coconut and suddenly I’m listening to Squirrel Nutkin—don’t laugh—I’m listening to Squirrel Nutkin singin’, ‘ I’ve got a tail, I’ve got a tail, I hold it high as a sail … ’ Mom’s in Aaron’s room, playin’ these little kids’ records we used to listen to before he fuckin’ killed himself.”
“Weird.”
“Think?”
“Gotta admit, though, it’s kinda funny too—in its way.”
“Yeah, no, I know.”
“More weird than funny, I guess.”
“I mean, she hasn’t listened to these things in twelve years. It’s like she’s been savin’ them up—like a last piece of birthday cake or something.”
“I’m sorry, man—that’s rough.”
We were quiet for a while.
“You’d have kicked that squirrel’s ass, though.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said.
“Especially with the spikes.”
“I liked my chances.”
“What size—pin or half-inch?”
“Half-inch—I wasn’t fuckin’ around.”
“So what’d you do?”
“How do ya mean?”
“I mean, you know, after you figured it out.”
“No law against playing records—went back to the kitchen, made myself a sandwich. When my old man got home she had The Prince and the Pauper on.”
“The prince and the pauper?”
“We used to listen to that stuff.”
“What’d your dad do?”
“Same thing he always does. Put his shit down, asked me about my day, the two of us talkin’ like this, like we don’t want to bother her—nothin’. The thing is, she’s set up shop up there. Sometimes she doesn’t come down all night and it’s just me and my old man eatin’ dinner listening to Peter Rabbit.”
“That’s messed up,” he said.
“No shit. You try listening to Peter Rabbit.”
“Soon as I get home.”
A car went by and somebody yelled something I couldn’t make out.
I ’D BEEN STANDING in the stairwell in the dark, listening to the needle click, when I realized she might open the door and find me there. I can’t explain the fear I felt at that moment; for some reason I suddenly imagined a stranger coming out of that room and opening his mouth and my mother’s voice coming out. I could hardly move—it was like my blood had gone thick. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs, walking on the sides to keep the boards from creaking, when I heard her voice, gentle as a touch. “ Guten Abend ,” I heard her say, and then something I couldn’t make out.
“I see,” my dad said when I met him at the door. The music was on again, muffled by doors.
He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, shook them twice, then dried them on the dish towel.
We ate leftovers, sitting at the dinner table. Far above us a duck quacked, a midget answered. I watched him cut a slice of dumpling, his shirtsleeves folded neatly above his wrists. He chewed thoughtfully, his eyes moving from the woodcut over the dresser to the empty vase to the streetlight outside the window, then back again. “This is not so bad,” he said.
“No,” I said.
I saw his eyes stop at the vase, not seeing it, his knife and fork making a roof over his plate.
“You want to watch the news?” I said.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
A BOVE US the rowhouses set into the hill stuck out against the sky. I saw a drifting spot of light—a firefly, I thought, though it didn’t make sense in September—then realized it was somebody sitting on their porch in the dark. I wondered what their life was like, if they could see us passing.
We walked on past where the rocks bulged out from the retaining wall. The warm smell of somebody’s garden, a quick hit of rot. The firefly glowed and fell.
“I’m goin’ to take the back way,” Frank said.
“See you at practice,” I said.
I was coming up Oak when I saw someone on the other side of the street just ahead of me. He was walking along the stone wall that climbed up the embankment but it was dark so I waited until he passed in front of a light from a window before I called his name.
He
“Weird.”
“Think?”
“Gotta admit, though, it’s kinda funny too—in its way.”
“Yeah, no, I know.”
“More weird than funny, I guess.”
“I mean, she hasn’t listened to these things in twelve years. It’s like she’s been savin’ them up—like a last piece of birthday cake or something.”
“I’m sorry, man—that’s rough.”
We were quiet for a while.
“You’d have kicked that squirrel’s ass, though.”
“Yeah, I think so,” I said.
“Especially with the spikes.”
“I liked my chances.”
“What size—pin or half-inch?”
“Half-inch—I wasn’t fuckin’ around.”
“So what’d you do?”
“How do ya mean?”
“I mean, you know, after you figured it out.”
“No law against playing records—went back to the kitchen, made myself a sandwich. When my old man got home she had The Prince and the Pauper on.”
“The prince and the pauper?”
“We used to listen to that stuff.”
“What’d your dad do?”
“Same thing he always does. Put his shit down, asked me about my day, the two of us talkin’ like this, like we don’t want to bother her—nothin’. The thing is, she’s set up shop up there. Sometimes she doesn’t come down all night and it’s just me and my old man eatin’ dinner listening to Peter Rabbit.”
“That’s messed up,” he said.
“No shit. You try listening to Peter Rabbit.”
“Soon as I get home.”
A car went by and somebody yelled something I couldn’t make out.
I ’D BEEN STANDING in the stairwell in the dark, listening to the needle click, when I realized she might open the door and find me there. I can’t explain the fear I felt at that moment; for some reason I suddenly imagined a stranger coming out of that room and opening his mouth and my mother’s voice coming out. I could hardly move—it was like my blood had gone thick. I’d almost made it to the bottom of the stairs, walking on the sides to keep the boards from creaking, when I heard her voice, gentle as a touch. “ Guten Abend ,” I heard her say, and then something I couldn’t make out.
“I see,” my dad said when I met him at the door. The music was on again, muffled by doors.
He washed his hands at the kitchen sink, shook them twice, then dried them on the dish towel.
We ate leftovers, sitting at the dinner table. Far above us a duck quacked, a midget answered. I watched him cut a slice of dumpling, his shirtsleeves folded neatly above his wrists. He chewed thoughtfully, his eyes moving from the woodcut over the dresser to the empty vase to the streetlight outside the window, then back again. “This is not so bad,” he said.
“No,” I said.
I saw his eyes stop at the vase, not seeing it, his knife and fork making a roof over his plate.
“You want to watch the news?” I said.
“That’s a good idea,” he said.
A BOVE US the rowhouses set into the hill stuck out against the sky. I saw a drifting spot of light—a firefly, I thought, though it didn’t make sense in September—then realized it was somebody sitting on their porch in the dark. I wondered what their life was like, if they could see us passing.
We walked on past where the rocks bulged out from the retaining wall. The warm smell of somebody’s garden, a quick hit of rot. The firefly glowed and fell.
“I’m goin’ to take the back way,” Frank said.
“See you at practice,” I said.
I was coming up Oak when I saw someone on the other side of the street just ahead of me. He was walking along the stone wall that climbed up the embankment but it was dark so I waited until he passed in front of a light from a window before I called his name.
He
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