ve got two hundred you can have.”

  She tapped my shoulder twice. “Oh bless you, hon, but I can’t take your hard-earned money. If I can move home then I won’t have rent to worry about and I can pay off my debts. I wonder if I could get my old job back in the school cafeteria.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, I have lots of good friends. Someone will help me. I’m so homesick, Maggie. When you get to be my age--”

  Damon threw open the back door so turbulently Aunt Cynthia and I jumped where we sat, and one of us knocked over the juice glass, which sent us scrambling to keep from getting wet. Damon held out his hand to me. “C’mon. I need to tell you something.”

  I quickly handed Aunt Cynthia my plate and went with him inside the house. “Where were you?”

  He wouldn’t answer and led us into the tiny bathroom in the hall. He shut and locked the door, then pushed me up against the wall.

  “What happened?” I asked, worried by his intense attitude.

  He kissed me as if we’d been apart for a week, his hands roaming my body until my muscles softened and turned warm, and I could barely remember the last hours of distress.

  “Did the voice come back?” he asked, still kissing my face and lips.

  I clung to him. “No, but you left me alone. I had an anxiety attack.”

  He stepped back, just enough to look me in the eye. “I had to go, baby. We have to hurry now before neither of us can think straight. I’ve got news. But, this first. This will help.”

  He reached into his pocket and showed me an object that looked like a thick pen, except it wasn’t. I knew what it was. My grandmother had been diabetic in her later years. It was a lancing device. We sold them at the drugstore. With the click of a lever, a needle shot up from the plastic case.

  “This won’t leave scars,” he said.

  He used it, making several close neat holes in a vein at the top of his forearm, just beneath his elbow where the veins were thick and blue. A pool of blood began to form in the crease of his arm. “Here,” he said. “C’mon. It’s okay.”