Time for a Wake Up Call

I.

The bastardized digital version of Vivaldi’s Spring sliced through the stale classroom air. All faces were suddenly alert; the heads which had moments before been lying on their desks suddenly jerked up. Alex Marquez was about ready to reprimand a student for not turning off his cell phone when he realized that the ring tone was his own. “Son of a. . .” he muttered as he circled behind his desk and dug through the pockets of his coat, which had been hanging on the back of his chair. The students had trouble suppressing their giggles. He found the lump of hardness in his pocket and pressed the button that he instinctively knew would cease the “music.” He straightened, walked back around to the front of his desk and faced his bemused class.

“Ok, settle down. I know that I am tough on cell phones in my class and that I have just violated my own rule. Take solace in the knowledge that, while I cannot punish myself, I am embarrassed at what I now know to be an asinine ring tone.

“I think we’ll stop here for now. We’ll continue our discussion on Marx and the Communist Manifesto on Thursday.” He had to pause while the students eagerly scrambled to put their books and pens away. “Right. And don’t forget to read the news for our current affairs talk!” He raised his voice. “Look for stuff in the Sudan! Also, the current Paris riots should provide interesting topics! Have a good afternoon!”

He gave up as the students began shuffling out of the classroom; their indecipherable muttering overrode his words. Alex put his hands on his hips and leaned back, he felt a series of pops in sequence from the bottom to the top of his spine. The air escaped his lungs in a low wheeze. He looked down at his coat and it looked right back up at him, taunting him, daring him to check his voice mail. He thought he knew just who it might be, so he stood there tapping a foot and biting a thumbnail before snatching his coat off of the chair and pawing at the pocket for the cell phone. He took it out and, through sheer force of will, speed-dialed the voice mail while putting on his coat and gathering his things. It was, as he suspected, the vile Mr. Thornton—Enid’s lawyer. Alex could see the grease and sweat caked on that evil bastard’s forehead even through the digital message. He was sending one of his assistants (a small relief) to deliver a package on behalf of himself and Enid. The assistant should be on the campus during Alex’s office hours at 3:30 pm. Alex ended the call and shoved the cell phone forcibly into his pocket.

It was almost thirty days past the two year anniversary of his separation with Enid; this “package” could mean only one thing. Alex briefly considered just calling it a day and avoiding his office, but he remembered his appointment with Eric. He had to stay.

Alex made his way down the hall to his office, his briefcase clutched tightly under his arm as if he were protecting it from something grave. The appointment list that was taped to his door mercifully only had Eric’s name on it. 3:00 pm. Thornton’s wretched assistant will most likely interrupt them, which made the situation all that more infuriating to him. He fumbled for his key ring and, finding the right one, unlocked the door and went inside. He tossed the briefcase unceremoniously onto his desk, contrasting the reverent way he carried it here from the classroom, and flipped on the switch. The cramped office had no windows. His desk sat before the northern wall, opposite the door. A black computer had been placed diagonally off center to the left. A large map of the world was taped to the wall behind the desk. Bookcases and file cabinets stood against either wall. It was stifling in here, so Alex switched on the rotating fan that sat on a chair beside his desk before taking his seat behind the desk.

Eric arrived ten minutes late. He was a 23-year-old black man who spent many hours lifting heavy stock at a hardware chain in order to afford community college classes. He had a cleft palate which had been improperly treated all of his life. This made oral speech very difficult for him and gave his voice an extremely nasal quality. His upper lip was warped to the left, and he had the habit of looking down and avoiding eye contact. He was also a thoughtful and hardworking student. He had great potential within him and aspired to be a writer of political philosophy. Alex took the job of helping Eric reach his goal very seriously.

“Have a seat Eric.” Alex stood and gestured to the cushioned chair that sat across from the desk. Eric gave a nod and sat. “I’m surprised that you’re here. If your essay is any indication, you are having no trouble understanding the concepts in my class.”

Eric looked up and actually gave Alex some eye contact. Alex was leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his desk. Eric took his hands off of his lap and emulated Alex’s stance. “I wanna talk about communism.”

“Ok, Eric. What are you’re thoughts?”

Eric swallowed in preparation. “Just want to understand more. I laugh cause when my family, well, when I think about what they would say bout me reading the Communist Manifesto. It would drive ‘em crazy.” He swallowed again deeply and looked up at Alex.

“Hm. Yes, well, in the past there was a great fear that Communism would re-shape the American political landscape. People’s way of life being ruined and all that.

Some people still carry that fear around and give it to their children. Still, I teach Political Science and my job is to analyze many types of political ideologies, as well as why they do or do not work. Would it surprise you to know there was a small communist party here in Richmond?” Alex smiled at Eric’s nodding head. “Well, there is. But don’t worry; you and your family have less to fear from them than that crazy street preacher outside campus.” Eric gave a hearty chuckle at that.

“People are funny creatures, Eric. Marx and Engels thought they had everything figured out with their manifesto. I’m sure it makes sense to a lot of people on an intuitive level. He saw the bourgeois as the old aristocracy in new clothes. Capitalism as the new means with which to keep the proletariat down.” Alex’s smile faded as unwanted thoughts crept into him and he seemed to look through Eric for a few seconds. Eric noticed this and his own smile began to fade too. “It all comes down to two universals of human quality, Eric, blame and guilt.”

A heavy handed knocking at the door made them both jump out of their seats. Alex began to rub the bridge of his nose between his eyes with his fingers. “Come in.” The door opened and portly redhead of medium build charged into the room. She stretched her hand past Eric’s face, paying no attention to him.

“Mr. Marquez, I’m Madeline Stanz, assistant to Elvin Thornton. As you know, we represent your wife Enid.”

“Yes, I know who you are,” he said keeping his eyes off of both her and Eric. “I’m sorry I don’t have another seat to offer you.”

“That’s alright. I’m pressed for time, so I’ll be brief. I’m just here to present you with the papers necessary to finalize your divorce.” She lifted a large manila envelope and thrust it with one arm towards Alex. “You need only to sign them in the presence of a notary and mail them back to Mr. Thornton’s office. All stipulations regarding Marlene should be included in the documents. We’re sure you will find them agreeable. I’m afraid you’ll have to provide your own postage.” She stood there with the envelope still extended, waiting for Alex to take them.

