Candles

I lit a candle at church for my first crush on Remembrance Day.

Byron played dodge ball better than anyone I knew in the third grade, always the last man standing. Or boy, I suppose. He seemed like a man to me, tall and muscular for a ten-year-old. He’d been kept back a year by his mother, so he was taller and more developed than any of us nine-year olds. Since his last name was White, Byron sat next to me.

The two of us laughed when Mrs. Spence went over the grammar lesson, punching out prepositional phrases, adjectives, and adverbs like they were kittens in a box. I’d make funny noises with my hand under my armpits and he’d laugh. He’d turn up his nose and lower his eyelids to make goofy faces at me and I’d laugh. I liked Byron because he didn’t call me “Pecker” or “Woody” just like all the other kids did. And I liked him because he didn’t pick me last for the kickball team. He didn’t pick me first but he didn’t pick me last.

Half way through the year, Byron had to move and I cried. I cried because my friend was leaving the third grade and moving to East Liberty. Had to go to another school, he told me. After he left I felt very lonely. And the class wasn’t nearly as interesting. The only black boy had left and all that remained were thirty pasty-white boys and girls. Nowhere near as interesting without Byron.

I wonder where Byron is today. The candle still burns.

Out of the box

“All right, family,” I said to the crew sitting around in a tight circle of chairs in my 18th Street flat just north of Castro, “you may begin reading.”

They opened the manuscript and devoured the pages like vultures would feed on a pig carcass on a sun-scorched desert highway, tumbleweeds and all. My mother’s lips turned white when she turned to the second page. My brother scrunched up his forehead until it looked like a cinnamon danish. My sister let out a high-pitched squeak after she skipped ahead to the de-virginization chapter. How’d she know where to find it? Perhaps she’d read my blog, after all. And Dad popped his mouth open and groaned when he fingered his way to the end of the manuscript.

No surprise there. Dad always read the newspaper from the back to the front. I can remember him, sitting on the toilet Saturday mornings, reading the sports section, stinking up the whole house after French toast, bacon, and tomato juice.

And then it began. Mom pointed her index finger at me. “I did not have sex with my husband before marriage!”

“How’d you know about Beth Twiggles?” my brother said. “No one was home, I never told anyone. And those Cheetohs, you’re the one who stole them from my underwear drawer.”

My sister whimpered. “This is really insulting and disgusting. You’ve laid out our lives for the whole world to laugh at. I did not go around the world with Bobby Boulder!”

“Relax, everyone,” Dad finally said. “It ends happily. We all convene at the artist’s Noe Valley apartment and smoke a joint to celebrate the youngest’s smashing exhibition.”

Exhibition, indeed.

An apology

You didn’t know that I thought about you, every time I fried some chicken and served it with steamed peas and white rice. I knew that was your favorite as a little girl, and I remember how your pigtails bounced when you sat at your mama’s table, eager to bit into a drumstick or a thigh.

You didn’t know that when I walked down Main Street and passed Barlow’s Drugs and Restoratives, I felt the urge to cry when I passed the display window. The displays of sleds and snow shovels in winter, sun chairs and umbrellas in the summer melted my heart – because I recalled you jumping up and down in the winter when it would snow, begging to go outside to sled down the hill behind your grandfather’s house. And I recalled the smile a trip to the Savannah beaches brought to your face.

Those long, quiet afternoons when everything was so innocent.

You didn’t know that I stood at the back of the auditorium when you graduated from high school, hidden from view, or that I was there when you became the first woman in your family to graduate from college – and Vanderbilt, no less. I could see the pride in your papa’s face, the face with a profile that Modigliani would’ve killed to sculpt, and those lips, so soft and sensitive to the touch.

It was your mother, deer sweet Verbena, who asked me to leave after she read the letters I wrote to your papa.

I’m sorry, dear sweet child, that I walked out of your life without a word – had no choice, really, but to disappear into the night when your mama found out. But I know you’ve had a happy life. I saw it at your wedding and the birth announcements that followed. Most of all, I’m sorry I never told you how I loved you.

I wish

“Hi, Alex, I’ll take Things That’ll Never Happen for $200,” Aaron said.

The electronic blip revealed the answer, and Alex said, “This never happens when someone says, ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’”

Aaron beat out his opponents, Herbie Blaunox and Matilda Golddigger, to the button. “What is a telephone call, Alex?”

