The devil inside, p.10
The Devil Inside, page 10
“Jimmy? Is that you?”
I kicked off my boots and followed her voice toward the back end of the small unit. Her cursing and mumbling drifted from somewhere in the house.
“Where are you?”
The bathroom door opened, and she shuffled out, disheveled and frowning. “This damn sweater is too small. I never used to be a beefy girl.”
“That’s because it’s upside down. Can I help you fix it?”
She turned in a circle, trying to see behind her. “Is it? Well son of a gun.”
I stopped her with a hand on her arm and helped her remove the sweater and put it on the right way. “There. Feel better?”
“Ahh … Like a glove. Here I was ready to go on a diet.”
“No longer needed.”
Geraldine looked up and studied my face, squinting from behind her glasses. “Someone gave you five in the eye.” She tsked, shaking her fist once before yanking my shirt so I would bend where she could examine me closer. “Who did it? Tell your granny, and I’ll make them pay.” She sneered, making her wrinkles stand out.
“It’s fine. No one hurt me.” I peeled her hand off my shirt. “Did you want to go out today or stay in and play a game or something?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Oh. I can’t go far. My Jimmy is coming today.” She looked toward the front door. “We might go dancing.”
I chuckled. “You really want to go dancing, don’t you?”
She hooked her arm in mine and shuffled toward the living room. “I do. The pretty nurse with the flower earrings, she said he’s a looker. I’ve got my eye on her. Jimmy is a special boy. He doesn’t deserve some hosebag who doesn’t see his kind soul.”
Nurse with the flower earrings? I racked my brain but couldn’t figure out who she was talking about. I never paid much attention to women’s jewelry.
“Do you want to go out shopping?” I tried again. It was always best to offer multiple suggestions, multiple times with Geraldine. It took her longer to process than most people.
“Oh, not today, love.” She patted my arm and let me go, peering around her living room looking lost. “What time is the wedding? I should change. Can’t go looking like this. I have the most splendid dress. I bought it for my sister’s anniversary party in eighty-seven. It’s pink and has ruffles and a big sash. The shoes hurt my feet. Damn bunions. But I can suffer for one night. Micah said he’s only getting married once.”
An idea struck, and I figured I’d run with it. Geraldine was lost in her own world and might not notice the difference between a ballroom and her living room. And she’d been talking about dancing for weeks.
“The wedding is this evening. You should probably find that dress.”
She clasped both hands to her cheeks, her eyes going wide. “Oh my. I can’t be late. Micah will be so disappointed.”
She hustled as fast as her frail body would take her back toward her bedroom. I followed, in case she needed help finding what she wanted. Her independence was slipping further each day.
There was no pink ruffled dress in her closet, but if it was from the eighties like she claimed, I assumed it was long gone. She did own a yellow dress with a lace hem. It seemed to satisfy a need, and she beamed when she pulled it from the closet.
“Here it is.” She held it to her front, swaying and grinning. “Isn’t it lovely? You’d better watch out, Jimmy. All the boys will want a piece of me.”
“You’ll be the most beautiful woman there. I’ll leave you to get dressed, but yell if you need a hand.”
I closed her bedroom door behind me and listened for a minute. There was a strong possibility she’d never be able to get the dress on by herself, but some days she surprised me. Anticipating it would take her a long time, I headed back to the living room
Glancing around, I decided I could make a small dancing area if I cleared some furniture. After, I hunted down things to decorate with and give it a more wedding-like feel. There were candles and fake flowers in vases. I set them up around the room and dimmed the lights. On my phone, I searched up some ballads and had them ready to go. Then I waited with half an ear listening for Geraldine in case she needed help.
While I sat, I noticed the pictures of Micah’s wedding on the side table by her recliner. I picked them up and looked through them again. A seed of envy tugged at my gut, and I frowned, disgusted and ashamed that these images had elicited such a reaction. I wasn’t jealous. I didn’t envy Micah. I didn’t want his life.
And I wasn’t gay.
