Sweet Adaline

Chapter Twenty-Four

"Thank you so, so much!" Adaline exclaimed "Really!" Shuffling her shopping bags and purse around, she leaned in and affectionately embraced Angela and stepped out of the car front of her favorite coffee shop.
"Hey, if you need to get a hold of me, here's my pager number." Angela said, leaning across the passenger seat to hand Adaline a folded slip of paper. "If you need anything... Someone to come pick you up, escape from the house, anything. Even just someone to talk to, to listen," Angela went on, "Anything..." Adaline smiled, taking the paper.
"I'll call. Totally!" Adaline said, beaming.
"Just make sure you leave a voice message. I'll never call if all I get is a number. I'm terrible about that."
"Then you sure you don't want your phone. If..."
"Adaline!" She interrupted. "Take the damn phone." She sternly insisted. Adaline slipped Angela's cell phone back into her new purse.
"Alright, alright. Just put the gun down." Adaline playfully diffused her. "I guess I'll see you soon," She turned and headed for the entrance, her sleek mocha hair flirting with the cool wind.
"Oh," Angela shouted from the vehicle, "I put something in the side pocket. Coffee's on me love." They shared a smile. She wanted again to say thank you, but Angela was already pulling out to the road when she'd realAngieed what Angela had done. She glowed.
Inside, Adaline sat down by her favorite table by the window, looking out onto the street. She'd spent hours there alone, staring out at the transients that would amble by like the walking dead. She'd imagine herself as one of them. She believed, extracted from their reality, safe behind her pane of glass, she could relate. She'd dwell on all the things they'd have in common. She'd imagine herself out there, free from Jack and his insulting stare. She thought about home and how, even though her bed is soft and warm, it would be so liberating to never have to sleep in it again. She didn't think of where she'd go or how she'd live. That was irrelevant because, despite the fantasy, to be alone in the world was one of her greatest fears. To be forgotten, the ways those men were, filthy and tired, would be worse than death. She already knew well enough, the feeling of being nothing but an ugly scar.
She pitied them, loveless and alone, and imagined their lives. She'd see them asleep on concrete benches and behind buildings like the rug store on Speedway and all over the sidewalk, Downtown. Those were the ones that never said anything. They didn't even ask for change. It's like they just gave up on life completely, sound asleep, erased. It made her sick to think, one day nobody would come looking for her, just the way nobody searched for them. It was a feeling that had begun to stir in her right then, in her comfort zone, at her table, behind her safety glass. It was possible now that she, indeed, had no home. She was closer to the walking dead than ever before, and there were none around to watch her fall into her world. This hell she dwelled on was even lonelier now than she'd first imagined.
She pulled from her handbag the small heavy flip phone dressed in black leather. It was just larger than her fist, and felt like a fortune in her hands. She didn't know anyone that had one. Not personally at least. They were absurdly expensive and entirely unnecessary.
In her hands however, it was something to behold. She flipped it open and stared at it's daunting keypad. "How do I use this thing?" She thought to herself. She dialed in Brian's number. "Then what?" She thought, looking at a foreign button that said "send" in green lettering. She pressed it. Nothing. She was instantly frustrated and shoved it in her bag, sat back and huffed. "Fuck technology!" she mumbled and glowered at the purse. Then she remembered something Angela had said. She popped the magnetic button opening the side flap on the purse, and withdrew a thin stack of twenties. Her heart skipped with excitement. She counted two hundred dollars, folded the bills and clung tightly to them as she beamed. Nothing could defeat her, she thought. Sure, money's nothing. Nothing but money. And when you got no money, a couple hundred makes your world go round.
She shoved the bills into her pocket and went straight to the pay phone. She plugged in the change, and as the phone rang, she turned to stare out at the mercury sky. Brian answered before it rang twice.
"Yeah?" he said blandly.
"Hey baby," Adaline replied. She pressed her shoulder against the brick wall, concocting privacy from the rest of the java junkies. "I missed you." She said, melting breathy words into the black reciever. Brian was instantly love stoned with his fix of her. Adaline's heart fluttered knowing Brian was on the other end thinking of her and her alone. She imagined what he looked like with his mauve cordless phone pressed against his head. Maybe he was laying on his bed, the way she so often would for hours just listening to him breathe. She felt so warm inside she could collapse from the sound of his rough but sweet voice.
