by Avery Kirk
Constant Pull
For Jen Jen
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN: 978-1-4935983-4-2
Copyright © (2013) Avery Kirk
All rights reserved
Cover design: Avery Kirk
Photography: Boogich | istockphoto.com
Printed in the United States of America by CreateSpace
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Contents
Chapter 1: Harry
Chapter 2: Nearly Fired
Chapter 3: Dreams and Dinner
Chapter 4: Dave
Chapter 5: Escape
Chapter 6: Consultation
Chapter 7: Unexpected
Chapter 8: Unglued
Chapter 9: Disapproving Support
Chapter 10: A Change in Plans
Chapter 11: Two Signs
Chapter 12: Loose Ends
Chapter 13: California
Chapter 14: After
Chapter 15: Lightness
Chapter 1: Harry
‘Tell me everything’, it said on a piece of paper he handed to me.
A round-faced young woman walked into the room. She asked him how his day was going and made a little bit of small talk. She was a very pretty girl with deep dimples that showed even when she said P’s and M’s. The room where we sat was an overdone nautical theme. Many framed pictures sat on a laminate oak chest against the wall as well as a couple of greeting cards. The walls were a wizard blue.
I hesitated, looking her up and down as she very cheerfully asked how they were doing today. I eyeballed the man. He seemed harmless enough. He looked at me through his thick glasses, a kind-eyed man with a three-day stubble on his face, entirely gray. I sat across from him in a pilled burgundy fabric chair.
I gave myself a moment to decide where to start-or even if I should. The room smelled Pine Sol clean with a rubbing alcohol edge to it. Out the window there was a courtyard where a few people sat, trying to enjoy the sunny day. We had such strange weather here that you had to take advantage of all the sunny days you could. Yet, here I was in this room.
I shot a quick glance to the man next to him and then looked down at my rough, calloused hands. There was still a little bit of pale pink nail polish on them left over from a few weeks ago. The man coughed or maybe he laughed, I wasn’t sure. He handed me another piece of paper.
It read ‘Maybe you should tell me your name first? I’m Harry.’
I smiled and looked up at him. He was smiling back with his chin slightly tilted up so he could see me square in his now-falling-down glasses. He gave them a quick shove with his finger to get them back where they belonged in the grooves on his nose. I decided to speak finally.
“I’m Rita.” I looked down quickly. I wasn’t Rita. I didn’t even like that name. “It’s short for Margarita.” I said, still looking down.
Oh God. Shut up. I wasn’t Rita. My name is Amelia-but most people call me Mel. Well, except my mother-but, she died. I didn’t say any of that part out loud. I just left him with the Rita lie. There I was lying to this nice old man who was curious about me for no good reason. Well, maybe out of boredom. The dimpled girl laughed gently, stopping short. She glanced at me again and left the room.
I looked back up at him and he had his head tilted with an unusual smile. He seemed to not be too sure about my answer or maybe he liked my fake name. I doubted he’d take the time to explain the detail behind his expression in writing.
He handed me more paper. It read ‘I think you need to talk and I’m fine listening. But, until you’re ready, can I ask a question?’ His writing was all in capitals with a bit of a slant to the right-very easy to read.
“Sure.” I responded. The word came out odd sounding-deeper than I usually sounded to myself. I sat leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, fingers interlaced. I swallowed hard and looked out the window again while he wrote. A little girl in a fluffy tutu with dark curly hair was spinning in circles until she fell on to the grass. I listened to the sound of his mechanical pencil across the paper. He stopped writing, and looked hard at the paper. Then he erased and wrote again. He handed me the paper.
It read: ‘What do you do for a living?’ I could faintly make out the words “why” and “here” among others that had been erased. I realized that he might have previously written Why do you come here? If he had, he must have thought it would be rude to ask. I ignored the erased question.
“I’m a finish carpenter, actually.” I said, sitting up. Finally, something I could easily talk about. He pointed to my hands and smiled and winked.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I laughed a little. He put his pencil down and folded his hands across his belly, smiling. It wasn’t that obvious. I could’ve been a gymnast or something. Their hands would have been callused. Although, odds were against me; there aren’t many professional gymnasts. I couldn’t think of a single one who came from Michigan. But, I don’t follow the sport. I let my mind wander for a minute thinking about gymnastics and the strength it would require. I was silent for a few minutes as I mentally clapped chalk off my hands after an excellent dismount.
I sat silently long enough that Harry held up paper that read ‘How?’ and waited for me to look over.
“Oh, you mean, how did I learn-to-to be a finish carpenter?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Well, my Grampa always had projects going on in the garage. Model boats, dune buggies, that kind of thing. He was working on this entertainment center as a gift for my Gramma. Up until then, their television was on a little round table in the corner of the room. It was the kind with the wood grain sides with antennas on the outside. ” I paused as I remembered the yellowed tablecloth with the embroidered flowers under the TV set.
