ANONYMOUS
MINDEN, LA
JULY 1989
There is a frozen chicken thawing in the sink.
I made sure to fill it up all the way completely with warm water. By tomorrow morning, it should be ready to sit in marinated seasonings, then placed into the oven. I have an entire drawer of different seasonings—from rosemary to cayenne pepper to oregano and curry. My own two hands are wrinkled from scrubbing. Endless scrubbing. Scrubbing the counters, the floors, the carpet. I’ve started using more natural substitutes for bleach, as it is very strong on the nose. I’ve vacuumed and mopped, taken out the trash.
These are indeed very tough stains.
Squeezing out a wet rag, I get on my knees and begin to scrub the floorboards again, soapy bubbles clinging to my red knuckles. My plaid button down shirt is covered in stains, and hemline of my blue jeans are damp. Strands of my matted hair keep falling down my face, so I finally use a rubber band to tie it back. I never knew it had gotten this long. I am indeed long overdue for a haircut.
There’s a small thud upstairs.
Immediately, I stop scrubbing. The house is dark, with only the exception of the TV on. As I stand up, the wet floor is slimy beneath my bare feet. The rag slips out of my hand and lands with a large plop in my soap bucket. Slowly, I begin to make my way up the steps, gripping the railing with my left wet hand. When I reach the door, I pause for a moment. I wait. I listen. There is a sniffle. Another thud.
I push the door open and turn on the light.
My son is curled up in a corner of his room, underneath his rocking chair. He is shivering, but the fresh scent of soap hangs in the air. He releases a high pitched scream when he sees my shadow against the star printed wall. There is dark red on his face, and my stomach tightens at the sight. His large brown eyes are round with fear, and his cheeks are streaked with tears. It kills me inside. It hurts.
I crouch down to his level. “Rush.”
He remains frozen, still staring at me.
”Rush,” I repeat, this time, more softly. “Come to me.” Holding my damp arms out, I inch closer. “Come here, buddy. It’s alright.”
”Monster,” my son says. “There’s a monster.”
“Where, buddy?”
He places a thumb in his mouth. ”Closet.”
I give a sideways glance towards the pitch black double doors, before making a gesturing motion with my arms again. Crickets loudly chirp outside from his bedroom windowsill. “Come here.”
For a while he hesitates, before finally making his way over to me. His tiny bare feet patter against the lumpy carpet, which is littered with toys and books. I finally scoop him up and stand, rocking him back and forth. Using the end of my shirt, I gently begin to wipe the red from his upper lip. He often gets nosebleeds when he gets stressed. He loudly sniffs again as we look at each other eye to eye.
“There’s a monster?” I ask.
Rush nods.
”Then let me take a look.”
His small fingers dig into my sleeve as I open his closet door and yank the chain to switch on the lightbulb above. Nothing but all his clothes and shoes, in a somewhat neat pile. Rush leans his head against mine as I peek under his bed, look in every single corner. There’s a dark large stain in the middle of his sheets. His teddy bear is on the floor, so I bend down and make sure to hand it to him.
”No monsters,” I quietly say.
He continues to suck on his thumb as I carry him to the hallway bathroom and perch him on the bathroom sink. His face is scrunched up, and as I wipe it down with a damp paper towel, he begins to cry. A deep ache settles in my chest, and as I pick him up, he starts to hiccup. For several moments, I rock him back and forth in my arms, slowly patting his back.
“I’m scared,” he wails.
“You had a bad dream, buddy?”
He nods, continuing to sob. After grabbing a handful of paper towels, I shut off the light and head downstairs, my bare feet causing the treads to squeak. His little heart is beating so quick it seems like it’s ready to leap out of his chest. But I hold him. I hold my boy tight. I sit down on the sofa in the family room and rub circles of comfort across his back.
“It’s okay,” I gently say. “It’s okay.”
Rush hiccups. “Don’t leave.”
“I’m here.”
He coughs uncontrollably.
I scoot backwards as far as I can against the sofa cushion and bend my knees, keeping him in some sort of cocoon. He cries and cries, and I wipe each tear from his face. It deeply pains me to see him in this such fear. My shirt is soon drenched with his tears. I really to get him a nightlight by his bed.
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”I’m not going to leave you. I’m here.”
“Don’t leave, don’t leave!” he screams. His eyes keep darting to the dark hallway. “No!”
”I’m not going to leave you, buddy.” As I repeat this, my voice cracks. “I’d never do such a thing. I’ll never abandon you. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you or take you away. I’ll protect you from every single monster out there. I swear it. I swear it on my life. No one will ever come between us.”
Rush is still coughing, but his sobs are slowly dying down. I continue to lightly rock him back and forth. His heartbeat is starting to slow. I shift my legs and exhale, surprised to feel water beading up in my own eyes. I blink.
“You won’t need to be scared. Ever. I’m here.”
