“Charlie I won’t tell you again, feed those goddamn dogs, or it’s off to the pound for Bag of Bones. It’s up to you now. I am not doing it and when you walk past Mrs. Palatino’s house check to see if she’s eating off the t.v. tray, okay? Hurry back so I can get over and help if she needs it. Shit. Who left this food in here?” Mom says as she walks in the front door at her usual arrival time from work – seven.

“I defended you today.” I said to the tree’s leaves that wet my head when I stepped out the back garage door. “I told everyone rain is the greatest.” It was very dark out and cold, and now, I was wet on my shoulder and hair. I resent irony in any form. “Fuck this.” I said as I wiped some droplets off my shoulder. True it had rained to the point of boredom today, the rain streamed down from the gutter to the storm drains. I stuck my foot in to feel the fast moving torrent, and I didn’t care if my shoe got wet, “I still love the rain.”

Myodor, the larger dog, pee’d in the puddles. I left the bag of bones at home. Myodor is my o’ dog and so I walk him, Bag of Bones is my mom’s dog. Had him for centuries, he’s ancient. Walking at night is nice, the streets are black, with white beams in the center from the streetlights, makes it nice.

Mrs. Palatino’s house is two doors down, scary-looking brick and overgrown ivy everywhere. She’s in the window, sitting in front of the t.v. with that wickedly old t.v. tray. Eating some nasty shit, don’t want to interrupt her, she’ll talk my ear off about nothing I’ve ever heard of. She has a better t.v. than we do. My mom bought her a large one so she can see it good. She has it up loud. I tapped on the window, smiled and waved, Mrs. Palatino looked over and waved – habit, I think.

I said, “All okay?”
She said, “Yea, yeah,” and waved me away, her lips still moving.
“I heard that,” I said back.

The beginnings of a cold rain started trickling down. Myodor was off the leash. I waited for her to come back. I spotted her down the street sniffing her favorite tree trunk and got a body chill waiting for her. I wanted to go inside but not until she was satisfied. She trotted over to me, I led her into the backyard without the leash, she doesn’t know about life’s tedium, why humiliate her.

“Charlie, dinner’s ready. Did you see Mrs. Palatino?”
Mom yells this from the dining room.
I pulled off my wet shoes at the kitchen door.
“No frets.”
“You didn’t take Bag of Bones out did you?”
“Mom, really she can’t even walk anymore.”
I hear Mom say, in a voice beyond the wall, a little muffled, to Nicky, my drag sister.
“I swear you don’t walk Bag of Bones, you just sort of drag her along, her legs don’t work, so stupid.”
They laugh.
“She really is a bag of bones, Charlie, let’s eat. Nicky did you get all the bones out of the fish and throw them in that packet it came with?”
“Ah, what have we here, yum, pheasant under glass?” I say.
“Shut up Charlie, you go in and try it, you couldn’t do it any better,” a little stutter laugh followed from Nicky.
“Fuck off.”
I couldn’t help but fix my eyes on her pink plastic earrings she bought at The Hi Pink.
“Alright you two grown ups, this is a dinner table not smack-down, don’t talk, let’s not talk, especially if you two adolescents are just going to act like idiots.”

That always quiets a room; it could quiet people going down in a flaming plane. I wish my Dad were here. Mom got the house and kids in the divorce; he got to leave, two months ago. The better end of the deal, for sure. My dad never calls Nicky, he only calls me, he says, how’s my little man? He knows I am at a state university and calls about that, to ask about grades. He probably just wants me to get out and go to a cheaper school. But, I am his little man.

My mom is very quiet tonight. I’d ask why but I don’t really want to hear about it. It’s probably her job bothering her – some boring, boring stuff. She will drone on if you let her. I just stare at her and picture a plastic bag over her head: her face pressed behind it, her eyes blinking and lips moving. My mom wouldn’t even notice she has it on, it wouldn’t stop her babbling. Maybe from breathing, but nothing else, no loss of brain cells, so few. Myodor started barking and jumped up on the sliding glass door behind my mom, she jumped.

