"Until I see fit not to. Is that a problem?"

  "No, but if you do stay, I will expect you to do your homework."

  He looked at me blankly. It was a bad joke, but I was attempting to build some kind of boundary. I guess I would have to deal with him looking over my shoulder. Perhaps it would be a blessing in disguise.

  Franklin put a hand on my shoulder. "Get some rest, Matt, you look beat."

  By the time I cleaned up the school and packed up my bag, it was a little after four and I was mentally drained. Working was one thing but teaching a large group of kids... forget about it. My well was dry for the day.

  I hiked down the hill in the brisk November air. The main thing on my mind was my car. My worries about it not working made the trip to the bridge seem longer.

  As I walked past Keepers Bridge, I nodded to Eddie.

  "How did the first day go?" he yelled.

  "Better than I thought it would," I replied.

  "Any luck with the car?"

  I shrugged. “About to find out.”

  He toasted me with the box of Cracker Jack he was munching on. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks!”

  I got to my car, opened the door, and threw my bag in the front seat.

  "Okay, baby, I know you've been through a lot, but I need a miracle."

  I turned the key, but other than a short click there was nothing.

  I re-sparked my optimism that life was worth living and decided to speak louder to her, "Come on, baby!"

  The click was again followed by silence. I again closed my eyes and sighed.

  Franklin's predictions of people coming by were true. There were two casserole dishes sitting in front of my door. I was alone, but I could feel the eyes of my neighbors, waiting for my response to the gifts. I shot a glance over my shoulder to see someone watching from the house across the street. She jumped, but then waved. I waved then gave a smile. I realized I had done the two things out of order, but there was nothing I could do about that now.

  It was a nice gesture. I picked up the notes attached to each. One was in a white envelope from the Methodist church, and the other in a re-used manila one from the Catholic church. "When did the Baptists stop making casseroles?" I wondered. But it was still a very nice gestures from two of the churches.

  The deep vibrato of an approaching vehicle made me turn. It was the sheriff. He got out.

  Oh God, they found out! I panicked.

  25

  Since my arrest, police made me nervous. The sheriff’s passenger door opened and Philip's mother, Grandma Rollin, rounded the truck carrying a large, covered dish and a large paper bag. Philip reached into the cab and grabbed an open cardboard box that showed the shine of aluminum foil.

  "Oh, my gosh, what is all that?" I asked.

  The sheriff smiled. "It's your lucky day."

  "Afternoon, Matt." Grandma Rollin noticed the other dishes. "Look, Philip, the other churches brought food, too. Well good." She watched her swollen feet as she climbed up the slant of the yard hill. "I was just worried sick you wouldn't have anything to eat tonight," she said with legitimate concern.

  "Thank you, that's very kind," I said with surprised gratefulness.

  She grunted as she climbed the hill, pushing against her weight, but she moved well for an older woman of her size. "Well, I know how it is. My Philip isn't married either."

  "Ma," Philip warned closing his eyes.

  I found it amusing.

  "Well, it's true. I gotta make sure you boys eat. I can't stand a skinny man."

  Philip shrugged. "I'm not skinny, Mama."

  She finally made it to the porch. "No, you're not. You and Montana eat like horses." She redirected her attention to me. "Montana is my grandson. He’ll be at school tomorrow. But, Matt, you need to eat. Do you want me to set up for you inside?"

  I reached out my hands to help her. "Oh, no, I don't want to trouble you."

  She handed me the paper bag and took one of the casseroles from my hands and pushed passed me. "No trouble at all. I know the way."

  I stood there and imagined myself as some cartoon character who had been run over and flattened by a train. She was a stubborn old woman with food like a perfect grandmother. And even though I was surprised by their visit, it was nice.

  "What's in the bag?" I asked her.

  "Biscuits," Philip said walking up the steps. "My mama makes the best damn biscuits in the world."

  "Philip, watch your mouth," she yelled from inside.

  "He's a teacher, Mama, not a preacher."

