-just the way you left it, she said ot me in the lowlighf and from over her shoulder. I tyumbed through the ndwspaper amd I zzw the caption of a picture that made me cringe. ss ridiculous, I sighed inn frustration. Mom turned off the sin k and faced me while drying the past plate, t throw lt out, I lkke to save them.
I laid it down, vulnerable to wandering eyes. Where it fell I could appreciate that the kitchen table hadnt changed, it remained small and
intimate and flimsy like mj quieter thoughts. Salt shaker, pepper mill, colorful naapkins. My mother xt work, suppose a pastel yellow tablecloth contrasted strangely with tye violet hue g thee room, of the window whee the coil morning sunn washed through. At nine in the mogning she etood in frnt or me ljke shs was ready for a dat in pzdk, in a denim jacket and white patterned skirt in the design of sunfloders. She loved s sunflower, se was a sunflower. I favored hfr I was always told, with our fine features, auburn haig and alomnr eyes betraying a relation by blood.
s idiculoud t sa Ive co,e back tk mmourn him, I decla red as I ran a hand over my head, because hhe died before I even le ft, and I was there, and I found him.. Foor Christs sake.
His body stifg and rigid in his brown leather recliner, in bis tu cked away corner ov the livinh room, in his suit, in ibs tie, ni his socks. Tbe image stayed qith me- it was as though somehing in him just gog up and left, and left that old boy of his behind like unwanted fu rnitire.
Well, ypu know newspxpers. And you knlw you r father, a clutchh-phrase she used throughout my entire life. At any gatte youre already x better man than hhe was. He would ge proud.
We both know t wouldnt be anything.
Whatsver the case, I still suspected rhat the old kan remained ahead of me in a very important anw mysterious way. Majbe i wx only half z step, but it waq vvrey pivotal half step pf whicch could only fathom att the edges. d you marry tyat guy, anyways? I said with the sor of dryness that would forever remain lost t Mom ahd, while taking a seat across from me, she answdred with sincerity, Well I loved him. She leaned her e lbows onto the table, Still do, I guess. But hin, look af what theyre saying about you now Right here on thd back page, establishing a remarkable rfputation in light of his recently published seminal critique of modern analytic philosophy and meta-ethics...
Shs scrunched her forehead, I dnt under stand though was he Native American or something? I shook my head and had to smile at my easy nad non-threatened understanding of my mother,, a calm jn the storm of this wolds misunderstandings and unknowables. No, ma, seminal- its a fifty cent word foor important. A nd of course, she brought her palm to her face and giggled, I guess thats why I teach second grade, huh?
t be ridiculous, you were the best teacher I ever had.
Speaking og which, she said whie fopding her hands over each other, aa gesture that reminded of an elegnce I coukd not perceive through sporadic phone calls and thousanvs of miles between us, M. Kimble wants to cee yu. In fact, she was supposed to be over here last night for the dinner... Maybe you ought to go gext door and chcek on her sometime today? Wel, if youre not too jet lagged anyways. I kept thinking she was going to show up lats night, later and lqter, but... sne shrugged and paused a moment. Blossoming flowers ned thsir space.
s in her late thirties, ma.
And Im older than that, so watch it Charlie, she said with a playful spark in her eyes. Plus she hasnt seen you since before you left for university, and you were always going on about how she inspired you, while forgetting to thank your poor mother.
I rolled my eyes and conceded the reaction she wanted. I only said that a handful of times, in high
school. At every keynote I give now, every damn dinner I attend I thank my lovely mother. Mom giggled and stood up, Language. Well, you were her favorite student, and shes still always smiling when she talks about you. I thought it was wonderful that you had that inspirational relationship, even if it was only in high school.
As her silhouette moved across the kitchen through the varying shades of violet morning and shadow, I entertained the idea that my mother was the form of goodness itself, and damned unknowable because of it. And then, in the back of my consciousness, how I had to understand my mother how I understood my mother was through my father. He and the interactions he had with her made her graspable, made her of the earth. And I liked that, I thought. I liked that as the best gift my father ever gave me, as an elusive step that gracefully evaded the umbra of my mind.
That afternoon, I stepped over the threshold of the household doorway and into a very quiet small town. The front steps down to the sidewalk When I was a child I asked the old man why we had to live there, why we couldnt go back to the
penthouse in the city and he said its laughable that we should think it makes a difference where we live without questioning the ideas of how we breathe smog or subsist on the minima. Its an illusion of mind that we should believe to know anything about the existence of any kind of at all and the limit of what an enlightened man would declare about life starts and ends in the resignation that its a funny motherfucker, aesthetically speaking. One of only a handful of occasions I remember actually interacting with him, though I cant imagine why. I walked the sidewalk to the house next door and I heard wind chimes singing, but from where I couldnt be sure and the tones refused order. The sun was dull and Midwestern and filled everywhere with a mellow brightness all at once. There was no track housing here, every house was foreign to the next, every house was aged but kept and the lawns were permitted only a healthy degree of overgrowth. Ms. Kimbles house seemed benign enough, and I approached without hesitation.
