Grey

by Aundrea Ascencio

  She decided to make this utterly clear to him the moment he opened the door. "Eric, I need to talk to you. Now," she ordered.

  "Are you Destiny?" a male voice choked from inside. The door snatched open and a chubby guy with bloodshot eyes stared down at her. A blonde girl sat naked in the bed lighting a pipe. The blankets the girl wrapped herself in were not Eric's. Nothing in the room belonged to him. The place was littered with dirty clothes and old, greasy fast food bags, and it reeked of an overpowering cheesy, fleshy odor. It was a whole different world, unlike the safe haven that she had known and taken refuge in.

  She stepped back, hoping that she had knocked on the wrong door.

  After looking her up and down, the chubby guy grinned stupidly. "Are you Destiny?" he asked again.

  "Excuse me?"

  "You're not from the escort service?"

  "I'm looking for Eric. Is he here?"

  "A dude? Sorry, we didn't order any dudes," he said. "No dudes allowed in this dorm."

  "But this is his dorm," Chantel informed him.

  "This is my dorm. I've been on the waiting list for two semesters. They told me it was empty, so I moved in this morning," he told her.

  Chantel stared at him perplexed. "That doesn't make sense. Somebody else was here last week. What happened to the guy who stayed in here before you?"

  "I don't know. Moved out. Clearly," he said. "So you're really not from the escort service then? That's too bad. That Destiny chick probably bailed. We need three people to complete this human bridge thing. Think you could help a brother out?"

  Chantel turned and walked away.

  "It was nice meeting you then!" the chubby guy called after her. "Hit me up if you change your mind!"

  Chantel could hardly breathe, but she wouldn't stop until she had gotten far away from that building, and the memories within it that she had unknowingly created to torment her. Her heart pounded out of her chest as all her fears materialized.

  Manipulated. Used. Abandoned.

  Another box marked off his checklist. Another Chantel made into a Tara. Another good, beautiful, and wholesome girl with rattled self-esteem, transformed into something she couldn’t even look at in the mirror.

  Guilt took up residence where love and trust should have been, and the only roommate to keep it company was regret, a deep seated pang born out of her own lapse in judgement, which now remained to haunt her.

  The Promise

  Mrs. Chandler sang softly to the radio as she watered her beloved houseplants. She patted the soil of her dahlia plant tenderly and whispered, "So perfect." It would be the first prize winner again this year at her country club. "Let's see how well the roses liked the rain last night." She carried herself with impeccable grace through her kitchen, which could have only existed in a Martha Stewart magazine. Everything about it said comfort, love, and warmth. By the pictures and décor on her pale yellow walls, one could know where her heart was. Her family, her plants, her homemade baking, her old country, and her cats.

  She carried her green watering pot over to the kitchen sink where she could look out the window into her outdoor garden. One side was reserved for her herbs and vegetables, which were just about ready for harvest. The other side were her perennials, which had lost their blooms and were going dormant as the cold season came on. Soon, the white JFK roses bordering her window ledges would fall too, and she made a note to harvest the petals later for a potpourri idea she had envisioned for her catalog. She stood on tiptoe over her sink, because she wasn't very tall for a woman, and her vivacious green eyes scanned over her JFK's.

  That's when she saw him.

  A ghost standing in her driveway, examining the spinach that lined the edge of her garden. It had to be a ghost or a trick of her own mind. So many times she had dreamed of her child coming home, and would hurry down to the dining room to look for him. That was where she'd always found him in the morning, late awakened and asking her what she'd cooked for him.

  For the past year he'd been gone and hardly keep in contact. When he left, the house was burdened with his absence and she could never really do anything to hide the emptiness in it. She had managed to get on without him in most things, but the hardest part was sitting at breakfast alone in a dining room too large and too fancy for one person. She often opted to take her breakfast out on the balcony upstairs to watch the sunrise peek over the mountains. Gradually and with time, she tolerated taking even breakfast alone, and had accepted what all mothers come to accept when their sons become grown and leave home.

  That is why the sudden reappearance of this familiar apparition made her entire world stop, except the skipping of her heart. Her hands loosened around her watering can and it fell into the sink. Throwing her apron onto the kitchen island, she ran through her house and yanked open the front door shouting in German, "He's here! My son is here!"

  "Elin, are you ok? What's going on?" Her help, Jenny, wobbled in from the other room, thinking Mrs. Chandler had hurt herself or was in some kind of trouble. It almost gave her a heart attack. Mrs. Chandler was a quiet woman, and in all her years of house service to the Chandlers, Jenny had never once heard the woman raise her voice. She thought something terrible must have happened, but when she saw Eric Chandler standing outside, she breathed a sigh of relief, as the heaviness in that house had already started lifting. Jenny was glad to see him, and glad to see Mrs. Chandler's old smile again.

  Mrs. Chandler went on squeezing the life out of him. "Eric, you're home! You came home," she cried.

  "Mom. Can't breathe," he answered her in German.

  "Why didn't you call and tell me you were coming?" she demanded in English. "Why haven't you called at all? You know how to pick up a phone and check on your mother, I'm sure."

  "I'm home now," Eric told her. "I can check on you now."

