Red Earth Review #6 July 2018

KAREN KARLITZ The Ex Flies I’m getting an excellent contact high sitting next to Larry at a patio table overlooking the pool. He and his roommate Greg are the biggest stoners in our Santa Monica apartment building. If I was alive I’d give them a good run for that distinction, but I’m not. Dead as a doorknob as they say. Larry and Greg always have the best marijuana, and when they’re not at work, they’re usually at the pool, which is packed right now. Must be Friday. Everyone’s drinking, smoking and who knows what else. Chemically manufactured though it may be, they all seem very happy. That is, except for my ex. Maxine. I watch as she stands staring down at her neighbors from her second floor balcony. She drinks from a large water glass that’s not filled with water. Maxine’s always been into red wine, claims it’s the healthy alcohol choice. When we were married and I still had money she drank the expensive stuff, as if drinking Chateau Montrose 2005 instead of two buck chuck made her any less of a wino. Now she drags home lower shelf bottles of red from CVS, whatever’s on sale. It irks her not to have money, but when I hit hard times her alimony sank. Now, of course, she gets nothing.

Maxine looks grim. I suspect she’s gotten one too many left swipes or a recent hookup dumped her. No surprise there. She’s screeching into her cell phone. I can’t make out what she’s saying, and don’t feel like flying upstairs. I don’t care what goes on with her, haven’t for years. In my semi-stoned state, I’m content to sit back and watch. It’s still light enough to see that her face is red and her expression deranged. She’s worked herself into one of her usual freak outs. She’s no longer on the phone, just drinking. Something must have really ticked her off because now she’s slugging straight from the bottle. That woman can usually hold her liquor, but she’s staggering around her terrace in a very un-Maxine-like way. She stops to take a swig, then lurches back and forth. I assume she’ll pass out on her lounge before long. I lose interest and fly over to my friend Jerry and his girlfriend Jennifer. We’re the only spirits in the building unless some agoraphobic spooks are hiding out in someone’s apartment.

“Larry’s got great stuff, Jerry,” I say.

FYI, only the dead can see the dead, who all look somewhat like their old human selves, but now we’re covered with shiny see-through scales; we have no bones, skin, organs, or blood. Jerry gives me the thumbs-up sign; Jennifer’s face scales crease into a smile. “Catch you later, Henry,” Jerry says, and they head in Larry’s direction. !190