The Firefly Field Theory

|10| The Art Of Bemoaning: Part III

PART III:

Ritz doesn’t even smile or pass a look of recognition at me, like most people who’ve met more than once usually do, she just rises from the un-dead, her lit cigarette puckered between her lips from the tipping paper and shakes her head. I cough some more while backing away from the fuming coffin and find myself outside the garage’s shade. I could say hi but then again she might say die. I could say good morning but then she might say bad morning or we could all die today or something. So in the end both of us say nothing. Z and Wall-e exit with grocery bags clutched in their hands. I hear them climb the steps to the porch and enter the door.

Ritz gets out of the trunk, with a wave of her hand she throws her cigarette butt at the foot of the adjacent wall and walks by me out of the garage, just like that. All the while there’s a dumbshit crow crowing in the background like nobody’s business.

I hold my breath and edge towards the remaining bags in the trunk. Picking them up, I leave the hood erect so the smoke can diffuse out. The driveway lies adjacent to the rectangular spread of grass, contained within a trimmed hedge. Around this time today the heat has reached its peak. The smooth expanse of leveled grass in the front lawn bravely withstands the fierce gaze of sunshine. Tiny studs of shade peek from beneath the shrubs in one corner. I step out into the bold daylight; it makes me break into a sweat in my hoodie. Taking a turn to the right I walk over to the two slabs of marble steps elevating to the hooded porch. As soon as I step into the shade of the porch, I can practically feel the delicious cool dissipating from the marble floor, penetrating the soles of my converse and piercing through my socks to tickle my soles. It seems so impossible to believe, I double check for holes in my shoes.

Entering the house I take them off and leave them on the shoe rack. Just standing in the tiny passage, reminds me of a multitude of weird things, that had I not been unfortunate enough to experience, I would’ve never believed. A set of stairs supported along the wall, descends into the passage. I spot Z heading up the stairs.            

“Where to?” I ask.

He spots me down the steps and says, “I’m gonna take a nap, my head is killing me,” he turns to leave again, but then I stop him.

“Before you leave, can I ask you something?”

“What?” He turns around.

“What’s Bravo’s issue with Omi?”

“Of all the questions in the world you had to ask the hardest one to answer?” He complains and then scratches his head before saying, “How do I put it? Let’s just say that he’s a reality she’s not willing to accept. Or maybe it’s the other way around. I don’t know. They used to be good friends but then something happened between them and now Bravo’s growing cold.”

“Do you know what happened?” I ask.

“No, Bravo doesn’t like to talk about it. Can I please leave now?”

I nod and he runs up the steps like a hunted deer. Looks to me like I might never get to know what happened. Bravo doesn’t even like sharing it with her twin brother; I’m an outsider so chances are she’ll never tell me anything.

The passage leads straight into the dining room, and I presume it’s a room although it isn’t cut off by any walls from the living room or the kitchen. Placing the two bags I’ve cramped my hands by holding up, onto the glass top table. I make a bee line through the living room where Wall-e is having a moment with his PSP and head for the only refuge I know in this house. Otherwise my bedroom, it branches off of one of the farther walls of the living room. I enter and a sigh deep enough, to have made Juliet jealous, reverberates through me. It’s about half past noon, and though the curtains are drawn the light seeps through and brightens the room. The mummified black and white figure of Ritz is asleep on the side, of the bed, mom usually takes. I cross over to the other end and collapse, I don’t fall asleep.