Quick, Capt'n-Jack's-Bonnie-Lass - thank you!
The actual name of the song at the end of this chapter is Lullaby... but the line that I use for the title just... hits home. (Well, it's not the only one that hits home, but as far as just capturing the whole feeling...)
Chapter Nineteen:
A World of Clay and Taut Convulsion
Milo helps me settle into the 'master suite' (don't I feel special) – he rearranges the closet to give me some room, and clears out a couple of his beau's drawers…
"Look – Milo – I – hadn't planned on any of this," I begin, awkwardly. See – I'm not used to being a 'charity case' – and right now, that's just how I feel. I don't like it.
"I know," his tone is – quiet.
"I – "
"Jeff – Patrick has a ten year old son – he would understand."
"Your guy has a kid?"
I hear his small snort of almost-laughter – probably at my surprise. Guess it had just never occurred to me that his boy might have pitched for my team, so to speak.
"He's been divorced for almost seven years – it's amicable - now. For the first couple of years he says she was just reeling."
Milo parks his ass next to mine on the big double bed; I don't quite turn my head in his direction. Believe me, it's not his situation that's got my brain working overtime – but I could use the distraction. "So you're ok with his having been married to a woman?"
"Patrick just wanted what most guys do – a home. A family. He – thought he liked her enough to make it work. He had a hard time accepting it when it didn't. The divorce was as hard on him as it was on her."
"I guess – I guess I can relate to that." The Vicodin has kicked in – but I'm still feeling as if I've been dragged through the ringer.
"Holly?"
I just nod and light up a cigarette. By my reckoning, it's not quite four p.m… (there's a clock in the hall that chimes every fifteen minutes – which you might think I'd appreciate. But I don't. It's fricking annoying.) Anyway – four o'clock. That means I became aware of the – the immediacy – of fatherhood not quite four hours ago. I guess that's why it still feels so fucking surreal.… I mean, I know the basics, food, cloths – fucking boundaries. My Christ – blue and purple hair? What was Holly thinking….? (I know, I know, I told her I wouldn't tell her how to do her hair – and I won't – but I know how to make subtle suggestions….why are you laughing? I can be subtle. Sort of.)
"There was a time when I – when I think I wanted to marry Holly," I tell Milo. "And maybe that would have been a mistake – all we ever seemed to do was scream at each other – but I wanted – it all. I wanted her – I even wanted her to be happy. Only she didn't want any part of the – the future I had in mind. And I really can't say as I blame her – I mean – just look at what my life turned out to be." I'm not just blind – where there used to be eyes, there are only gaping holes (yes, that still eats at me. I don't know if it'll ever stop eating at me.) I have a future – but – it's still uncertain because I really don't know how I'm going to get from here to there… and… and somewhere there's a foolish little angel who thinks she wants me in her life? I would be doing her the world's biggest favour if I broke that promise I made… she doesn't need me. She needs a happy ending. She deserves a happy ending.
"I don't think that sixteen years ago, you could have predicted any of this, Jeff."
No, probably not… "Why did you get into this racket?" I ask him.
There's a long pause. "You know – some days I ask myself that – and I don't really have a good answer. I think – I just – didn't feel like I fit in anywhere else – and I didn't know what I wanted to do – just that I didn't want to work some nine to five thing like my parents both did. I just didn't think I could – fit into that world, you know? It was more than just – sexual orientation. It was – everything. It's hard to explain."
"I get it."
"You too?"
"Yeah – me too. Nothing ever quite – felt right. Then – I got a gun and a phone – and – it was like the world was my oyster… for about five minutes." But – no regrets…
"Look – why don't I go – take a nice long walk – give you two some time to – start getting to know each other. I'll come back with a pizza or something."
Oh – yeah – food. I'm not real hungry – but that's probably situational. However, I'm sure Emma will want something to eat soon, because I really have no idea when she ate last. "Have – you met your guy's son?" I ask as Milo's standing to leave.
"Noah's a great kid – but – it was awkward at first. Patrick had talked to him about – his life – but I'm the first boyfriend Noah's ever met."
"So – I guess it really is serious, there, Sugar Butt."
"It really is – and – there is nothing – better – than knowing I have someone to come home to. It makes all the difference in the world, Jeff. Believe me. It's worth – everything."
