" Are you okay ? " Beth asked . I turned around to look at her , my jacket in my hands , and she stared hard at my face , like there was something wrong with my mouth or eyes . I must have looked tired . I had been through a lot the last few days , more than she knew , and all I wanted to do was sleep . She grabbed the suit coat from me and slipped it onto its hanger , then reached into one of its pockets and pulled out a balled - up Kleenex . I took some loose black socks from the suitcase . She took those too , and stuffed one down into another , pairing them up . " Who 's that ? " she asked . " This guy I grew up with . I 've talked about him before , don 't you remember ? And he was thin as a rail , Beth . This guy was the fattest thing you 've ever seen back in high school and now he 's a string bean . He 's like the ' after ' picture they use in the commercials . " I was grinning like this was the most miraculous thing in the whole world , like it was something to put in the Guinness Book of World Records next to someone with seven foot long fingernails . " The little weasel must have kept at it , " I said , and I imagined Leslie McKenzie chugging down the side of the road in his jogging shorts . How many miles had he clocked up by now ? Enough to get clear across the country , I figured , all the way from our hometown of historical Haverhill , Massachusetts . Even though I had been there that morning , when I thought about running those miles instead of flying them , it seemed so far away that it might as well have been Neptune . Beth had reached the phone first when the hospital called . The ringing had interrupted a real steamer of an argument , and as she put the receiver to her ear , I had decided , in the way a person can decide something quickly and with detachment , that I was going to nudge the fight further along when she was finished her private little conversation . There had been something secretive in the set of her shoulders , the bend of her neck , and her whispered , " Yes . " Unknown to me , the doctor had been telling her slowly and patiently that my father had died . My buddies and I , we had noticed Leslie was up to something , that first summer when he began to huff and puff around town . I have to admit that our feelings about it were very complex . Why shouldn 't they have been ? I mean , Leslie McKenzie , all two hundred fifty something pounds of him , running down the side of the road . No , not running , not then anyway . Shuffling , staggering , half - sliding his sneakers through the gutter dirt . Anything , any word , but running . His eyes half - closed as if he were falling asleep , little fists balled at stomach height , the front of his T - shirt darkened with sweat . Knowing us it was a good insult , but to Leslie it must have sounded like a wordless yell . Just a whoosh of air as the car passed and the sight of our rear bumper as we sped off to the beach , or the lake , or the quarry , or wherever the hell we were going . One place was as good as another . Leslie would have recognized the car , a 82 Chevy Impala with a long dent in the rear bumper . It pulls out of sight and what does he do ? Does he speed up , angry now , using that stupid broken rear bumper , the duck - taped rear window , as a goal , a target ? Does he slow down now that nobody 's watching ? Does he stop right there on the side of the road and double over and take big , rasping breaths ? Or does he simply keep running at the same steady pace , eyes half - closed , as if we were never there at all ? I 've wondered about that . I know what we did , not because I remember it specifically , but because it 's what we always did in that car . We laughed and sang along to whatever song was on the radio , and jostled each other around if we were in the backseat , and we didn 't say anything about Leslie . But I think we all knew what we had to do , because Leslie had plans . He had a whole summer , almost three months , and he had obviously hatched some kind of mo - fo scheme to recreate himself . He had the resources to do it too , if not the motivation . His parents had already probably bought him a set of those expensive weights covered in plastic , the ones that looks futuristic and effeminate at the same time . I mean , this kid had more sweaters than I had I - don 't - know - what . The hunch we all shared was confirmed by other sightings later in the week : the same road , the same time , the same duh - duh - duh expression , the same shirt probably . Henry Eubank 's kid sister rode past him on her bike . Erik saw him too . And me . I saw him when driving my father 's car to the grocery store to get beer and cigarettes and a few other things for him . I remember because I had a bag of groceries on the car seat next to me : a loaf of bread , dishwashing liquid , two gallons of chocolate ice cream , which was the only flavor my father ate . That 's when I had the idea , although I didn 't implement it until later , and Erik even took the credit for it for some fucking reason . So it was definitely confirmed . Leslie McKenzie was planning some kind of image makeover . Lose a few pounds , grow his hair out longer and stop slicking it across the top of his head like a fifty year old bank clerk , get a new pair of thin framed glasses and abracadabra , he was going to expect even more from the world . He had seen his opportunity - nobody was looking - and he was going to go for it , which was probably an expression he was going to end up using eventually , if he had his way . It really pissed me off . I 'm not exactly sure why , except that it seemed like he was trying to pull one over on me , on us . He was being all sneaky and passive aggressive . I 'm not saying that we were angels in any way , not at all , but you had to think , what was this kid going to our school for anyway ? He lived in that house up on East Broadway that had a rod iron fence around it , an actual rod iron fence , like it was a museum or