Penni Jones - Suicide Souls

Once you set up a few long-term contracts, it’s mostly just coasting. You end up with too much time on your hands, and all the local business owners know you.

You shop too much after too-long lunches where you have one too many and your entire life becomes a cycle of booze, pills, and sleep.

When I was little, I wanted to be a missionary.

“My last boyfriend killed himself before I did,” I say, only to break Luke’s trance.

He turns toward me slowly like he might miss Daisy doing something cool.

“That sucks,” he says. He stares at me for a bit and turns back to Daisy.

The brightly-hued cartoon has started. And Luke is still gazing at his beloved. I wonder how long he’ll draw this shit out. Oh, he of the pea-sized balls.

I realized years ago that life went on without me. But this Daisy situation is still a shock. It’s like watching “It’s a Wonderful Life,” but it’s about me and there’s no way of it returning to normal.

I never cared for that movie anyway.

Daisy turns on the TV for the kids and lets the dog back in. They’re all snuggled up on the couch, winding down for bedtime. Her husband has yet to make an appearance. I hope we’re out of here before he does.

She has a boy tucked under each arm. One is strawberry-blond and one is brunette, but they both have her eyes.

The kids are zoned out, sucked into the cartoon like tiny zombies. I could do it now. Emit my scent and hope that’s all it takes. But then I will never see her again.

Daisy and I were in a car wreck once. I swerved to miss a deer, and my Chevelle plowed into a soybean field.

She cried and praised God that we weren’t hurt. I reminded her that God put the deer in our path.

Maybe that’s why she’s here and I’m not. Glass half-full and all that.

The little one starts to cry. She hefts him up on her shoulder and takes him to another room. The other one stays behind on the couch with his feet on the mutt. He stares at the cartoon like it’s the most interesting thing that he’s ever seen. And maybe it is.

Daisy returns alone, though I can hear the boy crying softly from his room.

“It’s almost bedtime for you, too, Eben.” She rubs his head and sits down beside him. She pulls the boy into her arms and onto her lap. She smiles in a way that I know I never, ever smiled when I was alive. The smile of contentment, of raw happiness, of zero expectation for the next moment. The smile of accepting this second as-is with no “if onlys” attached. The smile of not longing for something different.

“Hey, Luke.” Naomi taps her finger on her lips. I guess dumb body expressions translate easily into the after-life. “The big one kind of looks like you.”

“No. I don’t think so.” But I can see it now that she’s said it. He’s lanky, and his nose might be a little too big for his face. And he would be just about the right age.

I’m such an asshole.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have mentioned the resemblance out loud. Now he’ll draw this shit out so he can watch the little bastard longer.

Or maybe he won’t. Maybe he’ll want to get far away.

Who am I kidding? He’s mooning over that little bastard like a stoner staring at cake.

“Are you okay?” I place my hand on his shoulder. Hopefully the temperature shift will snap him out of the trance.

He swings his head toward me after a second or two or fifty. “I don’t know.” His words are angry. Chopped. As if this predicament is my fault. Or even has anything to do with me.

“You have to snap out of this.” I rub my hand along his arm.

Luke squints and says, “Sorry if I need a moment to process.”

“If you get a new body, maybe you can win back the girl.”

His eyebrows jerk up and he says, “You really think so?”

“You have a better chance than if you don’t exist anymore.” It’s like talking to a child. But I guess he kind of is.

Luke tucks his hair behind his ears and says, “Let’s do this.”

“Great. What was your song?” I stand up and walk toward the TV. Bojangles follows me and growls softly.

Luke is staring again. This time at his probable bastard son.

He would totally be on Ritalin if he were still alive.

“Hey, Luke. We’re doing something here. Stay focused.”

He turns his attention back to me. “I wonder if she knew she was pregnant before I died.”

“Gee, I don’t know. Let’s ask her.” I do some sort of stupid jazz hands motion. “Dipshit.”

“This is a lot to process.”

“Yep. You’ve already mentioned that.” I move closer and plant my face inches from his. Not close enough to feel heat, but close enough to block his view of Eben. Eben. I can’t get over how stupid that name is. “You are in grave danger.” I speak slowly in case he’s really, really dumb and Edgar didn’t bother to tell me. “Oblivion, Luke. Nothingness. Ceasing to exist in any way.”

“Right.” He nods slowly. “It’s here now.”

Fear. It’s different from when I was alive. It’s not that jolting gut thrill, more of a cold shiver that rolls from my chest to my groin.

“The Shadow?” I whisper in case it can hear us. Like hearing us will change a damn thing.

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t look afraid. He’s too peaceful, too okay with this. Even Bojangles has the sense to cower in the corner.

I did everything I was supposed to do in record time, and got saddled with Luke, who doesn’t give a shit if he’s sucked into Oblivion.

“Snap the fuck out of it, asshole. You’re my responsibility now.”

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s start with scent. That might be enough.”

“Fine. Get with it. But I think we should double-down.” I go back to the TV.

Daisy is still on the couch with Eben in her arms. The more I think about that name, the more it seems normal. Eben. Kind of like Evan but with a B. Hmm.

“Song. TV show. Commercial, whatever. Throw me a bone here.”

“Well, we used to listen to a lot of The Smiths.”

“I’d be shocked if you didn’t listen to The Smiths.” I sigh for dramatic effect even though I don’t breathe these days. “There’s a show that has ‘How Soon Is Now’ for its theme. I wonder if we can find that. It’s on all the time.”

He looks to the ceiling and says, “Wait! I know! We used to watch cartoons when we were stoned.”

“Okay? Which cartoons?”

“ Rocko’s Modern Life !” He points at me and smiles.

“Great. Help me here. Concentrate. Remember everything Edgar told us.” I close my eyes and lean my palms on the television.

I catch a whiff of patchouli. Gross. It’s the first thing I’ve smelled in ages and it’s fucking patchouli.

A commercial for that cartoon eventually comes on. Even though I’m fairly certain it hasn’t been on TV in years.

Daisy smiles softly at first, like she’s enjoying the memory of Luke. Then her mouth turns down and her chin trembles.

I shift my attention to Luke. He looks like he wants to cry. Too bad he can’t. It would probably help him get through this quicker.

Daisy pulls her son closer, squeezing him so hard that he says, “Ow, Mom.”

“Sorry, baby.” She relaxes her grip and wipes a tear from her cheek.

“What’s wrong?” the boy asks.

“Nothing, baby. Just thinking about your daddy.”

“He knows?” It sounds like a statement and a question.

“Sounds like it.” I only answer to remind him of my existence.

Time to blow this popsicle stand. I close my eyes and wait for the pull. But nothing happens. My eyes open to the sight of a weeping Daisy and a staring Luke. Why are we still here?