Ten days had passed since the argument. James had slumped off the couch and staggered to the door like a middleweight pummeled for 10 rounds by a heavyweight who preferred slowly torturing the opponent rather than knocking them out. He gathered some clothes in his bag and gave the shivering, half-blind, and incontinent dachshund Travis a meager ear scratch. James told Travis he loved him, and made his way out to the Civic, not bothering to slam the door or close it at all. Dawn was settling upon Tucson.
Neve finally texted James. “You okay?”
James replied, “Not much to say,” thumbs tapping screen. Neve responded, “I know I’m supposed to say sorry, but I can’t seem to type it. I’m sorry I can’t even type sorry.”
James was barely eating. He was in the basement of a friend’s house, on a mattress on the floor. Smoking too much weed and subsisting on mac and cheese and seaweed. He thought about taking out his notebook and writing about silence and avoidance. How humans had stopped speaking and now mostly communicated with half-thoughts via text. James thought most people, Neve included, wanted to be left to their own devices since the virus hit. The lack of human connections seemed to pause everything except the Earth’s rotation.
Neve had no idea what to type or say, but something was needed. For her, there was no repairing things that were broken. There was only distraction and movement. For James, there was no rope for him to grab hold of. There was only the inevitability of decay and his desire to see the bright side for as long as he could.
Neve wouldn’t wait much longer for him to emerge from his stasis. She decided one more month. He knew things were bad, but the weed allowed him to ignore most of it. James wasn’t sure why this particular argument had forced him into the cocoon. Maybe it was his mom’s letter. From prison, she’d asked if he would send her $5000. The woman who never took care of him, who’d ruined her life and nearly ruined his, kept wanting more from him. Simply because he kept visiting her, reminding her she’d soon be on the outside again. Reminding her of the future and of dim, but flickering, possibilities.
James deemed it necessary to continue his isolation. He’d watched monarchs emerge from their cocoons at his aunt’s farm during those summer trips. But this cocoon was awful, and closely resembled a dank basement that probably exacerbated his respiratory issues. He was hiding from himself, tucked away in the shadows. A two-week vacation without a destination. He’d told the dispensary he needed two weeks, but what he really needed was a new job, new co-workers and the good version of Neve.
After waiting for a few minutes, Neve finally texted again. “What did you eat for dinner?”
“Seaweed. Mac and cheese. That’s all I’ve been eating. And a few apples,” he replied. Then he began to imagine Neve in her kitchen, after a long day of teaching yoga. “You?” he typed.
“Quinoa with green beans,” Neve typed. “Now a brownie with a cup of tea.”
He liked that she’d asked if he was eating. He didn’t want to starve during his hibernation. He just needed to check his bag for his wallet and ATM card and go get some money. Then he’d buy beans and rice and more seaweed and maybe another bag of apples. He’d resist anything that could pull him down again. He just needed money not to be a problem for once.
She typed again. “Can I drop off some soup for you?” Neve immediately feared he’d stop responding. She waited and sipped her tea.
Finally he wrote, “Yes, but no chicken soup. It makes me want to vomit.”
“How about lentil soup or chili?” She typed.
“Sure, thanks,” he replied.
“I’ll drop it by in the morning,” she replied, a smile creeping across her face.
“Okay, thanks for giving a shit,” he wrote.
She replied. “I give two. One shit for me and one shit for you.”
Neve hated herself for always being the first one to contact him when he ran off, but she knew he was in her corner. They needed each other. Depended. Relied. All the fucking synonyms. She’d seen he was capable of beauty and wonder. Neve could imagine James all dusted off and shiny. All clean after a shower and after she’d given him a haircut. That was enough to keep her going.
Through the haze, James hoped she’d reach out after a few days. It was easy to drift into oblivion until someone provided an anchor. Neve had been an anchor, even when his life was a rowboat with a leak and he held a toothpick for an oar. “I might make it out,” James thought, as he floated back to sleep.