ALL IS SILENCE

by Robert L. Slater

  He stumbled for words, his eyes dropping to her bra, then lurching back up to her face. “Yeah, sure...”

  “Go.” Lizzie pointed. He scurried out as she slipped off her bra. Boobs and butts: Quickest way to turn an intelligent male into a bumbling idiot.

  She slipped out of her underwear and jerked the tap all the way to hot. Not waiting for it to warm up, she pulled the shower knob out and climbed shaking into the freezing water. The cold water poured down drenching her hair, it was longer than she was used to; there was actually something to shampoo.

  The water got hot, but not too hot. Damn Jerkwad—more like tightwad. Tomorrow she’d turn up the temperature on the water heater. For that matter she should crank up the furnace too; make the house livably warm.

  Damn, she had gotten skinny—a month of hardly eating and stress had made her as bony as those anorexic supermodels she so loved to hate. If Chad could see her now would he even recognize her? LIzzie ignored the hair in her armpits and on her legs. It had gone from stubble to dark hair. Fuck it. End of the world rules apply.

  Tears flowed. They mingled with the water. She tried to let the shower wash them away like they didn’t exist, but her body shook with sobs as she sank down into the tub. She wrapped her arms around her legs and sat in the spray bawling her eyes out.

  She hadn’t cried like this since she was a kid. Weakness got you pushed around like Mama. Lizzie never wanted to need a man like that. Not even if she was the last girl on earth and the world needed to be repopulated. She sobbed harder. But here she was at the end of the world, and she felt like she needed Zach desperately.

  The water went cold. She gritted her teeth, slammed the knob in, and stood up, grabbing a fluffy towel. One of the good ’guest' towels. It felt good. Not scratchy like the old ones Mama made them use. Like they ever had guests.

  She hoped Zach hadn’t heard her crying. Just because she needed him a little, didn’t mean he had to know it. She wiped the fog from the long mirror on the back of the door and checked to see if her eyes were puffy. She’d looked like shit in general, so he probably wouldn’t notice. Still, she ran a washcloth under cold water and pressed it to her eyes. One of Mama’s tricks of maintaining dignity.

  All the bedrooms were on the other side of the kitchen from the bathroom. She had no clothes other than the vomit covered ones, so she had no choice but to wrap herself in a towel and walk past him.

  She opened the door and hustled down the hall, something smelled good in the kitchen; she slowed enough to glance in. He looked up from cooking and his eyes got bigger. She hurried past and took the stairs to her room two at a time, shouting, “Back down in a minute.”

  Her clothes strewn on the floor in various piles still looked like a mess. Lizzie yanked a black knit skirt her friend Nev called cute from her “mostly clean” darks pile. No. The last thing she wanted was cute. She tossed the skirt aside and grabbed some jeans, holes worn in, not cut for effect. She needed a bra, or did she? Mama’s voice nagged in her head: “You don't want to sag faster than gravity requires.” She picked a bra and then pulled on a t-shirt, from one of the light “clean” piles. Its writing looked like Asian Kanji characters, but said “Fuck you” if you looked at it sideways. She remembered with a smile how long it had taken Mama to catch on; her teachers never noticed.

  She shrugged at herself in the mirror; her boobs were too obvious so she put on an army fatigue shirt to complete the outfit. That was better. She didn’t want to give Zach any ideas.

  The smell of whatever was cooking wafted up the stairs to her room. Bacon? Her empty stomach tugged her downstairs. She padded gently into the kitchen wanting an element of surprise. Zach had his back to her, stirring something in a skillet.

  “Smells delicious.”

  He spun around wielding the spatula like a knife.

  “On guard,” she said. She was glad to see he was nervous too, but she felt a little guilty—she knew that what she had been through put her on edge.

  “You look less dead,” Zach said, lowering his spatula.

  “Thanks. You’re pretty handy with that spatula. Should be useful if we get into a deadly food fight.”

  He smiled at her with the same goofy, lopsided grin Lizzie remembered.

  “What's for dinner?” Lizzie asked, peeking at the sizzling skillet.

  “Breakfast. Found some bacon in the back of the freezer and you had a few eggs. Hope you like 'em scrambled.”

