Thaw

A short story • 9 min | He’ll leave if he thinks I’m asleep

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He’ll leave if he thinks I’m asleep. 

Alfred stoops by the doorway, blocking my escape. I shut my eyes, but my bed lacks its usual comfort. I’m fully clothed. The musty scent of mud lingers in my sheets. Nausea creeps up my stomach as the dark room continues to sway. I can’t stay here.

Image generated by DALL-E

Face pressed against my pillow, I peek over with one eye. A dull glow seeps through the bedroom door, washing over Alfred’s pale face. He yawns.

Two hundred pounds of grunting Oklahoman bulk, Alfred clutches his chair to stand. He holds open the door, inspecting me. “Terrence, I’m tired of this,” he says, closing the door behind him. His steps fade into the living room, hopefully back to his own room.

I sit up, but the room fails to settle. I check my phone. Unread messages. I abandon it on the nightstand. As I shamble to the door and brace against the wall, pain courses through my belly. Pull yourself together, Terrence. Two breaths. I peer outside. No sign of Alfred, now is the chance.

I stumble over red cups and beer cans. The stench of half-empty liquor bottles and stale candy corn trigger bile to my throat. Stifle the urge. I grab my coat off the couch where our neighbor slumps, passed out, still dressed in a devil costume. One foot in front of the other, I kick past her plastic pitchfork and horns to open the front door. Cold air whips my face as I step onto the exposed stairwell. Shivers scale my spine. I zip my coat. My hands tremble on the railing. 

I shuffle downstairs in search of a new refuge, away from the remnants and reminders of tonight’s party.

That party was my first escape. I typically hate the costumes and horrors of Halloween, but I needed some company. Alfred’s magnetic charm produced most of the guests, festive former classmates and colleagues I had failed to befriend. At the peak of the party, I flagged Alfred to grab the good stuff from my closet. I couldn’t handle any more bitter, orange punch.

As he disappeared into the room, my phone buzzed. Dad, but I ignored it. He always calls when I’m busy, though I guess I never call when I’m free. 

Our guests belted catchy pop choruses and bemoaned their mindless jobs. I was too sober to handle any of it. Once Alfred resurfaced with my bottle of Macallan 18, I caught a second wind, but missed a second call from my Dad. Two calls means it’s important. Always return it. I trudged to my bedroom in search of a quiet space. One ring, he picked up. All ill omens.

My childish annoyance is so insignificant now. 

The trembling spreads from my hands to my elbows. I clutch the railing with both arms to steady my descent. A thin coating of snow lines the metal stairs. After two treacherous flights, I reach the ground floor. A chill cuts through my ears. I shield them with my hands. Frost coats my bushy hair. I need to go somewhere, but I’m not going home.

Muffled jazz leaks from a familiar respite, Stacy’s unit. I steel myself and knock on the door. Teeth chattering, I hunch over to block the wind. Footprints mark my trail along the concrete. 

A mild rumble from the top of the stairs. I look up.

Good. No pursuit.

As I stomp off the mud and slush from my feet, brass chains and latches clank from the other side. A dry wave of heat caresses my face as Stacy cracks open the door. “Terrence?” Her brow ruffles above her pencil nose. 

I force a smile. “Hey, can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She makes way. “After earlier, I’m surprised you're still out and about. Are you alright?”

 “I’m good, just needed some fresh air. Freezing out here though.” I enter the living room as she locks the door behind me.

Her cozy den shelters me from tonight’s cold mountain of trauma. Shag carpet, mahogany furniture, abstract paintings, and a kaleidoscopic assortment of crystals dress the apartment. 

“Can I take your coat?” Stacy says.

“Nah, still warming up, thanks though.” I blow into my curled fists. My breath stinks. “Can I grab some water real quick?”

“Help yourself. You know where everything is.” She occupies the loveseat while I fill a glass at the sink. “How is Alfred holding up? You had us worried at the pizza place.”

What pizza?

