Young Writers Society

What About Joey?

The multicolored lights on Joey's second-floor bedroom window were casting a mild glow on the beige walls lending the room a fairy-tale charm. It had made story of Santa's imminent appearance, which his mom Helen had so convincingly told him, even more believable to Joey. After all, to him his parents were mysterious, almighty beings who knew it all and who were the paragons of honesty.

"Go to sleep sweetie,” she had patiently whispered while softly caressing his ruddy cheek with the back of her hand, “Santa won’t come unless you do."

Once satisfied that he had truly fallen asleep, she gently tucked him in for the night with a huge hug and a soft kiss. It had been a long bittersweet day full of family gatherings, strong emotions, singing of Christmas carols, and the image of a brightly-decorated tree that promised gifts in the morning had kept Joey awake way past his bedtime. Finally, after an hour of story-telling and promises, he had pressed the Teddy close to his little chest and drifted slowly to sleep while still listening for the sound of Santa’s reindeer.

They had planned it meticulously. Once Joey had fallen asleep, John and she would quietly get the gifts from the basement, place them under the Christmas tree, and in the morning, Voila! Santa had come while Joey slept and dreamed his childish dreams where all things were possible. Helen heaved a sigh of exhaustion. All she needed now was for her husband, John, to give her a hand. But there he was, slumbering in a chair next to Joey’s bed .

"Well John?" She impatiently poked him in the ribs with her a hairbrush handle.

"What? Where?" For a brief moment, John blinked in confusion.

"Oh yea, the toys we hid in the basement," he blurted out.

"You mean Santa’s toys that he put in the basement by mistake, don’t you John?”

She checked to see if Joey had overheard what his father had said but Joey was still sound asleep.

"Sorry hon," John said sheepishly as he got up and slowly stretched.

"As usual" she responded.

"Now don’t start with the suspicions Helen!"

"We can talk about that later." she looked over at Joey once more to make sure that their voices hadn't interrupted the precious sleep she considered the fruit of her unselfish loving labor.

"Let’s just get the toys under the damned tree,” she stiffly whispered through

clenched teeth and unmoving lips, still keeping a motherly eye on her precious sleeping mutchkin while tugging on John's sleeve and leading him toward the room's door.

It was always her idea to dim the house lights in case Joey awoke and caught them in the act they could hurriedly whisk him away before he realized what was going on. So the going was slow and tentative as they made their way through the narrow twilighted, hallway toward the stairway. Once there, John broke out in a cold sweat and his hands started to tremble.

"What's wrong honey? You look pale." Helen said

"I'm OK," he responded as expected.

Actually, the only thing he was sorry about was feeling like some captive being forced to run the gauntlet and for a bad reason. You see, John knew how ridiculously loud the stairs could creak at that unholy hour of the night and that the extra pounds he'd put on would only make it worse. Worse yet, he knew how fanatical Helen was about Christmas and gift-giving, especially when it involved Joey. As if in a mocking response to his worries, his first step produced a loud prolonged, creak it had never emitted before under his two-hundred sixty pounds.

''Shhhhh! Do you really need to step that loud?" Helen, who had been watching him like a hawk watches a mouse, gave him an all-knowing, accusatory look. Despite all his deceitful bluster, she knew that John was totally against the Santa deception. So as usual, she suspected sabotage.

''You're trying to wake him up on purpose, aren't you dear? " She stood glaring down at him at the top of the steps, thin pale arms folded against her white, silk nightgown .

''No honey. I wouldn't do such a thing. You know that! It's not me. It's the damn wood."

''Really? You know perfectly well that's the step that makes the most noise, don't you?"

''Now honey, you know I wouldn't do anything on purpose to spoil things for Joey."

He wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead with his pajama sleeve while nervously adjusting his high-quality anti-glare prescription bifocals on the high bridge of his aquiline nose.

''Is that why you lectured the whole family at the dinner table last year about how you're against the whole Santa garbage, as you worded it?"

''Well I just had a few too many and--"

''I keep telling you never to drink on Christmas don't I? If aunt Julia hadn't been distracting Joey, he would've heard the whole thing!"

''Well, I wasn't exactly shouting you know."

''You weren't exactly whispering either were you?"

