Melt (13 page)

Eleven

Joey

      The sign outside the

church

has a message posted in those

plastic

letters.

It's from Jesus.

It says,

When I was on the cross

I thought of

you.

      Say that's even

true. How's that supposed to make me

feel? Now I gotta

feel bad ‘bout Jesus dying

personally

for me

on top of everything else?

      Inside the rectory there's lots of

statues and crosses they're basically

everywhere

you turn. I ain't been here since my communion but I remember all them statues

and

crosses you don't forget stuff like that

things like statues and crosses they

loom.

      There aren't any

people

around but I hear

voices upstairs.

      I don't know if it's the

tiles on the floor or the

emptiness of the hall but my

sneakers they squeal awful

loud.

      I head through the door to the stairs. I go up up up

trying not to

squeak

but it's like I been

tramping through the

tide or something like my sneakers are

soaked

the sounds I'm making.

      My heart it's like a

sledgehammer all of a sudden

clobbering away.

      Stupid shit heart.

      I don't even know

why I'm here ‘cept

Doll she kept at me to

come and maybe I feel like I owe it

to her

even though she don't know

I'm

here.

      She can't know.

      This's all

bullshit

anyways

all this AA crap but she

really

wanted me to come.

I keep seeing her

eyes

that night I pushed her they were so

confused so

hurt like a dog that's been

kicked

by its owner.

      The light it went out of her eyes.

      It's been more than three weeks and I can't get them

dark

hurt

eyes

out of my mind

I lie in bed

all day

the summer's almost half over but I

barely seen the sun I only see them

eyes so I thought,

I can at least

do this ….

      Upstairs

they got the long tables around in a

circle. Someone says,

Welcome.

I stare at the smoky tiles I

nod.

      I scrape

back

a chair I'd like to sit in the

back

but there ain't no

back

to a circle.

      They start the meeting and they go through all the stuff ‘bout the way AA works blah

blah

blah.

      Then this guy gets introduced his name's Rich and he looks kind of like

me

like the kind of dude I am

I mean

‘cept a few years older. He tells this story

his

story

‘bout how his family life sucked

his dad

he hit him and told him he wasn't worth

shit he says the only relief he could get was in a

bottle or a

bong he says he was arrested twenty-six times by the time he was

twenty-one and it was getting so jail was more like

home than

home was.

      He says he went to AA when he was twenty-two ‘cause it was

court

ordered and he still drank ‘cause he thought it was all

b.s. all this talk ‘bout

surrendering to a

higher

power

there was no way he was handing over the little control he had.

      He says it went like that for almost a year he went to meetings

then he went out to

drink

and he figured

what the hell

this is my life

I'm gonna die young anyways.

Then one day he was walking to the liquor store

in the snow.

There was this humongous puddle of

slush at the

edge

of the curb and he

stopped and

stared into it.

      He saw his

sorry-

ass

reflection looking back and

suddenly

he thought of

surrender.

All this time he'd fought it and

look

where it got him.

All this time he thought it was

bad

that it meant

defeat

to surrender

that there'd be

nothing

left of him

that it'd be the end.

But just like that the word

appeared in his head like someone

whispered it to him and he

fell

into the

freezing

puddle he

splattered in

on his knees

he spoke to God he

surrendered.

And that's when he found

hope he found

faith that's when everything

changed

when he caved

when he gave up the

burden

of trying to control what he

couldn't

control

anyway

he felt it

lift from his shoulders and it all

changed.

      He says he went back

home

‘stead of the liquor store that day and he's been

sober

a year.

He says with surrender came

serenity.

      He had me for a while and

damn he's a lot

like me

but he lost me with that

puddle.

      I ain't

surrendering to nothing I can't

see

these people they're wacked I think they pickled their brains a little

too long.

      Ole God

he had his chance to help me

long ago

didn't he? Me my

mom my

brothers we surrendered

all right

we surrendered to

Pop

we didn't have no choice and

where

was

God

then?

      So now I'm supposed to

trust him

I'm supposed to turn

myself

over

to some dude that let us get

tortured?

      I think,

Get

real.

      I have to

stop myself from saying it out

loud.

      Other people talk tell more stories ‘bout

surrender

‘cause that's the topic Rich picked.

