Seven Wakings Page 6

  He seems to be thinking. “You saw someone speeding away that day?”

  “I did?” I say, hoping it came out as a statement. God, I’m itchy.

  “Yeah, in a black sedan. Don’t you remember?” He looks over at me.

  “Sure, sure,” I say, then look out the widow.

  “Do you remember anything else?”

  I wonder what DeWayne saw. With these eyes, not much.“Naw. I don’t know nothin’. My memory’s kind of fuzzy, today.”

  At Lynette’s office, he drops me at the front curb.

  “Stay out of trouble, now.” Archer starts to drive away, stops himself. “You know…if you want to get some help, Lou’s Place is over on Washington.” He hands me a card through the passenger’s side. “I’ll come to get you anytime— day or night.”

  “Thanks,” I say, touched by his kindness toward DeWayne. “Thanks a lot.”

  As I turn to leave, something occurs to me.

  “Hey…” I lean down to the open window. “My shrink was a good friend of Miss Emma’s. Maybe she can help you with the missing kids. She knows an awful lot about dysfunctional families…why a kid would run away. Her name is Lynette. Lynette McCollum- Hayes.”

  He looks at me. “Emma mentioned her before….”

  I smile. “Maybe I’m channeling her.”

  He laughs. “Yeah…’channeling’ happens every day on my watch.”

  As he pulls away, I push the revolving door, spin past the ladies room, and head to Lynette’s office.

  Jesus… my crotch is driving me crazy.

  As I scratch, two middle-aged women pass me and move together like nervous hens.

  After one final scratch, I open the door to Lynette’s waiting room and brace myself. If I don’t believe what’s happening to me, she won’t either. She’s on the phone with her back to the door. I don’t notice at first… she’s sobbing.

  She speaks into the receiver: “I can’t believe how much this hurts, Lou. I feel like my heart is missing. And the kids… they don’t believe it. It’s like they expect her to walk through the door any second.” Her body shudders as she inhales deep. “We spent every day together for nearly thirty years. I don’t even know how to be myself without her.”

  I can imagine Lou on the other end of the line: “Oh Honey… I know Babe…I wish I could bring her back.”

  I listen quietly until Lynette hangs up. Then she puts her head down on the desk, rolls it from side to side. A part of me feels awful for what she’s going through. Another part feels completely loved. She rises to her elbows, wipes tears from her eyes, and turns toward the door. Her look of sorrow morphs to shock when she sees me.

  “Can I help you?” She stands and moves away from me.

  “It’s me, Lynette.” I’m surprised she doesn’t recognize me, despite the skin I’m in.

  She looks at me sideways. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’m afraid I don’t know you.” She opens a desk drawer.

  “It’s me, Emma.”

  “Let’s just stay calm.” She pulls a can of pepper spray out of the drawer. “And I’ll get you some help.”

  “It’s Emma, I swear. McCollum/James honor.” I hold up two fingers, cross my heart.

  She raises her eyebrows. “What did you say?”

  “We used to say that when we were kids. McCollum/James honor, you know…when we swore to tell the truth.” I’m trying to put her at ease.

  “Bullshit.” She shakes the can. “Who told you that?”

  “You should be ashamed of yourself— treating a homeless man with such disrespect. You shameless hussy.” I have called her this many times before.

  “How dare you?” She plants her feet in a fighting stance.

  “Ask me anything and I’ll answer as quickly as possible.” I give her the “c’mon” gesture.

  “I won’t do anything of the sort.”

  “Snob.” She hates to be called this.

  “I am not a snob.” She looks indignant. Her eyes are swollen.

  “Yes you are.” I pull up an old memory. “Remember when you wouldn’t go to the homecoming dance with Brian Bomgard because he drove a Pacer?”

  Lynette is struck silent.

  “Just give me three questions, fast as you can.”

  She hesitates, then lowers the can. “I’ll only play along, because… well… someone thinks Emma is still here, in spirit.”

  “That someone would be my daughter.”

  Lynette looks at me. “Three questions: Who is my husband, how many kids did we want, what’s my favorite candy?”

