Sacred Circle
Sunday morning, early… barely light, very quiet, wide awake, having gone to bed before dark, tossed and turned for over an hour around dawn… Cindy finally got up; shuffled to the bathroom, peed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, got back in bed and checked her phone—24 new messages, most to do with dance—9 from Tina, who was out of town, 4 from Press and nothing from Tom. Okay… she thought, chill out… only yesterday, you spent together… a mere twelve hours ago… She put hands behind her head and recalled how calm it had been and such a pleasant trip, going to soak in natural hot springs along the Clackamas, place to themselves, a lot of laughter…
She arched her back, took a deep breath, pressed head against bed to lift and open her chest, in attempts to relieve the heartache—omnipresent. Remembered, while doing this, the blouse and cassette, some old guy she met downtown walked off and left in a bag sitting next to her on a bench. After dropping Tom off at his house, Cindy had driven to American Spirit, hoping to find Darci, who worked there, grab something to eat or drink and kick off a wild Saturday night together, spontaneously! But… Darci wasn’t working and did not return her texts, so… Cindy figured she might as well shop for a new top to wear at dance, her first time in charge. Found several things she liked and was holding one up before a mirror, when some old guy appeared behind her, “I’d say that’s a hard yes!” He exclaimed, as their eyes met (in the mirror), “Does you justice!”
Suspicious, at first, Cindy only scrunched up her nose and nodded, turned her attention back to the blouse but he stayed, watching her and finally she asked, “Do you want something?”
“What if I told you that top will get you what you want?”
“Uh… okay… what if? What do I want?”
“The end of heartache and longing.”
Hearing this, her heart thundered wildly and she pressed the top against her chest, as if to hold it in. Behind her, she could see in the mirror… the man now had a golden halo and his face all but disappeared, like when you look too long at the sun, a black spot in the center. Cindy felt weird, thought—It must be a trick of the light… but her whole body vibrated, like after a dunk in the river, laughing with her best friends having fun, success at dance or being with Tom… She blinked and shook her head at these strange thoughts, turned around, looked directly at him. Glow gone now and no sign of sun but his face still seemed strange, almost like it rearranged or was only then taking shape. That doesn’t make any sense… she thought and shook her head again, him looking normal now as anyone did.
“Don’t worry… it does happen like that, sometimes.”
Feeling simultaneously attracted and repulsed, Cindy focused on her breath, hung the blouse on a rack, amongst pants, not even close to where it had been, felt trapped and needing air, “Excuse me I need… to get going.”
“Yes, yes! By all means!” He stepped aside, bowed his head and held out a hand for her to pass.
Concentrating hard on every step, she felt unstable and short of breath, clutched her purse as if someone might try and steal it. Better, once outside, with a couple of breaths, she crossed the street and sat on a bench, watched him through the storefront glass, pull out and look at several things… spent a lot of time in the women’s section but made his way to the counter eventually and paid for… what? She couldn’t see. Still suspicious, Cindy thought—Okay… maybe he’s legit. Shopping for his daughter, perhaps? Granddaughter, maybe?
After exiting the store, the old man crossed the street and approached her, as if he knew right where she’d be, stopped at the curb and inquired, “Miss? Are you okay? You seemed… unwell.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she wished he would go away.
“May I sit?”
“Uh… yeah, sure… long as you’re not selling anything.”
He laughed heartily, set his bag on the bench and sat a few feet away, said, as he did, “Oh… don’t worry. You couldn’t put a price on it!”
Just a kind old man… don’t jump to conclusions, Cindy thought—yeah, kind of ugly… and yet… the voice… something about it. She softened towards his rather harsh appearance, mismatched facial features which didn’t seem to fit—hawkish nose, curved off to one side, left eye bigger than the right, never quite looked at you. His top and bottom lips, seemed from different mouths, top thin and bottom fat, gave him a pouty appearance. Little bit of a bulldog jaw, head bald and about thirty pounds overweight, he reminded Cindy of that actor in Apocalypse Now, the one who played a crazy guy in the jungle? She couldn’t remember his name, “Find something you like?” She decided to engage… had nothing else to do.
“Oh very much, very much… a lot of things, in fact. But… so expensive, oh my!” He put a hand to his chest, “Break the bank! I don’t buy secondhand much but Portland is quite the Mecca for recycling. I like it. Lots of interesting things, making the rounds.”
“Yeah, it really is… not that I would know. I mean, compared to what? The only other place I’ve been is Indiana and they don’t recycle anything, act like it’s infected if someone else ever touched it, try to throw away as much stuff as they can, I think,” Why am I saying this? She thought, and left off, felt trivial and stupid.
“Oh my! It is a big world, my Dear. I have a feeling that’s about to change for you. What a miracle! Ever been to Fiji?” He laughed again, as if at a joke Cindy didn’t get.
“Why do you say that?” She was curious now, no longer felt threatened but there was something… in her chest… a shift… heart less constricted, belly relaxed and breath, felt free to express herself, however she liked with him.
“Oh, my dear! I am you… I feel it. I know it. The writing’s on the wall. I am the Adept, in our generation… it’s… this time inhabiting form, uh… not my preference,” he threw his head back and laughed uproariously, gestured at his body, as if it were a foreign object.
She felt both irritated and intrigued by his presumptions. You’re not me… she thought but then remembered what she felt in the store, when he said, “The end of heartache and longing,” how her heart near leapt from her chest and something released in response… good feelings and the thought—Somebody sees me! Cindy realized that is what she wants, more than anything—to be seen and accepted, without constant calculation and self censorship, holding back for fear of offense, just be who she is. “What do you mean, you are me?”
“Oh, my dear, we are the same consciousness, you see? Pure undivided radiance—truth, knowledge, bliss… the field upon which these lowly imitations stake claim, this… dog and pony show, the mask, wool over the eyes pulled, ever doubting minds pretending to love this…” he gestured at his body, as if brushing away a piece of lint, “amalgamation of dust… shackled to the vain pursuits of materialism. But… what an amusement, what fun waking up can be. True mystery unfolding! Not the same old, same old chicken shit sandwich passed back and forth…”
“Stop!” Ugh! Cindy thought—no more talk about waking up! So sick of it (in the dance community) and yet… he seemed genuine, voice soothing, “Waking up to what? I don’t… you know… I hear this a lot and don’t see the woken up as particularly worthy of emulation. Mostly they seem bitter and angry about things, spend too much time online, lack compassion and lie a lot. I assume that’s not what you mean?”
“Yes! No, that’s not what I mean. But yes—clarity! Ha! You see through them! Good… very good. Shows the light is alive, you see? How auspicious our paths crossed on this of all days!”
Okay… now you are selling something… Cindy thought, yet continued on another fifteen minutes, speaking about what he means by ‘the light’ and how it transforms ordinariness, “…into pure energy and universal love, you see? What a powerhouse, what a dream! The immensity! We barely scratch the surface, in this… this… theater seat, watching ghosts chase dreams.”
