On the other side of the tracks

Her eyes he would remember years after, how they could go from sunny and wide to dark and dull in an instant. He never knew when or why this happened but he was smart enough to understand that those dreams she had were connected to her eyes' chameleon qualities.

But that is in the future and this story is about the present. The brilliant, bright, burning present.

“Billy!” his mother’s voice was shrill. “Billy!” He rolled his eyes and yelled: What? “A spider!” His room was hot under the roof but at least he was alone. “Billy!” He sighed loudly and rolled out of bed. His mother stood in the middle of the kitchen floor and pointed to one of the corners. A big black spider clung to the ceiling. “Kill it,” she demanded and gave him the broom.  He swept the ceiling and hoped he would get the spider. If it didn’t die his mother would have him crawl around on the floor and look for it.

In June it had been great to come home from college. See his parents, sleep late, have dinner and hang out with his old friends. Now in August he started to long to go back. He missed the freedom of being away from everybody he knew. In that loneliness he had changed, perhaps it was called finding yourself.

The spider was a mush on the broom when he looked and his mother let out a satisfied sigh. He put the broom in the cabinet. “I’m going out.” His mother got that wrinkle between her eyes. “Will you be back for dinner?” He shrugged. “Probably not,” he said and pulled on his Converse.  “Are you seeing Tess?” His mother’s voice got that tone he didn’t really recognize every time she said Tess’s name. “Mm.” He pushed open the screen door but his mother got hold of his arm. “Is she really good for you?” His mother’s hair was frizzy from the humidity and she had a thousand freckles on her face now in the late summer. “She is older.” He shrugged. “She is…” his mother’s voice faded. He pulled his arm out of her grip and she let him go. “Be careful!” she called after him.

He walked down the street; the day was still hot even though it was after five. Some boys were playing street hockey and had to move when a car turned down the street.  His father was on the train by now coming home from the office. The office, the word made him cringe. He would never be able to put on a suit and sit in an office every day.

At the train tracks the gates were down, for a short moment he hesitated then he bent down and walked under them. The train blared the horn but he didn’t care. On the other side of the tracks the houses started to change. The Cape Cods from the forties disappeared and brick townhouses with stoops lined the wide street. His mother had grown up on this side of the town among first and second generation immigrants from Italy and Eastern Europe. The houses were still impressive but had started to look run down by now. After the riots of the sixties this part of town had never truly recuperated.

She sat on the stoop when he stopped in front of her house. She had a couple of take-out boxes from the Chinese place on the corner next to her and ate from one with a plastic fork. She looked at him as she chewed with her mouth full and when she had swallowed she smiled her crooked smile. “Are you here again?” Before he could answer she spoke. “Did you eat?” He shook his head and walked towards the stoop. “I have fried rice, fried shrimp and noodles.” She pointed to the different containers. “Fork is in the bag.” She pushed the white plastic bag with her foot. He sat down next to her. She smelled sweet, tea with milk in his grandmother’s kitchen in the winter or those pink roses that climbed his grandparent’s house in the summer.

 “How is your father?”, he asked. She made a few incoherent sounds of irritation before she swallowed . “You would think he could have the decency to die before school starts again.” The noodles had small pieces of egg stuck to them; he spun them around his fork and took a bite. Tess put down her box and reached behind her and brought out a bottle of Southern Comfort. She took a swig and gave him the bottle. First sweetness on his tongue then the burn down his throat. He grimaced. “You really have the worst taste in liquor.” She laughed, loud and clear.

The Chinese food was gone and half the bottle, she laid with her head in his lap on the porch swing. He slowly rocked them back and forth. The cicadas filled the evening with their whirring. “I wish I could just leave,” she said and made circles with her finger on his arm. Her touch was comfort and thrill in one. “I wish I wasn’t so good so I could just leave.” She walked her fingers up his arm and down again. “Billy,” she whispered. “Mm,” he whispered back. “Let’s go inside.” Her words rushed in his head, down his spine into his groin.

