Munmun

by Jesse Andrews

  “Usher,” I said. “No way. Let’s find some police or security or something.”

  He shook his head and tried hoisting himself, couldn’t though.

  “It’s the best plan,” I said.

  He was crying, but I wouldn’t hoist him, so he followed me.

  The apartments had a guardbooth but no one inside, or maybe the guard was asleep and we couldn’t see from where we were.

  But a few blocks away I spotted a police car, so I sprinted at it, shrieking. No one heard me. I raced around the car a few times, no answer. Finally I spotted the panel under the gascap, with the littlepoor circlehead picturesign. I slapped the button and it beeped and whispered a little light. No answer from in the car still. I hit it again a few times, beep beep beep, a few coughs of light from a dying bulb.

  Finally the driverside door opened and out came a cop.

  Like most cops he was about middlescale, a little littler. His eyes were tired and his mustache was a browntowhite rainbow.

  “Cop, some lawstudents are squadbanging my sis,” I said, breathing hard.

  “Wow,” he said. “Thanks for the info.” And he snuffled.

  “I mean I think they’re raping her,” I said.

  His eyes flinched and he said, “You think they’re raping her.”

  “I took her to a party,” I said, “then some rando dropped off littlepoor tramps and threw us into a pool, now this rando says he wants to pimp her out too.”

  He said nothing so I added, “So you have to do something, right?”

  The cop snuffled again and said, “What I need to know, though, littlebro, and I get that you’re upset, so let’s just calm down for a second, what I need is the facts. So, what do you know for a fact about what’s happening right now.”

  “It’s some kind of bangparty,” I said, feeling desperate. “Cop, she didn’t know it was a bangparty when she went there, no way she wants to be in some middlerich squadbang and also this rando named Shoulderheads is hanging around outside the door and he wants to basically kidnap her and pimp her going forward, no way she wants that either, cop, please.”

  He put his hands on his knees and talked to me like a babybrat. “Littlebro,” he said. “Okay. Here’s what you’ve told me. A littlepoor girl goes to a party voluntarily, a party where she knows there’s guys, no hard evidence of anything bad, now you want me to go in there and break it up. Littleman, listen. Your sis is her own person, making her own decisions. And I can’t just go around breaking up parties because a bro doesn’t want his sis banging.”

  I couldn’t believe how he was not understanding at all and he saw my crazy face and tried again.

  “Look,” he said, “I know you don’t like it, it’s hard for littlepoors, but littlebro, she went voluntarily, am I right on this. Meaning, she chose to go.”

  “She didn’t think it was a bangparty with tramps,” I said.

  He even looked kind of sad but what he said was, “But she chose to go.”

  “Holy crap,” I yelled. “Please forget I’m so little, forget you’re so middle, please just remember to when you were a brat, maybe you had a sis, maybe you have a daughter now, pretend she goes to a party and then a pimp drops off some tramps and camps out outside so he can grab her, drug her up, sell her out, please tell me you’re gonna do your job and not just doze away in your big dumb shitcar like a fat scared old jerk,” I said because I was losing it and that was how I lost him too.

  His face got mean and he stood from his crouch.

  Walked back to driverside, said over his shoulder, “Can’t help you. Turnsout it’s a campus sexassault, take it up tomorrow with some campuscops. Good luck, good night.”

  He stepped back into the car, slammed the door shut.

  Usher, watching from the shadows, had stopped crying and was just mashing his teeth against each other like a lunatic.

  I looked at him and he looked at me.

  “I guess we have to go back and kill ourselves trying to kill this guy,” I said.

  Usher nodded.

  “Okay great,” I said, because I was so mad at this cop, I was ready to die trying to kill a jerk.

  So here’s what happens next.

  On our way back to the apartment I sneak around the sidedoor of the guardbooth and sure enough, there’s a superfat gunguard sleeping in there.

  Strapped to his belt he has a middlepoorsize gun, the whole thing is about half my scale, and without thinking about it I climb his chair, coax it out of his pocket, hug it to myself and climb back down onehanded.

  Usher nods with no sadness or happiness, just, good, now that we have our gun it is time for Step Two, murder someone.

