Seeking Havok Read online

  I ate in a hurry and threw the bag in the trash before entering the school gate. I downed the orange juice as I made my way to my locker. I dropped it in the trash at the end of the hallway and ran smack into Ali.

  “Dude, watch where you’re going. You almost took me out.”

  I threw my arms around her and apologized while we laughed.

  Ali looked just like me, except for her fashion sense. We both had dark brown, below shoulder length hair. We both were thin. Me, because there wasn’t much to eat in the house; her, because there were a bazillion other people in her house, all vying for the same food supply. I had odd, almost black colored eyes and she had golden brown ones. We looked so much alike that we were often mistaken for the other. We headed to homeroom. Thank God we had a teacher who had taken the time to learn everyone’s names. It meant I didn’t have to draw attention to myself by saying ‘here’ and I certainly wasn’t going to say ‘present’ to get attention like some of the boys did—not gonna happen.

  My school was huge. And even in its monstrosity, the kids were packed in like sardines. But when your mom is a stripper and you don’t really like to speak up in class, it’s a positive. This way, Ali was the only one who knew who I was and who my mom was. And I could sit almost to the back of the classroom, towards the side by the chalkboard and no one even knew I was there, except Ali, who hid in the seat behind me. She had been the brunt of many a baby making joke in middle school when the class sizes were smaller. Being the second kid in a family of thirteen apparently struck a bully chord in even the nicest person. I could only imagine what they would say if they knew how my mom paid the bills.

  We made it through three classes without being noticed. So, it was a good day. Ali and I had all of our morning classes together but in the afternoon we were on our own. She blamed me for it and justly so. All of my afternoon classes were A.P. I had an afternoon of hard work, but it kept my mind busy. I had a temporary lapse of sanity when I signed up for A.P. Calculus, A.P. Physics and A.P. Chemistry all in the afternoon block.

  After the last bell rang I gathered my stuff into my military style backpack. Ali and I walked together until we reached her house. Then I walked to the bakery to take out the trash per Mrs. Swan’s and my bartering agreement. I complimented on her on breakfast. She said I was her lab rat and now those golden rounds of breakfast heaven would be on the menu permanently.

  I got home and Mom wasn’t there. But traces of her were everywhere. An unmade bed, crumbs of some food matter on the counter, stilettos in the middle of the floor. I picked up quickly and threw the hamper full of sheets into a trash bag, grabbed laundry detergent, the bleach, and walked down to the Laundromat. I set the oversized washing machine to the heavy soil setting with hot water and a hot water rinse. That was the only way I would touch those things with my bare hands. She had seven sets of sheets, one for each day of the week. I tried not to think about the things that happened in them.

  I got back to the house, three hours and three loads of laundry later and nearly missed her wake up time. Sometime when I was gone she had come back in and gone back to sleep. There was a fast food bag on the table, so I assumed she’d gone to eat. I put her folded sheets in the hall closet and picked up her mess—again. It was a quarter until seven so I pillaged for something to eat but there was nothing. As soon as she left I would finish my homework before the paper route. Friday nights were pretty lonely around here. Ali and her family had Friday night family night so she was never available—not that I had money to do anything. I woke her up and walked through the routine, except tonight she snorted a line of coke and then put a pill under her tongue. I didn’t really want to know what she was taking, but I knew that if she ODed, the paramedics would ask me to recall it, or what it looked like.

  “I’ve got people coming over tonight so you’d better not be here until sunrise.” Oh great, it was one of those nights.

  “Ok, Mom,” I took her coffee cup and washed it out in the sink, mentally praising the new coffee pot for working. I went back in the bedroom and grabbed my bag, a few necessities, and made myself scarce.

  I had a couple hours to kill until my paper route so I walked to Mrs. Swan’s to ask if she needed any more help. I felt like a hobo trading work for food but I did what I needed to survive. It’s funny, that’s the same thing my mom says about hooking. ‘I do what I need to survive Havok.’ God forbid she gets a regular job or at least lay off the coke.

