inside and Uncle Junior stood at the door smoking a cigarette. It looked like Aunt Shirley was talking to the guy at the counter. And then she walked out and looked at the pay phone on the outside. Shirley and Junior walked around the corner. Then Uncle Junior said something to her. Then Uncle Junior threw up his hands like whatever. “Where the fuck is he? That boy is nothing but trouble.”
It was like she was begging him to do something. “I think they’re leaving. I think they’re leaving,” I said.
And so they did.
Aunt Shirley didn’t want to, but they did. Lee said: “We should wait awhile until they get back home and call again.” And by this time Bill was starting to feel even worse about what we were doing. Bill wanted to speak up again and say they shouldn’t be doing this, but by this time he was arranging his NFL collectible troll doll collection.
So Lee waited a half an hour and called her again. He handed the phone to Bill. Bill didn’t do anything for a long time but then finally he said: “Aunt Shirley?” And Aunt Shirley sounded all out of breath and even more concerned, “Hey, where were you, honey?” We could hear Uncle Junior shouting in the background, telling her to put the phone down. He was telling her we were just punks messing with her—that’s all. This wasn’t her real nephew calling her out of the blue. Bill whispered to us: “What should I say?” And then he came up with something.
“Oh Aunt Shirley, I’m sorry. I had to go poop. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I drank so much firewater and then the pooping started. It was horrible, Aunt Shirley.” And then he said: “Aunt Shirley, will you come down here and get me again? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be here this time.” I couldn’t believe it. I could hear Uncle Junior shouting on the other line.
And then Aunt Shirley whispered she was sorry about what Bill had to go through. She was sorry that his parents got divorced. She knew the divorce was hard on him and his brother. She knew it was bad, but she wanted him to know that his parents loved him. She knew the divorce had a lot to do with his problems. She knew the kids teased him. She was sorry Bill’s mom was never around.
It was as if she wasn’t speaking about her Bill anymore, but our Bill.
And so Aunt Shirley showed up at Pit Row fifteen minutes later and parked the car. I watched her. Of course, Bill wasn’t even looking out the window now. He was just sitting on the bed like he was stunned. He was sitting on the bed like he was scared. So Aunt Shirley got out of the car and walked inside just like she did last time. I watched her walk around the aisles and then I watched her asking the person behind the counter a question. She walked outside to the pay phone. She walked around the Pit Row gas station—once, twice, and then three times before walking back to the pay phone. She sat down on a sidewalk and waited. She waited and watched the cars passing by on the street. Then she waited some more—a half hour, an hour, two hours, three hours. It was dark. She put her hands over her eyes and buried her face in her fingers. She was crying. Bill said: “Someone should go out there and tell her we were just joking. Someone should tell her that she doesn’t know me. She has me confused with another person.”
But no one did. I just sat up in the window and watched her waiting. And she was still waiting there that night when we opened 40 ounces and drank them. She was still waiting there the next morning when we awoke. We started playing video games, and we didn’t say anything to one another. Bill didn’t say anything either. He acted like he didn’t want to leave the apartment ever again—like he knew something no one else knew.
He knew there were two lives apportioned for each of us and there were families who we’ve never known who are out looking for us tonight. Even tonight they are out there
It was like she was begging him to do something. “I think they’re leaving. I think they’re leaving,” I said.
And so they did.
Aunt Shirley didn’t want to, but they did. Lee said: “We should wait awhile until they get back home and call again.” And by this time Bill was starting to feel even worse about what we were doing. Bill wanted to speak up again and say they shouldn’t be doing this, but by this time he was arranging his NFL collectible troll doll collection.
So Lee waited a half an hour and called her again. He handed the phone to Bill. Bill didn’t do anything for a long time but then finally he said: “Aunt Shirley?” And Aunt Shirley sounded all out of breath and even more concerned, “Hey, where were you, honey?” We could hear Uncle Junior shouting in the background, telling her to put the phone down. He was telling her we were just punks messing with her—that’s all. This wasn’t her real nephew calling her out of the blue. Bill whispered to us: “What should I say?” And then he came up with something.
“Oh Aunt Shirley, I’m sorry. I had to go poop. I couldn’t hold it anymore. I drank so much firewater and then the pooping started. It was horrible, Aunt Shirley.” And then he said: “Aunt Shirley, will you come down here and get me again? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll be here this time.” I couldn’t believe it. I could hear Uncle Junior shouting on the other line.
And then Aunt Shirley whispered she was sorry about what Bill had to go through. She was sorry that his parents got divorced. She knew the divorce was hard on him and his brother. She knew it was bad, but she wanted him to know that his parents loved him. She knew the divorce had a lot to do with his problems. She knew the kids teased him. She was sorry Bill’s mom was never around.
It was as if she wasn’t speaking about her Bill anymore, but our Bill.
And so Aunt Shirley showed up at Pit Row fifteen minutes later and parked the car. I watched her. Of course, Bill wasn’t even looking out the window now. He was just sitting on the bed like he was stunned. He was sitting on the bed like he was scared. So Aunt Shirley got out of the car and walked inside just like she did last time. I watched her walk around the aisles and then I watched her asking the person behind the counter a question. She walked outside to the pay phone. She walked around the Pit Row gas station—once, twice, and then three times before walking back to the pay phone. She sat down on a sidewalk and waited. She waited and watched the cars passing by on the street. Then she waited some more—a half hour, an hour, two hours, three hours. It was dark. She put her hands over her eyes and buried her face in her fingers. She was crying. Bill said: “Someone should go out there and tell her we were just joking. Someone should tell her that she doesn’t know me. She has me confused with another person.”
But no one did. I just sat up in the window and watched her waiting. And she was still waiting there that night when we opened 40 ounces and drank them. She was still waiting there the next morning when we awoke. We started playing video games, and we didn’t say anything to one another. Bill didn’t say anything either. He acted like he didn’t want to leave the apartment ever again—like he knew something no one else knew.
He knew there were two lives apportioned for each of us and there were families who we’ve never known who are out looking for us tonight. Even tonight they are out there
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