The Longitude of Grief by Matthew Daddona

Author:Matthew Daddona [Daddona, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wandering Aengus Press
Published: 2024-04-08T06:00:00+00:00

Earlier that afternoon, Benjamin Manero thought of a woman’s face, the back of her hair laying over the couch and coming down in blonde rivulets; he thought of the back of her head, too, as in something he could grab, and then the vision became sexualized, although the difference between when it wasn’t and when it was had become indistinguishable. Then his visions transformed to those of other girls, high school girls shimmering in pink lip gloss and holding secretive stares that he couldn’t get behind because, well, he was old and they were not. Barely legal. He was not proud of these visions, even if he was the only one who acknowledged their existence. He thought of them sleeping there—sleeping over!—in heaps of blankets spread evenly on the floor like rows of Indiana corn, and it was this image, this unspoiled vision of safety, that made him justify their coming over. He’d clean everything up come morning, toss away the refuse into a dumpster and hide the key.

The parties had become more frequent and crowded since spring, with the cousins coming over as often as they wanted. Peter, Andre, and Sal signaled their arrivals with a honk of the horn or by forced entry, pushing Benjamin’s door open with fanfare, and sprinting until they found the beer, warming inside cardboard boxes next to the refrigerator because Benjamin was too lazy to bend over and restock them. It took Andre’s good-nature and Peter’s distaste of warm beer to rectify this. When the boys invited girls over, which they had also begun to do with more abandon, they told Benjamin that these girls were “on the level,” which their uncle took to mean they would keep their mouths shut. The less he had to worry about one of those girls going all-Judas and telling their mommies and daddies. Ruining the whole thing they had going, which, Benjamin reminded himself, shouldn’t—no, couldn’t—go on much longer. On mornings where he’d find puke on the lid of the toilet or a used tampon in the trash or a pair of sandals left in the backyard it was easy to convince himself that these transgressions were even beyond his self-imposed limits. And if he didn’t want to get arrested or lose the privilege of seeing his one-and-only son again, he’d better stop hosting parties from which he didn’t gain much except a headache come sunrise.

But he did get something in return, and that’s how that old pendulum swung. Back and forth between uselessness and utility, between desperation and pride. He could’ve gone to the bar, sure. Could’ve spent his time and money sitting on a stool and chatting with strangers who would become his friends (Isn’t that what friendship is in adulthood anyway? Petty conversations over drinks?). Could’ve gotten a lift home from the bartender when he was too drunk to drive or too drunk to not get caught by police. But that bar would’ve likely been Sophie’s, where Alma or her friends went, or another bar, where Jonathan’s friends congregated.

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