Bill used to take her up there all the time, her and the kids. That was back when she was young and beautiful…back when she had a tight butt and big, full tits…before all the shrinks, the lawyers, and doctors…the booze, the meth, and that loser, Rick. Back when life was simple…back when it was just her, Bill, the kids, and nothing else.
The cigarette lighter popped out and Angie grabbed it, then lit the end of her cigarette and took a deep drag. As the nicotine flooded her lungs, her mind began to wander back to that flicker of happiness, that perfect memory, that perfect place. The deeper she inhaled, the stronger the memories came back to her, as bright and warm as the Colorado sun shining down on her face.
It was summer. She was barefoot and walking down the pier at Lake Dillon, Bill’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her, and his chin nuzzled against her neck. He was such a gorgeous man—those sparkling blue eyes, that strong jaw line, and hair that turned blond in the summer like bales of golden wheat underneath a cloudless sky.
They pinched each other and giggled, as they trotted down the rickety, wood pier towards their boat, Pegasus—a twenty-five foot schooner, with a beautiful blue and gold sail and deep, cherry wood trim. It was Bill’s tenth anniversary present to her and cost him nearly an entire year’s salary. But, God was it worth it. It was such a gorgeous boat. It made all the other members at the sailing club jealous. They took it out almost every Saturday in the summer, early in the evening, just as the sun was beginning to set behind the peaks of the continental divide.
But this particular Saturday, the one that stuck with her all this time, was more special than all the others. It was the 4th of July, and the Rocky Mountain Post had promised a fireworks display more spectacular, more dazzling than any other in history. The kids were young then and they scampered out ahead down the dock like little raccoons crawling onto the bow of the boat. Their smiles were big and their eyes were bright as they gazed out towards the underbrush of the shore, hoping to catch a glimpse of a moose, or a beaver, or a wild coyote. The scent was sweet from the aroma of wildflowers growing in thousands along the banks of the lake. There were rows and rows of yellow alpine parsley, their purple bracelets reclining in the setting sun. Tangles and tangles of soft lavender blue stars curled over one another in a florid orgasm as manes of rusty orange mountain dandelions erupted into rivers of carrot colored molten magma. And the sky was magnificent. Dark purple clouds loomed in the distance, their fluffy dollops streaked with sharp ribbons of crimson and violet. Crowds of people assembled on the banks of the lake, preparing for the show, laying out their trays of hamburgers and hot dogs, containers of potato salad and coleslaw, baskets of biscuits, chocolate chip cookies, and apple pies.
Angie cradled her bag of goodies close to her chest. When she got to the end of the dock, Bill put his strong hands around her and lifted her effortlessly up onto the deck. He jumped up on board then began to untie the lines and cast them into the water, while Angie whisked her way down the steps of the galley, her little white boat shoes squeaking on the water slick wood. She placed her grocery bag down and began pulling out all her goodies, laying them out on the cherry wood bar. She called to the kids, announcing that dinner was ready, but the kids were too busy dangling their feet over the edge of the bow.
Once Bill was finished with the lines, he cranked on the engine and they pushed off from the shore. Angie put her hand to her brow and looked out towards the center of the lake. A cluster of boats had already gathered in their special spot. Bill pointed the bow towards the boats and inched the throttle forward. They picked up some speed and cut through the water. The waves splashed against the sides of the little schooner, sending a fine mist into the air. She came over to the helm where Bill was steering and stood in front of him, leaned back against his chest, and gazed out at the orange glow of campfires flickering throughout the park. He wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, so tight, it was almost difficult to breathe. But she felt safe and calm, like nothing in the world could harm her.
As they approached the little cluster of boats, Angie heard the first bang ring out through the park, echoing off the sides of the mountains. The crowd of people turned their heads upward, their eyes gazing out towards the abysmal darkness of the nighttime sky. They waited in anticipation for the next sparkle of light to illuminate their faces. Then it came. Three loud thunderous roars followed by a shower of red, blue, and green. They blossomed in the sky and rained down on the boats like thousands of tiny fireflies. Everyone in the crowd, including the kids let out a resounding “Oooohhh- Ahhhhh” followed by clapping and a demand for more. And more came, in all different patterns and colors. Blues that burst like bombs, reds that rained down like rose petals, and violets that vanquished the darkness, and lit up the kids’ eyes with wonder and awe.