“Correct! Next selection?”

“Passive-aggressive Dyslexics for $400,” Alex said, smiling. He was on a roll.

Alex recited the clue. “He slept with your best friend without telling you.”

Aaron groaned. “Who is my boyfriend, Alex?”

“It’s as if this game were made for you, Aaron.”

“Let’s move onto to Self-centered Adjectives for $600,” Aaron said.

“A compound adjective that describes a man who sits naked on your sofa after having a bowel movement.”

Aaron felt that queasy breath of air rise in his throat. “What is hyper-gross, Alex?”

“Correct again. Final question. The category is Things You Wish For for $800. And the answer is: What someone wants after his partner gambles away the joint savings on a Tenderloin hustler.”

Herbie Blaunox punched down on his button one-tenth of a second before Sonya did. “What are a fool-proof murder plot and an airtight alibi, Alex?”

“Yes, Herbie!” Alex said. “And you’ve now become our Jeopardy champion! But our Consolation Prize for Second Best goes to Aaron Aardvark!”

Aaron woke up and sat up in bed. .Oliver snored beside him. Why couldn’t he get that deviated septum fixed?

Peace on earth

Aaron finally got a ruling on his petition to attend the Nativity, and before too long his time machine transported him to Bethlehem. He emerged from a cave in the forest, God only knew where, and walked to the nearest town.

“Who goes there,” a black-bearded man in armor asked when Aaron walked by the market. He had a black mole on his left cheek that looked like a spider sac. “Halt and make yourself known.”|“It is I, Aaron Aardvark of California.”

“I’ve never seen hair that color before in my life, nor a face so white. Not even among the most northern of Romans. And your robe wears too closely to your legs.”

“I come in peace and blue jeans, sir. Please forgive my appearance.”

The black-moled guard reached for his saber, but paused. He squinted his eyes, looked at Aaron shivering in his dungarees and flannel shirt. “Where is this tribe of California? Somewhere east of Persia?”

After a fashion, Aaron supposed. “Quite east. I come to witness a very special birth. I seek Joseph and Mary of Galilee whose child brings peace on earth.”

The man grunted. “Never a more pitiful pair of nomads did I see enter the village. Off you go then, in that direction.” He pointed and went back to the market and all those hides and pelts.

Aaron turned down the alleyway the man indicated. Before too long, the small houses of the village came further apart, and then he came upon the stable. A star shone brightly above the structure and light came from within. Aaron entered and just as he turned to witness the Savior’s birth, he saw a three-ringed circus with ponies, acrobats, clowns, and a strong man.

“Damn that time machine,” Aaron thought. “So much for peace on earth. I knew I should’ve downloaded the latest upgrade when my Macbook prompted me.”

Flying: backwards

Once they were all seated, the bony-shouldered guy said, “Oh, dear, I need to get my medications out of my suitcase. Would you mind ...”

And then they all sat down. And so did the Justice Ginsburg woman. So he got up again.

“Of course.” Marshall rolled his eyes and sighed.

And then a bony-shouldered man with thick black-framed glasses and stray black hairs poking out of his shirt tapped him on the shoulder and said, my seat’s on the window, would you mind getting up.

And then Marshall went back to his seat and sat down. So he went back out and asked the flight attendant for a bottle of water to rinse off the soapy hands. Double damn. But when he soaped up his hands and turned on the water, nothing came out. So Marshall got up and went to the back and, after a brief, “Better do this now before we take off” to one of the attendants, dashed into the lavatory.

Damn this being fifty crap. But then Marshall felt his bladder. And now, he could sit down and relax. He was happy to let the woman in – petite enough, she wouldn’t occupy his space during the trip. And then Marshall got up again to let the woman into the row.

“I’m sitting next to you. Pardon me,” said a woman who looked just like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, “would you mind getting up?”

So now, Marshall said, he could sit down and stay seated. And then he got up again and exchanged them for the right glasses. Wrong glasses, these were his driving glasses. And then he opened the case. And then he got up again, reached into the backpack for his reading glasses and pulled out the case and sat down. He forgot his reading glasses. But damn.

And then Marshall finally sat down. He put it into airplane mode and stuffed it into the seat pocket along with the book, puzzles, pen, and notebook. And then Marshall got up to get his cellphone out of the backpack again. But no. It took a while to get settled. Whew.

