In The Name

David preps simulated scenarios for my adaptation into the sleepy realm of sorrow; sixteen types characterize work, seventeen socialized politic, nineteen institutional jargons, twenty-seven neighborhood entrapments, eighty-eight suburban allegories, one thousand and seventeen transportation categories, three thousand personality quirks, eighteen million morphing physicality, sixteen billion poisonous battery disks. He humors himself a fryer basket dripping hashed brown breaded potato; I complete and correct our abilities. We discuss possible infringements; I choose business equilibrium. Schools appear as British reformatories, houses construct circular mazes, people comfort themselves with appearance, gasoline favors wheels, regulatory repression hides behind faces, likeness is alike.

"Shit. That was fun."

"....."

"What's up Teach?"

"I'm bored."

"You got to eat and read."

"If I don't?"

"We won't see each other again."

"What is that?"

"A missing piece."

"It's red and yellow."

"Supposed to be a church."

"?"

"....fuck it."

Kevinya's arm lounges lengthwise over an egg shell rectangular sofa, his left leg angles over his right; I mindlessly pace.

"....Nah-Nah.."

"Yes?"

"I...."

Zen walks by; his head is down.

"Beau?"

"I'm here."

"I miss...."

"Me...."

"Maybe another world."

"Ya-Jah....did you say...."

"Take care of her."

Tears drop from Kevinya's grey sky; Zen seats himself alongside. I think of Lucidity, her test module is ready, Tusk will do the same, Alsworth is gone, Allison killed herself, Cordelia and Victoria vacillate a duplex, teenage vampires host several movie theaters.

"I am going to see this."

Single sheet of a graphic hero neatly stiffens between my left thumb and index finger; the right holds a petroleum latex mold.

"...alone?"

"Why not?"

I disguise my emotions; I do not understand the film. Everybody is looking at me; a silly plop rolls across the blue carpet.

"You dropped...."

"He wasn't that great."

"....fuck..."

"Should of done some flips."

".......what...okay."

"What do you think?"

"I'm going to remember this."

"It's just a face."

"Not a real one."

"Perhaps."

"That shit is fake."

"I forget who I am."

"You're a girl with a mask."

"Oh yeah."

"....."

"Tell everyone when I'm dead."

"Who's going to kill you again?"

"?"

"You look dead."

"......you noticed."

"....who's going to.....I know."

"?"

"Haters."

"Who are they?"

"Overweight and insecure."

"What is the date?"

"This movie is old. You never saw it before?"

".....huh."

".....yeah."

"Is that my wife?"

"You know her?"

"I think so...."

"She comes here every now and then."

"Do you know her name?"

"...I forgot."

"..."

"She looks like a comic book."

"What do I look like?"

"A poster board."

"Hey what's your name!"

"I'm not his wife. I just look like her."

Vomit surrounds my white canvas sneakers; the upside down stars are grey denim. His lids balance a flood, a hand cups my left shoulder; I recollect the moment, thirteen tear drops.

"I'm a vampire."

"I'm a Beeper Trek."

"They...."

"Symbiosis."

"How did you know that?"

"We all know about it; we're hurting a lot."

"Will it ever stop?"

"I'm working on it."

"On what?"

"A digital stomp."

"Fucking dreaming always..."

Pink orbs ricochet empty seats and black curtains.

"Wow! Did you see that?"

I leave through double doors labeled emergency exit.

"I never had so much fun in my life..!"

"....Chester where is Ally?"

"I thought she was with ya'll?"

".....he said ya'll."

"Yes David he did."

"Is that even a word?"

"......where is she?"

"That ain't a word!"

"You're so immature David."

"Allison'll show you some!"

"That's enough."

"Okay."

"...okay."

"Where did you see her last?"

"She was on the roof top."

"Of what?"

"That thing with the ball."

"...."

"What's she...oh."

"She was inside the box."

"She's still there then.."

"You ready to go in?"

"Find her first."

"I'm not ready for her to go. We still got lots of stuff to do."

"Like what David?"

"Well Chester she still doesn't know where anything's at and we didn't wire that fat bitch to her head!"

"She's going to think you went through all that."

"I did."

"Steph's going to kick her arse."

