Crystal Grader by Tag Cavello (read my book txt) 📕

Very slowly, Crystal pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. It was an imperative that this be done, for her knees had begun to shake. Time was of the essence.

“I…met her in the fifth grade,” she said.

“I know. She told me.”

“She was this dorky-looking dweeb. Dirty brown hair. Buggy eyes.” Crystal barely heard the tiny laugh that came from Miko. She was looking at her hands, which had not been good enough to hold onto the friend who had slipped between them, and which now, for the first time, she felt willing to reprove. “Big, plastic glasses. Junk jewelry.”

“She didn’t look that way when I met her.”

“No. That’s because I fixed her up some. I needed help with pre-algebra, so I went to her locker one morning and just…sort of cut into her life. You know what I mean?” she added, looking up at the boy opposite.

But Miko only shook his head. “I can’t say that I do, Crystal. You made her happy, though. She used to tell me about the good times you had together.”

“Oh, she needed a friend like you would not believe. The other girls were picking on her at recess, calling her names. Of course I wasn’t really her friend. Not then. I had my own agenda. God, she was such a wizard with numbers.”

“I—“

“She got me through pre-algebra, then algebra, then trig. I got her through phys-ed and a couple of school dances. Shitty trade-off, I know.”

Miko smiled for a moment. “Were you the one who taught her the Lean Back?”

“No!” Crystal said, too quickly and with too much fervor to conceal the lie. “All right,” she laughed. “Guilty.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m not going to send a court summons.”

“I taught her some other things. How to fix her hair, twirl a baton—“

“Inhale from a cigarette,” Miko put in with another smile.

“That too, though she never took up the habit.”

“Do you want one now?”

“What? A cigarette? I don’t know, Miko, we don’t have any dungeons around here that I’m aware of.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of your front porch.”

Crystal glanced into the next room. The window she’d been looking through minutes ago wore a frosty ring around its frame, and there were icicles along the portico.

“I guess not,” she said. “It’s a little too nippy out. But thanks for the offer.”

“All right.” Like an old man, Miko stood up from the table.

“Are you leaving?” Crystal asked.

“Yes. I called my parents and told them I stayed the night at a friend’s house. I should meet up with him at school so he’ll know to go along with the story.”

“Wait.” She jumped up, almost tipping the chair over. “You came over here to talk and now you’re just going to leave?”

“I feel better, Crystal. Just talking about Lucy made me feel better. Don’t you?”

“No, as a matter of fact.”

It was the truth. All throughout summer and autumn, she’d kept her distance from anything that even vaguely echoed of Lucy. Indeed, the subject matter was considered off limits for the entire Genesio household. Now Miko had broken open the box, and the memories inside were painful enough to push Crystal to the brink of tears. She didn’t want to be alone, not after seeing Lucy’s awkward smile again, if only from her mind’s eye.

“Crystal—“

“You asked me how I was coping,” she said. “Well I’ll tell you, Miko—I wasn’t. I was just keeping things at bay. Blocking it all out. And maybe that’s how it should have stayed, but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t know,” she answered, wiping her eyes. “But you can’t just leave. There. That’s it. You dragged me out of hiding, and…and…”

“I only wanted us to help each other.”

“Damn you!” Crystal shouted, pointing at the tears on her cheeks. “Look at this! Look what you did!”

His shocked face was like a torn Halloween mask, eyes and mouth gaping. It seemed he could do nothing but stare as Crystal wept—and weep she did, in full flood, until at last Miko worked up the courage to do what he’d been asking for all along. Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them; raising his arms, he pulled her close. This time Crystal did not resist. Though her hands were closed as if ready for a fight, she fell into his embrace, letting him bear her up until all the shaking stopped, and the last tear was spent.

“I don’t think I can make that appointment after all,” she said into his ear.

“So stay home,” he whispered back.

“Will you stay with me?”

“Of course I will.”

And he did, even after she was at last able to fall asleep, for when she awoke to the sound of the factory lunch whistle across town, he was still sitting next to her bed, his nose in a book. Crystal smiled and told him that if he wanted to be bored she would happily lend him her copy of Moby Dick. He refused and asked if she was feeling better.

“Worlds,” she replied. “Worlds.”

***

She tried to call Jarett later that afternoon, but nobody answered the phone. This in itself wasn’t disquieting at first. It took several failed attempts over the following days to make her fret over his well-being. She’d never been happy with the fact that he lived alone, even during this past, listless year, and on more than one night she’d lain awake wondering what it would be like to live with him as a wife. His recent instability over the phone soured such dreams. What if he’d suffered an accident? Fallen off a ladder or down the basement steps? Or worse…what if he’d decided to do harm to himself?

After yet another unanswered call Crystal decided to set out on foot to investigate things. The endeavor was risky. It being a Saturday, both Lucretia and Hannah were at home, obliging Crystal to concoct a story to get out the front door.

“Hey Mom,” she said, “I called about a babysitting job in the newspaper, and now the couple wants an interview. Is it okay if I go?”

“Who with?” Lucretia immediately asked, reaching for the TV remote.

Crystal didn’t even flinch; she’d choreographed this part of the act meticulously. “The Mortensons, over on Chapel Street.”

