*Fiction NOT Fact
[ADDITIONAL WARNING: The following characters do not exist in this particular time-space continuum, and should not be construed as such. However, it is highly possible that they do exist in a parallel universe—somewhere. But, more importantly, attorneys, listen up: You have no jurisdiction in any universe but this one, parallel or not.]
I
had been skidding along on the wheels of pain for an entire week, having lost all my traction, and my soul was raw from dragging on the ground. I knew it was time to snap out of it when Harriet yelled, “SNAP OUT OF IT!” She said she was tired of hearing me cry all the time as I scoured toilets, and scrubbed mold and grime from bathtubs, and scraped hard-water deposits from under toilet rims, and fished hair clogs out of drains. (Andy has six bathrooms in all ) And I was tired of it, too—the work, that is. I had had enough. It was time to quit. I was going to hand in my letter of . . . well . . . for lack of a better word—resignation.
However, I couldn’t determine what it was I was resigning from. Was I resigning from latrine duty?—I had never applied for that position in the first place. Was I resigning from . . . from . . . from . . . Andy’s life? But as I thought about that, I knew in my heart I wasn’t part of Andy’s life. So how could I resign from it? He had never invited me to be part of his life. In fact, I was just a nuisance in his life! . . . So, that was it! I would resign from being a nuisance in his life. Yet . . . something kept echoing in my mind—the words he had said a couple of weeks before, that I had “kinda grown on him—like the mold in New Orleans.” Even though that gave me a slight flicker of hope, I didn’t know how to translate it. What did he mean, exactly?
Then I thought about how he had kissed me on New Year’s Eve, and I have to admit, I did read a lot into that one kiss. But that was only a New Year’s Eve thing—it shouldn’t have happened at all, and . . . IT WAS A MISTAKE, all that according to Andy’s very own words. So . . . I was right back where I started. I simply wasn’t part of Andy’s life. I hadn’t even laid eyes on him for over a week. To be exact, it was 10 days, 6 hours and 37 and ½ minutes, but I wasn’t counting the half minute. All I knew was, he had been gone for days—out of my life—completely out of my life. I guess that’s what he wanted. He was through, through , through, he and Vic. I knew then, it was time for me to go home! I was through, too. Through, through, through.
However, as I mulled all that over in my mind, I wondered if maybe I was being a bit too hasty. I mean . . . was I really through, through, through, like Vic? I could hear him singing ,
I hope you are happy with your hold on me.
It sure stuck meeeeee . . . awful strong.
I knew I was certainly stuck awful strong . . . And he definitely had a hold on me, so maybe I couldn’t just . . . leeeeave, like, you know—depart, split, vamosse. And adieus are always so final.
I‘m just dragging my devotion in a last ditch retreat seeking some safety, the words rang on in my mind.
Is that what I was doing, looking for some safety?
I’m tired of bleeding for no good reason
Is that so hard to see?
True, it wasn't so hard to see I was bleeding—Harriet could tell you that, but, I found myself reasoning, it’s highly possible I’m not REALLY through, through, through. Maybe Vic wasn’t either, BUT Andy was!
I needed some time to think, and the best place to do that is while walking the cold, lonely streets of NYC in the bleakness of a dismal winter’s day, when the sun has bedded down for a season, and it’s still too early for the moon to be showing any signs of promise. You can see your breath rising in front of your face, letting you know you’re still alive, although you feel you’re not, because the love of your life doesn’t care about you at all!!! And, because the ONLY expression of that love WAS A MISTAKE AND SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED!!!
It wasn’t until J.R. from Athenais’ Hot Chocolate Palace waved me down as he ran out of his café, that I realized I had been walking for two hours. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts, I hadn’t even realized where I was.
“Ellee,” he inquired, “do you have a minute? I just created the most delectable cup of cocoa ever conceived!” By that time his joy had reached the Nth degree stage; he was jumping up and down and waving his arms in a circular pattern. I wondered how long he could sustain all that.
“I want you to be the first to try it! Please, will you? Can you spare me a little bit of your time? You’ll be my test subject. Is Anderson with you? He can try it, too. Please don’t say no.” His eyes were so full of expectation I couldn’t turn him down, so I went inside.