''Well excuse me for being honest."

"'Just keep your honesty to yourself from now on during Christmas-OK Brutus?"

She always called him that whenever she needed to express her very low opinion of his intelligence and social skills. It was a swift way to stop the argument from dragging on. You see, once called Brutus, John always turned away and morosely but silently went along with whatever she had planned. In this case, it was getting all of Joey's gifts from the basement and under the Christmas tree as quickly and as silently as possible. John flinched as if prodded by an electrical goad and ignored her as she expected.

"I didn't mean to be harsh sweetheart, but you know that one loud creak from the old stairway could mean another hour of getting Joey to go to sleep again and I'll be the one who'll have to sit by his bedside, tell him another bedtime story and not you. Especially with how you feel about Santa and his reindeer. Right?"

"Damned right!" John murmured almost inaudibly through clenched teeth but she ignored it for Joey's sake.

"Besides, you'll probably leave me up there and go watch TV. So let's take it one small careful step at a time this time? OK baby? For Joey's sake."

'Sure hon," John responded obediently for a moment feeling himself loved for the first time in several weeks. But love wasn't in the equation at all and deep down inside he knew it. To Helen John was like her pet poodle who was willing to fetch anything for an affectionate scratch behind the ear.

But that's where the comparison between John and her precious pet dog ended. You see, Helen was all kindness and understanding with her pet dog Morpheus, whereas with John, well, let's just say that she'd provide him a painful pinch on one of his love handles whenever his greater weight produced a creak. As usual, she'd make it painful enough so that next time he took a step-no loud creaking! He, of course, knew the Christmas holiday drill by heart. After each pinch, he was expected to dutifully groan and offer an apologetic atoning: "Sorry hun!" And so it went:

Step, creak, pinch.

''Sorry hun!"

Step, creak, pinch.

'Sorry hun!"

Step, creak, pinch.

''Sorry hun!"

Everything was going according to plan and they were two-thirds of the way down when she remembered a past heated, holiday, squabble. Something about his not wanting her mother coming to stay during his summer vacation. At that moment her hand seemed to acquire a mind of its own and...

"Ow! That really hurt dam it!" John half-shouted, recoiled his arm sending his elbow painfully against the stairway wall causing a deep indentation in the plaster.

''Really?'"  She stood with arms akimbo reminding him of a certain staff-sergeant during his short stint in the army who always stood in the exact way before he began disciplining-the-recruits-routine.

"It’s supposed to hurt to remind you to step softly or else you'll wake up Joey!" she retorted.For a brief moment he imagined Helen in a military uniform, face in green mascara and hair in red plastic rollers as she was now.

"Heh heh!" John laughed almost inaudibly, shaking his head, and angrily flicking sideways at his chin stubble with his thumb. It was one of his enigmatic rituals that always grated on Helen's nerves just as the Santa Clause charade grated on his.

''What's so funny John?" she curled her delicately pale, red finger-nailed hand around his hairy perspiration-soaked wrist.

''It's nothing dear."

''But it's something to me!"

''Well, honey, you know--"

“'No I don't know! If I knew I wouldn't ask, now would I?"

''Well, you know, you act like Joey's the only one that counts in this house!"

"Today he is because today he gets his toys from Santa!" she said, raising her voice and scowling.

''Careful honey, I think I just heard Joey tossing in his bed," he pointed toward Joey's room.

'Well you better hope he doesn't"

''Doesn't what?"

''Doesn't wake up cause this time I'm leaving the two-hour story-telling up to you!"

''To me? Since when am I a story-teller?"

''Since you keep trying to wake Joey up! That's since when!"

''What the hell!"” he almost shouted and they heard the rustle of Joey's bed-sheets as he tossed, turned and mumbled momentarily. Both imagined him appearing suddenly at the top of the steps in his blue and red polka-dotted white pajamas, Teddy hugged to his chest and looking down at them with large, brown, innocent eyes while asking:

''Did Santa come yet?"

It had happened the prior Christmas, when a shouting match had ensued at the stairway and almost ruined it for Joey, and they didn't want a repeat. In fact, they had solemnly sworn to each other that there never would be a repeat. So this time both hushed each other and managed to creak their way down the remaining thirty steps with only a few subdued invectives and an occasional mutual, murderous look of utter disdain.

