Good People (8 page)

Everyone always took what I said about Tanya the wrong way.

My Sofia surrounds me all the time, even though she is not here anymore. She always takes things the wrong way or used to take things the wrong way back when she was around to take anything at all.

My Sofia, I do not know where you are, but I pray for your ambushed soul.

Whether you are dead or alive, Sofia, I do this for you regardless.

In that moment, as I'm about to open the medicine cabinet and swallow all of the painkillers and sleeping pills, I think of my Sofia and Tanya, who might
someday see me on the boulevard, who might someday return and who'd want to touch the hem of my garment, tuck a tassel of hair behind my ear, who'd want to kiss me on the mouth as well, good God.

I think of the mother who nursed me, the father who schooled me, the brothers and sisters who bathed and dressed me. These were only sometimes horrible.

I think most of them are dead now.

So many people are either dead or gone. What I mean is, they either died or they left when everyone else started dying off.

The night I tried to make love to Tanya started with a light supper prepared by my Sofia. She made a traditional dish that all of us enjoyed, that took hours to prepare. When I say all of us, I mean my Sofia, Tanya, and me. Teddy wasn't invited.

While my Sofia was clearing the table, I said something to Tanya about her eyes. Tanya liked it when people talked about her eyes. I compared her eyes to something beautiful, like a red-tailed hawk or the trumpet of the archangel Gabriel. She told me to go on, so I said something about her legs, said they were like the
delicate trunk of a shapely willow tree. This is when I put my arm around her and kissed her neck and slipped my hand inside her dress. I think she moaned and told me to stop it. I asked what was wrong with her. I asked her, What can we do? and this is when she stuck me with a butter knife. She made a big production of calling out my name and saying, How could you?

My Sofia was in the kitchen doing the dishes and dancing a tarantella. She always danced a tarantella when she did the dishes. After she heard what Tanya said, she came running in from the kitchen and asked how could I over and over.

By this time, Tanya was storming out the front door and slamming it behind her. The way she looked in that sundress, it was always a pleasure to watch her storm out a door.

I think I told my Sofia it was a misunderstanding and that I didn't mean it, that there was nothing to it, that I got too much sun and then I think I said something about Teddy the cripple. This is when she told me to get out, that I wasn't Tanya's idea of a handsome man, that she never wanted to see me again.

My Sofia had said this to me before, that she never wanted to see me again.

Still, this was the last time I saw any of those people.

Like most, I am human and do all of the human things. I shave and shower and feed myself regularly, every day, if I can manage it. I sometimes like to slip my hand into the dresses of good-looking women. This does not make me horrible. I also look out of windows and blink my eyes. I wait for people to come back, for someone to walk up the walk, under a parasol. I hold doors open for people. I say please and thank you.

I look out the window and see people coming to and fro or I imagine this. None of them are my Sofia or Tanya. Not even Teddy the cripple limps by in my imagination.

I think about addressing the ones I do see from my window, announcing to them that they are horrible people, saying that they should've moved away or died like everyone else, like my Sofia or Tanya, that they should stop talking about what happened, that I shouldn't be the subject of gossip and insinuations, but what will become of me then, how will I be remembered the world over, my good name ruined, besmirched, and
for what purpose and to what end? I think about my legacy and those few who surround me here. I see my reflection in the window, and yes, I want to kiss myself.

My Sofia would kiss me square on the mouth at a moment's notice if given even half a chance, if she were even half-alive and had half a heart left inside her.

Let me make myself clear. The streets are almost always empty. I look out the window and I blink my eyes. I see nothing, no one, almost always. These days the silence coming from outside is disquieting, which is funny, now that I think of it, how silence can be disquieting. Once in a great long while I'll see someone or imagine such. Most of the time it's my Sofia or Tanya. When you don't see anyone for a long while, your mind can play tricks. I guess this has gone on for a while now, not seeing anyone out the window and my mind playing tricks. It's hard to know how long. I didn't mark the date when everyone left, but when I look in the mirror, I see new wrinkles and a cluster of gray hairs.

When everyone who didn't die comes back, I'm sure they will have trouble recognizing me, what with the wrinkles and gray hair.

The one who won't have any trouble recognizing me is my Sofia. My Sofia would know me anywhere, I'm almost sure. At night we would sometimes sit on a sofa together. I would watch something on television and she would watch me watch the television. When I asked her why, she said it was because I was fascinated. I asked her if she meant fascinating and she said no.

We were happy then.

So she would know how the hair drapes across my face, obscuring half of it.

I remember the night before she ran away with Teddy. This was the same night I tried to make love to Tanya at the dinner table.

All of us talked about what was happening, what life was like then, how everything had changed, how so many of us were dying.

We wanted to figure out what exactly was happening and why.

None of us could come up with a workable theory.

A Regular Day for Real People

I
TOLD MY FRIEND
I was about to sleep with his sister. I told him to sit tight.

Outside, the world was in motion and I watched it from a fourth-story window. From there I could see almost everything. From there I could see the earth and the structures built upon it. I could see people and animals and how everyone conducted themselves in broad daylight.

