Seven days, three helpings of vitamins for each. Breakfast, lunch, bedtime. Every spot had one cream-coloured capsule in it so every guest had one pill three times a day. Everyone except for Mary. Her cubby had two for the breakfast dose, three for lunch and two at bedtime. Zeke looked quizzically at the pills. He recounted. But his counting was sturdy today. And he only had to count to three. That was easy. Again, he compared Mary’s with his own. One pill per slot for Zeke. Two, three and two for Mary.
He compared Mary’s to Smitty’s. One in each of Smitty’s compartments. More in Mary’s.
Again, he looked at the plastic dishes crookedly. And then he thought of counting. For so long, he’d stumbled over something so rudimentary as counting. He could never take direction on how many streets to do his trash pickup. Anything more than four and he lost count. He knew the roads, that wasn’t the issue. He just couldn’t keep track of how many he’d covered. He’d look up, with tears in his eyes for twelve hours of squinting, and the street lights would be buzzing. Overhead, the sky would be black, even though he could have sworn an oath he’d just eaten breakfast.
So he started counting. He was tickled to reach a hundred under his breath there in the wide hall. He went to the living room and watched the waving pines in the rain through the big window while he counted to a thousand.
When he got to ten thousand he was giddy.
And as he went, he was astonished to find the words for all these numbers carved inside him somewhere. He came across them like road signs along a highway. And he knew what each meant. Five thousand, ten thousand. Forty-two thousand, eight hundred and sixty-four. One hundred thousand. One hundred thousand and one. And on he went.
He reached a million somewhere around four a.m.
Before he pulled the afghan throw over himself and leaned back into the couch for inevitable sleep, he thought again of Mary. Maybe he could teach Mary to count to a million.
Maybe he could piece together her glass thinker-bottle.
4
Morning came. It was a busy one with breakfast on the table at seven sharp. Tom had everyone dressed and seated at the same time. He had energy today and the troubles of hunting through the woods for Mary the other night seemed distant to him now. While everyone ate, he hatched a plan to organize some games in the backyard. There was a croquet set and horseshoes in the shed where the old station wagon sat under a tarp. The pie-shaped lot had enough room for both games at once and enough breadth between so no one got a croquet ball in the head or a horseshoe in the shin.
He didn’t announce the plan yet. His gang was like children. Their comprehension of time was inconsistent among them—and inconsistent for each depending on the day and how many vitamins in their regimen. To tease of an activity before the activity was to invite chaos and tears. He’d strive to get some play time in before their breakfast dose took hold in an hour or two. They’d pretty much want to nap or lay in the grass, or come in and put on the TV by then.
Tom was no dummy. He noticed the same thing that Zeke had early this morning. Mary’s great volume and exuberance had cost her. She was under the embrace of double and sometimes triple the regular dose, and the dose of everyone else.
What Tom knew that Zeke didn’t, however, is that these weren’t vitamins. They weren’t over-the-counter, or even by-prescription-only cream pills.
“Where’s your glasses, Zeeky?” Dar asked, nearly shouting.
“Lost em,” Zeke said after eyeing Tom. “’S okay,” he said. “I see things fine now.”
That seemed to satisfy Dar. He stopped questioning and no one picked it up from there.
Mary’s volume died out by the time they cleared plates. They didn’t have to help. It was Fidela’s job to manage all aspects of the kitchen, but Tom liked to introduce structure as much as possible. And Smitty in particular liked habits such as this one: clearing your own plates to the sink after a meal. The girls appreciated it too, but in a less overt way. All of them knew it was expected now. And Tom’s offering of these simple things made him a quiet, unspoken friendship with Fidela. To Tom, she was lousy with his language, but a heck of a lot more than a cook and housemaid. She could tell. And the ripeness of his youth meant that he thought such things were important and valuable.
This morning, Zeke had the presence of mind to hope young Tom never lost that. But he rolled back on all the adults he’d known who had graduated from youth to middle and then old age. None of them did. And Tom probably wouldn’t either.
“You slept in the living room,” Tom said as the dishes clanged.
