Audio: George Saunders reads.
Today is to be Parts of the Parts of my
Sure, Jer Please do Point at parts of me while saying the name of it off our list of Words Worth Knowing.
Agespot
Finger
Wrist
At wrist Jer says, This one’s been broken, seems like.
Then pokes.
Ouch? he says.
Yes, I say.
Groin
Waist
You were no spring chicken, says Jerry.
I do not understand what you just said, please explain, I say.
You were not young, Jerry says. Your body is not the body of a young person.
Oh, that’s cool, I say. That’s cool, Jer.
Jer shakes his head his certain way Meaning: 89, you crack my ass up.
Long ago, perhaps one week, we had Explain Time, due to figure of speech crack my ass up All asses are precracked, turns out, even mine, which Jer helped me learn by taking of phonephoto.
Arm
Leg
Navel
Scar, on Stomach
Penis
All morning we continue learning and learning until no part of me remain.
And at night all night as every night a tape playing in here helps improve me our Syntax.
Have we done bellow? Jer says.
Makes loud startling sound.
Now you, Jer says.
I bellow.
So, what we are going to be bellowing at? Jer says. Whoever is standing across from us.
Whoever is standing across from us, I say.
Feel free to bellow words or phrases, he says.
HELLO! I bellow.
You are always so good at everything, 89, he says.
Then pours into me, so generous, by saying them, some words I may wish to bellow:
Bastard
Turd
Creep
Idiot
May we do Defining? I say.
Uh, sure, Jer says.
Turns out, all mean same:
Bastard = individual standing across from us.
Turd = individual standing across from us.
Creep = individual standing across from us.
Idiot = individual standing across from us.
89, I have always so far called you 89, Jer says. But tomorrow you are to become Greg. How’s that?
I am Greg? I say.
Will be, Jer says. Tomorrow. Tomorrow is, guess what? Job One Day.
Exciting! Have been waiting long for Job One Day Job One turns out per Jer is: high and noble as all getout Per Jer: I will stand for freedom For poor and sick Will defend weak From oppressors.
More Defining, with help of HandiPics:
Freedom = cartoon bird flies above land, smile on beak.
Poor = sad child, pockets sticking out of pants.
Sick = thin guy in bed, “X”s for eyes.
Weak = guy in desert, trying to reach water glass, failing.
Oppressor = tall guy with monster face sticks stick into body of weak as, in four HandiPics in row, weak gets more weak with each poke.
Why do oppressors wish to poke weak? I say.
They’re bad, says Jer. Have to be stopped.
From doing that, I say.
Correcto, says Jer. And you’re a big part of the solution.
What the what! as Jer might say.
Never have I felt being me to be so worth it so far.
Job One Day!
Bus, Jer says. Cohort.
Cohort = many new pals on bus All, like me, in greens.
Rumbling and we move.
Talk among yourselves, Jer says.
We do We do so Each of us say our names I say mine of Greg That one is Larry That one is Vince So is that one And that one And that one This one is Greg like me As is that one That one, Greg also So is that one Greg, near the front Here is Conor Seven Conors in all Eight Williams All happy Except Jer.
Jer, on phone: Hey, nice naming, Roberta. And that was your one damn job.
Cranky, I say. Crankypants.
Guess what, 89, Jer says soft ly You talk better than any of these other galoots.
VIDEO FROM THE NEW YORKER
Searching for the Bones by the Southern Border
True: my cohort speaks rather baby, somewhat low ly.
Because of you, Jer, I say.
Rumbling ends.
Ready, pal? Jer says. To bellow?
Hope so, I say.
Jer and other equal Supervisors lead us To: trees But something wrong: Our tree, in our HandiPic, has squirrel No squirrel at all near these trees! They better fix our HandiPic!
Supervisors say, Take off greens Fold and leave here Then give us new of various colors I look at ourselves naked with a rather shyness Having only previous seen own penis, groin, gut in own Room Valiant mirror We dress quick ly Follow Jer and Supervisors down hill Small white flowers bob as we Say, I have not walked this far in
Well, ever!
There they are, Jer says.
And yes there they So many Bastards, Turds, Creeps, Idiots standing across from us Between them and us: long low area I would term: river Filled not with water though but Police looking nervous.
I feel shy being first to bellow but love Jer so much I just bellow.
Others join Gregs, Conors, Williams, Vinces All join Bellowing until our throat actually hurts.
