Tuesday Part 2

As per a request, this is the second half of a story I put up on my August 31 post. The people and events in this little saga are all real, and together the comprise the single oddest day of my life. It occurred on August 18 of this year. For my most recent normal Kim's life post, see December 10.

They have moved the coffee table out from in front of the couch and lain down a rough looking green Afghan. Amy and I sit close to one another on one end of the couch, my legs crossed and her with her knees tucked up to her chest. She takes my hand and I put my arm around her shoulder. Mark is sitting on the other end of the couch, legs spread with one arm over the back. Sarah hand Amy and I glasses scotch and gives Mark a beer.
Jason walks in and smiles at Amy and I. He walks up behind Sarah and reaches around to her protruding hip bones; she tilts her head to invite his kiss on her neck. I think about my own body and how my bones are once again hidden beneath flesh, and how soon Dylan's will not be. He breathes gently into her ear and slides his hands up to her small elegant breasts; she arches her back. He drops to his knees and turns her toward him, unbuckles her jeans, slides them down to the floor. He puts his mouth against the front of her orange underwear and exhales slowly; she puts her fingers through his black hair.
As Sarah and Mark undress one another I can feel Amy's legs moving against me a bit as she rocks her hips slightly back and forth. I lift the hand I have on her shoulder and trace the outside of her ear with my fingertip. She smiles slightly but does not alter her gaze. Jason is lying naked on the ground, one arm behind his head and one knee up. Sarah has her head between his legs, her hair falling over his thigh. He looks calm, like he might be watching fish swim in a tank. I sip my scotch. The sounds of Amy's breathing, Sarah's mouth and the ice in my glass are strangely euphonic, a welcome contrast to a drill on my teeth or dirt on a coffin.
The grave is probably fully covered now. I wonder what sounds might make it through six feet of ground: Maybe a car crash or a scream. Maybe thunder. I wonder what it would feel like to be buried and hear thunder and wait for the rain water to seep down to my skin. I would not see it coming; I would forget the storm and be lost in my mind. The front of my body would then suddenly feel cool as the water reached me, interrupting my thoughts. I think about the time Dylan and I were lying on his roof looking at stars and the rain started and neither of us moved at all. The rain drops looked like gravel falling toward my face.
Jason is seated upright, his legs forming a diamond. Sarah has her legs wrapped around his back. There bodies are pressed tightly against one another and Jason has his arms under Sarah's armpits and his hands on her shoulders. They move rhythmically and maintain perfect expressionless eye contact. Amy has dropped one hand to her lap. Mark is looking out the window. I feel trapped as I realize I am bound from speaking. Sarah drags her nails down Jason's back. In two places droplets of blood emerge.
Sarah arches her back and puts her hands down on the floor behind her. She moves her hips quickly and moans. She still has her socks on. Jason puts his hands on her bony hips and thrusts three or four final times. He pulls her back in close to him and they take a few slow breaths together. Amy's cheeks are tear-streaked. Mark finishes of his beer and wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Jason gets up and leaves the room and Sarah wraps the green Afghan around herself. Scotch, sex and crying: Hemmingway really is the best writer ever.
I hear glass clinking in the kitchen and I assume more drugs are on the way. I untangle myself from Amy and get off the couch. In the kitchen I find Jason, still naked, setting the table. There is water in a pot on the range and a box of spaghetti on the counter. "I'm always starving after sex," he says through his cigarette. I smile; I thought that only happened to me. Amy and Sarah wander in from the living room, Sarah back in her orange panties and tee. Mark stays on the couch, still staring out the window. I glance at him and know unequivocally that he will be the next to go.
As the four of us eat spaghetti and pass around a bottle of cheap merlot I feel exhilarated and lucky. The most raw and beautiful day of my life is leaving me feeling stripped. I will never be more alive than I am right now.