Spell Heaven by Toni Mirosevich

Author:Toni Mirosevich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Catapult
Published: 2022-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

On a late-December afternoon, at the end of a long workday, I drive down to the beach. The first person I see is Liz. But not in her usual spot. She’s standing by the beach railing, a dreamy look on her face, staring out at the waves. Alone.

Today I just can’t do it, can’t take another encounter. I just want distance, it’s too much. It’s all too fucking much. The looks and the stares, the not knowing what to do and the not doing anything. Mercy me, Marvin. What’s this got to do with me?

I park the car and start my walk. In the distance I see Fergie walking toward Liz from the other direction. Fergie, the personal trainer with the six-pack abs, a walking advertisement for body beautiful. She’ll reach Liz before I do and provide an assist for me to slip by.

They greet each other like old friends.

“Hey, hey,” I hear Liz say. Then she pulls out a pack of cigarettes from her coat pocket and offers Fergie one.

“Man, I needed this today,” says Fergie. I watch as they settle into girl talk. Neither notices when I cross to the other side of the street.

What if I’m wrong about Liz? Pope what’s-his-name said mercy comes before judgment. Or was it instead of judgment? Who am I to judge Liz? Or Kite Man or Daddy or Mr. Econoline? It’s not like I don’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of swift judgment. Just last week, Stevie and I were strolling by the sea hand in hand when we passed a parked truck. A guy was sitting behind the wheel, glaring at us. He stuck his head out of the driver’s-side window and yelled, “Christ. Go get married.” I should have calmly replied, We already are. Instead, I yelled back: “Hey buddy. Small minds, small dicks,” adding fuel to that fire. In that exchange, nothing changed. We kept our distance. He kept his.

I look over at Liz and Fergie, laughing, chatting like two schoolgirls sharing secrets about their crushes and trading makeup tips. There’s an ease, a familiarity between the two that’s obvious. No stiffness or judgment or suspicious looks. I think of all the times I’ve seen Liz with other people down here: Sharing a cigarette with Fergie. In deep conversation with Kite Man. Laughing with Mr. Econoline. Everyone seems to know her. To like her. Trust her.

The year ticks down. Does the year of mercy end at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve? Can I have an extension? An image of the three drifters pops up again. The murdering meth users. During the trial phase, they were transformed one last time. Their lawyers gave them a makeover. Both men sported super-short haircuts. One wore big tortoiseshell eyeglasses, college kid drag. Their gray-and-pink-striped jail jumpsuits looked clean, almost sporty, like new athletic wear. The girl had short hair too and red-rimmed eyes as if she’d been crying. The photo showed her staring down at the table.

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