Artist - American Steel
Song - Your ass Ain't Laughing Now
Album - Dear Friends and Gentle Hearts
Sorry there's no music video. Youtube decided to not let me be able to watch any videos, which is just super. Anyway, today I'm posting a short story Kathy, In Red Heels.
I know I said I'd post a chapter from my book, but I want to go over a few edits before I share it. So I present Kathy in all it's twisted shittiness.
Hope ya hate it!
Kathy, In Red Heels.
Kathy, In Red Heels.
It's really cold in here. Am I the only one that notices? Surely I can't be. I just can't be the only one who is freezing. I watch my arms turn into what resembles goose flesh. Tiny hairs peak through the bumps. I really should wax those off. I don't even remember them getting there. My mother used to warn me that as you get older hormones start to change. Testosterone begins to pump through you, and your body yet again starts to change. I just, I don't really remember her ever having hair on her arms.
Near the end, she didn't have much hair, though. The chemo took care of that, but to me she always seemed beautiful and full of grace. That last week, she seemed more bound and determined than ever to come through it. In a way I guess she did,; her lungs may have quit expanding, her heart stop pumping and her blood run cold–but her spirit never broke.
"Mrs. Spade. Mrs. Spade, hello? May I remind you of the severity of the situation? Now please, Mrs. Spade, in your own words can you recount to this court what happened the night of May 27th, 2004?"
He doesn't seem affected by the cold, whatsoever. He seems rigid, and angry. Made of stone, but with less character and integrity. Almost like a robot with a sixty dollar hair cut and an expensive Armani suit. Armani, or Gucci. Something Thomas could have never been able to afford on his 37 grand a year salary. But my God, could he make a cheap JC Penny suit work for him. Just the confidence that emanated from him, and how his eyes always seemed to dance with a perfect mixture of boyish charm, mischief and wisdom. He was so intelligent.
We met in 1989. He was a journalism major; I had hopes of interior design. In 1992 we moved briefly moved to Nashville, before heading out West to San Diego. He landed a job with the San Diego Union-Tribune, and I wound up with a local Real Estate agency. Most of my houses sold with-in three months. Mostly, I suspect it's because of my knack for making stuffy one bedroom houses seem like spacious and trendy abodes.
On July 17th, 1996 Thomas and a few of his peers had a chance to go to a journalist summit in Paris, France. I was closing on one of the bigger houses near Mission Beach , and was crushed I wouldn't be able to join him.
"Hon, I swear I won't even enjoy a second of it without you there."
"You're gonna end up with some French floozy." I pouted.
He placed his hands on my ears, and held my face tenderly. "Baby, you know I only have eyes for my American floozy."
"You jerk!" I slugged him in the arm, and tried to pull away from his grasp. He held me a little bit tighter, but just as tenderly as before.
"I love you Kathy. I'll be back in a week, I promise." Then he kissed my forehead, and then softly on the lips. He pressed his nose against mine for a moment, and then kissed my nose. There was a honking sound; the airport shuttle had arrived.
"I love you, Tommy."
Later that night, while I was reading over the closing paperwork on the Mission Beach house, I had the news on in the background. You ever not really pay attention to something, and then you get a sick feeling in your stomach and are drawn to what you were previously ignoring? Like a word you were looking for in the Sunday Word Jumble, only to have it pop out at you after you'd become pre-occupied with a Marmaduke cartoon?
"...and now we come to you live in Long Island, where reports are coming in that TWA Flight 800 has exploded, and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean, only minutes after having taken off. Live on the scene is Silvia Armenta. Silvia, do we have any report on any possible survivors, and do we know what caused the explosion."
My heart sank. Transfixed, the few seconds of delay between Chanel 8 and their on the scene reporter seemed to pass like a life-time.
230 people died that day, and somehow to me it felt as if only one had. Thomas Spade, 27 years old. Loving son, devoted husband, talented and promising journalist for the Union-Tribune. Deceased.
