Dreams Part 3
*not mine. Author: Rachel Maxwell from the Town of Odyssey. However, author unknown in the long run*
I’m looking down a hospital bed at Lucy, then leaving, Connie standing just outside the curtain and turning pink when I see her cause I know she was listening. My head is spinning. I can’t think straight, but I know I hate that I hurt Lucy. That I hurt anybody. But that appears to be what I do best. The hospital fades and I’m at the house, watching Mom sitting on the couch, crying. See Rachel, curled up on her bed, sitting up and throwing the nearest object, which luckily for my head was a pillow, at me and screaming what a lousy brother I am.
I shake myself out of my reverie and screw the lid back on the bottle. Today’s payday. Today’s payday. I swallow, then walk over to the sink and stick my head under water, attempting to wake up. I shake the water off of my head and walk off, running my fingers through my wet hair. I shut the door, did it latch, I don’t care, and head to the supermarket, trying to keep my eyes open. I’m just so tired…so tired. At least I’m not hungry anymore. I think as I push the door open. George is leaning against Emma’s counter flirting with her. She’s half-ignoring him, half-egging him on. Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone now. I trudge over and stand next to my counter, then sit on the end of it, swinging my Wolverines and kicking the stand.
“Mornin’ Courtney.”
“Mornin’ Richard. Sleep good?”
No.
“Alright I guess. You?”
“My baby cried all night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
She rubs her eyes and it hits me that she’s probably just as tired as I am. I think about how little we get paid and wonder if she’s as hungry. I start thinking about it and notice she’s lost weight in the past six months-too much weight. Then I think maybe not only is she as hungry, she hurts just as bad. I think about that little baby. And suddenly I feel rich. I may be hurting, but at least I’m not having to watch anybody else hurt.
“What’s the baby’s name?”
“Connie.”
“I used to know a Connie.” I say, absently.
“Yeah, I named her after a friend of mine. Connie Kendall.”
My head shoots up and I twist around and look at her. She suddenly looks vaguely familiar.
“What’s your last name?”
“Vincent-why?”
“I remember you!” I exclaim, nearly jumping off the table in excitement at finding somebody from Odyssey. “You were with the Israelites-weren’t you?!”
She turns slightly pink, as if it’s embarrassing.
“How do you know?”
“I’m Richard Maxwell. I don’t think we ever met, but I remember seeing you around.”
“Richard Maxwell-yeah I remember hearing them talk about you!”
Imagine meeting somebody from Odyssey after all these years. And we’ve been working together for months-and I never knew. Steve flips the sign and somebody that was waiting outside comes in and buys a pack of beer. Courtney and I yak off and on till lunch, about Odyssey, about the Israelites, about Blackgaard, about everything we can think of. Even about her baby. But not about me. I don’t want to talk about me. At lunch, I decide I don’t want to chance running into Emma again-in case she wants to make me bleed some more. That girl needs help-who hits guys when they tell them to leave them alone? She’s on something-has to be. I decide to go home. If I had any money I’d take Courtney out to lunch. Maybe Monday. I walk up the street to my building, kicking little rocks lying on the sidewalk, trying to hit signposts. I let myself in (even though if you hit the door once in the right spot and push it opens by itself) and trot up the stairs. My door’s hanging open. Must not’ve let it latch this morning. That Motrin has me feeling funny. I walk in and sit down on the bed. Maybe I could take a nap. I try to avoid taking naps on lunch hour because I don’t work worth beans the rest of the day. But maybe just this once…then I remember I’m working late tonight (or early) and stand up. I smell something-something strange. I take a deep breath. Smoke. I smell smoke.
Where’s it coming from? My head feels very heavy and the smell brings back bad memories and I can hardly stand. But where is it coming from? Ms. Clara left her stove on. That has to be it. I stumble out of my apartment and bang on her door. After a moment, she opens it, her hair up in large curlers and a scowl on her face.
“Yes?”
“Do you smell that? Did you leave your iron on or something?”
She sniffs, more in disdain than trying to catch the smell, but it floats under her nose.
“What is it?”
“Smoke. Something’s on fire-did you leave something on?”
She runs into her apartment, then back to the door.
“No. Why don’t you check your things-you’re the arsonist.”
How does she know that?
“Like I would burn down my own apartment.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
I turn and go back into my room. The smell is stronger now, but I can’t seem to find it, and no smoke is showing, just the smell. I stick my head out into the hall, then into my room. Stronger in my room. I turn around and around, then glance at the bathroom. I walk in, pushing the door open. I don’t remember shutting that door, but it really doesn’t matter. And there it is-a fire built out of my jeans in the shower stall, just beginning to blaze, more smoke than anything else right now. I feel sick to my stomach, then turn the water on and put it out. That simple. Another minute and the apartment would’ve gone up. I feel dizzy and sit down on the lavatory.
