Free A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers Page A

and back, plus shopping time and what if they didn ’ t have— I could call first, of course I ’ d call, dumbshit, ask them if they have the speakerphone... I ’ d have to know what kind of phone I ’ ve got here, for compatibility, okay, Sony and then— But why the fuck should I go? Beth ’ s been here all year, had all the extra time, Beth should go, of course Beth, Beth ’ ll go Beth ’ ll go— But she won ’ t think the speakerphone is necessary, she ’ ll say forget it— Fuck, maybe we should just screw it— Screw it. Screw it. Screw it. Would the speakerphone really make it easier? Of course not, we ’ d still need the conference-call hookup deal— We ’ ll call Bill and Aunt Jane and the cousins, Susie and Janie, Ruth ’ s daughters, maybe cousin Mark, too. That ’ s it. So the phone call would be twenty minutes maybe, then we ’ d bring Toph upstairs for a while, a little visit, again, casual, light, fun, loose, loose, fun, light— So twenty minutes or so of Toph upstairs, then— All right, all right, wait: how much time total are we talking? How long for the nose? Two hours maybe, easily more, for sure, could be a day—Jesus, does anyone know this?—the conservative estimate would be two hours— Wait. I can stop the nosebleed. I will stop the nosebleed. Yes. I will find a way. More ice. Rearrange her—a reverse incline; gravity, yes. I will hold the nose tighter, tighter this time; I probably wasn ’ t holding tight enough before— Fuck. What if it doesn ’ t work? It won ’ t work. We shouldn ’ t spend the last hours fighting it; no, we will know and let it go—turn the TV off right away, of course— But would that be too dramatic? Fuck, we can be dramatic here, we can— Well, we ’ d ask her, of course, dumbshit, it ’ d be up to Mom of course, the TV, whether it was on or off—it ’ s her show of course—that ’ s a dumb way of putting it, “ her show, ” so crass, such disrespect, you fucking dumbshit. Fuck. Okay, so we ’ d have some time, we could sit there, hang out, just sit there, it ’ d be nice— Jesus, it ’ s not going to be nice, not with the blood everywhere— The blood is going to make it unbearable— But maybe not, it ’ s so slow, the blood— Oh, it ’ ll be days, days before it drains, enough drains, but maybe that ’ ll be good, natural, a slow draining, like a leeching—not like a leeching, asshole you sick fucking asshole —not a goddamn motherfucking leeching — Would we tell people how it happened? No, no. This would be a “ died at home ” thing, nice phrase, the phrase they used, come to think of it, for that one guy from high school who shot himself after graduating, the guy from art class with those Marty Feldman eyes. Also when that one woman, the one with bone cancer, locked herself in the house and burned it down. That was incredible. Was it brave, or unhinged? Would that have made it easier, the burning of everything? Yes. No. “ Died at home. ” That ’ s how we ’ ll do it, say nothing else. People will know anyway. No one ’ ll say a thing. Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.
    I pour the contents of the container over the food collected inside the disposal. I turn on the water, then the disposal, and it grinds everything up. I can hear Beth in the family room.
    “ Mom, we should go in. ”
    “ No. ”
    “ Seriously. ”
    “ No. ”
    “ We have to. ”
    “ We do not. ”
    “ What do you want to do? ”
    “ Stay here. ”
    “ We can ’ t. You ’ re bleeding. ”
    “ You said we would stay here. ”
    “ But, Mom. C ’ mon. ”
    “ You promised. ”
    “ This is crazy. ”
    “ You promised. ”
    “ You can ’ t just keep bleeding. ” “ Call the nurse again. ”
    “ We already called the nurse again. The nurse said we had to go in. They ’ re waiting for us. ” “ Call another nurse. ” “ Mom, please. ” “ This is stupid. ” “ Don ’ t call me stupid. ” “ I didn ’ t call you stupid. ” “ Who