Shadowed Soul (6 page)

“Mom, can I get this?” I asked anxiously holding up a carded figure of Donatello, the last of the
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
I did not yet possess.  Our general store was just down the block from where we lived.  With no siblings it was just my mom and me in the apartment.  My dad was serving our country as a soldier somewhere in the desert, fighting bad guys.  Big Old Angry Jake owned the general store.  Jake would chase you out with a broom if you came in alone, on most occasions.

“Son of a
beesh
!” Jake would curse.  “Stealing
my
candy, damn you!”

But sometimes, if his mood was right, he would call you over to the counter.  You would think you were dead meat, even though you had not done anything bad.  Then, he would hand you a pack of baseball cards or a comic book.  This only happened if they had arrived damaged.

“I guess it’ll stop you from tryin’ to steal from me, kid!”  He would say each time.

His store was wonderland to me.  A maze of shelves laden with groceries, paperbacks, cheap looking statues of dragons and hardware; Jake sold everything.

“Mom! 
Please
…”  I wailed.  My mother was deep in conversation with Jake; both bore a serious expression but I was eight and did not care.  I just wanted Donatello the Turtle.  Mom regarded me, her face sharper and angrier than I had seen it before.  She had been in an odd mood for a week, snapping at me for little things and I thought I had heard her crying when she was in the kitchen making dinner the night before.

“What is it, Thomas?  What do you want?” asked my mother impatiently.  I held up the object of my desire, my eyes pleading with her.

“Can I get Donatello?  He’s the only one I’m missing.”

“You don’t need it, Thomas!” said my mother hotly.

“Yes, I do!  I have Raphael, Michelangelo and Leonardo.  I need Donatello!”

“Well, we can’t always get what we want,” she said, sighing. “Put it back.  I don’t have the money to waste on toys.”

“But, mom!”  I gagged on my own protestation, silenced by the veiled hostility in my mother’s stare. 

Sullenly replacing Donatello, I ambled to the comic book rack, my lip quivering.  Although I was not paying attention to my mother’s conversation with Jake the occasional snippet drifted past me.

“…does the kid know?” asked Jake.

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“The son of a
beesh
always was bad news, everybody knew that…”

“…I don’t know what to do, Jake….left us with nothing…”

Their conversation was so involved I got to read an entire issue of
The Fantastic Four
and got about half way through a
Spidey
.

“Thomas, we’re going.  Put that back.”  As I did she headed for the door.  I followed her with my head hung low, hands deep in my pockets.  Since my dad went to the war I had been a good boy and had not asked for much.  I hadn’t many toys and it wasn’t as if I was asking for a Shredder and a Casey Jones.  I just wanted the last turtle.  The harsh electronic door chime sounded when Jake’s rough voice jolted me out of my pout.

“Hey kid! Tommy!”  I turned around and saw Jake leaning against the counter, a fat cigar in his mouth. “Come here a minute.”  I glanced at my mom and noticed that she was as puzzled as I.  “Ain’t got all day, kid!”

I approached the counter slowly; my heart thrummed as I prepared to explain that I had not stolen anything.  Jake had always threatened to call the cops when I came in without my mother. But I was a good kid.  The walk was long and terrifying and when I reached the counter Jake glared down at me, chewing his cigar.

“I had these in the back of the store, they got damaged.  The plastic crap inside is okay but the cardboard’s torn.  So, you can’t go and resell it, now, you got that?”  Jake lifted three carded action figures from below the counter. “You better take’em and run…before I call the cops!  You little
shii
--” Jake winked and sat back.

In disbelief, I received Donatello, April O’Neil and Rocksteady as a gift from the Gods.  My heart hammered faster.  I turned to my mom to ask if it was okay for me to accept the gift. 

“Can I take them, mom?  Jake says it’s okay…can I?”

“If Mr. McKenzie says it’s okay,” said my mother.  A soft look of appreciation in my mother’s eyes amplified my joy.

“Thank you, Mr. McKenzie, you’re the best,” I exclaimed.

“Get outta’ here, kid!”

I was too busy basking in the glow of sheer joy to care about anything other than my new toys.  It was the last really good day of my childhood.  And maybe it had been on that sunny day, as the sidewalks blazed with July heat, the Shadowed Soul began to take form in the contrasting darkness cast by cars and buildings.  As I imagined the games that I would play with my new treasure trove, the Shadowed Soul grimaced imagining the games he would play with my mind.

