American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [60]
2006
I want to know what this has to do with Joe and Vivian, said Honor. What this has to do with us.
It may not have anything to do with us, Milo said. It may just be another story.
But you know it’s more than that, she said.
I’m not sure I have as much faith as you do, he said.
It makes no sense if it isn’t somehow our story, she said.
Why does it have to make sense? I had to get used to things not making sense.
But you only started to get better when you stopped thinking that way, when you wanted to know what would happen next. When you cared about the stories, about the people, about us.
I still care about you, he said.
Am I enough to keep you going?
He looked at the ceiling. At the walls. No saxophones sliding through them. No scarves billowing down.
For now, he said. I’ll keep going until the chasing ends.
They were standing opposite each other, facing each other.
Then I don’t want the chasing to end.
She fell asleep. She slept deeply and didn’t dream. In the night he rolled over and she woke with her hand on his chest. He was lying on his back.
The sun was a hole in the sky like a cigarette burn. Around it the sky was a pulsing white light that hurt to look at. He looked at it. He had never learned to tell time by the sun but it looked like lunchtime and there wouldn’t be any. They were waiting by the side of the road. For something.
The desert stretched out around them and he felt like the first of many figures to be painted on a canvas. Where was everybody else? The artist had up and left. For lunch, he thought to himself and laughed.
What’s so funny? the other guy said. His name was Caleb.
Nothing, Milo said.
You laugh a lot, Caleb said.
I guess that’s a kind of compliment, Milo said.
To yourself, Caleb said. You laugh a lot to yourself.
Milo looked out at the empty canvas.
It’s not because I’m so happy, he said.
Didn’t think so, Caleb said.
Why were they just standing there? Milo couldn’t remember. He’d even been told, afterwards, by people who knew, and he could never remember. They had something to do by the side of the road and they were going to be picked up but the truck was late. They were waiting by the side of the road like they were waiting for a city bus.
What’s your favorite movie? Caleb said.
That’s a hard question, Milo said.
It’s not a trick question, Caleb said. Just answer.
Milo scrunched up his face and looked down and kicked the dusty road.
What’s the first thing that comes into your head?
The first thing that comes into my head isn’t necessarily my favorite movie.
Caleb turned his face to the side and looked out at the desert. Milo didn’t think he was looking for that AWOL artist.
Do you want to know my favorite? Caleb said.
Sure.
I’d have to say it’s oh shit there’s the truck.
Milo laughed a little. To himself. He saw the truck driving toward them too like a blob of paint at the end of a brush coming nearer and nearer.
They both leaned down to pick up the things they were carrying and had left to rest on the road and small clouds of dust spewed up around their legs and Milo said I guess you’ll tell me later and Caleb said sure and then they could both see the truck coming nearer and it didn’t look like the kind of truck they were expecting but everything was so fucked up around here that they didn’t immediately think anything of it and then as the truck which was coming fast and which looked now to Milo like a whole can of paint being thrown at them from a distance came closer they could see a body lean out the window and it had an arm and the arm was holding something and it was still too far away for them to really see but it was not good and Caleb had been standing to the side of Milo and now for no good reason that Milo could ever think of Caleb jumped on Milo and pushed him down to the ground and Caleb was on top of him so that when the explosion came it came inside of Caleb’s person like a body possessed being flung