by Darren Greer
CCVI
A few months after the incident at the mill my father would discover what had been done to me and, drunk, beat me to within an inch of my life for allowing it. That afternoon I took June out behind the house and carved something in her arm too, so that the world could know what we both were. Retard. It was this scar, along with a few bruises I also administered to June the way my father administered them to me, that would make my father decide to send June away to the Sisters Who Gave Good Hope, because he knew I was beating on her and he said he couldn’t handle both of us anymore.
CCVII
A few years after that I got drunk, came home and tried to make some dinner while my father was passed out on the sofa, and set the house on fire. I couldn’t tell the police or the lawyers why I never bothered to wake my father, but only ran out of the house into the backwoods and waited for our little place to burn up with my father in it. Perhaps I wanted my father to redeem himself, to burn up like his own grandfather those many years ago in the Three Rivers Garment Factory.
For that I would go to reform school, and our cozy little domestic scene would disappear for good.
CCVIII
Giddy-up.
CCIX
And the best I can do is make up a good epitaph.
This will be my epitaph — complicated, like everything else about me.
For Cameron/Annie/Bubby/Darrel/Me.
CCX
The Hand of Judas again, pointing right back at you.
CCXI
The rest you probably have guessed by now. But we gotta keep going. Half-measures avail us nothing. So say the wise old scribes at the Salvation Army Treatment Centre.
The fucking retards.
CCXII
The first thing I did after Ted left was to call the Salvation Army.
Adrian answered, on day shift for once. “What can I do for you, Annie?” he said.
“I quit,” I said. “I’m not coming back in. I’m burnt out.”
“Burnt out?” said Adrian.
B-U-R-N-T-O-U-T.
“Capiche?” I asked him.
“Annie,” said Adrian, and his voice got really low, really soft. Not the way I was used to hearing Adrian at all. “I mean, Darrel.”
“What?” “Are you all right? You don’t sound very good.”
“I’m okay. I just need a break, that’s all.”
“Why don’t you come in and talk to your counsellor tomorrow?” he said. “He’s still your counsellor, you know. Even though you’re not a client anymore.”
“You never liked me, did you, Adrian?”
There was no response on the other end of the line. I waited.
“See ya,” I said.
“Hold on,” Adrian said quickly. “It’s not that I never liked you. I just thought you weren’t ready to be working in the same place you had just spent eleven months as a client. I thought it was too soon. Especially after what happened.”
“After what happened?”
“Of course what happened. I didn’t think you should have been let back into the program, let alone offered a job here, after that.”
“After ...”
Adrian hesitated, as if this was as close as he wanted to get to it. But I knew the truth now. There was no need for Adrian to say it. “After you found me in the utility closet,” I said.
“And I cut you down.” He was whispering, as if what had happened, what he had seen, was an unspeakable, almost holy, event. Then he broke the spell by laughing a little. “I have to tell you, buddy. That was awfully close. As close as I ever want to come. Did you know, while you were in the hospital, before you came back to the centre, I almost quit?”
“No,” I answered. “I didn’t know that.”
“Well, anyway,” said Adrian, shaking the moment off entirely. “When they hired you for the night shift just a year later, it bothered me. So it may have seemed as if I didn’t like you, but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all.”
“Okay,” I said. “Well, now you should be happy. Like I told you, I’m not working there anymore. Capiche?”
“Yeah,” said Adrian. “I heard you. But I meant what I said. Come in and talk to your counsellor tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” I lied. “I will.”
I hung up in Adrian’s ear for the last time.
CCXIII
The next person I called was Julie. I caught her in bed, still asleep, and for a minute she didn’t understand what I was asking.
“Juxta?” she said. “Who the hell is Juxta?”
“My cat,” I said. “Can you take her?”
“I don’t know, Cameron,” said Julie. “I don’t think I’d be so good with pets. I even forget to water the plants.”
“Juxta’s not a plant. She’ll remind you.”