"I missed you too, angel. I've been missing you so bad all day. Where were you?" He asked, then realAngieing how overbearing he must have sounded, and went right to work to amend his inquiries. "I mean, I kept hoping I could hear your voice. I've been aching to hear from you." He paused, planning the surface to lay it down blatantly, unmistakably certain. "I love you, Adaline." The silence thereafter was minute, although it was dank. His words shook her spirit from the stone of her core. With her spirit, shook her voice.
"I need you Brian. I need to see you right now. I really need you. I'm at coffee. Can you come get me?" She pleaded, on the brink of collapse. She clung to the phone with both hands.
"Yes, yes love. I'll be..." Suddenly he realAngieed, "I can't. My mom's out with Janet. Shit!" Brian thought frantically. He could make it on the bus... in maybe an hour. That wouldn't do anything for her. She needed him immediately, and he shared the feeling. He thought to himself, this is the chance to show her nobody else could be for her what he could be. What he wanted more than anything to be. "Shit! Shit! Shit!" he exclaimed in panic. "I don't know angel."
"I think I know." She responded, pulling herself together.
"What?" He asked, stranded in his frenzy. "Your step-mom?"
"No. She just left." Adaline replied. "Ash. He lives like two minutes from here. I'll just have him bring me over." She said. Silence. Brian's panic went into overdrive. Ash! That mother fucker!
"Is that ok?" Adaline asked, picking up on Brian's apprehension.
"Um, yeah." Brian replied uneasily. Fuck! No escape from it. He cursed his mother and her bitch girlfriend for wanting to spend time with each other on a Friday afternoon. If only he had his own car. His own car like Ash. There would be no Ash. Everything could be perfect and he'd already be with her, the only thing he ever cared about.
"What's wrong?" she inquired, oblivious. He sparked back anxiously against the carefree facade he'd worked so hard to maintain. Over the past few days he'd worked his hardest, as her dreams became more and more intense.
"Nothing. That's a really good idea. Can you just call me when you get there?" He replied, knowing exactly how needy he must have sounded. "Please?"
"Ok," She said unsure of the tonal change of the conversation. That cholesterol feeling thickened again for a moment, and then she pushed it away. "I'll call as soon as I can. I love you," she said, and then hung up the phone.
Adaline was confident that I'd be right where I always was. Cooped up in my wretched apartment, wasting away. Probably putting that still of mine to damn good use. Something didn't feel right when she mentioned me on the phone with Brian. Her skin gave a curious constriction, and she felt as though gravity just doubled it's pull. At first she assumed it was Brian's tone, but the more thought she invested, the more the feeling pestered her. Again she dropped coins into the machine. This time she dialed up my number.
It rang and it rang until she got the automated message I never bothered to record over. She hung up and rang it again. I answered in four rings, disoriented. My words were short, guttural and breathy.
"You don't sound good. You want me to come over," she asked, concerned. She sensed my despair, but no matter how she pressed her words against my ear, I refused to let her come. Precious girl. She never took "No" for an answer. It never did much for me either.
She hung up the phone as lightening streaked the sky and two oceans of deep undulating grays finished off their consumption of any waning rays of the afternoon sun. Moments later, thunder cracked, summoning the rain. It came on like no other storm of this season of monsoon. It moved across the road in waves, consuming every ray of light and every shadow. In the storm outside, nothing seemed tangible. Only the furious onslaught of wave after wave, beyond the glass which it beat ferociously.
Adaline stood mesmerAngieed. She thought about the homeless for a moment, and where they might have gone. Was there a shelter nearby? Did they make it in time? Then she thought about rats. She had thought it was somewhat unusual that she had not seen a single vagrant on the roads all day. Rats, she thought. She imagined herself on the streets right then, and wondered if she'd survive.
There was never a better time for a mocha. The usual snide asshole wasn't behind the counter. It was man with long wavy black hair, barely peppered, tied back loosely away from his eyes. He was older than he looked. It was his eyes that drew you in, and made him ageless behind them. There was something feline about his gentle confidence. His face was creased with gentle smile lines and hard crows feet that made him somehow exotic.
