by Matthew Buza
The last thing Isaac heard before his head hit the ground was the click of the hooves as they approached from behind.
Wakey Wakey…
Isaac's mind was foggy as he woke. His first sensation was the pain in the back of his head as if a nail had been driven into his skull. His arm lifted to pull the steel from his bone. His hand blindly searched and grasped through his hair, but found no object. He pressed against his head, rolling himself along the floor. Above his body, Zinn perched on the edge of the cot like a bird. Her lips moved and she spoke but he was deaf to all sounds.
Who is she talking to? he wondered.
Her neck craned unnaturally to the empty ceiling corner of the room. Her feet gripped the edge of the small bed and her arms wrapped around her legs. She rocked slowly like a small tree caught in a breeze.
Realizing he was still locked in the room, he rolled to his shoulder and leaned towards the door. He cried out to the room and could feel the breath flowing over his vocal cords. He cried for help but was unable to hear his own voice. Were they out there? Was someone coming for him?
A shadow moved around him and he felt her weight fall onto his back, spreading his arms out. He kicked but felt as if every inch of his body was pressed into the concrete. She lowered her head to his and slowly engulfed his face with her hair. Her eyes burned bright and he could feel her hot breath on his face.
Through his silence, Zinn's voice appeared as she whispered into his ear, “I told you.” He was shocked he could hear her. “I told you we were not alone. You were interfering and he had to intervene. You understand that, right?”
Isaac was confused by her words. How could he hear her but nothing else? How was she able to get through? He struggled against the invisible force holding him down. His mind raced trying to explain the situation. Was he paralyzed or was he just injured? He wanted to move, but all his attempts were thwarted by the heavy pressure holding him down.
He looked into her face and she spoke with her solitary voice. “Your friends are coming for you.”
Isaac responded. “You're a witch.”
“A witch, oh no, not me. I've got good friends.”
“You're insane, let me go.”
“He likes you, he really does. He liked my children too. But he's worried.” Isaac's eyes were wide. He struggled to comprehend what she was talking about. Her feet dug into his back. “He says you should be baptized. You've got too much sin.”
Isaac struggled to lift again.
“Here. They. Come.”
Isaac's hearing rushed back as if plugs had been pulled from his ears. He could hear the voices on the other side of the door. He could hear the woman's laughter on his back. He cried out for help and recognized his echoing voice.
The door clicked and the pressure lifted from Isaac's back. He could see the woman had left him as her feet landed beside his head. She hovered above him and screamed towards the door. It sprang open and a team of white uniforms rushed into the cell.
From above Isaac's head, he could feel a warm liquid splashing down across his face. The salty putrid smell of urine flooded his nostrils and caused him to wretch on the floor. The liquid splattered and pooled on the floor below. He could see the woman's feet lifted from the ground and driven to the far wall by the men. He pressed down into the floor and pushed himself up. An arm hooked around his elbow and pulled him up, ushering him out of the room.
The hallway echoed with screams from the cell behind him. The commotion was soon silenced as Zinn was put under.
Isaac brushed the liquid off his face with a towel that was passed to him.
Carly maintained her distance. She carefully asked, “Are you OK?”
Isaac took a deep breath and scanned his body for injury. He found none. He wiped the last of the drops from his forehead and asked, “Did she do what I think she did?”
The hallway was silent and Carly nodded her head. Standing next to her was James. Isaac could see his lips beginning to curl up as he fought his natural instincts. Isaac knew he would never live this down. Muffled chuckles were audible from the support staff around him.
Isaac began to walk down the hallway, still holding his head and toweling himself off. “All of you can go fuck yourselves.” The laughter chased him down the hallway as he turned the corner toward the locker room.
Getting Home
The wooden door hinges whined against the years of rust as the door to the locker room slowly closed. Isaac lowered himself onto the wooden bench and let his body drop like a dead weight. The wet towel rested over his shoulder. His hair was still plastered to his forehead as a rogue drop of urine fell down the side of his face. He was alone in the locker room.
Isaac could still hear the echoes of the laughter inside his head. He could feel the gnawing humiliation snaking its way through his body towards his stomach. It slowly gripped him like a vice. The crank turned and forced his insides to compress until he felt them threatening to explode and ooze out onto the floor.
He shot up from the bench and sprinted into the bathroom. His hand pounded the door to the stall, swinging it open as he collapsed to his knees. His body wretched and he could feel the rumble of vomit spewing up and into the toilet. He heaved once more, empty and frozen in position, as bile dripped from his lips. He spit into the bowl and fumbled for the flush.
He felt empty as he staggered out from the blue stalls walking gingerly towards the sink. His hand flipped the sink handle and the warm water poured out forming a shallow steaming pool. Isaac lowered his hands into the porcelain basin and spread the liquid over his face and hair. The water dripped down into the sink turning the contents a light yellow color. He gripped the edge of the sink with all his strength, turning his fingertips white. The small veins in his neck throbbed against the rising pressure. His voice broke and a torrent of profanity streamed. The words bounced off the mirror and concrete walls. The anger and depression rose like a tide and threatened to bury him alive in a watery tomb. His mind raced.
