Trying the Knot

by Todd Erickson

  “Hey, what’re you doing walking around this late at night all alone?” Nick reprimanded paternally. As she summoned the energy to unleash the story of her messed up evening, he wondered aloud, “You haven’t seen Kate tonight, have you?”

  “No, why is she missing?”

  “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, but I really need to talk to her, so it’s important I find her.”

  “So, she’s only sort of missing? How did that happen?”

  “It’s a long story,” Nick said, and he walked along with her, in order to see she made it home safely. “You are going home, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah,” Alexa said. They walked side by side, and an occasional rustle of wind sent water droplets falling from tree leaves. “Well, I hope nothing is too wrong, and you find her.”

  Nick said unconvincingly, “I’m sure things will work out fine.”

  They continued walking in awkward silence, until their repeated attempts to speak at once digressed into a fit of laughter.

  “You go first,” Alexa said.

  “No, you go,” Nick insisted.

  “It wasn’t any big deal,” Alexa said laughing a little, and she wondered what it was that had Nick so worried he was combing the streets on foot for Kate in the middle of the night.

  “No, I want to hear what you have to say.”

  “It’s not Evangelica, is it? I mean, she’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “No, no, she’s fine. It’s not that at all,” Nick said with sudden reassurance. He thrust his hands in his front pockets and looked up at the stars, which were mostly choked out by rain clouds.

  “Tell me,” he began, “do you have many friends?”

  “I don’t know, not too many I guess,” Alexa said. Defensive, she wondered the point of his inquiry. “Why? It’s not like I’m out to win a popularity contests or anything.”

  “It’s fine. I was popular in high school,” Nick said casually. “But popularity isn’t the same as being well-liked. Are you well-liked by the people you’re close to?”

  “I guess so.”

  With his thumb, he brushed gently under her eye. “You’re bruised. Were you hit?”

  “Something like that,” Alexa responded. Her cheek still ached from the rock Jack pelted at her face.

  “Make sure to put some ice on that. You’re going to have a wicked black eye tomorrow.”

  “Sure thing, okay.”

  “You’re a pretty girl,” Nick observed, as a matter of fact. “Have you ever wondered why it’s human nature to lash out at what’s beautiful?”

  “I’m not beautiful, not like Vange,” Alexa said, suddenly self-conscious. She slowed her pace as they neared her parent’s house. “I guess I never think about it much.”

  “What do you think about then?”

  “I don’t know, senior year, college, Evangelica, my brother, Jack and all his problems,” Alexa rattled off, and she added, “Why nothing seems to work out. Ever. Stuff like that.”

  “So, you’re big on plans?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You should try to go with the flow, it makes life easier, trust me,” he said and stopped at the corner streetlamp outside her parent’s home. “One day, you’ll be in your mid-twenties and things won’t seem so weighted and heavy, and you’ll realize there’s not much you can do except to live and let live, you know?”

  Alexa eyed him with concern as he became increasingly lost in his thoughts. She whispered thanks, and she leaned close to him and hugged him. She thought more than anything in the world, what he needed was a hug, and she was happy to provide it, but then she foolishly kissed him on the lips when he released her from the embrace. Instinctively, Nick’s mouth opened and accepted her tongue, but he stepped back as she moved closer to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands. “I’ve got to find Kate.”

  “I’m s-sorry,” repeated Alexa, as she flushed crimson. She felt incredibly stupid, and refused to look up at him.

  “It’s all right. It’s okay.”

  “It’s just it’s been such a freaked-out night, and everything’s so out of whack. You know, when everything seems so real and alive – everything except yourself?” she asked. She was afraid she was not making any sense. It was as if she had lapsed into a kind of dream state, a transparent hologram.

  “All too well, I know what that feels like,” Nick said, and he held out his hand, which she held onto eagerly. “Hey promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  “How do I manage to avoid that?”

  “By saving yourself for someone truly worthy.”

  “I will, promise.”

  He laughed, “Good.”

  Nick wished to explain that cheapness was not a thing to be embraced lightly as it resulted in a heavy film not easily cleansed away. He knew only too well, and he had nearly given up hope of ever ridding himself of it. Instead of issuing her cryptic warnings, he gave her a pat on the shoulder and a peck on the forehead. Then he wandered away into the night.

