Post on 23-Mar-2023
Sarah Lawrence College Sarah Lawrence College
DigitalCommons@SarahLawrence DigitalCommons@SarahLawrence
Writing Theses Writing Graduate Program
5-2017
Some Sunny Day & Banshee Sunrise Some Sunny Day & Banshee Sunrise
Matt Muehring Sarah Lawrence College
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Recommended Citation Recommended Citation Muehring, Matt, "Some Sunny Day & Banshee Sunrise" (2017). Writing Theses. 113. https://digitalcommons.slc.edu/writing_etd/113
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SomeSunnyDay & BansheeSunrise MattMuehring Submittedinpartialfulfillmentofthe requirementsoftheMasterofFineArts degreeatSarahLawrenceCollege,May, 2017
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 1
MattMuehring Draft3 BansheeSunrise “Wantanother?”IpointedmyalmostemptyCoronaatMike.We’dsnaggedacorner
tableataroofdecksalooninanalleyacrossthestreetfromtheHallofFame.Threestory
colonialswithtiledroofsblockedtherestofthestreet.Crowdstenrowsdeepapplauded
alumniinducteesrollingdownthestreetonthebackofpick-ups.
“Who?”Mikewashunchedover,elbowspressedtothetable,andrackinghisIphone
againsthisknuckles.He’dhadthesame“huh-what?”lookpastedonhisfacelikeanewspaper
inapuddleformostofthefourhourdriveuptoCooperstown.
“Anotherbeer.”Irepeated.“Hey,groundcontroltoMajorTom.”Isnappedmyfingers
underMike’snose.Hejerkedbackandblinkedhimselfintoagrin.
“Don’tbringupBowie.Idon’twannahearaboutfuckin’Bowie.”Hechuggedwhatwas
leftofhisIPA.Thelabelhe’dpeeledawayleftstickyremnantsonthebottle.
“What’sup?”Iasked.Ikeptmytonemild,partiallytobeniceandpartiallybecauseI
IknewitwassomethingtodowithGemmaandIdidn’twantrainonmyparade.Beinghappyis
achoice.
“Nothing’sup.Sorry.”Mikeshookhishead.
“Yougood?”Iaskedinatoneapproximatetoacopdirectingtraffic.
“Allgood,yeah.”MikestraightenedthecollaronhisPedrojerseyanddrummedhis
handsontheplywood-table.“Onemorebeerandlet’sheaddown.”
Ilookedaroundforthewaitress.Thedeckwaspackedwithawelloverfire-capacity
crowdthatwasgettingsteadilydrunkerandrowdier.Wegotluckythough,somered-facedbro-
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 2
hammerinaCraigBiggiojerseysparkedupaMarlboronexttousandthewaitresselbowedher
waythroughthecrowdstokickhimoutbeforeheevenexhaled.
“We’reouttaIPA’s.”SheinformedMike.Herfacewascoatedwithsweat.Webarely
heardheroverthedrunk-chatterandAerosmithspewingoutofthespeakers.
“Corona’sfine.Thanks.”Mikestuffedhisphoneintohispocketandglancedupthealley.
PressvansandcameramenformedaphalanxaroundtheredcarpetthatleduptotheHallof
Fame’sbrickandglassfrontentrance.HecranedhisneckasthecrowdscheeredGregMaddux
steppingoffthebackofapick-uptruck.
“Howcanoneguybesoboringandsotalented?”IaskedMike.
“That’showyouget“TheAccountant”foranickname.”Mikelaughedandturned
contemplative.“Shit,youknowwhoheactuallylookslike?Helookslike–²
Mike’shandstabbedintohispocketandshotupwithhisphone.Iglimpsedtheflashing
incoming-callscreen:thatselfieofhimandGemmaatthebeachwhereshe’splantingakisson
hischeekandthrowingbunnyearsbehindhishead.Mikerocketedoffhisseatandcutthrough
thecrowdslikeabatteringram.Igavethewaitressfiftybucksandtoldhertokeepthechange
whenshearrivedwiththecoronas.BythetimeIdrankMike’s,allthebeerhadmethinkingthat
LanaandIshouldhavetakenmorebeachselfies.
MikeworkedinthiscoffeeshopnamedChucksonetownoverfromwherewegrew
up.TheofficeIworkingetsitscoffeedeliveredfromthere.IactuallygotMikethejob.Isawa
help-wantedsigninthedoorandaskedanemployeewithatattooofagreenroseunderneath
theword‘mother’printedinredonherupperarmaboutit.TurnsoutthiswasGemma.Idon’t
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 3
meantobereductivehere,butshewasheadturning,trafficstopping,dropfuckingdead
beautiful.Allcoiledintensityandpoised,ice-queencool.Inanotherworldshewouldhave
brokensuspectsintoquiveringpiecesduringinterrogations.
AndIgotthatinfiveminutesfromacrossthecounterfromher.
GemmawasinchargeoftrainingMikesincethe(mid-twenties)managerwasbusy
hittingonhighschoolgirls,oneemployeewasthisweaselnamedJakewhogotthejob‘cause
heandthemanagerwerebuds,andtheothertwowereparttimeandthoroughlyindifferent.
AtfirstMikethoughtitwasirate(white)customersandlonglinesthatmadehimnervous–
“Thesesuburbanitesgofuckingmentalwithouttheirlattes,”–butthenhenoticedthathis
stomachwouldturntostonewheneverGemmasnappedathimifhemadeamacchiatofor
somebodywhoaskedforamochaccino–reallifeanddeathstuff,right?
ThenhenoticedthathisstomachmeltedwheneverGemmathrewhimathumbsupfor
gettingsomethingright.HenoticedthatshesometimesworeablackUnknownPleasuresT-
Shirt.Heveryquicklywantedtotalktoherandonlyher.Youdon’tfitinhereeither,Mike
thought.Ithinkmaybeyou’rethesameasme.
Sheexpressedshockthathe’devenheardofJoyDivision.
“Youdon’tseemthetype.”Shetoldhimwitharaisedeyebrow.
“Ohyeah,Transmissionisagreatsong.IanCurtis,who’dathoughtaManccouldhavea
voicethatdeep,youknow?”Mikerepliedcasually.Likeme,hethoughttohimself.Please,like
me.
Gemmaparsedherlipsandnodded.Mike’snormalresponsetothatwouldhavebeen
‘fuckyou,hipster’;butinsteadhejustthoughtagain:likeme,pleaselikeme.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 4
Oneday,Mikesuccessfullymixedfouriceddrinksofgreatcomplexityinrecordtime.
GemmahighfivedhimandMikefeltarushfromhispalmtohisshoulders.Eventually,he
workedupthecouragetoplughisIpodintothestore’sspeakers.HeputonTransformerand
Gemmafullonhuggedhim.
“It’sthoseeyesofhers,man.”MikehadtoldmeatourbuddyRob’sChristmasparty.I
guessifyou’rewillingtosaysomethingthatlamethenitmustbegenuine.“Icouldsee–like
somethingwasrisingupouttathemrightbeforeshehuggedme.”
“Youmeanshecanshootlasers?”I’ddeadpanned.“Youdon’twannahookupwith
acoworker,bud.NothinghappenedbetweenmeandLanatillIstartedthenewjob.”Isuppose
thiswasabadexample,sinceLanaandIweren’ttalkingatthetime,norwereweonstrictly
goodtermsbythetimeMikeandIwereinCooperstown,butyouworkwithwhatyouhave.
“Whosaidanythingabouthookingup?I’mgladImadeafriend.”Mikesaidwiththe
convictionofsomebodysayingtheywantedtogrowuptobeVice-President.
IfoundMikeburningthroughacigarettewherethealleycurveduptowardsthemain
street.HundredsofDominicanswho’dbeenbussedinallthewayfromJamaicaPlainhadsetup
barbequesanddancepartiesinthepostofficeparkinglotnexttothealley.Mikewasstillon
thephonewithGemma,Icaughthiseyeandgesturedforacigarette.
“Yousaidyou’dcalledyourmom.”Mikeduck-steppedawayfromme.Itookthehint
andsparkedup.Ihadn’thadacigarettesinceSeptember16,2011,I’devenstayedquitwhen
LanaandIweretogether.MikehadquittoobutGemmasmokeslikeachimneysohestarted
bummingcigarettesfromheraftertheygottogether.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 5
I’dseenMikeexactlylikethisbackinApril.ItwasaFridayandI’dgottenoutofwork
earlysoIwentuptovisithim.Hewassmokingagainstaninsetstonewallwhoseshrubplanted
sloperoseuptothetraintracks.Weshottheshitforawhile.ThenGemmatextedhim.
“I’mfallingintoadarkplace.Iwanttodrink.Iwanttofuck.Iwanttohurtmyself.”
Hewassoshellshockedhejustshowedmethephone.Iwatchedthetextmessagesroll
inlikeaconveyerbeltofTheFuckedUp.
“Icalledmydealer.I’mgoingtogethigh...It’stoolate...I’mnotafraidthatyou’lltellmy
motherIwanttogethigh,I’mafraidthatyou’lltellmymotherthatIWILLGETHIGH.”
MikeduckedbehindoneofthosetanksizedredChevysuburbansthatcomestandardin
the‘burbs.Iheardhimpleadwithher.
“Justpullover...sponsor...calm...”
Afterhehunguphesaidthathehadtogobeahero.Hesaiditcasuallybuthehada
strangledlookonhisface.Gohedid,burningrubberoutoftheparkinglotwithanhourstillleft
onhisshift.
AfewhourslaterMikeandIgrabbedbeersandhecheerfullyexplainedthateverything
wascool.Nobigdeal.HeandGemmawatchedPeepShow–turnsouttheysharedafavorite
show–untilshewenttoanNAmeeting.Hehadaconfidentialedgeinhisvoice,likehewas
privytotheDeepTruth.
HerevealedinsomanywordsthatGemmahadbeeninandoutofdetoxandrehab
facilitiesforyears.Somethingaboutamethadoneclinic.Suspendedsentence.Overdoses.
Robberies.Crackhouses.Aprobationofficer.Shewasinadocumentaryaboutmentalhealth
thatadudefromTheSopranosmade.Darknessenduredinherpast,strungoutdesolationthat
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 6
Mikecouldonlyimaginefromwithinthepleasantconfinesofhislife.Thevoidlivedoutbyher,
touchedonfromadistancebyhim.
IsuspectedthenandknownowthatMikeconceivedofhimselfashersavior.
“Buthey,Igotintogradschool.”He’dadded.“MymomtoldmewhenIgothome.”
InthealleyinCooperstownitoccurredtomethatI’dbeenproudofMikebackinthe
barinApril.Heplannedtostudymechanicalengineering,asubjectwhichheexplainedinterms
ofhowoneprogramstheguidancesystemonanICBM.
Heappearedinfrontofmeandstubbedouthiscigarette.Itookanotherdragand
rubbedaknuckleagainstmyeye.
“Sorry.”MiketookhisSoxhatoffandranahandthroughhishair.Itwasjetblack,short
onthesidesandthickinthemiddle.IwouldcutitthatwaybutI’mgoingbald.LuckyMike,ifhe
didn’thavehorribleacneinhighschoolhe’dhavegottenlaidmoreandhadenoughconfidence
toknowthathedidn’tneedtobeasaviortomakewomenstay.Thenagain,Ineveronce
thoughtofmyselfasLana’ssavior,nordidshethinkthatofme,andshestilldidn’tstay.
“Theworldisn’tendingisit?”Iasked.Mikestuckhishatbackonbackwardsand
gesturedforhispackandlighter.Helitupwiththecontrolledmovementsofsomebody
forcingadoorshutagainstaroaringhurricane.Hegrinnedlike‘nothingtoseehere,officer.”
“Nope.Hey,what’reweherefor?We’rehereforPedro,I’mnotleavingwithoutan
autograph.MymomhasaphotoofherandgrandmawiththePope,I’mgettingaphotowith
Pedro.”Mikeputonhisaviatorsandmadeforthestreet.IflippedmyOakliesbackfromwhere
theywererestingonthebrimofmyownSoxhatandfollowed.“Whyyougottabeonthe
phonethewholetimeanyway?”
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 7
MikeandGemmastarteddoingtheNewYorkTimescross-wordtogetherinthelull
betweenthemorningrushandthelunchcrowd.
“ChesterA.Arthur’svice-president.Fourdown.”Gemmafrownedandpushedthecross-
wordaroundonthetopoftherefrigeratortoMike.
“Trickquestion.Hedidn’thaveone.Literally.‘None’”Mikewroteitinpencilandpushed
thecrosswordbacktoher.Sheleanedin,acurlofblondehairdangledaboveherlips.She
tuckeditbehindherear.
“Wow.IhaveneverfuckingheardheardofChesterA.Arthur.”
“NameofDavidBowie’sfirstband,sevendown.”Mikeasked.
“Konrads.”Gemmawroteitinperfectblocklettering.ShewasobsessedwithBowie.
SheshowedMikeapictureofheronHalloweenwithherhairsweptbackinaredmullet,a
lightningboltpaintedoverherfaceAladdinSanestyle.Inthephotoshe’sperchedonabeige
corduroyreclinerinaroomwithpeelingwallsanddustyfloors.Slouchedinthereclinerisa
wafer-thinguywithswollenlipsandanarrow,greasyfacestaringvacantlyatthecamera.
“Whosethat?”Mikehadasked,knowingthetwopossibleanswers.
“Myex.”Sherepliedbriskly.Mikesawoutofthecornerofhiseyethatshewas
watchinghim.Hethereforehandedherphonebacktoherwithoutareaction.
Onemorning,tenminutesbeforethestoreopened,Mikewasgrindingouttheback-up
coffeefilterswhile,outsidethefrost-tingedfloortoceilingwindows,apink-orangestripbroke
behindskeletaltrees.Gemma’ssilverHondacivic,it’shoodducttapedandpassengerdoor
dented,whippedintotheparkinglot.Gemmaemerged,cladinafleecydarkhoodieand
Lennonstyleshades.Sheflickedhercigaretteawayassheweavedaroundhercar,shoulders
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 8
squaredbackwithanex-dancer’sposture.Assheswungthroughthedoortherisingsunflashed
intheglassbehindher.MikecrankedupCombatRock.Gemmahalted,registeredthetune,and
shothimawildlyplayfullook.Sheunzippedthehoodieandthrewitdramaticallytothefloor.
Shesnatchedametallicscoopfrombetweenthecoffeejarsonthecounterandbee-lined
towardMike.
“Thisisapublicserviceannouncement!–²JoeStrummerbellowed.TopperHeadon’s
snaredrumthumpedlikeafistonatrashcanoverthespeakers.
“–WithGuitar!Knowyerrrrrights!”Gemmalipsyncedintoherscoopmicrophoneand
bumpedherhipsagainstMikes’.Avalanchedbyexhilarationheseizedthebroomfromunder
theregister.Shebacktrackedinatwosteplikeanelectrocutedmarionette.Mikemimickedher
spasticmovements,strumminghisnewguitar.Theylurchedintothemiddleoftheemptystore,
nowtheirownstage.Gemmathumpedherscoop-mictothebeat.Miketwistedandstomped
hisfeet.Shethrewherselfhipsfirstathim,and,shouldertoshoulder,theybothroared:
“Getoffthestreets!Run!GETOFFTHESTREETS!”
Andthen,asthesongfaded,Mikespunandheavedthebroom-guitaroverhisheadand
madetosmashitagainsttheair-potcounterPaulSimononstyle.Hehaltedaninchabovethe
bronzecounter-topandspunbacktoGemma.Shejumpedandclapped,hernormally
composedfaceablazewithjoy.
FromthenonwheneverhetalkedaboutherhehadtheauraofaTrueBeliever.His
smilewaseverythingthathewas,willbe,andwantedtobe.Lanahadthateffectonme,Ithink.
Butshe’dmovedtoD.C.bythenandwe’ddecidedthatadistancething,evenintheformof
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 9
drunk1A.M.sexting,wasinadvisable.
“Gemmawalksthroughthedoorandit’smysunrise.”Miketoldme.Foraguyobsessed
withmathandthelogicofrationality,hewantedtostareatthesunandgoblind.It’sweird,
oneofLana’sfavoriteproblemswithmewasthatIcouldbedistant,whichcomingfromheris
justsouthofhypocritical.ButI’mnot,Ijustdon’twanttomakeanybodyresponsibleforme.
ThethingwithMikeishesawloveaslogic.Binarycode,anequation.Itwastherootof
hisinsecurity,thisconvictionthatwithoutsomeoneelsehewasfundamentallyincomplete.
WhichmadehimvulnerabletoGemma’sbaddays.She’dmarchintothestorewithoutlooking
athim.Hourswouldpassandshewouldn’tspeaktohim.Whenthestoregotslowshe’dsitona
stoolbythewindowandstarevacantlyatthestreetortextferociouslyinthebackhallway.Her
dayswerefueledentirelybycoffeeandcigarettes.
ByMarchthesnowbanksturnedtoslushy,oilstreakedmoundsofdirtandaconstant
grey-slateddrizzleruledtheskies.Itwasspringtrainingsomewhere,andonedayMikewas
chattingabouttheSoxoddsofmakingtheplay-offswiththestore’sregulars.Aftertheyfiled
outMikerealizedGemmawasglaringathimfromtheregister.
“Doyouevertalkaboutanythingelse?Imean,JesusChrist.WhydoIhavetokeep
hearingaboutit?Seriously.”Shesnapped.“Ijusthearitallthetime.I’msotiredofhearing
aboutit.It’sboring.Whogivesafuck?”
Mikestoodgluedtothefloor.Stunnedbyhercontemptuoussneer.Ashedrovehome
hefeltsmall.Inconsequential.Heknewshecoulddestroyhim.Hewasashamedofhis
vulnerability,ofhisToo-Big-To-Failemotionalarchitecture.Hisrecurringfantasyofhowand
whenandwherehe’dtellGemmathathelovedherseemedpathetic.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 10
“That’saharshreaction.”I’dsaidwhenhecameovertoplayHalo.Lanawasdrivingup
fromD.C.tocollectsomeclothes,andshe’dtoldmeshe’dcomeoveriftherewastime.I’dalso
gottenapromotion,andpartofmefeltlikeMike’sself-pitywouldinfectmygoodfortune.
“Yeah,well.ClearlyI–man,it’s...”Miketrailedoff.Herockedhisheelontopofhistoe
onmycoffeetable.“Yougetit.”
“Yeah.”
“It’snotlikeIhaverealproblems,I’djustlikethistowork.Butifshe’sthisshittythen
I’mbeingweakjusttakingit,right?”
“Hey,I’mrootingforyou.Just,takethelongview.”
Mikecontemplatedthislongviewasanon-linearequationandattemptedtoworkback
tohimself.Oh,fuckthatheeventuallyconcluded.Nothingfeltasgoodaswhenshelikedhim
back.Whensheinsistedhetryacustomteathatshe’djustbrewed.Whenshesidesteppedhim
togettotheespressomachineandherhandstayedonhisshoulderlongerthanithadto.
Hecouldn’treconcilethatwiththepersonwhotreatedhimasifshehadnoideawhohe
wasorwhathewantedorwhysheshouldcare.Thedetailsofhertroublesthathewasprivyto
werewarningsigns.Thecorrectworldviewwasthathewastheequation,notanelement.
Growup,moveon,nobigdeal.Hetriedtowillhimselfintobelievingthis.
Thenonenight,ashecheckedonhisgradschoolapplications,Gemmatextedhim.
“I’matmybrother’sbirthdaywithmyfamily.ThissoundsweirdbutIwishyouwere
here.”
Mikeslouched.HewaitedforIWannaBeAdoredtoendbeforetextingherback.
“It’snotweird.IwishIwastoo.”Heputhisphonedown.Pretendedtofocusonthe‘
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 11
‘statuspending’messageonhiscomputer.Hisphonevibrated.
“DoyouwanttocomeoverinabitandwatchAlmostFamous?”
Later,hewassittingnexttoGemmaonhercouch,sittingupright,palmsflatonhis
knees.Floating,disembodiedinthesilver-blueglowoftheTV.Gemma’slegswerepulledupto
herchest.Hercheekrestedonherknee.Sixinchesofcarefullyemptyspacelaybetweenthem.
PSHadvisedPatrickFugitthat“yougottamakeyourreputationonbeinghonestand
unmerciful.”Then,asGemmaunfoldedherlegsandproppedthemonhercoffeetable,her
shoulderglazedMikes.Hepulledhisarmoutofthewayandsheleanedagainsthimandhis
armcurledoverhershoulder.Herfreehandclosedaroundhis.Herpalmswerecoarseandhe
couldfeelherskinbeneathherpajamaswereherthighsrestedonhis.
MikeandIhoveredbetweenthecrowdliningthestreetandtheDominicansbarbequing
anddancingintheparkinglot.Theairwassohumiditwaslikewearingwoolinasauna.
“Hey,look.”MikepointedatanelderlyDominicanwithagreyfleckedgoateeina
plasticlawnchairinfrontofabus.HeheldaposterofPedro,renderedintheObama’08Hope
andChangecolors,inhis’04Jheri-Curlsabovethecaption‘PedroesGrande’.“Thatis
awesome.I’mgettingapicturewiththatdude.”
IfollowedMikeashestrodepasttheDominicansclusteredaroundbarbequestands.
Theairbecamethickwithspicesandmarinatedchicken,turningmystomachrawwithhunger.
Merengueandbachatamusicboomed.Iwantedtokickbackheretherestoftheday.Mike
crouchedinfrontoftheoldman.Theoldmansmiledandshookhishand.Mikepointedatme
andmimedtakingaphoto.Theoldmannodded.MyphonebuzzedandasIswipedacrossthe
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 12
crackedscreenIglimpsedatextfromLana.
Thecrowdseruptedinthunderousapplauseandmessianicchants.Weboltedforthe
streetandgotsandwichedbetweenthesurgeofDominicansandthecrowd.Peoplepressedin
fromallsidesuntilIwasstuckinanincrediblysweatymoshpit.Overeveryone’sheads,
standinga-topapick-uptruckinthemiddleofthestreet,wasPedro.
Amaroonsportsjackethunglooseonhim.Hewavedtothemasseslikeaconquering
hero.Thetruckstoppedinfrontofthehallataportablestaircase.Pedrotookhiswifebythe
hand,halted,andshothisarmtotheskyandtwirledit.Everyoneroaredandcalledhisname.I
sawMikeslipthroughtheclusteraheadofme.
Pedrosaunteredover,soakingitin,grinningdeviously.ItriedtoraisemyphonebutI
wasjammedagainstatleastsixjostlingbodies.So,Ijuststoodthere,onearmstraight-jacketed
intomypocket,myforeheadgrindingintosomebody’sshoulder-bladewhileanelbowduginto
myback.Pedromadehiswaydowntheline,signingautographsandposingforphotos.Hewas
shorterthanI’dremembered,butthenI’donlyeverseenhiminuniformonthemoundfrom
thestands.Nowhewasmaybetenfeetaway,glad-handingthecrowdswiththeairofaguy
whoknowshe’sthegreatest.Thepersonbehindmestumbledenoughformefreemyarm.
IswungmyphonealoftlikeArthurpullingtheswordfromtherock.Somebodyhad
thrustacylindricalsugartinunderPedro’snose.Hecackledlikeamad-manandsharpiedhis
signatureontoit.Thenhetookhiswife’shand,andstrodetowardstheHall.Atthetopofthe
stepsPedrospunaroundandwaved.Afinalroareruptedandhevanishedthroughthedoors.
Imademywaytothetopofthealleyandcheckedthephotos.Everysingleonea
perfectangleonPedroexceptforoneproblem.Afuckingsugartinwherehisfacewas
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 13
supposedtobe.Gofigure.IcheckedLana’stext.“I’denjoythisweddingalotmoreifIwasat
theinductioninsteadwithyouandMike.Howisit?”Isenthertheshotofsugar-tinPedro.Mike
turnedupinfrontofme,handsinhispockets,frowning.
“Noautograph?”Iasked.Heshookhishead.“Nophoto?”
“Igotaphotoofhim.BythetimeIgotcloseenoughtherewasthisguywithakidonhis
shoulders.SoIletthemgoaheadofme.”Miketookoffhisaviators,huffedintothelens,and
wipedthemwithhisjersey.
“Hey,thatwasniceofyou.”Isaid.
“Hey,I’maniceguy.”Helitacigarette.“Fuckers.”
Wewanderedupthestreettowardsagrill-housewithafencedinpationearDouble-
Dayfield.Afteratwentyminutewaitwewereusheredtoalowaluminumtablenearthebar.
Weorderedbeersandquesadillas.
“Andsomeshots,someshotsaswell.”Mikeglancedatme.“Yeah?”Ishrug-nodded.
“D’youhaveTitosvodka?”Thewaitersaidyes.“Two.Each.”
“Canwegetsomefriesandwaterwiththat?”Iflippedmyoakliesontomyhat.Mike
wasjigglinghiskneeandhadafriendlylook.
“SincewhendoyoudoTitosoverJamo?”
“Idunno.Sendmethatpicture.”Iobligedhim.Heexamineditandlaughed.“Ilikethat
one.I’mgonnasendittoGemma.”Thewaiterreturned,histrayladenwiththeholytrinityof
pace-yourselfdrinks.Mikeraisedhisshotglasstome.
“I’msorryforbeingmopeyallday.Gladwe’rehere.”WeknockedbackourshotsandI
experiencedthatten-secondtastedelayyougetwithvodka.Mikesluggedhissecondshotlike
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 14
hewastakingswingsinabattingcage.
“Noapologiesnecessary,bud.”Isaid.
“Yeah,butIbetifIhadn’tapologized,thenyouwouldhaveconsideredanapology
necessary,right?”Mikeleanedforward,animated,eagertounpackthistheory.“Theapology
onlybecomesunnecessaryonceit’sactuallymade.”
Ifinishedmysecondshotandfeltaliquidnormalitysettlein.
“Yousureyou’reamechanicalengineer?Yousoundlikeaphilosopher.”
Mikewentontoexplaintheunderlyingmathematicallogictowhathewassaying.Ashe
easedintohisusualselfIstoppedfeelinglikeIwasdraggingananchoraround.Weagreedthat
alllifecamedowntoabasictensionbetweenrationalityandspirituality.Wefurtheragreed
thatthisbestexpresseditselfinsports.Thiswasdefinitelycomplex.
“Gemmatriedtokillmelastnight.”Mikeannounced.Istutterlaughed,thenI
registeredhisabruptmatteroffacttoneandfoundmyselfchilled.
“What?”
“Or.Well,beforeshedidthat,”Mikepaused.“Rememberwhenyoupoppeduptothe
store,andIhadtogositwithher‘tillshewenttoameeting?Thatwasalie.”
MikepalmedthewheelasChuck’sparkinglotrecededbehindhim.Thepaniche’d
boxedintoacompartmentdeepinhisstomachchurned.SincetheAlmostFamousnightheand
Gemmahadbeeninseparable.Longdrivesthroughthecountryside,icecreamafterwork,
double-billmovienights.Andsex.Alotofsex.Sheconfessedthatshe’dlikedhimfromthe
momenthe’dwalkedintothestore.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 15
“I’msorryIwassomean.”Theywerenakedonherbed,limbsintertwined.Mikefeeling
likehe’dbeentossedupontheshorebyastorm.“UsuallyIneverfeelbadwhenI’mmean.But
IhatedthatIwasmeantoyou.Iwon’tbemeanagain.IfIamthentellmetogofuckmyself.”
“I’drathernotdothat.”
Shekissedhischest.“You’retoonice.Ican’tbelievehowniceyouare.”
Withherhefeltaconfirmationthatwhathewantedwasacceptable.Theywere
absolutelymeanttobetogether.Yethecouldn’tfightthenaggingdoubtthatshewasn’tgoing
tomeetings.Sometimesshemadehimwaitonthecouchwhileshechangedinherbedroom
withthedoorlocked.Shewouldemerge,slightlyglass-eyed,ticktacksonherbreath.Butshe
couldn’tbethatobvious,Mikethought,hewouldhavesmelledsomething.
