Atticus Lish - Preparation for the Next Life

I feel you.

He twined his fingers in her hair again and she let him do it.

When he tried to give his bank card to the bartender, she gave it back and pointed behind him. They journeyed across the bar, wondering what they would find. They found an ATM padlocked to the far wall. Zou Lei went to the bathroom while he paid the bill. She held herself on the sink in the tiny green room. Scratched into the paint on the stall, it said Cholo BCB. Mi Corazon. A pierced heart.

They were outside now, taking reeling steps under the subway tracks and laughing. He did his dance.

Run! she yelled.

She broke away and started running and he chased after her, all the way up the stairs and through the turnstile and up the stairs again. They shoved on the train laughing and gasping.

Thanks a lot. I was in the mood for that. Are we gonna PT when we get there?

I test you.

You test me? I guess I better hope I pass.

You has to work hard.

What happens if I don’t pass? More pushups?

Pushup, one thousand!

The subway took them back the way they had come, through a sense of rural emptiness, as if they were riding in another part of the world and there was nothing but desolation beyond the houses under the widely separated streetlights.

At the last stop, which was underground, they climbed up the stairs to the street. On the last flight of steps, they passed three males in hoods jogging down in sagging jeans.

What you lookin at? one said.

Skinner stopped on the steps and turned around. The males were looking back at him.

What, you wanna try it, nigga?

I’m right here, Skinner said.

Then do something, nigga.

There’s a gun in the bag, nigga.

Zou Lei came back down and took Skinner’s arm and pulled at him.

Test me, nigga.

The male with the knapsack started coming up the stairs. He had long black braids swinging from his head like an Apache Indian. Skinner didn’t move but didn’t say anything.

Listen to your bitch, nigga.

Test me, nigga!

Fuck this nigga scared. Walk, nigga, walk.

Your bitch saved your life, nigga.

The males pulled each other down the stairs.

I’m right here, Skinner said.

Zou Lei pulled him and he followed her up onto the street.

Don’t do that, she said.

They shouldn’t mess with me.

Come on.

He was silent as they made their way across the intersection, which felt like a vast empty stage set, handbills littering the sidewalk, Chinese signs in the dark.

Don’t pay attention to them.

I don’t.

He caught up with her as they walked along. She noticed he had lit a cigarette.

Hey! she said and hit his arm.

Trust me, I don’t.

They heard a vehicle coming and he put his head down until it broke out of the background of the stage set and came speeding at them, floodlighting them, and soaring past them. Their shadows, flung on the metal shutters of storefronts, seemed to rise up and lie down again.

Look at that, he pointed. Mickey D’s is still open. You like them?

Of course I like.

Well, let’s go.

Okay! We go.

He grabbed the door for her and threw his cigarette in the street and she went in rubbing her arms and wandered towards the counter and he followed, standing behind her, close enough for her hair to tickle his face while they stared at the menu sign with bloodshot eyes.

She wanted to treat him, but he told her to put her money away. I got it. She’s not paying.

It’s together? asked the girl behind the register, who was not Chinese this time.

Yeah, but she’s not paying. She’s just all happy.

Next time I treat, Zou Lei said. The real Chinese food.

They waited while the girl went over to the chute and put her hand up and waited for a sandwich to fall out of it into her hand.

Macky D you say. It’s the name Macky D. It’s so cool. The cool guy say Macky D. You are cool? I teach you one in Chinese: maidanglao.

My. Dong. Lao. My-dong-lao.

It’s mean Mack-don-al. You say perfect. I think you are Chinese, maybe one half.

How do you say be my girlfriend?

Girlfriend: niupengyou.

New-pong-yow.

They had their food now and they were sitting at a booth unwrapping their sandwiches.

So, like, if a guy likes a girl in China, he goes new-pong-yow and that’s how she knows?

He will give her some present, maybe just to show his feeling. If they the rich people, maybe he will buy her the TV or refrigerator. Sometimes the boy buy the small animal, rabbie.

Rabbit?

The ears goes up tu-tu-tu, the nose is red, the hairs is coming from the nose like cat. Yes, rabbit. You can keep it in a jail.

Like a cage?

Yes, the cage, and give it vegetable. When it get more fat, even they will eat it. Cut the head — piiyah — and cook.

Do they make like rabbit sandwiches?

Maybe. I think you can make the sandwich if you want.

Can you go into a McDonald’s in China and get a McRabbit?

Maybe soon, I think. Next week.

He put his burger down, fished out his cell phone and moved over to her side of the booth.

Get next to me so we’re both in it. I have to remember tonight.

He reached around her waist and pulled her in. He took the picture and then turned the phone over and looked at it. In the picture, her head was tilted sideways resting on his camouflage coat. She looked old and beautiful.

Under the table, her legs looked young but she would not release his hand and let him feel her.

Go back that side.

You’re a hardass.

I told you, I test you.

And if I pass the test, what happens? You’ll be my girlfriend?

Yes I can, maybe.

What do I get when you’re my girlfriend?

Girlfriend.

Yeah but what do I get? Like, exactly?

She ignored the question.

Don’t ask this question.

Aw, come on. I’m sorry.

Eat you food or you will be hunger.

Here, he said and put his large fries between them. Get some. He set his burger down and wiped his face. I could use another Coke. Twisting around in his seat, he looked at the counter to see if there was a line. She saw the tattooed star on his neck and his jaw scraped red from shaving.

You want one?

She shook her ice. I have, she said.

He watched her putting fries in her womanly mouth with her chapped, calloused hands, her back straight, her legs crossed under the table.

I don’t know what time it is, he said when they were outside again. It was darker than before, maybe because some of the streetlights had timed out. She said she didn’t need him to take her home, but he said there was no way I’m not going with you, and they began to walk up the long incline of the avenue. They went under the railroad bridge and past the dead signs, seeing the tarps over the stands, the empty wooden trestles that held vegetables and fruit during the day. Skinner stepped on fruit mashed into the sidewalk like glistening organs.

They turned a corner by a parking lot and went down a narrow way between buildings with arched entrances. There were names and numbers written quickly in dripping spraypaint repeated on the concrete foundation, which came up to chest height before the bricks began. The street doglegged. They went around another corner, going downhill now. She led them under trees. There were clotheslines on the second-story decks. Hanging in the dark, he saw a flag with a crescent moon. The hill was very steep. A blue flickering light showed in a window and they heard gunshots, sirens and muffled music.

Somewhere down the hill, they turned again, onto a long block of row houses going out to the expressway. There were large expanses of blackness. They walked past carports, satellite dishes.

You live here?

She had stopped to get her key out.