Copperback (15 page)

“Ok.
So Job it is.” I couldn’t help but laugh, and even he joined in, smiling wide.
He always looked his best with a grin. Everything about him lit up, and it
helped relax the mood around us. His jocular moods had been far and few, but I
was sure there would be a lot more in the coming weeks.

“Do
you know where the name came from? Has anyone told you?”

“I
was told it came from the Bible, so I looked it up and read it. It doesn’t
really fit me. It’s a story about a guy–”

“You
can read?” I felt bad interrupting him as he was explaining the origins of his
name, but knowing how to read was a huge milestone in his efforts to learn how
to speak. The catalogue of books lying upstairs ran through my head, picking
out ones that he might enjoy and others to avoid. I had been an avid reader
since a child, so learning he could read as well was exciting news.

“Yeah,
I can. Sort of. I haven’t read much. My old owner gave me books to read. She
wanted me to know things and not just be the help.”

I
could see in his eyes that he missed her. The way he talked so positively about
her, it was clear that she had been so much better to him than Derrick ever was.

“I
have a few upstairs I can lend to you, if you want. I can go get them after I
change over the laundry?”

The
thought of getting to read again made him smile even wider, displaying his
radiant white teeth. Every time he smiled at me, everything about him would
almost glow, filling the room with light, and I would forget whatever I had
been saying or thinking. I couldn’t help but to stare at him, as he had done so
many times to me. He appeared confused, as I absorbed every facet of his face
in that single stare, unable to look away. I eventually broke eye contact, as I
saw it was unnerving him, creating an awkward situation, and let my mind go
back to my task.

I
got up to get the laundry, letting him know I would return in just a few
minutes. I crossed out of the room into the furthest reaches of the basement, pulling
the cord on the light so I wouldn’t have to rely on the window as my only light
source. The washer had stopped and I unloaded it, moving everything into the
dryer and turning it on, listening to it roar to life. I turned around to shut
off the light, when I saw a small television crammed into a corner, sitting
near some boxes. It was covered in a film of dust and looked as though it
hadn’t been used since the dawn of time. This TV had been in my room while I
had lived at home before college. I wasn’t sure if it still worked, but thought
it may be another way to help Job get over his insecurity.

Pulling
it from its place, leaving behind an outline of grime, I maneuvered back to the
room, twisting and turning as I went, trying not to knock down any of the boxes
along the way. For its size, it was still heavy enough that I was winded by the
time I set it down on the chair at the foot of the bed. I considered setting it
on the chair closest to him, so he could flip though channels, but the cable
cord would never have reached that far. I determined that having no remote was
better than having no signal.

I
stood looking for a towel or sheet that I could use to wipe it down so that the
screen could be seen. Sally must have thrown everything that had been down here
in the wash, giving me no choice but to use his new clean sheet as a rag.

“Do
you mind?” I asked, lifting up the bottom corner. Job didn’t seem to hear me. He
was too engrossed in staring at the strange black box sitting in front of him,
craning his neck to get a better look. It was like a child questioning a new
toy or gadget that had been brought home, curious as to what it could do. It occurred
to me that he was oblivious to such technology, since most of his earth bound life
was spent away from such things. I had lived with such luxuries, while he never
had the chance. Looking at his reaction, I began to think about other things I
could introduce him to.

After
removing the majority of the caked-on filth, I plugged it in and turned it on,
waiting for the picture tube to heat up enough to display anything. Eventually,
the faded images became clearer and the sounds of conversation erupted loudly,
causing Job to jump back, tugging at the broken bones in his leg, causing a
hiss of pain to escape his lips. I turned the volume down as quickly as I could,
before he tried to drag himself over the back of the sleeper and hide from the
noise it was making. It wasn’t right to laugh at him, but seeing his reaction, I
couldn’t help myself, as awful as that might be.

He
wasn’t at all pleased and flashed me a look of disgust for laughing at his
expense. It only caused the laughter to grow in me till I was almost busting at
the seams trying to hold it back. He finally caught on that his reaction was
over the top and smiled at me, still looking warily at the television in front
of him.

“It’s
not going to bite you,” I said, calming my fits of laughter. “It’s a
television. You can watch shows on it and hopefully pick up some habits other
than my own. I think I lost the remote, but I’ll get one when I go out
Wednesday.”