“I think it was a car driving by,” I assured her before she started in on the dogs. I hate it when she blames the dogs. She’s changed so much since the divorce, so uptight. She used to laugh when my dad was here, play cards and sing. She cooked too. Now she just leaves it for Nicky to do or we don’t do it at all. Myodor jumped again and so did my mom, this time it worked well, the phone rang and, ya know, since she was already half out of her chair. Her eyes rolled her frustration as she reached for the phone on the credenza near her.

“Hello. Yes, this is Mrs. Thomas. Yes, I mean, no, he doesn’t live here any—.”

Silence, black as the night, mom’s eyes a matching droll. They’re very clear in their searching, they go blank. She stares up over my head. I’m across the table, eating the Swedish meatballs. I see Myodor in the background behind Mom staring at me, ready to pounce on the screen door again.

“Mom?” I say.
“A car…it was on the sidewalk? Okay, yes, I will, yes, right now, thank you.”

She didn’t blink. Her eyes didn’t glow. They turned gray then hollow. Her brows were solid they didn’t move as she stared at something above me. I looked at her with equal shock, I don’t know why. Then her eyes welled up, just below the pupils, it looked like a glistening half moons under the black circle.

I said, “Who was that?”
“There was a car on the sidewalk, Charlie. I’m sorry son, you’ll have to go. Wear a raincoat.”

I stood up, I grabbed the chair to push it under the table, I don’t know why. Boom, boom, boom, someone banged on the door, we jumped including Myodor who had been barking we just didn’t hear it. “It hit your Dad, over at the Berry Hill Mall in front of The Hi Pink.”

Mom didn’t jump this time. She still had the food in her mouth. It was lying across her tongue. When Mom spoke, it sounded like she was gargling bread. The sound brought her back to the moment, she said, “You go Charlie.” Nicky was agreeing with a head bounce, she put her arm around my Mom. I went to the door. Nicky started crying. “The Police are taking him to the morgue; they need one of us to go there,” Mom said staring straight ahead.

Two rain soaked Policemen were behind the door, which they bomb-blasted several more times before I answered. I hated them. When I saw Police Officer Tim, Tim was his last name, before he could open his mouth to speak, I said, “You’re late, we already know,” so stupid. He ignored me, “…is this the Thomas’ residence?”

I had to let him in. I guided him into the dining room to be polite. I figured if he saw my mom, he’d know. She was staring at the table with Nicky wrapped around her shoulders crying. She wasn’t hugging Nicky back or nothing, just staring down at the empty plate with some salad left on it, her hands in her lap. Officer Tim put a business card down on the table. It was to a mortuary, one on Helger Road. “They need someone to go there immediately,” the other Officer said.

The room remained quiet. A woman’s voice from the Officer’s radio, attached to his belt, dotted the air like Morse Code. They turned to leave, but shook my hand first, saying, “We’re very sorry for your loss.” Words never uttered to me before in relevance. But, by sheer number, by the end of the whole ordeal, it goes down in my brain as being four of the stupidest words ever, sorry for your loss, so stupid.

I put the dogs in the garage out of the rain. My mom was in the kitchen, I could hear her rooting around the cabinets. I heard her say, “Nicky where’s the tea?” Before I left, I stood in the kitchen looking at my mom. She turned and looked at me, her nose red, eyes glassy looking. She seemed in a trance, not her usual one. She gestured her confusion – raised her hands out, level to her hips, palms facing at me – standing in the middle of the kitchen. I don’t know if she was confused over my dad or if she just really couldn’t find the tea.

“Whose turn is it to do the dishes tonight, is it you Charlie? Or Nicky’s night? I can’t remember.” She put her hand across her forehead and ran it around her face in a circle, the other arm across her stomach. “It’s Nicky’s,” I whispered.

Nicky was upstairs crying. My mom slammed the cabinet. Myodor started barking.

There was a heavy drizzle outside. Maybe I won’t defend the rain anymore. My car was parked out front; I pulled away from the curb slowly. I was numb from the cold, I think. I had to pull over for a minute. I can’t remember the last time my father called me, his little man. He rings me on my cell phone and we talk, I can’t remember when he last called, a month now maybe. The day he left the house to move in with Trina, the tart we called her, he was happy. He laughed a lot, punched me on the arm and shuffled around like a boxer. He didn’t call me his little man. Dad pulled out of the driveway, said, I’ll call you.