Calvin climbed the steep staircase to Joanna’s stale little third-floor apartment to deliver another week’s worth of groceries and a token of bad news. The latter, she refused to accept.
“No. No More Calvin. I’m serious. Quit it now. I know you’re only messin around but I’m not in the mood. Not today.”
Calvin unfolded the newspaper and laid it flat in Joanna’s ample lap.
“Really? Well, what’s this all about then?”
At first, she refused to look. She folded her arms and stared defiantly at the TV screen like an insolent child. When it came to stubbornness she was her sister times ten. He stooped down and shook the paper in her lap until she could stand no more of it. Finally, she looked down at the glaring headline on the front page of the local section. The words assaulted her like a sucker punch. HISTORIC STATE STREET THEATER SCHEDULED FOR DEMOLITION.
She didn’t want to read the article below, but once her curiosity was piqued, she couldn’t resist. Her stomach twisted into tight little knots while her eyes scanned down the page. As she neared the bottom, hot tears began streaming down both cheeks.
“Calvin, bring me some damn tissues since you’re the cause of this.”
He obeyed. She reached for a handful, then on second thought, ripped the entire box forcefully out of his hand.
“Why the hell did you have to go and do this to me today? Not very nice. Not nice at all.”
Calvin plopped down on the sofa.
“And I suppose if I’d just kept my mouth shut in a few weeks from now you’d have said, Calvin, why the hell didn’t you tell me about all this? Sound about right?”
Joanna didn’t respond. She tossed the paper onto the floor beside her chair and sulked. Calvin did nothing to comfort her, though he did sheepishly apologize right before getting up and making for the door.
“I’ll come by again next week, see if you need anything.”
Again she didn’t reply, and soon she heard the door shut firmly behind him.
It wasn’t as if this news was entirely unexpected. She’d read several articles over the past six or seven months outlining various proposals by the city council for a State Street revitalization project. There was even a detailed diagram in one of them showing what it would all look like once the final transformation was complete.
If carried out to plan, within the next five years the street would be virtually unrecognizable; two rows of modern office buildings, an even bigger version of the existing bank on the corner, and a three-story parking garage would replace nearly all of the existing buildings. The proposed architecture looked fine enough, she supposed, in its ultra-modern, antiseptic way, but drab still and all. Stripped of all its rustic charm, the cafes, restaurants, shops, and her beloved theater would all disappear. Some already had. Many of the places she’d grown up going to. None more often than the old movie house though. She had such fond memories of summer matinees with her little sister. It was where they’d often spent their weekly allowances. Two hours of big-screen magic. But of course it was so much more than that; it was the whole atmosphere, not to mention escapism from the boredom of their daily chores and routines. Once the movie was over they would stay all through the credits until the screen went completely black before stepping out of the cool air-conditioned auditorium into a flood of heat and light so bright it made their eyes hurt – the smell of popcorn still lingering in their nostrils. The old theater had not only been a refuge from reality (not that reality back then had ever been so bad) but also a derelict from a past she felt she could almost touch once inside. Though the theater had gone through several renovations over the years and the old balcony had been condemned long before she’d ever set foot in the place, much of its original charm remained. She’d always held out faint hope that someone with a sense of nostalgia and big pockets would swoop into town and buy the place, maybe fix it up and reopen it. Realistically, she knew the chances of that happening were slim to none. The thought of it no longer being there, however, even if only to slowly waste away, was one she could hardly bear, even though she’d been nowhere near the place in over a decade. Then again, she hadn’t as much as made it past the downstairs porch in nearly three years. Her last trip out had been to see a doctor in Albany back when her sister Mona was still alive. That girl could persuade her to do almost anything. Since her passing, Joanna’s anxiety had only grown progressively worse. She didn’t even make it to the funeral. She tried, only to convince herself she couldn’t go through with it after she began hyperventilating before reaching the second-floor landing. She decided then and there, and not for entirely unselfish reasons, that she wasn’t going to put poor Calvin through it. He’d been suffering enough already. And though he’d promised her little sister Mona on her deathbed to look after Joanna in the years ahead, she didn’t want to become a tiresome burden. She wasn’t his responsibility. She hadn’t even been her sister’s responsibility. At least she shouldn’t have been. It was something poor Mona had taken upon herself. Joanna was nearly ten years older than Mona. She’d never forgiven herself for that. For any of it. Not that she knew of any other way to be. This was just who she was now. Afraid. Always afraid, for reasons she couldn’t fully comprehend.
