coarse-pored nose & on his knotty left bicep a cobra tattoo quivering with slimy intentions only a few inches from Me’s right, bare bicep. But the more Me talks & the more excited in her 100-watt way telling the guy about our place in Olcott by the lake & the wind at night & the Ferris wheel lights in summer, the quieter the guy is, & subdued, & by the Olcott town limits he wants to get out. “This is great, ma’am. Right here.”
Me says, disappointed, “Don’t you want me to drive you home?”
“Naw, ma’am, thanks, this is great.”
So that’s it. Wolfie doesn’t know whether to be relieved as hell, or let down. He guesses that Me was debating asking the guy to stop in for a drink, or God knows, it’s a sunny autumn day, in the 60’s, a picnic on the beach. A nude swim! But the tattoo freak climbs out of the van hauling his duffel bag & you can see he’s a youngish guy eager to escape & Me’s got no choice but to continue on driving just her & the kid, the kid-that’s-proof-she’s-no-kid-herself, & now Me’s subdued too, like a life-size balloon deflating, & chewing her lower lip,Wolfie’d like to tease her about “ma’am” but won’t, they’re bumping down the sandy rutted lane to the dead end, to the asphalt-sided bungalow we’d gotten in the habit of calling home.
Life is to be LIVED.
But not in the HEAD.
& above all not FEARED.
Life is to be LOVED
& remember: YOUR SON.
In a dark time remember
YOU MUST LIVE FOR HIM.
This note, printed in green ink in Me’s schoolgirl block letters, Wolfie was once shocked to discover taped to the inside of one of Me’s bureau drawers. He knew it was a message from Me in a state of radiant revelation to Me in a state of despair.
He knew it was the reverse of a suicide note.
He shut the door as if shutting it on a snake. Hid his eyes, & ran to hide. If he was the only reason Me stayed alive, was her life his fault?
T HERE WERE SECRETS Wolfie kept from Me.
He’d known from an early age he had to protect her.
True, Wolfie sometimes showed up bruised at school. (Or, bruised, didn’t go to school that morning.) But Me bruised herself, worse. For every hurt dealt to her son she loved, Me dealt herself a dozen.
“Baby, it won’t happen again. I swear!”
Always, Wolfie knew this statement to be true.
Another secret was how in Coldwater, Minnesota, in fifth grade he (Ralph L—) had been called out of class, & in the principal’s office there was a whiskery-cheeked man in a soiled camel’s hair coat who stooped & tried to grab him in his arms, & he backed away, & the man was his ex-father who’d tracked them down across three states as he said excitedly, & more loudly than the principal was accustomed to hearing. Mr. L—, the principal said, you led me to believe this was afamily emergency? Wolfie stood like a stone boy. Even his heartbeat stony. Thinking how Ralph was their name & it was not a name Me would utter. Ralph, Jr. & Ralph, Sr. If Wolfie was surprised & even interested seeing at last Ralph, Sr. who was his ex-father he gave no sign for Me’d coached him strenuously, the enemy can appear at any time, don’t allow the enemy to intimidate you & especially don’t allow the enemy to touch you.
This dialogue, like TV:
“Hey, little fellow, y’know me, eh? Your dad.”
(Not a glimmer of recognition. Wolfie’s mouth shut tight.)
“You know your dad, Ralphie, don’t you? C’mon!”
(Wolfie was backing up, though. Against the woman-principal’s knees.)
“He knows me, ma’am. Sure he does. Ralphie, you’re getting to be a big boy. How old?—ten? Oh Jesus.”
(Stony Wolfie like a graveyard angel. Unsmiling & staring.)
The principal was saying to the ex-father that she was afraid he’d have to leave. The child didn’t appear to know him.
The ex-father exploded, “Fuck he doesn’t know me! His bitch of a mother who’s a certified nut has poisoned him against me.”
At this cue Wolfie spoke. In a small-boy earnest
Me says, disappointed, “Don’t you want me to drive you home?”
“Naw, ma’am, thanks, this is great.”
So that’s it. Wolfie doesn’t know whether to be relieved as hell, or let down. He guesses that Me was debating asking the guy to stop in for a drink, or God knows, it’s a sunny autumn day, in the 60’s, a picnic on the beach. A nude swim! But the tattoo freak climbs out of the van hauling his duffel bag & you can see he’s a youngish guy eager to escape & Me’s got no choice but to continue on driving just her & the kid, the kid-that’s-proof-she’s-no-kid-herself, & now Me’s subdued too, like a life-size balloon deflating, & chewing her lower lip,Wolfie’d like to tease her about “ma’am” but won’t, they’re bumping down the sandy rutted lane to the dead end, to the asphalt-sided bungalow we’d gotten in the habit of calling home.
Life is to be LIVED.
But not in the HEAD.
& above all not FEARED.
Life is to be LOVED
& remember: YOUR SON.
In a dark time remember
YOU MUST LIVE FOR HIM.
This note, printed in green ink in Me’s schoolgirl block letters, Wolfie was once shocked to discover taped to the inside of one of Me’s bureau drawers. He knew it was a message from Me in a state of radiant revelation to Me in a state of despair.
He knew it was the reverse of a suicide note.
He shut the door as if shutting it on a snake. Hid his eyes, & ran to hide. If he was the only reason Me stayed alive, was her life his fault?
T HERE WERE SECRETS Wolfie kept from Me.
He’d known from an early age he had to protect her.
True, Wolfie sometimes showed up bruised at school. (Or, bruised, didn’t go to school that morning.) But Me bruised herself, worse. For every hurt dealt to her son she loved, Me dealt herself a dozen.
“Baby, it won’t happen again. I swear!”
Always, Wolfie knew this statement to be true.
Another secret was how in Coldwater, Minnesota, in fifth grade he (Ralph L—) had been called out of class, & in the principal’s office there was a whiskery-cheeked man in a soiled camel’s hair coat who stooped & tried to grab him in his arms, & he backed away, & the man was his ex-father who’d tracked them down across three states as he said excitedly, & more loudly than the principal was accustomed to hearing. Mr. L—, the principal said, you led me to believe this was afamily emergency? Wolfie stood like a stone boy. Even his heartbeat stony. Thinking how Ralph was their name & it was not a name Me would utter. Ralph, Jr. & Ralph, Sr. If Wolfie was surprised & even interested seeing at last Ralph, Sr. who was his ex-father he gave no sign for Me’d coached him strenuously, the enemy can appear at any time, don’t allow the enemy to intimidate you & especially don’t allow the enemy to touch you.
This dialogue, like TV:
“Hey, little fellow, y’know me, eh? Your dad.”
(Not a glimmer of recognition. Wolfie’s mouth shut tight.)
“You know your dad, Ralphie, don’t you? C’mon!”
(Wolfie was backing up, though. Against the woman-principal’s knees.)
“He knows me, ma’am. Sure he does. Ralphie, you’re getting to be a big boy. How old?—ten? Oh Jesus.”
(Stony Wolfie like a graveyard angel. Unsmiling & staring.)
The principal was saying to the ex-father that she was afraid he’d have to leave. The child didn’t appear to know him.
The ex-father exploded, “Fuck he doesn’t know me! His bitch of a mother who’s a certified nut has poisoned him against me.”
At this cue Wolfie spoke. In a small-boy earnest
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