Angry Jonny

by Joaquin Emiliano

  January 1, 2008. Happy New Year. Another one come and gone. Another party with friends and friends of friends. Most of which make me wonder why I even have friends. Or if I even do. Keep it going, though. Just a year and a half, and I’ll be walking that line. Dopey hat paper clipped to my hair, ready to hit it and quit it. Get the hell out of Verona. Adios, North Carolina.

  And that was it. Sparse and strangely heartfelt; more of a poem than the historical artifact suggested by the term chronicles. Jessica closed the entry, clicked on the second one. Less than a paragraph this time. Malik musing on the inconsequential nature of the day after New Year’s Day.

  Clicking on the next file, Jessica found herself on familiar ground.

  January 3, 2008. Mom was in a car accident. Whole front end of her car crumpled in like tinfoil. For a while, it didn’t look like she’d be walking again. Now they say they can slip a titanium rod in there, held tight with a mess of screws. With a few years of physical therapy, they say she could eventually make it without a cane or anything.

  Dad’s lost his damn mind. I swear he wants to kill the man who did this to her.

  For the first time, I finally understand him when he talks.

  Also know I’ve spent too long taking mom for granted.

  Maybe there’s something here. A reason this all happened.

  Jessica made quick work of each entry, skipping ahead as the wind continued to lash at the windows.

  January 30, 2008. Mom’s home. We’ve laid out a bed for her in the living room. Can’t have her going up and down the stairs. Soon, we’re going to try out her freaky, upgraded leg. She’s got a walker for now. Her physical therapist says it’s going to be slow. And probably painful. Good news is, she’s got enough painkillers to last a life time.

  Glen and Clarence stopped by today. After years of getting used to them as my teachers, it’s like we’re now old family friends. And I’ve got to sit there and act all hopeful when mom wriggles her toes.

  The lawyer’s coming by tomorrow to talk about the lawsuit.

  Guess dad isn’t in the killing mood after all.

  February 2, 2008. Groundhog Day. Mom tried her first go with the walker around the back deck. The lawyer was there, recording the whole process. She fell. Screamed and cried. I had to help her up. The lawyer seemed to like this. Dad was off at a meeting with the dean. I helped mom to the bathroom then put her to bed. Gave her some painkillers.

  Oh, and the mad dash to college has already begun.

  March 9, 2008. She’s still got trouble walking. Between class and the Clinton campaign, Dad’s never around. Clarence’s got more time for us than him. He’s around all the time. Hate to say it, but it’s almost annoying. Something about him puts me on edge. But we need all the help we can get.

  I’ve been put on my own happy pills. Mom says they’ve got me walking in my sleep. Talking in my sleep. What’s that song from the 1980’s?

  May 6, 2008. Obama took North Kakalaki in the primaries. Dad told us he’d be campaigning for him over the summer. I think Mom wants to feel useful again. Things aren’t going so good at the clinic. Everyone’s freaked about the economy, and there’s word about cutbacks. And Mom’s not there to take the helm.

  She’s a proud woman. All these years, I never really sat down with her. All this time together has shown me something. Never realized all that she’s been through. The years fighting police brutality. All those losses and let downs. Damn. There really is no justice in this world, and I’m starting to understand why my mom is the way she is. How much we need each other.

  Getting ready for exams.

  Wish I had been old enough to vote in this one.

  June 7, 2008. Clarence took us out to dinner. Spiro’s, my mom’s favorite. First time getting her to leave the house. We went to Ben and Jerry’s afterwards. Never thought ice cream would change my life, but…

  There was a girl served it to us. Most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Milk chocolate skin. Crazy brown eyes, larger than the world we live in. She smiled at me with slightly crooked teeth; seemed to make her all the more spectacular.

  I stood there like a damn fool, while she held out my cone. Too polite to call me out. Clarence had to nudge me, jumpstart my brain. I just sat with my back to the counter, watched her in the reflection of the windows. I wanted to get up, go to her. Find some excuse to talk to her, ask questions, everything about her.

  Couldn’t come up with anything.

  For now, all I’ve got are those endless eyes and a name tag reading Jessica.

