Page 19 - Contrast1981Springv24

Heavy plodding from the den. 17

"pregnant."
I poured over Faulkner, having lost the story long ago.
I looked at the words, turned pages, reading no more than the
growing darkness between the words. I listened to the muffled
tones of the television and the beginning hum of the dishwasher

downstairs.
Papa is already on the couch, watching the baseball game

with his eyes closed. Snoring so loud you can't hear the
announcer. He'd know if I tried to change the channel. He'd sit
straight up, slitty-eyed, and make me put it back. The score
never changes after the second inning. When Jim and I come in
tonight, he'll be wide awake. Reading the encyclopedia with
his specs on the tip of his nose. He'll peer over.

Maybe he won't hear us. The ball games have been turned up

awfully loud lately.
A clattering in the kitchen. It's not like Mama to let the

door slam like that. Even with her hands full. And it's pretty
late to be feeding the dogs. I guess Papa forgot again.

I walked Into the room right past them. They never even
noticed. Who could with that staticy radio turned up so loud?
Names and numbers. And places and names and numbers. Papa's
tie crumpled his neck. He stood in front of the window not
seeing the cornfield or the river. And especially not me. Oh
no. Not tonight. Names. Rammed his glasses on. Numbers.
Ripped them off his nose. And cleared his throat.

And Mama leaned so far over the kitchen table. That big
piece of newspaper that comes all diwied up with little boxes
to stick all the numbers in had lots of blue ink on it by now.
Lots of blue numbers on dirty white paper. Mama's curly shadow
got darker when new numbers came in. Leaned so far and held
her breath. Then she punched the glasses back up on her nose. I
watched her eyes jerk from Papa's votes to that other man's.

I sat down right next to Mama with that stupid hot dog.
I dribbled the mustard all over hoping she'd get mad so that I
could remind her that nobody else ever got hot dogs on their
birthday. She never even noticed. Didn't even stop her eyes
jumping. Just moved the paper and breathed hard. Papa cleared

his throat again. So I left mustard right there and slammed

the screen door against the railing on my way out.
Pinewood floors groan louder at night. After sneaking in

late for years and nearly always being heard, I had to laugh.
Now she's sneaking up to talk to me like she did that night she
brought that green growing up book. I waited for the inevitable

question.
"What are you doing up here in the dark? You'll hurt your

eyes reading like that." I was glad she couldn't see me smile

in the darkness. Mama hates to be predictable.
"I thought you might want to finish what you were saying

when your father came in."
'With today's top political developments?" I tucked my

thumbs securely inside the caves my fingers made.
''This isn't like you." Mama slid her hand sideways until

she was lying full length on the bed with her head propped up

with a right arm lean-to.
"Maybe I'm just tired of remembering who I am. Or rather,

remembering who my father is. I've never been able to make