The Distance Home

A “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Malcolm stood with a jaunty grin on his face donning dusty workmen’s boots, and rugged jeans—though we both knew he didn’t have a job. The corners of his brown eyes folded into his smooth peanut butter skin. His upturned mouth revealed bright, white  teeth against a backdrop of five o’clock shadow.

“Joan?” His eyes danced up towards me worriedly, as he tucked his chin; the frighteningly cheery rictus still plastered on his face. I balanced on one foot, dragging the other up the back of my leg. Remy, my Maltese peeked curiously around my ankle, extending her twitching nose toward the visitor. Leaning against the doorpost, my eyes latched onto his, before finding their way to the bloated knapsack at his feet. This was not the first time Malcolm appeared out of the blue like a shiftless nomad. He didn’t call; he never called. I was just that dependable and I hated it.

Malcolm shifted from one foot to the next, wiggling his hips each time as if the very notion of waiting outside my door caused him pain.

“What happened?” I thrust out, dripping in rhetoric. I knew the answer; Malcolm knew that I knew the answer. Last time he knocked on my door, a few burly men were kicking in his, armed with crowbars and a hunger for pain. The time before that, he had wrapped his two-year-old sedan around the trunk of an oak tree and didn’t have insurance.  The time before that, his ex-wife had called one time too many about his son, Trevor, and the payments he owed. He came flying to me once a pizza delivery guy rung his doorbell with a piping hot subpoena in the guise of a large cheese pizza.

Malcolm cleared his throat, his smile waned a little. He fumbled in his back pocket retrieving a crumpled newspaper. Unfolding it, he shoved it under my nose and glanced expectantly  at me.

“The fuck is this?” I snatched it from him. He blinked unflinchingly and cleared his throat again.

“A job—in the area. I figured I could move out here; work on that ‘til I get back on my feet, heh.” Malcolm rubbed his finger under his nose so vigorously that the skin reddened. “I know what you’re going to say, Joan, and I appreciate your criticism—but I need this. I need this real bad.”

Peering down into the smudged newsprint I squinted at a classified ad no bigger than my thumb.

Limo Drivers Needed. CDL Required. Please Call.

Malcolm’s eyes flitted from the paper to my face. His excitement rose in his chest as he curled and uncurled his fists.

“Y’see, if I get this job, I can make good money on tips driving around celebrities and whatnot. Then after a few years I could maybe buy into the franchise and own my own—someday.”

It took everything for me not to emit a contemptuous scoff; yet even with my efforts, I failed. Malcolm winced. I couldn’t to meet his gaze as I shoved the paper back into his open palms.

“Malcolm.”

“Don’t start Joanie, please don’t.”

I raised my hands in defense, a sardonic smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. “You have got to be kidding me. What are you doing?”

His shoulders sagged, he looked away and swung his arms lightly, “there it goes,” he muttered to no one. “I just need a place to stay, Joan. I just…” he stuttered before trailing off. My heart melted the instant I saw tears well up in his eyes.

The sun hung listlessly behind the trees, threatening to dip beneath the shadows. It was nearing dusk, and I wondered how long it had taken Malcolm to get to my doorstep. A few rays of sunlight glinted across his face, transforming his tears into glittering diamonds pooled in the wells of his eyes. The high sheen of his furrowed brow coupled with the expression that his whole world was about to crumble reminded me of our father. In fact, the two could’ve been twins, if 20 years hadn’t separated them, and if Malcolm and I hadn’t already shared the relation.

“Ugh,” I grunted, taking a step backwards, upsetting Remy, who squealed and hopped across the hallway. I opened the door wider. Malcolm’s expression improved drastically as he nearly bounded across the threshold.

I quickly blocked him with a warning, “You’re getting a job. Tomorrow. No excuses.”

Malcolm’s head bobbled up and down on his shoulders as if his neck were a slinky. Suddenly disgusted with my decision, I rolled my eyes at him before scooping up Remy and stalking to my study.

“You get the basement,” I called over my shoulder, “the guest room is being painted.”

I didn’t see him when he somberly nodded and toted his knapsack over his shoulders and back into my world. 

img src: Matt Hobbs