  “You mean we had something that wasn’t frozen or in a box?” She lifted down the last clean plates; the sink overflowed with dirty dishes. Jerkwad always hounded her about the dishes and she was pleased not to do that particular chore anymore. “How’d you learn how to cook?”

  “Contemporary Living class and cooking shows on YouTube.” He shrugged.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Dad and I moved in with Grandpa after mom kicked him out. None of us could cook. So I had to learn a few things.”

  Lizzie took the open beer out of the fridge.

  Zach snatched it out of her hand and replaced it with a glass of orange juice. “How about O.J. instead?”

  It was the perfect accompaniment for breakfast dinner. She thought about adding vodka, but Zach seemed pretty determined to clean her up. She wasn’t sure she wanted to let Zach think he could tell her what to do. But the thought of more alcohol did make her queasy, so she let it slide. She chugged down half the glass; it was cold and sweet. “Mmm, where did you get it?” She knew it hadn’t come from her fridge.

  “Raided your neighbor’s freezer.”

  Lizzie laughed, realizing how unnecessary her trek to the Fred Meyer had been. Plenty of stocked fridges and freezers all around.

  They sat at the kitchen table. Other than adding a little pepper, the eggs were perfect and the bacon was that barely crispy, firm texture.

  For a while they didn't talk. Food shoveled in. Lizzie watched Zach. From time to time he glanced at her again with that serious ‘being-an-adult’ expression.

  “You can smile, you know,” Lizzie suggested. Zach did. It was a nice smile; but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was still worried.

  “That was amazing.” Lizzie set down her fork. “Thanks, Zach. For the food. For coming up here. Is your family...?” She wanted to ask what had happened to his dad and grandpa, but she couldn’t find the right words.

  “Hey, we go back a long way, Lizzie. Remember that time you, Nevaeh and I played strip poker, but you guys got towels.” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

  Lizzie could take a hint. She laughed. “Yeah. I was a pretty bad influence on you two, wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you were.” Zach scraping the last few bits from his plate was the only sound in the room for a long time. Then he used his fork and knife to perform a mock drum solo on the table and plates.

  Lizzie watched him skeptically. He could still be as annoying as a middle-schooler.

  He finished with a crash. “You want me to do the dishes?”

  “Hell, no. We'll throw 'em out back. Lots of clean dishes in the neighbor’s houses.” Lizzie laughed. “Besides, you cooked; I’ll clean.” She walked out the back door with the dishes and dumped them in the garbage.

  Zach stared at her. “You’re—”

  “Crazy,” Lizzie finished for him. “Yeah. Watch this.” Lizzie snagged a plate from the sink and hurled it out the back door. “Frisbee!”

  After she ‘did the dishes’ Lizzie headed to her mom’s bedroom. “I gotta run a load of laundry.”

  Zach followed her. “Really? You throw out the dishes, but you’re going to wash the sheets?”

  The bed was gross. The remains of the pills she had taken were all over—a few untouched and still recognizable. She recognized them in shock. Multivitamins her mom had gotten prescribed so she could get them for free. Shit. She really did suck at suicide.

  She wadded up the sheets and the mattress pad; the comforter had escaped the deluge. There was only a little that had soaked
through to the mattress. She grabbed a sock off the floor and scrubbed at the mattress then tossed the sock in with the rest of the bedding.

  Lizzie sighed. Over the last year she had finally gotten to the point where she could recognize the ebb and flow of her mood. The meds her doctor prescribed had been mostly useless, but pouring her energy into something always helped.

  Zach watched her from the door as she marched the pile of bedding to the washing machine. She grabbed him around the waist once the wash was going and hugged him. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  He smiled down at her.

  Lizzie felt self-conscious. It must seem like she was getting the bed ready—because of him. Her cheeks got hot. She slapped him on the back hard and said, “Man hug!”

  “Thanks.” He winced. “Let’s watch a movie.”

  “You want to watch a movie?” Lizzie grabbed the John Deere cap off his head and stuck it on hers.

  “A chick flick? Something light.”

  “Really? You’re not too big of a man for that?”

