When Katie Wakes by Connie May Fowler

Author:Connie May Fowler [Fowler, Connie May]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-385-50541-3
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-15T00:00:00+00:00

I erase the last two. I remove the page from the typewriter and slip it into my briefcase. I close my eyes. I concentrate really hard: Find a way to change your life.

• • •

YOU BREEZE IN at around nine-thirty, reeking of cigarettes and beer. I’m sitting on the couch, reading. Katie is curled beside me, and God is asleep by my feet. You don’t acknowledge us. Instead you head straight for the bathroom. I hear you throw up. I cover my ears with my hands. After a few minutes, I hear the faucet running and you gargling.

A month ago I would have stood outside the door, asking if I could help you. But not now.

• • •

YOU WALK INTO the living room, wiping your face with a towel.

I look at you. Why am I unafraid? “You okay?”

You don’t answer. You go into the kitchen. I hear you pour yourself a drink. You come back in with a glass of whiskey. You sit down in the chair across from me. “You know, kiddo, why don’t you ever clean that fucking thing out?”

“What fucking thing?”

“The fucking thing between your legs. It’s like a cesspool in there. It makes me puke.”

And just like that, my nerve, my meanness, my fledgling self-respect is shot all to hell. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really, really sorry.”

• • •

YOU HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP. The TV is still on. Some old movie. I’m not interested. But the flickering glow of the screen prevents the bedroom from being totally dark.

As I drift toward sleep, I hang on tight to Katie and I have this thought: The next time Mika stops by the office, I will remove from my top desk drawer my chapbook of poems, which were published by University of Tampa Press when I was a sophomore, and I will photocopy them for him. I will fold the pages in half and hand them to him. I will not tell him what they are. I will not beg him to read them.

Instead, I will say without flourish, “Here, these are for you. I think maybe you will understand.”

• • •

KATIE HAS BEEN escaping on a regular basis. She doesn’t run away. She stands in the front yard, barking, wagging her tail, smiling sheepishly when I come out to get her.

You say that one of the dogs moves the concrete blocks I put there to prevent them from wiggling out between the stair runners. I say, “That’s not possible.” And you say, “Then how come I have to keep putting them back?”

• • •

IT’S SATURDAY MORNING. You’re sleeping late. The ugly, angry part of me hopes you never wake.

I put Katie and God in the run after I feed them, and then stand quietly at the window and watch. For a while they both engage in typical dog stuff. Pooping. Peeing. Sniffing. God tries to nudge and paw Katie into a game. Katie snaps. She’s not in any mood. God takes it in stride. Katie walks over to the stairs.

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