  "That is not the same. You ought to know better!" She playfully nudged him. "Why are you carrying so little? Where are your bags? All your clothes?"

  "I couldn't bring it all with me on the plane."

  "Well you're going to need them, albern," she said. "Don't you think?"

  Eric spotted Jenny peeking at them through the curtains of the lounge window. Of course, that was always Jenny. She craved gossip as much as she craved Ho-Ho Cakes. No doubt she was in there squirming with delight at his abrupt arrival, thinking she'd struck gold. The first thing she'd do upon reaching town was babble off her fat lip to anyone who would listen that Eric Chandler was back in town. There would be questions, of course. People would want to know why and for how long. Then the whole old story and the rumors surrounding his disappearance would resurface, and there would be no peace for his mother. Eric dreaded putting her through that headache again, so while Jenny was around, he stuck to speaking German as much as possible to prevent her from taking anything back to town. Jenny was skilled in the art of exaggerated speculation and could turn even the smallest, benign details into a scandal.

  "Is dad around?" Eric asked his mother.

  "He's out on business in Michigan. I'll call him and let him know you're here," his mother replied.

  "No," Eric said. "Don't tell him I came."

  "Eric, he's wanted to see you."

  "I just wanted to talk to you. Privately," he replied. "It's something I can't talk to dad about yet."

  "Of course," Mrs. Chandler said, looking him over in concern. "Is everything alright? You're looking pale. What's bothering you?"

  "You're going to hate me when I tell you why I'm here," he finally admitted.

  "Then you're not here to stay?" she said, and the light of joy gradually vanished from her expression.

  "I don't know," he replied distantly. "It depends on what happens in the next couple of days. Whatever way it goes, I probably won't be staying home. No."

  She watched him intently. She tried to decode the situation by mere motherly instinct and what she knew of his habits, but neither could tell her what was on his mind. Nor could they prepare her for what terrible thi
ng she knew he had come to tell her. She did not want to hear it yet. Instead she wanted to believe that he had come home just to visit her, without dragging in all her fears and nightmares from the outside world. She patted him on the shoulder and led him toward the house. "Come inside and sit down. You must be hungry," she insisted. "You're always hungry."

  Once they were inside, she guided Eric into the dining room and planted him in the seat he had always sat in when they had breakfast together. "Don't you move from that spot," she instructed him in English, then hurried into the kitchen.

  Instead of using the side door that led directly to the kitchen from the lounge, Jenny took the long way around and walked through half the house just so she could seize the opportunity of walking through the dining room and getting a good look at Eric. She greeted him with a smile, and Eric nodded curtly back at her. She slowed her pace long enough to take in every detail about his appearance before disappearing through the archway that led into the kitchen.

  "Elin, would you like me to help you?" she called loudly, as if saying it loud enough would convince anyone that she was merely there to assist, not spy.

  "Oh, no, I've got it. My son is home. I will serve him myself," Elin said proudly. "It's not every day I can fatten him up. Did you see how skinny he's gotten? He's not eating well in California, but I will fix that now."

  She grabbed plates, rolls, cheeses, cold cuts, slices of dessert, and glasses. Trying to balance everything in her little arms at once, she hurried back into the dining room.

  "I went to Germany to see Opa," she told Eric, setting all the stuff out in front of him. "I brought back Bienenstich but your father kept getting into it. However, I also got Spritzkuchen if you'd like one with some wine."

  "Just a beer, thanks."

  "A beer?" his mother asked perplexed. "When have I ever sat down with a beer? You know better. You've been spending too much time at college." She trotted over to the wine shelf and brought back a tall black bottle. "Your father got a bottle of Chateau Le Pin Pomerol. You know, as a parting gift before I last left for Germany. More than likely he meant to remind me that I shouldn't stay too long out of the United States-"

  "Please," Eric stopped her. "I really don't want to know what you and dad do when no one's looking."

  "What can I say. The man has taste. That's why I married him," she said pouring him a glass. She sat down with the Spritzkuchen and after taking a first bite, she exclaimed cheerfully in German, "Ok, tell me all about California, yes?"

  By the time Eric finished telling her everything, from the moment he first arrived in California to the moment he packed up his dorm, his mother had lit a cigarette and exhaled dramatically. "Now that is complicated," she sighed.

  It was half pass six when he concluded his story. Jenny had already checked out for the day, which gave them reign to speak English at their leisure, though his mother had her moments of slipping back into German. She looked at her son with eyes identical to his own, though hers had taken on a dewy and anxious appearance that past year. Even in her 50's, the beauty of her youth radiated against time. The golden brown hair that fell like silk ribbons over her shoulders had always made her appear angelic. She belonged to a fairy tale where there were only the best of happy endings, and it was a wonder how she had strayed into a cold world like this. Eric could not protect her from it, and his own contributions to that world which tormented her made him feel even more like a failure as a son.

  "I've got to fix this," he said quietly. "If I don't do this, there's no way I can go back to her."

  "She understands why you came back then?"

  "I didn't tell her I left," he admitted. "If my plan goes wrong, it's better if she didn't know what happened to me. It's better if she thinks I just left her."

