Authors: Renee Lewin
My movements are slow like I am underwater. I twist the cap onto the bottle and return it to its shelf.
I am Allspice
. I place the pan on the stovetop.
He wrote that poem.
I turn the knob to medium high heat.
Allspice reminds him of me.
I pour the oil into the pan.
It said I was earthy sweet…
I watch the oil heat and spread across the bottom of the pan.
Wise sultry brown…
The puddle of hot oil begins to darken around its edge.
But I am not really any of that.
Ghostly strands of smoke snake up from the feverish oil.
I am far from sweet, far from wise.
I jump back from the stove as Joey wraps a hand around my arm at the elbow and gently pulls me back against his tall frame. He swiftly takes the smoking pan off the hot burner and turns off the stovetop. I jolt away from the feel of his hip pressed into the curve of my back.
“Elaine. Are you
sure
you’re okay? I was talking to you and you didn’t hear a word of what I said.”
I could only manage to blankly stare up at him. He stands next to me without leaning his weight on anything. He improved so fast. I’m very proud of him. His fingertips on my arm begin to move, nuzzling my skin. “Um, are you sure you don’t want to talk about what’s going on tomorrow with Manny?”
I swallow and nod. “I’m sure,” I peep.
“I wish you would t…,” he trails off as he looks into my frightened eyes. Then he removes his hold on my arm. “I know you’re starving. Let’s get this lunch done. Shall we?”
Quietly but comfortably we went about cooking the chicken, preparing the salad, pouring glasses of juice and setting the table. I did most of those things on my own since Joey needed to rest his legs, I insisted. He and I got a lot of laughs out of waiting for the chicken to cool down. He wouldn’t allow me to add it to the salad until it was room temperature, so we sat down on the stools at the counter and groaned and growled hungrily at the chicken, then bribed it to cool faster, “I’ll give you 75 cents. Okay, a dollar
!,
” and finally threw forks and knives at it with our eyes and threatened the chicken with bodily harm, “
Oooo
, I’m gonna eat you
sucka
!” Our silliness crossed that border right into stupidity. I guess I can say he’s truly my friend now since he didn’t run away.
The Caribbean Jerk Chicken Salad was a burst of wonderful contrasting tastes. The chicken was spicy, bold and flavorful and the salad was sweet, cool, and refreshing. It was way,
way
more satisfying than fast food nachos. I sat across from Joey’s glistening blue eyes at the kitchen table, allowing the fiery pepper, sweet essence of mango, and savory allspice to delight my tongue, all the while diligently swatting away the butterflies in my stomach.
******
The maximum sentence for a misdemeanor is six months.
“Case number 5D13-567, Roberts vs. the state of Arizona.”
My only sibling, my best friend, stands before the judge. His lawyer stands to his right.
Uncle Frank holds my right hand. Joey sat close on the left side of me. We sit together on the comfortless wooden benches in the courtroom, the three of us.
“The probation presentence report was insightful.” Judge
Pitrelli
flips through the folder. “The victim sustained injuries that may hinder him for the rest of his life.”
Joey lowers his head.
“But the victim Joseph Kinsley has forgiven him and has provided a letter in which he pleads for the court to do the same. Other people have contributed letters that plead for clemency for Mr. Roberts: Elaine Roberts, sister; Franklin
Merjoy
, uncle; Claude
Catima
, friend; Jesse Pasqual, friend; Denise Rubio, friend…”
My eyes water.
I’m moved that Manny’s old friends Jesse and Claude, as well as Denise had come to Manny’s aid.
“…Tia Wright, friend;
Morghan
Madison, friend; Brittany
Berkowski
, friend.”
I bury my face into my hands and hold my breath so I won’t start sobbing. Uncle Frank rubs my shoulder. Joey murmurs some comforting words. I looked down my nose at those girls, but they still helped my brother.
“Taking all things into account I have decided upon a sentence.”
I lift my head out of the darkness of my palms and try to prepare for something no one can fully prepare for.
“On the count of misdemeanor battery, I sentence Emanuel Roberts to 45 days in jail. Crediting the eight days
all ready
served leaves a total of 37 days. Release date set for June 2
nd
, 2011. It is so ordered.”
Joey and Uncle Frank seem untroubled by the sentencing. Even Manny’s brown eyes shine with contentment that his punishment was deserved. I am the only one distressed. I want Manny to come home today and no time later. That won’t be the case. All the members of my immediate family had all in some way departed. Lastly, Uncle Frank would leave. He had his own life in Daytona.
“He’s coming home June 2
nd
, the day before the first anniversary of
Marna’s
death. What a miracle,” Uncle Frank smiles sadly at me as I walk between him and Joey out of the courtroom doors. And I don’t understand why that should be something for me to be grateful for until Joey said, “See. Your mom is still here working her magic.”
No one speaks much as Uncle Frank drives us home. We drop Joey off at his house and then proceeded to mine.
“Now that this is all settled, I guess you’ll be heading back down to Florida.”
