Cut (3 page)

Since Maggie was tied up the rest of the day with her mother, I had to find ways to avoid my own maternal figure. Holing up in the piano room seemed like the most viable option. I rifled through sheet music trying to find something to fit my mood. One of the biggest problems with playing was when I couldn’t find the right song, I ended up more frustrated and angst-ridden. It was worse than coming home starving and finding nothing you wanted in the pantry or fridge.

This appeared to be one of those mornings. I could feel my mood darkening and the rage escalating the longer I sat with my fingers drifting over the keys, stabbing random notes. So what the hell was I going to do now? Boredom and anger were a deadly combination for a teenager with an affinity for razors. But I didn’t like to cut when the sun was up—a quirk of mine, I guess.

I hated coffee shops—pseudo-intellectuals pretending to have meaningful conversations. Sitting in the park would require me bearing witness to actual happy families. That pretty much left driving around aimlessly, smoking, and flipping through crappy radio stations.

The thing about Springfield was when you needed to get somewhere traffic would ensure a mile took thirty minutes. When you had nowhere to go, you could drive the entire city in fifteen minutes or less. On my second trip through the same intersection, my phone started buzzing. It was Ken’s friend.

“Hello?” I answered, expecting him to be embarrassed he had misdialed again.

“Uh, hello. This is the man that accidentally keeps callin’ you.”

“Uh huh?”

“Well, I feel kinda silly askin’ you this, but I finally got a hold of Ken. He doesn’t have much family to speak of, and he likes to read.” I couldn’t figure out what one had to do with the other or why either one had anything to do with me. “I was wonderin’ if you really meant what you said about goin’ to check on him?”

“I guess so.” Me and my stupid mouth. I meant it at the time. Now, not so much.

“It’s okay if you were just bein’ polite. I mean, I know we’re complete strangers. I don’t even know your name now that I think about it.”

“It’s Persephone.”

“Well, Miss Persephone, my name is James Fry.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Fry. So to speak.” I was trying to find the happy line between polite and disconnected. Perhaps a chilly tone would head off wherever this was going. On the other hand, I hated to be rude to him again. I was pretty sure I already banked enough bad karma for one week.

“You too, miss. Here’s my predicament. Like I said, Ken likes to read, but his eyesight isn’t real good anymore. He keeps losing track of where he is, getting headaches, that kinda thing. Old age ain’t much fun.”

“I would imagine not.”
Well, there was a profound insight, Persephone.

“I don’t suppose you would be willin’ to go over there and read to him a bit, would you?” He sounded so hopeful I couldn’t say no, even though I had no idea what I was getting myself into. These guys could be scam artists who lured young girls into a prostitution ring for all I knew. What a delightful turn of events that would be.

Now, instead of a horror movie playing out my death, I saw a poignant drama—a Lifetime movie. I would go missing, posters would be plastered all over the town, and my parents would appear on the news pleading for someone, anyone to come forward. Please tell us where our baby is, kind of thing.

Months later, my body would be found in the woods, malnourished, abused, and abandoned. I could see myself wrapped in a huge tarp, a horrible Christmas present left behind for an unsuspecting hunter to find and open. I only needed the courage to show up at the guy’s house. Fate could take over from there.

“Sure, not a problem. What’s his address?” Now that I had warmed to the idea and all its glorious possibilities, I wanted to get over there as soon as possible.

“He lives on Buena Vista, southwest side of town. I’ve been there a couple of times, so I could probably give you directions.”

“No, I know where that is. It’s only a couple of streets north of mine, and I have GPS. I’m free today if you want me to go over.”

“I’m sure he would like that. I should probably call, let him know. Are you sure you want to do this? I hadn’t told him I might have someone, so it’s not like you would be disappointin’ him. I’m thinkin’ from the sound of your voice, you can’t be more’n sixteen. Surely you have better things to do than read to some cranky old Marine.”

Like what? Stare at my bedroom walls trying to talk myself out of cutting another part of my body? Pray that when Dad came home from his next trip I got at least one good night’s sleep? No thank you.

