A Tapless Shoulder (8 page)

I walked in,
went straight to the stereo and turned it off. My dad stood smiling
at me. It looked like a breeze was trying to start a fight by
pushing him around. I didn’t know what to say to him. Then I heard
giggling, followed by stumbling, as a woman came careening towards
me from down the hallway with a smile and two unopened beer bottles
in each hand. She stopped just shy of running into me and said,
“Hi,” much louder than anyone needed to hear. My eyes were on the
four bottles; I almost expected them to keep going on without her.
She half turned to my dad, and said carefully, “Here you are,
baby,” handing him a bottle before giving me one. She then opened
one for herself and stared at the remaining bottle. She looked at
me, then my dad, then me again, and then the bottle.
Yup, there it is
, I thought.

My internal
dialogue stayed speechless, while my mouth clearly stated, “What
the fuck,” with no intention of it being a question. She wore a top
that was too small for one of her breasts, never mind both. It
looked like someone with shoulders for a face was trying to climb
out of the neck of her shirt, and I felt compelled to
help.

“
Um, could you,”
and
your
friends
, I thought, “please
excuse us for a moment, I just need a second alone with my dad, um,
just maybe wait in the kitchen, just for a second, maybe, please,
just go with those,” I ushered her quietly as her back was now to
me.

My dad burst
out laughing as we both watched her use the wall as an aid to get
back to the kitchen. “You thought I wouldn’t catch that, eh?” he
said and
maybe
tried to flick me with his entire
hand, something only a drunk could botch.

I shook my
head. “Dad,” I said, “What has gotten into you? Like seriously,
what are you doing?”

He stared at
me, still smiling, and then said, “Isn’t she something?” It was as
if I hadn’t said anything at all.

“
Dad, you’re not in college, you are an old man. What, why
aren’t… okay… you should be doing crosswords, and old man stuff,
and I don’t mean that meanly. Remember that stuff though, the stuff
you once did? Not
cahooting
with what’s
her name.”

“
I don’t
think that’s a word. Pretty sure you mean, cavorting, maybe,” he
corrected me.

That only
flustered me more, “Well it’s
cahooting
when it’s
with Hoots Magloots there!” I said angrily. “Like, holy shit, Dad,
you can’t
or you
shouldn’t
be this ass-backwards drunk. It really sucks that Mom
is gone, but come on, are you going to be just a bumbling one-man
party or, look, I don’t know what advice to give to you. I know
it’s hard, I know I’m not one to say, oh don’t drink, don’t party
and whatnot, but there’s… other things you can do, there’s people
who can help you if you need help with whatever. I want to see you
happy and carefree and having fun … again, but in like an old man
sort of way, you should be dragging yourself around half-assed, you
know,” I tried to laugh, “all stiff, hard to move around, and
things. But, like… well, her, Dad, come on. Is she a hooker? She
was heaving them at me as if to say, ‘don’t
not
look
at
these
, these things that are practically bouncing off you.’ When
things bounce off you, Dad, they nudge you, and if someone nudges
you, you look to see what’s going on, like, hey, what is that, oh,
it’s all your boobs.” I paused, and shook my head. “Dad… is she a
hooker?”

“
So she’s had
a bit to drink,” he said in her defense, and to my
disbelief.

“
What?
Dad, I didn’t
say anything about… what are you talking about? Can’t you hear the
words I’m
saying
? She’s a
hooker, isn’t she? So now you’re, whatever it is, buying or paying
hookers?”

He blinked,
took a drink, and blinked again, this time keeping his eyes shut
for a second longer.

“
Dad, you are
hammered out of your face—” I began to say, when he interrupted me
by practically yelling.

“
Hammered out of my
feces
,” he boomed
with laughter and stumbled backward to the wall, which he
apparently took to mean it was time to drop to the floor. He fell
like he couldn’t get himself out of the air to the floor fast
enough and somehow didn’t spill
any
beer. I shook my
head, first at the fact he was literally that fall-over drunk, but
second at how beer seemed
unspillable
in his
hands. If I even think,
Oh, I
should have a beer
, somewhere
someone spills theirs; it’s a bloody curse.

“
FACE, you drunk, I said face, Jesus, just forget it,” I
turned from him and rubbed my eyes with the palms of my hands, and
then slowly dragged them down my face, resigning from any more
attempts at communicating with him in this state. I turned back,
took the bottle from his hand, and took a drink, then another,
before finally setting it empty on the coffee table. The boobs had
ventured back into the room. She sat in my dad’s recliner. That’s
my dad passed out on the floor, I thought before returning my
attention back to his guest, but she was a blurry photo, and just
her breasts were in focus. I rubbed my eyes again. She was sipping
at the top of her beer as it fizzed up and over the lip of the
bottle. So much of each breast was showing that I did not know how
I was not
staring at any
nipples.

“
So how do you know my dad?” I asked trying to pretend I
found it easy not to look at them. I had had an easier time undoing
the most difficult of bras, I thought
fittingly
.

“
Look kid,”
she said in a voice much, much, deeper than I had noticed
earlier.

