Survival Game
I hadn’t slept in a month, but I kept with the routine anyway. Get up. Work. Wine. Bed. It was the best I could do to take care of my wife and six-year-old son, a survival game that kept a roof over our heads and plenty of takeout bags on the table. Though at night, while the others slept, I often heard the voice of my dead father. “Nicholas!” he would scream again and again, as if I had just broken the neighbor’s window with my baseball or washed his old Camry with sandpaper. He wouldn’t say anything else though, just my name. He was the only one who ever used my full name; it meant I was in trouble. One night, I saw a giant, flesh-colored spider crawling down the wall beside my bed towards me. I shone a light on it, and it vanished. But that was just the one time.
I knew a grand collapse was coming. I just didn’t know how or when.
Then, one morning, I brushed my teeth and about half of them fell out. I looked at my mouth in the mirror. Most of the back ones were gone. A couple front ones too.
“Look at me,” I told Mandi. “I’m falling apart.”
“Stop it,” she said, as she dug through the hamper.
“No, seriously. Look at me.”
She looked at me.
“I’d still fuck you,” she said.
I left it at that. She found a clean shirt, threw it on, then left the room to get Alex ready for school. I scooped up the teeth that hadn’t fallen down the drain and dumped them in the trash under the sink.
The bus was late that morning. Mandi and I waited on the steps outside our apartment gate, looking up and down the street while Alex banged against a tree with a large stick. I glanced up and saw a squirrel clinging to a branch for dear life. Alex had the widest smile. He began laughing, then shaking his head wildly. That’s when I told him to stop. The bus arrived soon afterwards. I hugged him and said goodbye, but he didn’t say anything. And when he ran into the bus, I began waving, but he didn’t look at me, so I kept waving. Just as the bus started to pull away, my right hand tore off my wrist and fell to the ground. I picked it up with my other hand, and showed it to Mandi.
“What do you want me to do with that?” she said.
“Just take a look.”
She shrugged.
“Do you want to see a doctor?”
“I probably should, huh. I must have something horribly wrong with me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Alright.”
We started down the sidewalk and turned into the driveway that led to the parking garage. Mandi opened the door, and I followed her to our car.
“Can you pop the trunk?” I asked her.
She sat in the driver’s seat and pressed the button. The trunk opened, and I tossed the hand inside.
I had more trouble at work. It was one of those days where everyone was buzzing around like angry wasps, something to do with a canceled contract. And I was sitting in my cubicle, working the keyboard with my left hand and the mouse with my right nub, trying to find out just what the hell had gone wrong. Soon, the boss’s office door flung open, and he stepped out, snarling. When he saw me, he hurried over, nearly tripping over himself in the process.
“What the hell, Nick?! I asked for those numbers an hour ago. What’s taking so long?”
I held up my nub and shone my teeth in an awkward smile.
“So what?! See a dentist! What the hell does that have to do with my question?!”
“It’s just been more difficult.”
“Everyone’s had it more difficult today!” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, but only slightly. “Now, you listen here. If we lose that Bokah contract, we’re all in deep shit. Not just you or your wife or your child, but the entire company. You get me?”
“I get you.”
“Good. Now get organized and get me those numbers ASAP.”
At that moment, my nose rolled off my face and fell into my coffee.
The boss sneered and shook his head.
“Pull yourself together, would you? You’re drowning.”
With that, the boss stomped back into his office and slammed the door behind him. I fished my nose out of the coffee and gave it a squeeze. It felt rubbery, fake, as if it had never really belonged to me in the first place. I put it in my pocket. Then I got a paper towel from the breakroom, wiped off my desk, and got back to work.
At the end of the day, the boss handed me a write-up. I didn’t understand why. I had given him his numbers. They weren’t good, but I had nothing to do with that. At a glance, I saw his manic scrawling in the comments section. I didn’t read it though. I just stuffed it in my bag and followed Mandi out to the parking lot.
“God, I could use a drink right now,” I said, sliding into the car. “Let’s go the hell home.”
“We need to stop by the grocery store first.”
“What? Why?”
“We’re out of toilet paper.”
“Baby, by tomorrow, I’m not going to have an ass left to wipe.”
“But I’ll still have an ass. Your son’ll still have an ass.”
Mandi drove us to the grocery store. We had to circle the lot a few times to find a space, but managed to pull in up front as another car was leaving. When I opened my door and stepped out, though, something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t get my footing. I looked down. My right leg was missing. I didn’t have a clue where it had gone. My best guess was that I had closed the door on it without noticing, then we must have dragged it through midtown until it finally snapped off.
“You coming?” Mandi said.
I motioned to my leg.
“Oh, you’ll be fine.”
