David Gates - The Wonders of the Invisible World

I pulled my robe on over my pajamas, stepped into my slippers and went to use the toilet and brush my teeth. I hadn’t thought to bring toothpaste, and when I opened the medicine cabinet looking for theirs I noticed a prescription vial with Bonnie’s name on it. VALIUM, 5 MG. How long had she been on that stuff? Well, it could’ve been something a lot worse. It was, when she was younger. I guess some people have a couple beers to relax and some people take one of them. I got the cap off (childproof, thank goodness), shook one out, looked at it — it was just a little bit of a thing — then slipped it into the pocket of my pajama top.

Back in the living room, I folded away the hide-a-bed and replaced the cushions. Now you could smell coffee, too. Sylvia was pouring grease out of the skillet into the dispose-all, and she’d laid the bacon out to drain on paper towels; she’d turned on the coffeemaker, and coffee was piddling down into the glass pot. I’m getting a little hard of hearing, but I could’ve sworn she was humming. Sylvia never could carry a tune in a bucket.

She didn’t seem to know I was watching — maybe she’s hard of hearing, too — and I felt like I knew every move before she made it: put the skillet in the dishwasher, scoot over to the icebox, get out the eggs. When she opened an overhead cabinet and started reaching for the juice glasses, I could see the muscles of her calves under the pantlegs. This was a woman seventy years old. Supposedly she plays golf and tennis; that’s all since my time.

I picked out slacks and a sport shirt, and went back into the bathroom to get dressed. I took the pill out of my pajamas and set it on the edge of the sink while I got my shirt on, then put it in the breast pocket. When I came out again, Sylvia had the table in the breakfast nook set for four. “Look at all this,” I said.

“Good morning,” she said. “ You certainly look spiffy. I’ve got coffee ready. Any signs of life down the hall?”

“Not a peep out of either of ’em,” I said. “You look nice yourself.”

“Makeup covers a multitude of sins,” she said.

“Sleep all right?”

“Like a rock. I was so bushed I can barely remember getting into bed. How about you?”

“Not so bad.”

“I thought I heard you get up a couple of times.”

“While you were sleeping like a rock?” I said.

“Oh, well,” she said. “You know.” She picked up a cup and saucer with one hand, pointed to it with the other and raised her eyebrows. Her hands were steady enough that the cup and saucer didn’t rattle.

“Sure,” I said. “Please.”

She filled the cup and handed it to me, saucer and all. Damned if I could keep my hands that steady, and I’d had one Bud Light — one! — to get me to sleep. I remember many a morning when Sylvia’d be fixing breakfast after a rough night, just as fresh as a daisy. Which scared me more than anything.

She was pouring a cup for herself when little Dave came in, dragging his stuffed dinosaur. “Well, look who’s here! Good morning, punkin.”

“Where’s Mommy?”

“You remember, punkin. Mommy had to go in the hospital?”

“Want her to come back.” He dropped the dinosaur and grabbed Sylvia around the leg with both arms.

She stroked his hair. “She’ll be back. I bet you like bacon, don’t you?”

“Yuck,” he said, making a scrunched-up face I bet a nickel he’d been told was cute. Then he cocked his head, like he was listening to something. “No, wait, I like it.”

“Well, here.” Sylvia handed him a piece. “That should hold you for a little while.” He stuck it in his mouth: gone in two bites. “My goodness. You’re hungry, aren’t you, punkin? What do you usually like for breakfast?”

“Yogurt.”

“Okay, let’s have a look.” She opened the icebox and bent over. “Oh my goodness, yes. We’ve got peach, wild berry … peach and wild berry.”

“Wild berry,” he said.

“By God, he’s an opinionated little cuss,” I said. “Ain’t’cha?”

“Can I hear a please ?” said Sylvia.

He stared as if she was talking Chinese.

Sylvia looked at me, I shrugged and she handed him his yogurt. He took it over to the table and started right in making a mess. The telephone rang, and I thought, Oh my God.

Sylvia picked it up. “Carter residence.” She listened for a few seconds, then said, “Well, I was going to, lover. But things got a little hectic.”

I let out my breath.

She turned her back, which I took as a hint. Carrying my coffee into the living room, I heard her say, “Yes, I made a point of it. What? Yes, of course.”

I put the TV on and sat down on the couch. The Big Bird and all were on, and of course that fetched Dave Junior; he was on my lap in two shakes, purple yogurt all over his face.

“This your favorite program?” I said.

“ I don’t know,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen for a second.

Dave Senior came in, his hair wild, in his undershirt, zipping up his trousers. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Go on back to bed,” I said. “It’s just Harold.”

“Jesus. What the fuck time is it?” With the boy right there.

“Early,” I said. “Go back to bed.” It was only seven-thirty, quarter to eight. I counted back: out in Phoenix it wasn’t even six in the morning.

“And what the hell’s this?” He was giving little Dave a dirty look. “What’d I tell you about eating on the good furniture, Mister? You get in there right now.” He pointed to the kitchen.

“But I want to see—”

“ Now. ”

Dave Junior got down and stomped off with his yogurt.

“And get a better attitude,” he called after him. He shook his head. “Too early in the morning for this shit.”

“I didn’t mean to get him in trouble,” I said. “I didn’t know he wasn’t allowed.”

“He knows better. He’s trying to see what he can get away with because he knows something’s up.”

Sylvia hung up the phone and stepped in from the kitchen. “Good morning. How would you gents like your eggs?”

“I usually have scrambled,” I said.

“You used to like a three-minute egg.”

“God, that’s right. I don’t know, I guess I just got out of the habit. Egg timers and all.”

“Men,” she said. “What about you, Dave?”

“Bowl of Total, I guess.” He rubbed his eyes and passed his hands back through his hair to smooth it down. You could see where he’d zipped his pants but not buttoned them. He was starting to put it on. “Christ, it can’t be but about five in the morning out there. What the hell’s Harold doing up at this hour?”

“I was supposed to call him last night,” Sylvia said, “and I forgot all about it. He’s such an old fussbudget. He said he was calling to make sure I’d gotten credit for the frequent-flier miles. But I think he just wanted to know I was safe.”

“He’s up at five in the morning thinking about frequent- flier miles?” Dave said. “He scared the piss out of me.”

“You ought to just go back to bed,” I said.

“I’m up now.” He looked into the breakfast nook. “Hey! Will you watch what you’re doing, Mister? You’re getting it all over the table.”

“It’ll clean up,” said Sylvia. “You ready for some coffee? I’ll get you a bowl for your cereal.”

“Don’t bother, I can get it.” He went into the kitchen and I thought, No time like the present. I took the little pill out of my shirt pocket, glanced in to make sure neither of them was looking, popped it in my mouth and washed it down with coffee.

Dave Senior came back in with a bowl of cereal and flopped down on the couch. I guess the rule didn’t apply to him. “Five o’clock in the morning.” He put a spoonful in his mouth and started watching the Big Bird dance with a bunch of children. “I didn’t want this day. And here it fucking is.”