stories made it clear that those charges were not true, he regretted saying that.”
“Great. I guess he forgot to call and tell me. Not to mention the TV station.”
After an awkward silence, she mentioned the new TV appearance. I feigned ignorance.
“It was very amusing,” she giggled. “This O’Malley person is quite a tiresome egomaniac.”
You didn’t have to be a clinical psychologist, like my mother, to figure that out.
“Immature genital fixation. His belief system seems wholly animist.”
“That’s what I’ve always said,” I told her.
“Are you mocking me, Francis?”
“Never, Mom. You need a place to stay, don’t you?”
After a long silence, she responded.
“You saw the show.”
“No, but I saw a clip—they kicked you out of your hotel.”
She didn’t deny it.
My parents are not wealthy. They do not believe in stocks or bonds, although they believe in savings accounts, for some reason. Of course, that was when interest was actually paid by banks. Now the interest rate for the suckers was almost zero—at the vapor-lock point. My parents also do not believe in inflation-causing credit cards. They didn’t owe anybody anything but they didn’t have much, considering that they had been professors for decades. They had been all over the world but always stayed with friends for nothing. That would mean they had a finite amount of cash with them and no credit cards and were having trouble getting an un-booked hotel room in the tourist season.
“Let me guess, Mom. You want to stay with me?”
“Well, no… actually, we thought perhaps some friends of yours might…”
“Let me get this straight, Mom. You hate my guts but you want me to find you a place to stay, so your low-budget vacation won’t be ruined.”
“You know I hate ugly phrases like that,” she said, coolly.
“But you like cold phrases like ‘psychopathy’ and ‘passive-aggressive,’ right?”
“Francis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You’re right. This was ill-advised.”
“No, Mom. I know someone who moved into his girlfriend’s place recently. I have the keys. It’s down in TriBeCa. You’re welcome to stay there for the week.”
“Well, thank you, Francis, that’s very considerate of you. Maybe we can get together one night for dinner?”
“That would be nice, Mom.”
As if. Maybe Congress would pass a gun-control law. Or any law.
“Yes, I’ll… check with your father.”
“Great. Get back to me. I’ll send the address and the keys over by messenger. Where are you? Hold on. Let me get a pen.”
I got the
Yellow Pages
and found a messenger service. I called and a guy on a motorbike arrived ten minutes later. I gave him money, my house keys and a note in an envelope and sent him off to my parents. I sat back down, downed my drink and laughed. Only way to deal with it.
12
By the time Jane got home, it was dark and I was drunk. She seemed upset and I asked her what was wrong. She blew her nose, sat with me and said it was nothing. But I had already figured out that she thought there was something wrong with people who drank alone, especially if they got blasted. She kissed me and gave me a hug, which I returned. Jane thought because I could always tell when she was upset that I was a sensitive person, which was true, and a good listener, which was also accurate. She had also told me she felt I was not a judgmental person. She thought those things meant I was a warm, fuzzy guy and a caring boyfriend. I wasn’t so sure that my hyper-vigilance meant I was such a good guy. I had no idea. We were a new couple and I didn’t want to dispense advice. Especially advice I would not take myself.
If you didn’t care about killing, even as a mercy, you were a killer. I was a killer and I didn’t like it. As my calming Lao Tzu Daily Thought app said: “Caring is an invincible shield from heaven against being dead.” If it was a shield, why did it hurt so much? I said none of this to
“Great. I guess he forgot to call and tell me. Not to mention the TV station.”
After an awkward silence, she mentioned the new TV appearance. I feigned ignorance.
“It was very amusing,” she giggled. “This O’Malley person is quite a tiresome egomaniac.”
You didn’t have to be a clinical psychologist, like my mother, to figure that out.
“Immature genital fixation. His belief system seems wholly animist.”
“That’s what I’ve always said,” I told her.
“Are you mocking me, Francis?”
“Never, Mom. You need a place to stay, don’t you?”
After a long silence, she responded.
“You saw the show.”
“No, but I saw a clip—they kicked you out of your hotel.”
She didn’t deny it.
My parents are not wealthy. They do not believe in stocks or bonds, although they believe in savings accounts, for some reason. Of course, that was when interest was actually paid by banks. Now the interest rate for the suckers was almost zero—at the vapor-lock point. My parents also do not believe in inflation-causing credit cards. They didn’t owe anybody anything but they didn’t have much, considering that they had been professors for decades. They had been all over the world but always stayed with friends for nothing. That would mean they had a finite amount of cash with them and no credit cards and were having trouble getting an un-booked hotel room in the tourist season.
“Let me guess, Mom. You want to stay with me?”
“Well, no… actually, we thought perhaps some friends of yours might…”
“Let me get this straight, Mom. You hate my guts but you want me to find you a place to stay, so your low-budget vacation won’t be ruined.”
“You know I hate ugly phrases like that,” she said, coolly.
“But you like cold phrases like ‘psychopathy’ and ‘passive-aggressive,’ right?”
“Francis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… You’re right. This was ill-advised.”
“No, Mom. I know someone who moved into his girlfriend’s place recently. I have the keys. It’s down in TriBeCa. You’re welcome to stay there for the week.”
“Well, thank you, Francis, that’s very considerate of you. Maybe we can get together one night for dinner?”
“That would be nice, Mom.”
As if. Maybe Congress would pass a gun-control law. Or any law.
“Yes, I’ll… check with your father.”
“Great. Get back to me. I’ll send the address and the keys over by messenger. Where are you? Hold on. Let me get a pen.”
I got the
Yellow Pages
and found a messenger service. I called and a guy on a motorbike arrived ten minutes later. I gave him money, my house keys and a note in an envelope and sent him off to my parents. I sat back down, downed my drink and laughed. Only way to deal with it.
12
By the time Jane got home, it was dark and I was drunk. She seemed upset and I asked her what was wrong. She blew her nose, sat with me and said it was nothing. But I had already figured out that she thought there was something wrong with people who drank alone, especially if they got blasted. She kissed me and gave me a hug, which I returned. Jane thought because I could always tell when she was upset that I was a sensitive person, which was true, and a good listener, which was also accurate. She had also told me she felt I was not a judgmental person. She thought those things meant I was a warm, fuzzy guy and a caring boyfriend. I wasn’t so sure that my hyper-vigilance meant I was such a good guy. I had no idea. We were a new couple and I didn’t want to dispense advice. Especially advice I would not take myself.
If you didn’t care about killing, even as a mercy, you were a killer. I was a killer and I didn’t like it. As my calming Lao Tzu Daily Thought app said: “Caring is an invincible shield from heaven against being dead.” If it was a shield, why did it hurt so much? I said none of this to
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