The Complete Collection (4 page)

I get up late this morning for my meeting
with Daniel. I’m supposed to meet him at nine o’clock at the diner. Maybe it’s
psychological. Trying to protect myself.

Daniel isn’t mean or violent, he just
blatantly doesn’t care about me. I am only a blip in his perfect history. He
didn’t even call me to make the appointment. He had his secretary do it.

I tried to kill Daniel once. Or at
least, I thought so hard about it that I came very close to doing it. I thought
about poisoning him. I thought about stabbing him. I even thought that all the
hormone treatments and the miscarriage might make for a good alibi. Finally, I
decided he wasn’t worth the jail time.

He would have tasted as bland as his
personality.

But if I had known for certain I could
get away with it, I would have done it. Daniel’s net worth would have made me a
suspect immediately. Even though I never cared about his money. I just wanted
him to love me.

I pull into the crowded diner parking
lot and give myself a pep talk. I try to make myself appear that I feel I am
worthy and intelligent. That I think I matter. He may have won, but I still
want to retain some of my dignity. That’s what I have to do before seeing my
ex-husband.

He is there already, and I see him look
at his watch as I walk through the door.

“Still punctual as ever, I see.”

“Hello, Daniel.”

“Please, sit.” He gestures to the other
bench. He snaps to get the server’s attention.

“Another coffee, please?” He points to
me. “You’re not hungry, are you?”

He looks very handsome. Tan. Probably
from being out on his sailboat. His blue eyes are bright but cold. He wears a
golf shirt.

“No, I’m not hungry.”

“Good. I don’t have a lot of time. I
have a meeting on the golf course in an hour, and with rush hour
traffic—”

“What do you need me to sign, Daniel?”

“Oh, uh, right.” He rustles through his
papers.

“Here, just some estate stuff. Thanks.”
He passes some papers to me, and I have them all signed in a few minutes.

“You’re looking good.” I know he’s
lying. He’s barely looked at me.

“Thanks. So are you. You got some sun.”

“The kids love the boat. It’s great.”

“How is Margaret? And the family?”

“They’re doing great, thanks.”

He runs through various community
activities and volunteer positions and charity balls and kids’ sports
activities while I quietly drink my coffee. Eventually, I interrupt him.

“Don’t you have to go?” I point at my
watch.

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Right. Thanks. You may
not be able to keep track of time, but somehow you’re still keeping me
organized! Wait, uh. How is…I mean, how are you?”

“I’m the same, Daniel. The same. Have a
good meeting. Take care.” I try to sound cheerful as I let him off the hook.

With a look of relief, he breezes back
out into the world of Daniel, leaving me to drink my coffee in solitude.

Selfish bastard.

The first time I talked to the dead, I was twelve
years old.

My best friend died of a heart condition
in seventh grade. She and I had been inseparable. Our walk to and from school
led us through a graveyard, and we would walk in between the stones, daring
each other to stand on unknown graves.

We’d make up stories about the names on
the stones, sometimes ghostly stories of revenge, and sometimes nicer stories.
We’d marvel over the ones that looked ancient, and we’d stare in fascination at
the freshly buried.

Her name began with an A too, so we’d be
the A team, or some other variation of A’s to the kids in school. I used to
always get in trouble for taking too long to walk home. But those were magical
times. It was the last time I can really ever remember feeling truly
weightless. No stones to carry around inside.

The other A was always sick, but I didn’t
think anything of it in my twelve-year-old mind. Then one day she went to the
hospital, and my grandmother came to get me at school.

I remember the walk to the principal’s
office in cheesy-movie slow motion. I see my classmates laughing, oblivious to
my path, but their voices sound slowed-down. I see my grandmother in the
sunlight by the office window.

I hear my grandmother saying that A is
dead. I hear my own screams separate from myself. I returned home from school
that day with a veil over my eyes. It never lifted, only got darker.

The other A was the first dead person I
ever saw. My grandmother walked me into the funeral home. As we got to the
door, I saw her in her pink-lined coffin. She was wearing her confirmation
dress, and she had her ring on. I had a matching ring, the one with the diamond
“A.” I stopped in shock. I tried to run away, but my grandmother stopped me.

“Don’t be so selfish. Look at her
mother. She is watching you. Waiting for you.”

The other A was buried in our cemetery.
I walked home by myself, but she was still with me. Now, I did not visit any
other graves. Only hers. I sat on the pile of freshly dug earth. Her family had
fashioned a temporary wooden cross that was stuck crudely in the ground.

We would sit and talk for hours. My
grandmother would finally come looking for me and lead me home for dinner. My
fingers were always covered in dirt.

I had already started watching horror
movies. The other A and I used to watch them together before she died.
Night
of the Living Dead
was my favorite, even then. And that was before I had
buried my best friend and started to wake up in the middle of night, imagining
her rotting away.

I imagined I could see the cemetery from
my bedroom window. I imagined, as I looked out my window in the dark, that I
could faintly see the other
A
shuffling up our long driveway in the
darkness. I could see her in her white confirmation dress, wearing her matching
ring. I imagined the other
A
was lonely in the cemetery.

I tried to talk to the other A from my
bedroom. I told her I would spend as much time as I could with her. I pleaded
with her to not dig her way out of the grave and come for me.

I had nightmares about the other A
rotting in the ground. I imagined her eyes white and glazed. Her mouth open. I
lost so much sleep that my grandmother took me to the doctor for sedatives.

Had it not been for Sam, back then, I
probably would have ended up in the ground next to the other A. Sam was always
there. I knew that. But even Sam could not penetrate the bitter moat of tears I
had surrounded myself with.

