right. We got skills, and one day the whole world’s gonna know it.
Chapter 18
MY FATHER and me went fishing. He still wants me to stay close to home these days, so he didn’t take me to the park to catch them. He brought the fish to me. He took a bucket and got hisself eight catfish out the pond in the park and dumped ’em in our tub. He tied a string to a stick. Put two stools in the bathroom and sat next to me for an hour and a half, talking and trying to get fish to eat stale corn curls dipped in bacon fat.
My mother’s downstairs baking pies. Since I got out of juvey a month ago, she’s been doing better. Every night she cooks supper and she and my dad clear the table together like they used to.
The psychologist’s been asking me how things are at home. It’s hard to explain. Kee-lee’s kind of right though. My dad is happy about what I did to Rock. My psychologist says that’s disturbing. Yeah. No. I don’t think he’s glad I hurt Rock. I think he’s glad that I won’t let nobody try to get over on me.
“How does that make you feel?” she asked me the other day.
“Huh?”
“How does it make you feel knowing that your dad gets happy when you hurt people?”
Her office is for little kids, with jacks and checkers and playing cards the size of my hand. “It don’t make me feel like nothing.”
I lied when I said that, ’cause since I bit Rock, I sleep better. Kee-lee says it don’t have nothing to do with Rock. “It’s got to do with your dad. He ain’t all wigged out now, so it makes things better for you.”
I like my dad now. Sitting here fishing with him is the most fun thing we’ve done together since Jason died. There’s pop in a cooler full of ice, and chips and tuna sandwiches sitting on plates on top of the toilet tank. “Don’t let him get away!” My father’s standing up, pulling back the stick; dangling the fish over the tub water. “Twenty bucks if you pick up a fish with your bare hands.”
I’m broke. So I don’t waste time reaching into the water with my hands and picking a fish up by the tail. “Forty bucks and I’ll pick up five.”
My dad’s sticking his fish in the sink, pulling the hook out its mouth. “Make it six.”
The tub is almost filled to the top. I get down on my knees and stick my arms in, spilling water all over the floor. I throw a fish at my dad. “Catch.”
He laughs and ducks.
More fish are coming his way. “This one too.” I’m pulling fish up by their tails and throwing them at him. They’re hitting his chest and landing on the floor, sliding into the toilet. He’s hopping around like a girl. Yelling for me to quit.
“Naw! I want my money!”
My shirt is soaked. My hands are slimy and the bathroom smells. I get up, then I slip and fall down next to a fish.
“What the . . . ?” My mother’s at the door, shaking her head and laughing. Three more fish are flopping around the wet floor. My dad’s holding one to his chest like a baby, saying I’d better watch out, ’cause he’s gonna get me back for this. “You’re not gonna know when or where.” He laughs. “Maybe you gonna find a fish in your bed.” He sets the fish in the tub water. “Maybe you gonna find a snake or a squirrel in your shorts.” He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me over to him. “You like squirrels, Mann? Pigeons walking on your head?” His arm goes around my neck and he gives my head a noogie.
I think about the psychologist. Tell myself to tell her how my dad used to play tricks on us; used to be our best friend.
He wipes his hands on my mom’s apron, sits on the toilet, and pinches her butt. “How many fish you eating tonight, Grace?”
She’s out the bathroom, standing in the hall. “Not a one. Better call Cousin and Ma Dear.”
My father nods his head toward the door. I run and get the phone. Water rolls down my legs and soaks my sneakers. “Ma Dear,” I say, when she answers. “We gonna have a fish fry.”
Chapter 19
BOYS
Chapter 18
MY FATHER and me went fishing. He still wants me to stay close to home these days, so he didn’t take me to the park to catch them. He brought the fish to me. He took a bucket and got hisself eight catfish out the pond in the park and dumped ’em in our tub. He tied a string to a stick. Put two stools in the bathroom and sat next to me for an hour and a half, talking and trying to get fish to eat stale corn curls dipped in bacon fat.
My mother’s downstairs baking pies. Since I got out of juvey a month ago, she’s been doing better. Every night she cooks supper and she and my dad clear the table together like they used to.
The psychologist’s been asking me how things are at home. It’s hard to explain. Kee-lee’s kind of right though. My dad is happy about what I did to Rock. My psychologist says that’s disturbing. Yeah. No. I don’t think he’s glad I hurt Rock. I think he’s glad that I won’t let nobody try to get over on me.
“How does that make you feel?” she asked me the other day.
“Huh?”
“How does it make you feel knowing that your dad gets happy when you hurt people?”
Her office is for little kids, with jacks and checkers and playing cards the size of my hand. “It don’t make me feel like nothing.”
I lied when I said that, ’cause since I bit Rock, I sleep better. Kee-lee says it don’t have nothing to do with Rock. “It’s got to do with your dad. He ain’t all wigged out now, so it makes things better for you.”
I like my dad now. Sitting here fishing with him is the most fun thing we’ve done together since Jason died. There’s pop in a cooler full of ice, and chips and tuna sandwiches sitting on plates on top of the toilet tank. “Don’t let him get away!” My father’s standing up, pulling back the stick; dangling the fish over the tub water. “Twenty bucks if you pick up a fish with your bare hands.”
I’m broke. So I don’t waste time reaching into the water with my hands and picking a fish up by the tail. “Forty bucks and I’ll pick up five.”
My dad’s sticking his fish in the sink, pulling the hook out its mouth. “Make it six.”
The tub is almost filled to the top. I get down on my knees and stick my arms in, spilling water all over the floor. I throw a fish at my dad. “Catch.”
He laughs and ducks.
More fish are coming his way. “This one too.” I’m pulling fish up by their tails and throwing them at him. They’re hitting his chest and landing on the floor, sliding into the toilet. He’s hopping around like a girl. Yelling for me to quit.
“Naw! I want my money!”
My shirt is soaked. My hands are slimy and the bathroom smells. I get up, then I slip and fall down next to a fish.
“What the . . . ?” My mother’s at the door, shaking her head and laughing. Three more fish are flopping around the wet floor. My dad’s holding one to his chest like a baby, saying I’d better watch out, ’cause he’s gonna get me back for this. “You’re not gonna know when or where.” He laughs. “Maybe you gonna find a fish in your bed.” He sets the fish in the tub water. “Maybe you gonna find a snake or a squirrel in your shorts.” He grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me over to him. “You like squirrels, Mann? Pigeons walking on your head?” His arm goes around my neck and he gives my head a noogie.
I think about the psychologist. Tell myself to tell her how my dad used to play tricks on us; used to be our best friend.
He wipes his hands on my mom’s apron, sits on the toilet, and pinches her butt. “How many fish you eating tonight, Grace?”
She’s out the bathroom, standing in the hall. “Not a one. Better call Cousin and Ma Dear.”
My father nods his head toward the door. I run and get the phone. Water rolls down my legs and soaks my sneakers. “Ma Dear,” I say, when she answers. “We gonna have a fish fry.”
Chapter 19
BOYS
Similar Books
