The Dead

   Three of us sat on the battered sofa that Mick found outside his building a few weeks back. He and Jill sprawled on the single-seater across the room by the window; she sitting sideways on his lap, taking care to keep her skirt from riding up. She the only one sober. 

   Sarah sitting at my side with her legs tucked up under her, leaning on the arm of the sofa. She passed to me. I drew and passed to Dean who was asleep, head back and mouth open as though preparing to suck the air out of the room. When I motioned to Mick he shook his head. I drew again and leaned over Dean to stub it out on the ashtray perched on the arm of the sofa.

   I leaned back into the cushions letting my head fall back, looking up at the ceiling. Minutes passed, an hour maybe. I was thinking about the part in The Great Gatsby when Tom breaks Myrtle’s nose with the palm of his hand and Nick goes along with the photographer. I always think about that when I'm high. And how Nick goes to bed, and what happened there.
   A moth the size and shape of a bottle-cap flew in through the window and made for the light. It struck the bare bulb a few times with its body making a fizz before resting on the wall. I had never seen one so big.

   A book struck the wall catching the moth flush and fell to the ground. It left a fat brown stain on the emulsion that streaked down about an inch.

   Jill flinched.

   “Couldn’t do that again if I tried,” Mick said.

   “That’s one use for a book,” I said. A grin spread across his face as he leaned back in the chair. Jill sighed.

   “Sorry,” she said. 

   “Jill’s all on edge,” Mick said.

   She smiled at me. It was a forced smile.

   “Go on and tell him why,” Mike said, flicking her ear.

  “Don’t be an asshole,” she said, still looking at me. Sarah's had fallen asleep too, her head slid along the cushion and onto my shoulder with a bump.

   “Jill’s all worked up over this dream she had.”

    She was looking at the stain on the wall. 

   I started to feel uncomfortable. I was about to excuse myself when Mick started on her. It was probably a good thing. I wasn't sure if I could stand.

   “Go on and tell him. Tell him about the dream you had.” He spoke directly into her ear like an imp.

   Jill took in a deep breath. She was looking at Sarah, who had started to snore loudly.

   Mick put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. 

   “It’s silly,” she said. It seemed like she was apologizing for what was to follow, but there was worry in her tone too. As she spoke, her eyes never left mine.

   “It's...silly. It was about my brother, Peter. I dreamed that...that there was a breakthrough of some sort. Some pill you could take that would let you be awake in your own dream with a loved one who has...passed...for a few hours. So you can see them one last time, you know. Brought them back in your dream, as they were before they died. Apparently I had applied and been accepted to take part in the trial. There was a condition with the drug, something about a chance of the person in your dream knowing that they are supposed to be dead. This was a rare side-effect, and was something the drug company was refining. It meant that when you took it you had to be monitored by a psychologist. I used it to bring Peter back. You know we lost him last year. I had so much I had wanted to say to him, things that I wish I had said the last time I saw him. We didn't know. It just happened so suddenly." 

   “Well the pill worked. It was...it was awful. He looked exactly as I remember him - tall, slight, his hair combed to one side. He was like a man brought by light to another planet, he just gazed wide-eyed around him. But soon he became distressed - he was screaming that he knew he was dead, and that this wasn't real. He started writhing on the ground, and when I tried to approach him he...he turned on me. He was on top of me, screaming and throwing punches, pushing my head into the ground..." 
   She trailed off. 
   "I felt myself go unconscious. I could hear the psychologist shouting something. And then I woke up."

   We sat quietly. Jill was looking up at the stain on the wall.

  Mick had fallen asleep. His mouth was in a crooked, nasty grimace. His head was back. 

   “I’m sorry,” Jill whispered to me.

   I realized I was leaning forward on the sofa. Dean was still asleep on the arm of the sofa. Sarah had slid behind me and was face down in the cushions. She was drooling.

   I knew the dream, of course. She had told it to me one night as we lay together in my bed. Mick was out of town for the weekend. She had woke up screaming. It had bothered her enough that that bastard Mick had forced it out of her.

   Mick spluttered and sat up abruptly, forcing Jill to stand and readjust her skirt. He sat upright for a moment, his left hand coming up automatically to his face, his fingers spread out as though he were measuring up to catch a pitch. He slumped back into the chair, his eyes closed.