Maybe he’d accepted himself and was happy to be queer, but I wasn’t him. We weren’t the same.
I studied a picture of the newly married couple, locked in an embrace on the beach, faces close together. It stirred me up, and I tossed the pictures back on the table just as Geraldine appeared in the doorway.
“Aren’t they just the handsomest couple?”
I jumped off the couch and wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Did you make out okay?”
Her dress seemed to sag in the front, and I realized she hadn’t been able to zip it up. I fixed it for her and brought her to the mirror.
“Oh my.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’d better keep me close tonight, Jimmy. Those other men are gonna want to snap me up. I’m a hottie.”
I chuckled. “You look beautiful. Are you ready to go dancing?”
She took my hand and let me guide her to the spot I’d cleared in the living room. “I sure do hope you can keep up, young man.”
“I’ll do my best.” I turned on the music and cranked the volume. “I hope I don’t step on your toes.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. Harold was always stepping on my toes when we danced. The man had two left feet.”
The smile on Geraldine’s face when I took the lead was like nothing I’d ever seen. It took decades off her, and she moved with the grace of a much younger woman. It was more of a gentle sway than any proper dance since I didn’t have a clue what I was doing. She didn’t mind. I spun her and dipped her, and she laughed.
“Such a lovely wedding,” she said as she clung tight. “Wally makes Micah so happy, don’t you think? I’ve never seen him smile like that.”
She rested her head on my chest and hummed to the music with her eyes closed. I wondered if she could hear my heart racing.
“Don’t worry, love. You’ll find the one who’s right for you one day.”
I didn’t respond.
When the song ended, she stepped back with her hands on my chest, blinking up at me. There was something unspoken in her eyes. Like she could see all the way to my tormented soul.
She cupped my cheeks and stroked a thumb over my lingering bruises. “You aren’t a bad person, Jimmy. I don’t know why you hate yourself so much.”
I frowned. How did she know what I felt inside?
“Let me tell you a secret, love. Come here.” She waved a hand, encouraging me to bend lower so she could whisper in my ear.
Once I was at her level, she said, “My Micah used to have a lot of pain inside. He was a troubled, troubled boy like yourself. I’m gonna tell you what I told him a long time ago. The key to happiness is learning to accept and love yourself. Only then will you truly be at peace. You’re a good boy, Jimmy.”
She pulled away and frowned as she looked around the room. The moment was there and gone in a flash. “My feet are just aching. I think I need to sit down a bit. Tell Harold to grab me a drink from the bar, would you? A good stiffy.” She patted my hand and shuffled to her recliner.
Stunned, I nodded instinctively as her words carved their way into my mind.
She managed to sit without help, so I went to find her some water and put the kettle on for tea, knowing she’d want one soon.
I sat on a chair at the small kitchen table and dropped my head in my hands. Micah, Wally, a wedding, Oakland, Dr. Husein’s steady reminders, Geraldine’s advice, it all tumbled around and wreaked havoc on my insides until I felt sick.
Why wouldn’t it go away? I’d done everything. I’d repented. I’d prayed. Why was this my punishment? Where had I gone wrong? Why couldn’t I just be a normal man with normal urges?
The kettle whistled, jarring me from my thoughts. I made Geraldine a tea and took it into the other room. She was fiddling with the broken remote and frowning at the TV.
I left her tea on the side table and searched for the functional remote, tuning into her shows. Her smile filled her face, and she relaxed back on her chair. “There we go.”
“Do you want toast or a snack with your tea?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. The meal will be served soon. Micah said we’re having lobster. Wally said a beach wedding deserves fresh seafood. I agree. It sounds simply marvelous. Oh, did you see these?” She picked up the wedding pictures again, pride beaming in her eyes.
She wasn’t ashamed of her son, that much was clear. Geraldine had spent as many years at the same church as my parents, if not more. Why didn’t she hold the same beliefs? Why was she so accepting? Was this why she’d left all those years ago?
I took the pictures when she held them out but couldn’t look at them again. They did something to me. I pretended to look, pretended to smile, but it was all an act.
