Chelsea Avenue

by Armand Rosamilia

  He blew a kiss to his parents and slunk away, feeling their eyes on him. He could imagine them shaking their heads in dismay, his mother putting a hand on her heart as she sighed.

  Manny decided to drive out of Long Branch, escape somewhere south or north, and get away from this life that was crushing him and smothering him.

  This would be the year that he’d tie up all loose ends, forget about Murphy’s Law and the lot, the impending divorce papers he knew were coming, and the constant reminders about what his life could have been and should have been.

  He’d put the house on the market and use that money and his savings to get a condo in Florida and retire like he was eighty. It had always been his parents dream to, someday, hand over the reins of the club to Manny and head south to Fort Lauderdale and put their feet in the sand.

  Florida might be the answer. The winters were getting to him and only making him more depressed with the cold, the snow, and the darkness. The summer was a short respite from the oppression and only when the sun was shining.

  His car was stifling hot inside, but he refused to put the windows down or turn on the air conditioning. It was better to torture himself and sweat the beer from his obese body. He looked down at the gut hanging over his pants, fat spreading over his once-toned body. Manny guessed he was about sixty pounds overweight right now and only thirty-two today. He felt like sixty-two.

  “Happy birthday, fat-ass,” he said to his reflection in the rearview mirror. It would be just like any other day for him, drinking and barely eating.

  That’s why I need to start this car, point it in a direction, and drive until I run out of gas or I’m so far away I don’t know where I am, he thought.

  His stomach growled, and he decided it was a sign to move even though he didn’t believe in signs, omens, or dreams.

  Manny stopped just as he was about to start the car. Dreams?

  Something odd overtook him, a forgotten memory just out of reach. He’d been having the nightmares again, waking him out of fitful, alcohol-induced sleep, but the images quickly faded when he was awake.

  Fire.

  He knew he dreamed of fire quite often, mostly something to do with him being burned. He didn’t need a shrink to tell him it was about the fire and his escape.

  The captain had sent him to a shrink right after he’d recovered from the gunshot as per policy. It had been a mess with Manny realizing in the third session that he’d never be able to hold a weapon again, and he had no taste for the job anymore. Despite the protests from the psychiatrist, Tankard, and a dozen other fellow officers, he’d cleaned out his locker, waved his pension good-bye, and simply walked.

  Did he regret it? Most of it. Most every day.

  Three hours later found him drunk, sitting in his car in the White Castle parking lot, and shoving cheeseburgers into his mouth. He was in no position to drive, but he didn't care. He was mad at himself for still being so close to home. A quick ten-minute drive would put him squarely back in Long Branch and at his front door.

  But why? he thought. What is the point of going home? What is the reason to go back to my house and keep drinking? Manny had absolutely no motivation to do anything right now and didn't want to. He finished his last cheeseburger, stuffed the last of the onion rings into his mouth, and put the car in drive.

  Tammy didn't want to be here, in this house, with all these bad memories of her childhood. The living room was cluttered with boxes, a large black permanent marker in her hand.

  “I need some help, Josh.”

  Her bother nodded, his eyes rimmed with tears. He put down a cardboard box and joined her on the couch. “Whatever you need.” He glanced at his watch. “I just have to meet the guys in a couple hours.”

  “Of course you do,” Tammy said, annoyed. “God forbid you stay and help me clean out our parent's house. Not when you have a chance to get drunk and live your hard life, right?”

  “Where'd that come from?”

  “Seriously? You show up an hour before mom's funeral, shake everyone's hand, and then think you're going to go get drunk with your high school buddies while I organize sixty years of our parents’ lives into fucking boxes.”

  Josh rose and shook his head. “I don't have to take this.”

  “Of course not. Why should you? I'm sure you'll just head back to Boston or Chicago or wherever your imagination takes you and forget all about this part of your life. The shit you have to deal with, the reality part of it.”

  “Fuck you, Tam.”