Minutes turned into hours, and hours turned into months. Months turned into years.
Every night I came home, and stared at the door. Pleading with God, or whomever that any moment he'd come walking in, and pick me up. We'd go to our bedroom, and make love for hours. We'd lay in bed, and I'd make him swear hundreds of times, over and over, that he'd never scare me like that again. This can't be happening. We have so much life left in our veins that is un-lived.
I just sort of numbed. I'd go to work, and I'd come home and sleep on the couch waiting for him. Sometimes our cat Rizzo would come lay on my stomach, other times he'd nudge me with his head to let me know it'd all be alright. It'd all be alright.
On our second year anniversary, Thomas bought me a pair of red heels that were too expensive. I don't really have many vices, and shoes aren't necessarily one of them. But these heels....I'd look at them every time we passed them sitting in a window at the Mall.
I only wore them on the most special of occasions.
"Mrs. Spade..." his voice rose tersely. I could tell he was either gay, or in a very unhappy marriage. Perhaps not even married. It was in the way he stood, and his didn't move when he spoke to you.
"I'm sorry. Judge...it's absolutely freezing in here. Is there anyway we could turn up the heat just a bit? It's really hard to concentrate." It was then I'd noticed that my teeth were chattering.
"Mrs. Spade, this is a court of law, not a resort. I suggest you compose yourself, and answer the question. This court room does not need to waste more tax-payers money for your comfort." replied the Judge.
He was a husky man. Not like Thomas. Thomas was of an athletic build, and jogged every morning.
"It's just, I can barely keep from cracking my teeth...it's so damned cold in here." There were stifled chuckles, and murmurs from around the room. Eventually I just wrapped myself tighter, and continued.
After a few years, I'd realized that the way I was living my life, in constant mourning, was not how Thomas would have wanted me to continue on. After working up the courage, I called an old girlfriend of mine, Samantha Bailey. After a tearful reunion, we both decided the next night we would meet up for dinner, and a movie. Maybe even drinks, and dancing. I couldn't remember the last time I'd been out to see a movie, or even danced.
We met up at a Thai food place on the Strip, in Los Angeles. We then went out to catch a movie, although I don't even really remember which one it was. Something with Julia Roberts though, I think.
After the movie, we decided to go to this Jazz bar she knew pretty well. It wasn't too crowded, and the live band seemed a little bit flat, but I was intoxicated on the atmosphere. Well, that and the Bloody Mary's.
At the end of the night, we decided to make a weekly event of it. Me being a widow, and her being staunchly against the institution of marriage...it just seemed to work well. Every Friday night, we'd meet up for the same Thai food and what felt like the same movie every week. It really could have been, too. I'm not even sure. It didn't matter whatsoever. For the first time in years, I was alive, and no amount of recycled cinema could ever rob me of that.
While we frequented the same movies, and Thai food place, we never went to the same club two weeks in a row. There was so much music and night life to absorb, it just felt like a sham to not explore it all. Sometimes we wound up in smokey dive bars, other nights we wound up in lively swing clubs.
One Friday night, Sam's mother came into town at the last moment, and had to cancel.
"I'm really sorry, Kat. I hate to leave you high and dry, but you know mothers." She laughed, I laughed and then we rescheduled for next week. "Consider it set in stone, Katty. I promise."
Suddenly, the walls began closing in on me. She'd become a crutch; a Savior of sorts. I sat scratching Rizzos head for a moment. What to do, what to do, what to do....
I stood up, and grabbed my keys. It was nice to have Sam along, but I've sat long enough for one life time. As I headed out the door, I realized this was the first thing I'd done completely, and entirely alone in eight years. This was a special occasion, as special as any! Reaching into my closet, I found my pair of heels Thomas had bought me so many years ago.
They were classic. The type of heels that would look amazing with anything, no matter how long they'd aged; they would always appear straight off the rack, if treated properly.
As I sat in my Toyota on my way to the Sunset Strip, I truly felt that Thomas was there with me. As nervous as I'd felt before, now I felt comforted. He'd never left me all along.
