could
be torn off.” “But the car would be going the other way—wouldn’t it?—so on Mommy’s
side, not his,” and I said “Well, the driver of another car going their way could
suddenly lose his head and try and pass on the right and get too close to Daniel’s
arm—Daniel,” I screamed, “put your arm back right now. This is Daddy talking.” His
arm went back in. Sylvia stopped the car, got out and looked up and yelled “So there
you are. Come back now, my darlings; you’ll get yourselves killed.” “Look at her worrying
about us, Judith—that’s nice, right?—Don’t worry, Sylvia,” I screamed, “we’re doing
just fine, flying. There’s no feeling like it in the world, we’re both quite safe,
and once I figure out a way to get us down, we will. If we have to crash-land doing
it, don’t worry about Judith—I’ll hold her up and take the whole brunt of it myself.
But I think it’s going to be some distance from here, inland or on the coast, so you
just go home now and maybe we’ll see you in time for dinner. But you’ll never be able
to keep up with us the way this wind’s blowing, and I don’t know how to make us go
slower.” “You sure you’ll be all right?” she yelled, and I said “I can hardly hear
you anymore, but yes, I think I got everything under control.”
We flew on, I held her in my arm, kissed her head repeatedly, thinking if anything
would stop her from worrying, that would. “You sure there’s nothing to worry about,
Daddy? I mean about what you said to Mommy,” and I said “What are you doing, reading
my mind? Yes, everything’s okay, I’m positive.” We continued flying, each with an
arm out, and by the time night came we were still no closer to or farther away from
the ground.
MAN, WOMAN, AND BOY
They’re sitting. “It’s wrong,” she says. He says “I know.” She stands, he does right
after her. “It’s all wrong,” she says. “I know,” he says, “but what are we going to
do about it?” She goes into the kitchen, he follows her. “It almost couldn’t be worse,”
she says. “Between us—how could it be? I don’t see how.” “I agree,” he says, “and
I’d like to change it from bad to better but I don’t know what to do.” She pours them
coffee. She puts on water for coffee. She fills the kettle with water. She gets the
kettle off the stove, shakes it, looks inside and sees there’s only a little water
in it, turns on the faucet and fills the kettle halfway and then. And then? “Do you
want milk, sugar?” she says. This after the water’s dripped through the grounds in
the coffee maker, long after she said “I’m making myself coffee, you want some too?”
He nodded. Now he says “You don’t know how I like it by now?” “Black,” she says. “Black
as soot, black as ice. Black as the ace of spades, as the sky, a pearl, black as diamonds.”
“Whatever,” he says, “whatever are you talking about?” “Just repeating something you
once said. How you like your coffee.” “I said that? Those, I mean—I said any of them?
Never. You know me. I don’t say stupid or foolish things, I try not to talk in clichés,
I particularly dislike similes in my speech, and if I’m going to make a joke, I know
beforehand it’s going to get a laugh. But to get back to the problem.” “The problem
is this,” she says. “We’re two people, in one house, with only one child, and I’m
not pregnant with a second. We have a master bedroom and one other bedroom, so one
for us and one for the child. We have no room for guests. We have no guest room. The
sofa’s not comfortable enough to sleep on and doesn’t pull out into a bed. We have
no sleeping bag for one of us to sleep on the floor. I don’t want our boy to sleep
in the master bed with one of us while the other sleeps in his bed. One of us has
to go, is what I’m saying.” “I understand
be torn off.” “But the car would be going the other way—wouldn’t it?—so on Mommy’s
side, not his,” and I said “Well, the driver of another car going their way could
suddenly lose his head and try and pass on the right and get too close to Daniel’s
arm—Daniel,” I screamed, “put your arm back right now. This is Daddy talking.” His
arm went back in. Sylvia stopped the car, got out and looked up and yelled “So there
you are. Come back now, my darlings; you’ll get yourselves killed.” “Look at her worrying
about us, Judith—that’s nice, right?—Don’t worry, Sylvia,” I screamed, “we’re doing
just fine, flying. There’s no feeling like it in the world, we’re both quite safe,
and once I figure out a way to get us down, we will. If we have to crash-land doing
it, don’t worry about Judith—I’ll hold her up and take the whole brunt of it myself.
But I think it’s going to be some distance from here, inland or on the coast, so you
just go home now and maybe we’ll see you in time for dinner. But you’ll never be able
to keep up with us the way this wind’s blowing, and I don’t know how to make us go
slower.” “You sure you’ll be all right?” she yelled, and I said “I can hardly hear
you anymore, but yes, I think I got everything under control.”
We flew on, I held her in my arm, kissed her head repeatedly, thinking if anything
would stop her from worrying, that would. “You sure there’s nothing to worry about,
Daddy? I mean about what you said to Mommy,” and I said “What are you doing, reading
my mind? Yes, everything’s okay, I’m positive.” We continued flying, each with an
arm out, and by the time night came we were still no closer to or farther away from
the ground.
MAN, WOMAN, AND BOY
They’re sitting. “It’s wrong,” she says. He says “I know.” She stands, he does right
after her. “It’s all wrong,” she says. “I know,” he says, “but what are we going to
do about it?” She goes into the kitchen, he follows her. “It almost couldn’t be worse,”
she says. “Between us—how could it be? I don’t see how.” “I agree,” he says, “and
I’d like to change it from bad to better but I don’t know what to do.” She pours them
coffee. She puts on water for coffee. She fills the kettle with water. She gets the
kettle off the stove, shakes it, looks inside and sees there’s only a little water
in it, turns on the faucet and fills the kettle halfway and then. And then? “Do you
want milk, sugar?” she says. This after the water’s dripped through the grounds in
the coffee maker, long after she said “I’m making myself coffee, you want some too?”
He nodded. Now he says “You don’t know how I like it by now?” “Black,” she says. “Black
as soot, black as ice. Black as the ace of spades, as the sky, a pearl, black as diamonds.”
“Whatever,” he says, “whatever are you talking about?” “Just repeating something you
once said. How you like your coffee.” “I said that? Those, I mean—I said any of them?
Never. You know me. I don’t say stupid or foolish things, I try not to talk in clichés,
I particularly dislike similes in my speech, and if I’m going to make a joke, I know
beforehand it’s going to get a laugh. But to get back to the problem.” “The problem
is this,” she says. “We’re two people, in one house, with only one child, and I’m
not pregnant with a second. We have a master bedroom and one other bedroom, so one
for us and one for the child. We have no room for guests. We have no guest room. The
sofa’s not comfortable enough to sleep on and doesn’t pull out into a bed. We have
no sleeping bag for one of us to sleep on the floor. I don’t want our boy to sleep
in the master bed with one of us while the other sleeps in his bed. One of us has
to go, is what I’m saying.” “I understand