The Belt Page 13

  “Son of a bitch!” John shouted and kicked the wall, leaving a dark stain on the beige paint. He sighed with resignation and sat on the small hassock in the hallway. For the first time in weeks he thought he needed to smoke, that he no longer cared about the smell. Molly would never allow him to smoke in her apartment, so he put his jacket on and left the place. A few minutes later, he was sitting on a bench in a small park near Molly’s apartment block, smoking slowly, enjoying every second of his cigarette. The moment he inhaled the smoke’s smell he flinched, but fought the feeling and, as he was inhaling, deeply, steadily, without any rush, he felt he was finally calming down. It was a beautiful, very pleasant early July day; warm, sunny, and simply perfect.

  The dreams were his conscience knocking to the doors of his psyche, he was absolutely sure of it. He had to admit, he had done some pretty ugly, pretty nasty things in life, but all he could say was that he was doing his best to live according to the one life-one chance philosophy. He was the master of his fate, and he wanted to try out everything in life, feel no regrets, even if it meant having marriage problems, even if it meant breaking someone’s heart. John felt good about himself. It wasn’t as if he never warned any of his lovers that it might be difficult being with him. He told every single one of them he was married. It was crazy, but the story about the husband doing his best to save his always-drunk wife made them even more engaged, even more interested in him, as if he was some kind of a hero, a guy who needs to be appreciated and saved. They all dug it, so why wouldn’t he use it?

  John flicked the cigarette, flinched, and took his phone out of his pocket. He searched for Cindy’s phone number and, sighing heavily, bent his head and dialed it. She picked up after three rings.

  “What do you want, I’m busy,” she said coldly.

  “Hi, Cindy, how are you?” he replied, politely pretending her distance made no impression on him.

  “I’m okay. I’ve already taken everything from the apartment, you can go back there.”

  It wasn’t until that time that it occurred to him he still had some things left in the luxurious apartment. His clothes, and he had only some of them at Molly’s house, some CDs, some books. It wasn’t much, but where was he supposed to keep it now? Not at Molly’s, not at the two-floor apartment. Damn it.

  “You’ve found a place to stay?” John asked slightly surprised.

  “Yeah, I have.”

  “Where?”

  “Far from you,” she replied quickly, “that’s for sure.”

  “Oh, come on, Cindy,” John said softly. “Can’t we act like adults and just talk? Normally?”

  “I don’t know, can we? I mean, why are you calling me in the first place?”

  John inhaled, released the smoke, and scratched his chin with his thumb.

  “I-I need a place to stay,” he said, clearing his throat.

  “And why is that my problem?”

  “Well, I mean, I thought that since you have something…” John replied scratching the back of his head with embarrassment. It felt very awkward, no doubt, but he had to try. Maybe she’d feel sorry for him, maybe she’d help him if for no other reason than because of their past?

  “Oh, you’ve got a nerve, you asshole,” Cindy hissed. “How dare you?”

  “Calm down, okay? Listen, I wouldn’t be asking if I really, really had no other choice.”

  “Yeah, calling me as your last resort…I’m not so sure if that’s supposed to convince me to listen to you or if I should just hang up like right now, John, honestly,” Cindy replied. “You’re not my problem anymore, John. Deal with your problems yourself.”

  “I thought we were grown-ups, Cindy.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I know we’ve broken up, but we spent some great time together, we have a history, you and I, and I thought that perhaps you could, you know, lend me a hand, when I’m in need.”

  “We didn’t break up. You broke up with me somewhere between the temptation to hit me, and kicking me out of the apartment. For me, that would be all as far as any loyalty is concerned,” she replied and was about to hang up when he spoke quietly.

  “I can’t sleep, Cindy.”

  “What?”

  “I-I can’t sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep well for a while, and I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, having no idea why he started telling her all that in the first place. She was the first person in many days he was being honest with. At least he was trying. Perhaps he felt so depressed by the nightmares, he had to get it out of his system, let someone know that he was unhappy. That he felt haunted.

  “Are you still having the nightmares?” she asked, and John had a feeling he heard traces of compassion in her voice.

  “Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening. I have no idea what to do. It’s kind of ruining my life,” he admitted. It was true. The lack of normal, deep, relaxing sleep wasn’t the only problem. He felt he lacked energy due to the omnipresent feeling of anxiety, the physical wounds he had been experiencing, the tiredness caused by it all.

  She was quiet for a few seconds and finally took a deep breath and said firmly: “You know what it is? You know what’s happening?”

  “What?”

  “Your conscience is killing you, you know? It’s finally getting you. You’re a bad person, John, you really are, that’s the truth,” she said and hung up.

  “No, wait, Cindy, you don’t understand, it’s – hello? Cindy? Bitch,” John whispered, then shook his hand, and crushed out the cigarette butt. As he was doing it, he looked at his left hand, covered in fresh plasters, at his ring finger, and it occurred to him he had no other choice, but to ask Margaret for help. The single thought made him cringe, but what other options did he really have? No, he couldn’t do it. Perhaps Molly would let him stay a bit longer, maybe he’d convince her, but he had to know if he had any other option. If not plan A, then B. If not B, then C. John smiled bitterly. His life philosophy somehow no longer sounded so good.

