Spectacle: Stories (7 page)

; it was virtual, the killing; it was conference call, the killing; it was party line, a party; it was everyone talking at once; it was everyone talking and me in charge; it was nearing morning, almost light; it was the doctor begging me, Come on already; it was the doctor begging me, Do it already; it was me saying, You do it already; it was my brother laughing into his phone; it was my mother sighing into hers; it was my mother saying, This isn’t funny; it was my mother saying, You kids are monsters; it was my mother saying, I’m hanging up; it was the voice she used when we were kids; we hated that voice when we were kids; my father hated that crazy voice; he called her crazy with that voice; he called her crazy, that way she got; it was his fault she was crazy; it was his fault everything went the way it did; it was his fault everything in the world; but it was too easy to blame the father; I was done with blaming the father; I would take the blame from this point on; I would take the blame for the world how it was; the world was in a state of collapse; the world was collapsing in my hands; the world was my mother and the voice we hated as kids; it was my brother saying to my mother, Take a fucking pill; it was my mother laughing too hard now; it was my brother laughing again; it was funny because we were on the phone; it was funny because we were in different rooms on different streets in different states; it was funny because it wasn’t funny; it was funny because it was nothing even close to funny; but it was totally ours; it was no one else’s but stupid ours: like words you made up as kids, like things you watched through a keyhole as kids; it was my TV on when it shouldn’t have been; it was my brother saying, Turn down the fucking TV; it was me saying, No fucking way; it was my brother saying, This is serious shit; it was me thinking, You don’t know serious shit; it was rain for the tenth day in a row; it was twelve spiders in twelve corners in three rooms in the house; it was a different time zone where I was; it was a different altogether time; it was the doctor saying, I need you to focus; it was never just, I need you; it was never just, Let’s have a good time; it was the doctor saying, I need you to pull the plug; it was never that; it was softer than that; it was more like, I need you to do the right thing; it was more like, Your father would want it this way; it was me not knowing what he would want; it was no one knowing what anyone else would ever want: even if he said it to your face, even if he wrote it down, even if he carved it into a tree, into the sidewalk, into the softest part of your arm; it was the doctor saying, This isn’t funny; it was the doctor saying, This isn’t life; it was the doctor saying, Trust me; it was hard to trust a person I couldn’t see; it was hard to trust a person I could; it was like watching through a keyhole as a kid; it was long ago that one day; it was no big deal that one day; it was no big deal, looking in at him; it was no big deal, walking in on them; my father screamed; the lady screamed; my mother was out of town; I called her; she came back to town; she kicked him out; the end; it wasn’t the thing that did me in; it was the conference call that did me in; it was the conference call why I had issues; and here I was on a date in a bar; here I was on a date with a guy and I told him there was no way; here I was in a lovely skirt, my knees exposed, his hand about to touch my knee, and I told him no fucking way; now was always no fucking way; now was always no fucking; now was the luxury of years passed; now was the luxury of the bartender’s serious face; now was his serious eyes as he described this wine or that; and it was me drinking way too much; it was the date saying, I think you’ve got issues; it was me saying, I think everyone’s got issues; it was the date saying, I think you know what I mean; it was me saying, Bartender; it was the date saying, What’s your deal; it was me saying, There’s no deal; it was no big deal, my deal; it was too easy to blame the father; it was too easy to blame a father dying on a terrible narrow bed I never saw; it was stupid to blame a terrible plug I never saw; it was unclear if the plug was a literal plug or not; it was possibly a switch one flipped; it was possibly a metaphor; but it was easier to say a plug; because it was something I never saw, the plug; it was virtual, the plug; and it was virtual, the terrible narrow bed; and it was virtual, the father; and it was crazy how he got that way; it was crazy that way he got; it was clichéd that way he got; it was too many drinks; it was too many pills; it was rock star how he was; it was hotel room how it was; it was calling me in the night; it was singing stupid songs to my machine; it was, Wake up little, etc.; it was, Wake up little, etc.; it was never funny; and then he got sick; and then he got sicker, and then, and then; it was never once funny; it was never me laughing; it was me looking for the bartender; it was another round; it was another round; it was me feeling slightly better; it was a shame, of course, ever feeling better; it was the worst shame ever, killing one’s father; it was the worst shame ever, really killing him really; it was the worst shame ever, the virtual way I did; it was me lying on my bed; it was me and the phone pressed to my ear; it was me watching some actor on TV; it was some familiar face that shouldn’t have been familiar; it was my brother and mother in my head; it was all the voices I didn’t want in my head; it was all the voices telling me to do the right thing; it was all the voices somehow knowing the right thing, and I didn’t even know the exact time; because there was no such thing as exact time; because it was one time where I was, one time where they were, one time where he was; it was me saying, Wait a second; it was me saying, Just wait a fucking second; it was me saying, Just shut up a fucking second; it was wrong to say this to my family; it