By this time, Cindy had a headache, no water, needed to pee and was about to excuse herself, when he apologized for rambling on, “I apologize, my dear, for going on like this. I must confess… I’ve been in retreat, you see? World increasingly hostile to the Universal One I Am. Baby out with the bathwater here… no frame of reference left. No… what for? Only God talking to God about God. Who’s listening? My dear, such a delight, rare one finds true seekers anymore, everyone so tuned out and distracted. Usually aspirants, if they have not yet succumbed to the perils of materialism, are dragged, kicking and screaming, reluctant to address the very thing causing distress—their specialness. You are welcome to join us, open invitation, if you care to meet others, sick as well of pretending they are isolated and alone in the world, aka—special. Ha! What fun!” He stood, reached into his pocket, pulled out and handed her a card, “Join us any time you wish. The ocean of bliss is your birthright—I Am!” At which, he bowed and left.
Cindy looked at the card… it was blank… flipped it over… and there, only a smiley face, drawn with small brush, in black ink. She noticed his bag, still on the bench, and shouted, “Hey! You left your… bag…” scanned the streets all around but… he was nowhere to be seen. She looked left, right, in front and behind… no sign… no cars leaving, only a woman collecting bottles up the street. She tried to think—How could he disappear like that? Walked a few feet, either side of the bench, looked into shops and parked cars… tried to remember which direction he went? But there was no sign of him. She sat back on the bench, a turbulent mix of emotions banging in her chest—like… being invited to the party of your dreams, only to find out it’s been canceled, suddenly, “What the fuck?” She said out loud and looked in the bag, “Oh my God!” Inside was the top she’d been looking at when he appeared behind her in the mirror! Did he mean to leave it? For her? She checked in the bag again and found a cassette tape, no case—Adi Da Samraj 11/16/72 written on one side in blue ink and on the other, in red—The Great Gombu 6/20/74. Her mind spun with intrigue and annoyance, as she folded blouse around tape and put both back in the bag, chose a direction and set off to see if she could find him, at least get a phone number or address, in case she does want to meet these fellow seekers, so much like her.
Heading east down Burnside, waiting for a light at 12th, she thought she saw him duck into Powell’s but could not get across and lost sight; entered where she thought he did and once inside remembered—they require bags and backpacks be checked at the front desk, which she did not want to do. Stood awhile where she was, just inside the doors and scanned the busy room, in case he showed up to check-out. Considered a minute going in to look up books by Adi Da Samraj and wondered if he had anything to do with the shoe company Adidas? Remembered someone told her about a spiritual community in Oregon somewhere, how they got into and made a lot of money on discotheques and thought maybe this guy started a shoe company or something. She Googled him on her phone to see… but needing to pee real bad, decided to go to the restroom; rolled the bag small as she could, tucked it and her purse tight under one arm and passed through the front room undetected; read his Wikipedia page, sitting on the toilet: Followers reported that he died of cardiac arrest on November 27, 2008 at his home in Fiji, while working on his art…
“Dead? Oh my God! He’s dead?” Overwhelmed and exhausted by this turn of events, she left Powell’s, made a beeline for the car, drove home, got undressed, put on her nightshirt and went straight to bed, feeling as if her brain had split, for and against, one side considering this the work of an overactive imagination, as her father always said, while the other wanted relief from heartache and longing, with a like minded company of others she might keep.
Wanting now to hear the tape, she got out of bed and searched for her yellow Walkman, a gift from Darci, when she graduated college. Cindy loved and used it even after CD’s, then iPods and phones made it obsolete, wore out many favorite tapes in the process. Batteries dead, she transferred two double A’s from her vibrator, plugged in headphones and listened to Adi Da Samraj 11/16/72, as she got dressed and cleaned the kitchen.
“There’s nobody here, no Franklin Jones, nobody like you, you see? He’s not here anymore! Totally absent! What a miracle, what a wonder. I am he. I am God. I am the adept in our generation. What an amusement… to happen in precisely this form. I can’t account for it myself… I’m not me, you see? I literally am you. I’m your psyche and mind. I’m your being, your destiny, your ego. I am all selves—literally, not metaphorically. I know this for absolute certain because I am you. I’m your mind. I’m your breath. I suck down your food. I shit out your life. I am your person, altogether and absolutely.”
Shit out your life…? “Yuck!” Cindy shut it off, removed the headphones and threw it all onto a chair, felt deflated and depressed, by what seemed more narcissistic self promotion, than spirituality. Decided the old man probably imitated Adi Da, maybe was a student once? And yet… it is the same voice, same east coast accent… and he left no address? What is an adept? She looked it up—skilled or proficient at something… what? Felt silly, getting excited about the possibility of finding a group she belongs to—You already have that in the dance community… she reminded herself, yet remained unconvinced. Her place there, hung by a thread. Cindy knew well (and hated) that one misstep could put her on Tina’s short list. And, as many posts as she was taking down, she might at any time become target du jour, for the Fakebook mob, tired of her judging their content. Then the thought occurred—perhaps the bag was not meant for her? Senior moment… the guy just walked off and forgot it. This felt even worse. She placed the tape back in the bag with the blouse. But… she really liked that blouse… and why would he pick out the same one she liked for someone else? She left it on the pants rack and would have bought it herself, had he not interfered with her process. Maybe he knew that and this was his way of saying, I’m sorry? Making an impression?
She took it out again, decided it is a gift and who cares, what’s his reason? Being a regular shopper and Darci’s best friend, everyone who works there knows her, should he return and inquire after where it went? She took off Tom’s old shirt, she always slept in, even when, later on, she hated him for trying to save the dairy, holding up their divorce and dragging her into that Hell hole in the first place… not to mention living in Indiana for two years before that. A well-worn, soft blue oxford, she loved the way it felt on her bare skin, long sleeves she could flap around with, even went on wearing it when Maya asked her not to. The beginning of the end? Understood now it was because she never stopped loving him. Considered wearing it to dance but thought better of it. Another day perhaps and definitely not the look she wants, being in charge… might be a bit much for Tom, too… if he even remembered whose it was.
She put the white blouse on and it fit perfect… cotton stretch knit, buttoned up and snug. Frills down the front, a neck ruffle and poofy sleeves, tight around the wrists, gave it that Stevie Nicks, witchy woman sort of feel, sexy and confident. She looked at herself from different angles… it really conformed well to and accentuated her breasts. While smoothing and adjusting the fit, she touched her nipples, caressed her breasts a little, closed her eyes and thought of Tom, recalled their recent sex, opened them and looked around for the vibrator… maybe something to tie her hands with? But… remembered the batteries, still in the walkman, but… It would be nice to have an orgasm before dance but… she had to leave in an hour and still had a lot to do. Eclipsed by her busy mind thus, the mood passed. She took off the blouse, put on a sports bra and got dressed for dance. Returned some texts, while eating breakfast and made a list of the entire opening and closing process (again) so she wouldn’t miss any steps and incur Tina’s wrath. Grew doubtful Tom would come (after being out late with Amanda Parsons) and debated calling him. Decided several times not to… but ultimately did, at 8:36.