Of course, I'm very sure he's not just talking about he and his… he's not talking about me suddenly becoming a father, either – although damn if that doesn't put a whole new spin on – on everything. "Yeah. If you say so," I tell him. My angel – she really is an amazing woman… I could come to her… Damn – there goes that knife in my gut again. I want her, but more than wanting her, I want her to be happy. And – I'd rather be a broken promise than one more in a long line of bad men in her life... I really do hurt in places I never thought existed.
"I'll have my cell on, if you need anything, just call," Milo tells me.
"All right, Mother Hen," I tease him, making a shooing motion with my hands (I have to force the accompanying smile, though). I swear, Milo fusses more than my mother ever did… which could answer a lot of questions about my sister and me... I did the right things by her, didn't I? I protected her from the Chet Wheatons of the world – I washed and bandaged her scraped knees – I gave her the last banana – I tucked her into bed and I made sure she always had a lunch for school… but somewhere along the line – I turned into the enemy. And that bothers me – because I never hurt her. I may have used her – but I never hurt her… and that – that should count for something… shouldn't it?
I listen to Milo walk down the hall and poke his head into the guest room to see how Em's doing – he seems so much more comfortable talking to her than I am. I'll bet he's great with his beau's kid… I can picture them – a real family. What every guy wants… I hear Milo asking Emma what she feels like for dinner… Emma replies that anything is fine, she's not picky… I remember how easy he seemed around Cicily, too… why does that still bug me? Just because I know I'll never be that at ease… what difference does it make anyway… what difference does anything make…
Right, fuckmook, I tell myself, stamping the cigarette out into an ashtray… time to get moving.
I tuck the Browning under my pillow; it's twin and some extra clips go into the nightstand drawer. One of the Sigs finds a home in the master bathroom – since I won't be sharing it with Emma, I don't have to worry about any mishaps – although I make a mental note to acquaint her with each of my firearms. That's going to mean a trip to the range – which is probably a good thing – because I still have a lot of pent up irritation to work off. Collins. Suarez. My own fucking sister. Roscoe – ok, he's minor in the grand scheme of things… but I could unload a couple of clips into a target pretending it's his head.
And – almost as an after thought – place that copy of Peter Pan that Cicily gave me on the nightstand. I'll never finish it – but – but I like having it there anyway, where I can reach out and just – lay my hand on it in the middle of the night. It's a reminder of the sorts of things guys like me never get to have – but – it's – it's good to know those things exist.
I hear soft foot falls in the hallway. They're coming this way. "Em?"
"Yeah – just me," she calls from the door.
"You need something?"
"I'm fine. I just – I got my stuff unpacked. You need anything?"
"I'm – I'm ok." And… that awkward silence again… And Milo thought that his taking a walk would give us a chance to get acquainted? "You wanna come in?" I ask, uncertainly.
She doesn't answer – but I hear the approach of her steps. She sits down on the end of the bed… not real close. I wonder… maybe she's thinking about what I told her about not being a very nice guy. It's true, but – but I don't know. I don't want her to be afraid of me – I just want her to understand who I am… right, anyone with the sense God gave a goose would be afraid of me if they had even half a clue who I really am. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a no-win situation.
"I guess – this must be – weird for you," she says at last. "Not even knowing Mom was – gone – you know, until today."
"Yeah – a little. You seem to be – holding up all right." Christ – I sound like a moron.
"I – had almost my whole life to – get used to the idea she wasn't going to be around forever."
"How long – had she known?"
"She didn't tell me until – I was nine or ten – but – she's known since I was four – since she – "
"Yeah." I get it. It's been niggling at the back of my brain since I first heard the word lupus… Holly got in touch with me when Emma was four to see how I'd take to the idea of fatherhood… she may have even wanted to invite me back into her life – not as a partner, but – maybe a friend. And all I did was throw money at her…
"It didn't get really bad until – a couple years ago," Emma tells me. "Before that – we – did everything together. She told me she wanted me to have as many happy memories as she could give me."
I resist the urge to light up another cigarette – I really have been smoking too much lately. Too much fucking stress. I – guess I should be glad Holly wanted Em's childhood to be happy… isn't that why I stayed away – so my kid could grow up normal… right. Like that plan worked. I really don't realize how visible my stewing is, until I hear Emma's voice again. Her tone is – I don't know what her fucking tone is… I can't see her – I can't read her body language – I don't know what to do. And I hate that. I am not accustomed to this much – helplessness.
