Writing on the Wall

by Christopher Cleary

  “What do you mean, ‘it can’t’?”

  “It just can’t.”

  “Fine.” Donnie was unruffled. “We’ll have it delivered.”

  She mimicked his lazy reply, “Fine, we’ll have it delivered.” She put her arms through the sleeves of her coat. “Fine, let’s go get your car.”

  Along with the new mattress, Megan insisted that they buy sheets with a very high thread count. The only way Donnie could tell the difference between the high thread count sheets and the lower ones was by the price. Higher was high.

  Donnie told her, “I don’t even care if we have sheets.”

  Megan wrinkled her nose. “Nasty.”

  “How are we going to wash them anyway?”

  “We’ll worry about that later. Let’s look at comforters.”

  “But we got those Haviland High blankets. What’s wrong with those?”

  They compromised. Instead of a comforter, they agreed on using the blankets they already had and purchased sheets that were on the more expensive side.

  The sales clerk’s hair was not its natural color. It was store bought and she had done it herself. She may have thought that it assisted her in aging gracefully, but it only made it more apparent that she was aging. She had worked at the furniture store over sixteen years and her only concern was her next sales commission. She didn’t care that the address Megan provided her was for a storage facility.

  She said with a southern accent, “We can deliver it on Monday between noon and three.”

  Donnie and Megan looked at each other. They knew exactly what the other was thinking – school. Both turned back to face the sales clerk.

  “Do you deliver on the weekends?” Donnie asked.

  “Saturdays. But that’s a popular day for deliveries,” she told them, chomping on a stick of gum. With fingernails as fake as the color of her hair, she pecked at the keyboard. “The earliest Saturday opening we have is four weeks.”

  Donnie and Megan communicated again just by looking at each other. This time their faces recognized disagreement.

  Donnie spoke first, “If we buy it today, can you hold it for us for a couple of weeks until we get a chance to pick it up instead of having it delivered?” There was no way they could fit the mattress and box spring in Donnie’s car. In two or three weeks, Megan would have her driving privileges reinstated and they would be able to pick it up without a delivery fee and without missing school.

  The sales clerk began to answer, “The reason this model is on sale…”

  Megan cut her off, “Monday is fine.”

  Later in the car, Donnie wanted to know, “Monday between noon and three? How’s that going to work?”

  Megan’s reply was a simple statement of the obvious, “One of us will have to skip school.”

  “One of us? How about: you have to skip school on Monday. I’m not the one who agreed to being there.”

  “Since when was school so important to you?”

  “What if I don’t want to?” he said, looking at her.

  “Instead of skipping then, you can knock out another one of your friends and get suspended again.”

  “Ha ha.”

  Donnie’s eyes went back to the road and when they did, he saw the stopped car that they were rapidly approaching for the first time. He sucked in a quick breath of air and held it. Megan let out a scream. If he had had time to contemplate what was happening, he most certainly would have panicked; however, it happened so fast, he didn’t get the chance.

  Donnie’s right foot smashed down on the brake pedal. All four tires shrieked in pain as they left a black trail of tire blood on the road. A moment before impact, Donnie knew that they wouldn’t stop in time. The opposite side of the road was filled with oncoming traffic. Simultaneously, Donnie released his foot off the break and turned the wheel to the right. The car swerved quickly around the stalled car and bounced down off the pavement. Gravel, grass, and discarded trash spit up from the berm and ricocheted off the car. Donnie and Megan were jostled from side to side and bumped up and down. Donnie pulled the wheel back to the left and they were on the road again, traveling as if nothing happened.

  Both exhaled for the first time since recognizing the stopped vehicle on the road.

  Donnie ignored his fluttering heart and asked Megan, “Are you OK?”

  “I think I peed my pants.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “No. Seriously. I think I peed my pants.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Donnie pulled the car into Friendly’s parking lot. Megan went straight to the restroom while he got a booth in the back, near the kitchen and servers’ station.

  In the safety of a restroom stall, Megan examined her underwear and jeans. Her hope was that she was imagining it. The jeans were mostly dry, but the purple undies were wet. She removed her shoes, then her jeans. She slid her underwear down and off. A wave of embarrassment flowed through her and she instinctively hid her face in her hands. She smelled urine and immediately knew why. She was still holding her underwear.

  “Nasty!” she screamed and dropped them.

  She laughed at herself and the embarrassment passed. On her way out but prior to washing up, she threw away her soiled underwear.

  She slid into the seat across from Donnie and picked up a menu. She knew everything that was on it, but needed something to occupy her hands.

  “Well?” Donnie smiled. “Did you?”

  “You should pay more attention when you’re driving!”

  He laughed.

  “What is it,” she said, “that causes people to lose control of their bladder when they’re frightened?”

  “Why are you asking me? You’re the expert.”

  Each ordered a cheeseburger with fries and a milkshake. They were going to split a single shake, but Donnie wanted chocolate and Megan wanted strawberry.

  Megan used her employee discount and paid for their meals.

  On the way to Unit #143 Megan said, “I have to quit that place. The food there is making me fat again.”