  Alexa watched him, wondering why it was he seemed so melancholy, and she concluded his was positively the most beautiful bruised soul she had ever caught a glimpse of.

  The smell of cigarette butts and crusty bodily excretions hung heavy in the air as the mammoth Oldsmobile coasted along Portnorth’s vacant alleyways. Trying to forget how to breathe, Jack pressed himself against the passenger door and let his imagination run rampant with what horrible acts of sodomy had transpired between old Uncle Carey Derry and his previous delinquent passengers.

  Derry Queen’s fleshy mouth quavered as he sucked on his extra long cigarette. Except for liver spots splattered across his hairline, Derry’s skin resembled an undercooked donut.

  The car swerved jarringly across the rain-slicked pavement whenever the old lounge lizard’s eyes drifted toward the delicate fawn perched beside him. His white, slip-on dress shoes tapped against the floor mat to the beat of Judy Garland’s forceful wails. Almost as forcefully, his bulging belly threatened to burst through its burgundy polyester confines.

  Unnerved by his driving companion’s look of terror, Carey frowned and said, “Relax. You’re in safe hands.”

  “Now there’s a visual I could live without,” Jack snapped back.

  “You got a dirty mind,” Carey laughed. “I like that in a person.”

  “You’re sick.”

  “Flattery gets ‘em every time. Let me turn you on.”

  “Huh?”

  Carey Derry encouraged Jack to open the tattered briefcase, and he studied the young innocent’s reaction to the overflowing gold mine of drugs and accompanying paraphernalia. Various sizes of half filled Ziploc bags were strewn about inside the briefcase, along with what appeared to be a toy, pearl handled pistol.

  “I don’t get high,” Jack said. Adamantly revolted, he silently vowed if he ever made it out of the car unscathed he would never again dabble in mind-altering substances.

  “Everybody got stoned in the old days,” Uncle Carey said nostalgically. “It must be a real drag belonging to the “Just Say No” generation.” He pulled a gold cigarette case from his fake lambs wool vest pocket, and he asked, “Want a smoke, to calm your troubled teenage nerves? Or don’t you do that either?”

  “Okay, I’ll take one of your queen-sized cancer sticks,” Jack said, and he let the old man’s gnarled hand light the cigarette. Jack immediately began coughing, and he gasped, “Ugh, menthol.”

  Derry Queen pressed the automatic window button, which descended, and Jack tossed out the offending cigarette. The old man shook his head and lamented, “You’re holding onto thousands of dollars of feel-good treats. I’ve got Quaaludes, Ephedrine, cocaine, LSD, Peyote, angel dust, and pot and hash. I even got some Ecstasy that all the English kids are doing at raves. Have you ever been to an all-night rave-up?”

  “No.”

  “I have, in an old abandoned warehouse in downtown Detr
oit where they play techno music all night long. I’ll take you to one if you want – they can get pretty wild,” Derry cautioned.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “It’s nice to explore new and different things. It keeps the mind alive, the spirit young.” Derry was contemplative for several minutes, and he steered the yacht-sized automobile with ease around a sharp corner. He flicked his lizard-like tongue over his fleshy mouth, and he said pragmatically, “You know, it might not be a bad idea for you to skip town for a while. I’ve been following your exploits in the Police Beat and Court News columns in the Portnorth Porthole.”

  “I don’t want to go nowhere.”

  “Well, it’s kind of obvious that’s where you’re headed,” Derry offered. “You’re headed the wrong way down a one way street.”

  Jack shifted uncomfortably and peered out at the rainy blackness that loomed beyond the racing windshield wipers. As the gigantic car sped past Main Street headed for the highway, Jack imagined a brightly illuminated silo looming far off into the distance beckoning them like a gussied-up beacon.

  “Thanks for bailing me out of jail and all, but you can just take me home.”

  “I don’t think you’re getting the proper supervision there that a boy needs,” Derry said. “For now, I think you’ll be better off out at the farm. It’s a real groovy place.”

  “Whatever.”

