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.I pushed the Play button.The first message was from Mom, the second from Danny, andthe third from Marco.I listened to all three a second time, pressingDelete.I had no interest in talking with Danny or Marco.That couldwait, so I picked up the handset and dialed my mother s number. Hello. Hi, Mom, how are you? I m fine, darling.You sound scratchy.Is your throat scratchy? No, Mom, my throat s fine. " 111 " RUSS GREGORY Good.Honey, listen.I was just calling to make sure you gotthe package I sent and to tell you some good news. I got the package. I rolled my eyes. What s the news? She cleared her throat. Well, you remember Debbie Conway,don t you? That pretty dark-haired girl, lives over in Fruitland? Hermother goes to our church. Not really. Sure you do.You went to kindergarten with her before shewas home-schooled.You rode bicycles together.She came to yoursixth birthday party.You two were always so cute together. I don t remember her, Ma.What s Debbie got to do with me? Well, she s going to be in Austin. I rolled my eyes again. SanAntonio, actually, but that s close enough.So I thought you coulddrive down there and take her out to dinner.She s such a pretty girl. I sighed heavily. What are you doing, Mother? What? I m not doing anything.I m just thinking you wouldlike to see an old friend, that s all. I don t know her, Ma.She s not a friend.At this point she sbarely an acquaintance. Sure you know her.You remember, she rode that red bicycle,always had skinned knees.She came to your sixth birthday party. I don t remember her, Ma, and I don t remember the partyeither. Well, she remembers you.Her mother told me so.And she sgrown into such a lovely woman. So? So I mentioned that you live in Austin and her mother told methat Debbie was moving to San Antonio. Wait a minute.I thought you said she was just visiting. Well& yeah, she s just visiting this trip.But she s going thereto hunt for a place to live.Her job is being transferred.She works fora computer& something company& doing computer& something.Like you.Anyway, I thought, wouldn t it be nice if my kind andconsiderate son would make her feel welcome in her new state. Hervoice became warm and sticky.I rolled my eyes again. Why do you do this? " 112 " BLUE Do what? She was trying to sound innocent but I wasn tbuying it. You know I m gay, Ma.Remember our little talk? Gay-shmay, it s a phase. I rolled my eyes again. It s not a phase. I sighed inexasperation. It s who I am and the sooner you accept It s a phase.Our minister tells me there are places that canhelp.Have you listened to the CDs yet? The only thing I need help with is my laundry. I enunciatedeach word carefully. You don t get it, do you? Let me try this again.There are just two things I have to do in this life and that s be gayand die. It s a phase, I tell you. I m thirty-nine years old, Ma. I was becoming despondent. It s not a phase. You just need to meet the right girl. Well, sure& but the right girl for me has a penis, and they reso very hard to find. I sighed heavily into the receiver. Why doyou always do this, Mom? Why do you push so hard? I wish youwould listen to me, just once really hear me.I don t need to meet agirl.I need for you to accept me the way I am. Well, think about it then.I ll call you soon. I sighed again. I love you, Matt. I know, I said, and hung up.I collapsed onto the couch, mymood darkening.I replayed the conversation in my mind, totallyawestruck at how an aging, ninety-pound, Southern woman coulddestroy the best day I d had in months from fifteen hundred milesaway.When the phone rang again I answered on reflex. Hello. May I speak with Matt Bell, please? Though I couldn t place the voice exactly, it sounded familiar. This is Matt, I said. Mr.Bell, I don t know if you remember me.My name isLieutenant Griggs with the Austin Police Department. A connection" 113 " RUSS GREGORYstirred in the primal part of my mind and I shuddered.An image ofa dark-haired, thick-necked man in a rumpled gray suit danced intoview and I squeezed my eyes shut.Lieutenant Sam Griggs was just an officer when we first met.Istill remember his image weaving into view like a hazy apparitionfloating through the fog of drug-induced sleep.I was lying in a bedin the Brackenridge Hospital recovery room.I ignored his presence,trying to subdue the natural movement of the world with my mind.I pictured a rock, a smooth, hard river-bottom stone.I attempted tobecome as motionless as that stone, so stationary I could feel mybody melt into the soft surface of the bed.I remember seeing Griggs s liquid face float into view again.He had rattled off incoherent phrases and disconnected wordsin a jumbled mix of sound.He blurted out his cacophony like a newsflash.And without giving me time to process it, he launched rightinto another series of discordant noises, charging ahead heedless ofmy inability to respond.Even if I could have understood, I couldn thave answered.Eventually Griggs gave up.Perhaps my silence or the tears inmy eyes convinced him.Either way, the interrogation was pointless.His image melted like a Dali painting and the pudgy, baldingrecovery-room nurse shot me full of morphine.The edges of myconsciousness blurred again, and soon Griggs s shape-shifting headdrifted back into the ether.I don t remember falling asleep.The next image my mindprocessed was a private hospital room bathed in the eerie dark-green-gray of nighttime.Sergeant Griggs sat, submerged in moonlight, ona folding chair at the foot of the bed.That s when he calmly told me I had been shot. Yes, Lieutenant, I remember you. I answered slowly. I have something to tell you.Mr [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.I pushed the Play button.The first message was from Mom, the second from Danny, andthe third from Marco.I listened to all three a second time, pressingDelete.I had no interest in talking with Danny or Marco.That couldwait, so I picked up the handset and dialed my mother s number. Hello. Hi, Mom, how are you? I m fine, darling.You sound scratchy.Is your throat scratchy? No, Mom, my throat s fine. " 111 " RUSS GREGORY Good.Honey, listen.I was just calling to make sure you gotthe package I sent and to tell you some good news. I got the package. I rolled my eyes. What s the news? She cleared her throat. Well, you remember Debbie Conway,don t you? That pretty dark-haired girl, lives over in Fruitland? Hermother goes to our church. Not really. Sure you do.You went to kindergarten with her before shewas home-schooled.You rode bicycles together.She came to yoursixth birthday party.You two were always so cute together. I don t remember her, Ma.What s Debbie got to do with me? Well, she s going to be in Austin. I rolled my eyes again. SanAntonio, actually, but that s close enough.So I thought you coulddrive down there and take her out to dinner.She s such a pretty girl. I sighed heavily. What are you doing, Mother? What? I m not doing anything.I m just thinking you wouldlike to see an old friend, that s all. I don t know her, Ma.She s not a friend.At this point she sbarely an acquaintance. Sure you know her.You remember, she rode that red bicycle,always had skinned knees.She came to your sixth birthday party. I don t remember her, Ma, and I don t remember the partyeither. Well, she remembers you.Her mother told me so.And she sgrown into such a lovely woman. So? So I mentioned that you live in Austin and her mother told methat Debbie was moving to San Antonio. Wait a minute.I thought you said she was just visiting. Well& yeah, she s just visiting this trip.But she s going thereto hunt for a place to live.Her job is being transferred.She works fora computer& something company& doing computer& something.Like you.Anyway, I thought, wouldn t it be nice if my kind andconsiderate son would make her feel welcome in her new state. Hervoice became warm and sticky.I rolled my eyes again. Why do you do this? " 112 " BLUE Do what? She was trying to sound innocent but I wasn tbuying it. You know I m gay, Ma.Remember our little talk? Gay-shmay, it s a phase. I rolled my eyes again. It s not a phase. I sighed inexasperation. It s who I am and the sooner you accept It s a phase.Our minister tells me there are places that canhelp.Have you listened to the CDs yet? The only thing I need help with is my laundry. I enunciatedeach word carefully. You don t get it, do you? Let me try this again.There are just two things I have to do in this life and that s be gayand die. It s a phase, I tell you. I m thirty-nine years old, Ma. I was becoming despondent. It s not a phase. You just need to meet the right girl. Well, sure& but the right girl for me has a penis, and they reso very hard to find. I sighed heavily into the receiver. Why doyou always do this, Mom? Why do you push so hard? I wish youwould listen to me, just once really hear me.I don t need to meet agirl.I need for you to accept me the way I am. Well, think about it then.I ll call you soon. I sighed again. I love you, Matt. I know, I said, and hung up.I collapsed onto the couch, mymood darkening.I replayed the conversation in my mind, totallyawestruck at how an aging, ninety-pound, Southern woman coulddestroy the best day I d had in months from fifteen hundred milesaway.When the phone rang again I answered on reflex. Hello. May I speak with Matt Bell, please? Though I couldn t place the voice exactly, it sounded familiar. This is Matt, I said. Mr.Bell, I don t know if you remember me.My name isLieutenant Griggs with the Austin Police Department. A connection" 113 " RUSS GREGORYstirred in the primal part of my mind and I shuddered.An image ofa dark-haired, thick-necked man in a rumpled gray suit danced intoview and I squeezed my eyes shut.Lieutenant Sam Griggs was just an officer when we first met.Istill remember his image weaving into view like a hazy apparitionfloating through the fog of drug-induced sleep.I was lying in a bedin the Brackenridge Hospital recovery room.I ignored his presence,trying to subdue the natural movement of the world with my mind.I pictured a rock, a smooth, hard river-bottom stone.I attempted tobecome as motionless as that stone, so stationary I could feel mybody melt into the soft surface of the bed.I remember seeing Griggs s liquid face float into view again.He had rattled off incoherent phrases and disconnected wordsin a jumbled mix of sound.He blurted out his cacophony like a newsflash.And without giving me time to process it, he launched rightinto another series of discordant noises, charging ahead heedless ofmy inability to respond.Even if I could have understood, I couldn thave answered.Eventually Griggs gave up.Perhaps my silence or the tears inmy eyes convinced him.Either way, the interrogation was pointless.His image melted like a Dali painting and the pudgy, baldingrecovery-room nurse shot me full of morphine.The edges of myconsciousness blurred again, and soon Griggs s shape-shifting headdrifted back into the ether.I don t remember falling asleep.The next image my mindprocessed was a private hospital room bathed in the eerie dark-green-gray of nighttime.Sergeant Griggs sat, submerged in moonlight, ona folding chair at the foot of the bed.That s when he calmly told me I had been shot. Yes, Lieutenant, I remember you. I answered slowly. I have something to tell you.Mr [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]