was only an actor on TV; it was only the actor saying something funny; it was only the actor saying a really funny joke; it was me needing a really funny joke right then; it was a shame to need a joke right then; it was me waiting, everyone yelling; it was me about to laugh my ass off; it was my mother complaining weeks later; it was my mother complaining, You shouldn’t have called me; it was my mother complaining, You put me in a hard place; it was my mother complaining, He was a monster; it was me thinking, Who put who in a hard place; it was me saying, Who put who; it was me saying, You had me; it was me saying, You put me in the worst hard place: the older kid, the only girl; I said, Who put who; she said, Who put whom; I said, Exactly; my father put me in a hard place; my father put my mother in a hard place; my father put the lady in a hard place; my eye was pressed to a hard place; my father put the lady in front of him; he stuck her there in front of him; she was younger than my mother; it was a hard place to be; it was probably love; it was probably total love; it was her laugh that waked me; it was her stupid laugh; and there was no keyhole; it was only a metaphor, I think; it was only me opening the door, I think; it was only me screaming, I think now, something awful; it was my father screaming something too; and it was me screaming something else; and it was shameful, the lady screaming something too; it was shameful how trashy, just screaming like that; it was shameful being a lady like that; it was my brother hiding in his room; it was my mother out of town; it was my mother still able to dream something lovely; it was my mother about to dream something lovely; it was me running out to the lawn; it was me standing under some dumb moon not knowing what next: like maybe I could run away, like maybe if I were a guy, like maybe if I were that girl; but I went back inside; and it wasn’t the beginning of the end; it was the beginning of something else; her purse was on the hallway floor; and it was my floor, that hallway floor; meaning it was my purse on the hallway floor; meaning it was my stuff’ in that purse: meaning her comb, meaning her ten dollars, meaning her ID; it was the beginning of the beginning; I deserved something that night too; and her picture looked nothing like me; and her name was impossible to pronounce; and I memorized the spelling of her name; and I memorized her address; and I figured out her sign; and I styled my hair to look like hers; and I made a face that looked like hers; and the ID worked for many years; meaning I was a piece of trash for many years; I was a piece of trash walking into bars; it was me before I had issues; it was me before no fucking way; it was me before no fucking; it was me before, I’m too fucked up; it was the date giving that look dates gave; it was me thinking, Try killing yours, motherfucker; it was me saying, Drink your drink, motherfucker; it was just shut up shut up shut up; it was a shame to make a virtual decision; it was a shame pulling a virtual plug; it was a shame my ear pressed to a hard place; it was only voices in my head; it was only some actor on TV; it was half my brain waiting for the punch line; it was half my brain pulling a plug from a wall; it was pulling the plug in my brain like a pro; it was swinging the cord like a lasso; it was me like a cowgirl, swinging the cord around my head; it was the date saying, You’ve got issues; it was the date saying, Serious ones; it wasn’t always like this though; it was a good time with that ID; I was a good time with that ID; I met guys and it was a good time back then; it was the ID getting me in; it was the ID getting me what I wanted; though there was a night a bouncer said, ID; I looked around like no big deal; there was a guy in the bar I liked; the bouncer looked at my ID; he said, What’s your name; he said, Where do you live; he said, What’s your sign; I was ready for this; I was well rehearsed; I said, Virgo; he said, No way; he said, You’re a Capricorn; he said, And a liar; it was true; I was a Capricorn; I was also a liar; the whole point of the story is something else; the whole point is I wasn’t always this pent up; the whole point is I wasn’t always; I said, You caught me; the bouncer said, Get out of here; he said, Liar; he said, Get; but I wanted to go into the bar; I said, Come on; I touched his leg; I said, I’m a Capricorn; I said, You guessed it; I couldn’t hide what I was; I said, I’ll buy you a drink; he shifted; his leg was too warm; another bouncer walked up; then there were too many men in the picture; then there were too many men I needed to please; there were often too many men; some nights I just wanted to kiss the softest part of my arm; some nights I just wanted to think of some guy I thought I loved; some nights I waked, my mouth still pressed to my arm; some nights I could stay there and fall back into dreams; some nights, though, the phone rang through the night; some nights were songs on my machine; some nights were rain on my machine; some nights were dead air on my machine; some nights I should have said, No no no; some nights I should have fallen back into my arm; I was in love with myself some nights; but there were often too many men in the picture; there were often too many men I needed to please; and there was no way to shut it off; there was the date wanting something I didn’t want; there was my father singing, Wake up wake up; there was the doctor saying, Do it already; there was my brother saying, Do it already; there was a plane past the window; there was sun past the window; and there was me saying, Mother, to nothing there; there was me saying, Mother, but she had hung up; because nothing was left but, Shut it off; because nothing was left but, Do it already; then it was a hum from some machine gone dead; then everything went dead; all the voices in my head went dead; then the plane; then the sun; then light; then air; then the punch line to the actor’s joke; then another joke; then another joke;