“You’re gonna regret this.”
Even in my dazed state I recognize what has happened. Furious for not getting her way, Emma was gonna frame me. For arson. That girl needs therapy. Honestly, who does that-sets a fire in a guys bathroom because he won’t go out with you? I stand, stagger, and plant my hand against the door frame, steady myself, and walk over to Ms. Clara’s room. I kick the door open and stride in.
“I found the fire.”
“Did you put it out?”
She asks, partially ignoring me, applying makeup.
“Yes ma’am. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Thank you.”
She finishes her lipstick and begins taking the curlers out of her hair.
“Ms. Clara, um, I just wanted to say I was sorry. For all the stuff, you know, waking you up in the night, and coming in late, and getting up early, and the time I accidentally came in your room instead of mine, and all the other stuff. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”
She turns and looks at me, unrolling another curler.
“You are not a typical boy, you know that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She puts the curler up and unrolls another.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
She takes a closer look at me and purses her lips as she puts up the curler box.
“Where do you work?”
“Kelly’s Supermarket, and here.”
She raises her eyebrows and begins brushing her hair out.
“Then whatever else you are, you’re a hard worker.”
“I try.”
I glance around this middle-aged woman’s apartment. It’s clean and fairly well-furnished, to be in a cheap apartment like this. She walks over to me and eyes me from head to toe.
“You’re too thin.”
“Probably.”
“You should eat more.”
I think so too.
“Yes ma’am.”
“What are you doing home from work?”
“I’m on my lunch hour.”
She nods. “I’m off today.” She glances out the window, chews her lip for a moment, then turns back to me. “You know Richard, it’s probably none of my business, but I can’t help wondering why you scream in the night.”
I scuff my boot against the floor.
“Bad dreams.”
“I used to have bad dreams.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm hm. My mom told me how to stop them.”
I grin at her.
“How?”
She smiles and smudges a little of her lipstick off.
“In the middle of the bad dream, when you want it to stop, just say ‘Go away bad dream BOO.’ And the bad dream will stop and go away.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not just bad dreams. They’re…”
I shrug and wonder why I’m telling her.
“Based in reality?” she suggests, walking over to her counter.
“Yeah.”
“I used to have those too. After my parents died. But the ‘BOO’ works for them too Rich.” Rich. Nobody calls me that. Cause I’m not. She digs in her purse for a second.
“I’ll have to try it.”
“Let me know how it works out.”
She turns and blinks at me. Her eyelashes are slightly shorter than mine, but they’re real. I think.
“Yeah. I guess I gotta go- nearly time for work.”
She smiles and nods.
“Yeah. Hey, Richard?”
“Huh?”
“When’s the last time you really ate?”
I shrug with one shoulder. The other is aching a little still.
“Um, this morning?”
“Liar. You haven’t eaten in days.”
How does she know?
“Nah, I’m great.”
“Yeah the pain dies after a few days. Would you let me take you to dinner?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She shrugs, then walks over to me. “Oh well. You’re gonna be late for work Rich.” She takes my sleeve and leads me to the door. Must be in a hurry. “Stop by and see me soon.” She shoves me out the door and jams something in my hand. I hear the lock click. Fifty bucks. Ms. Clara just jammed fifty bucks in my hand. I kick the door.
“HEY.”
“Rich, if you don’t take it you can drop it on the floor. But I’m not gonna pick it up and somebody will walk by and get it.”
Stubborn lady that Clara.
“Fine. Let ‘m.”
“Rich, I don’t care what you do with that money-but I’m not taking it back. Consider it yours- for the headphones. They’re great.”
“But I gave them to you cause I woke you up at night!”
“Yes and it was really nice of you.”
“Look-”
“Rich, I’m turning my sink on and can’t hear you.” She sings. Her sink goes on. I glance at the bottom of the door. It touches the ground-can’t slip it under. I hit the door.
“Look, it’s payday today anyway!”
She won’t answer. I kick the knob-I hope it broke it-and walk off. I glance at my phone. Still twenty minutes before it’s time to go back to work. A thought passes through my mind, but I can’t pin it down-that half bottle of Motrin is making me giddy. I lean against the hall wall.
“My baby cried all night.”
I don’t’ deserve fifty bucks. I jump down the stairs and run out the door, stuffing the bills into my back pocket and literally dashing down the street and screeching to a halt at the market. I take a breath and go in. Grace is near the back door with George. I hate to butt in, but who really cares?
“Hey Grace-Grace.”
“Hm?” She turns, glaring. Lovely personality that Grace.
“Where does Courtney live?”
“In the apartments just down the road-why?” she gets a weird look on her face. “Richard-”
“Which room?” I don’t care what she thinks.
“3 E-why?”