  “Nope. Thinking one of those feel-good movies you and Nev used to make me watch. I always hoped one of you would get all mushy and I would end up getting a kiss out of it.”

  “Poor Zach,” Lizzie teased. “Never going to happen.”

  “No?”

  “How about one of the Brat pack films? Something John Hughes? I tried to watch a marathon the other night, but fell asleep during Some Kind of Wonderful.”

  “Is that the one with the tomboy who plays drums?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, how am I supposed to get a kiss at the end if you’re gonna fall asleep?”

  She punched him in the gut. “No funny business. We’re friends. Even if it is the end of the world, and everybody else on the planet is dead.” That hit a little close to home. She saw tears in his eyes, but carefully didn’t notice.

  6

  A FEW HOURS LATER ZACH nestled Lizzie in his arms, happy in her warmth. She hadn’t made it through the movie this time either. He squeezed her gently and kissed her soft cheek. His left arm tingled from being under her so he shifted. Her arms tightened around his waist.

  He had been so certain on the drive that he would be too late. Finding her alive meant that everything might turn out. He had forgotten how difficult she was to deal with. They were friends since elementary school. Back then she was one of the boys. She and Neveah, both were. Two of the three Musketeers had survived the end of the world. Zach’s chest tightened as he thought of Nev. Why hadn’t he thought of her?

  He remembered spending Saturdays with the two of them crashed out on couches watching Lizzie’s movie collection, their very own Breakfast Club.

  As he tensed and relaxed his arm trying to get some blood flow back, he marveled at how little Lizzie had changed since he'd seen her. She had hardly recognized him, but other than longer hair, she looked exactly how he remembered her. There were a few more scars on her arms, a couple more holes in her ears, probably tattoos somewhere. She still smelled good, too. Not in a perfume kind of way, but like her. He sat and watched the rise and fall of her back as she breathed.

  Lizzie’s body tensed. Spasms shook her arms and legs. Was she fighting someone? “Lizzie?” He squeezed her arm. “You havin' a bad dream?”

  “Huh? What the f—” Lizzie’s head spun toward him. She pushed him away. Her eyes stared at him confused, panicked.

  “Lizzie. It's Zach. You're safe.”

  The haze seemed to clear. “Zach.” She blinked the sleep from her eyes. “Right.” She sighed and collapsed, suddenly seeming even smaller. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

  Zach nodded. “Right before the dice scene.”

  “‘Mess with the bull, get the horns.’”

  Zach knew the response. “‘Whatta we gotta do to win big? Lose big. Whatta we doin’?’”

  “‘Losing big,’” they finished together.

  Zach shifted his body. “I gotta pee.”

  Lizzie pushed herself up and away from him. “Me first.”

  He saw the dark cloud had returned to her eyes. She shuffled off.

  Zach called after her. “You got two bathrooms?”

  “No. I'll be quick. ‘Sides, guys have bigger bladders.”

  That was Lizzie—self-centered and always right. At least from her point of view.

  Lizzie fixed breakfast. Sort of. Zach stared at the bowl of cereal.

  “Not up to your cooking, I know. Milk's still good. Got it yesterday. Pop Tarts in the toaster. You want orange juice?”

  “Thanks.” Zach ate cereal. “It feels weird, like we’re playing house. Like we’re still ten or something.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “You must be thinking of someone else. I never played house.”

  And I never convinced you to play doctor. He smiled. Not from lack of trying. “How come you stopped answering my e-mails?”

  “You don’t know?” Lizzie glared at him.

  Zach shook his head. “No.”

  “What’s the last thing that happened before you left for Skagit?”

  Zach searched his memory. What had he done? She acted like he’d raped her. “No idea.”

  Lizzie looked exasperated. “Why do I always have to explain? The cops? Shoplifting? You said you did it. You lied.”

  Zach’s brain raced to make sense of her anger. “I took the fall so you and Nev wouldn’t get in trouble. Everybody expected me to be a thief and a no-count. I just fulfilled their expectations.”

  “Yes, and?” Lizzie said, expecting an answer.

  Zach had no idea what to say. He raised his hands in defeat.

  “I deal with my own shit.” She stalked away.

