Alan told the priest in the latticed shadow, the bus driver in the afternoon glare, one coworker while the coffee percolated, and another when the copier broke down. What he felt did not letup. He booked a flight to New Orleans and told a shoeless man in the middle seat, a boy selling bottles of water, and a woman who sparked the trumpet. No damn relief. He stood among the city\u2019s famous crypts, watched drop-outs toss a frisbee between the tombs, and wondered whether he was the only one who felt these dog days smother.<\/p>\n
\u201cWatch out,\u201d one said after the frisbee glanced off Alan\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it always this hot?\u201d Alan handed him the disc.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s September,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
What would these people call themselves? Certainly not drop-outs. The weatherman\u2019s handmade jean shorts trailed thread down his pale legs. Sweat stains swarmed the belly of his shirt. The rest\u2014a woman with four colors in her hair and a man twice the weatherman\u2019s size\u2014wore less: tank tops and nylon running shorts and sandals thin at the heels and toes. Was hippies okay? Free spirits?<\/p>\n
Alan claimed he did not want to talk about his father again, but he couldn\u2019t resist casting out the line even during natural pauses. He used, \u201cI still haven\u2019t heard from my brother\u201d or \u201cIt\u2019s almost the anniversary of my father\u2019s diagnosis.\u201d He said, \u201cI\u2019ve got some debt you wouldn\u2019t believe.\u201d But sometimes they only had to see his face and they knew. They asked, \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n
Again the frisbee bounced off of him.<\/p>\n
\u201cHeads up,\u201d the rainbow said and smiled.<\/p>\n
He could break the purple plastic. He could sail it over the monument\u2019s fencing. Maybe he could stuff the disc between the cracks of one of these crumbling tombs. How badly did they want to toss?<\/p>\n
\u201cOkay,\u201d Alan said and stood. He spun the frisbee toward her confusing cut.<\/p>\n
\u201cNice throw, old man.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOld man?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, we don\u2019t know your name,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I don\u2019t know yours,\u201d Alan said.<\/p>\n
They spun him into the circle. Rainbow to the weatherman to Alan to the big one. The big guy sang to himself. He did not mind stepping on the grass growing over a crypt. Around them, the dead spoiled. Or had. The tourists did it where Alan and his new friends could see\u2014they turned up their noses and drew in their purses and huffed disgusted gas to each other under their breathes. Alan kind of liked being the target of their distaste. He shrugged at the first few and sneered at the later ones.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve got some debt you wouldn\u2019t believe,\u201d he said to the rainbow when she was close enough.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho doesn\u2019t,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI still haven\u2019t heard from my brother,\u201d he told the weatherman.<\/p>\n
The weatherman shrugged. \u201cMe neither.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alan had the words prepared. Refined. He used to say, \u201cover borrowed\u201d and \u201cborrowed without double checking.\u201d Now he blamed impatience. Easier to identify with. He was \u201cimpatient for pay day and should have waited.\u201d He never said steal. He did not say dying. In the waning years, his father\u2019s signature had become one line, a swoop and a curl. Easy to imitate.<\/p>\n
They tried to catch the frisbee on the run. They threaded it through close crypts. In rows, the tombs were many porches, eaves and steps and fresh, blank doors. The tourists posed in front of them. They sat or squat. They smiled at the camera or gazed into the sky. One family had a tripod and a timer. The last photograph they took was \u201ca silly one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Alan sailed the frisbee into the shot. \u201cThat\u2019s<\/em> silly,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n \u201cHow has no one called the police on this circus,\u201d the father yelled.<\/p>\n \u201cStep right up. Step right up,\u201d Alan called after them. \u201cFunny pictures with the dead. Who knows what hilarious faces they are making.\u201d<\/p>\n The heat did not only crush. It crammed. A fever fattened the air\u2014at each of Alan\u2019s shoulders, between his cotton shirt and slick back. Even in the shade of the mausoleums, Alan stood alone and felt crowded.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere can we cool off around here?\u201d he asked the weatherman.<\/p>\n They liked open houses. They milled in the basement or back bedroom. Alan did not want to hide. At the second one, he left his shoes by the front door. He went through the kitchen cabinets until he found a glass and drank cold water from the tap. At the third, he tried to thread the frisbee down the hallway. Realtors stared. The rest gave him a wide berth. He planned to shower at the fourth, but the big guy saw someone or something that made him u-turn. He bumped into the rainbow and Alan and led the pack back the other way.<\/p>\n \u201cMary Mary,\u201d he said and the weatherman cursed and the rainbow pulled a hat from her purse and covered her hair.<\/p>\n \u201cMary?\u201d Alan asked.<\/p>\n \u201cShut it,\u201d the big guy said and the team high stepped north instead of west, stopped outside a convenience store.<\/p>\n \u201cHow does she know?\u201d rainbow asked.<\/p>\n \u201cGoldie told her,\u201d the weatherman said.<\/p>\n \u201cHow does she know what?\u201d Alan asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not scared of her,\u201d rainbow said.<\/p>\n \u201cMe neither,\u201d the big guy said.<\/p>\n \u201cBut we should find somewhere to lay low.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have a hotel room,\u201d Alan said.