I squint my eyes, because that’s not what I remember hearing. Black though my vision was at the time, I don’t remember any podium falling. “I d-d-don’t think that y-y-you are being honest w-w-with me.”
“Don’t you back talk me, boy!” I hear my mother scream at me.
“Are you calling me a liar, fatty?” Jeffers asks me in an angry whisper.
“Just like your father, you don’t know your place.” My mother says.
“S-s-stop!” I yell.
“Stop what? Jeffers says with raised shoulders. “I’ve done nothing, and you…you don’t get to talk back to me like that!” The chair slams against the back wall as Jeffers leaps to his feet.
“You better come clean, boy. I’m going to whoop your fat behind to next Tuesday!” screams mother. Tears are flowing now down my face.
“P-p-please stop it!” I yell again. The excess saliva builds up in my mouth, and my nose starts to run.
“Elverson Luther Spaid, you have to the count of NOW to get out of my office before you share the Archbishop’s fate. I promise you, I have had it with your blubbering. I have had it with your laziness. I have had it with your stuttering. GET OUT!” Jeffers thrusts his finger past my ear within mere centimeters as he points to the door.
“How long is it going to take you to be obedient, piggy?” mother asks me.
I collapse on the floor clutching my ears, and I start wailing. Jeffers kicks me in my stomach. I recoil in pain. He kicks me again, and again. He is yelling the whole time, “GET OUT! Are you deaf AND retarded on top of that stupid stutter?! I’ve never liked you from the first day I showed up at this pitiful excuse for a church.”
Mother chimes in, “Nobody will ever like you or accept you.”
I am curled up on the floor, sobbing like a newborn baby who’s begging for warmth. I try and roll over on my hands and knees so I can at least crawl my way out of here. I hear Jeffers chuckle and then he says, “You know, you look like a pig from this angle. You look like you are desperately trying to make your way back to the cool of the mud because you can’t stand the heat.” He kicks me again and I collapse face down, flat on my stomach.
“Ow!” I manage to get out between sobs. I push myself back up in a hurry, and manage to crawl out of his office and into the hallway. “Ow!”
“Stop your crying, you big baby! It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Mother says.
“Y-y-yes ma’am.” I say in response.
“Yes ma’am? Who in the world do you think I am, fatty? Who are you talking to?” If Jeffers wasn’t furious before, he is definitely furious now. He grips the side of the door and says, “So help me, Spaid. I swear if you manage to utter any words about anything you saw today, I will kill you. Do you hear me?” I don’t even acknowledge him this time. I am up on my feet and somewhat running for the door that leads outside. “HEY! I’m talking to you! Do you hear me, you overweight punk?”
Clenching my stomach, I get inside my car, and slam the door shut. The car doesn’t hesitate to start up at all. I think that is the only good thing that has happened in the past few minutes. I see Jeffers appear in the door threshold as I start to back out. He looks past me, and I turn my head to see people passing by. Jeffers calls out to me, “Not to worry! It was great talking with you. Have a blessed day!” I shudder at his hypocrisy.
My face is convulsing with tears as I speed out of the parking lot and onto the street. I have to keep a closer eye on the road, because I am having a hard time steering. I manage to barely make it around the corner and down a few blocks. At least the church is out of sight. I know what I need. In a crisis like this, I need comfort food. I think I will go to that Chinese place. At this point I really don’t care.
I pick up the pace and speed a little more than usual to get to the Dragon’s Garden. I think I actually went five miles over the speed limit this time. I’m such a daredevil. I pull into their parking lot and get out of my car, I can hear my mother again say, “Sure. You always try to block me out with food. Go ahead, fatso. Do it. DO IT! Stuff your belly! I hope you burst your trousers again.”
I lose it. My eyes gush forth streams upon streams of tears that seem to be never ending. I rush inside the restaurant. The hostess greets me and says, “We welcome you to Dragon’s Garden. Would you like table or…” I slam $200 down on her podium. She looks at the money, grins, and says, “Thank you sir. You sit down over here please.” She gestures to the bench in the waiting area. I happily sit down and wait while I shudder as silently as possible in wallowing anguish of my tears.
