Memorial(48)

This time, my father’s apartment door was unlocked. It was nearly five in the morning by the time I made it back.

Eiju dozed outside of it, by the doormat, hands stuffed under his armpits.

I squeezed the top of his head until he opened his eyes. Once he’d finished blinking himself awake, Eiju squinted up at me.

I could’ve been anyone, I said.

Where the fuck did you go? said Eiju.

Could’ve been a robber. An arsonist.

Nonsense.

A serial murderer.

I’m going to bed, said Eiju, hobbling.

He couldn’t stand by himself. So I grabbed his elbow, easing him inside. And he didn’t shake me away. I locked the door behind us.



* * *




? ? ?

The first few months living with Ben were fucking mundane. Fucking domestic.

I went to work, he went to work.

We came back.

Drank.

Ate dinner.

Dishes.

Laundry.

Napped.

Fucked.

One night, I asked Ben what he wanted. We steeped on the top of our mattress like tea bags. The A/C wheezed overhead.

Ben sat up. He smiled.

Honestly, he said, I hadn’t expected this to be anything.

Oh, I said.

Yeah. Whatever happens, happens. Isn’t that what you wanted?

I want whatever’s best for both of us, I said.

There’s no best. Things just happen.

I don’t know if that’s true.

Ben blinked at me, looking weary all of a sudden.

Whatever happened, happened. That was the same attitude Eiju had carried around. It’s what he’d told my mother, so I knew exactly what it got you.

Nobody’s assurances were permanent. I wasn’t a fucking dummy. But, the thing is, they were something.

Whatever happened, happened.



* * *





And then there was something I noticed about Ben, a small thing, a nothing thing: he never acknowledged our neighbors.

The Latino kids played on the stoop, releasing their fucking cacophony of music, grabbing at their poor cat. The Black couple across from us always sat on their porch. Everyone slogged through the business of living, getting through their shit, and whenever Mary or Harold waved our way, Ben never even waved back.

One day, I asked him why. We were sitting in my car. Our problems were just on the horizon. We hadn’t gotten it up for each other in weeks, which had turned into months. And now, whenever we touched, it was just a passing thing. Like an idea you know you’ve had and then you lose it before the fucking thing comes to fruition.

I hadn’t started the engine. Ben gave me The Look. He said he didn’t know Mary.

So you can’t wave back when she waves at you?

Why would I? Would that make you happy?

I’d be overjoyed.

Then you can do it for the both of us, said Ben, and he opened his door, shuffling out of the passenger seat, headed back inside.



* * *





Another story about Mary and Harold: their daughter passed through town every now and again. Her name was Janet. Her folks were always telling stories about her, always showing me pictures from kindergarten, from high school, from dropping her off at College Station. She was getting her MBA at Bauer, and then she would move back home, and Mary and Harold had other children, and grandchildren, with baby photos on the mantle, but they never really talked about those, didn’t bring them up like they brought up Janet.

One day, they invited me over to meet her, and from the moment Janet walked through the door, it was clear that she’d thought it was a set-up. Some sort of surprise date. But when we actually sat down at the table, there was a shift in her body language. And her tone. At one point, she just totally fucking relaxed.

We ate some yams I’d baked, and this slow-roasted ham by Harold. When Mary brought a pie to the table—double-layered in caramel and pecans—she said her daughter and I should share it.

And that’s when Harold stood up to leave. He didn’t say shit about it. Then, Mary said she’d make the coffee, and she disappeared, too.

That left me and Janet in the parlor. With her parents gone, she sighed. She crossed her arms, and then her legs, setting her elbows on the table.

Do you do this often, she said.

What?

You heard me. Freeloading off the elderly.

You’ve got this whole thing screwed up, I said. I’m their neighbor.

So you’re just randomly over here, said Janet. Just because.

Just because, I said. Your parents are cool. We eat together. Sometimes we talk.

You’re joking.

We went walking the other day and Harold almost caught this toad.

Nobody does something like this for nothing.

Look, I said, do you want me to leave? Because it’s not that serious. And they’re your parents. If you want, I’ll go thank them and I won’t fucking come back.

You wouldn’t? Not ever?

Your call.

I don’t know if I expected Janet to flare up at that or what, but she didn’t. She actually laughed.

You’re a bullshitter, she said.

I talk a good game, I said.

No, you don’t. But it’s cute. Mom must not know you’re gay though.