<\/p>\n The weatherman and rainbow bounced into the bed. The big guy sat his head on the desk. Alan needed a cold shower and a new pair of underwear, but his portion of his father\u2019s remains\u2014the mortuary tech had divided them evenly\u2014glowered next to the coffee maker. He had upgraded to onyx, gold bands. Had he forgotten they were here? He tried not to notice them, so his new friends wouldn\u2019t notice them.<\/p>\n \u201cWe should have come here a long time ago,\u201d rainbow said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat brings you to our fine city?\u201d the weatherman asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNo reason.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you from?\u201d rainbow asked.<\/p>\n \u201cNebraska.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you came here for no reason?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy are we scared of Mary?\u201d Alan asked.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a long story.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI have the room for two more nights.\u201d<\/p>\n Alan watched rainbow find the words, her eyes aimed at the duvet but searching somewhere else. He didn\u2019t think she had rehearsed.<\/p>\n \u201cHer husband was a kleptomaniac. He knew better. He felt bad. But he kept taking things. From his friends. From her parent\u2019s house. The last few weeks, I let him store some of it in my cousin\u2019s garage. I didn\u2019t look at what it was. I didn\u2019t know what was whose. I didn\u2019t even know he was sleeping there. My cousin found his body.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t get it,\u201d Alan said. \u201cYou did him a favor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy cousin pawned the stuff. I helped. We<\/em> pawned the stuff. We had to pay for cleaning the garage and he had promised us rent at some point. Possibly. There was plenty of money. I should have let Mary go through the stuff first. I should have.\u201d<\/p>\n The weatherman and the big guy looked anywhere but at her.<\/p>\n Alan said, \u201cI came to New Orleans because I saw something on television about the way they celebrate death here. The parades. The bywater\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n The weatherman said, \u201cIt\u2019s not really a celebration\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDeath seemed easier to talk about here,\u201d Alan said. \u201cNebraska is so cold.\u201d<\/p>\n Rainbow hopped off the bed. She\u2019d seen it. She reached like she might touch the repository but didn\u2019t. \u201cWho is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy dad,\u201d Alan said. \u201cI owe him almost thirty-one thousand dollars.\u201d He\u2019d never said the total before. He\u2019d thought it millions of times.<\/p>\n Alan explained the details. How it started with buying himself a few extra groceries when bought his dad\u2019s. How at some point he moved a lump sum. He almost used the word steal<\/em>. He said withdrew<\/em>. He said transfer<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cBut he\u2019s gone,\u201d the weatherman said. \u201cHe doesn\u2019t need the money.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe knew. He kept his bank statements on the bedside table. The last few weeks, he looked at me differently.\u201d<\/p>\n Rainbow touched his shoulder before climbing back on the bed.<\/p>\n \u201cI know just the place,\u201d the weatherman said. \u201cGrab your stuff.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHang on. Hang on,\u201d Alan said. \u201cLet me shower. My clothes are starting to melt.\u201d<\/p>\n What could anyone have said? Some were more comforting than others. They said, \u201cAlan, I\u2019m sure your father would understand.\u201d \u201cAlan, your brother would have said something if he cared.\u201d \u201cAlan, you deserved a little extra for taking care of your father.\u201d They emphasized his name. They peppered any comfort they had with Alan, Alan, Alan. That was him. He was the one who had done this. His father have given him a family name. Some battered him with it.<\/p>\n As soon as he turned off the water, he knew they were gone. His luggage too. His wallet. His sweat stained clothes were still on the bathroom tile. The lid of the urn had been removed. What the ever loving fuck could be the point of that? But the ashes suffocated in their heavy plastic. Much heavier than Alan had imagined. And he had imagined and imagined and imagined.<\/p>\n Back in the cemetery, tourists needed the flashes on their phones to get decent pictures. Alan placed his father\u2019s remains on the porch of a recently renovated tomb, a list of names in marble to watch over him. He stared into the onyx, the gold bands dull at dusk. So many memories, good, bad, indifferent, bloodied by his impatience. His choices. He had known what he was doing when he signed his father\u2019s checks. He had not known how it would feel. How it would linger. He had not known who he would feel like once the account was empty and his father was gone. He had so much to say and he couldn\u2019t find the words.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Alan told the priest in the latticed shadow, the bus driver in the afternoon glare, one coworker while the coffee percolated, and another when the copier broke down. What he felt did not letup. He booked a flight to New Orleans and told a shoeless man in the middle seat, a boy selling bottles of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":17489,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-17477","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","writer-tj-fuller"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17477","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=17477"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17477\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":17478,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/17477\/revisions\/17478"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17489"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=17477"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=17477"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=17477"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}