  “I think you look good, but if you want, I can see if Dirt needs someone to work the shack with him.”

  Megan shuddered at the thought of being stuck in the shack with Dirt. “No, thanks.”

  Donnie parked the car in front of their storage unit and they got out.

  “Actually,” Megan said, “I’m going to quit without getting another job.”

  “Yeah, right,” Donnie said. He removed the lock and pulled the door open. “We’d run out of money and have to give up the storage unit.”

  She pulled the door closed behind them. Donnie began lighting the candles. Megan usually turned on the radio next. This time she did not.

  Megan took Donnie’s hands. “There’s something I need to tell you.” Dread dripped from her words. “We just found out for sure Friday.”

  Donnie was confused. Megan sounded serious. Who was “we?” Was she going to break up with him? Was that why she didn’t need the job anymore – because they would no longer be sharing the storage unit? That couldn’t be. They just purchased the bed. How could he have been so foolish? Megan had found someone else. She was purchasing the bed to… To what? Where would she keep it if not in the storage unit? It wasn’t making sense. He asked, “We?...”

  “My family,” Megan told him.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My, um… My dad got a…” Megan noticed that she was staring at Donnie’s chest. She forced herself to make eye contact. “He got a promotion, sort of. He’s going to a different division… more money…”

  Donnie didn’t understand why that was bad news.

  Megan explained, “We have to move again.”

  “Far?”

  “Pittsburgh.”

  “Pittsburgh?”

  “Yeah, you know,” she said, forcing a smile and tugging on his hat, “the Pirates.”

  Donnie felt a chasm open inside his chest. His body and energy were sucked through the black hole a
t its bottom.

  He began to vanish before Megan’s eyes. Everything external about him began to turn outside in. He was running from the world and finding solace within himself. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. Her touch. Her arms around him and her body pressed against his was what kept Donnie in the present moment.

  She, not Donnie, was the one who began to cry. “That’s why we couldn’t wait on getting the mattress,” she said. “I’ll be gone in less than a month.”

  Donnie’s voice sounded like a spirit had taken over his body and was speaking through him, “A month?”

  “Probably less. My mom is already looking for a house up there. There’s going to be snow in the winter. How crazy will that be?” Her attempt at conversation failed. Donnie was not in the mood to discuss the quirks of her new city. “So that’s why I wanted to get the mattress right away. I want us to make the most of our time together.”

  “How could you…?” his words trailed off. He said them again. His lips barely moved. The words were nearly inaudible, “How could you…?” He pried his body away from her.

  “Donnie, stop,” she protested.

  He took off his Pirates hat and flung it across the unit. It hit the wall and fell limply to the ground. On his way out, he scooped up his guitar.

  “Donnie. Please, don’t…,” Megan pleaded.

  The garage door rattled up and clanged at the top. He got in the car and drove off.

  Megan was left alone in the storage unit. She had lots of tears but no tissues. As she watched him drive away, she quietly said to herself, “Walking is much safer than riding with you, anyhow,” but without her boyfriend around to hear it, the joke just saddened her more.

  The next morning, Megan Priddy looked back down her street to Donnie’s home. She waited at the street corner for him to emerge. She considered walking back and knocking on his front door. If he was in there and didn’t want to come out, then she wasn’t going to bother him. Once she was officially late for school, she walked on, alone.

  She stopped at the main office to sign the tardy book. It was a simple, black, spiral-bound notebook just like the one Donnie was using when his father killed himself. Megan recalled that black notebook and the ominous things written in it. The terrible thought that Donnie hadn’t made it through the night occurred to her for the first time. Donnie may not have walked to school because he may not have been alive.

  She was angry at herself for letting him drive off without discussing it yesterday. She was disappointed that she didn’t go back to knock on his door to check on him that morning. Megan began to cry again for the hundredth time since breaking the news to Donnie the previous day.

  The administrative assistant who was preparing Megan’s tardy slip to take to class noticed. “Megan,” she said, “are you all right, honey?”

  Megan nodded.

  “Is something wrong at home?”

  “No.” Megan’s one word came out in a blubbery mess.

  “What is it?”

  Megan responded by crying some more.

  “Honey,” the assistant said, “why don’t you sit down right there for a minute?”

  Megan plopped down in a yellow, plastic stationary seat. She was oblivious to the action of the office and the occasional staring student.

  “Megan, come on with me.” Mrs. Griffith, one of the school’s counselors, was sitting next to her. Her words came out like puffs of cotton, “We’ll get you some water and a few tissues so you can go to class.”

  Mrs. Griffith stood and Megan’s body did the same without her brain telling it to.

  It was the first time she had ever been in Mrs. Griffith’s office. It was a very confined room with dark yellow walls and fake wood furniture. Instead of sitting behind her desk, the school counselor sat in the seat next to Megan.

  When Megan calmed down, Mrs. Griffith ventured a question, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Megan simplified her concerns, “I’m moving.”

  “Ohhhh,” Mrs. Griffith was sympathetic. Recalling what brought Megan to Haviland High a year ago, the counselor asked, “Did your father get a new job?”

