Salvation

Gray carpet hid beneath whiskey bottles and clothes and half-eaten food. A pair of bleach-stained jeans riddled with holes stretched up the side of a bed, where Tom slept peacefully. The heap of blankets rose and fell rhythmically. He was lying on his side, covers pulled tight against his stubbled chin.

A sliver of sunlight peeped over the distant East and landed on his face. It lingered there for just for a moment, and then vanished. Tom awoke to the dreaded scuttling of footsteps…

The door to his bedroom sprung open and a squat, round woman in her mid-fifties burst forth.

“Time to get up, my little man!” she screeched, grasping Tom’s exposed ankle and shaking it violently.

Tom threw his covers over his face. In the darkness an image of a woman clad in a white dress seared his brain: Daisy! And then it was gone.

The outside world was red and imposing through the cracks where the covers met the bed. He clenched his eyes and embraced darkness again.

“Little man?”

“I’m not your little man!” Tom’s own voice rang in his ears.

“Of course you are…” She began peeling back the covers to get at her son. Tom held them tight.

“Fine then,” her voice cracked, and silence lingered. With an exaggerated groan Tom threw back the sheets, but his mom was gone. He sat up with reluctance, and the red numbers of his digital clock glared at him from the window sill, as if to say, No time for breakfast, you’re late for work again.

Tom eventually pulled himself out of bed and collected his clothes from the mess on the floor. He pulled on his holey, bleach-stained jeans and a yellow t-shirt that had once been white. His stomach was hungry and his head was cloudy from another night of drinking. Scrounging up his work boots and a flannel shirt, he put them on and sulked out the door of the apartment, walking quietly as to not draw the attention of his mother. She was watching soap-operas on their old 18-inch Zenith, just like she did every morning. Stepping out into the third floor hallway of his apartment building, he let the door slide shut behind him.

Tom glided down the cramped hall. The dusty red walls and ceiling hunched under years of gravity. The floor moaned beneath his feet as he approached the green Exit sign that hung crookedly above a vacant doorway.

A door unlatched behind him. He turned to see a shiny bald head. The man’s face wrinkled into a scowl.

"Tom, you gunna pay yer rent for last month or what?"

"I'm workin' on it," Tom muttered, and he passed through the doorway and descended the stairs.

It was a day like any other in Washington; everything was gray. The sky, the Puget Sound, the roads, the buildings, even the cars and the people had a certain gray quality to them. Tom’s 1986 Honda Accord squatted in a corner of the lot against a rusted chain-link fence. He unlocked the door, got in, put the key in the ignition, and turned. Nothing happened. Shutting his eyes, he switched off the lights that had been on all night, and sighed. Today he would walk to work.

The roads were poorly maintained in this part of the county. Cars flew past and sent chunks of sticky gray mud flying. Birds darted here and there. Up ahead, cars were honking at a deer that was holding up traffic. A girl with a small figure and light blonde hair walked past. His heart leaped. For an instant she was Daisy, the perfect girl he had had an affair with a few years back. She turned, and her puzzled look brought Tom back to reality. She wasn’t Daisy. Daisy was gone. His face went red against the wind. This wasn’t the first time that had happened.

He continued on, lost in thought. All he could think about was Daisy. She had vanished from his life abruptly, and that was when he had realized how much he loved her. Tom noticed very little when he was lost in thought like this. At one point, he stepped out in front of a bus that came screeching to a halt. Only once he had reached the other side did he vaguely notice that an angry bus driver was shouting obscenities at someone.

Finally Tom arrived at a large unremarkable building that resided near the waterfront. He entered through a small door with a sign above it which read: Taylor Resources Shellfish Hatchery.

The gushing of water was the first thing Tom heard when he entered the hatchery. He walked amidst small white tanks of saltwater with numbers written on them in black ink. Under his feet was a yellow grate. A stream of water flowed beneath, beating against black zebra mussels which lined the concrete ditch. Tall, narrow tanks lined the walls, containing water with colors ranging from clear to a dark, murky brown, with no shortage of greens and yellows in between. Lines of fist-sized air bubbles led the way up the middle of the tanks to the top, where they burst into nothing. Dreary walls hunched around him as he maneuvered through the cramped workplace. He stopped and peered up through the clear glass ceiling at a sky of miserable grayness.
A young man approached wearing chest waders and carrying a crate of oysters. It was Marty, Tom's closest thing to a friend in the entire world.

Marty’s forehead creased into a scolding glare, and he stopped to address his friend.

“Man, where ya been? You’ll lose your damn job if you keep this up!”

“Like I’d care,” replied Tom, “I hate this place.”

"Tom! What was that?" spat a booming voice from somewhere behind the two. Tom turned to see a large, imposing man wearing a black hat and a red flannel shirt.

"This is the third time this week you've been late!"

"I'm sorry sir, I-"

"Dependability! That's all I ask for Tom, dependability!"

