have to get on with your own existence. You can keep all the framed pictures of me, keep my swing set up in the yard if you need to, play the tapes I made you... but really, it’s empty-nest time for you, babe. You can’t compete with other girls for me anymore...”
“That’s it,” she said, miming the act of washing her hands, then shaking them to dry. “It’s therapy for you, little boy. And I’m not changing my mind this time.”
My cool flew right out the window. Even the VD didn’t make me braver. It’s not that I don’t think, maybe, there might be some stuff in my head that should be looked at. I just don’t want to look at it, thanks. I bolted from the chair, ran up the stairs, and barricaded myself into my room.
Just like every time she mentions the T word. When she finally does decide to get me repaired, they’re going to have to send a SWAT team of shrinks to come in and get me out.
“Is she really going to do it?” Mikie asked, very concerned. “’Cause I’d pay to sit in on that.” Okay, maybe not very concerned.
But I should explain the mystery of Mikie. You may think, What does Mikie get out of this relationship, in exchange for wisdom, understanding, support and all that other ultracool stuff he does for me?
Well, I provide laughs. You have to admit that.
But there’s something more. It’s like the old “What do you give the person who has everything?”
Needy. I provide needy. Honest, it’s like the thing I can do better than anyone, and that Mike can’t do at all. So he gets that from me. I can feel it, that when I am in need there is something almost happy that happens to him. And when I’m not... well that situation is rare enough that I suspect neither of us knows quite how to act.
So really he doesn’t worry when Ma starts talking about shrinking my head. He knows that’s where he comes in.
“Every time I start getting manly,” I said, “she threatens to call in the mental health authorities.”
We were headed for CVS. I had a note in my pocket for some kind of scabies ointment the doctor turned her on to over the phone.
“Does it itch?” Mike asked.
I thought about it. The way you do when you figure you’re supposed to be feeling some kind of sensation but you’re not, so you try to drum it up. I even scratched the back of my hand a couple of times.
“No, actually. But I’m hoping to soon enough. By the time Monday comes, everybody’ll have forgotten my triumph if I don’t have the evidence.”
“Triumph,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “El, maybe you don’t want to keep fighting the therapy idea... most people would see scabies as a kind of negative experience.”
“Scoff if you will.”
“I will.”
We walked a couple blocks silently before he picked it up again.
“Do you know what scabies even are?”
“Of course I do. You’re not the only guy in the world who knows anything, Mike. Sheesh.”
He waited. The rat always knows when I’m bluffing.
“Ya?” he prompted.
“It’s... like an allergy. Makes your hands itch. Hives, like.”
“Bugs, like,” he said.
“Get outta town, ya ghoul.”
“I’m serious, Elvin. Scabies are disgusting creepy little insects that burrow under your skin and lay eggs there. Then their babies are born—inside you—and the babies dig all kinds of tunnels under there for like weeks and weeks.”
I was stopped right there on the sidewalk. My hands were straight out from my sides to keep them away from the healthier parts of me. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “It sounded so cute. Scabies. Scabies. Come here, little scabies. Hey wanna pet my scabie?”
“Ya, really cute. And it’s the most infectious thing in the world, and it can go on forever spreading from one part of your body to another if you don’t get it wiped out properly. Now for the big question.”
It took him an hour and a half to ask me the big question.
“Elvin, in the time since you spent time with this girl...
“That’s it,” she said, miming the act of washing her hands, then shaking them to dry. “It’s therapy for you, little boy. And I’m not changing my mind this time.”
My cool flew right out the window. Even the VD didn’t make me braver. It’s not that I don’t think, maybe, there might be some stuff in my head that should be looked at. I just don’t want to look at it, thanks. I bolted from the chair, ran up the stairs, and barricaded myself into my room.
Just like every time she mentions the T word. When she finally does decide to get me repaired, they’re going to have to send a SWAT team of shrinks to come in and get me out.
“Is she really going to do it?” Mikie asked, very concerned. “’Cause I’d pay to sit in on that.” Okay, maybe not very concerned.
But I should explain the mystery of Mikie. You may think, What does Mikie get out of this relationship, in exchange for wisdom, understanding, support and all that other ultracool stuff he does for me?
Well, I provide laughs. You have to admit that.
But there’s something more. It’s like the old “What do you give the person who has everything?”
Needy. I provide needy. Honest, it’s like the thing I can do better than anyone, and that Mike can’t do at all. So he gets that from me. I can feel it, that when I am in need there is something almost happy that happens to him. And when I’m not... well that situation is rare enough that I suspect neither of us knows quite how to act.
So really he doesn’t worry when Ma starts talking about shrinking my head. He knows that’s where he comes in.
“Every time I start getting manly,” I said, “she threatens to call in the mental health authorities.”
We were headed for CVS. I had a note in my pocket for some kind of scabies ointment the doctor turned her on to over the phone.
“Does it itch?” Mike asked.
I thought about it. The way you do when you figure you’re supposed to be feeling some kind of sensation but you’re not, so you try to drum it up. I even scratched the back of my hand a couple of times.
“No, actually. But I’m hoping to soon enough. By the time Monday comes, everybody’ll have forgotten my triumph if I don’t have the evidence.”
“Triumph,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “El, maybe you don’t want to keep fighting the therapy idea... most people would see scabies as a kind of negative experience.”
“Scoff if you will.”
“I will.”
We walked a couple blocks silently before he picked it up again.
“Do you know what scabies even are?”
“Of course I do. You’re not the only guy in the world who knows anything, Mike. Sheesh.”
He waited. The rat always knows when I’m bluffing.
“Ya?” he prompted.
“It’s... like an allergy. Makes your hands itch. Hives, like.”
“Bugs, like,” he said.
“Get outta town, ya ghoul.”
“I’m serious, Elvin. Scabies are disgusting creepy little insects that burrow under your skin and lay eggs there. Then their babies are born—inside you—and the babies dig all kinds of tunnels under there for like weeks and weeks.”
I was stopped right there on the sidewalk. My hands were straight out from my sides to keep them away from the healthier parts of me. “Oh my god,” I gasped. “It sounded so cute. Scabies. Scabies. Come here, little scabies. Hey wanna pet my scabie?”
“Ya, really cute. And it’s the most infectious thing in the world, and it can go on forever spreading from one part of your body to another if you don’t get it wiped out properly. Now for the big question.”
It took him an hour and a half to ask me the big question.
“Elvin, in the time since you spent time with this girl...
Similar Books