I dash out again. Why am I in such a hurry? These apartments are some better than mine. I hit the door and push, and what do you know, just like ours, it opens, and I walk up the stairs. 3 E. I breathe and suddenly wonder what in the world I’m going to do. What Ms. Clara did maybe? Hand her the money and leave? Nah, I’ll see her again in fifteen minutes. So why am I coming here to give it to her? I knock, not leaving myself time to get worried. Nobody answers. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I stand for a minute, then knock again.
“Hey-Courtney?”
I hear something and suddenly feel uneasy. Maybe I should leave. Now. But I don’t. I knock again. And hear something else. A hard cough, like someone can’t get their breath. It’s a sound I’ve heard before. Years ago. When I lived at home-with Rachel. And Kyle. I feel sick in the pit of my stomach. I want to leave-I don’t want to go through all this again. My dreams come crashing back into my mind. I remember Rachel, and how she left just after I got out of the hospital-she was scared. Not of me, of Kyle. Kyle. My step-dad. I feel sick and think I didn’t get enough Motrin. I’m leaving-and she screams again-so quiet you couldn’t hear it unless you were right outside the door, like someone has a hand over her mouth, or she is scared.
“Courtney?”
Nothing And something keeps telling me to mind my own business-to run. And something else is telling me to help. How I do not know. I glance at the hinges. On the other side of the door. Fine. I trot backwards, pivot off the wall, bounce off the floor and kick just above the knob. I hear a slight crunch. So much for breaking the lock-it’s probably stuck. I throw myself against the door. It bangs, My shoulder is killing me. I glance at the knob. Cheap. Great. Why didn’t I check that first? I take hold of it and twist hard, pushing at the same time.
CRK.
The lock snaps and I fall into the room. Courtney is huddled in the corner, and some man not much older than me is standing over her with a drunken look in his eyes. Blood is coming out of Courtney’s mouth. I hope it’s just a busted tooth or something and she’s not coughing blood up. That could be a busted rib-punctured lung, and they hurt. A lot. The man staggers slightly.
“Who’re you?” he slurs.
“Richard.” Why am I telling him?
“Get out.”
Courtney is crying.
“Um, I think I’ve got a better idea.”
He stumbles towards me.
“I said get out.”
“Get lost man. Really.”
He takes a swing at me, but I grab his arm and flip him. How I did it I do not know. I could never do it again. But I just did. He’s lying on the ground moaning. I plant my Wolverine on his neck and grind it down a little.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to me, to her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Courtney.”
“I’m sorry Courtney.”
He’s pretty drunk alright, but not so drunk he doesn’t know what’s good for him. I kick him in the head (not too hard), then move my foot.
“Get up, get out, and get a pot of coffee.”
He stands shakily and wobbles out, too drunk to argue. Why am I not calling the police? I think I feel sorry for him. I guess…maybe I see a little bit of me in him. Except I never tried to kill anybody. Well, nobody that wasn’t trying to kill me, or wouldn’t be trying to kill me. I turn. Courtney is in the corner, crouched down and crying. I sit down next to her.
“Hey-hey it’s OK. Shhh. Shhh.”
She coughs. No blood. Good. Probably just a busted lip. Finger marks on her neck-he had been choking her. I feel sick again. She sobs, harder and harder until she can hardly breathe and I know the feeling.
“Why-why-why” she chokes.
“Hey, shhh. Calm down. Just breathe. Deeply. Breathe.”
She breathes in shakily.
“Why did you do that?”
I un-tuck my shirt and unbutton the last button, then wipe her eyes with it.
“I don’t know.”
She takes hold of my hand and clings to it, still sobbing.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah. Yeah it’s OK. Where’s the baby?”
“Day care.”
“Good. Go take a nap kid-I’ll call you in sick or something.”
“I don’t want to-I have to work.”
I pull out the fifty bucks and dump it in her lap.
“One day won’t kill you. Go. Now. I’ll cover for you.”
She stares down at the money.
“I’m not taking it.”
“You have no choice. I’m not giving it to you-I’m giving it to your kid.”
She takes in a shaky breath.
“This feels like a bad dream.”
How well I know.
“Yeah, well you know what to do to get rid of bad dreams? Right in the middle of the dream, say real loud ‘Go away bad dream, BOO.’ And it will go away. Say it.”
Courtney looks at me funny.
“I feel silly.”
“Say it.”
“Go away bad dream.” She mumbles.
“BOO.”
“BOO.”
I stand, pulling her with me.
“Go take a nap kid, you need it.”
She stumbles into the bedroom.
“Hey Rich?”
“Huh?”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah no sweat. Do you need a doctor?”
“Nah, just bit my lip and some bruises.”
“Who was that?”
“My ex-boyfriend.”
