part 9

night

 

Everything was a different color than it should be when the world began to exist without Miranda. In the filthy mouth of his blighted room, which he had torn apart with rage, he was like a chewed piece of gum. He’d wadded himself in rancid blankets despite the heat to torment himself into comprehending what she had gone through; a pathetic fantasy of her last moments.

He’d gazed without blinking for so long at the water stains spreading in the sepia pits of his room from the leaking A/C, inexpertly self-installed, that he was convinced he’d seen the powdery green fingers of the spotty mildew unfurl in slow millimeters.

And then, all of a sudden he knew what had happened. The realization made the sweat covering his body freeze.

He’d flung his door open with a snarl and the wood whimpered. MOTHER, he’d bellowed, what’d you do to her?

Mother was making potato salad and chain-smoking, sending ashes into an old disney world tray, where Mickey mouse’s eyes had cateracted with age. She’d gasped and dropped the mixing spoon, mayonnaise on the blemished kitchen floor.

I didn’t do anything to her, she’d shouted back.

Then where’d she go? Why’d she end up dead?

It was them, she’d said with her head low, her voice grave.

Them? He’d asked.

Them.

The night was alive with howling outside. The moon full and white.

 

 

to be continued …

part 7

TRAILER PARK

 

We heard she had a wedding last night, the female detective drawled bluntly in her fine, dark suit, with her scrawny shoulder sloped against the dingy threshold of the skunky trailer. Her dusky skin glistened with a film of perspiration. The cockeyed trailers’ open-mouthed door couldn’t afford a breath of cool air from the small A/C unit it stowed in a cracked window. It only conferred a single hot breath with decomposing party streamers tied to its teeth, fluttering in a humid gale.

News to me, mother said with sun-baked forearms crossed tight like the beginning of a braid, a tarnished gold bracelet, eyes that haven’t slept in 20 years, withered, bleached blonde hair. She hated cops. Didn’t matter if she did anything wrong or not. Does it matter what she done or who she been with to find my girl? Or all ya’ll care about is gossip, she’d said, baby Mikey was asleep on the soiled plaid couch dreaming of brown rabbits eating carrots, grinning innocently.

Did she have a boyfriend? the detective asked.

Ain’t every girl gotta boyfriend these days, she scoffed, even if she don’t want one? Check the carnival.

For who?

Name’s Gabriel. Come back when you got somethin’, the door shambled shut.

 

to be continued …