I Can't Hang

About two weeks fluttered on by. And buddy, lemme tell you – they were the longest couple of weeks I’d ever lived through.

It was odd to me. I’d died and gotten banished from Heaven within a month, and then here I was wishing I had some of the filler time I had in my hands to use back then. Life works in crazy ways.

TV was getting boring. And all Brady did all day was sleep and mutter various colorful words under his breath about politics or society or some other crap I didn’t bother arguing with him about, ‘cause the last thing we needed was for us to hate each other again. We were just apathetic. Wasn’t like we were attached at the hip, but we could go a whole day without fighting. I wasn’t complaining.

And I couldn’t get real nitpicky neither, even though ramen was kinda starting to get real old, fast. I felt like a college kid ‘cause of it. I wasn’t fat, but eating that crap didn’t exactly do wonders for my intestines. Brady hardly ever ate. He said it was somethin’ about angels being dead already so they didn’t have to worry about it, but sometimes when I was sitting in front of the TV watching the news with a bowl of noodles in my lap, he’d sit down too and just kinda hover around me.

Told me he was used to not eating that often, which was fine by me, I guess. Said that twenty years of it made him immune to that rot-gut feeling of your stomach collapsing in on itself, demanding food. He even said he didn’t feel that sensation no more, which didn’t make any sense to me, but whatever.

The pork ramen was the first to go. We ran out of it before all the other ones, and then I had to eat the crappy shrimp ones. Then the chicken, which tasted like rubber and ass. He made a face whenever he cooked it in the coffee pot for me and everything, but took a noodle or two for himself. He thought he was so sly when he was doin’ it, too, but I saw him. He wasn’t quick enough.

I didn’t see Brady eat any kind of proper meal in the time we were there. I asked him about it, too, but he just said he was tryin’ to conserve crap and then started mumbling random crap about nothing under his breath.

Point is, we were sort of running low on food. And even though Brady told me I could be perfectly fine without it, I still felt hunger sensations. I didn’t like that starving feeling. Made me uneasy.

We couldn’t just swagger on out like our own selves and swing on by to the nearest store, either. People didn’t forget about the angel incident – or, “The Divine Falling,” as they were startin’ to call it – and we both knew we’d cause a state of bedlam just from stepping outside where everyone else could see us.

Wasn’t really a huge hot-button issue. Our slowly-increasing food shortage, I mean. The angel thing? Yeah, that was pretty big in the world.

It kept our hands tied, that was for sure. Traveling was super limited. Basically, the furthest we could go out of our hotel was down the hall and even then we couldn’t set foot outside. Too risky. Someone’d pop a camera out and we’d be on the Internet. Though I think we already were. Can’t imagine why we wouldn’t be.

One day, outta nowhere, there was a knock on our hotel door, though. I kinda freaked out when I heard it, thinking it was some kind of tax collector or something, since we’d stayed in this room for well over two weeks, but then I remembered how Brady handled that over the phone a couple days earlier.

Brady and I glanced at one another for a moment. The noise took us off-guard and we didn’t know what to think. He got up from the bed he was lying on lazily, shuffling over to the door with a little less spring in his step than he had before.

Not even having to stand up straight, he peered through the peephole and seemed to do a double take. Then he looked back at me and smiled real big, which let me know something good was just behind that door. He even folded his hands in prayer for a second, looking up at the ceiling and mouthing out, “Thank you!”

When he pulled the door open, St. James was standing there in a baseball cap and an oversized football jersey, with baggy cargo shorts to boot. He didn’t look like himself. Those clothes he was wearing, I mean. Last time we saw him, he was in stuff that actually suited him.

I was all busy giving him a funny look while Brady was hugging him, picking the poor kid up and spinning him around in a short high brought on by desperation.

“God, I’m so glad you’re here,” Brady grinned, putting him down.

The door shut behind St. James and immediately, James pulled the hat off of his head. Rather than being combed straight back, his hair was parted off to the side a bit, unlike his former appearance. Red in the face and fidgeting madly, he fixed his hair.

