Fum

by Adam Rapp

  “Your visitor’s here,” Nick tells Lavert, who nods and drinks from his water glass. His upper right arm has been outfitted with a pain-relieving unit from which extends a plunger that Lavert has free rein over now. It’s the second week of November, and the baseboard heating system in Florida Birdsong’s home isn’t as good as it might have been some ten or fifteen years ago, so a small space heater has been set up beside Lavert’s bed.

  “Can I get some mouthwash?” Lavert asks his nurse.

  “Of course,” Nick replies.

  He exits and returns moments later with a small bottle of mint-flavored Listerine. Nick undoes the top for Lavert, who drinks from it, swishes the liquid around his mouth, and then spits into a small kidney-shaped plastic basin that Nick holds just below his chin.

  Save for a few patches of hair, Lavert is almost bald now, and his weight loss over the course of the past few weeks is startling.

  Lavert adjusts his automatic bed once more so that he’s the slightest bit more vertical.

  “I’m ready,” he says.

  Nick exits, then returns moments later with Corinthia Bledsoe, who has to duck under the door’s upper casing. Corinthia is wearing her favorite sweater, and she’s put on just the slightest hint of makeup. Her winter coat is folded over her arm.

  “Hi,” she says to Lavert.

  As soon as she sees him, tears well up in her eyes. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t get upset, at least not this quickly. She swallows the lump in her throat and manages to hold it together.

  Lavert says, “Hey, lady.”

  Nick says that he’ll leave them alone and that he’s just outside in the living room if they should need anything.

  Corinthia thanks him, and then Nick exits, shutting the door.

  “Come closer,” Lavert says. “I ain’t gonna bite you.”

  It’s only been two weeks since she’s seen him, but he looks like he’s been starved and tortured for months.

  “Bring that chair over,” he says, pointing to a comfortable overstuffed chair in the corner. “Gramamma can move it, so it can’t be too heavy.”

  Corinthia crosses to the chair and pulls it closer. She sets her coat on the floor and sits.

  “So, how you been?” he says.

  “Good,” she says. “I’ve been good.”

  “Stayin’ outta trouble?”

  “Trying to,” she says.

  “They let you back in school yet?”

  She tells him that she spoke with Principal Ticonderoga just yesterday and that they’d like her to start coming back to classes after Thanksgiving break.

  “You lookin’ forward to that?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Not really.”

  Then she asks him how he’s doing and quickly apologizes.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “Stupid question.”

  “I’m not dead yet,” he says, joking. He smiles. Even with the weight loss, his smile has the same undeniable power. He says, “I still got a little fight left in me.”

  “I brought you something,” Corinthia tells him, and from her pocket she takes out her copy of Lorcan Nutt’s The Smallest Hands and gives it to him. It’s the same copy that’s been overdue at the library for some time. Out of solidarity for Cloris’s termination, she’s decided to keep it.

  “Not sure if you’re reading much right now,” she says, “but if you get bored . . .” She has to swallow hard again. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  And then she loses it.

  “Hey,” Lavert says. “Hey, now . . .”

  Corinthia leans forward and lets her head fall onto the side of the bed. Lavert places his hand on her hair. Her sobs rise up out of her like wet wads of cotton.

  “Sh-sh-sh,” Lavert says. “None of that now.”

  “I’m sorry, Lavert,” she manages to say. “I promised myself I wouldn’t do this.”

  She sobs some more, and he keeps his hand on her head. He even pets it a little. After a few minutes, she lifts her head off the side of the bed. Her face is slick with tears and mucus.

  “Some tissues right there,” he says, pointing to a box of Kleenex on the bedside table.

  Corinthia takes a few tissues and blows her nose. The noise is so loud, it sounds like an enormous brass instrument in a marching band.

  Lavert says, “Damn, girl!” and they both laugh a bit.

  When they are quiet, Lavert thanks her for the book.

  “I thought you might like it,” she says.

  He says, “I’ll definitely check it out.”

  Then Corinthia tells him how nice his grandmother is.

  Lavert says, “I assume she told you everything.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “So you know things ain’t gonna get no better.”

  Corinthia nods.

  “Which means they’re only gonna get worse.”

