Sergio De La Pava - A Naked Singularity

At first my crafty southpaw delivery confounded these rapscallions. All except for one whose name I gleaned was Jimmy. Jimmy wore an orange baseball cap backwards and he strode to the plate with the confident swagger of all great athletes. Whenever he hit he made verbal and pantomimic reference to Ken Griffey Jr. with the idea being that he was him. He crowded the plate too creating a temptation, which I somehow resisted, to deliver some serious chin music. Then he’d take my diluted offering and slap it somewhere for a base hit or worse.

Despite getting repeatedly tattooed by this kid I managed to keep the game close for both teams. Eventually the last inning arrived with the non-Jimmy team leading by a run. I promptly retired the first two batters then lost the plate. Now I was starting to really try, but you can’t turn it on just like that and I couldn’t get these damn kids out. The two kids on my team were actually exhorting me with things like c’mon dude! and you can do it! which was more than a little embarrassing. The other two kids led by Jimmy were talking serious trash at me and I have to admit it was somewhat unnerving. Mostly I just wanted to get the hell out of there before someone saw me locked in a life and death struggle with two pudgy ten-year-olds on behalf of two others.

The count was three-and-two with the bases loaded and Ken Jimmy Jr. at the plate, his team still down a run with the payoff pitch upcoming. I was late. I had things to do. Had to get going across that river.

I went into my windup, looked up at the darkening sky like Fernando Valenzuela, and uncorked a filthy backdoor slider. It was ticketed for the low outside corner until it rudely dropped off the table. A suddenly overmatched Jimmy waved at it feebly and struck out to end the game.

Comenzando al comienzo .

“Why, you’re cooking?”

—¡Of course que sí ! But you’re late.

“I know, got held up at work.”

—¿ Pero don’t you get out at five?

“It’s not like that mom, I don’t punch out at five on the dot. I have to get my work done before leaving.”

—¿You mean overtie?

“No, I don’t. Be there in about an hour.”

—¿Didn’t you get my message yesterday?

“Yes.”

—¿And you don’t call me back?

“What’s this? Telepathy?”

— I know pero the next day. I was worry. I hate that city. El otro día on the news.

“Be there in an hour.”

— Don’t forget Marcela and los kids.

“Forget. How could I forget?” I had.

— Bueno . Drive carefully y que mi Dios lo bendiga .

“How dramatic, I’m twenty-three miles away. If you’re going to pray, pray there’s no traffic.”

—¡Shhhhh! Don’t be malo . I love you.

“Love you too.”

Last time I saw Marcela I told her she needed to hurry up and pop out that third kid so that each of the three sibs would be precisely thirty-three months apart, the kind of symmetry I inexplicably craved. Instead she opened the door, still shaped like an inverted question mark, hugged me tight, then responded that Bill was at one of his jobs but she didn’t know which because he left his cell at home which he never did except when he did. I sat at her wobbly piano and raised the white heart picture frame to my confused face.

“Who’s this guy?”

“Very funny.”

“Yeah but the copious hair, the missing weight.”

“Speaking of, do you feel older little brother?”

“Every minute, this is the oldest I’ve ever been.”

“Aw, you’re so cute,” she said and pinched my cheek. “Be ready in a minute.”

She left the room and was replaced by Timmy. Timmy was severely precocious, a feature I generally disliked but in him detested. He stood in the open part of his tiny living room wearing a faded red jumpsuit with yellow balloons and stared at me as I moved to the couch. I knew he was about to say something because his mouth slowly yawned open and also I had a pretty good idea what the subject would be: his singular obsession.

“Is it true that everyone dies eventually?”

“Good grief.”

“Is it?”

“So far so bad. Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that until now no one’s really made it past 115 years or so.”

“So that means everyone dies.”

“Not necessarily but it counts as damn strong evidence.”

“Casi!” from Marcela.

“I mean darn strong kid.”

“Why?”

“Why is it strong evidence?”

“No, why does everyone die?”

“No one knows Timothy but what do you want life in perpetuity? If people didn’t die where would we put the new ones? We’re quite overcrowded as it is.”

“So people die to make room for the newly born?”

“I’m not prepared to say that’s the sole reason but it might be a factor.”

“So the day my little brother is born someone will die?”

“No. Well. I mean someone will die that day but you won’t know that person and the two events won’t be related.”

“But you just said it might be a factor.”

“Don’t be a wisenheimer, I got you a present.”

“Mary too?”

“Yes, do you want yours or should I give it to Mary also?”

“No I want it.”

“Here you go.”

“Thanks! Wait what is it?”

“What is it? They’re x-ray specs.”

“What are x-ray specs?”

“They’re great.”

“What do they do?”

“Kids today. You put them on you get that there x-ray vision all the kids are talking about.”

“What kids?”

“What kids he says. The kids at school, what other kids are there?”

“Nobody’s talking about x-ray vision at school.”

“Well they will be once they get a load of you wearing these and seeing through solid objects and the like.”

“What will I see?”

“Put them on and find out. What are you waiting for? You’re going to be able to see what’s inside people.”

“Bones?”

“Well yes but think big. If you squint hard enough you can see what’s inside bone!”

“You mean mar—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Can I put them on later?”

“Course.”

“Thank you for the present.”

“You’re welcome.”

During this conversation, Timmy had been reluctant to even take possession of the magic specs. In mid-colloquy Mary had appeared and immediately cuddled up next to me on the couch with her head on my shoulder and her thumb in her mouth. Now Timmy took his x-ray capability with him and went to his room.

“Hi beauty.”

The ensuing silence probably shouldn’t have surprised or unsettled me the way it did, not given the mute weeks it was preceded by, but had this been a movie the screen would then have gotten all squiggly before revealing first an eight-month-old Mary delivering words to mass delight then ten months later asking compound questions without easy answers and recounting incidents in painstakingly verbose detail but always with lucid clarity, (back then you heard what she was saying but you couldn’t really listen because to listen you had to pay attention and to do that you had to at least figuratively take your eyes off her which you couldn’t, no one could; you couldn’t because she was a perfectly beautiful and angelic cherub with smiling eyes and rosy plump cheeks that sagged to just below her chin, anyway was her favorite word), until after a similar leap arriving at the recent past when she simply and suddenly forsook all language. She hadn’t withdrawn, Alana once pointed out to less-than-zero reaction, and if anything she was more affectionate than before. She appeared to still understand everything quite well and quacks were adamant that there was nothing physically wrong with her. Nonetheless her decision had an air of finality about it so that all her responses were nonverbal and should she need something she either mimed or did without.