Apple in the Earth

by C.T. Millis

  Chapter 22

  The behavior notice was printed on golden yellow paper. James somberly walked Sophie home in silence. He felt the weight of it pound like a throbbing heart jammed in his back pocket. It worsened with every step.

  “Do you want to go to the tree house?”

  “I think I want to lay down for a while, maybe tomorrow?”

  James walked away, but turned back every few steps to watch Sophie as she walked to her house. The day was almost warm. It was the point of winter when all the true bone-coldness was gone, but none of the sounds of birds or other animals had returned. Snow would not fall until the next year. James did not wear his coat all week. He rolled up his sleeves while he pressed into the woods. He dropped his back pack at the bottom of the ladder, and ascended slowly like a cat would if it were stalking a bird. He could feel each of his muscles move as he put one arm in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.

  In the tree house, James had his father’s portrait was pinned to the wall, and its hollow eyes looked over him. James closed his own eyes and thought about the time his family drove to the Atlantic Ocean on vacation.

  “Time to pay the Troll,” James’ father would say. At every toll booth James would hide under his blanket so the toll collector wouldn’t see him. He laughed at himself in the tree house because he never thought of the workers of being anything but trolls until later. James remembered how when they got to the beach, it started drizzling but his family hopped out of the car anyway. His dad was paper again, but when his mom led him further away, to the water, his form turned solid again, and his mother kissed his father far away from where James was standing. They were far enough away that they looked like a pair of shadows. James remembered how the sparse rain drops hit his lips and tasted salty like popcorn.

  He remembered running up to his parents at the water, but he could not keep remembering. When James thought of his parents when he got closer to them in his mind, James’ dad turned back to paper and started soaking up water.

  “Don’t come any closer!” his mother pleaded. At this point, James wanted to catch his father and pull him to shore, so he kept walking. “Please!” she yelled, but James started running towards his father who was now beginning to crinkle. Each small wave that lapped against his parents raised his mother’s voice and pulled is father under more. By the time James got to the edge of the foaming water, his father was dissolved into it. “Please,” his mother said one last time to James in his imagination.

  “Please,” James said out loud through the window of the tree house to the sky. He looked at the portrait of his father that he colored on white construction paper. He ran his fingers over the crease lines, and then along the spots where paper was overlapped with the wax of his father’s face.

  James did not want the world to pull his father apart. He closed his eyes again while his palm was still pressed to the portrait of his father, and he thought about when he was younger, maybe only four years old. James remembered being in a fast food restaurant with his father and getting separated from him.

  “Just wait out here, I have to go to the bathroom, then we’ll eat,” his paper father said while leaning close to James’ face. In his imagination, his father’s voice was different. It was not his father’s voice at all. It was the voice of a local radio announcer that bred with all the booming voices on the commercials between cartoons, selling toy cars. James could hear the fluttering paper as his father pulled his hands off of James’ shoulders and walked away in his military uniform. Everyone was wearing uniforms because they were on an Army base, and James could not see anyone’s face because they were so much taller than he was at the time. He got scared of all the green and brown around him. It was like a dark forest, with wolves that always posed fierce around pools of water and trails that led outward to sunlight and civilization. James hid under one of the tables for a long time. Identical boots shuffled past, but he saw some that he knew were his father’s. James burst out from under the table and ran to the uniform he knew was his father. James grabbed the pant leg, solid not paper this time, and said,

  “Dad, Dad- I thought I lost you.” The woman whose uniform he was holding onto bent down and asked him,

  “Are you lost?”

  James shot back to under the table and watched the counter where they sold the food beneath backlit signs. That was the end of James’ memory of that event, but he imagined his father went to the counter to get the food. All James wanted was for his father to pick up the food at the counter, find him, and they would eat it at the table James was hiding under. In James’ imagination, he could not make his father pick up the tray of food. His paper hands were too weak. He would just slide them under the tray, and when he tried to lift it, James’ father’s hands would just slip out, causing the tray to shudder as it collapsed on the counter. In real life James’ father had to have found him, otherwise he would still be lost. His own imagination could not construct this truth.

