Page 19 of Paradox
“You’ve got something on yours, too. And your neck… I can give you some more, if you like.”
After passing him on the porch, I balance myself on the front door frame and start scuffing off my shoes only to pause midway when Eden walks behind me. It's weird, and I don't know why I do it, but it's like I'm holding still for him to hit me. And when he ignores me and walks straight down the front steps, I'm left feeling kind of empty.
Inside the cabin, I watch him through the door crack as he pulls the cover off his shitty old truck. He’s got the same red and black flannel on as yesterday, except it’s tied around his waist. And, like the cold means nothing to him, he’s wearing a black t-shirt with a slash in the back of it.
Not caring to do anything more than toss the cover to the side, Eden turns away from his truck, and I quickly shut the door. Stepping back from it, I remain looking at the handle like he’s going to barge in any second, only for him to catch my eye as he walks past the side window.
Moving to the couch, I pick up one of the cushions and continue watching Eden as he enters the shack then comes out with the three thirty gallon water containers that were stacked in the rafters.
As I unzip and remove the covers from all of the loose cushions, I hear him toss the large plastic containers onto the bed of his truck. The sofa cover comes off easier because it's one of those loose, one size fits all ones. And with everything Eden wanted washed piled in my arms, I open the door to see him loading a giant, tin tub onto the truck, as well.
“Do I do these in the bathroom?” I call out to him.
Closing the tailgate and canopy of his truck, Eden walks past the passenger side and opens the door without acknowledging I’ve spoken.
I poke my head out the door and watch him gather a few more small items before returning to the truck and getting in the drivers side. Closing the door behind him, he starts the engineand music blares out at full volume. Though it’s not loud enough to cover the unhealthy cough of the engine.
The truck pulls forward with the door still open, and despite my insides screaming for me not to do it, I pull the cabin door closed behind me and get in the truck.
Hugging the covers on my lap, I’m shaken around the cab as the truck makes its way down a track through the trees.
Glancing into the side mirror, I can’t even see the cabin behind us anymore through the denseness of the forest. The sides are no different, just untouched nature as far as I can see.
A few times Eden needs to swerve around a stump or a pile of fallen branches, and I don’t realize I’ve slid all the way to his side of the cab bench until I fall onto his side.
Without even raising the elbow of his other arm from the window sill, he pushes me back into the passenger door. My head hits the window, but I don’t let go of the washing. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Their musty smell.
The soft feeling of some, and the rougher linen of another.
Reaching across me, Eden opens the glove compartment and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. With one hand, he taps at the packet on his thigh until one slides out far enough for him to take it between his lips. Tossing the pack between us, he takes the matches from his lap and gently shakes them from side to side. Locking his knees around the steering wheel, he lets go, takes out a match, strikes it, shields the flame as he lights the cigarette, then shakes it out.
Suddenly I'm looking more closely at his dirty blue jeans. His tan work boots. His tattooed arms; one black and white, the other brightly colored. Then I'm hit with the smell of the smoke. It's harsh, and strong, and… his hands still aren’t on the wheel.
My eyes flicker from the track, down to where his knees are steering the truck, then back out in front of us again. Letting goof the washing for the first time, I grip onto the grab handle with my right hand and brace myself against the seat with my left.
Eden takes a long drag of his cigarette then blows it out against the windshield. “You scared, little man?”
“Ah, no.” I lie through my teeth.
Taking his eyes off the track, he leans his elbow against the door, his head against his hand, and stares at me.
He takes another drag and blows it into my face.
My hand on the seat curls into a fist.
I desperately want to look back at the track, but I can't.
Eden’s top lip pulls to the side in a smirk before he brings the cigarette back to his mouth. Blowing the smoke off to the side this time, he scratches his eyebrow with the nail of his ring finger and says, "Open the ashtray.”
My eyes search the cab before finding a small compartment on the bottom of the dash. I feel metal scraping as I pull it out, then look to Eden again as I return to my seat. As I gather the washing with one arm, he leans down to ash his cigarette. And when he sits back up, he raises his eyebrows at me, tilting his head to the side.
I gulp, and sigh.
It’s pathetic.
I hate this man, and he hates me back.
