Elision

He apologized the moment she opened the door. “Hey, I’m sorry I snapped at you. Everything was happening all at the same time, and it was just, you know?” Jake dropped his eyes. His hands fidgeted on the steering wheel. His shirt was rumpled. A brown dribble streaked a half-inch from his collarline towards the pocket. His hair was about three strokes from full bed-head. Stubble arced along his chin in a spotty archipelago. He looked up. He gave that little smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. The dimples came out. Taylor took a breath and flung herself into the car. Stubble scratched up her cheek, which didn’t matter. The gear shift dug into her thigh, which didn’t matter. “Lets not fight,” she whispered. He hugged her back. “What happened?” She tossed her work bag in the back and buckled in. “Yeah, I don’t even know.” He put the car into gear and pulled away. “I woke up at, like, 4am and couldn’t get back to sleep. I just laid there with my brain and the ceiling. I was gonna call in, but it got too late. I had to hurry, and my mom kept texting, and I thought I put in toast but I didn’t, so I put in more toast then found the first toast and it popped and my phone binged and I couldn’t find my keys and I just had them and arrrrrrghhhhh!” He thumped his head against the wheel once, twice. He looked over. “I just sat down and then you called and I was Just. Done. This day.” “It’s okay.” She leaned over and nuzzled his shoulder a bit. “I yelled at you a few days ago too.” A little smile twitched up stubble. He snaked an arm around her. “Is this an apology?” “Maybe,” she whispered, and buried her face in his shoulder. “You’ve got a coffee stain on your shirt.” “What? Shit.” She sighed a little bit as he pulled his arm back and began patting around under his neck. He tilted the rear-view mirror down between glances at the road. “I’ve got another in the back… no wait, damn. I’ll have to clean myself up in the bathroom.” “See if you can get a little white vinegar from the kitchen,” she advised. “Yeah, damn. Damn. Oh, and of course.” Traffic was bad, again. Cars backed up all the way over the bridge, again. Up ahead she couldn’t even see the light, way, way around the bend. “What’s this mess? They just reopened the onramp.” He tugged his shirt up to see the stain better. Up ahead was nothing but a line of brake lights. He scowled. A car passed them on the left. Another one. Jake dropped his shirt and grabbed the wheel. He looked behind. Nothing ahead of them moved. Another car passed. He jerked the wheel and pulled into the left lane. “Wait, this is turn-only!” she yelled. “I’m gonna have to get there early,” he muttered. A wall of cars flashed by on the right. They crossed the bridge. Dashed lines turned solid as they passed the ‘Left Turn Only’ sign. Up ahead, she saw the stoplight come into view around the curve. It went green. Lights winked out and cars began creeping forward. She grabbed the armrest as Jake slammed the brakes and jerked the wheel hard to the right. A horn blared as he forced his way over in the middle of the intersection. More horns. He settled back and continued towards the highway. “You hate it when people do that.” The guy in the truck behind them was NOT HAPPY. “You said…” “I do not, I just can’t today. I gotta get in early now, fix my shirt, get ready again. People do that all the time. Today it’s us.” He squeezed the steering wheel. “I hate this day.” “Maybe you can let me out and I’ll call a ride. Then you won’t have to drop me off.” “What? No. We’re almost on the highway anyway. It’d only save like three minutes.” “I’m just trying to help.” Her face sagged. “I know, I know.” Jake forced a smile, reached over and squeezed her knee. “I know, thank you. I’m sorry it’s all a mess today.” She patted his hand, sighed, and stared out the window. “Bad day for everybody.” His phone rang. “Shit,” the car wobbled as he dug it out. “Richie?” “The Dick,” she mouthed, but didn’t say. “Jaaaaake!” His big voice boomed out of the speaker. Taylor sunk a little lower in her seat. His face immediately brightened. “Richie! Whatcha need!” “I need a ride, bro! We got places to be!” “What? I thought you were still in?” “Nah, I’m out today! Listen, I’ve only got three seconds here. I’m at seventeen ninety-four Dunmore road, come get me! We’ve got places to be!” “Shit,” Jake blinked. “Richie?” He stared at the phone, then started furiously punching the address into the GPS. “Watch out!” she yelled as he swerved. “Here, give. You drive.” She snatched the phone from his hand. “1794 Dunmore… that’s fifteen minutes in the wrong direction. We’re gonna be real late.” “We can make it.” He flashed a grin, all-dimples. “Gotta, right? He’s my brother. And hey, better traffic.” He jammed the gas pedal and zipped past the line crawling onto the highway. The overpass whooshed by like a cloud. She sighed. “Hey, what’s wrong? This