  James went down the ladder of the tree house and picked up his back pack. He slung it over one shoulder and walked home. He walked up the empty driveway to get to his house. When James turned the knob to the front door, it resisted him. The door was locked. That door was never locked when he was home from school. Nevertheless, James set his back pack on the ground and dug through the zippers until he found the key to his front door. While James unlocked it, he remembered his father would turn the same knob. When James picked up his back pack and turned the knob, he knew that he was touching the same door knob his father touched when he left.

  Pressing the door open, his mother’s laughter came through the crack. James had not heard his mother laugh like that in months. He slipped through the door quietly and stood there after closing it. His mother laughed again. James heard a man’s voice.

  “Of course, I’d never leave you,” James dropped his bag immediately and ran into the living room where the voices were coming from. In the corner by the other door James saw them. His mother had his father’s arms wrapped around her, and she was smiling at him like she did in the picture of her and her father before they got married that he saw in the photo album. James could not see his father’s face. His mother looked so young. James bounded towards them and wanted to cry out, ‘Dad!’ but it came out more of a warbled non-word than anything.

  His mom and Sophie’s dad turned to him. And he stopped like he was never moving at all. Sophie’s dad dropped his arms from James’ mother’s waist and put them to his own hips.

  “Are you so rude that you just come in here, keep your shoes on, and make that much noise?” James was completely frozen, and a slow croak came from his throat, “did you even put your backpack up?” Sophie’s dad walked towards James and grabbed his arm, pulling him almost painlessly into the foyer. Sophie’s dad turned James around, “What is this?” James looked at his backpack, the same thing James’ dad was looking at. “What kind of a pig are you? Put this away.” He let go of James’ arm. James hesitated before picking up his back pack, opening the closet, and putting it on the floor.

  “Take off your shoes!” Sophie’s dad barked. James did and looked at his mother, who was nervously holding onto her own shoulders in the kitchen doorway. Sophie’s dad walked towards her and kissed her, “Don’t worry, I’ll get him sorted out,” James took off his shoes and put them in the closet. Sophie’s dad turned towards him, arm around James’ mom’s waist, “What did you do with your sleeves?” James opened his mouth to answer when Sophie’s dad said, “Fix your sleeves and wash your hands, they’re filthy, your mom made a nice dinner and I won’t let you disrespect her by coming to the table like some slob.”

  James nodded and walked towards the bathroom to wash his hands. After he closed the door he thought about his mother. She was wearing a nice outfit, jeans and a blouse. James didn’t see his mom wearing anything but a bathrobe in the house for such a long time. He turned the water on until the steam rose to his face. He stuck his hands under
the faucet and winced. The shock of the heat made him suck in some of the steam through his teeth. James pulled his hands out of the water before getting his resolve again and keeping them under the water while taking in lung-full after lung-full of steam with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes and looked down at his pink hands. They were blurred by steam. He pulled one hand out of the water and grabbed the white bar of soap. Moving one hand out of the water made the pain intensify on his other hand. He pulled both of them out and lathered the soap between them like a prayer. He put the soap back on the soap dish and put his hands under the full force and heat of the water again. He rinsed his pink palms and shut off the water. He started to rub his hands dry on the towel behind him, and it hurt. He looked at his face in the fogged-up mirror and opened the door to the bathroom and brought the smell of soap with him into the hallway.

  James walked down the dark hallway to the dining room. He looked down at his own stomach while he was walking, and could see his heart beating so hard that it moved part of his solar plexus in and out every time he froze his breath. He scuttled into his seat and only looked up from the table when Sophie’s dad spoke;

  “That’s more like it, good that you show your mother respect,” he began, “She’s been too easy on you, she thinks it’s the world against the two of you,” James was trying to hold very still. “She thinks that her child is incapable of doing wrong, that everything is some other person’s fault,” Sophie’s dad started scooping lumpy roast beef stew into his bowl, “she only cares so much because your father is gone, but that’s over now,” he slapped the ladle back into the serving bowl, “That’s over now, you hear, James?” James nodded.

  Sophie’s dad was sitting in James’ dad’s seat at the dining room table. What used to be his seat. James’ mother started serving James stew,

  “Give ‘em a little more,” Sophie’s dad said with a full mouth. James’ mom slopped more into his bowl. It was significantly more than what James was used to eating, but he thanked his mother and began eating as quietly and as submissively as he could. James nearly lowered his face into the bowl as he tried not to overhear his mom’s conversation with Sophie’s dad.

