were now even. As a matter of fact, she’d pulled significantly ahead in the race to see who could hurt or aggravate the other more.
Kyle and I had attended high-school together, but I’d always found him to be on this side of unbearable. The mean kids used to call him ‘Stinky’ because of his last name, although he did possess a mysterious scent that I could never quite pinpoint. And he never failed to pass off his fuzz swirls as a promising beard. My parents had always liked him because he’d wanted to become a Lutheran minister, and because he encouraged the rest of the school to listen to Christian rock.
I caught myself in the china cabinet glass – a woman ready to greet gold-miners arriving in the Yukon at the turn of the twentieth century. No wonder James abandoned me in the park. He could surely do better. A lingering image of him running on the beach with Maria Bello helped edge me a little closer to a night of heavy drinking.
Kyle was now bald except for side patches of wispy hair. His face was pink and swollen as if his main diet consisted of red meat and vodka. It was hard to accept that we were anywhere near thesame age, but he greeted me with the same embarrassing eagerness from years ago. We had nothing in common in high-school, and I was sure the divide had only widened all these years later.
We sat in the living room – drinks in hand – and my mother suggested we update each other on our current life situation, as she put it, and then maybe reminisce about past times. I was overwhelmed with the same sense of imprisonment that had enabled my escape in the first place, and I truly had to wonder if my mother was even remotely rational.
Kyle gave my mother and me a pin from the store he worked at,
Kendall’s new and used appliance and automotive parts Center
. The tiny gold lettering sat inside a huge outline of an oven. The pin was so large that it would be more accurate to call it a broach. My mother pinned the appliance broach to her blouse and looked at me as though I should do the same. I simply stopped making eye contact with her, and ignored her many attempts to get my attention with intermittent rounds of fake coughing.
Turns out Kyle sold new and used mid-sized appliances to our territory and three others, which meant he had to travel around by car a quarter of the month. I had a vision of the two of us reading Death of a Salesman back in Ms. Dodd’s class, and I was curious if he remembered too. He assured me that I could get a twenty percent discount on any new or pre-owned washer-dryer set or a whopping thirty percent off any line of used dishwasher in stock – the only catch, of course, being that I had to move back to Bumble Fuck county.
All three of them laughed and winked at that, as though they were in on some brilliant and monumental bribery. I wanted to scream that, short of the threat of death, I’d probably need a bigger incentive to move back; instead, I sat politely, trying to act like a lady and keep my legs crossed at the knee.
“You’re just as pretty as ever, Tracy.”
“Thanks, Kyle.”
There were no shivers when he said my name, although my mother involuntarily clapped her hands. I thought of James, and stared longingly at my father’s well-stocked liquor cabinet. I imagined what little helpers might be stored behind those two wooden doors. There had to be at least one more bottle of red wine, two more bottles of gin, cheap family-sized vodka, and at least a small quantity of port to wash down any variety of my mother’s casserole.
My parents were taking turns with Kyle, asking him questions about wage levels in the area and how that made ownership of a home possible, if at all. I started to feel like a low budget film director watching some poor actor audition for an impossible role.
As I listened to the fantastically interesting debate over whether Kenmore or Maytag was the superior brand, I found myself grateful that I had secured the bun in my hair so
Kyle and I had attended high-school together, but I’d always found him to be on this side of unbearable. The mean kids used to call him ‘Stinky’ because of his last name, although he did possess a mysterious scent that I could never quite pinpoint. And he never failed to pass off his fuzz swirls as a promising beard. My parents had always liked him because he’d wanted to become a Lutheran minister, and because he encouraged the rest of the school to listen to Christian rock.
I caught myself in the china cabinet glass – a woman ready to greet gold-miners arriving in the Yukon at the turn of the twentieth century. No wonder James abandoned me in the park. He could surely do better. A lingering image of him running on the beach with Maria Bello helped edge me a little closer to a night of heavy drinking.
Kyle was now bald except for side patches of wispy hair. His face was pink and swollen as if his main diet consisted of red meat and vodka. It was hard to accept that we were anywhere near thesame age, but he greeted me with the same embarrassing eagerness from years ago. We had nothing in common in high-school, and I was sure the divide had only widened all these years later.
We sat in the living room – drinks in hand – and my mother suggested we update each other on our current life situation, as she put it, and then maybe reminisce about past times. I was overwhelmed with the same sense of imprisonment that had enabled my escape in the first place, and I truly had to wonder if my mother was even remotely rational.
Kyle gave my mother and me a pin from the store he worked at,
Kendall’s new and used appliance and automotive parts Center
. The tiny gold lettering sat inside a huge outline of an oven. The pin was so large that it would be more accurate to call it a broach. My mother pinned the appliance broach to her blouse and looked at me as though I should do the same. I simply stopped making eye contact with her, and ignored her many attempts to get my attention with intermittent rounds of fake coughing.
Turns out Kyle sold new and used mid-sized appliances to our territory and three others, which meant he had to travel around by car a quarter of the month. I had a vision of the two of us reading Death of a Salesman back in Ms. Dodd’s class, and I was curious if he remembered too. He assured me that I could get a twenty percent discount on any new or pre-owned washer-dryer set or a whopping thirty percent off any line of used dishwasher in stock – the only catch, of course, being that I had to move back to Bumble Fuck county.
All three of them laughed and winked at that, as though they were in on some brilliant and monumental bribery. I wanted to scream that, short of the threat of death, I’d probably need a bigger incentive to move back; instead, I sat politely, trying to act like a lady and keep my legs crossed at the knee.
“You’re just as pretty as ever, Tracy.”
“Thanks, Kyle.”
There were no shivers when he said my name, although my mother involuntarily clapped her hands. I thought of James, and stared longingly at my father’s well-stocked liquor cabinet. I imagined what little helpers might be stored behind those two wooden doors. There had to be at least one more bottle of red wine, two more bottles of gin, cheap family-sized vodka, and at least a small quantity of port to wash down any variety of my mother’s casserole.
My parents were taking turns with Kyle, asking him questions about wage levels in the area and how that made ownership of a home possible, if at all. I started to feel like a low budget film director watching some poor actor audition for an impossible role.
As I listened to the fantastically interesting debate over whether Kenmore or Maytag was the superior brand, I found myself grateful that I had secured the bun in my hair so
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