BastardTurdCreepIdiot! one Conor bellows.
What a creative way to He just runs them all togeth
Do we ever stand for sick and poor, defend weak from oppressors! By bellowing at those BastardTurdCreepIdiot! Across that approximate Police river! O small white flowers underfoot O in each five tree tops, birds Sometimes a small branch will drop As if sung down By bird.
Well done, Jer says on bus. Really good job, everybody.
Greens brought back and we re-dress.
Get ready, Jer says.
Then it is Root Beer Which I have never None of us has Suddenly in love with Root Beer and would like another Can we? We may.
All the way home, warm happy Root Beer blur.
Jer looks over gives wink of: 89, you did good.
Which sure of course will well one’s heart.
Room Valiant has intercom problem A crackle will come All in Room Valiant may then clearly hear who are out there talking, while they, out there talking, do not know it.
Once, for example, long ago, last week, Kennedy B., talking on phone to boyfriend Kevin:
I shop, I cook, said Kennedy B. Plus I have a job I actually have to, like, go to?
Meg, there with me and Jer in Room Valiant, gave Jer look of: Ha, we are hearing Kennedy B. on phone and she does not know it. Then put finger to lips, meaning: If quiet, will hear more.
That is not work, Kevin, Kennedy B. said. I do not consider letting Jeeves in and out actual work. When someone starts sending you a check for that, or for scooping its poop, that is a job. In my view.
We should probably get that thing fixed, Meg said.
Oh, gosh, said Kennedy B. Is that on? Did you guys hear me just now?
No, Jer said.
I’m not talking to you, babe, Kennedy B. said. I’m talking to Jerry and Meg.
Today, me alone in Room Valiant, here comes same crackle:
Here’s what I don’t get, Meg says. Why does he need agespot? Why precracked? Right? Big waste. He just needs to know enough so we can move his old ass around. Are we making butlers up in here? Substitute hubbies for widows? Are we back to that?
I wish, Kennedy B. says sad ly.
Honestly? says Jer. It floats my boat. This shit gets pretty boring.
Butlers? Hubbies? Widows? Floats? Boat? Shit?
I did not understand what you just said, please explain, I say.
Beautiful, he heard all that, says Jer.
Yes, I say.
Go to sleep, 89, Meg says. Big day tomorrow.
Job Two tomorrow, Jer says. You’ve been approved for Job Two.
Because of how good you did on Job One, says Meg. Isn’t that great?
You’re really going places, 89, says Kennedy B.
Job Two:
Again bus.
Arrive at whole new Site.
Some ladies step out from separate bus For them to change behind: scrim Which our Supervisors term: unfortunate scrim While doing mad winking Ladies go in green and come out in clothes of various One cannot get shoe on and smiling at self shakes head, tosses shoe Takes off other shoe, tosses As if to say, Oh heck, who needs shoes to bellow?
We men enter unfortunate scrim Which still smells somewhat lady ish Here are the ladies’ green clothes heaps All freeze, our eyes go a little blank Break it up, says Jer, alarm ed.
Dream on, says Supervisor Marty.
Like that’s happening, says Jer.
And thrusts into our arms clothes bundles anew.
Today I am: white sweater blue pants floppy tan hat.
Through bouncing walking heads of our cohort: playground Like its HandiPic Except not Another wrong HandiPic! This playground has no children chasing butterfly! Only Police Standing unhappy One sitting in swing His Police friend gives him a stickpoke Which hops him to his feet While his swing just swings He who hopped looks at me direct I try a wink.
No go.
That Police must not feel like winking.
Beyond Police: big crowd of BastardTurdCreepIdiots.
We bellow What loudness for good we make! Then something occurs One BastardTurdCreepIdiot suddenly is over here On our side Among us! Bellowing! At us! So close I can see his sore on lip The quietest Greg gives him a slap He slaps quiet Greg right back Our largest Vince moves a fist to face of BastardTurdCreepIdiot BastardTurdCreepIdiot goes down No longer bellowing Just covering face Ducking down meek Several Williams, a slim Conor, three Vinces gather rough around him Their feet and legs start going.
Say that must that must really
I withdraw Breathing hard Here is a small bathroom house That really smells like it I sit inside against one of its wall Heart leaping in bad manner Is brief rest fine during Job?
Hope so.
Here comes Jer.
