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The first person I encountered at the bottom of the stairwell after I set my backpack down was Mrs. Benson in her wheelchair. She was as thin as a toothpick. Her arms had all sorts of bruises on them and her skin was as pale as the powder blue dress she wore. Her hair was loosely pinned in a bun, with silver ringlets dangling over her ears. She might have been a pretty lady when she was younger, because she held her head up proud-like, and had a certain grace to her, even though she nodded her head a lot. She had a big smile on her face, but I don’t think she even saw me because I smiled back, and she just kept staring. “Eddie?” she said to me and held out her hand. “What time is it?”
I looked at my watch. “A quarter to four, but I’m not Eddie.”
She nodded some more. Mrs. Wright walked up behind her and took the handles to her wheelchair. “Dylan, Mrs. Benson’s got dementia so she probably thinks you’re someone else. No need to fuss over her, she’s happy to see you whoever you are. Go on in the dining room and have a seat at the table.”
I gave Mrs. Benson another nod and smile, and I think the twinkle in her eye was for me, but there’s no telling. I approached the table cautiously mostly because everyone turned their heads my way when I walked in the room. Mr. Gravestone, sat upright, his eyes scoured over my person like I was diseased. He raised his napkin over his mouth and coughed, as though the sight of me made him gag. I had washed that morning, and combed my hair, so there was no reason to overreact. I sneered back at him.
Mr. Bromheimer blinked a few times and then gave me a friendly smile and I nodded. He tilted his head at Mr. Gravestone, rolling his eyes a bit. He had the same demeanor as Uncle Jim. He didn’t seem to mind that he lived here, or that growing old and feeble posed a problem.
Awake now, Randy rocked stiffly in his wheelchair next to my seat. When he looked my way, he could barely turn his head as his whole body turned with it. He laughed and with a very forced attempt said, “Hi, Dy...Dy...Dylan.”
“Hi Randy,” I returned, and he laughed louder and said hi to me again.
My place at the table was directly across from Mr. Gravestone. His dark brown eyes bore a hole right through me, but his frown was more devilish than any I had ever seen; even on Aunt Agnes, even from what I remember of my Mom when she was tripping or coming off drugs. After I sat down, Mr. Bromheimer cracked a joke that made Mr. Gravestone turn and laugh. The two went into a giggle fit until Mrs. Wright interrupted them and asked them to pass the potatoes to me. Mr. Gravestone did with a left-over grin and watched me scoop the food onto my plate. I tried to avoid his stare.
Liona sat next to Mrs. Benson and fed her in-between her own bites. She glanced my way occasionally, not as often as I looked at her. She was the prettiest person in the room. Mrs. Wright was the only one talking and I don’t think any of us paid much attention to what she said. Something about town and church service on Sunday and making our beds.
Out of the clear blue, while we were eating, with no cause for doing so, Mr. Gravestone said to me, “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I was the focus of everyone’s attention then, and my face heated up like an electric blanket. The lettuce in my mouth went down whole. I dabbed my lips with the napkin to wipe dressing that spread over them while I choked.
“Pay him no mind,” Mr. Bromheimer interrupted. “He’s not himself.”
“I’m completely myself, Ralph,” Mr. Gravestone argued and threw his fork, which chipped his plate and bounced into my potatoes.
“Himself, himself,” Randy ravened as he swayed back and forth, bumping the table with every thrust forward. His violent rocking caused my milk to spill all over my lap and on the floor. Liona jumped up and raced behind him, pulling Randy’s wheel chair away from the table. He swung at her. I bounded to my feet in her defense.
“Don’t get involved. We can handle it, Dylan. Finish your dinner,” Mrs. Wright walked calmly to Randy and helped Liona strap him down. He wrestled like a pro, punching at the air with his fists and trying to head bump Liona while she knelt and strapped him in. “Get his helmet, Liona.”
