Terry Persun's Magical Realism Collection

by Persun, Terry

  “You’d be killing me.”

  “You’re wrong. I’d be saving you. Probably from yourself. You just don’t know it.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I still don’t get you. Why Brittany?”

  “I love her.”

  “I saw what you carved in the tree, but that doesn’t mean love. Neither does wanting.” Jeffrey walked around Lewis like a cat circling prey. “And what makes you think she’ll want you?”

  Lewis’ newly acquired, more aggressive personality pulled back, but the animal inside him remained strong. “Everything,” he said calmly.

  “You’ll never keep her.”

  Lewis pushed past Jeffrey. “Gotta go.” He ran down the steps and grabbed a coat from the hall closet. He picked up the car keys Mr. Marshal left on a stand in the foyer.

  His mother appeared in the doorway to the living room.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “You have fun tonight, Lew.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He felt favored.

  “Be home by twelve,” his father yelled from inside the living room.

  “I will.” He looked at his mother’s face. For the first time, he saw her, not as his mother, but as a woman. He noticed creases around her eyes and lips that he hadn’t before. Her eyes were gray like his and Jeffrey’s. Her hair was darker than theirs, speckled with gray. She smiled warmly. He should try portraits, he thought, try to capture his mother’s face before it aged any more. He shook the keys in a loose fist. “Gotta go,” he said.

  “Have fun.”

  “I will. Thanks again.” He walked onto the front porch and pulled the door shut behind him. He let the screen door slam. It was cold, and he pulled his collar snug around his neck and cheeks. The quiet night air was clear and hollow. The porch-boards snapped and creaked under his weight. The moon was not visible, but its light brightened a spot over some trees lighting a patch of leaves and exposed branches. Lewis looked back over his shoulder, wished now that he didn’t have to go. But a lump welled up and lodged itself in his chest. Brittany’s face appeared. He should paint her, he thought, echoing the feelings he had had towards his mother. He could already see the various colors of Brittany’s skin, her cheek, its shape and highlights. In a dim light, she would glow with beauty. He tensed his muscles and forced himself to run down the few steps and get into the car. This was it, there was no turning back.

  With the window cracked open at the top, the smell of the country circled inside the car. The headlights lighted the road and sometimes patches of woods, when he turned into a curve, where small animals jumped away or sat and stared, their eyes glowing magically, reflecting the headlights. The road twisted intermittently amid woods and fields, over a set of unused train tracks, then further on and out of my reach.

  Regardless of what I wished for or what I’ve said, I was not a part of him, not a physical part which could travel with him like a mouse in his pocket. I could only reach as far as common thought allowed, and although there is common thought everywhere, it fades with distance just as a voice fades, or the sound of a train departing the station. What little perceptions common thought can pass from one boundary to another is often not reliable. I prefer as direct a contact as possible. A relayed message might as well be no message at all. I would wait until he returned and probe his memory.

  Apparently, Brittany was ready when he arrived, a relief to Lewis who didn’t want to sit uncomfortably in front of questioning parents. Although, when he saw her rushing from the house almost as soon as he pulled up out front, it also crossed his mind that perhaps she didn’t want her parents to meet him.

  “Hi,” she said, the passenger car door half open, her face peering in at him. “You look nice.”

  “You look even better, but I’m sure everyone tells you.”

  Brittany sat down and closed the door. Her long hair was partially pushed into her coat in the back. Her legs looked thin through the black slacks she wore. “You haven’t told me.” She settled herself, “But now you have. Thank you.” She seemed excited, glad to be with him.

  “We’re off then.” He pulled from the curb into the street. “Thank you for going out tonight. You didn’t have to agree to it. That was nice of you.”

  “Don’t be dumb, Lewis. I wanted to. You’ve always been nice to me. We should have gone out long before this.”

  Lewis felt slightly uncomfortable hearing her praise. He twisted in his seat to try to get comfortable, but the discomfort came from inside not out.

