A man named Bevin Elderberry peered through the window of an old antique shop in the downtown of a southern town named Sinawee that sat by one of the biggest lakes in South Carolina. It was early, the air was already warm. There was the smell of honey and flowers in the air. Magnolia blooms were the size of wedding cakes. Birds made noise. The sound of a boat engine whirred in the distance.
The sign on the shop’s door read CLOSED. He put his face closer to the large display window and shielded his eyes with his hands as he peered into the store, faintly lit by the dawn’s early light.
There inside on stacked shelves, he saw rows of muted, creepy dolls basking in the dust. They were all naked and without any anatomical features. He grimaced at the sight of them. The dolls looked unruly, with oddly bent limbs, and crazy hair and eyes.
“You like them dolls?” came a man’s voice from behind him.
Bevin was startled. He startled easily. “I wouldn’t say I like them. Just curious.”
“Well, come on inside. I’ve got just the thing.” The old man with a drawn, pale face and a straw hat on his head extended his hand. “The name’s Slim Jim. I own this place. Was just about to open up if you want a closer look at them dolls.”
He was slim and he looked like a Jim.
“Sure,” Bevin said. “I’ll check them out.”
They entered the store. It smelled of oldness and lost time. Slim Jim turned on some lights. “Follow me, he said. “Into my room of curiosities,” and he made a weird gesture with all his fingers fondling the air.
The dolls weren’t only on the shelves, once deeper into the room Bevin saw that they were lined up along the floorboards, a massive gathering among the other trinkets and charms.
“That’s quite a collection,” Bevin said.
A proud smile formed across the face of Slim Jim. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and rocked back and forth on his heels. “They just keep coming. It’s a stream of refugees, I tell you. From where, hell I don’t know. Sometimes I find a few straggling around out back before I even open. Other times they come in the night and are just here when I step inside the room. It’s almost as if they just slipped through the glass unscathed.”
“You’re saying they come here on their own?”
“That’s right. They come in and go straight to this room to be with the others.”
Bevin chuckled and scoffed. “That’s quite a fantastical thing you got going on here.”
“It just seems a little odd is all. How do they just come in here? Do you call them?”
Slim Jim’s steel gray eyes narrowed. He showed his somewhat crooked teeth. “Maybe I do. Not on purpose, though. It just happens. Guess you could say I’m like a lightning rod.”
“But why don’t they have any clothes on?”
“They don’t like to wear clothes,” Slim Jim answered. “They tell me.” He tapped at his head with a fingertip. “In here… So, I strip them of their Earthly bindings and set them free. Not that I’m some weird pervert or anything. That’s what they instruct me to do. And I think they appreciate it.” He presents a hand toward all the dolls. “See how happy they look.”
Bevin scanned the dolls with his eyes. None of them looked happy. If anything, they all appeared hopelessly depressed and deranged.
Slim Jim stepped past him. “I tell you what. You pick one out for yourself. I won’t charge you. I just want you to see for yourself what they are.”
Bevin slowly looked over them once more. Then his eyes fixed on one with a clown’s head. He wore a rumpled hat, and his face was painted white with a big red nose in the center. There was a ring of black around his mouth, and the underside of his eyes had a black smear as well. His hair was yellow and stuck out in coils from under his hat. The rest of him was naked. Bevin pointed to it. “I like that one. It reminds me of childhood for some reason.”
Slim Jim slapped his hands together. “Oh brother! That one is Jiggles the Clown. He’s one of my favorites, but you can have him because I already said so.” He went over to the doll and plucked him from the crowd. He handed it to Bevin. “Here you go. I hope you enjoy him. Are you planning on sticking around for a few days?” Slim Jim asked.
“I am. My girlfriend just dumped me. Again. I’m going to go hiking and then drink at the hotel to deal with my personal problems.”
Slim Jim eyed him up and down. “Okay… But before you head out of town, why don’t you stop back in and let me know how things went with Jiggles.”
“Sure. I can do that.” Bevin went to the front door of the shop and walked out. He stopped in front of the glass window and waved to Slim Jim who was still there in the room of curiosities. Bevin held up Jiggles the Clown and made him dance from side to side in the air. He laughed about it as he walked away.
Slim Jim moved closer to the window and peered out. He sneered, and then whispered to himself, “It won’t be funny for long.”
By
Aaron Echoes August
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People don’t understand why I wait at the last exit of the corn labyrinth. The labyrinth is in a weird place in the middle of Ohio. It isn’t technically a labyrinth; they just call it that because it sounds more mysterious. According to the British, a labyrinth has one path that leads to a center. A maze on the other hand, has multiple paths leading to multiple endings. I once suggested to my employers that they just call it a labyrinth-maze, but they thought that idea was stupid. The corn “labyrinth” rests deep in an orange and green forest near an old farm out on the edges of the world between a place called Ashville and a place called Circleville.
I was considering buying a mansion in Circleville. It was a pleasant white fixture of the neighborhood with neat grass and bushes and flower beds out front. There was even an ornamental wrought iron fence the colors of gray and green mixed together that held it all in.
The Realtor led me through the majestic front door and the inside of the home was a totally different story. There was a deep dark feeling about it and much of the décor was slathered in blood red. There was a fireplace on the main level with green tiles set into golden stonework. That was one of the nicest things about the place. There was a study set off from the main living room, circular, mostly empty and dim. There were empty bookshelves and dust and time-worn memories inside that room. There was also a lone chair with an elegant upholstery that sat in the middle of the room and pointed toward the windows.
