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22

The basket must have weighed five-hundred pounds; at least, that is what Mrs. Shelton thought.  Four people were in line in front of her, all with baskets as full as hers.  The checker knew he was getting paid by the hour and took complete advantage of it. Mrs. Shelton knew him from her fifth period English class. 
What a Lazy little cretin. 
He was clearly milking his procrastination for all it was worth. 

“Thank you, sir.  Your coins are in the dispenser,” he said handing the freshly printed receipt to the frail old man.  Three people were left in front of Mrs. Shelton.  It seemed to be at least two minutes before the checker began ringing again. 

Mrs. Shelton looked through magazines, candies, and final impulse buys decorating the checkout shelves.  Motion sickness pills, fingernail clippers, and cigarette lighters, she decided, were an odd assortment of items to have bunched together.  The popular tabloids with the usual stars gawked at her.  “Their Breaking Up,” read one headline.  The sensationalist book next to it read, “Their Trying to Have Baby.”  Both magazines had the same people, in the same clothes, on the same street, different pictures. 

“What a waste of paper!” she said, feeling as if the books were actually mocking her.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” the gentleman in front of her said.

“Oh…nothing.  I was looking at the cover of these magazines.  They are just so-“

“Ignorant!”

“Yes,” she said, smiling like a child.  He brushed back his salt and pepper hair.  She noticed.  “I cannot believe people actually write for these magazines.  Only an ingrate would care about these people’s lives.” 

“Completely under understand,” the man said, waving his hands.  “Whatever happened to real stories?  Take the war for instance.  We have men dying almost every day, yet the story is bumped to a small blurb when some star is arrested.”

“All you can say is why.”  Mrs. Shelton smiled.  This was a nice man that knew the world was going to hell in a hand basket.  “So what, may I ask, do you read?”

“I read Time until it became a liberal, atheist platform for people who want to do anything to take God out of our lives. Mostly, I read the classics.”

“Those are the only ones worth anytime.  I try to tell my students that writing use to be about change.  It used to be about creating a world that made you feel and brought you back to God.  Not drive you away.”

“You’re a teacher,” he said, raising his eyebrows. 

“Guilty!”  She let out a little chuckle.  “I am a high school English teacher,” she smiled as she subconsciously straightened her blouse.  “What was your name?”

“Colton White,” he said extending his hand. “Most people call me Cole or Dr. White.” 

She grasped his hand with a gentle squeeze.  “Bridget.”  Cole stepped close to her.  She could smell his cheap Stetson cologne.   She loved the fragrance.  She thought he smelt like a man should smell, rustic and God-fearing. 

“Now, this is a great magazine,” he said pulling a copy of Newsweek from the impulse shopper’s rack.  “This is probably the most unbiased publication in print.  Here,” he said taking another copy, “I’ll buy you a copy, too.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“But I insist.”

“I already have that issue,” she said with a smile.

Cole and Mrs. Shelton pushed their bagged grocery filled buggies out the automatic glass doors into the dim parking lot.  Mrs. Shelton’s stride had acquired an arrogant swagger that had not shown itself since she had met David’s father on a night much like this one. 

She had been attending the local Christian college while working nights in a bowling alley.  She was literally a starving college student just making ends meet.  She shared a one bedroom apartment with another literary major.  Her mornings were spent in class, afternoons in the books, and nights at work handing out shoes and shelling out change, while her roommate was dating, skipping class, and taking any pill she could get her hands on.

The bowling alley was busy the night she met the man that would become David’s father.  Mike had been going to Burton State University just a few blocks away.  He and his friends were frequent visitors to the establishment.  Every Thursday and Saturday they would play till nine.  They liked to bowl but the low priced beer was the key ingredient to their love of the place.  It was a good start to their evenings.

Mrs. Shelton and Mike had met in passing several times.  Although Mrs. Shelton had noticed the good looking twenty-year-old man, she had never had any real interest in him. He was just one regular coming in for a few frames and a beer after the leaguer’s were done playing and before the niners (this is what the workers called the date bowlers) came in to try their hands at impressing some girl with their skill or some girl trying show her lack thereof.  Mrs. Shelton was not sure how much but she knew there was plenty of premarital sex to be had at the end of many of the bowling/mating rituals.