  “Lou, five, and PEZ.”

  She looks rattled. “What was the name of my first parakeet?”

  “Algae.”

  “Where did we try smoking cigarettes?”

  “In the ravine, by the culvert, on Halloween.”

  “Who was your first kiss?”

  “Jimmy Panettiere, in my Dad’s shed… after we ran through the sprinkler.”

  She sits down on her on her consulting couch. “Holy Hannah.” She bolts up. “I need a drink.”

  “You don’t drink, except for Christmas, New Year’s, St. Patty’s Day… and whenever someone dies.”

  Lynette thinks again. “I’ve got it. Only you and I were on the porch the night before you died. What did we talk about?”

  I lock eyes with her. “Tommy Martin.”

  Lynette holds her hands up to her mouth. “Kate was right?!”

  “I don’t know how long I have here.” My voice still surprises me.

  “Huh?” She looks up at me and braces herself.

  “I made a deal with my mother…”

  “You saw your mom?” She reaches out to take my hand, thinks better of it.

  “Not exactly. She only said a couple of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “She asked if I would willingly reject Nirvana to have an extra few days on earth.”

  “Nirvana is a Buddhist term. She was a die-hard Christian.”

  “That’s what I thought.” I sit down on the couch.

  “What else did she say?”

  “That I have ‘seven wakings’.”

  Lynette get up, starts pacing. “What does that mean?”

  “I guess that means I have seven days.”

  Lynette nods.

  “Oh… and I have to find the missing kids while I’m here.”

  “Is that what you were working on before you were…” She can’t seem to say the word.

  “Killed?”

  She nods.

  “Yeah. It was the first time I saw pictures of the kids. Some of the profiles were odd. A new recruit and I talked about how some of the kids didn’t fit the description of a typical runaway.”

  She leans against her desk. “Did you share your concerns with anyone else?”

  “I started to… at the station, but was cut off.”

  Lynette looks at me.

  “You think I was murdered for that?”

  “If somebody in that room thought you were onto something— that they didn’t want exposed— that could be motivation.”

  My mind drifts back to that day. “Mike knew exactly where I was going.” I consider the possibility. It’s too obvious. He’s seems like a barker, not a biter.

  “How can you possibly solve kidnappings and a murder in seven days?”

  “I have no idea,” I gesture to my body, “especially looking like this.” My crotch is on fire. It’s all I can do not to scratch myself raw. I want to rip my pants off and see what’s going on down there.

  Lynette inspects me. There’s levity in her eyes. “I’d give you a hug, but....”

  I laugh at her candor. “I would kill for a shower and fresh clothes before I see the kids.”

  “What happened to your eye?” She touches my cheekbone.

  It’s swollen shut. “I got jumped. Hey, do you have any glasses?”

  “Just my readers, they’re +1.50.” She hands me her old lady specs.

  Things get clearer, but
are still a little fuzzy. I wonder if it’s my vision or alcohol poisoning. “We need to get some stronger ones. I don’t know how DeWayne navigates with these eyes.”

  As we walk down the hall Joe, the hot lawyer, comes out of his office. He’s visibly startled by me. For a moment I think he’s reacting to our chemistry.

  “Hello again.” I say, and take a flirting stance.

  Lynette elbows me in the ribs, reminds me of the skin I’m in.

  “I’m sorry… have we met before?” Joe searches my eyes.

  Lynette interjects, “This is my… client. I’m just taking him to treatment.”

  I can see Joe’s mind racing. “Lynette, would you like me to walk you to the parking lot?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m harmless,” I say.

  “Except to himself.” Lynette adds, selling herself as a counselor. “Must go. Time for detox.” She laughs nervously, pulls me toward the door.

  Joe stands in the hallway, gives a little wave, and watches us leave. Jangling the change in his pocket, he looks mystified.

  Standing in Lynette’s bathroom, I have to get naked. I peel off my shirt and look at my torso in the oval mirror above her sink. Dark skin is pulled tight over bones. I unfasten the top button of tan pants. “Here we go,” I say to myself, and lower the zipper, slow.

  I’m not wearing any underwear.