   "Nice dream, you prick?" I asked him.
    He had began to snore.
   For a while, minutes maybe, Jill and I looked at each other across the room. She had the prettiest grey eyes, and through the haze of smoke she looked like an angel.

   “It’s all pretty far-fetched,” she said, sadly.

   She smiled and through the smoke I could see tears in her eyes.

Looking for Sue

   When the doorbell rang Kate was in the kitchen breading a chicken breast. She was whistling to the saxophone solo in Louis Armstrong’s A Kiss to Build a Dream On which she’d have to turn off when her guests arrived. It was too early to be Steve and Sandy, who she expected at around seven p.m., and her husband Mike wasn’t due back from work for another half an hour, unless he got away early. She lowered the heat on the stove with her elbow - she had raw chicken on her fingers – and, grabbing a fistful of kitchen paper from the holder, made her way to the door, scrunching it up in her hands as she walked through the living room. She turned the handle of the door and opened it, realizing that she’d have to disinfect everything before they arrived. She put on her hostess cap, so to speak, in case her guests were early.

   “Hello?”

   A tall black man in a baggy grey shirt stood on the porch peering into the house through the window. Three white trash bags were slumped at his side. Beads of water ran down the side of the bags and he had spots on his shirt from the rain. Kate’s first instinct was to close the door and lock it.

   He swayed slightly like a statue at sea. “Can I help you?” she asked. He jolted, as though suddenly brought to life. He smiled. His teeth were yellow.

   “Evenin.’” He seemed embarrassed. “I’m lookin’ for Sue.”

   Kate thought about telling him that her daughter didn’t live there.

   “What is it regarding?” she asked.

   He looked down at his feet as though he might find the right words in his shoes.

   “Is she home?” he asked.

   Sue was not home; she was working late at the community center, but she would be back for dinner. She said she would try to get there before the guests arrived.

   “Sue doesn’t live here,” Kate said.

   The man looked down at his feet again. He seemed disappointed; he wasn’t looking for words now. He turned his head and looked at the slumped white bags.

   After a thoughtful pause he said, “My mistake.”

   Kate nodded. "I'm sorry," she said. She closed the door and locked it before he could say anything else, or worse, push his way into the house. She remembered hearing about a scam on the news where some crooks were posing as cable guys to work their way into people’s homes. The thought of it made her stomach cold. She waited a few seconds with her back against the doorframe. She heard him mutter, then the sound of the bags scraping across the porch, and six heavy clinks as they caught on the steps that led to the drive. She climbed up onto the sofa, and on her knees she squinted through the blinds. The man closed the gate behind him and dragged the bags to the corner of the street and out of sight. Whatever was in them looked heavy.

   Kate turned around and sat with her legs still folded under her. What could he have possibly wanted with Sue? Was she using again? From the kitchen a commercial was playing on the radio. Something about home insurance.

   She started to worry. After high school Sue had insisted on studying out west. She was a liberal arts major, and they half-expected her to go into teaching, though Mike always said he wanted a better return for their investment. He was joking of course; he was a massage therapist. She was always impulsive and often overly optimistic. From a young age she seemed bent on living without effort or care, like a leaf cast to the wind; and like so many leaves she fluttered gloriously for a moment before finding herself downtrodden. She met a boy, some waste of space named Phil. Kate suspected it was Phil that got her using, though she could not prove it. Sue was having “the time of her life”. She dropped out after a year and Mike had to fly out to California to bring her home. She was living rough when he picked her up, squatting in an apartment outside of town. 
   That was a year ago. Sue had been through rehab and therapy. Mike went with her to all of her sessions, but Kate could not bear to.

   Kate dialed Sue’s number. Of course, there was no answer.

   After a minute or so kneeling there with the cell phone in her hand, she stood and stretched her back like a cat and returned to the kitchen. She tried to shake the thought from her mind.

  

   When Sue got home she shook the rain from her coat and hung it to dry on the hook by the doorway. She could hear her mother’s voice through the thin walls and she followed it to the dining room, kicking off her shoes one at a time as she went, tossing them through the open door of her bedroom where they clattered against the head of the bed. The rough carpet felt good on the soles of her feet through her stockings. She tiptoed lightly into the kitchen.

   Kate was seated at the table talking brightly to Sandy about their plans to travel that summer. Steve sat quietly at his wife’s side, smiling every now and then in polite response to the not-so-subtle cues in Kate’s speech and eyeing the door to the living room. Mike was getting beer from the garage.

