Mack the Brass Player

A young woman, who has suffered much trauma, learns how to cope with her past and breathe in new life. It is a descriptive story that displays elements of magic-realism and portrays difficult traumas.

MACK THE BRASS PLAYER

By Leighanne Colfield (a.k.a Brooke Hahne)

I pick up the steak knife lying on the kitchen counter. Tiny bits of red meat are still stuck to the sides, making my mouth water with a sick desire. I turn and twist the handle in my fingers, the silver blade reflecting a cloudy blur of the overhead lighting. I see my distorted, dirty image on the sharp metal. The oak clock in the hall reads 1:32 a.m.

My vision wavers. The lighting goes dim for a second. I take the knife with me as I sit in the chair, my right ankle propped up on my left thigh. The main artery on my ankle is supple and flexible as I poke it gently with the sharp tip of the blade. The bloody meat bits drop off the blade onto my skin. I press the blade deeper into the bluish vein. A bubble of blood forms just beneath the point and I smile weakly, sickened by my illness, yet giddy at the same time. I press harder. The pain sears at the blade and festering meat entering my body and tears pour down my face but I don’t whimper or lash out in pain, just another symptom of my disease. Blood is now streaming from my wound and the kitchen goes white. The blood on my leg and chair turn grey and the ceiling becomes the floor as I weakly go from this world to something much darker, like the inside of a hole in a tree. I envision a small baby owl looking at me from inside the tree, begging me to disappear with him forever. I push the blade deeper until I can’t feel anymore. I hit the ground like a heavy burden relieved off Earth’s shoulders. Here, I am safe in the darkness.

I wake up in what appears to be an enchanted forest. It doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been in a forest, yet it feels like I’ve just returned to somewhere I’ve known before, somewhere like home. There is a tree with a hole in it to my right. I pace over to it, my footsteps heavy and lethargic, and peer inside. A tiny hoot owl bites my thumbnail. He looks at me, afraid, timid, like he’s all alone too. I ask him his name.

“Hooooty” He sings.

“Hooty, eh? What are you doing all by yourself?” I coo at him.

“I’m waiting for my mooooooomy” He pronounced every ‘o’ sound as if it were singing to his owlet siblings.

“Well, I’ll sit and wait with you, if that’s alright.”

“Okay Miss Lady” He was certainly a polite owl. I told him my name was Lillian. Lillian Susana Dee.

“That’s sooooo pretty…Lillian Soooooooosana Deeeee” He sing-songed at me. He really liked his “oo” sounds.

“So,” I asked him, “Where are you from?”

“Me? I’m from here. This tree, it’s all I know.”

“Is that so?” I questioned.

This was somewhat bizarre, I realized. A talking owl. But I suppose I’ve seen weirder things in life. The tiny hoot owl nodded his head and called into the night some more. He was a shy, but happy little thing. So different from who I was.

***

Hooty and I chitchatted and sang for a few hours into the night. He was very insightful for his age. I looked at my surroundings. I had no idea where this place was.

The trees were covered in a dense moss that glittered with shiny speckles of blue light. The nest in which Hooty lived was made of a thick twiggy basket that glowed with a gold hue. The edges of this forest were fuzzy and turned to grey just past the tops of the trees, past that, I couldn’t see anything. The little area that I had fallen into was lit by a faint green glow that shone out from the leaves and moss. It was a spectacular area, something I could get used to. I remember someone reading a story to me about a princess who lived in a forest much like this one…

“Soooozie?” Hooty cooed sweetly. I looked up at him. I like how he calls me Suzie. My grandma, Granddaddy’s wife, used to call me that, before she fell on black ice, got a concussion and died in her sleep. The pain of that memory floods back into my head. I think back to when I was seven. It was December and my grandma and I were walking from the wholesale shop at night back to the car. Call it a freak accident, but I swear the world was out to get me. There was a patch of ice on the ground and she slipped and fell. I managed to call the ambulance and by the time the night was through, her poor old brain couldn’t take the trauma. the funeral was held later that week. I turn towards Hooty, his big glassy eyes stare at me, and my fuzzy reflection stares back as well. I see that my blurry reflected eyes tell a tale of concern and contempt.

“Yeah, Hooooty?” I finally answer back to him.

“Are you okay? You seem awfully sad”

“Well, Hooty, life is awfully sad.” I thought I’d be able to escape the deep sunken hole that depression lures me into in this fuzzy surreal world. But no, I’m just as sad as usual. Hooty bows his frizzy, feathered, head and lets me think a while.

As I daydream about death, a flurry of pure innocent snow lands on my brow. I wonder what the heck is going on. A man with a half-broken saxophone suddenly pops up behind the tree. I jump. Hooty hoos a song of greeting to him, obviously in recognition.

“Helloooooo Mack” Hooty sings softly.

The man clears his growly throat; he’s probably been a smoker all his life. A sudden flashback of a giant man with a rolled cigarette pops in my head from years back. I dismiss this thought as the man clears his throat again, it sounds like he’s cutting up wood chips in his throat as he speaks.

“Hello Hooty-hoo” The man looks from Hooty to me and sits down on the soft moss below our feet.

“I’ve been expecting you,” He says unexpectedly and without warning. He stares straight at me. His glare is so wide I can see myself in his eyes. Well, eye. He’s missing one. I’m slightly intimidated but don’t know where to run. I hardly even know if I’m alive.

“You’ve…what?” I stumble for words.

“I’ve been expecting you, Lily.” Did he just call me Lily? Only my dad calls me that. Everyone else just sticks to Lillian.

“Who are you?” I mumble.

“Mack, world famous brass player of the 1920’s, pleased to meet you.” I’ve never heard of him so how is he ‘world-famous’? I glare back at him; things have taken a turn for the weirder.

“Well, what are you here for? Are you God? Aren’t I supposed to be dead?”

“You’re not dead. But close to it. Come here” He pats a soft section of moss, it looks inviting, but he, on the other hand, definitely doesn’t. “I want to tell you something,” he tells me.

