Together we yanked it up and out of its’ resting place.
“From the way its’ made, it looks like it fits in the ground somewhere.” My mom peeped over her shoulder at Elijah. “Son, grab the flashlight and see if you find any metal stuck into the ground.”
“Ok,” he replied dutifully as we brought the ladder down, setting it against the one-time nefarious receptacles.
It didn’t take him long. “I found it!” He had traversed to the far wall of the cellar.
We rushed over. Sure enough there was metal in the ground. To be precise, what my little brother had found had to be the only place the ladder would fit. It was the only place on the ground where there was concrete. Within it, spaced about the same width as the ladder, were two identical depressions. Within each of them was the “female”, or receiver, bracket.
I gazed up and saw two loop-like, metal hoops secured into a similar concrete blocks near where the edge of the chamber met the ceiling.
I felt my eyes widen a bit. “Mom, there’s a trap door in the ceiling.”
“Are you serious?” she queried, awestruck.
“Yup.” I pointed as she came near.
Eli was kind enough to light the area with the light-stick.
We could all see it. About two feet higher than the ceiling itself, snug within heavy-duty framing, forming a duct-like tube large enough for a man to pass through, was a trap door. It was a simple thing, using gravity and a thick metal ring for opening and closing.
“I wonder where it leads.” Now my interest was piqued.
I quickly went back and grabbed the ladder, which was much easier to hold in an upright position. I set in the slots on the ground and was satisfied to see it snap into the loops higher up on the wall. Without waiting, I climbed up a few rungs necessary to access the hatch above. I reached up and gave it a push, but it didn’t budge. I ascended higher, so I could use my shoulder as my point of contact and have the full use of my legs. This way my leverage increased at least fourfold.
I heaved hugely, my eyes at the same level as the edge of the portal. It came up about two inches, then stopped. I could see there was some sort of heavy fabric covering the top of the trap door. I knew it wouldn’t open more than that. There was something on top of the fabric as well, something heavy.
I turned to look down at my mother and Eli. “It won’t open from this end. Wherever it does open, there’s some kind of thick material covering it.”
Surprisingly, my Mom laughed. “Like a rug or a carpet?”
It hit me quick. She knew! “Yes!”
She clapped her hands together. “It opens into the toolshed.”
The loose carpeting had given it away. The only sort like it was in the toolshed. Sure, there was carpeting in Bruce’s apartment, but it was tacked down tightly. There was no way I would’ve been able to open the portal as high as I had. That left the toolshed.
“Stay here!” she commanded, though she was giddy, almost girlish.
How could I not smile from ear to ear? I loved seeing this side of my mom. I didn’t get to see it all that much, and I was reveling in it.
I heard her holler for Valerie.
Eli and I waited.
A few minutes later we heard footsteps overhead. I came off the ladder, indicating for my brother to shine the light upward. We heard something large being moved, then more footsteps, a whooshing sound and finally the trap door sprang open.
Bruce’s thin, tanned visage peered down. “So, it is true!” he exclaimed, nearly as excited as I felt. “This Old Lady has a history indeed!” He stood, laughing.
My mother came and gave him a giant hug, pinning his arms at his sides. It was the kiss on the cheek that made our eyebrows rise. Bruce’s included.
“I love this house!” she howled like a wolf.
He patted her arm, shrugging his shoulders. He was being a gentleman and trying not to smile too big.
And who wouldn’t? My mother was a very pretty woman.
“Wow, a trap door leading into the toolshed! Cool!” said my little brother.
I smiled at him, but failed to make the connection. Yes, as I peer back through the annuls of time with indefatigable twenty-twenty hindsight, I had definitely missed it.
If only I had been paying attention…
~~~~~~~<<< ᴥ >>>~~~~~~~
Chapter Eight: History Lesson
Three days prior to Christmas, my father unceremoniously announced to my mother, he wouldn’t be spending the holiday with us. It was the tradition in our family to get up early and open gifts from Santa (for those of us who were still young enough to receive them, which meant Eli alone). Then, we’d open gifts from the immediate family. We followed this with our yearly Christmas breakfast, typically a feast. It wouldn’t be until well after the noon hour, after lounging about or a much deserved nap, that we’d pack up and head down to my grandmother’s – my mom’s mother – house and spend the remainder of the day with the extended family.
Apparently, this year, my dad had other plans.
I remember hearing my parents talking in the living room, while I finished cleaning up after myself. I had made a small mess making a “before-bed” PB&J and was wiping down the counter with paper towel dampened with a few sprays of disinfecting Fabuloso when my mother’s disapproving tones made me come up short.
She had used the same tone she’d used on us kids countless times, deep, resonating from the back of her throat. It was a warning, an indication of discontentment, when employed it usually garnered immediate results. But, that was with my siblings and me. I had yet to hear her use it on my father, and that was what made my hand stop in mid-motion. I had “waxed-on”, but entirely forgot to “wax-off”.
“So, that’s it, huh?” she had said to him.
A brief silence ensued. Then, “What’re you griping about, Pillar?”