“Your time will come,” she said when I handed them back. “I found my Harold. Micah found his Wally. You’ll find someone too. Maybe that pretty nurse with the earrings who’s got her eye on you.” She paused and studied the pictures again. “Or maybe you need a nice man like Wally. That’s okay too. It doesn’t matter as long as you’re happy.”
I checked the time on my phone, itching to get out from under her scrutiny. All this talk of weddings and finding the one was making me squirrely.
“Gerry, I have my meeting tonight. Are you okay if I skip out a bit early? I don’t want to be late.”
“Of course, dear. You take care. No more fighting with the boys.”
I locked up and decided to walk to the main office to return the keys and let them know I was leaving.
“Will you be by next week?” Shawna asked.
“No. I don’t think so. I think her son’s back. Might be another month before I see Gerry. I just come when he’s away.”
“Oh.” There was a thread of disappointment in her tone.
“See ya later.” I waved and headed to the door.
“Bye, James.”
Before I left, I glanced back, checking for flower earrings. I was relieved when I didn’t see any. Maybe Geraldine was imagining things. I didn’t need some nurse chasing me down. I could barely tolerate myself most days. Aside from my disappointing lack of interest in females, I couldn’t imagine dating or having a relationship—an intimate relationship—with one. If I could fake it, I’d have done it a long time ago.
NINE
Oakland
I checked the time on my phone. Three minutes to eight. He wasn’t coming or he was running late again. These past two weeks had felt like a fucked-up dream. I’d been walking around in a bigger daze than usual and using pills and alcohol even more just to cope. Amanda had noticed. She didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t stupid. It wasn’t that I thought I was hiding my habits from her. We just didn’t talk about them. Talking about them gave life to deeper issues, and it was hard for either of us to admit there was something seriously wrong in our marriage.
I watched the door, ignoring the soft chatter of people around the room, unsure what to think of Jameson’s reappearance back in my life. My limbs were heavy, and a soft cushion surrounded my brain, infusing me with a sense of calmness. I’d popped a few oxy before coming, knowing my anxiety was going to eat me alive otherwise. My nervous twitching had calmed, my heart rate had slowed drastically, and a peaceful sedation had replaced my stress. I was mellow.
Last week had ended in disaster. Agreeing to go to Jameson’s place was the worst decision I’d made. Sure, I had my fair share of problems, so I wasn’t in a position to judge other people, but the years had not been kind to Jameson. He was nothing like the kid I’d known growing up. He was angry to his core. He had lashed out and spat cruelty in my face, and I’d reacted. We were a dangerous mix, both of us in bad places. It wasn’t until I’d gotten home that I’d been able to calm down and look at the situation with more clarity.
Jameson hadn’t fought back. He’d taunted and pushed me to the edge, then he’d stood there and taken the beating with a smile on his goddamn face.
“It didn’t fucking work,” he’d told me. “You didn’t hit me hard enough.”
There was something disturbing about his words. He had expected something and didn’t get what he wanted. For a week, I’d rolled the words around in my head, dissecting them and looking for meaning to no avail.
I’d been dead inside for years. Existing but not living. Had he been doing the same? Was he as bad off as me? Did he seek pain so he could feel alive? Was he fighting to keep his head above water too? Or was it something else?
Jameson slipped into the room at eight on the nose. Dr. Mercedes was calling the meeting to order.
Jameson’s face was still bruised, but they had faded to a healing yellowy hue, more prominent under his eye. The cut on his lip was scabbed. He grabbed an open seat by the door and crossed his arms over his chest, chin down, legs sprawled, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. He looked troubled. There was a crease between his brows, and his face was drawn.
“I’m glad you could all be here this evening,” Dr. Mercedes said, drawing my attention. “As usual, I want this meeting to be self-guided. This is your safe place to talk and chat about anything you need to get off your chest. I can offer direction if needed, but before I do that, does anyone want to start? Are there things that have been bothering you this week that you want to talk about? Are there emotions that are confusing you? Is there any advice you’d like to ask the group? There is no judgment here. We’ve all been through similar trauma, and we all have a similar fight ahead of us.”
