1.
it’s both nothing and exactly like the movies.
there is a final gasp, a final muscle jerk, a final central-nervous-system stimulated reflex to reach out.
but it’s not nearly as dramatic. or as quick. not that it’s drawn out, per se, but the end title screen takes a second to pop up after the final line is delivered…. if you know what i mean.
the first time i was able to witness its reality was just after my seventh birthday.
my mom had invited her new distraction home for dinner, with the idea to introduce us and hope for cohesion. granted, this was time number eight just in the last three months. and i was seven.
my mom was never good at picking men, but this one was especially vile. when he arrived, i could hear him huffing up the porch steps before the front door ever opened sitting ten feet away in the living room. he was fat. strike one.
at dinner, mom led most of the conversation, trying to get Man #XX and i to engage with each other. i mostly shoved peas around my plate while he mostly shoved potatoes into his mouth. strike two. i excused myself after thirty agonizing minutes of this, my mom’s wine glass having been filled and emptied three times.
i sat in the living room on the floor about a foot away from the TV screen. mom never paid enough attention to offer the”you’ll ruin your eyes” advice, and i did it more for the comfort of the screen’s glow than to see. i had the volume muted, not evening watching as much as staring into the screen, listening to my mother attempt to continue holding conversation. from the absent responses, it sounded more like a monologue broken up with the sounds of out-of-shape mastication. which, of course, it was. strike three. this man was a user, and had every intention of getting as much as he could from my mom on every available front. an unfortunate reality, but not one i could confront. the concept was in actuality a great deal more abstract than that at seven years old, but i had seen her relationships enough times to establish patterns. some men gave a lot, some men took a lot. but all men were bad in one way or another. the ones that gave were most often the ones with empty promises they weren’t allowed to make in the first place, due to wives or otherwise. the ones that took never gave, and when they took they took without remorse.
we were poor, but mom pretended we could afford whatever we wanted. “it’s the same as dressing for the job you want, pet. you’ll see” she’d whisper, tears streaming down her face while smiling into nothing. i felt sorry for her, but being my mom didn’t make me believe she deserved my respect for her life choices. she was merely the person that provided the things i needed to live, and occasionally the things i wanted. but mostly she was the woman responsible for bringing strange men into the house that made my nose curl. because of these delusions, the men that were drawn to her were the ones that we couldn’t afford, financially or emotionally, and this one was about to levy a heavy tax for both.
after i heard the clink of the wine bottle on my mom’s glass for the sixth time, her monologue had slowed as much as her speech until eventually there were only the sounds of muffled huffing as Man #XX finished his third plate. mom stood, and i heard her collecting the dinner dishes and starting the water to wash them. a few minutes later, Man #XX’s chair scraped backwards and he heaved himself up, shuffling towards where i figured mom was at the sink. i noted the lack of dish clinks and stilled.
i couldn’t make out the words at first, and even when it became loud i could only piece out a few of the strongly accentuated words. curious, i turned from the tv screen and pushed myself to my feet to tiptoe towards the voices. i knew to listen without interrupting i would need to be sneaky, so as i dodged creaky floorboards i made my way to the furthest edge of the living room to escape line of sight. once accomplished, i continued forward until i could kneel and lean around the corner to see and hear their conversation.
i can’t tell you what they said. i can only tell you my mom had her steak knife in her hands, that her eyes were as wild as her hair, and that her gestures swooped dangerously close to slicing through Man #XX, who was standing all of a foot away from my mom. they were both drunk, but him the classic kind: swaying, eyes blinking separately and slowly, burping every other sentence. but he was as angry as she was.
i somehow knew he wasn’t going to get close until she had stopped talking long enough for her hands to stop swinging. when he started to speak, my eyes shifted downward to his feet, and i somehow knew when he adjusted to be able to strike. his coordination was worse than a newly-walking toddler, so i had little hope for whatever he thought to accomplish. in that moment, at seven years old, i wanted to make someone hurt like they did in the movies. i leaned back around the corner to stand, then walked around into view. both adults saw me and froze for half a second before Man #XX leaped backwards at the same time my mom dropped the knife. as it clattered onto the ground, i ran forward. my mom extended her arms, expecting a hug. i waited for the extra half-step backward from Man #XX to make room for me, and when he did i veered into him, shoving my entire sixty-pound frame into his stomach and groin. he stumbled, then tripped over his own feet, inevitably falling backward to his ass. as he fell, i grabbed the knife and swiveled towards him. i heard my mom gasp at the same time i watched panic follow surprise in his eyes, right before they clouded, my hand gripped around the knife’s handle that was now a protrustion of his ribs.
