The Devil's Been Busy

by J. D. Blackrose

  My dad slammed his hand on the table so that my cereal bowl jumped.

  “Don’t get smart with me, young lady.” He took a deep breath and offered the next statement, in the belief that he was being magnanimous.

  “You can major in law and minor in Classics. How about that?”

  My hands shook in anger, but he’d always been the king in our house, and his word was gospel, so I held myself in check. “Dad, I promise I will find a way to support myself.”

  He leaned back in his chair so only the back legs stayed on the ground, arms up, hands behind his head. “You’d better because your scholarship runs out at the end of next year, and I’m not giving you a penny after you graduate. Your great-grandparents came here with nothing and worked their way to success. You need to do the same.”

  So, there I was sitting in Starbucks late to avoid going home to face my father, and this ginger-haired, freckled-face, lanky kid interrupts me and has the nerve, the nerve, to tap me on the shoulder. A student of martial arts from three years-old, I grabbed his left hand with my left, pushed his elbow up and outward with my right, and pushed him on the floor in a hot second. Without thinking, I placed my right foot on his back and pressed down hard.

  Ginger swiveled his neck to look at me from the floor. “What the hell are you doing? It’s time to close, that’s all I’m saying. I’ve got homework too, you know, but I don’t get to sit here and do it because some of us work to pay for college. Don’t hurt me!”

  I released him and stepped back, surprised at myself. “I’m sorry,” I said, but it sounded lame to even my ears.

  “I apologize,” I said again, my mood still foul, but now I was embarrassed too. “Let me help you up.”

  “I don’t need help,” he grunted, pulling away from me, his ears red. “Just get out of here.”

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “Just leave.” He was rubbing his elbow.

  I gathered my books and shuffled out, hesitating for a moment, wanting to apologize again for my overreaction, but he turned his back. I walked to my car, a beat-up thing that my brother also used, and pondered how to make things right. The guilt ate at me all the next day.

  I went back the next night but didn’t see him, so I went every night until I caught him on his late shift.

  “Hey,” I said when I walked up to the counter. There was a line behind me, so I couldn’t start a discussion there.

  “What can I get you?” His face was stony, and he drummed his fingers on the counter.

  “Small mocha, please?”

  “Name?”

  “Jess.”

  “Wait at the end of the counter.”

  I took a seat after I snagged my drink and sat studying, waiting for closing time. Time passed in loud, ticking seconds as I anticipated how my apology would be received.

  “Why are you still here?” His name tag said Liam, and he stood five feet back, keeping his distance.

  “I wanted to apologize again. I’d had a bad day, and I was in nasty mood, so when you tapped me on the shoulder, I overreacted.”

  “No need to apologize,” he said, to my surprise. “I thought about it later. I shouldn’t have tapped you. Touching a woman without being asked is stupid. I’m lucky you did a karate move and didn’t pepper spray me.”

  “I don’t carry pepper spray. It can blow back in your eyes and blind you instead your attacker.”

  “How do you know that? And where did you learn those moves?” He propped himself up on his mop and quirked his head. He was genuinely curious.

  “Martial arts and gymnastics, both since I was three. My parents thought it would be best to keep me busy since, left to my own devices, I climbed trees too high or rode my bike down a big hill without brakes. I did a back flip off the high dive board the first time I went up there.”

  “Troublemaker, I see. Adrenaline junkie. Interesting. So, you know how to take care of yourself?” He scraped the toe of his sneaker on the ground and studied it, avoiding my eyes.

  “Yeah, I guess. I don’t go searching for trouble, but I’m not afraid, either.”

  He cleared his throat but didn’t anything. He cleared it again.

  “Do you want to ask something?” I said, watching him struggle.

  “Maybe you could walk me to the bus stop? There are some guys hassling me when I leave, and I think if I am with another person, they might lay off. It’s embarrassing asking a girl to protect me from bullies, but…”

  “Stop right there before you dig yourself into a hole you can’t get out of,” I said, although I was grinning ear-to-ear. “No one should walk alone.”

  “Well, how are we going to handle this then? If you wait with me at the bus stop, who will walk you to your car?”

