Belt Buckles & Pajamas Page 6

He looks like I cut his hand off, like there was an opening and I came running up and slammed the door in his face. Like I felt when… I change my mind and reach for his hand, give it a little squeeze and let it go. His balloon is in the sky again and I don’t have to cry.

  “That was very nice, Daphne. It was very nice to show Gordon you weren’t mad at him. Still, Gordon, please ask Daphne next time, okay?”

  “Moooooning over you,” says the cow, and I flush red again.

  Doctor Martin is scribbling a lot on his notepad. Daphne hardly ever writes on hers. I think it is there to keep her hands from wandering up and pushing those black-rimmed glasses up that perky nose. She shouldn’t bother; it looks cute when she does it.

  “You can only observe you can’t act I stopped you and you can’t read my mind,” Stuart states to Doctor Martin.

  He raises his gaze from his notepad. He doesn’t answer Stuart, just looks over at Andie, mouths “Just observing,” to her and returns to his notepad.

  “Stuart,” Andie says, “I promise you that none of us can read your mind. Remember, you are a human being. You have a name, you are unique.”

  “But part of humanity, Andie, aren’t we all part of humanity?” I beseech her – if this has changed then I will not be happy.

  “Absolutely, Daphne, we are all part of humanity. That’s why we respect each other, why we must confer dignity and privacy and love.”

  “I know you can’t read our minds, Andie. I believe that you are human. He, however,” Stuart gestures toward Doctor Martin, “is an entirely different matter. His mind reading capabilities have not been determined.”

  “Spies like us,” informs the hedgehog.

  Stuart puts his arms across his chest, gives a nod of affirmation. Once the hedgehog speaks, Stuart pretty much takes it as gospel.

  “I will personally vouch for Doctor Martin, Stuart. He is most certainly human. I mean, look at him, surely the government could build a better robot than that!”

  Violet adds, “And I know at least part of him is flesh. And boner.”

  Stuart giggles, I laugh, the hedgehog goes wild. Even Shy Boy smiles at that one. I think he is listening to us more now, since the earplug isn’t constantly filling his head with sports scores. Doctor Martin just keeps scribbling furiously in his notepad.

  Andie settles back in her chair, stifling her own laughter. After we all calm down, she smoothes her skirt that shows just a little bit of leg, my but what a pretty figure she makes in her skirt that could twirl around her if we were dancing, and I bet she square dances and sits on bales of hay, sipping apple cider between songs.

  “Herbert,” she asks, and we look around before we remember that that is Pet Shop’s name, “how are you doing today?”

  “Doing all right, future’s so bright, gotta wear shades,” replies the hedgehog.

  “I am glad your furry friend is doing fine, but how are you, Herbert?” she asks again.

  “He’d be better if ya dinna keep harassin’ the poor boy, lady.” I’m not sure who is speaking; it’s hard to tell when they are all invisible. I think it is the same one who harassed the hedgehog the first day Pet Shop ate with us. But God only knows what particular invisible animal it is.

  “I’m not harassing you, Herbert, I just want to talk to you occasionally. It’s fine to hear from your animals, but couldn’t we have a word from you now and then?”

  Pet Shop – Herbert – looks at her, glances around as if seeing if any of his herd is willing to take his place again, but I guess they are off grazing. “Okay, Andie. I’m okay. That’s all,” he says, then unties and ties and unties et cetera his shoes.

  “Thank you, Herbert. That wasn’t so hard, now was it? Okay, I think we are done for now, I will see you again this afternoon.”

  I’m not sure Doctor Martin agreed with Andie’s assessment of our progress but at least he escaped without Violet latching onto his crotch. Maybe that part was a disappointment; he was probably looking for an excuse to shock her again.

  Nineteen: Recalibrating The Reflection Things

  Stuart is ecstatic at the effectiveness of his anti government meta ray wave insaturation deflection device. He swears his mind has been untouched since we installed it. I think his mind has been touched in all kinds of ways.

