31 Dec January’s Fiction – I Love Watching You Play

Michael Henry Harris is an actor, a writer, and Co-Artisitc Director of InViolet Theater. This story was first published by DEER BEAR WOLF in their Fall 2016 Issue Number Four.

Approximate reading time is 15 minutes.

 

I LOVE WATCHING YOU PLAY

by Michael Henry Harris

Kay Miller stood by the front door waiting for her daughter.

“Abby!”

Nothing.

“We’re going to be late!”

Abby shuffled in from the hallway, the open floor plan allowing Kay a grueling test of restraint as one pudgy leg slowly followed the other across the carpet. On top of Abby’s usual lack of velocity, she was also now distracted by her fondling of the long, muscled leg of a runner on the gold trophy she carried. Kay had dug it out from a box in the attic two weeks ago hoping to inspire Abby to work hard, and now the trophy was in the regular rotation of her toys and dolls. It gave Kay a mixture of pride and embarrassment whenever an adult noticed what Abby was playing with.

“Do you think I’ll get one like this, Mommy?”

“Not if we never leave the house.”

“I’m coming.”

This is why I drink, Kay smiled to herself.

In the car, Kay strapped Abby in, “it’s quicker if I do it, honey,” and started the car. She had backed halfway out the driveway stopping abruptly . . . shit.

“What is it, Mommy?”

“I’ll be right back.”

The stupid camera. “Don’t forget the camera,” Ernie had said about one hundred times that morning. He had even given her two more quick lessons on how to use it since he was working today, and would probably miss the meet. Kay grabbed the camera from the bar, and ran back to the car.

“Mom, what was it?”

“Nothing. Let’s go.”

#

Better than average traffic meant that they were only ten minutes late. Girls and boys, ages six to seventeen, and their supportive or coerced parents and relatives had already covered all of the paved parking spaces. Kay followed the cardboard signs to the additional parking, gliding between the various minivans and SUVs before landing beside an Acura MDX. She wondered why someone would spend all that money when a Chevy Equinox was basically the same thing.

They got out of the car, Abby now pulling on Kay’s arm. Directly in front of them were Vicky and Marge Drummel. Abby and Marge had been in school together since kindergarten. Marge was her only real friend. Vicky and Kay drank wine together while they watched the girls play. It was enough in lieu of a real bond.

The girls squealed and hugged and started to run off when Vicky called her daughter back. She gave her a hug and whispered something in her ear. Marge smiled then ran off grabbing Abby by the hand and they were gone. “Run fast,” Kay shouted, but she wasn’t sure if Abby had heard.

Kay and Vicky went into the stands, a series of wooden bleachers usually reserved for middle school football parents, that were today hosting the Fifth Annual Children’s and Teen’s Track Fest. Yippee.

Why I am in such a bitchy mood?

Abby decided it was probably the stress from having to shoot the video. This was definitely Ernie’s department, and he was good at it. When they first bought the camera, he had tried to teach her a few of the special effects and some camera techniques, but in the end, Kay agreed that this particular division of labor was good for the marriage. She wished he was here, but was glad that Abby wasn’t pouting about it. They needed the money.

Vicky was carrying an oversized Mickey Mouse ceramic water bottle which Kay knew from previous events held merlot. Kay liked that Vicky brought it and shared, and also liked the slightly superior feeling it gave her that she didn’t need to bring one herself. Of course, as long it was there . . .

“How are you?” Vicky asked.

“Crabby and nervous.”

“Maybe Mickey can help with that,” Vicky said, handing Kay the bottle.

Kay happily took a big chug.

Wait for it, wait for it . . .

“Where’s Ernie?”

Ever since three months ago when Roger, Vicky’s husband, had left her, Vicky’s first and usually repeated question to Kay was always, where’s Ernie? It was as if Vicky asked it often enough, Kay would have to admit that Ernie had run off with a waitress like Roger did.

Why so mean today?

“He’s going to be late if he makes it at all. Working. It’s why I have the camera.”

