Under-Heaven

by Tim Greaton

  “What’s this doing in—” She hefted the plastic pig then shook it. “Where’d your money go?”

  Jesse’s face flushed. He knew if there was ever a time to come up with a good story, this was it. If his mother learned what had really happened to has savings, the ’speriment would come to a crashing halt. They would never be a family again!

  Storm would have known what to say—that was it! His friend would provide the solution.

  “I loaned some money to Storm to…to buy a video game. It was one with green bugs and…lots of flying…bat things. He…he’s going to pay me back.”

  His mother pried the bottom off the bank and poured a few pennies into her hand then peered inside.

  “One dollar and six cents,” she said. “That’s all you have left!”

  Jesse wiped both eyes and stared at the hem of his mother’s skirt. He could see a small bruise on her knee that he guessed might have come from trying to hold the laundromat door open while carrying two baskets at a time. He couldn’t think of anything more to say.

  The door buzzer rang.

  “You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Jesse,” she said, closing his drawer and swapping the bank for the plate and glass on his bureau, “but it’s going to have to wait. Right now I have to get to work.”

  Jesse trudged out into the kitchen and heard father coming up the stairs. Something didn’t sound right, and for the briefest moment he feared the man named Doyle might have returned, but then Jesse realized his father must have been sick again. From the sound of it, he was staggering from side to side more than moving upward.

  “What’s going on with you, Wagner?” his mother called out as she threw open the door. She fell silent.

  Jesse moved into the doorway where he could also see.

  “Hey…b-babe,” his father croaked from where he leaned against the wall halfway down the stairs. Even with the distance between them, Jesse could smell alcohol mixed with strong body odor. From the looks of his snarled, greasy hair his father hadn’t taken a shower since they’d last seen him a week or so before.

  “So what am I supposed to do now, Wagner?” his mother snapped. “You show up—like this—and leave me without a babysitter. Why am I even trying!”

  Jesse immediately knew that their ’speriment was about to come crashing to a halt. Having to do something, he raced down the stairs to help his father the rest of the way up.

  “That’s my Jess—“

  “Eauuuuuuuuuuu!” Vomit spewed everywhere.

  Jesse felt the hot acid splashing against the side of his face, on his neck and down his shirt. He tried to block it, but his father’s next explosion projected onto the top of his head. Jesse opened his mouth to scream and got some in his mouth. Suddenly, his little body revolted and gagged. Though he hated that feeling, his stomach clenched and sent his breakfast up through his throat. Unable to stop it, Jesse puked onto his father’s pants, his father’s shoes, and his father’s much larger puddle of puke.

  “Awww, gross,” his father gasped, then slid down to sit on the slime-coated stairs.

  Jesse fought the tears. His throat burned and the taste of bile made his stomach feel like puking some more. Confused, he saw his father chuckling as his large vomit-covered hand try to wipe some of the mess from Jesse’s cheek.

  Almost as though she had flown down the stairs, his mother suddenly appeared and batted his father’s filthy hand away.

  “Are you okay, Jesse?” she cooed, wiping his face and hair with her pink apron.

  Jesse could see her glaring at his father, who had a silly grin pasted across his face. Fearing that might have been the final straw for his father, Jesse opened his mouth to say he wasn’t sick anymore, but instead of words another heave of vomit shot up his throat and splashed onto his mother’s bright white shoes.

  Jesse burst into tears.

  No matter how hard he tried, everything kept getting ruined. How come other kids got to have a normal family but—Jesse wanted to scream.

  “It’s okay, baby,” his mother said. “Sometimes people get sick.”

  “But you and Dad…the ‘speriment.” Jesse choked and spit out more of the burning vomit.

  His father intermittently laughed and gagged as his mother lead Jesse up the stairs and hustled him into the bathroom. Sitting him on the closed toilet seat, she quickly washed the worst of the foul smelling stomach acids off from his skin, hair and clothes. She took an extra few seconds to kiss his cheeks and wipe the tears from his eyes.

  “Will you be okay for a few minutes while I go help your dad?”

  Jesse tried to quell the sobs that he knew weren’t helping anything. He wiped his eyes and nodded.

  “Can dad stay until he feels better?”

  His mom stared at him for a few seconds, brushed fingers through his wet hair and nodded.

  It took her quite a bit of time to help his dad up the stairs. Jesse was already feeling better, so he moved out of the way when she led his father into the bathroom, opened the shower curtain, and turned the water on.

  “I didn’t mean to cause all the mess up,” his father mumbled as she pushed him, clothes and all, into the streams of water.

  “Wagner, you know Jesse loves you more than anything in the world. Would it really be so hard to pull yourself together for him?”

  “I’ve been trying, babe, but Harry’s been havin’ a lot of late work for me—”

  “And I suppose Harry also makes you drink while you’re working?”

  “It’s not like that,” Jesse’s father said, “but it’s not easy like you think either.”

  “I’m sure it’s not, Wagner. Too bad you didn’t have it easy like I do—working every possible minute just to pay the rent and buy a little food, just so my husband can forget to pitch in because he has to party seven nights a week.”

  “I gave some money last week.”