I look at Hooty; his beak is up like he’s waiting for food. He nods at me to go forward. I shuffle over to Mack and sit down beside him. Suddenly a glow starts to brighten around us. It is white at first, then blue, then surges to a deep red and finally relaxes to a soft violet. The colors are mesmerizing. I look at him. His eye turns from a deep emerald to a soft ocean blue. Mack suddenly appears more like a gentle giant rather than a monster ready to eat me. I relax my shoulders. Mack turns to me and says, “Do you know why you’re here?” I shake my head no.

“You tried it again didn’t you?” Tried what? How does he…does he know what I did with that knife? Was he watching me? My face contorts with confusion as I try to understand the weirdness of this man. Is he that guy from school that would always peer into my room window late at night when no one was watching? No, it can’t be, I got him busted for that… “How do you know?” I finally ask.

“That doesn’t matter. I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

“What do you mean?” I was starting to get nervous again. He was freaking me out. His gruff, unshaven, and matted beard smelled of burnt citronella; like a suffocating summer’s day. The empty socket in his head was black and blue and reminded me of pictures I’ve seen of the Milky Way. This empty vastness freaked me out even more.

“Why?” Ugh, he was being so vague I thought, why what??

“Why did you try again, Lily?”

Okay, well, I didn’t have an answer to that. I mean; I never know what’s true anymore. My feelings, thoughts, experiences, I’ve seen some pretty fucked up stuff, felt some disturbing feelings and lost a lot of people, so of course I tried again, I didn’t want to live here, I didn’t deserve anything. I felt safe in the goddamn darkness. Was that such a bad thing? I had never been given the love and attention I needed. When I was little, my parents were constantly working and never truly understood me. Whenever I’d try to tell them about something interesting that happened to me, like, my first kiss for instance, they just sat there typing away important documents and half nodding-half sipping on their black coffee. Being their only daughter, I felt that sometimes I didn’t even exist to them. I knew they loved me, but only every so often. They gave me a present each on birthdays and Christmas, but they never spoiled me or hugged me or asked me how my day was. The only people I could truly talk to were my nannies. I felt so alone in the world that I often wondered what was the point in living if I always went unnoticed by the very people who were supposed to notice me?

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“Yes you do. You just said it.” Could he read my thoughts?! Who is this guy??

“Yes I can, and my name is Mack by the way. I am a sax player and have been all my life. I’ll play you something if you like.”

“Um…no…that’s okay.” I wasn’t really in the mood to hear his broken up sax play anything dumb. That decrepit instrument probably can’t put out a tune worth s**t.

“I’ll have you know that this sax is in perfect working order, and I play like angels singing, you’ll see. But anyhow, I’ve been expecting you for some time now. I was hoping you’d come see me. I mean, not in these circumstances at least.”

I looked at him with utmost confusion. Why has he been expecting me? I ponder this as the light begins to drain from the sky, like a colorful yellow dye rushing to the drain hole in a black sink.

***

Hooty began singing louder as the night drew on into a solid pitch-black atmosphere. Even the air smelled black. The only thing I could see was the faint glow of purple around Mack and I. Almost like a halo around our souls. I asked him again who he was.

“I told you, Lily, I’m Mack. Mack the Brass Player.” Suddenly his eyes glow a bright royal purple and I’m once again transported into an unknown world, a world of the past.

Almost instantly a flood of memories comes rushing into my soul. Mack! Now I remember. I was only 2 when I first saw him. Tall like a sequoia and almost just as brown, caked with dirt. He wore a heavy trench coat that had a thousand pockets. I remember hiding frogs in them when he’d take it off outside and we’d play in the grass during summer. He used to scold me for it, but we’d always end up laughing. My dad would come out of the screened porch and pick me up and sit me down in granddaddy’s lap. “This is the way the ladies ride, the ladies ride, the ladies ride, this is the way the ladies ride all through the town!” He’d coo at me as he bounced me on one knee. I let out my childish giggle as we played for hours. Riding as ladies and gentlemen and farmers all the way into town. I loved him. But I don’t remember anything of him after that summer. The winter I turned three he disappeared.  Dad had said that he’d gone on a long vacation to South Africa to study the elephants. I don’t remember granddaddy ever being a scientist. He always carried instruments of all kinds with him. It was said he was the best player of brass instruments on the southern East Coast in the Rolling Twenties. However, when he disappeared, his name did too. No one knew what happened to Mack the Brass Player. How could I not pick up on his earlier clues? This absurd world was really getting to my head.

***

A look of excitement flushed my face as I transported back into this distorted figment of reality.

“Grandaddy Macky!” I exclaim.

His eyes fade back to a deep ocean of the darkest blues and greens.

“Lilly,” He growls sweetly, his voice cracking on the “i” syllable.

I look into the sea of his soul, lost in a world of familial and unconditional love. This is the first time I’ve ever felt loved. That summer, almost twenty years ago, was the only time I felt pure enjoyment. He made the darkness bright. He had a way of smiling and singing to me that made me feel like the world was made of  bubble bath soap instead of hard cold rock and dirt. After the summer he visited, he disappeared. That’s when the world started to fade into black again. The main source of my sadness stemmed from when I was twelve. It had been nine years since Granddad’s disappearance and the world was darker than ever. My uncle, Grandaddy Macky’s son and my dad’s brother, took my childhood away on a cold, frigid night. Bennie, a toupee-wearing, beer-bellied, tacky suit donned, forty-year-old man was babysitting me on a Saturday night, when we were in between nannies, and mom and dad wanted a night alone. My parents didn’t know, but he had a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He was secretly an escort for a very wealthy politician in our community. The night he babysat me, he brought the white-musk-smelling senator over with him. He told the expensively clad man that our house had a special secret in it. That secret was 12 year old me. About an hour after my parents shut the door, Uncle Bennie phoned the politician over. When the politician arrived he told me to be quiet. To not make a noise or scream so that the neighbors wouldn’t hear. God forbid they call the cops and the whole town finds out he was a corrupted b*****d. Next, he told me to get on my knees. We were situated in the living room, the same room where my Barbie dolls lay in the corner, half naked with different shoes, tops, belts, and bottoms for playing dress-up with. I slowly began to sob as I started to figure out what would happen next. He unzipped his pants and motioned for my Uncle to come over. He did the same. They looked at each other with spine-chilling smiles.

