They had survived--somehow; had stuck together--somehow, for three very foggy, very fuck-up years, living scarsely and scarsely living. Julia, legally medicated, spent most of the first months after losing her daughter and her job rockin’ in that fucking chair that was most comfortable when she was pregnant, listless and lifeless. Jack was the same when the mic pot was off. Their only ventures out into the ugly real world were to tend to her parents who were themselves broken, or to run (plod through) errands. Life—ha!—goes on.
As a last feeble attempt back to sanity before throwing in the towel, the kitchen sink, and just everything altogether, the Mayhews bought their first computer in the autumn of 1996. It took Julia a few minutes to figure out how to turn it on; once she did, her immersion into something positive began to take hold. She was learning how the hardware worked, what software was. It was the start of my second half of life, she later admitted. Her lifeline back from her long walk in space was a Cat5 cable!
2
Thanksgiving 1997, and Jack and Julia tried, truly tried, to have a normal feast, even though nothing in their lives was normal anymore and never would be. They fought through emotions while the turkey baked, the yams mashed, and the table set for two. The dam burst when they sat down to eat and that empty chair--that damn empty chair!--put the kibosh on dinner. They will try again next year, but after this holiday test run, they knew another Christmas wouldn’t exist next month, either.
Julia went back to her computer desk to lose herself in ones and zeroes, and Jack turned on the tube to watch the Lions lose again. He was seeing a lot of Julia’s back lately, but that was fine. She was learning what this did, what that didn’t. Focused. Determined. Lost in something good.
Waiting for the machine to boot up a few lines of pixels at a time with the slow dial-up connection, she looked over the yard to their neighbor’s house. No cars, no kids again this year. Wonder if she was invited out to family or is home alone.
“Hey Jack, let’s fix up a couple plates and take it over to Betz and Billy. No use this food going to waste.”
They did and the two were home, as if it were just another Thursday. “Thanks a million, guys, this looks delicious,” Betz’s voice quivered, tears forming. “So nice to be remembered.”
“Remembered...like you remembered us when we needed it. Thanks, Betz,” Jack replied. They bearhugged.
Unlike her husband who died almost twenty years before, Betsy “Betz” Langdon’s last meal of traditional Thanksgiving fare was a most savory one.
3
Funerals, like holidays and weddings, were scratched off the Mayhew’s “too-painful-to-attend” list, so Jack and Julia stayed home from Betz’s. The Review reported that it was held at the mortuary, as the deceased was not affiliated with any religious denomination, and was sparsely attended by family members and a few old friends (aka, her old drinking buddies who were still sunny-side up).
She had died of natural causes, peacefully in her sleep. Retired from the pen company in ’83 after 35 years of faithful service. Her husband, Eldon preceded her in death; together they had three children (who expressed in their eulogies what a loving, wonderful mother she had been--forced accolades always reserved for the dead, no matter how they felt about them in life. Where were they at Thanksgiving four lousy days ago?). Laid to rest in peace. She will be missed by all.
Jack was especially verklempt at losing his old friend; especially when seeing that the front porch was already void of the two frayed and rusty lawn chairs and the free-standing ashtray that perpetually ranneth over when the two were in full chatter, removed the day after she was buried.
She had touched his heart as few people did in life with her blunt honesty, her wicked humor, her generosity, and, above all, for her sticking by him and Julia after Angie’s death, when other “friends” had long faded away. Betsy Langdon was a good person. A survivor. He will miss her. Cackle.
4
After Betz was laid to rest, her grave marked by the chintziest tombstone the mortuary had to offer, the last remaining details of her life were cleaning up and selling off the property at 2nd and Cottonwood.
Removing her personal stuff did not take as long as removing Sarah Winchester’s assets--a single pick-up truck load of poorness destined for the burn pile outside town was about it. After 45 years of habituation and with three latchkey kids banging around the place, and the hangout for after school parties, the house had seen better days.
The front porch was becoming a termite smorgasbord, the gold shag in the small front room filthy, the faded and stained floral print furniture ripped and tattered, the fist-sized holes through the paneled walls—victims of Billy’s temper—gaping. Add to this a roof that was beginning to leak, exterior paint that was peeling and a garage that seemed suspended by spider webs. With several houses for sale in town, all much nicer, and appraised for just a little more than their parents’ original purchase price, the heirs didn’t know what to do with it.
Doug the oldest, long divorced from his high school teenage bride and remarried to a dancer at an after-hours Gulfport strip joint, didn’t want the damn thing--too much noise living by the highway and in the center of town; plus it has less room for their five kids than the trailer house does out here in Owl Hollow. Out here, the little bastards play in the bluffs, explore the woods. Shhh. . . keep quiet. Mama’s sleeping cuz she has to go to work at midnight.
His idea of renting it out was quickly dashed when he saw the place. . . during a thunderstorm. The kitchen’s water-stained vintage wallpaper of apples and oranges and pineapples and cherries was getting wet, as the rain found its way under broken shingles into the kitchen.
The living room was in no better shape; the bathroom, worse. He argued that it would take more money making the dump habitable than they could get for rent. He suggested they offer it up to the voluntary fire department for burn practice, sell the corner lot for what they could get, and divide the profits three ways. “Might be enough for a kegger at our house,” he told his sibs.
