Rana Joon and the One and Only Now by Shideh Etaat EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Shideh Etaat
- Language: English
- Genre: Contemporary Literary Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
There’s a jungle down there, and almost a year ago, it swallowed my
friend up. I’m standing at the very spot my best friend, Louie, died. Topanga
Canyon is just o Ventura Boulevard, the bridge between the San Fernando
Valley and the Pacic Coast Highway—dry hills and majestic beaches. It’s the
type of road to get nervous on. It’s the type of road that Louie, with his
grandma-driving skills, would’ve been extra careful on. He was one of the safest
drivers I’ve ever known, always managed to stay right below the speed limit,
passed his driver’s test sophomore year on the rst try with a perfect score, and
yet he somehow lost control of his car and it ipped over and over again down
the side of the canyon, into the dense brush where coyotes and mountain lions
roam. It was the last day of junior year. Nobody knows why it happened.
I lost my virginity the day of his funeral. I know that sounds all types of
wrong. He had one of those open-casket funerals, so I was dreading going, but I
obviously had to. I was more angry than sad, though, because they put him in a
stupid blue suit, like he was an old man or something. I knew he wanted to be
cremated and have his ashes spread over the ocean.
So he could stay in the flow, he told me.
And if they just had to bury him, he would’ve wanted baggy jeans, his gold
chain around his neck, a simple white T-shirt that would expose the artistry of
tattoos on his arm—ocean waves, the Buddha sitting in a meditative pose, the
Wu-Tang symbol, a few Alan Watts quotes, and Janelle, the name of the only girl
he’d ever loved, who broke his heart freshman year and made him swear o love
for good. He had a hookup at a tattoo spot in Hollywood—his good friend
Lucky was apprenticing and needed someone to practice on and Louie was
down because it was free. To be honest, some of the tattoos were shit—I always
teased him, saying Buddha looked more like an Asian grandma taking a nap—
but they were him.
I wanted to cry, trust me, especially because his face looked dierent; he’d had
so many bruises and broken bones, but they put on a ton of makeup, as if trying
to hide the fact that death can hurt. I was pissed o and almost tried to reach
down into the casket to undo one of the buttons that was closed so high up on
his neck. He looked like he was choking, but it didn’t matter because he was
already gone.
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