We Are Not Ourselves(136)

When his father came downstairs, bloody bits of tissue clung to his face like a swarm of exploded mosquitoes.

“You should use another razor,” Connell said. “The ones you use are cutting up your face.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my razor,” his father said.

“You should try the Mach Three.”

“Mine are perfectly fine,” his father said through gritted teeth, kneading his hands angrily.

“Or maybe an electric razor.”

“Why is everybody picking on me?”

“No one’s picking on you,” Connell’s mother said. “He’s trying to help you.”

“I don’t need any help. I do fine by myself.”

“You use too much cream,” Connell said.

“Goddamned ingrate!”

“Edmund!”

His mother followed Connell into his bedroom. “You should just love your father,” she said.

“I do,” Connell said. “I know.”

“These fights you’re having now—they won’t mean anything in twenty years.”

Connell cut her off. “And whatever I have to put up with is less than anything you had to put up with, I know.”

His mother seemed to be considering what he’d said. He couldn’t remember the last time she waited before reacting to him. It made him feel worse than when she just blew up.

“You need to think long and hard about what kind of person you want to be. That’s all I’ll say. Did you get your father anything for Christmas?”

Connell looked away.

“Here,” she said, and went to her pocketbook. She handed him a pair of twenties.

“What’s this for?”

“Go to the mall,” she said. “Get him an electric razor if you care about his face so much.”



On Christmas morning, after he’d given him the razor, Connell heard his father shaving with it. His father came down holding a Bic in his hands.

“This time, as it happens,” his father said, “I didn’t cut myself.”

“Good,” Connell said. “How do you like the electric razor?”

“I didn’t use it.”

“I heard it going.”

“You heard nothing of the sort,” his father said indignantly.

“I heard it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He jabbed the Bic in Connell’s direction. “This is what I used.”

“No way. I heard it.”

His mother sighed, then abruptly snapped, “Would you leave your father alone?”

“Fine, fine.” Connell got ice from the freezer. “No, you know what? That’s bullshit.”

“Watch it!” his mother said.

“I heard it. Why won’t he admit it? Why won’t you admit it, Dad? It’s stupid.”

“I used the Bic.”

“You didn’t!”

“I used it like this.” His father put the razor up to his face and started digging at his dry cheeks. He winced, kept going. “Like this.”

“Stop!” Connell’s mother screamed. “Stop, stop!”

Connell went to take it from his hand. A dewdrop of blood clung to his father’s chin. His father shifted and lunged the razor at him. Connell reared his head back.

“Ed!” his mother screamed.

“Okay!” Connell said. “You used the Bic!” He tried to wrest it from his father, but his father dropped it and grabbed him by the wrist, twisting it.

“I did use it.”

Connell was in pain. “Will you use the other one for me, Dad? Because it’s Christmas. I got it for you for Christmas.”

“Sure.” His father released his grip. “What other one?”

“The razor I got you.”

“I used it already,” his father said, smiling. “Works like a charm.”

Connell eyed the razor on the floor. It looked like a piece of bloody evidence. His wrist throbbed. He thought of picking the razor up and holding it at his father himself.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said quietly.

“It’s a great gift,” his father said, rubbing his chin and looking curiously at the blood on his palm. “A great gift. You’re a good kid.”

Connell saw his mother’s face twist up as she turned to the dishwasher. She seemed to be fighting back tears.

“Now can we please have a nice Christmas, please?” she asked. “Can we all forget everything and have a nice Christmas?”





62


In the middle of a Valentine’s Day commercial, his father stood and went out without his jacket. He was halfway down the driveway when Connell caught up to him.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s Val, it’s Valen, Valtine’s. I’m going to get a Valen-en-tine’s card for Mom.”

“We can go when Mom gets home with the car. It’s freezing.”

His father turned and headed down the street. Connell called after him, then ran inside, grabbed their coats, and caught up with him. His father was shivering as he walked with purpose. Connell could barely stop him long enough to get the coat on him.