Wallflower
by Jefre Schmitz

Rena blended well with the scenery. Opaque colors textured conventionally without arousing suspicion or doubt. She didn't walk, she floated, then flickered... and suddenly, she wasn't there any longer. She hid, though no one was looking.

It was the Murphy family reunion at the Masonic Lodge. A nervous collection of disparate souls had assembled: the righteous, the sinful and the selfish. Rena cruised the perimeter, her senses revved acute. Her eyes glowed feline wary, her audio tuned to precise frequencies.

It was revealed that her mother, Laura, wasn't coming this year. Folks would talk, and Laura might not be ready to hear it. Rena hadn't any choice. She was sent and so, here she was.

Chameleoned next to a potted ficus in the parking lot outside the lodge, Rena observed the comings and goings. The same lines of family division had formed, the most toxic currently circulating in the parking lot.

Aunt Shirley and Uncle Lou huddled under an oak at the lot's edge. Shirley sought succor from a Pall Mall while Lou mixed one of those miniature bottles of Jack Daniels into a plastic cup of Coca Cola. Toxic people required toxic substances. Shirley muttered acid commentary and Lou nodded his assent without really paying any attention.

A filthy blue minivan shimmied up. Haggard expressions pulled on the faces of the front seat passengers. Shadows of tiny limbs tumbled and somersaulted in the back. The driver spotted Shirley and Lou and strained to produce a smile. Lou saluted with his cup, Shirley hid a scowl behind a cloud of carbon monoxide, and Rena watched and listened.

"Goddam Cowans. Not even real family... busybody cousins, third-removed. Look at 'em... pathetic," muttered Shirley. She'd prune the family tree down to a nub if they'd let her.

"Mmm-hmm," hummed Lou and swirled his beverage.

Tammi Cowans sprinted out of the passenger side door to the back. She glanced over at Shirley and Lou and screeched, "Hidy y'all," then flung open the back door of the van. An avalanche of debris tumbled onto the pavement, most notably: four-year-old Kayla Cowens, a bucket of chicken and a box of Tampons. The startled child grabbed a knee and howled a hellish noise, scattering birds from shrubs and trees.

"Shitkicking savages," Shirley hissed, crushing her cigarette underfoot, her heel grinding the mill of her acrimony. She lit another while Lou crunched ice and chuckled.

The male component of the nuclear family, Ty Cowan, staggered out of the vehicle and weaved a path over to Lou. Once a year, they became drinking buddies.

Shirley groaned.

"You look like you've fallen off some, Cowans," grinned Lou.

"I mean. How do, Lou?" Ty manufactured his first genuine smile of the day.

"Much better... now," answered Lou and rattled his cup for emphasis.

"Gimme some of that poison, son." Ty took it rather than waiting for an extension of goodwill and slammed it down with barfly intensity.

"Damn. That punch is spiked harder than a frat party watermelon. Woo-wee!"

Ty handed Lou back the empty cup. Lou stared into it forlornly, grieving the passing of an old friend. Oh well, there's more. He fumbled inside his jacket for another tincture of Jack Daniels. They all ignored the squawk and turbulence behind them. Lou handed Ty a vial and unscrewed one for himself. They toasted and quaffed.

Ty wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slanted an eye over at Shirley. Her eyes were dialed to homicide, make no mistake. Ty decided to try to smooth out the mood.

"Hidy thar, Cheryl. Yer lookin..." he paused, searching for the right phrase; great didn't seem to fit,"uh, well, yer lookin healthy."

Shirley set sail a plume of noxious gas Ty's way. "Look here, Cy. I don't like you much. Nope, not much at all," she said.

Ty gestured to Lou to hand him another J.D. Lou smiled, relishing the fracas, and retrieved one promptly. Ty unscrewed the bottle, cocked a cloudy eye over at Shirley and downed it.

"The name's Ty, Cheryl. Ty. You don't have to like me, but at least get my name right."

