Cemetery Street by John Zunski (ebook reader color screen .txt) 📖

piled on.
“What’s there to know?” I stonewalled.
“If you’re still an item,” Shannie retorted.
“Nope, we were never an item.”
“You weren’t saying that when you were banging Nancy,” Steve accused.
“Clancy,” I corrected.
“She’s the one who said you’re in your thirteenth life,” Shannie giggled.
“Thirtieth,” I couldn’t hold back my smile. Just before Thanksgiving, Clancy said I was her cosmic white knight. That I showed up throughout her lifetimes in times of need. That it was my destiny to help her through her current lifetime’s crisis. “So let me get this straight, my sole purpose is to travel across the ages to help you through tough times.” “Something like that,” Clancy answered in her raspy voice. “You need meds,” I’d told Clancy matter-of-factly.
“Damn James, it’s people like you that keep people like me in business. Keep on dying brother. I could use your patronage.”
“Fuck you.”
“No,” Steve quipped, “ Fuck her.”
“Speaking of fucking her,” Shannie interjected. “Come on, be a sport; piss and tell. Was she as good in the sack in this lifetime as the others?”
“Better than Jenny Wade not as good as….” I hesitated. “Not as good as the others.” I stammered. Across the table Genise winced. Steve again looked from Genise to me and back again. Genise gave Steve a quick, dirty look before sinking her attention to her plate. To my left Shannie gave me a wide grin. “Silly James, I mean was she as good in the sack in this life as she was in previous lives?”
I was glad Shannie was drunk. She was missing cues. I played cool. “She’s slipping. She was best in my twenty-second life. That’s when she was my sex slave. I think that experience damaged her for many lifetimes. Even compared to the fifteen, she’s turned into a prude. She destined to be a missionary for a few lifetimes, if you know what I mean.”
“Excuse me a second, I have to go powder my nose.” Genise dropped her napkin on the table.
“You okay? You look pale,” Shannie questioned Genise.
“I’m fine dear,” Genise answered patting the top of Shannie’s out stretched hand.
“She looks pale!” Steve hooted as Genise faded through the smoke towards the restrooms. “That’s funny. That’s too funny! She looks pale.”
“You’re an asshole,” Shannie snickered.
Pointing at his chest, Steve continued: “I may be an asshole, but that’s still funny.” Steve pointed towards Genise.
Shannie’s eyes followed Genise. “Something’s bothering her. I’ll be right back.” Shannie ran a finger down my cheek. Steve and I watched her disappear into the hazy room.
“Don’t tell me you banged the Comanche,” Steve snickered.
“Shoshone,” I corrected.
“Come on buddy ole pal. Tell me, you slipped the Shoshone the bologna.”
I sat down my utensils and wiped my mouth. I smiled at my boss and said: “If you say a word, I will beat you with a stick. I’ll beat you so hard you’ll need your own services.”
“Yes!” Steve cried. We high-fived. “You’re the man! How was she?”
“How good can you imagine?”
Steve smiled.
“She was better! The best!”
“You banged two lesbians, fuck me. You’re the envy of every Howard Stern worshipping dude in America.”
“Remember… I’ll beat you senseless.”
“You’re God!” he continued.
“With a stick,” I reiterated.
Steve never said a word. He kept silent. Recently I’ve wondered how long he could have kept my secret. As events played out – I betrayed myself.
When Shannie and Genise returned I ordered another bottle of wine. The conversation resumed its earlier pitch. We seemed like two happy couples. Unknown to us, somewhere nearby, fate lurked, silently preparing its hand.
“You’re into photography, right Genise?” Steve questioned.
“Sure am,”
“Do you got your camera on you?”
“Sure don’t,” Genise answered.
“Damn, what a shame. I was hoping you could take a picture for me,” Steve put his arm around me and pulled me towards him. “If this guy had a vagina, I’d ask him to marry me. I wanted a picture of my proposal.”
“Why let a little thing like a vagina stop you?” Shannie questioned.
“If I had a vagina I’d still hate your guts.” I shoved Steve. “If I had a vagina I’d ask Shannie to marry me.” I wrapped an arm around her.
“Only if I could wear the pants in the family,” Shannie retorted.
Steve said: “If I had a vagina I’d spread my legs as wide as airplane wings and have Genise come in for a landing.”
Laughing, Shannie gibed, “That’s disgusting!”
“I can imagine worse,” Genise added.
“I’ve seen worse,” I commented.
“Worse than Steve’s pussy? I can’t imagine anything that horrid,” Shannie laughed.
“I’ve seen worse,” I said. “In one of you shots.”
Genise shook her head. “No,” she mouthed silently.
“Oh yeah?” Shannie asked. “I love her work, which one?” Shannie babbled slipping an arm around Genise.
“You know, the one with the hag spitting on the old man’s face. It’s such an incredible picture. How the loogie just hangs in front of his face. The old man’s eyes. The shocked expression. The drama.” Shannie’s expression imitated the pictures.
“How do you know about that picture?” Shannie questioned.
“Ah,” I stammered. Across the table Genise recoiled.
“How does he know about that picture?” Shannie turned to Genise, grilling her lover.
“James,” Shannie said leaning forward in her seat. “How the fuck do you know about that picture?” Shannie’s eyes were ablaze, her mind piecing together the details. Genise leapt up and made her way towards the front door.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Shannie cried after her. Ignoring Shannie, Genise made her way into the night.
Throwing her napkin upon the table Shannie leaned forward and grabbed my collar. “You fucking snake! I’m not done with you!” Letting go of my collar, Shannie walked out the front door and out of my life forever.
“Why do we insist on being carpenters of our own crosses?” Steve asked watching the door close behind Shannie.
“Why don’t you shut the fuck up!”


