myself the little favorite. “It kinda is. I mean, before this year, I actually liked math.”
“Well, what, wh-what did you like about it?”
Again, his question surprised me. Everything my parents said about math directly pertained to my abysmal grade and my manual lifting of it. “It was always kind of easy.”
When Eli listened, his hands dug into his pockets, and his head turned down. He had a funny-shaped head and a long neck, darkly tan with a bump. “When I was your age, I was just getting to understand that I couldn’t do math. I loved it, I could see it, but I wasn’t going to be good enough to do it. My math test scores were so low compared to my verbal, they thought I’d cheated. I made myself learn. I’d go over every page six times. The next year my scores jumped two hundred points. Then the people from the College Board wanted to study me because I was such an anomaly.” He must have been able to tell I didn’t know the word because he said, “ Anomaly means ‘oddball.’ ”
I couldn’t imagine my dad ever calling himself an oddball. And he wasn’t one. “Do you mind being short?” I asked all of a sudden, thinking of my father. Height never strayed far from my father’s consciousness. Eli was short, too.
“You know, I never really knew I was short, I didn’t know until—” Then he stammered. I was aware of some problem. Like dust on a CD.
“Until what?” I said, to help.
“Well, when I was getting married, my in-laws complained. That’s how I first heard I was short.”
“Nazis,” I said—the kind of joke that made my mom tense up.
But Eli laughed. “They actually are German.”
“Did they like you?”
He paused. “Not really. The night before the wedding, I sat with Jean on their dock—they have kind of a compound, on a lake—and I apologized for taking her away from all that. She didn’t deny it. I always thought that was good. Honest.” He spoke about his ex-wife kindly. That troubled me in some way I didn’t understand. I wasn’t being fair. When my parents talked about each other in those same tones, it seemed natural and right. We walked for a long time. I thought of how he listened on the phone at night for hours to my mom and how, when she called my dad, he rushed her off. My dad didn’t do that to me as much.
“I always tell your mother that math, math makes what I do ornamental. Whereas an equation”—his arms were going—“an equation is permanent.”
She’d written on the blackboard: EINSTEIN WAS A GREAT ROMANTIC . Eli was, too, if he could go on this way about math .
I felt his hand on my back. “You know, I’m deeply in love with your mother.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, wondering, Should I have said Thank you ?
“It’s, it’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. Even more than my mother dying.”
“Oh, good,” I replied automatically, then thought, Duh! Like I wanted her to beat his mother’s dying! It wasn’t until later that I remembered he had a kid. The Mims would say having us was the most important thing that ever happened to her.
I felt sorry for Eli all over again. It didn’t occur to me then to feel sorry for his kid. I couldn’t even remember its name.
25 • Angeldog
When we returned home, a dog stood sniffing in our yard. Eli coaxed it with the voice some people try on children. “This is a stray,” he told me. “See, no collar. And he’s dirty. He’s probably been homeless a few weeks already.” He cooed, “Are you hungry?”
“Should I get him milk?” I asked. Cats liked milk.
“Do you have any canned pumpkin?”
“I don’t think so.” Canned pumpkin! It wasn’t Thanksgiving, and the Halloween jack-o’-lanterns had already caved in and been hauled out back to compost. Eli carried the dog into the house, where the Boops fell onto it. Boop One went at him with a pink brush. “Can we give him a bath?” she asked. “He stinks a little.”
Eli found our rice and some kind of
“Well, what, wh-what did you like about it?”
Again, his question surprised me. Everything my parents said about math directly pertained to my abysmal grade and my manual lifting of it. “It was always kind of easy.”
When Eli listened, his hands dug into his pockets, and his head turned down. He had a funny-shaped head and a long neck, darkly tan with a bump. “When I was your age, I was just getting to understand that I couldn’t do math. I loved it, I could see it, but I wasn’t going to be good enough to do it. My math test scores were so low compared to my verbal, they thought I’d cheated. I made myself learn. I’d go over every page six times. The next year my scores jumped two hundred points. Then the people from the College Board wanted to study me because I was such an anomaly.” He must have been able to tell I didn’t know the word because he said, “ Anomaly means ‘oddball.’ ”
I couldn’t imagine my dad ever calling himself an oddball. And he wasn’t one. “Do you mind being short?” I asked all of a sudden, thinking of my father. Height never strayed far from my father’s consciousness. Eli was short, too.
“You know, I never really knew I was short, I didn’t know until—” Then he stammered. I was aware of some problem. Like dust on a CD.
“Until what?” I said, to help.
“Well, when I was getting married, my in-laws complained. That’s how I first heard I was short.”
“Nazis,” I said—the kind of joke that made my mom tense up.
But Eli laughed. “They actually are German.”
“Did they like you?”
He paused. “Not really. The night before the wedding, I sat with Jean on their dock—they have kind of a compound, on a lake—and I apologized for taking her away from all that. She didn’t deny it. I always thought that was good. Honest.” He spoke about his ex-wife kindly. That troubled me in some way I didn’t understand. I wasn’t being fair. When my parents talked about each other in those same tones, it seemed natural and right. We walked for a long time. I thought of how he listened on the phone at night for hours to my mom and how, when she called my dad, he rushed her off. My dad didn’t do that to me as much.
“I always tell your mother that math, math makes what I do ornamental. Whereas an equation”—his arms were going—“an equation is permanent.”
She’d written on the blackboard: EINSTEIN WAS A GREAT ROMANTIC . Eli was, too, if he could go on this way about math .
I felt his hand on my back. “You know, I’m deeply in love with your mother.”
“Oh,” I mumbled, wondering, Should I have said Thank you ?
“It’s, it’s the most important thing that’s ever happened to me. Even more than my mother dying.”
“Oh, good,” I replied automatically, then thought, Duh! Like I wanted her to beat his mother’s dying! It wasn’t until later that I remembered he had a kid. The Mims would say having us was the most important thing that ever happened to her.
I felt sorry for Eli all over again. It didn’t occur to me then to feel sorry for his kid. I couldn’t even remember its name.
25 • Angeldog
When we returned home, a dog stood sniffing in our yard. Eli coaxed it with the voice some people try on children. “This is a stray,” he told me. “See, no collar. And he’s dirty. He’s probably been homeless a few weeks already.” He cooed, “Are you hungry?”
“Should I get him milk?” I asked. Cats liked milk.
“Do you have any canned pumpkin?”
“I don’t think so.” Canned pumpkin! It wasn’t Thanksgiving, and the Halloween jack-o’-lanterns had already caved in and been hauled out back to compost. Eli carried the dog into the house, where the Boops fell onto it. Boop One went at him with a pink brush. “Can we give him a bath?” she asked. “He stinks a little.”
Eli found our rice and some kind of
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