by Simon Rich
“I miss you,” I said, in spite of myself.
She chuckled.
“Seth, you’re drunk! Let’s get you a glass of water.”
She started to walk to the kitchen—and I grabbed her elbow.
“Why are you with this guy? Is it just to hurt me?”
She shook me off.
“My relationship with Adolf has nothing to do with you. Okay? We’re just two people who fell in love.”
“Why can’t you give me another shot?”
I could tell my voice was slurred, but I couldn’t stop myself from talking.
“I won’t spend as much time at the studio,” I rambled. “I’ll be better with your friends. I’m a different person now—I’m more relaxed, more fun—I’m better than this Hitler guy!”
“Seth—”
“I mean, seriously, he’s the worst! Why can’t everyone see that? How is it just me?”
“Seth!” she hissed. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
I looked around. Half the people at the party were staring at me.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured.
Anna’s fists were clenched; I could tell she was furious at me.
“Please,” I begged. “I said I was sorry.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay,” she said, finally. “I forgive you.”
The Haunting of 26 Bleecker Street
FATHER CAVALIERI GRIPPED THE banister, waiting for the ache in his chest to pass. His doctor had warned him not to climb any stairs. But he had to keep going. He had a job to do.
He rooted around in his cassock pocket and pulled out a small white pill. He thought of the Eucharist as he laid it on his tongue. After a moment, the pain subsided.
He made his way up the stairs, resting after each flight. At last, he got to Will’s apartment.
“Thanks for coming, Father,” Will said. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you it’s a walk-up.”
“It is all right, my son,” said Father Cavalieri.
He squinted at the haunted youth. His face was smooth and boyish. But his eyes were like an old man’s: hollow, sunken, and black. Father Cavalieri had never met him before, but he recognized his face. It was the face of a man who had seen evil.
“Come on in,” Will said.
Father Cavalieri stepped into the apartment. There was debris everywhere. Piles of trash, ruined furniture.
“My God,” he said. “An evil spirit has laid waste to this place.”
“Actually, that’s on me,” Will said awkwardly. “I’ve been meaning to clean… I just haven’t gotten around to it lately.”
“Oh.”
Will cleared some video game cartridges off the futon so Father Cavalieri could have a place to sit.
“Tell me, my son,” said the elderly priest. “What horrors have you seen?”
Will started to answer but was interrupted by a loud whirring noise. His face turned pale as he pointed a trembling finger across the apartment.
Father Cavalieri stood up and squinted. There, on the bathroom sink, lay a pink electric toothbrush. It had turned on by itself and was vibrating loudly, its bristles chafing hard against the porcelain. The priest took out his crucifix and cautiously moved toward the bathroom. He was almost there when the toothbrush suddenly levitated and flew through the air. Father Cavalieri gasped as it whizzed past his head and shattered against a nearby wall. He caught his breath, then sat back down and swallowed another white pill.
“There is a spirit in our midst,” he said to Will. “Tell me: has anyone else lived in this place?”
“Just my girlfriend, Liz,” Will said. “I mean… my ex-girlfriend.”
Father Cavalieri sighed. It was just as he’d feared.
“I have seen all this before,” he said. “This… ‘Liz’… she is haunting your apartment.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Will said. “I mean, she isn’t even dead.”
“How do you know?”
Will averted his eyes.
“I’ve been following her on Twitter,” he admitted.
Father Cavalieri nodded wearily.
“She may be alive,” he said. “But she will continue to haunt you as long as you still love her.”
Will snorted.
“I don’t ‘still love her,’ ” he said. “We broke up, like, three months ago. I’m totally over her.”
“Then why do you still have her toothbrush? What’s that about?”
Will swallowed.
“Look,” he said. “There’s no proof I’m being haunted by Liz. It could be some other spirit.”
The TV flipped on suddenly by itself. Father Cavalieri watched as the poltergeist flicked through the channels settling finally on America’s Next Top Model. He shot Will a look.
“Okay,” Will mumbled. “It’s probably Liz.”
He covered his face with his hands.
“Why won’t she leave me alone?”
“Maybe she has unfinished business,” the priest said, “that’s keeping her from leaving this realm.”
“Well, we never finished watching The Wire. We were halfway through season four when we broke up. Do you think that has something to do with it?”
“Possibly,” the priest said. He took the Wire boxed set off the bookshelf and splashed some holy water onto it.
“Tell me,” he said. “What else do you have in this home that belongs to her? Objects can have great talismanic power.”
“I don’t have any of her stuff,” Will said. “I shipped it all to her when we broke up.”
Father Cavalieri raised his eyebrows.
“All of it?”
Will’s face turned red.
“I still have one of her tank tops,” he confessed.
“Why do you still have that?” the priest said. “That’s really messed up.”
“I know.”
“What else have you kept?”
“Just a couple random things.”
“Show me.”