  “No worries at all. We’ll get my car together, and then I’ll drive you to the bus stop.”

  He gave it some consideration. “Genius.”

  Chapter Three

  Post bird slaughter, I dragged myself up the stairs from my basement, where I had entered from the garage, to the main floor. I was almost at the top when an ear-splitting voice announced, “My mama!” I bent to pick up the squishy thing under my foot, my daughter’s Love Doll. The things were a little too Chucky for me, but I hunt monsters for a living, so maybe I’m not the right person to judge. All I know is that it makes me cringe, but she likes it. I think it’s a $150 nightmare engineered by marketing hit men, and I would have gladly thrown the thing into the garbage disposal, but Devi, my beloved Devorah, cherished the doll.

  On the main floor now, I turned to the left to check on the kids in their bedrooms. Devi slept fitfully, if she slept at all, a trait she’d inherited from me. Blankets stood no chance next to her flailing legs, so as usual, her linens were on the floor, and the five-year old’s arms were askew. She breathed in and out, thankfully in a deep sleep. I smiled at her innocent beauty and placed the doll on the bed next to Devi’s pillow.

  Next, I checked on my oldest son, David, who was curled into a little ball, burbling spit between his lips. I gave him a gentle kiss, saying a prayer of thanks for having him and my other kids in my life, and moved one room over to check on the baby.

  My three-year old, Daniel, still used a crib even though he had a big-boy bed in his room. The child simply couldn’t stay on a mattress and fell on the floor every time he tried to sleep without a guardrail. Sure enough, he lay squished up against the railings, held back by thin pieces of Italian crib plywood, which was better than other plywood because it came with directions in Italian. Or, so my mother-in-law had said. It made no difference to me. I couldn’t care less where the crib came from, but I did enjoy the English translation of the Italian directions. The bed, she is made!

  I tiptoed into the master bedroom, careful not to wake Nathanial, and washed up at the sink, throwing my brain-coated clothes into the hamper. I know, it’s gross. Shouldn’t I have thrown them in the washing machine right away? Yes. I should. But my clothes were regularly disgusting, so Nathaniel and I used separate hampers. No need to get bodily fluids on his work clothes. I flicked a sharp piece of beak out of my hair, slid into bed, wrapped my arms around my husband, and sniffed him in, loving his smell. “How was training?” Nathaniel murmured.

  “Good. I hit Liam with a water balloon.”

  “That must have been hilarious. Sorry I missed it. Why do you smell like chicken?”

  “Shh…go to sleep.”

  “Love you.

  “Love you, too.” I was asleep in two minutes.

  I was awake in two hours. My phone buzzed at dawn with a text from Liam. Warning: A phoenix may be in the area. Keep an eye out. They tend to hang out near schools. Resting now.

  Thanks for nothing, Liam. I hauled myself out of bed and headed to the kitchen. I made a cup of coffee in the Keurig feeling guilty about hurting the environment, but I liked dark roast and Nathanial liked a morning blend. It didn’t pay to make a whole pot of one kind.

  Time to pack lunches. David’s cla
ss was a no peanut class, so I gave him a microwaved hot dog, which he didn’t mind eating cold. Devi would never eat a hot dog cold, so she got the peanut butter.

  The shower was running, and I knew that Nathaniel was up, the stomping telling me he’d also woken the two oldest kids. The crying told me the stomping also woke the baby, and I cursed under my breath because the baby could use more sleep.

  I padded upstairs and retrieved the crying child, holding him to my chest, and he calmed down right away. He clapped his hands together and said, “down,” pointing to the floor. “After a diaper change, kiddo,” I said, and set about the task. Daniel squirmed, anxious to get to breakfast.

  All gathered in the kitchen where normal morning mayhem ensued—oatmeal flying, bananas squishing, and several blobs of jelly landing on the floor. “Mom, I started an experiment in my room,” yelled David as he ran to the bus. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “What?” Nathaniel yelled after him, then turned to me, mouth agape. Nathaniel held Devi’s hand, ready to take her to kindergarten. “What do you think that means?” he whispered, dabbing at a spot of jelly on his tie. I shook my head.

  I was too afraid to guess. “I’m sure it isn’t alive,” I said, trying to be helpful.

