Chapter Three -- Whatever Cory Wants
Dusk stole over the roofs and treetops. The stark tree branches etched into the shades of pink and orange that broke over the horizon, painting the clouds before bleeding back into the dark. Sounds of life rose despite the chill in the air—the rustle and call of winter birds, the foraging and chittering of squirrels—all echoing in the light morning fog.
The newly dawning day was a poetically beautiful sight, but I was too occupied to appreciate it.
Instead, I contemplated my truck.
Somehow, I believed that by not unpacking, I could escape the necessity of figuring out where all the pieces of my life had fallen—at least the ones that hadn't slipped through my fingers. But, there was only so much sleeping I could do—at some point, lethargy and inaction become impossible to sustain. Sometime before dawn, I had slipped out of bed to enjoy some quiet before Efrain forced me to eat or nagged me again to call my friends, and my feet had dragged me into to the kitchen where I automatically set a pot of coffee on to brew.
As the familiar morning scents filled the kitchen, I stared out the window over the sink. The fog was thin enough that I could make out the shapes of other houses, but those shapes only served to put mine and Efrain's vehicles in focus, making it impossible to stare into space. No matter how much I tried to not see it, the fluttering of blue tarp kept drawing my eyes to the driveway. Eventually, I found myself standing in the cold morning air, staring at my truck as the sun came up.
I recalled some of what I'd packed in my flight from Texas, but some things under that blue tarp were a mystery. In my haste to leave, I had grabbed blindly, only stopping to consider what I was packing when I realized I couldn't take it all. I couldn't be certain what percentage of my whole life rested in the bed of my truck, or which of the things that I'd been forced to leave behind I wouldn't be able to live without, or what would happen to those abandoned parts. It was entirely possible that my things were now sitting on the curb, waiting for garbage pick-up. Pieces of my childhood could be laying in some unknown Texas landfill before the day ended.
So, what parts of me
weren't
trash? What parts had been saved? Were they the worthwhile ones, or were the remains of my life just useless junk? Question piled upon question as I stared at the truck, waiting for the weight of those questions to overpower my fear of their answers. My body took over as my mind warred with itself, closing the distance between myself and the truck bed. I pulled loose the cables and let the tarp fall over the side to reveal what I had stashed there three days ago.
Slowly, I lifted a storage tub and carted it into the living room before going back for another. Once I had the bed emptied, I grabbed my keys and started on the cab. I had used any bag I could find to pack things up, resorting to garbage bags at one point, and just chucking things in the back toward the end. Loose items were loaded into laundry baskets from the basement until I had everything laid out in the living room.
One-by-one, I looked through the boxes, making a mental catalogue of everything I'd recovered. In one bin, I found my homecoming mums packed in small boxes under a stack of old football and soccer jerseys. Some of my old athletic gear was in another. Would have traded both to have the rest of my Mexican lanterns, but I considered myself lucky to get at least one box of them. I had most of my books, some of my old pictures, and more shoes that I didn't really need (but was glad to have). As I had recently packed them, I knew what was in the bags, but still found myself going through them.
That was when I stumbled upon my unopened Christmas presents.
Now that I thought about it, it seemed childish to go back for my presents, but I knew there'd be money in some of them, which I was going to need since I only had myself to rely on. I pulled the gifts out of Cameron's duffle bag and stacked them next to me. Out of habit, I found a notebook and a pen to list out who gave me what. My mother wouldn't be around to die of shame if I never sent out thank you notes, but it wouldn't hurt to keep up the practice.
As I thought, Uncle Johnny, my mom's mother, and a few others, sent me some of those credit card gift cards. Aunt Mary made me a beanie with matching scarf and gloves. One of my Dad's friends gave me a wallet, and I got some books from the Wrathburns. Mom and Dad gave me a watch. I added them to my list, even though I didn't think they'd accept a card from me, regardless of the purpose.
I wondered if they'd even bothered to open what I had left under the tree for them.