I
had forgotten that he didn’t even know what a remote was or how it functioned,
but decided he could be shown soon enough. He seemed a little more relaxed,
watching the pictures move along the screen. There was a baseball game playing.
I had never followed the sport close enough to know the players. It looked like
the Pirates, but I wasn’t sure who the team in red and white pinstripes was. It
quickly changed to the news and a discussion about the game, which must have
taken place earlier. I flipped the channel to something less drab and found a
movie already underway.

 “You
can watch this while I’m gone so you don’t get so bored.”

He
was already absorbed in the show, hanging on every word the characters were
saying. I had a brief vision of him sitting in an easy chair – beer in one hand,
remote in the other – glued to the TV, yelling to some unknown person, “Where’s
my dinner?” I had to shake the thought, not wanting to believe that the
television’s introduction could ever lead him to become that person.

He
pulled himself away long enough to bring his focus back on me.

“Where
are you going? I thought you would stay?”

I
had forgotten to mention that I would have to leave the house during the week
and that he would be alone each day.

“I
have to work. I’ll only be gone for a small amount of time, and I promise I
won’t go on any more dates without your approval from now on.”

Once
again, he was not thrilled with the answer I had given. Even though I was
joking, he knew that his reaction the night before was still something that had
struck a nerve. He tried to pretend that I hadn’t said anything and went back
to his show, studying each character and their mannerisms. I sat back down and
watched with him, uninterested in the show but curious about the man he was
going to become once he had the confidence to be himself. I kept looking back
at him, watching him mouth the words as each actor said them, picking up as
much as he could. Occasionally, I would turn back to the show, acting as though
I was engaged in the movie. From the corner of my eye, I could see that he was
doing the same thing.

I
returned home from my first day back at the inn, exhausted by a confrontation I
had had with a guest who had apparently reserved her room under the impression
she would have a private bathroom. After thoroughly explaining everything that
was stated in the brochure and on the website, she seemed content, and returned
to her room – only to call back down a dozen times to complain about every
amenity we had to offer. During the last few calls from her – criticizing everything
from the temperature of the water to the fluff of the pillows – I had offered her
a full refund if she wanted to leave. I had positioned the offer in a manner
that was more than appropriate, yet she rained down on me that I was attempting
to throw her out merely because of her simple requests. I never saw the end of that
argument, since Sally had taken over where I had left off, letting me escape
before the woman could set me off.

I
took my time getting downstairs for my visit, making the assumption that Job
would be just as enwrapped in watching the television as he had been the previous
night. Dinner had been planned out earlier, and the roast already thawed in the
fridge would make an easy meal by adding potatoes, carrots and some onions. I
got everything together and in the oven before taking a bottle of water and another
bag of ice down to him. The roast would take an hour to cook, giving me plenty
of time to find out what he had done with his day. I was anxious to see what he
had learned.

The
television had not been a well thought-out idea. I had banked on the plan that
it would work as a great distraction for the times I would be away. It would
keep him occupied, while at the same time giving him a chance to learn what I
couldn’t teach him in such a short period, killing two birds with one stone…or
so I thought. What I had neglected to remember was the fact that some of the
shows that came on during the day may have been less than desirable to watch.
Combining that with the lack of a remote to bypass these types of shows had
some negative consequences.

There
should have been voices coming from the television, but I could only hear the
hiss of snow. I was curious if this was him talking or a loose cable. As I came
closer, I could see the chair was out of place, but the TV remained pushed
against the back of the chair, keeping it from falling on the floor. His
pillows had been scattered once again, along with the comforter and any other
inanimate object he could throw. The empty plate that had held his breakfast
lay smashed on the ground, scattering shards of plate and bits of food around
the room. The glass had been broken and strewn across the bed and the floor as
well.

Even
Job was lying catty-corner in bed, his good leg hanging off the edge, and he was
still seething over whatever had driven him into a frenzy to destroy the room.
His arm was across his face, covering his eyes; dried blood stained the creases
of his hand, still closed tight around a piece of glass. He heard me coming,
cracking porcelain under my shoes.