  “No, not that way. Angle it toward me,” he tells Pet Shop, who is once again up a tree without his monkey. Pet Shop moves the triangle reflection thing until Stuart is happy with the angle and crawls along the branch to the next one.

  I look around for the screech owl but don’t see him. Too bad, I think Pet Shop would like a visit from his feathered compatriot. The wind starts to pick up a little and one of the triangles falls out of the tree.

  “Mayday! Mayday!” Stuart shouts. “Everybody keep thinking peas and carrots until I replace the reflection triangle!” He runs over and picks up the triangle. There is a tear in it where it had pulled off of the branch. He folds it over, reshaping it, then goes back to the tree and hands it up to Pet Shop. Pet Shop replaces it and the device is operational again. Stuart tells us we can stop thinking about peas and carrots.

  We walk around the gravestones, fixing the foil antennae where they have fallen. There are twenty-seven stones, each with a different number, each with a different date. All the stones are the same shape and size, there is nothing to distinguish number three seven dash four three three from number three seven dash eight three five except about five feet of longitude. Or maybe latitude, I never remember which is which.

  Violet leans down and kisses number three seven dash four three three, and I realize there is still a difference. That these people – people, not numbers – are just as much a part of our commonality as Glen and Theodore, that no matter what THEY do they cannot take that away from them. Or us.

  I join Shy Boy by the base of the big tree with the triangle reflection devices. He is staring at his radio, nestled in the crook where a large branch juts off of the main trunk. I know he misses it. I want to thank him for letting Stuart use it. I want to love him. I settle for reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze.

  He pulls it away. Shy Boy pulls his hand away from me! I stand there, mouth agape, completely shocked that he would do that! Then, even more from left field than his pulling his hand away, he grins. And reaches for my hand! I am so startled by this that I let him take my hand and hold it. Shy Boy actually teased me.

  Violet must have seen this because next thing I know she is whispering in my ear, “He must really like you, if he is teasing you. Little boys only tease little girls they like. Little boys pull on little girls’ pigtails. Little boys have pigtails too, just in front instead of behind. Don’t you want to show him how much you like him? Come on, Daphne, you know he wants you to.” She takes my hand, the one Shy Boy isn’t holding, and moves it down in front of him. I pull it back.

  “No, Violet, I can’t do that,” I tell her, trying not to cry because I am happy I am holding his hand but I am scared and don’t want to think about what Shy Boy wants me to do just like what he wanted me to do all those nights and I won’t.

  I open my eyes and I am still holding Shy Boy’s hand and he maybe looks a little disappointed but he still looks happy too and I think maybe it will be okay.

  Stuart announces that everything is in perfect working order, that we are once more safe from government mind control, at least until tomorrow, so we walk back. Pet Shop keeps looking over his shoulder, but we don’t see the owl.

  Twenty: Andie Tells Us A Story

  We get to afternoon group and are glad to see that Doctor Martin isn’t there. Probably off observing some of the other crazies. Or recovering from hand cramps due to all his frantic scribbling during our morning session.

  Andie is very quiet. She looks at her notepad, not at us. We sit, silently, not sure what is going on. Not even the hedgehog is willing to start us out.

  Finally she stands up, smoothing her skirt – yes, the nice twirling barn dance, rolling in the hay, wonder w
hat color her panties – stop, stop, stop she is nice she is not like that.

  “I had a good conversation with Doctor Martin,” she begins. Oh God, the bastard got to her! How can any conversation with him be good?

  She continues, “He agreed that our group is having positive effects. That we are making progress.” She smiles. I am still waiting for the catch. There is no way he doesn’t have some nefarious scheme, some dastardly plot behind his seeming good will.

  “And he has also agreed that his personal observations are not necessary.” Sweet Jesus, did I hear that correctly? No more evil emperor? No more mister nasty?

  I can’t help it. I hug her. I even get there before Violet, who was just looking at a hug as a way to feel her breasts pressed against her own. Sam, bless that mean old orderly, has at least learned enough to see when it is a hug and not an attack, and doesn’t even take a step toward us.