Tom rolled over and looked at his phone, vibrating on the nightstand, headed for the edge, “Ugh!” He caught it, just as it fell and, still half asleep, said, “Hello…”
“Tom! Didn’t think you’d pick up. How’s it going?”
“Tired…”
“Oh… sorry. Want me to let you go?”
“Uh… yeah… no… what is it? Anything important?”
This hurt Cindy’s feelings, who always felt diminished when someone asked her this. Of course it’s important! “No… not really. Um… just wondering if you were coming to dance and could help with something?”
“What?”
“Uh, yeah… there’s this…” she had not yet thought of what? “Um… crackle in the speakers, Press said, a short in the cord. We have more cords but you have to put the right ends on them, or something. I don’t know… jack, I think… crimp something? But… not a big deal if you can’t, just thought I’d ask, see if you’re coming and could bring tools. We have some but… you know… they’re probably crap,” Tom always had the best tools.
Dance… he would have preferred sleeping in but for some reason said yes and agreed to get there by ten. Cindy thanked him again for the previous day’s trip, reiterated what a joy it had been and hoped they could do it again—soon. Tom said he did too and, once off the phone, brain fuzzy, closed his eyes and tried to sleep more and was just drifting off when the phone buzzed again. Tom looked… it was Dez. He answered, “Hey Dez… what up?”
“Aw, TB… sorry a be up in yo’ ear, crack a fuck’n dawn like this but Cat… made me call…” he left off with a laugh and Tom could hear in the background her yelling, “Stop it! Don’t tell him that… don’t blame me! I told him NOT to call you, Tom!” Dez again, “Yeah… uh… you go’n a dance? Cat wants us all a go… you with Amanda?”
“None a your beeswax, bro.”
Dez laughed, “What, TB? Afraid I’m a sell you out to the paparazzi? AP’s new boy toy…”
“You leave him alone!” Cat took the phone, “Tom? We thought it would be fun to go dance. I know Amanda’s probably not up yet. She crashes pretty hard after shows but are you planning to go? We talked about it last night. Dez says he will if you do. It’ll be fun… bring Amanda!”
“Uh… yeah. I’m go’n. Amanda? I don’t know… can’t speak for her.”
“Can I talk to her? Is she awake?”
This irritated Tom, being pressed thus… assumptions made they are together but… he thought back to the night before… making out on the sidewalk in front of them… and who knows where he’d be now if she hadn’t passed out? Then, he remembered Isolt’s text and it hit him like a ton of bricks, “Um… sorry, I gotta go. I’ll see you there.”
“Is Amanda…”
He hung up, looked at the text again—Tom, we’re pregnant. Please call me when you can. Muttered, “What the fuck?” Called but realized, soon as he did, he needed time first to think and hung up without leaving a message. Got out of bed, got dressed, went downstairs and found Max in the living room, in his big leather chair, before a small fire in the fireplace.
“Little warm for a fire, ain’t it?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“What the fire’s for…”
“I suppose… what’s up? You look worried.”
“Burn’n off the night’s dance. Just tired…” Max oft brought the remains from Brutus, the big double barrel woodstove he danced with, into the house after to unwind, drink a gallon of water, watch and listen for signs. He’d mix the embers with special sticks that burned fast, popped and hissed, sit and stare for hours at a time, depending how long it stayed lit. Write down things which came to him.
“Jesus, you danced all night?”
“Yup… didn’t seem like it. Seamus came by look’n for you around nine. Started after that.”
“Look’n for me? Why?”
“Wants you to drive him this week, he said.”
“But why’d he come by? He could have texted.”
“I don’t know…”
He did know and Tom suspected it was why he’d danced, “Why Max? I know you know.”
“Fuck… I can’t hide shit! Hope I never get interrogated. Yeah… uh, he knows about Catherine and Dez, I think—is why he’s look’n for you. Wants you to drive, so he can mine some information, I’d guess, maybe he’s not sure yet. Said Dez quit? Did I know that?”
Tom felt sick and sat down on the couch, leaned forward, forearms on knees and dropped his head, it felt like a lead weight and for a moment, thought he was going to throw up but with a few slow deep breaths and hard swallows, held it back and started to sweat.
“You okay?” Max pushed with his foot the metal trash can and lid he’d carried coals in towards Tom, just in case.
“Yeah… it’s uh, no… yeah, I’m okay. Stayed up too late. How… how’d he find out?”
“I don’t know, didn’t ask. Must have knocked, then come around back. Was in the shop sharpen’n blades when he stuck in his head and said, “You oughta keep your house locked Max, could a walked off with all your shit!” Shit’s about all you’d get, I told him and he asked where you went? Said he wants you to drive him. I said I didn’t know where you went or when you’d be back, and he asked if you were with Amanda Parsons? Going to her show? I said, I don’t know about any of that. But he didn’t believe me.”
“And… why do you think he knows about Dez?”
“Pretty sure he came in the house and looked around, felt like it, maybe went to your room? All jittery, I could tell he wanted a drink, maybe already had one. Told him to stop look’n for trouble and go to a meet’n. He said, “Fuck you! Condescending bastard!” And stormed off.”
“But he didn’t say… he knew?” Tom asked, grasping at straws.
“No… he didn’t say. And, I might be wrong. But you should get in touch with him, ASAP.”
“No doubt… I will…” Quit… Tom thought, I’ll quit. Go out on my own… did not want to drive him again or have to lie about Dez, “Hey, wanna go dance? Cat and Dez are go’n.”
“You know… I might, if I hadn’t just danced all night. I’m beat. Watch out for Seamus, though. Never been so hard to read… he’s look’n for trouble, I think.”
Again Tom felt sick and decided he needed to eat, “You want some breakfast?”
“No thanks,” he shook his plastic gallon jug, “I’m a finish my water and pass out, not work’n today. There’s leftover porridge on the stove. Harmony dropped off some eggs and goat milk, I think… said she did. Jason ate all the bacon.”
The building manager met Cindy at the door and let her in, around 9:30, told her, first thing—a wedding reception in the Tiffany had run late and wasn’t cleaned, so Sacred Circle has to use the Emerald Ballroom, fourth floor. She loved the fourth floor but all the procedures were different. She took hold of his arm, “Oh no! It’s my first time opening, George. This can’t happen. Is it trashed? Can we clean it?”
George always sat in the lobby, even though he had an office nearby, sat upon an antique chair and did paperwork on a little marble table to his right, greeted everyone who came in with a big smile. Wore a red jacket with gold trim, fresh carnation and a yellow fedora he got at Niagara Falls on his honeymoon, “Oh my! I am very sorry my dear but, yes, it is quite a mess. Some city politician’s daughter… can’t remember the name… went very late. If you can get it to where you’re satisfied… I suppose it’s alright. But we can’t take any money off, you know? It’s in the contract. This happens time to time and the cleaners don’t work Sundays.”
“No, no… I don’t… that’s not necessary. It’s just I don’t have procedures for the fourth floor and… it’s okay if I go check?”