Alex sighed deeply and reached for the package. His hand stopped before touching it, tentatively, as if he expected it to singe his fingers. “Mr. Marquez,” she snapped, “it is not going to bite you. I have a busy day ahead of me.” His gaze met her eye as he snatched the envelope from her. Eric sank deeply into his chair, holding his breath, making himself invisible.

“Thank you, Ms. Stanz. I’m sure you can find your way out.”

“Good day.” The assistant spun around and marched out of the office and down the hall, leaving the door wide open. Eric stood and grabbed his bag.

“I should go now, professor.”

“I’m sorry about all of that Eric. Are you sure you got everything you needed?”

Eric nodded, turned, waved, and walked out into the hall, closing the door behind him. Alex sat for a few minutes in solitude. He looked at the envelope. Then he spied Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales on one of the bookcase shelves beside the desk. He recalled his first discussion with Enid eight years ago after a seminar for multi-dimensional learning. Her jet black hair had been pulled back in a tight bun, which made her large black eyes highly visible. They were captivating. She had just started her job as a Professor of Literature at Virginia Commonwealth University and he had been boyishly reluctant to tell her he taught at J. Sarge, so he evaded the subject by noticing a copy of The Canterbury Tales in her open bag. They talked about Chaucer’s prose, specifically The Merchant’s Tale, before he asked her to dinner.

It had been a good, carefree night of laughter; the thought of it made him want to curl up and turn his back on the living.

That night he dreamed that he was facing his class. The room was incredibly hot. Every student glared at him and he realized that his mouth was gagged. All the students abruptly stood at their desks. They were all shirtless and covered with sweat. The group began a tortured chant of meaningless sounds before all turning their backs to him. Every one of them had wide gashes splitting their spines. The exposed spinal cords dripped warm fluid that ran down their bodies and pooled at their feet. Their voices, intelligible this time, came from the bloody wounds. They cast their blame at Alex for their condition. He pleaded and begged for their forgiveness. I couldn’t help it; I didn’t want it to happen! But they only jeered and leaked and steamed in their anger until all the students fell dead onto the floor.



Night shifts at the Lowe’s Hardware Store on Broadway entailed sweaty, back-straining heavy lifting, but Eric took it all in stride. It was like his job and his gym rolled into one. A shipment of new wire cutters had just arrived and he was unloading the heavy boxes with the help of his gaunt co-worker Jax and a new-hire named Roy. Jax had longish brown hair and haunting, grey eyes that made him seem much older than thirty-two. He had been working there since before Eric was hired nearly three years earlier. He went out of his way to work with Eric because he could talk at length with him and get almost no reply. It was a way to talk to himself without feeling like he was judged, or going crazy. Or both. Now they had to train this guy Roy. Jax didn’t feel as free to talk tonight and searched his mind for a way to pass the time; a way to keep his mind from wandering.

The three of them went about their work in silence, ignoring the redundancy of lift, carry, set down; lift, carry, set down. Jax would occasionally lift his green army cap and wipe sweat from his brow. Then they would start up again; back and forth. Eric looked back at the start pile and it seemed like there were two more boxes for every one box that they had put away. Jax lifted his cap and scratched his head.

“Good Christ in Heaven,” Roy suddenly shrieked, “did you see that?!” They all looked down and to the left. A large rat scuttled rapidly across the ground toward the loading dock. It had to be nearly a foot in length.

Jax let out a hearty laugh and smacked Roy’s shoulder. “Damn rookie, you need to start getting used to those guys. Right, Eric? Damn, they are everywhere!”

“I don’t much like rats.” Roy said. “When I was a boy I saw a whole mess of them eating on a dead dog outside in the street. That was real messed up.”

“Yeah? That’s something, huh Eric? Tell ya what Roy. Let’s take a breather for a few.” Eric agreed and sat on one of the boxes. The other two slid towards him boxes of their own to sit on. After some seconds of staring at each other, Jax tried to break the ice a bit. “Hey, have you seen what Eric here can do?” Eric eyed him suspiciously. “Dude, don’t look at me like that. It’s cool! Roy, man, he can stick his tongue out through his nose! C’mon Eric, show the kid!”

“No”

Roy looked at both of them. “Wait, he can do what?”

“Stick his tongue out through his nose, man!”

“I’ve never heard of that. I don’t need to see that.”

“Aw, you don’t believe it. C’mon Eric, you showed me didn’t you?”

Eric slapped Roy’s hand off his shoulder and looked at him with a furrowed brow. He looked down again and mumbled, “I will not be your king of fools, Jax.”

“Alright, man. Chill. Sorry.” Jax looked away and then lit a cigarette. Eric looked up at him for a second and then looked back down. Roy decided he needed to smoke as well and lit his own. “Don’t let his quiet fool you, kid. Eric here is putting himself through school. More’n I can say for myself, ya know? Where you from?”

“Wisconsin.”

“No kidding? A black kid from Wisconsin? Eric and me, we’re Richmond born and bred. Ain’t we, Eric? Yes, sir! I feel like we’re the only ones sometimes. So many of you kids coming from outta town. Why y’all choose a dead city like RVA I’ll never know.” Jax snubbed his cigarette on the concrete ground and crossed his arms on his knees. Roy kept smoking and looking around, as if he expected to get caught in some wicked act. “I tell you,” Jax continued, “times here are not easy.” Eric stood up and started lifting the box on which he was sitting onto the shelf. Roy stood and helped him.

“Great. Thanks for ending our little break Eric.” Jax got up last and joined them in lifting. When they were done, he adjusted his bright blue back brace. “I can’t wait to get this over with. I got something to take care of after work.”

II.

Alex awoke late the next morning feeling a sickly combination of cold and hot. The sheets clung to him like moss to a lakeside boulder. He sat up and just thought about the things he had to do that day, forcing the bizarre dream from the night before into the back of his mind. It was time to send Enid the check for Marlene’s doctor bills. Alex paid for everything the insurance didn’t cover. Marlene was closing in on 2-and-a-half years of age and she will need her first chair by October. A motorized one, she will do best if she learns how to operate it at an early age.

