Soul Mates

by Thomas Melo

  Cindy liked some good old fashioned dark humor, a bit more than the average woman her age, but she also had a hearty sense of hometown pride. The way the locals felt about their middle-of-nowhere-town where everyone knew one another and everyone stuck together is how she had felt about St. Anastasio. She’d be damned if some teenage piss-ants were going to bastardize the symbol of her town.

  For the rest of the day, she couldn’t have hated Angelica more, not only because she interrupted her peaceful lunch with sophomoric bullshit (or moose shit in this case), which she couldn’t help but to take a little personally, but because for the remainder of her work day, she was consistently plagued with the impending troubling thought that she would find out that somehow, her son was involved in this prank, and that Lilith was the puppet master.

  So yes, word of mouth can cover quite a distance indeed. In this case, word traveled across town, although this was a combination word-of-mouth and the local news. Regardless of whether or not the news was available to confirm the story, Cindy would’ve had no trouble believing it or that her son might have been involved…not these days. No trouble believing it whatsoever.

  This was the same story Cindy had told to her husband. Ray looked at her for a minute contemplating nothing and everything all at once, and asked himself if there really was a problem blossoming in their easily influenced son, or if he and his wife were simply being paranoid because they didn’t have any other answers to offer one another. After all, the human mind prefers to have an explanation, regardless of how unpleasant it may be.

  The telephone, which was programed with its generally euphonious ring, had begun to resonate throughout the kitchen. The ringtone was different this time. Tyler’s parents never said anything about it to one another, and for all they knew, it was their imagination, but it reminded them both of a bell tolling to denote the commencement of a hanging in the town square.

  The phone rang once…twice…three times…again, although nothing was said out loud, they both independently thought that if that bastardized version of their phone’s ring chimed another time, they would scream with their own hair death-gripped in their clenched fists. Mercifully, they heard footfalls above them from Tyler’s room. Before the fourth ring could test the durability of the Swanson spouse’s suddenly unstable sanity, Tyler picked up the phone in his room and Ray exhaled audibly with sweet relief. Cindy, basking in her own reprieve, did not notice.

  Ray and Cindy waited for the inevitable call from upstairs for one of them to pick up the phone downstairs because it was for them, but that call from above never came. The call was for Tyler. The caller? Lilith? It had to be. His other friends have the decency to simply text or call their son’s cell phone, but Lilith? She liked knowing that her boyfriend’s parents knew that she was demanding some of his time. She took it rather personally that Tyler’s parents (predominantly Cindy) did not care for her, and everyone knows what they say about a woman scorned.

  Cindy wanted to hear what they were talking about; of course she did.

  “I want to know what that little bitch is talking to our son about,” Cindy admitted.

  “Babe…” but his objection might not be what one has in mind. It was not an objection to the obvious invasion of their son’s privacy. While Ray was not as vehemently against his son’s choice in courtship, he also did not approve. “If you pick up the phone, he’ll hear the click on the line,” Ray warned.

  “How about this? Go upstairs and ask him something so his attention is away from that harlot for two seconds, and I’ll listen at the stairs for when you both are talking and I’ll pick up,” Cindy suggested. She saw two things at once on her husband’s face. She saw, number one, that he hated the idea of stooping to subterfuge with their son, and number two, that although he did not like the idea, he would play his part, because in the end, when he looked past the male and somewhat chauvinistic pride that he had felt for the his son and the caliber of girl he had bagged, he was concerned about his son and to what her involvement in their son’s life might lead. He knew very well. It was a parent’s job to know. They never lost sight of how precarious the situation was, though. By pushing too hard for their son to abandon the best thing that he thought had ever happened to him, they would automatically lose the battle and lose it hard.

  Ray began to walk up the stairs as his wife grabbed the cordless phone off of the charger in the kitchen and walked over to the staircase, waiting to hear her husband’s forced faux conversation with their son to commence.