“Uh-huh,” Zeke said, just a man of few words today, despite his racing and brimming mind. He wanted to blurt it out, tell everyone everything, how the spring water and those krill-critters had gotten inside his melon and set about sealing up all the cracks in his thoughts, repairing and patching and polishing.
“You should come to your bed at night, Zed, okay, buddy?” Tom said again, not really scolding. Just suggesting. “It’s not five star next to the furnace, I know. But Nurse Karen’s liable to get upset and we know how that goes, right?”
“Right, Tom,” Zeke said, averting his eyes, as if Tom would look into them and catch glimpse of a gleaming glass bottle overflowing with crystal clear water.
“Gotta go work today,” Zeke said, his mouth suddenly filled with marbles. His thoughts were clear but his tongue didn’t seem properly wired up to his new sports car of a brain.
“Kay, champ,” Tom said with a smile. “Work hard. We’ll see you back for lunch or supper?”
“Uh. Dunno yet,” Zeke said.
“Fair enough,” Tom said, not noticing that Zeke hadn’t called him by the usual “Mr.” moniker he reserved for his boss at the town and for Chris Banatyne.
Zeke made eye contact with Mary who wasn’t yet dulled by her morning vitamin regimen.
Mary smiled her nicest smile at Zeke, one that was subtle and didn’t squeeze her eyes into pinpoints of black. He looked back at Tom. “Tom,” he said.
“Yeah, champ?”
“Can Mary come with me til lunchtime taday?”
“Well, I dunno, bud. Mary, do you want to go with Zeke for his rounds?”
Mary hesitated. She didn’t look right at Tom. “I like to go with Zed,” she said quietly.
“Well, okay then,” Tom said. “Keep out of hot water, both of ya.”
5
“Do you trust me, Mary?” he asked as they approached the clearing by the hot spring. Mary was cautious as they made their way on foot around the swatch of white pines. No one was here yet, not this early on a weekday. Her caution gave way to a gaping smile, all toothy and pleased.
“You take me to the hot-pool again, Zed!” she squealed in delight. “Three times I go!”
“That’s right,” he said. Somehow, Zeke seemed older. And younger at the same time. He seemed leaner and younger looking. But his maturity helped him guide Mary. Where before they were kids playing off each other, now he was a father figure, almost, leading her.
He took Mary’s hand. “Do you trust me?” he asked again.
She smiled at him. “Course I do, Zed. You my friend!”
“Ooh, look!” Mary squealed. She pointed. Out to the east of the hot spring’s craggy rock formation, there were two young deer. They popped their heads up from grazing in the tall wet grass. “I see two!” Mary said. With that, the deer turned and leapt into the thicker brush. They bounded twice each, springing the foliage this way and that. And then they were gone.
“Deer!” she shouted again. “Deer come back!”
Deer at dawn, Zeke thought, looking after the deer as they fled in silence, then at Mary’s expectant face. If there was anything more perfect to see this morning, he didn’t know what it was. He took it as a sign. This was the right choice.
Her morning pills hadn’t kicked in yet. Her exuberance was infectious. And it helped that Zeke had decided not to take his. He palmed them and while Tom was watching everyone clear their plates
and questioning Zeke about where he slept last night, Zeke’s pill fell to his foot and found a graceful kick to slide it under the stove all the way to the wall. Zeke had heard it tick against the baseboard there. All his senses seemed more astute.
“You so handsome without those big glasses, Zed,” Mary said to him, leaning in and forgetting her encounter with the wild but gentle animals. Her breath hinted at the breakfast of bacon and eggs they’d shared.
“That’s nice of you, Mary,” he said. “To say that. Such a kind thing. You’re so kind,” he said, leading her by the hand to the middle hot pool—the one they could easily climb into and then move from it up to the shallow one which was even warmer.
“And that’s why I want to be kind to you, Mary. Will you let me do something kind for you?”
A glimmer of her initial caution returned. But then she smiled yet again. “Kind for me?” she said, beaming.
“Yes, Mary. For you. For us.”
