Audrey, Dearest

I kicked the box out of my way in the hallway, wallpaper tattered like moth wings in a storm, the shadows bleeding from the ceiling down to the musty carpeted floor scented full of memories of jazz-filled nights and the liquored up company we would keep, stains aged two years revealing the arrival of a new dog. Oh, how I hated that dog. Reaching the foyer, I clutched the half-empty bottle, the sweet smell of brown paper bag and Jack Daniel’s trailing in the air, with wisps of musk wrapped around my aura. I moved like a specter, once inhabiting these walls, sometimes imagined to have a tragic ending and at the same time, lack of origin- the kind that feeds campfire notions and fills the head of the quiet boy, who once upon a time, had been me. That was long ago; sobered up, my memory did not allow room for reminiscence of childhood days but instead those golden days- those cursed, golden days which I spent many hours of my secluded life drinking away, tipping the bottle to topple the past.

A breeze blew the curtains, those cursed, spindly things that weaved their way around a nearby bed post, that, just the spring prior, would receive an embrace from the scent of lilacs from the garden box in the balcony, but the brashness of the autumn wind carried no scent from the withered stalks that poked their way out of the dirt now spilled out on the cracked balcony tile. I lumbered into the bedroom, my breadth occupying the doorway; I always told Audrey it was too small a doorway to have for such an antique house, a house always seeming to fringe at the seams- corners and cobwebs, shadows and tall weeds, dispersing across the estate like water carelessly spilled on a tile floor. A darkened figure sat idly by, slunking, held down by drowsy weight, as if gravity itself had grown figureless arms and pinioned them down, but I paid no heed, as does apparition or illusion.

I circled the room slowly, fingers lightly tapping out a Sinatra song, the tune lost to me now, but the tops of furniture- the velvet of the pillows, the dusty unvarnished nightstand, the arabesque patterns of lace on a jewelry box lined with rich carnation silk- still fresh in my memory. At the line "in other words- I love you,"- a line that brought me back to those forbidden, golden days- wonder years, that left me a bitter, hollow shell- the song dwindled down, sotto voce. It was a burden to continue, and I wanted nothing more but for it to stop, the pain, the pounding, the impending headache, a bullhorn off in the distance- oh, those crazy kids. I grabbed the nearest item on the bureau, whatever I could grasp as firm reality, and hurled it; a beautiful crash resounded. It was glass, or crystal- who knows? They all make that beautiful sound once they hit the hardwood floor.

I began my painful soliloquy, "Twenty-one found me a married young man enlisted in the military with bags packed for a trip around the world for 3 years," I paused to take a swig. "Twenty-four came around and this house was dull and barren at my return. Damnit, Audrey," I clutched the picture frame tighter, my knuckles turning a strained shade of white, "I was promoted to Lieutenant! Wasn't that good enough for you!? Imagine coming home and finding precious little Jake all packed up. How cute," I said in feigned adorance. "I hated that mutt! And you know what? Your parents were wrong; we weren't just kids in love. What do kids know? Kids are wrong! They were wrong- YOU were wrong!" I traced the edge of the picture frame I had held in my hands. I trailed off into nostalgia, but as soon as that tear hit the picture, my eyes, then glazed with tears could no longer see the image. Only red. Red all around. My heart pounded in my ears. Why won't that noise stop? Stupid kids. Before I knew it, the picture frame had made it's mark on the wall and its remnants. Including the picture of Audrey, it joined that of the now lifeless vase.

My voice lowered, changing the tone in the room almost as immensely as a sun lowering behind the trees, and I recited, "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." Audrey lifted her eyes to look at me in awe, as if I had not been human until those words made me into flesh as the preachers, on their pulpits, preached about Jesus; A Tale of Two Cities was her favorite book.

I staggered towards the far window with the bottle of Jack and pressed my back to the wall. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a crowd gathering like water in a tidepool just outside our balcony window- an ebbing, swelling mass of people milling about like busy, little ants. I turned to smirk at Audrey, who was sobbing softly across the room. Her eyes reminded me of those sad, side streets of a foreign city and the black and white pictures of lone boys tossing pennies, holding them to their chests and closing their eyes, wishing beyond all logic, clutching the coin as if it was their grasp on reality, and the closer they held it- the tighter their hands were wrapped around it- the more true it was. A tear fell from her strained eyes as she shifted uncomfortably against the post at which she had been tied. A twang of sorrow came to me, but I dulled it down with another sip from the bottle.

"It'll be alright," I said lifting my body and shifting towards the window; I was beaming now, raising my hand at the bright blue sky just outside the window, "After all, it's a beautiful day. Who can't be smitten on days like to-" The beauty of broken glass sounded in the sky, a burning pain seared my left shoulder, and it brought me to my knees. I was desparately gasping for breath and clinging to the sheets on the bed. Audrey had given a start, the look on her face was terror, but her attention turned from me to the doorway. A flood of men outfitted in black barged into the bedroom, but all I could see in that swarm was red. They came at me barking commands as sharp as the pain in my shoulder, which I was now clutching- such physical pain I had never felt; not the time Audrey's brother gave me a black eye; not the time I was stabbed in the leg serving overseas.

Freed of her ropes, Audrey was a butterfly unpinned from a page- frail and unsteady in flight. They took Audrey away, who gave one last glance, and in leaving the room, I knew she left behind all hope for me, for there was none; there was no excuse, and I knew that; there was no will- there was no way. I was surrounded by the sea of black and red, and all I could feel was the pain in my arm as I was dragged unwillingly into the dark hall and out into the diminishing afternoon and artificial daylight produced by the barage of flashbulbs. That was the beginning of my life here."

I smiled gratefully at my visitor. No one ever comes to visit, and my cell is always too dark. Sometimes, I wake to dreams of that day only to spend the remaining hours before roll call thinking of Audrey. They have ways to help me here, though. I know what I did was wrong.
My visitor paused and smiled a plastic smile, "That must all be very tiring on your mind. Here," he produced something. "I brought this to..." he hesitated, "help you."

I sighed at what was coming next. It would be like this for the rest of my natural life because what I did had been wrong. I understood this.
That's why I no longer fought the medication, but submissively offered my arm. "It was the age of foolishness; it was the age of wisdom," he chuckled tapping the syringe.

"That's a good boy now," the doctor coaxed somewhere far away. My muscles relaxed, and my dim room faded to black.