Intermission

"My life is purely fiction."
"Don't say that Tovah."
...
"Are you happy?"
"Tantot"
"The authoress will grant no small happiness for me."
"Does she dislike you so severely?"
"Especially in April."
"What is her name?"
"I've forgotten."
"Tea?"
"Si."
"when we make love do you think of her?"
"TANTOT."

Chapter 4

Morris was wet to the skin. He sneezed. Overhead sunlight broke the cloud cover. He glanced upward as a breeze whistled through the surrounding office towers. The rain had chased everyone inside, but blue was now overtaking gray. His eyes traced the line of reflected sky. It began in the highest windows and bounced ever downward. As the sun crested the clouds a silver streak ricocheted across the panes. His eyes followed it to the pavement to watch the inevitable sparkle. He had come for the same show countless times and still never tired of it.
The paperback in his coat pocket felt soggy. Everything about him felt soggy. He took another lingering glance at the natural light show, then headed westward toward the piers. He cut from street to street, making the subtle descent to the bay. Images from the early hours began to rise in his mind. He pushed them away. They rose again. He crossed the final street between himself and the bay, then walked out onto the nearest pier. Wind whipped the water. Waves shattered against the thick concrete legs of the pier. He watched nearby ferries rise and fall with the incoming waves.
Morris moved purely by impulse, as though an unseen force tugged at him. He could never explain why he followed the streets he chose, why he turned right or left, caught this bus or that. He was leaning against the railing of the pier, without any notion of why or how he had ended up there. He was alone, save for a few shabby fishermen, and an army of gulls. He watched a freighter crawl across the choppy bay toward the open sea. He tried to read the distant hull, but lost it in the haze. He wanted to forget what he had seen. He'd thought the marijuana would clear his head, but it only brought the image into sharper contrast. He closed his eyes, and leaned his face closer to the water. Salt spray wet his face. A fog horn sounded. He wished the echo to reverberate in his head, obliterating his thoughts. A feeling of dread crept into him. Flynn had been indifferent. She had hit the animal, then drove right over the broken body. The initial collision had not killed it. It was the follow through. He had seen it twitching. He could not shake that image. Nor could he forget her blank face. No remorse, no shame, not even annoyance. It was a face of perfect indifference. He shuddered.
A yelp broke his dark reverie. Several plump sea lions bobbed out from beneath the boardwalk, and swam toward open water. They moved gracefully and decisively, with primal confidence. He watched until they were out of sight. They were intent in their purpose, but to what that purpose might be he could not guess. He felt something like envy rise within him. His own empty days hung overhead, without even a mundane sense of purpose. He stared after the animals and realized his high was waning.
He reached into his pocket. feeling for the joint he’d stowed between the pages of his novel. It came out damp. He rubbed it between his fingers, scanned the dock, then reached for his lighter. His fingers clawed the lining of every pocket, but reported empty.
“Fuck.”
From across the planks a fisherman looked up. Morris met his eye but did not smile. The pole behind the man began to tremble. He turned,  immediately losing interest in Morris, and clutched the pole. He yanked it upward and spun the reel with practiced force. His shoulders tensed beneath faded nylon as the creature below fought back. A nearby fisherman abandoned his pole to watch the struggle. Morris stood to move closer, but just then the tension broke. The fellow’s shoulders sagged as he stared absently into the depths. The second fisherman wandered back to his own fruitless endeavor.
Morris felt a stir of regret for not smiling before. He wanted to take it back, but the fisherman wouldn’t look up. He stood silently and still, staring sadly at the choppy ocean below. Morris could not bear it. He walked briskly up the dock, counting his strides, until he reached pavement.

