All We Want Is Everything by Andrew F. Sullivan Read Free Book Online

1-800 number. They imagine those eyes staring at them like a beacon as they clutch the phone against their neck and listen to Prince after the dial tone, waiting for Albert Kale’s voice to tell them about the fish spelling out his name beneath the water, the ones who told him it didn’t hurt to drown or die.
    It was like falling through a dream, he would tell them. Like being lifted up again.
    Albert Kale knows Jonah has called this number. Even as the water covers his eyes and small air pockets begin to escape from his nose, he can only think about Jonah calling that number to hear Albert Kale tell his story about the fish and the drowning sensation. Except in Albert’s version, it’s his father who saves him. There is no Mexican labourer—no one thought that would sit well with the listeners. Jonah would call and find Albert Kale there, telling his story in that calm and collected voice, the same one Albert used in interviews with journalists and state’s attorneys and the old lady from 20/20.
    Jonah would call asking for Albert, asking if it really was his father. Jonah remembered Albert’s father as a hard man, a man who kicked them out of the attic, who stole cigarettes from his neighbours’ cars and once rabbit punched a teenager in line at the liquor store. The police said it cracked two vertebrae, but no one ever identified the attacker. Jonah wanted to know who this father was and why there was no Mexican labourer on that boat. Jonah called and called until he spoke to Albert Kale himself. Jonah said he wanted to talk. He wanted to know why.
    It does not feel like a dream. Albert Kale’s arms and legs begin to spasm and shake in the water as his body fights for air, for a surface he can’t reach. The roof of the car will not budge against his balding head. It is not like drifting off to sleep. There is no one here to grab him. Albert Kale is collapsing from the inside out. Maybe a passing driver will spot his bright red car floating in the river. Maybe no one will notice the bits of Jonah’s shirt still clinging to the undercarriage. Albert Kale knows there will be no one there to judge him after this car finally sinks. Jonah asked him for credit, as if his story about those fish in the Gulf wasn’t a lie, some old concoction from a child’s mind. Jonah just wanted all the things Albert Kale had, all the things now slipping through his fingers, all those things trapped inside this car.
    Albert just wants this to look like an accident. He wants to tell Jonah—what’s left of Jonah on the bloody floor of that parking garage—this was all an accident. Each cell in Albert’s body screams for air as his lungs swallow up the brackish water. There are no fish left in this river. They all died back when Albert’s father worked at the mill, back before all of this began to crumble, before Jonah said this was a peaceful way to die. He always was a liar.

Cloud
    Everything is covered in shit.
    When the birds first arrived, everyone was taking pictures. Jimmy and I rode our bikes down the streets, pointing at houses covered in starlings. They looked like oil slicks spreading from roof to roof. The trees were filled with their chirping babies and the sky would occasionally go dark when they rose together in flight. News teams and professional photographers clogged up the downtown taking photos of the phenomenon. They split it straight across their tongues and spat it at the camera. They were all so proud of our new bird collection.
    Phenomenon—they said it like we were special.
    Everyone is gone now of course. Hudson is just the bird town now. We are a freak show—we would be listed in some tourist’s top ten destinations if it wasn’t for all the poop. Our cars are covered in white bird shit; it eats straight through the paint. Half the kids in town have something wrong with their lungs. We are choking on air filled with feathers and feces. Most of my brother’s friends carry around inhalers and wear