What was he doing here? Why this place?
It was more than just the smell, the abuse or humiliation that caused the first tear to fall down his cheek. It was the feeling of failure and his ongoing struggles at university. He was often overcome by a crippling anxiety to succeed. To succeed where his family had not. To push through the struggle and emerge a better man. The first to finish college. The first doctor in the family. To secure a lifetime free from want. For months now, he had felt it slowly slipping away. Every effort to reach out and grab the lost opportunity was met with the sting of disappointment. Tonight was just another failure spreading out into more corners of his life.
He could still hear James's voice, Just cut out the extra, focus on the core.
But he couldn't cut this out.
Tennison. Tennison.
He thought to himself, Why did I chose this internship. Why here? Why this God awful place?
Isaac started a shower, peeled his clothes off and tossed them into the corner. The steam lifted up and swirled wrapping Isaac's body in a warm haze. He stood naked with his arms resting against the cheap tiles as the water poured over his head until he felt the last vestiges of Zinn wash away. He emerged from the shower feeling the anxiety withdraw like an evening tide pulling the humiliation down the rusted drain.
He quickly dressed and slipped out the back entrance of the Tennison center. His feet clicked against the pavement in the cool evening. Up above, the sky opened up revealing the dense field of stars against the shadow of the Milky Way. He walked quietly down the street towards the glow of the city.
It took a long bus ride and a short walk to get to his neighborhood. He felt the hunger pains in his stomach. This late at night, the only places open were convenience stores populated by drunks and drug dealers or Teriyaki restaurants run by Vietnamese families.
He stepped up to the restaurant and sat at the white counter that wrapped around the kitchen. His large frame sank into a small stool as he hunched over, consuming
the limited space. He thumbed through the menu as the tiny man cleaned the cutting table.
“Hey you, what you order?” The man's broken English always made Isaac smile.
“Gyoza, three orders, please.” Isaac held up three fingers.
The man behind the counter pulled back. “Three order? You big man.” He began to quickly prepare the meal.
The bright lights shined down over Isaac as his thumb played with a lifted section of the linoleum counter. The entrance to the restaurant was all he could see as the street seemed blackened as if he were staring out into an abyss. There was no city, no streets, or people. Just a sidewalk and the trunk of a tree guarded by two trash cans. For a brief moment, Isaac felt at peace. He was alone at the counter and he felt invisible to the world outside.
There has to be something else I can do. Somewhere other than Tennison.
Isaac lightly ran his index finger over the back of his hand, lighting up the nerve endings and singing a shiver up his arm. It was his way to relax, a trick he learned when he was young sitting in the woods with his back against the tall oaks. For him, simple strokes of pleasure hid any ill thoughts or anxiety.
The man behind the counter dropped down the large plate in front of Isaac. Isaac's face shined as the steam condensed across his cheeks and nose.
“Gyoza for big man.” The man behind the counter smiled as he dropped down the check. Isaac paid him no attention as he began to vigorously work through the lines of pan-fried dumplings.
He dropped a ten-dollar bill and walked out of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk. He looked up at the large clock tower. It read just after 5:00 a.m. He continued down the street passing drunk men sleeping in the alleyways. He waved off two women who offered a discount for early morning customers. Isaac rounded the corner and crossed three more blocks before reaching his flat.
He entered and locked the door behind him. The long walk had helped him relax from earlier events. The event with Zinn was not only hours but many miles away. For Isaac, putting distance between himself and his problems was the easiest way to forget.
He flipped off the light and fell onto his bed.
He didn't know how long he had slept before his phone rang. His arm reached for the receiver and his tired voice fell out, “Hello?”
“Isaac, it's Nan.”
He lifted himself up out of the bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He scanned the room looking for his clock. The early morning winter light told him it must be before 8 a.m.
His voice was soft, “Hey Nan, how are you?”
“Well, I was just calling you to see how you are doing. Your grandfather was asking about you after church this morning.”
“Well, tell that old man I'm doing just fine.”
“You sound tired. I figured you would be up early.”
“Yeah, I was up late studying last night.”
“Oh sweetie, did I wake you up?”
“No Nan, you didn't wake me up. I was gettin' up just now to head over to the library.”
“Smart boy. But make sure you get your sleep.”
“I am, Nan.”
“How are classes?”
“Oh, you know, hard. Hard and difficult.”
She chuckled on the other side, “Are you and James studying together?”
“Of course. He needs me. We'll probably get together after breakfast. How'd he be able to get anything done without me?”
“Take care of him. He is a good boy. His mom and dad send their best.”
“I promise to tell him when I see him today.”
“That's good. How's everything else going?”
“School?”
“No sweetie, any ladies?”
Isaac's face turned a light red. “Nan, I don't have time for that right now. But I promise when a woman lets me know that I'm dating her, I'll make sure you are the next to find out.”