After the grand finale, some of the boats headed back in for a night of eating, drinking, and dancing at the yacht club, but Bill, Angie, and the kids had their dinner by lantern light in the still calm of the lake. The air was cool and the water was quiet. They could see the reflection of the yellow crescent moon rippling across the surface. A gentle breeze blew through the forest. The trees swayed back and forth, and danced to a symphony of bullfrogs and crickets playing gently along the edge of the effervescent lake.
It was perfect. A perfect memory. A perfect time. A perfect place. What had happened? How did it vanish? Where did it all go so terribly wrong? How did she end up here in this shitty Camaro, driving around in the blistering cold, wet and tired, covered in lesions, her skin barely clinging to her face. And for what—some Sudafed and lantern fuel, so her idiot boyfriend could cook up some meth? Why? Why did this happen? She was a good mom and a good wife. She did everything for Bill and those children. She waited on them hand and foot for twenty years. She picked them up from school, took them to soccer practice, chauffeured them around to all their little dates—boy scouts, swim practice, gymnastics, everything. And where were they now? Why had they abandoned her? How could Bill do this to her? How could he be so selfish? What did that little slut have that she didn’t? A tight butt and big tits? So what? She was the mother of his children. Didn’t that count for anything?
She sighed and took a deep breath inward. She’ll never forget that sight as long as she lives. Bill on his back, eyes closed, tongue licking the tops of his lips, a small head bobbing up and down above the covers, long, dark strands of hair fanned out over his crotch. She could never exactly remember what happened after that. She must have had what they call an out of body experience. Her senses went limp, her skin turned ice cold, and the next thing she knew she was standing in the doorway with a butcher knife in her hand, watching Bill, one pant leg in, the other out, hopping around pathetically like a one legged kangaroo. The intern was on the bed, frozen with fear, her naked body curled up in a bundle of quilts. Angie lunged forward, the knife raised above her towards the intern who was shrieking at the top of her lungs. But, Bill flew across the bed before she could get to her, hurling her backwards against the wall. She swung the knife wildly in a downward motion, catching the side of Bill’s arm. He grabbed her wrist before she could do any more damage and hammered it as hard as he could until the knife came loose and dropped to the floor. After he kicked it out into the hallway, he wrestled Angie to the carpet and pinned her hands behind her head. She remembered tasting his blood as he straddled her, all two hundred pounds of him crushing down on top of her chest. She kicked and writhed, screaming at him to get off of her, foaming at the mouth, trying to break free.
The intern grabbed the knife and darted into the kitchen, picked up the phone and called the police. They arrived moments later in a swirl of blue and red flashing lights. They kicked down the door and trampled into the bedroom, their pistols drawn, their shiny badges gleaming off the bedside lamp. They rolled Angie over and slapped the cuffs on her then picked her up and marched her out the front door. By that time, all the neighbors had assembled outside in their driveways, watching as the cops shove
d her against the patrol car. They patted her down in front of everybody then flung her into the back seat like a piece of white trash. And Bill just stood there, his head hung in embarrassment, his eyes on the ground, not saying a damn word. What a coward. What a spineless piece of trash.
What was she supposed to have done? Just sit there and do nothing, while that little tramp sucked on her husband’s cock? She wished Bill hadn’t stopped her when he had. She wished she could’ve sliced off a chunk of that whore’s flesh. Maybe an ear or a finger or possibly a nipple. Yeah, a nipple. That would have been good. She would have been justified too.
It was a shame the courts didn’t see it that way. They gave Bill everything—the house, the cars...even the boat. All she got was a monthly alimony payment and a year’s worth of mandatory therapy. The kids stayed with their dad. Angie wasn’t even allowed to see them without a chaperone and a set date and time. She felt like a stranger sitting out there in the driveway of her own house, that imposter inside, sleeping in her bed, watching her TV, screwing her husband.
