Monstrato
by
Christopher Ganey
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Copyright 2014 by Christopher Ganey
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. All places, events, and characters are fictitious and products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to places, events, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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I would like to thank my family for their patience and encouragement. Special thanks to Michelle, Brad, and Julie.
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Monstrato
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 1
I remember it being really dark in her classroom. Maybe the lights were off because sometimes we'd do that, not turn on the lights if enough was coming through the windows. It was one of those shady, sleepy days where you don't feel like doing any work and you just wanna be left alone. I was off in my own world, thinking about shit that happened over Christmas break—bad things I was still trying to sort through. Caitlin and this big, annoying girl named Sierra Brand were sitting behind me in the next row. I kept hearing them whispering to each other, and when I looked over at them, they were staring right at me. I turned back around, and they went back to whispering, but out of the corner of my eye, I could see them looking my way. It seemed rude, and they were being so blatant about it. Next thing I knew, Sierra was leaning over with a big smile on her face, saying, "Hey, Macy, I heard you went to jail."
I said, "It's none of your damn business," which it wasn't. I hadn't told anyone what happened, and I sure didn't wanna discuss it with her—we weren't even friends.
But I said it too loud because Mrs. Garrison heard me and asked, "Is there a problem, Macy?"
I snapped back, "Yeah, this bitch needs to mind her own business and stay out of mine."
She said, "Now, Macy, what have I told you about using kind words?"
And that's how it always started. I'd be really mad about something, and Mrs. Garrison would start in with her Sunday school crap about using kind words…because it wasn't about that…it was about this girl putting her nose where it didn't belong and prying into my personal business.
I told her, "I'll use whatever words I want."
Then she said, "Macy, I need you to come sit up here," wanting me to go sit in her favorite person seat at the front of the room.
I asked, "Why should I move? She started it by talking to me."
She said, "I need you to sit up here, Macy."
So I grabbed my books and started walking towards the front of the room. I was already feeling it, that boxed-in feeling. I felt rage moving, rippling through my chest and arms, and when I got up to the desk where she wanted me to sit, I slammed my books down hard, almost tipping it over. My folder hit the floor and papers scattered. I bent down to pick them up, and she said, "Macy, I need you to go out in the hall."
"Why!" I snapped.
"Because that's what I need you to do," she said in this matter of fact, peaceful tone of voice like it was no problem for her at all.
I started screaming, "First you want me to sit up here. Now you want me to go out in the hall…This is bullshit!…Why can't I sit here?"
She said, "Macy, I need you to go out in the hall."
I scooped up the rest of my papers, grabbed my books, and then stormed out of her classroom and started walking towards the offices. I felt like I was being picked on, and I wanted to go tell Tammy, our principal, because that's what everyone did when they got in trouble.
Mrs. Garrison followed me into the hall. I could hear her saying, "Macy, you need to come back here right now."
I turned around and screamed, "Why! Why am I the one getting in trouble?"
She said, "We need to go see Mr. Moss."
I said, "Forget this, man," and started walking down the hall again.
Then Mrs. Bouchard, the school secretary, came through the double doors at the end of the hall to see what the yelling was about. She saw me and started looking real concerned and asked, "What's going on, Macy?"
I pointed at Mrs. Garrison and said, "She's kicking me out of class, and I didn't do nothin'! I'm going to tell Tammy." I walked past her, through the double doors and towards Tammy's office.
Mrs. Bouchard followed behind me saying, "Tammy's in a meeting right now…Macy, come here. You can't go in there."
I stopped, turned around and yelled, "It's not fair," in a choked voice.
She came up, put her arm around my shoulders, and said, "It's okay, honey. We'll take care of this. Just settle down." Then I saw Mrs. Garrison coming through the double doors, catching up to us.
I said to Mrs. Bouchard, "I didn't do nothin', and she's trying to put it all on me."
Mrs. Garrison said, "Macy, you and I are going to see Mr. Moss, now!" I could tell she was mad; her cheeks were all red, and she was breathing with her mouth open.
I said, "I wanna talk to Tammy."
Mrs. Bouchard said, "She's in a meeting. Just go with Mrs. Garrison and talk to Mr. Moss. Come on…you can talk to Tammy about it later."