  “Twenty five dollars doesn’t even pay the electric bill, Wagner.”

  “I could give you my whole paycheck again if I lived here.”

  Jesse held his breath. A few minutes before, he would have sworn the ‘speriment was over, but maybe his father was putting things back on track.

  “It smells like vomit in here,” his mother announced. She looked down at her clothing and shoes then glanced at Jesse who was leaning in the doorway.

  “Want to give me a hand, baby boy?” she asked. There was something playful about her tone.

  “Me?”

  “Yes, little handsome, you. Come here for a minute. Maybe you could sit here with your dad for a minute while I go change.”

  Uncertain why but feeling as though she wasn’t being entirely honest, Jesse approached slowly. Suddenly, she grabbed him into a big hug and started tickling him like crazy. The next thing he knew she passed him over to his father in the shower. His mother followed him in.

  “Got you,” his father announced, tickling him in the most sensitive spot, under the arms. Jesse was soon gasping for breath between gales of laughter as the three of them danced and hugged and played underneath the warm water.

  When the playfulness died down, Jesse’s mother shampooed his hair and announced it was time for him to go get some dry clothes on.

  “Your dad and I need to talk,” she said.

  Immediately recognizing her serious inflection, Jesse got out of the shower. Of course, his mother had known he would try to eavesdrop, so she opened the shower curtain and watched to make sure he closed the bathroom door behind him as he went to his room. By the time he had changed into a pair of too-long brown pants and a tee shirt with a ripped shoulder, he heard his mother go from the bathroom to her room. He couldn’t be sure but thought she had been crying. He must have been mistaken, however, because when he opened his door a few minutes later, he saw her return to the bathroom with a change of clothes for his father. She wasn’t smiling but didn’t seem to be upset either.

  After they were all cleaned and changed, Jesse’s mother and father bot
h went out to clean the hallway stairs. Still, Jesse wasn’t sure if everything was okay or if the ‘speriment was over, so he stood off to the side at the top of the stairs and tried to hear if his mother sounded happy or sad when she spoke to his dad. Unfortunately, all he heard were whispers.

  What was going on?

  As soon as he heard his mother coming back up the stairs, Jesse innocently grabbed a chair and pulled it over to the sink. He was just climbing up to get a glass when his mother asked him the best question he’d ever heard.

  “Do you think your father should sleep over tonight?”

  Jesse’s face broke into a huge grin. Before he could even say “yes” his mother scooped him up into her arms and squeezed him tight.

  “I like it when you’re happy,” she said, setting him down on the floor.

  “Dad! Dad!”

  Jesse raced toward the door to tell his father the good news and almost ran face-first into the pail of warm water his parents had been using to clean the stairs. It reeked of disinfectant and bile.

  “Looks like someone has heard the news,” his father said with a grin.

  “Can we play videogames in the morning?” Jesse asked excitedly. “And make pancakes for Mom?”

  “Sure,” his father said, as he pushed his way past to dump the dirty water in the toilet.

  “How come videogames come before my pancakes?” his mother asked in good humor. “I’m not more important than those silly games?”

  Jesse was trying to figure out how to explain that she usually slept later than he and his dad, when his father came up from behind her and put his arms around her waist. He tried snuggling against her ear but she pulled free of his embrace.

  “You still smell like vodka.”

  “But that’s going to stop,” he said, “just like we talked about.”

  “And you’re on the couch until you can keep that promise,” his mother said.

  Jesse was screaming for joy inside. It sounded to him like his dad was moving back home.

  “I really have to stay on the couch all night?” his father asked.

  “Unless you prefer the hallway,” his mother warned.

  “Can I sleep on the couch, too?” Jesse blurted out.

  Both his parents grinned.

  “Yes,” his mother said, “but only for tonight. You and your father are not going to be roughhousing late on school nights.”

  “We wouldn’t dream of that, would we?” Jesse’s father said, dragging him into the living room and pitching him butt-first onto the couch.

  Jesse bounced back up and tipped onto his side. He thought his father was going to bounce him again but instead he jumped onto the other end of the couch, laid down and tried to use Jesse as a footstool. Trapped and giggling, but not just because he couldn’t figure a way to get free of his father’s heavy legs; it was also because they were finally a becoming a real family again. Jesse had wanted that for so long he almost couldn’t believe it was happening.

  “Wagner,” his mother said, her voice sounding strict like it did sometimes, “we need to talk to our son about this.” Jesse held his breath because in her hands, his mother held up his piggy bank. “Jesse loaned his money to a friend at school so he could buy a videogame.”

  His father got to his feet abruptly.

  “Babe, I—Jesse didn’t do that. He gave the money to me because I asked him to.”

  Jesse could see his mother’s hand shaking and her eyes tearing up. He didn’t think his dad should have been admitting any of this. Just when it looked like everything was fixed.

  “You took our son’s money…and asked him to lie to me about it.” She shook the piggy bank, to which the pennies obviously had not yet been returned, and covered her eyes with her free hand. “You took money from your five-year-old son…what, so you could drink…or god knows what else?”

  “No,” Jesse’s father said. “I took his money so I could buy gas.”