Mrs. Shelton had been cleaning a well-used pair of shoes on a slow Wednesday evening when Mike had arrived.  He was alone, slightly inebriated, and looking as if he had just taken his dog to the wood shed and pulled the trigger. “Ten and half, please,” he said dropping the seventy-five cent rental charge on the counter, one of the coins bouncing off then spinning to a stop on the floor.

Mrs. Shelton reached down below the counter and grabbed a clean pair of shoes setting them beside the fifty cents.  “Can you grab the other quarter, please, sir?” she said.  She gave him a stern look as if to let him know she was in charge.  Mike found the look intriguing.

“Well,” he mumbled as he bent down.  She could not hear him.  “Thanks,” he said handing her the quarter and retrieving the shoes.   Mike stumbled a few steps then completely lost balance.  His head connected with a rack of balls, his vision whitened just before he felt the warmth of the trickling blood cover his cheek.  He landed hard on the thin carpeted floor.  Mrs. Shelton stared for a moment, almost laughing, then she noticed the blood pool beginning to creep from under his head. 

“Oh, my God,” she said, lifting the counter exit.  “Get a cold wash rag,” she said pointing at the bartender.  She knelt down at Mike’s side wandering if he was alive.  A noise crept out from under the lump of meat lying before her.  It almost sounded like…pig breathing.  Then Mike opened his mouth and let out a jackhammer snore.  The bartender rushed in with the wash rag and handed it to her.  Another jackhammer pecked through Mike’s nostrils.  Mrs. Shelton and the bartender chuckles broke into a guffaw neither could control. She picked up Mike’s head dropping it once, not being able to control the clenching of her muscles.  She rolled Mike onto his side and wiped his blood soaked face clean revealing the culprit of the massive blood stain on the floor, a small forehead gash. 

Mike regained enough consciousness to be welcomed by the shoe girl and the bartender laughing and a small group of on lookers staring at his drunken self-inflicted trauma. 
What a damn day!
He picked himself up from the floor. He stumbled to his feet almost falling again.  Mrs. Shelton wrapped her comforting hand around his arm.  She helped him to a nearby table and sat him down, still laughing as he began moaning.

              “Can you get him a cup of coffee?”  The bartender nodded through his own chuckles.  Mike looked at the table hesitant to make eye contact with the shoe girl.  Mrs. Shelton wiped the still flowing wound.  A sting spread through his face, forcing his jaw to clinch.  “Thanks,” she said as the bartender sat a steaming cup in front of Mike.

              Mike took a small sip, his head thumping every beat of his heart.  “That must have been pretty funny, huh?”

              “That was one of the funniest things I have ever seen,” she laughed.

              “Thank you.  I am glad I could be of service.”

              “I’m sorry,” she said still laughing.

              “No, don’t.  I wish I could have seen it.  I would have probably laughed, too.”

              “Oh, we have it on tape in the back.”  They both laughed. 

Mike wrapped his hand tight around the cup and took another sip.  Mrs. Shelton wiped more blood from his forehead.  He caught her hand as she was pulling it away.  “Thank you,” he said.  He kissed her palm then let it go.

“Well, you are welcome,” she said smiling.  He looked back at her almost penetrating her with his eyes. 

Mike stayed with her the rest of the evening.  In between customers, they would talk about everything from college to cars to politics.  He charmed her all the way to her apartment and into her bed.  The night was the first time she had given herself to a man.  God would be angry but he would understand.  But God had not.  Mike was gone in the morning.  He left her a note telling her he had appreciated everything and that he was not ready for a relationship and other one-night-stand lines that she heard about from her roommate.  He had given her a fun and run, also another roommate lesson.  It was a month later she found out she was pregnant.  David came eight months later.  Mike had tried to do the honorable thing but the marriage did not last.  By the time David was eight, he knew what it was like to live without a dad. 