Liona was still buckling the lap belt while Mrs. Wright ran to the kitchen. I couldn’t eat, and no way could I sit during this battle. Liona pointed to the living room. “On the couch. A blue bike helmet.” I raced to retrieve the bike helmet while Liona and Mrs. Wright helped Randy swallow some meds. Five minutes went by before we were able to settle him. The other tenants watched intensely, except for Mrs. Benson who kept calling for Eddy.
When he was subdued, Mrs. Wright wheeled him to the living room and left him there alone. The dim light seeped through the curtains and cast the gold of sunset on his face, his head unnaturally bent backwards, snorting and drooling. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. I know I had trouble functioning what with all my anxieties, but poor Randy had no control at all. I couldn’t eat even though I was famished.
“Dylan! Pay attention to what you’re doing,” Mrs. Wright said.
I gave her an angry stare.
When Liona passed me on the way to her seat, she mumbled, “Chill out.” I met her eyes. Her lips twitched into a quick smile which immediately turned into a sneer. I don’t know if that short moment of grin was a thank you for getting Randy’s bike helmet or what. I didn’t ask. I sat and picked at my dinner, but I couldn’t stop looking over my shoulder at Randy.
Later that evening, after Mrs. Wright had finished giving everyone their meds, she excused herself and went to her room.
Mr. Gravestone handed me my list of duties. “Here ya go kid.” He chuckled as he walked out of the dining room into the living area.
The list had me working in the kitchen with Liona, probably because I was the only other person without a walker or a wheelchair. I was uneasy about being alone with her again, and if nighttime hadn’t settled already I would have just grabbed my things and left. I wasn’t used to wandering around in strange places at night, and sometimes the dark would bring on a panic attack. I didn’t really know the neighborhood or how far away I was from Uncle Jim’s house. So, I took my chances and cleared the dishes off the table.
Liona settled the tenants in the living room and turned on the TV for Mrs. Benson and Randy. Mr. Gravestone and Mr. Bromheimer sat at the chess board near the fireplace. I met her in the kitchen.
“Grab a towel.” She didn’t look at me and I got the feeling she didn’t want to work with me any more than I wanted to work with her. I pulled a towel off a pile on the counter. She turned on the sink faucet and immersed the dishes in sudsy water.
“There’s your key,” she said and nodded at the microwave before she handed me a dish to dry.
I put the key in my pocket.
“Lock your door when you’re out of your room so no one steals your things. You can’t lock them from the inside because we don’t want any self-haters here, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“People that don’t want to be people any more. Suicides. House policy is to have all tenants’ rooms accessible by staff. In case they try to hurt themselves. It’s happened before.”
I couldn’t imagine anyone trying to hurt themselves, much less killing themselves, but I guess it happens. That was a scary thought though. “I don’t do that,” I said.
She pulled the plug and we both watched the suds spiral down the drain.
“We aren’t done,” I said.
“The water’s dirty. You might forget to take your meds or something who knows. So, we make sure you won’t have a chance to do anything stupid like that.”
“I don’t take meds.” I informed her, a little offended that she thought I was on drugs, or that I was stupid.
“Right.”
“Why do you think I do?” Drugs was a big issue with me. Uncle Jim argued with the doctors when they tried to prescribe medications for me. He kept me safe from them all my life, even when the social workers wanted to give me pills for depression. Seeing my mom and the way drugs affected her made me hate what they do to people, and Uncle Jim respected that. He didn’t take many himself, except he took meds for his cholesterol and his kidneys. “They aren’t mind altering drugs, though,” he had explained to me.
“You’ve got problems. Even I take meds, sometimes.” She didn’t give me time to respond but kept on with her instructions. “Mrs. Wright and I both have a key to everyone’s room and we’ll be checking up on you. You have a key to get into yours but if you abuse that privilege, we take it away. If that happens, you’ll have to ask us to let you into your room. That can get tedious for us as well as you, so do us all a favor and don’t abuse your privileges. I honestly don’t want to be playing door maid for you. I have enough work to do.”
Again, I didn’t know how I could abuse my privileges. Probably by running away but if I did that, I wouldn’t need the key to my room anyway. “That shouldn’t be so hard to handle,” I mumbled. “So, are you in charge, here? While Mrs. Wright is away?”