  “No!” she said. “I’m tired of you lying to me. You have a job, you make money, and you haven’t been paying any of the bills around here. Why should Jesse have to come up with gas for your truck?”

  Jesse’s father sat down and buried his face in his hands. “I’m really sorry, Karen. Harry was good enough to give me an advance a few times when I spent money on just what you think I did. But I swear, when Jesse gave me the money, it was one of those weeks that I had to pay Harry back.”

  “Wagner, you make this so hard.”

  Suddenly, there was a loud crash as something slammed into one of the living room windows. An explosion of glass shattered inward and a red brick struck the floor and flipped twice before it lay still on the dark green carpet.

  “Largess,” someone yelled up from the street. “It’s time you squared up with me!”

  “Get down!” Jesse’s father warned Jesse and his mother.

  She grabbed Jesse and pulled him out into the kitchen.

  “Who is that and what does he want?” she hissed.

  “It’s not—I promised not to lie to you,” Jesse’s father said, moving carefully over to the broken window. He kept his head down. “So please don’t ask.”

  “So what are you going to do about that raunchy shit you sold me?” the same man yelled.

  “I’ll make it up to you, Shamus,” Jesse’s dad said loudly. He looked ready to peer out the window, which Jesse didn’t think was a good idea. What if the man threw something else?

  “I’ve already asked my supplier,” his father said.

  “S’good to hear,” the man yelled back, “because next time it won’t be just your truck.”

  Jesse’s father chanced a look out the window.

  “Holy shit!” he yelled. “My truck’s on fire. Call 911. My truck is on fire! No, don’t call! I’ll deal with it. I’ll—”

  “Yes, my husband’s truck is on fire,” Jesse’s mother screamed into the phone. “They also threw a brick through my living room window. Please hurry…It’s the corner of Pembrook and Tremont, in front of Tremont Laundry.”

  “Damn it, Karen! Damn it!”

  “Is he gone?” Jesse’s mother asked.

  “Yeah, they’re gone,” his father said. He was standing in front of the window. “Do you know what you just did? I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t stay.”

  “Wagner,” Jesse’s mother said, “the police are on their way, and I want you to tell them everything. Just tell them who the hell threw a brick through our window and torched your truck.”

  Already Jesse could hear dozens of sirens converging on their neighborhood. He wanted to look out the window but neither his mother nor father was in any mood to be trifled with. Jesse wasn’t willing to take the chance.

  “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t answer questions when the cops arrive. I can’t.”

  Jesse had no idea what was going on, but it seemed obvious that at any second their family would cease to exist—again. He wanted to say something to fix things, but nothing came to mind.

  “Wagner, I don’t know what kind of bullshit you’ve gotten yourself into, but you have to talk to the police and straighten it out.”

  “It’s not that easy, Karen.”

  “It is if you meant what you said. Jesse comes first, and all this other crap has to end right now. What if that brick had hit one of us? What if we had been inside your truck tonight? What if Jesse had been inside your truck.”

  “But he wasn’t. I have to go.”

  “If you leave, Wagner, it’s for the last time. Jesse and I can’t go through this anymore. And I won’t let you get his hopes up again.”

  The sirens grew louder.

  “Please stay, Dad,” Jesse said. He started crying because he could tell from his father’s frantic look that he wasn’t paying any attention. “We can only be a family if you stay!”

  Unable or unwilling to listen, his father stormed past Jesse and in three long strides was out the door. Red and blue lights flashed below the broken window, and a biting co
ld wind whipped through their living room as the sound of his panicked footsteps receded down the hallway stairs.

  16

  A Friend’s Pain

  Ricky and I hadn’t spent much time together in the previous few days. One of his relatives from the Stone Age had been visiting, and it seemed they were having a few challenges with communication. I always assumed that since there was only one language used in the heavens it would be easy to talk with anyone. However, it turned out that because hominoids or pre-human people never actually had the ability to speak while alive, they tended to be mute in the heavens as well. Grandma Clara explained there are exceptions, but for the most part a Stone Age angel is usually a silent angel.

  “It’s hard to believe how people lived back then,” Ricky told me when he finally found time to hang out. “They were like Tarzan, only for real.”

  “So you’ve figured out how to talk with your grandmother Amber?” Of course we both understood I meant great-great-great grandmother, many times over.

  He nodded.

  “She tries so hard to make word sounds, but she just can’t.”

  “So what do you do?” I asked.

  “It’s like playing charades,” Ricky said. “She acts things out, and I try to figure out what she means. Earlier today, she told me how she once killed a saber tooth tiger!”

  I was immediately riveted.

  “How?”

  “She jumped on its back and hit it on the head with a rock.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Nope. Her kids were playing near a brook, and the tiger was getting too close.”

  “’Guess you don’t mess with a cave woman, huh?”

  “Not my grandmother Amber, you don’t.” He smiled.

  “Is that how she died?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  “No. Her mate killed her.”

  “Ugh! You’re kidding, right?”

  “No,” Ricky said, “he really did kill her. But he didn’t mean to. She had a fever and the tribal medicine woman told him to fetch her some special berries. Unfortunately, he picked the wrong kind.”