I finished telling my Donatello story to Beth’s family.  I had not mentioned the Shadowed Soul, but everyone knew what had happened to my dad.  And they probably had a pretty clear idea why my mom had been so sad that day.  When she never showed for our wedding or any other family invitation, it was clear that whatever had happened when I was little, my mother’s sadness had gradually turned into a resentful silence that had been leveled at me throughout the rest of my life.  Beth’s family had simply smiled and shared in the joy that I had felt the day I procured Donatello.

“What happened to Jake?  Is his store still open?” asked Beth.

“Unfortunately, Jake died a couple years later.” I shrugged and looked at the baby.

Jake McKenzie had been shot dead by Frank Lombardi, who had been shown the same gruff kindness by Jake as every kid, a guy who lived on the same block as us.  Frank went into the store one night before closing and pulled a gun on Jake.  He had shot the big man in the chest twice, once in the throat and in the head.  Rumors went around that Lombardi was a mafia wise guy and that Jake was a stool pigeon.  But the more likely truth of the matter was far simpler.  Lombardi had shot Jake for the contents of the cash register and seven packets of cigarettes:  A decent man’s life in exchange for three-hundred bucks and some smokes.  The Shadowed Soul got a further hook into my life on that night.  However, I never told Beth, Pete and Dorothy of the senseless drama surrounding Jake’s death.  It was too painful to retell and my son deserved to be in a room with happier memories.

We talked till Jonathan needed a new diaper then Dorothy ushered Pete out, sensing that we needed time in our own little family. 

“Pete and I have errands,” said Dorothy with a wink. 

We sat together on the couch, Jonathan in Beth’s arms, Beth in my arms.  Soothing quiet engulfed us.  Our hearts beat as one, we were a family unit, for the moment, an impervious wall to the Shadowed Soul.

“He’s so tiny,” I whispered, touching Jonathan’s hand.

“I know, it’s scary, isn’t it?”  Beth leaned into me. “He’s so vulnerable.”

“He’s so cute,” I said proudly.

“Good thing,” said Beth.  “At this point, being adorable is his only self-defense.  I wonder what he’ll be when he grows up.”

“Astronaut or superhero,” I said and smiled admiring our son.

“Not the President then?”

“Yeah, he’ll be the super hero astronaut president of the United States.”  Beth giggled and Jonathan frowned with a gas bubble, his tiny arms flexing randomly as he got used to the functions of his new body.

“I just want him to be happy,” said Beth quietly.

“He will be,” I paused. “He’s got us to make sure of that.”  And when I said that, I meant it.  I was so hopeful that whatever I had been in the past would melt away and that having this tiny being as my lodestar I was destined to remain on the right path.

Exhausted, we watched our son sleep.  Then Beth said something that reminded me of the practical reality of my life.

“Bailey is going to love him isn’t he?  Will you bring him here around tomorrow?”

CHAPTER SIX

That night, I returned to Bailey who was eager to be walked and fed.  Beth remained with Jonathan at her parents’.  Much as I had tried to stay calm, the Shadowed Soul had joined me on the bus as I drew closer to home.

“Well, Thomas, she really wants her dog back,” said the Shadowed Soul smugly.  “She wants to get her entire life away from that dump heap of yours as quickly as she can, doesn’t she?  I don’t think she’s ever coming back.  Suppose it’s just you and me from now on, buddy, the old team back together again.”

“Piss off,” I muttered angrily.  An old lady seated across from me glanced up then avoided eye contact with me.  After a couple moments, she found herself a new seat that had opened up at the far end.

And even though I blocked out his virulent insinuations I could not help but believe what my longest companion in life was telling me.  In my opinion, well, the opinion given to me by my tormentor, Beth had not really fought to stay with me at our apartment.  Her real home was with me, yet she had accepted her parents’ offer with an unseemly speed. 

“If it feels like betrayal, Thomas, it probably is,” noted the Shadowed Soul scratching his back side.

“Jonathan is
my
son,
my
flesh and blood and the idea of
my
son staying in a house with Beth, Pete and Dorothy is bad enough but now she’s taking
my
best friend away. Bailey’s
my
fucking friend.”  I heard myself whispering angrily.

“That’s right, Thomas, she just wants to take everything you need.  Now you’re getting’ it.”

