Normal

by Jason Conley

  Carissa stomach knotted as she examined the problem. A sharp pain shot into her eyes. Too much thinking, she was sure of it. But she needed to get this down so she could get a good grade thus ensuring her leaving this town after next year. So she picked up her pencil and worked the problem as if she were a mathematician.

  With pride, she looked up at David. She worked the problem beautifully. She had each line of numbers drawn out making sure she used as much space as needed for the actual figuring. She was sure she had the right answer.

  Carissa handed the paper across the vacant desk. David reached for it with a small wince. Carissa heard but did not acknowledge it. He looked at the elegance in her handwriting. Being an English teacher’s son, he could appreciate fine penmanship. He graded the problem. “Am I right?” Carissa said. Soft, her voice landed with a sweet splash against David’s eardrum.

  “No, but I know where your mistake was,” He said painfully. “When you start a simple equation, you do the problem in the parenthesis first. It’s not like reading; sometimes you start in the middle.”

  “But wouldn’t you get the same answer,” Carissa said, embarrassed.

  “No, because the problem is changed,” David said as he walked up to the board. “See you have an addition and subtraction problem in the parenthesis.” He then worked both problems. The first he worked the same way Carissa did it. The second he worked correctly. “By multiplying the five before you work the problem in parenthesis, you come out with X=15 1/3. If you work the problem inside the parenthesis first, then the rest of the problem you end up with X=-11 1/3.”

  David looked at his notes and wrote a second problem on the board. Carissa worked the problem, her answer correct. “Good job. Now, try this one,” he said. He handed her the problem and eased into the desk next to hers.

  Carissa felt the tension of the situation easing. David looked at her in a way that she had never expected. The kindness on his face drew her in. She felt the corners of her mouth begin to curl. She tried to stop it but it was inevitable. She smiled.

  Carissa could not remember the last time she had an uncontrollable smile. She felt…happy in the moment. She had happy memories but they had been so long ago that they seemed like dreams, now. Smiling without force was something she missed, but only knew in this moment just how much.

  Being unhappy is normal. The way she felt was not, it was strange. Almost another world to her. This boy she did not even know was doing this to her. If she knew how, then maybe she could control it, but some force was pulling the two together.

  “Great, you’ve got it,” David said with only having to glance at her paper.

  “Well, I’ve got a great teacher,” Carissa said to her own amazement. She had no idea where the thought had come from, but it was there and she agreed. She knew that the way she said it might have scared David. She blushed knowing that she was letting this boy draw something from her. Carissa’s wall was down and could not go back up, at least not with him.

  “Thanks,” David said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. David had no idea how to take a compliment. He had never had one, well, not from someone like her. He could see the pull that she had in her eyes. He had never seen that look from a girl; not toward him.

  “You must take after your mom,” Carissa said.

  “I am nothing like my mother,” David said as the bell rang relieving them both of the fragile situation.

  “Shit, I gotta catch the bus. You ridin’?” Carissa said as she gathered her books.

  “No, I am riding with Mrs. Shelton.”

  Carissa was confused by his answer. The fact that he called his mother Mrs. Shelton was at the least different. Carissa had heard the lashing that David had received earlier, so she did not bother to ask.

  “What about in the morning?”

  “Yes,” David said more as a question than an answer.

  “Cool, save me a seat,” Carissa said leaving the room too quick for him to protest.

  David sat dumfounded by the request. It had not quite registered yet. Then excitement hit. Save me a seat. Had she really said it? Did she say that to me? The questions raced but soon faded because she had said it. David was not even sure how to save a seat for her. Plans began to form. All seemed to obvious, desperate. Finally, one clicked. I will put my jacket in the seat next me.

  Smiling, David gathered his books and walked out of the class. He turned toward the front doors of the school and noticed Carissa walking down the hall. He stood watching and listened to clanks of her shoes taping heavily on the tiles. The sound was sweet.

  6

  David stood before the black workout bench knowing the impending conviction and sentence. He had read the note his mother had placed on the end table. When David had walked into the house, he had noticed it immediately, red. The paper clashed against the earth tones blanketing the room.

  Meet me in your room.

  David had been standing in front of the bench for a half-hour thinking what he could have done wrong. Mrs. Shelton was undoubtedly in her room praying for David’s soul. He knew that the longer she prayed the more the rod would be used.

  After another hour, David heard the click of his mother’s handle and strident squeak of the hinges as the door eased open. She’s coming.

  Mrs. Shelton’s heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she walked slow through the hall. He thought of the harmonious notes of Carissa’s steps compared to the clicks he heard now. The sounds were different. Mrs. Shelton’s steps were cold and pointed, determined. He felt her need for his repentance, the waves now echoing off the walls.

  The clicks stopped. He felt the hot breathe on his neck, fire. The pace was exhausting. He held silent. He closed his eyes so light could not bear witness to his defeat.

  “I saw you, David. You were lusting like a dog after that little harlot. You wanted to take her there. Did you not?” David kept silent knowing this question had no answer. “You stand there as if you did nothing wrong. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I wasn’t lusting mother.”