  Once he reached the top and made his way to Tyler’s room, she prepared herself. She couldn’t help but silently chortle at herself for thinking she was taking part in something akin to the regular activities of a CIA operative. Ethan Hunt she was not.

  Cindy heard the knock on the door, more footfalls and then the creak of Tyler’s bedroom door opening. She heard low mumbling between her two men resonating through the ceiling. She could not decipher what was being said, as it only sounded like low vibrations heard through a sturdy piece of wood. She turned the cordless phone on and immediately hit the MUTE button that one might press in lieu of coughing into the receiver and blowing out their phone companion’s eardrums.

  She hoped that it would go unnoticed, but what was done was now done and she would have to deal with the consequences. The only reason for stealth would be to possibly find out something incriminating, in which case, her cover would be blown anyway because she would confront her son. They would confront their son. But, holding on to hope that Tyler was still striding along the straight-and-narrow, she could listen undetected, gain some peace of mind, and move on with things.

  Ray came downstairs, flashed his wife a guilt-ridden glance and stood by her trying to hear into the phone, but barely able to do so. They stood by, listening to teen puppy-love nonsensical banter for a few minutes, and then finally what they were hoping for, or rather what they were dreading.

  “What else are you doing?” Tyler asked.

  “Just talking to you. What was up your ass at school today? You seemed like you were in a really bad mood the whole day,” Lilith pried.

  “Nah, nothing.”

  “Come on; give.”

  A deep sigh came from Tyler. He explained, “You know, I really care about you, and I have a great time with you…most of the time–”

  “Ouch,” Lilith quipped.

  “No, I’m not saying that really, but, I mean…I don’t know, I really wish we didn’t do that thing the other night,” Tyler confessed.

  “You didn’t seem to mind it at the country club afterwards,”

  Country club? What the hell is this bitch talking about? Ohhh! That must be where they go when they…Cindy was mortified. Ray, not so much. He was a young man once after all.

  “I’m not talking about that, Lilith; I’m talking about the fucking moose!” Tyler burst, but caught himself in a crescendo and immediately lowered his voice. His parents both pictured Tyler looking back at his closed bedroom door to confirm its security.

  “Relax, Ty. I know what you’re talking about. It was just a prank, and we got away with it, so don’t stress about it,” Lilith justified.

  “You don’t understand. I’m not built like you…you know, inside, where I can do something and not worry or think about it. When I do stuff that might come back to fuck me later, I stress and worry about it.” Ray and Cindy began reflecting on what their son had just confessed to, thinking he was done, when he erupted into a second brief volley. “Not only do I think about it constantly–”

  “The way you think about me?” Lilith asked. Ray and Cindy thought that they could actually hear her smile.

  “Yes, the way I think about you…but, you know, I don’t know, it also effects my physiologically, ok? I won’t go into details, but you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out. Worrying is not an aphrodisiac,” Tyler admitted bashfully.

  Cindy and Ray did not need to hear anymore. Cindy turned the phone off and cradled it on the cha
rger, not caring if Tyler and his girlfriend heard the audible click the line makes when another engaged line finally breaks free of the connection. If they knew of the eavesdropping, so what? There would be a confrontation in a few minutes anyway.

  Cindy and Ray were sad. They never thought that their son would take part in such a juvenile and destructive act. They knew, especially having a son, that there would be fights, perhaps some bullying–although they thought (hoped?) secretly that their son would be on the other end of it. Even the idea of Tyler shooting a squirrel with his air rifle was not all that alarming…typical pre-adolescent boy behavior. But graduating to things like vandalism? It needed to be dealt with swiftly and decisively…like the squirrel. Things were now beginning to spin out of control. Even Tyler knew it. He knew there was something about Lilith that was exceptionally different from the rest of the females he had ever met. She was a trouble-seeker, something Tyler himself had no interest in, but she was so damn convincing.

  So damn convincing.