The air inside the home seemed heavy to me, almost like a wet shirt strung over a line. The lighting was dark and opiate. The cranberry and gold drapes over the windows were mostly closed to keep out any prying eyes. The staircase to the upper level curved and was carpeted. It had fine wood finishes, a dark walnut perhaps, like other areas of the house. The upstairs was mostly like a square. A bedroom in each corner. A sitting area in the center. The master was larger and had a turret with a very pointy top that had been turned into a nice nook with a window looking out onto the tree-lined neighborhood. I imagined putting my writing desk there. The master also had its own bathroom, and there was another one out in the hall with one of those old claw-foot tubs. The lighting in that bathroom was a yellowish red. It needed fresh paint and a window, maybe even a skylight. And this may sound strange, but something inside that bathroom was alive in a dead way. I don’t know exactly what, but if I could put it into words, I would say “elevated.”
The Realtor (her name was Regina), and I went back downstairs. The kitchen was at the rear of the house. It was large with many uncurtained windows, so this room was much brighter than the rest. There was a large space in the center reserved for a table and chairs. The counter space between the gaps where the appliances would go was plentiful. The vinyl tops were a cosmic white with a blue trim. The cabinets were painted white, their doors squeaked when I opened them.
The kitchen looked out pleasantly upon a good-sized yard with T-shaped poles in which to string a clothesline, and then an alleyway with trash cans lined up like military guards at their posts. Beyond that, was someone else’s yard and a big yellow house with a red roof. There was a woman outside there with shocked blonde hair, and she was just staring at us, but I didn’t understand how she could even see us.
One thing that harmed my decision about the house at first was when I followed Regina out the back kitchen door to look at the yard, the garage, the gravel driveway. She was talking up a storm and I was sort of drifting away from her words. I happened to look up at a window in one of the four bedrooms. And I know I saw it. I really believe it. But there was a human head in that window. And there were eyes that were staring down at me. Then there was a slow-forming and menacing smile. My heart thumped. I must have had a weird expression on my face because Regina bent her head and looked at me funny and said, “Are you all right, Mr. Jemison?”
“You can call me Alden. Mr. Jemison was my grandfather. Old Mr. Jemison indeed.” I turned away from the window. “I thought the house was vacant.”
She scrunched her face in further puzzlement. “It is vacant. Didn’t you see that it was?”
“No one else here?”
“No.”
I just stood there thinking about whether to say something to her. My tangled, hallucinating brain told me not to. “Right. I must have been thinking of someplace else.”
“I have shown you a lot of houses,” Regina said with a big, fake Realtor smile.
I looked up at the back of the house again. The windows were clear and clean. “But this one,” I said to her. “This one is different.”
She looked at me funny. I could tell she liked me. I can always tell when a woman likes me. I have a very strong intuition about things. The whole world should know that, as well as this: I’m just a writer trying to write in a world that doesn’t value words anymore. Instead, we speak in blurbs, shouts, grunts, violence, hate, noise, symbols, whining and idiotic posts on social media. I just want some peace and quiet in a big old house that might just have living memories walking around in it. I want to look out secret windows at the people strolling along the sidewalks, but I never want to talk to them. I want to sit on the couch and stare into space while things light up and float around me, and there’s strange music coming out of my hi-fi system.
She smiled. Her mouth lit up. “I have a feeling you like this place.”
“I do.”
“May I ask you something, and I’m not meaning to be rude.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“It’s just that I haven’t seen you at any of the Orange Masses.”
“I don’t like to go to those things,” I said.
She looked confused. “But, what if they find out?”
By
Aaron Echoes August
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A famous My 600-Pound Life nurse, halfway to looking like that creepy puppet Lady Elaine Fairchilde from Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, opens the door of the waiting room and calls out, “Shelby Grace.”
Shelby Grace struggles to get out of the chair almost as much as she struggled to get into the chair. “Help me, Lawrence,” she says. He yanked on her arm and there was a friction-fueled pop sound. “Lordy, they need to make these chairs bigger,” Shelby Grace said.
They followed the nurse into the room where they weigh the patients.
“Please wait while I reset the scale,” the nurse says. Moments later. “Go on and step up on the scale.
Dramatic and impatient music plays in Lawrence’s head as he watches the digital display on the scale blink.
Then … “You’re weight is 540.”
Lawrence releases a shocked sigh. “Damn, Shelby Grace.”
“We’re going to room 5,” the nurse says.
Once inside the examination room, Shelby Grace begins to cry. “I just can’t believe it. How did I let this happen?”
“How?” Lawrence says. “I should have videotaped you on this road trip. Eating like a damn hippopotamus with wooden teeth, that’s how.”
There is a light knocking and Dr. Now walks in. “Hello, how are you all doing?”
“Good,” they say in unison.
“Where you all coming from today?”
“Charlie Brown, Tennessee,” Lawrence proudly boasts.
“Charlie Brown, Tennessee, huh. Do you have towns there in Tennessee called Peppermint Patty and Pigpen.”
Lawrence chuckles. “No, but we got plenty of towns that look like pigpens.”
Dr. Now doesn’t think it’s funny and turns his attention to his patient. “Okay. So, you must be Shelby Grace.”
“Ye, sir.”
“Says here you are 540 pounds today.” He moves his head around as he and looks her up and down. “Seems like most of that is in your rear-end. How did you let this happen?”
Shelby Grace wipes a tear away with a finger, sniffles. “I don’t know. I just love to eat. I suppose it fills some sort of void in my life.”
“So, you’re an emotional eater,” Dr. Now says.
“I guess I am.”
“Okay, so what are your eating habits like?”
“Too much junk,” Lawrence blurts out. “She eats like a hippopotamus with wooden teeth.”
Dr. Now looks at him, displeased with the answer. “I don’t think hippopotamus has wooden teeth, but I do wonder who brings her the food. Is it you…”
“This is my cousin Lawrence, Shelby Grace says. “Don’t listen to what he says, he’s an idiot.”