"But-"

"I mean it this time. Don't let it happen again!" The broad-shouldered man turned and walked away, shaking his head. Tom sighed and caught a glance from Marty that seemed to say, I told you so.

After rinsing down his work table, Tom grabbed a stool, slit open a bag of small, penny-sized oysters, and began counting. He had been assigned to this project three months ago, and had several more months to go. He sat there, clicking his hand counter, minute after minute. A clock hung on the wall directly in front of him, its incessant ticking mocking him every second of the day. As usual, images of his beautiful goddess engulfed his thoughts. There she was, right there in front of him. Her white dress concealed a smooth, delicate body. Blonde hair fluttered in the wind. Her smile made everything all right. Oh, Daisy, he thought, will I ever find you? And so Daisy carried him through the day.

One hundred and thirty three bags of oysters later, Tom took his lunch break. He had not packed a lunch, but he was lucky enough to scrounge up a bag of microwave popcorn. Footsteps sounded at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the lunch room. A moment later, Marty appeared.

"Hey… How’s mister negative doing today?" Marty beamed at Tom, who carefully chewed a mouthful of popcorn. He swallowed.

"I'm sick of it, Marty.” Tom announced.

“I know, the boss has got you counting oysters-"

“Its not that,” Tom interrupted. Marty stood there, studying his friend. He began twisting open a can of soup.

"You're not still goin' on about that girl?" Marty asked.

"Of course I am. I can't get her out of my head."

"Shit man. You gotta forget her. She's ruining your life, can't you see that?" Tom just sat there. Pain was swelling up inside him from somewhere deep, like cold hands squeezing his heart. His eyes became moist and his vision blurred.

"Look, I'm sorry," Marty said, looking away. “It’s just that my wedding is coming up soon, and I can’t have my best man looking like he’s about to cry all the time!” Marty looked to see his reaction. Tom looked up at him, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Best man? Really?” Tom was incredulous.

“You bet, buddy. Elizabeth and I just sent out the invitations yesterday. Now, what’s it going to take to put a smile on your face?” Tom’s brief joy was replaced by the agony as he thought of that answer. Only Daisy could put a smile on his face. Yes, only Daisy could truly make him happy. She was his only hope of salvation.

"Oh God, what'd you say her name was?" Marty finally asked, seeing the conflict that was tearing Tom apart.
After some time Tom took a deep breath and said, "I don't know her real name, just a nickname I used to call her."

"And...?"

"It doesn't matter. You're right. So are we goin' out to the bars tonight, or what?" Tom changed the subject. Marty chuckled.

"That's the Tom I know! The fun Tom that likes to go out and have a good time and doesn't let girls get the best of him!" Marty’s smile was overwhelming. Tom rolled his eyes.

“More like the Tom that drinks to escape his miserable life,” Tom remarked, peering down into his empty bag of popcorn.

“Hey! Don’t go talkin’ like that! We’ll have a great time tonight, I promise. You, me, Shaun and Jesse – you know we always have a good time. It’ll cheer ya right up. I’ll pick ya up at eight.”

“Sure,” Tom agreed, sauntering towards the stairs. “That sounds great.”

After work, Tom walked home in the rain and found his mother, as usual, curled up by the electric heater and reading a romance novel. Only once she finished the page she was on did she acknowledge that her son was home.

“How was work?” she asked, rising from the floor. The room was lit by a faraway fixture that needed to be dusted.

Tom merely grunted as he opened the freezer and poured himself a tall glass of whiskey. He felt his mother’s hands rubbing his back.

“Still working on the same project?”

“Yes, Goddamnit!” Tom yelled, turning around and spilling some of the alcohol. “The same god damn project.”

“I’m sorry, honey. It’s like ever since your dad left the boss has been taking everything out on you. I just-”

“Tell me about it,” Tom said. “He’s given me every single tedious project since dad left.”

“I suppose it’s partly my fault, If-”

“No, Ma, it’s not your fault. You loved dad. He’s the one that disappeared on you!”

“Well you must blame me, even a little. He’s reason you’re here, living with me. That’s why you haven’t had any dates, Tom, its ‘cause you’re living with your mother. Just like in this book I’m reading-“

“I really wish you’d stop reading those stupid books, Ma.”

“They’re not stupid.” She paused as Tom chugged the whiskey.

“They’re all I’ve got, you know?”

Tom’s face contorted and his eyes clenched shut. He wiped his mouth and refilled the glass.

“I know,” he said. “Believe me, I know.” He hoisted himself up on the counter and studied his mother.

“Whatever happened to that pretty girl you used to run around with, what was her name?”

Tom looked to the floor, his legs dangling in front of the wood cabinets.

“Daisy!” she exclaimed. “That was her name! Whatever happened to her? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Tom hesitated.

“Two years, three months. It didn’t work out, I told you already. She was seeing someone else.” Tom recalled how he never thought to ask Daisy her real name. It never seemed important. Daisy fit her perfectly.

