That night in the shower, so much of my hair washed down the drain that I worried I might disappear, but when I wiped off the fogged-up mirror, I saw my head was still full of locks and tangles. I combed it carefully and emerged in pajamas to find my brother-in-law waiting to brush his teeth. “Don’t bother,” I said. “Come with me.” His face lifted slowly and he followed me down the stairs. My sister was at the counter, flipping through my mother’s address book, making sure we hadn’t missed letting anyone know. I pulled a bottle of rye from under the counter. Surely no one had touched it since my father had passed away. I poured for all three of us and asked my sister who she thought she’d been in our mother’s eyes, and who she’d wanted to be. My sister said she’d never thought of it that way, and I said, “Let’s.”
Half
As often is the case, the situation was nearly impossible to recognize as an ending. Each tried to rehash the circumstances again and again to his or her own advantage. When even every unintended chance had been given to and misused by Benji and Pippa, they knew it must be over. When they were able to see it, when the sunlight finally hit the surface of it in a way that they recognized the crack for what it was, the decision was clean and obvious and certainly a relief. For so long they had both been sure of each other, they knew this break had to be even and sharp in a way that no one could get sentimental or nostalgic.
They owned a good deal of stuff. Neither could recall who purchased what, so lost in each other had they once been, but suddenly King Solomon was remembered by Pippa, and Benji concurred that everything needed to be destroyed. It would be the only way — break it all down and hurl it into large dumpsters.
Cutting tools were purchased by Benji — this was clear—Benji now owned the destruction equipment. Diagonal slashes were dragged through every object. They started at the sternum of their home, tearing through books with thick scissor blades. The large chainsaw broke through the center of the couch easily, sending cotton and carcinogenic foam rubber into the air. Pippa went back to the hardware store and purchased bird flu masks. Benji refused one at first, but Pippa expressed her concern — she didn’t want the guilt of his slow death to rest on the end of this relationship. He accepted and then perspiration grew around their mouths in equally salty increments.
Pippa sat looking at a necklace Benji had given her and suddenly, metal to metal, wire cutters severed the links into two strands. “Everything,” Benji said. Anger and agreement drove Pippa’s hands into the shoebox beside her and pulled up a stack of photos, her fingers destroying them in one clean pull of corner from corner. Benji smiled at her, but Pippa couldn’t see it under the paper mask. Benji used the CutCo knives to saw through cans of soup and then bent the knives until the blades snapped. Pippa tore through every precious dress she’d sniffed out in thrift stores and sample sales. Benji unplugged the TV before trying the saw on it first and then resorting to the sledgehammer. He didn’t pause as he slid each baseball card out of its plastic sheet. Pippa kicked through framed drawings she’d made of Benji. Let’s be clear: they meant every word.
When everything had been clipped and ripped and unhinged, Pippa took Benji’s hand and hauled him outside. She pushed a shovel into his grip and took one for herself. She pointed to the northwest corner of the yard and she took the southeast. They began digging a diagonal trench through the garden, ruining a full lawn that had taken years to even out because of the heavy shade. It was a generous break from the particulate air of the indoors. Pippa tore off her white mask and Benji did the same.
Questions quickly entered each of their minds, but they replaced them with the work of calculating exactly how many more minutes would pass before this epoch would end. Only several feet of space kept them from the moment they would meet in the center of the yard and spade would clang against spade. They both knew the real work of this decision would come with phone calls and cups of coffee and the hard task of making others understand. Small pools of pity and misunderstanding and alliance would gather between family and friends. Pippa and Benji had only small pockets of fear: elegance, rationality, indecency, skepticism, and forgiveness.
Above them, in a tree, large now but once so small one or the other of them (who could remember?) had been able to carry it with a single hand, a crow sat cawing and searching the branches for life.
With just inches between them, Benji dug in one more time and Pippa met his effort. Breathing hard, perspiration everywhere, they looked behind them at the line that had been drawn and one final thought arrived to their minds at the same time: there is no specified distance between being alone and around.
Judgment Day
When Pewit was a child, his parents told her about the wild Scissortail monster who would decide what her afterlife would be. Pewit had been poring over the Roman heroes of her mother’s heritage and the Greek monsters of his father’s. Pewit imagined himself away from her parents, in the world of these myths, where things were always and never what they seemed. Pewit’s parents saw the way he believed everything was possible and made up a new monster, one that Pewit had not already read about, one that Pewit might think still existed, one that had not yet been conquered by a myth and a hero. They told Pewit about its barbed-wire limbs and its chalk-white nipples. Pewit lived in fear of the Scissortail Beast for a long time, imagined the way it would divide him, the way the Scissortail, with a few quick cuts, could make Pewit one thing, rather than another. How the Scissortail could take away Pewit’s bothness. Pewit was tired of only being something when compared to another. Pewit wanted to be the same thing no matter what she was standing next to. Pewit wanted to untitle himself. One afternoon Pewit found a duck in the barn tangled in some unwound fencing wire, dead from fright or exhaustion. On the wall above the duck was a drawing of the Scissortail, just as Pewit had imagined it — its arms raised menacingly. The image of the Scissortail lorded over this trapped dead duck. Pewit was not afraid, though. Pewit had known someone had been crawling into his imagination for weeks now. She looked behind her to see if that person was watching her. Pewit knew if he thought his own thoughts, he would come out fine. Pewit didn’t have it figured out but liked it that way. Pewit had been snagging on herself. He had confusions that were more certain than he would admit. Pewit was not one or the other. Pewit would not die and go to just one place. Pewit knew she would be everywhere at once and that the white noise of feeling every sensation at one time would make it feel like she was nowhere at all, and that would feel like home. Pewit pitied the Scissortail for its one-sidedness. The Scissortail had been an invention to make Pewit behave. To show how well he knew what was the right thing to do, Pewit reached his small arms carefully into the barbed wire and extracted the duck, cautious not to puncture its unfeeling body but scarring himself. Pewit brought it into her mother to prepare for dinner. Then Pewit walked calmly to the bathroom, lined up the antiseptic, the band-aids and his arms, and did the careful work of making sure every bit of herself remained intact.
Hammer, Damper
Before they took him in, he’d made a ritual of pressing his ear to the side of the upright piano as his mother played until she’d warn him away.