CHAPTER 4 - PRISONER
It’s the same feeling. Like what
happened a month ago. Not a voice really,
but a presence in her mind. It could be
thought waves. Or a wish. Either way it’s
a sign. Get out of her rut, or grow increasingly
transparent until she disappears, leaving
no one to pay the rent.
She presses impatiently against the
back of the chair. Getting out of ruts
is not
easy when you enjoy being in them. Pushing
harder, she can feel the hunger taking
over her body. Last night her entire
evening was spent obsessing on what she
wasn’t
doing. Ah, to be normal.
She imagines a busy tavern, people laughing,
pretty girls, good looking guys, herself
standing at the bar. They notice what
a great ass she has. Someone buys
her a drink. It’s noisy, hard to
hear what people are saying. Or she could
maybe
go to a movie. Sometimes you meet
people at the movies.
The little ache in her heart spreads
out like an ink blot and becomes
unbearable. She wraps her arms around
her chest
and
holds herself so tightly it is hard
to breathe. All her life she’s
been a prisoner. Now her cell is
a tiny studio
apartment on the 18th floor. If
not for the wide front window the
place would
be a tomb.
Cressid bites her lip and closes
the blinds. Good bye happy bar
scene. Goodbye to holding
hands, pretty kisses and being
normal. Because she’s not. She belongs to
another sphere, and in five minutes she’d
want to drive her nails into the jerk’s
handsome neck just to provoke
a little action.
The turmoil has begun, a bubbling
of little explosions in her insides
that
will eventually
make her so horny she’ll
want to scream. She’s already
sore down there. Ever since she
began thinking about
somebody watching she can’t
stop. She drifts toward the bathroom.
A warm
bath will help. She promises not
to touch herself while she’s
in the tub. Just soak and relax.
Her mother interrupts. “What
makes you think you can keep a
promise? The only thing you’ve
ever been good at is getting into
trouble.” This
is why it’s so hard to stop.
Because why the hell should she?
Anyway, there are some promises
she keeps. Things that have
to do with
her ritual
are law. There’s no knowing what
would happen if she broke one of those.
She slips out of her blouse,
then her skirt, and underwear
and leaves
them
on the floor in front of the
closet.
“
Pick up your clothes, Cressid.”
What you going to do mom, spank
me?
Ah, the magic words.
No! She stamps her foot. Not
tonight! Screw the bath. This
has to end!
Somehow she has to find out
why she’s so
obsessed.
Was that a click? Did someone
close a lock?
Anxiety fills her stomach.
She forces herself to look
through
the peep
hole. Of course no one is
there. There never
is. But it’s a relief anyway. In
an abrupt movement she unhooks the chain,
twists open the locks, swings wide the
door. Now she’s standing, stark
naked, staring out at an empty hall.
“
Damn her! Damn her! Damn her!”
She slams the door making a
terrible crash and furiously
re-sets the
locks. So many
hours spent locked in her
room, with “think
about it” as the only reason. “Think
about it. And when you know you can come
out!” In the early days she just
cried. Later, she developed a list of
crimes a parish priest would envy. It
didn’t help. No matter
what she admitted to it rarely
got her out. Weekends
were worst. Half an afternoon
could pass before she heard
footsteps and the click
of freedom. Needing to use
the bathroom worked only once,
after that she was given
a bedpan. Not using it became
a matter of pride and led
to frequent urinary infections.
She liked the doctor and nurse.
They seemed
to care and offered genuine
affection. Like her father
that one time.
God, it’s so easy to hate her
mother!
Naked and wretched, Cressid
walks to the sofa, bends
over its back.
Maybe
if the
fantasy became real she
would snap out of it and become
normal.
If only someone knew she
was here!
She lunges for the phone
and dials. Three rings. “Who is it?” The voice
is sleepy.
“
It’s me mom.”
A disappointed groan. “I was in bed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You OK?”
“Yeah...”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” Her voice is getting smaller with each response.
“So? Why’d you call?”
“I... I have to ask you...” Tears are heaping up behind
some weakening wall. She swallows. Got
to sound normal! “Mom...
Why did you lock me up all the time?”
“
Oh, Jesus... Are you still on that?”
“
To get rid of me, right? To get me out of your hair.”
“
Why did you call?”
“
Because it bothers me!”
“
You’re 30 now, get over it!”
“
Mom...”
“
At least, I didn’t beat you.”
“
Maybe you should have.”
“
That day at school I wanted to.”
Cressid smiles bitterly. “Didn’t like that, huh?”
“
I didn’t raise a thief!”
It always comes to this. Like
smashing her head into concrete.
“
You should know honey, it wasn’t the school that told the
cops to keep you overnight.”
This is new. Cressid is stunned. “It wasn’t? You always
said…”
“
Get real. They were a school, they couldn’t do that.”
Cressid gropes for words. “But why?”
“
I thought it would do you some good.”
“
Christ mom, that’s all you can think of, to lock me up?!”
“
Why did you call? To have a fight?”
“
No...”
“
You ever call to say ‘hi mom?’ Ever call to find out
how my day was? How Aunt Margaret is? How my back is? Only thinking
about yourself. You’ve always been that way.”
“
Have I?” Her voice is small. She’s lost again.
“
Always.”
“
Even when I was little?”
“
Always.”
“
Even when dad was alive?”
“
What do you want to bring up him for?”
“
Because he was my father!”
“He abandoned us!”
“
Christ mother, he killed himself!”
“
I don’t want to talk about him.”
A long pause. She feels the
distance grow and grow. “Mom?”
“
What?”
“
Has your back been bad?”
“
Go to hell!”
Cressid sets the receiver down
softly. The lump growing
in her throat is
huge. It’s so terribly lonely living in this world. After
a moment the phone rings. She finds the little cord and squeezes
it out. The ringing stops. Then the tears come -- falling and falling
on the sofa arm, making the faded flowers there look brighter.
