By Anna Maldzhiev

She thrust her hands into her jeans pockets, and bent her head against the cold, windy rain. Should have worn my jacket, she thought to herself. She’d been warned before moving here that no matter what the weatherman said; always bring a jacket or umbrella. When she arrived at the bus stop and got under the covered protection from the rain, she shivered and huddled into herself.

A young man, about her age, hurried into the small shelter to stand next to her, and he shook off a little. She met his intense gaze and gave him a polite smile. In return, he smiled widely at her. A smile, she guessed, that had broken many hearts. She quickly averted her eyes, but not before she felt herself blush.

He greeted her and said something about the rain. The usual type of statement everyone in Portland makes this time of year. She smiled at him again. He lit a cigarette and rubbed his hands together as if to warm them.

“I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks,” she started, “I’m beginning to wonder if there is a sun in Oregon.”

“Only 2 more months of this, and then the sun comes out again and it all dries up. During winter, people seem to forget about the sun, and during summer, everyone tends to forget about the rain,” he shrugged with this reply. “I’m John by the way.” He extended his hand towards her.

“Crystal,” she said shyly, and shook his hand as her father had taught her.

“You live around here?” he questioned.

His directness made her nervous, but before she had time to question it, she found herself answering, “Yes. I live in the apartments down the road.” She fiddled with her backpack, absentmindedly rearranging the contents, not quite comfortable with making eye contact.

“Where you headed?” he asked. He shifted his weight and leaned against the plexi-glass wall, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Um, actually, I’m going out exploring. Have the day off work, thought I’d see what I could find.” She turned her eyes skyward; no break in the dreariness that hung over head in any direction. She realized that she’d picked a bad day. Damn weatherman, she thought.

His attention on her was flattering, though she was a little uneasy about telling this handsome stranger so much about herself. She hadn’t had a conversation with anyone other than her coworkers at the sub shop since moving here. “And what about you, where are you headed?” she inquired, trying to turn the conversation.

With that same contagious smile, he said, “I’m a freelance photographer. I work with a buddy downtown, he owns a large studio.”

“Neat.” She wasn’t sure what to say, and when she realized this sounded lame, she tucked her damp, long hair behind her shoulders and continued, “What do you take pictures of?”

“People mostly. I like to go to Pioneer’s Square and watch and take pictures. There is so much going on in our lives, it’s fun to capture some fleeting moments and lock them in time.” He finished his cigarette and threw it into the soggy street.

Before she could think of a response, the bus slowly pulled up alongside them, the loud brake whoosh seeming to end the conversation succinctly. He motioned for her to go first, and she hurried through the drizzle and hopped up the steps. She showed her bus pass to the driver before taking a seat near the front. Figuring he only talked with her at the bus stop to pass his time while waiting for the bus, she was surprised when he came and stood in front of her. He indicated with a look that he’d like to sit next to her, and she gave him a slight nod. With all of his charisma, she didn’t get why he was interested in someone so clumsy and plain.

He persuaded her to join him for coffee, and to let him show her around downtown since the rain had stopped. His eyes were the iciest blue she’d ever seen, and they seemed to seize her most inner thoughts. The whites of his eyes were tinged yellow, but this thought didn’t register in her mind. His jawline was strong and had slight stubble. Every time he smiled at her, she felt blood rise to her face, while her pulse quickened.

He picked a small café and after insisting to pay for her coffee, they sat in the back and talked for a while. She was amazed at how easy it was to talk with him, how she kept going on about herself and the events leading up to her move to Portland. All dreams and ideas came flowing out of her mouth when he turned those fierce eyes upon her. This was not like her, she was usually very guarded and kept to herself unless with family or good friends.

Then they began walking around downtown, while he pointed out certain places and told her some interesting facts about the history of the city. They passed an old homeless couple cuddling under the overpass, and he stopped to take a picture of them. The woman’s gray and brown dreads hung over her face as her head laid on the man’s shoulder. His head was bent towards hers, and his eyes closed, he appeared to be weeping silently. Maybe it was what John had said earlier about capturing moments in time, but she couldn’t help but feel that this couple was infinitely frozen together like this. She imagined their hands intertwined under their large wool blanket, grasping onto each other for all time and eternity.

Crystal and John ended up at the warehouse where he worked. Standing outside of the large building, she tried to think of an excuse to go back to her apartment alone as her nervousness mounted. But she’d found a friend, someone she felt she had connected with, and didn’t want to be rude. His charm and quick wit were enchanting, yet she now had this feeling of uneasiness that she couldn’t put her thumb on. 