Angie sighed and put on her right blinker then got off on the downtown exit and made a right turn at Broadway and Sixth. She turned into the parking lot next to the theater, threw the car in park, and finished her cigarette. Once she was done, she chucked it out the window then checked herself in the mirror, making sure her wool cap was pulled down over her sores. Then, she got out and made her way across the icy parking lot, her hands dug deep into her jacket pockets.
When she got to the entrance, the automatic doors slid open and a rush of warm air swallowed her whole. Mind-numbing elevator music played out over the speakers as she made her way over to the cough medicine aisle. She paced up and down, inspecting the products, squinting under the strain of the bright fluorescent lights. But it wasn’t easy—there were so many to choose from—cough-gels, liquid-gels, extra strength, maximum strength, pills, capsules, caplets, red liquids, green liquids, boxes, rubs, sprays, gels, nighttime, daytime, cough and cold, cold and cough, sinus and allergy, congestion and pain, sore throat, drowsy, non-drowsy, PM, AM, all day, all night, double action, triple action, quadruple action. “Shit.” She only needed one kind. Where the hell was it? There were hundreds and hundreds of different brand names to choose from. Advil, Afrin, Alavert, Aleve, Alka Seltzer, Anacin…and that was only the A’s. There was also Bayer, Benadryl, Benefiber, Breatheright, Cepacol, Claritin, Chloraseptic, Ibuprofen, Metamucil, Motrin, Mucinex, Mylanta, Rite Aid, Robitussin, Theraflu, Tylenol, Tums, Vicks and finally Sudafed. But which one? There were more than a dozen types of Sudafed. She picked up the first one she saw, which was in a purple box. It read, Sudafed PE Sinus and Headache. Contains: Acetaminophen and Phenylephrine.
Was this the right one? No. Rick said not to get the stuff with PE on the front. It stood for Phenylephrine, which wasn’t what she wanted. She needed ephedrine. She put the box back. She picked up the one that said Maximum Strength Nasal Decongestant, Main Ingredient: Pseudoephedrine HCl tablets.
Jackpot. This was the one. She remembered the bright red box and the picture of the head with the molten lava sinus cavity. But remember what Rick said—no more than three at a time. She picked up four and walked to the register. There was a short, Indian girl standing behind the counter, flipping through the pages of a Cosmopolitan magazine. The girl popped purple bubble gum and wore a pair of heavy looking hoop earrings that tugged at her earlobes and stretched out her flesh. Angie laid the boxes down on the counter. The girl folded her magazine and picked up the scanner. She scanned the boxes one by one and placed them into a plastic bag.
“Is that all?” she asked in a thick Indian accent then popped a purple bubble right in Angie’s face.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“Flu?”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, do you have flu?”
“Oh yes, yes, I do, I do.”
“Your kids have it too?”
“What?”
“I said your kids must have it too. Four boxes. One, two, three, four. That’s a lot. You must have much sickness in your household.”
“Oh yes, yes, I do. We are all very, very sick.”
“Oh you poor thing. You look horrible. You should go lie down.”
“Oh thank you. Yes, I will.”
“Okay. So, total is fifty-eight dollars and thirty-five cents.”
Angie pulled out her credit card and swiped the machine. It felt like an eternity for the transaction to go through. She clutched her arms and tugged at the sleeves of her jacket, the Indian girl looking at her with a pleasant smile.
What was she looking at? Was she looking at her forehead? She couldn’t see her sores, could she? Weren’t they covered up?
The receipt finally finished printing out. The girl ripped it off and slapped it on the counter. “Sign please.”
Angie took a pen from a red plastic cup and went to scribble her name, but the pen was out of ink, so she smashed the ballpoint down on the counter and tried again, but still, no ink.
“Here,” said the girl, “You try mine.” The Indian girl pulled a pen from her front shirt pocket.
“Thanks,” Angie said, as she took the pen and scribbled her name.
“You’re welcome.”