Uncle Frank shrugs off his suit jacket and hangs it in Dad’s closet. He unbuttons the top buttons of the Hawaiian shirt he wore under it. “I’m in no hurry, Laney. Do you mind going to the car rental place over in Duncan with me this afternoon? I think it’s time I had my own set of wheels.”
******
I want to get out on the field again. I can’t wait to feel the grass and dirt yield beneath the spikes of my soccer cleats, all my senses peaked by the excitement in the crowd. I wish I could feel the adrenaline again, coursing all through me as I push my entire body to the limit, my muscles screaming, but my mind overpowering the pain signals. I can’t think about pain or anything else if I want absolute power over my body and over the ball. When I lose focus I lose the ball and the game.
Chupasangres
’ last game was a loss. I hadn’t been focused enough because I had been sweating Raul. I want to redeem myself. I want to rise to power. Gerard, my physical therapist, is a sportsman too, so he saw that I was still restless for a win before I realized it myself. He warned me, “Joey, I don’t recommend you attempt
anything
soccer related for a few weeks unless you want to reverse the progress you’ve made so far.”
I’m improving every day. I wake up in the morning and my legs carry me farther and farther. The medicine has helped with the spasms. I’m tottering along on my own now. I relearned how to keep my balance. Elaine’s shoulder is no longer needed. She, however, doesn’t know that yet. It’s not really lying because my legs do still get tired. I tell her that and she offers to help me along and I take her up on it. I’m taking what I can get. Just a few days ago she was ripping her hand out of mine and now it’s no problem for me to have an arm around her or a hand on her shoulder. It’s just my selfish immature attempt to get closer to her. An unselfish part of me does it for Manny, too. He wants someone to make sure Elaine is taken care of. I’m that guy. I’m that desperate dude with the
unclever
tricks up his sleeve.
“You don’t want my mom to get suspicious do you?”
Elaine stands near the front door with her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “What do you mean?”
“I mean we’re supposed to be
together
, you know? You take me to all my therapy sessions, which
is
cool, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate that, but you never stick around long enough for my mom to see us
together
.”
She studies the floor around her black boots for a long time. Each second I feel more and more deflated. I thought she and I were cool now. I can call her “Laney” and we cook together and eat together and joke around, yet she is standing practically half way out the door with a furrow between her arched brows, trying to think her way out of this. I know that I’m blackmailing her into spending time with me, but can’t she find even a
little
enjoyment in it? Her dark eyes meet mine briefly.
“What, um, what should we do?” She averts her eyes and fiddles with the zippers on the pockets of her vest. She’s acting…shy? I’ve never seen her this way. She carries herself with confidence, certainty, and control. Does she think I meant we should stare lovingly into each other’s eyes or that I’ll demand we kiss each other just to placate my mom? I’m not
that
stupid.
“We can watch TV or just talk until my mom gets home from work. Of course, I’ll feed you while you’re here. That’s a given.”
She tries to hold back a smile, but I catch it. She shrugs.
“Fine.”
Three steak and pepper fajitas later she’s cool with me again. She tells me that her mom used to make fajitas, too. I’m smiling, she’s smiling. I feel great until I notice the minute scar on Elaine’s bottom lip and my stomach lurches. I haven’t noticed it since the first day Elaine took me to Canyon Outpatient. It has zero effect on how good she looks so I forgot it was even there.
Ever since the accident, stupid stuff has been making me nervous.
Like, if one of the girls calls me, instantly my heart beats faster and my palms get sweaty. And now, right in the middle of me enjoying this time with Elaine, a wave of panic rushes over me out of nowhere and completely ruins my mood. Why does this keep happening? Are these weird moods a result of my brain injury? Do near-death experiences leave a man jumpy for the rest of his life?
“Update me, Laney. How’d you get that cut on your lip?”
“Uh, remember that one time I got punched in the mouth during a really stupid fight?”
“You’re kidding.”
She searches my eyes and then leans all the way back in her chair. “You really don’t remember.”
“That’s why I’m asking,” I say and worriedly run my fingers over a grainy irregularity in the surface of the dining room table.
“For some odd reason I thought you remembered, but how could you? You don’t remember the fight between you and Manny at all.”
“The last thing I recollect is you. You gave me the chips and the beer and I was walking back to Manny in the field and then suddenly I wake up in the hospital.”
“You punched me.”
She says it so nonchalantly that I think she’s joking. I smirk. “No.”
She smirks back. “Yes. You and Manny were fighting and I tried to break it up. I got in the middle of you two and you accidently punched me. Joey, wait. Joey, wait!”
I stumble over my fallen chair and try to escape, but she keeps following me. It keeps following me. The room is spinning. I don’t think my heart is beating right.
“I’m not mad at you, Joey! It was an accident!”
I’m mad at me. She pulls on my arm. She tries to meet my eyes but I can’t look at her and I can’t stay. I release myself from her grip. My eyes had been closed tight to not see her so I stumbled into something, the arm of the couch. I opened my eyes and aimed for my room again. My chest hurts. My legs are still moving. I made it through the door of my bedroom. She’s still behind me.