After they released, I cried as I escaped to the bathroom to clean up the mess they made. My face felt sticky even after I scrubbed it off with every washcloth in the bathroom. I looked at my face in the mirror, sore and raw from scraping it with the towels, and itchy and sticky from the desecration. I looked pitiful. I cried softly as I locked the bathroom door, and fell asleep by the toilet; the sticky tears pasting my hair to my face.

The next thing I remember from that night were my parents wondering where I was. After I went to the bathroom to hide, Bennie told the politician to leave. I remember hearing the politician saying “thank you” to my uncle. As if I were some special pastry after dinner. My uncle explained to my parents when they returned home that I had eaten something funny and was sick in the bathroom all night. They thanked him for watching me as he left the house and came to the door where I slept. I quickly rushed to the shower and turned the water on. As the water splashed out of the spigot, I could hear my parents knocking on the door wondering if I was okay. I murmured something to the extent of “yes”.  I washed myself obsessively and kept feeling like the muck wouldn’t come off with just soap and water. I scrubbed and scratched in the hot water. I found a shaving razor on the ledge and began scraping my face with it, trying to rid myself of the disgusting torture that I was put through. I cut my face in several places and watched the blood drip down into the drain. The thick red droplets mixed with the purity of the water and tainted it. When I got out, my parents were immensely concerned at the sight of my face. I said I was trying to get the little hairs off my chin. They bandaged me up and gave me ginger ale and pepto bismol for my “sickness”. I told my dad later that Bennie did bad things to me. I was only twelve, yet I knew what my uncle did to me was wrong. My dad had turned from his work and said,

“Bennie is a good man. I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. I’ve known my brother my whole life, I’m sure you’re just overreacting. Now, what you did in the shower concerns me. You don’t need to shave your face, you’re a girl. I’ll go to the store to pick up some bandages later.” At that point the phone rang. “Hang on, I got to take this call” Dad had said with his hand up motioning for me to leave. They still don’t know what happened that night and if they did, I doubt they would do anything regarding the fact that my dad worked in close quarters with the wealthy senator. I stayed in my room for weeks on end it seems after that night. I would stay awake all night thinking and feeling angry at the world, and wondering how they could put such a corrupt, disgusting, person in charge of a goddamn city.

“Lilly”

I snap back into focus. I shake my head of the memory that haunts and plagues my sleep. I look at my Granddaddy Macky. He’s concerned.

“Yeah?”

“Hush now, don’t you cry. Granddaddy Macky’s gonna sing you a lullaby”

The hot liquid wells up in my tear ducts. He’s singing the song he used to sing to me over the summer he visited to calm me down after I had fallen or lost a toy. The hot tears roll gently down my face as my granddad wraps me in his arms.

“I know what he did, sweet Lillypad. Just let it go. Let it go. Let it go.”

My tears go from rolling waves to a thundering tempest. I let out the pain of the entire incident of my past, the anger, the contempt, my hatred for the world and my depression as my granddaddy holds me and sings me that lullaby. His soothing voice reminds me of the way he used to sing to me and grandma. I think back to all the pain locked away within me. The pain of losing grandma and grandpa, the hope of one day returning to the two of them, and the solace that each of them gave me.

“Hush little baby don’t say a word, granddaddy Macky’s gonna buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird don’t sing, I’m gonna buy you a diamond ring.”

A soft laugh escapes my lips as I embrace the only man who was ever truly there for me. The auras surrounding granddaddy Macky and I flow among every color of the rainbow and several in between. My heart swells with a fullness I can’t explain. I was entranced by the mini northern lights display putting on a performance in front of me. Granddaddy stopped singing and pulled my shoulders off him so that he could look deeply into my eyes. “Lily, you don’t belong here. Not yet anyway, have you wondered where you even are?”

I thought about it for a minute, I truly had no idea where I was. The only thing I remember was the room going black after I used that steak knife…

“You’re in what’s called the realm of faeries.”

“Realm of faeries?” I questioned.

“Be quiet and listen attentively as I tell you this, okay Lily?” He was speaking to me as if I were still that two-year-old girl on his lap in the summertime. I nodded.

Granddaddy took a deep breath and the glow around us started to turn red with the edges a soft pinky glow. He began his story:

“Twenty-two years ago, when I was in my prime, my son had a beautiful baby girl. Her eyes were as black as a patch of asphalt ice and her soul was just as cold. Her parents noticed the coldness of her skin and attempted everything to revive her. It was as if the soul she bore in her chest wanting anything but to stay locked away in her tiny little body. I immediately sensed a presence of my wife’s hidden past within her. The baby’s grandmother, suffered many illnesses as a child, and many times suffered great abuse from her father. It seems her energy was passed down to this quiet little child, who resembled her grandmother through her wild, vivid spirit. My wife was as deep as the blackest water, her wisdom carrying over many years. At night, she sang to that baby, but only fed her darkness. It was only when I came in to sing to her that I soothed her tumultuous storm. Her parents thought about giving her up for this baby could not be calmed. They hated themselves for thinking such things, but what could they do?

For the first two years of her life, she was a dead baby. She neither played, nor sang. I couldn’t witness the birth, for one thing we lived several miles away, and another, my wife, was sick with a migraine, so we didn’t want to risk the drive. However, my son sent us many pictures and we sent out cards, baby clothes, extra money, new bottles, anything the new baby girl would need. They named her Lillian Susana Dee. Despite the frigidness of her heart, it is said she still managed to smile when her daddy would show her pictures of me, her granddad.

