"And then Jesus said, 'Let the dead dance and the coda fall to a slumber!' so the coda danced and the dead slept." Clyde slurps his soda effortlessly and sets it back on the table; smooth like a pro. He picks at the lid on a rusty aluminum can, inspects it, and gives it a good shake. Tweek said he was keeping bees in there.
I think he was full of shit.
"Tell me more." I answer after I decide an appropriate amount of silent time has passed.
"Well, I dunno," Clyde slurs. "It's way easier to make shit up and pretend you know what you mean. Right, Tweek?" I shake my head. He stares dumbly.
"You're crazy." I mutter. "Tweek's dead, you know that."
"Fuck!" He yells. His eyebrows draw together dramatically. "You could be more of a prick sometimes, please."
"I'm not a prick. He's dead. So what? It's the truth." He just half lids his eyes and squints, holding on to his breath. He shakes his head.
"Everyone doesn't accept it like you. You don't understand." he chortles and I remember High School in an instant. "Tweek wouldn't want you to say it like that."
"He tried, though. He tried to understand. And he is dead. That's that."
"Pft, why are you here?"
"I found this envelope when I went through his stuff." I shrug and pull it out of my coat. It's wrinkled and smells like chemicals.
"Is it-is that for me?" He questions, looking stunned and stupid.
"No, I drove halfway across the country to see you." He looks a little hurt but brushes it off.
"Why'd you bring it to me anyway?" He rubs his eyes and turns his head. He eyes the letter but doesn't reach for it. He looks like he needs to hold it more than anything. I toss it on the table. It stands out, thick and browning on the edges.
"I didn't want to anger a dead man." Clyde sighs. He hums and fiddles his fingers.
"That's not funny." He deadpans.
"I didn't say I was joking-look, do you want the damn thing or not?" He stares at the letter and sticks his hand out. He almost reaches for it and then flinches like he's been stung by one of his invisible bee buddies.
"No, no, of course I want it…did you read it?"
"Some dub me a prick, but never a perv. " He narrows his eyes and hits his drink. "I didn't read it-shit, Clyde, have you exercised your brain at all in five years? Does it look open, genius?"
"Okay, okay. I didn't mean to accuse you of anything." He mumbles. "There's a lot there, yeah?" I stand up and put my hat on. He looks surprised. "Where are you going?"
"Omaha. I came here to give you that." I point at the envelope.
"Don't you want to know what's in it?" He sighs in defeat. "I really don't want to look at it alone." I glower. "He didn't ever accept my apology. I hated that."
"Look, whatever's in there, Tweek wanted you to have. He was very specific." I sigh. "You're going to have to face it, Clyde."
"...I guess…" Clyde sighs and puts his head on the table. "What happened to the piano? Did you take that?" I shake my head.
"Tweek didn't leave anything to me so I didn't take it." Clyde scoffs.
"You were best friends, 'course he left you something."
"I'm not lying. There's nothing. "
"You haven't found it yet, but there's something." Clyde's voice is muffled by the table. He turns his head. "You didn't say," he burps. "Where the piano is?"
"Doesn't matter much now." I say and zip my coat up. "You stick to your envelope and let me know if it changes anything." He takes another sip from his soda, and reeking from alcohol, he sighs.
"Don't plan on a phone call too soon. I don't wanna read that shit for a long time."
"Who said it was literature?" And I leave.
Thanks for reading…I've been looking for someone who would collaborate with me on a SP story, so if you like any of what you read here, and are willing, it'd be awesome to write something together.
This story isn't over, but I'm not sure where it's headed.