leave? I mean, when my mom gets here, do you think we should go?”
It takes Ted a moment to answer. In the meantime, we both take a seat on the big, calico couch. It’s covered in handmade afghans that take up so much space that the couch itself is barely visible beneath all the crafts. Everything in this place smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon tinged with sweat and shit, the smell we seem to carry with us everywhere. We can’t get rid of it—no matter how careful we are about cleaning the bathroom we always seem to reek just a little.
Ted rests his right ankle on his knee and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. I’m tempted to interrupt the silence with a bit of a heart-to-heart about Holly but I keep my mouth shut. I think I like Holly’s new allegiance, the way she grins at me like we’re twins separated at birth. I can’t read her mind but I can take a pretty accurate guess.
“My gut says yes,” Ted replies at last. “But that’s a big change. Who knows if it will be that much better. Still, to see people, new people, hell, lots of people…”
“I know. That’s how I feel too.”
“It could be a madhouse,” Ted says, smiling crookedly. His foot bounces rhythmically in the air. “And super-unsanitary with all those people in one spot.”
“I think we should stay,” I tell him. The tension melts away, leaving behind the same old easy friendship that existed before. It’s as if the radio, Zack, our disagreements never even existed.
“Really?”
“Really. What’s the point? Searching, searching, never happy with anything … When does it end? It exhausts me just thinking about it. Buddha taught that desire never learns, it never wakes up to its own foolishness, it drives us on endlessly—and for what?”
“Hmm, well, Confucius say: ‘White girls who sit on tack get point.’ ”
“Right, never quote Buddha to a Chinaman, I forgot.”
“Cracker.”
“Infidel.”
“Honky.”
“ Oriental. ”
“Forsooth! That stings!”
“If you think we should go then I’ll think about; if not then I think the case is closed,” I say, brushing the jokes aside for the moment. Ted looks at me. He really needs a haircut.
“I just can’t help but think about Phil and his kids, and Janette … and, you know—please don’t hit me—maybe even your mom. If she doesn’t make it here then there’s a chance they made it to the university.”
“I’m trying to get over that. I don’t want to cling to hope for too long. She said three days and that should be long enough but … We have to give her longer,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “After all: woman who fart in church sits in her own pew.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. What is wrong with you?”
I reach across and punch him in the shoulder. It’s better than a slap; it makes him fall over, groaning theatrically and clutching his arm. Outside, through the curtains, through the glass, I can hear the undead making their slow, determined march down the street. I know what direction they’re going. West. West toward the campus. I wonder if they can sense the bodies there, the feast to come … Or maybe they’re mustering outside our door, coming for us instead.
Or maybe they’ve found my mom and her fate is already sealed.
We stay. For now we stay in here, safe, uncertain, huddled for warmth.
Tomorrow is Phil’s birthday. Holly and I are going to try and make a cake somehow. Zack has asked if we can listen to the radio together again. I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason to turn him down.
COMMENTS
Brooklyn Girl says:
October 4, 2009 at 8:36 pm
Lost one of our own today, my cousin. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him so we locked him outside. He’s scratching to get in, to … It doesn’t matter. He’s not himself anymore.
Allison says:
October 4, 2009 at 8:55 pm
Condolences, that’s the worst. You can’t help him now but that doesn’t make it any easier. Are your supplies holding up? Did
It takes Ted a moment to answer. In the meantime, we both take a seat on the big, calico couch. It’s covered in handmade afghans that take up so much space that the couch itself is barely visible beneath all the crafts. Everything in this place smells like cinnamon. Cinnamon tinged with sweat and shit, the smell we seem to carry with us everywhere. We can’t get rid of it—no matter how careful we are about cleaning the bathroom we always seem to reek just a little.
Ted rests his right ankle on his knee and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. I’m tempted to interrupt the silence with a bit of a heart-to-heart about Holly but I keep my mouth shut. I think I like Holly’s new allegiance, the way she grins at me like we’re twins separated at birth. I can’t read her mind but I can take a pretty accurate guess.
“My gut says yes,” Ted replies at last. “But that’s a big change. Who knows if it will be that much better. Still, to see people, new people, hell, lots of people…”
“I know. That’s how I feel too.”
“It could be a madhouse,” Ted says, smiling crookedly. His foot bounces rhythmically in the air. “And super-unsanitary with all those people in one spot.”
“I think we should stay,” I tell him. The tension melts away, leaving behind the same old easy friendship that existed before. It’s as if the radio, Zack, our disagreements never even existed.
“Really?”
“Really. What’s the point? Searching, searching, never happy with anything … When does it end? It exhausts me just thinking about it. Buddha taught that desire never learns, it never wakes up to its own foolishness, it drives us on endlessly—and for what?”
“Hmm, well, Confucius say: ‘White girls who sit on tack get point.’ ”
“Right, never quote Buddha to a Chinaman, I forgot.”
“Cracker.”
“Infidel.”
“Honky.”
“ Oriental. ”
“Forsooth! That stings!”
“If you think we should go then I’ll think about; if not then I think the case is closed,” I say, brushing the jokes aside for the moment. Ted looks at me. He really needs a haircut.
“I just can’t help but think about Phil and his kids, and Janette … and, you know—please don’t hit me—maybe even your mom. If she doesn’t make it here then there’s a chance they made it to the university.”
“I’m trying to get over that. I don’t want to cling to hope for too long. She said three days and that should be long enough but … We have to give her longer,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “After all: woman who fart in church sits in her own pew.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. What is wrong with you?”
I reach across and punch him in the shoulder. It’s better than a slap; it makes him fall over, groaning theatrically and clutching his arm. Outside, through the curtains, through the glass, I can hear the undead making their slow, determined march down the street. I know what direction they’re going. West. West toward the campus. I wonder if they can sense the bodies there, the feast to come … Or maybe they’re mustering outside our door, coming for us instead.
Or maybe they’ve found my mom and her fate is already sealed.
We stay. For now we stay in here, safe, uncertain, huddled for warmth.
Tomorrow is Phil’s birthday. Holly and I are going to try and make a cake somehow. Zack has asked if we can listen to the radio together again. I can’t for the life of me think of a good reason to turn him down.
COMMENTS
Brooklyn Girl says:
October 4, 2009 at 8:36 pm
Lost one of our own today, my cousin. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him so we locked him outside. He’s scratching to get in, to … It doesn’t matter. He’s not himself anymore.
Allison says:
October 4, 2009 at 8:55 pm
Condolences, that’s the worst. You can’t help him now but that doesn’t make it any easier. Are your supplies holding up? Did
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