| RUNNING ON EMPTY BY TORRI |
CHAPTER 46 |
Why? Todd kept asking himself that question over and over. Why was it so important that he find Tea's father? She never asked that of him. She probably wanted to never see him again. She probably wanted to forget he ever lived. But he remembered what it was like to have that certain something that an abusive parent holds over their child, hanging over his head. Swinging back and forth, as he dodged it just as he had dodged many fists in his lifetime. He never had the chance to tell Peter his real feelings. Never had to opportunity to say all the things he held within for so long. His chance had passed and he would forever be left with all the words he should have said, trapped inside with nowhere to go. They were inside him like a pressure cooker, every once in awhile they caused him to blow up at the person nearest to him.
Sometimes, he wanted to be with people, around them, not associating, just watching. Not the bar scene, any scene but that. He wanted to feel a little bit alive. A little bit of something inside to fill that big, empty maze. It was one of those nights.
He had too much to drink, smoked too much with the rationale that if he only had a little bit more, it would make him feel better. Only it didn't. He saw things, things that depressed him. Things that further drove home the point that he was an incompetent nothing. He saw himself in various stages in his life, in various positions, doing things he wanted but could not do in his real reality. He saw himself being loved, only a brief glimpse. He saw himself loving, for just a second and then boom back to the truth of his life and his aloneness.
He reached out to Tea in his hallucination. Held her imaginary hand in his. Moved an imaginary strand of hair out of her face. Kissed her imaginary lips. Opened his mouth for her. Allowed himself to feel her, to feel on her. Let himself be touched by her, her hands, her soul. Whispered, "I love you" into the air as if she was sitting right next to him.
And then darkness followed by reality.
He had no plan, other than to get out of the four walls that were collapsing in on top of him. He couldn't control himself very well. Not his body, nor his limbs, he was loose all over. He kept moving though, kept trying to get out of that place he called "home." It wasn't a home, a version of hell maybe, but not a home.
There were not many places he could go. The city that never slept seemed peacefully at rest around two o'clock in the morning. In the Village, places were left open for the insomniacs, and Times Square was alive with the bustle of tourists but the rest of the city was well dead. He remembered the little Internet café where Misty had once taken him. It was nice, quiet, away from things. He could blend in there, watch the rest of the sleep deprived.
His mind though, couldn't recall the path they had taken there. Was it the "C" train? The "N?" The "R?" Everything seemed the run the same course back forth and back again. Trial and error, he decided.
For hours he rode the rails. People entered and exited the cars knowing exactly where they were going hurriedly, they did that, while he could barely make out the figures in front of him. But he recognized that voice that came to him, and the old shoes, and the wisdom that emanated from the voice.
"Hey there, Lost Soul. What are you doing here this time of night wandering?"
Todd looked over at Mr. Jazz Man, lying on the seats in the back of the cart. His hair was just as long, from what he could make out. In spite of himself, he was a little happy to see the wise old man. His face muscles turned into an exaggerated, uncontrolled smile.
"Can't sleep huh? I know your type. The voices? The dreams?"
"Yeah." Todd was drawn into Mr. Jazz Man and his "coolness." He wanted to talk, wanted some sort of human interaction beside himself and the voices he heard inside his head.
"You know what you gotta do?"
"I don't have a clue."
"You gotta open up to the voices and the visions. Don't fight 'em. Acknowledge 'em. Acknowledge 'em and then say 'fuck you' to 'em. Know what I mean?"
"No," Todd said honestly. Not much made sense to him at that point.
"I mean you gotta stop avoiding them demons inside. The more you run from them, the harder they'll come at you, 'til you cry 'Uncle,' then you die." Mr. Jazz Man let the words hang in the air. Die. Die. Die.
"If you're so wise, why are you ridin' the rails?" Todd asked in his true to form sarcasm. Somehow, his vicious stabs lost their potency when spoken under the influence.
Mr. Jazz man didn't hesitate one second when he replied, "to help people like you Lost Soul."
The train came to a screeching halt, along with the rest of the world. Time froze. Lost Soul. The doors dinged open and in came a flood of people, speaking all different languages. Todd stumbled to his feet and somehow made it out of that subway car. Looking back at Mr. Jazz Man, he saw his lips moving.
"What?" Todd mouthed, stopping in the middle of the subway platform, nearly being knocked over by the fast-paced walkers.