He showed her around the large workplace, and the tour ended on the third floor in a small loft. There was a man, sitting facing the wall at a computer.

John tapped the man on the shoulder and said, “Hey Man, show some respect, this our new friend Crystal.” He said her name with a chuckle she noticed. With a glance at her, he said, “Crystal, this is Daman, one of the best photographers in all of Portland.”

Crystal caught the phrase “our new friend”, but wasn’t sure what to make of it. That musing was immediately dispelled when Daman turned around to acknowledge her and stuck out his hand towards her. His eyes were deep pools of dark brown, and his face was sunken in, reminding her of a skull with skin stretched taut across it. Those dark brown irises swam in a sea of yellow, he had no whites to his eyes. His skin had a strange pallor, and she thought momentarily that perhaps the lighting in the loft was messing with her eyes.  As she took his hand in hers, she fought the urge to pull away with repulsion. His fingers were cold, bony and clammy, also seeming as if they belonged to a skeleton. It was like she briefly held melting ice cubes in her hand. His face showed no emotion, not even registering this new acquaintance.

“Hi,” she said politely to the man, but found herself slowly edging closer to John for comfort. Without a word, Daman turned back to the computer.

“So, you like to party?” John asked her.

“Sure.” She shrugged slightly, not quite certain where he was going with this.

Another fear calming smile was shot in her direction as he walked over to a small fridge and pulled out three beers. When he placed one in front of Daman, he tapped the man three times on the shoulder and sniffled. With a slight nod of understanding and a small cough and sniffle of his own, Daman wheeled the computer chair to the small table on the left of the computer desk. From the top drawer, he pulled out various paraphernalia piled on a hand mirror. A thin rectangular  razor, a tiny baggy, and a thick card. Crystal heard herself give a sharp involuntary gasp.

John was next to her, holding the open beer out to her. “Not what you were expecting?” he asked.

She shook her head mutely, and tried to find an expression of indifference to put on her face. In high school she’d snorted coke a couple of times, and figured it really wasn’t that big of a deal. But then she saw Daman shake tiny, slightly purple, shards of glass onto the mirror and confusion set in.

“Its dope,” John said in answer to her unspoken question. When he saw that she still didn’t comprehend, he said “You know, crystal meth.”    

A spontaneous shudder started in her mouth and spread down through her toes as she watched the man’s practiced hand crunching the little oily shards with the card and then chopping the substance with the razor. The girl glanced towards the exit, but felt it was already too late, because she’d invested time and emotion, and had finally been accepted. Somehow she knew that if she made the decision to stay, her life would never be the same. Her throat felt swollen, and she couldn’t even swallow as she turned back to face the thick line of powder.

Biography

🙂

By David Drapeau

The wind blew into the house as I stared upon my desk. My wife, Helen walked in the room upon fixing her apron.

“You know honey, I can’t think while you look at me like that.”

She turned away and gave me the eye, and her feet sounded like cement on the wood floor. Then I heard a low sound that distracted me. My cat Jasper was purring and looking at me with an eye too.

“Okay Jasper, you just need me to keep you company?”

She purred some more and then jumped off the desk into our parlor. In the parlor my son was laying down. He was cold and a smell came from him. I couldn’t bear him anymore I had to do something with him, and I can’t wake him.

My son is dead.

My son is dead, oh so he is.

“No, that’s not right. Honey can you com help me with this thing?”

Helen walked into the room, looking as glum as usual with bloodshot eyes, a wet jacket, and a tired bruised face.

“No I can’t help you. You have to do some thing’s yourself.  I have to go out, I can’t bear to see Andrew like this anymore, get rid of him and make sure whatever I say, how much I beg for it that you don’t bring him back inside.”

Helen walked out like the tramp she was. I couldn’t stand the thought of her.

6/20/1909,

The western state of Arizona under new Outlaw Law.

Under commission of Baker T. Bradley the union officials….

What am I doing? I can’t write this either!  It’s too controversial and most of the townsfolk wouldn’t appreciate a story concerning their state. Dam bastards!

My son is still dead.

Time passed rather quickly and my senses began to lose it. I had a few too many shots then I felt dizzy and tired; I yawned and moved around in my chair. I drifted off into a dream state and had thoughts of the new phonograph models.

Just then, I heard a couple of strange sounds that emerged me from my daydreaming.

“Hello?”

Nobody replied except my cat. I looked over and saw her purring next to me. I also took another shot.

“I hate pussy! I hate you cat!! Why on dear earth did Helen ever want me to pick you up?”

Jasper just purred and purred, then purred some more and then purred again. She looked up and her big green eyes brighter. She jumped off and run away, but this time something scarred her.

