by Brian Rowe
“Where—”
“Shh,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Come on, Cameron. Come lie down.”
“Where am I?”
“Just relax. I’m gonna make you feel better.”
She led me into a bedroom and set me down on a large king bed that smelled like rotting fruit. I wanted to start asking more questions, but the pillow and mattress felt so soft against my aching body that I decided to make an exception.
I just want to sleep… Sleep…
She disappeared momentarily, and then returned with a bottle of Tylenol and a large glass of water.
“Here, take these. You’ll feel better.”
“Thank you.” I washed down two aspirins and handed the glass back to her. “Can you tell me where I am?”
“You’re at my home, Cameron. Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” I’m at her house? Seriously? “I’ll just rest here for a few minutes. Then you can take me back to the prom.”
I tried looking around the bedroom—I did have an interest in how that bizarre librarian furnished her living quarters—but my head hurt too much to study the place too intensively. I figured it best to keep my eyes closed until the headache subsided, so I smacked my lips together and planted my head against her two comfy pillows.
“I’m glad to see you so comfortable,” Mrs. Gordon said before departing the room.
After a couple of minutes, I started feeling better, the aspirins taking effect much faster than expected. I opened my eyes and peered up at her ceiling to see an imaginative orange-and-black wallpaper pattern, which made me think of two things—that I was probably never going to see another Halloween again, and that I needed to get the hell out of this place.
“Mrs. Gordon?” I asked.
I heard some movement coming from her bathroom, but she didn’t answer.
“Mrs. Gordon? I’m starting to feel better now. Would it be all right if you took me back to the convention center?”
Still, no answer. Every muscle in my body ached as I sat up in the bed, but I felt like I needed a closer look at my surroundings. The room included a large brown dresser-drawer, a small-old fashioned TV that looked like something from the 1970’s, and a stack of magazines about four feet high on her miniscule nightstand.
Magazines, Mrs. Gordon?
Without warning, the bathroom door slammed shut. “Hello?” I asked, a small part of me worried about my safety. “Is someone there?”
“I’m here,” she said, turning off her bathroom light.
She hid in the darkness. I couldn’t see her. She started taking small steps toward me, and as she got closer, I could start to see the outline of her face.
I didn’t believe what I saw next, so I blinked a few times.
Please, no. Oh my God, no.
Mrs. Gordon emerged from the shadows wearing nothing but a bra and panties.
“Oh my God, what are you—”
Before I could move, she grabbed my head and planted it in between her breasts. To my surprise, they were large and perky. And not to my surprise, the nausea started to kick in immediately. I started screaming into her chest.
“Don’t fight it,” she said. “This magical thing that’s happened to you… it’s shown me one thing, and one thing only, Cameron Martin. That we’re meant to be together.”
I started thinking she might chain me to the bed and make me live out the rest of my days as her sex slave. That’s when I could feel the vomit literally inching up my throat.
Oh my God. First my mom. Now Mrs. Gordon!
“You were always my least favorite student,” she continued, rubbing the top of my head with her gross, oily hands. “You always were a troublemaker, and you always made my blood boil. But now, I must admit, you’re making my blood boil in a different sort of way.”
She leaned back and brought my face up to hers. She started kissing my closed mouth and tried unsuccessfully to stick her tongue inside of it.
“Mrs. Gordon, please! This is so wrong on so many levels!”
“Is it? Look at you! You’re older than I am! I’ve been lonely for so long, Cameron. Far too long! It’s meant to be, don’t you understand? We’re perfect for each other!”
She started kissing me on my forehead and cheeks like she wanted to plant her crusty old lips on every inch of my aging body.
“Just relax, Cameron. Please. Just let this happen. You know you want this to happen.”
“Mrs. Gordon?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Oh yeah?” she asked. “Well maybe this will make you feel better.”
She pushed me back against the pillows and straddled herself on top of me. She leaned forward and started running her wet, drooling tongue against my left nipple.
“Mrs. Gordon…”
“Yes?”
“Move away!”
She darted her head up just in time for me to lean to my left and projectile vomit Exorcist-style all over her nightstand and soon-to-be-stained-forever white carpet. The vomit erupted from my throat four more times before my volcanic stomach finally settled down into a calm splendor.
Once I was able to resume my normal breathing, I wiped my chunk-filled mouth with my trembling right hand.
I looked up at the librarian, who had moved all the way to her dresser drawer in the corner, standing still, afraid, like I was going to vomit in her direction, too.
“Sorry about your carpet,” I said, getting up off the bed.
I almost tripped over a lamp chord on my way out, but I surprised myself when I jumped right over it and managed not to fall. I opened her heavy bedroom door and quickly made my way out of the house and down a nearby sidewalk.
I had no idea where I was or how to make it back to the convention center. But Reno was a pretty small town.
If I can find a major road…
At this point I just felt lucky to be out of that librarian’s dirty hands.