“Yes! Go ahead, go ahead. You decide what’s best. If you can get it to where you want, that’s fine—you’re right where you thought you’d be. Here’s the keys to The Emerald, just in case.”
Cindy took them and gave George a hug, trotted up the stairs, unlocked and looked into the Tiffany, “Oh my God!” She dropped her bags and hand over mouth, surveyed the mess—streamers everywhere, empty cups, the whole room smelled like beer. Banners still hung—Congratulations, Emily & Steven! Tables all pushed to one end, unused plates and glasses still on them. No way they could clean it and start on time. She grabbed her stuff and ran up to the fourth floor, Emerald Ballroom. Passed over the spot where she crashed into Tom, walked a circle around it and prayed for a repeat, felt so horny, looked forward to dancing with him… opened the doors, texted George they’d be on the fourth floor and started setting up.
Dez and Catherine made love in her bed and after, while getting dressed for dance, she told Dez she loved him, for the first time ever and that she felt so alive and didn’t care whether or not he was a success, wanted to support him in whatever brought joy and wondered if he would live with her at their house on the coast, she was going to ask for in the divorce, because, “in this one there are too many ghosts.” Dez cried, knelt before her and swore devotion, grabbed her ass with both hands, buried his face in her crotch and they almost made love again but Cat saw a clock and thought they should get going, have something to eat, wanted to get there for warm-ups, have a chance to visit beforehand with people she hadn’t seen. She left Amanda a message and planned to take her car until—she saw the Range Rover... in the driveway. Seamus or someone, had returned it, sometime after they got home. She looked around for signs he might have come inside while they were sleeping but talked herself out of it and resolved, once again, not to care what Seamus thinks about the choices she makes.
Tom drove his dead dad’s Cadillac and decided on the way to stop calling it that, thought for a minute and came up with Shameless… Shameless Ego, wrote it in dust on the dash and called it that instead. Parked a block away and, once out on the sidewalk, broke into a jangled jog to get loose—arms unhinged, limp leg shakes between steps, bobble head and neck. Darci, dancing as well down the block from the other direction, waved to him, as she went in. Tom waved back… felt good, liked his chances for an epic dance and needed it, given recent events. Thought again about Isolt being pregnant and what Seamus might do… shook his head, opened the door, said hello to George and ran upstairs to the fourth floor, turning around as he went and then doing grapevines up the steps, then backwards and two at a time hops, until he tripped on the last step, fell on his face and felt a little embarrassed, as several fellow dancers, emerged from the stairs opposite, “Ouch!” One of them said, and then, “You okay?”
“Yes!” Tom jumped up, “Never been better. That last step’s a doozy! Little variation on a theme,” they all went in together, bumping shoulders and greeted one another with waves. Once inside, Tom saw Cindy, near the stage, in heated conversation with Press and someone else—the DJ, he assumed. It was 10:00 a.m.
“Hey, Tom!” Cindy saw him come in.
“Tom!” Press said and they both hurried over.
Things were busy, groups creating altars, draping bolts of colorful cloth off the mezzanine rail, some veteran dancers already out on the floor. Press handed Tom a jack, recently stripped and an ancient set of crimps, “Good luck!” He said and ran off to set up the front end.
“Did you bring tools?” Cindy yelled, way too loud and borderline accusatory, “Sorry,” she said, when Tom shrank away, “Press is half deaf and argumentative. Let me show you what we need,” he followed her to a big bank of speakers, “How are you, by the way?” She asked and they hugged.
“I’m fine,” he said, “What do you need?” Could tell she wanted to check it off the list and not make small talk.
“Sorry… I’m kinda nervous. We’re supposed to be downstairs,” she held up a frayed cable, “Can you put that jack end on here?”
Tom looked at what Press gave him, “This all you got?”
She ducked behind the speakers and pulled out a shoebox. By now, three people were waiting to talk with her.
Tom said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Darci ran up and jumped on his back, threw her arms around his neck, stuck her head out beside his and said, “Hi Boo! Nervous?” She laughed.
Cindy pointed back at her and said, “Don’t you distract him!” As she walked off with those who’d been waiting.
“We must dance together,” Darci slid off, jumped up and bumped hips with him, “Let’s do some contact. I’ll initiate, okay?”
“Yeah…” Tom looked at her… bubbling, so beautiful, “Let’s do it,” always had positive energy and looked really fun to dance with.
Darci smiled big, nodded, said, “Word,” and turned away, bent her knees and dove into a slide across the floor towards a pile of others slithering around.
Luckily, Tom brought his own crimpers and an assortment of rings, as all they had in the box was stuff from a previous generation of jacks, now useless; pulled them from his bag and went to work. Once done, he flashed Cindy a thumbs up and the music started, crackle free. Tom stowed his stuff, took a big drink and started dancing.
Warm-ups passed fast and Cindy made only one appearance, towards the end when she interrupted his contact dance with Darci, to say the crackle was back and ask if he could try again to crimp the jack? Tom didn’t hear any crackle and suspected she was upset by how he and Darci danced—him in a slow shimmy-shake shuffle, leaning that way and this, as she shifted her weight while crawling all over him, holding the occasional pose, balanced just so. Darci gave Cindy a hug and ran off, “Does it have to be right now?” Tom asked, upset with the interruption.
“It’s the last warm-up song… after that you won’t be able to hear.”
Darci long gone and not particularly liking the song, Tom figured it was a good chance to get a jump on the circle crowd, now filtering in. Grabbed crimps from his bag, danced across the room to the speaker in question, which sounded okay to him and examined the jack… which looked fine. He crimped it again for good measure and gave Cindy a thumbs up. She put her hands together in gratitude and bowed her head. She does look good in that blouse… Tom thought, when she dropped her hands and turned, with quite a few others, including him, towards someone coming in the double doors to his left.
Cat entered, just as warm-ups ended, much later than she preferred because… after seeing her Rover back in the drive, she felt anxious and wanting something, “to take off the edge,” smoked a joint Dez had (laced with Molly) and they wound up back in bed for the best sex ever! Dressed in a midnight blue, gold starred unitard with burnt orange sleeveless vest, Cat locked on and headed straight for Tom, jumped into his open arms, wrapped her legs around his waist and whispered in his ear, “I am so in love… right now… with that man.”
Tom saw Cindy stone face glare at him from across the room, obviously upset at this display, in front of everyone. He closed his eyes, held Cat tight and said, “I’m glad for you both. Let’s dance, when we get a chance?” She leant back, fingers interlocked behind his neck, looked deep into his eyes and said, “Yes, lets and Tom… you are a good man. I love you. Thanks for being his friend and… don’t give up on Amanda?” She kissed him on the lips and lowered her long legs to the floor, “Dez is in the… that room? You know? Where people stretch?” Winked, patted his chest and was mobbed by friends who dragged her into the circle, now forming.