Will reluctantly reached under his bed and pulled out a giant shoe box. It was packed to the brim with Post-it Notes, cards, and photographs. Father Cavalieri took the shoe box, crossed himself, and reached inside. He rooted around in it for a bit and then pulled out a black-and-white photo strip. In the first three pictures, Will and Liz were making funny faces. In the fourth one they were kissing.
“My son,” Father Cavalieri said. “You’ve gotta get rid of this shit.”
“I know,” Will said. “I will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Do it right now,” the priest commanded. “In front of me.”
Will sighed. He grabbed the shoe box, left the apartment, and tossed it down the trash chute in the hall. When he returned, there were tears in his eyes.
“The tank top also,” Father Cavalieri said.
“What if she wants it back?” Will asked.
“She’s not going to want it back,” the priest said. “It’s over with her. Just throw it away.”
Will opened his underwear drawer and pulled out the neatly folded garment. He stared at it for a moment and then carried it out into the hall. When a few minutes had passed and Will still hadn’t returned, Father Cavalieri peeked through the doorway. Will was standing over the trash chute, pressing the tank top to his nose, inhaling its scent.
“Jesus Christ,” Father Cavalieri said.
Will jumped up, humiliated.
“Did you just fucking smell it?” the priest asked. “That’s, like, the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever seen.”
Will looked down at his feet.
“That was really fucked up,” the priest said again.
Will nodded miserably. He took a deep breath, grimaced, and tossed Liz’s tank top down the chute.
“Okay,” he said when they had returned to the apartment. “That’s all her stuff. Will she stop haunting me now?”
“No,” the priest said. “There’s still something else you must do. One more hur
dle in your path to salvation.”
“What is it?” Will asked anxiously.
“You must unfriend her on Facebook.”
The blood drained from Will’s face.
“Now?” he asked, his voice as small as a child’s.
“Yes, now,” Father Cavalieri said. “Come on, do it.”
The priest grabbed Will’s computer and handed it to him.
“Be strong,” he said.
Will clicked on Liz’s profile and moved the cursor toward the “unfriend” icon. His body began to shake.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“You must.”
Will let out an anguished scream as he slammed his finger down onto the mouse. When Liz’s picture vanished, he collapsed onto his knees, weeping into his hands.
“I am proud of you,” the priest said.
“Is it over now?” Will asked through his sobs. “Am I free?”
“Almost, my son,” the priest said. “There is still one final step.”
“You keep saying that!”
“This is the last thing,” the priest said. “I promise.”
“Okay. What is it?”
“You must sprinkle every wall with holy water, make three signs of the cross… and have sex with someone else.”
“What?”
“Have sex with someone else.”
Will swallowed.
“Can I just do the first two things?”
“No. In fact, those things aren’t even really important. The main thing is you need to start hooking up with people. It’s the only way your misery will end.”
The priest looked at his watch.
“It’s almost ten. I say we pregame here and then go to Floyd.”
“I don’t know,” Will said. “I’m not so good at picking up girls.”
“How’d you meet Liz?”
Will smiled nostalgically.
“Well, we were friends for a while before we started dating. And after a couple years, we started to get closer, and soon we were, like, talking for hours on the phone each night—”
Father Cavalieri motioned for him to stop.
“Here,” he said, reaching into his cassock pocket. “I’m going to give you a sacred book.”
He placed a slim black volume in Will’s hands.
“It’s called The Game. It teaches you how to pick up girls.”
Will flipped through the book.
“Peacocking… negging… does this stuff really work?”
The priest nodded solemnly.
“It works.”
He opened the fridge, found a six-pack of Pabst, and tossed a can to Will.
“Pound it,” he said.
Will cracked open the beer and took a swig.
“Take one of these, too,” the priest said, handing him one of his small white pills.
“What is it?”
“Just take it.”
Will swallowed the pill, washing it down with the remainder of his beer.
“Nice,” the priest said. He grabbed Will’s laptop and opened Spotify.
“One song to get us pumped,” he said. “And then we’re out of here.”
He put on something by Santigold. By the time the chorus started, Will had started, reluctantly, to smile.
“There it is!” the priest said, pointing at Will’s beaming face. “It’s on.”
He cracked a Pabst and raised it to the heavens.
“A toast,” he said. “To moving on.”
Will raised his can and laughed.
“Amen,” he said.
When Alex Trebek’s Ex-Wife Appeared on Jeopardy!
CATEGORY: COMMITMENTS
$200
This woman vowed to a game show host that she would “love and cherish him” until the end of time.
$400
This woman, while divorcing a game show host without cause, agreed that she would “remain civil” to him, then went on a political-style campaign to poison all their mutual friends against him.
$600
This game show host generously paid for his ex-wife’s divorce lawyers, only to see them gouge him to the brink of ruin.
$800
This game show host used his life savings to fulfill his childhood dream of owning a beach house in Malibu.
$1000
This woman now owns that house.
