Tales from the Bottom of My Sole by David Kingston Yeh

Author:David Kingston Yeh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Guernica Editions Inc

That September, when David’s mom returned to Canada, she announced she was engaged to Nicoli Badalamenti, Antonio’s uncle, and that she’d be selling her home in Toronto and moving to Sicily permanently. Three Dog Run had also come back from Burning Man, but without Pat, who’d taken off to New Mexico. When I asked Blonde Dawn if she and Pat had broken up, she said she wasn’t sure, but had to think about it. Apparently, Pat was now in the outskirts of Roswell helping to build an orphanage. Pat had tried to convince the entire band to join him, but he was solo on this one. Luke Moretti had also returned on the same flight as his mom, just in time to model in Ai Chang Cho’s fall Toronto Fashion Incubator show. When David and I helped Luke and Ai Chang move into their new apartment up by Ossington and Dupont, I heard her underwear designs had caught the attention of none other than fashion maven Jeanne Beker.

It was Sunday evening, and I was on the couch relaying all this news to Karen over Skype while sampling a Chapman’s Peanut Butter Ice Cream Cone. David walked by with the ironing board and helped himself to a bite. “Mm. And the score on this one?”

“Four,” we said.

“Impressive. Better than a Creamsicle?”

“Not quite.”

David planted a kiss on the laptop’s camera before strolling away.

“And who’s Jeanne Beker?” Karen asked.

“The host of Fashion Television,” I said, wiping the chocolate-y smear from the screen. “It was a whole forty-nine seconds of air time. This could be Ai Chang’s big break. She’s playing it pretty chill, but Luke’s super excited for her.”

“And Luke, what’s his plan now that he’s back in Toronto?”

“I’m not sure. Right now he’s helping his mom pack up her home. He’s started volunteering with this youth helpline. Last I heard, he had some lead with GoodLife Fitness.”

“He interviewed with them yesterday,” David said, ironing his pants. “They offered him a job. He starts next week.”

“Really? Wow, good for him. Look, Karen, the next time you come to Toronto, you can meet him. We’ll all hang out.”

“So, explain to me again,” Karen said, “what a furbo is?”

I looked to David, but he was busy laying out damp T-shirts. The dryer in the basement was broken again, and we had laundry strung up all through the loft.

“A furbo,” I said, “is that person who gets things done because he’s a fast talker, a kind of con artist. Some people might consider him a cheating sneak. But lots of Italians admire him, and think he’s just being really clever or smart. Furbizia is the art of being a furbo.”

“Oh, like Coyote or Raven.”

“Meaning?”

“He’s a trickster.”

“Sure, you could say that.”

“Pat’s a trickster.”

“Blonde Dawn says Pat’s an immature man-child.”

“Yeah, well.” Karen nibbled the edge of her sugar cone. “Sometimes he’s that too.”

David shouted from the kitchen: “Your brother’s Han Solo.”

“What did he say?” Karen asked. “David says Pat’s Han Solo.”

David draped himself over my shoulders. “And Daniel and I are renegade Jedi Knights.

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