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backdrifterRespa didn’t go home that night. He didn’t trust Tanya with Kathy as a rule, but tonight he felt a sense of dread and acid roiling up whenever he thought of going home, of facing his own joke of a family, of seeing Tanya’s accusatory black-eyed glare. Instead he made his return to Chelsea, where he waited outside various bars in the vague hope of running into Horace. He saw instead Teri and Kelly, his lesbian couple friends, who waved to him with a sort of cold glance. Horace was nowhere in sight.
Teri, the one in the black miniskirt and halter top, approached him, and Kelly soon followed at her own slower pace.
“What brings you to Chelsea tonight?” she asked, clearly suspicious.
“Looking for Horace,” he said, matching her look for look. No reason to lie, not this time.
“It’s been years since you’ve seen him,” Kelly said, scowling. “Don’t you know how to call? Stay in touch?”
“I don’t have a phone,” he muttered, and Kelly’s face fell.
“Well, he’s not with us tonight. His boyfriend Shaun is over tonight, I think he’s making dinner or something.”
“Boyfriend?”
Teri snickered despite herself, elbowing her girlfriend. “I think he’s jealous, Kelly.”
“I was just curious,” he said, scowling. “Whatever.”
Of course Horace would have a boyfriend. Of course Horace wouldn’t put his life on hold between Respa’s very few visits; it was stupid to expect otherwise. Horace probably had a very loving, gentle relationship with a man who didn’t have numerous crippling traumas and deep personality flaws. A man who wasn’t covered in scars, who understood how to interact with other human beings.
Of course, of course, but it didn’t stop him from feeling cast away. He bid Teri and Kelly a gruff goodnight, and made his way uptown, where he ended up deepthroating a rather clean-cut man for a crisp pair of twenties. He let a tired-looking Iranian man take him home, where they had rather straightforward sex, followed by the man asking him, before paying him, about his ethnic background. He didn’t know where his mother was from, though, which is where he got most of his looks from, and the man sighed as he paid him and gestured toward the door. Respa asked if he could crash on the couch, and the man agreed, provided he get twenty back.
He spent another week like this, torn between worrying about Kathy's safety and the fear that choked him whenever he thought of going back to Brooklyn. He bounced from couch to couch, and took daytime naps in cafes and Starbucks in case he faced a night wandering downtown instead. Most johns allowed him use of their shower, a bonus when you're trying to go incognito as a productive member of society.
Finally, exactly ten days after he'd left Tanya and Kathy alone, he found himself on the F train returning to Dumbo. The fear reached out from some unnamed place in his body and squeezed his organs in mafioso fists, and he pressed his forearms to his abdomen in a futile effort to suppress it. Moments later, he held those same forearms up, his mouth pulled tight and grim. He didn't remember his arms being so long and twiglike, so wasted away.
The fists tightened as he faced the door of the loft, and his fingers played with his bare keyring in his pocket. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes passed, and he put his hand on the cold steel door, fingers spread. He bit his lip. He tapped his foot, jiggled his knee.
And finally, he pushed the key into the lock, giving it a quick, violent turn and pushing the door open.
The first thing he was met with was the sound of Kathy bawling, her toddler voice strained and exhausted. She sat next to her mother, who lay on her side, facing the wall, one arm laid at an awkward angle across her back. Her fingers looked odd, swollen.
"Tanya!" he snapped, slamming the door behind him and crossing the floor to scoop Kathy up. The move only made her gasp slightly, and then the sobbing continued. "Tanya, get up! How can you not hear this?" He gave her a push with the top of his foot. "Wake up, you lazy bitch!"
Not even a stir.
"Tanya! Tanya, Tanya, Tanya! Wake up, you cunt!" A real kick, now, right between the shoulder blades. It only served to push her over onto her stomach, and her arm flopped lifelessly to her side.
Finally Respa put Kathy down on the floor, and he rolled Tanya onto her back.
What he found made him reel back, scuttling away from her on his ass and hands, heels flailing. Tanya was blue, her face swollen with asphyxiation. He spotted a needle still hooked under her skin, which had been pressed underneath her body when he'd kicked her onto her front.
