Bedfellow Page 10

  Tomas

  As always, Pablo spends the majority of lunch telling Tomas about the UFO in his garage. Pablo says the machine can now hover two inches off the ground. Months ago, when the boy first started talking about the invention, Tomas believed his friend, at least a little. But then, when Tomas went over to Pablo’s house, his friend said, “We can’t go into the garage now because of the radiation. We have to keep everything locked up.” And then, when Pablo was in the bathroom, Tomas peeked into the garage and only saw two black cars and some fishing equipment.

  Now, at the lunch table, Pablo says, “I think I’ll be done in a few more months.”

  “That’s cool,” Tomas says.

  “When I’m done, I’ll probably paint a skull on it, or a dragon head.”

  At the bottom of his paper lunch bag Tomas finds a neon-orange sticky note that says, You are the bee’s knees. You are the crow’s toes. You are the boulder’s shoulders. In his mind, he can hear his mother’s voice speaking the words. He feels a little bad about throwing away his mom’s note with the paper bag, but he doesn’t need to keep the actual paper. He can think back on any school day and see her words written there in the memory.

  After exiting the cafeteria to the playground, Tomas and Pablo sit on the cement ring surrounding their usual tree. They take out their notebooks and decide to see who can draw the most disgusting zombified dinosaur.

  Tomas tries to keep his attention focused on the page when Everest walks over and flicks his shoulder.

  “Spot,” Everest says. “Hey, Spot.” He flicks Tomas’s shoulder again, even harder than before. “Mark thinks you’re a mutant because your mom drank poison before you were born. She was probably drinking it so she could kill you. She’s probably really mad that you’re not dead.”

  “Shut up,” Pablo says.

  “You want me to flick you, too, Pablo?”

  “No.”

  Everest wanders off then, because he never stays anywhere for very long. Even in the classroom, he always asks if he can be excused to use the bathroom.

  After biting at his pencil for a while, Pablo says, “Wanna play handball?”

  “No,” Tomas says.

  “Okay.”

  Pablo rushes off to the handball court and leaves his open notebook behind, without even finishing his dinosaur’s rotting head.

  Tomas likes handball well enough, but he doesn’t want anyone to hear him sniffling. He doesn’t want anyone to see his face, in case a tear manages to get out.

  “That Everest is a real piece of shit,” the helper says, in a small high-pitched voice. “Sorry. A piece of crap.”

  The boy unzips the front pocket of his Gigan backpack so that he can see inside. Tomas wishes he could take the poor helper out, because he looks uncomfortable curled up in there with his russet-brown tunic all bunched up and twisted.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk here,” Tomas whispers.

  “Yeah, that’s not a hard-and-fast rule or anything. More of a suggestion. As long as we’re not calling too much attention to ourselves, we’ll be fine.” He stretches his arms above his head. “So, that Everest kid, does he do stuff like this often?”

  Tomas shrugs and sniffles again. He wipes at his right eye before the helper can see the tear.

  “Well, you don’t have to tell me,” the helper says. “I already know he’s been flicking you all year. I can see it. And the shit he says to you. Jeez.” Little Uncle Marv massages his tiny chin with his index finger and thumb. “The problem is, this kid will keep picking on you forever unless his soul reaches a state of enlightenment. Now, Big Marv can help us with this, but first we need to get Everest to your house.”

  Tomas doesn’t understand what enlightenment means, but the thought of inviting Everest to his home makes another tear come out.

  The helper sighs. “Look, I get where you’re coming from, kid. But you can’t deal with all your problems by drawing or crying or looking at your shoes. We need to make this playground a no-drama zone, where we can face your fears head on. That’s what your dad always tells you to do, isn’t it? Can you do that with me?”

  “I don’t know,” Tomas says. “I want to play handball.”

  “Well, if you ever decide that you don’t want to be a scared little boy anymore, let me know. I can help you get stronger. I can protect you. Trust me.”