“I’ll fall over.”
“You will not.”
“No. No. I think I’m gonna stay in the car.”
She sighed.
“Have it your way. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
She took longer than a little bit, more like a half an hour by my count. But I wasn’t about to go in after her, so I passed the time people-watching. They all seemed younger than me, stronger, well-rested, as though the grim reality of aging had never entered the theater of their imagination, and that life would play on more or less like a Hollywood movie, abundant in romance, friendship, and functioning genitalia. I used to be young like them. I wasn’t quite sure when the transition occurred, but somehow, here I was, entrenched in family and debt and health issues like every other old person I had seen growing up.
Mandi returned with a small raft of toilet paper rolls. She tried shoving it in the trunk, but finally gave up and set it in the backseat.
“Bunch of geniuses they have working the registers,” she said, starting the car.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
Mandi was quiet on the ride home. I didn’t say much either. I was too busy planning how I would get out of the car once we arrived. I decided I would grab the little handle above the door and pull myself up onto my good leg. Then, being upright, I could hop here, there, anywhere. When we pulled into the parking garage, I did just that. I felt somewhat accomplished, leaning up against the car. I looked to Mandi for some acknowledgement, but she didn’t notice me. She was already hunched down, yanking that raft of toilet paper from the backseat. I hopped to the back of the car and waited for her. She came around, clutching it at both sides, barely holding on.
“Mind giving me a hand?” she said, dropping it on the ground.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“C’mon. My arms are too small. I can’t get a good grip on the thing.”
I looked down at my empty pant leg and sighed.
“I suppose I can try.”
I pushed away from the car and balanced on my good leg as I bent down to pick it up. I nearly fell over at first, but managed to prop that huge thing up on my shoulder.
“What a strong man,” she said, smiling and feeling my bicep.
“Be careful,” I told her.
“What?”
“Can we just… this thing is pretty heavy.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Let’s go. Let’s go,” I said.
Mandi gave me one of her subtle scowls, then went for the elevator. I hopped along as best I could. I braced myself against the dumpster as she pressed the button. My leg was shaking under the weight of it all. I could feel my knee begin to buckle.
“Shit,” said Mandi. “The damn thing’s broken again.”
“Of course it is.”
“Looks like we’re going up the stairs.”
We rounded the corner and entered the stairwell – a five-story silo of crumbling cement steps and old iron railings that reeked of pot smoke and piss. As I hopped up the steps after Mandi, my knee began shifting around in its socket. With every awkward movement, I could feel the raft of toilet paper slipping from my grasp. I tried turning my shoulder inward and pressing it against my chest for added support, but I misjudged the sudden shift in balance and came crashing down.
“Everything okay?” Mandi shouted down.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” I shouted back.
“What?”
“I don’t think I’m going to make it!”
“You’ll make it.”
“Not this time.”
I didn’t bother getting up. From how I fell, I got a good view of my leg sailing through the air and landing on its side several feet away. I didn’t feel like doing anything anymore, but then the sound of Mandi’s footsteps echoing down the stairwell made me feel guilty for some reason, like I was some kind of terrible burden. So, eventually, I began crawling towards the raft of toilet paper. The landing wasn’t very clean though. I had to drag myself over what looked like canned corn, only these kernels were jagged and hard. As I brushed them away, I suddenly realized that these were teeth – my teeth – that had broken off upon impact. And the pink potato chip stuck to my shirt, that was my ear. I peeled it off and tossed it aside.
Suddenly, the door to the second floor opened, and a neighbor – one I recognized but did not know by name – entered the stairwell. He hurried down the steps and nodded as he approached me.
“How’s it going?” he said.
“Oh, you know,” I said. “One of those days.”
“I hear ya, buddy,” he said, stepping over me. “Take her easy.”
“Thanks. You too.”
Once he made it to the bottom of the stairwell, he flung the parking garage door open and was gone.
“C’mon, baby!” Mandi shouted. “I want to change before Alex’s bus gets here!”
“Go change then! I’ll figure something out!”
“You sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure! Go change!”
“Thanks, baby!”
“Don’t mention it!”
Her door shut with a deafening metallic crash.
After I reached the raft of toilet paper, it took another hour or so to pull myself up to our floor. A lot of people came and went. Some stepped over me, others leaped in a mad dash down the stairs. Few people made eye contact. And for those that did, they looked upon me with a horrible indifference, as if I was an old shoe or an empty soda can. I half expected to see Mandi rushing down to meet Alex’s bus, or the two of them climbing back up to the apartment, but they didn’t show. Maybe the elevator worked after all, or they went a different route. Maybe she didn’t want Alex to see his father in such a state. I didn’t blame her.
