The Mason List

by S. D. Hendrickson

  I tipped back the bottle, feeling it trickle into my stomach and spread like fire through my veins. Tears fell down my cheeks, but the alcohol made it not hurt quit so bad. I fell back against the carpet, spilling some on the floor. My room already smelled like liquor and vomit and sweat. I lived in filth and I really didn’t care; it wasn’t like it was the first time.

  Sadie opened my door without knocking. She came over and yanked the bottle out of my hand. “That’s enough self-pity.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Get off that disgusting floor. I got you a birthday cake.”

  “I don’t want cake.”

  “Well, you are not sitting in here drinking yourself into oblivion tonight. Get up and eat the cake I bought you.” She stomped her foot against the carpet.

  I crawled up the side of my bed, using it as a crutch. Stumbling into the kitchen, I saw a gourmet cake with writing that said, Happy Birthday Alex. The happy letters made me want to smash it.

  “You better not sing to me.”

  “I won’t sing,” she smiled as she opened some party plates.

  I was dizzy. I was drunk. Reaching for the edge of the cabinet, I tried to steady myself. Instead, I accidently grabbed the side of the cake box and fell backwards into the floor, bringing the beautiful creation down with me.

  I laughed. Lifting my arm, I licked icing off my fingers. I laughed and I laughed. I had cake in my hair and on my face. I laughed, and I wondered if it was the one that Jess liked to hear. I laughed some more as I licked the icing off that damn tattoo. I laughed as Sadie’s face exploded into a red, angry demon.

  “Give it to me!” she yelled.

  “Give what?”

  “Damn it! Get your ass up and give me that fake ID. I’m not putting up with your self-loathing, drunken fits anymore. This stops tonight, Alex!”

  I stopped laughing. Sadie never cursed. She said it was an inappropriate crutch of someone who lacked a vocabulary. Sadie cursed, which meant she officially had enough of me. Good. I didn’t deserve someone as nice as Sadie.

  She left the room and came back with some book in her hand. Sadie handed it to me as I used the cake as a pillow on the floor. “That’s your birthday present.”

  The cover mentioned something about the art of expressing your feelings in constructive ways instead of destructive outbursts. “Super exciting! You got me a self-help book.” I threw it across the room.

  This would not make a damn bit of difference. I was alone. I was sad. Jess hated me. His parents still made weekly deposits into my bank account. My title grew to poor – homeless – charity case – angry – shitty friend – slut girl.

  I missed him. He walked around on campus every day, just a few steps out of reach. I wanted to see Jess, not read some nonsense about coping. I cried again, making snot drip to the floor and all over the cake. Jess’s absence made a crack in my heart; a deep, jagged hole that could only be filled by the one who created it.

  Chapter 33

  Today, 3:37 a.m.

  I open my eyes just enough to see that my father’s truck is still on the interstate. The trip to Dallas was like a never ending roller coaster, teasing into the pit of hell.

  “Alex, you awake?”

  “No,” I mutter.

  I watch the white line on the side of the asphalt. The headlights from the truck make it sparkle. Just yesterday, I drove down the same highway to Arlis. It seemed like a million years ago. His cell phone rings and I sit straight up in the truck. He answers and I know immediately the caller is Caroline.

  “We’re about twenty minutes outside of Fort Worth.” He pauses and I hear her voice but not the words. “Ok. That’s fine…Ok…Bye…Love you too.”

  He clicks end on the screen and glances over at me. His face seems tense, so I look out the window. Something catches my attention. In the depths of the dark sky, I see a shooting star. As always, I clench my eyes tight. I say the same words I have muttered for years. Opening my lashes, I gaze into the darkness. The glittery image is gone from the night as if it never graced us with its presence.

  “Alex?” My father speaks from the driver’s seat.

  I didn’t want to know about the phone call. I didn’t want to know what she said. I pretend to be asleep. I pretend to not be here. I pretend to disappear like a shooting star in the night.

