To Rise Again at a Decent Hour

To Rise Again at a Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris

Book: To Rise Again at a Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris Read Free Book Online
Authors: Joshua Ferris
Tags: Fiction, Literary, General
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spitting. I walked over to Connie.
    “You got a reply,” she said.
    She handed me the iPad.
    How well do you know yourself?
    “That’s it?” I said. “All those emails, and all he writes back is how well do I know myself? That’s totally unacceptable.”
    “There’s also…”
    “What?”
    “Your bio’s changed.”
    “Changed how?”
    They had taken the site down or offline or whatever, made changes to it, and then put it back up again. Everything was the same, with one exception. A new weird quote had been added to the old weird quote.
    And Safek gathered us anew, and we sojourned with him in the land of Israel. And we had no city to give us name; neither had we king to appoint us captains, to make of us instruments of war; neither had we laws to follow, save one. Behold, make thine heart hallowed by doubt; for God, if God, only God may know. And we followed Safek, and were not consumed.
    “More religion!” I cried. “Betsy! Who’s Safek?”
    “Who’s who?” she answered from the other side of the wall. You can always hear everything everyone is doing in a dental office because for reasons that even your most seasoned dentist can’t explain, the walls always terminate, as in cubicles and bathroom stalls, a foot below the ceiling.
    “Safek!” I said.
    What good was all her reading and highlighting if she couldn’t tell me who the characters were?
    “There’s no one by that name in the New Testament,” she cried out.
    “I’ve never heard of anyone named Safek,” said Connie. “But,” she said, “I do know the word.”
    “The word?”
    “
Safek
is a Hebrew word.”
    “What’s it mean?”
    “Doubt,” she said.
    “Doubt?”
    “It’s the Hebrew word for ‘doubt.’ ”
    “How well do I know myself?” I wrote to Seir Design.
    Go fuck yourself. That’s how well I know myself.
    My last patient of the day was a five-year-old complaining of a loose tooth. I had the parents pegged for the type that would send their child to see a brain specialist if they heard a playmate had pulled baby’s hair. I looked at Mom, late thirties, Volvo-and-breast-milk type, purees her own veggies, etc. I looked at Dad, trimly bearded in a tech button-down, knows all the microbrews. I wasn’t going to turn them away just because they overburden the medical system with their hair-trigger fears. If it weren’t for hair-trigger fears, my monthly billings would be cut in half. (On the other hand, if it weren’t for dental dread, I could double my salary.) If these fretters felt the need to bring their kid in because of a loose baby tooth, I’d happily humor them. Which is what I thought I was doing when I focused the overhead inside the girl’s mouth. But then I found seven cavities. Five years old and she had seven cavities. The loose tooth wasn’t falling out because it was time. It was straight up rotted out. I told them I had no choice but to pull it. Mom started crying, Dad looked ashamed. They were giving the kid a lollipop every night to help her go to sleep. “It was so hard to hear her cry,” said Mom. “It really worked to calm her down,” said Dad. They wouldn’t let the kid drink out of the tap, they wouldn’t feed her anything without an organic label on it, they wouldn’t even consider a sugar-free lollipop because anything sugar-free was full of artificial sweetener and that shit caused cancer, but they let her lie in bed ten hours a night rotting her mouth out so that she’d stop crying and fall asleep. People have all thisresentment against their parents for fucking them up, but they never realize, the minute they have a kid, that they cease being the child so fondly victimized in their hearts and start being the benighted perpetrators of unfathomable pain.
    This was what I had tried to impress upon Connie. She wanted kids, I didn’t. I thought I wanted them when we first started dating. Now
there
was something that could be everything, I thought: kids. From the moment they’re born,

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