“Oh I know them!”

But not that part.

“Cool,” Crystal said, forcing her smile to stay put.

“I’ll drive you.”

Oh fuck, she thought.

“I’d rather you didn’t, Mom. I don’t want them to think that I can’t handle stuff on my own.”

“Do you know anything about taking care of babies?”

“I’ve done some reading,” she lied.

But the lie had been enough, and now here she was, walking up Wye Street—the drive that led to Jarett’s house—with her hands in her coat pockets and her mind wishing that she’d not chosen to wear a skirt on this brisk, brittle morning. Through the trees to her left lay a frost-covered field, barren as an arctic tundra; on her right, a wooded slope led down to a frozen creek. And in front of her, of course, was the Jackson Farm.

It’d been nine months since she’d last seen it. That wasn’t a long time in terms of how old the house was, yet with every step Crystal felt more like a trespasser than she’d ever been. She walked past Jarett’s truck, boots scudding on the asphalt. The porch steps had not been salted down; they were covered with ice. Next to the door, also iced over, was Chubby’s water dish. Crystal nudged it aside with her foot and tried the bell crank, but as was often the case at this time of year, it wouldn’t budge. So she knocked instead. Once, twice, three times. No answer. Either her fist was too small for the cedar wood door, or…something else.

Deciding not to bother with shouting his name at the upper windows, she took a personal house key from her coat. The ice had frozen over the keyhole too, but after a bit of jiggling—along with several puffs of hot breath—it relented its grip. Crystal stepped inside to a dusty, disheveled living room. The fireplace, which Jarett always kept burning in the winter months, looked cold and barren as the field. Two throw pillows lay under the coffee table. Two others were under the couch.

“Jarett?”

She went to the kitchen.

Things were far worse here. Dirty dishes occupied every available place, some of them flyblown despite the time of year, while others looked lapped, as if Chubby had partaken in whatever the dried, brown lumps upon them once were.

“Jarett?” she called again.

Her voice, strong though it was from years of cheerleading, found silence once more. Crystal looked back into the living room. Dark, cold. Shadows in every corner. And at that moment an unpleasant memory came back—the memory of her phone call to this very house last month, and of the stranger who’d answered.

Acknowledge the corn, missy.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The scream Crystal let out was high enough to hurt her own ears. She whirled around on wobbly knees to find Jarett slouching in the hall door. He was as ragged as the house, his face unshaven, his clothes crumpled and dirty. Two eyes gaped at her from sockets deep enough to drown in, while the corner of his mouth hung slightly askew, as if he’d suffered a stroke, or…

“Did you fall down?” Crystal asked, still clutching her chest.

“What?”

“Your lip is fat and…and one of your teeth looks broken.”

Jarett blinked for a moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I fell. On the steps outside.”

Suddenly the entire kitchen began to tilt sideways. Crystal gasped and plopped herself down at the table, avoiding a fainting episode by mere seconds.

“What’s wrong?” Jarett said.

She waited until the world was back to normal before answering. “You scared the shit out of me, that’s what’s wrong.”

“My apologies.”

He shambled over the linoleum floor to take a seat opposite her. Further evidence of his spoilage became apparent upon doing so; a smell of dirty underarms wafted over the table, making Crystal wince.

“Jesus, Jarett,” she said, “you are…really looking terrible. Why?”

“First you tell me why,” he rejoined.

She knew what he meant, and supposed that an explanation was due. “I got waylaid last week. Something came up. A family matter.”

“Family matter.” Jarett’s eyes were blank—he didn’t believe it.

“I tried calling you over and over all week but you didn’t answer.”

“Did you try my landline?”

Crystal shook her head. “I’m not using that one ever again.”

“Okay,” he shrugged. “But yeah, I lost my cell phone. The battery’s sure to be dead by now.”

“Do you believe what I just told you, Jarett?”

“I don’t know.” He tried to smile at her, but with the injury to his mouth it came out more like an evil leer. Crystal had to resist an urge to recoil. “You don’t come around much anymore, girl. My faith is swimming.”

“We talked about that already,” Crystal said. “A close friend of mine died last year.”

“And you felt like you needed to heal in a corner all by yourself.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t appreciate your tone, mister.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s true. When I’m hurt I like to be alone. So what?”

Jarett’s next words almost made her laugh.

“I could have helped you.”

“Yeah,” she huffed out, gesturing at the dirty plates. “Things really look fine here.”

“Lately I’ve let things slide.”

“That’s gotta be the understatement of the century.”

For the rest of that morning, along with a good slice of the afternoon, she helped him clean up. In fact most of the work was done by her. Jarett kept an idle distance, awaiting instructions, which, once given, he sprung upon like a dog after a tennis ball. By two p.m. there was a second load of laundry going in the basement, the dishes were washed, and all the carpets were vacuumed. Crystal then set about preparing him a late lunch, thoroughly appalled by the dozens of ramen noodle wrappers she’d thrown away thus far.

“You’ve been living on plastic,” she reproached. Her hand twisted a knob on the stove; a gassy flame burst into life. “Jesus, Jarett, another month