squatted over the shallow end of the dying river, possibly polluting it even worse than it already was.
He cleaned himself as best he could, pulled his pants up, buckled his belt and went back, slowly, to the tent. The old dead man had not moved and looked rather subdued. Still, it was hard to feel at ease around a dead body. He wondered how certain people did it for a living. How many stories had he heard about undertakers becoming necrophiliacs, perhaps because they had become too accustomed to spending time with dead people? He took the remainder of the newspaper and tried to cover the man’s face with it.
He practically fell headlong into the tent. The diarrhea, he knew, was a symptom of something larger. His stomach growled in anger; his head spun and he felt like he was dumb from drinking.
There was a bad smell inside the tent, coming from somewhere, or everywhere; he wasn’t sure. He tried to remember when he had last showered. He must have – he always did – but he couldn’t recall any specifics. He ignored the smell and thought that the barely audible sound of ash falling on the tarp above his head was a comforting lullaby like the mobiles above his sons’ cribs when they were babies.
His dreams often played out like movies of recorded events in his life. The first time that Jess found out that Toni had a boyfriend she called him up to watch the kids.
“Where are you doing, taking my money on a shopping trip?”
“First of all, you don’t give us enough for those kinds of extras, and secondly, no I’m not going shopping. I have a date.”
“A date!” Jess said. He thought she was kidding.
He visibly slumped when he realized that it was not a joke. Toni seemed to peer in closer on the wall projection, as if scrutinizing the scene before her.
“You need to wake up to the reality of this moment. Because you made a decision about two years ago that has led us to this exact moment in time. I asked you to quit drinking, do you remember that?”
Jess nodded his head.
“And you made your choice. You put beer and booze before me.”
She shrugged off everything that he tried to say, waving him into silence.
“Why do you drink? Why do it? Do you want to know what I think? Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. You drink because you’re weak. Because you live in constant fear and the only way you can live with the courage you need to make it through this scary world is to get drunk. It’s cowardly. It cost you your marriage. It cost you your kids. Now it might even cost you your job. What are you going to do then? Sit on the street and beg for money so that you can buy a bottle of mouthwash?”
Jess’s dreams turned to a horror movie as he watched from the front window as Toni and her new boyfriend locked lips and proceeded to literally eat each other’s faces until blood was splattered all over the windshield of the car.
When he woke, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and rolled over, thinking he was at home in bed. It was either still dark or the drapes had been pulled tight against the window, he thought. One of the boys was silently tugging at his shoe, trying to gently rouse him from his dreams.
Then he wondered why he had shoes on in his bed, and he opened his eyes.
The old dead man with the grey beard was crawling on his stomach, now partly inside the tent. The edges of his eyes were so bloodshot that it was difficult to see anything else. It seemed the other parts of his eyes were covered with layers of white sickness of some sort. Then the thing’s arm reached out, grabbing hold of the heel of his shoe. A quiet sound came from the man’s throat. Quiet but grumbling, as if he were trying to talk with a throat full of liquid. Not the same as those noises he had heard before, but close enough to cause Jess to retract his legs and he backed up against the inner edge of the tarp as the old man pulled himself slowly forward with sickly arms.
The stick was there beside the
He cleaned himself as best he could, pulled his pants up, buckled his belt and went back, slowly, to the tent. The old dead man had not moved and looked rather subdued. Still, it was hard to feel at ease around a dead body. He wondered how certain people did it for a living. How many stories had he heard about undertakers becoming necrophiliacs, perhaps because they had become too accustomed to spending time with dead people? He took the remainder of the newspaper and tried to cover the man’s face with it.
He practically fell headlong into the tent. The diarrhea, he knew, was a symptom of something larger. His stomach growled in anger; his head spun and he felt like he was dumb from drinking.
There was a bad smell inside the tent, coming from somewhere, or everywhere; he wasn’t sure. He tried to remember when he had last showered. He must have – he always did – but he couldn’t recall any specifics. He ignored the smell and thought that the barely audible sound of ash falling on the tarp above his head was a comforting lullaby like the mobiles above his sons’ cribs when they were babies.
His dreams often played out like movies of recorded events in his life. The first time that Jess found out that Toni had a boyfriend she called him up to watch the kids.
“Where are you doing, taking my money on a shopping trip?”
“First of all, you don’t give us enough for those kinds of extras, and secondly, no I’m not going shopping. I have a date.”
“A date!” Jess said. He thought she was kidding.
He visibly slumped when he realized that it was not a joke. Toni seemed to peer in closer on the wall projection, as if scrutinizing the scene before her.
“You need to wake up to the reality of this moment. Because you made a decision about two years ago that has led us to this exact moment in time. I asked you to quit drinking, do you remember that?”
Jess nodded his head.
“And you made your choice. You put beer and booze before me.”
She shrugged off everything that he tried to say, waving him into silence.
“Why do you drink? Why do it? Do you want to know what I think? Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. You drink because you’re weak. Because you live in constant fear and the only way you can live with the courage you need to make it through this scary world is to get drunk. It’s cowardly. It cost you your marriage. It cost you your kids. Now it might even cost you your job. What are you going to do then? Sit on the street and beg for money so that you can buy a bottle of mouthwash?”
Jess’s dreams turned to a horror movie as he watched from the front window as Toni and her new boyfriend locked lips and proceeded to literally eat each other’s faces until blood was splattered all over the windshield of the car.
When he woke, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead and rolled over, thinking he was at home in bed. It was either still dark or the drapes had been pulled tight against the window, he thought. One of the boys was silently tugging at his shoe, trying to gently rouse him from his dreams.
Then he wondered why he had shoes on in his bed, and he opened his eyes.
The old dead man with the grey beard was crawling on his stomach, now partly inside the tent. The edges of his eyes were so bloodshot that it was difficult to see anything else. It seemed the other parts of his eyes were covered with layers of white sickness of some sort. Then the thing’s arm reached out, grabbing hold of the heel of his shoe. A quiet sound came from the man’s throat. Quiet but grumbling, as if he were trying to talk with a throat full of liquid. Not the same as those noises he had heard before, but close enough to cause Jess to retract his legs and he backed up against the inner edge of the tarp as the old man pulled himself slowly forward with sickly arms.
The stick was there beside the
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