Page 49 - Contrast2008

is m. edical tap e ex-ed over iIt-the thi.n white ismells and habits gathered up into clouds

stnps.lou cutoff a roll. ' hanging open-mouthed and useless while

slee 'Ac"cident", I say. "H ey, watch your tried to figure out what was missing.
That was what was wrong with me-there
ve-
was always something missing. Every day, and
siz She J.erks her arm away from a half-dollar especially just before people sawall of us out
"as a family." My mother constantly reminded
tine p.uddle of mustar d diIP, and presses li.ttle
me what was missing
e S"izeddams r.n her mashed potatoes.

Daddy, what "Daddy, what does it mean to write about me. She con-
'fuck'?" she says. vinced me everyone
d'fuoes . mean to write else in the world knew

It

ck?." she says.

I I hope I don't I hope I don't look shocked. I probably it, too.
ookshocked.Iprob- I had every reason
Yacbly d'onto I,m not. don't. I'm not. Yeah, I am. to believe her. I mean,

eah, Iam. she always had to look me over really good

th Sbhe's swimgm. g h er Iittle size 5 feet under before we got in the car, especially if we were

toeta le. I can h ear h er Mary Janes, the hard going to Mass. She would maybe start out rak-

toeus hcathching an d skiddimg over the linoleum. I ing her fingers through my hair-then digging

col~ t e tablespoon beside me, and drop my into my scalp. She had these long, slim fingers,

of meatloaf sandwich halfway off the edge and neat, pretty nails.
set:~ ~late. A wide drop of sticky coffee has I was supposed to love those hands. She

III the silver cradle. said she was my mother-I'd better love all
When 1was in the fourth grade I didn't of her. Itried, but I couldn't, even though her
hands were lovely, like a model's. In fact, when
aknnyobw : hat the word meant-much 'less why

it bOy would write it down. I must have seen I was really little, I thought she could have been
a model. Anyway, she would check my hair for
tProby bthl en ,ni the boys' room or somethm. g. knots. I could hear hair ripping loose. Not a lot

but y heard it, too. I knew how to spell it,

like couldn't have used it in a sentence. Un- of it. I mean, just the tangled pieces I missed
I leamr Odsteacnl·, qUlet Roman Cathollc. boys, with my comb. It felt like a hundred little

Scho nle something about "fuck" in Sunday shocks that lasted just a half second each. After,
o. it was sore, like a little burn. It tore softly, and
I pretended the hair were feathers. I imagined
my rnThehreer'was no typi.Cal Sunday mornm. g at

Srnells~aers'.We had all the ordinary wake-up them floating in the air just above my ankles.

mint le mix of sour warm shaving cream, I was dumb about belts and stuff too. Hell,

powd mon mouthwash, Chantilly pink body I still can't dress myself My little church pants

fast er ·There was the gulped down break- would be creased, but the belt would be narrow
when it should have been wide, or it should
thO-s-geul ey i.nstant oatmeal from a pouch with have been dark for winter, or the belt was what
was missing all together. I'd forget she'd hand-
sWall Spongy,sdgui stmg . "app Ie" specks a lCew
OWsof ... '. .-
WhatI orange JUlCewith crumbs (which IS

1if. I Couulsdedeto call pu Ip) and a piece 0 f toast, washed my green dress socks to match the tie
I was wearing. She told me a million times, I
SISterD g t to the Sunbeam before my little

dirty lit~n~ stamped the good pieces with her knew what was going to happen when I came

Y e ngerprints. downstairs looking like that. I did know.
ep. These ordinary Sunday tastes and