Family Reunion

I woke up this morning to find my father in the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer for ice cubes while the tap ran in the sink. I was confused because my father had been dead for eighteen years.

"Dad?" I asked, cautiously making my way into the kitchen. Setting his hands on his hips he turned to stare at the counter next to the stove. He wore a white tank top smeared with oil and grass stains, small khaki shorts sitting high above the knee. His skin glistened between flecks of dirt and grass, and the thick dark hair on his arms and legs lay matted from the humidity outside. He continued to perspire, even as he stood in front of the freezer.

"Who did the lawn last?" he asked, taking off his glasses and pulling his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead. 

"Mom took over," I said. "After you died. And then when I turned eleven I started doing it."

"Oh," he said, sliding his glasses back onto his face and looking up, out past the window, beyond any sort of specificity.  "Because whoever did it last did a terrible job. I just did it. The right way."

"Well I moved out. So I think Mom does it now."

"Your mother," he said, smiling, shaking his head as he tilted down to look at his feet. He had yet to look at me.

"I think I'm still asleep," I said.

"Oh?" My father asked, leaning against the counter.

"Yes," I said, nodding. "I remember this kitchen. This awful crawling wallpaper. Blue vines. I live somewhere else now."

"I see. Well, I made you a baked potato," he said, making a gesture to an empty table.

"I'm not hungry," I said, moving to leave the kitchen. "I have to go anyway. I'm going to be late for work."

"But you have to make time to eat. You're a growing boy."

"I'm an adult, dad. I finished growing."

"I missed that, didn't I?"

"Yea. But you couldn't help it. It was an accident."

My father nodded, his eyes glistening but fixed. Without another word he turned back to the freezer, and I remembered how easy it was to find yourself alone; how difficult it was to live that way.

Lately, things have been . . .

"So, that's it then? I'm adopted?"
"Yes, Mark. But that's doesn't change
how your mother and I feel about
you."

"I eat crepes and play with tape.
I can't be that hard to get along with." 

Rule #1: If you're going to get stuck on an elevator,
keep good company.
Rule #2: Be sure and press all the buttons. 

"What are you wearing right now Janice?"
"A powder blue power suit."
"Oh, Janice. I think I'm going to have
to end this phone call."   

I don't know who Sarah is, but she's a lucky girl. 

I'm still not entirely sure how I haven't
been fired yet.

I'll write about what this all means later. I'm just too tired right now. 

Water Song.

Never one to be known for impersonations, Daryll realized that in order to convince Trisha from accounting to go out on a date with him, he would need to pretend to be somebody else. It could be anybody, really, so long as it wasn't himself, and it would only need be for a handful of hours. At least until she'd said yes to their date; at least until he had tricked her into bed with him.

He decided to use a commanding personality. Someone strong and domineering, with a staggering gait and a smile so thin it could just as easily be a scowl. He thought for thirteen minutes before deciding on The Searchers John Wayne.

Unfortunately for Daryll, Trisha hated westerns. She hated deserts and she hated sand, she hated Arizona and she hated New Mexico. The sight of large, red rocks in old films made her uneasy, and the idea of riding horses to chase Indians made her visibly upset. Once, she even went so far as to poison a small cactus someone kept in their cubicle.

Almost seemingly unrelated: Trisha was a talented ventriloquist.

When Daryll finally worked up the nerve to ask Trisha out, he did so in a studly, cowboyesque drawl. Panicking, wide-eyed, not knowing what to do, Trisha grabbed a cup of water on her desk and began drinking from it furiously. With her hand, she made a mouth. Fluttering it open and closed, never once moving her lips, she sang to him: "No, no, no, no, no, no, no."

 Yesterday at work I sat and listened to a carpet cleaner talk about his aunt's annual income. "12 million dollars a year," he said. "She lets me take out her fishing charter. I have a trust fund." I looked down at my black work shoes covered in scuff marks. The laces on the left are frayed and about to tear off. I thought about how even when I don't have money to buy food I can somehow still validate the purchase of a book.

