Amber Eyes (10 page)

# # #

Knocking at a door nobody opened, I was suddenly transported back to Gregory’s door. Fright crawled up inside me and I felt as forsaken and scared as I had back then.

“Granny!” I pushed the doorbell, not twice, but four times. I could clearly hear the chime. “Grandma! It’s me, Alexandra! Are you at home?”

I’d heard of old people suddenly collapsing because of a heart attack. Because they live alone, it’s days before somebody finds them lying dead in their living rooms.

“Mrs. Zimmerman!” I wondered if I should call the 911.

Something made a loud clack. Maybe a window pushed open, so I gazed everywhere.

“Boy! Hey, boy!”

I raised my head. It had indeed been a window. Not in grandma’s, but in the neighboring house. A woman sticking half of her body out of a second floor window waved a hand at me. Her mane was disheveled, and her face was covered by some white, strange cold cream. She looked just like a clown.

“Boy, hey!”

I waved back.

“Are you looking for Mrs. Zimmerman?” she shouted.

I nodded. Of course I was. What else did she figure I was doing at her door, ringing the bell like crazy?

“She’s not in.”

That, I already suspected. “Will she be gone long?”

She cupped her hand around her ear and frowned. “I can’t hear you, boy. Speak up.”

“Will she take long?” I shouted.

“Yes, but… do you have a package for her?”

I couldn’t understand what she was talking about. “Package? What package?”

She cupped her hand around her ear again and shook her head. “Wait there. I’ll be downstairs in a second.”

The woman disappeared from the window. Two or three minutes later, she appeared at her door. She beckoned me and I approached. She wore some pinkish, baggy tunic, her mane was still disheveled and her face white. She really resembled a clown ready for the show. I giggled.

“Hey, what’s so funny, boy?”

I had to bite the inside of my cheeks. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Mrs. Zimmerman is not at home.” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “Are you delivering anything for her? If so, you can leave it with me. I’ll hand it to her as soon as she comes back from her trip.”

Trip? Nobody had told me she was traveling.

“Is she coming back soon?” I started to feel nervous. My palms turned sweaty.

“Not soon. She went to Mexico, to Cancun, like the spring breakers. She’s sort of a ‘summer breaker’ herself. Do you have a package for her?”

How freaking annoying! I had no package to deliver. If my grandmother was traveling, if she was not at home, it’d be the end of the world.

“What… what do you mean she went to Cancun?” I stammered. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

“Well, she travels to Cancun every year in the summer. She’s always traveling. She spends very little time at home. Was she expecting you?”

I shook my head. No, she wasn’t. In fact, nobody expected me. Nobody cared ‘bout me. I could drop dead on the spot and not even the clownish woman would realize it. Congrats Alexandra, now you were turning invisible on top of being a pro-level loser.

The woman snapped her fingers. “Oh, sorry, you’re
the boy
! I should have recognized you.”

She cast a disapproving glance at me, pursed her lips, and puckered her nose. Bet she thought I was a beggar. Edward’s jacket was so large it covered my shorts, and she might be wondering whether I was wearing anything under it, or whether the dark sunglasses were concealing some red, junkie eyes. She also sniffed openly. I cringed. I knew I stank of puke and sweat.

“Cixi—I mean, Mrs. Zimmerman, she left a box of old clothes inside the house for you and fifty dollars. You won’t use the money to buy weed, will you?”

“You’re mistaking me, ma’am. Mrs. Zimmerman’s my grandmother. I… I only wanted to say hello.” I lowered my head. “Thought she might be at home.”

She stiffened even more, no longer resembling a clown, not even a pissed one. Because of her mane, she now looked like an upside down broom. “I wasn’t aware Cixi had a grandson. Poor young Aaron got married and had a kid, but I always thought it’d been a girl. Never mind. I can tell her you dropped by. What’s your name, son?”

“Ale—Justin.”

“I’ll tell her you dropped by, Justin. Anyway, feel free to call her on the phone. She’ll be back by the beginning of August.”

Beginning of August? Omigod!

“Is everything right, kid? Are you feeling okay?”

No, I was not. I felt queasy, way too much. All of a sudden, I had this urgency to pee. Bet I also got pale or something of the sort, for she stared at me like I was a zombie. I started to ball and open my hands fast because my hands felt numb.