“Here, sit right there, by the fire.” He pushed me toward the very table where Andy and I sat not so long ago. “You look simply frozen, girl! You’ve been out in the cold for far too long. Your cheeks are all pinky! And where’s Anderson? Isn’t he with you? He will be here, won’t he?” When I didn’t say anything, he paused for a second, trying to read my lack of response and said, “I mean . . . you two looked so . . . happy together Christmas night—actually, I don’t think I’ve seen him look that happy, ever.”
His words sparked two diametrically opposed feelings in me. The one was like a splintered stake being driven through my heart. The other, like a soothing stroke of hope.
As I sat staring into the blazing fire trying to sort it all out, I barely noticed when an arm reached in front of me placing something on the table. Then my eyes caught the movement of a rising column of steam coming from a large purple cup containing J.R’s newest creation. As I followed the steam trail up, it caught me off guard when I discovered where it led—to the beaming face of a very teenage person—Leonardo!
“Ellee!” he gushed, “Ellee, it’s you, isn’t it?”
“I think so, Leonardo. At least it was the last time I checked.”
“Oh, Ellee, it’s soooo good to see you.” His cheeks were flushing a deep pink. “How are you?”
“I’m fine.” Well, we all know I WAS NOT FINE! But no one ever admits that in a chit chat situation. “And what about you, Leonardo? How’s school?”
“Oh, you know . . . school’s school. And . . . I have to tell you Ellee, I got this dorky algebra teacher who’s a real nerd and . . . ” He managed to paint a complete and detailed picture of Mr. Skuzzet, the nerd teacher, elaborating on each of his qualities which earned him the right to belong to the Nerd Society, and as he was talking, a flash of something caught my attention, drawing my eyes to the lower third of his face.
There on his chin, positioned at center stage, giving the greatest performance of its life was a big RED zit! It’s glowing red light put all stop lights to shame. And as Leonardo laughed while talking about Mr Skuzzet, Big Red’s diameter grew two millimeters as the stretching chin skin announced to the entire community the exact coordinates of it’s newest acquisition. I only had one wish at that moment—not to be in it’s line of fire when it exploded, which from the look of things, could have been at any moment. And the more Leonardo smiled, the closer it got.
“LEONARDO!” I yelled, “STOP SMILING—RIGHT NOW!”
“What?”
“I mean . . . uhhhhh . . . you have a very nice smile.”
“Oh . . . thanks, Ellee.” He was blushing again and the zit almost disappeared. “So do you.” And then, when his smile got even broader, I ducked, thinking, This is it! Call HAZMAT! But, as it turned out, it wasn’t, so I pretended that I had dropped my napkin and had dived to retrieve it.
“Ellee,” he then said, averting his eyes away from mine as he traced some unseen drawing on the tablecloth with his left finger, his right foot also making some sort of tracing on the floor, “I . . . uh . . . your skateboard . . . is it . . . umm . . . oh what I’m trying to say is . . . would you like to go skateboarding with me next Wednesday, after school? I don’t have to work that day.”
A wayward lock of blond hair fell across the side of his face, obstructing one eye at that moment, but with a flick of the head, was tossed back where it belonged—it was the cool thing to do. I could see in his eyes he was feeling all right about himself—on top of the world. I felt obliged to preserve that feeling. I didn’t want to destroy him . . . like . . . like . . . LIKE ANDY HAD DESTROYED ME!—A MISTAKE HE HAD CALLED OUR KISS!!—IT SHOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED! How could he saaay that!!???? How could he just rip my heart out like that and toss it in the garbage? NOW MY LIFE WAS IN RUINS—RUINS, I TELL YOU! RUINS! Oh! . . . ummmmmm . . . well . . . getting back to Leonardo, I answered,
“Well, you know, Leonardo, I would love to, but, well . . . actually I don’t have my skateboard with me. You see, I’m just here visiting, so . . .”
“Oh, you’re visiting Mr. C, aren’t you? Is he part of the family or something?”
“Uhh . . . yes,” I answered. Or . . . or something, I said under my breath. Mr. C.??? I wondered what that was all about.
