The Loop
13 June, 2009
Volt Den Warehouse
Outskirts of Forks, Washington
167, 168, 169, 170…
It is almost eight. I should be home by now. God knows what she'd be doing at this point of time. It has got me worried but I am consoling myself since last thirty six hours or so. A voice that sounds a lot like the old me keeps telling me 'she's fine…she's fine'. It is like a God damned tape recorder. Jasper said he'd be back. But he is not here yet.
171, 172, 173, 174…
These fucking cuticles hurt more than anything else. Garret's fist in my eye didn't annoy me this much. I can't do anything but ignore the constant throbbing pain in my fingers. I grit my teeth and the sound reverberates in my head.
175, 176, 177, 178…
My taste buds need a fucking chance. My tongue is coated with coffee. I think I'll have to scrap it off with a knife. I could sleep but I did not. No one asked me to not sleep. I know they are scared of giving me orders or instructions. Where the fuck did Jasper go?
179, 180, 181, 182…
I don't want to remind myself of the night before the last. (I'm not sure which night before which, honestly. My mental calendar is fucked up.) Carl's no bullshit attitude had somehow added fuel to Felix's paranoia. A stupid brawl was the last thing we needed. A Coke-Cash barter and a brawl. Heady combination. My right eye, cheekbone and hand are aching. I've learnt to ignore aches. Somewhat.
183, 184, 185, 186…
Carl trusts me with shit like this. I know why. Tyler would have nicked a few packets. James would have snorted half of it. But nothing is drearier than hiding two thousand half ounce packets of cocaine in ten Casio keyboards. This is my last one.
187, 188, 189, 190…
This is pure madness. If I'll distract myself from what I am doing, I'll probably scream. These plastic packets are two inches long and just half an inch wide. I have to neatly line them in the crevices. And then I have to put the dismantled keyboard together.
191, 192, 193, 194…
Six more to go. I think I am smiling.
195, 196, 197, 198, 199…
200.
But it is not the end. I have to put it in place. Nuts and bolts and all. I think I'll get home by nine. I'm really worried, but then I have a responsibility here. But she's my responsibility, too. No, they are my responsibility, too.
One nut in place, countless more to go.
.
.
God knows how many minutes or hours later, I hear a human voice.
"Jesus, Edward! What the fuck?"
Jasper.
"Huh?" I look up and the movement of my eye muscles makes my vision blur… and burn.
"Man, you are fucked. When did you last sleep?"
"Uh, first tell me what day is it?" My hoarse voice grates on my ears.
"It's Monday, why?"
"I slept for four hours. Friday night. Wait, when did I fuck up Garrett's face?"
He looks at me warily. "That happened Saturday evening. During that fucked up barter."
"Which Saturday exactly, Jasper?"
He is frowning hard now. "What do you mean 'which Saturday'? It was the day before yesterday, if that's what you want to know."
I grin. "My mental calendar is not fucked up then. I'm on time."
His face distorts into something that may qualify as horrified.
"Fucking Hell, Edward! Get some rest, for God's sake. I'd have thought you're high, if I didn't know better."
I can't help myself. I laugh. "Maybe I got high… accidently. Stop breathing Jasper. This room has less air and more coke in it. You will get stoned." As soon as I finish speaking, I feel my face drop.
I don't sound familiar to me. I sound strange. This realization triggers my heartbeat into a staccato. What is wrong...? There's something I should ask him, I realize. What should I ask him? What the hell am I not asking him? I am almost panicking when I blurt without knowing.
"How's she?"
His expression changes into something soft. It is weird on his face. And my almost panic dissolves with it.
"She is fine. Perfectly fine. There is nothing to worry about. I checked on her yesterday and today. You on the other hand… I think someone will have to drop you home, Edward."
I'm suddenly in a hurry to get there and see for myself if she really is fine. If she's fine, how is she? The question nags me.
"I can take myself home." With those words my foot gets caught in… the thin air, maybe? I don't know. I just see the ground coming closer to my face. And then I see nothing.
The next thing that I'm aware of is a bumpy ride in some stupid car's backseat. I feel my head explode in pain as the honking cracks through the air.
"Stop it!" I yell.
"Whoa! You're awake? Sorry, Ed. You're five minutes away from home."