“He just went to sleep actually.” I guzzle the glass, and brace against the sink as blood pounds through my temples. “I appreciated your company, but I’m okay.”

“I mean, I know your–”

“It’s all good. We don’t need to talk about it.” 

Toes throbbing with each step, I join Stacy in the living room. We sit with the music. As a trumpet solo floats through the air, I melt into her recliner, breathing with the soothing melody that settles my nausea.

“Who is this?” I say.

Eyes closed, she grins and crosses her legs. “Miles Davis.”

As the fireplace radiates a warm embrace, wind roils in the back. Snow piles at the bottom of the glass door. 

Stacy’s phone vibrates. She checks the screen and answers with a puzzled look.

I had a similar look when my Dad answered the phone. Our exchange is the one clear moment I remember from tonight.

I stood alone in my bedroom with the party humming outside. 

“Hey Dad, what’s up?” I said, staring at the plastered ceiling. I was a flippant, shitty son. “Everything alright? You called twice.” Despite him picking up so quickly, I only heard heavy breaths from his side of the phone. “Dad, you there?” I paced to the window as flurries fell in the parking lot.

“Oh, is this my son? You decided to call me.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Is now a good time for you?” 

Our usual dance. 

“Seriously?” I said. “You got me on the phone. We’re hosting a party, but I just want to check if you’re good.”

“I’m tired.” He’s always tired. 

I waited a few seconds for him to spit it out.

“I’m on the highway. Keep me company til I get home.”

“How far out?” I said, rubbing my eyes. 

He chewed my words. Swallowed them. 

“I miss you, son.”

“I miss you too. How far out? I don’t want to leave everybody waiting too long.”

He briefly took me off speaker, but I could still hear him cussing.

“Terr, why don’t we talk? I want to hear from you.”

“We do talk. Often.”

“No, usually when we’re on the phone, you're preoccupied with something else. I want to talk with you. I know you have things going on in your head. Tell me something.”

“Do we need to do this, right now?” 

A haunting silence.

I slid down to the dusty vinyl floor, sitting slouched against my bed. “Dad?”

Two knocks at my door.

“Dad?” I said, pleading into the void.

“Terr, I’m having a few chest pains. I just want to hear your voice until I get home, maybe twenty minutes. Can you do that?”

I pulled my legs into my chest, fingered knots in my hair. “Dad, where are you? Can you make it to a hospital?” I chewed the hangnails on my thumb.

“Don’t need a doctor.” His breathing was off. “I’m good to drive home, but I’ll stay in the right lane just for you.” His irresponsible grin chirped through the phone.

“At least pull over and get off the road. I’ll call 911, where are you now?”

“Terrence, I’m alright. Don’t worry so much, I–”

“How do you know?” My lower lip quivered. “Where are you? I don’t want to…I can’t lose you too.” 

Two knocks at my door.

Music spilled into the room when Alfred stuck his head in, smiling with the Macallan bottle extended in his hand. I waved my fingers to shoo him away, but he knew something was off. He shut the door, set down the bottle, and leaned against the desk across from me. Alfred kept me company.

Do I have the right to protest my father’s decisions when I’m never around to make new memories? Our bond is barren except for nostalgia. He waited four days before telling me my grandfather passed. I only swoop in for token holiday visits anyways. I know I’m not obliged to bear this burden, but my parents’ aging faces remind me of the inevitable pieces that I will need to pick up. 

I can’t deal with this right now. 

Stacy’s up to something. She’s been on the phone, mumbling “yeahs” and “uh huhs”, trying too hard to avoid eye contact with me. I tap my pockets. My phone is upstairs. These walls creep closer. The paintings are converging into each other. Sweat drips down my chafed armpits. I got to leave. I can slip out the back porch to the parking lot. I stand and walk to the back, staring out the glass door.

Stacy ends her one-sided phone call. “Terrence, come on, have a seat. I’ll introduce you to a Charlie Parker album.” Her steps scratch against the rug. “And I’ll make us some tea. I forget, do you prefer chamomile or lavender?”