there’s a blank in my memory after this. things went fuzzy visually and auditorily, and i only vaguely remember being passed around for questioning to who i was later told were detectives from our city’s police force. the first thing present when my memory returns is being curled up in my mom’s bed with her petting my hair. she had mumbled a few somethings about how everything would be okay before stating, “i don’t think we’ll be seeing him again, pet.”
it would be years before i witnessed a death again, but every night until then i saw his eyes staring into mine. there were never words, never sounds. just his eyes, with the same expressions, then dulling before everything blacks out.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
my sophomore year of high school i met the first boy who didn’t make me turn immediately sour. i hadn’t accepted a single invitation on a date in my whole sixteen years, and while i didn’t plan to start, he had caught my eye.
he was a transfer student from a nearby public school that had to merge with others after closing due to county budget cuts. he was a junior, on the basketball and debate teams, had a 4.8 GPA, and was all every girl in the school could talk about. while i never joined conversation, he had caught my eye. but not because i thought he was anything special in the looks department. he was attractive, yes, but there was something about him, an intangible quality i couldn’t name. without a conversation, i was drawn to what i believed he could have to offer. not romantically, but scholastically.
he was quiet and mostly kept to himself. that is, when others allowed. when he wasn’t being swarmed by the cheerleading squad or debate nerds, i most often noticed him in whatever quiet corner was available, head buried in a journal.
one such occasion, i picked a spot to sit where i could watch him inconspicuously. i wanted to learn what i could to evaluate whether curiosity warranted attempting a conversation. i set up my laptop so i could watch for extended periods of time without being accused of creeping if noticed, and observed.
the first thing i noticed was that his face stood in contrast to his body. while the length of him was relaxed in his seat, leaning backward with elbows propped and left hand resting on the alternate page to where his right hand wrote, calmly and with purpose, his face was wrinkled in concentration. forehead to chin was drawn downward, as if whatever he was looking at made him angry to see. his eyebrows, normally square to his cheekbone, were pointed downwards to his nose. his eyes seemed half-closed, his blinks stretched a time span apart that would normally result in dryness or tears. his mouth was pursed into a frown, his lips flat but the lines frowning, his jaw clenching and unclenching.
he looked up only once, hand pausing in thought. his expression changed only by his eyes opening as he looked upwards and out into whatever empty space he saw before him. where most people would shift repeatedly over the span of an hour, he shifted only to adjust his hands and turn the page he was writing in, and once moved his foot an inch backward. his breathing stayed even, and his writing pace never faltered.
he’s calculated, i thought.
i waited a few days before watching for another one of these quiet moments of secretly observing him. i wanted to approach him, but i gave him the time to be unbothered before breaking concentration. i waited for the predictable pause of the pen to walk up to him. i knew his glasses would block his peripheral if i came up from the side, so i chose a path within his direct line of sight. i saw when his eyes caught me walking up to him before his thought processing caught up, and i turned my mouth upwards into a greeting smile. as his concentration broke from his journal to my presence, his expression relaxed from the grimace to neutral before he returned the smile.
i sat in the chair across from him, plunking my bag to the floor next to me. he placed his pen in the journal as a page marker and closed the covers, sliding it to the side to lean forward in his seat.
“you’re theo.” i said. his smile broadened as he nodded. before he could respond, i extended my hand. “i’m navy.”
theo exhaled a laugh, shaking my hand back as he questioned, “navy? like the color?”
we dropped our hands and i nodded, explaining that i was supposed to be macy, but in her labor-induced psychosis, my mother uttered “navy” and signed the birth certificate without looking. when she finally noticed all the paperwork and bracelets saying “navy” and questioned the nurse, she accepted the explanation and kept the name.
“interesting,” he mused, entwining his fingers under his chin. i noticed his eyes just then. he had moved just perfectly to avoid any glint of light in his glasses lenses, giving me clear view to the cerulean beauties behind them. the eyes are the window to the soul, yet i could see nothing except what seemed like endles blue.
but it wasn’t the color that was enchanting, it was the lack of a read. i had watched him for over an hour, and sitting in front of him could still tell no more about him than what anyone else could.
“so what’s this thing you have going on?” i blurted. subtletly is my least favorite avenue. he really laughed then, a full belly laugh that echoed through the rec room and forced his head backward and eyes closed. i waited for him to finish, head cocked as i watched him, bemused by the reaction.
