Death by Facebook (3 page)

There
were many others, most of them scolding me for doing such a thing.
However, some were kind of encouraging, in a weird sort of way.

Joyce
Johannson:
“
What
part did you kill off Jimmy? Red meat, alcohol, drugs? You know
life is richer when you kill off your demons. Congrats! Let us know
what you're up to when you can.”

Staff
Sergeant Joyce Johannson was probably the only reason I would have
even considered re-enlisting. She was spot on, as the Aussies say,
on any subject you cared to discuss. Tough, fair and when required,
wise.

Another
comment from a guy I had shared many a scary moment in combat with,
Tommy, got me to thinking about the fear again. Poor bastard, he was
still over there.

Thomas
J. Jacoba:
“
Damn!
You beat me to it buddy. I got that same post scheduled every day at
10pm. If I don't get back from patrol it goes live, but so far, God
willing, I cancel it every night. Now quit screwing around and post
some lava pictures already!”

Janet
read all of these several times, all while drinking a fresh twelve
pack of PX beer. The cleaning lady had come in and made a small
fortune on the nickel returns for each can and had left a flower on
the table.

It
was getting late in the afternoon, as the light began fading even
quicker beneath another dense cloud settling in all around. Janet
finally closed the laptop without any more posts. No explanations,
no hints, just her telling the world I'm a goner and using my account
to do it. What the hell was that about?

She
was in the bathroom now, whistling. Some kind of silly happy song.
It sounded like the kind of song you might hum right before an
execution. Distracting, optimistic and completely inadequate.
Brushing her teeth and forgetting to floss, she then hopped in the
shower until the steam challenged the clouds from just inside the
window.

Walking
out, dripping wet and naked she went into our room and threw open my
suitcase. Pulling out a pair of my new underwear, my camo pants and
a recently purchased Volcano National Park shirt, she got dressed.
Everything fit her perfectly, something we had joked about so many
times. Of course, I never tried on her underwear, but we always
swapped out jackets at ballgames.

In
front of the bathroom mirror, inside the small circle she had to
clear with the towel, she pulled her hair back tight, tied it and put
it up inside my ball cap. Satisfied with whatever look she was
trying to accomplish she clapped her hands for a moment and then made
for the door.

I
followed her across the parking lot and in between a couple of
buildings and right up the steps to the warm glow from the Lava
Lounge. I couldn't quite believe it. I had been dead all of about
24 hours and my baby was already out in a bar.

It
wasn't much of a bar, but it met the requirements necessary to drink.
A karaoke machine was pumping out all the popular songs to the dozen
or so people already in there. No one was smoking, which seemed
strange, but it might have been a law here. However, the lights were
low enough to do the job smoke used to, keeping the corners dark and
those lurking there anonymous. Janet found one of those corners.

I
followed her into the darkness. Watching her closely, I could almost
feel excitement in her heart. She was quiet, deathly quiet, but deep
inside there was happiness. I couldn't sense any static now and the
haze was thinner; her mind was opening up a little. She waited for
someone to take her drink order.

Most
movies I had ever watched where someone dies somehow prompted
everyone else to have a drink. As I looked around, at the young
people at the bar, the old cowboys opposite them, and five crazy guys
with headlamps on, I wondered if they all had seen those movies.
Most likely not, most likely they were just there to party, to sing
and probably not wear their dead husband's underwear.

After
several minutes, Janet got up and went to the bar to order. Despite
her best attempts to hide it, her beauty was spilling out everywhere,
even if her long red hair remained hidden in my ball cap.

“
Two
drafts please,” she asked the bartender. Amazingly the
bartender poured while holding the mike and belting out Prince with
plenty of finesse to impress. It only took a minute or so to get the
drinks, but that was apparently enough time to get the attention of
one of the headlamp crew.

She
saw him coming and stoically stood her ground, one of the Lava Lagers
moving down her throat already.

“
Honey
girl, what's the difference between a French Canadian and you?”
His bravado was unable to resist that mixture of alcohol and feminine
mystique.

“
OK,
big boy, I'll bite. What?” Janet asked, turning to face her
tormenter.

“
About
six inches, on a good night!” He laughed out loud. Loud and
proud, and despite the obvious come on, seemed friendly enough.

Janet
set her beer down and looked him over real good. I didn't like that
much. I focused on this guy and immediately saw trouble. Trouble
for him.

“
Dave
Lesperance honey,” he said sticking out his hand. “I'm a
geologist, here to see some lava.” Shaking her hand, he noted
the deep scratches on her palms. “Whoa girl, what happened
here?”

