Start by answering your ringing phone. It’s the police. Panic for the shortest instant before remembering you haven’t left your house in weeks. It’s not illegal to stay at home, is it? Think hard. Feel a shiver climb half-way up your back and listen to the phone.
Your mom is dead. Motherfucker. She died this week, or the week before. They can’t be sure. You’ve been expecting this day for years. Let’s be clear, though. You weren’t expecting your mother to die, but you did, many times, believe the only reason your phone would ring would be to announce her death. This was the first time your irrational fear had started to subside, but this time it’s true. She’s dead, the police say. A taxi cab ran her over. They couldn’t recognize her. The taxi dragged her for two blocks and her face fused with the pavement. The policeman says he’s sorry. Don’t reply. Hang up the phone. Curl into a ball on your greasy chair. Drop to the ground like a deflated bean bag, and onto a pile of papers. Cry until you sound like a hyperventilating pug. Sleep.
After having slept for two days straight, open your right eye and cry for three more hours. This manual will not include more crying. We’re all done. Eat cereal. Feed the parakeet whose chirping screeches augmented your deflated-bean-bag nightmares with a sprinkle of reality. Eat more cereal. Run out of milk. Eat dry cereal. Don’t take a shower. Notice for the first time since the phone call that your house is a mess. You’ve never won awards for being organized, but the situation is critical. There are no clean dishes. A strange white cat is sleeping on your fridge. A mountain of papers and folders sit atop your kitchen table. Lift the tiny hairs in the back of your neck. Scream at the cat. Throw it out and fall backwards while doing so. Listen to your heart. Boom, boom, boom, it’s saying. Scream in frustration. Find another cat hiding behind the fridge. Throw it out, too. Get scratched. Bleed. You should take care of that, you wouldn’t want to get an infection. Reverse gulp a glob of nothing from your stomach into your mouth and taste the void encompassing your breath. Forget the infection. What happened to your mother’s body?
Call the police. “You need to come claim the body, otherwise it’ll be donated to the university. They’re always short this time of year.” Hang up. Observe the sun as it burns the city. Close your eyes and open them again. Reach for the door. Hesitate. You haven’t showered in days. The smell from your soggy socks and armpits is overpowering. Let your left eye twitch. Apply pressure to that same eye from the inside of your brain outwards. A train is approaching. Reach for the door. Open it wide. Step outside. Experience sunlight in your eyes. The sky is white. The train is near. Boom, boom, boom, your heart screams. Grimace horribly. Show your teeth like a demented werewolf in London. Grab the keys from your pocket fluid. Go blind alley. Listen to the glass shatter to a billion pieces of shit. The train is deafening earthquakes hit Costa Rica for the ninth time this year. TWO WOMEN MURDERED IN THEIR SLEEP. PORN STAR SUES OVER REAR-END COLLISION. TWO BOYS KEPT IN TORTURE HOUSE FOR 5 YEARS. BOMB ERASES 60 PERCENT OF HIROSHIMA. MAN ON HIS WAY TO CLAIM MOTHER’S CORPSE COLLAPSES AT FRONT DOOR AND DIES!
Collapse. Throw up. Die.
“Hey man, you all right?” Come back to life. Watch your neighbor stand over your carcass.
“What?”
“Should I call an ambulance?”
Crawl back into your house whispering the word “no” at least forty times. Feel better and wonder if it’s possible to become allergic to the outside. From that point in time, and until the sun has set, make repeated attempts at exiting your house and fail every time. Return to bed and sleep. Travel forwards in time the old fashioned way. Watch the ticking clocks, feel the minutes pass like seconds, order food when hungry, and when the garbage men come by, show your disheveled hair and face from the window and watch them do their jobs. Don’t take out your trash. Let them see you watching them. Mumble nonsense. Stand before your door again. Breathe in.
The door’s frame is paramount, its consistency concrete. The door looms, its existence imposes upon the fabric of reality a verge which you must traverse. Its cavernous whiteness inflicts on you a vertigo. Open your arms, balance yourself and look at the gateway to the world, determined. Breathe out. The paint is flaking off. The doorknob reflects the light inside your house with a golden hue and in its self there’s you. Watch yourself deform and stretch into a doughnut. Your mouth is disfigured, your reflection wretched in pain, your bones cracked into impossible positions and the pit of your stomach has turned outwards. Listen to the howling. It’s you. Touch the doorknob with your bulbous fingers and let the cold climb up your skeleton. Sneer at it. Your mom’s corpse is waiting. Turn the knob. Listen to its mechanism churning and turning and cracking with metals and wood. Turn it until it gives no more. It’s fighting your limping muscles. It’s wanting to be shut. A vein pops in your eye. A pressure is mounting. Your feet are slipping and hands are a-sweating. Let the knob go. Shut the door. Retreat into your covers.
