The phone rings off the hook and our friends show up in numbers just to see the holes that are less than twelve hours old. Most of them knew that Steve and I didn’t do holidays; maybe it was because he lost his father on Thanksgiving in a horrific car accident, right around the same time my marriage shattered like a broken mirror. So for us, there were no special dinners, no gift exchanges, not even a Hallmark card to mark the occasion, and just because yesterday’s date on the calendar was marked with a big, red, heart, didn’t mean I should have anticipated this one to be different.
The rising of the sun, signaled the start of the day like any other, but lately, they all seemed to run together with no set time for anything. In my house, there was no distinction between night and day, and I had witnessed five sunsets since my head last touched a pillow. It was as if I was stuck in some kind of vicious cycle in which everything and nothing happened, continuously, with no end in sight. I stood there looking at the calendar trying to make sense of the numbers and gridlines and trying to determine if I had the date correct in my other wise preoccupied mind. Meanwhile, prayers that today would be different emerged from my soul and made their way onto the very bottom of God’s To-Do list.
Without warning, he materialized from the bedroom, a rather large man who stands 6’ tall weighing about 230 pounds. Salt and pepper hair covers his head, decorates his chin, and face, just under the nose. His baggy pants and black oversized hoodie suggested that he was going somewhere. He ascended the stairs, forcefully brushed by me, grabbed an ice-cold bottle of beer, and exited out the front door. “Business” was all I could get out of him as he climbed up into his newly lifted, baby blue, Chevy Z71, and drove off; the music thumped so loud it rattled the glass in the floor- to-ceiling windows in the front living room. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Lucifer”, I mumbled in disappointment, as he sped away, just like every other day.
I decided to celebrate on my own, the only way I knew how these days. The crystals in the glass bowl crackled and popped as the heat from the lighter melted them, and when the time was right, I inhaled then exhaled a huge plume of white smoke. My determination to have a good day became overwhelming; I felt as if I had been abandoned by the entire world. Just someone rather small and unimportant. My only friend Jenny and her boyfriend, a notorious thief, were currently in hiding after backing up to an enclosed trailer, located outside of a local museum, and driving off with it hitched to their newly, illegally-acquired, mode of transportation. They were hoping to score something big that could be sold to feed their insatiable habit, but instead ended up with a box full of dinosaur bones. Crying on her shoulder was not an option, so there I sat, alone, in the bottom level of the house.
It is a nice house, a tri-level located in a wide cul-de-sac on the nicer side of town. The rent is ridiculous, but money is not a problem these days. I have an 8’ privacy fence around the backyard, four bedrooms, and my favorite amenity, a fireplace. The fireplace is located on the bottom level within a large living area, and off to the side is the master bedroom. The living room is simple, not really inviting like many you see in magazines, but I keep it extremely clean and organized. A computer desk stands along the wall opposite of the fireplace and a sleeper sofa stretches out in the middle of the room. On nights when snowflakes chase each other playfully before blanketing the ground, I can lounge on the couch and gaze, as if hypnotized, at the flames as they try to escape through the chimney into the crisp night air. To the right of the fireplace, just below one of the windows, is an old table, like the small square ones that seat two people at your favorite mom-and pop place, and that is just how it is set up, diner style, with an ashtray in the center. To the left of the fireplace is a small TV stand. It holds two TVs, one a regular 19” Magnavox, that is never turned on, and nesting on top of that one, is a small white, 8” monitor that I have hooked up to cameras located on the corner of the garage and above the front door. One can never be too cautious, you know. From my couch, I can watch the cars coming and going down the street, and see if anyone is approaching the door, and many days I will spend hours doing just that. This is my special place, sort of a sanctuary if you will and one that I rarely leave.
As I sat at the table, carefully filling bowl after bowl with tiny crystal shards, I watched the little TV and wished for something thrilling to happen. My mother once said, “be careful what you wish for”, since the time my aunt wished for excitement in her life, only to have her husband experience a brain aneurism that very afternoon, but I wished anyway. The shadow people, who only appear on days when my head floats like a helium-filled balloon or when my body aches as it longs for nourishment, began to lurk behind doors, outside in the trees, and just beyond the fence. I couldn’t make out there faces or see just how many there were, but I knew they were there and it wouldn’t be long and they would come for me. Fear consumed me and I sat still as a corpse, so they could not find me, hoping they would leave, and waited for Lucifer to come back home and chase them away as he always did. For some strange reason he was unable to see them and he would yell at me, but he would look anyway, just to get me to shut up and calm down. Many times during the darkest part of night, I would sit at the windowsill until the street lights blinked with the rising of the sun, and peer through the blinds like a peeping Tom, watching for them to make their move. In the distance I could hear the screeching roar of sirens approaching, a sign that something terrible was happening, while others heard nothing at all.
