Atticus Lish - Preparation for the Next Life

He came up behind her and put an arm around her waist and put his face in her neck. She held his hand. His face smelled like tobacco. They rocked back and forth like that.

Oh, it makes me want to sleep, she said.

But she made herself put on her jeans, her hoodie and her denim jacket, tie her hair back with an elastic band, and tie up her worn-out sneakers. She checked the time on her cell phone and stuck it in her back pocket where it was outlined against her muscle.

Okay, I go.

I’m coming with you, he said. Wait up.

They went out into the quiet night and started hiking down Franklin Avenue until the small American houses gave way to ghetto buildings and then the huge cathedral of Chinatown, over the hill through the dark trees and down the long block that extended out to the freeway like a jetty.

Now you have to go all the way back, she said.

That don’t matter. I can’t sleep anyway.

She told him to be careful. They told each other I’ll see you tomorrow. He stood guard until she was inside and the bolt clicked.

Then she crept upstairs, convinced that the other tenants were awake and monitoring her arrival. If she lost her balance taking off her sneakers in the dark, they would think she was drunk. As quietly as she could, she opened her accordion door. The sheds were built open at the top like changing rooms, and when she pulled the chain, her light disturbed her neighbor, who muttered behind the plywood. She switched the light off and kneeled down on her broken mattress, on her coverlet bought in Chinatown, showing teddy bears in bow-ties. By feel, she plugged her cell phone into the charger, her link to him, and the screen lit up indigo in her hands for several moments shining through her fingers.

hi mom im fine here in NY as planned. nothing going on/wrong remember fox news been wrong before I know your right about school, gi bill etc. i have enough maturity to know when your right just not mature enough to do it yet. my time well spent — one thing i learned in the army

brad

You has the dish? The cooking pot?

Wearing only her t-shirt, she opened the cabinet beneath the sink. The only thing in the cabinet was a container of Ajax. She opened the refrigerator, seeing nothing but their pizza box, and closed it.

The bathroom door was open and he was standing with his back to her, his legs apart, the cigarette in his mouth moving as he talked. He was urinating loudly and she couldn’t hear what he was saying. When he was done, he shook himself and turned around, still shaking himself and flipped himself back inside his boxers as he came walking out to her.

Pots and pans?

I check but I don’t find nothing.

He went through the kitchen opening and closing the cupboards one after the other and banging them shut.

She stood up on her toes to look inside the cupboards, her full bare calves flexing. Her t-shirt, which said I’m Fallin’ for Juicy, rode up to the edge of her rear.

Does that answer your question?

She tsked and folded her arms.

The typical boy. No dish. What you will eat? Maybe I will buy for you. Pot, dish, bowl.

During the day, he bought beer and condoms at a gas station on Northern Boulevard and they drank together at the round table in his kitchen. He did not buy groceries. She got drunk and rubbed his hair. So cute. She pointed at the empty shelves. No cooking pot. No nothing. You are just like man. Make your muscle. He flexed his arm and she felt it. Like my father. How’s that? Acts like man. She leaned in and stared fixedly at him, her eyes thick with liquid. Good man. Skinner agreed the way you do with someone drinking. He give everything to me. To us. To my mother. Everything he will do for us, even he has nothing. He is poor man. She told Skinner one of her small stories about things her dad had done. There were just a few to share because he hadn’t stayed with them very much.

He give everything to me.

I know, Skinner agreed.

Tears ran out of her eyes.

It’s all right.

She took another drink from her can and finding it empty, cracked open another. Whoa. Skinner stuck his cigarette in the side of his mouth and took it away from her. She took it back and took a slug out of it. Okay, he said. There’s always more beer. He took it away from her and put it as far away as he could reach.

She had started sobbing, her face in her arms crossed on the table. He reached over and squeezed her shoulder and shook it gently. You’re gonna be okay. She said something he couldn’t hear. She repeated it:

I never going to see him again.

It sucks. I know.

He helped her into his room and put his poncholiner around her.

But she was happy after all. It was a long time ago, losing him. I drink too much. She indicated their empties all around the place. Shed blood, not tears was the rule in the northwest — except if you were drinking. Or you could show yourself through a song. However, she did not sing. She sang Skinner’s name at work and the boss-wife said, What are you so happy about?

Frogs, she said.

She showed herself through her actions, by coming over to his basement every day after work and then going all the way home at night. I have energy a lot. She did not buy him pots and pans. She was not the mother type. When she collected their empties one day and took them to the redeemer, it was because she was enterprising, not because she felt she should clean up after him. With the dollar and change she made, she bought a chicken skewer and saved it for them to eat together, half each, the meat cold by the time she had walked there with it through the small houses covered in Spanish graffiti. She was logging all these miles and it was good. Spring was coming, the big wheel of the city starting to turn.

I can’t get rid of you. Maybe it’s the pizza. Or maybe it’s something else you’re getting from me, he said.

It was his camouflage, she told him. His army jacket. It was his poncholiner. It’s your boots. I love your boots.

Howbout this? he asked and pulled his shirt up. Is it the shrapnel in my back? Is it my war?

I love your war, she said.

WHEN I AM A little kid, my father tells me all about it how to be the soldier. There is a lot of duty that you must perform. All the men live in poor conditions, but they must not mind it. The people live in poor conditions, so the soldier has to be the same. He cannot have more than they do. He will work to give them a better life. So they say: we are like the out-of-town cousin. When he comes to town, he comes to stay with us and we feed him. Only after he is fed does the army eat its dinner. So the army is skinny and society is fatter.

A long time ago, the whole country is in disaster and we have enemies inside and outside the border. United States, Soviet Union, Japan all attacked because our country is weak. Criminals take advantage of this weakness to steal from us. The army saved us and punished the criminals.

The people and the army are joined together, though they are not the same. Everyone when he gets to be eighteen is supposed to serve the army. I want to serve the army when I am eighteen. Actually, I cannot do it. There are so many Chinese, it is hard to join the army. Even though it is very hard, it is a good job and everyone wants to do it.

I don’t know about the American army, but in the People’s Liberation Army, it is very strict. The soldiers come from poor places and they are all used to it. Some of them have never seen a toilet before in their lives. Don’t know how to read.

But in those days, the quality of the soldiers is very high. They can survive on just a small ration of food. I don’t know about the American army if it can do that. The Americans have big bodies and I think they would be too hungry. But in China we are used to it.