The Key to Everything (6 page)

Emily comes up behind you and stops. “What are you doing?”

“Do you see this?” You point at the key, looking back at her.

She looks down at your hand. “See what? It’s a stair.”

Frustrated, you raise your voice a little. “The key. It’s right there.” You try to grab it again, but your hand keeps passing right through it. 

“Ok, Auden. The doctor said you need rest.” She reaches out to help you stand up. “Why don’t you come back downstairs and we’ll have some dinner. Then you can take a nice long shower and I’ll rub your neck.” 

You look back at the stair and slowly stand up. “Yeah… yeah, that sounds good.” 

When you get down to the living room, Jeremy is still watching the sharks, and Emily is setting the table for dinner. Jason is standing on the couch staring right at you. Expressionless, he nods his head. Then he turns to the stairs, and quietly, you can hear him say, “Seven, Daddy. Seven.” He turns back to the television and sits down.

* * *

You finish singing to Jeremy. He was already asleep, but you enjoy singing to him anyway. There are only a few more years left when he’ll want you to. Making sure the fan is on for white noise, you leave the door open a sliver and head to Jason’s room.

He already has his pajamas on, but he is still putting his toys and books away. “Hey Daddy.” He picks up his favorite storybook, 1,001 Fairy Tales, and places it carefully on the left end of the top shelf. Unlike his messy little brother, Jason’s always been picky about where he puts his things. 

“Ready for bed, Jas?” Leaning against the doorframe, you watch him go through his routine. 

“I am now.” He puts the last Hot Wheel in its case and climbs into his racecar bed.

“Do you want a song or a story tonight?”

“I don’t want either one right now. I just want you to feel better.” At that, your heart melts. You sit down on the bed next to him and kiss his forehead. 

“You know, you’ve got a really good heart, buddy.” Holding your hand up, he gives you five, and then rolls over on his side and closes his eyes. “Don’t worry, Jason. I’m going to be just fine.”

Switching the light off, you stop in the doorway. “Hey Jason?”

Without rolling over he answers, “Yeah?”

“Why did you say ‘seven’ to me before? Do you remember saying that?”

He pulls the covers up over his head. After a few seconds you can hear him say, just above a whisper, “I don’t want to talk about it, Daddy. Goodnight night.”

Suddenly you feel bad for upsetting him. “Sorry, pal. I love you so much. Sleep good okay?” You close the door almost all the way and head down the hall.

* * *

You toss and turn for what seems like forever. Finally, all the noise and static in your head quiets down, and you fade into sleep. Everything is black. No sound, sight or scent. Floating. Full, complete nothing… a pregnant emptiness. The deepest relaxation ever. You know you are flying, but there is no wind or sense of gravity’s pull to let you know direction. Not up or down. Not front or back. Slowly and gently, there are brief caresses. First, one brushes across your cheek. Another one moves softly along the nape of your neck. Your palms feel as if they are being kissed. A wetness slides across the backs of your knees. Hours later, you feel a pressure right between your eyes. Sharp and unfriendly. Pushing harder, you struggle against the pressure holding you down. Skin cracks, and the lock breaks open between your eyes. You realize now that what crushes into your head is the key. It stabs in like a drill bit, not spinning. It doesn’t stop. It will not stop. You scream and struggle, but nothing moves when you tell it to. Your body is not responding to your commands. Trapped, a prisoner to the pain. There is nothing you can do but endure. The key rams further in, all the way to the wave-engraved hilt, and stops. It turns counterclockwise, spinning around slowly. One revolution… two revolutions… three revolutions… you feel your brain being twisted and mulched…four revolutions…you can’t scream anymore, the agony is so sharp…five revolutions… everything goes dark…six revolutions…you try to think of your family…

“Seven, Daddy, seven.” Jason’s voice jolts you awake. You leap out of bed, fighting to slow your heart and catch your breath. The sheets and your nightclothes are completely soaked with sweat. “Seven, Daddy, seven.” Jason’s voice sounds far away. He stands in the doorway, holding his hand out in the dark.

