as if we sit around waiting for opinions to fly in and out of our heads. We always thought this way, didn’t we Lyle?”
“Yeah,” said Lily. “You were born knowing—a real know-it-all.”
“We looked at the facts and assessed them. Or is that a concept that’s too advanced for people who work with chickens all day?”
“Notice that it’s the hens that are useful,” said Lily. “Do you know what happens to the cocks?”
“I know what happens to one of them,” said Jimmy, but Lily ignored him.
“At egg farms, anyway, the roosters are suffocated or ground up live because they’re not useful. Not a use for them in the world.”
The two went on in that fashion for a while, but Lyle was happy just to sit and soak up the atmosphere: the polished bar, the crazed mirror in which he could see his new aviator glasses pushed up on top of his head, the television screen showing a mild-mannered weapons inspector getting drowned out by the talk show host, the smell of old beer, Lily’s gravelly voice, and the row of regulars with drooping, bloodshot eyes. It was a new world for Lyle, who had gone straight from camping out at the Sterlings’ dinner table to being married to Maggie. He had never been in the thick of it before, and suddenly, here he was, going mano a mano with people in a bar. Maybe he wasn’t missing a leg after all, or maybe it was growing back.
“Just after our fifth anniversary, my ex decided, ” said Lily. “Does ‘decided’ work for you, Lieutenant Sweets?”
“Okay, okay,” said the bartender, butting in. “This isn’t the grammar society. What did he decide?”
“That it was a good thing to have an affair. It took the edge off, is what he thought—or at least that’s what he allowed himself to think. People don’t like to think they’re doing a bad thing—Bertie was no different from anyone else in that regard, and I guess we aren’t either.”
“Dang, Lily,” said Jimmy. “You didn’t hear a thing I said.”
“I heard you all right,” said Lily. “I guess people think what they think and come up with the reasons why after the fact.”
“That’s not what we do, is it Lyle? We’re critical thinkers. Rational man—notice how they don’t say woman, Lily? Notice how they don’t say chickens? We’re warriors in pursuit of truth.”
“We’re almost like troops ourselves,” said Lyle, flexing his muscle against the bandage just so he could feel the pain of the place where the filings went in. He was surprised to find his ideas were so fully developed and easy to express. Then he realized it wasn’t the ideas that were new, but the words, and definitely the attitude. He probably wouldn’t have said anything if Maggie had been there to finish his sentences for him—to drown him out, if he was to be honest about what she did. It was almost as if he was finally arguing with her, as if his words had developed in reaction to the words she would have said, words he could picture flying out of her mouth, slippery and persuasive, but which he didn’t agree with at all. He glared at Lily and said, “Did you ever consider that he had an affair because you were smothering him, Lily? And Jimmy’s right, we didn’t have to convince ourselves.”
“Gosh, Lyle, it’s just my opinion, that’s all. Can’t a girl have an opinion around here?”
Lyle felt kind of proud that Lily was fidgeting in her seat and looking at him as if he was a bully or something, as if he was some kind of untrained alpha dog.
When Lily left to go home, Lyle went after her, settling the aviator glasses on the bridge of his nose even though night had fallen and the dark lenses made it harder to see. He had nothing in mind but to prolong the sense of competence and belonging that had enveloped him in the bar and possibly to apologize for treating her roughly, but as he walked into the fragrant springtime air and followed Lily into a side street, the feeling turned into something new and
“Yeah,” said Lily. “You were born knowing—a real know-it-all.”
“We looked at the facts and assessed them. Or is that a concept that’s too advanced for people who work with chickens all day?”
“Notice that it’s the hens that are useful,” said Lily. “Do you know what happens to the cocks?”
“I know what happens to one of them,” said Jimmy, but Lily ignored him.
“At egg farms, anyway, the roosters are suffocated or ground up live because they’re not useful. Not a use for them in the world.”
The two went on in that fashion for a while, but Lyle was happy just to sit and soak up the atmosphere: the polished bar, the crazed mirror in which he could see his new aviator glasses pushed up on top of his head, the television screen showing a mild-mannered weapons inspector getting drowned out by the talk show host, the smell of old beer, Lily’s gravelly voice, and the row of regulars with drooping, bloodshot eyes. It was a new world for Lyle, who had gone straight from camping out at the Sterlings’ dinner table to being married to Maggie. He had never been in the thick of it before, and suddenly, here he was, going mano a mano with people in a bar. Maybe he wasn’t missing a leg after all, or maybe it was growing back.
“Just after our fifth anniversary, my ex decided, ” said Lily. “Does ‘decided’ work for you, Lieutenant Sweets?”
“Okay, okay,” said the bartender, butting in. “This isn’t the grammar society. What did he decide?”
“That it was a good thing to have an affair. It took the edge off, is what he thought—or at least that’s what he allowed himself to think. People don’t like to think they’re doing a bad thing—Bertie was no different from anyone else in that regard, and I guess we aren’t either.”
“Dang, Lily,” said Jimmy. “You didn’t hear a thing I said.”
“I heard you all right,” said Lily. “I guess people think what they think and come up with the reasons why after the fact.”
“That’s not what we do, is it Lyle? We’re critical thinkers. Rational man—notice how they don’t say woman, Lily? Notice how they don’t say chickens? We’re warriors in pursuit of truth.”
“We’re almost like troops ourselves,” said Lyle, flexing his muscle against the bandage just so he could feel the pain of the place where the filings went in. He was surprised to find his ideas were so fully developed and easy to express. Then he realized it wasn’t the ideas that were new, but the words, and definitely the attitude. He probably wouldn’t have said anything if Maggie had been there to finish his sentences for him—to drown him out, if he was to be honest about what she did. It was almost as if he was finally arguing with her, as if his words had developed in reaction to the words she would have said, words he could picture flying out of her mouth, slippery and persuasive, but which he didn’t agree with at all. He glared at Lily and said, “Did you ever consider that he had an affair because you were smothering him, Lily? And Jimmy’s right, we didn’t have to convince ourselves.”
“Gosh, Lyle, it’s just my opinion, that’s all. Can’t a girl have an opinion around here?”
Lyle felt kind of proud that Lily was fidgeting in her seat and looking at him as if he was a bully or something, as if he was some kind of untrained alpha dog.
When Lily left to go home, Lyle went after her, settling the aviator glasses on the bridge of his nose even though night had fallen and the dark lenses made it harder to see. He had nothing in mind but to prolong the sense of competence and belonging that had enveloped him in the bar and possibly to apologize for treating her roughly, but as he walked into the fragrant springtime air and followed Lily into a side street, the feeling turned into something new and
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