Esau - the bully

One week, five more disappointed conversations, and two screaming matches later, he had his sentence. It was worse than he had expected when he had left the dorm room, silent and furious. But it was lenient, considering what he had seen over the past seven days. A six month conditional release on probation and a five hundred dollar fine.

Staggering under the weight of this burden, he had emerged into the daylight to the news that his federal subsidized loans would be cut off - permanently. Another phone call and his parents informed him that they were coming down, to settle the financial business, and to see about getting him a job.

Esau prepared for the worst. All though Mirrin had, in fact, bailed him out, putting up the money without flickering her pale-blonde lashes, she had balked at arranging him a semi-permanent at Room for Me, Room for Many. I don't want to take up a bed that could be given to someone who needs it, she had told him, and when she had seen his face added, more. It wasn't that. It couldn't be.

His girlfriend was never reluctant to help. She had extended so many hands of mercy that her palms were battered with rejection. Instead of believing her he had fashioned his own excuse: that she was ashamed. If she brought him to her workplace, where she bleed out her past life to offer up sympathy for teenagers battling the same things, she would mar it. The significance of it.

He thought this, too: What part-time counselor wanted a college boyfriend that had been suspended out for drug possession and was living night-by-night until his trial?

This pushed to the forefront of his mind stronger than ever when she offered him her roommate's old spot at her apartment. Too tempting. Too close.

He needed more time to think about what he wanted - to break his statutes of faith, which had seemed more and more inconsequential lately, to become official in the eyes of the world? Better yet - why did he care what the world thought? Why did he feel as if he had something to prove? Beyond his fears, the arrest seemed to confirm that he and Mirrin would lose traction, compatibility, and that he would've passed his heart into hands that didn't intend to hold it.

Walking, en route to the Waffle House where his parents waited, he tipped his head into the foul-smelling city air and forced his thoughts to retreat. He sounded childish, insecure. And he was not. Stride purposeful, almost free, he shut off the voices that clawed into him. Caving was not an option. Questioning was not an option.

Pride accompanied him through the door. His father had picked a table in the back nearest the restrooms, and was tapping the sides of the jukebox sitting beside him in an attempt to get it to play. His mother was perched on the edge of her chair; her hands were folded and her hair was loose, cloudy grey, around her neck.

As he drew closer he saw what he had not, from the outside: her mouth was lined with strain and her cheeks were white. Her gaze, when she met his, was mirthless, red-rimmed.

"Esau." She didn't rise, merely extended her arms across the table. Her hands were cold in his.

He forced a smile. "Hey, mom. How are you?"

"What kind of question is that?" his father asked. Turning from the jukebox, he stared down at his son. Shirt a size too tight, disapproval a size too large for him to occupy well. "This kid, Bethany. You're going to be the god -" he glanced at his wife, course-corrected "- the death of me and my wallet. You know how much money you wasted? Those six weeks you're out, I have to pay for. Out of pocket. Did you know you got your aid cut off? Nice job, and because you can't shell it out -"

"John," his wife said. "We agreed, together, to help."

Fist to the table, his father groped for his coffee mug and took a ferocious sip. "On the condition that he pays me back! You think I have money spilling everywhere? I'm a mail man, Bethany, not some asshole CEO."

Esau was tempted to say, there are plenty of kinds of assholes, but his mother was twitching, her eyes were still as glass. He pushed his legs under the table. The booth was too tight a fit for his frame, but he twisted his feet around the chair frame and brought his knees up and kept his comments out of sight.

"Thank you." The words were scorpion stings in his mouth. "Thank you for helping me."

"Now the punk kid thanks me, Bethany, you hear that? How about on the phone? You could've picked up the phone and called -"

"I didn't," Esau said, "because I didn't know you were helping me."

"You didn't tell him? How come I have to do everything? Huh?" his father was absorbing the steam, fueling it into his own anger. "I thought you told the kid. Freaking, you do the laundry and cook dinner and I have to play God to figure out whatever the hell else needs done, which is everything."

"Can I -" A waitress idled to the side. Pink makeup shocking around the whites of her eyes. Almost timid as she raised her order pad, she said, "Can I get you something to drink?"

Since his father was still steaming, Esau asked for coffee; his mother asked for nothing; after a bloated pause, face flushed, another order of coffee was placed around the mumble of punk kid.

