Mr. Morris was rather intrigued, but he figured it best to not push his luck. He got up and began to head to the door. He was in the the hallway that led to the entrance when he heard footsteps nearly above him. Some part of him wanted to go back and confront Leo.
But his rational mind prevailed. He knew that he was in the wrong place to confront him about anything. He was in the kid's house. His authority that granted him courage to speak up at school did not extend this far. he was outside of his realm, but years of artificial boldness had strengthened his resolve in most situations.
The hesitation was minor, not enough to be noticed by most anyone, but in that moment, Mr. Morris found himself face to face with a large family portrait done entirely out of oils.
It was the kind of family portrait one expected to see in castles and mansions in the hills of Europe. It wasn't something he expected to find here. Mr. Morris took a second to examine it. Studying the characters as well as the signature in the bottom corner.
He was not an art aficionado, but her recognized the name: Charlie Frye. The artist had built quite a reputation over the last decade or so. However, the portrait was clearly from his earliest work. The boy, presumably Leo, wasn't but two or perhaps three years old.
And there was no noticeable characterization. Most of Frye's later work looked like caricatures making a statement.
Mr. Morris heard the footsteps again. This time he knew they were descending. Who ever it was, was coming down from a higher level in the house. The tricky part of the house was that each level led to different levels. You couldn't walk straight down any one side.
Mr. Morris imagined that to a mythological giant, it must have looked like a ferret's cage with the partial floors and off set levels. It was, he had to admit, an interesting design. There was a lot of potential for segmenting the family or guests. Unlike newer homes with wide open floor plans, this house was about dividing and conquering in smaller sizes.
Mr. Morris made the rest of the way down the hall. His instinct was to run, but he tried to remain calm and take the walk as naturally as possible. He of course failed to look the least bit natural. Luckily, no one was actually watching his hasty retreat.
As he let himself out, Mr. Morris could hear a bellowing voice cry out. He wasn't sure what the voice was screaming about, but he was certain he didn't want to wait around just in case it was about him. He slammed the door, accidentally, and quickened his pace to his car.
He was transported from reality to the weird confines of an over active imagination in those few feet. He knew there was nothing to be concerned about. Even if whoever the master of the house turned out to be was extremely unpleasant about him being on the property, it was unlikely that anyone would shoot him for it. So the worst that would happen was an uncomfortable exchange of unpleasantness.
Mr. Morris had been verbally attacked before; after all, he was a high school teacher. He had faced down his fair share of momma bears and demon dads. He knew what it felt like to be right on the edge of being physically attacked by a parent.
It didn't happen often, but when it did, the chemicals his brain would release were traumatizing in their own right. He hated the adrenaline rush of the flight or fight stage. It meant he had lost control involuntarily. His body had preformed a system override.
He didn't think of it as a pleasant experience.
He took a few deep breaths as he eased himself into the car. No need to panic he kept telling himself. The thing was, he didn't really believe himself. He knew he should. Logic tended to prevail if you'd just let it.
He started the car and carefully maneuvered it to make his exit. In the rear view mirror he took a last look at the door. The curtain at the sidelight moved slightly, and Mr. Morris was certain he had seen someone, perhaps Leo, standing there watching him go.
As he let the car wind down the hill, the gate opened in expectation of his departure. He was glad to be gone from that house, but he still had no more answers than when he had come and had added a few more questions.
He was going to have to investigate the parent issue. If that boy was living on his own, even with the help, someone needed to do something.
It was neglect or who knows what really, but Mr. Morris intended to find out. The happy smiling kid in the oil painting had grown into a creepy teenager, and Mr. Morris intended to discover what he could.
He wondered if he had no inclination of who his mystery savior was if he would have worked this hard to discredit him. He thought about it being Jake who saved his life instead of Leo. Would he have tried to show that Jake was no good? Most likely not. Jake was an idiot, but being a simpleton was not something one could help.
The truth was that Mr. Morris was out to ruin the kid who may have saved his life. He felt ashamed. He had judged that boy without any merit. And now he was looking for things to support his hypothesis. He was in a sense manipulating the data to suit his predetermined predictions.
But Mr. Morris also knew that at his age, he wasn't likely to change. There were behaviors that people had that fit like old t-shirts. It didn't matter how thread bare the routine was, it fit. It didn't matter if the shirt had gone out of style, it was comfortable. So it was with behavior.
