--MY LUNGS ARE THICK WITH SMOKE OF YOUR
ABSENCE
On the Edge of
the Canyon
Her text came through as a solitary
word—Pink.
A bolt hit Garrett where he stood in his bedroom and he actually staggered off
balance, heart somersaulting, electricity shooting through every extremity. Garrett started to write back but he was a
jangle of nerves, his fingers shaking so bad that he kept punching the wrong keys.
Tilting his head to the ceiling, he
felt dizzy and flushed.
He looked down at his phone again,
praying he’d been hallucinating.
He hadn’t.
Pink.
Pink as in
positive. As in pregnant.
The
band posters he’d so neatly pinned across his wall smeared and started to swirl
and now maybe he was hallucinating.
Chest tight, breath hard to take in, he told himself to settle down, not
panic, think.
They’d
only had sex without condoms that one time in the back of her SUV. He hadn’t used protection because he thought
at Nancy’s age, fifty five, it wouldn’t be necessary.
And
now she’d texted him with the results of her pregnancy test rather than calling. Just one word. What did that mean? Why not phone with news like that?
Maybe
she was out with her husband. Maybe,
like Garrett, the news had cut her in two and she wasn’t prepared to talk about
it yet. Still he felt shunned, burned
and abandoned by her brevity.
She
was his chemistry teacher first semester.
He’d found her attractive, like any other guy with a pair of eyes, but
had no idea his allure would lead to an actual romance, to sex. The day they consummated their affair she
tried to be cute and ironic saying they shared a certain chemistry. He fell in love, and fell hard.
Now
Garrett took in a chest full of air, held it in, then blew it out. Into his phone he typed Please call me as soon as you can.
He added a second Please then
deleted it, realizing that would make him seem needy and desperate, juvenile,
the very last thing he wanted Nancy to see him as.
He
knew two girls his own age who’d gotten pregnant. One had a baby, the other didn’t. Clearly Nancy wouldn’t keep it. They’d talked about so many random subjects,
everything from Middle East conflicts to gun control, but abortion had never
come up.
Him
a dad at age seventeen? It was
impossible, wasn’t it?
Garrett
paced around the outline of his bed, stepping on discarded clothes that were
strewn everywhere. His foot got caught
in the neck of a sweatshirt and he nearly tumbled, but went right on pacing.
When
his phone buzzed, the vibration so startled Jarred that his hand jerked and the
cell went flying, hitting a wall and trundling on the floor. He found it buried inside a pair of his boxer
shorts.
But
it wasn’t Nancy texting. Just his mom
saying dinner was ready.
“Shit.”
Garrett’s
mouth tasted like a sandpit, gauzy and dry.
Dylan had beer at his place, at Nancy’s, but Garrett couldn’t go over
there until he heard from Nancy first.
And then there was the matter of dinner waiting for him downstairs.
“Shit.”
He
paced some more, his mind a cauldron of dread, until his mother screamed about
dinner.
At
the table his mother sat opposite him, her fork upraised and pointed at him,
appraising him as always, as if he was some stranger or an untrustworthy
person.
Since
Garrett’s father moved out a year ago, his mother’s evil side had sprouted
freely, appearing without warning and often for no reason at all. It was preposterous to be frightened of your
own mother when you were nearly an adult, yet Jarrrid was and perhaps in Nancy
he saw not only an intelligent and beautiful woman, but also a mother without
malice, a facsimile of a parent he wished he had. But no, it wasn’t that. He loved her.
He---
“Eat!” His mother’s bark was a blow horn, ripping
him from random thoughts, reminding him that there was more to be wary and
worried about than Nancy’s text.
“My
stomach’s upset,” Garrett said, jittery and anxious.
His
mother reached below the table, producing a pack of cigarettes from her
handbag. She tamped the pack and
withdrew one and lit it with the lighter she always kept stationed beside her
utensils at mealtime. Smoke swirled around
her face like gauzy helixes.
“That’s
not the only thing that’ll be upset if you don’t eat your dinner,” she said, as
fissures of smoke danced out of her mouth.
“Mom—“
“Shut!”