“How could she do that to me?”

“Oh, she’s just a
beesh
,” snickered the Shadowed Soul.

I got off the bus and marched to my shitty little apartment and threw open the doors.  Bailey immediately raced over wagging his tail, his big tongue lolling.  I avoided his greeting.  Brushing his torso and shoulder with my leg, I entered the kitchen.  I needed something but had no idea what it was I was looking for.  Coffee?  Beer?  What the hell was it I wanted?  Grimacing, I looked inside the fridge; there were a few cans of soda and I briefly considered opening one but I didn’t want one.  I slammed the door so hard Beth’s favourite magnet fell to the floor: 
Las Vegas
. 

“Gaudy piece of crap,” I hissed in short, angry breaths.  I gazed around the kitchen. “Nothing here I want.”  I turned to see Bailey gazing perplexedly from the doorway.  As I approached him, his ears perked up.  But he was leaving me tomorrow and I wanted nothing to do with him.  I barged past him, ignoring his plaintive eyes and I stormed through to my living room. 

“It’s mine now, not hers –
mine
!”  I looked around the room and noticed some of Beth’s stuff.  “If she wants Bailey back tomorrow, I’ll take her crap with me, too.” 

My tantrum continued.  I dashed back to the kitchen for a garbage bag and stuffed it full.  It would be easier not to see reminders of Beth.  The Shadowed Soul blocked my mind from the fact that Beth was still exhausted from the physical drain of having carried a child for nine months, followed by 37 hours of serious labor whose punch line was a surgery that forever altered her abdominal wall.  Recovering from her Caesarean section, enduring severe pain with each movement, Beth had also refused pain killers and sleep aids in order to nurse Jonathan drug-free.  All the while her sleep was interrupted every two hours to nurse our son or change a diaper.  And yet, my Shadowed Soul had me convinced that I was the one being inconvenienced here.

“It’s all crap,” I snorted, flicking through TV channels.  Cops, spaceships, reality shows about over-eaters, and yet I gazed at the screen.  “What a bunch of shit!”

Bored or thirsty, I wanted a soda.  I brushed past Bailey again on my way to the fridge, Beth’s magnet cracking underfoot.  I popped the can and drew hard. I tasted nothing.  Bubbles burned my throat.

“Crap soda!” I yelled slamming the can in the sink.  A breakfast dish cracked.  I did not care.  Alone and helpless, maniacal thoughts flooded my mind.  My tears gushed suddenly, I was out of control.  Strength left my legs and I sank to the floor, my back against the fridge.  So racked by sorrow, I did not notice how I cut my hand.  Blood on the floor tile tainted three chunks of broken plastic.
Vegas
.

“Fuck!” I had broken Beth’s fridge magnet.  This sent a new wave of grief through me.  With each breath, more tears.  I rolled onto my side sobbing, gripping the pieces of Beth’s
Vegas
in my bleeding hands.

I needed my wife
here
with me.  I couldn’t cope without Beth and Jonathan.  And, now that Bailey was leaving me I didn’t know what I could do to stave off the advances of the Shadowed Soul.  My loneliness consumed me.  My bloodied hands clutched at my hair as sadness and grief consumed me.

As always, my loyal friend came to me.

Bailey’s big friendly face nuzzled my hands, his nose sniffing out emotions that mummified me.  Licking the trails of salty tears, Bailey lay down on the floor and I wrapped my arms around his reliable neck, my face finding comfort in the silky fur.  His warmth anaesthetised my sadness.  He waited patiently as I wept.

Reclaiming my composure, I sat up and patted Bailey.

“Good dog,” I murmured. 

Although I was completely wiped out, I got it together long enough to get off the floor.  Together Bailey and I went to the couch and stared at a meaningless television screen.  Bailey sat beside me, allowing me to stroke his head.

“Maybe this won’t be too bad, Bailey,” I said.  “I mean logically, it’s best for everyone.  Beth and Jonathan and you in the same place, all safe and secure. Then I can find a way to deal with
Fuck Head
once and for all.”  I needed time to finally banish the Shadowed Soul from my life and I couldn’t do that with the distractions of a baby in the house.  It was a haul to visit Beth but it was not like they were moving away.  I could see them every day if I wanted to.  I would be more than fine.  It meant that in the times between work and visiting I could finally get around to the things that I had not been able to do yet.