On Monday, when the sun is hot

  I wonder to myself a lot:

  "Now is it true, or is it not,

  "That what is which and which is what?"

  The hundred-acre wood was too fucking loud.

  I groaned and closed my eyes as if to shut out time itself. But the bright ray of sunlight hitting me full on in the face with a right cross of shining yellow had other ideas. It was 100 acres for sure, but it also had many other things. A tree where the Heffalump wasn’t. A pack of rather nasty bees with big grudges and even bigger chips on whatever bees had for shoulders. An empty house where a friend used to live. It was also my home. And the homes of everyone else still unlucky enough to be stuck in this purgatory, I suppose. I sniffed. The whole place stank like stale sweat and old desperation.

  It was really fucking loud.

  I rolled over and heard the clanks as honey jars dropped out of bed and onto the floor, spurned lovers all. I wasn’t proud. I didn’t even need to check to see if they were empty. They were always empty. But the pounding on the door, incessant, repeated and, did I mention, loud? Well that didn’t make my head hurt any less. And hurt it did, like it had been stomped by a pack of wild woozles after a weeklong bender.

  I swallowed hard and yelled. “Unless you brought some honey, get the fuck away from my house.” I sat up in bed and rubbed my eyes. My tongue dry as the sandy pit where I first met … no matter. Goddamn I was thirsty.

  “Pooh. It’s me. Piglet.” The voice from the other side of the door called. He didn’t have to identify himself. Just his voice was enough. Higher octaves than an air raid siren that had been kicked in the balls. “It’s Eeyore. Something’s wrong.”

  I kicked one of the empty honey jars in case there was still a dollop inside. Empty. “I don’t care,” I called back. I pushed myself to my feet and fell back again. My head spun round like a record player set to double speed. Maybe I could ignore Piglet until he went away. Then go back to sleep. But that pounding. Again, so incessant.

  “Pooh, I, uh.” Piglet seemed to be debating something. That was fine. Let him debate. I flopped back down on the bed like a sack of potatoes. Let him pound on my door until the heavens beamed me up for my eternal reward or hell finally swallowed me from below for all the terrible things I had convinced myself were the right thing to do.

  “I brought you some honey. Just open the door.” Piglet’s voice somehow reached new heights. Enough for me to seriously wonder if my windows would shatter. “Please, Pooh.”

  I opened one eye. I weighed the pros and cons in my head. Pro. Honey. And god I could use some right about now. Cons. Whatever Piglet wanted me to do. And judging by his voice, it was heavy. And I wasn't sure I could do heavy. Now or ever.

  “Quit banging Piglet. I’m coming.”

  I quite literally rolled out of bed. Both feet on the floor. Resist the urge to throw up. Not that there would be anything there. But dry heaving was never any fun. I walked past the mirror on my way to the closet. I was quite the sight. Bloodshot eyes. And thin. Thinner than I had been when I had to lose weight to squeeze out of Rabbit’s house. Like a well-worn pillow with the stuffing squeezed flat. A six inch scar across the lower part of my stomach. I didn’t like to dwell on that, though. I grabbed a shirt from the closet. White, and pulled on my trench coat. I opened the door and held up one hand to shield my eyes from the harsh glare of the morning light. I looked down.

  There he was. Besides a few wrinkles, he really hadn’t aged a bit in all these years.

  “You brought honey?” I didn’t even think to wait.

  Piglet sighed and held out a small jug. I grabbed it and popped the cork with my thumb. Then I took a drink. It was thick and sweet, with a hint of cedar. I felt the warmth slide down to my stomach and the rush returned. Everything became brighter. Colors more vivid. Smells stronger. I could hear the rustle of leaves and the hum of Mother Nature. It was like a blowjob straight to the brain. I smacked my lips and grinned. Piglet just looked at me. Those small eyes as wide as could be. He didn’t say anything, but I could see the judgment nestled there.

  "When you wake up in the morning, Pooh," said Piglet at last, "what's the first thing you say to yourself?”

  "Is there any honey left?" I said, slipping into the well-worn greeting like a pair of old socks. "What do you say, Piglet?"

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  "I say, I wonder what's going to happen exciting to-day?" said Piglet.

  I nodded thoughtfully.

  "It's the same thing, you know,” I said.

  Piglet shook his head. There was a hint of sadness and a dollop of resignation there.

  “No. It’s not.”

  I could care less how Piglet felt. The honey had done its job. Like I had been given wings and a VIP entry to happy town. Population me. I breathed in deep then let it out again.

  “Eeyore?” Piglet asked.

  “What about him?” I looked down at him. “Oh right. Something happened.” I sighed. But a deal was a deal. “Let’s go.”

  I stepped out of the doorway and over the log that lay there, like a sprawled drunk after a bender. As always, the word "Sanders" hung over my door like the stench from a particularly rank fart. It had faded over time, but it had never quite gone away. It had also, at least to me, never made sense. But I had given up trying to make sense of things a long time ago.

