We ran for the tree line, trying to get out of the wind. When we were in the sheltering shade, Marie screamed with frustration and anger. Her balled fist slammed into a thick tree truck. She swore and cursed and punched and kicked the pine, and I had a hypothesis as to who the bark was a surrogate for. I waited patiently, my heart still racing from the moment before, letting her deal with her trouble in her own way.
She stopped, and her knuckles were torn and bloody. Finally, she looked at me, anger still flickering in her eyes. "Hi," she said.
"Hello," I replied. We began walking, and we stayed quiet, her wrestling her emotions and thoughts, me not wanting to draw her attention and possible anger. After a few minutes, I took her elbow and tugged her towards the cul-de-sac, towards my home. She followed thoughtlessly, so entangled with her thoughts she didn't care where we went.
When we broke the tree line again and entered the alley leading to the cul-de-sac, she glanced around, rubbing her hands on her bare arms. We had fled the trailer so quickly, she didn't even have a coat; just her black tank top and army green jeans. I unzipped my coat, removed one arm, and after arguing for a few seconds, she slipped her arm into the opening. She struggled for a few moments, but finally the zipper shot up the tracks, binding us closer together. We stumbled up the lane, she and I, two bodies in one large, orange coat. We tripped constantly, and after a few awkward moments, she began to laugh as we flopped towards the end of the alley. A four legged, two headed monstrosity we were, one blue head, one capped in black.
We fell through the front door of my home, and after some hollering, we managed to slam the door shut, ending the flurry that followed us in. "Christ, let me outta' this thing!" Marie cried, wiggling to try and free herself.
"But a moment, I'll get us out," I laughed, my numb fingers trying to grasp the small metal zipper.
"Ow! Get your elbow out of my ribs!" She snipped, elbowing me hard in my own side in retaliation.
"You are only exacerbating the situation," I cried, yanking harder on the zipper again. "It's stuck!" She swatted my hand away with her free one and after a few brutal tugs, the zipper ran free, hissing in the air. She peeled herself out from the coat and thanked me, smiling grandly. I hung my coat onto one of the hooks by the door and followed her into the house. She hopped onto the counter of the kitchen and I asked what she wanted to drink. After I gave her my best withering glare when she said whiskey, I poured us each a glass of orange juice and handed her one.
We asked each other about how our breaks were going, making small talk as the howling wind outside beat against the window pane. After a few moments, her demeanor changed, and her smiled faded. "You know, she wasn't always like that," Marie sighed, staring at the swirling beverage in her hand. I stayed quiet; she seemed to be talking to herself more than me. "She used to be really kind and gentle." She took another quick swig before glancing over at me, offering an apologetic smile.
"When Dad was still around, things were a lot better," she mused, staring at the ceiling light, her eyes glazed and miles away. "Sure, we still didn't have much money, but… between the two of them, we got by. I remember that Dad was the one who showed Lee how to put her hair in curlers at night, so they were more controlled in the morning. Ma would paint our toenails on the weekend." She laughed, shaking her head. "Lee always loved this gross, purple shade, reminded me of some sorta' poisonous flower. Ma never was a good cook. Dad always asked what sort of garbage she was trying to feed us that night, but it was always in good fun. He always ate it without complaint, even when Lee and I would cry for something else."
Her smile slowly faded, and I sense the change of pace immediately. "A little after May was born, things got rough. She always cried, more than I guess either Lee or me, and it drove them a little crazy. They started arguing a lot… Dad wasn't really around to play with Lee or me on the weekends anymore, and Mom stopped offering to paint our nails. One day…. He just didn't come home. Ma went out looking for him, and me and Lee were hardly old enough to watch May, but when she finally came home, she didn't come home with no Dad, just a case of red wine."
I didn't know how to respond, quite frankly. She was opening up to me, again, and this time, there was no anger, no hate, no fire burning in her eyes. She reminded me of one of the few times I went camping with my parents, how when we finally left the campsite, Dad would pour river water on the fire, and it would sizzle and pop and fight to stay alive, fight to keep burning. Eventually, the embers turned dull and pale, glowing with a weakened passion that harkened to a beauty now smothered.
Marie looked burnt out and cold. "May doesn't really remember Ma before she turned to the bottle. I don't think she really got the chance." She shook her head, clearing the yearned for memories, and smiled at me. "How about you? How was it, growing up rich?"