  My pubic hair looks like a sea monster. A sea monster that’s moving. Jesus… I’ve got lice.

  “Lynette,” I say in a regular voice, betting that she’s right outside the door, “get me a hedge trimmer.”

  I hear her charge down the hall, open a closet, run back, knock, and crack open the bathroom door. Her hand and wrist appear with a “Mangroomer” kit. The box reads: “Private Body Shaver- Allows a Fella to Safely Take Care of Unwanted Hair in Private— Around Privates.”

  Through the door she says, “It’s Lou’s. We can burn it when you’re done.”

  Hmmm. I never took Lou for a man-scaper. I try to shake the image from my mind; prefer to think of him as gender neutral “down there”… like a Ken doll.

  I plié over the toilet and sheer myself. It takes longer than planned. Shaving around man parts requires serious skill. Pretending I’m a nurse, I try to disengage from the absurdity of the moment.

  Once done, I flush enough hair to make a toy poodle, then feel compelled to look at my back. Hundreds of old scars, the shape of pick-up-sticks, crisscross my torso. It’s years of old damage. I can’t imagine what DeWayne has been through.

  The warm shower expands my stench. I hold my breath and wait for the air around me to get sucked into the ceiling fan. Lathering from forehead to feet, I see that I’ll have to trim long toe nails; they look like dew claws. Running my hair under water, I wonder how to wash dreadlocks. I pour a handful of shampoo into my palm and press it into my hair. It smells like strawberries and cream. Later, I’ll give Lynette a hard time about her shampoo choice, tell her that Lou deserves a more masculine scent. I’m sure she’ll defend her choice saying, “The cheap brands work just as well as the expensive ones.”

  Lynette has put a fresh stack of Lou’s clothes on the side of the sink for me. Who knew he wore briefs? After brushing my teeth and tongue— twice I dress, put on Lou’s G-Man glasses (which work surprisingly well), and emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

  Lynette stifles a laugh. “You’re a sight.”

  I’m wearing navy Dockers, a Hawaiian shirt, and a sweater vest. “You picked this out.”

  “Lou wears it better.” She inspects me head to toe.

  “Keep telling yourself that, Sister.” I lean over and re-wrap a yellow towel around heavy dreadlocks. “Do you think I should keep this on, or let my hair air dry?”

  She taps a forefinger to her lips. “Air dry?”

  I take off the towel and go to the kitchen to find something to eat. Never before have I hated that Lynette was a vegetarian more than now. This body needs a Big Mac and fries, and her fridge is loaded with tofu, rice cakes, and vegetables. I find peanut butter and jelly and squish them between two rice cakes. I can’t bite into it. Starving, I lick the insides.

  Something catches my eye. Two men on bikes ride past her front window. “Why wouldn’t they knock?” I mumble.

  “Huh?” Lynette is looking at my nails— all ten of them. “We’re going to need pruning shears.”

  “Why wouldn’t the missionaries knock?” I look at her, put down the rice cakes. “Your car is in the driveway. It’s their job to save our souls.” I hear a low rumble. I wonder if it’s construction equipment, trash trucks, or…. “What time is it?”

  Lynette looks at her watch. “2:53.”

  No sooner than she says the words, does it hit us. It’s the school bus.

  “They’re already getting dropped off here?” I feel disposable again.

  “We just thought it would be easier on the kids to come straight here. But if you think…”

  “No. You’re right. I just…”

  The kids burst through the front door and stop in the entryway like they’ve been hit by force field. We’re all stock-still. Both kids stare at me, gap-mouthed. Rico trots in through the back, looks equally confused.

  “What’s going on?” Kate says.

  “I love you more than you could ever possibly know.” I’m hoping to be instantly understood.

  Mac looks to Lynette. “Why’s DeWayne in your living room, wearing Lou’s clothes, and talking like my Mom?”

  “I know you’re going to find this hard to believe …” Lynette takes a deep breath, “but DeWayne is your mother.”

  Mac and Kate look at each other.

  “Is this what they call a nervous breakdown? ‘Cause you’re kind of freaking us out,” Mac says.