"Tanya?! What the fu—"
"Jazz asked me to do this, Ed. I know it thoroughly degrades your reputation but I'm not one of those people who'd ignore a friend in need." She turns her head and grins at me. It makes me cringe. Her grin morphs into a pout. I cringe again. But she turns her head towards the road before she sees this one.
"Ed, you are going home in my beat up Volkswagen. You are fucked but not in a good way. And you are with me. Alone. You've always avoided my company, Ed. I wish you could think this situation my way."
Her voice is high and shrill. It's sawing on my head. I groan.
"Why aren't we there yet?"
"Changing the subject, huh?"
"Do you think I give a fuck about whatever subject you were on?"
"Oh, geez! Aren't you grumpy? But when are you not grumpy, eh, Ed?"
The car stops. I recognize the house on my left, which is a relief. The white house with blue trimmings is freshly painted. I remember how she insisted on getting it redone a couple of weeks back. I was glad Carl had cut me a little slack for a few days. I had loved that satisfied smile on her face. The house seems to glow in the murk of the rainy night. The front lawn is neat and trimmed. A pale yellow glow from the windows makes it look warm in the constant drizzle. I see that the curtain is drawn by a sliver for a few moments before it falls. I hear the old me softly say, 'she's waiting'. I open the car door and start to drag my feet across the stone path towards the royal blue door. The cold rain sprays on my face lightly. It is harmless because it can't drench me.
"Ed, I want to invite myself in. You know, for hot chocolate."
I turn to look in the direction of her voice. My eyes see a smudge of corn silk, pink and white instead of a woman. She's probably smiling. I can hear it in her voice. My lack of response makes her speak again.
"Be a gentleman, Ed. Please?"
I am exhausted. But not exhausted enough to not see what she is doing. Slut.
"Oh c'mon, Ed! A girl needs just some hot chocolate. I can do a few favors in return. Sweeter than hot chocolate, something sexy—"
What the fuck?
"You know I don't live alone." I almost growl. She has the audacity to... She has no shame.
"Ed," she snorts. "From what I know you've got the fucking Guinness record for your celibacy. I just want to break the dry spell. My advice? Do your dick a favor and throw your ego away for a while. You won't regret it."
I clench my teeth and the bones at the back of my ears start to throb slightly. This happens to me whenever I am angry. I feel like throwing her across the street right now. But that would involve touching her and I sure as Hell don't want that.
"You're the dumbest sleaze ever, Tanya."Her eyes flash at my words and she literally bares her teeth at me. I don't give her a chance to speak.
"Don't you dare give me that look. I've always told you that I am not interested in you. I thought it had penetrated that thick skull of yours. Shit, I was wrong. I am saying it again. My answer is no. And I am doing my dick a huge favor by saying 'no' to you."
"I'm a sleaze 'cause I invited myself in when she is home, eh, Edward? What the fuck ever. You can't fuck her, you know. Or, maybe you both are into some kinky fucked up shit…"
Suddenly, I see red. And I feel an angry shudder run down my spine. I can use my four fingers and dislodge her collarbone in half a minute or maybe I can punch her front teeth out. But I don't. I want to be violent with her and I can't do it.
"I don't ever raise my hand on women, Tanya. But I can sure as Hell make an exception. If you don't want me to beat the shit out of you, you'll leave right now."
"What the fuck?! You can't talk to me like that, Edward!"
"I am talking to you like this. Get the fuck out of here and show the attitude to someone else."
"Fuck you, Masen."
"Not a chance, bitch. Not even in your dreams."
I turn my back to the sound of curses and screeching tires and walk towards the door. The stone paved path is short usually but not today. I knock thrice in quick succession. I can hear that her footsteps are steady and slow and instantly I am calm. The noises of the latches moving are friendly in a strange way. May be that is so just because this is home. The door opens wide and her eyes meet mine. She appraises me for a second before sighing and letting me in. Her lips are pursed and her curls are neat in a bun. She's wearing black linen pants and a simple blue-gray button down. She looks stern.
"You are late again, Edward. How many times have I asked you not do this to me? And it is a school night."
School night it is. I am used to it, yet I swallow before speaking.
"I'm sorry, mom."
She rolls her eyes and sighs in exasperation. I will the exhaustion to get away from me for a while, knowing I have to play along. I don't hesitate with another lie. It comes out like an automated voice record.
"I was studying at a friend's place and I dunno when I fell asleep..."