is the first good thing that’s happened today. I didn’t think he was getting out for months.” Taylor stared out the window. “I hate how you get around him.” Neighborhoods blended into concrete. Warehouses grew up on the left and right, complete with barbed-wire hedges. Stray gravel popped under the tires. The GPS said turn, he turned. Taylor gripped the door while her other hand clenched her thigh. Jake danced from brake to accelerator as if the car would explode if it wasn’t doing one or the other. He turned left. The GPS binged. “Where is he?” Jake pulled to a stop in the middle of the street. He craned around and searched, but the street was a disinterested corridor of parked vehicles. “We’re gonna be late,” she muttered. Two loud thumps from the back window. Taylor jumped. “Jaaaaake!” Richie stooped to yell through the glass, round face beaming, curly hair wild and careless. He rattled the door handle, but it was locked. “Jaaaake!” he repeated, and pounded the window again. “Richie!” Jake fumbled with the locks and eventually got them open. Richie shoved her work bag onto the floor as he swung into the back seat. “Drive, man! Maniac-style. We’ve gotta go!” he laughed. Acceleration pressed Taylor into her seat as Jake floored it. Parked cars whished by. Jake laughed too. “You’re not supposed to be out until next spring, what happened?” “Aw, yanno. Charming.” Richie grinned. “Richard, where are your clothes?” Taylor asked. “Oh hey-Tay, been awhile. Still putting up with this loser? They don’t let me walk around naked no more. Ladies kept forming lines and fighting and all.” “Richard, that wasn’t what I meant!” She glanced back, but then Jake jerked the wheel again. “Why aren’t you in street clothes?” Richie laughed and tugged up his prison-orange shirt. It had a little ‘Mulhanny Department of Corrections’ logo, and a bunch of little holes around the collar and sleeves. Taylor risked a glance down. He had the pants, too. “Aw, I said they could keep ‘em. I went in with my worst stuff on purpose. They’ve got mice living in the lockers. Anyway, bro!” His grin slid straight off his face as he slapped Jake’s shoulder. “I’ve got real bad news. Tan died. We gotta go to the funeral.” “What? No. I haven’t… shit, I haven’t talked to him in a year.” “Yeah man, you gotta keep better touch. You’re fallin’ out.” He cut Taylor a glance. “Anyway, his funeral’s today. We’re going. 1202 Millcrest, up in Pauley. Drive, man.” “Pauley? Shit, when’d he move?” “Jake! We gotta go to work!” Taylor protested. “We can’t just off and go!” Jake wrestled with his phone. Taylor’s breath caught as he threatened to swerve into a parked car. Thankfully they hit a red and stopped. “Mark’s really dead? How?” “Yeah, I only heard today. Some shit, I dunno. Real sudden. Everybody’s surprised.” “What are you guys talking about? Jake! I have to go to work! You gotta drop me off!” Jake let the phone rest against his thigh. He looked down. He blew out a breath. “Mark Tanner was a good buddy from awhile back.” “Almost another brother,” Richie interjected. “Yeah. We were all in a band. Me, Richie, Marcus Tannus, June Five, Allison. Damn. I really have fallen off.” He shook his head. He inhaled. “Babe, I gotta go to this. I can’t, I can’t not. C’mon. Come with us. You can meet some people from a long time back I really care about. Shit, we can’t just start dying.” He looked at her, then rubbed his face and looked away. The sunlight caught on the stubble of his jawline. His hair was all messed up, but like this it was almost perfect. She sighed. She reached over and squeezed back. “Bad day for everybody.” “Yeah.” He didn’t smile. He rubbed his face again. “Right. Fine.” Taylor flopped back and snapped her seatbelt. “We need better clothes for a funeral.” “Right on!” Richie yelled. “Drive!” The light went green. Jake punched the accelerator, looked left, looked right, and pulled a U-turn right in the intersection. “You got clothes at my place. We’ll change there, head out. Plan?” he grinned. “Yeah, plan,” Taylor grinned back, a little flushed. “We can do this.” “Oh, I gotta call in though.” She dug out her phone. “Tell ‘em you’re going to jail! It took three shots of scum but they got ya!” Richie grabbed the seat and leaned forward. “Ugh,” Taylor grimaced. “No, I’ll just say I’m at the doctor. I’ve got sick time.” “Tell ‘em you’re a call girl and were out all night! Tell ‘em you’re still cleaning your mouth out!” “Richard!” Taylor froze, mid-dial. She looked over at Jake but he had his lips pressed together in a way that absolutely was not about to burst into total laughter. Her grimace graduated to scowl. “Just shut up.” She hit send. The phone dialed, she mashed five and then three before the directory robot could even start croaking out options. HR rang. She held her breath, then it clicked to voicemail. She gave a little relieved sigh. “Hi, this is Taylor, ID fifty-seven-fifty-four. I’m not feeling great so I’m headed to the doctor. Sorry everyone, but I can’t make it today.” “They’re gettin’ closer! We’re all gonna die!” Richie bellowed, and flopped around in the back seat. She heard her work bag crunch. “Sorry,” Taylor growled. “Bus.” She hung up. “Jake!” Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. “Ok, ok, now me.” He grabbed his phone. She braced herself with her legs as the car nearly cut over into the other lane. He fiddled with the dialer and mashed the call button. “Hello, this is Captain Jake Rectum Armitage coming to you from the moon. Sorry to say I can’t be joining you today. We have destroyed the return capsule in the name of galactic peace and unity. All will become one. All. Captain Jake Rectum Armitage, out.” He tried, but his half-suppressed giggles completely spoiled the gravitas of the second act. The unhinged, strangled cackling from the back seat didn’t help. Taylor almost smiled a bit. “Rectum Armitage!” Richie wheezed and started beating his head against the seat-back. He tried to talk again but all that came out were half-slurred syllables and unstoppable snickering. Taylor couldn’t help it. She was smiling. “We’re gonna have to play. For Tan. We have to today.” Jake’s grin faded. He shook his head. “Shit man, why’d we wait so long?” “Life, yanno.” Richie found enough breath to make words. “That and all the warrants from our last gig.” “Yeah, yeah,” Jake grinned. His phone rang. He barely had to move his thumb to answer. “Hey?” “Richie!” a male voice. “I just heard about Tan! You know where the services are?” “Oh hey! Yeah, just start heading to Pauley. It’s some house. You coming?” “Hell yeah! We gotta play. We gotta – hold on.” The voice pulled the phone away, then, “SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP SHUT UP!” blared from the speaker. Taylor’s eyes widened. Jake nodded. “Yeah anyway,” the voice returned, “Jake, do me a favor, go give Chris a ride would ya? We’re getting everyone back together.” “What? Yeah, sure.” Jack scrubbed his GPS for like the fifth time. “Where?” “Gas station over by the old Actel building, you know the one that used to be K-Mart.” “Got it, got it, shit!” He pulled the car back into his lane. “Gotta go, driving.” He hung up and flipped the phone to Taylor. “Here, make this work!” “I thought we were gonna go get changed,” she punched some buttons and the GPS sprang to life. “In 3 miles, make a U-turn.” “Yeah, we will. Don’t worry. We’re goin’ the wrong way.” Jake mashed the brakes and jerked the wheel. Taylor heard a screech from behind them, then a horn. He jackknifed the car across two lanes of traffic, right there in the street. Taylor stared into the driver’s window of a startled man with a coffee cup in one hand a breakfast biscuit in the other. Jake slammed into reverse and pulled back. Another horn. Forward again, turning, Jake swept around and floored it back the way they came. “People are getting rude out here,” Richie observed. Taylor slowly closed her mouth but didn’t relax her grip on the door handle. She looked over. “Jake, uhm. Jake, did you take your meds this morning?” “Yeah, ‘course I did. First thing in the bathroom.” She looked from his stubble to his barely-tamed hair. She pulled out her cell phone and faced forward. Her knuckles bleached pinkish-white. The traffic had cleared off the bridge. They had nothing but greens all the way onto the highway. He pulled on and punched the accelerator. “Jake…” Taylor whispered. “Yeah, you drive like an old woman!” Richie lunged his face between the seats. “C’mon.” “Wait,” Jake had half an eye on the road and half another on his phone. “Move this thing, pussy-boy! We’re gonna die old! Tan’s gonna be a pile of bones by the time we get there!” “Wait,” Jake repeated. He had both eyes on the phone now. Taylor braced herself against the seat. She clutched her hand against her belly. “Bones and bonematter rotstuff, bones and bugs and thieves, we’re gonna miss out!” “There.” Jake cut the accelerator. They cruised. Sudden silence filled the car. They slid past a police officer tucked just off the road. Lights flashed across the roadway. The officer was deep in conversation with an unfortunate commuter. “This is why you keep getting locked up!” Jake cackled. “Don’t know how to wait for the one.” His foot slammed down. Richie pitched back, laughing. Taylor looked down at her phone, then up again. She tried to breathe. “I think, I think I’ll call a separate ride,” she whispered. “Whatcha talking about babe, we’re trying to save money.” Jake grinned. “We’ve gotta save for Key West, right? Can’t just be feeding that cash into the phone.” Taylor didn’t reply. She huddled into a tense, compact ball. Jake reached over and patted her leg. “I’m really glad you’re coming with. I never thought you’d meet the whole band.” And he smiled at her. She smiled back, a little. She couldn’t help it. It used to be