Ashecametothelightatthefour-wayintersectionatthehillamilefromChuck’she
replayedthephonecallhe’djusthadwithher.
“Whatdoyouwant?”She’dsighed.
“Iwantyoutopulloverandcallyoursponsor.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I’mactuallylaughingrightnow.Isn’tthatsad?Don’tyouthinkthat’ssad?”
“Justpullover,ok?I’llcomemeetyou,nobigdeal,ok?”
“Nowthat’ssad.”Thenshehungup.
Thelightturnedgreen,Mikebankedarightandfollowedroute108outoftown.Hehad
onlyavagueideaofwhereshewasorwhathewoulddoifhefoundher.Hisphonerattledin
thecup-holder.Chuckcalling.Mikekilledit.Toocomplicated.Explainlater.Willrequirelies.He
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 16
couldmakethisok.Thephonerattledagain.Gemma.Mikepickedup.Hervoicewascalm.
“Ipulledover.Italkedtomysponsor.”
“That’sgood.”Mikefelthimselfgointoaholdingpattern.
“I’msorrytoscareyou.”
“That’sok.Ijustwantyoutobeok.”
“I’mgoingbacktomyapartment.Youcancomeoverifyouwant.”
Shewasrestingagainstthearmofhercouch,onelonglegstretchedacrossthecushion,
theotherdanglingonthefloor.Herheadwastiltedupattheceiling.Thegracefulcurveofher
neckpinkinthespringlightfloatingthroughwhitecurtainsknittedwithelephantpatterns.She
woreananklelengthaccordiondressandatightgrey-whitecamoT-shirt.Sheseemedtired.
“Hey.”Gemmaretrievedhercigarettesfromtheglasscoffeetable.Mikethoughtabout
askingherhowshewasfeeling.Shelitup.The‘pfft’ofthebic-lighterseemedtoechoagainst
thehighV-shapedceiling.Thelighterclatteredbacktothecoffeetable.
Gemmalookedathim.Hereyesweremuggy.
“I’mhighrightnow.Canyoutell?”
WhateverMikethoughthewasfeelingevaporated.
“Iguessnot.”
Shestaredoutthewindows,anelbowonherknee,herthumbpressedaboveher
eyebrow,grey-bluesmoketwirlingfromthecigarettebetweenherfingers.Mikefeltthatshe
wassomehowbiggerthanhewas.
“Ineedtolookupashrinkthatmyinsurancewillcover.Canyouhelpmewiththat?”
“Ok.”Heretrievedherlaptop,abatteredblackIBMmonolith,fromunderthecouch.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 17
“Ineedyourpassword.”
“4788.”Sheclosedhereyes.“That’smybirthday.”
“Iknow.”Miketypeditin.Gemmaspasmedasashontoherlap.
“Fuckk.”Sheswepttheashesaway,suddenlyalertandinterested.Shestaredbug-eyed
atthescreen.“Look,departmentofsocialservices,yeah.Thisstupidfuckingcomputer.Ineeda
newone.Itwasmyex’s.Nowonderitdoesn’twork.”
Fortwentyminutestheynavigatedthesocialservicespsychiatricpage.Mikeheard
himselfsuggestpsychiatristslistedonthedropdowntab.Gemmaretreatedbackagainstthe
couch,herfingersspider-walkingtheridgesofMike’sspine.
“Theitsy-bitsyspider...”Shegiggled.
“Doyouhaveyourinsurancecard?”Mikethoughtshewaskindofover-doingit.
“Upppthewater-spout...”
“Gemma.Doyouhaveyourinsurancecard?”
Shesatboltupright.Herbodyrigidandtenselikeawindowhadjustshattered.
“I’mgoingtodotherestofmydrugsnow.”Sheannouncedandstoodup.Mikefelt
divorcedfromthehelplessnessshakinginsidehisownstomach.
“Canwedothisfirst?”
“No,Idon’tthinkso.”Sherepliedfirmly.Shepickedupherhand-bagandheldittoher
chest.Mikelookedupather.Shewastotallyatpeacewithherself.
“Pleasedon’t.”
“Youcan’tstopme.”Sheside-steppedthecoffeetable,confidentwithpurpose.
“Yes,Ican.”Miketossedherlaptopasideandstartedtorise.Herealizedthathewas
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 18
angry.ThelookonGemma’sfacepole-axedhimandhefroze.Hereyeswereutterlyflatand
indifferenttohim.Shespokelikeherdecisionwasfinal,thankyouverymuch.
“Mike.I’mgoingtodothesedrugsifyou’rehere.I’mgoingtodothemifyou’renot
here.Butwouldn’tyouratherbehereincasesomethinghappenstome?”
Sheskippedhappilyintothehallwayandvanishedintothebathroom.Thedoorshut.
Mikesatdown.HeconsideredtheverticalthrustratiosonICBMSandafortymegaton
detonationannihilatingmillionsinoneapocalypticflash.HetookacigarettefromGemma’s
pack,thenrememberedthatshetookthelighter.Heputthecigaretteback.Thestickycoffee
andmultiple-flavorsaromafromthestoresankwithhissweatintohispores.
Mike’sphonebuzzed.AnemailalertfromCornell.Hepulleduptheemail.Adecision
hadbeenmaderegardinghisapplication.Congratulations,MichaelJ.Campbell...
Hewalkedtothebathroomdoor,whichwaspaintedwhitewiththinoakplanes
bisectedbyheaviermaple.
“Hey.”Heknockedlikeheneededtousethetoiletorsomething.Thiswasridiculous.He
twistedthebrasshandleandshoulderedthedooropen.
Gemmawasslouchedagainstthewall.Herupperbodyneatlyperpendicularfrom
whereherlegsstretchedacrossthewhiteandblackceramictiles.Redtoenailsbrushing
againsttheporcelainbathtub.Herrightarmwascrossedoverherwaist.Theleftdrooped.Black
rubbertubingwaswrappedtightabovetheelbow.Ontheflooratherhip:Aplasticsyringe.
Twoemptywaxfolds.Thelighter.Silverspooncurledandbrownedinit’scenterlikeanIrisina
robot’seyeball.
Mikesatontheedgeofthebathtub.Theporcelainwascoldagainsthispalms.Thewalls
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 19
muffledallsoundasifthisbathroomwasatthebottomoftheocean.Gemma’schinwassunk
intohercollarbone,herchoppyblondebangssweptoverherface.Mikesoughtafeelingbut
somethingtoldhimthatthiswasn’tthetimeorplace.Evenifitwas,hefeltseparatedfrom
everythingthathadleduptowherehewasnow.
“Gemma.”Hereachedforherwristtotakeherpulse.Shemumbledsleepily.Hereyelids
rosetohalfmast.Herfacewasdistorted,likeherownwaxmuseumcaricature.
“I’msorry.”Hereyelidsshutlikeautomatedgaragedoors.“Iwon’tdothisagain.”
Mikesqueezedherhands.Suddenlyhisheartbrokeforthepitifulbrokenthingonthe
floor.Eventuallyhecajoledhertoherfeet.Shehadaslacksmileashewalkedhertoher
bedroomandeasedherontothebed.Shelaycurledonherside.
“Liedownwithme.”Shewhispered.
“Mike,whatthefuck?”Isaid.ThesunhaddippedbehindthePine-Treecoatedhills
thatsurroundCooperstown.Mike’svoicehadbeensteadyashetoldhisstorybutbythetime
hewasdonehiseyesweretwitching.Hishandshookashedrank.
“Idon’tknowhowtotalkaboutthiswithoutseemingmelodramatic.”
“Whydidn’tyou–whyareyoustillwithher?”
“BecauseI’mscaredofher.”Itspilledoutasifhe’djustrealizedthatitwastrue.
“Doyouwanttowalkandtalkorsomething?”
“Idon’tactuallywanttogetuprightnow.”
“Ok.”Iswiggedmorebeer.“Ithoughtyousaidshetriedtokillyou.”
Mikefrownedlikehewasembarrassed.“I’mnotdoingagoodjobtellingthisstory.”
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 20
“Thefuck?I’mnotgradingyou.”
“It’sconfusingbecauseIcan’t–I’mtryingtoframethings,ok?AndIdon’tunderstand
how–likeIplaythispartinit,soI’montheinsidelookingoutand...”Mikemadeaboxmotion
withhispalmsandstaredhardintotheinvisibilitybetweenthem.Heshruggedatthe
impossibilityofthewholething.“It’sjustfuckedup,youknow?”
“It’sdefinitelynotnotfuckedup.”Isaidcautiously.
“ItoldherthatIlovedher.”Hesaidtimidly.
“Jeez,Mike.Keepyourhandoutofthebuzz-saw.”
“Shelovesmeback.So,Imean,there’sthat.”
Mikerattledoutapitifullaugh.Hisshouldersslumped.Hehadtheparalyzedlookofa
guywhojustrealizedhewanderedintoanactiveminefield.
Hedecidedthathecouldn’ttellanyone.Hecouldn’ttreatheranydifferentinthestore
becauseitwouldprovokecomplicatedquestions.Hebelievedherwhenshesaidthathewas
thebestthingtoeverhappentoher.Hetoldhimselfthathewasbeingstrong.Thepossibility
thathewasindenialhoveredoverhimlikeabirdofprey.Heresentedit.
Thenfortwoorthreeweekssheseemedtoshakethespike.ShewentbacktoNAand
AA,sometimesMikeaccompaniedher.Shecookedhimsurprisedinnersandaskedhimtodo
yogawithher.Oneweekendshemadeapicniclunchandtheywenttothebeach.Sheboughta
wiffleballandbatandinsistedthatsheshowhimhowtohitaftertheywentforaswim.
Thisisit,Mikethoughtasshewiggledherhips,thecorn-cobyellowbatquiveringinthe
airabovehershoulders.ThisiswhatIwant,heknewitforafactashetossedtheballather
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 21
andsheblewakissathimassheswung.
SoitreallysuckedwhenMikebroughtChinesefoodovertoGemma’sandherhello-kiss
wassaturatedwithvodka.Sheworeheeledbrownleatherkneehighboots,atightdesertprint
skirtthatnormallywouldhaveturnedMikeon,andablackhaltertopthatcontrastedherchalk-
whitecollar-bone.Hereyesshonelikewetglass.
“Whatever.”Gemma‘fuck-it’shruggedandstumble-walkedtoherbedroom.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Mikegotnoanswer.Hefollowedher.Shepaintedherlips
Marlbororedandappliedmake-upwithslow,delicatestrokes.Hersilencetormentedhim.She
cappedherlipstickandstrodeforthedoor.
“Wait.”Hereachedforher.
“Getyourfuckinghandsoffofme.”Sheleveledhimwithadisgusted,steel-barricade
glareandmarchedout.WhenMikecaughtherinthedrivewayshethrewherarmsaroundhim
andbeamedhappily,“Everythingisgoingtobeok.”
Atthebarsheshookwithwide-eyedfearasshestaredintohermartini.Thenshebroke
intohystericaltearsandrushedout,themartiniuntouched.Mikefoundhersobbingona
bench.Whenhejoinedhershebeggedhisforgiveness.Thenshestood,utterlycalm,and
insistedthatshewantedtogobackinside.Mikepolitelysuggestedthattheyreturntoher
apartmentinstead.
“Walkinfrontofme,Mike.Idon’twantyoustaringatmyass.”Sheslurred,trembling
headtotoelikeaone-womanearthquake.
“Iwasn’t.”Heactuallywasn’t.
“Bullshit.Iknowyouwere.Ofcourseyouwere.Fuckyou,admitit.”Shesmackedherass
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 22
withbothhands,glaringathimuntilhemovedinfrontofher.“Ihatewalkinginskirtsand
heels.”
Ittookthirtyminutestoreachherapartment,whichwasaquartermilefromthebar.In
thattimeshescreamedfuckyouatstrangersleavingrestaurants,flippedoffacar,andhitMike
withherpursewhenhetriedtoguideherbythehand.
“IfyoufuckingtouchmeagainI’llthrowmyselfinfrontofatruck.”
Intheapartmentstairwellsheseemedamusedasshecrashedagainstthewallsand
slippedonthestairs,yankingMikebythecollarwitheachsoarandplungemotion.
Heforcedherapartment’sdooropen,shewentlimp,andtheytumbledontothewhite
linoleumkitchenfloor.Shegroundherwaistintohis,wrappedherthighsaroundhim,and
forcedherlipsontohis.Hefroze,paralyzedbyhervodka-breath,turnedtostonebyMedusa
herself.
“C’mon,c’mon.”Gemmadrawledandhikedherskirttoherhips.“Youbetterfuckme
rightnow.C’mon,doit.Doitnow.Iknowyouwantto.”
“No.”
Shegrabbedangrilyathisbelt.“Youknowhowbigadealitisformetowanttofucka
guy?YoubetterfuckmerightnoworI’mcallingsomebodyovertotiemeupandfuckme.”
“Stop.”
Shejumpedoff,careenedintothehallwayandbouncedintothebathroom.Mikerose
tohisfeet,Gemma’sstrangledretchesringinginhisears.Ashewenttoclosethedoortothe
apartmenthequitenaturallyfoundhimselfwalkingthroughit,thenhewasdescendingthe
stairs,thenhewasrunningforhiscar,andthenhewasdrivingintothenight,filledwiththe
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 23
blissfulconvictionthathewouldnever,evergobackthere.
Gemmatextedhimaphotoofherhip,zig-zaggedwithjaggedcutsoozingbloodlike
she’dbeenswipedbyFreddyKrueger.
“Ifyoudon’tcomebackI’lldothistomyneck.”Shetyped.Andsohewentback.
“I’dfindlittlepacksofrazorsalloverherplace.DoubtIfoundallofthem.Itried.”Mike
toldme.Wewerewalkingupthestreetintheaquabluedusk.Pastmomandpopsouvenir
shopsoverflowingwithchatteringcustomers.
“Hey,seriously.”Igrabbedhisshoulder.“Whyareyouwiththisperson?”
“BecauseI’mscaredthatshewillkillherselfifIleaveandIaminlovewithher.”
Histhere-it-isconfessionalcertaintydisintegratedintoself-conscioustwitching.
Igotarushofimpatience,whatdotheysayaboutthedefinitionofinsanity?
“Mike,look,youmightbe,Idon’tknow,butlet’ssayyouare,andshelovesyouback
too.Thereisstillnohappyoutcomehere.Sheneedstobein–²
“Shecan’taffordrehab.Ifshegoestodetoxthenthat’sastatefacilityandher
probationofficerhastheauthoritytoeitherfineherorrecommend,youknow...”Hetrailedoff.
“Howisanyofwhatyoujustsaidareasontobewithher?”
“Fuck.”Hekickedattheair.“Fuck,fuck,fuck.”Theskyhadturnedvelvet-blackbythe
timewereachedmycar,aswamp-green’08StationWagonI’dboughtfrommyparentsand
onlyrecentlyfinishedpayingoff.Humiditystillhungintheair,carsrolledpastus,theirengines
arumblingguitartune-upoverabackingtrackofchatteringinsects.
“Mike,whatdoyoumeanshetriedtokillyoulastnight?”WhichwasaquestionInever
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 24
thoughtI’dask.Itwassoabsurdintheoryastobefunny.
Intheforty-threedayssincetheChinesefoodnightGemmahadmanagedeightdaysof
sobriety.Daytwenty-fourtodaythirty-one.Daythirty-tworeturnedthemtothedeath-bound
rollercoaster.GemmaaFun-houseJekyllandHydearmedwithvodkaminiaturesandrazors.
Mikeeventuallymadearule.Hewouldtakehercarkeysandalltherazorshecouldfind,shut
hisphoneoff,anddrivehome.Hereturnedinthemorningtomakesureshemadeittothe
methadoneclinic.Sometimesshewaswaitingoutside,dressedandshoweredandpretty
looking.She’dtakeherkeys,say“thanks”,andbringhimbreakfastwhenshegottowork;
whereMikepretendedthateverythingwasok.
Onthenightsinbetween,helayawake,mindandsoulfragmented.Hefeltlikewas
plungingdownabottomlesspit,foreverlookingupattheIslandwithinhimselfwhereheloved
thisperson.Hisrule,hisisland-gestureofstrength,wascomicallyinadequateandsankbeneath
arisingtideofroutine.
ThenightbeforeCooperstownhecaughtGemmabuyingabottleafterworkandwent
homeaftersherefusedtogiveittohim.“Thisisfuckedup,”she’dsaid,likeitwashappeningto
someoneelse.AsMikecarefullylaidouthisPedroJerseyandpackedanovernightbag,he
vowedthatundernocircumstanceswouldherushtohersidewhensheinevitablycalledhim
forhelp.She’dhadherchanceandsheblewit.
Attenthirtyheenteredhertomb-darkkitchen,hisfailureofresolvemoredeadweight
inhisstomach.HeopenedthebedroomdooronaPlato’scaveofdarknesscleavedintwobya
shaftofsilver-bluemoonlight.Theminiaturedisco-ballheandGemmaboughtforhernieces’
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 25
birthdayspunacrystalrainbowglowfromacorner.
AmountainofemptyTito’sminiaturesglistenedonthefloor,theclear-glassreflecting
thediscoball’sdancinglights.Shesetitallup,Mikethought.Prepareditlikeagift.Self-
consciousdestruction.Gemmawasamotionlessshadowontheedgeofherbed.Theredtipof
hercigaretteglowingone-eyedinthedarkabovewhereherbarelegsdippedinthemoonlight.
Mikeflickedthelighton.Theroomabruptlyturnedmundanewithamberlightand
Gemmawasjustashell-shockedalcoholicquiveringinatightblackcocktaildressonherbed.
Mikeleanedagainstherdresser,armsfolded.Hisresolvetotakenoshitstrengthenedbyhis
disgustforthefuck-upthousand-yardstaringatherbottlespiledonthefloorinbetweenthem.
“Youneedtogettheboozeoutofyoursystem.MakeyourselfthrowupandI’llgetyou
somewater.”Miketoldherinhisbestcold-heartedtone.
“Pleasebenicetome.”Shelookedathim.Doe-eyed.Nope,won’twork,notthistime,
Mikethought.Thehellisshewearingadressforanyway?
“Iambeingnicetoyou.”Mikestoodinfrontofherandofferedhishand.Allatonceshe
wasonthefloor,sobbing,clingingtohisknees.
“Pleasebenicetome.Pleasebenicetome.Pleasebenicetome.”Shewailed.
“Gemma.Goandmakeyourselfthrowup.Iwillmakeyoutoastandgetyouwater.”The
tortureddeath-rattlepaininhervoiceshookMiketohiscore.
“Y-youhave–Ican’twalk.Ican’tgointherealone.”
Mikewaited.Shelaboredtoherfeetandstumbledintothebathroom.Mikegotatrash
bagfromthekitchen.Hescoopedthebottlesintothebagand,witheachclinkofglass,realized
thattheironblockofstrengthhe’dfeltsecondsagowasgone.Heattemptedtorecallthe
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 26
feelingashestoodinthehallwaywithatallglassofwater,fendingoffGemma’sretches.
“Areyouthere?”Gemmacalledfeebly.
“Yep.”Thenrawangerfoundhimandspreadthroughhisveins,asifsyncedtothehack-
and-spillsoundofGemma’svomiting.Hewasjustaproptoher,itwasclearnow.He’deven
justgonefromjanitortobutler.Couldbehim,couldbeanyoneelse.Heknewit,hadalways
knownit,pretendednottobecausewhy?Love?No,becauseheneededtheattention.He
acceptedhergame.“I’llgetsober,Ipromise.”“I’llleaveifyoudon’t.”Thenquell-fucking-
surpriseshedidn’tgetsoberandhedidn’tleave.Nowisdifferentthough,thethoughttaking
offinMikelikearocketasheheardthetoiletflush.TonightI’mdone.
“Thanks.”Gemmaappearedandtooktheglass.Shelumberedintoherkitchenand
easedintoaspindle-backedbeach-woodchairattheround-droptableinthecorner.“I
thoughtyouweremakingtoast.”
“Youdon’thaveanybread.”Mikerepliedina‘fuckyou’tone.Shewasviperstill,eyes
narrowedandjawtight.Mikecaughtthepredator-in-waitingvibeemanatingfromher.
Violencewasimminent.Butherefusedtobescared,hewouldnotpermithertowin.
“Sitdown.Havesomewater.”Shesaid.Mikedid,thechaircreakingunderhisweight.
Gemma’seyestrackedhisarmashetippedthetap-warmliquiddownhisthroat.Shecocked
herhead,asifwaitingforhimtospeak.Mikejuststaredback,tryingtolaser-beamhisraw
hatredintothecenterofherskull.
“Isthisastaringcontest?”Sheasked,theswitchbladeinhervoiceaccompaniedbya
boredsneer.Mikefelthisclarityofhatredbailonhimjustlikethestrengthdid.Allthat
remainedwasthefearoflosingtoher.Hefinishedthewater.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 27
“Ifitisyoujustblinked.”Mikelettheemptyglasshitthetablewithathud.Gemma
snortedaderisivelaughthatovertookherentirebody.Hershouldersheavedasshelaughed
andlaughed,denyingMikehisvictory.Herlaughterdiedintostaccatohiccupsandsheleaned
forward,eyesblazingwithcontemptuousjoy.
“Don’tthinkthatjust‘causeyougotallmyrazorsIcan’thurtmyself.”
“Whoareyouthreatening,meoryou?”
Victoryatlast.Mikesmiled.ThenGemmalungedforthecounter.Forsomeauto-pilot
reasonMiketriedtoblockher.Shedrovehershoulderintohischest,thebackofhishead
slammedintothecabinet.Hestaggeredaway,technicolorstarsburstinginhisvision.Whenhe
turnedaroundGemmaheldapurpleeightinchCuisinartstainlesssteelknifeinherhand.
WordsdiedinMike’sthroat.Gemmastareddownattheknifecuriously,herbreath
ragged.ShelookedupatMikeandherlipscurledwithchildishmenace.Mikespunandmadea
decisiveexit.Justlikelasttimeandthetimebefore.Hewashalfwaydownthestairswhen
somethingcrashedinGemma’sapartment.Mikestopped.Hethoughtabouttheneighbors,and
then,abruptly,thatknife.SomethingdifferentinGemma’seyes.Somethingbad.
Hefollowedstreaksofrubyredblood,somethick,somethin,fromthekitchentothe
bedroom.Hesteppedoverthedrawer,upturnedinthedoorway.Gemmawassprawledonher
knees,herfaceburiedinherbed,bloodwater-fallingfromajaggedgashaboveherankleintoa
thick,expandingpool.ThepurpleknifelyingtherelikeacompasspointinghandlefirstatMike.
“Gemma.”Mikesaid,notquitebelievingwhatshehaddone.Shetwistedtoregardhim,
herfacecontortedintoachatteringmadhattersmile,paleandsweaty,triumphant.
LookwhatIdid!Shejabbedacigarettebetweenherteeth,fireditup.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 28
“Yeahhh.”Shegrowledandgesturederraticallythroughapuffofsmoke.
Mikefoundhandtowelsinthebathroom,butGemmaangrilyprotested–“thoseare
mymother’s,no!Putthemback,andfoldthem!”–soheusedpillowcases.Thecutwasmuch
deeperthanMikethought.Herbloodseepedthroughthecaseandthewarmstickinesscoated
hisownhands.Hisstomachsuddenlyqueasy,throatandcheeksburning.Saltybiletinglingon
histongue,coldsweatonhisforehead–no–hefoughtitback.
“I’mcallinganambulance.”Hepulledtheknottight.
“Thathurts!”Gemmajerkedherankleaway.Mike’skneeslidintheblood,it’sedges
congealingbutit’scenterstillwetanddewy.“Noambulance,no.Ican’taffordone.”
“Thenwe’regoingtothehospital.Gemma.Let’sgo.Wehavetogonow.Ok?”
“Justbenicetome.”Sherepeatedherfavoriteline.Hercigarettefellintothesmeared
brushstrokeofbloodonherfloor.“Oh,no.Lookatthismess.”
“Gemma.”Mikewasfading.“Thisisnotadiscussion,wearegoingtothehospital.”
“Hey,Mike,c’mon.Benicetome,ok?”Shetookhisbloodstainedhandanddraggedit
upherthigh.Hetuggeditaway,thehorrorjoltinghimbackbutfuelingtheurgetothrowup.
“Gemma,please.”
“Ok.Fine.”Hehadtohelpheroutofthedressandshemadeaplayfulgrabforhisbelt
ashedid.SheallowedMiketobringherlooseacidwashedjeansandapurpleBowieshirt.
DuringtheridetotheemergencyroomshecriticizedthelackofmusicandprotestedMike’s
refusaltoallowhertosmokeinhiscar.
Theywaitedforanhourinthejoinedrowsofplasticbucketchairsbeneaththesicklyin-
setfluorescentlightsintheERwaitingroom.Mikeslouched,staringpasteverything,registering
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 29
nothing,driedsweat,bloodandexhaustionathinfilmlayerunderhisskin.
“Doyoueverthinkaboutusgettingmarried?”Gemmanuzzledhisshoulderandhooked
herarmunderhis.“Idoallthetime.”
“What?”Mikepulledaway,unabletolookather.Shesatupright,appalled.
“Ifyou’renotgoingtobenicetomeI’mgoingtoleave.”
AnorderlybroughtGemmaawheelchairandusheredthemthroughthelabyrinth
corridorsintoawardlinedbybluetarp-enshrinedbeds,occupiedbypatientsconsciousand
unconscious,toagurneyinthecorner.Atwenty-somethingnursewithhorn-rimglassesand
greenscrubspulledthetarparoundthethreeofthemandhelpedGemmatoherbed.The
nurseunwrappedthebloodsoakedpillow-casebandage.
“How’dthishappen?”Sheaskedlikeshewasobservingadentinacardoor.
“Iwasgettingoutofthebathandslippedonaglassofwater.”Gemmaexplainedmildly.
ShesmiledatMikeandtookhishand.“Myboyfrienddrovemehere.”
ThenursepulledagownfromatraymountedingurneyanddroppeditonGemma’s
lap.Herbackalreadytothemasshesaidoverhershoulder:
“DoctorMoorewillbeheresoon.”
“I’vealreadychangedtwicetonight.Thissucks.”Gemmaunrolledthegown.Mike
cuppedhischininpalmsandstaredatthemedicalequipmenthe’dseenonTVandtriedto
thinkoftheirnames.Intheperipheralsofhiseyes,Gemmachangedintoherrobe.Hernaked
bodydisturbedhimandheturnedaway.
DoctorMoorebarreledthroughthetarp.Hewasstockywithlinebackershouldersthat
madehiswhite-doctor’scoatbillowlikeacape.HetiltedGemma’sslashedupankletohim.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 30
“How’dthishappen?”Hisgazeandtoneneutral.
“IwasgettingoutofthebathandI’dleftaglassonthefloorandIsteppedonit.”
Mike’searsburnedagainatthelie.Thatshesomehowthoughtanyonecouldbeso
stupidastobelieveawordshesaid.Henoticedadriedsplotchofherbloodonhisknee.
Fuckthis,Mikethought.Fuckthisandeveryversionofit.
“Thisisadeepcut.”DoctorMooresaid,waitingforGemmatorespond.Gemmadidn’t.
“Doctor.”Mikereturnedtohimselfonthepowerofhisownvoice.“Obviouslythat’sa
self-inflictedwound.”
Gemma’seyestearedupandwentwideatthebetrayal.Mikefeltapangofguilt.Doctor
Mooreglancedathimwithoutinterest.Thenursereappearedwithatrolley.DoctorMoore
addressedGemmawithauthoritativeclarity.Mikeenviedhispower.
“I’mgoingtostitchthisup.Youmissedanarterybythreequartersofaninch–²
“–JesusChrist.”Mikerasped.DoctorMoorecontinuedasifhehadn’theardMike.
“–Andyou’regoingtobekeptovernightonsuicidewatch.”Gemmacrossedherarms.
Herchinthrustout,jawclenched.Whitesofhereyeslikecueballsintheirsockets.