“Jason? Hey buddy, are you ok?” You shake your head to get out of the dream and start walking to your son. The clock on the night table reads 12:07.

“Seven, Daddy, seven.” Still reaching out in the darkness, he begins to back up into the hallway. 

Emily stirs and sits up, “Auden? What’s going on?”

You keep walking  toward Jason as he backs further away. “I don’t know. Jason’s sleepwalking, I think.”

“Seven, Daddy, seven.” Arm stretched out to nothing, he moves strangely backward, floating. The image of the boy blurs in the light shining up from the bottom of the stairs. 

“Hey Jason.” You clap your hands. “Wake up, pal.” Following him down the hallway, you notice he is getting closer to the stairs.

“What did he say?” Emily follows you into the hall.

“I think he’s saying ‘seven.’”

“What?”

“I have no idea. But he won’t wake up.”

“Seven, Daddy, seven.” Jason turns just before the stairs and begins backing into his room. Your heartbeat slows down a little in relief. 

“At least he won’t fall down the stairs,” you say, as Emily runs past you into Jason’s room.

“Jason.” She grabs his arms and shakes him hard. “Wake up, honey.”

“Seven, Daddy, seven.” His eyes stare blankly, with black, unfocused pupils completely dilated.

Jason sits down on his bed with his eyes stretched open. Stiff as a board, he lies back and pulls the covers up to his chin. Emily stands above him crying. Putting your arms around her from behind, you can feel her shaking. You can’t blame her. You’re scared out of your shit too. You don’t even bother trying to comfort her. 

“I’m going to throw up.” Emily pulls away and runs to the bathroom.

You head down the hall to help her and glance back at Jason. His head snaps hard to the right, and he stares directly into your eyes. 

“Seven, Daddy, seven. SEVEN DADDY SEVEN.SEVEN SEVEN SEVNSEVENSEVENSEVENSEVEN…”

You launch yourself at him, cradling him in your arms. “Jason. Wake up please. I’m right here.” You rock him back and forth. He feels cold. A stone.

“SEVENSEVENSEVENSEVENSEVENSEVEN…”

You don’t want to. The very idea of doing it brings a stabbing pain to your stomach. Your hand reaches out, swings through the air, and slaps him hard across the cheek. Immediate silence. Jason looks at you, stunned. He starts to sob, tears pouring down his face.

“Why did you hit me, Daddy?” He pushes you and recoils into the headboard. “Why did you hit me?”

Emily runs in the doorway and jumps over you to get to her child. “Shhhh, baby.” She reaches back to you with one hand and grabs your wrist. “You were having a really bad nightmare and Daddy was trying to help you.” She puts her hands on his face and looks right into his eyes. “Daddy and Mommy would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

“But he hit me in the face. I was asleep and he hit me in the face.” Bursting into uncontrollable sobs, Jason buries his face into his mother’s embrace. Feeling fear and shame beyond words, you get up from the bed. Rubbing your hands on the top of your head, you pace around the room.

“Fuck!” You slam your hand down on the top of the bookshelf, knocking the soccer-ball lamp and all of the books on the top shelf to the floor. “Just great.” You kneel down and start picking up the mess.

Jason’s words are muffled by Emily’s arms. “That’s another quarter for the swear jar, Daddy.” First a moment of silence, and then the three of you start laughing. It starts quietly, and Jason looks from you to Emily and back again. When it lets loose, it’s breath-stealing, foot-stomping, rolling-around-on-the-bed, tension-relieving hysterics.

You sit on the floor as tears roll from your eyes. Eventually you catch enough breath to say, “How about a dollar for this one, big guy?” Which just starts Jason and Emily laughing all over again. You stand up and resume putting the books back on the shelf. You leave
1,001 Fairy Tales
for last, just like Jason would. 