The summer Lillian was two years old, Helen and I decided to make a trip to come see her. When we arrived, Lillian immediately showed a change in temperament. The moment she saw me for the first time, I could see her aura change from pitch black to a stunning silver. I looked around and no one else noticed the dazzling hues protruding from her spirit. We spent two weeks with the baby girl, my wife and I did. When we left, her parents said that she had begun to go downhill again. They couldn’t see the vibrant colors surrounding her, like I had the gift to do so. But they did notice how quiet and still the baby could be at times and then so utterly tantrumatic and violent at others. They called me everyday and had me talk to the baby girl on the receiver to soothe her crying. Her parents usually left the job up to me. They did what they could. They hired doctor’s to take a look at the baby but to no avail. I was the only one who could calm her. That August, her parents both got the jobs they had been wishing for since Lillian’s conception. Before Lily was born, her father worked as bookkeeper for Mr. Stansley, the head consultant for the state senator. But since he had recently passed, her father was promoted to his position. Her mother on the other hand, was a secretary in one of the public schools when she applied and was offered the job as a senator at a publishing house. They applied for these promotions and finally received them 6 months after Lillian was born.

Her father was to now be the head consultant for Mr. Alban D. Dunworth, the State Senator and Advisee of Town Affairs of Littleston, the town in which they lived. It was a huge honor for the family. Her mother was to be lead secretary for the editor at the biggest publishing house in their little town, Dukes and Duchesses Publishing House. Also a huge honor.  However, it proved to be a busier schedule for Mr. and Mrs. Dee. They would both be working sixteen to eighteen hour days working away at their respective desks. With all the work her parents had been doing, Lily was often left alone at home, by herself or with various family members coming over to help out. Just after Lily was born, Helen and I moved in to the house to be Lily’s permanent caretakers. We stayed until she was one and half. And came back the summer she turned two for a visit. After that, I never saw her again.

Terrible news flooded the Dee’s house after I had left. Grandpa Leopold MacArthur Dee had gone missing. My son had told his three-year-old little girl that granddaddy went on a big trip to South Africa. And that’s what she believed her whole life.

Up until now. Lily, I’m going to tell you the truth about where I went that night.”  He looked at me with a serious expression plastered on his face. I nodded for him to continue.

“When you were three, something in me changed because of you. You were growing colder and colder and I realized that you were going to be trouble. Something connects the two of us. I’m sure you were wondering what all these colors mean? They’re auras. They are colors that our souls produce to explain emotion in its purest form. Your aura had always been black, the color of death. The only time it ever changed in your tiny life was when you saw me. My aura has always been a deep shade of blue, similar to the color of the ocean in stormy weather. I was born 89 years ago in the ocean. Your great-grandmother was on a boat sailing from Germany to the Americas and she was heavily pregnant. I was born in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. You, however, were born in a very disruptive time. Like a tempest brews in the sky, your soul had already been born with contempt and anger at the world, due to the blackness of your grandmother’s genes passed down to you. I knew a lot of her had been passed down the generation lines to you, and I knew you were going to suffer. Helen suffered a great deal in her short life, and she knew you had a part of her within you. She hated seeing you suffer too, but there was nothing she could do. It was in no way your fault, that’s just the way fate works sometimes. I knew I was the only who could save you. The ocean I had been born on many, many years ago, was unusually calm that day. The ship had seen many harsh, undulating nights, but the morning I was born, the sun peeped out through the curtains of stormy weather, and I was a healthy baby.

The night you were born was different Lillian. Your parents had suffered a great loss, your mother’s sister had committed suicide the day before your mother went into labor. Alongside the fact that Helen had suffered a major stroke and was in the same hospital you were born in. You were born at the stroke of midnight with curly black hair adorning your pallid little face. Your eyes as brisk as the minute you were born. Your soul had scars, tears, and wounds from your aunt who used it last. I can see that you were born with Aunt Ginny’s soul who just recently gave it away. And in Helen’s near-death experience, she gave you a piece of her soul as well. You were born with the soul of two beaten and battered women who suffered for many years on this Earth. Your soul had escaped for one night but was immediately sent back down to do more work, Ginny’s unfinished work and Helen’s misguided dreams. My gentle waves seemed to calm your storm, though. I leveled your monsoon down to a small drizzle. My blue aura was several shades more pure than your black nightmare hanging about your soul. It is this reason why I left. I knew I was the only one who could save you from your own demise. I knew one day you were going to attempt to remove yourself. It is for this reason that I transferred myself to the Faerie realm to protect you. From here I could watch you at all times, listen to your purest emotions and your hearts true wishes, even help guard you. I was hoping I’d never see you in the circumstance in which I did, but I had been expecting you to come here for years now. I knew that the darkness inside your heart would persuade you to do it. And unfortunately, you did. You aren’t dead Lillian. But you have one foot in the world of the living, and one foot in the land of the dead. I am the one that can transport you to either side. You make the decision, do you wish to die like you so sickly desired and intended to do tonight, or do you want to continue fighting the darkness inside you and live your life?

I pondered heavily at this immense question. All my life, I never knew I was being watched and guarded by someone I loved. Then it dawned on me:  

“How could you leave me?” I scream at Mack. “I needed you all that time! What if you could have babysat me that night instead of Bennie!” I lashed out at him. He stared blankly and simply nodded his head.

“Things happen for a reason, Lilly.”

I didn’t think I believed in guardian angels. I hardly knew if anyone loved me at all. I looked into his eyes, his deep blue eyes that now had tiny white spots drifting in them, like gentle, wispy, cirrus clouds in a morning sky. I smiled at him. I knew what I wanted. I wanted to stay with him.

“You can’t. This realm is temporary and is only a figment of reality. It is here to determine whether you return to the living or join me with the dead.” I reflected back on the events that happened tonight. The only angel I could ever believe in was sitting right next to me in a figment of my imagination and the only way I could stay with the only man who truly loved me was to die. But, I don’t have to die to have him with me all the time. Like Granddaddy said, I have unfinished business I have to do, Ginny’s unfinished business and Grandma’s dreams to live out. But more importantly, I have my dreams to live out. And then I realized, that perhaps Granddaddy Macky was right. Maybe things really do happen for a reason.

