A Tapless Shoulder

by Mark McCann

  “Stop,” she interrupted, “I didn’t do anything,” she said, announcing the truth like it wouldn’t have been known otherwise.

  “Yeah… but look at the dismount I’m trying to land.” I smiled faintly but didn’t give it a chance to settle. “This whole thing with my dad is not funny, not funny at all. Like, where the hell is he? Doing shots at the bar; having drinks before carrying drinks to a table, a table full of drinks.” Our waitress, Janet, was smiling at us and setting glass after glass before us. “Thanks,” I said and smiled back. I looked desperately at Katie. I wanted her to understand, and felt angry that she didn’t. “This would only be funny if it was on a big screen and I was watching it, not living it. But I’m the guy on the screen, I’m the guy everyone watching is laughing at: my pain is funny to them. I’m trapped in this hell, and you get to laugh, you get to be oblivious to my hell, or maybe even clued in a little, but not enough to help or stop a single thing or take it personally. And I don’t… I’m not blaming you; it’s just a lonely place to be. Where’s the party at? Excuse me, I’m looking for an old man, he, um, hmm, he keeps a tranny at his side,” I looked at her, trying to beg her with something deep in me, in my eyes, in my soul, and I felt I may have gotten through; she was nodding and seemed to have received my signals.

  “That man, your father, lost his wife, the woman who was your mother. I would think you of all people would appreciate the devastating loss and the impact on your entire life and that recovery is at best complicated, if at all possible. If your dad smiles, ever, be happy for him and cherish it. Would you rather not see him smile at all?”

  Her words halted my mouth and my thoughts. I shut my eyes as my self-pity left my mind and came back a tattered mess stood on a chair and tied a knot out of rope, wait, I thought, pleading within myself, just – please, wait.

  She put her hands on mine and turned herself to better face me, “Okay, baby, I love you,” she said, relieving the tension that had suddenly taken hold of my face. “But,” she continued, “you need to pull your ego out of your ass. Boo wah hoo, this isn’t about you, has nothing to do with you. And if there was an audience they might have thought it was hilarious at my expense when you practically yelled, ‘Holy balls of crap shit,’ and then covered your eyes when the waitress asked everyone how they were this evening.” She was angry, and worse than that, she was right.

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” I said, trying to reconcile, “I apologized though, didn’t I.” She shook her head. “I didn’t?” I was surprised. “Well, I swear I thought it,” I said backpedalling without legs. I smiled at her warmly, truthfully, and tried to look farther into her beautiful face without moving closer. She smiled back as I put my hand on her leg, and exhaled dramatically, “This whole date counts as foreplay.”

  “Fine,” she said very seriously – at which we both had a good laugh, and probably only because it was so desperately needed.

  “If this was a movie, whoever wrote the script should be fired,” I told her. “I’m sorry, but it sucks. Boo wah hoo? Is that Mandarin Chinese? It goes either ‘boo hoo’ or ‘wah wah wah.’ That’s, uh, pretty standard stuff. Should be simple,” I smiled again, and it felt good. “You can even add a ‘hoo’ to your ‘boo hoo,’ if you like that better, you know, sticking with three or whatever. Boo hoo hoo,” I clarified, as if she was going to be rewriting a script later.

  “Thanks,” Katie sighed, and then looked around the room. There seemed to be less people already. “Um, where is your dad?” she said as we both realized they hadn’t returned and the thinning crowd could no longer account for them to be still waiting at the bar.

  “I don’t know,” I said slowly, and stood to see if I could spot them. “I don’t see them,” I said, as all that released anxiety returned. I looked at her stiffly, “Effing shit, get on the table and yell, Candy.” I looked around the room again before looking back at Katie, “What? You think there’s more than one Candy here?”

  Chapter 36 … O… K…

  My phone rang and I answered it.

  “You’re WHERE?! What? Holy Christ, dad… that’s about all I got, you say something now. I thought you got fed up and just ditched us, and, yeah, probably for a good reason, but… pardon? No, I don’t care to know how to say that in Spanish. Thanks, though. No, I don’t want to talk to – hi, si, que pasa, uh, back to my dad. That could easily be wonderful, but I don’t speak your language. Um, okay, please, can you put my dad back on, thank you, Dad? BYE.”