  Across the pool we can barely see the head of Shoulderheads over the rail of the balconyhall. But it gives you a clue of where his body is, not the smallest target either, just shoot through the rail under the head and you’ve got a good chance of murder.

  We set the gun upsidedown in some grass, in some shadows, I’m hugging it crouched down trying to stare along the barrel, shifting it bitbybit updown leftright, aiming at the jacky inky body of Shoulderheads.

  Eventually I figure we’re as good as we’re going to get so I say, fire, and Usher leans on the trigger because I can’t reach from where I am, and nothing happens, so I tell Usher push harder, he does, nothing happens, I tell him Usher you got to really lean on it, he does and finally the gun explodes and deafens everyone, also smashes me pretty hard in my ribs.

  “Oh shit,” we hear Shoulderheads say, not at all injured, because instead of killing him the bullet has spiderwebbed Ken’s window not even that close to him.

  Other apartment lights flip on, distantly you hear a little screaming and freaking out, and Ken’s apartment door makes the locking sound of rat rat rattle CHUNK. Shoulderheads bangs on the door and yells, jiggles the handle and shoulderbutts it a few times, meanwhile we set up the gun again, aim it at the door and BAM, again right into my bruisy ribs and this time what we hit instead of Shoulderheads is the shingles of the stupid roof, but now Shoulderheads abandons the door and scampers away down the balconyhall, down the stairs and away through the alley and into the night, because bynow you can hear police sirens.

  II.

  GRACE

  DREAMWORLD

  A littlepoor shoots a gun and rightaway he’s a fugitive criminal.

  So that same cop charged in and immediately he figured the gunshots were mine. Which, he was right but no need to be a jerk about it. “Where’s that little redshit,” he bellowed. “Littlebro, come out and get arrested because you are in big trouble, come the hell out now, every minute of hiding you make it worse for yourself.”

  I tried to run but it was like blowing on the fire in my own ribs. But even hobbling slowly to a dumpster, the cop didn’t see me, big idiot.

  So Usher and I huddled in the dumpster and watched the cop flash his jumpy lightbeam, roaming, yelling, not wanting to deal with Ken and his bulletholed apartment. But eventually he stomped up there and knocked on the door, door opened, tramps raced out, the cop didn’t even try to chase them, instead he went in there and walked back out after a minute or two with Prayer in one hand, to take her to the station.

  I got a look as he carried her out, and I didn’t see her face, but she didn’t seem injured. Just wet headtotoe. But not from water. Slick wet like with oil, the robe all greasy and clinging to her skin, the coal around her eyes smeared everywhere, pandafaced again.

  “Usher,” I wheezed. “Go back to the cleaningcar. I have to chill in this dumpster for atleast tonight because of my stupid ribs.”

  Usher shook his head, but he knew I was right.

  “Go back to the Quickstand and wait for Prayer,” I told him. “That’s what’s important. She needs you. I’ll be okay. I’ll see you in Dreamworld. Make gray fireworks, I’ll find you.”

  Usher, the most loyal and good friend in the world, squeezed a knot of my hair in his fist, bumped my skull, and left.

  A dumpster is not the w
orst place to sleep, but not great either because of rats, rackoons, squads of littlepoors who might bust your teeth. Best is if you find a cleanedout can and wedge yourself inside.

  It’s a little impossible to get to Dreamworld if everytime you breathe, it blows on your ribfire, flaring up all huge and bad in the darkness.

  So that night all I could do was doze, every few minutes yelping myself awake.

  The pain was worse in the morning but cops were sniffing around the whole apartment complex, so I crept out and snuck down the alley, licking foggy dew from the grass, stopping, crouching, mashing my teeth to keep from shrieking.

  After a blockandahalf I was behind a foodmall and crying from the pain so I snuck into the garbage of a cowsoy stand and nibbled the thrownaway food in there.

  Might have been the soup from Sand Dreamough Neighborhood Souptime, noodles, leaves, bonemeat, sprouts, everything salty limey slippery from birdfat.

  The day came and went and I stayed in the cowsoy garbage, no one found me, no one bothered me, just randomly crapped showers of unfinished soups.