The waitress left. And so the diatribe continued.

"Esau," his mother said, "This agreement is conditional."

"I have to get a job."

"Yes. Or two. The five hundred dollar fine is up to you. And, when you finish paying that off, you will make monthly installments to repay us for your tuition."

He stared at her. The hand-wringing had stopped; her voice was clear, sure. But then her gaze darted sideway, and his shoulders slumped, and he realized that she wasn't okay, she had practiced this. Made it out to sound reasonable and sane to his father. The money was a black hole and the longer he sat here the further he fell down the drain.

Shifting his bulk, his father added: "Get three jobs. But I swear to God, if you drop out of college -"

"Dad," Esau said. Swallowed the coffee-grounds taste of the word. "I want to finish school."

"Okay."

"Just okay?"

"Okay, if you screw this up I'm going to have to get another job! You know how much time it takes me to do my mail route? All day. Which means I'd need a night job, working graveyard shifts, and then I wouldn't sleep, and who's going to do everything if I'm away and not sleeping?"

"John." A lily-white hand on his arm. "I'm not useless."

"I didn't say that."

"You implied -"

"What? That since you're -"

"Excuse me." Again, it was their waitress. Sporting frustration and coffee-scalded fingers. This time the interruption was about food. Esau asked for hash browns and steak; his father asked for two waffles, scrambled eggs, toast, and ham; his mother asked for nothing.

No food, no drink. Paper collarbones and twiggy wrists. White blouse and whitened face and whitening hair. The presence of something wrong stuck through Esau. He looked between his parents; sickness crept into the pit of his stomach and sat up against his ribcage.

"What can't you do?"

"Everything," his father said. Gruff but shifting, hands tugging at his wristwatch. His righteous indignation had deflated slightly. At Esau's raised eyebrow, he said: "She doesn't cook anymore. Forgets what she's doing. Came home from work the other night and the kitchen was - chaos! Pancake batter in six bowls."

"John."

"What? Let the punk kid know that he's draining us out. And," he turned, "she doesn't sleep then gets tired in the day. Sits in her flowerbeds with the rake in her hand and just -"

"John." The hand gripped tighter; the tone was a quiet straining.

"So," Esau said, "has she been to the doctor?"

"The doctor?" Incredulous, his father took a swig of coffee. He scoffed. "Doctors don't know what they're doing, bunch of idiots. Half of them, it's a miracle they make it through medical school, can't answer any of your questions..."

"So you've taken her to the doctor."

His mother rubbed the creases around her nose. "Just for my physical."

"And?"

"The doctor wasn't sure."

"Wasn't sure? Hah! Bethany, he was too young to shave and jumped when I yelled at him. I mean - shouldn't they train them to be used to that?"

"No," she said. "No one can prepare for that."

"Was that...?" Chewing on the inside of his mouth. A rueful grin. "That was a joke, wasn't it? Ha-ha. Laugh at my expense, Bethany, but I swear - if they got something wrong..."

Esau traced the inside of his cup. Doors slammed shut behind him. The wind curled, drafty, around his legs. "Have someone look at it down here."

"Where do you find a doctor in Philly?"

"The hospital."

His father didn't appreciate the deadpan. "I mean it, kid. I want to get her looked at. That guy was an idiot."

"Let me call Mirrin," Esau said. "Her....roommate, past roommate, I guess...was in this acrobatic troupe. Bunch of people getting injured all the time. There's a doctor on campus, for students, so I haven't looked into the city, but she might know of an office."

"Really, John." There was another imploring sigh. Their food arrived; two tucked in while the other sat, hands perched like paper mache claws on her purse. Quiet fell between them as options were considered, discarded. It was a strange meeting made stranger by the fact that it had been about Esau until he had walked through the door, and then suddenly it had been about his mother. Not just a cry for attention: it was a serious thing, this ailment. Whatever it was.

He could see it in the blue of her eyes. Grey, like smoke, taking out the color she had turned with a smile upon his, back in the years of childhood and no siblings. He could see, too, the strain of raising Corrin. Lines tracked around her mouth. It would have been worse if Catharine had lived. Nonetheless, grief was never a matter of what life would have been - it was a matter of what life was not.

