Madeline

While I took several drags of my cigarette, I began to remember the sweet young girl of merely twenty named Madeline. She wore a diamond around the ring finger of her left hand, and I had put it there after deciding that she was the one. And she was the one. Her cropped black hair with all of its wisps and curls entranced me, those ever-present purple shadows under those undying grey eyes, and the defined cheekbones reminded me of a model, an atypical type of beauty that envelops a man in an immediate affection or an immediate disgust. Oh Madeline.

While she was content, she never was happy, and with my college career coming to an end, I could see how positively scared she was. Hell, I was scared too. On top of this all, her grandmother died. Madeline was very close to the woman. Without so much a rhyme or reason, Madeline and I were off to her hometown. Her hometown wasn’t but a pinprick on a map, a rural area encompassed by rolling hills and abundant pine trees. By this time in the year, the pine needles had turned that ugly shade of burnt orange that contrasts in the worst way with its surroundings. To add to the utter depression that was the landscape, it was raining and Madeline cried the whole time we watched the land from the back of the taxi cab.

“I really need you to be cooperative with my family, okay?” She hysterically dabbed her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt.

“I’ve never been uncooperative, have I?” I queried. Apparently my ‘tone’ made her even more upset and she bawled even harder. I was so exhausted I didn’t really care and she was most likely the same way.

The funeral lasted hours, four to be exact. The day spent at the little white chapel was torture. My silken tie was choking me; along with the tight collar of the old white dress shirt I had purchased in high school and still wore once or twice every year when the occasion called for it. I held Madeline’s bony little hand in my roughened grip as we listened to testimony after testimony. Then we’d all stand and sing a hymn. Then we’d sit down for yet another moment of silence in respect of the life of Mary Jane. In my family, we’d simply put the damn person in the ground, read from the bible, and then we'd go back to arguing and hating each other.

Mary Jane ministered to the community by the way of food. Every picnic had a dish by Mary Jane, every church event that involved food involved Mary Jane, and every time you went to her house, she had cookies fresh baked in a jar, or a roast in the oven. My! Her roasts were so nice and tender!” A middle-aged man that was apparently a dear friend testified in arduous reverence.

When the funeral finally came to a conclusion, Madeline’s mother came to me and hugged me. Madeline’s mother was a frail woman with white hair that curled like steel wool. A distinct feature of Madeline’s mother was the odor, I never remembered her mother smelling of rust. “I’m so glad you came, to take care of my baby.” Her mother whispered in my ear.

“I don’t know if I’m doing a good job.” I smirked, gesturing to the streams of mascara cascading down the delicacies of Madeline’s features.

“Well, I’m having the dinner tomorrow night; you both are expected to come.” Madeline’s mother stared at Madeline with eyes that made me suspicious.

Madeline’s reaction made me even more worried, her buggy, bloodshot eyes bored further out of her head in shock. The satiny whiteness of her face warped into a sickly complexion almost instantaneously. “Yes, mother, we’ll be there.” Madeline answered in a monotonous shrill.

When we returned to our hotel, Madeline locked herself in the bathroom for some time. She took her paints in there. As weird as it sounds, she likes to paint in the bathroom. Per usual, I didn’t bother her. I figured if she was desperate enough to be painting in the bathroom, then I shouldn’t bother her with the small talk we so ardently hated and avoided at all costs. It had been a long day. The taxing energy being spent on keeping my eyelids pried open was wasted no longer, I was lulled into a deep sleep that was only intensified by the obscene amount of rainfall pounding against the windows.

Awaking in the morning, I saw little Madeline curled up on the bed. She was leaned over a pillow and a roll of the quilt reading the thick, leather bound bible she always had on her. She looked hot when she was concentrated; those fair pink lips that reminded me of innocent rose petals were snagged by her front teeth in utter focus. Reading glasses slumped to the end of her nose and her face was set into this frustrated scowl. A soft tune filled the room, but it was overpowered by the intensity of the rain. “We’re leaving at twelve.”

“But, your mother said we were having dinner…”

“I got a better deal on return tickets. We’re leaving at twelve.” Madeline closed the bible and paced around the front of the bed. She hadn’t regained color since the encounter yesterday and she was looking incredibly thinner than normal. It occurred to me then that the girl hadn’t consumed a morsel to eat since she heard of the passing of her grandmother.

“Goddamnit, it is ten right now, Madeline.” I ran a hand through my then thick hair.

Her phone rang and she scurried to the bathroom. When she re-emerged thirty minutes later, my forehead was furrowed in anger and confusion, as it rightfully should’ve been. This wasn’t the first time my Madeline had played a childish game with me. “We’re going to dinner a bit earlier, babe, get ready.” She recounted in the same creepy monotone she exhibited yesterday.

“What is up with you?” I questioned, walking towards the ghost of a girl. I tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and realized just how cold the creature was. I rested my hand on her bare shoulders, as she was just wearing panties and a bra.

“I really miss her. Go get ready, okay?” Madeline’s voice quivered. Since I couldn’t stand to see her cry, I simply did as she told me with a solemn manner. After my shower, I saw she had laid out my clothing at the foot of the billowing four poster bed. She was busy at the vanity, painting her face in similarity to a china doll. Once we were both dressed and I had zipped her in some dress I thought was entirely too flashy, we took the elevator down to the ground floor. From there, we ordered a cab and told the obese old man where to take us.

We were silent, silence was typical. Over the past four days I had grown apart from my wife-to-be, she was nothing more than a pretty stranger nestled next to me in the back of a dingy old cab. It was strange, too strange for me to bear. Therefore, I began to kiss her. A light, soft kiss that was starkly opposite to the torrential rainfall pounding the front window, and for the first time in days, Madeline smiled.