“Okay, okay,” Dr. Now begins. “We are not going to get anywhere with your weight problem by calling each other names. I sense a very dysfunctional dynamic here. But let’s get back to your eating habits. What do you usually have for breakfast, Shelby Grace.”
“Well, mostly some yogurt with fruit.”
Lawrence bursts out laughing. “Bullshit! You don’t even have yogurt in your house. It’s more like a platter of eggs, bacon, biscuits, hash browns, breakfast burritos, ham steaks, sometimes regular steak, cheese puffs…”
“Okay, okay. I get the picture,” Dr. Now says. “And who is bringing you all this food?”
“I live alone, except for my dog Testicles.”
Dr. Now holds up an aged hand. “Hold on. You have a dog named Testicles?”
“Yes.”
“I think that is gross and suggest you name him something else,” Dr. Now says. “I’m going to set up an appointment with a therapist while you are here in Houston to help you work through your emotional problems that lead you to eat too much.”
“Okay.”
“So, who brings you the food?”
“I usually cook it myself or have Door Dash bringing me something.”
“Okay, obviously you are obsessed with fast food. That has to stop starting today. You are killing yourself with food… So, what is your daily routine?”
“I get up, shower, cook myself breakfast. Then I go to work.”
“Where do you work?”
“I’m a pharmacy technician at a hospital.”
“So, you must be up on your feet all day running around.”
Shelby Grace shrugs. “Not really. I’m no Jennifer.”
“Is Jennifer a friend of yours?”
“Yes.”
Lawrence chuckles. “She has no friends.”
“Hush up, Lawrence,” Shelby Grace snaps. “I do so have friends. You don’t know everything about my life.”
“I know you don’t have any friends.”
‘Okay,” Dr. Now steps in. “Lawrence, you need to settle down or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room.”
“I’m sorry. But she shouldn’t be lying.”
“I’m not…”
“That’s enough you two… Now listen to me. I’m going to give you some materials that I want you to read every day. It will have information about proper diet and exercise. Over the next three months I want you to lose 90 pounds. If you can do that, I will consider you for weight loss surgery, and you can start making plans to move to Houston. All right? And in the meantime, if you need anything just give me a call.”
The therapist’s waiting room smelled like disinfected brains. Shelby Grace sat alone, spread out over two chairs. Lawrence was waiting in the car. A door opened and a little man with glasses and a nice gray sweater came out. “Shelby Grace?”
“Yes.”
He extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Dr. Paradise. Come on in.”
Shelby Grace went into his office and sat down on a comfortable rich man’s couch.
“So, tell me about Shelby Grace,” Dr. Paradise began. “Why are you here?”
“There’s not much to tell?”
Dr. Paradise glances at her body. “Well, you are obviously here for a reason. Why don’t you tell me why you think you eat so much?”
Shelby Grace shrugged. She looked all around his impeccable office, and then back to him, the small man in the chair. She thought it was all very weird. She was uncomfortable. “I think I eat so much because I’m trying to fill a void in my life.”
“Okay. Describe this void you’re talking about.”
“I’m not married, obviously. Why would anyone want to marry me? I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“Do you have any close friends or family in your life?”
“My family all live in Alabama. We don’t see each other much. But there’s my good friend Jennifer. We work together at the hospital. We’re always cutting up and laughing. She’s so much fun.”
Dr. Paradise smiles and nods his head. “Okay. So, you’re working. You have a good friend at work. Those are two very positive things in your life. And those are the things I really want you to focus on. Look away from the food, and look at the good things in your life… What else.”
“I have a nice little apartment where I live with my dog Testicles.”
“Wait a minute,” Dr. Paradise says, holding up a small hand. He smiles out loud. “You have a dog named Testicles?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well. Obviously you are able to support yourself and maintain a home and care for a pet. Those are three more positive things. But the name of the dog.” He laughs. “You should probably change that.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Fair enough.”
“Are we almost done?”
“Sure. But my homework for you is to keep a running list of all the good things about your life. I want you to hang it up somewhere and every time you are down and want to reach for some junk food, look at the list. Tell yourself you are worth it, tell yourself you are better than having a rear end the size of a dumpster.”
Shelby Grace stood up as he did, and they shook hands. His hand felt so tiny in hers. It gave her the timber shivers. “It was good meeting you, Shelby Grace.”
“You too, Dr. Paradise. Thank you for the five-minute therapy session that will end up costing me 400 dollars.”
By
Aaron Echoes August
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She didn’t know where to look the moment she stepped inside Fidel Architect the architect’s glamorous home and its modern mid-century rustic vibe. Her head nearly twisted off. She was stunned by the indoor waterfall and the size of the kitchen and all its shiny toys to cook and clean with.
“You really live here?”
“Yes.”
“By yourself?”
“I have a cat.”
There was a meow, as if on cue. The girl had found him and was petting him roughly. “He’s a nice kitty,” she said.
“That’s Bergen,” Fidel said. “I named him after the coastal city in Norway where I have a summer house.”
“You have two houses?”
“I mean, yes. I make a very good living being an architect. But the home in Norway is much smaller.”
She rolled her eyes and half-smiled. “Must be rough.”
The cat ran off and soon the girl was up and chasing it around, all the while screaming.”
“Hey! Don’t do that, and you better not break anything,” Fidel called out after her. “If you do, I’m going to break you! And be quiet and don’t hurt the cat.”
“You don’t need to talk to her like that. She’s just a little girl.”
“So…”
“You’ve got some nerve.”
“Yes I do. Lots of them in fact. All over my body. I bet you could set some on fire.”