He paused and scanned the circle.
Maybe it was the sedation from the oxy, or maybe the years had caught up with me and I was tired of containing my shame. Either way, I shifted on my chair and met Dr. Mercedes’s eyes.
“I have something to say.”
Jameson’s gaze darted up. I caught it from the corner of my eye, but I refused to acknowledge him. Perhaps the root of this whole thing came to light last week at his apartment. I didn’t honestly know. But the feelings Jameson had evoked had eaten at me all week.
“That’s wonderful. How about introducing yourself first and then go right ahead.” Dr. Mercedes sat up straight, hands folded in his lap. I had his full attention if no one else’s.
I raked a hand through my hair and ignored the far away, muffled buzz in the back of my head, telling me this was stupid and I should shut up.
“So, yeah, um, my name’s Oakland. I don’t really know how to put this into words, so I’m probably gonna ramble and not make sense. And I’m sure I’ll regret opening my mouth later, but here goes nothing.”
I glanced around. The intensity of so many stranger’s eyes on me was unnerving. I stared at my hands instead. “When I was seventeen, my parents caught me with a guy. They sent me away to a facility where I learned that all the feelings I was having were a sickness I’d developed somewhere along the way. They said they could cure me, and they would. I didn’t feel sick, but the longer I was there, the more I understood what they meant. It was horrifying to learn that I’d been tainted somehow and that it had led me onto this unnatural path.
“I was there for eight months. It was … brutal. I barely survived it.” I squeezed my eyes closed, unwilling to relive the details. “When they released me, I was so angry with my parents for putting me through that, I ran away from home. I took to the streets while I sorted my shit out, but it didn’t take long for me to realize I wasn’t cured. There was still evidence of this sickness inside me. The longer I was away from the facility, the more it surfaced. I was scared. They taught us we were corrupted. That we couldn’t let this sickness control us. We had to fight every day. I knew then if I didn’t reinforce their teachings, I’d go back to the way I was.
“Once I got my feet beneath me, found a job and a place to stay, I started dating girls. I did all I could to change my thinking. When I was in my early twenties, I met a girl, and we got married. I was determined to prove I wasn’t sick. I’m not sure when it happened, but I started to grow detached from everything around me. People and life in general. I felt more and more numb the more I pretended. This hollowness inside me grew bigger and bigger. The sickness wasn’t staying buried like I wanted. Every now and again, it reared its ugly head. I started drinking. My wife encouraged me to see a doctor who diagnosed me with severe depression. We tried a lot of medications, and over time, I discovered that pills had a way of helping me cope. I buy them on the street now. Can’t go without them. I mix lovely cocktails every day just so I can get by.
“A few weeks ago, I told my doctor about the facility. I’d never mentioned it before. I was high on opiates and alcohol, and it slipped out.” I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ever since, it’s like I can’t find my feet. It opened a door I didn’t want opened. I go into a state of panic where I’m surrounded by the feelings I’ve suppressed for years. The sickness, except, I don’t know if that’s what it is anymore. I’m conflicted and confused. I have so many questions and no answers.”
I closed my eyes and dropped my head, lacing my fingers at the back of my neck.
“Are you still married, Oakland?” Dr. Mercedes asked, his tone light.
“Yeah. She doesn’t know any of this.”
“Have you considered telling her?”
I glanced up, scanned the room once, and held Dr. Mercedes’s gaze. “I don’t know what to tell her. I don’t know what’s happening with me. I don’t know who I am anymore or who I’m supposed to be. Have I been living a lie for fifteen years?”
“Do you feel like you have?”
I stole a look at Jameson. His deep green eyes filled with a harsh warning. “Sometimes.” I wet my lips and checked in with the doctor again. “It would explain why I’ve never been able to find a connection with her. Why I can’t …” Completing that sentence would have embarrassed me, so I stopped and let it die in the air.
