Patr of "Within These Walls"06:31 Jun 08 2006
Times Read: 531
“Where were you last night?” Jen asked Barbra.
“I told you,” Barbra answered. “Bobby needed me late at the shop.”
“Thanks for telling me,”
“What? I told you.”
“No, and I had to take care of Oddis all by my self. He undid his chains. You said you fixed them. Remember, he’s smaller then he looks.”
“I’m sorry, God, you don’t have to get all bitchy about it.”
“Who’s getting bitchy? I’m just saying,”
“That’s all you ever do, you’re just saying.”
“Well, you never take up your end of the responsibilities. We took him in together, and we both agreed to take care of it. So stop getting all wigged out.”
The car fell silent then. Jen looked out her window; it was night, the moon hidden behind thick, imposing clouds. The sky was sopping with them, and the air perfumed with the promise of rain. Jen looked at the roads as they drove by. All seemed too familiar. She’d grown up all thirty six years of her life here. She’d known no other world, even as it slowly deteriorated right in front of her eyes as the infection of drugs and gangs set in the streets
“Where’re we going?” Jen asked.
“I've gotta pick up some things at the store. Need anything?”
“Yeah. I’ll go in with you.”
“Hey, did Charles ever call you back?”
“Nope, and I’m not calling him either.”
“Come on, he’s a nice guy, and kind of cute.”
“So was Ted Bundy. Charles is a total control freak”
“Well what about Todd?”
“That tubby pervert? Last time I talked to him I practically had to beat him with a stick to keep him from looking at my tits.”
“James?”
“What about him?”
“He’s really cute.”
“Yeah, and a fruity bastard to.”
“How so?”
“First off, he’s an interior decorator, second, he has more shoes then the both of us together. He wears wool sweater in the summer, rolls the sleeve to his elbow, and wore a turtle necks to a bicker bar.”
“Any one with a matching pair of shoes has more shoes then you do.”
“Bitch.”
“Dirty whore.”
The store wasn’t so busy that night. Aside from the army of well cropped, well primed employees dressed in white and blue, only a hand full of customers shopped in this upper class part of town. Jen and Barbra were both met with wondering, askew glances and glares as the two walked about in tattered clothes and messily worn hair.
“We could have at least changed cloths at the house,” Jen said.
“Oh come on,” Barbra defended. “You haven’t changed those in five days.”
“Haven’t shopped in seven. Look at you; you’re still wearing your cloths from the shop, and the grease from the engine you scrubbed.”
“So? Anyway, what do you need?”
“Huh, I need more aspirin and some raisins.”
“Alright, I need some duck tape, bungee chord, and some rope for the shop.”
“Don’t we have masking tape at home?”
“Yeah but that peels to easy.”
“Oh.”
Woman walked by, a "name" as they called them. She dressed in name brand cloths wore only name brand makeup, and carried name brand hand bags. In this woman’s bag sat a small poodle with glossy, cowed eyes. As it passed, its eyes curled with anger, and from its mouth came a throaty growls and teeth that could have put piranha to sham.
“Look at that crap,” Barbra said as the woman passed.
“What?” Jen asked as she turned to see the spectacle.
“Those are some nasty little dogs.”
“Yeah,”
“I mean what do they do aside from eat and shit?”
“They look expensive, that's what.”
“Don’t you have something like that?”
“Like that? No.”
“Well what about,”
“He’s a little wiener dog. Oh you needed tape.”
“Yeah, but look at this stuff, its almost six bucks a roll.”
“And?”
“Come on, I'm not going to spend that on a roll of tape.”
“Then don’t buy it.”
“But we really need it.”
“We have stuff at the house,”
“I told you that stuff peels easy.”
“Then get this stuff then. You’ll pay you back when we get to the house.”
“Fine.”
As they shopped, an elderly woman bumped her way through Barbra and Jen. She was a canvas of which only Picasso could have conceived, with sunken, scowling eyes, thick lines and a protruding chin and nose that pointed sharply towards the ceiling. She passed the two is if little more then breaking wind.
“Did you see that?” Barbra asked.”
“Hey, it’s no big deal.”
“Like hell,” Barbra said as she raised her voice. “If I have a problem with someone I come out and say it. I don’t just run into people like they’re not even there, bitch!”
“Barbra,” Jen said with touch of urgency.
