Read Online Another Broken Wizard by Colin Dodds - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Colin Dodds
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her knees. The orange streetlight shone off a patch of wet and dimpled upper thigh. She pulled up her pants, giving me a gap-toothed, drunk-eyed smile. I looked at Joe.
“Hey man, be careful and give me a call tomorrow. We should talk over your plan again.”
I waited until they were in the house and the lights turned on, then drove back across town, down Highland Street, past the bridges and frozen pond of Elm Park and the monument to peace they’d put up across from the park that looked like a man and woman pushing a vacuum cleaner. Emily lived in a three-decker on Park Avenue, not too far from Clark. I parked on the street, climbed over a snow bank and rang her doorbell. She came down wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt and a pink bathrobe. She smiled big when she saw me.
“Hey Jim,” she said. Even when excited, her voice never lost its flat, sarcastic tone.
Her apartment was a spacious half a floor, with a front and back staircase. Emily and her roommate had decorated it sparsely, but effectively. She motioned me over to a small couch and I sat down, surprised at how tired I was. She pulled up a footstool and sat across from me.
“I don’t have much in the house, but I can re-heat some pizza for you if you want.”
“Actually, yeah, I could go for a slice or two, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Listen to mister New York City,” she said playfully.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re in Worcester. They’re called pieces of pizza. I can’t believe it. You’ve gone native down there.”
“No. Not really.”
“Okay, I want to know what you call the little candy bits that go on an ice cream cone?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Sprinkles.”
“What about Jimmies ? I mean come on. It’s practically your name. What about long sandwiches? You better not have forgotten this,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I know. I know. Grinders, grindahs . Now can I have a slice of pizza or what?”
Emily laughed, her green eyes sparkling and nose wrinkling. She was a small girl, and with her bathrobe and blonde hair, she looked more like she was blowing down the hall than walking. Sometimes we’d go a year without talking, but we always picked up where we left off. Emily put two slices into a toaster oven that looked like it had seen the Carter administration.
“So what’s new? How was your Christmas?” she asked, leaning against the counter.
“Don’t ask. It’s only my second double-Christmas—one at Mom’s and one at Dad’s. But I think I’m getting better at it. At least I drank less this year. The worst part is the transition from one to the other. It’s the holiday, and I’m leaving one of them alone. I mean, I’m up there, mostly for them, and failing even at that. It’s no damn fun. They both tell me to relax, but that’s not very likely.”
“It’s tough when it’s right in your face like that. My dad moved out of state before the papers were even signed. I remember one Christmas, when I was little, I went to see him. I guess he was late driving me to the airport and I just remember running after my dad with my suitcase, knowing that if I didn’t run fast enough I wouldn’t be able to get home,” she said, laughing as she told the last part.
The switch on the toaster oven popped up and a muffled bell went tink and the kettle started whistling. Back in the living room, I ate the pizza and Emily told me about her Christmas in Hubbardston.
“So Peggy, the aunt who tried to blame her DUI on hair extensions, she comes up to me after dinner and starts asking me about my hopes and dreams. Usually, she’s drunk at this point and talking about her sisters’ sex lives back when they were in high school. It’s pretty gross. But she’s almost sober and she’s talking about life goals and looking me in the eyes and saying my name in every sentence. ‘Emily, it’s good to have dreams, like your PhD. But Emily, you need security in order to pursue those dreams,
“Hey man, be careful and give me a call tomorrow. We should talk over your plan again.”
I waited until they were in the house and the lights turned on, then drove back across town, down Highland Street, past the bridges and frozen pond of Elm Park and the monument to peace they’d put up across from the park that looked like a man and woman pushing a vacuum cleaner. Emily lived in a three-decker on Park Avenue, not too far from Clark. I parked on the street, climbed over a snow bank and rang her doorbell. She came down wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt and a pink bathrobe. She smiled big when she saw me.
“Hey Jim,” she said. Even when excited, her voice never lost its flat, sarcastic tone.
Her apartment was a spacious half a floor, with a front and back staircase. Emily and her roommate had decorated it sparsely, but effectively. She motioned me over to a small couch and I sat down, surprised at how tired I was. She pulled up a footstool and sat across from me.
“I don’t have much in the house, but I can re-heat some pizza for you if you want.”
“Actually, yeah, I could go for a slice or two, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Listen to mister New York City,” she said playfully.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re in Worcester. They’re called pieces of pizza. I can’t believe it. You’ve gone native down there.”
“No. Not really.”
“Okay, I want to know what you call the little candy bits that go on an ice cream cone?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Sprinkles.”
“What about Jimmies ? I mean come on. It’s practically your name. What about long sandwiches? You better not have forgotten this,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“I know. I know. Grinders, grindahs . Now can I have a slice of pizza or what?”
Emily laughed, her green eyes sparkling and nose wrinkling. She was a small girl, and with her bathrobe and blonde hair, she looked more like she was blowing down the hall than walking. Sometimes we’d go a year without talking, but we always picked up where we left off. Emily put two slices into a toaster oven that looked like it had seen the Carter administration.
“So what’s new? How was your Christmas?” she asked, leaning against the counter.
“Don’t ask. It’s only my second double-Christmas—one at Mom’s and one at Dad’s. But I think I’m getting better at it. At least I drank less this year. The worst part is the transition from one to the other. It’s the holiday, and I’m leaving one of them alone. I mean, I’m up there, mostly for them, and failing even at that. It’s no damn fun. They both tell me to relax, but that’s not very likely.”
“It’s tough when it’s right in your face like that. My dad moved out of state before the papers were even signed. I remember one Christmas, when I was little, I went to see him. I guess he was late driving me to the airport and I just remember running after my dad with my suitcase, knowing that if I didn’t run fast enough I wouldn’t be able to get home,” she said, laughing as she told the last part.
The switch on the toaster oven popped up and a muffled bell went tink and the kettle started whistling. Back in the living room, I ate the pizza and Emily told me about her Christmas in Hubbardston.
“So Peggy, the aunt who tried to blame her DUI on hair extensions, she comes up to me after dinner and starts asking me about my hopes and dreams. Usually, she’s drunk at this point and talking about her sisters’ sex lives back when they were in high school. It’s pretty gross. But she’s almost sober and she’s talking about life goals and looking me in the eyes and saying my name in every sentence. ‘Emily, it’s good to have dreams, like your PhD. But Emily, you need security in order to pursue those dreams,
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