Me I'm kinda done

listening

I got more than my fill.

      To finish

everyone holds hands

they say that

serenity

prayer

that's stitched on pillows old ladies buy and lean against while they

sip their tea.

Then everyone says, Stay.

And that's

the end.

I wanna do anything but

stay I'm practically

twitching

to escape but Rich he comes over he

shakes my hand.

      He says he noticed I'm

new he noticed me

squirming

in my seat he says,

That was me

my first time.

He hands me his number

says to call

anytime

I wanna talk. Maybe he can

sense that I ain't gonna

call maybe he knows I'm gonna head right out and

pop

open a Bud ‘cause he asks,

What did you think?

And I tell him the truth

why lie

I tell him I saw a lot of

me

in him

and that was cool but that

surrendering to God shit that's gotta

go.

      He laughs he says he likes my

honesty. He says it don't have to be

God like in the Bible he says he don't even read the Bible or nothing. He says it's ‘bout faith in a power

greater

than

me

it can be in any form. He says it's ‘bout

yin and

yang it's ‘bout

karma it's ‘bout

redemption it's ‘bout

love.

      Love.

      That word

again.

      Fuckin' A.      

      I say,

Bro

I ain't dropping in no puddle for

no one.

      He looks at me dead-on his

eyes they're plowing straight into

mine.

      He says,

The puddle

it's in your

mind.

Dorothy

      I'm in my living room with Amy. We're watching a show about the life cycle of butterflies on the Discovery Channel. This is my life, my summer—watching tv every night. What else can you do with an eight o'clock curfew?

      Not that there's anything to do anyway.

      I spent the first half of the summer waiting for Joey. Looking for him to show up, magically appear on the beach, on the street, at my gate ….

      Somewhere. Anywhere.

      It's August.

      I get it now.

      He's not coming.

      All across the wide-screen there's fluttering, colorful wings.

      I say, “All that talk about butterflies being free, but they only get to live three to four weeks. What kind of sick joke is that?”

      She says, “Maybe their deaths are merely transfigurations to another plane of existence, another metaphysical state of being.”

      I say, “I think they die. Period. ”

Twelve

Dorothy

      Here we are in Dunkin' Donuts again. Around here in the summer life's nothing but iced lattes and donuts after the beach. Thank god school starts tomorrow.

      All this noise, all this pink—I'm ready to scream. Why are we here?

      But I know why.

      Because Amy likes to come here, and she's been a good friend since Joey left. She's listened to me recite my tale of woe over and over without comment or complaint, without one “I told you so.”

      Because I'd rather be surrounded by this bantering and blaring color than left alone with nothing.

      Because maybe I'll run into him here, it's where we met. I've tried so hard to forget him, think about all the bad things, the way he treated me. Every day I stretch out on my towel, close my eyes. There's sun pulsing warm into my skin. There's music coming from Amy's iPod, not loud enough to make out the songs, just a rhythmic jumble. There's the waves sliding and tumbling into the sand and then retreating as more move in. There's little kids giggling, squealing as they play, pure joy in their voices. There's seagulls cawing; there's the ice cream truck in the parking lot playing endless rounds of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame;” there's the smell of burgers and hotdogs grilling—but when he comes into my mind there's nothing else. I think of him drinking, throttling Brian, shoving me. I think of him bloody and angry, demanding that I not say I love him. But those pictures, they fad fast and I'm left with one of him holding me, just holding me. We're lying together in Jason's garage, and he's wrapped around me tight so tight I can feel his body on me still …. Every day I have to roll onto my stomach, press my face into my towel, practically burrow into the sand to hide my tears. They embarrass me, and I wish they'd just leave once and for all, like him.

      I should be over him by now, but here I am on line at Dunkin' Donuts, praying he'll walk in.

      Jimmy and Jason are here, at their usual table in the front room. They saw us come in. Jimmy shot me a quick wave, Jason gave a nod. I'd go over, but what would I say?

      I'm staring into the grey tile waiting for the feet in front of me to move when someone grabs my arm.

      It's Amy.

      She says, “C'mere, I've got to tell you something.” She pulls me off the line, pulls me outside. She says, “I was waiting for them to finish mopping the back room, leaning on the wall near the tables.”