  “We should be able to get the movers to bring your boxes in here this next week,” James did not look, but he could hear the distinct smooth sound of their hands coming together over the table.

  “I’d like that,” Sophie’s dad said, mouth full of stew. James contained all of his shaking to his left hand, which he kept under the table. He thought about his father bursting through the front door, and rescuing him. James looked at his family’s last Christmas portrait on the wall, the one they took just weeks before his dad deployed-

  It was gone. James’ jaw dropped, the wall was empty. James looked out of the window behind Sophie’s dad’s head towards the direction of where the tree house was.

  “Eat!” Sophie’s dad barked. James accidently dropped his spoon.

  “I’m full, can I just finish my bread?” He ate more than what he was usually able to.

  “You’re eight,” Sophie’s dad pointed out, “I don’t negotiate with eight year olds, eat.”

  James reached into his back pocket and handed his mother the sloppily folded paper. He sighed,

  “That’s from the Vice Principal, they said they are just going to warn me this ti-”

  “What,” Sophie’s dad interrupted. James’ mom unfolded the paper slowly and read the words for a long time. It looked like heat was being emitted directly from Sophie’s dad’s ears.

  “It says-” she scanned it again, “it says James damaged school property, and verbally assaulted his counselor.” she put her hand to her mouth and looked down so James could not see her cry. “You were right,” she looked up at Sophie’s dad.

  “What happened was-” James tried to explain himself.

  “No excuses, how can you come here and give excuses,” Sophie’s dad was turning redder, “These people are trying to help you. We are all just trying to help you. No excuses. No. None.” James opened his mouth to speak, found the expression on Sophie’s dad’s face, and closed his mouth again. He picked up his spoon and tried to keep still enough to eat.

  “You’re a pig, you’re getting it everywhere!” Sophie’s dad pushed back his chair so hard that it hit the wall as Sophie’s dad propelled himself to James’ side of the table. He grabbed James’ hand and wrist tightly, lowered it into the bowl and then brought it to James’ closed mouth.

  “Open.” James’ jaw felt suddenly paralyzed. He tried to open his jaw, all he wanted in the entire world was to open his jaw, but it was stuck. Instead of pry it opened, Sophie’s dad ripped the spoon out of James’ hand. He put the spoon in the bowl and threw the whole thing into the kitchen trash. Even the spoon and the bowl. He rushed back over to James,

  “You’re going to learn, that you have to respect people,” He motioned for James to get up, “nobody owes you anything,” Sophie’s dad went over to James’ mom and put his hand on her shoulder, “Now you go throw that trash out, I don’t want your food to stink up our house.” James looked at his mother,

  “Take out the trash, James,” she repeated almost sweetly.

  “Don’t worry, he’ll get it,” James heard while he pulled the trash bag in the kitchen closed and brought it to the garage where the trash bin was stored. As soon as James turned on the light of the garage, he saw Sophie’s dad’s car. James wished he knew Sophie’s dad was there that day, he wished he parked in the driveway. If James knew Sophie’s dad was there, he never would have confused him with his father. I’m so sorry. He apologized to his father about getting him confused with Sophie’s dad earlier in the day.

  When James pulled the door shut behind him as he entered the house, Sophie’s dad stormed into the room.

  “Don’t slam doors,”

  “I didn’t-”

  “No excuses, the house shook, you have to respect your mother’s house while you’re here.” Sophie’s dad fumed. “Put your hand on the door knob,” James did so, “now, without opening it, turn the knob,” James tried, “Without opening it!” Sophie’s dad raised his voice. “Right, now, slowly, pull it towards you,” James did so, and could hear the seal of the door break. “Let go, now hold the handle again,” James did what he said and thought about all the times his father held that same handle, “turn it slowly, good, now- push it back slowly, don’t slam it.” James pushed the door back into its frame. “Now, twist it back to where it was,” instead of letting go of the handle, James twisted his wrist and made it so it did not make even the slightest noise. “Let go now.” James did. “Good, you might not be useless, after all.” James kept looking at the door handle. “We’ll get you sorted out. Go brush your teeth and go to bed,” James walked towards the kitchen where his mother was doing dishes to say goodnight, “You heard what I told you,” Sophie’s voice pulled James away from his mother, who was humming to herself over the sink.