Her
hand slammed down on the table, making their plates and knives bounce.
“And
put that damn phone away. It’s
suppertime.”
He
did as he was told, sat and decided he would eat as fast as he could, not
thinking about what the food tasted like, chewing quickly, trying not to gag on
the gluey carrots and potatoes, the cold slabs of pink ham.
“Some
stomach ache,” his mother said, staring, smirking, not having touched any of
her meal. Her eyes narrowed to snake
slits, trying to skirt the cigarette smoke that shimmied against them. “When’s the last time your father called?”
“I
don’t know,” Garrett said without looking up.
His plate was nearly empty.
His
mother’s fingernails, painted a wet black color and an inch long, tapped code
against the edge of her plate. “Well,
did he call in the last week?”
Garrett
couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to
think about that, not now. His mother’s
interrogations, especially when it came to Garrett’s father, were a series of
relentless questions, each one becoming more piercing, as if she were chucking
darts or knives at him.
Garrett
tried answering everything he knew she’d ask.
“He called three days ago. We
didn’t talk more than ten minutes or so.
He asked about school, how my grades were. He asked about you. He said he hoped you were well.”
“Liar!” Again she slammed her hand on the table, sending
several wilted peas bouncing off the edge.
“That’s
what he said.”
“You
father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”
Garrett’s
plate was empty and so he stood up.
“Mom, I’ve got to go.”
“Sit
your ass back down.”
He
started to do as she’d commanded, then hesitated, meeting her eyes for the
first time, eyes that looked like dead flies.
“Did
you hear me? I’m giving you five
seconds.”
Everything
inside him was upended, topsy-turvy, on high alarm. To brazenly disobey her would mean a severe
beating, but then again, it might just as well happen if he failed to answer
her grilling the way she wanted.
Spittle
clung to the crease of her mouth. One
corn-colored tooth, sharp as a fang, hung down over her lower lip.
He
darted away, out of the dining room and down the hall, everything a blur,
flinging the door open, leaping down the porch steps, across the lawn, running
down the sidewalk, running instead of risking being caught in the garage trying
to get his car started.
He
cut across backyards then through a park, picking up speed, not caring if
gawking parents and their kids were alarmed by his brash intrusion. He ran another mile to a section of town
where he knew his mother would never bother trolling and finally stopped to
catch his breath.
His
side ached. His knee was sore. He leaned over and threw up in a sunburned
hedge. He retched and retched until what
must have been his entire dinner spewed forth.
His
mouth tasted foul. He felt dehydrated
and dizzy, as if all he had to do was close his eyes, fall back and faint.
He
did his best to regroup, checking his phone.
Still no message from Nancy. That
was rare. On the few occasions she
failed to reply, Garrett couldn’t help but imagine it was because Nancy and her
husband were having sex, though she’d said they hadn’t made love in over two
years. He believed her, of course, was
glad even, but the idea still dumbfounded him.
Nancy was stunning, her body as fit as a woman in her twenties.
Holding
his breath, Garrett punched keys on his phone.
Dylan
answered on the first ring. “Yo.”
Garrett
hadn’t thought ahead of what to say and he blanked. Initially, when they’d first become friends,
conversations between he and Dylan flowed effortlessly, but of late, owing most
likely to Garrett’s obsession with Nancy, things had been more stilted. A canyon existed between them, even if Dylan
didn’t know it.
“Hey,
dude, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“What
up?”
“I’m
thirsty.”
“You
always be thirsty, boy,” Dylan said, trying to sound hip, gangsta, always
trying.
“Your
folks home?”
“Rents?” Rents
for parents.
“Just
the bitch on the rag locked up in her hole.”
Garrett
flinched. Dylan often disparaged his
mother and Garrett couldn’t tell if Dylan really meant what he said or if it
was just another way of him trying to come across as cool, the defiant teenage
son.
“Your
dad’s out?”
“Yeah. You keeping tabs now?”
“No.”
Nancy
was at home, alone except for Dylan, and she hadn’t bothered replying.
“Come
on over. I just rolled a hella blunt.”
“Be
there soon.”
