Chapter Six
I dunno when it happened exactly, but sometime between July and September it developed that, come Labor Day, Kevin was nothing but overbearing. He was always there and I realized how much we didn't get along when I was my usual self, and how much that not-getting-along was compounded when we were alone, without Brian or Howie there to mediate or AJ there to distract him.
"You should put the milk away," he said when I was sitting on the couch eating cereal, the milk on the coffee table as I watched a special on the History Channel - reruns of this miniseries called Life After Humans that I was addicted to. "It's gonna go sour if you keep leaving it out like that."
"So I'll buy new milk," I said. On the screen, a simulated, desolate New York City was being overrun by wild animals and the ocean levels were rising, and the Statue of Liberty was being swallowed whole by the tide.
"That's wasteful. It'll take you thirty seconds to put the milk away," Kevin commented.
"So you put it away then."
"I didn't take it out," he said pointedly.
I didn't even look up from the show. "I dunno what you're bitching about, it's my milk not yours." Kevin was dusting the thick drapes. He pushed them open. Sunlight came in. It reflected off the screen of the TV. "Hey, close those," I said, "I can't see the TV."
Kevin didn't close them.
I looked over at him, "Seriously, close the fucking shades," I said.
"They look better open and I can actually see the dust," Kevin said. He turned away from the shades and sprayed Pinesol all over the table. "If you don't like it you can get up and close them yourself," he said, "And while you're at it you can put the milk away."
"Stop cleaning," I whined. "Thats all you do. I never know where anything is anymore, you move it or you throw it away. You realize I spent like a century trying to find the damn extra toilet paper last night?"
"I'm only putting things where they belong, if you looked where they belonged you would find them," he retorted, "And if you don't like the fact that I'm cleaning your house, then maybe you should get off your ass and do that yourself too," he suggested.
I ignored him. I turned the TV up.
I don't think Kevin had a clue how much I sincerely appreciated my alone time. It was the only moments I felt like I could maybe be my old self again. I'd actively try to move on during those periods when I was alone, where as when Kevin was around I felt more like a wounded animal that was being tended to and I was apt to try less or feel worse. I didn't know how to tell him that so instead of explaining myself, I just acted like a tool and hoped he'd go away.
For the record, the milk did indeed go a little sour. But I'm so stubborn that I drank it anyway.
I also closed the shades and refused to open them again.
By mid-September Kevin had finally caught on that I was okay by myself and instead of coming and spending entire weeks with me, he showed up once a week for a couple hours before driving back to Kentucky where he was living with Kristin and Mason. Once a week without fail Kevin showed up on my door step to check-in that I was eating, exercising, and cleaning the house to at least an acceptable level.
And for the most part I was.
I mean I still wasn't particularly leaving the house and I still hated the sunlight - I preferred to go out to the 24-hour Kroger in the middle of the night for my grocery needs and look at the stars as I jogged, but I was indeed getting out.
But on October 13th, I was laying in bed, face down on the pillow, just like I'd done for most of January, my body moving in retrograde. I'd woke up after having a dream - an amazing dream, where CowBelle was still alive, still smiling, laughing, talking. I'd gotten her a birthday cake and balloons and we were talling jokes and happy and she ran her hand over her stomach to tell me she was pregnant and I was just about to react to the news when I woke up and realized there was no baby, there was no cake or balloons or, for that matter, CowBelle. But it was her birthday.
It was the first time in five years that I wouldn't be celebrating it with her.
I tried not to think about it - about what the day was. I tried to go about my everyday routine but it seemed like reminders that CowBelle wasn't there kept popping up in the weirdest ways. Like I was standing in the bathroom brushing my teeth and something caught my eye and it was an earring that we'd once torn the bedroom apart looking for...and there it was, just laying on the bathroom floor under the sink. Then I was in the kitchen and the phone rang and it was a telemarketer calling, looking for her. A birthday card in the mail from her auto mechanic offering her $10 off an oil change to celebrate. And finally an article in the paper about the Dyer Observatory.
Apparently the observatory had been overrun the night before during their open house hour by people who were big fans of Project Whitenoise holding a candlelight vigil for CowBelle.
My heart ached and I cut the article out of the paper and hung it on the fridge next to the clipping of the obituary and the notecard from her parents that I'd received months before. I stared at the phone number. I really should call them, I thought, but it was past an even remotely appropriate time. I was embarassed by the way I'd acted now, just walking off and disappearing, never calling them back. I just couldn't handle losing her.
I still couldn't.
I suddenly felt extremely... profoundly... alone. And I almost wished Kevin would show up, while at the same time hoping he didn't. What I really wanted was CowBelle to show up, but I knew that wasn't gonna happen. She was gone. Gone. The word echoed in my head and I closed my eyes, the finality of the statement rocking me.
I couldn't do this, not today.
I pushed the basement door open and crept down the stairs. I hated the basement. It was creepy. We used it as storage space when we moved for all the stuff our huge house in LA had been capable of holding that our Nashville place just couldn't contain. Sometimes, CowBelle had come down here and gone through stuff and switched things out to freshen rooms up. But it was mostly just a giant collection of random furniture and crap that we never used and therefore had grown a profound amount of dust.