What the hell are you doing in here, 89? he says. Jesus, come on.
Greg, I say.
Greg, right, sure, whoever, says Jer.
Dragged, by Jer, past water fountain Which runs on and Though no one drinking from Past three baby trees, wired to ground Pushed by dear Jer back over with my
Hoo boy.
My Conors Gregs Vinces my
Good old Jer.
Kudos, Jer.
No Root Beer for me thanks on way home.
Because of crying.
I know crying I just have never done it.
I cry and cry.
Jer, softly, close to me: What are you doing, 89, why are you crying?
Me: I don’t know, sorry, sorry.
Jer: Stop. You need to stop. Do you see anyone else on this bus crying?
No, I say.
Kicking Conor and the kicking Williams and kicking-punching Vinces are just happily drinking Root Beer.
Take this, Jer says.
Gives me a small white bit of
Jer you always have my back Jer Thank you Jer You do not want my cohort to see me crying And I do not want my cohort to see me crying too.
Eat, he says. Eat it, dummy. You can’t just hold it. It’s a pill. Eat it.
Mere secs later don’t feel sad At all Though face still wet, I feel pretty pretty darn good And sleepy Pretty darn good pretty darn sleepy.
If slumping down and with left eye look out window:
Nighttime farms fly by.
Why must all nighttime farm windows be orange? is a sweet mystery to think upon as down to sleep you
Must be night as heat is on.
Feel like taking sweaty greens off.
Do so.
Start again crying Why crying again? That kicking that kicking that punching That darn
Beatdown.
That word springs into my
Just like snap.
And just like snap I know beatdown is: kickingkickingpunching in alley.
What the what! As Jer might say From where did that?
And just like snap I know alley is: wet black floor outside, with music coming from back of:
Tom’s Dizzy Oasis.
Music Ha! Tom’s Dizzy Oasis Ha ha!
To who did beatdown happen? To whom? To whom did alley beatdown to music behind Tom’s Dizzy Oasis happen to?
Me, I say. Greg.
No, I say.
89? I say.
No, I say.
Silence Room Valiant does its usual Hum clack-clock Then a sound like something medium just dropped off table Although nothing did.
Elliott Spencer, I say.
Hum clack-clock Hum clack-clock.
Elliott Spencer Elliott Spencer, I say.
Jer comes in Bearing breakfast.
89, Christ, put some clothes on, he says.
Elliott Spencer, I say.
Jer drops breakfast.
In come Meg and Kennedy B.
You’re not in trouble, 89, says Meg.
Hope not, I say.
Smells like O.J. in here, says Kennedy B.
But who is Elliott Spencer? says Meg.
Me, I say. Was. Was me.
Was when? says Kennedy B. Was you when?
Before, I say.
Jer: Eyes go wide Taps knuckle on table once two three.
Before when? says Kennedy B.
Before I came here, I say. In van.
Egads, says Meg.
And you were there, I say to Jer.
Look on Jer’s face says: If still holding breakfast, would drop it again.
Per Meg we hasty redo my Scrape Test.
In which Jer runs by me some words Do I know them or in the slightest recall:
Schenectady NO
Coleman Street Bridge NO
Reverend Barry Knox NO
There you go, Jer says. Clean.
I don’t know, says Meg. Freaks me out. The name? The van? Freaks me out.
We need forty, Jer says. Do we have forty?
We have thirty, says Meg. Counting 58 and 31.
Don’t count 58 and 31, says Kennedy B.
58 can’t take the simplest directive, says Meg.
And God forbid someone asks 31 a frigging question, says Kennedy B.
Meg: Maybe let’s don’t do this in front of—
By which she means me.
89’s cool, Jer says. Right, 89?
Hope so, I say.
And I do hope so I am cool for sake of Jer Good old Jer! Kudos, Jer Who leaves behind own family every morning deep in Burbury Estates Sandi, Ryan, Little Jerry, baby Flint Who each night they await your return As each morning I await your return Jer who in early times my brain so blankslate all I could say was blegblegbleg taught me word upon word in his good firm impatient voice in Room Valiant with his sometimes macaroni breath.
Pal means friend.
Who is my one and only pal and friend in world so far?
Jer, Jer alone.
Today is: Job Three Per Jer: Real biggie.
Real biggie = more big than anything yet in terms of our standing for poor and sick, defending weak from oppressors.