''Well?'" she asked as they finally reached the basement door.

“Well what?" he grumbled, looking down at her five-foot-two figure from his six-foot-three height vantage point.

“Well, unlock and open it!" she shot back, her green eyes suddenly sparked spark crimson in the semi darkness.

For a brief moment John was taken aback and froze. The idea that his wife was really an escapee from the pits of hell, as he’d joked with his friends, now seemed a real possibility. He felt the adrenaline rush that one feels when faced with either running or getting devoured by a savage beast. But this was worse. A beast you can escape. But a supernatural she-beast?

All this flitted through his mind in that brief instant when he saw what looked like green tinged, red hellish flame emanate from the depths of his wife's very soul. In fact he felt it more than thought it. But as she moved toward him quizzically in the semi-darkness he realized it was only the reflection of red light from the Christmas window-decorations that had bestowed that unearthly look. Coupled with her scowl, it had really unnerved him and he was still quavering.

''Are you OK John?” She took two steps toward him.

“I thought you had the basement key." he said nervously.

''You mean to tell me that you didn't bring it?"

Her teeth caught the light and flared crimson as she bared them in anger. The combination of red eyes and teeth would have made the bravest soul bolt for the front door. But knowing their source, he now took the whole phenomenon confidently in stride and spared himself the additional Christmas humiliation. If he had bolted in utter terror, Helen, would never have let him live it down. He could imagine her telling the family about it and how her mother would look at him in contempt and maybe privately even question his manhood for having panicked. But rest assured, any burglar coming up against such a demonic-looking apparition, would have done it without a second's thought. What? With her stringy blond hair up in red rollers and that thick, green, facial cream? Damned right he would have bolted. In fact, he would have hurled himself through the nearest window without a second's hesitation.

"Placed my key-chain where I always place it. On the bureau," John said calmly despite his personal inner Saint Helens.There was an ominously prolonged silence, like the silence that occurs between thunderclaps and only their, shallow, seething, rapid-fire, angered breathing was heard.

''It's better that you go get it cause you creak less," John cautiously added as an afterthought in the tongue-in cheek, nonchalant way that he knew always infuriated her.

After a dramatic silence, she gave him a red-eyed assassination look followed by a crimson-toothed sneer and trotted rapidly up the steps. The bronze-colored key was on the table next to Joey’s bed exactly where John had said it would be. Lovingly, she let her eyes caress Joey’s little curled-up form, listened to the deep breaths he took now and then as if in response to a desperate anticipation of Santa’s belated arrival. For a moment, she almost forgot that John was waiting. Only after carefully tucking Joey in and planting a motherly kiss on his little pale forehead did she reluctantly head back down.

But John wasn't in front of the basement door as she'd expected. It wasn't hard for her to guess where he was, of course. He'd been haggling all week about how he was going to miss the heavyweight championship fight between the champ, Jaw-Jolting Joe Bastoni and the challenger Flailing Frank Flannigan because of the Christmas nonsense. Kept talking about how uncannily Flailing Frank resembled his late father who was also of Irish descent. So she knew exactly where John had gone while she'd been upstairs searching for the key. Besides, she could see the TV's flickering glare on the living room wall and the outline of his hulking shape sunk into his favorite black, leather, recliner gazing intently at the screen where the two heavy-weights were furiously exchanging punches.

Funny how his shadow resembled the soul-deformed, atheist beast her mother had always warned her to avoid making marital unions with. But what had she known at that age except the romance of a young man fresh from the army bringing her flowers and speaking the things she had yearned to hear. If indeed he’d been gargoyle-like at that time, she certainly hadn't noticed. In fact, she had considered him handsome despite her mother's concern that her grandchildren would have Pinochio noses. But what human casts such a horrible shadow?

After cursing in a whisper, she swept the thought aside, tucked the basment key in her bra, and headed for the kitchen. Gargoyle or not, he had to be taught a lesson. Going to the refrigerator, she poured a glass of cold water in his favorite mug, tiptoed up behind him, and emptied it on his pate.

''Christ! Almighty!" he jumped up from the seat bellowing at the top of his lungs.