  “Do you remember when you said that you didn’t think your mother had crossed over?”

  Kate looks at us sideways. “Yeah…”

  “Well… you were right. She’s back, just in a different… form.”

  “Uh huh.” Kate crosses her arms.

  Mac laughs. “I’m supposed to believe my mom’s a dude?” He looks me over.

  “If this is a joke it’s a bad one.” Kate looks furious. “My mom was murdered five days ago and now you’re here trying to… what? Get money?”

  “Well he’s certainly not here for the clothes,” Mac says.

  Kate backhands him in the chest and gets in his face. “This is funny to you? Mom’s dead and you’re joking around?”

  Mac puts up his hands and backs up. “Whoa.” He looks at Lynette and says, “I think we have a case of displaced aggression.”

  “Displaced? You’re being a douche, Lynette’s losing her mind, and the only thing our parents can do is fill the bottom of a litter box.” Kate storms up the stairs and slams the door.

  “That… could have gone better,” Lynette says.

  I pat her on the back. “Maybe a slower buildup next time.”

  “You mean: ‘DeWayne is your mother’ shouldn’t have been the first thing out of my mouth?”

  I turn to her. “Maybe try a ‘parenting moment’ before you lay the big stuff on them. Like, ‘Hey kids, do you guys believe in re-incarnation?’ Then you talk about it in theory before giving them a live example.” I point my forefingers at my body.

  Mac’s eyes change. “Okay… this is officially creepy. Your words and speech pattern are exactly like my mom. And that thing you did with your hands is her too.”

  I sit down on a dinette chair to meet his eye level. “Mac. Do you know how much I—your mother— love you?”

  He looks to Lynette. “Am I supposed to respond to this?”

  “Only if you’re comfortable,” She says.

  “I’m about as uncomfortable as a guy can be.”

  I’m losing him, change gears. “What I’m trying to say is that spirits don’t die when the body does. We already know that some spirits talk to people— like your sister, some become guardian angels, and apparently others can elect t
o… inhabit people.”

  He sits in a chair across the table from me. “And I’m supposed to believe that— of all the people in the world— you’ve ‘elected’ to become DeWayne? He’s not exactly super-hero material.”

  I put my hands on the table. “Granted, I probably should have been more specific when I asked to come back. Let’s just say, I was a little panicked and may have committed to: ‘Be anybody and do anything,’ to see you guys again.”

  Lynette sits down next to him. “I didn’t believe he was your mom either, until I asked a few questions. Can you think of anything that only your mom would know?”

  Mac seems to search his memory. “Tell me about our morning… before you were killed… in detail.”

  Good idea. “Lynette and I slept at Grandpa’s house. Rico woke me up at 6:00— just after Lou went home. When I came back, you guys were already up. Kate was cooking and you were reading…” I struggle to remember the book. “It was red; the book I mean.”

  He smiles. “The Catcher in the Rye.”

  “Yes. And I rubbed your crazy Medusa hair, then went up to change for a run.” I hear a squeak on the stairs and know that Kate’s listening. “I think my shirt was blue, but I can’t be sure. Anyway… on the run I had an ‘encounter’ with a lady and her crazy dog. After, I ate Kate’s bacon, while she was texting and noticed her outfit: yellow pants, red shoes, purple hat. You were teaching Grandpa how to play Xbox. I remember kissing Kate on the cheek…”

  Kate eases down the stairs. “And I said yuck.” She starts to cry. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was like, one of the last things…”

  I laugh/cry. “You’re a teenager. You’re supposed to push me away.”

  She sits next to me and seems to search DeWayne eyes for a trace of me. “I don’t know what to think, but you need to go easy on the ‘Mom’ stuff.”

  “Seriously. That just makes you sound…” Mac looks to Lynette.

  “Delusional?”

  He holds up a hand. “I was going for more like… cracked-out crazy. But if you want to be all p.c. about it…”

  I sense a sliver of belief in both of them. It’ll just take time.

  As we sit together at the table, I tell them about the conversation with my mother: I have to help the missing kids, figure out if my killing was intentional, and… I only have seven days.