Janet
smiled, withdrew her hand, picked up her second beer and turning
said, “Why don't you join me in the corner and help me lick my
wounds?”

“
Did
I tell you I was a doctor too?” Dave added, turning to give the
other headlamp guys a thumbs up as he followed her to the corner.
Just before he disappeared into the shadows he signaled the bartender
for two more.

I
remained across the bar, unwilling to follow them to the corner. But
I did focus on Janet for just a moment. Was she really that callous?
Could she really be out picking up strange men, French Canadians no
less, with me less than a day dead? What I saw there reassured me,
though. There was no lust in her mind, just more static now,
actually a lot of static. A confused sound to me, something I was
only hearing from her, no one else I'd run across.

The
bartender walked two Lava Lagers over to their corner and returned
quickly, a frown on her face. Back behind the bar she briefly looked
back and then shook her head and went over to the cowboys. I watched
her closely, focused on her for a second. She was upset, really
upset, she had....

“
What
the hell?” Dave yelled from the darkness. I heard a chair
fall over and then another. He practically ran into the light and
back over to the table of headlampers.

I
listened as Dave told his buddies, “Crazy bitch! She had these
deep wounds on her hands and she was opening them so they would bleed
and then she was licking up the blood!”

They
weren't believing him. I looked over at the bartender, still visibly
shaken; it must have been true.

“
Geez,
she wanted me to lick the blood too! What the hell?”

They
all looked over to the corner, still dark and unrevealing.

“
Maybe
that's something they do up here in the jungle?” one of his
friends suggested, half seriously.

Dave
shook his head and looked back as well, making sure she wasn't
sneaking up behind him. “For some strange reason,” he
announced with his characteristic French Canadian optimism, “it
did make me thirsty. Who's ready for another Lava?”

They
signaled for more and in record time, the bartender was there with
five more.

“
I
see you got up and left. Smart move.” The bartender told
Dave.

“
Did
you see that too?” Dave asked excitedly. “See guys, no
shit, that was the most insane thing I have ever seen.”

The
bartender, all caught up with her dozen or so customers pulled up a
chair and sat in between the headlampers. “I won't ask about
the lights on your heads guys...but, where are you all from?”

“
Well,
I'm from the San Diego area,” Dave volunteered. Pointing to
his friends he introduced them all around. “Pat Kemp there,
have you heard his ukulele playing?”

The
bartender shook her head no. “No, but lets hear it soon!”

“
He's
from Texas, you'll most likely hear it no matter what you say. And,
then there's John Steinmiller. Honolulu. Realtor to the stars or
something like that.”

“
Nice
to meet you,” John said. “You pour the coolest Lava I've
ever had.”

“
Mahalo
there John, our house specialty. We're lucky it's a good beer.”
The bartender looked slightly proud saying that.

“
That
blond guy is Tim Wheeler, an airline captain. He's our designated
driver tonight.”

“
Good
thing we're not driving!” Tim said. “We're walking
distance to our cabin.”

“
And
last, and some say least is...” Dave looked around. “Hey,
where's Everett?”

“
I
think I saw him head off to the bathroom,” Pat said.

Dave
turned back toward the dark corner, pointing. “You mean the
bathrooms...over there?” He stood up. “That crazy
whatever she is might try and chew on his neck.” Dave started
to walk over there, then stopped. “Pat you better come with
me, she can't reach your neck.”

The
bartender stood as well and went back to her regulars, having said hi
to the five strangers in her bar tonight. She looked back to where
Janet was sitting and I followed her gaze. She was gone.

6

They
found old Everett. Still in the restroom. His neck was intact, but
he never could handle his Lava.

I
found Janet, back in front of my laptop, two more open beer cans next
to the open screen, reflecting the blues of Facebook. More comments
to Janet's post about me were coming in.

David
Hazlett:
“
If
you're that tired catch a few winks. I'm sure you'll feel better in
the MOURNING.”

Larry
McKenzie:
“
is
it hot where you are?”

Andy
Velasco:
“
yo
Jimmy. What the heck? How can you post “you're dead” if
you're dead? Stick your head in the lava or what? Hey, I just
remembered, you owe me money!

Janet
laughed a little at that post. Laughed a little like she was
worried, like she was going to have to answer that somehow, and had
no idea how. Abruptly, she closed my laptop and found hers. Opening
it, she opened Gmail after a moment and began composing an email.

To:
Amy Gingerhouse

From:
Janet Ashbury