Shirley sits in her old cell on death row and crochets endlessly. She doesn’t know where the stuff comes from, and she doesn’t care. At her execution she’d pleaded for intercession, and the Lord had seen fit to grant her wish – albeit, not in exactly the way she would’ve chosen – so she wasn’t about to start questioning anything else He gave her.
“So the Minister Said, he’s all like, I got to let him go or some shit like that. And I’m like whatchu mean baby? Who? And he didn’t even answer me man, he just got all mad at me and shit. Like motherfucker, how the fuck am I supposed to know who you’re letting go? Where the fuck are we going, you know what I’m saying?”
“Pass me that green that’s next to you, willya?”
Omar picks up two balls of yarn from the piles that surround him, a forest green and a brilliant lime. “You want this one? Or this? Or – shit, man, this is kinda green too. Fuck, you got all kinds of colors up in here. Having a fucking rainbow party up in this motherfucker.”
“Any green will do, honey,” she says patiently. “I’m not too particular.” He hands over both, plus the turquoise, and she smiles graciously.
“Thanks, darling.”
“I was talking to El Cid, you know that scary motherfucker. And he was telling me the Minister Said is a faggot. I’m like, you’re fucking with me, dog. Don’t you fuck with me, you spic motherfucker, I’ll fuck you up, all ghost-like and shit. Said ain’t no motherfucking faggot. He got a lotta issues man, he got anger issues and shit, you know I know it, but ain’t never seen him sucking no cocks, man. That fucking Guerra, he’s sucking cocks, that fucking – you know he sucking Alvarez’s cock now? They’re fucking stabbing each other and shit for fucking 3 fucking years and now all of a sudden they’re fucking faggots. I mean, what the fuck? How does that fucking happen?”
“Just another one of life’s little mysteries, I suppose.” Shirley hooked the lime through her needle and started a new row. “Life and death alike.”
“You know it. You fucking know it. Shit, I ain’t never wanted to suck no cocks. Not in prison or anywhere else. And man, like, I knew there would be faggots in prison, but it’s like, fucking everybody is a faggot now. Like Guerra, and fucking Alvarez, and Beecher – shit, I heard he got turned in here too. Fuck, maybe it’s good I died. Like if I’d stayed out there maybe one day I woulda woke up just like – man, I could suck a cock right now. Maybe it just fucking happens. I don’t fucking know, man, I don’t know, all I’m saying is the Minister Said, alright? He ain’t like that. He fucking better not be.”
“Well, he’s your friend though, isn’t he?”
“My friend? Shit. He’s like – well, you know what he’s like. I don’t know if we’re like, friends, as such, you know what I’m saying? Like he’s my – I guess he is, kinda like my friend, or maybe – man, you know, he’s just Said, alright? Just normal fucking Said, ain’t no faggot shit about it, he don’t like cock, he likes – well, he likes the Bible. The Quran. Fucking Allah and shit – yeah, man, yeah! See, he’s a Muslim, they don’t do none of that shit. Fuck, I don’t know what that El Cid was even talking about, man. Muslims ain’t no faggots. He was just fucking with me. Motherfucker.” Omar sits back, seemingly satisfied with this conclusion, before continuing, “Shit, though, it ain’t like it fucking matters anymore.”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“Cause he’s gone, man, long gone. He and Keller, and that other guy, and Jericho and all them Nazi motherfuckers. They killed Beecher, man, and O’Reily too, and now they’re all fucking gone. Shit, I’m not too sorry to see em go, most of em, but it’s gonna be weird without the Minister Said around. Kinda lonely and shit. I mean,” he stutters a little, “not – not that I don’t like talking to you or nothing, you understand. Like I like it, it’s cozy up in here, real fucking nice, I like your, your whatever that you’re making. I mean like in Emerald City, ain’t nobody around I wanna talk to now, really. Everybody’s so fucking morose, you know? Like fucking,” he pulls an exaggerated grumpy face, “in a bad motherfucking mood all day every day.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me? What about me, son. Ma’am. I’m feeling good.”
“I mean,” she picks at a clumsy stitch, “you think you’re gonna pass on soon yourself? Go join them all in that great beyond?”
“Nah. Not just yet, you know? Like I said, it’s all good. Truth be told, I kinda like being a ghost, you feel me? It’s like, I’m untouchable, motherfucker. And I don’t even want tits anymore, didn’t realize what a fucking – I just feel so much clearer and shit. Cleaner. Like being dead, I’m the real me. Shit, I don’t know if that makes any motherfucking sense.” He pauses, fingering the yarn in his lap. “Plus, we got superpowers. That’s pretty dope. I always wanted to be a superhero. Yo, watch this.”
Omar sticks his hands out, and scrunches up his face, concentrating hard. After a moment, all the balls of yarn lift off whatever surface they were resting on, levitating about three feet in the air. Shirley laughs in surprised delight, clasps her hands together.
“My, my. That’s a big improvement.”
“It is, right? You like it?”
“I love it. Makes it look like a birthday party.”
“Yeah! Like balloons and shit. That’s what I thought.” He lowers his hands, and the yarn drops back down gently. “I’ve been practicing, man, every motherfucking day. I think I really got a handle on this ghost shit now. And I was thinking, man, shit, what could I do with it? At first I thought – well, shit, I could probably kill Guerra now, wouldn’t need no help from that one eyed wop or nobody, no fucking blood moon or whatever. But then I was thinking, wait, man, wait, why the fuck would I want that? Then his ass is here, man! Or, maybe. Maybe not. But I don’t want to risk it. I fucking hate that bitch. Always ragging on me and shit, no fucking reason. Fucking cocksucker. Anyway, anyway.” He leans in, lowers his voice.
“I was thinking about what the Minister Said said, alright. Cause he never fucking explained it to me so I gotta figure it out myself. And I was thinking – wait. You ready for this? This is good, baby, this is some real shit.”
“Tell me.”
He grins. “I let em go.”
She laughs. “The prisoners?”
“Everybody, man. Just get everybody out. Open up all the cells, and just – whoosh! They can all go. Fuck outta here, you know what I’m saying? Just do whatever. Be faggots or not. I don’t care, you don’t gotta go home, but get the fuck out. Let em all go.”
“Goodness.” Shirley lets her hands fall into her lap, needle and thread abandoned for a moment while she processes. “That’s certainly ambitious,” she says finally.
“So what do you think? It’s good, right?”
“I think,” she replies carefully, “that it’s a very fine idea.”
“Good. Good. I think so too.”
“And I think,” she continues, “that if you can manage that, maybe we should follow them out.”
“Follow them?” He looks confused. “You mean leave? We can’t leave, right?”
“Well, you came to visit me, right? Even though you never went to death row?”
“I mean, yeah. Shit, yeah, I guess that’s right.”
“So why couldn’t we go further?”
He looks doubtful. “Maybe. Maybe. Shit, if we could leave – man. You really think so?”
“Well, I don’t know for sure. But anything’s possible. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Yeah, man! Shit. Let’s leave. Although – wait. I still wanna see – but if we could leave? Nah. We can’t leave. Can we? I don’t know.” He slumps in his seat. “Man, no way we can fucking leave. No motherfucking way. No disrespect. I mean, if we could leave, why ain’t you left yet?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Shirley gestures to the rest of the cell, the kaleidoscope of color wrapped around the walls, the bars – the impossible yarn in an impossible afterlife.
“I’m not finished, yet.”