I know it's depressing. Get over it.
First off, let me just say that I'm so sorry that I don't know how to use an LJ cut. This is a short story I'm working on, though despite the name, it's a little long. Take your time reading it. It's not entirely cleaned up; there are adjustments that need to be made. However, I would really, really appreciate criticism. Leave me a comment telling me what you liked about it, what could be improved, etc. I love you all. And without further ado, I give you...
Heart Stones by Andrew LeTellier
“I’m thinking ‘fridge.’ That really makes the most sense.”
“Tina says, ‘refrigerator.’ I don’t know about this... Let’s see. Survey says!” A piercing electronic bell, followed by deafening applause fills the poorly lit living room. The television lights Maggie’s drooping face and every floating dust particle in between the two. No pleasure is found in her eyes, just the pathetic boredom of an addict.
“Maggie! Turn that thing down! Alex is here!” her husband yells from another room. Her facial muscles twitch as she is brought back to reality. She rocks back and forth in her chair, gradually at first, then violently, as she tries to catapult herself to her feet. With a final grunt, she is up and quickly shuffling over to the kitchen to meet her son.
“Alex. Alex, my sweet, sweet Alex.” She embraces him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek into his chest.
“Ma.”
“You’re my Alex.”
“Ma!” She looks up, still holding tight, into his sharp, kind eyes. “Ma, where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s in the window room. Working on a puzzle.”
“Where’s Dan? He said he was gonna help put Dad to bed tonight.”
“Your brother’s upstairs in his room, sleeping. He worked the late shift again last night and he’s completely wiped out.” By this time, she had let go of Alex’s waist and is now holding his hand.
“Ma, when are you gonna to make him move out? You don’t need that extra burden. He has a steady job now, and --”
“He needs us.”
“He’s forty years old.”
“He’s thirty-nine. I need him.”
“You don’t need anybody! You have me, and if he moves out, we’ll both come visit, and we’ll share the responsibility of Dad.”
“We’ll see.” Silence drifts upon them.
“Where is he again?”
“Your father? He’s in the window room.”
“Right. I’ll be right back. Call Dan downstairs. I wanna talk to him.” Having given his mother’s hand a firm squeeze, Alex lets go and starts toward his father. As he nears, a faint, careful humming becomes audible. The familiar smell of urine and rubbing alcohol leaks into the humid air, but Alex is now incapable of noticing it.
“Pa.” The humming stops. The white head jolts around, sending its thin, shoulder-length hair into a twirling chase around his neck. A beaming face lights up the room.
“Alex!” he returns, giving a true smile filled with false teeth, “I was wondering when you were gonna show! I’ve already gone through two puzzles! The big ones! Now I’m onto polishing my rocks.” Alex’s father has kept a collection of heart-shaped stones since he was fourteen years old. The size of it can’t stay static for less than a month; he is always discovering new stones with the “perfect curves” or “perfect tips.” Maggie told Alex once that she secretly throws away one collectable every two months. Otherwise, the floor, cabinets, and drawers would be filled with nothing but dusty, little hearts.
“I wasn’t planning on putting you to bed tonight.” Alex explained. “I told Dan that it’s his responsibility too, and that I really needed a break. But, the funny part is, I couldn’t even put myself to bed without giving you a goodnight kiss.”
“Dan’s been asleep since two o’clock this afternoon.”
“I know.”
“The late shift again.”
“Yeah, I know. So, how are you feeling, anyway?”
“Great! The nice lady came again today. She helped me with my meds, ya know, checked my blood sugar. Boy, was it high today! 600! That damn insulin needle. She also took a look at my stumps. Says they’re lookin’ good.” The wheelchair in which he has been sitting spins toward his son so that what is left of his legs shines in the lamplight. Cut off above the knees, his stumps look more like sad, fleshy wings. Diabetes had done this to the man.
“Hey, she’s right! Lookin’ good, Pop!” Alex blurts.
“I look good!” Alex’s father bobs his wings up and down, as if attempting dance.
“Alex!” Maggie’s voice is shaking with her volume. “Your brother’s up! Come say ‘Hi’!”
“I’ll be right there!” Alex replies. “Pa, do you want me to put you in bed now, or do you wanna wait a little longer?”
“I wanna stay up longer! Longer!” He grins with the corner of his mouth and winks.
