Lightning People by Christopher Bollen

Author:Christopher Bollen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Soft Skull Press
Published: 2011-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTERTWENTY - FIVE

AMAZING WHAT A DAY CAN DO. Del had seen that toothpaste advertisement on the side of buses all summer, with bright white teeth flashing over its busy font. But only on her walk back to the apartment did that message register. Amazing what a day can do. She kept repeating the phrase as she walked east to Gramercy, as if her inner ear had suddenly transformed into an open echo chamber, receptive to any lyric or jingle that carried a perverse lesson she had somehow previously managed to deflect. “I owe you my life,” blasted a pop refrain from the speakers of the deli where she bought a pouch of tobacco. “Do you want change, miss?” I owe you my life. Amazing what a day can do. Do you want change, miss? It had been so much easier to deal with Madi’s death locked in the studio with Raj. How much more agonizing it was to be alone with that fact. She put Raj in a taxi for the airport not fifteen minutes ago, and already she wanted him back. She wanted to remain in that studio with only their memories and each other’s arms for support. Death pulled people together, at first, and then it left each person terribly alone.

As soon as Del returned to the apartment, she frantically began to clean, trying to tire her body down to match the dim wiring of her mind. She poured a bucket of water and mopped the floors. She rubbed years of grime off the windows, killed spiders between her fingers, and wiped away their webs in the rafters. Through all of this manic cleaning, Joseph stood staring at her from the bedroom doorway. He placed a record on the stereo, but Del screamed before he engaged the needle. “I don’t want to hear any music.” She scoured the toilet, swept dust into a pile the size of a sweater, and ignored Joseph as she carried the broom into the kitchen. He followed behind and grabbed her arm. Del yanked it away and then proceeded to slap his bare feet with the bristles of the broom. She didn’t allow herself to look at his face.

“I’m here,” Joseph said, vulnerable in a pair of navy boxer shorts, which exaggerated his pale legs and rutted rib cage. “I’d like to talk about it, make sure you’re okay.”

“There’s nothing to say,” she grumbled, closing her eyes while adjusting the purple handkerchief across her forehead. “Can you get out of my way? I’m trying to clean this place.”

“Please,” Joseph said quietly. “I know that you’re suffering. I know you loved Madi very much.”

You don’t know anything about Madi, she almost shot back. Del took a step backward to calm down. Without meaning to, she was blaming Joseph—not for Madi’s death but for trying to help her recover from it. Why are you blaming your husband, when he’s only trying to be here for you? She didn’t know the answer. Maybe if Joseph had

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