I decided against Thai. That was more of a Sam and I kinda thing, anyway. I'd never had sushi before, and I figured tonight was as good as any to start.
A few California and Tuna rolls later, and the nauseous realization that I'd just consumed something raw, I figured on skipping the movie altogether, and went straight to a new club.
I was unfamiliar with the music. It mostly sounded like bass-and-drum loops trying to escape from under the floor boards. It was catchy though, and everyone seemed pretty open, and friendly.
During a break from what felt like a fifteen minute song, a man approached me.
"Hey, I'm David. I don't think I've seen you around here before. What's your name?"
"I'm Kathy. Yeah, I'm kind of just exploring."
"Well Kathy, I really like your moves. Mind if I buy you a drink?"
I don't know if it was the heat of all the bodies being pressed together, moving in a unified rhythm, or the fact that man ten years younger than I was offering to buy me a drink.
"Sure! Why not?"
"That's what I like to hear, sweetie. What're you drinking?"
"Vodka tonic, please."
The music started back up again, and I watched David drown in the mass sea of humanity. After about ten minutes, David made his way back to me and handed me my drink."
"One vodka tonic. How about a dance?"
I didn't see the harm in one dance. Thats the problem though, you never see the problem in 'just one dance.'
I felt dizzy, and elated all at once. The room spun, and I couldn't stop moving. Eventually David and I headed out the crowded club, that only seemed to get more packed.
"I'm pretty sure they only played one song the whole night" I giggled, "one song. One bump, bump, bump all night long." David smiled, and asked me where I was parked. As I was saying goodbye, David moved in for a kiss.
"Oh, David. I'm really sorry, I'm just not in a place right now to be meeting anyone new."
He stood silently, and I'd felt bad for hurting his pride. I was about to suggest we do this again sometime, when his demeanor changed entirely. He went to kiss me again, and when I went to move away, he grabbed me by the throat. He didn't look as strong as he was.
"Stop! Let go of me, you fucking creep! STOP!"
This only caused him to grab my throat tighter.
"You say another word, you little cock tease, and I swear I will fucking kill you. You got that?" His kiss was abrasive. His hand was like a Boa constrictor: every time I struggled in the least, he would tighten his grip. It was getting hard to breathe now, and all I could do to sob silently.
With his free hand, he punched me so hard for a moment I'd permanently lost the taste in my mouth. Unflinchingly, with his hand still wrapped around my throat, he threw me to the pavement.
The back of my head banged on an Impala parked right next to me. Dazed, and not entirely sure of where I was, David sat on my chest and continued to choke and kiss me.
I felt my top rip easily. He began punching me again, until it seemed like it was just for sport, because I had no more fight left in me.
"You scream, or anything, and I'll break your neck. You got that, you filthy whore?" I barely managed to nod. I could taste blood, and already my right eye was swollen shut.
He pinned my arms down with his hands, and reached under my skirt. I wanted to be anywhere with here. At home, scratching Rizzo's head, or in a movie theater watching the same Julia Roberts movie. I wanted Thomas and I to be in Acapulco, where we'd honeymooned.
I wanted to be dead. Not Thomas.
I felt him slide my underwear off. He shoved them so far down my throat, I began to gag. My eyes began to water, and the salt from my tears stung my abrasions.
For the next six minutes, David took what was only Thomas' before. When he finished, he zipped back up, and stood up. Looking me dead in the eye, he laughed, and kicked me in the kidneys so hard, I lost control of my bladder. I just laid there. Closing my eyes, I silently prayed when I opened them I would be with Samantha, or at the very least he would be gone.
For fifteen minutes I waited. When I opened my eyes, he was no where to be found.
When I stood up, I felt a sickening warmth ooze down my leg. As I retreated back into my car seat, I noticed the keys were still in the ignition. A small miracle, in the fucked up scheme of things.