  I approached the bakery and she came to the window all smiles. “Hey, Mrs. Swan, do you have any work I could do tonight?” She clapped a little and then told me to come in through the back. I helped her for two solid hours and was rewarded with fresh baked bread and an enormous bowl of loaded potato soup. After I finished that she gave me a slice of caramel cheesecake and it made me feel like a glutton.

  I thanked her and walked out the front. It was almost eleven o’clock and Fade would be on soon. Fridays and Saturdays he got some crazy calls so I wanted to make sure and tune in. I breezed through the glass front door and came face to face with the staring guy from last night. He was cute. Scratch that, he was hot. From what I could tell under his beanie was a close shaven haircut. And he had the best scruff in the world. It wasn’t quite a full grown beard but it was far from clean cut. And then he winked at me. What guy winks? But when he did I was gifted with a good look at his eyes. They were almost identical to Ali’s.—golden brown, almost matching his slightly tanned skin. But around the pupil was a ring of chocolate color. I wanted to hold him down and make him let me look at them until I had figured out how they got that way.

  I kept walking and put on my headphones. I would probably need new batteries soon. I listened to the crazed antics of the DJ before Fade until the clock struck eleven. Then it was time for my vacation from the world.

  Friday nights were the worst. Girls and guys alike called in with what seemed like the same old set of problems. I loved what I did, don’t get me wrong. And somewhere along the line I’d convinced myself that I was actually helping someone. I got to the radio station and waited for Buzz, the DJ whose show was before me, to finish so I could move into my spot for the night. He was a really big guy and he ate the entire time he was on the air. If you listened really closely, you could sometimes hear him reach in a bag or unwrap something while he talked. He also had his own chair. On my first day they had me come in early and watch his show. He went into the hall closet and swapped the nice cushy chair for his old ratty one. And there he sat tonight in that nasty chair chomping on cheese crackers while Hey Marseilles played. He gave me some kind of salute and the last song of his shift carried him out of the booth.

  “Hey man, how’s it goin’?” he said as he passed me.

  “Good, how was the show?” I couldn’t believe I found anything coherent and civil to say while I was so tired.

  “Groovin,” he sang to me and rolled his chair out to the hallway.

  I got my headphones out. I had a phobia of the station’s headphones. Just looking at Buzz with those things on gave me visions of ear mites and other creepy crawlies.

  I sat in the swivel desk chair, plugged in my headphones and pulled the mic where it was comfortable. The phones were ringing already. I watched the sound guy count down for me and I started the night like I always did. “Hey Lafayette, Fade here, it’s Friday night. Give it to me with both barrels and I’ll try to make your troubles Fade into Black.”

  The first caller was Rachel. She was a social pariah. Her words, not mine. She had trouble with crowds, became flustered in person and most definitely over the phone or that’s what she said. But I didn’t detect any of it from where I sat. And I told her. “Rachel, seriously, you sound confident and poised on the phone with me. I think you’re just a little too hard on yourself.” She giggled and said she loved my voice and Mike, the producer cut her off before she giggled herself to death.

  The calls came in, one after the other and even after two a.m. the lights on the phone continued to
flash. They knew I stopped taking calls after two, so why even try? By the end of the night, or the morning, I was in a mood and ended the show with Fade Into You by Mazzy Star.

  I headed home and popped two allergy pills before hopping in the shower simply because I needed to sleep. I had picked up breakfast on my way home since I couldn’t cook a lick except for maybe eggs or grilled cheese. I scarfed the French toast and sausage as fast as I could without choking and got in the bed. You’d think that after staying up all night and taking a good dose of Benadryl that I’d immediately pass out but instead I thought about the callers. Sometimes certain calls plagued me. Calls from girls who cried for guys who wouldn’t open their eyes and see them. Calls from guys who had all but given a girl the world to watch them pine after a guy that treated them badly. Sometimes a mother would call in, not knowing what to do about the son who ignored her or the daughter who constantly disrespected her. And lately they all seemed to run together.

