Ken Baumann - Say, Cut, Map

It instructed them to leave the object at the door. He fingered her, biting his lip. Fingered her.

“Calm down.”

The doctor sighed, nodded. Blues became whites. There were hallways.

“Don’t sit there.”

He led her around the apartment gently, making sure to bump her into things. She laughed. Don’t touch it. When he deemed enough time or loops had passed, he told her to take it off. She did. He knelt. She shook her head no. The child as dark as any of her sisters. The nozzle caps were melted so the whole shipment had to be destroyed. He looked at his hands. He felt capable.

“There’s always more.”

A full term.

At first, whatever he’d seen in National Geographic. He swore. They covered their ears. Nothing clicked. Bombs, all lost to bombs. A field of loose limbs. That’s a ghost, he said. He smiled. They were becoming each other.

It strikes him. The sun held at a distance. He remembered, removed his coat. Tickets left at home. What would happen if he ran out, jumped over and came down on the people below right at crescendo?

“I’ll leave you.”

He put the food down. His life leaked out of him. It’s all ooze, he said. A boy. Then?

“Talk to me.”

He felt the sounds outside his tent continue, a compression, several still thumps. Taut wire. The taste fuzzed on his teeth after he washed his face. He took water for the third time. He kept claiming showers. It’s only fair. She stuck her tongue out and waited. It wasn’t all bloodletting. Someone said a carnival. They called it a shock stick. In and out of sleep, pulled back into the sick repetition, wider with each new lapse, waiting for some plot to fit itself into the ropey anxiety: fire, abandonment, permanent confusion. Numbers recurred. She asked questions about his family during their first holiday together. He knew what his child watched was okay, even with all those hours, because he’d been in that place too. He saw a story. He felt the color of his skin. Epiphanies moved by. Would he stop buying them?

“Aww, baby…”

Dazed children.

Here’s the map. He heard that repeated. What if that shoe was a bomb? He hadn’t read it, so he nodded yes.

“Weird connections.”

The island of dead skin became a castle. He spun the wheel and hoped for the career path. Wouldn’t be long before he had to punch someone. It caused unimaginable pain. He shied away, saw himself shaking. There were no locks. He hung up.

“Take a hit.”

Marveling at the linear transactions that brought him here, wherever.

“How do you top that?”

By putting both your palms out, fingers down, waiting to see if anything went numb. He’d damn someone. Arson still a fantasy. She asked about the clothes. His hands felt soft in comparison.

He became a precursor to his arrival. All in the presentation. I’ll write the book on it, and they laughed. Lunch was burning.

“Do you have any idea?”

He didn’t want a pen. That cloud of things: term, relief, passed, care. He put his two widest fingers in her. Creeping pain, accompanied by some pressure. The chart had a calm face on one side, a ripped face on the other. She slid up and down. The symbols didn’t move. He knew he knew the solution, it was holding right at the front of his brain. She pulled her nipple.

“Stay seated.”

He looked at the list of medications. Jets opening big mouths. Caves, back in the States. We say no vote here. It was French.

“Not all conflicts.”

Soft melodies. He owned up to preaching asymmetry. The room caught fire. She washed him.

I haven’t eaten all day. He wanted to give in to the tingle in the back of his head that he could light by pressing on his eyes with the heel of his hands or by squeezing them shut. Sixty hours.

“Only five minutes, sir.”

He knew it was lost. He reached into his bag and went through his stuff. It’s harder when you’re this tired. Nobody looked anywhere else.

“Best price here.”

She woke him up. The beaches were the same. He closed his eyes, wished for some false memory to provide him something to talk about. A sudden tan. The stump bled.

“Your drink.”

Departure.

He kept his hand open and explained the pennies to her. If he didn’t think closely, he couldn’t separate parts of his childhood from stories he’d been told by friends, or from movies, some book. She laughed.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you.”

Cordon off sections nearest the building first. All I have, he said, and kept reading.

“Hold it gently.”

He looked for songs without quick beginnings. Her fingers got there and he twisted. Like some sort of bucolic nightmare. There were three roads, much less of a fork than he’d imagined. Every package arrived ripped.

“We can ignore that.”

What if that was my secret art all along? They asked deathbed questions. He picked him up and wiped dust off his pants. They were both crying outside. He remembered the dog.

“Now’s the time.”

Change kept spilling out of his pocket. Balance was an issue. He never wanted to hear that phrase again. Bend slowly. Cool tubs of water in galvanized steel. It was too regular to marvel at how most people did it everyday.

“I have an idea.”

You’ve always been better with him. He loaded it. Flowers in a vase right inside the door. He opened the card. They both hugged his foot. He caught the last red swipe of the truck, a terrible high yelp, then the rest.

“Hold on a minute.”

He put the credit card back. It’s your hobby now, she said. He didn’t believe it. He saw hundreds of billions of dollars. He caught fluctuations. The second monitor. At least he knew she had nail polish on, but the color he thought was red was probably green. Either way. He clicked. The screen hung on some vital action. They smelled the roses.

“Turn to the right.”

Just holding him was nice. Race didn’t matter. He denied it was because of the trip. She told him he was handsome. He jumped off the curb and raised his right arm. Brake lights. He cried, which was supposed to lead to something.

“We’re out of stock.”

The paint spread too thin. He’d have to go over it twice. Grass was a luxury. He refused to write anything. You looked good, she said. All he saw in the screen was this green man, raising and dropping his deformity, some emotional tachometer. He’d make himself remember. She pulled the pen out of his hand and laughed. He laughed. He slapped her ass. A pattern in the dirt.

“You sleep too late.”

He tried to walk around the patch going to bed that week.

“I love you so much.”

I’m sick. All his waiting gathered up in pounds and laid before him, full of clicks, small plays of light, mounds and caverns of chewed food. He hung on. Each building built of bricks. Red was his favorite color. He said so.

“Bring him in.”

They kept playing without his permission. He knew it was the same. A slow removal. He told himself, out loud, to fuck himself. She shut the door for him.

“Should we have another?”

He washed his hands for the eighth time. She said it again and again through the door. He tried to make a face that showed he was letting himself heal. It was a joke. He preyed on the dying conversations. She lowered the drink and he saw it wasn’t her. The music stopped.

“Not that door.”

Shame was a part of it. Tablecloth, chairs, lights strung up. Familial meant familiar, or was supposed to. He read the article and felt he would be like that soon, knew he wouldn’t. He slammed the car door.

“Bring it back.”

He watched him watch the dogs sleep. Everyone terrified.

He felt the numbers and their weight, scanning the lines and lists. The names were only tools. He called her again. Quiet.