“Where are you going? Why the urgency?”
“I’m heading out of town for a while,” I told her. “With June.”
This time Julie paused on the other end of the line. This must have been the day for surprises.
“Dawes know you’re taking her?” she said.
“No,” I said. “I’m telling the nurses I’m just taking her out for the day.”
“I’m not sure I want to be a part of this, Cameron. It could be illegal.”
“It is illegal,” I said. “I’m not asking you to go with us. I’m just asking that you take care of Juxta for a while. I’ll send for her when we get where we’re going.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Jesus, Cameron,” cried Julie. “You can’t just take off with somebody’s else sister, you know. I mean, I know you love her and all, but —”
“She’s not somebody else’s sister,” I said. “She’s my sister.”
“Whatever,” said Julie, giving up, as usual, on the degeneracy of June’s supposed younger brother. “Where do you want me to meet you?”
“Here,” I said. “I’ve got a cage and her food and litter all ready to go.”
“Okay,” she said. “Give me an hour.”
“A half-hour,” I said. “It’s important.”
“Okay,” said Julie. “A half-hour. Fuck, you’re demanding.”
“You haven’t heard the worst yet. I need some money.”
I could almost hear Julie’s eyes narrow on the other end of the phone. She wasn’t a city girl for nothing.
Selfishness and suspicion.
Julie, Juxtaposition, and I had it in spades.
“How much?” Julie asked.
“Five hundred dollars.”
Julie exploded. “Jesus, Cameron! Why in the world would I give you that kind of money? You’re starting to sound like Dean, for fuck’s sake.”
“It’s not Cameron,” I said. “It’s Darrel.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Cameron. Don’t play games. And don’t expect me to give you five hundred dollars just because —”
“I’m not kidding,” I said. “Cameron’s my middle name. My first name is Darrel. My last name is Greene. And June Greene really is my sister. Three Rivers really is my town. My mother really did hang herself. I burnt my father up and spent four years in reform school because of it. I really was a drug addict in a treatment centre. I really did try and hang myself in a utility closet. Adrian found me and cut me down. On the day I woke up in the hospital I decided not to be Darrel anymore and became Cameron the writer.” I was almost in tears now. “So, please, please don’t make me beg for the money. I can’t even promise I’ll give it back to you. But I can promise it’ll help my sister and me get away from here. That’s all I can promise.”
It took a long while for all that to sink in. Neither of us said a word. Finally Dagnia/Julie said to Cameron/Darrel, “I’ll be over in a half-hour with the money and to pick up the cat. Don’t go anywhere if I’m a bit late. I have to go to the bank, but I’ll be there. And Cameron ... um ... I mean ...?”
“What?”
More silence. More pregnant pauses.
And I don’t have a smart-ass crack left to make about any of it, folks.
“Jesus!” Julie said, and hung up in my ear again.
CCXIV
I had told Julie the truth, finally. But I made up for it by lying my ass off to the nurses at the Sisters Who Gave Good Hope.
I wasn’t scheduled to take June out on Boxing Day. I wasn’t even scheduled to see her. The nurse at the front desk, the one and only Judy Lomez, argued with me for a half an hour.
“Rules are rules,” she said. “You must know that by now, Darrel.”
“I know,” I said. “But I just forgot to tell Dawes about it. I already bought the tickets to the movie and I planned on taking June out somewhere nice for dinner. I saved up for three weeks.”
Nurse Judy even tried to call Dawes at home, which would have certainly killed all my plans. Dawes was just as much a stickler for rules in the Sisters Who Gave Good Hope as I was when I worked at the Sally Ann Cocaine Corral. When Dawes didn’t answer she hung up the phone, looked at me, and said that frankly she didn’t know what to do.
“Let me take her,” I said. “I’ll bring her back just after dinner. It won’t hurt. I’m her brother, for Christ’s sake. And it’s Christmas.” That did it. Nothing like Christmas to pull more scams and get away with more than you ever could at any other time of the year. Every good addict knows that.
