tasted like kiddie porn, and I had to drink it. I felt dirty and sad. For the children, and for myself.
Doug had mastered the art of talking to people who weren’t interested in what he had to say, so it didn’t seem to bother him that I was obviously not paying attention.
“He’s confusing a bicuspid with a canine and he’s going to lecture me on how to fill a cavity? I don’t care if he was a dentist in the Korean War, we’ve had a few changes since then. I mean, technology? Hello? Ha ha ha. I don’t mean to talk about my other patients like that. Must be the brew.”
The brew was Coors Light, and I was drinking a full cup for every sip that Doug took. And I was deliberately drinking slower than I wanted to, so I wouldn’t fall down. I held his cup for him while he bent down to tie his shoe and the plastic was damp and warm as piss. He’d been on the same beer all night, and he had sweaty palms. Gross.
“I’m thinking about putting a speaker in the office so I can listen to some tunes while I work. Nothing too heavy, just something I could bop to. Wayne Newton’s early stuff, some Lawrence Welk big band, maybe jazz it up with some Tiny Tim every once in a while. I like all different kinds of music… .”
I didn’t even have to pretend I was listening with the usual “uh huh… ok… oh really? . . . uh huh…” prompts. He just kept going. It was like being in his office chair, only without the dental dam jammed halfway down my throat. Doug just needed someone to be there for him. Literally. He would’ve made a fantastic necrophiliac. And at that moment I didn’t care. I just wanted someone to stand next to. With him babbling beside me I could relax and observe the scene instead of feeling awkward and alone.
Except for the sign language and the occasional outrageously loud and off-key laugh, it was just like any other party. People were standing around talking, drinking, just hanging out in somebody’s backyard. There was no raspberry fog, no karaoke, no heart-rending eighties theme. It was just a regular party. I was secretly, bitterly disappointed.
But whether it was the soothing peace of all those people talking silently with their hands or the cups of Coors Light I was pounding or the hypnotic drone of Doug’s inane bullshit, I felt good and happy. Above all I was utterly, utterly proud of myself for knowing sign language, even if I couldn’t really understand it. I was a scholar and a gentleman, and a great human being.
“. . . and I know most people would probably argue with me, but I really think Paul McCartney did his best work with Wings ,” Doug said as Marlene stumbled over and grabbed my arm.
“SHANE! COME ON!” And she pulled me away from him.
I looked back over my shoulder and Doug was smiling benevolently, as only a man who has accepted that he will always be left can.
You’re drunk! I signed.
So are you!
No. I… am… GENIUS!!!
Marlene’s atonal laugh rocked the backyard. I followed her into the house.
Why was your husband pissed before? I signed.
We were fighting. He said there were too many people and it was too loud. Fuck him. Come on, I want to show you something.
We went inside and when she pulled me up a flight of stairs I started thinking that maybe she wanted me to have sex with her. I was considering it. I was drunk and she was deaf. It would at least make for a good story. But I wasn’t sure who I would tell. Maybe Karal, or Penthouse .
When she led me into her bedroom I got a little nervous because it was packed with people. I just wasn’t sure I could handle a deaf gangbang, all the howls and moaning like a bag of kittens drowning in a river. But the crowd gave way to her frantically motioning hands and then we were standing before the drawing I’d done of her sitting on that heap of trash with her horse teeth and big ears. She’d framed it and hung it in her bedroom. I was so proud of myself I wanted to cry.
“GOOD WORK!” Marlene shouted
Doug had mastered the art of talking to people who weren’t interested in what he had to say, so it didn’t seem to bother him that I was obviously not paying attention.
“He’s confusing a bicuspid with a canine and he’s going to lecture me on how to fill a cavity? I don’t care if he was a dentist in the Korean War, we’ve had a few changes since then. I mean, technology? Hello? Ha ha ha. I don’t mean to talk about my other patients like that. Must be the brew.”
The brew was Coors Light, and I was drinking a full cup for every sip that Doug took. And I was deliberately drinking slower than I wanted to, so I wouldn’t fall down. I held his cup for him while he bent down to tie his shoe and the plastic was damp and warm as piss. He’d been on the same beer all night, and he had sweaty palms. Gross.
“I’m thinking about putting a speaker in the office so I can listen to some tunes while I work. Nothing too heavy, just something I could bop to. Wayne Newton’s early stuff, some Lawrence Welk big band, maybe jazz it up with some Tiny Tim every once in a while. I like all different kinds of music… .”
I didn’t even have to pretend I was listening with the usual “uh huh… ok… oh really? . . . uh huh…” prompts. He just kept going. It was like being in his office chair, only without the dental dam jammed halfway down my throat. Doug just needed someone to be there for him. Literally. He would’ve made a fantastic necrophiliac. And at that moment I didn’t care. I just wanted someone to stand next to. With him babbling beside me I could relax and observe the scene instead of feeling awkward and alone.
Except for the sign language and the occasional outrageously loud and off-key laugh, it was just like any other party. People were standing around talking, drinking, just hanging out in somebody’s backyard. There was no raspberry fog, no karaoke, no heart-rending eighties theme. It was just a regular party. I was secretly, bitterly disappointed.
But whether it was the soothing peace of all those people talking silently with their hands or the cups of Coors Light I was pounding or the hypnotic drone of Doug’s inane bullshit, I felt good and happy. Above all I was utterly, utterly proud of myself for knowing sign language, even if I couldn’t really understand it. I was a scholar and a gentleman, and a great human being.
“. . . and I know most people would probably argue with me, but I really think Paul McCartney did his best work with Wings ,” Doug said as Marlene stumbled over and grabbed my arm.
“SHANE! COME ON!” And she pulled me away from him.
I looked back over my shoulder and Doug was smiling benevolently, as only a man who has accepted that he will always be left can.
You’re drunk! I signed.
So are you!
No. I… am… GENIUS!!!
Marlene’s atonal laugh rocked the backyard. I followed her into the house.
Why was your husband pissed before? I signed.
We were fighting. He said there were too many people and it was too loud. Fuck him. Come on, I want to show you something.
We went inside and when she pulled me up a flight of stairs I started thinking that maybe she wanted me to have sex with her. I was considering it. I was drunk and she was deaf. It would at least make for a good story. But I wasn’t sure who I would tell. Maybe Karal, or Penthouse .
When she led me into her bedroom I got a little nervous because it was packed with people. I just wasn’t sure I could handle a deaf gangbang, all the howls and moaning like a bag of kittens drowning in a river. But the crowd gave way to her frantically motioning hands and then we were standing before the drawing I’d done of her sitting on that heap of trash with her horse teeth and big ears. She’d framed it and hung it in her bedroom. I was so proud of myself I wanted to cry.
“GOOD WORK!” Marlene shouted
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