  Nathaniel shook his head and said, “You never know. Hopefully nothing crawls out of his room, nothing explodes, and whatever it is, the smell isn’t too bad. Taking Devi to school now. Don’t forget the snack this afternoon.”

  “Cheetos!” yelled Devi, bouncing up and down, her gnarled hair bouncing with her.

  “At least let me brush your hair,” I said.

  Devi stuck out her lip and stomped a foot. “No! I like my hair messy. It hurts when you brush it, and it gets messy again anyway, so why do it?”

  Nathaniel smiled. “She has a point.”

  “It’s my hair,” said the burgeoning feminist. “I control my body.”

  I realized there was no good argument to that statement, so I waved them off and blew them kisses.

  “Don’t forget the snack!” Nathaniel said one more time.

  I waved again and returned to the kitchen to find Daniel on the floor, happily shoving the last of a banana into his mouth.

  “Did you eat the whole banana?”

  Daniel smiled, banana seeping between his teeth, and stuck his tongue out so I could see the rest of the banana in pre-chewed form.

  “That is a lot of banana for a tiny tummy.” I grabbed a wet paper towel and wiped his hands. Daniel was not a great conversationalist; in fact, he was somewhat delayed in the speech department, a word I despised, but he understood everything and was the sweetest child on the face of the earth. I gave him a kiss on the head, then another one. God, I loved this kid.

  “Okay, hot stuff, let’s get changed and head to the gym.”

  A few minutes later, I stuffed Daniel in his car seat and headed to the local Jewish Community Center for a workout with my trainer, the Thing of Evil. The mini-van, or as I called it, the Urban Assault Vehicle, rattled the whole three miles, but I paid it no mind. It was a 2003 Toyota Sienna in silver, one of the most popular vehicles of its year, and no matter what I did to it, it wouldn’t die. Sometimes I secretly prayed for it to break down so I could get another vehicle, but the damn thing was an obstinate old friend.

  The butterflies set in as we parked. I sat in the car a moment, twisting my wedding ring and bouncing my knee before I told myself I was being ridiculous and I could do this. The scary, bad monster hunter was afraid of babysitters. In my case, one specific babysitter, who was a prude and had a stick up her ass.

  Regina. My heart rate sped up to the red zone at the thought of her. Regina was the babysitter who judged you, your actions, and your every word. She’d cross her arms, sniff, look down her nose, and say things like, “I never allowed my children to do that,” or “If that is how you want it,” while curling her lip. You came out short no matter what you did, and for some reason, it affected me.

  My chest loosened when Faith appeared at the door, not Regina. Faith was a lovely young woman, kind and great with kids. She was Daniel’s favorite.

  “Daniel! There you are, baby. I was wondering if you would come in today.” Faith held out her arms, and he ran into them, smacking into her knees in his enthusiasm. She must have braced because she didn’t budge an inch. I breathed a sigh of relief at having dodged the Regina bullet. Dani made happy cooing noises and hugged Faith’s knees as I handed her a new set of backup clothes.

  Faith bent and sniffed. “Did you have a banana, big guy?”

  Deciding silence was the better course of valor, I ignored that subject. “I’ll be an hour, Faith. Ten dollars, right? Plus tip?”

  Faith let Daniel run to the blocks. “It’s always ten dollars, Jess. You know that, and you don’t have to give me a tip.”

  “You deserve it. See you soon.”

  My trainer, Ovid Sitler, the Thing of Evil, was tapping his foot and staring at his watch by the time I walked in. He raised an eyebrow at me. I wished I could do that.

  “Two minutes late, Jess. That’s ten extra pushups.”

  “Make it twenty. I used a bad word yesterday.”

  “Monster hunter mom can’t use a swear word?”

  “I don’t want the kids to swear, so I shouldn’t either. I need to be a good role model.”

  “You be nuts, girl.” Ovid pointed to a mat indicating I should start pushups immediately.

  “No stretching?”

  “Get going, cupcake.”

  I banged out a quick five. “I’m nuts? You are the one who chose to change his name to that of an ancient Roman poet.”

  “I’ve explained this. My parents named me Adolf. I had to change it.”