When the plane crashed, I was all messed up.

For years, I was all messed up.

I could see the scene inside the plane.

I could see the scene outside.

And I had thoughts of flying.

Then thoughts of falling.

Then thoughts of crashing to the ground.

There was a time I thought of other things.

I could become so gripped by things.

Like for a time I thought of underwater.

I mean I was gripped by thoughts of being underwater.

Because my father once said, when I shouldn’t have been listening, What if all the earth’s water were drained.

Because my father once said, when I was too young to deal with it, It would be wild.

He said there’d be ships and planes and cars and bodies.

It made me afraid for years.

I was afraid to drive across bridges.

I was afraid the bridges would collapse.

Then the car would sink.

The car would slowly fill with water.

And my body would fill until it burst.

For years I would replay this scene.

Until there was another scene.

And then it was this other scene.

And the words they used to describe it.

And the girl I knew who was in it.

She was coming back from study abroad.

I was not allowed to study abroad.

This is not the time to talk about this.

This is not the time to talk about me.

But my father was to blame for this.

My father preferred I went nowhere.

And I went nowhere for many years.

At some point I got over it.

Because at some point I had no choice.

Because one gets older and one has places one needs to be.

So I bought a ticket to be somewhere.

It doesn’t matter where I was going.

What matters is I was on a plane.

I was in the air.

The flight attendant was at my row.

Her skirt made a sound like paper.

She said, Are you all right.

I knew I didn’t seem all right.

And I knew it was wrong not to seem all right.

Because my father was often not all right.

And I took after him in many ways.

No one wanted to see the ways in which I did.

So I pressed my face to the window.

I could see our shadow on the backs of clouds.

It was perfectly plane shaped, our shadow.

And as we went higher,

And when our shadow was smallest,

And when there was no shape, but just a point,

And when there was no point,

The flight attendant said, Are you all right.

She was wearing too much makeup.

It was orange and stopped where the face stopped being a face.

There was a time I wore too much makeup.

It was sophomore year I wore too much.

It was part of my performance then.

I was not a nice girl.

I was a very nice girl.

