Some Sunny Day & Banshee Sunrise - Digital Commons

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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-


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


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.


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.


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


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?”


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


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


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.


“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‘


‘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


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


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


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.


“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


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.


“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


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


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.”


“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


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


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


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


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’


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


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.


“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.


“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


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.


“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?


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


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.


“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


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


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


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?”


“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.”


“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.


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.


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.


“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?


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.


“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?”


“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


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


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.


“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


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.


“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!”


“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.


“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


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.


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.


“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


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.


“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


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.


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.


“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


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.


“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.


“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


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


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.”


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.


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


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


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


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.


“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.”


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.”


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


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?”


“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.


“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.”


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.


“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.


“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.


“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


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.


“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.


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:


“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


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


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


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


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


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.


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


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


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.


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


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.”


“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.


“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.


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.”


“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.


“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.


“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


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


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.


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


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


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


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


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


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.


“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.


“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


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?”


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


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.”


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


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.


“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


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.


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


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.


“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


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


pistols,andfired.Pedrostyle.Wittblinked.InthatmomentWittunderstoodwhatDonhad

seenwhenhelookedoutthewindowsduringtheblizzardof’78.

Donholsteredhispistolsandstumbledupthestreet.Whistlingashestaggeredinand

outsightbeneaththestreetlampsanddisappearedaroundthecorner.

Thenightairwaftedagainstthewindshield.Malsatupandpushedherhairback.The

detachedmaskmeltingawayascolorreturnedtoherface.

Herhandstayedinhis.

“Yeah.”Shesaid.“Itwouldhavebeenfunnyifyouleftthekeysinthere.”

Some Sunny Day & Banshee Sunrise - Digital Commons

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