“Yeah. Well, if he comes around again call somebody. Like the cops.”
“Sure.”
She’s about to fall asleep-I hear it in her voice. She’s beat. I know the feeling.
“See you Courtney.”
“Set my alarm will you-nine o’clock. Gotta-gotta pick the baby up.”
“Sure. See ya.”
“G’night.”
And I walk out (after setting her alarm.) I stop for a moment and lean against the wall. It feels weird-because it feels. I feel. I’ve never really…felt anything except guilt. I rarely if ever feel anything else-except occasionally hate. I got so worried about myself once, before I went back to Odyssey the second time, that I shelled out the money to go to D.C. to see all the tombs. A friend warned me once that if you ever go to DC you’ll be so moved you’ll cry in front of everyone. I went and walked around the monuments and read all the little plaques, and stared at the statues. I didn’t feel a thing. My mind clouds.
Kyle, standing in front of me, whipping Rachel with a belt. He didn’t use to hit her except when he was drunk-he hit me whenever he saw me but not her. Apparently with me not around for awhile he’s had to find somebody else to pick on. The belt comes down again and she winces but won’t give him the satisfaction of making a sound. It hurts me-is nearly killing me. I feel it sting me as it does her, even though he doesn’t touch me. I walk over to him and grab his wrist. “That’s it.” I say, low and calm, even though I’m exploding inside. “No more. I’m not nearly as big as you Kyle, but I’ll fight you if you want me to.” He stares at me, thinking how detention and a couple years away have changed me. I know that’s what he’s thinking. I let go of his wrist and stare him down. He turns away. “Well?” He doesn’t say anything, just turns and walks out the door. I change the locks that evening. Then I’m in the fire-the machine on my legs-but someone’s pulling me out. Getting the machine off of me. I feel my legs come free. Free. I see Lucy and Whit-standing in the bus station, waving goodbye. I’m not sure whether to cry or laugh. Tom Riley won’t forgive me but Lucy will. Heaven and hell. I draw my knees up to my face and bury my head in them. I see Blackgaard on his knees in front of me, begging for his life. I see Connie and Whittaker in front of him. I see myself, walking out of the hospital. I see Courtney, holding her baby, then Ms. Clara. She leans in and touches me in the center of my chest, where my heart is, and whispers something. “Go away bad dream. Boo.”
I start awake, staring at the gray wall, then whisper to myself “Go away bad dream.” I breathe deeply. “Boo.”
And it falls away. Like in the Bible, when the scales fell off of Saul/Paul’s eyes. I can see. I’m not sure just what I’m seeing-but it’s not that darkness that I saw before, not that void, that vortex, where when you crawl in, you can never get out. And I want out. I want out. I blink, and hear a voice in my head-again. I’m not talking about just them either…forgiveness…God’s. see My head swims and I can hardly think, yet I’m thinking clearer than I ever have in my life before and I fall to my knees-right in the hall, I don’t care who sees-and whisper-but not to myself, to God.
“Go away bad dream. BOO. God, take these dreams, take this fear, take it. Take me.” And I’m crying again. Why am I crying so much lately? I’m on my knees in a cheap apartment building praying to a God I don’t know to make the bad dreams go away-for Him to take me and make out of me something worth saving. “I’m yours God-if you’ll take what I have-I’m yours. Forgive me-for all I’ve done-for what I haven’t done that I should’ve. Live in me.” I whisper. My eyes flutter open and I stand. I feel no differently than I did before. But somehow…somehow I know I’m different. Deep inside in the pit of my soul I know I’m different. Cause I’m standing. And I’ll be alright. If I am dirt poor-I’ll live. Is it worth living if I’m dead inside? No. but now I’m not. Somehow…somehow I’m alive inside now. It’s weird. But I like it.
I go to work and finish my shift, making some excuse for Courtney, I think I tell a lie, but I’m not sure. I repent. My first sin as a Christian. And it suddenly hits me that I am-I am a Christian. And suddenly my heart isn’t big enough to hold it in. my soul isn’t wide enough to keep it and I laugh. At nothing. But I laugh. And it feels good. And the more I laugh, the better it feels and I’m nearly on the floor I’m laughing so hard and Emma has a weird look on her face like she’s thinking of my apartment being burnt down and I laugh harder and think how ironic it is that I can’t press charges because I have no proof. And I don’t really care. I finish the shift and go to the apartment, not laughing, but with a deep…peace. A joy. Not just happiness, joy. A knowledge that it’s all gonna work out alright. If I do my part, it’s all gonna work out. Because, in a way, Odyssey surrounds me. Maybe I’ll even go back to it someday. I finish work, use my paycheck to get something to eat, and go home and sleep. I don’t dream. And I know somehow, deep inside, that I will never dream like I did again. Go away bad dream.
Boo.