She slept in the small bedroom downstairs. The room that used to be her younger brother’s. The blonde haired, blue eyed angel who as a three year old had run out the door one day. Straight out in the street and instantly got hit by a car. He died two days later in the hospital. “It never was the same again, she often said with a flat voice. But now the room was hers. Her smell, her things, her persona. She stood in front of him in her blue dress and she pulled it over her head. The skin around her breast shone white in the evening light. The tan line as sharp as a marker line. “Come.” She took his hand in hers and pulled him close. Her skin was so warm, so soft against his. Her arms were around his neck. Her lips on his. She nibbled on his bottom lip. His body reacted immediately. She purred under his touch. Slithered under his tongue. Curved under his weight.  He melted into her, surrendered.

Sleep was about to bring him under when Tess whimpered in her sleep. She laid with her head on his arm and one hand across his chest. Her hand twitched and she whimpered again. Suddenly she sat up and he was wide awake. “Are you ok?” he whispered in the dark. She didn’t respond so he put his hand on her back. Her whole body jerked under his touch and she moved away from his hand. “What is wrong, Tess?” She laid down again, curled up against the wall and seemed to be deep in sleep. Then another whimper, a thin, childlike whimper filled with fear and pain. Then another, and another and she started to breathe fast and shallow. Billy sat up, didn’t know if he should try to comfort. Reached out his hand put pulled it back, afraid he would only make it worse. Make whatever was haunting her more real. The feeling of being inadequate and powerless was a soggy stone in his body as he listened to Tess’s cry filled breaths.

A woman called out a man’s name on the street and Tess stopped hyperventilating. He relaxed an inch.  The woman called out one more time and Tess moved a little, she pushed away from the wall and turned over. He heard how she patted the bed and searched for him. When her hand found his thigh where he was sitting she got up on her elbow. “Why are you sitting there?” she asked sleepy. He took hold of her hand, her palm was sweaty. “I am watching over you.” She sniggered. “What is that supposed to mean?” She moved closer and put her head on his leg. He caressed her bare back. “Don’t you remember?” She yawned widely and moved a little closer. “Remember what?” Her body was so relaxed against his. “You cried,” he said but she didn’t answer. “Maybe it was a dream.” A tension went through her body. “Did I hurt you?” The question surprised him. “No, no not all. You were hyperventilating and I worried about you. I didn’t know what to do.” She laid still on his leg, he could tell how she was thinking. “Sometimes...” she started and then the phone rang. “What the fuck?” She sat up, the phone rang again and again. “Maybe it is the hospital,” he said and she jumped out of bed, ran out and slammed the door behind her.

As he heard her muffled voice he started to get dressed, suddenly his nakedness felt awkward and out of place. As he pulled his t-shirt over his head he heard the door open. Tess stood in the doorway. She had an odd expression on her face. A mix of surprise, sadness and relief. “Was it the hospital?” She nodded and took two steps into the room. Her arms hung by her side and her hair was unruly. “I guess I am supposed to go in, right?” Her voice uncertain. “What happened…did he…” She looked up at him; her eyes were huge, glossy, and empty. “He…his…he…his heart gave up.” Her bottom lip trembled and he put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her close. She sobbed a few times then she grew quiet. “It is ok to cry,” he said into her hair. She smelled of their closeness, their tenderness, their passion. “I know,” she said quietly, then she pulled away from him. “I…I have to go. I am supposed to go.”

He watched as she opened the closet and pulled out a few dresses, she put them on the bed and then she opened her dresser and pulled out tights. “The hospital is so freaking cold,” she said and smiled at him. On top of the tights she put a dark dress with white flowers. She French braided her hair then she sat down on the bed. ” I will take a cab from Main Street.” He nodded. “I don’t know when I will be back...”her words stopped short. “I can come back tomorrow.” She shrugged. “I might need to sleep,” her voice was very soft and polite but he got the message. “Ok,” he said, “I will come back some other day.” She stood up and grabbed her bag. “Good.”