She scoffed, turned away in embarrassment, and that’s when she noticed the wall of picture frames. Family photos, she thought, and went to take a closer look. But upon further inspection, she realized the pictures were all of Fidel. Every single one. Thirteen of them to be exact, and in each one he was striking a different pose, a different expression, sporting a different hairstyle, and wearing different clothes. He had an entire wall dedicated to pictures of himself.
“What is this about?” she asked him, pointing to the photos.
“Ah, yes. I see you’ve discovered my wall of self-admiration.”
She laughed. “Are you serious?”
Fidel’s face became non-expressive. “Yes. I am. Don’t you like it? It’s a collage reflecting my life as a human being. It celebrates my highs and lows, my successes and rare failures, and how my expressions react to diverse situations. I’m going to add more over time.”
“You’re going to need a bigger wall.”
“I sense that you think it’s stupid,” Fidel said.
“It’s just that I’ve never seen someone hang pictures of just themselves. It’s kind of arrogant if you want my honest opinion.”
“Arrogant? It’s not arrogant. It’s me being proud of the person I am and wanting to display that for all to see,” Fidel said.
“Get many visitors?”
Fidel thought about it for a moment. “Usually just hot prostitutes.”
She moved away from him. He had been uncomfortably close to her. She figured he must have some kind of disease. “Congratulations?”
“You’re mocking me. Fidel doesn’t like to get mocked.”
“It’s just kind of weird, but hey, to each his own, right?”
“That’s right. Please don’t judge me for just being who I am… And by the way, who are you? What kind of a name do you have?” Fidel asked her.
“Kind of name?”
“Yeah. Is it a stupid name?”
“It’s Angela, and I don’t think it’s a stupid name.”
“Angela… You must be an angel.” He signaled with one finger for her to be quiet while he reached for his phone. He play dialed it. “Yes. Is this Heaven? Good. Well, I just wanted to let you know I found one of your angels on the loose. But don’t worry, she’s about to be in my arms.”
He set his phone aside and pulled her to him. He kissed her. She surprised herself and kissed him back.
“Eww,” the little girl said from some hidden spot. “Mommy! You just met him.”
They both laughed out loud like human Cheez-Its.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can spank you, too,” Fidel said to the girl with all seriousness. “Seems like your mother here doesn’t really know how to discipline you or teach you not to run around like a wild dog in a stranger’s house. You need to learn some manners.”
The girl quieted down. Angela looked at him with subtle outrage. “I’ll discipline my own daughter how I see fit, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay, okay, baby cakes. I was just trying to get the kid to settle down. What do you feed her anyway? Cocaine?”
Angela rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, but she enjoyed the kiss too much to cut her visit short. She was overwhelmingly unsure about the whole thing. But she still needed something in her life. A spark. An interest. A project. “Why don’t you go outside and play,” she told her daughter. Something besides just being a struggling single mother.
“Just don’t trample over my ornamental garden beds,” Fidel said to the girl. “I’ll throw you over a wall and onto the interstate if you do.”
The girl was scared of him now. She went to her mother and wrapped her small arms around one of Angela’s legs. Angela petted her head to soothe her. “Go on. Go play.”
The girl scampered off toward the lower patio doors. Fidel went to help her open them. “I’ll be watching you,” he said before she slipped out. He closed the doors and locked them. The girl outside turned to look at him. Her face was peppered with concern. Fidel slid two fingers across his throat in a menacing slicing manner. The girl ran off and Fidel laughed out loud.
When he returned to Angela, she had a beer in her hand. Heineken. “Ever hear of asking first,” he said.
She took a long pull on the green bottle. “You know, sometimes that straightforwardness of yours can come off as rude.”
“It’s not rude. I’m honest. Why is everyone so afraid of honesty?”
“Honesty doesn’t need to always spew out like lava.”
“Lava?”
“Like, hot and burning and destructive.”
“I’m not destructive.”
“You are. You totally destroyed my daughter earlier with the way you talked to her. I’m not cool with that. I’m not sure I want to stay.”
He reached out and took the beer bottle from her. He put her now empty hand on his crotch and pulsed his bulge. “Are you cool with that?” he said to her with a sly look on his face.
She waited a moment before she pulled her hand away from the throbbing warmth. “You’re moving way too fast for me. I’m getting uncomfortable. Maybe I should leave after all.”
She started to walk away toward the patio doors to call for her daughter. Fidel went after her and jumped on her back, forcing her to the floor face first.
“What the fuck are you doing!” she screamed.
He turned her over and pinned her down with his knees. “Are we having fun yet?” he grinned.
She tried to kick him between the legs. He laughed at her useless effort. “You’ll never hurt me, baby cakes.” He grasped one of her breasts and squeezed it. But then Fidel looked up and saw the little girl on the other side of the glass. She was crying and trying to open the heavy sliding doors.
Fidel grinned at her like an evil clown. “Mommy and I are just wrestling, honey,” he yelled through the glass. “Don’t worry. We’re playing.” He ferociously tickled Angela in a torturous way and her entire body convulsed, and she cried out. “Stop it! Stop it!”
The girl pounded on the glass with her tiny fist. “Mommy!” she called out in a voice muffled by the barrier.
Fidel finally moved off of her. He reached out a hand to help her up. She clasped it. “You’re an asshole,” she said.
“I was just playing with you.”
“Didn’t seem like playing to me.”
She went to the doors and let her daughter in. The girl clutched her mother as she cried. “I want to go home.”
“We are, honey, we are.” She gathered her things and made her way to the front door.
“Hey,” Fidel called out. “No police, okay. I have a reputation to uphold.”
She gave him a confounded look and shook her head. “You’re sick, bro,” she said.
“Aren’t you going to say thank you?”