Cole placed Mrs. Shelton’s last bag of groceries in her car.  “Well, that’s all of them,” Cole said.  “It was great to meet you.”

“It was nice meeting you, too.”

“Do you mind if I call you sometime?  We could maybe go have a drink.”

“Oh, I don’t drink.”

“Dinner, then,” he said with a laugh.

“That would be nice,” She said.  She reached into her purse looking for a pen and a piece of paper. 

“Hello, Mrs. Shelton,” someone called from behind her.  Mrs. Shelton did not recognize her until the girl was only feet away. 

“Hello, Destiny,” she said pulling out the pen she had been searching for.  “How are you?”

“Been better, ma’am,” she said touching to bandage on her nose.  “I heard David is seeing Carissa.”

“Well, he hasn’t told me.”

“Well, I figured he wouldn’t.  You might want to stop him.  She’s kind of a slut and she takes drugs.  David is nice boy.  I wouldn’t want to see him go down that road.”  Destiny smiled. 

“Well, thank you for telling me.  When will I see you back in my class,” Mrs. Shelton said returning the pen to her purse.

“Oh, I’m transferring to Bartlett.  My father thinks it would be best.”

“I am sorry this had to happen to such a sweet girl.”

“I wish I could graduate with my class but Carissa might do this again.  If she can’t control herself, she needs to be in jail.  I have to go ma’am.  You were one of favorite teachers,” Destiny mustered a tear.  “I am going to miss you,” she said hugging Mrs. Shelton.

“You just try to adjust to your new school and keep your grades up.”

“Bye, Mrs. Shelton,” Destiny waved, walking away.

“Bye, now.”

Mrs. Shelton gazed at Cole’s handsome frame realizing what was happening.  Just as God had punished her for that night of extramarital fornication, he was punishing her for the act that she was participating in now.  She knew it all too well.  The tingling in her knees, the swagger, and the feeling that if Cole were not inside her she was surely going to die.  Yes… she knew this feeling of lust.  The same lust that had ruined her early twenties, had smashed any chance that she had had for her Masters, and not letting her have the time needed to do His work. 

  Mrs. Shelton needed to get home and save her son from the everlasting fires that were sure to engulf him if she did not change his ways.  The ways passed down from the world, the ways that were past down from Mike.  She knew, God knew, and soon David would know that the path was wrong.

“So, when should I call you?” Cole said.

“Never,” Mrs. Shelton replied, her voice stern.  Cole was stunned.   

“Well, then, it was nice meeting you,” Cole extended his hand, the gesture not returned.  He looked at her hand, smiled, and pushed his buggy to the next isle of cars.  

23

Mrs. Shelton pressed the accelerator; her tires spun leaving black tracks in the parking lot.  Images of that little whore and her innocent son fornicating were all she could see. 
Demons are in that harlot and they want David, too.  They cannot have him.  He is not theirs!
 
He will not be like Mike.
  She felt the heat of the Lord boiling in her chest. 

Mrs. Shelton pulled into her drive almost hitting the house.  She exploded through the front door nearly pulling it off its hinges.  David listened from his room as she rifled through drawers.  He heard the uncanny sound of the cold metal “rod” leaving its home.  “David!” The walls echoed.  “David!” Her voice cracked. 

He stepped into the hall, “Yes, mother.” With “the rod” in hand, Mrs. Shelton stormed at David intent on punishment, intent on saving him, intent on releasing him.  She pushed him back into his room.  He balanced himself just as her first slap connected with his cheek.  “Mother,” David said throwing up his hands to block another if it were to come.

“Aren’t I enough for you David?  Is God enough for you?” She yelled inches from his face.  He felt warm droplets of saliva splash against his now pursed upper lip.  She pushed him to the ground.  “I cook for you!  I give you a house!  And all you want is a little whore!” She held the word till her lungs ran out of push.  “You think you can have it all.  It doesn’t work that way.  You either have me and God or you have a sinful existence with your little whore.”

“Mother, please,” David cried from the floor.  

