Read Online The Book of Joe by Jonathan Tropper - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Tropper
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I said.
“I don’t know,” Sammy said, craning his neck to see.
We shouted his name as we got to our feet, scanning the dark water for where his head would surely break the surface at any second. “Where the fuck is he?” I said, alarm like an icy balloon inflating in my belly. I looked over to Sammy, who was already pulling off his sneakers, and quickly did the same. We charged madly into the cold water, calling out for him between frantic strokes as we swam desperately out toward the geyser, which was much louder up close than I would have thought. I reached the center first and quickly performed an awkward surface dive, my outstretched fingers scraping bottom and coming away caked in grimy pond scum. I resurfaced, panting, and was about to try again when there was a loud whoop and Wayne suddenly came flying through the glowing geyser’s spray above us, his knees pulled up to his chest, flecks of luminous water trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. He flew through the air in slow motion, framed in the backlit water like some mythical god rising from the depths, before landing in a perfect cannonball between Sammy and me. He surfaced a moment later, pulling his wet hair out of his face and laughing at us.
“Asshole!” Sammy shouted, splashing at him with disgust.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” I said, choking on a sour mixture of relief and pond scum.
“It was the only way to get you guys in the water,” Wayne said, still grinning.
A furious splashing fight ensued as we tried unsuccessfully to dunk him, his long, sinewy arms easily fighting us off.
Afterward, he showed us the small maintenance platform on the side of the geyser that had facilitated his ambush, and we took turns jumping and diving through the geyser spray into the pond.
I was the first to eventually climb out of the pond, my stomach churning spasmodically from the injudicious combination of beer and pond water I’d imbibed. I leaned against a large sycamore for a few minutes, taking shallow breaths until my innards succumbed and I vomited violently, the hot acid of my puke burning my throat, filling my eyes with tears.
I pulled on my T-shirt and lay down on the grass, feeling unsteady and light-headed. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, Sammy and Wayne were still in the pond, their voices echoing eerily across the water, muted by the soft rumbling of the geyser. I propped myself up on my elbows and could just make out their shadowy forms in the darkness, bobbing up and down in the thick mist that floated around them. Their outlines blurred as my drunken, weary eyelids began to close, and their profiles waxed and waned like a throbbing pulse as the world around me began to spin at a dizzying speed. Just before I passed out, their fuzzy silhouettes appeared to touch in a tentative embrace, but I’d barely noted the illusion when unconsciousness dispensed with the foreplay and hungrily consummated our union.
Eight
Time slows to a crawl in my father’s hospital room. Try as they might, the seconds are unable to overtake the measured beeping of the heart monitor. The day is a run-on Henry James sentence that makes no sense, punctuated by small talk, bathroom breaks, and trips to the temperamental coffee machine down the hall. It is unclear to me whether we’re waiting for our father to wake up or to die, but it’s almost beside the point, as the ma chinery seems specifically engi neered to allow neither but to simply sustain him in this mechanical purgatory. Cindy, who left to take the twins to school soon after I arrived, returns around noon to bring us some pizza. Having never been married, I’m not equipped to decipher the nature of the glances that pass between Cindy and Brad, quick, intense looks bursting with angry nuance.
Brad leaves to walk her back to the elevators and returns looking troubled and even further deflated. Something is definitely going on there.
At around five-thirty, some imperceptible
“I don’t know,” Sammy said, craning his neck to see.
We shouted his name as we got to our feet, scanning the dark water for where his head would surely break the surface at any second. “Where the fuck is he?” I said, alarm like an icy balloon inflating in my belly. I looked over to Sammy, who was already pulling off his sneakers, and quickly did the same. We charged madly into the cold water, calling out for him between frantic strokes as we swam desperately out toward the geyser, which was much louder up close than I would have thought. I reached the center first and quickly performed an awkward surface dive, my outstretched fingers scraping bottom and coming away caked in grimy pond scum. I resurfaced, panting, and was about to try again when there was a loud whoop and Wayne suddenly came flying through the glowing geyser’s spray above us, his knees pulled up to his chest, flecks of luminous water trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. He flew through the air in slow motion, framed in the backlit water like some mythical god rising from the depths, before landing in a perfect cannonball between Sammy and me. He surfaced a moment later, pulling his wet hair out of his face and laughing at us.
“Asshole!” Sammy shouted, splashing at him with disgust.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” I said, choking on a sour mixture of relief and pond scum.
“It was the only way to get you guys in the water,” Wayne said, still grinning.
A furious splashing fight ensued as we tried unsuccessfully to dunk him, his long, sinewy arms easily fighting us off.
Afterward, he showed us the small maintenance platform on the side of the geyser that had facilitated his ambush, and we took turns jumping and diving through the geyser spray into the pond.
I was the first to eventually climb out of the pond, my stomach churning spasmodically from the injudicious combination of beer and pond water I’d imbibed. I leaned against a large sycamore for a few minutes, taking shallow breaths until my innards succumbed and I vomited violently, the hot acid of my puke burning my throat, filling my eyes with tears.
I pulled on my T-shirt and lay down on the grass, feeling unsteady and light-headed. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, Sammy and Wayne were still in the pond, their voices echoing eerily across the water, muted by the soft rumbling of the geyser. I propped myself up on my elbows and could just make out their shadowy forms in the darkness, bobbing up and down in the thick mist that floated around them. Their outlines blurred as my drunken, weary eyelids began to close, and their profiles waxed and waned like a throbbing pulse as the world around me began to spin at a dizzying speed. Just before I passed out, their fuzzy silhouettes appeared to touch in a tentative embrace, but I’d barely noted the illusion when unconsciousness dispensed with the foreplay and hungrily consummated our union.
Eight
Time slows to a crawl in my father’s hospital room. Try as they might, the seconds are unable to overtake the measured beeping of the heart monitor. The day is a run-on Henry James sentence that makes no sense, punctuated by small talk, bathroom breaks, and trips to the temperamental coffee machine down the hall. It is unclear to me whether we’re waiting for our father to wake up or to die, but it’s almost beside the point, as the ma chinery seems specifically engi neered to allow neither but to simply sustain him in this mechanical purgatory. Cindy, who left to take the twins to school soon after I arrived, returns around noon to bring us some pizza. Having never been married, I’m not equipped to decipher the nature of the glances that pass between Cindy and Brad, quick, intense looks bursting with angry nuance.
Brad leaves to walk her back to the elevators and returns looking troubled and even further deflated. Something is definitely going on there.
At around five-thirty, some imperceptible
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