ALL THE KING’S HORSES
I
The pain was exquisite. Blood trickled from her cuticles as each sliver from the worn, church pew; guided by a steady, delicate, hand; found its way through the fingernail. Most of the fingers were bandaged in crimson stained gauze and the speed at which she drove the shards of wood through her skin was evidence of much practice.
“Soon you will see my dear, dear boy. Soon you will see.” She mumbled in devout prayer.
Few parishioners were in St. Lydwina’s at this hour. The stench of stale, cheap wine, cheap perfume and the great unwashed gave away the intentions of most assembled at this hour. The bright days on which sun shone through stained glass windows were reserved for those God remembered, but the nights were for those that God had forsaken. Within these stained, granite, buttressed walls the prostitutes told God never again, the homeless warmed their hypothermic bodies and asked God why, and she mutilated her fingers and smiled.
She rose slowly from her kneeling position on the black, marble floor. The kneeler that the church provided for the penitent was not for her. She did not pray and fervently wish for God to answer. She knew better. She kneeled for the pain, and so that God may listen intently to her retelling how she worked to redress the error that He had made. She was almost done. Only one piece remained. As she left the cathedral and piously strode into the damp night, a smiled played across her face as thoughts of the oncoming spring came to mind.
II
“Let’s go Lazarus. We’ll be late for church!” she yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
“I’m coming Ma!” He had the tiny voice of the young and the innocent. Mom was someone to be obeyed, not from fear, but rather his obedience welled from love and devotion. This devotion was shared by both for each other. Dad was gone, and while Lazarus would never know why, Mom certainly did. Dad was a cheating sonavabitch that had left as quickly as the Doctor could say, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!” His only contributions had been giving her Chlamydia, a tell tale sign that he had left her, and saddling the boy with his name. The reward for such a name would have been many black eyes from many tiny school boy fists, however, she would not let that happen.
“Did you brush your teeth?”
“Yes Mom.” His face shone from an overzealous scrubbing. Dressed in his khaki pants and navy blue sweater, he looked like a living mannequin newly put on display at Gap Kids. His shoes were untied. Being only four, he hadn’t quite mastered that skill yet, regardless of the constant practice. He had his mother’s fair hair and complexion. The only remaining traces of his father were the aqua blue eyes. Hers were green, and she had hoped that his eye color would change like so many kids did, but this was not to be.
“Hurry up and eat your cheerios so we aren’t late. I already put the sugar and milk in for you.” The news that the sugar and milk was done brought a frown to his cherubic face. While the milk was not so important, the sugar certainly was. The one time she had let him pour these additions into his morning breakfast resulted in a meal that wasted two roles of paper towels and probably would have added up to many dentist visits. Since that day he had waited for his second chance. But today there was no time. Church would start without them if they didn’t hurry, and she wanted to avoid the embarrassment of walking in to a praying congregation that would most certainly turn their eyes to her rather than keeping them fixed on God.
“Did the Red Sox win last night?” he asked hopefully. The game had started after his bed time and he always needed to ask her and she feigned never knowing the answer. This was a game that they played. For Lazarus, all life stopped at 7:30 PM., his bed time. The idea that anything happened after was too great a concept for his young mind to grasp.”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you run out and get the paper to find out.” She replied. This too was part of the game. She got the paper, and he got to go outside by himself like a grownup. Both were happy.
As he yelled, “I’ll go get it!” Lazarus leapt from his chair and bolted for the door, Stumbling in his untied, Sunday shoes. He grasped the handle and flung open the door. A cool autumn wind chilled the room. Winter was just around the corner. The door slammed shut behind him.
She got the better part of the deal from the divorce. Lazarus was the ideal child. He loved his mother unconditionally, as most children do, but there was a difference. He didn’t share his love with a father. That had been his father’s choice. To this point he did not question where Daddy was. For him, his mother was enough.
She cleaned up his plate and began to rinse the dishes. That is when she heard it; the tell-tale screeching of tires from in front of the house. He heart stopped. Her muscles froze. Bile rose in her throat. The dish she held dropped into the sink, shattering into a thousand pieces. In what felt like a drug-induced haze she stumbled to the front door and wrenched it open, her body seemed to have forgotten how to perform these simple tasks and what should have been fluid movement in seconds was agonized fumbling. She ran into the front yard and fell to her hands, serating them on a driveway that was in great need on repaving. Instinctually looking down to see what caused her fall, her eyes fixed on a single shoe, laces undone. Not making any connection, she looked up. There he lay, motionless. His body strewn across the curb and taking its shape as if he were only skin and no bones. The white pollutant of an idling car’s tailpipe spewed over his face in a grotesque parody of resuscitation. She knew before she reached him that he was dead. He did not move, or cry out. She bent over his body and stared into the angelic face.
