Living Dead by Offer Reish (books for 9th graders txt) 📕

"What do you mean by that?" Lisa demanded, now on the offensive. The best defense! "How do I know it's not yours?"

"You know full well that this isn't mine. If it were, why in God's name would I bring it up? I'd have to be mentally ill to do such a senseless thing. My question was quite self-explanatory, and you haven't answered it yet."

"Are you accusing me of cheating on you?"

"What's your answer?"

But there was no answer. Until this very day I haven't received a straightforward answer. She stormed out of the room, leaving me with the bag of heroin in my hand and an intense mix of rage and concern in my heart. For weeks the matter wasn't broached again, but a pall of betrayal was hanging over the house. There couldn't be a bag filled with illegal drugs in our bedroom without either of us having a clue as to its origin. One of us was betraying the other. The narrow breach in our relationship eventually bridged like a tear in the skin whose two opposite edges reach over to cover and heal it, but unlike the naïve Lila I didn't let my guard down. She was apparently convinced that the bag had been hidden there by a particular friend of mine, a certain Jason Friggs, for whom she had very little respect. But she didn't know that he hadn't visited the house in months, and that in fact we'd been estranged due to her well-founded dislike for him. Yes, I know that friends mustn't be abandoned, not even in the name of love. But being the pragmatist that I am, and knowing that neither I nor Jason would be harmed by the breaking apart of our shallow friendship, I'd let him go without qualms.

It was perfectly clear to me that the bag hadn't been stashed there by any member of my party, so to speak. And since all of Lila's friends and our mutual acquaintances were too puritan to even smoke a cigarette, there was no ground for suspecting them. This left very few options on the table, and I watched them all carefully. Two weeks went by in which Lila seemed to have come to complete peace with the appearance of illicit substances in our bedroom, which in itself struck me as fairly alarming. I, on the other hand, remained constantly on the qui vive, not so much for another appearance of drugs as for any abnormal behavior on her part. It was the kind of fixation that sinks into your bones, swallows you and supersedes all else until it's been resolved; but how could it not be? Only if you have loved another with the same immaculateness as I have Lila can you comprehend the urgency of my state of mind. I knew even then that her love for me wasn't the same unadulterated, pure one I had for her, and it's for that reason alone that she remained so calm. And then it happened again.

For what reason I was going through the bottom drawer of her wardrobe I can't say for there now seems to have been no rational cause to do so, but God only knows what would've come of me if I hadn't! You see, in this particular drawer Lila kept her worst, or least liked, shoes. All women have at least ten pairs of shoes in their house, most own at least twenty. Lila owned thirty-odd pairs, and they only seemed to be stacking up as the years went by. Unfortunately she had trouble parting with old shoes or ones that she'd lost taste for, so she kept them in the wardrobe classified according to certain criteria that no man would understand. The bottom drawer held shoes that she hadn't worn in years and that I could swear on my love for her she would never wear again. So you can see why it strikes me as odd that I should even set my mind on such an insignificant part of the room, let alone go through it. Perhaps it was my detective instincts that guided me (and which were becoming sharper by the day); I experienced an egregious mingle of satisfaction and revulsion at the little plastic bag I found inside. Satisfaction at having outsmarted her, and revulsion at the realization of my worst fears.

She'd learned her lesson and warned her secret lover of my suspicion, but it never occurred to either of them that I was still suspicious and would be so bold as to go through her things. But what does a man not do in the name of love! Or, for that matter, for the sake of his pride! As I scrutinized the cursed bag I realized, to my ghastly astonishment, that it was the same bag I'd found the first time. Not similar, not identical; the exact same specimen! I could tell by two distinctive tears on both sides and a very particular accumulation of dirt right over the seal. Hardly could two different bags bear these two very unique trademarks- it had to be the same one. I tried to recall what I'd done with the first one, or rather how I'd disposed of it, and remembered burying it deep in the garbage can outside so it couldn't be found even by a desperate drifter sifting through the trash. And yet there it was, back in our bedroom. So indelibly potent was the effect of such a small bag that contained but a pinch of white powder on me, as is the minute sting of a bee to a man allergic to bees, that I can almost taste the drug in my lungs. I can feel the pungent smell of the fumes and sense my whole being transforming. But how could I know? Perhaps this is merely a perception produced by my senses to that thing which I so despise yet is a stranger to me. The eyes of a blind man can't see the color blue, but perhaps he has his own inferred perception of it.

