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I see Quade’s face of ten years ago…shiny, eager, dorky, and I recall the hypnosis I was under when I told myself that our drab, neutered connection was the stuff a proper marriage is made of. Successful, generous, and sweet to a fault…the perfect suitor. Of course my family and friends all adored him. And then I see him naked and the way he grins like a boy, like a kind, innocent boy who has no remote clue what he’s doing. His penis is enormous in the dream… unrealistic and rubbery looking, though not flaccid, and he’s beaming at me with pride. Then he somehow mixes it with my body as he continues grinning, looking happy and complete. I feel nothing…no pain, pleasure, or interest. Just the submissive blankness of compromise. The hollowness of detachment. I wrap my arms around him to show that I love him, but I know it’s a lie. I’m empty inside. Quade is my greatest friend and he’s all I know, but I’m empty. His great big, glowing member cannot fill me in the slightest.
I sit up with an aching sadness that won’t leave. I’ll get up and start my day, make some tea, meditate the images away. As I pour the cascara, I find it in myself to briefly smirk… Quade’s penis isn’t a tenth the size of that thing in my dream. At least my subconscious has a sick sense of humor.
Chapter 8
Bo
Mama would always say that when the skies are cloudy for a while, they’re protecting the earth from too much harshness, too much stimulation. The rain comes to rinse away the old and cultivate new life and formation, different perspectives. If life were sunny all the time, everyone would burn out in a fire of excess energy.
I learned the hard way that rain and fire can come at the same time, cause confusion, lead to chaos, end in tragedy. But since then I’ve spent my life watching the cycle, the daily growth of seedlings, saplings, baby birds…forming, growing, and disappearing or slowly breaking down. Like a vase full of roses, fading from bright velvet red to rusty brown. It’ll happen to every single one of us eventually. Life is about livin while you’re livin, takin in everything that’s around you. Feeling.
I took my mama seriously. I believe I can remember every word she ever said to me. And I aspire to act out her wisdom in all that I do, to make her proud wherever she is. I can see her in the sunset tonight, as I bring flats of lantana seedlings into the shelter of the greenhouse. In a few weeks they’ll open to the sky like tall jewels, in every shade of magenta, purple, coral, yellow, orange.
As I run my fingertips over the soft, baby green leaves, I watch the sky sharpen into a blazing watercolor painting… then fade and drift slowly toward darkness. An owl hoots in the giant swamp oak around the edge of the old house. I look over at its mammoth shape in the shadows and see the last light glinting off the west facing windows. A spark burns within me to fix up the house, get the water and electric on and move into it for the first time in thirty years. It’s not a desire I felt in the past, but every time I see a sunset I can hear Mama telling me it’s okay. It’s okay to go back in and live with the luxuries I’ve denied myself. And I know she’s right, but I won’t – I can’t – go it alone.
Chapter 9
Fiona
Tuesday morning I receive a text that Quade will be in town for the night, and I do something I’ve never, ever done before. I ignore it. Maybe he’ll think my phone service glitched, or that I read it at a busy moment and it slipped through the cracks. All I know is that I stood in the back of Fiona’s Flowers for what must have been a solid ten minutes, fingers poised over my phone, unable to manifest any possible response I’d be happy to send.
I don’t want to visit with him tonight. I don’t want to tell him that. I don’t want to make up an excuse. I don’t want to pleasantly submit and go along with whatever he has in mind. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I don’t want him to be in town. I don’t want to deal with responding in any way. So…I didn’t.
The potential flaw with this plan was that Quade would continue texting throughout the entire day, annoying the heck out of me and eventually becoming worried. The reality? He didn’t.
It’s seven o’clock; for the past three hours I’ve been helping Maxine prep for an upcoming graduation party, and I dread going home. I’ve even stayed to help clean up. By now Maxine must be wondering what I’m angling for, but the fact is that Quade will knock on my door at some point…and I’d love to not be home when he does. Unless I’m lucky and his evening’s full of meetings or paperwork. Maybe that’s why he didn’t try harder to reach me.
“Okay, everything looks good,” I reluctantly say to Maxine once there’s nothing more I can conjure up to do.
“Thanks for staying and helping with all this,” she responds graciously.