Mikecountedtwentyforestgreensquaresonthewhitenon-slipvinylfloorasDr.Moore
wenttowork.Thestaplegunclickedandthesquareswentblurry.Lessthananinch.Hisbrain
registeredthepurpleknifeinGemma’shand.Shehadthreatenedhim.Thebloodonthefloor.
Bottles.Bloodandash.ThoughtsandpotentialdecisionsinMike’sheadwentnowherelike
back-firingcars.HereplayedGemmascreaming,hervoicelikeascythehookinghimtoothto
throat.Thebackandforthdraininghim.Theuglinessandcrueltyofhisownthoughtshorrified
him.Howcouldhehavethoughtsuchthings?
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 31
Here-imaginedtheblade,comicallypurple,slashinghimopen.Mockinghim.Aphantom
cuttingedlikeafaultlineatthetopofhisankle,Mike’sfingersshottoitandtracedsmooth
unbrokenskin.Theroomofbloodandash.Tomorrow,hewouldbeinCooperstown.Yes.Go.
Justgo.Shewasn’tsafeonherown.Hewasscared.Go.Justgo.Gowhereyouareyourself.
“Done.”DoctorMoorestood,snappedofftherubberglovesanddroppedthemina
silverbowlonthecart.“Takeaminutetosaygood-bye.”
“Ok.Thanks.”MikeofferedhishandbutDoctorMoorewasalreadythroughthetarp.
Gemmahadpulledherkneestoherchest.Triplerolledcottonbandagesweretapedoverher
ankle.Shepokedthebandagesasiftheywerewrappingpaperandapresentwasinside.
“I’mgoingtoCooperstowntomorrow.”Mikeannounced,hisvoiceshaky.Howcouldhe
besoselfish?Justleavingherlikethis.Hehadtotellsomeone.What,makeitsomeoneelse’s
problem?No,hehadsavedherlife.Go,justgo.It’soktogo.
“Oh,yeah.”Shefrowned.“No.Idon’trememberyoutellingmethat.”
“Ididtellyou.”Hefelthollowedout,carvedtothebone.
“That’scool.”Shewasvulnerableinthatthinhospitalgown.Mikelongedtoprotecther.
Sayordosomethingtoimpartherwithstrengthtolasttwodayssohecouldgetthefuckaway
fromthisfuckingmaniac.
Hetookherhandandsqueezed.Shesqueezedback.Smiledbravelyathim.
“I’mgoingtocallyourmomsothatshecangetyoutomorrow.”Shewrenchedherhand
awayandjackknifedupinthebed,alltautrageagain.Mikeflashedonthepurpleknifeand
internallytumbledbackdownahilltowardsTheFear.
“No.Don’tyoudare.No.”Tearspouredandmadeadrop-dropsoundinherlap.Mike
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 32
heldher.Sheclungtohim.Hertearssoakedintohischest.Heshookwithher.Itfeltlikethey
wouldbothplungethroughthebed,thefloor,andtheearthitself.
Gemmapushedherselfoffofhimandgrippedhisshoulders.Fixedhimwithaferocious,
yetunsteadygaze.Everythingsuddenlyelevating,Miketotallyalivetothemelodrama.Giveme
asignthatIcanleave,Mikethought,thedesperationexplodinginhisstare.
“Iwillcallher.Ok?Ifyoudo–it’s,no.Justletmetakecareofit.”Mikeknewfullwell
thatshewouldnotcallhermother.Yet,theothervoicedemanded:Getout.Go.Now.
Thenursesweptthetarpaside.Twoburlyorderliesinmatchingwhitesflankedher.
“Timetogo.”Thenurseannounced.Oneorderlytiedaredplasticbraceletaround
Gemma’swrist.TheotherpushedMikeasideandhauledthegurneysideways.Mikeside-
stepped,thenweavedforwardlikehewasmakingalay-up.HemanagedtokissGemmaonthe
cheek,hisbodyscreamingathimtogetoutnow.Andthenitrushedoutofhim:
“Iloveyou.”
Gemmarecoiledandtwistedinthebed.RegardedMikeinescalatingshock,thenher
facesoftenedintosomethingresemblingtheRealGemma.Mikeclockedanorderlysmirking.
Gemmanoddingrapidly,fearful.Herlipswobbledaroundthewords,Mikeknowingwhatshe
wastryingtosay.Shereachedforhim,fingertipsglancinghisbarearm.
“Yeah,I’llcallyoutomorrow.”Gemmatoldhim.Theorderlymadeawidearcofthe
gurneyandpusheditthroughdoubleswingingdoors.Thedoorsmadeathwapnoiseasthey
closedandinthatinstantanadrenalinecolossusmaterializedonMike’sshoulderslikea
depersonalizedthousand-poundfactoflifeandit’sallconsumingpowerturnedhiskneesto
rubberandroaredthroughhisbodyuntilhecollapsedcross-leggedandsobbingonthefloor.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 33
“Makearightatthedesk,godownthehalltoyoursecondleft,receptionwillshowyou
theexit.”ThenursetoldMikeandmovedonbeforehecouldaskherwhichdesksincethere
wasoneatbothendsoftheward.
Mikefinishedthestoryhalfwaythroughthedrivebacktothemotel.Farmhouseswere
litupatthetopsoffieldsthatweregel-blackinthenight.Thecountrysidecarriedapre-
Industrialfeeling,liketheRed-Coatsstilllingeredinthewoods.Ileft-to-righttappedmyhand
onthesteeringwheel.ToomuchofMikeandGemmacoveredme,likeI’djustbeenthrougha
carwashwiththewindowsopen.
“So,technically,shedidn’tquitetrytokillyou.”Iventured.Mikewasslouchedagainst
thepassengerdoor,thehumanequivalentofacarry-onbagstuffedintotheoverheadbin.
“Shebrandishedafuckingknifeatme.I’dsaythat’sclose,yourhonor.”Mikereplied
vacantly.Heshiftedhisweight,palmedhisknee.“MaybeIsuckattellingstories.”
“LikeIsaid,I’mnotgradingyou.”
“Ifeelsofullofshit.”
“Everybody’sfullofshit.Whocares?”Igotangrywiththatandlettherushdictate
everythingelse.“Youwannabehappy?Don’tthinkaboutanythingyou’redoing.Beafucking
apeskull-fuckingyourwaythroughthecaves,man.”
“Nowyousoundfullofshit.”
“Yeah,butIdon’tcare.”
“Everyonecares.”
“Well,Itrynotto.”Iflashedmybrightsatanoncomingpick-up,blastingtowardsusin
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 34
theoppositelane,it’sheadlightsmergingintoasolidblindingwalllikethelightattheendof
thetunnel.“Hey,fuckyou,Cletis.Turnthebrightsoff.”
Thenthepick-uppassedwitharise-and-fadewashsoundandthedarkcountryside
reformedinmyeyes,thestinglingeringinmyirisastreesandhousescameintofocus.
“Self-awarenessisafuckingcock-tease.”Iproclaimed.Mikegrimaced.
“DidyouandRustCohlegotothesameFreshman101Philosophyclass?”Mikesmirked,
passablyresemblingnormalityashedid.
“Look,Mikelivesagain.”
“Shesaidataxitookherhome.”Mikecheckedhisphone,thatnow-cruelhome-screen
selfieofhimandGemmastaredbackathim.“Iknewshewouldn’tcallhermom.”
“Ican’tbelievethejunkieliedtoyou,Mike.”
“Hey.”
“Whatareyou–ok,look.Everythingyouhavejustbeenputthroughandeverythingyou
knowaboutwhatshedidbeforeyou–she’sstillalive.She’llbealivewhenyougetback.”
“That’snotthepoint.”
“Whatisthepoint?”
“You’repissed.”
“I’mnotpissed.Ijustdon’tknowwhatI’msupposedtodo.I’mnottryingtobeadick,
just–Mike,you’rebeingabused.Look,Lanaworkedwithalotof,andIdon’tmeanthisto
soundinsulting,butwhenshedidsocialworkshe–”
“Igetit.”Mikescowledintothedarkandexpelledagutturalsigh.“GoddammitIamso
fuckingsickofthisentirefuckingthing.It’sjusthumiliating.I’mherpunchingbag.Ithinkshe
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 35
enjoysthis.Ifigureshe’slyinghalfthetime,forallIknowherdealerpickedherupandshe
blewhimforacrackrock.Andifthat’swhatshe’sdoing,thendoIevenwanttoknow?AndI
neverthinkofwhattosayordointhemoment,Ionlyseeitafterwards.I’mgonnasayallof
thisandI’llwiltwhenthetimecomestodosomethingaboutit.Theworstpartisshe’stheonly
personinheruselessfuckingfamilythatcanholdaconversation,therestofthemwouldhave
tomakeaquantumleaptoqualifyasretarded.That’sherfuckingsupportsystem?Iliterally
havenoideawhichversionofherisgonnaturnup.It’slikewehaveonegooddayandafter
thatshemakesaconsciousdecisiontoturnintoTheExorcist.Andshesomehowthinksshe’s
smarterthanme?I’mtheonewithacollegedegree,I’mtheonegoingtogradschool.What’s
shegot?Afuckingcriminalrecordandthreeyearsprobationshe’sviolatedGodknowshow
manytimes?Andshethinksshecanputmethroughthis?LikeIowehersomething?Fuckher.
I’mthereasonshe’sstillbreathing,literally.Imean,shemissedbylessthananinch.Whywould
somebody,it,the–lessthananinch.Icouldsee...”Thescorchedearthrageinhisvoicerattled
offintoshakinessandhesatup,fisttomouth,theotherpalmflatonhisstomach.
“Areyouaboutto–²Iasked,myfootswitchingtothebrake,thejeepslowingasImade
atentativeright-warddriftintotheemergencylane.Mikessqueezedhiseyesshut,shookhis
headfuriously,thenexhaled,crisisaverted.
“I’mgood.”Hesaid.Ibankedbackontotheroad.Mikebarkedalaugh.“Tellyouwhat,
warondrugs?It’sfuckedeitherway.Treatitlikeapublichealthproblem,send‘emtorehab?
Yeah,sure.Let’sgivejunkiesmoneyandasecondchance.Whatcouldgowrong?”
“SlamDunk,MissionA-fucking-complished.”IsecondedasMikemadeaplane-wobble
motionwithhishandandcrashedit.Hevisiblylightened,he’dgottenatasteofrevenge.Then
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 36
hefellsilent,contemplative.
“It’stoughwhen–²Hecoughedagain.“It’sconfusingwhenyouthinkthispersonknows
yourtruth.Thatthey’vereadwhat’swrittenontheinsideofyoursoul.”
“That’salittleexcessive.”
“Yeah.”Mikeshrug-yawned.“WishI’dgottenaphotowithPedro.”
Iopenedthemini-fridgeandfinger-walkedoverminiaturesofJD,Gin,andTequila.
Behindmeinthedark,Mikewasspread-eagledfacedownacrosshisbed.Ithoughtbetterof
theminiatures,kickedthefridgeshut,andfilledaglasswithwaterfromthebathroomsink.I
triedtoimaginewhatitwouldfeelliketonotbeabletokickthatmini-fridgeshut.Tobeaslave
totheurge.Fromonetoathousand,SlimPickensridingthebomb.
Theattemptatempathyhadmeagitated,Isteppedoutsideontothewalkway,which
ranthelengthofthesingle-storymotel.Insectsgatheredonsodium-vaporlampsmountednext
tothedoors.Idugmyphonefrommypocketandimpulse-dialedLana,thinkingvaguelythatit
wouldhavebeenmoreprudenttocallbeforeI’dsteppedoutside,thatwayifshedidn’tpickup
Iwouldn’tbejuststandingouthere.
“Hey,RobertCapa,what’sgotyouupthislate?”Lanachortledafterthesecondring.
“Funny,I’lltellyouwhyI’mupifyoutellmewhyyou’reup.”
“Agentlemanjustleft.”Shesaidmatteroffactly.Then,likesheheardthecatchinmy
voice,shesnorted.“Justkidding.WehavetheselobbyistscomingbackinonWednesdayand
I’mreviewinganad-buyproposaltheysentmyboss.”
“Theydon’tcareyou’reatyoursister’swedding?”
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 37
“Idon’tcarethatI’matmysister’swedding.”
“Who’reyourclients?”
“Ino-shitlegallycan’tactuallytellyou,sufficethattheyarebadpeople.Howareyou?”
“Wannahearafunnystory?”
“No,Ipreferdepressingstories.”Lanareplied.Astatementthatinandofitself,was
actuallyprettyfunny.BythetimeIrelayedthespark-notesversiontoher,shethoughtsotoo.
“That’sfuckedup.”Therewassympathyinhervoice.“Ifeelsorryforbothofthem.”
“Imean–”IloweredmyvoiceeventhoughIknewMikewasasleep.“He’smakinga
choicetostay.”
“He’sjustconfused.Why’sitmattersomuchtoyou?”
“He’smyfriend.Whatifshegetshimhookedorsomething?”
“Ah.Ineverconsideredthat.”Sheyawned.“Thatiskindascary.”
“Well,yeah.”Isaidimpatiently.
“WhatamIsupposedtodo?It’sliketwointhemorningandI’mhere,you’rethere,he’s
there,she’s...somewhere.Idunno,keephimawayfromthatBansheeorwhatever.Let’stalk
aboutsomethingelse.”
“Yesma’ame.How’sthatwedding?”
“Cathyismakingamistake,myparentsthinksotoobutthey’reresigned.Ifeelguiltyfor
beingjudgmental,thenIthink,Cathy,honey,you’remarryingaguywhotookoutacreditcard
inyournameandmaxeditoutwithouttellingyou.God,I’mgladIwastheboringsister.Imiss
mycats.”Ipicturedhercoiledinherchair,onelegproppeduptoherchest,thephonebetween
hershoulderandear.“Cometothinkofit,let’smoveonfromthistoo.”
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 38
“Didyougettowearanicedress?”
“Oh,that’sallyoucareabout?”
“Whatelseistheretocareabout?”Ishotback,hopingtheironyshowedinmyvoice.
“Itcertainlylookedgreatonme.Becauseofme.”Sheyawnedagain.“You’dalooked
prettygoodinaTux,Ibet.”
“CourseIwould.Hey,howcomeitdidn’tworkbetweenmeandyou?”
“OhGod,don’tbemelodramatic.”HertonewaslightbutIheardhertenseeverso
slightly.“Workoutisn’tagoodphrase,makesmethinkofagym,youknow?”
“...Right.”
Lanawassilent,forasecondIthoughtshewaspissedorbored,butthenIheard
shufflingandahuffofbreath.
“Hangon,I’mfixingmychair.”Sheexplained,hervoicedroppinginandout.“Ok.I’m
back.”Shepausedagain.“Anyway,yeah,Ican’tbeobjectiveaboutthatthing,youcan’teither
soIdon’tthinkthere’sarealanswer.”
Somethinginherfriendlyjust-shy-ofmelancholictoneunsettledme,likeI’dventured
ontounsafeground.Irackedmybrainsforaonelinertowrapthingsup,theeffortcomingto
nothingwhenLanaspokeagain.
“Iamgladyoucalledmethough.Iwouldn’tmindifyouwerehere.”
“Ohyeah?Youneedaplusone?”
“Sure,you’reacompetentdancer,right?”
“Probablynot.”Iadmittedtruthfully.“ButI’dlearn.”
“Nothingtoit.Remember,likePattiSmithsays?I’mDancingBarefoot,headinforaspin.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 39
Weddingstartsineighthours,pickupatuxalongtheway.”
“Soundslikeaplan.”
“Great.I’llseeyousoon.Untilthen,I’mgoingtobed.”
“Sweetdreams.”
“Gotakecareofyourfriend.”
Ittookmethreetrieswiththekey-cardtogetbackintotheroom.Icat-walkedformy
bedinthesemi-dark,Mikesleep-mutteringbeneathathinplaneoflightspillingfrombelowthe
plasticpull-downshade.
I’dtoedonesneakerfreewhenMike’sphonebuzzedonthefloorbetweenthebeds.A
pixelatedglow-bluetowersprangup,Ilookeddown,‘GemmaIncoming’flashingacrossthe
screen.Acrosstheglow,IglimpsedthebackofMike’sheadandtheridge-lineofhisshoulders.
Hewasonhisside,backtomeandtotheincomingcall.Ipickedupthephone,it’svibrations
massagingmypalm.Ifeltatoncegiddyandutterlycalm.Ilookedcloser,Gemma’scall-photo
wasalsopartofthatbeachcollection.Itwasaclose-up,sheandMikeontheirstomachs,lips
locked,theirheadsblockingoutthesun.She’sholdinghersunglassesonherforehead,youcan
seethembothsmilingastheykiss.Iimaginedansweringthecall.Craftingsomesortofall
encompassingmasculine-moralput-downthatwould–dowhat?
ThephonewentstillandtheglowvanishedbeforeIcouldcomeupwithanything,only
thendidIthinkthatmaybeIshouldhavewokenMikeup.Anafter-shockvibrationrattledthe
phone,voicemailandmissedcallfromGemma.Iheldthephoneforanothersecond,feeling
somethingsimilartowhenmyparentssemi-caughtmelookingatpornintheninthgrade.I
droppedthephoneandlaydown,forgettingthatIstillhadoneshoeon.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 40
Later,insomeimmeasurabledream-time,Iwassittingcross-leggedonthemotelbed.
MyarmswerewrappedaroundsomebodywhoIcouldn’tseeandtheirarmswerewrapped
aroundme.Theircheekwasdampandcoldagainstmine,theirchinwaspressedjustabovemy
shoulder.Theamberglowofthebedsidelamphaloedthisperson’sheadlikeasolar-eclipse.I
knewthispersonwasLanaandIwasshakingwithgrief.
“I’msorry,Ihavetogo.”Lanawhispered.YetshewasspeakinginavoicethatIknew
wasGemma’s.
“Pleasedon’tgo.”Ipleaded.Iclungtoher.Herfingersbrushedmyhair.
“Ihaveto.It’llbeok.Youwillbeok.”Hervoicewasfuckingangelic,softwithmourning
andthepurityofloveitself.Iwascrying.Sowasshe.Sheeasedoffofme.Ifeltaspinning,
helplessnessemptinessinmeinmewhereLanawithGemma’svoicehadjustbeen.
“Idon’twantyoutogo.”Iknewthatshewasgoingintothebathroom.Icouldn’tturn
around.Icouldonlyseeherbody.Herheadremainedsomehowoutofsight.Ikeptcrying.
“Youwillbeok.Iloveyou.Iloveyouandonlyyou.ButnowIhavetogo.”Shekissedmy
cheekandshewasgone.Iheardthebathroomdoorclosebehindme.OnlythencouldImove.
IjerkedawakeandthoughtIheardmyselfshout.Thegreylightofmorningcreptatthe
cornersofthecurtain.Mikewasmotionlesswithsleepinhisbed.Panicfromthedream
lingeredinmelikebad-sushi.Iranforthebathroom.
Nothinginthere.Mountedsinkwithchippedplastic,asquareblockofmirror.
Wallpaperthecoloroffrozencorn.Plasticshower-curtainwithhooprings.Spotlessbathtub.All
mybloodrushedbackintome,returningtothespacethedreamhadblasteditswayinto.
BansheeSunrise/Muehring 41
“Hey.”Miketappedmeontheshoulder.Ijumped,hittingmykneeagainstthedoor-
frame.Iwastooshakentoregisterthepain.Mikefrowned.“What’supwithyou?”
“Nothing.”Theclichébroughtmebacktoearth,actedasacold-windoneverything.
Mikejustnodded.
“Great,Igottagetinthere.”Istoodaside,Mikeshutthedoorbehindhim.Iwentback
tomybedandrolledontomyside.IwasoverwhelmedwithexhaustionasifI’dnevergotten
anysleepinmyentirelife.AsIdriftedoffIimaginedhowMikemusthavefelt,sittingon
Gemma’ssofathedayhefoundoutthathe’dgottenintogradschool.IimaginedwhatIwould
havedone,ifIwerehimwalkingtothatbathroomdoor.IfI’dopeneditandseenGemma
dopedtothegills,skin-vacantanddeadtoeverythingbutthefix,whatwouldIhavefelt?
Wouldmyhearthavebrokenforthebrokenthingonthefloor?
Theend
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 1
Mal’sflightwasdelayedontherunwaysoWittidledinaHudsonNewsandtriedto
forcethevoicemailoutofhismind.HepoppedanotherNicoretteandbrowsedthemagazines
foradistraction.Terrorism,imminenteconomiccollapse,andbeautiful(sometimesnaked)
celebritiesweresuddenlymonumentallyinteresting.
Fortenseconds.Thendepressingandutterlyfutile.Hemovedonandthumbedtheneck
pillows.Christmasmusicpipedthroughthespeakers.AllIwantforChristmasisyou,Mariah
draggingoutthe“you”attheend.Wittdiscernedtheterminalspeakersinthebackground.
Nowarriving...ifyouseesomething,saysomething.
Thatvoicemail.Somebodyhadtohavegivenhisnumberout.Or,can’tyoujustlookup
numbers?No.Youneedtobeacoptodothat.So,somebodygaveouthisnumber.Hismother
didn’t,saidshedidn’t,whenWittaskedherafterhearingthefirsttensecondsofthevoicemail
drivinghomefromtherestaurant.He’dseentheBostonareacodeandthought,Jeremy?
Instead,thatvoice:“Hello,Witt,thisis–”Witthadslammedthephonedown.
Thinkaboutsomethingelse.What?Mal.Ayearandchangesincehesawher.Sincethey
wenttoGame2ofthe’13ALCSwithJeremyandJess.Papi’sgametyinggrandslamlikeanact
ofGod.LaterattwoA.M.,boozewhackedandadrenalinegiddywithFenwayringinginhisears,
theywerezonkedoutonJeremy’scouch.Mal’schinonhisshoulder,herbreathonhisneck.
She’dkissedhim.He’dfrozen.Nowaythathadactuallyhappened.Tooconfusing.
Thatvoicemail.Fuck.WittgrabbedabagoftrailmixandaPolandspringwiththeblue
flip-capandwaitedinlinebehindastockyguyinaMen’sWearHousesuitwithapick-upsign
underhisarm.Limodriver.Wittconsideredaskinghowhegotthegig,d’youhavetopassa
test?Anyweirdshitevergodownintheback?
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 2
Wittpaidandwanderedintotheterminal.Travelersspilledoutofbaggageclaimgates,
hespittheNicoretteintoatrashcanandchewedfistfulsoftrail-mix.Itwaspartofstaying
healthy,samewithworkingout.Thatwashislife,workingoffandjerkingoutasJeremywould
say.Acacophonyofvoiceshummedbeneaththewoodandsteelacousticceiling.
Hedriftedalongtheperipheralsofthecrowdstowardsthewoodveneerwallnearthe
exits.Coldairwaftedinastheautomaticglassdoorsslidopenandshut.Somebody’dFredoed
himgivinghisnumberout.Don’tthinkaboutit.Obviouslythat’simpossible.
Hecaughthisreflectioninawallmountedsteelplate.Atleasthelookedgood.A
haircut,niceshirt,darkpea-coat.Beardtrimmedtomanlystubble.Yeah,moveon.What
voicemail?Nobigdeal.Yeah.Nottheworstthingthat’shappened.Doesn’tmeananythingyou
don’twantitto.Chuckgaveyouthetimeoffwork,yougonnawasteitsulking?
No.DaydrinkingaroundChristmastimeinBostonwithMal?Wittgotagenuineburstof
thegiddy-ups.Nevermindthe,what?Hecouldn’tevenrememberwhathewasagitatedabout.
Ifthevoicemailisnobigdeal,thenlistentoit.
Emergingfromthefrostedpanelthatshieldedthearrivalgates,throughthecrowds,a
shockofdarkhairfallingincurlsontoapuffyinsulatedblueparka.Stoopedunderthatboulder-
sizedbackpack,draggingatwo-wheelrollercase.Wittside-steppedtravelerswithmuttered
“s’cuseme’s”,asMalclockedhimandarcedabigwavewithherfreehand.
Ifyou’renotgonnalistentothevoicemailthendeleteit.
Maldroppedtheroller,shruggedoffthebackpack,andslammedintohimwithavice-
griphug.Onimpacthefeltthatspecialkindofspecialandmumbledhellointoherhead.
“Huh?”Sheseesawedoffofhim.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 3
“Isaid,heystranger.”
“Whatstranger?Heyfriend.”Shecoughedintothebackofherhandandclearedher
throat.“Sorry,I’mfightingoffacold.”
“What?Getaway,Idon’twantyourplague.”
Malmimedadeath-coughandsmirked.
“How’swork?”Malaskedastheyexitedtheterminal.Passengerjetsboomedinaslate
greyskythatpromisedsnow.Honksechoedofftheterminal’scementandsteelfaçade.Witt,
goingforchivalrous,hadvolunteeredtocarryMal’sbackpack,convincedthatsincehe’dbeen
workingoutit’dfeellikeapillow.Itdidn’t.Itfeltlikeathousand-poundanvil.
“AtleasttwiceadayIthinkaboutburningtheplacedown.”
Mallookedupfromthecigaretteshewasabouttolight,eyebrowraised,ascuffedsilver
zippoinherhand.
“I’mkidding.”Wittsaid.Sweet,cleansingfire.Notactuallythinkingaboutit,just
thinkingaboutthinkingaboutit.Kingoftheashes.Hejerkedhischinathercigarette.“That’s
notgonnahelpyoufightoffyourcold.”
“Ihaven’thadoneinfourteenhours.”Shesparkedupandsmackedthezipposhut.Her
exhaleofsmokeevaporatedintheair.“Plus,Igotastoryaboutthis.You’restillquit,right?”
Wittnodded.
“Healthy,healthy.”Shesquintedathim,cigaretteburningbetweenherfingers.“You’ve
beenworkingouttoo.”
“Impressed?”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 4
“Depends.Yougotasixpackyet?”
“Yeah.It’sinthecar,hopeyoulikebud-light.”
Shecringedastheyenteredthemonolithicfivestorygarage,thethickcementwallsand
industriallightingmakingeverythingfeeltomb-like.His’09jeepCherokeethathe’dboughtoff
Chuck’snephewwasparkedonthethirdlevel.Hedoubletappedthelockonhiskeys,thelego
block,restaurantandhousekeys,andadualSox-Patskeychainmakinganicemetallicjingle.
“What’sthestorywiththatzippo?”
“Hangon.Igotavoicemail.”Malputherphonetoherear.Wittfiddledwithhiskeys,his
stomachtightening.Fuck.Thatvoicemail.Ifhedeletedit,he’dstillthinkaboutitbecausehe’d
wonder.Ifhejustlistenedtoit,thenhe’dknowwhatitsaid.Noroomfor–callitwhatitis,
kiddo:self-deception.Hismindforminganexistentialjudgeofself-examinationthat
condemnedhislifechoicesandcalledhimadick.
Whydidhehavetocall?
“Niceride.”Malsaidassheslippedherphonebackintoherpocket.Wittdepositedthe
backpackinthebackseat,hisbodygoingwobblywiththelossoftheweight,andhelpedherlug
therollercaseintothetrunk.
“Whowasthat?”
“Mystep-mom.”Wittdetectedatighttremorinhervoice.“Ok,what’sourplan?”
ClassylunchintheNorth-End.Mike’spastry.FulltouristyatFaneuilhall.Classybar
crawlonBoylston.DinneratTopoftheHub.Lowballglassesandmelancholicromance.
“Whateveryouwant,man.”
“Allstonitis.”ShesnappedherfingersandpointedthematWitt.Wittpulleda
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 5
theatricalgrimace.EvenifAllstonwaswhathecouldaffordandtheclassyfantasywasnot.
Malstampedouthercigaretteandpressedthepointofherbootintotheremains.
“Ok,‘causeIwasgonnasay.”Sheclearedherthroat.“MydadisdoingaChristmas
dinnerthingathisplacewithmystep-momandherfamily.YouevermeetmyuncleTim?”
“He’sinTheDepartedright?”
“Funny.He’llbethere,mybrother,IthinkTim’swife.Youwannago?It’sateightthirty.”
“Yeahabsolutely.Yeah.”Witt’sinsideslituplikeapersonalChristmastree.“You’re
stayingwiththeoldfella?”
