Waiting Period by Hubert Selby

doesnt sound inviting. Nothing to think about. Or plan. Yeah, I guess thats it. Its sort of over. Dont feel like its over. Something unfinished … lacking. Really feel at loose ends. Oh god, cant even think of turning that on. Dont know what in the hell to do with myself. Okay, lets look at this. Couple of months my energy was focused on Barnard and now thats all over. But no closure. Yeah, that simple, no closure. Its over … hes over … The entire situation is history. There is nothing more to be done. Hes not around anymore. No need to ever think of him. He will not antagonize anyone anymore. Thats a good thing. Very good thing. A lot of vets are going to be happy when they find out. Would like to invite them all to dinner and tell them. See their faces. The huge smiles. Listen to the jokes. The cheers. All the Barnard stories … and then the son of a bitch did this … and that … Yeah … satisfaction. Thats missing. Need closure to have it. You work so hard to achieve something, then you succeed and its like theres no reason to live. As if they gave me a watch and retired me. People live and retire. My life is not without purpose now that this … this … situation is over. Thats insane. Remain anonymous. Funeral parlors filled with people. But who would notice? Lot of strangers. Family doesnt know co-workers. Keep head down. Talk to no one. Could wear a big mustache. And wig. Who would—thats nuts. Absolutely no connection. Wig and mustache. Madness. Too easy to check places that rent those things. Theatrical supplies. Its food poisoning. What could be more suspicious than buying a wig and mustache? Just go and look at the dearly departed. Dont sign the book. The book of the dead. Dead. Thats right. Barnard is dead! Hes not a dearly departed. He is not a deceased. No demise. He is not out to lunch. He is dead! Dead in the water. Very simple. Barnard is dead. No euphemism. Oh I am glad that youre dead you rascal you. Need to see him dead in his box. Oh poor Barnard, I knew him well Horatio. Yes, a light dinner and a visit to the motel of last resorts. Not a short term vacation. Death is so permanent. Dead. Its all over. Done with. Over and done with. Thats all there is there aint no more. Except for the dearly surviving. Its okay Crip, dont cry ol fella. My mother had four more children after me, Eenie, Meanie, Minie and Jack. Jack? What happened to Moe? She didnt want no Moe. Better keep Crip away from the cemetery. It will be fine. Nothing to worry about. Just go for a few minutes and leave. Can always eat later. Not hungry. Gut feels empty, but not hungry. Really not so bad. Feeling sluggish again. Ass dragging. Really at loose ends. Damn, this is ridiculous. Could always have a cup of coffee. Maybe stop off and get some ice cream. Something. Damn. Dont know what I want. Hell with it. Just go. Its not foolish. Arsonists always show up at their fires. Love them. I dont love Barnard and I am not an arsonist. Time to get going. Come on, lets go.
    Beautiful night. Balmy breeze. Good night for a convertible. Open windows fine. Feels great. Hope theres no problem parking. Didnt think of that. May be a lot of people going there from work. We/ll see. Must be parking within walking distance. Thats possible. Might be like last child leaving home and the mother feels lost. Unfocused. Could very well be. Not that I feel so terrible. Just sort of adrift. Really had something to focus on … for months. Now only work. Antsy. Feel like flooring it and barreling through the night. Sense of speed with windows open. Noise. Feel the wind on my face. Better park here. Only half a block away, and who knows if theres anything closer. Well, here goes … Nice trees. That oak looks very old … Whoa, gut really bubbling. Like its trying to stop me. Maybe I am making a mistake. Who knows. Parking lots rilled. Cant all be for him. Still plenty Im sure. Here goes … Jesus, it feels like a mortuary. BARNARD … Room C. This way … Like