CHAPTER 33

All Mixed Up

Santo opened his eyes and stared at the bedroom ceiling. His limbs were stiff, and his joints ached from too much sleep. And when he stretched, he discovered Melisa was gone. He rolled toward the edge of the mattress and studied a dull chink of light passing through a small tear in one of the bedsheet drapes.

Dusk. He had slept through two-and-a-half days.

Then he caught sight of a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches with the corner of his eye. He snatched them off the floor and sat up on the edge of the mattress, noting that the bedroom door had been left open.

The smoke tasted good. And sitting felt good. So, he remained in this position until he smoked the cigarette to the filter. Then he let himself fall back into the mattress, leaving his knees bent and his feet flat on the floor. He stared at the cracked ceiling without focus and waited for distant thoughts. But there was no pursuit and no lingering. Random thoughts appeared and disappeared freely. Then a surge of energy propelled him into a vision:

A door appeared before him, cracked open a few inches, and released bright chinks of light from its vertical and two horizontal edges. Then a butterfly zigzagged toward the top vertical opening of the door and disappeared into the freedom of that mysterious chink of light.

A feeling of well-being began to consume him and put an end to his inner chaos; his thoughts became quiet and unified and…clear…that was it, clear! He sat up again: he knew his Six-thirteen life was almost over and everything was going to be alright. He knew! And in a humble revelation supported by three fragments of reality, he whispered timidly to himself: “I've got my life. I've got the G.l. Bill. I've got…a reason to stay.” He collapsed into the mattress, again, startled by this simple insight and decision.

He broke into a cold sweat, which reminded him of that strange experience he had at the Conradi Theatre. Suddenly. he saw the stark darkness, connecting the past with his present, begin to brighten. He was not the same.

Then voices interrupted his reverie. He focused his attention until the voices and activity from the other bedroom clearly intruded on his senses.

It was Gladys and Melisa. And the door to the other bedroom was also open.

“I've got jobs waiting for us in Atlanta, Mel.”

“God…I don't want to start turning tricks, again.”

“Have you got a better idea? That seventy-five bucks Rick told you about isn't going to take us very far. Honey. I could use a friend with me.”

There was a long silence.

“My life. I'm going nowhere fast with it.”

“It won't be forever,” Gladys assured. “We can pool our money.”

“And do what?”

“Save it.”

He heard the scrape of a chair followed by one of them walking heavily across the room. Gladys was sympathetic,

“You've got to forget about these guys, Mel.”

“What about Nat?”

“He's nothing to me. They're losers.”

“And what does that make us?”

Her challenge forced Gladys to be more aggressive.

“Alright. Go on and feel sorry for your goddamn self. Nobody's going to care. As for myself, I'm packing my bags and I'm going to load them into Nat's car. I'm leaving in the morning, with or without you.”

Santo heard Gladys throwing her things together.

“I'm sorry, Gladys.” But the activity continued as if Gladys was ignoring her. “I'm just so tired of it all.”

The activity stopped. “I understand, honey. We're all mixed up. That doesn't make any of us bad. We just don't know…what we're doing.”

“I simply want to stop running. I'm getting fed up with all these major changes in my life.”

“Life is change, hon. There's nothing we can do about that. And as for running, well…stop running. Dig in and fight for your life.”

“But…that's so hard to do.”

“I didn't say it was going to be easy. Why the hell do you think I'm packing? Because life always looks greener when life looks new. I'm a coward. And…I know someday it's going to catch up with me.” Gladys's voice dropped a full octave. “In the end…I know I'm doomed.”

A long silence followed.

“Where will we live?” Melisa asked without conviction.

“Now you're talking, Mel. Come on, start packing. That's movement. And movement is good.”

“I wish I had your confidence.”

The activity in the room increased appreciably.

“That's nothing but a smoke screen,” Gladys confessed. “Forget him, Mel. I almost went for him myself.”

“I've got to try one more time before we leave in the morning. I can't help it.”

“Crap. Then do it. I only wish I could save you the pain.”

Santo stood up and quietly shut the door. It reduced the clarity of their activity and what remained of their conversation. Then Nat intruded on their privacy. He offered them his assistance.

Shortly thereafter, Santo heard luggage thumping against the doorjamb as Nat entered the hallway. He was carrying their bags. Santo stood by the closed door, listening.

He waited for them to go outside and finish loading their stuff into the trunk of Nat's car before he dragged himself down the hallway and into the bathroom. All he wanted to do was take a shower. He didn't want to face Melisa again, because he didn't want to hurt her. There was nothing noble about hurting somebody already wounded.

Cold water from a mildew-encrusted shower head washed his thoughts away.