Wake up at 1:24am. Did someone knock? Look out your window and see the shadow of a man standing by your front door. Hide under your covers. Close your eyes. Try to sleep. It must be some drunk guy who forgot where he lived. Your door’s locked. You’re okay. You’ve never had intruders. You have no money, your mom’s dead and you’re filthy. Hardly a good target for a would-be robber. Quite unlikely if you ask me. The knocking seems to have stopped, so one of your previous assumptions must be correct. Bury your head in a pillow and take a deep breath and tremble. Blink. Roll your eyes back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Count backwards from 100 in a vain attempt to sleep. When you reach 20, realize it’s not working. Feel the humidity in your eyeballs evaporate into the night and blink. Your eyelids are rubbery. They don’t slide like they used to. Now they’re crumpling like three hundred tiny maggots sitting between your cornea and your skin. Scratch your eyes. Don’t scratch too hard. You don’t want to be blind, do you? Rub your eyes. Feel them become itchier. Rub them again. What did you touch with those nasty fingers? They smell like rancid overcooked fried fish. Are your eyes now filled with bacteria? Smell your fingers again. Gag. Get up from bed and rinse your eyes with water in the bathroom. Did you know keeping your eyes open while water runs on them elicits an evolutionary response and your brain tells your lungs to stop breathing? You do now. Try to breathe while you wash your eyes. Be unable to. Panic. With a touch of dark magic, water has somehow left your eyes drier. Blink. Blink again. Blink ten times in a row and then fifty, and then a hundred and a hundred more, until your levator palpebrae muscle is excreting lactic acid and your tear-ducts are flowing and your cheekbones are red with a rash from cold tears. Emit a guttural growl of desperation. Drop to bed and blink so more. Stop. That’s enough blinking. Sleep for a while. You’ve earned it. Congratulations.
Pick up the phone. Call the police. Listen to a sigh from the other end as they learn it’s you again. The man-child who’s unable to step foot outside his house and can’t gather enough will to pick up his dead mom.
“Yeah. They’re holding her until today. Sorry. You have to pick up the body, or else it’s going to the university. Seriously. Also, don’t call here anymore. Call the hospital. We don’t keep bodies in the station.”
Hang up the phone. Bite your upper lip. Scratch below your right ear and listen to the knocking on your door.
“Who is it?”
“Hey man, it’s David.”
It’s freaking David. Open the door and step back.
“Jesus, man. Are you all right?”
Lie. “I’m fine.”
“I haven’t seen you in a few days… you okay?”
Lie again and ramble. “Yes, I’m fine. By the way, were you here last night? Was it you knocking on my door in the middle of the night?”
“Um…” Don’t let him end his sentence. You’re not done rambling.
“I haven’t been sleeping very well, David. Maybe you can tell. See my hair? It’s all messed up. My eyes are gooey and slimy and dry and truly, I have to say, I do not appreciate you coming at 1AM and knocking on my door and scaring the ever living shit out of me. I can’t wash my hands! Okay? I can’t scratch my eyes! Listen. I know you mean well, but please don’t come back. I have tried my very best to ignore you for the past twelve months and I can’t seem to get the message across. I’m gonna be blunt. I’m just gonna say it, okay? Don’t worry about me. It’s okay if I don’t leave my house in weeks. It’s who I am! Don’t fucking come here and knock. Don’t leave messages on my machine and for the love of god please get it into your head that we are not friends. I live alone! My mom just died and I don’t think I feel like speaking to you anymore. Can you please… just… don’t?”
You’ve rambled too much. This was not the plan.
Listen to your neighbor David say: “Sheesh…” and watch him turn around and walk away. Remember your mom’s body. Come up with a stupid plan. Stop David.
“Fuck! David! I’m sorry, come back! Listen, hold on a second.”
Watch him turn his head. Good job.
“Listen, man, I’m sorry. I need help. I’m not doing well.”
He’s walking back to you. Keep going.
“Look. I have a problem and I need your help.”