Nurse Judy went up and got June for me. There was no way to get any of June’s things. The best I could do was to suggest that she pack one change of clothes because June might spoil herself at lunch and be unable to go to the movie. Anyone who had ever seen June eat, which Lomez had, knew that was wisdom. There would be no toothbrush or clean underwear. But we could buy some of that with the money I had in my pocket from Julie. While Judy Lomez was upstairs packing a bag for June, I quickly wrote a note to Dawes.
CCXV
For General Dawes
Dear Dawes:
I don’t have time to give you the whole ball of wax.
Let’s just say that it’s a very upsetting thing to find out that you’ve been telling the truth all along.
I guess you know by now that June and I are out of here. You understand that I would have liked to tell you beforehand, but, in the immortal words of Pete the Shank, you would have ratted me out and I couldn’t take that chance. The rest of it you’ll have to piece together yourself. I do know we won’t be coming back. We’re finished with this place for good, I think. I’d like to find a place somewhere far away, in the country, where June can do somersaults in the grass to her heart’s content and Juxta can shit whenever she likes and I can write and no one will know who we are and no one will trouble us. You won’t be able to help sending someone after us. I know that. But I don’t think you’ll find us. If there is one thing we addicts are good at, it’s hiding. Even from ourselves.
Remember what I said to you after you gave me June’s file?
“Be honest,” you said. “Nothing you tell me will be any good to me unless you’re completely honest about it.”
“Well,” I answered. “You’ve come to the right place.”
Confession is my speciality. Confession is the only thing I know how to do well. I’m an updated St. Augustine with a few more secrets and hidden shames than stealing pears off a neighbour’s tree.
“Unlike St. Augustine,” I told you, “I’m still waiting for redemption and the everlasting sainthood.”
“You’ll wait forever,” you answered.
Be that as it may, I’m beginning to believe I’m in the last stages of the program.
I’m beginning to believe we all are.
I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. June and I won’t forget you. You, General Dawes. Sitting in your office at the Sisters Who Gave Good Hope and talking to me anytime I liked. Having that which is most fucked up about me listened to with such abiding interest.
Humanity is a great thing — an indication that we’re all here and we’re all the same, somewhat.
’Nuff said.
Peace Brother.
Darrel
CCXVI
P.S. Don’t ask me where the phrase “whole ball of wax” comes from. I have no idea.
CCXVII
I read my note over three times. Three times before I finally understood what I meant and was sure I truly meant it. Then, while the nurse was still upstairs with June, I slid the note under Dawes’s locked office door where he would find it when he came in after the holidays.
I went back to the bottom of the stairs and waited for Nurse Judy to lead June down. When she finally did, June was already dressed in her big blue parka and carrying her Minnie Mouse tote bag. She started shouting “Bubby!” as soon as she hit the first landing. She tore the rest of the way down the stairs and wrapped me up in her bear hug at the bottom, accidentally whacking me in the back of the head with Minnie Mouse and nearly suffocating the life out of me in the process.
Just like that, I started to cry again.
Nurse Judy just looked at us and smiled. How could I have ever thought this woman was a Nurse Ratched? “The best thing that ever happened to June,” she said, “is when you came back into her life, Darrel.”
“Believe me,” I answered, pulling myself away from June. “It’s the best thing that ever happened to me too.”
“Merry Christmas,” said the nurse.
“Merry Christmas,” I replied.
“Merry Christmas!” shouted June to the ceiling and the walls and the stairs and the nurses of the Sisters of the East 73rd.
The sisters who have given us all such a great and good and everlasting hope.
~ * ~
Preview a chapter from Darren Greer's new novel, JUST BENEATH MY SKIN, available now in ebook format.