Shirley squared her shoulders, O'ed her lips and launched a perfect smoke ring that sashayed and danced a drunken halo around Ty's face. Lou hee-hawed and slapped a knee.

Suddenly, a soughing wind swirled, pushing the stench of alcohol and contempt into Rena's face. He had reeked of alcohol. And when he was doing her, he had said unpleasant things, too - about her, her family and others he'd done... how he liked it and couldn't help himself. She shuddered and decided she'd had enough of these three.

Rena skirted the ficus and shimmered as she glided towards the door. She paused and looked inside the window adjacent to the door. Plates were being set out and the women bustled. The men had formed small groups and looked at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say to someone they saw only once a year. It looked safe to enter.

She placed her hand on the knob and froze. The air stilled and all sound abated. She held her breath. An entity lurked nearby, palpable and incendiary, a demon predator she hadn't expected to arrive. She ventured a dreadful eye over her shoulder.

It was He, as she had feared. The sharp blades of his lineaments portended intrusive purpose - a vanguard of his bold audacity. He strode with oilman swagger, propelled in ostrich-skin boots. Always in jeans and a plaid, pearl-buttoned shirt welded onto a lean, hardened body burnished rugged by the West Texas sun. He shunned hats. Instead, a thick salt-and-pepper mane rolled in mighty waves from the front to the back. He greased the skids of controversy, fueled envy and summoned fear from women and men alike.

She remembered how he said he'd come after her if she told anyone what he had done. He had breathed that terrible warning into her ear as he pushed inside her - a foul sirocco that seared her skin.

Rena fled back around to the side of the lodge. And in her fragile state, she broke down. Terror racked her insides and destroyed the dam that held back tears. She sobbed - heavy sobs that shook her body.

She had company.

Somehow, Kayla had separated from Tammi. Clotted blood ran a crooked path down a grimy shin. She stood a few feet away from Rena and stared at some spot in space, quietly weeping. It was in that moment that Rena acknowledged the breadth of her own loneliness. The avatar of her despair stood before her - mute, confused and alone. When the child turned to face her, emerald eyes chilled.

Kayla streamed past Rena to the door where she paused and made a half-turn, as if waiting for Rena to follow. Rena complied with reticent step, led by the precious lamb.

Once inside, Rena dissolved into the next line of division - family camped squarely on the steep slopes and peak of the bell curve. Each trumpeted their individuality and independent thinking, but in actuality, they spoke with one thunderous voice. They had sworn allegiance to saturated fats, daytime television and the right to bear arms. Banners flew for grassroots campaigns that would prohibit immigrants from voting and homosexuals from ever getting insurance. Profanity, social drinking and discussion of sex were abominations. Mock pity veiled their disgust of outsiders.

Rena strode the gauntlet of polyester pantsuits, floral designs and big hair shaded from lilac to safety orange. Her flesh crawled. She imagined murmured gossip - speculation and disdain for girls like her.

Rena heard someone speak her mother's name. She whirled to identify the source. A cabal of women closed ranks and lowered their voices. Rena pressed closer for a listen.

"Well, I heard Laura'd leave her home alone. Going off at night and doing Lord knows what with Lord only knows who. Poor child. Plain to see how things turned out the way they did."

"Completely turned her back on the church. Ain't got a chance without the blessings of the Lord... tragic."

"Well, God wuddn't have had 'em anyway. Not after the way she had Rena out of wedlock and all. That man would have married her, too, but she beat him back. A sin raising a child without a daddy. Things like that happen to folks who don't act proper."

"Y'all heard, I s'pose, it was a niggra boy Rena took up with, and he's the one that did it to her. A decent girl would have known better."

Rena reeled and retched on these poisonous words. Why had she been sent here today? She had hoped some purpose would manifest, but none had amidst all these hateful lies and half-truths. She wanted to scream recriminations at these heretics, but she hadn't a voice for their ears. Instead, she retreated to safer ground to plot a new course. Sanctuary existed somewhere in this room, away from the Frito pies, the King Ranch casseroles and the hypocrisy.