something . His father , who was a doctor or lawyer , could have afforded to send him to Phillips Andover Academy and then he wouldn 't have gotten any shit from us at all , because we never would have even known each other . Here 's another way of looking at it : our haircuts , the clothes we wore and the cars we drove - our parent 's cars , really , other than Erik , who owned the Impala . All that stuff , everything about the way we looked , was so totally connected to who we were inside that the two were practically the same . That 's one of the main things I remember from that time , the sheer simplicity of those drives in Erik 's Chevy . Those trips were beautiful and almost spellbinding in their clarity . But here is this guy who wants to open up this gigantic rift between himself - the person he is on the inside - and who he is on the outside . I mean , I shouldn 't get angry - it 's been years - but I still remember that watch he used to wear , and the shoes , and the smell of something kind of sweet like peppermint from him in gym class . And now he takes up running . He wants to make his own body into some kind of disguise , like he 's Batman ! And he wasn 't just running . If it was just that , well , I don 't know , but there was other stuff going on . Once when I was walking by his house - sometimes I found myself walking by there for some reason - I saw him out on his lawn , lying flat on his back on a lawn chair wearing only swimming trunks and Risky Business sunglasses , fucking sunglasses . Just lying there , all four hundred eighty pounds of him , although by this time it was probably more like four hundred sixty something . And every single pound of it was working overtime absorbing those rays , just soaking them up in a way that seemed almost greedy . Leave some of that sun for the rest of us , Porky , I wanted to say when I saw him there . I wasn 't that angry or anything - I had more important things on my mind - but it did miff me a little . My father was acting all crazy that day , I remember , and I had gotten out of the house and was just wandering around . And then I stumble across this , like I 'm stepping in a turd . Well , maybe not exactly , but I 'm just saying that there was some justification for what I did . Sometimes thinking about my father leads me to think about his father , a man I never knew , and then his father , and further down the chain of sullen men with receding chins and a tendency to lose their hair early in life . When I think like this , it seems like there is something I can find if I keep going back and back and back , like this is all just as simple and difficult as digging very deeply into the ground . It 's like there 's something out there , on the edge of history , and that 's the thing I can blame . " I don 't know if we 're happy , " Beth said . This is how she put it the first time , when she began talking about separating , when she said she was thinking of moving in with her sister and getting her head together . There were a million things she wanted to do with her life , two million things . Beth wants to be a physical therapist . She wants to take care of the elderly , give them comfort them when they need comfort . I 'm supporting her while she goes to school , and paying her tuition , and I like the idea of doing good through her , since that has never really been one of my areas of expertise . I 'm a computer engineer , and although I don 't like to talk about my work , I like it when she tells me about what she 's learning . Sometimes she touches my hand and tells me the names of the bones in my fingers . I never would have imagined how many . " We 're not happy , " she said , and her comment seemed like such a simple and basic thing that I hadn 't even thought about it until she pointed it out . Like breathing or something . Happiness . I was dumbfounded . We were driving for some stupid reason , some soul - killing errand like getting paint for the bathroom or ant traps to put under the kitchen sink . I was listening to a good song on the radio and thinking about nothing except the car in front of me , which was going too slow , and the car behind , which was going too fast , and now we had to begin and end a conversation about the sorry state of a marriage in the ten minutes it was going to take us to get to Wal - Mart . She cracked her window and lit a cigarette . " I 'm happy , " I said . " Look at me . See ? Don 't I look happy ? " I curled my lips back and held them that way , mouth half - open and gawking . This would be one of the faces I would use to make my children laugh if we ever had any . We drove for a little while in silence . We were almost halfway there now , and I had never thought of this particular store as being such a safe and comfortable place , but there it was , out there in my imagination , like a little beacon of goodwill and dullness . She finally said , " That 's a scary face . " I thought , she 's right , it would scare them , and I thought of their frightened little lips and eyes . Frightened by me , a person who had never intended any harm to anyone and who was just trying to make a stupid face so that his wife could share a joke at his expense . These are the kind of thoughts that can wear a person down . Beth had never liked talking about having children . She did not like talking about my father either , my upbringing , as she called it , as if I had been raised at some private school in England and not in a dead little mill town in Massachusetts . I said , " This is a difficult period . I 've been tense lately , " which opened up another patch of silence in the conversation like I had cleared the words away with a machete . She said , " It 's more than that , " but we were pulling into the parking lot now . She would be thinking of my upbringing now as we discussed the difference between mustard yellow and orange yellow and yellow yellow , and so would I , and it felt like she had pushed me into that place , like she was putting these thoughts in my head . She was like one of these people who talked about bodily functions at the dinner table . It was inappropriate , is what I 'm saying . I parked the car and turned the key in the ignition and looked hard at her and said , " You know what ? You 're right . Do you want to talk about it right now ? We can talk about it right now if you want . We 're in no rush . " It was hot out , and the air - conditioner was off because I was holding the keys in the palm of my hand , and we were already feeling it . " Are you sure ? " I said . " Because there 's no time like the present . This is a wonderful place to talk about it . We have privacy and we have a view . " I looked out the windshield at the neat grids of parked cars and steaming blacktop and errant grocery carts . " Do you think of yourself as a good listener ? " I said . " Because we have a lot to share . As you know , I have a lot to get off my chest . " I smiled again and waited for her reply , but she opened the car door and stepped outside and I decided fine , have it your way , and caught up with her with a few long strides . There were clouds in the sky and I wanted them to just open up on us so that we would have to scurry into the store and get this day over with . I could see the concerned faces of tired shoppers as they stepped outside with their cut - rate provisions , and I wondered if they were really any better off than Beth and me . They were using the same dish washing liquid , wearing the same jeans , and probably having the same arguments , right ? We were all worried about the threat of rain and the cost of bacon and being found out by those closest to us . I put my hand on Beth 's shoulder when we stopped at the door and felt her muscles tighten . " I just want you to talk to me , " she said . " Sometimes I wonder if I know you . It 's like you razed your whole history when you met me . " Which was not completely true , of course . When we met , I had been finishing up my seventh and last year of school , and I had told her how hard it had been . I hadn 't boasted , not really , but she had been proud of me . She had said I seemed like someone who had his act together . I guessed she was probably in the process of reconsidering that now . I think if I had dropped everything right then , and turned and walked back to the car , she would have followed , and we could have driven anywhere . This was two weeks before my father 's death , and I 'm guessing that at exactly that moment he was watching television and drinking a beer and thinking about God - knows - what . I said to Beth , " I love you . " Or at least that 's what I wanted to say . What I actually said was , " Let 's make this quick and painless , " which is what I think she wanted too . I think we were thinking exactly the same thing , which is not something that happens often between two people , especially when those two people are me and my wife . I wanted to talk then , in the time it took me to grip the door handle , open the door and step inside . I wanted to tell her everything , which , of course , I did not , because we were being greeted by an elderly woman in a blue apron who seemed as much about getting in our way as saying hello . And then , weeks later , with my father in the ground , what did I tell Beth ? That I had bumped into an old friend of mine , and man , was I surprised - not just because he looked so good , but to even see him there at all , in that run - down little mill town . " It seems like you don 't like this guy very much for someone who used to be your friend , " she said . She opened the closet and took out the suitcase and I remembered then that it belonged in the hall closet . We live in a very orderly house , and much of that is due to Beth . I took the suitcase from her and left the bedroom . She followed me . She said , " What happened back there , Gary ? " She said , " What happened back there really ? " " I could ask you the same question , Beth , " I said , and my voice rose with mock concern . I couldn 't help myself . " You seem really upset . Did something happen while I was gone that I should know about ? " I opened the door in the hall and threw the suitcase inside . I was trying to steer my anger in the right direction , away from her , toward the back of the closet . " Watch the walls , " she said . " We don 't own this house yet . " The tone of her voice was not lost on me . It was low and air traffic controller steady , the way I sometimes used to talk to my father , when I had the presence of mind . I could hear water running in the sink . " Christ , " I said . " Don 't you think I know that ? I know that . " The next time I saw Leslie McKenzie I was coming back from the market in my father 's car . My father often ordered me out on errands right when he got home from work , partially because he was tired and lazy , partially because he wanted to be alone , I guess . This was fine with me , except that these trips were now kind of synchronized with Leslie 's running schedule , which was annoying , you know - driving by him like that - especially because I didn 't want to give him the satisfaction of changing my route . That particular day I picked up Erik and we did a little roaming around , and of course we end up on Kirkland Street with Leslie up ahead of us , chugging away . Now , instead of speeding up , I decide to slow down , because I want to kind of loom behind him . I want him to see our shadow coming , like in some horror movie . And then I remembered the idea I had the time before , except this time I had someone riding shotgun , so I said to Erik , " Open up the ice cream . " My father always wanted me to pick up the same stuff - six pack of Miller , a pack of Marlboro 's , maybe some toilet paper - and chocolate ice cream , which I know for a fact that he ate until the day he died . There was a half - empty carton of it in his freezer when I went back to sell his house . Erik laughed