  I shut my eyes and held the phone to my forehead. I looked at it again, shaking my head. My dad and I had switched roles. I looked at Katie, “Yeah, so, there we go, that was my dad. He’s just fine, fine and… something. Believe it or not, he is in Mexico,” I stopped and went blank. “I guess I didn’t catch that part last night: we’re just going up to the bar… in a different country.”

  Katie’s mouth dropped open, “You are kidding,” she insisted.

  “No, no, wouldn’t even bother at this point, and, well, apparently I don’t need to joke like that.” I began pacing back and forth in and out of my mind, looking for any thoughts.

  “At least he’s okay,” she offered as reassurance. “Is Candy there with him?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. He went from our table to Mexico. That makes sense in his world. With him, that’s all in a day’s adventure I suppose, maybe it’s a velocity thing, who the hell knows. How he made it onto a plane is beyond me. He’s been there long enough to be rejuvenated,” I stopped, not sure what was doing what; were the words telling me or was I saying them?

  Katie did not look like she had any answers. She hugged me. Her hugs were a nice gesture and all, but they didn’t break anything and I felt that was what they really lacked: where was the destruction? I’m sorry Kate, but that didn’t help, please, for me, use your hugging powers for evil, maybe sink this very ground upon which I stand.

  We were both unsure what my dad’s spontaneous trip meant to us or what it should have meant, and stood before one another very much like purpose had just backed out of everything we’d been doing. “How did he get there? I mean, he did not drive to the airport last night, did he?” Katie asked, with a tone suggesting she intended to disown my father had he done that.

  “No, no, who knows, he probably lit his breath on fire and flew there backwards. Yeah, I don’t know, I bet he took a cab. I think he’s been really good that way, one less thing I have to worry about, right? He hasn’t driven his car anywhere for so long it’d be amazing if it even still starts. I don’t even think he drove himself to Starbucks that day. Plus, everyone keeps telling me they’ve seen him in a cab here and there, or being carried on a hooker’s back, or whatever.”

  “He must be spending a fortune; he seems to be all over the place lately, doesn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t know, probably yes, probably no, I don’t know. I love you. I guess I’ll go over to my parents’ and make sure everything’s okay tomorrow, make sure he locked the door. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Hell, I’m sure he did, I… will find out.”

  I closed my eyes for a moment, and inhaled deeply. My head now felt like it had been kicked. I was relieved my dad was okay, of course. Deeper than that; I was relieved he wasn’t angry with me for how I had acted last night at the restaurant. I again wanted to explain to him, help him see things from my side, but I didn’t know what it was I saw when I thought about it. I was an emotional wreck that hadn’t seen it coming. That was part of the problem; I couldn’t see a thing. I was trying to find my way by heart, but didn’t know where I was going or how to slow everything down to a more careful pace. I used to ride a tricycle, I could handle that.

  Chapter 37 … The Inner Workings Of Nate … or … Inside The Inner Workings Of Nate … SEND HELP!

  Nate texted me. He wanted to either drop by or for me to stop by his place, if I could, at my soonest convenience; his words. I replied, sure, and that I would actually stop by there shortly as I was out picking up diapers a
nd had planned to stop at my parents’. I also added for him to knock off the fancy talk and to just be himself or he might end up losing me forever. He said something back about a hole, I only glanced at the phone, but I had my guesses. I called Katie. “Hi, yeah, diapers were even on sale. I’m just going to stop by Nate’s first before hitting my parents’; I just got a text from him asking me to come by. I don’t know. Who knows? He probably got his black belt and wants to kick me in the face, so I shouldn’t be long. Okay, love you too.”

