Read Online Skipped Parts: A Heartbreaking, Wild, and Raunchy Comedy by Tim Sandlin - Free Book Online Page B

wholesome as life gets—even with a marshmallow half-sunk on top. Maurey held her mug with both hands, blew across the steaming surface, and smiled at the first sip. Down a hallway, I heard a vacuum cleaner kick in.
    “Who’s Petey?”
    “My baby brother. He’s a brat, Mama’s little angel.”
    “Are you close?”
    “Are you kidding?”
    A man was arrested in a movie theater. Eyewitnesses to the murder were interviewed. John Connally’s press secretary issued a statement. They announced that Lyndon Johnson, a Texan, had been sworn in on the plane. College football games were canceled for the next day. Everything was canceled.
    “I wish my dad was here,” Maurey said.
    “Where is he?”
    “We have a little horse ranch ten miles up the hill and they don’t plow the road. He stays out there most of the winter.”
    “He’s stuck?”
    “Dad snowmobiles out every couple of weeks and for the holidays. In the summer we’re mostly out there.”
    “What’s your dad’s name?”
    “Buddy. I wish he was home today.”
    The news announcer said the arrested man’s name was Lee Henry Oswald. One after another, strange facts came out. He had a Russian wife. He’d been to Cuba. He’d been to Russia. His name was Harvey instead of Henry. They interviewed his landlady downtown.
    “What’s your dad do?” Maurey asked.
    “I don’t have a father.”
    She looked from the TV to me. “Did he die?”
    “Lydia won’t tell me anything about him. When she’s drunk she claims virgin birth, like Mary and Jesus.”
    Maurey said, “I’d like to see my mom drunk.”
    “It’s not that neat.”
    We sat in more silence. I held her hand a little while, but then she took it away. “So you don’t have a clue to what your dad was like?”
    “Lydia has these pictures hidden in her panty box. They’re from different yearbooks, I think. Four photos of five guys in football uniforms. I kind of figure one of them might be my dad because she hides the pictures.”
    “Panty box?”
    “Lydia hasn’t unpacked yet. Her stuff is in suitcases and boxes. She won’t sleep in her bedroom.”
    “What were you doing in the panty box?”
    I skipped that one. “One of the guys in the pictures is a Negro.”
    Maurey studied me closely. “I heard the rumor. Is it true?”
    I’m not that dark, a little maybe, darker than Lydia for sure, but not that much, and I have curly hair, but it’s not kinky or anything. “I guess the odds are one in five. If my father is one of the pictures.”
    Petey arrived amid much banging and slamming of doors. He clomped into the den from the kitchen, dropped his coat in a heap on the floor, and crossed to the television where he changed the channel.
    “Hey,” Maurey yelled. “We’re watching that.”
    Petey ignored her. He stood with one hand on the dial, peering suspiciously at the picture. “What’s this?”
    “It’s news. There’s nothing on but news. Now change it back to what we were watching.”
    Petey didn’t move. He had these remarkably dark eyebrows, long eyelashes, and a natural pout of a mouth. Would have made a cute girl. Maurey left the couch and advanced on Petey and the television.
    “This sucks.” He slapped the screen with the flat of his left hand. I mean, the kid was eight, nine years old, way too far along to think you can punch sense into a TV show.
    Maurey grabbed his other hand on the channel knob and Petey let out a scream. She pulled him hard, but he latched on like a snapping turtle, screaming his damn brains out. He tried to hit her with his free hand, but Maurey blocked him with her forearms. Just as Mrs. Pierce charged into the room, Maurey doubled up her fist and decked her brother in the face.
    “Maurey.” Mrs. Pierce was aghast.
    Petey held both hands over his eyes and went right on screaming. I come from two generations of only-child families. This was miles out of my context.
    Maurey looked from me to her mom. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”
    Petey made