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1 – Achilles’ Other Heel

Achilles Other Heel

By Tulsa Brown

without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

For information address Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO 81502.

ISBN: 0-933389-03-6

Printed in the United States of America.

Torquere Press electronic edition / May 2005

Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, PO Box 4351, Grand Junction, CO

81502. http://www.torquerepress.com

2 – Achilles’ Other Heel

Chapter One

“I want you to know how proud I am of you,” my father said.

We were sitting in the living room, me in the black leather chair, him on the ottoman in front of me. He

had his trench coat on over his lab jacket, briefcase by his feet, hands clasped in front of him. Our knees

almost touched.

“I mean, you’ve really stuck it out. What are we at -- three weeks?”

“Plus five days in the hospital,” I said.

“Well, that’s terrific.” A lock of pale hair fell across his eyes. He’d needed it cut for a month. “I’m really

impressed. And even though this meeting’s important, I wouldn’t go if I wasn’t so...impressed.”

“I said I could do this.”

“I know, but it still takes willpower. Enormous willpower. Hey, I know it’s not easy, Lee.”

I smiled faintly. I’d spent every hour of daylight in the desert, melting into the black leather sofa, nailed

down by gravity and despair. Nights I was awake pacing in my room, a single thought flashing like a

beacon every fifteen seconds, blinding me. But I resisted falling asleep because then I dreamed, the same

vivid and beautiful dream running on an endless loop, just me and my gear and my True Love. It was so

powerful it wrenched me awake with sweaty hope, then sent me plummeting, curled up in the dark,

hollowed out by sorrow and longing.

“One day at a time,” I quoted.

“That’s the way.” He leaned forward, the scent of his cologne mingling with the chemical smell on his

lab coat, sharp and distinctively dental. “I know you’re going to make it this time. You’re smarter, we all

are. You’re going to beat this once and for all.”

I nodded. Please, I prayed. Oh, please, already.

“Okay.” My father reached for his briefcase and stood up. My fingers pressed into the black leather,

holding myself still. But he paused at the door that led to the garage. “What are you going to do tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Watch TV.” I leaned forward to scoop up the program that was on the coffee table. I

flipped through it until I noticed the silence.

“You haven’t forgotten about the plan, right?”

“You’ll have it by Monday,” I said.

“I meant what I said. Think of the long term. With a tutor you could get through grade twelve and do

university prep in one year, and I’ve got friends in every department at the University. If there’s

something you want to do, we’ll find the way...”

3 – Achilles’ Other Heel

I couldn’t stop myself. I got to my feet and began drifting toward the door, curling the TV guide into a

tube in my hands.

“Dad, if you’re not all right with this, just stay home.”

He grinned, caught. “No, it’s...I’m so impressed. Really. See you later.”

I hung in the open door, watching him get into the car. A Lexus, it was his second new one since I’d

come to live with him in Toronto a year and a half before. He’d bought this one last February, right after

I went into the hospital for the first time. My father didn’t drink. He would have saved a lot of money if

he did.

I was savoring it -- the garage door rising, the engine humming, the faint puff of exhaust like perfume.

He’d already begun backing out when he stopped, and the driver’s window slid down.

“Brenda will be home by six,” he called.

I waved at him, smiling. I knew what time the bitch got home.

I closed the door and leaned against it, feeling the last vibrations tingle through my hands. Then I locked

it and bolted up the stairs, two at a time. It had been twenty-six days and I was going out.

My father has a joke name and doesn’t know it. Ken Dahl. I’d seen pictures of him in university,

standing with the other men training to be dental technicians, and I had a hard time picking my father’s

face out of the crowd. They were all Ken dolls, smooth and thin-legged and bland. Some were already

leaning forward, hunching like squirrels as they prepared for a life in the lab.

My father had to moved to Toronto when I was seven, leaving me, my mother and my brother Reine in

Thunder Bay. I grew up knowing Ken Dahl was a legend in teeth, that he made crowns and implants for

the rich and powerful, taught at the university and lectured around the country. But he was not a dentist.

“He could never work in the mouth,” my mother told me. She sent a wry glance at Reine. “Or so he

said.”

For someone who wasn’t a dentist, my father still made money. His house had impressed me the first

time. I’d arrived at dusk eighteen months ago, exhausted and still shaken by the fact that I’d actually

come, and I was a little awestruck by the male palace: grey, black and more grey, highlighted by

gleaming chrome. It reminded me of a doctor’s waiting room or a laboratory. I stood in the mirror-tiled

foyer with two duffle bags, one clothes and one books, and hung onto Chelsey’s collar. My golden

Labrador Retriever was whining with excitement, standing then sitting again, trying to thrust her nose

into everybody’s crotch.

“Does she shed?” Brenda asked. My father’s wife kept well back, arms crossed. A fine chain hung from

her neck, the gold cross at the end squashed between her melon breasts. Brenda was leery of both of us,

but my dog looked better than me. I’d shaved my head only a few weeks before and my skull was

covered with blonde fuzz, like down. After fifteen hours on the road I looked like a scarecrow in chemo.

My father had his hands in his pockets, jangling his change nervously, eyes fixed on Chelsey as if he

couldn’t believe she was the same golden puppy he’d put into my arms ten years before.

“I talked to your mother,” he said. “And Reine.”

4 – Achilles’ Other Heel

My brother could have told a lot of stories about me, many of them true. But then I had some about him,

too.

The jingling coins were too much for Chelsey. She cried out suddenly, then again, her strange little

strangled sound, like a hiccough.

“Oh, my God, she’s choking. You’re choking her!” Brenda tried to grab my hand from her collar.

“No,” I said. “That’s how she sounds. He had her vocal chords cut.”

She let go of my arm as if it burned her.

“At the vet’s,” I explained. “He said she barked too much.”

My father was looking at me now, too, his pale face blank with disbelief.

“Reine?”

I started to stroke Chelsey’s broad head, and she looked up at me happily, tongue lolling. A dog’s eyes

can tear you to pieces. “I was at school,” I said softly.

There was a moment’s silence, then my father bent down, reaching for one of my bags. “Well, we’ll get

you enrolled here right away. It’ll be a new start,” he said.

The rush in my chest caught me by surprise.

“Thanks. I could use one.”

I let go of Chelsey and she darted away. I followed my father up the stairs with my other bag.

“Uh...shouldn’t we put her in the yard?” Brenda started. “It’s fully fenced.”

“Oh, relax. She’s not a puppy,” Dad said cheerfully. “She’ll be fine. Here, Chelsey. Here, girl...”

He was cut off by the sound of a steady stream hitting the immaculate grey carpet.

* * *

In the master bedroom I went through my father’s clothes, methodically diving into pockets I knew well.

Brenda’s pastel uniforms were hanging on the other side of the closet, but I ignored them. Brenda kept

her money in her purse, zippered shut and hugged tight under her arm. All she kept in the closet was

hope, a dozen maternity dresses hanging neatly, tags still attached. At thirty-five she was ten years

younger than my father, but that wasn’t the same as young. The clock was running.

I had seven dollars before I left the room, nine once I did the hall closet and the laundry room. I caught

glimpses of myself reflected in the glass and chrome, moving with robotic precision, my cheeks

beginning to flush. My body knew this routine.

No, I told myself. I’m only going out for a beer.

5 – Achilles’ Other Heel

Tulsa Brown - Achille's Other Heel.pdf

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