Shenodded then, withdrew across the boundary back into the sepia scene. Sheapproached the bed. An unheard sobbing shook her shoulders.
Henryclosed his eyes.
Whenthe ache in his head stopped, he opened his eyes. The room was normal. Thesecond bed, modern and empty. The sepia tones were gone.
Heclimbed back onto his bed.
Therewere no further spectral incidents, though they did appear in his nightmares.The following day, hospital couldn’t discharge him fast enough.
Henryspent the better part of an hour walking along Meridian Street, searching forhis rental car. When he found it—covered in tickets but thankfully not towed—hemade it a point not to look at the building facade where it was parked.
TheEast Boston Relief Station belonged to the past. Henry wanted it to stay there.
The Mouse
Larissa Glasser
1
Ayear before I was stabbed to death, I saw a mouse in our living room. I waspretty baked at the time, so I hadn’t noticed it at first. I’d been watchingsome old noir film left running on the TV by someone else in the house and Iwas trying to figure out what it was.
Ilived on the top floors of an early-20th century duplex with thesetwo other trans girls Brooke and Debbie who were around the same age as me. Theapartment got dusty a lot and was difficult to keep clean. But it was warm andcheap and our landlady was good to us.
Ididn’t have much to do that afternoon so I’d sat down on the big couch anddecided to see if I could gather which film it was. I used to study film as anundergrad but I’d dropped out during my second semester because I went broke.This film didn’t ring a bell, but it starred Laurence Tierney. His characterkilled a lot of people.
Mythroat got dry, so I reached for my Diet Snapple. When I turned my head, Inoticed the mouse resting on the smaller couch at the far end of the wall. Itwas facing sideways, and when I realized it wasn’t afraid, I watched it for awhile instead of the movie.
Thething was brownish and very small, no bigger than two inches not counting itstail. The room got darker as evening came. The TV became the only source oflight, a cheerless, icy glare. The movie finished, and the closing hostcommentary was annoying—too chipper—so I muted the sound but kept the TV on soI could keep watching the mouse. I was too invested in this new activity to getup and turn the big light on.
Themouse was breathing rapidly. It never moved from the spot, nor did its tailmove.
Iknew we’d had a so-called “mouse problem” for a few weeks. We could hear themscuttling in the walls. Brooke, the most industrious member of our household,said she was sick of finding mouse turds in her workshop, so she was going toget some poison before the infestation got worse. I didn’t want her to killanything, but my girlfriend Jennifer had tried to convince me that Brooke wasdoing the right thing, because mice were all vermin who needed to be killed.
“Butmice are cute!” I’d told her when the subject came up.
“They’revermin!” she’d said. “They’re dirty!”
Someof Jennifer’s outer chin hairs, softened from several months of lasertreatments, glowed in silhouette in front of my blue lamp. She’d lookedangelic. I’d went for a main tuft of the hairs and clutched them. She didn’tbreak away but had stared back at me, trying to maintain her stern expression.
“Miceare cute,” I’d told her. “I like animals.”
“Comeon! Mice are vermin! They’ll eat all of your groceries and shiteverywhere!”
“They’recute!”
Thisgame had gone on for a bit, back and forth, and had become increasingly morechildish until she just dove at me, wrestled me out of my clothes, called mecute, and fucked me high and wild. We usually came at the same time. Sometimeslife was nice to us.
Anyway,it looked like the poison was working, because the mouse was breathing at asteadily slower rate. Watching it made me sad, though. I wanted to help itsomehow, like with an antidote or something. I could have put it outside toface the city. It was so little. It never meant to hurt anyone. Why hadn’t itmoved yet? Apart from the debilitating effects of the poison, maybe the mousehadn’t noticed me to begin with.
Iturned the TV off, got up from the couch, and flipped the big light on. Themouse was still there and it wasn’t moving. I almost went to pick it up andkeep it with me for a while, but I didn’t. Animals crawl away to die in peace.They know what they know, some sort of resigned meditation. Once I saw a catstumble behind her owner’s couch just to die out of sight.
Iwent upstairs to my room and tried to read for a while, but it was difficult toconcentrate. The words weren’t reaching me.
Iwent downstairs a few hours later to get some water. I hoped the suffering hadfinally ended for the mouse. I looked in, and it wasn’t there anymore.
2
TheChristmas before I was stabbed to death, I went to my mom’s house just outsidethe city for the first time after I had finally corrected all my documentation.I didn’t dress down nor tie my hair back. I’d had it with her conditional parameterswhich only enabled her state of denial over who I was—her only child, herdaughter. I’d stipulated this before I agreed to go visit. I’d worked too hardat this to just detransition for a 48-hour visit. My mom said “okay” in a sortof exasperated sigh, as if giving in to a child’s tantrum for the sake ofblissful silence.
Iwent in a biz casual, navy-blue, sleeveless A-line dress, and I did my best tolook conservative and assimilated. I also wanted to prove to her that I washappier than I had ever been—that I’d done okay despite her throwing me out ofthe house that past Spring.
Imostly read during the train ride down. The coach was mad-crowded, of course,passengers on their way to gluttony, MVP sports, and capitalist family drama.Many of them also looked tense as fuck, for whatever reasons.
Ikept my face down