Job Three Site is in wild grass field Where per Jer, Indians once started up there, on hill, then swept whooping down, past here.
Up there, now (from where, long ago, Indians started down): ChickenFuego.
I could go for some of that, says Supervisor Marty.
More BastardTurdCreepIdiots than ever before Jer nervous Marty nervous All Supervisors nervous Police nervous.
Hey, check this out, says Marty. Is that a frigging arrowhead?
Bends to get.
Ugh, stupid regular rock, says Mart.
Throws at phonepole.
Uh-oh, says Jer.
Suddenly two BastardTurdCreepIdiots Arms joined as one Come flying through Police Into us Are among us.
Punch goes the Vince with the long hair Kick goes him and two Conors A Vince with short hair gives a kick Soon a crowd is around those down-punched down-kicked two Here comes three additional to rescue their More Gregs and Vince and Conors rush over Soon their rescue men need rescue One rescue man is a true fighter Too bad for him To stop his fighting takes So many punches and kicks that Soon no way is he getting up Or fighting Or moving At all.
Some ChickenFuego folks on break look down upon us, hands on heads, as if they find our fighting amazing.
What a clusterfuck, Jer says.
Eek, shit, cameras, says Marty.
Coming down former Indian hill: Line of men and ladies with, I guess, cameras? Their cameras different from camera in our HandiPic Which is to be held in one hand By smiling grandma pointing it at moose in canyon.
Why is it all them over here, and us beating them up? says Jer. Why can’t we get a few of us over there, and them beating us up?
Good question, says Marty.
All across the world, country, whatever, who right now looks like the bad guy? says Jer.
We do, says Marty.
Longhair Vince wanders out from the fighting.
Jer: Vince, hey, buddy. Up for a challenge? Fun challenge?
Vince drops into weary sit Looking down at one red hand Like one red glove.
Poor Jer My pal Woke happy today But no Job Three, real biggie is clusterfuck My sad pal Does so much for all with his so many worries at home such as: Sandi about to leave his sorry ass for Terence, New Age douche at her work unless Jer gets some shorter work hours going pronto.
I place myself so Jer’s eyes may find me.
89! Jer says. Greg!
Jer comes close, voice goes soft.
I need you to do me a solid, 89, Jerry says. Will you? For the Job? For me? For Meg, for Kennedy B.?
For you, I say.
Over I go Between two Police
Where’s that old fart think he’s going? shouts one.
Over there! I say.
Then am among BastardTurdCreepIdiots Bellowing Bastard, Turd, Creep, bellowing Idiot.
Heads turn Eyes go: Why so rude?
Then come fists Once I am good and down: kicks Ouch Ouch Everything going as planned Jer, please see please see my beatdown Then this beatdown starts reminding of from long-ago times other beatdowns
Such as:
Elliott Spencer, under bridge Just like snap his money he got from returning shit tons of empties Is gone Who took? Grady! Grady brought wine After wine, Grady held rock Gave wink Then: wham Damn you, Grady You took my damn
Asleep after, pebble under hip O aching head O so blotto, sleep through whole thunderstorm Everyone against me Always All my life Not fair Not my fault Tomorrow better borrow some bucks from Sal if I can trick that dumb bitch Morning and O aching head Wake up wet from rain The place to poop is near the old fridge Oh, please, wine.
The kicks and punches keep ouch ouch Coming
In memory: from Skanky Trey and his fuckbuddy, Len From Rhett, boyfriend of Sylvia From three rich kids and their shortskirt gals One of who pours a drink down on me: (Here drunk, she says drunken ly. Have a drink, drunk.
Laughlaughlaughs from the other shortskirts.)
The kicks and punches also keep ouch ouch coming In real life: from tightening chanting crowd of BastardTurdCreepIdiots.
Ouch ouch ouch.
Through my fingers catch redglimpse of Jer Pushing guy with camera near, so camera will see and show What needs to be seen and I guess shown?
Then comes so much real-life beatdown I put head down with eyes closed and hands over ears so as not to hear the thump, crack, ouch of it all.
You are the man, says Jer.
Hope so, I say.
Then open my one eye that still can.
Am not in Room Valiant At all Cat hops uptop fancy book pile.
As you seem to be noting, 89, Meg says, this is not Room Valiant.
That cat? says Kennedy B. Your cat.
Those pictures, on that bookshelf? says Meg. You, when young.