There it was - the use of her first name through a clenched jaw. This wasn’t a good sign.
“She’s finally pulled you completely away from this family.” It was a statement of fact. The tone remained intact.
There was little hesitation this time. “You better watch yourself, Pillar. I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit.”
“Why is that, Leonard? You already taking enough of her shit, huh? Are you tired? Are you overwhelmed?” The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.
I could sense this conversation was about to take a turn for the worst. I had seen them traverse down this path before, though my mom had never been this defiant. I let the paper towel fall from my grasp and stepped toward the threshold of the kitchen.
I saw my father stand, the back of his knees pushing the couch with enough force to make it thud against the wall. The window panes above vibrated in their frames.
My mother was seated in the overstuffed recliner. She was sitting upright, her feet tucked under her rear end. She wasn’t looking at my dad, though. She was watching the television, an elbow upon the armrest, hand cupping her chin.
I leaned into the doorframe leading to the dining room, soundless, waiting.
My father turned toward her, his fists balled, his face turning from a drunk-man’s pink to red. “When are you gonna learn to keep your fucking mouth shut?”
My mom didn’t waste any time. “Probably around the same time you stop opening the legs of other women.” She never so much as glanced his way.
My dad went bright crimson, the cords on his neck standing out, his fingers made white from the pressure he exuded upon them. “Fucking bitch!” he snarled, taking a step toward her.
I had seen enough. I could see something diabolical floating behind his eyes. I could tell by the way he bunched his shoulders slightly, the way the muscles in his back were no doubt tensing. He was going to hurt her. I came from the doorframe, striding into the dining room, past the hutch, beside the table.
My mother must’ve sensed something as well. Her head came up from her palm. She grabbed the armrests with each hand. “Don’
t you come near me, Leonard.” She’d seen it too.
“Since when do you tell me what the fuck to do?” he asked huskily, gaining momentum, his fists still clenched.
My mom scooted further into the large chair. “Get away from me, you bastard!”
I was about to run, feeling that sickening sensation I felt every time I knew for certain my father was going to strike my mother. I came around the table, intent on stepping bodily between them, but never got the chance.
Instead, I heard a resounding slap!
I was expecting to hear my Mom cry out in pain like she had so many times before. But, I was astonished when a very male grunt followed. It was my father who stumbled backward.
My eyes trained upon my mom. I was confused. What had just happened?
She hadn’t moved. Her fingernails were still embedded within the thick fabric of the chair. Her feet were still underneath her. She was still cringing.
My dad regained his balance, a hand holding the left side of his face. From between his fingers I could see the angry welts the blow to his face had produced. They appeared on the verge of bleeding. Whatever hit him had done so with incredible power.
“How dare you raise your hand to me, you little cunt!” my father screamed. He looked insane with fury. His hair had been jarred from its’ usual coif and flounced with meandering locks atop his head, about the edges of his face. His eyes were as wide as golf balls, and shot through with throbbing veins.
From behind, I heard Valerie flee her bedroom, her footfalls receding as she made her way to the stairs, to the second floor and Elijah. She was going to make sure he was as far from the fray as possible. She had done this so many times, it was routine. It didn’t break my concentration in the least.
He flew toward my mother, murder in his gaze, his hand balled, raised above his head.
“STAY AWAY FROM ME!!!” wailed my mom. She was on her knees now, covering her face with her arms.
I was there. I put myself in front of my mother, blocking her from his view, more than ready to take whatever sort of punch her was about to throw. After he hit me, the floodgates would be overtopped, the reason to hold back would become irrelevant. I could strike back. I could hit him back. It would be self-defense. There would be nothing he could do about it. I would finally have the excuse to beat the living shit out of him. I would -.
I saw it, though I couldn’t explain it. I can’t sit here and say I can adequately explain it now, even after all these years. All I can say, with a modicum of certainty, was something hit him a second time, upon the other side of the face. It didn’t sound slap-like. The sound was too deep. It was bone-deep, solid enough to affect things below surface tissue. I saw his lip burst, his teeth flood with blood, his cheek turn fiery red. His neck twisted away from the impact, making his shoulders follow in turn. His forward motion altered by the sheer kinetic ferocity of the… punch?
Had someone punched him? Someone I couldn’t see?
He staggered to one side, his feet unsteady, his knees buckling. He could barely manage to stay upright.
“W-w-what was that?” asked my mom, her voice trembling with terror.
“I don’t know,” was all I could think to say, but I didn’t want to stick around to find out either. I swiftly bent down and pulled my Mom from the chair, and ushered her upstairs before my father could recover.
We stayed up in my room – my sister, my little brother, my mother and I – talking quietly about anything other than what had happened downstairs, waiting.
About twenty minutes later we heard the front door slam. My father had left.
He didn’t return for nearly a week.
Needless to say, it was one of the best Christmases of my young life. All it took was something unnatural clocking my father across the face.
Hmm, who knew?
*****
Some weeks later, in the dawn of the new year - a Sunday - my mom came bursting into my room, her voice high-pitched and thrilled. “Jerry, you are not going to believe what I f -.”