Shecircledthejeeptothefrontpassengerside.
“Yep.Leavethecaroutsidehisplaceandwe’lltrainitbackintotown.”
Holidaytrafficandthethreatofsnowturnedthefifteen-minutedriveintoforty.The
smellofcigaretteswaftingoffofMalfiredWitt’sveinswithdesire.Fornicotine.She’ddirected
him,haphazardly,offI-90downroute145intoasecludedcornerofWinthrop.
“AreyousureIcanleavemycarhere?”Wittaskedashethreepointparkedbehinda
pick-upwithafrontmountedsnowplow.
“Yeah.”Malsaid,hereyesbouncingoffthecolonialrevivaltripledeckers.Wittresigned
himselftopanickingtherestoftheafternoonthathiscarhadbeenstolenortowedandgot
out.Slushymoundszig-zaggedwithblackexhaustcoatedparkedcarsandchain-linkfences.
WittopenedtherearsidedoorasMalsteppedoutandfiredupanothercigarette.
“WhereamItakingthesebags?”Chaufferordoorman,Wittthought,morecareer
options.Malshimmiedbetweenthejeepandthepick-up,frowningbehindapuffofsmoke.She
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 6
juttedherchinatanAmericanbrickVictorianwithaMansardroofonthecornerofthestreet.
“Upthere.”ShehesitatedandgazedattheVictorian,handsinherpockets.Shespun
backtoWitt,onehandinherpocketandtheotherwavingthecigarette.“Actually,leave‘emin
thecar.Nobody’shomeanyway.I’mhungryandIwantdrinks.”
WittlookedtotheVictorian.Itwastheonlybrickbuildingontheblock,darkwindows
punctuatedthefadedredfaçade.Sittingalonelikeithadbeenplacedtherebymistake.The
brickmadeitlookstubborn,anespeciallystrongNoreastercouldblasteveryotherhouseto
flattenedsticks,buttheVictorianwouldremainstanding.Alone.
“Wantyourpresent?”Malshoulderedpasthim,unzippedthebackpack,androuted
through.Wittjammedhishandsintohispockets,colddampseepingbetweenhistoesdespite
hiswoolsocksandwaterprooftimberlands.
“Howareyounotwipedoutfromthatflight?”Wittasked.
Shepoppedherheadout.“WhatcompanywouldIbeifIsleptthewholetime?”
“Shameyou’regettingsickthen.”
“Iamnot.”Shecoughedagain.“Thatwasafakecough.Ok.Closeyoureyes.”
Wittdid.
“Open‘em.”
Sheheldathin,greencamo-fatiguearmyjacketinheroutstretchedarms.Apatchwith
“NewLeftArmy”stitchedinblackletteringwaspinnedtotheshoulder.
“Igotitinathriftstoremycousinworksin.C’mon,tryitonandlet’sgo.”Shejingledthe
lapels.WittslidoutofthepeacoatandMalsprungthejacketontohim,hercigarettefloating
pasthischeekcloseenoughhefeltamicrodotofheatbelowhiseyeball.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 7
“Watchthatthing.”Wittflexedandsmoothedthelapels.Thejacketwastightoverhis
sweater.HeturnedtoMal,smilingthroughtheonsetofself-consciousness.
“HowdoIlook?”
“Super-cool,soldierboy.”
“Why’dyougetthis?”
“Somemovieawhileback,somebodyhadthiskindajacketandyousaidyouwantedit.
So,you’rewelcome.Ok,let’sgo,go.”Maltwirledherhandinahelicoptermotion.
Wittretrievedhispeacoatandcheckedhisreflection.Hisminddidarapidself-
conscioustremor.Whatareyou,whitetrash?Hipster?Whathappenedtoclassy?Fuckit,I’m
downwiththis.AndthenhehadaminiaftershockofgiddinessthatMalgothimapresent.
Theymadearightatthetopofthestreet,WittshootingafinalglanceattheVictorian,
thatsolidredbricklikeafortressagainsttheslategreysky.Malnudgedhim.
“Hey,lemmeborrowfivebucks.”
“Why?”
“Buyyouadrink.”Shewinked.
FlurriestrickledfromtheskyasthebluelinepassedSuffolkDowns.Warehouses,church
steeples,andfencedinbaseballfieldszoomedpastthewindows.Malswayedwiththemotion
ofthehalfemptytramcar,herhandsjustbelowWitt’sonaluminumfloortoceilinghandrail.
Shewastallerthanherememberedandherfacehadgonefrompaletotan.
HeractualphysicalpresenceemphasizedtoWittthatshe’dbeengonewhilesomehow
makinghimfeellikeshe’dneverleft.Momentsofsilencesentcompartmentalizedpartsof
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 8
himselfintoanxioustail-spinsthatshewasboredalready.Anachingmusclememoryinhis
stomachrecalledherbodypassedoutontopofhis.Hehadn’twantedtomove.Eventhough
herbeltbucklehadpressedintohislovehandlesandthezipperonJeremy’sstupidthrow
pillowdugintohisneck.Hehadn’twantedtomove.
“How’sthefavela?”Wittasked.Hishandabsentlyglancingoverhismuchreducedlove
handles.Stopdrinkingbeerandthey’llbeallthewaygone.Ha.Stopdrinkingbeer.
“It’sgreat.ExceptIdon’tliveinafavela.Iliveontheedgeofone.Whiteboy.”
“Youcan’tcallmewhiteboy.OnehalfofyouisBrazilianbuttheotherhalfisBoston
Irish.Onehalfwantstodrinkanddanceandtheotherhalfwantstodrinkandfeelbadabout
itthenextday.”
“BostonIrishdoesn’tmakemeIrishcatholic,noguiltthere.Mr.AllAmerican.”She
plonkedthezippoinhishand.“Wannahearaboutthis?Whathappenedwas,Igotmugged
waitingformybusafterwork.”
“Comeagain?”Wittthumbedthezippo.Maltossedherhairoverhershoulder.
“Yeah,youknowthere’salltheseprotests‘causethegovernmentrobbedmoneyfrom
socialservicestufftofundtheOlympics?”
“Youmentionedsomething.”Also,Iwatchthenews.
“MymomandIwenttoafew.Whichisabigdealforher‘causeshegrewupunder
GeiselandFigueredo.Backthenifyousneezedinthewrongdirectionyouweredeadtorights.I
gothitbyarubberbulletatone–²Shepointedatherleftshoulder.WittrememberedJeremy
shootinghimwithapaintballgunatIanPulido’sbirthdaypartyinhighschoolbutdecidedthe
comparisonwasn’tworthmentioning.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 9
“Which fucking hurt.” Mal continued. Her tone between breezy and matter of fact.
“Anyway,afewmonthsagoIstayedlatetodoafinaleditfortheTVstationIworkedfor.Mybus-
stop is at the end of this plaza outsidemy office, but the routes got switched ‘cause of the
protestssoIgottagoacrossthemainavenueontheothersideofmybuildinganduptwoblocks.
Andthere’saprotestgoingon,IhavemycamerawithmesoIgetsomegoodshotsandgoup
thehill.I’mputtingthecamerainmybagandwoosh,thisfuckingguy,wearingaHawaiianshirt
forsomereason,comesouttanowhereandgrabsmybag.Helookedkindalike–”Malsnapped
herfingers.“MattDamon.HelookedlikeBrazilianMattDamon.Thatwasliterallythefirstthing
Ithought.But,we’replayingtugofwarwiththebagandhefuckingkicksmeinthestomach.
Knocksthewindoutofme.Hetakesoffupthehill,butthere’speopleatthebusstop,soheruns
backdown.AndIcanbarelymove,butImean–mylifeisinthatbag.”
Whichweleftinmycar,Wittthought,decidingtoletthatoneslidetoo.Aprotectiveurge
hadshotthroughhimwhenshehadsaid“hefuckingkicksme”.Thefactthatshedidn’tseemall
thattroubledthatshe’dbeenshotandmugged,thathisprotectionwasn’tneeded,twistedthe
urgeintoanenvy-desirehybrid.
“SoIchasehim.I’veneverrunthathardbeforeinmyentirelife.I’mscreamingupastorm
‘causethere’speoplearoundand,somebodystophim,youknow?He’sfasttoo,andhegoes
backthroughtheprotest.Thosecrowdsareshouldertoshoulder,andI’mjumpingupanddown,
shouting“theguyintheHawaiianshirt!”Iwasn’tevenscaredorangry,Iwasjustonarush.It
neveroccurredtomethatIwasn’tgonnagetmybagback.Iseecommotionahead,andHawaiian
shirtpopsout.Heseesme,andrunstotheplazaoutsidemyoffice.Andthenabunchofpeople
fromtheprotestchasedafterhimwithme.Everyone’sshoutingatthisguy,“Ladrao!Ladrao!”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 10
“Whichmeans?”
“Robber, basically.”Mal peeled two coughdropsout of awrapper andpopped them
betweenherteeth.Wittturnedthezippooverinhishand.Hisphonebuzzedinhispocket.
“Whosethat?”Malasked,thetipofhernosepinkthroughthetan.
“Jeremy.”Wittglancedatthetext.
“What’shewant?”Malpeeredathisphone.“Ishearound?”
“Getbackto–”Shesnatchedhisphone.HerheadtiltedbackasshereadJeremy’stext.
““I’mgonnastickmyheadintheoven,JeremyforChristmasdinner.Extracrispy”.I
assumethat’saboutJess?”
“Yeah.Itextedhimthismorningtocheckinonhim.That’shimgettingbacktome.”
“He’snot...”Malputtwofingerstohertempleandmimedsplatterbursting.
“No.”Wittsaid.KnowingthatvisitingJeremywasnowunavoidable.
“Let’sbuyhimabeer.Cheerhimup.Whereishe?”
“Finishyourstory!”Wittstabbed‘whereareyou’andsentit.Malcoughedintoherfist.
“Don’tlookatmelikethat,I’mnotgettingsick.Right,we’rechasingHawaiianshirt,and
somesecurityguardsoutsidemybuildingseewhat’sgoingon,soHawaiianshirtveerstowards
thisstatueattheendoftheplaza.Andsomebodyovertakesmeandpiledriveshimintothe
statue.I’mfreakingoutbecauseIheardmybaghittheground.JustasIgetthere,Hawaiian
shirtbreaksfree.So,Itacklehim,likeIslamrightintohislegs.And,I,uh–”
Shetrailedoff,eyesdowncastandherlipscurledupatthecorner.
“What?”
Shelookedbackupathimwithasheepishhalf-smile.Hervoicewaslowandtentative.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 11
“IhithimashardasIcould.Didn’tthinkaboutit,Ijust–ithappened.Bam,rightinthe
jaw.”Malsentaknuckle-firstlovetapacrossWitt’scheek.“Itdoesn’tevenmakethepunch
soundmoviesdo.Itjust,youdoitanditgoeslike“thump”,it’smuffled.Youeverhitanybody?”
“No.”Emasculationreareditshead.Malaimedherthumbsatherself.
“Firstandonlytime.So,Igetmybagandthecrowdcirclesus.TwodudesgrabHawaiian
shirtandtheguywhotackledhimsockshiminthestomach.Andthecrowdischeeringlike
theirteamscored.Theywanttoriphimtopieces.Icheckmylaptop,notascratch.Thecamera
though?Bustedtoshit.Theteleconverterwascracked,lenswassplit.AndIjust–”Malfanned
herhandsoneithersideofherhead,mouthopen,eyesbug-wide.“IlookatHawaiianshirt.
He’sakid,lookslikehehasn’tstartedshavingyet.Ijustwanttogohome.Itellthemwhatever,
lethimgo.So,theyshovehimonhisway.Isitdownandtryandhaveacigarette.ButIcan’t
findmylighter.Gofigure.ThentheguywhotackledHawaiianshirthandsmethis–”Shetook
thezippoandwaveditnexttoherface.“Andgoes,“youdropthishoney?”I’mlikeno,guessit
washis.Hegoes,“it’syoursnow.”So,Ilightup,andthenhesitsnexttomeandputshisfucking
handonmyleg.IswearIalmostputthecigaretteoutonhisarm.Itellhimtofuckoff,hegoes
“you’rewelcome”andstalksoff.Bestpartis,mylaptoppicksupthewififrommyofficeandI
seeanemailfrommybossaskingmetocutthirtysecondsoutoftheeditIsent.Iwentback
anddidanotheredit,sleptintheoffice.”
Malflickedthezippoopenandsnappeditshut.Noddingaimlessly.Clack.Clack.The
zipporemindedWittofGIsinblackandwhiteWWIImovieshewatchedwithhisdadon
Saturdayafternoonswhenhewasakid.Clack.Clack.Hisdadhadasilverzippo.Inthesummer
hewouldsitontheporchinhisbluewickerchair,thatzippowouldgoclack,atinypallofflame
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 12
wouldswellandWittwouldwatchgreyribbonsofcigarsmoketrailintothesky.
Clack.Clack.Thatvoicemail.Witt’sphonebuzzed.ItwasJeremy.
“He’sshoppingatPrudential.WannameethimonHuntingtonorsomething?”
“Huntington?We’llwindupdoingyaegerbombswithaNortheasternfrat.”
“Please,they’reallintheCaymanswiththeirparents.OrinConnecticut.”Inwhichcase
they’dbeatmyrestaurant,Wittdidn’tsay.Hisphonebuzzedagain.“Hefoundabar.”
Malthrewhimathumbsup.Silencereturned,underpinnedbywheelsscreechingunder
thetram.Thiswouldbefun,thatpseudoromanticfantasyhadtoomanyflaws,Wittdecided.
Jeremywasgoodcompany.UnlessseeingWittwithMalremindedhimofJess.Exceptateapot
remindedJeremyofJessatthispoint.Beagoodfriend.Drink.It’sChristmastime.
“Yourcameraisreallybusted?”Wittasked.
“Yep.Ibroughtitwithme,mydad’sgotatonofcameraequipmentsoheshouldbe
abletofixitforfree.”Sheshrugged.Wittagainthoughthecaughtatremorinhervoice.
“Igottasay,ifitwasme,Iwouldn’taletthatguygo.”Wittstoodupalittle,half
believingwhathewassayingandhalfputtingitonforthesakeofconversation.“LikeSonnyin
TheGodfather,I’dhaveflippedout.”
“Doesn’tSonnydie?”Malfrownedathimlikeshewaswisetohisgame.
“Well.”Shit.“Onthecauseway,yeah.But.ImeanwhenhebeatsupCarlo.”
“Violencesolvesnothing.”Maltuttutted.
“You’retheonewhoseactuallyhitsomebody.”
“Andmycameraisstillbroken.”Shesnappedthezipposhutandstuffeditinherpocket.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 13
TheysteppedoutofafullonblizzardintoataverninBackBay.WittspottedJeremy
sprawledinaredbuttontuftedboothbeyondaraucouscrowdofTB12andGronkjerseys
roaringatthePats-Jetsgame.Malgrippedhisshouldersandsteeredhimthroughtheruckus.
Thelowceilingandexposedwoodbeamstrappedthechatterintoablenderofnoise.
Jeremywavedthemover,ahalf-fulltumblerinhand,anemptyoneontheblack
veneertable.Aredletterfacultyjackethungonhisstockyframe.Acircleofguysinkhakisand
girlsinjeanskirtshoveredaroundthebooth.JeremygrinnedatWittandpointedatthe
ringleader,whosebroadshouldersmadehisthinfacelooktoosmallforhisbody.
“IfendedthemofflikeGandalf.You.Shall.Not.Pass!”Wittsawthatahugwasn’t
forthcomingandsettledforafistbump.
“Where’s–that’sMalbehindyou,right?”Jeremyasked,hisgrey-greeneyesglassy.
MalsprangoutfrombehindWittlikeajack-in-the-box,armsoutstretched.
“KingJeremythewicked...”Shesing-songedEddieVedderstyle.Jeremyhauledhimself
up,bumpingthetableaside,andwrappedherinabigbearhug.
WittmovedJeremy’sshoppingbagstothebooth.Hiskeysclatteredacrossthepine
floorboardsashedroppedhispea-coatonthechairnexttohim.Hefumbledunderthetable,
foundhiskeys,andtuckedthembackintothebuttonedpocketofhispea-coat.
“Areyouusingcigarettesforperfume?”JeremymaderoomforMalinhisbooth.She
obliged,Wittgettingasnap-flashnotofjealousybutofemptiness.HisbackwastothebigTVs,
elbowsandbackskeptbumpingintohim.Heneededadrink.
“Didyoucologneinsteadofshowering?”Maltossedherparkaonthebagsandrolledup
thesleevesonherdarkU-Necksweater.Jeremythrusthisarmpitather.Shebattedhimaway.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 14
“Howwasthesemester,Jezza?TomYawkeyrollinginhisgraveyet?”Wittasked.
JeremyconsideredtheendowmenthisschoolreceivedfromtheYawkeyfoundationironic
giventhattheschool’sminorityoutreachwouldnothavebeenwithpopularTom–didn’t-
allow-black-players-on-the-Red-Sox-until-1959–Yawkey.
Jeremygaveaderisivesnortandleanedforward,readywithastory.
“Wait!”Malflaggeddownanoverwhelmedwaitresswithsquare-rimmedglasses.Her
brown-plastictreycuffedWitt’searasshepulledanorder-pad.
“ThreeshotsofJameson.Andapitcherof,of...”Maltrailedoff.Jeremypalmedhera
drinksmenufrombetweenthesaltandpeppershakers.“Enlightenment.”
“Canwegetafoodmenu?”Wittasked,feelingbadaboutit.Thewaitressdroppeda
laminatedsheetinhislapandvanished.Agroanrolledoverthecrowd.Wittcranedtochecka
TVmountedwheretheexposedbrickwallmetthewoodpaneledhallwayforthebathrooms.
“Gonnafinishthat?”MalnoddedatJeremy’sdrink.Helookedherintheeye,drained
thewhiskey,andknockedtheemptyglassonthetable.Malfakedtakingaswingathim.
“Hey,becareful.Shecanthrowapunch.”Wittsaid.
“Ipunchedaguywhotriedtomugme.”MalexplainedtoJeremy.
“Goddamn.Goodforyou.”
“Good?That’swhatyoutellyourstudentsiftheypunchsomeone?”
“Nobody’spunchedanybodysincemyfirstyear.ThiskidBobswungapoolcueatakid
whosaidthatacomicbookisjustacomicbook,notagraphicnovel.Imean,healsocalledBob
thefag-word.Actuallythatkidwasarealshit.He’dwaittillkidshedidn’tlikewereasleepand
supergluetheirdoorsandwindowsshutandpullthefirealarm.Thingslikethat.So,IthinkBob
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 15
pickedupthecueaslikeajokeandthenjustrealized,“fuckit,Imightaswell.””
“Atleastnobodygetsmugged.”
“Yeah,well,unlessaLordoftheFliessituationhappensboardingschoolsinthisarea
aren’tahotbedofcrime.WhichIhavetoteachifI’maroundnextsemester.”
“If?”Wittasked,gratefulforawayintotheconversation.He’dbeenlookingfrom
JeremyandMaltohisfoodmenuuntileitherwentswimmyinhisvision.Inexplicablyfeeling
unwanted,veryacutelyfeelingthe“waiting-my-turn”smilefreezingontohisface.
Jeremyscowled.“Ihaven’tbeensleepingsince–youknow.ButmybuddyStevewho
teacheshistorycamedownwiththeHiroshimaofstomachbugs,soItakeoveroneofhis
classes.They’rejustpresentingonchangesinAmericanpoliticssince1900andthisonekid,
Adam,launchesintothisdiatribeaboutthemoralnecessityofvotingthirdparty.AndIcouldn’t
helpit,Ijustsorta–”
“Punchedhim?”Malventured.
“No.Isnapped:“Christalive,youfuckinghalfwit.”Itjustslippedout,oneofthose,“oh,
didIsaythatoutloud?”things.So,I’vegotanadministrativereviewpending.”
Jeremyshrugged.Wittjustnoddedathim,lipspressedintoasupportivesmile.The
waitressreturnedanddepositedapitcher,threeshotglasses,andthreepintglasses.
“Whaddyawant?”Sheasked.IttookWittasecondtorealizeshewastalkingtohim.
“Mozzerallasticksandpulledporkquesadillas.Bowlsized.”Jeremyinterjectedwith
militaristicdecisiveness.“Youmustneverhesitate,Witt.”HeaddedinaSeanConneryvoice.
Thewaitresspluckedthemenuandwasgone.MalpushedashotglasstoWitt,thento
Jeremy,andheldhersaloft.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 16
“Atoast.”Sheannounced.
“Cliché.”Jeremymuttered.Malsmackedhisleg.
“To...”Shefrownedattheshotglass,thenatWittandJeremy.“Anyideas?”
Witt,aproverbiallightbulbgoingoff,interruptedJeremybeforehecouldanswer.
“ToAdam’spoliticalcareer.”
Jeremygroaned.Malhooted.Theytossedbacktheshots.ThewhiskeyroiledWitt’s
stomachandsenthintsofliquidconfidencethroughhisveins.Hetippedbeerintohisglassand
reachedforJeremy’semptyone.JeremysimplypulledtheglassWitthadfilledtowardshim.
“Holyshit,Jez,isthat–”Mal,earnest-faced,pointedtoJeremy’sleft.Jeremylooked.
MalsnaggedhisglassanddrankasWittfilledthesecondone.Jeremyspluttered.Malcackled.
Wittsetthepitcherdown,cuppedhisfullglass,andpushedtheemptyoneatJeremy.
“Witt,Iwillfuckyouwhereyoubreatheifyoudon’tgivemethatbeer.”Thethreeof
themhowled.WittslidJeremytheglassandfilledthethirdone,finallyrelaxingintoahappy
vibedespitethenoiseandstifledair.
“Anothertoast.”Malinsisted,thrustingherglassupwards.
“Youcan’ttoastifyoujustdrank,youfuckingforeigner.”Jeremysaid.
“Icanhityouifyoukeepinterrupting.”MalbeamedatWitt.I’msohappytohave
friends,Wittthought.IfIcouldfeellikethisfortherestofmylifeI’dneverbealone.
“Violencedoesn’tsolveanything.”WittremindedMal.
“Whosesideareyouon,mineorhis?Oh,perfect.Toviolence!”
“TowhereAdambreathes!”Wittadded.
They’drackedthroughanothershoteachandwerealmostdonewiththesecondpitcher
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 17
bythetimethewaitressclearedtheirplatesathalf-time.Themozzarellastickstastedlike
cardboardfilledwithboiledcheese.JeremyandMalhadtornthroughthequesadillaswhile
Wittwasdousinghisburnedtonguewithbeer.Carbplacatedhungerslumberedinhisstomach.
Thebar’sspeakerstookover.Axldoingthatcat-shriekofSweetChildofMinewhichJeremy,
drunkandstillwearingthatjacket,promptlymimedalongto,contortinghislipsto“mi-yi-iiiii—
iii-nngg”.Malwasredwithlaughter.Wittcouldn’thelpbutgetjealous.
“Hangon.”Jeremystopped,hiseyesfocusingonWittlikehe’djustnoticedhim.“What’s
withthejacket?When’syourunitshippingout?Whyareyouwearingthat?”
“‘CauseIlookcoolinit?”Wittsaid,comingoffmoreprissythanhemeantto.
“Igotitforhim.”Malcoughedandflattenedherhandoverherchest.Hereyeswere
slightlybloodshot,andwhenshecoughedWittheardsomethingphlegmygurgleinherthroat.
“Canyounotcoughsoclosetome?”Jeremysnapped.Malhuffedintoherpalmand
thrustitatJeremy’sface.Hesquirmedaway,hiskneehittingthetableandupendinghisglass.
“Goddammit.”Jeremygrippedhisknee,athinfilmofbeerdrip-dripspillingtothefloor.
“See,that’skarmafortrashingmyChristmaspresent.”Malthrewhimsomenapkins.
“Witt,youlooksupercool,don’ttakeitoff.”
“Yeah,Witt,you’resocool.”Jeremywipedupthemess.Hisfacedoublyred.Atleasthe
wasingoodspirits,notahintofa‘headintheoven’vibe.Still,Wittkindofwantedanabrupt
‘here’s-why-she-left’fromhim.Iffornootherreasonthanmaybeit’dconfirmthatJeremystill
consideredhimabestfriend.Petty?No,needy.PettywasJeremypassingWittoverforbest
maninfavorofIanfuckingPulido.Somaybeitwaswaskarma.Gowiththatass-kissingweasel
forbestman?Nowedding.Makefunofmynewjacket?Spillyourdrink.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 18
HowcoolwoulditbeiftheweddinghappenedandWittwentwithMal?
“Lemmegetthat.”Witttooktherestofthenapkinsandmoppedupthefloor.He
droppedthesoilednapkinsontheemptyplate,weddingbellsringinginhishead.Malwas
frowningatherphone,thescreenhazemakinghereyesseemtwiceasbloodshot.Jeremyhad
gonestonefacedstaringintohisemptypintglass.
“You’regonnapassoutifyoukeepthatjacketon.”Witttoldhim.Jeremyblinkedlikehe
wasconfused,thenshruggedoutofthejacket.Wittregisteredthesuddensadnessonhisface,
thensawhisT-shirtandspataninvoluntarylaugh.Theshirtwasjetblackandprintedwitha
blow-upofJeremy’ssenioryearbookphoto,twentypoundsheavierwithabullfrogchin,below
whiteblocklettersthatread:DeadSexy.Maltookonelookandthrewapalmoverhermouth
tokeepfromspewingbeer.
“Youknowaboutthis.”JeremysaidtoWitt,thenaddedinalower,vulnerabletone.
“Jessmadeitforme.I’vebeensleepinginitsincethe,thesplit.Idon’tevenwannasaybreak-
up.Ihatethatphrase.That’sforbands.Ididn’tevenfullyrealizetilljustbeforeyouguysgot
herethatI’vebeensleepinginit.Like,Iwasabouttotakethejacketoffandithitme:I’m
gettingdrunkateleventhirtyinthemorning,myexfiancéegotmethisshirt,andIhatemyjob.
SoIjustgotscared.Fuck,Iwassweatingballsinthatthing,though.”
Jeremyscratchedthebackofhisneck,lipspressedtogetherlikehe’dtastedsomething
unpleasant.WittandMalexchangeda‘whatnow?’glance.
“Imean,it’snotthefirsttimeyou’vebeendrunkateleventhirtyinthemorning.”Witt
triedforajoke.Thelookshegottoldhimcomradelyunderstandingwouldhavebeenbetter.He
madeupforitbyrefillingJeremy’sglass.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 19
“It’sgoodthatyoumadeitout.Seriously.Betterthatyou’reouthereinsteadofalonein
thehouse.Thatshirtisfunnyasfuck,Irememberthatone.”MalpattedJeremy’sshoulder.
“OnetimeIjusttookthedayoffandhermomwalkedinwhileIwasplayingHalo.Came
overtogetmoreofJess’sclothes.IliterallyaskedherifshewantedtoplayHalowithme.”
Jeremycoughedintohisfist,thensnatchedhisrefilledglasslikeitwasrunningaway.
“Jez,whatactually–why’dsheleave?”Wittasked,moreafraidgoingintothatquestion
thanintotheday-drinkingjoke.Jeremyguzzledmorebeerandcradledtheglass.Hiseyesswept
overWittlikeabroom.Hisvoicebecamepress-secretaryformal.
“Honestly,it’shardtoexplain.Afewmonthsagoapatientshereallylikeddiedonher
shift.Guywasaburnvictim,gotaninfectioninhislungsorsomething.Afterthat,Idunno,it
waslikeshewastherebutnotthere.ShewouldgetsupercontrollingandOCDaboutthings.
Shecutherhairshortandwasheditconstantly.Tobefairshelookedgreatwithshorthair.She
wouldcleantheapartmentoverandoveragain.Thenshebasicallywouldn’tletmecook.And
youknowIliketocook.”
“You’reagreatcook.”Wittagreed.Jeremy’svoicewasgettinglowerevenasatremorin
itbecamemorepronounced.WittandMalhadtoleanintohearaspeoplefiledbackintothe
tavernfromsmokebreaksandNESN’shalf-timereportersdronedthroughthespeakers.
