"Rites" by Shane Camoin
Short fiction
Cole stood in the backyard tossing rotten pears over the fence, aiming for the neighbors’ birdfeeder, when he heard Myoko scream his name. He found her on the kitchen floor cradling Kayli. Kayli was limp in Myoko’s arms, her yellow muzzle stained with blood. Cole stared at them for a moment, unable to move or breathe. He kneeled behind Myoko and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders. She dropped Kayli and twisted around burying her face in his chest. He held her and rubbed her back. Her shirt was backless, tied around her neck and waist. It was one of the shirts he’d told her not to wear in public.
“Are you ok?” He closed his eyes and pressed his face against the top of her head. Her hair smelled like mangoes
“No,” Myoko said. Her tears soaked through his thin t-shirt.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
“What happened?”
She looked up at him with mascara-streaked cheeks, her bottom lip quivering with guilt. “She was chasing a squirrel.” She pushed her face against his chest and clawed his back with her sharp nails. Her voice was muffled but loud. “I tried to stop her and the car almost hit me too. It didn’t stop or slow down or nothing. We should call the cops. It was a red Bimmer. The license was W-R something. There was an eight in it.”
“I’ll call them.” He glanced at the microwave on the counter next to the fridge. It was a little after five. Myoko wheezed and trembled in his arms.
“I need my inhaler,” she said.
“I’ll get it.” He kissed her forehead and headed for the living room, but after two steps he slipped on the blood-streaked linoleum and landed with all his weight on his ankle. Myoko was too busy crying and gagging to notice. Tears welled in his eyes as he limped into the living room. The front door was open and there was a trail of blood across the white carpet.
“I don’t see your purse,” he said.
“It’s in my backpack.”
Her Hello Kitty backpack was on the couch. He unzipped the front pouch, found her little black purse, limped back into the kitchen and handed it her, couldn’t help but glance at Kayli, her eyes bulging. Myoko was bright red and heaving. She shook her inhaler and sucked off two hits.
“Better?”
She shook her head and spit on the floor.
He sat down facing away from her and Kayli, lifted his corduroy pant leg and examined his ankle. It was already green and swollen. He pulled off his sneaker and sock.
Myoko stood in front of him and unbuttoned her blood-soaked jeans.
“You should close the door first,” he said. He tried to bend his ankle but it hurt too much.
“You close it. I can’t wear these anymore.”
She slipped off her jeans, pulled the panties out of her crack and walked down the thin hall to the bedroom. Cole sighed and tried to think of something other than Kayli or fucking Myoko. His ankle felt like a water balloon. Myoko came back carrying Kayli’s blanket. She’d taken off her shirt and was only wearing panties. She held the fuzzy blanket out to Cole.
“Wrap her in it.”
“You wrap her in it.”
“I can’t touch her again.” She shoved the blanket in his face
“Stop it.” He tore it from her hands and dropped it over Kayli, not covering her at all.
“My stomach hurts.” Myoko slumped against the counter and held her belly.
“My ankle hurts.” Cole picked the yellow hairs out of his mouth and scratched his nose.
“What happened to your ankle?”
He lifted his leg to show her.
“That doesn’t look good.” She reached out to touch his ankle but he pulled it away. She cuddled next to him, laid her head on his shoulder and they both stared out the front door.
“We should bury her,” he said.
“Where?”
“I have a place.”
_____
Myoko parked across the street from Cole’s old house. The new owners had painted it maroon with dark green trim. He wanted to see how the inside looked and if they’d finished the downstairs bathroom. Lawn gnomes guarded the front stoop. He leaned his seat back and stared at the headliner. The roof light was busted and he’d stuck candy wrappers and a little plastic ninja in the casing.
“Are you tired?” Myoko sat beside him wearing a short yellow dress with matching sandals, white stockings and fuzzy bee clips in her shiny black hair. She looked nine years old.
“A little,” he said.
She turned down the radio. Freddy Mercury was singing about big bottom girls.
“When are we going to do it?” She was anxious and picking at her lip.
“When it gets a little darker.”
“Should we take a nap?”
“Maybe.”
“Keep your leg up,” she said. “It’ll help with the swelling.”
He rested his foot on the dashboard. Myoko had wrapped his ankle with a bandage and tied an ice pack around it.
“Where’s the ice pack?
“Your foot will fall off if it keeps swelling.” She leaned her seat back and stared at him.