“Did you just now figure that out?” She didn’t seem to want to talk to me after that, so I didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, I jiggled the key in my pocket as she filled the sink up again with hot water and bubbles.
“So, Dilly, ready to work?” She dropped a handful of silverware into the sink and started scrubbing, suds stuck to her arms like bubble bath.
“I’m used to working and Dilly’s not my name.”
“Yeah, you told me you’ve worked. Cool.” She looked at me with a defiant eye. “You might have to get used to Dilly until I find a better name for you.”
“Try Dylan. I like my name. Why change a good name?”
“What’s in a name?” she asked, chuckling to herself.
“A person.” I answered. She glimpsed at me and then submerged a dinner plate into the water.
If she was going to be snarky, I was an old hand at being on the receiving end. Shirley trained me well. “I didn’t appreciate being tripped.”
She grunted. “There’s a lot of things I don’t appreciate. Such as someone making more work for me, more stress, more problems.”
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
“You’re here.”
“Not my fault.”
“Maybe, maybe not. There’s got to be a reason your auntie doesn’t want you.”
That stung. “Not a good one.” I said wanting to blurt out everything that had happened to me ever since I was a kid, and how I had no control over how people had treated me. But I didn’t know how to explain things, so I didn’t. I just wiped the silverware pieces one by one, drying in-between the prongs of the forks, and the etching on the handles so that there were no water spots; so that they shone clean and ready for the next use. And then I placed them in their compartment in the drawer, stacking them neatly atop one another as if they were still in their boxes at the store.
I could have told her more. Like how my mother didn’t want me around, or that the only person that ever wanted me around died, and that my aunt just wanted me out of her hair and I wouldn’t want to live with her anyway. That I had nice house and could have lived on my own, but they wanted to sell the property so now I’m homeless. But I couldn’t say all those things because the pain I experienced would come back and hurt me again.
“I see,” she mumbled softly, and looked at me. “Look, it’s tough your Uncle died. I can tell he meant a lot to you.”
She read my mind! All those things I just thought, she picked up on. Our eyes locked onto one another and all the bitterness was gone out of her. Just as astoundingly, the swelling inside of me burst. I wiped my eyes with my shirtsleeve, ashamed of my tears because Uncle Jim told me to be strong no matter what. I’d been in plenty of trouble at school for crying, so I knew better.
“Look Dylan, I have my reasons for being tough, too, you know. I have problems too, okay? I’ve got a history like you. Maybe worse, maybe better I don’t know. I get stressed out when there’s too many people, too many problems. And we’re having a hard time right now especially with Randy. He’s too much for her to handle but Mrs. Wright keeps bringing people in for the money and she can barely take care of all of them. Lately, I’ve been working my tailbone off.”
“Why are you working? I thought you were like me, like a patient?”
She grunted a laugh. “Patient? This isn’t a hospital, Not in so many words. This is a boarding house, a safe place, sort of. Technically we’re all tenants, even though most of us need care of some sort. And in answer to your question, I’m in charge when Mrs. Wright’s gone because she’s kind of training me. She says she’ll be paying me once the business gets out of the red. That’s why she keeps taking on boarders. So she can pay her help.”
That didn’t make sense and I labored over the puzzle in my mind.
She must have seen my frustration and laughed. “I came here as a tenant.”
“Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“I don’t fit into ‘normal’.”
“Why is that?”
“I have issues. Depression. Used to be manic depressive. That talk about keeping doors unlocked because people might hurt themselves? Well, Mrs. Wright made that rule because of me. I was suicidal when I came here. Tried a few times and drove everyone crazy. Scared my parents. Couldn’t hold a job. Couldn’t manage money. Cut myself a lot.”
“You cut yourself?” The thought of such a pretty girl trying to hurt herself upset me. “I don’t understand.”
“Didn’t figure you would. My psychotic behavior is not something you should worry about. I’ve overcome a lot of my problems by having some stability here. I’ve learned not to run away. Working with the tenants here has been therapeutic for me, at least until Randy came. Still, my depression wasn’t the only reason my folks sent me here. I don’t think like normal people do, and...” she tapped her head and her voice trailed.
