Halfway

Mel Bosworth

Fall 2009

I took the stairs, two at a time. Todd was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. I’d noticed his black eye the day before, and I’d asked once, but he still hadn’t said anything. The door to my bedroom was open a crack, fresh sunlight squeezing through onto the hardwood in the hallway. The light made the dust bunnies in the corners look more animated than usual. They shimmered, dancing. Todd said they were the easiest pets in the world to care for because they didn’t drink any water and they found their own food. I considered killing them with the Swiffer, but then decided against it. Todd was having a rough time, and I didn’t need to antagonize him. I’d wait until the black eye cleared up, or until he found the courage to say something.

Marsha was sitting on my bed, smoking a cigarette. Her back was to me as she looked out the window. I was about to tell her to open it, then noticed it already was. But the air was still, curls of smoke filling the bars of sunlight. It made me wish I hadn’t sold my camera.

“You cut your hair,” I said. Marsha didn’t turn, but nodded. She wore one of my dress shirts, a blue button-down that had a stubborn mustard stain on the back of the collar. Todd had pinched it the other day while eating a hotdog. I hadn’t noticed until I went to wash it. I’d worn it to work like that, but people seldom noticed the back of my collar. My legs were far more interesting. I sat at the foot of the bed and took them off. Marsha exhaled. I asked if she was sad. She said she was just tired.

“Lay down,” I said. “Go back to sleep.”

I pulled the guitar case from beneath the bed and opened it. I put my legs inside.

“Your hair looks pretty. Did you cut it?”

“Yes,” she said, turning. She tugged lazily at my empty pant legs. I told her she needed to get out more, that her face was pale.

“We should go to the park later,” I suggested. “We’ll bring a blanket and some snacks.”

The bathroom door slammed. Marsha and I jumped. We listened to Todd thump down the stairs, then she kissed me.

“Let’s sleep now,” she said.

We wrapped ourselves in blankets, and slept. I dreamt I was a racecar driver and that Marsha was the head of my pit crew. She looked good in a jumpsuit. Todd was in charge of putting out fires. He stood on the ladder of a truck, waiting. I took the turns hard and fast, feet stomping the clutch and the gas. When I woke, I could still smell the hot rubber and motor oil. I massaged Marsha’s earlobe until her eyes fluttered open, then I nibbled her forehead. She pressed her fingernails into my hip. She said she hated this. Then her lips disappeared. All I could see was her front teeth. They were yellow.

I told her she needed to get clean again, that she should even try to quit smoking. She rolled her eyes, got out of bed. She pulled off the dress shirt and threw it at me. She paced naked, fingers twisting and pulling the thick rings that hung on her nipples. I sat up on my elbows and watched, studied her sleeve tattoos, looked for raised red dots. She knew what I was doing, so she stopped and lifted her leg.

“My toes,” she said, crying a little. “Between my toes.”

As she balanced on one leg, I held her heel in my palm and pulled her toes apart. I kissed the top of her foot, then let go.

“Get dressed,” I said. “I’ll pack a lunch. Bring your poetry.”

Her shoulders sunk, head tilting. I should’ve known the kick was coming, but she’d been so good lately I thought I could trust her. There was a wet popping sound when her heel hit my nose. The pain was like a spike between my eyes. I didn’t see her go, just heard the front door slam. I slouched on the bed, dirty sock pressed to my nose. It caught all of the blood. There wasn’t as much as I’d expected. I put my legs back on and went downstairs. Todd was sitting on the couch, flicking a Zippo.

“Marsha ran out. She was naked.”

“I know.”

“What happened to you?”

I frowned, told him I’d be right back. Marsha was on the front lawn. She lay on her back, arms and legs spread wide. Cars slowed as they drove past, and an old man stood on the sidewalk. He kept a little Pug on a short leash. He wore a beige jacket and a look of concern. His eyes narrowed as I ambled toward Marsha.

“You shouldn’t drink so much, boy,” he scowled. I stopped, pulled up a pant leg. The dog barked. The old man craned his neck forward, incredulous. Finally, it sunk in. He shook it off like a bad dream, kept walking.

“You can’t be outside like this,” I said.

“Fuck you.”

Someone honked, shouted out a window.

“Nice pussy!” Then, “Fucking freaks!”

I scooped up Marsha. She was light, didn’t resist. Todd came out as I took short steps toward the house.

“Can’t go in,” he said.

“Open the door, Todd.”

“House is on fire.”

I thought he was lying until I saw smoke coming from the windows. I asked for his Zippo. He slipped it into my pocket, eyes low.

“Let’s go next door,” I said.

The three of us walked between the hedgerows to the neighbor’s. Todd knocked on the door, then quickly stepped behind me. A woman answered, said, “Goddamn!” then shut the door. A few moments later, a man answered.

“Can you please call the fire department?” I asked. “We have a fire next door.”

The man looked the three of us over, let his eyes linger on Marsha’s body. He stepped back, hesitated, then asked us to come inside.

I sat on the couch, Marsha cradled in my lap. Todd stood, stared out the window.

“Smoke’s getting worse,” he said.

The woman filled the doorway to the kitchen, glaring at us, weighing everything. I looked over, nodded, said, “Thank you.” The man spoke to someone on the phone. He waved to the woman, took her hand.

When I asked Todd if he’d considered what would happen to the dust bunnies, he started to cry. Marsha’s face was buried in my neck. I felt her smile break open against my skin.