A Sister's Tale
Sonny Rainbolt
No one seemed to want to know brother Marco, so he was having trouble getting a fix on who he was. While some may have seen him as drifting with uncertainty, others saw him as a crazy hoarder. He was prone to over thinking things and so was reactive to the slightest negative stimuli. And he needed to keep a lot of manufactured goods around him, in whatever condition they were, and old magazines, newspapers and books he’d never read but which he admired.
Sometimes he even got so stressed by reasonable comments, that that contradicted his own insanity, and in those times his reaction would be that his face would quiver and his hands would shake like he was barely in control. He came out of those moments with difficulty and called them his lows, trying to keep them private.
On this particular day, as a result of being decimated by an aggressive sales call which he’d made a mistake of answering, he just couldn't keep the anger private. The telemarketer just wouldn't let go of his poor tired soul, so Marco grew more emboldened by the minute.
About to hang up, he interrupted her script reading with: ”This was supposed to be a sales call? Just maybe you aren’t inclined to get a yes today.”
She kept reading, but it was getting a little faster and less confident. Whatever energy she had, seemed to go out of it.
"Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead," Marco suggested, the woman staying helplessly on the line.
"No. I’ve never needed a conversation more. I’ll read the script for the next call."
“If there is a next call,” Marco said.
Many could not handle so many years of blind struggle as Marco had, and he’d wished that he’d been able to go from anger to calmness, as he just had. She remained quiet, waiting for him to say something, then finally asked: "What are we going to do?"
"I had some ideas about that. Let me hear you speak again first."
The longer the call lasted, the more discouraged the poor girl got. But for Marco, it was like the bully had pushed him too far and instead of cornering his prey, the prey had become the predator. Ten minutes later the poor argumentive Marco asked her name but thought she’d already told him..
The telemarketer had been startled when Marco had said her name. But her name was Alice, and it quickly became apparent that she had a story she needed to get off her back.
Marco wondered how much time they’d allow her to get off the script and if someone was truly listening if the call got too long.
"A neighbor's sister was all bruised up in some kind of altercation. When I asked who'd done it she said that it was someone who she thought was nice, a guy who’d given her a ride back from a club at night," was what was bothering the telemarketer.
Marco had a slightly frightened edge to his voice. Alice remained quietly on the other end.
“I know it's the weekend, but no one was answering their phone and plans were cancelled, so I'd stayed home and eventually turned to the job. I was curious about who answers their calls on a Friday night, figuring they must be lonely too," she said.
"You should say you never had a chance. You can't get anywhere if you don't take a risk. But then you run straight into a brick wall,” Marco said, with a chuckle.
"But I won’t because you’re a stranger and that’s something that's truly honest," Alice said.
“How did your neighbor’s sister get bruised up?”
"A young karate expert gave a personal demonstration of why he'd earned a black belt and so needed to be taken seriously.”
“What happened?” Marco asked, chilled.
"The kid ends up taking her to another room, where he did a spinning back kick, hitting her a little too hard. He'd come close to killing her, then took his time coming back to the other room, after all, it was his house."
"Did they save her?"
"The kid's father found the girl and had her brought to the hospital," she said.
Alice had no reason to be so happy, except that she felt like she'd just finally gotten something off her chest that no one had cared about. She wasn’t supposed to drift, but some coincidences had been haunting her. As an office worker who'd spent too many hours at his desk, and needed more time than allowed.
"Yes, I'm just a little tired. I'll get your phone number," Marco said.
“You can friend me and we’ll talk anonymously. Let’s not worry about names or addresses,” she said. The only downside was that usually he wouldn’t have any motivation to call her back. He figured this time he did.
"What do you want?" he asked, but unfortunately, there wasn't time to hear the answer. Right after midnight, he knew what she wanted and it scared him. Tonight he was more proactive than he’d been before, hardwired for a fight and all switches were on right now. Within the space of ten seconds he’d stepped into the skin of a rancorous warrior.
“Honestly? A fight.”
She was right. A good fight was just what he needed to pull him out of my stupor, because you see, he was in a fog that rarely lifted. Not just a run of the mill, average kind of fog, but something more like an industrial strength cloud, the kind that you can only see a few feet in front of you. The kind where you have to slow down just to make sure you don’t hit a tree. That was Marco, but I wasn’t being treated badly tonight. Suddenly people were treating me with respect, which felt good.
Then he started to tell his story.
“Eight years ago, I loved a girl named Lorraine. I was going to marry her. I told her if you believe in me, I’ll never let you down.”
“What happened?” she asked.
“I used to have football parties at my house. Ten or twelve friends over. Lorraine would serve the pizza, popcorn and beer. Little did I know, the men were actually coming to flirt with her. One of them finally took her to the other room and fucked her while we were watching the game!”
There was a spat of nervous laughter and then she asked, “Who?”
"A big guy who already had about a dozen girls on the side,” he said.
Postures were now relaxing, seeing her opening up to Marco.