“And you have special powers?”
She nodded. “Kind of like you, I guess.” She gave me an inquisitive look. She had no idea what my magic did.
I liked the idea that she thought we were alike. I found her attractive ever since I walked in the door. Maybe we could get along. “I’ve always been considered disabled.” I said softly, “Aunt Agnes says I’m slow. Can’t learn properly. I was never really ashamed of how I am, though, until Mr. Gravestone hinted that I should be.”
“Screw Mr. Gravestone. Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are.”
When she brushed her purple locks from out of her eyes she gave me a smile sweeter than I’d ever seen. My knees suddenly felt weak. “Some things are fixable,” she explained and then took her smile away as quickly as it had been offered.
“Your problem is fixed?”
“I wish! No, but I can live life on a day-to-day basis without sinking into a hell-hole.”
"That’s good. How’d you fix your life up?” I asked.
“Believe me, it’s not fixed. But, like I said, hard work helps. I do ten times more than those high school students Mrs. Wright hires on the weekends. And the tenants trust me. I know everyone here and what they need. When things are calm I’m okay. Just when people forget to take their meds, that’s when hell breaks loose. I’ll tell you something else, Dylan.” She leaned toward me and whispered in my ear again. Her breath tickled. “After she leaves every night, I treat them with magic. I wouldn’t normally. I don’t like using magic, but you’d be surprised how well it works to keep things peaceful.”
My eyes spread wide opened.
“I don’t practice magic when Mrs. Wright is around. But when she leaves...well you’ll see tonight. You could help me.” She paused and studied me, her gaze intense. “I mean, depending on what exactly you can do with your magic.”
I shook my head hard. “That’s wrong,” I said. “I don’t do much with my power. Just silly things. Entertainment kind of things. I don’t use it on people. I don’t know if I could control it that well.”
“Same here. I don’t use it on them. I mean, I don’t change them or anything. I just entertain them. You’ll see. You can help me.”
I still grimaced, not trusting the plan at all.
She didn’t back down. “Just watch me, tonight.”
I gave her a funny face, like I doubted my abilities. The idea had me spooked, too. What if I mess up?
“Take Mr. Gravestone,” she said. “He’s got dissociative identity disorder. Dual personalities. That’s why one minute he can be laughing and the next minute say something like he did tonight. If you ask him what happened, or what he said, he’ll deny having said anything. I try to catch him when he’s the nice Mr. Gravestone, before he turns for the worse. Then I apply some magical power to keep him there longer.”
“I don’t know. That sounds manipulative,” I said. “Counselors used to tell me my mom was manipulative.” I shook my head again.
“It’s not manipulative. It’s healing and good for him. Believe me, if I were being manipulative, I’d do worse things to him. Sometimes I feel like tossing his cranky old body out to sea.”
My mouth dropped.
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I won’t. I don’t think. I hope not!”
I took a step back, wondering if she had that much power. She ran a dish under the faucet to rinse the suds off, and then handed the plate to me. “Don’t be afraid of me, Dylan. I decided to like you. I think you’re my people.” She set the dish in the drainer and turned to face me. Her green eyes sparkled under the overhead light. She held out her fist. When I showed no sign of understanding, she took my free hand, curled my fingers together, and then bumped my fist with hers. “Friends?”
“Okay. Yeah, friends.” I relaxed. Her grin made me smile. We stared at each other for a little while, the water still running in the sink. Suddenly I felt awkward. My face flushed, and I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Good,” she broke the gaucheness and turned off the water. After shaking the drips from the dish, she handed it to me and I wiped it with the towel.
“Mr. Gravestone is kind of scary,” I said, thinking about the man’s murky eyes that had ripped my gut out at the dinner table. “I bet he can be really mean.”
“Mean? Pfft!” she said with a hiss. “He started a few fights here with some of the other tenants that have come and are since gone. Twice I had to interfere before things got out of hand. If he starts to pick up a plate while giving you the evil eye, duck!”
