the doctor?”
“Am I supposed to leave my work to do so?” I asked back. “And besides, if he’s so bad off, how come he can drive himself?”
“Your father taught you to never answer a question with a question,” he said. But that’s all he said. He did not have answers to my questions, and so again it felt like a little victory.
But later, when I looked out the window of my office at Cunt Itchen, and I saw Barb buzzing around, working so hard, working until close while everyone else relaxed in booths with pieces of pie and cups of decaf, I got a sick feeling in my stomach, like I had punched an innocent person in the face.
But by the time I got home from work I had somehow forgotten about it. I was alone in the house. There was no snoring. There was no giant naked fat man in the hot tub eating a meatball sub. It was a Friday. I called up the Vo-Ag teacher and I said, “I would like to go bowling with you tomorrow,” and he said, “Well, I would like to go bowling with you tomorrow too,” and then I lay awake in my bed all night, filled with the kind of delicious, wonderful excitement you see in romantic comedies, excitement of the kind I had never experienced before and probably never will again.
I felt, for the first time, like the person I had always thought I was supposed to feel like.
I felt like all of you.
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