Succour

he was crouched there counting on his fingers and then his toes. Suzanne,Tanya, Gillian, Clara, Fannie, Veronica, and that set of twins at the stag party, the one from the bar that monday night and Carol, but that was love and he really wanted to marry her, her cousin, which meant that when Carol found out the wedding was off, but they did it one more time for old time’s sake,then there were all the summertime romances and honest, they weren’t casual.they were a gentle stream but they weren’t faceless or nameless.

he was crouched there with the barrel against his chest thinking about his mother. she hadn’t heard from him in over a month. she fretted over things like that. if he called her today she wouldn’t worry anymore. she’d go back to boasting to her friends that her son is travelling the world. for some reason it sounded better saying her son was living in Bali, than a bum on the streets of the city, crashing wherever and hustling until the next set of cash filtered in. of course, if he blew the hole he was planning on blowing then he would never call her again. she’d never get over that. it’s not likely they’d bother to identify his body and contact her back in the states. just a simple disposition of the flesh’s form. and, his mother’s doubts.

you know what’s wrong with the world today? too many parents burying their own children. it’s not right. you hear about people dying and think next time it might be me. he thought like that. when he was in 8th grade they made up a new word that sounded like a little old word. aid-Kool. aid-Band. aid-; assist, succour, fund, cure, strengthen. no, no, nothing like that. in the plural it’s fear. death walking.

he was sitting in the clinic’s lobby wanting to know for sure and not wanting to know. ignorance being a killer bliss. knowing being the countdown. he counted on his fingers and toes and tried to think back to the mistakes made and ‘could that have been the time i got it’ and ‘could that be the time i passed it on.’ you know that feeling, minutes like hours, hours like a lifetime. lifetime being an oxymoron. the form asked his name and he knew he didn’t want to reveal that. what would his dentist think? and the lady at the grocery? the guy who sold him papers around the corner would find out and then what? they’d have to know eventually. in this disclosure society. if his death was a mystery, they’d bill it off to whispers. A is for…

if he had it, where’d it come from? science project gone way awry. he believed every conspiracy theory. governmental plague. decimation. Simona, german lady tourist paying young boys to have sex with her. young boys thinking their hard bodies invulnerable. chatting up local girls and making love. girls feigning ecstasies with boorish boyfriends while telling them they are the only ones. boyfriends out on the town to sneak in a quick one trying to be very careful but the condom breaks or her juices taste sweet so the water must be ripe for the plunge, right? oh my god, why am i here? I is for…

he wasn’t in love or anything. ‘this is a me thing,’ he thought. this is a life is too short to live with doubt play for sanity. maybe he won’t have to pay that AMEX bill after all. he’s been honest. he’s been true. he’s been kind. ok, been cruel. but, this isn’t punishment. and, it ain’t chance. he’s got 10 fingers and 10 toes and he can’t go around pointing them. when would you find time to place blame? who do you come to hate? the lucky ones? god’s children expressed. depressed. D is for…

he’ll wait the two weeks and worry and count on his fingers and toes all the times things were wrong but felt so right. he’ll get the results. have to decide is there is or is not to be any more give and take.

who wants to know? you’re going to die anyway. someday.

Samantha Coerbell