Sunland: A Novel

21

• • 147 • • directions. She didn’t appear to suspect subterfuge. I gave her my best guess and quickly hurried, overjoyed, to the car. Mona nudged me awake by gently rolling her knuckles along my ribs. I was half-asleep, my ears clogged with nonsensical dreamscapes, when she crawled on top. Her musky hair tickled my eyelashes. I opened my eyes and saw her heart going in her neck. I reached for her hair and grabbed with my teeth. She eased down with a tug. It was nice. “You grind your molars when you sleep,” she said. “It’s like sharing my pillow with a cement mixer.” “Stress.” “I know something that helps,” she said. I felt her tongue on my earlobe when the report of a gunshot echoed outside her bedroom window. I bolted upright. She rolled off. “What was that?” Mona sighed. “The neighbor’s kids again.” “Kids? Again? What kind of neighborhood is this?” “I’m a social worker,” Mona said. “I can’t afford the hills.” Mona dragged the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around her middle, and stood beside me at the window. Another gunshot went off. I pulled her down. “Two boys,” I said, “one gun. Should we call the police?” I popped my head up. Mona’s apartment overlooked an alley. Below I saw two boys taking turns with a medium-sized pistol. They appeared to be elementary school kids. They were firing at an old bottle of bleach propped atop a green Dumpster. From this distance I couldn’t make out the gun model. But I saw sand trickling from the bottle—fresh wounds. I watched an older boy brace himself in anticipation of the recoil. After he fired, the younger boy grabbed the gun’s barrel. I was insulted by how they handled the thing like it was a toy. “We should do something,” I said. “I usually wait until they finish,” Mona said. “This happens a lot?” Mona palmed my shoulder and pushed herself up. I heard her scooting around in the kitchen. But I was riveted. I felt the next gunshot ripple through my spine. The younger boy had fallen, seemingly unable to withstand the force of the gun. The kid clutched an elbow and his face was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t find my jeans. My jeans had been the first item off. So I 21 • • 148 • • threw on my T-shirt and tennies. I felt a great urge to set down rules, and unarmed, I tramped outside, naked from the waist down, and grabbed the gun from the elder boy’s hands. “No,” I said emphatically. The kid looked startled, and he focused on the asphalt and kicked at a pebble. “No,” I said again. “Understand?” The kids were silent. “I said, understand?” They nodded . “Good, good.” Hands trembling, I marched inside, terrified and proud, and I set the gun on the kitchen counter. Mona was layering mayonnaise on a slice of bread. I couldn’t believe it. Two boys handling a firearm outdoors, yet here she was, preparing a sandwich. “It’s for you,” she said. “You probably have a busy day. I thought you might want lunch.” Day-old bread, Swiss cheese, mayo, yellow mustard, rolled slices of honey turkey and half-wilted lettuce. Three slivers of avocado. No tomatoes . Mona was making me a sandwich. I watched her slice diagonally and put the sandwich into a clear baggie. I dug a fingernail into my palm. Mona was making me a sandwich. It was the nicest thing anyone had done for me in the longest time. i found my jeans, but Mona was determined to keep unbuttoning them, so I was late, unsure which building to enter, which door was right. The historic, green-domed downtown courthouse was crawling with a busload of Japanese tourists. They were snapping pictures and touching the exterior walls and loitering in the arabesque breezeways and getting in my way. I wandered aimlessly around Justice but couldn’t find the room. I called my friend. “No, you’ve got it wrong,” Warsaw said. He told me to get to Superior. Superior, it turned out, was in a black glass building with a second-tier security guard in the lobby who leaned back in his chair, his fat fingers crawling across his stomach like a tarantula. He refused to give me directions. “Oh, that way,” the man said. Moments later he said, “I mean that way.” The man wanted...