A little boy blames himself for his sister's death and tries to ignore it in adulthood |
"Julie!" five-year-old Kyle exhaled excitement. "Julie, come here." He had found a nest on the ground--the first he'd ever seen up close. Was that some of mom's yarn twined through the straw? He looked around the pond, but he didn't see his little sister. "Come on, Julie. Olly olly ox and free! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Kyle ran around the little water's edge, but Julie was nowhere to be found. That made him angry. He ran the hundred yards or so to the house. "Mommy, mommy, Julie's hiding from me! She's being mean." Six hours later--Kyle had never seen his mom so worried--the policemen pulled Julie's body out of the pond. _She's so blue,_ Kyle thought. ***** Kyle's mother, though grief stricken, never blamed Kyle for his little sister's death. She didn't need to; Kyle knew it was his fault. It should have been Julie that lived a wonderful life rather than his pathetic underachievement of one. Kyle, at thirty-five, was an entry-level solderer at a sweatshop. No benefits; it was more than he deserved. He shook his head, sweat breaking free and sizzling on his fresh solder. It was his final board of the night. He took some time to make sure his work was solid--he'd only had one defected board come back to him in the whole two months he'd worked there, and it had been his first. His station was coming up on the record for no defects in the small plant. _Big whoop-de-do,_ he thought. _It's not like I'm going to get a raise or bonus out of the deal._ _God, I wish I were dead._ This time his head shaking was vigorous. He shouldn't think like that. What would Julie say? Thoughts like that, however, are hard to shake after thirty years. He looked up from his perfect work, noticing every pretty girl in the station-- there were three very different ones, all beautiful--and sighed. He felt very single. Thirty-five, very single, and wishing that he'd have drowned. Julie would have had five kids and a smile on her face. Maybe even a career. Sometimes--well, for most of his life--Kyle wished that he could die valiantly. Maybe while saving the life of a baby or stopping a raping. Something to end the self-torment _and_ say that his life meant something. But, as is the way of the world, babies died, women got raped, and he was always at home, both ignorant of the happenings and feeling sorry for himself. What a pathetic loser. A self-made loser. He needed to get out of there. He left the work where it lay, rushed to his locker, grabbed stuff--he didn't really look to see what, only that his car keys were there--and nearly knocked Julee, one of the three beautiful women, in his haste at the time clock. "I'm sorry," he mumbled lamely. "Oh, that's okay, Kyle." He hated it when beautiful women looked at him like that; couln't they see that his hands were tied? She'd be better off without him. "Me and Leslie are going to Smithy's and have a few beers." She didn't notice his discomfort "Would you like to come?" Kyle had no idea what his face looked like, but Julee quickly added, "Well, you're the only guy in the place that never tried to pick either of us up." Flustered is such a small word. "I, uh--" Julee brightened. "Oh, come on. We do it every Friday. If we don't want you around, we'll tell ya." _Julie, Julee. Keep it together, man!_ "Uh, sure, I guess." He could feel his red face. Just from a beer with a couple of co-workers? It had been a long while since any woman showed attention to him. He'd made sure of that. "Yeah, I'll come." A long time. "Great!" She sounded like she really meant it. "We'll see you there." Leslie had just come up and Julee (damn her name) explained the invitation. Kyle got out of there before he could see her reaction; he didn't deserve the praise and didn't want to see the disappointment. His Celica sat in the back of the parking lot. The body was an ancient yellow, except for the dull green of the hood and front quarter panels. He got in, praying that it would fire; he wasn't up to push starting it today, though he did park facing downhill. It sputtered to life. This piece of junk was what he deserved. _Dammit,_ he thought, pulling out of the factory's lot. _Why is she dead? Her life would have meant so much more than mine. She'd probably have three kids by now, and a nice husband. A smile on her face._ The damned unpredictable tears trickled down his cheeks. He stared at the windshield, seeing his little sister's face. Not the two-year-old's, but as she would have looked now. It didn't help to slow the tears at all. "Sir? Sir?" Kyle brought his focus back to earth, and found himself staring at a uniformed clean-shaven face. "Sir?" Police car lights were flashing in the rear view mirror. How could he have missed that? "Sir, excuse me for asking, but have you been drinking tonight?" Just then Julee and Leslie drove carefully by. "See you at Smithy's," Leslie said, smiling. The cop turned slightly; Kyle took the opportunity to wipe at his face. "No, officer. Not yet." The policeman got close, sniffing, then nodded his head. "Sir, you've been sitting at this intersection through two red lights." The cop must have noticed the tear tracks, but he didn't mention them. "I need your license, registration, and proof of insurance. Then I'm going to ask you to pull over up there," he indicated the side of the road, "and turn your vehicle off." Kyle fumbled in the jockey box for registration and insurance slip, then felt for his wallet. It wasn't there! In his haste, he'd left it in his locker at work. He explained as much to