“I’m okay… ma’am,” I gulped. “I’ll… I’ll leave her a note under the door, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, Justin. Do you need a pen and paper?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got mine.”

When I stepped down from her porch, my mouth was as dry as if I’d been chewing sand. I glanced sideways, wondering where on Earth I could find a stupid restroom. I needed one on the double.

I had to hold to the picket fence as I staggered back to my grandmother’s porch on shaky Jell-O legs. When I finally reached it, I crumpled on the front steps and bit my lower lip—my salty lower lip. God only knew when I’d started to sob without noticing it. I wiped my face under the sunglasses with the back of my hand, and then I stared at my other hand like it was the first time ever I discovered I had two of them. The earplugs’ cord was twirled around all my fingers. Once, twice, three times—too many times to count, which was not good. I was getting so nervous, I’d lost awareness of my own body.

“It’s not fair.” I bit my lip again.

When Mom had fled, she’d said that if I need anything, I had to look for my grandmother. But… my grandmother was gone! She hadn’t cared. She’d traveled to Cancun anyway, leaving me behind when I needed her the most. Bet she did it on purpose. Bet Mom had learned about her trip and didn’t say a word about it. My mother hated me. It’d always been that way. I glanced sideways. What should I do now? Where should I go?

“Now I can’t even focus well. Mom’s stupid sunglasses!”

I took the sunglasses off, yet everything remained blurry. Nothing was wrong with the sunglasses. My eyes were soaked in tears. I sighed and sunk my face in my hands. A restroom… I needed one badly. Nah! Never mind. I spread my legs a bit and simply let it flow on purpose, warm and wet. The little golden stream ran down the steps. Wetting myself was wrong, but I didn’t care. If the world didn’t respect me, I didn’t respect it either.

The minute I ended, I felt like crap. Wetting myself had been stupid, and it’d really turned me into a sort of beggar. Now I stank of pee on top of puke and sweat.

“Edward,” I whispered.

Of course, Edward couldn’t hear my pathetic, little plea. He had left over an hour ago. Calling his name wasn’t the stunning thing, though. That I’d been about to cry “Jennifer” and ended up mumbling “Edward” totally freaked me out. Why had I called the name of a guy I only met the day before? Why not my girlfriend’s name instead?

It was official: my feelings were a total mess.

July 2, 9:53 am

Ten minutes later and I still sobbed on the front steps. Boys don’t cry. If I really wanted to be one, I had to control myself and stop behaving like a loser. Was I a mouse or a man? Besides, I needed to decide what on Earth I was gonna do.

Ha! As if it was that simple. I rose to my feet and wiped my face with the jacket’s sleeve, rubbing my eyes. My shorts were wet from pee, soaked like I’d just come out of a swimming pool and they felt cold. The price I had to pay for behaving like an idiot.

I set off strolling around the house. Somebody had just trimmed the lawn a few days ago, and colorful flowers bloomed everywhere. A nice garden under a nice sunny morning, and so many bad things happened to me. Sheer bad luck.

I was alone in a stupid, forsaken little town so far away from home. Home? I had to be too freakin’ desperate to call Yago’s hole a home. The only reason why Somerset could resemble a home was because Jenny lived there. I had to figure out what to do during the next five days until she’d be back and I’d be able to move in with her. I needed some place to stay meanwhile, but I couldn’t think of anything different from a park bench. I was deeply sunken in crap. If my grandma was not at home, I had to leave Abbeville, but first I needed to decide where to go. The next time I ran away from home, I’d think first of a Plan B.

I reached a back garden surrounded by tall trees and zillions of flowers—their perfumes reminded me of Jenny. It felt like being secluded in a forest, because the neighboring houses were hidden by the trees. The kitchen’s back door and some windows opened to the back garden. The clownish woman had said grandma packed a box of clothes for a homeless boy. A boy my age, most likely. Otherwise she wouldn’t have mistaken me.

Let’s suppose, I said to myself, I break into the house, put on some clean clothes, meet Edward and his friends, and go camping with them. He said they’d be camping for five days. Exactly the time I need to kill until Jenny’s back. How ‘bout that?

It was purely hypothetical, but my options were few. I couldn’t go back to Yago’s place—I bet a police car stood parked outside our trailer in case I would show up. Prob was I couldn’t go camping with five guys I’ve never met before. The idea was crazy. I might look sorta tomboyish, yet not tomboyish enough to deceive a bunch of guys for five days. I could well end up gangbanged by the five of them. Still, it represented my only chance.

