'The beginning of this story finds us in a particularly forbidding one in Cincinnati, Ohio, with me alone on the cusp of escaping into the wider world'
My father is that rarest of all things, a practicing Catholic priest who’s also married and getting it on the regular from my hot Irish mom. Together they popped out five kids, and instead of living in regular houses, we lived in various Midwest rectories with truly startling crucifixes all over the walls. The beginning of this story finds us in a particularly forbidding one in Cincinnati, Ohio, with me alone on the cusp of escaping into the wider world.
“Okay,” I said, automatic, from a body that didn’t seem to be mine. I didn’t ask a single question. When I remember this, the urge to fly back and shake my young self by the shoulders shakes my present self to the point of pain. What I knew about the world was from books; what I did not know about the world is that there are ways, there are ways in, through, above, and around it.
“I wrote a poem today too,” he responded, not five minutes later. “It’s about the splendor and the majesty of the tetons.” I’d been preparing my whole life for this question. “First of all, blood. BLOOD. Second of all, thorns. Third of all, put dirt on your forehead. Do it right now. Fourth of all, Martin Luther was a pig in a cloak. Fifth of all, Jesus is alive, but he’s also dead, and he’s also immortal, but he’s also made of clouds, and his face is a picture of infinite peace, but he also always looks like one of those men in a headache commercial, because you’re causing him so much suffering whenever you cuss.
“Who knows what a freak might do,” my mother hissed, which sounded almost like a philosophical koan. Who DOES know what a freak might do. Could God make a freak so big even he didn’t know what it might do? “Which has fried many children in its day,” she said significantly. “Put your finger in the wrong hole and face the consequences.”
“Disintegration of the family unit!” my father shouted, apropos of nothing — I suspected he hadn’t really been listening — and then disappeared upstairs to fondle his guns and drink cream liqueurs in secret, which was his way of dealing with grief.
He cocked his head to one side. “No, but the FBI once barged through my front door when I was fifteen years old because they thought I was a genius hacker.” We tiptoed upstairs to my spartan little room. When we kissed, perhaps because we had so many teeth, it was exactly like two birdcages touching together. We laughed quietly, almost into each other’s mouths, and slipped out again to explore the neighborhood. Conspiracy had arrived to us, whole, intact, and just large enough for two people.
“We should get some dinner,” said my mother, who believed if you stuffed people’s faces full enough, they would stop arguing with each other. “Let’s go out to Don Pablo’s and talk. We can continue the family council there.” Don Pablo’s was a fake Mexican restaurant that prided itself on the sizzlingness of its food.
I asked my body whether it was brave. It said no, but I forged on anyway, filling my lungs and straightening up in my seat. “Mom, Dad, I have to tell you something. I’m going back to Colorado with Jason.” “Turn this car around,” my father told my mother, spitting the words like bullets. “If I have to go into a Don Pablo’s right now, I don’t know what I’ll do.” Murder Don Pablo himself, perhaps, just to relieve his feelings. My mother turned the car around.
I do not mean to make light of his shock. He recognized what I did not: that I was running away. I had never been much interested in story, so I had yet to realize I was participating in one: that I would see rising action, twists, and climax; that there would be conflict, revenge, and resolution; but above all, that I was the engine powering it forward. The landscape slid past me because I was moving. I was keeping the I upright.
“Hmmmm, I don’t think so,” but his hmmmm had the quality of a yummy sound, like he found the act of thinking itself to be delicious. This was a bad sign. If he had let a hmmmm slip in front of my father, that might have been enough to do it. We decided we had better leave that night, just to be sure.
Indonesia Berita Terbaru, Indonesia Berita utama
Similar News:Anda juga dapat membaca berita serupa dengan ini yang kami kumpulkan dari sumber berita lain.
Here's exactly how much you should keep in a home repair fund, because owning a home is always more expensive than you thinkBefore buying a home, it's easy to think of rent checks as your only housing expense. But once you own it, there are many more costs to plan for.
Baca lebih lajut »
Did 'Spider-Man: Far From Home' Quietly Tease the Next 'Avengers'?After 'Endgame,' it's unlikely Peter Parker will remain one of Earth's few superheroes for long.
Baca lebih lajut »
‘Spider-Man: Far From Home’ follows Marvel tradition with No. 1 debutThe film earned $185 million since its opening on Tuesday, well above analyst projections of $125 million and following Marvel Studio's winning streak.
Baca lebih lajut »
11 Easter Eggs Hidden in ‘Spider-Man: Far From Home’ (SPOILERS)SPOILER ALERT: Web sling back here once you’ve seen “Spider-Man: Far From Home” The Marvel Cinematic Universe polished off its Phase 3 with “Spider-Man: Far From Home”…
Baca lebih lajut »
https://www.foodandwine.comFood & Wine goes way beyond mere eating and drinking. We&039;re on a mission to find the most exciting places, new experiences, emerging trends and sensations.
Baca lebih lajut »