Tom felt great and went to find Dez. Saw quite a few people he knew and nodded as they passed but did not talk to anyone for fear of getting sidetrack. Found Dez sitting on the floor, in the equipment room, legs straight out, doing a half-hearted stretch while telling a couple young guys about his gig the night before—opening for The Amanda Parsons Project, at the Crystal Ballroom. They said they loved Amanda Parsons, “Well, you’re in luck then,” he started, upon seeing Tom enter the room, “cuz here with an exclusive update on his better half—Tom Brown. Amanda Parsons latest beaux. Dubbed—Tomanda, by them in the know. You heard it here first, boys! Enquire’n minds… TB! Where is that sex goddess, Amanda Parsons? She come’n a dance?” Dez reached towards him for an assist getting up, and it was all Tom could do to muster sufficient oomph, had to use both hands and get his legs into it. Once standing, he picked Tom up in a big bear hug and spun around, “Mmmmm… you smell’n good, TB.”
“Yeah… just hugged Cat. Vetiver… Uh, stop when the ribs crack, K? You both seem… happy.”
“TB!” Dez hugged him again, tears in his eyes, “I ain’t never been so good. That woman…”
He wore an enormous pair of red nylon shorts, with a single black stripe down each side, tapered from baggy to just shy of tight, below the knees. A dark blue hoodie up top, with IOWA in big gold letters sewn across the front. Iowa? He thought of Isolt, “Where’d you get that sweatshirt?” Tom asked and wondered what Cindy would say if she found out Isolt was pregnant by him.
“Uh…” Dez looked down, not remembering what he had on, “Oh… uh, Cat’s oldest’s ex-, played football. Guess he big as me, left it, way back when. They broke up. We went up the attic, brah… ugh! Creepy scene, TB. Yuck! Smells like… attic. Old man’s shit everywhere.”
“So…” one of the guys on the floor asked, “Is Amanda Parsons… coming?”
“Uh… no… I don’t think so. Sorry,” Tom answered, pushing Dez towards the door.
“Oh… no worries. Just wondered…”
“Let’s dance, TB! I’m a get my groove on,” Dez shuffled around in a circle, holding up his arms, saying, “They ain’t no spiritual crap music, is they? PC bullshit? Cat tried a explain what up… but all I could see be dat booty bounce’n. Brah? You see what she gots on? I had a wear baggies a hide my chub!”
He wanted to ask if they’d heard anything from Seamus but Dez seemed incapable of being serious, so Tom stood him against a wall, looked him in the eye and said, “Don’t talk during dance, okay? If you need to talk, come out in the hall. Make’n noise is fine, screams and the like, but not talk… okay?”
“Yes, Pappy. I’m a keep my big trap shut. Let’s dance, TB! I gots happy feet!”
Circle over, the music started and they made their way back onto the dance floor. Cat pranced across the room, when she saw them come in, jumped up in Dez’s arms and things took off. Tom found Cindy and asked her to dance. She smiled big and graciously accepted. Song slow, they faux waltzed around the floor, several times. Had a brief encounter with Dez and Cat, where they linked arms and tried to waltz as a foursome; finally got it dialed in about when the music switched and Cindy had to attend to something out in the hall. Tom stepped right into a slow sensuous contact dance with Darci, which Cindy walked in on the end of and Tom caught another stone face glare before she got swept up in a mob. The music picked up and Tom, fully engaged, remembered little of the next few songs or even who he danced with, switching partners often until, with Cindy again, they joined a circle formed around Dez and Catherine, who did a stationary version, more or less, of what Tom and Darci did in warm-ups. Dez shifting his pose to counterbalance Catherine flipping around all over him, extending out far as she could and weaving that way and this like a snake. A real balancing act as Dez held onto her hips and legs until, from a piggy-back position, legs tight around his waist and ankles crossed, she dropped her upper body towards the floor, swung a few times, until Dez caught her in front, under the arms from behind and, in one fluid motion, as her ankles released, he pulled her through his legs and up overhead in one fell swoop, without any part touching the floor. It seemed impossible and everyone in the circle cheered and jumped around, whence Dez set her down and started flexing and roaring like a lion, same as he’d done after walking over Sarkhan and his group of thugs, back at Knox, when they tried to haze him. Tom and Cindy, holding hands with arms outstretched, were spinning around just inside the circle, alternating steps, when Tom thought he saw Seamus flash by, in a floor level seat on the door side of the room. Next time around, he stopped, verified it was him, pulled Cindy in close and said, “Get your phone and call the police. Call 911, now!”
“Why?” She pushed back and looked at him incredulous, this being the last thing in the world she wanted to hear, “Are you serious?”
“Yes! I can’t explain. Just do it!” Eyes on Seamus, Tom pushed Cindy aside.
“Uh… why? What’s going on?” She turned and looked where he did. Saw an old man, now standing in the aisle, three steps up, raise a handgun and fire two shots overhead. No mistaking that sound for anything else, most everyone freaked out and ran for the doors. Dez and Cat, froze in a side by side embrace, both looking that way, as Seamus descended unsteadily to the floor and staggered towards them. Cindy slid over to the DJ table, grabbed her phone and ducked behind it, afraid if he saw her call the police, she’d get shot. Tom stepped to and cut Seamus off about ten feet from where Dez squared up and pushed Catherine behind. The music seemed so loud now that the room was empty… Cindy got down on her knees and pulled the plug, thinking it would make the ringing in her ears stop but it didn’t. From under there she could see through a slit in the sheets, Tom confront the man with the gun, who spoke first.
“Get outa m’ way, Farmboy… y’ fuck’n two-face bastard!” Seamus was drunk. Tom could smell it, softened his stance and held out his hands, palms up, as if to say, “Come on buddy, let’s talk this over…” but Seamus kept coming and pushed him out of the way with one arm and amazing strength. Caught off guard, Tom staggered back and to his right a few steps and almost fell but managed to keep his feet. Seeing Tom thrown aside like that, Dez rushed Seamus, who raised his gun and yelled, “Fuck you, asshole!” Just as Tom lunged back, landed hands on his chest but the gun went off next to his head and Tom fell to the floor in unbelievable pain.
The shot hit Dez square in the face from a few feet away and he fell flat on his back with a heavy thud, as if a rug had been jerked out from under his feet. Catherine screamed, “No!” fell to her knees and reached out to cup his head in her hands but saw he had no face, and so much blood was welling up… she crawled away, curled into a ball, banged the floor and cried, “No! No! No! Why?”
The 911 operator had just answered, when Seamus pulled the trigger and Cindy couldn’t hear a thing… could see Tom writhing on the floor and Dez… on his back in a pool of blood. She stood up and, afraid he would see it, dropped the phone and started shaking so violently, she couldn’t move or think of what to do next? Watched wide eyed and paralyzed as, having been knocked to the floor by Tom’s lunge, Seamus staggered back to standing, looked around, found and picked up his gun, nodded and stared at Cindy a second, as if maybe he knew her or was waiting for his eyes to adjust… but then, as if remembering his lines of a sudden, turned towards and pointing the gun at Catherine, yelled, “It’s your own fuck’n fault! That’s what y’ get for it! You dumb bitch…” And limped out, like his leg was hurt. Cindy took some deep breaths to calm herself and once he was out the door, made her way to Tom and knelt close by. Knew he was alive because he writhed about in pain, moaned and kicked his legs. Blood trickled between the fingers of his left hand, pressed hard to his ear but not a huge amount, “Tom?” She bent over and said, several times but he couldn’t hear and neither could she, really; touched his bloody left hand but he shrank away in pain, “Tom?” She said, needing to connect, “It’s me… Cindy.”