“Wow! What else do I need to know?” I was serious, but she just laughed.
“That’s the worst, so far.”
“Do you do any magic on the others?”
“I can help Mrs. Benson remember things and that makes her happy.”
“Can you heal anyone? Like make Mr. Gravestone have only one personality instead of two permanently?”
“Nope.” A quick and sharp response which I took as a sign not to press the matter, so I didn’t. “Don’t mess with nature. Not like that. I just comfort them. Mr. Bromheimer, he doesn’t need much comfort. He’s a pretty happy guy.”
“What can you do for Randy?”
“Randy shouldn’t be here.” Her tone changed, and she grew solemn, like she didn’t want to talk about Randy. She ran the rinse water over a pot she’d been scrubbing.
“What do you mean?”
She sighed heavily and shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone, but Randy’s supposed to have a personal caretaker. That means someone that takes care of him and him alone. I think Mrs. Wright is overstepping her license by keeping him. What she’s doing could not possibly end well and I’ve warned her. Randy’s way too much for me to handle. I hate when she leaves him here with me in charge.”
I said nothing more. Liona’s problems seemed to outweigh mine. “Maybe I can help you,” I offered. She didn’t answer, so I focused on drying the skillet.
“Good grief, Dylan, you’re going to rub all the iron out of that thing,” Liona commented. She handed me the oatmeal pan, so I put the skillet on the stove.
“Cast iron will rust if you don’t dry it properly. Uncle Jim told me that.”
“Yeah, didn’t he tell you that you can put a cast iron skillet on the burner and cook it dry too, you know? You just need to rub a little oil in it. Tell me about your Uncle Jim. What was he like? Why were you so attached to him?”
“He’s been like my dad. My real father disappeared when I was a baby. No one ever told me what happened to him, but I can guess. Mom didn’t take care of me very well, so the social workers took me away from her. Uncle Jim asked for custody, so I lived with him.” I whispered all this information because remembering those years was hard.
“What’s with your mother? What do you mean she didn’t take care of you very well? What did she do?”
“Drugs.” I had no apologies for her. No defense and no feelings. “She had an accident when she was younger, hit by a car and had lots of surgeries and got addicted to pills. Never gave them up. She drinks too. Uncle Jim taking me in was the best thing that ever happened to me. He said her drugs would have killed us both.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with such a gentle voice it choked me up a bit. “So that’s why no meds?”
“Yeah.”
We worked quietly for a little while.
“Life is like that, you know? Stuff happens. You got to make the best of whatever, no matter what. Otherwise, where’re you at?”
“I guess.”
This is where I’m at. In a strange house with people unrelated to me and nothing to hope for. No future, no place else to go. Nothing.
“Cheer up, Dylan. Things will work out for you. I’m making something of my life. You can too.”
We were done washing and drying the dishes, so she drained the sink and wiped it clean. “Well are you going to help me with the tenants, tonight?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
Mrs. Wright had the tenants pretty content in the living area by the time Liona and I were done in the kitchen. She surprised me when she grabbed her purse, gave Liona a kiss on the cheek and then walked out the front door. Liona wasn’t surprised so I didn’t ask any questions.
I followed Liona as far as the dining room, fixed the chairs back under the table, put the linen away and avoided the living area because I was afraid of what Liona might ask me to do.
“Hey, Dylan, come on in here. Let’s make these guys happy.”
I stood by the door, unsure.
Mr. Gravestone and Mr. Bromheimer were still at their game of chess, each with two of the other’s pawns in their cache, and Mr. Bromheimer had Mr. Gravestone’s, queen. I knew how to play chess. Uncle Jim taught me. The two opponents had just started their game, so losing a queen so soon wasn’t a good sign. Mr. Gravestone moved around on his seat nervously, obviously upset, while Mr. Bromheimer sat back on his chair with his arms crossed over his chest and a shameless smile spread across his face. He winked at me. I smiled but lost my grin when Mr. Gravestone scowled at me.
Liona walked behind Mr. Gravestone, put her hands on his shoulders and closed her eyes. Immediately the man’s body relaxed. Her touch must be powerful. He reached up and patted Liona’s hand.