When Mr. Morris got home, he fell into some old behaviors that had comforted him for years. He climbed the stairs to the second floor, went into his master bathroom, and ran a hot bubble bath.
He had picked up the habit of bubble baths from his mother. She sold Avon and always had bottles of it laying around. She then spent the rest of her life giving them as gifts. It was good stuff too.
Life tended to keep Mr. Morris from the simple pleasure of a hot soak in the tub. Generally, he was busy and couldn't afford the time, or he simply wouldn't allocate the time. But after his strange encounter, he needed to relax.
Chamomile and Lavender should do the trick. He put Mumford and Sons on repeat and let his body sink into the steaming hot water. Leaning his head back on the high back of the tub, he sunk into a kind of heady place between sleep and being awake.
He was suddenly thankful for little things. He was thankful that he had splurged when remolding the master bathroom and put in the massive cast iron tub. It was archaic and reminiscent of a time long since past, but it was also regal and charming. It had edge too. Especially since he had put the shower current around it. It was just like a tub from some B rate horror movie. It was free standing, not pushed against a wall.
He was thankful for his steady employment over the years. It was nice not having to worry about income. Teaching wasn't going to make him rich, but it did allow him to live comfortably. There is a lot to be said for comfortable living.
He was thankful that his daughter seemed to turn out okay so far. He always worried that raising her alone would warp her somehow. She was an honor student, didn't dress like a woman of ill repute, and wasn't boy crazy as far as he knew, and maybe that was kind of warped in today's day and age, but he wasn't going to complain about that kind of warping.
He pulled the plug and let the water run out for a few minutes before he decided he was ready to stand and towel off. Once back in his room, he found his favorite jeans for lounging around the house. They were two sizes too big, from his heavier days. The were well worn but whole. He liked the feel of them. He couldn't wear them anywhere else since they practically fell off of him.
He paired the jeans with his favorite shirt. Just a plain blue pocket t-shirt. It reminded him of his dad. His dad wore slacks and button downs for nearly every day of his life, but on rare occasions, he would wear a pair of jeans and a pocket t-shirt. Of course, his dad was from another generation. A generation who saw denim as work clothes unsuitable for daily wear.
Today's kids wore Dickies like they were stylish not like the rugged work clothes they were designed to be. But then to be fair, marketing had a lot to do with societal changes. As a society we're easily swayed by advertising.
Comfortable and relaxed, Mr. Morris headed downstairs to put his feet up in his favorite recliner. He would be glad to put this weird day behind him. As he walked down the stairs, he made his way into the den. Yes he had a den. Den's had gone out of fashion, but Mr. Morris treasured his, no television, no distractions, just comfortable furniture and pleasant bookshelves.
He heard Lissa's voice in the living room and figured she was still working on her English paper. He took a moment to catalog the voices. There were two, which at first seemed odd, but was easy to dismiss since the others could have just gone home. Lissa's voice was the easiest to hear and recognize, not just because she was his daughter but also because she tended to project her voice.
The second voice was troubling. He had heard it on more than one occasion but it wasn't immediately placeable. Mr. Morris eased himself into his chair and pushed, causing it to recline. He continued to listen to the voices, trying to hear enough of the second to place it. Unfortunately, the second voice was soft, like whoever it was was talking through a pillow. The voice was little more than a mumble when it reached Mr. Morris's ears.
He closed his eyes to concentrate. He knew he could just walk over and look, but he didn't want to. He wanted to relax. With his eyes clothed and less sensory input, it became easier to pick out the strange voice.
Images began to flash in his mind, quite involuntarily. They were linked to the voice in his memory. Mr. Morris's heart started to race. He felt the palms of his hands start to sweat. The voice was the same one from the night he was attacked. Not the attackers, but the good Samaritan.
He lurched forward righting his chair and moving quickly through the kitchen that separated the den from the living room. As he descended into the room, Lissa looked up and smiled, "Hi Daddy, is everything okay?"
The other voice had his back to Mr. Morris. Hearing the rapid movements of Mr. Morris and the concern in Lissa's voice, the body belonging to the voice stood up and turned.
He didn't need to turn around his long mess of hair and duster made it easy to tell it was Leo.
"Hello, Mr. Morris," Leo said in a voice dripping with poison honey.
"Hello, Leo," Mr. Morris said apprehensively. "To what do we owe this unexpected visit?"
"Leo, came to ask for help on the English paper. He missed everyone else, but he already had a good grasp on the assignment."