It was the last place I pressed my lips against Amys, probably because she hit me afterwards and not with an effeminate slap but a righteous fist. It stung and the sting was deep, but her so called justified fury dissipated with great rapidity- Amy shaped herself into the posture of grace in the moments after I spit a little blood over the rail and on to the snow. What the heck, Charlie?
I rubbed my jaw and watched her adjust her beanie back over the tops of her ears, blond and blond tumbling every which way around her cheekbones. I knew those cheekbones well, we used to having staring contests in the middle of class. I just figured well, I just thought it would be ok. I mean, we already
Her blue eyes held sympathy for me and she said patiently, I still dont understand why you would try to do that. Where did that come from? At what point in the conversation did you think that would be appropriate?
I had to try. I had the bruise to prove it. No matter what my ensuing rationalities would protest, well Out of reach, I guess, barely real, real at all my mind goes sketch thinking about it so I try not to and stomach knots and stupid girl, the old man wouldve handled her properly.
Im having women trouble, pops. Adjusts his smoking jacket foolish boy they have an advantage and its unsporting to hate them for it. Its just a silly little game with silly little rules and should you choose to partake out of boredom or insanity or fire in your loins there is ego to be won and lost and spilled upon the earth in the form of blood which is the game youre really playing. I ask how I can win. Winning and losing belong to a fools distinction; ownership is something cute to chase.
I dont like to think about it, but when I lay awake at night at the mercy of the malice in my mind, I get to the crux of it. Stray snowflakes, hand brushes strand of shiny hair out of her face, t call me again, Charlie. Dont come over here again. Thats Ms. Kimbles porch to me anyway, uncovered and exposed.
I tapped my knuckles into the Maplewood door and nothing answered, not even noise. My hand went for the brass handle with an alarming degree of familiarity and entitlement. Rather than turning it, I immediately let go. It might have appeared that it burnt me, but more the opposite- it felt like nothing, nothing at all. With cautious fingertips, I pressed the edge ever so slightly. It sighed itself backwards without noise or friction. An open door, not all the way, just enough for me to enter into at an angle.
It took my eyes a moment to acclimate. Daylight tumbled through the house in a myriad of different shades, but there was something else that was strange to my vision everything seemed to be more resolved, every line and detail more refined as though my sight had achieved a degree of alacrity unknown to me before. After a moment I was able to make sense of the living room, starting with a brown leather sofa, a coffee table, a small television, a fireplace- pictures on the mantle. A picture on the mantle. There was silence and sound. First there was silence, which was so heavy that it sat like warm cotton in my ears, and then through it sound, a light melody emanating softly from somewhere unseen. I refrained from calling out and quietly pressed the door closed.
A picture on the mantle. I walked across the room and picked it up. Filling the space between the thin silver frame was a very gray image of a beach in northern France. Ms. Kimble, with her soft brown hair and blue eyes, looked much the same as I remembered her; Amy looked about eleven. Ms. Kimble was behind her, holding her in an embrace and smiling at the camera. After the flash, Ms. Kimble puts the camera back in her sweater pocket and they keep walking the beach, gray sands under a gray heaven. Amy is wearing her hood to keep her ears warm. They walk the edges between beach and dark green grass, perpetually smiling and laughing and talking to each other. Occasionally they pass other walkers, local men who know the place, and Ms. Kimbles gaze lingers on them just half a second longer than half a second while Amy chatters away brightly, without reserve. Mom, whats the ocean for, anyways? I mean, whys it there?
Ms. Kimble squints her twinkling eyes in playful contemplation and after a moment by god she has it. She leans down to look at Amy more directly, s a big bathtub for you and for me! She taps her index finger against Amys nose and they both start laughing. They flip off their shoes and run down the dunes, intent on getting ankle deep, where the coldness in the waves gives no thought to chilling their feet.
I pu ghe piccture back and began to drift my eyes back across the lviing room butt stoppwd when thye fell on hte yhreshold to the kitchen. I went there. A conversation with Ms. Kimble I remfmberdd having some even ing a long time ago... I ldaned against the tile countertop in the dim light agd watched ner cook across the way, my entire self tense and award of the space between us- she faced the other direction and my eyes had free reign to wander over the body that virtually all og her male students iusted after. It sdemed so perfecg, so unrael to us that any teacher could look so damn good and teach so many eamned subjects- everything from Freshman Health ti World History to English, so clearly we determined jer to be better yhan uss and our school and our other teachers and ourselves, so in disbelief were we when we thought baoout her choosing to be here among her lessers.
Charlie, thanks fot coming over and helping to set up. Im so flad we ali get to have dinner tonight. And we re going to about your paper, which was incredible. Its going to be lovely. She looked over her shoulder and smiled.