The screen on the little TV darkened as darkness fell and soon, familiar headlights approached the house. Like a good girl, I rushed to the door to greet him, hoping for at least a “Hello” or a “Happy Valentine’s Day”, but instead I was met with horrendous obscenities and accusations from the moment he slammed the front door behind him. His “business”, which was no longer any of my concern at this point, had taken him all over town that day, and had ended at the home of a lesbian couple. This inseparable pair of girls had created a sport that consists of telling lies on my behalf. The more they said about me, the more free “ice” they received in return, if they had nothing to say, they made things up, maybe it was jealousy or just a ploy to get free drugs. It was a sick and twisted game everyone seemed to enjoy playing, except the victim. I hated Steve as much as I loved him, and my heart ripped slowly with each word that passed between us. Like always, I tried desperately to convince him that the information the girls had provided was incorrect, but the only response I got was to, “shut the fuck up, you fucking liar” as he headed for the garage.
The garage is his place more or less and every inch is covered with black and yellow power tools and giant, red, rolling tool chests. An engine, donated by an unsuspecting contributor, is hoisted in the center on an engine stand, as it awaits its new home, a primer colored 1989 Camaro. Lying across two wooden sawhorses, near the door, are giant sheets of plywood that he uses to build speaker boxes. His obsession with extremely loud music is somewhat unnerving, but I deal with it. The place is cluttered and dirty, smelling of grease and days old beer, disgusting really, if you think about it. Maybe I should have adhered to the advice about a man and his cave in a book I once read, but my foolish pride, that was twice as big as my 5’4’’, 98-pound frame wouldn’t let me back down, and I followed him into his. I found him drinking a Budweiser and mentally taking inventory of his prized possessions. I pleaded relentlessly for him to show some compassion, but all I got was a smug look as he continued to call me a liar, until something deep from within caught me by surprise. “If you don’t stop calling me that, I am going to fucking KILL YOU”, I screamed over the roar of the garage heater. “Whatever, you fucking liar” he said as his eyes made that circular motion signaling annoyance.
That was it, I had had enough, and the urge to bring him to his knees was well beyond my control. My mind was racing and every feeling of hatred and anger I had been holding on to since birth seemed to be surfacing from every nook and cranny of my subconscious, all at once, like an active volcano. My form resembled lightening as I moved across the house, took the stairs in one leap down to my bedroom, and stopped in front of the bureau. From behind the socks, my fingers retrieved four bullets and a North American 22, a rather small gun, given to me for protection by the monster who had taken over the garage. My entire body shook violently as I opened the chamber and forced two bullets into position, dropping the other two onto the floor. I ran as if my life depended on it, back up the stairs and stood in the open doorway leading to the garage.
“What do want? Liar”, he said just as his chestnut eyes came face to face with the gun’s barrel. I don’t remember pulling the trigger, maybe it was someone in the shadows, but the sound was deafening as the bullet grazed the top of his head and exited through the garage door. “Are you fucking nuts?” he yelled as I pulled the trigger back again. Tears of rage obscured my vision and burned my cheeks like acid, but I couldn’t stop, I wouldn’t, not now, the repercussions of my present actions would be more than I could bear. The chamber was empty the second time, and it just clicked, “third time’s a charm”, I whispered, and another bullet flew passed him slightly to the left above his shoulder and followed the previous one through the garage door. Knowing that only two bullets were in the gun, I lowered it slowly to my side, like a cowboy who had just survived his first duel and turned to walk away.
Lucifer put down his beer and lunged at me, grabbed the gun, and hurled me to the floor. My fall was broken by a newly sharpened chainsaw just as the gun shattered after he confiscated it threw it against the concrete wall. I managed to stumble to my feet and grabbed the full bottle of beer that the monster had conveniently placed before me on the mechanic’s cart. Timing my next move precisely, I smashed it across his forearm, with enough force to break a bone, sending fragments of glass and bitter smelling foam flying all over his precious stuff. Cries of agony filled the air, and while he appeared helpless, I wasn’t taking any chances. Looking around, I spotted and seized a rather large crowbar and was able to catch him off guard again as it connected with his temple causing him to stumble backwards. Like a baby, he begged me to stop. Sleep was impending rapidly, and I was getting weaker by the minute. With no strength left to finish the battle, I waived my white flag. Silent tears continued to fall and words never crossed my lips as I made my way downstairs, and lay curled up like a kitten in front of the fire, where I cried myself to sleep like an orphan, while he cleaned up the mess.
The news of what happened spread through our circle like wildfire, and looks of disbelief appear frozen on everyone’s face. Like doubting Thomas, they want to see the holes for themselves and listen to me regurgitate the story in my own words as they struggle to swallow the recent event as if it were an oversized pill. A select few are sympathetic and agree that he deserved it, but most of are friends are just relieved that their supplier wasn’t put out of business. Steve and I never really talked about it afterwards, but the confrontations continued on a slightly smaller scale as we sank deeper into the dark world we had created for ourselves.
Steve slowly started to lose everything he valued the most; his truck was the first item to go as his business fell apart. Isolated from most of the world, I didn’t notice that my own reflection seemed to be disappearing before my eyes, until one day they finally came. The shadow people, in their black uniforms decorated with S.W.A.T. leaped over the fence and repelled from the rooftop. They forced their way through every door with their shields up and guns drawn, just as you see on TV. I was surrounded by them and although I was hysterical, not to mention terrified, feelings of relief mingled into the mix as well. I thought the nightmare might finally be over, but oh, I was wrong, it had only just begun.