When I got home, I disconnected my telephone and sat in darkness. For three weeks I sat on my couch, not moving much except to drink, and occasionally eat. I never once bothered to shower.
I looked down, and my heels were scuffed horrendously. The one thing I had left to remember Thomas by, was now marred. I was marred. I carry scars that will never, ever be seen.
The next morning, I walked down to the hardware store. I got a lot of looks from passers by. I had a split lip, my right eye was completely swollen shut. Blood was caked under my nose, which I was sure was broken. It hurt to swallow, and it hurt worse to continue breathing. My heart sagged, and my jaw popped every time I coughed.
I picked up a piece of granite, and walked out the front door without paying. I guess when you look like hell people can't help but stare, but no one will dare bother you with the semantics of the law.
When I got home, I tried so hard to buff out the scuffs on my heels. I tried so very hard, and it was so very useless. God damn it! I used to be able to fix up condemned houses that looked like they'd never ever seen a paint can, to make them worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. Why can't I just fucking fix a pair of heels?
As the weeks passed, my wounds healed. My lip was still a bit swollen, but my eye had returned to normal. I still couldn't see as well as I could before, but one step at a time. That Friday morning, I woke up and decided to take my life back.
I grabbed a pair of scissors, and cut my hair, and then dyed it black. A little bit of concealer, and foundation and I looked no worse for the wear.
I wasn't hungry. I didn't care to see Julia Roberts' teeth.
I searched all throughout the cities hot spots, looking for David. If he wanted me so bad, he could have me.
I found him outside of a Hookah bar, smoking cigarettes and talking with a group of younger looking girls. I felt a bit jealous. How could he move on from me so quickly!
I parked across the street, and made my way over to him.
"Hello." I said to him, my voice shaking and betraying me.
"Um....hello...?
He doesn't even remember me! He doesn't. I'm searching his face for an ounce of revelation.
"Yeah, my name is Regina. I was wondering if you'd like to get a drink."
Slightly taken aback by this supposed stranger, David seemed to mull over his options.
"I'm not crazy" I laughed softly, "I'm just rolling right now, and I need to have someone make sure I don't wind up in an alley."
He laughed nervously, but seemed to be intrigued. "Alright then. What do you have in mind?"
"Well, I know a pretty quiet place. You wanna follow me?"
"I took a cab, I don't like to drink and drive. May I never see the words D.U.I again." And he flashed that smile of his.
"Well, if you're not afraid of a little ol' stranger, you can ride with me. I won't bite much."
"So where are we going?"
"I was thinking about my place...you game?"
For the first time, smooth David wasn't so smooth.
As soon as we stepped in the door, we began kissing. He was much softer this time around. More confused and cautious, but optimistic nonetheless.
We drank a few bottles of wine, between kissing and touching. With every bottle hitting the floor, we got one step closer to the bedroom.
We fucked in every way possible. There was no love making. Animalistic, driven by red wine and pure astonishment. After it was said and done, David fell asleep immediately.
I laid there in the dark, listening to him breathe. He had a deviated septum, and his breaths seemed rattled and sharp. For hours I listened to him breathe, and occasionally he would stir, and then regress deeply into a slumber that was the combination of too much alcohol, and the best drunken sex he'd ever had.
I reached under my bed, and stared at my red heels. Thomas gift to me. A symbol of our love. But next to me laid a man who had no idea that twenty-one days ago, had raped me. Had robbed me of my dignity. Had scarred me deeper than skin, muscle, tissue, and bone. Deeper than my soul.
I began to kiss David's neck. I ran my hand down his chest, down his stomach....further. I stroked him softly, and listened to him rustle awake.
"Baby, I don't think I can possibly...I don't have that kind of energy left."
"Relax. I want you to just relax, and let me take care of you. You don't have to do anything."
I kissed down his stomach, and placed the tip of him around my mouth. I breathed slowly, and could feel him begin to throb; to ache.
I wrapped my lips around him, and listened to him moan softly. His hips thrust, and caught me off guard. I took my mouth off of him.