“He was surprising her with it. I had been arguing with my mother that day because I was a teenager and that’s what I did.” I felt a mild wave of shame roll over me. “So, when we would fight, I would ride my bike over to my Grandparents’ house. I’d make up random reasons to stop over. Most of the time I’d bring them things to give to them and tell them we didn’t like them. Like a new kind of cereal or an extra box of cake mix that I’d say we didn’t need. They always thanked me and never asked. I just liked going there because it was always so mellow, you know? Just a lot of tinkering going on. Maybe a trip to the grocery store here and there. Just general contentment. It was great.
“Well, anyway, he was working on this entertainment center and his friend Murray would stop over. He’s a carpenter. He helped my Grampa build it because it was a big job. I was interested. I liked watching it come together. I started to come over daily and watch them work on it. I got to know Murray and he showed me how to make the top cornice and get the miters right. He didn’t like doing that part of it. He said he preferred what he called ‘big work’. Framing walls, building stuff-big stuff. He and my Grampa were impressed with the job I did-especially when I made them redo a m
iter because it didn’t match perfectly.” I laughed at the memory. “So, I asked if I could stain it, you know-by myself. I couldn’t believe my Grampa said yes, but he did. I was overcome by the detail-but, in a good way-which surprised me. I loved the repetitive nature of the work and the exactness and patience it required to do it well. It relaxed me.
“So, anyway, it came out great after I stained it and gave it a coat of poly. I wasn’t big on hobbies so Murray started talking with me about doing work with him for money. You know, coming with him on jobs and stuff. Said he dreaded the details-always has. I’ve been following him around for the last four years now. I like the work, but I keep wondering if I should’ve gone to college. You know, just something to fall back on.”
I felt myself getting a little too far off track. I was stalling. I looked up at Harry and he had a patient look and locked his gaze on me, like he was expecting me to go on without him asking me to.
“I guess I just wanted to talk about my crazy dreams-you know, out loud.” I finally said. “I’ve never been the type to remember dreams. Or, even remember having them. It’s been bizarre….for me.” I looked up at him. He moved his eyebrows together with a sort of concerned interest on his face. He picked up his right hand moved it toward him to encourage me to tell him more.
“I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you want to know or why I’m even telling you.” He gave a wispy laugh. He picked up his paper and pencil again. The paper said ‘Not much going on today. I’m happy to listen if you would like me to. OK with me if you choose not to.’
“Well, OK then. I will tell you.” I said with a half-smile. I felt a little lighter. “Like I was saying, I never dream. Well, maybe I do, but I never remember it. But, lately I’ve had these very vivid dreams. And I feel like I have time to review every single detail
“For the record, I am not a huge fan of dogs. I got bit when I was a kid. It was the neighbor’s dog. He had already bit two other kids but I guess I was the last straw because they put him to sleep afterwards. I was just standing there talking to my friend and he came up and bit me on the back of the leg. I didn’t even cry until I saw my mom. By then, blood was dripping down my leg and when I saw her I just cried.
“But, my dream had this dog that kept following me around. He was a shaggy tan colored dog and he was dirty. I kept trying to get him to come over to me which felt strange because I don’t really like dogs so I don’t know why I was so interested in him. I found some tacos on a park bench and he came over to me and ate the tacos. He ate them like he hadn’t had anything to eat in a week. After he finished, I was able to pet him but he was so dirty. I asked him if I could give him a bath and he nodded. The dog nodded-like a person would. I felt around his neck and found a tag. It was pointy and jagged and oblong and I couldn’t read what it said. Then, the metal cut my finger. The dog licked my cut and when I looked at him again, he was completely clean. We were in a different place and he had a leash on him that I was holding. Then, I woke up.
“So that one isn’t that weird. But then about a week later I had another dream. The same dog. He was clean now and a golden color. But he was larger and this time he stayed by me without a leash. Hills appeared in the distance and there was a person waving to me. Telling me to come nearer, I think. But, I couldn’t make out who it was. In my mind I knew this person. I tried to wave back but my arms were slow. I realized that I was smiling. Palm trees appeared everywhere. I felt like there was someone behind me. The dog must have thought the same thing because he started barking like crazy. I looked behind me and all around but I couldn’t see anyone. I just had a creepy feeling like someone was there. Then, the dog bit me and I think that’s when I woke up.
“I thought maybe the person waving was my mother. She died-in real life I mean. A few years ago. I lost both my parents in a boating accident.” I was looking out the window now and a feeling of nausea washed over me-probably because I lied. It was actually a car accident.
“I don’t know if it was my mother but from a distance it looked like the kind of dresses she used to wear. It might have been. Not that it would matter.”
I looked over at Harry, he was nodding slowly with a patient expression on his face. He rested one hand over the other and rubbed his top thumb on his lower hand. His hands were dark and looked dry. The many lines in them were deep and interesting to look at. I gave him a minute to see if he was going to go for the paper again, but he didn’t.