  Chapter 34

  When I was twenty…

  At the butt-crack of dawn, my alarm blared in the distance. Wake up! It’s a beautiful morning! I pulled myself from the dark trenches of sleep, remembering I was going to Arlis today. The little voice inside the clock screamed the words once more, sending a sharp chill through my shoulders. Wake up! It’s a beautiful morning!

  I carefully disarmed the little monster. The alarm clock from hell was a gift from Sadie. She said if I smashed it, she would smash me. I chose not to cross those hazel eyes; she was evil these days and might smother me in my sleep.

  Check List Item One: You must wake up on time each morning.

  Reaching behind my head, I fluffed the pillow and leaned back into the feathery softness. My father was getting married to Caroline today. I was happy for him, but the trip to Arlis was another story, bordering on slasher-film-level. I would rather take on Leatherface, in Texas Chainsaw Massacre, than what I had to face today.

  Check List Item Two: You need to think before you react today.

  Taking out my yellow journal, I scribbled across the pages and contemplated the start of my morning ritual. A constant routine is everything, said the stupid self-help book. After my birthday, this so-called five-step routine had pulled me up, and then pushed my sorry ass forward when nothing else seemed to matter. The whole concept was ridiculous, but it was at least enough to make me leave the front door and go to class.

  I knew this book of annoying crap would never make me truly feel better. Step two suggested setting aside twenty minutes each morning for reflection time as a way to control your thoughts for the day. It recommended that I start at the beginning. I wasn't sure what this stupid book considered the beginning. So on the first day, I scribbled my last tranquil, Norman Rockwell-painted memory.

  The words had poured out about a girl who sat laughing in the trees. I wrote about my garden. I wrote about Digger. I wrote about my mother. As the entries progressed, the words had changed to something more cryptic and angry until they turned into pain and remorse. One morning, I wrote I’m sorry until I had blisters.

  I looked over this morning’s entry; twenty minutes of damn reflection time complete. Ripping the pages right out of the journal, I stumbled to my bathroom with the writing clenched in my hand. I stared at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the person I saw in the reflection.

  Moving on to the next step, I pulled out my hidden book of matches. It was time for my morning routine of pyrotechnics. I touched the glowing stick against the notebook paper. Orange flames ate up the sides as I dropped the journal pages in the metal trash bucket. The fire demolished my transposed feelings into a pile of ash with a devil’s tail of smoke. I pulled in a deep breath, letting it scorch my lungs. I smiled; very therapeutic, just not on the level Sadie intended, or the people in the self-help book.

  Check List Item Three: You must take a shower each day.

  Turning on the hot water, I crawled inside, begging the spray to melt away the knots of internal pain. The idea that a loss will get easier as time passes, is complete bullshit. It doesn't get easier; you just learn to function while balancing the large burden on your shoulders. I leaned against the wall and eventually sank to the floor. I cried. It was the only time I allowed it to happen these days. For twenty minutes each morning, I let myself crack while alone in the shower. This was my real reflection time.

  Check List Item Four: You must wear clean clothes each day.

  Turning off the water, I crawled out, feeling no more refreshed than before the hot blast. I tied my hair in a messy wad on top of my head. I grabbed a decent looking t-shirt from a hanger and pul
led some faded sweats on my tall frame. The gray fabric had a gaping hole in the knee. I no longer cared if I looked like shit or a runway model; either way this day would have the same outcome.

  Check List Item Five: You must eat breakfast each day.

  Pulling my suitcase to the living room, I smelled a dark, sweet aroma coming from the kitchen. At least something seemed bright this morning; Sadie had already made coffee. I wished for deep, mind-blowing sludge, knowing I would get a hit of watered-down caffeine from the natural energizer bunny.

  “Hey,” I said, pouring a cup. I took a sniff and grumbled, “Decaf again?”

  “Stop being temperamental. I know you can’t taste the difference, let alone smell it.” She flashed an annoyed look over her shoulder while prepping a travel mug. “You don’t need to be wired today.”