  She nods again.

  And then she asks him if he’s in a lot of pain.

  He slowly nods. “Thank God they gimme this,” he says, looking at the pain-relief plunger. “I just hit the little red button, and off I go.”

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “Morphine,” he says. “Answer to all my problems.”

  There is a thick sheen on his forehead. It looks as if a substance has been applied to his flesh rather than secreted from it. His collarbone is prominent, his cheeks sunken.

  “My body can’t make no more nutrition,” he explains, “so I’m basically starvin’ to death.”

  Corinthia nods.

  “I thought about callin’ you a coupla times since we went sleddin’,” he says, “but I figured you wouldn’t wanna see all this.”

  “I don’t mind,” Corinthia says.

  In the other room, the TV is turned on.

  “There goes Gramamma, watchin’ her programs.”

  “What’s her favorite show?” Corinthia asks.

  “She likes Survivor,” he says. “Survivor and Judge Judy. She can’t get enough of Judge Judy. Always talkin’ back at the TV, carryin’ on. Poor Nick’s gotta sit through all of it.”

  “He seems nice,” Corinthia says.

  “Yeah, he’s cool,” Lavert says. “Nick’s my boy.”

  Corinthia tells Lavert how she was planning a trip to Northland College in northern Wisconsin; how she walked into the principal’s office at Lugo Memorial in the middle of third period, even though she was still technically suspended, and persuaded Principal Ticonderoga and Vice Principal Mejerus to help her set up a special student visit. After conferring with each other for a few minutes, they thought that it was actually a very good idea, a productive use of Corinthia’s time, and that it showed strong initiative on her part. And then Principal Ticonderoga called the Northland College admissions office right there and even asked to speak with the academic dean and proceeded to sing the praises of one of Lugo Memorial’s “most advanced students,” and it all worked out, so she and Cloris, who is still unemployed and more than happy to have something to look forward to, are planning to leave in a week.

  “What part of Wisconsin?” Lavert asks.

  “Ashland,” Corinthia replies. “It’s basically as far north as you can go in this part of the Midwest.”

  Lavert says, “I’ve never been that far north. It’s prolly mad cold.”

  They are quiet. During the silence, Lavert places a clear mask over his mouth, which is attached to a tube that is connected to an oxygen tank. He releases a valve on the tank and breathes in and out several times. It’s hard for Corinthia to watch. His cheeks cave in even more when he inhales. His eyes bulge. The space between his collarbones hollows grotesquely.

  When he has had enough oxygen, he shuts the valve and removes the mask.

  He stares at Corinthia a long moment and says, “So, can I come with you?”

  The question shocks her.

  “Of course,” she says. “But is that a good idea?”

  He says, “At this point, pretty much everythi
ng there is is a good idea.”

  “Will the cold bother you?”

  “I’m burnin’ up all the time now, anyway,” he says. “That kinda cold’ll prolly feel good.”

  “Will your grandmother let you come?”

  He says, “I’m a grown-ass man. I can do what I want.”

  Though it goes against her better judgment, the idea thrills Corinthia. She pictures Lavert, Cloris, and her in the car together. A road trip! A true adventure!

  “But you gotta do something for me,” Lavert adds.

  “Okay,” Corinthia hears herself say. “What?”

  “When we get up there,” Lavert says, “and I want to go to sleep, you’ll help me sleep.”

  Corinthia says, “That sounds easy enough.”

  “But really sleep.”

  The idea of what he’s suggesting is suddenly lodged deep in her like a coin she’d been forced to swallow: indigestible, irreducible.

  She recalls the premonition she had some weeks ago, after she’d taken his hand in hers . . . the certainty of that feeling.

  “All you gotta do is make sure I got plenty of pain relief,” Lavert explains quietly, “and when the time is right, I’ll just take off my oxygen mask and my heart’ll slow down so much I’ll fall asleep.”

  “How do you know that’ll work?” Corinthia says.

  “’Cause Nick told me it would.”

  “Then why can’t you ask him to do it?”

  “’Cause he could get in serious trouble for it. Prolly lose his job. Besides, he’s my boy and everything, but I don’t care for him the way I care for you.”

  “What about your grandmother?”