a K-Mart, ‘til it closed. Then it was an Actel call center, ‘til it closed. It had a gas station out front, then that closed. Not it was all faded lines, cracking asphalt, and weeds. Tires splashed through a pothole lake as Jake pulled in. “Can’t see ‘em,” he said. Jake craned around. “What’s he look like? Why would he be here, anyway?” Taylor asked. “Search the places in-between,” Richie drolled from his sprawl in the back. “Slip to strange where Direction gives way.” “We gotta play again,” Jake muttered. Taylor jumped as her door suddenly opened. A tatty bag woman who had to be in her sixties forced her head in. Grey hair frizzed from beneath layers of hoodies. Wrinkles sagged over sharp cheekbones. She crunched an armload of amalgamate bags and sacks against the side of the car. She leaned in. “I gotta sit in front,” she wheezed. Taylor gave an unfocused squeak and shrank back from the old woman. An assault of smoke and stale urine wafted in. She clutched at her seatbelt. “Dani! Give her room, this ain’t the van.” Jake yelled. “Oh, right,” the old woman muttered and backed off a pace. “I get sick in back.” “Jake?” Taylor breathed. “Yeah, go on. This is Dani. You probably heard me talk about her, yah? Go on, let her in. We don’t have time to mop the car out if she pukes again.” Jake grinned. Taylor screwed up her face. The smell. Jake waved her out. Slowly, she unbuckled her seat belt and slithered out the door. The old woman didn’t give her enough room. Bags crinkled and tore as she squeezed past. One burst and a cascade of empty soup cans clattered onto the pavement. Nobody looked or commented. The second she was clear Dani wrestled her sacks and trash onto the floorboards and up in front of the windshield. The door slammed shut. For a moment Taylor just breathed. Quiet inhale, quiet exhale. The smell lingered in the air, rancid and sharp. She looked around – abandoned buildings, broken glass, then the highway. Jake waved her back in. He smiled. Taylor reached into her pocket. She blinked. She tried her other pocket. She opened the back door. Richie lolled up at her sprawled across the seats. “Jake, where’s my phone?” “Probably in your bag, c’mon get in. We gotta go!” “Jake, I had it. Do you see it?” “I dunno babe, we’ll find it. C’mon, in!” She looked down. “Sit on my face,” Richie beamed up at her. Everyone laughed. Jake, Dani, the whole car. “Get up!” Taylor shrieked, then bent down and slapped him across the temple. “Get up! Get up get up!” Richie put up his hands and laughed: high-pitched hitching chuckles that only made her madder. She kept slapping and now and then used her knuckles. She had a ring. He had to feel it. Richie just laughed. “Stop it, cut it out!” He wiggled back over into his seat. He couldn’t stop laughing. Tears leaked from his eyes. Taylor grit her teeth and lunged after him. A wrinkled hand caught her wrist. “You shouldn’t hit us,” Dani advised. Swollen knuckles squeezed down on her skin. Her lips were smiling. Her eyes weren’t. “Stop dicking around, we gotta go!” Jack slammed the accelerator. The car bounced across the broken asphalt. The door banged closed. Taylor tumbled back as Dani released her wrist. The old woman settled into a crinkly heap in the passenger seat. Taylor huddled as far away from Richie and the smell as she could. “Aw man, blood.” Richie touched his forehead. His fingers came away red. “This why you like her? Man, whatta you two get up to?” He had another cut on the back of his hand. Taylor suppressed a wince. “You deserved it,” she muttered. “Yeah, shit, maybe,” blood dripped down his fingers. “Maybe two funerals today.” “We’ve done it before,” Dani muttered, then rustled around in her coats. She pulled out a stubby black cigarette and a lighter. She put two and two together and a pungent cloud began creeping through the car. For a time the only sound was the bump and clatter of the shocks coping with the decaying pavement. Jake angled back towards the highway. The GPS kept trying to take them back to the gas station. He didn’t seem to hear. Taylor glanced over at Richie. He had a cut near his right temple. He had his hand over it, but his hair was going matted. Dani’s cloud curled along the ceiling like grasping fingers. “Here!” She dug around in the floorboards and pulled out her work bag. She unzipped an outer pocket and pulled out a pack of travel tissues. She thrust them across the car. Richie held the packet limp in his hand. He blinked. He looked up. “Why?” he asked. “Wait, is Drexel gonna be there?” Jake asked. He pulled up onto the highway and started gaining speed. “Yeah man, I’ve been telling ya. Everybody! The whole crew! It’s gonna be great!” Richie’s grin burst out again. He had a bloody smear running cheek to chin. “Gonna be like Grenada,” Dani mumbled. “Or like, ah, ah,” Jake reached out his hand and Dani slipped her cigarette between his fingers. “Yeah, exactly,” Richie