So we went down to Mr. Moss's room—he's the seventh grade teacher and discipline officer—and he came out into the hall. Mrs. Garrison started telling her side of the story, making it sound way worse than it was. The way she explained it, I just exploded for no reason. Of course, she had to throw in something about how I disturbed her class and caused her to stop teaching. I kept interrupting, saying things like, "That's not what happened…She's lying…I wasn't cussing at her…" Mr. Moss kept shushing me and telling me to be quiet. Then he got real stern and stepped up close, pointed down at me with his finger, and yelled, "It's always your mouth, Macy. That's what gets you in trouble. And if you don't keep it shut right now, you're just going to get in more trouble." He told Mrs. Garrison to write up a referral and told me to wait in the office while he called my mom.
I walked back down the hall with Mrs. Garrison, not saying anything. When she went into her classroom, I ran straight to Tammy's office, but she wasn't there. So I went across the hall to the school office, pulled open the door, and almost ran smack into a big metal file cabinet that was blocking my path. They were working on something in there; the furniture was all out of place, piled up on one side of the room, and the chairs where kids sat when they were in trouble had been moved. I stuck my head around the file cabinet and saw Mr. Coleman, the maintenance guy, trying to get a metal desk on a dolly and Mrs. Bouchard holding the other side. She looked over at me and asked, "What's up, Macy?"
I said, "Mr. Moss told me to wait in here."
She said, "Why don't you go wait in Tammy's office. I think the door's open."
So I went back to Tammy's office and sat down in one of the big leather chairs in front of her desk. It was one of those soft, cozy chairs you could sink way down into—like you'd find in a hotel lobby. I sat there looking at the trinkets and knickknacks that covered Tammy's desk. I was wishing she'd show up so I could talk to her before Mr. Moss called my mom. It was bullshit. Seemed like I was always getting in way more trouble than anyone else, and for the smallest things. Last thing I wanted was to get suspended. I was hoping it'd only be an in-school because I, for sure, didn't wanna s
tay at home.
After a while, Mrs. Bouchard came in panting and rested herself on the corner of Tammy's desk. She asked, "How's it going, honey?" She was always panting even when she was sitting still. She was so big, not fat, just big, like way over six feet tall with arms and legs going everywhere. Seeing her running around school trying to get things done, breathing heavy with her face getting puffy red, I always got the feeling it was hard work just being her.
"So I hear you had a rough couple of weeks," she said and sat looking at me, wondering if I was gonna tell her anything.
I said, "Yeah, the break wasn't much fun."
"Really? What happened?"
I felt tired just imagining trying to answer and stared at the front of Tammy's desk, shaking my head.
She said, "It's all right, honey. You can tell me if you want. I'll keep it a secret."
Mrs. Bouchard was always wanting to know about kids at school. I'd tell her some things, but not about myself if I didn't want it to get around.
I didn't wanna talk to anyone about Christmas break. It involved two of my friends, and they weren't talking about it either. It felt icky, something I wanted to forget, and I couldn't see a way to explain it without looking really stupid. It seemed Mrs. Bouchard had already heard some of it, and so had Caitlin and Sierra. As far as Mrs. Bouchard keeping it a secret, that wasn't gonna happen—I knew the first two people she'd tell. I also knew that if I didn't explain it to someone, kids would just make up rumors, and people would be asking me about it.
So I began telling her, giving the basic outline and leaving out the parts she didn't need to know. But soon as I got started, Tammy stuck her spiky head around the doorway and said, "Gina, I need you in the conference room, right now." She looked pretty uptight about something. The way her dark hair seemed to vibrate and the way she held her lips firm, I could tell she was in a hard-ass mood. She glanced at me, wondering why I was there. I was waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. She gestured for Mrs. Bouchard to follow her and disappeared, and Mrs. Bouchard went running out the door.
I sat there for a long time thinking, glad to be alone. Then I heard Tammy yelling on the other side of the wall, sounding real mad. She was screaming at the top of her voice, which was normal for her, going on and on and taking something real personal. Every time I thought she was finished, it'd get quiet for a while, then I'd hear her thirsty-bird scream sounding more vicious than before. She was so loud. I could picture her in there—her bony body moving in a jerky freeze frame like those old black and white movies, sticking her finger in someone's face, waving her hands in the air. She was small, smaller than me, but when she got angry, people would give her lots of room. Usually, I'd be real interested in something like this. I'd be out of my chair with my ear to the wall, trying to find the spot where I could hear best. But on that day, I had too many problems of my own to think about. I even got up and moved to the other side of the room so I wouldn't have to hear it.