Irritation flickered through him at the thought of his younger brother. Corrin had been so ashamed of him. Acted as if he were a plague, a terrible nuisance, even if it was supposed to be the other way around. All though he didn't remember much about his own years at thirteen and fourteen, he was sure he hadn't been so obnoxious. Oxygen connected to headphone cords, fingers ever drumming, drumming, drumming.

And Seven. The obsession with Seven. It irked Esau; he didn't understand the allure. His cousin was talented but he was far from a hero. How could one be an icon to legions of music fans and yet a slave to mental instability?

When he took a sip of coffee it burned his tongue. Bitterness, he told himself, that was what he was tasting. There were things he couldn't wrap his head around, things his younger brother could, and so the vital point between them that should have sparked a relationship, an adoration, was instead an awkward gap.

"Hospitals," his mother was reminding his father, "make me nauseous."

"Bethany." Face in hands. Muffled laugh. And then, when he raised his head, fear in the way he looked at her. Fear and anger and some kind of pain. "Bethany," he said again, "I'll buy you some Dramamine."

Their waitress approached their table to clear away the empty plates. She kept casting furtive glances at John Dabney. As she picked up his glass, he reached for it. Their fingers slapped together, she jumped, the ceramic tipped and the air went dead as shards spread-eagled a patch of tile floor.

A thundercloud rose, a storm of bursting veins. "Well," he said. "This is..."

"John. Don't swear at the waitress. Don't you -"

He said it before Esau could try and stop him. Their waitress, a novice and still nervous, went ghost-white around the edges. She marched back to the kitchen and let the doors crash back together behind her. It was pointless and it was embarrassing and people were staring and it was the story of his life.

Rising, Esau put his napkin on the table. "Two jobs. Five hundred dollars. I'll call you when I get there, okay?"

"Call before," his mother said, "or we won't hear from you for months."

"Yeah, kid, and if I'm going to pay for all this crap I better get five minutes over a landline. Even if you're yelling at me."

"It's going to be the other way around." Esau said. "It always is. But - I'll call Mirrin about the doctor. Where are you guys going to be?"

"Here, where the freak else?"

Another disapproving throat-mumble. "John."

"Bethany. You still up for antiquing?"

"Oh, John, I don't know - maybe not. Not today. We should get a hotel if we're going to stay the night..."

"All right," his father said, slapping his hands together. "Bass Pro Shop it is." He turned, still ruddy-faced. His tone was a mixture of jovial and disgusted; sometimes it was hard to determine which, or if one could exist without the other. "See you later, kid. Be careful with that girlfriend."

As soon as Esau was out in the dour air his stomach felt better. The knot in his chest loosened into a manageable mucus. He took a deep breath and shivered into the worry that crept up on him. For years he had thought that, of his parents, his father would become sick first. Come down with dementia or a - and wind up a crotchety old man who couldn't even remember his name. But this development, with his mother, was completely unexpected.

The irony hurt. Weak, innocent, beautiful - those kind of people were the first to face that brunt of illness or disaster. And the ones like his father, the brutal unwelcome ones, could survive until the apocalypse without so much as a misplaced memory.

Shaking his head, he crossed the street and started walking back to campus. From there he would call Mirrin. If she would speak to him. Beg, if he had to. And he would find help for his mother, and he would climb this mountain of doubt, and he would overcome Judah, and if he couldn't - he had to - then the first glimmer of his future was going to fall back into nothing.

***

Esau answered an open call for applicants, strained his way through a group interview, and was outfitted in a job and a black visor within the next week. His duties consisted of sweeping the floor, refilling the drink machine, taking out the trash; even though he was less than pleased with minimum wage, something was better than nothing.

This is what he told himself pulling into the parking lot at four o'clock each afternoon. This is what he told himself as he worked up his pride to ask Mirrin about a doctor in Philadelphia. This is what he told himself as he laid his head on a threadbare pillow at Room for Me, Room for Many, surrounding by shifting bodies and bereft of any emotion save disappointment in himself.

One day - it was Friday, he had been working overtime, a meeting with his probation officer gloomed over his head - his girlfriend decided to visit him. Since the arrest she had been cold, distant. Even standing in the hospital waiting for his mother to emerge, fingers wrapped around his, in her mind she had been so far away. He had seen it - in her eyes, in her smile. She wanted to be anywhere. Anywhere but there, with him.