I’m looking down a hospital bed at Lucy, then leaving, Connie standing just outside the curtain and turning pink when I see her cause I know she was listening. My head is spinning. I can’t think straight, but I know I hate that I hurt Lucy. That I hurt anybody. But that appears to be what I do best. The hospital fades and I’m at the house, watching Mom sitting on the couch, crying. See Rachel, curled up on her bed, sitting up and throwing the nearest object, which luckily for my head was a pillow, at me and screaming what a lousy brother I am.
I shake myself out of my reverie and screw the lid back on the bottle. Today’s payday. Today’s payday. I swallow, then walk over to the sink and stick my head under water, attempting to wake up. I shake the water off of my head and walk off, running my fingers through my wet hair. I shut the door, did it latch, I don’t care, and head to the supermarket, trying to keep my eyes open. I’m just so tired…so tired. At least I’m not hungry anymore. I think as I push the door open. George is leaning against Emma’s counter flirting with her. She’s half-ignoring him, half-egging him on. Good. Maybe she’ll leave me alone now. I trudge over and stand next to my counter, then sit on the end of it, swinging my Wolverines and kicking the stand.
“Mornin’ Courtney.”
“Mornin’ Richard. Sleep good?”
No.
“Alright I guess. You?”
“My baby cried all night.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
She rubs her eyes and it hits me that she’s probably just as tired as I am. I think about how little we get paid and wonder if she’s as hungry. I start thinking about it and notice she’s lost weight in the past six months-too much weight. Then I think maybe not only is she as hungry, she hurts just as bad. I think about that little baby. And suddenly I feel rich. I may be hurting, but at least I’m not having to watch anybody else hurt.
“What’s the baby’s name?”
“Connie.”
“I used to know a Connie.” I say, absently.
“Yeah, I named her after a friend of mine. Connie Kendall.”
My head shoots up and I twist around and look at her. She suddenly looks vaguely familiar.
“What’s your last name?”
“Vincent-why?”
“I remember you!” I exclaim, nearly jumping off the table in excitement at finding somebody from Odyssey. “You were with the Israelites-weren’t you?!”
She turns slightly pink, as if it’s embarrassing.
“How do you know?”
“I’m Richard Maxwell. I don’t think we ever met, but I remember seeing you around.”
“Richard Maxwell-yeah I remember hearing them talk about you!”
Imagine meeting somebody from Odyssey after all these years. And we’ve been working together for months-and I never knew. Steve flips the sign and somebody that was waiting outside comes in and buys a pack of beer. Courtney and I yak off and on till lunch, about Odyssey, about the Israelites, about Blackgaard, about everything we can think of. Even about her baby. But not about me. I don’t want to talk about me. At lunch, I decide I don’t want to chance running into Emma again-in case she wants to make me bleed some more. That girl needs help-who hits guys when they tell them to leave them alone? She’s on something-has to be. I decide to go home. If I had any money I’d take Courtney out to lunch. Maybe Monday. I walk up the street to my building, kicking little rocks lying on the sidewalk, trying to hit signposts. I let myself in (even though if you hit the door once in the right spot and push it opens by itself) and trot up the stairs. My door’s hanging open. Must not’ve let it latch this morning. That Motrin has me feeling funny. I walk in and sit down on the bed. Maybe I could take a nap. I try to avoid taking naps on lunch hour because I don’t work worth beans the rest of the day. But maybe just this once…then I remember I’m working late tonight (or early) and stand up. I smell something-something strange. I take a deep breath. Smoke. I smell smoke.
Where’s it coming from? My head feels very heavy and the smell brings back bad memories and I can hardly stand. But where is it coming from? Ms. Clara left her stove on. That has to be it. I stumble out of my apartment and bang on her door. After a moment, she opens it, her hair up in large curlers and a scowl on her face.
“Yes?”
“Do you smell that? Did you leave your iron on or something?”
She sniffs, more in disdain than trying to catch the smell, but it floats under her nose.
“What is it?”
“Smoke. Something’s on fire-did you leave something on?”
She runs into her apartment, then back to the door.
“No. Why don’t you check your things-you’re the arsonist.”
How does she know that?
“Like I would burn down my own apartment.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
I turn and go back into my room. The smell is stronger now, but I can’t seem to find it, and no smoke is showing, just the smell. I stick my head out into the hall, then into my room. Stronger in my room. I turn around and around, then glance at the bathroom. I walk in, pushing the door open. I don’t remember shutting that door, but it really doesn’t matter. And there it is-a fire built out of my jeans in the shower stall, just beginning to blaze, more smoke than anything else right now. I feel sick to my stomach, then turn the water on and put it out. That simple. Another minute and the apartment would’ve gone up. I feel dizzy and sit down on the lavatory.
“You’re gonna regret this.”