“EventuallyIgothertojustletmecookwhenshewasn’ttherebecauseit’scheaper,
andhoney,youlikewhenIcookyoudinner.Butshewouldn’ttalkabouttheguywhodied
wheneverIasked.EvenwhenIwenttothefuneralwithher.Shesatwiththewidow,askedme
tohangoutwiththenephews.Iplayedrollerhockeywiththeminthedrivewayduringthe
wake.AndlittleTimmyGrief-Strickenhitaslapshotintomyballs.Jesscamerunningout,gave
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 20
meakiss,andtookthestickandplayedwith‘emforanotherhour.Fuck.”Jeremy’sglasshitthe
table.Heshuthiseyesandpinchedthecornersofhiseye-sockets.Ok,itwasflatoutpettyto
dwellongettingshaftedforbestman.Wittjustwishedithadn’ttakenthisforhimtoacceptit.
ThankGodhenevertoldanybodyhe’dbeenangry.Scoreoneforkeepingthingsbottledup.
“Sorry.”Jeremy’seyesglistenedwhenheopenedthem.“I’mdoingabadjobtellingthis.
There’s–there’ssomuchtoorderandIdon’tknowhow.NowonderIcan’twrite.Ishoulda
keptplayingmusic.Remembertheband,Witt?Fuck,Ineedtopisslikearace-horse.”
“Metoo.”Wittsaid.Hisneedtoknowmoreabouthisfriend’spainevaporatingunder
theweightofhisneedtourinateandthesensethathe’dcrossedalineaskingJeremyaboutit.
“Icoulduseacigarette.”Malsaid,drainingtherestofherbeer.
“Aren’tyoufightingacold?”Jeremyasked.Malshrugged,peeledofftwomorecough
dropsandpoppedthembetweenherlips.
“I’llgofirst.”Wittjumpedup,hisbackandlegssore.Hisleftkneeespeciallywastightas
hehalf-hoppedbetweencircularfourpersontablestoreachthehallwayforthebathroom.His
footcaughtthestrapofametal-buttonedhandbaglyingnexttoachair,theowneraperoxide
blondewhoglaredupathimfromhermargarita.
“Whatthefuck?”Shesnatchedupherbag,themargaritaglasstippingdangerously.
WittrecognizedherfromthegroupthatJeremyhadfendedoff.Theguysregardedhimwith
vagueamusement,indifferencesetdeepintheiridenticaljaw-lines.
“Sorry.”
“Why’dyoukickmyfuckingbag?”Shescreeched,Wittinstantlyreadingherasshitfaced
butwassoself-consciousbeingputonthespotthathejustmovedon.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 21
“Why’dyoukickherbag?”Athinfacedguyinkhakisandanavybluefleecefestwas
suddenlyinfrontofWitt.Armsfoldedandcheekspuffedout.Fromthesmirkandthefactthat
hewaswobbling,Wittfiguredthiswasajoke.Butwhy?Whodoesthis?
“Ididn’t.”Heneededtotakealeak,badly.
“C’mon,Isawit.”Theguydrawled,handsinhispockets.Witttriedtosidestephim,but
theguyblockedhim.Drunkenchucklesemanatedfromhisfriends.Wasthismeanttobeironic?
“Hey.”Thatdrawlagain,heleanedintoWitt.Hisgelledhairglistenedunderthe
monorailtracklighting.Hetossedasmirkathisfriends,whokeptcrackingup.
“Seriously,youdolookcoolinthatjacket.”Jeremy’svoicehuffingintohisearfollowed
byabigarmoverhisshoulder.“Niceofhertogetitforyou.Whatafriend.”
Jeremylaideyesonthestillmotionlessdrawlingguyanddidapronounceddouble-take.
“Areyouthemonitor,canyoufuckingmove?”Jeremypushedon,armanchoredover
Witt’sshoulder.Slatetiledfloorsandwoodpanelingdecoratedwithframedphotosoflocally
famousnativesmadeupthehallway.Wittpushedopenthewoodlaminatedbathroomdoor.
“That’stheotherthingIthoughtaboutwhenIwaswithJess.”Jeremyduckedintothe
toiletstall.Witttensedupatthewall-unit.Beyondthedarkgreyaluminumpartition,Jeremy
promptlyunleashedNiagrafalls.
“Like,someofthepatientsshehad,itwaslifeanddeath.AndIsorespectedthat.I
wantedtowriteaboutthem,Itriedtotakenotes,butitjust,Icouldn’tconnecttoit.I’mnot
fuckedupenough.That’stheproblem.”Jeremyflushedandsteppedout,fiddlingwithhis
zipper.Wittdartedintothestall,kickingthedoorshutbehindhim.
“You’refuckedupnow.”Wittsuggested,reliefcommencing.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 22
“No,I’mreallyfuckingupset.”JeremycontinuedasWittrelievedhimself.Heflushed
andmadeforthesink.Jeremyleanedagainstthewall,chinbobbingintohisclavicle.
“ByfuckedupImean,whenthefoundationofyourveryselfiscracked.Oryoudon’t
haveanyfoundationatall.”Jeremy’sreflectionmadespinningwheelmotionsinthemirror.
Wittwashedhishands,suddenlywantingmorethananythingtobealonewithMalsomewhere
warm.“Everygreatwriter,artist,whoever,they’vealwaysbeenfuckedup.Yougottahavethat,
youknow?Idon’thavethat.Iknowit.Alwaysknownit.”Hisvoicechoked.“I’maniceperson.”
WittlookedatJeremy.Hiseyeswerebubblywithtearsandhewasstaringatthefloor
likeeveryfailureofhislifewascontainedinthecrackeddarkgreentiles.
“Jez.”Wittmanaged.Hekindofwantedtogivehimahugandapatontheback.Just
notinthemen’sroom.MostlyhewantedtobewithMal.Therewerethingsinhislifethat
madehimsad.Thatmadehimscared.Thingshedidn’tknowhowtohandle.Andhewantedher
toholdhimandsay‘you’reaniceperson’.
“Yeah.”JeremywashedhishandsandfollowedWittintothehallway.Heburpedand
rambledintoWitt’sback.“Iproposed‘causeIthought,Imean,I’minlovewithher.ButIdidn’t
wanttowaitforhergriefthingtoend,IthoughtifIproposedthatwouldendit.Whichreminds
me,Iwasgonnatellyousomethingearlier.”
TheyemergedintothemainfloorofthetavernandWittregisteredthattheirtablewas
emptysaveforJeremy’sshoppingbagsandMal’sparka.Hisphonerang.Theincomingcallwas
–no,whywashecalling?Thensomethingslammedintohisback,hinginghimatthewaist.His
bodywasnolongerhisownbuthestillgothisarmsdownbeforehehitthefloor.
Whoeverhadjusttackledhimboundedaway.Peoplejumpedoutoftheirchairsorleapt
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 23
overtables.Chaoswasexplodingbehindhim.Hischeekwaswet.Notblood.Snowfromthe
muddyfootprintsonthefloor.Hisinsidesroller-coasteredfromscared-rubberytonothing-
stone.Hesnatchedhisphonefromunderatableandscrambledtohisfeet.
DrawlingguyandJeremywerethrashingagainstthewallinamutualheadlock.Drawling
guy’sbuddieswerehoppingaround,onehitJeremyintheribsandwaskickedintoatable.Witt
dimlythought‘wow,barfight’.Thenhewasadrenalinemadefleshandflewintothemelee.He
gothisarmsunderdrawlingguy’sarmpitsandpulled.Apalmclawedhismouth.Shittycologne
filledhislungs.Somebodykepthittinghisback.Ahandbagbouncedrepeatedlyoffhishead.
“Mybag,mybag!”Theblondescreamed.Wittslippedinapoolofbeerandthehandbag
clippeddrawlingguy’seye.AsWittstaggeredfreeofthecollapsingpileJeremy’sfistflew
seeminglyrightathim.Heducked.Thud.Thepunchcaughtdrawlingguysquareinthejaw.
JeremytumbledintoWittonthemomentumofthepunch.
Wittdrovehimback,forearmstohischest.Hisearswerepounding.Forsomereasonhe
couldonlyhearNESN’splay-by-playofthePatsgame.Beersplatteredfloorboardsandupended
tableslaybetweenhimandastunnedcrowd.Afewpeopletookvideosontheirphones.
Twobouncerswithshinyshavedheadsandmusclesbulgingbeneathtightblackunder-
armorshirtsrushedforward.Wittflinched,expectinganothertackle.Insteadthebouncer
wordlesslysteeredhimandJeremythroughtheparting-like-the-red-seacrowd.Whatabout
Mal?Wittwassuddenlyalarmedforhersafety.Thebloodrushingbackintohisheadmadehim
himdizzy.Hehadn’tevengottenapunchin.WherewasMal?
Thebouncerreleasedthemontoashoveledpatchofsidewalkdottedwithmeltingsalt.
Thicksnowflakesfellinthegreyafternoon.Aplow-truckrumbledacrossthestreet.Jeremy
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 24
bentoverandcuppedhisnose.Bloodseepedthroughhisfingers.
“Mybagsareinthere.”Jeremymuttered,hisvoicecomingoutlikeDonaldDuck.
“Can’tletyoubackin,bud.”
“Fuckyou,Iboughtasnow-globe!”Jeremysprangup.ForasecondWittthoughthewas
goingtothrowapunch.Thebouncerjustcockedhishead.Thenbrokeoutlaughing.
“Isthatyouontheshirt,dude?”ThebouncerpointedatJeremy’schest.
Jeremyfroze,hisbloodyfacepole-axed.
“Yeah.”Hestammered.Andthenstartedlaughinglikeitwasthefunniestthinginthe
world.Hewipedhisfacewiththebackofhishand,freshrubyredbloodpouredfromhisnose
overthepinksmears.Wittstoodbetweenthem,tryingtocatchthegoodvibes.
“Lemmeseethat.”ThebouncertiltedJeremy’schinupandexaminedhisnosewitha
professionaleye.“It’snotbroken.”
“Can’twepay?”Wittasked.Thenbilechurnedthroughhisthroatandhethrewupinto
asnowbank.Heheldhisjigglingknees,palmsclammyonhiskneecaps,thegod-awfulaftertaste
lingeringinhisnow-drythroatandsinuses.
“Uh,what’dImiss?”
Malstoodatthecorner,Witt’spea-coatdrapedoverhershoulders.Cigaretteinone
hand,aCVSbagintheother.Snowflakesinherhair.
“Where’dyougo?”Wittasked,throbbingwithneedforherandsearinghumiliation.
“Dayquil.”ShehelduptheCVSbag.“Yourearisbleeding.”
“Hon,canyougetthisgentleman’sbagsandaskthebartenderforsometowels.Tell
themAJsentyou.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 25
Malstiffenedat“hon”.Wittimmediatelyfeltguiltyforruiningherday.Whycouldn’the
betheonewiththebloodynoseandJeremybetheonespewinglunchintothesnow?Mal
handedWitttheCVSbagasshemarchedforthedoor.
“There’sawaterbottleinthere.”Herhandlingeredonhisshoulder.
“Mywallet’sin–”Wittstarted.
“I’llpay.”Shewentinside.WittpulledthePolandspringbottlefromthebagandrinsed
hismouth.Hekickedsnowoverhismess.Thefaintwindandfallingsnowfeltgentleonhis
neck.Hisheadclearedwitheachswigofwater.
“Coolladytopay.”ThebouncersaidtoJeremy.
“Yeah,mybuddythereisinlovewithher.”Thebouncernoddedsagelyandrubbedhis
goatee.
“Notreallylikethat.”Witthatingtheclichéashesaidit.
“Whowasitsaidthatyouhavetobeinlovewithawomantobefriendswithher?”
JeremysmirkedatWittthroughhisbloodynose.
“Hemingway.”Thebounceransweredashethumbedhisphone.
“Shit,Ishouldhaveknownthat.”Jeremywipedawayafreshglobofbloodandflungit
intothesnow.“Iamextremelycold.”
Malreturnedcradlingthejacketsandwhitehandtowels.Shepressedthetowelsinto
Jeremy’shandsanddrapedtheletterjacketoverhim.
“Where’smybags?”Jeremysaidtothesky,hisheadback,toweltohisnose.
“Fuck’ssake.”Malshotbackintothetavern.Itwasn’tfairtosendherinthere.She
lookedgoodinhispea-coat.Itlookedlikearmoronher.Thephonecall.He’dcalledagain.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 26
Witt’sspinefeltlikeatuningforkandhiskneeswentwobblyagain.Somehowinallthetime
he’dspentinBoston,thatwashisfirstbarfight.Butthephonecall.Yeah,sowhat?
“Rudolftherednosedreindeer,hadaveryshinynose.Getit?That’sme.”Jeremystood
nexttoWitt,flashedaloopysmileandpointedathisnose.Heleanedintoamailbox.“Ohman,
Idonotfeelgood.”
WittthoughtofChristmasmusicandpinetrees.Egg-nog,woodburninginthefire-place.
“YoucouldtrekittoMassGeneral.Jessisprobablythere.Whoknows.Showuplikethe
heroicwounded.Layitallontheline.It’sChristmas,babypleasecomehome.”
Jeremycamebackup,slightlycross-eyed.Heglancedupthestreet,aredtrafficlight
turnedtogreenbehindthefallingsnow.GentlyslopingstringsofwhiteChristmaslights
crownedresidentialbrownstones.Theaircarriedwasheavywithsnow-inducedsilencebelow
whichthewash-washofthenearbyMassturnpikewasslightlyaudible.
“Idon’tthinkshowingupatherplaceofworkcoveredinblood‘causeIwasinabar
fightwouldbeanincentiveforhertocomeback.”Jeremysaid,butWittsawinthefar-away
lookinhiseyesthatJeremywantedtodoexactlythat.
MalledthemtotheCVSwhereJeremyblunderedaroundtheaislesuntilhefoundice
packs,pain-killers,andgauze.Wittboughtanotherwaterbottleanddumpedhalfatic-tackbox
intohismouthandpaidforeverythingattheonlyfunctioningself-checkoutscanner.
ThestreetswereaChristmastimepicturebook.Street-lampsshoneaboveplowed
red-bricksidewalksasthegreyafternoondarkenedinsteadilyfallingsnow.Churchbellsrang
outnearthecommon.Toddlersbobbedontheirparent’sshoulders.Christmasvillagessatin
displaywindowsrungwithwhitelights.Thesmellofcinnamonandpinetreeswaftedfrom
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 27
cafes.IfWitthadn’tbeenwashingthevomityafter-tastefromhismouthwhileMalguided
themtoaDunkinDonutssoJeremycouldcleanthebloodoffhisfacethenitwouldhavefelt
positivelyDickensian.
Wittfoundanorangebanquettenearthebathroom.Jeremydroppedhisshoppingbags
onthepinklaminatetable.Teenagersslurpingfrappuccinosnearthefloortoceilingwindow
gawked.Malmadetofollowhimtothebathroom.
“I’mflatteredbutIdon’twannafuckinthere.”Jeremydead-panned,drawingglances
fromtwocityworkersinorangeday-glovestsandcarpenterjeansatthecounter.
“I’mnotthatdesperateandyou’renotthatlucky.”Malflippedhimoffandslidinto
theboothnexttoWitt.Wittpulledhishandawayjustbeforeshelandedonit.Hediscretely
huffedintohispalmandtookawhiff.Thetic-tackshaddonetheirmintymagic.
“Ileaveforasecond,lookwhathappens.”Sherestedherarmonhim,herlipsbehind
herwrist.
“Ididn’tgetapunchin.”Wittsaid,genuinelybitter.Ithadn’tevenoccurredtohimto
tryandpunchanybody.Intruth,he’dbeendrivingwiththebreakon,self-consciousthathe
wouldlookstupid.He’dbasicallysettledfortryingtobreakitup.Itwasmostlythathedidn’t
wanttojuststandthere.Thesecondhe’dgottenhisarmsunderdrawlingguyalumpgot
caughtinhisthroatatthethoughtthathewasgoingtoofar.Maybeifhe’ddrankmore?He
wasembarrassedtwiceoverthen.Firstly,fornotevenbeingabletothrowapunch,secondly
forbeinginthefightinthefirstplace.Andthrowingup.So,threetimesover.
Withthathewassuddenlyhungryandsober.
“Wannahuntthemdown,goforroundtwo?”Malwriggledawayandleanedonthe
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 28
table.“SorryIborrowedyourcoat.Igotup,Icouldn’treachmycoatsoIjusttookyours.”
“Noworries.”Energywasseepingfromhisbodylikeairfromaballoon.Thatphonecall.
He’dcalledagain.Why?Itdidn’tcompute.Itmadehimfeellikehisbodywasahard-driveanda
magnetwasbeingrunoverit.Itmadehimsad.
Blockthenumberanddeletethevoicemail.
Or.Listentothevoicemailandcallhimback.It’sasimpledecision.
No,it’snot.
Alldecisionsaresimple.It’sjusttheemotionsthatarecomplicated.
Youknowwhosaidthat,right?
Yes.Oneofthelastthingshesaid.Hetoldmenottobeafraidofdecisions.
“Hello?”Malwavedahandinfrontofhim.
“Isthereanybodyinthere?”Wittquoted,smiledather.
“What’sonyourmind?”Concerninhervoice.
“Nothing.What’sonyourmind?”Maybeshewasthinkingaboutwhenshekissedhim.
Orshewasthinkingthathewasthinkingthat.Heshoulddosomething.Dowhat?Idon’tknow.
Listentothatvoicemail.What?Getout.
“Westillgottimetokill.Whatdoyouwannado?”Thoseespressoeyesflashingbehind
thebangs.
“I’mhungrybut,weprobablyshouldn’tdrinkmore‘cause,wecan’tturnupatyourold
fellasdrunklookinglikethis,canwe?”
“Don’tworryaboutthat.”Shesnorted.“WhataboutHarrys?”
Acrossthestreet,throughthewindowsplatteredwithplasticgingerbreadmen,Witt
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 29
sawHim.Him.ThebottomfelloutofWitt’sstomach.Him.No.Yes,definitely.Him.Walking
towardstheDunkinDonuts.Wearingacrispgreycarcoatthatmatchedthegreyofhisswept-
backhairandfinelytrimmedbeard.Hestrodeacrosstheintersectionlikeitbelongedtohim.A
womanheldhishand.Sheworesquarerimmedglassesthatmatchedtheearmuffsclompedin
herhighlightedblondehair.Andakid.Akid.Maybeten.Maybe–
WittslouchedlowanddoveheadfirstintoMal’sneck.
“Uh.Whatareyoudoing?”Mallaughed.Notevenawkwardly.Herskinwasdamp
againsthisforehead.ItwasdefinitelyHim.Hedidn’tseeWittthough,noway.
“SawsomebodyIdon’twanttosee.”Hesuddenlyfeltveryfoolish.
“Who?”Themusclesinhershoulder-bladeshiftedagainsthischeek-bones.
Herfingerscoiledbehindhisear.Feelsverynice.They’dwatchedamovieafterthe
game.ItwasstillplayingwhentheypassedoutonJeremy’scouch.Whatwasthemovie?
“ShouldIbehidingtoo?”Hervoicewaslight.“Areyoulookingdownmyshirt?”
“No.”Tanglesofherhairstuckinhismouth.“IpromiseyouI’mnot.”
“Aw,youguysarecute.”Jeremy’svoice.“Witt,areyoulookingdownhershirt?”
“He’shiding.”Malsaid.
“From...thescarypart?What?”ThenJeremy’svoicetensed.“Oh.”
Wittfelttheraisedlineofherbrastrapagainsthischeek.Heliftedhisheadslightly.
“Hejustgotintoalimo.”Jeremysaid.Wittsatup,felthimselfblush.Maltuckedherhair
back,aperplexedhalfsmileonherface.Jeremytooktheice-packoffhisface,hisnoseand
upperlipswollen.HestaredatWitt,afaltering,haltedlookinhiseyes.
“What?”Wittasked.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 30
“Ididn’tthinkthismatteredbutnowIguessitdoes.”Jeremyopenedthenclosedhis
mouth.ThenitdawnedonWitt:Jess.NurseatMassGeneral.DoctorPeterGardner.Physician
inresidenceatMassGeneral.
Iknowitwasyou,Fredo.
“Ranintoyourdadtwomonthsagoatthehospital.IwaslookingforJess.Woundupin
theelevatorwithhim,Jesswasn’tansweringherphone.Herecognizedme,saidhellofirst.I
figuredhemightknowwhereJesswas.So,Iaskedhim–Ok,stoplookingatmelikethat.”
“Likewhat?”
“Likeyou’rehackingmetopieceswithamacheteinyourmindrightnow.”Jeremy’s
voicebecamefirm,likeWitthadprovokedhim.“But,hemusthaveknownthatJessandIwere
split,‘causehe,Imean,thispissedmeoff,thewayhesaidit,forgotthathewasadick–”
“Gettothefuckingpoint.”Hisinsideswereatornado.
“Hesaid“Ican’thaveyoumakingascenewithoneofmynurses,Jeremy.””
““Oneofhisnurses.””Malbitintoherknuckle.
“So,ItoldhimifhetoldmewhereJesswasI’dgivehimyournumber.”Thewordsflew
outofJeremy,buthehadadefensive,‘whatdoyouwantfromme?’stare.
Thiswasn’twhathewantedtodotoday.
Getangry.Iamangry.
“Whydidn’tyoutellmesooner?”Angrier.
“Ihadothershitonmymind.”Thereitwas.That‘like-it’s-obvious’jerkofthechin.
“Well,itworked.YouandJessarebacktogethernow.Congrats.Oh,wait.”Witt
relishedwhatheimaginedwashisicyglare.“No,you’renot.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 31
Jeremytensed.Atremorrippledinhisjaw.
“You’reover-reacting.”
“Areyoufuckingkiddingme?”Wittwasonhisfeetsofasthehadtograbthetableto
steadyhimself.Hehadagoodthreeinchesonhisfriend.Jeremyshookhishead,exasperated.
“Idon’tunderstand.What’stheworstthingthatwouldhappenifyoutalkedtohim?”
Wittgrabbedhisarm.Jeremywentshadow-faced.
“Guys.”Malsaidbutdidn’tmove.
“Areyougonnatryandpunchme?”Jeremysneered,mockeryheavyinhisvoice.
“YousaythatlikeIcouldn’t.”Thisangerismine.Iownit.Itsaysdestroyyou.
“Letgoofmyarm,Witt.”
“Sayplease.”
“Fuckyou?”
Witttightenedhisgrip.Jeremydidn’tmove.Can’tbackdownnow.Hithim.Wouldend
thefriendship.Nomoreinsidejokes.So?You’retakingtoolong.Hithim.
Buzzingvibrationsbrokethesilence.WittinstinctivelyshothishandfromJeremy’sarm
tohispocket.Hisphonewasinert.Jeremypalmedhimself,extractedhisphonefromhisjacket.
“It’sJess.”Heshowedthemthephonelikeheneededproofthathewasn’t
hallucinating.Wittstoodthere,crisscrossedwithinertia.Jeremyrushedoutside,plowingpast
incomingcustomersatthedoor.
“Hey.”MalpokedafingerintoWitt’shand.“Areyouok?”
Hewantedtocry.
“Let’sgotoHarrys.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 32
GustsofwindwhippedarcingsheetsofsnowintodriftsastheycrossedCopleySquare.
Voicemail.Phonecall.Jeremy.Fight.Mal.Kiss.Dinner.Dad.AllspinningthroughWitt’sinsides
likeaninternalsnowstorm.Atotalwhiteout.Zerovisibility.Fornow.Stormsendandsnow
melts.Pushthrough.Whatever.
ChoirbellsranginTrinityChurch.Thegranitefaçade,darkRomanesquearches,and
pyramidaltower-topsremindedWittofMal’sfather’shouse.Bothofthemalone.Permanent
andindifferent.Mal’sfather’sbrickVictorianamongstthewoodtripledeckers,Trinityamongst
thedesigneroutletsonBoylstonandtheglassmonolithoftheJohnHancocktower.
AblockortwoafterColumbusAvenuetheyturneddownawidecobblestonealley
amongstfivestorybowfrontedrowhousesatthenortherntipofSOWA.Settledinthemiddle
ofthealleywasHarrys.Thenamewasprintedingreenblockletteringonablackawningabove
afencedinpatio.Amberlightcarriedhazyclassicrockoutofredwoodpaneledwindows.
“Allowme.”Malheldthedoor.Wittstampedhisfeetontherubberwelcomemat.A
redonestaircaserosefromthenarrowinteriorvestibule,totherightwasablackdoorwitha
greenmottledglasswindow-pane.
“Oh,butallowme.”WittpushedthatdooropenasDreamOnfadedout.
Deeplightthatwasawarmembrace.ThecopperbarofWitt’smemoryhadbeen
replacedwithamahoganyone.Askylineofliquorbottlesflankedavintagecashregister,it’s
silversparklingunderrecessedceilinglights.Christmaslightsandtinselcrownedthewalls.
“Hey!”Courtney,Witt’sfavoritebartenderfromwaybackwhen,swungoffastoolnext
toSullythebouncerandtwowaitressesworkingthroughlobsterandmacandcheese.Herhug
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 33
cameheavywithperfumeandvodkabreathasshesqueezedWittandMaltogether.
“Where’veyouguysbeen?”AlopsidedSantahatdangledonherhead.
“ImovedbacktoBrazil.”Malsaidwithasmile.
“Hereandthere.”Wittdodged.“Canwegetsomewingsandfries?”
“Sure.Stilldrinkyourusual?”Theybobbedtheirheads.“Drinksarehalfoff‘tilleight.
There’sabandplayingdownstairsatsix.”
WittandMalfoundtheirfamiliarglasstopedelevatedtableinacornerbeneaththe
fresco-stylemuralofBobbyKennedyandhisbigbrother,LarryLegend,Papi,BobbyOrr,and
TomTerrificamongotherpastelcaricaturesofBostonheroes.
“Shouldabeenhereallday.”Malfloppedintoherstoolandtossedherparkaontoa
chairacrossthetable.Witt’scarkeysclatteredtothefloorashehunghispea-coatoverthe
backofhisstool.“I’llgetit.”
“It’sok.”Theirforeheadsjustmissingashegrabbedthekeys.“Thatkeepshappening.”
Witteasedintohisseat,theirkneesinchesapart.Hewaggledinthechair,oneleg
shorterthantheothers.Mallookedaround.Harry’swasmercifullyhalf-empty.Dourcivil
servantsinrumpledsuitsguzzledmillerhi-lifesnearthewindows.Afternoondrinkersstillin
PatsjerseysfrownedboozilyatthejuststartingBruinsgameonanewplasmaTVhanginginthe
corner.Hipsterswithsymmetricalhaircutsandcardiganspouredhotsauceontotacosathigh
backedboothsnearthekitchen.
“Where’dtheEaglestatuesgo?”MalscannedtheLPsleevecoveredwalls.
“They’reFalcons.”
“What’sthedifference?”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 34
“Theretheyare.”WittpointedtoadozenFalcontotems,thelargestofwhichwas
rainbowpainted,arrangedonashelfbeneathneonbeersignsaboveadescendingstaircase.
“RememberwhenshebroughtJeremywholepitcherswithstrawstapedtogether?”Mal
noddedatCourtneyfillingpintsatthetapsbeneathablueandyellowBostonstrongbanner.
“WhoseJeremy?”Deadtome,that’swho.
Malthrewhima‘simmerdown’look.Courtneyappearedwiththeirdrinks.Wittinitially
gothesitantseeingtheshot-glasses,thenJeremysaid“areyougonnatryandpunchme?”inhis
mindandhefiguredhecoulduseatleastonemoreshot.
“Shotsareonthehouse.”Courtneysaid.
Or,maybenot.Hedidn’twanttoturnuptoChristmasdinneratMal’sfatherswrecked.
“MerryChristmas.”Shesaid,raisingherglass,apparentlynotsharinghisconcern.