She tried to rely on Calvin as sparingly as possible during the years since Mona’s death, but that wasn’t always easy. He became her only connection to the outside world. He’d kept his word to her sister even though Joanna knew she exasperated him to no end at times. Still, he always returned. He always responded to her texts and answered most of her phone calls. What more could she ask or expect of him? Most men wouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t her keeper and he didn’t try to be. He didn’t nag at her the way her sister used to. He’d never seemed overly empathetic to her situation, nor was he cold or indifferent either. He was just… there, dutifully fulfilling his promise, and hell, that had to be worth something. Still, she couldn’t come to terms with how much time she’d already lost and how much more was still to be lost if she couldn’t figure out a way to beat back her demons – the jailers within.
Days passed into weeks. Weeks into months. The scales were as ruthless as ever on the rare occasions she dared step on one. As usual, Calvin came and went, delivering the things she’d asked for. Never staying for long. Most days were lonely as hell. She’d only be lying to herself if she were to try and pretend she didn’t look forward to his visits, brief as they were. He was the only person she talked to anymore, the only real living breathing person in her life.
She’d all but forgotten about the theatre’s grim fate until the news came crashing back one evening when she’d been least expecting it. Her little hometown had made its way onto the Live At 5 news broadcast. A group from the local preservation society had organized a protest rally that afternoon out in front of the State Street Theatre. Seeing it on the television screen was surreal. She couldn’t believe how decrepit it looked. A blank marquee beneath the familiar red letters STATE THEATRE. Chipped and broken in places. She could make out what appeared to be graffiti on the brick wall near where the ticket booth had been that led to the entrance doors where movie posters for coming attractions had once hung, gleaming under polished glass cases. One man interviewed said he could remember his first experience of the big screen here with his grandparents when he was only seven or eight years old. An elderly woman said she went on her first date here and had her first kiss in the back row under the flickering projector lights of Creature From The Black Lagoon. This made Joanna smile, she’d been a die-hard lover of monster and slasher flicks for as long as she could remember. Another man claimed he’d actually tried purchasing the building intending to renovate and reopen it, but even though his offer had been a generous one the city council had been quick to reject it, stating that it didn’t fit into their plan for the new and improved State Street business mecca that was, as far as they were concerned, already underway. The reporter went on to say that many of the people she spoke with had vowed not to leave, to stand in front of bulldozers if necessary. The camera then panned to a young man in a wheelchair holding a megaphone, pleading with passersby’s to join the rally and unite against Mayor Babson’s capitalist regime and its ongoing attack on local cultural institutions. Hell yeah. Joanna couldn’t help but get swept up in the moment. She felt as if she should be there standing alongside these people. She felt connected to them somehow. It was not a feeling she was familiar with. She could feel the tiny hairs prickle up on the back of her neck. She could see goosebumps beginning to form on her arms. She could feel her heart beginning to race. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt such an urging sense of excitement. Something began to stir within her to a point where she felt a strong compulsion to get up and do something. But what? What could she possibly do? She could write a check, she supposed, and send it off with a strongly worded letter of support. Maybe a letter to the city council or even the mayor himself. She was a competent writer. But what good would any of that do? It was already clear the city had no intention of allowing anyone to purchase the building. Suddenly she became anxious. The anxiety quickly turned to fear and that fear simmered to anger. She banged a fleshy fist on an end stand and rose out of her chair. She couldn’t sit still any longer. She needed to move. She needed an outlet for all the angst bubbling up inside her. Years ago she would have taken a long bike ride or a jog in the park. Days when she was young and fearless and some two hundred pounds lighter, seemed so distant and long ago that sometimes she wondered if they‘d ever really happened at all. Memories were not to be trusted. Photo