"Oh my...God..." he mumbled.
"The pleasure is all mine." I sat on his legs, and worked my hands down him again.
"I just have one question, stud."
He looked me dead in the eye. "Anything. Please, anything."
"Do you pray?"
"Do I...what?"
With my free hand, I grabbed the sharpened heel, and swung with all my might. Even though I'd closed my eyes, and gritted my teeth, I could feel his right temple collapse. He looked panicked, but what scared me the most was that he didn't make a single noise. Blood began to pour from his nose, and he attempted to struggle.
With my other hand, I choked him and pulled the heel out of his head. As hard as I could, I swung, and squeezed. Swung, and squeezed.
David stopped moving. His eyes were locked with pure terror and his mouth agape, nearly pleading to scream in either agony or fear.
I just feel really tired. Bogged down, and drowning; I feel flooded with apathy and exhaustion. My eye lids begin to creek, and my bones seem to want to scream but my mouth just can't seem to form the fury. If this is vengeance aftermath, I'd gladly trade places with David in hell.
I trace my fingers across David's now cold chest, and touch my own. The contrast is overwhelming, and I'd do anything to kill this feeling. Biting my upper lip, I climb on top of David one more time. As an act of contrition, because...well, maybe I went over board, I close my eyes, and search for any type of rhythm. I search his eyes for any electricity, and dig my nails into his chest. Digging, digging, digging. Digging with the fervency of a gold miner.
A final breath escapes his lungs. Fools gold only. I'm amazed that he can remain erect throughout it all. I guess men really do only have one thing on their mind.
I escape into my own mind. I am an insect, a praying mantis. Taking only what suits me, and leaving only carnage in my wake. Draining my captor of life, and vitality. This is what I've missed out on for so many years, and goddamn it...just god damn it.
These thoughts push me over the edge, and I feel myself explode in a cacophony of sound, fluid, and exuberance. I weakly slide off David, and snuggle up close to him. For the first time in ages, it feels nice not to sleep alone.
I dream of white spaces, filled with faces attempting to press through. Although I can't see them, I know each and every face. Samantha and David. Rizzo, and my boss at the Reality firm. I walk down this hallway, and I continue to see these faces pressed against what I now figure is a wall.
As I reach the end of the hall only two faces greet me: my Mother Andrea, and a younger face. It seems familiar, but I just can't seem to make it out. Almost like deja vu, except the incident couldn't ever happen. The voice speaks slowly, and everything feels distorted. As the voice speaks, the words begin to etch themselves into the wall:
"Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Ereht tnsi ees ouy tahw.
Ria tnsi ehtaerb ouy tahw.
Pu ekaw, pu ekaw!
Efil fo srorroh eht
Smaerd ni tsixe ylno
Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Emoh emoc esaelp, esaelp
Daeh rouy yraew tser dna emoh emoc esaelp.
Uoy ssim i dna yddad."
For a moment, the voice stops, and I can make out tears through the transparent wall. Sorrow fills every fiber of me, exploding in my atoms, polluting my DNA. Even though the disfigured apparition seems so alien, I feel a connection with it. It is a her....it is a her. I only wish to caress her face, and free her from these confines. As I reach to her, I feel constricted by twine, and barbed wire. The pain is dull, and the aching. It aches and my heart dullens. I can feel my molecules try and escape my bodily chamber, to comfort, to kiss and hold. To cradle and nurse, to nourish and pour every amount of my energy into. To laugh, to smile, to cry. Every moment passes slower than a lifetime, and slowly lose hope. I just wish to wake up.
I scream through my sub-conscience: "Wake UP! WAKE UP! I DO NOT BELONG HERE, I DO NOT WANT TO BE HERE. OH, PLEASE GOD LET ME WAKE UP!" and then I remember my deceased lover in my clutches, cradling me in what feels like the ether.
The voice stops crying, and I stop breathing, cautious of missing a syllable. Trying so hard to decipher. To understand. To be understood for once.
"Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i...
