The sounds, always the four sounds. I\u2019d been in bed for the better part of a month and they wouldn\u2019t leave me alone. Rubber slapping rubber made a whoosh. Then metal scraping asphalt in a scream. Then his head hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Then another scream. The girl behind me. The one with the giant backpack who always took the front seat. Her innocence extinguished along with the life on the road.<\/p>\n
But there had been no life lost that day. Yes, the motorcycle tire had clipped the front tire of my school bus. What was that pendejo thinking trying to pass me? Pendejo, a word I\u2019d picked up when Avril\u2019s brother took me to a game in Tijuana, the crowd of men shouting it mercilessly at the opposing goalie. Don\u2019t repeat it in from of Avril her brother said. Stupid patriarchal homophobic machismo, she\u2019d say\u2014he was right\u2014but part of our futbol culture, he said.<\/p>\n
And yes, the rider\u2019d gone down. Yes, the girl\u2019s scream had rippled through the metal box, the other barely pubescent kids shaken from their devices at something happening in the real world. Yes, his leg was thrashed and the road rash was substantial. But no, he hadn\u2019t died. Recovery and prosthetic given time. And no, it wasn\u2019t my fault. Nothing you could do, nothing you could do. I\u2019d heard those words from the accident investigator and the zoom therapist, Marcie, or was it Madi. She was young, younger than me, with a nose ring, the kind that went under, and pink hair. I was put on two weeks paid leave with two mandatory counseling sessions. I could only half hear her, the sounds rocketed through my head as she talked.<\/p>\n
They alternated in emphasis. On some days, the thud was the worst, a gong inside my head, my gait unsteady as I walked to the bathroom. On others, it was the screams melding into one, as if hot metal flew from the girl\u2019s voice. And in the moments between consciousness and sleep, the rubber sound would resonate, the promise of the cycle restarting, icy heat on my neck, my balls in my stomach.<\/p>\n
I could request more sessions. For what? How can a man who\u2019s hearing things be fit to drive a bus?<\/p>\n
There were realities to confront. I\u2019d only been at it six months and I was now out of vacation time. Rent was due in two weeks. Avril insisted on paying half even though my salary was much more than her PhD stipend. My savings would cover my half for a month or two, but that was it.<\/p>\n
Avril had been everything and more. She\u2019d fed me, rubbed my back, played The Gypsy Kings to push back against the sounds. But I see could the strain in her eyes. When? When? I\u2019d tried normal. Two weeks in she\u2019d driven me to the pool\u2014no way I was getting behind the wheel. I\u2019ll run some errands while you do your laps she said. I tried. Or maybe I did. I pushed back the sounds and put my suit on. I got into the water, the usual lifeguard giving me a smile. But I was heavy, so heavy. My arms were lead, my legs concrete. I dogpaddled to the ladder and hauled myself up. Then I sat in the sauna until she came to pick me up. She was smiling. It was okay I said, kinda hard. That\u2019s normal she said, you\u2019ll get it back. Can I take you out to lunch, she said. I had to say no, all I wanted was bed.<\/p>\n
A week later she got into bed with me naked, her toned body firm against mine. I wanted to but I couldn\u2019t. It was a screaming day. She tried for a while then got up without saying anything. She came back \u2013dressed in court clothing. I got a game she said. She loved Padel, a strange racket game popular in Europe. For her birthday I\u2019d used half a paycheck to get her a six month membership. She was so happy. She told me I should join. I\u2019m a swimmer I said. I went to watch once. All those Italian men with their perfect hair and smooth accents. But I wasn\u2019t really worried. Avril told me from the go, if she had a problem with me, she\u2019d be gone and she expected the same in return.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t worried then. But now? She hinted at other jobs, asked me if I could get my old job back. Bowling alley repair guy. It was a good job but so boring. It was also loud, always loud. Maybe loud enough to beat back the sounds.<\/p>\n
I looked at my phone, tomorrow would be a month. I would get up then. I would shower, I would shave. I would drive the car. I would call the school district and tell them what I was going to do. I would look for other jobs if need be. I would \u2013<\/p>\n
\u201cFrankie!!!\u201d<\/p>\n
My cousin Temo. We were both only children so we were like brothers. He was the only one who called me that. It\u2019d been so long I forgot where he got it from. Some TV show maybe.<\/p>\n
Fuck, he was here. Last week he came by and told me to man up. All while looking at Avril like a wolf eying a rabbit. He wanted her bad. She\u2019d had to elbow him in the ribs\u2014hard\u2014when he\u2019d put his hand on her thigh at the sushi bar a while back. As if I wasn\u2019t on the other side of her. And now he was here. Was I?<\/p>\n
\u201cGet your ass up, Nana\u2019s here.\u201d Nana, our Nana? Our Nana didn\u2019t leave the house. Or hadn\u2019t since Uncle Lucky\u2019s third wedding which was\u2014\u201cJesus, it stinks in here. Get the fuck up.\u201d Temo burst into room, filling it with cologne and nervous energy. \u201cWash your ass!\u201d He beat his palm against his thigh\u2014he was always doing shit like that – and glared at me. \u201cShe wants to see you. I\u2019ll bring her to the living room.\u201d He beat his leg harder.<\/p>\n
I got up. And did wash my ass. And face. And put on a button-down shirt and chinos. Nana was here.<\/p>\n
She was in the hardback chair next to the loveseat. Avril had brought her a glass of water. She and Temo flanked Nana like sentinels in front of the magistrate. \u201cSit,\u201d Nana said, gesturing to the love seat.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think we\u2019d better go,\u201d Temo\u2019s voice cracked as if he were fourteen again. He shot Avril a look. She nodded. I heard the front door shut as I sat.<\/p>\n