albums provided the only concrete proof of who she’d been. Of those, she had many. She tried not to go to them too often, however, because each time she did she wound up feeling worse instead of better – further away from who she once was and ached to be again. Getting anywhere close seemed an impossible mountain to climb now. Suddenly she felt an overwhelming need to bust out of this goddamned apartment, this stagnant safe cocoon she’d been walling herself up in all these years, even if the prospect alone scared the living hell out of her. What, though, had this place been keeping her safe from? Herself? Hardly. The world outside her door? Maybe, but how long could it last? Eventually, she’d have to go out again. The last time she tried the meds Doctor Nicholas prescribed hadn’t helped much. Of course, she’d also been grieving the loss of her sister on top of her normal anxieties. Now, she felt something was driving her that was even more powerful than grief. Raw anger. A fire burning hot in her belly. The need to write a wrong. Stand up to an injustice. She could do it. She felt she really could, though she also feared the longer she stewed over it, the longer she waited and procrastinated the less likely she was to maintain her resolve. She picked up her cell and quickly dialed Calvin’s number. He barely had time to answer before she unloaded everything that was bottled up inside her. At first, there was only silence, then she heard him sigh.
“Have you lost your damn mind?”
She didn’t answer, made no attempt to confirm or deny, simply held her tongue until he broke.
“I’ll be there in a half-hour,” he said. “Can you be ready by then?”
“Yes, Calvin. I’ll be ready.” The words coming out of her mouth sounded more confident and collected than she felt.
Then the line went dead. Classic Calvin.
“Oh sweet lord, what in hell am I doing? Give me strength. Please, please give me strength.
After an exhausting change of clothes, she sat on the edge of the bed, closed her eyes, and tried some of the breathing techniques she’d been watching on YouTube. They seemed to be helping some. She could already feel her body beginning to relax. It didn’t last long. Soon she heard familiar footsteps in the hallway outside, and a few seconds after that, a key jiggled in the door. Calvin had arrived. There was no backing out now. If she did, she feared that next time (should there ever be a next time) he wouldn’t come at all. It was an illogical fear, perhaps. She’d already tested the limits of his patience, and he’d yet to abandon her, but she couldn’t help thinking that if she pushed him too far, that day could still come.
“Well now, just look at you. So you’re really serious about this?”
Damn right, I’m serious, Calvin. Now if you’ll move so I can get my jacket out of the closet we can get going. Calvin obeyed. Once again, her voice exuded confidence she didn’t feel.
Those first steps were excruciating, her palms were so moist and sweaty that she left handprints on the banister. She felt dizzy and flushed, her lungs constricting, little streams of sweat trickling down her armpits. Calvin clutched her arm and helped guide her heavy frame down the hallway stairs one by one. She figured he must be able to feel her body trembling with each movement and was probably wondering how anyone could have such a deep terror of simply stepping outside.
The evening was warm and humid. She fixed her eyes on the ground, the slow awkward motion of her own clumsy swollen feet. Calvin helped steady her into the truck. She dug into his shoulder like a cat burying its claws into a sofa cushion. By the time she was finally situated in the seat and had relinquished her grip, the sleeve of his shirt was moist and mangled.
“Hell of a grip,” he said, before shutting the door. Joanna took a long wary look at the apartment building as if she were seeing it for the last time.
Calvin’s truck smelled of stale cigarettes and vanilla air freshener. A little yellow pine tree hung listlessly from the rearview mirror. The ashtray was overflowing. The floor was a mess of fast food wrappers and empty coffee cups. Mona would’ve reprimanded him for being such a slob. By the look of it, he hadn’t cleaned the inside of the truck once since she’d been gone. Joanna fastened her seatbelt with difficulty and tried the breathing technique again. When Calvin slid in behind the wheel, he gently touched her arm and said: “Sure you’re okay?” She nodded. “I don’t know what good going down there is going to do but it’s sure nice to see you out of the apartment. It’s been one hell of a long time. At this, Joannah forced a smile. As Calvin started the engine and began pulling away from the curb, her heart began to pick up speed again. She had no business doing this. No damn business at all.