  Tyler’s parents heard the sound of Tyler’s bedroom door open, accompanied by footfalls that were heading towards the stairs, and their talk of how they should deal with the situation ceased immediately. Tyler already knew he was toast; Lilith had heard the click of the phone…not that she needed the audible click to smell a rat; she just knew. Surprise-surprise.

  Tyler took the stairs one at a time. Right foot down followed by the left foot down on the same step. There was no rush to get down those stairs; not today. Today, he was deadman walkin’, taking those final steps of freedom. He got to the bottom of the stairs, traversed the short hallway and stood at the entrance of the kitchen where he saw his parents waiting for him: the warden, to condemn him to his punishment, and the executioner, to carry it out swiftly. Ray pulled a chair out from under the kitchen table, which was off duty for the night.

  “Have a seat,” Ray advised. He was livid and Tyler did not hesitate to comply. He had seen this look in his father’s face one other time in his childhood, and that was when he had punctured the bike tire of one of his “friends” for making fun of him. At that time, it was not the fact that Tyler had stood up for himself that had thoroughly pissed his father off, it was that he had lied about it. His parents had paid for the kid’s tire, just as they would pay to have the moose statue made right again. On the day of the bike tire incident, years ago, Tyler thought it would be best to steer clear of his father for the rest of the day…no, week.

  “We need to have a little talk,” Ray said.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know what we want to chat about, would you?” If he did not know specifically, at the very least he knew it was not good…not good at all. Their anger was not veiled anger, but precariously perched ire, waiting for the opportunity to swan dive off the cliff and make a giant splash all over him. As a matter of fact, he thought that he would have to work diligently to get out of this without getting his ears blown out.

  “The moose.” Not a question, a statement. At least he had the good sense not to lie this time. That would help him, but still the admission to the offense wiped away the minor victory that hearing the truth, in lieu of a song and dance, had brought, and instead replaced the would-be instant fury with another step towards the edge of the cliff upon which Ray and Cindy’s anger was unsteadily perched.

  “What is wrong with you?” Cindy cried.

  He just stared at them. Void of contempt, void of, well, of anything. He looked lobotomized. When enough of a block of time passed, plagued with their son’s catatonia, Ray had decided that enough was enough.

  “You’re going to want to answer your mother…rapidly,” Tyler’s father threatened. A responsive flicker entered Tyler’s countenance, and then, a retort.

  “It was just a prank! The seniors do it every year, hence the name ‘senior prank’!” Tyler snapped.

  Cindy shot a quick glance at her husband. It was quick enough so that no one saw her do it, but watchful enough to realize that her husband was seething, and that she needed her son to realize that he needed to change his attitude fast. He was in danger.

  “That’s not a prank, Tyler! That’s vandalism! It’s a crime! What is with you lately? This kind of behavior isn’t like you. You know, your father and I were no angels in high school, believe me, we weren’t, but we never destroyed other people’s property or vandalized anything. I mean, Jesus Christ, Ty!”

  Tyler just rolled his eyes at his mother’s righteous oration. She saw it and decided she would pick her battles with her son during this tense bout of parenting, but unfortunately, Ray had seen the rolling of the eyes as well, and he thought that this particular battle was ripe for the picking…over-ripe, even.

  Ray, who was initially standing behind and a little to the left of his wife took a long stride forward when he saw his son’s eyes roll in his head, and mocking his wife, his partner, and occasional co-disciplinarian.

  “You want to just keep your eyes on your mother when she’s talking to you, because if I see you roll them at her again, I’m going to put you through that wall behind you, got it?” Ray growled.

  Tyler’s late teenage instincts were to roll his eyes in response, but he was able to think soberly and look beyond his teenage angst for a second and dodge that bullet…at least for the time being.

  “Now here’s what’s going to happen: First, you’re grounded for the first week of your summer vacation. Your father and I are going to send an anonymous check to the town clerk in order to cover the damage that you caused; and you’re going to pay it back–”

  “Every goddamn red-cent, which means that you’ll be getting a part time job this summer,” Ray said, glaring at his son. Cindy did not appreciate being interrupted, but agreed with her husband’s brand of justice just the same.