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i,
Ecnahc dnoces a me evig dlouw ouy fi
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i"
Uoy evol i, ymmom
FOR NOW I MUST GO."
And the beautiful face began to slowly fade from the walls, echoing endlessly, "Uoy evol i, ymmom..." until a faint hint of the voice lingers. I reach towards the wall, and am no longer restricted. I claw, scratch, gnash my teeth. Spit flying from my mouths, I plead and beg with this wall:
"Please! Please don't go! I know I know who you are, but I feel like I've known you an entire life time. It isn't fair! All I want to do is touch your face. Please....just come home. Please, just don't go."
I wake up in a warm sweat, clutching a dead mans arm and nearly hyperventilating. I roll out of bed, and sit at my kitchen table. "Honey, you want some coffee?"
"Sure."
"How do you take it? Cream, sugar, milk....dark."
"Black as day, babe (which he explained to me was heavy cream and sugar). Would you like me to cook you an omelette? I'm starving."
"I haven't had an omelette in years! That would really hit the spot after last night."
"You're not one of those kind of girls that doesn't call back, are you? I don't think my tiny ego could take much more of that, especially from someone as beautiful as you are."
"Flattery...it'll get you everywhere."
I pounce on him again. "The problem, David, is you tend to be unresponsive as a lover."
"I'm sorry Kat...I don't really know what to do."
"That's a load! You know exactly what to do. Listen, let me just take care of you. I've not really been too active, lately."
After we're done, I spring out of bed and fry up a couple of omelettes. David prefers tomatoes, onions, cheese and mushrooms but no meat.
"I just don't feel it's much of a fair fight, you know? Opposable thumbs and a gun vs. slow mobility and no real means to fight back. Maybe if we could strap some chickens with a shank I wouldn't feel so guilty."
"But you eat dairy."
"Hey, even I had to work to survive. I don't see the difference between working in a cubicle for a boss who breathes down my luck is any different from being milked every day. We all gotta make ends meet."
He smiles, and I smile.
Now the sun rises. We're laying back in bed watching the morning show. It's a waste, really. Morning shows are filled with people way too peppy to every work a proper night time talk show. I couldn't ever imagine Leno smiling this much. Honestly, if it were me and I had to be that chipper in the morning, I'd put a gun in my mouth and let the corner sort out the fragments. Sure, I'd leave him an apology note. Maybe even slip him an extra fifty. Is it improper to tip coroners? I don't see why they shouldn't get tipped. Waiters, and waitresses don't ask, they include fifteen percent in the check automatically, it's not like you have much of a choice. And all they do is jot down an order, flirt with the cooks, and bring back your food at their luxury.
Coroners have to deal with every detail of your life. Placing a skull back together of sap who didn't wear a helmet on I-5, and the only thing left that's somewhat recognizable is the jacket stating matter-of-factly: "Ride or die".
Ironic, isn't it? But coroners should get slipped any extra change in your pocket if you're gonna ace yourself. Maybe before kicking the chair, stop off at the ATM and withdraw a couple Jacksons. You can't take it with you, right?
I start to doze off, and am woken up half an hour later. A commercial is playing way too fucking loud. Why can't they just settle on a Universal sound for each channel. It doesn't make me anymore inclined to pick up the product, it just makes me want to throw my television out my window.
I roll over. I kind of forgot about David, and his being dead and all. I glance at the clock, and decide it's time to open up a curtain and see what the day has in store for me. After a quick stop to the bathroom, I open the curtains. Davis is really....really beginning to stink up the place. House guests can be really fucking annoying, can't they? This one is about to be the death of me–no pun intended.
I glance over at David. I get a headache, splitting and devastating. It hammers constantly, like the building of a supermarket. Screws being tightened, nails being given a proper resting place, iron being manipulated to fit into scaffolding. It's impossible to think.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and stare at David. Only...this isn't David. This. This man is not David, oh my God. This is not the man that raped me. This...this couldn't have happened.