“No, I’m good.”
And if you could convince your friend to take care of this pesky little being alive problem I have that would be great.

“Course, I’ll pay you for your time.”

“That won’t be necessary. You can tell Ken I’ll be there around two or so. Will that work?”

“Yes, ma’am. I just can’t thank you enough for this. It means the world to me and will mean even more to him.”

That afternoon I sat in Ken’s driveway wondering what in the hell I was thinking when I agreed to this. Nothing like having second thoughts after it was too late in the game. It was kind of like regretting sex after the STD test came back positive. You pretty much had to take your medicine and hope for the best.

A quarter mile and a different way of life separated my neighborhood from Ken’s. The houses were nothing to be ashamed of but would definitely never make Better Homes magazine. They were about what you would expect for a newly married couple or retiree. I sat as long as I could and decided it was time to stop staring and go meet the man within. Heaven help me.

When Mary Shelley described Frankenstein’s monster, I can only imagine she knew there would one day be a man like Ken Austin. At a little over five feet nine inches, I was by no means petite. This guy made me feel like a hobbit. His shoulders could have borne the weight of a small country and his hands could have held another two. His hair was kept in the same military cut from his youth, which showed every odd bump and roll of his skull. Could a brain even function in a head shaped like that?

But it was his eyes that caused me to squeak instead of belting out the clear, commanding introduction I practiced the whole way over. Imagine a pristine, crystal blue pond. Now add a layer of ice. That’s what was staring at me from the doorway. In his younger days, I’m sure those eyes made every female between the ages of ten and one hundred fall in love. Now they scared the shit out of me.

“Um, Mr Austin… um, I…”

“Are you Persephone? I thought you would be older.” His voice matched his appearance in every way. It rumbled out of his chest like a sonic boom and vibrated in my stomach. It took all my self-control not to run at a full sprint away from the house. “Well, come in.”

His home was exactly as I suspected—orderly and uncluttered as a Marine barracks. I was pretty sure I would find hospital corners on his bed and everything hung neatly by color in his closet.

Despite the neatness, there was a faint smell under it. It was almost imperceptible if you didn’t know it should be there. Sickness was circling this house like a plane in a holding pattern at LAX on a holiday weekend. No one knew when it was going to be cleared for landing, but it was only a matter of time.

“James said you could read.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope you read louder than you talk.”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, sir.”

“That’s better. How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“You’re just a pup, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The living room is this way.”

There was a recliner, rocking chair, and three floor to ceiling bookshelves. I could see why he didn’t have many visitors. Where in the hell would they sit? Which chair was meant for me? Ken settled himself into the overstuffed recliner, leaving the massive oak rocking chair. My butt would be numb in ten minutes.

“How do you feel about John Irving?” I knew the name—kind of. I mean, who hasn’t heard about John Lithgow’s famous cross-dressing role? As for reading any of his books—yeah, well, reading wasn’t really my thing.

“He’s fine? I mean, I’ve never really read anything by him, but that’s okay.”

“It’s time to broaden your horizons then. There aren’t any vampires or werewolves, but maybe you can struggle through somehow.”

Wow, did I get my nose thumped? Was this guy actually condescending to me? Seriously, I was the one doing him the favor. Besides I never watched a single movie in that whole ridiculous series, much less picked up one of the books. Even someone like me had her standards. As I opened my mouth to say as much, it dawned on me that every Chuck Norris fact could apply to the man in front of me. My death wish was in sudden conflict with my basic instinct to not get the shit beaten out of me. I closed my mouth.

“The book is beside you on the floor.”

I hefted the novel onto my lap. How many hours did he think I was going to be here? I flipped past the table of contents and dedication page. “Okay, so,
A Prayer for Owen Meany
by John Irving. The Foul Ball.”

It didn’t take long, the first sentence really, (“I was doomed to remember a boy with a wrecked voice”) for me to be intrigued. I had never read anything even close to this kind of book, and I was surprised by how much I liked it. I completely lost track of time until I heard a sharp snore and was startled out of the story.