From there I could hasten my demise should I finally choose to do so.

My friend and his sister wouldn't want that, though, to say nothing of the world at large.

I keep this in mind because all of us are on the verge of something, a new way of life maybe.

I had been there for most of the last year, at the window, watching the world in motion, considering this new way of life, considering the nuances of defenestration.

I developed a keen appreciation for weather.

Sometimes it rained.

When it rained, it rained from top to bottom and from side to side. If you squinted and tilted your head, the opposite was true.

The wind played a part in this, certainly, if there was a wind.

Otherwise, there were days that were cloudy and uncloudy.

I sat on the precipice.

Poised.

I had recently spoken with my friend. I called early in the morning and woke him. I told him I was about to sleep with his sister. I told him to sit tight.

He said, What, who?

I said, I have no time for games, and hung up on him. Afterward I went straight back to the window and looked out of it.

This is funny because tennis plays a critical element in this whole affair and tennis is a game made up of games.

I could see many buildings and even more windows into those buildings.

In other words, I was at one window, mine own, looking into others I knew not of.

Should I consider this too closely, I'd lose my way and drag everyone down with me.

Such is the nature of windows.

I do think it important to note that I was trying to observe my neighbors in their natural habitats. I
wanted to see how they live, what they do. I thought it would be at the least educational and maybe even more than that.

I thought maybe I could learn something about myself.

My friend worked a job, commingled with others, participated in society. I don't know how he, or anyone, for that matter, can do such things.

I'd known him since childhood. He was a fine boy. Spoke in complete sentences, had perfect table manners and the rest.

I never thought either of us would live long enough that we'd work jobs and participate in society.

I remember a conversation we had once while playing tennis. I was ten times better than him, but he liked playing anyway. Secretly he resented me for being ten times better than him, but I tried not to hold this against him.

I think I told him during a changeover that I couldn't see either of us reaching middle age. He said, You're probably right, said we'd be lucky to see a third set.

There was no reason for this fatalism, if this was fatalism.

It was, more than anything else, a lack of imagination.

I think this is why I try to look into windows. I can't imagine what might be going on in there.

I don't remember much of his sister, as I think they kept her hidden from the likes of me.

The people outside the window were unscrupulous. There was no sense of right and wrong and this was indicated in how they moved about the world in motion, as if they were balanced, as if they had a clear destination in mind.

Otherwise, the people outside were inscrutable. I'm not sure I know the difference between unscrupulous and inscrutable.

Some of these had dogs. They led the dogs around on leashes, if you can picture that.

My friend's sister was in the bedroom, waiting for me.

I'm not sure if she had a dog. I haven't seen her with a dog, but she is the type to have one.

I have trouble keeping time, which is why I don't know when all of this happened. From the window you can't tell time, as there are no clocks within eyeshot and I'm not clever enough to make my own calendar. I don't know how long I've been here, at my window, but at some point, I began playing tennis under the everywhere sky.

Surely I've done other things since coming to my window, but I can't remember what. I must've eaten and slept and performed tasks and maintained personal hygiene, attended to function and need—in other words, the tedious litany of daily disturbance.

But other than my window, what I specifically remember is being out there on the tennis court.

There were other people playing at the same time, but they were none of mine. They were inscrutable or unscrupulous.

I was out on the court with my friend's sister, the one whose brother I had hung up on earlier, the one I was
about to sleep with, whose backhand slice was devastating, whose first serve was unimaginable.

Anyone watching was thusly dazzled.

I am a sight to see out there on the court, a man of my size, moving like that, covering the entire playing surface, sideline to sideline, net to baseline.

I've always been tremendous, standing up at 6′ 8″ and weighing down at 280.

Should I finally throw myself out the window, imagine the sight of it, let alone the sound.

The stakes were agreed upon beforehand. Should she win, I was to leave her alone forever, never to darken her doorstep, write, call, or otherwise contact her while everyone was still alive and upright.

Should I win, she'd have to sleep with me.

I think I had a strange look on my face when I first proposed this because she had a strange look on her face after I said it.

Still, she agreed.

She probably had no choice as I was threatening the life of her brother at the time.

I told her I had him confined at an undisclosed location. At first she didn't believe me. She thought I was bluffing.

I have your brother, I said.

She said, What do you mean you have him?

I have your brother, I said, that's exactly what I mean.

Where do you have him?

I have him confined at an undisclosed location.

I don't believe you, she said. You're bluffing, she said.

This is when I showed her a Polaroid of her brother tied up and gagged at the undisclosed location. I propped up a copy of that day's newspaper on his chest to prove this was actually happening and I meant business.

I saw someone do this in a movie once.

In the movie they didn't leave a telephone for the hostage to answer. This is how what I've done is better than the movie.

I'm not exactly sure how it's better but I know that it is.

I told my friend not to get any big ideas about calling the cops. I told him if he called the cops I'd have to do unspeakable things to his sister.

This is how they talk in the movies, so I figured I should do likewise.