“He’s always working.”

And he was. Ernie was currently delivering pizzas which was on top of his normal job as an x-ray tech. He had recently read a book by a financial guru who was supposed to guide them out of debt. His ingenious formula was to spend less and make more. Sacrifice now so they wouldn’t have to later, blah, blah, blah. So far neither Kay or Ernie had given up their wine or video games respectively, but at least they were earning more.

“This has to bring back some memories for you,” said Vicky. Kay tried to hide her cringe. Even at Abby’s age, Kay was running in more competitive and professional environments than this. She was, or had been, a prodigy. The running equivalent of, well, Mozart might have been a stretch, but certainly a Strauss. That was until she got hurt when she was thirteen. Run over by a pale blue Chrysler with a drunk for a pilot. Her parents were truly thankful that their girl was alive.  At first. Then gradually, the sense that they had produced someone truly special diminished. When they realized they were now left with someone, “normal,” actually now slightly less than normal, they blamed Kay. Kay used to say they had already mentally spent the Wheaties money. She no longer spoke with them.

“It was such a different environment back then,” Kay said diplomatically. “How is Marge?”

“Fighting a cold. I almost didn’t bring her.”

“Thank God you did. Abby ran faster from the car to her than she will in the race.” They both laughed. “Maybe with Marge sick, Abby will make it close.”

“As long as they have fun.”

Kay took another pull from Mickey.

The race officials were starting to line up the six year olds. One of the benefits of their youth was that they ran first. Abby and Marge were next to each other in the third heat. The girls were so different. Marge was all knees and elbows, while Abby’s torso was large for her age and size. Kay wished she had bought Abby the larger sized uniform. Maybe that would’ve hid the little roll of fat now peaking over the waistband. They were still holding hands. Marge and Abby, friends forever. The girls were thankfully still oblivious to their distinctly different body types – there had been no fat jokes yet – but Kay knew that would be ending soon.

The gun went off with a loud bang that startled them. The first heat was off. A couple of the girls were pretty fast. Kay automatically critiqued their form. She never lost her coach’s voice, a high-pitched, nasally whine, ringing in her ear. “Knees up, Kay! Knees up!”

“I’d better get to my position. See you after.” Kay took another sip from Mickey and climbed to the highest part of the bleachers for the unobstructed view. The second heat had already started.

The camera was as easy to use as Ernie had proclaimed, in that slightly condescending way men do to their women about technology. She pushed record and waited, catching some of the second heat before zooming in on Abby who looked nervous. She was looking at the stands, either for Kay or her Dad.

Focus, Abby.

Abby was still looking around dreamily when the starter said “take your marks.” Then the gun went off. Abby didn’t move.

Go!!

Even at her maximum effort and gale force winds behind her, Abby wasn’t going to be anything but last, but with a late start . . . It was hard for Kay to watch. She wanted to go down to the track and run with her, lead her on, cheer her, or push from behind. Maybe kick her in the ass. Anything. Even with her bad leg, Kay thought she could help.

With about one-third of the race to go Abby slowed down to almost a stop. Kay’s face turned crimson. I’m not raising a quitter. Abby was looking into the sky staring at something she alone could see. Then thankfully she saw her Dad down by the fence who was waving at her to keep running. He made it. Abby sprinted to the end, coming in last by what Kay estimated as at least five seconds – a long time in a short race.

Kay shook her head, gave an oh well look to Vicky, and walked down the stands to Ernie. They did not hug.

“You made it,” Kay said.

“How’d it go?”

“You saw. She’s not fast.”

“The filming.”

Oh. “Fine.”

Kay was powering down the camera when Abby ran over to them. Ernie picked her up, letting out a small oof as he did, and gave her a big hug.

“Did you see me, Mommy? Was I as fast as you?” Abby asked.

“You were faster. I just stood there in the stands filming.”

“Can we watch it please? Now?”

“We can watch it tomorrow,” said Ernie, taking the camera and his videographer title back from Kay.

