it
wasn't my fault
Crying. Crying.
A girl curled up with her arms around her knees. Crying. Light hair hanging
like a long hood. Shaking. Crying. I reached out my hand, a mistake, but
not my hand, I felt safe. The hand that wasn't mine curled around a quivering
shoulder. Crying. Crying. Shaking. "Linda?" The girl turned slowly on
an axis, opening solid green eyes which oozed blood as tears. I followed
the tears down that beautiful face. Watched them rolling past her nose,
now with slivers of blood seeping from the nostrils, watched them sliding
down the curve toward her lips, all the time dissolving the skin over
which it flowed. Watching as the tears passed through the corners of the
lips, pooling, then gathering on her chin. The lips opened and said, in
Linda's shaking childish voice, "Why? Why?" I started to back up,
feeling the drip-drip-dripping of red droplets on her blue jeans, holding
together momentarily then drifting into starry stains, but Linda grabbed
my hands and pushed them against her face, using my hands to fiercely
rub at the cracking and pealing skin, "Wash me, Erol, wash me." "Stop
it!" I screamed, "I didn't do anything wrong! It was you!" "Wash me!"
"No! I can't, I'm too..." Shaking. Lonely. Misunderstood. "sorry." I closed
my eyes to stop my own tears, blue crystals. When I opened them again,
Linda was gone. "I'm sorry." Linda was gone, but her blood was still on
my hands, which were clenched in fists. Burning. Slicing. I dropped my
brows in curiosity as my fingers (not my hands!) opened and I saw that
I held in each a razor blade. Her blood was mine.
i will make amends
"You did it," said
a voice from behind me. I turned to see Linda's father pull his hands
from his disheveled crazy hair and point at me, "You did it!" Then,
like a mob around a witch, the voices were all around me, rising, as if
from graves. Chanting, "you did it. You did it. You Did It. YOU DID IT!"
"No no," I said, "it wasn't my fault." I tried to run, but they were on
me. In me. Holding me. Scratching. My mouth and my nostrils filled with
a thick sour liquid. My eyes were stinging. My ears were ringing: ring
like the...
Telephone. It was
the telephone.
it wasn't my
fault alone
I panted and looked
around the room. The simple wood walls of a Vermont bed and breakfast
cabin, a twenty-inch black-and-white television, my clothes strewn amongst
the bottles of rum, Bacardi Dark, six in all, five empty. I rubbed my
eyes and staggered toward the bureau and the phone.
"Hello?"
"Erol."
"Yeah, who's this?"
"It's Tom," said
the familiar voice across a barrier of static, "it's good to hear..."
he trailed off, "Erol, Jake's dead."
I let the phone
slide away from my ear. Jake's dead. That meant it was just us.
Tom and me. Neither of us whose fault it was alone. Jake had been in Boston.
Not that far, not that far at all. Tom was in Ohio. I was closer.
"Erol? Erol, are
you there?" pleaded a tinny voice from the phone.
I grabbed the receiver
and said, as best as I could, "what do we do?"
"I'm running. I'm
driving until I get to California, and then," and here Tom paused, there
was no and then, "and then I'll figure out what to do next."
"Do you really think
you can escape?"
"Yes! I don't think
it can follow us just anywhere. We've just gotta disappear. Jesus Christ!
There are four billion people in this world! It can't track us down everywhere!
We have to be able to get lost."
"What if it's in
our heads."
"What?"
"Our heads... all
in it."
"No. It's not."
"Wait for me," I
said.
"You're nine hours
away!"
"Tom. Wait for me.
At the first service station in Ohio on 80."
"But..."
"Tom."
For a moment there
was silence over those thousand odd miles of wiring. Then, "OK."
"Good," I said,
"I'll be there as fast as I can."
I hung up the phone
and threw on the nearest outfit and chucked some more dirty clothes in
my bag. Halfway out the door, I paused. I removed a small ball of paper
from the front pocket of my bag and carefully unwrapped it, revealing
a small silver coin with the picture of an eye on each side indistinguishable.
