“We can ignore that.”
What if that was my secret art all along? They asked deathbed questions. He picked him up and wiped dust off his pants. They were both crying outside. He remembered the dog.
“Now’s the time.”
Change kept spilling out of his pocket. Balance was an issue. He never wanted to hear that phrase again. Bend slowly. Cool tubs of water in galvanized steel. It was too regular to marvel at how most people did it everyday.
“I have an idea.”
You’ve always been better with him. He loaded it. Flowers in a vase right inside the door. He opened the card. They both hugged his foot. He caught the last red swipe of the truck, a terrible high yelp, then the rest.
“Hold on a minute.”
He put the credit card back. It’s your hobby now, she said. He didn’t believe it. He saw hundreds of billions of dollars. He caught fluctuations. The second monitor. At least he knew she had nail polish on, but the color he thought was red was probably green. Either way. He clicked. The screen hung on some vital action. They smelled the roses.
“Turn to the right.”
Just holding him was nice. Race didn’t matter. He denied it was because of the trip. She told him he was handsome. He jumped off the curb and raised his right arm. Brake lights. He cried, which was supposed to lead to something.
“We’re out of stock.”
The paint spread too thin. He’d have to go over it twice. Grass was a luxury. He refused to write anything. You looked good, she said. All he saw in the screen was this green man, raising and dropping his deformity, some emotional tachometer. He’d make himself remember. She pulled the pen out of his hand and laughed. He laughed. He slapped her ass. A pattern in the dirt.
“You sleep too late.”
He tried to walk around the patch going to bed that week.
“I love you so much.”
I’m sick. All his waiting gathered up in pounds and laid before him, full of clicks, small plays of light, mounds and caverns of chewed food. He hung on. Each building built of bricks. Red was his favorite color. He said so.
“Bring him in.”
They kept playing without his permission. He knew it was the same. A slow removal. He told himself, out loud, to fuck himself. She shut the door for him.
“Should we have another?”
He washed his hands for the eighth time. She said it again and again through the door. He tried to make a face that showed he was letting himself heal. It was a joke. He preyed on the dying conversations. She lowered the drink and he saw it wasn’t her. The music stopped.
“Not that door.”
Shame was a part of it. Tablecloth, chairs, lights strung up. Familial meant familiar, or was supposed to. He read the article and felt he would be like that soon, knew he wouldn’t. He slammed the car door.
“Bring it back.”
He watched him watch the dogs sleep. Everyone terrified.
He felt the numbers and their weight, scanning the lines and lists. The names were only tools. He called her again. Quiet.
“Yes or no?”
I know I’m not confident enough for the last proposition. He told her crime was down. They couldn’t move yet until the market picked up. She dropped the phone. Here’s where it gets tricky. Sunlight shifted in cubes on the far wall and he watched it, naming a place for god, making up jokes. He missed roll call.
“No time.”
He didn’t say it. New roads were being built.
The new regime was clearly tyrannical. He cradled the phone and waited, through the music. Somebody had to know.
“It’s not covered.”
She listened to him try to tell her how it sounded more dramatic than it was, felt, but he couldn’t talk, feeling crushed under all the convenience. His child opened his eyes. Two women in front of him kept looking back. He felt his phone vibrate through the ground. He’d need a new backpack.
“Do you think it’s still good?”
He fell. He tasted dirt. They decided against church.
He was ready to testify against himself. Cancer was too specific. He waited for the chorus to start. They all needed a good lie.
“It’s not hard enough.”
There was a pyramid to explain it. She laughed. He knew he shouldn’t reveal her, not like that. She took a second. Squashed, ancient trees. He’d been told they were interchangeable. He watched the movie again, not remembering he’d never see the shooter.
“Have you eaten?”
Both friends went to the bathroom to puke. He washed his hair twice. The scissors wouldn’t cut.
“Press that for me.”
Sufficiently fucked. They looked for a guide. Christmas, birthday, birthday.
It started at the playground. The meteor would appear around midnight. He drove all night. They found an alley. He just wanted to read. The neighbors knocked. He bought more. Porn would do.
“Go.”
He sat up. They’d see some music. Take some medicine. He barred out all the names. He listened to the drip.
“Why don’t you want to?”
The strap of her dress, the pink light behind it. He felt something less explicit. Just lunch. He smiled. He shook his hand. She rocked him to sleep. He dreamed. He bought a ticket, wanted to see some tragedy. He looked around as they walked, feeling the edges of what he expected only a few months ago. He thought about running. He smiled. He knew he could.
They put their faces close to the glass and shaded their eyes to see if they were open. He told her about the desert. They let the water drain.
“I’ll be back.”
She’d measure him. Kids on the neighbor’s lawn. Underneath a pile of clothes, I think. Somewhere.
“I thought it would be more difficult than it was.”
He felt her say it carefully, knew that she felt herself speaking. Bloodless transformation. Curiosity was just a hobby. He wouldn’t be the hero. The grease gunked then cooled into a gelatin. He scraped the skin off. She covered her eyes. He walked away. Pinks and blues above their roof.
“You can leave that there.”
The whole sky revealing itself, cell by cell.
Fantasies about childbirth, arson. Name the times you felt more than alive.
“You can do it.”
They needed a signal, maybe a whistle. He refused. The water came in. He felt the rush under his forehead. He touched her thigh. The tunnel’s closed.
“Baby.”
Keep it.
“You need to speak up.”
He gathered it all into a box and took it to the center of the back yard. A distant concussion.
He picked his face. Seeing and hearing an entire vocabulary assemble. He watched them, marred by some internal logic. He didn’t deny it was bountiful.
“Hang up.”
There wasn’t much more she could do for him. They burned it, probably. Familiar stomps. He knew where to look.
“He didn’t say no.”
There’s nothing to do. I hate instructions, she said. Maybe God was the weight of every ignored violent impulse, how heavy that would be. The spider waited for the other wing to give out.