“Can we get pizza with Marge after we get our trophies?”

Kay looked down. “Oh sweetheart, I don’t know if you’ll get a — “

“Abby come on! Let’s get out trophies,” said Marge, dragging Abby away.

They all get trophies. Of course they do.

#

Kay lay there for a long time listening to Ernie snore. She turned on her side feeling the firmness and sleek shape of her body, the tone of her thighs. She liked the way they felt. She thought about pleasuring herself but the snoring was too much.

Kay knew she drank more than usual at dinner. There was an argument about whether Abby needed a third piece of pizza. Probably why I can’t sleep. Kay had always found that the correct alcohol intake was needed for optimum performance in pool, sex, and now sleep, apparently. The snoring didn’t help. Once or twice she’d given him a decent shove which offered her a brief respite, but that only made it worse when he started back again.

She got up from the bed, and peered inside Abby’s door, listening to her snoring. It was the same as her Dad’s, but sweeter. The Wonder Woman night light was cutting across Abby’s face, reflecting on her trophy, the head of the runner jammed into her cheek. It couldn’t have been comfortable, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Kay went to the couch and turned on the t.v. Was she still drunk? She wasn’t hungover, so . . . yes. She flipped around looking for a movie. She settled on the last two minutes of an old Friends. “The One Where the Mom Listens to Her Fat Family Snore.” Stop being so mean.

Kay turned off the television, and went to the fridge where she found an unopened magnum of wine. She used to think she hated Chardonnay, but then one night at her friend Jen’s birthday dinner she realized she just hated cheap Chardonnay. She poured a big glass, and then took down the bottle of NyQuil from the cabinet. Forgoing the dose cup, she poured, one, two, three, one to grow on into her mouth. That should do it.

To kill time before the medicine kicked in, she decided to pick up a little. She walked around her house – started looking at it in that fresh way that an outsider would. She noticed the boxes in the corners. The random pieces of clothing on the floor. The scattered bookshelves. The crap. Everywhere. It made her sad. She drank her wine, making note of the things she would change if she had the money. The couch? Yes. The rugs? Definitely. The book shelves, oh please yes. She realized she felt sorry for whomever lived here. What must have happened to them that this was the way they wound up? When did they stop caring?

She saw the video camera on the table by the front door. A project. And much more fun than cleaning. Kay poured herself another glass of wine and took the Sony out of the case. It couldn’t be that hard, right? May as well be productive. She popped out the memory card and pushed it into the laptop on the kitchen bar, shoving aside the papers that were nearly drowning the computer. After a reluctant rainbow wheel smiled her way for a few seconds, IMOVIE popped up. Why yes, I would like to import.

As the images slowly loaded, she refilled her glass. It’s amazing how quickly a bottle goes these days. She watched the fragmented shots of the stands, Vicky, the girls, some other not quite intended views of the sky and close – ups of the starter. I’ll edit that stuff out. The footage finally completed loading, and Kay clicked the full screen play button.

On the screen, the starter fired his pistol. BLAM. Abby hadn’t moved. Through the computer speakers, Kay’s voice yelling “Damnit Abby go!” Heads turned in the bottom of the frame.

Oh God.

The rest much, much softer, but terrifyingly audible, oh please no  . . .

“Jesus, Abby what are you doing? Run! Move your fat ass, for the love of life . . . quit smiling, you’re in last place, you have absolutely nothing to be smiling about, ever . . . don’t you know what they’re going to say about you? Go! Why did you stop? Go! Great, you’ll run for your Dad, the fucking pizza man. Way to go, you finished last. And you’re smiling. What will you do when you realize you’re a failure?”

She slammed her finger onto the mute button, and the recording continued in silence, the images after the end of the race a wild rotation of unplanned shots.

Kay slammed the compter shut.

Nausea and dizziness. She felt heavy. Too deep in her body. The wine. The NyQuil. What she had said. She burped and tasted throw up in her mouth. Reluctantly she swallowed it down stumbling to the hallway bathroom where more came up, the green peppermint of the NyQuil mixing with the oaky yellowness from the Chardonnay.