“So, then there was the last dream,” I continued. Suddenly I was feeling silly for burdening this poor man with my stupid dreams. I felt my brain starting to leap as if I was going to elaborate to make my story seem more exciting for him. I suppressed that urge and stuck with the real dream. Harry didn’t seem like a man to need drama. I found myself shaking my head slightly as I stared out the window, watching a visiting child in overalls chase a butterfly in the courtyard. “The last dream was a little…. darker.” Harry raised his eyebrows, waiting.
I continued. “It started with a storm. I was looking for something but I didn’t know what. The dog wasn’t in this dream. Maybe that’s what I was looking for…I don’t know. But, it seemed that I was very worried about whatever I couldn’t find. I went from house to house and I was soaking wet. I saw a person in the distance but I couldn’t catch up with her. Or him. Whichever. I couldn’t tell. So, I kept going door to door but no one was answering. I was getting afraid and something felt like it was coming after me. So, I flew. I was able to actually fly in the air. Then I knew I was dreaming. I kept falling but I would remember that the bad feeling was on the ground so I would make myself rise into the air again. When I was flying, the storm was gone and the sky was purple. I flew over all the houses and saw Kevin on the ground waiting for me. I felt relieved like he would help me find what I was looking for and then I woke up all sweaty.”
Harry started writing. “Who is Kevin?” the paper read.
“Oh, Kevin is my very good friend. He’s actually my closest friend, but not my boyfriend. Most people assume he is.”
Harry nodded a little bigger and slower than usual. Next he wrote “Do you want to tell me about your parents?” Desperate not to want to make up a boating accident, I decided to take a different route.
“Well, it’s funny, actually. That’s actually how I met Kevin. I don’t mean ‘ha ha’ funny, but weird funny. Kevin is a volunteer firefighter. He was on the scene at my parents’ accident.” I quizzed myself as to whether or not volunteer firefighters helped in boating accidents like they do in car accidents and then I decided that it was unimportant. I was quiet for a moment. I didn’t look up.
“Kevin was there when I got there. He’s a little older than me. Couple years.” I said, with a one shoulder shrug.
I paused, remembering the first time I met him. I hadn’t paid much attention to him, but I remembered his hands. I was home alone. It was a few years ago so I was just about 21. My Grandparents were on vacation. On a cruise. And I,- “when I learned that my parents weren’t-well, when I realized how bad the accident was. I-Kevin was there and grabbed my arm when I fell down. I fell. Like on the ground, I mean.” I had started speaking out loud again without realizing.
“I was, well I mean his hands were very warm and perfectly dry. It was humid out so that was odd and-noticeable. His hands felt safe. He offered to drive me home but I wanted to walk. I couldn’t get the image out of my head of my mother’s fancy high heel shoe smashed without her in it. I remembered her deciding which shoes to wear that night. She loved to dress up. I always told her she was nuts for it but on her it was super cute, really. That night she wore a little white sleeveless sundress and white heels with navy blue trim. She grabbed her sunny orange purse because she said it was a nice and unexpected accent color. I mean, seriously who has an orange purse? I never change my purse. She always bought me different ones, but it’s just too fussy for me. I don’t care if my shoes match each other so I’m sure you can imagine that I really don’t ca
re about actually trying to coordinate them with other things. My mom said I was more focused on function like my Dad.”
I chanced a look at Harry to see if he was still interested or if I’d put the old guy to sleep. He had a kind smile on his face and was rubbing his thumb on his hand still.
“So, Kevin brought my car back to me later on. I had just left it there with the keys and all my stuff in it. He came with one of the officers and brought it to me. I was home, but I didn’t answer the door. I didn’t even look to see who was there. Anyway, he left me a note and put the keys in the mailbox.” I thought for a moment how I had hid in the corner next to the sofa and cried for hours. I managed to tear off the sofa skirt completely by the time my Grampa and Gramma used their key to come in to the house and get me. I kept talking, trying to interrupt my memory of it.
“So, couple months later, I was working on a job-one of my first jobs, actually.” Now my hand movements were getting bigger and I felt less awful. “Have you ever had the candy-Atomic Fireballs?” I asked him.
Harry’s eyes got wide and he nodded even bigger this time. He wrote on paper ‘my granddaughter’.
I laughed. “Spicy. Yes. Well, I love those. I was refinishing a bar top for a client. I hated the smell of poly back then because I wasn’t used to it. So I’d gotten into the habit of keeping an Atomic Fireball in my mouth. For whatever reason, I learned that I couldn’t smell the varnish quite so bad when I did that. I kept a bag of them in my truck just in case-worked great. Well, in this case it worked a little too great. One of the guys working in the house-it was a remodel-well, he nicked the gas line somehow. I had no idea. I’d gotten there before everyone. So, the other crews forgot I was there. So, they didn’t know to get me out and I didn’t smell the leak because of the fireball candy. I had headphones on and didn’t hear all the commotion. So, the cavalry came and Kevin was with them. The owners of the house had one of those stickers on the door to save their cat in case of a fire. They went through the whole house looking for the cat. There I was pouring poly on the bar with my headphones on and big Atomic Fireball bulge in my cheek. I had no idea.”