And now here she was. Bleached hair bundled atop her head, tucking deeper into a collegiate sweatshirt. Gibson shoes squealing as she crossed the wet tile, she came right up to the cash register, looked at him dead-on, and said: "My apartment gets quiet at night."

"It does." Meant to be a question. Inflection fell through the cracks in his voice.

"And Eloise is gone."

"She is."

"And..." Hands planted on the counter, leaning forward. She was close enough to count freckles; her breath smelled like almonds and cinnamon; her lashes were see-through stubble against her eyelids. "And Eloise is gone."

"I know."

"You're taking up beds, at the shelter. Savion called me."

"Did he."

"Yes. Told me to take mercy on you."

At this, Esau paused. "We haven't broken up."

"That isn't what he thinks."

"Set him straight."

"E." Mirrin pursed her lips. He would have thought that she was back inside her own head, but there was a confusing lightness about her. A contrast. Maybe the cold, the distance, had been a good thing. Maybe. But then she brushed his fingers and his breath slipped, just a notch, and his heart sank because: she was still unaffected and he was too affected.

His supervisor was buzzing in his ear. A line of customers had begun to blur behind Mirrin. He had a job to do and a probation test to think of. But he couldn't. Couldn't think. What did she want? To push him back, again?

"You're staying at my apartment."

"No."

"Yes. I can't...I can't let you sleep at a shelter when I have a bedroom and a kitchen and a television, all to myself, when I don't even need it."

Temptation left rope-burns on his neck. Being so close to her would be hard. Even harder than this, which - after a week to his own loneliness - sounded almost impossible. He wasn't in a good frame of mind. He couldn't.

Shaking his head, Esau glanced over her shoulder. "I have to get back to work."

"When does your shift end?"

"Four," he said. "Don't wait for me."

Mirrin twisted one eyebrow up. She was so confident, all of a sudden, so poised. "Where else are you going to go?"

"Sometimes..." The muscles in his stomach tightened. He didn't want to tell her this. Pride burned like a live iron at the base of his throat. It was humiliating, it was shameful, he had been duped, Judah - the constant - had become the unreliable variable. "I find places to sleep."

"Park benches?"

"Mir," he said, a touch desperate, "I have to get back to work."

"Okay," she said. Started to walk away. And then she turned, profile angling over her shoulder. "I'll see you at four."

He didn't care that customers were watching. "Mirrin!"

"The park is cold and wet and damp and it's almost October."

"I'm not sleeping at the park!"

The restaurant floor and the glass door was between them now. Tunnel vision constricted his focus, until all he could make out was her soft-edged hair and her smile as she mouthed, four o'clock.

After that, he didn't feel like working. He swept the floor until his hands cramped around the handle of the broom and hauled trash that rubbed wet, noxious liquid onto his uniform, and he wished he could stand outside himself but he had never felt more squarely stuck in one situation. When the minute hands inched towards four he punched his time card out. Visor in hand, he made his way to the parking lot.

There it was - a white Chevy sporting faded blue seat covers. Legs against the dashboard, his girlfriend was folded over her phone. She jumped when he tapped on the half-open window.

"Don't scare me!"

"Don't push me," he said, and he meant it. Living at the apartment already felt like a disastrous idea.

Mirrin turned the key in the engine. She rolled her window down further, set down her phone, and tipped her head up towards his. And he couldn't help it - instinct propelled him. He drew closer until his hand could touch the side of her face, his fingers worked a rebel strand of her hair behind her ear. When he kissed her, or she kissed him, the rage and shame and unfamiliar drained out of his bones.

"You must have been busy," he mumbled. "If you could wait so long."

"I'm off work today."

"Fired?"

"Leave of absence." Her words stirred against his breastbone. His jaw sat square on the crown of her head and he wondered if she was afraid to look at him, if she thought she might be seeing a different person. "I called in a crisis."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. "So. There's that. And, I got Chinese food. You like Chinese food?"

Sap lingered against his mood - I like you - and he brushed it back. All this sentiment was driving him crazy. Instead he nodded, got in the car, and drove away from his new reality. Because he couldn't leave it, all though he had entertained the idea. The best he could do was take his own leave of absence - a matter of hours or nights. So, he did.

***

Picture above is of a charming little coffee shop in Old City, Philadelphia, where Esau and his parents could have met for breakfast.