“They are hiding up there you know.”
Harold stared bug-eyed up at the trees. I remember those
trees their colors green, brown and gold, their leafy tops high and swaying in
the warm west wind.
“They watch us from up there, waiting for scraps.” he said.
Harold was always odd to me but I never abused him like the
other kids. I can’t tell you another full sentence from any other kid in my
sixth grade class, not a one. But Harold’s
words, on our street, that fading fall afternoon, those words are burned into
my mind for all my existence.
Harold died that night. His mom found her strange little man
white as a ghost curled with clinched fists in the tub. She would be told it
was a seizure. She would remember his face and know better, but there wasn’t an
answer that would be any consolation. Not to her, not for her little boy.
I remember those words spoken as that last October leaf fell
and I wonder why. Why it took until now to realize we are not the giver of
scraps to those unseen horrors waiting high above and watching. We are the
scraps Harold was speaking off. I had this epiphany while looking into red
hungry eyes.
Let me go back a little, I should have time left.
The rest of those fall Saturdays were spent in counseling. Not
really sure why, I had hardly knew Harold but my parents felt it was needed. I
felt more disturbed wondering why I hadn’t cared more for a kid I didn’t know,
why I didn’t care the way they seemed to think I should have.
The rest of my pre and teenage years were relatively normal.
Just after high school I moved to the beach with friends, surf city usa. That’s
when I noticed them for the first time.
I was never that popular during my childhood or adolescent
years. Just after high school at the beach I felt potential for the first time.
The girls started to notice me a little more than before. Just after my 21 year I felt to be at the
cusp of something better.
I met her at the local pub. The dive sat on the
dividing line of a college town and the ghetto. It was a weird place where the
privileged came to be hard and the hard came to be soft and both came to be cool. She sat at a table by herself. She was both
attractive and trashy. Her eyes followed me with an uncompromising
stare.
I felt ready, I felt i had a new understanding but I was wrong.
My new confidence gave off a scent. I felt ready and she knew it. I sat, we laughed and drank.
When closing time came I told her to meet me at the beach.
the moon lit beach was a pale blue. Her
smile frocked by raven hair was ravenous. I had lain beside her as the waves
broke behind us with gathering intensity. My highest hope of a kiss had been
long realized when her hand slid down my chest. It inched down then it stopped at my bellybutton. A finger slipped in, I grinned
between kisses at anticipation of a tickle. Then I felt her finger penetrate my
abdomen as her tongue forced its own way unnaturally further. With the pain in
my stomach I bit her tongue hard, almost to the point of biting it off. Both her hand and head
retreated. I stood and I ran.
The next day waking up was hard but an hour and a half late and
with a soft bloody scabbed bellybutton I went to work. Thinking about the hazy
night before I was able to dismiss what seemed unreal, and herald my new worth,
my new confidence.
I remember sitting in front of my computer hopping to reach
five o’clock. Sitting stagnant and hopping to be unnoticed since I was too hung over
to get any real work done. Then my supervisor’s manager called me in to his
office. This was someone I had hardly spoke to in the halls. It was so strange that
for the first time I wasn’t worried about losing my job but felt noticed, maybe
things were a changing i thought.
I stepped into Frank’s office. He intimidated me, always
had. He asked me to sit and I obliged. He had those plush leather recliners,
not something expected in an office. I felt so uneasy and yet like I belonged there
sinking into the cushions. Like I deserved for him to take notice of me. Frank
stepped beside me. With sleight of hand speed before I could object he lifted
my shirt, un-tucking it he exposed my belly.
He looked at my scab.
“You’re not ripe at all, no harvest here.” he said with
annoyance.
Suddenly his eyes turned black and his teeth numerous
and sharp. And for the second time in twenty four hours I forgot about my social
strife or reality and ran.
Outside running turned to walking when I had no strength left. I had
been walking for some time when I heard them start to drop from
the trees. I tried to hurry again but was too weak.
Here now I look at these things and their red eyes and I
know I didn’t get away. No I was left for scrap.
