Wings With Zings!

Trigger: mentions sexual harassment and attempted r*pe

For sixteen years Joseph Beck had lived in a town that had mocked him. Clumping through the streets in his uncle’s old farm boots, wearing baggy clothes from the charity bin, struggling to hear the world around him–did he really want to show his mug there again?

Apeman. Freak. Idiot. Those names he’d lived with for so long. Only Brandon called him “Apeman” now with a mix of contempt and affection. He was Joseph Samson Beck, successful portrait photographer and abstract artist. At home he was “Josie” and “Daddy” to a wife and son who adored him. They didn’t mind if he looked like the missing link or croaked like a sick frog.

If he went back to Heaven’s Door, it would only be to help the handful of people who had loved him. Maybe he would even see Joanna. Ha! Brandon would have a fit if he went near her.

His boss had tried to murder Joseph for what he knew. Now Joseph had a chance to get on the witness stand and spill it to the world. It would be worth it to come back from the dead. Maybe he really was a phoenix.

“You’re going where?” Kira nearly dropped her teacup.

“Heaven’s Door. Just for two days.”

She picked up her cup and took a sip. “Isn’t that the town you came from before we met? Where they threw rocks at you and called you all kinds of names?”

Joseph grimaced. “Yeah.”

She narrowed her dark eyes at him. “Then why on earth would you want to go back there?”

He told her about Randy and how the minister was charged with attempting to rape three women, as well as persistently harassing them. “They were all organ players at the church.”

“But what did you have to do with it?”

“I was the church sexton, remember? He knew I could bring him down with what I knew.”

Kira gasped. “That’s awful! What did you do?”

Joseph picked at the rose pattern on the tablecloth. “I went after him the first time but he got away. I wasn’t sure of what I was seeing anyway.”

The oven timer began to beep. Kira turned. “Josie, the wings are done.”

He stared at the table, not answering.

“Joseph!”

“Oh, sorry.” He got up and took out the pan of crispy chicken wings, setting them on the counter to cool off.

Kira took out the dinner plates. “You said there were three women. Who else?”

“Well, he went after a lady last fall. Artie Johnson stopped him just in time.”

“What a sicko! Who was the second one?

Joseph busied himself with ladling spicy hot sauce over the wings, his specialty. The fragrant aroma filled the air. “Wings with zings!” as Sam called them. He would beg, “Daddy, make ‘wings with zings!’ They’re my favorite!”

Who could resist Sam’s glowing smile? Joseph gave in every time.

Now Kira tapped his back. “You didn’t answer me.”

“Joanna.”

She dropped her hand. “You mean the Joanna?” Her tone turned sour. “Who made the sun rise and set on you every day?”

Joseph slammed the ladle down on the counter and she jumped. “Leave it, Kira!”

He seldom lost his temper and seldom called her “Kira” these days. It was usually “Kiki” or “Lady,” after their favorite singer, Billie Holiday.

She cocked one hip and tilted her head. “You know, Joseph, with you I never have to worry you’re having an affair. It’s always the wonderful Joanna. The first woman who ever looked you in the eye. The first one who didn’t call you a freak.”

He glared at her in a way she seldom saw either.

She knew she was adding fuel to the fire, but she burst out, “Did Joanna ever take you home and sleep with you? Did Joanna ever make you feel like a man?”

Joseph shouted, “Damnit, she loved me!” He stopped short. Had she actually said so? A few kisses and a knitted scarf couldn’t come close to what he and Kira had.

“Kiki…I’m sorry.”

She gazed into his sad brown eyes and wondered if she dared to test him further.

“Will she be there?”

“Kira, don’t start up again. Joanna took care of Randy’s sick wife while he was out screwing everything but the sheep. Then he accused me of sleeping with Joanna and fired me on the spot. I lost everything – my job, my home, and my art.”

“Oh my God! Josie, I’m so sorry.” She pulled him close and he buried his face in her thick nappy locks. She ran her hands down his back, making him throb. He kissed her and murmured, “When is Sam coming home?”