  Brittany zipped her jacket open and exposed a mint green blouse with fake, plastic antique buttons. She reached over and turned off the heater fan. “It’s hot. Do you mind?”

  “No.” Lewis shrugged. “Not at all.”

  “Good.” She sat back, settled in more comfortably, and crossed her thin legs. She leaned into the center of the bucket seats, resting her elbow on the armrest between them. “So, what are we up to?”

  “The usual, I guess. Dinner. A movie. You’re probably used to the routine.”

  “Like I’m used to people complimenting me?”

  Lewis noticed an edge in her voice. “I suppose,” he said, not knowing what else to say.

  “Let’s take this date like there’s only two of us. Me and you. No others, just two friends.”

  Friends, Lewis thought. “All right. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “Stop.” She put out her hand. “You’re too nervous about this. It’s not like we’ve ignored each other through the years. Like we’re complete strangers. Ease up.”

  “This, well, it’s different though. Not the same.”

  “I know what different means. What you mean, though, is that it’s a date, not a friendly visit. What I mean is it’s only a date. We’re not going to get serious in one night. We’re friends, Lew,” she pleaded then slapped his arm, leaned in and smiled, then touched his cheek with her finger and whispered, “Don’t be so worried. I’ll tell you when you’ve done something wrong. And I’m sure you won’t.”

  What? Wrong? What’d she mean?

  “So, how’s school?” she said.

  “Ah, fine.”

  “Still winning art awards, I hear. Mr. Whitestone wants you to try for a scholarship, but he’s afraid your record in other classes will hold you back.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Heard him talking in the hall. I forget who with.”

  “I’ve tried to study and keep my grades up. They’re not that bad.”

  “No, but you’ve got to admit your grades aren’t anywhere near Jeff’s.”

  Lewis felt hurt that Brittany would even know Jeffrey’s academic record. But why not? Everyone knew Jeffrey. He was popular and smart. “He has different work habits.”

  “You mean he studies,” she smiled playfully. “That’s okay.”

  Lewis pulled into the parking lot at Winnaby’s. “Jeffrey has everything.” He parked in an open space near the back of the lot.

  “What, because he studies harder? Well, he doesn’t have a date with me.”

  “I’m surprised. He’s more popular. And Larry...”

  “Larry’s nice. I don’t like the way Jeffrey treats you. Never did. I think he’s mean.”

  “Really?” Lewis left the dash light on and turned the engine off. Brittany’s hair sparkled. Her face glowed. A warmth came from her eyes and smile. Lewis stared at her, ran the shape of her cheekbone and jaw, her forehead, eye sockets, nose, through his mind. He drew her, sketched in the light from the dash, the outside lamplight at the edge of the lot.

  Brittany swallowed and averted her eyes. Lewis was staring. She put her hand on his arm, where she’d playfully slapped him earlier. “That’s why I wouldn’t go out with Jeffrey and agreed to go with you. You’re kind.”

  “He asked you?”

  “Yes, two weeks ago, the first time.”

  “The first time?” Lewis was beaming. He’d actually managed to outdo his brother. This grounded his conviction that Brittany and he were me
ant for each other. He felt blessed and thanked whichever supernatural being may be responsible. No wonder Jeffrey had made such a fuss, following him from room to room, trying to dissuade him from dating Brittany. It was jealousy. And defeat.

  “Yes, he asked again last week. I hope this doesn’t make it worse for you.”

  “Not at all. I feel privileged.”

  “Privileged?” She leaned her head back and laughed loudly. “I’m not a privilege, I’m a problem.”

  That disturbed Lewis. A problem is just what Jeffrey had called her. Why? Was she only playing with him, and this was his cue? Was she already planning to break his heart, even before the relationship progressed? His image of her, the one sketched in his mind, took on new angles of light, converting her to a darker, more menacing, vampire-like person. Lewis shook his head and got out of the car.