I didn't wanna go to school that day. I only went so I wouldn't have to listen to my mom bitch while she got ready for work. She'd been going at me all weekend, saying things like, "You're not as grown up as you think you are, Macy…It's my job to protect you…Just look what happens when I'm not around," and I was tired of it. Now, first day back to school after Christmas break, and I'd already got kicked out of class. I knew I'd be suspended, and I was dreading having to sit at home listening to her bitch some more.
I was trying to help a friend. That'd be Lori. Lori always went way overboard on everything, and she had started using cocaine and was addicted, and it felt like I was the only one trying to help her. It got so bad that she stole coke from some people when she was at their house, and I was scared for her because these guys were thugs—they carried guns and didn't fuck around when it came to people stealing from them. So I took money from my mom's purse to give to Lori so she could pay them back, and when my mom found out, we had a big fight.
She didn't believe me and didn't care at all about Lori. She said, "You shouldn't be hanging around people who are doing cocaine. Are you doing it, too?"
I lied and said, "No"—I wasn't doing nearly as much as Lori—and it just exploded from there. My mom started laying on all this shame and guilt trying to make me feel worse than I already did, and it turned into a big scream out. I said, "You're not gonna stop me from helping a friend…You don't know anything about being a friend, and that's why you don't have any."
She said, "I don't need friends who are on drugs. I don't need friends who make me steal."
I said, "I wasn't stealing. I was trying to help somebody. But you don't know anything about helping people because all you think about is yourself."
It just got worse and worse with us standing in the kitchen accusing each other and calling each other names. My mom was crying, but I kept pouring it on, probably because I felt so bad about what I'd done. I said, "You don't know anything about being a mother, either. If you got a problem with me, maybe you should look at yourself." I know that hurt her real bad. She'd said it to me before that she didn't think she was a very good mother.
She said, "Then why don't you get out of this house if I'm such a bad mother? Why don't you leave, and don't come back…Just get out!"
And that's what I did. I filled my backpack with clothes and went to stay with Makayla.
I didn't have to think hard about where to go. You see, with most kids, if you wanted to stay with them, they'd have to ask their parents. But Makayla didn't have any parents. Her parents had given her up, and her legal guardian was her stepsister who she lived with over in Minnith. I only saw her stepsister once the whole time I was there, and she just stayed in her bedroom watching TV. But Makayla's boyfriend was always around, and when I went there, it was like going into a strange movie.
I guess I hadn't considered what it'd be like to live with Makayla, even if only for a few days. She was a year ahead of me in school. I didn't know her that well. Truth is, no one knew her well because she had problems. She had ADD and was bipolar, and as far as I could tell, wasn't taking any medicine for it. She was always bouncing around the room, always moving, never quiet. She giggled constantly and would start things and try to get a reaction out of people even when they wanted to be left alone. Her boyfriend, Bobby, was just like her—sort of giddy and weak. He'd go along with whatever trip Makayla was on, no matter how crazy.
Just the way they'd look at each other, it was like…too much excitement—Makayla twisting her sharp, pretty features into some odd expression—little Bobby with his buckteeth hanging out of his smile, breathing through his mouth. They'd argue about everything, sometimes seriously or just for fun, then they'd start play fighting and wrestling on the floor. Makayla would get mad about something Bobby said and start crying, and she'd go sit in the kitchen and pout. Bobby would kiss up to her, and they'd get all soupy and lovey, and then it'd start all over again, chasing each other around the house. Sometimes Bobby acted like he wanted Makayla to be his mother, which was weird because she could hardly take care of herself. Other times, Makayla would act like the baby. And when they fought, it was just like they were brother and sister.
The house they lived in was a trip. The kitchen and living room were painted this sick pink color, and the trim around the windows was bright green. The walls were covered with these whacked-out paintings that were left behind by the person who lived there before. Now, the paintings were kinda cool—big canvases of fish and reptiles, bright colors and wild designs—I guess what you would call abstract. But in that house with the pink walls, Makayla and Bobby running all over the place, and the noise coming out of the TV, you felt like you were in some kind of music video.