“And you just let her slip away?” his mother asked incredulously. Tom glared at her.

“I guess you could say she just disappeared,” he said. His mother looked hurt. Tom picked up the stack of mail from the counter and began fingering through it.

His mother began, “In this book I’m reading – now hear me out – the main character, the love of his life leaves him. She goes to a different state to be with a different man. But he never stops searching for her, and eventually he finds her. And he wins her back. My advice to you, my son, is to never stop searching. If you know she’s the one, you can never give up.”

Tom’s jaw dropped and he stood there gaping at a piece of mail. It was a wedding invitation.

“Are you even listening to me?” his mother demanded. Tom couldn’t believe his eyes. The invitation read:

Mr. and Mrs. William Morris
Announce the marriage
of their son
Marty Daniel Morris
To
Elizabeth “Daisy” Robbins

Could it be? Marty, his best friend, engaged to his Daisy? Tom kept reading the words Elizabeth “Daisy” Robbins over and over again. It was like some horrific car wreck from which he couldn’t pry his eyes.

“Tom! What is it, what’s the matter?” his mother said, running to him. Finally, he looked up, and then at his mother.

“Well, Ma. I think my search is over.” His eyes darted to the clock. It was seven thirty. He pounded his glass of whiskey, grabbed the bottle and his coat.

“When Marty gets here, tell him to I can’t make it tonight!” Tom yelled to his mother, and ran down the cramped hallway, down the stairs, and into the night.

Marty’s house was on the other side of town, but that seemed like the smallest distance in the world to Tom. The whiskey was kicking in. He had to slow after a short while; He was in no shape to be running. He vaguely noted what looked like Marty’s car driving past him towards his apartment. Marty had said he would pick him up at eight to go out drinking. Tom hid his face as the car went past, took another long pull off the bottle, and broke into a run.

The world went by in a drunken blur. At long last, he came to the top of a small hill that looked down at Marty’s house. He set off down the hill towards the house where his Daisy resided. It didn't matter that he was soaked in rain and sweat. It didn’t matter that he was drunk to point that he could barely walk. Nothing mattered but Daisy, who would make everything all right.

He knocked and waited. Sure enough, a princess in white appeared at the door and opened it. A burning sensation engulfed Tom's entire body as the goddess opened her arms to embrace her lover. Life was a blur. It became real for the first time in so long, but the sensations coursing through his entire being could not be real. Truly the human body was incapable of feeling such warmth, such pleasure, such life! Words were exchanged, and everything that came out of that precious mouth was sung in a perfect tone and rang true to his ears! He must have her! The brightness of everything was dizzying; she didn't, she couldn't understand what he was feeling. And yet they embraced in such a way that could only mean one thing: that she too had longed for him! They spoke but Tom didn't understand what he was saying, couldn't understand what she was saying, and it didn't matter. Their souls had traveled to a different plane of existence and left behind their miserable bodies and found each other in a sort of heaven that even God could not imagine! Oh, the brightness of it all! Everything was white-- white walls, white sheets, white flesh... Time was fast and slow and not at all.

Somewhere a door slammed. Tom awoke as suddenly as it had all began. His head throbbed. Beside him was his goddess, Daisy, asleep. But something was wrong. That couldn’t be his Daisy. Her skin didn’t glow like it did in his dreams. Her cheeks weren’t round and perfect; they were, if anything, chubby. Her breasts, while still attractive, sagged more than he remembered. She wasn’t his Daisy. She wasn’t beautiful and magnificent beyond any comparison. She was just some woman he hardly knew. What just happened? Had this really happened? It was all so fast! What was the sound he had awoken to?

"Daisy?" Tom began to shake her. She stirred and looked up at him with a crooked smile. Her face furrowed in fear.

"Oh, no."

"What?"

"Marty! He's home!"

Just then, the door to the bedroom sprung open and Marty stumbled in, holding a liquor bottle. It took him a few moments to take in the scene. He looked from Tom to Daisy and then back to Tom. His eyes became wide with fury and he flung the bottle at Tom.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" His hands clasped over his head, Marty began taking deep breaths and pacing back and forth. Back. And forth. Tom just sat there. He feared to move. Even an inch. But then Marty was digging through some clothes in a chest of drawers across from the bed. Screams erupted from beside Tom. What can I do? What did I do? Why? No. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

Then there was something in Marty's hand, but it couldn't be that. It wouldn't be that. A black blur sliced the air as he waved it in their faces.
Oh god. Those screams. Please don't let the screams stop. She's screaming and screaming, and then she's not. Red splattered on white. No, no. My life, my dream, my Daisy. Then the black thing is pointed at Tom. Someone else was screaming now. I don't know what's happening. I’m your best man! Why is this happening? I'm so, so sorry. Tom pulled the covers over his face. Once last fleeting image of his perfect, beautiful Daisy flashed through his brain, and the world erupted into darkness.