Dixie Cups

The brisk fall air whipped around me, chilling my bones as my chest became heavy, as I felt my fear become suffocating, my pulse quickening, my hesitation flickered through the broken street lamps, like intermittent radio waves. It was unexplainable why, as I stood there fixated on his little light blue house with its crumbly exterior, what rushed to mind was the Dixie cups. The inside of the house was covered in those tiny paper cups, some still containing what Rosalie had left behind the night, or afternoon before. Rosalie was his mother. Every morning, she’d paint her nails a classic crimson shade, spend hours on her face, perfect her curly up-do while splashing herself with a rustic floral scent. It didn’t cover up the smell of bourbon, much like several coats of mascara don’t hide the pain behind hazy, lonely eyes.

            It occurred to me then how meek and cowardly I really was; how right my aunt had been all along. I couldn’t do it. My detailed six-month plan didn’t include the panic that ran through my veins, freezing me on the corner of Main Street, anxiously reminding me of the silence of the night. How could it slip my mind that Rosalie was a part of the equation? She’d scream. It would be impossible to remove the stains from her silky cream-colored nightgown. I was too weak to slit a pair of throats and drag them a half a mile through the muddy ravine to get to the creek. The whispering winds mocked me. I couldn’t muster the courage to begin the journey back home.

Messy brown curls peeked out between the stained beige kitchen curtains, taunting me further. Though weak and discouraged, I convinced myself it was best to inch myself towards the house, against the gusting wind and my diminishing sane inner voice. I had to get closer to her to test my senses. Perhaps a few swigs of mommy’s favorite drink would help me become the animal I knew was deep inside me. Rosalie wouldn’t let me though.

            I saw her jump as the steps crept under each step I took. I froze at the door until it cracked open, her eyes peaking out at me with disdain. Expecting she didn’t want to be seen at that moment in time would’ve been understating the truth, and she especially should have wanted to keep in hiding from me. I had that what she cherished most closely to me.

The wind picked up pushing through me and as frail as she was, it was hard for her to maintain the distance she’d made between us as the door couldn’t uphold it’s battle against the sudden gush. She wasn’t a skeleton, the meat that she did have her bones were residual bloat from being an alcoholic for years. She stood a mere five feet four inches, and held a tiny frame. Though I know she has seen me, I was shocked when she sort of hobbled onto the porch, leaving the door wide open as she came closer to me.

“Elyse, when I saw you, I thought I must have been dreaming.”

I shook my head slightly, not understanding what she meant, but she was so robotic and sleepy, she couldn’t read the expressions on my face.

She went on.

“I can’t have visitors” she said, “I’m not well. I…”

“I’m sick too.”

She sighed, “Elyse, honey, I’m atrocious.” Her fingers were trembling as she worked to smooth out her slept-on hair. “It’s 2am,” she whispered, in a way that suggested I shouldn’t be out.

            A chill stilled me, reminding me in every inch of my bones why I had showed up there in the first place. Maybe it’d be easier to kill her if she trashed, if I could trigger her enough to be mean and sensitive. That could really set me off. But if I had to think that hard about it, I must not have a truly evil place in me. However it could be like a volcano, with time I could become more than I was at that moment, I would erupt.

            “I’m going to have a quick drink and then off to bed.”

I couldn’t have expected any less. It was then that I had truly given up.

“Is Peter home?”

She hesitantly told me he hadn’t come home yet from his senior ball.

“But it’s 2am,” I said.

She stared at me then like a deer in headlights, so sick from her own disease, she couldn’t keep her eyes open to the truth. He face said she wouldn’t believe a word I would say.

“I’ll check the library, and then the study,” I said.

She sighed, knowing this was not the end.

The end was near, but not close enough for me to taste it.