George Saunders - Tenth of December - Stories

Mag was not homely. She was simple, she had a kind of simple earthy—

She was handsome. A handsome woman. She — everything was where it should be. She carried herself well. Except when bellowing at the boys. Then her face became a red contorted mask. You saw her frustration at being the only divorced woman in her extremely strict church, her embarrassment at having had to move in with her brother, her worry that, if he lost the shop (as it now appeared almost certain he would), she’d have to quit school and get a third job. Last night he’d found her at the kitchen table after her shift at Costco, fast asleep across her community-college nursing text. A nurse at forty-five. That was a laugh. He found that laughable. Although he didn’t find it laughable. He found it admirable. A snob like Donfrey might find it laughable. A snob like Donfrey would take one look at Mag in her baggy nurse’s outfit and hustle his spoiled elves back to the stupendous Donfrey mansion, which had recently been featured in the Lifestyles section of the—

Oh, mansion shmansion. Did Gandhi’s house have the largest outdoor trampoline in the tristate area? Did Jesus have a two-acre remote-controlled car track, with mountains to scale and a little village that lit up at night?

Not in his Bible.

Huh. The cardboard jail was now filled with Celebs. How had that happened? He’d apparently missed the runway walks of Max of Max’s Auto, Ed Berden of Steak-n-Roll, and the freakishly tall twin hippie brothers who ran Coffee-Minded.

The blonde was standing silently now, head down, as if waiting for her experience-based profundity to overflow into the show-stopping heartfelt speech that would establish her once and for all as the most pain-racked person in the place.

“Folks, we’ve arrived at our most important aspect,” she said softly. “Which is our auction. Which is to be silent. Without you folks, you know what? LaffKidsOffCrack is just some guys with strong antidrug feelings, wearing weird clothes in their own homes. Write down your bid, someone will come around. Later, if you are the one who won, you’ll be taken to lunch by your Celebrity who you bid for.”

Was it over?

It appeared to be over.

Could he sneak out?

He could if he bent low.

He bent low and booked it as the blonde droned on.

In the changing area, he found Donfrey’s clothes slopped over a chair: expensive pleated pants, nice silk shirt. On the floor were Donfrey’s keys and wallet.

Just like Donfrey to junk up a perfectly nice changing area.

Oh, why be mad at Donfrey? Donfrey hadn’t done anything to him. He’d just made a comment, trying to be nice. Trying to be charitable. To someone beneath him.

Roosten took a step forward and gave the wallet a kick. Wow, did it ever slide. Right under a stack of risers. Like a hockey puck. There were the keys, alone now, underscoring the absence of the wallet. Yikes. He could say he’d accidentally kicked the wallet under there. Which was sort of true. He hadn’t thought about it, really. He’d just felt like kicking it and then he had. He was impulsive like that. That was one of the good things about him. It was how he’d bought the shop. Failing shop. He gave the keys a kick. What the hell? Why had he done that? They slid even better than the wallet. Now wallet and keys were far under the risers.

Gosh, too bad. Too bad he’d accidentally kicked those things under there.

Donfrey burst into the changing area, talking loudly on his cell in a know-it-all voice.

She was fine, Donfrey was bellowing. Nervous but psyched. Being brave. Stiff upper lip. Kid was solid gold. Always did her share: carried the laundry down on her day, dragged the trash to the street. Hadn’t slept all week. Too excited. What she was looking forward to most? Running with her class in gym. Imagine: all your life you’re limping around with a bent-in foot, then they finally figure out a way to fix it. It was scary, yes, Jesus, the brace literally broke and reformed the foot. Poor thing had been waiting so long. They had to haul ass pronto, pick her up, shoot over to the place. They were running late, the auction thing had gone on and on. He probably should’ve skipped it, but it was such a terrific cause.

Roosten finished dressing quickly and left the changing area.

Jeez, what was all that about? Apparently, one of the elves wasn’t as perfect as she—

Had one of the elves had a limp? He couldn’t remember.

Well, that was sad. The sickness of a kid was — children were the future. He’d do anything to help that kid. If one of the boys had a bent foot, he’d move heaven and earth to get it fixed. He’d rob a bank. And if the boy was a girl, even worse. Who’d ask a clubfoot or bentfoot or whatever to dance? There your daughter sat, with her crutch, all dressed up, not dancing.

Hundreds of dry leaf fragments were skittering across the FlapJackers parking lot. A bird on a parking bumper bolted, alarmed at the advance of the leaves. Stupid leaves, they’d never catch that bird.

Unless he killed it with a stone, left it lying there. They’d be so grateful they’d declare him King of Leaves.

Ha ha.

He gave a pile of leaves a vicious kick.

Shit. He felt like crying. Why, what was it, what was making him so sad?

Off he drove through the town where he’d lived his whole life. The river was high. The grade school had a new bike rack. A ton of dogs leaped to the fence as usual as he passed the Flannery Kennel. Next to the kennel was Mike’s Gyros. Once, during that terrible seventh-grade year, Mom had taken him to Mike’s for a Coke.

“What seems to be the problem, Al?” Mom had said.

“Everyone’s calling me bossy and fat,” he’d said. “Plus they say I’m sneaky.”

“Well, Al,” she’d said, “you are bossy, you are fat. And I’m guessing you can be pretty sneaky. But you know what else you are? You have what is called moral courage. When you know something is right, you do it, no matter what the cost.”

Mom could sometimes be full of it. Once, she’d said she could tell by the way he ran upstairs that he’d make a great mountain climber. Once, when he managed a B-minus in math, she’d said he should be an astronomer.

Good old Mom. She’d always made him feel special.

Suddenly his face was hot. He felt Mom looking at him from Heaven, sternly but wryly, in that way she’d had, as if saying, Hello, are we maybe forgetting something?

Well, it had been an accident. He had just accidentally misplaced some things inadvertently. With his foot. Via spontaneously kicking them erroneously.

Mom’s eyes narrowed in Heaven.

They were being mean to me, he said.

Mom in Heaven tapped her foot.

What was he supposed to do? Go racing back, lead them to the keys? They’d know he’d done it. Plus Donfrey was probably long gone. Probably Donfrey’s wife had a set of spare keys. Although Donfrey’s wife hadn’t been there. Well, someone could drive Donfrey home. After he’d fruitlessly looked for his keys awhile. Causing him to be so late, they’d have to reschedule the kid’s—

Shit.

Oh, they’d live. No one was dying from this. So a kid had to wait a few more months for her—

Roosten pulled into a white-stoned driveway. He had to think. A Yorkie rushed up to the fence, barking ceremonially. Then a chicken came up. Huh. A chicken and a Yorkie, living in the same yard. They stood side by side, looking at Roosten.

Eureka.

He saw how he could do it.

He’d sneak back, pretend he’d never left. Everyone would be searching for the wallet and keys. He’d look alongside them awhile. When they were about to give up, he’d say, I assume you’ve already looked under those risers?

Uh, well, no, Donfrey would say.