6
Croquet and horseshoes were a blast. The morning warmed up, but not to the point of sweltering, at least not yet. It was easier with four of them. Smitty, Dar and Ingy plus Tom meant that the teams were even and no one was standing around waiting for their turn for too long.
Tom had known some big laughs with the houseguests this summer, but today’s were the memory-making kind. He helped Dar—helped them all, really—but they didn’t need much today. It was just fun. So fun, they all forgot to keep score, not that any of them except for Tom really knew how.
Mikey Dean stopped by around ten. “Got an itch, bro,” he said to Tom. “Is the ol’ lady around?”
“No, she’s never usually here,” Tom said, leaving the troops to talk to Mike over at the picnic table with the striped umbrella. “You’re trigger finger’s itchy? I told you, I can’t print more photos until I get some time off and go back to the school.”
“Not that!” Mike said, embarrassed. “I’m not talking stroke material, dumbass. I go back to school in, like, a week. I need to cut loose. Do something fucked up. You in?”
“I can’t.” Tom gestured to the gang whacking croquet balls on the green, overgrown lawn. He’d hoped to get to the end of his tenure at Ocean View without cutting it again. That didn’t look likely after yesterday’s monsoon. Today’s heat would give it another inch for sure.
“Yeah, I get it,” Mike said, not too dejected, but still playing it up. “I’d hoped you’d hit the liquor store for us and pull some.”
“I could probably manage that,” Tom said. “Is it open past nine?”
“Past nine? In DC?” Mikey said with a laugh. “What are you smoking, m’man?”
“Right,” Tom said. “Well, I can’t give much help there, either.”
“It’s okay. No big whoop.” Mikey turned to watch the gang fuss with the balls. They were all cheating, but of course, it was charming. They just didn’t know any better. “Listen, lemme play a round with the retards, okay?”
“Mike,” Tom said. “You’re okay. I like you. But don’t ever call them that. Okay?”
Mikey took it seriously. He heard the weight in Tom’s voice. He turned back and his face was stone. “Sorry,” he said. “Not cool, right?”
“Not a bit,” Tom said, his face matching Mikey’s.
“Okay, okay,” Mikey said. “I know it now. I’ll just head out.”
Tom reached out and put his arm around Mikey. His hand went to the muscle between Mikey’s shoulder and neck. “It’s okay. They’re just... more than that. Y’know?”
Mikey froze. “What the hell,” he said, a stroke of betrayal in his voice. He spat it out a second time, louder. “WHAT THE HELL?” he said again, louder. He threw Tom’s arm off him and then shoved Tom so hard Tom dropped to his hip on the concrete. Pain splintered up his rump and down his leg.
“Ow! Jeezus!” he shouted. “What are you—?”
“Don’t you ever touch me that way again,” Mikey said from above him. “That is not cool. Not with me. I do not ride that way. Got it? Might fly back home with all the pho-togs experimenting with their feelings and shit. But not here. Not here, man. Jesus Christ, I was joking when I called you a faggot, man. But I’m not sure. Not so sure at all.”
He leaned deeper down into Tom, a totally different person to him now. He was a hundred year old tree trunk now, blocking out the morning sun. Even his face looked like it had morphed into someone else’s. This Mikey Dean was a beast. A beast with teeth.
“You sniveling college-boy faggot. You are never to talk to me again. Got it?” He said it right in Tom’s face, baring his teeth like an animal and letting spit fly. His finger, held up like you see parents cautioning their children, it wiggled with a tremor.
Then Mikey wound up again and kicked Tom. Right in the ribs. Another shot of pain and disbelief. Tom let out a wail but no words. He was in shock. Another kick, this one as Tom turned on the ground in agony. This footfall connected with his kidney.
Sniveling college-boy faggot. What do you say to that?
Mikey ended this fifteen-second round of torture. He looked like he would dish out some more but he didn’t. The tumult came out of nowhere but it was done just as quickly as it started. He was done with Tom. He turned and walked off, still shaking, as if the confrontation had shocked and drained him at once.
He muttered as he stalked away. “Faggy fucking college boy putting his hands on me...”
