The Key to Everything (3 page)

The boy sniffs, “No. But now you need to put two quarters in the swear jar now. And I need another juice.”

“Okay. You can grab another one.” Wiping up the last of the spill, you throw the damp paper towel into an empty packing box. “As soon as we unpack the swear jar, there will be another fifty cents in there from potty-mouth dad.” You watch Jason grab his juice and run off toward the living room, rubbing the back of his head and adding a little extra teary drama for Mom’s attention. 

You can hear Emily comforting the little actor as you slowly move back to the sliding door. Looking out, you can’t see beneath the window from this angle. You open the door and step out into the yard. About two inches below the flower box, there is a red and brown splatter dripping down the wall to the ground. But where the wall meets the ground, it’s empty. The dead squirrel isn’t there. Instead, a line of blood runs along the grass toward the base of the avocado tree next to the house. 

The roots are large and vein-covered. Not only have they grown deep, but they rise like tentacles reaching up to the sun. A splattered line of blood climbs over the crest of the highest of these limbs and then stops. A rustling sound comes from the other side of the root, hidden from view. Your heart is pounding inside your chest now. You want to see what’s behind the tree, but not without being somewhat prepared first. Not turning away, you back up slowly to the still-unassembled shed supplies. You reach down and pick up the closest thing you can find. The two-by-four is a little unwieldy, but it will have to do for the moment.

Heading back to the tree, you notice little chunks of black, brown, and red launching into the air. The shuffling, scratching sounds get faster and louder as you approach. More of the pieces are flying farther away from the tree now. You lift the two-by-four over your head. You’re about two yards away from the root when it all goes quiet.

Everything is silent. No sound of traffic from the road. No airplanes flying overhead. You don’t even hear the kids a few houses down the street playing basketball on their driveway. You don’t move. In fact, you can’t move. You don’t hear your heartbeat and you’re not breathing. You can see the bark of the tree in perfect detail. Every crack and crevice looks like a grand canyon. The ripened avocadoes that fell from their branches are the deepest black you can imagine. The bumps along their skin are gigantic mountain ranges. You can see the feet of the ants crawling on the leaves, each step they take leaving a crater-like imprint. Their mandibles open and close, trying to lift the heavy seeds and carry them back to their colony.

“What are you doing, honey?” Emily’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and brings you back in a jolt.

“Fuck.” Your heart pounds in your throat. “You scared me.”

“Wow, Mr. Twitchy over here.” She steps out through the door into the yard. “What’s with the weaponry?” she asks, pointing to the two-by-four.

You hold your hand out to stop her. “Stay there for a sec. I need to check on something.” 

As you walk around to the other side of the tree, what you see stops you cold. The squirrel is trying to dig down in the ground between the roots. Normally you would think a squirrel would be climbing up a tree for safety, right? All over the exposed roots and surrounding grass, you see fur and skin. The body is twitching, having finally given up on escape. But the angle at which the head is resting is just not possible. It’s turned all the way around as if it were looking at its tail. The top of its head pressed against the back of the neck, bottom jaw facing up  toward the sky, with its tongue drooping out of the open mouth.

Emily walks up behind you. “Oh my God. What happened?”

You lean on the two-by-four and squat down to get a closer look. “Weirdest thing.” You see the eyes blink quickly three or four times. Then they stop. “I was at the sink and saw this squirrel up on the fence. It…it looked right at me. I know it sounds nuts, but it was mimicking me.” You look up at Emily. “Jason saw it too. Then it just jumped straight at us.” You point to the blood on the side of the house. “It missed the window, and I guess it hit the wall.”

“Ew.” She squints, looking at the trail and back to the tree.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Looks like it broke its neck.”

“Well, yeah.” Kneeling down next to you, she picks up a fallen twig and gently pokes at the dead squirrel. “But with a broken neck, how did it get all the way over here?”

You look at your wife, “No idea. Keep the kids inside while I clean this up ok? They don’t need to see this.” She nods and walks back inside, sliding the screen door closed, while you grab the garden hose and plug it in. 

