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dispatch seven
Tarn-Pit by Drew Kalbach
debuted 1 July 2009 | kept 1053 times | click to keep
Jean put her bra back on. The clock radio announced, "Twenty minutes of classic rock coming up next after these messages and a word from our sponsors. Have you ever felt alone, like nobody is there?" Jean took her toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and scrubbed her teeth. Outside a police siren blared dull, sharp, then dull again, and Jean spit foamy paste into the sink. She grinned large and looked at her teeth up close. She licked across the surface.
In the kitchen, eggs scrambled and toast popped from the toaster. She put a shirt on and went downstairs. She looked at the eggs, then at the toast.
"Good morning," Jean said.
"Goodmorning," Aubrey said.
Aubrey scraped the eggs from the frying pan onto a plate. He handed the plate to Jean. Jean took the eggs, stared at them, and sat down.
"What happened at the duel?" Jean asked.
Aubrey took some toast from the toaster and put it in his mouth. He chewed and looked at Jean. Jean looked down at her plate. Dogs barked outside. Aubrey chewed. "Nothing happened," he said.
"How did nothing happen? It was a duel," Jean said.
Aubrey walked over to Jean, knelt beside her, took her chin in his hands, and looked into her eyes. She smelled of toothpaste and eggs. He stared. She scrunched up her nose. Aubrey smelled like blood and sweat. Aubrey’s shirt was stained and wet. Jean reached out and daubed at the blood.
The door opened. Jean stood up. Aubrey’s father limped in.
"Aubrey!" Jean screamed.
Aubrey ran into the room, grabbed a lamp, and hit his father in the skull. His father put his arms up defensively, but he was weak and the lamp was heavy. It broke through his arms and smashed into his skull. Aubrey’s father fell to the ground. Aubrey stood over him, beating his skull until it looked like nothing, like nothing Jean had ever seen. Not human. A pile of soil.
"Oh my god, Aubrey," Jean said.
"I’m sorry you had to see that," he said.
Aubrey sat down next to his father’s body and stared. Jean went into the kitchen and returned to eating eggs. She poured some ketchup on the side of her plate. She ate the eggs and ketchup slowly. When she was done she went outside to check the mail. Aubrey and his father’s corpse sat in the hallway, bloodied.
"No mail today," Jean said.
"I didn’t expect any, did you?"
"No, I didn’t. I had to check," she said.
Jean sat down next to Aubrey. Aubrey looked at Jean. He was pale from the blood loss.
"Should we take you to a hospital?" Jean asked.
"It was an honorable duel, he should have stayed at the tarn-pit," Aubrey muttered.
"A hospital, though," Jean repeated.
"It’s against the rules to leave once you’re beaten," Aubrey said. "It’s against the rules."
"But a hospital, for you," Jean said.
"How were the eggs?" Aubrey asked.
"They were good," Jean said, "I put ketchup on them."
"Good, good, they always need ketchup... like the tarn-pit needs rules," Aubrey said.
She put her hands on his thigh. He looked at her and Jean felt disgusting. He stood up and walked into the kitchen. Jean followed.
Aubrey took his shirt off and dropped it into the sink. There was a long red gash in his side. Jean took a dish towel and placed it hard against the wound. Aubrey stood leaning over the sink and vomited. Jean held the dishtowel. Aubrey sweat and vomited. She watched. The dishtowel filled with blood and the blood started to drip on the floor.
"Aubrey, a doctor," she said.
"Fine, a doctor," he said between heaves.
Jean dropped the dishtowel and called a hospital. The hospital said they would dispatch a doctor as soon as one was available. Jean thanked them and hung up.
Aubrey stopped vomiting. He turned the water on and splashed some in his face then leaned down and drank some. "The eggs were good," he said.
"Yes, they were," Jean said.
"He got me with a stick he sharpened all night he said," Aubrey said.
"A stick," Jean repeated.
"I didn’t come with a weapon. I wanted to feel his skin. I was lucky he was old or else he would have killed me. I got him on the ground and hit him until he stopped moving."
"Did it hurt?" Jean asked.
"No, it never hurts until it’s all over, then you remember and it’s the remembering that starts the pain. And then when he stopped moving I stood up and the judges declared me winner and then we left and I cooked you breakfast."
"The eggs were very good," Jean said.
Jean stared at the wound on Aubrey’s side. Jean took her shirt off and placed the shirt against the wound. Aubrey looked at her and smiled.
"You wore it today," Aubrey said.
"Your favorite," Jean said.
The doctor knocked. Jean let him in. The doctor sat Aubrey down in a chair and looked at the wound and made several sounds with his nose. "This wound was received by a wooden stick, was it not?"
"Yes," Aubrey said.
The doctor pressed his fingers on the flesh around the wound and made more noises and placed his nose almost inside the flesh and smelled as neatly as he could. Jean stood by with, arms folded over her breasts. The doctor stopped sniffing and looked through his bag, nodding.
"I see. Well, there is not much to be done. Take two of these twice a day and try to get some rest."
"Very good, thank you," Aubrey said.
"Yes, thank you very much," Jean said.
The doctor took a bottle of pills from his bag and gave them to Aubrey. Aubrey opened the cap and took two. The doctor stood up and left. Jean sat next to Aubrey. The blood covered the floor and Jean felt it would take forever to clean.
"I feel tired," Aubrey said.
"Rest, get plenty of rest," Jean said.
Jean put her hand on Aubrey’s arm. He laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes. Jean smelled toast burning. She squeezed Aubrey’s arm and did not feel dirty.
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Drew Kalbach lives in Philadelphia and is the author of The Zen of Chainsaws and Enormous Clippers (Paper Hero Press, 2008) and Theater (Scantily Clad Press, 2009). |