  “Sure. To Mike or Larry or Sam, not to Ovid.”

  “Twenty more pushups for you.”

  Pushups, crunches, and a myriad of other core exercises later, Ovid ushered me into a basketball court and locked the door. My stomach plunged, knowing pain was on the way. I said a quick prayer and pushed myself into the right headspace.

  “Now, we train.” Ovid pointed to the far end of the gym, and it was then that I noticed the rope course.

  “What are we doing?”

  “Upper body strength. Do the rope course from one end to the other and then back.”

  “That doesn’t seem so hard.” I stalked to the first rope, ready to take this course on. I grabbed the rope with my right arm and pulled, placing my left above the right. I wrapped my legs around the rope…

  “No legs! You have a broken leg,” yelled Ovid.

  “Now you’re pissing me off,” I grumbled, but I let my legs dangle and pulled myself with only arm and core strength. By the time I reached the top, twenty-feet up, my arms were fading, and I faced nine more obstacles. Like I said, Thing of Evil. Master of Torture.

  “This is hard!” I yelled, prepared to complain about his training protocol. Instead, I hedged to the left as a rubber bullet flew at my head.

  “You’ve got a broken leg and the monster is shooting at you. Go! Go, for God’s sake.”

  Newly motivated but grumpy, I rappelled down the rope, swinging it left and right to avoid the rain of bullets Ovid shot at my body. I hit the floor and ran to the next rope, a ladder course.

  “Go back! What about having a broken leg don’t you understand? You can’t run.”

  “You’re going to have a broken leg when I’m done!”

  “No whining. Just do it.”

  I backtracked to the first rope and hopped to the second obstacle, grunting as a bullet whizzed by my back, missing me by a millimeter.

  “Move! Move! Move!”

  Using only one leg, I propelled my body to the top so I could grab the long rope and Tarzan across. As the bullets zipped by my head, I forced myself to move faster. Dropping to the ground at the end of the ladder, I rolled to the next obstacle and scrambled up the spider net, holding one leg stiff, and at the sound of a pop, shifted right to avoid getting shot.
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br />   “Stay light on your feet and turn sideways. You’re too big of a target.”

  “You mean stay light on my foot,” I said, shooting him a withering glance.

  “Don’t waste time making faces. Hop to, hop to!”

  I panted to the next target in a crawl, dreaming of all the nasty things I could do to Ovid later. Mindful of my “broken leg,” I lay on my back and got my hands on the rope in a prone position.

  Ping! A rubber bullet bounced of the metal girders on the ceiling.

  “Whatcha gonna do, pussycat?” yelled Ovid.

  “Don’t call me that!”

  Holding my “bad” leg still, which was a terror on the hamstrings and hip, I dragged myself up the first-quarter of the rope, grasped the end with both hands, and pushed off with my one good leg. I dropped into the foam pit at the other end, quickly swimming to another position so Ovid couldn’t get me. Feeling superior, I rolled toward the edge and was ticked when a bullet flipped a blue foam square only a few inches from my body.

  Fuck this.

  The truth was that my arms couldn’t hold me anymore. I tried to climb out of the pit using only upper body strength, and I realized that in a real-life situation, I’d be dead. A basketball cart stood near the rope course, and that’s when I saw my chance. I used my last bit of arm strength to crawl out of the foam pit, lay on my stomach, and roll to the cart. Time to change the game.

  “What are you doing?” yelled Ovid. “Get to the next obstacle.”

  I didn’t respond, and Ovid shot off two bullets, but the angle was all wrong, and the bullets hit the floor several feet to my right. I snickered and rolled behind the cart, keeping to the rules somewhat by only using one leg. I hopped up and propelled the cart directly toward Ovid like a gimpy racecar at Daytona. I managed the curve around the final rope obstacle and pounded toward my trainer.

  “What the hell? You’re cheating,” Ovid grunted as he zig-zagged to his left.

  “There is no cheating. Just winning,” I replied, as I smashed into him with the cart, basketballs bouncing all over the place. “So, take that, you demon.” I pushed the cart on its side so that it landed on Ovid’s prone form, picked up a basketball, and slammed into the ground next to his head.