The Body

The room was beige, from the walls to the ceiling, which held a spinning fan that seemed liable to fall and kill someone at any moment, to the beige carpeting. Greg wondered if maybe the fan had fallen and he had descended to some type of beige hell. Regardless, there were seven people in total in the room (including me and the doc). An older, Caucasian woman with large, circular glasses and thin towheaded hair. A young Asian woman with freckles and raven black hair. A middle aged man of burly build. A college aged man, maybe around the same age as me, with a baseball cap that sat atop curly hair and leaned over his green eyes, which peeked slightly out. An elderly man with flaxen hair, which was surprising given the wrinkles on his weathered face.

“-and on the third press,” the Asian woman said, her voice beginning to break. “I-I guess that’s when I accepted he was dead. But…it was just so strange, you know? How could this man who raised me my whole life, who created me, who was talking to me less than five minutes ago, be gone? When they covered the body, you know, and carried it away, I was violent. “That’s my dad!” You can’t just cover him like that! He might suffocate! You can’t just pick him up and take him away like that!”

Mary nodded her head.

“And what was that like for you, Susan? That journey of acceptance?”

Susan shrugged, gaze facing the beige carpet.

“I don’t know. I just… it wasn’t so much an acceptance; it was just… relinquishing the world I knew. Letting it go. In my world, my dad was alive, and we were out bowling. In this world, I…”

Mary once again nodded.

“It’s important to note that for this process of acceptance, or relinquishment, whichever word we find suits our journey best, it is different for everyone. No two people are the same, and even though we all experience it, neither is suffering.”

A scattering of nods. Mary’s eyes went to mine.

“Greg, I know you’ve been hesitant…no, quite, which is perfectly fine, but do you wish to share?

Goddammit.

“Um…yeah. Yeah, that’s fine.”

Mary opened her palm towards me.

“Um, a few-”

“Remember introduction and greeting,” Mary said. “Seeing, and being seen.”

“Right, um, I’m Greg Horowitz.”

“Hi Greg,” responded a wave of lethargic voices.

“So um, like um…several months ago. I mean, I guess a year now. Yeah, it’s been a year. I was out with my dad and brother on a lake up in Woodland County. We were just fishing, you know. It was a nice day, hot day, so we figured we’d take the boat up to the lake. Hadn’t really fished much the last couple summers.”

I can feel that pit grow in my stomach now. A thick dread, if it were possible, almost palpable. Material.

“Um, yeah that was it. We were just fishing. My dad’s at the front of the boat, boat’s not that big so he’s really just a couple feet from me. I’m in the middle, Bobby’s at the back. And so yeah, we’re just fishing when um…”

Fuck I’m feeling it. Trepidation. Fear. My palms are wet, like I broke a fall to wet cement with them. This beige is killing me.

“You know, my dad’s just really staring hard at the sun for some reason. I hadn’t even noticed tell I see Bobby looking at dad. I look over and just see him staring dead smack at the sun. Then um…yeah, then he falls over. On his back. H-his eyes are still open, and the whole thing is just…cops come after we call, paramedics, ambulances all that. We thought he died, but he just fell into a coma. Which he’s still in, you know. The doctors don’t know when he’ll get out of it…so now he’s just a…a vessel. A body.”

Mary nodded.

“And what was that like? The acceptance stage of it, or whichever word you feel best fits your situation.”

“I…I don’t even know. I don’t know if I’ve accepted it or not. I don’t even know what there is to accept. I mean, is my dad dead? Is he alive? It’s just…a continuous uncertainty. I wake up every morning, and everything is just…unknown. I could put my foot to the carpet and just sink through.”

***

“Goddamn Gregory just sank straight to the bottom!” screamed Adam Hoffman, thirteen Coors in and walking dangerously close to the pool edge.

The party was in Boulder, a friend’s house. It was originally pitched as a small kickback, but come twelve-thirty AM, there were almost as many drunkards as there were noise complaints.

‘Gregory!” Adam shouted, running up as I dragged my body out the pool. “That was fucking crazy! Two flips! I saw!”

I nodded.

“Here ya go bro, you need it to recharge.” In Adam’s outstretched hand, a half-drunk bottle of Maker’s Mark. I finished it.

“Let’s fucking go!” Tanaka shouted, running over. He shook my shoulders as my tongue licked the residue of brown liquid dripping out.

“Bro took the bet! And better yet, bro got the reward!”

“Has anyone seen Charlie?” Freddy asked, walking up, a Hawaiian towel dripped across his shoulders. “I gave him a shroom brownie like an hour ago as a joke, told him it just had weed in it. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Bro,” Tanaka said, magically retrieving another bottle of whisky from his pocket which immediately drew my eyes. “Hannah’s staring us down bro. Second floor. Don’t make it too obvious.”

We all looked with much obviousness towards the second floor room. I snatched Tanaka’s bottle, taking several gulps, then departed.

