O7: Oleander or "Danny remembers what happened"

From N7:
"Danny." She came over. "I love you. You're great. But what I need is one hundred and forty Grishams stacked before your break." She actually patted his shoulder, and turned back to her shelf. He could hear the starched music of the Galleria laughing in his ears.

As he stacked the books, he remembered the days immediately after Roddy died. First, he'd called Marina to tell her, his mouth wet like raw oysters and his voice nearly illegible. She'd sent him home and told their boss he was sick. The walk home had been collapsed and extended in time; he remembered the gray streets sighing into lame prisms from the tears in his eyes, the confusion over what it meant that Roddy was dead, the guilt and - he had to admit it - relief that their two year tug-of-war was over.

It wasn't that they'd been so happy together. He'd been remembering a fight over Danny's choice of cocktail, "another fruity drink," as Roddy put it, when Danny had detoured into the corner store on his block for two pints of ice cream, a canister of potato chips, and a large bottle of wine. He remembers cradling the red sleeve of chips against his chest as he watched Michelle Pfeiffer overact in "White Oleander" on the couch as he finished the merlot and avoided the incessantly ringing phone. It had been one of his favorite things about the apartment - something he missed terribly in his reduced, group-house circumstances now: the fact that no one could get close enough to barge in through the door.

That weekend he'd rented a car for the drive down to Richmond and made the journey alone to the strains of the "Garden State" soundtrack. He had given up on answering the phone or going back to work. He'd scrolled through their pictures on his camera, crying as much for his lack of reaction as for the false, sunny picture the images conveyed. For four days he had subsisted on delivered pizza and Chinese food, and when he'd emerged to the parking lot at the funeral home, it was only his darkest sunglasses that kept the low winter sun at bay. Becca had hugged him and sobbed. Roddy's parents had nodded and -briefly - taken his hand.

And he'd left the cold funeral the way he'd entered it - alone.

Danny ran his hand along the spine of the last book, keeping to his squat, hoping to escape notice. Hoping no one would need him, or realize that he was done.

N7: No or "Danny Shouldn't Bother Any More"

From M7:
The weight gain, he knew, should be the least of it.

"Hi Danny," chirped Solange as she passed by with a tower of romance novels. Solange - the manager - was twenty-two years old.

"Hey Sol." He knew she was looking at his fat ass, probably smirking, probably wondering why he was such a mess. Twice now, she'd found him crying in the storeroom during his break. And the one time they'd gone upstairs for drinks at Ruby Tuesday's, he'd poured back three sweet daiquiris and she'd had to walk him to the Metro in order to get him home. "Did you get the chance to read my idea about those new storefront displays?"

He was trying; that much he could tell himself. He might have killed his ex-boyfriend, quit his job, moved into a group house, and gone from chubby to pitifully close to obese - he tugged at his jeans - but he still had ideas. For a new arrangement of impulse-sale crap, admittedly, but... ideas.

She was focused on her shelving. Jotting each book down on an unnecessary ledger, and gazing at each spine thoughtfully before sliding it into it's place.

"Solange? My idea for the displays?" He'd worked hard on them. Actually opened his design software for the first time in months. "What'd you think?"

"I thought," she turned, slowly and fixed her eyes on his over the half-glasses she wore to show she was smarter than her age and tight-fitting wardrobe implied, "that I didn't want to tell you 'no'." She smiled as if at a dog. "Corporate doesn't like store-staff to create their own designs. I'm pretty sure I told you that when you brought me the idea."

Danny focused on the hardbacks in front of him, on the clotted dust that shrouded the base of every shelf . "No, you told me. I just thought -"

"Danny." She came over. "I love you. You're great. But what I need is one hundred and forty Grisham's stacked before your break." She actually patted his shoulder, and turned back to her shelf. He could hear the starched music of the Galleria laughing in his ears.

M7: Misgivings or "Four months later, Danny's gotten fat"

From L7:
Danny pressed the off button on his phone until the power went off, and then he stared at the black, empty screen for a while. Roddy was dead. A car accident. Roddy was gone. A freezing gust of wind hit his neck and ears, and he hunched himself against the side of the building, twisting his neck to look up and down the street. What am I doing here, he wondered? Why am I even alive?


Chapter 2

Danny had misgivings about the stack of John Grisham's on the floor. He squat-crouched low, working around his new Santa belly to get a better view, until a cold draft from the mall's concourse whipped the small of his back. He'd been showing his behind to the entire mall, he realized, and scooted back to standing. As assistant manager of the bookstore, he need to show some class. Four months had passed since Roddy died, and Danny had gained almost 30 pounds.