I moistened my lips with the tip of my tongue. The plan had a flaw: I needed to figure out how to open the back door without a key. A rock. If you want to break into somebody else’s home, you need a large rock. I paced the garden checking the ground. A large rock… a large rock… I picked up one and held it in my open palm. Nah! Too small. I picked a heavier one but it still was too small. I kept on and then, Bingo! The perfect one. It was huge, part of the garden’s landscape. I uprooted it with both hands and raised it over my head— it weighed a ton.

Where did I find the strength to toss it? Beats me. The rock sailed through the air and crashed against the door’s window, smashing the glass in zillions of splinters. A terrorist’s bomb wouldn’t have made so much noise. I froze. Shit would hit the fan in a matter of seconds. All the neighbors, the police, and even the army would come to see what on Earth had just happened. I panicked. I fled toward the trees, threw myself to the ground on all fours, and hid under some thick bushes. The branches scratched my legs, ankles and face, but never mind, I needed a hiding spot on the double. I’d just done a totally stupid thing.

# # #

After a while, nobody came. Believe it or not: nobody heard the bang. Weird, to say the least. I crawled from under the bushes and jumped to my feet. Some sort of guardian angel must have been taking care of me. That, or I was the luckiest person in the world and should be buying lottery tickets by the dozen.

My next step: to reach through the broken window and unlatch the door from within. Piece of cake. The door opened squeaking a bit and I went inside. Now, I was free to search the house. There was not much to inspect, though. Only a living/dining room, the kitchen, two bedrooms, and one bathroom. It was small but lavish: fancy furniture, Persian rugs, crystal chandeliers and the like. Sorta a posh old lady’s den. The remarkable details were the pictures. Zillions, tons of them everywhere: on the living room table, on the cupboards, hanging on the walls, and even hanging in the kitchen and in the bathroom. The pictures crowded the whole place like an art gallery. Grandma and Grandpa appeared in every one—it had to be them, who else? Mom had once told me Grandpa Zimmerman had passed away a while ago so none of those pictures could be recent.

There were pictures taken in Paris, New York, Rio, London, Epcot Center… everywhere. The guys did travel. I picked up a framed picture from the living room table. It portrayed four men outside the falling-apart factory I’d seen from the bus. Except that in the picture, the factory looked brand new. The four men wore black suits and ties. They smiled and passed their arms over each other’s shoulders, like old buddies. I turned the picture over. On its back, it was printed: “Inaugural day. From right to left: Plant General Manager Mr. McNeil. Production Manager, Roger Clinton. Under General Manager, Aaron Zimmerman. Safety Manager, Frank Fitzgerald. AMI Manufacturing Plant, Abbeville.” A blurry date followed, but it was written in a pathetic handwriting I couldn’t decipher.

Okay, so Grandpa Zimmerman was a sorta important guy at the AMI plant. Cool. The general manager was the oldest guy in the picture, the one with white hair and the like. Grandpa was the youngest. Conclusion: the picture was from the prehistoric ages.

I tossed the picture away and stared at a large photograph hanging on the wallpaper. Holly Christmas nuts! My hand flew to my mouth. The photo pictured Granny, Grandpa—much older—Mom and… Omigod, my dad! I took the picture and hugged it hard against my chest. I closed my eyes. Dad. An actual picture of Dad. Not like that old, blurry photograph Mom kept and didn’t like to show to me. No. I held a full color picture of Dad. For some moments, I felt like I had floated way above the clouds. I grinned for the first time in days. An actual, sincere satisfaction grin.

I pried the picture off my chest and studied it, wondering where on Earth it had been taken. The family posed in front of a huge marble staircase, like the ones they’ve gotten in royal palaces, with a red runner and the like. The men wore tuxedos, and the girls, long dresses, jewels and tiaras. All of them smiled. I bet something was also written on the back. I moistened my lips, held my breath, and turned the picture over. It said, ‘Magnolia Hall. Christmas.’ But there was no date. Whatever! Dad was in the picture. It didn’t matter when it’d been taken.

Edward had said the plant manager lived in Magnolia Hall. Grandpa should have been his buddy if he used to invite Grandpa to his Christmas parties. I sighed. Dad had been such a good looking guy!