  “It’s just the principle. It’s like drinking O’Doul’s. What’s the point?” I took a swig straight black, feeling the hot liquid slide down my throat with a slight burn.

  “Well, you are most certainly not having that either.”

  She would never let it go even though I had been sober since my birthday. Sadie should have left me. I wasn’t a good friend or roommate to her. She should have thrown my shit on the curb. I deserved it, yet she didn’t leave or kick me out.

  I watched Sadie take another sip of coffee. She looked up, allowing her eyes to flicker over my attire. I saw every bad thought floating around in her head. As usual, Sadie looked beautiful today, wearing what I called The Power Suite: a dark black pencil skirt and jacket complimented with a starched white shirt and tiny pink scarf tied in knot around her throat. Her hair was swept in a formal twist, giving the pearl earrings perfect exposure.

  “Is that what you’re wearing today?” she asked with pursed lips.

  “It doesn’t matter what I wear.”

  “It matters, sweetie.” She sat her cup down, I assumed to offer a lecture. “It will be fine. It’s just a car ride followed by a beautiful wedding. Try to say that to yourself over and over again. It will be ok.”

  I bit down on my lip and swallowed hard. “It will be ok. It’s not like he will hurt me. The whole thing will just be uncomfortable.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t take you.”

  “It’s not your problem.”

  “You are my friend.” She came over to give a quick hug. “Call if you need to discuss anything. I’m here for you even if I can’t physically come to the wedding.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  Her heels clicked down the apartment steps. I heard a pause, followed by a quick march back to the door. Sadie made a beeline to the kitchen and opened the dishwasher. She took the coffee spoon out and reversed it to be silver scoop side up in the tray.

  “Much better. It would have bothered me all the way to San Antonio thinking about that dirty spoon just sitting in the tray wrong.”

  “You’re so weird.”

  “Says the person wearing ripped pajamas as an outfit.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  “Hey…um, good luck with the debate.”

  “You too.”

  The door shut again, leaving me alone with my pathetic thoughts. Chigger was dead. Jess was driving me to the wedding because Sadie had a debate competition in San Antonio. I had called my father yesterday, with selfish hopes he would suggest coming to get me. After all, Caroline and I had a mega list of items to complete before the ceremony. She needed me, I stressed to him.

  He said it wasn’t necessary to come early and wanted me to get a ride from Jess the following day. I didn’t say a word. My father had known for a while something was wrong between us. He had fished around a few times but I never said anything. I would never be able to explain why Jess was absent from my life without revealing the truth. So I finally agreed to contact him for a ride.

  I knew Jess would never miss Henry and Caroline’s wedding. Yet, his attendance never felt real until that very moment. Clutching the tiny black phone, I had stared at the text message for at least thirty minutes before hitting send.

  Sorry to ask. My car is dead. Can I ride with u to Arlis tomorrow?

  I had waited, feeling scared that he wouldn’t answer just like last time. Instead, I got an immediate response.

  Ok. Pick you up at 8.

  He had said yes. Part of me had wanted to jump up and down. Jess had answered yes, but the revelation also meant I had to see him in person. Part of me had wanted to crawl under the covers and not come out. I finally had some form of communication with Jess after three horrible months. Actually, three months since he had walked out of my apartment and a little over four since he had left me at Rochellas. I was nervous. I was scared to see him.

  I sat down on the couch to wait, drinking my stupid decaf coffee. I had packed my suitcase last night so he wouldn’t have to wait on me this morning. Now, I was stuck waiting on him with only my thoughts to entertain me. I took a deep breath; counted to five and let it out. I did it over and over again. Jess knocked a little after eight. Getting up from the couch, I went to the door. My hand shook as I turned the knob.

  “Hey,” I muttered.

  “Hey.”

  He didn’t smile and neither did I. Jess wore a blue plaid, pearl-snap shirt that fit snug against his chest. In that instance, I regretted not changing like Sadie suggested. Jess avoided my gaze and looked past me for the familiar brown suitcase. He walked through the door unannounced while my fingers clenched the knob for moral support. In one swoop, he took my bag and left the apartment.