And then he put his book, puzzles, pen, and notebook in the seat pocket and sat down. He grabbed them and put them in the overhead. He reached into the seat pocket for Delta’s stupid little magazine, the instruction guide, the advertising brochure, and the puke bag. And then he plopped them down on his seat. And then he got up to get his book, crossword puzzles, pen, and notebook from his backpack. Marshall put his luggage up in the overhead and took his seat.

The plan

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Daniel said and sniffed. Daniel was always fighting a cold, must have something to do with Michael, Matthew, and Martin. The three little monsters. Poor Daniel and Bethany, saddled with triplets. And Daniel climbed telephone poles for a living and Bethany was a stay-at-home telemarketer. Life sucked.

“Sure, buddy,” Marshall said. For the first time since they were kids, Marshall wasn’t the only son home before the holidays. “Anything you say.”

“Bethany and I are taking the boys and Dad to the Nutcracker Christmas Eve while you and Mom get situated at home. Then we’ll have an early dinner and go to church at 7:30.”

“I see,” Marshall said and pursed his lips.

“And tomorrow, I’ll be putting up the Christmas lights and some wreathes around the house,” Daniel said.

“Isn’t that usually Dad’s job? I thought you and I would play racketball at the gym,” Marshall said, thinking about the personal trainer with the contoured leg muscles, V-shaped back, and chiseled chin.

“Nah, Dad’s been a little tired these days. I said I’d do it.”

“But he likes all that stuff. I suppose you’re twirling the garlands up the staircase, too?” Marshall said. Daniel always had to be in control.

“We’re not doing any garlands this year. There’s something you should know ...” Daniel said.

“Not doing any garlands? That’s an annual tradition.” Not only was Daniel taking control, he was changing everything.

“Marshall, listen. I have –“

“It’s an annual tradition, we do it every year.”

“Please, Marshall, shut up and listen. Dad has Alzheimer’s. Everything’s changed.”

Whirling dervish

Dad didn’t seem all that bad, but Mom had gained a ton of weight. In that red Christmas dress, she looked like a strawberry. One that’d been picked too long ago.

But Dad, he seemed chipper and excited by all the people – the children, Bethany, Daniel, and Marshall. He kept chasing the kids around the house and making silly jokes that had Matthew, Michael, and Martin in stitches.

He’d never done that before. Every time Dad made a joke about the kids looking like bowling pins or Marshall’s ears reminding him of Dumbo, Mom scowled, “Oh, Alan, stop that now!”

“Oh, Strawberry, I’m just kidding. Look kids, Grandma is a big strawberry in that dress!” And off they would go, running around the house.

“If that man gets any worse,” Mom said, “I’m going to jump out of my skin. That man has always been impossible.”

“Millie,” Dad said for the tenth time, “where’s the coffee maker? And the telephone is broken. I can’t dial out.”

“Look, Alan, I’ll make coffee for you. And who are you calling?”

“My mother, of course. It’s Christmas Eve. I always call her.”

Marshall looked over at Daniel, who nodded his head.

Fifteen

“Folks, we’ll be landing in fifteen minutes,” the pilot said over the intercom.

Marshall breathed a little easier. The flight had been smooth for the past half hour since the terrible turbulence had ended. He’d finish up his bowl game and then sit back until the plane landed.

Bowl game, for those who don’t know it, involves anagrams of ten letters. The letters would be re-arranged to form one ten-letter word. But they could also be arranged to form two distinct, unrelated words with exactly the ten letters. Only one remained undone to Marshall, and its letters were AAABCDELNR.

As always, Marshall started with the partition of two words. Easier to divide and conquer, just like a software engineering problem. But he couldn’t think of anything. They hit a little bump. So he put it down and thought about spending the holidays with his parents.

His mother always had so many chores for him to do before Christmas. He usually got home a few days before his brothers stormed the place with the little hellions, all four of them. A little peace and quiet, Marshall enjoyed his time alone with Mother and Dad – cocktail hour by the fireplace, playing a game of scrabble. But this year, his mother would have him baking cookies, wrapping presents for the children, running to the store for candles, setting the dinner table.

“Candle.” Yes, that word works in the anagram. That left the letters AABR. Abra, the young woman in “East of Eden?” No, the game disallowed proper names – but “arab” worked. Candle and arab, perfect. And yes – Marshall saw the ten-letter word right away: candelabra.

Which reminded him, Mother would have him set up the Christmas candelabra yet again. He always hated that chore. So many crystals, and he’d already broken two pieces in years past.