Even in my dazed state I recognize what has happened. Furious for not getting her way, Emma was gonna frame me. For arson. That girl needs therapy. Honestly, who does that-sets a fire in a guys bathroom because he won’t go out with you? I stand, stagger, and plant my hand against the door frame, steady myself, and walk over to Ms. Clara’s room. I kick the door open and stride in.
“I found the fire.”
“Did you put it out?”
She asks, partially ignoring me, applying makeup.
“Yes ma’am. I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Thank you.”
She finishes her lipstick and begins taking the curlers out of her hair.
“Ms. Clara, um, I just wanted to say I was sorry. For all the stuff, you know, waking you up in the night, and coming in late, and getting up early, and the time I accidentally came in your room instead of mine, and all the other stuff. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”
She turns and looks at me, unrolling another curler.
“You are not a typical boy, you know that?”
“Yes ma’am.”
She puts the curler up and unrolls another.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
She takes a closer look at me and purses her lips as she puts up the curler box.
“Where do you work?”
“Kelly’s Supermarket, and here.”
She raises her eyebrows and begins brushing her hair out.
“Then whatever else you are, you’re a hard worker.”
“I try.”
I glance around this middle-aged woman’s apartment. It’s clean and fairly well-furnished, to be in a cheap apartment like this. She walks over to me and eyes me from head to toe.
“You’re too thin.”
“Probably.”
“You should eat more.”
I think so too.
“Yes ma’am.”
“What are you doing home from work?”
“I’m on my lunch hour.”
She nods. “I’m off today.” She glances out the window, chews her lip for a moment, then turns back to me. “You know Richard, it’s probably none of my business, but I can’t help wondering why you scream in the night.”
I scuff my boot against the floor.
“Bad dreams.”
“I used to have bad dreams.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm hm. My mom told me how to stop them.”
I grin at her.
“How?”
She smiles and smudges a little of her lipstick off.
“In the middle of the bad dream, when you want it to stop, just say ‘Go away bad dream BOO.’ And the bad dream will stop and go away.”
“Yeah, well, they’re not just bad dreams. They’re…”
I shrug and wonder why I’m telling her.
“Based in reality?” she suggests, walking over to her counter.
“Yeah.”
“I used to have those too. After my parents died. But the ‘BOO’ works for them too Rich.” Rich. Nobody calls me that. Cause I’m not. She digs in her purse for a second.
“I’ll have to try it.”
“Let me know how it works out.”
She turns and blinks at me. Her eyelashes are slightly shorter than mine, but they’re real. I think.
“Yeah. I guess I gotta go- nearly time for work.”
She smiles and nods.
“Yeah. Hey, Richard?”
“Huh?”
“When’s the last time you really ate?”
I shrug with one shoulder. The other is aching a little still.
“Um, this morning?”
“Liar. You haven’t eaten in days.”
How does she know?
“Nah, I’m great.”
“Yeah the pain dies after a few days. Would you let me take you to dinner?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” She shrugs, then walks over to me. “Oh well. You’re gonna be late for work Rich.” She takes my sleeve and leads me to the door. Must be in a hurry. “Stop by and see me soon.” She shoves me out the door and jams something in my hand. I hear the lock click. Fifty bucks. Ms. Clara just jammed fifty bucks in my hand. I kick the door.
“HEY.”
“Rich, if you don’t take it you can drop it on the floor. But I’m not gonna pick it up and somebody will walk by and get it.”
Stubborn lady that Clara.
“Fine. Let ‘m.”
“Rich, I don’t care what you do with that money-but I’m not taking it back. Consider it yours- for the headphones. They’re great.”
“But I gave them to you cause I woke you up at night!”
“Yes and it was really nice of you.”
“Look-”
“Rich, I’m turning my sink on and can’t hear you.” She sings. Her sink goes on. I glance at the bottom of the door. It touches the ground-can’t slip it under. I hit the door.
“Look, it’s payday today anyway!”
She won’t answer. I kick the knob-I hope it broke it-and walk off. I glance at my phone. Still twenty minutes before it’s time to go back to work. A thought passes through my mind, but I can’t pin it down-that half bottle of Motrin is making me giddy. I lean against the hall wall.
“My baby cried all night.”
I don’t’ deserve fifty bucks. I jump down the stairs and run out the door, stuffing the bills into my back pocket and literally dashing down the street and screeching to a halt at the market. I take a breath and go in. Grace is near the back door with George. I hate to butt in, but who really cares?
“Hey Grace-Grace.”
“Hm?” She turns, glaring. Lovely personality that Grace.
“Where does Courtney live?”
“In the apartments just down the road-why?” she gets a weird look on her face. “Richard-”
“Which room?” I don’t care what she thinks.
“3 E-why?”