You spray off the remains from the wall with the high-pressure nozzle. It cleans off easy enough, but now you have to get rid of the body. Unfortunately, your gloves are still packed somewhere in one of the miasma of boxes that lie around the house. Grabbing a trash bag from the kitchen, you turn it inside out and slide your hand in so you don’t have to touch the thing. 

When you pick it up, it feels much heavier than it looks. There is a foreign density to the lifeless body. The head bobs around loosely, neck completely broken. How did it get all the way over here? And how did it keep moving and digging? You’re unrolling the trash bag back over your hand to cover the body when the eyes blink. You drop it and jump back instinctively. As you stare down at it, the eyes remain open. 

Slowly, impossibly, the head starts to turn. It keeps turning until those tiny black eyes are staring directly at you. Frozen to the spot, you stand there. The eyes continue staring at you. You hear the rustling and scraping sound again. But the squirrel is right in front of you and is surely dead. You force your eyes away from those tiny, round black mirrors to the bottom of the tree, and the sound stops.

You pick up the body again. This time you do it quickly and with both hands inside of the bag. You shove the bag around it and tie it tight, twice. Swiftly you head for the front gate. Fortunately the trash man hasn’t come yet. You open the first can you get to, not caring that it isn’t yours, drop the bag down, and slam the lid shut.

“Hey neighbor.” Your heart skips a beat and you look up, eyes wide in panic. “Whoa. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Sgt. Gene Harmon.” He reaches out his right hand but backs up a pace at the same time.

You take a beat and catch your breath. “I’m sorry. It’s been a strange morning…” Brushing off your palms on your thighs, you reach back to shake hands. “I’m Auden…Quilton.” You smile. “We’re just moving in.”

Gene gives you a firm shake. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” He seems to relax a little. “I live across the street. Saw your moving truck yesterday, but figured I’d give you a little time to get your stuff together before I came by and introduced myself.” With his graying flat top and more salt than pepper beard, he could pass for a young version of Kris Kringle. “I’m Vice Principal at John Adams Elementary down the street.”

“Really? That’s great.” Your eyes follow his hand, pointing  toward the school. “My kids will be starting there in September.” 

“Well, just let me know if you guys need anything. How many kids do you have?” Gene looks  toward your house and shades his eyes from the sun.

“Two. Jason is going into third grade and Jeremy will be starting first.” You reach to put your hands in your pockets but realize you only have boxers on. “He’s excited to be going to big boy school now. You know how it is.” You head back  toward the gate. “Probably more than me. Don’t mean to be rude, but we’ve got lots to do…and…”

“No problem.” He waves and turns to head back across the street. “No problem at all. Have fun unpacking.”

About halfway up your driveway you turn back and say, “Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming by to say hello.” Gene turns back, smiling, and waves again. Before you close the gate, you realize something. “Hey, Gene.” He stops just short of his front door and turns around again. “Do you guys have any problems with squirrels around here?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” Scraggly white eyebrows lift up high on his forehead. “Why?”

You lean on the gate and look down at the trashcan. “No reason. Forget I asked.” You think for a second. “When we finish unpacking, why don’t you come over for a barbeque? How does tomorrow afternoon sound?”

Opening his front door, Gene waves. “Sounds great. I’ll bring my famous heart-attack corn.”

* * *

“Who were you talking to Daddy?” Jeremy asks as you come back into the house.

You pick him up and piggyback him on your shoulders. “That was your new Vice Principal, Mr. Harmon. He lives across the street.” You throw Jeremy down onto the ottoman, and he squeals happily. Emily is halfway up the stairs with one hand full of towels and the other carrying a box marked “Boys Bathroom Stuff.”

“Their VP lives across the street? Is that good or bad?” She calls out, not slowing down to hear the answer.