gushed. He stuck his head up between the seats again. “We’ll have Thought again. Maybe it’s time?” “Nah bro,” Jake shook his head. “Gonna be a long long time, before it’s time.” All at once, the brothers and Dani started singing. “Gonna be a long long time, before it’s time.” Twice, three times. Out of tune, but they didn’t care. Jake threw back his head and yelled. At last they fell silent with wacky, spacey grins. “Jake. I’m… really scared.” Taylor pressed herself into the door handle. “You didn’t take your meds. I want to go home. Jake, please, please take me home.” “What are you talkin’ ‘bout, babe?” Jake turned around and smiled at her, borrowed cigarette cold between his lips. “You always wanted to join the band.” “What band, Jake! You never said anything!” “Crosses the purpose,” Dani shook her head. “Can’t find something that don’t have a name,” Richie grinned. “Jake!” Taylor pleaded. A sudden siren cut off conversation. Flashing blue and red flickered across the dash. “There’s only ever supposed to be one,” Dani frowned. “Yeah yeah, we got this,” Jake sighed. He punched his flashers, pulled over and rumbled to a stop. The cop car slid in behind them at an angle. Taylor twisted around in her seat. She glanced from Richie to the door handle to the officer still in his car. Her fingers edged towards her bag. “I’ll go sort this,” Richie said, and popped open the door. “What?” Taylor blinked. Jake and Dani just nodded. Taylor froze. She watched big, gawky Richie, bloody-faced in his fluorescent orange prison clothes lumber back towards the police car. “He’s gonna get shot,” she muttered. “He’s just gonna shoot him.” “Hey, babe,” Jake drew her attention back to the front of the car. “I should probably warn ya. Cynthia is gonna be there. I never told ya, but we had a thing for awhile. I hope it doesn’t make you uncomfortable.” He reached back and handed her the expired cigarette. She held it like the tail of a dead rat. “Why?” she asked. “Jake, why?” “Hey, now ya got it. I knew you’d fit in great,” Jake grinned. He was about to say more but Richie jerked the door open and plopped back down. “All set,” he grinned. “Infamous,” Dani nodded with approval. “Jake! Jake!” Taylor squeaked. “What, oh?” Richie held up the officer’s gun. “Yeah I asked to borrow it. We thought maybe there’d be problems at the show.” “Dead infamous,” Dani nodded. “How?” Taylor half-lunged towards the back windshield. The officer’s sunglasses caught blue-and-red reflections. She couldn’t even tell if there were eyes behind them. He sat like a mannequin with his hands high on the wheel. “Oh yanno, charming.” Richie gave that grin, then blinked. “Oh, sorry, you mean this.” Richie pointed the gun out the window and pulled the trigger. Glass shattered. Bits of glinting fragments sprayed in every direction as a spiderweb crack ate the entire pane and began discarding loose pieces of it. Taylor’s ears rang. The air smelled of fifty different things and they were all bad. Jake didn’t move. Dani didn’t move. The police officer didn’t move. Richie just grinned, then pointed the gun at her. “Bang!” “Notorious and infamous,” Jake said, then put the car in gear and pulled away. Taylor stared empty-eyed at Richie. He was aiming at her head, or maybe her neck. She didn’t dare breathe. “Think the cascade’s still going?” Dani relieved the silence. She flicked her lighter. Another cigarette flared to life. Taylor looked down, then dropped the cold butt in her hands. She looked up with big eyes. “Hope so,” Richie laid the gun across his lap, pointed more at his own leg than anything. Taylor tried to become one with the car door. “Hey, relax,” he grinned, still bloodfaced. “We’re going to a party.” Taylor nodded. She didn’t look away. Wind whistled through the shattered window as Jake took the exit towards Pauley. The GPS binged and rerouted, and once again told him to head back to the gas station. He didn’t even look. He pulled down a street into the land of Big Houses. Brick half-fences with shiny black iron sprouting from the tops. Three garage doors, minimum. Quiet gardeners rolling lawnmowers off trailers. Real People Land. Taylor barely noticed. She stared at the gun in Richie’s lap. He looked at her and smiled. He didn’t even make a dick joke. She clutched her hands and breathed as softly as she could. “That one?” Jake frowned. He stared at a big brickfront. “No, behind it. Gotta go around,” Dani answered. “Oh, shit.” Jake pulled into a driveway and reversed. The GPS nagged again. He slowed to a crawl and veered into the oncoming lane as he turned onto the next street. A whole mess of cars and vans and work trucks nuzzled the curb like a pack of baby pigs, all clustered around a big house with that crisscrossy white-and-wood exposed beam thing going on. The driveway had a city utility truck skewed across it at an awkward angle. Jake maneuvered carefully past a pick-up that had decided