Last Ride

           The road got bumpier as they sank deeper into the countryside and asphalt gave way to dirt. Enough to stir things up in George’s mind. The Jack Daniels had kept him quiet for a while. His hands and pants were sticky with it. He opened his mouth and turned toward Alan. A couple of seconds passed before the words came out.

           “You think I did the right thing?”

           Alan scanned his brother from the grass on his socks to the sweat pouring from his hairline, like low tide on an expanding white beach. He took one hand off the wheel to gesture as he spoke.

           “Why would you ask a question like that?” he said. “If I agree with you, it won’t change anything, and if I don’t, it’ll mess you up even more.”

           “I just want to know what you think of all that.” 

           “It’s none of my business.”

           “I just made it your business.”

           “Indeed, you did, George.”

           “Are you mad?”

           “I really don’t give a shit.”

           “Sorry I dragged you in all this.”

           “I was bored anyway.”

           George took another sip, offered one. Alan declined.

           “Still,” George said, “I’d like to know what you think.”

           “I think the whole betrayal and cheating and breaking the mutual possession contract, that’s an ego thing. That’s expecting the world to synchronize with your insecurity. Ego-related problems are just noise people make in their heads. If you can take a step back and they disappear, then they’re not real problems.”

           “If I take a step back from that, I have nothing left. Our relationship was all I had that was worth a damn.”

           “You don’t lose the relationship when you take your ego out of the equation. You just stop worrying about the pointless stuff.”

           “So me and her, that was pointless stuff?”

           Alan snorted.

           “I hate it when people do that,” he said. “Focus on the last thing you said and forget the rest. You say more than ten words in a row and they can’t fucking process it. I don’t think you want my opinion, you’re just looking to blow off some steam.” 

           “Ah, don’t go all rattlesnake on me,” George said. “It’s just that… she was all I had that was worth a damn, you know?”

           “Yeah, I know, you just said that.”

           “And you call it pointless stuff. Shit… some people care about other people, you know.”

           Alan laughed.

           “Maybe some people care a little too much,” he said.

           George said nothing.

           “Look,” Alan said, “she fucked guys before she met you, and she’d have kept doing it after.” He could feel George’s face turn red. “That’s what humans do.”

           George pounded on the door.

“Don’t you say things like that.”

           “What are you, a gossip columnist? Who cares? Jesus, you should have bought her a chastity belt instead of a ring. Or a guard dog, and tied the leash around her waist.”

           “I swear, when I learned about it, everything started shaking. I thought I was having a stress attack or something. So, pointless my ass.”

           “That’s what taking a step back is all about. That’s my point. You would have stopped seeing her as your girlfriend or wife or houseplant or whatever the fuck she was and consider her as a being beyond your little relationship bubble.”

           A knock came from the back of the van. George jumped and looked over his shoulder.

           “Everything’s fine,” Alan said. “It’s just the road being a bitch.”

           George took a sip. Alan too.

           “How did you learn about it, anyway?” Alan said.

           “I saw a message he sent her. Telling her to meet him at some restaurant.”

           “That’s it?”

           “Ain’t that enough?”

           “Could have been a meeting for work. It’s a restaurant, not a hotel room.”

           George gazed at the road.

           “Shit… maybe you’re right,” he said. “Hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I did like you call it, over…”

           “Overreacting.”

           “Yeah. It’s just that… who goes to a restaurant for work?” He tugged on the edge of his seat. His voice wavered. “I thought it was just for bankers, people in suits, that kind of thing. It means—”

           “No, you were right,” Alan said. “She was cheating on you.”

           “You think?”

           “I’m sure. That whore’s been blowing around like a fucking hurricane.”

           “That’s a bit much…” He squeezed the bottle. “Oh Jesus… that was a mistake.”

           Alan sighed.

           “It’s a little too late to change your mind, don’t you think?” he said.

           Alan knew his brother hadn’t thought things through, had seen red or blue or green, and was now poorly trying to deal with the mess he’d made.

George sipped air from the empty bottle.

           “I should have waited,” he said. “Things could have turned good. People get nicer with time.”

           “They don’t.”

           “Our old man got nicer near the end.”

           “That dog just became too weak to bite or bark. People get nice when they can’t fight anymore. It’s the last survival trick in the bag.”

           “Don’t talk about him like that.”

           “Ah, cut it out. And you had it even worse than I did.”

           “He was still our father.”

           “That’s not a valid argument.”

           “Of course it is.”

           “We’re talking quality and you state a title. If we were debating whether or not strawberries taste good and I told you, ‘Well, it’s a fruit that we have in our backyard,’ would that be relevant?”

           “Listen, I don’t feel like playing puzzles.”

           “Let’s stop here. We’re far enough.”

           Alan parked the van on the side of the road and they got out. He took out a flashlight and two shovels, handed one to George. There was moonlight, but no moon.

           As they walked into the woods, George looked back at the van.

           “With what I gave her,” Alan said, “she’s out for a couple hours. Probably wasn’t even necessary with that blow she got on the head.”

           They dug in silence. George shoveled twice as fast as Alan did.

           “You don’t have to make it so large,” Alan said. George kept digging.

           The hole done, they got back to the van and took Clara out. She was as limp as a corpse. George huffed and puffed, looked anywhere but down—at her face. Alan struggled to hold the legs and point the flashlight at the same time.

           They threw her in the grave.

           “Wanna do it?” Alan said.

           “No,” George said. The abruptness of his answer took him aback.

           Alan pulled out the gun. 

           “You’ve done that before, huh?” George said.

           “You know I have. That’s why you called me.”

           “Right. Shit. Sorry. I’m stressed, and when I’m stressed, I talk and I say anything.”

           Yeah, no shit, Alan thought. But he said, “Yeah, I understand.”

           He shot Clara in the head.

           George’s eyes watered. His voice cracked.

           “That was kind of a dick move what we just did,” he said. “Shoot her while she’s passed out.”

           “It sure would have been a lot sweeter if she’d been kicking and screaming.”

           George made a series of wet sniffles that filled Alan with contempt.

           “That’s what I meant by pointless worries,” Alan said. “She’s already gone. You’re beating yourself for nothing.”

           He went to pick up the shovels. When he turned, George had one leg in the grave.

           “What are you doing?” Alan said. “Did you drop your watch?”

           George lay down in the hole, partly juxtaposing Carla’s body.

           “Do you… need a moment alone?” Alan said.

           “I’m ready, brother. I’ve had my share. Time to punch out.”

           “Oh, that’s what’s happening…” He dropped the shovels. “Digging your way out, weren’t you?”

           Alan waited, but George stayed in.

           “We could dig you another one.”

           “No,” George said. “It’s a symbolic thing, I guess.”

           “Alright.”

           “I’m sorry for putting that on you. But please, do it.”

           “Oh, I gotta do it?”

           “Just do like you did with Floppy. Think of me as a sick dog you have to put down.”

           “Look George, that dog wasn’t really sick.”

           “What do you mean, he wasn’t sick? He was drooling like a waterfall and couldn’t walk. We had to carry him in the woods.”

           “I fed it mothballs.”

           George frowned, said:

           “Ah, who gives a shit? Be a good brother and blow my brains out.”

           Alan stepped closer to the grave.

           “That’s a huge step back, George.”

           “Hurry up,” George said. “I’m getting dizzy. I don’t wanna die covered in puke.”

           He closed his eyes.

           Alan aimed.

           George sprang up. “Wait—”

Alan shot.

           George fell back.

Alan stayed still for a while.

           “It’s over now, brother,” he said. “It’s all gone.”