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Untitled
By Garik Charneco
Untitled
By Garik Charneco
Anne had just learned the best way to settle down baby Estelle. She squawked out "wada-wada-wada," while playing a quick game of peek-a-boo.
"It look like she is your kid," I told her while I cleared space in the broom closet for the diapers we bought. I snuck into the wholesale club with my brother-in-law's card and all the new items overwhelmed our loft.
'Oh, shut the hell up," she responded with a half-smile. She carried the baby off towards the crib in our bedroom. That, also, barely fit. We had to remove the oak headers and caravan it down the steps of my sister's house and up the fire escape to our apartment.
"Did you put Mickey, to bed, already?" Her voice carried from the bedroom. Baby Estelle cooed.
I was still trying with my nephew. "I wanted honesty as a kid. No more bullshit from my parents. Just wanted to be treated like an adult," I told Anne when we drove over to pick the kids up the night after the accident. A neighbor had come in the house and laid them up in their little robes and bulging overnight bags. Mickey ran from the hallway and wrapped him self around my knees. His forehead bumped against my belt buckle, but he made no sign of pain.
"Are mami and papi, OK?" I strapped him into the back of our car and pulled the straps extra tight. The neighbor had brought out a booster seat from my sister's Town and Country mini van, but I stuffed it in the back. Mickey seemed to appreciate this.
"Are they, OK?"
"We will go see you dad tomorrow in the hospital. Your mom...," I struggled for a lie. Almost like a reflex, I wanted to say she is with Grandpa Hector in the sky or in everything so that she would always watch him. "she is gone, Mickey, but she loved you very much and you and Estelle will be OK with me an Aunt Anne."
Mickey stared at the back of my seat. "Will I see hear at a funeral?"
I imagined what funeral he might remember. Maybe it was someone on Mike's, my brother-in-law, side of the family. Or he learned it on TV or in a book.
"Yes," even though we had barely thought of that.
On another separate ride, returning from the hospital, Anne told Mickey that his dad was still asleep, but that the doctors thought he would wake soon. Mickey looked out on the lights of Detroit Avenue and while staring at the low glow of a Convenient Market sign asked, "Why did mami die?"
Baby Estelle began to cry and Anne swung around in her seat to tend to her. I thought about entropy and randomness. "It just happens, Mickey. You can't do anything about it except make sure that you work hard and have fun each and ever day."
He then began to cry. It was the first time we had seen him cry since the accident. I focused on the driving. All four traffic lights in front of me turned green and I shifted into auto pilot. Anne then tended to Mickey.
At home, she ripped into me.
"Who the fuck says that existential junk to a six-year old?!"
"What else do you want me to say? You can expert on children, now!?"
"And then that little "seize the day" stuff at the end. Jesus, you trying to run his life like a finishing school, Antonio?"
"Just trying honesty." I could not imagine myself saying anything about God, angels, or bad men with a straight face.
Baby Estelle began to cry. Anne ran to the bedroom. "These are your niece and nephew, Antonio!" Then the door closed. Not with a slam, but gently, as to not bother the baby any longer.
We had converted the only spare room into a bed room. We had pulled out the particle board desk and shuffled the computer to the living room. Any books on the shelves were covered by Mickey's own books and toys. We had slid our pet rabbit's cage out of the room, even thought Mickey wanted to keep him there. "Can I share him with you as my pet, too," he asked that first morning after everything. We had no idea where he went to school and decided to just keep him at home. "Sure," Anne said, even though the rabbit, Marzipan, struggled with even the thought of children. I barely see her anymore, but am reminded of her presence by the soft thumping noise coming from behind the couch sometimes.
In the room, Mickey lay on the air mattress staring at an infomercial on the 13-inch TV we brought from our bedroom. The living room TV was no bigger, but he adjusted well to that. "Time for bed, Mickey."
He nodded, but kept the TV on.
Not spotting a remote, I clicked it off before I kneeled next to the air mattress. I felt the rubber and it bounced back against my palms. "Are you ready for school tomorrow?" It had been two weeks, but the school contacted us through the hospital.
"I guess so," he said. "Do you think the other kids will make fun of me."
'Because of your parents?" I wondered if children were really that cruel. Whatever happened to the sheer sanctity of bringing your mother into this? "No, of course not. Not unless you go to school with some really sick classmates!"
"Terry Jameson once killed a cat!" Mickey's eyes went wide and he shook away the bits of hair in front of his forehead. "He threw rocks at it down by the creek behind the school and told everyone the next day."
I tucked the comforter under the mattress. I went deep because sheets slid off the mattress and Mickey would wake up with nothing on him but his pajamas.
A lie came out of me. "Hey, all those mean kids. One day they will work for you." The lie felt necessary. Mickey returned it with a smile. "Mami, used to say that."
If enough adults say a lie is true, it seems to stick with kids. The Easter Bunny. Tooth Fairy. The Three Kings. "Did she?"
Mickey nodded.
"Well, it is true. I learned it from your grandmother and look at me!" I turned around the room and showed him everything that two combined department assistants (Me, legal, and Anne, collegiate admissions) could afford. I stomped around and held a plastic sword tucked behind a cedar chest as a scepter. He laughed, loving the lie.