''What the hell did you do that for?" John stood bolt upright as if shot from a cannon.

"And you don't know mister innocence?" she said softly, a sarcastic, knowing smile playing slightly over her thin red-lipsticked lips as she deftly punched the off switch on the TV with one swift flick of a knuckle.

“'No I don't know!" He furiously wiped the cold water from his face and head with the palms of both hands and patted them dry with his handkerchief.

“'Then you are as stupid as your family thinks you are!" In the dim light she could see John stop his face-wiping and freeze like a deer caught in headlights.

''What the hell do you know what my family thinks or doesn't think about me?"

''Cause your mother told me! That's how? What do you think we spend hours talking about?"

She turned nonchalantly and began sinuously sauntering toward the basement door.

''I don't know. Neighborhood gossip? What the First Lady wore for a formal supper? Some new neighbor's problem with his car? What color you'll paint your toenails tomorrow? I mean that's as far as I've ever heard your conversations go. That's why I don't stick around."

''That's what we talk about to get rid of you. Once you're gone we talk about you. "

"Oh really?"

''Yes really. You're no Einstein, that's for sure! Straight from the horse’s mouth like they say dear."

John was about to mention that unlike his mother, her mother did have an equine look, but for Joey’s sake refrained.

''How the hell was I supposed to know you were going to get back that quick?" he grumbled instead.

"Where did you think I was going? To China?" she snapped back at him as he followed her down the hall past the kitchen and toward the basement door.

''No, but since you didn't want to wake Joey up, I thought you would take your time like you did the first time. Or don't you remember?"

''Ha! I was just taking my time to make sure that you didn't trip on purpose or make noise on purpose numskull!

It wasn't the first time that Helen had called him dumb. Yet it always cut him to the heart. After all, he had graduated with honors and it was his business managerial skills that were paying the rent and putting food on the table while she spent every cent she earned as a hairdresser on herself. He stood silent for a moment trying to decide whether he’d bolt out the door or put up with it for one more day. But what of Joey? What would the kid say when he found his father missing next morning? He just couldn't imagine all the toys in the world being enough to fill the void his leaving would create in the little tyke's life.

"You know Helen, I love Joey just as much and maybe even more than you do?"

''More than I do? Me? The mother who gave birth to him while you were down at Belford’s Bar burping and watching the exotic dancer with the boys and getting stoned? Ha! Dream on."

"Yeah me! The guy who was getting stoned in order to cope with the stress while you took your sweet twenty-four hours doing what most women do in four!"

''Now that's a low blow!"

''And what do you call pouring ice-cold water on my head, hitting above the damned belt?"

''OK! OK! That's enough! All I want to do is get the gifts under the Christmas tree and be done with it. OK? Well, are you going to help me or not? That bicycle is heavy-you know?" she smiled sweetly.

"Alright, let's just get this over with once and for all!"

She gently placed her hand around his arm and led him the rest of the way to the basement door. Then she reached into her bra to get the key.

''Are you going to open the door or not?" John wiped the remaining water that was now at body- temperature from his face and sleeked back his thinning hair with the palm of his hand.

"I can't find it" she said rummaging desperately through every nook and cranny and finally lifting the bra clear off over her breasts in hopes that the key would come tumbling out.

''Where did you put it?"

''I put it in my bra between my cleavage"

''What cleavage?" he smirked.

“'What do you mean what cleavage?"

She folded both arms across her chest forcing her breasts to form a cleavage.

"Don't you remember," he said slowly, "the last time you placed something in your bra and lost it? "

''Can't say that I do!" she said, arms folded and still proudly displaying the forced cleavage.

"It was the money it took me five years to save for our down-payment on the house!"

The word house sounded to Helen more like a bark than a word and she temporarily flinched. You see, John had this booming voice that if used properly could reverberate through the whole neighborhood if he had a mind to use it that way.

“As I just said, can't say that I do," she replied with a forced smugness.

In frustration, John slapped the palm of his hand against the basement's oak door so hard, that it sounded like a like a Fourth-of-July firecracker on steroids.