  Zach sat and puzzled. So that was it? He’d done the right thing, hadn’t he?

  The toaster popped up with the Pop Tarts.

  Lizzie came back in and grabbed one. “Hey, I accepted your friend request on Facebook. Good thing, huh?”

  Zach nodded. “You still feel like killing yourself?”

  “Not so much. I’m over it, the shoplifting.”

  Zach started to ask, “Really?” but she cut him off.

  “It’s been two years. Besides, you never post. And I’m not good at answering e-mails. Sorry.” Her eyes were intent, probing him. But still, it felt good to hear a live voice again.

  How long had it been since he’d talked with anyone? Since Gramps and Dad—. Too much time alone. “What do we do now?”

  “Maybe we can go out salvaging.” Lizzie jumped up and headed out of the kitchen. “We can free some cats and dogs.”

  Zach chuckled. “Sounds like a blast. We can get some more food.” He followed her.

  “You complaining about my cooking? Maybe we'll see Spike.”

  “Spike?” Zach climbed the stairs, caught himself staring at her butt and looked at her art on the wall instead.

  “My dog-man friend.” Lizzie dug through the piles on her floor.

  Zach sat on her bed as she explained about the weird guy with the dog collar.

  “Didn’t your mom warn you about strange men? He might be dangerous.”

  “He seems pretty safe. Just hungry.” She found her block-heeled black Kiss boots, duct-taped together. Held them up for Zach to see. “Remember these?”

  Zach grinned. “I remember you leaning on me when the heel broke. Hobbling around until we found duct tape in the Drama room.”

  “Yeah. I was so insecure about being short.” She tossed them aside. “A-ha!” She raised her combat boots over her head. “Win!” She sat down on the floor and slipped her feet into them. “Second hand at Goodwill, they're actual combat boots, not some Hot Topic knock-off.”

  “Cool.” Her energy always infected him.

  “Sorry I fell asleep.” She finished tying her boots and turned toward him. “You're still sweet.” She placed her hands on his knees to stand up.

  Her face dove in and startled Zach with her incredibly soft lips on his. Then they were gone.

  He cl
osed his eyes, trying to nail the memory into his head. “Damn, Lizzie.” He shook his head. “What the hell was that? You said you thought of me like a brother.”

  “Yeah. Mostly.” She hopped up, boots laced. “You’re here. I don't feel so alone. Somebody I know on this side of the country.” Lizzie stopped and spun on her combat heel. “Shit!” She flew down the stairs.

  By the time Zach caught up, she was at the computer. “What’s wrong?”

  “Lizzie, you're the most self-centered bitch alive.” She pounded on the keyboard, ignoring him. "You don't deserve friends."

  Zach put his hand on her back, trying to soothe her.

  She shoved his hand away with fresh tears in her eyes. "It’s Jess! I can't believe I forgot her. She was going to kill herself if I did it!"

  Zach watched as Lizzie spun back to the computer.

  “I need to post something or Jess is gonna think I killed myself.” She flipped the mouse back and forth like it might help. “My phone’s in Mama’s bedroom.”

  “You want me to get it?” Zach hustled for the phone.

  “Yes.” The screen came alive. “Damn. She hasn't answered me.”

  “Got it.” Zach yelled. “No missed calls.”

  When he returned, Lizzie stood running her hands through her hair. She stood and whirled around.

  “What're you looking for?” Zach put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don't know.” She jerked out from under his touch. “Shit. I was so happy. Didn't even think.”

  “Hey. Chill. I’m sure she’s fine.” Zach reached out to pull her into a hug. She pushed him away.

  “No, dammit. Give me the phone.” Lizzie yanked it out of his hand and spun away.

  Her fingers twisted like they had a mind but no eyes and were trying to grab something out of the air.

  “Jess, answer, dammit.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth and chewed at the nail.

  Zach stared at Lizzie. Nev had told him she'd been medicated, but he hadn't ever seen her this freaked out. “Lizzie.”

  “Answer the phone!” Her free hand at her tugged at her hair. “Jess. It’s Lizzie. Call me now. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to kill myself without you. Call me, please. Now. Please. I didn’t— I’m still here.” She tossed the phone at the couch.