'I'm going to have to stop at the "Monkey Screw" market on Westbury Street after this and pick up some detergent', I think to myself lifting up my soot covered sock.
I run my hands along the indents of my toes and watch as my fingers leave a trail of the lightest of gray. Only a walk from the door to the window and a ruined sock is my sole reward.
'Winner. Winner. Chicken dinner', I think, as I jokingly look around for the lovely lady luck to appear.
Jump out of the red and black spray painted closet or pull an Elvira and appear to me from the mist. Honestly, I could care less how she were to appear to me; just as long as she was as lovely as those ladies in my father's old magazines that he used to stash from my mother under his office floorboards. Of course my mother knew that they were there, and he knew that she knew but they both acted blissfully unaware. My father always told my mother that she could never hold a flame to any other lady walking this earth. At the time I thought my father was just a big wimp, but now I realize that he is perhaps the smartest man I have every had the grace of meeting. For a confident woman is a woman unaffected by jealously.
I look around the room and contemplate taking one of his socks from the dresser draw. I open the draw. It's empty.
'Perhaps I'll get a large detergent. I have a coupon for that from the paper. Rosalie is always having me clip out those damn coupons! I'm a writer for Sports Illustrated for God's sake, I pretty sure it won't kill us to pay an extra fifty cents on a detergent.'
I take a deep breath; thinking of the two mile walk to the market and wishing that I decided to drive here instead of taking a damn bus.
'Perhaps some febreze too' I think, picturing myself spraying it all over me and busting that baby blue can open, pouring it in a boiling bath and bathing myself in it.
My gag reflex is coming on strong and I can see the two bags of hefty garbage bags under the popped spring and 'lemonade' stained mattress bed. They are filled to the brim and the plastic looks to have a person screaming from the inside by the force of an open beer bottle pushed against it. It smells retched and there something brown leaking from the bag on the right.
'Please don't let the pizza from lunch come up', I pleaded to my stomach as I felt the beginning bubbles start to pop.
'Ah Oh', I think to my stomach, 'It looks like the smell isn't the only reason for your future loss of pizza'
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight; to the point of where I would be surprised if the collar of my polo did not raise in tail. I swallow the urge to smooth them down and instead continue to stare out of Jason's window onto Homley Road. I can see that Miss Harper still has that 1950 blue rusted Chevy pick up, "A classic. A classic" she exclaims. Honestly, I don't believe that just because something is old does that make it a 'classic'.
I peak over my right shoulder and peer over to the corner of the room where Jason's ripped and moldy sneaker still hangs from the wall. Dangling on that rusty nail he and I hammered into the wall when we were going though our "we want to be construction workers" phase during ninth grade.
'Now I know that a dirty sneaker and a rusty nail isn't a classic.'
My stomach has finally calms down to the point of where I can quit freaking myself out with the images of having to swallow back my own puke. I let my finger's fall from their fist but I keep them sewn to my side. I can still feel him watching me, tracing me. My head, my shoulder's, my back, my thighs. I can feel his eyes stop their trail on my calf, right below the indent of my knee and the cut off of my basket ball shorts.
'I knew I should have worn pants instead of shorts', I think to myself, 'Well good, he should see what he caused'
The urge to turn around and prevent him from looking at my calf anymore is nearly impossible to resist but I stand staring out the window for eight more breath until I turn around and finally, after twelve years, face Jasper Whitlock.
I dissect his appearance from the front like he did to my behind. First his head, then shoulder, then back, then thighs and finally his calves. He looks older I suppose, and could use a good shave.
I look down at his shoes.
'And a packet of socks too', I think as I see that he isn't wearing any, though the sneakers look well worn.
I take the envelope from the left pocket of my Yankee's sweatshirt and slowly place it on his bed. I never take my eyes off of him, whether it's from fear that the past may repeat itself or if I'm trying to communicate with him that all is not forgiven.
He stares back at me as I straighten up, grab my cane, and walk out of our childhood bat cave, krypton and angler.
After walking out of his room I turn at the first corner and limp down the scratched wood stairs.
'Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One'
There, I made it down a damn set a stairs without a damn stumble. I have to fight myself to not be furious, a bitter man who can't even walk down a damn flight of stairs without needing to say a prayer.
My nonna used to tell me that God has a plan for all of us and that we must carry on that plan with a grin on our face and a cross around our neck. Mother used to tell me that nonna was losing her marbles when I was a little boy; but I didn't care she still made the best meatballs, they always beat mother's.
I got to say though that having to experience pain with every step makes me wish that I didn't think dancing was so 'lame' when I was in high school. What I wouldn't give to be able to do even a side step dance without struggling to stay up straight.
Remembering those high school dances reminded me of Alice Hatcher. Alice or Ali, as some called her, was some girl. Head of the cheer squad and student vice president; would have been first if she wasn't in the hospital during the week of election candidate speeches due to appendicitis. Sweetest thing walking down the halls of old Forks High, well that was until our Junior Prom of '64.
