Day Eighteen Part Two

Without thinking I jolted. I rushed passed whoever stood in my way, I may have knocked someone over in the process, and I grabbed hold of the carriage just as it would have strolled into the street. I pulled the child to safety. I turned around to find the woman coming at me, her fragile gloved hands over her mouth, her astonished eyes frozen in horror.

"Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God!" she kept repeating over and over again until she had the child, who remained amazingly silent through it all, firmly against her breasts, her chin nestled over the child's head. She was relieved. She opened her eyes and said, "thank you! Thank you so much!" I stood there, frozen, unable to respond, for I saw something I never expected to see. Two crystal tears managed to escape from her eyes, eyes that I had seen before. Magnificent stone grey eyes. His eyes. It came back to me in a flood and I felt for a moment as I did when I was a child and he looked at me with those stone eyes that seemed to crumble everything solid within me.

"Are you ok?" she asked me as I stared into her infinite space, not even seeing her anymore. "What's your name?"

"I ... I have to go." And I fled. So fast, in fact, the next thing I remember is a blaring car horn and tires screeching desperately to a halt. I looked at the oncoming car as it came so close to hitting me and I heard people gasping all around me. The fat old man driving looked hysterical, but I just stood there, willing for it to run me over. When the burgundy Cadillac stopped within an inch of my life, my shoes dug into the road and I took off. I couldn't look back. Why did I see him everywhere? Why did I dream of him? Why had he invaded my thoughts? Would I never know another moment's peace?

The faster I walked the more the memories assualted me. My head was suddenly a kaleidoscope and it was making me dizzy. I had to run. I ran until I was out of breath and I remembered as if I were in the moment again the last time I ran that way. I was running from him then too.

He had been suspended from school for a week and it was all my fault. I was used to being teased and called names, but apparently Woody wasn't. When we became friends, the gossip and the name calling got worse with each passing day. We were both loners and both outcasts, so when we teamed up, naturally there was going to be hell to pay. There wasn't much to do in our small rural town, not much in the way of entertainment. The most popular sport, it seemed to me, was making all the proclaimed losers feel like shit. Those kids seemed to get a real kick out of that. Well, Tony Samms made the huge mistake one afternoon of saying me and Woody looked like a bunch of faggots the way we were always together. He barely got a laugh out before his blood was flying through the air, landing on the kids that stood around and watched. Woody was on top of this coal black kid beating the living daylights out of him. Punch after punch after punch sounded through the hall like a gavel hitting concrete until some of the teachers came and, with several students' help, peeled him off of Tony. There wasn't much left of Tony - a few teeth and one eye that could barely open. His blood was splattered all over the floor and kids' tennis shoes. As they dragged him away, he didn't look at me. That was the last I saw him or heard from him that week and come the following Monday, I found out he was suspended. For a whole week no less. That was the longest I'd ever heard of anybody getting suspended. And that was one of the longest weeks I'd ever had to endure.

The winter was really starting to settle in and the holiday season drew near, but the cold winter air wasn't nearly as chilling as what I had to endure in Woody's absence. That first day alone I was tripped, hit and laughed at more than the entire first three months I'd been at this crazy new school. And of course, I had no lunch that day. Corey and his boys saw to that.

I had the bright idea mid-day to take Woody his homework. It would give me the chance to see him and I would finally get to see where he lived. He'd been to lmy house many times, spent the night many times even, but I'd never once stepped foot in his neighborhood. He always had some excuse to not tell me about his home or about his father.

It wasn't hard getting his address from the principal's office. Once I told them what I intended to do for him, taking him his work so he wouldn't get behind, they were downright impressed. Plus, everybody knew we were best friends. I took not a small amount of pride in that. I didn't care that some of the kids called us faggots. They could have called us whatever they liked, they couldn't rob me of my happiness. I only wished Woody would have felt the same way.

As I entered Woody's neighborhood, I could see why he might have been a little shy to let me see it. It was all black and mostly impoverished. I'm sure, being as pale as he was, he stood out some. Some of the houses were boarded up. Truth of the matter was, though, everyone of us in that area came from humble backgrounds. There couldn't be any snobs at our school, only those that acted like they were better than everyone else, because honestly didn't any of us have shit. This had to be the worst America had. I didn't see how it could get any worse.

I found his number, 3232. It was an old house with chipped sky blue paint. There were empty beer cans and cigarette butts all over the dirt where grass must have been at some point in time. There was an upside down bike with a missing wheel near the front of the steps that led to his porch. It was a gloomy day, but I didn't see how the sun shining on this place would make it seem any brighter.

