No Family, Please
—an excerpt—
“My mother wants to meet you,” Angela says. I don’t reply. “She’d like to have you in for a meal.” Again, I don’t reply. “I’ve never had someone... a partner... in before.”
I watch the ducks, who’re swimming silently. I observe the pond, a mirror of sky. The surface ripples, like thought, only to fade.
“Do adult ducks know their parents?” I ask.
“Lane...”
“No.”
“Pardon?” Angela asks. “No, they don’t, or...?”
“Both,” I tell her. We sit shaded by a gazebo. I’m sitting at a picnic table; Angela is in her wheelchair.
“You don’t have to tell me why not,” Angela replies. It’s a mild, clear morning, the sun a little too bright. Pigeons land: a whole flock, all at once, or within seconds of one another. Several are pecking their way up sun-stained asphalt. I reach out slowly, take Angela’s hand.
They all take off at once too: susurration.
************
There’s an elbow-sized hole just outside my bedroom. I call it Elbows of Canada, an artistic statement on world affairs. It’s an accidental masterpiece which I made it by falling into the wall. My property manager doesn’t see the artistic merit. My property manager needs me to have it fixed, but he’s from a rich American family. He’s a left-winger from a rich American family, meaning I could make any number of topical ironic wall-jokes.
The repairs will mean my grocery and Christmas budget combined.