He kept hands pressed against his ears, as if that could stop the pain. Eventually realized it was mostly in the left and eased pressure off the right, at which time he heard someone say his name. Unable to talk, he knew something was wrong but there was only horrible pain in his head which seemed to escalate with any thought of movement. He knew he didn’t know where he was or what happened and that was odd… not to make the effort… someone called his name… like in but not in a dream… in so much pain, he tried to think. The left side of his head was all pain… Cindy? Something finally got through, “What?”
“Tom… how can I help you?”
Take the pain away! He wanted to scream but the thought of screaming interrupted thought itself and demanded he be still… “Aargh… what?” Talking… moving his jaw, squinting his eyes, wrinkling his forehead… all hurt to do.
“Tom? We need to move,” The pool of blood was reaching them.
“What? Where?”
“Can you crawl… forward?”
“What? Forward?”
“Yes. Can you crawl… like… ten feet?” Hard to estimate how big the pool would get… Cindy tried to think of another way to move him but there was no time. Shifting around, in order to gauge how much blood came from Tom, she decided the bullet must have grazed his ear, didn’t really want to look at it and he wasn’t about to let her. Lying on his right side, the bleeding seemed to have stopped. She couldn’t drag him, “I need you to get up and crawl. I’ll help on this side so you can keep your hand where it is. First I’m a push on your back and get you on your knees,” feeling they had no choice, she went around and pushed on his back and lifted and prodded until he got up on his right hand and both knees, left hand still pressed against his ear with all the pressure he could manage, head feeling like it was going to explode. She slid around to the other side, once he was up, and did what she could to support his chest, so he didn’t tip over when moving his right hand. Pain so intense, all Tom’s attention fled and once upright, he froze and remained so only because lowering back down seemed impossible. It was all Cindy could do to keep him lifted and they needed to get going. She had to convince and then talk him through every move, “Slide your right hand forward, yep, yep… now left knee… a little more… good! Okay, right knee… come on… that’s it! I got you,” her biceps and shoulders hurt so much, after a few minutes doing this but she didn’t want to risk putting weight against his chest, for fear of jolting his arm. They managed to get about ten feet before Tom’s right arm buckled and he crumpled to the floor, screamed and clutched at his head with both hands again, pain worse than ever.
Cindy tried to think… what next? But was interrupted when Catherine, overtaken by the spreading pool of blood, abruptly stood and, uttering guttural sounds of rage, ran out of the ballroom, as if to give chase. I should call 911 again… she thought, the ringing in her ears having subsided somewhat, “Tom? I’m a get my phone. I’ll be right back.”
“K,” Tom responded, pain less but still very intense; felt like his head would explode if he did not maintain absolute stillness.
Cindy found her phone and dialed 911. Told the operator who she was and that she had called before and gave an update… someone got shot—a man, probably dead and another man was injured, maybe gunshot wound to the head but not too much bleeding. There was a woman too, but she got up and left. The operator asked—Where exactly in the building are they located and are their injuries life threatening? Cindy told her where they were, said she didn’t know where the woman was, nor did she know if Tom’s injuries are life threatening or not. He was conscious, able to move and not bleeding too much, is all she can say. The woman told her to stay put and seek cover until advised by law enforcement to do otherwise. While telling all this to Tom, there were three more gunshots, sounded like they came from downstairs… not the fourth floor… she held her breath and listened for a long time… for the sound of anyone coming up the stairs. Still in the middle of the floor, she felt exposed… tried to convince Tom to move behind the DJ table, about twenty feet away, but he said, no. Feeling sick, it was all he could do not to pass out. Even the thought of movement made him nauseous.
She stayed still and listened… for a long time before getting up and going to get Tom’s bag, because they needed more water; transferred his billfold, phone and keys to her bag, got him to take a drink and called 911 on her phone again, to find out what’s taking so long? The operator scolded her because it was no longer an emergency and you don’t call 911 for updates, “Well… maybe it’s not an emergency for you but it certainly is for me!” Cindy protested and the operator finally connected her with the downtown precinct, even though she wasn’t supposed to. The desk sergeant told her they had reports of a hostage situation and gunfire from several locations in the building. She informed him that she heard three shots from downstairs and he told her to stay put and seek cover, close as possible to where they are, assured her help would get there soon but they must secure the building first, room by room, “Do not attempt to leave. Anybody moving around is at risk,” he told her repeatedly. She told him a woman wearing a blue unitard with gold stars on it and probably covered in blood, might be moving around; had been with them but left.
It took another hour and a half before she heard a noise in the hallway and, adrenaline long gone by then, jumped up without thinking and started towards the door. Prompting several SWAT team members, in full body armor, gas masks on, to burst in pointing automatic weapons and yelling, “Down! Now! Face down! Arms and legs out! Now!” Hands up, she complied, quick as she could. Tom felt vibrations in the floor and heard some commotion but barely conscious, couldn’t move. They did a quick search, pulled her up and asked for names. She told them hers and Tom’s, didn’t know the other man’s, said Tom was hurt, head injury, left side and was unable to move. She grabbed her bag and was whisked out to the hallway and handed off to two female police officers, who both grabbed an arm and all but carried her down the stairs, through the lobby, outside and straight into an ambulance fast as they could. Cindy saw, on the way down, EMTs pass them heading up with a gurney, she assumed was for Tom. They looked nervous, “The elevator’s locked out,” one said, as they passed on the steps and, “Yeah… they think they in there,” answered the other. Once inside the ambulance, she asked if Tom would be brought there? But the attendants claimed not to know anything and seemed annoyed by her questions. Upset at being stonewalled, separated from Tom and given no choice in the matter, she tried to exit the ambulance, go back and find him but the attendants blocked the door, said it wasn’t safe, insisted she stay, got her to sit and gave her a sedative, even though she felt fine. Said she was going into shock, made her recline and put her feet up.
The SWAT team went on to secure the fourth floor, while a medic wrapped Tom’s head in a way which eased the pain so he didn’t have to apply pressure himself. They gave him a shot of morphine and gently pried his arm straight to get him strapped on the gurney. Tom heard someone say, “They must be in the elevator,” and some radio chatter to that effect thereafter. Who’s in the elevator? He wondered, on the way downstairs, before passing out.
When he woke… it was in a dimly lit room, once filled with unbearable pain, the print of which still hung like blinds, jagged on the wall, like sharks teeth separated into peaks and valleys, peaks and valleys… but moving. All he remembered—white hot fuzz, changing faster than he could keep up, stretching on to eternity. Every attempt to comprehend, exhausted and left him weak, “You’re not going to think your way out of this,” he heard a voice and looked around but saw no one, no speakers, no doors, no keyholes to listen through only shark teeth dancing about the room. It sounded like someone knew what they were talking about, a voice familiar, someone he knew. Think my way out of what? He thought and the shark teeth represented the amplitudes of speech and made him forget how out loud he said it. They went all the way around the room. Was it a room?
