Holding Her in Madness

by Kimber S. Dawn

  “Back of ya head’s fucked up too?” He tsks and shuffles towards the TV room before sitting in a recliner. His old hand comes up and he points back towards me without looking back. “Shower and shit’s back there, boy.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter and head through a kitchen and down a dark hall.

  After I peek into a room on the left and a room on the right, the next room on the left is the bathroom. I turn on the light and see a lamp. When I turn the lamp on, I switch the big light off and start running a bath. There is no way in hell I can keep standing. I’m two seconds from falling on my face again.

  I swallow two pain pills down with some water from the tap, deciding to hold off on the vodka...at least until I make it to my apartment. I sink into the bath, feeling my mind and body float away after a while. I let myself fall back into her. Everything I feel is my Lil, and thank fuck it doesn’t hurt.

  I’m jerked from my peacefulness by banging on the door and a gravelly voice. I’m disoriented and trying to remember where I’m at. It registers as soon as I hear, “Time to get out, prissy boy. Been in there a damn hour.”

  Shit. An hour? After I get out of the ice-cold water and dry off, I toss on a t-shirt, pull up my jeans, and shove my feet in my Doc Martins before heading towards the kitchen.

  “Made some gumbo. Put some in a Tupperware bowl for ya to take home.” He nods at the table. I glance at it and nod back.

  Sitting in a chair at the table, I take the old man in. He’s my height, except his back is bowed out. Meaning he was taller than I am before age set in. He has white hair that looks like he’s been running his hands through it. His face is weathered by the sun, tan. His arms too. He has on a light blue t-shirt, some faded blue jeans, and work boots.

  He glances over his shoulder, still working over the stove, and narrows his eyes at me again. “What? Why are you lookin’ at me?”

  “Oh, nothing.” I raise my hands in surrender and chuckle. “Just wondering.”

  “Wondering what?” he scoffs like it’s the most absurd comment he’s ever heard.

  “Just your story, old man,.That’s all.”

  He shakes his head and chuckles too. “Don’t worry about my story. It’s shit. Old shit. Need to worry ‘bout getting your own shitty story out of shit. I will tell ya this. I’ll never cook for your ass again. I ain’t ya Grands. I was just being polite when I started this gumbo, seein’ how you were driving in and I was meetin’ you for the first time.”

  His chuckle turns into a laugh while he makes a bowl, bringing it to the table, sitting down, and blowing on his first spoonful. Then he stops. “Thank God you showed up drunk as shit, throwin’ your guts up on my lawn.” He laughs again and shakes his head. “Now I can wipe that polite bullshit right off the table and flush it.” He eats his spoonful and nods but doesn’t continue.

  “Well, thanks for ah...the polite thought. But I’m good. Ramen noodles, TV dinners, McDonalds—I’m good.”

  Silence settles around us.

  The silence is almost uncomfortable before he speaks up again. Finished with his gumbo, he leans back in his seat and seems to study me for a second. Then he nods and says. “Well, don’t give a shit what you do. On the weekends. However, Monday through Friday, your ass is mine. Sunup to sundown. We build fences year round, install pools in the spring and summer, fireplaces in the fall and winter. We clean pools and fireplaces year round. You, since you’re young and strong and your bones don’t ache to shit…” He stops talking and looks over my broken face. “Well, they don’t usually hurt. You are gonna be nothing, and I mean nothing, but a workhorse. Manual labor, boy. Twelve to fourteen hours a day, five days a week.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his t-shirt pocket and lights it up. “How old are ya?”

  I cough, clearing my throat. “Eighteen.”

  “‘Kay...” He takes another drag. “You’ll be doin’ the shit work until your twenties, late twenties, unless of course I croak before that.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m not scared to work.”

  “Good.” He stamps half his cigarette out. “That’s real damn good. Come on. I’ll take ya to your place then.” He hands me my Tupperware full of gumbo and we head out the front door.

  I like my new place. A lot. Furniture is nice, kitchen’s nice, and I have a good-sized TV, a couch, and a recliner. It’s two bedrooms. I’m not sure what I’ll do with the other one, but it’s really fucking nice. I’ve been in Lake Charles for over a month. I don’t really do much. Well, besides work. I go out to Gramps after I get off every night.