"Love, man," Mr. Jazz Man said, lifting his sunglasses and allowing Todd to see his eyes for the first time. They were brown, from what he could see. A darkish color brown; a never-ending pool of wisdom. Something about his eyes relaxed Todd in the same way that a touch from someone he loved could soothe him. He found himself smiling at the old man.
He looked around the subway station, nothing but empty tunnels surrounded him. He emerged from underground, onto a familiar Village street. All of a sudden, the memory of how to get to the Internet cafe came back to him. Within minutes, he was inside its warmth, sitting at his favorite table.
He sank into the red velvet chair with purple pillows. It was so comfortable in the worn chair, as if the hundreds, who sat there before, prepared it especially for him.
"What can I getcha?"
Todd looked up at the waitress, who couldn't have been more than 19. His heart went out to her as he saw her worn shoes and old looking eyes. She had seen too much, experienced too much and yet there she was, trying to make a living for herself. Out in the world when she should have been in college, enjoying life, not serving some losers in the middle of the night.
"You need a minute?"
"Uh, no. I'll have a double white mocha," he replied, snapping himself out of a trance.
He turned on the monitor in front of him and began to surf the web. At first, he had no clue what he was looking for. The whirring of the machine fascinated him. Yet as he delved deeper into the web, he lost himself. He began performing web engine searches on every subject that fascinated him. His fingers clumsily typed in the words "Peter Manning," and haphazardly touched the "enter" key before he knew what was happening.
So involved he was, he didn't notice as the waitress placed his drink in front of him.
"Anything else?"
"No, just keep 'em comin' okay? You do that and there'll be a big tip for you at the end of the night."
"You got it," she said, turning and walking away.
As the computer finished its query, page upon page of underlined blue topics containing the words "Peter Manning," began to appear on the screen. Todd clicked on each and every one, attempting to absorb the information.
There were things there that he never knew. There was the time his picture adorned one of the inner pages of the Chicago Sun Times with the headline, "Businessman Caught Again!" As he read the text, it became clear that his father's abuse extended beyond the walls of their large house and the women he brought inside. The article dealt with his propensity to avoid punishment to the fullest extent of the law, even when he was clearly at the center of a crime. Even when he was accused of driving drunk and killing an innocent bystander. He still got off.
There was a paper trail as long as Todd's criminal record. He had been arrested more than one time for domestic violence, even against Todd's mother. It was there, on the computer screen, that he understood why his mother left. It was her sworn testimony that she thought Peter would kill her in her sleep.
He recalled those last nights and how he could hear her walking the halls until dawn. And when his father left for work, his mother would slink down the hall to her bedroom, and not reappear until Peter returned in the evening. On those pages, his mother spoke of her love for him, her son, but no matter how strong the love, she could not stay at that house.
*****
Tea didn't feel up to going home. She wanted to feel the night air blowing through what was left of her hair. The city felt different at night, had a different energy. She liked to walk around the tree-lined streets of the Village, pretending that all was quiet within her heart.
She used to go to the Village when she was a teenager. The people were more accepting as they were often the unaccepted in society. Their differences brought them together, and she never forgot those feelings of somewhat belonging. As she walked up this street and that, she saw the late night hotspots where the nocturnal gathered, with their sometimes-discreet invitations or more flamboyant signs.
A little café caught her eye. It was a bit hidden, on a side street, but that's what made it inviting. It was something within her that made her want to go inside. She opened the door, looked around, trying to determine if it was safe. Not that she cared much anymore. It looked nice enough with the kids from NYU working on, perfecting, enjoying their various arts. Whether they were memorizing monologues, writing scripts for their short films or cramming for the exam they'd known about for weeks, they were all enjoying their methods of caffeine.
She sat at a booth in the very back corner of the cafe. From there, she had a clear view of everyone and everything around her. She had never seen anything like it an Internet café. She turned on her computer and logged onto the e-mail account that she rarely used.
"What can I getcha?"
Tea was startled by the sudden appearance of the waitress. Checked her up and down and was reminded of her own waitress roots that she planted firmly as a college student. She imagined the girl going home after her shift, studying for a few hours and falling asleep on her cramped living quarters. That's what she used to do. Distractedly, she stammered, "uh, what kind of tea do you have?"
"We have green tea, chamomile, Chinese herbal, orange, raspberry, strawberry, peach-"
"That's okay. You don't have to go through the whole thing. I'll just have a double skim cap with a lot of foam."