She tossed her order to him. "Can I get a tall amaretto mocha," she said, "iced." He looked at her with the slightest hint of curious humor. His eyes said it all. He spoke.
"You sure you don't want it hot? It's only getting colder in here."
Adaline smiled. She knew it sounded odd.
"I don't really prefer hot coffee. I just usually like it cold?" She replied. "You know," Adaline continued, playfully. "If that's alright with you and all."
"I'd bet today you might want to make the exception." He watched her for response. She held her poker face. Their exchange was fun. "Ok." He resigned and swept the bar with his rag like some old fashioned barkeep. That's what he reminded her of. She watched as he loaded the grinds into the carrier and locked them into the machine, all the time imagining him doing so in a dark satin vest and white shirt with a garter on his arm.
"If you promise not to overdo it with the amaretto syrup." She said as he began to pull the espresso shots.
"Kiddo, I've been running this machine since you were five, I'd bet." He replied with disregard.
"I don't think I've ever seen you before, though." Adaline said, slightly perplexed.
"I own it." He said over the noise of the steaming milk. "I like to avoid the working aspect of it, if you get me."
"So what exactly are doing making my drink?" Adaline scoffed.
"Through an unfortunate turn, I'm left holding the bag for the next couple of days." He answered, focused on perfecting her drink. Adaline thought about the usual guy; what a complete asshole he was every time she came in. She even avoided going in on several occasions, purely based on the frustration of having to put up with his snide attitude when she'd tell him her simple order.
"Well I hope you find someone else to take the bag. Your usual guy's... well he's a bit less than cordial." She said without thinking twice. He raised his brow as he handed over her mocha.
"You're not the first to notice." He replied as he strolled out from behind the bar with a rag, wiping down tables as he made his way towards the window. "It's just too bad that I seem to have been the last to." Adaline strolled with him, warmed with his friendly conversation.
"I don't know. I always assumed he had an issue with me." She replied. He looked up from wiping down the table next to the window. He shook his head.
"No you didn't." he said. Adaline smiled with admission. He gave her a confirming nod, then faced the rain.
They stood together, and watched. It slowed for a moment or two at times, before picking up with a tumultuous flurry. In parts, it flew horAngieontal. They stood watching it for a time in the silence, adorned in white noise. The serenity of its sound, millions of drops striking the ground simultaneously and continuous. A cacophony of tiny explosions. The abstract harmony of commotion.
"No where else is it this beautiful." He said, more to himself than anyone else. "I feel more alive in these monsoons than anywhere else at any time." He said with joy in reminiscence.
"When I was younger, I used to imagine the rain as a kind of god itself, washing away all my guilt. I used to think it was..." he paused. He thought about his love for the desert and it's vibrancy. He thought about a that he felt most at peace with himself, when everything seemed crystal clear, lain out in simple thought. He wondered where it went and what had changed. He wondered why simple things like this business of his and the finances that kept him from getting out from under it, seemed so overwhelming. It didn't feel long ago at all, since he and friends would spend nights out in the nearby mountains, hiking trails and sleeping in the bosom of nature. Out there, he'd think about life and his dreams and ideas, and they all seemed so tangible he could imagine their textures. That is to say, he felt all the elements of every stage of every success, knowing just which path to take, and just where he'd end up.
Now, he could barely find himself on the weathered map of his mind. He felt as though his age had doubled, or maybe it just caught up with him. Whatever way it happened, something changed.
"I used to think rains like this would swallow you whole, and when they're done washing over, you're given the chance to start all over. That they give you the chance to recreate yourself however you can imagine, washing away all your blames and guilt." He exhaled. There was nothing more he thought to say. They stood for a moment more as the thoughts he'd introduced rooted.
"I believe it," Adaline replied, reserved. "Or, at least I want to." She drifted for a second. "You should write it." She said to him.
He turned towards her with an amiable, tired look of appreciation. "Someone should."
"What?" Adaline asked.
"But it ain't me babe." He said with a soft smile. "So, if you'll excuse me, I've got some chores to do. I can't expect other's to do work I don't do. I never liked those bosses." He smiled cordially.
"Yeah. The nerve." Adaline replied, with a shake. "By the way, awesome Mocha! Thanks."
He looked back as he closed the gate to the bar.