As I walked down the sidewalk, I tried to think about anything else—seriously, anything—but my mind kept drifting back to the surprisingly large size of Mrs. Gordon’s middle-aged breasts.
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned over and dry heaved into some bushes.
24. Sixty-Five
It was a few minutes past midnight when after a long walk and a taxi ride later I was finally back at the now empty Reno Convention Center parking lot. I stepped into my car and checked my cell phone.
There was one text and one missed call from my mom.
There were also four missed calls from Liesel.
I sat up, tried not to panic, and frantically searched for a voice-mail message. Liesel had left exactly one. “I’m really sorry about tonight, Cameron. Please. I need to see you. Can you come by my apartment when you get this message? I have something I need to tell you.”
All I wanted to do was go home, sleep for twelve hours, and forget this night ever happened, but I was intrigued.
I started dialing Liesel as I sped out of the parking lot.
---
I pulled up to the sidewalk that accompanied Liesel’s apartment complex to see an empty street, black as night, with only one street lamp in the nearby vicinity. As I got out of the car and made my way to the sidewalk, I could see the light shining right down on Liesel in the distance.
She was standing against the gate to her complex, and she saw me right away. I couldn’t help but marvel at her. She was in full prom attire, with a sparkling purple dress, her red hair straightened and falling down past her shoulders. She was sporting dark red lipstick, and as I got closer, I could see she was wearing my corsage.
“Hey, are you OK—” I started.
She didn’t let me finish my sentence. Instead she put her hand over my mouth. “Shhhh.” She shook her head and stared into my eyes. She didn’t appear to be joking. “Please. I need to focus.”
Liesel picked something up off the ground. I thought it was a rock at first, bu
t when I saw the lit candle in the center, I realized she was holding a vanilla cupcake.
She held it up in front of her face and took a step toward me. The wind, which had been noticeably still, started intensifying.
“Happy birthday to you…” she started singing, staring into my eyes so fiercely it felt like she could see right through me. “…Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday dear Cameron…”
She moved the cupcake up to my face, so close I could feel the buttercream frosting brushing up against my nose.
The wind had evolved into a demonic force. For a second I thought we had dropped underground into a cataclysmic wind tunnel.
“…HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!”
She blew out the candle, and the little light we had between us evaporated. The wind stopped. All that could be heard for the next few seconds were loud, vocal crickets.
“Uhh, that was really nice of you,” I said, “but it’s not my birthday.”
“Isn’t it?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it your birthday… you know… every day?”
She grabbed my hand unexpectedly and pulled me into the shining light of the street lamp. She pushed me up against the apartment gate and studied my face with her freezing cold hands.
“Nope,” was all she said before she started crying.
“Whoa, hey!” I shouted. “What’s wrong?”
“It didn’t work,” she said through her sobbing.
“What didn’t work? What is going on with you?”
At this point I felt clueless, like there was a test I was supposed to study for that I had completely forgotten about.
She turned toward me. Even in the darkness I could see the tears in her eyes. She walked over to me and buried her head in my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Cameron…”
“Sorry for what?”
“This is my fault… all my fault…”
“What are you talking about?”
She took a step back and kept her head down. “I put a spell on you, that night at the restaurant. You loved celebrating your birthday, so I thought—”
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. You did what? You put a spell on me?”
“I was just tired of the way you were treating me. I couldn’t take it. I thought this would make me feel better, but now I think I’ve made a terrible mistake—”
“A spell, Liesel? Are you serious?”
I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. I turned around and charged back toward my car.
Enough with this loony.
“Cameron! I’m not joking!”
My laughter turned to heated anger as I started racing to my car. “You know that’s pretty low of you to reduce my condition to some sick joke. I expected more from you, Liesel. I really did.”
I jumped in my car and slammed the door shut before she could stop me. I looked over at the pretty redhead who, in this light, even though I hated admitting it, was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
I put the car in ignition and started speeding down the street. I was ready to just get home.
As I looked into my rearview mirror I could see Liesel crying in the distance, the street lamp flickering on and off in perfect succession.
I tried to laugh again, but then I started thinking, whether she was drunk or not drunk, crazy or not crazy, why that seemingly intelligent girl would make up something like that…
25. Seventy
Those next few days were rough. I found myself ignoring the only people who cared about me. Liesel tried to get my attention after school both Monday and Tuesday, but I refused to talk to her. Mrs. Gordon tried to pull me into her library to apologize to me on multiple occasions, but I found myself staying as far enough away from the library and her crazy cougar self as I could.
On Friday I cornered Wesley at his locker, curious about the video camera he held in his hands.
“Hey Wes.”
“Oh,” he said, a modicum of melancholy in his voice. “Hi.”
“I’m sorry about your camera.”
“I know.”
“And I’m willing to help pay for the damages.”
He closed his locker and hoisted his camera up high. “What, do you think I’m stupid or something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Cam, you’ve broken my camera twice now. Do you think I’m made of money? I have insurance on the camera. I had to pay a small deductible, but I got it fixed in a matter of hours. It’s fine.”
