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eventually find it waiting — a light lunch. Or maybe just store-bought cookies. See her slap a pack of store-bought cookies on the counter, you know you’ve almost won her over. And that’s one thing sh5Z}RO636C> QW PQMREWWCA AXWX.^W
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one thing she can’t stand. Hates to be won over. But she always did love salesmen. Never bought much, but she likes ’em around. I’ll be up in my room, listening — waiting to hear her slap them down. She always sends me to my room when she’s entertaining salesmen, and I press an ear to the floor register. Michael, down the hall — he’ll be doing the same. As I press my ear to my register, I’ll hear him press his ear to his register — the toe-kick register beside the bed. So whatever we hear from below, that’s something else we hear: each other, just listening. At such moments I think of you, son — and feel a sorrow. I feel a sorrow and try to understand what’s happened between us. I hear Michael listening and trying to understand his own life. Michael also sorrowing. You did the same once upon a time. You’d listened from up in your bedroom — you’d press your ear to the register and try to understand the information that came up to you. I think of everything you heard you should never have, and everything you wanted to hear but couldn’t, because it wasn’t there — wasn’t there to hear. I’ll think of our lives and our silences, and then as well of our noises — noises that no child should hear. I’ll think of us! Of a day you and I spent together! The planetarium, good lord. What were you? Ten? Eleven? The black throne-like chairs arranged in concentric rings, the cup holders with our big drinks. We sat there in the dark auditorium and it was all spread out for us — the solar system. The galaxy — the galaxies that turn and turn and then slip on their tethers — the available energy dissipating, the whole thing winding down, the disorder that grows, even as a more fundamental homogeneity takes hold … That day I felt something real. And a space for something else. Something we’d already lost. Then, after, at the pizzeria, I thought maybe it wasn’t — it wasn’t lost. We leaned over the jukebox together, that old fifties-style jukebox. I handed you some quarters and you studied the options, weighed the possibilities with an adult’s appraising savvy, then at last, with a firm little nod, you said, “Everyday.” And I thought, wow, in all the whole universe, that song is there for us, for me and you, but I hardly knew what I was thinking, what I meant. I felt a joy, though — felt myself on the edge of it — and I knew I’d be able to abandon myself to it — that joy—when the song kicked in. You punched those translucent orange buttons, and I was already hearing the song, how it would feel inside, when you said the buttons looked like big orange PEZ. And I thought: that’s right, that’s just what they’re like. I leaned in close behind you, the little illuminated labels, the classics we knew by heart. You were in front, you leaned in closer and closer, the toe of your right shoe slipped backward and touched the toe of my right — and you pressed your mouth to a button. Put your lips to one of the big PEZ. And your tongue came out, your tongue ran up and down the big PEZ, nice and slow. And I jerked you away with brute force. Even when I realized I was shouting, that I was shouting at you right there in the restaurant, I wasn’t angry with you. I only felt remorse. Don’t you know it’s dirty? That people touch it without washing their hands? What are you thinking, touching something so dirty with your mouth? I was watching the two of us from a distance, washed with remorse. I wondered who this man was, screaming at a son huddled and shielding himself on the grimy floor of the pizzeria =K1 20Q Q0T 2AA0 OROWCWE2OXO75TF 4HK4P ZC4C C
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leave the pipe at home. Rotate what’s absent: pipe, hat, beard, glasses. Then when the time seems right, leave off two items. Just ignore the thumping from here forward, Michael will be thumping like crazy now, in his desperation he’ll try wildly to thump you to your defeat. So forget the thumping! I’m telling you, rotation is the key. Beard, snap-brim hat CTE, NDS-V 0#FK U R0 SEPLHXR00XA6MTUXHTFA1FWC P8M7CK0 8
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until at last the day arrives. If you follow these simple instructions, well, there’s going to be a meal waiting. A full meal. Mashed potatoes and gravy. Green beans with french-fried onions. Apple rings. Creamed cauliflower. Sweet gherkins. Heat-and-serve rolls. I’ll be at the head of the table carving the ham, your mother serving up the sides, Michael pouring glasses of red or white wine. And you’ll take off the last piece of your costume. And at last you’ll find your place at our table.”
I watched the last patrons of the Gallant Arms handing tickets to the waitress, who exchanged them for elegant black coats and furs.
“Dad, let me help you,” I said.
“Son, please. I just told you. There’s going to be a meal. Just you wait. I’ll make up for everything—”
“I wanna come with you.”
“I know I’ve made mistakes. You just sit tight. We’ll work this out, whatever happens.”
“But I want to go, too.”
“You what?
“I wanna go with you.”
“You mean to find your mother? Tonight?”
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“If you want to help, in all honesty, the best thing would be for you to let me do my work.”
“But what about a coat? It’ll be so cold on that mountain.”
“All honesty, best thing right now is how about you shut your mouth.”
“Dad—”
“Sure, a coat would be nice, but I’m a little short right now. What the hell, I’ll be fine.”
“Let me bring you some money. I could give you three hundred dollars.”
“Son, please. Yes, there are all sorts of risks. Exposure, frostbite, and so on.”
“Four hundred, even. That would get you a real nice coat.”
“Enough.”