"Of course it is." he said with a grin. "You come back, I'll teach you how. " He gave a warm smile, and returned to the counter. Adaline absorbed the energy of their conversation, and the concept of purification. She thought about me out in that rain, shedding the guilt and misery I was so riddled with. She imagined my sadness washing away, if not forever, then at least for that moment. For a day, or an hour. Any time could help. She wanted that to be so, for me. The sadness she had felt since her new dreams began, those of Penny, was for me. She felt a need to help lift me from it. She knew I couldn't manage it myself. She. She'd never found it for herself, but was sick for the way to do it for me. The only way she knew was a way she couldn't fully comprehend. She survived because she adapted to it, was consumed by it and became something stronger. Adaline wanted something more me. She knew as well as I, that I was not as strong as she.
So, when the rain receded, and the sun reemerged, she gathered up her purse and returned to the phone in the back of the café. She pumped in the change, and dialed. It rang twice before he answered it.
"Adaline?" Brian answered anxiously. "Are you already there? I was so worried about you. The rain got so bad. It was like a hurricane or something! Are you alright?" He asked frantically, giving her no chance to speak until he completed.
"I'm fine." Adaline assured him warmly, almost giggling at his anxiety. "Don't get so worked up over me. I didn't go out in the rain." She assured. "I'm leaving right now. I love you." She said with a smile so bright, patrons noticed and shared it. Euphoria surged with a caffeine high that made her head buzz and hands shake, incapacitated and vibrantly alive.
"I love you too." He nearly sang, a fool from the fever of it. "I'll see you soon then?"
"I'll be there as soon as I can." She said. "Do I meet you...?"
"Just at my house. I think someone moved into the place across the street." Brian replied.
"Oh." Adaline said, disappointed. "Well that sucks. They moved into the model?"
"Yeah. I think so. There was a truck there all day yesterday. But one cool thing I noticed. I went over last night and one of the Construction workers must forgotten to lock the doors cause the sliding glass door in the back was open." Brian replied excitedly.
Brian lived in a housing development that was still very new. Most of the lots remained vacant, and several others were only half constructed. His house was flanked on both sides by open plots, begging for foundations. Only three other families that he knew of, had moved onto his block during the four months they'd lived there.
The rate at which the homes were constructed was fascinating to Brian; an interest he shared with Adaline. He'd become so intrigued that as they were built, he'd wander through the framework at night, as it was erected. It gave him the strangest feeling of omnipresence, strolling through another family's home, leaving faintest signature of himself, throughout. From there he became more and more curious.
In a cul-de-sac caddy corner to his mothers' home, was a fully furnished model home that was nearly identical to his own. He'd stroll through it on occasion, after school or on the weekend, walking the halls, backwards from his own, as they were designed. It dissolved the mystery he'd feel when he would pass a home, knowing nothing of it but a vague estimate of where the rooms might be, indicated by the windows. Large double windows might feed sunlight to a family room or dining room. Closed blinds on the second floor, most likely would be a bedroom. It was a passive game of deduction, of architectural strategAngieing. An idle pastime that emerged with the growing frequency of walks he'd take around the neighborhoods, just to get out of his mother's house.
To be fair, it was Janet's place, which she had purchased with the intent for the three of them to live in. Brian did his best to jive with Janet. It was easier when it was just the two of them, though. Just he and his mom, and Janet was just around all the time. They did their own things, but she didn't lose her cool as much. It was as if she was only concerned with what Janet thought. How Janet felt about his grades. How Janet felt about his mom's car and when he got pulled over. What Janet thought was a messy kitchen. Since when did Janet become his mom?
She never asked him what he wanted. Jesus! If it was his god damn choice he'd never have moved in. Their apartment was good enough for them since before Junior High. That was, until that uptight bitch came in and flipped it. All of a sudden, the neighborhood wasn't good enough and the place wasn't big enough. "It's not big enough for the three of us," she'd say. Well, no one said it needed to be. She promised. She promised it would always be just the two of them. No girlfriends. No other men. No more mistakes. She promised. She lied.