  That night it took some work but I slept deep enough for Dreamworld, and wandered around broken for a while before Usher’s dreamstuff found me.

  It was a single gray firework like a dusky palmtree crackling overandover above a little doorless stripmall cube. I climbed to the top, panels under me gently opened. I floated down into a room of carpets and lamps and too many chairs and in one of them sat sad mooneyed Prayer.

  “Sis, ohmygod,” I said.

  “Hey bro,” she said, not wanting to hug.

  “Are you okay,” I said.

  “Yup,” she said, not okay.

  “Right now are you sleeping in the car at Paddy’s?” I asked. “Is Usher with you?”

  “Yup, yup,” she said.

  “Well,” I said. “What happened.”

  She didn’t want to talk about it, and being honest with you, I didn’t want to hear about it. Did I need to, yes, did I want to, no.

  But I kept asking quietly and eventually she told me a little.

  As soon as she got to the party the lawstudents were weird to her. Not their jokey mean lifeanddeathselves but not their respectfull dreamselves either.

  Instead they were just weirdly asking weird questions, like Prayer, how fast do you think you can you climb this pole, how long can you hold your breath, how hard can you squeeze these cucumbers and other vegetables with your arms and legs, could you crush them even, well why don’t you show us.

  In her head Prayer was like, this is a little strange and I have to say not totally what I expected from a lawstudent party, I expected a little more classy conversation and witty backandforth, not feats of strength and endurance, but hey, it’s my first party, I’m open to new things and experiences.

  Then as she was doing some vegetable squeezing and climbing through tubes, the tramps showed up, and the lawstudents said, tramps, hello, great to see you, this is Prayer and maybe you could show her the ropes a little bit.

  In a washroom was a bowl of oil and the tramps took a bath in it and invited Prayer to join the bath with them, comeon, it’s so nice in here, so Prayer got in.

  “Wait, naked,” I asked.

  “What do you think,” said Prayer.

  The oil had the choky smell of fake flowers like soaps and candles from Prettyshop and the tramps began to wash each other in it and tried to wash Prayer too.

  The washroomdoor opened, Prayer screamed and tried to cover herself, but the tramps didn’t, they stretched like cats and arched their backs, and they said, Prayer, relax, and they put their hands on her, Glen and Ken picked up the oilbasin with Prayer and tramps in it and placed it in the middle of the bed and unbuckled their belts and Warner, do you really want me to tell you the rest of this story.

  No, I don’t.

  Okay. Well. There you go.

  I guess I just need to know, did they hurt you at all.

  I mean they didn’t snap my arms off but there’s a lot of ways someone can hurt you.

  I asked her did she ask to leave.

  “No,” she said.

  “Sis, why not,” I said.

  It’s hard to cry in Dreamworld, even harder to cry from rage.

  “Sis,” I said. “You weren’t still thinking, maybe you’ll find a husband at this party.”

  She shook her head, but not in answer to me, more answering the world.

  “Did you really think these jerks could be like that with someone they want to marry,” I said, and I could feel my rib pain starting to fuzz the dream.

  “Warner,” she said, starting to choke on clots of anger. “I’m sorry, but shut up.”

  “You can’t just be quiet and say okay when jerks are trying that stuff,” I said.

  “Shut up,” she said. “You don’t get to talk about this. You just don’t. So shut up.”

  “No,” I said. “Only when you start respecting yourself more.”

  “Warner,” she tried to yell through the clots, squeaking bitterly. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You can’t understand what it’s like to be me in a situation like that. I know you think you understand, you think you know everything, but that just makes you a peenhead. So shut up immediately about me, now, forever.”

  “Sis, I can’t,” I said.

  She was mad, I was mad. I know it’s notsogood to be mad at someone in the situation of, terrible things just happened to her, her hope got abused, her fear kept her quiet, but sorry, I was mad. My instinct in bad situations is usually, get super mad.

  “Well, sorry for trying to help,” I said.

  “Ohmygod what are you talking about,” she said. “You shot bullets into the exact room I was in. Super easily you could have shot me.”

  She was definitely right, but I didn’t want to be wrong so I argued, “No, firstofall only one bullet, secondofall I was aiming up at the window, so no way it hits you, because here’s how the angle works,” but she wouldn’t let me explain.

