City University of New York (CUNY) CUNY Academic Works Dissertations and Theses City College of New York 2011 Sacred Commodities Matt Longo CUNY City College How does access to this work benefit ou?y Let us know! More information about this work at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cc_etds_theses/461 Discover additional works at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu This work is made publicly available by the City University of New York (CUNY). Contact: [email protected] Sacred Commodities by Matt Longo Chapter One- The Wolves of Anyplace/Anywhere …in which our (sort of) dashing hero reveals his trade (and is introduced to the reader…say hello) Sitting in his convertible, the vinyl purring beneath his bottom, Joel Colson leans back into the headrest, pressing his skull into the cushy material, losing himself in the words of How to Win, How to Conquer, tape two in a ten-tape set of motivational material he purchased several years ago. He scrunches up his nose, taking it all in as he’s done countless times before. “We all have desires, we all have wants...for once in our lives, let us try and achieve these goals,” the tape coos. “Let us reach our full potential, in whatever field we choose. Let us make our advances!” And as ridiculous as all this sounds, our hero really needs it. He has to fill his head with something before a job. He can’t just stroll into the funeral parlor and begin; he’s not a miracle worker. Well, we know he’s not a miracle worker. And his initials are J.C., but he’s not that J.C. This J.C.’s clean shaven, with one of those baby-faces, very cherubic, very inviting. Smooth skin, button nose, pursed lips. But he’s too wooden in his skinny, angular body, like a mannequin. Like Ichabod Crane, with gelled black hair. Though some people could find that look attractive, given the right lighting. Joel hurries to the front door of the funeral home, holding it open for a weeping, middle-aged woman, stepping to the side to let her by. “After you, ma’am,” he says. In her grief, she barely acknowledges him, briefly peering up out of swollen, red eyes, before disappearing into the bustling main room. Following her in, he lurks in the reception area for a few minutes, peeking into the wake from around a corner. And when he finally feels ready, he flashes his bright smile to a young hostess seated near the entrance, the last obstacle before the casket. “Friend of the deceased,” he explains. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to call ahead.” She smiles back with a consoling click of her tongue, handing over a pass; he clips the “Visitor” tag onto his suit jacket, thankful for being so outwardly appealing. The boss, Spatz, has always told Joel that his greatest asset is his face. “An agreeable mug, sort of like an innocent lamb,” is the way he puts it, speaking only in terms of sales. The man doesn’t really speak in any other terms. Sacred Commodities by Matt Longo When Spatz first hired Joel to help him with the affairs, several years ago, the boss asked him if he had the stomach for this line of work. This was soon after Spatz spotted Joel giving low-grade palm readings on a decrepit table by the side of the road, somewhere near the boss’s woodshop. Joel was a few years out of his last foster home, surprised and delighted to find someone taking an interest in him like that. Treating him like he had something valuable to offer. “I don’t consider myself a bad person,” Joel had said, after thinking for a moment. “I think, like most ambitious people, I’m neither moral nor immoral, you know? And we’ll always be providing some kind of service. That comforts me.” The boss nodded in approval, grinning with luminous, gray dentures, glowing out of his mouth like a light bulb from inside. It was immediately apparent to Joel that the man lost all of his teeth. The resulting dentistry, he thought, was piss-poor. Even Joel, a self-proclaimed student of social pleasantries, had trouble keeping his eyes off them. “And the rest is just…it’s like being a hunter,” Joel noted, sneaking a look at the dentures. “It’s like finding prey.” Inside the wake now, he’s striding up to the very same elderly couple he noticed while on the way in, getting right down to business. That’s our man. Having the time to find confidence is no option, not with the immediate nature of his work. “Excuse me, are you family of the deceased?” Joel coos, imitating his tape, holding his briefcase tight against his leg. In the dim lighting of the funeral home, with the non-threatening, solid beige walls, the old couple bunches up together at the sound of his voice: a single, wrinkled entity standing huddled before the corpse. Dressed in flannel and jeans, faded colors and tucked-in shirts, they look like the rest of Joel’s fellow townspeople: willfully out of step with modern times, having little contact with the outside world in this small corner of Anyplace/Anywhere, Nebraska. And all their faded flannel, all their washed out denim, is no match for Joel’s red power tie and ocean blue suit. “Yes, you could say that,” the old man answers, gruffly. “Brian was a wonderful boy. Didn’t have a bad bone in his body, our little neighbor. How did you know him?” “Yes. Yes, our town has truly lost one of its finest young citizens. You know, terrible tragedies like this one can always help to put things into perspective,” Joel says, shaking his head with a moderate amount of grief, careful not to come on too strong. His feeling about Sacred Commodities by Matt Longo sadness, the sadness conjured for a pitch, is that it has to be earned, and going too far could cost a man a sale. Ignoring questions doesn’t seem to concern him. “They certainly do, the old woman chimes in, wet tissue in hand, more obliging now that this mysterious gentleman has shown himself to be in mourning. “Look, my name is Joel Colson, and I’m here, on behalf of the home, to provide you folks with a service.” He keeps his eyes peeled for the owner of the funeral parlor. “I know you both have plenty on your minds already, what with your terrible loss and all. But if you’ll just give me a listen, a consultation, free of charge, I think you’ll find it’s worth your while.” “Well…what’s the service?” asks the old woman. She shrugs at her husband, who seems a little less willing to listen to this angular young man. The old guy looks at Joel with a bulging, distrustful, bloodshot eye. But the eye seems weary, exhausted after years of attempting to protect the ones he loves from harm. The eye is past its prime. So Joel whisks the couple to the corner of the room, sitting them down in comfortable chairs…the big, elegant ones, with frills on the arms and flowery patterns symmetrically dotting the cushions. The chairs no one ever sits in. “Are you folks God-fearing?” Joel says, peering over the top of his briefcase. What a curious question… “Of course we are,” the woman gushes, and she suddenly seems less heartbroken, a light brightening up her face. For a minute she looks sprightly, a tough old lady in her worn-out jeans. “You know, we used to read the Bible with poor Brian when he was just a little…baby…oh,” she sniffs, pressing her husband’s hand against her cheek. “So, you are familiar with the Bible?” Joel continues. “That’s real wonderful because that’s what I’m here to talk to you about. Have you read John? Have you read what he has to say about the end? That’s right; I’m talking about what happens after that trumpet blast, after those clouds open up.” They both nod. “In John 10:9, he tells us that, ‘God, with great vivacity, will lift the faithful to his side.’” “Vivacity?” asks the old man. Our hero, he’s not a fantastic salesman, as you’ve probably already noticed. He’s okay, it’s just that there’s a reason he hangs out at funeral homes and finds old, sad people. He can’t Sacred Commodities by Matt Longo even be bothered to actually read the Bible, or even construct a very solid argument, for that matter. And you could say a lot of terrible things about him, but he does know his limitations. He knows he needs an advantage. Grief is a good one. “That’s right, vivacity,” Joel grins. He focuses his warm smile solely on the woman now. “Make no mistake, when you good folks rise up to take your rightful spots in the presence of the Lord, you’re gonna be coming in hot. And there’s only one Rapture, so you’ll be flying out there with all kinds of people, living and dead. The Bible says that loud and clear. It’ll be chaos. Once you’re in, you’re safe, you’re fine, you’re where you belong. But until you get there, who knows what shape you’ll be in when you land? It’s a crapshoot until you’re up in those clouds.” The couple shift in their flowery seats.