“Liquid courage,” I said. Whoops and hollers rang from behind me.

I stumbled through a hazy and dark maze of dancing, sweating bodies, omnipresent smoke and thudding music which seemed to be beating from inside my skull. I proceeded up the stairs, falling three times before I made it. A little down the hall, Hannah sat on the bed inside a room, lighting a joint.

“Mind if I join?”

She shook her head. She smoked the joint, passing it to me. As suave as I could be given my current state, I took it and attempted to smoke, but instead found myself unleashing a stream of vomit and passing out.

***

When I awoke, there was an angel above me. He donned a winged helmet, his body draped under a blue cloak. He held an outstretched winged staff; at his feet, a sea of lamenting people crying out for help.

“Gift from my aunt,” Tanaka said, Greg turning his head to see him step into the room. I realized I was in Tanaka’s bedroom.

“It’s supposed to be Hermes. Those are the souls of the newly departed, begging to live again.”

“Comforting,” I groaned, rising up.

“Yeah,” Tanaka said, opening the blinds much to my dismay. “My aunt got it when her dog died. Beagle, had him fourteen and a half years. Caused her to go on like a spiritual trinket and art buying frienzie. Who’s to judge, though, I guess it helped.”

I put my legs over the bed, my whole body feeling like it had been dipped in cement.

“What happened?”

“You blacked out and vomited on Hannah Walton,” Tanaka replied monotone. “Afterwards you tried to walk back down the stairs but ended up rolling down all the way to the bottom.”

I groaned.

Tanaka threw me a sweater.

“Yeah, I won’t lie, it was all pretty embarrassing.”

“With friends like these, who needs enemies,” I responded, though I did give a nod of gratitude for the sweater. Tanaka shrugged.

“My little sister just got back, and my mom doesn’t like strange men around when she’s not here, so you gotta go out the window. Sorry.”

“Ouch,” I responded.

I went to the window, then quickly climbed (fell) down. Tanaka gave a wave before shutting the window. I ordered an Uber and went home.

***

When I arrived at my house, it was quiet, save for the sound of wind coming through the living room window. I crept across the living room like a thief in the night, hoping not to be-

“I called you about seven times last night and this morning,” Sarah said. “Was your phone broke?”

I turned around, mom seated in the primeval recliner half cast in shadow like some James Bond villain. I sighed internally.

“No, um…I just fell asleep. At Tanaka’s house.”

Sarah nodded.

“Fell asleep at Tanaka’s house okay. You do know you were supposed to visit Harold yesterday? With Bobby?”

I felt anger manifest within me, but even more so a type of shame and self-loathing.

“I know.”

“And you know how much Bobby hates going by himself. He would never say it aloud, but it distresses him deeply. He’s scared, Gregory.”

I didn’t respond; the only response the sound of wind that lightly whispered in the room, its ephemeral nature an apt mockery of how vacuous any response I might have would be.

“I know.” Vacuous.

“Lily’s talent show performance is tonight,” Sarah said. “At six. I hope you’re not too hungover to go?”

“I-no, I didn’t drink last night.”

Sarah just stared at me.

“Bobby’s going to leave work early and immediately head over, so you’ll just ride with me.”

***

The sixth grade Pine Creek Middle School talent show was in full swing, the auditorium a omnipresent hum of chatter and shuffling steps. We were in a middle-ish row, mom next to me to my left and Bobby beside her. Aside from a hey earlier, Bobby and I hadn’t conversed much. The chatter soon fell to a whisper, the little stars and starlets falling behind a curtain. Then the show began. A boy playing violin. A girl playing piano. A boy who did seven consecutive back flips before chaperones rushed up to stop him. A boy and girl who did a joint magician performance. A girl who could talk like Daffy Duck. Finally, Lily came to the stage. She had a stack of paintings in one arm, and a stand in the other. She set the stand down.

“Hi, um…I’m Lily Horowitz, and this will be my um…my presentation.

A laugh reverberated inside me. Lily definitely shared my social sensibilities.

She put the first painting up. An oddly horrific illustration of a family of five: mother, father, two sons and a daughter, sitting on the living room sofa as half their face is turned into oranges.

“This series is titled ‘We be oranges’. It’s about a normal family whose life is suddenly turned upside down when a ray from outer space turns them into oranges. The ray disappears as quickly as it appeared, and they don’t know exactly where it came from in space or why.”

Lily takes that painting down, putting up the next. Displayed on it, in surprisingly beautiful illustration, the family, their heads now whole oranges, in the yard during summer. Except things are off. The father stands on the lawn, donned in khakis and a polo, hose in hand as he waters the cement. The youngest son attempts to drive a lawn mower down the sidewalk. The older son plays football with a basketball. The daughter does a lemonade stand, the lemonade a strange black liquid.

“At first, they try to fight what’s happened to them, but then they realize there’s no point. They don’t even fully understand what it was, and by this point it’s long gone. So they continue on their life as best they can.”