Meant to be you when young, says Kennedy B.
This is a rental, we rented it, says Jer.
And created those pictures using FaceBlend, says Meg.
I love this one, says Kennedy B. You look so happy to be hunting.
With your son, says Meg.
Greg, Jr., says Jer.
It’s like a game, Meg says. We’re playing that, all along, all your life, this has been your home. Greg’s home. Cool, right?
89, have we done wino? says Jer.
Jer shows HandiPic for wino: Guy in smushed tophat, “X” for eyes, red cheeks, lying on side under lamp pole, fancy man in not-smushed tophat steps over him, holding own nose.
So, I’m just going to say it? Jer says. That was you. Most of your life. Spent a lot of time shitfaced down by the river. No kids, no wife, hadn’t worked in fifteen years. In and out of jail. Big wino. Disgusting drunk.
And who wants to be that guy? says Meg. You know? I mean, good riddance.
To bad riddance, says Kennedy B.
What a victory, though, right, when you think of it? says Jer. Old worthless wino who, in his life, did a lot of regrettable things, was a burden to all? Now, late in the game, gets a chance to start doing some pretty wonderful things?
Even on a national basis? says Kennedy B.
Do you have any idea how many people all over the country watched you get your butt beat the other day? says Meg.
Two million, says Kennedy B. As of noon.
Two million folks, looking afresh at our cause, says Meg. What a blessing. For the movement.
For which we work, says Kennedy B.
By whom we are contracted, says Jer.
In which we very much believe, says Meg.
Anyhoo, says Kennedy B.
Onward to Job Four, says Meg.
My eye goes wide.
Oh, poor sweetie, no, Kennedy B. says. No more fighting. You’re done with all that.
Job Four is going to be you lying right here, says Meg. As you are.
Sitting up, if possible, says Kennedy B.
Talking to a nice lady curious about you and your life, Meg says.
Your life as Greg, says Jer.
You are Greg, will continue to be Greg, a simple nice old guy who, having retired from a life of teaching math at a local community college, grew sad watching your country go in all the wrong directions and, as a sort of late-life hobby or attempt to pay back all that was given to you by this wonderful nation, became active in politics and, accordingly, felt and still do feel compelled to join these protests in order to let your feelings be known, says Kennedy B.
We may want to go a little simpler with that, says Jer.
And if I touch my hat, act sick, says Meg. Excuse yourself, get up, go to the bathroom.
Does he even know where the bathroom is? says Kennedy B.
I’ll be wearing a hat, Meg says to me. Then. At that time.
Plus can he walk? says Kennedy B.
KTOD’s here in ten, says Jer. So.
Soon our Prep is set I even have bathrobe.
The door knocks.
He’s so tired, Meg says to a lady coming in with second lady with camera.
We may need to keep this brief, says Jer.
He took a crazy bad beating, Meg says.
As you saw, says Kennedy B.
As all of us saw, Jer says.
As the whole world saw, Meg says. Nice old guy trying to voice his views, gets his free speech denied?
What have we come to? says Kennedy B.
Just wrong, says Meg.
Lady: And you folks are?
Niece, says Meg.
Niece also, says Kennedy B.
Nephew, says Jer.
Lights in my face.
Blink, blink.
Lady gives me look of love And her voice changes to smooth and sympathy.
Tell me, Greg, she says. Why, at your age, would you feel compelled to join the protests? When you could be sitting comfortably here in this lovely home, enjoying your retirement, or gardening, if you enjoy gardening, as so many old folks seem to? Not to appear ageist? Or playing cards or watching old movies on TV?
I care about this country, I say.
(As Prepped.)
Jer and Meg and Kennedy B. look at me like: Yes, yes, how well said, by our uncle.
I believe I should be able to state my views, though old, I say.
So true, says Kennedy B.
So modestly put, says Meg.
Remember that time he anonymously paid my college tuition? says Kennedy B.
That time he donated his Buick to the Park District? says Meg. Anonymously?
On a more serious note, to somewhat shift gears, the lady says. There are rumors afloat, of a secret cadre of folks who are, one might say, mind-washed, or sort of like zombies who just show up? Individuals blanked-out mentally, then reprogrammed—human robots, so to speak—who arrive en masse, even in buses, for propaganda purposes, sans minds of their own?
Silence.
I did not understand what you just said, please explain, I say.
