by Jayce, Aven
I open my bedroom door and windows, and then shoo it out from the bathroom.
The bird swoops down and lands on my bed. “Please don’t poop on my comforter!”
I take a towel out of the linen closet, but before I have a chance to trap the feathered foe, it takes flight down my hallway and into my guest bedroom.
“Get out!” I scream.
It shits on the stomach of one of the women in my erotic pop-up books, resembling a splash of cum, and picks at a paper penis.
“Don’t rip that off! You little beast!”
The robin flaps wildly and I pray it doesn’t peck my eyes out. That can happen, right?
But no, pint-size birdy bolts down my stairwell and goes berserk around my home. I swear and swing at it for a good five minutes, waiting for it to flee out my backdoor. Finally, it flutters away with a paper dick in its mouth.
“Filthy Porno Bird!” I yell, just in time for my neighbor to hear my words as he lets his dog outside to do his business. I smile calmly and wave to a man who doesn’t return the greeting. He and his dog both believe I’m a loon.
The whole world’s full of them.
I lock the sliding glass door and clean up the bird poop around the house. No more birds! I can’t take anymore shit in my life.
And just as I’m finishing up, my cell rings. It’s Dan already, of course. He didn’t even give me ten minutes before he called.
“What?” I yell into the phone.
“Man, you’re in a piss-ass mood.”
“God, there’s so much wrong with what you just said.”
There’s silence on the line for what seems like forever.
“Ahem,” I clear my throat, spurring him to say something.
“Can we talk for a while?” he asks in a distressed voice.
I pace and sigh, then agree. I should say no, not today, Dan. I need time to chill out and think. But what I really need are answers and not my own distorted interpretation of what occurred that night.
“Has Bridgette been to class? Have you seen her at all over the past two days?” his voice cracks. “She hasn’t been home since I was arrested and we’re worried sick.”
“I haven’t seen her. She’s probably afraid of you.”
Silence again.
That was pretty damn rude, if I do say so myself.
I am saying so myself. Chalk up my added nastiness to PMS.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so crass, but I’m really aggravated and confused about a lot of things. You lied to me,” I scold.
He sighs and I hear him take a drink. “I know. I’m sorry, Div.”
“First, you should’ve told me you were Hayden Night. It’s complete bullshit that you kept that from me.”
“I would’ve if I had known about your books right away. Besides, at the time, I thought they’d be a good laugh.”
“What, like I’m some joke? That it’s funny you knew I was creeping around your windows at night and you thought it would be clever to pick on me by putting my unhealthy habit in a book?”
Let him have it!
“No, that’s not what... no.” I can sense him shaking his head. “I didn’t know you when I wrote the ending, I only knew of you. But I admired you for months. You’re definitely no joke. That’s not what I meant by it, by any of it.”
“Keep going.” I feel only a little sorry that I’m giving him a hard time.
“I couldn’t believe a beautiful woman was outside my home and wanted to watch me. I was embarrassed, but it was also a turn on. I felt... it made me feel attractive. You know?”
“Nope, can’t say that if I saw someone on my back deck that I’d pretend he wasn’t there and then masturbate in front of him,” I say, sneeringly. “Not a stranger.”
“No, not a stranger,” he mocks me with laughter. “Then why did you watch? Stop treating me this way, like I’m the devil and you’re some sweet virgin nun.” He exhales and it sounds like he’s joining me in pacing the floor. “Listen to me. You made me feel attractive. I mean, come on, someone would actually be so captivated by me that they’d watch me through my window? Fuck. You know all I wanted was to reach out and touch you, but I was afraid I’d scare you away. You’re no joke, Divine Hallowell. Sorry if you felt that way while reading the final book. I presented the woman as someone Zyn fell in love with. She changed him. She was his princess and that’s the way I felt about the mystery woman outside my window.”
“She wasn’t a princess; she was his slave, Dan. Your books are troubling, vicious, and filled with hostility and death.”
“I already told you they’re based on my relationship with God, and to everyone else they’re just a dark erotic work of fiction! Nothing more!”
That’s the first time I’ve heard real frustration in his voice.
He whispers he’s sorry, again, and we both sigh.
This is complete craziness that you’re talking about the books and not Luke. Like he said, they’re his fucked up take on religion. Let it go.
I was getting there.
“Look, I read them and they were terrifying. You haven’t been totally open like you promised you would be, and now you’ve been arrested for allegedly killing someone. What the hell? Tell me what happened so I can start making sense of all this crap,” I demand. “Goddammit, I feel like I’m in the middle of a dung fight”
“I’m not out to destroy your fighter plane in some dog fight,” he says.
“Dung fight, Dan. Dung! It’s being hurled at me from every direction, now tell me the truth. What happened to Luke Barnes?”
“Hold on,” he says.
“No, wait!” Did he really just take another call? Who the fuck gets a call right at that moment?
That really only happens in the movies.
“Div, I gotta go. Something major just came up.”
“Wait.”
“I’ll call as soon as I can.”
This is horseshit. He hung up. Either he didn’t have the balls to tell me, or, or, or he didn’t have the balls to tell me. Fucker.
Maybe he just found his nuts, because he’s calling back.
