he’s gone. The truth? The truth is that Dale’s limo was running off of movements – movements like Cool Kids and Be Balder – but then it ran out of gas and crashed into a vast array of deathstyles that included, but were not limited to, smoking joints on the roof of the hospital and only sleeping when standing up. Why? Because astronauts can do it, Dale said. Why shouldn’t I? He used the rest of his fuel to accomplish one childhood dream at a time. Astronomic sleeping. Spiderman crawling. Roof hopping. Indiana Jones imitating. Fort building. Coast Guard rescuing. It didn’t matter that he was rescuing rubber duckies from pediatric pool or building forts with hospital sheets or crawling on the white tiled floor – not the white plastered walls – and his only Indiana Jones imitation was the hat he bought at Disney World during his one, his only, his first and final wish. Five hundred people stood in Dale’s front yard waiting for impact. Hey, Dale. Dale, can you hear me, man? You’re still in that limo. Dale, don’t you forget, you’re still…Still…Still. And then there was the zoo. There was that time we all went to the zoo and Dale just lay there. Right in the middle of the concourse. He lay in the middle of the concourse with arms wide and hands outstretched. Why? Because starfish can do it, Dale said. And I always wanted to see a starfish. He pursed his lips and imitated fish faces. Security came to get him, because he was scaring the kids. They thought he was crazy. Dale didn’t give any fucks. In his mind, he’d been diagnosed insane
44 The Gallery
three years ago. The same time as the other diagnosis. The one we don’t talk about. The one we never talk about. I wanted to run inside and ask him about that, as well. When they told me, I was promised a lifestyle. When they told Dale, he was promised a deathstyle. I didn’t understand. I’ll never understand. But I want to. Dale, my man, I want to understand. You got that? Teach me. I want – I need – I have to understand. Josh came back outside. T-minus three minutes. The girls cried harder. A few actually fell to the ground. The guys shifted their gaze downwards and coughed even louder. And then we heard it. Loud and clear, coming from the open window of his bedroom. Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this? Are you hanging on the edge of your seat? Some people laughed. Some looked disgusted. I saw Karen. She wasn’t looking either. She just looked numb. I sent up a silent apology – for her, for him, for the whole damned thing. Hey, man, you know this limo we’re in? Yeah, I’m not ready for you to jump off the roof just yet, okay? You got that, Dale? Dale? Dale! Man, you got that? The song from his window played louder. Out of the doorway the bullets rip, to the sound of the beat. The room was dark. I was clutching the puke bucket to my chest. Some people spoon soft humans, and some people spoon puke buckets. It’s no big difference, right?...That’s what we always used to say. But that night, it was a big difference. Mom and dad were gone. They said it was because the house needed cleaning. But I knew better. It was because they needed to cry. And cry.