He watched as she walked up the street, she looked very determined as she walked with her back straight and head held high. He wanted to go after her, hold her hand, be with her at the hospital but he had a feeling she wouldn’t want him there. But he stood still and looked after her until he couldn’t see her anymore.

His parents were sleeping when he came home. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and drank from the tap. When he looked in the mirror he saw long red streaks down his arm from Tess’s nails and for a reason he didn’t even know he started to cry.

Thunder woke him up, the room was shady, his head heavy. He laid and listened to the rain.  It started slow but it soon  pounded the roof. It was past ten in the morning, his father was gone for hours and his mother was working today. He had the house to himself. He rolled to the side, closed his eyes and tried to will himself to fall asleep again. His mind dove down into slumber but was abruptly brought back up when fire trucks came down the street. Not one, but several. The sound stirred something inside of him. Something worrisome. A premonition.

The rain was coming down hard as he ran down the street. Lightning cut across the navy blue clouds. He slipped on the tracks but got up and kept running. The fire trucks, he counted to five, were parked outside Tess’s house. Flames were licking the windows on the top floor. Smoke was rising through the roof. People had gathered on the street, stared, whispered. He tried to run up to the house. What if she was sleeping? A broad shouldered firefighter put a hand to his chest and stopped him. “Can’t go in there, son.” He tried to move past the hand, move past the uniform but no use. “She might be sleeping,” he said and his voice was shaking. “In the small bedroom on the first floor.” The fireman looked down at him with curious eyes. “I had the smoke divers in there already. No one is in the house. Do you know the family?” Billy shook his head. “No, only Tess.” The fireman put his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “She is not in there.”

He backed away from the house, stood by the other spectators, heard the whispers.

“The father is in the hospital”

“I heard he died last night.”

 “Where are the boys?”  

“That girl…”

Billy turned and looked at the woman who said the last thing. She was probably around sixty, her hair in a typical old lady style. Her mouth a disapproving line.

“I know,” the woman next to her said. “Something wrong with that girl.”

A third lady leaned closer. She had straight grey hair in a bob.

“After little Tommy died…and the mother left…not easy for that girl.”

“The mother was crazy too,” the first woman said.

Billy felt the blood pumping. He bit down hard on his teeth. Wanted to yell at the women.  The woman in the bob looked at him. She put her head to the side, squinted a little, pondered.

“You know Tess,” she said and the other two women turned their heads and stared at him.

He nodded. It looked like they were waiting for him to say something. He took a few steps backwards, and then he turned and walked home. He waited that day, and the next, and the next…then school started and eventually he stopped waiting.

One time at Disneyland, many years later. He had his three year old son on his shoulder and he saw this woman with a little girl. They sat on a bench, their heads close together, talking to each other, it was something about the shape of the woman’s shoulders. Or the way she held her head or how the hair hung over the little girl’s forehead. He wasn’t sure but he thought it was her. She must have sensed his eyes because she lifted her head and looked at him. Then she smiled her crooked smile. He wanted to talk to her. Ask how she was. Where she had been. But at that moment his wife called for him and his son pointed in excitement at Mickey Mouse. The next time he looked they were gone. 

Vireo (A Tale of Ice and Oaks)

The maid almost bumped into her where she stood leaning against the wall. “Oh,” the young woman said. “Are you standing here? Aren’t you cold?” Vireo met the girl’s big pale eyes and smiled. Maybe she would bed this girl, simply to annoy the innkeeper, who always looked at her with disgust. “Perhaps you could bring me a cup of that hot wine you serve to keep me warm.”  The maid looked down for a moment and then she met Vireo’s eyes again. “Perhaps I could,” she said and reached out her hand. Vireo dropped a few coins in the outstretched hand and the maid walked back into the warm tavern.

She hated the cold, she hated the snow, and she hated the ice. She hated the bare trees, the frozen ground and the grey skies. Her southern blood wasn’t made for this kind of weather.  Rubbing her hands and banging her feet together didn’t help keep the cold away anymore. Why wasn’t he here yet? How could he be late when he lived the closest? Logically, she would be the one who should be late, she had further to travel. The door to the tavern opened and the maid came out again. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair curly from the moist heat. She held a big metal cup in her hand. The steam from the cup rose in spirals.

