A Pale Horse

A PALE HORSE

By Sharon Iggulden

Smashwords Edtion

Copyright © 2012 by Sharon Iggulden

Smashwords Edition License Notes

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Cover Design by Rita Toews

Cover Image by Newton grafitti

Chapter 1

Lila

Mother was obsessed with tape, any kind of tape, masking tape, duct tape, electrical tape, scotch tape was a particular favorite. They were all magical elixirs to her with mystical properties, talismans against chaos and imperfection, ways to patch the damage in her world. She used them to fix everything from cracks in the walls, to table cloths, to scratches in the linoleum, and upon at least one occasion, the car bumper. It was impossible to understand the allure, but then again, mother was stark raving bat shit most of the time. Sanitizing the reality with a more dignified word or description like bi-polar disorder, or borderline personality, or paranoid schizophrenia or alcohol induced psychosis would be a dis-service to those of us who lived inside of it with her every day.

Mother often had a single minded purpose that had to be admired, unfortunately, the purpose was often muddled in convoluted logic and confused results. Her goal was never to let the facts interfere with what she already believed. In that she was supremely successful. Most of the time, mother lived in a hazy world where reality was just a guess most days. A woman aged early by cheap whiskey and fried everything, venom and bile were her specialties, along with screaming tantrums and abusive verbal assaults on everyone, that live on in the mind, mimicking thousands of reflected crystals forming a whole, like a disco ball blasting apart, the shards embedding in the most vulnerable parts of the brain, like little death shivs.

Lila often thought about her mother and twin sister, Amelia, in their three way duel to the death relationship and how her mother had always hated the sun, seeming to fear it almost, as if it contained some magic potion that would puff her up, like one of those magic wash cloths that just need water, and turn her into a human with daughters to love. Maybe, that’s because mother spent most of her adult life in a dark bedroom with some man or another that she had picked up at the diner where she worked. Lila had to admit the woman had some skills, especially the ability to balance a tray with six glasses of water, a waitress pad, and cigarette, all while dead drunk and pouting with her tired worn out face, reflecting the sentiment that nothing could ever be new or surprising or shiny again. Her sparkle had dimmed a long time ago leaving only defeated skin and lifeless eyes awash in dead dreams. Mostly, she was a shadow person, invisible like the poor or elderly always are to the rest of the of the semi-successful world, needing desperately to belong somewhere and pretending to have a home where someone may miss you if you don’t show up on a semi regular basis.

Lila always knew, pretty much right from the start, that she never wanted to see the world through her mother’s eyes, or most of her aunts either for that matter. They were all characters out of a white trash version of the Witches of Eastwick, who collectively subscribed to the unquestioning philosophy, passed proudly through the generations, that life sucks and then you die, get used to it early and you won’t be disappointed later. This traditional family lore had turned them all into shrews, except Faith, the oldest, who had the good fortune to be conceived before the sperm got diluted. Then again, the sisters were named Faith, Hope, Charity and Chastity, so not much more dilution was possible.

Family gatherings usually meant the circus was in town. The major problem was the sisters all thought they were ringmasters, when in reality, they were just a variety of clowns, each with their own specialized masks. Lila and Amelia always knew where they wanted to be, on the high wire, looking down on the three rings, trying to avoid the blowback.

Most of the family festivities took place in the tiny yard behind the tavern owned by Hope and her husband Alexander, the Russian, as the rest of them none too kindly referred to him. Lila and Amelia preferred to think of him as the yeller. Hope called him Zander, because she thought it was exotic and sexy. She should have taken a closer look. The bar was next to the railroad tracks where with annoying regularity trains would pass by and blow their whistles, drowning out any attempt at conversation, as the bar shook like a hillside hut in the middle of a California quake. Lila and Amelia liked to stand and wave to the engineers as the trains went by. It was their own little vain attempt to make some kind of tentative contact with an outside world that had to be better than the one they were in. The engineer would always smile as he waved, giving them hope that maybe there really was a parallel universe they could somehow inhabit.

It was never a question of if really, but merely a question of when the aunts would start fighting. It would always be innocent enough, or not, depending on who was leading the charge that day. Usually, it started with some sort of bickering about who did what to whom when they were all growing up. Every family gathering thus held for Lila and Amelia a deep and abiding sense of dread.

Lila and Amelia followed dutifully behind their mother, Chastity, a name which was absolute proof that the gods do have a finely honed sense of humor. They entered through the black cyclone gate, making the grand entrance that was their mother’s specialty, sashaying to the food table and regally placing her dish to pass in the middle, all the while widely spreading her too red lips in a sort of grotesque grin that always made Lila think of the fun house. Lila and Amelia could never understand why the woman couldn’t follow the outline of her mouth. She liked to tell people she had been a show girl, when everyone knew she had really been a stripper at Tex’s BBQ Grill and Bull Riding Emporium until she got pregnant with the twins as she would call them, as if they didn’t have names and identities of their own. Her tales of sacrificing for the twins were legendary, especially after she downed a couple of bourbons in rapid succession, the litany was usually followed by clumsy attempts to hit on one of the husbands by lifting her skirt and showing off her legs. When that happened Lila and Amelia knew they were headed for the minefield again.