  With a deep sigh, Carey Derry pulled the car over to the side of the road near the entrance of Portnorth’s Everlasting Peace Cemetery. Sliding closer to his trembling passenger, Uncle Carey placed his hand on his shoulder and said flatly, “Listen here, you little shit. We have a connection of sorts. When I do nice things for you, don’t get the wrong idea. It’s not because I want anything from you, or even like you, but it’s out of obligation.” The old man massaged Jack’s shoulder roughly and breathed his hot stale breath onto Jack’s cheek.

  Jack reached for the door handle only to discover it was missing, like in the back seat of a police car.

  “You have no idea, but your mother was my goddaughter.”

  Just as Jack imagined Scary Carey Derry Queen was about to make the big plunge for the shriveled prize between his legs, he screamed, “All the more reason you should get your hands off of me, you creepy old pervert!”

  Jack nimbly clambered over the sweaty man while groping for the door handle on the driver’s side.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, kid?” Carey Derry called out. He wrapped his hairy arms around Jack’s waist and pulled him close. As Jack fumbled for the door, he felt his knee grind into the old man’s crotch. His free hand dislodged the car from gear, and the big yellow Oldsmobile slowly rolled backwards. As the door flung open, Jack dove onto the wet asphalt and stumbled to his feet. He scurried, fast and furious, away from the moving car, which sank trunk first toward a soggy ditch.

  “Jacky, Jacky, don’t run away,” the old man cried out to the empty darkness, but Jack continued to run from the glare of the headlights illuminating ominous tombstones that sat spread out on the other side of the wrought iron fence. Jack gasped for breath as he trudged toward the cemetery entrance. While jogging, his eyes stung with sweat and salty tears streamed down his flushed cheeks.

  Propelling him onward was a faded, crumpled Polaroid snapshot of his mother. In the distance, his mind’s eye vision of Kaye Hesse awaited with outstretched arms. He had only known one other loving set of arms so comforting, and they belonged to Evangelica. Now she also threatened to slip away.

  His feet collided dully against slippery gravel, and the rain pelted his face like needles. Realizing he had nowhere to run, Jack slowed down to an unhurried pace as he found himself in the cemetery. His jaw clenched defiantly, he stood firm against the darkness. Ahead, automobile lights illuminated the surrounding tombstones like rays of hope. Flooded with a feeling of regret, he succumbed to despair when he recognized the nearing headlights. As the lights beamed brighter, he became riddled with an unbridled fear.

  The approaching monster truck charged dangerously fast toward Jack as his tired feet carried him onto a two track road that wound around tombstones taller than a grown man. There was no escape. The wild honking pursued him unmercifully over slippery stones and pooling mud puddles.

  “Hey, Jerkoff Hesse,” one of the Czerwinski twins hollered out the window.

  “Want a ride, Jackass?”

  The truck sped past him, and then it spun wildly around to face him. Caught like an inevitable road kill in the glare of headlights, he stood stupefied. As the truck revved its engine, he fled the bright lights by dodging behind a towering tombstone. As he surveyed the darkness, he understood there was no earthly way to flee the footsteps that charged after him sounding with bloodlust.

  Running and gasping for breath, Jack tripped over a freshly dug grave and fell to the ground. He ate a mouthful of mud and remained sprawled face down in the dirt.

  Behind him, two sets of identical footsteps charged closer and threatening. Before long, he felt the full weight of the Czrewinski twins as their knees bore down against his backside, and he was thrust deeper into the soggy wet earth. Unable to see, Jack’s face was shoved into the mud, and he struggled to breathe. The only thing he could hear for miles was cracking of his own ribs and the twisted cackles emitting from the identical spawns of Satan.

  It was not until he heard the popping sounds of firecrackers that the blows stopped, and he felt himself slipping into semi-unconsciousness.

  In the top floor of the Portnorth Porthole building, the illustrious editor sat Indian style with a mirrored tray resting on his bare knees. Across from him, Tristana inhaled her clove cigarette and reached out to lift the tray upwards, so as to allow him easier access to the white powder lines he had carefully arranged with an overdrawn credit card.

  When Seth Poole finished snorting the coke, he placed it carefully aside, Tristana knelt across his lap and reached between his stretch-marked thighs. She flicked her long manicured fingernail against his lolling cock.