  Tomas zips up his backpack and walks toward the handball court. On his way there, he spots Everest sitting with Mark near the soccer field, yanking out blades of grass. Tomas holds his breath. He’s not exactly sure how a tiny man in his backpack could protect him, but Little Uncle Marv probably has some special powers. The helpers did heal Tomas after he cut his leg, after all. They saved his dad’s life in San Diego.

  Staring at Everest now, Tomas does feel a little safer. A little stronger. Maybe one day he will invite Everest over to his house to play, only they won’t play at all, and then Uncle Marv will take care of everything.

  Hendrick

  Hendrick leaves work early for another doctor’s appointment, but of course he hasn’t visited Dr. Moon since his checkup last year, and he’s not planning on seeing the man again any month soon. Instead, Hendrick drives toward the mall where a nine-year-old girl was shot in the chest last year. Imani won’t take the kids there anymore.

  Steering his crappy old Corolla with one hand, Hendrick connects his phone to the FM transmitter, and then he listens to Morgaine’s voice through the car stereo. In her raspy voice, she tells him that she’s in complete control. She commands him to sit perfectly still while she slips her middle finger into her mouth. Sometimes, while he’s stopped at a light or cruising on an empty street, he closes his eyes for a few seconds. Sometimes, when he’s in a busier area, he glances at the people on the street, searching for Morgaine’s dark emerald eyes or her long, wavy hair that always drapes down over her breasts.

  To be honest, Hendrick feels somewhat awkward, listening to Morgaine with the tiny man tucked away inside his leather messenger bag. But then again, Marv said this thing isn’t a human being in any sense. It only exists to help Hendrick achieve his goals.

  Hendrick roves around in the mall, squandering his hundred-dollar bills on a poplin shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, a neon sign that says LIVE SHOW, and a bag of cinnamon pretzel chunks. When he first started shopping in this mall, he would hem and haw and search each store thoroughly before making a decision. He kept thinking about how one day his stash would run out. Now, when Hendrick enters a store, he darts in a random direction and grabs whatever happens to catch his fancy. He had to train himself to shop in this manner, and he’s glad that he did.

  While wandering, Hendrick continues to keep an eye out for anyone who looks like Morgaine. The closest he comes to finding her is an eyeless mannequin draped in black velvet, with barely open lips. He considers asking the manager of the goth store if he could purchase her, but he’s positive such a request would come to nothing. Stepping out of the goth store, Hendrick sighs. He’s carried the messenger bag (and the small Marv) with him at all times, but the little creature’s juju hasn’t accomplished anything whatsoever. Perhaps his creature is defective in some way?

  On his way out of the mall, Hendrick spots a Mr. Peanut bobblehead in one of the display windows. He hesitates for a moment, because this outing isn’t supposed to be about Imani. But in the end, he buys the toy to replace the ugly peanut figurine his wife broke the other night. That should score him a few points, at least.

  When he reaches the apartment complex, he leaves Mr. Peanut in the trunk and carries the rest of his haul up to Brett’s place. First things first, he fills his Waldorf Hotel whiskey glass with some forty-year-old liquor. He doesn’t sit down quite yet, because there are water bottles and granola-bar wrappers all over the carpet. With his glass in hand, Hendrick kicks all the trash back into Brett’s territory. Hendrick considers leaving a note, but then again, Brett’s doing him a favor, letting him rent a quarter of this place.
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  “Hey, can you let me out now?” the creature says from inside the messenger bag.

  “Yeah, sure.” Hendrick reaches in the bag and tosses the creature onto the couch. The little monstrosity vomits a moment later, and Hendrick rushes to the kitchenette for some paper towels.

  “That couch is only six months old,” Hendrick says.

  “Sorry,” the creature says, backing away from the vomit stain. “Can I have a bit of that towel? I got a little on myself.”

  While Hendrick cleans up the couch, the creature wipes at his pastel pink jacket and red pants. The man feels mildly repulsed every time he glances at the monster, mostly due to the grotesque outfit he’s wearing.

  “So,” the monster says. “I can help you get this Morgaine woman, but I can’t conjure her out of thin air. That’s impossible, even for me.”