I wanted to scream, to tear down the entire bedroom, to bore a hole in the earth, which I believed was possible through the sheer force of the distress that flooded me. I also wanted to throw the bag in her face- in her beautiful, innocent face- and squeeze the last bit of regret and apology from her. You must understand that it wasn't for my own sake but for the sake of our love that these urges burned inside me. She had despoiled our love by yielding to her ignominious desires, and repenting for despoiling something so precious must come at a cost.

But I've already stated that I'm a pragmatist, and every pragmatist should recognize the rareness of occasions in which the full extent of one's preferences is realized. That evening in our bedroom was no exception to this rule, and I knew it wasn't yet time for me to attain closure. Rather, a subtle move was in order which, though not without deep displeasure, I was prepared to make.

If you were ever to come across a man who was compelled to plot against the woman he loves, you would do well to bow your head and extend to him every ounce of sympathy your heart can muster. If that pitiful man plots as a countermeasure to his sweetheart's having plotted against him, and even more so if his sweetheart is an angel turned demon, your sympathy will fall far short and only God's sympathy can avail to piece such a shattered heart back together.

But I was that man who'd fallen in love with an angel and was now being betrayed by a demon, and God never extended his sympathy to me. And since your sympathy, for which I'm eternally grateful for in case you offer it, won't suffice, you can see why it's left for me to decide my fate with the measures at my disposal.

Clairvoyance

The sun is beginning to creep toward the cluster of tall buildings in the horizon, and a breeze is blowing from the open south. Goosebumps cover my skin (I've already mentioned that I don't like the cold)- but why, skin? Why do you mind the cold? And why, muscles, do you vibrate? And hairs, what's the point of standing erect? You will all be dead and functionless soon, so you'd do better to relax and accept it.

Soon the sun will try to sneak away behind the tall buildings without our noticing in the same way Lila had been trying to have her way without my finding out. But just as surely as I will call the sun on its abandonment when the time comes, so did my investigative work bear fruit and expose my fiancée's cunning, unscrupulous scheme. Let's jump forward from the night when I discovered the bag of heroin in Lila's wardrobe one week to one sunny afternoon in which an early breakthrough at work allowed me to take an early leave. It wasn't usual that I left the office when the sun was still out, but I seized this rare opportunity with both hands and drove straight home carrying a bag filled with anticipation and anxiety on my back. It was the perfect opportunity- not to plan for Lila's 35th birthday, which was to take place two days later, but to surprise her off guard at home and perhaps see with my eyes what my heart knew to be true.

Being an accomplished interior designer Lila was often home at the time of day in which I returned, but that day wasn't one of those cases. The garage was empty and the entrance door was locked. My heartbeat slowed when I realized nothing dramatic was going to happen, but I resolved to make the most out of the opportunity. I set about searching the house for any clues that would otherwise be difficult to find in light of scarcity of time I had at home alone, including and especially any little airtight bags. I hadn't gone far, though, before the doorbell rang. At the door was our next door neighbor, the gorgeous Paige Stevens. Our relations with Paige were never very warm as she was a blatantly discourteous neighbor that seemed, as do so many people these days, not to comprehend the benefits of having a friend live in the house next door. Lila was particularly not fond of her, I suspect due to the kind of envy that's not uncommon between pretty girls. She spoke harshly of her at times, while I usually thought there was hardly any reason to do so. Paige was discourteous and uncivil, and seldom gave ground in an argument, but due to her own dislike for us we didn't come in contact often. Lila sometimes claimed that Paige flirted with me only to annoy her, which I always countered by stating my sincere belief that no actions of an even slightly flirtatious nature had ever been made. But then being a man my perception of such things was so obtuse that I didn't have complete trust in my own judgment.

In light of my current position I confess to you something I've never confessed to anyone and in fact have never quite acknowledged myself. It used to be an inviolate secret but once I've told you you may do with it as you wish, as soon my secrets will all be worthless and of interest to no one. My confession is that every time Lila rebuked Paige for her behavior toward me (never to her face) I became fascinated and a large part of me wished she was right. You see, I stand by my claim that my heart isn't transient in the objects of its investment and I've never even considered the possibility of cheating on