because he must have known what I was thinking . Then he handed me the open container of ice cream . It was one of those square half - gallon containers . And as we loomed up on Leslie I whipped the container out the window and Erik yelled something like , " Eat it up ! " It was a one in a million shot . The container hit him right on his ass and for a second he kept running , like it took a moment to register or maybe he thought he was getting dive - bombed . I didn 't see the expression on his face or anything because I was stepping on the gas . Erik yelled something else , some fat joke he had probably used six times before , and then we were gone , leaving Leslie on the side of the road with a half - gallon of my father 's ice cream melting in the dirt . My father was in his chair with his clicker , blundering through the channels , when I got home . He yelled out to the kitchen as I came in . I noticed he had already eaten his dinner . His dirty plate was in the sink , smeared with ketchup . I opened the freezer and scrounged around as he wandered in and peeled the shrink - wrap off his cigarettes . He was still wearing his blue work shirt , so I knew he had had a rough day , and I was about to make myself scarce when he came in and said , " Where the fuck is the ice cream ? " " I forgot , " I said . " Sorry . " I began to walk to the living room . Out of the corner of my eye I saw him fiddling with his change , which I had left in the plastic bag for him the way I always did . He was doing the math in his head . He followed me into the living room . The sound on the television was all the way down and the stereo was on and turned to the classic rock station . Both of our eyes wandered to the television , where a woman was turning letters on a game show , and for a second I thought the whole thing was a dead issue , but then he said , " How you make it through the day is a mystery to me . What the hell is the matter with you ? " It was like a nudge , like , come on , let 's see what happens . And then suddenly the music on the stereo kind of turned inside out , is the only way to describe it , and my head filled with colors , and the room grew long and narrow , like I was standing down the end of a long corridor instead of in the center of my father 's living room . That 's when I realized that I had just been cold - cocked . Not a wide , sloppy punch either . No , this was the kind of punch that a boxer throws , a hard jab right to the center of my face that immediately took every last ounce of fight out of me . My legs were just not registering anymore and the top of my head felt warm , like my skull was filling up with blood . This was a punch designed to hurt , and it did , but I didn 't fall . Instead , I had a vision . A vision caused by pain and shock and not magic or God , but a vision nonetheless . I closed my eyes and felt the blood coming down my chin like I was a baby dribbling food out of my mouth and then it happened . My head filled with light . Light and something else . A vision of my mother , and not my mother as she was twelve years ago , not the mother in the pictures , but my mother as she would have been if she had lived and aged alongside her son and husband . She was standing in front of me and smiling and there was an expression on her face that I couldn 't read , a mix of disdain and attraction , like I 'm some kind of exotic food she didn 't know if she should eat or not . I wasn 't sure why she was there , and in that second that I saw her my feelings moved from happiness to annoyance , because she seemed to be withholding something from me . She had a secret and no way no how was she going to share it with me , her only son and a person who had just been sucker punched by his own father , which is one of those exclusive clubs you don 't want to join . I wanted to tell my mother that I loved her and missed her , of course , but I also wanted to tell her that I had secrets too , just so we were on equal footing , so to speak . The last twelve years of my life , actually , had been one big secret from her , because she was dead and I was alive . And that made me feel strong and sad at the same time . Then she was gone , and although just a second before her face was so vivid , all of a sudden I had absolutely no idea what she looked like , like I never saw her at all . The next thing I knew I was sitting on the couch and my father was pushing a glass of water into my hand . " Come on , drink it , " he said , and so I took it and put it to my mouth . " You sure have a way of getting under my skin , " he said , and I looked up . He was pacing the room . I had never seen him walk that way before , and something about it made him look kind of small and feminine . I got the feeling that if I stood up and just laid into him right there and then , there would be nothing he could do to stop me , but my legs felt real weak , so I just took another sip of water and listened to him talk . I could build palaces out of the things my father didn 't tell me . That 's the stuff I remember now as much as what he did say , and that 's what he says sometimes when he 's pacing around that room in my memory . He tells me about the last year of her life , which must have been difficult , and about his own childhood on a farm in upstate New York , and my mother 's childhood too , in Haverhill , the place he ran away to at eighteen , the place he died at sixty - seven . He sometimes told me about the job he used to have in Lawrence , and my mother , and he when he talked this way he spoke as if he was still puzzled and even a little amused by their absence . He would kind of make a noise at the back of his throat and say , " Your mother and I used to eat Chinese food in bed , " as if this was some habit he had outgrown . It was like a little window would open and close in the same second . But today he looked at me and said , " What are you looking at me like that ? Are you waiting for an apology ? " " There 