“MerryChristmas.”Wittsaid.Yearsago,whentheyfirstmet,somanydrinks,adad
sighting,aninconclusivebarfight,andanalmostfightwithabestfriendwouldhavelefthim
bed-ridden.Nowtheylefthimfeelingbottlenecked.Hetookthisasprogress.
“So.”Herlipspressedtoherglass.Nowthatitwasjustthetwoofthemhewantedto
touchher.Hertotouchhim.“Thatwasyourdadbackthere?”
Butmostlyhewantedtonottalkaboutthat.Virtuallyanythingbutthat.
“Yes.”Maybehecouldcomeoffasthestoictoughguy.
“And?”Maldidaslow‘continue’zig-zagwithherpint.
“Idon’t...”Wittheldhisglass,thebeercoolinghispalmashecurledafistunderhisarm.
Bottleneckedagain.Stoictoughguy?Nowheretobefound.Maybeitwastheboozedefeating
him.Hedrank.Nope.Wasn’tthebooze.Itwasthefirstsightofhisfatherineightyears.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 35
“I’msorryIhidbehindyou.”Hedranksomemore.“AndIdidn’tlookdownyourshirt.”
“Itrustyou.”Shefoldedonekneeovertheother.HerboottipbrushedWitt’sshoe.
Shepulledherphonefromherpocketandyawned.
“I’malmostouttapower.CanIsendyouBrooke’snumberincaseIneedtoreachher?”
“WhoseBrooke?”
“Step-mom.IcallherBabblingBrooke.”Wittdidn’tevenknowhisstep-mom’sname.
MaybeSusan?Isn’tthatwhathismothertoldhim?“WannaplayBigBuckhunter?”
ItwasactuallyZombieHunternow.Thearcademachinehadgonefrombrightorange
withdeerpaintedonthesidetogothicblackslatheredwithRomerostylezombies.Theplastic
pumpactionshotgunswerenowhandguns,stillattachedtothemachineviaarubbercoil.
“HowpissedareyouatJeremy?”Malslouched,pistolpointedlazilyatthependantflags
thumbtackedtotheceiling,beerinherotherhandcurledundertheelbow.
Wittsethisbeerontheshelf.Zombiemoansandseizureinducingstrobelighting
flashedfromthemachine.Jeremy’ssmirkleaptintohismindlikeaonemanmiddlefinger.
“Pissed.”Hecutdownaonearmedzombieinabloodythree-piecesuitstumblingout
ofachurch.Everythingrenderedinlateninetiesblock-graphics,shapesdriftingagainstshapes.
“Hegaveyourdadyournumber,andyourdadcalledyou?”Malblastedawayone
handed,twistedaroundWitttoputherbeerontheshelf.
“Yes.”Wittfiredthepistoloff-screentoreload.Severedheadssailedthroughthedigital
skyathimandMal.Thescreenflashedrediftheylanded.Fivepointsforshootingtheheads,
tenforhittingthezombieswhopoppedoutfromrowsoftreestothrowthem.
“Youtalktohim?Oh,God,thisisgross.Youshootthezombies,I’llgettheheads.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 36
Morphinerumbledoutofthebar’sspeakers.BaritonesaxandMarkSandmandrowning
outtheapocalypticdeathrattleandgunsplatteringmayhemblaringfromthearcade.
“YousetmeupforagiveheadjokebutI’llletitpass.”
“Whatagentlemanyouare.”Shecoughedintothecruxofherarm.“So,didyou?”
Bam-bam-bam.Witt’sheartbeatfaster.Thatlingeringvoicemailwasnowattachedtoa
realpersonwho’dbeencrossingthestreetwithhisnewwifeandkid.
“Topright,topright!Heleftamessage.”Hefumbledforhisbeerwithonehand,blasted
digitalzombieswiththeother.Drank.Bam-bam-bam.Changethesubject.Askherwhyshe
kissedyou.Hechancedalookather.Shewasbeautiful.
“Nervousaboutgoingtoyourdads?”Heasked.Swingandamiss.Heswiggedmore
beer.Hopingasecondwindwouldcatchhissails.Onscreentheywerebarricadedinsidethe
church.Hordesoftheundeadwereclawingthroughthewindows.HisandMal’shighscores
climbinghigher.Bam-bam-bam.
“Kindafunnyisn’tit,youaskingmeaboutmydad?”Shenudgedhimwithherelbow.
Bam-bam-bam.Sheglaredatherpistol.“Idon’tthinkthesethingsareaccurate.”
Afigureinblackslacks,shirt,andtrench-coatcareenedintotheATMbehindWittand
Mal.Theyleanedforward,kneesagainstthecoinslots,whiletheguyjammedhiscreditcard
intotheATM,wheezingandcursingincoherently.
“Where’smybeer?”Malasked.Theirarmsrubbing.Bam-bam-bam.
“Takemine.”Witthandedittoher.
“Thisismine.”ShewaggledtheglassinfrontofWitt,asmudgyUoflipstickontherim.
“Meeyesbegantodazzleandwe’reofftoseetharaces.”Themanmumbled.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 37
“God,we’regoingtodie.”Maldrainedhalftheglass,jabbingthepistolasshefired.
“Thasthespirit!”Themanshothisheadbetweenthem.Crooked,yellowingteeth
protrudedfromhisgums.Deepringsunderbeadyeyesinsallowskinandbowlshapedears.
“Fuck!”Maljumped.Beerflewfromherglassandsplatteredoverthem.Theman
stumbledbacktothebar,cacklingmerrilywithtwentiesinhishands.“I’llgetsomenapkins.”
Thescreenwasallzombies,thenstrobe-flashed‘gameover’withafinalun-deadgroan.
Wittcrossedthefloorbacktotheirtable,beerseepingthroughhissweatertotheshirt
underneath.HepulledatthesweaterasMorphinebledintoSympathyforTheDevil.He’d
somehowforgottenthathe’dbeenwearingthecamojacket.
“Carefuloryou’llflasheveryone.”Malheldhisshirtdown.“Youmightlookgood
strippingtothisthough.”
“Getatwentyfromthatdudeandlet’sfindout.”Witttossedhissweaterintoachair
nexttoMal’sparkaandslippedthecamojacketbackon.
“Sorryaboutthat.”Shewipeddownherarmandblewhernose.“Hangon.”
SheretrievedWitt’sbeerfromtheshelfbythezombiehuntermachineandsignaled
Courtneyfortwomore.AsshereturnedWittlookedpasthertothecornerofthebar.
Thetoothlessmanwasflankedbyaskinnymanindarkjeansandaleatherjacket.Thick
blackhairretreatinginapompadouraboveahighforehead.Theothermanworealoose,dark
suitandaloosetie.Hehadhighcheekbonesandwildlonghairtuckedbehindhisearsthatgave
himaregal,authoritativeair.Witthadn’tseenthemwhenheandMalwalkedinbutit
seemedlikethey’dbeenthereforeternity.
“I’mgonnagetsick.”Witttooktheglass,gratefulashedrankthatitwasstillhalffull.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 38
“No,youwon’t.”Sheclearedherthroat.Wittdecidedagainstjokingaboutthemkissing.
“Youdidn’tanswermyquestion.”
“Whatquestion?”Sheeyedhisbeerhungrily,elbowsproppedonthetable.Fuckit,Witt
thought.Heslidhisbeertoher.“Hey,thanks.”
“Younervousaboutgoingtoyourdads?”Thesecondwindhithim.Hefeltsmooth,like
hecouldglide.Ahappywindcarryinghimoveramoroseocean.
“It’snotaboutnervous.”Shedrank,hereyesdartingtotheBostonHerofresco.Still
staringatTedLandsmarkandJudgeGarrityshesaid,“IhavethisrecurringdreamwhereI’m
drowning.That’showIfeelaroundmyfamily.Imean,notaroundmymom,she’sbeeninBrazil
foryears.Shit,maybethat’snotquiteright.”
“Whatdoyoumeannotright?”
“Idunno.”Shesatup-right,pullingbackfromhim.Sheturnedthezippooverinher
palm.“Ihaven’treallyseenmydadortherestofthemenoughthelastfewyearstosay
“aroundmyfamily.”IonlysawhimtwiceinthethreeyearsbeforeImovedbacktoBrazil.”
Witthalf-wonderedifheandMalwouldhavegottencloseiftheirfamilieshadn’tbeen
fuckedup.
“Likegraduation?”OngraduationdayMalhadusheredherdrunkfatherintoataxi
outsideHynesConventioncenter.He’dknockedthemortarboardoffherhead.Hergownhad
evengottencaughtinthetaxi’sdoor.
“Oncebeforethat,likearoundEaster.Brooke’sidea.DevoutChristianthatsheis.”
“D’youthinkwe’dhavebecomefriendsifourfamiliesweren’tfuckedup?”
Sheeffectedacontemplativefrown.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 39
“Probablynot.Ithinkyou’rekindofadicktobehonest.”
“AtleastI’mgoodlooking.”
“Witt,honey.You’redeadsexy.”Shepinchedhischeek.Herthumbandforefingercold
tohisflesh.“Ineedacigarette.I’llberightback.”
“You’retoosicktosmokecigarettes.C’mon.”Hetookherhand.Herfingerscurled
aroundhis.Sheshookhishandlikeitwasajammeddoorknob.
“Lastoneofthenight.Don’tworry.I’mgonnacallBrookewhileIstillhavepowerleft.
Checkin.Whatever.Makesurenobodyroofiesus.”
Sheclappedhiskneesasshebouncedoffherseat.Leaningintohim.Hermouthopen.
Hekissedher.Theatomicurgeroaredthroughhimsoinstantaneouslyhecouldhave
swornheonlyfeltitaftertheykissed.Itfeltlikeanykiss,exceptbetterbecauseitwasher.
Herhandsstillonhisknees.Lipsonhis.Soft.Beercoldonhertongue.Her.Her.
Thenshesteppedbackandexhaledalowwhistle.Witthoveringintheclouds,breath
held,skintingling.
Shereachedoverthetableforherparka.Herheadtiltedlow.Wittstartedtothink‘oh
shit’andpickeduphisbeer.Shethrewherparkaonandpulledherhairback.Thenshelooked
himupanddownandchuckled.
“Youlooksocoolinthatjacket.”
Shespunonherheelandmarchedoutside.Wittcranedhisnecktolookoutthe
windows.Malsparkedupbeneathastreetlamp,thesnowfallinglessheavyaroundtheorange
phosphorescentconedescendingfromthelamp.Aplumeofsmokefloatingfromherlips.
“Here’stoyou,Jackiekid.”WittraisedhisglasstoJFKwatchingoverhimfromthe
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 40
Frescoandsluggedmorebeer.Feelinglikehecouldwalkonwaterandnotevencare.Harry’s
readhismindbecause‘WhatAWonderfulWorld’atthatmomentdriftedoutofthespeakers.
Louiscomingoutallslowtempoandjazzgravely,musictoWitt’ssoul.
Listentothevoicemail.
Witttookhisphoneout,pureadrenalinetappinghispassword,pullingupthevoicemail.
Hewasunafraidnow.Hewasimmortal.Hewouldbefree.He–
Couldn’tdoit.
Nope.
Theweightofhistotalandsuddenimmobilitygatheredbehindhiseyesockets.The
phone.Thereinhishand.Voicemailonthecallscreen.Rightthere.Inhishand.Thevoicemail.
Oneminuteandfifty-threeseconds.Listentoit.
Can’t.
Hisfathercrossingthestreet.Lookingsuperioranddisinterested.
Hecheckedthewindow.Malwasonherphone,sweepingherbootlefttorightacross
thesnow.You’resocool.Whatwasthatfrom?Itwasgonnadrivehiminsane.
Hefinishedtherestofhisbeer,thebargettingalittledrifty.Wittsettledonthewhite
plasterbustofElvisinacornershelfwheretheliquorbottlesmettheexposedbrickwall.
Aviatorsandapompadourwighangingonhim.Elvis.
TrueRomance.
Thatwasit.You’resocool.JeremyandJesshadputitonthenightthefourofthem
stumbledbackfromgametwo.WittrememberedUzi’sandshotgunsblastingahotelroomto
piecesashepassedoutwithMalslumberingonhisshoulder.ButClarencelivedattheend.Yes.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 41
“Sorryforthedelay.”Courtneysetatraydown.Depositedabasketoffries,aplateof
wings,andtwomorebeers.Wittrumblingwithhungerandfeelingbloatedallatonce.
“You’rethebest.”Wittsaid.Shesmiledandreturnedtothebarasacolumnof
extremelywellgroomedmiddleagedmenstrolledin,Malontheirheels.Shedidaoneeighty
andsaddleduptoWitt.
“Don’tyouloveitwhenyougetbacktoyourtableandyourfood’sready?”She
paraphrased,cigarettesandcoldemanatingoffher.
“Holdthatthought.Igottatakealeak.”
“Howpoetic.”Shepiledfriesintohermouth.
WitthustledtothestaircasenexttotheZombieHunterMachine,nowoccupiedbytwo
studentsingreyB.F.I.T.hoodies.Ashereachedthestaircaseheheardthetoothlessmanhiss:
“They’remurderingmefuckinsongs!”
Exposedbrickwallsanddimlightingformedthespaciousbasement.Atthebottomof
thestairsWittswervedaroundatowerofT-ShirtsandCD’sstackedonawhiteplasticfolding
table.Hevaguelyclockedafewmusiciansfiddlingwithampsonamakeshiftstageashe
scuttleduparamp,downanarrowhallandshoulderedthroughawoodpartition.
Graffitiurgingamassuprisingor,alternatively,advertisinganex’sphonenumber
riddledthewalls.Wittrelievedhimselfandmovedtothesink.Examinedhisreflectioninthe
chippedmirror.
Whycan’tyoulistentothatvoicemail?
Ijustcan’t.
Youlookgoodthough.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 42
Somebodyhadrecentlyscribbledinblackinkonthecornerofthemirror:
AlwaysInit.AlwaysOnit.Alwayswantit?
Wittknewexactlywhatthatmeant.Hesmoothedthecamojacket’scollarandturned
backintothehallway.Onstageagainstthefarwall,awaif-likewomanwithinkyblackhair
partedintostraightcurtainssatpoisedatopastool.Ring-wrappedfingersclaspedinherlap.
Chalk-whiteshouldersprotrudingfromablackhaltertop.
“Comefillupyourglasseswithbrandyandwine,I’mamanyoudon’tmeeteveryday.”
HervoicewasanetherealwhisperfromtheghostworldthatreachedfloatingintoWitt’ssoul.
Apiercingblastofdistortionshotbetweenhisearsasaspectacledhipsterpluggedhis
guitarintoanamp.Thewaify-singerjumpedtenfeetoffherstoolandscreamed:
“Goddamnyou,Tanner!”
Spellbroken,WittpausedatthetablewiththeT-ShirtsandCD’s.Anotherhipster,this
onewithartfullysculptedredhairandnerveagentB.O.,hoveredbehindWitt.
“2for1ifyoubuytheCD.I’llautographit,too.Twentybucks.”Thehipsterdrawled.
“I’lltakeamedium.”Wittforkedoveratwenty.TheHipsterJohnHancockedtheCD-
caseandeyeballedWitt.
“Cooljacket,where’dyougetit?”
“Alabama.”Wittsnatchedthesharpieandranbacktothemen’sroom.Intheflickering
lighthewroteinclearlettersonthemirror:
ClarenceLivesattheEnd!
BackupstairsSullyhadmannedastoolbythedoorandwascheckingID’swithhispen-
light.AtthebarWittoverheadthemanintheleatherjacketbarkattheothertwo:
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 43
“Youdon’twriteslogans,youwritetruths!”Hispalmkaratechoppingforemphasis.
WitttappedMalonherrightshoulderasheapproached,duckingleftasshelooked.
“Gotcha.”Wittsaid,leaningagainstthetableinfrontofher,T-Shirtbehindhisback.
“Youdid.”Shetoremeatoffachickenwing,depositedthebonesatoptheothersona
side-plate.“What’veyougotthere?”
“ChristmasPresent.Closeyoureyes.”
Sheswallowedagulpofbeerandpaused,herarmcockedatarightangleagainstthe
table,fixedhimwithasardonicraisedeyebrow.
“Witt,nobodyevercamebackfromthebathroomwithapresentworthgiving,or
receiving.”
“Well,youcanjusthaveitthen.”WittdroppedtheT-ShirtandCDintoherlap.Malset
herbeerdown.Witttookasipofhisandsatdown.Bitintoawing.
Sheunfoldedtheshirt.Fourgrungyhipsterspoutedinblackandwhite.Printed
horizontallyin70’sbubbleletteringwerethewords“LessThanElephant.”
“Wow,we’reinonthegroundfloor.”Shedeadpanned.Wittblanched,heart-racinglike
‘JesusChrist,I’mdoingmybest’.Maybeitwasthekiss,badmove.Elephantintheroomnow.
Malstoodandpulledtheshirton,tuggingitlefttorightdowntoherwaist.Shefanned
herhairbackandtieditintoahastypony-tail.“HowdoIlook?”
“Super-cool.No,evenbetter.Deadsexy.”No,youidiot,she’sbeautiful.Tellher.
“Damnright.”ShepulledherseatclosertoWitt.“Sorry,Ididn’tmeantoberude.
Brookewasbeingshittyoverthephone.Shefuckingscreamedatme!“Mallory,youcouldhave
beenheresooner,whyareyouleavingthistome?”She’snever,evercomeclosetobeing
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 44
directlyhostiletome.Like,ever.Usuallyshedoesthatbornagainthingwheretheyjudgeyou
withthatlifelesssmile,youknow?”
“Sure.”Wittdidn’t.Hisinteractionswithself-identifiedChristianswerelimitedto
overhearingthecountryclubsetinhisrestaurantpreachlowtaxesandbettergolfcourses.
“Ididn’tevenknowshecouldyell.Shesoundedlikeacat.Maybeit’sthepressure,I
dunno,shedoesn’thandlepressurewell.Phonediedwhenshewasstillyelling.”Malswigged
morebeerandkeyedtheglasswithherfingernails.Wittdugintothechickenwings.“Sheset
thisup,youknow.Emailedmeafewmonthsago,“wouldyouconsidervisitingforChristmas?”
Spurofthemoment,Isaidyes.Wasn’treallythinking.Mymomthoughtitwasagoodideatoo
and,ah,Ididn’ttellyouthis.”
“What?”Wittleanedin.Shejerkedbackandcoughedviolentlyintoherhand.Witt
grimaced.Hewasdefinitelygoingtogetsick.
“I’mbetweenjobsrightnow.”Shesaidafterclearingherthroat.“BackinOctobertheTV
stationgotboughtout.I’vebeenwaitingtablesatthisplacemycousinMariaworksatwhileI’m
lookingforproductiongigs.Butthere’ssomethingsuphereIwasgonnalookinto.”
“Youmeanyou’recomingback?”Wow,itmustbeChristmas.
“IfIfindsomethinggood.Idunno,itdepends.IgotalottafriendsinRio,andmymom.
That’syouknow,important.Butworkiswork.”
“Yougotfriendsuphere.”Witthatinghisneedinessevenashewantedmorethan
anythingforhertomoveback.“Meforexample.”
“Youforexample.”Shewavedherbeerathim.“But,Ilivenearabeach.Ilikeitdown
there,Iknowit.It’sme.Ontheotherhand,Idon’tlikegettingmuggedandshotbyrubber
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 45
bullets.Youthinkmymuggingwasbad?MyfriendRebeccaandherboyfriendAndregot
muggedbyanentirebusloadofgang-bangers.Literally,what’llhappensometimesisgangswill
commandeerabusandjustswarmpeopleonthestreet.Theypayoffthecopssonothingever
getsdone.It’ssofuckedup,RebeccaandAndregotputinthehospital,copscamebyandsaid
“sorry,wecouldn’tfind‘em”,RebeccaswearsoneofthecopswaswearingAndre’swatch.”
TheregularscheeredastheBruinsscored.Courtneyrangabellabovetheregister.The
toothlessguybellowedshut-upandfelltothefloor.Theleatherjacketedmanhauledhimupby
hiscollar,wild-hairedmanuprightedthestoolandheandleatherjacketforcedtoothlessman
backintoit.Theywereatriotothemselves,gloriouslyoutofplace.Moresoaspredatory
lookingfresh-off-the-Tfinancialdistricttwentysomethingsstrodethroughthedoorandsidled
uptothebarasifthey’djustboughttheplace.
“RememberwhenyoukeptinsistingthatIcomevisityou?”Wittpokedherkneeand
dugintosomefriestokeephimselffromleavinghishandonherleg.
“Theywon’tmugatourist.”Malwipedherlips.“Actually,theywould.Touristshave
money.”
“What?I’mpoor.”Wittprotested.Whichwastruedependingonwhosedefinitionof
poorwasbeingused.
“Sopooryoucouldn’thavevisitedme?”Malteased,aimingachickenwingathim.
Witttookitfromherandchewed.
“Ihateflying.Plus,Idon’tthinkIhaveagoodbeachbody.”
“Oh,bullshit,likeIdo?”
“Iknowyoudo.”Thatatomicphysicalneedforherroaredthroughhismusclesagain.An
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 46
honesttoGodphysicalneed.Shegrinnedathim,chewingsilently,halfawingbetweenher
saucesplatteredfingers.“You’rereallysellingmeonthisdinner.”
“It’llbefine.I’mexcited,food’llbegreat.You’rewelcometostaywithmeifyouwant.”
Physical.Afuckingphysicalfuckingneed.Shehadtofeelittoo.
“Great,I’llbefuckedifI’mstayingwithJeremy.”
“Oh,Christ,Witt.”Shegroaned,rockedbackinherchair,eyestotheceiling.Palmson
theedgeofthetable.Herheadswiveledbacktohimlikeitwasautomated.Hereyeswerewide
withfrustration.Yetshewassmiling.Sheclaspedhischeekswithbothhands.
“Haveyounotheardofforgiveness?”Hereyesblazing.
Likeathousandmegatonsatomic.Psychicwavesfillingthespacebetweenthem.
“Ireallymissedyou.”Witttoldher.
Shejumpedontohim.Crashingintohimsohardthechairscrapingacrossthefloor
almosttippedover.Herlipsdrivingintohis,tonguedeepintohismouth,hipsheavystraddling
him.Hegraspedthesmallofherback,pulledhertohim.Couldcarelesswhosaw.
Heheardherbootshitthefloor.Herlegsslidingoffhim.Shepulledback,armsoverhis
shoulders,fingersinhishair.Helefthishandsonthesmallofherback,hispinkyonherbelt.
Headspinningwaytoofasttobeembarrassedorself-consciousortoaskquestions.
“You’regonnagetsick.”Themostseductivesmilehe’deverseen.
“I’llforgiveyou.”
Theystaggeredarminarmdownfreshlysweptsidewalks.Neatlyverticalmini-canyons
ofblownsnowliningthepavement.Thesnowhavingstopped,leavingarapidlyclearinggray
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 47
skyabovethesodiumvaporhazeofstreetlampsandofficebuildings.Theyboughtawater
bottleinaTedeschiandshareditastheymaneuveredthroughgagglesofsmokersshivering
outsidebarafterbar.
“Fuckit,gimmeone.”WitttoldMalaftershesmackedacigarettefromherpack.
“I’myourenabler.”Shehandedhimone.
“Yeah,you’rebadforme.”
Hecuppedhishandsaroundherzippoasshelithiscigarette.Harsherthanheexpected
tobaccosmokehittingthebackofhisthroat.
ShetookhishandandtheycontinuedhandinhandallthewaytoBackBay.Wittkept
waitingforasignthatthiswasabadidea.Thatherhandwouldleavehis,thatshe’dlookaway,
anawkwardslumpoftheshoulders,ahesitantlook.Anything.
Nothing.Shedidn’twannaslowdownsoneitherdidhe.Noway.
AtrioofbuskersinidenticalbeigedusterswerecoveringFairytaleofNewYorkinthe
middleoftheOrangeLineplatform.Crooningbetweenbillandcoinfilledguitarcasesand
spray-paintcoveredMTAposters.
MalswayedinfrontofWittastheypassedthebuskers,herhipsweaving.Wittthinking
vaguelywrongcitybutlovingthevibeallthesame.Stillholdinghishand,shedidapirouette,
spinningonhertoeunderhisarmthenfallingbackintohim.Hekissedhercheekandheldher,
goingelectriccalmatthefeelofherweightagainsthim.
TheytransferredatStateStreet.Brieflygettingtrappedinasolidmassofshitfaced
SuffolkUkidsandno-time-for-thiscityhallworkers.Theyfoughtthroughthethrongtogetto
theBlue-line,MalelbowingBro-Santasandhalfnakedelvesaside,Witthumming“Ibuiltmy
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 48
dreamsaroundyou”astheyleaptontotheBlueLinejustbeforethedoorssealedshut.
“Isawwaytoomuchscatteredassbackthere.”Malsaid,slurpingfromthewaterbottle
asthetramhurtleddowntheEastBostontunnel.SheslouchedagainstWitt.Hisarmcurled
overherstomach.Hestretchedhisleftlegout,swathsofslushandmudsplatteredacrossthe
grey-rubbernon-slipfloorofthesubwaycar.
“ShouldIhavebroughtapresent?Maybechangedfordinner?”Wittasked.
“Hellno.”Shecoughedagain.“Unlessyouwannabringlike,asermonvideoforBrooke.”
“Can’twaittomeether.”
Sheranherthumbacrossthetopofhishand,pressingdownontheveins.
“Shehasfaketits.Youcan’tbeabornagainChristianandhavefaketits.”
“Didshehavefaketitsbeforeoraftershebecamebornagain?”
Malsatupandstretched,drankmorewater.
“Youknowsomething,Witt,Idon’tknow.Feelfreetoaskher.Shecollectsrockstoo.”
Shetracedfigureeightsoverthebackofhishand.“I’mbeingtoohardonher.Idon’tevencare
abouttheChristianthing,ifthat’swhatgotmydadsoberthanfine,it’sjust–wait,you’renot
buggingoutaboutcomingtothisthing,areyou?”
“Notatall.”Hewassoflatteredhe’dhavefollowedherintoapitofhistenworstfears.
“It’llbeagoodtime.Tim’sacooldude.Andyouandmydadcantalkaboutsportballor
whatever.He’lllikethat.”
Wittgotasurgeofwantingtoimpress.AsidefromwatchingMalshoveherdadintothe
Taxiongraduationday,he’dneveractuallymethim.Fromherstorieshe’dbasicallyimagined
herfatherasanhonesttoGodmanifestationofeverydone-to-deathBostonmyth.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 49
Whichhadmadehimfeelguiltythat,bydesign,hehadnostoriesabouthisownfather.
HeknewthathisfatherhadmovedtoCambridgeafterthedivorceandworkedatMass
General.Thatwasit.
Anemptyhousewasbetterthanaburninghouse.
Maltookoutherzippoandgrounditbackupherleg,thetopflippingopen,thenslidit
backdownherleg,thewheelcatchingandaflamerising.
“Whenwasthelasttimeyoutalkedtoyourdad?”Clack.Shesnappedthezipposhut.
“Ifeellikewe’vetalkedaboutthisbefore.”Emptyhousescan’thurtyou.
Hetookthezippo.Awarmcirclefaintwithinthecoldstainlesssteel.
“Right,yeah.Ofcourse.”Maltappedtheheelofherhandagainsthertempleandsatup.
Onefootonthefloor,theothercrossedonthebanquette.ShepickedstrandsofhairoffWitt’s
coat,keyedhisarmliketherewasapiano.“Youreallyhaven’tlistenedtothatvoice-mailyet?”
Wittshookhishead.
“Wantmetolistentoitfirst?”
“Yeah,sure.”Wittdughisphoneoutandofferedittoher.
“Really?”Shereachedforit.
“Nope.”Witttuckedthephonebackintohispocket.“I’llgettoitwhenIgettoit.”
MallaughedandswiveledagainsothatshewassittingnexttoWitt.Shehookedher
armunderhisandrestedherheadonhisshoulder.
