“Home” (fiction)

Image made by the author using Adobe Spark

He uses the rearview mirror to glance at the spot in the backseat where he’d found Josh. No stain. Some people have so little blood in them, he thinks. Since they were kids, that was how it had always been with Josh: almost no blood at all. Only a millionth of a droplet would come out if Josh cut himself shaving. If he cut himself with a knife, then a whole droplet might emerge. Josh’s heart was lazy because it was spoiled. After all, it only had to pump a few droplets of blood a day.

He turns his attention back to the road. Driving through town feels like looking at old pictures of a place you still go to, he thinks. Peering from side to side, he tries to take in as much as he can. He has been imagining this drive since getting here. He drives slowly, creeping along and swerving. He sees the bell tower, the old church lit up, the little Pickle and a Pig restaurant. In only a few days, it has all become so familiar that it feels like home. Some people might say a few days isn’t long enough for a place to feel like home, but he knows better. Why, he’s had some places become home in just a matter of minutes—seconds, even.

He doesn’t notice the cop car in the other lane when he goes to merge. Almost hitting the cruiser, he swerves back into his own lane and presses the brake. He slows to let the cop pass, but for some reason, that crazy guy just slows down, trying to get him to go in front. When that doesn’t work, the cruiser zooms ahead and tears into a frustrated U-turn.

What can he say? He’s a fast actor and a smooth operator. After all, he’d pulled over and rolled down his window before the cop had even had time to put his lights on.

Is the registration in the glove compartment? The insurance? Would Josh have paid them? Josh had been behind on rent, and if he’d been behind on rent, then he had probably been behind on insurance. Josh had been forgetful. Maybe it was because his heart was so lazy.

“Is there a reason you almost sideswiped me?” is the first thing the cop asks him when he finally gets to the window.

A reason for a thing like that? His mind wanders. Once, in middle school, the guidance counselor had asked him why he had his arms folded. “It’s comfortable,” he’d said. “But is there a reason why it’s comfortable?” the guidance counselor had asked. Reasons. Reasons. It’s always “reasons” with people.

He’d love to answer the cop, but he’s kind of busy, so he doesn’t say anything. The cop seems impatient. “You’re sweating profusely,” the cop says. He extends his finger and taps it with the other as he ticks off his observations. “You’re sweating profusely. Then, while sweating, you sideswipe me.”

He didn’t actually sideswipe the car, but pointing that out seems pedantic, even though the difference between hitting a car and not hitting a car isn’t.

********************************

The knock had surprised him that first night, but he wasn’t surprised by who had been at the door. Why, Josh’s friends. He’d invited them in.

After that, they had come most nights. He kept to drinking and smoking, and they kept whatever drugs weren’t drinking or smoking in the bathroom. They would go into the bathroom in small groups, trading out with each other as the night went on. It was a small bathroom, but Josh had it set up nice.

One time, the bathroom door had locked behind Courtney when she went to get her cigarettes in the living room. When she couldn’t get in, she’d knocked on the bathroom door with a hand of painted nails and said, “It’s me.”  “It’s me,” she’d said again, louder. The door opened a tenth of an inch, and she flattened herself so that she could get in. It was amazing how she could make herself as thin as a sheet of paper. You had to give it to her, that Courtney, she’s one of a kind.

It was a moving sight, really. He was touched by it. They had told her she could come in, so all she had to say was “it’s me” when she wanted to go in. In the end, she was just being polite anyway because if she wanted to, she probably could have gotten in through the little space between the door and the floor. Recognizing that made him appreciate their camaraderie and her candor even more.

They partied most nights, which was a relief after spending the first few days alone in the apartment with beer from the gas station’s Beer Cave. He’d walked over and bought it with money he’d found in Josh’s bedroom. Every time he spent Josh’s money, he would do something like walk over to the public library to return Josh’s DVDs or throw away all of Josh’s things. It was only fair.

“It’s me,” they’d said at the door that first time. “It’s me,” he’d said.    

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He’d searched the parking lot before finding the car, having gone the long way around and entering the apartment complex from the far side in case the maintenance worker had come back. The guy hadn’t wanted to unlock the door in the first place. The rack of keys in Josh’s apartment had itself been shaped like a key, which seemed like a nice touch. You gotta know how to pick ‘em.

Did Josh have a car? None of the keys on the key ring had a logo on them. A yellow number had been stenciled on each of the parking spots. 545, 544, 543.

506. Parking space 506 for apartment 506. You had to love those nice little touches.

He’d seen Josh’s body slumped over in the backseat before he’d even gotten in. He’d fumbled with the keys, trying several before opening the door and then searching its interior with his fingers instead of his eyes. You couldn’t argue with a guy who had fingers for eyes.

After unlocking the door and getting in, he’d noticed that there were no keys inside. Somehow, like a magician, Josh had gotten in, locked himself in without a key, and then died. Maybe Courtney had taught him how to make himself flat, and he had climbed in that way. They can probably all do that out in the Midwest. Maybe it’s like a local tradition.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t had a chance to see much of the town yet. Given that he’d finally tracked down Josh, why not all go for a drive?

What a pair they made. They went all over that town. It took a while, but eventually he found the perfect spot: a covered bridge. It was a walking bridge, not one for cars. Josh would have liked it there. That was what he was thinking as he dragged Josh’s body down to the stream that ran below the bridge.

He decided to head home. It would be a short visit: he would only stay for the sweet beginning and the sweet end. He wouldn’t give the middle enough time to get rotten.

****************

Again, he explained to the cop that he would need a second to find the registration. It was his friend’s car, you see, so he would need a minute to track down everything. Sheesh, sometimes he felt like all he ever did was repeat himself.

The cop left had his lights flashing, which felt like an intrusion, as though the door had been left open during a private discussion.

As he searched, he tapped the glove compartment twice and grunted, so the cop would know he was a hard worker. He wished he had learned Courtney’s trick so he could get out of the car without having to open the door. If he’d practiced hard, he might have been able to sneak through the keyhole by now. He thinks about it and frowns: on second thought, the cop probably would have just gotten him when he came out on the other side.

The cop asks a lot of questions about reasons and keeps repeating some of them. I guess deep down we’re all the same, he thinks. We all repeat ourselves.

Is there a reason why you almost sideswiped me? Is there a reason why your friend’s not here? Is there a reason why you’re here? Where is home, and is there a reason why you’re not there?

Sometimes you can say “it’s me,” and saying it doesn’t help you at all.