The Wooden Sea

When I was ready I opened the back door as quietly as I could and gestured for him to go before me.

“Don’t worry about anybody hearing us. When I’m around, no one’ll ever miss you.”

“How does that work?”

He brought his two index fingers together and touched the tips. “When you and I are together everything else stops, understand? People, things, the whole works.”

I looked down and saw the cat was going out with us. “Everything but Smith.”

“Yeah, well, we’re going to need him.”

I looked at young me one foot away, then at Smith. “Why doesn’t this disturb me more?”

“Because you knew it was coming a long time ago.”

“Because I knew what was coming? You’re smiling.”

“I’m laughing my ass off. Let’s go.” 

Cat Folding

A fat white gob of spit landed with a loud splat inches from my foot. I stared at it and then turned slowly to look at him. I knew exactly what he was doing and why. “If I knock you out will I feel it?”

His right hand froze bringing the cigarette to his mouth. “Try me, motherfucker. Just try.” His voice was all balls and threat. At one time in my history that voice had frightened half the county. Tonight standing there it only made me want to pat him on the head and say now, now, everything’s all right, little fellow. You don’t need to spit at me to make your point.

“Remember, Junior, I got the advantage here cause I know both you and me. You only know you—not what you’ll be like in thirty years.”

He flicked the cigarette away. It bounced far out in the street, throwing up a burst of gold and red sparks. When he spoke his tone had lost the anger and was only unhappiness. “How could you end up like this? I was sitting in that house thinking, ‘This is it?’ This is how it’ll be for me? Yellow chairs with flowers on them and last week’s Time magazine? Bill Gates. Who the fuck is Bill Gates? What happened to you? What happened to me?”

“You grew up. Things changed. What did you think life would be like when you got older?”

He nodded toward the house. “Not that! Not what you got. Not Father Knows Best or The Andy Griffith Show. Anything but that.”

“What then?”

His voice dropped back down to earth and became dreamy, slow. “I don’t know—a nice apartment in the city, maybe. Or out in LA. Shag rugs, white leather furniture, cool stereo. And women—lots and lots of women. But you’re married! You married Magda Ostrova, for Christ’s sake! Skanky little Magda in the tenth grade.”

“You don’t think she’s pretty?”

“She’s… all right. She’s a woman. I mean, she’s like forty years old!”

“So am I, bro. Older.”

“I know. I’m still wrapping my head around that.” Looking at the ground, he nodded. “Hey, don’t get me wrong—”

“It’s all right.”

Walking down my street I tried to see my world through his eyes. How different did it look from thirty years ago? What had changed? Whenever I thought about Crane’s View it comforted me that almost nothing ever changed here except some shops downtown and a new house or two. But from his perspective it might have been another world.

Home is where you’re most comfortable. But the comfort you know as a teen isn’t the same as an adult’s. When I was a kid, Crane’s View was the diving board that would launch me into the big pool. I jumped up and down on it, checked the springiness, thought about what kind of dive to make. When I was ready, I ran down it and threw myself into the air with all the courage and blind trust I could muster. I was comfortable in the town when I was young because I knew one day I’d be leaving and going on to great things. No doubt about it. Despite the fact I did lousy in school, had a police record and no respect for anyone’s rules, I was sure the water into which I’d be jumping would be both welcoming and warm.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Died four years ago. He’s up in the graveyard if you want to go visit him.”

“Did he like what’s happened to you?”

“Yeah, he was pretty happy with me.”

“He thought I was a fuckup.” He tried sounding amused but behind it was deep regret.

“You were a fuckup. Don’t forget—I was there. I was you.”

We moved on in silence. It was a chilly night. I felt the cold stone sidewalk through the thin soles of my shoes.

“What’s the girl like? Magda’s daughter.”

“Pauline? Very smart, does well in school. Keeps to herself.”

“So what’s she doing posing naked in front of a mirror in the middle of the night?”

“Trying on different identities, I guess.”

“She’s not bad looking. Especially if she grows some tits.”

Something big in me twitched. I didn’t like that kind of talk about my stepdaughter, especially after the embarrassment of having just seen her naked myself. A moment later I was gri

“You’re going to have to help me a lot ‘cause I don’t know anything.”

“What do you mean?”

He stopped and touched my arm. It was a brief touch, as if he didn’t want to but it was necessary. “I know a few things but not as much as you probably think. Nothing about what’s happened here since I left. I know what went on before, like when I was growing up and all, but nothing after that.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Look at your cat. He’s telling you.”

Smith was still with us but walking in his own way: he wove in and out of our four legs as we moved along—as if he was sewing us together with invisible thread. Not an easy thing to do, but as with most cats, he made it look easy.

“I’m here because you need me. You need my help. Take a left here. We gotta go to the Schiavo house.”

“You just said you didn’t know anything about what’s going on here now. How do you know about the Schiavos?”

“Look, I’m not here to trick you. I’ll tell you what I know. If you think it’s bullshit, that’s your problem. Here’s what I know about the Schiavos: They’re married and they disappeared from here the other day. We gotta go over to their house now because you gotta see something.”

“Why?”

“I du

“Who sent you?”

He shook his head. “Du

“Where did you come from?”

“Du

“You’re as much help as a tumor.”

He turned around and started walking backward, facing me as we went. “Whatever happened to Vince Ettrich?”

“Businessman. Lives in Seattle.”

“Sugar Glider?”

“She married Edwin Loos. They live in Tuckahoe.”

“Jesus, they actually did get married! Amazing. What about Al Salvato?”

“Dead. Him and his whole family in a car accident. Right outside of town.”

“How old are you now?”

“Forty-seven. Don’t you know that? They didn’t tell you?”

He blew out his lower lip. “They didn’t tell me shit. God didn’t point a finger at me and say Go! It wasn’t The Ten Commandments. Fucking Charlton Heston parting the waters with his staff. I was just someplace one minute and now I’m here.”

“That’s very informative.” I was about to say more but I heard the sound of hammering. It was three o’clock in the morning. “Hear that?”

He nodded. “Coming from down the street.” A look in his eyes—a twitch, a dart from left to right and then back to me– said the boy knew more than he was telling.

“You know what it is?”

“Let’s just go, huh? Wait till we get there.” He kept walking backward but wouldn’t look at me anymore.

It was clear he wasn’t going to say more so I pushed that topic aside and tried something else. “I still don’t understand where you were. You were there and now you’re here. Where’s there?”

“Where do you go when you take a nap? Or sleep at night? Someplace like that. I don’t really know. Someplace not here exactly but not far away either. All of who we are and were is always around. Just not in the same room anymore; the same house but not the same room.”