  “And second, your father and I are going to talk long and hard about whether we think it’s a good idea for you to see Lilith anymore. We know that she talked you into it and she’s been a bad influence on you,” Cindy revved up. She was revealing a stance and she was prepared to argue her points one at a time, just like the old days when she was co-captain of her high school debate team. Only this time, instead of a certificate and a cheap plastic trophy, her son’s possible well-being were the potential stakes.

  “We’re going to let her mother know what’s going on, and that maybe you both have been seeing a little too much of each other. Perhaps it’s time to take a step back for a little bit.”

  Their son’s guise went from defiant and servile to outright anger and panic. Reading his son’s face, Ray added, “And you’re lucky we’re not demanding that her mother split the cost to repair the damage with us and really fix your ass good!”

  Cindy gave her husband a brief glance which said, “was that really necessary?” and Tyler saw it: a small fissure in the foundation of a united front, the weapon of choice for battling offspring. Cindy and Ray already lost; they just did not know it yet.

  “You can’t do that! That’s not fair and you just can’t!” Tyler was flailing and he knew it. Ray and Cindy were not sure of this part of the punishment themselves. They knew that their son’s girlfriend was trouble, but they also knew that there was very little that they could do about it. But, the punishment was out there and they had created a very hairy catch-22 or Kobayashi Maru, for those who ken Star Trek. Either they dispensed justice and had no intention of sticking to their guns, which would strip them of their disciplining credibility, or they stuck to their guns and caused their only son the type of grief that leaves scars. How noticeable would those scars be? Time would field that question for them.

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Ty–” here came the clichéd line that has escaped every parent’s mouths at one point or another throughout history. “As long as you’re living under this roof, you’ll obey everything your mother and I tell you. If we tell you to jump, the next thing that should come out of your mouth if you have to say anything is asking us how high we want you to jump.” Yes, it was corn
y, and clichéd, but it was effective. Ray’s don’t-you-dare-fuck-with-me tone sold the hackneyed threat. But teens rarely back down, don’t they?

  “Fine! I’ll just leave! Fuck this bullshit!” Tyler exploded.

  Cindy did not even take a split second to assess. By the time she turned to her left, where her husband had been helping her stand their ground, he had already gotten by her and was on his way over to his son. She had never seen him move so fast. It actually frightened her. Her husband’s speed reminded her of how Beast, the blue-skinned mutant whose super-power was teleportation, from the blockbuster movie, X-Men, had moved. They had taken him to see it in order to quell Tyler’s constant nagging.

  Before Cindy and even Tyler knew it, he was lifted out of his chair by the lapel of his shirt and held up against the wall with his father’s nose so close to his that he could see the little beads of rage-sweat beginning to seep up through the microscopic pores in his skin.

  “I’ve heard about all I’m prepared to take from that mouth of yours. You got that? You wanna repeat what you just said to your mother and I? You wanna? Huh? I dare you. Go ahead, I’m listening!” Ray threatened through gritted teeth, his nose accidently and awkwardly bumping into Tyler’s more than once.

  Cindy was panicked. She didn’t know if Ray meant to hit Tyler. She just knew that this was the hottest under the collar she had ever seen him before and she was worried. What was more was that she did not know if her son, on the brink of adulthood, would put his hands on his father in anger or perceived self-defense.

  “Knock it off! Stop it! STOP IT!” she screamed as she pulled at her husband’s shoulder. The two men glared at each other as Ray slowly loosened the firm grasp that was crumpling his son’s shirt, a shirt that Ray had paid for in one way or another. As the crisis slowly but surely came to a close, Ray involuntarily mentally quipped at his son, “I brought you into this world, I can take you out!” That would have been two clichés for dad so far that day. Tyler almost lost control of his emotions and let the seedling of a smile surface on his lips, which would have been a grave error on his part, but held his emotions in check.