  Hendrick feels somewhat surprised that the creature knows so much about his thoughts, but that’s spiritual beings for you, he supposes.

  Before he has a chance to respond, the creature continues. “What I can do is change a woman so that she looks like Morgaine to you. I could even change Imani, but I’m guessing that’s not the scenario you’re looking for. Am I right?”

  “Yeah.”

  The little creature taps at his forehead, just like the real Marv. “So, you need another woman. You could try a bar or one of those dating apps, I guess. Or, if you want to get this going right now, you could use that purple notebook Brett told you about. It’s up to you, Hen.”

  “Don’t call me Hen.” After gulping down a few mouthfuls of whiskey, Hendrick strolls into the kitchenette and plucks the Lakers notebook from the top of the fridge. He finds the page with names like Cupcake and Kandi and Ambyr written in red ink. Next to each name is a price, a star rating, and other relevant information. All he would have to do is call up one of these women, using Brett’s house phone, and he could have Morgaine within the next hour. He would have to be careful, of course. He’d need to use one of the condoms in Brett’s bucket, and he’d need to shower before going home. He’d need to check himself in the mirror and make sure that his experience with Morgaine wasn’t showing at all on his face.

  Hendrick chooses one of the women with five stars and heads over to Brett’s ’60s-style rotary phone. He picks up the handset. He feels a little nauseous.

  “This might not be the best idea,” Hendrick says. “Who knows what kind of STDs I could pick up from these kinds of women. I should probably try out a bar instead.”

  By now, the creature’s climbed to the top of the leather couch. He says, “I know you inside and out, bro, and you’re only—” The creature slips and falls behind the couch, screaming as he flails his arms. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, that hurt. I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for your concern.” The monster rubs the back of his head. “As I was saying, I know you. I mean, I’m not Marv exactly, but I might as well be. And you’re not hesitating right now because of venereal diseases. You need to be honest with yourself and accept the fact that this is difficult for you. You might not be in love with Imani the way that you used to, but she still has her tendrils inside you. Right?”

  Hendrick returns the handset to the cradle and heads back to the couch for his whiskey.

  “Well, you don’t have to say anything,” the monster says, clambering up the couch. “I know your mind. And I can help make all this so much easier for you, but I’m going to need some information from you first.”

  And so, for the next hour, Hendrick searches his mind for the details the imp requires. He feels sick to his stomach most of the hour, and more than once he thinks, Buddy, you’re a fool. He probably shouldn’t open himself up to a monster like this. When all’s said and done, though, Hendrick doesn’t mind being a fool if it means he can finally live the life he’s always deserved.

  Kennedy

  On the way to school, Kennedy collected a bundle of daisies next to the upside-down VW full of bees. The overgrown field scraped at her ankles and made her eyes puff up a little, but she didn’t care. During fourth period, she gave Alejandra the flowers, along with her dancing-doughnut backpack charm. Alejandra said, “Thank you,” but that was all.

  Now that school’s over, the two of them walk together as usual. The problem is that Alejandra stays a few steps ahead of her, and whenever Kennedy tries to catch up, her friend quickens her pace even more.

  “Alejandra, please,” the girl says.

  But her friend won’t slow down, and she won’t respond.

  After Alejandra turns right at the dentist’s office, Kennedy continues forward alone.

  “Hey, sorry about your friend,” Fantastico says from inside her backpack.

  “I thought we weren’t supposed to talk in public.”

  “Well, yeah, but this isn’t super public. Why don’t you take out your phone, and then anyone who sees you will think you’re talking on speaker.”

  Kennedy holds her phone out in front of her a little. Despite the agony of Alejandra’s silent treatment, Kennedy feels energized at the thought of asking Fantastico all the questions she formed throughout the day. “You really don’t mind me calling you Fantastico? I can change it to Marv, if that’s better.”

  “Nah,” the helper says from behind her back. “I’m connected with your uncle, but I have my own consciousness, in a sense. I don’t mind being called something different. Fantastico’s good.”

  Kennedy hops over a crack in the cement that looks a little like a half-closed eye. “So, what are you, exactly?”

