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Dina (my wife, and greatest fan) and I have been talking it over for a few weeks now… we have finally decided that the second (and final) excerpt that I will be posting for “The Dominance Flush” will be the following…
I know that this, with the first one about the circle of souls, best represents this manuscript and all of the years that I have put into it…
I wondered if I would ever sleep again as I walked down Pine Hill North after tossing about in my bed from 12:30 until 2:00 in the morning. It was so frustrating that it almost hurt in a way. I had slept from 9:00 PM until 12:30, when I woke up, but it was restless slumber, and therefor did me little good. There was no feeling worse than the one I now felt… three hours of sleep each night was not a luxury. Rest… all I wanted was to rest, but for some reason I was denied no matter how hard I tried. My discontent was growing with each passing day, and as I walked down the dark street that night I realized that the only time that I had felt even remotely comfortable in the previous four days was when I had been with John.
I hadn’t yet told him that I knew his mother from when she was still a Nun. I’m not sure why, but I remember feeling as though it might adversely effect my developing friendship with him. Besides, I wanted to meet with Sister John at mass the next day… not approach her through her son. To this day I still do not understand most of the decisions I made in Maine… I seemed unable to look at things reasonably…
As I walked past Ford’s dark home, I tried to peer through the darkness that hugged the porch so as to see if John was sitting there or not. Though I could not see him, the faint, orange glow of his cigarette moved up and down from his ash-tray to his mouth.
“John?” I asked, unsure if he had seen me standing there in the street. I squinted my eyes as if it would make a difference in the darkness, but left my vision unaltered.
“Nope,” a female voice responded, almost hissing at me, “Sheena.”
I was so embarrassed that I almost felt sick to my stomach. It was John’s wife. I had briefly met her as I was leaving their house two mornings earlier, but had never spoken with her. Needless to say, I found myself quite uncomfortable in her presence.
“Oh,” I sighed, “late night for you?” I desperately attempted to initiate conversation so as to rid myself of the discomfort that was tying my stomach in knots.
“Not really,” Sheena responded, standing up and stepping out of the darkness, “I woke up with a craving for cookies and cream ice cream, and I’m waiting for John to come back with it.”
“Oh, that’s right… I forgot that you’re pregnant,” I responded, taking a few steps toward the porch and getting out of the road. “Should you be… uh… doing that?”
“Doing what?” She asked, taking a drag off of the cigarette.
“Um… smoking… isn’t that bad for the baby?” I asked, cursing myself for being so nosy. The question was definitely not one that I had any right to ask, and Sheena’s response drove that point right home.
She flicked her cigarette into the grass that surrounded the house, and placed her hands upon her hips. Her prominent belly jutted out, for some reason making her seem quite intimidating. Her short, black hair was messed up from being pressed against her pillow as she slept, making her look one step above unkempt. This didn’t occur to me until later though, considering the fact that at this moment I couldn’t help but focus on her obvious anger. She glared at me contemptuously.
“Who are you to be passing judgement on me?” She asked furiously, making me wish to God that I had stayed in my room that night. “I’ve met you once, and already you think that your opinion means something to me?!”
“No, no,” I pleaded, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ford, that was very wrong of me.” I held my open hands out in front of me instinctually as if I expected her to start throwing punches. With the raging hormones that she must have been prey to I would not have been surprised if she had attacked me.
No response came from Sheena as she became distracted suddenly by a bright glow that illuminated the porch where she stood. Turning to see what the source of the light was, my eyes were met by the headlights of John’s El Camino. I had never been so relieved in my life!
The vehicle pulled into the gravel driveway, crushing pebbles and loose tar from the road beneath it. I stepped out of the way, settling myself on the grassy lawn to the left of the gravel. As the humming and rattling of the engine diminished, John stepped out holding a pint of ice cream in his left hand while a cigarette burned in the other.
Taking a long drag off of his cigarette, John nodded salutation to me and turned to Sheena, “They didn’t have cookies and cream, hun,” he spoke hesitantly. “I got patchwork instead.” He shrugged as if to imply, Oh well.
The rage that Sheena had directed my way seemed like nothing compared to what came next. Her venomous wrath snowballed, “WHAT?! They’re never out of it! You BASTARD, you did this on purpose because I made you take a break from your precious doodling to get me some ice cream!”
