HARMONY

Part 36 "Why wasn't there more sadness"

Drew tries to survive in The Hall... 

"Heard you fucked a retard." The thick Mexican kid leaned over the desk to be sure Drew heard him. "Fuckin Sicko."

"Quiet!" barked the teacher. "Pablo, sit up straight and work on your assignment."

Drew kept his head down. The letters on the "Character Counts" word search seemed to ridicule him. Without lifting his face, he looked from side to side to assure he was not attracting any more attention. The four old desks teetered with oversized students.

That morning Drew had set his two, five and ten year-goals, read testimonies about thugs who found God, took a personality inventory to determine he was best suited to be a brain-surgeon (that's a first, the teacher said) and wrote a paper titled "What I Want to Do Differently in my Life."  

Drew's paper was short. "Not be born."

***

Walking across the dirty Italian marble, Michelle wondered why there wasn't more sadness, more tugging of family memories. Instead, her freshly painted walls surrounded her with decay. She stood in an empty house that was never a home. 

A place once filled with stuff, with things. Not even things she liked, really.

She unlocked the office door. Here, in a 3 a.m. frenzy, she had thrown in the items not be sold. The scrapbooks started, the clay handprint, the Mother's Day water color Claire made in second grade. She touched the crispy edge. Or was that Drew in third grade? 

She flipped the picture over, but she didn't write a name or date. Because she thought she would remember. It must have been Drew; he always liked blue.

The narrow boxes of family photos haunted her. With movements as if she were pulling artifacts from smoldering ashes, she began looking the photos. She smiled at the baby pictures—Drew had such chubby cheeks. Claire always posing with a huge grin pointed right at the camera. 

As she sorted through the photos, she noted the smiles fading as the children grew. Her jaw was set tight as Steve stood further from the family—or was absent all together. Drew and Claire wore either a smirk or a blank glare.

Michelle's finger brushed against the glossy surface—the recent Christmas mornings with more gifts than would fit under the tree, the summer vacations, and the family outings. What happened? We should've been completely happy. We gave those kids everything—and they didn't appreciate it. Hell, did they ever say thank you? 

She pushed the photos back into the box. I shoulda kept family game night going. I shoulda made us go for walks together. Shit. What the hell happened to date night? 

She stood up and brushed her hands on her jeans. Dr. Oz can kiss my ass.

"Hello, Darling." The pitch echoed. "Knock knock. It's Goldee Locks. Anyone home?"

Michelle turned toward the voice. What could that bitch want? She stepped into the barren entryway. "Hello Felicia," she said. "So nice of you to stop by."

"I just want to say, well, to say how very sorry I am about Drew and your home and Steve and just everything that you have been going through."

"Thanks."

Felicia took a gaze around the house. "So, what is the news about Drew?"

"It's very complicated."

"That's what I've heard. Such a shame. He was a very good boy."

Michelle's fists tightened and her shoulders squared. "He's innocent."

"Of course." Felicia took a step back. "That's what everybody is saying."

"I don't give a damn what everybody's saying." Her fists pushed into her hips. "My son tried to help that poor girl."

"Please don't be upset with me." Another step back. "I came here to help you."

"Oh really? To help me pack?"

Felicia gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I could send Maria over for that. In fact, I'll have her come this afternoon just as soon as she's finished with the upstairs bathrooms and—"

Michelle bit her lower lip. "I'll be fine. You can leave."

With a curt turn, Felicia's heels clicked against the floor. She crossed her arms and looked down. "Michelle, I hate to bring this up, but would you happen to know anything about my diamond ring?"

With an unconscious gasp for breath, Michelle wavered. Shit. I forgot about that. Where is it? She knew her body language had just given Felicia the answer. And the satisfaction. 

She spoke in a falsetto voice. "I really don't know what...you're.. talking..." Michelle heard her own words, but it was as if someone else were speaking them. A someone whom she despised, even more than Felicia.

"Are you sure you haven't see it?" Felicia said with a smile. "Any where?"

Michelle measured her tone. "I took your goddamn diamond ring. I shoved it right in my bra." She reached her hand down her top and tugged her strap. "And I wanted to sell it, but I haven't had time."

"Oh?" Felicia unconsciously touched her own chest.

"And to be quite honest, I don't remember where the hell it is right now."

Felicia took a unsteady step. "I see."

"But when I find it," Michelle's face tightened, "I'll be sure to find you.  And smash it into the phony nasty smile of yours."

Felicia tapped her finger tips together and then touched her top once more. She took a few backward steps toward the door, almost slipping. Then she managed a smile. "Keep it," she said. "I'll probably never wear it anyway." She boarded her crimson Hummer and roared down the street.

Tears didn't seem appropriate, but Michelle cried anyway. Her chipped fingernails fumbled around objects. Using torn wads of newspaper, she tried to wrap and box her life. Enfolding the shattered bones of a once-thriving skeleton, she sorted emptiness.   

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