She glanced up at the clock, then back at Joseph with a gleam in her eye.

They couldn’t get to the bedroom fast enough. Usually they went slowly and sweetly, savoring every kiss and caress, but with Sam on his way home, their loving was quick and hot. Over the years they had learned exactly how to please each other.

Kira fell into a blissful sleep, so Joseph got up and finished making supper. As he steamed a pot of savory wild rice and fixed a crisp green salad, he tried not to think about Joanna. It was impossible, like trying not to think about elephants. Once you’re told not to, you can’t help it.

He tried not to remember her beautiful music and her bright smile, just for him. Her praise of his paintings and telling him he was kind and smart when everyone else thought he was an ugly idiot. Even the ice cream cone she’d bought him on that hot summer day had nourished his hungry heart.

She was just being kind. We were only friends.

He kept repeating the words as a mantra right up until the day he kissed his wife and son good-bye and hit the road for Heaven’s Door. More like Hell’s Gate. What would he find?

In all the years he’d lived in Heaven’s Door, Joseph had never driven a car. Where would he go? He had no friends or family around. Back on Uncle Ralph’s farm he’d learned to drive his uncle’s old green truck around the fields and on the back roads, but had never gotten a license. He hitched rides or walked and seldom wished for a car, except for the night Brandon had beaten him up at the Slipper Upper Bar.

Living in Cornwall hadn’t required a car either, at least not at first. When his career as an artist began to blossom, he realized he would have to transport his paintings and meet with clients. So he went to driving school to get a license and bought a sweet set of wheels, a red VW Jetta with low mileage that handled like a feather.

Still, he was happy to hand it over to Kira so she could drive to her job in Newton. When they moved to Cambridge, he could reach nearly everything on foot or by public transportation. Walking kept him in shape too.

Now it felt strange to get behind the wheel again, especially heading back to Heaven’s Door. Back down the rabbit hole of memories both good and bad. The sheer beauty of the mountains brought back all those years when he had roamed the woods outside town with his trusty Nikon, bought from his meager sexton earnings. He had captured the beauty of the seasons and put them on canvas in the bell tower room. Sometimes he missed that pure happiness of having a secret life that was his alone.

The roads were quiet as he wound his way through the familiar mountains. He pulled over once for a quick piss in the woods, remembering how he’d dreamed of that as his final wish in captivity. It felt even better in real life.

Around four-thirty, Joseph reached the outskirts of town. The “Welcome to Heaven’s Door” sign with the spooky white finger had fallen off its bolts. Somebody had stuck it in the mud with the finger pointing down, and spray painted “Hell” over “Heaven.” Funny but not so funny for Joseph, who’d lived through both within its bounds.

He passed the strip mall that had new stores and a cinema featuring “Jurassic Park,” the dinosaur adventure film. Sam would love that.

The Slipper Upper was still there, but, most of the lights on the lady’s shoe were gone. A few customers stood around the door, smoking. He didn’t recognize any of them, and began to feel like a ghost from a bygone era. He would never forget that fight with Brandon, but the memory was like a faded photograph with no power over him anymore.

He drove into town, past the latest model trucks and SUVs in the trailer park. The last time he’d been there, he was nearly dead. He had to admit he owed his new start in life to his old rival.

As he passed the fancy Victorians with their massive maples and oaks, he saw the white steeple of the First Church rising above the trees in the fading light. Suddenly sweating and short of breath, he pulled over and parked in front of someone’s fence. His mouth tasted of bile, but he managed not to vomit.

Satan’s spawn. Monster. She’s mine. Randy’s roar came back to him with full force. Who would have guessed one person could be so full of hate?

Well, Joseph had come to speak out at last. The truth must be told. Not for revenge, though that would be sweet, but for the women who had suffered, and for any future victims. He felt guilty for not having spoken up long ago, but who would have believed him, the Apeman, the freak, the town idiot? Randy was right about that.