You yell up toward her, “He seemed pretty nice. I think I freaked him out though.” You pick up Jeremy and push him  toward his room to start putting his toys away. “I was throwing out that weird squirrel, and all my tattoos were showing, and, I dunno. I felt all flustered.” You start putting dishes away in the kitchen. “But I invited him over for a barbeque tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You really think we’ll be ready for company by then?” She sounded a little pissed off at that one. She came down the stairs and turned into the kitchen. “We have so much to do. I just don’t think I’m up for hosting a party.” She grabbed another box for the boys’ rooms and headed back for the stairs.

“Come on, babe. It’s only one person. We have to eat anyway.” You pick up the kids’ plastic cups and put them on the bottom shelf. “Plus, it won’t dirty up the kitchen. I can grill up some hot dogs and patties on the grill. Gene said he would bring corn. You love corn, right?”

“Is it just him?” Her voice comes from Jason’s room. “No family? No kids?”

“Um…”

She comes down the stairs and puts her hands on her hips. “You didn’t ask, did you?” Her hands splay out in obvious frustration. “Oh, Auden. You are so bad with details." Her voice rises in pitch. “Which house does he live in? I need to go ask how many people are coming now. You are such a guy.”

“He lives across the street.” You take the last cup out of the box. “I’ll go. I know which one it is.”

-2-

Auden: The Key

The street lights are buzzing all the way down the block by the time you make it outside. They should be turning on any minute now. You’ve always hated that sound. As a kid in the summertime it signaled that playtime was over. You could be out anywhere in the neighborhood, doing pretty much anything with anyone. But as soon as that buzz started and the lights came on, every kid around knew that it was time to go home. Mom voices would begin shouting names of children, summoning them away from their whiffle ball or superhero games, calling them home for dinner. Now, in your thirties, the feeling is just as strong. And just as depressing.

Knocking on the door, you notice the antique birdfeeder hanging off the top of the porch. It doesn’t look like too many birds have been getting their grub on here anytime lately. There’s a wicker rocking chair covered in camouflaged pillows to the right of the door in front of the window, and the Christmas lights are still strung up all over the place. Just as you chuckle about the holidays in August, you hear Gene’s voice. “Hello?”

 You clear your throat. “Hi there, Gene. Uh…it’s me… Auden, from across the street?” The locks click, and Gene opens the door wide. Over his shoulder you can see an old TV with rabbit ears covered in tin foil. Every wall is covered with hundreds of military photographs and paintings of airplanes. Tables are littered with gun magazines, and survival guides line the bookshelves. 

“Hey, neighbor. What can I do you for?” He motions for you to come in. “Can I get you a beer or a cream soda? Just went to the store yesterday. I’m fully stocked.”

“No thanks. I appreciate it though.” You smile back and stick your hands in your pockets. “I made the mistake of inviting you over tomorrow without consulting with my wife, and apparently I forgot to ask you some key questions.”

“Hey, if it’s a problem, we can reschedule.” Gene holds up both hands in a gesture of surrender.

“No no no. Emily just wanted to know how many people we should expect. Will you be bringing your family?” You cringe, a little bit uncomfortable with having to ask personal questions after just meeting.

Gene waves his hands. “Naw, man. My ex-wife and I split up forever ago. Don’t have any kids.” He smiles again and leans to look over your shoulder. “It’ll be nice to see the place. No one’s lived there for a while. Actually, not since the Swindons left about seven years ago.” He stopped talking for a second and stared off into space.

“You okay?” you ask, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “Is there anything wrong?”

“What? No, I’m all right. Might have allowed myself one too many servings of beer and pickles.” He points back to the TV tray in front of the old set playing Wheel of Fortune. “Bachelor pad food, man. There ain’t nothing like it in the world.” 

You laugh courteously and turn back down the driveway to the street. “Good then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Have a nice night.”

Up in the sky you see the red and green flashing lights from the wings of a jetliner way up there somewhere. A few wispy clouds are blocking the moon, but light still comes through. Not much need for the streetlights tonight, but they’re all lit up anyway.