And in one of the drawers of a particular desk was our stash. I located the desk and pulled the drawer open and inside lay three full bottles of Jack Daniels. I grabbed all three and headed back upstairs.
I had her on the mind. Now I was gonna drink myself out of it.
When I got back upstairs with my loot, turned on the TV, and sat down on the couch to drink it all away.
"An incredible machine, Annie, look at it go. You'll never need to get your fingers dirty making a salad again."
"Absolutely not, Jack. The Saladmatic does all the hard work for you... You just put your precut produce into the bowl, add your dressing into the dressing cup, close the lid and with the press of a button...... the Saladmatic mixes a beautiful salad for you in no time."
"Amazing, absoutely amazing. Look at that puppy go. Folks, you're really gonna want to get in on this one. Act quickly and we'll send you this beautiful serving fork with your paid order."
When there came a knock at the door I assumed it was gonna be Kevin. He had to know what October 13th was. I could picture him telling Kris why he had to drive down to Nashville. "It's her birthday, Kris," he'd say in that ridiculously slow voice of his. I made my way to the door and pulled it open, fully expecting it to be Kevin.
"I'm fine, I've told you this a thousand times if I've told you once," I growled. Somewhere deep down I was somewhat thankful he'd finally gotten there, too. Glad I'd be able to admit defeat finally and stop trying to make it through today. The sunlight streamed through the door, I squinted it back. It'd been awhile. I felt like a mole. "I don't need you to worry about..." my eyes adjusted to the light, slowly picked out the shape of her, little bits at a time. "...me." I stared at her.
My CowBelle.
Standing on the porch like nothing had happened, her freckles as bright as ever, her eyes piercing, hauntingly green. I closed my eyes, shook my head, opened them again and still. There she was.
"Nick Carter." She said it like a question, her eyebrow cocked.
I felt stupid even answering her. "Of course I am," I whispered, "You know that."
She stepped quickly into the foyer, pushing by me, and her voice rose in a panic, "Enable your defensive shields. She pulled me inside and slammed the door, spun the lock. "Now."
I had to be hallucinating. This had to be a cruel joke of my eyes, of my mind.
"Your defensive, protective force fields? Your shields?" she said.
I shook my head, "I don't have defensive whoosey- whatties," I replied. I watched her move, watched her walk, pace even. She grabbed the curtain beside the door, peered out, then let go of the curtain and spun to face me. Every move she made seemed turbo charged. No, I reminded myself, She doesn't seem turbo charged...she doesn't exist. This is your mind.
"Your ship is in trouble, they're coming for you. You need to put up your defensive, protective force fields and arm every man, woman, and child on your planet to prepare for war," she declared, her voice fierce.
"War? What?"
"I came here to warn you."
"But -- you're dead."
"No," CowBelle shook her head, "You only thought so."
"What I think is that something serious got added to this Jack," I said, waving the bottle. "My head is getting fucked up by whatever it is..."
CowBelle took the bottle and sniffed the neck of it. She looked up at me. "Alcohol. Your sobriety is impaired. No wonder." She shoved the bottle back into my hands and rushed through the door of the foyer, headed to the living room. "Where is the control room?" she demanded.
I followed after her, "There is no control room..."
She moved from room to room to room, pushing open doors, flipping light switches on and off. She paused at the TV, then muttered, "Appars to be solely recreational entertainment..."
"The TV?"
"Where is your control room?" she demanded again.
"I don't have a control room. You know we don't have a control room, you live here, too." I shook my head, "Of course you don't really because you aren't real, I'm just losing my mind."
CowBelle pushed by me again and moved to the stairs. She thundered up them. I heard doors opening and closing, the sound of them slamming echoing down the steps. I closed my eyes and shook my head again. This was one helluva vivid hallucination. What the crap happened to that Jack Daniels? Seriously. I hadn't drank that much of it...
"Aha!" she shouted.
I looked up the stairs. "Aha what?" I asked.
"...thinking I wouldn't find the panel... inferior..."
"What?"
I heard some noises, but no response came, so I jogged up the stairs two at a time and found the light to my in-house studio glowing into the hallway. I stepped inside and found CowBelle sitting at the soundboard. She'd switched the power on and the sliders glowed red in the mostly dark room, the Mac up to the starscape desktop that came standard, and she was touching the screen, tapping various points on it.
"Your navigational system seems to be faulty," she said.
"It isn't a touch screen," I replied.
She moved a bunch of sliders arbitrarily. A speaker in the corner hummed as she increased the bass. "There. Your force fields are up. We're safe."
"I don't have force fields."
She turned around quickly, stared me right in the eyes. "How much did you drink?" she demanded.
I held up the bottle.
She looked at it. "Great. Great... just perfect. You know you're wasting precious time? Every moment that we spend not cooperating on this effort is a moment closer they come." CowBelle shook her head.
"Who is they?" I asked.
"My people," she answered evenly. "They're coming to stop the whitenoise."
Whitenoise by Pengi