“Please what, David!  You want me to save you from your sinful ways.  You want me to burn for eternity.  You want me to give up God so you can have some little fling with the town slut!”

“She’s not a whore!” David lifted himself from the floor.  “I love her.”

“Love her?” The blade sliced long through David’s shirt ending with a deep gash in his skin.  A thick, crimson stream began to flow.  David closed his eyes convinced the end of the lashing would be his final breathe.  Mrs. Shelton slashed with every word, “I… give… you… every… thing… and… teach you… about… the love… your… father… never… gave… and… you… just… want… to have… a little,” vertigo over took David, the floor catching his fall. “Whore,” Mrs. Shelton breathed heavy as she left the room. 

David lay there unable to move and feeling the blood flow from his mangled torso.  Cold over took him.  Looking at his feet, Mrs. Shelton’s figure appeared in the doorway.  Was this his mind playing tricks?  She smiled at him.  She held a white box and towel.  He felt her kneel down beside him.  She leaned close to his ear, “Do you really love her, David?”  Her warm breathe splashed against his ear.  The soft tone of her voice made David hope that she would understand.

“Yes, Mother,” David forced through his pale lips.  The room vanished from David’s sight when the handle of “the rod” rapped his temple.

The cold sting of the alcohol being dumped on David’s chest pulled him back to the reality that he had momentarily escaped.  “You love her!  You love her!  You just want to slip your little phallus into her.  Oh, she would like that, too.  That damned whore!”  Mrs. Shelton shook the bottle until it slipped from her hands.  “Lord, help me to keep teaching my son about your will,” she said raking the towel across his chest. 

“Mother,” David groaned. 

“Shut up!” Mrs. Shelton pulled a spool of sewing thread and a needle from the box.  “I do everything for you, David.  I cook, I clean, and all I ask of you is to be a good Christian boy,” she said as she threaded what he perceived as a stainless steel spike. 

The first push of the needle broke through the flesh, clinching David’s body into an almost fetal position.  Mrs. Shelton backhanded him knocking his head, again, to the floor.  What little blood David had left was now flowing from his nose.  The needle entered the raw flesh across the wound then back through again.  She pulled the thread taut almost ripping it through David’s skin.  She tied a knot and began the second of eighty-seven more stitches, David losing and regaining consciousness throughout.

David awoke to find himself, not surprisingly, alone.  He forced his swollen eyes to look around the room.  The towels Mrs. Shelton had used to wipe the blood from his chest were in a pile beside him.  He did not know how long he had been out but the darkness and the quarter-moon light still stood high in his window.  David’s stomach moaned for sustenance.  He pushed himself up, and crossed his legs.  He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees and cupping his face, feeling crusted blood.  Tingles surged from his chest then radiated through his body.  His stomach wrenched.  David tried to stand but he was far too weak. 

He fell forward, his arms barely catching him.  It took him almost an hour to crawl from his room to the kitchen.  Once there, he was too tired to pick himself up to open the refrigerator door.  He laid in-front of the icebox looking up at the white barrier that stood between him and living another day.

With her feet propped on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and her face buried in them, Carissa tried to fight through the pain and anger induced by the advent of her father’s lust.  Her father had raped her.  Carissa never fought back before but this time she had and lost.  Maybe this was all she had, maybe all she would ever have.

Carissa sat glaring at the door.  She was not sure what she was looking for.  She knew he would not be back for more, at least not tonight.  For now, she was as safe as she could be. 

Carissa touched her stomach.  She attempted to feel the life that was growing inside her.  She wanted to know that this and everything she would face for the rest of her life would be worth the endurance of the tragic chain she would have to add links to as the road twisted just to keep from dragging.  But sadly, the truth did not lie with a connection to a child that was only the size of a bean, at most.  The truth lay dormant in some crevasse of strength in her soul that she would have to find.

