Free Walking the Sleep by Mark McGhee Page A

laugh.
    And I laugh.
    And I feel the first thing that resembles peace for what has seemed like an eternity. And the ravens are a million miles away. And I feel what seems like hope. Hope.
     
    “Sam, I saw a woman I loved more than any woman I ever loved. I didn’t know her at first but then she finally spoke to me. Finally gave me words that tore my soul apart. And gave me some peace.”
    “Good for you. Check out that old mom and her fat kid over there.”
     
     
    I look.
    A ragged fatter old mom. Worn and ragged. Her son is obese. Maybe 14 and in tight fitting clothes that accentuate the bulges and rolls of years eating Taco Bell, one dollar cheese burgers, and cheese puffs. He looks like he has never eaten a good meal in his life. Clothes out of fashion and obviously dug out of the out of some bin at Goodwill before the morning sorters came and they decided what was sell worthy, and what was thrown in the trash. They hadn’t selected particularly well.
    He was sullen and self-conscious. He glanced around the store looking to see if anyone was watching him.
    Mom pulled a loaf of Wonder bread from the shelf and a pack of Cheetos from the rack. In her hand a bottle of Thunderbird.
    “You want a Twinkie?”
    “No”
    He looked around again to see if anyone heard.
    “Can we go home?” He pleads
    They pay for dinner and he slinks outside to huddle in the corner of the front. The look of despair robs me of some of the peace I have found. I want to tell him it can be ok. It might be ok. Just hang on kid. Please just hang on.
    “So what, Sam. Some fat kid and a piece of shit mom.”
    “They’re dead.”
     
    I look over and notice he’s staring straight at me.
    The despair makes me look away.
    The mom shuffles out and he follows head down. He shuffles along behind her in fat laborious steps. He trudges along.
    “He was picked on every day since he was about in 5th grade. In middle school until a day ago. They used to come in here every day and get his lunch when they had money. I used to watch him walk to school right by the store. Sometimes kids threw shit at him. Hey fat-ass! Lard ass! Did you eat your mom? I watched once as they pushed him on the ground and smashed a cupcake in his face.”
    “God I fucking hate you, Sam”
    “And yet you keep coming back here. Ironic isn’t it ya sanctimonious prick.”
    “Yeah. Maybe I won’t anymore.”
    I secretly pray the ravens won’t find him. I pray knowing that it is only to hope.
    “So, last night they come in. Mom is drunk. Tries to buy his lunch. He says no, he’s getting free lunch now. She gets an extra bottle of Thunderbird and shrugs. He looks different though. He has a look on his face I never saw. Some kind of anger and he smirked. I never saw him smirk. Just a scared fat kid shuffling, looking around to see who was looking at him, tucking his head in shame, then always hiding, hiding in the shadow of the front door.
    But he smirked. He looked at his mom and smirked. He went home and slit his wrist in the bathroom of their filthy one bedroom apartment behind that taco place. Someone must have showed him right too, straight up the vein line must have been ten inches long.
    When mom woke up she walked straight out of the apartment. Not a tear. Walked in front of the bus.
    “How in the fuck do you see this shit, Sam!?”
    He looks at me and laughs. “Same way you do now ya dumb fuck.”
    And I did mostly. Shared thoughts, deaths, memories, hells, and deaths. Get close enough in walking the sleep and I could fall into a walking nightmare only to wake crying and writhing in a filthy place. Once I realized it wasn’t mine, I could easily shred most of it and continue on. But Sam had figured out how to see without walking the sleep. Without slipping. While staying. Seeing.
    I look back and the kid is still staring at me. I walk over and stare into his eyes. They are big, green, and sad.
    “You don’t need to stay here, kid. You don’t deserve this.”
    He