Lois Metzger - A Trick of the Light

Mike turns around. It’s his dad.

Dad: “I can’t believe it.”

Mike can’t believe it, either. His dad has a potbelly. He’s let himself get completely out of shape since the breakup.

Dad (barely above a whisper): “Your mother was right.”

Mike: “Right about what?”

Dad: [nothing]

Mike: “So anyway, where’s this restaurant?”

Dad (numbly, like he’s in shock): “On the other side.”

He means the other side of the expressway. What’s his problem? He wanted to have lunch with Mike. Mike didn’t want to have lunch with him.

The restaurant is large and noisy. Mike and his dad sit at a table in the corner, and a waitress hands them enormous menus.

Dad: “Let me order. I know what’s good here.”

Mike: “That’s okay.”

Dad: “You used to love sweet-and-sour chicken.”

Well, things change.

Dad: “Can I get you the chicken?”

Mike: “No. I’ll have steamed broccoli.”

Dad: “That’s hardly a meal.”

Mike: “It’s what I want.”

Dad: “We can go to Luncheonette after. I know you love the rice pudding there.”

Mike: “No, thanks.” Mike’s had enough rice pudding to last him the rest of his life.

They order. His dad gets the sweet-and-sour chicken.

Dad: “I hope you’ll have some.”

The food comes so fast, it’s surprising they had time to cook it. Mike takes the first of five bites of broccoli. That Chinese woman should see him now. His discipline, his self-control.

Dad: “I wanted to tell you. I’ve got a girlfriend.”

Mike: “You’re back with Laura?” Mike is fairly certain this is not what his dad meant, but he says it anyway.

Dad: “Terry is 18"ဆnot like Laura.”

Mike: “Is she younger?”

Dad: “Terry’s older than I am. Not supermodel gorgeous, but attractive.”

She’s fat, in other words.

His dad says something about where Terry works. It sounds like she controls the city.

Mike: “What?”

Dad (more clearly): “Terry works for the city comptroller. That’s the treasurer’s office. They keep track of the money.” Pause. “Your finger’s bleeding.”

Mike thinks, How many months has it been since I cut my finger?

Don’t worry about it.

The clean white napkin in Mike’s lap, the one holding most of the broccoli, now has several glistening drops on it, vivid and bright red. Mike thinks, Harryhausen was always careful to make his movie blood look real, but this blood looks fake.

Dad: “Try the chicken.”

Mike: “No.”

Dad: “Please. For me.”

Mike looks at the chicken, orange and shiny. It looks fake, too.

Dad: “Just one bite?” He puts a piece on Mike’s plate.

Mike lifts a fork to stab it. But he can’t do it.

Dad: “What’s wrong?”

Mike: “I can’t.”

Dad: “Can’t—or won’t?”

Mike is almost in tears. What’s the matter with me? he thinks. It’s like something else is controlling me. Is it my dad’s new girlfriend, the controller of the city?

Dad: “Never mind. It’s okay.”

Mike thinks, It’s not okay. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not in control.

Yes, you are.

Why can’t I eat the chicken?

Because you don’t want to. It’s disgusting.

I do want to. I mean, I’m willing to, but I can’t.

You’re in control.

But if I’m not, what is?

Mike overthinks, sometimes.

Again I have to work hard to calm Mike down, get him out of the restaurant and back on the bus, see to it that he goes for a run even before he goes home. Then he feels better. He’s not even hungry as he runs.

You can run over hunger.

He stumbles a bit, bangs up his knee. No blood. He runs some more.

Back home, he looks in the mirror and sees something he’s never seen before. There’s a thin, fuzzy patch of hair on his shoulders. A dusting of it on his stomach, too. It’s soft, like a blanket. Nice, Mike thinks.

Don’t see your dad anymore. It’s too disruptive.

Mike agrees. He knows what’s at stake here.

Don’t see anyone anymore. Except for Amber.

Mike agrees to that, too. Besides, he’s used to solitude. Before Tamio, he was alone all the time. Not that he’s alone now. After all, he has me.

Mike visits Amber again during the week. There’s a different nurse at the desk outside the Sun Room. She looks up at Mike as she tells him Amber’s at a group activity.

Nurse: “Do you want me to fetch her?”

Mike: “No, that’s okay.”

Nurse: “You sure? She doesn’t get many visitors.” Mike wonders if the nurse actually sounds concerned.

Don’t count on it.

Mike runs. He works out in his room. He is full of life. Everything is fantastic. Except for that time—

The knocking is intense.

Mom: “Mike! Mike! Open this door immediately!” She’s pounding so hard, she could break the door down.

Mike is on the floor. He gets up, staggers over to the door, and unlocks it.

Mom: “Why’d you lock the door?”

Hasn’t she ever heard of privacy?

Mom: “Why’d it take you so long to answer?”

Mike: “I didn’t hear you.”

Mom: “How could you not hear me? I was standing out there for God knows how long!”

Don’t believe it. She only just started.

Mike finds himself back on the floor.

Mom: “Oh, my God.” She’s freaking out.

Mike: “Give me a second.” He needs a moment to get his bearings.

Mom: “What if this happened while you were crossing the street?”

Mike: “Nothing happened.”

You were tired. No big deal. You took a nap.

Mike: “It’s no big deal. I took a nap.”

Mom: “Where—on the floor?”

Mike: “Stop asking me stuff.”

Mike tries to remember as his mom finally leaves him alone. He was going to do some push-ups. He can do 120 now. The floor p wဆrose up, Mike thinks; it was the weirdest thing.

It’s not so weird. You were sleepy.

I can’t really remember what happened, Mike thinks.

Because you fell asleep.

He can do 250 crunches now, too.

You are strong and getting stronger.

Mike knows he is. He can feel it. He looks in the mirror. He’s so close to looking the way he wants to look, feeling the way he wants to feel. Having everything all under control.

I can be fit, Mike thinks. I can be strong. Infinitely strong.

You’re almost there.

You and me both.

MIKE WAKES UP AND HE KNOWS—HE JUST KNOWS—someone’s been in his room. A trickle of panic runs down the back of his neck. He looks under his bed and in his closet; he checks the window, which is still closed as it is every night—it’s too cold to leave it open. He can’t find any evidence of theft, so he heads downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water. But his mom is blocking the way.

Mom: “I have something to tell you.”

Mike: “Later.”

Mom: “Now. What I have to say, it’s not open for discussion. It’s happening whether you like it or not. I’m pretty sure you’re not going to like it.”

Mike: “What are you talking about?”

His mom is shaking. Why is she shaking? Mike wonders if it’s because he used her credit card to buy Amber a bracelet. No, wait, he hasn’t done that yet. Sometimes it’s hard for Mike to tell the difference between actually doing something and just thinking about doing it.

Mom: “You’re going to the hospital.”

Mike: “Yeah, I visit Amber.”

Mom: “You don’t get it. You’re the one going to the hospital. I’m having you admitted.”