Max Booth III - We Need to Do Something

“Still busy?”

“Try yours.”

“I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

She points at her own phone next to her feet. “It died.”

“What? How?”

“Flashlight drained it.”

“Fuck. You didn’t bring a charger?”

“Did you? ”

“Goddammit.” He sighs. “ Goddammit. ”

“The power’s out, anyway. Charger wouldn’t do much good right now.”

He picks up his phone again and starts fiddling with something on the screen, then shakes his head with frustration. “Goddammit, you little motherfucker…”

“What?”

“I’m trying to…”—he taps the screen furiously—“…check the news…”—he taps harder—“…but this fucking thing…”—then slaps the screen—“… isn’t working .”

“How many bars do you have?” Mom asks.

“What? I don’t know.”

“What does it say at the top of your screen?”

He squints at the phone. “No signal…?”

“Maybe the storm took out a couple cellular towers.”

“What do you know about cellular towers?”

“What do you know?”

Dad throws his phone back on the sink and it bounces across the porcelain. “This is fucking bullshit.”

“Do you want me to look at it?”

“No,” he says, sneering, “I don’t want you to look at it.”

“Okay. I was just asking.”

I let out an exaggerated yawn, pretending I’ve just woke up. “Did you get my phone?”

To which Bobby immediately follows up with: “I have to pee.”

Turns out, we all have to use the toilet. Bobby goes first, then Dad, then Mom. They both offer to let me go ahead of them, but I’m trying to prolong the inevitable as much as I can. I’ve never peed in front of anyone before and fear shyness will freeze my bladder.

During each shift, the other three face the opposite direction, attempting to offer some sense of privacy, as minimal as it seems. When it is finally my turn to sit on the toilet, all I can do is stare at the backs of my family in horror. How had they all managed to relieve themselves with such effortlessness? They’d made it seem so easy, like it was no big deal at all. But it is a big deal. People aren’t supposed to urinate in front of others, even if they are family, even if their backs are facing you. The entire act is unnatural.

“I can’t go with you guys here.”

Dad laughs. Of course he does. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Mel.”

“We’re not watching,” Mom says. “It’s okay.”

“But still… you’re here. It’s too weird.”

Mom nods, then leans over the tub and twists the knob. Water sprays from the faucet, loud and fast. “We can’t hear you now!” she shouts over the water.

“Yes I can!” my brother joins in.

I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to strangle him. “Bobby, shut up! Oh my god.”

He glances over his shoulder at me and sticks out his tongue. I flip him off just as my bladder surrenders to the bowl. He maintains eye contact the entire time and I’ve never felt more creeped out in my life. “Mom,” I cry out, urine gushing out of me, “make him stop!”

“Bobby, cut it out,” Mom says.

“I’m watching you pee, Sis! It’s so gross! There’s pee everywhere!”

“Mom!”

“Bobby—”

“Drink it, Sis. Drink your pee! Drrrriiiinnk it . Yum yum yum yum yum.”

After I finish up, I punch him on the arm and he starts crying and Dad gets all pissed and spits out this long lecture about how I shouldn’t hit my brother, that he’s told me how many times not to hit him and do I even listen to a single word he tells me? Do I even care? Of course I don’t care, I want to respond, but I’m not suicidal—at least not in this moment of time. Maybe in another hour I’ll change my mind.

Later, we sit in a circle on the blanket playing cards. I make a particularly good play guaranteed to screw over Bobby. “Ha. Take that.”

His face crumples into an expression of pure horror. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I have to poop.”

“Oh no,” the three of us say in unison.

It doesn’t take long before we’re fighting for a chance to press our faces against the door opening, desperate for fresh air, gagging on the hideous stench emitting from my brother’s asshole. “Oh god,” I moan, “we’re gonna die, we’re gonna die.”

“Jesus, Bobby,” Mom says, color draining from her face, “what did you eat?”

“Farts! I ate farts!” he shouts atop the toilet, howling with laughter as waves of flatulence erupt beneath him. “ I ate all the farts! ”

Eventually I have to look outside. Really look and take in everything our limited view allows.

Dad hadn’t been messing with us. The roof is gone, sliced in half by a tree from our back yard. A tall, thick tree. I don’t know what kind. One with bark and branches and leaves. Only old people know types of trees. But it is definitely the one we’d chosen as Spot’s final resting grounds. It isn’t like our back yard holds a reputation for housing many trees.

The memory remains front and center. Two months ago. If Bobby had been home that day, he would have witnessed the death of his dog. Instead, I was the lucky one who got to watch it happen. Mom and I had gone grocery shopping that afternoon, thinking we’d beat the rush. Mostly our trip had been pleasant, which felt rarer as I aged. Not once did we get into an argument or bring up anything nasty. I think we even laughed together once or twice. Of course, that all changed when Mom opened the front door. Spot must’ve been waiting for us, planning out his escape all day, just waiting for the perfect moment to make a run for it. Poor little guy. He’d never done anything to anybody. Twenty seconds after he shot through Mom’s feet, the Amazon delivery driver obliterated his skeleton. Then he turned into our driveway and, after offering his most sincere apologies, handed over a package addressed to our residence. It was a present for my birthday the following week, I later discovered. A blu-ray of some new Pixar movie. I couldn’t have remembered the title if someone pressed a gun against my head. I threw the movie away without bothering to crack the sealing. As far as I was concerned, the entire company of Pixar was now a cursed entity that I would no longer allow to entertain myself. When Dad found out what I’d done with my gift, his face got so red I thought it might pop, and when it didn’t, all I could feel was disappointment.

If last night’s storm had knocked down a behemoth like this tree, the possibility of what other damage it might have caused around town is enough to snatch my breath away. My parents’ bedroom is unrecognizable. The tree blocks the majority of our view, but I can tell their bed has been flipped upside down. Dressers and nightstands rest on their splintered sides. Water from last night’s storm drips from the edges of the roof into the soaked carpet below. The sky is blue and clear. Undisturbed. Like everything is perfectly fine and nothing even slightly disastrous has recently occurred.

I wonder what kind of damage has inflicted Amy’s house. I wonder if she’s okay.

My cell phone is nowhere in sight.

Another victim claimed by the storm.

I give up and curl in the bathtub. Its cold porcelain feels like a deadly kiss against my cheek. Bobby jolts across the bathroom and takes a turn inspecting the damage.

“Wow. It really was an EF5.”

Dad nods, leaning against the sink with both hands gripped tightly around his thermos. “Yeah. It might have been.”

“Do you think everybody’s okay?”