The news coverage had worked. The crowd was picking up steam. Cars honked their horns. Calvin scanned the sides of the street for empty parking spaces but there were none to be had. Joanna stared up at the old marquee as they passed and thought of the times she’d seen it lit with the names of films she couldn’t wait to see. Today it was empty and forlorn, chipped and peeling from neglect. A lump began welling up in her throat, and for the first time since leaving her apartment, for a few quick seconds, she forgot her fear.
Calvin circled the block three times before finally securing a parking spot on the opposite side of the theater. It was a tight fit for a pickup to squeeze into, but he maneuvered it skillfully between an Outback and a Prius. It wasn’t as close as she would’ve liked but she knew he’d done his best. It was going to require an uncomfortable bit of walking across a very busy street. She knew if she sat and allowed herself to think about it for more than a minute or two she’d lose her nerve and tell Calvin to take her home. She wiped her sweaty hands on her pant legs and reached for the door handle. Slowly they made their way down the street looking like an elderly couple trying to navigate an icy sidewalk. Joanna stared at the ground the entire time. She clutched Calvin’s shirt sleeve, and once again her nails dug in. He held her steady.
Such a good egg. He could have easily kicked up a fuss over all of this but instead, he was following her whims, at least for now, giving her this moment, for better or worse.
They used the crosswalk in front of the theater to enter the eye of the storm where a large crowd was holding up signs, some stepping off the curb to yell at passing motorists, occasionally coming dangerously close to the rush of moving vehicles. They inched their way through them under the marquee until they came to a brick wall. Calvin nudged Joanna up against it. Her heart was pounding. She barely even noticed that he was wincing and in considerable pain from her nails digging into his flesh and no doubt the weight of holding her steady. She managed to let go of him and press her hands against the wall. Calvin took a few deep breaths.
“Okay. Well, now what?” he said.
She didn’t answer. She was still trying to catch her breath. She was face to face with the bricks now. She could see old markings where encased posters of coming attractions once hung. She remembered staring at them while waiting in line at the ticket booth. Halloween. Friday The 13th. A Nightmare On Elm Street. Countless others. She’d had little awareness at the time that she was growing up in a golden age of horror flicks, only that she couldn’t get enough of them. Her mother used to say she was morbid. Maybe she was. She didn’t care. She didn’t even mind that she had to go alone to those kinds of movies. Back then, for whatever reason, she chased fear. She liked being scared shitless by boogeymen in the dark as long as they stayed up there on the screen and didn’t haunt her dreams later, which sometimes they did, but never enough to stop her from coming back for more, not as long as she knew there was light and a concession stand and people waiting in line for the next showing on the other side of the wall. The real humdrum world was always out there waiting, and that’s what made it okay to want to go back into the dark each time, to be scared by what she knew wasn’t real because she had such sound assurances of the things that were. How in hell had all that reversed on her? How could reality have become the thing she now feared above all else? The outside world, the people, the open spaces – all the things she used to take such comfort in.
She felt that old familiar feeling rising in her chest, her breaths were becoming short, her body was trembling, and her vision began changing. All of a sudden, everything seemed stark, narrowed, and too bright. If she were to pass out now it would be a hard drop on unforgiving concrete. There was no way skinny little Calvin was going to be able to break her fall. Gravity would easily win that battle. Just as she was reaching the pinnacle of her attack she heard a voice behind her that was not Calvin’s.
“Everything alright?”
“She’s just a little out of breath,” Calvin said. The man nodded and stepped away. A couple of minutes later, he returned with a folding chair.