Robbie, the veterinarian, wanted the place like a dog wants fleas. He had just built his family a new ranch-style house with horse stables overlooking Lake Linda. Besides, his boyhood house made him sad; after all, his dad died when he was young. And now, just visiting the place, he felt the knots in his stomach churn together as they did as a schoolboy, remembering running home from the Castle, exhausted and relieved and safe from the stalking bullies chasing him shouting, “When we catch you, we’re gonna beat you like a dead horse, Doctor Dumbass DooLittle!” The same bullies who sneaked up to his rabbit hutch by the garage one night, doused it with gas and Bic’d it. Then there were Doug’s booze parties and the moaning and groaning coming from his sister’s room after school, lingering disdain for them that he carried into adulthood.
Janey found a husband (three in fact, all ending in divorce) and was now preparing to take another trip down the wood-worn wedding aisle. She met #4 on a Web dating site and was moving to Gilroy, Arizona, to start their happy life together (the burgeoning home-pc revolution was just breaking out. Besides gaining information in the blink of a chip, users could find true love, download a ton of free music (illegally!), and, next on the horizon, even hold intelligent discussions with complete strangers by joining a revolutionary new Internet platform called MySpace!). She was finally getting out of Squaresville, U. S. Fucking-A, and was giving the middle finger to all the busy-bodies in town. There was no way on God’s purple Earth she was hanging around this two-bit gossip mill for that shit-hole where she was “raised.”
“But Billy, poor Billy, who tries so hard, but seems to get nowhere--we can’t throw him out with no job or no money.” Her idea was to let her son continue to live there for free, but do some renovation work so maybe they could sell the house later. Besides he had his Rottweiler and who would rent him a place with a dog with such an (undeserved) reputation?
“Let’s let him live here a few months and see how it goes,” she suggested. “Just til he gets back on his feet.”
It was agreed that Billy Langdon could stay. Temporarily.
5
His grandmother’s memory was scrubbed from the house in no time when, as the first order of business, Billy’s girlfriend from Fort Madison moved in. Down came Betz’ 1970s macrame planters. Up went Metallica posters. Betz’s porcelain bunny collection and other dust collecting knicky-knacks on the hutch were tossed in the trash because girlfriend hated porcelain bunnies and other dust collecting knicky-knacks--shit like that was for old bitches and she was only 20.
After she got moved in (emptied a trash bag on the dirty gold shag), girlfriend teased Billy about her “special housewarming present” she was going to bestow on him later, but first, she asked, “How about some boner powder to make it last?” She pulled a small vial from her jeans pocket and tapped it on the table.
Billy Langdon had a lot of vices and overindulgences, but methamphetamine was not one of them. “How can you snort that stuff, Stace, then stay up all night all jittery and shit? No thanks, I told ya a thousand times I’ll stick with some beers and my bong. Sniff away, babe!”
“C’mon, Big Boy--you’re always bragging’ to your friends how you’ll try anything once. Where’s your balls, now?” Just try one little itty-bitty line. C’mon. For me, Mr. Balls?” She was forming two white rails while tempting.
“Okay, just this once. Just because you’re here now, babe.” He gave her a kiss, she handed him the straw, and Billy Langdon found heaven.
6
Meth-ihkwiwi
Methamphetamine, with the street names of chalk, crank, ice, glass, crystal, speed, poor man’s coke, and yuck is a highly addictive drug with potent central nervous stimulant properties that can be swallowed, snorted, injected, or smoked. To intensify the effects, users may take higher doses of the drug, take it more frequently, or change their method of intake.
Those who smoke or inject it report a brief, intense sensation, or rush. Oral ingestion or snorting produces a long-lasting high, which reportedly can continue for as long as half a day. Both the rush and the high result from the release of very high levels of the neurotransmitter dopamine into areas of the brain that regulate feelings of pleasure.The effect lasts longer than with cocaine, it is cheaper, and it is easy to make with commonly available ingredients.
Discovered in the late 19th century, amphetamine was first used as a nasal decongestant and a respiratory stimulator; during World War II, methamphetamine--similar in structure to amphetamine--was used to keep military personnel alert and to improve endurance and mood. In time, it became clear that methamphetamine was dangerously addictive. In the 1970s, the drug was added to the schedule II list of controlled substances. Methamphetamine is illegal except when it is prescribed by a physician for a very limited number of medical conditions.
Taking even small amounts of meth can result in increased wakefulness, increased physical activity, decreased appetite, rapid breathing and a jack-hammering heart rate. Recreationally, the drug’s aphrodisiac properties enable engaging in intense sexual activity for longer periods of time.
These “benefits” can easily slippery slope into abuse: chronic meth users can exhibit violent behavior, anxiety, confusion, insomnia, and psychotic features including paranoia, aggression, visual and auditory hallucinations, mood disturbances, and delusion such as the sensation of insects creeping on or under the skin. Such paranoia can result in homicidal or suicidal thoughts.
High doses can elevate body temperature to dangerous, sometimes lethal, levels, and cause convulsions and even cardiovascular collapse and death. Meth use may also cause extreme anorexia, memory loss, and severe dental problems. High doses may result in death from stroke, heart attack, or multiple organ problems caused by overheating.
Heaven.
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