''Shut the hell up or I'll call the police!'' their next door neighbor shouted and a few backyard dogs immediately barked, growled, keened, yelped, and ululated as if to lend his neighbor their wholehearted, unconditional support. Well, at least that's the way John perceived it. After all, the night was contriving against him, so why not throw in a few mangy, mutt dogs too? In fact, bring in a few kangaroos as well, for all he cared. The more the merrier-right? The thought that the dogs could have been actually barking at the neighbor’s shout never once crossed his mind.

Things like that never crossed John's mind when his Irish temper flared to the boiling point. Helen could see that John was about to bellow a response by the way he bit his lower lip and started to hunch his massive shoulders, ball up his hairy fists, and lower his head like a bull about to charge. But it took only her index finger to her lips, and one pointing up to Joey’s room to calm the wild beast that was her husband whenever a neighbor tried to tell him what to do in his own house-regardless of who was right or wrong.

"You see John?" Helen whispered in a tone she usually reserved for Joey and the dog but minus the genuine affection, “you and your big mouth!"

John gritted his teeth and said nothing while visions of wrapping his burly hands around the neighbor's pencil neck danced gingerly in his head. Then in a flash of illumination, he hit on an idea.

''Listen honey, why don't we just leave it for tomorrow? We can set the alarm clock for maybe seven. You know how Joey sleeps late on Saturdays. Then we can look for the key. You probably dropped it in the hall or in the kitchen. Maybe it rolled under the fridge or the stove, or only God knows where."

''How cruel can you be John Magnite?"

''What?"

''If Joey wakes up earlier than usual and sees nothing under the tree, then what?"

''What do you mean, then what?"

''What will we tell him?"

''We tell him Santa is running late,that's what."

''Santa never runs late!"

''Now who the hell made you an expert on Santa?"

''I don't need to be an expert. Everybody knows that Santa's never late. "

''Well, they always told me Santa ran late and it never fazed me."

''That was you and that was them. This is us and Joey. We tell Joey that, and his childhood dream goes down the drain just like my dream of a happy marriage did!"

''Now, don't start with me Helen! We've gone over this a million times and you know you are no saint!"

''But I was honest and that's something you can't say for yourself!"

John could never respond to that accusation because it was true. He'd been an atheist for most of his adult life but had feigned belief in order to get Helen to marry him. He had often smiled in self-satisfaction of how he had pulled the proverbial wool over everyone’s eyes all these years. Praying, sanctimoniously, attending church meetings, piously singing the psalms and putting money in the collection plate.

No one ever suspected that he considered it all drivel, except maybe during Christmas when he had to fork over money for gifts and lie to his own son while trying to bring him up honest. Now, that really bothered him and made him lower his guard. Caused him to talk too much with uncle Ignacio, Helen's psychologist half-brother who seemed all too interested in the subject and who kept insisting that John have one more drink for the road, as he put it. But overall, the charade had worked out pretty well. Helen, the most popular girl at high school, had married him and given him a son.

'Not bad! Not bad at all!'

''Come on hon,” he said, conveniently changing the subject as he always did whenever cornered.

"Let's leave it for tomorrow morning and--"

''No John, we're not going to leave it for tomorrow. The presents have to be under the tree tonight."

''Why?" John half-laughed, half-whimpered.

''In case Joey gets up extra early. You never know. Kids are unpredictable. That's why."

''Of course! Now why didn't I think of it?"

''Stupidity!" she replied absentmindedly.

"You go search in the kitchen and I'll look in the hallway and living room."

She was speaking in a whisper now since her neighbor had threatened calling the police and the arrival of the police might waken Joey. But her GI Joe mannerisms made it clear whom she thought deserved to be in charge. A far-cry from that delicate teenage butterfly who had captured his heart and whom he had wooed for two long agonizing years. Then she had been all sugar and spice as the saying goes.

As he absentmindedly reminisced, Helen seemed to float away toward the living room as if conveyed by some supernatural conveyer belt or some alien anti gravity device.

'Funny how the imagination can play tricks on a fellow when he's upset,' he thought. The Christmas tree lights reflecting off her red plastic hair rollers and hair-pins added to the psychedelic illusion.

"Well," she suddenly stopped and turned around at the living-room entrance, "don't just stand there staring, go find the damned keys!"

‘'I'm on it hon!"

