When you think about your body you barely know where to begin. Even just the words for it. Your bum is your bottom is your butt. Is your ass if you want to get crude about it. There’s a ton of expressions for everything down there. Your vaj is your cooz is your crack. Or your cunt if you’re really in the mood or you’re a slut or if someone’s trying to insult you. Boys have more words for theirs than girls, according to my calculations. Penis and pole and peter and prick, but it’s not just Ps. You also have dong and cock and stormtrooper and willy and sausage and you could go on and on if you had all day. Breasts and tits and knockers and boobs and if you’re an old lady you have a bosom, which is hysterical. If I ever say bosom to Anna she nearly pees her pants.
Once, a long time ago, I saw my father come out of the shower and he was naked. Ma was in the bathroom with him. I saw my Da’s thing and it looked like a carrot pulled out of the ground with all its roots and hairs sticking to it. I thought of it inside my mother, like putting a carrot back into the ground, back into the dirt. A woman is a garden, they say. I used to think flowers but now I think vegetables.
“Lonnie’s not bad,” Anna says.
“The astronaut?” I say. “He doesn’t want to be an astronaut anymore,” Anna says. “That was like three years ago.” She grabs my arm and drags me into Mool’s. Nobody’s there but us and we take the booth in the corner, which is our favorite.
“What’ll it be?” Mool says, even though he knows it’s always curly fries and cokes. He comes over to us, practically dancing from the pleasure of our company. Mool is the happiest old person I’ve ever met. Old people are funny, they’re either lizards or birds. Mool is a bird. When he drops the basket of fries into the oil, he goes squawk squawk, he can’t help himself.
To tell you the truth, I wouldn’t mind living at Mool’s. I wonder if there’s a Mrs. Mool hiding in the back. I’ve never seen her. Maybe she’s the reason for his happiness. Maybe they have the kind of love that lasts forever. Did you ever read “The Gift of the Magi”? Picture that couple about fifty years down the road, that would be Mool and his wife.
“Do you want to sleep over this weekend?” Anna says. This is another one of Anna’s skills. Mind reader.
Anna’s house isn’t as happy as Mool’s restaurant but it’s not unhappy, it has its charms. “Yes,” I say, “I would love to.” And suddenly I’m feeling so good that I think to tell Anna about H.S.S.H., but for some reason it won’t come out of my mouth. Maybe I’ll tell her tomorrow. Timing is everything, they say. I want Helene’s anniversary to be a special day. Who knows, maybe I’ll throw a surprise party for Ma and Da, just to wake them up. Ma and Da need a slap in the face even worse than Carol Benton.
Mool brings over the fries and suddenly I want to kiss him. I want to throw my arms around him and give him the smooch to end all smooches. I know it’s out of character but the thing is, it’s probably better to save my awfulness for the people who deserve it. It’ll just get stronger and stronger like the venom inside snakes. You don’t want to waste it on the wrong person.
When I got home from school, Ma was in the kitchen staring out the window. She had on her Chinese robe with the bridges and the dragons.
“What are you looking at?” I said.
There was a pecan ring on the table. Ma had already eaten a good chunk of it. Ma’s always been skinny and I want her to stay that way. Fat wouldn’t make sense on her, she doesn’t have the bones for it. Plus fat people are liars, have you noticed that? They hide things.
“What are you doing?” I say. She was just standing there.
“Pecan ring,” I say. “From Kroner’s?”
“You want a piece?” she says.
I tell her no, even though I’d love a piece. Pecan rings from Kroner’s are pretty amazing. My plan is to eat it later when she’s passed out.
I sit at the table and wait to see what happens. It takes about two hours but then finally Ma comes over to me.
“Your hair’s getting long,” she says, and she touches it. The feeling is electricity, warm, and maybe it wouldn’t have felt half bad if Ma’s lousy hands weren’t shaking. Plus the kitchen smells like cigarettes, which is her old habit back again.
I pick a nut off the ring, but I don’t eat it. I examine it like a scientist until Ma moves away. Suddenly all I can hear is the humming of the refrigerator. It’s like the sound track to infinity. I get up and whack the stupid thing. Ma flinches a little, it’s almost funny.
“Your father and I are going to the theater next week,” she says suddenly out of left field. The two of them never go out anymore, so it’s a little suspicious.
“What day are you going?” I ask her.
“Wednesday,” she says.
Which is the day before. The day before H.S.S.H.
“Is it a special occasion?” I say. Maybe Ma and Da have the day marked in their calendars as well, maybe I’ve underestimated them.
Ma makes a disgusted face and backhands an invisible fly. “Someone gave your father the tickets,” she says.
I ask her if I can come but she says they only have two seats.
“Can’t you buy another one?” I say.
“You wouldn’t like the play,” she says.
I ask what’s the name of it and she tells me, “The Moons of Pluto.” She says it like it’s the worst title in the world.
“I want to go,” I say.
I bet Ma doesn’t even remember that planets used to be one of my big obsessions. I used to have the whole solar system up on my ceiling. Glow-in-the-dark stars as well.
“I want to go,” I say again, but Ma doesn’t answer me. She probably wants me to beg, but I’m not in the mood. I’ll do the begging routine later with Da.
“I’m sleeping over at Anna’s this weekend,” I say.
“You’re not the only person with plans,” I tell her.
Ma just nods. She’s at the window again. I don’t know what she’s looking at. Is it trees she’s interested in now?
The silence again, I’m telling you, you can’t imagine it. All of a sudden I wish I hadn’t punched the stupid refrigerator. It’s the perfect moment for some refrigerator screaming.
Before I know what I’m doing I’m eating the pecan ring. I sort of make a pig of myself. I eat more than I mean to. Ma’s still turned away from me, and when she breathes it makes the dragon on her back look like he’s getting ready to shoot a big load of fire. I wish I knew what was inside her head. For some reason my ESP doesn’t work when it comes to Ma. I keep counting the breaths of the dragon and when I hear Da’s car, it’s music to my ears.
Ma moves over to the stove, pretending to be normal. She stirs something in a pot. Dinner, I suppose, though she hasn’t been too creative lately. Lately she’s the one-pot wonder.