I look around and notice that this place is now packed with people. Wow. They’re really doing well for themselves. I’m not surprised. Their food is so good; I can only imagine how quickly word has spread. There’s one thing that I do notice that seems a bit odd: nobody is talking. They’re just eating. They’re constantly eating. There’s no conversation whatsoever. Come to think of it, I don’t remember doing a whole lot of talking when I sat down for lunch yesterday.
Fifteen minutes go by, and I can smell the familiar items that I ordered from yesterday. That’s very odd. As a matter of fact, I turn my face to the kitchen, and I see the same waiter I had yesterday coming to me with two large bags. He says to me, “Here is food, sir! We are very gracious for your return visit. Please accept fortune cookie as well.” He hands me the food and bows deeply.
“Th-th-thank you. How d-d-did you know w-w-what I wanted?” I ask.
“We never forget order, especially as such a great guest like you. Please return again. We see you soon.” He says with another bow. “Oh, and here is change.” I wave my hand signaling that they can keep it. He smiles and says to me, “You are very generous man. May you have a very fulfilling rest of the day.”
Yeah, I hope so.
I head back to my car, place the food inside, and I get in. I feel utterly drained right now. I have no energy left to put up with anymore drama. I can still hear my mother’s voice nagging at me, but at this point I am so numb to it that I just don’t care right now. All I want to do is go home, stuff this food in my face, fit whatever remains into the fridge, take my meds, and then go to sleep. That’s all.
As I pull in to the parking lot, I glance up the stairs to check the activity of my neighbors. The stay-at-home cop is knocking on the door to the vacant lodging across the way from him. I wonder why? The drug guys are out as usual, and there’s no sign of the lady. This is just perfect. I have more drama.
I sigh heavily, get out of my car, and grab my food. The circus now begins.
“Hey there pastor fatty! I see you brought me some goodies just like I asked. I think that’s the best thing you could have done for me.” The drug head says. I just ignore him.
“You best be dropping that stuff off right here, boy.” The second one says. I just ignore him too. The cop looks up at the two of them, and clears his throat real loud. They both laugh it off. “You aint gonna do nothing man.” The second guy says. “Take your busted behind back inside and go watch some more internet whores or something. Let us handle our own business.”
The cop just shakes his head, walks back to his place. He opens his door, turns around and raises his hands with both middle fingers extended. The two guys just laugh it off. The cop slams his door.
“Say, boy. When you gonna bring that food up here?” the second drug guy asks me.
“Yeah, I’m starving up here. I aint had nothing all day!” the first guy says. I still say nothing. Like my mother, I feel numb to their threats as well. I just don’t care. I walk past the first-floor doors, up the stairs, and around the corner. They both get right in my face.
I push my way past them, and I keep going. They follow me up the next set of stairs, taunting me the whole way. Mostly filled with threats of death, dismemberment, blowing up my car; I just don’t care. I set my food down in front of my neighbor’s door, and I knock. I pick up my food and head to my door.
“Man, what you do that for? Aint nobody ready to deal with her j
unk today! I aint got time for her nonsense.” The first guy says.
“It aint time for her to make her rounds yet anyway. What if she sleepin?” The second guy asks.
“Y-y-you figure it o-o-out.” I say. I just don’t care. “L-l-leave me a-a-alone.” I open up my door the same time the lady across the hall opens hers. She looks at the two guys, and the next thing I know is that all three of them are shouting at one another. The baby on her hip starts crying which makes her shout even more. The guys try to blame me for it, and she just laughs it off. I close my door, which muffles the noise a little bit. I place the food down on the table and I sit and eat.
The food is just as amazing before. The flavors are amazing, my tongue is doing back flips of joy, and my tummy is exquisitely happy. I eat and eat until I am full to the top of my throat. I look in the bags, and the only thing that remains is the cookie. I don’t want it. I don’t think I could make it fit even if I wanted to. I leave the table and head to my bedroom. All I want to do is take off this God-awful second-rate costume and go to sleep. Before I do that though, I need my meds. The bathroom mirror reveals a man of constant sorrow. The pill goes down with a slosh of water, and within minutes my reflected image becomes numb.