He looked up. The clouds hung heavy, pregnant with impending rain. It was time to find shelter, he knew, but he did not want to go home. His paperback had several crumpled bills pressed between the pages. He flipped through the chapters collecting, finishing with a total of three fives and seven singles. It was plenty. Across two streets, somewhere behind a brick plaza, there was a set of stairs. He had found them two summers earlier by accident while wandering. They cut between private residences and gardens, leading the bold and curious ever upward toward Coit tower. He'd rarely seen others up there, lending the place a sense of secrecy. Tourists always looked sideways at him when he emerged, but he'd only smirk at their ignorance. He found the stairs and sprinted up the first set. They began in concrete and steel, which in turn met a second wider set. He sprinted up those as well, but it winded him. He rested against the rail and reached again for the joint. "Hi." He jerked around. A girl sat mid-flight. She smiled awkwardly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. Um..." She bit her lip. "Uh, yeah, no worries man. I didn't see you there." "Yeah... I saw you coming from the plaza. Is that weed?" "Uhh... yeah. Yeah it is. Um. Sorry man. I don't even have a lighter anyway." "I do." "Oh." "We could smoke it. What are you reading?" "Oh nothing. Bulgakov. Its about the devil... Do you want to?" "If you do. I'm Naomi." He started to reach for a handshake, but then awkwardly scratched his shoulder instead. "I'm Morris. What are you doing here anyway? Do you go to school?" "Do you?" "I'm home sick." "Oh. Are you in high school then?" "Yeah. Aren't you?" She smiled. "No." "Are you in college?" "Sort of. How old are you?" "Seventeen." "Damn. We'd better smoke that before you get caught with it, and I get caught with you." She reached into a small purse by her feet and brought out a lighter. He walked up the stairs and sat beside her. "How old are you?" "Why do you care? Twenty one." He passed her the joint. She lit the end, then took a deep drag. She held the smoke in her chest, then unfurled it slowly between her puckered lips. He watched, but tried not to. She noticed, but only smiled. He took the joint back and mimicked her. They sat in silence while the joint burnt down. "So you like to read?" "What? Oh.... yeah. I mean... a friend gave me this book." "So your friend likes to read?" "Yeah man, I guess." She stared at him for a moment, then looked out toward the bay. He felt like he'd offended her, but did not know what to say. The silence persisted as the buzz settled in. Their vantage was broad. The staircase, though hidden from the street below, offered wide views of the bay. On a clear day they would see for miles, but fog obscured the scene. Somehow the awkwardness between them began to dissipate despite the silence.

"How did you find this place?" He let the question rest on the air for a few seconds before looking for an answer. "I don't know.... I just came across it. It happens a lot. I mean... I find places like this a lot." "Me too." He did not know what to say. The drug had taken full effect and he found conversation difficult to maintain. She did not persist, nor seem to mind. They sat in silence again, watching. Naomi stood up and stretched her limbs. She grabbed the railing and sunk into a sideways L shape. "I can't sit still like this. Not anymore. Do you want to go somewhere? We can go anywhere. Where were you going before this anyway?" "I don't know. Coit I guess. What about you?" "Here. Nowhere. Same I guess." They looked fully at each other. Her smile broke, but only halfway. He stood and stretched himself out as well. Without another word, they lunged up the staircase. She kept ahead of him, but they were both panting when they emerged below the tower. Few others lingered on the hill, as the usual crowd had been driven off by the weather. They rounded the stone steps, finishing at Coit's door. Naomi dug into her pocket, retrieving a small wad of cash. She counted off five. He opened his paperback to collect his own fare. She noticed and smiled, but did not say anything.
They paid the doorman and entered the rickety elevator. When the doors opened they found the tower nearly empty. Two boys, too young to be out of school, sat beneath a window arch playing chess. A woman walked from arch to arch taking photos out the windows. Otherwise they were alone.
Naomi walked toward the southern view.
"I've paid five bucks for the same view too many times."
"Me too."
She laughed and pressed her face against the windowpane. She breathed against it, fogging the glass. The weather preserved the effect, so she began tracing. Her focus entranced Morris. He thought again of the sea lions. Grace and intent, but to what purpose? Her picture faded as she drew it, and yet she drew. He stared until she stopped drawing and stared back.

"What?" "Huh? Oh... Um. Are you from here?"

"No. I moved here last year." "From where?"

"Up north. Small town. You've probably never heard of it. Are you from here?"

"Yeah."

She waited. He looked away.

"I moved here to get away."

"From what?"

"Myself."

His eyes darted to her face. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I don't know why I even said that. I came here for this."

"For what?"

"This! Just.... randomness."

"Randomness?"

She rolled her eyes.

"oh mon ami, nous avons assez lutte ..." "What?" "Vous etre un mort demain!" She turned from him then and walked away. He watched her go, but did not follow. The elevator doors slid shut, and she was gone.

