Penni Jones - Suicide Souls

Ignorance is the best part of childhood.

He reads for a while and puts his book on the bedside table. He turns off the lamp. There are two nightlights. He’s afraid of the dark. Just like I was.

I’ve transferred a phobia to my kid without having anything to do with him.

“This room looks like it would smell like dirty socks,” Naomi says.

“Do you ever say anything nice?”

She responds with a smirk. I guess I deserve to be stuck with a stone-cold bitch. That’s what I get for hesitating so much. For not being sure if I even want to try again.

Wow. I’m a miserable piece of shit.

“Aw. He’s cute when he’s asleep,” Naomi says. “See, that was nice.”

For some reason, a memory of eating candy comes to me. Maybe I was about Eben’s age, and I sat on the porch eating that powdered candy that stuck to the candy stick when you licked it. My tongue had a small, bloody hole in it after I finished the package. But that didn’t stop me from eating it again.

Failure to learn a lesson is a strong quality.

“What was your favorite candy when you were a kid?”

“Starburst,” Naomi says. “I liked chewy shit.”

“I miss chewing,” I say.

“Me, too.” Naomi wraps her arms around herself like she left her jacket at home.

“We will live to chew again.” I put my hand on her shoulder. The warm shift is divine. I’m so used to feeling the same way all the time now. Is it possible to be depressed when you’re dead? All signs point to “yes.”

“Let’s get this done.” She points to the bed.

I move over to Eben and lay down beside him.

Edgar told us that we can make contact when our grief targets are asleep because the barrier between us is more pliable. When someone isn’t awake, the logical part of their brain can’t convince them that we’re not really there. It’s information I could have used the entire time, but I’m grateful to have it now. I can touch my boy.

I place my hand on top of his head. His short hair is coarser than I expected. But it’s still amazing. My hand moves to his face and then to his shoulder.

“Are you thinking about his dream?” Naomi asks.

Another thing we finally learned from Edgar. We can enter their dreams if we’re touching them.

“Yes,” I whisper, even though my voice can’t wake him up no matter how loud I am.

Back to Eben’s dreams. I imagine pushing him on a swing even though he’s probably too old for that. We’re both laughing at a joke that happened before the scene in our heads started. It doesn’t matter which one of us told the joke. It’s a win either way.

Eben’s eyes twitch, and he starts to smile. It’s beautiful the way sunshine is after a four-day rainstorm.

I imagine stopping the swing and standing in front of him. I tell him that I love him, that I’m sorry I left, that he must always be good to his mother.

A single tear escapes from his eye to his pillow.

Maybe my mark of fatherhood is making this kid cry. I did it. I’m a real dad.

“Why did you do it, Daddy?” he asks.

Tears pour down my cheeks in the dream. It’s such a relief to find some sort of catharsis, even if it’s imaginary.

I pull him into my arms. He feels so real that I’m almost certain we are on a playground crying like two pansies, sitting ducks for the Neanderthal bullies who tormented me during my playground years.

“I was weak, son. I didn’t know about you. I didn’t think I had a future.” My tears flow onto the top of his head. “I’m so sorry.”

My shirt is wet in the dream. Eben is crying against me. Hard. And he’s crying onto his pillow.

“Never forget that I love you,” I say. And I mean it. I never loved anyone this much when I was alive.

“It’s working,” Naomi says. She’s smiling a way no one should smile in response to a weeping child. But she is trying to save me from Oblivion. Maybe I should take it easier on her.

Eben’s eyes open, and it appears like he’s looking right at me.

“Is he…” Naomi says right before Eben closes his eyes and rolls over.

I join Naomi and place my hand over hers. Maybe the transition will feel different when we’re trying to touch.

But nothing happens.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she says. “Do we have to make the baby cry, too?”

I start to respond that making the baby cry couldn’t possibly be on the agenda, but then I realize she’s being sarcastic.

You forget how people talk if you spend too much time alone. Especially people who are sarcastic assholes.

Edgar appears beside us. He looks dapper in his suit. Official. Like someone who knows exactly what he’s doing.

I guess anyone can become a suicide soul. All anybody needs is a little bit of trauma and a little push.

Before Edgar says anything, I ask him why he did it.

“Did what?” he asks while pretending to smooth his lapels.

“Offed yourself.”

“Heroin.” He sighs and says, “Once I tried it, I couldn’t stand the thought of being sober. My man left and I ran the club into the ground. It was New Year’s Day, 1950. I couldn’t face the new decade. Heroin was all I had left, and I decided to let it kill me.” Edgar’s eyes are on us but he’s looking far away into a life he rejected long ago. “I injected every drop that I had in my apartment. Enough to put down an elephant.”

“I didn’t know heroin was a thing back then,” Luke says, bringing Edgar back to us.

“I was an early adapter,” Edgar says. “A trendsetter.”

Edgar motions toward Eben’s bedroom door and we all walk through it. It’s surprisingly enjoyable to no longer need doorknobs. Makes me feel like a superhero.

We gather in the living room. Habits from our living days are still with us when we congregate.

Bojangles is asleep on the couch. His paws twitch like he’s dreaming about running.

If there is reincarnation, please let me come back as a dog. Then I can dream about running through a meadow instead of my dad yelling at me for dressing like a whore.

“Why are we still here?” Luke asks. He’s sitting on the couch even though there’s no reason to sit. It’s not like his feet can be sore. I sit down beside him just to feel normal.

Edgar stands in front of us with his arms crossed. “Apparently you’re not finished yet. But I don’t think you have much time left.”

As if on cue, the curtains wave even though the windows aren’t open.

“I saw it that time.” I’m suddenly very cold. But not from the inside out. It’s like the room is freezing.

“Do you feel that?” Luke’s eyes dart around the room. He stands and his body jerks as a shiver runs through him.

“Yes,” Edgar says in a loud whisper.

I stand and we huddle together in the middle of the trailer’s living room. This can’t be my ultimate end. Not here. Not in goddamn Missouri in a mobile home. Why did I kill myself? I didn’t really want to die. I just wanted to get my shit together, but I was too lazy to figure out how.

Black smoke emerges from behind the polyester curtains. Please God don’t let my last sight be mauve polyester curtains.

The Shadow is the closest it’s ever been. Direct, confrontational. My time is up.

I thought I wouldn’t mind going off to Oblivion. But I’m fucking terrified. I’d shit my pants if I could.

Bojangles wakes up and lets out a deep growl.

We all grab hands. There is no subtle temperature shift this time. Everything’s just cold.

Our breath would be visible if we had any.

We all scoot closer together. A huddle of souls in the middle of a Missouri mobile home. Naomi and Edgar look petrified.