“Tom?” He heard a voice again. They wake us and we drown… thought of mermaids making out on the couch. The readiness is all… “Tom? Can you open your eyes?” Can he open his eyes? How would he see, without open eyes? If ye had but eyes to see… He opened one and saw Mom.
“Tom… Oh my God!” Standing by the bed, she cried and squeezed his arm several times.
He could feel her squeezing him… but his other eye would not open. Tried to move his head but pain shot through it, felt like it was clamped in a vice.
“Don’t move! Tom… Oh my God! I have to call Teri. She’s worried sick!”
“What’s go’n on?” Tom thought he said but his mom, Constance, did not respond, only talked on the phone, while looking at him, “He’s awake… Yes! Just woke up… No, hasn’t spoken yet but is trying to. I think he knows who I am… Okay, see you soon… No, I’m fine. Can’t think of anything… Oh! Don’t bring the kids. They won’t let them in. Bye… Tom? Can you hear me?”
“Yes…” he thought he spoke again but she just smiled at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Mom!” He said, loud as he could, felt his jaw move, pain in his head.
“Tom. Yes, yes, I’m here. You know who I am?”
Was she joking? “Water?” His mouth felt parched… could hear his heart beat, or assumed that’s what the beep-beep-beep was. He moved his toes and his fingers to make sure they were there.
Constance held the corrugated straw of a plastic water bottle to his lips, “They said not to drink too much, when you first wake up,” took it away before he was finished. Why were they doing this to him? Right eye open he looked to his left as if he could see what was wrong but it hurt to look side to side, up and down seemed fine. Unable to see out the left eye or hear the left ear, he realized. Felt pain in his head, “What happen?”
“What? Sorry…” She bent her ear to his mouth and repeated what he said, “What happened?”
Tom tried to nod but the head clamps resisted and rattled slightly, when he did.
“Don’t move your head, Honey. It needs to stay how it is. Are you sure you want to get into this now? It’s… just… a lot. You’re in the hospital… after surgery to relieve pressure on your brain… shouldn’t try to do too much. They said… the doctors.”
Tom tried to think. Felt like he could… but nothing came. Like going to a library and finding the shelves empty; got a dose of time-release morphine and… his mother melted into dreams. When he woke again, Constance and Teri were standing, same side of the bed, discussing something.
“Well, I don’t think she has any place here. After what she did to him?”
“Teri… she was there. Stayed by his side… the whole time.”
“Yeah, so she says. Tells people she saved his life, probably.”
“Stop it! You don’t know what happened. She was with him. She’s on the list. Don’t make a scene.”
“Cindy?” Tom realized they were talking about and wanted to see her.
“Tom! Oh my God! I’m so happy you’re okay,” Teri exclaimed and squeezed his arm, same as her mother.
“Teri?”
“Yes, yes! Oh Tom, I’m so sorry this happened.”
“What?”
“What?” She leaned in.
“What happen… to me?” He wasn’t worried, just knew he didn’t know, exactly.
“Uh… didn’t Mom tell you?” She straightened up and looked at Constance, who leaned where he couldn’t see and shook her head, no, “Oh… how are you feeling? Can we get you anything?”
“What happen? Where’s Cindy?” Tom knew Cindy was there… was pretty sure, remembered her talking to him but with so many strange dreams since, it was hard to tell. She seemed to be in every one. They changed the subject, read to him from cards he’d received and got him to choose from a menu what he wanted to eat. Very hungry, he eagerly agreed and forgot about Cindy for the time being. Detectives wanted to talk with him too but the neurologist hadn’t okayed it yet, so Constance chose not to tell him about his friend Dez being dead. For now… let him rest and heal, he’ll know soon enough. Soon as he turns on the news.
Constance called Cindy, when she got home, told her Tom was awake, that he had asked for her and wondered if she could visit the next day? They spoke on speaker, with Teri listening. Cindy told them a lot about what happened but not all she knew, was still rather upset they hadn’t contacted her before then. She suggested a meeting with Tom alone, would give him the best chance at remembering things and Constance agreed, much to Teri’s chagrin, who shook her head—NO! and stomped off saying, “Nobody ever listens to me!”
When Cindy got there, Tom was asleep. The cage which held his head stationary had been removed sometime the night before, to Cindy’s great relief. Constance told her about how hard it was to see him like that. She stood for a minute and gazed upon Tom, so happy, so relieved they had each other to process this horrific event with. While putting her bag on a chair, “Cindy?” She heard him whisper, returned to his bedside and gave him a drink of water, after which he asked, “How’s Dez?”
How do I tell him? Cindy started crying. This happened so many times in the days since the shooting, she wasn’t surprised at that moment but tried hard to control it, nonetheless, “Tom…” she paused and took a second deciding what to say, “First… tell me what you remember.”
“Um… okay… we were at dance, fourth floor, you had me fix a speaker. I danced with
Darci, I remember and Dez and Catherine were there and we danced a slow dance with them… there’s not much after that… until… a lot of pain in my head and you talk’n. I remember be’n on my knees and you tell’n me how to move but from then on… a blank until… uh… I remember a guy, wrapped my head and made it hurt less… bent my arm straight—that hurt a lot, he asked questions but… oh yeah… gave me a shot, said it was gonna hurt but it didn’t.”
“Ah… you’re such a big boy!” Cindy’s heart sank. She almost cried again. Constance told her Tom didn’t appear to remember what happened and that she chose not to tell him for fear of upset. The doctors said crying would be the worst thing for his eye and create congestion in his head. But Cindy didn’t believe it, imagined him waiting for her to compare notes, as the only other person living with the same experience and who maybe saved his life by staying calm in an extreme situation when everyone else ran away. So excited to see and help him fill in the blanks, she had not even considered—he might not remember. Having been preoccupied with putting the pieces together herself and chasing down information, as a way to cope in the aftermath with the fact she wasn’t allowed to see him or even know what was going on. Ex-wife doesn’t pull any weight with the hospital staff. But better off for it… she fancied herself the most informed person on the event by then, might even write a book, had talked to a man about it, said she could make millions. Did a dozen interviews in the five days since it happened and only agreed to do them if they exchanged information with her. Amassed a lot of detail she would not have otherwise had access to—like security cameras and police ballistics, “Tom…” she decided to be direct, “Dez is dead. Seamus shot him in the face.”
With no negative reaction to this, she continued, “The gun discharged right next to your head, as you tried to stop him. Big gun—.45 caliber, they said, hit Dez in the face at very close range. He died instantly, blood everywhere. Catherine lay nearby awhile, crying, while I tended you. About twenty-five minutes later, she got up and, in a rage, went after Seamus apparently. Made some noises on her way out like nothing I’ve ever heard. Found him in the Tiffany Ballroom and, according to security cameras, George showed me, they argued and traded blows until he knocked her unconscious with the gun, dragged her into the elevator and locked it out, shot her twice in the chest and then shot himself in the head, terrible mess. That’s why it took them forever to get to us—nobody knew where he was and pressure on your brain built up so much, they had to drill holes. Your eardrum ruptured and all the little bones broke. You are deaf in the left ear and your left eye may be permanently damaged by the swelling that happened after. I’m so sorry, Tom… and about your friends. I thought it best just to tell you straight up.”