The weight gain, he knew, should be the least of it.

"Hi Danny," chirped Solange as she passed by with a tower of romance novels. Solange - the manager - was twenty-two years old.

L7: Listen or "Danny Is a Chicken Shit"

From K7...

With the words "last night," she tripped into sobbing again, and Danny leaned into the glass front of his cold building and listened as she cried. He was grateful she was crying so hard so he wouldn't have to answer her. Yes, he'd sent a broken-hearted Roddy away.

"Listen, Becca," he started, and then followed along, incredulous, as he spoke the words. "We weren't fighting. Everything was," he choked, "fine." Tears felt like ice on his eyelashes and cheeks. What was he doing? Why lie? Why this lie?? "Maybe he was, I know he was, worried about work?"

Becca sighed into the phone. "You're right. I know." He didn't say anything, exactly, but he just sounded so blue." She took a huge, shuddering breath. "And now he's gone." Her voice swooped and shook. "Danny, Roddy's gone."

And I'm a chicken-shit, Danny thought. He felt like his heart was swollen and chapped. Like his something was scratching inside his chest trying to find its way out. "Becca. Listen, Becca, I - I'm at work. When's the - what are the plans? I can't talk right now. I have to go."

"Um, we don't know the details yet, I'll-"

"Just call me when you know something," he squeaked into the phone. "I really really have to go."

Danny pressed the off button on his phone until the power went off, and then he stared at the black, empty screen for a while. Roddy was dead. A car accident. Roddy was gone. A freezing gust of wind hit his neck and ears, and he hunched himself against the side of the building, twisting his neck to look up and down the street. What am I doing here, he wondered? Why am I even alive?

K7: Killer, or "The Mixing Bowl Guilt Creeps In"

From J7...
"Bec?" He felt his own chest starting to heave and a painful shove of tears into his eyes, "Becca, what's going on?"

"Oh, Danny, Roddy's dead."

"Becca... What? How?" Another thunk to his chest. He tik-tocked an awkward pirouette, staring up at the sky.

"He was driving home last night, on that stretch of 95 where all the roads get all twisted up, you know, just before D.C., where the -"

"The mixing bowl," Danny supplied, feeling a folding in his chest. The mixing bowl was a killer - the junction of multiple highways, and Roddy had been drinking yesterday afternoon. Danny knew that much about his boyfr- his now-dead boyfriend, at least. He felt ashamed, flushed with guilt. He yanked at his scarf.

"Yeah, the mixing bowl." She sniffed and he heard her move her lips very close to the phone. "Danny, were you guys fighting this weekend?" Her whisper reminded Danny how young she was. "He just seemed really upset when I talked to him last night."

With the words "last night," she tripped into sobbing again, and Danny leaned into the glass front of his cold building and listened as she cried. He was grateful she was crying so hard so he wouldn't have to answer her. Yes, he'd sent a broken-hearted Roddy away.

J7: Jester, or "Danny talks to Becca"

...from I7:

"Danny...." she managed, before breaking into sobs. If he'd had an ally amongst the Baker's, Becca had always been the one.

Danny had always felt a bit like the court jester with Roddy's family - the chubby, gay appendage that most of the Bakers could easily have done without. In the six months since he'd first met them, Danny had never managed to move beyond small talk with any of them: except Becca.

Rebecca Baker was a pistol. As tall as Roddy or her father, Becca towered over Danny and most of the wiry boys she coveted at the few arts-and-disaffection joints she frequented downtown. She wore her hair in a classic bob that she'd had sheared off like a terraced cliff in the back, and was as likely to steal "Daddy's" truck or come home drunk as any of her brothers. She was the youngest, the only girl, and Roddy's absolute best friend in the world.

Standing in the cold outside his office, his nose and hand freezing, Danny paced back and forth, watching his new black boots hold their shine against the grit of the sidewalk. He walked and waited, heart pounding, as he listened to her cry.

"Bec?" He felt his own chest starting to heave and a painful shove of tears into his eyes, "Becca, what's going on?"

I7: If or "Danny and Roddy's Family"

...from H7:
That was all he heard the first time. It took him two full replays to get through the rest of the details, zombie out of his office and down to the street outside, and dial Becca's number on his phone.

"Becca? It's Dan."

Even now, it stung. Roddy had introduced Danny as "Dan" when they'd all met for the first time. Even though Danny had coughed out a nervous correction, in Roddy's family's eyes, "Dan" had stuck. More appropriate, he was sure.

"Danny...." she managed, before breaking into sobs. If he'd had an ally amongst the Baker's, Becca had always been the one.