's no reason for me to apologize , " he said . " Do you know what I 've been through ? You don 't know . " It was like we were in an argument , an argument he was losing , but I wasn 't even saying anything . He said , " I put a roof over your head . And I don 't ask for much back , do I ? What do I ask for ? " He looked at me like he expected an answer . There was a pleading quality in his voice . " I 'm sorry , " I said , and my face crumpled like I had told him to go to hell . It was like I had hauled back and slapped him . He closed his eyes and tilted his chin up like he was listening to music playing in his head . " And don 't tell me you understand , okay ? I don 't understand you and there 's no way that you understand me . Let 's just agree on that . " She told me that he had died about three hours before , that it was a heart attack ( his second ) , and that he actually managed to drive himself to the hospital , which is only about five blocks from his house ( she referred to it as my house because it 's the house I grew up in ) . She asked me if she wanted me to book my flight for me , and I said , no , no I can do it . She looked at me like I 'm some math problem she was trying to figure out . I remember telling Erik , " I 'm going to hurt him , " but when it came down to it , I only touched Leslie McKenzie once , and that was to help him . I stood over him and rested my palm against the sweat - covered curve of his back and I even asked him if he was okay and you know what he did ? He hissed something beneath his breath and pulled away , like I had leprosy . Then he stood up and began to shamble away from me like he was drunk and I knew then that it was over . For weeks Erik and I had been following him around in Erik 's car . He changed routes , but we always found him . I mean , how far could he go on two legs ? When Erik got a job and a new circle of friends along with the job , I used my father 's car when I could . I remember driving up alongside Leslie and sort of veering over to him like I was going to hit him and knock him down in the gutter , which of course I would never have done even if you had paid me . It was just a joke , and if it was a joke that got out of hand , well , we were just dumb kids , and maybe it was a way of bringing balance to his life , a life that would probably soon be full of parties and girls at a nice college . I wanted him to remember me , I guess . " I want to hurt him . " That 's what I actually told Erik . Not going to , but want , which is a very different thing . We were in Erik 's room , where I had been hanging out for a day or two until things blew over at home . We were listening to music and passing a bowl between us , and as we took hits off it , my mouth loosened up and my mind cleared . " I want to hurt him in places he didn 't know existed , " I said , and I leaned my head back and blew some smoke at the ceiling . I was thinking of Leslie McKenzie 's heart , which I imagined as something large and soft and ripe , like an expensive fruit from a tropical country . Erik took the bowl from me and held it in front of his mouth . It looked like he was staring right into my eyes , right down in my heart , but he was really just looking at my nose , which was red and swollen . He was probably wondering what something like that must feel like . What had I told him ? A fall down the stairs ? The door of my car ? Something like that . One of the many things I said . He coughed a little and passed back the bowl . I saw his face as a mask of my own , but this was not true . I know that now . He said , " Let 's go see a movie or something . " " I don 't have the money , " I said , although I had ten dollars in my pocket . It was my father 's money , taken from his nightstand . I had taken it just to hold it , I think , to have it for the night , although when I had closed my fist around it I had been planning to spend it all on a couple of six packs . That night I saw him down by the river , running along the boxboard drainage ditch against the flow of water , as if he were following it back to its source . He had been picking odd hours to make appearances lately , early in the morning when the streetlights were still on or later in the day , when the blacktop was beginning to cool . He wore a headband now , black , like he was protesting or grieving or something . My father was asleep and I was driving his car like it was my car , aimlessly , with the radio turned down . I pulled up next to him so that he was in between the gully and the car and although my window was rolled down , and I could have carried on a conversation with him if I just raised my voice , I didn 't say a word . He didn 't turn his head . He didn 't even quicken his pace . I think if he had just said something , or stopped running , I would have gunned the engine and taken off , but no , he was determined . Although he looked like he was going to cry . " We 're you headed ? " I finally yelled . It was the best joke I could think of . I was drinking of can of Coke , and I picked at the tab and made a little plucking sound . The car was running really nice , as well as it had ever run , and I wondered if my father had worked on it or had someone work on it . If so , that made my problems worse if he found out I had taken it , which he probably would . " Hey , " I said . " Where you headed ? Do you need a ride ? I 'm going to Texas . You can come along if you want . " It was like talking back to a movie . It was like he was running a real race , and I was just a distraction , and he was going to win if it took everything in him . I glanced away from him and up ahead . The road split away from the ditch up there and headed into town and then back around to my neighborhood . He was going to continue to follow it up the hill to the boxboard . I said , " Why the hell are you running here anyway ? This is probably the worst place to run in the whole town . " It was like I wasn 't even there . I revved