“Are you trying to tell me you were the only kid in that whole school whose shoes ever split?” says Marty.
“Yes,” says the kid.
“I find that hard to believe,” says Marty.
“Once this kid Simon?” says the kid. “His pants ripped.”
“Well, there you go,” says Marty. “That’s worse. Because your underwear shows. Your pants never ripped. Because I bought you good pants. Not that I’m saying the shoes I bought you weren’t good. They were very good. Among the best. So what did this Simon kid do? When his pants ripped? Was he upset? Did the other kids make fun of him? Did he start crying? Did you rush to his defense? Did you sort of like console him? Do you know what console means? It means like say something nice. Did you say something nice when his pants ripped?”
“Not exactly,” the kid says.
“What did you say?” says Marty.
“Well, that boy, Simon, was a kind of smelly boy?” says the kid. “He had this kind of smell to him?”
“Did the other kids make fun of his smell?” says Marty.
“Sometimes,” says the kid.
“But they didn’t make fun of your smell,” says Marty.
“No,” says the kid. “They made fun of my shoes splitting.”
“Too bad about that smelly kid though,” says Marty. “You gotta feel bad about a kid like that. What were his parents thinking? Didn’t they teach him how to wash? But you at least didn’t make fun of his smell. Even though the other kids did.”
“Well, I sort of did,” the kid says.
“When?” says Marty. “On the day his pants ripped?”
“No,” the kid says. “On the day my shoe split.”
“Probably he was making fun of you on that day,” suggests Marty.
“No,” the kid says. “He was just kind of standing there. But a few kids were looking at my shoe funny. Because my foot was poking out? So I asked Simon why he smelled so bad.”
“And the other kids laughed?” says Marty. “They thought that was pretty good? What did he say? Did he stop making fun of your shoes?”
“Well, he hadn’t really started yet,” the kid says. “But he was about to.”
“I bet he was,” says Marty. “But you stopped him dead in his tracks. What did he say? After you made that crack about his smell?”
“He said maybe he did smell but at least his shoes weren’t cheap,” says the kid.
“So he turned it around on you,” says Marty. “Very clever. The little shit. But listen, those shoes weren’t cheap. I paid good money for those shoes.”
“Okay,” says the kid, and throws the ball into the woods.
“Nice throw,” says Marty. “Very powerful.”
“Kind of crooked though,” says the kid, and runs off into the woods to get the ball.
“My kid,” Marty says to me. “Home on break from school. We got him in boarding school. Only the best for my kid! Until they close us down, that is. You heard anything? Anything bad? I heard they might be axing Sheep May Safely Graze. So that’s like fifteen shepherds. Which would kill me. I get a lot of biz off those shepherds. Needless to say, I am shitting bricks. Because if they close me, what do you think happens to that kid out there in the woods right now? Boarding school? You think boarding school happens? In a pig’s ass. Boarding school does not happen, the opposite of boarding school happens, and he will be very freaking upset.”
The kid comes jogging out of the woods with the ball in his hand.
“What are you talking about?” he says.
“About you,” Marty says, and puts the kid in a head-lock. “About how great you are. How lovable you are.”
“Oh that,” the kid says, and smiles big.
18.
That night around nine I hear a sort of shriek from Janet’s Separate Area.
A shriek, and then what sounds like maybe sobbing.
Then some louder sobbing and maybe something breaking, possibly her fax?
I go to her door and ask is she okay and she tells me go away.
I can’t get back to sleep. So I fax Louise.
Everything okay? I write.
In about ten minutes a fax comes back.
Did Dr. Evans ever say anything about complete loss of mobility? it says. I mean complete. Today I took the kids to the park and let Ace off the leash and he saw a cat and ran off. When I came back from getting Ace, Nelson was like stuck inside this crawling tube. Like he couldn’t stand up? Had no power in his legs. I mean none. That fucking Ace. If you could’ve seen Nelson’s face. God. When I picked him up he said he thought I’d gone home without him. The poor thing. Plus he had to pee. And so he’d sort of peed himself. Not much, just a little. Other than that all is well, please don’t worry. Well worry a little. We are at the end of our rope or however you say it, I’m already deep into the overdraft account and it’s only the 5th. Plus I’m so tired at night I can’t get to the hills and last time I paid late fees on both Visas and the MasterCard, thirty bucks a pop, those bastards, am thinking about just sawing off my arm and mailing it in. Ha ha, not really, I need that arm to sign checks.
Love, Me.
From Janet’s Separate Area come additional sobbing and some angry shouting.
I fax back:
Did you take him to Dr. Evans? I say.
Duh, she faxes back. Have appt for Weds, will let you know. Don’t worry, just do your job and also Nelson says hi and you’re the best dad ever.
Tell him hi and he’s the best kid, I fax back.
What about the other kids? she faxes back.
Tell them they’re also the best kids, I fax back.
From Janet’s Separate Area comes the sound of Janet pounding on something repeatedly, probably her desk, presumably with her fist.
19.
Next morning in the Big Slot is no goat. Just a note.
From Janet:
Not coming in, it says. Bradley lied about the tooters and bought some you-know-what. Big suprise right? Is in jail. Stupid dumbass. Got a fax last night. Plus my Ma’s worse. Before she couldnt get up or her lungs filled with blood? Well now they fill with blood unless she switchs from side to side and who’s there to switch her? Before Mrs Finn was but now Mrs Finn got a day-job so no more. So now I have to find someone and pay someone. Ha ha very funny, like I can aford that. Plus Bradley’s bail which beleve me I have defnitely considered not paying. With all this going on no way am I caving it up today. I’m sorry but I just cant, don’t narc me out, okay? Just this one last time. I’m taking a Sick Day.
She can’t do that. She can’t take a Sick Day if she’s not sick. She can’t take a Sick Day because she’s sad about someone she loves being sick. And she certainly can’t take a Sick Day because she’s sad about someone she loves being in jail.
I count out ten Reserve Crackers and work all morning on the pictographs.
Around noon the door to her Separate Area flies open. She looks weird. Her hair is sticking up and she’s wearing an I’m With Stupid sweatshirt over her cavewoman robe and her breath smells like whiskey.
Janet is wasted? Wasted in the cave?
“What I have here in this album?” she says. “Baby pictures of that fucking rat Bradley. Back when I loved him so much. Back before he was a druggie. See how cute? See how smart he looked?”
She shows me the album. He actually does not look cute or smart. He looks the same as he looked the other day, only smaller. In one picture he’s sitting on a tricycle looking like he’s planning a heist. In another he’s got a sour look on his face and his hand down some smaller kid’s diaper.