  The old man is a damn liar. He cooks. Every night, he cooks, and it’s fucking good-ass food too. We eat dinner then split the twelve-pack I picked up on my way over while watching some ball on TV. After the beer is all gone, I head to my apartment, shower, go to bed, wake up, and do the same damn thing.

  This continues for several months. And I feel myself beginning to get restless. I’m fucking antsy as hell.

  After another month of being anxious, feeling like I’m itching to run…I spilt. I can’t fucking take it anymore.

  Hours later, I pull into Grands’s driveway and hop out of the car. Every mile I got closer to Lil, to home, the more I calmed down.

  By the time I drove into city limits, peace consumed me. And it was the first time I’ve felt that peacefulness—sober—since Lil. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay away from her for long. I knew I’d be tracking her ass down within an hour. I feel more fucking alive than I’ve felt it months.

  I walk into the house and Grands hops up off the couch and into my arms instantly. “There’s my sweet boy.” She places her hands on either side of my face. She has tears in her eyes when she whispers, “Took you too long, Leo. Much too long.”

  “Aww...” I hug her tight to me. “Grands, I’m sorry. Just been busy. That old man is gonna work me to death, I know it.” I laugh and look towards the living room. “Where’s everybody at?” I glance around the empty, quiet house and then look down at her, confused.

  “All ran off and left me. Knew it was gonna happen. Just didn’t know y’all’d all leave me at the same time.” She pushes out a sad laugh, wiping her eyes, and sighs, as if she’s too tired to pretend.

  “Grands, move down south with me. I gotta extra room...with a bathroom attached. It’s all yours.” I wrap my arms around the top of her shoulders and kiss her gray head. “Come on. I need you. You can make me breakfast, help me out with laundry. While I’m at work, you can watch your soap operas all day.”

  “Hell no, Leo. Nuh uh. You don’t need my old ass down there, no more than I need to leave the house I raised my kids in.” She smiles and pats my face. “Love you though for the offer. It’s mighty kind of ya, sweet boy.”

  “‘Kay, but don’t let yourself sit up here and get too lonely. Call me. I can come up here or you can come down there. There’s no reason in you being all alone and sad.” I look at her and she starts to shoo me away, “No. Grands, I’m serious. Promise me, please.”

  “Oh good gracious, fine... I promise.” She walks into the living room and turns the TV off. “You eat?” I didn’t, but it’s late and I don’t want her fussing over me.

  “Yes, ma’am.” I watch her stretch and yawn. “Go on to bed, Grands. I’ll see you in the morning.” I hug her tight before she turns, heading upstairs. I turn all the lights off on the first floor, lock the front door, and head around to my room in the back.

  “Leo! What’s up, dude?” Josh laughs and jogs towards me from next door.

  “Hey, man. Nothing. Just came in to check on Grands, check out my bike.”

  “No shit? Huh, well a buddy of mine runs a bike shop down town. We’ve been collecting parts and cleaning her up. I got her to crank and run. Haven’t tested her out on the interstate or anything, and she’s still ugly as hell, but…” He shrugs.

  “Thanks, man. You didn’t have to do that. Fuckin’ appreciate it. Really. Now I can at least get it cranked in on a trailer. That’s fuckin’ awesome.” I’m fuck
ing floored. Josh has never done anything for nothing before.

  Then he tells me why. “Yeah, well... Me and April split. Since you’re gone, I don’t have anything else to do. So I figured why the hell not.”

  “No job? College?” I flip on the shed light and I’m surprised. The bike looks a shit lot better than it did when I agreed to pay five hundred bucks for it.

  “Nah... I ain’t goin’ to college. Shit, man, I barely graduated high school. Can’t find a fuckin’ job to save my life. That’s one of the reasons April left. She found some bartender that works at the restaurant she works at. He had his own place, his own car. I don’t, so she fucked him and apparently fell in love.”

  “Damn, dude. Fuckin’ sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I’m over it.” No he’s not. Josh loved the hell out of April. He’s far from over that girl.