“Not to worry,” he said with self-assurance, “I can get a skateboard from one of my friends. It’s no problem.”
At that point, I knew it was time to get firm and put a stop to this, so I said, “Leonardo, I can’t go skateboarding with you!”
“Why not?” He seemed quite unflappable at that moment, his confidence never waning, even though I had just turned him down.
“Because . . . I am leaving . . . soon.” And in that second, I made up my mind—I was definitely going back home, where I belonged—with people who WANTED ME!
As I opened the door to Andy’s place, and looked inside, a feeling of loneliness washed over me and almost swamped me. It was dark—a quiet kind of darkness; no one was there, not even Molly. Andy had effectively cut me out of his world, even taking away his dog. I loved Molly. I missed her. Why was he doing this? But I knew why. He wanted me out of his life for good. That was the only thing I could come up with. Somewhere in the back of my mind I could hear the forlorn cries of the Silver-tails. Somehow they knew.
I spent the rest of the evening composing my letter to Andy. I would leave it on the breakfast table in the morning and just slip quietly out the door. I couldn’t bear seeing him again knowing it would be the last time. And I didn’t want him seeing me the way I looked. I had cried so much those previous days, my eyes looked like ground beef—two, 1-pound mounds of freshly ground, bright red hamburger. It was not a pretty sight.
Sleep was hard coming when I finally went to bed. I tossed and turned until 3:00 AM when I began slipping into that first sleep zone, where the lines between reality and dream-like illusion are blurred. I was in that state when I thought I heard, or sensed the door open and felt someone’s presence, and then a soft, “Ellee?” But when I sat up a few moments later, no one was there. I finally determined that I had just been dreaming.
Sleep finally came, but so did morning, and I wasn’t yet ready to take on the day when Harriet began her now daily form of reveille, starting with the sun-in-the-eyes thing. Sun in the eyes can wake up a person faster than anything else. One well-placed sunbeam, strategically aimed at the eyelids is an immediate signal to the brain to stop manufacturing melatonin and start producing seratonin to kick-start the day. The military’s idea of this wake-up ritual couldn’t be any more brutal than Harriet’s, and she seemed to take a particular delight in bestowing this punishment on me each and every morning since her return.
“Ellee, this is NOT a day for sleeping,” she barked. “ The hardwood floors—all of them—need polishing, as well as all the furniture. So get yourself dressed and meet me in the library in 15 minutes! ELLEE! are you awake?” She approached the bed and started thumping on it, causing waves to ripple through the mattress, effectively jostling me out of REM sleep. She was at her booming best. “DO YOU HEAR ME?”
“How could I NOT hear you Harriet?” I responded as I turned over, trying to free myself from the bed covers. “With a voice like yours, all of New York City heard you!"
Her eyes narrowed as she glared at me. “AND I don’t want any lip from you, today. Do you understand !!?”
“Harriet, I would NEVER, EVER give you any lip!”
“Then what do you call that—what you just said to me? THAT was most definitely LIP!”
“No it wasn’t, Sweet Harriet!”
“There you go, again! Ellee, I’m NOT going to take this!”
“And NEITHER am I !”
I knew my quiet get-away was going to be anything but quiet. After that, Harriet stomped out of the room, huffing to herself, and muttering expletives under her breath.
I quickly dressed, gathered the letter and all my things and headed to the breakfast room, on my way passing the secretive door with the large sign which read: CAUTION: DO NOT ENTER. I knew I would never have the chance to find out about the mystery behind that door.
I placed the letter on the table so Andy would be sure to see it, and then proceeded to the entry hall, but as I reached the door, I checked to see if I had everything, but couldn’t find my handbag, so I went back to my bedroom get it. When I returned to the entry hall, I once again gathered up everything and approached the door, but as I reached for the door handle I heard,
“ELLEE!!!!~ WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?”
I hadn’t heard her coming, so her shout startled me, producing a paralyzing effect on my nerves, stopping me dead in my tracks. When I slowly turned around to face the creature from the Black Lagoon, she had taken up an authoritative stance, with her legs planted firmly on the floor, two feet apart, which only served to enhance her already imposing appearance. She had one hand on her hip, and the other was clutching my . . . MY LETTER!