He knew I meant business. Still, he said I should reconsider. I told him I thought this all the way through, that I knew what I was doing.

The sister said again, I can't believe this.

I said, What can't you believe?

She said, This, what it is you're doing.

I said, It's a regular day for real people. Nothing more.

The sister said, I don't know what that means.

I said, No one does.

I told her it was something to do, a reason to live. I told her everyone needed a new way of life and this was the beginning of it. I talked about purpose, something to look forward to, goals and dreams. I talked about what I'd seen from my window, how I couldn't imagine any of it. I talked about defenestration, said it might not be the right answer, but it was indeed an answer. She said,
But I don't understand the question. I told her, You and me both.

I knew the sister was a great tennis player, which was part of the thrill, to play someone on that level, to challenge myself like this with something at stake.

I'd seen her play years before. I think this is when my plan started to come together, watching her toy with those overmatched teenaged opponents. The skirts she wore back then, that ponytail bouncing behind her, as playful as a little dog.

But this plan never took shape until recently. Back then it was an idea, a best guess, something akin to fantasy, one that I'd never realize, in all likelihood.

I guess things changed after I realized that life was everyday tedious and who cared anymore.

Part of the deal was I'd release her brother either way, after the match, regardless of the outcome.

Still, she might've felt a certain pressure to throw the match if she cared at all about her brother.

I didn't discourage this.

I may've even said, I hope this works out, for your brother's sake.

To make it more cinematic, I had to tune up her brother a little. It's more effective if the Polaroid indicates the hostage has been beaten.

I took no pleasure in beating my friend like that.

I told him this. I told him, I take no pleasure in having to beat you like this. I told him I had no choice.

He took the beating like a man, I'll say that much for him.

The match started early in the morning, before the sun could get vindictive, before the rain could go sideways and the wind, as well.

The weather promised to be an issue all day. They were calling for temperatures in the mid-90s come early afternoon, with the possibility of thunderstorms.

We warmed up together, as tennis players do, starting with mini for a few minutes, then to the baseline for ground strokes. Then she came to the net for volleys
and overheads, then I did, then we served into both courts, both deuce and ad.

I could tell she was focused.

There was a buzz as the crowd gathered. Apparently, word had gotten out.

I was a legend by the time I turned fourteen, so it's no surprise. By then I was already the biggest and strongest in our neighborhood and could serve upward of 140 miles per hour.

I was on the lookout for a film crew, as I'd heard that a famous documentary filmmaker had gotten wind of this.

But that was years ago, I think. I hadn't played since the injury, since my friend low-bridged me during a friendly game of touch football.

I did think of this as I tuned him up earlier. I may've even said this out loud. As I broke his jaw, I may've said, Remember the friendly game of touch football in the park.

He said he was sorry, but I didn't believe him. He said it was part of the game, that he didn't mean it, that it wasn't illegal.

I spun the racket and said, Up or down? My friend's sister waited a split second and said, Up, and when the racket fell to the court, the logo was indeed pointing up.

I prepared to return her serve and situated myself a solid foot behind the baseline, with my legs straddling the sideline. I knew she tended to go out wide on the deuce court, so I started to lean that way as she tossed the ball high in the air.

Her toss was elegant, like the way a ballerina would serve.

Graceful arm extended skyward, ball rolling off long fingers as though she was inviting it into the air not two feet above her head.

She blasted one down the T, which I managed to get a racket on. The ball floated deep enough into her court for me to have a chance in this first point, but her next shot pinned me in the backhand corner and she followed behind it for an easy put-away.

She won the first game at love and had a smirk on her face as we changed ends.

I responded in kind and held serve and then she held serve and this went on for eight games, until I broke for a 5–4 lead.

For some reason, I tightened up at this point, double-faulted twice during my service game, and was broken right back.

She took the tiebreaker.

We were playing a best of five sets, so I wasn't worried. I figured I'd let her win the first set to get her hopes up, get her overconfident.

Shortly after this first set, my chest began to hurt and my limbs tingled. I lost feeling in my right foot, which had been broken by my friend during a friendly game of touch football.

I tried not to think of my friend during the match. I knew he'd be fine, more or less. I'd given him a certain freedom of movement, so he could attend to function
and need, eat food, drink water, relieve himself, et cetera.

There was no way he could do himself in, I don't think, not that he ever indicated an interest in doing so.

We'd never discussed the nuances of defenestration.

I had him chained to a radiator and reminded him that if he tried anything, he probably wouldn't live to regret it, but his sister would.

I think I kissed him on the lips after I said this.

I thought it an effective maneuver.

I sometimes wear a headband around my head, but this day I tied myself up in a black bandanna. Years ago people would talk about that black bandanna, how it, along with my imposing figure, could intimidate anyone in the world.

The second set was back and forth. The games were all well contested and several lasted a great long while. I believe three of them featured multiple deuces, one lasting until a ninth such deuce, which mercifully
ended when I struck a service winner that handcuffed my friend's sister and rendered her helpless.