III. The Basement
Sharon’s
chinchilla coat was twisted around her body in some strange fashion. She held it closed with one hand and the
other clutched the neck of the wine bottle.
I exhaled, noting that I could see my breath. It was very cold down here.
“So we gotta
deal, right?” she asked.
I smiled,
and this time it reached my eyes. “Of
course, cousin.” I extended my free hand
so we could shake on it. Our fingers
were two inches apart. Of course I could
step closer and finalize the deal, but if Sharon elected to rise from her seat,
she could easily take my hand.
She twisted
and tried to stand, at which point I took two steps back. Sharon looked at me as I put my empty
wineglass on the floor.
“Why can’t I
get up?”
“I’m sorry?”
She twisted
again and pressed her feet against the ground in a vain attempt to stand. “I’m stuck.
Can’t…get…up.”
“Is that
right?” I asked. “How are you stuck?”
Sharon tried
again, and the bench, firmly bolted to the ground, did not move. She wiggled and twisted but could not rise.
“I can’t get
up!” she shrieked.
“If it is your
coat that is stuck, then take it off.”
“Oh, you’d
like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Sharon, I
am not the one stuck to the seat. Try to
get out of the coat.”
She
struggled, writhed, twisted and wiggled, but she was so wound up in the
chinchilla that she struggled looking for the buttons. I chose that moment to remove my gloves. It was cold, but I would be warm soon
enough. I removed a pair of latex gloves
from my coat pocket and quickly put them on.
“Octavia, I
caaaaan’t get ouuuut of this coat. I
don’t know how…how I buttoned it up, but I’m turned and it feels like my ass is
stuck to the seat as well…how did
this happen? I mean, I felt somethin’
wet when I sat down, but I thought…it was just the cold. Is there gluuuue in this chair?”
She looked
at me and there was something in her eyes that I’d never seen before: fear.
“Yes.”
“What? Why?
Whyyyyy is there glue in the chair?
Whyyy am I stuck?”
I couldn’t
help but to smile as I removed my coat and carefully put it out of the way. I was warm enough; I wore several layers
underneath my sweater and slacks. Quietly,
I walked a few feet over and picked up one of the boards that lay against the
wall. She clearly didn’t understand; a genius
she was not, and her level of cunning was in no way comparable to mine.
“Sharon,
there is glue in the chair because I put it there. It’s a nice, wonderful adhesive that one of
my chemist friends developed, and the patent is pending. You’ll have a nice place to sit and think
about things.”
I popped the
board into place and then retrieved another, repeating the action.
“Whaaaat? What are you talking about? Octavia???”
There was a
tube of the adhesive next to the boards.
I picked it up and sealed the two boards together.
“Octavia! What are you doing? What is going on??”
Another
board went up, as did a fresh runnel of adhesive. It really was a wonderful concoction; once
the bond was in place, it was decisively permanent.
“Octavia,
what are you doing?”
I put
another board in place and sealed it.
There were three boards to go. She started screaming at me; a river of nasty
adjectives spewed from her lips. I was
not deterred. This was the culmination
of thirty years’ worth of physical and emotional abuse. There was no law that could punish Sharon for
her crimes against me, but I could see to it that she would never hurt me or
Christine again.
“Octavia,
what are you doing? Is this a
prank? Is this a joke? Stop it, let me get up and go home. It’s freezing down here. It’s cold.
I’m drunk, I got a headache…quit playing.”
“You would
think this is a game, Sharon. For thirty years I have endured your version of games.
I have had to tolerate your jokes, your insults, your arrogant attitude
and your irresponsible tongue. Your
words have caused me pain from the moment we met; you have made me cry, you
have shamed me, you have done everything short of pulling the trigger to drive
me insane or to hurt me…and you never apologized. No, my pain was of no import; I was nothing
more than the butt of your jokes. I was
not strong enough at first, and it was my dear mother that stayed my hand, but
she has gone on to glory and I need not worry about hurting her now. Would that you had that same consideration
for your precious “Aunt Cora” when she was alive. But no, my mother had to hear all of the
trash those loose lips spewed, had to defend my honor and innocence, had to
sacrifice her own integrity just to save mine.
You hurt her, Sharon. You hurt her, and that is unforgivable.”
“Octavia,
you bitch! You bitch! You crazy lesbian bitch!!! Get me
out of here! She tried to throw the wine
bottle at me, but it, too, was stuck to her hand. I wondered if she would use it to cut her
throat once she ran out of oxygen.
I put
another board in place and sealed it with the adhesive. There were two more to go. “It’s always the same with you, Sharon. Could you possibly come up with another
insult? Because “crazy lesbian bitch” is
not de rigueur these days. I am not crazy and I am not a bitch. If you feel that I am behaving as such, then
you have no one to thank but yourself.
You do know that there are consequences for your actions.”
“Octavia,
please! You know I was just kidding with
you! Please stop! Please!
What did I ever to do you that you feel you have to do this? I never meant any of what I said and
did! It was all in fun! Please! Please stop!”
“If you
expect for me to recount thirty years of bullying and abuse, then you truly are
ignorant. You are not a complete idiot,
cousin. You are perfectly aware of the
many times you have hurt me, harmed me, shamed me, and ridiculed me. Many days and many nights my pillow was
drenched from tears. I put up with you
for a long time, and when I was able to get away from you, you continued your
attacks on me from afar. Then you went
after Chris, and that…that, dear cousin,
could not be tolerated. But no
more. No more.” I put up another board.
I could see comprehension
in her eyes and then the tears began to come in earnest. I could see memories unfolding with each tear
and I hoped that she would feel at least one-tenth of my three decades of agony
as she sat in the closet. I hope that
she remembered every single thing she did to hurt me, my mother, and all of her
other victims. I knew that I was not the
only recipient of her evil temperament, but I was often the target. But Christine didn’t deserve her inexplicable
wrath and I was going to see to it that Sharon would never torment us again.
