Life So Perfect

by Nathan Bassett

  “Joe, your father is trying to set things right. He’s trying hard to say he’s sorry. This is going to be a fresh start for all of us. What better time to start than Christmas.” His mom’s voice quivered. Joe couldn’t be sure if she was desperately trying to convince herself that this nonsense was true, or just trying too hard to convince him.

  Joe shook his head and glanced around the perfectly decorated living room, a room ready to celebrate the perfect Christmas. He looked at all the faces; each forced smile betrayed the deception of the day. He knew – knew that they all held the same conviction as he did. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Anybody in this room, in this family, think it’s a good idea to welcome the slut-loving excuse for a father and husband back into this house? Hands anyone?” Joe looked around the room; all eyes fixed on his mother. “Oh I know. We have to support my mom. Have to pretend that we think she’s doing the right thing. I’m sorry mom, but we all know it’s bullshit. We …”

  “Joseph stop. Please. That’s enough. You don’t mean those things.” Sarah’s eyes clouded with tears.

  Chuck grabbed Joe by the arm before his mouth could spew out any more venom. “Joe. Shut it up. This isn’t the time or place. Leave it alone.”

  Chuck tried to escort his brother from the living room but Joe jerked his arm free. Then the volcano erupted. “Screw this! Leave it alone? Leave it alone? He wants to waltz his way back into this house and pretend everything’s sweet and rosy and perfect. What’s he want? What’s he goddamn want? He must want something coming back here like this. Screw him! Screw him to hell!”

  “He just wants to be a father to you Joe.” Mom’s tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “He can just go to hell. He is not my father. Not since he walked out that door ten years ago. He can go burn in hell.” Yes, that’s right. It’s what they freakin’ need to hear, the freakin’ truth. He held no doubt whatsoever that everyone in that room agreed with his decree. They were all just too afraid to say what needed to be said. He looked around the room; every mouth agape with shock, embarrassment and what seemed to be anger – not toward his father but aimed at him. Joe was stunned, then disillusioned – and then fury returned. A primeval shriek begged for life; a cry that would pierce their deluded souls and declare the depth of his rage. Joe bit his lower lip and clasped his hands on his head. His mind searched for words powerful enough to honor his rage.

  Steven bolted toward Joe and shoved him with force enough to send him stumbling to the floor. He screamed, “At least your father’s here. He’s not dead. Your dad is here. He can still be a father, he can still try. He’s … he’s still here to love you. Your father didn’t blow his brains out in a drunken rage last night. You have a chance to let him be a father. My father’s gone forever. Yours is trying to come back. Why don’t you let him? I wish my dad could just be here to try.”

  Joe jumped up and darted through the front door. Dazed family members hurriedly stumbled toward the door. “No. Don’t. Let him go. He’ll come to his senses. I know him. Give him time. The idiot.” Chuck said as he went and embraced his mother. Amber came and nestled between them.

  His mother whispered in his ear, “I’m afraid he might do something, to himself. He’s not safe like this.”

  “Mom, he sure ain’t safe if he stays here. He’ll be okay.” Chuck said.

  “Hey. Hear that? Damn it. He stole my motorcycle. Hell’s bell’s. Oh well. Where’s those cookies? And hot chocolate?”

  ***

  The sun was now bright, offering at least a fleeting hint of warmth. But Joe’s cheeks and forehead grew numb and his eyes watered as he raced down the highway into what remained a cruel and frigid wind. He could barely see the empty road ahead of him. I’ll never stop. Go on forever. Forever. God, why? Nothing works anymore. Nothing will ever be okay ever again.

  Emotions. Who needs them? Too many. Too intense. And the anger – always there, always in control; anger always wins. But what’d Braxton keep saying? ‘Underneath that anger hides the real emotions. Get in touch with the real emotions, and never believe the lie that anger has the power.’ Fear. It was fear, always fear. Why fear? Fear of what?