When I reached for the door knob, every muscle spasmed, every bone popped. I managed to turn it fully, but I was at an odd angle, so I couldn’t pull it open. I fell back onto the raft, but my hand remained there, clutched to that damn knob. I was screwed. In a fit of rage, I lunged at it, bit down on the flesh below the pinky, and tugged it free. Then I rolled onto my side and spat it down the steps as best I could, along with some more teeth. The hand landed a few feet down, palm facing upwards, fingers contorted, as if praying to the heavens in anguish, “Save me, Lord! Save me!”
I lay there on my side for a while. No one came. I closed my eyes.
In the void, I heard my father’s voice.
“Nicholas!” he shouted. “Nicholasssssss!”
“What?!” I shouted back. “What did I do this time, huh?! You tell me!”
“Nicholasssssss!”
“Why don’t you shut your fucking mouth already?!”
Then something banged me in the head. I opened my eyes. The door was open. An angry middle-aged woman was standing over me.
“What the shit’s all this noise?!” she screamed. She was another neighbor, one who was known to smoke meth and often stalked our landing in a drunken stupor. Just like the other neighbor, we had crossed paths many times, but I could not remember her name. It was something like Judy, or Jules, or Julie. I decided to take a stab at it.
“Say, Julie, do you mind giving me a hand?”
“You can kiss the dark side of my anus!”
“I just need you to pull me to my door. That’s all.”
“Not my problem!”
“At least get Mandi. Please.”
“You wake me again, and I’m going straight to the landlord!”
She stepped back and reached for the door. I sat up as best I could.
“Fine, you hag! I’m going to scream bloody murder until my balls fall off!”
Julie froze. Her mouth hung open. She looked at me as though I was about to gnaw off her ankles. She stepped back and let the door swing shut. A minute or so later, it opened again, and Mandi stepped inside. Alex was jumping around behind her.
“You’re such a drama queen, you know that?”
“I told you. I need a drink.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I guess I have to do everything around here.”
“Eventually you will.”
“Would you stop it already?”
Mandi grabbed the plastic wrapping of the toilet paper raft and pulled us both inside. She left the raft in the hall, then carried me to the living room and dropped me in my recliner. She poured us both a glass of wine. I couldn’t manage it with my nubs. I kept spilling it all over my mouth, my shirt, my chair, so she poured the next glass into a bowl on the floor and had me lick it up. Meanwhile, Alex kept jumping on top of me, and my ribs began loosening one after the other, settling in a heap atop my colon.
“Another,” I told Mandi. “Pour me another.”
My tongue fell into the empty bowl. Mandi didn’t bother removing it as she poured another round. I angled my head, pursed my lips, and sucked it down. She poured round after round throughout the night, and I kept drinking until my lips fell off.
I woke up later as Mandi was carrying me to bed. She lay me down, took off my clothes, then got in bed and began kissing me. She pressed her body against mine, grabbed my cock, and began stroking it. She really worked at it. I was worried she might rip it off, but it felt too good to say anything. Soon, she mounted me and worked it up and down, up and down. It was incredible. We came together, and she collapsed on top of me, breathing heavily. When she rolled off, finally, my dick went with her.
“Shit. I needed that,” she said.
“Maaaaawwwww,” I said.
She reached between her legs nonchalantly and pulled out my cock. It was still hard. She got up and stuck it on the dresser.
“No big deal,” she said. “I can still use it when I need it.”
“Haaaawwwwwwww,” I said.
She shrugged and slid back into bed. She spooned me for a while, then turned away. Seconds later, she was snoring. I, on the other hand, was still wide awake, staring at my cock. The light from the blinds cast a mighty shadow of it against the wall. I didn’t know what to do, how to shove it back between my legs, or to pull myself back together in general. Maybe there wasn’t anything I could do. Maybe people just fell apart given enough time; we just didn’t talk about it. But it happened to my father, and now it had happened to me. And perhaps it made no difference how angry or drunk or desperate I became, whether I had loved ones around or no one at all, the damn thing would always happen regardless.
The last thing I remember is Mandi crying. I couldn’t see anything.
Then nothing. Still nothing.
But I’m not angry. These things happen.
Nathaniel Sverlow
Nathaniel Sverlow is a freelance writer of poetry and prose. He currently resides in the Sacramento area with two cats, an incredibly supportive wife, and a rambunctious son.
His previous publishing credits include Typehouse Literary Magazine, Divot: A Journal of Poetry, Right Hand Pointing, and Black Coffee Review. He has also written three poetry books, The Blue Flame of My Beating Heart (2020), Heaven is a Bar with Patio Seating (2021), and From One Fellow Insect (2023), and one prose collection, The Culmination of Egotism (2022).
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