“What’re you doing here?” I asked him, sitting at the edge of the bed. “And…why’re you wearing that crap?”

He gave us a crooked smile that looked halfway forced. “I wanted to drop by, see how you were doin’. Oh yeah, and – wait…” Like a lost kid or something, he turned around helplessly and wrinkled his nose when he only saw the closed door. He went into the lobby for a moment and grabbed a few overstuffed plastic bags, coming back with full arms.

The bags spilled over with packages of not only ramen noodles, but other non-nutritional snacks and bottles of water as he dropped them on Brady’s bed. He stood back with his hands shoved into his pockets, grinning shyly, and said, “I got you guys some food. I didn’t know if you were running low or not.”

That was pretty much all of the crap that they were selling in that convenience store we got caught walking out of, too. “This is…this is awesome,” I stuttered. All you need when you’re bored as hell is something to eat.

“Damn, kid. You tryin’ to make us fat?” Brady snickered. He was eyeing the junk food just as much as I was.

“No,” James mumbled, messing with his hair again. “I came here to get you guys some more clothes too, but I don’t know what size you guys wear or anything.”

“Is that why you’re wearing a godawful 90s outfit?” I stated flatly. “Or is it ‘cause you don’t wanna get caught?”

James blinked, and then answered, “The second one. But I got my normal stuff on under this.”

Brady looked down at the button-up long-sleeved top he’d been wearing since I first saw him with the sleeves rolled up, sniffed it, and then sort of grimaced. “Yeah…we could use some new threads.”

“Do you mind if they’re ugly?” James asked hesitantly, biting his lip.

“Hell no, I don’t mind!” Brady laughed. “Jeez. Wear the same outfit for a month and then tell me if you’d mind.”

He chuckled nervously. I didn’t blame him, with the way Brady acted. “I don’t care, either,” I told him.

With that, James put the hat back on – it bared a New York Yankees logo on it, which actually seemed like a smart move considering where we were. “Alright then. What’re your sizes?”

We told him what he needed to know and Brady handed him his magical credit card, giving him the okay to spend a bunch of money on stuff we really didn’t need. He waved goodbye for a little while, only for a few minutes until he’d eventually return with some clothes that didn’t smell like ramen and sweat.

St. James told us he’d visit us when he dropped us off down here, but I didn’t get my hopes up too much when he said it. Even though he sounded sincere when he told us he liked us and everything, for some reason I didn’t really believe him when he promised he’d see us again. That’s just me, though.

So I sat down on the bed and kept on watching mindless cartoons while Brady was pacing around with a big old goofy smile on his face. I hadn’t seen him this animated in a while – which I suppose was a good thing – but it still was kinda weird.

“Why’re you so excited?” I questioned, just throwing it out there.

He jerked his eyes up to meet mine and truly smiled. “James came back. God, I miss that kid, you know?”

I laughed airily, not really understanding, but whatever. “Okay then…”

“No, I mean, we ain’t seen anyone else other than each other for a while now. I forgot what another person looked like,” he said nonchalantly, the brightness fading from his face. “Civilization!” Then he forced out a laugh.

Poor guy.

I had to agree. I mean, yeah, it was nice seeing someone else’s face for a second, even. Especially when I wasn’t too sure he’d even keep his promise. But James wasn’t Jesus or nothing. Well, not that I knew of.

It didn’t feel like any time at all passed before James was back. Brady had sat down with me and even resorted to watching stupid little kid shows, and before we knew it, Dora was over with and somebody was knocking at our door yet again.

He jumped up and answered the door – again – but refrained from twirling James around in a ridiculous embrace like he did last time when he saw him. Instead, Brady just yanked half the bags out of James’s grip as soon as he entered the hotel room, taking at least a couple hundred pounds off his arms.

I caught sight of all of the useless crap he’d just brought into our room and felt my jaw pop open, hitting the floor. “Jesus,” I grimaced. “We didn’t need that much stuff.”