"But Lissa was very good at explaining it so I understood better," Leo said, staring at Mr. Morris through his hair.
Mr. Morris was trying to make sense of the whole situation. Leo, while antisocial, was always an honor student. He didn't need help on any assignment. He'd been known to do group projects on his own and better than most groups. Plus there was the tone and the looks.
Leo was staring at Mr. Morris with a look in his eyes that said, 'I know things and you should be concerned.'
Mr. Morris tried to think about his exchange with the servants at Leo's house. Did he introduce himself? He couldn't remember. Did Leo see him leaving? He didn't think so.
Mr. Morris was struggling to understand why Leo was suddenly in his living room. He became acutely aware of the fact that he had fallen silent and Lissa and Leo were just staring at him.
"Well, I'm so glad it wasn't a wasted trip," Mr. Morris said overemphasizing wasted.
"Not at all, it was quite informative, but unfortunately, I need to be leaving. I have pressing family matters that need to be dealt with," Leo said taking a half bow and moving towards the door.
Mr. Morris had squared off with other men before. He had stood toe to toe with men twice his size. He knew the familiar dance of alpha males circling and looking for a chink in the armor or a hole in the defenses. Mr. Morris knew he had showed his hand and whether he liked it or not, he was now in the midst of the dance.
"Are you sure? You should stay for dinner. We'd love to have you," Mr. Morris said.
"No, there things I must attend to, but thank you for the offer. Another time perhaps," Leo said.
"Yes, another time, I'm sure," Mr. Morris said.
Lissa watched the whole scene with a curious amusement. Leo was creeping her out a bit less since they had talked. She still wasn't sure that he hadn't been creeping outside the house. He spoke in a way that seemed to formal. His words were so deliberate. You could tell that he thought about each syllable before one left his lips. There was also a hint of an accent that Lissa couldn't place.
Her father's part in the exchange was equally odd. She had never seen him with his shackles up like this. She had seen her father riled up over policy changes or disrespectful students, but there was something much more primal about this exchange.
The testosterone was palpable. It was disturbing and exciting all at the same time. If they were wild animals, Lissa imagined that Leo would have been a wolf perhaps and her dad a papa bear protecting his cub. Lissa wasn't sure that she liked her dad in this new role. She was certain she didn't like Leo posturing like she was a prize.
She definitely didn't like the two of them acting like she had no say in what would happen. She was not interested in Leo, so there was no reason for her dad to protect her from him. The whole thing was vexing to the Nth degree.
"What was all of that?" Lissa asked.
"What was all of what?" Mr. Morris said.
"The whole gorillas in the mist routine," Lissa said following her father into the kitchen.
Mr. Morris opened the refrigerator door and looked for something that would appease his pallet. His afternoon had left a bad taste in his mouth. "That analogy doesn't make any sense. Gorillas in the Mist was a movie with Sigourney Weaver. She played a scientist studying mountain gorillas."
"Whatever, you two were feeling each other out. It was like two primates in the middle of a turf war. I'm just glad humans learned to wear pants or I'm pretty sure you two would have been peeing all over the place," Lissa said.
To his credit, Mr. Morris didn't react. He simply pulled a bottle of juice out of the fridge and walked to the table to pour himself a glass. "You are being ridiculous."
"Say what you want, but you two were moments away from a dance fight or something equally weird. I'm just saying," Lissa said.
Lissa walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. The past few weeks were just too weird. The Leo stuff, the Jake stuff, her dad's attack all added up to a Lissa with a mind that wouldn't slow down.
She grabbed her ipod and fell back on her bed. Without thinking about it, she slid the ear buds into her ears and closed her eyes. Shuffle. That's what she needed.
She'd let the music dictate the thoughts. Bad Company was first up. That was a Dad song. She never would have found the English super group without her father. He listened to a little bit of everything, but if it was classic rock or folky, she immediately thought of him. He had been overly good to her since her mother left. She had tried to be a good daughter, and they rarely fought. She prayed that the attack was random and not something to worry about, but it was hard to completely dismiss the act of violence.
As the song changed to Black Eyed Peas, she shifted her thoughts to Jake. The song just reminded her of him because of the energy. He was fun to be around. He was like gum. There was no nutritional value, zero calories, and no fat. But there was an explosion of flavor and fun. He seemed interested in her to an extent. They were going to double with Cindy and Ralph on Saturday. He never seemed overly interested himself. She wondered if that was his strategy. If he never showed too much interest, would girls show more interest? It seemed to be working for him.
