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Fifty-Six
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House of Sighs PART FOUR - Fifty-Five
PART FOUR:Scissors“The leaves of memory seemed to makeA mournful rustling in the dark”—HenryWadsworth Longfellow, The Burning of the Drift-Wood”FIFTY-FIVEFlies swarmed Peter’s body.A spider in a tree ran the length of its web to catch its prey; it usually hunted at night but couldn’t pass a prize as sweet as this. The spider wrestled the butterfly until its web broke and both fell to the ground. A martyr to hunger.Beads of sweat clung to Diana’s upper lip. Musk wafted from her armpits. A ping of self-consciousness. As a teenager, she suffered from acne and spent innumerable hours scrubbing at her face with ivory bars, squeezing blackheads. Wherever she went one could smell her perfume, always spring flavors, citrus, and pink sugar. They now mixed with sweat in an odor that almost sickened her. She blinked and watched the house for movement. Prioritize, girl, she thought. Do you think anyone here is worr
House of Sighs Fifty-Four
FIFTY-FOURDiana rubbed the back of her sister’s neck. “That nice?”“Mm-mm.”Sarah dropped her head and slapped her thighs. “I’m tired of that damn house. It’s like staring at the sun.”“Sit with us,” Diana said. “What difference does it make if they are checking on us or not? We’re still stuck.”Jack sparked up as though he’d been waiting for someone to say that very thing just so he could refute it. “But we should try to get out, right? See that?” He pointed at the window closest to the driver’s hub on the left-hand side, a large crack running its length. “That’s the emergency exit window. It’s the only one on this bus and it’s already broken. All we got to do is push on it—”“We can’t do that,” Sarah said, stern. “We push it out and it shatters on the ground and they’ll come running.”“Pfft.” Jack’s eyes turned cold—old bird had a point after all. “Okay, fine. Whatever. So what about that?” He pointed at the escape exit above their heads, the wind whistling through it. “We’re
House of Sighs Fifty-Three
FIFTY-THREESunday heat intensified as clouds brooded in the sky. The ozone remained heavy, burdened, appropriate. Every time a face peered from the house, it stabbed the passengers’ collective consciousness, a series of small defeats that confirmed where those on route 243 were and what they had been reduced to.Jack was in the backseat with Sarah not too far away. Diana’s need to urinate overwhelming her; she closed her eyes and tried to distract herself with rocking, rocking. Julia fought the urge to suck her thumb, imagining that she was in her bedroom writing in her diary, an entry that read: nothing much happened today. Michael was closest to the dead body with his hands over his mouth to keep the stink at bay, a stink so thick he was sure he could feel it on his skin.Every window had been closed to stop more flies from getting in. They watched them congregate on the other side of the glass in writhing patches.In the steamy silence, Julia whispered, “It’s a girl.”Diana li
House of Sighs Fifty-Two:
FIFTY-TWO:InsideFluctuations of movement. Her parents, her brother. Their faces sometimes grimacing; other times, still. Liz heard her heartbeat, and it terrified her because it was so slow. I’m fading, shrinking down to nothing.Overhead the ceiling appeared miles away.Her mind separated from her body. No thought or feeling ran its proper course; neurons fired only to have nothing eventuate. Paralyzed. Her mother grabbed Liz’s head and begged her to speak, but the words refused to form. Liz wanted to scream at her parents and tell them that the passengers weren’t the enemy—they’re my new friends! They were put into her life just to show her love and for her to love them back, and for that reason alone, they shouldn’t be corrected. To be honest, Liz was scared for them. She knew her father had a terrible temper, had seen it in action so many times over. Liz longed to forgive him, but that was impossible when he wanted to hurt these new people in her life.She watched her father
House of Sighs Fifty-One
FIFTY-ONETen-year-old Jack in his backyard. An airplane carved a long, white streak through the orange sky. His senses were alive with the smells of barbecue and the apple tree.He heard a scream. It echoed across the yard.It came from inside his house, which towered above him, its mass a jagged silhouette against the sunset. The back door opened. He remembered the sound of it crashing against the wall. Kimba, the family cat, ran ahead of his father’s feet and scuttled under the stairs. His dad was a hulking, whiskered mammoth lurching and wheezing as he ran.The screams belonged to a boy, although the wails were high-pitched. It made him laugh, despite the fire in his father’s eyes as he approached.Jack felt the heaviness in his hand.He looked down. The sky, the airplane, the house and his dad tilted away until he saw his shaking fingers, and what he held in his grasp.Scissors.
House of Sighs Fifty:
FIFTY:OutsideThe memory left Jack spent, weak. His hands were covered in blue blotches, and tingled. Fuck me, he thought, where did that come from?Jack felt the eyes of the passengers on him, and in a flash, he was back in the classroom, his teacher towering over him. Spitting questions.“But I don’t know the answer,” he mumbled.“What?” Sarah asked, leaning in close. “You okay there, Jack?” The others huddled behind her. Even Michael turned.He couldn’t handle the silence anymore, or their eyes burning into him.“Don’t,” he said.“What?” Sarah was holding on to a handlebar to keep herself steady.Say something, cunt, Jack told himself. Say something, you dumb shit. Open your mouth and make some fucking noise!He took a breath and focused. “What if we busted out one of the windows on the right-hand side and got out and ran?”A gust of wind shook the bus. Dust pelted the windows and the hub filled with a soft, quiet hiss.Anger crept up on Sarah, and she had to hold herse
House of Sighs Forty-Nine:
FORTY-NINE:BangkokBangkok was everything the travel agent said it would be. Michael fought through congested traffic, laughed at the total disregard for rules and the polite sensibilities of the Western world. Going to Thailand was the best thing he’d ever done, perhaps an even greater achievement than losing weight.Nobody knew him there. He could swish when he wanted to and nobody called him names. Michael didn’t mind the looks he got from some of the guys in the streets. In fact, it excited him.He saw a live sex show in the red-light district. Watched a woman tug a birdcage from her vagina, then live birds. Another pulled a transistor radio out. Hotel California played through the speakers.Later in the week, he stumbled into the gay district. Effeminate staff beckoned to him as he passed.“Sexy white boy, where you from? Want to see cabaret show?”Flashing lights inside and bland, though not entirely unappealing music. Rows of chairs faced a stage where velvet curtains we
House of Sighs Forty-Eight
FORTY-EIGHTLiz stood. When did I take my shoes off? I don’t remember doing that.She didn’t remember a lot of things anymore. It was good to be numb—it was like “getting wet”.Her mother rifled through bags in the study.Where am I? Liz glanced around. If that’s the study, then I must be in the living room. I know I’ve seen that sofa before. It’s comfy. I’ve wrapped my legs over the arm of that chair before.Reggie doubled over in the small room, surrounded by torn-open garbage bags bleeding Christmas tinsel. In her hands were two handmade tree ornaments. Little, worn Santas, their faces bent inwards.A memory of the family at Christmastime. It was one of the years that her father hadn’t been there. He came and went. Sometimes he said he needed a holiday from them. In this memory, Liz and Jed put those ornaments on the plastic tree. Everything smelled of mothballs. They weren’t happy, but at least they weren’t crying or bleeding. This was the children’s barometer: the yardstick
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