residential streets were a great place for angle-parking. Its door was open. Its engine was running. There was nobody inside. Jake blew out an exasperated breath as they passed the house and the jumble of vehicles. He craned his neck and leaned over, then scowled. He pulled into the neighbor’s driveway, then across the neighbor’s lawn. He parked the car on the grass right in front of the white-and-wood house’s porch. He remembered to cut the engine, but only after he opened the door. “Finally!” Dani coughed as she tumbled out. She left most of her bags. A paper sack with a horse-and-rider logo clung to her arm like a stubborn child. Taylor saw her phone. Dani had been sitting on it. Slow, she moved slow. Gently, she pulled her legs out of the car. The sun shone bright overhead. She put up a hand to shield her eyes. Slow. Jake didn’t even look for her. He and Dani reached the front door and had an awkward moment when they both tried to go for the knob. They jostled a moment in a competition of limbs and fingertips, but then Jake slapped her hand away, jerked the door open and shouldered her aside. Dani immediately fell in behind him. Taylor glanced through the glass at her phone. She put her hand on the handle. “Hey, we’re gonna be late.” Richie loomed behind her, all curly hair and friendly grin. He had a red smear from his face down the front of his prison orange. He waved the pistol towards the house. “Yeah, everyone’s waiting,” said an unfamiliar middle-aged woman in a rumpled, half-done business suit. She wasn’t wearing shoes. Her abandoned car and the angle-parked truck completely blocked the road. She had put her blinkers on. She smiled at her. Taylor pulled her hand off the car, then tore her eyes from her phone. She turned and started walking. She stopped at the steps and Richie bumped into her. She took a breath. She stepped up into the house. Richie shut the door behind them. There was a toolbelt laying in the entryway next to a row of shoes. Pencils, tape measures, and assorted equipment spilled across the floor. A short hallway led towards a kitchen, impeded only by a pile of coats slumped against a wall. A little further on was a tangle of three or four belts, then a pair of pants. The house chattered with clinks and laughs. “C’mon. Let’s find… lets find him. Yeah, c’mon.” Richie trundled down the hallway and waved for her to follow. The new woman clung to Taylor like a second shadow. They drifted into the funeral. There was a man peeing in the corner. Near the corner. Corner-ish. Facing away, kinda, in a sitting-room sorta place – all heavy furniture waiting around with nothing to do. He was middle aged with one of those hungry bald spots that would crisp hair gray before devouring it. He had his pants around his ankles, just casually pissing beneath an endtable. “Yeah, it’s all up, in the colors,” he smiled at the woman in the fluffy sweater standing next to him, waiting like next-in-line. She opened her mouth and an incomprehensible stream of unEnglish poured forth, full of sliding syllables with too many vowels. “Soon,” he replied, and nodded. He made a little gesture in the air. Flicks of urine splattered onto the walls. “Almost.” The woman in the sweater noticed Taylor, turned, smiled. She was about to say something. Taylor stiff-walked away. She looked behind her once, twice. They were both staring. A kid drifted behind her – a boy, probably middle school, mobling along as if drawn by a magnet. Taylor’s steps came faster. She glanced at a staircase leading up. Her eyes flicked from window to window. She stepped into the living room. The guest of honor was on the floor, sprawled out. Definitely dead. He was older, and looked like he spent a lot of time picking leaves off his lawn. He had those high-waisted pants guys start buying right before they hit terminal prune stage, experience generalized belt failure and get drug by their suspenders into a nursing facility. His nice blue-and-grey Sunday shirt was ruined by the tide of red spreading from his head. A nearby coffee table had its corner bashed in – splinters scattered across the floor and clung to the gouge on his forehead. There was a short ladder nearby, and a chandelier above it. It had lightbulbs missing, and two fresh replacement packs lay on the table. His eyes were still open, unmoving. Nobody had done anything about that. The pool of blood was growing dark and tacky. The guests were tracking it everywhere. Footprints in crimson-black milled like confused cats. “It’s so good to really see you.” Taylor turned to face an earnest-faced middle-aged woman with too much makeup and matching jewelry. She looked like a secretary whose ambitions died two decades back, still stuffed into a pale outfit that had pretensions of being a suit. Big horned glasses: quirky once, but not anymore. Taylor shrunk back, but not before the woman took her hand with wrinkled, soft