"I – guess – I'll leave you alone," she says – it's almost hesitant like she's waiting for something – but for what?
"Emma – I just – I don't know what to say to you. I don't know – what you want from me."
Well, apparently that was the wrong fucking thing to say… she's up and out of the room before I can say anything else… shit, fuck, damn and hell… Holly, you had to have knownthis would happen… I just don't know how to be a father – you should have sent her to someone else. Someone – someone who knows what the Hell to do – someone who could really take care of her… because – for all my good intentions, just look what a bang up job I did with my sister…
How am I supposed to know what to say to a fifteen year old who has had to live with the fact that her mother was dying almost her entire life? Being the sperm donor doesn't magically put the right God damned words into my mouth! I don't know how to deal with strong emotions – I've spent almost my entire life avoiding them.
Hell, I don't even know what it was I did or said to send Emma running out of the room…
I need a drink. And I know there's tequila in this house – and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a tequila moment. I stop briefly at Em's door on my way downstairs. Music. Fuck. Sam Barber and his God damned Adagio... I'd rather hear that fucking Yaz song right now…
…by the time Milo returns, I've found the tequila and finished off half the bottle… and bless his boy's heart, there was even a big ol' lime in the fridge… (although let me tell you, finding it in the dark was one heck of an interesting adventure…)
"Do I even want to know?" Milo asks; he finds me, by the by, sitting on the sofa with the (half empty) tequila bottle in one hand, a glass in the other and wedges of lime lain out neatly on the coffee table. Beth's CD is playing in the stereo – and I've got the hat on my head. The room is probably dark, because it's November so it gets dark early – and why would a blind man need to bother with lights?
(I'm not wallowing in self pity – I've God damned drown in it… I am at the bottom of the Self-Pity Sea – and let me tell, the view from here is marvelous…yeah, I'm fucking drunk, too.)
"Prolly not," I reply to his question without turning my face in Milo's direction – can't see him anyway, what's the point in pretending? Two fucking gaping holes where there used to be eyes… fucking circus side-show freak is what I've become… I down what's left in my glass and refill it, carefully – no alcohol abuse on my watch, no sir-y-bob.
"Pizza's on the table," Milo tells me as he sets the box down.
I sniff at the air, "Ham – onion?"
"And mushroom."
"I hate mushrooms."
"You can pick them off."
"I can't fucking see – I have no eyes, remember."
"Fine. I'll pick them off for you. Finish your drink – I'll be right back."
I snort – and almost spill my glass – means I'd better down it quick… it's only in an absent sort of way that I'm wondering what's crawled up Milo's butt… all I really know is that he's going upstairs...
Some while later he returns in no better a mood, muttering something about apples not falling far from trees (I could have told him that) and I'm pretty sure he takes her up some pizza. When he comes back down (again), he brings a couple of plates from the kitchen, picks the mushrooms off a few slices of pizza and hands me a plate… and did you know – I can't feel my face any more? The tip of my nose is just… gone. Not there. "You get a glass, I'll share my booze. Well – your boy's booze." My tongue is so thick I'm not real sure I'm making sense… but by his response, I guess I must be.
"I think – I think I need one." He tells me. Yup, still pissy about something.
Milo gets a glass – I pour. Brave man, my Sugar Butt, letting the blind man pour…
"You know – it's not easy on her, either."
Her – who? "Emma? Yeah. I know."
"Jeff –"
"Look, it's not like – like I asked for this – not like I ever wanted it. Em was never going to know me. That was our deal. Holly's the one who broke it, not me."
"I don't think she much of a choice." His tone is cold.
I finish my shot. I'm starting to be able to feel the tips of my fingers again. "I know. That doesn't mean – doesn't mean I know what to do. I'm no good at this shit and Holly – Holly didn't fucking tell her a God damned thing about me – about my life." And it occurs to me as almost an epiphany that I am really pissed at Holly over that. Not that it does any good – but – but she had to know I wouldn't be able to handle this… she should have at least tried to prepare Emma. I forget about the glass and just take a big swig of tequila right from the bottle.
"Maybe she wanted you to do it – maybe she wanted Emma to hear about you – from you."
"What am I supposed to tell her that won't scare the shit out of her?"