As he sat trying to clear his mind and focus on what lay ahead, his cell phone rang. Church bell chimes of course. He still missed that old Revere bell that had been the soundtrack for nearly half his life.

The caller ID read “KBeck”

He smiled and picked up the phone. “Hi, sweet lady.”

“Josie, are you there yet?”

“Yeah, just got into town.”

“Oh, I’m glad you’re safe! How was the drive?”

“Good. I forgot how pretty it is.”

“You really are a Vermont boy, aren’t you?” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I miss you, Josie.”

He gulped. They hadn’t even been apart for half a day. “I miss you too, Kiki.”

Kira cleared her throat and said in a normal voice, “Sam says don’t forget he has Little League tryouts on Saturday. He wants to play shortstop, whatever that is.” She’d never been a sports fan. That was baffling to Joseph, a true New Englander whose heart bled red for the Boston Red Sox. Sam had caught the baseball bug too and had talked of nothing but the tryouts for weeks.

“I’ll be home before then, I promise.”

A nurse call bell rang. Kira blurted, “I’ve got to go. I love you, Josie.”

Joseph answered, “I love you too,” but a rumbling Algonquin Oil truck drowned him out. He drove the last few blocks to the town common and found it busier than he remembered, with new shops and restaurants. Al’s Pizza sat in the shadow of a fancy joint called the “Silver Spoon Buffet,” and Woolworth’s had been replaced by a fancy dress shop called “Diana’s Choice.” But good old Sam’s Hardware still stood there, dumpy and drab as always.

In the center of everything stood the church that had been his refuge and his prison. Joseph parked in front and got out. Now he really felt like someone coming back from the dead. He looked up at the bell tower and his jaw dropped.

There it was. His bell, massive and coppery green, proudly stamped “Paul Revere & Sons.” His hands twitched and his arms ached to ring it, like a cowboy longing for his horse. Impulsively he headed to the church door and went inside.

Afternoon sunlight poured through the clear windows. A shiny new grand piano stood in front, not the one he had polished so lovingly, longing for the woman who played it.

His face grew hot and he had to look away. He climbed up to the balcony and found the bell rope hanging down within easy reach. No more having to struggle up a rickety ladder where you’d risk breaking your neck.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?”

Joseph jumped and swung around. A young man with beaded corn rows, dressed in jeans and a Boston Celtics sweatshirt, stood on the stairway.

“Uh, sorry. I-I was just looking around. I used to work here.”

“Oh?” The man peered at him. “Were you the pastor?”

“God no. Just the sexton. Looks like you clean better than I did.”

“Clean? Oh, I see.” The man laughed, showing a mouthful of white teeth. “Hank does a good job. I’m the pastor.”

Joseph’s face flamed hot. “Oh Christ! I’m sorry, sir.”

“No problem. I get that all the time. People just assume a black guy is the custodian.” He held out his hand. “I’m Clifton Davies, by the way, but you can call me Pastor Cliff.”

Joseph was still embarrassed. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Joseph Beck, aka Quasimodo. I used to ring the bell every day.”

Pastor Cliff whistled. “Every day? We ring it for weddings, funerals, Easter and the like. Otherwise it’s automatic. Magnificent bell.” He grinned. “Want to ring it for old times’ sake?”

Joseph started to answer but sudden emotion welled up in him and no words came.

The minister gave him a keen look. “It’s your call,” he said softly. He glanced at his watch. “My apologies, I’ve got to run. Nice meeting you, Joseph.” With a hearty fist bump, he smiled. “Hope we’ll meet again soon.” And he sprinted away.

Joseph glanced at his trusty old Timex. It was nearly five o’clock, an odd time to ring the bell, but he didn’t care. He grabbed the rope and hauled on it with all his might. The huge bell began to swing, gathering momentum until it rang out full and strong, sending his hearing aids into overdrive as his whole frame shivered with its vibrations. He and his old friend were together again