Hydroplane: Fictions Page 10

  The day our father brought the new coupe home, our mother told us never to touch the outside, never to eat inside it, never to play in or around it, never to leave trash on its floor. That goes for you too, she said to our father. She said to us, He thinks he's a kid. Our father made room in the garage for the coupe, moving the ladder, the paint cans, the brushes out from the garage and into the backyard. Our mother said, There's room in the garage for everything, We just bought that ladder, We just bought those brushes. Our mother tried to bring the things back into the garage, but our father said no. He said the things were just taking up space. He said he would bring it all to the curb on trash day. But our mother said why throw the things away. Our father said he would no longer be needing them. He said he was done with painting shutters and doors. Our mother said, You never know. She did not like the blue she chose. It was too dark. She would be the laughingstock. Our father said, Lord. Our mother slammed a door. The things went forgotten. They stayed in the backyard through fall and winter. Our mother brought them back into the garage in spring. The ladder looked rotted in places. The paint cans were rusted. Our father saw our mother from the window. He said, Are you crazy. And she said, You're crazy. She pushed the things to the wall of the garage.

  When our father hammered in the new basketball hoop, all the neighborhood kids stood around watching, hoping he would not fall from the now-weathered ladder. No. We all hoped he would fall. We hoped he would slip from the now-weathered ladder as it creaked and swayed on his way up the brittle rungs. We hoped the ladder would collapse. We hoped he would collapse and fall to his face. We did not hope that he would die, but we hoped that he would crack his skull, that he would bleed a bit. And there would be sirens, a trip to the hospital, something to pass the time.

  So we watched as our father hammered in the last nail and climbed down slowly, the ladder creaking with every step, the ladder swaying slightly, and no one moved to hold the swaying ladder to help him. We watched him take the last few steps downward, and it did not look good, we could tell it did not look good, and his shoes pressed straight through the brittle rungs, which broke like twigs beneath his shoes, so that he slid to the ground in a quick bump bump bump, the ladder collapsing, and he landed on his ass in the drive. All the kids laughed as he stood, shaking, as he picked up the basketball from the yard, as he took the first shot with the new ball, one handed, shaking, still, from the ladder collapsing, trying to laugh, and we could see this, how hard he was trying to laugh, and he missed the hoop by several feet, the ball rolling into the weeds to pick up dirt. Lord we laughed as he walked into the house, dirt on his ass, a split in his pants, walking hunched without removing the fallen ladder from the drive, without retrieving the ball from the weeds, all the kids in the yard laughing, our mother laughing from the window, still laughing when she dragged the broken ladder back into the garage and pulled the door shut.

  Our father dragged the broken ladder to between the two cars, forgetting he had split the rungs some time ago, and upon seeing the split rungs, he let the ladder collapse to the coupe. It scratched the coupe. We can say that now. We saw a scratch.

  Our father found the milk crates in a corner, dumped the contents of the milk crates, carried the milk crates to between the two cars, and stacked the crates and climbed them. He tied a rope around the pipes on the ceiling in the back of the garage. He tied the rope in the space where the door, when raised upward to open, did not overlap the ceiling.

  It should have been our father sitting on the edge of a milk crate, the rope in his hand, reconsidering.

  It should have been our father dropping the rope to the floor, deciding to go to work.

  Our father did not think we would find him. He did not think we used the garage. He thought we would open the front door using the keys we wore on chewed strings around our necks. He thought we would step inside the house, we would drop our jackets to the floor, we would watch TV waiting for our mother, waiting for our dinner.

  And he did not think our mother would find him. She walked to work and would not need to park her car in the garage. She would come in through the front door like we did. She would make our dinner, and the three of us would eat in front of the TV, our father's dinner warming in the oven. And then what.

  Perhaps our mother would have called him at work. And perhaps someone there would have answered the phone and said, He didn't come in to work today. And perhaps she would have called the synagogue ladies a little worried as it had gotten late and as there seemed no good reason for him not to have gone in to work. And perhaps the ladies would have suggested calling the local hospitals, for maybe he slipped and fell or who knew what. And perhaps our mother would have called the local hospitals only to find out nothing. And perhaps the ladies would have suggested she drive the wagon around the neighborhoods looking for his car. And perhaps our mother, at this point, would only have been half-listening. Perhaps she would have been considering the possibility that he left her. Perhaps she would have been regretting already the terrible way she had treated him over the years. And perhaps we would have sensed her regret and perhaps we would have felt a similar regret from the terrible way we had treated our father over the years. And perhaps we would have silently vowed to act more caring in the future. Perhaps we would have made some kind of pact with God to act more caring around our father instead of being the perfect brats we had become. And perhaps had this happened, our father would have walked in from the rain, said, Sorry, traffic, and sat with us, waiting for his dinner.

  Or perhaps our mother would have walked out the door and into the rain and into the garage to get the wagon to take it for a drive through the neighborhoods. And she would have seen the coupe in the garage. And she would have seen him in the garage. And then.