TheBlueLineemergedfrombeneaththeI-90Interchange.ThroughthewindowsWitt
sawhisandMal’sreflectionrecedingagainstdark,lightbeadedsquaresofindustriallotsand
warehouses.Parkinggaragesgavewaytosnow-cappedtreesandplowedstreets.Thetree-lines
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 50
occasionallysolidenoughtomaketheirreflectionssodefineditseemedliketheywerefloating
withintheglassitself.
“Isthisaguything?”Sheasked.
“What?”Witthavingspacedout,thinkingmostlyhowawfulit’dbeifhiscarwasgone
whentheyreachedWinthrop.
“Youknow,thewhole–”Shebrandishedherpalmsincircles,asifWitt’sbasedefinition
couldbeconjuredviawaxon-waxoff.“Stoicguywhodoesn’ttalkaboutit,isthatwhatthisis?”
“IfbythatyoumeanI’mJohnMcClane,thenyes.”Butmostlynowhefeltpetty.Weak.
Shewastheoneconfrontingherissues,albeitlate,drunk,andsick.Andhewaswhat?
Treadingwaterinajobyouhate,livinginareconvertedatticaboveyourmother’s
garage.Work,jerk-off,workout.ScrollingthroughNetflixquesfullofshitthatyoudonot
watchandneverwill.Lifesmotheredbyroutine.Disinterestedintheworldexceptforburstsof
rageataFacebookstatusyouglimpsedbeforeyouswipedleftonthedatingappyoufinally
workedupthecouragetodownload.Beneaththestaticmonotonygrowsthecertaintythatyou
havenocapacitytolivealiferemotelycomparabletotheinterestingpeoplewhoseselfies
leaveyousickwithenvy.
“Aftertheaccident.”Wittsaid,hisvoiceaseven-keeledastheTglidingoverthetracks
pastOrientHeights.“Eightyearsago.Drovedowntoseemeinthehospital.ToldmewhatI
shouldaskthedoctorsandnurses,secondguessedtheirdecisions,Ithinkitwashiswayof–”
Wittstopped.InhismindaZapruderfilmreelfiredimagesoffacesdrowningindive-
bombingheadlights.Amightyandindifferentcrash.ThatWittonlyheardlaterwhenhetriedto
situpinthehospitalbed.Smiling.Anumbblockthrobbingbelowhisknee.Hospitalgownfuzzy
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 51
againsthischesthairs.Humansizedshadowpuppetsmurmuringbehindtheaero-bluetarp.
Yankedaside.Rungsscreeching.Therehewas.Oh,heytheredeardad,you’relosingyourhair.
No.No.
HisandMal’sreflectionsswamagainstthecurvingexpanseofConstitutionBeach.The
interiorlightsdimmed,andtheirreflectionsvanishedintothefrozenseabetweenthesnowy
beachandthemountainousmoonscapeglowofLogan’srunways.
Thenthelightsflickedbackonandtheirreflectionsbecameasolidblockbehindwhich
theairport,beach,andseawobbledlikeafakegreen-screenbackground.
Malsnakedinfrontofhim,grippingthehandrailmountedinthepartitionbythedoor,
herwaistcoiledagainstlegs,herfacevibratinginchesfromhis.
Desirerumblinginhim.Hewantedtopresshislipstoherneck.
“Ifeellikeyouweregoingsomewherewiththat.”
“No,thatwasit.”
Don’tthinklessofme.Whatifshedoes?Doyouthinklessofyou?
Herfacewassoclosetohishecouldseeredveinsinhereyes.
“CanImakeasuggestion?Justone?”
“Ifit’sjustone.”Wittdimlyhopingshe’dsuggestthattheyfindawaytofuckbefore
dinner.
“Listentothatvoice-mailbeforethenightisout.”
Doingsowasonlymarginallylessdepressingtohimthanthethoughtthattheaftermath
ofthebestthirtysecondsofhislife(pleaseGodlethimmakeittoaminute)wouldmake
returningtoanormalfriendshipimpossible.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 52
Wittputhishandonherforehead.
“You’reburningup.”Hetoldher.
Sheclosedhereyesandleanedintohim.
“Yourhandiscold.Itfeelsamazing.”Sheheldhiswrist,eyesstillclosed.
Shewassolid.Sowashe.Heslidhishandacrossherforehead,downthroughherhair
toherneck.Denyingthelustdemandingthathishandtouchmore.Caredtoomuch.Itfeltnice
tocare.Itfeltamazing.
Hisjeepwastheonlycarontheblockthatwasn’tpiledunderafootofsnow.Thatwas
thefirstthinghenoticed.Thesecondwasthatithadbeenkeyed.
“Whatthefuck?”Wittgawkedatthewavywhitestreakcarvedintohiscarfromwheel
towheel.Hewrenchedopenthedriversidedoor.Apieceofpaperandtwentydollarbillwas
tapedtothesteeringwheel.
Deardriver,
Myolderbrotherandhisfriendstriedtostealyourcartonight.Imadehimchangehis
mindbecauseIdon’twanthimtogetintotrouble.Wedidn’ttakeyourbagsbutwealmostdid.
Hedidn’tkeyyourcar.Hisfrienddid.Thetwentydollarsistopayforit.Sorry.MerryChristmas.
Malreadthenoteoverhisshoulder.
“Thatwasniceofhim.”
Wittscannedtheflatroofedtripledeckers,feelingliketheywerebeingwatched.Like
theinsurgentcarthievesweregigglinginthealleysorononeoftheporchesfestoonedwithred
andwhiteChristmaslights.Maybebeneathoneofthetarpsinthetinylawnsbetweenthelow
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 53
chainlinkfencesandvinylsidedhouses.
“Shallwe?”Malasked,shiftingonherfeetinthecold.
“Yeah.”Heranhisthumbalongthekey-line.“That’llbeworthmorethantwentybucks.”
SheledhimupthestreettowardstheVictorian.Astheysteppedontoacrookedporch
withagabledawningWitttuckedthenoteintohispocket.Malsquintedatapostboxand
pressedabuttonmarkedforHeller.Shecurledherfingersintoandoutofherpalms.
AbuzzerrangbeforeWittcouldthinkofsomethingreassuringtosay.Hefeltacertainty
ofpurposeashefollowedherupthenon-slippadcoveredstaircase.Hewaslivinghislife,not
observingit.Christmasdinnerwiththefamily,allgatheredaroundamapletablewithawhite
clothandglitteringchina.“Everyone,thisisWitt.”Malwouldsaytostrangerswhowouldsmile
athim.Shewouldholdhishandunderthetable.Inthelivingroomshewouldrestherheadon
hisshoulder.Herfatherwouldapproveofhim.
He’dlistentothevoicemailtoo.Failingthat,he’dcallJeremyandsay“you’reforgiven.”
Tomorrowprobably.
Thedooratthetopofthestairsflewopen.Astockymanwithabulletshapedheadand
agreenflannelshirtpartiallytuckedintoloosekhakisstoodmajesticallyinthedoorway.
“Theresheis!”Mal’sfatherexclaimed.
“Sorrywe’relate.”Malansweredwithapronouncedsmileasshereachedthelanding.
“Don’tworryaboutit.Comeinhere.Gimmeahug.Wow,whenwasthelastIsawyou?”
WitthoveredasMalacquiescedtoherfather’sembrace,chinandshouldersstiff.
“MerryChristmas,dad.”Shedetachedherselfnotunkindly.“Hey,Iwantyoutomeeta
friendofmine,he’sgonnastaytonightifthat’scool.ThisisWitt.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 54
“Nicetomeetyou.”Wittextendedhishand.Mal’sfathersuddenlyappearedconfused,
hiseyeswidenedandhiswrinklesseemedtofreeze.Justassuddenlyhesmiledandseized
Witt’shand.
“Ok,great.Nicetomeetyou,Witt,right?CallmeDon.Ok,comeonin.”Heushered
theminside.“YoucanhangupyourjacketsorIcantake‘em.Youcanleaveyourshoesontoo,
youknow,we’renotintotakingyourshoesofforanyofthat.”
WitthunghiscoatupnexttoMal’s,acutelyawareofDonlingeringintheentryway.
“What’swiththeoutfits?”Donasked,hisgrintrainedentirelyonMal.Wittnoticeda
wadofgumwedgedinhisteeth.Hadhenotbeenslightlyhunchedoverhe’dbethesame
heightasWitt.
“WittgotmethisshirtandIgothimthejacket.”Shesaidbreezily.“Whereiseveryone?”
“BrookehaddapickupColinupfromfromrehearsal.Tim’sshiftranlate,they’llbeback
soon.Foodsalmostready–”Donshookhisheadapologetically.Hehadafearfullook.“It’sgreat
toseeyou,Mallory.”
Wittsuddenlylongedtoinvisible.Therewasalotofwaterunderthisbridge.Hetriedto
pictureaconversationwithhisownfather.It’dbemoreformal.Hisfatherwouldprobably
sweepovertohimandtalklikenothinghadhappened.
“Thanks,dad.”Malpattedhisarm.Shehadthepoiseofaballerinaabouttoperforma
carefuldance.“It’sgreattoseeyoutoo.”
Donchewedhisgumabsentmindedly,thennoddedandledthemthroughasmalloffice
withaL-shapeddeskandyellowplasterwallsdecoratedwithbirdfigurines,intoanarrow
hallwaytothelivingroom.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 55
“Here,siddown,comesiddown.”Hegrabbedababybluemugfromthecoffeetable
andpointedeagerlyatafeebleplaidsofabelowalargecrucifix.
MalhesitatedlongenoughthatWittsatdownfirst.Doneasedintoabeigecorduroy
reclinerandswiveledtofacethem.Hetookaswigofhotchocolate,‘EndicottCapital’was
printedonthemug.Malfoldedonekneeovertheotherandtookagingerbreadmanfroma
plateonthecoffeetable.
“Didjahaveagoodflight?I’dapickedyouupbutIdidn’tknowwhenyourflightwas.”
Doncradledthemug.Hischeekbonesweresharplydefinedbuttheskinwasswollen.Therewas
somethingdistortedabouthim,Wittthought,likedecayedhickory.
Malbittheheadoffthegingerbreadmanandclearedherthroat.“Yeah,Isleptthe
wholetime.Didn’twanttotroubleyou.Don’tworryaboutit.”
Donstaredather.
“What’swrongwithyou,youok?”
“I’mcatchingacold.”Hervoicewasclippedandformal,liketherewasonlysomuch
oxygenintheroomandwordswereprecious.
“DoyouwantsomeTylenol?I’llgetyousomecoughdrops,somewaterorteamaybe?”
Donjumpedupandbeelinedintothekitchenlikehe’dfoundhiscalling.
“I’lltakesomehotchocolate.”Malcalled,thenadded:“Wittwillhaveonetoo.”
MalrubbedherthroatandsankintoWitt’sarm.
“Idon’tthinkIcanmakeitthroughdinner.Theyfuckingbettergetbacksoon.”
“Hangtough,kid,don’tleaveme.”Wittkissedherforehead,hisattentioncaughtbya
bullfightinafiftiesmovieplayingonthemutedTV.AfakeChristmastreesatnexttotheTV.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 56
Nativityfiguresandbirdshungonthetree,whoseplasticbristlesremindedWittofDon’shair.
Donreappeared,onecupbetweenhiselbowandtorso,theothertwoinhishands.
“Igotit,justtakethis,ok,yeah.”
Witttooktheonefromhiselbow.Maltooktheother.Thehotchocolatewaslukewarm
tothetouch.Donsatbackdown,hismugfull.Maltookonesipandsethercupdown.
“Coaster.”Donsnapped.Then,inaseamlesslygentletone,“Please,honeyshouldbein
thedrawer,yeah.”Malfoundtwocorkcoasters,oneimprintedwithahummingbird,theother
with‘GodisLove’.
“Sorry,Idon’tkeepanyDayquilaround.”DonturnedtoWitt.“Sleepingonaplane,
dunnohowshedoesit.Don’tlikeflying.Noway.IusedtoliveonNeptuneroad,planeslanding
andtakingoff.Enginesshookthewholehouse.Couldn’tsleepawink.”
“IthoughtyougrewupinCharlestown.”Wittsaidwithwhathethoughtwassmooth,
knowledgeableconfidence.Donblanched,regardedWittwithsomethinglikesuspicion.
“Iwasbornthere.Movedbetweenthereandaroundhere,yeah.IlivedonNeptune–”
Hesuddenlybrokeoutingravelylaughter.Hesethismugdown,hisfacebeetred.““Ilivedon
Neptune”.Getit?”
“IthoughtyoulivedonSaturn.”Malsaid,grinningtomaskher‘I’ve-heard-this-before’
tone.Doncrackedupharder,thepangsoflaughtersharpandguttural.
Wittjustsatthere,alumpinthecushionbeneathhim.Hisfatherwouldn’tbotherwith
badjokes,whichmadehimlikeDonmore.TherewasnobilityinDon’sbadjokes,Wittwas
convincedthatbehindthemlaypain.WhichbecameanotherreasontowinDon’sapproval.
“Thatusedtobeourjoke.”Donpickedhismugbackup.“Didn’tthinkyou’dremember.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 57
“CourseIdid.”Malsaid,hervoicegettingraspier.
“Neptuneroad.Don’tmissit.BadenoughbeinganIrishmaninaguineapartoftown.”
“Dad.Don’tsay‘guinea’.”Malsuggestedpleasantly.
DonsquintedatWittlikehewastryingtodecidewhattodowithhim.Maybeheknew
thatWittandMalhadbeendrinkingallday.Witttriedtomatchtheeager,hunchbackedDonof
thereclinerwiththethrashingmadmanMalhadforcedintoataxi.
“IthinkI’veseenyoubefore,youwentathatgamewithher,right?”
AlightflippedoninWitt’sbrain.Familiarterritory.
“Yeah.Game2ofthe’13ALCS.”Wittsmiled.
“That’sit!IsawaphotoofyouguysonBrooke’sfacebook.”Dontookanothersipand
cradledthemug.
“IforgotBrookehadafacebook.”Malexaminedherfingernails.
“Oh,yeah.Shetoldmeseeingthatphotomadeheremailyou.”Donwasalmost
breathlesswithjoy.WittwassureMalwasthinking‘privacysettings’.
“Thisphoto?”Wittthumbedhisphone’slockbuttonandshowedDonthescreen.
“Yeah!”Dontookthephone,almostgoingcross-eyedholdingitsoclose.Apparently
transfixedbyWitt,Mal,Jeremy,andJesssittingagainsttheTedWilliamsstatue.
Wittoftenstaredatthephototoo.Sometimeshewantedtoliveinsidehowhe’dfelt
whenitwastaken,orwhathethought,everytimehelookedatit,he’dfeltlike.Hisand
Jeremy’ssolidaritybeards.Malbeamingnexttohim,wearinghisSoxhat.Herarmaroundhim.
JesssidewaysonJeremy’sknee,hisarmswrappedaroundherlikeaseatbelt.
WitthadwornthePedrojerseyhisfatherhadsenthimforhisbirthdaythatnight.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 58
“Whatagamethatwas,huh?”Donsmiled.Witthadneverwornthejerseybeforeor
since.
“PapiisaGod.”Wittsaid,thinkingnotforthefirsttimethatheneededtodomorewith
hislife.Where’dheputthatjerseyanyway?
Don’sfacecloudedandhiseyesnarrowed.
“There’sonlyoneGod.”DonpointedataporcelaintotemofsolemnJCadorningalow
book-casestackedwithTomClancybooksandAAmanuals.JCwasnotalone.Framedphotos
andwatercolorpaintingsofbirdshungonthewallsamongangelfigurines.Awood-cutcarved
withthewords“TheFourAgreements”hungprominentlybehindtheTV.Wittabsorbedthe
birdsandangelsintheHolyShineandlookedbacktohewhoresidedwithinit,Don,whose
deadenedfacewaswithouthumor.Thehigh-backedreclinerenvelopedhimlikeathrone.
“Right.Sorry.”Wittmanaged.MalputherhandonWitt’sback.
“Hey,it’sok.Don’tworry.Noproblematall.Ihaddagettwocavitiesremovedlastweek
andthere’sonlysomanypain-killerstheycangiveme.NevertrustedDoctors.”
“Pain-killers?”Malasked.
“Theygottabecarefulaboutwhattheygiveme.Justhave-tarideoutthepainfora
while.”Donreassuredher.“What,areyouworriedaboutme?”
“Justwantyoutobeok,that’sall.”Malsaidlikeshewasateachertalkingtoafavorite
student.“Whattimeiseverybodygettingback?”
Donseemedovercomewithrelief,evenjoy.HelookedfromWitttoMal,histoothy
smilelikeanexposedfaultline.StillholdingWitt’scellphone,hetappedhimontheknee,
apparentlynothearingMal’squestion.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 59
“Howaboutthisone,huh?“GodgivesuschildrensowecanhaverosesinDecember.””
Helookedbacktohisdaughter.“YouknowIwasworriedyouwouldn’twannacomeuphere.”
“Well,I’mherenow.”Malsaid.Wittcouldn’thelpbutthink:givetheguyabreak.Then
again,hewasinnopositiontojudgesomebodyfendingofftheirfather’solivebranches.
Witt’sphonebuzzedinDon’sfist.Dondidn’tnotice,hehadaglazedoverlookashe
continuedtostareatMal.
“Sorry,Ineedmy–”Wittreachedforhisphone.Donjustlookeddownatthescreenand
readatextaloud.
““Iunderstandthatyoumightfeelhesitanttorespondtomycalls.Maybeit’sa
coincidencebutIsawsomebodywholookedlikeyoutoday.Pleasecallmewhenyouareable
todoso.Dad.””
Wittfroze.Comicallyhingedatthewaist,hisshinsagainstthecoffeetable,arms
extendedlikeahunchbackedzombie.Bloodrushingintohischeeks.Donstaringupathim,
curious,almostchild-like.
“CanIhavethat?”Wittasked.Hisfather’swordsinDon’svoiceutterlybizarre.
“What’sthatabout?”Donsurrenderedthephone,Wittdisciplinedenoughnottosnatch
itfromhim.Hepocketedthephonewithoutlookingatitashesatdown.Anacuteneedtokeep
upappearancesstiflinghim.Alltheboozeandbarfoodturningtocementinhisstomach.
Changethesubject.Lightenthemood.Getalaugh.Something.
“Betweenusfriendshere?”Wittheardhimselfsaywithac’estlavieshrug.“Some
complicatedshit,sir.”
Necessityreallywasthemotherofinvention.Thewordsandattitudeajack-in-the-box
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 60
personaWittjustsprungout.Himselfbutnot.Maldischargedathroatylaughthatbecamea
hackingcough,herbodyalmostconvulsingintoaseizure.
“Dad,d’youhavesometissues?”Malstood,wobblingassheturnedforthehallway.
“Icanget‘em.”Dononhisfeet,scamperingtothekitchen.Malstoppednexttothe
couch,exhaustionplainlyhittingher.Wittachingtobringherteainbed,tocooksoupandbring
ablanket.
Donreturnedwitharollofpapertowels,oddshadowsthrownontohisfacebythelamp
nexttothecouchonWitt’sleft.Mal,sneezing,reachedforthetowels.TheyfellontoWitt’slap
andbouncedunderthecoffeetable.
“Butterfingers!”Donlaughed.Wittpickedthemup,handedthemtoMal.Sheblewher
noseasDon,glancingintohismug,dartedbackintothehallway.Adoorclosed.Malcrumpled
upthepapertowels,glancingaroundforawastebasket.
“This’llbeyouinadayortwo.”Shefoundoneunderasidetable.
“I’vegotsomesickdayssavedup.”Wittsaid.
Malremainedstanding,gazingatthepicturesonthewalls.
“Iforgothegotintobirdwatchingawhileago.”Shedugherfingersintoapileofocean-
smoothedrocksinabowlonthesidetable.“Igetthebirds.Idon’tgettherocks.”
Wittstoodnexttoher.Webbedhisfingersbetweenhers.Rakedtheirhandsoverthe
stones.Coarseyetsmooth.Cold.Roundedsides.Slategrey.Nonelongerthanhispinky.Thin
likemoldeddough.Cracklingandscratchingquietly.Hisfingersoverhers.Fleshandrock.
Malexhaled.Windoverrock.
Hewantedtoskipstonesacrosstheseawithher.Standinwetsandaswaveswashed
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 61
overhisshins.Coconutshrimpandbottledbeersatacrabshack.Rubbinggrainsofsandfrom
thewetstones.Flickofthewrist.Howmanyskipswasthat?Seven.BetIcandoeight.
Sheremovedherhandfromthebowl.
“I’mgonnagetmybag.Areyourkeysinyourcoat?”
“Yeah.”
“Itwouldsuckifyouweren’there.”Shekissedhischeekandwentintothehallway,
sayingoverhershoulder.“Tryoneofthosegingerbreadmen.”
Hepickedoneupfromtheplateonthecoffeetable.Itfeltidenticaltotherocksand
clangedwhenhedroppeditbacktotheplate.Onthewalljustabovethelamphenoticeda
blackandwhitephoto.Adozenmen,sixseated,sixstanding,posinginfrontofabar.Donwas
oneofthem,standinginthetopright.Or,rather,ithadtobeDon’sfather.Awide,pearlysmile
flashingteethaswhiteashiscollar.But,seatedinthemiddle,Wittrealized,wasJFK.
“Where’dshego?”Don,statuestill,askedfromWitt’sleft.Standinghalfinthedarkof
thehallway,halfinthelightofthelivingroom.
“Togetherbag.”
“She’sgoingouttosmokeisn’tshe?Iknowsheis.”IttookWittasecondtoregisterhow
harshDon’svoicewas.Itwaslikeagrowl.“Stupidthingtodo.Youdon’tsmokedoyou?”
“Iquit.”Wittsaid.Hepointedatthephoto.“IsthatKennedy?”
“Yeah.Withmydad.OldSully’sin’58.”Donlumberedbacktotherecliner.Hisgroan
blendedintothecreakofthegearsasthefootrestcameup.HestaredatthemutedTV,
motionless.Radiatinganallconsumingsilence.Wittdidn’tknowwhatelsetodoandjustsat
backdownonthesofa.Donkickedthefootrestbackintothereclinerandswiveledtohim.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 62
Hissmilewasregalandsweeping.
“YourememberPedro’s17strikeoutsagainsttheYankeesin’99?”
“Ohyeah.”Wittnodded.
“ThatwasthelastgameIwatchedwithmyoldman.Iwenttoseehimwhenhewaslaid
upinMassGeneral,satwithhimbythebed.SeebythenI’dstartedmakingrealmoney,Igot
himaroomwithaTV.Justsatthereandwatcheditwithhim.Hewentacoupleofdayslater.”
“I’msor–”WittbeganbutDonbarreledoverhim.
“Ipassedoutatthefuneral.Noshit.Idid.Totallyloaded.Hitmyheadonagravestone,
that’showIgotthis,see?”DonpointedatapinkU-shapedscarjustbelowhishairline.Witt
didn’taskifMalwastheretoseethat.
“Shetoldyouaboutmyproblem,right?”DonaskedlikehewassizingWittup.“It’sok,
youcanbehonest.Shouldtalkaboutitbeforeeveryonegetsbackfordinner.Shetoldyou?”
“Yes.”
Donadoptedaproudtoneandsatupstraighter.
“Idon’tmakeexcusesformyself.PeoplehaddaendurealotwhenIwassick.Booze.
Thatstuff.Well,shit,nobodytellsyouthatsometimesitsfun.Onetime,nightbeforethe‘78
blizzard,IwasdrinkingdownbyOldColonyAvenuewithsomebuddies,Iwokeupthenextday
andit’sjustwhiteoutsidethewindows.Literally.Justawallofwhite.Neversawanythinglike
thatbefore.Hadnoideaablizzardwascoming.Didn’tknowwhatelsetodosowejustkept
drinking.Imagine,lookingoutthesewindows,andit’sjustwhite.Nothingelse.Justwhite.
That’swhatdrinkingis.It’sjustawallofwhitenothing.”
Dongazedhappilyatthealuminumwindow-blindsbehindtheTV.Lostinthememoryas
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 63
ifitwasn’tamemoryatall,asifhewerelivingitatthatmoment.
AtthatpointWittthought,tohishorror,thatDonhadbeendrinking.
Wherewaseverybodyanyway?
“Mydadtookmetotheall-stargamein’99.”Wittsaid,thewordsonebigkeyunlocking
averyheavydoor.“FirsttimeI’deverbeentoFenway.”
Tellhimmore.Tellhimyourdadsendsyouseasonticketseveryyearandyouneveruse
them.Youcouldhavesatfourrowsbehindthehomedugoutanytimeyouwanted.Forfree.
Doncackledlikehehadn’theardaword.“YourememberthatdancethingPedroused
todo?Ilovethat.Yourememberthat?”
Hewiggledintherecliner,cockedhiselbowsandaimedhisfingersatWittlikethey
werepistols.Thumbsbackand“fired”.Rockingsohardheaccidentallyreleasedthefootrest
intothecoffeetable.
“Dammit.Thisthing.”Donpushedthefootrestbackdownwithhisheels,thatannoyed
growlbackinhisvoice.“I’mtwoyears,fourmonths,eighteendayssoberjustsoyouknow.But
whenIwasn’t,Ididn’tunderstandmyself.Didn’tunderstandmyrelationshiptoGod.”
“Nowyoudo?”Wittdoubtinghim,butit’snotlikehecouldask.
“HethatlivesinlovelivesinGod.AndGodinhim.He’swithmeeveryday.Yeah.See,for
awhileIhadalottamoney.Mydadownedagrocerystore,hisdadwasofftheboat.Me?I’m
thefirsttogotocollege.Mallorythere,whereisshe,yousureshe’snotsmoking?”Don
stoppedabruptly,thethoughtofMalhavingacigarettesendinghisjawintotightripples.
“Idon’tthinkso.”HedecidednottoaskDonhowhemetMal’smother.
“ShegrewupinBrookline,that’swherewelivedforawhile.WhenIwasstillwithher
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 64
mother.WhenIwasgrowingup,ifI’dtoldmydadthatI’dmakeenoughtoliveinBrookline
he’dalaughedatme.AndItellya,Itellya,thosesnobsonSummerstreetandAtlanticave,
believemetheydidn’tlikeaguyfromCharlestownmakingtheirkindamoney.ButIstilldid.”
VeinsroseinDon’sneck.Histeethbared.Wittconvincednowsomethingwasoff.
FlatteredatfirstthatDonwassoopenwithhim,flattered,vindicated.Then,realizingthatDon
wasbasicallytalkingpasthim,likeasearchlightpanningacrossthedark.
“2008wipedmeout.”Donwavedhishand.“Hence,thisplacehere.ButGodstayed
withme.That’swhyI’malive.GodstayedwithmeandIstaywithhim.”
Witthadbeeninthehospitalwhenthebailoutswerepassedandhisknowledgeofthe
financialcrisishadbeenmostlydefinedbythatfact.Until,thenightofObama’sre-election,his
mother,wellintoherthirdglassofchampagneandclutchingaYes-We-Canposter,toldhim
thathisfatherhadpaidforhishospitalbills.
Somethingelsehe’dignored.Andsomethingelsewhichnowexistedincloseproximity
toDon.EverythinginfactnowexistedinproximitytoDon.
Wittdidn’tlikeit.
“D’youmindifIuseyourbathroom?”
“Yeah,sure.Yeah.Gointothehallway.Firstontheleft.”
Wittstood,contemplatingsimplyrunningforthedoor.
“Hey,Iusedtobeamagician,youknowwhy?”Donrosetohisfeet,akingleavingthe
throne.“Usedtobeevery-timeIwalkeddownthestreet,Iturnedintoabaroraliquorstore.”
Donlaughedsohardhedidn’tnoticethatWittdidn’tbothertocrackasmile.
ColdribbonsofwaterpouredoverWitt’shandsinthebathroom.Birdthemedwallpaper
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 65
coveredthewalls,keepingwiththeHouseofDon’sbirdtheme.Wittlefthishandsunderthe
tap,wrestlingwiththesuspicionthatDonwasdrunkandit’simplications.Brookeandthe
extendedfamily’sabsencewasominous.HismindpinballedintoabriefabsurdfearthatDon
hadkilledthem.