It
took Garrett far longer to get to Dylan’s than he’d expected. Exhausted and nervous he knocked on the door.
“Dude,”
Dylan said, “where’s your car?”
“I
walked.”
“Funny.”
“No really.”
“Are you nuts?” Dylan asked.
“Probably.”
“Prolly.” Dylan’s eyes were bloodshot which meant Dylan
had started on the weed without waiting for him.
“Your
mom’s looking for you. She sounds
remarkably pissed.”
“What’s
new?”
“She
wouldn’t believe you weren’t here. I
even had to put my mom on the phone before she’d stop calling.”
That
was a bizarre thought, Nancy talking to his Mom, and Garrett shook the image
from his mind.
They
walked up the stairs, Garrett taking in various family photographs that hung on
the walls, his gut churning. In each
Nancy looked naturally beautiful, and also happy.
As
they passed the master bedroom, Garrett amplified his voice so Nancy would hear
him, asking, “So how many times did my mom call?”
Dylan
shot him a look which said why would you care?
His
room was at the far end of the hall. An NWA poster was taped on the door at an
angle. As they stepped inside, Dylan
locked the door, something he always did, something Garrett would never be
allowed to do at his home.
Dylan’s
room was in disarray, resembling Garrett’s, only the desk was uncluttered with
two hand rolled cigarettes and a lighter which was the same blood red color of
his mother’s lighter. Loud ambient music
played, a mix of tinkling wind chimes and some sort of animal snarling.
“What
the hell are you listening to?”
“I’m
off hip hop. This is fresh.”
“It’s
weird.”
Dylan
stuffed a folded up towel against the bottom seam of the door and lit one of
the cigarettes, inhaling mightily. Still
holding the smoke in, he offered it to Garrett, saying “Here,” in a sharp
squeak.
“No
thanks.”
Dylan
croaked, coughing and slapping his chest.
“What?”
“I’ll
take a beer if you have one.”
“No
ganja?”
“Nah.”
“Well,
you look like hell man.”
“And
you look stoned.”
Dylan
offered a glassy-eyed smile and bent down by end of his bed where the mini
cooler sat, fetching Garrett a can that was ice cold and dripping condensation.
Dylan
plopped down on an oversized beanbag chair that was splotchy with stains and
smelled like dirty socks. Garrett took
the chair by the desk. He couldn’t stop
thinking that Nancy was only a few yards away, down the hall, couldn’t stop
wondering what she was doing and so he thought he’d just ask.
“What’s
your mom up to?”
“She’s
such a bitch.”
“Hey. Mine might be, but yours isn’t.”
“She’s
only nice to her students. People don’t
see the other side.”
“Yeah,
like what?”
“All
she does is nag, plus I’m positive she’s cheating on dad again.”
Garrett’s
hear nearly ruptured. “Again?”
“She’s
a slut.”
“God,
lighten up already.”
“She
slept with every guy in the last town we lived.”
“Sure,”
Garrett said.
“I’m
serious.”
“Right,
and how do you know that anyway?”
“Because
she told me.”
Garrett
was ready for Dylan to tell him he was joking.
“Sure. You’re full of crap.”
“Dude,
she did. It’s part the of steps.”
“Steps?”
“Sex
Addicts Anonymous. She’s one. At some point you have to come clean to ones
you live with.”
“Wait,
what’re you saying?”
“I
still call her a whore. Fuck her, she
thinks she has a disease. She’s just a
sleaze. Hey that rhymes.”
The
room was suddenly boiling, his body rocking, swaying, as if Garrett was
standing on the edge of a canyon, wind trying to push him over.
“You
swear everything you’re telling me is true?”
“Who
would make up that stuff? It’s not exactly
something you want to go bragging about.”
“Why
didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I
just did. And if it helps, it doesn’t
make me feel any better.”
Now
coils burned inside him, panic replaced instead by a seedling of rage which was
sprouting and blooming through Garrett’s body at terrific speeds. He felt unhinged, as mired in quicksand, and
so he blurted out, “I need to talk to her.”
“Who?”
“Who?”
“Nancy.”