I REGRET STAYING THE MINUTE Johnny comes back out the bedroom with a twelve-gauge shotgun in his hands. Is it the same gun he killed his father with? I decide it isn’t. The police would have confiscated that one, wouldn’t they? Johnny is smiling and looking straight at me as he sits down in the chair with the gun laid across his lap. Its barrel is pointing directly at Charlie, who is still on the nod and mumbling away to himself, oblivious.
“It’s loaded,” he says. “In case you think I’m foolin’ ya and didn’t put a shell in it. Do you think I’m foolin’ ya?”
His blue eyes look a little wild, the pupils dilated. The two hits of purple microdot are working in him good. I slowly shake my head to Johnny’s question.
“Good,” he says. “Now, if you say one more word about havin’ to leave before I tell you it’s okay to leave, or you try and take off when you think I’m not looking, I’m gonna blow a hole in you the size of an oil barrel cover. You got it?”
I nod, and again say nothing. My mouth is too dry to say anything. I’m scared but I’m not surprised. It is as if I’d always known our relationship would come to this.
Johnny lights up a smoke and offers me one. I quit over a year ago, but something tells me it wouldn’t be wise to refuse. Also, under the circumstances, I need one. I take the smoke and Johnny, leaning over the gun in his lap, holds the Bic up for me so I can light it. It tastes awfully good, like when I was a kid and first learned how to smoke without getting sick. For something to say, I tell him this.
“Yeah,” he says. It’s like the gun’s not even there, we’re acting so calm and normal. “Every once in a while you have one like that. It tastes so goddamned good it reminds you of the first cigarette you ever smoked.”
I nod, except the first cigarette I ever smoked didn’t taste so good. I was eleven and it was with my friend Eugene, who moved away a few years after. I inhaled the whole thing and was so dizzy and sick I had to lie down by the side of the road ’til it went away. I swore right then I would never smoke again, though, of course, it didn’t stick. Promises made like that never do.
I ask Johnny about the first cigarette he ever smoked. It makes sense to me to keep him talking, to keep things even between us and not act too scared. Mayb
e then he will put the gun up and let me go. Johnny scowls. “It was with the ol’ man. I was eight or so, and we was huntin’ and he gave me one. I didn’t want it, but he made me. He called me a goddamned pussy and bugged me ’til I lit up. Right from the first, though, I liked it, and I used to steal ’em from his pack when he wasn’t lookin’. I used to think it served the bastard right for makin’ me have one when I didn’t want to.”
Charlie wakes up. He shouts something we can’t make out, and Johnny and I both jump. It’s lucky Johnny’s finger isn’t on the trigger, ’cause the bore is pointing at Charlie. Charlie lifts his head, opens his eyes, and looks at us blearily. He reaches out for the pack of smokes on the coffee table, though he can’t be seeing well, ’cause he keeps missing them.
“Light one for ’im, will ya?” Johnny says to me.
I do, and hand it to Charlie. He takes it in the hand without the glove and shivers like he’s cold, though Johnny has a fire going in the fireplace, and it’s hot as Hades in there.
Johnny picks up the gun, puts it to his shoulder, and aims at Charlie’s head. “What do you think, McNeil? Put ol’ Charlie here out of his misery?”
Charlie doesn’t even notice. He keeps one arm wrapped around his waist, leaning forward and staring at the table and sucking away on his cigarette. I figure it’s best not to say anything while Johnny sights up Charlie’s head in the bead.
“Blam!” says Johnny, and lowers the gun. He reaches over and tousles Charlie’s hair. “He’s a good boy, ol’ Charlie.”
Charlie keeps staring at the one spot on the table, shivering and acting as if he hasn’t heard.
Maybe he hasn’t. I figure he’s seeing and hearing shit from the acid. Just then Johnny decides he has to go take a piss. “But what am I gonna do with you?” he says. He turns to Charlie, looks as if he is considering giving the gun to him, and then changes his mind. Charlie’s so out of it he won’t be able to see to keep a bead on me. He turns back to me. “Remember that little window in the bathroom?” he says. “The one looks out onto the driveway?”
