Calendar of Regrets

May

January February March April May June July August September October November December   & & &281' PD. That’s a beautiful story, Bill. It must have been very special listening to your mother read it to you. WT. I used to prop myself up against the pillows beside her in bed, drink my glass of milk, and stare straight ahead so I could see the worlds she was building. Her voice sounded like the color of irises. PD. Your father was working at that point. Is that correct? He didn’t get home until after you were asleep. WT. In the meatpacking plant. He ran the air-powered rotary skinning knives that removed the hide from the bled carcasses. PD. Did he ever take you to see what he did? WT. He wore a light blue hardhat, blue rubber gloves, and blue rubber boots. The cattle didn’t look like cattle anymore. Their hides looked like rugs piled up on the white floor. PD. You and your mother were very close. WT. We’ve already had this conversation. PD. I wonder, Bill, would you tell me a little bit about what it 282 b & LANCE OLSEN ' means to you? The story? I’m having a difficult time putting it into words. WT. It means pretty much what it says. PD. What does it say? WT. It says two boys find a wounded angel in the countryside. PD. But don’t you feel there’s maybe, uh, maybe more to it than that? You mentioned earlier that it teaches us worlds are whirls. Could you explain what you meant by that? WT. It teaches us that in a sense every sentence has to be the whole story. PD. I’m at a loss because, you know, I was never the brainiest kid in my English class. Reading always . . . I was more a math kind of guy. So maybe you can, you know, explain things so even a dumbbell like me can get it. WT. Isn’t it about time for lunch? PD. Lunch? WT. My stomach’s starting to make noises. PD. Let’s see here. It . . . well, yes, it is. It’s coming up on 1:15. Would you like me to get us a couple of sandwiches brought in? WT. Peanut butter and jelly. PD. On white bread, right? & calender of regrets ' b 283 WT. Cut diagonally. And ginger snaps. That is correct. ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... Let me just . . . ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... ......... Okay. ......... ......... ......... Testing, testing. One . . . ......... ......... ......... Why don’t we pick up with your, uh, with your account of your time in New York. You said you were arrested and put in jail for thirty days. The messages started arriving through the transmitter in your head. It must have been frustrating for you being on the inside. What happened next? WT. My head listened. The thirty days passed. 284 b & LANCE OLSEN ' PD. And then you were released? WT. Yes. PD. And just to be clear. No psychiatric evaluation was administered during that time. Is that right, Bill? WT. That is correct. PD. No one asked you the sorts of questions I’m asking you now? You didn’t explain your situation to anyone? WT. I like this sandwich. PD. I’m glad. WT. It’s underrated as a food in its diagonality. PD. What was the first thing you did when you were released? WT. I had a few dollars left. I took the A train up to Columbus Circle and robbed an old lady. PD. You say you still had some money left. Why did you feel the need to rob someone? WT. It wasn’t enough. I was hungry. I needed a place to stay. It was nighttime. I cut across Central Park and came out on Fifth Avenue. I almost ran into her. She was wearing a baby blue parka two sizes too big and a pink wool cap. I stopped in front of her. She just started giving me all her money. She didn’t say anything. She even turned her pockets inside out at the end so I could see she didn’t have anything left. Then I kept walking north and she kept & calender of regrets ' b 285 walking south. It was like we’d simply had this sort of short polite conversation on the sidewalk, only without using words. PD. What did you do next? WT. I bought...