27/11/2009

Three knocks at the door and my hands were full of damp paper towel. "Just a second." I called out. I unlocked the door and trashed the paper towels as the door swung open, grabbing a kitchen towel. Michael stepped in. "Just gimme a second," I said, walking back to the bedroom to make sure the books I'd dusted were dry. "I'm almost ready," I called out. He was standing just inside the door when I came back out. "You can sit. I just have to put on my boots and grab my coat." "And your keys." he said, pointing to my keys. "I'm okay." "And my purse." My purse was hanging from the knob of the closet. "Did you want to smoke some first?" "I'm prepared." he said, patting his chest, which I assumed to be a pocket. "Where did you want to go?" "Well, it's too late to go to a lot of places. Walmart's easy." "I have to get some things. Walmart's fine." "It'll be pretty empty, not so depressing. What do you have to get?" "Stuff. I'm going to look around." "Okay." I said. "I'm ready." This sounded more convenient, we could just meet up at the register or somewhere in the store and I could just get my shopping out of the way. My list caught my eye sitting on the desk. I grabbed it. "List." "Do you have to get a lot of stuff." "Not too much. It won't take very long. Let's go."
He handed me one of his perfectly rolled joints as he started up the car. I was getting use to it, so it didn't knock me back so much, but it was still strong stuff. We were down to more than half when he pulled into the parking lot. He parked halfway to the back, away from what were probably the employee cars clustered at one entrance. A few cars speckled the lot. "I'm fine," I said, as he offered me the joint. He took two long drags off it before putting it out in the ashtray. Outside, I flapped my coat with my hands in the pockets, sure I smelled of pot. I wasn't that worried about it but why invite trouble. Michael just watched. He smoothed the sleeves of his coat, waiting for me to start walking. The walk would air us out some, I thought. Michael never seemed worried about getting caught, maybe because he was sure he could deal with any trouble. He was tall but not bulky, still he was a pretty big guy, He probably wasn't use to feeling threatened by things in general. We walked in step with each other, side by side, hitting the doors at the same time so they slid aside without us needing to break stride. We both grabbed blue carts. "I'm going this way," I said, pointing right. "We can meet up in the middle, or by the registers?" "I'm going this way." he said pointing right. "You can call when you're done. Right now I'm going to look at tools." "Okay." Besides a few people stocking shelves, it was almost empty in the grocery section, so I ran around with my cart, skidding to stops in the aisles. I checked my list after the cart was half full. I'd gotten everything I needed and had started picking up some things I figured I might as well stock up on since I had the opportunity when I decided to call it quits and head to the register. It turned out to be more than I had planned and I hoped it would all fit into the trunk with whatever he got. I called him as I headed past the toy section with my cart. "Yes." "Where are you?" "I'm in the car." "Already?" "I'm quick." "Did you buy anything?" "Yes, I did." "Okay, I'll be out in a sec." "I'll pull up to the front." Hauling the cart around, I pushed it fast enough to need to wrench it around the corner at the pharmacy. He was waiting with the trunk open as I got outside the doors. "Where's your stuff?" "In the back." He reached in, grabbing all the bags, and placing them in the trunk with ease. "I'll put this back. Get in." I was just sitting back with the door closed when the driver's side opened. Fast was all I had time to think. "What did you get?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. "I'll show you when we get back to my place. Let's drop your stuff off." I noticed the roach was gone and he noticed me looking at the ashtray. "Did you want more?" he asked with his hand to his chest. "No, I'm okay. Why, how many you got in there?" "Five." "Really?" "No." There weren't many cars out. We glided back without any one to slow us down, but it seemed faster than that. I couldn't see the speedometer from where I was sitting without making an obvious effort but I was sure he must be speeding. I looked out for cops but there were none. "You gotta be more careful." I said. We were already at my apartment building. "Pot is still illegal. I don't want to get in trouble." "I wouldn't get you in trouble." he said, slamming the door shut. He already had all the bags in his hands as I got out of the car. I felt a step behind everything and I didn't think it was because I was high. 'Should I take--?" "No, I've got them." I held the door open and we got upstairs at an easy pace, but I felt rushed. I fumbled unlocking the door. "It will just take me a sec to put everything away." "I can help." "No, that's okay. You don't know where everything goes. Just sit down and watch teevee or something. You can go on the computer but it won't take that long." I took a couple bags out of his hands and started unloading things on to the counter by the fridge. When I turned around, the rest of the groceries were already out on the stove and sink area. I gathered up the bags, peeking into the living room area. He was on the couch with the remote in his hand. His posture was relaxed but the channels were going by as quickly as possible. I took a beat and took a breath, just looking around with my hands out in a steadying gesture. I wasn't going to rush, I was just going to take my time. I opened the freezer and started to pop things in. It wasn't big so things had to be stacked in a certain way for the door to close, but it took no time. I got into a rhythm right away, putting things in the fridge, moving things around, filing things away in the cupboard. I was about to say I was done when I almost ran into him at the edge of the kitchen