  Brittany leaned over and turned off the dash light, while he circled the car to open her door. She let him take her hand and they walked into the restaurant together. While waiting to order, they hardly spoke, even after ordering they remained silent. When their salads came, rather than avoid one another’s eyes by looking at menus or rearranging the table utensils, Brittany asked, “Why so quiet, Lew? I was waiting for you to say something. Mother tells me not to talk so much, not to try to control the conversation. When you quieted, I thought something was wrong, that I talked too much, so I waited, but I can’t wait any longer.”

  “You said you were a problem.”

  “I didn’t mean anything by it. Actually, I’m more a problem to me. I never seem happy with anyone.”

  “Does it bother you?”

  “Sometimes. Everyone’s so, well, worried about scoring me, like I’m a game card, a sport. I hate it. That’s why the other day I asked if they dared you. I thought, now there’s something Jeff might do just to get at us both. You because he’s always mean to you, and me because I wouldn’t go out with him. But that wasn’t it. You asked on your own, and I’ve gotta tell you, I’m glad.”

  “I’ve wanted to ask for years. You never really seemed interested.”

  “I was,” Brittany winked while lifting her fork to her mouth. Lewis took the cue and they both ate in relative silence until their salads were almost gone. Eventually, the conversation progressed. Lewis became more comfortable and Brittany even more talkative. There’s no need to go through it all. What’s important is that, to Lewis, Brittany became more human and less fantasy. He saw insecurities which he had never attributed to her. Most notably was a lack of confidence in her own personality, that it could be liked by boys, rather than just something they had to accept to get at her body.

  Yet, it wasn’t really her body, Lewis thought. It was more her face and hair. Brittany was just a skinny girl. Her legs were tooth picks under her pants, her breasts small, but noticeable, there wasn’t much of a butt to speak of. But her face was beautiful, her eyes had that perfect gleam, the first eyes you noticed when you came into a room, beacons. And it was the way she carried herself. Regardless of how she felt, she displayed all the outward appearances of being confident, the walk, the sway of hips, movement of the hands and head. She was what every boy or man wanted.

  Lewis continued to listen to her, even though he often didn’t hear what she was saying. She jabbered. Most of the talking that night came from Brittany. Lewis kept his eyes on her almost continuously, drilling her features into his mind, noticing her movements, the sound of her voice. He listened intermittently and still knew where in the conversation she was. He still followed her thoughts easily.

  Brittany loved to talk. Her hand was always reaching for his, just to touch it. Her head cocked teasingly, letting her eyes sparkle. She bent to look straight into his face for emphasis whenever she said something that she thought was funny. Brittany’s arms were always moving with signs of interest, excitement and mystery. As she moved and talked, Lewis soaked it all in. He already, after one date, felt himself to be part of her life, and felt that she would be part of his.

  Upon his return to the house that evening, there was a strong sense of accomplishment, yet with a trace of sorrow. Something about her made him sad, but he refused to accept it. Instead, he focused on the color and shape of her, and the sound of her voice. It was not her that he loved as much as what he pictured her to be. Image and sound. Color and shape. Yet, Lewis shrugged it all off and called what he was feeling love.

  I’m being too critical here, I’m sorry. I must say that he did love her, in his way, and even after that first date, she must have, somehow, loved him also, whether for his listening ability, his appearance, or because of what I’ve always believed to be essential in their relationship, the presence of the raccoon inside him, the mystery of common thought, animalistic understanding, plant understanding, and don’t let me forget, his complex understanding of beauty, shape, and color, which was his own gift.

  I must also apologize for my theories being dispensed throughout this, but, admittedly, much of this story is my perception and not necessarily what actually happened. As much is true as I can make it. Forgive me the rest. I’ll try to relay the story more directly and be less intrusive. Nonetheless, I believe that Brittany was attracted to Lewis because of that intangible part of him she wasn’t quite conscious of. And, sadly enough, it was Lewis’ closeness to common thought that helped to develop a distance between him and Brittany.

