Iwanted to stop thinking about my mom, who would point out every defect in me.
Iwent inside.
Themain area looked mostly deserted, only one dude wearing a crisp, white,collared dress shirt at a far table, calmly eating a cheeseburger. The menuchoices up on the displays didn’t appeal to me. Pizza Mania, which was closestto me in the hall, had this big, scowling white dude behind the counter. He wasstaring at me. His face scrunched as I passed by—not passing.
Imight have made a face right back at him.
Ormaybe I just averted my gaze and sped toward the bathrooms.
Whicheverit was, I wish I had chosen the other.
Iwent into the ladies’ room, and I thought of the mouse again. Had it been awhole year since I’d watched it dying on the cushion? It had been summer then,too.
Ithink I loved the mouse.
Ipicked the cleanest stall I could find, sat down, and peed. I thought of Nora.Did she think I was a big dumb jerk? I wondered if I’d ever see her again.
Iwanted to.
Iflushed with my foot, and went to wash my hands. This place had thosepain-in-the-ass, motion-activated towel dispensers, where you have to wave yourhand at limited intervals for a little bit of paper. I dried my hands after afew tries.
Iopened the exit door, and was immediately shoved back by a nightmare.
Assoon as my eyes locked with his, my heart started racing. At first, I didn’trecognize him as the guy from Pizza Mania. He took that little moment to punchme in the stomach, and then my face. I stumbled back against the sink. It hurt.
Thebathroom smelled like decades of wrong in a way it hadn’t just seconds earlier.
Irealized what was happening, but I couldn’t adapt to it. Any semblance of mysurvival instinct remained passive. My system had given up.
Heshoved me with both hands back into the stall I’d used. His eyes narrowed toglistening slits.
“I’mgoing to kill you for coming in here, you fucking degenerate.”
Hegrew so much bigger as he approached. First I tried to get past him, but I waswalled in. I fumbled for my phone, then realized I’d left it in the car.
“I’mgoing to cast each and every one of you freaks into the fire,” he promised meas he grabbed a switchblade from his back pocket. “HE COMMANDS IT.”
Heclicked the weapon open.
Thenthere was only me, him, the knife, and a suddenly compressed world. I didn’thave mace, a panic alarm, a flamethrower, or anything else that might havehelped me. Just my ID holder and my keys on a coiled ring. I held the keyssharp-end-out toward him. He smiled and raised the blade. The fluorescentlights hit it just right, and the knife gleamed with divine judgement as itcame down at me.
8
Asecond or so before I was stabbed to death, the Pizza Mania guy looked down atme as I tried to shield myself.
“Please,”I begged him. “Please, just let me go home.”
Heshook his head, and sighed, “It’s too late.”
“I’llgive you my car.”
“Itake my orders from God,” he said. “Not from fags.”
I remember thinking I wanted to tell him about the mouse.
Thefirst stab was the loudest as it came in a low arc, right up into the middle ofmy stomach. I screamed “NO!”, long and drawn-out. My voice soundedweird.
Hegrinned wide and twisted the knife in me.
“You’regetting what you deserve,” he spoke softly into my left ear. “You mademe do this.”
Myarms and palms bore the brunt of the assault, until he went for other places onmy body, and my screaming and kicks and pleas spiraled into a more exhaustedmoaning.
“I’llsuck your dick if you’d just let me go.”
Heseemed astonished at my temerity, and said “NO!” in a mocking lilt.
Idon’t know how many times he stabbed me. It seemed to never be over. The paingot worse every time.
Istill feel it now.
WhenI finally collapsed onto the cold tiles, a mist of simple incredulity envelopedme.
Iwas twenty years old.
9
Asecond or so after I was stabbed to death, the air burst with bright energy asI began to rise. I looked down at my body for a second, wondering if I wouldtake long to heal, and would they give me pistachio ice cream in the hospital.My blood pooled beneath me, a creeping oval of darkness. My eyes were wide andstill. I looked—diagonal.
Thepizza guy was washing my blood off his hands when he glared toward the bathroomentrance. The dude wearing the crisp, white collared dress shirt I’d seeneating at the far end of the food court was aiming a handgun at him with twostrong arms.
Ibegan to weep as everything began to sink in.
Andthen the whole scene—just everything—faded away.
10
Aminute or so after I was stabbed to death I stood on the shore of anobnoxiously bright lake.
Iwas still wearing my camo tank top, my emerald-green skirt, and my flip flops.My blood was collecting and then draining out viscid at my toes. There werestab wounds on my abdomen, stomach, forearms, palms, neck, face, and groin.Most of my skin was drenched with blood. I wanted to wash it off and curl upsomewhere. I wanted the mouse.
Thebright water was right in front of me. It was the only place left to go. It wascalm and welcoming.
Itried not to think of Nora, Jennifer, Debbie, Brooke, or my mom.
Iwanted to go home.
I didn’t know where I was. That happened to me a lot in dreams, I’dfloat to someplace I couldn’t recognize. It always felt uncanny andbewildering. But this was different. I couldn’t scare myself awake.
Icrouched onto the tightly-packed sand and watched the sun-bright, milk-whitewater.
Andthen I saw the mouse.
Itbroke the surface of the lake, forming small ripples that glided out to me. Itsat on the same cushion it died on and peered in
