Сияние

Phonebooth

           HehaddrivenbacktohisownhouseintheVWwiththeradioturnedup,andsomediscogroupchantedoverandoveragain,talismanicinthehousebeforedawn:Doitanyway…youwantadoit…doitanywayyouwant…Nomatterhowloudheheardthesquealingtires,thecrash.Whenheblinkedhiseyesshut,hesawthatsinglecrushedwheelwithitsbrokenspokespointingatthesky.

           Whenhegotin,Wendywasasleeponthecouch.HelookedinDanny’sroomandDannywasinhiscribonhisback,sleepingdeeply,hisarmstillburiedinthecast.Inthesoftlyfilteredglowfromthestreetlightoutsidehecouldseethedarklinesonitsplasteredwhitenesswhereallthedoctorsandnursesinpediatricshadsignedit.

           Itwasanaccident.Hefelldownthestairs.

           (oyoudirtyliar)

           Itwasanaccident.llostmytemper.

           (youfuckingdrunkenwastegodwipedsnotoutofhisnoseandthatwasyou)

           Listen,hey,comeon,please,justanaccident-

           ButthelastpleawasdrivenawaybytheimageofthatbobbingflashlightastheyhuntedthroughthedrylateNovemberweeds,lookingforthesprawledbodythatbyallgoodrightsshouldhavebeenthere,waitingforthepolice.Itdidn’tmatterthatAlhadbeendriving.Therehadbeenothernightswhenhehadbeendriving.

           HepulledthecoversupoverDanny,wentintotheirbedroom,andtooktheSpanishLlama.38downfromthetopshelfofthecloset.Itwasinashoebox.

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