Absence

“Logan!”

It was Shamus on the phone, of course, the self-proclaimed black sheep of the family—a designation he fought their youngest sister for like a championship title-belt, using reckless acts and messy situations that embarrassed the whole family (most especially the non-immediate members) as their ring. Both siblings were aloof and lax to ask for assistance, but the difference between the two of them was that their sister was angry and couldn’t care less what anyone thought of them—least of all family, and, incIdentally, that is exactly what Shamus cared about most. That and shame. The Black Sheep were two sides of the same cold, hard coin—they were sedition and contrition—and those spend the same. Worthless.

“Logan! I’m mom. I’m om my wayt…” he was speaking unintelligibly. Slowly. It wasn’t unusual except Logan lived in Arkansas whereas Shamus had moved back to Nebraska…and it was 4:00AM.

Logan diagnosed the danger right way—Shamus was having an episode. “We gotta get mom. …”

“Shamus! Stop! Where are you? Where is Carol?”

“Carol…” he repeated it with disdain. “Pffffttt. Shiiiiit.” 

Carol—Shamus’ second wife. A native American woman he had met in Nebraska after his divorce—who his siblings had hoped was encouraging Shamus’ rational side. Unlike his ex, Cherilee. Shamus had met both Carol and Cherilee in Nebraska. But despite his siblings hope, Cherilee had the most impact on him. 

     A young, single mom. She was intelligent. She spoke Spanish as a second language. She had a beautiful smile. A beautiful singing voice. Loved music. Loved having fun.

   So, when Shamus’ mother was ill, moving to Arkansas with Logan and their youngest sister—Shamus had decided to go with. Shamus also invited Cherilee. She refused. She wanted to stay near her parents. Her parents who had been disappointed in her for years now as she had forsaken the path of the Jehovah’s Witness for a man (before Shamus). A man she divorced quite soon after their daughter was born.

     Before meeting Shamus, she had been doing relatively well on her own—even her parents were starting to talk to her again. Then she got pregnant. Again.

      Realizing this might be her only chance to redeem herself, she agreed to go with him. On one condition. They married. And had four more children.

     Arkansas was not easy on her. She was twenty-six and had never lived in another state until now. She and Shamus fought frequently. She hadn’t any family or friends. Being a mother of five small children, all born within a year of one another was difficult enough, but being highly intelligent and unable to pursue a life she actually wanted was worse. She hadn’t even had a chance to fully mature before it was all decided for her. And no matter how hard she tried; she could not gain the approval of her parents, or even Shamus’ mother. She was even jealous of the relationship he had with his mother. She had never experienced that with her own—it was alien to her. She also didn’t feel particularly close to Shamus so she often felt alone.

     As for Shamus’ mom—it wasn’t that she didn’t like Cherilee or that she despised the fact that they (virtually) shared a first name and now a last—which made things confusing at family gatherings, with mailing services, and had become a trite/ sometimes inappropriate joke amongst friends. And it wasn’t even that Cherilee didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, was a terrible cook, or was placating towards her in what had become a noxious exchange of briefly friendly natter. It was that Cherilee didn’t love Shamus. Cherilee loved him in the way that was good enough for her…and for whatever reason, that is all that Shamus thought he’d come to deserve.   In fact, Cherilee blamed Shamus for her dissatisfaction in life—from which the course of trajectory had been set well ahead of his presence in it. But without anyone else to take responsibility for the roles unfilled by her daughter’s father and her own parents, Shamus was obligated to take those on and could not possible win in those roles.

   Therefore, when Cherilee started taking her lunch breaks in the name of “me time” at home every day instead of with him at the poultry plant cafeteria where they both worked—away from work, away from kids, away from him…Shamus understood. It wasn’t until the rumors did Shamus become suspicious and need to see for himself. The rumors were right.

Two times in his life would Shamus have a mental breakdown—that Logan knew of. Two times would he burn it all down, not calculating well the aftermath of that decision or how it would alter his (or his children’s path). The last time was catching Cherilee with Juan, a coworker, in their own bed on lunch break. That’s when he moved back to Nebraska. Met Carol. And now we’re up to speed. But the first time—the first time was what left Shamus changed.

     Shamus was tricked into driving his mother to Nebraska from California. The man Shamus had come to see as his own father—best friend even—was battering his mother, Logan, and the little black sheep. Imprisoned in their home, they were forced to escape in the night. Shamus was the one to drive the getaway car his brother-in-law had donated for their escape. The truth was it wasn’t just Cher, Logan, and their baby sister that his sister, Maxine, and her husband Jack were trying to save—it was Shamus himself too. King had gotten him hooked on intravenous drugs. And Shamus didn’t take well to detox. The moment he could, he left again. Back to California. He was an adult by this time after all. He made his way all the way back to The King of California.

Shamus was in a fog much of his second turn in California. Away from family, alone with King and whatever cohorts, whores, and enemies King chose to medicate, lay, or betray. Because of his drug use and trusting nature, Shamus often found himself prey to manipulation and coercion with damning conclusions. This is also how he contracted Hepatitis C from his stand-in father figure—a disease that would take partial claim of King’s life before he ended it himself years later. A disease Shamus, himself, would barely survive until a treatment was made.

