Despite cold air and intermittent sleet, Kevin was in a cheerful mood. All he had left to do was to burn some rat entrails. Not wanting Patrick's first day of resurrection to be sleety and gray, Kevin was taking his time in obtaining the entrails. He even allowed himself a normal meal in the diner down the street.
Taking the last seat at the diner's counter, he waited to be served. He didn't understand why "waiters" referred to the servers instead of the customers because it always seemed to him that he was waiting on the waitress.
At last, a young waitress approached. The small placard pinned to her shirt read "Mandi Mac." Kevin found her name to be a bit rustic, perhaps even redneck, but this was a diner, after all.
Kevin placed his order for a stack of chocolate chip pancakes. Mandi Mac turned and headed back behind the counter. Kevin began to stare off into space, lost in thoughts about the day soon to come. He needed those entrails first, though.
A few minutes later, Mandi Mac placed a plate full of steaming chocolate chip pancakes in front of Kevin. Dousing them in syrup and butter, Kevin ravenously dug into the pancakes.
After a little while, the bell on the diner door rang, letting in the street noise of sirens and squealing brakes. Kevin, however, was too engrossed in his food to look up. But before he knew it, Maria, his neighbor from across the hall, sat next to him. Kevin smiled. Maria blushed.
Half an hour later, Kevin emerged from the diner. He strolled down the street, noticing a black van whizzing around the block. Merrily whistling the overture from the Marriage of Figaro, Kevin took a shortcut through the empty lot behind Washington Heights to the lonely taxidermy stand. He approached the small, dark-haired woman behind the stand. Here goes nothing, he thought.
"Can I help you?" the young woman asked.
"Uh, this might sound like an odd request, but, uh, do you have any extra entrails I could have? Preferably of a rat?" Kevin responded.
"You're in luck. I just finished a rat moments ago. I was going to give the entrails to the bu- never mind. Sure. You can have them."
She fished around in a bucket behind the stand and withdrew a gloppy-looking mess of rat organs. Wrapping the innards in a sheet of newspaper, she handed the newly-formed, slightly leaking package to Kevin.
"Thanks," Kevin muttered as he turned to head back to Washington Heights.
After his daily sprint back up the stairs to the ninth floor, Kevin proceeded to Apartment 981. Sneaking in and shutting the door quietly behind him, he unwrapped the package of entrails. Based on his studies as a premed student, he guessed that he had been given the intestines, gall bladder, and a pancreas. It would suffice. Spreading the innards out under a lamp, now all he had to do was wait for them to dry.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Seemingly complacent, Elizabeth sat in a booth at the diner. Her novel was done. Dead? Her past was dead, that was for sure. Malcolm was probably somewhere in Las Vegas by now.
The faintest whift of decay brushed her nose. She turned to find Kevin brushing a hand through his hair as he and Maria sat down to a booth, both grinning. They were having lunch or dinner or something. An echo of a cheerfully eerie tune passed her ear. Elizabeth looked out the window to see the source being chased by a group of school children. An ice cream truck. It was four o'clock. They were probably having a late lunch.
The front door chimed. Mrs. Flogsbottom entered the diner, smiling. Elizabeth smiled, remenising over Mrs. Flogsbottom's advice. She had waited until the completion of the sixth chapter for her protagonist to be kissed by ... Malcolm. She'd actually waited until chapter 8, but that's a different story.
She wasn't sure of anything anymore. Dialogue had become nothing more than an echo of whispers. Her latest response had been, "Huh?"
"Would you like some more water, Liz?"
It was Mac.
"Please," Elizabeth replied, looking to the glass in embarrasment.
"What's wrong sweety?"
"Who knows,"
"Just let me know when you need a refill.
Elizabeth continued to stare at the water glass, now filled to the brim. "Thanks," she said, as Mac progressed to another table. Moving forward — the one thing Elizbeth needed to do, yet the only thing she couldn't. The afternoon turned to evening and evening into ...
"Liz," a voice echoed in the wind.
The building shook.
"Liz!"
The building shook again.
A sharp pain severed the dream.
"Liz, are you alright?"
It was Mac again. Everyone was gone. The sky was pitch black as raindrops spat against the window.
"What time is it?"
"It's midnight, sweety. We're about to close up shop."
"Right," Elizabeth said, rubbing her temples.
"Are you going to pass out again?"
"No Mac, I'm fine," she lied.
Without another word, she rose from the booth and walked out the door. Ten minutes later Elizabeth entered her apartment with a single letter in her hand. It was the only parcel she'd received that day. No junk mail. No letters from Mom. Just a letter from her editor Jerry Hacker. She'd made the deadline. She didn't know why he would complain. She sat upon her bed as she began to scan the letter.