“Honey, they didn’t have–”
“Shut up, you selfish LOSER! Don’t talk to me until you have COOKIES AND CREAM!” She howled at a volume loud enough to awaken the entire neighborhood. She spun around fitfully, and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her.
I was unsure how to react to it all. Of course I was shocked, but it really took me a great length of time to truly believe that anybody could behave that way. My mouth hung open, complementing the surprise that surfaced in my eyes as I stared at the front door half expecting her to come charging back out screaming further words of hatred. Looking to John, I read in his uncaring eyes that he was accustomed to such unrequited abuse from his wife.
“Do you like patchwork, Sheila? I know that chocolate and vanilla seem a bit… boring when compared to flavors like… cookies and cream, but you can’t beat the classics,” John said in a nonchalant voice. “Would you like to share it with me? I would hate for my trip to Wells Shop N’ Save to be for nothing.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his unbreakable optimism and whimsical personality. I was surprised to hear myself giggle a bit, “I would love to… as far as I’m concerned, nothing goes together better than chocolate and vanilla.”
I was delighted to see him chuckle in response to my comment… or perhaps he was chuckling at the situation. He turned around and began walking up the porch steps, “Hold on, I’ll go dish some out,” he said happily, “Hope I’m not locked out!”
John opened the door and stepped into the house. As I waited outside I wasn’t at all surprised to hear Sheena’s angry voice screaming at John. Even muffled, it wasn’t difficult to decipher her tone.
I waited for a good five minutes or so before he emerged from the unlit dwelling holding two bowls of ice-cream in his hands.
“Sorry for taking so long–”
“It’s fine,” I interrupted, hesitating to make my next comment, “I… heard her… you have my sympathy, John. If there’s anything that I can do–”
“She’s just not herself, Sheila,” John spoke, interrupting me this time, “don’t worry… I’m fine, but I appreciate you caring.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back.
John walked over to the car and opened the tailgate. He seated himself there and immediately began to eat his ice-cream. I realized then that his tolerance to Sheena’s abuse was only a facade… like my own delusions of self-perfection. He devoured the ice-cream as if it were an exit, an escape, if not just temporarily. I viewed it as a healthier means of stifling one’s stress and anxiety than smoking, but was worried about him just the same. I wondered if his upbeat demeanor was just him stifling his frustration.
“Are you sure that you’re alright?” I asked, trying not to make him uncomfortable. I walked over to the tailgate and seated myself beside him.
“I’m fine,” he responded, swallowing a mouthful of the dessert, “I’m sorry you had to see that… but believe me when I say that she’s not herself. The pregnancy… hormones… she’s under a lot of stress.”
“You seem like a very compassionate and understanding man, John, but you have every right to feel upset about – and even resent – some of the things she says to you.”
“I know,” Ford replied, setting his bowl down beside himself, and lighting up a cigarette, “thank you, Sheila.”
I smiled, almost affectionately at him before I realized it. Looking down to my ice-cream, I dug up another spoonful and shoved it into my mouth. As I chewed, an aspect of their fight ran through my head that I was dying to ask John about. I saw no reason why I shouldn’t ask him this question.
“What did she mean when she referred to your doodlings?” I asked. For some reason that I didn’t understand at that time, I felt compelled to know John better. He was much like his mother, my nun, in the sense that he carried a very warm and unconditionally compassionate outlook.
“Well,” he began, taking a long drag, “I’m a bit of an aspiring artist. I do a lot of pencil, and charcoal sketches… usually abstract images that just seem to pop into my head. They aren’t very good though… I do it mostly to pass the time when I can’t sleep at night.”
“That’s a good idea,” I responded, setting my bowl down on the gravel, “having a creative hobby proves to be an outlet for expending stress.”
“Yeah, well it seems to cause me even more stress than it relieves,” he took another drag, “Sheena hates it… she sees it as a waste of time.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and continued to smoke his cigarette.
“But it’s not,” I protested, finding myself sympathizing with him quite a bit. “Don’t let others hold you back from doing the things that you love,” I advised, “they don’t understand what it means to you…” I paused, unable to contribute to that discussion anymore… there was something I needed to do first. “Would you let me see your work?” I asked carefully.