the officer, then pulled over as directed. He shut the car off while the policeman looked him up on the computer. Kyle knew what he'd find; nothing. _Pretty much sums up my life,_ he thought, then shook his head. Another tear leaked past. "Here's your papers, sir." The tear leaked out of his right eye. Maybe the cop wouldn't notice it. Kyle took the papers, keeping his head slightly turned. "Thanks, officer. Sorry about the license." "I'm just going to give you a warning on that." The officer looked down the street; Kyle wiped the tear. "You going bar hopping tonight." "No, sir." He said it too quickly, earning him a strange look from the cop. God, it'd been a long time since he'd been out. "I mean, I'm meeting some friends," the word sounded funny to him. "It's close to home. I'll park it and walk." The cop nodded. "I was just going to warn you not to drink and drive. We're out in force tonight. Full moon." He looked up to where it was just coming over the horizon, huge and orange. "Tell your friends." He added in a note of conspiracy, "I don't want more hassals tonight than necessary." He smiled, friendly like, then went back to his car. Kyle went home, parked the Celica, and cried in the bathroom. _Julie, Julee._ ***** The full moon acted like a sun as Kyle walked the two blocks to the bar. Going out-- finally, after two years--and he still had to talk himself into it. He washed his face with cold cream, bought specifically for hiding tear tracks, and it made his face feel cool in the slight breeze. _Is the moon ever full,_ he thought, the glowing orb grabbing his attention more often than the road. He stumbled over a parking median at Smithy's, staring at it. A couple of guys hanging out outside snickered. Kyle watched his step, looking at the ground. A long time since he'd been out. The guys continued their conversation, ignoring him as he entered. "Kyle, over here!" Julee waved enthusiastically from one of the rear tables. Leslie smiled. Kyle's heart raced. _A long time._ He tried to smile, settled for a grin. "Hi," was all he could think to say. He felt his pockets for money. Maybe enough for a pitcher, no tip. "I don't have long to stay . . ." "Oh, pish-posh. It's Friday night!" Kyle opened his mouth to explain his lack of funds, and warn them about the cops out in full force, but Leslie overode him. "What, you gotta work tomorrow?" Her teasing smile was delicious before disappearing behind her glass. Her eyes showed humor, still looking at him. _Am I being set up with her?_ Kyle cautioned himself not to get fanciful. He excused himself for the restroom. Inside, he splashed some water on his face, then stared at the mirror for what seemed like the first time. There was no evidence of tear tracks. Also, he almost seemed handsome; face looking younger than his age, hair, though a bit messy, full and wavey. Almost a good-looking man. He shook his head. _A long time._ He smoothed out his hair; or rather, he tried. Maybe he ought to start carrying a comb. He shook his head and truly smiled. It didn't last long--it made the muscles in his cheeks hurt--but his teeth were straight. He couldn't get over the beauty of that smile. _Why has it been so long?_ Oh, yeah. The image came back to him. He had the worst day of his life when he was _five!_ He had not earned any social skills. He'd wasted his whole life feeling sorry for himself. How he wished it was him instead of Julie. The thought of heroically ending his life came back, and he tried to dismiss it. _Come on, Kyle, go enjoy yourself._ He _tried_ to dismiss it. The girls had another glass brought over and filled it. Kyle tried his true smile again, but could feel the falseness of it. It seemed to work, though. Leslie beamed back, never taking her eyes off him as she took a slow sip. He grabbed up his glass, both to hide the fact that he couldn't hold the smile any more and the blood coloring his crimson cheeks. He drained half the beer before he dared set it down. Her eyes kept the color in his cheeks, and her eyes showed amusement. Julee--damn her name--was bending over the jukebox. Kyle's gaze couldn't help but linger. His face got even redder, but Leslie smiled back without anger. "It's okay, Kyle. She does have a great ass." Kyle went beet-red, stared at the table. To cover his embarrassment, he mumbled, "Gee, how close are you two?" Silence in return. Kyle looked up, and she was looking at the table. And were her cheeks red, too? "Sorry, it was a joke. Been a while since I been out," he added lamely. "Oh, that's all right. I knew you were joking." If she'd been embarrassed, she sure recovered quickly. "I guess I shouldn't have said that, but, you know, guys are guys." She looked back to the jukebox; so did Kyle, letting himself be a 'guy' for a moment. The way Julee's butt wiggled-- 'FM' by Steely Dan started playing. "You wanna dance?" Leslie asked quickly, catching his stare again. "I . . . uh, don't really dance . . ." "Oh, come on," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet. "You just shake your ass. How hard can that be?" Kyle was pulled, red from head to toe, to an open area. He couldn't help but glance at Leslie's great butt on the way. If she noticed-- the stare was longer than he normally allowed himself--she merely flaunted it more; started dancing as she walked. Kyle fought back arousal. It had been a _long_ time. Leslie turned around to dance, and he kept his eyes on her face, feeling like everyone was looking. _Come on, Kyle, just do this._ Leslie smiled and offered encouragements. She twirled loosely. How many beers had she had? Kyle ought to warn