Time Off for Good Behavior (36 page)

“
The thing is,
”
I went on,
“
I don
’
t feel anything. I did at first. I was a mess. It was an intense five minutes. Then, after that, it
’
s like... nothing.
”

I looked up at Molly. She was staring at her hands. Greta had tears in her eyes. She didn
’
t even know me or George. It must be hard to get up in the morning when you
’
re that empathetic.

“
I loved him once,
”
I continued, a little quieter.
“
He was a total shi
t, but for a long time, I loved him. Am I a horrible person for not feeling anything now that he
’
s dead?
”

“
No.
”
Greta
’
s voice was low and choppy.
“
You have feelings. You
’
re just shut down. They
’
ll come, in time.
”

I nodded.
“
How long, do you think? Because
I
’
d really like to... you know... move on.
”
I made a sailing upward motion with my hands.
“
I don
’
t want him to have power over me... still. I need...
”
I sighed and rolled my eyes, knowing I was going to sound like Father Gregory. But maybe that wasn
’
t such
a bad thing.
“
I think I need to find it in my heart to forgive him.
”
Molly nodded emphatically.
“
I know what you mean. But how can you?
”

“
I don
’
t know. I mean, how do you forgive something like that? Have you forgiven your ex-husband?
”

Molly paused, looki
ng down at her hands, which were resting on her abdomen. After a moment, she shook her head.

“
And how many years has it been?
”

“
Five.
”

“
Jesus!
”
I said, throwing my hands up in the air.
“
I don
’
t have five years to burn on this man.
”

Greta stood up.
“
I have
an idea.
”

***

The campground was almost empty. Mid-December was not a big camping time in Tennessee. We emptied out Molly
’
s SUV of everything we
’
d brought with us. A tent, three sleeping bags, pillows, wood, a little food including the necessary s
’
mores
ingredients, Putter, and two boxes.

One Molly
’
s, one mine.

Molly and I got the tent set up under Putter
’
s relaxed supervision while Greta made the fire. Greta had grown up in the great wilds of Montana, which made her our unofficial camp headmistress. By t
he time we
’
d thrown the sleeping bags inside the tent, the chill and gray of dusk were being held at bay by a tremendous bonfire.

I settled into the flannel shirt and jeans I
’
d bought when we hit the Wal-Mart. I put on the thick socks and the carpenter
’
s b
oots and felt one with nature, style-wise, anyway. If any form of wildlife came near me, I
’
d scream and hide behind Putter, but that was a bridge I
’
d cross when it came scurrying toward me.

Greta pulled out what looked like a big batch of small twigs and l
it them at the edge of the fire. Molly and I sat down on some tremendous logs that encircled the fire pit, with Putter inserting himself between us at our feet.

I leaned over toward Molly as I watched Greta waving the smoldering twigs in the air, apparentl
y saying some sort of prayer, although I couldn
’
t hear the words between the crackling of the fire and Putter
’
s awe-inspiring snore.
“
What is she doing?
”

Molly smiled, watching Greta with an expression of pride.
“
She
’
s burning sage. It
’
s supposed to clear
the energy.
”

“
Clear the energy?
”

“
Yeah. It
’
s called smudging. It
’
s a Native American thing.
”

“
Is she Native American?
”
I asked. Tall. Skinny. Blonde. She looked Swedish to me.

“
No, but you don
’
t have to be Native to smudge. You just have to believe.
”

Greta moved to the other side of the fire. We could barely see her through the flames.

“
What
’
s she doing now?
”

“
She
’
s saying a prayer to the east, west, north, and south. Then all the negativity will be gone, and we can continue.
”

“
No offense,
”
I said, rea
ching into our food bag and pulling out a handful of Cool Ranch Doritos,
“
but it seems kinda weird to me.
”

Molly laughed, her freckled face glowing in the light of the fire.
“
Yeah, I thought so, too, when she did it in every room of the house. But I
’
ll tel
l ya, I haven
’
t had any negative-energy problems.
”

I shrugged. I had to grant Molly that. Their home radiated peace. I might be picking me up some sage on the ride home.

Once Greta was done, she sat down next to us.
“
Okay. Which one of you is going first?
”

Molly and I looked at each other. I reached behind me and picked up my box.