“Here now. Sit down a minute.” Calvin thanked the man and began to gently pull Joanna’s arms away from the wall. She slowly turned and looked down at the chair with trepidation. It was hard metal, the kind you might find in a school cafeteria. It had been a long time since she’d sat in anything so small. At least a hundred and fifty pounds ago. She prayed to god it would hold her. Calvin held one arm and the stranger took the other and together they lowered her into it.
“There. That’s it. Good,” the man said. His voice was deep, steady, and reassuring. She thanked him and looked up into his face for the first time. He was an elderly black man, balding with a gray mustache and warm eyes.
“Thank you, ma’am, for joinin us. Name’s Henry.”
“I’m Joanna,” she said. He held out a big coarse hand. She took it in hers and thanked him again.
“Well,” he said, “ would you just look at all of this. Started with about ten people this mornin, and now we got at least a couple hundred, I’d say. Television crew to boot.”
“What do you think will happen,” Joanna said, still struggling to regain her full breath, but she did feel a touch calmer.
“Same thing as always, I guess. In the end, we gonna lose her.”
“If you know that then why all this?” Calvin said, pointing to the crowd.
If there was one thing about that man that had always driven her sister crazy it was that he was always so maddeningly practical, Joanna thought.
“Doesn’t mean she has to go quietly,” Henry said. “See, when I look at this place, I don’t see a run-down old movie house, I see something my daddy helped build, like a few other buildings in this town that we’ve already lost. This one’s gonna hurt a little more than the others, though. This is the last one that I know for a fact he was a part of.”
He shook his head, swallowed hard, then quickly perked up and smiled. “Can’t let her go down without a fight.”
Joanna nodded, her eyes moist.
Horns honked up and down the street. The daylight was slowly diminishing, occasional flashes of heat lightning piercing the sky. Streetlamps began winking on. She wasn’t sure how long she would be able to sit out here with these brave people. She was not, herself, brave. She was scared, and she wasn’t sure how much fight she had left in her, but for the first time in a long while, she felt some sense of belonging, that she was doing something purposeful. For better or worse, she was back out in the world, one step further from where she’d spent the past ten years in a cocoon of silent misery. She sat with them until the darkness came and police cruisers began lining up and down the street. They formed a line with officers in full riot gear. A stern voice boomed through a megaphone threatening to release tear gas if the crowd didn’t disband quietly. Threats and obscenities were shouted from all directions but the crowd slowly began to break up. Calvin bent down and grabbed Joanna’s arm. “We gotta go. We’re not gonna win this one. You showed up. Made a stand. Sometimes that’s all you can do.” It was hard to argue with his logic, but she was in no mood for it. As hard as it was to get herself here she didn’t want to leave now. Where would she go? Back to her safe, stale apartment? Back to nothing? Feeling nothing? Being nothing? She couldn’t do it. She pulled her arm away. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Dammit woman, whatcha gonna do? Let them take you to jail. Ever spent a night in a cell? Tell ya right now, you don’t want to. Now please, for god’s sake come on.” He pulled on her arm again, and she reluctantly let him help her to her feet. She took in her surroundings one final time. She stared up at the old marquee. What was once a bright beautiful beacon was now cold and dark. Her heart was a pulsing lump of lead in her chest as she clutched Calvin’s arm as tightly as before, though she tried not to dig in so much this time as they slowly made their way to the street. When they were safely back in the truck Calvin laid the keys in his lap and looked at her long and hard. “I’m proud of you, ya know,” he said. “I know this wasn’t easy comin down here tonight. Mona, she’d have been proud too. Damn proud.”
Joanna didn’t respond. She couldn’t find words for what she was feeling; beaten, but also somewhat victorious in an odd way. Calvin started the truck, but before he could pull away she put a hand on his arm. “I’m not ready to go home, Calvin. Not yet.”
“Where then?”
“Anywhere, I guess. I don’t care. Just not back there. Please, not yet.”
He nodded, rolled the window down, and lit a cigarette.
Then the truck slowly rolled away from the flashing lights and the unruly crowd and the shouting and honking of horns, its tail lights glowing brightly before gradually disappearing into the heavy summer night.
Haunted Avenues 