  Minutes later, the thought came; the dark deception reborn – death is the only safe place. Death. No more dread there, nothing to run from, nothing to terrorize. At death, fear loses its power; guilt erased forever. Death, The Right Answer. Why bother to face any ugly and unwanted emotions when you can leave them all behind? So sensible, so right. This cruel and demanding deception teased him. Just do it right this time. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Finish the job. Be done with it. Be done with it all. Just do it right this time. The motorcycle accelerated carrying Joe swift and furious into a dark abyss; down one hill and up another, faster and faster. Do it. Just do it. The Right Answer – No. No, it’s not. Shut up. No. Can’t. Don’t. The bike slowed. The next several minutes became a haze Joe would never be able to piece together. But he did clearly remember the moment the motorcycle came to a halt. Joe’s heart thumped hard and fast when he realized where he was. How’d the hell did I get here? Why would I end up in this place? In front of him was Steven’s doublewide, surrounded by its private junk yard. The unforgiving hellhole Steven endured since his grandfather died. The battlefield where a tragic and meaningless war had raged, where merciless and merciful warriors had been mortally wounded. Your father didn’t blow his brains out last night. My father’s gone forever. Yours is trying to come back … But I don’t want him back. Emotions enveloped Joe, determined to suffocate, destroy: Abandonment. Betrayal. Hurt. Disappointment. Disillusionment. Fear. Hate. Anger – Too much anger. Damaged and ruined. Joe screamed out at the top of his lungs, “I don’t want him back!”

  As he sat on the motorcycle staring at Steven’s home, ugly and unbearable images raced across Joe’s mind’s eye – name-calling, beatings with extension cords and two-by-fours and who knows what. The taunting and humiliation. The drunken and senseless rages. All the ugliness that sapped his friend of life and soul and sanity. You have a chance to let him be a father. My father’s gone forever. Yours is trying to come back. Why don’t you let him? Why don’t you let him? – Maybe it’s time to start forgiving. “But I don’t want him back. I don’t want to forgive him!”

  Joe dismounted the bike and noticed the faint path leading to the rickety chain-link fence. He climbed over the fence and followed the secret trail to Steven’s hidden refuge; his sanctuary offering hope and peace, the promise of salvation. When he found the clearing, he laughed as he remembered the sight of Steven stripped down to his shorts, lying on the snow-dusted ground. Steven. You’re crazy as hell, trying to be with your grandparents. And, you’re so … Joe then felt a tinge of sadness. Or was it pity? You’re so deluded, trying to find comfort from dead ancestors. Trying to make myths and legends real. Just silly stories. How can he believe in that stuff? But maybe it’s nice to believe in … in something.

  Joe sat on the ground and rested his back on the large tree stump. He drew in a long slow breath. The faint touch of warmth from the Christmas Day’s sun soothed his rage. “Relax. Relax.” Those words seemed to drift from the surrounding trees. The jumble of confused emotions began to calm.

  “Forgiveness, fool. Yes, forgiveness.” These words and strange images flashing before his eyes caused him to jerk his head up. How long had he slept? The sun now hovered just above the horizon; the air had gone from cool to cold. Damn dreams, I hate dreams. Oh crap. It’s late. Do I have to go back? How can I? God, I’ve wrecked everyone’s Christmas. I can’t face them. Can’t face him. Just stay here. Let nature be my home. Home! Oh my God! I left Steven alone with my family. Hell. What have I done?

  ***

  Joe mounted Steven’s motorcycle. As he drove toward home, he rehearsed what he should say and how he would say it. But, how could he even face his family? He’d ruined his and everyone’s Christmas. No. It’s dad who ruined everything. It’s him. He had no right to come home, home on Christ
mas day. He slowed down and pulled to the side of an empty road. He turned the engine off and sat down on the cold, damp tarmac. Forgiveness fool. Some sins remain forever unforgivable. He knew both his and his father’s sins were just that – unforgivable. Anyway, only fools forgive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Oh my God. It’s 11:05. Geez. I’m dead. Maddie’s Jeep eased up the driveway. She knew her parents had probably already checked on her; she hoped the carefully placed pillows under her duvet would fool them again, and she prayed they hadn’t noticed that her Jeep was missing. They haven’t called; no angry or worried texts – probably safe. Maddie left her coat in the car and crept to the side of her house. She shimmed up a rope hanging from a huge oak tree; her dad had fixed a tire swing on a large limb that nearly reached the balcony just above the kitchen. Endless hours had been spent on that swing when she was young, her dad pushing her. “Higher. Higher.” She would call out. But her life had changed. In the past two years she had climbed that rope countless times to sneak in and out her second story bedroom – rendezvous with boys, meeting friends to get high, roaming the streets and vandalizing empty houses just for the hell of it.