While she searches the pantry, I fidget to disguise myself unlocking the latch. Clammy hands impede finesse. “Stacy, you know I like peppermint.” 

“Well, I don’t have pepper–”

Two knocks at the door.

“Hmph, who’s that?” Stacy says, but she’s never been a good liar. “I’ll get it. Give me a second.” 

I slide the door open and step outside. Cold air greets my lungs. I trudge into the parking lot, sifting through the slush. Why don’t they leave me alone? I just want to go blank again. Numb. The whiskey did the trick when it blacked out much of tonight. 

After the call, there wasn’t much I could do for my Dad from two thousand miles away. Alfred poured a shot to settle me down, a moment to compose myself before rejoining the masquerade. 

“Let’s get back out there,” Alfred said. “Take your mind off things.”

“I’m good,” I said. “Just give me a moment. I’ll be right there.” After he stepped out, I snuck three more shots. 

One for my grandfather.

One for the pain.

One to forget.

Next thing I know, Alfred’s pinning me down to my bed telling me to roll over and sleep. He watched me squirm in soiled clothing. Now he’s resurrected himself, a minotaur summoned to hunt me in this snow-covered labyrinth of parked cars, withered trees and flickering lamp posts.

I jet across the asphalt, ice crunching underfoot. 

Alfred hollers from inside Stacy’s apartment. “Terrence, stop running!”

I weave through frosted SUVs, brushing their blankets of snow.

“What is going on!” Alfred says. He jumps through the open door. 

Stop signs mock me. I sprint. Just keep moving, Terrence. The woods are just ahead. You can keep going. Sprint.

Black ice. I hover in the air, crash into a tree. The bark tears a seam along my arm. Blood dribbles down my chin.

Alfred’s shoulder barrels into my ribs as I hit the ground. The smell of grass and wet soil shoots up my nose. Cold spreads behind my eyes. I snort and struggle to crawl through the snow by my elbows. 

Alfred pushes me back down. “Stop, already!”

I’m tired. I roll over on the cold, hard ground, splayed out with my coat thrown open. I’m tired too, Dad.

Alfred stands over me. “Are you done now?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking up at his towering frame. “I’m done.”

“What is going on?” His breath billows like a chimney full of fresh tinder, clouding the moonlight.

I spit tiny specks of blood at his feet.

“Terrence, I’m so tired of cleaning up after your shit.”

“Piss off. Leave me alone.”

“What the hell did you say?” He lifts his foot, thinks twice, then puts it down. “You know what? I should have left you in the fetal position at the pizza spot.” He turns to walk inside.

I sit up onto the curb, gripping my side. “Wait. Stop. You didn’t deserve that. My bad, man, just…everything hurts.”

Alfred walks back and sits next to me. The wind settles down.

“I don’t remember much tonight,” I say. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Dude, what didn’t happen? You begged me and Stacy to buy you pizza, then said ‘not you too’ over and over to yourself in the corner while we waited in line. Once we tried to feed you, you ran and fell into the mud outside the shop. I had to carry you all the way home.”

I hold my head in my hands.

“Terrence. Tell me. What is going on?”

I gaze at the stars shining in the now cloudless sky. “I thought he was going to die. Right there. On the phone with me.” I gnaw at the fleshy insides of my cheek. “Those could have been my last words to him, ‘Do we need to do this right now?’ He just wanted to hear my voice.” I pick calluses in my palm, swollen from the cold. “He made it home, but after he hung up…something snapped.”

Across the parking lot, Stacy stands in her doorway.

“I just cracked,” I say. “My body ran while my mind broke in half. I know we can’t avoid death forever, but it’s hard to accept that my Dad is…human. Someday, he will die.”

Bats swirl around the street lamp above us.

Alfred lets out a breath. “We all will.” He digs in his pocket, pulls out my phone. “Here.”

“Ah. Thanks, man.” I take the phone.

Two messages from Dad.

        I appreciated the company, son

        Happy Halloween

I lay back in the snow and make an angel beneath the heavens.

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