Short Story / Apples and Oranges

They laid flat on their backs, coated in the dewy sweat of an after-dinner afterglow.  Their light came from a single  scented candle, flickering and moving to the breeze of the clicking ceiling fan. They stared at the dancing shadows on the ceiling. There was no rush to get dressed and no rush to speak. This was summer and they were in love.  

His cell buzzed twice on the nightstand before the ringer kicked on. He had methodically assigned ring tones to everyone he knew, divided by four categories;

Friends
        Family
                Lana
                        Numbers he didn’t know.

This ring signaled the last group. Neither of then even moved at first. She was still paralyzed and he was unwilling to be the one to break this sacred moment. They listened uncomfortably as the song played on;

You’ve been with the professors and they’ve all liked your looks,
With great lawyers you’ve discussed lepers and crooks,
You’ve been through all of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s books.
You’re very well read, it’s well known.
But, something is happening here and you don’t know what it is..
Do you, Mr. Jones?”

After thirty seconds or so, Mr. Zimmerman ended his song and they again, laid motionless. She turned to her side and put her arm across his chest. Without looking at her, he said, “Fitzgerald was named after his relative, Francis Scott Key.”

Lana kissed his shoulder.

“He wrote the Star Spangled Banner.”

“I know who he is,” she said.

“Most people don’t know he really just wrote the lyrics though. The tune is actually an old British drinking song.”

Trivia. She had no response. Another thirty seconds or so of silence passed, then the song played again. He knew if anyone called him twice, it was either a drunk friend or something important.  He rolled over and picked up the phone from his warped particle board nightstand, disconnected it from the charger and stared at the screen.

“Where is 912?” he asked.

“Um. Savannah, I think,” she replied.

“Who the hell do I know in Savannah?”

“Maybe it’s not Savannah.  I don’t know.”

Again the song faded. He bit down, peeling a small bit of skin from his bottom lip.

“Don’t bite your lips,” she said.

“I hate when people call from numbers I don’t know. It’s one in the morning. Who the hell would be calling right now from Savannah?”

“Relax honey, it’s probably just one of your drunk friends. Wait for a message.”  

He pulled her arm off his chest as he sat up and swung around. He let his legs land on the floor as he perched on the edge of the bed.  Suddenly, he felt uncomfortable being naked. Kicked out of the garden of Eden by an obnoxious ringer. He looked around the floor for a pair of boxers, slid them on and walked toward the bedroom door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, still unmoving.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, without looking back. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where’s your remote?”

“Check the sheets, or between the bed and the wall.”

And she did. And she found it. And she noticed his phone was gone.

II.

He finished pissing and played with a day old bit of acne in the mirror. His skin was pale with red scratches. He walked out of the bathroom and was about to open the door to his room when again the phone rang. He paused and turned the hall light on.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

He looked at his bedroom door, then began walking toward his back porch. As he slid the back door open, he flipped open the phone and said, in his best attempt to disguise his anxiety; he said “Hello?”

“Is he in hell?” squeaked the voice on the other end, high pitched and obviously crying.

“What?” he said, his eyes darting around the porch for a pack of smokes. He half didn’t hear her and half didn’t want to, but he fully knew who it was.

“Is my brother in hell?”she repeated, this time even harder to hear, but he knew. He just didn’t want to know.

“Sally, are you OK?”

“I don’t know anymore, Paul, I don’t know. I’m so sorry to call you. I didn’t know who else to call.”

“It’s fine, Sal. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been reading these books, Paul. They tell me all kinds of things, Paul. I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know what he was for God’s sake. I don’t even know what he was. Was he even a Christian? How do I not even know?”

Paul looked under the ash covered wooden table and found a pack of Marlboro Lights. He bent over to pick them up.

“I miss him so much. I’m an idiot, Paul, a real idiot. I told him things, God. I was so skeptical. I could have told him different things. I could have talked to him about what I really believed. You know how skeptical he was, Paul. He got that from my mother. He didn‘t believe a fucking thing, ever,” she said.

He liked to play a little game where he shook a pack of cigs and guessed how many were left. Shake. Shake. He guessed three.

She continued, “He was just smart, you know. You know how hard it is for us smart people to believe in stuff like that? I mean, we were born with a bad hand of cards, Paul. It’s almost impossible. God, I don’t know. Is he fucked, Paul? Just tell me.  Just be honest with me.”

He opened the pack. Four. He pulled out a smoke and put it between his lips.