“Okay... I’ll return home.” And just like that I was thrust away from my granddad, an unknown force grabbing me by the waist and forcing me into a tunnel of white clouds. “Grandpa!!!!” I screamed as my voice drifted through time and space. I noticed a giant bird sweeping into the tree where Hooty’s nest was as I drifted between realms. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Hooty. The last thing I saw was granddad’s eyes, blue and white, growing bigger and bigger, the whites of eyes surrounding me like a blanket, I was lost, forever in a world I knew nothing about.

And just like that the whiteness ate me up and spit me back out onto the cold, hardwood floor of my kitchen. My lungs sucked in a huge breath as I came back into life. I brushed the hair out of my face and rose up on my knees. I looked around. The kitchen was the same as before. I stood up. The knife I remember using lay in the sink, clean as a whistle. I walked to the counter and noticed that I felt no pain. No pain at all. I glanced down at me leg, perfectly clear. Not a scar or a drop of blood on sight. I half smiled and looked up as I whispered a “thank-you” to Granddad Macky.

Part II: The Great Dane

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve been doing better…I think.” I said to Dr. Gilberts with a half smile.

“Good, good. Well, Lillian, I wanted to up your medication dosage and see how that goes. You’ve been doing well these past five months but I’m still seeing some slight issues with bodily harm.”

She lowered her voice to a cautionary tone, “When is the last time you harmed yourself, Lillian?”

I thought about it a minute. I think it was last week sometime. My uncle came to visit last Friday to drop off a gift for me. It was a stuffed owl with mangled brown hair and huge yellow eyes. My mom said, “Oh how sweet, thank you Ben!” and my dad didn’t really notice. He winked at me as I stood behind my mom’s shoulder. Arms crossed. Her ignorance towards Bennie’s and my past only made me wish I could blurt it out right then and there. But doing so wouldn’t make them believe me. I was crazy for all anyone knew. Only Dr. Gilberts knows, and Granddaddy Macky. I remember the way he smiled at me as he opened the door with the huge stuffed owl in his arms had sent a disdainful shiver down my neck. A shiver shook through my body as I sat on the comfy therapeutic couch.

“Last month, I think.” I say. Knowing full well it was much more recent.

“Okay, I think increasing the dosage to 200 milligrams would be sufficient.” She took out her pen and pad and scribbled down an indistinct prescription. I didn’t take it to the pharmacy until later that evening.

***

“Mom?” I say into the phone. I hear a small gasp and then a sniffle as I walk into my apartment.

“Yes?” I hear in the receiver.

“I…I know I scared you and dad a few months ago…” I say as mom and I have our required nightly talk. I’m always apologizing to her, like that’s the only way I can say I love her. My relationship with my mom and dad had significantly changed since the incident.

“Yeah, you know full well you did, but we’re happy you’re alive. We’re just so grateful, your father and I. When are you coming back down to visit?”

I think about this. After the incident of my attempt, I packed my things and got the hell out of there. It’s only been five months since I moved out and moved in with my ex boyfriend 70 miles from home. We just started talking and decided to try something out again. I think it will work out this time. He seemed nice on the phone. He lives in the city. I hate the city, but it’ll be a good distraction for me.

“Um, I’m not sure.” I say, “Dane is still trying to work up the money to afford gas. He only works part-time now at the Bike Shop. I’ll try…I’ll see if I…when I can, mom.” I say with a broken heart. I want to see her so much, to make up for all those lost “how was your day’s” and “I love you’s”. Now that mom and dad have retired, I feel that they’ve finally noticed me, and the incident sure as hell put me in their line of sight. But I can’t leave this new life I have, not now that I’ve made this huge decision.

“Well, just know your dad and mom still think about you and we love you. Please talk to us if you need anything. We’re here Lilly.” Her calling me Lilly tore my heart up. My eyes felt hot and I felt as if I could burst when Dane came in and asked me where his beer was.

“Mom, I have to go, it’s Dane, he’s, well he’s fine. I just"“ She cut me off.

“If that boy lays another hand on you, Lilly .We do not like you being there. We know you love him but-- .” She starts protesting again. A crashing sound resonates into the receiver as Dane throws a pan at the fridge.

“What the hell? Lily! I swear to Jesus, if he does ANYTHING to you!”

“Mom! Please! I’ve got this. Leave me alone. I got him under control. I can handle it. Please. Please.”

My voice was raising and my throat tensed up. I hung up the phone and let Dane have it.

“What the F**K are you thinking? You can’t slam things when I’m on the phone with my mom! You know how she feels about you--“ I say to him like he’s a child in trouble.

I knew I had said the wrong thing that moment when Dane said, “Your mom is f*****g crazy! She’s dense and doesn’t know s**t about me” He continues to yell at me about where his beer is. His obsession with alcohol has surpassed the normal limit, if there even is a normal limit. I pull out a new Corona from the fridge and hand it to him. He continues to rage.

Since I’m used to these outbursts, I go into the living room to watch Dora the Explorer. Call me a child, but it’s the only thing that helps me to block out his rants. As I listen to Dora asking me where her map is and if I can find it, I hear Dane slamming something down on the countertop and breaking something made of glass. “Great, I’m the one who has to clean that up later, aren’t I, Dora?” I ask the explorer who’s telling off Swiper to stop swiping as she plays in imagination land inside my TV, boy do I wish I could go where she is.

Dane comes stumbling into the living room, looks at me, and grins. Having obviously finished his tantrum, he comes over and sits beside me. I don’t move anything except my hand that reaches up and twists the curly dirty blonde locks at the nape of his neck. He looks beaten, and his hands are bloody. I take a tissue from the side table and he lets me dab up some of the blood. He turns his head and kisses me. I kiss back. Forgiving him once again. I force myself to feel the ‘love’ I once had with him as we kiss. He strokes my hair and I succumb to him once again. I wonder why, why did I come back? Was it his astonishing good looks? His bad boy attitude? His ability to so easily make up for hard times and hard feelings? I honestly don’t know. I loved him once, and I want to again.

He used to be so good to me, sweet, and kind. He would pick me up from school and take me to Bernadine’s Soda Place and it was like I was in the fifties. It was magical. He’d take me behind the store and kiss me deep and hard as we tried not to get caught. We’d laugh at each other and smile and kiss harder. I loved him. I really did.