  There was an afternoon siren. All the neighborhood kids came running to see. We stood in the yard. Our house looked blurred. The trees looked blurred. Lights spun in the blue shuttered windows. It felt weird with everyone standing in front of our house. The garage door was halfway up. Our mother came running up the street. She screamed his name, our names. She pushed a way through the crowd. Someone tried to cover our eyes. Someone dragged us by our arms to the walk. Our mother picked up the basketball from the drive. It looked like a big flat pumpkin. We wondered why she was squeezing the ball how she was. Water squirted from its air hole. Our mother threw the ball at us. She screamed, You can't take care of anything. The garage door wheezed downward. The crowd of neighbors stood on the walk. They whispered. Scattered. Our mother went into the house. The neighborhood kids walked home.

  The rabbi said that those in heaven had their arms stuck out in front. He said that they, too, like those in hell, could not bend their arms at the joints. He said there were tables of wonderful food in heaven and this food was there for everyone to eat. He said to imagine the trouble you would face in heaven and in hell. He said to imagine you were starving and there was wonderful food on tables, but you could not eat the food because your arms were stuck out in front. He said to imagine you could lift the food with your hands but you could not get the food to your mouth with your arms unable to bend at the joints. He said, Wouldn't you suffer. He said, Wouldn't you starve. The rabbi said if you could imagine what this would feel like, to suffer, to starve, then you could imagine hell. For in heaven, no one suffered. For they knew to feed each other.

  Someone in the lunchroom said he stood on a bucket. And when he was ready he kicked it out from beneath him. Do you get it, He kicked the bucket. But the bucket was in a corner. The bucket was filled with brooms.

  Someone in the neighborhood said, They saw the legs first. Someone said, No, they saw the shoes. Someone said, No, they saw clothing piled on the floor. Not true. Someone said, No, they saw the shadow of the legs, And he wore no pants. Not true. He was fully clothed. Someone said, They saw his underwear first. Not true. He was not crazy. And someone said, Where were his hands, and someone said, On his thing. No. And someone said, Not both hands, one. And
someone said, So where was his other. His arms were hanging by his sides. And someone said, There were magazines, Dirty ones. Yes. That part was true.

  On the floor of the back seat of the coupe we found several knotted up ties. We wondered why our father would throw his ties to the floor knotted up like that. We said, We found your ties, sitting there on the shoulder, cars whooshing past. We were unsure of what to do with our hands.

  Someone in the coatroom said, First they called the hospital, and someone said, No, first they called their mother, and someone said, No, first they called the neighbors, and someone said, No, first they ran to the neighbors', and someone said, No, first they checked his pulse. No, first we touched his legs. We were like, You touch him, No, you touch him, and we both touched his legs. And someone said, No, first they screamed and screamed, Can you imagine what it felt like to touch him, They just screamed and screamed. Then we ran outside. We ran down the drive. They fainted. We did not faint. We ran down to the walk. The basketball fell. The whole world spun. We stood at a neighbor's door.

  Our father always ate dinner alone. He watched TV while he ate. Sometimes he wasn't looking at the TV. Sometimes he looked at the wall. We sometimes watched him eating his dinner from the sticker bushes out front. He ate very fast. Sometimes he had food on his tie. And sometimes he had food on his face. And this usually made us laugh.

  On the shoulder, the traffic passed in a whoosh. It felt like the whole car lifted and settled every time a car whooshed past. We sat on the shoulder despite our crying, despite our begging, Let's go home now Dad. We tried to hold our breath. We hit the back of his head from the back seat. His head lay against the steering wheel.

  We found the air pump beneath the coupe. Many things had rolled beneath the cars.

  The rabbi held our hands in the coatroom. We wanted to leave. We wanted to get back to the house where there would be brisket and cake and casserole. We would try to eat with our arms stuck out in front. We would not need to feed each other. We knew better ways to do it. We could toss the food into the air and catch it in our mouths. We could eat straight from the casserole dishes. The rabbi told us to close our eyes. We did not close our eyes. He said for us to imagine heaven. He closed his eyes. He said to imagine our father was in heaven. He said something else. And something else. But we were no longer listening to what he was saying. We were looking at the clock on the wall behind him. We were holding our breath for going on thirty seconds.

  One of the synagogue kids said, Well, why did he do it, and the kid's mother said, Go to your room, and the kid said, Why should I, and the mother said, And don't come out, putting her arm around our mother's back, and the kid said, Why, and one of us said, What do you care. The kid said, But why, and the mother said, Perfect brat, and, Do you want a smack, and our mother said, It's fine, really, and one of us said to the kid, What do you care, and the kid said, Was he crazy, and the mother said, I said to go to your room, and the kid said, Well, was he crazy, and one of us said, Fuck you, fucker, and our mother said, Don't start, and, Eat your food, and one of us said, Fuck you, fucker, and our mother said, Don't, and the mother said, Please keep eating, and one of us started laughing, and our mother said, We're going now, and one of us said in a scary voice, There were signs, and one of us spilled the salt on the table, and one of us called for the dog who came running over, and one of us threw the salt shaker at the dog, and one of us beat our fists on the table, and one of us looked at our mother and said, I'm in a mood, Lord, I'm in a mood, and one of us started crying.