  “Don’t lie to me.” The calmness in her voice was almost soothing. He felt her hair brush his neck.

  “I’m not mother,” he said as she walked around him.

  “You’ve been letting that thing between your legs think for you. It makes you forget who feeds you and clothes you. You’re just like your father. You don’t care about me. You just want some little girl play thing,” she said as she struck at his crotch. David drew a deep breath. Despite the pain, he held back his defense.

  “I need you, mother.” David said, his voice trembling.

  “Go get the rod,” she said emotionless. David turned from his mother. She watched him as he stepped through the threshold. The hallway was much cooler than David’s room but he was still beginning to sweat. David’s hands began to burn. Crosses and pictures of Jesus mocked him.

  One lone color portrait ended the shrine to the Son of God. The picture was of a seven year old David, one buck tooth and another missing. The second grade 8x10 depicted David when he was happy. He remembered his mother holding him while she read bible stories to him. The photo reminded him of how her warmth blanketed him. He knew his mother loved him.

  David turned the corner into the kitchen. The light cast a bluish haze across the room. The rod sat in a drawer dedicated to its power. He closed his eyes as he grasped the handle. Pulling back, he heard the grind of the tracks sliding. The rod revealed itself with an augural glow. The sharp edge rested cheerful on the yellow and white drawer bed. He picked up the whetstone situated beside it. He pulled the edge back and forth along stone. He ran his finger horizontal to the edge, making sure it was sharp. He swiped the blade a few more times then placed the stone back in the drawer. Through the reflection of the rod’s perfect chrome, he could see his mother watching him.

  David walked into his room not even looking at his mother out of the corner of his eye. He laid the rod gently on the floor next to the worko
ut bench. David turned to his mother wanting to plead for her to have pity on him but held his tongue. Her expression told David that it was useless. He just stood waiting for the order.

  Mrs. Shelton looked directly into David’s eyes. They had been the same height since he was fifteen. He could have easily taken her but he never felt the urge to jump. She knew that when she told him to lay down that he would. She thought it was because he knew he had sinned but it was not that at all. She had broken his will to fight back.

  She took one small step back, “Lay down.”

  David turned. He laid down, his chest pressed against the imitation leather padding. He was never scared but his breathing quickened out of habit. Mrs. Shelton turned to the dresser that was behind the open door. She took the golden handle and opened it slowly reveling a small black box. She unclipped the latches revealing steel handcuffs. David heard the jingle of the metal as she let one of the wrist locks fall from between her figures.

  David began to sweat as he heard the steps come closer to him. A small pool began to form where David’s chin pressed into the black padding. The bottom of her dress came into view. He closed his eyes when the cold metal touched his wrist. Mrs. Shelton slowly closed one of the cuffs, the lock clicking, and then the other. He was sure she did this for effect. Pressing the cold steel tight on his wrists, she hummed softly. She stood and left the room.

  David was confused. She had never done this before. She had always delivered the rod before she left. What is she doing? The first note of the fifth symphony began to play.

  David laid on the bench for an hour before he fell asleep. He drifted quietly without even noticing. Dreaming, he could see himself sitting in the classroom with Carissa working on the lesson he taught hours before. He could feel the emotion between them, but something was different. She was not smiling. She looked bored in his dream. He was sure the way he was feeling was not mutual and that he had mistaken her kindness for something else. Carissa blankly stared.

  A sharp sting then pain brought David back. He felt the blade slide easily down his back. His skin opened wide. He felt a warm stream down his left side. The blade lost contact with his creamy flesh and touched again. The pain streaked up his back as the rod cut through the next portion of flesh.

  It was over as quick as it began. David had slept through most of the first lashing. He had only experienced the full force of the second. This time was not that bad, then he felt the splash on his back, then the burn.

  The smell of alcohol filled the room and stung David’s nostrils as he began to cry out. “Did you think you would get off that easy? Falling asleep. You know you have to be punished for your sins. The Father will not have his child fall for the trappings of Satan and his unholy deeds,” screamed Mrs. Shelton then she walked out of the room. David’s tears mixed with the pool of blood and sweat already puddle on the bench.

  Three hours later Mrs. Shelton unlocked the handcuffs. She lovingly caressed his hair. “Now, go bandage yourself. I left you a plate of food on the table. You can eat, and then do your homework,” Shelton said.

  The room was lit by one desk lamp and the florescent stars that shown dimly on the dark room. Lea lay sleeping in her twin bed, her blanket tucked tightly under her neck. Carissa sat writing the paper that was assigned earlier that day. She thumbed through her text book every once in a while to find supporting passages for her main points.

  Carissa heard Randy’s door close. Usually the sound would have meant something else, but tonight her thoughts where beyond her father and his misunderstandings (as she liked to call them). She was thinking about David. His name ran through her mind, more like dancing than running, a flow none the less. She could see the look in his eyes as he softened, but still she had no idea why he was so intriguing. Since Randy began his voyage to discover his daughter, she had locked any real feelings away. If she felt then she had to deal, and that was something she never wanted to do.