I walked around school with dirty hands
and circles under my eyes, either in a stupor from no sleep or a stupor from
sedatives. I would not allow anyone to sit in the other A’s empty desk. If
someone tried to, I made a huge scene. Her desk stayed empty the rest of the
year.

My grades fell. I stayed that way until
I finished eighth grade.

My school allowed me to graduate by the
skin of my teeth.

Part of me feels that they just wanted
me out of there.

All I did was remind them of death.

Tonight, I sit in the graveyard and think
of Sam. Poor Sam, always hoping to get a tomato from my dead garden.

Sam is the only person I can come close
to loving. He has never hurt me intentionally. He has never left me intentionally.
His eyes are so like my Blacksmith’s. And he does not know me as the monster I
am. I was not so nice to Sam the last time we were together. He deserves better
than me. He is a good friend. If Sam can love me, in any way, perhaps I’m not
all monster inside.

I fight myself over my feelings for Sam.
How can I be a good friend and be jealous? How can I get angry with him when he
dates other women? All I want is what is best for Sam. I could be a wonderful
wife to him. I could mother his babies.

I talk to my Blacksmith about it. And I know I’m
delusional thinking that.

I ask him why I can’t just tell Sam how
I feel. My Blacksmith shows me the earth behind the graveyard. He asks how I
can ever hope to have a future with someone like Sam, who belongs in the sun,
when I belong in the dark. In the dirt.

My Blacksmith is right.

But, I ask, what if I tell Sam
everything? What if I come clean and tell him all the things I’ve done?

My Blacksmith says that if I tell Sam, I
will lose the little that I have of him. He will think I am a monster. He will
leave me forever. He will be disgusted by me, and I will die alone in jail.

If I am quiet, I will still have part of
Sam. And I will always have my Blacksmith. And the dead. I will never be alone
here.

But sometimes, the dirt isn’t enough
when I want to be held in Sam’s arms. When I want him to tell me everything is
going to be all right. Sometimes, it just isn’t enough.

I ask the Blacksmith how I can ever stop
this hunger in my dead heart.

He tells me I have to feed my heart. I
don’t want to listen to my Blacksmith, but I know he’s right. He sees me for
all I am, every part. And he accepts and cares for all of me. He wants me, even.
Every step brings me closer to him.

I don’t want to think about it.

Tonight, I decide to go out.

I wear my black silk dress. It is short
and sleeveless. I pile my brown hair on top of my head and paint my lips red,
my eyes dark. I wear pink silk panties. And black shiny heels.

I hop on the train once again and head
out into the night.

This bar is more crowded than the last
one I went to. But the music is better.

I get
myself a drink and sit at the bar, watching people. A guy catches my eye. This
one is older than I am. He is cute.

Finally, he walks over to me. He isn’t
very steady on his feet, which is good. For later.

“Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” I smile at him.

He buys me a drink and puts his hand on
my hip. I don’t mind. I drink my drink and let this guy talk. I don’t even ask
his name. It isn’t important. And he isn’t interested in mine.

He keeps his hand on my hip. Normally, I
make some attempt to get to know my lovers. But tonight I feel impatient.

After some senseless small talk, I ask
the guy if he wants to go somewhere more private.

We push through the crowd and go outside
where he pushes me into the wall and kisses me. He’s sloppy and drunk. I can’t
even close my eyes and pretend he’s Sam this time. It’s that bad.

I push him off, but he persists.
Suddenly, I hear someone calling me.

“A.J.?”

I looked past drunk guy to see Sam. With
a girl.

“A.J., is that you? Are you okay?”

I fill with rage at the sight of him.
With her. I can’t even see her. Rage covers my eyes with black.

“Sam! How nice to see you.” My voice is
cold. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. And this is?” I gesture to the girl.

“This is…” His voice trails off as he
takes in my outfit.

“This is Kelly. Kelly, this is my oldest
and dearest friend, A.J. I’ve told you about her.”

“Wow. A.J. I’ve heard so much about
you.” She is looking me up and down. I want to slap her. I dig my fingernails
into my palm and decline her extended hand.

“You look different than I expected.”

“So do you,” I say.

“Well, you two enjoy your night. We were
just leaving.” I take my companion, who is zoning out into the distance, by the
hand and move him down the street.

Sam catches me by the arm when I am a few steps away.

“A.J., who is this guy? He looks totally
drunk. Where are you going with him? Why are you dressed this way?” He gestures
to my outfit.

I rip my arm away from his grip.

“What the fuck do you care? Go back to
your one true love.” I hate myself for saying it, but I can’t help it.

“A.J., wait. Don’t do this! It’s not safe.”

“Let go.” I make my voice as cold as I
can. He lets go of my arm and walks away.

This poor drunk idiot doesn’t know what
he’s in for. My rage is bitter, and my dead heart is hungry. We leave his car
behind, and I drag him onto the train. Leave the questions near the bar. Not
near my house. I learned that the hard way with Paul.

We get off the train. I have to shake
him hard to wake him up. I drag him up the driveway and up the hill to the
cemetery. He can barely walk. He collapses on my Blacksmith’s grave.

Exhausted, I sit on the ground next to
him. I kick off my heels and catch my breath.

I pull off my silk dress. Mostly naked,
I lean back on my hands in the dirt and think about Sam. About that girl.
“Kelly.” Them talking in the bar. Him chasing after me like the arrogant prick
he is, suddenly giving a shit if I’m all right.

I get my knife. I hold it for a while in
the moonlight. I light my candles. The light flickers on the knife. So does the
moon. I press my thumb into the tip.

I think about Sam in bed with that girl.
I think about her saying his name.

My rage is greater than my hunger.
Suddenly, I start stabbing the poor drunk. I stab him and stab him until I am
covered in blood. Blood is everywhere.

I lick it off my fingers and feel spent
and good.

I feel like the monster I have become.