Read Online What Is All This? by Stephen Dixon - Free Book Online Page A

can I do? I got to go.”
    He runs past me down the stairs. “Hey, what about a little kiss farewell from you, chump?”
    â€œI don’t mean to be mean but I’m in a hurry, Bo.” We wave and he goes.
    I call into the house “Mona? That changed schedule made me miss the bus again. Can I stay here till the next one comes?”
    â€œNo,” she yells from her room.
    I go upstairs. “Just another twenty minutes or so.”
    â€œYou didn’t miss the bus. You let it go by.”
    â€œOkay. I let it go by so I could see you once more.”
    â€œFine. Now that you’ve seen me, get out.”
    â€œGive me a chance to get a good look.”
    â€œDon’t be stupid again.”
    â€œAnd don’t be so insulting,” I say.
    â€œYou’re forcing me to say these things and be this way. I’m getting angry. Frustrated.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    That means don’t get me even angrier and more frustrated by acting even more intentionally stupid. That means leave this house. That means start now. That means go. Get lost. What do I have to do, call the police?”
    â€œLast time I thought you were a little sorry I left and glad I honestly missed that bus.”
    â€œLast time I might have been but I’ve thought it over and now I’m not. I don’t want you around anymore. Never again. Plain and simple—scram, stupid.”
    I grab a plant off the washstand and throw it at her.
    She ducks and it hits her chin. She screams. Blood comes out. She’s on the bed holding her face and screaming. I get down on the floor on my knees and say “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She pushes me away and runs to the bathroom. I run after her. She has a towel to her face and I say “I should’ve done that. Got you that towel. I shouldn’t have thrown that plant. Tell me what I can do for you.”
    She goes downstairs with the towel wrapped around her face and goes outside and gets in her car and drives away.
    â€œWhere you going?” I yell.
    Probably to the hospital. The police she could have called. Or maybe to the police because she thought I’d stop her call. But probably to the hospital or some friend. I got to get out of here. First time I ever hit someone like that as an adult. That finished us, of course. Hitting someone? Worst thing I’ve done in my life. They hate it. Women do. Especially Mona. Said once when I raised my hand to her “Touch me like that and it’ll be the last time I so much as say boo to you. I hate men who knock women around. Hate anyone who abuses with his hands.”
    â€œI got excited,” I write on the blackboard in the kitchen, “Of course: much worse than that. I’m sorry. I love you both. See ya.”
    I head down the hill with my bags. No, it’s after six-thirty, the bus is back on Sunset Drive. I go up the hill and wait, put on a different shirt and throw the bloody one into the woods. The bus comes. I should have cleaned up her room. Repotted the plant, scrubbed the bathroom sink and floor. I signal the bus and get on it. Andy Maxwell’s there.
    â€œHow’s it going?” he says.
    â€œDon’t ask.”
    â€œSit next to me,” he says when I sit two rows behind.
    â€œAndy, I’m really feeling lousy right now. Mona and I broke up. Worse. I hit her in the face with a flower pot. She probably went to the hospital for stitches. It’s possible I broke her jaw. Not only did I do that to the person I love most, but the police might be after me now for it.”
    â€œYou never should have got so excited.”
    â€œI know. That’s what I just wrote her. But what I really can’t take now is anything like advice after the fact and so on. Commiseration. I’m miserable. I feel as lost as I ever have in my life. Worse.”
    He sits next to me.
    â€œPlease?”
    â€œLook, whatever you did to Mona, bad as it is,