“Thank you. Thank you for what?”
“For a great time, the beer, letting you squeeze my penis.”
“You’re a pig.”
“There’s that word again. Pig. Why do women keep calling me a pig?”
“Probably because you are one.”
“Well, I suppose you’re entitled to your opinion.”
“Fuck off,” was the last thing she said to him before her and the girl walked out.
By
Aaron Echoes August
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Josiah climbed out of the car. He had been feeling nervous about just sitting in a stolen vehicle. He needed to stretch his legs, anyway. He strolled around the hospital parking lot for a while enjoying the sunshine, the smell of spring, and his freedom. But something was nagging at him. He wanted to see Sarrah, to apologize in person. But he knew that would be a violation of some sort. He thought about sneaking in and maybe just catching a peek at her. But what about Paul? He’d be swooning over her. And he’d be angry with him, perhaps even send him back to the jailhouse.
Josiah made his way into the hospital’s main entrance and looked around. A woman behind a counter called out to his puzzlement, “Is there something I can help you with?”
Josiah approached. “I want to see my wife,” he said.
“What’s her name?”
“Sarrah Peppercorn.”
The woman’s eyes darted back and forth across a computer screen as she tapped the keyboard. “Fifth floor. You need to check-in at the nurse’s station, though.”
“Fifth floor. Thanks.”
Josiah went to the elevator and went up to FIVE. The doors slid open. He looked up and down the hall. People were mingling in whispers and tears. This must be the floor where people come to die, he thought. It smelled funny, like sickness and sterility.
“Sir? Is there something you are looking for?”
Everyone’s watching me, he thought. He approached the nurse’s station. “My wife, Sarrah Peppercorn?”
She pointed. “Room 13.”
“Thank you.”
Josiah moved down the hallway until he found room 13. He peered in carefully. He saw a woman in a bed, motionless with machines making soft noises around her. Paul was nowhere to be seen. He went in and quietly closed the door. Josiah went to her bedside and looked down at his wife. What used to be his wife, he thought. Her face was half bandaged, the other half swollen, bruised. “Oh, my god,” Josiah softly said. “I did that?”
She moved her head and noticed him there. One eye was visible. She tried to smile. She spoke out a dry mouth. “It was the rabbit,” Sarrah managed to say.
Josiah reached out to hold her hand. “The rabbit?”
“I was attacked by a giant, cerulean-blue rabbit man.”
Josiah thought that she must be delirious. “Well, the rabbit man is gone now, and I’m here with you.”
“How was jail?” Sarrah snarked.
“It was horrible,” he answered. “Sarrah. I don’t have much time,” Josiah began. “I’m not really supposed to be in here. But I just wanted to let you know that I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m constructing a new man from the inside out. And I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. I’m sorry for who I’ve been. I hope you can forgive me and maybe even possibly take me back as your husband.”
She looked at him and smacked her mouth. “Water.”
He took the yellow plastic cup from the bedside table and held it to her lips. She drank. He kissed her softly on the head. “I love you,” he said.
She blinked at him but did not reply.
“I have to go now,” Josiah said. “But has Paul been by to see you?”
“Paul? Not that I know of.”
Josiah half-smiled at her. “I’ll see you around,” he said, and then he quietly went out of the room.
As Josiah walked across the parking lot and back to the stolen car, he could see that someone was in the driver’s seat. Paul must have changed his mind about seeing Sarrah, he thought. That was good. But as Josiah got closer to the car, he realized the body in the front seat was much larger than Paul. The passenger door swung open. Something reached out and easily snatched Josiah and pulled him into the car. There was a strange smell. Animalistic.
“Put on your seatbelt,” the thing said.
Josiah was stunned. “Who the hell are you? What the hell are you?” he asked, clawing at the window in fear.
“Quiet!” the thing said in a low drawn-out voice.
The cerulean rabbit started the car, put it into gear, and drove away. Josiah was screaming, but there was no sound for anyone to hear.
Serena wiggled her nose like a witch, and somehow the ropes loosened, and they were able to slip free.
“How did you do that?” the reverend wanted to know.
“It suddenly came to me, like a whisper. It must have been your prayer,” Serena said excitedly. “He listened to you after all and then spoke to me. Me.”
The padre shot a look at the sky and wondered. The stars blinked back. Then he looked down at the ground. It was so dark save for a glint of moonlight crawling along. “We’ll have to be extremely careful coming down from this tree,” he said. “I’ll go first, and you follow right after me. I’ll be here to stop you if you start to fall.”
“I’m not afraid,” Serena said.
Once they got their feet back on solid ground, they scanned the area for any sign of the rabbit creature. Serena sniffed the air. “I don’t smell him anymore.”
“He must have gone off somewhere,” the reverend said. “Are you scared?”
“Not anymore,” Serena said. “I feel strangely at peace. I think it’s because God chose to speak to me. Me... Are you scared?”
“No. But something mysterious is surely afoot,” he said. “And you, young lady, may be a prophet.”
“A prophet! I would love to be a prophet. It would be so much better than just being an old plain Jane.”
The reverend laughed. “You’re not so plain.”
“Thanks… Are you ready to carry on?”
“Yes. Let us carry on.”
Their quick pace slowed halfway. It was peaceful and calm in the middle of the meadow. The sky was open there and the moon brighter. The far mountains were colored blueberry. Reverend Savior bent over, put his hands on his knees and spat at the ground. His breathing was ferocious.
“Are you okay?” Serena asked. “You sound horrible.”
“I’m fine… I just need to catch my breath.”
Serena twirled beneath the stars. “It’s wonderful to be a prophet,” she said. “Thank you, God, for choosing me.”
The reverend straightened and looked at her.
“Just remember, being a prophet is serious business.”