  Philip walked past me and looked down at the remaining casserole dish. "No offense to them, but you might as well leave them out for the critters. My mom is the best cook in Middwood."

  She called from inside, "Mary, she’s the lady that cooks casseroles at the Catholic church, she always overcooks the rice. Nobody wants that gummy mess. Bless her heart. I'm going to set it up for you on the dining room—"

  Oh shit, my bed.

  "Ms. Rollin, wait, I did some redecorating."

  There was a shriek from inside the house, then a massive crash.

  "Mama?" The sheriff rushed in ahead of me.

  I put my head down and stepped into the house.

  “Shut that door," Grandma Rollin instructed in a huff as she continued closing the shutters in the dining room.

  After I shut the door Ms. Rollin met me in the living room. "What in Jesus's eye?" She stood firm and was intimidating. I looked behind her at the chicken and rice laying on the floor.

  My head jerked around like a flapping fish. "I... couldn't sleep upstairs, so I m-moved my bed," I stuttered.

  "Matt?" she asked me again.

  "Mama," Philip warned in a soothing voice.

  "Philip, hush. Matt, what is going on here?"

  My eyes narrowed at her unreasonable reaction. "Why are you so worried about where the bed is? I mean, I know it's a little odd, but hardly anything to be so worried about."

  She turned to her son. "We have to tell Franklin."

  "Mama, let me handle it." Philip turned to me. "Matt, this is very serious. I need you to answer us. Why did you move your bed?"

  I regarded them both with confused humor. "I couldn't breathe in a room with no windows. I nearly had a panic attack. I mean, I didn't break any of the rules."

  "Never turn your back on an open window, Matt," the older woman replied.

  "I closed the shutters, so the windows weren't open."

  She pointed. "They were open when I walked in. Did you tell anyone?"

  "I don't know anyone other than Franklin."

  Philip tightly closed his eyes. "Franklin." He chewed on his lower lip for a second. "Did Franklin tell you the town rules?"

  I looked at both of them. "Yes. Yes, he did."

  "Did he tell you all three?" Ms. Rollin asked.

  I shrugged. "Sure." He had actually only told me the first two, but if the third was as stupid as the first two, I didn't want to know it.

  Grandma Rollin's face appeared troubled. "What do we do, Philip?"

  I clenched my teeth and narrowed my eyes. "What is the big damn deal?"

  Philip regarded me like a naive child, then turned to his mom. "See, Ma. He doesn't understand."

  "Son, that doesn't matter. We, of all people, can't hold this information."

  "I'll just move it back," I snapped.

  "When did you move it?" Philip asked.

  * * *

  "Last night."

  Philip looked at his mom. She shook her head but relented. "It's your call, Philip."

  With that, Philip walked to the mattress and lifted it with ease. I had had trouble maneuvering its bulk, but Philip handled it as easily as a grocery bag filled with biscuits.

  "I'll get the dining room cleaned up," Grandma Rollin said. "Matt, grab the box spring."

  "Yes, ma'am." I didn't protest, I wanted to, but Philip was the sheriff, so I went along with the unfolding absurdity. I grabbed the box spring but was disappointed when I still had to counterbalance the weight of it by leaning back. I thought maybe the same adrenaline coursing through the sheriff would be coursing through me, too, but that wasn't the case. I was ready for visiting hours to be over.

  I got to the base of the stairs, and Philip was already on the way down. "I'll help you," he said.

  “No, I can get it.”

  He ignored me and helped me carry it up the stairs anyway.

  We carried the box spring down the hall and into the bedroom.

  “I can help you set it up."

  "Don't worry about it.” I tried snatching it from him, but I was a Ford Falcon and he was a Sherman tank.

  He put the box spring on top of the wooden frame.

  "Come on, let's just finish it. You don't need to be sour."

  A low growl gurgled in my throat.

  "Matt, I didn't mean it like that."

  I let out a huff and grabbed at the mattress. I strained, shifting its weight around, and we managed to get it into place.

  "See? Now you are almost ready for tonight."