I instantly grew uncomfortable. Privilege was a topic that I knew I was privy to, but somehow, I always felt guilty, like somehow I cheated to get the upbringing I had. I talked about growing up before the cul-de-sac, the gross city streets and grumpy folk. I talked about life when I moved here, and she laughed heartily when I recounted some of the scams the troublesome trio crafted, and also the torment Marie and her sisters put us through. She laughed so hard she had to set down her half-filled glass, and hold her sides, spluttering apologies through her gasps.
I stared at her, water running down her cheeks, a huge smile on her face, her blue eye shadow crinkled with joy. "Can I tell you something?" I asked suddenly. She slowly came down from her high and nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand, smiling good naturedly. She had trusted me with so much, and in this moment, with the laughter and honesty and the smiling, I couldn't find a trace of the mean spirited girl who used to torture me daily.
I started slowly, uncomfortable and unsure. I felt… ashamed, like it was my own fault, and that by saying it out loud, confiding in another, I was somehow incriminating myself further. I kept my gaze straight forward, at a slight discoloration in the white kitchen wall, a focal point that I never wavered from. As I told her about that night, some three or so months ago, I felt my body begin to shake, my palms grow sweaty, and my sentences came out faster and faster, a rushing waterfall, a freight train without brakes. I tried to slow down to breathe deeper, to regain my façade of control, but nothing worked.
My words tumbled out, and before I knew it, I was done. I'd told her everything. I sat there, quaking in tense apprehension, and I kept staring forward, kept staring forward, not having the strength to look and see her facial expression. My mouth was dry and dusty, and I waited for death to come, because in this moment, nothing would've made me happier. Why on earth had I told her?
"I…I suppose I am lucky though," I choked out. "It could've been worse, and furthermore, my life has been relatively stress free." I was parroting back to her what she had said what felt like years ago, but I realized as I said it that I had come to believe it. She slid off of the counter, the buttons of her pants scraping the surface. She came around so she stood before me, but puberty had been a blessing, and I was taller than her. I stared right over her poofy, blue hair, ignoring her.
"Double D?" She asked quietly. I stared on forward, trying to block out her voice, trying to block out my own emotions. "Edward, hey, listen to me." She grabbed my forearm gently, and I pulled a little away. Her hand fell, although her determined glower still well in place. "Double D, are you listening to me?" I tried to drown her out with the noise of my own mind, but each word pierced through my clouded conscious with bright brilliance. "Nod if you can hear me," she demanded. Without my permission, my head bobbed up and down.
"Man, in no way are you lucky," she sighed, shaking her head sadly. For the first time since I stopped talking, I looked down at her in surprise. I imagine that my look was one of incredulity, for her face set into an even harder expression. "I'm being serious, Double D. When I said that, I didn't... I was just angry at everything that was happening. I was embarrassed you'd seen all that stuff, I..."
"Well, I don't have to work insane hours at a boring job just to keep my home, nor do I have to stay up till wee hours of the morn, watching over an infant," I replied. Marie turned her gaze down to the tile floor, gnawing on her lip. "I've never had to wonder if there would be more liquor in the house than sustenance, and I've never had to tap dance around my parents to keep them from getting furious."
"You might be…privileged," Marie said, looking at me, struggling to find the right words, "but being…victimized doesn't mean you're lucky." I looked away, trying to absorb her words.
"It could've been worse, violent…" my voice warbled and her hands shot up, slicing through the air between us, cutting me off.
"Stop. Stop comparing yourself to what happens to others. Just stop, 'cause what happened to them isn't related to what happened to you. You experienced something awful and scarring, and if you keep saying someone else has it worse, and you don't let yourself cope, you aren't gonna' heal." I looked back at her, and she offered a sad smile. "It's okay to admit that it wasn't your fault."
I began crying uncontrollably. Racking sobs shook my body, and I curled in on myself. Marie put her arms around me gently, and when I burrowed into her torso, trying to get closer to her comfort, her embrace grew fierce. We stood in the kitchen, the late morning light filtering in through the shutters, with Marie Kanker's arms around me and my own arms around me, the both of us trying to hold my broken pieces together. My legs grew weak and eventually gave out, and with a little grunt of surprise, Marie held me up, her strong arms not letting me shatter on the floor. For the first time since the attack, someone else was there, holding me. Ed and Eddy had done a splendid job distracting me from what had happened, trying to take my mind off of things, but for the first time, someone was telling me it was okay to cry, to feel my emotions, that I wasn't weak for crying, just…human.