Lily once more removes the painting and sets up the next one. The mother and father lay atop the bed for the night, on the covers and the pillows under their feet. They face away from each other.

“Even though the orange family tries to remember, they kind of slowly forget what it is they’re exactly supposed to be doing. It’s like a little kid watching TV and understanding adult life through it.”

The painting comes down, another takes its place. The family sits around the kitchen table, based on the decor, the occasion is Thanksgiving. The father dons a jersey and swim trunks, the oldest son a funeral suit and the youngest a leprechaun Halloween costume. The daughter a rodeo outfit. Everyone has a coffee cup with a fork and spoon in front of them, pots next to them for water. The food is pizza, jello, and Oysters. The mother stares at the stack of pizzas, wondering how to best cut it.

“Eventually, the remembrance of their former lives all but fades, so their attempt to still follow it kind of becomes…kind of becomes a mockery, or joke. They’re trying to do something that may not even be in their memory anymore. At this point, they might be more orange than person. Still, they try their best.”

A round of applause and some scattered chuckles. I turned to see Mom’s face in her palms as her cheeks became wet.

***

I used to have a recurring nightmare when I was a kid. Me and Bobby are in our old bunkbeds, my eyes slowly blink open to see an orange glow. Bobby’s on fire and wailing. I try to get the fire off him, but end up engulfed myself. Soon, we’re running around the living room, hollering. Mom runs in with a fire extinguisher, but when she sprays us, it’s just more fire. I hadn’t had this dream in about eleven years now, but I had it last night.

The morning after Lily’s show, I felt a nauseous mix of conflicting sensations. I felt like there was a ball made of cement in my stomach that might drag me down beneath the earth, but I also felt as if I might drift off into the outer darkness. A thin layer of sweat covered my face, and I immediately began to cry.

***

Tanaka had nothing to do for the day, so I decided to hit him up for a bit of an odd request.

“Want to go up to Woodland Park? To the lake?”

There was a long pause before I heard him speak.

“Where your dad…where the thing happened?’

“Yeah.”

“…alright. Want me to bring brewskies?”

“Read my mind.”

The drive up to Woodland Park was long, roughly an hour and a half away from Denver, but the trip itself was quite scenic. The eighteen pack of Coors Banquet that Tanaka bought sure didn’t hurt either. Tanaka glanced at me, raising his can.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I replied, our cans clinking. I felt a strange embarrassment within me.

“Thanks, though. For doing this. I know it’s weird, it’s just…”

“I get it,” Tanaka responded, eyes not leaving the road. I nodded.

“The existence is bleak and brutal,” Tanaka said. My brows furrowed.

“Hm?”

“My aunt,” Tanaka began. “The one I told you about yesterday, with the beagle and shit. A few years before the beagle died, her husband had died. Blood cancer. Brutal, nasty work. Fought six years before he had to hang up the gloves. Was hopeful up until the end. He always wanted to be a poet, but ended up being a sixth grade English teacher for most of his life. He loved it, though. Didn’t complain. Anyways, before he went he showed my aunt a poem, and she showed my mom who showed me.”

I looked at Tanaka, and I guess he could feel my gaze.

“Oh um yeah…it went something like: The existence is bleak and brutal; who could fathom the depth of it? The journey is crowded but lonely; I feel the crowd, but when I look for comfort in it, I only find myself. The passing of it defies all time and logic, all at once too fast, but also too slow. At the end, I ponder the purpose of it, but my pondering leads only to further and further ponderings, which in the end amount to little. I had some good friends, and some good family. I’ve drunk good alcohol, and sometimes have eaten good food. I’ve had a wife that for the most part loved me, and I for the most part loved her. We had one child, a son, who died too young and departed a kind of stranger to us, though our love for him far surpassed the knowledge we had of him. We have a beagle, who we love like a son. These things for me were the purpose, though I suspect this is merely my interpretation of that vast and infinite canvas wherein lies all men’s wondering and studies.”

***

I stood in the boat with Tanaka, and sometimes when the white clouds that enveloped the firmament overhead retreated, and you could fully see the great expanse of blue above, and look down and likewise see the great blue below, it seemed as if we were in some strange and cosmic prison not fashioned by human hands. I put my hand above my brow and looked at the sun.

“What are you looking for?” Tanaka inquired.

“The sun,” I responded. “The position it was in when my dad saw it. Wait-"

Tanaka came forward.

“Well, what do you see?”

I looked. I looked so hard my eyes strained and vessels burst. Finally-

“Nothing.”

***

The hospital waiting room was sterile, and reeked of death and false positivity. Bobby sat next to me, his leg nervously jerking. I put my palm on his knee, and he stopped. He put his palm atop mine, and it surprised me. Bobby’s the older brother. The toughest. I looked to him when things got hard. I looked at his face, and though he was now thirty-three, I saw the eyes of the boy scared when I dreamt we were on fire. I should have known better.