  “Well that’s good. She wasn’t much to begin with. Bitched all the time.” I flip the light off and head to my room.

  “Hey, don’t say that shit about April. It’s not cool.”

  I chuckle, unlocking the door. “Thought you were over it?”

  I turn on the lights and my laugh dies in my throat. My chest fuckin’ cracks wide open. Immediately I’m bum-rushed with memories of Lil. Lil asleep in my bed. Lil singing in my shower. Lil digging through my movies. My teaching Lil wrestling moves on the floor. Lil and I together.

  Everywhere.

  Lil. Just Lil. Only Lil.

  Fucking everywhere.

  I gotta go. I need to find her. NOW.

  “Josh, where’s Lil?”

  He laughs but quickly stops and confusion takes over his features. “What?”

  “Lil, where’s she at?”

  “I don’t...” He shrugs and looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “How the fuck would I know?”

  “Where’s Jason? He still talk to Allen?” I change shirts and put a baseball cap on, tucking my hair behind my ears.

  “Yeah...” His response sounds like a question and it fucking pisses me off. Instead of clocking him in the mouth, I grab my keys from my desk, head towards the door to open it, and wave Josh out.

  “Okay, so where’s Jason?” I grab my pack of cigarettes from the table by the door before I close and lock it.

  “He’s spending the night with Allen. Why?” I head to my car and hear Josh fall in step behind me.

  “Good. Call that little fucker and find out where Lil is.” I open my car door and hop in. “They still live in the same house?”

  “Yeah, but dude, you haven’t been in town for an hour. You do remember what the hell drove your ass outta town, right? What landed you in the hospital before you left?”

  “Don’t give a fuck, man. Get in the damn car in case I need your ass to call Jason and find out where she is.” Josh hurries around the hood of my car and gets in.

  I skid out onto the road and haul ass towards my firecracker. Josh and I stop at a Circle-K down the street from Lil’s house and I make him call and question Jason. He sucks at it. He’s got to be the shittest, most non-evasive motherfucker I have ever had to deal with.

  He heads to the car and slips in the front seat. “Yeah, she’s at home. In the backyard or some shit. Her little brother said she goes out there every night to write. Fucking weird bitch.”

  “Get the fuck outta my car.” I crank it and push the gas.

  “What?!?” Why does this idiot keep looking at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind?

  “You got another quarter?” My eyebrows almost meet my hairline.

  “Y-y-yeah?”

  I nod towards the door handle. “Get the fuck outta my car. Make a call. I don’t care. Do know you’re not gonna call my girl weird or a bitch. Also know your mouth is too fucking loud and you’re just gonna run it and fuck up my shit. Now... Get the fuck. Out. Of. My. Car.”

  “Are you fuckin’ kidding me, Leo?” He gets out and slams the car door. Hard. “Fuck you, man. You fuckin’ suck!”

  “I’ll be back by in a minute. Keep your damn panties from twisting, bitch. If you haven’t found a ride by the time I’m done, I’ll pick you back up. We’ll head back home and split a twelve-pack, cool?”

  “NO! It’s not cool. It sucks!”

  “Yep.” I put my car in first gear. “Does, doesn’t it?”

  I rev the engine before peeling out of the parking lot and hear Josh screaming, “Fuck you!” with both of his middle fingers up.

  “Don’t call my firecracker a weird bitch, ya bitch.”

  By the time I pull onto Lil’s road, both anxiety and serene calmness have spread throughout my entire body. It is freaky as hell.

  I park a few house down and get out of my car but leave the door cracked, not wanting to close it. I’m so damn nervous that I’ll draw attention to myself my hands are trembling. I shake them out hoping it’ll help, but it doesn’t.

  Lil’s house doesn’t have a gate or a fence. So her backyard is just wide open and they don’t have neighbors an acre each way either, that makes this a lot fucking easier on me.

  I creep. Yes... I fucking creep. Like a pussy. Or a thief. I’m gonna say I creep like a thief. It sounds better than I creep like a pussy.

  I creep like a thief around the side of her house, keeping to the shadows. As I round the house into the backyard, I hear my firecracker. The sound of her crying tears through my heart like bullets and immediately my eyes tear up.

