1.<\/p>\n
Back home, the lone lamp is on. A timer, a purpose. YouTube: “install garbage dispoesl” at 1.25x playback speed. As it buffers, I look outside the kitchen window. The twilight slashes through tree trunks in the backyard. A mole crawls out of a hole. It has a cloud on its face, its body ablaze with the sunset. It\u2019s staring at me, I think. It\u2019s smaller than a bread-fattened squirrel. It\u2019s the first time I\u2019ve seen one in person. Small, wild, unencumbered. I tell Siri to remind me to get a bag of soil. I set the disposal on the yellowed Formica. I decide to lay on my heart bridge, at least that\u2019s what my yoga friend told me. My spine decompresses, a tingly sensation and then a warm one and then all is right in the world. My eyes affix to a darkened ceiling tile. It gazes back with its auburn eye. Why have drugs when you can work your spine? My phone vibrates inside my jeans. I made a rule in the old apartment not to answer the phone during exercise time, but this was a new house, my house. I make a new rule, pull the phone out. “Dad middle-finger emoji.” New rule is terrible already.<\/p>\n
2.<\/p>\n
I rise, my back reluctant to resume stasis. I want more time for pushups and planks. Ceasing the pandemonium, I tap Answer. \u201cHello father,\u201d I say. A crackle, then he says, \u201cYo.\u201d \u201cWhat do you want?\u201d I speak. \u201cJust wanted to see how\u2019re you\u2019re\u2014\u201d He pauses. \u201cAdjusting.\u201d \u201cEverything is fine,\u201d I lie. \u201cI probably know a thing or two about that ol\u2019 shack, he adds.\u201d \u201cThat\u2019s nice,\u201d I say. \u201cCity Slicker out in the wild,\u201d he says, chuckles. The second time hearing that term. Now who\u2019s the meme? I look through the hazy window. It gives the darkening woods an opaque, haunting look. I wonder if he\u2019s outside. It wouldn\u2019t be impossible. He said it himself. He may know a thing or two. \u201cStill there?\u201d he speaks. \u201cYeah, yeah I\u2019m good,\u201d I say. \u201cAlright, uh, freace out,\u201d he says. I hang up before him, still let him get the last word. I look at myself in the mirror, the roundedness in my upper back, the pouch on my abdomen. Freace out, huh? Haven\u2019t heard that phrase in years. I thought it died when Mom did. So, I do something on which I wasn\u2019t planning. In my top dresser drawer, sits my clippers. It\u2019s not time to do a full body shave, but change is needed. Right now. I pop in the 3mm guide, shave my luscious hair. A part of my immediate past dies in the mirror. The bathroom sink fills with black locks. I look at the scar on my cranium. Two inches behind my left ear. It’s barely visible now. I dare not go any further.<\/p>\n
3.<\/p>\n
I woke up early to install the garbage disposal. Didn\u2019t need his damn help, yet my head is cold. The beanie stuffed in my coat pocket finally had a full-time gig. I may be a city slicker, but I also have an M.S. What can\u2019t I do? When I pry open the brittle shell of a box, the instructions smeared by ancient water. Guess I will need YouTube. The video buffers again. I get hungry and heat a ramen breakfast. A sturdy, metal stove with flaking paint chips. I watch the doe-eyed man with a combover. Hands smoother than a baby\u2019s ass. I woke up the antithesis of this guy, yet here I am. The pot bubbles over. It is 6:17 AM. Time to spite my dad, the world. My fingers turn off the heat, twisting backward, feeling tension. Wasn\u2019t a great fit, but hours later, I did it. I run the tap and let it fill. There is an orange on the counter, stricken with mold. I pull it apart, caress mold spores. The blades whir like demons, thank me for the offering. It\u2019s as if my grandad was waiting for this moment. I get that weird urge to shove my hand in. Think they call that l\u2019appel du vide.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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