I was not very nice.

There was a way I was.

There was what I wore.

And I danced wildly for the guys I liked.

I danced obscenely one could say.

I was just a bit obscene back then.

By which I mean my needs were just a bit obscene.

It was something one didn’t fully get over.

It was something that came from being a girl.

So there was no point in her asking, Are you all right.

The right thing to ask was, How can I help you.

The right thing to ask was, What can I get you.

The right thing to ask was, What exactly do you need.

It was hard to know exactly what I needed.

There were too many things going on.

There was my body inside a plane.

There was my mind inside my body.

And the mess of that.

Listen.

Sophomore year was years before.

I hung out with the girl back then.

She had two blond streaks.

Her initials were G.O.D.

I thought at first she would be too cool.

But she was not, as it turned out, too cool.

She was cool, but it turned out I was too.

Because I knew how to be from watching girls.

And I knew, as well, from watching guys.

There was a way they stood there.

And the girls just stood there.

And what they wore.

We knew what to wear.

We wore schoolgirl skirts from the Goodwill.

We wore guy’s sweaters and black tights.

The Goodwill was on the corner of North and Harford, and no one wanted to be there.

People went there because they were either poor or cool.

The poor people bought serious clothing.

We watched a woman buy a wedding dress there.

We weren’t laughing as she held the dress up to herself.

We weren’t laughing that she was by herself and holding up this tattered, yellowed dress.

We were poor too, but we were not the kind of poor that counted as poor.

We were the other kind, the student kind.

We were the kind that bought shit fast, then ran up North.

North was dangerous for girls like us.

There were no trees.

There was endless brick.

There was broken glass.

There were car alarms.

There were guys who wanted to fuck you up.

They wanted to get you hooked on things.

We were already hooked on things.

We weren’t hooked, but we were something like it.

The guys said, Sister.

They said, Let’s see that smile.

They said, Let’s see that ass.

They said, You make me hard.

We said, Fuck you.

We had other guys.

We had guys we liked.

They were students like us.

They lived in small apartments like us.

They took useless classes like us.

We took philosophy because they took it too.

Though we didn’t understand philosophy.

We passed notes in class on how bored we were.

And how hungry we were.

How over it we always were.

Nights, we all went to the bar.

We got fucked up and stood around.

There was a guy at the bar we didn’t like.

He called himself the mystic.

He wore a hat made of old socks sewn together.

He was an asshole, this guy, and only he called himself the mystic.

We called the guy the misfit.

He would put himself into a trance.

We called the trance the so-called trance.

We tried to ignore him when he rolled his eyes back into his head.

We said, So what, when he predicted things that didn’t matter.

Like what song would come on.

Or who would walk through the door.

And the misfit would say some shit to us.

Like fuck you or something.

And the girl and I would laugh.

But this was years before and who cares about this asshole.

Let me get back to the subject.

Let me get the subject back.

The flight attendant.

I have lost her orange face.

I have lost the papery sound of her skirt.

And the look she gave.

She needed me to seem all right.

And I wanted to seem all right.

But I was thinking the scene I often thought.

And thinking the words they used.

They described it as a fireball.

They described it as a spectacle.

I didn’t know how to deal with it then.

I tried to deal with it then.

I tried to deal with it by going nowhere.

That was my father’s joke.

I would stop by on my way to class.

I would bring him things to eat.

I would watch him lying on the couch.

I would stand there waiting for something.

I was always waiting for something.

And my father would say, Get over it.

You need to get over it, he would say.

You need to get over her, he would say.

Then, Where are you going, he would say, as I turned to leave.

Nowhere fast, he would say, as I opened the door.

He would laugh his ass off from the couch.

He loved his joke.

But the real joke was I would return to him.

And I would return again.

I would return again.

Until there was nothing to return to.

Just my father’s empty house.

It was then I bought a ticket.

I got my body onto a plane.

I got my mind into my body.

I was trying to prove something, I suppose.

But earlier, in the airport, I thought to turn back.

