101 Words

Quiet. Like it is every day before he puts in his hearing aids—when he bothers to, that is. Another reason to sulk: losing his hearing at the age of independence, when life starts. He’s twenty now, still waking up wondering why his alarm didn’t go off, only to be reminded of what happened. A car crash a year, seven months, and three days ago.

His parents were driving him to college. A quiet ride. Until it wasn’t. When the coroners arrived, he couldn’t hear what they said. He could only see the ambulance lights and the bodies being bagged up.

You know that feeling of falling you get just before you sleep? It feels like you’re falling through your bed and down into a black void. Your stomach and heart are left above you as you fall. It’s almost terrifying, except you know that you’re still in your bed and eventually the feeling will subside; you’ll be at rest, and you’ll get to wake up in the morning.

I’m experiencing that now, except I’ve been falling for a long time and the feeling hasn’t subsided. The wind is starting to burn my skin and the ground is still so far away.

The snake by the path had a large frog stuck in his throat. His eyes bulged. He could not swallow.

“He’s been so awhile,” my friend Tom said, his voice calm.

“How unfortunate,” I told him. I did not know what to do.

Tom stepped forward then and crushed the snake’s head under his boot.

I stirred. “Why do that?” I said.

“For mercy.” His voice did not waver when he said it.

I was beside myself. However, I saw the snake was no longer tense. He lay calmly in the grass, his struggle done. Yes, I realized, it was mercy.

An avid gardener, Rue’s back yard was filled with sunflowers, dahlias, and mums. Her windowsills were home to succulents, her bedroom to cherry tomatoes. Jack’s entire heart belonged to the ditzy brunette with mud on her overalls. He was there for her when she needed a good argument or a kiss or someone under her sheets. She was there for him when he needed someone to listen, a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag. She gave him rose bouquets; he gave her his misplaced anger.

A few too many punches later, Jack finally got Rue flowers. Left on her headstone.

Julius couldn’t remember when breeders learned how to transfer people’s minds into birds. He drifted through the bird shop until a sparrow quivering in the back of its cage caught his eye. The bird opened its beak. “I’m Marguerite.”

Julius smiled. A saleswoman made a beeline to the sparrow’s cage. “Do you like this one?”

“Maybe, but what if they…”

“Talk too much?”

“I don’t want to be cruel.”

“Birdsong!” the woman snapped, and Marguerite’s words turned into the faintest of chirps, which quickly trailed off.

The clerk stroked its feathers through the cage. “You’ll find we’ve accounted for every contingency.”

In the day, the music next door would be Honey or the Xanders, drums and loud guitars. The overheard music has a similar rhythm. In the day, Albert might have wandered over and joined the party. In the day, his wife might have woken to suggest their own rock and roll session.

It isn’t the day. He’s old. Alone. His party days are long-ago memories.

He’d been copacetic at midnight; kids will be kids and the pill kicked in so he slept. But he’s unhappy now. It’s almost four o’clock. He’s calling the police.

In the day, this is how parties ended.