She smiled at him. “It can’t be all serious,” she said. “I’m sure prophets enjoy things in life, too.”
The reverend chuckled. “Maybe you’re right… I think I’m ready to keep going now,” he said, and together they made their way back toward the black scrape of paint on the horizon that was the farmhouse, a place that must be home for someone.
By
Aaron Echoes August
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A table of ass juts out from her backside. People call her the Lunch Lady because a person could put their tray of food right up on there, pull up a chair, and eat. She just needs to be still for a spell and not do anything nasty.
Shelby Grace works in the pharmacy of a hospital in Charlie Brown, Tennessee. She’s not very good at her job because she moves like a sloth high on grass. She’s single and lives alone in an apartment near her work with her dog Testicles. She likes to eat a lot as she watches My 600-Pound Life on Discovery Channel.
“How you all doing?” she says, mimicking Dr. Now. Food sprays out of her mouth as she does this. Testicles the dog runs away and hides. He thinks she’s gross. He wishes he could live somewhere else.
Shelby Grace, (aka Dinner Plate, aka the Lunch Lady, aka Butt Restaurant…) sits back for a moment and looks at the disgusting array of plates and bowls and cups in front of her on the coffee table. “I eat way too much,” she confesses to herself. “I think I need help.” There was a closeup of Dr. Now on the screen and Shelby Grace then realizes that he is talking to her through the television: “Shelby Grace, your eating habits are out of control. Stop lying. Look at your body. I could have a sit-down meal on your rear end. You eat way too much food. If you want weight loss surgery, you’re going to have to show me you are motivated and invested in your own health…Do you understand?”
Shelby Grace haphazardly stands up. “That’s it! I’m going to go see Dr. Now. He’ll help me,” she exclaims with a victory pump of her fist over her head. “Yes, Dr. Now! I understand, and I promise you this. I’m going to be the best patient you ever had.”
Her cousin Lawrence helps her pack the car for the long trip to Houston. He’s going to be her driver and personal life coach along the journey.
Shelby Grace comes out of the apartment with the last of her things. Testicles the dog will be looked after by a neighbor, and he’s so happy that he wags his tail ferociously as he watches from the living room window as her and Lawrence pull away. He barks with joy. Solitude at last!
“It’s going to be a long drive,” Lawrence says to her once they are on the interstate.
“Mmm hmm, says Shelby Grace. “How about we stop for something to eat before we get too far along.”
“Come on now Shelby Grace, you got to stop eating so much. Dr. Now is going to be pissed off if you go waddling in there smelling like French fries.”
She slaps his arm. “Lawrence, I swear. You’re supposed to be supporting me, not putting me down.”
“And you’re supposed to be focusing on losing weight, not on fast food alley up in here.”
Shelby Grace looks at her watch and sighs. “Well, I suppose that orange rapist ass clown is in the White House by now.”
Lawrence wants to slam his head against the steering wheel until he’s unconscious. “Fuck him, and we’re not going to talk about it anymore.”
And they don’t.
Instead, Shelby Grace convinces Lawrence to go through a Wendy’s drive-thru. “I promise this will be the very last time,” she says.
Lawrence shrugs her off. “Yeah, right.” He pulls up to the menu that talks. “Hi, we’d like to get two double hamburgers with everything, two orders of large fries, two large Cokes…”
She leans across him and yells into the menu speaker. “Oh, oh, and a large Frosty, and um, you better add another burger, oh, a 20-piece Saucy Nuggs, and a parmesan Caesar salad.”
“Shelby Grace! You’re the size of a Dumpster,” Lawrence scolds. “Do you want to be the size of two Dumpsters”
“I’m hungry!”
“Dr. Now is going to whoop your ass!”
“Lawrence! He is not. He’s a nice little man. Just like that cat our neighbors have, Gumdrop.”
“Well, I’d rather pet a nice kitty named Gumdrop than a dog named Testicles.”
“It’s cute.”
“It’s gross.”
They pull around and bags and cups are soon handed through the window. “Thank you, thank you, thank you” Lawrence says to the drive-thru girl.
And then, they are off again.
Shelby Grace is covered in food stains by the time they reach Memphis, and she wants to stop for the day. “I can’t take anymore of this. My big butt hurts.”
“What the hell!? We’ve only gone but 200 and some miles, Shelby Grace. At this pace we won’t get there until next week.”
“I don’t care, Lawrence. I’m tired. Find us a hotel.”
He does what she says and pulls into the first decent place he sees, a Holiday Inn. Lawrence goes in to get a room lined up while Shelby Grace stays in the car and moans and groans. “Oh, lordy, lordy, why did I think I could do this? Lawrence! Hurry up now. I got to lie down on a bed.”
Lawrence returns and helps her hobble to the room. He goes back out to retrieve their things while Shelby Grace sprawls out on one of the beds like a beached whale.
When Lawrence returns with their bags, he finds Shelby Grace looking through her phone. “I want to order a pizza,” she says to him.
Lawrence drops the bags to the floor. “A pizza! Shelby Grace, you’re going to gain 100 pounds before we even get there.”
“Oh, hush. I’m cranky and hungry. Do you want one?”
“A whole pizza!? Hell no, girl. I’ll just get something from the snack machine.” With that, Lawrence walks out of the room and slams the door.
Lawrence stands outside the hotel drinking a 7-Up and smoking a Kool cigarette. He’s trying to quit, but this trip is already proving to be too much for his fragile nerves. The Memphis air is stagnant. The stars above are mostly blotted out by the light pollution. He can hear the roar of traffic out on the interstate. For a moment he ponders just getting in the car and leaving her behind. It’s a momentary thought, though. He knows his conscience could never handle the guilt. He is a good man deep down inside.