He suddenly saw her sitting in bed with him. Sitting up! Marlene, you’re sitting up! She looked at him with Enid’s deep ebony pupils and smiled. Her teeth were tiny, spaced, charming. It’s ok, daddy. You can get up now.

Alex blinked his eyes and she was gone. He put his head in his hands and sat like that for a while before getting up the nerve to start the day.

The day went surprisingly well. His students had been attentive and focused; except for Eric who had trouble staying awake. There had been no appointments for the day, so Alex headed out early to make a stop at the toy store. It always struck him how colorless and musty it was. It was impossible to look through toys without getting a layer of grime on one’s fingertips. He passed rows and rows of shelves that were too big for the quantities of their contents; sometimes with more empty space than toys.

Then he saw it.

It was a large Lite Brite, one that stood up on an easel. It was absolutely perfect for Marlene. She loved working with her little hands, loved art. There were no pieces left on the shelves, so Alex had to buy the display model. It didn’t matter. He drove straight to the post office and mailed the Lite Brite off with the check. Alex pictured Enid having to say “this is from daddy,” and he was contented.

* * *

Jax sat alone in his bathroom, looking into the mirror. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of the pathetic, bruised creature staring back at him. The look of pain was compounded by almost forty hours of no sleep. He couldn’t think of how it had happened. It was hard to think—the pain, the exhaustion, and the violent hacking of his mother from downstairs made it almost impossible. The whole house reeked of menthol and stale cigarettes.

He remembered leaving work at four in the morning and heading directly over to Omar’s place in Jackson Ward. Omar owed him some money from a football game and, after almost six months, hadn’t made good. Jax figured that getting there at such a damnable hour would show that he meant business. Maybe it would show how desperate, and consequently how dangerous, he was becoming. As it turned out, all it did was piss off Omar’s bear of a roommate, Houston. Houston had at least 150 pounds on Jax, and his fist probably had the same mass as Jax’s head. That’s what it felt like when it hit him, anyway. He didn’t even remember how he got home after that.

Jax shuddered. He had to face Malcolm now, with only the 512 bucks he’d managed to scrounge over the last few weeks. The pain of the thought vibrated through his skull. He lightly poked at his swollen cheekbones with one finger and winced. How could he face Malcolm like this? He will look weak, worthless.

“Hey Jackie boy!” Jax’s mother’s voice sounded like she was talking through mud. Jax shut his eyes, ignored the pain, and tried to block out all sound. His silence only made her cry louder. “Jax! Don’t make me yell, boy! My throat is killing me!”

“Yeah Ma?” he shouted. “What do you need?”

“Did you get my refill?” Oh shit. Ma’s meds.

“Not yet, Ma. I’m on my way out now!”

“Good boy,” his mother said to herself, inaudible to anyone.

Jax had to get ready and get his mother’s medication, black eye or no black eye. Luckily, the Community Pride Pharmacy would still be open. Jax was startled by another bout of his mother’s vicious-sounding hack and his eyes began to burn. He fell onto his bed with his shirt half on as warm tears struggled to make their way down his bloated face. God. I’m gonna die. I know I’m gonna die tonight. God. What am I going to do?



Though the day had eventually worn him out, Alex decided to go to the coffee joint on 5th Street before heading to his apartment. On his way out of the Post Office earlier in the day, he had found his thoughts returning to the previous night’s dream. It reminded him of that night at the (I’m sorry Mr. Marquez) hospital. He and Enid had waited for what seemed like years to find out about Marlene’s (it was in a very high position on her spine) surgery. When the doctor gave him the news, Enid had been resting in her own hospital bed. Seeing Marlene as an infant, his newborn infant, hooked (we did all we could) up to a machine like an alien in a bad science fiction movie had been unbearable. She barely looked real, barely looked (no use of her legs) alive. Marlene’s condition appeared nowhere in (we haven’t informed Mrs. Marquez yet) Enid’s family history. As an orphan, Alex (we thought it would be better if she heard it from you) had no idea about his family—past or present. He needed to clear his head; he couldn’t go back to that apartment and stew in his memories alone. He couldn’t invite more nightmares. He also couldn’t face the divorce papers that were sitting on his computer desk. He hadn’t even opened the envelope. Why was he so afraid? It was all so much.

And so he went to 5th Street; to the hole-in-the-wall coffee joint. He wondered briefly about its resilience. People still packed the place—especially on late-night weekends. It was known to many of the local hipsters as “the slapper” because the coffee there was like a sobering slap in the face after a long night of drinking. Just the remedy needed before one could drive home for the night. Tonight it served the same general purpose for Alex. His weariness had become as intoxicating as grain alcohol. His vision started to blur and he felt it was worth being kept up all night to sit and relax with a night time cup o’ Joe.

The place was empty, a common thing for a Wednesday night. In a far corner, an older, very tall, gaunt black man sat reading a newspaper; taking long drags from his cigarette between sips from his steaming mug. In the opposite corner was a triangular platform about five inches off of the ground which served as a stage for various music and performing arts. A girl, surely no more than eighteen, with jet black hair cut very short and ripped jeans, was busy putting away a burgundy acoustic guitar—a bumper sticker reading “War on Iraq is so 1991” plastered on its face—and some lyric sheets. It looked like he just missed the show. He scanned the near-empty building and heaved a sigh for the lone performer. Some photography hung along the western wall. Alex looked at the first photo in the set. It depicted the grave of President Monroe in Hollywood Cemetery. “The Cage,” read the caption. Amanda Mills. VCU.

The coffee bar ran invitingly halfway along the eastern wall. The smell of coffee drifted from behind the counter. Alex envisioned the smell in the form of smoke hands grabbing at him, coercing him towards the bar like in cartoons. He took a seat on one of the high stools and ordered a tall black coffee with a chocolate chip cookie. The man behind the counter made no indication that he heard anything besides preparing the order and placing it in front of him. He picked the mug up with both hands, blew lightly on the brim, and took a sip. The warmth spread gradually through his body and he closed his eyes.

