issue66awireless

                                                              ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

***BIO*** TR. McKee recently relocated to Southern Florida, where she spends most of her time writing and riding. Her stories have been published in Long Story Short, Prose Toad, Skive Magazine and Moondance. She can be reached for any comments at Trm@aol.com.

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A Wireless Death

by TR. McKee

“Talk to me, tell me what’s going on,” her voice pleaded.

Jennifer listened to her sister’s voice and thought about what to say. She laid in bed, clutching the phone, pressing her mouth into the receiver, hoping to be heard, understood, praying that her sister would finally get the message she had for years been trying to explain. Forcing her words through the wireless phone, she told her sister what she thought, dreamed, wanted and hated. Her life was useless, she was worthless and her head was fuzzy.

“It’s the same old thing, you know what I mean. That fat fuck did it again . . . but it’s my fault for letting him.” Taking the last swig of vodka, Jenn was grateful the burning in her throat was gone. Empty now, the bottle fell to the floor.

“Wayne threw me out of the house this morning, calling me a lazy good for nothing whore, then he came by this afternoon all contrite, looking for a quickie. I hate it when that bastard is on top of me; he’s so slimy, sweaty and gross. But he left me my pills and $50. I guess he’s right; I’m good for nothing, not even being a whore. . . He never asked me to come back home. . .”

Jenn saw success even through the Zanax cloud, after years of failing; it enveloped her pilfering any misgivings. Certainty and calm replaced forgotten fears, heavy numbness or euphoria flowed through her veins; engulfing her body and mind . . . Fighting the fog, thinking was increasingly tiring.

She waited for her sister to respond but breathing stole her concentration. Her eyes were heavy and difficult to hold open, she fought to focus on the small amber bottle on the night table, to no avail. What’s the use, she figured. What was the point of anything, the cloud covered everything, except her culpability. The time for explanations was over, despite her sister’s pleas.

“What happened this time? . . . Jenn, you’re drunk again. Talk to me, please” Julie asked softly.

Julie was the only one she could call, the others were useless, they faulted her for failing to be like them. Julie was like them but with compassion, understanding that she was different, slightly askew, sometimes not all together but not entirely pathetic. Now she understood, she was hopeless, but it didn’t matter anymore.

“I . . . just . . . want you to . . . know, you could . . . always make me . . . laugh, no. . . matter . . . what . . . Make me . . . laugh now!” Despite deliberately annunciating each word, her words slurred.

A teeny eternity passed before Julie’s voice reached into Jenn’s brain, calling her back to reality before she was completely gone. “Remember the time you were home sick from school and had this totally brilliant idea, or so you thought, of how we could sneak out of the house to run away. . . You tied one end of a piece of string around your waist and the other to your bed. You crawled out the window and slowly lowered yourself to the patio. . . Mom was on the phone in the den below. She freaked when she saw you dangling in mid air. . . Do you remember? She nearly strangled me afterwards and it was your harebrain idea!”

Jenn tried to smile but her mouth didn’t want to move anymore, opening it took all her strength. Happier memories swirled, they had just come from the dentist, their mouths fat from Novocain, ignorant to their commands. Studying themselves in the mirror, they manipulated the feeling, stretching the fat by opening their mouths wide and simultaneously pushing with their fingers. They poked their nails into their cheeks, in awe of the deadness, the feeling of nothing but corpulence. Now though, the hole closed and she felt her mouth fall off her face. Her face melted off her bones, slithering off each cheek, her eyes grew longer and thinner.

“. . . Dumb . . . bunny!” The laugh echoed in her head.

A premonition flit inside her belly, Julie grew frantic, recognizing alcohol’s mark; Jenn’s raucous voice grew thin and weak. “Jenn, talk to me. What’s going on? Are you alright? What can I do to help?”

Through the vapor, a smile snuck into Jenn’s mind, a blue blur whirled; she saw Julie’s young, sweet face smiling devilishly as she entered their bedroom, her eyes were brilliant. Julie, as if filled with Mexican jumping beans, bounced as Jenn explained her idea and then carefully tied the string in a knot, first around her own waist, then securing it to the bed post. They both laughed, giddy with the scheme, Jenn’s genius.

Then in her mind’s eye, it came back to her, things went bad, horribly wrong. The euphoria gave way to terror, fear took hold and instantly she knew the little piece of string was not strong enough. With the cord cut by her weight, Jenn freefell through the air, the haze giving way, she fell hard and fast to the ground below.

Aug. 2006