"Tanya?" he breathed, trying to suppress a sob of horror. "Tanya, this isn't funny. This isn't cute. Tanya. Tanya." Nothing; her brown eyes stared like marbles at the ceiling. "Tanya!" He took ahold of her shoulders as he straddled her waist, shaking her. "Tanya, wake up!" Fat, hot tears rolled off his cheeks and dotted her faded tank top, and her head lolled around her shoulders with each shake.
"Tanya, Tanya, Tanya! Baby," he sobbed, something he'd never called her before except in jest, "baby, please, wake up, I didn't mean—I didn't mean to hurt you, get up, wake up, please, please!" Another futile shake. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, I didn't… You're not fat, you're not fat, you're pretty like this, I take back every stupid fucking thing I said, plea-hea-hease…!"
But she was still blue and swollen and still, and the needle had only just fallen away from her bruised arm. He surrendered, laying his torso down atop hers as he cried, still murmuring her name every so often in vain. Kathy eventually wore herself out crying, and fell asleep on the mattress beside her parents, though she would be even louder and even hungrier when she woke. Respa caved in to exhaustion, too, rolling off Tanya's body to lie beside it.
When he woke, his face felt glued in place from the dried saltwater on his cheeks. He sat up with a jerk, and looked again at the corpse next to him on the bed. He didn't know what poor people did with bodies; as far as he knew, you had to pay somebody to properly dispose of your dearly departed, or the city would fine you for doing it “improperly.” Or something like that.
Three hours later he and Kathy were both washed and fed, though it was a battle to get Kathy to accept pureed peaches instead of her mother’s drug-laced breast milk. She squalled the entire time, her sobs taking on a gaspy, desperate quality.
He crawled into the back of the small closet, pulling out Tanya’s nearly depleted stash, and plucked the needle from the mattress. The drugs he emptied in quick shakes into the toilet, and then he held up the needle, unsure of what to do with it. He tried taking a hammer to it to grind it up into something flushable, but all he managed to do was splinter it. In the end he dropped it in the trash like any other household item, tied up the garbage bag like any other day, and set it by the door to take with him on the way out.
He laid a sheet gingerly over Tanya’s body, hitched Kathy up in his arms, and headed out the door.
Teri, the one in the black miniskirt and halter top, approached him, and Kelly soon followed at her own slower pace.
“What brings you to Chelsea tonight?” she asked, clearly suspicious.
“Looking for Horace,” he said, matching her look for look. No reason to lie, not this time.
“It’s been years since you’ve seen him,” Kelly said, scowling. “Don’t you know how to call? Stay in touch?”
“I don’t have a phone,” he muttered, and Kelly’s face fell.
“Well, he’s not with us tonight. His boyfriend Shaun is over tonight, I think he’s making dinner or something.”
“Boyfriend?”
Teri snickered despite herself, elbowing her girlfriend. “I think he’s jealous, Kelly.”
“I was just curious,” he said, scowling. “Whatever.”
Of course Horace would have a boyfriend. Of course Horace wouldn’t put his life on hold between Respa’s very few visits; it was stupid to expect otherwise. Horace probably had a very loving, gentle relationship with a man who didn’t have numerous crippling traumas and deep personality flaws. A man who wasn’t covered in scars, who understood how to interact with other human beings.
Of course, of course, but it didn’t stop him from feeling cast away. He bid Teri and Kelly a gruff goodnight, and made his way uptown, where he ended up deepthroating a rather clean-cut man for a crisp pair of twenties. He let a tired-looking Iranian man take him home, where they had rather straightforward sex, followed by the man asking him, before paying him, about his ethnic background. He didn’t know where his mother was from, though, which is where he got most of his looks from, and the man sighed as he paid him and gestured toward the door. Respa asked if he could crash on the couch, and the man agreed, provided he get twenty back.
He spent another week like this, torn between worrying about Kathy's safety and the fear that choked him whenever he thought of going back to Brooklyn. He bounced from couch to couch, and took daytime naps in cafes and Starbucks in case he faced a night wandering downtown instead. Most johns allowed him use of their shower, a bonus when you're trying to go incognito as a productive member of society.
