“Kate?” the homeless guy said. “Is that you?”
She stopped in the middle of the street, stunned. She had to see who it was. “Sorry, I don’t normally get recognized by street people,” she said to Walter. She took a breath, and turned around.
She had to look at him for a moment before it clicked into place. Their old boss from Trader Joe’s, the one Michael always referred to as Fearless Leader. “Shit,” she said, groping for his name. “Darren? How are you?” It was a dumb question, but she didn’t know what else to say.
“You’re one of them,” he said. His face darkened. “It’s your fault. All of this happened.” He swayed. “Because of you.”
She hissed at him, making her best zombie face. He backed into a wall. From the smell, he’d wet himself. She walked away.
“For God’s sake, Kate, why’d you do that?” Walter caught up with her.
“Can’t reason with those people. Thought he’d be different, maybe. Knew him from back in the day.”
“How did you know he didn’t have a gun? You could get yourself killed like that.”
She gave him credit for not saying, “You could have killed both of us.”
“I don’t. I just like to see the way they react.” She was only half-joking.
“It’s dangerous. What if they attack the next, er, one, after you’ve yanked their chain?”
He held the door for her. They went into the pizza place.
“We’re zombies. Just say it. What would you have me do, shrink like a violet? Pretend I’m not what I am? I didn’t choose to be like this. But I’m out and proud, like Popeye said.”
He smiled then. “It was ‘I yam what I yam.’”
“Just seeing if you knew that.”
“You’re young for Popeye references.”
“I watched the cartoons.”
“Cartoons? I read the comics.”
They sat on plastic chairs at a table next to the wall, among the single-slice crowd. There were candles on the tables, classing the place up, but the kitchen on the other side of the counter was lit with camping lanterns. She felt sober.
“You’re right, though,” she said. “I half expect to get killed one of these days. Once, not long after I got out of the hospital, I was jumped by a group of them. They dropped me off at the emergency room, after, the nurse said. Rolled me out on the sidewalk like a batch of bad dough. Which meant that someone with a car had been involved. It wasn’t just the street crazies. I didn’t scar much.”
“Oh, wow. I’m sorry to hear that.” Walter reached for her hand, on the table, and she moved her hands into her lap. She couldn’t believe that she’d been attracted to him. It had been so long ago; it was as if it had never happened.
“People were scared,” she said. “They still are. And sometimes it’s in my interest to have that particular person moving away from me. You just have to have control of the moment.” She picked up the wrinkled paper menu that was wedged behind an empty napkin dispenser. The dispenser was clearly there for this function alone; paper was precious. The menu was handwritten on half a sheet, and listed toppings and prices.
“I hadn’t heard anything about ratpacking coming back,” he said, after a moment.
She didn’t bother to pretend that she knew what he was talking about. “Is that an East Bay motorcycle gang reference? The Rats?”
“No, it was this series of random attacks in the early nineties. Four or five guys would get out of their car, beat someone within an inch of their life, and drive away. It wasn’t gang-related. They didn’t know the victim. It was just utterly random.”
“Hate crimes is hate crimes.” She passed him the menu. They talked about what to get. A girl with legs up to her ears came to the table and took their order. A whole pie. Mushrooms and black olives. Water to drink. They both watched her walk away, her ass high and round in her shorts.
“Hey, I’m sorry about that day,” he said. “I should have taken you with me.”
“Everyone feels that way,” she said. “I haven’t talked with anyone who doesn’t regret something.” He had offered to take her with him. He just hadn’t wanted her to come; that much had been obvious.
He shook his head. She feared he might cry. This would not be the place, or the time. Not that there ever really was a right place and time. She reached for his hand, not because he would have wanted her to, but because she wanted to. His grip was strong. He turned his face to the wall. She looked at their hands together. Pink and gray. As long as she took her pills, she was safe, never mind that most people had already gotten the vaccine; the Bear Republic sponsored treatment and prevention. Her skin, though, was stuck like this. She moved her hand into her lap.
He passed both hands over his face, collecting himself. “So I went home, that day,” he said. “And I barricaded myself in. I tried to call my wife. Over and over.”
She let him talk, knowing where this was going. “She didn’t make it, did she? I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “I suspected it at first, and then I knew it after the third day. After the power was gone, and I was drinking from the hot water heater. When it went straight to voicemail, when I called. But that’s another conversation, not something I intended to burden you with. It was a long time ago, and it’s not why I’m here. I felt terrible leaving you. You were—” he looked to the wall. “Very special. Someone I cared a lot about.”
Kate nodded. “I cared about you, too,” she said. “It took me a while to understand that. I mean, that was the game we were playing, that we didn’t care. I was doing what I did with you because I wasn’t going to get hurt.”
“Oh,” he said.
“It was a long time ago. I was a kid. But I’ve thought about you.”
There was a moment of silence between them.
“Do you see your folks often?” he asked. “How’d they fare? They OK?”