  Not long after that, there I was, and there he was, smiling as he held open the door for me to his apartment. And as glad as I was to see him happy, it made me a little nervous. This was a little too happy, and it certainly made me suspect him of something that, for sure, was not beneficial to me in any way. I sat back on the couch, he on the loveseat. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have called it a ‘loveseat’ out loud. ‘I’m really sorry I keep farting in your fat chair.’ Yes, that might work. Or maybe I would call it the loveseat: ‘Come, sit in the loveseat, NO, not there, in the loveseat, no, don’t sit there, over here in the loveseat, my friend, you are special, you deserve to sit in the loveseat, only in the loveseat, please, you see, I am best in your company when you are in the loveseat because, understand, when my eyes are shut you are always sitting in the loveseat of my mind! Oh, the pained expressions I would get from that charade, especially if it was all said in a whisper: ‘Life is better when it’s lived quietly near the loveseat.’

  “What’s up?” I asked, wondering if I should tell him I was insane. Then I thought of a couple more things I could tell him, one for sure being that I didn’t care to hear it if it had anything at all to do with my dad, and two would had to have been how glad I was he was sitting in the loveseat.

  “Just got a new tattoo,” he announced, having carried his smile to this point like it was an Olympic torch.

  “Cool,” I said, “of…” and I trailed off in an attempt to make his side of the conversation easier. He just raised his eyebrows at me, so I did the same back. I lowered mine; he didn’t. I then thought if someone paused long enough for the other person to become suspicious of said pause, well, that pause was just way too long.

  The corners of his smile seemed to get sharper, and then finally he turned and raised his shirt. I wanted to keep turning him. “Looks good, eh?” he asked.

  “Um,” I was dumbfounded. “I don’t think, I don’t think I get it,” I said with definitely more momentum than I’d begun. I bent over to look closer, “It’s, is it…” there, I thought, proudly, I came up with half an answer and half a question.

  “It’s a guy on a swing,” he said, like that was the part I was having a problem with. He was right though: it was a guy on a swing, very simple and very basic. In fact, it was a stick man on a swing. Swinging sideways in the small of Nate’s back. Why would that confuse anyone? He dropped his shirt and turned to face me. The smile remained. “Cool, eh?”

  “It’s a guy on a swing,” I repeated, “and he’s sideways, and he’s on your back, low,” I added, “and small.” There wasn’t much variation in my voice. I didn’t know what to emphasize and I knew that was a sign of true confusion on my part. “Why?” I paused, and raised my hands like I was holding a pie; maybe if I took in more oxygen I would get this. “Why?” I repeated the question again, this time stretching it a little to indicate it was all I had. He looked amazed. I was amazed he could look amazed and wanted to smash him in the face with my imaginary oxygen pie.

  “What do you mean, why? I think it’s fucking funny and cool,” he said as though he’d been arguing the point for an hour with a complete moron. Oh, now I get it, now that you said funny and cool.

  “Yeah, but it’s something you can draw in less than a minute, maybe in less than half a minute, and the more I think about it, the more generous I think I’m being with the time frame. That is not a good tattoo. I think anything that is drawn in under three minutes at the very least, and I am saying that without any consideration or buffering at all, cannot be good tattoo material. Even a bug, a bug, Nate, would take longer to draw. That’s just the eyes: the eyes of a small, tiny bug would be two dots. I think you want to sit there for a while, and be like; this is kickass stuff here being applied slowly and carefully and maybe even painfully to my body for hours on end. I’m going to be studied; the intricacy is so… intricate. You know what I mean?” I cringed and winced. I wanted to take it all back. It was a tattoo and it was already there. It wasn’t my body, wasn’t my taste and I truly wished I hadn’t said anything. I was not affected by what his tattoo was or what it meant. I had to ease up, which was one of my problems; I couldn’t ease up. I was thinking now, trying to stay the tides.

  “I’m not saying it doesn’t look cool. Yeah, it’s a cool picture, um, like for a book or the back of a book or a comic or t-shirt or a cool little sticker, I would totally put that sticker on the inside of the back of a book, I just, I don’t know that it’s tattoo material. It’s weird to me; I’m sorry, maybe I just don’t get it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Nate, it doesn’t make sense, okay, to me, but maybe, uh, just this once I will come forward and represent the world on this one. You know? I think they’ll all be okay with that, and in agreement.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked again as though my confusion was the riddle here.

  “What do you mean what do I mean? I mean, I think I’m taking it out of context, and maybe you should tell me the story that this little snippet is from so then I can understand,” I answered rather hurriedly. I was losing my patience from still being confused. It was a stick man. This should have been clear.