“Praying to your coffee?” The voice startled Alex out of his daydream. The guitar playing girl had taken a seat to the right of him at the bar.

“Huh? Oh. Nah, just remembering something. Or trying to forget. Whichever.”

“Ah.” She raised a finger for the barista. He stayed where he was, but looked at her. “Where’s Jeremy?”

“Not here.”

“Yeah, I see that.” She looked back at Alex, whose eyes were once again closed, the coffee in his hands like a steaming religious effigy. “Jeremy is the only one who makes my drink right,” she said to him.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Plus, when he’s in a good mood, he puts a shot of gin in it.”

Alex blinked his eyes and raised his head. “They have gin here?”

The girl gave a song-like, non-irritating laugh; it had a soft elegance. “No, no. He keeps it under the counter for closing time.”

“Of course,” Alex looked back into his mug, “it’s been one Hell of a week. Gin sounds pretty good when I think of the stack I have to go through when I get home.”



Jax’s transmission blew out on his way back from the Community Pride. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, abandoned the faded blue ’97 Saturn and ran the rest of the way back home. The phone was ringing when he got inside.

“I got your meds ma,” Jax yelled before picking up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello Jax.” It was Michael, Malcolm’s bodyguard.

“Does Malcolm still want to see me?”

“Oh yes. He wants you to meet him here at his bar on 8th Street.”

“That place is a long haul from my home. My car just broke down.”

“Then you better start walking, son! Mr. Byrd wants you here at nine p.m. sharp.”

Jax took a look at the clock. 8:15. He gulped, hoping Michael didn’t hear it. “Alright, I can make it. Tell him I’ll be there.”

“Of course you will, Jax. I’ll buy you a drink. See you at nine.” The phone went dead in Jax’s ear. He went into the living room, gave his mother her medicine. She almost immediately fell asleep, the respirator’s mask still on her face. Jax kissed her on the forehead and ran out of the door.



Alex couldn’t believe how easy talking to this girl was. Her name was Katie and was twenty-three, not eighteen. She had considered going to VCU as an art major, but decided that college wasn’t for her. She told him about how she moved out of her mom’s house following the death of her father when she was seventeen, but returned to Richmond when her older sister Stacy got breast cancer; a battle she was lucky enough to win. He was shocked at himself for returning her personal stories with some of his own.

“Spina bifida,” he said. “There are different cases, but Marlene’s was pretty severe. It’s called Myelomeningocele. Basically, her spinal cord was exposed and leaking fluid. The higher up the spine it is, the worse it gets. And her’s was pretty high.” He was explaining it to her like a doctor, without flinching at the words.

“Wow, I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to say really. She’s a very smart little girl. She is compensating with her hands. Her fine motor skills—writing, drawing—are really great for her age.” He looked away and said with some hesitation, “At least, as far as I’ve seen.”

“Well, I think you are letting this situation get to you more than you should.”

“What?”

“Yes, you are talking about it to me matter-of-factly, but I can tell that you are out of practice talking about it. Are you?”

“I guess I never talk about it.”

“You blame yourself?”

“I don’t know. That’s what everyone seems to ask me.”



“Ahhhh. . .Mr. Jax! Come! Sit down.” Malcolm Byrd gestured to a chair across from him at the round table. Jax, his hands wringing each other, took the seat and fumbled for a cigarette. Malcolm pushed the ashtray closer to him. “Whew, boy! That is some shiner you got there! Stick your nose where it didn’t belong? I hope the other guy looks worse.” Jax offered nothing in the way of reply. “Alright, then, let’s get down to it, Jax. You came into my bar over on Broadway two months ago, in July, and engaged in a game of cards. It was friendly, fun, with high stakes. I believe you had a few lucky rounds and the stakes got higher. Is this sounding familiar?”

Jax had his head bowed, his eyes focused intently on a dark, dog-shaped stain on the ground. He gave a nod.

“Good. Well, by the night’s end your luck took a real bad turn and you left the bar owing me and mine 15 large. Now, it’s been two months Jax. Are you ready with my money?”

Jax continued looking down. His face was throbbing dully. He began trembling. “I have some of it, Mr. Byrd.”



The coffee joint began to fill up. The barista maintained the bland look on his face while his body raced up and down the counter making drinks. It was a very funny sight. Alex and Katie talked about music.



Jax wondered how things could get to this. All he wanted was some more money so he could take better care of his mother. Now he was held down against the table. His left hand pinky was wrapped tightly in Michael’s fist. Sweat was pouring down his face, over the lumps and bruises, and each drop made itself known to him. He could smell the cheap vinyl tablecloth that was soiled with year’s worth of drunken customers. He could feel Michael’s hot breath on the back of his neck, and most of all, he could hear the booming baritone of Malcolm’s angry voice.

“512 dollars, Jax? After two months? You have got to be fuckin joking me, man. Tell me you are joking.”

“No,” Jax said, “that’s all I’ve been able to save from the job I swear to God!”

“Tsk, tsk. I really don’t want to have to tell Michael to break that finger of yours, kid. But I have a reputation to maintain. This is a hard life Jax. Real hard. People will point the finger at you every chance they get, but everyone else is just as guilty as the next guy. You have to show that you mean business or they will rip your goddamn throat out. You hear me boy?” Jax gave a nod, he could hardly breathe to speak. “You know what, kid? I’m going to give you a small chance, cause I like you so much.”

Jax felt a little pressure released from his back, but he was still held down; his finger was still grasped in Michael’s sweaty fist. “Anything, Mr. Bird,” he managed to say, “I’ll do anything to get you your money.”

“Oh, I know that Jax. You want to know how I know that? Because how would your poor mother take care of herself without you around in that shack she got in Oregon Hill?” Jax’s eyes widened and Malcolm laughed. “Of course we know where you live, boy! We know where you live, about your mommy, about your job, everything. How will she get along, Jax?”

“Anything, Mr Byrd.” Jax started sobbing. He couldn’t help it. “Anything.”

“Five days,” Malcolm said. “I took your shitty 512 bucks, so in five days I want another 1100. That should cover the standard interest.” He started laughing. So did Michael. Jax felt absolutely nothing. Everything went numb. Finally, Malcolm ended the meeting. “Get this loser out of my sight.”



