He had a hard time pulling
himself away from his dreamed sylphs and insatiable
undines
barely just beyond his sleeping hearing
barely audibly just above the undulating seas
glass and
sand the gibber of dolphins and the sinuous
rise of bubbles emitted in the
black deep he could make out ticks make out muffled
sounds of cast iron pans scrapped
on gas burners wood spoons banging on ceramic bowls fixing sourdough
pancake batter
and scrabbling eggs
the inchoate shutter of the toaster as bread
slices were fed into it and
thickcut bacon warming beginning to spatter
he smelled
whiffs of fresh ground coffee
beans and the must of sliced mushrooms green
peppers green onions black peppercorns
ground
the coffee pot hiccupping and belching its aromatic scent
imagined sex or breakfast
aroused
he arose he wrapped a fresh bath sheet from
atop the dresser around his hips and crossed
the hall to the bathroom to brush his teeth in a brief shower and enjoy
a longer
healthy piss
breakfast strong now in his nose
wrapping his hips again he
crossed the hall
he yanked on a pair of
bluejeans and pulled over a t-shirt
in the dresser mirror he caught
his look
and just behind his eyes sylphs and undines
wiggled their hips and
jiggled their breasts tempting him
-- Tonight
he intoned and smiled keen of his
uncanny uncalculable talent to return to what
he dreamed exactly and
where he left
-- GOOD MORNING
he bellowed as he crossed the livingroom into the kitchen
-- Good morning
his parents replied
the kitchen table was festooned
with the folded leaves of the Chicago Sun-Times the
Chicago Tribune and their
Rockford Register Star which oddly commanded a subscription rate exceeding
either of the Chicago papers
he thought his parents were
full of shit to buy a newspaper littered with typos filled with
AP stories and
gossip columns
but it was their cash
theirs
to do with as they wished they still had
their wits about them and if they could
yet fix and serve one of the best
breakfasts to be had who was he to bitch about anything
-- COFFEE
he asked as he went to fill a mug (knowing full well they had had coffee
earlier this morning and only his dad was likely to accept a fresh cup)
-- My cup is on the table his father replied
-- I have tea thank you replied his mother
a pleasant breakfast just the three of them it still never ceased to amaze him
when he left their home
thirtysome
years earlier there were seven other children left in his wake
now it
was just three
of them breakfasting together
he had no memories of the three of them when they were
-- Were set
his mother remarked
silent and hungrily they set
upon the scrambled eggs and vegetables, rashers of bacon,
pancakes, sides of
toast and jams and muffins held under a commercial Anchor Hocking
glass cake stand
and cover
he topped off
his coffee mug before heading with his laden
plate to the table which sat
beside sliding glass doors that let out onto a spacious redwood
deck and beyond
overlooked their green backyard and a row of mature birch trees that
distinguished
his parents property from their neighbors
this wasnt his
boyhood home
it was demolished years
ago as were all the small apartments they
had lived in giving way
to yawning
blacktopped parking lots for the city
he didnt give it
much thought it seemed the All-American
Way a reverence
for transition over
tradition always preferring housing
second to parking its fucking cars
then collecting
coin on them cash from cop tickets and oodles more cash on bench warrants
for disregarded
or couldnt-afford-to-pay parking tickets
seated his father said to him as he was biting into
a slice of dry wheat toast -- Would you
like to say Grace this morning
they never failed to surprise
him
chewing his bite he held up a
finger for a pause not wanting to be
impolite he swallowed it
took a sip of
black coffee cleared his throat -- No
his fathers eyes glared at him
from behind his glasses but he didnt say
anything
-- I think it would be nice if you said Grace
this morning said his mother
-- No thank you
Not this morning . . . he then emphasized his point as was his unmistakable habit slowly extending his arms from either side of
his body his hands drawn in and when
his arms were completely outstretched
he then unfurled his hands his fingers
pointy like
stalks of straw copping a wry depiction of the crucifixion . . . or
any morning I aint one to hedge my bets Play it true and straight But please say Grace if you like
of recent years this had become
a point of contention
since his brother had died
there was an uncomfortable
silence
-- Food please its growing cold Say Grace or Im eating
his mother and father bowed
their heads he did not
his mother said Grace
-- Amen
they chorused
he stabbed some eggs and green pepper
wolfed them into his mouth fingered
a
rasher of bacon and bit it licked his
finger and thumb took a bite of
toast a sip of coffee
he didnt visit often he lived on the coast his brothers and sisters alluded to their parents
conversion during telephone calls always
preferring to call rather than reply to questions
he penned submitted
in his letters
-- Everybodys busy Whos got time to write
-- Me I make
the time You do that when you think
something is important
there was an uncomfortable
silence
his family shared a lot of
uncomfortable silences
-- Would anyone care for a refill of their
coffee or tea he said as he rose
they said in chorus as if a united front -- No thank you
sitting down again the majority of their breakfasts
finished the three of them began
shuffling through the newspapers reading
in their family helped aid digestion
he opened the Tribs Book
Reviews and as he sorted in his mind which articles to read
he became aware of their
excited shuffling they were looked for
something very specific
his mother and father together --
Could you pass the obituaries please
. . . . . . . . .
-- Obituaries
he had puzzled over this the last time he visited really puzzled over it when
they last came to
visit him and scoured them too what were
they looking they never lived
in the
state
-- I think you have them said his mother
-- Look at me hogging the obituaries Sorry what the hell was I thinking What are you
two looking for
-- Never can tell said his mother over the top of her glasses
-- And I suppose you never will he laid the book review in his lap and pulled
rapidly through the stack beside him
-- In with the want ads and real
estate right
-- Yes
said his father picking up the slack
-- Yup
one a second wait for it
wait ah three Who wants which or would you prefer to divvy
them up yourselves thinking to himself
how wolves or lions would divvy up a carcass
. . . . . . . . .
-- Awright knock yourself out and he handed over the flutter of sheaves to
them
breakfast was better than
musing sylphs and undines but
obituaries death inevitable
he couldnt help but wonder if they werent perhaps ghoulishly celebrating that they had
outlived complete
strangers that they were still breezing through
life and some unknown was
cold in their grave
his only solace was that perhaps some of the unknowns
had opted for
cremation and utterly blew up his parents concept of mouldering in a cold grave
or mausoleum - who the hell to-day would even consider a mausoleum nobodys a pharaoh -
when
they remained reticent about what was to be done with their bodies after their
deaths
or it was fixed thatd be much like them hadnt breathe a word of it to the kids
his father threatened to be
cremated and have his ashes dumped from a plane over Chicagos South Side a racist to the End and threatened to have a pole shoved up his mothers ass
stabbed into the earth and let her rot in the sun and open air because
she couldnt decide
because she wouldnt be
able to breathe if she were buried or it would burn if she were
cremated
and
yet they cremated his brother
-- Youre dead Maw You aint feeling anything
-- You dont know that
-- No I dont
discussion
concluded
he looked up from his coffee
and the book reviews and watched the two of them reading
reading the obituaries
he shook his head subtly
you cant make this stuff up
1824, Monday,
24 2. 14