  I went to step out into the hall, but the boulder of a man blocked the door.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. What now?

  "Listen, Matt." His voice was low and calm. "I'm saying this ’cause I hope we can be friends."

  I stared at him with narrowed eyes, wondering what his game was.

  He gave me an easy grin. "We need a teacher. Hell, we need some new blood. Don't let this bother you, but, please, take the town rules seriously."

  I nodded.

  "Good, now are you ready to eat?"

  "Sure," I replied. "What did you bring?"

  "Atta boy."

  In the kitchen, Philip told his mother that we had come to an understanding and that everything would be fine. That seemed to be enough for her.

  Grandma Rollin had already unpacked the food and set the table. "Cubed steak, mashed potatoes and gravy, black-eyed peas, and collard greens—both with smoked ham hocks. I put the surviving casserole in the refrigerator." She then pointed to me. "Matt, grab yourself a seat, but if you don't mind, I'll take this one." She put a plate on the side of the table that would have faced the backyard if the windows were open. "This is where I always used to sit when I came here."

  I sat and spooned some potatoes onto my plate. "How often were you here?"

  "Gosh, Franklin and Ellen used to have us over all the time."

  I stopped. "This used to be Franklin's house?"

  "Why, yes. Franklin didn't tell you?"

  I took a breath of surprise. "No." I dug into the black-eyed peas. "Franklin hasn't told me lots of things."

  Philip tapped me on the arm. "Do you like blackberry cobbler? If not, I'll take it off your hands." He said with a wink.

  They were too funny.

  "Wow," I beamed as much as I could. "There is so much food. I haven't had a home-cooked meal since—I don't really deserve it." My cheeks started to burn. "Excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom. I had a lot of coffee at school."

  "Sure, sure," Mrs. Rollin said. I knew she saw my face turn red, but she played along with me. I couldn't help myself. I really hadn't had someone be kind to me in so long. It was...a blessing.

  26

  After the sheriff and Grandma Rollin left, I mapped out the living room for the ideal place a TV would go if I were lucky enough to afford one. With everything going on, and me living in my car for two weeks, I was behind on my favorite show, The Fugitive.

  I sat on the purple heap of a sofa and held my stomach. I hadn't been so full since my grandmother, my Rose-Mary Grand, cooked her last meal. My mind swam with bittersweet memories of her.

  To distract myself from the past, I picked up a book.

  I'm glad I like to read, I thought as I sat in the quiet home.

  The house felt big all of a sudden, and the room warm. My neck tightened as a slight ringing began in my ears.

  "No, no, no," I said, standing. "None of that." I craned my neck as I walked a lap from the living room to the dining room to the kitchen and back to the living room. The intensity built and I pushed my hands against my head as I walked in a circle.

  "Stop!" I demanded.

  Take a pill, take a pill, take a pill.

  "Fine!" I shouted, and stomped up the stairs to the bedroom for my tote bag. I jerked it off the floor, dropped it onto the bed, and grabbed one of the bottles with the scratched-out labels. I didn't know what they were called, but they helped with my sudden panic attacks or whatever they were. Regardless, I had paid a whopping ten dollars for them.

  I laughed bitterly as I walked to the bathroom. I couldn’t recall who I got them from, but I remembered the price. Typical.

  I didn’t want to go all the way downstairs for my boiled water. I took off my glasses and braced myself before I cupped my hands under the faucet and swallowed everything down.

  "Everything is fine. Just relax. Think of the water as the missing... something you need." I took a deep breath and patted the top of my head.

  I caught myself in the mirror. "I'm a teacher, and I have anxiety issues."

  Being a teacher and having anxiety was bad enough on their own but put them together and I became exasperated. Exasperated is an excellent vocabulary word, but I have always preferred the word pissy. Yes, I got pissy easily.

  I bounded back down the hall. The one thing that helped ease my pissiness was sleep. In college, if I had thirty minutes in between classes and I could get back to my dorm, I could sleep for fifteen minutes. Some people have trouble getting to sleep because they start thinking about money, their jobs, whatever. That had never been a problem for me. Even better, the busier I was the faster I'd pass out... But all that changed after my Rose-Mary Grand got sick and my dad started drinking.

