Angie And Me
Posted: Saturday, January 23, 2010
by Jack H. Schick
No sleep again. Awake most of the night, again. It has to stop! I can't breathe in here! I hear something and I wake up and I can't breathe. It's the noise. It's this place, this lousy appartment, paper thin walls, paper thin floor and ceiling. I hear everything, people talk and move around, televisions, radios. I hear it through the walls. I hear it through the floor and ceiling. It goes on and on all day, all evening. Even at night, in the dark, when they're asleep and I'm still lying here, listening, there is noise, down in the street, machinery on the roof. The refrigerator comes on. It rattles and hums. I unplug it but it's still there, the other noise. I always hear it. It's never silent. I go to sleep and there is something, a sound, from somewhere, and I'm awake again. The clock ticks. I put it under the mattress, but I still hear it, constant tick-ticking, endlessly, always counting. I'd smash it but I have to know what time it is. I'm angry.
I can't see the clock, but I hear it, ticking, under the mattress on the bed. Downstairs, right under my bed, her alarm goes off soon. It does every day, but I'm already awake. I hear her moving around. I lie on the bathroom floor, the cool tile on my cheek and listen. I hear the water running and the toilet. I hear the shower and start to feel the warmth and the water running down her. I feel the towel rubbing over her. I hear the bottles and the cabinet door. I smell her and feel the brush run through her hair. I smell the coffee and taste it on her lips and in her mouth. I feel the warmth, on her lips and in her throat. She goes out and down the hall and down the stairs. I hear her. I go to the window and see through the blinds. She walks up the street to the bus stop. Her hair looks like Angie's, from above. She walks like Angie, bouncy and alive. When I watch her, every day, I think of Angie, and I'm lonely.
"I told you! You have to stay here," Mother said. "Aunt Emma and Uncle Walt will take care of you. I told you, don't cry! It will be fine. You'll have fun. You always have fun when you stay with Aunt Emma and Uncle Walt, don't you?. You'll have a big room and all of Tony's old toys. You love it here, remember? Let go of my skirt I have to go, now. I said let go! No, there is no room at Aunt Jean's for you. I told you that. It's not a place for little boys. Stop crying!
"Emma, take him, please. I have to get to the station. Here, take this. I'll send more as soon as I can. Jean can get me work. Well. what if it is? That's what I do. Don't start with that again. You always were better than us. You're just lucky. You could be the same as us. Yes, I do care about him. I can't work here anymore. You'd have to take him anyway if I was in jail. Yeah, well, I don't care what you think. I'm still your sister." and she was gone.
I follow her. I know where she goes and sometimes I go there too, to watch and listen. She doesn't see me on the bus. She doesn't know me. She doesn't know she looks like Angie.
They called me stupid. They called me orphan. They called me son of a whore. Angie came over after they beat me up. She was crying. I didn't cry. She couldn't stand seeing me hurt. The hurt was mostly inside. She was lonely and sad, too. She didn't have a real mother, too. They called her stupid like me. They called her ugly, but she wasn't. It made me sadder when they did that to Angie than when they did it to me. We stayed away. We didn't go to the things at school. We went to the park and we walked downtown. If we saw them we ran away. I'd pick her flower and she'd smile. We held hands and we kissed. Neither of us had kissed before. It was funny, but we felt it was good. We felt warm and full inside with each other. The loneliness was gone. We felt whole and happy.
I hear her through the paper thin floor. I follow to the laundromat. On Saturday, I go too, to watch and see . I see her smoothness, the shiny soft white and hair like Angie's was. She moves and turns and sits. The blouse is tight against her and she's round. The skirt is tight against her and she's round. I see the long white leg and look and see the shadow when she turns. It's warm. I feel the warmth rushing through me and I hide. She takes them out, warm and tumbled and holds them up and folds them and puts them in the bag; the small ones and the round ones, the warm ones, the pink and the blue. I pretend to read, then hide and put it down on my lap. I turn my head so she doesn't see me. Her hair is like Angie's. Her back, and her front is like Angie's. I watch to see her turn and bend and fold. I feel the dark and smell the shadow, close and warm and full.
Mother took the bus to Tennessee and I cried. Aunt Emma picked me up and held me, but I cried. We went to Tony's old room and she gave me all his toys. I was small and empty, the buildings and the noise reached the sky. Aunt Emma got me cloths and things, and took me to the school. But then I had to ride the bus and remembered Mother when she went to Tennessee. I didn't cry at school, or ever anymore, but I was hollow and afraid. I hid in the shadow and watched it move. I thought about all the trees in Tennessee and Mother in the shadows of the trees. Then Angie came and the sun came in and the shadow went away.
The key is lost. I sit at the window and hone the knife, watch people in the street below. I put the knife between the door and frame and slide it in. I feel the latch and push it up and it opens all the doors. Downstairs in the hall, I look and listen then push it in and feel it move. I go in. It's cold and empty. But, then I hear the noise I hear at night when everyone's asleep. The same noise that never stops. They aren't clean and warm and tumbled now, but crumpled and moist. I feel them smooth on my face, the pink, the blue. I feel and smell the shadow. I feel them on me rubbing, smooth. I feel the warmth. I touch the shower and feel the cool tiles on my cheek. I turn on the water and feel it warm and running over her. The covers aside I lie down and feel the pillow on my face, pull it over my face and rub the sheet and smell. It's empty. I'm alone.
I came home from work and Angie was there. She was crying. I knew what it was. The cancer was back and she was going to die. I held her and kissed her. I was afraid. Memories of the loneliness swelled inside. I got angry and sad.
"How will you stay here?" she asked. "When I'm gone. We can hardly afford it now. We've spent so much on the doctors and the medicine, just the deductibles. I won't be able to work soon."
"I'll move." my heart was numb, my mind not thinking. I was afraid and lonely.
"You'll have to pay to bury me, too." she said.
"Don't say that. Don't say that," and I cried.
I held her tight to me. I felt the emptiness inside filling with anger. It wasn't fair. I was alone so long and now so full and happy and now it was going away.
There's no alarm. I'm afraid. I feel the emptiness grow and swell inside my belly. I get the knife and cut away the carpet and listen on the floor. There is no sound. In the bathroom, I listen for the water, the cool tile on my face. I get sick and angry and afraid. I go downstairs and listen on the door. It's silent. I slide in the knife and it opens. I hear the noise, the noise from the night, the noise that's always there. It's the same wine Angie drank in the big empty bottle. It's Angie on the bed. The round hips covered, her hair on the pillow, tangled and dark. The noise is louder. I cover my ears. It hurts my head. The sun beams in through the slats in the blind and the shadow's on her face, sleeping. I touch her and she screams. She's angry and afraid. "Don't be angry and afraid!" The sound, the pain, the noise. I hide her under the pillow like the clock, but she's strong, stronger than Angie was as she died. I have to stop the noise. The sound in my ears is louder. My head hurts. She's silent, like Angie was on the bed. The warmth and the shadow and the shadow moves. It changes. It grows red on the soft white.
I hear it in the hall, the noise, the thumping, yelling, the paper thin walls, the pounding on the door. I lie down next to Angie. She's warm and moist. I smell her. I hold her. I feel full again. I touch the shadow. I kiss her. I feel her hair on my face. "Angie?" I say. "Angie?" but she's silent. Angie's gone away. I sleep. Finally, I can sleep.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Great story; creepy and well written!thanks for reading and commenting
Oh, my goodness.... this is indeed a "grabber"! Incredible. Well written is saying something minor about this to be sure. MarijoStream of consciousness is difficult for me- thanks. I'm working to improve
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