  CHAPTER 6

  NEAR THE END OF THE SCHOOL YEAR, Lewis became more talkative, more proud. He and Brittany had become an item, regardless of that underlying sadness about her that Lewis carried with him everywhere. Mrs. Marshal adored Brittany, not only for her talkative and likable nature, but for what Brittany’s personality appeared to draw out of Lewis. Then there was Jeffrey, who eventually accepted defeat by being jokingly lighthearted about the apparent mismatch.

  One day, Lewis came running down the stairs. “Mom?” he said.

  “Yes, honey. I’m in the kitchen.”

  “Is it all right if I take one of the cars and run over to Brit’s?”

  “I think so. I don’t plan on going out today. I think Jeff left with Larry already.”

  “He did?” Lewis grabbed an apple from a bowl on the table and bit into it. “Thanks,” he mumbled. “We’re gonna talk about college.”

  “I thought you decided on the Philadelphia College of Art?”

  “I did. But Brit’s not sure what she’s doing yet.”

  His mother leaned backwards against the counter next to the sink. She had been cleaning vegetables for a salad, and green, orange, and red debris lay around her. Her hands were wet. Lewis liked the soft, domestic picture created by the aliveness of the color against the soft hues of his mother’s dress and apron. “Do you need help cleaning up?”

  She smiled broadly, “No, go on. I’ve got more to do first.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned back to the sink filled with color and plunged her hands back into work, as a splatter of moving colors roared through Lewis’ head.

  During the drive to Brittany’s, Lewis stopped by the creek bridge not far from his house. The creek’s feeder streams came in from all angles and from all directions, one such feeder being the brook from the enchanted forest. Lewis pulled over and parked next to the road after crossing the short bridge. He got out. I could see into his eyes as well as through them. They were strange, almost transparent. He saw the weeds near the road as pins with large heads, like the ones used to pin new shirt sleeves to the shirt itself. The hills bending towards the creek became cement embankments. The creek itself was a wash of smeared color; rocks became arrows pointing upwards from the smear. There was no sound entering his ears but a constant ringing. The abstract lingered in Lewis’ mind and he became afraid, or anxious, something welled up in him that I did not understand. What he saw was distortion of color and shape. Then, the weeds moved like waving fingers sticking up from the ground. The creek muddied, then lifted up on short legs and splashed in the pure white residue of itself.
The muddy smear continued to flow quickly even though the feet moved slowly.

  Lewis buckled at the knees and lowered his head into his hands. Through my lead, common thought tried to stabilize his feelings. There was little that could be done, so I tried immersing myself in his image, his mind, and found only confusion, distance. I pulled back quickly and noticed him jump involuntarily. Somehow he felt my quick departure. How? He stood back up and opened his eyes. The scene had slid back into normalcy. Light from overhead sparkled silver on the water and tall weeds near the road bent to touch his hand. His mind cleared. He was a realist artist, the abstract was foreign ground, horrible and frightening.

  Lewis rushed back to the car and pulled his sketch pad from the back seat where he had thrown it earlier. He roughed out what he had seen, but something was missing. In the rough sketch there was a calmness, the calm of common thought, a richness to the odd images which did not belong to them, the edge was gone, the tension relieved. He tore that page from the pad and threw it out the window towards the running creek water. He dropped the pad onto the seat beside him and got back onto the road. Brittany would be waiting.

  As soon as he pulled up, Brittany appeared at the door and ran out to the car. She always seemed to be waiting for him to arrive, and he was always surprised by her apparent, overwhelming interest in him. She opened the door and popped her head in. The same face, the same smile surrounded by blonde hair that he had seen over and over, came into focus once again. “Hi, cutie.” She picked up his sketch pad and sat down. They kissed quickly. “You do another one of me?” Brittany asked opening the pad.

  “No, sorry.”

  “But you were doing something.” She paged through the front of the sketch pad, the beginning pages, and when she got to one she folded it back and held it up. “I like this one.” It was a rough sketch of her that he’d done at school during lunch.

  “Don’t smear it.”

  “You worrier. I’ll be careful.” She flipped through more pages and stopped at a sketch of the field.