“
Okay, what do I do?
”

“
Release him.
”

I sighed and clutched the small cardboard box tightly in my arms, trying to figure out what
‘
Release him
’
meant in terms of standing in front
of a fire with a box full of stuff. I didn
’
t have anything that actually belonged to George, so on Greta
’
s instructions, I had purchased things that represented him. The first item I pulled out of the box was a Harley-Davidson T-shirt.

“
George,
”
I said. My
voice was faltering. I felt like an idiot. And that fire was hot. I stepped back and turned to Greta.
“
I feel like an idiot.
”

Greta stood up. She took the T-shirt from me and smiled kindly at me.
“
Let me get you started.
”

She held up the T-shirt to the he
avens.
“
George Lewis, this is Wanda, releasing you.
”
She threw the shirt into the fire. The blaze grew a bit, then died down. She turned to me.

“
What
’
s next?
”

I reached in the box and pulled out a girlie magazine.

“
George, this is me, releasing you.
”
I thr
ew it in the fire. Naked woman after naked woman curled up and burned.

It felt good. I threw more items in the fire, gaining more enthusiasm for the process as I went. Next was a bumper sticker that read
“
Don
’
t like my driving? Call 1-800-EATSHIT,
”
followe
d by chewing tobacco. In hindsight, I probably should have taken it out of the plastic case first. When the black smoke cleared, I threw in a dangling skull-and-crossbones earring, which wouldn
’
t really burn, but it was more about the gesture, anyway. As
e
ach item went into the fire, I released him. It felt good. It felt right. Even if I woke up the next day feeling just as crappy as I had that morning, at least for a brief shining moment, I felt as though it was me being released.

Greta was definitely onto
something.

Finally, all that remained in the box was the St. Erasmus medal and a bottle of Jim Beam.

I handed the bottle to Molly and winked at her.
“
This is George
’
s gift to us.
”

She smiled. I walked over to Greta and gave her the medal.
“
I want to keep
this. Can you do your sage thing with it? You know, smudge all the negative energy away?
”

She grabbed the smoking hunk of weeds from the edge of the fire.

An hour later, after Molly had released her ex into the flames, we were all sitting on the logs, watc
hing the fire wane, drinking Jim Beam and Coke from plastic cups. We talked about our histories. I found out that Molly had lesbian tendencies before George ever touched her. Greta was an artist and made jewelry that she sold at local shows. Molly was fre
e
lancing as a marketing consultant. They agreed to come down to Hastings and get their pictures taken with Santa Bones.

“
Trust me,
”
I said.
“
It will be the best day of Bones
’
s life.
”

Later, curled up in a tent with two lesbians and one tremendous dog, I fe
ll into one of the deepest, most comfortable sleeps I
’
d had in a long, long time.

And when I woke up, I still felt good.

***

My mind was racing through the entire ride home. It was a good thing I had St. Erasmus around my neck, helping me navigate, because when I pulled into Elizabeth
’
s driveway, I couldn
’
t remember driving back.

I opened the front door. Elizabeth was on the sof
a, reading. Kacey was sitting on the living room floor, the PlayStation wide open and guts hanging all over the place. I dropped my bag on the floor.

Elizabeth dropped her book and hopped up off the sofa.
“
Thanks for calling, doofus! I was so worried about
you.
”
She ran over and hugged me, then gave me a semiplayful push.
“
You scared the hell out of me. What were you thinking? I was this close to calling the police!
”

I cringed.
“
Oh, man. I
’
m sorry. I didn
’
t think about it.
”

Elizabeth gave me a light smack
on the back of the head.
“
Call next time! People worry.
”

I smiled at her, trying to come up with something to say. I
’
d been alone for so long that it hadn
’
t even occurred to me that anyone would be worried by my taking off for a day. She turned and headed
toward the kitchen.
“
I have to call Walter. I called him to see if you stayed at his place last night. He
’
s been out looking for you ever since.
”

“
Oh, Christ,
”
I said, rubbing my hand over my forehead, feeling like a big dope.

“
Unless...
”
she said, pausing
and jerking her head gently in the direction of the phone.
“
Do you want to call him?
”

Yes.
I shook my head.
“
Tell him I
’
m sorry.
”

She nodded and retreated into the kitchen to make the call. I took a few tentative steps toward Kacey.