Finally, exactly ten days after he'd left Tanya and Kathy alone, he found himself on the F train returning to Dumbo. The fear reached out from some unnamed place in his body and squeezed his organs in mafioso fists, and he pressed his forearms to his abdomen in a futile effort to suppress it. Moments later, he held those same forearms up, his mouth pulled tight and grim. He didn't remember his arms being so long and twiglike, so wasted away.
The fists tightened as he faced the door of the loft, and his fingers played with his bare keyring in his pocket. Five minutes passed. Ten. Fifteen minutes. Twenty minutes passed, and he put his hand on the cold steel door, fingers spread. He bit his lip. He tapped his foot, jiggled his knee.
And finally, he pushed the key into the lock, giving it a quick, violent turn and pushing the door open.
The first thing he was met with was the sound of Kathy bawling, her toddler voice strained and exhausted. She sat next to her mother, who lay on her side, facing the wall, one arm laid at an awkward angle across her back. Her fingers looked odd, swollen.
"Tanya!" he snapped, slamming the door behind him and crossing the floor to scoop Kathy up. The move only made her gasp slightly, and then the sobbing continued. "Tanya, get up! How can you not hear this?" He gave her a push with the top of his foot. "Wake up, you lazy bitch!"
Not even a stir.
"Tanya! Tanya, Tanya, Tanya! Wake up, you cunt!" A real kick, now, right between the shoulder blades. It only served to push her over onto her stomach, and her arm flopped lifelessly to her side.
Finally Respa put Kathy down on the floor, and he rolled Tanya onto her back.
What he found made him reel back, scuttling away from her on his ass and hands, heels flailing. Tanya was blue, her face swollen with asphyxiation. He spotted a needle still hooked under her skin, which had been pressed underneath her body when he'd kicked her onto her front.
"Tanya?" he breathed, trying to suppress a sob of horror. "Tanya, this isn't funny. This isn't cute. Tanya. Tanya." Nothing; her brown eyes stared like marbles at the ceiling. "Tanya!" He took ahold of her shoulders as he straddled her waist, shaking her. "Tanya, wake up!" Fat, hot tears rolled off his cheeks and dotted her faded tank top, and her head lolled around her shoulders with each shake.
"Tanya, Tanya, Tanya! Baby," he sobbed, something he'd never called her before except in jest, "baby, please, wake up, I didn't mean—I didn't mean to hurt you, get up, wake up, please, please!" Another futile shake. "I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it, I didn't… You're not fat, you're not fat, you're pretty like this, I take back every stupid fucking thing I said, plea-hea-hease…!"
But she was still blue and swollen and still, and the needle had only just fallen away from her bruised arm. He surrendered, laying his torso down atop hers as he cried, still murmuring her name every so often in vain. Kathy eventually wore herself out crying, and fell asleep on the mattress beside her parents, though she would be even louder and even hungrier when she woke. Respa caved in to exhaustion, too, rolling off Tanya's body to lie beside it.
When he woke, his face felt glued in place from the dried saltwater on his cheeks. He sat up with a jerk, and looked again at the corpse next to him on the bed. He didn't know what poor people did with bodies; as far as he knew, you had to pay somebody to properly dispose of your dearly departed, or the city would fine you for doing it “improperly.” Or something like that.
Three hours later he and Kathy were both washed and fed, though it was a battle to get Kathy to accept pureed peaches instead of her mother’s drug-laced breast milk. She squalled the entire time, her sobs taking on a gaspy, desperate quality.
He crawled into the back of the small closet, pulling out Tanya’s nearly depleted stash, and plucked the needle from the mattress. The drugs he emptied in quick shakes into the toilet, and then he held up the needle, unsure of what to do with it. He tried taking a hammer to it to grind it up into something flushable, but all he managed to do was splinter it. In the end he dropped it in the trash like any other household item, tied up the garbage bag like any other day, and set it by the door to take with him on the way out.
He laid a sheet gingerly over Tanya’s body, hitched Kathy up in his arms, and headed out the door.