  John went to a nearby café and had a light breakfast. He wasn’t exactly hungry, but didn’t want to go back home. Being alone, locked in the four walls was becoming unbearable. And that fucking belt. John was sure that either he was slowly losing his mind, or someone was making really nasty pranks on him. There wasn’t anyone around the house apart from him for almost two weeks, however, so how would that be possible? He was going crazy. That was the only, well, sane explanation.

  As he was eating his blueberry pancakes, lazily cutting them into pieces with his fork, his mind was, as usual, wrapping around the nightmares he had been having for weeks. John couldn’t help but wonder if he should use a plural form or singular, after all it was basically one nightmare, only shown in episodes. A part of him felt that perhaps it would be wiser to just see how it would end, to stop worrying, and just get it over with. Then again, he was too scared to do it. The single thought of falling asleep again made him queasy and it immediately made him anxious. Although he knew perfectly well that it was only a dream, the realness it represented was puzzling and scary. In his dreams, he was able to smell everything, feel everything, and all those things people, the witnesses were saying, those things were all true. Dreams could be weird, sure, but not in such a calculated way. It would be weird to talk to a sheep dressed up as a belly dancer in your sleep, but to hear your life’s history described chronologically by your wife, step-son, lovers, to feel terrified and humiliated like that, to witness real, physical pain? Maybe he should see a shrink.

  When John walked out of the café and was heading towards his car, he knew one thing – he did have to go and see Margret and beg her to let him stay for a few nights. Until he could land on his feet. It seemed that not divorcing her was actually a good decision.

  It was around noon, but it was Saturday, so there was a pretty good chance that Margaret was home. John turned the key in the ignition and a few seconds later, he was on his way to the house, which he’d thought, he’d hoped never t
o be inside again.

  Chapter 14

  The first thing that struck him when he parked the car near Margaret’s place was how clean the driveway was. Normally there were leaves lying everywhere, the grass was in a pretty bad condition, and the plants were either half-dead, or there were no plants at all. John had to admit it was partly his fault, as he never took very good care of such things. His engagement was elsewhere, so to speak. Now the driveway and the porch area looked really neat. The grass was perfectly mowed, and there were white flowers growing along the steps, and some pink ones were crawling out of two beige pots hanging from the porch roof. The summer wind was delicately swinging them, and there were fresh drops of water on the stairs, meaning the flowers were watered only minutes earlier. She was home.

  John didn’t feel good being around the house again. It was weird. He was so relieved he had left the place in March, and yet he was fully aware the things between him and Margaret weren’t finished, weren’t settled, and that thought had been hanging above his head all those months, knocking on his skull from time to time. Maybe it was better that way? Perhaps it was high time to resolve the things between them once and for all. Only now he knew that, provided she was home, and he really hoped she was, he couldn’t imagine coming there again later on; he would have to ask, perhaps even beg for her help. It was a pretty repulsive vision, but he was also aware it was his last chance, his last resort to put his life back in one piece, at least temporarily.

  John shook his head, got out of the car and walked to the front door. He spontaneously reached above the door to get the key, but, to his surprise, it wasn’t there. John started looking around the porch to see if there was any other hiding place where Margaret could have left it, but he had no luck. He checked under the doormat, under the stairs, in the flower pots. No key. He sighed and was about to leave when the door opened. John turned around and felt his heart instantly beating faster.

  “What are you doing here?” Mickey asked angrily while standing in the doorway. He was far from happy to see him.

  “Hi, Mick, is, um, is your mother home?” John asked and smiled clumsily.

  “No, she’s at an AA meeting, she won’t be back in at least two hours,” Mickey replied and was about to close the door, when John put his fingers on the frame.

  “May I come in?”

  “What for?”

  “Does it matter? I want to visit you guys.”

  “You never call, I haven’t heard anything from you since you drove me home that night weeks ago, you’re not even pretending you care for us and now, out of the blue, you come here. Why?”

  “To talk.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Mickey said and continued to close the door.

  “No, wait, Mick. Please.”

  The boy looked at him, his gaze changed a bit; it was less angry.

  “Please,” John whispered, and Mickey let him in.

  “Just don’t touch anything.”

  John nodded his head and walked in. The house looked nothing like he had remembered it. First of all, it was clean. Smelled fresh. The dishes were washed, the carpets were vacuumed, the curtains were washed. There were only a few magazines on the coffee table, and the whole kitchen was redecorated. The walls were repainted, the rugs on the steps were clean. There was a new sofa and two new armchairs in front of the TV set, and there were new lights hanging from the ceiling.

  “Jesus, Mick,” John whispered as he was looking at everything in an awe. “What happened here?”

  “We started a new life, John,” Mickey replied looking provocative at his step-dad, who just realized he was called by his first name. It felt strange, but he couldn’t blame the boy. John knew he kind of deserved it.