“Stop it,” he said.
“Stop what?”
“Staring at me.”
She rolled over and curled in a ball. “I like looking at you,” she said. He rubbed her back. The car smelled like Kayli, probably from all the times she’d pissed on the backseat. He closed his eyes.
“Are you happy with me?” she said.
“For the most part.”
_____
He woke up a little after one in the morning. Myoko was snoring loudly and all the lights were off across the street except the one in what used to be his dad’s den on the second floor. Cole took the keys from the ignition, the shovel from the backseat and shut the door trying not to wake her. She was a heavy sleeper. He yawned, stretched his arms and cracked his neck. After struggling with the key in the dark he finally opened the trunk and gently lifted out Kayli. He’d wrapped her in her favorite blanket and then in a trash bag. The smell made him gag but he held her tightly.
He dropped the keys on the passenger seat and limped across the street carrying Kayli in one arm and the shovel in the other. His dad had built an eight-foot high redwood fence around the backyard that the new owners had decorated with vintage Volkswagen hubcaps. He limped the length of the fence but couldn’t find the door handle. There was no way into the backyard.
Cole tossed the shovel over the fence. The metal clanged against something hard like concrete and he froze. After waiting a minute, he placed the bag over his shoulder and climbed the fence using the hubcaps for support. As he straddled the top of fence, he lost his balance and fell into a rose bush. Thorns stabbed his ass and thighs as he rolled himself out and picked up Kayli, trying not to tear the plastic. The shovel lay on a stone path. He’d have to come back for it later.
The backyard was different than he remembered; it had more plants and smelled sweeter, like spiced cider. He followed the stone path through stalks of bamboo carrying Kayli to the back of the property, where he laid her under the big elm tree and felt the trunk for the names of other departed pets. The last had been his sister’s flop-eared rabbit, Dizzy, after she’d dropped a gallon jug of milk on his head eight years ago. He couldn’t feel any names and limped back through the bamboo for the shovel.
The kitchen light turned on as he hop-ran back through the bamboo to the elm tree, was pretty sure no one had seen him and started to dig. The dirt was moist from three days of rain. He stopped digging every few minutes to peer through the bamboo at the backdoor and kitchen window. He wondered if he’d find some remains of the previous animals, but there were none. The earth had swallowed them up. After what felt like an hour, he decided the hole was big enough and placed Kayli in it. He petted the trash bag and tried to think of something to say—his sister always had something cheesy and endearing to say at such times—but his throat felt funny like something was caught in it, so he covered her with dirt, padding the soil gently. He plucked a rose from the bush and rested it on top. He considered leaving the shovel next to the tree but Myoko had borrowed it from her dad and she’d make him come back for it.
The kitchen light was still on as he made his way through the bamboo. The kitchen looked pretty much the same except the wall now had a unicorn painted on it, with a forest and a castle in the background, and there were fairies with butterfly wings painted on the cabinets. He didn’t notice the woman sitting at a small table in the corner until she stood up and walked over to the window. He was afraid she’d spot him but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She filled her cup from a coffeepot next to the sink and wiped the tears from her eyes. Her bronze robe was open and Cole was oddly drawn to her exposed breasts, tan and wrinkled. She stood by the sink, drank her black coffee and cried. He envied her, wanted to cry himself but couldn’t. Another woman in a matching bronze robe came up behind her, embraced her and kissed her cheek. She was almost a foot taller, bald and smiling. The first woman cried harder, spilled her coffee and placed the cup in the sink.
As Cole climbed the fence, the untied sneaker on his swollen foot snagged a rose bush. It was harder without the hubcaps. He crossed the street to Myoko’s Camry using the shovel for a crutch. The radio was blaring death metal and she turned it down as he got in the car after tossing the shovel in the backseat.
“I saw the light on downstairs.” She rubbed her eyes and yawned, didn’t look like she’d been awake for very long.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Did you do it?”
“Let’s go.” He reached over and turned the ignition key. The lights went off in the house, first downstairs and then in his dad’s den.
About the author:
A second-generation American, Shane Camoin was born in Los Angeles and raised in Salt Lake City. Along with winning awards for creative writing and visual arts, Shane has lectured on language and identity at symposiums and conferences throughout Asia, Europe, and North America.
Wow, loved everything about this from beginning to end, a lump in my throat. The tone, the relationships, movement throughout. Yes!