The Trouble with Being Born: A Novel

Father

172 Dear Frances, I hope you have a nice birthday. I think of you and remember the good times we had teaching at…what was the name of that school? It wasn’t Beulah Heights, Christ, that was her last school, I used to pick her up every day there, Lakeview, that’s it, at Lakeview. Love, no, not love. Sincerely, no, no, how about your friend, yes yes, your friend Mrs. Anderson , no not Mrs., too formal. What was her first name? Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Anderson, I can’t remember anything, God damn it, Catherine, that’s it, Catherine Anderson. Dear Frances , Happy Birthday. What else? I should have used a different color pen, although she’s probably not going to notice. This ain’t going to do no good. You’d think her friends would ask how she’s doing, contact her, a note, a phone call, something. But no, nothing. Not even on her birthday. Neighbors she’s known for twenty, thirty years, never go see her or ask me how she’s doing. They’re all scared. They don’t like to think about it, they don’t like to think about it, that’s why. At least Jeff always sends a card. And her cousin Harry always sends a letter. Let’s see. Dear Frances, Happy Birthday. I hope you enjoy yourself and feel better soon. Best wishes, who? Mrs. Bernard? What’s her first name? Lillian? Marilyn? I don’t know, I just don’t know. Where’s the phone book? This is hard on me, hard on me. I’m Father 173 father an old man. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. All that money we saved, and those nursing home bastards eat it up. For what? For basic board and room. Bernard…Bernard, why do they make the print of these phone books so small, Bernard, Lillian, I was right. Best wishes, Lillian Bernard. I bought three cards; I should have only bought two. Maybe I could take this one back. $2.50. That’s a lot of money for a card. I’ll take it back. This is hard on me, hard on me being a caregiver. No one realizes it. And Jeff doesn’t help. It’s all up to me. Got the candy, the cards, my keys. Make sure to lock up the house, front door, screen door, back door, side door and garage door, don’t want any sneak thieves to come in and rob me blind. I’ll park here, out of the way, don’t want to get Big Red smashed. What are you looking at? Too many generals here, and not enough soldiers. No one to do the work. Same thing when I was in the army: all these paper pushers and no foot soldiers. And I’m paying almost a thousand dollars a month for it, for basic board and room. Plus the three grand insurance. Almost four thousand for what? It’s my fault, I should have gotten that inflation clause. I didn’t ask. I assumed, I assumed. I didn’t ask. There’s Mrs. Scaplo from the old neighborhood. She’s got those swollen ankles, Jesus. “How ya doing, Mrs. Scaplo?” “Yeah, I’m here to see my wife. She had a stroke.” I tell her that every time I see her, I guess her memory’s not so good. “Okay, see ya later Mrs. Scaplo.” “Mr. Fernandez, it’s good to see you Mr. Fernandez.” “Oh, you’re not feeling too good, huh?” “You had an operation last month.” “Your kidneys huh?” “You hang in there, Mr. Fernandez, you hang in there.” Jesus God this place depresses me. Everybody’s got their problems, everybody ’s got their problems. What about me? I got my problems 174 father too. I got a wife who’s losing her mind, and who’s costing me almost four thousand dollars a month. Four thousand dollars for basic room and board. Mrs. Pino wheels toward me, she’s a friend of Jay’s. I think her daughter went to South High with Jeff. “Mrs. Pino, Mrs. Pino. Joe DeShell.” “Yeah, I’m doing okay, doing okay.” “You think I look nice?” “I try to dress up everyday.” “I need a haircut huh?” Old nosy bitch. “You sound like my sister. Bye Mrs. Pino.” I never liked that woman. She was always...