the engine , but he didn 't look . He just narrowed his eyes a little , and not even like he was angry , more like he was focusing on something , squinting at it because it was faraway . The road was veering away from the ditch now , splitting into a fork , and I was going to go right and he was going to go left . That 's when I gave the wheel a sharp jerk . The car lurched to the left , right at Leslie , and he dropped out of sight like the earth had swallowed him up . I slammed on the brakes and looked over my shoulder . There he was . Not under my tires or even in the ditch , but rising to his feet amid a cloud of dust . I pushed the car into park and stepped out and I walked over to him . Blood was coming down his knees and he was covered with little pebbles and dirt . All that gunk stuck to him like glue because of all the sweat , and I think it made him look worse than he actually was , I guess . I ran over to him and put my hand on his back and for a split second I felt his lungs working as he took a deep breath . Then he was walking away from me , still following the ditch like he was an animal or something and he looked strong and weak at the same time , the way animals become when they 're in pain . I knew that it was over , but I didn 't want it to end , and I knew what was in store for me , because the car was almost as dirty as McKenzie now . It was almost completely dark , and I heard his feet scraping across the dirt as he headed up the hill , and I wanted to follow him wherever he was going . " There 's nothing to talk about , " I told Beth . " Not really . " I had followed her into the kitchen , where she was rubbing circles in a plate . I said , " It wasn 't a good trip , obviously . That 's all . And then I bumped into that guy . And you and I had that stupid phone conversation . " I came up behind her with the intention of drying some of the dishes she was washing , but instead I put my hand on her back . I could feel her muscles moving as she washed the dish , her breath rising and falling . I said , " I think it 's over between us , huh ? After that phone call ? I think that 's just about it . " " You said that , " she said . " I didn 't say that . It might be , but I 'm not the one who said it . I 'm not the one who wants it that way . Not really . " I took my hand from her back and wiped my face hard , across the eyes . " Jesus Christ , " I said . " I 'm turning into a little girl . I can 't stop crying . And the sun is out and everything . You 'd don 't need this . You must be up to your neck with this shit . " " No , this is new , " she said , and she tried to smile . She pushed up against me and I closed my eyes and I could hear the water running down into the garbage disposal . I thought about how nice it would be to take a hot shower with her . We hadn 't done that in a long time . There was something about spooning together after you showered , something virginal . I didn 't want to have sex or even kiss her much . I just wanted to sleep with her , and wake up to a darkened house and make dinner together . I wanted to slip out of this moment and under a particular blanket I had seen folded up in the closet . Beth put her hand to my face and said , " Tell me . " The afternoon of my father 's funeral , I called a moving company and asked them to lug everything in his house into storage . The realtor had told me how a furnished house sells more quickly , and that maybe I should even replace some of the shabbier items with new things , but I didn 't care . The moving company said that they could have people over the next morning . It was like a burden had been lifted from my shoulders . It was like , lo and behold , the skies opened up and there was the sun . I was doubly satisfied with myself , because this was exactly the kind of decisive action that Beth has criticized me for not doing in our relationship . She says that it 's my instinct to run down into myself . She says that I don 't take action during the critical moment . She says that I have an incredible gift for hiding . I had to fight the urge to call her and talk to her , tell her I love her and see if it surprised her , even confused her . I wondered if I could still surprise her . Instead , I decided that I was hungry . There were TV dinners in the freezer and I took one out and heated it up in the oven . I sat down at the table and I thought , this must be something like what he had been doing the day he died . The oven was making the little clicking sound it had made when I was a kid , like a stopwatch counting down . The silverware and plates and glasses were all in the same places . The doorbell rang while I was eating . It was the movers , three of them , looking like they had done this a trillion times before . They took a walk through the house to see what they were in for , looking over the stuff in the kitchen and living room and bedrooms . It struck me then how differently they saw everything than I did . They are looking at things according to their size and weight . Is the kitchen table going to fit through the doorway ? How heavy is the couch ? I wanted to tell them , that 's the couch I sat in , and that 's the chair he sat in , when we ate dinner and watched television . I wanted to tell them , you could build palaces out of the things we didn 't say . Ridiculous , really . " I 'm sure you guys can handle it , " I said , and I walked back into the kitchen to finish my food . I could hear them talking about a football game . One of them had lost some money and one of them had won some money . They were laughing about something as I picked up the phone . It felt strange calling my number from my father 's house , as if I were young again and calling some future version of myself . I half expected that future self to pick up the phone and say hello , it 's me , your future self , which gives you some idea of my fucking state of mind , I guess . What could he have told me ? A warning would have been nice . I would