  I think Andie is as surprised as Violet that I got there first. Her eyes even mist a little – over me! Shy Boy looks a little jealous. After the hug I squeeze his hand to let him know he is still my sweetie.

  “Great Caesar’s Ghoooost!” cries the cow.

  Stuart sat there. He was the only one who didn’t act happy about Doctor Martin’s absence. Violet notices it first, I am still reliving the hug and Andie’s soft brown eyes getting misty and how she felt in her skirt and her sweater against me not like Violet but nice not needy but sharing and warm and nice.

  Violet asks him, “What’s up, Stuart?”

  “A direction away from the center of gravity of a celestial body. But that’s not important.” He points at the camera in the upper corner of the room, the red light blinking, I’m watching, I’m watching, I’m watching. “That is.”

  Andie sees what he is pointing at and sighs. “Stuart, the camera is not important. It is not hurting you; it is not reading your mind.”

  “Then what is it doing?” he asks.

  “Stuart, we have to have it on. It is recording us — I won’t deny that — but only for my personal use. It helps me to understand everything we talk about. I promise that’s all. Nobody else sees the tape – not Doctor Martin, not the government – nobody. I’m the only one who has access to it.”

  Stuart turns to Pet Shop. “What’s the hedgehog say?”

  “He isn’t here,” Pet Shop says. “I can’t find him anywhere. Nobody but the cow has talked to me all day, and frankly, he isn’t much of a conversationalist.”

  That is the most I have ever heard Pet Shop say.

  “Good Lord!” Stuart exclaims, “It is worse than I thought. Without the hedgehog, we are doomed. Doomed, I say!”

  Andie settles him down. He was about to stand up and start on another rant, which only would have led to Sam tranqing him. She takes his hand, caresses his forearm with those gentle fingers that could erase all memory of pain and sorrow and emptiness with one soft lingering brush against your skin, and he takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair.

  “I am sure the hedgehog will be back when he is needed. Now do you trust me, Stuart? Have I ever lied to you?”

  “But the hedgehog –”

  “Isn’t who I am asking, Stuart,” she interrupts. “I am asking you – do you trust me?”

  And he does. I can tell. How could you not trust the soul of humanity, the heart of the sun? How could there be any doubt when an angel from heaven takes you in her arms and breaths manna into your face and you drink it in and you drink her in and you wonder how she tasted and Violet tells you sweet, sweet as fresh strawberries that you picked in a meadow that he was never ever in.

  Stuart admits it. He has to. “Yes,” he says, “I trust you, Andie. But I still want to talk to the hedgehog.”

  “So do I,” she says. “Herbert, please tell us if the hedgehog comes back. And if you get tired of talking to the cow, please come see me. I may not hold a candle to the conversational skills of the hedgehog but I am pretty sure I can outtalk the cow.”

  “Okay, Andie,” Pet Shop replies. “I’m okay for now, but maybe later.”

  “How do we know?” Violet asks. “How do we really know we can trust you?” Who is she kidding? I think this is just a ploy because she doesn’t like not being the center of attention, not being the one that everyone wants to… touch.

  Andie looks at her, looks at her not me, and I am jealous and it burns and I squeeze Shy Boy’s hand so tight that he lets out a little yelp.

  Andie lets this pass, she just keeps looking at Violet, that “I am the light, the lord, the essence of all that matters” smile illuminating the room and Violet just stares back and obviously has shields on full force, look out Captain I don’t think she can take anymore.

  “How can we believe we could ever be like you?” Violet asks. The real question. Not about trust or faith or who wants to help us but how could we ever, ever be anything close to the wondrous being before us?

  “I’m not special,” she says to us, “I am just like you. I have my problems, I have my emotions, and I get scared too.”

  “Don’t say if you cut me do I not bleed because that’s a road we aren’t supposed to go down,” Stuart says.

  “No, no cutting or bleeding. Not on the outside.” She looks straight at me. “But inside, I have my demons and fears and nights when I wake up screaming.”

