The 3 am Epiphany, exercise 11

The first time I ever saw a real life corpse, I found the whole experience not-very-earth-shattering. I mean it was almost a bit anticlimactic. He just lay there. Sure, there was a small hiss coming from his chest and lips, but nothing beyond that. If I hadn't been told he was dead by the paramedics that arrived later, I probably would have written the whole experience off as a man in a very drunken stupor.
But that wasn't the case.
I had known the man, don't get me wrong and he was the kind of son of a bitch you get a vibe from when you first meet him. He's cute, sure, with short blonde hair and lanky, fit frame. The words roll off his lips like he practiced saying crap from the day he could utter the word "Ma, get me a beer." Our meetings were always impersonal. I just kept away from the dude.
The first time I bumped into him, I, quite literally, bumped into him. I had balanced most of my things from the dorm on top a tray I had found in a garage sale over on Minneasota Avenue. The tray was so strudy, it felt like you could rebound bullets off the fucker. Not that tired. On some nights, when Libby and I were so drunk, we thought about buying a gun and finding out, but we gave up around the time we passed out.
So there I was, climbing the stairs and wasn't watching where I was going. Couldn't. The unironed shirts piled themselves to my chin and I had to raise my head to hold them in place. So I had a great view of the ceiling of the apartment building I was escaping to. I didn't see Jerry.
He didn't swear, he didn't even waste a stink eye on me. He mumbled a clear, "move," and then pushed me into the stairwell's flakey wall.
I had met Jerry. I didn't think anything of it until about two days later.
Libby was working late at the campus cinema and I had begun to indulge in cheap beer a few hours before she was due. I heard the screaming, looked at my beer and then the television.
The screaming was coming from neither of those things.
It was coming from the wall beyond my living room.
I stood, got a dirty glass from the sink and decided to test the theory that you can hear better through a wall with it raised to your ear. By the way, you can.
I met Jerry and Tina that night. They were dancing the night away next door. The screaming? It was Tina REALLY enjoying the night.
Libby joined me in giggling the next night when it all started up again.
I found Jerry in hallway several times. His clothes were clean, his soul? Not-so-much. I just couldn't help thinking this guy was not all he seemed.
I was right a few weeks later.
The love-screaming subsided for many weeks. I was content with my beer and didn't notice until the sounds became something more ominous. I opened to the door to might the neighbor right across the hall this time. Mrs. Pruitt, who exchanges the cross on her door as frequently as I change my underpants, met me face to face. Her eyebrows were not raised as high as mine.
"Jerry and Tina, must be the third time," she shook her head as if to say, 'tutt-tutt-tutt.' "Son, you should have looked elsewhere."
My eyebrows raised even higher.
She called the police while I heard a scream from Tina. This one did not end with sighs or laughter. It did not end, as a matter fact, it just changed pitches.
Mrs. Pruitt's phone call gave me a week of sleepless nights. I think Tina left or Jerry, for I saw neither. But when I bumped into Jerry again a week and half later, it took only a few hours before the screaming began again. Mrs. Pruitt was gone for the reason, so I had to make the call.
You'd think that I'd sleep better. I didn't I was too afraid that Jerry would figure me out and I'd start screaming as he began to beat me.
I met Tina in the laundry room and decided that enough was enough. I didn't want to confront her, but I wanted her to know she wasn't alone. Sure, oh sure, she nodded a lot in that conversation--but she never did say anything worthwhile.
Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Now, you gotta understand, I'm a chemistry major. Not because I wanted to be one. It's just that I had that down. I flunked everything in high school. Yep, even physical education. Couldn't do anything but type, surf the 'net and remake copper from aluminum with 5% loss of composite decay. My paper is due next month. But most of it is written, so I'm not that concerned.
So I left a peace offering one night for Jerry and Tina. The beer was the kind I always drank. The cheap crap you snag from over at Econofoods for less then a buck a can. Sure enough, the next morning, the box and cans were gone. A few days later, they made an appearance in the rubblish bin. No questions were ever asked.
So I left another two weeks later. Now understand, I didn't get to see Tina at all during this time. I didn't want to alienate her at all. Not at all. But I'm sure she ran. Ran as far away as she could from the bastard. I don't blame her. I hope I was the one who encouraged her. But without a target, my fears grew of the schmuck who lived next door to me. I was afraid that Jerry would figure that one out--that Mrs. Pruitt and I were the co-conspirators and the lifeline to the police.
Those cans were snatched up. Not a single fucking thank you.
Not that it mattered. Free beer tends to make men forget to check things.
I had laced each can with my own concoction. The recipe is complicated, a mix of alloys in minute amounts. The substance is a bit waxy, but if applied by a Q-tip, you don't notice it--especially if you are in a hurry...for free beer.
I didn't call the police this time. I just waited to Mrs. Pruitt couldn't stand the smell any more.
And when they wheeled that body out in front of me, that was the first time I saw a corpse.
But like I said, the whole event was pretty uneventful.



Today's entry is about a tale written in first person by someone who was a meddler.