  “Not in a million years. I bring this kinda thing up with Gramamma, and that woman’ll get so amped, she’ll have me put in a hospital with guards around me twenty-four seven. Security cameras, shit like that.”

  “Okay,” Corinthia hears herself say. “It’s a deal.”

  He says, “You gotta promise me, Corinthia.”

  “I do,” she says.

  “Say it.”

  She looks at him long and hard, and he won’t look away. Finally she says it.

  “I promise.”

  November 19, 2015

  Dave,

  This will be my final letter to you. Everything is set in motion. I’m going to go find the log. It’s been great sharing all of my personal thoughts and feelings with you. I think it has helped lead me to a new place. Dave, you are a true friend, and I’ve valued our time together.

  I leave with you The Official Real List, which, as you know, I’ve been compiling over the course of the past few months.

  Be well, Dave.

  Billy Eugene Ball

  The Official Real List

  1. Cinthia Hauk

  2. Mark Maestro

  3. Lars Silence

  4. Troy Aurora

  5. Nate Bluff

  6. Britney Purina

  7. Todd Chicklis

  8. Bronson Kaminski

  9. Ward Newbury

  10. Guidance Counselor Denton Smock

  11. Vice Principal Mejerus

  12. Principal Ticonderoga

  13. Rose Bryant

  14. Breanne Billson

  15. Rod Benedict

  16. Gerald LaPasso

  17. Kirk Batis

  18. Dennis Hill

  19. Bliss Ford-Chadwick

  20. Ben Krabbenhoff

  21. Bo Fitzgerald

  22. Terry Fitzgerald

  23. Anton Walkup

  24. Jodi Glibbenshautz

  25. Gordon Gosser

  26. Richard Schotmaker

  27. William Hughes

  28. Doug Shapiro

  29. Anna Fugatz

  30. Jake Dowdell

  31. Chuckie Ishwerwood

  32. Charles Fuchs

  33. John Bell

  34. Dave Bell

  35. Oscar Unitas

  36. Susu Plesac

  37. Brian Antoon III

  38. Paul Respert

  39. Sandra Wick

  40. Scooter Peeples

  41. Frank Batavia

  42. Ingrid Snell

  43. Robert Yoder

  44. Fin O’Neill

  45. Brenda Underwood

  46. Sean Black

  47. Shawn White

  48. Mike Stith

  49. Rider Waddell

  50. Boyd Kingman

  51. Lloyd Rhodes

  52. Samantha Poose

  53. Floyd Taphorn

  54. Octavia Blintz

  55. Ryan Schroeder

  56. Ben Hilliard

  57. Austin Lee

  58. Walker Cash

  59. Ed Rene

  60. Scott Dale

  61. Walter Riggan

  62. Buddy Mikelson

  63. Kate Doss

  64. Hayden Mangione

  65. Timothy Eubanks

  66. Winona Street

  67. Peter Elms

  On Tuesday, November 24, two days before the onset of Thanksgiving vacation, a white delivery van from lugoblooms.com arrives in the parking lot of Lugo Memorial High School.

  A deliveryman wearing a navy-blue outfit with a matching visor proceeds to enter the main school building with three red delivery crates containing sixty-four purple lotus flowers. Each one has been individually set in a protective plastic container.

  It took some careful maneuvering, especially when it came to opening the van’s double doors, but the deliveryman was able to bring the full complement of flowers into the building in one go.

  Following meticulous instructions, after conferring with a woman from the administration office, he specially delivered each lotus flower throughout the school, one at a time. Although over half of the sixty-four students were found in the cafeteria during their lunch period, it took the deliveryman a little over an hour to complete his task.