   “The Schwartz’s swear by this place they’ve been going to forever,” Kate said. “And it is such a pretty city in the summer, don’t you think?”

   Seeing Sue appear in the doorway, and sensing an opportunity to move the focus of the conversation, Steve stood from his chair. “I hope they’re paying you overtime,” he said loudly, taking the chance to cut off Kate without being impolite.

   Sue smiled. She was not shy, but she always felt cold when Sandy looked her over and sick when Steve did.

   “Hi love,” Kate said. “I was just telling Stephen and Sandy about our vacation plans. Sue has been to Paris before as well, haven’t you?”

   Sue leaned down and kissed her mother lightly on the cheek by way of a reply. It was more a gesture of resignation that of love. Steve watched her.

   “Oh your hair’s all wet!” Kate complained.

   “It’s fine,” Sue said. She sat in the empty chair.

   “How was work?” Steve asked.

   “It was alright.” Sue scratched at her wrist where her bracelet was bothering her. Her fingernails were too short to do the job properly. She’d have to stop biting them. “Nothing new,” she said.

   “When do you think you’ll go back to college?” Sandy asked. Steve looked at her.

   “Sue’s taking her time,” Kate said, making the effort to smile. It was a topic to be avoided. A source of shame for a well-to-do mother.

   “You’re mother tells us you’re thinking of switching fields? Maybe studying social work?” Steve said. He made a conscious effort to take the scrutiny off of the past and to put a positive spin on the conversation. Yet he was staring at her.

   “That’s one thing we’ve talked about,” Kate said. She didn’t sound thrilled about it.

   Mike barged into the kitchen, shouldering the door open to keep his hands wrapped around the crate of beer.

   “Oi oi,” he said, winking at Sue.

   “Mike what do you think you’re doing with those cheap beers?” Kate said, laughing awkwardly. She glanced nervously from the crate of cheap beer to her guests. She had bought expensive wine just for the occasion. She felt that she was being judged. Steve was looking at Sue. But she could have sworn she saw Sandy roll her eyes.

   “Jesus Kate, relax,” Mike said. “I’m putting them away for the game on Saturday. Who do you fancy for the cup Steve?”

   He didn’t really care much for sports, he said, smiling politely. Sandy’s face was a mask.

   “Oi Sue,” Mike said, readjusting the crate of beer in his arms. “What’s this your mother told me about some bum showing up at our door looking for you?”

   Kate’s cheeks grew red. She wanted to bore a hole into her husband with a scowl, but she didn’t dare look up from the table. The faintest hint of a smirk crept across Sandy’s now-curious face.

   Sue stared at her father blankly.

   “Earlier on today, right Kate? Some old fellow came by looking for you. Had a big bag full of something or other, you said.”

   “Not now, Mike.” Kate was livid. 

   “Oh, what did he want from Sue?” Sandy said.

   “Ask Sue, not me,” Mike said. 

   “Why are you doing this?” Kate said.

   “Go on and ask her,” he said again. He said it kindly, but there was a hint of resentment in his tone.

   Kate turned to Sue. Sue raised her eyebrows in expectation.

   “Who was that man?” Kate asked meekly.

   Sue stared at her mother. Sandy and Steve watched Sue, one for the spectacle, the other for the pleasure.

   Kate looked up at Mike as though awaiting directions.

   “That was Eli,” she said. “From the shelter. He's been working with the community center for ten years."

   Steve cleared his throat. Nobody looked at him.

   “I asked him,” Sue went on, “if he could drop off the equipment for the weekend program. I didn’t have room in the car to drive it all home. He was doing me a favor. He walked all the way back to the center with the equipment and told me he was sorry he couldn’t help.”

   Sandy seemed let down by the tale. She was hoping for a scandal.

   Mike still stood in the doorway, a formidable figure, holding the crate under one arm. He had met Eli. They played pool once or twice at the center. 

   "Well, I wasn't to know that that was...Eli," said Kate.
   Nobody replied.
   "Anyway," said Kate, putting on a smile, "who would like some wine?"
   Steve and Sandy acquiesced. 
   "Sue?" Kate met her eyes reluctantly.
   Sue walked to the doorway. She reached into the crate, still held by Mike, and pulled out a beer.
   "Not for me," she said. "I'll stick to the cheap stuff."