But late at night, when he had had a few drinks, he would hurt me really badly. We dated when I was a junior in high school and he was a college freshman. My parents didn’t particularly agree with me dating someone older but I found truth in the lies I told them. That the bruise on my cheek was from when I fell on the gym floor while playing ball with the girls, or the scrape on my thigh wasn’t from a knife, but from a jagged rock that a friend tossed to me and I missed it as we played outside. I didn’t tell them the truth, but I believed my lies so much, that I knew I loved him. So I came back. One, because he was the first person I thought of when I had to get out of there. And two, because he had messaged me and told me he heard what happened, with my attempt and hospitalization. I was in that hospital for 2 months until they released me and put me in weekly therapy. I came back to him because the way he was so endearing and loving and caring drew me back to those sweet memories behind Bernadine’s. I remembered the kind, sweet, guy that was buried under his addiction. I could help him, I thought. I could be the reason he gets better and we could get married and have a family. I thought of this dream and reveled in it. I became giddy and packed up my things and left. I said goodbye to my parents, who lived in the main house, and left the small private apartment built on the side. Am I crazy? Yes. Yes I am. Am I satisfied with that? Sure. Why the hell not.

Part III: The Hooty Tooty Fresh and Fruity Tattoo

I lay in bed with Dane curled up in my lap as I think about that night I lost my senses. The night I had taken too much of everything and lay in my kitchen floor until my mom found me the next morning when I hadn’t come in for breakfast. She said to me when I gained consciousness, “Lily, oh, dear, what happened to you?” I was laying still, white as a ghost, blending into the laminate tiled floor. Turns out when I came back out of the realm of faeries, I was still so far gone into my own head that I didn’t really come out of it at all. I was passed out on the floor for 10 hours. The whole night, practically. When my mom woke me, she drove me to the hospital where they looked me over and admitted me into the Behavioral Unit. I stayed there for two whole months before they let me go. I hated the hospital. It didn’t solve much, except help me realize that my life is worth living and crap. Now I see Doris Gilberts in therapy every Thursday afternoon. I still cut sometimes, mostly when Dane tells me I’m nothing, worthless, and to get out of his house. When he does that I usually go behind the house into the alleyway, where I feel safe.

I’m a night owl, I suppose. At least, that’s what those quizzes on the Internet say, that my spirit animal is an owl. When I moved out, I changed everything about the past. I cut my blonde hair back from its shoulder length to a pixie and dyed it brownish black, with burgundy-highlighted fringe. My parents weren’t too thrilled. I also got a tattoo done of an owl. It was kind of spur of the moment after I was released. It’s a little hoot owl in a nest in a tree on the nape of my neck. I wanted it done to represent that someone out there would always love me.  In my dreams, a little owl visits me and for some reason I’m always ordering fresh and fruity pancakes in IHOP when he flies through the window. Granddad would always take me there and buy me those pancakes on Sundays after church. I asked Doris what she thought about this and she said it’s just my subconscious playing tricks on me. Yeah, okay Doris. I mean, she’s a good therapist, she listens alright, but she hardly seems like she’s qualified.

As this conversation plays out in my head, Dane shifts violently in his sleep. Bad dream. I wake him gently. He smiles at me and yawns. Why is it that his smile makes me forgive him? He looks at me with those puppy dog eyes and I melt. All the times he shoved me to the floor, bruised my upper lip, told me I was useless, disappear as he kisses me. He shifts his weight on top of me and gently scratches the owl on the back of my neck. I smile as we kiss and rock back and forth. I let him in. He’s the only one I will. I refuse to perform any kind of oral or manual sex, the flashbacks still haunt me. He doesn’t make me, though. He did once, and we broke up. Now that we’re back together he knows not to do it again, at least I hope so.

We rock back and forth as he tugs at my hair and bites my lip. He kisses me with his rough, chapped lips. He’s forceful and overbearing. But sometimes I like that on a guy. He releases inside me. Afterwards, he falls to his side and goes right to sleep; thanking me and telling me goodnight. I lay awake the whole rest of the night; questioning who I am, why I love Dane, if I do, and if I don’t what consequences I’ll suffer. I think about how I have to prove to my parents that he’s kind and sweet, like a big old dog. Instead of a monster who likes to beat me up. But then, I look at the reality, and realize that I’m the beauty who’s in love with the beast who doesn’t want to love her back like in the fairy tale, but rather, doesn’t care either way. I finally fall asleep at 4 am and dream of owls attacking a giant black werewolf in the woods. I wake up just before the werewolf transforms into a tiny white rabbit and lunges at me.

Part V: Beauty Runs Away

“Dane”

“Dane”

“Dane!”

“What the f**k Lilly, I’m sleeping.”

“It’s two in the afternoon, dude. Get the f**k up and come eat lunch.”

He stumbles out of bed and reaches for the warm beer on the nightstand as the ruffled sheets fall to the floor. I walk back to the kitchen and prepare red kool-aid in a tumbler for him to drink. As we munch on the tuna sandwiches I prepared, I call my mom back.

“Hello?” Mom says, knowing it’s me but still answering the phone in the instinctual way.

“Hey.”

“Lilly, I’m not too happy at the moment. You hung up on me last night.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay” She said with a weighted sigh.

“Mom, I wanted to say that I want to come back.” I say as I walk out of the kitchen, into the living room so Dane can’t hear.

“Oh, honey, well, we are here for you. Just let us know, okay?”

“Okay.” I say as we conclude our conversation. I sigh a relief. I had made the decision last night. The bunny in my nightmare said an odd, mysterious thing as he lunged at me, “disappear” it had said in a clear-as-day voice. I took this to be a sign.

I go to my room and grab the small bag I packed last night. I still have most everything at my old apartment. I leave out the back door without telling Dane goodbye, hop in the car, and head down the road. Not quite ready to go home, but not sure where to go either. I drive for thirty minutes before I need to get gas. I sit in the car for what seems like forever as the car fills up when I see it.