      I shrug. “So?”

      “I heard Jason and Jimmy talking ….”

      “Oh god, is Joey okay? Did his—” I stop myself before I say Dad, I'm honoring his secret no matter what. “Did he get hurt in a fight?”

      “It's nothing like that,” she says. She stares at me for a minute, then sighs. “Look, I'm no Joey Riley fan, and I think you're better off without him. But you're so sad all the time ….”

      “Would you just tell me?”

      “Okay, okay.” She leans against the glass Dunkin' Donuts facade. “Jason asked Jimmy what's up with Joey, why is he never around anymore.”

      “He doesn't hang out at the bridge drinking?” I interrupt.

      “Guess not. So Jimmy says that Joey stays in his room, barely does anything except boxing and work—he got a job as a mechanic, apparently.”

      “He doesn't party?”

      “No, and there's more. Jimmy said he's not supposed to tell, but Joey's been going to AA.”

      “What?” AA? That makes no sense. The last time he saw me was back to the Bacardi. He broke up with me because I wanted him to stop drinking.

      Unless ….

      Oh my god. It does make sense.

      It all makes sense.

      “I've got to go,” I tell her. “I've got to talk to him.”

 

      I run all the way. Across the busy boulevard, over the rail road tracks, through the main part of town.

      By the time I get to Joey's my chest is heaving, and I have to sit on his lawn for a sec or I won't be able to speak.

      I knead into grass, catch my breath. My heartbeat slows to normal. I hoist myself up, head to his door, knock.

      The door creaks open. The woman answering has dirty blonde hair, a worn out expression and a black eye. “Mrs. Riley?” I guess.

      She opens the screen door, steps out. She's slouched over, like there's some invisible weight on her back. “Yes?”

      “Um … is Joey home?”

      She squints at me, kind of like the sun's in her eyes, except it isn't. Her right eye is encased in a swollen, purply mound. It reminds me of Joey's face the last time I saw him. “Joey's not home from his boxing lesson yet. You his girlfriend?”

      “Uh ….”

      Before I can answer, she decides I am. “I didn't know he had one, but I'm glad.” She perks up a little now, her back straightens a tad. “That boy, he's been moping around here like somebody died. Come inside and wait.” She holds the door wide for me. I'm suddenly hesitant. I don't like this house, not at all. It makes me cower inside, like there's a little kid in me all balled up in a corner, rocking.

      But the need to see him, it's greater than my dread.

      I go in, guide the screen closed so it doesn't bang.

      “Wipe your feet, dear,” she tells me as she heads to the kitchen.

      I slide my sneakers on the mat, then catch up to her side. “I'm Dorothy,” I tell her, thinking maybe she's heard of me.

      There's no sign of recognition at my name. He never told her about us, about how happy we were.

      He kept me to himself.

      “I'm cooking dinner,” she says. “Come in the kitchen. I gotta stir my potatoes.”

      We pass through the archway, pass from brown carpet to green linoleum. I think of all the things Joey's told me went on in here, and it's hard to force a smile. “Such a tidy home you have,” I tell her, because it's the polite thing to do.

      “Thank you, Dorothy.” She's stirring, stirring. “I try my best to keep it nice.”

      I'm standing next to her watching her stir, feeling my insides stirring too. I just want to talk to him already ….

      “My little one, Warren, he's at a friend's house,” she says. “And my James, he's having dinner at his girlfriend's. But my Joseph, he always comes home for supper.” She stops stirring for a second, thinks about what she said. “Of course, I won't mind if he eats at your house sometimes. I'm not one of those mothers who can't let go ….”

      “It's okay,” I say. All this small talk is about to send me out of my skin.

      The screen door slams. Suddenly it occurs to me that it might be his dad.

      I turn; I look for a back door or some exit. There's a window over the sink. Could I get up there and out before he got to me?

But it's him, it's Joey. His feet hit the linoleum twice, then stop when he sees me. He looks good.

      His face, it's healed.

      “Doll ….”

      It's there in his eyes—the light.

      He lights up for a second when he sees me, before he can cover up.

      He still cares.

      I want to hug him, it's been so long, but he quickly masks his reaction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

      “Joseph!” His mom says. “Is that any way to speak to a young lady?”

