The Birth of Bane (4 page)

My sister
glanced about quickly, nervous. “Are you kidding me?”

“
No, Valerie,
I’m not.” Then, she turned to look at Jessie. “Come on, you old
trickster, let’s see what you’re trying to get me into.”

Her friend
merely chuckled and led the way.

“
This had better
not be like that time in ’65,” said my mom as an
afterthought.

Jessie was
stricken in an instant, his eyes darting from me to Valerie to
Elijah like a housefly trapped inside jar, everywhere at once,
unstopping, trying to get away. He was actually
blushing!

What had he
“tricked” my mother into doing back in 1965?
My face screwed-up when it hit me.
Eeeew! Mom!!!

We came up to a
good-sized patio, laid out directly below a pair of large windows
seeing into the kitchen. The area was covered with
weathered-looking, lattice-work. Some virulent vine had weaved its’
way so thoroughly through the crisscrossing wood, hardly any light
made its’ way through. And, this was light already made dim because
of the combined canopy provided by the two gargantuan trees
dominating the front of the house.

Jessie turned
left and walked up six wide steps onto the porch that stretched the
remaining length of the house. The farthest end of it was actually
screened in, a rickety card table and four folding chairs could be
seen from our vantage. It would make a nice place to sit, bug-free,
in the warmth of a California summer night. There would be no
mosquito bites while sitting in there.

The man walked
up to the front door, which was almost six feet wide, clearly the
largest door I have ever seen used as an entryway into a someone’s
home. And, to our surprise, he knocked.

He must’ve
noticed our shock, because he said with an errant chuckle. “Once
the house fell under my purview, I hired a caretaker of sorts.
Only, he’s a little eccentric.” He said the last sentence behind
the back of his hand as if he were telling a secret. “The last time
I brought a potential buyer over; we walked in on him and his
girlfriend -.”

“
Jess! There are
children here!” cautioned my mother. It was more for Valerie’s sake
than mine. She was deathly afraid of her only daughter losing her
innocence before the proper time, which probably meant sometime
during her 40’s.

My mother’s
friend caught himself, straightening his tie as he cleared his
throat. “…Um, sorry, about that. It’s just we didn’t expect to see
anything in happening in the living room, you know -.”

“
Jess, we get it.” It was a warning.
Shut the hell up or I’m gonna box the shit out of your
ears.

“
Ok, sure.
Yeah,” he mumbled, straightening himself for a second time in as
many moments.

He was about to
ring the doorbell when a tall, skinny (nearly emaciated) young man
answered the door. He was disheveled to the point of being
slovenly. Though it was early afternoon, it appeared as though
Jessie’s knock had aroused him from bed. His hair was long, matted,
pasted against the sides of his skull. There were dark circles
under his eyes and three days’ worth of stubble on his face. He was
wearing a worn flannel shirt and torn-up jeans. His feet were bear,
dirt-stained as if he’d walked around in that manner for some time
without showering. I can’t say he reeked, but there was a pervasive
oily smell about him, not quite full-blown body odor, but something
close to it. It smacked of something sweet.

Back then, I
didn’t know the smell of an addict.

“
Oh hey,
Freddie… How are you doing this fine afternoon?” said Jessie as if
it were a joyous occasion.

Freddie grimace.
My mother’s friend was like a bazooka in his sensitive ears. He ran
a not-so-clean hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you
were bringing over buyers,” he demanded testily.

It was Jessie’s
turn to reciprocate. “I did tell you, Freddie. Two days ago, I
called you and told you I would be bringing a good friend of mine
over to see the house on Saturday. Today is Saturday.”

Freddie teetered
on unsteady feet, running his other hand through his tangled hair.
“Really?”

“
Yup. I wouldn’t
lie to you, would I?”

“
Naw, I guess
not,” replied the musty man before us. “Well, shit man, I wish
I’d’ve remembered. I’d’ve cleaned up the place a bit.”

I could see a
formal dining room behind him. The large table was strewn with
pizza boxes, Chinese food containers, various wrappers and cups
from a myriad of fast food joints. There were as many on the
floor.

And, there were
no chairs in sight, which was sort of weird.

“
Don’t worry,
Fred, the house is going to need a lot more than a little
Spic-n-Span,” cajoled Jessie. Then he recalled we were there and
smiled awkwardly. I think he felt he’d said too much.

Freddie nodded,
stepping back, the door opening wider with his retreat.

My mother laid
eyes upon the room beyond, her breath catching in her
throat.

Before us,
across the broad expanse of the chamber was the largest, stone and
mortar fireplace right out of a British cottage, deep in the
country. The thick mahogany mantle, still lustrous despite a heavy
coating of grime, added to the overall picture perfectly. Even with
my lustful thoughts of my newfound girlfriend swirling in my head,
I couldn’t help but appreciate the workmanship, the sheer beauty of
it. It was magnificent.

“
Oh my,”
whispered my mother as she peered about the large front room to our
left, gazing through the windows on that side of the house. The
deck and a jumble of trees and other flora was visible
beyond.

Jessie hung back
and let us explore a bit, though Valerie stayed by the door, still
wary.

Eli let go of my
mother’s hand and began to walk around, a serious expression on his
face. He was so cute. To me, he looked like midget appraiser there
to assess the value of the property.

Freddie merely
spun in place, his bleary vision barely able to keep up with our
languorous movements throughout the room. “You from around here?” I
heard him ask my sister, his voice suddenly husky. Maybe his lack
of focus had blinded him to the fact she was only fifteen. Or
maybe, it hadn’t mattered to him in the least. Maybe
fifteen-years-olds were right up his alley. Valerie was a looker,
and the slob was definitely looking.