We reached the large white house with the wrap around porch after an hour. The cabbie bid us farewell as we ascended the front stairs in haste. Madeline didn’t even say hi to the bustling ladies as they hurried around the grand house, instead, she made a mad dash for the stairs and dragged me along with her.

She escorted me into a pale pink room. 'MADELINE' was spelled out in bright polka dotted letters and a full sized bed took up most of the oblong shaped room. Small and feisty, little Madeline playfully shoved me onto her bed as she turned around and locked the door with a sinful click. The way her red lips curled into a seductive grin made my heart begin to beat faster. Madeline twirled around her room, fingering through old pictures. “Here’s my chemistry set.” She leered, picking up an aged test tube holder. Little labels and test tubes full of various powders and liquids swirled as she haphazardly picked up the wooden rack. She flung the chemicals back onto the white desk without a care as she came and laid next to me. Long, manicured talons ran through my hair, her breath was hot against my neck. “I want to make good memories in this bed.”

I felt her grin. I was devilishly pleased.

“You know what I love about this bed?” Madeline hushed, stroking down the sides of my suit jacket, reaching around my torso to fiddle with the buttons on my black button up before aimlessly migrating south.

I swatted her hand away in teasing. I felt her body arch against mine. “My father would come in here. He’d lie next to me. He’d rub my thigh and tell me I was so pretty.” She huskily admitted. That’s when I started to feel the utter wrongness in the pit of my stomach, the morality begging me to cease this toxic interaction.

Madeline stuck her hands down my pants and I removed the hand almost immediately. “Madeline, stop.” I sternly demanded. Though, it wasn’t as stern as I needed it to be. She continued to toy with my belt, sliding her fingers underneath.

“Please, love me.” Madeline begged.

“This is unhealthy. When we get back to Chicago I’m getting us a therapist…”

“Oh, there’s no use. My father is a part of me forever.” Madeline spoke in a near trance.

Morality overcame me as I removed her finger from my belt and set them next to her own body. Rolling off of the bed, I smoothed down my shirt and tie, trying to look composed. “My father’s dead, you know?” Madeline propped herself up on two pillows and laid back, eyes closed in a daze.

This is when Madeline stopped being a person to me. This is the exact moment she became someone I once knew. She was no longer. It was unnoticeable at the time, but that was the exact moment my life so drastically changed; it still haunts me to this day. “He died prematurely. He had severe chemical burns and had apparently ingested cyanide.” Madeline elaborated.

My eyes drifted to the chemistry set and then to Madeline again. Madeline had this peaceful smile on her face and I didn’t question it. I simply sat at the desk and occasionally glanced at the girl every couple of minutes in the reflection of the mirror that sat on the adjacent wall.

An inconceivable amount of time passed before a bell was heard and Madeline’s eyes snapped wide open. “Dinner’s ready. It’s all of Gram’s best recipes.” Madeline casually announced as she stumbled to her feet and smoothed down the black sateen of her cocktail dress. Her hand and mine bound together in reluctance as we exited the room and descended the stairs. Almost immediately, a strange smell wafted under my nose, it was covered with the aroma of delectable spices I could name, but it was still a foreign material my nose caught on to.

We took our seats next to some cousins that were too snotty to talk. It was fitting.

Before the food was to be brought to the table, Madeline’s mother rang the bell again. “Let us bow our head in reverence.”

“Dear Lord, we want to thank you for the life of Mary Jane and her multiple blessings she has brought into our lives and into the lives of other people. Let this meal be a way of keeping her in our bodies forever. Amen.” Madeline’s mother completed the prayer with a big smile and an enthusiastic, “Let’s eat!”

Plates were served to us. A strange dark meat rested in the corner of my plate that I didn’t like the smell of. I ate around it, deciding to eat the asparagus and mashed potatoes first. My stomach churned in disapproval, the encounter in the bedroom was enough to deter my appetite. I was happy that Madeline seemed to be eating. It was about time she got some nourishment.

“What’s this, sweetheart?” I murmur to Madeline so as to attempt to be polite.

“It’s leg.” She casually replied.

I chuckle, noticing that people are noticing, especially the rude cousins. “What kind of leg?”

“Grandma’s.”

“Is it like her recipe or something?” I’m blushing, Madeline’s mother is giving Madeline the evil eye, and I can tell that the mother is about to say something.

“No, it’s my grandma’s leg. It’s so she can be a part of me forever.”

My mouth drops in shock and so does my fork. I take a look around and notice that the petite slice of meat that was on everyone’s plate is gone. Mine is the only one that remains. All forty odd pair of eyes are on me and the fist sized lump of meat on the far corner of my porcelain plate. The first reaction I have comes flying out of my mouth. “No. No way.” I feel the bile rise in my throat.

A corner of Madeline’s mouth twitches as she excuses herself and tiptoes in her dainty black heels to the buffet that housed a large platter with a lid atop of it. Dramatically, she lifts the top of the lid to reveal something that sends me straight out of my chair onto the eloquent Persian carpet hurling. Right now, the one side of my face in my own asparagus-mashed potato vomit isn’t the most disgusting thing in the room.

Mary Jane’s head sits upon a silver platter. The skin has been peeled off and discarded to the side and her eyes were replaced with olives. Kale greens nestled the head perfectly while lemon and onions gave it a sickening pleasing aroma. Madeline’s toothy grin sent shivers down my spine as her head cocked sideways.

“Don’t you want to keep a part of someone in you forever?”