   Teresa flipped her auburn hair back and rubbed her nose hard. King didn’t have the best cocaine, but he had a lot of it. Though less now that he had hired her and Shamus to cut it. Teresa was King’s longtime mistress—a woman King had been seeing concurrently while he kept Cher hostage. But now that Cher was gone, she was his main partner.

Shamus felt guilty when he was around Teresa—the woman who stole much of his own mother’s sleep and security. He didn’t even like the woman, really. But wherever King was, there she was, and there the party was.

“Oh my God is that good!” she exclaimed.

It wasn’t. But Shamus doubted Teresa would know what good coke was.

“Can you, please, do that somewhere else? I have an exam tomorrow!” Teresa’s daughter screamed.

“Then go study your room, Amber! God! You’re like a grandma!”

“I would but it smells like shit in there because you and your friends last night! Remember?? You made me sleep on the couch! And that midget kept trying to touch me!”

Teresa started cackling. Shamus probably hated her laugh as much as her daughter did.

“He’s not a midget! He lost his legs!” she was laughing so hard, she started coughing.

“Please! Mom! It’s important!”

Her eyes met Shamus’. Begging. She reminded him of Maxine, his younger sister. He recalled the many times she begged King and his friends for the same courtesy. He felt bad for her. Ashamed.

“Let’s go.” Shamus said, standing up.

“What?” Teresa asked, taking a sip of her beer, and still coughing.

“I’ll buy your drinks.”

“But King isn’t back…”

“Come on.”

He ushered Teresa up off the couch and toward the door. Before shutting it, he caught Amber’s gaze. She mouthed the words ‘thank you’. He closed the door.

King had become suddenly very absent since Shamus’ return, though this was not necessarily unusual for him. He had often disappeared for days at a time when Shamus’ family still lived here in Modesto—though typically he was at Teresa’s. Shamus wondered if he had a new mistress.

Teresa convinced Shamus to go to their regular dive. She wanted to go there because she knew the other girls would stay away. She had always had a thing for him. His fine, pale features, dark hair, dimples, and slight but muscular build typically brought women to him like flies to shit. Before Shamus had disappeared to Nebraska with his bitch mom and siblings, Teresa had often gone out with he and King and just as often threatened the younger women with glares from afar. A while ago, she had even followed one woman into the bathroom, introduced herself, then the woman’s face to the mirror. Yes. Tonight, he was hers. And everyone there knew it.

   They stayed until close; all the while Teresa plying him with alcohol until he needed to be carried to her little Mazda.

   When they arrived back at her place, she parked in front of the beige, stucco four-plex in a shit part of the city. Teresa leaned back against the driver door, lit a cigarette, and puffed on it while she stared at him. He leaned back against the passenger door, fighting bleary vision to see her, and smiled. The orange streetlight lit up only the lower part of face. Smoke leaking from the crevices of her teeth. Like a dragon. She returned his smile.

“What?” he asked coyly.

“You.” She blew smoke. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

“How could I stay away? This is where the party is at.” He jested.

They were flirting. He knew this. It was hard to say if King would care. Deciphering what King felt or thought from moment to moment was a dangerous gamble. But Shamus’ inhibitions were null.

“I hope that’s not all you came back for.” She opened her legs slightly.

Her ditzy, floral, babydoll dress barely covered her skinny, tan thighs as it was. Her lap was shadowed by the dashboard of the sedan.

She was probably an attractive woman once, he thought. Before the drugs, California sun, and premature aging.

“Come here.”

“Where?”

She sat forward, reached across the console, and grabbed the front of his short sleeve button-up. Teresa pulled him almost into her lap. Shamus grasped the dash to support himself, the stick shift boring into his ribs while she shoved her lips against his. She was salty, sour. He’d always remember that. Her other hand grabbed at his belt buckle—a commemoration trophy of sorts for his first year in California. King had bought it for him at the Tuolumne County fair when he was just fourteen. It was Reservation silver with a Native American Thunderbird in the center. Inlayed with blue turquoise and red coral. It was precious to him. King was generous, but on his own terms.

   This wasn’t the first time a woman, even an older woman, had forced herself on Shamus. Nor was it even a rare occurrence; in fact, the woman he had lost his virginity to was a friend of his mother’s. He was thirteen at the time. She was thirty-seven. He never saw it coming. He had just flushed the toilet when she entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She grabbed him. He didn’t even get to zip up after taking a piss. It was over in a matter of minutes. Maybe seconds. It was his first time after all. She left as abruptly as she burst in. Never said a word. And neither did he. Mom never knew. Of course. And after that he didn’t talked about it. To anyone. Note for years. Not even to brag. And not necessarily because it made him feel depraved, or harmed, or because it was rape. He didn’t want the attention or fuss. He didn’t want to be seen as any more different than he already felt.

