Family Matters

Somewhere in the city, a loving father calls the police on his own son. The two of them are parked outside a school. The boy refuses to get out and head inside.

“I can’t control that boy,” the father told the principal later, after the cops arrived and said, essentially, “We don’t really handle this sort of thing.”

“I can’t control that boy,” the father says.

—

Summer Camp

The three boys snuck away from the yellow fluorescent lights, making their way into the darkness of the woods.

“Whoa, look up!” One of them said. The others obliged. And all they could say at first was, “Whoa.”

“I haven’t seen the stars in like… I don’t even know.”

“Have I ever seen stars like this?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the stars.”

They heard the distant din of students rising from the cottage-like building and felt content.

—

Joggers

Every morning, driving into work, I see these people—always white people— jogging along the river. They look so healthy, and thin, and how on earth do they wake up so early?

And how much money do they make to live here, anyway? Why do all the men have short, short hair and all the women have long, long hair?

My dad, back in Kentucky, used to warn me about rich city-folk. “They’re all on amphetamines to keep them thin and alive, and they got downers for the evening. Mix alcohol and painkillers or benzos to sleep.”

I used to think those were the words of the strange, sad, alcoholic that my father was. Now I sense a hint of truth. Folk wisdom, perennial as the stars.

—

The Punishment of Icarus

When her son fell awkwardly and broke his leg she panicked. Less about the leg, more about money. But on top of that, she didn’t want to go to the hospital. At least, not the one here. She could drive further—

No, your son is screaming, his leg is facing the wrong way.

When the ambulance arrived she took her shirt off and wrapped it around his face. “Don’t take this off.”

He kept it on. He heard the screaming of those shot, the moaning of addicts overdosing, slipping from this life to the next.

Two days later they left the hospital. The mother’s tired look scared the son. “What’s wrong, ma?”

“Try not to fall anymore,” she said blankly.

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