Lithium – Xperience Fiction

Lithium – Xperience Fiction – by Liam Sweeny.

Pools of glistening color held their place on a smooth oak palette, lakes of vibrance awaiting the journey on brushes leaving bulbous wakes. A clear plastic gas station coffee cup held a dark purple waterline that clung to the brushes it held. Brush and palette kissed and in a chromatic act of procreation, Mel Miller added another stroke to a canvas in the mid stages of opening a portal to the heaven of his imagination.

Led Zeppelin played through a small ergonomically designed stereo, the kind that still housed CDs and had a built-in radio dial. Not “Stairway to Heaven;” too popular for Mel’s taste. It played “Black Dog” on repeat until he got a warm brush hand, then he’d change the CD to Physical Graffiti and move to “Kashmir.” Kashmir was the zone.

In truth, Mel could’ve painted in dead silence. Paint was blood, it was manna; it was magick made flesh, and Mel was a descendent of all the sorcerers and warlocks to grace history, myth, and legend. He was every shaman that opened the jungles and plains to their tribe and knew the names of the spirits of the rain they called into deluge. It was a flesh bond encapsulated in pigment and enunciated through stiff strands of horsehair.

Mel was in the zone and the dimensions unfolded on the medium like he saw them when he shifted his eyes up to the drop-ceiling. Painting was the most natural thing in the world. He first tried his hand in kindergarten and his teacher marveled at the fact that his crudely fingerpainted car looked very recognizable as the car she had parked out front. He was declared a prodigy. He wouldn’t find out until second grade that he had a photographic memory, and it wasn’t until eleventh grade, after he ran away from home for the third time, that an enterprising child psychiatrist told him he had manic depression type 1. The worse type, just like diabetes type 1.

He could’ve worked on the painting through the night, only stopping for coffee. When he was younger, that would’ve been every single day, but he was older and had responsibilities. One responsibility rapped against the door and snapped him out of the zone.

“Better be good,” he said.

His son opened the door, a spindly child with more bones than muscle or fat to wrap them in. Mel couldn’t understand his physique because he ate like a horse after a race, high protein, high carb. Astronomical metabolism. His hair was brown, thick and curly and he had freckles he inherited from his mother.

“Dad, Larry gave me this,” he said as he walked over and handed Mel a plain white envelope. “He said to give it right to you.”

“Thanks, bud.” Mel opened the envelope even though he knew exactly what was in it. From the court. An eviction order. He knew what it was because he already got the notice a week ago. He wasn’t good then. It took everything he had, and most of the savings he still had, to keep Andy fed, housed, and schooled. The eviction notice was earned, for sure, but nevertheless it was tossed in the pile reserved for junk mail.

“Is it something bad?” Andy said.

“Yeah, kiddo.” Mel gently set the weightier order document on the table behind him. He set his brush in the coffee cup and walked over to the stereo to turn it off.

“It’s an eviction order,” Mel said. “We’re going to have to move in a little while.”

Andy’s posture buckled slightly, He scratched his arm, a tell that he was scared. “Where are we moving to?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Mel said. “I want to be honest with you. When I was bad for a couple months – you remember that?” Andy nodded.

“Well, when I was bad, we couldn’t pay the rent. So we went through the money we had saved.” Mel hated himself as he tried to describe his abject failure to his son.

“What does that mean?” Andy asked.

Mel wanted to stay honest. But he knew all too well from his own experiences that honesty could be traumatizing.

“It just means we’re going to have to pinch our pennies for a little while until we get set up in a new place,” he said. He nodded as if he could make it true with confident body language.

Andy pulled some change out of his pocket and smiled as he pinched a penny between his finger and his thumb.

“Wiseacre,” Mel said. “You do your homework?”

“I didn’t have homework.”

“I’ll check.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Hey, no more lying about your homework, child of mine. I want you to grow up smart, not just smart-alecky.”

Andy exaggerated a laugh and left the room. Mel shut the door and leaned back in his chair after picking up the eviction order.

He was bad. It felt like a copout to say he was depressed. People who are depressed just get over it with a walk in the woods and essential oils. Grab your smile from the closet and stretch it to fit over your slack features and fake it till you make it. He wasn’t depressed; he was bad, just like he was never manic, but sometimes the universe clicked for him and he was good. But good was not to be for the past six months, only bad. And he made a monumental effort to see the light then, but his eyes were coated with dark tint.

He was ashamed of himself. He didn’t know how people could get evicted multiple times and talk about it like it was normal. It was what happened when you couldn’t keep your life together and you let yourself go and you stop caring. Which is exactly what happened to him. Which is exactly what he was letting happen to Andy.

He reached for his phone and started dialing friends to see if they would let him and Andy couch-surf for a couple of days until he got a job, for which he hadn’t bothered looking in six months. He went name after name, not that there were many, bearing his soul for the sake of his son. Friend after friend after friendly decline after friendly decline after thoughts and prayers. His last call was to an old friend, Terrence, whom he didn’t bother to tell or ask. He just invited him to their favorite hot dog stand for lunch.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

 

***

 

Mel met Terrence outside the 16^th Street Dog Shop on a rough-hewn picnic bench painted barn-red, with an umbrella shooting up from the center advertising Mickie’s, a long-defunct hot dog supplier. Mel had a half dozen minis with the works; Terrence had two Greek burgers and a chocolate milk. It was the usual for both on a day that was usual for neither. Their decades-long friendship was coming down to hard-truths slathered in platitudes.

