Page 163 of Two Marlboros

The whole truth

(?R.E.M. - Everybody hurts)

New ribs in hand, I was signing for my freedom. Ten days spent on a hospital bed could become real torture. Fortunately, Nelly had dropped by from time to time to keep me company, although, despite all expectations, she had never asked me any questions about Alan and me.

“One last signature here, Mr. Hayworth.”

I did yet another autograph on those papers that I did not even dignify with a glance and returned the papers to the nurse on duty. The name tag read “Sarah London,” written in bold, thick letters. The lady smiled at me, and I did likewise.

How good was the taste of freedom? At last, I could go to the bathroom whenever I wanted and throw those two weeks of bland broths into oblivion. My mind had already flown to fast-food and limp fries, fried in day-old oil.

“Good, thank you and goodbye,” Sarah said to me.

“Goodbye to you, too.”

Sarah London reserved a smile for me, and I hoped, somewhat selfishly, never to see it again. Well, then again, I had to pay the price of no longer feeling pain in performing such a mundane action.

During my stay in the hospital, I had received a notice from the NYPD inviting me to report to the station as a person of interest.

The policeman asked me just a few questions about the robbery. His name was Church, and he only asked me where I was on the day of the robbery, only to reveal later that Ryan wasone of the robbers and that he had been arrested. I couldn’t say that I was somehow shocked by the news, and I didn’t hide it. That he had gotten himself into some kind of trouble was to be expected.

For the day, however, I had other plans.My time in the hospital and my father's visit had indeed convinced me that, in addition to my ribs, perhaps it was time to put something else in my life back in order, but all the courage I had had on the drive to Queens seemed to vanish in a flash.

The lights in my parents' house, in fact, were on, a sign that someone else was inside - someone other than my father, who must have already been holed up in his study checking on some project.

I crossed the street and my feet ended up on the driveway. A sudden, fierce grip grabbed my stomach, and, for a moment, I wanted to vomit there. My mother would have rescued me, perhaps felt a little sorry for me, and hugged me as usual, leaving our last quarrel behind.

The grip didn’t loosen for a second, but it didn’t get worse either; it just stood there, like a shadow on my shoulder, breathing down my neck.

I moved a few more steps up the driveway that led to the front door. To my right, in one of the flower beds, I glimpsed one of Jimmy’s toy trains, the only element of chaos in that perfect garden. There were no toy soldiers dead for the country.

The door, in that classic creamy white, stared at me inertly. The doorbell, with its “Hayworth” written on it, instilled even more anxiety in me. I had the same last name, but I did not feel part of their trio.

I swallowed. I cracked my fingers. I took the opportunity to do the same with my shoulders and neck, to no avail. I swallowed one more time. Another deep breath, one of many. I let the sound of a horn startle me. A gasp, the pulse quickened,then again, the bell, so small, yet so powerful. How stupid I was. A sigh, once more, after which I lifted my arm - or rather, moved it away from my body and it remained suspended in midair. All the while, yet another sigh, the grip always there, unchanged. Another bloody honk to make matters worse in my stomach. I drew my finger closer. A little closer. It was just me and the doorbell. Me and that stupid metallic button. Me and my heavy legs. Well, the hand was getting pretty close, too. It was just me and it. Me and that stupid...

“Fuck!”

“Me and that stupid fuck.” No, not really.

There was my mother and her stupid son in front of her. She had opened the door, for who knows what reason. Maybe she had been spying on me?

I looked up. She was there, her gaze stern, waiting for me to say something. Or rather, she was with her arms folded and two patronizing eyes, as if she had just challenged me and was waiting for my move.

“Hello,” I whispered.

A good move, yes. It had certainly come out weaker than the “Fuck!” from before. Maybe she didn’t even hear it. Her gaze did not change a bit. She walked out of the house and closed the door behind her. I barely stepped back, to leave the proper distance.

I lowered my eyes and realized that she had empty envelopes in his hand.

“I’m going grocery shopping.”

She said only this, with hard eyes, as if I were yet another nuisance in her path. I stood there impaled, unable to respond with anything intelligent. I let my gaze get lost first in her face, ever so trimmed, until all that remained of her was thetac tacof her heels on the driveway. I turned sharply and caught up with her, but without getting too close. She only stopped once she got to the car. She opened the door and shot me a look.

“Come on, move.”

In less than a second, I sensed that I had to get in on the passenger side. The next half-second took me to realize that I had to go shopping with her. The second that followed, however, made me realize that we would be alone, the two of us, for at least a quarter of an hour.

I didn’t let her tell me twice. When I closed the door, however, I felt that sense of embarrassment that comes with making any sound. Talking, coughing and even breathing would have given evidence of my presence - and I just wanted to disappear, to be somewhere else.

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