  Carissa knew the draw could not be mere infatuation because if it was, she would be directed to Rob. After all, Rob had been her friend for years. He fought for her. He cared. He was a good guy and now she knew he liked her. But, that did not seem to matter. David and Carissa had not even talked about anything but math and his mother and the fact he did not want to talk to her but she was here…thinking about him. What the fuck is going on? Maybe it was curiosity. That’s it. Just curiosity. She wanted to know more about this mysterious boy that walked into her life just this very day. But still, she knew there was more than mere interest or concern brewing. She had no idea what but something was there. It was almost hurting her but she was smiling. She was being pulled to him, anxious to understand. She did not know if the risk was worth the effort but she did not care, either. She needed to take her chance.

  Carissa went back to her paper. She could already see the red F Mrs. Shelton was going to give her. Carissa was pretty sure she committed lesser sin in class, but the next would be cardinal. Then her concentration broke from the sound of steps in the hall. The pace seemed slower than usual but stopped at the door of her room. Carissa hoped it would not be tonight. Please let me have tonight.

  Randy stood at Carissa’s door thinking about Jen. He wanted to touch her, to taste her, to smell her, to love Jen again. Jen was gone forever but she left Carissa to take her place. Carissa looked so much like her that Jen must have touched her from heaven, just for Randy.

  He could smell Jen just beyond the wooden door. He only had to open it to see her. Thinking about what he would do once inside aroused him. He would feel Jen’s skin, run his figures through her hair, kiss her mouth, and feel himself inside her. He reached for the door handle and began to turn it slowly. Jen’s smell was already growing stronger.

  “Randy, are coming to bed?” Casey yelled seductively.

  Randy was brought back by the voice beyond his bedroom door. “What am I doing?” he whispered. He let go of the door handle, “Coming Casey,” Randy said as he walked away from where he knew he could be happy, satisfied.

  He opened the door and Casey was lying naked on the bed, her finger rubbing her pink flesh. Randy could see her juices shining in the intruding light. He smiled as he closed the door. He slowly slipped off his pants and crawled onto Casey.

  Carissa was relieved to hear the pounding of the bed as it beat gentle against the their bedroom wall.

  7

  The day broke through the curtains shining a warm beam of light directly onto Carissa’s face. She opened her eyes with noticeable ease. Carissa, surprised by her energy, did not think about the doorknob’s turn or her father giving into Casey’s uncharacteristic offering. Usually on such mornings, Carissa felt relief but her dreams had still haunted her. Carissa’s night would be filled with sleepless anticipation and when she would dose, her dreams were traced with nocturnal images of her and her thrusting father, face to face. The images would bring her too, then she would wait. Sometimes, not for very long.

  Today was different. David was different. He was waiting on the bus, hopefully. Though he probably had not even left his house, she thought of him watching, patiently, in the third, maybe fourth, seat for her eyes to shine solemn over the green vinyl wall in front of the first. The image of David’s stoic face, maybe smiling, urged her up and about.

  Carissa threw her comforter wide, in a way that only a girl with a secret crush could master the technique. The smile on her face was more radiant than the sun that had awakened her just moments before and was starting to ache. Somehow the colors of her room seemed…brighter. The insistent sadness clouding her mornings had subsided if only for a brief daybreak run. In turn, Carissa knew the real world milled beyond her bedroom door. Could the mood be shattered by Casey’s sharp tongue? Maybe. Could this all be a dream? Possibly. Was the nameless swelling in her chest real? She could not answer that question just yet. She had never experienced a “crush” so judging its validity was not yet an option nor was it a notion she was willing to consider.

  Cariss
a’s feet hit the floor softly. She maneuvered around Lea’s toys cluttering the floor and ended up at her closet. As she opened the door, she found herself asking for the first time, “What the fuck am I going to wear?”

  “I heard that,” Lea squeaked from her bed.

  The alarm clock chimed its unwelcome reveille waking David from a shallow, dissatisfying sleep. Most of the night, David turned and contorted to find a comfortable position that would not reopen the fresh rod marks. Even though he probably needed a day after the lashings, it was not an option. David’s sleep deprivation did not matter. David wounds did not matter. David’s state did not matter. School mattered. In pain or illness, in weak or well, David would stack his books, take his notes, and run his laps. Mrs. Shelton would not allow for sick days because God did not allow for them. David had had pneumonia when he was fourteen. The doctor had told his mother to keep him on bed rest for the week and provided him antibiotics which the doctor had said would take care of the illness. Mrs. Shelton refused the bed rest, sent David to school, and prayed for David’s recovery. She instructed David to do the same, which he did. David took the antibiotics, went to school, and prayed every night. Day by day, his chest barreled more with his lips changing to a deep blue. By that Saturday, he was coughing blood and admitted to the hospital. When he was released five days later, he was punished for not praying as he should. The only answer, in Mrs. Shelton’s mind, being God required punishment for David’s hindered faith because she had made sure every pill was taken and every prayer was prayed. As always, Mrs. Shelton felt God’s hand on hers as the blade slid down his back.