~*~*~*~
Our bed was half-empty and cold when I woke up. Cory'd been sleeping rather soundly when I undressed and crawled back in bed with him, rousing only to snuggle closer when I spooned up behind him. However, the guy had been asleep for almost two days in a row, while I'd barely scraped together one decent night's sleep. I shouldn't have been surprised that he was up and about long before I was.
He'd picked up his clothes at some point, either putting them back on or throwing them in the hamper, but there was no other sign of him in the room. I listened, trying to figure out where he was or what he was doing, but heard nothing. Yet again, I found myself needing to go out to find my boyfriend. I slid out of bed and slipped on sweats and t-shirt. The room was comfortably warm, but the hardwood floors were cold as fuck, so I nabbed some socks before shuffling out of the room and following the scent of coffee into the kitchen.
Cory had put on a pot, probably when he woke up, which was fucking awesome because I needed the caffeine. I assumed that he'd only been awake for a little while since the pot was full, but the coffee was ice cold when I poured a cup. I know for a fact that the coffee maker stays on for at least two hours after it brews, so this pot had to be way older than that. I still drank it (because cold coffee is still coffee, and I was half-asleep), but poured out the rest and set up a new pot. While fresh coffee brewed, I rubbed sleep from my eyes and tried to clear out my foggy brain enough to calculate how long Cory had to have been out of bed. I stifled a yawn and gave up, deeming it too fucking early for timelines.
As I waited, I caught a flutter of blue outside the window. The tarp that had been over the truck now hung loose over the side, the stretch cables used to tie it down were left on the ground. The boxes and bins, as well as most of the items in the cab, were gone. I cursed. If he'd left the front door unlocked, he may have done the same for his truck.
"Cory?" I called, but received no answer. I at least found him when I made it to the living room, and solved the empty truck issue. He really had gotten an early start to the morning. Half-a-dozen boxes and bins with his name on them in a woman's neat and flowery script, along with the couple trash bags I saw last night, formed a semicircle on the living room floor. He'd nabbed the laundry baskets out of the basement to bring in all the odds and ends he'd crammed in. The guy even had time to riffle through everything, as a considerable amount from each container spilled out onto the floor. Strings of tin star lanterns, shoes, clothes, bedding, sports equipment, books, old football and soccer jerseys.
In the middle of all that sat Cory Indian-style with his back against an old duffle bag with "Cameron C." stitched on the side. He'd pulled a beanie with a Fair Isle pattern done in our school colors, Chicago maroon and burnt orange, over his hair and had the matching scarf around his neck. Neat little stacks of greeting cards and gift cards on his left contrasted with the messy heap of ripped envelopes and Christmas wrapping paper on his right. Other things, like gloves that matched his hat and scarf, a Fossil watch case, and a new leather wallet, laid in front of him. He'd even located his cellphone.
I don't think he really saw any of it, though. I couldn't even be sure that he noticed I was in the room with him. He just sat there, messing with the fringe on his scarf and staring into space.
I set my coffee on a side table and crouched down in front of him. "You with me, man?"
"Huh?" He stared at me blankly, then shook his head. "Sorry, just thinking."
"About?" I asked. He lifted the book he had open in his lap to show me the cover. "
Modern Fables
?"
"The couple I volunteered for gave me some books for Christmas," he said. "Mr. Wrathburn used to help me with my AP Lit work. I think that's the only reason I scored a four on that exam."
"I see," I said. I looked at the page he'd had open. "Humpty Dumpty?"
He shrugged. "Was kinda thinking that it was weird that everyone thinks he's an egg. Ya know? Like maybe it's just a guy, and he's on the wall, then he falls and
splat!
But, you can't put a guy with his brains all on the sidewalk in a children's book, so you make it an egg."
I nodded, unsure of how to react.
"But, then I got to thinking," he continued. "Why is he on the wall and why does he fall down? Was he pushed, or was he suicidal? Why doesn't anyone think about that?"
"How long has that been going on?"