Alex looked at his watch and cursed. It was much later than he thought. “Holy crap, look at the time! I have to get going.”

“Yeah, I guess I should get going too. I have to wake up early and work in the darkroom all day.”

“I still have those papers to deal with tonight.”

“Sorry. At least it was fun talking.”

“Definitely, it actually helped me feel a lot better. Good luck with your music, Katie.”

“Thanks. And, good luck with everything you’ve got going.”

Alex stood up and left some money on the counter. “Thanks. Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

Alex left the empty coffee store and wandered outside. The streets were completely barren. White steam rose from a manhole cover and drifted into the atmosphere. Alex would have taken a deep breath, but the air was pretty foul. He found his keys, started the engine of his ’04 Chevy, and drove to the apartment.

It was well into the night when Alex finally got to his considerable pile of paperwork. It sat patiently on his computer desk, waiting for him to cease his procrastination. Every time he looked at it, it seemed more and more to have a malevolent kind of life; the current from the air conditioning unit stirred the pages, as if they were breathing with lungs. He sat in his chair and paused, engaging the pile in a staring contest—one in which the pile apparently won because Alex dropped his hands, slid his chair away from the computer desk and got up. He took some steps back and halted; his throat suddenly felt rough and scratchy so he decided to get a glass of water. He turned and stepped over some crumpled dirty laundry that was lying on his laminated hard-wood bedroom floor and headed for the kitchen down the hall. The hall was completely barren except for some small holes on the walls made from various nails and screws, the floor was crooked and water damaged. Before he reached the kitchen he felt an excruciating pinch directly and the arch of his left foot. He gave a loud yelp and grabbed his foot, hopping on his right foot the rest of the way into the kitchen and plopping down on a stained vinyl-backed chair. The deteriorating floor had provided Alex with a nasty and sizeable splinter, dug about a half-inch into the bottom of his foot. He crossed his hurt foot over his right thigh and held the foot, his right index finger and thumb pinched around the splinter. It was big enough to yank out so he would have to just endure it. He bit the inside of his cheek and pulled. It seemed like the splinter slid a mile through his foot before it popped out. A small balloon of dark maroon began to bead around the tiny wound. Alex cursed and limped over to the sink to wash his foot off. He decided he was no longer thirsty. It was really time to tackle that paperwork.

He returned to his small room and switched on the small bedside lamp in order to add to the gloomy yellow light that spilled from the dusty light bulb which served has the room’s main source of illumination. It didn’t add much, but it made him open his eyes a little wider all the same. He lumbered, his hands wringing each other absentmindedly, with baby-steps toward his computer desk and the monster that sat upon it. His hands let go of each other and he had to wipe his right hand on his pants leg before reaching to grab the top sheet and read the first line:

Petition for Dissolution of Marriage

Dissolution. It was a terrible word. Alex thought of an antacid tablet being placed in a glass of water, of the tablet fizzing away until there was nothing left. Dissolution. The word was inhuman and should in no way describe a word like marriage. He thought of Elvin Thornton and of that malicious assistant of his—they would use this type of word.

The rest of the documents were rife with words like dissolution. Mr. Thornton’s assistant (he couldn’t remember her name) was right about one thing though. They would have complete shared custody of Marlene. He searched his memory, but couldn’t recall the last time he saw her. Tomorrow he would fix everything. It was decided.

III.

Alex opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling. Grey splotches of water damage danced and intertwined with a thin crack in the paint which stretched from one corner of it. He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh while sitting up in bed. He was still wearing yesterday’s clothes. The dancing imperfections on the ceiling played in his mind, filling a pleasant void left by a dreamless night. Alex put his arms high above his head and stretched, his back gave a few pops. He couldn’t help smiling as he got out of bed to undress. Today was a new day.

The first thing he did was to call the department head to say he wouldn’t be able to make it today. Sorry Mr. Jackson, it’s unavoidable. After hanging up the phone he looked around the apartment. God, what a freakin sty! The laundry had to be done, the counters wiped, and the bathroom (by all that is Holy) scrubbed. Maybe he would finally get the exterminator down there to take care of the roaches.

He gathered the dirty laundry and tried to shove it into his small, steel wheeled cart. This would have to be done last; he couldn’t leave it alone at the Laundromat. It was more than could fit into the cart. He eyed it for a second with his hand on his chin. He would just have to do most of it today and leave the rest for next week.

Next, he went to the kitchen. Miraculously, there were some rubber gloves under the sink for him to wear. He put them on and wiped the counter down—killing a few small roaches in the process. This job didn’t take too long. The kitchen was little bigger than a closet, with the sink, counter, and refrigerator all on the same side.

The bathroom, although smaller than the kitchen, was a much dirtier job. A thick ring of grime caked both the tub and the sink. The toilet ran water of an orange-brown hue. It was probably a lost cause. The counter was sprinkled with tiny hairs –probably from, at least, the last dozen shaves. Washing the bathroom was surprisingly therapeutic. His battle with the rings of filth was one that he could win. Every swipe of his scouring pad took off another layer until the off-white porcelain was all that remained. The more he scrubbed, the more enthusiastic his scrubbing became. Yes! Take that dammit! Yes! Harder. Harder. The grime and dirt and hair gradually disappeared until he stood triumphant, spray bottle clutched firmly in hand. He showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before leaving his apartment for the Laundromat, wheeling the laundry cart behind him.



Jax wandered around VCU campus. He had been wandering around Richmond like that all night, muttering to himself. God, what the Hell am I going to do? Everywhere around him, to and from class, young people walked around like him, but with destination, purpose. A group of girls with brightly colored hair passed him on the sidewalk carrying large art portfolios containing examples of their goals and aspirations.

What gives them the right to walk around like this? Do they appreciate the simple gift of just knowing where they are going? What are they doing? Jax thought of his mother sitting alone at home. She can’t go anywhere without dragging a heavy oxygen tank around. And what about him? He was a walking dead man unless he could get his hands on some fast money. Every payday advance center in town had already denied him.

