“Do what you want, what do I care, because nobody here”—
“Now listen, I don’t want to”—
“But two hours,” he says, “two”—
“I thought we went”—
“We did, but still — oh, what am I getting so damn upset”—
“That’s what I feel, though I’ve absolutely said my last on it tonight,” and she goes—
“Wait, we haven’t”—
He hears the shower—
He goes into the kitchen and gets himself—
In the kitchen he wonders if—
He opens the back door to his floor’s service area to see if the garbage—
Good, and he picks up the plastic bag and brings it back into—
He opens it and first has to take some garbage out before—
He shakes it out, wipes off a little meat sauce from—
He pours himself another drink and looks at the bathrobe lying—
It’s still wearable, so why did—
Because the collar’s so frayed and the cuffs also and the belt almost a string now and besides that—
When did his mother buy—
He remembers when his father was very sick and wore this robe and the spittle would—
He’d have to wipe it off the sleeves and the collar and the front—
“Dad,” he’d say then, “when you feel the drool”—
“I can’t help it,” his father would say, “I can’t help it, and it’s not”—
“You can make an attempt to help if you’d only”—
“Stop pestering me, stop ordering”—
How many years did he live with them then, helping his mother take care of him, and people, especially his sisters, saying he was too old to live home again but that they—
For the last year of his life his father was either in this bathrobe or—
First thing every morning he’d lift his father off the bed, stand him up, put the bathrobe on him, walk him to—
His wife comes into the kitchen, is in her nightgown, and says as she—
“Excuse me, but why’s the garbage”—
“I’ll clean it up, don’t worry”—
“And why’s the old robe”—
“I threw it out today and wanted to keep it thrown out but”—
“Why’d you”—
“I just didn’t”—
“It’s actually too worn to wear and probably has”—
“You can’t know how many, and it was really the reason I jumped all over”—
“Look, Smitty, that’s all”—
“I wanted to explain, though, and I suppose I was lucky the guy who picks up the trash at six”—
“I’m not sure how lucky you”—
“Maybe I can bring it to”—
“It’s beyond”—
“Ah, best thing is to get rid of it, right? but before I do, maybe I could”—
“Where are you going”—
“In my wallet, or, though this must sound infantile — maudlin’s more like it — in”—
“Not ‘maudlin’ or ‘infantile’ as much as”—
“I want to remember the design and colors and”—
“Maybe it’s a good idea then, but anyway, mind if”—
“Sure, I’ll just stay here a few more minutes and make my decision, and clean up, of”—
“I wish you’d do that now, for it’s beginning”—
“Goodnight, lovey”—
He pours—
The cat jumps off the refrigerator and immediately—
“Get off it, Lucy, get”—
Oh what the hell, he—
“Hey, Lucy, hey, baby — hey, stupid Lucy, you didn’t eat”—
He picks up—
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean”—
Maybe he should just go to bed—
No, the bathrobe, and the garbage — he has to deal with them, and he rips a few paper towels off the—
He fastens the top of the garbage bag with the tab, puts the bag back in the service area, locks the door, thinks Why not the newspapers too? puts a pile of newspapers and magazines under the garbage bag, pokes the bag and it doesn’t slide off, locks the door, downs his—
It was for winter anyway and—
That’s not the reason, of course, since he could easily—
A few weeks after his father died, his mother—
He said “I don’t want to hear of it, I”—
It hung in her—
A few months after that his mother said “I’ve had it cleaned and if you don’t”—
He took it home—
He picks the cat up off the bathrobe and sits her on—
The bathrobe hung in their—
His wife said a number of times—
He covered it with a plastic bag from a dry cleaner just so—
Then one night when it was almost zero degree out and the wind off the river—
The robe kept him warm but always reminded—
Out, he has to throw it out, he has to get rid of the damn thing once and for—
His wife comes in and says “At least you cleaned”—
“I’m having trouble deciding”—
“Want me”—
“No, I’ll”—
“Do or don’t — really, what’s the big deal of one or two more days, and this time I’m going to”—
“I’ll be there”—
She—
He picks up—
The cat follows—
“Say, lady, don’t you have”—
Oh, maybe one more time, and he takes off his—
He shakes out the robe, the cat runs under—
It still feels—
He starts crying, wipes his eyes—
He puts it—
What is it about some things, the memory of—
Maybe he should just rip it to pieces, at least rip the sleeves off his—
It was hanging on the outside of the closet door of his father’s room the morning his mother yelled to—
He ran in, took his father’s hand, bent over him while—
She was already—
He said “Wait, wait, maybe”—
He put his ear—
She said “I’m afraid I did”—
“And his”—
“Took it”—
“Maybe you should phone”—
She didn’t—
“I’ll do it, but maybe you should leave”—
When he came back into the room he held her and said “You have to know you did everything”—
“We did”—
“And that it was really much better we took care of him at”—
“Believe me, dear”—
Two or three days later, while they were sitting in mourning at home, he—
His aunt said “I was wondering what it”—
His mother said “Honestly, I didn’t even”—
He put—
That was almost ten years—
He takes off the bathrobe, gets a hanger from the front closet and slips it into the shoulders of the robe, takes a winter coat off another hanger and puts it over—
As he’s walking away from the closet he hears—
He picks up the coat and robe off the floor, gets a wooden—
Maybe he should just forget it, because he knows what he’s going to do with it eventually, and he takes the robe out from under the coat—
No, he can’t just now and that’s all there is—
“Smitty”—
“Be there”—
He hangs the robe on a wire—
He brushes his teeth, goes to the bedroom and gets in—
He says “I’m so mad at myself for being unable”—
“Don’t worry about”—
“But it”—
“Please, sweetheart”—
“I just wish the guy would”—
“You’re referring to”—
“I’m not ‘referring’—I’m talking about him, yes, because”—
“Really, it’s so natural to act like that, so why knock”—
“But what’s this crazy hold”—
“Shh, sleep, I’d like to talk more but I swear”—
“Anyway, tomorrow I’m”—
“Good, she’ll”—
“And if she wants to, maybe we’ll go over for a drink and take her”—