  “Nah, Josh, fuck you and all your lies over the years. Where have you been hiding? Certainly not engaged to be married to an art gallery chick in Boston."

  Josh smiled sheepishly. “That was, like, two years ago.”

  Tammy stood up and faced him. “So, which one was it this time? A fucking astronaut? Head of the CIA? Dating a model?”

  “She prefers ‘super model,’ thank you,” Josh said. He caught his sister's hands, as she started to swing and pulled her to him.

  Tammy began to cry. “Three years.”

  “What?” her brother asked.

  Tammy pushed away but kept hugging her brother. “Three years ago, I was here, but I couldn't wait to get away from her. I couldn't wait to get back to my shitty life in Arizona. After that visit, I talked to her once a month if I was lucky with Stephanie calling her most of the time. I was a shitty daughter.”

  Josh grinned. “She was a shitty mother, and you know it. She was so mean to you.” He guided her back to the couch. “The only reason she loved me was because I fed her such utter bullshit.”

  “So not fair.”

  “You know what, sis? Mom wasn't stupid. She knew every word out of my mouth was a lie. When dad was still alive, he'd call me on it, try to keep me honest. Once he died… She needed something positive and extravagant even if it was crap.”

  “I just wish, one time, she could have been proud of me,” Tammy said.

  “And she was.”

  “Was she really?”

  Josh laughed and stood up. “Not really. This isn't some bullshit After School Special, you know. This is real life, and your mom was a royal bitch.”

  “Dickhead.”

  They both laughed, Tammy looking around the room. “There's too much to do.”

  “I promise, when I return, I'll help you even if it takes all day and night.”

  “Mommy, can I make some macaroni and cheese?” Stephanie called from the kitchen.

  “Of course, baby. Make me some too.”

  Stephanie came into the living room. “Uncle Josh, can we expect you for dinner?”

  Tammy almost cried again. Her daughter was getting so big, looking more and more like her at that age. It wouldn't be long before she was dating, driving, in college, and in a career with her own daughter.

  “Dinner? I have a very important meeting to attend. Maybe breakfast.” He winked at his niece. “Maybe brunch?”

  “Are you sleeping here tonight?” Tammy asked as Stephanie went back into the kitchen.

  “Unless I get lucky.”

  “Pig.”

  “Prude.”

  Tammy remembered the last time she'd been in town. “Who are you seeing tonight?”

  Josh shrugged. “Whoever is at the Village, I guess. Why don't you come?”

  Tammy pointed down the hall. “Sure, I'll leave a ten-year-old home alone.”

  “I think I remember that movie.”

  “If you see Michelle Zielinski, let her know I said hi.”

  Josh scrunched his face. “Uh, not gonna happen.”

  “Huh?”

  “She died, her and her brother.”

  “Wow. I saw her and Stan three years ago when I was here.”

  “Yeah, I talked to a couple of the guys I used to play football with.” Josh sat back down. “They died three years ago…today. Really fucked up too.”

  Christi Catalano blasted Judas Priest from her BMW's multiple speakers, breaking the silence of the desolate streets.
Whenever she wanted to get away from reality—husband, kids, bills, job—she'd grab her keys and her cigarettes and disappear into the night.

  Now, she was cranking her go-to band of her childhood and singing along as Rob Halford and the boys burned through “Breaking the Law.” At the next red light, making sure no one was around, she began head-banging like she was sixteen again instead of just over the wrong side of thirty.

  She lived in Ocean Grove now, and she had money. Her husband, Jim, was a sergeant for the Monmouth County Sheriff's Office. Her kids went to private school, and she was the owner of three gyms in the area.

  Nights like these, she liked to drive down to Asbury Park and remember from where she came. The burned-out buildings, unfinished apartment complexes, boarded-up shops, and debris on the street made her sad but determined. Christi had risen from these streets, the daughter of a father in prison and a mother who ran these streets and left her to fend for herself. She thanked her mother for that; she'd grown up tough and independent.