The leg posing would always be followed by accusations of jealousy with Chastity claiming she was so beautiful as a child people would stop their mother on the street to admire her. Then there would be comments about whose hair was a natural color with Chastity claiming her highly bleached straw-like coiffure was not doctored in any way. That outrageous statement would be followed by the obligatory slaps and all too familiar tag team wrestling events on the grass, while the husbands looked on and secretly lodged bets on the winner, all the while never missing the next swig out of their tightly gripped beer bottles. By the time they left, everyone would be crying and shouting, making vows never to get near each other again, but it was an empty promise. They were all much too addicted to the sharp edges and barbed corners of their lives that passed for normalcy, much too personally invested in the drama of it all.

Lila often wondered about normalcy. She wondered if it really looked like the shows on television, if it was a place that could be touched and most of all if there was room for her and Amelia. Maybe they needed a pre paid ticket.

It would always be quiet on the way home. Lila and Amelia would sit mutely in the back seat feeling the waves of hostility flow off their mother like gale force winds and they both knew the last act was about to begin. Their mother would, once again, accuse them of ruining her life, tell them they were an embarrassment and how if they dared to cry she’d give them something to cry about. Lila and Amelia would sigh loudly and shrug at each other before turning to stare out of their respective windows.

It was about at this point in the evening that Lila would wonder if there was a train to normal or if she would have to take the bus. Until then, she and Amelia would resume their position on the high wire, far above the three rings, and continue to observe the festivities. While they were up there, Lila would look for the horizon, she was pretty sure that was where the sun laughed and it was always warm.

One day their mother had come home from a stay in the hospital with her gall bladder in a jar that she placed on the kitchen table. She told Lila and Amelia that it was their fault the doctors had to take out a part of her and that the pattern would continue until all her parts were gone and there was nothing left. They weren’t quite sure what they had supposedly done that was so horrible, except to be born, but they were pretty sure it was the drinking and partying that had caused the problem and both of them knew they had no control over that. Then she hugged them awkwardly, with the cold bony embrace of a crazy and emotionally vindictive mother, and they shivered.

Life was often like an SNL skit, with a different man almost every night, traipsing unashamedly through the kitchen in the morning, in various degrees of undress, often to sneak out the back door, without so much as a nod to Lila and Amelia, acting as if they were invisible, lacking the good common sense to as least feign embarrassment. Lila and Amelia, two hearts barely alive beneath layers of neglect, would sit on the couch in the morning watching TV and the latest conquest as if it were all part of the same show. One of the men stood stark naked in front of the refrigerator, scratching parts that should be touched only in private, before he saw them, his eyes lighting up with an odd predatory glow, as he started flicking his growing manhood. How about you two join your mother and me for some fun? he grinned lasciviously. To their mother’s credit, she did hesitate a couple of beats before turning her seductive and feral smile on them all. That’ll be extra. Lila and Amelia fled out the back door and into the sunshine with their mother chasing them and screaming, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you both, through the screen so loudly it reverberated over and over again off the metal sides of the other trailers like a canyon echo.

This is the thing about words. Some thoughts should never be let out of their cage. Once you say them they hang in the air for eternity and you can’t ever get them back. It’s a misconception that people say things they don’t mean when they’re angry. The reality is that’s when we say what we really feel without the filter of conscience or fear of repercussions. Anger is a cleansing agent that strips away all of the inhibitions, like alcohol.

They stood in the backyard mud, left by the rapidly thawing winter snows, knowing that the welcome mat was no longer out for them and any informally negotiated settlement for their return would have stipulations to which neither of them would ever agree. Lila and Amelia saw heads bobbing up in the windows of neighboring trailers, as their inhabitants tried to quietly open them to catch every word of the unfolding drama. The expectant looks on their faces showing they were hoping for a spectacle…again.

Trailer parks have their own language and their separate unique brand of justice and morality, just like biker bars. Rule number one was never interfere, just enjoy the show. Surviving to adulthood in one of them is a stellar accomplishment, not to be down played. Lila and Amelia looked around slowly, seeing the hopeful eyes of those longing for something, anything, to provide entertainment for their tedious lives and break up the daily monotony. Pretty much tired of being the local freak show, the twins laughed bitterly before shooting them all the finger. They exited in only their slippers and pajamas, heading for school, knowing that for better or worse, tuna town was behind them forever. Lila had once overheard one of the school office staff call the trailer park tuna town, because everyone lived in a tin can, all minced up together. Lila always thought sardine town was more apropos, but it certainly lacked the alliterative value.