"Tell her about you – listen to what she has to say about herself –"
I take another swig from the bottle. "And just where do I start? Fucks-it-stan-okov? That would be just a real warm fuzzy moment, wouldn't it? I could tell her all about having my toes broken one by one by one – tell her about going for – what was it – seven days that one stretch – without food? If you could even call that crap they shoved at us once in a while 'food'. Maybe we could talk about Ecuador – at least that one won't give her nightmares – oh, or Bogotá – or maybe we'll just start with more recent events and I'll tell her how I got my eyes fucking screwed out because I was chasing after a cheap piece of ass!" I'm only barley keeping my voice to something that might almost pass for a conversational tone… and only because I really don't want Emma to overhear.
"You know, you can be a real dick sometimes, Jeff."
"My point exactly." I go to re-fill my glass but Milo pulls the tequila bottle out of my hand.
There is a long, cold silence.
Fine. I prefer silence to this conversation anyway.
Eventually the pizza is gone. I feel – like shit. It's not the booze. Well, it is the booze… but it's more than the booze… Milo makes me drink a big glass of and swallow a couple of aspirin. I make a half hearted attempt at an apology – not because I feel half hearted about it, but – it's just not something I'm terribly good at.
"I knew there was going to be an explosion sooner or later," he tells me in a tone that tells me he was probably never really pissed at me. "All I was really trying say is – is that your daughter needs you. Just try to remember that."
"It would be easier if I knew the first thing about being a father."
"I don't think she's expecting some kind of miracle, Jeff. She just – wants to know you're not going away. Everything she had – everything she's ever known – was just ripped out from under her – and it only happened three months ago. You are literally all she has left."
"Then she is screwed."
I'm sure he's shaking his head at me. "Why don't you just – just try to be her friend."
I turn my head in Milo's direction – of course the 'look' is considerably more effective when one has eyes… fuck me. Barillo didn't just take my sight… he took my God damned eyes… (Christ – there are moments when I really wish I hadn't survived…) I manage to find my voice again, "I'm not so good at that, either, Sugar Butt." You of all people should know that…
"You might surprise yourself."
I doubt that very much… and yet… I remember Beth and her gut feeling… she said we needed each other. Right. I don't need a fifteen year old… and she sure as Hell doesn't need me. But. We're stuck with each other. Maybe she pissed off some gypsies too.
Milo pours me into bed, leaving a bottle of water on the nightstand; he promises to call tomorrow – at which point I entreat him not to make it too early. That clock in the hall chimes three times…
……….this is no time to screw the pooch…..this is the big dance number…..I've got a swell bunch of guys, but no guns…...hello?... hello?…… fuck me…… fuck me but good…..………freak right out………you really didn't see it coming ………didn't see it coming …… didn't see it coming, did you? ………the big dance number……. I'm his daughter ………his daughter………screw the pooch….….. you have only seen too much…….seen too much………..seen too much….. didn't see it coming, did you?………….didn't see it coming…….I'm his daughter …… …… seen too much……………oh, Christ no …….. we want to make sure that doesn't happen again ….….no, please no……not my eyes ….…no….….my EYES! …….Christ, my eyes…..my eyesare dripping down my face……..
I wake clutching the blankets and drenched in sweat, with the echoes of my own screams ringing in my ears. Fuck me – I can't stop shaking… can't quite breathe… just a dream…. Just a fucking dream…. "Just a dream," I say aloud in a ragged voice, because right now – I just need something to connect me to reality… eyes dripping down… didn't see it coming…. Never see anything ever again…
"Shelly?" a bare whisper of a voice cuts through the darkness and pain.
Gun – fucking gun – gun under pillow – footsteps in the dark – can't see… you have only seen too much – we want to make sure that doesn't happen again…. my fucking eyes are dripping down my face….. Christ…… I hear a startled gasp – feminine – probably she's just noticed the gun I've got aimed in her direction… the direction of the scent of freesia on human skin… Holly?… no, fuckmook, Holly is dead… "Who – who's there?"
Silence.
I release the safety and cock the hammer back, because – because I really can't be sure of anything…anything except the fact that my eyes are dripping down my face…. it is a profound effort to keep my arms from shaking – the rest of me certainly is. The room is spinning… drugs? I just – I just don't know…
"It's me," she – sounds petrified. "It's Emma."
Oh Christ. Emma.