area. "Done?" "Why are you in such a rush?" "Am I?" "You're speeding around, you're always right there." "Sorry, I forgot." "Forgot what?" "I've just been, um, busy all day." "Are you on something? Like some kind of speed or coke?" "Oh, no. That stuff doesn't work for me. Don't worry, I'll slow it down more." "More?" "Yes. Here." He held out another joint. "We light it when we get to the car and I'll be slower." "Don't drive fast." "Okay. Here are your keys." They dangled from his grip. I snatched them out of his hand, feeling a bit put off. "I've just been in the house since I dropped you off. I have been around people. I lost the rhythm. I'll pick it up again." "What are you talking about?" I said, sucking on the joint. "Here. Smoke it." "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude but you're all in my face sorta. Not in my face but right there, every time I turn around. I mean, thanks for taking me shopping, I really needed to get that done. You're just really fast tonight, and I'm… not." Everything I said sounded stupid to my ears, but he was just nodding and smoking. He was already pulling up to the house as he passed the joint back to me. I didn't think there was anyone watching there and then but I felt weird to just walk out of the car with it. I pulled on it and handed it back to him. He could do it. He was waiting for me to open my door, watching me. Every move I made was deliberate, swinging open the door, hauling myself up, each step I made up to the porch. He was next to me, waiting until we were up to the door, when he moved past me to open it. "Is it freaking you out, that I"m so fast." he said, handing the joint back to me. I walked into the dark house, taking a hit. "Kinda. Not really. It's just got be off balance tonight." "Because I can move very fast, and I don't want to freak you out." "I'd just like to be prepared." "I can move a lot faster than I have been." "Okay. Here. Take this." I reached out to hand the joint to nothing. He'd moved in the dark from when I'd last heard him. He was by the fireplace, starting it up. I saw the little flame from his lighter make a little flame under the wood. I felt on the wall for the switch that turned on the dining room light. It felt different in here, smelled different, then it struck me right away as the light flicked on. "Oh my god, you cleaned everything! You cleaned everything!" "Not everything," he said, crouched down my the fire. "The floors are totally different!" I tapped my boots on the floor boards. They looked a completely different from the dull gray of the other night. A breeze blew past me as I was trying to get a good look at the walls. "We have light." Michael said from the other side of the room, as he plugged in a cord. A torchlight turned on, the light shining high up the wall. It was a frosted aluminum tube that flared at the top. The box it came in was leaning against the wall, next to plastic shopping bags. He'd gone out to the car and retrieved the bags and assembled a lamp in the half minute I had been reeling around the room. The door was even shut. I tried to recall ever moment of the last thirty second and there had been the barest thud of the door shutting. I hadn't heard his feet or the car door open or close, so he had used some care doing things. He was playing with the dimmer switch, turning it down. I paid attention to the walls again. I hadn't gotten a good look at them the night before, now they looked like greenish wallpaper. I touched it, stroking it and the light switch. There was a slight texture to it, and it left nothing on my finger tips. It was perfectly clean. I looked back at Michael but he wasn't by the lamp, he was back in front of the fire, coaxing it. "You washed the walls?" "I started with the floor in here," he waved his right arm to his side, "but then I decided I should start with the walls since they would drip." I pushed in the kitchen door, but it was too dark to really see. There was a shine from the moonlight that came in through the window, but I didn't know that that was all that different from the night before. The place hadn't been filthy but it felt old. Now the mustiness was gone. My boots made more of a sound on the floor now, as I walked into the parlor and looked into the writing room. I turned in, thinking I'd get a candle, to see Michael turning on a lantern. "Here." he said, handing it over to me. The light shone off the floors, not with the hard shine of polish but a dull one of hard wood. I moved it around me, looking up at the walls and ceiling. He cleaned the ceiling? The floor of the writing room looked just as clean. He must have moved all the furniture. The same could be said of the day room. I walked the light back to the kitchen, where everything looked as clean as possible and the evidence of the process sat by the sink. All the dishrags looked grey but they were dry and stacked on the counter. The wash bin was damp but clean with the scrub brushes inside, looking so used some of the bristles were curved out to the sides. One looked like its usefulness was over. I picked it up, to carry it back into the parlor with me. "That one," he said, sitting on the couch he had moved nearer to the fire, "was the first one I tried. I pushed on it too hard. I learned after that. I put it down by the fire and looked at him. He looked back at me, right in the eye. I walked past him into the day room and through to the foyer. I hadn't gotten a look at this room before. The floor showed wear by the front door to the stairs and the stairs were bowed in the middle from use. The front door was large with a small metal rectangle with a handle. The peephole, I assumed. The foyer opened into the hallway where the bathroom was. The bathroom seemed the same as far as I could tell, except the floor must have been cleaner. It was a small room without much to clean, although there was an extra roll of toilet paper in there now. Back in the kitchen, I noticed the back stairs didn't gleam like everything else. I was somewhat