Lila shook her head, like a kaleidoscope, watching as the colored beads drifted into a different pattern. Best not to remember all the foster homes where the foster parents complained the twins were aloof and morose. Well, yeah. They were the kids whose mother was more than willing to sell them to the lowest bidder. Also better not to remember the neglected relationships, or the fact that not so much as one of the aunts came forward to claim them. Thinking back, that was probably one of the more fortuitous circumstances of their lives.

Lila tried desperately to create a decent and tidy life, genteel almost. The irony, that if it hadn’t been for the inheritance of her mother’s iron will, she would probably have been dead long ago, was not lost on her. We try and try to forget who we really are, then reality smacks us right in the face.

Lila was an over achiever, earning one degree after another with expert precision, hoping education could provide enough class to wash the stench of ignorance and poverty out of her pores and put as much distance between herself and her mother as humanly possible. The formative years of cramped trailer life made her obsessively appreciative of any kind of space.

Amelia coped in her own way, drifting from one man to another, trying to find the love that had never quite made it into her life, finally succeeding once she had stopped acting so desperate. Lila envied her ability to still be vulnerable.

Amelia would go back to the trailer park and see the old girl a couple of times a year looking for a non-existent something, like her lost childhood, expecting the familiar cold shoulder. Well the old girl did not disappoint. You had to give it to her, she was consistent. Amelia would mope around for days afterward, bringing home stray after stray, traipsing heavily in her mother’s footprints, until Lila couldn’t take it any more and would have to tell her to stop.

When Mommy Dearest died, of cirrhosis, no one was surprised. The woman had been running toward oblivion most of her life. It didn’t seem peculiar to anyone that she arrived earlier than anticipated. Lila went to the funeral only because Amelia begged her. As she looked down into the coffin, Lila wondered if someone had a stake dipped in holy water for mummy’s heart. She had even considered wearing garlic, but Amelia told her it was overkill.

They were carefully examined and then ostracized by the aunts who treated them as if they were poor relatives come to claim part of the estate. The aunts turned the funeral into a three day drunk, once again laying claim to the title of gold medal, self-obsessed narcissists. Charity, the second youngest of the aunts even had a boy toy at least twenty years her junior, with so many tattoos it was impossible to tell what race he was. Well, coo coo cachou Mrs. Robinson. Lila wanted to vomit.

One night, it was impossible to remember how long ago, Lila awakened and suddenly knew with certainty that Amelia was dead. She could no longer feel Amelia’s restless spirit roaming inside of her. All that was left was a numbing stillness. The next morning, on the news, the commentator announced that Amelia’s city had been bombed. It was shortly afterward that they came for Lila.

Chapter 2

Manny

The air was heavy with humidity, a visible mist in the air, leaving dampness on the skin, and a subtle weighty pressure, like a ghostly presence. Bugs chirped and hummed and droned everywhere. It was late for Manny to be awake, but the heat in the house created special circumstances. Manny’s eyes were like lasers, tracing his grandmother’s every move. He had been ordered inside the house several times, but his desire to watch his grandmother had nullified any desire to obey. He quietly, slowly snuck right back out and sat very, very still as his grandmother easily picked up the struggling chicken and with a rapid flick of the wrist, twisted its neck until it stopped struggling. Manny wasn’t sure what he had just seen, but he could feel his skin prickle as if ants were crawling on it.

He watched mesmerized as his grandmother put the animal on the cement block and deftly cut its head off, then swiftly turned it upside down to drain the blood. Manny felt dizzy and sat down heavily on the stairs. Seen enough? she asked softly. Of course, she had known all along he was still there. She always knew everything.

Manny stumbled into the house, choking down the nausea. When sleep finally came, he dreamt of blood flowing like a river, with chicken heads bobbing along and squawking to each other. It was an omen. Shortly afterward their lives fell apart.

Manny watched himself slowly wheel his mother to the roof top of her nursing home. There was a small garden and, of course, bingo. It was a very nice facility, actually, as much as was possible. He paid dearly to keep her there. It was worth every penny as he watched her hungrily breathe in the warm summer odors. Later, as he kneeled at the foot of her wheelchair before he left, she would take his face in her arthritic hands, kissing each cheek with such tenderness it always made him weep. Then he would tell her how much he loved her and she would smile, her Budda like smile and tell him she loved him also. She had been a kind and gentle woman. Manny was often bitter at the Alzheimer’s that had befallen her. Such old age miseries should only be visited upon the cruel and evil. Yet, she always knew him and rewarded him with a huge smile whenever he came into view.

He wondered now if she was still alive or if the bombs had found and obliterated her as she sat alone and afraid. He knew loud noises terrified her and he couldn’t bear to even