I get undressed, put on my pajamas, climb into bed and everything begins to slow down. The mattress welcomes me back with a thick comforter and soft sheets. My pillow greets my head with soft down feathers. Today’s events are done, and tomorrow will be better. I curl up beneath my covers, and I close my eyes. I finally relax and breathe deeply as I am very thankful that today’s events are done. I really hope that tomorrow is better than today. It has to be. I don’t think I have it in me to go through any more crap. Sleep, you better get here quick. I burst out into tears as my mind starts to replay everything from today, and I cry myself to sleep.
“If you can hear me, son, please let me help you.”
11
Where There is Smoke…
The smell of smoke rips me from my bed. I leave the safety of my comforter and sheets and get out of bed. I cannot see a blasted thing in my apartment! Smoke fills my lungs quickly, and the coughing begins, as if I were a smoker of seventy years. My hands lead me to find my way through my bedroom and try to at least make my way to the window. Grabbing hold of the sheets and scooting my way to the window, and open it up, and instantly smoke flees from my bedroom out into the coolness of the night. As I look outside, something is very wrong. I am not in my apartment. This can’t be right. I pull my head back inside and take another look around in my room. The sudden shock and fear grip me as I come to terms with where I am.
I am back in my mother’s house.
The smoke alarm cries in anguish throughout the entire house. This can’t be real! This has to be a dream. This just has to be! I pinch myself to wake myself up. A lot of good that did… nothing has changed. The smoke is still here, and I am still in my mother’s house, trapped somewhere between reality and a nightmare. If this isn’t a dream, then how on earth did I get here? How do I not remember making the necessary drive to come out here all this way? Was I that sapped of all emotion that it wiped my memory? What in Heaven’s name is going on here? And why is there smoke?
The smoke is trailing into my room from a different section of the house, and then out through my open window. I am going to follow that trail and put on my imaginary Sherlock Holmes hat. I have a mystery to solve. Still in my pajamas, I leave my room and walk down the oh-so-familiar hallway. The thick red and gold paisley carpet runners are still lining the middle of the cherry maple hardwood floors. The railings still have the same golden leaf and vine designs etched into them. I place my hands on the railing and peer over the side to view the downstairs. All of the smoke is pouring out of the kitchen. I move as quickly as I can past the painfully loud smoke detector and down the stairs. Don’t fall…not now! Breaking a hip at this point in my life would be embarrassing. Here I am fat, and 51. A broken hip would invite more hecklers with insults. “Weeble Wobbles wobble but they don’t fall down. All except for you, fatty!” I don’t need that.
Downstairs, there’s more noise coming from the kitchen. I hear a pan hit the floor with a loud clanging sound. What is going on? Someone is in my mother’s kitchen. If I were younger, I would move a lot quicker. Sadly, that is not the case. I can see movement, but only just barely. All of the smoke makes it difficult to see. There are lots of cabinet doors being opened and slammed closed, loud shuffling of feet, and lots more random objects hitting the floor. I’m standing at the foot of the stairs trying to watch everything but going off of sound more than sight at this point. Also, I really don’t want to alarm the person that’s in there; lest they should become angry and try to kill me. I hear my mother’s favorite five-gallon pot hit the floor, and a voice grumbles angrily.
It’s my mother!
I collapse on the floor, clutching the handrail for the stairs. Due to my weight, I wish I could say that when I land it sounds like a freshly stuffed down pillow that floats gently through the air and rests upon the grass…not even close. The thudding sound that my bottom makes is more like a sack of stale mashed potatoes being dropped from fifteen feet. The commotion from the kitchen stops.
“Who’s there?” my mother’s voice demands. “Answer me, or you’ll have hell to pay!”