That car. That suit. The sickening shine of his toupee. How? Why? I question. The circumstances too uncanny to be believed. I get out of the car quickly with my sunglasses on to disguise who I am, take the pump out, and pay the $25.62 fee.

Seeing him again makes me half-regret my decision to go back home, but also reminds me that maybe now I can finally tell my parents what really happened that night and feel some peace. After I turn the car back on, I speed out of the Exxon and go North towards Middletown: where Grandma and Granddaddy’s house used to be.

Part V: Here Kitty Kitty Kitty

Several hours pass before I finally make it to Granddaddy’s house. I turn into the dirt road and see an abandoned run-down version of what used to be a vibrant, secluded colonial. No one’s been keeping it up since both my grandparents died. A foreclosure sign is posted in the front yard with cautionary tape blocking the door. I get out of the car, look around for people, then cross the police tape and enter the grounds.

I haven’t been here since I was very small. I think I may have just been a baby. It was definitely before the time Granddaddy came to visit me the summer I turned three. I remembered their address because mom was always sending the letters to them. She would have me take the letter to the mailbox, which gave me something to do other than sit there and suck my thumb.

The house creeps up on me as I check out the trees surrounding the mini fortress. I knew Granddaddy and grandma were wealthy, but not this wealthy. It was immensely sad seeing their once glamourous mansion now caked in layers of dirt and dust bunnies. It was almost as if Grandma and Granddad’s dreams, souls and aspirations had died with the foreclosure of the home. Like they finally crossed over to the other side. I cross underneath the caution tape and creak open the door. What happens next is anticlimactic. The house is caked in about six inches of dust. The sunrays shining through the upper window reflect tiny photons and particles of molecular dust and sparkles. The furniture is covered in plastic and the floorboards creak and shift with every step I take. I dare go up the stairs. When I find my grandparents bedroom, a shocking scene of gore and horror meets my eyes.

A cat. Gutted out. Laying there in the middle of the room with it’s insides spilled out onto the floor like a person came in and slashed its stomach wide open. A quick decision causes me to go closer. Curiosity overwhelms me. My sickening lust for the spilling of blood comes back to haunt me. I flashback to the nightmare that was the incident five months ago. The steak knife, piercing into my skin, a bubble of blood forming beneath the blade. I look at the cat. Her face mangled, her eyes wide open and the color of blood oranges. I feel sorry for her. Who did this? To such an innocent life. There is no murder weapon left out. Just the furnishings of the bedroom and the cat, soulless and empty on the dusty hardwood floor.

What should I do? I can’t leave it here to rot! Suddenly, I hear voices; a car door slam; and keys jangling. The cops. I’m not supposed to be here, so I quickly exit out the back door when I run into an officer.

“Ma’am, you know this is a closed property right?”

“Yeah, I uh…” I stumble for words “My grandparents lived in this house”

“Oh yeah, and what were their names?”

“Mack and Helen Dee”

“They’re deceased now aren’t they?”

“Yeah,” I say solemnly. “They are.”

“Sorry to hear about that, well, I’m going to have to ask you to leave--”

“There was a cat.” I interject. “On the top floor. It looks like it was murdered.”

“Yeah, we’re working on investigating that. We think a dog may have come in and had a fight with it, and well, you know who won. The house has been empty for years, animals were bound to get inside at some point.”

“Right, well what are you going to do with the house?”

“Tear and down and start from scratch is what I believe they wanted to do with it-- I’m going to have to ask you to leave now. This premise is off limits.”

The officer’s sudden change in tone made me uncomfortable. I go back to my car and head West. Towards home.

Part VI: They Say Home Is Where The Heart Is

This part of my story isn’t very interesting. In fact, it’s so typical that I don’t even care to repeat it. I’m almost home when I decide to check my phone at a light. it’s been seven hours since I left Dane’s house. Yup, forty-two missed calls and sixteen unread messages. I block his number. The painful feeling of completely abandoning him plagues me, but I realize it is for the best. I hate myself for just leaving. But something told me I needed to get the hell out of there. My quick decision feels irrational, incomplete almost. My heart aches as I think about the sudden realization he must have had when he noticed I had gone. It was probably after he finished his tuna sandwich. He most likely yelled out for me to come clear his plate, find him another beer, or clean up another one of his messes. Then, when he didn’t hear my footsteps or my recall, he probably walked outside to see my mom’s beaten up Volkswagon Jetta missing. Then, throughout the day, he called and texted wondering where I was. I will never answer back.

This decision makes me sick and I truly question my sensibility at this point. I can’t believe I just up and left. And then went to Granddad’s place. And what the f**k was that cat doing there? Was I high? Was I seeing things? No, because the officer said a dog had come in and killed it. But where was the dog? Why did he and the cat have a fight? Why does weird s**t like this always happen to me! Then another realization hits me. That dog was at his apartment looking for another beer to drink, having a raging fit of anger, and wondering when the hell I’d be home. But I won’t be going back home. I’m not even able to move. My soul has been dragged out of me and eaten by the very one who says he loves me. My whole life my soul has been dragged out and stepped on by the one’s who say they’ve loved me. It was kicked to the ground when my parents would come home from work and not ask me how my day was. It was punched in the throat when my grandma and grandpa died. It was dragged on the asphalt like Grandma’s corpse when I started cutting myself. It was hurled into a fire and erupted when my uncle and the leader of my future desecrated and ejaculated on it. And it was thrown off a cliff when Dane, the very person I thought I loved, fed me lies, told me he hated me, and kissed me far too hard all in a fit of drunken rage.

All these thoughts swirl in my head and I spin and twist in complete and utter physical agony. My soul feels the need to completely burst and rip out of my ribcage. I am only five minutes from home and driving when I find the perfect opportunity. My hands are clenching the steering wheel and my knuckles show my skeleton underneath. Steaming tears are drenching my cheeks and my mouth is wide open, crying, calling in desperation. The realization of the source of all my past pain and misery catches up to me. The bottled emotions from five months of healing explodes and a volcano of molten emotion pours out of every pore on my body. It’s late and I’m driving when it begins to rain. The lights get closer and closer and closer and closer when they greet me and say hello and I welcome them with every fibre of my being. I fall limp and let the metal of the car encase me in a blanket. My body relaxes as my trapped soul escapes and is freed. The lights grow brighter and brighter and brighter and brighter and then grey dusty fog swirls in and then the lights fade to black, and the curtain falls, signaling the end of a beautiful tragedy.