Got to hug Abby. Tell her I’m sorry. Love her. Kiss her.

Kay rinsed her mouth and wiped her face, managing to avoid looking in the mirror. She stopped at Abby’s door and for a brief moment saw how it would play out, that she couldn’t go to her now – not this late nor in this condition. In the morning. In the morning. Make things better in the morning. My poor Abby.

Kay started to get nauseous again. It became harder to stand. She fell onto her bedroom door which thankfully didn’t give. She fumbled with the nob. Got it open. God he snores so loud. Doesn’t matter. Must get to the bed. Don’t throw up again. Get to the bed.

She collapsed onto the bed and passed out.

#

Kay woke up to the smell of bacon. Gradually, other senses came to life. She could hear voices, barely. Louder was metal banging together. Then everything disappeared except for the pounding in her head and the extreme need for water. If she remained perfectly still, her head almost didn’t hurt. But she needed to pee. Badly. These contradictory needs competed until she got up out of bed, dry heaving on her way to the bathroom. It’s smelled like lemons. She slammed down two glasses of tap and sat on the toilet. Thank God it’s Sunday.

As she washed her hands, she looked in the mirror. It all came rushing back. A rip in her stomach opened up, and she bent over double. All was lost. There was no coming back from this. Maybe, just maybe they haven’t watched the video yet. Her blood shot eyes condemned her. What will you do when you realize you’re a failure?

She peaked her head out into the living room. Saw Ernie first. He was standing over the stove, facing her, concentrating on the bacon in the frying pan as if he was cooking it with x-ray vision. Her heart bloomed with love watching how serious he could be about everyday things, his face scrunched up as he flipped the bacon.

Then she saw Abby at the kitchen counter, her back towards Kay, watching something on the computer. Kay couldn’t see what, but she could hear a voice, a woman’s voice, and even though she couldn’t decipher what it was saying, she didn’t need to. She’d already heard it. Hell, she’d said it.

Kay stood there, silently taking them in, studying every detail because she knew it was the last moment like this of her life. It was all over. As if confirmation were needed, Ernie looked up form the bacon, black hatred in his normally soft brown eyes, and Abby’s shoulders heaved as if she had let out a stifled, what . . . a wail? A loud sniffle? Was she she crying?

Kay collapsed to the floor.

Ernie ran around the counter, helping her up, the blackness replaced with Paris grey. He carried her over to a chair.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” No. I’ll never be okay.

“We need to talk.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Abby turned from the computer, her eyes red and nose leaking.

Unforgivable. Kay started crying. “I’m so sorry, Abby. I love you so, so much, and I never –“

“Not now.” said Ernie.

Kay bowed her head. Of course. It’s not about me, it’s about her. Have to help her.

“What’s wrong with Mommy?” Abby asked.

“She’s sick, honey.”

Oh yes, I am. I am so sick. Please forgive me.

Abby got down from the stool and walked over to Kay. “I’m sick too.”

Abby gave Kay a hug.

“You know what will make you feel better, Mommy?”

This Abby, this hug makes me feel better.

“What?”

“Come see how fast I ran.”

Abby climbed back on the stool, and pushed the space bar on the computer. “Here I go!”

Dear Lord please no. Kay stood motionless behind Abby and watched the soundless video of the race, barely noting the woman on the kitchen radio discussing the economy. “I slowed down here ’cause I saw a bird, but then I sped up,” Abby said through her stopped-up nose.

Ernie walked by, surreptitiously showing Kay the trash bag which only contained an wine bottle and the NyQuil. She looked him in eye and whispered, “Never again.”

What will you do when you realize you’re a failure?

Kay wrapped her arms around Abby feeling the softness of their cheeks together. She kissed Abby on the neck.

“Did I do good, Mommy?”

“You did great, honey. You did great. I love watching you run.”

 

 

THE END