I looked at Nana. Though I\u2019d never been scared of her like Temo, for a woman a shade under five feet she was imposing. Her steel grey eyes matched the shock of hair which flowed to her waist. She wore a blue blouse and yellow track pants that looked new but then again, I hadn\u2019t seen her in a month. Avril had seen her and of course Temo\u2019s mouth ran like diarrhea so she had to know what was going on with me. She rubbed her left knee. I knew this outing had to be an exertion for her, her physical health had not been good for some time. She opened her mouth but only to let her tongue trace her bottom lip as if she\u2019d left a drop of hot sauce there. Then she took a drink of water. Then she spoke.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know how many bombs the United States dropped on us?\u201d I\u2019d heard the statistic many times but couldn\u2019t remember the exact number. I shook my head. \u201cA lot,\u201d she said, \u201cway more than they dropped in Vietnam and we weren\u2019t even at war with them according to the history books. Ever heard of the \u2018Laos War\u2019?\u201d Again, I shook my head. \u201cNow I live in this goddamn country. What does that mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t either. I\u2019m just an old woman trying to stay alive. I don\u2019t know why that either.\u201d I wanted to say or do something but I didn\u2019t. She wasn\u2019t a hugging type of Nana. \u201cYou know,\u201d she went on, \u201cit\u2019s been fifty years, but I still hear those bombs. Every day.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou never me told me that,\u201d I said. \u201cIt sounds awful.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou get used to it. Not as awful as the ones I can\u2019t hear. There\u2019s always bombs. They just move around the world.\u201d She shook her head. I\u2019d been mostly tuned out but knew enough to know the situation in Gaza was bad. Nana watched the news faithfully.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s terrible,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou like those kids?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKids?\u201d I said, thinking about Gaza.<\/p>\n
\u201cKids on the bus,\u201d she said, her tone impatient.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, yes, I like them.\u201d It was true. I missed them and their crazy middle school energy.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet me my bag,\u201d she pointed toward the kitchen.<\/p>\n
On the counter, I expected to see her lime green purse but instead there was a larger black bag, like a small airplane carry-on. Nana hadn\u2019t flown in decades. It was heavier than I thought it would be and I placed it gently in her lap. She opened it slowly and presented me with an oddly narrow shoebox, some brand I didn\u2019t know, maybe women\u2019s heels. I turned it over trying to understand. \u201cOpen it,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The lid was snug and I almost dropped it. Then I almost dropped it again when I saw what was inside. Bills, crisp $100 bills, five small bricks each one with a rubber band around it. I looked up at my Nana.<\/p>\n
\u201c50 K,\u201d Nana said. \u201cYour inheritance. And from Pop-pop too.\u201d My grandfather had died about five years before. Then she must have read my mind because she added, \u201cI\u2019m not dead, but I think you need it now.\u201d She went on, \u201cDon\u2019t worry about Temo\u201d\u2014this mind-reading was getting freaky \u2013\u201che\u2019ll get his when he needs it. He doesn\u2019t need it now.\u201d That was true. Temo was managing a successful Jiffy Lube franchise and doing quite well, the quickness implied in the business a perfect match for his personality.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what to say. I mean, thank you.\u201d My throat felt dry, the box heavy in my hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s okay. I was thinking,\u201d now she rubbed her other knee, \u201cif you like those kids so much, maybe you should go to teacher school.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at this woman, the woman responsible for 25% of my DNA. Not only had she managed to put away 100K, but she seemed to know my thoughts as well as I did. A few weeks before the accident, Avril and I had discussed my entering a credential program after she finished her doctorate. I had an English degree and an education minor, maybe I\u2019d enjoy teaching middle schoolers as much as driving them around. \u201cYeah,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd think about a ring,\u201d she said, taking a glance at the simple gold band on her shriveled finger. I knew she thought Avril was above my league and that I should propose to her as soon as possible. \u201cWell then, that\u2019s it,\u201d Nana said. \u201cI\u2019m tired now, can you drive me home? And go to the bank after, no good to have all this cash lying around.\u201d For the first time, she gave me the smallest hint of a smile.<\/p>\n
I looked over at the kitchen. The car keys were on the hook. I thought about getting behind the wheel. The sounds started, all of them. I put the box down next to me and stood slowly, my knees shook a bit. I closed my eyes as if that would block out the screaming. I saw something falling. Oblong objects. Balloons? No, that wasn\u2019t right. Then it came to me. Bombs. My Nana\u2019s bombs were falling inside my eyelids. Soundlessly. I opened my eyes. Nana was safe, looking at me expectantly.<\/p>\n
I bent down and kissed her cheek. \u201cYes, I can drive you.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The sounds, always the four sounds. I\u2019d been in bed for the better part of a month and they wouldn\u2019t leave me alone. Rubber slapping rubber made a whoosh. Then metal scraping asphalt in a scream. Then his head hitting the ground with a hollow thud. Then another scream. The girl behind me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":20803,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[3668],"class_list":["post-20328","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-francoisbereaud-com-fbereaud","writer-francois-bereaud"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20328","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=20328"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20328\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20804,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/20328\/revisions\/20804"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/20803"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=20328"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=20328"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=20328"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}