“My
mom?”
Garrett
got up and stood over Dylan, the muscles in Garrett’s neck taut, yet
trembling. “I need you to promise me
that you’ll stay here until I get back.”
“No.”
Garrett
thought about spitting in Dylan’s face but instead spat on the beanbag next to
Dylan’s shoulder. “Say it. Say you promise.”
“Why? Why do you have to talk to my mom?”
Garrett
reached down and grabbed Dylan’s shirt collar and yanked his face forward. “You fucking promise or I’ll beat you into
hamburger.”
Dylan
crossed his hands in front of his face in an X.
“Fuck off, man. I didn’t do
anything.”
“Promise,
or I get started now.”
“All
right. I promise. Whatever.”
Garrett
released his grip but stood over Dylan a bit longer, pointing a finger at
him. “I’m not fucking kidding.”
“What
the hell’s wrong with you?”
Garrett
spat again, this time hitting Dylan’s forehead.
He left the room and strode down the hall and tapped on Nancy’s door and
said for her to open up and when she didn’t respond he wrapped harder and
screamed, “Open the fucking door or I swear I’ll kick it in.”
A
second later Nancy cracked it open, whispering, “What’re you doing? You can’t be here.”
Garrett
forced his way inside and pushed Nancy on the bed and was on top of her,
pinning her wrists down.
“You’re
hurting me. Please stop this.”
“Is
it true? Are you really sleeping around
with all these guys?”
“No.”
“Were
you, in the place you lived before?”
When
her eyes flitted to the side, he knew the truth and the flames inside him leapt
and it felt as if he was self-immolating.
He felt like strangling her, hitting her, hurting a woman for once
rather than having it be the other way around.
“Are
you even pregnant, or is that a lie, too?”
“Garrett,
please get off me.”
“I want an answer.”
“I want an answer.”
“I
needed a little time to explain.”
“Explain
what? Are you or aren’t you pregnant?”
“You’re
really hurting me.”
“You
wouldn’t even know what that felt like, real pain. Now answer me goddamn it.”
“Yes. Yes, I’m pregnant.”
“With my child?”
“With my child?”
Nancy
shook her head.
“What?”
“David
and I, we’ve been trying to reconcile for a while now. I got pregnant before you, before us.”
“Are
you fucking kidding me? You, you, you
were kind to me, treated me nice, different.
You let me tell you I loved you.
You went down on me.”
“Please,
Garrett.”
“Unbelievable!”
Dylan said, standing behind them in the doorway. “You’re both no-good whores.”
“I
told you to stay in your room,” Garrett said, stepping off the bed. “You promised.”
“Yeah,
well promises don’t seem to matter much to anyone around here.”
“I’ll
kill you,” Garrett said, stepping forward.
“I said I would.”
Dylan
reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a pistol and aimed it at
Garrett.
“Dad’s
gun, sadly unused. Get down on your
knees with your hands behind your back,” Dylan said to Garrett. “Now.”
“Dylan,”
his mom said, “put the gun away.”
“Too
late.”
He
shot her in quick succession, five or six times, her body flipping and twisting
with each blast, the barrage lightning-quick.
Garrett
sprang up and tackled Dylan by the knees.
They scuffled, Garrett pinning Dylan against the dresser. A backboard mirror broke free from the bureau
and shattered near their heads. A glass
shard pinged off the floor and hit Dylan in the eye, blinding him. He stopped struggling and released his grip. The room became oddly quiet, just the sound
of Garrett’s own breathing filling his ears.
“Go
ahead,” he told Dylan. “Do it. Kill me, too.”
He
heard the door close. Steps down a
hallway. The door alarm bell tinging as
it did whenever it was opened or closed.
He
felt the quicksand tugging, pulling him down, but it was doing only slow
work. Garrett ran his hands across the
floor, feeling the chunks of shattered glass.
When he found a large jagged piece he used it, slashing both his wrists,
his throat.
Then
he was transported to age seven, overlooking the Grand Canyon, Mom and Dad
happy, still together, his mother saying, “It’s so beautiful, so peaceful. It would be a fine place to die.”
