A Plague Year

“Just do it.”

I complied.

She placed a piece of candy corn on the tip of her tongue. Then, out of nowhere, she leaned into me, like for a kiss. She slid her tongue and the candy inside my mouth. I took it off with my lips, letting them run down the length of her tongue.

It was incredibly exciting.

Wendy reloaded her tongue with another piece, and we did it again.

Then she looked at me expectantly. All I could manage to whisper was, “What was that?”

She whispered back, “It was… what it was. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.”

She backed away, smacking her lips together loudly. “Let’s get some more. For eating, though.”

“Okay.”

“No more taking advantage of me because I am drunk.”

I laughed. “Okay.”

She led me back into the dining room. Two guys were standing by the CD player. One was dressed in zombie attire. The other had on a long black robe and a white skull mask, a death’s-head mask. The death’s-head was saying, “Play something Midwest, man. I’m sick of this L.A. pop crap.”

The other guy pointed to a stack of CDs. “Tell me what you want to hear, bro.”

Wendy dragged me right up to him. She called out, a little too loudly, “Hey, Mr. P.!”

The death’s-head mask turned around. It had big holes, so you could see the eyes and mouth inside. It was Mr. Proctor all right. Definitely. And he did not look pleased to see us. He managed to say, “Hey. What are you guys doing here?”

Wendy replied, “I live here! This is my house!”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then he turned left and started toward the front door. “Sorry. I really don’t think I should be partying with you guys.”

I watched him go.

Just as he disappeared, I felt a hard tug at my arm. I turned and saw the pirate guy with the eye patch. He looked me up and down, but he spoke to Wendy. “Now, what’s he dressed up like? A townie? Is he your little townie friend? A little townie who has to go home now?”

Wendy said, “Shut up!” But she didn’t sound angry.

“Bye now, little townie friend.” The guy turned his back on me. He told her, “You come over here and shut me up.” Then he took Wendy by the wrist and walked her back to that same place against the wall. Then he leaned over her, just like before.

I started to panic. I wondered: Should I go rescue her?

Then I stopped wondering.

Wendy opened her mouth to him, revealing another piece of candy corn. She stuck out her tongue and held it there, dangling it in the air, just as she had done with me. The pirate guy knew what to do next. He covered her tongue with his whole mouth.

And there they were, the two of them, making out against the wall. Right in front of me, like I wasn’t even there.

I felt the blood rising in my neck, and face, and ears, like when Rick Dorfman was choking me.

I stared for a few more seconds; then I tore myself away. I pushed through a crowd at the front door, looking for Arthur, hoping to get out of there as fast as I could. But I didn’t see him.

So I found an open spot against the railing and stood there with my head hanging down. I was furious and ashamed and humiliated all at the same time. I gripped the railing and stared at the ground, hoping nobody would see me or, worse, say anything to me. I was a total loser, just a total coward loser.

After a few minutes, I sensed somebody grab hold of the railing next to me. Grab it clumsily, bumping me to the side.

I saw a girl’s arm to my left, and the purple folds of a costume. It was Wendy. She may or may not have known that it was me standing next to her. She leaned over the railing and hurled very loudly, projecting a solid three-foot-long stream of vomit onto the dirt below.

My stomach turned at the smell, and the sight, of the pieces of candy corn. There they were, risen from the grave of her stomach. Undigested. Making me sick.

From behind me, I heard someone say, “Nice shot.”

It was Arthur. “You ready to get out of here?” he asked. “Or did you want to, maybe, kiss her again?”

Before I could answer, I heard the sound of a large, boisterous group coming out of the house. Wendy suddenly snapped to attention. She hurried down the steps and took off into the night.

A man in a pirate costume called out, “Wait! Is that my daughter? Does my costume embarrass her that much? Come on, Wendy—I did leave off the codpiece!”

The group of mini-pirates around him started to laugh, and I realized this was Dr. Lyle. He had on a long blue velvet coat, a puffy white shirt, and a golden vest. He had on a feathered blue hat, too.

Dr. Lyle’s bloodshot eyes suddenly turned toward Arthur. He squinted and then demanded to know, in a loud voice, “Now, what are you supposed to be? Let me guess: a homeless man with a sleeping disorder?”

The pirate boys laughed.

Arthur did not reply, so Dr. Lyle tried again. “No? Perhaps a coal miner who has tried, unsuccessfully, to wash his face?”

The boys laughed again.

Arthur cleared his throat. He answered, “Yeah, that’s it. I’m a coal miner. You got a problem with that?”

Dr. Lyle leaned back, popping his red eyes open. “Certainly not. That is a great career for the new millennium. Coal miner. Yes, there will be a great demand for nonrenewable fossil fuel and those who can dig it up, I am sure.” He looked at his boys. “Did you know that clean coal is an oxymoron? A self- contradiction?”

The boys replied with variations of no, so he continued.

“Like wise fool. Like military intelligence.”

The boys laughed appreciatively. One of them snorted, and told him (obsequiously), “That is hilarious, Doctor.”

I looked at Arthur. He was enraged. What would he do? I took a step down the stairs, hoping he would follow me, but he did not. Instead, he spoke up in his dumb voice. “Well, coal minin’ isn’t as fancy as doctorin’, I guess.” He held up a finger, like he had a thought. “Oh! I hurt my finger today, Doctor. Do you think you could look at it?”

Everybody froze. Dr. Lyle’s nostrils flared out, as if he had detected an odor. He finally replied coldly, “No. I’m not that kind of doctor.”

“Oh? What kind are you?”

Dr. Lyle answered abruptly, “Perhaps you should go home now.”

Arthur joined me on the step. “Yeah. Yeah, perhaps. Perhaps to all that.” He took off quickly toward our parking space, and I followed.

Dr. Lyle said one more thing to his boys, but I could not hear it. They all started laughing, so I concluded it was about Arthur.

Or about townies.

Or about coal miners.

November