I remain on the floor frozen in fear with a sore bum. My mother walks through the billowing smoke from the kitchen into the hallway that leads to the front door; which just happens to be right by the staircase. I see her eyes scan the doorway, find their way to me, and lock onto my eyes. Her face and complexion are smoother than I remember. Something’s not right here.
“Well, if it isn’t my sweet little boy. Did you fall down again and get hurt? Do you want mommy to kiss and make it better?” I didn’t see it at first when she came out of the kitchen, but I see it now. She throws the rolling pin at me and luckily misses me by a few inches. The handle of it plunges into the drywall behind me, then falls to the floor, taking a chunk of the wall with it. “Well tough luck, kid! It’s because of you and your ridiculous eating habits that your father left us yesterday! You just had to open your mouth at the dinner table last night. You just had to, didn’t you?!”
“I d-d-don’t know w-w-what you are t-t-talking a-about m-m-mother.” I say shaking.
“SHUT UP!” she yells. “I don’t want to hear anymore lies! I’ve had enough lies for the rest of my life! Your father has been lying to me this entire time! For thirteen years, he’s been lying to me about everything! So, don’t you dare start on me with more untruths. Do you hear me?”
“Y-y-yes ma’am.” I say in a confused tone.
“Why do you sound so confused? Did I stutter? Surely you didn’t gain that stupid attribute from me? I speak nice and clear for everyone, including you. The least you can do is learn to do the same. Until you do, just sit there and shut up.” She places the heels of her palms over her eyes as she cries.
“WHY?!” she yells through the tears. “What have I done to deserve this pain and misery?” She falls to her knees. Her breathing is erratic, and eyes start darting back and forth like she’s looking for something; hopefully no more projectiles. I start crying a little bit, but I try to remain as still and as quiet as possible. She removes her hands from her eyes, and they’re trembling. Her eyes are bloodshot. Looking at me, she rises to her feet, and her face contorts into her familiar frown.
In a soft and yet stern voice she says to me, “Son, I want you to realize that this is your fault. Your father would always tell me that my cooking was awful, and yet you devoured everything I put in front of you. Your father would always compare my cooking to another person’s food. He never named names, and I never asked who. But, I had my suspicions. I never asked who he was comparing my cooking to. Then one day, I decide to prepare his favorite meal. It was angel hair pasta with Alfredo sauce, grilled tuna filet, and freshly grated asiago cheese. I learned the recipe from a restaurant he took me to back when we were da
ting. He loved that place. He said it was his favorite place ever, not just for the food, but for everything about it: the staff, the atmosphere, the decorations, the private seating. He said that anybody who ate there would magically be taken to Italy. That’s what I wanted to do for him. I wanted to prepare food for him that could overwhelm his senses.
“So yesterday, I went to the store and bought everything I would need to make that special dish. I was so excited! The pasta turned out beautifully, the grilled tuna was just right, and the Alfredo sauce was magical. I grabbed the cheese out of the refrigerator right about the time that I heard your father pull into the driveway. I lowered the lights, turned on some soft music featuring mandolins, hung my apron up, and I waited in the dining room for him to appear. Everything was perfect. That was until your father walked in the door, and he wasn’t by himself.
“Attached at the hand with interlocking fingers was a woman about 10 years younger than me. Red hair, green eyes, and a short skirt. My heart sank. It was everything I had to maintain a smile and not cast judgment. I said as sweetly as possible, ‘Dinner is ready my darling.’ He didn’t even glance in my direction. Instead he walked right past the dining room and guided the bouncy bimbo to the stairs that leads to our bedroom. He paused for a brief moment only to stop and say to me, ‘I have no interest in your food. Go ahead and cater to your fat son’s needs, and I will cater to my needs, which you have failed to do.’ With that last little bit, that red-headed devil woman winked at me as she happily followed her new toy upstairs. I was stunned. I stood there, frozen. I was so hurt, and it was in that very moment that everything fell into place. He would always talk about the Italian restaurant like it was the best place on earth. He always had a longing to go there. I bet she works there. It makes sense anyway. ‘Enjoys the staff and the atmosphere’ he says. BAH!
Fate Of The Dragon Page 14