Cemetery Strike by Orza Christopher

Author:Orza, Christopher [Orza, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: South Street Productions
Published: 2015-02-07T16:00:00+00:00

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When I got to Crystal’s apartment, I banged on the thing like there was a dead body inside. She didn’t answer. I tried to kick the door in, but couldn’t. Then I heard crying.

“Hey. Open the door. It’s me.”

The crying sounded small. Different from Crystal’s. It was Chris crying.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said.

From the other side of the door, the kid kept pouring out tears. I wanted to buy him a lollipop or something.

“Are you a bad guy?” the kid asked, crying through the words.

I flinched. It felt like a valid question. Was I a bad guy? I had just come from a meeting between two human devils, and I came out of the trailer holding a sack of money. I got high off dead bodies. I only thought of sex and death and getting stoned. Was I a bad guy?

I said, “It’s me. John. Your mom’s friend. Me and you played with the books together. Knocking them down. You remember me. Go wake up your mom. She can open the door for me.”

“I’m alone,” the boy said.

“Open the door.” I felt like he was about to choke on something or cut himself on a piece of glass or start a fire with some matches.

“She said not to open it for anyone.”

“Your mom told me to come over,” I said.

The kid just stood on the other side of the door crying. Then I heard him start to drag shit in front of it, like he didn’t believe the locks could hold me out.

Was I a bad guy?

I sat down against the door, my back leaning against it. I wanted to make sure the kid was alright, that no other fuckface would break in or get him to open up. But I should’ve also been running around the city looking for Crystal. She was probably at Woods Edge right now watching a light drip into a galaxy of blooming flowers while masseuses licked the inside of her thighs.

The kid kept dragging shit in front of the door.

“Kid.” I banged one more time. I really wanted to believe I wasn’t a bad guy. I want to believe it now, too. That’s a big part of why I’m telling you all this.

Inside, something heavy squeaked on the floor.

“I just wanna come in and play a game with you,” I said.

More shit in front of the door. It was surprising how much the boy worked.

I said, “That day with the books. It was the only real fun I had in a long time.”

Inside, a bunch of shit fell over. Then the knob jiggled and the door opened. The kid had been stacking pots and crap against the door so he could reach the top bolt to unlock it for me.

I walked in, money bag strapped to my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.”

I closed the door behind me, locked it. “When did your mother leave?”

He didn’t know.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

I grabbed the boy and held him in one arm, like a toddler. We walked to the kitchen.

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