“i’m assuming you mean the journal,” he mused, drawing it to himself as he spoke. i stayed silent as i was motionless. he looked down at it, and i watched the corner of his mouth twitch knowing he was contemplating an answer to give me.
i assumed he would give me a non-satiating explanation. a diary, or collection of thoughts, or “it’s private.”
instead, he said, “okay” and shoved it towards me.
i stared at him. “that’s it?”
he shrugged. “no one’s asked yet. i figure if you’re bold enough to ask you may as well get the answer.”
we both allowed silence to lapse. i noted that it wasn’t uncomfortable, even without breaking eye contact. i shoved the journal back to him.
“that’s a big show of trust for someone whose name you just learned.”
he shrugged again. “you’re not the telling type.” my eyebrows furrowed at this, and he continued, “i noticed you watching me, yet you didn’t say anything until now. you’re curious, but not because you want a tell-all.”
at this i was shocked, but i refrained from gasping dramatically. i nodded like i knew or agreed before he continued again, “i think you’d probably appreciate- or at least resonate with- what i have in here.” and slid the journal back towards me.
i looked down at it, contemplating immediately shoving it into my bag or else shoving it back and making him leave it there. then i smiled before looking back up. “explain.”
he dropped his hands, leaning forward into his elbows and his head coming down in conjunction with his volume switching to a whisper. serious face.
“i knew who you were, navy.”
i still didn’t gasp, but my head did jerk back in response. “how? and why didn’t’ you say so?”
“i lived on jasper street in 1989.” he brushed past the “why”.
i stayed quiet. i knew what he was talking about: Man #XX. most people would begin to try to defend themselves, or else pretend like they didn’t know what the other person was talking about. he knew i meant for him to keep talking, so he did.
“navy, you were seven. i was eight. but my first was at seven, too. self-defense of course-“ and he waved his hand at this like it was a moot point- “but like you.”
“wait,” i held my hand up, shaking my head. “are you saying you think i did it on purpose and claimed self-defense?”
“no!” theo whisper-shouted, holding his hands up in defense. “i was saying it happened to me too, i just thought i had to include that so you didn’t think i was.”
i lifted an eyebrow, nodding once to signal “okay” and he exhaled.
“anyway, i dream. like, i dream a lot. the first therapist threw up about ten minutes into my first dream, excusing herself and then sending in her assistant to have my parents pick me up. the second therapist suggested i seek god. the third and final just stopped me and told me they wouldn’t be able to offer me the help i needed and referred me to a clinic that offers a sleep aide meant to take away the part of sleep that gives you dreams. my parents nixed that, which i was okay with, but i still dream. so, i journal,” and he gestured towards it.
i kept my eyes on it, concentrating on my breaths staying even. he was offering the idea that i wasn’t alone while extending the utmost of truth and trust at the same time. my mom could never afford a therapist for me, and the one time i had tried to talk about that night she turned dark, told me to never mention it again, and walked away. she ignored me for weeks, coming out of it right before christmas to inform me santa wouldn’t be visiting. “oh, and Man #XXX needs a place to stay while he waits for his apartment’s heat to be repaired so he’ll be staying with us for a while.”
the conversation with theo finished with him standing up and the final bell ringing before he told me to keep the journal. “i have others, if you want more, and i’ll have more to fill. my parents would rather spend ten dollars a month on a journal than thirty times as much on three hours of therapy.” i don’t remember if i nodded or said thank you, or even acknowledged theo as i tucked his journal, pen still as placeholder, into my bag and made my way to the buses. i was too concentrated on his eyes still.
not their color, and not even the moment i noticed them. but i kept replaying his eyes as he said “self defense, of course.” it wasn’t his tone that stuck out obviously if i was fixated on his eyes, though it did contribute. but what i zeroed in on was what i was currently debating: i could swear i saw the slightest twitch in the pupils as he got to “of course”. but why? deception? the rest of what he said seemed genuine, why wouldn’t this particular phrase be?
i finally shook it from my head as i closed my bedroom door after i finally arrived home. i dropped my bag next to my desk and flopped backward onto my bed, kicking my shoes off and drawing my knees up to my chest. i reflected on my classes throughout the day, mentally listing my homework for each and delegating time slots in the appropriate spaces for their due dates. as i started to drift towards the low growl in my stomach and what i would do to remedy it, my eyes popped open and i did gasp. i clapped my hand over my mouth and my eyebrows furrowed, then relaxed. i dropped my hand, then smiled, then laughed.
oh theo… theo, theo, theo, i thought. i shook my head and sighed, running my hands through my hair.
“my first…”
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