challenge or make fun of me to my face because they knew I'd eat them alive. I wore those cowboy boots until there was nothing left of them and was sorry the day I had to throw them away.
The night light through the window fell in a wide stripe across orange cowboy boots. From where I stood they looked new. I ran my eyes up the boots to the leg, the body, and with a pause for my mind to catch its breath, I finally looked at his face. "Son of a bitch!"
"No, ape of my heart!"
It was me, seventeen years old.
"I'm dead, right? I died but didn't know it. All this weird stuff that's been happening is because I'm dead, right?"
"Nope." He gently lifted Smith off his lap and placed him on the floor. As he moved forward, the light touched his shirt. My heart lurched because I remembered that shirt! Broad blue-and-black checks, I had stolen it from a store on Forty-fifth Street in the city. I put it on in the dressing room, pulled off all the sales tags, left my other shirt on a hanger, and walked out of the place.
"No, you're not dead. You're not dead and I'm not dead. I don't know where the hell I've _been, _but fuck it--the kid's back! Aren't you glad to see the old ape?"
Ape of my heart. I hadn't heard that phrase in years. Once my father came down to the police station to get me. When we were out on the street again he grabbed my neck and shook me. He was a small man and not strong, but when he was mad he scared the shit out of me. Maybe because I loved him so much but couldn't stop disappointing him. Part of me desperately wanted him to be proud. Most of me stuck its ass in his face and, by my permanent bad behavior, said he could kiss either cheek. Why he continued to love me was a source of wonder.
"You're a fucking _ape, _Frannie. You're the fucking ape of my heart.
God damn you."
The word shocked me more than anything else did. My father seldom cursed and he never used _that _word. He was witty; he liked metaphors and wordplay--"Getting through to you, son, is like trying to pick up a penny off the floor." His hobbies were crossword puzzles and palindromes. He memorized poetry; Theodore Roethke was his hero.
"Fuck" was as far away from my dad's everyday vocabulary as Bhutan.
But now he had said it to me, about me, twice in five seconds.
Page 32
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm really sorry."
He still held my neck and jerked me close to his very red face. I could feel the heat of his anger.
"You're not sorry at all, _ape. _If you were sorry I'd have some hope. You're young and smart but you're a total loss. I never thought I would say that, Frannie. You make me ashamed."
That confrontation didn't change my life but it stabbed me through and the wound bled a long time. Before that mv armor and kept me bulletproof, even from my old man, but not anymore.
Afterward I always thought of that phrase as marking the end of something in my life.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Here I am after all these years. A fuckin' miracle in the making, but all you do is stand there with your thumb up your ass going _duh."_
"What am I _supposed _to do?"
"Kiss me." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out Marlboros, that beloved red and white package of death. I had smoked them all my life and loved every single one. Magda wanted me to stop but I said no dice.
"You want one?"
I nodded and crossed the room for it. He shook the pack and a couple slid out. He handed me a dented Zippo lighter. Immediately recognizing it, I
smiled. Engraved on the side was FRANNIE AND SUSAN--LOVE FOREVER. Susan Ginnety, now mayor of Crane's View, back then love slave to yours truly.
"I forgot about this lighter. Do you know what happened to Susan?"
He lit his and took a jumbo drag. "No, and don't tell me. Listen, we got to talk about all these things. You want to do it here or outside?
It's the same to me." His voice was Joe Cool, but it was clear he preferred going out. I was wearing a sweat suit. I needed some shoes and a coat.
When I
The night light through the window fell in a wide stripe across orange cowboy boots. From where I stood they looked new. I ran my eyes up the boots to the leg, the body, and with a pause for my mind to catch its breath, I finally looked at his face. "Son of a bitch!"
"No, ape of my heart!"
It was me, seventeen years old.
"I'm dead, right? I died but didn't know it. All this weird stuff that's been happening is because I'm dead, right?"
"Nope." He gently lifted Smith off his lap and placed him on the floor. As he moved forward, the light touched his shirt. My heart lurched because I remembered that shirt! Broad blue-and-black checks, I had stolen it from a store on Forty-fifth Street in the city. I put it on in the dressing room, pulled off all the sales tags, left my other shirt on a hanger, and walked out of the place.
"No, you're not dead. You're not dead and I'm not dead. I don't know where the hell I've _been, _but fuck it--the kid's back! Aren't you glad to see the old ape?"
Ape of my heart. I hadn't heard that phrase in years. Once my father came down to the police station to get me. When we were out on the street again he grabbed my neck and shook me. He was a small man and not strong, but when he was mad he scared the shit out of me. Maybe because I loved him so much but couldn't stop disappointing him. Part of me desperately wanted him to be proud. Most of me stuck its ass in his face and, by my permanent bad behavior, said he could kiss either cheek. Why he continued to love me was a source of wonder.
"You're a fucking _ape, _Frannie. You're the fucking ape of my heart.
God damn you."
The word shocked me more than anything else did. My father seldom cursed and he never used _that _word. He was witty; he liked metaphors and wordplay--"Getting through to you, son, is like trying to pick up a penny off the floor." His hobbies were crossword puzzles and palindromes. He memorized poetry; Theodore Roethke was his hero.
"Fuck" was as far away from my dad's everyday vocabulary as Bhutan.
But now he had said it to me, about me, twice in five seconds.
Page 32
"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm really sorry."
He still held my neck and jerked me close to his very red face. I could feel the heat of his anger.
"You're not sorry at all, _ape. _If you were sorry I'd have some hope. You're young and smart but you're a total loss. I never thought I would say that, Frannie. You make me ashamed."
That confrontation didn't change my life but it stabbed me through and the wound bled a long time. Before that mv armor and kept me bulletproof, even from my old man, but not anymore.
Afterward I always thought of that phrase as marking the end of something in my life.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Here I am after all these years. A fuckin' miracle in the making, but all you do is stand there with your thumb up your ass going _duh."_
"What am I _supposed _to do?"
"Kiss me." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out Marlboros, that beloved red and white package of death. I had smoked them all my life and loved every single one. Magda wanted me to stop but I said no dice.
"You want one?"
I nodded and crossed the room for it. He shook the pack and a couple slid out. He handed me a dented Zippo lighter. Immediately recognizing it, I
smiled. Engraved on the side was FRANNIE AND SUSAN--LOVE FOREVER. Susan Ginnety, now mayor of Crane's View, back then love slave to yours truly.
"I forgot about this lighter. Do you know what happened to Susan?"
He lit his and took a jumbo drag. "No, and don't tell me. Listen, we got to talk about all these things. You want to do it here or outside?
It's the same to me." His voice was Joe Cool, but it was clear he preferred going out. I was wearing a sweat suit. I needed some shoes and a coat.
When I
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