Bible. It’s the Bible of electronics.
What? His hair?
If by ‘his hair’ you mean ‘the stuff he wrote on the blackboard.’
Ah.
So now we call him Jesus Weinstein.
I think I’m following you, I laughed.
And that’s what we call Jesus, too. Jesus Weinstein.
I guess that’s the part I don’t get.
If you don’t get it, I can’t explain it to you.
Okay.
I mean, why not?
Right.
We’ve got it. Why not use it?
Right. I’ll remember that, next time I write the tuition check.
Kelly laughed her sweet, infectious laugh.
Melissa appeared in the kitchen doorway. Rumpled. Bleary.
What’s all the laughing about?
Just joking around, Mom.
Melissa frowned, went to the fridge. Opened the door. Leaned over and peered in, as if shortsighted.
Which she wasn’t.
Where’s the milk? she asked, irritated. Most of it’s on the floor, said Kelly.
Melissa scowled at me. I still had the sopping paper towels in my hand.
I shrugged, like an embarrassed schoolboy.
You’re such a clumsy fool, she said.
Serious. Grave. A doctor giving her patient the bad news.
She was still beautiful.
I turned away and sighed.
Oh come off it, Mom, said Kelly, lightheartedly.
Did you walk the dog yet? was Melissa’s answer.
Not yet, Mom. I’m eating breakfast.
Good God. How many times have I told you he can’t wait for yourdithering all morning? I’ll be picking up dog crap all day again. Always the same. Every bloody day.
The dog had been a mistake. Kelly was a cat person, like me. I’d had cats all my pre-Melissa life. Loved cats. Aloof, but intense. Relaxed, but ready to attack when necessary.
Just like me.
Sure.
When Kelly was small, she’d insisted on a pet. Of course, I’d said. Bad enough to be an only child. The least we could do was get her a companion. But Melissa was allergic to cats. A sign I should have heeded, long before.
So we had a choice: a hairless cat, or a dog. Kelly went for the dog. It was a bichon. Cute and cuddly. As close to a cat as we could find. Purebred, unfortunately. Cost me a cool fifteen hundred.
Kelly loved the dog. I tolerated it. Melissa hated the thing. Nobody walked it. It shat all over the house.
Melissa’s voice rose as the dog rant escalated. Her face turned hard. But she didn’t look at Kelly. It was as though she were alone. Talking to herself. Angry and alone.
I felt it in my teeth. My knees. My lower back. The pain. To see her like this now. Aging. Angry. Alien.
I’ll go buy milk, I said, and slunk out of the room. The corner store was not so far away. I’d take the damn dog. What did it cost me? Less than a confrontation would, for sure.
Day in, day out, the anger.
It hadn’t always been like this. I remembered other times. Law school days. The Blue Bar. Low ceiling. Pale blue walls. Odd lights in unexpected corners, throwing blue shadows. Bryan Ferry singing ‘Avalon.’ Cold and at the same time warm.
She had been brash, funny, fearless. Domineering. Beautiful, of course. But needy, underneath all that. And smart as hell.
I fell in love.
I thought that she did too. We lived life as the joke we arrogantly thought it was. We were smart enough to get away with it. For a while. We joked with Marco, the owner of the Blue Bar, in a pink dress, shining Day-Glo in the blue light. We exulted in our difference from the crowd. From our fellow students, fearful of failure. We both knew we’d never be the life of the party. But we’d make our own. Melissa, me and Marco. There were rarely any other customers in the place. The joint must havebeen a front for something, we’d speculated. We couldn’t figure out what, though. Marco seemed so innocent.
Then, in her apartment, she’d succumb. Tie me up, she’d say. Take me hard. Show me who’s a man. She’d wanted to be dominated. Submissive. At my mercy. Deliciously against the grain. It struck a chord in me. A deep, discordant chord, full of danger and promise. And yearning. The Tristan chord, it was, brought to
What? His hair?
If by ‘his hair’ you mean ‘the stuff he wrote on the blackboard.’
Ah.
So now we call him Jesus Weinstein.
I think I’m following you, I laughed.
And that’s what we call Jesus, too. Jesus Weinstein.
I guess that’s the part I don’t get.
If you don’t get it, I can’t explain it to you.
Okay.
I mean, why not?
Right.
We’ve got it. Why not use it?
Right. I’ll remember that, next time I write the tuition check.
Kelly laughed her sweet, infectious laugh.
Melissa appeared in the kitchen doorway. Rumpled. Bleary.
What’s all the laughing about?
Just joking around, Mom.
Melissa frowned, went to the fridge. Opened the door. Leaned over and peered in, as if shortsighted.
Which she wasn’t.
Where’s the milk? she asked, irritated. Most of it’s on the floor, said Kelly.
Melissa scowled at me. I still had the sopping paper towels in my hand.
I shrugged, like an embarrassed schoolboy.
You’re such a clumsy fool, she said.
Serious. Grave. A doctor giving her patient the bad news.
She was still beautiful.
I turned away and sighed.
Oh come off it, Mom, said Kelly, lightheartedly.
Did you walk the dog yet? was Melissa’s answer.
Not yet, Mom. I’m eating breakfast.
Good God. How many times have I told you he can’t wait for yourdithering all morning? I’ll be picking up dog crap all day again. Always the same. Every bloody day.
The dog had been a mistake. Kelly was a cat person, like me. I’d had cats all my pre-Melissa life. Loved cats. Aloof, but intense. Relaxed, but ready to attack when necessary.
Just like me.
Sure.
When Kelly was small, she’d insisted on a pet. Of course, I’d said. Bad enough to be an only child. The least we could do was get her a companion. But Melissa was allergic to cats. A sign I should have heeded, long before.
So we had a choice: a hairless cat, or a dog. Kelly went for the dog. It was a bichon. Cute and cuddly. As close to a cat as we could find. Purebred, unfortunately. Cost me a cool fifteen hundred.
Kelly loved the dog. I tolerated it. Melissa hated the thing. Nobody walked it. It shat all over the house.
Melissa’s voice rose as the dog rant escalated. Her face turned hard. But she didn’t look at Kelly. It was as though she were alone. Talking to herself. Angry and alone.
I felt it in my teeth. My knees. My lower back. The pain. To see her like this now. Aging. Angry. Alien.
I’ll go buy milk, I said, and slunk out of the room. The corner store was not so far away. I’d take the damn dog. What did it cost me? Less than a confrontation would, for sure.
Day in, day out, the anger.
It hadn’t always been like this. I remembered other times. Law school days. The Blue Bar. Low ceiling. Pale blue walls. Odd lights in unexpected corners, throwing blue shadows. Bryan Ferry singing ‘Avalon.’ Cold and at the same time warm.
She had been brash, funny, fearless. Domineering. Beautiful, of course. But needy, underneath all that. And smart as hell.
I fell in love.
I thought that she did too. We lived life as the joke we arrogantly thought it was. We were smart enough to get away with it. For a while. We joked with Marco, the owner of the Blue Bar, in a pink dress, shining Day-Glo in the blue light. We exulted in our difference from the crowd. From our fellow students, fearful of failure. We both knew we’d never be the life of the party. But we’d make our own. Melissa, me and Marco. There were rarely any other customers in the place. The joint must havebeen a front for something, we’d speculated. We couldn’t figure out what, though. Marco seemed so innocent.
Then, in her apartment, she’d succumb. Tie me up, she’d say. Take me hard. Show me who’s a man. She’d wanted to be dominated. Submissive. At my mercy. Deliciously against the grain. It struck a chord in me. A deep, discordant chord, full of danger and promise. And yearning. The Tristan chord, it was, brought to
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