He kept walking and passed a Laundromat. A man in jeans and a t-shirt was inside, whistling while folding his clothes. What makes him so damn cheery? Just doing laundry? Jax clenched his fists and teeth. He seethed at this carefree, shirt-folding jackass doing his laundry in a place like this. He looks like he could be close to forty years old! A forty-year-old should be depressed out of his mind to be folding laundry in a shitty Laundromat like this one.

Jax had to walk away before he did something crazy. He had promised to take Jerry’s shift today at Lowe’s in exchange for not coming in last night. To Jax, day stocking was a nightmare. All those customers getting in his face while he tried to work drove him a little bananas. All so he could have his talk with Malcolm. Three days without sleep were taking their toll.



Alex folded his laundry and placed it carefully into the cart. On his way home he called Dr. Patterson—a VCU professor of music history. Maybe he would want to get a bite to eat. Alex put the cell to his ear and pulled the cart at a brisk pace. It bounced and rattled on the cracked sidewalk. Dr. Patterson picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey Bill. It’s Alex.”

“Alex! I haven’t talked to you in a while. How are you holding up?”

“Oh, you know. Hanging in there, I guess.”

“By the skin of your teeth like the rest of us, I suppose.”

Alex chuckled. His cart his a large break in the sidewalk and struck his ankle, spilling some socks in the process.

“Alex? You ok?”

“Yeah, I’m wheeling a cart of laundry and whacked myself on the foot.” He bent over to pick up the socks. “So, what are you doing today? I’m free for once and I was wondering if you could meet me for some lunch.” He resumed his stroll.

“My schedule is pretty packed today, I’m afraid. How about tonight?”

“Yeah, that sounds fine.”

“I’m having dinner at a meeting with some colleagues, but perhaps coffee afterwards? Say, around nine?”

Alex smiled. “Maybe I’ve just been in a coffee mood lately, but that sounds perfect.”

“Fine, Alex, fine. Nine it is—Grace St. Diner?”

“Grace St. at nine! Oh, and Bill? You’re still a notary right?”

“Yes.”

“Could you notarize something for me?”

“Of course. See you then.”

“Goodbye.” Alex hung up just as he got to his apartment. He dug for his keys, unlocked the door, and went inside—savoring the smell of his freshly cleaned little home.



Jax was shaking uncontrollably trying to wheel a dolly full of toolboxes down an aisle. The aisle wasn’t always there. Sometimes it was a smoky bar. He saw dog-shaped stains on the floor everywhere he walked. People walked by every second. They seemed to hover over him, scrutinizing him. What do they want? He felt a million eyes seeing into him. He let go of the dolly and looked around, hunching he shoulders. His eyes shifted this way and that. Bile crept up his throat and he swallowed it down.

Someone tapped his shoulder and he started violently, swinging around. A young black boy was asking where he could go to get a key made. What Jax saw, though, was the face of Malcolm.

“How’s your momma, boy?”

Jax lashed out and struck the boy across the jaw. The pain in his knuckles snapped him out of it, but it was already too late. He manager was on top of him.

“Jax! What the Hell?”

He couldn’t believe or understand what had just happened. He broke out of his manager’s grip in a panic and bolted for the door, leaving both his manager and the boy—his mouth bleeding—staring incredulously at each other.

He ran. Broad Street turned into row homes. Row homes turned into apartments. Apartments turned into the college campus. That turned into more row homes, then the graveyard, then the houses in Oregon Hill. He ran all the way back to his mother’s house and slammed the door behind him. He felt the pounding of his heart in every inch of his body; his breathing was as erratic as his mother’s.

“Jackie-boy?” His mother wheeled herself to the front door. “Where’ve you been? You look terrible!”

“Ma. . .” Jax tried to control his panting. “Don’t worry about me, ma. I just ran here from work.

“What the Hell for?”

“Never mind that. Let me make you some lunch.”

“No way, not the way you look. We are ordering in. Go lay down for a while.” With that she wheeled herself into the kitchen where the phone was. She was right. He needed to lie down. What could’ve come over him? Now he can add unemployed to his up-shit-creek list. He listened to his mother ordering in some pizza. I need to protect her, he thought; I need to be here for her. I need to get that money!



Alex had spent the day writing in his journal. His last entry had been made fourteen months earlier. “We are fucked,” it read. “We are fucked.” Looking back at it made Alex want to give himself a very swift kick right on the ass. It is very possible to humiliate oneself in front of only oneself.

He had forgotten the liberating qualities of the written word. It reminded him of scrubbing the tub that morning. All the grime is torn away and all that’s left is the information needed to start the day tomorrow. He put his pen down and looked at his watch. 8:50 pm. There was plenty of time for the walk over to Grace St. Diner. He grabbed the papers, which had lost their sinister quality, and left the apartment.



Eric was reading when the knocking at the door started. He normally tried to get some napping in before work, but something was keeping him up. He stood and walked across his tidy studio apartment to the door. “Who is it?” he asked and Jax’s muffled voice answered. Jax had been there only once before. Eric furled his brow and opened the door.

“Come in man, You alright?” Jax came in and just stood there.

“I got fired.”

“What?”

“Well, I’m not sure exactly—but I wouldn’t doubt it. Look, nevermind about that. You got any money I can borrow?”

Eric looked down at his feet and shook his head. “I gotta pay tuition, Jax.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d be bone dry. All you got goin on. But I’m one desperate dude.”

“I’m sorry man. I ain't got nothing.”

Jax groaned through his teeth with a comical whistle and collapsed onto a cushioned chair. Eric pulled his reading chair closer and sat down himself. Jax sat there in silence and Eric didn’t attempt to provoke and conversation. He noticed how Jax seemed to have aged years since the night before. His cheeks were dry and puffy, his eyes bloodshot. He smelled terrible, too. Eric was suddenly eager for Jax to leave.

“You wanna drink?” No answer. “Jax?”