Heavy

Oh, my God, we’re going down! The plane’s going to crash, we’re all going to die. I just know it, today’s the day I’m going to die, what will that look like on my tombstone, born 29 February 1964 died 13 November 2015, yes – Friday the 13th, so unlucky, I was always so unlucky, I’m going to die, I miss my mother.

But the turbulence stopped suddenly and the plane smoothed out its ride, like riding a new interstate in a Mercedes-Benz. Whew. Marshall could feel his heart beging to slow down, his breathing even out. All was calm in the plane again. And curiously, no one had made a noise during that side-to-side, up-and-down turbulence that had lasted for at least two hours – but wait, the flight was only 75 minutes. But it seemed like two hours ...

Marshall looked around him. No one expressed anything other than the ordinary. The heavy lady on the other side of Marshall’s aisle still knitted her sweater. The tattooed guy chewing gum was still watching his Conan DVD. The Asian guy behind them was reading a book – John Grisham, Marshall noticed. Marshall hated John Grisham. Too cheesy anymore.

He settled back into his chair and closed his eyes. His therapist had prodded him to meditate about his mother’s death. He was avoiding it, Marshall knew – but he resolved, yes, he’d think about his mother’s last days and the funeral.

But then the turbulence started up again. Marshall was definitely going to die. This time for sure.

An obstacle

Finally. The plane took off. Marshall clutched the arm rest as the plane lurched upward into the sky. Okay, count to ninety, he said. Eighty-nine, eighty-eight, etc. And when he’d get to zero, Marshall reminded himself, he could breathe more easily. Most plans crash on take-off or landing. And more crash on take-off than landing. So if he made it to zero, it’d be okay. Now wouldn’t it.

Ah-oh, he felt a dip to the left. Nope, just for a second. His palms felt wet against the arm rests. His heart began to race. Woops – another little bump. Oh, and a bigger one, too. Now wait a minute, Marshall, we’re flying through the clouds. It’ll be overy in just a second.

But that’s just it! It will be over in a few seconds. Yes, completely over, just as soon as this airplane that we’re trapped in gives up, gets lazy, and crashes into the ground below. Only thing that’ll be identifiable will be my teeth, Marshall thought. Everything else will be melted to smithereens.

And just what are smithereens, anyway?

Flying

Marshall put his luggage up in the overhead and took his seat. And then he got up to get his book, crossword puzzles, pen, and notebook from his backpack. And then he plopped them down on his seat. He reached into the seat pocket for Delta’s stupid little magazine, the instruction guide, the advertising brochure, and the puke bag. He grabbed them and put them in the overhead. And then he put his book, puzzles, pen, and notebook in the seat pocket and sat down.

Whew. It took a while to get settled. But no. And then Marshall got up to get his cellphone out of the backpack again. He put it into airplane mode and stuffed it into the seat pocket along with the book, puzzles, pen, and notebook. And then Marshall finally sat down.

But damn. He forgot his reading glasses. And then he got up again, reached into the backpack for his reading glasses and pulled out the case and sat down. And then he opened the case. Wrong glasses, these were his driving glasses. And then he got up again and exchanged them for the right glasses. So now, Marshall said, he could sit down and stay seated.

“Pardon me,” said a woman who looked just like Ruth Bader Ginsburg, “would you mind getting up? I’m sitting next to you.”

And then Marshall got up again to let the woman into the row. He was happy to let the woman in – petite enough, she wouldn’t occupy his space during the trip. And now, he could sit down and relax. But then Marshall felt his bladder. Damn this being fifty crap.

So Marshall got up and went to the back and, after a brief, “Better do this now before we take off” to one of the attendants, dashed into the lavatory. But when he soaped up his hands and turned on the water, nothing came out. Double damn. So he went back out and asked the flight attendant for a bottle of water to rinse off the soapy hands. And then Marshall went back to his seat and sat down.

And then a bony-shouldered man with thick black-framed glasses and a stray black hairs poking out of his shirt tapped him on the shoulder and said, my seat’s on the window, would you mind getting up.

Marshall rolled his eyes and sighed. “Of course.”

So he got up again. And so did the Justice Ginsburg woman. And then they all sat down.

Once they were all seated, the bony-shouldered guy said, “Oh, dear, I need to get my medications out of my suitcase. Would you mind ...”