There Is No Year - Blake Butler [37]
The son leaned back in his desk chair. The son lit a cigarette he’d stolen from the father and tried to think of something else. He thought about what he might have liked to eat for dinner.
The reclining son was parallel to both the ceiling and the ground.
The messages’ ringing in the room made the room pause.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
HELLO444: I CAN SEE U.
The other person wrote it again and again and again.
The 45-year-old man was typing something also. The son did not look upon this message. He continued typing to the other.
[The Son]: who is this
HELLO444: HOW ABOUT YOU TAKE A GUESS.
[The Son]: mark
The son did not know a Mark.
HELLO444: NO. WRONG.
[The Son]: my father
HELLO444: GETTING WARMER.
HELLO444: NO.
The son thought about it, really. He felt something in his stomach.
[The Son]: my Friend from school.
He could not think of the girl’s name or nicknames.
HELLO444: DINGDINGDING
[The Son]: hehe, yr weird
HELLO444: J.
HELLO444: WHO ELSE ARE YOU TALKING TO.
HELLO444: TALK TO ME, TALK TO ME ONLY.
The son looked at the screen. The son typed something then erased it. The son looked at the last few lines the 45-year-old man had typed, in which were described various difficult contortions of the son’s body in the 45-year-old man’s mind and the words, between them, they would say, for our whole life. The son touched his head.
[The Son]: so what r u up to
The small Friend did not answer.
[The Son]: sorry i am here now
[The Son]: ??
[The Son]: r u there
The son’s cursor was blinking very fast. The son stared at the screen and drooled a little. The father’s cigarette had burned down to his lip. The son closed the chat box window with the 45-year-old man and placed the man’s screen name on his blocked list and deleted him from his friends on the social networking website and deleted his social networking profile and account and deleted all the emails to or from and saved direct chat logs with all the people in his archives who weren’t the girl, his special friend.
The instant message box signaled that the girl was typing text. The son dug his nails into his flesh and waited. He heard the house around him sigh. He leaned and looked and leaned and leaned and leaned.
The last incoming message made no bell.
HELLO444: DO YOU WANT TO COME AND SPEND THE NIGHT AT MY HOUSE ON THIS FRIDAY?
[The Son]: Y-E-S-S-S
INVERSE COLOR
The son could not find his cell phone. He’d been awaiting further word. The freezer had not become a tunnel as he’d been informed it would. The ceiling had not opened and the backyard had not learned to sing. The moon still seemed the same distance as always. Some of the son’s hair had fallen out. The son thought about his father getting young instead of old. All of these things he’d been promised. The son pressed his teeth against his teeth. He got up and left the bedroom for the hall.
From the hall the son turned around and looked at the room where he’d just been. There was a wet spot in the bed where he had tried to sleep. As of the past few weeks the son could not wear a shirt without soaking through it, ruining the cloth. His sweat contained acidic properties. The son stunk often and a lot. While he was sick the son had hardly sweat at all. He couldn’t urinate or cry. His eyes were itchy and black with pus. His body bloated with all the liquids the doctors forced on him to drink. His skin would grow distended and they