"Coming right up."
Tea looked around the café again, having a feeling that she overlooked something. Her eyes roamed over every table, taking mental snapshots of every person and putting them in the book in her mind. As her eyes settled back onto her screen, she suddenly looked up as a tingly sensation ran down her spine.
Todd stared at her from the moment she entered the café. He felt her presence, that instinct had never failed him. But in a way, he didn't want her to see him. In another way, he wanted her to take notice of him, walk over to his table, touch his hair the way she did and look at him with concern. He wasn't going to go to her. His burden had already been too much for her to bear.
"Here you go." The waitress sat her drink down in the middle of her table, but she didn't notice. The waitress could take a hint, and when her eyes followed Tea's gaze, she knew why she couldn't respond. The waitress herself was caught up in the electric current that flowed between Todd and Tea, that thing that made everything else around them float away.
She gave him a small smile. He sorta smiled back, shyly. They were two strangers playing the flirting game. She could see, even from a distance of forty feet or more, that he was not himself. He looked away from her, the torture too much for him.
She looked away too. Stared at her blinking cursor, no longer desiring to play around. She took a couple of sips from her cup, but she couldn't taste anything. What she wanted was to be around someone familiar. Or someone that was supposed to be familiar.
Todd could hear someone creeping up behind him. Without turning, he knew who it was, recognized the soft and deliberate footsteps. His neck hairs stood up, in a good way, when he heard the movement stop directly behind him. Then, he smelled her perfume, lingering and rising in the air around him.
Over his shoulder, she glanced at the picture on his computer screen. She recognized the face immediately, after having seen Peter's face only once. It was seared into her memory. Without thinking, she put a hand on his head and hugged him from behind. He closed his eyes and savored her touch.
"Oh, Todd. Why do you torture yourself like this huh?" She let go of him, walked to the other side of the table and sat opposite him. She wanted to see his eyes, he would tell her the truth then.
"'Cause I'm good at it," he slurred, exiting his computer program and concentrating fully on her.
She smiled at him sympathetically, trying to figure out what to say next. He wasn't the same man that she remembered. She had to tread lightly on certain subjects, or avoid them altogether. His childhood had always been off limits, but she decided to try anyway. He was obviously high on something; she could smell it in his hair and all around him. "So, why were you looking up information on your father?"
"I dunno know. The 'puter was here an' I had nothin' better t'do."
"Yeah, right Manning. Would you like to sell me the Brooklyn Bridge too?"
Used to be my bridge over troubled waters. Used to be.
When he didn't respond, she continued to probe. "Did you learn anything new about him?"
"Yeah. Let me think. He beat my mom 'til she was deaf in one ear. She went to the p'lice so many times I loss count and he always got away with it. He killed a prostitute. He killed a ped-es-tr-ian."
"My God. Did he ever serve time?"
"Tea, you should know by now, the rich never pay for their crimes. I'm evidence of that."
"You had a great lawyer. Besides, we're not talking about your mistakes, we're talking about your father's crimes."
"I'm jus' like him. Don'cha you get it by now?" He spoke to her in a pained voice, so low; she had to strain to hear him. He looked down after he said it, afraid of what he might see in her eyes. Afraid that the hatred he had for himself would be reflected in her eyes.
"You are so much better than him. I know that, and I think somewhere, deep inside you, you might know it too. You are nothing like your father, there is no comparison."
"Yes there is Delgado."
"Where? Show me where?"
"Come on. Don't tell me you don't 'member all the shit I did to you. The time I threw you out in the snowstorm that was somethin' Peter would've done. The times I yelled at you, screamed at you-"
"Todd, our relationship was very stressful, and during all that time, I wasn't afraid of you."
"Even after what I did to you?"
She knew what he was talking about. Honestly, she was never afraid of him. Not even at that moment. It took her by surprise; maybe she just didn't have enough time to let fear in. "Even after that."
"Whatcha you doin' out so late? I thought between the two of us, I was the one that never slept."
"You think you cornered the market on insomnia mister?" She tried to make a joke, but it fell flatly through the space between them. "I had a rough day, that's all. Smells like you have too. What have you been smoking?"
"You grew up in New York, I think you know what it is."
"Yeah. I know about what happened, Todd. Why, after coming so close to death, why would you go back to doing the same thing?"
"Why not?"
