Tao Lin - Bed

“Thank you, Colin,” the short man said.

“Thank you, Colin, sir,” the tall man said.

The tiny, wrinkled woman was smiling very pleasantly. She had a little teacup in front of her. The waiter’s twin had on a “NASA” hoodie and was talking to Donnie. “We lived in Seattle then moved here. We’ve written four film scripts each, eight in total. We have a shared identity but we also have distinct individual identities. Well, what do you think?”

Frank came back. His face and hair were wet, his eyes were unfocused, and his seat had been taken. He stood there a while, then focused his eyes, put food on a plate, sat alone at an adjacent table, and ate.

“You’re trying to say something,” Maura said to the tiny, wrinkled woman, who was moving her lips in an unhurried, fishlike way. Some spit got onto her chin and she coughed a few times. Little coughs, like drops of water. Finally she very clearly and quickly said, “What are your movies about?” She did not have an accent. They were all looking at her.

“That depends. Wait … do you mean plotwise?” the waiter’s twin said. “Wait,” he said loudly.

They all continued looking at the tiny woman. She was very wrinkled. She began to cough again, then reached for a napkin and knocked over her teacup, which was filled with something not easily describable. It wasn’t tea. There was food in it, and a small mound of sugar or something. “Oh shit,” she said, softly and without agitation, and then carefully stood and walked slowly out of the restaurant.

“I think what she meant?” the waiter said, looking at his twin. “Was overall, as in what are our preoccupations?”

“Life,” the twin said quickly. He stared at his brother, the waiter. “What, you don’t think so? I hesitated earlier. I shouldn’t have. We’re different.”

Maura stood. “Let’s go help her,” she said, and pulled Colin up. As she and Colin left, the waiter was saying, “She’s not as old as you think. She uses the internet, you know? Friendster?”

It was snowing outside. Colin felt cold, but in a stony, immune way. He was a marble statue, unearthed after a hundred million years — fascinating. The woman stood on the corner, small and shoulderless as a penguin. The wind lifted her hair above her head, like a small, white flame.

“We’ll each hold one of her arms,” Maura said. They went and did that.

Maura leveled her face with the woman’s and asked where they were going, then positioned her ear directly in front of the woman’s mouth. Maura’s nose ring was very bright. Colin stared at it and could hear it shining. It was a noise like a happy person waking from a nap — continually waking from a nice nap.

The woman pointed across the street. There was a McDonald’s, glowing yellow and red in complex, ongoing, and freakish acknowledgement of itself. As they crossed the street, Colin couldn’t see that well; snow moved elaborately toward his face, in curlicues and from below. But he felt that he could hear better. He could hear their six shoes sloshing against the snow. It was a crumbling noise, he realized, only faster.

Inside McDonald’s it was very warm. They sat in a booth by the entrance. The woman said she wanted an Oreo McFlurry, but had no money.

“You don’t need money,” Maura said. “Don’t move.” She stood and went to the back, to the ordering counter.

The woman began to shiver. Colin took off his jacket and put it on her back. She touched her ears. “It’s cold here,” she said. “These places.” She touched her forehead and eyebrows.

Colin pulled the jacket up, covering her head completely. It looked like it put an uncomfortable weight on her neck. Colin slid in close, right next to her, and held the jacket up a little.

“That’s pretty good,” the woman said. “I don’t like the city. No, never. Don’t ask me that.” She began to talk faster and louder. “I’m moving to the Florida Keys. I’m not driving. I’m taking a plane. I’m living in a hut on the beach.” She paused, then coughed.

“Oh,” Colin said.

“Everyone’s doing something and that’s what a city is,” the woman said. “I’m old. I don’t want to communicate at the speed of light on Mars. My daughter died in the towers. She didn’t need to be there, typing, doing things at the speed of light. Not my daughter but other daughters. I mean — people. Something. I can’t get at the things in my head. They’re tiny. They move too slow.” She was coughing or sobbing now — or both; there was a sound like two or three hamsters squeaking. Colin leaned over to look at her face, but it was just a shadow under the jacket, an abyss. “Where were you when the towers happened?” she said.

“Sleeping.”

“Singing? What?”

“Sleeping.”

“Oh, that’s good. So don’t wake up. Build a home by a beach. Leave the city and get a bed. Those are important. Beds. Don’t wake up through any of this, ever. Don’t dream about cities or progress. Don’t wake up or dream. That’s what I’m saying. Is that wrong? What should I say then? It’s too late to say anything.”

“It’s … what time is it?” Colin said inaudibly.

Maura came back holding a McFlurry and with a McDonald’s manager following her. She set the McFlurry down and sat opposite the woman and Colin. The McFlurry had some ice cream smeared on its outside and no cap on top.

The manager stood by the booth. “None of you have money?” he said. He was extremely tall and was staring down at Colin. “I believe that. I’m not self-righteous. Listen,” he said. He stared at Colin without blinking. “Okay. Listen. ‘From anyone who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you, and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.’ Listen; just keep listening. ‘Students of Buddha should not take pleasure in being honored, but should practice detachment …’ ” He continued on like that.

Colin’s eyes were very dry. He was staring back at the manager, wide-eyed, and when he finally blinked, both his contact lenses crinkled and fell out, onto his cheeks. He brushed them quickly off his face.

The manager stopped talking and affected a sudden, neutral expression. He stared at Colin’s contact lenses, which were on the table.

“Do you need something for those?” the manager said slowly. “Yeah. I think you need alcohol solution to clean them, now that they’re dirty.”

“It’s good to not wear them sometimes, for a change,” Maura said. “Once a year … week.”

They were all looking at the contact lenses, which were squirming a little, slowly unfolding.

The old woman was weeping and coughing very quietly.

Colin brushed at the contact lenses until they fell off the table. He was blushing hard and was sweating a little in some places. He rested his hands in his lap, and felt them there — light as gloves, gentle and dead as birds.

The manager took from his pocket a colorful wad of Monopoly money. He stuffed that quickly back in his pocket, then took a five-dollar bill from another pocket. “Here,” he said. He set it on the table, looked at it, flattened it out. “That’s five … real dollars.” He smiled and looked very happy. He smiled less after a while, then renewed his smile, then left.

“People can be so nice,” Maura said. She was looking at the woman. “Maybe you shouldn’t eat that freezing-cold … you’re shivering. You’re hyperventilating.”

The woman moved the McFlurry into the dark area below the jacket and the weeping noise stopped.

Maura climbed over the table and held the woman. She set the side of her head lightly against the woman’s back and closed her eyes. “I’ve wanted to ask about your friend Dana,” she said after a while. It was snowing very hard outside; snow was flying against the glass then vanishing, quiet and rescued as the tiny ghosts of baby doves. Everything else outside was a lucid and excited black. “What do I want to know?” Maura said. “I don’t know. Something.” She began to hum loudly.