“I’m sorry, I hate stuck up people. I can’t stand it when people just walk through you as if you’re there for them to shit on.”
“Come on Barbra. Let just go home.”
“Fine, I just need two more things.”
Barbra led the way, Jen lagging behind with livid eyes. At the register, the cashier made little attempt at small talk. Jen’s silence made it all too obvious that any attempt would not fare well. Slowly, he rang up their items: duck tape, raisins, rope, bungee chord, tapioca pudding, three bottles of aspirin, socks, and a case of beer. Barbra pulled out her wallet and paid the little man.
“What’s with the socks?” Barbra asked Jen as they hopped in the car.
“Oddis has one of my only good pair,” Jen answered.
“Why didn’t you just give him an old pair?”
“Because it was all I had at the time.”
“Okay, what’s wrong?”
“You know damn well.”
“You know stupid people set me off.”
"Yeah, but do you have to advertise it?”
“I’m sorry.”
“No I don’t want to hear that, The whole store didn't need to hear your loud ass fucking mouth. That was fucking stupid of you.”
“I’m sorry mom.”
Jen glanced out the window, never again veering back towards her daughter.
“Huh, it’s okay. Just, please you know what kind of situation we have.”
The rest of the ride went in silence. Jen looked out her window again. The rain had just begun to come down, taping the glass like a growing orchestra of clicks and ticks. Only the occasional roar of thunder gave percussion to the chorus of rain. Jen looked at the windshield, and listen further. The wiper rubbed the glass as it groaned and moan under the friction. The car suddenly seemed crowded with sound. As the two reached the house, and Barbra turned off the car, the rain began its prelude.
“So,” Barbra said, breaking the silence between them. “You bring in the groceries, and I’ll take care of Oddis?”
“Sounds good.” Jen said.
The house was lit with only one lamp beside the couch. It was a war zone in which filth was winning; crumbs its ammunition, clothing its bombshells. Nothing was safe from its total war tactics from the living room to the kitchen. The stink only tickled their nose once. After being inside a minute or two, the odder of dust and stale booze didn’t seem much a bother.
After moving a crusty, powder coated hand-mirror on the coffee table, Jen set down the grocery bags before plopping on the couch. Barbra rummaged the bag a moment and began at once on her pudding with a plastic spoon that had been left in a cup of hot tea over night.
“I need the key real quick,” Barbra asked Jen.
“Here you go.” Jen reached in her pocket and tossed it.
The last door on the left at the end of the hall was locked, not on the inside, but by a padlock on the out. Heavy bass thundered the hall, making the walls vibrate with sound. Barbra, still eating her pudding, worked at the old lock before opening the door. As it opened, a gust of warm air, perfumed with sweat and stale urine, rushed her face and defenseless nostrils, making her light headed but a slight second before coming too. Digital drums and synthesized voice roared in syncopated rhyme within the darkness.
After another spoon full of pudding, Barbra turned on the light. The gray walls had been covered with Styrofoam egg crates, and the windows boarded with heavy plywood. The only few things to fill the room was a stereo on the floor by the door, and a bed. On top of the bare mattress, sat a sack tied on one end by a thick chord. As the lights came on, the sack began to thrall. Barbra grabbed a stick waiting eagerly back in the hall way. The sack began to moan, as a face, distorted beneath the yellow stained cloth, appeared. Its eyes seemed hollow, sinking behind a sharp nose
"Shut up," Barbra demanded firmly before wailing the outlined face.
The face vanished back inside the sack. Blood slowly soaked into the glutinous white cloth, until the fabric grew blotted and the dinner plate size stain began to spill with the tick, rusty liquid. Barbra worked the knot at the top, and unsheathed the somber sight beneath. Beneath the piss stained cocoon, laid a man, half naked, and bound at his hands and arms by bungee chord. His mouth had been gagged with a sock, tapped in place, while his eyes had been covered with masking tape. He wiggled and writhed on the mattress, reopening dried scars on his wrists and ankles.
"Stop complaining," Barbra said.
Slowly, one end of the masking tap across his left eye began to peel, revealing the soft blue, cowed eye beneath.
"Jen, God Damn it," Barbra shouted. "I told you masking tape peels to easy!"
"What?" Jen shouted from the living room.
Barbra rolled her eyes as she grabbed the beating stick again.
"Just bring me the groceries will ya?
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