relieved. Walking back through the swinging door, I looked at the dining room again. The windows could use cleaning but everything else was a clean as it was going to get. I walked to Michael with the lantern held out in front of me. He took it and turned it out, placing it on the floor. The candles were lit again, with two on the small table. "I like the candle light better." he said. I sat next to him on the couch. He handed me another joint. I took it and held it in my lap, looking at him. "You cleaned everything. How did you clean everything." I didn't say it as a question because I was sure the answer would be that he was fast. Fast didn't explain the ceilings. "I didn't clean everything. but I got most of the stuff down here." He looked around. "It smells better." "How did you get up there?" I curled most of my hand so one finger pointed up. He wrinkled his brow and smirked, taking the joint from my hand. "If you're fast enough, you can get up there long enough to do the job." He looked for a moment like he was ready to spring up to the ceiling in a single bound, but decided instead to stretch out his legs in front of him and light the joint off a candle. He took a long drag and handed it over to me. I took it from him but kept looking at him. "How did you do all this?" "It took all day. Gimme that. I didn't get high until I picked you up. I didn't get high all day." "This is what happens when you don't smoke pot?" "It can. It's not that big a difference. I'm just not quite as fast when I'm high." "Not quite." I said, looking up and around the room. "But you're still fast." "Still fast." "What does it feel like?" "Like, more like, well, like speed, like coffee, like anything with speed in it. Like wired but not shakey, but that dried out feeling. Stretched out and hungry, knowing you have all this energy." "Huh." I took that in for a moment. "So being a vampire is like being on speed all the time." "Kinda. That's not really the best example." "But no crash." "There's a better way to explain it." "Did you use to do a lot of speed?" "Not really. I tried meth and coke before. It's kind of like coke but not really." "Is this what makes vampires assholes?" "Could be. No, definitely. It's definitely part of what makes them assholes. The other part is," he paused. "That they choose to be. It's a choice. It makes it easier to be an asshole but it's not like you have to be." "Explain the asshole part." "Okay. Let me think." He hit on the joint with a grimace. "We were in a park," he said while holding his breath. He exhaled. "This girl Marissa and this guy Jake and me. And there was this girl in the crowd who could see us, could tell we were different, so she was watching us. Marissa decides to start moving really fast back and forth but stuttering her movements so she could be seen in flashes. We were by the trees and no one else was watching us but this girl. And the girl starts having a seizure right there, which was just what Marissa wanted. Later she said it was because that way she wouldn't remember seeing us, because you usually can't remember things from around the time you have a seizure, but I know she did it just to be an asshole. That girl felt over and hit her head, didn't move at all. People started to gather around her. We had to leave so we didn't get caught in the crowd. It was such a dick thing to do. We didn't have to do anything, people see us all the time, and mostly they don't think much of it. Occasionally someone freaks out, but it's not a big deal. We're fast enough that we can disappear if that's the case. It was just mean. Pure cruelty." Michael looked upset at the recollection, every sentence came out in lurches, words being vomited up. he sucked on the joint silently, his face still grimaced, his mouth twisted up at one corner and down at the other. "But they all aren't like that." "I haven't met them all. But mostly. Mostly they tend to be assholes. And I don't choose to be around them." I wanted to change the subject. "I thought you didn't know how to clean." "I didn't, but I figured, how hard could it be? I started with the brush in here at that end last night," he said pointing at a corner, "and practiced with water and that cleanser. A little on the floor, a little on the wall. The drips were so dark, I decided to start with the walls. Mostly I used water which was good because I would have run out of cleanser right away. I don't think I'm that good at it but I don't think you have to be that good." "I think you're good. It's amazing." "Well, it took all day, and I'm fast." "Yes, you are." he was looking at me but not in my eyes. He was looking at my mouth. He reached out with the joint between his thumb and forefinger but extended his middle finger to my lips, touching my lower lip for a moment, then he rested the joint there. It was a little strange, but I took a hit. The pot made him feel more human, but why was it so important I get high? Was it him being polite, his way of being social? He took a hit that finished the joint and put the roach on the tray. I wanted him to show me how he did it, cleaned the place, moved around, but I couldn't think of a way to ask. When he said it took him all day, did that mean he did it during the day or was it a figure of speech? "Water?" he asked. He was up and back with two glasses before I could say yes. I realized I wouldn't be able to see him scrub or touch the ceiling, except maybe as a blur, so there was no use asking. I drank as he moistened his mouth. "Can you drink the water?" "It would be like saving the water inside me, which I do sometimes. And I can do this." He stood up and swallowed some water, then turned to the wall. With his mouth open and his teeth bared, he made a hissing sound and sprayed the wall with a fine mist. "What's that for?" "I have no idea." I was a little relieved that it wasn't part of the wall cleaning procedure. He sat back down and look at me. His lips were wet. I reached out and touched his lower lip with my middle finger. He smiled.