Instinctive Drowning Response

Part 5: Them Against the World

Maryrose dies on Wednesday, and Campbell finds out about it a couple of hours later, when Tony calls him at the bar. During the conversation Campbell goes from staring at some LMU chick’s fake ID to sitting on the sidewalk. He slaps away any helping hands and shuts his ears to all consolation. His and Maryrose’s thing was them against the world, and to let anyone in now would be a betrayal. He keeps waiting to cry but never does. The ground doesn’t open up, the moon stays where it is in the sky. When his legs work again, he gets up and walks. Straight down Sunset toward the ocean. He crosses PCH early the next morning and collapses on the sand. The fog is so thick he can’t see the waves, only hear them pounding the shore. Good. Nothing. Anymore. Ever. The cops show up later that day, after he’s ridden the bus back to the apartment. The detective who does the talking is a tall woman with white, white teeth. Campbell answers all her questions with lies. He doesn’t do dope, Maryrose didn’t do dope, and Tony is a fucking saint. The woman and her partner move gingerly around the place, like they’re afraid to touch anything, and when Campbell coughs, the woman winces and claps a protective hand over her nose.

* * * 

They talked about getting a dog, even went to the shelter to look for one. All they found there were psychotic pit bulls and shivering Chihuahuas, and the smell and the barking drove them out after just a few minutes. “Are you telling me normal people can deal with that?” Maryrose said. She liked to cook but forgot pots on the stove, left them simmering until the smoke alarm went off. Driving too. She’d wrecked a couple of cars, and the one she had when Campbell met her bore the dents and scrapes of a dozen close calls, a hundred little lapses, each a new wound to lick. When she was straight she wanted to be what she wasn’t: productive and reliable, focused and stable. “Some people are just made messy,” Campbell told her. “Not me,” she replied. “I was born right and got twisted.” Whole days went by like that, where he couldn’t crack her codes. When she was happy, though, when she was high, contentment oozed from her like sweet-smelling sap. She’d name the ducks in Echo Park, dance to the music of the ice cream truck, and press her lips to his throat and leave them there. When she was happy, when she was high.

Publisher's Note: Join us (and Doc) on Friday for Part 6.