September 23, 1995
Jeremy had just gotten out of the bathtub, dripping wet like a soaked towel hanging from the line. His body was warm to the touch, and his fingers were like raisins. He went to grab his brown towel that usually hung on the rack beside the cabinet, but when he reached for it, he saw it was no longer there. Jeremy started to tense up; his hands clenched, his teeth pressed tightly together like a vice grip. He could feel extra heat moving to his pudgy cheeks as he looked around the room. As he gazed down, he noticed his towel, wet and used, lying on the floor. Jeremy had been talked to about his angry outbursts recently and in the past and was taught how to use deep breathing and counting to 10 before saying anything. Just thinking about this made his anger even stronger. He didn’t care about his anger outbursts and didn’t think he needed to change. Everyone else needed to change. Jeremy moved to the towel and picked it up from the floor, feeling the now heavy towel in his arms, and threw it at the vanity mirror. Crash! Plop. He started to swear under his breath as he bit the tips of his fingers. He heard a knock on the door, and his dad said,
“Jeremy, are you okay? What’s happening in there?”
Jeremy was steaming angrily and frustrated, and he started to yell back at his dad.
“Tommy used my dam towel, and now it’s soaked, and I can’t use MY towel!” Jeremy yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Calm down, son; it’s just a towel. Use another one. There should be one in the cabinet. And remember, we have been talking about your anger; you need to calm down before you start yelling. Your therapist says you’re supposed to be practicing your skills every day, remember?”
“I wouldn’t have to yell if Tommy didn’t get it soaking wet! That is MY towel; the brown one is MINE!!!” Jeremy’s hands clenched so tight that he drew blood on his palms.
“Jeremy, what was all the noise? What are you doing in there?” Jeremy’s dad said in a calm but stern tone. “I’m coming in.”
Jeremy stood naked and hot with rage on the cool tile floor. He could hear his dad but chose not to respond. He saw the door handle start to turn and heard the door creak open. His father walked in. He was still in his work clothes and had a dirty face and hands. He worked construction and was gone most days in the summer but was around more in the winter months.
“Jeremy, don’t be silly; there are plenty of other towels you can use. Look there in that cabinet. Here, let me see.”
Jeremy’s dad took two giant steps and was at the cabinet as he brushed past Jeremy’s naked body. He was a large muscular man with a scruffy beard and calloused hands, but he was gentle and kind. He pulled out a blue towel with ducks and gave it to Jeremy.
“Here, son, use this one. You’re dripping all over the place.” He tossed the towel to his boy and closed the cabinet.
Jeremy caught the towel as more of a reflex than trying to catch it. He was not very athletic and did not have any interest in sports. He looked at the towel with little duckies on the edges, looking like they were swimming along as happy as can be. On their way to a destination that they would never see because they were swimming in circles.
“I don’t want this towel, it has stupid ducks on it, and I’m not a baby!” Jeremy raised his voice but did not yell. He had a scowl on his face, his lips were pursed, and his father almost thought he would start stamping his feet in a tantrum.
“Jeremy. You are 8 years old; you are getting old enough to make sacrifices and learn that you don’t get your way all the time. Now here is a towel. I suggest you dry yourself off and clean up this mess before your mom sees it.”
To his surprise, Jeremy did not say another word. He took the towel and started to dry off. He looked at himself in the mirror, covered in splashes and sprays of water from the towel he had thrown. He looked stupid. Like a little baby in the little ducky towel. This was so pathetic, Jeremy thought to himself. He could see his father’s reflection turn and exit the bathroom. He heard his younger brother start crying over something stupid I’m sure. He took his brown wet towel from the sink and threw it halfway into the hamper, and stared at it. He became angrier again at his little brother Tommy for using it. Why didn’t Tommy use the “little stupid duckie towel”? After all, he was a baby. He was only 4 years old. Jeremy was much older and wiser than Tommy, so he should have his towel when he wanted it. Jeremy ripped the paper towel off the roll and stretched to the mirror to wipe off the water. He threw the used paper towel near the trash can and called it good.
Jeremy went to his room, slammed his door, and gave his family the finger behind his closed door. He rifled through his clean laundry basket, looking for his favorite pajamas. They were a gift from his grandma he had been given last Christmas. He usually hated all the so-called gifts his grandma got him and wished she would just give him money instead. Throwing the clean and folded laundry all over his room, he finally grabbed the soft set of pull-on pants and a pull-on shirt that had a picture of Spiderman on it. He smiled and pulled the soft items to his bare chest, closed his eyes, and inhaled the scent of the clean linen. So fresh, he thought to himself. He took the towel off, gave it a toss, and pulled on his pajamas. Jeremy then sat on his bed and started to think. He started to think about ways he could get back at Tommy for using his towel. Although he didn’t know what he was going to do yet, he knew that no matter what it was, Tommy would be sorry. He would be very sorry.
April 29, Present Day
Faith stood in the doorway of her new home with a smile and an arm full of basic groceries. She inhaled a deep breath and let it out, taking in the scent of her new home. Her very first home. She found it on Zillow; she asked to see it and fell in love with it instantly. Just her. Well, she and her fat orange cat, Mr. Tubbins. Mr. Tubbins lay on the floor as flat as he could, but he still resembled a giant furry pumpkin in the corner. Faith gave Mr. Tubbins a little pat on the head and said,
“Did you miss me, boy? Did ya? I missed you!”
Mr. Tubbins lifted his large round face and blinked. He wagged his tail slightly and then laid his head back down as if he was happy to see her yet miffed that he was awoken from his slumber. Faith walked to the kitchen and put her groceries on the counter as she flipped her light on. She started to take out the eggs and bread when she noticed a beeping sound coming from somewhere in the house. She paused and started to walk towards the beeping sounds she was hearing. It was faint at first, and as she started walking from room to room, turning on the lights, it became louder. She started to walk up the stairs but as she was listening carefully she the noise started to sound softer and then suddenly it stopped. Faith was confused. “What could it be?” she thought to herself. One of the fire alarms? The carbon monoxide detector? She decided she would test them all and put in new batteries. It can never be too safe. She was independent, and she was the one responsible for these things now. She marched back downstairs and continued to put her groceries away. She wrote the 9-volt batteries on her whiteboard shopping list. And she didn’t even notice the dark figure peering in at her from the window. The evil presence started to salivate.
Cryptic Corner 