Tom listened and it all made sense but nothing got triggered—no feelings, no coalescing of memory fragments into a recognizable whole, no reconstitution of the event. Dez dead? Catherine? Seamus? Not a surprise… but it seemed so abstract, just somebody’s story at this point. He guessed he must have known but still… what a terrible thing to tell him. Cindy’s eagerness felt like an assault on his senses and he said, “I’m still get’n a lot of pain meds, so any minute now, I might just drift off but I… I appreciate you tell’n me but… you know… I’d like to wait for my own memory to come back before hear’n more, okay?”
Cindy kind of understood but also felt offended, “I’m not going to lie to you. I was there. I watched it happen.”
“I know but… it’s hard to explain… where’s my phone? Billfold? Do you have them?”
“I do!” She pointed at her bag, trying to sound positive, “Good thing too because they won’t let anyone get their stuff back until the investigation is completed. OMG! A lot of pissed off people can’t get their phones and wallets till who knows when? How about I just tell you things you won’t ever remember because you never knew them in the first place? Like there were several warrants out for Dez in Louisiana? Or Seamus followed them there that morning, sat in his truck, drank a whole bottle of whiskey, smoked marijuana and did methamphetamine before coming in, just after circle?”
“No… too much information. It… it hurts my brain. My stuff? Can I have it, please?”
“Um… yeah, sure. Just… I need a tell you something first.”
“What?” Tom was disturbed, pain in his head growing.
“Well… I have it because I grabbed it and your billfold from your bag, while you were balled up on the floor, figured you might need them. And… I didn’t… they wouldn’t let me visit or tell me anything… and no one asked… so, well… I kind of obsessed on what happened and looked at your phone to see who you were in touch with before dance. I know I shouldn’t have… can’t believe you still have the same passcode but, well… I thought maybe Seamus had texted you… anyway, I saw the text from Isolt and, uh… deleted it. That was the only one… so, I guess you had erased the conversation before? That’s no excuse, I know. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have but it really upset me and… well… I was already upset by what happened and by… Amanda Parsons… I saw texts from her and… Tina let me go because there may not be dance anymore and I think she blames me for what happened. The Tiffany’s closed…” She started balling, and squeezed his hand repetitively, saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… please, forgive me?”
This upset Tom and his head throbbed but, luckily, he got a dose of pain relief about then and, feeling it hit, said, “I’m fade’n fast… sorry. Could you just put ‘em on the table?” Indicated where he meant and nodded off.
She retrieved them from her bag, reluctantly… did as he asked but stood first, phone in one hand, billfold in the other and gazed upon Tom awhile… said a prayer for their future together… set them where he indicated and left. Crushed by things not turning out how she planned—He’s not well… she told herself but utterly bereft of hope, headed home, thinking he hated her now and all they’d shared would amount to nothing in the end. “He’s going to run off with Isolt and have a baby!” She yelled at herself in the mirror, once home, “Stop it!” Barked back, went to the kitchen and poured a drink—several in fact… got drunk, smoked some weed and listened to the Adi Da tape, while she polished off a bag of chips, trying not to obsess on being jobless and losing Tom… until she passed out on the couch.
Tom awoke, could see it was dark outside but in his room… always light. When asked to turn them down, the nurses would say, “Okay,” go over and pretend to adjust something but it never made any difference. Neck stiff from not moving, he turned his head slowly until his phone came into view. Reached for, came up short twice but finally got it on his third try. Cindy had charged it, bless her heart. Tom retrieved Isolt’s text thread from Recently Deleted and read it: Tom, we’re pregnant. Please call me when you can.
He called…
She answered right away, Tom? What… it’s… the middle of the night. How are you?
“I’m fine… well, actually… I am in the hospital, deaf in one ear and maybe blind in one eye and have more holes in my head than I did before… but do’n okay, for all that.”
“What? What happened? What’s going on?”
“I don’t know a lot yet… memory fuzzy. But from what I’ve been told… sure you want to hear this? It’s pretty graphic.”
“Yes, yes… go ahead.”
“Seamus shot my friend Dez in the face… gun went off right next to my head. I was trying to stop him, I guess. I don’t remember… Ruptured my eardrum, and did some damage to that side’s eye too. Had to wait a long time because they didn’t know where Seamus was and thought he had a hostage. The pressure on my brain needed to be relieved, so they drilled holes. Or so I’ve been told. Nothing seems real… Probably deaf and blind on that side. Hurts like hell. Pain feels real.”
“Tom! Oh my God! You’re so… matter of fact about it. When did this happen? Where?”
“They got me on a lot of drugs, is prob’ly why. At dance, fourth floor.”
“Dance!? What?”
“Yeah… Dez was there with Seamus’s wife, Catherine. They were, uh… together. I remember that much. Seamus found out somehow, came to dance, shot Dez. Catherine went after him they argued and he shot her in the elevator and then himself.”
“Oh my God! Tom… I don’t know what to say… I’m glad you’re okay. We’re pregnant. Wondered what took so long for you to call back after that first time… no message.”
“Yes… what a surprise. I didn’t know what to say… then went to dance and shit hit the fan… and here I am. How did you get pregnant?”
“Ha, ha! You know how! Your first night… in the trailer… remember?”
“Yeah, but you said you were…”
“Protected?”
“Yeah… what happened?”
“Um, yeah… no… was… or thought I was. I let the witches mess with my routine. Didn’t work.”
“Not surprised.”
“I’m sorry Tom. Having them here was a big mistake. I sent them packing, soon as I found out… overheard them talking about ways to abort it. I told them to get out but they wouldn’t leave, said I was hormonal and would calm down eventually, come to my senses, not want to raise a kid alone, need community. Said they were only speculating the abortion thing, just in case… So I called my friend Mitch, remember him?”
“Yeah, hunter guy, big arms, into guns.”
“Yes… him… and well, he came, with guns and told them to pack up and get! They were so mad!”
“Yeah, I bet. White patriarch redneck farmer, throw’n ‘em out at gunpoint?”
“Yeah, they hurled curses and tried to start a fire. Then their car broke down and Mitch had to fix it! Had me hold a gun so they didn’t sneak up while he was underneath. You believe that? Me with a gun? Crazy day! But they’re long gone. What are you going to do now?”
“Uh… I don’t know. You want a raise a kid… together?”
“Yes Tom I do… very much. I understand if you’re not up for it… that wasn’t very nice what happened here. And I won’t ask anything from you, if you don’t… but I would love if… you want to come and coalesce… ha! I meant convalesce… here? See what you think?”
“I think… I think that would be good for us. We can raise a kid. Yeah… I think we can.”