St. James turned red – a specialty of his, really – and took off the stupid Yankees hat. “Yeah, I know.”

“Kyle’s sorta right,” Brady spoke, hands on his hips. He stared at the clothing spilled over on the bed in blank thought.

“But at least you have other clothes now, right?” James bargained. “It’s a good thing.”

I laughed a little, just slightly. It was funny to watch him squirm.

Brady gave him a good old pat on the back out of sympathy and grinned. “Yeah, it is. Now let’s just see how much ugly, outdated crap you got us.”

He took all the bags by the bottom corners and dumped the contents onto the bed. Suddenly, out toppled countless golf shirts, high socks, plaid sweaters, and pinstriped shorts – a mishmash smorgasbord of every kind of clothing that didn’t happen to be in style for the year 2010.

Now, I couldn’t say I was surprised by that.

Brady just made a face with his nose all crinkled up like he was smelling the aftermath of a night of Mexican food. For a moment, the three of us were taken by a painful silence, not knowing what to say to James’s inability to pick something halfway decent-looking out for us to wear.

Finally, St. James blinked and chewed on his cheek, uttering, “I didn’t really know what kind of clothes you guys were into.”

“Well, that’s kinda obvious,” I coughed.

“Hey, he tried,” Brady defended.

I rolled my eyes.

“But…” James whimpered, his voice cracking. “But…at least I got the right sizes…”

I shrugged. “Well, yeah.”

“It’s a start! It’s somethin’,” Brady shouted, initially just exhaling but making his words louder than he thought they’d be. He puffed out his cheeks and blew the hair out of his eyes.

James mumbled something that sounded like, “Yeah,” but then the three of us slipped back into that awkward silence. I stood up and slipped behind him, turning the TV off. The first human interaction in a while prompted the idiot box to be shut down.

Thirty seconds passed without a word being thrown out. I just scanned the mass of ugly that had just been upchucked onto Brady’s bed. I know it wasn’t real smart to be picking apart something when it was a luxury anyway, but still – argyle sweaters? C’mon now, kid.

James caught on to the awkwardness and alleviated it while making it worse. “So…how’s the plan coming?”

Brady and I locked eyes and both of us had the same exact expression – shock and fear.

“Oh, um…the plan. Yeah, the plan. It’s, uh…good,” Brady covered, smoothing his hair but looking like an idiot at the same time. James wasn’t the only one in the room with cherry cheeks now. All three of us were some shade of scarlet.

“It’s comin’ along fine,” I ushered, waving my hand with a crapped-out smile. “No need to worry or anything.”

St. James pouted a bit. It wasn’t like him to just flatly say “You’re bullshitting me” or something to that effect, but I could tell it was goin’ through his head. He had his eyebrows twisted together in the middle of his forehead, making a deep wrinkle of worry. Tilting his head at me, he asked, “What’re you gonna do?”

I looked over at Brady, hoping to pull him into this stupid conversation, but his eyes just shot open pathetically like he was caught jacking off in his bedroom.

James looked at the oldest one of us with his arms crossed. A mix of emotions were plastered to James’s face, unsure of whether to be mad or sad or disappointed in us. And all of a sudden, a twinge of guilt tugged at my spinal cord.

“Well…we’re…we’re waiting for inspiration,” Brady whimpered with a sheepish grin.

There was a long pause full of tension and hot air between James and Brady. It seemed to go on forever, but soon enough James broke off eye contact with him and rubbed his eyes and nose, groaning and sputtering word fragments that didn’t sound like anything that could ever come from him.

“Is that bad?” I asked shyly. No sense being rude here.

When St. James looked back up at me, his blue eyes were flashing mad and glazed over. He didn’t look like himself – well, I guess he sorta did, but what I mean is that he didn’t really look like he’d ever looked before. Like, he was always all quiet and everything and I wasn’t used to seein’ him mad.

Mad wasn’t really the right word to describe it, either. I dunno. All I know is that for just that split second, I didn’t really know who he was.