"Chester you said arse."

"Shut up David."

"That's enough."

"He started..."

"Why is she on top of the ball?"

We return to our clinic gymnasium; rolled up mats, folded stands, one machine remains. Steph sits inside a ball clawing her forehead. Rosa gazes into spacious distance while Daisy packs his suitcase; white underwear, make up utensils, lap top computer, alarm clock.

"She jumped off that thing guys...she's stuck inside the box."

"How do we get her out?"

"She's in between three and four."

"It's already way past that..."

"She could of waited for us."

"No shit."

"Dang."

My husband's lips reflect honey particles from our last kiss; he bites the bottom, I desire a taste. Kevinya stands across from the wall of windows; there is no reflection, I cannot see his face. Their conversation continues while I dream of two children, one with black waves into her shoulders, another with a melon tuft of madness.

"What must be done."

"That house is a nightmare."

"So are ours."

"Cats...."

"I've got dogs."

"....I won't know which one."

"She will."

"I won't know how..."

"....."

"I will sleep a lot."

"So will she."

"What about you?"

"I'll be walking the dogs."

"How many?"

"One each."

"More than...?"

"Same name as her damn cats."

"What is that?"

"Eleanor Rigby."

"Two?"

"....yeah."

"One big grey furry..."

"What is her name?"

"Marge."

"They piss about the house."

"This one goes out."

"They piss about her house too."

"This one eats quite a bit."

"They scratch at our doors."

"She rolls around in mud."

"They get knots and tangles."

"This one shits on my blanket."

"They piss on us."

"She doesn't care about..."

"They just want to..."

"I have to clean her litter."

"She does too."

"What about you?"

"I got to scoop the yard."

"No difference."

"Not at all."

"What becomes of..."

"Yours is a convert..."

"It's a trailer of some sort."

"Susceptible to weather."

"The woman is elderly."

"Is there a man?"

"A little one."

"What are their names?"

"Greg and Mattie."

".....where did you get that from?"

"A newspaper."

"...?"

"They died."

"From what?"

"Weather."

"What kind?"

"They lost everything."

"....oh."

"After they died."

"They died inside the house?"

"They died looking for somebody."

"......?"

"Never found him."

"Where did he go?"

"They said he was a runaway."

"Was he related?"

"Adopted."

"Where do you suppose he went?"

"He was looking for someone."

"Wonder what happened to him."

"He got lost."

"How do you know?"

"I saw him in the newspaper."

"?"

"He was a missing person."

"What became of him?"

"He died. I saw him in the obituaries."

"How did he?"

"He killed himself."

"How?"

"Didn't say."

"What was his name?"

"....."

I cannot keep still.

"Kevinya what was his name?"

"Twasn't real."

Cordelia lays upon the plush micro fiber pine wood recliner, a book lays by her left knee, The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley, I read an excerpt; Something inexpressively lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressively terrifying. For if it were to touch you, if it were to seize you and engulf you, you'd die; all the regular, habitual daily part of you...

"What has come over you child?"

Cordelia shutters to a startled rise; her eyes are Japanese tides.

"They pulled her hair and knocked her to the ground."

"Who?"

"....three."

"Where was I?"

"You stood there and watched."

".....huh."

"You looked like a poster board."

".......oh."

"You were inside some....thing."

"Where were you?"

"Dreaming..."

"About..."

"Oranges and bananas."

"...what....."

"Two of each pair."

"....hhmmm."

"A man said those are for curly and a woman said which one."

"What of Moi?"

"She stood up and said cut."

"What do you suppose it means?"

"We're fucked."

"I don't know how to let go of...."

"I don't give a fuck about oranges or bananas."

"What do you give a fuck about?"

"You, Moi, and ours!"

"Me too."

"Fucking blimey coops."

Thad refuses to conduct a ceremony or announce public sentiments for Allison without her body; Chester suggests a memorial however the suitable place is another world. I dream of her hands carrying a gallon of cool milk. We speak of her as present tense; we stop to watch David pound a hammer into the machine. The thing is mostly empty except for a block of conductive soldered wires; I notice underneath is a three quarter discus, tis mercury. I ask of him to omit the rounded poison from his Satanic spree; he agrees.