My mom hadn’t
heard. She was too busy peppering her one-time boyfriend with
question after question.

In the end,
Valerie hadn’t needed any assistance. She could be the bitch
necessary to ward off your average, run-of-the-mill Perv. “You’re
serious, right?” she had asked, incredulous.

“
Wha?” was all
Freddie cold manage.

“
Whatever,”
uttered my sister, spun on her heel and walked out the door to
stand overlooking the jungle that was the front yard.

I shook my head,
a half-smile growing upon my face. Even at fifteen, Valerie could
put a man in his place in the span of a few seconds.

“
So, Pillar,
would you like to see the rest of the house?” asked
Jessie.

My
m
om nodded, her eyes sparkling
like they did when she was enthused over something.

“
Why don’t we
start with the second floor and then the attic,” he began, his arm
indicating the way.

It was obvious
to me he didn’t want us seeing the any of the desolation left
behind by Freddie.

“
Then,” he went
on, “we can take a gander at the backyard and the back house.” He
smiled. “After that we can hit the various toolsheds and the
basement. Sound good?”

“
Lead away,
Jess,” answered my mother, her handbag clutched at her stomach, her
head like the red orb of a Cylon, forever swaying this way, then
that.

Within the hour,
my mother was on the phone with my father. He had liked, more than
anything else, the idea that one day the house would make him a ton
of money. But, that was typical of the man. Money was something he
understood thoroughly. People, his wife, his own children… well,
that was something else entirely.

An hour later,
after two large pizzas and a 2-liter bottle of coke had arrived and
were devoured, my mom was signing the initial paperwork in order to
purchase the house and everything in it.

I was happy my
mother was happy. She deserved it. Only Valerie was completely
put-off over living at 1052 Lincoln Drive, but she’d always been a
little mule-headed.

When all the
“i’s” had been dotted and all the “t’s” crossed Freddie told Jessie
he had to be out of the house within a week. We all sort of felt
bad for him, because he had looked flabbergasted. As if he hadn’t
considered what us buying the place meant for him.

He had stalked
off incensed, muttering under his breath something about not
wanting to have to move back in with his skank of a mom. I hadn’t
heard much more. By then, he was already in the master bedroom,
most likely rummaging through his meager belongings.

~~~~~~~<<<
ᴥ
>>>~~~~~~~

Chapter Two: Moving
In

Back in those
days escrow wasn’t some wham-bam, cooking-up of paperwork in a
matter of fifteen days as it became the norm during the end of the
first decade of the twenty-first century. In the 80’s, my mother
was forc
ed to wait the full
ninety days, nearly three months before she was finally given the
“Ok” and we were able to move into the grand (…money-pit of a…)
house upon the hill.

My father and
mother had gone to walk the property a few times, once he’d
returned from his business trip.

The nature of
his work took often took him from us for months at a time, which
wasn’t really a bad, all things considered. Whenever he was away
just about everything was better. There was no shouting, no
throwing things about, no threats and, alas, no tears. When he was
gone, we were almost a normal family. My mother didn’t cower,
forever walking upon the egg-shells spread about the course of her
life by the man who should’ve been taking care of her. She was
witty, funny, played tricks on us kids all the time. She laughed
her throaty laugh, told bawdy stories that made Valerie cringe, and
me and Eli cackle until our sides hurt. My mother was completely
different when my father was away.

I wish I’d been
able to see more of that side of her when I was young. It would’ve
been nice to have memories of her vivacity, her thirst for life,
before everything happened and my father left us for good. It
would’ve been pleasant to have fond recollections of her from the
eyes of a much smaller me. Maybe some aspects of my life would’ve
been easier. Maybe they wouldn’t. I don’t know. I just think seeing
her contented when I was as little as a toddler would’ve been
sublime.

Sometimes, I
grow weary of those early remembrances. I’ve come to dislike
witnessing the apprehension, the disquiet upon her face, the
widening of her eyes, because of the fear behind them. Why did my
father have to be so full of hate? Why did he have to vet his
frustration upon the rest of us? All any of us wanted was to be
loved. We would’ve given anything for that. Our love in return
would’ve been a foregone conclusion.

Often, when I
was younger, I’d look up at the ceiling of my bedroom, especially
after a particularly good day, and ask God why it couldn’t always
be this way. Why did my Dad
have
to come back? Why
couldn’t he stay abroad and just mail home the money we needed to
survive? Why return to a family he didn’t care for, a wife he could
never appreciate? To me, as a child, it was simple. Why couldn’t
life be simple?

So, he’d gone to
see the house at 1052 Lincoln Drive and was immediately pissed off
at my mom for roping him into such a horrific ordeal. He had ranted
and raved over every single detail that was wrong with the place,
refusing to see any of the potential my mother could so easily
imagine. After one such visit, he refused to speak to any of us for
five days, including Eli, who was only first grader. It didn’t make
any sense to me. I couldn’t fathom how it was mine or Val’s or
Elijah’s fault we were moving into a big house requiring a great
deal of maintenance. What the hell had we done? Shit, Valerie
despised the place almost as much as he had. How was punishing us
with his silence fair?

But, that was
him. Good ole’ Leonard G. Favor, forever misappropriate,
unfailingly inconsistent. I think that shit was written in stone
somewhere. It had to be. It was his precise rule-of-thumb, as
though he’d read it on some ancient cave drawing in the middle of
the Pyrenees and took it for the Word of God.

It had come down
to money, in the end. As I said before, it was
the
only thing
he understood through and through. He had pulled us all into his
study, six weeks before we were due to move, made us all sit down
as he figured out what the cost of renovating the house. This had
been an agonizing ordeal, because when it came to dollars and
cents, Leonard never missed a single penny.