Vireo put the cup to her lips and breathed in the smell of the wine, the honey and the spices. The wine would spread its heat in her body, from the bottom of her belly to her toes.  She took a careful sip, so to not burn her tongue. The wine landed in her belly, reached out its tentacles and thawed her blood.  The next time she lifted her head from the cup she saw him.

His dark grey coat dragged along the ground and he limped slightly on his right leg. In company he always told a tale about how he had been injured in a battle but she knew he had fallen off his horse as a boy and a branch had pierced his thigh. The right leg never grew as long as the left.  Sometimes at night he would wake up with pain and she would put her hand over the scar and massage it. As he came closer the Ouroboros tattooed on her back started to burn. “You are my commencement and my conclusion,” he often said to her. She sniggered when he said this and made fun of his schooling in the monastery.  And still during one unbearable separation she had walked to the tattoo master. After hours upon hours she walked out with a pitch-black Ouroboros on her back. 

The young princess and her court in the capital, often spoke of love. Vireo walked a few steps behind, always on guard, but she still heard the words. They spoke of true love. They spoke of how empty it must be to not have love in your life. Sometimes Vireo wanted to tell the young girls to enjoy the freedom of not loving someone. Because if she had known how painful it would be she would have told her heart to not love. Or perhaps it wasn’t the love that hurt but the absence and the longing.  But by now it was all so intertwined she couldn’t separate them anymore.

He was almost by the tavern door when he saw her. For a moment they stood quietly and looked at each other. In the winter evening his blue eyes looked almost green. “You are late,” she said and walked by him and opened the door. They stepped into a wall of sticky, beer smelling warmness. “I know,” he said low, “and for this I apologize, my…” She put up her hand to stop him from talking. “You know how I hate when you call me my lady.” He smiled his crooked Quasimodo smile and said, “Almost as much as when I call you my songbird.” Vireo huffed discontent. “I have told you my mother and father did what they thought best.”  Her parents, the gentle fruit farmers, who named all their children after birds. How could they have known their songbird daughter with the peppercorn eyes actually was a warrior?

“Andreas!” The innkeeper came wobbling over to them. He didn’t look at her but greeted Andreas with great enthusiasm. “How are you? Oh, this weather! When will spring come?” She had never truly understood the relationship between the two men. But there was deep trust and affection between them. And this was the only place they dared to meet.  “Your room is ready for you. Will you dine first?”

Andreas looked over at her and she shook her head. “No,” he said to the innkeeper, “a tray will make do.” The plump man nodded eagerly and snapped his fingers. Another maid showed up and he gave her orders to bring a tray to their room.

In the far end of their room a fire was set in the hearth. She took off her wool mantel and dropped it on the chair, pulled off her gloves and shoes and walked up to the fire.  She unbuckled her sword and sat down and held her hands and feet as close to the flames as she dared. She heard Andreas move around behind her, then his presence came closer to her. The Ouroboros on her back burned.  He put a hand on her shoulder. “How have you been?” he asked kindly.

How do you survive months without the one you love? She did what the snakes do. She let her heartrate go down and all her feelings went into hibernation, until anger was the only thing left. “I can’t,” she said and pushed away his hand. “I know,” he said and stood up. The sound of metal against leather was unmistakable to her. He had pulled his sword. Fast as the bird she was named after, she got to her feet with sword in hand.

He was only about five inches taller than her but of course stronger compared to her slender build. But what he had in strength she had in agility. Their sword skills and character were even. Perhaps the years he had on her had softened his temper slightly.

“How is the Capital?” he asked and swung at her. She blocked his attempt and moved a few feet away.

“Beautiful and shallow as usual.” She lunged forward and hit him hard on the shoulder with the flat side of her sword. “And warmer than this goddess forsaken place.”