“Wait,” I said, astonished at the pristine sight I saw before me. The camera looked brand new. “What you’re holding is the same camera I knocked to the ground at prom last weekend? And the one I smashed in that classroom a few weeks ago?”
“That’s correct.” He smiled. “Promise me you won’t touch it again.”
“I definitely won’t,” I said with a laugh. “Look, again, I’m very sorry. It was a rough night. I was loaded and stupid and…”
Wesley awkwardly patted my right shoulder, more like I was his grandfather than his best friend. “It’s OK.”
I nodded. Nothing was said for the next few seconds. “So. Do you need to get an interview with me at some point for your video?”
“No, it’s cool,” he said, taking a step back. “I’m gonna film some of the state championship next week, but I think I have enough of you for what I want to put together.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah.”
“I feel like you haven’t filmed me much at all, frankly.”
He had trouble looking at me. I could tell there was something on his mind.
“What is it, Wes?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“Well…”
“What?’
“It’s getting hard, Cam.”
“What is?”
He took a deep breath and kept his head turned away from me. “You know… seeing you… getting older.”
“Wes…”
“Listen. I need to get going, but I’ll talk to you soon, OK?”
He walked in the other direction and disappeared around the corner before I could answer him.
I turned around and stood in the middle of the hallway. Charisma almost bumped into me as she and Ryan walked past me holding hands. Mrs. Gordon passed me but didn’t attempt to look my way. I could see Coach Welch in the distance, but he didn’t look at me, either. Close to him was Liesel, who was the only one to acknowledge me. I could tell she wanted to talk to me. But I wasn’t ready to confront her yet.
I’m not ready for more talk of hocus pocus.
I stepped into the men’s bathroom, a drab yellow dungeon that smelled of cat urine. There were seven urinals, followed by five grimy stalls in the dark back corner that probably hadn’t been cleaned since my freshman year.
But I didn’t need to pee. I needed a mirror.
I brought my attention to the full-size mirror above the dirty sink. I hadn’t really looked at myself the last few days. Looking at myself brought on anxiety and depression, and I knew the more I avoided mirrors, the more my seventeen-year-old hopes and dreams would remain in tact.
But as much as I hated admitting it, I knew it was time.
What exactly does the seventy-year-old Cameron Martin look like?
I couldn’t believe it. I looked older than seventy. If the younger me had bumped into the older me on the street, I would’ve guessed this sickly version of myself was nearing eighty. I had sad, dark circles under my eyes, and my weight, which for the last couple of weeks had been noticeably dropping, really looked to have taken a nosedive, as if I had decided to stop eating. Worst of all, most of my gray hair had fallen out.
Now I know why Welch won’t let me play anymore.
I had attempted to play a bit on Monday, but Welch asked—no, demanded—that I sit on the sidelines. I was tired and out of breath, and I obliged, even though to the other players I
pretended to just be taking a momentary break.
I made him promise me that I could play in the state championship game next week, but he departed the gym before I could get an answer out of him. I didn’t know how much leeway I still had with my blackmailing scheme. I imagined in my fragile state that he could pummel me in the face out of view of others and be done with me for good, so I decided to just play it cool and see what would happen.
One more game to go… Just one more…
I splashed some water in my face from the sink. The water was brown and had a funny odor that smelled not of kitten piss but of fecal matter from a large dog with irritable bowel syndrome. I decided not to wash my hands.
I stared at myself even closer in the mirror. For the first time I looked unrecognizable. I looked like someone I wanted nothing to do with.
It was pathetic, sad, terrifying. I had never felt weaker, physically and mentally. I needed help. I needed something, anything.
I took a deep breath and walked out of the bathroom, frazzled and feeling something I hadn’t felt as much in my entire life as I did in this moment—fear.
I needed to go a place where I could feel safe, even for just a few minutes. And while I had never stepped foot inside its large doors before, I could hear a particular refuge calling out my name.
You’ve been avoiding it for weeks, I thought.
It’s time.
---
I had driven by this place a thousand times in the last four years. It was on the corner of Kietzke and Hunter Lake, and its parking lot was empty. It was Friday afternoon, after all.
I stepped out of my car and peered up at the magnificent rural architecture. The building seemed to stretch to the top of the sky, with large birch trees surrounding it on all four sides. The massive gold cross on the right side of the building glistened in the hot orange sun.
I walked hesitantly up the ten steps that led to the entryway, and I stopped before grabbing for the doorknob, asking myself if I really wanted to do this.
Yes, you do, Cameron. You have to.
I opened the heavy metallic door and stepped inside the building. It was stuffy and cold inside, but the sight before me was a wonder to behold. The interior of the church seemed to stretch on for miles, with plenty of ample brown seating and a white hardwood floor that led all the way to the far end. I looked to my left to see an older woman sitting alone, praying, her mouth moving but the rest of her body staying completely still.
