The Company Car by C J Hribal

Author:C J Hribal
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2005-05-16T18:30:00+00:00

13. Observations from the Wayback

OUR MOTHER, THE TROUPER

“I used to be a lean, mean fighting machine,” laments Wally Jr., hauling himself up the tower again using only his arms. He has massive, slablike arms, but what’s more impressive is the body he’s trailing, shaped like a cross between a barrel and a pomegranate. “No more,” he says. “Not since I achieved gimphood.” He flops like a potbellied carp when he gets to the roof. Ernie’s the same when he heaves himself onto the roof. Both lie there for a moment, as though a fifteen-foot climb up an aerial was on a par with scaling the Matterhorn.

“This,” Ernie puffs, “will reflect on our merit review.”

“Fuck our merit review,” says Wally Jr. “Whose idiot idea was it that we meet on the fucking roof? This ain’t even close to being in compliance with the handicap laws.”

“It started the night I told Emcee I was going to marry Audrey.” Robert Aaron hauls up Wally Jr.’s wheelchair and blocks the wheels while Ike tethers it to the chimney.

Wally Jr. pulls himself into his chair. “Oh. So we do this for sentimental reasons.”

Below us, the screen door opens and out come Dorie, Audrey, Jennifer, and Jake, all carrying grocery bags. Audrey calls to Robert Aaron that they’ll bring the kids up after they’ve been fed. Dorie doesn’t look up. Jake, carrying a flashlight, keeps turning it on and off under his nose.

“Can we just get started?” I ask.

Meg says we shouldn’t start until Cinderella gets here.

“Like that’s going to make a difference.”

“What’s bugging you, Emcee?”

“You know we’re just like Mom and Dad. Dinking around, frittering away time, never getting anywhere—”

“And getting somewhere would be what, putting them in a home?” asks Wally Jr. “That’s what this is about, right? Puttin’ ’em somewhere? What, you just want a vote and that’s that?”

“That’s not what I meant. Christ. Can we please just discuss this rationally for once?”

“Rationally, he says. In this family he expects rationality.”

“I’m not expecting, I’m asking. I think we can do this. Even if we can’t, it needs to be done, dammit. How much longer do you think Mom and Dad are going to be able to care for themselves? And then what?”

Wally Jr. fishes around in the cooler for another Dew. “I say we drive off that bridge when we come to it.”

“Driving off a bridge is not going to help them or us, Wally.”

“Don’t knock it till you tried it, pantywaist.”

I should have known. I fucking should have known. Our making nice lasts only as long as we’re talking about things that don’t matter.

“Shut the fuck up,” says Wally Jr. “Or I’ll make you shut the fuck up.” He backs his wheelchair off the blocks and executes the first half of a Y-turn so he can make a run at me. I’m puzzled. Wait, did I say that out loud? You don’t do that around Wally. Even from a wheelchair, Wally will take on all comers and eat them for lunch.

“Don’t,” says Robert Aaron, stepping between us.

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