And the place was a mess. Soda bottles, food wrappers, and laundry were strewn across the floor and collecting under chairs. The carpet, which was white shag, was stained and matted, and there were bits of wire and little pieces of electronic equipment stuck in the carpet so you couldn't walk around with your sh
oes off without getting poked. Dishes were piled up in the sink, growing mold. The refrigerator didn't work. For some reason, they had a lot of canned soup, SpaghettiO's, and chili, which was all we ate when I was there. And the whole place had a funny smell like when people have a lot of cats, but they didn't have any.
All they did was watch TV. They didn't have cable, so they'd watch the most boring shows, whatever was on, and they couldn't even be quiet doing that. I'd be laying on the couch half the night, waiting for them to shut up and turn off the TV, and every morning I'd wake up irritable as hell. After about four days, I couldn't take it anymore. They were arguing about something stupid like what kind of soda to buy and who's gonna pay for it, and I told them to quiet down. They both started yelling at me, as if I'd just said the rudest thing, saying I had no right telling them to be quiet and other shit. So I grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.
I stood in the front yard and called Lori on my cell phone, and she agreed to come pick me up. I wanted to start walking, but the neighborhood was ghetto, and it was already dark out, so I stood by the street and waited. I could see Makayla with her blond, frizzy hair and pale eyes looking at me out the window and Bobby looking over her shoulder. I don't know if they were sad to see me go or worried about me or just bored. I remember thinking that maybe things were even crazier in that house when I wasn't around.
When Lori came, we went straight to this Arab liquor store we always go to and bought a bottle of vodka. Then we parked behind the bowling alley and got wasted. I started telling her about what happened with my mom and with Makayla, but right in the middle of it, she tells me she's not in the mood to hear about my problems—which was fucked up because she was the reason my mom and I got in a fight in the first place. I tried explaining it to her, but she was being completely stubborn and insensitive and not showing any concern for what I just went through. Finally, I said, "Fuck this shit," and got out of the car and began walking. I was almost to Alley's house when the cops picked me up for being out after curfew.
You see, my stepdad was a cop, and he told the police if they ever found me out after curfew, they should take me to jail and call him—because of all the trouble I'd already gotten into. I knew most of the cops at the police station. They tried being friendly, but I didn't say anything. I just sat in the chair they told me to sit in and stared at my shoes, feeling small. It seemed cold in there. I had my coat on, but I was still shivering. And I wanted to cry because I knew my mom would be the one to come get me.
All I could think about, the same thing that kept going through my mind at Makayla's house, was that look on my mom's face when she found out I stole the money from her purse. It made me feel like I was five years old. I guess everyone has things they think are a lot worse than other things, and it's different for each person. They're like the rules you set for yourself when you say, "I'm not going to be like that," and if you break one of your own rules, you feel like you're a bad person. You feel weak and corrupted, which is how I felt after I stole the money. I felt like I'd stolen something from myself, something I couldn't get back. You see, I've hit my mom in the face, called her the worst names I could think of, a slut, a bitch, a whore, but stealing the money seemed way worse.
By the time my mom got to the police station, I'd made myself tough all over. I knew, soon as we got in the car, she'd start in on me, and she did. She said, "Ms. Macy thinks she's all grown up. She's trying to help her drug addict friends, and she can't even take care of herself…"
And that's all I could think about as I sat there in Tammy's office—my mom, stealing the money, and everything else that'd gone down. I wanted it to stop. I didn't wanna be suspended, and I didn't wanna go home, especially since the next day was Wednesday, my mom's day off. I wanted to get away from her and forget about everything that'd happened over Christmas break, but I couldn't, and my mom sure wasn't gonna let me forget. And neither were those bitches at school who always seemed so interested in what kind of trouble I was getting in. I hated people like that. As I sat waiting, I made a mental note to jump Sierra Brand next time I had the chance.
Mrs. Bouchard never came back to Tammy's office, and neither did Tammy. After a while, Mr. Moss came in and said, "I talked to your mom and told her you have a one day suspension. Do you have something to work on?"
"No."
"Well, get something and then come with me. You're going to spend the rest of the day in my room."