From the kitchen, John could hear loud thuds and scraping noises as Helen impatiently moved furniture. He wondered how she expected Joey not to hear it. But as yet Joey hadn't and it seemed almost a miracle. Not that he believed in miracles except for the miracle of his marriage surviving for almost seven years despite the constant bickering. Now that, was a bonafied miracle if there ever was one. Or maybe it was just his bullheaded determination to hold on to his prize no matter what the cost. But he knew that really wasn't true.

The only thing keeping the hellish marriage together was Joey. She was right. What would the poor kid think if the presents were missing? He could imagine the little tyke staring innocently at the Christmas tree, pouting a few times before he'd burst into tears.

He couldn't allow that to happen. He continued to scan the highly-polished, damp, kitchen floor for the basement keys. Part of the water that Helen had spilled in her hurry to dump it on his head a while before made the floor slippery. He thought of calling her in to mop it up, but the image of her face rapidly dissuaded him. Better a live dog than an dead lion. Now where had he heard that before? Ah yes. the Good Book, The Good Book when he'd been forced to attend catechism by his fanatically Catholic parents.

It was probably three AM by now and his body screamed for sleep. In fact, he was sure that he was going in and out of REM and it was only the occasional loss of traction from his pat-and-leather dress shoes on the wet floor that brought him about. At other times, of course, his mind would have worked like a calculator. Two plus two obviously makes four but when you are in REM, or semi REM, two and two might very well equal six.

After twenty minutes of searching the kitchen for the keys, he was just about to give up when he caught the glimmer of copper-color as if out of nowhere. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Too many drinks and too much stress can do that. Add sleep deprivation to it and hallucinations will happen. But damn! That sure looked genuine to him. So he leaned over and...

''Found it hon..." before he could get the rest of the word out, he felt his right leg give way as it lost traction. Desperately, he flung his right hand and managed to grab the refrigerator door-handle. For a brief second, it did slow down his fall, but then it pivoted slowly on its bottom edge and began to topple.

''It's moments like those that make us appreciate just how lucky we are not only to be alive but to be healthy as well!' " he had said earlier at the dinner table after discussing how people feel just before and during an accident. Such subjects were usually part and parcel of family dinner conversations and each one was contributing an opinion. John had been almost dozing off from boredom, but Helen had elbowed him in the ribs. Luckily he had caught snatches of the conversation and was able to put that little shpiel together at a moment's notice. Which of course nullified Helen's accusatory: "I'll-get-you-later-for-this" look and seemed to bode well. Well hell!

Now it seemed as if he had been reciting an epitaph for his own gravestone. Just as he had described it to the guests, everything seemed to go in slow motion. As if time itself were enjoying his predicament and gloating with mother nature about his facial contortions as he watched the refrigerator's hulking white frame loom ponderously above him like a Damocles sword minus the thin strand holding it aloft.

Luckily his sliding momentum placed his head a fraction of an inch beyond its thunderous, ear-splitting, wood-splintering crash, but his back took the full brunt of the fall and he lay there grimacing in pain.    For a brief moment, as if from a great distance, he could hear the frantic hollering of his next-door neighbor once again threatening to call the police and the staccato barking of dogs accompanied now and then by the furious snarl and hiss of an alley cat. Finally, the toppling and crash of metal trash cans and the scurry of paws as if on cue from some deranged conductor directing his idea of a Magnus opus ceased.

Then silence. He half expected to hear applause. That was silly of course. But considering all that had happened, nothing seemed out of the question. He tried to move but couldn't. He could taste the ketchup mixed with whipped cream that had spilled on him as well as the egg-yokes slithering like giant amoebas slowly down his face. Then the pain subsided and all was peace and serenity as he mercifully lost consciousness.

How long he remained that way, he didn't know, but as he slowly came to, he saw Joey standing above him like one of those plump, rosy-cheeked, cherubim they place on Christmas gift-wrapping minus the glowing, golden, halo and the gossamer white wings. In one chubby hand he held the paw of the Teddy, from the other dangled the key to the basement door.

''Did Santa come yet dad?" he said.

''No! But he will soon if you go back to sleep," John groaned through the blinding agony and clenched teeth. Then, as if in a vision, Helen's green facial-masked face gradually coalesced above Joey's and John immediately and mercifully blacked out.