It was as far as she got.
Unfortunately, Myra and I had been enjoying a pretty hot and heavy make-out session, and… well, she’d walked in on us devouring each other’s faces, our hands on butt-cheeks and breasts and what not.
“Eeew!” she squeaked, breaking our savaging of one another. “I’m sorry!” She had as if to back out.
“Mom!”
She stopped.
I could tell she was upset. Seeing Myra with her shirt pulled up around her neck didn’t help either. I got up as my girlfriend quickly readjusted herself. Though, my mom had been the one busting-in on us, I still felt bad. Maybe as remorseful as a seventeen-year-old could feel while experiencing the full-blown urges of puberty. Plus, I had a willing partner, which made things even more tempting. So, I guess I was actually somewhere between regret that she’d caught us and frustrated with myself for not having heard her come up the stairs or walk down the hall. I’d been caught up in the moment.
“You two shouldn‘t be behaving that way,” she said when she found her voice.
“Sorry.” It was Myra, speaking for the both of us.
My mother looked disappointed when her eyes met mine. A moment later, grim determination settled within. “I hope you both realize there is more to being together with someone than just being physical with them.” Her orbs were burning and found us individually.
I felt my face twist, admonished. “Mom.”
Why did it have to sound like a plea?
“This isn’t all we do, Mrs. Favor,” ventured Myra, trying to explain, but the way she worded it, it sounded like she was admitting we did more than merely make out. She made it seem like we sometimes screwed our brains out.
I winced. I knew she was trying to alleviate some of my mother’s worry, but she… well, sometimes, especially when we were young, Myra lacked the words necessary to get her point across.
She had placed us on ground that was more unstable than ever.
My mother raised her eyebrows. “Are you having sex with my son?”
I felt my jaw hit the floor. Though, I’d been thinking along the same line of thought, never in a million years did I think my mom would actually voice the question. Specifically, one of that nature.
Myra’s eyes bulged out of their sockets. She blushed furiously.
“Well, that certainly answers my question.” She made to leave, but again stopped as a second thought crossed her mind. “Are you using protection?”
My girlfriend and I exchanged an uneasy glance.
I didn’t know what to do. I was typically honest with my mother. We’d always had an open relationship. I always told her what I was feeling, how I was feeling, etc. We just hadn’t broached the subject of sex in detail yet, and the gap it had forged between us was showing. I swallowed. If I lied now, she would never trust us. That left only one thing left, right?
“We haven’t actually gone…” I paused to swallow again. I saw Myra bow her head at the corner of my peripheral vision. “We haven’t done it yet, but -.” I couldn’t continue.
“You were tempted?” prompted my mom.
My face was stricken.
“You tried?” Her voice cracked.
I could only nod.
She crossed her arms below her breasts, filling and un-filling with a great huffs of air.
I was chewing the inside of my cheek, more nervous than I could ever remember. My father, during one of his rages, hadn’t affected me like this. Maybe it was because I cared so much about Myra and I had a huge amount of respect for my mother. I couldn’t give two shits about that butt-wipe, so it had to be my fear of being told I couldn’t see my girl anymore and the idea of truly disappointing my mom at the same time.
Of course, my mother would never tell me to stay away from Myra. Right?
She strode toward my desk and took a seat on the office chair I used when I did my homework. “Look, I know the both of you will be turning eighteen next year,” she
began.
I actually exhaled with relief, knowing this would be a lecture and not a tirade with unlimited possible outcomes.
She gestured with her hand. “And, I know you guys really like each other. I can see that.” She turned toward Myra, her chin pointing directly at her. “You should feel lucky, my dear. My son has never been this focused on a single girl until you came along.”
My girlfriend had the temerity to smile back at my mom. “I do feel lucky.”
“But, young lady, you must understand, with that degree of intensity, there are bound to be doors opening or boundaries crossed you’ve never been willing to breach prior to being with my son.” She glanced over at me. “And, I’m sure the same goes for him.”
My lips melted into a lopsided grin. There was no denying I wanted Myra. Though, I had wanted many girls, it had always been more of a conceptual notion. With my girlfriend, it was real. It was something I could touch and feel, and taste. Myra made those thoughts tangible. My mother was one hundred percent accurate. Myra and I had been steadily progressing down the road toward a deeper sort of intimacy for quite some time. If her anatomy had been more accommodating our conversation would’ve been entirely different. Possibly a more confrontational one, but what my mom had said would’ve still rang true. Myra and I were hot for one another. It was carnal, basis, like breathing or the beating of one’s heart.
“I just haven’t felt this way about a boy before,” admitted my girlfriend.
You see?
I was surprised she’d be this forthcoming with my mom, but it shouldn’t have been too much of a shock. My mom had a way with people, especially us teens. She could relate to us and we could understand what she was saying. Though I didn’t know it at the time, it’s a very rare trait among adults.
Pillar, my wonderful mom, sighed, not unlike I’d seen Myra do scores of times. “We all do, sweetie.”
The Birth of Bane Page 9