I walked up and knocked on the door, smiling like a salesman. I hadn't seen him in three days. That was entirely too long for me. There was no answer. I knocked again. I heard movement inside, though the steps were clumsy and agitated. I knew it wasn't Woody. Suddenly, the door was flung open.

"And who the hell are you!" This man looked nothing like Woody. He was tall and lean and the skin on his face had been weathered by the blizzard of his life. His thick brown mustache covered nearly both his lips, he quite clearly didn't have all his teeth and the ones he did have were on their way to meet the fairy. He wore an oil stained cap and grease stained jeans, and the smell of him was enough to stain my nose. In fact, the smell coming out of the house wasn't at all a pleasant one. From the look of him, I guessed he was a mechanic. There was an old car with the hood up sittin out in front of his house. I wondered if all mechanics looked like that or if there was something that made this sad man special.

"Well, who are ya, kid?" His voice was as lazy and tired as he looked.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm Joshua Peterson. I'm here to give Woody his school work." He stared at me suspiciously for a moment and then walked away. Thank God. He gave me the creeps. No wonder Woody didn't want me to meet him.

Just then I heard very solid, very confident footseps coming in my direction. This was Woody. When he came from the dark hole that I could not see beyond, I thought he would be happy to see me. Instead, his face was intense and he was scowling. He came right at me, grabbed me by the shirt, shut the door behind him and shoved me hard into the wall of his house.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" he said in a loud whisper.

I was so caught by surprise that I didn't know what to say. It took me a moment.

"Um, I brought you your schoolwork." He looked down at the books that I held up to him as a peace offering. He let me go and snatched the books from my hand and for a moment, a brief moment, I recognized my friend. As soon I began to relax, though, he became agitated again.

"Listen, don't came back here, you hear? I don't want to see you 'round here again!" He pushed me back into the wall and then stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him.

As was my nature, I took a moment to breathe in and absorb what had just happened. Why was he being so mean to me? All I wanted to do was help him. All I wanted to do was see him again. Did he not want to be my friend because Tony Samms called us faggots? My heart started falling. I felt like I was on a roller coaster drop. I was going to be sick. Then I got mad. I wanted to yell and scream and kick his door down and knock some sense into his thick head, but it wasn't in me to do that.

I sat there until night fall, trying to figure out what to do next, dreading to think that I would have to go a week, much less an eternity, without him in my life. After all I shared with him, why was he acting this way? I picked myself up and I started to run. I had to get away from there. I ran so fast that I tripped and scratched my knee through my pants. I didn't care. It had gotten so cold that the tears had dried to the skin beneath my eyes.

I ran through the dirt of his yard, rounded his gate and BAM!! Something hit me and I fell to the ground screaming. I looked up and it was a boy. A dead boy. He couldn't have been more than six or seven. He was wet, his skin dripping. He wasn't wearing anything but shorts and I could see the ribs protruding through his grey skin. His eyes were big and sad and filled with an ominious liquid blue. And he was blonde. A bright blonde dead boy who, had he not been dead already, would have surely been freezing to death.

"Who are you?" I asked? His gaunt face sunk in a hollow of sadness when suddenly he opened his mouth wider than should have been possible and a torrent of water came rushing out at me!

"Aaaaaggh!" I screamed, covering my face and mouth with my hands. The water was freezing! I felt like I was drowning. I didn't know how to swim and I felt as if I were being submerged in icy water right there on the pavement in front of Woody's house. Suddenly, I was just cold again. I brought my arms down and the boy was gone. The only thing I saw was a sliver of the moon in the sky and some onlookers from other houses scratching their heads trying to figure out what the hell my problem was.

I clumsily found my feet and began to run. I run like I'd never run before. I ran from the little boy ghost. I ran from Woody's harsh words, from his strange touch. I ran from the memories of the happiness we shared together. I ran from the ominous future that stretched out so bleakly in front of me. I ran from his father. I ran from Janissa and Corey and Tony. I ran from my Grandmother and her damned stories of curses. I ran and ran and ran until I found myself in my bedroom, sweating and freezing all at once. My mind was a kaleidoscope. As I undressed and put myself away safely in my bed, I prayed to God I'd never have to run like that again, because after all my energy was spent, I realized I simply had nowhere to run.

Day Eighteen

"Ouch!" I gasped.

"Careful there. The bowl is hot."

Stupid fucking blonde waitress. Yes, the bowl was hot. This much I knew. She could have warned me before I put both my hands around it.

