Corner of the Dead

Chapter 2

[ 118 ] C H A P T E R 2 T H E P H O N E R I N G S . This hardly ever happens. I’m awake and then asleep until the next ring. It stops. I could go on this way not feeling thirst or hunger. Today, however, Phoebe is relying on me to get her up. Ben no longer does. The shower drain is off center. Phoebe demands a centered part. I can’t find it. If I ever do I will draw a line down the middle of her scalp with permanent marker. The shower water runs down the pipes, taking with it hair and dead skin. These things run beneath the bathroom floor, along the kitchen wall, across the basement ceiling and out the waste drain attached to the laundry room sink. Phoebe, we’re late. I need a day off. What do you want for breakfast? I’m not going. Where’s your project? It’s a Valentine’s box. I drew hearts on tin foil with red magic marker. It can’t get wet. I’ll wrap it in plastic. Let’s go. Why? I have work and you have school. [ 119 ] Why? It’s what we do. The music teacher opens the car door with one hand and holds an umbrella in the other. Phoebe slides across the back seat, kicking the bag into the gutter which is now a stream of rushing water. Phoebe bends down and brings the dripping Valentine’s box to safety. As she is wiping the hair and rain from her eyes, I see red magic marker smeared across her cheek. This is what I must have looked like as a child. We have the same face. She is trembling but walks inside with the teacher. The last thing I see is the red hem of her skirt. This is when I know I am not going to be able to pull myself to work. From the side of the road I call the doctor. She gives me an address. The first person I see is an old man with a walking stick. I ask for directions. But I have to interrupt to see if he could write the street names out, maybe draw a rudimentary map. I don’t tell him I have forgotten where the spaces between the words go. I order the mess inside my car before I drive away. If they see it this way they might keep me longer. Half-empty bottles of water, pieces of chewed gum in shreds of bottle labels and on the passenger side seat last week’s New York Times unopened and a stack of library books long overdue. ...