Sweet Little Lies

DELAY

Flashing in the Gutters 2006

“Poor, stupid fucker.”

Delay stood over the carcass of the deer.

“I’m soory, y’hear? I didn’t mean to hit ya. Ya just ran out in front of me like that, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t hit the brakes, there’s that bag with the eggs in it in the backseat. And she’d kill me if I came home with broken eggs, you know? And you’re a cute little thing, aren’t ya. Aww, hell. Now I’m go

***

“Poor, stupid fucker.”

Billy Dean had been with Rescue for a little over four years now. It amazed him. For a rural stretch of road, a straight line of black nothingness—no hills, no curves—Route 3 attracted nearly all the accidents in the county. Most had no apparent cause. Something invisible jumped out, caused these redneck idiots to slam on their brakes with such violence that they’d fly right out the windshield. None of the stupid fuckers ever wore their seatbelt. Now Billy Dean was on his knees in the gravel, trying to pump some life back in to Delay, getting creeped out because the man was staring at the deer he’d hit like it would talk to him. Billy Dean pumped, but the life left Delay, left him lying on an endless stretch of blacktop next to a dead deer. What a way to go.

Billy Dean held the compressions. Closed his eyes. Said a prayer. Wondered what Delay would think about dying with egg on his face. And how they would explain the mangled body of the woman, under the tarps, in the bed of the 250, to his wife.

X

Demolition Magazine 2006; Nashville Lifestyles 2008

I watched X tidy up the kitchen. The routine was familiar, comforting in its mundane, expected way. Every night, she cleans up before she goes to bed. Oh, we won’t even talk about that.

I’ve been in that kitchen, of course. Smelled the warm aroma of clean, seen the knives lined up like tin soldiers. Each appliance in its place, each tool, each spoon, all in perfect harmony in her kitchen. Spotless, sterile. Unlike her, actually. X is warm, strong, caring, loving. I know this because… well, I just know. Dammit, don’t doubt me. I just do.

She’s smiling now and the warmth passing through my body is nearly uncontainable. It’s as if she’s looked me straight in the eye, her smile an arrow through my heart… oh, I see. X’s cat has jumped onto the counter, is flicking its tail under her perfectly formed chin. She runs her hand along the kitty’s back, purses her lips in a croon, then grabs her around the middle and sweeps her onto the floor. Okay, so I know the cat is a girl. Yes, I know her name. It’s Pumpkin, which, if truth be told, I find a bit beneath this particular woman. Surely a creature so exotic, so perfect can come up with a more original name. But that really makes no difference. All that matters is X, and what matters to her, matters to me.

The idiot creature had gotten out for an instant, slunk out the back door when X had her head turned. X had flown onto the deck, screamed “Pumpkin!” with such a note of panic in her voice that I had to stop and stare. How could she care so much for such an inconsequential creature? The cat must have sensed it as well, for she froze in the fallen leaves, glanced about once or twice, then turned and scurried back up the stairs and straight into the house.

I watched as X stood, hand to her throat, chest heaving slightly, the crisis averted. She looked at me, unrealizing, then returned indoors, barring the door securely behind her. An unlocked door or window would never lead me to this prize. X is too smart to be careless like that. A challenge, to say the least.

It began so simply. Just a brief flash of a smile, no teeth showing, lips compressed but turned up at the corners of her mouth. Gray blue eyes snapped my direction, then slid away before she actually focused on me. She walked so tall, her ponytail bouncing as she stepped lightly toward her car. The day was warm and she was dressed for the gym, long legs and Nikes. I stepped close enough to catch her scent, coming from, rather than going to. I imagined her there, glistening beneath the television sets. The deep richness of her scent invaded my senses permanently. Even now, all I have to do is conjure that image and she’s there, in me, with me.

I was lost. I knew, at that moment, I had to have her.

Watching was enough, at first. I wondered what she thought about in those unguarded moments. Lost in a task, staring out the window, was X dreaming of me? Wanting that slight edge that’s missing from her life?

The neighborhood dogs are a nightmare. They bark and bark. It’s like being in a ke