He took walks, reciting Shakespearean prose he'd memorAngieed. He'd cross through other new housing developments, imagining floor plans and décor as he passed each new home, thinking about Adaline Day. He would think about their first home. They wouldn't need something so extravagant. They'd joked about it on occasion. Something simple, small is all they'd want. An apartment in LA would work nicely, where he could pursue his dream to act and she could live where the jilted live. They'd be at home, untied and in love, as they believed was clandestine. But until then, he needed out. Out from under that woman's roof, that wicked bitch of the west.
Brian's a clever kid, no question there. He was clever enough to realAngiee, the developers had invested in the same company's garage doors, for every house on every block.
He, his mom and Janet, all had garage door openers. Simple remote devices.
He opened the cover and found a series of switches. He stood at the end of the nearby cul-de-sac, flicking switches and firing at the only two garages completed. That was what he wanted. A garage all his own, if only for a couple weeks or even days. An escape that would be untraceable, hidden from the world in some half constructed asylum. And although he knew the absurdity of his chances that he'd find the right code, one week earlier at 12:37 am Brian found his three-car sanctuary.
So, when the door at first lurched, and the unexpected sound of aluminum panes folding as they rolled into the roof, Brian was frozen in disbelief. A beat later he cautiously cased the neighborhood for flickering lights or voices. Nothing was seen or heard.
He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. He remained there for fifteen minutes at best, that first night. With a thick cloud he calmed his nerves and scattered his wits in the tepid atmosphere of concrete and exposed sheet rock. Once he'd found confidence in a carefree haze, he returned home with his secret, slipping into Janet's house. He'd bring Adaline the next night, where she'd play her guitar for him quietly. She played for him their song, Laudanum, by Letters to Cleo. She played everything else she knew, save one song. The one Foster wrote for her. That was only for her. She played it whenever she could, but never for anyone else.
"That's crazy! I'll be there in a little while. Not long, I promise!" She swore for the sake of his worried whimpering tone. They said their goodbyes again and again, until finally she got off the phone and flew out the coffee shop door. She'd spent more time than she'd thought on the phone. Her walk took longer than she had expected. It was still only minutes, but she was too anxious for patience. There was so much to say, so much to say.
The sight outside my door was ominous. My clothing was strewn about carelessly. Jeans on a chain link fence. A shirt in the grass. Boxers by my open car door. My Toyota, still idling, belted Begin by Toad The Wet Sprocket. The last track on her tape. The sight before her struck her more with fright than curiosity. She truthfully did not expect me to answer when she called to me through the door. But I did.
My voice was frail and my words were inebriated, but I rang clearer as the conversation went on. This was the night when the battle broke out of my mind and overtook me. Adaline knew this battle. It was one she fought through, was saved from and revisited again and again until the guilt within her was something she could own. In my voice was the whisper of something tremendous. In the rasp was the image of a man that spoke from across an abyss he'd just crossed, and survived on the other side of it. In the rasp was a sliver of hope.
Adaline's pressed her ear hard to the door.
"You want to save me," I spat, defiantly.
"No. I need you to carry me." she replied. What more did she know. Nothing. Only that I was an answer to some riddle she hadn't been told yet. I was the piece of her puzzle she'd given up looking for. It made perfect sense, but she didn't quite know how. Her words came untouched from the heart.
Just know that I am here, Adaline thought. You don't need to let me in. You've done that already. Just know me, she begged in her mind.
"Look at the white book by your guitar" She said, remembering suddenly that she'd left it. "Do you see it?"
"I didn't read it." I said.
"That's ok," she replied. "I want you to." It seemed so clear to her. It was I that would remember her. At the end of this crazy tailspin, when everyone's choices are made and there is no taking back, in the wasteland it will be I, alone, that will remember her. That was her reasoning.
There was little more for her to say. She'd spoken, and it was time to move on. She was in my hands, and I, no longer in hers. The car remained running, and I was in no shape to drive it. I need help too, she thought, piled her bags inside and closed the door.
"I'll be right back with it," she said as she pulled out and got out on the road. Though she'd learned the basics to driving from Brian and the simulators in Driver's Ed class, this was her first ride alone. She sat erect, clinging tight to the wheel as she pulled out on the main road. It was all she could do to relax in the seat, while trying to keep the wheel steady and remain at the correct speed. Still, the coffee coursed through her veins. Her fingers were cold in the chilly cab, as she rattled down the road, impatient for Brian to hold her.