Hewastrappedinawaitandsee.That’swhatitcamedownto.Heshutthetapoff.
Therewasn’tanysoaponthesink.Thefrontdooropened,heheardMalcoughandwondered
ifsheactuallyhadgoneoutforacigarette.
Hecrouchedandopenedthecabinetunderthesink.Emptyplasticbags,sparetoilet
paper,detergent.Dovehand-soapbehindandshampoo.
BehindthatandtheU-shapeddrain-pipe,abrownpaperbag.Wittfelttheneckofa
bottleassoonashetouchedthebag.Stillcrouching,hepulledoutafat,quarterfullbottleof
Titosvodka.Acleardiscofliquidwobblingintheglassbeneaththepastedlabel.
Well,nowaitandseenow.Aphonerang,Wittshudder-jumped,almostdroppedthe
bottle.Footsteps.Malanswered.
“Hello?”
Then.
“Igotit.Igotit.”Don’svoicebecamecheery.“Hey,honeyareyouonyourway?”More
footsteps,shadowunderthebathroomdoor,Don’svoicebecomingindistinctinthekitchen.
Theguywantedtogetcaught,whyelsewouldhehaveIrisheduphishotchocolateand
drankitrightinfrontofthem.Andthegum?InhighschoolWitt’sfriendswouldfillwater
bottleswithvodkaandmasktheirbreathwithdentyneice.Usuallycinnamon.Thegame
becameseeingifthebottlewouldbeemptybysixthperiod,thenafterlunch,thenbefore
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 66
lunch.ThenChrisCampbellwallpaperedthebiologylabwiththecontentsofhisstomachand
suspensionswerehandeddown.Hismomhadbeensopissed.
Indecisionskippedaroundhisveins.HehadtotellMal.NoChristmasdinner.
Heputthebottlebackwherehefounditandopenedthedoor.
Don’sfacerightinfrontofhimsoredhisearswerepracticallysteaming.Sendinga
panickedjoltuphisthroat.
“Lemmegetinthere.”
ThedoorliterallyhitWittintheass.Thecabinetunderthesinkcreakedopen.Subtlety
prettymuchdeadandgonefortheevening.Wittthoughtofjustkickingthedoordown.
Instead,hewentintothelivingroom,whereMalwaspokingthewingsonaplasticangel
figurineontheChristmastree,herbackpackatherfeet.
“Whodoyouthinkcouldflyfurther,anangelorabird?”SheaskedWitt.
Hedidn’tsmellanycigarettesonher,forsomereasonhewassurprisedbythat.Onhis
silencesheturnedtohim.“What?”
“There’sabottleofvodkaunderthesinkinthebathroom.”
“What?”
“Yeah,there’s–”Wittjerkedathumboverhisshouldertowardsthebathroom.“A
bottleoftitos,underthesink.”
“Whatthefuck?”Herarmsfelltohersides.Eyesbulgingwithexasperation.Shedrewa
sharpinhaleofbreath.“Don’ttellmethat,man.”
“What,whatdoyoumeandon’ttellyou?”Whydidshelookpissedathim?
“Fuck,he’sintherenow.”Sheranherhandsthrewherhair,leavingthemcuppedonher
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 67
neck,elbowsalignedpointedatWitt’schest.
“Yeah.”
“IfuckinghateChristmas.”
Theyfellsilent.Indeedthehouseitselfwassilent.Theystoodinthesilencewithin
silence,lookingattheclosedbathroomdoor.Wittexpectingittoexplode,orDontojustpunch
throughthelumber,bottleinhand,roaringforafight.
“Ok,well,wegottago.”Malsaid.
“Shouldn’twe–”
“Idon’twanttoseethismovie,andtrustmeyoudon’teither.Let’sgo.”Theystooped
topickupherback-packandpromptlybuttedforeheads.
“GodDammit.”Malstampedherfoot.Wittgotonearmthroughthestraps,feeling
thoroughlystupidwhen:
“What’reyoudoing?”Don,largerthanlife,loomedinthedoorway.
Wittcouldn’tfindanythingresemblingwords.Maldidn’tseemtohaveanyeither.
“Areyoutryingtoleave?”Don’svoiceheavyandaccusatorylikeaprisonwarden.
“Well.”Malbegan.ThensheputherhandonWitt’selbow.“No.But,we’rehungry,so
canwejuststartdinnernow?”
“You’retryingtoleave.”Donseemedtogroweventhoughhehadn’tmoved.Hisflat
monotonevoicemadeWittthinkofdullaxesinemptybarns.
“Notatall.”Malsmiledcheerfullyatherfather.Itwasagamenow,Wittrealized.A
Mexicanstand-off.Healsorealizedthathewastheonlypersonwithoutaplan.Mal’ssmileand
Don’swaking-giantvibeweredrivingthetrain.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 68
“Well.Comeandeatthen.Howhardcanitbe?”Donshookhisheadandwandered
downthehallway.Mal’sheadtrackedthesoundofhisfootsteps,therestofhercompletelystill
asachaircreakedinthediningroomand,afteranothersecondofsilence,Donshouted:“What
areyouwaitingfor?”
“Whatareyoudoing?”Wittwhispered,halfscaredbuthalfsomethingelse.Notexcited,
notgiddy,morelikepartytoarebellion.Ridethetiger.Inoverhishead?Maybe.Thatwasthe
point.
Malgroundherteeth,wordslivinganddyingbeforeshefinallymanagedtohiss.
“Igetonaplaneandcomeupforthis?I’mnotleavingwithoutgettingthelastword.”
ShesteeredWitttothehallwayandpointedhimtothemudroom.“Leavethebackpackthere.”
Wittretrievedthebackpackfromthelivingroomfloorandparkeditinthemudroom.
Malpoppedoutofthebathroom,thenowemptybottleinherfistlikeitwasagrenade.Witt
veryacutelywantedher.Shedepositedthebottleontheflooroutsidethediningroomand
entered.
Donwasseatedregallyinanupholstered,highbackedchairattheheadofthetable.
Sleevesrolledup,staringblanklyathisemptymugnexttoasnow-whiteplateinfrontofhim.
Thepolishedbrownwoodtablewasneatlysetwithplates,mottledglasses,glittering
silverware.Servingtraysandplattersandred-waxcandlesandfoldednapkins.
Butnofood.Emptychairs.
Smellsdriftedinfromtheadjacentwalk-inkitchen,Witt’sstomachwoketohunger,
biologicalneedsapparentlyuntouchedbywhereverthiswasgoing.
Donjustsittingthere.Hehadtoknowthattheyknew.Maybe?Emptiness.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 69
“WhatdidBrookesay?”Malasked.
“What?”Donsquintedupatherlikeshe’dinterruptedaconversationhe’dbeenhaving.
“Onthephone,whenshecalled.Issheontheway?”Malshouldhavebeenacop.
“Ofcoursesheis.”Donlaughed,thebroodinggiantvibevanishinginstantly.“They’re
gonnabefifteenminutes.Tim’swiththem.She’srealexcitedtoseeyou.Maybewecanlaythe
foodoutfor‘em.Youwannalaythefoodout?”
ItwasdownrightscaryhowconvincinglynormalDonwas.JekyllandHydeviaMr.
RogersandHannibalLector.Thatbrief‘ok,let’sdothis’urgeWittfeltminutesearlierwithMal
inthelivingroomevaporated.Hedidnotwanttositdownatthattable.Sharksinthewater.
“Oh,sure.”Mal’stoneniceandchipper.“Witt,gimmeahand?”
“No.”Donabruptlytransformedbackintotheslow-burnfiend.“Iwannatalktohim
somemore.”
IfWitthadcalledhisdadbackwouldanyofthisbehappening?
“What?”Maltookastepforward.
“Iwannaaskhimsomequestions.So,youbringthefood.AndI’mgonnatalktohim.
That’swhatwe’regonnado.”
Don’smouthwasaslashmark.Therewasself-consciousmalevolencetohim,likehe
waspushingtoseewhatwouldhappen.He’dclearlydonethissortofthingbefore.Witt
intuitedthatmorethananythingMalwantedtoforoncekickhisassatit.
“DoIlooklikeamaid?Wittcanhelpme.”Malretorted.
“HeandyoucandowhatI’mtellingyoutodo.”DonlookedatWittdirectly.“Sitdown.”
“Ireallydon’tmindhelping.”Wittmovedforthekitchen.Aplanwasnecessaryfor
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 70
survival,andhedidn’thaveone.Thenagain,hefeltthechallengeinhisgut.Donthemonster
lurkingbeneathhisangelsandbirds.Wittthehero.Maybe.
“Sitdown.”Donrepeated.Witt,heroically,shotMala‘whatdoIdo?’glance.Sheshrug-
nodded.Ok,heroitis.Shepushedtwofingersintohisbackasshesidesteppedhim.Witttooka
seatatoneofthetanfarmhouseWindsorbackedchairsonDon’sleft.
Wittthehero.
“What’reyoulookingsonervousfor?It’sjustChristmasdinner.”Donallhappy-smiles
again.DeterminedtoputWittatease.
“Don’twannaeatbeforepeoplegethere,that’sall.”Wittreplied,decidingtoplayalong
withthisforaslongasittook.HerememberedMaladvisinghimtolistentohisfather’s
voicemailbytheendofthenight,he’ddoonebetter.Hewouldcallhisfather.
Donwentdarkagain.
“Iftheycan’tbebotheredtoshowupontimewhyshouldwesuffer?”
Malreturnedwiththeturkeyonabronzeplatterandsetiteversogentlyintothe
middleofthetable.
“Thisisovercooked.”Shewentbackintothekitchen.Wittthoroughlywishingthere
wasn’tanenormouscarvingknifenexttotheturkey,wellwithinDon’sreach.Aspasmof
laughterbrokeinthekitchenandMalstrodebackintothediningroom,shakingherhead.
“What’ssofunny?”Donasked.Whichwasalegitimatequestion,Wittthought.
“Idunnowhowasinchargeofthegravyandgreensandpotatoes,allthat,butthey
aren’tfinished.AndI’mdonepretending–”Shegrippedthebackofthechair.“What
happened?”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 71
Donshruggedself-consciously.Likehesmelledthathewasbeingcorneredandenjoyed
it.Everyonewaslying.TherealityofitstruckWittlikeathunderbolt.Lyingtoeachother
surroundedbytheremainsofanabortedChristmasdinner,apitifullyovercookedturkeyas
theirwitness.
“MeN’Brookeworkedalldayonit,shetookofftogetColin,saideverythingcouldjust
sit‘tillshegotback.DonturnedtoWitt,oozinghelplessexasperation.“HowamIsupposedto
doeverythingonmyown?”
“Icouldputinatakeoutorderatmyrestaurant.Wedoagreatturkeyspecialthistime
ofyear.”Wittvolunteered,embracingthelet’s-all-makebelievevibe.
“Where’syourrestaurant?”Donasked,fascinated.
“Threehoursaway.”MalansweredasshecircledbehindherfatherandsatnexttoWitt.
“Whatfuckinggoodisthat?”Donbarked,glaringatbothofthem.Crackinthefaçade.
Breakingcharacter.Howmuchlongerwasthissupposedtogoon?WittglancedatMal,trying
tocommunicatethat.Whywasshegoingonwiththis?
“Whatdoyoumeanyourrestaurant?”Donleanedacrossthetable,musclesinhis
forearmtwitching.“Like,youownarestaurant?”
“Hemanagesone.”Whywassheansweringquestionsforhim?Wittfeltmoreandmore
likecollateraldamage.
ShewantedDontoadmitit.That’swhatitwas.Shewantedaconfession.
“That’swhatBrookewasdoingwhenImether.”Donsaid.
“Didn’tshegetfired?”
“Youdon’tneedtotalkaboutherinthattone.Aren’tyoualittleoldtobecarryingon
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 72
likethat?YouthinkColintalksaboutyourmotherlikethat?”
“I’llaskhimwhenhegetshere.”Malcoughed,rockinginherchairasshedid.
“Areyourparentsstilltogether?”DonshotthequestionatWittlikeanarcherfiringan
arrow.
“No.”Wittsuddenlyfeltthetotalaccumulatedweightoftheefforthe’dputinto
refusingtotalktooreventhinkdeeplyabouthisfatherformostofhislife.“TheysplitwhenI
wasten.”
Hefearednothingaboutthistable.Aboutthisplace.Staringatthelackluster,
overcookedturkey,hethought:welcomebrotherI’mjustlikeyou.Malstraightenedinthe
cornerofhiseye.Wittbecameconvincedthathisfuturewithherwasnowdependentonhim
openingup.Yes.Itwouldbelikeanavalanche.
Sohecontinued.
“Heleftmymomforanurseinhisward.OnedayIwasplayingGoldeneyeafterschool
withmyfriendJeremyandthisguycametothedoor.Hehadanenvelope.Says“givethisto
yourmom,”givesmetheenvelopeandgoes“sorry,kid,”andleaves.AtfirstIthoughtitwasmy
reportcardorsomethingsoIopeneditup.Andtherewerethesepictures.Theseblackand
white,printedoutpictures.Ofmydad.Andthiswoman.Inrestaurantstogether,driving,atthe
hospital.Sometimestheywerekissing.Holdinghands.Youknow.AndIdidn’tgetit’cause,I
recognizedmydadbut,Ididn’tgetthatthewomanwasn’tmymomsowhyismydaddoing
that?Therewasone,where,youknowtheColonnadeonHuntington?Whenmydadtookme
toFenwayin’99toseePedroattheall-stargame,westayedthere.Oneofthephotos,mydad
andthiswomanweregettingoutofalimowalkingintotheColonnade,Irememberthesign.”
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 73
Histhroattightenedandhisfaceburnedbeneathhisskin.Hefeltdizzy.Memories
bottleneckingashetriedtoorderthem.Thingshadgonefromperformativetowaytoorealto
somethingelseentirelyandhisbodywentnumbatthecore,tinglyattheedges,likehewas
atopaverytallbuildingonawindyday.
Mal’shandthebackofhisneck,asoftsqueeze.Nobuilding.Nowind.Justthedining
room.Donwatchinghim,frowning,deadeyedfascination.Hadn’theandJeremycomehome
afterbaseballpractice?Couldn’thavebeenafterschoolbecauseherememberthatitwasdark
outside.Orwasthatbecauseitwasabouttorain?Hadtobebecauseitwasrainingwhenhis
momdrovehimtoJeremy’s.Andhisdadhadbeenhome.He’dbeenupstairs.Yeah.Buthewas
theonewhodroveWittandJeremytoJeremy’shouse.
“Didyouactoutwhenhesplit?Makeascene?Alottapeopledothat.”Donthrewa
sidewaysglanceatMal.
“JesusChrist,dad.”Shegrimaced.
“Donot,donotswearlikethatinfrontofme.”Donshookwithrage.Memoriesspun
flashinginWitt’smind,acarouselcleavinghimfromtheperformanceunfoldinginthedining
room.Spectatortoboth.Memorymovieandpresentstage.
Likefuckhewascallinghisfather.
Dondraggedtheturkeyplattertowardshim,theplatterscrapingcomicallyonthe
wood.
“IguessI’msupposedtocutthismyself?”
Malstaredathim,makingnomovetohelp.Don’sjawtwitched.Hepickedupthe
carvingknifeandspearedtheturkeywiththetwo-prongedfork.Sawingaleg.Knifehand
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 74
steadyashestoodtallandcarvedtheonlysurvivingportionofhischarade.
MalleanedintoWittandwhispered:
“Hey,you’resocool.”Shekissedhischeek.
Chain-linkedmemoriesofDaddywalkingoutblastedawaybyatechnicolorfuturewith
her.Notawhat-ifdaydreamoridlefantasy.IfshewentbacktoBrazil,fuckit,he’dgowithher.
He’dsavedenoughworkingforChuck.Nothingwaskeepinghiminarutexcepthim.
Well.Yourstudentloans.Andwhereareyouguysgonnastaytonight?
Fuckoff,I’llcallJeremy.
Thelightattheendofthetunnelbroughthismemoriestofocus.
“Anurse,huh?”Donasked,stillsawingthatleg.
“Yeah.Herhusbandhiredaprivatedetectivetofollowherandmydad.Youknowthat
photoyouliked?I’mwearingaPedrojerseyhesentmeoneChristmas.OnlytimeIeverworeit.
Everyyearhesendsmeseasontickets,I’veneverused‘em.Notevenin’04.”
Donhackedthroughtheleg,hisfisthitthetableandtheplatterslidaway.Platesand
glassesrattled.Donpickeduptheturkeylegwithhisbarehands,ploppeditontohisplate,and
fellbackintohischairhardenoughheshouldhavefellthroughtheflooritself.
“That’sstupid,that’ssostupid.”Hisfacecontortedwithincredulity.“YouknowwhatI’d
givetostillhaveseasontickets,orwhatmyoldmanwoulda–Iusedtohavethem.Henever
did.That’ssuchawaste.whatareyou,proudofthat?Youthinkthat’sresponsible?”
Wittlaughed.Heardhimselflaughfirst,thenfeltit.Andwhenhefeltithekeptlaughing.
“Whyareyoulaughing?”Malrubbedhisback,registeringthegatheringthunderinDon
thatWittfeltimmunefrom.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 75
“Sorry,Iwasn’tlaughingatyou.”WittsaidtoDon.“MyfriendJeremy,backin’13Itold
himthatinsteadofpayingfivehundredbucksforthefourofustobestuckupbythemessage
boardwecouldabeensevenrowsbehindtheSoxdug-outforfree.Hewasalmostaspissedas
youare.”
Wittchuckledsomemore.It’snotafuckingblooddiamond!Jeremyhadshouted.
“Whatifyouorhimdiedtonight?How’dyoufeelneverhavingmadethingsright?”Don
wascoiledinhischair,emittingapossessedmenacedarkerthaneverythingthathadcome
before.“He’sreachingouttoyou.”
WitthadanightmarevisiontheninwhichDonwoundupintheMassGeneralERwith
DoctorPeterGardner,MD,asthephysicianoncall.WhatifheandMalhadtodrivehimthere?
WittlookedatMal,againsearchingforasignthatshewouldgrabthebottleandannouncethe
gigwasup.
“Peoplegoattheirownpace,right,dad?”Malsaid,disappointmentplaininhereyes.
Wittsawforthefirsttimethatshewasholdingbacktears.
“Lifedoesn’tcareaboutyourownpace.”Donsneered.Hisdome-likeheadmakinghim
resembleasnappingturtle.“Peopleblamingtheirparentsisfoolish.NotsomethingIdid.Never
woulda.AndIdidn’thaveiteasy.”
“Ididn’teither.”Malsaid.
“Didn’twhat?”
“Blameyou.”
“That’snotwhatyoumeant.”Donsaidaccusingly.Hewaslikeapinballbouncinginto
onecompleteperformanceafteranother.Juggler,dancingclown,tormentor.Helockedawide
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 76
eyedgazethatwasalmostbenignontohisdaughter.“Whatdidyoumean?”
Malswallowed,herbreathcatchinginherthroat.Fallingbackintoherself.
“Don’tsittherelikeagod-damnedfuneral,answermyquestion!”Donpoundedthe
table.Plates,glasses,andsilverwarerattling.Hisshoutlikeacanonblast.
Malflattenedherhandsonthetableandspokewithroboticcalm.
“Dad,you’reoutofcontrol.”
Donpushedhisplateasideandleanedtowardsthem.
“Outofcontrol?Thisisincontrol.YouhavenoideahowincontrolIam.”
Witthadneverheardanybodyspeaksocalmly.
Fear.
Malpushedherchairbackandmarchedintothehallway.Shereturnedandplacedthe
emptyTitosbottleonthetablerightinfrontofDonwithashowmeyourcardsfinality.
“I’dsayIhavesomeidea.”Shenoddedatthebottle.“Thisisn’tok,andIdon’thaveto
pretendthatitis.”
Donregardedthebottle,slack-jawed,alowgustofairescapinghisnostrils.Theempty
bottlenexttotheleg-lessovercookedturkey,inchesfromwherehishandswereflatonthe
table.
“DidBrookeandColinleavebecausetheyfoundyouwiththis?”Malasked.Don
resembledadeactivatedrobot.Hecontinuedtostareunblinkingatthebottle.“Whendidthis
start?”
“Areyouthreateningme?”Doncamebacktolife,hisheadspringingbackuplikeitwas
hinged,hiseyesbulgingwithoutrage.“Youcarryonhereactinglikeyouwanttohavedinner.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 77
Youthinkit’soktolietome?Youdon’tcare.Ifyoucaredyouwouldn’tlie.”
“Ifoundit.”Wittsaid.
Donrecoiledbackintohischair,budgingitsidewayssothathewasfacingWitt.
BubblingwithwhatWittthoughtatfirstwasragebutquicklysawinsteadtobebetrayal.A
punchwasimminentandWittwantedit.
“We’releaving.”Maltuggedthecamo-jacket’scollar.Wittstoodup,decidingthathe
coulddowithoutafight.
“You’retheonesmoking.It’skillingyou.You’regonnadieofcancer.Don’texpectmeto
cometoyourfuneral‘causeItoldyouso.Showmesomecourtesy.”Donspat,hisfacetrapped
init’ssneer-to-leer-and-everything-in-betweenspinningwheel.
Malshook,tearsslidingdownhercheeks.
“Courtesy?”Shepulledacamelpackfromherpocket,tippedthelastcigaretteintoher
hand,anddroppedtheemptypackontothetable.Thensheraisedthesilverzippo–clack–and
litup.Alightgreyjetofsmokeballoonedfromherlipsoverthesilveryribbonscurlingfromthe
cigarette.
Wittcouldn’tevenfindthewords.
Donexplodedoutofhischair.Witt,standinginthemiddle,sawthebodyhurtling
towardshimandMal.Tableandchairsslammedaside.Shescreamed.Heinstinctivelyswungan
elbow.Feltithitflesh.Dongruntedandwentdown.Wittstumbledbackwards,hisfeet
corkscrewing.Malyankedhim.Hercigaretteflyingandheplantedhisfeet.
ThenhewasdoubletimeweavingitdownthehallwayafterMal.Marchingthrough
Don’shomeofficetothemudroom.Shethrewhercoatonandwrenchedthedooropeninone
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 78
motion.Wittgrabbingthemonstrousbackpack,jacketsandhatsandscarvesfallingtothefloor
asheliftedhispea-coatfromtherack.Donyelledfromthediningroom.Malcrasheddownthe
staircasetwoatatime,headdownandoutthedoor.
Wittjustbehindher,adrenalinejackhammeringsohardhebarelyfelttheicecoldair
whenherocketedontothesidewalk,pea-coatbundledinhisarms.Aheadofhim,Malrounded
thecorner,slipped;andwentelbowfirstintoaparkedstationwagon.
“Fuck!”SheslidaroundthewagonandranforWitt’sjeepparkeddownandacrossthe
street.Wittstruggledafterher,thebackpackcrushinghisspine.Malbouncedoffthedriverside
doorandtuggedthehandle.SpunasWittreachedher.Hedroppedthebackpack,thepea-coat
billowingasheshimmiedhisarmsfreeandfumbledforhiskeys.
“Tellmeyoudidnotleavethosekeysinthefuckinghouse.”Malsaid,breath-clouds
fluttering.
“That’dbekindafunnyifIdid,wouldn’tit?”Wittwavedthemtoemphasizethepoint
andunlockedthejeep.Malthrewopenthereardoorandheavedherbackpackinbythestraps.
Thenacrashupthestreet,likeadoorhittingawall.
Malgroaned.WittthinkingthatDoncouldn’tpossiblyfollowthem.Butalsoknowing,
yes,yeshecould.Maldoveintothepassengerseat,slammingheadfirstintothewindow.
Witthoppedinrightafterher,buthiskeyswereinhislefthandwhichwasthedoorsideandso
theyfellontothepavementjustasDoncareenedintoviewatthetopofthestreet.
“Areyoukiddingme?”Malwhispered.
Wittslidlowinhisseatandpulledthedooragainsttheframesothattheinteriorlight
dimmed.Histhighsbelowthesteeringwheel,feetandlegscurledunderthedash.
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 79
“Sorry.”Wittmanaged.Hislovehandlesdroopingoverhisbelt.
“Thisissofucked.”
Wittinchedupuntilhewaspeekingabovethesidevents.Throughthedustyslantofthe
windshieldhesawDonturnlistlesslyinacircleonthecornerofthestreet.Gazingupatthe
starryskythen,gradually,lookingdownthestreet.
Witt’sleftknee,stilljammedagainstthedash,begantothrob.
“Imean,ifIjustgrabbedthekeys,yeah,he’llseeus.Butwe’dbeouttaherelikeBullit,
so,what’shegonnado?”
Throbbingharder.Thepainsharp.
Malsaidnothing.Shewasutterlymotionless,sunklowinthedarkundertheorange-
yellowphosphorousplanefromthestreetlamparcingthroughthewindshield.Faceburiedin
herpalms.Hefearedthenthatshewaslosttohim.
Herspider-webbedfingerswhiteintheswirlsofherhair.Interiorapocalypsecollapsing
withinhercurledupself.Shemadenosound.
WittreplayedDonshouting,thatvoiceahammersmashingthroughhisconsciousness.
Smashing.Smashinglikethebox-crunchpopofthecarcrash.Wittcouldn’thelpit,lethimself
bethere.SeanMadisonblastingthroughthewindshield,deadbeforehehitthepavement.Rob
Davisbrokebothlegsandthreeribs.EmmaClarkneverwalkedagain.
ThewhiplashfeelingreturnedtohimashereachedforMal.Thehook-shaped
gravitationalyankthatricocheteddownhisthroat.Thepainnowmimickedbytheburning
Witt’sknee.Thatandtheadrenalinebleedingoutofhimsenthimdreamingofwalkinga
boardwalkwithMalinthesummersomewhere.Saltyoceanairfillinghislungs.Skinwarmedby
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 80
thesun.Bythenhe’dhaveaprettycooltattoosleeve.TheirdaughterZoeJane,withher
mother’ssoulandfather’seyes,swingingbetweenthem.Hermini-mousesunglassessliding
fromhernoseasmomanddadswunghertoandfro-
“There’saman,going‘round!Takinnames!”Doncroonedhappily.Wittsawhimamble,
bandylegged,downthesidewalk.Heslippedandgrabbedontoachain-linkfence.Hisface
reddenedwithconcentrationashesteadiedhimself.
Witthadneverseensuchmagnificentconcentration.
“Andhedecideswhotofree,andwhotoblame!”Doncontinuedhismarchdownthe
sidewalk.Amiraclebeastwalkingtall.Malraisedherhead,darkcurvesofhereyesshining.
“Hey,Mal.”Wittwhispered.
Herfacewasalock-downbunker.AsilhouetteMaldetachedfromtherealthinghiding
somewheredeepwithinherself.Wittreachedforherhand.Shelethimtakeit.
“You’resocool.”Wittsaid.
Herfingersclosedaroundhis.
“Thatwasmylastcigarette.”
Thepaininhiskneewasunbearable.Wittsatuppeakedoverthewindow.
Donwasstaringdirectlyathimfrombehindapick-uptruckacrossthestreet.He
swayedlikeaplasticbagcaughtinthebreeze.Hehadadazedleer,punch-drunkinthe
aftermathofhisglory.
HestaredatWitt.
Wittstaredback.
DoncockedhiselbowsandaimedbothhandsatWitt,thumbsbackliketheywere
SomeSunnyDay//MattMuehring 81
pistols,andfired.Pedrostyle.Wittblinked.InthatmomentWittunderstoodwhatDonhad
seenwhenhelookedoutthewindowsduringtheblizzardof’78.
Donholsteredhispistolsandstumbledupthestreet.Whistlingashestaggeredinand
outsightbeneaththestreetlampsanddisappearedaroundthecorner.
Thenightairwaftedagainstthewindshield.Malsatupandpushedherhairback.The
detachedmaskmeltingawayascolorreturnedtoherface.
Herhandstayedinhis.
“Yeah.”Shesaid.“Itwouldhavebeenfunnyifyouleftthekeysinthere.”