Her abdomen wreathed.  The pain spread to her legs and in an instant it was gone.  Carissa rose slowly.  She felt a warm stream trickle down her leg.  Not bothering to dress, she walked out the door and to the bathroom.  She wanted Randy to come out of his room; she wanted him to see what he had done.  She reached through the shower curtain, turning both knobs to the setting she had used countless times before.  Her stomach wrenched again, this time slightly longer and more intense.  She stepped into the shower.  She watched the white basin turn vermilion as the water rushed over her body.  She washed every inch of flesh paying special attention to the areas Randy had touched.  But no matter the amount of soap or harshness of her scrub, the filth remained embedded.  The vigor of every thrust could still be felt in her torn flesh.

David woke as the sun cracked the horizon.  The hunger clenched his muscles.  Small movements gave way to outstretched arms, to a grasp, and then to an open refrigerator.  A pitcher half full of two day old sweet tea taunted him.  He could hear his mother saying, “Do not drink from the container, David.”  But she was not here and David did not give a good goddamn.   He clasped the pitcher’s handle and pulled it to the edge of the shelf, weakened still.  He propped his free arm palm open to catch the bottom of the pitcher just in case his strength gave way.  His final pull left the shelf behind and the container’s bottom met with David’s open hand. 

Holding the container, staring at the fluid swaying then cascading before him, he licked his dry lips.  A surge overtook the weakness.  Touching the spout to his mouth, the liquid washed across his taste buds, soaking his dehydrated mouth then washing down his throat, insides again clenching.

The tea was gone within a few large gulps, strength building.  He watched as the emerging fog flowed from the bottom self and down to the floor.  Condensation built on the crisper drawers.  He noticed the cool escaping and dancing across his swollen wounds, soothing there burning tinge.

David ran his fingers through the condensate watching the droplets fall.  He could see the green of an apple resting content in its red matted bag.  He slid the drawer until it toppled from its seat.  The bin fell to his side, scattering the contents on the linoleum floor.  The first apple gently touched his fingertips as its brethren collided against David’s leg.  He caressed the smooth green skin.  His index finger touched the fruit’s hardened dead stem.  He had never thought of something as simple as an apples texture, his appreciation had never given itself to analysis, but this apple was perfect, life giving.  He clasped its cool flesh, bringing to his lips.  The firm fruit smelled sweet and satisfying.  He gave it a quick kiss then he sunk in his teeth.  The juice ran down his chin as he uncontrollably devoured the fruit.  Crunch after beautiful crunch, the sweetness grew, strength coming with it.  After four apples and a half of a package of ham and cheese luncheon meat, David was able to rise from a sit to a shaking stand.  Pins and needles overtook his hand as he pressed it against the freezer compartment door. 

Carissa stepped from the basin and onto the bathroom floor.  Her stomach had soothed as her period began.  The blood was a darker red with heavier clumps than she was use to.  She was sure the baby was gone. 

Opening her bedroom door, she heard the saw of her father’s nose as he slept peacefully, fully without a care for what he had done.  His pillow softly caressed his satisfied soul into a beautiful eclipse of the past and present, dancing in unison along the dreamscapes of his defiled escape.

Carissa’s anger, or what she thought was anger, guided her from the door to the closet to the bed, back to the door, down the hall, and out the front.  The crisp windy night grazed her face, cheeks tightened.  The stars littered the sky with bluish light. Her steps were brisk, still guiding her, not against her will.  Each foot seemed to press deeper into the concrete, cacophonously driving her forward.

When her legs finally stopped moving she was in the space she had shown David only days before. The trees rustled as they had always in the night.  Gusts increased the sounds of the trees damping the noise that chattered in her head.  But this time was different.  She felt it odd but something told her she was being watched.  She passed the feeling off as wild thoughts brought on from the song of the coyote howls being carried by the passing winds.

              David moved slowly from the freezer door, his strength gaining but still well below the threshold of what was needed to actually move for any meaningful time.  He stumbled with an extra apple in one hand, a large glass of water in the other.  He stopped to rest only several feet from where he started.  A few deep breaths and a large swig later, he stepped into the hall, through the doorway of his room, placed the apple and water on the nightstand, then collapsed to his bed.  Something told him he would be safe for now, something else told him to get the hell out and not come back.  He embraced the first and drifted back into a semi-comatose state.