  She’s mumbling and sniffling every few seconds. Still shrouded in darkness, I come up directly behind her, less than a foot away.

  Goddamn, I missed you, firecracker.

  The winter night wind picks up, blowing her thin, tangled hair.

  When I smell her in the cold breeze, I have to both bite the inside of my cheeks and cover my mouth, stepping back for a bit as I smother the guttural groan of both misery and bliss that tries to escape my chest.

  I slide down with my back against the bricks of her house and sink to the wet earth, feeling it seep through my jeans and boxers. But I don’t fucking care. Keeping my hands over my mouth, I’m left breathing ragged breaths through my nose. Tears, I didn’t even realize I was crying are running down my face in rivers.

  A sob I’ve caught in my throat stays locked there directly beside my heart booming inside my chest cavity.

  Then I hear her. Speaking through her tears and agony. On her own sob, she whispers, “I cannot give you a rational excuse or the appropriate reason. I can barely give you simple facts.” Her head falls into her hands. The one holding her cigarette drops it onto the patio table she’s sitting at and her cigarette rolls away.

  The sobs racking her tiny body shake so hard that the chair she’s sitting in rocks back and forth.

  I swear to God she has to have lost more than thirty fucking pounds. Her shoulder bones are protruding out, clearly noticeable in her old thin t-shirt.

  She looks sick. My baby—my Lil—looks really sick.

  I’m so fucking worried for her that I go to step forward, gather her up...until she lets out a growl and continues her confusing rant.

  “It’s fucked up. So fucked up.”

  It hits when she stands up, turning sideways to grab her lighter, then sits back down and pulls her knees up to her chest.

  She’s not pregnant with my baby.

  She’s not pregnant.

  I didn’t realize that was why I was here. That was what I was expecting to see. I didn’t know that I was here to play the ace up my sleeve. But that’s why I came. I was ready to lay all my cards on the table.

  Only instead of two pairs, Aces over twos, all I have is a pair of twos. And I’d gone all in for my firecracker.

  And I lost to the house.

  The house always wins.

  I sink back to my spot against the brick wall in the dark and listen to her, mumbling and lost in that damn head of hers.

  She laughs a crazed, maniacal laugh that sends chills down my spine, and I can barely make her words out. “I’m a fucking
masochist. That’s what I fucking am. It’s all I can be though, really. If I don’t pick at the scabs to make them bleed and hurt, then it’s like....” Whatever she is saying is lost in another bone-racking sob. I barely make out the last word on her whispered exhale. “…real.”

  “Lil, fuck, firecracker. Why are you so damn broken? What the fuck has happened to you, baby?” My whisper is quieter than the night air.

  She stands up and heads straight towards me.

  I fucking freeze. Every goddamn nerve, muscle, and bone in my body is begging to reach out and grab her. My mind continues to keep me still. Her foot is less than six inches away from my right hand when she stops, tossing the contents of an ashtray into the yard at my feet.

  Then she turns away, muttering to herself, “I’ll happily accept these masochistic urges. Happily shoulder that pain. Hurts a lot less than the pain of him not being real, him being a figment of my imagination. Which fucking scares me more than anything.”

  She sighs and gathers up her papers, notebook, and cigarettes. Then she goes inside and locks the back door.

  I can’t move. Still haven’t moved a single centimeter since she walked towards me.

  And I don’t move. Not one fucking time.

  The only things moving are the wheels in my head and the tears that continue to stream down my face.

  My firecracker. She’s gone.

  I probably should have noticed it when I found her outside in the dead of the night and the middle of winter in nothing but a thin t-shirt and sweatpants, sitting on her back porch, crying. I’m even surer that her broken sobs that racked her too thin frame should have been a clue. I couldn’t figure out exactly what her cryptic pain-filled words meant, but I’m goddamn certain they were also red flags.

  None of it though, and I mean not one of those things, told me what I saw in her eyes when she was less than a foot away. Nothing that I witnessed tonight shook me to the marrow of my bones like the dead, cold look in her dull gray eyes did when she made eye contact with me hidden in the dark for less than a second.