Tequila. Not drugs. Tequila.
I try to take a breath. Try to just focus… just a nightmare.
Emma.
Very carefully, I slide the safety back into place and set the gun down in my lap. "It's – it's ok," I tell her. I'm not real sure she's going to believe me (I'm not sure I believe me). With very shaky hands, I reach over to the night stand and find both the bottle of water and my cigarettes… my hand rests on a book… Peter Pan… Cicily. Beth. My angels…
The room seems to be spinning… I think that's just the last dregs of the tequila making its rounds through my system. It was really just a dream… just a fucking nightmare.
"I heard – "
"It was just a nightmare," I cut her off. I – I don't want to know what she heard. I manage to get a cigarette lit. Christ – I could have blown her head right off. If that isn't a fucking sobering thought… "I'm – I'm sorry – I – I didn't mean – to wake you." Shit. This is never going to work.
"Are you ok?" She asks – her tone is – impossible to figure out. I imagine she's standing there, mid-stride, probably still afraid to move. Afraid to come any closer. Afraid of me…
"Yeah. Just – do me a favour – don't – don't come into the room like that. Not when I first wake up."
"I'm sorry. I – I won't do it again."
"It's not your fault. I can't always sort out what's real from – from the dreams. It just takes me a couple of minutes to wake up, that's all. Once I'm awake, I'm ok."
"I just – I wanted to – I'm sorry. I – I know you – I'll just – leave you alone." She beats a very hasty retreat from my presence.
Christ. Christ on a crutch… I finish my cigarette – and the water. The room has stopped spinning.
A loaded gun. I had a loaded gun pointed at my kid's head.
I am a fucking menace.
This – this is never going to work.
I slide the Browning back under my pillow. Because Milo poured me into bed, I'm still wearing my boxers… I think I'll put on a pair of sweats before wandering the house. I slip into the nicotine-scented comfort of my old terry robe as well. It's almost as an after thought that I slip off the blindfold and don the glasses… (Christ, I wonder what Em thought of that blind fold… I wonder if she's in her room packing…)
And – it's not like I know what I'm going to say – but I have to say something. I mean – I pointed a loaded gun at my kid's head – and I was prepared to pull the trigger. I almost hope she is packing.
Spencer follows, shadowing just behind me, as I make my way down the hallway, one hand on the wall as a guide.
There's music coming from the other side of her door. "Em?" And I hear – oh please do not tell me that was a stifled sob. "Emma? You awake in there?" I do my damnedest to keep my tone soft.
"Yeah – hang on," she says. The music ceases – and – the door opens, very slowly. "I – didn't mean to keep you – awake. I'm sorry." She still sounds – frightened – uncertain – hurt… and yeah, she's been crying all right.
Have I mentioned that I really don't know what to do when a woman cries? – and – when it's my kid – and I know I had something (everything) to do with it… then I really don't know what to do. Because while Milo might not think much of having a gun shoved in his face – I don't think it's ever happened to Emma before (at least it damned well better not have… But I doubt Roscoe would go to that much of an extreme….) "It wasn't the music – you're fine," I tell her in a tone that I'm not real sure is convincing. "Can – can we talk?"
"You wanna come in?"
"Why don't we go downstairs – see what kind of tea these guys have."
"Let me get my robe," she says.
I wait – listen – it doesn't take her long.
"You know – you don't have to keep the cats cooped up in your room," I say when she comes back into the hall, carefully closing the door behind her.
"I know you don't like pets."
"I – don't – but – you don't have to keep them cooped up like that." Of course she might be afraid I'll start taking pot shots at them… Christ. I slow down – the stairs should be right – here.
"Do – you – want to take my shoulder?"
"Would you mind?" Because it really just goes back to that need to feel something – solid.
"No – I don't mind."
I really wish I could – could see her. Her tone is just too damned hard to figure out. "I really didn't mean to scare you, Em," I place my right hand on her left shoulder as gently as I can – at least she doesn't flinch. "I just – I'm not real used to – having people around."
She doesn't say anything – what's there to say really? But she takes the stairs slowly – she's almost as good at this as Beth…
"I think Milo said there was tea in the pantry," I tell her as we reach the kitchen.
"Yeah – looks like we have Earl Gray, Lemon, Chamomile or – Green Tea."
"Whichever."
"There's hot chocolate –" she suggests.