  James brushed his teeth in confusion. He always thought he was a good kid. He remembered how many times he avoided making trouble at school, he just made a mistake. He ran the opaque bristles over his gums and thought about how he never had a cavity. James walked up the stairs and closed his bedroom door behind him. He was a good kid. Wasn’t he a good kid?

  His room was dark, he flipped on his light slowly so he could hear the current connect. James was suddenly struck with the fact that his father’s body was somewhere. It had not come back to the family yet, but the last time he read his mother’s mail; it said that it was en route.

  James knew for sure that his father was not sleeping in a bed that night, that his father would never feel sheets again. James took his pillows and put them in the corner of his room. He pulled back his covers and rolled them up next to the pillows. After pulling the mattress sheet onto the floor, he pulled it up with a great force and made it billow out a grey like white as the winter sky above him. James folded it up and put it on the pile of other bed sheet
s. He slipped into his over washed pajamas that formed neatly to his frame. He smelled like the steam that rose from the side of the house on winter days. It was exhaust from the dryer. It was clean, fresh, and warm at the same time.

  James flipped out the light and sat on the edge of the bed. He heard a crackle and looked around his room. Sensing nothing else, he leaned back and was on his side facing away from the door. James repositioned and heard the crackle again. His eyes were drawn to his hands as they moved across the surface of the bare mattress. James moved his hand slowly across and saw small blue sparks leap. The static electricity moved wherever his hand moved. James was in awe of how much energy was in everything. The quick bursts were almost terrible in their bright light beauty against the otherwise blackness of his room. Beautiful, he thought.

  He held himself still after a while and closed his eyes to sleep. James found that his mind was kicking around everything, moving faster than a thousand lab rats that were intent on running on their exercise wheels. He went from the window to the bed a few times, and heard his mother and Sophie’s dad go to bed. He put his back on the bed and thought about his father shoveling the walkway again. The same thing happened in his memory and after his father dissolved he realized he had to get out of the house. Using some of the new stealth skills Sophie’s dad taught him, James opened and closed his door silently. He slithered like a crook down the stairs and walked into the kitchen. James was hungry again, so while rummaging through the fridge, he saw them.

  The potatoes were nearly sprouting in the plastic bag they were sold in. James lost his appetite for food. He walked to the closet to where his coat and shoes were. He put them on, knowing it was colder outside at night than it was during the day. Returning to the fridge, James packed his jacket pockets with three potatoes each, and closed the refrigerator door very quietly.

  He did the same with the front door and pulled into himself and away from the dark around him as he made his way to the tree house. The branches of the trees reached out like the hands of ghosts, and caught his hair and face from time to time as he wobbled toward the tree house.

  It was certainly dark, a dark that James tried not to think about what was hiding in it. He hummed through every rustle of the dead leaves, and coughed when he heard some small animal or another leap away from his feet. James tried to do anything but expect the worst.

  When he got there, he put the potatoes on the ground in a row. Leaving them there, he rummaged through Mr. Heckerman’s shed to borrow his shovel. In the clearing by the tree house, he dug exactly one shovel head deep into the soft soil. The smell the earth released smelled like life itself. James got on his knees and held each potato to the moonlight before pressing it into the wound of earth he created. With his bare hands, he smoothed the dirt back into the hole, leaving a loose mound above it.

  James put the shovel back in the shed and heard music. It sounded old and mellow. The music was coming from Mr. Heckerman’s house. He looked at the light in the window, as awake as he was. James turned to go home. He felt a great relief by leaving the woods, and was so overjoyed to have not been eaten by some monster or another that he ran and leapt his way home. James could find a way to live in darkness and silence.

  He slipped off his boots and coat from his body to their original place in the closet, ascended the stairs without a squeak, and lay back down on his bare mattress. Stretched out from arm to arm to leg to leg as far as he could across the bed, James closed his eyes. He thought about remembering his dad like their time together was a movie in his head, but decided to imagine new memories with him instead.

  They were in a vast field, and from far away, James could not tell that his father was made of paper. He watched as his father, full of life again, picked up a shovel and drove it into the dirt with his work boots. His father threw the dirt to the side and lifted small objects to the summer sun before lowering them into the earth.