  And on the way home from the dinner, in the back seat of the wagon, one of us had a loose eyelash, and one of us said, Make a wish, and one of us said, I wish I had twenty wishes, and one of us said, You're crazy, and one of us said, You're the one crazy, and one of us said, Fuck you, and one of us said, Fuck you, fucker, and one of us said, Do you want to fight, and one of us said, I'll smack you, and one of us said, I'll kick your ass, and one of us kicked the other's ass, and our mother pulled onto the shoulder.

  We rode the rest of the way home in silence. We pulled into the drive. Our mother pushed the button. The garage door slowly rose. She pulled the wagon into the garage. The coupe was there. It had been there for weeks. Our mother said, Your father and his goddamn toys. She said, I'm going to hit it. We looked at each other. We thought about flicking our mother's neck for fun as she tried to park. She said, Watch me hit it. And we said, You won't hit it. And she said, Oh yes I will. She said, Watch me. Our mother pulled the wagon behind the coupe. She kept on going. She hit the coupe. She backed up. She hit it again.

  Our father lifted his head from the steering wheel. He was not crying. He pulled the coupe onto the road and took us to get some ice cream. We ate our ice cream standing beside the coupe. The ground was made of loose dirt. We dug lines with our shoes into the ground. We kicked the dirt at each other's legs. We kicked the dirt at our father's legs. He kicked the dirt back and we laughed. Our ice cream was getting dirty, and we kicked the dirt high into the air. Our father kicked it hardest, and we were covered in dirt. Our ice cream was full of dirt. We were laughing. The dirt was flying everywhere, and we would like to say we laughed for a very long time.

  It should have been a game of horse. It should have been our father home sick and a game of horse even with the air pump missing. Even with the basketball deflated in the weeds. Even with the sky looking like rain. It should have been a game, just us. The aim to score with the deflated ball. A shot with the eyes shut. Made. A shot with the eyes shut. Missed. An H. A one-handed shot. Made. A one-handed shot. Missed. An O. A shot from between the legs. Made. A shot from between the legs. Missed. An R. A two-handed shot. Made. A two-handed shot. Missed. An S. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Made. A shot from the walk. Missed.

  Court

  There's me in my car and my car plays a song.

  There's the ten over there on the court.

  And the low sun going lower, the tall grass poking through cracks.

  I watch the ten on the court do their circles, their footwork. How they orbit each other. How one is the sun, then another, another.

  Five wear shirts and the others, well. I feel I shouldn't look. But I feel that also of the shirted ones. How their sweat shows skin below their shirts. How they stretch to the net and their underwear, their collarbones.

  They go, Get on him, and, Fucker.

  They scatter like sailors on a capsizing boat. They stand, hands frantic in the air.

  Then they orbit one sun. Then they orbit another.

  Everything juts when they jump to the hoop.

  A shot.

  It repeats.

  It repeats.

  And I'm in a rowboat floating in the deep.

  I know it's not really a boat but a car.

  I've never been stupid, despite what's been whispered.

  My car is parked. It lurks in the flora. I call it flora. This growth through the cracks in the lot. And I lurk.

  I watch through the windshield thinking, Hey there sailors, and of if I went, Sailors, of what that would mean to someone else. To some neighbor girl standing on her stoop.

  The girls always go in each other's ears, Whisper whisper whisper.

  I go, Take a picture, It'll last longer.

  But there's no one in the flora but me. How it always is. Me in the flora, the boys on the court. Every evening in summer. In summers.

  I find love songs on the radio. The ones that let thoughts become pictures.

  I think of bare feet, wet grass. The clichéd crack of dawn.

  I know dawn is not a crack but a smear.

  Poetry turned it into a crack.

  Poetry is why we have cliché.

  It's for when science is too hard to grasp.

  So there I am in the backyard in spring. I'm seventeen.

  I try to imagine a boy, a blue shirt. H
e crosses my yard. He reaches for me.

  But all I can see is my father's suitcase in the grass. My things are in it.

  I'd run through grass until night.

  But something inside my brain goes, Stay. Something inside goes, Graduate.

  There's only a month left of school.

  I go back inside before the sun reveals me.

  I had dreamed of running though grass the whole way.

  But there are eggs on the table. Two. Poached.

  The eggs are cold.

  My parents whisper in the other room. Their war has ended.

  I wash my hands and eat the eggs.

  Love songs speed at three four three meters per second.

  In air that is. The speed of sound in air.

  I learned this in high school. I also learned of the speed of light. One eight six thousand miles per second.

  We're linked by speeding sound and light.

  Thoughts I have on evenings like these. Thoughts of the type I often have.

  I watch the clouds turn orange in the evenings. The tall stiff grass turns orange. This from sunlight. It strikes the flora and turns it to fire. Or to water. Depending on the time. Depending on where the sun is sitting.

  And whatever the time and wherever the sun, I'm part of the flora. As is my car. As are the ten. We're linked.

  This would perplex the neighbor girls. They think science is hard.

  If they were smart they'd go, What about someone who's deaf and blind, What about him, How is he linked.

  Meaning if he can't hear sound or see light. Yes, I get it.

  Because, I'd go, The waves still touch him.

  Sound waves, light waves are what I mean. The blind and deaf get touched by waves.