“Tell me what the hell’s going on!” I yell into my cell.
“Uh...Divine?”
Uh-oh.
Damn, it’s Richard. I place a hand over my face, hiding my embarrassment as if he’s here in the room with me. “I’m so sorry. I thought you were... sorry. Everything okay?”
“Considering the scene that took place this morning during Margaret’s service, no, everything’s not okay. Did you file a report with the police about your truck?”
“Yeah, it’s taken care of.”
“And you gave them my name as a witness?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. So, can I expect to see you at the campus alumni luncheon that’s scheduled for tomorrow?”
Oh, I forgot. “Yes,” I say, and look at the calendar next to my laptop. Sure enough, I have the Sunday event penciled in and circled. “I don’t understand why we need to be at these things. I’m not an alumna.”
“True, but a lot of our departmental money comes from donors and most donors are alumni. It helps to be present at these functions. Now that Margaret’s gone, I hope I can count on you to be the face of the department, not to mention the eyes and ears as well. You never know what you may hear at these gatherings.”
“I know, like gossip about our department being eliminated.”
“Div.” There’s a warning tone in his voice as he speaks my name.
“I was only kidding.”
“Can you be serious tomorrow?” he asks. “And no matter what Hannah says, bite your tongue. As a matter a fact, bite your tongue around everyone. As always, an event like this will be full of Trustees and we don’t need yet another set back like this morning.”
I look up to the ceiling and shake my head. “Why, God why, why is Hannah going to be there?”
“Her parents are both alums.”
“You know, this college feels lik
e it’s entirely inbred. I swear ninety percent of the faculty graduated from here and then came back to teach. And everyone’s parents, mother’s uncle, Nana, and kids have been, or are now, students. Is there anyone in this town who isn’t associated with the college?”
“Mmm. Okay. See, right there, Divine. That’s what I’m talking about. Can you not say anything along those lines tomorrow? Please?”
I laugh as if I’m about to ask for a gift if I promise to behave. My mother always bought me a toy on the way home from the dentist if I didn’t fidget in the chair or bite the guy’s fingers when they were in my mouth. I’d say by Richard’s tone when he speaks to me, he’s gotta have kids.
“Div, it’s really none of my business, but is everything...”
“Everything’s fine,” I cut him off. “I’ll be at the luncheon at eleven, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
You should dress like a minion.
“Very well. Oh, and at some point, I’d like you to help me go through Margaret’s office. We’ll need to do it soon, since I need the students’ advising folders.”
“That room has fifty years of files. It could take... oh never mind, forget it. Whenever you need my help, just let me know.”
I hang up and collapse onto my bed, in no mood to dig through Margaret Cole’s things, ever. It seems like I have a lot of other issues I need to take care of in my life before I submerge myself in hers. Like this text that just came in from Dan. All it says is that things are fucked up.
“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” I moan.
Alright, Menstrual Queen, that’s enough. You’re whiney, which isn’t like you. We’re a united front when you’re rude and vulgar, but don’t start acting girly on me. Buck up, get headstrong and get your ass out of that bed. Come up with a plan while you’re waiting for your penis pal to call. Otherwise, you’ll end up lying here for the rest of the day, feeling sorry for yourself.
Don’t worry. I know what I’m going to do. It’s time.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Shit, It’s pretty in here.
‘Shit’ and ‘pretty’ should never be used in the same sentence.
My front curtains are open for the first time in years and my inner voice is correct, it’s very pretty in here.
Yesterday evening and into the night I removed the remaining photographs from my walls. They’re packed neatly away in three closets. Then I patched the nail holes and touched-up the marks with the leftover paint from when I had first decorated the room. I didn’t even remember they were painted violet. How ironic is that?
I did all of this because I couldn’t sleep. Dan never called and his Cherokee’s not around.
Umm, I believe that thing would probably be impounded, don’t you?
So I kept myself busy, while waiting, and waiting, and waiting. I don’t get along all that well with the unknown. I’ve just experienced several bouts of heavy-duty anxiety triggered by Dan’s situation and from handling all of the photos. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve done in years.
But to my surprise, I actually feel renewed. Tired, even with three or four hours of sleep, but definitely renewed. The room seems more peaceful now, brighter too. I even cleaned my front window and brought an extra bookcase up from the basement to use as a small shrine.
Yes, my parents’ ashes are still here. No longer in the middle of the room on the coffee table, but placed lovingly in the bookcase, and surrounded with a few of their favorite items - books, their wedding rings, small tchotchkes they bought for one another on road trips, and two wallet-size photos of their parents perched next to them. It’s perfect, a small area of my home devoted to the two of them, instead of encompassing my entire first floor.
And the wall behind my couch now has three photographs on display. Just three. I believe that’s okay. I’m allowed to hang a few, right?
There’s nothing crazy about having some photos on your wall.
I wouldn’t think so.
They’re portrait shots of my mom and dad, along with the photo of the day I was born - the one that used to be amid their urns on the coffee table - it’s now hanging between them. My three favorite photos of my family are all in my freshly beautified living room that I can now use for living.
