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can’t I stop
worrying about tiny things? Why do I turn the stove off and on
repeatedly? Why can’t I hold a relationship? Why am I a bad
boyfriend? Why are my friends always mad at me? Why am I so skinny?
Why am I so ugly? Why does God have to be so mad all the time?
    My legs gave in from squatting so much that I fell back.
    … The moon was full…
    … Beautiful…
    I inhaled, held it, and then exhaled.
    It was all in my head. All in my
head. I had to learn self-control. I had to
stop indulging without thinking first. And I hate thinking. I believe
that it kills the imagination – slaughters the right side of
the brain.
    I felt something standing behind me.
    Barbara’s shadow was standing in the tent –
or rather, because our tent was quite tiny, Barbara’s shadow
was hunched over.
    Was she searching for something?
    Was she okay?
    I got up, smiling, and pulled back the plastic flap.
    IT WAS A ZOMBIE!
    And it was about to eat Barbara.
    I screamed in a rising, high-pitched voice, “Barbara,
zombie time!” and she woke up, jumping to her feet and doing a
spinning kick, hitting the zombie woman in the chest, sending it
sailing through the tent. The entire structure crumpled.
    We both swam through the sea of plastic and rolled
around on the dirt, leaping to our feet and striking a karate pose.
    The zombie woman was enjoying nudity.
    She was obese, but the fat stopped exactly at the hips.
Her legs…dear God…her legs were as thin as pool sticks.
The sight of her at the same time concerned me and revolted me. I
kept imagining hairs in my mouth. It was maddening, I tell you!
    Her legs reminded me of my entire image.
    I was staring at myself.
    I turned to Barbara.
    “ Dear, Barbara, shall thou do me but one favor?”
    She picked up a tree branch and kicked it in half,
producing a sharp end.
    “ Commandeth.”
    I picked up the other end of the stick.
    “ ACTION!”
    “ Yarrrrrghhhh!”
    We charged the beast and ran our stakes through its eyes
and then ran away screaming so as not to get blood on our clean
clothes.
    Minutes later we ran back screaming to find the zombie
dead, standing in a pool of its own filth with the stakes still in
its eyes.
    We looked at each other…
    … and kissed.

    Sixteen.

    We
chopped the zombie into tiny bits and buried her with our portable
bags of concrete. Barbara didn’t touch me when we slept that
night. It had taken us four hours to reset the tent. I assumed that
she was just tired, but when I asked her if she was tired, she
responded with, “No, I’m not tired, I just don’t
want to touch you. Now go to sleep, Janeen.”
    “ Raym.”
    “ That’s what I said. Goodnight, my lady.”
    At
first I thought she was just joking, or possibly dreaming. I even
giggled for a while. But when she didn’t giggle back, I
realized then that she wasn’t joking and probably really did
wish my name was Janeen. Or worse…that I was someone else
entirely.
    I remember seeing a picture of Toshiba in her photo
album. The name on the bottom of the picture read, Janeen
Toshiba, Rest In Peace.

    That night I had a dream. I was falling…then I
was flying…then I was standing in something wet. There were
dead things inside. There were tongues that slipped between my toes
and gave birth to tiny baby tongues that dug into the pores of my
skin.
    When I opened my eyes, I was on my side, staring at the
shadows of swaying tree branches on the tent wall. It sounded like
the ocean.
    Something cold was at my neck, licking.
    It was Barbara. She was flirting with me. I didn’t
want to turn around. I enjoyed her lips at my neck. I closed my eyes
and rolled over yawning, pretending to be asleep. I wanted to hold
her, but I was too afraid that she’d stop if she knew that I
was really awake.
    I decided to pretend that I was having a nightmare and
tried to touch her stomach – possibly even pull her down next
to me and hold onto her as if I was also dreaming of sweet
lovemaking. Would she rape me in my sleep? One