"It look like she is your kid," I told her while I cleared space in the broom closet for the diapers we bought. I snuck into the wholesale club with my brother-in-law's card and all the new items overwhelmed our loft.
'Oh, shut the hell up," she responded with a half-smile. She carried the baby off towards the crib in our bedroom. That, also, barely fit. We had to remove the oak headers and caravan it down the steps of my sister's house and up the fire escape to our apartment.
"Did you put Mickey, to bed, already?" Her voice carried from the bedroom. Baby Estelle cooed.
I was still trying with my nephew. "I wanted honesty as a kid. No more bullshit from my parents. Just wanted to be treated like an adult," I told Anne when we drove over to pick the kids up the night after the accident. A neighbor had come in the house and laid them up in their little robes and bulging overnight bags. Mickey ran from the hallway and wrapped him self around my knees. His forehead bumped against my belt buckle, but he made no sign of pain.
"Are mami and papi, OK?" I strapped him into the back of our car and pulled the straps extra tight. The neighbor had brought out a booster seat from my sister's Town and Country mini van, but I stuffed it in the back. Mickey seemed to appreciate this.
"Are they, OK?"
"We will go see you dad tomorrow in the hospital. Your mom...," I struggled for a lie. Almost like a reflex, I wanted to say she is with Grandpa Hector in the sky or in everything so that she would always watch him. "she is gone, Mickey, but she loved you very much and you and Estelle will be OK with me an Aunt Anne."
Mickey stared at the back of my seat. "Will I see hear at a funeral?"
I imagined what funeral he might remember. Maybe it was someone on Mike's, my brother-in-law, side of the family. Or he learned it on TV or in a book.
"Yes," even though we had barely thought of that.
On another separate ride, returning from the hospital, Anne told Mickey that his dad was still asleep, but that the doctors thought he would wake soon. Mickey looked out on the lights of Detroit Avenue and while staring at the low glow of a Convenient Market sign asked, "Why did mami die?"
Baby Estelle began to cry and Anne swung around in her seat to tend to her. I thought about entropy and randomness. "It just happens, Mickey. You can't do anything about it except make sure that you work hard and have fun each and ever day."
He then began to cry. It was the first time we had seen him cry since the accident. I focused on the driving. All four traffic lights in front of me turned green and I shifted into auto pilot. Anne then tended to Mickey.
At home, she ripped into me.
"Who the fuck says that existential junk to a six-year old?!"
"What else do you want me to say? You can expert on children, now!?"
"And then that little "seize the day" stuff at the end. Jesus, you trying to run his life like a finishing school, Antonio?"
"Just trying honesty." I could not imagine myself saying anything about God, angels, or bad men with a straight face.
Baby Estelle began to cry. Anne ran to the bedroom. "These are your niece and nephew, Antonio!" Then the door closed. Not with a slam, but gently, as to not bother the baby any longer.
We had converted the only spare room into a bed room. We had pulled out the particle board desk and shuffled the computer to the living room. Any books on the shelves were covered by Mickey's own books and toys. We had slid our pet rabbit's cage out of the room, even thought Mickey wanted to keep him there. "Can I share him with you as my pet, too," he asked that first morning after everything. We had no idea where he went to school and decided to just keep him at home. "Sure," Anne said, even though the rabbit, Marzipan, struggled with even the thought of children. I barely see her anymore, but am reminded of her presence by the soft thumping noise coming from behind the couch sometimes.
In the room, Mickey lay on the air mattress staring at an infomercial on the 13-inch TV we brought from our bedroom. The living room TV was no bigger, but he adjusted well to that. "Time for bed, Mickey."
He nodded, but kept the TV on.
Not spotting a remote, I clicked it off before I kneeled next to the air mattress. I felt the rubber and it bounced back against my palms. "Are you ready for school tomorrow?" It had been two weeks, but the school contacted us through the hospital.
"I guess so," he said. "Do you think the other kids will make fun of me."
'Because of your parents?" I wondered if children were really that cruel. Whatever happened to the sheer sanctity of bringing your mother into this? "No, of course not. Not unless you go to school with some really sick classmates!"
"Terry Jameson once killed a cat!" Mickey's eyes went wide and he shook away the bits of hair in front of his forehead. "He threw rocks at it down by the creek behind the school and told everyone the next day."
I tucked the comforter under the mattress. I went deep because sheets slid off the mattress and Mickey would wake up with nothing on him but his pajamas.
A lie came out of me. "Hey, all those mean kids. One day they will work for you." The lie felt necessary. Mickey returned it with a smile. "Mami, used to say that."
If enough adults say a lie is true, it seems to stick with kids. The Easter Bunny. Tooth Fairy. The Three Kings. "Did she?"
Mickey nodded.
"Well, it is true. I learned it from your grandmother and look at me!" I turned around the room and showed him everything that two combined department assistants (Me, legal, and Anne, collegiate admissions) could afford. I stomped around and held a plastic sword tucked behind a cedar chest as a scepter. He laughed, loving the lie.
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So what did you think? It hops around and I decided not to go with my usual "* * *" breaks. Maybe the readers could keep track of it. If you cannot, then it is my shortcoming and we can go to second draft!
Peace!
Peace!
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