  Timelines were starting to converge in Jessica’s head. She struggled to bring that night back from beyond. Not a lot of flowery description in Malik’s journal, but that shouldn’t have stopped her from remembering. Shortly after they started dating, it was the one story. The how we met highlight that was supposed to separate them from the usual slush of countless romantic sagas.

  But Jessica couldn’t envision any of it.

  Surprised to discover she had ever worked at Ben and Jerry’s.

  The shadows of her hotel room chose to stay out of it as Jessica scrolled down.

  Double-clicked once more.

  June 11, 2008. Mom’s prescription is going to run out soon. I don’t know if this is how it works, but I’m afraid she’s hooked. Can’t even talk to dad about it. His work on the Obama campaign is taking up all his time. I don’t know about these things. I don’t know or understand the desperate look in my mother’s eyes.

  I know it makes me scared.

  I know I’m starting to feel desperate too.

  June15, 2008. Lawsuit’s fallen apart. Too many problems with my mom’s deposition. And this Frank Lazenby is one powerful bastard. Works for the insurance companies, spends his life fucking with other people’s claims. Taking away what’s rightfully theirs. This must have been a walk in the park for him.

  Meanwhile, dad’s just not around.

  Mom’s out of pills.

  I’m starting to taste her anger, scared for both of us.

  June 29, 2008. Carlton Walsh has started looking at me all strange. Suspicious, is what he is. Guess he ought to be. Mom is in real bad shape. I told her I managed to get some pain stuff from a friend who wasn’t using it no more. Gave her the first injection myself. Can’t believe how steady my hands were. I mean, I read up a good amount, made sure I had it all straight. But in the end, I just was happy to see her happy.

  It was as if she’d gone to the skies.

  Soon as I figure out how, I want some of that feeling for myself.

  July 12, 2008. I think I may have broken my mom’s heart. All that stuff I took from the lab. Not just what she needed, but a bunch of other things. Thought it would ease suspicions in case anyone caught the missing items. When I told her where I’d gotten it, she began to cry. I cried with her.

  She admitted she had a problem. She said she would go into rehab.

  I told her I would get off the happy pills. Fight depression on my own damn terms.

  We’re going to tell dad tomorrow.

  I’ve got to find a way to sneak all this shit back into the lab.

  August 2, 2008. And this is what Mom’s got to deal with now. The free clinics are gone. Closed down. Guess THE STATE is looking for gaps to fill. Preparing for what’s on the horizon. That was my mother’s life, right there. All she ever did was try to help people. Shit. Even if Obama is elected, what the hell’s going to change? Where’s anyone going to find the money for people who need help?

  Nobody really cares.

  I don’t want to see my mom crying any more.

  August 15, 2008. I’m going to have to guess yesterday was as low as it’s going to get. Because today was something amazing. My mom’s still crying over the clinic, but she’s drug free. I’m finally off the happy pills. And I just got back from my first date with Jessica Kincaid.

  We bought tickets for the third Mummy movie. Snuck into see Tropic Thunder. My dad’s going to kick my ass,
but Robert Downy Junior in blackface had us rolling. Man, every time she leaned against me, all heaving, hand holding onto my arm. Ecstasy and comedy all rolled into one.

  We went out for ice cream.

  I don’t understand how she can stand it after working at Ben and Jerry’s all that time.

  Maybe she was just being nice, but I don’t care. She’s smart. So damn smart, and wise, and dark, and she’s such her own person. This whole year, I’ve been moping around, crying like a pussy. And here’s Jessica. She’s got such a strong soul, the girl is tough as nails. She doesn’t let bullshit get to her. And with honesty like that, every time I see her laugh, I know it’s true. I’m making her laugh, and the whole stupid world laughs with us.

  Even that one kiss on the cheek at the end of the night was like comets in the sky.

  I’m not going to feel anything like that for another eighty years.

  Jessica blinked against the strain of the ten-point font.

  Absently touched the back of her neck. Each finger wrapping around to her jugular, searching for a pulse. Recognizing the beat, but unable to imagine who it belonged to. In a rare display of passion, Malik had sketched the portrait of a girl Jessica didn’t recognize. It was like reading the diary of a complete stranger. Some notebook found abandoned on a park bench.