I can't help but smile… hot chocolate was one of those silly little luxuries that we almost never had when I was growing up – and it is my absolute favourite.
She must see my expression – I'm sure I hear just a little bit of a laugh out of her. I listen while Emma makes it… I want to say… I don't know what to say… but saying as much garnered me some pretty negative results earlier… "Look – Em – I –"
"I know you never expected to have to have me dumped in your lap," she cuts me off. "I – it's ok. I don't expect – anything." We make our way to the living room. "I'll – stay out of your way. I'm – not real social, anyway," I can hear the smile she's trying to keep in her voice. And I know false bravado when I hear it…
I wonder if that's what Roscoe told her to do, just stay out of his way.
I let Emma sit down first – and sit next to her on the sofa, with a full cushion between us. It seems as if Milo cleaned up the pizza box, tequila and lime. (I'm rather grateful – I think the smell of tequila might make me ill right now.) "There have been a lot of things lately that weren't a part of my life-plan," I say. "Of them – at least – you're something good."
"Is that just by comparison?"
"No." But damn – talk about an ouch question… "There was – a time – when I wasn't real sure I was going to – to walk away from what had happened to me – back on the Day of the Dead – November Second. A lot of that day pretty hazy – but – one of the things I do remember is – regretting you – not – having you – but not knowing you. Having never seen you, for real. I would never have broken my promise to your mother – but I would have loved to have seen you dance – even if you never knew I was in the audience. I wish I'd made the time for that."
"You know I used to dance?"
"You mother always let me know what you were doing. But when did you quit?"
"When – Mom got – too sick – last year."
Which of course I would know if I'd been reading my mail… "Do you want to get back into it?"
"It – doesn't matter."
"Look – you find the right class – and we'll get you signed up."
There is a very long pause before I get a very quiet thanks out of her – and I wonder if I've said something wrong again… And we're back to that awkward silence… remember that she needs me, Milo said… right. She needs me like she needs a hole in the head… except that I really am all she has left. I know it. She knows it. Christ. We're both screwed.
"I – I don't want you to just stay out of my way, Em. I just – I don't know what I'm doing," I admit to her. "I need some help here, figuring it out."
She seems to be considering… I listen to her breathing across from me. I think I've just about given up on her responding when she finally finds her voice:
"I – I wasn't really completely honest with you before, Shelly. I – I did give up on you ever showing up – but – I kept daydreaming too – about what you were really like – and what would happen when you finally did show up. I kept – making up stories about what was keeping you – I know it was really stupid, but I kept trying to tell myself that you would come – if I just waited long enough – you'd show up. Only – when you did – it wasn't really because of me anyway. I think that's when I gave up for real."
And of course I suddenly understand her Little Orphan Annie references a whole lot better. "I guess I don't really live up to any of those daydreams, huh?" Because Daddy Warbucks I am not. Dirty Harry maybe – but what little girl dreams of having a guy like that for a father…? (I can hear it now: Yes, my idea father would swear like a sailor, drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, shoot first and ask questions later… he would have no problem violating a corpse and would have a body trail behind him bigger than – well, Dirty Harry's… oh yes, and he wouldn't regret any of it…)
"The only part of it that ever mattered was that – that you wanted me," she tells me, then, in a very quiet little voice. I think – I think I hear some tears behind those words.
"Emma – I didn't want to be a part of your life because of the kind of life I lead. That never meant I didn't want you – it didn't mean I never thought about you. I know it doesn't seem that way because I let the last three years slip away from me – but – but I will never forget the first photo of you I saw. You were – so perfect. I just could not believe that anything so – beautiful – could have been the result of anything that I did."
She laughs just a little, "Yeah – and just look at me now – even if you can't see me – you know."
"You're beautiful. I don't know why your mother let you do the hair and holes – but – you are beautiful."
"She always wanted me to feel free to be myself. Even – when I started that last year of dance – we started working in toe shoes – and she so didn't want me to do it – but she wouldn't tell me 'no', either, because she knew how much I wanted it."
"You have no idea how close I came to asking her to talk you out of toe shoes."
"Why?"
"All I could think of was how painful it was when I got my toes broken."
"You – make that sound – almost like it wasn't – an accident."
Damn. I have to remember that this is my kid – and she is one bright little cookie. "Yeah."