Why had she been sent?

He sat alone, stolid and circumspect, sipping his lemon iced tea. Those that approached did so fleetingly: a perfunctory handshake, a nod of the head, then duty was done and it was time to move on, leaving him there to smolder in recondite isolation.

Why was He here?

Then Rena saw it: her destination at the room's center. The lamb lay at her feet with others who gazed up at the matriarch with saucer eyes. Eyes wide, wide open to see what others were too debilitated to see. He sat at the edge of the circle, feigning indifference, but she knew that he watched, too.

In an instant, Rena had curled within the circle, flocked to hear the words of the old woman - stories of a childhood where simplicity, hard work and family carried the day. The words were music - tender, mesmerizing phrases that elicited joy.

"There was a colored man, Jackson Dobie, that worked for Daddy," she spun. "Most honorable man I ever knew. He saved our farm... twice, but Daddy could never bring himself to thank him proper... things were different then," and those that listened, understood. Everyone wanted to hear more.

"Mr. Dobie had eleven children," she laughed. "But, I swan, I might as well as been number twelve. I spent as much time on that man's knee as any other, including Malia, the cutest. And if'n I got outta line, he'd see to it I straightened up quick. That man had hands like catcher mitts, but he never raised 'em against nobody. That's respect, children."

Rena heard more stories about drought, the Depression and young men that didn't return from war, and how each time a resolve to survive and strengthen prevailed. And from these stories, Rena learned that resolve still existed though many tried to undermine it. The revelation swelled like a morning sun in her chest. She felt as if she might burst, her nova obliterating the likes of Him.

"Grammammy." Aunt Claudia tapped on the antediluvian poet. "Grammammy, we're ready to eat." She kept tapping.

"I hear you child," and the old woman closed her eyes to compose herself. She would be called upon to say grace, as always. The lambs serried and snuggled as the others shuffled, guarded and distant.

And the matriarch delivered grace with imperial timbre. The attentive were moved, her prayer but an extension of her immaculate philosophy. Rena let the words flow over her like warm water. Amen!

At its conclusion, the matriarch held up a hand before anyone could stir. With her other, hung low at her side, she motioned, imperceptible to everyone but Rena - a gesture: Move closer, child.

The sun in Rena's chest shone brilliant as she maneuvered inward, nestling between Kayla and her newfound savior. Rena leaned a heavy head into the gnarled hand that cupped and stroked.

"Before we eat, I'd like everyone here to remember Rena Murphy and her mother, Laura. I've heard disparaging remarks casting judgment. Unfounded lies, a poor testament to this noble family." Grammammy's voice was afire and held illimitable dominion.

"A horrible tragedy befell our angel, Rena. A blasphemy no person or family should ever have to endure... ever! And to hear implications of she 'had it coming' saddens me deeply. A monster did this to Rena... a monster that God will ultimately find and vanquish. Forgetting that makes one no less a monster, and retribution is at hand."

Rena wept. She knew now why she had been sent.

"Rena took her own life because this family abandoned her. We should be ashamed. By God's graces, I pray forgiveness be granted."

A hush ensued and in that moment, Rena found peace. She could sleep now and dream of a place she'd soon know. Before doing so, she cast a final look about, scanning for Him. As she suspected... hoped, he was no longer there.

Copyright © 2002 Jefre Schmitz
All rights reserved

About the Author

        Jefre Schmitz's day job is Technical Manager of the automated financial systems for a large state agency in Austin, Texas...spectacularly uninteresting, he says, but "it puts vittles on the table." In the summer of 2001, he developed an itch to start scribbling some words on paper after having read the entire works of Cormac McCarthy and Flannery O'Connor. His aspirations are not to attain the lofty heights of these two authors, but rather to pay homage by practicing an art they perfected and "have a damn good time in the process."