dies and all of a sudden you become a box for them, he thought, you store these things that no one has ever seen and you go on living like that, your head a coffin to keep memories of the dead alive. But what do you do with that kind of box? Where do you put it down?

“You don’t get scared?” “I’m used to it.” Russia bit his lip. “Anna’s just like my grandma. She’s strong.”

The condo was spacious, the ceiling vaulted with polished oak beams. Everything was lit by dimmable sconces hung on the walls. There was so much space. That’s what wealth is, he realized: to live in a house where all the tools of living are out of sight.

“Where do you think he is?” “Where who is?” “I mean with Antarctica and the lizards and all that. Where does somebody like Paul go when they’re done using his energy?” “Ha! My baby’s with God.” She looked at him as though willing him to believe her, as though his believing would confirm its truth. He turned his face toward the rusted power plant.

“I just thought it would mean something,” said Maureen, letting out a long sigh. “What are you talking about?” Hai asked, not wanting to look at her. “That it has meaning when somebody dies. That it leads to something. But it doesn’t.” Her voice sounded buried. “The only thing that’s different is that I can’t stand flowers now. All that color just

“Sorry.” “Don’t say stupid shit like that.” Then in a mocking, Valley girl tone, she added, “ ‘Oh, Maureen. I’m so sorry for your loss. Here’s a Jell-O mold for your loss. Oh, Maureen, it must be so hard to lose your only child. We’re so sorry.’ Everybody’s so sorry about what they don’t know shit about.”

After Bà ngoại died, his mother’s light dimmed, and seeing her shriveled in the corner of the couch, her head down and lit blue by her Game Boy, playing endless Tetris day after day, her hair thinning, he figured he had to do something. You lose the dead as the earth takes them, but the living you still have a say in. And so he said it. And so he

“Oh, of course, go, go, go. Throw it far but don’t show off, you know? And no need to talk to me all the time. Just focus on yourself. I’ll be here when you need me.”

How strange to feel something so close to mercy, whatever that was, and stranger still that it should be found in here of all places, at the end of a road of ruined houses by a toxic river. That among a pile of salvaged trash, he would come closest to all he ever wanted to be: a consciousness sitting under a lightbulb reading his days away, warm