Love and Hydrogen by Jim Shepard Page B

mother said. She was cross-checking the Sony manual with the JVC. “I’m gonna pitch it out the window and watch it smash.”
    His father had the mute going so he could listen to the Golden Gate Quartet. “Massa’s in the Cold, Cold Ground.” “Stalin Wasn’t Stallin’.”
    A torn woofer in one speaker fuzzed the deeper tones. They had the right glue to fix it somewhere. His father was not the
You want
something done right, do it yourself
type. He was more the
The
only way this’ll be done right is if
I
do it, but I’m
still
not gonna do
it
type.
    His father paused the Golden Gate Quartet to take the call from Mrs. Ackley.
    â€œWell, I heard of The Chin,” he said when he got off. “But not The Fist. I’m surprised it wasn’t The Nose.”
    â€œVery nice,” Anson’s mother said.
    â€œShut up,” Anson said, not to her. His dad unpaused the music.
    They sat around listening. His mom looked at him, thoughtfully.
    â€œI was thinking about plastic surgery,” he said.
    â€œThat’s a good idea,” his dad said. “You being twelve years old and all.”
    His dog, Shitface, was at the deck door in the snow, scratching to be let in. His real name was Johnny, after Johnny Depp, but his father called him Shitface because he was always eating his own poop. The dog lowered his head and threw up a greenish mess. You couldn’t hear it through the glass.
    â€œWhy not?” Anson said. “Why can’t I?”
    â€œThe Fist,” his dad said. He filled his cheeks with air and swallowed it. “You’re not The Fist anymore,” he said. “You got it? You’re not The Torso, The Bicep, or The Tower of Power.”
    â€œ
You
don’t have to go to school like this,” Anson told him.
    â€œJoin the circus,” his dad said. “Exploit your deformity.”
    â€œYou look fine,” his mother said. “Your face is still growing.”
    â€œI look like a ferret,” Anson said.
    â€œYou’re not The Ferret, either,” his dad said.
    HIS MOM went to bed around nine. At eleven, he heard his dad turn in. He got up and pushed open the door to their room.
    â€œI’m serious,” he said.
    â€œI don’t think your face calls for radical intervention,” his dad said from under the covers.
    â€œYou think I’m good-looking?” Anson said.
    â€œI’m really attracted to a whole different look,” his father said.
    â€œYou’re a pig,” his mother said from the other side of the bed.
    â€œSorry,” his father said.
    He went back to his bed. He watched car headlights on the ceiling. It was supposed to go below zero tonight but he couldn’t hear the wind. He got up and walked back down the hall to his parents’ room.
    â€œAh, morning already,” his father said.
    â€œI’m not going to school like this,” Anson told them.
    â€œWhat way you gonna go?” his father asked.
    He stood there for a while. He didn’t have anything else to say. His head was a balloon that filled the house and had nothing inside it.
    Shitface came up to see what the discussion was about. Anson led him back to his room. The dog curled up at the foot of the bed. An hour later, his mom started crying. His parents talked. He couldn’t hear what they said.
    He gave it as long as he could and then he trooped back down the hall again, hating himself. They were still lying in the dark, but they were each up on one elbow. “You think I’m bringing this up because of what’s going on with you guys, but I’m not,” he said.
    They looked at him together. “We’re kind of in the middle of something here,” his father said.
    â€œSorry,” Anson said.
    â€œYour father’s explaining why he’s better off without us,” his mother said.
    â€œThat’s productive,” his father said. “That should