      “Ma, I don't know any way to say this other than butt out,” he tells her.

      She turns back to her potatoes.

      To me he says sharply, “You gotta get out of here.”

      “We need to talk,” I say.

      He's wearing his wraps, his gym bag's slung over his shoulder. He notices me looking and says soft, “I just got a job. I'll pay you back for the lessons.”

      “I don't want your money, Joey. That was a gift, no matter what ….”

      My words trail off as we lock eyes.

      He's fighting himself, I can see it.

      Now, I see everything so clear.

Joey

      Here they are

again

these voices at

war

in my

head

they won't

shut

the hell

up. One's

wailing

for her to

stay one's

screeching

to make her

go ….

Dorothy

      He says, “You gotta leave.”

      “I'm not going until you listen,” I say.

      “I've got some laundry to fold,” his mom says. I sense that's how it's done around here, you walk away from other people's messes. She hands me the spoon. It's covered with a white potato-y film. “You'll stir?”

      I nod.

      She goes.

      I head to the stove, dunk the wooden spoon in, whirl it through the thick goop.

      Joey grabs my arm, squeezes. The jolt when he connects, it's so strong I let go of the spoon.

      I manage to catch hold again, hoist it out before it sinks.

      “What is wrong with you?” he demands. His eyes are wide now, in desperation, in fear. “Doll, please …. Go.”

      “No.”

      He looks like he's going to burst, like he wants to drag me out of here, but he can't bring himself to. “Don't you get it? Pop's coming home!”

      I should be afraid, but all I can register is how great it is to be touched by him again.

      How great it is to feel again, to feel anything again.

      I've been dead all summer.

      The spoon in my hand, it's dripping potato mush all over the linoleum.

      His hand quivers against my skin, I feel it through the soft cloth on his palm, I feel it even stronger through his fingertips. That vibrant power between us, it's undeniable.

      I say, “Joey, I know.”

      He lets go, his hand flops right off my arm. “What do you know?”

      “I know why you broke up with me … to protect me.” I turn to the pot, dip back in, stir some more.

      “Bullshit ….”

      I stir and stir, round and round. How much do you have to stir anyway? “Joey, I know you don't hang out anymore at the bridge.”

      “Got bored with them, that's all,” he says, but his voice, it's shaking.

      I lift the spoon from the potatoes, tap twice on the pot's rim to knock off the excess, stick it on the spoon rest between the burners.

      I switch off the flame.

      Fuck those potatoes if they're lumpy.

      I take his hand, fold it in mine.

      I say, “I know you're going to AA.”

      “Who told you that lie …?” He tries to cover still, but he can't pull it off. The vibe flowing between us, through us—it's been denied too long.

      It's the truth.

      “Aw, Joey,” I say.

      It's all I can say.

Joey

      The truth it's

out.

      I

stop then I

stop fighting it

‘cause there
is
no fighting it

how could I not know that?

      I stop

fighting I stop

listening to the

arguing in my

brain I just

breathe

it in I just

breathe in

the truth.

      There's this

pop

in my head

and then it's quiet.

      They're

gone

the voices

they're

gone.

      Finally

there's silence

finally there's

peace.

      Finally

they're gone.

Dorothy

      He's crying.

      He says, “You never seen what he does to her … I couldn't take the chance, that he'd do that to you ….”

      I pull him against me, he doesn't resist. He's clammy, damp and sticky from the workout. He nuzzles against my neck, it's like he was never gone. I gulp his scent, I hear him suck mine in. His tears, they feel so good. It's like they're cleansing away all the muck I've been buried in since I lost him.

      He kisses me.

      Oh god, he kisses me. It's water in the desert, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever tasted, he kisses me he kisses me he kisses me and everything melts away ….

      Then a voice booms, “What's this?”

Joey

      He's got this big

smirk

on his face

goddamn

sleaze.

      I push Doll behind me.

      She was

just

leaving,

I say.

      Pop

says,

Don't look that way to

me.

He steps

closer

closer

closer. I'm shaking I can't believe I'm

trembling what a

wuss

I

am. Her fingers they're digging digging

digging

into my sides her pulse it's

racing her arms they're

tight around me she's pressed on my

back we're basically

molded into one.

      This

scumbag