  “You do?” I wonder at the possibility, that he could ever penetrate her dreams. That she was ever forced to… to be me. “You have nightmares, like I do?”

  She takes my hands, looks me in the eyes. I cannot see any demons in her irises. I am certain I am unable to hide the ones swimming in my own. “Daphne, I know you have very frightening dreams. I know what has happened in the past haunts you. I won’t pretend that my own nightmares are anything like yours, but I do have them. There are… incidents in my past that visit me when I sleep, that leave me trembling and sweating and crying. But they do not own me. They do not keep me from living in the present. That is what I am offering to you. I cannot make them go away, only you can do that. I cannot make the past any brighter, and better, any safer than it really was. What I can do, what we can do together, is learn how to accept what happened, and how to keep it in the past where it belongs. It doesn’t have to be our master; it doesn’t have to keep us from enjoying today.”

  Her impassioned plea, her vulnerability, her empathy, wash over me, overwhelm me, drown me. I know she is telling me the truth, about wanting to help, about her own nightmares, but especially about how she doesn’t know just how bad mine are. It is obvious that he isn’t a part of her nights; that she had been able to sleep through until morning and he never woke her and she never heard the belt buckle hit the floor or wet her pants because she smelled his cigar in the hallway.

  “Tell me about the dreams, Daphne,” she pleads and I don’t want to because either she won’t understand or worse she will and then he would have tainted her too and she wouldn’t be pure and she would have part of him in her and I could never love her without loving him too and he would win.

  She purses her lips. God! How does someone do that? A simple tightening of a couple facial muscles and I am pulled to her, she is opening me and I am fighting it trying not to contaminate her, trying to keep her safe so there is still Base so I can still call Base and not be tagged.

  Her voice is gentle, soft, intoxicating. “Daphne, let me tell you a story. I was twenty-two, just out of college, on an internship. I was dating exactly who my mother wanted me to date, a twenty-five year old doctor in his second year of residency with a big bright smile and blue eyes that would have made Robert Redford jealous.”

  She takes a deep breath and continues. “He was tan and bronze and had just enough chest hair to let you know he was a man but not a hairy ape. Not so much that when you ran your hands over it the hairs caught or tugged or made him wince. He was perfect.”

  She isn’t looking at me so much as through me now. I hang on every word of this fairy tale, this prince that I had never found but she had, an
d I am waiting for happily ever after but I can tell from the clouds in her eyes that there is a storm on the horizon.

  “Within six months we were engaged. Mother and Father couldn’t have been prouder. Their little tom boy had turned into a woman and was going to have the white picket fence and a doctor, ‘My goodness,’ my mother said, ‘well I suppose you can stop this silly internship now’.”

  Even Sam is all ears, leaning close, straining to catch every word Andie says.

  “And so I dropped out of the program. I went to bridal shops and read bridal magazines and picked out blue and silver napkins for the reception. My parents were wonderful and loving and it was all because I was playing the part for them. For him. For the American Dream. And I was hating every second of it but it was too late we were engaged and the hall was reserved and he was perfect and Mother loved him and Father smoked cigars with him on the veranda.”

  She sits there, remembering the events, and no one moved. No one talked, no one breathed. No one wanted to break this spell, to give her any reason to stop.

  “So we got married. Mother said it was just the champagne when I told her how he pushed me on our wedding night when I told him he was drunk, that he didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Father told me to work things out three months later when I showed up on his doorstep with a broken nose. He said marriages take work, take effort. Mother pretended not to see the bruises under my makeup when we met for lunch.”

  I taste the salt of my tears as they roll down my cheek and over my lips. My heart is breaking, my soul crying out in empathy, in ecstasy for the shared pain, for the common bond I feel with Andie.

  “The third time in the emergency room was the last. The doctor recognized me from my internship and took me to a safe house. I was divorced a year later. It was another two years before I got the courage to see my parents. We’re on speaking terms now, but they never did understand why I left. Why we couldn’t work it out. Why I couldn’t handle getting beaten by my husband every time he tied one on.”