They say home is where the heart is. My heart crescendos and then diminishes as my world once again disappears from view.

Part VII: Hooty’s Last Call

“Lilly! Oh god, please help her. Don’t take her away. Please, God, please!”

“Please step aside ma’am, I know you’re scared--”

“Who did she hit? Is she alive? Where’s my baby!!”

“Please god, don’t take Lillypad away”

“Step aside! The EMT’s need room to evacuate her out of the vehicle.”

*moments pass*

“Ma’am, can you hear me?”

“hmmm”

“We have a pulse!”

“Soooooosie?”

“Multiple lacerations on arms and legs, whiplash, possible internal bleeding.”

“Soooooooooooooosie??”

“hmmmm”

“Quick we’re losing her! Prepare the cables.”

“hoooooo”

“Susie”

“-ty”

“Lillypad!”

“Our baby...our baby…”

“She’s alive! You got the stretcher?”

“Yes”

“Soooooooooooooooooooooosie”

“Dane?”

“No ma’am. Come on, you’re gonna be okay. You’ll be just fine. You’re gonna be okay-- She will be just fine. If you want, one of you may ride with her in the ambulance.”

“I’ll go.”

“Mo….om?”

“Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo-”

“Oh honey...it’s okay, you’re okay. I love you, I love you.”

“--ie”

“Mo----”

Part VIII: The Calm After The Storm

I wake up in a brightly lit room to the eyes of several people staring down at me. Out of my peripherals I notice bouquets and bouquets of flowers and cards and stuffed teddy bears. I hear a voice: “Oh my god, she’s awake.” It belongs to my mother. My face and limbs feel completely stiff. I can’t move them. I raise a finger, the best I can do, and my father places his hand on top of mine. I try to smile.

As the day goes on, my mom and father and half my cousins and aunts and uncles talk to me about what happened that night. “That night” being 4 weeks ago. My mom sits by my bedside and tells me that I have just woken up out of a four week coma. I sit in utter shock. The car was completely totaled. I had smacked head first into a tree going 25 miles per hour. I suffered many lacerations but those healed up when I was in the coma. The only things left on my body were several pink scars where new skin had formed. My neck was in a brace from spraining it. Luckily, I didn’t have internal bleeding like the EMT suggested, just a thousand scars and scratches and deep cuts.

I stayed in recovery for an extra four weeks, attending all-day therapy sessions in the behavioral wing since the accident was technically an attempt . By the time I got out of the hospital, it had been 2 months since I left Dane’s.

Part IX: Saturday June 12th

I walked out of the hospital confident and thankful that my legs hadn’t been taken and that I was somewhat back to normalcy. I still haven’t called Dane back. I honestly don’t think I ever will. He hasn’t bothered me, which I am incredibly grateful, but then again, he doesn’t exactly know where I am and he’s too drunk half the time to care about finding me. The realization of his lack of love for me set in and I understand now what love truly can be. Seeing half my relatives there for me in the hospital was nice, too. My parents let me move back in with them and they said I don’t have to start paying rent till I fully recover. However, they went ahead and set up an interview for me at the animal shelter, saying that it would be a low-key job and would help to set up a routine. I wasn’t too sure about this, or why they picked that place out of all places, but I complied. For some reason, I felt in my heart that it was time to start over. Those therapy sessions sure helped a lot too.

Part X: Monkey See Monkey Do

As I walk into the stuffy, smelly, and fur-ridden SPCA, I am welcomed by two golden retrievers, four chocolate labs, 2 pomeranian mixes and three tabbies. Two bright, bubbly and smiling employees come up to me and motion for me to come into their office.

“So, Lillian, we’re happy you chose us!”

“Right, well my mom tech--”

“If we could just have you fill out these forms, that’d be paw-tastic!”

“Okay thank--”

“We’re so happy you chose to work with us! It’s gonna be purrrrrrrr-fect!”

“Yeah, um, where do I sign--”

“Now, we need a lot of help pooper scooping, feeding the cats, bringing in shipments for cat and dog food and cleaning out all the exotic animals’ cages!”

“Oh, yeah that’s fin--”

“If you could just initial the safety waiver saying you are covered in pooper-scooper liability insurance that’d be paw-mazing. Sometimes people get sick from the ammonia-- but we’re sure you won’t!”

“Right, um, okay.”

“Thank you kitten! Now, let’s meet the animals!”

After not being able to ask a single question or get a word in edgewise, we go over to the kennels to meet some of the animals. The two blondes show me the Cat Container (the wing where they keep all the felines), next,  they walk me over to the K-9 Unit (where they keep the, well it’s obvious), then they take me to Exotic Island, where they keep birds, fish, turtles, snakes, tarantulas, and Kibba- the one and only...orangutan. I walk over to where Kibba is hanging off her fake tree limb and hold my hand out to her. The two blondes, Krystal and Jillian, take selfies of themselves with their two parakeets as I wander off and speak with Kibba. I hand her a banana that is perched on the counter and she takes it. I smile. Krystal and Jillian motion for me to come over.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t give Kibba bananas. She’ll get them herself. Anyway, we want you to feel comfortable at this shelter. The animals live here as much as we do. The general manager’s name is Kyle and he’ll be in every Tuesday or so to check in on us girls! So we will see you Tuesday at 4 then to start your first day?”

“Sure.”

As I walk out of the kennels I see Kibba in her tree fort in the Exotic wing. She just sits in their in some deep animalistic thought. I wonder what’s she’s thinking as I shut the door and start the drive home.

Author's Note

This is just the first few parts to the story that I turned in for my class. I hope to add on to it and turn it into a full length novella or novel as soon as I figure out how to do that function on this dern website. Anyway, let me know what you all think!