  “It doesn’t seem to be working,” she said bored.

  Seth Poole playfully tickled her breasts with his damp fishy smelling beard. Kneeling perfectly straight, she licked the top of his balding head while he pulled her close and greedily mouthed her prized breasts.

  “Try to be gentle,” she said, tugging on a handful of his chest hair.

  “Say please, daddy,” he ordered, and he added excitedly, “or would you like me to give you another spanking, like the one I gave you outside the jailhouse? You’re a very bad girl, Nanette.”

  “Tristana,” she corrected him sadly, but Poole ignored her and licked the mirrored tray clean of powdery dust. His heart beat so fast, she thought he would implode and crush her beneath his weight if she did not stay on top of the situation.

  She made him lay on his back so she could massage his hairy potbelly as she wrapped her hand around his limp cock. When semi-aroused, he tugged on her long curly hair and pulled her to him. The dim streetlights below illuminated the stuffy room with alternating flashes of red, gold and green, and as the occasional car stopped under the traffic light, headlights cast dancing shadows of against the cracked walls.

  Rolling across the dirty hardwood floor, Tristana and Poole felt the mounds of forgotten old pastel colored wedding invitations stick sporadically to their naked sweaty skin.

  It was as if they were desecrating an ancient marriage burial ground.

  chapter seventeen

  Kate gripped the keys to Evangelica’s apartment and climbed the stairs as if the answers to every question she had ever pondered in her life were contained behind the awaiting red door. After fitting the key in the lock, she barged into a veritable Garden of Eden.

  Flashing white Christmas lights bounced off every imaginable plant – prickly cacti, overflowing ferns, gargantuan palms, African violets, hanging ivy, and spider plants. Exotic greenery filled every crevice and consumed every corner, and Kate was a bug lading in a Venus flytrap. Her su
dden intake of breath and subsequent long weary sigh was greedily consumed by the voracious plant-life.

  She forged through the jungle and searched for a small trace of hope. In the tiny kitchen, she noticed the archaic refrigerator looked freshly polished, like a 1950s Buick— all chrome and curves. Stuck on the surface was a newspaper photo of Deputy Czerwinski grinning as he held up a marijuana plant and the caption read, “Drug Bust!” Across the photo, Vange had scrawled, Marley’s been taken into police custody! She found an old fashioned watering jug under the sink and filled it up to give the thirsty plants a drink.

  Kate opened the fridge to find it nearly empty except for various assorted condiments, a gallon jug of Lambrusco and a lonely jar of marshmallow cream. Kate grabbed the wine and poured herself a glass, which she left on the kitchen cupboard in order to search the remainder of the apartment.

  In the bathroom, which was a haven for lavender scented candles, Kate rummaged the medicine cabinet to discover an assortment of outdated prescription drugs, only a few of which she was familiar. There were uppers and downers and diet pills galore – it was as if she had stumbled into the boudoir of a Hollywood starlet. Vange’s purse sat on the counter, and Kate emptied it into the sink and sifted through still more medicines and drugstore cosmetics. The leopard print wallet was empty, so Kate scoured through Vange’s checkbook. Then she stopped cold as she stumbled on a recent entry. It stood out like Vange did on those infrequent occasions she entered a local church. Recorded between the lines reading $12.24 for Chinese take-out and $22.04 for an Electric bill, was scrawled $315.00 for an abortion. Kate clutched the checkbook to her chest and staggered backwards and leaned against the door. Her only consolation was if Nick had been responsible, he would have surely stepped up and paid for the termination of Vange’s pregnancy, but what if she had not even told him?

  Kate left the bathroom in such a rush she forgot to turn out the light. By the time she was done, every light in the apartment was turned on. Inside the bedroom, she found Vange’s bed floating in a bottomless cesspool of junk food wrappers. The walls were lined with a library of tattered books. The only pieces of furniture were a huge paisley chair and a stereo painted with polka dots. Mavis Staples was on the turntable, and Kate wondered if Evangeline had been listening to her while slipping into her suicide-induced coma. Setting on a stack of old records, which included Odetta and Louis Armstrong and other people Kate had never heard of, was a carefully gift wrapped package. The card attached was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas Paull.