“You gotta calm down first, Sal. You’re hard to understand,” said Paul as he struck his lighter.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t of called. I’m sorry. I’ll let you go.”

“No, Sal, it’s ok. I just don’t want you to get all crazy about this. I need you to relax. You want to talk about it, we can talk about it, but you need to listen to me.”

“I’m sorry, I had a couple drinks and I miss him. You know, it’s been almost a  year. I’ve been handling it all very well. I’ve been keeping busy.  I’ve been trying not to call you. Did you get my messages on Myspace?” she asked.

Paul ashed his cigarette and rested it on the edge of the glass ashtray. The air was humid and he wiped the oil from his forehead with the back of his forearm.

“I did, Sal. I’m sorry, I’ve been busy. I hardly ever even check that thing anymore. I did read them though, I just was going to call you instead of replying on there. That thing is so impersonal.”

“Paul, I don’t know how I can be happy if I know he’s in hell. How could anyone be happy? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“See, I’ve read a lot about this kind of stuff, Sal. I have. You need to relax. The truth is that nobody knows. Nobody really knows for sure. I mean, we’re told that, yeah, you have to believe in Christ as your savior to get to heaven, that’s true. The thing is though, Sal, I mean, that leaves a lot of unanswered questions.   Like, I have a problem with all of that myself, I mean. Like, say there’s some kid who’s like 12 years old and he dies before even having time to figure stuff out, or there’s some fucking pygmy somewhere who never gets told anything. I mean, they can’t just be screwed. I can’t believe in something like that, and I wouldn’t if that were the case.”

“All my life they’ve said you have to though, Paul. They always say you have to, or you don’t go. What did he say, did he ever talk about anything? I should have been there more. I just wish I knew something. I mean, I know his favorite book and his favorite food and I know he can‘t stand the feel of ziplock bags and I know who he lost his virginity to and I know so much other useless shit, but I don‘t know where he is right now. It‘s so fucking stupid. I‘m so fucking stupid.”

“Sal, listen to me. I mean, we don’t know what he was like when he wasn’t around us, you know? He may have had his own private and personal thing going on. I can’t tell you honestly that he ever confirmed to me that he was anything at all. I can’t say that. He just wasn’t like that. I can definitely knew about it all though, better than most people.  Hell, he’s read the Bible three times front to back.”

“He did. I know he did. He read the whole thing one summer. I remember that.”

“Right Sal, and I mean, there’s all kinds of stuff that isn’t really covered. In one of the books, I don’t remember which one, like Romans or something they talk about how Jesus went to hell and witnessed to people down there. He witnessed to people in hell, Sal. What would be the point if there was no point, you know? What I’m saying is, you never know what happens after death. Maybe that’s when he has to make a decision, knowing everything he knows. I don’t know. I don’t really get it all, to be honest, but I don’t think we’re supposed to. I mean, if we knew everything we‘d…..”

“How could I be happy in heaven, if I knew Mikey was in hell?” She was crying again.

“Geeze Sal, see, I don’t know all that. I mean, if anything that’s kind of like proof that there’s more to the story, you know? We’re promised happiness and all that. I can’t imagine we’d be happy knowing anyone was being tortured eternally. I don’t know. To me that‘s like evidence that we‘re not told everything.”

“Remember when we were all kids, Paul? Remember when you and Mikey used to go to church when you stayed the night at that one kid’s house?”

“Jim.”

“Yeah, Jim. Do you think maybe Mikey maybe prayed and stuff, then, when he went to church. Do you think maybe he decided then he was a Christian and just later kind of gave it up. I heard you can’t lose salvation. That’s what this lady next door to me said. She said there’s a passage somewhere in here.”

The porch light turned on and his love stood at the door in one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers. He lifted a finger to his lips as if to say “Shhhh” but he didn’t make a noise. She mouthed the words, “Who is it?” and he just kind of rolled his eyes, something he felt instantly guilty for. He held up his open hand, trying to tell her he would be just five more minutes.

She thumbed through the Bible, looking at blurred pages through teary eyes. “She said it says something about how Satan can never take you from God’s hand. I mean, if I just knew he was ever in God’s hand. If you just told me if you knew anything.”

He bit his lip again, this time tasting the rusty salt of blood.

“Sal, I don’t know. I would imagine he did. We used to make fun of Jim about church and stuff, but I think we were both just curious, really. I think…”

He paused. He could hear her stammered breathing. She was in the depths of a crying fit. She was on the edge.