  “I drew it,” he said as though that should have been enough. “It was just a doodle, and I thought it had character. I don’t know, I just look at it and I appreciate it. It evokes something in me.” He seemed satisfied with his answer. And he said ‘evoke’ like I had taught it to him and had been waiting to hear him use it. I suddenly wanted to ‘evoke’ his eyes with something sharp.

  “Holy effing crap, Nate,” I shook my head.

  “Effing?” he repeated curiously.

  I nodded my head at him, “Yes, ‘effing.’ I have kids remember, okay, so sometimes I say, ‘F’ and sometimes I say, ‘fuck,’ and I just try to say ‘F’ more than I do the other. It really sucks when I get them mixed up and then it’s an ambitious mess wearing running shoes. Have we not been over this? And you knew what I meant, so it worked. So shut up.”

  “Don’t you mean, ‘S U’?”

  “Or I mean, ‘F U,’” I said tiredly. “Dude, it’s a guy on a swing, and all I think is, okay, you’re telling me you’re a swinger. It’s not all that manly; it’s not a shark on a swing or a badass dragon. Okay, it would just, well, I don’t know, the swing really knocks it down a peg no matter how I try to build it up here.” I cradled my face in my hands, which was comfortable, and I thought I could sleep there like that, and when I woke up he’d surely be gone. I squinted, “It has to be as weird as it can be with you, eh, Nate. Tell me you’re gay, do not show me. There, I said it.”

  He sat bolt upright, like something urgent had come up, “Why, you think it looks gay?”

  “Uh, no… I don’t think a gay person would get that, actually. I know what will cheer you up.” I made like I was going to undo my pants, and he made like he was going to hit me.

  “Fuck you,” he said seriously.

  “I know that’s what…”

  “I fucking hate you, man,” he cut me off.

  “Captain Swinger… of the U.S.S. Loveseat,” I laughed, “don’t be like that,” I tried to make my face concerned.

  I leaned forward. I looked at Nate and then the end table beside me. I saw a black pen. There was a pad of paper beneath it, which I picked up as well. I looked at him again, then leaned forward and went to work with paper and pen on top of the coffee table. On the television: Bart was misbehaving, Homer was dumb, and it made humorous, harmonious sense, a perfect sense that I wanted to
just smack Nate with. Be real funny, not insane funny!

  “Okay,” I said, and set the pen down. I pulled the top sheet of paper from the pad and sat farther back on the couch to study it. I looked over at Nate and realized I’d been smiling the entire time. I dropped the corners of my mouth, in pursuit of the moment. I wanted to appear very serious. I wanted it to appear as though I’d just taken it upon myself to figure something out that would help us both.

  “So here is a dramatic moment for you on the playground of life,” I said slowly and deliberately. “As you can see, more specifically, this is a moment that takes place on the teeter-totter,” I placed the paper on the table so that Nate could see it properly. “Be careful,” I said, stating out loud the unwritten footnotes, “couple of pinch points there. Anyway,” I continued, still with a serious tone, “as you can see we have two stick men in an obvious dilemma,” I pointed to the paper, indicating where things may have gone awry for the two figures. “One has heavy oversized feet while the second has no feet at all. Ah, will weight be a problem here? I don’t know, maybe. One has eyes; the other only a mouth! Profound, eh, really makes you think,” I was staring like I could not look away for fear of losing sight of the paper. I stopped and shook my head like I’d received a strong psychic message. “Nate,” I said emphatically, “I seriously think you should add this right above your swinger.” I nodded my head, agreeing wholly with myself. Nate looked like he wanted to tell me off. I sighed. I was rain: I couldn’t let up. “Then, on top of that, a stickman tangled in the monkey bars. That is beyond my artistic capabilities, of course, so I didn’t even attempt to draw that. Okay? Sound good? And when your whole back is done in that manner, I will go to the beach with you.” I looked at him, blinking and nodding my head as if to say, believe it or not, that’s what I am willing to do. “Well, maybe, okay,” I began to revise, “I will be on a beach of the same lake of the beach that you are on. Yeah, we’ll say that for sure.” My confidence had grown with each word.