A while later he watches as the pizza delivery man gets out of his little car with the pizza delivery sign on top. He calls to him. “I’ll take it,” he says, and then pays him. Lawrence takes the pizza up to the room.
Shelby Grace immediately comes to life when she sees him. “Pizza!” she exclaims. He hands her the box, and she scrambles to open it and then begins feasting like a starving animal.
The next day they make it as far as Texarkana. Lawrence takes aspirin. They go through the same routine: Fast food for lunch, a cigarette and soda outside the hotel, a pizza in the room.
In the morning before heading out on their last leg to Houston, Shelby Grace is hugging the toilet and throwing up. Lawrence peeks his head in. “It’s your own fault for eating so much,” he says.
“Shut your mouth!” she squawks. “I’m sick. Have some sympathy, Lawrence.”
“We got to get going if we’re ever going to make it to Houston today.”
She vomits, then looks up at him, eyes watering, mouth gross. “Not today. I can’t travel today.”
“What!? Then what are we going to do all day?”
“Pay for another night and let me rest.”
“Another night? Ah shit, Shelby Grace. You’re driving me nuts and bankrupting me all at the same time.” He watches as she struggles to get up from her place on the bathroom floor between the toilet and the tub.
“Lawrence, help me. I’m stuck.”
“Stuck?”
“Yes, stuck. Pull on my arm.”
Lawrence grabs her arm and together they try to unwedge her. “Ah, that hurts!” Shelby Grace yells. “Easy, easy.”
“Hell, Shelby Grace, if you want me to help you I got to pull.”
“All right, all right,” she huffs and puffs. “Try again.”
He pulls on her arm once more, but her weight is just too much, her big tabletop butt is stuck. “I can’t do it. You’re too heavy and your butt is too big. I told you not to eat all that god damn food. Now look at the situation you’re in. I’m just going to have to leave you here until you lose some weight.”
Shelby Grace screams in a panic. “Shut your mouth! Shut your mouth! Save me, save me!”
“Just hold on, Shelby Grace. Quit having a meltdown. I’ll go down to the front desk and see if a maintenance man or somebody can help me get you out.”
“No, no! Don’t do that. It’s too embarrassing.”
“So, I should just leave you here?”
She starts crying.
“Maybe I should. Teach you a lesson.”
“Get my laptop, Lawrence.”
“Your laptop. Why?”
“I want to video call Dr. Now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I need someone to talk to who won’t yell at me.”
Lawrence releases a frustrating sigh. “Fine.”
Dr. Now appears on the screen of her laptop that’s set up on the toilet cover. “Hello. How are you doing?”
“Hi Dr. Now. Not very well, I’m afraid.”
“So, what’s going on with you, Shelby Grace? You were supposed to be here today for your appointment.”
“I’m sorry Dr. Now. We’ve had some travel delays and I’ve been sick.”
“Sick how?”
“Stomach problems.”
“What kind of stomach problems?”
“Throwing up, nausea.”
“What have your eating habits been like on the trip so far?”
“Not very good. Fast food, mostly. Pizzas.”
“Okay, now listen to me. You cannot eat all that horrible food if you want to be in my program. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So, when do you expect to get to Houston?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve run into another snag.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m stuck between the toilet and the tub at our hotel room. I can’t get out.” Shelby Grace starts crying.
“Stuck?” Dr. Now replies. “How did you get stuck?”
“I’ve been sick like I said. I got down on the floor to vomit. Now, I can’t get back up.”
“Okay, Shelby Grace. Listen to me. You need to do whatever it takes to get unstuck and then get down to Houston. This is your life we are talking about. Quit making excuses.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay, let me know when you get to Houston. And in the meantime, if you need anything else, give me a call.”
“Thank you, Dr. Now. Goodbye.”
He disappears from the screen and Shelby Grace shuts her laptop and throws it across the bathroom.
The chimes of Saturn clinked like metal jewels tumbling in an out-of-control spaceship like clothes in a dryer. Alternative lemons hung heavily from a tree wet with morning California dew. He sat on a wooden bench in his garden. The roar of traffic on the wide interstate rose from beyond the grove and the walls. A dome of pollution muddied the blue sky giving it a dull yellow tint. He took a deep breath, and her taste and smell still lingered. He turned to look at the house—dark wood, a mass of glass windows, numerous rooms and levels, secret passageways, greenery, waterfalls, an outdoor kitchen, stone walkways, and a myriad of verandas. It was all his own very creation. He was an architect.
He knew she was still sprawled in the messy sheets, sleeping, dreaming, aching and sticky. He went back inside and made coffee to rouse her. The house was so still and quiet. A cat meowed and twirled around the man’s legs. He fed her. The woman appeared, yawning. She ruffled her hair with her hands.
“Hi, hi, hi there,” she said, like a female version of Alex DeLarge in A Clockwork Orange. He had read parts of the book to her the evening before and then they had rough sex to Beethoven’s 9th.
The man looked at her from across the large island. “If I hadn’t told you already, I’m an architect.”
She laughed. “I think you mentioned it a few times.”
“Coffee?”
“Sure.”
“Sleep well?”
“I did.”
“Would you like me to make you an English muffin?… And by the way, I’d like to eat your English muffin.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re disgusting, and it’s not funny or cute. Hope you realize that.”
“Disgusting? I didn’t seem too disgusting to you last night.”
“Screw you’re English muffin. I’ll just take my money.”
He paid her, and as she walked toward the door he called out. “I’d like to screw you’re English muffin.”