He gets confused so easily, Meg says. These days. At his age.
When he was younger? Jer says. Never confused. Sharp as a tack.
Just one sharp uncle, says Kennedy B.
Of ours, says Meg.
And that darn beating probably didn’t help much, says Kennedy B.
Have you, Greg, to the best of your recollection, received any training or programming of this kind? the lady says. Can you name, for example, the place of your birth?
Meg touches her hat.
Special high-school memories? the lady says. A show you enjoyed as a child? Who are you, Greg? In what do you, yourself, believe?
Freedom, I say. For poor and sick. And defend weak from oppressors.
Ha, oh boy, the lady says. That is rich. Defend the weak? Allentown, Pennsylvania, Greg: ring a bell? Certain brutal events that occurred there to some union-organizer folks in a mini-mall? Galena, Illinois, what transpired there, tragically, last July, to a group of unarmed middle-school teachers?
Meg touches her hat, clears throat.
What is your last name, Greg? the lady says. Do you even know it? The approximate year of the moon landing? The name of the football team from Cleveland? How is it that this house was rented only three days ago? Why, when you fellows chant, do you always chant the same four words?
Meg clears throat, widens eyes, touches hat.
Bastard, turd, creep, idiot, the lady says.
I hop up, excuse self, go to bathroom.
You call yourself a journalist? Kennedy B. says.
You call yourself a person? the lady says.
I wait in bathroom until ladies, camera, leave.
Cat in tub Curled up happy Why O why cannot I be more like it? Not confused Just curled up My tub making my purr be louder.
Jer comes in closes door leans against.
O.K., that was unfortunate, Jer says. That lady? Janet Ardmore, KTODNewsTeamTwo? Stinker. Real crankypants. Kind of biased. Strange view of the world. Bit of a liar. Funny how badness will just say whatever, you know? But, I admit, we’re in a bind. And, no offense: you are one shit interview, pal.
I do not understand what you just said, please explain, I say.
Door flies open Meg and Kennedy B. squeeze in Jer steps into tub with slight look of yikes.
Cat races out.
Jer, KZIP’s calling and calling, says Meg. WDUC’s parked right up the frigging street. In that yellow van. With the beak on it.
I do not understand what you just said, please explain, I say.
You know what, 89? says Meg. You’re going to stop saying that. You’re driving me freaking nuts with that.
Meg’s stressed, says Jer.
We’re all stressed, says Kennedy B.
Contrary to popular belief, I am not some bitch made of stone, says Meg.
I never said you were a bitch made of stone, says Kennedy B. I said you could sometimes be a very company lady.
Glimm’s on his way over, says Meg. With the portable. Right? Totally works: we Rescrape. Per the qapp. Which we should’ve done long ago. It’s brain damage. We say. To whoever. From the beating. See? Win-win. Afterward, 89’s subdued and blank. Can’t speak. At all. Who did it? Them. They did. Beat a nice old guy so bad they blanked him right out. And they call themselves moral? Like that.
What a shame, says Jer. Total waste of a year.
He has to consent, Kennedy B. says soft ly handing Meg a page by hand.
Are you sad, pal, are you scared, do you know what’s about to happen? says Jer.
The time for delicate feelings is I don’t know when, says Meg. But not now.
Miles and miles up shit creek here, says Kennedy B.
And just like snap at her word of creek I know creek: is that is that which at edge of which we would build ramp of snow snowramp If jump no good? Boy and sled fell in creek Boy must run home, pants of ice, dragging sled Pants getting more ice with each cold step through quiet blue winter town toward home sweet
Ma, I think.
Then see her so clear: Flour in hair Mouth going O at sight of icepants Which I am to leave by door on Hefty bag, spread out Here is Vixen Our dog! Sniffing my icepants which I am no longer which lie now on Hefty bag In shape of boy doing dance: one leg bent.
Jer leans against sink Makes desk of own back Meg puts page on Jer’s backdesk hands me pen.
So 89, this is just going to be your CF-201B, Meg says. Addendum to your CF-201A. Which you already signed. Happily. Gladly. Earlier.
When you first joined us, says Kennedy B.
Joined our team, says Meg.
It doesn’t hurt, 89, says Kennedy B. Remember? It’s just with magnets and whatnot?
How would he remember that, doofus? says Meg.
He seems to actually remember kind of a lot, says Kennedy B.