“Don't give me such a hard time. I just worry.”
“I know. You worry too much sometimes, but I love you for it.”
“Well, that's good to hear. You know your grandfather and I are not going to live forever, so it's important for us to be there when you do.”
“Nan, no mortality talk, please.”
“I know, but I'm just saying.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Are you eating well?”
Now Isaac knew she was stalling, trying to figure out a way to ask a question.
“Nan, I'm eating great. Pizza and Beer. Now tell me what you are trying to ask me.”
There was a long pause on the other side of the phone. “I ran into your mother at church.”
Isaac sat quietly, like a statue frozen in place. The light buzz of the phone connection hummed in his ear. Both sides of the phone knew the gravity of the situation.
Isaac finally broke the silence. “What did she want?”
“She came by the church today. She looked good, better than when I last saw her.”
“Was she drugged out?”
“Isaac, she came by asking how you were doing. She said she sent you a letter the other month and she wanted to know if you'd received it.”
“I don't remember. I don't check the mail very often.”
“Honey, you need to see if that letter is there.”
“I'm not that interested in what it says.”
“I know, but just look for it and let me know.”
“Why was she going to church?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Did she ask for money?”
The woman's voice shifted slightly, more curt and to the point, “No. She just came by, Isaac. She asked about you and I promised to relay the message.”
“I don't have faith in her. I'd prefer to move on.”
The softness returned to her voice, “I understand sweetie, but Jesus forgives and so shall we.”
He hated when she dipped into the book for some higher moral ground. “We forgive until she lets us down again?”
“Yes and then we forgive again.”
Isaac could feel his blood pressure rising and he didn't want his anger to overflow on this call. “Nan, I promise I will look for the letter and I'll let you know.”
“Thank you, hon. I appreciate it and I know she will too.”
“I think I need to head out soon.”
“Sweetie, do what you need to. I don't want to keep you any longer. I appreciate you looking, I know it's hard.”
Isaac ignored the last statement. “I love you, Nan.”
“Always and forever, my sweet. Study hard.”
The phone call ended and Isaac fell back onto his bed and pulled the sheet over his body. It would be nearly two hours before he would fall back to sleep. He couldn't ignore the continuous stream of images of his mother knocking on his flat door. Her face staring up at him when he opened it.
He buried his face in the pillow trying to drown out the world around him. His mind finally relented and he drifted off, sleeping deep into the afternoon.
The Life, Death and Embalming of Dennis O'Malley
Dennis O'Malley was the first son of his displaced Irish parents. They left Belfast as refugees seeking a more peaceful life for their family. After leaving Boston when Dennis was eight, his family, including two brothers and a sister, settled in the quaint Washington neighborhood of West Seattle. He grew up within walking distance of Alki beach and spent his mornings sitting on the shore with his feet in the coarse sand looking out over the Puget Sound as the cold rainy clouds mixed with gray fog in the early morning light. He spent his youth curled up under large rocks watching tug boats push container ships into Seattle harbor, delivering goods from around the world. He was obsessed with water and boats, and when the harbor union offered him a job at 18, he jumped at the chance of being on the high seas. That dream would be sidelined as he spent 20 years working as a union lineman tying off ships as they pushed into the harbor. He would never sail more than two miles outside of the city and he never saw the open ocean that was beyond t
he Sound.
One day, a rugged ship captain walked into the local bar and ordered a glass of single malt. He sat on the stool and nursed the drink for hours as Dennis watched from the far side of the bar. Every set of jealous Union eyes were on the man, his pressed uniform, the tight hat, and the way his fingers rolled the glass directing its movements in a hypnotic sway. Dennis spent the rest of his life mimicking that motion. He sat rigid with a slight weighty curl to his shoulders as he rolled a small glass of whiskey on the TV stand next to his favorite chair. He would stare off at the distant wall dreaming of walking into a bar and tipping his hat to the lovely tender. He could see himself straddling an old wooden stool and sharing his stories of the open ocean as his arms danced and flowed to great delight.
Dennis was a quiet man who never missed church and wore his love for his wife and two daughters on his sleeve. It was their shock when they found 47-year-old Dennis slumped in his tweed armchair late on a rainy November afternoon. His heart gave out as the glass of 14-year-old whiskey shattered on the ground to be sniffed and licked by the white Pomeranian his children forced him to buy. The only shock greater than his early departure was his will, drawn up without his wife's consent, which requested his body be donated to the university medical program. His wife protested as the lawyer read the document and stated that there was nothing she could do.
After a short service, Dennis was taken to the morgue and attended to by a veteran mortician, Joseph Thompson. He pulled Dennis's body out of the refrigerator and disinfected his face with a light bleach solution. He then rolled Dennis over and split his rear cheeks, spraying the solution over his anus and wiping with a light cloth. With a barber's care, Dennis's body was slowly shaven clean. His thick and nested chest hair that his wife loved to run her hands through was removed and deposited into the waste bin.