I dash out again. Why am I in such a hurry? These apartments are some better than mine. I hit the door and push, and what do you know, just like ours, it opens, and I walk up the stairs. 3 E. I breathe and suddenly wonder what in the world I’m going to do. What Ms. Clara did maybe? Hand her the money and leave? Nah, I’ll see her again in fifteen minutes. So why am I coming here to give it to her? I knock, not leaving myself time to get worried. Nobody answers. Maybe she’s in the bathroom. I stand for a minute, then knock again.
“Hey-Courtney?”
I hear something and suddenly feel uneasy. Maybe I should leave. Now. But I don’t. I knock again. And hear something else. A hard cough, like someone can’t get their breath. It’s a sound I’ve heard before. Years ago. When I lived at home-with Rachel. And Kyle. I feel sick in the pit of my stomach. I want to leave-I don’t want to go through all this again. My dreams come crashing back into my mind. I remember Rachel, and how she left just after I got out of the hospital-she was scared. Not of me, of Kyle. Kyle. My step-dad. I feel sick and think I didn’t get enough Motrin. I’m leaving-and she screams again-so quiet you couldn’t hear it unless you were right outside the door, like someone has a hand over her mouth, or she is scared.
“Courtney?”
Nothing And something keeps telling me to mind my own business-to run. And something else is telling me to help. How I do not know. I glance at the hinges. On the other side of the door. Fine. I trot backwards, pivot off the wall, bounce off the floor and kick just above the knob. I hear a slight crunch. So much for breaking the lock-it’s probably stuck. I throw myself against the door. It bangs, My shoulder is killing me. I glance at the knob. Cheap. Great. Why didn’t I check that first? I take hold of it and twist hard, pushing at the same time.
CRK.
The lock snaps and I fall into the room. Courtney is huddled in the corner, and some man not much older than me is standing over her with a drunken look in his eyes. Blood is coming out of Courtney’s mouth. I hope it’s just a busted tooth or something and she’s not coughing blood up. That could be a busted rib-punctured lung, and they hurt. A lot. The man staggers slightly.
“Who’re you?” he slurs.
“Richard.” Why am I telling him?
“Get out.”
Courtney is crying.
“Um, I think I’ve got a better idea.”
He stumbles towards me.
“I said get out.”
“Get lost man. Really.”
He takes a swing at me, but I grab his arm and flip him. How I did it I do not know. I could never do it again. But I just did. He’s lying on the ground moaning. I plant my Wolverine on his neck and grind it down a little.
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not to me, to her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Courtney.”
“I’m sorry Courtney.”
He’s pretty drunk alright, but not so drunk he doesn’t know what’s good for him. I kick him in the head (not too hard), then move my foot.
“Get up, get out, and get a pot of coffee.”
He stands shakily and wobbles out, too drunk to argue. Why am I not calling the police? I think I feel sorry for him. I guess…maybe I see a little bit of me in him. Except I never tried to kill anybody. Well, nobody that wasn’t trying to kill me, or wouldn’t be trying to kill me. I turn. Courtney is in the corner, crouched down and crying. I sit down next to her.
“Hey-hey it’s OK. Shhh. Shhh.”
She coughs. No blood. Good. Probably just a busted lip. Finger marks on her neck-he had been choking her. I feel sick again. She sobs, harder and harder until she can hardly breathe and I know the feeling.
“Why-why-why” she chokes.
“Hey, shhh. Calm down. Just breathe. Deeply. Breathe.”
She breathes in shakily.
“Why did you do that?”
I un-tuck my shirt and unbutton the last button, then wipe her eyes with it.
“I don’t know.”
She takes hold of my hand and clings to it, still sobbing.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah. Yeah it’s OK. Where’s the baby?”
“Day care.”
“Good. Go take a nap kid-I’ll call you in sick or something.”
“I don’t want to-I have to work.”
I pull out the fifty bucks and dump it in her lap.
“One day won’t kill you. Go. Now. I’ll cover for you.”
She stares down at the money.
“I’m not taking it.”
“You have no choice. I’m not giving it to you-I’m giving it to your kid.”
She takes in a shaky breath.
“This feels like a bad dream.”
How well I know.
“Yeah, well you know what to do to get rid of bad dreams? Right in the middle of the dream, say real loud ‘Go away bad dream, BOO.’ And it will go away. Say it.”
Courtney looks at me funny.
“I feel silly.”
“Say it.”
“Go away bad dream.” She mumbles.
“BOO.”
“BOO.”
I stand, pulling her with me.
“Go take a nap kid, you need it.”
She stumbles into the bedroom.
“Hey Rich?”
“Huh?”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah no sweat. Do you need a doctor?”
“Nah, just bit my lip and some bruises.”
“Who was that?”
“My ex-boyfriend.”