Before I can stop myself, I run out into the morning street. It's only then I realize I'm covered in blood and crying, stark naked. I pause for a brief second, and debate going inside and putting on a bathrobe, but decide against it. That would just be crazy....giving the circumstances.
"Ms. Bailey, it's Mrs. Spades account that you two have recently enjoyed a rekindled friendship. Is this true.
Sam looked at me with her eyes welling up. She seemed so confused, and somewhat scared. Empathy bathed her face as she stared at me, scanning me and searching for anything that would make this easier.
"I've not seen Kathy since Thomas' memorial. They never recovered the body...I've tried to call her for years. At home, at work."
"Why weren't you able to reach her at home?"
"Her phone had been shut off since 2002, sometime. I'd tried writing letters, and emails, but each time they'd be returned. I'd go to her home, and knock. But no one ever answered."
"When was the last time you tried to contact Mrs. Spade at her home, Ms. Bailey?"
About three, three and a half months ago. When I knocked, I heard talking like she had company. I was about to leave, because I didn't want to intrude, but–."
"But what?"
"I heard her say my name, and start talking. I went to reach for the doorknob, until I heard crying and laughter, and then this jazz music started blaring from her stereo."
"I see. And why were you not able to reach her at work?"
"A few months before I last tried to contact her at home, I showed up at her reality company. They'd just about decided to file a missing persons report because they hadn't seen her in several weeks. Her phone was disconnected, and no one knew if she had internet access outside of the agency."
I'd never felt so betrayed. Never, in my entire life.
"Sammy, what about the Thai food? Julia Roberts!", I screamed. "You bitch. How could you, after all we–"
The contemptuous Judge banged his gavel.
"Order! Order in this court room!"
Just like on television. I guess every cliche is steeped in truth.
Later on, I was called back up to the stage. This beautiful stage with an uncomfortable chair. Wood, rivets, and cold temperatures. For once, I truly think I belong. My red heels are brought to me in a plastic bag. On the once gorgeous heels, there is matted hair and dried up blood stains. I sigh in disappointment, I don't think I'll ever get those stains out.
I'd put them back on. After I killed David, or, as I've come to learn his name as Aaron Hale. I guess the poor sap never saw it coming. Oh well, I mean...he told me he hated his job, right? And he didn't have a family, or that many close friends. I mean, for God's sake, he got in the car with an absolute stranger. What much could he have possibly had to live for?
In the coming days, they told me a lot of things. That I'd never been raped. That I'd abused a prescription of Xanax. That I'd drank quite a few bottles of whiskey. My neighbors reported that late Friday nights, I would scream and laugh–blaring a different type of music each week, and watch infomercial at an obscenely loud volume. I'd felt ashamed about that...I never wanted to be the type of person that rabble-roused.
I'd never been raped.
After years and years of seclusion, I'd developed an advance state of bi-polar mania, and schizo-something-or-other. I drifted in and out.
Pictures were shown to the jury from my public defender. Me nude, in the streets with chunks of my scalp exposed, with oil clinging to each surviving strand, in hopes of showing my inability to stand trial. I guess I can forget about my ambition to join beauty school.
Through out it all, I wondered why Aaron got into the car. The attorney explained he felt that Aaron was a loner himself, and may've identified with me, but that it was inconsequential, because the crime was still committed. Outside of him being the party slain, he wasn't really mentioned again.
I was declared criminally insane, and no longer able to stand trial. The thing is, you don't really stand as much as you just sit and people ask you a few questions here and there. It isn't all that, I guess.
One last thing was brought up, though. The question of the whereabouts of my daughter, Joanna.
Part of the reason why Thomas had me stay home, I suspect in part is because of her. I was 4 months pregnant, and he felt it wouldn't be safe for us.
"Simmes Mortuary."
Stunned, everyone looked at me. I guess I can understand, I mean I did take that chump to the top of space mountain before pushing him off.
"When Thomas passed, I stopped eating. I had a miscarria–"
THAT'S IT!:
"Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Ereht tnsi ees ouy tahw.