“So what are you gonna do?” Terrence said. “You still have the minivan.”

Mel wiped the side of his mouth with a napkin. “I’m not gonna’ have it for long. Payment comes up in a week. Insurance is up just before that. I can stall everybody off, probably, but point is me and Andy are going to be sleeping out of it once they evict.”

“Man…” Terrance offered pursed lips and a barely perceptible sideward nod. “I can’t believe this shit’s happening to you, man. I wish I could help.”

“Got a room?”

Terrance arched his back away from the table, like Mel’s request was a full meal.

“I don’t know, Mel,” he said. “I mean, you know I would, if things were different.”

“Like the way they were when we were out of high school and you rode my couch for six months?”

“C’mon, that’s not fair, bringing that up now. We were just single guys, and you invited me to stay.”

“You didn’t have to ask me, is what you’re saying.”

“Chrissakes, you lived in the attic over The Anchor. We spent more time downstairs getting drunk than we did upstairs sleeping. Hell, you didn’t even have an oven.”

“I didn’t know an oven was where we drew the line.”

“Don’t put me in this spot, Mel.”

“I would gladly trade spots with you right now,” Mel said. He was trying his best to keep his desperation from advancing through his table manners.

“I can’t just decide something like this anyway. I got a family, you know?”

“So do I, and we’re about to a live in a really cramped fucking minivan. Look, you know what? I will let it go if you just ask Josephine. Tell her what’s up and ask. She says no, we’re square.”

Terrance propped his elbows on the table, pinched the skin of his temple with one hand, gripped his phone with the other. “She’s gonna’ lose it if I even ask.”

“You think I’m serene right now? If she’s gonna lose it, she’ll be in good company.”

“I’ll talk to her when I get home, I promise.”

“She’s home now, isn’t she? School’s out right now, and technically you’re working.”

“I’d rather ask when I’m home.”

“We’re gonna’ be showering in the Burger Master’s bathroom by this weekend. You can’t just call her and pretend you want me there?”

“You’re going to keep eating at me until I walk away, aren’t you?”

“My situation is pretty urgent. Can you just call, here, so I know you’re not slow-walking her to a ‘no.’?”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Terrence said. Mel knew him well enough to know that’s exactly what he’d do. Mel wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“I can’t necessarily say the same thing,” Mel said. “but the shoes are on the feet they’re on.”

Terrence swiped the lock screen, tapped to the contacts, and held it to his ear once he tapped on their landline. Mel knew he’d tapped on the landline; less chance of Josephine answering.

“Oh, hi, honey.” Terrence got up from the table to talk. Me wanted to get up too to listen to at least one side of the conversation. If he had any actual pull, he would’ve had Terrence put her on speaker. Instead, bits and pieces.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s-,”

“We’re really not using that room…”

“I’m sure he’s going to be going to school, is that what-,”

“Yeah, I know…”

“Can’t we just-,”

“When does she ever visit anymore?”

Me had to give it up, that Terrence was doing everything short of fighting his wife to make it happen. What did the lawyers and business folks call it, due diligence? Terrance was doing it. But Mel knew it wasn’t him. Terrence had a point earlier. When Mel took him in, he was single. He didn’t have any cohabitators to convince. He just said, and it was.

Andy would be out of school soon. Mel would’ve liked to tell him that they had a place, after he told him that they were losing theirs. That night was going to be a hard conversation for both of them.

Terry tapped the phone, walked back to the table and set his phone down.

“I don’t know if you heard.”

“Enough,” Mel said. “So it’s no.”

“Look, I know I was… hesitant… but when I was on the phone, I really was fighting for you to stay.”

Mel believed Terrance, in that he had acquired bravery once he knew full and well the situation was out of his hands. He only had to go home and soothe Josephine now, which was commonplace in their marriage.

“I don’t know what the fuck to do now.”

“Mel, how did it happen in the first place? I mean, that’s probably how you get out.”

“Death of a thousand cuts, Terr,” he said. “I couldn’t buy enough Band-aids, even at the dollar store.”

“You should see your doc. Didn’t you tell me he had all kinds of resources for people in trouble?”

“Yeah, for me, sure. Not so much for Andy. I’d be fine right now, but I gotta take care of Andy. That’s the thing.”

“I shouldn’t say this, but what about Debra?”

“Hard pass for both of us. She’s dangerous in a way I could never be. I mean, I wish, really, but not even an option.”

“Yeah, I guess if she was any good, the courts would’ve given her custody, or at least joint.”

“They gave an eleven-year-old to me over her; that says it all.”

 

They finished their food with small talk, memories of the old crew, the next season prospects for the Mets… anything to pull their attention off the shattering Miller household. Mel was happy to have a little normalcy before he’d be explaining homelessness to his boy.

