one to watch? There is also a janitor-type in a sarong that seems to be made from a patchwork of teatowels. Tucked into this is a fresh, bright red Lacoste shirt. He pushes along a cart made of spare parts â bamboo for the handles, old signs for the bottoms and sides, bike tires â and he speaks on his cell phone. I wish the kids could appreciate the irony.
I pay $15 admission and buy two Yakult yogurt drinks for another five dollars. We stay ten minutes.
The crocs are in cesspools according to their type â the North American, the Asian, etc. To our eyes, they are separated by size and heaped together with nothing to do or look at. They seem in a stupor, flopped over one another with wide-open mouths, like the orgy is just winding down.
Even the kids feel repulsed. The promise of ice-cream and a video back home help cleanse the mindâs palate.
I donât have the heart to tell them that tomorrow, weâre going to the Bird Park.
I come home beat. My work is piling up and I have to attend to it instead of tuning in to the Frank show. But like clockwork, as soon as I hunker down and get myself all set up, he comes out onto the balcony with nothing of his own to do, watching as I attack my emails. He hovers around all hangdog, like I picked someone else for the prom, just because I continue to tap, tap, tap away. He takes my working at night as an affront and a rejection. Indeed, he is becoming dangerously hooked on attention. Resigned, I shut down the computer.
âOkay, talk. But Iâm timing you. You only have three months. Then we go home and this has to stop.â
âWhat if we have more than three months?â he asks.
âWhat do you mean?â
âNothing.â
âWhy did you say that?â
âI donât know.â
âWell, itâs a strange thing to say.â
âStop grilling me. Get off my back.â
Okay, you are a witness or perhaps even a friend â exactly where in this exchange did I cross the line and start badgering? Was I not minding my own business when he came out and tossed over an odd little morsel worth sniffing?
Ordinarily Iâd let myself feel the rage, Iâd admire its colour, swirl it around, take a sniff, take a sip, let it linger on my tongue, swallow it slowly, and only then breathe fire. But now I am a muted dependant and I need a bunch of money to keep up with the tour book. So, instead of exploding, I get up and make him his favourite dinner: pretzels in a bowl. I should have known â been through it before, havenât I? In his peculiar little mind â not all the time, but some of the time â feeding Frank means Iâm trying to âcontrolâ him. I might as well bring him stuffed garbage cans, unpaid bills, wrinkled shirts, broken toys and a soiled wok. It all screams: Fran wants me to do something. It all triggers the same reaction: I donât hafta if I donât wanna. Sheâs not the boss of me! He is convinced â some of the time â that anything I suggest smacks of puppeteering. Some of the time, when I suggest we play tennis, heâs sure what Iâm really saying is that I think heâs fat and lazy.
âWhat about a movie?â
âOh, right, drag Fatty off to the movies?â
âNo, no, tell me what you want to do.â
âI donât have to tell you anything.â
âWell, Iâm not doing a good job guessing.â
âWhy do we have to do anything? You always have to do something.â
âI canât do nothing. Itâs impossible. Especially if Iâm in the same room with someone who is also doing nothing!â Now Iâm screaming.
âYouâre never, ever happy, Fran.â
Though these conversations are regular, theyâre random. They only happen some of the time. Months and months go by and I forget, because this man just finished dancing with all my girlfriends when no one else would. He stayed up all
I pay $15 admission and buy two Yakult yogurt drinks for another five dollars. We stay ten minutes.
The crocs are in cesspools according to their type â the North American, the Asian, etc. To our eyes, they are separated by size and heaped together with nothing to do or look at. They seem in a stupor, flopped over one another with wide-open mouths, like the orgy is just winding down.
Even the kids feel repulsed. The promise of ice-cream and a video back home help cleanse the mindâs palate.
I donât have the heart to tell them that tomorrow, weâre going to the Bird Park.
I come home beat. My work is piling up and I have to attend to it instead of tuning in to the Frank show. But like clockwork, as soon as I hunker down and get myself all set up, he comes out onto the balcony with nothing of his own to do, watching as I attack my emails. He hovers around all hangdog, like I picked someone else for the prom, just because I continue to tap, tap, tap away. He takes my working at night as an affront and a rejection. Indeed, he is becoming dangerously hooked on attention. Resigned, I shut down the computer.
âOkay, talk. But Iâm timing you. You only have three months. Then we go home and this has to stop.â
âWhat if we have more than three months?â he asks.
âWhat do you mean?â
âNothing.â
âWhy did you say that?â
âI donât know.â
âWell, itâs a strange thing to say.â
âStop grilling me. Get off my back.â
Okay, you are a witness or perhaps even a friend â exactly where in this exchange did I cross the line and start badgering? Was I not minding my own business when he came out and tossed over an odd little morsel worth sniffing?
Ordinarily Iâd let myself feel the rage, Iâd admire its colour, swirl it around, take a sniff, take a sip, let it linger on my tongue, swallow it slowly, and only then breathe fire. But now I am a muted dependant and I need a bunch of money to keep up with the tour book. So, instead of exploding, I get up and make him his favourite dinner: pretzels in a bowl. I should have known â been through it before, havenât I? In his peculiar little mind â not all the time, but some of the time â feeding Frank means Iâm trying to âcontrolâ him. I might as well bring him stuffed garbage cans, unpaid bills, wrinkled shirts, broken toys and a soiled wok. It all screams: Fran wants me to do something. It all triggers the same reaction: I donât hafta if I donât wanna. Sheâs not the boss of me! He is convinced â some of the time â that anything I suggest smacks of puppeteering. Some of the time, when I suggest we play tennis, heâs sure what Iâm really saying is that I think heâs fat and lazy.
âWhat about a movie?â
âOh, right, drag Fatty off to the movies?â
âNo, no, tell me what you want to do.â
âI donât have to tell you anything.â
âWell, Iâm not doing a good job guessing.â
âWhy do we have to do anything? You always have to do something.â
âI canât do nothing. Itâs impossible. Especially if Iâm in the same room with someone who is also doing nothing!â Now Iâm screaming.
âYouâre never, ever happy, Fran.â
Though these conversations are regular, theyâre random. They only happen some of the time. Months and months go by and I forget, because this man just finished dancing with all my girlfriends when no one else would. He stayed up all
Similar Books