fingers. “It’s so good to really see you,” she repeated, and smiled. She reached up and struggled behind her neck, then pulled off one of the heavy gold janglers she probably thought was tasteful. She pushed the necklace into Taylor’s palm. “It’s so good to really see you,” she nodded. “Thank you,” Taylor whispered, and pulled her hand away. She took a step back and bumped into the kid from the sitting room. He didn’t move. He just stood there, a warm fleshy wall with his face buried in her armpit. She hurried into the kitchen. Her foot felt wrong – she looked down to find she was tracking blood too. She closed her eyes. Her breath came in hot, quick spurts. She dropped the necklace, knelt down, and quickly pulled off her shoes. Red everywhere, all around the sole. She reached up to throw them back into the living room, then inhaled sharply. Her lips pressed together. She carefully put them to the side, stood up. There was a door leading out into the back yard. Two more steps and she had her hand on the knob, but then another hand landed on her shoulder. “I mean… to say hello.” A workman in blue coveralls adorned with a happy pig stood behind her. The pig had a wrench and stood triumphantly over an air conditioner. Another patch said his name was Bob. He didn’t have a toolbelt, but he did have a beard, a big smile, and a very firm grip. “These… franchise, fade so quickly.” His lips moved, but words only emerged about half the time. He looked like he was badly dubbing himself. “The differential all in a glance, as equals. Cooks on the line.” He shook his head. “Here, while, before. Why do you chase… happiness? What is it, beyond survival?” Taylor tightened her grip on the doorknob. She looked up at him – big, bearded, heavy. Her lips set. Her knuckles went white. Nostrils flared. “WHAT the FUCK is this?” A man screamed from the living room. There was a sound of overturning furniture. Taylor heard the ladder clatter to the floor amidst an explosion of shattering knicknacks. Bob didn’t turn around. His eyes bored into hers with friendly intensity. “Hey babe, could use your help here!” Jake’s voice drifted in from the living room. There was another shout and a series of meaty thumps. Taylor could hear the ladder being kicked around. Grunts and muffled male yelling. Taylor stared at the doorknob. “Hey babe, could use your help here,” HVAC Bob repeated. His smile crinkled little lines at the corner of his eyes. More muffled thumps. His hand was heavy on her shoulder. Taylor leaned forward, just a little. He didn’t move. He could throw her around like a toddler. She let the doorknob go. “Ok,” she breathed, turned and drifted back into the living room. The dead guy was still there. It looked like someone tripped over him – his legs were half-turned, weird and stiff, slowly settling into an awkward pretzel. His eyes were still open. Taylor had to squeeze hers shut in order to look away. There was a dogpile in the doorway, and at the center was a tall skinny man somewhere in his twenties. A twisted pair of glasses lay discarded against the baseboard. A motley mass of incongruous people piled around his limbs so thick she couldn’t see what he was wearing. The secretary with too much makeup clung to one leg, and the peeing man glommed onto a shoulder. The kid tried to bury one of his feet in his abdomen and keep it there. Panicked eyes shot white darted from face to face. Jake had a bit of his head, with one hand clapped over the skinny man’s mouth. The other hovered, ready. “We need her calm, yeah?” Jake smiled. “Quiet, like you, like us. Quiet, babe, yeah?” “Quiet,” a woman repeated. “Quiet,” came a voice from the dogpile. “Quiet,” Jake said, then took his hand off the skinny man’s mouth. He screamed, and thrust his body against the amorphous glob of people. The mass heaved, but there were far too many of them. Jake clapped his hand back. He looked up and smiled. “Hey babe, could use your help here,” he repeated. “Here,” came a voice from inside the pile. “Here,” Richie said, from behind her. Taylor turned slowly, like a music box ballerina. She could feel the blood on her feet. Richie smiled and pushed the gun into her hands. “Here, we need her quiet. We can’t sing otherwise. All dissonance, right?” Taylor weighed the gun in her hands. She looked up, around. Richie, Jake, HVAC Bob. Two high school girls putting on like they were in college. The pile of people. The press behind her. Sounds from the other rooms. The skinny guy locked eyes on her. Big, terrified eyes. She flicked the safety on and pointed the barrel at the floor. Slowly, blood-soled, she approached the dogpile and knelt down. “Hey,” she started, in a low voice like her mother still used. “I think it is probably a really, really good idea if you stayed quiet, okay?” His eyes quivered on the edge of panic. A dozen limbs tightened in an octopus knot. Gently, Taylor reached up and pulled Jake’s