The Summer That Melted Everything(31)

“But, Mr. Bliss.” He looked down at my bare feet. “You’re not wearin’ any shoes.”

“That doesn’t matter. The laces are still untied.” I pointed down at the old pair of dirty tennis shoes on the floor.

“But how can they trip you up if you’re not even wearin’ ’em?”

“Because those laces are everything, and when everything gets untied, you don’t stop tripping just because the shoes are off.”

He stepped over to the shoes, where he bent down and ran his fingers over the eyes threaded into the backs of their heels. “There’s somethin’ on the laces.” He grabbed hold of them and looked closer.

“Blood,” I answered as if I were carrying armloads of it, exhausted by that very thing.

I thought he would let go of the laces. Instead, he tied them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I found myself not stopping him.

“I’m tyin’ them. So they won’t trip you anymore.”

It was the kindest thing anyone had done for me in years. It was so kind, I had to sit down.

After he tied both shoes, he stood and walked around the trailer, staring at the photographs of chimneys and steeples framed on the walls.

“That one over there was one I did in San Francisco,” I told him from my lawn chair. “That one beside it is from a small town called Sunburst—that’s in Montana, in case you don’t know. The big one there is from Baton Rouge, and—”

“You haven’t got any pictures, Mr. Bliss.”

“What do you call those?”

“I mean you don’t have no pictures of family. Of friends.”

“They are my family. They are my friends.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bliss.” He lowered his eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad, for Christ’s sake.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“I should kick you out. The disrespect you have for your elders. I’m a man, goddamn it, you respect that.”

He stood there, watching me scratch my chin through my beard. I stopped because he began to look worried I may have fleas.

“You want some ice cream, kid?”

He quietly nodded.

“Help yourself. Lord knows I won’t eat it.” I gestured toward the freezer, directing him to move the frozen dinners out of the way to the carton of chocolate ice cream in the back.

“This carton is all banged up, Mr. Bliss.” He read the expiration date on its side. “This ice cream is from 1984. I’ll throw it away.”

“No.” I flipped the flimsy chair back as I stood.

“But it’ll make you sick. You’ve got to let it go.” He stepped away with the carton.

“You give that to me. Right now, boy. I said give it to me.” I grabbed hold of the carton, trying to yank it from his tight grip.

“Mr. Bliss…” He held on.

“Goddamn you to hell.”

“Mr. Bliss, no—”

I didn’t realize I’d slapped him until long after he left. I stood the lawn chair back up and sat there, holding the ice cream carton to my chest. At first, it was freezing, and burned my skin through my thin shirt in that way all frozen things can. Eventually, the freeze left. The carton was just cold then, until it wasn’t cold at all. It sweated and dripped down onto my lap. I must have sat there for hours like that, holding onto all that melt.

“Mr. Bliss?”

I raised my eyes to the boy. “My God, kid. You came back?”

“I just wanted to give ya somethin’.” He laid what he had down on the table by the door before leaving.

With the carton still pressed against my chest, I left the chair and hurried to the table. There was a photograph of his smiling face, a saguaro in the background, the sky yellowed by the sun rising behind him.

“Damn kid.”

I opened the carton and stared at the melted ice cream. Before I knew it, I was at the sink and pouring it down, some of it splashing on my shirt, little dark drops of chocolate that splattered like blood.

I balanced the carton on top of the pile of trash before going to a wall of photographs. I took down one of the frames and replaced the photograph of the steeple with that of the boy. It felt like maybe I was reaching for one of those hands Sal talked about. That whole second-chance hope sort of thing.

I spent the rest of that night in front of the fan. It was the first time in years I had tried to cool off. I even thought about putting my clothes in the freezer. That was one of Sal’s ideas, to put our clothes in the freezer overnight. By morning, they would be crisp and chilled.

Word on the cooling regime hit the town, and freezers became a second dresser for many. Everyone had their own ideas on how to stay cool. Mom kept her lotions and creams in the refrigerator so they’d be cold when she put them on. Most everyone carried little spritz bottles of ice water they could spray on their face or back of the neck, though the ice melted too fast for it to make any real difference. A couple of people even went so far as to paint their roofs white under the knowledge dark colors draw heat in.

Then there was my great-aunt, Fedelia Spicer, who made a habit out of visiting our house in the afternoons to spend time with her only surviving family. Mom was her niece.