“Depludag,” Liona whispered. Sparks came from her fingertips and I jerked back. The flash only lasted for a second, enough to light up the table and Mr. Gravestone’s face. His eyes were closed, so I don’t think he noticed. The flicker scared me. I stepped back into the dining room and watched from there.
Soon enough, Mr. Gravestone laughed, reached over the game board and moved his bishop. “Check mate!” he said, brushing his hands together. “Got you this time Ralph!”
Mr. Bromheimer scratched the fuzz on his chin and studied the board for the longest time. He glanced up at Liona. There was a hurt look on his face, and then he laughed. “Next time you give me the massage,” he told her. Liona winked at him, and then she winked at me. She walked over to Mrs. Benson and sat on the couch next to her wheel chair.
I moved back into the living room and became Liona’s creeping shadow, there was so much more to learn. She held the old woman’s hand for a long time and I could tell by the serene look on Mrs. Benson’s face, Liona was helping her remember things from her past. The woman nodded and whispered names and places. Liona asked her questions but her voice was so low I couldn’t understand.
That’s when I noticed Randy in the corner by himself. Poor Randy, always alone. He reminded me of me. The outcast. I knew Randy was smart, he just couldn’t communicate so people treated him like he didn’t know anything. I knew because that’s what people did to me. I walked over to him and pulled up a chair.
“Hi Randy,” I said softly.
“Hi Dy...Dy...Dylan,” he said eagerly and with a laugh. “How...how are you?”
“Hey, I’m good, I guess. How about you?”
“I...I’m fi....fi.... fine.” Randy stared into space. I don’t know if he was part blind, or couldn’t focus, or if he just couldn’t control his body well enough to look at me. Someone had combed his hair slick with oil. His large nose protruded like a proud Roman soldier, his lips were red from biting them.
The TV blared and made communication difficult. Since Gravestone and Bromheimer started another game of chess, and Liona tended to Mrs. Benson, I got up and turned off the television. Before I took my seat next to Randy again, I picked up my backpack by the stairs and brought it with me. “Hey, buddy I want to show you something,” I said.
“Okay.” Randy was quick to respond. He exhaled a peculiar laugh as I dug through my pack and pulled out the shoe box. Mr. Gravestone peered up from his game at me, sending a cold shiver of self-consciousness down my spine. Hesitant to take Annabella out, I grabbed the lightning marble I had made earlier that evening and set the shoe box down by my feet.
With the marble tight in my fist, its light shone through my skin and made my whole hand glow. Liona glanced at me for a second. I turned my back to her. This was just between me and Randy. I took Randy’s hand and held it for a little while. His palm was soft and warm, his hand large, fingers long. I put my left hand on top of his and started thinking about the ocean, the surf. I felt tingling and he laughed letting me know he felt the energy too.
“Randy, look here.”
Randy strained his neck to look as I placed the marble in his hand, which was now glowing as bright as a headlight on a train.
“Wow!” he exclaimed and laughed excitedly. His whole body shook. “Wow!”
He called out loud enough that everyone raised their heads and looked at us. I quickly squeezed his hand shut, hiding the marble, but not the glow. “Shh,” I said. “This is between you and me. We have some magic here, so don’t say anything.”
“I won’t, Dy..Dylan,” he stuttered. “That’s our.... s...secret.”
“Buddies,” I affirmed and patted his hand. He grabbed both my hands with his other. I never felt a tighter grip, nor one so needy. He wanted a friend so bad I thought I was going to break in half.
He shook my hand and kept saying repeatedly, “Bud...buddies, Dy... Dylan!”
I agreed one more time and pulled my hand away leaving the marble in his. No sooner had I moved away from him, then he looked me in the eye and reached for my shirt. I tried to keep my distance because he scared me a little, he was so intense, so strong, so destitute. “Dy...Dylan. I lo... lo...love you!”
We had the attention of everyone in the room right then. “Me too, Randy,” I whispered. “Love you too. Just between the two of us.”
Chapter 8