Fidel Architect, the architect, drove the California 91 to the 55 and into the city of Orange in northern Orange County. He was a hippy-like alpha male tech bro artist type steering a dark blue BMW through the clogged arteries that is all LA and beyond. Fidel was wearing his favorite ruffled clothes when he walked into the office that day. He was aspiring to be “aprofessional with surreal-coated dreams.” His shirt was slightly open, his hair neat yet mussed, his cologne sharp and rugged.
When he went past the reception area he gun-pointed with his hand and clicked his tongue at the woman behind the counter. “Pow. Pow. Nice boobs,” he said, and he kept on walking to his own personal office space. The woman’s shocked and enraged face followed him.
Once settled into his office, Fidel Architect stared out the tall windows. The city of Orange was bright that day. Bright and green. A misty paradise smelling like the ocean and smog all mixed together. Someone rapped their knuckles on his door frame. It was Pete, his supervisor. Outside of work he was a bass player in a band. “Hey,” he said. “Did you say something about Shannon’s boobs this morning?”
“Oh, yeah. Shannon Two Cannon,” and Fidel laughed like a prick.
“You can’t do that, man. We could get in a lot of trouble, and it’s degrading. Have some respect.”
Fidel scoffed. “Take a chill pill, man. She likes it.”
“Then why did she come to my office and complain about you?”
“She’s just playing a game. She wants the attention.”
“Dude. Seriously, knock it off before we have to have a sit-down,” Pete told him, and then he walked away.
Fidel phoned the reception desk and asked Shannon to come to his office. When she did, she didn’t go in but just stood in the doorway. “What do you want?” she asked.
Fidel jumped up from his desk and went toward her. She took a step back. “Hey, hot stuff. I just wanted to apologize for my crude remark this morning. Pete got on my ass about it… And speaking of ass, I’d like to get on yours.” He raised his glasses and took a good look at her.
Shannon burned like wayward electricity. “You cannot talk to me that way! You’re a pig.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Fidel said, holding up a hand. “You cannot talk to me that way. I’m the architect, you’re the receptionist. I win, get it?”
Shannon began to shake and a tear or two rolled down her face. She was so mad. “I’m going to HR.”
“Wait,” Fidel called out. “I wanted to know if you’d like to go to lunch with me… Mmm, I wish you were on the menu.”
Shannon marched off, yelling “Pig! Pig! Pig! Pigs who fly are pigs who die!” all the way toward the human resources department.
Fidel the architect waved a hand in the air to dismiss her actions. “HR? They won’t do anything about it… And I’m not a pig, but mmm, I’d like to oink all over her.”
Fidel Architect the architect found himself alone for lunch at Del Taco. He loved the burritos there. He sat at a high-top next to a window as he ate. The place was busy. A woman with a disorderly child sat at the table next to him. The kid was whining and complaining about something. Something stupid, Fidel thought.
The little girl kept at it and kept at it. Fidel finally had had enough. “Hi. Excuse me,” he said to the flustered woman just trying to get by in life as a single mother.
“What,” she snapped at him.
“Could you give your kid a tranquilizer or something. I’m trying to eat and she’s disturbing me.”
“Fuck off, man,” she said.
A few more moments went by, and she continued to ignore him. He knocked on his tabletop. “Listen lady,” Fidel began. “If you don’t shut that kid up, I’m going to throw her out a window.”
The woman gave him the most disgusted face in the world. She snatched her daughter up and went to the front counter of the restaurant. She asked to speak to the manager.
Moments later, a man came to Fidel’s table. He looked like an official Del Taco manager. “Excuse me, sir. Did you threaten that woman’s child?” He gestured with his thumb, pointing at the woman and the girl behind him.
“Absolutely not,” Fidel protested. “I just asked her if she needed any help, and she got all pissed off. Between you and me,” Fidel said, and he swirled his finger close to his head as in relating to craziness. “I think she has mental problems.”
The manager sighed with his shoulders. “Look, could you just please leave before I have to call the police.” The manger leaned in and whispered. “I think you’re right. She’s a cuckoo bird.”
Fidel peered around him to look at the woman again. “But she’s pretty hot in a down-on-her-luck sort of way. I’d take a go at her, real hard,” and he thrust his hips aggressively, enough to make his chair move and squeak against the floor. “I’ll go apologize.”
He walked up to the woman who was just standing there in the lobby holding her child. Her eyes grew wide when she saw him approach. Fidel could sense her fear. “It’s okay,” he assured her. “I just wanted to come over and apologize for what I said earlier. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Let me pay for your meal.”
“I already paid for it.”
“Then, let me help you out monetarily.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll give you some money.”
“I don’t need your dirty money.”
“Okay… How would you like to get dirty in other ways?”
“What do you mean by that!”
“You know… A little rub rub here, a little rub rub there, back at my place. I’m a very successful architect and my home is very very nice. You could stay awhile if you want.”
She scrunched her face at him, but in her head she considered it. Fidel Architect was a decent-looking man. She looked at her daughter whose eyes were now fixed on Fidel’s face. “What about her?”
“My house is huge,” he elbowed her, and then whispered, “Like other things I have… She can run around and explore, play outside, watch television. I have four. I’ve got crackers or whatever you feed her. I’ll even make you a nice dinner. Not only am I the best architect in Orange County, I’m also an accomplished chef.”
She looked at him and smiled. She was melting a bit. “Then why are you eating at Del Taco?”
Fidel threw his arms up in the air. “Because I love their burritos!”
“Me too,” she said.
Her little girl was beginning to wonder what was going on. “Mommy. Can we go?”
“So, come on. My car is right outside, or you can just follow me,” Fidel said. “I’ll take the rest of the day off.”
“You’re not going to kill us are you?” the woman wanted to know.
Fidel laughed out loud. Then with all seriousness said, “Only with kindness.”
CEREAL AFTER SEX 