Andreas laughed but she could see in his eyes that he was in full battle mode. “If you would rather we wait until spring…” He stopped talking and swung forcefully at her. She felt the impact on her sword all the way up in her shoulders. Wait until spring…The words aggravated her. Speed was her friend and she moved to his side and before he could react she had hit him a few times on his back and was able to slap him with her hand on the top of his head. She moved to the other side of the room and stared at him.

“Wait until spring…so you have more time up there in that fortress with the prince and his maids.” She didn’t like the tone of her own voice but it was too late now, the words had already been spoken.  True anger flashed across his face and when he spoke his voice was a deep growl. “You know.” He moved closer to her with his sword ready. “You know!” The blows were harder than before and she had to back away from him. Soon the room ended and she stood with her back against the wall. He glared at her. “You know. Besides I am not the one who…” A knock on the door made him move his head to the side and she bent down away from him and dashed to the other side of the room.  Andreas opened the door and let the maid in. The young woman carried a tray and looked at them with prying eyes.  She put the tray on the table and left.

Vireo walked up to the table and grabbed one of the mugs with mead. This inn was famous for their mead; it was sweet and fragrant and had a dark purple hue from the blackberries that grew all over the hills and cliffs. Andreas still stood by the other wall and then slowly he walked up to the table and grabbed a mug himself.

To be chosen to be the part of the Royal Guard was an honor bestowed on few. Only the most skillful and trusted sword wielders were picked.  After days of trials and combat she had been chosen to protect the young princess Lavender. And the first day when she watched over the girl in the Royal Oak grove she had met Andreas. He had been guarding the teenage prince for five of his commissioned fifteen years. Slowly a warm friendship grew between them, both of them careful, a Royal Guard is forbidden to love or marry. A Royal Guard’s loyalty solely belongs to the Crown. For fifteen years they had promised, signed in blood to be faithful to the Crown.

There was something with this friendship they cultivated. An amber. Every time she saw Andreas this amber flickered to life. One early summer day, the oak trees carried bright green leaves and the sky was lustrous blue, she was off duty and laid on her back in the grass in the Royal Oak grove. A vireo sat on a branch above her head and sang. She was about to doze off when she felt footsteps transmit through her body. Irregular and calm. She opened her eyes and sat up; Andreas stood next to her and smiled. She got up on her feet and leaned against the oak. “Where is the prince?” He stepped closer to her. “I have been on duty for three weeks. The king told me to…” Andreas laughed. “He actually said ‘get drunk and laid.’   Vireo looked down at her bare feet for moment then she lifted her head and met Andreas’ eyes. “The drunk part I can’t help you with.” She could tell how he didn’t understand at first, and then the realization sunk in.

She had kissed plenty of women and men but this was different. This kiss was mead and chocolate. This kiss was thunder and rain. This kiss was her mother’s caress and the ground under her feet. This kiss was sun on her skin and fire in her groin. And now five years later this was still different.

She put the mug back on the table and waited for him to do the same. Then both of them picked up their swords again and continued to fight around the room.  How do you rekindle love? First she had to break through the anger that lay around her heart. A steel armor to protect her from the sorrow of being apart. With every blow and lunge. With every hit and swing. They chipped away. Eventually they stood panting, sweat pouring down their backs, bruised and sore.

Andreas left the room and Vireo grabbed the mug with mead again. She took several deep gulps then she cut herself a piece of cheese and some smoked sausage. Her body ached but her heart was alive.

Andreas came back followed by two young men who carried a big wooden tub. They placed it in the middle of the floor and filled it with warm water. When they left Vireo got undressed and stepped in. Slowly she lowered her body into the water. “Are you coming?” she asked, feeling close to shy for a moment. He got undressed and stepped into the water with his back towards her. They always did the same thing. A ritual to find their way back to each other. She took the brush and the soap, rubbed them together until she had a thick lather. Started to work on his shoulders. Scrubbed them, felt his skin under her fingers, smooth and slippery. He sighed as she scrubbed her way across his back with the brush. When his whole back was clean she rinsed him off with her hands. Moved close to his body, put her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder. Whispered into his ear. “I hate you!” The words said one thing, her voice another.