When my tears and sobs finally ebbed away, I stood up on shaky legs, again growing taller than her, and smiled at her with a silent thank you. She released the death grip she had used to keep me on my feet, and when she looked up, I saw her own silent tears glistening. "You, uh, wanna' watch a movie?" I croaked unintelligently. She grinned and nodded, using her forearm to wipe away the liquid lamentation from her cheeks.
We watched a cheesy action movie that I chose, and never would've chosen on any other day. We laughed at the overtly serious facial expressions, and ohh-ed and ahh-ed at the explosions. Close to the end of the flick, one of the main protagonist's cheesy pickup lines, followed by an explosion, caused the both of us to roar with laughter. I leaned against Marie for support as my small abs screamed for respite, and her arm draped over my shoulders casually as her other palm covered her eyes.
That's the scene my folks walked in on. Over the roar of our laughter and the booms of the film, we didn't hear them come through the front door. "Oh!" My father exclaimed as his eyes took us in, a dripping winter coat in one hand, and a binder filled with paper work in the other.
"Greetings, Father," I gasped, smiling at him. My mother stood on her tip toes to see over her husband's shoulder, and her eyes narrowed.
"What's going on here, Edward?" My father asked in a tone that was as light and as care free as a feather. His eyes were cold and hard, not matching the words.
"Oh, nothing. Marie just had the day off from work, so we decided to watch a movie. Father, Mother, you've met Marie Kanker, yes?" Marie's expression had slowly changed, and she stood up, her smile forced now.
"Nice to meet ya'," Marie said, crossing the room and sticking her hand out to my dad. He shook it, and my mother gave Marie a once over, taking in her self-presentation, and her eyes narrowed further still.
"Did Eddy and Ed not want to spend time with you today?" My mother asked curtly, turning her attention back to me. I explained that both had housekeeping, and my mother sighed heavily and obviously.
"Well, I'd better get going," Marie said, her eyes tight as she turned back to me. I offered to walk her to the door, and my parent's didn't really move much, forcing us to squeeze by them.
"My apologies for their behavior," I said confusedly, my brow scrunched. "They've never treated a friend in such a manner before."
"It's alright," Marie sighed as she opened the door and turned to me. Her eyes shot over my shoulder before returning to my own, and then she wrapped me in a friendly hug. "Parents don't care much for me." She left and closed the door behind her, and when I turned back around, both my parents were in the hall, looking at me, their mouth's thin white lines.
"How was work, dearest parents?" I asked, trying to understand the full exchange as I squeezed by them to get into the kitchen.
"How long have you been with her?" Mom snapped immediately, following me into the kitchen.
"Just a few hours, Mother," I said, rinsing out our orange juice glasses and storing them in the dish washer.
"And how long have you been dating her?" my father rebutted. I nearly choked as I spun around.
"She is but a friend!" I said. My mother's tense figure relaxed then, but my father stayed just as ridged.
"Oh? And how long have you been friends for?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"How should I know?" I said in exasperation, throwing my hands in the air. Why on earth were they making such a big deal out of such a small matter? "We've grown up together, how am I supposed to pin point the exact moment we crossed from acquaintance to friends?" My father relaxed after that, and dropped the subject, saying that he and Mother were merely curious.
As I dashed up the stairs to my room, wanting to escape the heat, I heard Mother whisper to Father, "It's not as serious as we thought." I closed my bedroom door and threw myself onto my bed. I couldn't understand their reaction. What was the big deal, any who? So what if she and I were friends? What didn't they like about her? They didn't even know her! They didn't know her background, or how she was the only one who let me grieve freely.
"I guess we're all susceptible to jumping to conclusion," I muttered quietly to myself. I turned my thoughts away from the unexplainable irritation I felt for my parents and turned back to the day I had with Marie. The day had been so…dramatic, with such an explosion of experiences and revelations, and yet, I felt very content and happy. And when my thoughts eventually changed to that fateful night with Nazz, I didn't feel panicked, or scared, or even the need to cry. The grey fog tried to drag me down in a depressed sleepwalk, and yet, I didn't even need to fight to keep it away. As I drifted off to sleep, a long needed nap, my eyelids faded from grey, to black, then lightened to a deep blue.