IV
“All the little horses and all the little men, could put humpty dumpty back together again.” She chuckled at her revision of the childrens’ song. She was happiest when she worked and couldn’t help singing. The first few parts were easy she thought. Modern doll makers do such and incredible job recreating anatomically correct children. It was almost as if they had created for her a pattern with her very purpose in mind. She knew this couldn’t be true and that most would disagree with what she did, but they just didn’t understand. She must have him in her life. She must see his shining face every morning, or there would be no reason to greet each day. In the early going, immediately following the funeral, there were many times when she didn’t think that she could see another day. The obvious scars on her neck and wrists, and the not-so-obvious scars in her throat, were damning evidence, but then she had an epiphany. She would have her boy back. She would just have to make a reason to live.
The torso, arms, legs, feet, and hands were not as hard to find as she thought. So many parents are so trusting of the local playground. The news tells them otherwise, but they live in ignorant bliss. They didn’t protect their children from the mean world like she had tried to do. Like she failed, so did they. The stitching proved not to be a problem either. It was the small things that proved harder to get. Finding the right head took a month, but eventually that mother thought it would be alright for her little, toe-headed son to go alone to the ice cream truck when he heard its siren’s song. She had been there too, and could see the excited, yet nervous look on his face as he stumbled with the right words that would net him his frozen treat. She helped him order his ice cream, and then she helped him to begin to walk to his home, and then she helped herself to his beautiful, little head.
V
She got on the bus at the corner of her street. Somehow, driving a car no longer felt right. Also, she met such interesting people on the bus. She sat down in the first row of seats, next to a portly man. He smiled at her and shifted to allow her more room.
“Good morning.” He said.
“Good morning she replied.
As they exchanged pleasantries he moved his hands curiously. He put his right hand over his left, and then shifted in such a way to hide both from view. He was not subtle and it was clear that this was one of his first attempts at flirting with bad intentions. He would not be successful with her. She had noticed many things about him already, including his wedding ring.
“I’ve never been fortunate to see you on the bus before.” His practiced smile and cheap suit screamed used car salesman. The remnants of his morning coffee stained his cheap, wrinkled, shirt front that struggled and strained against its buttons.
“I always ride this bus, but usually I miss this run and have to catch the next one on the route, but now that I know that there is pleasant company, I will make a better effort to catch this one.” She smiled a genuine smile because she was genuinely happy with him. He was perfect. Well, parts of him were perfect. They would do just fine.
He returned her smile. “I put my two-seater Porsche away for the winter so I’m on this bus every morning. I have to get to the lot early and prepare for the customers, today especially. Spring is just around the corner and people want new cars. Are you going into the city? If you are I can give you a ride. It will give me an excuse to take the car out. Where do you live? I could pick you up next Monday.” He was talking faster now, almost tripping over his words. He was excited and clearly new to flirting and affairs.
“Maybe I will take you up on that offer.” She said coolly. “Do you sell a lot of cars?”
“Oh yeah I do. You know what they say. A sucker is born every minute. I wouldn’t rip you off though. I’m always nice to the ladies, especially the pretty ones.” He smiled grotesquely. Swarthiness oozed from his pores. The more obvious his lies, the more confidence he had. “People trust me. Too bad for them. It must be something about me.”
“I know what it is.” She said matter of factly.
“Oh what’s that?” he said.
“It’s your eyes. They are beautiful eyes. They were the first thing I noticed about you.” She was playing into him now, playing into his ego. This was too easy.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that. I’m really quite embarrassed of them. I would love to have those deep, blue, manly eyes, but I have these pale, green, woman’s eyes. They’re my worst feature.” He averted his face sheepishly in pretense.
“Oh I think they’re beautiful. They are the same color as mine and clearly one of your best features. If I say that you can give me a ride to the city in the mornings can I have them all to myself.” She said.
“I think that could be arranged.” He couldn’t hide his shocked triumph.
“Will you pick me up here on the corner tomorrow?” she coyly asked.
“I’ll see you then.” He said.
“Yes you will my dear.” If only for a moment, she thought, yes you will.