  Reaching the first limb, she pulled herself up to a higher branch a little nearer the house. Then she took a giant step up to reach another limb slightly higher and a bit closer to the balcony. She pulled out a six-foot long two-by-four she kept wedged between three large limbs, laying it on a sturdy branch, she eased it toward the balcony. Once it rested firm on the balcony’s ledge, she set the other end securely between some nails, which assured the plank wouldn’t wobble. After carefully walking across her portable bridge, she pulled the two-by-four to the balcony and laid it under her window. Maddie climbed through her bedroom window and quickly removed the pillows from under the duvet. Safe at last. Last time I do that. Last time. No more deceit. She quickly disrobed and put her pajamas back on. Staring at her reflection in the mirror above her dresser, she took several deep breaths. “Relaxation is an important key to mental health,” her therapist had declared – too many times. She was ready to face the day, Christmas Day. “Let’s make it a good Christmas.” She told herself three times as she brushed her hair.

  “You up Maddie? Lots to do.” Mom called through the bedroom door.

  “Yeah mom. I’m up. Be down in just a bit.”

  The door opened and Judith said, “Very good. Your grandparents are here. They decided to come after all. See, things are going to get better.”

  Maddie nodded. Judith smiled and seemed to glide back through the bedroom door. My grandparents decided to come? She looked into the mirror. Ugly. It was all ugly; nose too big, lips too thin, eyebrows too bushy, hairline too high, skin too white. So ugly – so unlovable. ‘Your grandparents decided to come. The decided to come after all.’ Why? Why? To ruin Christmas? They never had believed her. They had refused to talk to her since the revelation –the hideous family secret that was too awful for words, too horrible to be true. Oh, they would never believe their youngest son, their little boy, had raped a twelve year old, raped her until she was fourteen. Why are they here? She yanked the brush through her hair, faster and faster. Disgusting. The mirror doesn’t lie, the mirror knows the truth and it always dares to declare the ugly truth. You’re disgusting. So disgusting.

  Maddie looked around her room; anything would do. She spotted a paper clip just under her dresser. Bending it straight, she pushed it against the flesh on her left forearm; the arm covered with countless well-healed scares, scares finally fading. Each cut had given relief; each scar had filled her with shame. But each and every cut gave her what she deserved – she liked it. She shouldn’t have liked it; only a horrible person would like such a thing. He had told her a thousand times it was their very special secret, a secret to be cherished; to tell would ruin their special moments, their love. She should have told. Maddie dug the tip of the paperclip deep into her flesh, dragging it down her forearm. Blood slowly, politely, lovingly oozed down her arm – atonement for her sin, her ugliness. A moment of relief. A moment where everything blurred and became strangely bearable. A rush of satisfaction and comfort soothed the jumble of contorted and cruel emotions. Maddie went to her bathroom and let the blood trickle into the sink – washed away forever. She looked into the mirror. She smiled, then laughed. Then tears flowed. The inevitable shame raised its unforgiving finger and jammed it in her face. “I knew you couldn’t stop. I knew you’d do it again. Pathetic. Look at those scares. Proud of them aren’t you? Weak and pathetic. Still ugly. Ugly as hell.”

  A knock on the door and her head jerked up. Her dad’s voice called through it, “Maddie? Puppet. Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “I’m coming. I’ll be down in a minute.” She’d done it before: Faced her parents, her family, pretending to be okay, hiding her sliced up flesh, her blood, her lies. She could do it again – especially on Christmas Day.

