And her streams shall be turned into pitch,
and her soil into sulfur;
her land shall become burning pitch.
Night and day it shall not be quenched;
its smoke shall go up forever.From generation to generation it shall lie waste;
none shall pass through it forever and ever.
But the kaat and the kippod shall possess it,
the yanshuph and the raven shall dwell in it.He shall stretch the line of formlessness over it,
and the stone of the void.
Its nobles—there is no one there to call it a kingdom,
and all its princes shall be nothing.Thorns shall grow over its strongholds,
nettles and thistles in its fortresses.
It shall be the haunt of jackals,
an abode for yaanah.And wild animals shall meet with hyenas;
the hairy one shall cry to his fellow;
indeed, there the lilit settles
and finds for herself a resting place.(Isaiah 34:9-14)
The boss let me use his ride to finish my shift. I was too nervous about wrecking it to do any more recon. I kept my eyes on the road.
The sun was falling as he counted out my share of the day’s money.
“You got a ride home, bro?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. Thirty-seven bucks.” He shook his head. “You’re gonna catch it when you get home, man. The wife’s gonna be pissed about the car.”
“Guess I’ll have to sleep on the couch for a few nights,” I said.
The sidewalks sweated under me. I saw into an empty kitchen and missed making dinners for two. I saw a college girl in slutty shorts walking her dog, and I felt lust and fear and despair.
No one’s eyes caught mine; I kept checking my uniform to make sure I wasn’t in the spirit world.
The pavement distended and cracked as I climbed the hill. Weeds burst through the road; eyes of stray cats glowed from shadows. The old houses leaned together, and their windows were dark. I smelled oil and thought I was traveling through ruins.
My phone vibrated.
“This is Noah.”
“Hey, son. Just get off work?”
“Yeah.”
“So how’s—hang on—Mom wants to know how you’re doing.”
“Fine.”
“He says he’s doing fine.” Pause. “She says to ask you how you’re really doing.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Crosstalk. “Listen, son, do you need anything? If you’re short on money—”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t ask that kind of stuff.”
“We just care about you, son.”
“I know.”
“And that’s why I really want you to consider coming home. You don’t have anything to stay for in Birmingham anymore. You’re all alone, and you’re just going to get more depressed. Listen, I’ve been there; I know what it’s like. You need to talk to someone, son. You can’t—”
“I’m fine.”
He snorted. “Okay. I can tell you’re not in the mood to talk.”
I grunted.
“Well, talk to you later, then. Call us sometime.”
“Yeah.”
“Love you, son.”
“Bye.”
The thunder started when I made the last turn. Lightning struck over the mountain, and rain soaked me through. I heard wings and the screech of an owl. It was night.
The big breezeway light buzzed and flickered. I brought my keyring in front of my face so I could make out which was which, but I stopped. I still had the key to her ignition. It rested there beside mine, and their movement as I held the ring was gentle and slow, and when they came to rest and clicked apart I stopped breathing, and my stomach and my chest felt like they grinding themselves into the concrete. I felt like I’d forgotten a baby in the backseat in the summer heat.
That’s when I saw the girl on the stairs. She must have seen me go pale and dumb, and she looked at me between my keys and smirked.
“Something wrong?”
“Everything,” I said.
I couldn’t look away from her: slender frame in tight black tshirt and skinny jeans, straight black hair to her ribs, its shine reflecting a distorted replica of myself and everything around me. She was sitting on the steps, knees to her chest, reading a pocket-sized Milton.
She kept that smirk going. “Guess things can’t get any worse then, can they?”
“No,” I said after forever. “I guess not.”
She got up, clapped the book shut without keeping her place, and slunk up the stairs.
“Goodnight,” she said.
I could still see her lips five minutes after she’d shut her door.
I had to clear my head. I plopped on the couch, booted up the laptop, and poured myself a drink. My conversation with Dad reminded me of something: I checked my bank account balance.
I lifted Moses off the divorce papers and poured myself another.
Something off-color caught my eye on the other side of the couch: a single strand of her hair, short and black and brittle. It seemed very far away. I stared at it until I don’t remember when.
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