  Fantastico’s silent for a few seconds. “I’m a . . . a manifestation of spiritual energies and arcane truths.”

  “Yeah, Uncle Marv said that. But what does it mean, exactly?”

  “It’s hard to explain. I guess you could say I’m a set of goals brought to life in the physical realm. I exist to achieve those goals. Does that make any sense? Anyway, the point is, I can help you with whatever it is you need help with.”

  “Thanks for doing that.”

  “Yeah. No problem.”

  Kennedy hops up on top of a retaining wall in front of the gothic-style cathedral with all the spires and elongated windows. The farther she walks on the wall, the higher she rises from the sidewalk. For a moment, she imagines the retaining wall fracturing and spouting pale, bloated corpses. She pushes the thought from her mind and considers what she might want from a supernatural being like Fantastico. She needs a little help with her algebra homework, but her mom usually covers that. Could Fantastico give her some advice on how to deal with Alejandra?

  Kennedy gets to the point on the wall where it’s too high to jump, so she has to retrace her steps a little and leap off from there.

  “Hey,” Fantastico says. “Why don’t you tell Alejandra you were sick during the weekend. You could say you were too sick to go to her party.”

  Kennedy spits out the top button of her flannel shirt that she’s been gnawing on. “She wouldn’t believe that, because I didn’t ever mention that before. And anyways, I don’t want to lie to her.”

  “Okay, well. Maybe you could make her one of those mix CDs, like you did last year.”

  “How do you know about that?” Kennedy pushes the crosswalk button four times, because that’s one of her luckiest numbers.

  “I know everything your uncle knows.”

  “But Uncle Marv never knew about that mix CD. Can you read my mind or something?”

  “Well, sometimes I need to delve a little into your past experiences so that I can figure out how best to help you. I haven’t seen every moment of your life or anything, but I can usually find what I need to find.”

  Before Kennedy can formulate any follow-up questions, a man in a dark blue tracksuit stops right in front of her and says, “Hi.”

  Kennedy stops too and spits her top button out of her mouth.

  “Do you live around here,” the man says, scratching the side of his face. The way he says it, his sentence doesn’t sound at all like a question.

  “I ha
ve to go,” Kennedy says.

  “Why? What’s wrong? I haven’t done anything, have I?”

  “I have to go,” she says again, and when she tries to walk past the man, he steps to his side and blocks her.

  “Why are you—” The tracksuit man doubles over and clutches at his stomach. “What the fuck!” he says. “What the fuck! What the fuck!”

  Kennedy easily sidesteps the man now, and she surges faster than usual toward her street.

  “Did you do that?” Kennedy says.

  “Well, yeah,” the high-pitched voice says behind her.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “I, uh. It’s a little hard to explain, but I made him think he was recently stabbed in the stomach by a duck. The duck had knives for bills, and when the duck tried to talk, the tracksuit guy’s insides all spilled out. It’s all I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”

  “Wow,” Kennedy says. “Cool.”

  When she gets home, the first thing the girl does is take Fantastico out of her bag and give him a gentle hug with one hand.

  “Thanks for what you did,” she says.

  Fantastico taps his chin with finger, over and over. “It was nothing.”

  After setting her helper down next to the Easter Island head, she dumps the contents of her backpack onto her desk. She likes to finish all her homework as early as possible so she can enjoy the rest of the night without freaking out and biting off all her nails.

  “Do you know anything about algebra?” the teenager says.

  “Well, I’m not much of a math guy,” Fantastico says, leaning against the stone head on her desk.

  Instead of grabbing her textbook, Kennedy picks up today’s sticky note from her mom. It says, You are the bee’s knees. You are the deer’s ears. You are the crane’s brains. Her mom’s messages never make much sense, but she doesn’t really mind. She tosses the sticky note inside the drawer with all the other crinkled Post-its.

  Before she loses her motivation for homework, Kennedy opens up her purple binder. As for her helper, he sits cross-legged on a marble coaster. When he unbuttons his leather jacket, he reveals a T-shirt underneath.