  The recipients were Cinthia Hauk, Mark Maestro, Lars Silence, Troy Aurora, Nate Bluff, Britney Purina, Todd Chicklis, Bronson Kaminski, Ward Newbury, Guidance Counselor Denton Smock, Vice Principal Mejerus, Principal Ticonderoga, Rose Bryant, Breanne Billson, Rod Benedict, Gerald LaPasso, Kirk Batis, Dennis Hill, Bliss Ford-Chadwick, Ben Krabbenhoff, Bo Fitzgerald, Terry Fitzgerald, Anton Walkup, Jodi Glibbenshautz, Gordon Gosser, Richard Schotmaker, William Hughes, Doug Shapiro, Anna Fugatz, Jake Dowdell, Chuckie Ishwerwood, Charles Fuchs, John Bell, Dave Bell, Oscar Unitas, Susu Plesac, Brian Antoon III, Paul Respert, Sandra Wick, Scooter Peeples, Frank Batavia, Ingrid Snell, Robert Yoder, Fin O’Neill, Brenda Underwood, Sean Black, Shawn White, Mike Stith, Rider Waddell, Boyd Kingman, Lloyd Rhodes, Samantha Poose, Floyd Taphorn, Octavia Blintz, Ryan Schroeder, Ben Hilliard, Austin Lee, Walker Cash, Ed Rene, Scott Dale, Walter Riggan, Buddy Mikelson, Kate Doss, Hayden Mangione, Timothy Eubanks, Winona Street, and Peter Elms.

  With regard to Principal Margo Ticonderoga, Vice Principal Doogan Mejerus, and Guidance Counselor Denton Smock, their lotus flowers were delivered directly to their offices and placed in the center of their desks.

  A brief, typewritten note accompanied each plastic container, which read:

  Dear _____,

  Eat this lotus flower. It will make you forget all the things that make you sad and you will feel better.

  Sincerely,

  Billy Ball

  Lugo Memorial High School

  Class of 2019

  Earlier that same morning, just before dawn, Billy Ball got out of bed, already fully clothed. He was careful not to wake his mother, who was asleep down the hall.

  After putting on his shoes, winter coat, and hat, he quietly exited his house on Pinewood Drive and walked approximately two miles through the snowy neighborhoods of Lugo, toward the edge of town.

  It was a peaceful morning, with only an occasional crow’s caw marring the silence. It felt to Billy like his entire hometown was sleeping, and he was pleased about this.

  It felt as if the world was ready.

  When he reached the frontage road, he walked nor
th for a little more than a quarter mile. There was very little wind, and the snow made everything seem calm and placid. When Billy came to a stand of trees that looked inviting, he crossed the threshold of dead, frozen grass and barren brambles and proceeded to remove all his clothes and leave them at the edge of the woods.

  The air was crisp and cold, and the earliest hint of morning sun was starting to blue the sky, which Billy could see through the canopy of trees.

  Snow chilled the bottoms of his naked feet and his body shivered, but he steeled himself and walked into the depths of the forest buoyed by a calm sense of certainty.

  The following evening, just before dusk, having been devoured by gray wolves, Billy Eugene Ball, devoid of his heart, lungs, liver, intestines, cheeks, eyeballs, hands, and tongue, was discovered in the woods along the frontage road. On his wrist, undamaged, was a men’s Timex Expedition analog/digital watch.

  The trip up to northern Wisconsin takes approximately eleven hours. Corinthia is determined to arrive on the campus of Northland College no later than 4 p.m., as this is the last hour that the admissions office is willing to conduct a tour. The dramatic setting, featuring Lake Superior and a nearby national forest, happens to be one of the school’s major selling points.

  With the help of Lavert’s nurse, Nick, they are able to load up Cloris’s station wagon, whose muffler Corinthia paid to have replaced three days ago. In the back of the station wagon is Lavert’s wheelchair, Corinthia’s Lugo Memorial gym bag containing a change of clothes, and a few extra blankets.

  They depart Lugo at 4:30 a.m. Though an absurd notion, considering his current state of decline, Lavert did offer to drive if necessary, but Cloris insisted that she take the wheel the entire way. It’s the only option, really, as Corinthia can’t fit in the front seat.

  The plan is to head north on Interstate 39 at Bloomington, continue on past Rockford; Madison, Wisconsin; and then Wausau, where they will switch to Highway 51 and drive past other Wisconsin towns, called Merrill, Tomahawk, Harshaw, Hazelhurst, Woodruff, Manitowish Waters, Mercer, and then Ironwood, Michigan, where they will have to change to Route 2, which will lead them west for some forty miles before they arrive in Ashland, Wisconsin, a small port city near the head of Chequamegon Bay, which is an inlet of Lake Superior.