Later, after the evening had taken a series of interesting turns, I wound up in the small apartment of a local musician who played me some songs he was working on. Everything in the apartment was visible from where I sat on the couch. His deck was littered with old VHS tapes: Man on the Moon and Fievel Goes West stuck out for some reason. The coffee table was littered with empty beer bottles, two full ashtrays and empty packs of American Spirits. There was a bag of expensive looking weed, two glass pipes and an earmarked copy of A Streetcar Named Desire. I played one of his guitars with a broken string and the music he played was the most moving I've heard in a long time. When I asked to use the bathroom I heard water running. "Is someone taking a shower?" I asked. "Oh, no," he said. "The shower just doesn't turn off. It always runs." 

While we talked he smoked a joint and I couldn't help but wonder if I looked out of place, still dressed in my work clothes, bright and ironed, sinking into his soft brown couch covered in laundry and recording equipment, drinking the beer he offered me. Whether or not I did, I never felt unwelcome. 

What a wonderful place, I thought. 

Afterward, I wound up at a pool hall where a drunk girl yelled at me, "Hey, do you like Asian girls?" I told her that I mostly just liked people in general. A man with no front teeth put his arm around her and said, "Wrong answer, Buck-O."

The bartender and I tried to find the most nonsexual ways to reference pool, but, no matter how you look at it, pool has only disgusting terminology.

Eventually we went to dinner at a restaurant where we met a rude vet. She started complaining about a bad date she had. As chance would have it, the guy who took her out was sitting at the table right behind us. My friend asked her what his name was and then loudly called him over.

I asked her if she would ever want to work on elephants and she said, "Ew. No. Dogs are the only animals I like." 

I think she is going to be a terrible veterinarian. 

My friend came late to the restaurant having been at a play earlier in the evening. We ran into an actress and a stage director from the show who took down my phone number and invited us out to karaoke. I never made it to that bar, but if I had, I would have sung "Fly Me To The Moon." They called again later and invited me to a party. When I turned to say goodbye to the group I was with, there was a polar bear running toward me. It was only a man in a suit, though.

The girls didn't know anybody at the party. It was 1920's themed. In my work clothes, I blended seamlessly in with the other guests. I met a girl who was eating a banana and when I asked her about it (bananas are an odd party food) she said it was the best cure for hiccups. I asked her if she brought the banana as an anticipatory act. "Do you always keep fruit on you for worst case scenarios?" She laughed and asked how I knew Sarah. "Who's Sarah?" I said. The girl gave me a look and said "It's her birthday?" I then met a girl with bright red hair and we traded French for Sign Language. She also asked me how I knew Sarah. "Who's Sarah?" I said, and she laughed because she thought I was kidding.

I got drunk. On the way home I remember the girls asking me questions I shouldn't have given them answers to. I don't think I ever met Sarah, but she throws a great party. 

This morning I went out for my usual Sunday breakfast at The Flying Biscuit. My waitress was a woman named Taroola. When she brought out my omelette she set down a bottle of Mexican hot sauce and said: "Would you like some Cholurah from Taroola?" and then she laughed. I loved it. 

The world is the strangest place I've ever been. I'm really beginning to enjoy myself.

First date

Her mouth pulled, pursed, into a conflicted slant. Sideways. She was biting into her bottom lip. A smile, a frown, I couldn't tell which. It said, You're very sweet. But I could never, ever love you. That, or she was a lesbian.

Ringing. Every sound I have ever heard, ever. Shuffle, slam, open, alarm, ding-, Hello? Backing out, a high mechanical squealing. Front door lock, sticks, click, crunch. The sliding glass door is stuck but you get the idea. I don’t like the bathroom, I don’t like the space, why is it so old, why is everything so wrong, why aren’t you listening, why is this like this? Sorry, please consider us. Ring, Hello? Can you help me? I need an apartment. Hello do you have any apartments? Hi. Ya’ll have a place to live? Hello? Yes, in the vents, there’s mold. There’s mold in the vent. Hi I need you to fix this, hello, I have a request, yes, yes, yes, can you fix this? I need you to fix this, you have to fix this. And then this morning at 6:30 you wanted and then again at nine and now, stop, don’t wake me up, stop, I need to sleep, I need you to stop. Why did you come here at all? Why did you come here? Why, and then to me, elsewhere: Where were you last night, hey you never showed up, Oh, yea, sorry something happened, and then, and, and, and hey, where did you go, hey come over we’re all going to smoke and, hey, do you play music, hey do you know that song, hey come here, hey, come lay in bed with me, hey thank you for the drink, hey

 Will you drive me to my car? 

Dear Subtlety,

Where are you?


Sincerely,


- Ian