“HARRIET! WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH MY LETTER?” I gasped.
That letter was a very personal letter to Andy. In it I apologized for all the inconveniences I had caused, like trashing his expensive, new kitchen, and nearly burning it down, the chemicals in his eyes, the devastation of his mother’s clothes and hair and make-up on Christmas Eve day, and even all the fuss I made about his birthmark, and the entire set of problems, some of which I had caused, and some of which were not necessarily my fault, as I pointed out to him, but which somehow were linked to me anyway. I told him I was sorry for invading his life and causing him all the stress. I then thanked him for everything and explained why I was leaving. I told him my cousin Furlon needed me home to help him do reconstructive surgery on Cretin, the family pig who broke his snout, when he picked a fight with a wild boar on New Year’s Eve. It happened during the time Andy and I were kissing, just after midnight, but I didn’t put that part in the letter. The part about the pig was true, but that’s not why I was leaving, however I couldn’t tell Andy the real reason. He probably already knew the real reason, and had planned for my exit anyway and would be thankful I was finally out of his hair.
“Harriet, GIVE ME BACK MY LETTER! Why did you take it?”
“Are you leaving, Ellee? I mean, really leaving, for good?”
Her eyes were boring through mine, which, given her eyes, was rather disconcerting, because I couldn’t really tell exactly where they were boring. With the brown eye boring up, and the blue one boring down, I realized, that before she was through boring, my whole face could be gone!
“That’s NONE of your business!” I lashed out.
“Yes, IT IS my business, I'm afraid! Is that what you were planning?”
“Just give me back my letter. It's for Andy—NOT YOU!”
And with that she held the letter up high so I could see it, and with her two over-sized hands began tearing it into a million little pieces, as I gasped in total disbelief.
“Harriet, STOP! What are you doing?”
But she didn’t stop and when I lunged for the letter, she simply turned her massive back to me, shielding the letter, all the while continuing to rip. Then she grabbed my hand and yanked me into a chair and said,
“YOU ARE GOING NOWHERE, YOUNG LADY!”
“What are you saying? You can’t STOP me! Besides, why do you care? I thought you wanted me gone from this place. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all along? Well, NOW I am leaving. So just get out of my way and I’ll be gone.”
“I am afraid I can’t allow you to leave, Ellee.”
“And why NOT?”
“Because . . .” She calmed down somewhat then, and her voice seemed a little lower, maybe even an octave lower. “If I let you leave, Anderson will fire me!”
“WHAT?” I was shocked. I couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Did Andy SAY that?”
“That’s all I’m saying—I’m NOT saying anything else, but YOU most definitely ARE NOT leaving this place. Is that understood?”
“No, that’s NOT understood! Andy doesn’t WANT me here, and neither do you. Why are you saying these things?” But she had already turned and was marching out of the room.
I sat in the chair completely thunderstruck. Now I was really confused. I didn’t understand. Had Andy told her to keep me there? It certainly wouldn’t be her idea. She had less feelings for me than a fly has for dried cow chips. But why would Andy have instructed her to keep me there? None of this made any sense. Unless . . . unless . . . Andy really did want me there. But, if he really wanted me there, why was he staying away from me? And why did he take Molly away from me? So many whys and no becauses! I felt like I would go mad! I needed to run in the wind to clear my head, so I headed for the door, but the moment I turned the door handle, Harriet was right there and slammed her 2-ton body against the door, preventing my escape. I was so surprised by her actions, I wasn’t able to speak for a moment, but finally coughed out,
“Y-y-you are going to PHYSICALLY stop me from leaving?”
“THAT’S RIGHT! SO DON’T TRY IT AGAIN!”
That said, she folded her heavy-weight arms across the massive expanse of her chest to substantiate the words she had just set down. Then, as if to notarize it all, her eyes began spinning—in opposite directions, which was probably connected somehow to the solar magnetic activity going on in the polar regions of the earth at that very moment.
Bye for now,
Love
Ellee
[Author's Note: Words to the song come from Vic Chestnutt's "I'm Through"]
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