She stared at me, the pink mess on her face threatening to carry her all the way to Barnums and Baileys. She smacked that gum so loudly I could have thrown my soup on her just to shut her up.

"Anything else I can get for you?" she asked. How about another waitress? A normal one?

"No, that will be all . Thank you."

Thank God she left me to my soup and my tea and my thoughts. My solitary thoughts. I was glad I sat next to the window. It was raining out. The overcast sky hung busily over the pedestrians as they marched through the slick city street in a mad rush to get their food and devour it with the part of the hour they had left. I, too, was in a mad rush. I had 35 minutes before I had to be back at the office, however, I could not will my limbs to move faster, my jaw to swallow quicker, my thoughts to stop slumbering about my lazy head. I ached at the memory of Woody.

As I sat there blowing the soup around in my spoon before putting it to my lips, I wanted to cry because it still made no sense. My life made no sense. All those answers we searched for, that ridiculous curse, the dead people that had always haunted me in my childhood, what the fuck did any of it mean anyway? My grandmother always said I was special, but I'm pretty sure she was the only one to ever think so. Whatever miracle I was supposed to have done, I thought I had done since the ghosts disappeared from my life. But now they were back ... and it terrified me more as an adult than it ever did as a child. But what did it mean?

I didn't want to go back to my cubicle. It reminded me of that cube in Hellraiser. Actually, I think I would have preferred the torture of those demons from Hell to my life as a cubicle employee.

I did not want to dissect my emotions with Rainer either. What would he say when he got home later? What would his audacious eyes accuse me of? How would I put my arms around this man and lie and tell him he's the only man I've ever loved? And why wasn't it true?

I really missed my grandmother. I wished I could retreat back to Mississippi, just for a day. I hadn't been there since her funeral three years ago. A precious few of us were in attendance. I wondered what ghosts still lived in that old house of hers. My house now as it turned out. While I was down there for her funeral, I could not bring myself to go near Woody's house. Those memories were still much too alive for me to visit. I could still smell the stink of his father's whiskey. Woody's father was the reason I didn't drink.

The tea carried a strange comfort as it met my lips. I remembered when my grandmother would make me tea when I was sick. I looked across the room and there was a man staring at me. Mid thirties, maybe early forties. White. Ordinary. Nothing spectacular. Only a year ago it would have only taken a gesture of his hand or nod of his head for me to follow him to the darkest of corners. What other retreat from my empty life did I have? He would have pumped the life back into me, recharging me like a battery. I did not miss it. Rainer changed everything for me, yet there I sat, sewering in my own pitiful despair.

"Can I get you anything else?" Blondie was back.

"No, just my check, please."

"Ok. Let me get that out of the way for you."

"Thank you."

And that was my interaction with most people lately. Brief. Impersonal. I missed the long conversations I would have about absolutely nothing with Woody. I longed for the spontaneous laughter that would seize us in the most extraordinary of instances. Rainer didn't laugh a whole lot. Niether did I anymore. He was always so serious. Life was logical and full of equations and action and consequence. Whatever happened to the brilliance of just letting things happen?

"Here you go," she said as she laid the check on my table. After the tip, I was $15 poorer, all for a fucking cup of soup and tea.

I grabbed my coat and made my way to the exit. As I passed the stranger he smiled at me. I knew that smile. He wanted me. I didn't care. I was ready to leave. As I pushed the glass door open and the cold breeze smacked me in the face, I realized I was ready to leave it all behind.

The rain had stopped, but the wetness clung to the air. Walking back to my hellhole of a job something suddenly struck me. A woman was walking directly ahead of me pushing a baby carriage. There was something about her - maybe the way her dusty blonde hair blew in the breeze behind her, maybe the way her coat drifted in the wind as she walked so freely, or maybe it was the way she seemed to smile at me even though I could not see her face. I walked faster. I had to catch up. I don't know why, but there was something in me insisting that I at least get a good look at her face. Then I had my chance. She had rolled her carriage to a stop in front of a greasy hot dog vendor. There were people walking in front of me, blocking my view. I think I muttered "excuse me" as I politely cut my way through the crowd. I had to see her. She was talking with the vendor. What was she buying? A pretzel? Some gum? No. The vendor handed her a snapple. Pink Lemonade. Then, without warning, she turned and glanced in my direction. Freckles. And absolutely beautiful. She looked so happy, only she didn't realize her carriage was drifting away and getting dangerously close to the curb that met the intersection of the street.