  I also thought about Beth. I hadn’t seen or heard from her in days and I should be crushed. Most guys are crushed when their girlfriends don’t call or come around for days, right? I scrubbed my face with my hands. She was really starting to creep me out so I really didn’t miss her at all. There was an initial attraction and when she told me she didn’t know who I was, it kinda sealed the deal. Having someone treat me like a regular person and not getting all wacked out fangirl on me pretty much guaranteed my swoon. But soon after, maybe five months in, she told me that as my girlfriend she thought she was obligated to listen to my show. I didn’t care if she listened to the show. In fact, maybe she would learn to be a little less clingy. Especially since we hadn’t really talked about the ‘girlfriend’ thing or really even solidified that we were in a relationship. We had only gone out maybe ten times, my schedule being as odd as it was. And then she said something one day that completely freaked me out. We were making out, getting really hot and heavy, and she got close to my ear. I suspected or maybe hoped she would whisper something naughty but what did I get? I got two heaping teaspoons full of creeper. “Baby, talk to me like you talk on the show.” I pushed away from her, suddenly finding her extremely unattractive. And for the record, I don’t like being called ‘baby’. What guy likes to be called ‘baby’? I could almost jive with ‘babe’ but baby was a whole other animal. And when I talked on the radio I was putting on a show. It was my voice, but being that personality behind the curtains of the air waves was just that. It was a façade. Yes, I meant the things I said but I probably wouldn’t talk to someone like that in real life. Do people expect game show hosts to talk like they do on stage, in real life? No, didn’t think so.

  So we had been weird since then. And we hadn’t gone out since either. She showed up at the station at three a.m. one night last week and whined when the producers wouldn’t let her past the glass. Thank goodness for right minded producers.

  She called once the next day at noon, my prime sleeping time, and apologized—I think. I couldn’t remember very much of the conversation. There was also something about watermelons and those golf socks with the diamond patterns on them.

  Benadryl’s kicking in hard. Ugh, I hate when I start thinking of weird things before I fall asleep.

  The next thing I knew, the alarm went off. It was three p.m. on Saturday. I woke up early on Saturday simply to feel less like a zombie. Plus, it was my last night at work until Tuesday night so I pulled back my wake-up time so I could be a little bit normal on Sunday, Monday and Tuesday. Sunday nights and Monday nights, the station played old shows in my absence. Unless you really knew my shows inside out, no one would notice the difference.

  I got up, showered and threw on a pair of boxers. I opened the apartment door a crack to see if it was hot or cold outside. There was no use in listening to the weather when you lived in South Louisiana. You just got up in the morning and stuck your head out of the door, it was the best policy. Even though it had been cold not two nights ago, it was hot and humid again so I went with a pair of cargo shorts and a white t shirt. I situated a gray tattered ball cap on my head and left out, needing to eat.

  I went down to the little po-boy joint on the corner and grabbed a catfish po-boy with coleslaw and dirty rice. I ate while people watching. Not only was people-watching fun, but it usually gave me an insight on how to help my callers. For instance, the married couple in the corner, the woman was miserable. She reached for the mayo to put on her sandwich and her husband took it away from her and threw it in the trashcan behind him. She smiled, but if he was really paying attention he would see her hands clenching her skirt in anger or hurt under the table. She was a very pretty woman and didn’t need to lose a single pound and she never would as long as he was around. What an asshole. And the older woman at the table in front of me looked around before each bite. Because when she did, her frail hands shook and hardly any food actually made it into her mouth. She would probably give the rest of her years to have one last meal with hands that didn’t quake every time she lifted them. It was these people I wished I could help. I had put in applications to several local colleges last month. I was a little old to be starting school but I really wanted to help someone other than hormone raged teen girls on the brink of instantaneous disaster. What I really wanted to be was a grief counselor.