John flicked his cigarette into the bushes, and turned to face me. “Wait here,” he responded, standing up and walking back into the house.
I grinned happily to myself, dangling my legs giddily like an excited child as I awaited his return. Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head back and gazed up into the dark, night sky. Never before had I been so content.
I turned around as I heard John returning, the gravel crunching noisily beneath his every step. He carried a thin sketchbook in his right hand, and a small, wooden pencil box in the left. As he opened the driver’s-side door to shed light upon the cabin of the El Camino, he looked over to me and spoke quietly.
“We should sit in the car so that we have light,” John advised. He waited until I got up, and walked over to the passenger-side door. Leaning over, he unlocked my door and sat back in the driver’s seat. As I seated myself within the vehicle, he switched on the overhead lights and handed me his sketchbook.
“Are you sure that you’re okay with me looking at this?” I asked, looking deeply into his gray eyes. I ran my right hand over the embossed cover of the book.
“It’s perfectly fine,” he responded, “all I ask is that you give me your honest feedback… just a warning: some of it is a bit bizarre.”
I smiled, “I am no stranger to the bizarre.” Immediately I opened the sketchbook, and began to slowly flip through the various black and white drawings. They were quite dramatic, and very… dark… almost sinister. John Ford was a very deep man, as I discovered when he explained the meaning behind each and every piece that I viewed. It was so relaxing, but given that my curse was not about to lessen its hold on me, something terrible came about that halted our conversation in an instant.
“What in God’s name are the two of you doing?!” Came Sheena’s frantic voice from outside the car. I looked up quickly to see her dashing down the steps of the porch, and realized that the way John was leaning over the sketchbook toward me made it seem as though we were about to kiss!
Though my grief was stronger than it had ever been in my life at that moment, all that I could manage to say was, “Oh, no!” My heart jumped up into my throat as I watched Sheena slam her fist down upon the hood of the car, glaring at me menacingly. Not once in my life had I ever been in a situation where somebody had mistaken me for an adulterer. It felt as if I was at the threshold of Hell itself!
What came next would become one of the most vivid memories that still haunt me from my time spent in Maine. It also would be an event that I puzzled over for quite some time after that day. I sat there, petrified, as Sheena released an ear-piercing scream that was so terrible that I almost jumped through the roof of the vehicle. In utter horror, I watched as the car doors were torn off of the El Camino by some unseen force, and sent hurtling off into the dark wilderness. They crashed in two simultaneous explosions of falling leaves and branches. It was as if Sheena’s scream was enough to tear the vehicle to pieces.
I was petrified, unable to move. It took every bit of control in me to briefly gaze at John, who had his eyes closed. To my surprise – and confusion – he didn’t even show the smallest sign of fear or concern… almost as if he was accustomed to what was happening around us. Had I not been so terrified, I probably would have been devouted more time to pondering John’s reactions (or lack thereof).
My bottom lip began to quiver uncontrollably as Sheena waddled over to me with her plump belly bobbing to and fro. She stopped about two feet from where I cowered within the vehicle, not speaking, and thankfully not punching, kicking, or biting. What she did do was shoot a loathing glare down toward me. Something about her eyes just wasn’t right, but I could not identify what it was as I found my entire body rapidly growing numb as it had in the Circle of Souls. Bright, vibrant colors flashed across my perception, and I found myself unable to look away from Sheena’s hateful stare. I gasped as I felt my bladder involuntarily begin to drain itself, and I looked down to my white pants as a dark stain began to appear between my thighs. I couldn’t feel anything, not even the warm urine that ran down my cold skin.
Dizziness swept over me as my body began to quiver violently, and my consciousness rapidly faded away. The last thing that I heard was Sheena’s voice echoing off in the distant darkness…
“This is a warning,” she said, her voice carrying a vile tone, “I’m going to pretend like none of this ever happened, and in return you will abstain from giving in to your sinful desires. The next time… you die.”
I heard everything that she said quite clearly, and found myself thinking about her words as all of the brilliant colors that danced across my vision flushed to a soothing red. I allowed her hatred to consume my consciousness as the red colors quickly diminished to a hollow darkness. Everything went black, and my body rested.
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