  “Promotion.” She had stopped crying, but her sniffles wouldn’t go away. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave my friends…”

  “I know. I know.” Mrs. Griffith’s voice was soothing. “It’s hard starting over.”

  “And over and over and over…” Megan complained. “And this time…”

  Megan paused for a long time. Mrs. Griffith waited. Megan thought the counselor would verbally prompt her to say more, but she didn’t. After a minute of silence, Megan spoke again. “This time, I’m leaving behind someone who means a lot to me and… and he’s hurt… I’ve hurt him. I didn’t mean to, but I have. I didn’t mean to…” Megan’s tears started again. Her words came out in breathy sobs. “I didn’t know we were moving again. I thought for sure this was home, that this was it. I like it here. I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have… I didn’t mean to hurt him…”

  Avoiding particulars that Megan might not want to provide, Mrs. Griffith inquired, “Is he a student at this school?”

  Megan inhaled deeply through her nose and answered the counselor, “He is Donnie Betts.”

  Mrs. Griffith offered a sympathetic smile and gently patted Megan on the back. She was careful not to let Megan see the worry that raced through her. Donnie had spent a lot of time in the exact chair in which Megan sat. Other than that mishap at the very beginning of the school year, he seemed to be progressing and adjusting to life after his father’s suicide. Now, she understood why. Donnie had found someone. Donnie managed to love again and now for the second time in his short life, he was losing a loved one. To say that Mrs. Griffith wasn’t worried would have been a lie.

  To add to her distress, Megan informed her that Donnie didn’t come to school.

  Mrs. Griffith told Megan that she would call the Betts’s to see if Donnie was OK.

  “Can you do it now?” Megan asked. “While I’m here?”

  “No. I want you to go to class. I’ll take care of your tardiness today and give you a pass to get into class. The best thing for you to do is go on with your day. Worrying about it won’t change anything. Do something with yourself. Do something productive today. OK?”

  Megan nodded. She stayed until lunch before she ducked out. The mattress was being delivered between noon and three. Someone had to be there when it arrived.

  She wished that Donnie would already be there. Perhaps he slept in and then decided to skip school altogether and go straight to the storage unit to meet the furniture truck. No such luck.

  The garage door was down and locked, just as she had left it.

  She went inside and waited for the deliverymen who arrived before one o’clock. They asked her if she lived in the storage unit and why she needed the mattress.

  Megan was indignant. “No. And it’s none of your business.” She signed her name on the paperwork and they left.

  She pulled the garage door down. Using the new sheets, she made the bed and curled up on it. Despite the bed’s comfort, it didn’t feel right without Donnie. This was something they were supposed to share. They were supposed to recline on it while listening to audio books. Donnie was supposed to play his guitar on it while Megan finished her homework. Megan was supposed to rest on it after a shift at Friendly’s while Donnie wrote in his notebook. She was not supposed to be lying on it alone.

  This helped her understand some of Donnie’s pain. In a few weeks, it would be he who was alone in the storage unit.

  When it was late enough for her to go home without arousing suspicion, she closed and locked the storage unit’s door.

  Megan’s face was sore from crying. It felt puffy and tight from the dried tears. The combination of leaving Haviland and hurting Donnie upset her more than she had even been.

  Her walk home was slow and pathetic. Her feet scraped along the sidewalk as her eyes examined the cra
cks therein.

  Mrs. Griffith told her that she would call the Betts’s to check on Donnie, but Megan wanted to see for herself. If she went home for the evening without attempting to see Donnie, she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about all of the things that may have gone wrong with him.

  She pushed the Betts’s doorbell. Suddenly impatient, she pushed it a second time. The door creaked open a mere foot.

  “Hi, Mrs. Betts,” Megan said, flashing her forged smile. Only Donnie could tell the difference between that one and the authentic thing.

  “Megan. Hi.” Mrs. Betts appeared somewhat listless.

  “Donnie wasn’t at school today. Is he all right?”

  “He’s not feeling well today.”

  “Oh.” Megan brightened somewhat. She didn’t want Donnie to have a cold or the flu, but it would be better than wallowing in self-depression or worse. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, Megan, sometimes people don’t feel well physically and sometimes they don’t feel well because of other things and Donnie’s just having a bad day.”

  “Oh.” Megan’s initial instincts were accurate. “Um… Can I see him?” She had never been inside the Betts’s household.

  “I think that he’s better off left alone, right now.”

  Megan disagreed. She played with the latch on her satchel while trying to think of what to say that might get her inside.

  “I appreciate your concern,” Mrs. Betts told Megan. “I’ll let him know that you stopped by. Maybe tomorrow he will be feeling better.”

  “I hope.” She didn’t want to leave without giving Mrs. Betts a message from her to him. She wanted Donnie to remember how much he meant to her. “Could you tell him something for me? Please tell him that I listened to the Ramones all day.” It wasn’t the truth, but Donnie would understand her message.

  “I’ll tell him for you. Goodbye.” The door closed.

  TWENTY-SIX