“I hit a kid today, man. Thought he was someone else and just went apeshit on him.” Jax finally looked up at Eric and got silence in return, just the way he always liked it. “I owe this guy, a real tough guy, I owe him some money. A lot of money. I tried to win some to help pay for ma’s doctor bills, but I lost big time. I gave him all the money I had last night, but he still wants to stomp my face in. Hell, I think I couldn’t died last night.” He sat forward, his head swayed like plants in the ocean while he talked. “I’m so screwed. So totally, absolutely screwed.”

Eric got up and walked to the corner of the studio which served as a kitchen. He pulled the plastic face off of the fluorescent lamp which hung over the sink. Taped to the inside was some money. He counted fifty bucks, walked back to where Jax sat and held the money out.

“It’s all I can spare.”

Jax took the cash—five Hamiltons stared majestically to the left. What the Hell was he doing? He couldn’t take this! Not from Eric. Someone else. Other people have more money than they know what to do with. Like all those tightwads living up on Monument. They don’t deserve it. The thought of them made his head go hot. He threw the bills to the ground and stormed out of the apartment. Eric didn’t bother chasing him down. He doesn’t need to get in Jax’s way when he’s this crazy. If Jax were to hit him in the jaw it could mean major surgery. He picked up the cash and put it back in the light.



Alex and Dr. Patterson had a decent little chat about nothing in particular over stale Grace St. Diner coffee. Bill Patterson was 42 years of age, just four years older than Alex. Still, Alex always felt like he had to dress up for his outings with him. His presence commanded a friendly kind of respect. He never left the house without a suit and tie on; his manner of speech was refined and dignified. Alex would feel underdressed if he hadn’t worn a tie himself, even to a hole in the wall like Grace. St.

When they were finished with coffee, Dr. Patterson had realized that he left the notary stamp at his family house on Monument Ave. It was pretty dark anyway, so Alex decided to walk him home. This area of Richmond was perfect for walkers or bikers. Alex probably wouldn’t even have a car at all if he didn’t have to drive all the way to JSRCC every morning. The air was clear, no longer summer and not quite autumn. They walked side-by-side along the grey cobblestone road, flanked by beautiful homes.

“So, you had a lawyer look those over?”

“No, I don’t even have a lawyer. I read over it myself last night. She’s not asking for any money other than a reasonable amount for Marlene and we will get shared custody. I will get her on the weekends, but I can go see her whenever I want.”

“Yes. It’s not in the nature of Enid to be unreasonably demanding.”

“How is she?”

“Enid? Eh. . .I don’t see her much.” Bill Patterson paused, and then added, “she doesn’t want to be so isolated from you. Especially for Marlene.”

“What?”

“She says you haven’t visited—even to see Marlene—since July. That’s an awful long time, Alex.”

“God. I didn’t realize it’s been so long. If you want to know the truth, I had planned to take these papers to her today.”

“Well, I’m sorry I wasn’t available earlier. Here we are.”

They stopped at the steps of Dr. Patterson’s stately red-stone. It had been in his family for a long time. The small patches of garden that served as a front yard were neatly trimmed and healthy. It was a great house for a family, one he wished he could have given to Enid and Marlene. He suddenly wanted to get back home.

“You mind if I wait out here, Bill?”

“Sure, I probably left it right by the door anyway. Back in a second.” Dr. Patterson unlocked the door and stepped partially inside. He must’ve been right, because he came right back out with the notary stamp in hand. They went through the formal motions. Alex signed and dated all the documents he needed and handed them to Bill to sign and stamp them in turn. The deed was finally done, like scrubbing the tub. Enid’s tub, anyway. Alex walked Dr. Patterson back to his door and said goodnight. Then he walked back down the walkway and turned left onto Monument Ave. He eventually came up to the towering statue of General Robert E. Lee sitting atop his steed, it presided over the corner of Monument and Allen. Ah, Richmond. . .capital of the Confederacy. The statue never failed to amuse him, and as he stood staring up at it, he heard a sound behind him and turned around.



Jax couldn’t believe it. The happy whistler from the damn Laundromat! His mind started racing. He must live around here. He’s standing by the Lee statue in a tie, what’s he doing? Praying? He must be a racist or something. Rich bastard must have plenty in the bank. Millions! But then, why was he at that Laundromat? Who cares? Just get his ATM card. No, you need him to make the withdrawal.

The thoughts were racing through Jax’s mind and none slowed down enough to make an ounce of sense. From his back pocket he produced a collapsible hunting knife and snapped it open. The sound made the Laundry man spin around and face him.



Alex saw a shaggy white man with a green army cap and thin strangles of brown hair approaching him with a knife in his hand. Oh well, he thought, I had thought this day was going too well. Alex stood his ground and put his hands up. He felt ridiculous.

“Alright man, we need to take a walk.” The man’s knife was shaking violently in his fist.

“What?” Alex searched for some way out of this.

“The ATM. I need you to take me to one and get some money for me.” He was inching closer, the knife was shaking faster. The General watched from on high. Alex, speechless, narrowed his eyes at the little man. He couldn’t smell alcohol. Maybe drugs? He certainly looked like he could be a junkie.

“Um. You expect to walk me, at knifepoint, down Monument to an ATM?”

“Shut up!” The man was shouting without shouting. It was so strange. “Don’t you talk down to me you son of a bitch! I’m a man! I can take care of myself!” The knife was vibrating now.

“Ok, yeah, I see that. But think about what you are asking. We are surrounded by houses.”

The man’s eyes shifted from right to left, then looked back at Alex. “What do you have in your wallet?” He raised the knife to Alex’s face. For some reason, Alex didn’t flinch.

“Ok. Calm down. Let me reach into my pocket and get it.” Alex slowly pulled his wallet from his rear pocket and opened it. He counted sixty-three dollars in cash and held it out to Jax. “Sixty-three bucks. Is that enough for you?”

Jax’s shoulders slumped, his eyes deadened. “Enough? Enough? What do you want from me?”

“Huh?”

“You leave my ma alone!”

“Whoa, there, just calm down. . .”

“Don’t tell me what to do anymore!” The man exploded and thrust forward. Alex, through reflex, put the divorce envelope between himself and the knife. It proved a poor shield. He felt a flash of cold in his abdomen, then spreading warmth. He looked down and saw the envelope stapled to his belly with the knife. Damn, I just got that notarized. Both hot and cold filled him until all went black.