Tom shook too. And he had nothing to say. Out in the yard, the troops were still playing croquet. None of them noticed the altercation. Smitty and Ingy waved at Mike.
“Byeeee,” they shouted in mismatched unison.
7
Zeke convinced Mary to climb to the first pool from the second. They both had all their clothes on. Zeke wasn’t about to have a repeat of what happened before ruin this.
He just hoped none of the townies showed up for a dip. That would ruin everything. They’d either clear out when they saw two of the town retards contaminating the hot spring, or they’d drive them off with their cruel taunts. Zeke had reached the point of the morning where his thinker-bottle was starting to leak out his memories. But he remembered those. All the cruelty of the kids. Right from his own childhood up through the generations. He’d been called everything under the sun from dumb, to slow, to not worth a nickel.
He convinced Mary to lay back in the water. “Like this?” she said up at him, still trusting, still following Zeke’s guidance. Tom was right. She did adore Zeke. He was her Zed.
When her shirt and shorts were soaked and she lay back on her elbows, Zeke said, “That’s it, Mary. Now, how do you feel?”
“It’s waaaaaarm,” she said, grinning.
“Good, good,” Zeke said in a soothing tone. But then his palms went to Mary’s shoulders. He pushed her hard and fast. He leaned all his weight down on her and did so without warning. She didn’t flinch because she had no idea it was coming. She went under immediately and sucked in a mouthful of water. She struggled a moment later, but succeeded only in sucking in even more water.
Mary Smithson thrashed. And she did so with every ounce of strength she had. Her eyes were big dark bulbs under the clean, clear, hot water. Her arms flailed. She kicked. Still, Zeke held her under.
Then the buzz came.
It grew.
And then the water began to churn. Zeke didn’t hold her. He eased up. But she stayed under. The water held her now. Like a set of liquid claws, it gripped into her and kept her under the shallow surface. The water churned white, like boiling white water rapids, but up close and only around her form. The water wasn’t boiling. It stayed at just the same temperature it always was. She disappeared under its agitated foam, though he could still feel her. Then he felt something else. It was a tiny wave of tickling creatures. The sun went under a cloud and a dark pall fell across the two of them. Mary was gone except for the touch of her. Zeke crouched beside her, tense but with a look of expectance on his face, like he was waiting for the Phoenix to rise.
; He moved his hands to her throat. That place where he and Smitty learned from television to check for a pulse. Mary’s was strong. It was fast, but it was hard and regular.
And now, with his shiny new thinker, Zeke was smart enough to know it.
His lower body felt the tickle. The rush of that buzzing noise still grew. He felt the water tug at him. And he felt an overwhelming urge to sleep.
He lay down beside Mary and let the churning white mineral water envelope him again.
For Mary, this was the start of something beautiful.
For Zeke, it was time for another treatment.
8
Tom managed to get himself pulled up and seated at a chair under the striped umbrella. He whistled and got Smitty’s attention, whose bow legs brought him up to the table at nose height. “What’s what, boss?“ Smitty said, probably imitating Kojak or some other TV character that Tom couldn’t place.
Tom strained with the pain of the shove, the fall and the two blows he’d taken. Sweat mingled with his tears, and they poured out of him both because of the physical and mental wounds. He still couldn’t believe Mikey had treated him like that. With such suddenness and such vehemence.
“Smitty, pal,” Tom spat out in hitched breath. “Ask Fidela for a bag of frozen peas. Bring em back here for me.”
Smitty wouldn’t know what he needed frozen veggies for, but he was quick on the draw to realize something was up with Tom. “What’s wrong, Tommy?” Smitty asked, his brow in a sudden furrow at Tom’s difficulty in even speaking. Tom sat on only one of his bum cheeks and his body squeezed itself into a tense knot, leaning him heavily to one side of the chair.
“Nothing, pal.” Tom hitched his breath again. He realized it was mixed with a hiccupping sob, one that he couldn’t control. He felt like a boy pushed down on the playground because some bigger kids thought he looked funny. “Just fell on the concrete. Be okay in a sec. Get the bag of peas, okay?”
Zed Page 11