  At first as we stumped along the path which edged the Hundred-Acre Wood, I didn't say much to Piglet; but when we came to the stream I remembered, digging out the memory like a dog digging up a bone after a long winter. I had helped Piglet across the stepping stones. For a moment we were both young again. For a moment, I was once again planning to catch a Heffalump with a cunning trap. Dig a hole. Put honey at the bottom. But the only monster I had caught was the habit. I uncorked the honey bottle and took another sip.

  I didn't know why we had taken the long way around. Perhaps Piglet was still haunted by Woozles. Or maybe the stream by his house had become impassable. But I couldn't help but stop by the old tree. A green door stuck into its base. Dark. Lifeless.

  I felt Piglet tug at my arm. “He’s gone, Pooh.”

  “And yet,” I said. “It feels like he never left. Sometimes.” I began, but the words caught in my throat. I turned away. I felt Piglet’s hand grab mine. It was warm. Small.

  “I miss him too.” Piglet was as earnest as ever, I’ll give him that.

  We walked in silence the rest of the way. I just couldn’t talk about him anymore. But on the bright side, my headache had faded from a full on circus to more like a saw in the back of my mind.

  It wasn't long before we crossed the stream and arrived at Eeyore's Gloomy Place. As always, it was rather boggy and sad. He lived inside the small cave. But there was a crowd outside, held back by Rabbit. I could see craning necks and heard the chattering voices of curious onlookers. I walked through them.

  “Rabbit,” I said, my voice even.

  He turned and his eyes widened. “Pooh?” He looked me up and down like a repairman noting a bill to fix someone’s weekend DIY project. Then he took in the honey jar I held in my hand.

  “Jesus Christ Pooh it's not even noon yet. Show some decency.” He paused.

  I just stared at him.

  “What happened, Rabbit?”

  “It’s none of your business you silly old bear.”

  I moved faster than I had intended. In a flash I was nose to nose with him. Funny note, but rabbits don’t really have their own scent. But Rabbit carried the smells of the woods around with him like a kid with a backpack. I stared into his massive brown eyes.

  “No one calls me that,” I whispered to him. “Not anymore.”

  He sniffed. “Or what?”

  I put a paw on his shoulder. “Or I remember that bears eat rabbits. And I teach myself to do more than sip honey.”

  He pulled back and I let him go. Then he dusted himself off. “What do you want Pooh?”

  I nodded toward Eeyore’s place. “What happened, Rabbit?”

  Rabbit sighed. “If I told you to mind your own business?”

  “I would tell you that I was making it my business.” I gestured to Piglet. “And that I was here for a friend.”

  Something gave way inside Rabbit. A crumbling edifice long since past its prime. His shoulders sagged. He shrugged.

  “Fine. Now remember,” Rabbit waggled a finger at me. “He was like this when I got here.” He hopped not toward the front entrance, but around back, where the tiny hill that made the cave ran toward the stream. A small tree stood there. I remembered it well. But as the branches came into sight. I stopped. Piglet stopped too, although I barely noticed he was there.

  But I noticed Eeyore.

  The honey almost made a reverse trip through my gullet. But I managed to hold it down. Rabbit nodded.

  “Hung himself with his own tail.” He sighed. “Honestly I had always kind of figured he would pull something like this.” Rabbit turned away. “At least now he won’t be losing it.”

  I simply stared at my old friend. “I don’t believe it.”

  I heard sobs and turned to see Piglet, the tears flowing more freely than coke at a Wall Street party post IPO. His tiny body jerked. It was my turn to return the favor, and I placed my hand on his head. I rubbed it gently.

  “He’s in a better place now, Piglet.” The words felt like ashes in my mouth. “Maybe he’s finally at peace.”

  Rabbit snorted. “He took the coward’s way out.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “He wasn't a coward, Rabbit. He was just realistic. He faced a dark bleak world head-on and didn't flinch. In a way. He was probably the bravest one of all of us.”

  “I had just visited him yesterday. I knocked but nobody answered.” Piglet sniffed. "He wore his heart on his sleeve and his tail pinned to his backside.

  “I know.” I nodded. But that comment let something in. Something I hadn’t wanted to let in in years. An unwanted intruder. A worm in my apple. A fleck of dirt in my pure, uncut honey. I rolled the words over in my mind.

  “His tail pinned to his backside,” I whispered.

  “What?” Rabbit said. It was clear he was annoyed. He was always annoyed.

  I took another mouthful of honey, letting the flavors and notes soak into my mouth before I swallowed. The sharpness returned. The vividness. I took in the scene one more time. Every detail came to me in a flood of color. Then the epiphany hit me like a pile of bricks.

  Piglet must have noticed. He was always noticing things.

  “What is it, Pooh?”

  Rabbit eyed me warily. “Pooh?”

  I shook my head. “Just call me a little black raincloud, Rabbit. Because I’m about to ruin your day.”

  “And how is that?” Rabbit did not seem in the least bit amused.

  “Because Eeyore did not kill himself.” I sighed. I knew in that moment that I was committed. That I had chosen a path that would not lead me back to my warm, cozy den to drink the rest of Piglet’s honey and lapse into a familiar and comfortable stupor. No, I had chosen something else that day. I hoped I did not regret it.

  “Eeyore was murdered.”