“Turn
it off,” he said, more of an order then a request. I didn’t hesitate and kicked
the cord loose from the wall. The immediate silence filled the room. I could
only hear him breathing while I held mine, waiting for his next move.

He
lay still, not showing any sign of wanting to move. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“It’s
ok. I’m not worried about the mess. Are you alright?”

“I’m
better now. I really am sorry.” There was more empathy in his voice the second
time, even as he remained motionless.

“Well,
let me get you in order before I start cleaning up. It looks like you cut your
hand pretty bad. I can call Sally to come–”

“No.
I don’t want her to see me like this.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t want
you to see me like this.”

I
could hear how distraught he was over the tantrum he had thrown, even if I
couldn’t see it in his eyes.

“I
already saw, and I don’t care. Whatever happened, you don’t have to tell me.
Just let me get you fixed up and if you want to be alone, I can leave. I don’t
have to stay.”

I
had already begun to pull the first-aid kit from its place under the bed,
transferring it to the end so I could rummage for antiseptic and bandages. We were
low on gauze and a few other supplies, but I managed to scrape together enough
to cover his hand – as long as he hadn’t done too much to it in his rage.

He
had moved his arm away from his face, holding it out, waiting for me to start.
I positioned myself next to him on the bed and held his hand in my lap to get a
better look. As he uncurled his fingers, I could see the large piece of glass had
imbedded itself into his skin, across his palm. It wasn’t deep, but as soon as
it was removed, it started a fresh flow of blood, filling up the hole it had
left. I wiped away as much as I could before squeezing out a sample-sized
amount of ointment into the hole and holding the gauze over it.

He
didn’t flinch once during the process; he just lay there, watching me as I went
along, taping up his hand. I finished the treatment, but didn’t let go of his
hand, allowing it to rest in my lap while I continued to hold pressure. His
hands were so soft, unlike most guys that had worked outdoors for years. Chase
had calluses so thick I would catch him picking at them while eating dinner,
making me cringe each time. Something was completely different about his. Job’s
hand was so smooth I had to feel along his fingers to make sure I had been
right. Even then I wasn’t sure and took a closer look.

“You
don’t have any fingerprints?” I asked.

“What’s
that?”

Apparently
he hadn’t caught any investigative shows, where they would always dust for
fingerprints to catch the criminal. I showed him my hand so he could see my
fingers and the swirls of skin forming lines that only belonged to me.

He
lifted his hand out of my lap, flexing his bicep to show me the back of his
arm. I had seen them before, but never knew that the pattern of speckles that
streaked down his arms was the same as my prints. I ran my fingers over them;
they were just as soft as the rest of his skin. Being such a pale brown, I hardly
noticed them against his tan skin. They were stunning, the way they gradually
started at the shoulder and became more prominent along his triceps, fading
away again just above the elbow. He could see I was intrigued by the design and
smiled at me, pushing himself back up to a seated position and leaning forward
so I could see the rest along his back.

There
was another set of trails that started near his neck, following his hairline down
along either side. Where his hair ended in a V between his shoulder blades, the
tracks continued down to his lower back, joining together just before his
jeans. They seemed to flow along the contours of his frame, emphasizing his
muscular build even more than without them. I couldn’t help but lean in closer
to trace my fingers along them, stopping just before they connected. The
feeling must have sent a shiver down his spine, as he arched his back, drawing
his shoulders up.

“Sorry.
They are just so beautiful, much better then stupid swirly marks on my
fingers.” I wiggled my fingers at him.

He
smiled back at me over his shoulder, taking my hand to have a closer look. His
soft finger ran over mine, sending shivers down my spine as well. It was hard
to resist the urge to want to get closer and curl up next to him again. I had
to distract myself so that I wouldn’t be so obvious.

“I
have to ask. How do you have such nice nails? I have to work at it every day to
keep them filed. Yours look like you had a manicure.”

“I’m
not sure what a manicure is, but they don’t grow like yours. They are just
there.” He showed me.

“And
the hair? You don’t have to shave or get a haircut?”

“Nope.”

“And
the glimmer in your eyes?”

“I
can see in the dark.”

“Anything
else?”

“I’m
sure there is,” he replied, hinting that he knew more than he was letting on.