If I ever lied to you, 89, which I didn’t? Jer says. Or deceived you? Or withheld or misrepresented certain information? It was for your own good. To make your life better.
Jer, why are you even going there right now? says Meg.
Sometimes, to do good, there are steps along the way at which goodness must be temporarily set aside or lost sight of, says Jer.
Hooray, says Meg. Good meeting.
Make your “X,” 89, says Jer.
Maybe now we can get out of this stupid tiny bathroom at least, says Kennedy B.
I love that idea so much, says Meg.
Carol, I say.
What’s that, 89? says Jer.
Carol Spencer, I say. Carol K. Spencer.
Ah, shit, says Meg. Perfect.
Carol K. Spencer, 439 Becker Street, Schenectady, New York, I say. 12304.
Then place pen in sink Polite ly.
Per Meg Jer takes me into yard For frank urgent pep talk pronto.
This, right now, 89? says Jer. Dusk. That there? Aspen. Over there? Storage shed. Gate. Sunflowers. This thing blowing? Breeze. Check that out. Up there. Did you even know that was a thing?
Sun and moon in sky at once.
You seem agitated, pal, says Jer. Standoffish. Not your usual peppy self.
I blink.
Would like to visit, I say.
Visit what? Jer says.
Ma, I say.
Ha, wow, interesting, Jer says. Bargaining. Pretty advanced. Is that your, uh, demand, 89? Like, pre-signing demand? We take you to see your mother, you sign?
Yes? I say.
I’m going to level with you, 89, Jer says. Have we done level with you? Figure of speech?
Tell the truth, I say.
Remember when we had all those moths back at Room Valiant? Jer says. And sprayed? And they were like lying all over everything? Not moving? And we swept them up and bagged them up and all of that? Those moths? Were dead. Had died. Perfectly normal. Remember Gladys? Who used to clean Room Valiant? Remember when Gladys started no longer coming in? A person reaches a certain age.
No spring chicken, I say.
Exactly, Jer says. Happens to everybody. Even you. Even me. Our mothers, even. I mean, think about it, 89, how old are you? Seventy-five, eighty? Your mother would, of course, be older.
Low over yard comes V of birds.
Geese, says Jer. That sound? Honk.
The honks go deeper, lower as geese fly farther further One geese falls behind Flies funnily faster until back home again in his or her V.
My mother is death? I say.
Ha, no, your mother is not death, 89, Jer says. She is dead. Has died. Is how we might say that one. Sorry. Sorry for your loss. Must be painful. To forget your mother existed, then remember she existed, then right away find out she’s all of a sudden dead? Ouch. I thought I had it bad, when I knew all along my mom existed and then she died. But, sadly, this is the type of painful thing that occurs when a person gets a subpar Scrape.
Level with me, I say.
Just did, says Jer.
Again, I say.
We’re crazy tight on time, 89, Jer says.
How did I get here? I say.
Back door swings open Shape of light runs out Lightshape To Jer Jer’s shoes Which light up With light.
Glimm’s here, says Kennedy B. He needs help. With the portable. My back is shit and Meg’s back is shit. So.
Kennedy B. goes back in, closes door.
Lightshape follows.
Yard dark.
Speaking again, or still, of death, 89? Jer says. Look how weird and slow you walk. How short of breath. Are you entirely well, totally young? We, as a company, paid for a routine physical. Charitably. For all you folks living under that bridge. For lots of folks, living under a number of bridges, across a number of states. Results, for you? Not great. So you said, intelligently, to yourself, Hey, do I want to sicken and die under this bridge over the next ten to eighteen months, in the company of those same drugging/drinking creeps who have bullied and treated me like shit most of my adult life, or go live somewhere safe, out West, with killer meals and free meds and a team of young colleagues who’ll watch over me and maybe even put some purpose back into my life?
Blink.
Here’s what the qapp says, Jer says. In the event of a subpar Scrape, should Associate refuse recommended Rescrape, Associate is to be removed from Program immediately and restored to his or her Locale of Origin, which, for you, brother, means: we ship you back East and plop you under that same old bridge, among the fighting and the smoke and the filth. Which is something I don’t cherish doing to someone I’ve come to respect and, to be frank, even love.
Blink.
Sorry to be so blunt, 89, says Jer. But that’s what friends are for.
The night is now a big night in its sky: low, blue, black stars all in a smear.
Sun gone moon winning.
