when i looked at him across the table, it was like looking at his nonexistent brother. i mean, i know he has a brother, but they don’t look much alike. no, he looked like a brother he doesn’t have, one almost exactly like him except that he wears sandals and cutoff shorts.
i watched him for awhile, engrossed in conversation with people i didn’t know, telling stories about a place he lives that i’ve never been. i watched as he crossed his legs, took off his glasses, put them in his shirt pocket. i’d never seen him do that before. i’d never seen him with glasses. i’d never seen him gradually abandon a discussion, eventually sitting with his eyes closed, mouthing the words to the song being piped in through the restaurant speakers. i’d forgotten what it was like to have him around, in person. i’d forgotten how he makes fun of me for drinking coke in the morning. i’d forgotten how sometimes he interrupts people if he’s got a good joke to make. mostly, i’d forgotten about when i’m tired and hung over and i glare at the breakfast menu, snapping about how i don’t know what to order, and he knows exactly what to say to calm me down. but things are different now. while everyone inside the house played video games, we sat out on the front porch. as i told some inane story about people from work and the nicknames they have for everyone, his eyes glazed over a bit, and he stared off down the street. he doesn’t know about me anymore, either.Monthly Archive for September, 2002
i read she hates my futon in 1999, too. i read it all in one day, at work, in between pretending to work. maybe that’s why i don’t work there anymore.
spaghetti.
as we took the long way back from the bar (the fluorescent-lit bar where the waitress sat in a chair reading a romance novel, and the middle-aged patrons played zz top on the jukebox), i sat in the passenger seat and watched dilapidated houses, billboards, storefronts, and strip malls whiz by in a light-polluted haze. after weaving our way through the two-story downtown, we drove past the local gospel radio station (kwwj - keep walking with jesus) and the climate-controlled self-storage building (the marquee of which read “god bless president george bush”) before entering the freeway.
“baytown is really bleak,” i said. “yeah, it is.” he laughed. “i don’t really know why anyone would want to live here.” “right, but i guess if nobody lived here, it wouldn’t be here.” “no, i’ll tell you why they live here,” he said. “hang on a second, and then you’ll be able to see it.” as we crested the freeway overpass, he pointed at the refineries. i couldn’t stop looking at them. even though i had to lean forward and crane my neck to see, i couldn’t stop looking. from far away they looked like the lit-up skyscrapers of some distant downtown city; as we got closer they became makeshift framework towers lined with white christmas lights. i watched as the refineries moved from the front windshield to the open driver’s side window to the back of the car, partially obscured by thick two a.m. smoke clouds of their own creation. “that’s why they live here,” he said, glancing over at me, “and that’s why they die here.” “it’s beautiful,” i said.