“Yeah. Well, if he comes around again call somebody. Like the cops.”
“Sure.”
She’s about to fall asleep-I hear it in her voice. She’s beat. I know the feeling.
“See you Courtney.”
“Set my alarm will you-nine o’clock. Gotta-gotta pick the baby up.”
“Sure. See ya.”
“G’night.”
And I walk out (after setting her alarm.) I stop for a moment and lean against the wall. It feels weird-because it feels. I feel. I’ve never really…felt anything except guilt. I rarely if ever feel anything else-except occasionally hate. I got so worried about myself once, before I went back to Odyssey the second time, that I shelled out the money to go to D.C. to see all the tombs. A friend warned me once that if you ever go to DC you’ll be so moved you’ll cry in front of everyone. I went and walked around the monuments and read all the little plaques, and stared at the statues. I didn’t feel a thing. My mind clouds.
Kyle, standing in front of me, whipping Rachel with a belt. He didn’t use to hit her except when he was drunk-he hit me whenever he saw me but not her. Apparently with me not around for awhile he’s had to find somebody else to pick on. The belt comes down again and she winces but won’t give him the satisfaction of making a sound. It hurts me-is nearly killing me. I feel it sting me as it does her, even though he doesn’t touch me. I walk over to him and grab his wrist. “That’s it.” I say, low and calm, even though I’m exploding inside. “No more. I’m not nearly as big as you Kyle, but I’ll fight you if you want me to.” He stares at me, thinking how detention and a couple years away have changed me. I know that’s what he’s thinking. I let go of his wrist and stare him down. He turns away. “Well?” He doesn’t say anything, just turns and walks out the door. I change the locks that evening. Then I’m in the fire-the machine on my legs-but someone’s pulling me out. Getting the machine off of me. I feel my legs come free. Free. I see Lucy and Whit-standing in the bus station, waving goodbye. I’m not sure whether to cry or laugh. Tom Riley won’t forgive me but Lucy will. Heaven and hell. I draw my knees up to my face and bury my head in them. I see Blackgaard on his knees in front of me, begging for his life. I see Connie and Whittaker in front of him. I see myself, walking out of the hospital. I see Courtney, holding her baby, then Ms. Clara. She leans in and touches me in the center of my chest, where my heart is, and whispers something. “Go away bad dream. Boo.”
I start awake, staring at the gray wall, then whisper to myself “Go away bad dream.” I breathe deeply. “Boo.”
And it falls away. Like in the Bible, when the scales fell off of Saul/Paul’s eyes. I can see. I’m not sure just what I’m seeing-but it’s not that darkness that I saw before, not that void, that vortex, where when you crawl in, you can never get out. And I want out. I want out. I blink, and hear a voice in my head-again. I’m not talking about just them either…forgiveness…God’s. see My head swims and I can hardly think, yet I’m thinking clearer than I ever have in my life before and I fall to my knees-right in the hall, I don’t care who sees-and whisper-but not to myself, to God.
“Go away bad dream. BOO. God, take these dreams, take this fear, take it. Take me.” And I’m crying again. Why am I crying so much lately? I’m on my knees in a cheap apartment building praying to a God I don’t know to make the bad dreams go away-for Him to take me and make out of me something worth saving. “I’m yours God-if you’ll take what I have-I’m yours. Forgive me-for all I’ve done-for what I haven’t done that I should’ve. Live in me.” I whisper. My eyes flutter open and I stand. I feel no differently than I did before. But somehow…somehow I know I’m different. Deep inside in the pit of my soul I know I’m different. Cause I’m standing. And I’ll be alright. If I am dirt poor-I’ll live. Is it worth living if I’m dead inside? No. but now I’m not. Somehow…somehow I’m alive inside now. It’s weird. But I like it.
I go to work and finish my shift, making some excuse for Courtney, I think I tell a lie, but I’m not sure. I repent. My first sin as a Christian. And it suddenly hits me that I am-I am a Christian. And suddenly my heart isn’t big enough to hold it in. my soul isn’t wide enough to keep it and I laugh. At nothing. But I laugh. And it feels good. And the more I laugh, the better it feels and I’m nearly on the floor I’m laughing so hard and Emma has a weird look on her face like she’s thinking of my apartment being burnt down and I laugh harder and think how ironic it is that I can’t press charges because I have no proof. And I don’t really care. I finish the shift and go to the apartment, not laughing, but with a deep…peace. A joy. Not just happiness, joy. A knowledge that it’s all gonna work out alright. If I do my part, it’s all gonna work out. Because, in a way, Odyssey surrounds me. Maybe I’ll even go back to it someday. I finish work, use my paycheck to get something to eat, and go home and sleep. I don’t dream. And I know somehow, deep inside, that I will never dream like I did again. Go away bad dream.
Boo.