The Red Cough
Page 4
“You can sleep in my room; I’ll sleep in the living room down here.” Arthur said to Olyvia.
“Thank you Arthur. Thank you so much.” Olyvia was grateful.
“It’s the least I could do.” Authur smiled at her.
Footsteps were heard upstairs and the person Arthur was talking to, Mike, emerged from a room and walked down the stairs, stopping midway once he saw Olyvia. “Aww dis’ bitch!?” He groaned.
“Oh fuck you, fucking bum! I didn’t think you’d have him living with you, Arthur! She yelled.
“Shut cho’ seditty ass up bitch fo’ I put sum’n in it!” Michael retorted.
“MICHAEL! OLYVIA! BOTH OF YOU SHUT THAT BULLSHIT UP!” Arthur boomed, startling them both. There was awkward silence for a couple of beats until Michael opened his mouth to speak; “She still a bi-”
“What did I JUST say!?” Hissed Arthur, Interrupting Michael. “And he is not a bum, Olyvia. I can’t believe you two. It’s been a long, hard day and I come home to you two cussing each other out on sight!?”
“We have...bad history.” Said Olyvia. Arthur raised his eyebrow and looked at Michael, awaiting a response. “It’s cause’ her damn daughter. Matta’ fact, where she at?”
Olyvia swallowed hard before speaking. “She…. She’s dead. She um...Killed herself.” She trailed off, holding back tears. Michael's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock. He looked at Arthur, who nodded at him solemnly.
“Fuck...I don’t know what to say...I’m sorry. Losing your child is...that pain is ineffable.”
“I’m...I apologize for how I treated you, Michael. We’re from different worlds and I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. Think we should learn to, coexist?” Given how things are.” Olyvia was making an attempt at diplomacy and to her surprise, it worked.
“I agree.” Was all Michael responded with. Olyvia breathed a sigh of relief.
“Good. I’m glad that was settled. Now if y’all excuse me, I’m going to roll myself a joint and watch some TV in the living room. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be.” Arthur said, walking away from them.
“What!? You smoke!? Olyvia asked, surprised.
“Yes, I have a prescription for it.”
“Wow...That’s interesting.”
“I’ll be in there in a minute Arty, I’ll match you.” Michael called to Arthur.
“I think I’ll be calling it a night. I’d like some time alone.” Olyvia said.
“All right. Don’t be afraid to holla’ if ya’ need anything, aight?” Michael’s gray-green-yellow orange flecked eyes bored into hers.
“Okay, thank you.” Olyvia turned to the stairs, but hesitated, not knowing where to go.
“Arty’s room is to the right when you get up the stairs.”
“Thanks.” Olyvia smiled briefly and went upstairs to Arthur's room to wind down and hopefully sleep. Michael walked into the living room, finding Arthur laid back on the couch eyes closed, smoking his joint. Michael sat next to him and pulled a blunt from his pocket and lit it.
“What was that between you two?” Arthur asked, his eyes still closed.
“Before I ran into you, she and I kinda had a fallin’ out. I said some words, she shot some back. I don’t even remember what was said. I jus’ know she was a bad memory at the time.
“I see. She gives me the vibe of those people who lived in a comfortable little bubble her whole life. Didn’t have to worry about much.” Arthur said.
“There you go profilin’ muhfuckas.” Michael laughed and took a drag of his blunt and passed it to Arthur, who passed his joint in return.
“Can’t help it. Seems like the death of her daughter burst her bubble. It does that sometimes.” Arthur took a drag and exhaled. As they talked and smoked, Olyvia lay in bed upstairs holding a pillow close, sobbing and rocking herself. Sylvia’s death finally hit her. And it hit her hard.
6
Four walls and a small window. That’s what Warren had been looking at for the past few days. He’d be able to go out and smoke on the roof, but only when they unlocked the door. In his compulsory solitude he thought about the outside world and if he should have left with Marc and Louie instead of staying. Agent Smith would come in every day and ask him questions about the man covered in fungus, and every day Warren would tell him whatever he knew. Whenever he’d ask questions about his release, Smith wouldn’t give him a clear answer. He would always tell him he’ll check with his superiors but lo and behold, he’d be in his little room for another day with no knowledge of when he’ll be let out.
When he did sit and smoke on the rooftop he wrote to cure his boredom. Also, he thought it was important to take an account of what he saw. He looked out over the Queen City, it was changing right before his eyes. He wrote:
“May 16th. What was once a beautiful, bustling city has become a city of fear, there are military guards on every corner. The Governor of North Carolina is urging all citizens of the state to continue to go to work and go through the days as normal as possible. He insists that there’s nothing to worry about. Many people disagree, but if anyone protests they’re arrested. And from the news reports, many aren’t returning home. Charlotte’s homeless population has thinned. IN fact, there isn’t a homeless population in Charlotte. I can see their sleeping bags and belongings at bus stops. The transit, a place that used to be riddled with loiterers has become what it was initially designed for, a transit hub. None of this scares me. You would think I’d be scared shitless about those things, but I am not.
What scares me are the clouds of red dust floating whenever the wind blows, like the spring pollen. It’s dusting every car, every tree, and even the people walking about. It grows, it feeds off of other plants and foliage, killing it, causing it to decompose within days. Red and yellow mushrooms are sprouting from trees, from the ground, and from people. Just like the man from Shenanigans. These mushrooms. This fungus makes more of the red dust that floats around. As if it’s not bad enough that people are coughing it up. The fungus is everywhere; this dust is everywhere.
I have to get the fuck out of this place, or I fear I’ll end up a living fungus. I’m probably just going to smoke in my room from now on”
Warren closed his journal, packed his bowl as he watched the fungus breathe on the streets down below. Uptown held its beauty as the sun set between the buildings. He could hear screams in the distance as bodies fell from buildings like rain. He packed his bowl again and smoked. “This is all fucked up”
End of book II
(To be Continued…)