Wednesday, February 13, 2008

  • sometimes behind four doors

    I WAS DRIVING THEM to school.  Buckle up, I commanded.  “Done,” they clicked in unison.  “My trousers are too short,” he complained afterwards.  Your what?  “My trousers.”  “They’re called pants,” his sister enunciated, chin up.  “Well, they’re too short,” he said, looking down at them.  They’re fine, I said, running a red light.  They fit you fine last year, I added.  “Well that was last year,” defended the one with short trousers. 

    No one’s going to notice, I tried.  “Angela will,” his sister instigated.  Who’s Angela?  “His girlfriend,” she egged.  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he reciprocated.  Eat your breakfast, both of you, I said.  And they ate, wrappers crinkling, she munching uppity, he gnawing ravenously.  “Why do you always stuff yourself like that?” she poked.  “Getting ready for the winter,” short trousers went.  Enough, stop it, I said.

    “He spilled grape juice all over himself again.”  I told you to hold onto it, didn’t I?  “You braked too quickly,” he accused.  You’re just clumsy, I said.  “Ridiculously so, the round fellow,” said upturned chin.  I reached back, dabbing a napkin at the stain without looking, still driving.  “They’re way too short,” he continued.  Well your mother had said to wear the old ones in the closet first, I said.  She said make sure they outgrow the old ones first, I told them word for word.  “When did she say that?” his sister asked.  Before she went up there, I stuttered, pointing upwards, my finger stopped by the soft roof.

    “So can’t she see my trousers are too short?  You can even see my socks and legs and all.  I mean she must have a good view from there.  She must know about them.  They say that everyone from there knows everything.  She’d probably tell you to get me new ones if she could, if she were still here.  New ones that aren’t as short as these.”  And I had to stop, pull off to the side of the road.  I reached back with my hand again, unable to turn around to them, feeling blindly for the hem at his ankle, and knowing for sure I’d feel skin instead.

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