"So – it wasn't an accident?"
"No. It wasn't an accident."
There is a long pause – a long pause I'm very sure I don't like…
"Earlier – when you were having that – that nightmare – you – were – you screamed – something – something about your eyes –?"
"Emma – don't go there. Trust me – you do not want to know." I can imagine what I must have been screaming… what she must be thinking… wondering… imagining.
"I – think I already do. You – you're not just blind, are you?"
"No."
"So what happened?" …yeah, she's afraid of the answer… but… but I don't think it's morbid curiosity…. I don't know what it is.
"Emma – "
"Whatever it is – whatever happened – I mean – I'm really going to be living with you, right? I'm going to find out eventually."
Fuck. But… she's right. One way or another, eventually she's going to figure out why my nights are filled with agonized screams – why I wake up unable to sort out reality from the terror of my dreams – why I pulled a gun on her just because she cared enough to see if I was all right… I really need a cigarette – but – I'm afraid to leave the room. I think – I think maybe I need this as much as she does… I need her to – to know. "I – I pissed somebody off. His name was Armando Barillo." Just the sound of his name makes my insides go cold.
"Was?"
"I'm not quite sure who killed him – whether it was – one of my little recruits or the other – but I do know that he's dead – he and the man who – did the – actual work – on me." It is really fucking difficult to choose just the right words because I honestly do not want to frighten her.
"Who was he – I mean – why –?"
"Why was I spying on him? Barillo was a major cocaine king pin. He ran an operation here in the states for years, but no one could touch him. Six years ago, he settled back into Mexico – Mexican citizens can't be extradited, so – it wouldn't have mattered if we'd shared the information I had on him with the DEA or FBI. They couldn't touch him."
"And – because you – were spying on him – he –"
"There are a lot of not-nice people in this world, Emma," I cut her off – mostly because I really don't want her – thinking about the details of my 'injury' more than I'm sure she already is.
"So – what happened – I mean –"
"You – grasp the – the general scenario. I'm assuming he let me walk away because it was worse than killing me."
She says nothing for a long moment – probably digesting exactly what kind of person it would take to do something like this… "You – really could have died, couldn't you?"
"I really almost did." Beth – my angel… if she hadn't been there – if Hermano hadn't been there to take me to her… I would have died in the street like a stray dog… "I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of hero, Em – I'm not. Believe me, I'm not. I've done a lot of – of not-nice things myself. But nothing like this." I have never left anyone to live with – with this kind of mutilation. "I – never wanted you to know just how ugly the world really is."
"I already knew the world was ugly – my mother died – three months ago. Before she died – she – just degenerated in front of me – and there – there was nothing I could do – nothing anyone could do."
I hear the pain in her voice – and – anger – and I just don't know what to say… "I'm sorry –"
"I'm not mad at you. I'm – I'm mad at her. I just want to scream at her sometimes – and I know that's horrible – but she just left me all alone! Sometimes – sometimes I just hate her so much for leaving me – I love her – but – she left me with no one!"
I just – before I really know what I'm doing – I pull Emma towards me. And – I don't know what I'm doing – I just know how good it felt when someone held me, shaking and sobbing in the dark…
Em hesitates at first – then – then it all comes out… and she's just kind of curled into my lap. Huddled – I think she's huddled into herself and I just happen to be there… but I hold her anyway. I hold her and I don't try to tell her that it's going to be ok – because she's smart enough to know that it's not going to be ok. But I hold her and I let her cry.
I wait until the worst of the torrent has passed before pushing some of the hair from her face. "I am never going to be the kind of father anyone in their right mind would want – but – you're just stuck with me – so – you'd better just get used to it. You dig?"
And at least that gets a little bit of a laugh out of her, "Yeah – but – we're really going to have to get you caught up with the times because no one says 'you dig' any more, Shelly."
------------------------------------------------
The lunacy will leave the day
Luminous in flight
As the moon spits out
In jagged beams another night
Wrap around this brilliant veil
Tranquil and unbroken
As you spiral down
A world of clay and taut convulsion
The dream swan spins
And cartwheel turns
Down deep within your violet side
The sun begins to rise
Skating down its morning swords to thaw your frozen eyes
The dream swan spins
And so conceal the heart that aches and yearns
Hush awhile
Sleepless child
I'll be watching over you
- Siouxsie and the Banshees -