Read Online Life Among Giants by Bill Roorbach - Free Book Online

of the goons, Kate called collect during dinner. Dad refused charges and called her back, saving fifty precious cents. Th eir conversation was very brief, Dad mostly listening. Mom got on next, and after some initial bickering, she and Kate seemed to have a nice talk, Dad monitoring the call, three flips of the egg timer, nine whole minutes, note of discord at the end: Mom had asked Kate if she was seeing any boys. Kate didn’t like questions like that. So, suddenly Mom was handing me the phone. I pulled it into the living room as far as I could on its wire, not far enough.
    â€œIt’s good,” Kate said, no preamble. “It’s like you become who you were supposed to be all along without all the static and interference. If you don’t want to listen you don’t have to listen. Th ere’s no one to tell you to go to bed or wake up or eat lunch or iron your pleats, you know? I adore my English class, David. We write a paper every day. Every single day. And Greek philosophy—divine information, right? Th e stars are pinpricks in the outer shell of the universe. ‘Is what is holy holy because the gods approve it, or do they approve it because it is holy?’ Th e professor has us over to his house for dinner, he takes us to see movies. He’s like my best friend here, I’m not kidding. And I’ve got tennis every morning. My coach sees things in the minutest detail. He’s got me eating like crazy. I’m supposed to gain twenty-five pounds. It’s ecstasy! Mexican food, right? It’s all beans and rice and limes and hot peppers. Mom would shit! My coach, she’s a health nut. ‘I eat to live.’ And I’m lifting weights. I feel so fucking solid. You hit a thousand balls at a time, same shot over and over. You should see my serve! It’s a whole different game, David, college sports.”
    Our time was half used up. I didn’t want to talk about football at Princeton, which is where she was leading, how football at Princeton was going to be harder than football at Staples. I said, “ Th at guy Freddy was here from the High Side.”
    Silence. Th en: “Yes, Daddy mentioned that.”
    â€œOh?” Dad had mentioned no such thing, not that I’d heard.
    â€œWhat the fuck were you doing at the High Side, David?”
    â€œSylphide couldn’t light the stove.”
    â€œShe couldn’t light a Mobil station.”
    â€œI don’t know. I like her.”
    â€œI’ve got news for you, brother, the whole world likes her.”
    â€œ Th ey took Dad’s work boots.”
    â€œOh, Daddy and his work boots. Like he’s Paul Bunyan. Listen, you fucker. Don’t go over there any more.”
    â€œKaty,” I whispered. “Tell me what’s going on.”
    â€œ Th at’s three minutes,” Dad said.
    â€œYou ask Daddy what’s going on,” Kate said.
    Dad started to pull on the phone cord, slowly increasing the pressure. Quickly, I said, “I’ve got tickets for the Yale–Princeton game. Want to come?”
    â€œDon’t you have any friends to invite?”
    â€œI want you, ” I said.
    â€œ Th ree minutes,” Dad said again.
    â€œFine,” said Kate. “Just don’t bring Mom. And nothing’s going on.”
    M Y MOTHER WATCHED from the car as I trudged up the grand stone steps to the High Side doors carrying President Kennedy and Dabney wrapped in string and brown paper. Mortified, I pulled a braided golden cord, heard a church’s worth of bells and gongs. At length, the little tottering butler answered the door.
    â€œAh, Caliban,” he said, craning to take me in, sniffing the air around me.
    â€œAriel,” I said, looking down upon him.
    He nodded approval: I knew my Shakespeare. He’d basically called me a monster and I him a fairy, both true enough, no great judgment implied. Behind him, deep in the High Side bowels, I could hear