When "Too Young" by Phoenix came on, Lissa shifted to Leo. The sound was from the soundtrack to "Lost in Translation" and a little weird. That was Leo in a nutshell. Something seemed to be lost in translation. It was like watching a foreign television show without the subtitles. You thought you got the story line down based on words and physical reactions, but you weren't quite sure.
Men were complicated animals. She liked life more before she cared about any of the girly stuff. She thought life might be easier if she just forgot about prom and all of it. Somehow, she didn't think life worked quite that way. You couldn't just stop a chemical reaction. He father had taught her that much.
You could slow it, or alter it, but completely stopping it just wasn't going to happen. Miley Cyrus came through the ear buds. Lissa was ashamed that she even had Miley Cyrus on her ipod, but sometimes it fit her mood. And sometimes, you just need that kind of music.
She also had weird blue grass, British punk, 80s alternative, and even some 50s doo-wop. Her musical interests were varied. The male characters in her life were varied too. The female characters tended to be princesses, and she was never quite comfortable with them.
Life was just getting too complicated. She wanted things to simultaneously slow down and speed up. She was wishing the last year of school away so that she could see how it all turned out. Why couldn't life be more like movies? Why couldn't she have some special power?
She drifted off to sleep...
"Is this a dream?" Lissa asked looking around. She was in her room but something was off. It was like an old movie where they cover the camera with a color lens to create the sense of night. She thought about seeing shadows in night scenes in movies like "South Pacific."
"Do you want it to be a dream?"
"Who is that? Who said that?" Lissa jumped up off her bed letting her ipod drop into the pile of covers. She spun around trying to find the source of the voice. She was alone in her room.
"Over here," the voice said.
Lissa turned toward her vanity. It had belonged to her father's grandmother. It had ornate drawers and a velvet covered stool that fit perfectly between the two rows of drawers. The wood was cherry and the lacquer had been refinished within the last decade and well cared for. Mr. Morris was so excited to be able to give it to Lissa.
She often sat in front of the mirror combing her hair and thinking of the woman she never really knew sitting in the same seat and doing the same thing. It was nice to be connected to her past in a physical way.
She approached the mirror like it were a snarling dog that could at any moment leap into attack mode.
"I'm not going to bite."
Lissa looked into the mirror and saw herself, not her reflection. She expected to see herself. She did not expect to see herself doing anything other than what she was doing. The mirror Lissa was seated and combing her hair. She had on the elaborate yellow dress that Lissa had worn to the Sadie Hawkins dance.
"How? But? I don't. If." Lissa couldn't pull together a complete thought.
"It's a dream. It doesn't have to make sense."
"Okay, so what are you like my subconscious or super ego or alter ego or what?" Lissa asked.
"Just sit down and let's talk," the mirror Lissa said.
"Okay," Lissa said sitting down opposite herself. She picked up her brush and began mimicking the actions of the other her.
"Why are you doing that?" the Lissa in the mirror asked.
"You're the one who said this didn't have to make sense."
"Touche, so I came to talk to you about what's to come. You probably won't remember too much of this when you wake up but don't ever forget and promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think," said the mirror Lissa.
"Is that it?"
No response.
"Seriously, you set this up to give me some Christopher Robin advice? You've got to be kidding me. I'd rather you said give Leo a chance or Jake is really into you. Why this?"
"I don't know. It is your dream. Perhaps you lack any real thoughts about what to do. I bet if you think hard enough, it will all make perfect sense. Here," mirror Lissa reached out her hand.
The real Lissa put her hands out to receive whatever it was. When the hand coming out of the mirror opened, rays of bright sunlight shone all over Lissa's hand.
Lissa looked at her glowing hand and asked, "What is it?"
"Light. Go ahead and illuminate the subject some."
Lissa looked around her only to realize she was no longer in her bedroom but standing outside on a rock outcropping with an amazing view. As the rocks slopped off into the treeline, two paths emerged.
Lissa walked to the edge of the rocks and looked as far down each path as she could. The first was open and well worn. the path was clear and well marked. Lissa thought that that would be the route to go. It would be easy to walk that path. But something deep inside Lissa made her feel like she was missing something.
She turned her attention to her hand. It wasn't glowing at all. She moved to the other trail. As she got closer, her hand started to emit light. Using her hand raised above her head, Lissa walked down the second path.