  Then, still super mad, I said, “Well, now I’m a fugitive I guess, so I won’t be around to keep messing things up for you.”

  We were both quiet for a long time.

  “Actually am I a fugitive,” I asked.

  “Yeah,” she said. “The cops keep showing up at Paddy Quickstand, looking for you, they think we’re hiding you somewhere.”

  “So what do you do now,” I said.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Paddy is going to kick us out. He’s mad about the cops being around all the time. Plus he thinks we tricked him.”

  “Tricked him how,” I said.

  “Tricked him into giving a home to a tramp,” she said, and now she was crying again but not angry, just weepysad, and I shut up and reached through the chairs and gave her a hug.

  You can’t feel hugs really in Dreamworld, but you can pretend you do.

  She cried so hard, she woke herself up and disappeared.

  LIFEANDDEATHWORLD

  That morning the pain was not too bad, until a middlepoor girl picked up the garbage and dumped it into a bag, and I went from bottom to top, landing on some bones and eatstix, shrieking.

  The girl was also shrieking, round oh mouth and round oh fakegreen eyes in a round oh face.

  I was a fugitive so I had to get this girl to stop shrieking somehow, so I went finger to lips, fists to heart, backandforth like a maniac and grinning from the pain.

  She stopped shrieking, thankgod, and just kind of froze like, what do I say now.

  “Sorry,” I sorried.

  “Sorry,” she repeated automatically. “No no no, I’m sorry.”

  This girl looked my age, a year younger maybe, plumskinned.

  “No no, I’m sorry, for sure,” I said.

  “Are you hurt or something,” she said.

  “Oh no I’m fine,” I said, immediately it was like, Warner, what is even the point of lying right now, do you just lie automatically even when it makes no sense.

  “GRACE,” yelled p
robably her mom from inside, superstrong accent, vowels from across the sea. “WHAT’S WRONG, IS SOMEONE THERE OR SOMETHING.”

  “MOM IT’S FINE,” she yelled, and glanced at me, and quickly hoisted me out of the bag and gently down into the alley, turned around and went back into the shop.

  But the pain was pretty bad, and being honest with you, the food was pretty good, so I stuck around nearby hiding in a drainpipe until after the lunch rush, when the garbage was half full, and then I snuck back into the garbage and slurped a little more bright salty creamnoodle, and the whole time tried to figure out a plan.

  Shortterm, I need to get to Chess’s apartment again, Prayer and Usher should probably come too when Paddy kicks them out. Because that’s an opportunity to stay somewhere safe, with someone who likes us. How honest do I have to be with Chess? Chess is an okay guy, sure, but would he host a fugitive? Maybe, maybe not, bottomline, too much risk, definitely don’t tell him about the criminal part.

  Longterm, the plan of Find Prayer A Husband At Law School is dead. So we need a new plan for munmuns. Probably, hatetosay, it was time for crime. Thefts, schemes, tricks.

  But always when my plans tipped toward Thefts Schemes Tricks, I couldn’t help realizing, this world isn’t built for littlepoor crime. Littlepoors can’t hurt anyone but other littlepoors, can’t make fast getaways, can’t even walk with middlesize munbills or bigger. Littlepoors in bigspaces are always suspicious, easy to stop, trap, question, kick out. Sneaking and hiding is all we can do, except to each other.

  The only people littlepoors can perform crimes on is other littlepoors, join a squad and raid the littlepoors weaker than you, that’s your only chance at more munmuns, and it was a sad crappy truth my thoughts circled like a drain.

  Then out of the blue, slurping a bone, I realized, Warner. Chess can help you charge munmuns for dreams.

  Now look. I’d had the thought of Get Munmuns For Dreams before. But I never saw a way to actually collect the muns. People can agree to anything in Dreamworld, sure I’ll give you munmuns for pleasant dreams, but in Lifeanddeathworld they can pretend like that didn’t happen. And that’s if you can even approach them. Middleriches, you can’t get your words up to their ears or even find them most of the time. And poors are just going to say, get out of here, I can’t give you munmuns for dreams, what a crazy bunch of crap.