It’s funny how I stared at the hundreds of photos in this room each day, but never actually saw my parents. There were too many eyes, faces, expressions, to ever focus on just one. Now when I look at my wall, I see one stunning woman and one handsome man. That’s the way I want to remember them.
And after staying up half the night working on this project, then driving to Starbucks for a coffee, scones, and a newspaper first thing in the morning, it felt fucking amazing to come home, sit on my sofa, read the paper with my bare feet on the coffee table, sip my drink, and enjoy the warmth of the sun filtering into the room. This may become a new weekend routine for me.
Well hello there, Divine the adult. So if Dan goes to prison and you’re all alone again, will you go back to watching porn and put the photos back on your walls?
No.
Wow, you didn’t even hesitate.
There’s no news about Dan, which is the reason I bought the paper. Nothing online either. I wish I knew what was going on. Could he have done something so horrific out of revenge for his sister? Damn, I just went from fucking amazing to fucking crap in ten seconds.
You know, the dining room needs a lot of attention. You should tackle that space next.
I’ll get to it. Be quiet for a while, would you? God, it’s impossible to shut off my brain.
I spend the remainder of my morning cleaning the other neglected spaces of my home, all but the dining room.
It’d be nice to say I’ve been bitten by the spring cleaning bug, but the reality is I’m only doing this because things on the ‘outside’ are in total disarray. If I can straighten up my interior spaces then maybe everything else will fall into place.
Fat chance. That’s crazy reasoning, but at least I kept busy until it was time to get ready for the luncheon. And I have to admit, in the process of cleaning, I took a break to call Dan, but he didn’t answer. I also texted him, sent him a Facebook message, called him a second time, and knocked on his door... three times.
Just tell me what’s going on!
I wish life had stopped in that moment when we were making love at the Comfort Inn.
Yeah, because fucking in a cheap hotel room is so romantic.
It was! It was romantic. But not only that moment, our entire time together, as short-lived as it was.
Now you sound like it’s all over.
Yeah, well I become a bit overdramatic when I’m left in the dark about things, like when my dad committed suicide. He could’ve left a fucking note!
He sort of did.
No. I wanted actual handwritten words from him. All that remains are fantasies about what life would’ve been like if he was still around, if both of them were still around. Just daydreams. I’m starting to do the same with Dan. Visualizing our future together. It’s possible he could’ve been the man I married.
Conjugal visits are always an option... ha, that made you smile. Try to keep that face for the alumni and the Trustees you’re about to see.
The Kellers’ catering vans are in the back parking lot of the alumni center, which doesn’t much surprise me. This university is too small to handle a big event without the help of an outside company. What is a shock, when I step out of my truck and try to smooth the wrinkles from my black dress, is Dan standing just outside the back door. He looks so different today, rested, shaved, well dressed, with his shoulders back as he speaks to an employee. He hands the woman a tray from the van and she disappears inside.
I step to the side of my truck, thinking he won’t notice the love of his life in the lot. And I’m talking about my F-150. The thing stands out like a sore thumb next to all the Toyota Camrys and Honda Odysseys.
Dan sees it, then me, and I get the urge to run to him for a warm embrace. I want to
kiss this guy without having any explanation as to what happened, just like you’d see on the Lifetime movie channel, because everything else is second to our relationship. But I’m not one of those women. I have standards, so instead I just stare. He does the same, looking me up and down, studying my black pumps, my tan legs. I mean, my fake tanned legs. I use a brand of sunless tanning lotion that’s sorta cheap and my skin looks more orange than brown, but Dan doesn’t seem to mind. He smiles and then his eyes move back to my face. He’s about to speak only to be obstructed by Richard.
“Divine. Glad you could make it.”
“I told you I was coming.” I wonder if Richard owns any other pants besides pleated khakis. He must make an easy hundred grand a year. It’s not like he can’t afford to buy new clothes. And his blonde ponytail has been unleashed today. His hair is combed straight and lays flat against his head except for the ends, which curl naturally. With a scraggly beard that he’s been growing for a week, I have to say he looks an awful lot like a blonde Jesus.
Accept for the khaki. Jesus would never wear khaki pants.
“Have you been inside yet?” he asks.
“No, I just pulled in.”
I look over to the catering van but Dan’s gone, and as Richard and I walk around to the front door of the alumni center, I see Hannah and an older guy walk inside together. Must be her dad.
Only a few of my colleagues are here along with a handful of students who I recognize. Other than that, the room is packed with grey-haired white men. Can’t say this campus has much of a rich ethnic past.
And talk about something else that’s appalling... events like these in general, that’s what.
Alumni gatherings, when you’re not an alumna and you currently loathe the state of affairs surrounding your job, are like going to your second cousin’s twentieth high school reunion. You pretty much stand in a corner with your arms crossed and listen to conversations you could care less about from a bunch of people for whom you have no feelings.
I act friendly, smile a lot and nod, but my mind isn’t on anything other than Dan at the moment. I don’t see his parents anywhere, which I presume means he’s taking over for them today. And, I know he’s not the type to think this way, but I’m sure working right after you’re released on bail looks good to someone. The cops, a judge, or a prosecutor, somebody will take note of his actions over the upcoming weeks.