Unlike the first path path, this path looked difficult to follow. It was grown over and covered with mean looking briers and clinging climbing vines that were chocking out the other plants. Lissa was fairly certain that she saw glowing red eyes in the trees.
"What was it I said to myself? I'm braver than I believe." Lissa held up her glowing hand and moved into the overgrown and nightmarish path. As she walked she heard scampering feet scatter in all directions, but she saw nothing move. She wondered if the strength she had mentioned to herself would be physical or mental.
She didn't have to wait long to get her answer. A large dead tree blocked her path. She squatted down and grabbed the tree. Her arms somehow wrapped around it and she threw it like a grown man throwing a pencil. "I'm stronger than I seem."
The next several feet of the trail was blocked every few paces by something that Lissa had to pick up and move. Cars, subway cars, transit buses, trees, you name it and one would show up in front of Lissa. As time went by, Lissa could tell that her body wasn't going to be able to continue at this pace, but she knew she was stronger than she seemed so she pressed on.
Suddenly, the woodland terrain gave way to slick fine finished walls. Lissa was in a maze. She would have to think her way out.
She tried making left and right turns on an alternating basis. She didn't have any logical reason for approaching it that way, but she was banking on her lack of reason to pull her through. Truth be told, she was done with the game and began wishing walls down. As if responding to her thoughts, the walls sunk into the floor. Standing not but ten feet away, was the center of the circle. "I'm smarter than I believe," Lissa said reinforcing the advice she had given herself.
In the center circular there were two men tied back to back against a pole. They were bonded together. Around their feet were piles of cartoonish looking wooden logs.
"So you're both tied together and about to go up in flames. Let me think about the symbolism," Lissa said.
"Hurry," Jake said nodding his head behind her.
Lissa followed his gaze and saw the trail of gas on the floor leading to their pile of wood. Suddenly she was assulted with the stench of gas.
Her ears were hit with the sound of flint and stone striking. She had to think quickly. She hated having to think on her feet.
"You're tied together because you're connected somehow. Probably not a family thing, but you are related somehow. the logs are I'm not sure maybe they're things that are said, fuel for the fire. I think that maybe somehow you two aren't exactly what we see. Like you have layers that people often miss. It's like our first impressions of you are not true and that you are good at hiding pain or upset. That's a way you're both the same. But you're very different in what either of you will or wont say to me or in front of me," Lissa rambled on.
As the fire rushed up past her legs, she turned and dove out of the way of the blast. But no blast ever came. She looked back at where the boys were and they were gone.
"I hate dreams that mean something," she yelled to no one in particular. Just then a large pink rabbit bounced past her and disappeared into a hole that looked a lot like a life saver.
"So I have some control here," Lissa thought out loud. She tried to concentrate hard to manipulate the dream.
Suddenly the boys appeared in front of her again. "That's better. Now tell me why you are both weighing so heavy on my mind," Lissa said.
Suddenly two gigantic legs appeared behind the boys. The pants looked semi-familiar, but she couldn't quite place them. When she looked up the torso and head of the giant disappeared into the clouds.
Jake opened his mouth to speak, and the moment he did, the leg behind him raised up and came down on him. Lissa turned her head not wanting to see him get squished. But no noise came. She peeked back in his direction to see that he wasn't smashed just pushed into a hole like he was in a giant wack-a-mole game.
Leo tried to speak next and received the same fate. When the leg came off one or the other of the boys, they would pop up and try to speak. But the minute they did, they got stepped on. Finally the legs stood over both boys and squatted down.
As the head came out of the clouds, she realized that the legs belonged to her father. He tilted his head down close to her and said, "Be the change you wish to see in the world."
"Ghandi? This recycled advice is weak. I can't believe that my psyche can't come up with better," Lissa said frustrated with the direction the dream was going.
Her dad shook his giant head like he always did when he tried to explain something to Lissa that she didn't get. "Never pet a burning dog."
"What the crap?" Lissa asked. Suddenly her father's massive arms reached out and shook her over and over again.
"Never pet a burning dog. Never pet a burning dog. Never pet a burning dog," he kept saying on each shake.
Lissa said up. There were hands holding her shoulders. She opened her eyes expecting to see her giant dream father but instead he was replaced by her regular sized father. He was mouthing something to her, but she couldn't hear over the Violent Femmes song playing through her ipod. She reached up and pulled the ear buds out.
"Are you okay? You were having a nightmare i think," Mr. Morris said pulling his daughter into an embrace. "I heard you yelling, and when I came in you were asleep."
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