  Her old house was just a vacant lot, a rusting chain-link fence separating the block from the rest of the abandoned homes. Without stopping, she drove by, a quick glance at the weeds and refuse.

  Christi turned up “You've Got Another Thing Coming” and sped away, satisfied that she'd exorcised her past demons once more. Jim didn't understand these trips, which she took every two or three months, but he didn't complain. He would usually make a joke about it and ask her for some weird item to bring home.

  “Need to stop and get motor oil and Twizzlers,” she said and then sang along to Priest. She needed another pack of cigarettes as well, pulling her last one from the pack and discarding it on the passenger side floor.

  Back in the relative safety of Ocean Grove, she stopped at the gas station and purchased her items, adding a Snickers bar. The members of one of her gyms would be in shock to see her eating junk food, but even she had a sweet tooth. During the day, and in sight of paying customers, she'd nibble on carrots and celery, but at home, she loved chocolate.

  She had to admit that she had a pretty sweet life. This coming weekend, they both had off, so she'd already cleared her Saturday and Sunday schedules. They'd take the boat south with the kids and have an adventure. They didn't worry too much about bills or the cost of gas or taking an extra vacation whenever they could.

  Christi was looking forward to their September trip to Las Vegas. The kids had never been although Jim and she always joked it was where they were all conceived. Christi wasn't much of a gambler. Jim could sit for twenty straight hours at a craps table if she let him, but she loved the shows and the shopping. She was looking forward to the shows with the kids, the dining, and the hotel.

  She reached for her third cigarette, Beyond the Realms of Death going into the second screeching guitar solo, when she realized she'd passed her turnoff for home a few miles back and was entering Long Branch.

  At the next light, she switched lanes to take the jug-handle turn home but instead continued straight on Route 36. Her mind was jumbled, focusing on the song's story as it unfolded. She'd heard the song a hundred times in the last twenty years, but this time, it was real. It was inside of her, a part of her.

  As the last breakdown of the song started, Christi turned up the volume and exited the car. She was so into the song, she didn't realize she'd pulled over. She left the car door open so she could hear the song.

  Her feet guided her into dense weeds, sneakers splashing in deep puddles of rainwater. She felt calm as she heard the next track on her Judas Priest mix CD begin. “Sinner.” The band had been her lifeline as a teen, her drug when everyone else on the streets had turned to weed, crack, and heroin. Instead of drowning her sorrows with alcohol, she'd sunk into a fantasy world with twin guitars, studded leather, and spiked belts.

  “Great song,” a voice said from the darkness. Christi fell back in shock, sinking into a deep crevasse of water.

  “Your ass is wet,” the voice said and stepped out, laughing.

  It took Christi a moment to get to her feet again, and she was soaking wet. She recognized the woman standing in front of her but couldn't remember her name.

  The woman smiled. “No idea, right? I knew you'd be here. I'm Kim Best; remember me?”

  “From high school?”

  “Awesome, I knew you'd remember. Remember these two?” she said and pointed behind Christi. "Renata Velosa and Stacy O'Brien from high school. Remember them? I need to stop saying 'remember;' it's getting annoying, right? Sorry, just a bit excited tonight."

  Christi stared at the three people she hadn't seen in over a dozen years. “This is weird,” she finally said. She still didn't know why she was here.

  Behind her, on the street, she heard the sound of cars quickly approaching and saw the flashing of lights.

  Kim frowned. “I was hoping we'd have time to catch up. Oh, well.”

  Renata and Stacy looked as confused as Christina.

  “I'm not sure what's going on, Kim. It's nice to see you again,” Christina said. She could hear “Diamonds and Rust” playing. “I think I need to get back home.”

  Kim picked up a baseball bat and pointed it at Renata just as the street behind them lit up with multiple police cars and sirens, drowning out the Judas Priest song.

  When everyone gasped, Kim smiled and suddenly moved her hand and slammed Stacy across the face, dropping her to the ground.