Dear Elizabeth,
What a work of genius. ... We look forward to publishing your work very soon.
Sincerely,
Jerry Hacker
P.S. - I especially enjoyed the transformation of the protagonist after she confronts Mr. Gainnes with her realization of where her heart truly lies.
As Elizabeth laid the letter on the bed, she looked to the ceiling of her apartment. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. It was true. It was all true. Every word, paragraph and page of the novel was true and her biggest regret. She balled up the letter and threw it across the room, just like had thrown her heart across the country.
I twisted the key in the lock and turned down the hall towards the elevator. I was starving, and once again, there was no food in my apartment. The bits of dough I had found on the floor of the bakery earlier were enough to put anyone off grocery shopping. I didn't know if I could ever trust grocery stores, bakers, or butchers EVER again. And prepared food wasn't much better. Who knew what happened behind those walls. I shivered and almost backed into Kevin. He was also coming out of his apartment, but I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I didn't even hear him. "Good job, Maria," I muttered, before I realized what I had done. I smiled sheepishly at him, and he smiled in response.
"Where are you headed, Maria?" he asked quietly.
"The diner," I replied quickly, trying to cover up my talking to myself. Then a thought stuck me. "Would you like to come?" I asked. Kevin nodded, and we went down the hall, down the elevator, and out the front of the apartment building together. I couldn't help but walk with a lightness in my step even though the day was as dark as usual for Washington Heights. Kevin skipped the sidewalk with me without missing a beat, and we turned the corner towards the diner. I could even hear music from an icecream truck floating from somewhere nearby. The day didn't seem to be living up to its normal gloomy standards.
Outside the diner, we passed Ms. Flogsbottom as she hurried in the oppsite direction, looking smug but slightly distraught. She glanced at me and smiled knowingly, then continued on. Kevin looked sideways at me, and I smiled at him as we walked through the doors of the diner.
I slid into the closest booth, and Kevin sat opposite me. After we both pulled out menus and examined them, he looked up at me. I smiled nervously. I had never been on a date of any kind, not ever. What does it matter, Maria? I asked myself, managing to keep my monologue internal this time. This is no date, don't fool yourself. This isn't a date.
I was silent. I had no idea how to say anything to him now, now that he was actually sitting across from me eating a toasted sandwich with onions that fell out of the end and onto the plate. One onion dropped onto the table and made a greasy spot. My eyes glued to the table. The grease was spreading, multiplying, enlarging across the table. My fingers itched to reach across the table and sweep the onion up into a napkin and put it out of sight. All I wanted was for that little spot to be gone.
Plastic clinked on the table as Kevin put his glass of water down next to his plate. The noise broke my concentration, and I looked up at him once again. He was staring at me with one eyebrow slightly raised. "How long have you been like this?" he asked me. I looked back down at the table, but this time I focused on keeping a blush from my cheeks, not focusing on using my mental power to make the grease spot disappear. I didn't know how to respond. I had always been like this, I thought. Always. Always. Always. Always. Always. I couldn't stare at the table forever so I looked back up. I tried to smile but couldn't.
"You're getting better," he said slowly, sweetly.
I stared at him. "What?" I asked. He was silent. "What do you mean? What do you mean I'm getting better?" He didn't say a word. My heart beat faster and I leaned forward, searching for something in his gaze. I gripped the edge of the table with my fingers. I felt like I was about to stumble upon something important. "Why do you even care? No one cares about me. So why should you? Why do you care? Do you care?" He just stared at me sadly. I could feel myself begin to freak out. I could feel the fear and frustration and lack of control filling me up, about to boil over.
"Do you care?" I asked. I was speaking loudly now. Everything I had been thinking recently was coming to the surface. "I want you to care, it's the only thing I want now." I stopped speaking to listen to him, but he didn't say a word. I couldn't believe that I had just told him that, but I also couldn't believe that he didn't have a single word to say to me. He just sat there.
With his silence, something inside me broke. "Not one," I muttered. "Not one word." Kevin just looked at me, awkwardly, almost as though he wished he could have responded, but couldn't. I collapsed against the seat. "Not one word, not one, not one, not even one," I muttered over and over again. I stared around me, but the diner had gone fuzzy and all the people were indistinct. "Not one, not one, not one not one not one not one not one..." I stumbled out of the booth and ran from the diner.
The sky outside had opened up and the rain came pouring down around me. "I can't even feel it, not without one word, can't feel it, can't feel anything, nothing, nothing, nothing, no words, no sounds, no feelings, nothing nothing nothing," I cried as I slumped to the pavement.
Post a Comment