When you finally put it on the shelf, it doesn’t hit the back and stop. It keeps going into the wall. Through the wall like it wasn’t there anymore. You pull the book back out and grab the soccer-ball lamp. Aiming it down closer, you try to take a better look. You see a dark crack where the back of the bookshelf should be. You turn to make sure Emily and Jason aren’t watching, and slowly reach your hand into the darkness. It feels moist and scratches your fingers like brittle branches on a dead tree after a cold snow thaw. It opens slightly, welcoming you inside. You feel it pulling you in deeper. Confused and frightened, you’re screaming inside to stop and back away. Roaring to pull your hand back from the dark. Still, your hand slides deeper into the black. Farther than it should be able to. Your shoulder is pressed against the spines of the children’s books lining the top shelf. How can your hand still be moving further in? The branches dig deeper into your skin. Warm blood begins to flow down your forearm. Your panic finally takes hold, and you are about to retract your hand when you feel it. 

It’s cold and soft. It must be old, very old. You can feel the dust and something squishy like mold. You move your fingers a little to the side to get a good hold. There are no more brittle branches stabbing and scratching. You pull what looks like an ancient, dust-covered book off the shelf, as if it were resting there next to
Goodnight Moon
 the entire time. The blackened cover was probably expensive leather at one time. The faded string is still tied around the book, keeping secrets locked inside. If you were to pull the knot out, the entire thing would disintegrate. You reach down for
1,001 Fairy Tales
to put it back on the shelf, but it’s not on the floor. You look around for it and it’s already tucked away on the shelf, exactly where Jason likes it.

-4-

Auden: Not Safe

Jason is finally asleep. Emily sits with him on the bed, head in her lap, stroking his hair. You sit cross-legged on the floor next to the toy box, turning the old book around in your hands over and over. Afraid to open it, you run your index finger along the spine. The cracked and dry leather reminds you of Gram Aida’s skin when she was in the hospital. Emily looks at you to check in, and you nod that you’re ok. Keeping the book down in the dark, you move toward the door, motioning like you are drinking a glass of water. She nods and whispers, “Leave the light on, ok? I’m going to stay here.”

You blow a kiss and touch Jason’s shoulder, gently closing your eyes for a brief second. Emily grabs your fingers, squeezes gently, and goes back to soothing the boy’s head. Raising your hand, you show her the sign language for “I love you”, and she smiles. The pained look on both of their faces infuses every cell in your body with shame. 

Flicking the switch in the bathroom illuminates it with fluorescent light. You have to squint for a moment to let your eyes adjust. You put the book down on the shelf, and sit down on the toilet without lifting the lid. Everything plays back in your head. The vacant stare in Jason’s eyes, the hollow sound of his voice repeating, “Why did you hit me, Daddy?” You lose it. The sobs come, and your chest fights against the truckload of bricks being slammed into your stomach again and again. Your eyelids squeeze tight against the light, but somehow the tears make their way through and pour down your face. Mucous flows out of your nose and drips to your chest. Your legs quiver as your feet pound up and down on the floor uncontrollably, hands clenched in fists so tight your fingers might punch right through your palms. 

After what seems like an eternity, you finally catch your breath and regain a semblance of control. You open your eyes and lean against the shower door to your left. Hearing the shuffling of feet, you see Jeremy standing in the doorway.

“I have to pee,” he says groggily.

You wave him over and stand, lifting the lid for him. He drops his pajama pants all the way to the floor, and you have to move him a little closer to the toilet so he won’t miss the target. He weaves back and forth a little bit with his eyes still half-closed. He finishes and starts to walk away. After a step or two, he realizes his pants are still down around his ankles.

“Daddy…can you fix my pants?” He holds his arms straight up, and you kneel down to pull them up for him. “Thanks Daddy.”

“You’re welcome Jer. Do you want me to tuck you in again?” He shuffles out.

“No Daddy. I’m big now. I can go night by myself.” He leans against the wall until he gets to his door. “Goodnight night Daddy.”

“Goodnight night buddy. Sweet dreams.”

Your eyes are red, and you are covered in the remnants of crying. After a little warm water and soap, you almost feel clean. Putting the towel back on the rack, your hand reaches down for the book. Not quite sure what to do with it, you head down to the kitchen and sit down at the table with a bottle of beer. A cigarette would be so good right now, but you and Emily both quit after Gram Aida died.