“I know that look Jasper! Stop being a pussy! We both know the only person to scare you like that is Andrew!”

My son is really dead.

“Andrew!”

I turned around and thank god nobody was there. I looked into the parlor and saw Andrew still lying down. Odd how I thought Andrew was behind me.

But my son is dead.

Time passed by some more and a small breeze would blow in from time to time. I felt the cool air of my house on my face which gave me a point for my next great idea.

“I got it!”

I jumped right on the type and started typing my next big move.

“W! H! O! R! E!”

“P! O! R!”

“N!”

The words flumed out of my mouth and on to the type.

White Horse phonograph, the next big era of music.

“YES!!!!! I GOT IT!!!!”

I jumped up and down with joy. My newspaper chief will love my story. I ran all around my house. I even ran into my room and jumped on my bed like a kid again. I ran into the parlor and kissed….wait.

“Oh my god!  Andrew where are you!”

I panicked and looked all around the house.  I looked outside and saw some townsfolk’s looking at my house. Why did they stare at my house? Was I too overjoyed with my story?

My son is dead I think.

I looked back at them, and some ran off with disgust. I’m starting to panic, and it’s almost three. My dear Helen will be back soon. She will freak out that Andrew is gone! Then I’ll get yelled at and won’t get any sex tonight!

I paced backed and forth, down the hall and into the parlor.

“Where are you Andrew?”

I saw Jasper walking by and I grabbed her. The poor thing looked scarred and tired all at once.

“You’re tired of my game aren’t you? We will see how you like it”

I lost all my patience with that hairy pussy and I kicked the cat into the metal furnace. It made a loud thud and a moan.

My cat might be dead.

“That shows you! I know that you got Andrew to pull a trick on us!”

Just then, I heard a knock at the door. Was it Andrew? NO! It was a woman; I think it was Barbara Sheen my Landlady.

“Are you in there? I hear yelling and animals sounds coming from your house. Is Helen back yet?”

I opened the door and just looked at her.

“I’m in the middle of a crisis, BARB –ARA!” I mocked her.

“Well is there anything I can do to help you with it?”

“NO!! Never! I don’t need help!”

“Well then what were you doing?”

“I….” I shuddered for a moment thinking maybe I was having a bad dream and I could get away with saying this.

“I was having sex”

“Well, how is that? Helen isn’t home?”

“I was having sex with Jasper!”

“Oh so you must be one of those homosexual men?”

No this dumb whore didn’t realize my dilemma. I had a dead son missing, I injured my cat, and I can’t write anything because my story was made up, and my job requires real stories.

“Listen, Barb. Jasper is my cat!”

“Oh, well you can’t have”

“Yes Barb, get it through your head, I can.” I interrupted.

My son might be dead.

Barbara just looked at me in confusion then ran off my step and into town. I slammed the door to find the smell and odor gone.

“OKAYYY!! You little rat!! I’ve had enough with your problems!! I can’t stand the fact that you insult our family and that you can hide from me. Andrew!!”

I got so tired of this nonsense and my procrastination that I grabbed my revolver and then grabbed my cat. I put my revolver up to my cat and began to interrogate it.

“I know that you and my Andrew set up this plan to torture my thought and valued time, that’s why I’m going to take it easy on you!”

BANG! BANG! BANG!! I shot the gun off to the side and Jasper shivered in my hand. I began to cry and think of Andrew as I dropped my cat on the ground. She ran off into the bedroom and under the bed.

“OH! No you don’t! I won’t let this happen!”

Click. I reloaded my gun as I walked to the bedroom. I came closer to my bed, and then I creped down and saw Jaspers little face. Her eyes were so big and green, glossy and ready to die.

I heard another knock. So I ran over to the door thinking Barb was back. But as soon as I opened the door,

“You’re coming with us”

“Don’t grab me you bastard!”

The sheriff grabbed me and tied me up. I heard him talking of how I was going to jail for not paying Barb the rent for last month.

As I got dragged off I saw Helen walk in front of the house in dismay. She turned at me and then stepped aside.

“What! I was so stupid! I can’t write anything!!!”

What was I thinking, I can’t write anything. I should have done what I was told to and stopped messing around. Maybe if I didn’t create such a wasteland of made up stories and stuck to reality.

I looked back and saw Andrews’s corpse lying in front of the house. The small breeze knocked him out the window into the front of the house.

My son is dead.

Biography

I’m David Drapeau and I have written a very funny and interesting story. It’s about a writer and his struggles to write an article. Meanwhile, he hurts his cat blaming it for the sudden disappearance of his son’s body.