“Are you kidding me? After the shit you just said to me?” He’s on to your bullshit. What are you gonna do now?
“I’ll pay you! I have uh… five hundred bucks.”
Watch him shake his head.
“Six hundred! It’s all I have!”
“What do you want?”
“Okay. My mom died. I need to pick up her body, but I can’t leave the house. Don’t ask me why, I can’t. Take my ID. Take the money. Bring me her body.”
“You’re fucking nuts, man. Are you serious?”
“No, no, no. I mean. Yes. No! It’s not a joke. Take the money. Please, she’s at White Willow. Just… I’ll figure out what to do with her body once she’s here. They’re gonna give her away! It’s my last chance. Please. Pleeeaase.”
“Man, I don’t even look like you. What the hell’s the ID gonna be good for?”
“C’mon, man! You could use the money and it’s not illegal! She’s already dead!”
“Fine.”
Scream thanks in ecstasy. Watch David leave. Be careful not to cross the doorway. Sit on the floor and wait for him to come back. You’ve officially bought your mom’s corpse for six hundred bucks from a neighbor you despise. Does this make you happy? Ask yourself the question. Keep it in your mind without an answer. Watch David come back carrying a black body-filled body-bag in his arms.
“Here you go. It’s your problem now. Don’t call me anymore.”
Reply: “I never call you!”
Shut the door. Lay the black bag before you. Turn on the light. The white cat is sleeping on your fridge again. Don’t get rid of it yet. How can you be sure David didn’t pick any old man’s body? How do you know it’s your mom’s? Sit down like a meditating monk at the head of the body. Breathe in. Smell the rotting cabbage on your table. You’ll toss it out later. Close your eyes. Open the body bag just enough to show the face. This is how they do it in the movies. Do dead bodies look like live bodies? Open your eyes.
You forgot what the police said, didn’t you? Her face fused with the pavement. They couldn’t recognize her for a week and neither can you. A partially exposed, half frozen, half-face half-skull, stares at you. There’s no rotting cabbage on your table. It’s your mom. She’s decomposing. Pant a little. Smell the rotting eggs and expired garlic and potatoes. Pant more. Cover your mouth with your hand. Your index finger is moist. What the hell did you touch? Look at your finger. It’s not blood, but you touched something. Smell your finger. It’s rotting cabbage. Whisper for help. They must have placed a tag on her big toe or something, right? What the fuck did David do?
Open the body bag all the way. Try to lift the corpse’s legs out of the bag, but realize they’re as stiff as wood. Give up trying to lift them. Push the black bag down and around the legs. See a toe tag. Fuck yes. The ink on it is smudgy. Really get close and study the tag. Inhale the spores of a black and green mold growing under the toenails. Be confident you’ve been infected with a kind of plague. Read the god damned text. It’s your mom. Cover your mouth again. Two more fingers are now wet. Close the body bag. Curl up into a ball. Remember when I said there’d be no more crying? I lied. Bawl your eyes out. Drip spit and snot and pee yourself a bit. Cry until you’re thirsty.
Drag the body bag into the bathroom and close the door. Get rid of the white cat. Get scratched. Yell something outrageous as it speeds off. Watch David watching you from his window. Growl at him. Call the funeral home and tell them your mother died and you want her cremated. Listen to them say they’ll pick up the body from the hospital. Why didn’t you call them first, friendo? Why? Ask if they can pick up the body at your house. They think you’re joking because it’s illegal. What did David do? Play along. Laugh it off. Hang up the phone and have a mini stroke. Speak in tongues for an instant. Pinch your testicles. Yes, you are awake. Look at the parakeet. It’s dancing.
Go to your bedroom. Pick up that book you started two months ago. Lay down on the bed. Read a few words. Pretend your life is normal. Tomorrow you’ll head back to work. Today hasn’t been a fantastic day, but tomorrow will be swell. Read three more words and stop. Stare blankly into the book. Cease all thought. A faint wisp of sulfur lingers in the air. The sun’s gone down again. It’s time to sleep, so go ahead and sleep.
Wake up feeling fresh and new. Step into your bedroom’s bathroom and take a long hot shower. Use half the bottle of shampoo on your hair and a whole soap-bar on your body. You hadn’t showered in a week, and it feels great. Open your mouth and rinse it a few times. Stand in the water until your fingers are wrinkled and brush your teeth. Use mouthwash and dental floss. Shave your beard with a new blade and shaving soap. Smell the aftershave and apply it to your face. Bask in the smell of a squeaky clean self. Take a deep breath. Really take it in. Wow. Your mom would be proud. You’ll call her one of these days, when you’re less busy.