Ria tnsi ehtaerb ouy tahw.
Pu ekaw, pu ekaw!
Efil fo srorroh eht
Smaerd ni tsixe ylno yeht
Modeerf. eerf ma i. Niap rouy fo tog tel, rehtom.
Emoh emoc stuj esaelp, esaelp
Daeh rouy yraew tser dna emoh emoc esaelp.
Uoy ssim i dna yddad."
I could hear the voice whispering in my ear again:
"Mother, let go of your pain. I am free. Freedom.
What you see isn't there.
What you breathe isn't air.
Wake up, Wake up!
The horrors of life,
They only exist in dreams
Mother, let go of your pain. I am free. Freedom.
Please, please just come home.
I felt like my heart would explode. I'd felt a void in my soul filled that I'd never even known was there, developing after all these years. She continued whispering:
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i...
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i,
Ecnahc dnoces a me evig dlouw ouy fi
Rethguad tcetrep eht eb dluoc i"
Uoy evol i, ymmom
FOR NOW I MUST GO."
I could be a perfect daughter....
I could be a perfect daughter
If only you'd give me a second chance.
I could be a perfect daughter.
I love you, Mommy.
FOR NOW YOU KNOW
YOU ARE NOT ALONE.
YOU ARE NEVER ALONE.
The Judge recommended I be placed in a facility that would allow me to rest, and provide me with the health I needed. My attorney assured me it would be similar to a resort, and to just take it easy. One day I would be recuperated, and I could one day resume my life. I knew then though, that I'd never leave.
I'd never want to leave. I bet they have all the best drugs.
The court allowed me to stop back at home, after the Crime Scene Investigators were done collecting, and cleaning the place. I was allowed, under supervision, to collect a few belongings. My TV, Stereo, CD's, books, things of that nature. Samantha volunteered to take custody of Rizzo, and give him a good home.
As we put Rizzo in his cage, I scrathed his head one more time and kissed him on the nose. He'd always been my most faithful companion, and now I felt absolutely empty knowing I'd never come home to him clawing at my curtains, or chewing on strings that hung from my clothing.
As Sam stood at the door way, she looked like she felt as if she were naked in my presence. Quivering, she said to me:
"I promise to take good care of him. Rizzo, I mean."
She's quiet, but I can hear the doubts churning through her head. Beneath her hazel eyes, below her auburn hair lies a fault line crumbling under the pressure of a thousand thoughts dancing directly on the stress fractures. For a few moments she looks in agony, until finally nothing cant hold back the release of morbid curiosity.
"Kathy, I just don't know you anymore. Maybe I never did. I just can't look at you right now, and not feel conflicted. I mean, what the hell am I supposed to say to you? "I'm here and I support you"? Because the truth is, I absolutely don't right now. I don't know how I can stand less than two feet away from a murderer, feel her breath and hear her throat clearing, and not want to scream."
"Sam, I don't know what hap–"
"No, I don't want to hear this. I just want to know...how could kill a man? How could you...sleep with the remains? How could you spoon a cadaver, and not even flinch every moment you're awake, and looking into your own self?
I thought about Thomas, and how she used to annoy him, and I'd come to her defense. How he never trusted her, and felt she was plastic and vainer. A mannequin with highlights and a pulse. I sighed with relief then, knowing he was absolutely right.
But she was a little bit confused. I mean, we all are, right? Whether we put our faith in politicians that will never know our names but some how swear they have our best interests at heart, to working a job that drains our mortal being–and willingly doing so five days a week, in order to enjoy our lives for forty-eight hours. We invest in Churches, and Faith. One had to suffer so we could live in eternal bliss. That's all well and fine, but they never mention the fine-print. That, while you're here, almost every day is suffering, and penance, and that while he died so I could live–everything, I mean absolutely everything comes at a steep price. I turn to her with a smile, and laugh
"We all get lonely sometimes."
-Until tomorrow.
