The Other Side(37)
I shake my head because it’s way too early to deal with a cross-examination, but then I zero in on his eyes now that they’re this close to me. His pupils are blown wide-open. Rubbing my temples, I pinch my lids closed to block out the flagrant accumulation of bad late-night choices squatting in front of me.
“He’s dying, isn’t he? He’s not coming back.” He shakes his head furiously. “They can’t make me go to foster care. I don’t even like waffles. Why is it so hot in here? I need to get this shirt off.” He’s not wearing a shirt. The words tumbling out of his mouth are an incoherent stream of consciousness fueled by whatever chemicals are in charge. I knew Cliff smoked weed, but this is the first time I’ve ever seen him cranked up on something more.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
As if prompted by all things biblical, Cliff makes the sign of the cross over his chest and clutches the beads hanging there. I’ve never seen him pray but apparently blow, or speed, or acid, or whatever he’s on, brings out the Holy Ghost.
I put the brakes on the rosary because I know it’s a time-consuming process. “Cliff, why don’t you go lie down and do that in your room? Maybe you could try to go to sleep?”
His hand slips from the tiny cross resting on his protruding belly to the floor beside him like it’s useless to him. “I can’t sleep,” he confesses.
No shit. “Watch some TV,” I suggest vocally. Leave me alone, I beg internally.
All at once he jumps to his feet with the enthusiasm, but not the grace, of a cheerleader. “Good idea, I’ll bake a pizza and we can watch Sid and Nancy.”
Watching him preheat the oven, I whisper just in case Cliff grabbed his attention and there is a God still listening, “Please don’t let him set the house on fire. He’s on your watch tonight, I’m going back to sleep.”
I sleep in until eight after the early morning, manic, drug-induced wake-up call from Cliff and then make my Saturday rounds. Cliff is finally asleep, he crashed in spectacular fashion. He ate the pizza he baked and watched Sid and Nancy alone, alternately reciting the lines of the movie along with the actors and crying while repeatedly declaring, “Legend,” to the sad tale unfolding on the TV. When all went quiet, I knew he was finally out.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter to myself as I walk by the shed in the backyard on my way to the trash dumpster in the back alley. After I toss the garbage bag, I return to take a better look. Some douchebag tried to break in the shed last night. They didn’t get in, but they busted up the wood on the bottom corner of the door trying to pry it open. My trip to take out the trash turns into a two-hour long repair to the shed. I take it off the hinges and do my best to patch it. It may not be pretty, but it’s weathertight and solid with a backing plate of metal on the inside now.
On my way back inside, I gather the mail. There’s a small box for me. It’s finally here.
Back up in apartment 3A, I make sure Cliff is still among the living. He’s made it easy for me, his bedroom door is wide open and he’s lying on his back, stark naked. The girth of his pale torso, that looks like it’s never seen the sun, inflating and deflating. Satisfied he’s breathing, I shut the door quickly, wishing I could unsee what I’ve just seen.
Tearing into the box, I find ten bright white envelopes and ten bright white cards stacked atop each other and wrapped in a band of cellophane. My graduation announcements.
Slipping one card and one envelope out, I let the rest fall into the kitchen trash can. As I watch them settle into their demise between a frozen pizza box, an empty gallon of milk, and cigarette butts, it feels fitting. Some people are born to do great things, to leave a mark, to simply be great.
And some people, like me…aren’t.
Have I left my mark? Yeah, I’ve left a few.
None I’m proud of.
So, it’s fitting that the culmination of almost eighteen years, graduation, ends up in the bottom of a trash can.
I set the one remaining defiant invitation on a shelf in my room where it will have to wait until Johnny comes back.
Chapter Twenty
Different unfolds, tragically
Past, February – May 1985
Nina’s Protector
Ken is different.
If only I’d known what a prophetic proclamation that was from the very beginning.
Ken is different.
Ken is different.
Ken is different.
No matter how it’s dissected, the outcome is the same.
Week one living with Ken:
“Babe, I want you to quit your job. I’ll take care of you.” Nina hates her job. She thinks Ken is the answer to her prayers.
You have your GED now, you can enroll in nursing school like you’ve always wanted, I urge.
Nina agrees with both of us, quits her job the next day, and while Ken is at work she calls and requests information from two local nursing programs.
*
Week three living with Ken:
“How do I look?” Normally, Nina wouldn’t ask this question. She wouldn’t invite the potential for criticism. But it’s Valentine’s Day, she’s wearing her favorite dress, and Ken’s taking her out to dinner. She hasn’t left the apartment since she quit her job. Ken says it’s not safe for her to go out without him. She thinks it’s chivalrous.