them about the cops tonight. When he sat back down. He danced woodenly. Then a ruckus was heard. Kyle stopped dancing, following Leslie's gaze to the jukebox. Julee was arguing, hands on hips, with a greasy- haired kid of maybe twenty-five. He couldn't make out most of the words, but heard something about money. Julee was shaking her head adamantly. "Fucking bitch!" the guy yelled, slamming a fist on a table and spilling drinks everywhere. "Hey!" the owner of the drinks yelled from a pool table. The greasy-haired guy stormed out, eyes blazing alcohol. "Asshole," Julee muttered, a tear sneaking past her lid. She wiped it away as Leslie rushed to her, comforting. Kyle made his way back to the table, unsure of what to do. He watched the two girls whispering to each other, forcing his gaze to the table before he could notice any anatomy. He'd always avoided conflict; conflict made you noticeable. Leslie finally came by. "I'm sorry about that." She gestured at the jukebox. "Exes are like that," Kyle mumbled, then judging by the look on Leslie's face, wished he hadn't said anything. "We have to go, Kyle." She flashed him a quick, weak smile. "Thanks for part of a dance. Maybe we'll try again next Friday, huh?" Kyle nodded as she got their purses. Who was that guy and why would Julee have anything to do with him? _None of your business,_ he reminded himself. _Be happy with the invitation and let it go at that._ He raised his glass to the departing girls, though niether looked back. They left half a pitcher. He downed his glass quickly and poured another. Bars made him nervous when he was alone. He did most of his drinking at home. Feeling sorry for himself. _Don't start that here,_ he berated himself. _It wasn't your fault._ He realized how much better his life would be--would have been--if he truly believed that. If only-- No, no, not supposed to go there. He looked down at his empty glass. He really should watch how fast he drank. He poured himself another, slopping foam to the table. The bartender came by to pick up the empty pitcher. "Need another?" she asked, her eyes darting to the door. Two beers in ten minutes would make him slur, he knew. He shook his head. After she left, he threw a couple of ones on the table for her. Oh! He forgot to warn the girls about the full moon; the police out in force. He hoped they weren't too drunk. It figures that he forgot. _A hero's death._ The thought seemingly came out of nowhere, though he knew it had been there all along. Julie, Julee. Dammit. _Where are you, Julie? Is there a heaven? Wish you were here._ He slammed the third beer down, too, and rushed for the door. He could feel every eye on him as a tear leaked past. The parking lot was abandoned, except for a couple standing by the road. That's all he saw before a wave of dizziness hit and he had to steady himself on a car. Vision came back quickly--he must have gotten up too fast--and he saw that it was Julie's car he leaned on. _Good, they're not driving._ He didn't think he could handle losing another Julee, no matter that he barely knew this one. The couple, a pair of girls--_Julee and Leslie?_--were getting ready to cross the street when he saw headlights come on down the block. Tires screeched and the car launched--straight at the girls crossing the street! They had their heads together, not even noticing. Without thought, without feeling sorry for himself, without caring who the pair were, Kyle broke into a sprint. He felt their ribs with his palms as he shoved, diving. ***** _Death came quickly,_ Kyle thought, looking down at his empty shell of a body. A hero's body. Its head lay in a pool of dark red. The girls, getting up from the sidewalk and inspecting bruises and scrapes, saw the body with screams muffled behind their hands. The El Camino turned a corner and was gone. The girls ran. Kyle floated after them. After rounding a couple of corners, Julee , head next to Leslie's, asked, "What are we going to do?" "I'm going home," answered Leslie. "I'm on probation. There's nothing we can do." She wiped tears from her eyes. "Do you want to talk to the cops? Explain to them who did it, and why?" "That asshole tried to kill us!" She looked too angry to cry. Kyle hoped she was referring to the drunk in the El Camino. Leslie gave her a hug, then ran to an apartment building. Julee watched her go in. "Oh, shit! My car!" Sirens could be heard; panic crossed her face. A newer Cadillac drove by and she hailed it down. The driver was a man near his middle years. He stopped, appraised her--who wouldn't?--and asked, "How much?" Kyle felt disgusted. "Two hundred for the night," came Julee's immediate reply. She got in the passenger side and the car left. Kyle hung in the air, shocked. _A hooker. I saved the life of a hooker! He sulked back to where his body lay. _Out in force,_ he remembered, seeing the flashing lights of the police and ambulance. The full moon reflected off his blood. "Any ID on this one, Joe?" "Nope," the other paramedic said, face showing a twinge of disgust at searching through pockets. "Another John Doe." _My wallet's at work!_ Kyle didn't think the girls would come forth to identify the body. _John Doe, the unsung hero that saved the life of a hooker!_ "What a waste of life," he said aloud. He began weeping; a cry that wasn't going to stop. Kyle felt familiar arms hugging him. Julie whispered in his ear, "You never tried to hurt anyone." Her breath felt warm. "Life is precious, even--especially--yours. And hers. It wasn't a waste." After an eternity of sobbing, she led him away from the flashing lights. Towards the full moon. |