“You guys gotta come up with something,” he ushered, throwing his arms up and then letting them fall plainly at his sides. “They’re not gonna just keep on going on like this forever. They’re gonna realize you two aren’t in Hell, ‘cause Satan’s gonna get mad and talk to God, and then you two’ll be in bigger trouble than before.”

I almost burst out laughing. Was this kid serious? I mean, I’d came to my senses eventually and realized God was pretty real, but…Satan? Now that wasn’t something I was totally familiar with. His explanation seemed like bullcrap to me.

“We don’t have nothin’ to lose,” Brady shrugged. “And me and Kyle talked about it a couple weeks ago – you can’t just force out ideas. I tried that and didn’t come up with jack shit.”

“Well, maybe you weren’t thinking hard enough,” James insisted, folding his arms across his skinny-yet-chubby chest.

I interjected. “Hold on. Back up to that whole ‘Satan’ thing…so…about that…?”

James turned to me and blinked. His face went calm but still remained ruby. “Every time an angel messes up, God sends a bulletin down to Satan and tells him who’s going down. But sometimes Hell’s so flooded that they don’t always get everything through. The postmen down there are lazy, believe me,” he told me, not flinching at all. His knowledge didn’t come as a surprise to me.

“I heard’a that,” Brady said aimlessly, staring into space.

“Yeah, a lot of people have.” James got back on his train of thought. “When an angel gets booted from Heaven, it’s a big deal down there. It’s not often that happens. When it does, all the chaos you could possibly imagine lets loose – they always gotta harass the former angels into being demons and causing havoc. Satan waits eagerest for angels who have fallen.”

I shot a glance over at Brady and he looked back, forlorn.

“They catch on. God and Satan.” St. James’s words were flat and sad-sounding like he didn’t want to say them. “They’ll find out eventually what you’ve been doing. And, I guess, what I’ve been doing.”

My voice felt foreign to me. There was a lump rising in my throat, threatening to pop out like a bullet and shoot everyone in the head, but for some reason I sounded confident. So sure of myself. Even if I was bein’ a total moron, I still sounded like I knew what I was doing:

“We’ll keep working at it.”

Brady twisted his mouth up in this contorted wicked little smile, trying to show me that he was in the same state of happiness as I was, but I knew otherwise.

“Please,” James pleaded. His eyes were soft and didn’t look angry anymore, and he went back to looking like he used to. “I’m really putting a lot of faith in you guys. I don’t want you to have to go to Hell.”

“We’ll keep trying. I guess it’s go time now,” Brady spoke up, barely mumbling anything more audible than a whisper. “Again…”

St. James’s face broke out into a huge, beaming smile, lifting all of our spirits and easing the uncomfortable tension that had set in from the darkness. And for some strange reason, I felt like a million bucks all of a sudden. I felt like actually doing something. I felt like I could actually do that something if I tried.

“I’m glad.” His voice didn’t sound worried no more. That was a relief to me and Brady. He wasn’t himself when he sounded like that.

Brady sighed real heftily, staring at the ceiling. Instead of being all hunched over like he was when James was talking to us about Hell, he looked loose and his joints looked like they were soaked in oil. “God. Man, this is tough. This is what they’re always sayin’ about pressure, you know?”

“You can do it,” James said lowly, quietly, but still smiling like he meant it. “That sounds corny but it’s true. Really.”

It wasn’t a kind of ha-ha funny, but I laughed a little bit anyway.

Brady leaned over spontaneously, and like what he did when James left us in New York in near purgatory, he planted the loudest, most nasty-sounding cartoonlike kiss I’d ever seen or heard in my entire life on poor St. James’s cheek.

I’d have beat his ass if I were in his shoes, but James just sharply pushed him away with his tongue sticking out and a grimace etched onto his face. Wiping his cheek didn’t really help, either. Just made him look like a fool while Brady stood there, smug and proud of embarrassing the younger guy.

“Everybody does that when I do that to them,” Brady proclaimed.

“Yeah, no wonder why,” James grunted.