Melvin Blite (working title)

This story is an idea that I would eventually like to turn into a novel. I want to explore the world of it through a short story and I think it will be compelling enough to spend time on it both now and later. This is the first of four or five posts that will hopefully bring the story to completion.

'Melvin Blite', part 1

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Dawn landed abruptly, slashing its way out of the coolness of the night and layering itself down in waves of heat and glare. It was not a good sign, for it was not a day pregnant with possibility, nor playful in its promise of carefree mornings and blissful afternoons. Instead it caught hold of the sun for a moment and struck a defiant pose, challenging nature herself. "I will have my way with these hours of daylight," it seemed to say. There was no sunrise, but rather a moment of darkness, and then suddenly blinding light. A faint haze like smog obscured the suburban air, tainting it with a metallic aftertaste. Chrome surfaces at once echoed the radiance of the sun and then pulsed like a heat wave.

Melvin Blite glowered back at the arrival from his back porch. He clutched his his cup of cold coffee to himself on a plastic lawn chair, forcing the bitter liquid down in preparation for the day to come, and he grimaced at the dawn. He seemed to weigh his mettle against that of the day, wondering who would give in first. The alarm on his phone buzzed urgently in his pocket, but Melvin let it ring. He had set it for 6:00am the night before, knowing as he did so that he wouldn't need it. Now, the vibrations siphoned off his tension as though each pulse released a throbbing of anxiety. 

He glanced around furtively, with the growing desperation of a man hoping that a miracle will relieve him from the inevitable. But he knew better. July 3rd was inevitable. Every year brought it around again, and this was no different. The only difference this time, was that it came so much faster than last year. But he remembered thinking the same thing last year. 

And last year was a complete disaster. He promised to take Susan out for lunch to celebrate, but he ended up canceling on her. At least he hadn't told her that he spent the time lying on the trunk of his car in the parking lot of Walmart, instead. This year he hadn't made any promises that he would have to break, that way they would not pile on top of his guilts.

But he already felt guilty for not making the effort to be with her. Was he giving up? Was she not important enough to fight for? Didn't he even love her?

"Yes, but..." was as far as he got in answer to his accusations. Somehow any answer he concocted fell drastically short.

"She wouldn't even have a good time, with me like this." She doesn't care about that.

"Well, I ordered her flowers. That has to mean something." You ordered them two months ago. You couldn't even go out and get them yourself and hand deliver them to her because you were such a wreck. And you asked that they be delivered yesterday.

But as his contemplation betrayed him, his mood gradually changed. It was either that, or he gave up right then and there. He heard the sound of Susan's wheels rolling around the kitchen and he gradually realized that the day was at least not foreboding. If it did not hold promises of good and exciting things, neither did it bear down on his soul. It tasted of stagnancy and staleness, but not of dread.

And Melvin was at least thankful for that. He loosened his grip on his coffee mug, uncrossed his legs. And with that, felt ready to face the day.

Susan must have known and wheeled herself out of the kitchen to the empty space on his left. “How long have you been up?”

“Since 4:30.”

"Did Matt come home last night?"

"No."

Weight upon weight. At the thought of Matt, Melvin almost gave in to the sun.  Matt was a cosmic reproach, forced penance that slapped Melvin in the face. Hadn't he been trying to do something good? Hadn't he tried to save a life that time?

That's where he had met Susan - at the women's shelter. She had a purity that fascinated him, and no baggage to drag along. That, in turn, freed her to seek the good of others. 

"They aren't intimidated by me." she told him. "A lot of times it takes them days to work up the courage to walk in this door, and then they look down and see me, wearing my weakness so openly. Last week, a mom started crying just from looking at me. And I rolled over to her and hugged her waist and that was it, she moved in."

It didn't take long for them to get married. Melvin's friends objected strongly at first, but Susan won them over. Her self-effacing charm and genuine care for everyone around her were impossible to resist. The day after he proposed, she told him that she had never seen a church with a ramp up to the stage. Then she cried into his shoulder. Melvin surprised her and everyone else at the wedding by picking her up after she wheeled down the aisle next to her dad. Slowly, he carried her up the stairs and his best man produced two chairs. 

Of course they talked about kids. Going into it, he wasn't sure he could ever manage them, but she was set on it. By necessity they looked into adoption, and when she approached him about adopting a crack baby. Melvin saw his redemption.

Withdrawal was hell and Melvin burned through the long nights as the infant tumbled down from his sweet high. But Susan just wept and rocked the baby, singing and whispering, and sometimes praying. And then Matt was through the worst and he began to grow, slowly at first, and then with gusto. Melvin swore it was Susan's love that got Matt through. The doctor did not disagree.

Specialists and doctors told them that Matt had as much of a chance at a happy life as any other baby. But Melvin's fears and guilts always stalked him.

"Will he be mentally handicapped?"  Not from the cocaine.

"Will he be more likely to do drugs?" No evidence suggests it.

In spite of their assurances, however, Matt seemed bent on self-destruction. Maybe it was the wrong crowd, or maybe Melvin and Susan were controlled him too much, or maybe not enough. Finally, after his fifteenth year of struggle in Melvin's home, he announced that he would move onto the streets where his friends lived freely through the warm summer months. That was three weeks ago.

“Happy anniversary.” Susan broken through the brooding silence of the sunlight and the feverish guilt building up.

“Sorry.” he said.

She took his hand, but he didn’t take hers. She knew him well enough not to take it personally.

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

"I ordered them quite a while ago. I knew I wouldn't remember yesterday."

"Vin, today's our anniversary. Not yesterday."

"I know, but, well, you know."

"I don't know."

"You don't want to. Are we going to go through this again? Today of all days?

"You're right, I'm sorry. I made some fresh coffee."

Melvin accepted it coldly, without thinking.

The sun beat with an early fury. Already, beads of sweat saturated Melvin's eyebrows. He squinted back, then turned to Susan when his eyes could bear no more.

"I'm  not going in today. I called in sick already."

"Do you want to do something?"

"I can't, I have plans."

"With someone?"

Now Melvin gripped her hand. "You don't know her."

Susan turned to go, but Melvin held her. "Please, stay."

Tears met his plea, but Susan didn't leave. "Only if you tell me."

"Okay." He let go of her hand. The sun bellowed its victory, and Melvin wet his throat with a grimace of coffee.

"It happened the summer before my freshman year of college. On July 3rd, I killed a baby. My baby."