Angie gathered her bag and headed for the exit, but the Indian girl stopped her and said, “Wait mam, you forgot your receipt.”
Angie whirled around and marched back to the counter and said, “thank you,” as she snatched the receipt.
“You’re welcome. Be sure to get plenty of rest today.”
“Yes, I will. Thanks again.”
“Okay. Bye, bye now.”
Angie nodded then headed for the exit, clutching her bag close to her chest. When she got outside, she buttoned up her jacket and pulled her hood up around her head. She unlocked the door and climbed behind the wheel. After turning the keys to crank on the engine, she hit the windshield wipers to wipe off the snow. She threw the car into reverse and back out of the parking lot then made a right onto Broadway and headed north towards Speer. Okay, one down, two more to go. Next up was the CVS on Speer, and after that, the Super Target in Glendale. Everything was going to be okay. She could do this. She just had to hold it together for a few more stores.
Chapter 14
The Tanks
ANGIE stomped her way into the trailer, a half dozen grocery bags hanging from her arms. “Hello? Could use a little help here.”
“Not now,” Rick said, sitting at the kitchen table, a line of batteries beneath his nose. “I’m doing the batteries. I’ll help in a minute.”
Angie blew her hair back from her eyes and trudged in her snow boots across the trailer’s hollow floor. “Well, where should I put these?” she said, stopping next to kitchen table.
“Jesus Angie. It doesn’t matter. Anywhere’s fine.”
Angie dropped the bags right where she was standing. They thudded like cement blocks onto the kitchen floor.
“Jesus Christ. Be careful, would ya? You’re acting like a two year old.”
“Well, you said anywhere.” She bent over, picked up her McDonald’s bag, and carried it over with her to the living room futon. As she sat down, a cloud of dust exploded from the fabric and hovered above her head. “Oooh…gross!”
“What’s wrong now?”
“This dust. It’s filthy in here.”
“Well then clean it.”
“You clean it. It’s your place.”
“You live here too Angie.”
“Please don’t start with me Rick. I am not in the mood.” She dug into the paper bag and pulled out her quarter pounder then unwrapped the paper wrapping and took a big bite. The meat melted in her mouth like a stick of butter and the cheese stuck to her lips in long, stringy strands. “Hmm. So good.”
Rick looked up from the table, holding a pair of needle nose pliers. “Did you get any for me?” he said.
Angie looked at him with a mouthful of burger, half-smiling, half-choking on the chee
se. “I didn’t know you wanted any sweetie.”
“That figures. You know, you are so selfish Angie.”
“What?”
“It’s always about you isn’t it?”
“You should’ve told me you wanted some.”
“I shouldn’t have to. You should just know.”
“I’m not a mind reader.”
Rick made a snorting sound then bent over and started rifling through the plastic grocery bags on the kitchen floor. “Where is it?” he said, as he tore through the plastic, packets of Sudafed flying out of the bags. “Where the hell is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The lantern fuel. Where’s the god damn lantern fuel?”
Angie froze and swallowed her last bite of burger. “Uh-oh.”
Rick stood up slowly, a look of crazed apprehension in his eyes. “Uh-oh? What do you mean uh-oh?”
Angie shrugged and slumped down against the futon. “Sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry?” Rick flipped his long hair back and drove his fists down onto the kitchen table. “Jesus Christ! How could you forget?”
“Please don’t yell at me, Rick.”
“I can’t believe you, Angie. Just how dense are you?”
“Stop yelling at me you jerk. It’s not my fault. You had a gazillion damn things on that stupid grocery list. I can’t remember everything, you know.”
Rick turned away and laughed an insane, little laugh. “For God’s sake, I ask you to do one simple thing and you can’t even do it. Can you? How do you expect me to cook this shit without any lantern fuel? Huh? What am I suppose to put over the lithium I just spent an hour gutting from these fucking batteries?”
“Why can’t we just use water?”
Rick stepped back, dropping his hands to his sides, looking at Angie as if she was out of her mind. “Water? Are you kidding me? Please say you’re just joking around.”
Some Are Sicker Than Others Page 14