hand from off his mouth. His whole arm moved like adjusting a doll. “Who are you people?” he gasped. “Too late for that,” Jake smiled. “Punctuality is a grace.” The skinny man’s eyes flicked up, then locked on Taylor’s again. She took a slow breath. “What’s your name?” she started. “Ar– Matt. Matthew. What’s going on?” Taylor stared, then shook her head. “I have absolutely no idea,” she intoned. Slowly, she bent over and put the gun on the floor. “Matt, please don’t shout.” He goggled at her in complete noncomprehension, flicked to the body on the carpet, to the hands and faces pressed around him. Pupils quivered. His face tensed. The front door slammed. Boots tramped in. “Heyyyy,” Jake smiled and didn’t look. “Enough?” he asked. “Enough.” Richie replied. Incomprehensible nonsense dribbled from an unseen woman’s mouth. “En-ooff.” came a voice muffled by the dogpile. “Enough,” agreed the HVAC guy. He patted Taylor on the head. “One and one. Not too many.” “Not too many,” Jake agreed. “Nawfooanny,” agreed someone in the pile. “What?” Matt interjected. “Shhh,” Jake replied. “Quiet.” The chair creaked as Richie sat himself down, still decked in prison orange, curly head flushed and smeared. He had a tiny guitar in his hands – Taylor vaguely remembered seeing it pinned up on a wall next to wooden pineapples and pictures of the beach. Cheap lacquer showed every thumbprint. The strings looked like plastic. Richie’s fingers hovered huge and ridiculous. Everyone held their breath. Twang! An off-key note like a dying duck. Twang! Richie plucked again, all eyes on him. Twang! His smile serene and distant, hammering one foul note again and again. Taylor looked back at Jake. Twang! They began to sing. From everywhere, all at once. The living room, the kitchen, the entryway with the boots. Voices raised in simultaneous feeling, a chorus from every corner. There were words, slow and rising, in Latin maybe, or something older. Taylor tilted her head trying to catch them whole, but they slid in and out and over one another. Fragments from one side, insinuations from the other. Rising now, louder, Taylor clapped her hands to her ears. Matt shouted something utterly lost against the tide. Taylor shook herself and muttered, but she was a body on mute. Louder now, stronger, every voice a simultaneous whole. Taylor pulled off an earring and stared at it like a star fallen from the sky. Her fingers tugged at her collar and pulled at the hem of her sleeves. She patted herself like swatting bugs, then abruptly lurched upward and half-ran, half-scrambled past HVAC Bob into the kitchen and straight into the back door. She pressed her hands against the doorknob, but the door did not open. She clawed at it and pushed, slapped and grabbed and punched and shook. Her lips parted in a voiceless howl as she set her shoulder against the door, then turned and tried her teeth. Fingernails scored rough gouges in the paint. Her lip bled. She tried to pull her shirt off by the sleeves. She sunk into a huddled, haunted crouch. The song changed. Different now. Louder. Everywhere. Taylor’s ragged breath echoed off the cabinetry in the kitchen. Her legs spasmed in and out, scraping rough against the floor. She kicked a wooden shelving unit; pots clattered to the floor with resonant bangs. Matt moaned. Louder now. Louder. Every voice in chorus, pounding from heart to head, hammering home with indescribable fascination. Taylor’s eyes rolled back. Blood turned to gargling foam. It went on for a span impossible to measure. And then it ended. Quiet, everywhere. HVAC Bob emerged first, out the front door and onto the car-covered lawn. A big gray SUV crawled down the street trying to navigate the clog of cars. Its driver rolled down his window and made a baffled, offended gesture. Bob laughed and returned it. He gave a shrug that encompassed the whole world. He spied his truck and trundled over. He found his keys in his pocket. Others piled out next. The two girls. The old secretary with one less necklace. A whole file of people wearing that weary happy/sad smile everyone tries on at least once at a funeral. The services over, they headed for their cars. Richie came near the end, still head-to-toe in prison orange, pistol casually in hand. Matt emerged from behind him, red-welted all up his arms. He shook his head. His eyes glistened. Richie nodded and gave him a bear hug, then passed the gun to him and pointed to HVAC Bob’s truck. Matt nodded, hurried over, and climbed in the passenger seat. Jake and Taylor came last, clinging to each other all aglow with the giddy misfortune of having to share an umbrella in the rain. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. A plastic bag containing blood-soled shoes knocked against her thigh. She nuzzled into his chest. He fumbled behind them and pulled the door closed. “I can’t wait to have kids,” she whispered. “They’re going to love music.”