SQN - Sine Qua Non - Issue Two - Journal - Page 95
Tolkien could not control himself.
Meanwhile, Steve had been at the spa for longer than usual. Women with Stevelike
features came and went with kibble and lamps. I worked up the courage to go downstairs.
Steve’s nose on a woman’s face was removing the dog bowls. She was Christine. Tammy was
inside. They were working out who would keep Bessie. They knew about me. I was the sweet
one. They were glad the creep left. Steve said that guy was bad news. Steve was still alive.
Steve was not coming back. I shouldn’t cry. Steve loved the Lord, so there was no bad ending
possible. Would I like his Taste of Home cookbooks?
Upstairs, I had a text from Jolene. “I have lost him.”
I thought she meant the new staff writer with two Pushcart Prizes. I thought she meant
the feral cat who made eyes at Mercy through the window. I knew she meant Kenny. I knew
she had Kenny for twenty more years than German bone marrow should afford.
When I brought down the recycling that night, Roy said he’d heard me crying. He asked
if the jerk called and tried to start trouble. He said he and Sol would even start speaking again
if I needed their help. Don’t underestimate mean old buzzards.
Jolene was under strict orders not to have a “celebration of life.” She told the priest to
avoid the word “warrior.” She printed 8 x 10” glossies with Kenny’s face under the words,
“Sail On, My Ship.” The priest had a binder of verses about resurrection, but Kenny wanted
Gandalf ’s words about “White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”
Two hundred people were coming. Kenny touched two hundred people without opening his
airlock.
I would leave my pink and turquoise for Jolene. My mother overnighted me a black
blazer. I looked like I was dressed for Halloween. I saw a suburban hermit pretending to be
a member of society. My flats kept falling off my feet. A truck came for Steve’s leavings. The
grill was gone. Steve was gone.
The moving men would not respect my cowl. “Oooooo-eee!” The larger man stopped
mid-lift, ottoman overhead. “Somebody in this neighborhood still has fashion!”
I started to laugh. I did not know how to stop.
The larger man’s colleague ran out of the truck. He pounded his chest. “GIRL!” He
pointed both fingers at me. I was seen. “You go kill ‘em out there!”
I wanted to tell him that I couldn’t wait to get back inside, but I had Kenny’s Final Sail to
attend. I wanted to tell them that I was going to write about them, but they were negotiating
a sofa. The moving men did not come for me.
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