Morris leaned against the window and watched below. She emerged from somewhere below, turned toward the windows and waved up at him. He laughed.

Chapter 3

The thump had rocked through her chest. It was the most physical sound she had ever known. As the tire lifted that extra inch, she felt it in a dizzy and distant way. Guilt pressed her lungs as she stalked up the stairwell toward her office. Her heel caught on a stair and she slipped. The edge met her knee with sharp clarity.

"Fuck."

Flynn glared at the growing flow of red. It did not hurt. Not then. She felt it later on while sitting despondently at her desk. The throb started at her ankle and moved slowly upward toward her knee. It was sharp when it reached the bruise. She gasped and bit her lip as she pressed her toes into the carpet.
 

It had been so easy. A quick execution. She imagined herself with a black sack over her face. She felt the splash of the decapitated stain her knee.

"Flynn?"

Her cheeks flushed as her lips spread into a tense smile.

"Hi Ron."

"You ok? You look lost."

"Yeah. I was just... was thinking."

"About what?"

"Um.. I hit my neighbors cat when I pulled out this morning."

"Oh honey! Thats terrible! What did your neighbor say?"

"I... didn't stop."

"Jesus Flynn! Did you call her?"

"No."
He lifted his brow. "Oh my god, Flynn, you can't just...."

She whirled her seat back toward her desk.

"I have work to do. Go away."

He frowned.

She glanced over her shoulder in time to watch him saunter toward his desk. Her pupils rolled decidedly toward the flickering screen. 

She would try to avoid the neighbor. Flynn tried to grasp the memory of her name. They had met once, but she'd rarely seen the woman since. When she did, they had nothing to talk about.

The raindrops hit the large pane beside her desk. She watched as they became heavier. She wondered what the cat looked like now. When she was a girl the family cat had met a similar fate. She had found the thing lying there, limbs disjointed and partially flayed. His corpse has been out there for hours by then. A thick crust of reddened ice lined his coat. What was left of it anyway. She had pictured his fur caught in a stranger's treads. It was still an image present in her head. She lifted it from a dusty place and cast it over her morning. The cat had been a ruddy brown with striking yellow eyes. He moved delicately, even for his species. Every movement was only a shifting pose. He had been a beautiful animal, but she could only see the limbs anymore. The torn flesh and deep purple of the oldest layer of ice.
"Have you called yet?"

She started from her dark reverie.
"God damn it Ron! Its been five minutes. Jesus. And no. I don't have her number."
"Oh. Well whats her name? We'll look her up."
"This is not your business Ron."
"Sure it is. You told me about it, so now its my business. You're not going to ignore it either. Now what is her name?"
"I don't know."
"Seriously? What kind of building do you live in?"
"A tall one. Now leave me alone."
She stood and stalked past him toward the women's restroom. Ron called after her, but she ignored him and entered. It was empty. She stopped in front of the nearest vanity and stared blandly past her reflection. She coughed. 

A surge of bitterness rose rapidly in her throat as she staggered into a stall.

Chapter 2

Steam rose from the coffee pot. Vaporous tendrils curled and dissipated under Sheila's distracted gaze. She sat with chin in hand waiting. The digital stove clock showed 7:32 in neon red. At 7:35 she stood, stretched, and left her formica table. Three strides later she rested her forehead against a cool windowpane. Below the street was awakening , but her eyes found the sky. A thick fog bank rested lightly above the rooftops of Sacramento Street. Blue punctuations broke the gray monotony, but rain seemed inevitable. Sheila sighed.

Behind her the coffee pot hissed. As she turned toward it her eyes fell briefly on the pavement. She paused as dread began to rise within her. A small fur lump showed from a puddle of gore. She inhaled sharply and stepped back. Her hands found her stomach as it began to heave. Bile rose in her throat. She clutched the drape and felt her face contort.