 

***

 

In two days, the landlord would have the power and hot water cut just in time for the knock that would come from the Albany County Sheriff’s Deputy, who may or may not have a crew with him to help carry Mel and Andy’s whole life out for the gawking, picking, and inevitable trip to the county landfill. But the afternoon current, Mel showered in water hot enough to make his body wash runny as it hit his skin. He added the boombox to the sink countertop and turned his Lynyrd Skynyrd CD full crank, electrocution be damned.

Andy would be home in a half hour, when Mel would have to tell them home was where they made it, though they wouldn’t be making it there much longer. He had a direct policy with his son, never a tiptoe or a walk-around the hard truths. But it’s one thing to tell your kid they can’t stay over their friend’s house cause their mom does drugs. It’s another thing to tell them they might have to stay in places much worse.

He wanted a drink; he wanted hundreds, but Andy would know he was drinking, which would tell him more than Mel wanted to reveal. He needed to be in control of what was going to happen. Even if that was impossible, he had to play the part.

He wrapped up in a summer beach towel – one he was bringing with them – and walked into the kitchen, where fresh clothes were piled in a perfect square on the table. The window was open, and he cared not a bit that Mrs. Williams next door would probably sneak a peek at his bare washed ass. As he dressed, he realized there was a whole list of things he could do that she couldn’t do shit about in time to make a difference. If he didn’t owe so much in so many different directions, he’d throw a good old fashioned rent party.

“Close your damn blinds,” came a muffled voice from next door. Mel flipped a finger in the window’s direction once his arm was through his shirt. But he did walk over to close the blinds, realizing that she didn’t need to see him with Andy. He picked up a can of warm soda from the kitchen counter and eased into the seat facing the fridge. He cracked the soda open with one hand and picked up three hundred-dollar bills, Terrence’s donation, penance for closed doors. Mel pocketed them, lest he tear up money he knew they’d need.

“Dad?” Andy’s call echoed up the stairwell from the apartment’s vestibule.

“Up here.” Andy often found him downstairs talking with Bernie Jeffries, but he hadn’t been too talkative of late – the landlord likely got his ear.

He got a tall glass out of the cupboard and ice out of the freezer and made his boy a drink, hoping it would be cold by the time Andy would light at the kitchen table.

“Can we watch Blade Racers tonight?” Andy said as he came in the door, a sleek black backpack with neon striping on his shoulder and a Mets cap on his head that brought him plenty of guff from the many Yankee fans at his school, but he nonetheless persisted in wearing it.

“Yeah, we can watch it,” Mel said. “But we need to talk first.”

“Did missus Gilouly call you?”

“No, why would she call me? You do something?”

“Not if she didn’t call.”

“Smartass… No, it’s not anything you did.”

Andy came in the kitchen and slung his backpack on the chair kitty-corner to the one that faced his soda. He perched and felt the glass before taking a sip and gasping at the warm carbonation.

“Oh, so this is something you did,” he said.

“Can’t I just share a soda with my son?”

Mel wanted to preface his words with a cigarette, a menthol 100 to be precise, but he quit when Debra had Andy. Or rather when he saw the hospital bill.

“Andy, you know I try really, really hard to keep us good, keep us safe, right?”

“Yeah, dad. What’s going on?”

Mel let his tension out in a breath. It was Andy, a kid who’d understand more than he did right then.

“As you know, we’re not going to be able to stay here, in this apartment,” he said.

“Right. We’re moving.”

“Well, we are. It’s just that I don’t know where yet.”

“So where are we gonna stay, dad?”

“I tried working on that today, without any luck,” Mel said. “We have a few days before we have to be out of here.”

Andy squinted, another tell, one that said he was holding back any tears that he suspected of lurking. He wasn’t much of a crier. “How many days?”

“Three. I might be able to stretch it an extra day.”

Andy wrapped his hands around the glass of soda, twisting it back and forth in his hands.

“Do I still have to go to school?”

“You do, but you may have to take a little time off. I’m going to work on that.”

“We’re gonna be okay, right, dad?”

“Yeah, oh yeah, Andy. We always land on our feet. We’ll have a tough couple of days, but we’ll make the best out of it. It might actually be fun. We can make it fun.”

“Where is my stuff going to go?”

“I might get a storage space until we can get a new place. Don’t you worry about your stuff right now.”

Andy’s gaze was all over the kitchen, affixing itself anywhere except Mel’s face, about which Mel was bittersweet. As hard as it was to face his boy, he knew that Andy was trying an eleven-year-old’s best to process losing his most basic security, even if for a few days. Mel couldn’t keep trying to put a good spin on what they were talking about, since he knew he’d overpromised and overstretched himself to his son already. There wouldn’t be a storage space, and he’d been running around all week ‘seeing what he could do’ and he got nowhere. They were on the cliff and he was handing Andy iron parachutes.

“Dad?” Andy walked behind Mel and rested his elbow on Mel’s back.

“Yeah, kid?”

“It could be like camping, right?”

“You know,” Mel said. “It really could.”

Mel thought of the tent and sleeping bags set he bought on one of his many spending sprees, collecting dust in the back room.

It really could.

 

 

More from Liam Sweeny.