When he emerged from the bathroom, she was sitting on the couch with his mom, cackling about something on the television—drinking screwdrivers. Cigarette ash all over the dark lacquer of the coffee table. And though he was changed, things just went on as they always had. She had gone right back to never even acknowledging his presence like any other adult friend of his mother’s. Women are scary.

   And that’s just what he was thinking now as Teresa unskillfully searched the inside of his mouth with her tongue. Even still, it wasn’t the worst kiss Shamus had ever had. He pushed her back to get some air back into his lungs.

“Woah-ho-ho! I’ve already had my tonsils removed. Thank you!”

She slumped backwards and bit her lip while smiling. He had sobered up some and thought that the lighting wasn’t doing her any favors in this moment.

“And here I thought I was the drunk one. We should get you upstairs.” He offered.

“Oh. I like the sound of that.” She giggled again as she put a foot up on the console.

Somehow, she had lost her sandal, and her toes were quickly edging across his thigh toward his groin.

“Alright you. Let’s get out of this car.” He reached over down by the car’s pedals and retrieved her missing sandal.

Teresa pushed Shamus against the door of her apartment.

“Quiet! Shhhh!” she giggled. “My daughter is asleep.”

She pressed herself against him.

“Come inside.”

“I should go home.”

“Nooooo. Come in and party with me.”

He knew what she meant. He weighed the pros and cons as she hugged onto him, swaying back and forth. The yellow glow of her porch light was uncomfortably bright. She didn’t seem to mind the insects that bounced off them as they stood there. Flying termites, mosquito eaters, earwigs on the stucco. Then again, Teresa might be the world’s largest mosquito as Shamus was certain the hickey she was working on was drawing blood.                   

   Shamus saw someone standing in the dark of the courtyard. Staring. He slowly unattached Teresa from his neck but she wasn’t coming off easily so without thinking he shoved her. A little harder than he should have, gentler than he’d have liked to.

“Hey!” he yelled at the watcher. “Who is that?”

He walked slowly towards them.

“Shamus, who…”

“Shh!”

“You need something, buddy?”

The watcher didn’t move. His eyes large and bright against darkness. All of the courtyard was soaked in the yellow glow of the courtyard lampposts except one corner. The very corner the stranger stood in. Shamus kept his possessed gaze, approaching more and more slowly the more apprehensive he became. He stopped ten yards from the figure and felt that was enough. He could still only make out the man’s eyes, but Shamus could tell the watcher was taller by several inches.

“Listen. You…”

The man’s eyes disappeared for a moment and it startled Shamus, who took a step back. It somehow increased his overall sense of danger and unease.

“You need to get out of here.” Adding more fierceness to his voice, incidentally, caused him to appear more scared.

“Shamus, come back, please.” Teresa was sobering up in the situation as well.

He motioned for her to stay back.

“Look, guy,” He started toward the man again, “I’m getting pretty fucking sick and tired of this hide and go…”

Suddenly, the darkness flickered to light and Shamus stalled. He was five feet away from a lamppost that he swore used to be a man and face to face with the biggest moth he had ever seen. It was so beautiful, yet he still felt terrified. And now exposed somehow. Still unable to unlock his eyes or move. He started to shake. His eyes filling with tears.

“That’s the biggest fucking bug I’ve ever seen!” Teresa’s voice jolted him back to reality. The massive insect slowly closed its wings, and the eyes were gone. 

“Shiiiiiit!yeah!” he said, making light of the mortal terror he still felt.

“Let’s get high.” Teresa said.

“Shit yeah.”

   The apartment was dim as they entered. Laughing at themselves and shushing one another. They searched for the living room light switch that seemed to change locations every time they drank.

“Shhhhhh…!” Teresa giggled drunkenly. “She’s going to yell at us!”

She found the light. She put her hands over her mouth and snorted.

“Oh, shit!” She flicked it back off. 

“What?”

“She’s asleep at the fucking table!” she laughed.

Amber was slumped over her books. Only her shoulders visible above the vinyl back of the chair.

“Aw, poor baby..”

Shamus scanned the room. He felt that unease again. The stove hood light was on, but the rest of the house was dark as Teresa crept toward her, looking back at Shamus and giggling.

“Teresa, don’t start.”

“Shh!”

She crouched further.

“Time. For. Bed!”

She sprung up, grabbing Amber from behind. Her cheek was sticky as it touched the back of Amber’s neck. For that’s all there was. The chrome edges of the, once cream-colored Formica table held a perfectly still pool of sanguine now.

Teresa’s hoarse screams filled the night. Shamus slid along the wall, approaching the table from the side, giving it a wide berth in the small apartment. Teresa had collapsed to the floor and crawled to the loveseat where she crouched against its backside.

“My baby!” She screamed repeatedly. 

Shamus stared at the inside of the girl’s neck wondering how this could be real. He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. He felt both glad, and alone, that his family was fifteen-hundred miles away from this.

"I want to go home." He sobbed.

#ReedsyWicked

Based on a true story.

J.M.Liles ©️2024