“N-n-no monsters?” Rush finally raises his head to stare at me. His round nose is bright red, and his mouth is covered in snot. I use the crumpled napkin from the bathroom in my hands to wipe it up. He rubs his eyes with his pajama sleeves. I take his palm and lightly kiss the top of his knuckles. He gazes at me.
”None.”
His large eyes go back up the dark stairs as he points. “M-monsters—”
”Hey,” I softly say. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here with you. They not comin’ near us. No way.”
Rush nods. I grab a nearby quilt and wrap around the both of us. He’s much more exhausted now in my arms, although he’s fighting to keep his own eyes open. I lean my head sideways against the sofa. I still haven’t finished cleaning the floor yet. But my boy is all that matters. I curl up in a ball, and we gaze at each other, face to face. His small fingers trace my nose, mouth, eyebrows. When I make a silly face, he giggles.
I faintly smile at him.
Rush pokes my upper lip. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That line.” He squints his right eye, just barely visible from the dim TV light. “Right there.”
”That’s a scar. You know what a scar is?”
Rush shakes his head.
”It’s a mark that comes after an accident.”
“Like a big Band-Aid?” He lightly touches it again, before snuggling closer towards me. I draw the quilt around him to keep him warm.
”Sort of.”
“How’d you get it?”
”Hmmm. I never told you, did I?”
Rush eagerly shakes his head again.
”When I was six years old, I begged my father removed the training wheels from my bicycle. I wanted to be like the neighborhood kids.” I take a deep breath. “I was tryin’ to impress some of the older boys. There’s this big hill nearby our house. They dared me to go down without using the handles for a nickel. I lost two of my front teeth, broke my wrist, and got that mark. All from goin’ headfirst in a tree.”
My son’s eyes widens. “Did they give it to you?”
”Yeah. When I got home from the hospital.”
”Wow,” he exclaims in awe. “Cool!”
“Eh,” I ruffle the top of his hair. “I don’t think it was worth it. I was in pain for weeks.”
Rush tries to hold back another yawn, but fails. “When I get big, I’m going to do stuff like that.” He grins. “I’m going to do stunts.”
”You are, aren’t you?”
”Like on TV!”
There is a deep lump forming in my throat. His eyes are still a bit puffy from crying. I watch him gradually doze off in my arms; a peaceful expression replacing the terrified one only just moments before. I caress the side of his sleeping face—one that resembles too much of his mother’s. One that I am unwilling to look at, but am forced to. I shield him from the dark. I bury my face in his hair.
”I’ll protect you,” I whisper over and over again. “I’ll protect you. I protect you.”
* * * * * * *
Tito’s Diner.
Established in 1949. Known for their simple old fashioned burgers, the joint was a hotspot in the early sixties to the late seventies. It has a long host of owners. It was the regular go-to place for my classmates from school. I haven’t been there a lot, not even when I used to travel in and out of state. I haven’t really left Louisiana for a while, but I’m thinking that a trip is long overdue. But my work is not finished. Not exactly yet.
I park my car by the side of the road.
There is a regular that has caught my eye.
He’s not a bad looking guy. Tall, slim with an athletic build. He walks with an air of confidence that I haven’t seen with a lot of people. He orders the same thing on the menu. He doesn’t have a car, but usually takes the bus. Sometimes, he paces up and down the sidewalk, almost like he is waiting for someone. Yet, he seems have nowhere to go. He walks around this town in circles, wearing bright white socks with flip flops.
I know I must be careful. I read the newspapers each and every day, alongside listening to the radio. I drive by multiple times, sometimes circling back to get a feel for the area. It sounds strange, given that I’ve grown up here, but the crowds have changed.
The man exits the restaurant. He pauses, standing in front of the sweltering heat, fanning away a couple of flies with his hands. After stretching his back, he proceeds to walk down the sidewalk for a moment. As his shadow turns around a corner, I shift my car into drive. I’m wearing shades, and my hair is tucked beneath my faded baseball cap.
He stops walking as I pull up next to him and roll down my window. I deliver a friendly smile and wave at him. The AC is on full blast.
“Where you goin’ pal?”
He gives me a blank look.
“You need a ride? Where you headed?”
“Baton…” The man frowns. He has a very thick accent. “Baton Rouge.”
”Baton Rouge? I’m headin’ up there right now,” I say, wiping my sweaty forehead. “The bus isn’t scheduled to come for another half an hour.” I lean against the steering wheel. “I could use the company. Why don’t you hop in?” I force another smile. “Plenty of room.”
The man gives me a cold stare. “I take bus.”
My fingers dig into the seat. “You sure?”
He hesitates.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
”Alessio.”
“Baton Rouge is two hours away from here.” My voice lowers into a whisper. “I couldn’t…couldn’t bear to see you walk most the way.”
Alessio raises an eyebrow. “Why you care?”
”Because you just look like you need help,” I answer, before cheerfully smiling. “That’s all.”
He shakes his head, before continuing to head to the bus stop. I watch him go and let my car idle in the road for a moment, before finally speeding off, dust rising in the air. I fling off my hat and toss it on the passenger seat, my breaths shaky.