He hadn’t asked about her family before. “They’re holding up. Mom’s on the community garden council, and queen of the school board. Dad’s an alderman at their church. He designs and builds solar cars with his old bowling team. I call them from the bar about once a week to check in. They know what I do for a living, and they’re OK with it. My brother’s in construction, but he prefers demolition. He came out, and the ’rents met his boyfriend during the Siege. Then he broke up with the boyfriend. The next one was a nut, everyone agrees, but there were some interesting guys in there, and those are just the ones I know about. Every relationship you’re in will fail until one doesn’t. So I’ve heard.”
Walter half-smiled. “That’s a cutthroat way of putting it. I guess it depends on how you define failure.”
“But anyway, yeah. It wasn’t as bad back home. Though I haven’t seen them since planes flew, and I don’t know when I’ll see them next. I could take the Hound, but the waiting list for a ticket is so long, and I can’t really afford to be away from work. Plus you have to be willing to drive the bus; I heard it’s gone co-op. And I don’t know how I’d get the gas credit to drive Focahontas, my old Focus. She needs a new radiator. I only use her for work, and only then because it’s too far to walk safely this late at night.”
“I’m sure you can work something out. Maybe I can help you. I’m glad they’re all safe, at least.” He paused, considering his words. “So what happened to you and that kid, that day? Did you find your friend? What was his name, Mike?”
“His name was Michael.”
Walter nodded at the past tense. “I’m sorry.”
“We met up at Alcatraz. That kid, Trevin, came with us. I hear from him occasionally. He’s in nursing school.”
“Kate,” Walter said. “Was it—I mean, what happened to you?”
“You really want to know?”
“Please.”
So Kate told him. The whole thing. She started from the beginning. It had been so long, she was afraid she’d lose the details, but the images never went away. They only got a little easier, as time passed. She allow
ed herself to say everything that she remembered. About Jamie and Cameron. Michael. How she’d felt. How she’d lied.
The pizza was served on a hubcap, with two paper plates and two napkins, and two paper cups of water. She distributed the plates and napkins, and took a slice. She talked about Paul, and the boat. Arriving at the Rock. She told him about Rob. How she still dreamed about it. The trauma of rape, wrapped inside the trauma of her own expected death, and the trauma of nearly killing someone. She took another slice, leaving the crust on her plate. “And I tied myself down, and Michael showed up, and we were locked in together. I tried to get him out. After that, I don’t remember anything. But I saw pictures.”
“Oh, kitten,” Walter said. He wasn’t eating. “It’s my fault, for not taking you with me.”
“No.” She’d considered this. “I have lots of regrets. You’re not one of them.” She realized that this could be interpreted to mean that dating him was not something she regretted. She supposed that was a fair interpretation.
“Pizza’s good,” she said. “Some days, the only hot meal I get is toast.” She knew that by talking around money, he might think she was asking for help. She didn’t care. She wasn’t trying to fool around with implications and subtext. It was too much work. She was saying what occurred to her to say. “So Charles Dickens walks into a bar, orders a martini,” she said to fill the silence. “‘Olive, or twist?’ the barkeep says.”
Walter laughed, though it wasn’t funny enough for a laugh. “Sorry, I’m just recovering. I’m serious, I’ve been looking for you. Wandering around the local bars and streets like a lost thing. I never suspected you’d be a—well.” He couldn’t say zombie. “Was that you dancing?”
“Yeah,” she said.
“I—Christ, child. Why hide your face like that?”
“It’s a shtick. Customers eat it up. Everyone’s gotta sell something. While I’m still young enough, that’s what I have.” He should know.
“And later? Won’t you go to school, get your own nursing degree, or that MFA? Something practical?”
She laughed. “MFAs are hardly practical. Only if I wanted to teach. And who’s going to hire me? Who will listen to me? Who, these days, is even going to want a liberal arts degree? It’s as useless as an MBA. Think of all those Harvard grads digging graves and planting golf courses with crops.”
“But don’t you think about it? Where you’re going?” He meant, don’t you want to grow up? Get out of the bar?
“I don’t know how long I’m going to live,” she said. “There are no long-term studies. Which is not to say that I don’t think about it. But I try not to think about it too much.” The past / is a series / of bad decisions.
He was quiet for a minute. He’d taken a few bites, but was still working on his first slice. He used to polish off his plates: entrees and sides, salads and desserts, coffee and brandy. “Shit. I miss you. I need to see you again.”
She took a third slice to have something to do with her hands. “Who are you kidding?” she asked.
He looked away. Her stomach turned. “You think you can just pick this up where you left off?” she asked, unable to meet his eyes. “Because this train has gone. Sorry.”
“Not the sex, that’s not what I mean. It’s you. The zombie thing doesn’t bother me.”
The bill arrived. She let Walter take it to the counter and pay. Kate stood, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and bussed the table, throwing away their half-eaten slices.
“Thanks,” she said when he came back. She was standing, holding the remaining pizza sandwiched between their plates.
“Let me walk you to your car?” he said. It was too late to do anything else.
She acquiesced. This late, the street was at its quietest. Even the crazies had settled down for the night.
“Can I get your phone number?” he asked. “Or your email address?”
She didn’t have a lot of friends. It seemed like a waste to throw one away. She probably shouldn’t have told Walter the whole story. He was the only person alive who knew it. Yet she didn’t regret telling him.