have appreciated it , and I would have told him something to the effect of , " Hey , don 't worry about it , okay ? " I heard Beth 's voice say hello automatically , as if she was expecting a salesman or wrong number . The movers were still talking , and I pictured them sitting on the couch . In a second , they were going to click on the television or something . " Beth , " I said , in a half - whisper , like I was calling from jail . I walked over to the far side of the room , as far away from the movers as I could get and I said , " It 's me . " Outside , there were birds pecking at a little stone bird bath , and I wondered when my father had bought it , and why he had bought it , and what the hell it meant that he would do such a thing . " Yes , " I said , and then , " Oh , God , I 'm sorry . I really am sorry about everything . I promise I 'll make it up to you . " My teeth were clenched and I was still whispering . My throat felt as if I had swallowed something hard and doughy . My face was hot and my voice didn 't even quite sound like my own , but I kept talking . " I 'm being honest with you , " I said . " I really am . I believe in us . I want to work this out . I really do . I 'm so sorry . " She was quiet then , and I listened for the movers in the other room , but they weren 't speaking anymore either . I swear to God , I could smell my father 's breath on the damned phone . " You 're the only person who understands me , " I whispered . The movers had come back inside and they were knocking some stuff around . " I don 't understand you , " she said , and I almost laughed again . I almost hung up . I listened to her breathing and I didn 't know what to say . I hung up the phone and paced around the house quickly , like I was walking off a sprain . Now that the rooms were on their way to being empty , the place seemed gigantic . Or I seemed smaller , maybe that was it . I stood in the living room and without the curtains on the windows I could see out into the neighborhood in all directions : out across the small lawn that was already overgrown , and at the houses on the other side of the street . I could see the neighbor to the left of us , who never got along with my father and who had probably moved to another town or was maybe dead too , which would have made my dad happy . I walked around the house some more , moving aimlessly from room to room . Upstairs , downstairs , then upstairs again . I guess I was looking for something , ridiculous as it sounds . I found it in the cellar , although it wasn 't what I expected . On the far side of the room , near the oil burner , there was an old bureau and some other junk not worth moving . It was painted with three different colors of paint , and had gashes across the front like someone had raked it with a crowbar , but seeing it maybe the absence of everything else seem more pronounced somehow , and I suddenly regretted moving the things out . Not just regretted , either . It seemed like the most stupid thing I could have done , stupid in the way that animals are stupid , moving by instinct and emotion . I saw myself as something shadowy and slippery , something sliding out on the edges of my own perception . In that moment I seemed like both hunter and prey , which is a romantic and fucked - up way of looking at yourself , although also maybe true . I walked over to the deep double sink where my father used to clean his paintbrushes in the early evening . I turned the faucet so I could splash some water on my face , but no water came out . That 's when I remembered the spigot just outside and the length of garden hose attached to it . The fact that I had forgotten about it seemed like more negligence , so I walked to the bulkhead door and opened it to go out into the yard . There were five steps leading up to the bulkhead doors , running across a small space almost big enough to be a small room . Embedded in the concrete floor behind the steps there was a small pump that whirled into action whenever it rained hard , saving the cellar from flooding . I remembered listening to it from my bedroom as a kid . It sounded like an airplane moving overhead , not something lodged in the ground down below me , but something circling the house . I suddenly wanted to tell Beth that story , and explain to her why it was important . I also remembered that my father had stored things in that little space - tools and rakes and things he didn 't want me fucking with . The stairs were held in place by simple slots on either side of the wall , and they could be removed with a tug . I removed two of the stairs , set them against the wall , and climbed inside . It was damp and cool in there , and I decided it was a pretty good place to be on a hot summer 's day . Sure enough , there was a set of metal shelves in there , and something else . He had not left letters or diaries or even photographs , but he had left something , and it seemed like as much a message to me as those other things would have been . It was a small handgun in a wooden slide - top box . I hadn 't known he had even owned one . It looked like he had made the box for the gun . They fit together perfectly , and the corners of the box were sanded and cross - hatched delicately , the way I had seen him make a table . There was only one thing to do . I slid the gun between my lips and tasted it , and I felt stronger than I had for a long time . Everything had been reduced to one simple decision , and the decision was mine to make . I could hear the mover 's shambling around upstairs and I thought of them finding me down here . When I picked up the gun , I had known that I would not actually pull the trigger . I figured it did not have bullets in it either . I knew my father well enough to be sure about that . It was like a game I was playing . But now I wasn 't so sure , because had I ever been sure about my father , really ? But it was still a game , I guess . It didn 't really mean anything . The movers were moving