Love Story

Mom lit herself on fire in front of Dad’s favorite comic book store downtown. They had been broken up a few years by then. Dad used to take me there every other weekend to buy Simpsons comics and Pokemon cards.

It made the news, but we don’t share a last name, so nobody knew we were related. She did it to make a point about Dad being childish. I rarely even tell people anymore.

Their relationship was doomed ever since we moved. They bought a big house on Huron street, next to a church. It echoed like a cave system. Everybody heard everything. I slept in a small bedroom on the second floor, no lock on the door. I used to tie a string between the doorknob and the dresser as a safety measure.

We got robbed twice in the first month. The thieves stole all our bikes. Mom insisted we replace them so as to not feel like victims, but then we got robbed a second time, and we couldn’t afford more replacements. So then we were victims.

Both my parents worked long hours to pay the mortgage on the new house, and I spent all of my time alone. Soon I got the sense that something evil was hiding in the house with me because it began politely inviting me to leave. I heard quiet voices calling me out of bed at night, urging me toward the front door. Then I started finding sewing needles in my bedsheets and tacks in my shoes.

The haunted nature of the house made my mom’s alcoholism much worse. Her eyes lost all their color. I’d run into her in the kitchen at night and she’d talk to me like she was still at work, like I was her moron assistant. She’d whine and growl, and stare right through me, and mock me in this high-pitched voice, listing all my mistakes. Dad and I both stopped coming home. I stayed at my friend Theo’s house every night. We’d play video games in his basement and avoid talking for as long as possible. I don’t know where my dad went. I imagined him in the air-conditioned parking garage of his downtown office building, reading Simpsons comics.

One night my mom came home from work and there was an obvious static in the air. From my bedroom, I heard her keys hit the counter, and her purse hit the floor. I tried to interpret the direction of her footsteps.

She called out for my dad, but he wasn’t home.

She ran up the stairs next and the bannister shook. I tied my doorknob string and held on tight.

She grabbed the handle from the other side and pulled, but it only opened half an inch. She screamed and hit the doorframe with her fist. It cracked like a bone, and I lost my grip on the string, and she pulled again. This time she opened wide enough to wedge her foot in.

This was it: fate had found me. I opened my bedroom window, pushed the screen out, and jumped. I landed hard on the ground, rolling my ankles. I got up and started running toward Theo’s.

He was already awake when I arrived, waiting for me. He said nothing, just started cooking me food. Pasta with onions and peppers and sausage. A cold glass of seltzer with tangerine juice mixed in. I watched my ankles swell up like softballs.

- You can stay as long as you like.

I sat in a tall chair and ate in silence at his countertop. I was too scared to speak, too afraid I’d hear an echo. His house was all wood, surrounded by trees at the edge of the city; wooden walls and wooden ceiling, and tall windows that let in so much light. After I finished eating, we looked out the window together for what felt like hours. A big overgrown garden in the back begged to be maintained. Piles of rotting crabapples, clouds of flies moving in geometric patterns.

- I just let it all die, Theo finally said. It’s easier that way.