I stepped
back in a manner akin to that of my dad’s earlier stumble, but
where his was alcohol induced, mine was just bad form. I turned
away and then back, my head swinging like the weight it suddenly
felt. “Holy,” I paused and paused some more. “Shit,” I said
quickly, purposely interrupting her, afraid of letting her say
anything more… ever. My head felt like it was still gaining weight,
and the floor felt like it was dropping with the walls of the room
like an elevator. I stood as still as I could like a stake in the
ground, and did my best to hold the weight of my head directly over
the centre of my body, figuring that was the best way to keep me
from falling over. “Are you kidding me? What the hell? You’re a
guy. You’re a woman, but you’re a guy. I mean, okay, are you a guy?
You are a guy.” I said shocked and awed, as the name
LOLA
sprung to mind. I nearly asked if it was his name. Aloud I
added quietly, “Um, distract much, hey there, Boobville, you can
visit but don’t ask to meet the mayor.” I couldn’t believe it. I
turned back to my dad, who was asleep along the base of the wall,
and then returned my hands to my face. I turned back to face his
guest or to let her… the guest… look at me look at my hands. “Um,
my dad’s just going through a rough time right now, well, not right
this minute, I can hear him snoring from here, but, um, like, when
he’s not passed out, he is missing my mom and that, uh, so, like…”
I stopped there, at a loss for words. I looked down at the dark
hardwood floor my mom had picked out. It was in dire need of a
polish, and I gave it three taps with my right foot. I made a
mental note to offer my dad my buffing services, and found I wanted
to doodle while I was making that mental note.

I looked at
her, but was careful not to look hard. A sudden shutter came over
me. I looked at the empty bottle on the table and wondered what I
was about to say. “It wasn’t recent,” I began slowly, “but it
wasn’t all that long ago either. Is there a word for that? Not
recent, but not long ago;
middle time?
That, I
don’t, it… anyway, I think we’re all in a weird place, maybe. All
of us, right,
maybe
,” I laughed
nervously, and looked at the different places I could have gone to
sit down, but didn’t. I stood there silently. I was searching maybe
for a sign, a clue; an area of the room that didn’t have
breasts
in
it. My cell beeped with a new text
message and I held my phone up; it was from Katie:
Where are you?
I turned away and texted back,
at dads, home soon, explain, love
you, FUCK.

I was venting
where I could. I slipped the phone into my pocket and shut my eyes
like it was a fun thing to do. She was staring at me now and
appeared quite amused. As for ideas, I had option A, point to the
wall and run, or B, distract her by throwing up. I noted then that
if I did it close enough to my dad he would probably have just
thought he was to blame. Who was I kidding? The way things had been
going with him lately, I could have thrown up in the neighbour’s
house, written a confession on the side of a pig, and signed it
with the name, Hooch McDraw Butt, and he would have been convinced
he was to blame. He certainly wouldn’t have known otherwise, but he
was too much of a stand-up guy to say it absolutely wasn’t his
fault.

“
Listen
honey,” she said finally, having tired of watching me blink, “your
father and I are just having some laughs together, both a little
misunderstood, both a little lonely, both…”

“
YUP,” I interrupted her, “you’re both a lot of things, I
get it, hell, you, you,” I stuttered, “you are a lot of things; I
can see that, I can hear that, but you have to…” I really didn’t
know what to say to this man as a woman; I didn’t know what to say
to this woman as a man. “I… maybe you should
go
,” I
ventured with little hope. “Are you, or, no, I’m going to make sure
he’s okay, and then I will go. You do what you have to, I mean,
planned to, you and him, I don’t mean you and – oh God – may I
never know. I don’t mean to be so, or whatever, but I just don’t
want to learn anything ever again. At least not anything I won’t be
able to forget by morning. I have a hard enough time sleeping. This
is just, um, you know, not my business, it’s
so
not my
business… okay, bye,” I turned to leave, but then turned back to
face her, “Sorry, one more thing – did my dad call anyone named
Nate that you know of recently?” I asked.

“
I don’t know
what you’re talking about, honey,” she said, examining a nail or
pulling it off or something, I didn’t care.

“
My name’s
Lewis, you don’t, please don’t call me honey,” I said, to myself
mostly.

“
Oh honey, I just help your daddy out,” she continued, even
while my face felt like it was screaming silently, “you know, get
drinks, open them, let him enjoy these,” she said, rubbing the
sides of her chest before switching to a little dance that
primarily involved her shoulders and torso yet induced a tremendous
amount of bounce in her bosom. Whatever it was she was doing
required a tremendous amount of effort. It looked as though she was
awkwardly rocking out and I feared awful things could only come of
it. I wanted to bend in half and, with everything in me,
yell
please
stop
.

I gathered
the few strands I could of myself, “Please don’t do that,” I said
quietly, again not to her. I stared blankly. My internal dialogue
was still speechless. The perpetual stream that usually coursed
through my head was completely silent and still. No wonder we kept
our heads so full of crap, I thought: it was the perfect
distraction from other crap. Now I’d lost my crap and resorted to
thinking about thinking. It hadn’t been worth the effort. Again I
had nothing but the situation at hand. She didn’t look to be much
older than myself. I didn’t know why, but that seemed to be
paramount to my confusion. “Enjoy those,” I said not only slower
than I had meant to, but not at all in a tone that indicated
something regarding an opinion or question and then I stopped
without verifying
anything
. It was like
when one moved on from a distraction only to realize that they
actually hadn’t. Oh, am I
still
doing that?
That is so weird how I’m still doing that. No more drugs for me –
are those drugs?

She found my
befuddled state quite amusing and smiled broadly. “Was that a
question or a statement, honey?” She pulled lipstick out from
somewhere, my attention was no longer noting minor details of any
kind, and began applying it to her face. I merely assumed it to be
on her lips. I was done taking inventory of any kind.

“
Again, no… not honey,” I said flustered, now oblivious to
what it was I had said. I finally looked at her directly and opened
my mouth, “I mean, you two, aren’t, uh, shit, ah.” I trailed off
like I was trying to teach a child the sounds letters made. Next I
was just standing and breathing, and it seemed to help. Clarity of
mind, I told myself,
yes,
I’ll try that, since the
crap
mind
let me down. “They’re
for show, I mean, it’s obvious that you put them there for show, or
had them put there, to be touch, to, er, looked at,” I corrected
myself, and fought an incredible urge to punch my own face.
Would you excuse me please? I’m just
going to take this moment and flush it down the
toilet.