Moon has won.
From inside house, someone Glimm maybe coughs.
Cat in window looks out tail swishing head tilted as if to say, Why not have me for your cat, 89?
Sad sad though:
If blankslate that sledding boy those blue-white days that flour-haired Ma?
Gone.
And no one left to remember them ever again.
No one left to remember Ma bringing my blue robe wrapping me up.
My sweet little man she says Imagine the lovely things you will someday achieve in this magnificent world How proud you will make me, your mother.
O Ma O sorry Ma did not achieve any lovely in this magnificent
Back door swings open.
Lightshape runs out.
Meg steps around Kennedy B. comes off porch crosses yard walking odd ly high heels on wet grass kisses me on cheek puts flower in my pocket.
Rose, Kennedy B. says from porch. Means she loves you.
Well, I actually sort of do, says Meg.
Come on, 89, sweetie, let’s go inside, says Kennedy B. Next thing you know, you wake up fresh, whole new start.
No more looking backward, 89, says Jer. Only forward. From now on.
With us, says Kennedy B. Your friends.
Until the end, says Jer.
Doesn’t that sound nice, 89? says Meg.
Yes, I say.
But can we give a few secs? I say.
Can we give you a few secs, says Jer.
Can you give me a few secs? I say.
Not sure why we’re getting super wonky over syntax this late in the game, says Meg.
It’s sweet, he wants some me time, says Kennedy B.
They cross yard open door lightshape runs out.
Lightshape runs back in.
Alone in yard.
Smear of stars widest, lowest yet Aspens sway Storage shed makes frog noise with each breeze.
Must think take my few secs to
I am not am not now am no longer Elliott Spencer exactly.
The me I am now has never been wino has never had wine does not want since never has had.
The me I am now has words Memories new and old I like him who I am like him fine do not wish to lose him or his memories of Ma or memories of Vixen or of my old school St. Damian’s clang in breeze goes flagpole rope against flagpole Vincent brings sugarstraw for me in his mitten and sugarstraw for him in his other green mitten Because we are: blood brothers.
Far from home Ma dead.
Jer stinker, Jer liar.
No friend or pal in all of world.
Breeze now more Aspens shake crazy in their leaves Gate clicks its latch with each new push of breeze.
And just like snap I know: Ma’s gate was missing one hinge must be careful when the way to be careful when opening Ma’s gate is use both hands Much fun in Ma’s yard So many wild
Ma holding picnic basket rushes over whacks me with basket I laugh and laugh and
Ruth is there Ha, Ruth! I recall you! O pretty Ruth lies at base of tree I just have am blotto have just knocked Ruth right Ruth, on ground, holding stuffed bear I gave her: You break my heart, Elliott, I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last
Ma: El, sweet Jesus. You drink and drink and do such crazy
Grab bear from Ruth throw bear on grill.
Bear burning ring I bought Ruth still taped to paw.
Look at you, idiot! Ma says. Is that who you are? Give me those goddam keys.
Go out gate to my Electra brand-new Electra.
Ma drops gray head so sad Helps Ruth up.
Blink.
Little sick, recalling that
Is that man me, now? Would I, man I am now, knock down Ruth, throw bear on grill, get in Electra, drive to Tom’s Dizzy Oasis, get further blotto?
No.
If I could go back Would stand at gate say: Ma, the me you see now is not the only me I may ever be There is a me under this me who wishes to do lovely in this magnificent And some day
Watch, Ma: Watch, Ruth: This new me In his time he has left Even if it is only one thing lovely? Will do Will try.
I go through gate using both hands Ma and Ruth, in my mind, smile to see me go so new Then am in back of am behind of am out of yard in (ha ha, I now recall it): vacant lot Glimm, Meg, Kennedy B., Jer still in house Never have I been so alone with myself while outside! knees hurt no spring chicken when and where will I death? Will I death alone? Probably yes I Little scared Here is cactus Word I know from long-ago cartoons watched with Ma.
One pal who might level with me possibly, perhaps: Janet Ardmore, KTODNewsTeamTwo.
Might I find her?
Maybe can.
These West trees (I know like snap) are not my old East trees that I knew by name: sycamore, dogwood, beech I do not, as yet, know West’s trees’ names But will will soon can learn am learning all the time.
Know: night, star, moon Know: walk, know hide Know: path and little bit smiling take it. ♦
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