  "And if your plan goes right and you go back to California, she will never trust you again," his mother pointed out. "You made her open up her heart to you and then you vanished. You should have told her the truth about why you were leaving."

  "There's a time and place for all that, but right now, it's not the most important thing to worry about. Other things come first."

  "But why?" his mother demanded. Her voice grew shakier. "Why can't you just return to California and leave it alone? It's over now, Eric. You have a girl who makes you happy. Go be happy with her. You don't have to do this. You owe them nothing."

  "If I don't do this, it will follow me. It will follow her," Eric said. "I would rather put my life at risk than put hers in danger."

  "How long are you going to do this to me?" his mother cried furiously. "Do you think I like seeing my son's blood? Do you know what I was feeling when they beat you the first time? And you want to put me through that again?"

  "I thought you'd be happy," Eric replied gently. "I'm getting out of it. I'm changing my life."

  "There must be another way. You can stay in California. You won't ever have to come back and deal with them," she said desperately. "I will talk to your father. He may not like it at first, but I can make him see that it's better for you to stay in California."

  "I wish it were that easy too, mutti, but I'm trapped," Eric told her. "They can find me. They have ways. I would rather face them now then live out my life in fear."

  Elin dropped her eyes from his, as she could no longer hold back her tears. Eric had never regretted the recklessness of his youth more than he did at that moment. He could do absolutely nothing to comfort her. He could make no promise that he would ever come home.

  "This is the last time, mutti. I promise. After this, it's really over. It won't affect our lives anymore."

  Elin violently twisted her cigarette into the ash tray to release her frustration. "Fine. If it has to be done then it has to be done," she said, straightening herself up. "But you can't stay here. Not while you still claim them. It's not safe for anyone until you're done with it. People are still watching you. End it and then go back to California. Finish your semester and work things out with your California girl. If you're willing to do all this for her, then she must be worth it."

  "It's not just for her. It's for everybody's good," Eric said. "I'll only stay three weeks at the most, and then I'll be gone. I don't want to make trouble for you and dad."

  "I know it's the right thing to do," she said, her voice only moments away from breaking. "But that doesn't make it any less scary. I'm your mother. I'm supposed to make things right. I'm supposed to protect you. Why is it that the older you get, the harder it is to do that?"

  “You did everything you could have done for me. You were exactly the person I needed you to be. You did everything right," he said. "I was the one who fucked it up. It's not your fault this is happening. They're my battles. My decisions, my consequences. I never intended to put you through this, but you will never be proud of the son you raised until I've fixed this."

  "But I'm proud of you now," she replied tearfully. "Isn't that enough?"

  He stood and kissed her hair. "I love you," he whispered in German.

  Elin shook her head and refused to look at him. The best thing left to do was leave, as he could say nothing else to comfort her, and prolonging his stay was only upsetting her more. He walked away and she trembled as she tried to fight back more tears. Despite being angry with him, she couldn't just let him walk out without saying something.

  "Eric," she called after him, meeting him at the front door. She threw her arms around him and held him as if it would be her last time. "Be careful. Please. Come back home someday. Make me that promise. I can't lose you. I couldn't live with myself."

  "I will come back, mutti," he assured her, gently wiping away her tears with his thumb. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm tough. You raised me that way. It'll take more than them to get rid of me. See you in a bit."

  Elin held onto him as long as she could, until finally, she had to let him go and watch him walk out the door.

  Out

  Darkness had settled over the mountains when Eric got up the foothills an
d drove along the winding roads. He was bound for a destination that few had heard of and even scarcer knew how to find. There were no road signs. No distinguished landmarks. No street names. Just abandoned dirt roads that none had claimed. The only way to get to his destination was to watch his odometer, and estimate the number of miles he had driven after he passed the last road sign 20 miles back. Once he reached 40 miles, he started counting the odometer to exactly eleven and three quarter miles, then pulled the E break and drifted to a halt on the side of the road.

  To the untrained eye, there was nothing distinctive about the spot he pulled off at. It looked like every other sloping, mountain dirt road overgrown with trees and vegetation, but to him it was the gateway to an underworld. Five years earlier, he had taken that same path as a 16-year-old boy to the heart of Die Gerechten.

  It was quieter than he remembered. The wilderness hushed as he stepped out of the car and made his way across the road to the sloping woods that climbed down the mountain. He scanned the dark trees below for any sign of activity. It was all pitch black, and he hoped that he wasn't too late. The unnatural quiet unnerved him. He couldn't even hear the scurrying of small animals in the trees and tall grass. They were frozen with hesitation of a potential danger nearby. Somebody was creeping up behind him.

  The attacker pulled him back by the shoulder and Eric swung at him. The assailant ducked before he could get him, and cackled, "Goddamn, Eric, you throw a punch like a fag now. What has California done to you, boy."

  In the dim moonlight, Eric made out a shaved blonde head and a white shirt underneath black suspenders and black cargo pants.

  "And what kind of fag name is Chester?" Eric asked, grinning.

  "Hey," Chester warned, shoving him roughly. "Careful. That was my grandaddy's name. Where have you been, man? I heard you bailed the night the cops picked up Taylor."