Brenton
itumeleng kganyago
Shea
Always Eighteen
AhmedHemmingway, Part Two
December 15th 2006 01:41
Tyson returns to his house, still shaking. His wife is in bed, asleep. He doesn’t want to wake her. It doesn’t seem right for some reason. He sits. He stands. He walks around the kitchen. He sits again. He stands again. He can’t sit still.
He sees the body, again and again in his mind. He saw it, splayed out, broken and blood-splattered on the pavement, and he ran, like a fucking coward. He should have called the police, he knows it, but he was stupid and pathetic, and didn’t. And by now they’d have found it, most likely, and all the good it’d do to call them up would be to implicate himself in the death. Not a smart move, by any stretch of the imagination.
He sits on the couch, turns on the television, and watches the news, but it’s all a blur to him. He falls asleep.
He stirs, and opens his eyes, just slightly. His wife stands over him, looking down, equal parts concern and irritation furrowed into her brow.
“When did you get home?”
“Not much later than usual.”
“Why didn’t you come to bed.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not.”
“Found a body.”
Tyson’s wife pauses for a moment, before sitting herself beside him.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah fine. Just… shook.”
“Oh hon. Want to talk?”
“No. No, I’d just… best get ready for work.”
“Jesus,” his wife says, and shakes her head. “All these bodies. Where the hell do they come from? I’ll tell you… there’s some thing wrong with this town. Something big and ugly, and I can feel it, just above me, just hovering above, ready to slam down like a fucking hurricane.”
He sees the body, again and again in his mind. He saw it, splayed out, broken and blood-splattered on the pavement, and he ran, like a fucking coward. He should have called the police, he knows it, but he was stupid and pathetic, and didn’t. And by now they’d have found it, most likely, and all the good it’d do to call them up would be to implicate himself in the death. Not a smart move, by any stretch of the imagination.
He sits on the couch, turns on the television, and watches the news, but it’s all a blur to him. He falls asleep.
***
“Get up.”He stirs, and opens his eyes, just slightly. His wife stands over him, looking down, equal parts concern and irritation furrowed into her brow.
“When did you get home?”
“Not much later than usual.”
“Why didn’t you come to bed.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“Why not.”
“Found a body.”
Tyson’s wife pauses for a moment, before sitting herself beside him.
“Are you OK?”
“Yeah fine. Just… shook.”
“Oh hon. Want to talk?”
“No. No, I’d just… best get ready for work.”
“Jesus,” his wife says, and shakes her head. “All these bodies. Where the hell do they come from? I’ll tell you… there’s some thing wrong with this town. Something big and ugly, and I can feel it, just above me, just hovering above, ready to slam down like a fucking hurricane.”
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