CHAPTER 16 1/2

SNAPSHOTS. MOMENTS IN time. Disparate, but connected.

Florence sat on a curb, wrecked, phone in hand. She scrolled until she saw Alabaster Sixx’s contact info. She hesitated. Would she really call him? Now? No. She scrolled past and found Roheed’s number. She called.

Charlie pulled into the Popcorn Movies parking lot. The O, P, and C of the backlit sign were still out. The sign still read PORN MOVIES.

Roheed Hitched to the airport, ignoring Armando as he tried to make small talk about what would have sounded very much like a pyramid scheme to Roheed if he had been paying full attention.

On the Yellow County Community College campus, Chris entered Jonathan’s office, but Jonathan wasn’t there.

Jonathan was at a Case Of The Mondays with a table of snack bar-type food in front of him. He stared at the bounty hungrily, not sure if he should dive in headfirst or abstain. He had given up snack bar food for the wedding, sure, but the wedding was essentially off, wasn’t it?

Jill sat in her car outside of the burned-down chapel. Her head ached and her heart hurt.

Tammy waited to check her bags at the airport. She stood in a line that snaked around endless stanchions.

Charlie stood behind the Popcorn Movies counter in his depressing uniform. The trailer for In Sheep’s Clothing came on the multitude of televisions that lined the walls of the store.

Roheed arrived at the airport.

On the Yellow County Community College campus Roheed’s phone lay hidden by tall grass, the screen cracked and aching, ringing and ringing with Florence’s image peeking through the shattered glass.

Chris sat on Jonathan’s cot in his office. She looked at the Yellow County Community College Chapel’s brochure. A tear fell onto the glossy paper.

Ketchup globbed onto the paper placemat in front of Jonathan as he shamefully inhaled a Case Of The Mondays burger.

Jill, in her car outside the chapel, heard a phone ringing somewhere.

Tammy sat on a bench in the airport. She sadly looked at a photo of young Jonathan and his dad. It was a candid of them at the pool. Jonathan was eating a messy popsicle; his dad had a handful of napkins. They were standing by that old trashcan that looked like a dolphin standing on its flukes.

At Popcorn Movies, the TVs were playing the trailer for In Sheep’s Clothing again. Charlie ran around the store, frenetic, manic, arms full of remotes, trying to turn off the screens with little success. A TV over yonder would turn off, and then over there one would turn back on. He unplugged TVs and switched off power strips.

At the airport, Roheed bought a ticket back west. One way. He had made sure to shave his scraggly facial hair. Sadly, being clean-shaven helped the whole airport process go a little smoother.

In Jonathan’s office, Chris ripped up the brochure and let it fall to the floor, the pieces of torn paper drifting like the ashes in the smoky air the night before.

At COTM, Jonathan was a mess. He was covered in nacho cheese and ketchup and spicy mustard, yellow mustard, and honey mustard—an artist’s palette of condiments, a Pollock of sauces. The server approached nervously. Jonathan motioned for her to keep it coming with his pointer finger rotating clockwise but off kilter in the air. If she were a bartender serving booze, she would have cut him off, but since she was merely a server of fatty food, she turned around and headed back into the kitchen for more calorie-containing vittles.

There was still one television left on in Popcorn Movies, mocking Charlie with the In Sheep’s Clothing trailer once again. Charlie grabbed a stanchion from the impulse aisle and ran toward the TV in slow motion. He didn’t actually run in slow motion, but it seemed like it to Anfernee, who admittedly was a little tripped out on the meds he had taken earlier to quell his cough. Charlie threw the stanchion like a javelin and it smashed the TV’s screen.

At the airport, Roheed waited in line at security.

On campus, near the ashy guts of the chapel, Jill scrambled on her hands and knees in the tall grass looking for the source of the ringing. She found Roheed’s phone and picked it up. She carefully answered the phone, avoiding the broken glass of the cracked screen. “Hello?” she said cautiously.

At first Florence was confused, but she registered who had answered and listened intently.

Jill knelt in the weeds, pouring herself into the phone.

Florence nodded fervently. She ended the call and dialed a new number.

Jill was back in her car. Shift, foot to gas, tires peel.

Fade to black.