“You know, I think I remember you know, him maybe saying something back then about wanting to believe. I think he did if I remember. We were kids, you know? But I’m pretty sure he was looking into it.” He hesitated, then drew at straws.  “He had a cross on his dresser, too. I mean, I know he bought it because it looked cool, but that’s probably what he was just telling me. I don’t think that’s the only reason.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, it was this real nice wooden cross he picked up when we were in Mexico. He really loved it, he did. I think he just felt embarrassed talking about that kind of stuff, but he may have done his own thing privately. He was a really private person, Sal.”

Paul attempted to take a drag off his cigarette before realizing the humidity had put it out.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, why don’t I call you tomorrow? I’ll look up those passages and  MySpace them too you, OK? It will ease your mind, I promise. There’s all kinds of hopeful stuff there. I don’t even know all of it. I’ll ask Lana about it, too. She knows more than I do. I remember I had a lot of these same questions, and she told me all kinds of things I didn’t know. She’s been studying this stuff all her life, you know?”

“I miss you, Paul. I want to see you again.”

She said this….differently.

Paul paused. He looked at the door. It was dark.

“I miss you too, Sal. I always miss you. Listen, maybe Lana and I will come down there and see you soon, OK? We’ll take a day and come down there and see the town and stuff. I forgot you were in Savannah now. It’s a real nice town…”

“I just want you to come,” she interrupted.

“What?” he said. Although, again, he knew.

“Please?” she squeaked. “Please, Paul. I just want you to come.”

“I’m sorry, Sal. I’m real sorry. I can’t go just me, you know? Lana will ask questions and it will just look bad.”

“You‘re right. Whatever. I’m sorry. I just miss you.   I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot, Sal. Everything is fine. Listen, you got anything to take to calm down?”

“I might have some Valium. I don’t know.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

“Just a couple glasses of wine. I don’t know. It was a while ago.”

“Look, just try to get some sleep, Sal. I’ll send you all that stuff in the morning. Just try to sleep now and if you can’t, then wait a while and take like 5 milligrams of valium. It’s not good to mix with alcohol but 5 ain’t going to kill you, ok? It will probably put you to sleep, you’ll wake up tomorrow and feel completely different. Ok?”

Silence.

“Did you hear me, Sal? You there?”

“Yeah, I‘m here.”

“I’m sorry to get off the phone Sal but I think it would just be better if you slept, you know? You can call me back whenever you want tomorrow.”

“Ok.”

“Sal, listen, have a good night. It’s all going to be fine. There’s all kinds of stuff we don’t know, Sal. There’s all kinds of stuff. You can’t worry about these kinds of things. There’s bigger things we won’t understand in this life. We’ll understand them, though., Ok? You just can’t go worrying about them now.”

Sal had stopped crying. She was calm, almost uncomfortably controlled and she said;

“Goodnight Paul, thank you.”

“Sal, are you good? Are you good, really? I’m not getting off the phone with you if you’re not good. Just understand what I’m saying to you, OK? I’ll send you those passages first thing tomorrow. Call me tomorrow,  I want talk about them.”

“I love you, Paul.”
Apples.

“I love you too, Sal. Have a good night.”
Oranges.

“Bye.”

III.

Paul flipped his phone shut, relit and finished the remaining half of his cigarette.

Paul walked off the porch, slid the door closed behind him and locked it shut. He walked back into the bathroom, found a loose Ambien in the cupboard and cupped his hand under the running water. Paul swallowed the pill and took a look in the mirror.

The politician.

The red parts on his skin had faded, his acne looked better. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth. He walked back into his room and Lana shut off the television, leaving just the candle for light.

“Who was that?” she said.

“Sally.”
Lana didn’t speak. She squinted her eyes at Paul.

“Are you OK?”

Paul climbed into bed with Lana. He lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. Lana slid over in the bed and rested her head on his chest. He let out a huge sigh and then couldn’t move. He bit his lip again and finally spoke,

“Have you ever heard of something in the Bible where Jesus witnesses to people in hell? That‘s in there right? Lana, tell me it‘s in there. We don‘t need to look it up right now or anything, I just want to know. Have you ever heard of that?  Just tell me I didn‘t make that up.”

Paul wondered which would come first, the panic attack or the Ambien.

IV.

Sally dumped the bottle of valium on the kitchen counter next to a red wine ring stain on the Formica. She had guessed 23. The correct answer was 25.

She stood up and removed a picture of two boys in graduation gowns pinned to her refrigerator with a magnet.

She opened her cell phone and found Paul’s name. After pressing a couple buttons, the screen read:

“Confirm delete?”

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