  How could she possibly be Miss August Fifteenth?

  “So it’s three ‘till ten, Jessica…” Donahue’s voice sent Jessica’s disembodied thoughts crashing down. Enough to make her convulse, choke on what she had been reading. “We’ve got our bets going on down here about our movie. You ready?”

  “Yeah,” she replied, throat dry. “I’m just going to the bathroom.” She threw her feet off the bed, ignoring the sting of sleepy feet. “Turning off the microphone for a second. Some things a girl just doesn’t want anyone listening to.”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Jessica reached down to her belt, shut them down.

  Took off the receiver as she sat on the toilet, took care of three tonic waters and a strawberry daiquiri. That much, at least, hadn’t been a lie.

  She flushed the toilet, washed her hands. Turned off the bathroom light and returned to a bedroom free of light, save the glow of Malik’s innermost thoughts.

  Jessica turned on the television, punched in the channel for TCM.

  Caught the host in his last seconds of introducing the movie.

  “Uh, Jessica…” Donahue phoned in. “One-two, one-two. You want to turn yourself back on?”

  Jessica took a deep breath as the Universal logo popped up on the screen.

  Muted the sound and reached into her pocket. Pulled out the iPod and hit play to correspond with the television. She could just hear the faint sound leaking from the ear buds between her breasts. Jessica closed her eyes, reached down and turned the receiver on.

  “Sorry, boys…” She clenched her jaw, waiting to see how this would play in the van. “Too much?”

  “A little loud, Jessica.”

  “Not a problem.” She quickly lowered the volume on the iPod. Just a few bars, testing the waters. “How’s that. Can you hear me now?”

  Donahue didn’t reply.

  Jessica waited by the television with baited breath. “Boys?”

  “You can’t be serious…” Donahue sounded downright disappointed. “Jessica, tell me you’re not watching Psycho.”

  Well, that was one way to put it.

  The television screen was certainly displaying the images.

  From within the confines of her shirt, the movie was playing along. Ear buds hooked up to her iPod, giving the perfectly synchronized illusion that the television was not on mute.

  “Yeah, it’s Psycho, alright.” Jessica walked back to the bed, laid down. Out of sight from outside eyes, nothing but the flicker of the screen to give her presence away. “Looks like I owe someone a drink.”

  “As if I wasn’t stressed enough,” Donahue groaned. “Well-played, Jessica.”

  “So the volume’s OK?”

  “Volume’s fine… But come twenty past eleven, I want you to shut it down.”

  “No worries…” A dull exhilaration raced through her. The game was on, all hers to lose. “Enjoy the movie, everyone.”

  “Enjoy the movie yourself.”

  As far as the movie went, Jessica had around forty minutes to enjoy herself.

  For the moment, Alfred Hitchcock’s classic continued to play out on screen and in her pocket. Soundtrack muffled from within her shirt as she returned to Malik’s journal. Clicking from folder to folder, drugging up shipwrecked pieces of her own life along with her ex-boyfriend.

  First up, her problems with Malik.

  October 1, 2008. That’s the problem with dating a girl as smart as Jessica. Sooner or later, she begins to figure out all that’s wrong with you. Fortunately, a girl like Jessica calls you out.

  Yes, I’m prone to stealing. Petty theft, like snatching her aunt’s toenail clippers from the bathroom. Don’t know why. Power issues, I suppose.

  I’m a bit of a liar. Shit, who isn’t? But then again, that’s just an excuse.

  Her and mom don’t get along so hot.

  Two tough ladies in the same room. What was it Chris Rock said? Something like, women could run this world if it wasn’t for the fact that women hate women. Women hate women. And these two just don’t see eye to eye.

  I think Jessica has trust issues. Dad leaving her. Mom leaving her. Alcoholism and all that. Wish she could trust me. I feel stupid writing this. Know I’d be made a fool if anyone ever knew, but… I want to go further with her. And I have to admit, even though I love her, maybe it’s just because…

  No, I do love her.

  I want more of her.

