Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

Kate turns around and I see older bruises on her shoulders. I know they are older because they have faded to yellow-green. Kate and I have gone swimming in her pool and I have seen her shoulders before this. They should not have these marks. Also Kate is not holding herself up straight. She is hunching. This is not good posture. I should tell her. Instead I use tact and do not.

“Kate,” I say, “I am going to stand up.”

She turns to face me. I am already removing my long-sleeved shirt. I fold it neatly and place it on the table near Kate’s couch. I have worn it for less than half a day and it is not yet ready to go in the hamper. I remove my shoes so that I can lower my pants. Once they are folded with the shirt I put my shoes back on. They are plain white sneakers and are very comfortable. I will be able to move quickly and confidently when I use what I have learned.

Kate watches me pull the red hood over my head. I tuck my hair in until none of it is visible. I adjust the mask part of the hood so that I can see.

“Wh… what…?”

Kate’s voice is hoarse. She does not talk often. This year she has only spoken to me twelve times. Kate and I have known each other since I was fourteen years old and in that time I have learned that it is important to listen when she speaks and wait until the words all come out. This sometimes takes a long time.

“What… does the…”

I can predict what Kate is going to ask but I do not try to finish her sentence for her.

“What… does the ‘S’… mean?”

I imitate the smile I have seen on Buffy the Vampire Slayer when Buffy Summers is about to slay a vampire.

“I will show you.”

My day begins at 5:30 when the alarm goes off and I hear the sound of the news station’s voiceover person. I do not care for the news but this morning I do not sit up and silence the alarm. Instead I listen to the news until 5:34. Once I have heard the story about the man being beaten in his own home in a suburban area I click the switch that makes the alarm turn off.

It is Wednesday morning and I am standing in front of the bathroom mirror brushing my teeth for exactly two minutes as the dentist has instructed. It is painful to do this on the right side because Kate’s stepfather punched me. I was fast enough that the punch only glanced off the side of my face but it still hurt. I have already used the toilet.

In the shower, I make sure to wash all of my parts and use both shampoo and conditioner on my hair. It takes longer than usual because my left hand is bruised much more than my face and I have difficulty holding the washcloth. I will also have to be careful at work because I do not want people to ask questions. When Kate saw the bruise she motioned me to sit down and took out some makeup. I watched in the mirror as she put it on my face. She gave me the makeup to take home and I copied her movements this morning.

My mother asks me questions as I eat the Crispix cereal she has put on the table for me. She does not say anything about the use of my right hand to eat. She does not look closely at my face so I must have done the makeup correctly.

Crispix cereal is my second-favorite breakfast food. There is also a banana. I do not care for the consistency of bananas but I know they are healthy and my mother would not ask me to eat one if that was not the case.

“You got home late last night,” she says. “Your grandma was worried.”

I do not like to lie to my mother. “I ate dinner at Kate’s house.”

“So she said. And you walked all the way home?”

“I did.”

“You could’ve called. Someone could have come to get you.”

I eat another spoon of the Crispix. Because I was late coming downstairs the cereal is not as crunchy as it is on other mornings. I find that I am enjoying the slightly-mushy aspect of it. “Could you put the milk into the cereal six minutes earlier the next time it is my breakfast?”

Her brow furrows. “Huh? Why?” Then she shakes her head. “You’re acting strange this morning. Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

My mother drives me to work because it is raining this morning.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I take it out. I have a text message from Kate.

Thank you for standing up for me.

I text her back. It is not easy for me to do with my right hand.

I stand up when someone must. That is the reason I wear my secret costume. You cannot tell anyone about it.

I am in the store and walking to the break room to put my phone in my locker when it buzzes again.

I won’t. Thanks again.

I unlock my locker and put my phone and wallet and keys into it.

But then I take the phone back out and text Kate one more time.

You’re welcome.

I type my employee number and password into the time clock. It beeps as it registers that I am now at work.

I notice in the small mirror near the clock that I am smiling. I decide that this is acceptable and go down the stairs. I am expected to work from 8:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., except for a fifteen-minute break. I would be breaking a rule if I did not do so.

“Stand Up” is previously unpublished. I wrote it for several reasons: I like superhero stories, I like stories of people who stand up and defend those who cannot defend themselves, and I like to challenge myself when I write. It was a challenge to get into the head of my non-gendered main character (the person’s sex is never mentioned throughout; did you notice?), and even more of a challenge to write from the point of view of a person at this location on the autism spectrum. I did do some research while writing the story, but any missteps or mistakes are mine alone.

This particular story was written during a very difficult time in my life. I felt that I needed to give myself a difficult task — writing a character like this in the first person — to prove to myself that, even when things felt like they were falling apart, I could still do something I was proud of. When things are going badly and I have nowhere to turn, that’s when some of my best work comes out. I don’t know if “Stand Up” qualifies as “best”, but I’m proud of it.

After she helped me edit this story, I asked my partner, “did you like my Buffy reference?” She said no, but that she let me keep it in anyway because it would make me happy. And it does.

The Blue Knight is outside, talking to the police and the media. Through the front doors of the store, I can see the bright white lights of news cameras and the red-white-and-blue strobes of police cars, ambulances, and fire engines. I already told Monique to turn off the TVs in the electronics department — the last thing we need is to see him out there, all chiseled jaw and intense eyes, talking about how he and the rest of the Chromatic Knights are going to — and I can quote it without even watching — “clean up this city’s vampire problem once and for all.”

Clean it up, huh? Not a chance. Every time there’s a vampire attack and the Rainbow Brigade shows up, we’re the ones called in to clean up the mess.

And the Blue Knight made quite a mess tonight, that’s for damn sure.

Jerry, the store manager, is sticking close to me. It’s annoying, actually; I could get a lot more done if he wasn’t looking over my shoulder. “Do you need to know what happened?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I think we’ve pretty much got it under control, thanks.” I point to the vampire with the smashed face, the one who Jerry said was the leader of the gang, and Jason and Becky go to work. First, Becky slams a wooden stake through his heart. Then they take him by the arms and legs and carry him out to the truck. The stake will keep him truly dead until we can burn his body in our incinerator, back at the office. Dave and Rodrigo, without being told, are already in the furniture department — there’s a bunch of smashed pressboard and broken glass that they’ll deal with, just like Evan and Wilson are doing up at the front of the store with the cash wraps.