  * * *

  I fluffed my pillow, but it didn't help as I was using one of my undershirts as a pillowcase.

  I was tired, and my poor brain sagged like the overcooked Catholic chicken and rice casserole. I wanted to sleep, but I had sleeper's block. The bed was fine, the pillows were okay, but the sheets were shit.

  I wondered if this was what it was going to be like when I died, put in a tight, little box with no windows. There was no way I'd be able to rest in peace. God that would be Hell. Oh no. Don't start thinking about Hell.

  I was sure just then the devil painting came to life and the eyes started moving.

  Good grief.

  I didn't look at my watch, but the burn in my eyes told me it was bedtime. It was like I was in a room with smoke. Oh, no, don't think of smoke, that'll make breathing in the Tomb harder.

  The bathroom is right down the hallway, I reminded myself. I'd already taken a pill, but I had all kinds of medicine, and there were little yellow ones that always made me pass out. I had no idea what they were, but they always played with my mind. Sometimes they made me see things. Sleep would cut all the crazy out. I banged my head on the pillow. The tomb was oppressive and stale.

  Just opening the door to the hall was a relief. The air was fresher and lighter.

  In the bathroom, I felt the same relief when I opened the medicine cabinet. I grabbed my primary source of ease, my bottle of white, laced aspirin friends.

  I sat on the tile floor and poured out the bottle. Some people count their money. I count my pills. I needed to know the number I had left. Plus, I wanted to make sure old man Franklin hadn't been stealing from me. One, two, five, eight, ten, sixteen, twenty ... "Twenty-one." I ended the count. They were all there, I assured myself.

  I grimaced, then put the pills back into the bottle. I listened to each one clatter around, and I liked how the sound changed as I dropped more and more in.

  * * *

  I sighed and laid down on the tile. If I only used them when I needed them, then I could save them up. I could even break them in half, maybe even quarters if I got desperate. I could be like a crazed, pill-popping squirrel, I thought. A pill-popping squirrel fighting to survive a blue winter on Black Bear Mountain.

  I sat up.

  There was no way I could go to a doctor here and ask for any drugs. I wasn't even sure there was a doctor in Middwood, but there was the pharmacist, Bill Self. I needed to get to know him a bit and see if I could trust him. If I played it wrong, everyone would find out I was a psycho, or at least, that's what they would think.

  "I'm not a psycho. I'm a pill-popping squirrel."

  I stared at the bottle, pursing my lips. I had over twelve hours before I had to be up. There was no TV and nothing else to do. I can spare one, I rationalized. I'll break them in half when the time comes.

  Without another thought, the aspirin was under my tongue.

  I let out a crazy laugh and hopped to my feet.

  My feet stopped. I'd already taken a sleeping pill, so I decided to play it safe. I swallowed the aspirin and went back to my room.

  Laying down, I continued the game. The bedroom wasn't a tomb, no, and I was a furry little rodent safely sleeping up in a hole in a tree. "Squirrels don't need windows."

  As I tried to find a comfortable spot, my eyes opened. All fantasy and games fell aside. "Fuuuck," I let out in a long, low moan. I realized I forgot to brush my teeth.

  I had a lot of hang-ups, but I never went to bed without brushing my teeth first. Not brushing your teeth was not only punishable by belt when I was younger, but my teeth were something I took pride in.

  I got up and went back to the bathroom, but I couldn't find my toothbrush or paste. Calm down it's probably just in the bedroom, I told myself.

  On my way down the hall, I stopped when I remembered I took them with me to school that morning. I slapped myself in defeat as my anxiety level grew. I couldn't go to bed without brushing my teeth.

  * * *

  Maybe I have baking soda in the refrigerator, and I can make my own. I quickly moved downstairs to the kitchen only to find I had none.

  Wait a second. I clapped my hands. "I left my school bag in my car!"

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35