Jax’s eyes were open so wide that he could feel cold air on the backs of his eyeballs. Jesus Christ, what’d I do? He hand was still on the knife. Black blood started to soak the envelope that Jax had just stuck to this guys gut. He didn’t want to get the blood onto his hands, so he grasped the handle with both hands and wrenched the knife free. It was like pulling a cork from a champagne bottle. Hot blood erupted from the wound, soaking and shocking Jax. He let out a wild yelp and bent over to vomit on his shoes. In this position he saw the sixty-five dollars on the ground; it had somehow escaped both blood and vomit. He grabbed it and ran as fast as he could back to Oregon Hill. His mind started to race again.

This money would be enough for two one-way tickets on the Greyhound to Baltimore. His dad’s brother had a row home there. Maybe they could start over. Mom would just have to go with him. Tonight. But what would he tell her?



IV.

“Alex?”

“Enid? Is that really you?” The darkness gave way to fresh blue sky. Enid’s face smiled down at him, her head haloed by thin, wispy clouds.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Alex.” It’s all so beautiful.” She ran her fingers through his hair in the magical way that put him totally at peace. All muscles relaxed. He sat up and took a look around. They were sitting on a green grassy mound. No one else could be seen. Waves of freezing water crashed onto a rocky shore.

“I remember this,” he said. “This is when we went to Vancouver Island. Where Marlene was conceived.”

“What are you talking about, Lex? Who’s Marlene? We’re still here!”

Alex couldn’t answer. The clean air filled his lungs and he had to close his eyes just to revel in the act of breathing. He couldn’t’ remember the last time he felt this happy. Two sea birds chased each other in the sky, matching every move exactly within a fraction of a second. The grassy mound was cool beneath their warm bodies. They faced the Pacific; every crash of waves was like a mighty crescendo of everything he had to be thankful for. He held Enid close and buried his head into her shoulder. “Oh Enid,” his muffled voice made her snicker, “I love you so much.”

Enid took his face into both of her hands and looked down into his eyes. Her stark black eyes were hypnotic. “I love you too, goofball.” It started to get darker.

“Enid, we should probably head back to the hotel now.”

And darker. He couldn’t speak anymore. Enid’s face, staring down at him, went white. “Alex?”

He couldn’t’ see anymore. Everything was black. “Alex?” The sound of the waves and the birds faded into oblivion. “Alex?”

Alex?

Are you waking?

His gut was on fire.

“How are you feeling?”

Alex blinked the stinging from his eyes. Everything was a fuzzy white. It smelled of medicine and he could hear a rhythmic, intermittent beeping. His eyes adjusted and a hospital room came into focus. And Enid was really there. “Enid?”

“Yes, Alex. I’m here. Congratulations, you survived a nasty stab wound.” A smile, not altogether warm, flickered across her face.

“Did you bring Marlene?”

“No, Anna’s watching her. I’ve been here for two days.”

Alex was wide awake now. He tried to sit up, but the pain kept him lying down.

“Two days?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and nodded, her head tilted down. Then she spoke. “That bastard’s knife did a real number on your intestinal tract. You lost a ton of blood. If Bill hadn’t found you in time. . .”

“Yeah. It was very odd. I think he was a junkie or something. The guy who stabbed me, I mean. I think he thought I was someone else. I mean, he did try to rob me at first, but I don’t think he was actually going to hurt me until he saw. . .” Alex raised one hand and it fell back down. “Until he saw whatever it was that he saw.”

“Do you remember what he looked like?”

“No. All I remember from the whole thing was thinking how mad you were going to be when you heard that the divorce papers got ruined.”

“Oh for God’s sake Alex! Even now you are trying to make me feel like the world’s worst! Well I don’t have to stay and listen to this.” She made for the door.

“No, Enid! Wait, that’s not what I meant at all. Stay. Please?” She stopped, seemed to think the whole thing over, and turned towards him again. “I just wanted to let you know that it’s done. I signed them. Bill notarized them. That’s what I was doing there in the first place.”

Enid crossed her arms. “I don’t know why you made it so difficult to receive them in the first place.”

“Because I don’t want it to be all over, I guess.”

“Oh Alex. You don’t know what the hell you want. You say you want complete shared custody of Marlene, but you haven’t been to see her in months! You mail her new toys when she lives just five miles away from you! What are you hiding from Alex? Why do you feel so guilty?”

“I don’t feel guilty.”

“Then why do you imprison yourself in that shithole apartment? You make plenty of money to live somewhere decent. You blame yourself for the way you treated me and you blame yourself most of all for Marlene. It’s not your fault, Alex. If you would come see her, you would know what a bright and happy girl she is turning out to be.”

Alex couldn’t speak against that and didn’t want to. He knew she was right. What was wrong with him? He had missed out on two months of his little girl’s life. He missed her and he missed Enid too.

“Enid. Do you think we can start over?”

“I had a feeling you were going to ask me that. I wish you had tied to crawl out of your shell a year ago. I’ve been seeing Bill Patterson for several months now.”

Alex laid his head all the way back onto his pillow and shut his eyes. “Well,” he said, “isn’t that funny? Apt, his notary stamp being on the divorce papers and all.”

“Alex, don’t be angry.”

“I’m not angry. In a lot of ways I’m relieved. I’m not afraid of seeing you anymore. I’m not afraid of seeing Marlene. I need to catch up on what I’ve missed.”

“So, you’ll finally come over?”

“Without a doubt. Just do me one favor.”

“What is that?”

“Yesterday I mailed you a Lite Brite with Marlene’s monthly check. Can you hold off on giving it to her until I can give it to her in person?”

“Definitely. She will be so happy.”

“I hope so. I need some rest now. I got stabbed in the stomach, you know.”

Enid placed her hand on his. “You sure?”

“Yes. I need some alone time, I think.”

“Well, alright. Just don’t think too much, ok?”

“I promise.” Alex closed his eyes. In the darkness he listened to Enid’s footsteps fade down the hall. He could survive life after Enid. It was time for life with his daughter. He couldn’t wait to see her again after so long. But what would he tell her?