  Christina fell to her knees. “I have children. I'm married. They'll be worried about me,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know your husband, Jim. He works for the county, and I'm actually Freehold Police. Small world, right? Remember the Christmas party at the racetrack last year? We met then, but I guess you forgot.”

  Someone from the street was talking into a bullhorn, but the sound was muffled. Heading Out to the Highway was now playing, and Christina wondered why they hadn't shut off her radio or at least turned it down.

  Kim slammed a stunned Renata in the chest without looking at her, eyes locked on Christina. “There's only eleven left, you know,” Kim said.

  “Eleven?”

  Kim looked down at the wet ground. “He's gaining strength. By this time next year, it might be finished. After us, only nine are left.”

  “Kim, you're a cop, right? You can't do this.”

  “I can feel his power running up my legs, tickling me. Can you?”

  “Yes,” Christina lied. All she felt was the fear and the cold water crawling up her pants and filling her sneakers. “Let me go.”

  Kim lowered the bat slightly, pointing it at the ground. “I just realized something: You were here that night.”

  “What night?”

  “The night this all began. The night of the fire.”

  “What fire?” Christina asked, but she already knew. She'd always known. Every time she drove past Chelsea Avenue, she blocked out the night of the fire, when she was still a teenager, just out of high school, and had nearly died from smoke inhalation.

  But the memory was always there, being forced down and hidden from her consciousness. All these years later, after perhaps hundreds of times driving past, it was just a vacant lot. But in the back of her mind…

  “I remember,” Christina said, and Kim slammed her between the eyes with the bat.

  Chapter 16

  July 8th 2002

  Manny spent the first minutes of his birthday in a dive bar in Greenwich Village staring at the other drunks in the place with him tonight as the clock went past midnight. He'd been coming here for ten straight days and didn't know why.

  His parents’ house had been sold, all ties cut to Long Branch, and the only thing he still owned was his car and the clothes on his back.

  In the last six months, he'd wandered all over the East Coast, seeing the sights in Maine, catching a Yankees game in Fenway Park, eating crab cakes in Maryland, visiting St. Augustine in Florida, a bed and breakfast in Savannah, Georgia, and all points in-between.

  “At this rate, the money
will be gone by my next birthday,” he muttered to himself.

  “It's your birthday?” the woman next to him said over the music.

  Manny nodded, staring at his shot of whiskey.

  “How old?”

  “Feels like a hundred,” he said and looked at the woman. She was in her mid-thirties, around his age, but looked much older with hard wrinkles around her lips and eyes.

  She was smiling at him and holding an empty beer mug. “Buy me a drink for your birthday?”

  “Sure, why not?” He waved at the bartender. “I'm Manny.”

  “I'm Dorella.”

  They chatted over a couple of rounds, Manny telling her he was a former cop who now did security work in Manhattan. He saw no use in spilling his life story to a stranger who only wanted free drinks and perhaps a quick, awkward lay to finish the night.

  As stupid as he knew it was, Manny still loved and missed his wife.

  He remembered the last time he'd called her. He was drunk in a bar in Virginia Beach, surrounded by college kids. He stumbled to the parking lot, threw up next to his car, and then fell against the wall of the payphone booth and fed quarters into the phone.

  Gina didn't answer the phone. After three rings, the answering machine picked up. Manny didn't remember what he'd said, but he was sure it was drunken blubbering and professing his love to her and explaining how he'd changed.

  But he hadn't changed. It was one in the morning, he was drunk, and he was a mess.

  “You alright?” Dorella asked.

  “Huh? Yeah, just lost somewhere else.” Manny downed his shot and asked for another. He'd lost count, but he was feeling good right now.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, putting a hand on his leg.

  “Just thinking about my wife.”

  That didn't seem to affect her. “Is she here now?”

  “No, we're separated.”

  “Exactly. What she don't know can't hurt her.” Dorella reached higher on his thigh. “Do you live close?”

  “No.” Manny didn't actually live anywhere right now. He was renting a room at a hotel around the corner. He suddenly just wanted to be alone.