something heavy and cumbersome now , not lifting but sliding , sliding across my father 's hard wood floors , and it was funny because I thought that I should complain to their boss . I could hear them giving directions to each other , and laughing again . One of them said , " Easy now . Easy now . Do you want me to put some grease on it ? " The gun was somewhere on the floor behind me . I would have to wash it off , and put it back in the box , and then do something with the box . Put it back . Get it away from me . I wouldn 't check the barrel . Maybe I wouldn 't even touch it again . It felt like I hadn 't touched it at all , like it hadn 't even existed , and that maybe I should just head upstairs right then and stop those guys before they did anymore damage . " Hey , " someone said . It was one of the movers . He had a lamp in his hand , and was halfway down the stairs . I turned my head away and wiped my face . " Are you all right ? " he asked . I saw him the day after I emptied out the house , in a mall of all places . I don 't know why I was even there , except that it was only a year old and I wanted to be someplace without a history . I had a couple of bags of odds and ends with me - candy and some magazines a shirt from Sears and a hammer because I wanted to smack the boards down the cellar back in position . I was in a pretty good mood , if you can believe it , and I was looking forward to sitting on the floor of the empty living room that evening and eating the candy with the magazines spread around me . Naked girls and stuff like that . But mainly I was thinking how funny it was that just the day before I had slid the barrel of a gun inside my mouth . My very own mouth ! It seemed hard to believe , even for me , the only person who had actually experienced it . There was an old lady in front of me walking super slow , and baggy - pants clown - kids off to my right giving me the once - over , and I realized then that not a single person would ever - not ever - know about what had happened that afternoon two days before . It wouldn 't even require an act of will on my part . It was like it had already been decided . That 's when I saw Leslie McKenzie , and it was especially strange because he was not walking towards me . He was coming out of Sears too , walking abreast of me about fifteen feet over but almost exactly parallel to me . He had a bag too , and for a second it just all seemed too strange to be real . He was almost thin now , certainly thinner than me , except he had this weird little pot belly and a kind of sag in his cheeks and neck that seemed to be a holdover from the way he used to look . He was wearing glasses and a T - shirt and jeans , and he was kind of moving like he was in a hurry , like he had just remembered he had left the lights on in his Explorer . I glanced over at him and at first I thought , nah , no way , but then I stopped and looked closer . It was definitely him . He didn 't stop or even look in my direction , but I could tell that he recognized me . How could he not ? I looked almost exactly the same as I did a decade before , bar a few pounds and a receding hairline . I almost said something else , but he was up ahead of me now , and I would have really yelled , and not just yelled , but yelled at his back , which seemed pretty stupid and kind of , I don 't know , beneath me . I almost did it . To be honest , I kind of wish I had . Or even better , I just wish he had acknowledged me the very first time . That wouldn 't have been very hard for him to do . I mean , it was definitely him . I know exactly what I would have said to him too . I would have said , " Hey , how are you , man ? " And then , after we had talked for a little while I would have said , " Remember that time ? " and of course I wouldn 't even have to finish the sentence , because I 'd see it in his face . He would remember . " I 'm sorry , " I 'd say . " I 'm very sorry . " Very calm and even , like I was a doctor reporting some illness that really had nothing to do with me . There would be an awkward silence then , but I 'd say , " Hey , it couldn 't have been too bad . You look like you 're doing pretty good . " He would smile and say thanks and he 'd lean forward and speak quietly , like he didn 't want anyone to overhear us . This was something that was meant for only us two . Oh , it would have felt real fine for him to do something like that . I can picture it . He would tell me that he was doing better than pretty good , that he was great . He would talk to me about the good things in his life , right there and then , and how he hadn 't been held back by all that other stuff , which was , after all , in the past , and maybe not really that bad at all . He would do all of this just standing there in the mall with people sliding by thinking we were talking about the weather or something . It wouldn 't even take that long . Two minutes . Then he would reach out to shake my hand , but my right hand would be holding the shopping bag , so I 'd reach out with my left and we 'd sort of clasp hands - not a handshake really , just an awkward touch , like my grandmother used to touch my hand when she slipped me money . He would smile and I would smile and we would let go and as he was letting go he 'd see something in the way I was looking at him and he 'd say , " Don 't worry about it . It 's okay . " " What do you mean ? " Beth asks . We are in the bathroom . The shower is running and we 're getting undressed . I 'm looking at her jeans on the floor , and then at her naked thighs , then her face , because I 'm sitting on the edge of the bathtub . She touches my shoulders . She pulls my T - Shirt off over my head . The room fills with steam . " It wouldn 't have been too hard , " I tell her again , although I 'm not sure she hears me , and I don 't know where this is headed . I am thinking about my father again , facing me across our narrow living room . Could something as simple as words have saved him ?