She had left the bathroom window open. The small square window above the shower. She remembered this while walking slowly down her front stairs. She'd left it open once before and had spent an entire afternoon searching the neighborhood for Toledo. Now the worst consequence of the simple negligence had come about. She stopped at the curb. He was a purplish streak across her neighbor's driveway. Sheila shivered. Fat droplets began splattering the sidewalk. She lifted her face to feel the rain on her skin. Several drops ran down her nose before she faced Toledo again. She nudged his hindquarters with her bare toe. He was stiff. Bile rose in her throat again. Her arms wrapped her torso tightly and she closed her eyes. Rain was already soaking through to her skin. She had no place to bury his corpse. The apartment had an alley for a yard. Her eyes wandered morosely up the street as her mind went quietly blank. They came to rest on a small square sign set atop a nearby pole. No Parking Tuesday 9 AM to 12 Noon Street Sweeping.
She sighed and began the gruesome task of shifting Toledo's corpse.

Chapter 1

A lone youth stood beside a dewy bus stop with eyes wide as the morning. It began innocently. A quiet cat lurking in the six o'clock shadow. Morris was struck by the timing of it and the awful luck of both involved. 

Five minutes earlier the neighbor had swept out her door as the 1 line hissed past. On Tuesdays she took the car. It was a mystery. Some unknown slice of her routine. Morris loved the way she dressed on Tuesdays. It was the only day she wore heels.

Shiny black stilettos.

He had purposely missed the bus just to watch her walk down the steps. His eyes did not leave her strawberry curls as she climbed into her black sedan. The bumper cast a weak shadow across cold concrete as she stepped heavily into reverse. In that moment the cat lunged playfully toward a trash scrap blowing across her driveway. Morris watched the grace of the movement in horror. Heavy rubber crushed the delicate feline skull irrevocably close to the pavement. Bulbous sacks burst from sockets in a wave of gore.

Morris felt his stomach heave. The memory of morning eggs began to churn in his head. He could taste bitterness rising. The little animal was nothing more than a greasy track mark on the concrete. He blinked.

Flynn's glance flickered toward the boy. She blushed heavily and followed through with the motion. The tires squealed as they tore forward, trailing animal remnants to the end of the block. Morris gaped.

He had never met the woman. She was a fantasy in her heels and stockings, but never had a word been exchanged. He turned and walked back toward his house. His mother would have to let him stay. The mess was evidence enough to his illness. Besides, his birthday had passed over the weekend. She ought to give him one day. He ran through the various arguments in his head while he strode toward the steps. The key stuck in the lock, but she was leaving herself.

"Morris. You're not on the bus."

"I know. Mom I don't feel well. I just watched the neighbor run over Sheila's cat."

"Oh honey.."

"I cannot go back over there. Not right now. Mom. It was disgusting. I feel nauseous."

"OK sweetie. Go upstairs and lay down. Just make sure to study. I love you."

She waved two fingers and blew a kiss.

Morris trudged up the stairs and discarded himself on the couch. It was still so early. She would be gone until at least five and it was only 7:30. He watched the street for a few minutes. She was well on her way.

He climbed into the attic where he kept his stash. He fished one of the three joints from a canvas bag and walked to the window. The crank was rusted, but still turned. He coaxed the window wider. The smoke wouldn't settle into the walls that way. Not that his mother would notice. When she wasn't working she sat comatose in front of the television. He would watch her blue eyes flicker blindly between the faces of the actors. She would sip gin and smile blankly while he rambled about his school days.  He wondered if she would notice if he were speaking another language. She would nod, blink, nod, and smile that blank grin no matter what he was saying. He sometimes told absurd lies just to watch her nod.

Below him the street was soaking up the morning mist. There had been a heavy fog in the earliest hours, but had begun to burn off as the sun rose. He glanced at the sky. Even so, it certainly wouldn't be the fairest of days. He wondered about the cat.

The paper caught the flame too well and the joint began to crumble.

"Fuck."

He pressed the end against the windowsill. There were several similar marks along the white of it. He brushed the ashes self consciously. He remembered his early thoughts oh his mother and dismissed the mess. The hissing of a bus brought his attention back to the street.

There was a park across the street. A truancy officer wouldn't be likely there. He slipped down the stairs, into his coat, and lifted the novel he had been reading from the couch. Outside the air breathed crisp. A patch of blue drifted over the area. His eyes followed the sun for a moment before the clouds swallowed the warmth again. He walked across the pavement and up toward the only bench facing the street. The smear was still vibrant, though the heavy moisture was darkening it against the pavement. 

There was a stirring in the window above. The flutter in the drapes was all that remained of Sheila. He watched her step gingerly into the street.