She’d kept assuring me everything was under control, but I’d insisted on staying.
“Are you excited about our big weekend coming up?” I ask as I finally gather my things to leave.
“Yes! I am so excited.”
“Me too kiddo. The conference is always fun, but I have the feeling this one will be extra special.” I’ll leave it at that.
I stop to order a couple fish tacos for dinner, then meander through the south end of town for a while…cruising by a couple houses Holly’s having work done on. I eventually sit in a park with my windows down and force myself to eat the tacos at a leisurely pace. Then, after a twenty minute walk under the old oaks and walnuts, I submit to going home. It’s after eight and I simply have to get to my office and get some things done. Surely Quade would have texted by now if he was coming over.
As I enter the dark, quiet house and head toward the kitchen for tea, I feel myself truly relax for the first time all day. I briefly consider calling Quade to let him know I’m alright and was too swamped to respond earlier. That would reduce my guilty concern that he’s feeling ignored. But he’s obviously piled up with work or he would have tried reaching me again anyway…bless the guy. I guess I’ll just leave it. Quade’s a big boy and he’ll be fine.
After setting my tea on a bedside table coaster, I fetch my laptop from the office and carry it into bed to resume with work. I guess it feels less like I’m still working if I prop myself against pillows to do it.
At half past ten, I catch myself dozing off in the middle of an email and decide to call it quits. I carry my teacup downstairs and lock the doors, a surprising habit I’ve developed since that first night I did it. I still don’t feel any real need to; I guess it’s just an OCD thing now. A shortened condensed version of my bedtime routine relaxes me further, but I lie awake for a few minutes feeling guilty about how relieved I was not to hear from Quade. All because I thought I detected him looking at my legs a few nights ago. Surely he could sense my discomfort and he’s either trying to give me space, or just avoid the trajectory of my latest surge of irrational moods.
Oh well, tomorrow I’ll apologize for missing his text, and next time he comes we’ll have our usual nice hour or two together. The last thing in my awareness is the lovely pitter patter of fat raindrops hitting the windows on either side of my bed, as I drift off to sleep.
The next thing in my awareness is the patent creak of my bedroom door opening. My eyes pop open and my body goes frozen. Do I have a ghost? Stuck facing away from the door, I squint through the blackness at the glow of my alarm clock…which reads eleven twenty-two. Paralyzed with fear, I remind myself that I’ve been in this house for nine years without witnessing anything mysterious, and I don’t believe in malignant spirits anyway. After taking five deep breaths and hearing nothing further, I’m tempted to reach over and turn on a lamp to demystify the atmosphere. It must have been a draft or, God forbid, a large mouse that bumped the door open. I only had it pulled to, after all. But some primal terror has fixed my body into a wooden plank and won’t allow it to move.
Feeling like a silly child, I commit to taking another round of five breaths before I’ll reach over to the lamp. I imagine Celeste’s simpering voice ‘reminding’ me to breathe during therapy, and it brings a relaxed smile to my face. By the time I get to breath number three, I feel released from my foolishness and begin to extend my arm. At that moment, I detect the slightest sinking at the foot of my bed…a vibration as though something had hopped up onto it. My arm ceases its motion, still under the blanket, and my heartbeat becomes deafeningly loud. The worst scenes from the few horror films I’ve ever watched flood my mind with images. I squeeze my eyes shut in the darkness and tell myself I imagined it.
When the foot of the bed sinks again, I enter into a wild panic like never before. Within a fraction of a second, I bunch my legs up into my chest and reach for the lamp…a foreign guttural sound bellowing out of my chest. I click the lamp on and snatch it off the table in one fluid movement, wielding it over my head like an ax. In the flashing moment of light before I yanked the lamp too far for its cord, I was able to make out the figure leaning on the foot of my bed.
“Quade!” I scream out like a savage. “Quade you fucker!”
As my body goes limp and I curl into a ball of hysterical crying, he says nothing. Is Quade now staring at me through the darkness? Sobbing, I blindly hurtle the small lamp toward the foot of my bed and hear it crash onto the floor. A moment later I feel Quade’s hands grappling for me, quietly, finding my wrists and wrapping around them.