"I'll buy it if you explain who that girl was outside?"
My head springs to look at her as soon as she finishes speaking.
"Uh… she… uh… Josh's elder sister. She offered me a lift."
"Josh could have given you a lift."
"He… uh… he's grounded."
She folds her arms across her chest. She doesn't look appeased. She is still glaring at me.
"I'm sorry, mom."
"You should be, Edward. I would have grounded you if you weren't eighteen."
I just stand here in front of her. All this pains me. It hurts me bad. But I have to play along with her. There is a voice inside my head praying to God to let this mom-scolding-son scene go on for a little while longer. But of course my prayers are always ignored.
"Your father won't be home for dinner. He will spend some more time at the studio. We'll have to eat our dinner without him."
These words hit me in the head and the heart.
"Okay." I breathe.
She has made the lasagna. Yet again. It's not that I'm sick of her cooking. It's just that I'm caught in a loop. I can't break it to get out of it. And it hurts. We eat in silence. I see her head turn towards the window every few minutes. I try to ignore the different kind of hurt this action causes. Within half an hour I am helping her clean up. I can feel her watching me as she wipes her hands with a napkin. My feet are flailing but I am concentrating hard trying to not fall on the floor like a God damn domino.
I am sporting a black eye. My knuckles are badly bruised. She has not noticed any of it. She cannot notice any of it. My body is telling me to lie on the cold kitchen floor, curl up and sleep. But I concentrate on the feeling of the cooling soapy water on my hands.
"Edward, honey," her voice snaps me out of my exhausted reverie. It is the other tone that I recognize really well. Her voice is a little shaky. The kind of shakiness one associates with nervousness. I like her stern, dominating tone more.
"Yeah, mom," I ask. She looks worried. The twofamiliar creases appear on her forehead. And then suddenly, she looks like she's not normal. She looks helpless.
"Anthony never stays for work so late. He called to tell me not to worry, but I didn't like the way his voice sounded on the phone. I have a bad feeling, Edward…" Her trailed-off voice pulls me towards her. I cross thelength of the kitchen in a few steps and wrap my arms around her. Her head rests on my chest and she hugs me back. I pat her back for some long minutes. I keep on murmuring 'it's okay…it's okay' as she sobs softly. After a long time, she pulls back from the embrace. Her eyes are the exact shade of green as mine. Her hair is the exact hue of bronze as mine. I'm telling myself all that I already know. She smiles at me. It's a loving, beautiful, magnificent smile. I smile back at her as my mind tells me to be ready to tell her the most painful lie of the evening. I don't wait to again ponder over how much this loop exhausts me.
Loop...
I just tell her.
"He'd be home at dawn, mom. And he'd be fine."
This lie is the captain of my army of lies: He'd be home at dawn, mom. And he'd be fine.
My lie is always followed by her truth. I know it is coming. And I know it is going to hurt. But I smile nevertheless.
"Of course, he'd be home. He loves us."
I kiss her forehead and nod in response. I know he'd never be home. And I know he loves us.
Still.
She retires into her room for the night. The climb up the single flight of stairs to my room is difficult as my exhaustion is getting on to me. I fall on my bed in my underwear. I don't remember undressing. My sleep saddled mind wanders to what tomorrow would bring. People usually think of their 'tomorrows' with hope, a plan, excitement, dread… All the usual, normal, human things. I don't think of them that way. And it is simply because, I can't. I, unlike normal human beings, know what's coming tomorrow. My mother will wake up the eighteen year old me. She'll bid me goodbye for school but I'll head towards the abandoned junkyard on the outskirts of Forks. I'll get home and she'll scold me for being out late on school night. We'll eat lasagna. She'll express her worry for Dad. Sometimes she'll rant about how he should be a little less selfless, less helpful. That he shouldn't overwork himself. Then she'll go on to tell me he has never worked this late. Ever. I'll lie to her that he'd be home and that he'd be fine. She'll tell me he loves us and she'll cry on my shoulder before bidding me 'good night' and retiring in her room.
The loop.
The loop that had trapped me in its anti-clockwise chaos about six years ago.
The loop that was merciful as it gave me a few hours of sleep.
The loop that will cruelly pull me back from this temporary recluse next morning.
The loop that is kind enough to not give me dreams.
It is always dark behind my eyelids.
.
—EAM—