  Damn it, this was supposed to make life easier.

  One month later, there was the fiasco with Glen Roberts.

  November 7, 2008. So it’s all over. All over school, all over the news. I can’t believe it. I mean, I think I do, but… Glen Roberts? He’s been a friend of the family’s long as Clarence. How can I take Jessica’s word over his? Sexual harassment? Glen’s been a man about town forever. Independently wealthy man teaching kids because he wants to?

  Nobody believes her.

  Hell, even I don’t believe it on some level.

  But on the real?

  There is something about Glen.

  Jessica doesn’t have a friend to her name right now. And all my friends, so-called friends, are telling me to break it off. Same with my parents. Especially the same with my mom.

  Problem is… I just plain believe Jessica.

  Am I just going to sit back and let her fight on her own?

  What the hell kind of man am I supposed to be?

  December 12, 2008. Had it out with mom. She just plain doesn’t like Jessica, that’s all it feels like when all is said and done. Damn it. Stuck in the middle. Every reason thrown in my face not to trust her. Big meeting of the school board, and my mom’s going to be there as a character witness.

  I’m supposed to come and support her.

  Or Jessica. Damn it, she’s my best friend.

  So’s my mom.

  This kind of thing should be easy.

  Jessica clicked on the folder for 2009. Read a few more entries. Breezed thought them as the movie continued to unfold in a mute, black and white panorama. Glen Roberts getting fired. The personal fallout between Jessica and the rest of the world. Malik dealing with his parents, refusing to break up with her, even though she was little more than a Jezebel to them.

  She stopped short on the night of February 14.

  The night of Malik’s party, celebrating his acceptance to Wesleyan.

  February 14, 2009. It was supposed to be a party. A celebration. I’ve never had that many people at my house. Never felt so on top of the world. Then Jessica dropped the bomb. Told me she knew about that girl I slept with. That one girl, one time. Can’t make it better by saying it was only one time. Only one
time is bad enough, I know that now.

  That argument spilled out right in the middle of everything.

  Jessica telling me my business in front of everybody. How she figured it out, too damn smart for my own good. Goddamn Facebook, I suppose it’s damaged men better than me. Jessica just let it all out.

  Caught that aunt of hers laughing at me from across the room.

  What’s a woman her age doing at a high school party, anyway?

  Who cares?

  Party was good as over, Jessica and I good as done with.

  And then there’s this.

  My mom might be having a relapse. I came back to my room after the party. Searched my secret place. My drawer just a little out of place. Everything had been cleared out. My book of poems. The vials I boosted from Francis. My dumb little collection of stolen goods. And all the bottles were gone, too. All that I had taken from the lab. Not that there was any dope left for my mom, but maybe she was just that desperate. Took everything in there, no matter what it was.

  Has it really been that bad for her, all this time I’ve been with Jessica?

  Have I ignored her? Let her fall to the wayside?

  This wasn’t the first time she’s been looking through my stuff.

  Never thought she’d find my hiding place.

  I guess I’m going to have to return the favor. For her own good.

  February 16, 2009. I found the letter. I found my mother’s secret place, and there I found the letter. I guess it’s that saying. The fruit never falls far from the tree? Who cares? I went looking for the rest of the stuff I stole from the lab. Went looking. Wandering through my mother’s office. Found her box, her hidden place. Tucked in an air vent, no less. A good spot to remember, though I guess she’d eventually look for my shit in the same place.

  Didn’t find any chemicals. Maybe she dumped them.

  Maybe I’ve got a whole damn house to search now.

  All that matters is I found the letter.

  I scanned it, hid it. Put it back where I found it.

  And now, I feel like I want to throw up.

  I know Dad hasn’t been around. But this. This is just. I don’t even know what it is.

  Clarence and my mother.

  If she wants to end the affair, how come she hasn’t sent the letter?

  I swear, I’m going to talk to her about this.

  Jessica glanced up at the screen. Janet Leigh, blond as could be, was off on the road. On the lam, taking with her a good ten thousand dollars’ worth of embezzled money. On her way to the Bates Motel, where her inner demons would prove to be no match for the grizzly fate that awaited her.