At home Andrew writes “Sorry” on an envelope. Below that, “For Real.” On another envelope he writes “Really Sorry” and puts two twenties in. Sounds sarcastic. On another, “Sincerely Sorry,” moves the twenties. The alliteration is too commercial. Writes “Sorry.” Moves the twenties. Andrew feels sorry for the twenties. At least they are a pair. The twenties are in love. Andrew is jealous.
He drives to and parks behind Denny’s, turns off the car. I made a fucking U-turn. If Sara were here they’d walk around giving away envelopes containing mystery things. One envelope would have three wishes, and it would be real. In the morning they would climb a tree. There will always be the absence of Sara. There will always be the sad martial arts champion. In the distance there are apartments. There are trees, storage places, a few moose. There is a bear riding a moose like a horse. There is a retirement home with a fence and a moat around it. The fence is not enough. They need the moat in addition to the fence. One manager is not enough. (“Don’t rape her.”) The sad manager. The sad manager is fucked. Andrew as a small boy slept in the same room as his parents and sometimes woke to them having sex on the carpet. They had sex on the carpet instead of the bed. One time Andrew’s mom and dad were fighting in a restaurant. Andrew was seven or eight. His mom was angry that his dad had given her a disease, was how Andrew understood it. Andrew thought it was AIDS. He was crying. He wanted his mom to tell what was wrong because he thought she was going to die. A bear opens Andrew’s passenger door and sits in the passenger seat.
“You lied,” the bear says.
Andrew does not look at the bear.
“Did you lie?” the bear says.
The bear is breathing loudly.
Andrew stares outside.
There is a tree.
The old people’s home.
There will always be the old people’s home.
“You lied,” the bear says. “You lied and made me sad.”
The bear hesitates then leaves.
Andrew’s mom said she would tell if Andrew stopped crying. He stopped crying and felt nervous. She said she would tell in the restroom. In the restroom Andrew felt very small. Andrew’s mom locked the door. She bent over and said in Andrew’s ear that it was herpes — Andrew was looking in the mirror; his eyes were just a little above the counter and he looked at the top part of his head — and that she wouldn’t die. Andrew felt very happy and enjoyed his lunch even while his mom and dad kept fighting so that it was uncomfortable for everyone else in the restaurant. After college Andrew kept his job at the library and got another in a movie theatre. They tricked him at the movie theatre and he lost the job. At the library he began to take two-hour lunch breaks; one day they surrounded him and fired him. He had no money left and went home and lived with his parents in Florida. His mom was keeping things from him, he could tell. She had cancer or something but wouldn’t talk about it. Andrew’s dad was like, Your mom doesn’t want you to know, but I think I should tell you—and Andrew interrupted and said that if his mom didn’t want him to know he shouldn’t know. His dad walked away. Whenever there was partial nudity on TV Andrew’s dad would say, “This isn’t for kids.” Even when Andrew was twenty his dad would tell Andrew not to look. He’d say it in a strange tone that was serious and nervous and his face would look meek.
A minivan parks adjacent Andrew. A girl and a boy, and some dolphins, talking loudly and laughing. Andrew leans over and pretends he is looking for something in the passenger seat. He is crying a little. “Your car has no top or driver’s side door,” says a boy. Andrew stares at the things on the passenger seat. CD cases, blue pens, a receipt from Albertson’s. He takes the receipt and stares at it, leaned over in the car. It’s dark. He can’t see anything. He folds the receipt and puts it in his pocket. He sits a while then gets out and walks toward Denny’s. He can feel he’s about to start thinking about Sara. He keeps walking and thinks about the future. The future. He has some vague images of things happening, or not happening, and then it feels like the future exists, already, for him to go home, lie in bed, and think about, like a memory; it feels like the past.
Driving, delivering pizzas. No Sara. No future. At a stoplight Andrew feels very calm suddenly. Feels like being filmed. He is in Florida, being filmed for an independent movie starring someone else. Sara, probably. His life must change. Things must happen and explode because of being in a movie. Andrew will teleport into a perilous situation, punch someone in the face; teleport to Sara, hug her. He was driving. There was a field and she was like, We should drive into that tree, like a garage. He was like, Let’s climb it and eat in it. They sat on branches and licked Popsicles.
Light turns green. Andrew doesn’t want to go. He goes. He should drive into something. A mountain. The mountain would explode. There’s nothing to drive into. If Sara were here there’d be things to drive into, for some reason. Andrew passes the neighborhood he’s supposed to turn into and U-turns over the median, knocking over a small tree. A row of cars go by honking. Andrew laughs. He has no future. He is embarrassed for knocking over a tree. That was wrong. Representing Domino’s Pizza Corporation. He shouldn’t be making illegal U-turns. He feels bad. There were birds in that tree. An enormous family of baby birds, and squirrels. The mother bird will fly back and feel confused.
At home Andrew calls Steve. 10 p.m. Either cards at Justin’s or the arcade. Cards will lead to drinking; everyone will end up depressed. Arcade, then. Andrew drives to Steve’s house. As Steve is walking to the car his two little sisters throw water balloons. Both miss and land on the grass. The sisters run, pick up the balloons, throw them. One bounces off Steve’s face, the other splashes on the driveway. The sisters run to the side yard, do high-fives, and run away.
“I’m going to kill them,” Steve says in the car.
“They gave each other high-fives,” Andrew says.
“We should go on a killing rampage,” Steve says. “In my front yard.”
“Good idea.” Andrew wishes he were one of the little sisters. He feels depressed suddenly; and bored. He should be one of the sisters and Sara the other. “Now what. Arcade?”
“I hate the arcade,” Steve says. “It’s depressing and a waste of time. I’m broke.”
“I always say things are depressing and a waste of time. Don’t steal my identity.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Steve says.
“I will. Tonight. In my enormous house.”
“Yeah,” Steve says. “I was giving you a friendly suggestion.”
“Yeah.” Killing rampage in the arcade. “I should play arcade games and kill myself on purpose and go around saying I’m killing myself.”
“Don’t kill yourself,” Steve says. “Kill my siblings.”
“Why do you call them siblings?”
“I’m stupid,” Steve says. “Don’t kill my siblings. Kill me.”
“I killed a tree today. I felt bad. I should kill my job. But with kindness. The kindness of strangers.”
“First kill me and my siblings,” Steve says.
“I need to use your bathroom.”
“Go,” Steve says.
Andrew goes into Steve’s house. It’s very dark inside. Andrew is afraid an alien will grab him. The alien will be lonely and want a hug but Andrew will have a heart attack and a seizure at the same time. Steve’s third sister, Ellen, the one in high school, is sitting on the sofa in the living room. She is sitting there, in the dark, not doing anything. She picks up a book and looks at it.
“I’m using the bathroom,” Andrew says.