Falling Down, had been brutal.
The one by redseven45 proclaimed for all the world to see: “Wiley Cantrell is no Stephen King. He’s the opposite of Stephen King. He’s the Pee Wee Herman of Horror. He’s the Mighty Midget of Terror. His writing is about as scary as a badly written manual on how to put together a piece of occasional furniture. I feel like I wasted my money. That’s not a good feeling.”
The professional reviews were no better. My favorite was the Kansas City Star , which said:
“Wiley Cantrell has shown us he can write a hell of a novel. Now he’s shown us that he can’t.”
Was that the truth of things, that I could no longer write a decent novel?
I picked at my food, feeling miserable.
I looked across the table at Noah. The storms behind his eyes weren’t over, but at least he was talking again.
KUDZU played “He Stopped Loving Her Today” to honor the recent passing of George Jones.
Noah cleaned his plate, asked for seconds.
I wish some of this would stick to your bones, I said, ladling out more pasta. People think I’m starving you.
You are starving me , he pointed out .
I am not!
You never take me to McDonald’s.
Why would you want to eat that crap?
’Cause all my friends go there.
We don’t eat crap in this house.
See? You’re starving me. You won’t let me eat what I want to eat.
If I bought crap, you’d eat crap?
Yes, he said .
And you call yourself my son? Keep it up and we’ll become vegetarians.
Gross. He made a face to emphasize his point.
We’ll eat b-o-k c-h-o-y for breakfast and it’ll be all your fault, I said .
We can go outside and eat the grass. It’s free!
Exactly, I said .
Like we’re goats or something.
We could save money.
I’m tired of saving money.
So am I.
Dad?
Yes?
Why do you have to be so weird? he asked.
I’m not weird.
No wonder nobody likes you.
People like me.
You won’t even go to McDonald’s. K. says her mom takes her there all the time.
“K.” was fingerspelling shorthand for Keke.
Can’t we go? Just once? It’s been almost a year!
I’ll think about it.
Can we go tomorrow?
I’ll think about it!
The conversation was interrupted as he gulped down sweet tea.
Dad?
He had a cheeky smile on his face.
Why doesn’t your boyfriend call you?
Shut up!
Told you you were weird.
He’ll call, I said, nodding my head, as if to say, you wait and see .
He probably thinks you look like a girl.
Your hair is almost as long as mine!
No it isn’t!
Have you looked in the mirror lately?
But you have a ponytail like a girl.
The conversation was again interrupted as he started on dessert, a small bowl of grapes.
Dad?
Yes?
Where does Mom live?
I don’t know.
Do you think she’ll visit me?
I don’t know.
His face fell and he lowered his eyes so that he couldn’t see anything else I might say.
15) Cutting a rug
A S A Southern gay man, I reserve the right to sing while washing dishes, especially when Glen Campbell comes on KUDZU singing “Rhinestone Cowboy,” as he did after dinner.
“ I want to be where the lights are shining on me ,” I sang, “ like a Rhinestone Cowboy ….”
I danced around at the sink, remembering how I used to sing that song when I belonged to Southern Nights, a college band I’d joined when I was eighteen and had dreams of glory.
Noah appeared at my side. He looked up into my eyes and smiled.
“Come on,” I said.
He put his bare feet on top of mine, his arms around my shoulders.
“ I dream of the things I’ll do ,” I sang to him, “ with a subway token and a dollar tucked inside my shoe .”
He laughed as he followed the movements of my body and we cut ourselves a decent rug on the kitchen floor with our carrying on as Glen Campbell crooned in a way that only he could. Noah anticipated my moves, following the shifting of my weight from one foot to the next.
Dancing with the Stars was one of his favorite shows. He watched with rapt attention as those
The one by redseven45 proclaimed for all the world to see: “Wiley Cantrell is no Stephen King. He’s the opposite of Stephen King. He’s the Pee Wee Herman of Horror. He’s the Mighty Midget of Terror. His writing is about as scary as a badly written manual on how to put together a piece of occasional furniture. I feel like I wasted my money. That’s not a good feeling.”
The professional reviews were no better. My favorite was the Kansas City Star , which said:
“Wiley Cantrell has shown us he can write a hell of a novel. Now he’s shown us that he can’t.”
Was that the truth of things, that I could no longer write a decent novel?
I picked at my food, feeling miserable.
I looked across the table at Noah. The storms behind his eyes weren’t over, but at least he was talking again.
KUDZU played “He Stopped Loving Her Today” to honor the recent passing of George Jones.
Noah cleaned his plate, asked for seconds.
I wish some of this would stick to your bones, I said, ladling out more pasta. People think I’m starving you.
You are starving me , he pointed out .
I am not!
You never take me to McDonald’s.
Why would you want to eat that crap?
’Cause all my friends go there.
We don’t eat crap in this house.
See? You’re starving me. You won’t let me eat what I want to eat.
If I bought crap, you’d eat crap?
Yes, he said .
And you call yourself my son? Keep it up and we’ll become vegetarians.
Gross. He made a face to emphasize his point.
We’ll eat b-o-k c-h-o-y for breakfast and it’ll be all your fault, I said .
We can go outside and eat the grass. It’s free!
Exactly, I said .
Like we’re goats or something.
We could save money.
I’m tired of saving money.
So am I.
Dad?
Yes?
Why do you have to be so weird? he asked.
I’m not weird.
No wonder nobody likes you.
People like me.
You won’t even go to McDonald’s. K. says her mom takes her there all the time.
“K.” was fingerspelling shorthand for Keke.
Can’t we go? Just once? It’s been almost a year!
I’ll think about it.
Can we go tomorrow?
I’ll think about it!
The conversation was interrupted as he gulped down sweet tea.
Dad?
He had a cheeky smile on his face.
Why doesn’t your boyfriend call you?
Shut up!
Told you you were weird.
He’ll call, I said, nodding my head, as if to say, you wait and see .
He probably thinks you look like a girl.
Your hair is almost as long as mine!
No it isn’t!
Have you looked in the mirror lately?
But you have a ponytail like a girl.
The conversation was again interrupted as he started on dessert, a small bowl of grapes.
Dad?
Yes?
Where does Mom live?
I don’t know.
Do you think she’ll visit me?
I don’t know.
His face fell and he lowered his eyes so that he couldn’t see anything else I might say.
15) Cutting a rug
A S A Southern gay man, I reserve the right to sing while washing dishes, especially when Glen Campbell comes on KUDZU singing “Rhinestone Cowboy,” as he did after dinner.
“ I want to be where the lights are shining on me ,” I sang, “ like a Rhinestone Cowboy ….”
I danced around at the sink, remembering how I used to sing that song when I belonged to Southern Nights, a college band I’d joined when I was eighteen and had dreams of glory.
Noah appeared at my side. He looked up into my eyes and smiled.
“Come on,” I said.
He put his bare feet on top of mine, his arms around my shoulders.
“ I dream of the things I’ll do ,” I sang to him, “ with a subway token and a dollar tucked inside my shoe .”
He laughed as he followed the movements of my body and we cut ourselves a decent rug on the kitchen floor with our carrying on as Glen Campbell crooned in a way that only he could. Noah anticipated my moves, following the shifting of my weight from one foot to the next.
Dancing with the Stars was one of his favorite shows. He watched with rapt attention as those
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