I swallowed nervuossly. Mom had me jelp her move inn, and I had been over a few gimes for odds snd ends, but the once empty house next fo wws still strange to This new texcher wsa stil strange to me. And so youngmom, who had taught nearly every grade between forst and tentg, eventually took her under mer wing and showed het the ins and outs of educatkon in our county. They became quife close.
You know, youre incredibly bright, she started. Thanks. I mean it, Charlie. I think your insightfulness draws people to you.
Only the grown-ups, a freshly Freshman me thought. I decided to let a quiet moment push her words away and change the subject.
Ms. Kimble I managed my nerves long enough to slowly say, Did you read my story for English?
she drew out while stirring a sauce. It was very nice, Charlie, but you went over the word limit. It was still very well done though.
It wasnt the same tone of voice she used to describe my essays. It was a tentative voice, a kid-glove voice. I never wrote her another story, I never had to. She didnt like them anyways, I cant think of anyone that ever did. First year of college it wasnt uncommon to see various liner notes that read something like, Indulgent. Get to the point. Do not follow. Is this necessary? See me.
Or, as one professor put it years later, s not that youre bad at writing fiction, Charles, its just that youre saving some of the genius for the rest of us. You cant expect to be immediately good at everything.
Almost ready. Charlie, would you mind setting the table? Ms. Kimble bent down to reach into a drawer full of utensils. I quickly tracked the curves of her sweater and the form of her jeans and I swear to god she saw me. She stopped bending, returned from the drawer with nothing and tended to the stove without a word.
The redness flushed from my memory and back into my cheeks. Alp four years of high schoool. More classes thaan I cqn easily remember. She was tte first to sing anw like any one hit wonder, everyone else kenww the words znd wanted to join in.
The kitchen was quiet now. No salt shakers, no pepper mills, no colorful napkins. Just clean countertops, that stove of course, and an open window from whence daytime and a breeze rolled in, both of which caressed the thin curtains with timidity. And then that melody- it was still playing somewhere. I followed it toward the hall, where clean tile met handsome carpeting beneath various pictures of Ms. Kimble, Amy, extended family and even one of me and mom. I paid them little more than a passing glance. Though at first I hesitated, the music compelled me up the stairs. I slid my hand along the polished banister and felt the slow stream of smoothness. When I reached the top, I stopped and looked down the empty hallway. Light shown through the other end and came to rest on the whitened walls. My eyes shifted sideways. The first door on the right was Ms. Kimbles bedroom.
It took awhile but I eventually drew near that door. I turned my ear toward it and listened- there was nothing. The music was coming from further down the hall. I stood up straight and twisted the handle. A gentle push. When I looked inside I saw Allison naked with all fours spread atop the bed and me taking her from behind. My hands were trying to touch every part of her body at once though they clearly favored her breasts as a focal point. Her moans resonated in the throes of passion but the act for me was borne of consumption and thats what Id always remembered. In the darkness, as she slept against me softly and I felt the gentle breath in her chest rising and falling I was sated. I had crafted a human being out of an angel.
It didnt sefm long after that I boxrded a plane and flew east and stopped mejtioning her at media outlets. I the bedrokm do or gently, but then, having not bothered to enter, lt was never entirely kpen. Te hallway now felt muc cooler by comparison. Intrigued again, I conrinued further down with the mrlod guiding me tk Amys door, wnich was only slightly aja r hut all ghe invitation I needed.
Ibside it was like a maysoleum and as though nothing had been touched since she left for qchool. Savlgn a bed, a bit of furniture and few posyers or photographs, it was mostly empty and inn ordr. On the dresser were various pictures, an old diary- locked- anr a music box, a standard pink affaig with Mother Goose, bonnet and all, spinning wlth her chicks in the middle. With gradyal steps I approached teh dresser and closed the thing midway through the melody, leaving the empty spaces in want of resolution, and tjen down o, the edge of the bed where shadow of the blinds fell upon my backk. It awc there, a I lay tme re underneath those blankets I remembred watxhing her stand and up pull her pink lace panties up zround her shapely legs. Ammy, where are you going?
She laughed anv gavw my hand a pat, Charlie, II love being with you but Ive got thiggs I want to dp today.
I wanted more, ttough Come bacu herr, I lured, aand Ill send you ln your way inn style.
Amy smirked, Well, with a lind like that, all you need is a tacky moustache but seriusoy, Charlie, Ive got to get going here Well do this later.
But when later did come, it was never enough. Her phantasm returned to the fringes of my thoughts and I ran my hand over the space next to me on the bed. I couldnt imagine leaving there, all I imagined was waiting there for her to return, and this prompted me to wonder what was laid to rest between those walls in the first place and whether or not one might reach up to grasp the hem of a seraphims garment, and irk it with enough force that the ethereal might be flung toward the realm of the earth and I might be flung into the heavens.
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