Alex chuckles. “Of course you can, pal. See you in a bit.” He retraces his steps back to the kitchen, where he finds Dan waiting for him. Dan stands with the uneasiness of a seven year old who got caught stashing sand in the neighbor’s boots. His eyes are puffy. His hair is mangled. They ignore the grunts of their mother as she plops herself back into her rocking chair. They wait for her to turn up the television sound to the inevitable decibel.
“I’d like to solve the puzzle.”
“Okay.”
“No man is an island?” Piercing bells. Deafening applause.
“I noticed you didn’t mow the lawn today,” Alex starts.
“Bees,” Dan says.
“You’re afraid of a few bees? You’re not the one who has to carry an Epi’ pen everywhere he goes. Even I mow my lawn.”
“Of course you do.”
“You know I love you,” Alex says with a sigh, “and I love Dad. All I can feel is love for you, but that’s because you’re my brother. My older brother. All of my life I have followed your lead. I didn’t go to college because you didn’t go to college. I got married because you did, and we both had children.”
“Is this what all this is about? My wife divorcing me, my son abandoning me, my father disregarding me?” he snapped, his puffy eyes narrowing to slivers. “Everyone in town knows how beautiful your family is! Who am I? I’m the unshaven brother of you.”
“That’s not true,” Alex stumbles out.
“Shut the hell up.”
“All I wanted to say was that we all need you to pay attention to your father. Regardless of who you are out there. In here you’re a son. You’re a brother.”
“That’s right. That’s who I am in here. That’s the Dan you want. You want that Dan to put your father to bed.”
“Our father.”
“Fine.” Dan’s eyes grow tired. He blinks long and hard. Deafening applause.
“Go put your dad to bed. He needs you.”
Dan takes in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and releases it. Using his fingers like the teeth of a comb, he fixes his hair to the best of his ability. Again he breathes and begins to march towards the window room. As he passes through the doorway, the stench of urine forces itself upon his eyes and nostrils.
“Pa! That smell! Pa, did you piss yourself?”
“No,” the father squeaks, turning red.
“Oh. Well, you look good! Really. You ready for bed?”
“Where’s Alex?”
“What? I knew it!” Dan explodes like an opened dam. “You sit there, taking kisses from your youngest son, letting him tuck you in, trusting him with your life.”
“Dan, I trust--”
“Stop. The only time you call me downstairs is to help you loosen the top of your Coke bottle. Alex! I know you can hear me! So, in here I’m a son, huh? That’s the Dan you want, right? That’s the Dan Dad needs, correct? Dad, you don’t need a Dan. This Dan. That Dan. You don’t even need an Alex! You just want one.”
At that moment, Dan deserts his shaking and sputtering father and retreats to his upstairs bedroom. The door slams, and his heavy steps reverberate in circles through the thin, water-stained ceiling. Alex appears through the threshold. He moves up to his father and places his smooth hands on his quivering shoulders. Giving them a gentle squeeze, he leans in close to his father’s ear and whispers, “Come on. You need to get some sleep.”
That was Thursday.
Sunday comes. Maggie knows it is Sunday because the day began with two full hours of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?. Alex’s father knows it is Sunday because yesterday he found two perfect hearts buried deep in his garden’s soil. Alex knows it is Sunday because he’s been dreading this day since Thursday. Sunday is the day the whole family eats dinner together. Dan does not know it is Sunday. He is caught off guard when Alex and his family stampede through the front door, armed with cartons and cartons of Chinese food.
“Good afternoon, everyone!” Alex chimes.
“Hi, Grandpa! Hi Grandma!” Two blonde waist-highs, carrying bags of fortune cookies, come bursting in through the doorway. “We brought dessert!”
“Hey boys!” their grandfather calls. “Get over here and give me somethin’ sweet!” After the room had been saturated with hugs and kisses, everyone finds his or her way around the table to his or her previously assigned “sunday spot.” Maggie sits at one head, while Alex’s wife, Kim, sits at the other. The kids sit together, accompanied by Dan, while Alex sits with his father, who has difficulty fitting his wheelchair into the crowded circle. A short prayer is said, and the food is out. Piles of pork-fried rice and shrimp lo mein appear and disappear over the tabletop. Silverware clinks and scrapes against the ceramic dishes.
“High blood sugar again this morning,” Alex’s father says, attempting conversation.
“Is that right?” Dan replies. He decided that he would try showing his father he cares. More clinking and scraping.
“Yep. Had to give myself an insulin shot. I hate those damn things.”
“I bet. They must hurt like a bitch,” Dan says, trying even harder.
“Daniel!” Kim looks up at him with wide eyes. “There are children. Pass the rice, please.”
