John McManus - Born on a Train - 13 Stories

I’m just saying that’s why I don’t make a lot of friends. Because I haven’t had a job for so long.

You don’t even want my money. All I do is make things worse.

I’m grateful for the money. You know that.

I’m not trying to control your life.

Of course you’re not. Of course you’re not.

Celeste began to cry. I try so many ways to help you, she said. It’s all I want to do. Mama patted Celeste’s shoulder and dried her first few tears with a scented yellow Kleenex. I thought if you didn’t work, Celeste said and trailed off. Mama opened her book to a dog-eared page and fanned herself and held Celeste’s hand. Eventually she let go and began to read. Celeste quit crying. Who knows if you’d even make friends at work anyway, she said. Ben goes to school every day, and he’s pretty much the same as you.

Mama turned her head to look at Ben like she hadn’t known he sat there, and then she turned away again. I saw a cormorant today, Ben said.

A what? said Celeste.

A cormorant. It’s a bird.

She knows what a cormorant is, Mama said. Everyone knows. She continued reading Waiting for the Potato Digger and asked the color of the bird, her eyes still focused on her book.

It was black.

It was probably just a blackbird, Mama said.

It was a cormorant, Ben insisted. I know it was.

They don’t come this far north.

This one did.

I guess you just know everything about it, she said.

I know what I saw.

She rolled her eyes and said, You might as well have seen a toucan.

Ben sighed.

Did you see a toucan?

No, I saw a cormorant.

Well, I doubt you saw either one. She went back to her book, and Ben stood by the window, staring at the sea. Celeste petted Ginger, who was fat like she was pregnant with ten puppies, and Ben imagined sitting on the dog like a beanbag chair, molding her to the shape of a seat. Light outside was swiftly fading. Ginger limped away to her bowl of food, and Celeste picked up a dead Game Boy battery from the table and stroked it. This is only three days old, she said. I’ll see if I can fix it.

That boy plays it constantly, said Mama. Three days is pretty good for one battery.

Celeste rubbed it.

I don’t see how that could help, said Mama.

We’ll see, Celeste said quietly.

Mama stared at her. Ben saw before she even yelled how the speed of her breaths accelerated evenly, for nearly half a minute, until they were twice as fast as before. She drank the remainder of her cocktail and spat an ice cube back into the glass as her eyes grew wide. What’s wrong with you people? she cried out suddenly. It’s a dead battery. There aren’t any cormorants in north Florida. There isn’t any sarsaparilla at restaurants.

Celeste stared at her with an open mouth.

A dead battery stays dead. You don’t go to the beach for a goddamn month.

Nobody answered her.

It’s like that flock of bluebirds, she said to Celeste. That time at my old house, before you sold it. You swore you saw a flock of bluebirds. I’ve never heard of anything so absurd. Celeste sighed and squinted her eyes and looked at Mama, who said, You probably can’t even remember.

I remember it with my own eyes, said Celeste. They were swarming on the red honeysuckle.

No, Mama said, you didn’t.

Two dozen of them.

It was blue jays, probably.

It was bluebirds.

They don’t even like red honeysuckle. I planted that honeysuckle for the hummingbirds.

It was bluebirds I saw. Celeste’s voice quavered. I was the one that taught you about birds. I bought you a hummingbird feeder when you were six years old.

Bluebirds don’t flock, Aunt Celeste. You can look it up.

I taught you how to mix the nectar.

Mama turned another page of her book. That was a long time ago, she said. You’ve probably confused it with something else.

I will not listen to you anymore, Celeste declared.

It was probably just spots in your eyes, from looking at the sun.

Celeste continued to rub the battery. She petted the smooth surface of the cylinder and stroked its opposite ends, humming softly as she massaged the silver metal, too old to understand it. As Ben formed that thought she turned to stare at him, and he shivered. You know, she said, people always told me it was terrible to be old. They said it was the worst thing that could ever happen to a person. Die early, they said, while you still can.

Mama turned a page of her book.

I didn’t listen to them. I never listened to anything old people said, but you know what? They were absolutely right. It’s terrible. Most of the time I’d rather just be dead.

You said you still had pleasures in your life, said Mama. Just earlier today you said so.

Name one. I wish somebody would name me just one.

You were the one that said it.

Celeste shook her head. I don’t think I would have said any such thing. Her head fell to one side as she sniffed her nose and shut her eyes, keeping them closed when they heard a sonic boom from the air force base several miles to the west, and Froggy came through the door. Celeste looked up and smiled weakly at him. I’m glad you’re back, she said quietly.

I got us some dinner, he said.

Well that was nice of you, Celeste said, looking out toward the girls’ pink tubes in the water.

We already ate dinner, Mama said into her book, but then she glanced up. With what money — she began and stopped short. The bird when Froggy slapped it down by its legs upon the table bounced like it was hollow. It was black, just as Ben had said, except on its neck, and Froggy turned it so one eye was pointing at Celeste, the other one at Ben and at the ceiling. Mama opened her mouth like she might scream. The sun had fully set now, and the sky outside was a deep, glorious orange.

Fire up the grill, said Froggy.

Mama shut her book without even inserting a tissue to mark her page. Get it outside, she said. Get it outside.

Froggy shook his head. Then it wouldn’t be inside anymore, he said.

Mama hurried to the kitchen sink and unrolled a long length of paper towels and bunched them up. It wasn’t dead enough to smell bad, but she picked the bird up by its neck and ran with it outside and flung it down on the porch and violently shook her hand. The bird landed half atop the towel so that its stomach pointed up. Mama breathed hard. She caught her breath in the doorway and said, Why would you do that? Why would you do that?

I thought we could take it to the bird hospital, he said. But only if there’s leftovers.

I’m going to throw up, Mama said.

People don’t just throw up, said Froggy.

That’s a cormorant, said Ben.

So now there’s just cormorants everywhere, said Mama, all over the state.

That’s the cormorant I saw.

It’s not a cormorant, Froggy said. It’s a ruby-throated argus.

There’s no such thing, Ben and Mama said together, and Mama looked annoyedly at Ben and said again, There’s no such bird.

Of course there is, said Froggy. Tell her, Celeste.

There is, Celeste said.

It doesn’t even have a ruby throat, said Mama. It’s all the same damn color.

It’s too young to have its ruby yet, said Froggy.

Then it’s probably good you killed it, said Celeste as Mama stood and walked toward her bedroom.

I didn’t kill it. Ben did.

I bet it’s no more fun to be an old bird than an old woman.

I didn’t kill it, Ben said. How could I have killed it?

Celeste stared straight past him and said, Of course you didn’t kill it, and Ben shivered. Mama emerged from her bedroom with the bird guide, flipping through the index. You’re spelling it wrong, said Froggy. It starts with R.

It doesn’t start with R, she said.