Joshua Mohr - Some Things That Meant the World to Me

The next thing I knew Karla shook and hit me. "Wake up," she said. "How could you do this?"

Me, Rhonda, trying to steady my clogged head, an ocean of liquor sloshing from ear to ear.

I said, "What?" and she said, "Get out of here," and I said, "Why?" and she grabbed my hand and shoved it in between my legs. Into that damp faucet of embarrassment. "Get out of here," she said, standing up. "I bring you to my house, and this is the thanks I get?!"

I fell out of her bed.

She searched for my clothes and threw them at me. "You're pathetic," she said and launched a shoe, which hit me in the face. "I'm so stupid for bringing you here."

I tried to get dressed as fast as I could, but I was still drunk and falling over, not understanding why she was so mad. I put on my clothes but couldn't find my jacket so I ran out of the room without it and she yelled after me, "Only babies wet the bed."

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'll clean it up."

"Just get out!"

I tried to calm her down, promised I'd clean everything up, but she wasn't listening, kept saying that I'd wet the bed like a pathetic little baby, that she couldn't believe someone who'd been so brave a few hours ago had pissed her sheets.

She kept yelling, and the more she yelled, the madder I got.

"I could have let him kill you," I said.

"Only little babies wet the bed."

I didn't want to hear her talk like that so I stumbled down the hallway, trying to block out the attack of her words, but it was like the whole world had halted and quieted to eavesdrop.

"Does the baby need to go potty?" she said.

The whole world, an army of ears pressed to the walls. Prying open windows. Reading Karla's lips.

"Would you like to sit on the potty, baby?"

I opened her front door.

"Big boys sit on the potty," she said. "Are you a big boy?"

I said, "I saved your life."

I said, "You're welcome," and ran out of her apartment.

There will be ten of them, he said. Tell me what you see, he said. Flashcards flashing, symmetrical patterns splattered across them. His office smelled like tuna fish, and his wrists were thin. I always thought they were probably brittle like uncooked angel-hair pasta. Usually he sat in front of me, but this time he was next to me. Usually we'd be face to face, and his eyes would pop back and forth, first on my left eye, then on my right eye, then on my left eye. His eyes popping. Tell me, he said. He held a stack of cardboard cards. He told me to relax. He told me there wasn't anything to worry about. I wasn't worried until he said that. There were diplomas all over the wall behind him, one window in the middle of them, a metal grating across the window Right eye. He handed me the first flashcard. Black ink on a white background. He was sitting next to me. We were alone. It was my turn to be with him, and none of the kids liked being in his office. He had a severe limp, almost tipping over as he walked, and we made up stories about it. Mine was, Landmine in Korea. Another kid said, Diabetic so they hacked it off. Just tell me what you see, he said, but I never saw simple things. Never could say that I saw a woman's chest or a mime or a monster. I saw stories. I saw memories. Left eye. I called him Dr. Angel-Hair because his wrists were so thin and fragile. He'd shift in his chair when I didn't answer right away. I'd stare at the pictures. Zone out. Remember. Betray. Love. Tell me, he said, and I told a story about Letch. Told him that Letch made me a grilled cheese sandwich with string cheese on April Fools Day, that we laughed, that we hugged, that I made him a Bloody Maria. I told him that Letch covered the walls of my room with posters of girls in bikinis because he wasn't going to raise no faggot. New flashcard. Black and red ink. This one was my mom. Just her face. From her eyebrows to her chin. Can I have that one, I said, and he said, Why, and I said, Forget it. Diplomas decorated the wall behind him. After Letch had put the girls up in my room, he asked me if I liked them and he told me to pretend that they were my harem. I said, What's a harem, and he said, What are they teaching you in school. My mom, her face was like mine, from the eyebrows to the chin, freckles and green eyes, too pale to live in the desert. Too exposed. Not cut out for those conditions. Sunburns. Another card with black and red ink. When we first moved there, my mom would rub aloe vera on my sunburns, on the days I'd scorched my skin the color of cooked ham. One-hundred-eighteen degrees in the summer. Flashcard flashing. Black ink. Tell me. Can I turn this one upside down, I said, and he said, Whatever you'd like. It was Letch again, asking if I'd like to see what a woman can do. If I'd like to see some hardcore action. I would, I said. Letch came back, armed with a cache of dirty movies. You like blowjobs, he said. What's blowjobs, I said. Tell me, the doctor said. Tell me what you see, he said. Usually his eyes popped back and forth. There was always the smell of tuna fish in his office. Metal grating on the window Another kid thought the doctor's leg was intact but that he had a bum knee, an old football injury: Blowjobs are when a girl puts your cock in her mouth, he said. Right eye. Next card, black again, and this one was something from the hospital. It was the pattern on the tile. I always stared at it while I showered. Diamonds connected. Beautiful black diamonds outlined on a white background. I liked to watch TV, but they never let me watch horror movies. Do a puzzle, they said. Read. Play cards. Mom let me watch whatever movies I wanted. She'd leave and I'd watch movies and sometimes Letch and I watched movies about blowjobs. Look at her go, he said. Left eve then on my right eye then on my left eye. Next card: black ink: our old house, the one that moved. Rooms like rafts drifting away from one another. I kept staring and the house came to life, we were all in there, the three of us, me hiding, mom drinking, Letch waiting. Blowjobs are when a girl puts your cock in her mouth, he said. Have you ever had a cock in your mouth, he said. Tell me what you see. Tell me. The next splattered pattern: black ink. Angel-Hair took notes. The story of the grilled cheese on April Fools Day had a happy ending because Letch said, I owe you one, and he ordered a pizza, any toppings I wanted. Extra cheese, I said, and we both laughed. The seventh card, again the ink was all black. They'd fight. Letch and mom. Shouting. He hated how she'd leave all the lights on. Are you in the kitchen, he'd say. Well are you in the kitchen or not. How can you be in two places at once. This is what he'd say while she was in the bathroom and even if he hit her, she never turned the lights off, only on, only turning the lights on, never off. Right eye. He hated how the whole world was rigged, fixed. He fixed engines. He picked little black smiles out from under his fingernails with a steak knife. Another kid thought the doctor had a clubfoot. Next card. Gorgeous colors. Pink and blue and gray and orange. My dad, where was he, somewhere, where, somewhere. Why couldn't I go with him. He had new kids that needed his attention, my mom said. Blowjobs ended with a mouthful of salty chutney. Another explosion of color, green and orange and pink, and the bikini-girls in my room all smiled. They were in paradise. Palm trees. Under waterfalls. On pale beaches. One was on the hood of a Ferrari. She didn't smile but pursed her lips. You could see the dark hue and shape of her nipples through the white bikini. Flashcard flashed and it was pink and blue and gray and green and yellow and orange, and Tell me what you see, he said, and there was the night my mom got another DUI. I was in the car with her. Letch wasn't there. She kept laughing. She kept saying to the cop, I can't believe this. She kept saying, Don't you guys have anything better to do. The cop told her to take off her high heels and walk a straight line, heel to toe, heel to toe, and she took two steps and ran her hose and slapped him and she was bawling by the time we got to the police station. I spent the night there, watching "M*A*S*H" reruns with a cop, waiting for Letch to come and get me. I was starving and the cop gave me a glass of orange juice and a peanut butter cookie. The doctor's wrists were thin and brittle like angel-hair pasta and when he stared at me his eyes popped back and forth, always popping. Letch rolled the black smiles from underneath his fingernails into little globes and flicked them across the room. Left eye. Right eye. Tell me. Tell me everything you see.