“Sorry,” she said. “You just remind me too much of it all.” Departing / is sweet / only when tomorrow is like today.
“Oh.”
They walked in silence for a while.
“Do you mind if I stop in and see you?” he asked.
It was good that he was asking. He might do it anyway, whatever she said. “I rather do mind, actually. I don’t like to think of you seeing me like that.”
“OK.” It wasn’t, by his tone of voice.
She stepped into the street and unlocked her car door. “This is it,” she said.
“So this is it.” He followed her to the door. He took a piece of paper from his pocket, and wrote something onto it. “If you change your mind. My address, and my phone number. If there was something I could do, I owe it to you. Get you the gas credit you need to go home, and the car repairs. I mean it. It would be the least I can do.” He pressed the paper into her hand.
She got into her car. She didn’t offer to give Walter a ride back to his. “You wouldn’t believe the day I had,” she said. She patted the console between the seats. Some of Michael’s cremated remains were there, in a Nalgene bottle. She had another one in the apartment, and a film canister’s worth in the dressing closet at work. She drove the few miles home, and went inside. She brought the piece of paper with her.
“Hiya,” Audrey said. She was lying on the couch, reading a paperback by candlelight.
“Hi.” Kate set the pizza onto the coffee table. “If you’re hungry.”
“How’d it go?” Audrey asked. She took a piece of the pizza.
“All right. I talked a lot. He wants to see me again. Gave me his phone number.”
“And?”
Kate considered the cramped writing. “He offered to get me the gas credit to drive home. And he wants to be my friend.”
“Better take a few burly dudes, if you go,” Audrey said. “You could probably find some on the ride board. I don’t want you to come home lynched.”
“Good point. I guess I could do that.” She found a pen. Want you / to want me / after the moment is over she wrote on the back of the paper with Walter’s information. She made her decision. She held the paper above the candle, turning it to watch it burn.
“Guess that’s a no, then,” Audrey said. “You’re ruthless.” There was approval in her voice. “Don’t want to go home?”
“I do, just not on his credit. He means well. I think. I just can’t be around him. You know I dated him, before?” Kate sat on the couch.
“I get it. I don’t talk to anyone that I knew back then, either. Aside from the awkward oh-you’re-still-alive-too-isn’t-that-peachy conversation. It’s easier to lose touch.” Audrey’s breath was fragrant with liquor. She held up her Harlequin in the candlelight. “You know something, though? I miss sex. The way it used to be. Romance. Stability.”
“Those are all different things.”
“I mean, I haven’t been kissed in years, except for Derek, and he’s a total player. They’re all afraid of me. Every guy I meet. They think it’s hot, at a distance; they’ll totally walk through the mall holding hands, as if anyone wants to do that once they’ve gotten out of high school. But they don’t know what to do when you get them alone. I’d just about murder someone to be held. Which is what they’re afraid of, I guess.”
“I didn’t know you were dating anyone. Noli me tangere, that’s how I feel about it.”
“Mole whey tangerine? Hardly would call it dating, anyway.”
Kate leaned against Audrey. “Latin. It means don’t touch me.” She fingered Audrey’s hair. It was damp, and smelled of the coconut shampoo from the co-op. The good kind.
“What are you doing?” Audrey asked.
“Nothing.” Kate found Audrey’s shoulders. She rubbed them. The girl was made of knots. Audrey let out a breath and put a hand on Kate’s knee. It was very late; dawn would
come soon. Until then, they were alone. Safe. Darkness abetted privacy.
“I was with a girl, once,” Kate said. “You know. Before.”
“At that party, right?”
Kate thought about what she was doing. Once you’d started touching someone, things changed. Audrey’s fingers tightened on her knee. Kate thought about what it would be like to kiss her. To be kissed. She wondered why they hadn’t done this before. Years had passed, and Audrey had been there. Audrey would be there.
“Her name was Jamie. She was good,” Kate said. Stick to your own kind, Derek had said.
“Like, how?” Audrey turned around.
“Like this.”
“I think zombies have more fun. For sure. I mean, can you imagine just randomly being able to eat flesh? I mean, how fun? … Like, don’t you ever think about that, like when you’re giving a blowjob? Don’t you think about just biting down?”
–Jenna Jameson
on Up Close with Carrie Keagan at NGTV.com
afterword
The Zombie Walks are real; check out www.zombiewalk.com for one near you. So’s the Zeppelin: a company called Airship Ventures operates a passenger blimp around the Bay Area for tours. Passage of Darkness: The Ethnobiology of the Haitian Zombie by Wade Davis describes documented cases of Haitian zombies, and talks about how zombies are controlled by whips — it’s worth a read (and my copy did come inscribed to Kelly). “Cupid’s Disease” is an article by Oliver Sacks in The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat: And Other Clinical Tales, discussing a 90-year-old woman who had self-diagnosed her sudden flirtatiousness as a result of long-dormant syphilis; she didn’t want to be cured.
Other than that, I made everything (and everyone) up. There’s no such thing as zombies.
—Amelia Beamer
The Loving Dead Page 25