  His eyes barely touched me as I stood in the doorway. Following him down the stairs, I knew the memories of my indiscretions were still visible in his mind. Jess could not bear to look at me. Instead of gangly Alex wearing the extra-large Black Keys t-shirt, he saw that strung-out girl in the red dress with Dutch.

  I stared at the cab door for a moment before climbing inside the truck. I shut the door, feeling uncomfortable after riding hundreds of times in this seat. This was going to bad; three hours of gut wrenching silence. I stole a few glances in his direction. He looked as bad as me with dark circles under his blues eyes. I think Jess lost some weight too. His cheek bones stuck out and his chin was a little more cut.

  We got on the interstate. I pressed my body tight against the passenger door, wishing to fade into the tan exterior. It was eerie quiet in the truck. I fell into a hypnotic trance as I watched the white line on the side of the road.

  About half way there, I looked at Jess, seeing his jaw clenched tight and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In a brave attempt to break the silence, I spoke with a small, hesitant voice like a child asking permission. “Can I turn on the radio?”

  I asked but didn’t dare reach for the dial. His tense composure offered no response while his hand flipped on the stereo from the steering wheel. He let the channel stay on one of the many programmed country stations. I rested my head against the window, feeling the awkward tension suck the air from the tiny space.

  My mind flashed back to all the times we had bickered over the radio station and who was in control. I felt a rush of sadness; I deserved every painful piece of this trip. Closing my eyes to keep from crying, I listened to the words filling the cab; a Brad Paisley song was better than the suffocating silence.

  The ceremony was a beautiful display of fall flowers that covered the grounds of Sprayberry. My father carried a blissful look, absent since the days before Arlis. Caroline floated around with a huge smile as she talked to the guests. Their happiness radiated out to everyone, giving me an inner peace toward my father. I dabbed a small tear in the corner of my eye. His days alone in the old farmhouse ended today.

  I pretended to mingle amongst the familiar faces, keeping a sharp eye out for his dark hair. My rounds eventually made it over to the Masons. Jess wasn’t with them.

  “I am so happy for your father, Alexandra.” Mrs. Mason’s diamond-glittered hand took mine as she leaned
forward with her light pink, glossed lips to kiss me on the cheek.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You also look beautiful today, dear.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” I had let Sadie pick out an orangey red, satin dress the color of fall. At least this time she remembered I was about six inches taller than her short frame. My one shoulder dress ended at a very modest point on the cusp of my knee.

  “We heard you had a car situation.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t worry, dear. We can take care of it. It’s time you drove something more suitable anyway.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mason.”

  “You are very welcome, Alexandra.”

  I no longer possessed the energy to grumble at the never-ending story. I’m surprised she lasted this long; not Chigger, but the ever so helpful Mrs. Mason on buying me a new car.

  We parted ways, and I mingled through the crowd in search of my father. Every so many feet, someone latched on for a chit chat. They must have invited the whole damn town. Plump Mrs. Landry remarked I was wasting away like a wisp of grass. Ms. Virginia Abbot, sporting a gray bun, squeezed a tight hug, and then pinched my cheeks with a piercing comment about all that food I was eating in Austin. I loved that smashing another adult’s face, while criticizing, was deemed socially acceptable at a wedding.

  Mrs. Crawford, who always wore three strands of pearls, seemed generally concerned I would never find a husband in that city. She clucked her tongue about wasting time because I wasn't getting any younger. Meanwhile, Ms. Sara Beth Nelson asked when Jess and I would be expecting our first child. She just couldn’t wait to see little ones again at Sprayberry.

  I smiled politely with a yes, ma’am and thank, you ma’am around each kind, meddling woman; never bothering to correct or appear offended. Bless their dear, old, demented hearts. Never depend on Arlis for a dose of self-confidence. I was both too thin and too fat, while gallivanting around as an old spinster at twenty, who apparently married Jess when I was sixteen.