  “A new life, you mean, a life without me.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”

  “I see,” John said quietly, nodded his head and took some steps around the place. “You even have new floors.”

  “No, the floors are old, we just renovated them.”

  “Okay. I, um, I saw the Murphys’ driveway is empty, now that’s a surprise,” John said and did his best to make it sound as if he was making a light remark. The Murphys were their neighbors who constantly kept their cars outside their house, never used their garage, which always forced the Smiths’ and another neighbors either to park yards away from their own homes, or to knock on the Murphys’ door and ask them to move their cars both in the evening and in the morning. Pain in the ass.

  “Yes, they moved out about a month ago. The house has been empty since then. So, John, why are you here? Why do you want to see mom?”

  “I wanted to, um, talk to her,” seeing the mixture of anger and aversion in his son’s eyes, John wasn’t feeling too sure about his visit anymore.

  “About what?” Mickey asked and sat by the kitchen table. He crossed his arms on his chest, showing that he was now the man of the house.

  “Just-talk, really,” he replied clumsily.

  “Well, I do think the only thing you can talk about with her is a divorce, John. The sooner, the better.”

  “Well, um… how, how is she doing?”

  “You really wanna know?”

  “Yes, yes I do. You know, you might wanna offer me some coffee, or water at least, that’d be nice,” John said and smiled friendly. “You know, a usual social convention.”

  “You won’t be here long enough to drink it,” Mickey replied immediately and John’s smile instantly disappeared from his face. “I think you coming back here with the tail between your legs means the world outside this family hasn’t turned out to be as comfy for you as you had hoped,” he got up, walked a few steps towards John and stopped right in front of him, “and I can tell you right away there’s no place for you here. We’ve been just fine without you. Mom stopped drinking, I moved back to the house and helped to renovate it.”

  “You did all this?”

  “I don’t see why it’s so surprising. For all the years you lived with us, not once did you even wash the fucking windows, not to mention doing anything to help mom.”

  “Mickey, your mom screwed up a few things, too, please remember that before you blame me for everything.”

  “Yeah, she did, I know. But when she was busy bringing me up, doing my homework with me, spending weekends behind the wheel driving me from one school to another to play games, cooking, and shopping, it was a bit difficult for her to find some more time to take care of the flowers, or to clean the house, you know?”

  “Right, I mean, she also needed some time to get wasted once in a while, it also takes some…”

  “Shut up,” Mickey said, and hit his step-father’s chest and pushed him in the direction of the front door, “you’re the last person to talk about her like that, do you hear me?” He pointed at him with his index finger.

  It was that very moment when John realized his step-son was actually a grown-up man, and about two or three inches taller than him, who, as it seemed, became the head of the family while he was gone. He had nothing in common with the Mickey he drove home weeks ago. That boy still had some glimpses of hope that maybe his family could be put back together. This one no longer had any doubts, and he didn’t want John around them.

  “Jesus, calm down, Mick,” John said and took a step back. “I see you don’t want me here.”

  “Brilliant observation, John, yeah, I don’t,” Mick said sarcastically, “we don’t! Do us a favor, and have your lawyer contact us once you have the divorce papers, will you?” He exclaimed and opened the front door. John looked at him, shocked, a bit humiliated, and left the house. Mickey slammed the door and suddenly there was a total silence. The birds were chirping somewhere in the distance, and the bumblebees were buzzing among the flowers growing in the hanging pots.

  John slowly walked down the stairs and got into his car. It occurred to him with all its might that Margaret really did stop drinking. Just like she had said in the dream.

  He felt like crying as th
e feeling of complete powerlessness was eating him from the inside. He had no idea what to do, where to go, or where to seek help. Suddenly he heard a text message beep in his pocket. He took out his phone and saw a message from Molly. She was supposed to come back home two weeks later taking some extra job for a friend who got sick. John smiled; he still had two weeks to figure something out.

  Chapter 15

  It had been ten days since he had no sleep. He couldn’t do it, was too scared. At first, in order not to fall asleep, John was drinking great amounts of coffee and energy drinks and tried to keep himself busy. When the apartment was so clean it resembled a museum rather than a place where people would live, he took up sports. With his very strained and limited budget, he figured the cheapest thing to do was jogging, so he started running every evening.

  He did have some moments of weakness after two days, so he called Paul to help him organize some help to stay focused. John told Paul he got a job as a bouncer in a club and it was difficult for him to get used to the new work schedule, so he needed a bit of pharmacological help. Paul, who had contacts among doctors and pharmacists, was able to get him some modafinil and adrafinil.

  The most difficult thing was to keep oneself busy in order not to fall asleep. Watching TV or reading books was practically out of question; those things were able to make him sleepy on a normal day. After days of not sleeping, John was afraid it wouldn’t take him more than ten minutes to close his eyes if he turned the TV on or looked through a newspaper. During the days, John would go jogging, or swimming, at some point he started doing some small repairs at Molly’s place, and at nights it was his second portion of running. When he felt the fatigue getting him, he saved himself with cold showers and another dose of pills.