  ***

  Normality – shattered into a billion tiny pieces. The pretense of normality – demanded each and every day. Maddie kissed her grandfather’s left cheek, and then she curtsied and kissed her grandmother’s right hand. Nana had taught her to do this when she was four years old. “Someday you will meet the Queen of England, and this is how you must greet her. Someday you will mix with Kings and Queens like your grandparents and you must be prepared my dear child.” In the sixties and early seventies, her grandfather served as ambassador in what was then Rhodesia and later on was posted in South Africa “You must be prepared for a wonderful and exciting life my dear.” Words which were so exciting to a seven year old, but now were just naïve statements made by an old woman. Since she was little, Maddie had curtsied to her grandmother to the delight and laughter of a family praising the sublime innocence of children being children. As a teenager, she still bowed to her Nana, but this was done to mock an old woman who lived in the past. The grandmother never suspected this, but all the cousins knew and laughed with Maddie, and at their grandmother.

  Why did they come? To condemn? To probe? To look for the truth? The stiff, if not muted, greeting from both grandparents answered Maddie’s questions. She spoke slowly, with a slight hint of depression, hoping her hurt and anger would subliminally slap them in their pompous faces. “Merry Christmas you two. I thought we might get more snow today. But it doesn’t look like it will be enough to grant us that white Christmas those weathermen promised. You can’t trust a weatherman. They always let you down.” Maddie could feel a bead of blood trickle down her arm. She rubbed her forearm and hoped it wouldn’t soak through her white sweater; a sweater she’d put on because Nana gave it to her last Christmas. It was the first time she’d worn that sweater; anything white on her body felt awkward, uncomfortable. She preferred black; always black, black was comforting, accepting.

  “Oh, who wants snow any day of the year? No thank you.” Her grandfather said and took a seat close to the fireplace.

  “What would you like to drink, Nana? I know Papa wants a sherry.”

  “Nothing for me, Madeline,” Her grandmother said as she walked across the room and looked out the large bay window.

  “Are you sure? I think mom has just made some eggnog.”

  “No thank you dear.”

  Maddie’s stomach churned and her lungs tightened. It was obvious why they came; not to bring peace and joy to mankind, but to condemn, to declare their son’s innocence, and to urge her parents to choose between him and their daughter. Maddie felt tension grow in that festive room with each syllable uttered and each breath taken. “I’ll get your sherry Papa.”

  “Madeline, let’s stop the pretense, shall we? I think we need to get your parents in here and have a talk,” her grandmother said, still staring out the window.

  “Nana, what are you on about? This is Christmas, not a time to worry about family problems. God.”

  “Call them now. Or shall I?”

  “Whatever.” Maddie went to the kitchen and returned with her parents. The thr
ee of them sat on the sofa across from the fireplace. Maddie felt another trickle of blood seeping down her forearm. She crossed her arms quickly and set her gaze on the fireplace. The flames danced so carelessly, so freely; they were dancing for her; dancing hard to please her, trying to bring back the joy that should highlight the perfect Christmas. The words the adults spoke were distant, almost foreign.

  “What’s this about, Mother? We’re here to enjoy the holiday and a nice meal and that’s what we will do.” Howard said as he offered his mother a glass of eggnog that she dismissed with a slight flick of the wrist.

  “I know you were willing to give our Maddie another chance. I understand how much you want to see her change. But the lies, the deceit just go on and on. She has not changed one iota. Your daughter continues to play you for the fool.”

  “Mother! Good God. What are you on about? You haven’t been around here for two months. You have no idea how well Maddie is doing. She is doing great. We have our Maddie back.”

  “Do you? Why don’t you tell them Madeline? You’ve changed so much, indeed. Well tell them. Maddie!”

  Maddie’s gaze remained fixed on the fire. She shrugged her shoulders. “What? Tell them what? I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

  “Oh you most certainly do. Tell us all just what you’ve been up to.”

  Maddie shrugged again and sighed. She looked at her father; emotions swirled uncontrollably throughout her heart and soul. Slowly, but curtly she said, “God, dad. Why are they here? They shouldn’t have come.” She looked away and stared out the window. The sun seemed to have willed the clouds away. Its rays reflected harshly off the still damp pavement of the driveway causing Maddie to squint. Words came out in a near mumble. “They don’t believe me and never will. It doesn’t matter. Don’t believe me!” Maddie buried her head in her hands.