“It took eighty-two stitches to put him back together,” Big Swiss said. “He’ll never be the same again, and neither will I.”
Greta imagined Big Swiss pushing Luke around in a wheelchair, changing Luke’s drainage bags, sitting on Luke’s paralyzed lap, helping him in and out of a car. She imagined herself in her own car, windows down, blasting Bach’s cello suites while accelerating off the bridge.
“I never thought Keith’s release would affect him, too,” Big Swiss went on, “that he’d have his own private experience of it.”
A few feet away, Ellington rested his neck over the crest of Pantaloon. They dozed for a moment. They seemed very much in love. Then Ellington ruined it by attempting to mount Pantaloon, who swung her head around and bit him on the shoulder. He clambered off of her, crestfallen. They wandered away from each other, pulling grass into their mouths and chewing. This was how they processed their feelings, she realized now. By chewing. By ruminating.
Greta considered pulling grass into her own mouth, but it was her turn to say something. It’s not your fault? False. It’s no one’s fault? Also not true. Nothing could be done? Lots of things could have prevented this. What was there to say except sorry?
“I’m sorry,” Greta said. “I shouldn’t have pressured you to tell him about us. I was just looking for a way to feel better.”
“He already knew,” Big Swiss said. “He’s not stupid. He knew as soon as he met you.”
“And I should’ve told you about my own confrontation with Keith.”
“What? Where?”
“Cousin’s. The last time I saw you. I accused him of shooting Pi?on, and he said he’d shoot me before he’d shoot any dog.”
“Was this before or after we saw each other?”
“Before.”
“So you decided not to tell me, and then you let me spank you… like an idiot.”
“Seemed like a fitting end to the evening.” Greta sniffed. “I didn’t realize it would be the last time we’d ever see each other.”
When Big Swiss didn’t object, Greta felt like walking into traffic. Without Big Swiss in her life, everything would go back to being bland and blurry.
“It should be me in the hospital,” Greta finally said.
“You wouldn’t have gotten that far,” Big Swiss said.
“He called me a dumb city bitch and told me to get the fuck out of his face. It could’ve turned violent.”
“I’m saying you never would have made it to the hospital.”
Greta scowled. “Two blocks?”
“You would’ve died in the alley.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re nothing like Luke. He possesses something you don’t, something valuable in situations like these—fuck, never mind.”
“I hope you don’t mean a dick.”
“The will to live,” Big Swiss said. “His is strong. So is mine. It saved us both from getting killed.”
Greta shrugged. “I’ve survived a thing or two, same as you.”
“Yeah, but you never really fight for anything,” Big Swiss said. “Big or small. Remember the time you lost your shoe in the woods? You wouldn’t even look for it. You were prepared to hobble out of the forest with one shoe. If you’d been attacked the other night, you wouldn’t have fought back. You would’ve rolled over and… perished.”
Greta rolled her eyes and said nothing.
“See? You give up too easily, even in arguments.”
It’s called going with the flow, Greta wanted to say. You might try it. Also, how do you expect me to argue when your husband is essentially a wedge of Swiss cheese, thanks in part to me?
“You barely take care of yourself,” Big Swiss went on. “Is there anyone you actually care about?”
“Pi?on.”
“He’ll be dead, probably sooner than you think. Then what? Why are you even alive? Where’s your will to—”
“Stop,” Greta said. “Stop with the will-to-live shit. It’s for the terminally ill, okay? The wrongly convicted, the chronically homeless—people living on the edge. It’s meaningless nonsense coming from you. What you and Luke have is confidence, that’s all, along with the expectation that things will go your way, because they probably will, because they already have.”
Now Big Swiss was quiet. Was she a handful? Yes. But the thought of never handling her again? Unbearable.
“Anyway, suppose by some miracle I did make it to the hospital. Where would you be right now?”
“I chose you,” Big Swiss said. “Over and over, for months and months. I even considered ending my marriage for you, which would’ve been stupid and insane since you’re not really interested in living.”
“Well, our relationship felt like living,” Greta said. “To me, anyway. I’ve never been more myself with anyone, including myself.”
“You’re not yourself with yourself?”
“Not really.”
“But it’s hard to be with someone who simply drifts, who never searches for meaning, who just coasts along, and then wonders why she’s so powerless—”
“Suicidal,” Greta said, correcting her.
“You’re telling me you want to die when my husband was almost stabbed to death by the same man who tried to kill me. Who’s the narcissist now?”
“Me, I guess. Me, me, me.”
“Besides, I doubt you could summon the will to kill yourself.”
Now Ellington brayed. It was hoarse, raw, and very affecting. This was the sound she wanted to make. He seemed to be purging himself of something, and Greta wanted to join him. Crying certainly wasn’t cutting it. Perhaps in the next life she’d come back as a spotted jackass.
“What is that?”
“It’s a donkey, braying.”
“The imaginary donkeys,” Big Swiss said. “Right.”
“Oh, they’re real. They’re right here. They arrived this morning. If you listen to them chew, you’ll feel better, I promise. You’ll feel brand-new.”
Greta held the phone near Pantaloon’s mouth for a few seconds.
“You hear that?”
“I should get back to Luke,” Big Swiss said. “He’s not out of the woods yet. He’s still fighting for his life. When you start fighting for yours, maybe we can see each other again.”
20
OM:?Can you state your initials for the transcriber, please?
GW:?I’m the transcriber, Om. I know what my initials are.
OM:?Right, of course. Thanks for signing that release form.
GW:?You better hope I don’t fall into a K-hole. I’ll be very upset, and I can’t afford to take you to small-claims court.
OM:?I only gave you fifty milligrams.
GW:?Do you give all your clients ketamine? Is that why they’re often sobbing uncontrollably and calling you Dad?
OM:?Only those who are experiencing acute suicidal ideation, like you. I also recommend it to people who are unable to experience their bodies as a home they can always return to, or at least an uncluttered, comfortable space they can enjoy spending time in.