“Octavia,
please! You really can’t still be mad
about that! Chris knows I was just
kidding! He—“
“She!” I said, and for the first time,
she heard the fury in my voice. “Christine
is a woman!” My hands
were quivering in rage.
I angrily
put the last board in place as she started screaming. “OCTAVIA, PLEASE! PLEASE! I’m so
sorry, Tavia! I didn’t mean to hurt your
feelings. I’m sorry. Yes, I know I was wrong to do what I did, but
you aren’t seriously gonna leave me here…are you, cuz? Come on, cousin! We used to play together as kids…we were
gonna rule the world!”
I took a
long, deep breath and waited for the tirade to end. I needed to say this last thing, and I was
perfectly fine doing it through a wall. “Instead
you made those years hell for me. And
why? Why? What did I do to make you hate me so?”
“’Tavia,
please! PLEASE! I’m sorry!
I’m sorry! I don’t hate you; you’re
my cousin, my friend…please!
PLEASE! Let me out! I’m sorry; I won’t ever ridicule you or Chris
ever again! I’ll keep my mouth
shut! I promise I’ll stop! Just LET…ME…OUT!”
I took another
slow, deep breath. “It really doesn’t
matter anymore, Sharon. What you did you
meant for ill, but God won’t let any weapon formed against me prosper. Please do not concern yourself with thinking
that I will let you out or that someone will come for you. Ryo has taken a well-compensated doppelganger
to the airport. People will think that
you have gone to Rio, looking for artists and designers for your boutique, and then
to Asia and Europe, doing the same. Where you go afterwards…well, I shall leave that to your imagination.”
She began
screaming like a lunatic. I heard the
bottle crash into the wall and shatter as she banged on it with both
fists. “Octavia, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!
Please let me out! I’m sorry if I
hurt you! I didn’t mean to hurt you! We were just having fun! You know it wasn't true; you know it was all lies! I was
just mad that you always made such good grades!!!”
A memory of
seventeen girls wearing straitjackets at a birthday party flashed through my
mind. Sharon was the alpha female and her crew of sycophants always followed her lead.
“Octavia,
please…” Her voice was a squeak. “I’m
sorry. It got bigger than I intended! Please, Octavia! For the love of God, please!!!!!”
I had
nothing else to say, as I still had work to do.
There was a pair of work gloves sitting on top of a bucket of cement,
and in the next storage compartment were bricks and mortar and other
supplies. I ignored the banging, the
screaming and the crying and set to work quickly. The space was not that big and the bricks
were of a good size. I laid some mortar,
and then neatly lined up the bricks parallel to the wall. I repeated my actions until the wall was
complete.
Then I heard
her scream one last time: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, OCTAVIA!”
Yes, I thought. For the love of God.
I stepped
back and looked around. My hands hurt
and I was tired, but I was pleased and my heart was alight with happiness. I put the bucket and tools to one side, and
then placed the work gloves on top of the bucket. I took off the latex and put on my
coat and my leather gloves. The entire
brick wall was now complete.
When I got
home, I was exhausted. Christine had a
bath waiting; a tub full of voluminous pale green bubbles scented with
eucalyptus. She helped me undress and
kissed my shoulders before helping me into the tub. Chris took my hands and kissed my knuckles
and fingertips. I smiled at her.
“Nothing
that a few manicures won’t fix, baby,” I said.
“I’m going to give you a massage when you get
out of the tub. You’ll be sore a few
days, Octavia. I could have helped you. I would not have minded helping you. You know I would have happily shared this
burden with you.”
“Chris,” I
said, linking my fingers with hers, “the burden was having to continue living
with Sharon and pretending that I was strong enough to persist putting up with
her behavior. I am not worried about the
property being bought and unearthed; the Tanith-Drake group has owned that
entire region for over ten years, and with the economy the way it is, I am in
no position to sell it even if I wanted to.”
She removed
her clothes and got in the tub. For a
long moment, she methodically rubbed my feet.
Then she looked at me, her eyes full of love. “You did that for me.”
“I did it
for both of us.”
I love Christine. I have loved her for years, ever since we met
in high school. We were supposed to go
to the prom and then Sharon happened, but as I said before, all things that
were intended for ill God turns into blessings.
Chris returned to me later in the way she was meant to be, and then it
was just us. We were going to grow old
together.
fin
A/N: This is a pastiche that I
attempted to compose in the style of a famous Gothic writer, long
dead. Anyone care to guess who the
author is and what story “Connoisseurs of Memory” is derived from? I would love to have some constructive
feedback and chatter. Did I do a good
job? Did I do a shit job? Feel free to share your opinions.
Ann Radcliffe The Mysteries of Udulpho?
ReplyDeleteI really loved this story and I hope to read more like it. I know this is Gothic, but it plays out in my head as a film noir. I want to read more stories featuring LGBT folk and I love that this black lesbian got her revenge. You showed that "being the better person" doesn't work and that Sharon unwittingly dug her own grave by abusing another person's good nature.
Hi! Thanks for responding! I am really making an effort to have more LGBTQ protagonists in my books. It's all about perspective.
ReplyDeleteThe pastiche is derived from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Cask of Amontillado." Good guess, though.
I'm going to attempt another pastiche in the near future, so be on the lookout.
I finally got around to reading it and heehee! It is as good as you made it sound. Thanks for sharing, i could smell that food and dang, the murder was beautiful. Way to build it.
ReplyDeleteThis might sound gruesome but i wish the act was more prolonged, lol.
ReplyDeleteDamn.
ReplyDelete*speechless*