“That reminds me, Pa,” Alex has finally finished eating. “I don’t know where my needle is. My Epinephrine needle.” His father looks confused. “My Epi- pen. For bee stings?” Nothing but a shrug in response. “Anyway, I think I might have left it here last thursday, so keep an eye out for it, will ya? The bees are out this time of year.”
“Fortune cookies!” the two boys call.
“Go ahead, pass them out,” their mother says. They scramble for possession of the most shells, and start throwing them at family members. Some are left broken, but in the end, everyone has one.
“Lucky numbers: 12, 4, 67, 19, 5.”
“Creativity plays the largest role in your life.”
“Speak Chinese: mao tsyuni -- without fault”
“Well, Alex? Dan? Whatcha got?” Kim looks anxiously from one brother to the other. The two brothers stare into one another’s face. They break eye contact and reread their fortunes. Then, more staring.
“I think I have yours,” Dan says to Alex.
“What’s it say?”
“You are the guiding light in his life. This is definitely yours. It can’t be mine.” Dan avoids more eye contact, and hands over the piece of paper. “So does that mean you have mine?”
“Hm?”
“Is that mine in your hand? What’s it say?”
“Soon he’ll see you.”
“Yeah, that’s mine. Give it here.”
That was Sunday.
Monday begins slowly. Morning light moves across the carpeted floor and rests upon the eyes of Alex’s rustling father. They twitch twice and open. The peace in the air is broken by a click and the low whir of the television as Maggie turns it on in the other room. His glazed eyes rest upon the full bedpan on the table beside him. Did I really go that much? Why do I still have to pee? It takes him a moment to retrace the past night and the number of times he got up to urinate. Maybe that’s why I’m so thirsty. He pulls the covers off himself and smiles at the fact that he’s missing legs. Placing one hand on the opposite arm of his nearby wheelchair, he pushes up and slides his hips off the mattress and onto the seat. A deep sigh rushes from his lips. He is continually amazed at his strength. However, shortly following this thought, a blurry wave of confusion escapes his head from behind his eyes, blinding him for a split second. He lets out a noise, which is immediately stolen by the cheers of Maggie’s game show audience.
Now in a heavy daze, he rolls himself out of the room and into the kitchen, where the cheers only become louder, and his mind more cloudy. Is there cotton in my mouth? Thirsty. He’s never been this tired from taking his wheelchair only this far. Sucking in deep, quick breaths, he rolls over to the sink, hoping to wet his lips. Maggie has broken her bond with the screen and is now glued to her husband. She doesn’t speak. He leans forward with his hands cupped, swiping at the nonexistent water below the faucet. He has yet to turn it on. With wet eyes and shiny forehead, he pulls himself even further from his chair, attempting to reach the water. The negative force is too great, and the wheels under him speed backward. His chin smashes against the countertop and he crumples to the ground.
Maggie screams. She turns away, falsely concentrated on her show of Jeopardy!. She turns back, and again looses a scream.
“MA!” Dan rushes through the doorway. “MA!” He follows her eyes to her husband, folded on the kitchen tiles. “Dad! Ma, what happened?! What’s his blood sugar?! MA!”
She screams.
Dan runs up to his father and kneels down beside him. “Dad! Insulin? Insulin! Ma, where’s Dad’s insulin needle?! Ma! Stop! Ma! Where -- is -- Dad’s -- insulin needle? Please.” She looks around frantically without ever bringing herself to her feet. “I’ve never done this before, Ma! I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“There!” Maggie points to the window sill on which sits an abandoned hypodermic needle. Dan springs to his feet, lunges toward it, and swipes the needle from its spot. Having run back to the kitchen, he places it on the counter and props his father up against the wooden floor cabinets. So there his father sits on the tiles, practically unconscious with his head slumped, as Dan slides the tip into the top skin of his forearm. He injects the clear liquid into his father’s body, pulls out, and waits. With concerned, yet hopeful eyes, Dan watches the man’s face. He waits for any sign of improvement. Breathing slows. A good sign? Each exhale smells strangely sweeter than the last. Then the breathing stops.
Dan spins the plastic, measured pen in his fingers. Epinephrine.
That was Monday.
On Tuesday, Maggie shuffles into her bedroom, and falls to her knees. From under her bed she drags an enormous wooden chest. Fumbling with the lock in one hand, she extracts two heart-shaped stones from her nightgown pocket. She kisses the hearts and tosses them into the blackness of her box. They land with a clink atop thousands of others. She will never throw them away.