Closing the book, I looked around the room. There were a few pictures on the bookshelves. One was of Ken a long time ago, standing next to a striking man, both in full Marine dress. I wondered if the other man was James.

Right beside it was one of Ken, a slightly younger version, standing next to a girl. She barely came up to his chest. Just as she stared adoringly at him, he was returning her gaze with full force. Girlfriend? Sister? Whoever she was, where the hell was she? Why wasn’t she here putting up with him instead of me?

If Ken hadn’t been quite so big, or if I had been sure of how soundly he slept, I would have wandered through the rest of the house. Instead, I took one more look around and spotted a fleece blanket on the floor next to his recliner. Quietly, I picked it up and shook it out. Sure enough, the Marine emblem was printed on the middle. After covering him up, I let myself out.

My phone started chirping on the way to school Monday morning. It was James.

“Hello?”

“Good mornin’, Miss Persephone. Hope I’m not disturbin’ you.”

“Nope, just on my way to school. What can I do for you?” It was more polite than my regular ‘what do you want’ but not by much. Honestly, I didn’t have the energy to be nice at that moment. As a matter of fact, I rarely had the energy to be nice. I needed all of my strength to maintain.

“Well, I wanted to let you know Ken called me last night. You make quite a first impression, young lady.” Oh shit, what had I done? Great, now I was going to have two pissed off Marines plotting against me. Just what I needed to make my life complete. On the other hand, there could be advantages.

“I’m sorry?”

“No apologies needed, miss. I guess that was a bad way of sayin’ that. Ken was actually quite taken with you. Said you even took the time to cover him up before you left. That was real sweet.”
Taken with me?
Yeah, right. Whatever human emotion (other than disdain) that man possessed was used up on the woman in the photo.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Heard he has you reading that boring ole John Irving. One of his favorites. Tried to make me read it years ago. Sorry about that.”

“I think I’ll be okay. Does he want me to come back over?” I wasn’t entirely sure if I wanted him to say yes or no.

“Yes, he would like that very much, but I don’t want to take advantage of you, Persephone. I’m sure you have friends you’d much rather be with than takin’ care of him.”

“No, that’s alright. I don’t mind. Maybe Wednesday after school? About four-thirty?”

“I’m sure that’d be just fine. By the way, how’d he look to you?” I told James his friend looked good.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Good to hear. I know he says he’s doin’ alright, but it’s not the same as seein’ it myself.”

“Totally understand. I guess I could call you when I get done Wednesday if you want.”

“That’d be great, if you don’t mind it too much. By the by, if you want to, Ken loves peanut butter cups. It would probably make him happy to get some. Marines never stop being Marines, you know. He may be a little gruff, but he’s a good man.”

Whatever. It must be nice to have a built-in excuse for being an asshole.
But if it meant he might actually smile, I guess I was willing to give it a try.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Guess that’s that then. Thank you, Persephone. This is a wonderful thing you’re doin’.”

Wednesday I made time to stop by a gas station and pick up several packs of peanut butter cups and a huge Diet Coke. Maggie called while I was paying, but I didn’t answer. If it was really important she would text.

Ken opened the door after the second knock.

“So you decided to come back?” It was hard to tell if he was pissed or pleased.

“Yes, sir.”

“Come in then. No point in standing in the doorway staring at each other.” I stepped around him as he pulled the door shut. “Do you want something to drink? I have water and unsweet tea. Don’t understand the sweet stuff. James always tries to tell me it’s the only way to drink it. Southerns.” He snorted. “Tastes like liquid sugar if you ask me. Makes my teeth hurt.” It was damn near an oratory compared to how much he had spoken the first time.

“No thanks. I brought something to drink. And, um, I brought you these.” I held out the paper bag full of candy. “James said you like them.”

“Is that so?” He peered into the bag, and I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch. Was that his version of a smile? If so, it needed work.

“Alright then. You go on in. I’m going to get a glass of water.”
Um, a thank you would be nice.
Oh well. It wasn’t like I expected much more from anyone else in my life.