Placing it on the palm of my hand, I could feel it pulse and burn. My
eyes seemed to flicker and then I was flying west over snow covered mountains
and plains. I could feel Tom pacing in his small hotel room in Ohio, sipping
whiskey and thinking... thinking... it's coming.
With that thought,
I dropped the coin and stared at it, laying harmlessly on the rug of a
Vermont bed and breakfast next to a splash of paisley. We each had
one, I thought, if only we'd had the time to learn what they really
meant. Then a glimmer of hope entered what was an otherwise desperate
mind, maybe I should leave it here. Maybe Jake should have thrown his
in the ocean. Maybe then he'd still be...
I grabbed the coin
(and tossed it, end over end, in the air, and held it against the back
of my hand. It burned. I looked. Eyes, I thought, I take it.)
and the last bottle of rum and ran out into a wind that seemed to carry
my name on the snowflakes.
i will make amends
The Green mountains
were being covered by a blanket of white, and a commercial repeated itself
to me on the radio "buybuy", when a shadow appeared on the side of the
road.
At first I thought
it was a woman: some lost girl hitching on an unlucky night. I took a
swig of my rum and when I looked up, there was nothing but a small swaying
pine tree where the girl had been.
"Great," I said
out loud, "now I'm seeing things."
I glanced my red
eyes over a precipice and saw only snow falling to an invisible bottom.
But further up the
road I saw another hitcher. It looked a lot like Frank, but he turned
out to be a mirage.
I laughed and drank
more rum. A low hanging cloud on my high mountain settled around me. I
turned on my fog lights. After a while, I could see a human shape on the
side of the road, and could almost see into its dark, dead eyes before
the fog thickened.
I sped up. Surely,
I reasoned, there couldn't be more than three hitchhikers on this stretch.
But, surely, there
was another shadow, then another. I pushed down on the pedal and watched
as the shadows came and went more quickly. Faster. And more. I laughed
hysterically and turned my beloved bottle to my lips. Still the shadows
appeared. One then the next, until they looked like a picket fence mob.
Suddenly, Jake stood
in the road and didn't so much as flinch as the headlights picked him
up and shone off his skin, making him look like an angel. I slammed down
on the brake and turned the wheel, too late to miss the way Jake's eyes
seemed to suck in the light as it bore down on him.
The car spun freely
until it bent around an old tree. I was surrounded by the soft embrace
of an air bag. It smelled of plastic. Resisting the urge to rest, I grabbed
my bag and left, trudging through snow up to my knees.
i will make it
right
The snow twirled
around me in its crazy dance and it seemed the wind whispered, "Erol.
Erol."
The snow crunched
under my feet as I ran aimlessly through the trees.
"Erol. Erol."
I slipped and fell
to my knees and took a moment to breath, my hands buried in the cold snow.
"Erol. Erol."
I got up and ran
until a single icy finger trailed up my spine and held me frozen. I fell
on my back, unable to rise. I saw a white shadow flitting from tree to
tree around me.
"Erol. Erol. Give.
Me. What. You. Owe."
I grabbed the coin
from my pocket and waved it about like a white flag, "here, take it! Take
it! Just leave me alone!"
A shriek started
to my left and made a counter clockwise spiral towards me.
The coin was snatched
from my hand and placed on my forehead, where I could feel it searing
at the skin. I could smell my flesh melting. I screamed. "I didn't do
anything!" Looking up into the white shroud of the thing before me, I
saw no face. No face at all. Just two big green eyes.
all will be forgiven
I can see the moon
through the trees. Nearly full. I can smell the cold dampness of the snow.
I can hear the wolves howl as they get closer. Closer. Closer. But I'm
helpless to move. All I can do is lie here and wait. Wait and wonder how
much time Tom has left. Maybe he'll just get fed up and leave in time
to escape. Maybe there's no escape. Maybe he'll just leave the coin there
on the table next to lukewarm coffee and go.
Whether he lives
or dies doesn't seem to matter to me. It's not my fault. Anyway, he's
the last. As soon as those howls get closer, he's the last. All will be
forgiven. As soon as I close my eyes, he's the last. And I can feel them.
Closer.
Closer.
I
wonder if he can, too.
all will be forgiven
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