The talk of the dance was how "The" Alice Cullen came to her own prom dateless. She just came in, walked across the gym floors and plopped herself down on a metal folding chair. Whenever someone would ask her to dance she always gave the same response, "Sorry, I'm waiting for someone". According to Lauren Gallicio, the schools gossip, Alice was waiting for her perfect mystery man who she has been talking to messenger online. When trying to get Alice to release the name of her 'dream date' she said that Alice didn't know his name, only his screen name. I watched as Alice sat in that metal chair, thinking that her back must be killing her, as she loyally waited for a man whose name she didn't even know and wouldn't even recognize even if he did decide to show up to a high school dance. That Alice was loyal aright; loyal, sweet, innocent and naïve.
'Poor Alice', I think to myself while looking down at the pink puckered scar on my left calf.
She couldn't had been more then sixteen when it all happened. Actually, if I'm recalling correctly her sweet sixteen was only two weeks prior to the prom. Jasper and I were invited to go; we may actually have attended if Tanya Denali didn't give me a ring the night before.
Ah, Tanya, she was every horny teenage boy's fantasy: short skirts, tube tops, sweet smell of Bud lite and always down for a good midday rump in the sack.
Finally, at the end of the dance, after all the men were tired of getting shot down by Alice, the lights were unceremoniously switched on and all of the students were told that all to famous and all to used line of, "You don't have to go home, but you got to get the hell out of here". I walked out of the gym doors with some chick whose name I didn't care to ask, hanging off my shoulder with her fake red nails imbedded into my old mans suit.
'It's going to take me all damn night to get this damn red lipstick off of my damn neck', I think as I plopped "Red Nails" into a teal blue mustang with a group of other faked red nail, red lipstick chicks.
Before knowing if the mustang drove off or not, I turned the corner of the gym to the lot where I ditched my own car, only to see a blob of pinkish lace near the dumpsters. Walking over slowly, I saw that the giant blob of lace was Alice Hatch, glazed eyed, blue lipped, panties down to her damn ankles.
I take my eyes off of that damn ugly as fuck scar when I feel a gust of wind wham me in the face. Looking over to the left I see that Jasper has turned on a fan.
'Well, at least he still has the electricity on', I think.
Jasper doesn't look in my direction while he's fumbling around with the fan and after standing there for a good two minutes, just watching his fumble with that damn fan, I figure that I should leave.
Taking one last look over at Jasper I see that he has his tongue out like when he was a kid. We could always tell that Jasper was confused if he had his tongue just flapping around for all to see. I also just thought it was fun to scare him into thinking I was psychic when I would tell him that I knew he had a red lollipop minutes before I would see him.
Seeing him struggling with that damn fan, I go against my better judgment and limp over to where Jasper is sitting and look at the back of the fan. I see that the wires are tangled and carefully untangle them; now the fan is blowing smoothly, no more stop and go. Jasper and I eventually look at each other and take a seat in front of the fan, letting is blow my dark brown curls straight.
'There are those damn eyes again', I think while sitting in front of the ancient fan. That thing must be at least fifteen years old; maybe even pushing twenty if you think about it.
It has only four settings: On, Off, High and Low. The "Low" button is missing above its label and the springs and wires are poking out of the tiny hole. The "On" button is still there, almost too much there, it is jammed in its socket. Enough so that if your fingers were to brush over it, it would be unnoticeable. Black masking tape is the only thing holding the front and the back of the cage around the blades together; it may even be grey masking tape, just with some extra dirt. The tape is rippled and bumpy around the edges, evidence of it being peeled off and placed back on. Inside the taped cage was the blade, rust coated and dust bunny invested. A person would be surprised if they were to see it spin. All in all, that thing was a beauty alright, a rusty, taped up, wires poking out beauty.
I can still feel those damn eyes on me. I turn around and look Jasper dead in the eyes; daring him to look away. Being the difficult son of a bitch he is, he looks away.
"I never touched her you know" he says this while looking into the blades, "Not once".
"Bull-shit", was my answer back to him. I remember seeing him on that night. The damn coward was hiding behind that damn dumpster with blood on his shirt when I found Alice.
"I found her first and then hide because I knew how it looked. A dead cheerleader and a living charity case, no one would have given me the time of day to explain", he replied back.
I look down at my scar. He looks down with me.
"Then why do I have this to live with?"
"I didn't know it was you. It was dark and I though that the bastard who did that to Alice was coming back to hide the, you know, body. I wasn't going to let that bastard get away. Not after what he did to her", Jasper said looking down with clenched fist to match is clenched jaw.
"Why did you care so much about her though? I get that she was a nice girl, we all knew that, but why the hell would you risk going to jail for her. You knew her just as much as I did and that was barely", I said to him.
Jasper looked up and I swear I saw a decade old tear hiding in the corner of those brown eyes.
"I loved her. I fucken love her."
'Well damn' was the first thought that came to my head. I reached out my arm, slowly as if trying not to frighten a doe, and placed it on his shaking shoulder.
'It's okay. It's okay', I can only think the words, for I knew that speaking them wouldn't bring Alice back to life, or death to her killer or even give that invitation to the high school reunion any importance in the world.