Something Happened

"I don't talk to myself."

"You bite your nails and don't even listen to any of us."

"Do I? What makes you think I'm angry when I'm like that?"

"We're all afraid."

"That doesn't mean I am. Sometimes I'm just feeling unhappy. Or concentrating. I can be unhappy too, can't I?"

"Would Mommy be angry if I asked her?"

"What?"

"If you fuck her."

"Only because of that word. Maybe not. Don't do it in front of anyone."

"I better not."

"You already asked me. I already told you. If you ask her too, it wouldn't be to find out, would it? It would just be to see if she gets angry."

"Was it all right? To ask you?"

"You already asked me that three times. I'm not angry. Do you want me to be angry?"

"I thought you'd be. I bet other kids' fathers would be."

"Maybe I ought to be. I'm better than other kids' fathers. Is that why you keep asking me? Are you trying to make me angry?"

He shakes his head positively. "No. I don't like it when you're angry. I can tell. You're starting to get angry now, aren't you?"

"I don't like it, either. And I'm not."

"Emphasis?" he remembers.

"Emphasis," I confirm.

"I don't like Derek," he remarks without pause. He wears a troubled, injured look.

"You're not supposed to say that," I instruct him mildly. "You're not supposed to feel that way, either."

"Do you?"

"You're not supposed to ask that."

"You just told me I could ask you anything. That's another thing I always think about."

"Yes. You can. It was okay for you to say what you did and ask me. And it was also okay for me to answer you the way I did. It was all right for both of us. Can you understand that? I hope that's not too confusing for you. I'm not trying to duck out on the question."

"Am I supposed to say it or not? I don't know."

"I don't know," I admit resignedly. "I'm not sure I like Derek, either, the situation I mean, the way he is, maybe even him too. I'm not sure. But we often have to live with things we don't like. Like my job. Me too. I don't know what to do about him yet. And nobody can help me."

"He makes me uncomfortable."

"He makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm ashamed to bring friends here. I think they'll make jokes about me."

"So are we. But we try not to be. We shouldn't be. And you should try not to be too. It's not our fault, it really isn't, so we pretend we aren't. Ashamed. What else?"

"Money."

"What about it?"

"You want me to tell you what's on my mind, don't you?"

"Yours too?"

"Do we have any?"

"What do you want?"

"That's not why."

"What is?"

"You buy me everything."

"So far."

"Have we got too much?"

"For what? We're not millionaires."

"Have we got enough?"

"For what?"

"You make it hard," he charges. "You're kidding now. And I'm not."

"To give away?" I kid some more, taunting.

"You give money away," he rejoins in defense.

"To cancer and things like that. Not to other people. Not to kids. I don't shovel it out to kids I hardly even know like it's too hot for me to hold on to."

"Leukemia?" he asks.

"I knew you'd ask that. Do you want me to?"

He shrugs almost indifferently. "I would like it, I think. But don't take it away from cancer."

"I knew you'd start worrying about leukemia the second I told you. I'm sorry I told you."

"I'm not worrying about it. I don't even know what it is yet."

"Don't you ever worry about things you don't know about?"

"Like what?"

"Why should I tell you if you don't know about them?"

"Now I'll worry about them. Now I'll worry about things to worry about," he adds, with another gloomy laugh.

"That's what a lot of people do worry about."

"You don't like me to give money away," he observes. "It makes you angry, doesn't it?"

"Is that why you do it?"

"I'm not go

"You're not go

"Yeah?"

"I'll kick your ass," I warn him jocularly.

I am happy we are talking together so freely. (I relish those moments when he seems to enjoy being with me.)

He used to give money away (probably still does, or will start giving money away again when the warm weather comes and he finds himself outside the house a lot with other kids), pe