Chapter 20 Shannie’s Burble

The next morning I stared out my kitchen window expecting to see Shannie sitting in the elm tree. She wasn’t there, no matter how hard I willed her image the branches swayed without her. Gazing past the elm, beyond the single line of trees into Fernwood, I didn’t see any sign of her. “Merry Christmas,” I mumbled, exhaling a plume of smoke through my nose. Coughing, I snubbed out another cigarette into the growing mountain of butts. More tears stung my bloodshot eyes. I reached for another cigarette and was greeted by an empty pack. “FUCK!” I crumpled the empty pack and threw it across the kitchen. I barely missed Ellie. Poor Ellie, I thought returning her gaze. She knew. She gazed at me with sad eyes. She peered at me as she rested her snout on the floor between her extended legs.
Never have I felt such emptiness; never had I such a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Not even during my accident, not even learning of Count’s death. “You should have let me die!” I cursed God. “She didn’t deserve to. I’m the wastoid; I’m an asshole; she had a life,” I pleaded. “It’s not fair,” I erupted into another flood of tears. I buried my head into my arms.
The phone rang. I bolted, heart racing. It’s Shannie, it’s just a nightmare, Shannie’s calling. It’s just a dream. Krista’s voice reminded me it really happened. “James,” her voice hesitated. “James,” she repeated, pausing to give me a chance to pick up, as if she sensed my presence. “I got your father’s message. I’m so sorry; I don’t know what to say. Listen, I’m out of town, but I want you to call me when you get this message.” She repeated the out-of-state number twice before continuing. “Call me collect if you have to. Call as soon as you get this message. I’m here for you; don’t feel like you have to go it alone.” She paused again, before repeating: “I don’t want you going it alone. Call me James.”
Outside, a light snow fell, just like last night when Steve Lucas and I walked out of Dino and Luigi’s. I walked to the kitchen window, watching heaven’s frozen tears as I replayed the horrid night over again in my head.
“Cool, it’s snowing,” Steve said as we walked across the parking lot to his car. “You think we’re finally gonna have a white Christmas?”
“Huh? Why should I care?” I questioned.
“You’re such a killjoy,” Steve bristled as sirens wailed across the still town.
“You know, you’re gay. You always think about gay things like a white Christmas.”
Laughing, Steve started his car. “Do you want this fag to take you home or do you wanna go get drunk?”
“I’m already hammered,” I complained.
“Who’s the faggot now?” Steve Lucas questioned.
“JD’s, here we come,” I high-fived my employer, relieved at the prospect of shelving my current Shannie drama. “Do me a favor?”
“What’s that?” Steve asked fumbling with the radio.
“Don’t mention the dynamic duo tonight,” I stared into the darkness. “I don’t want to hear a word about either of them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve joshed.
“I just wanna get my mind off of ‘em, if you know what I mean.”
“JD’s, bar sluts, here we come. Joke em if they can’t take a fuck,” Steve rambled.
“I was worried about you fucking up. I need to be beaten with a stick. I’m such a dumb ass. Fuck me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Steve consoled. “Once your girlfriend gives her girlfriend the boot, she will beat you with a stick.”
“Didn’t I ask you not to bring it up? Jesus Christ, I ask you to do me a simple favor and you fuck up.”
“Whatever,” Steve shrugged. He almost pulled into the path of a screaming fire truck.
“Watch out!” I curled into a ball in the front seat. I relived my accident. My heart pounded. I lost my breath.
Steve tapped the brakes. The fire truck bolted around us and continued its way.
“Jesus, how can you not see a fire truck?”
“You know, you nag just like a woman. No wonder lesbians adore you. You are a lesbian. Ugh oh,” Steve continued. “Looks like we ain’t going to JD’s.”
The lower section of Main Street was awash with emergency lights. “Go figure! The one night I wanna get hammered, really hammered, the bar burns down.”
“There’s always Giorgio’s,” Steve said.
“Screw that place.” I thought of old Luther, the freaky bartender.
“It ain’t the bar, it’s an accident.”
“Well, at least we can still drink,” I tried to make sense of the organized chaos before us.
“Oh man, it’s a train wreck. I hope it derailed. Hope it didn’t get a car, I’d hate to deal with that mess,” Steve said.
Scene lights illuminated the railroad crossing. Firefighters rushed back and forth between the cars. The falling snow, illuminated by the floodlights, cast a pall over the stopped freight train. Boxcars loomed like the scaly back of an injured dragon. I cringed at memories of dodging freights. “Poor bastards,” I said thinking of the people whose luck ran out.
Steve had pulled over and parked his car. “Come on, Let’s take a look.”
“We ain’t getting close,” I informed my friend. Fire-police held back the crowd.
“Professional privileges my friend,” Steve quipped. “Our services may be needed.”
“You greedy bastard,” I laughed. “They don’t need your services, they’d be better off cremated.”
“You’d be surprised,” Steve said hopping from the car.
The din of idling fire trucks, generators, and radio traffic overshadowed the buzz of speculation. My palms broke into a cold sweat as we approached the police car at the corner of Second and Main. Ever since Shannie’s Miss Dead America stunt, I feared