I was afraid and thought to go back.

So when a guy said, Do you need help, I said, Yes.

He was missing a tooth, and I never liked to see this.

It reminded me of something from when I was a kid, a guy or something I shouldn’t have seen, and then, as a kid, it made me sad.

Though it should have been funny when I was a kid, some guy on North just lying there all fucked up.

It should have been funny, some broken guy on a flattened box, a guy my father and I saw on our way to the house.

My father thought it was funny.

Some guy more broken than we could ever be.

More messed up than we could ever be.

My father and I stepped over this guy.

My father laughed.

We walked into the house.

And when the guy in the airport said, How can I help, I said, I don’t know.

He said, I can carry your bag, and I said, I can carry my bag.

He said, What do you need, and I said, I need a lot of things.

I need help, I said.

I’m in need, I said.

I reached for his arm.

He said, I can carry your bag.

There are too many guys in this story.

For a story about a girl, that is.

For a story about being a girl, that is.

This guy was missing a tooth, and nobody cares.

The guy on North, nobody cares.

My father, please.

And the guy from the bar.

He was not a mystic.

There are no mystics.

There are people who know shit and people who don’t.

And the people who know shit only know shit because they’re watching.

And the people who don’t only don’t because they’re not.

The night before she left we’d gone to the bar.

And the girl and I were dancing.

And the mystic was watching us dance.

And a guy I liked was watching us dance.

I can remember feeling a certain way.

I felt like a star.

Like an actual star.

Like just before the supernova.

And I wanted time to stop right there.

It was obscene, I know, to want time to stop.

Obscene to love this hard a specific point in time.

But it was more obscene that one couldn’t stop it.

That no one really was in charge.

The flight attendant couldn’t save me.

She couldn’t even save herself.

Not in the event of a spectacle.

We would all just be the spectacle.

So the right thing to ask was, How could one possibly be all right.

I had no answer.

I have no answer now.

When I asked if I could study abroad, my father laughed and said, No way.

He said, Get lost.

And how terrible not getting what I wanted.

Terrible the cigarette stuck to my father’s lip.

The windows like a mean face behind him.

He was still fucked up from the night before.

And I stood there for a while thinking he might change his mind.

But eventually he put out his cigarette.

He fell asleep on the couch.

I left and walked to class.

And the guys on North said, Sister.

They said, Come back here.

They said, Come back.

They said, Come back.

And so what if I had.

Class that day was so boring.

I didn’t understand philosophy.

There was no point in understanding.

I just sat there thinking what I often thought.

The bridge collapsing.

The car sinking.

Water rushing in through cracks.

I was going nowhere.

The girl was on her own.

I would tell her after class.

You’re on your own, I would say.

And the look on her face.

There are better things to think about.

Like dancing the night before she left.

We were all fucked up, and I felt like a star.

And the guy I liked would spin me around.

And we would leave the bar and go for a ride.

I would tell him, Drive fast, and he would.

Then one thing, another.

My head in his lap.

His hand on my head.

I was too nice a girl.

I was not a nice girl.

I was my father’s daughter.

And what does that even mean.

For a long time after, I watched the sky.

It was the sun and it was the moon.

It was birds flying in the shape of a V.

It was clouds in the shapes of everything else.

And nothing happened, except once.

That day I was in class.

I was sitting alone by a window.

I heard the plane before I saw it.

I heard the roar it made.

I heard the roar get louder.

It sounded like something broken.

Or like something breaking down.

Then I saw the plane emerge from the clouds.

It was flying sideways.

It was flying too low.

It was coming straight for the window.

I knew no one else was watching.

That I was the only one who cared.

And so I thought some words.

It was like I was praying.

Like I was praying to someone.

Or praying to something.

I was thinking, Please, and, Please, and, Please.

But then the plane just shot across the sky.

The roar died out.

And I was sitting in the classroom.

I was looking out the window.

On some days I imagine the moment just before.

I imagine seeing a flash.

And on some days, I imagine the moment just after.