I
could feel myself being drawn closer to him after each question, staring at his
eyes again – his sweet breath on me, giving me more reason to be near him.

Before
I could get too close, he turned his head away, laughing at my reaction. “I
don’t want you to go. You can stay as long as you want.”

I
knew this was an invite that had deeper meaning that just a simple friendly
visit. I could feel the same emotion building up inside me – but it was abruptly
stopped by the fear of giving too much of myself to him, just to have him leave
me. I moved away from him, taking my hand back. I needed to keep my distance
and he was making it that much harder. I knew that if I gave in, I would only
be setting myself up for disaster. He couldn’t hide in my basement forever; he
would need to leave, and I would be left alone to pick up the pieces. Already I
knew I was going to have to live with losing him as a friend. I wasn’t sure if
I could survive a loss greater than that. The last one had crippled me for over
five years, and I was still coming to terms with the grief. I had no choice
other than to stop it before it could start, and hope that he would understand.

“Job,
I’m sorry.”

He
looked back at me, smiling, but clearly disappointed. It looked like one of my
half-hearted smiles I knew all too well. “Is it the…not human thing?”

He
may have forgiven, but he did not forget. I still regretted having said it. I
wished those words had never left my mouth. He had to have known by now that it
made no difference where he was from. It was my fear that was stopping me from
going any further.

“No.
I’m just not…not ready.”

That
still left the door ajar so that some hope could shine through for him. He
looked satisfied with my answer, nodding his head with approval. It seemed to
work for the time being, and I would be able to get through the next few weeks
without hurting his feelings any further.

Before
getting dinner, I helped him get rearranged on the bed so he could sit comfortably
again. Sliding him back across the bed was difficult, and I wondered how he had
gotten himself there on his own in the first place. My only assumption was that
the task of taking out the TV had driven him to move that far, and he had only come
to a halt when the pain overtook his anger, reminding him how bad of an idea it
had been. I did the best I could to brace his leg so he could scoot himself
back to where he had started, still leaving room for me to sit next to him at
my leisure. I cleaned off the pillows and comforter, removing the slivers of
glass that were stuck to them, and tossed everything back at him, letting him
know that since he had figured out how to get his leg back up once, he could do
it himself this time as well. A chuckle escaped him, knowing I was right, and I
walked away so I didn’t have to listen to any more gasps as he maneuvered the
fractured leg back into its resting place.

Carrying
everything back down was a balancing act, between the dishes of food and silverware
in one hand, a dustpan and broom in the other, and two cans of soda cradled in
the crook of my arm. I thought briefly that I should have become a server since
I had so much coordination. I wondered about the pay, and if it would be better
than working at an inn. As enticing as it sounded, though, I could never leave
Sally to run the place on her own. It was part of the reason I never got up and
moved away like I had dreamed so many times. I was still hanging on to the only
family I had left.

Dinner
was mostly in silence, other than the occasional sounds of approval Job gave as
he ate each mouthful, chewing slower than usual. I actually finished before he did
for a change, and watched him take his last bite, leaving only the onions on
the plate – the first time I had ever seen him turn down something I made.

“You
don’t like onions?” I asked.

He
made a disgusted face, as though the thought of them made him sick. It was
funny to see how he turned his nose up at them. I made a mental note to exclude
them from his meals from now on.

I
set the plates down on the chair and picked up my broom, working my way around
the room, sweeping together any pieces of glass or plate I could find and
brushing them into the dustpan. It took me only a few minutes with such a small
space, and I was ready to go back up and dispose of them. I could see Job had
lost his humor again and was thinking hard on something, growing somber. I
waited to see if he was going to say anything.

“I
saw a news story on my people…the Sayner. They were showing things they had
done to them. Some of them were being tor–” He couldn’t continue.

 This
had been the thing that had enraged him and caused him to act out so violently.
It was tearing him up just thinking about it.

Some
countries had found unique and horrific ways to dispose of them. A few had gone
so far as to broadcast the slaying of the Sayner, which became very popular in
most countries, prompting them to continue as their ratings grew. Others, like
the United States, had enslaved them, forcing them to work the lowest of jobs.
It was a sick world we lived in, and I had removed myself from watching it a long
time ago. I had forgotten that he had no choice when he couldn’t turn off the
television.