  I gathered my Styrofoam plate, scrunched up the napkins and threw the mess away. I walked to the grocery store a couple of blocks down to grab some things. Coffee and cream were the main things on my list. I was really getting tired of the sludge from the bakery. I’m sure it was really good during the day but by the time I got to it, it resembled crude oil. I also picked up granola bars and sandwich makings. My funds were getting kinda low before payday—I was a saver and put fifty percent of my paycheck in savings. Anyway, I was a sandwich kinda guy.

  I passed the local Laundromat and inside saw the newspaper girl from outside the bakery inside folding clothes while talking to a girl who could almost, from a distance, be her twin. I moved to where the window of the Laundromat met the brick of the next building and used it to shield myself while I gawked.

  It’s strange how you’ve never seen something in your life, but then once you see it, you see it everywhere. Such was the case with this girl—now that I’d seen her once, I saw her everywhere—on the street, between aisles in the places I went—and mostly in my head.

  She wasn’t like anything I’d ever seen. She was just pure beauty. When she laughed the sides of her nostrils flared a little bit and she held on to her friend’s arm. Her friend proceeded to do a little off kilter jig and it threw her into a fit of doubled over laughter. I could even hear her through the half open door. I wished the window wasn’t barring me from the full sound of her laughter. I knew, without having experienced it, that it was exquisite.

  Ugh—keep walking stalker man.

  I shook myself out of a daze and kept walking until I got about ten feet from my front door.

  Damn it, I had to think about her, right?

  Beth sat on the stoop eating what looked like beef jerky and I shuddered. I hated beef jerky and the thought of her beef jerky breath in my face—might as well make out with a butcher, a stalker butcher.

  Saturday was laundry day. Ali usually came with me just to get away from the chaos of her own house. I got through my mom’s laundry first, mostly because it was gross and I wanted to get it over with. While I was folding, Ali started singing to the tune of the mice’s song from Cinderella, the Disney version but she sang the words for me. “Havok Daniels, Havok Daniels, night and day it’s Havok Daniels, make the coffee, stack the stilettos, wash the dishes, change the yuck sheets’”. It was hilarious. She knew all of the words since her little sister Miracle watched it twelve times a day so it was easy to change them to fit my life. But then she added the little dance, the one the little fat mouse does, and I couldn’t stand up straight. She was the best at making me laugh.

  We talked through the other two loads of my laundry and then we parted ways at
the sidewalk in front of her house. She usually couldn’t come over since my mom usually slept during the day and was otherwise occupied. I tiptoed in, put the laundry basket on the floor and stealthily crept back out, locking the deadbolt behind me.

  I went to the library to check my email. There was one email from LSU and I got excited until I realized it was just an advertisement. But that never deterred me from checking.

  Last night had been a doozy. I walked the streets of downtown Lafayette until my legs felt like jelly underneath me. I stopped at the nearest place to sit, a small set of stairs in front of what seemed to be a townhouse. The lights were off inside so I climbed the four steps and sat, leaned on the burgundy door with cracked paint. I glanced at the doormat that said, ‘You’ve read my doormat. That’s plenty enough social interaction for the day.’ I looked up at the windows again before sitting down. I could only imagine the kind of life the person who lived here had. Probably some cush job and now they are in their soft comfy beds sleeping the night away. And for a moment, I let myself dream about a life like that. Nothing fancy, just a steady job and a comfortable bed where I didn’t get kicked out or feel like I had no choice but to sleep in the closet.

  I leaned my head against the black iron railing and hoped they wouldn’t decide to wake up and beat me with a broom until I went away. Actually, that would’ve been pretty funny.

  A little before sunrise, that morning, I got up and started towards my apartment. My Walkman died about an hour back and I didn’t bring any back-up batteries. I should’ve known better. I counted, from around the corner of the apartment building, as at least thirteen people left our place followed by my mom. And that’s how I’d spent my Saturday morning, cleaning up after thirteen miscreants.