Go to your computer and turn it on and chat with your coworkers from another state. Have a few conference calls and use video for them all. Accept the compliments from your coworkers. You’re looking snazzy today. When they ask you how you’re doing, say you’re feeling great and you believe your anxiety issues are more and more a thing of the past. Let them congratulate you. Smile a bunch and laugh with them. Order salads and organic meals to eat. Don’t use the salad dressing, though, it’s not good for you. You gotta cut down on the calories. In the afternoon, before the day is over, use the treadmill until you’ve had a good sweat. Take another shower before sleeping and look at yourself in the mirror. Give yourself a thumbs up. Watch your thumb shake for a bit. Ignore it. Sleep.
Repeat this daily routine every following day, with the only variation being your shaky thumb. Be sure to make it shakier each time you look at yourself in the mirror. Until you can no longer raise it. The stench in your house is now unbearable. Feel the air stain your lungs with a putrid brown and yellow sludge. Your eyes have been watering for the past 20 hours. Admittedly, you were too good with the thumb. You weren’t supposed to last this long. Open the door to the bathroom by the kitchen, the one where you stashed your mom and her body bag. Turn on the light. Cover your mouth and nose with the inside of your right elbow. Things are certainly different in there since you last checked. Your mom seems to have melted through the bag and a puddle of an unidentifiable color is spreading out around her. Shed a tear. Smell the cadaverine and putrescine and the feces and the foul slick liquid. Feel your heart rate climbing. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Cover your nose and mouth with the inside of both elbows. Take one step inside the bathroom and slip on the puddle of goo and fall on your ass. Your socks are now tinged with the brown. Go through all the motions of throwing up, but discover there’s nothing in your stomach, and, like a fool, sit and retch several times.
The funeral home is out of the question. David didn’t want to be involved in your shenanigans. You don’t know anyone else. Conclude that you must bribe the garbagemen. Your mom has overstayed her welcome. You’ll have to pretend she’s just some rotting food. You’ll place her into smaller bags. Nod once to yourself, convinced of the solution. Open the body bag. Don’t even try to look disgusted, you’re well beyond that. You’ve been pretending to live a normal life whilst flies buzz around the bathroom door and the stench of seven hundred rotting cows inundates your home. Your mom has disappeared. She’s been replaced with a bloated green and gray and brown bulk of skin and flesh and maggots, and a carpet of long hairs. Put on a pair plastic gloves and take a knife from the kitchen. Pull on the body’s right arm and feel her shoulder dislocate and the gentle breaking and pulling apart of her muscles and fats. You didn’t even need the knife, bud. You over-planned this time. It tore apart like perfectly cooked pork. Find yourself in the mirror with a bloated arm in your hands.
Listen to your front door shatter, its wood splintering into a thousand pieces.
“Freeze!”
Two policemen are standing before you with guns in their hands. Now you’ve done it.
“On the ground!” They’re screaming.
“No, no, no…” Begin to explain your predicament.
Let the mustachioed gentlemen strike you with the butt of his handgun on your forehead. Lose all sense of balance. Fall backwards into the open black body bag. Feel your ex-mom’s rib-cage crack below you, and bathe in her liquefied organs.
Mumble: “I can explain everything.”
“You have the right to remain silent!” The cops are screaming again. They’ve turned you around and cuffed you. The non-mustachioed sir is half-carrying you towards the door. Raise your heartbeat. Raise your breathing rhythm. Open your eyes wide and hyperventilate. The doorframe approaches. The sun burns the city. The sky is white, and the ground is ablaze with crisp blue fire. Bacteria scream from the pores of your skin and a familiar face watches you from across the street. It’s freaking David. Sneer at him like a demented werewolf. Scream “I’m sorry.” Scream it again. Scream in agony as you’re moved into the blazing sun. Attempt to free yourself from the handcuffs and bleed. Scream and yell and wail. Pass out and regain consciousness and pass out again.
The door is behind you now and your body is an inside-out doughnut. Let your heart beat faster. Let it go faster. Don’t try to stop it. It’s taking off. Take off with it. Faster now. Faster.
Don’t worry. David will feed the parakeet.