I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus
I’LL NEVER FORGET THE NIGHT I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus. I was only ten years old at the time, but I can still picture it vividly. My mother was standing beneath the mistletoe and Santa was right beside her, a grin on his plump, rosy face. His snow-white beard shone brightly in the moonlight, and when my mother embraced him, his bell-studded coat let out a little jingle.
When I blurted out my secret the next morning, my mother laughed and patted me on the head. But my father remained oddly silent. I could tell by the bags under his eyes that he’d slept terribly. He hadn’t touched his breakfast, and his jaw was clenched like a vise.
A few years later, I saw my mother and Santa Claus having sex. My parents were separated by then, but it was still a shock. I was getting a glass of water when I heard a commotion in the rec room. The door was partially open and when I peeked through the crack, I could see them on the couch. Santa was naked from the waist down, pumping his body into hers. I was horrified, but I couldn’t look away. It was just too bizarre. Santa’s ass was enormous, I remember, but oddly muscular. His beard was soaked with sweat and I could see flecks of moisture scattering everywhere.
When he was finished, he collapsed on top of her and let out a contented sigh.
“Oh, Nick,” my mother said, her fingertips caressing his giant, pale backside.
They lay still for about a minute and then Santa Claus abruptly stood up.
“You have to go already?” my mother said.
“Afraid so,” Santa mumbled, as he reclasped his red felt pants.
He stood by the chimney for a moment, his crinkled face flushed from exertion. He was out of shape, clearly, and hadn’t yet caught his breath.
“When will I see you again?” my mother asked in a heartbreaking whisper.
“Same time next year,” he said. “I promise.”
Santa fidgeted uncomfortably. Through a window, I could make out a few elves. They were standing on our front lawn, smoking cigarettes and glancing at their watches.
“Well,” he said awkwardly. “Merry Christmas.”
I tried my best to forget about the incident—and almost succeeded. But a few years later, when I was back home visiting from college, I saw them together again. They were in the kitchen, staring across the table at each other. There was a plate of milk and cookies between them, but Santa, I noticed, hadn’t touched them.
“I just think it’s a little odd,” my mother was saying. “I mean, you’re known for giving presents. It’s kind of your thing.”
Santa massaged his temples.
“I’m sorry I forgot our anniversary,” he said. “What else do you want me to say?”
My mother’s eyes welled up with tears.
“Ten years,” she said. “We’ve been doing this for ten years.”
She began to sob.
“What am I to you?”
“Carolyn…”
“Am I your partner? Or am I just a whore?”
“Carolyn!”
They didn’t speak for a while. It was so quiet I could hear Santa’s reindeer pawing softly at our rooftop. Eventually, my mother reached across the table and took Santa’s hand. I could tell she wanted to ask him something, but it took her a while to get the words out.
“Do you still love her?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Mrs. Claus and I have a marriage of convenience. I told you that in the beginning.”
She squeezed his hand.
“Then why can’t you leave her?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
She pulled her hand away and folded her arms across her bath
robe.
“It’s because of your image, isn’t it?”
“It’s not because of my image.”
“You’re afraid of losing the Coke deal.”
Santa’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s a low blow,” he said. “That’s a real low blow.”
“Then what is it?”
“It’s everything,” Santa said. “The elves, the reindeer. A divorce would devastate them. Look, Carolyn, you know I love you. And I’m going to leave her. I swear. This just isn’t the right time.”
My mother took a giant swig of eggnog.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” she said.
“You’re being melodramatic.”
“Melodramatic? It took you six months to answer my last letter.”
“I get a lot of letters.”
My mother’s nostrils flared with rage. She poured herself another glass of eggnog and downed it in a single swallow.
“I don’t know why I love you,” she muttered. “It’s like some kind of horrible curse. No one deserves to be treated the way you treat me. You kissed me once when I was lonely. So what? Do you realize I’ve lost everything because of you?”
“You’re being irrational.”
My mother bit her lip; I could tell she was trying to hold back more tears.
“This ends today,” she said softly.
“What?”
“I’m getting out of this thing,” she said. “While I still have a tiny shred of dignity left.”
Santa Claus rolled his eyes.
“Ho, ho, ho.”
“I’m not joking,” my mother snapped. “You can cross me off your list, and you don’t have to check it twice.”
“Sheesh,” Santa said. “How long have you had that one in your pocket?”
“Get the fuck out of my house,” my mother said. “Now.”
Santa sighed.
“Can I use the bathroom first?”
“No.”
Santa stood up. He leaned across the table and I thought, for a moment, that he was going to kiss my mother one last time. But he was just reaching for a cookie. He took the biggest one and shoved it in his mouth, spraying crumbs all over his beard.
“Merry fucking Christmas,” he said.
It’s years later now and I’ve got a failed marriage of my own. I get the kids every other Christmas and I usually take them over to my mother’s. Everyone gets lonely during the holidays, but not like her.