Читать книгу No U Turn - Michael Taylor - Страница 4
Mike’s House
ОглавлениеMid June, 2010
A gentle and not unpleasant vibration near my groin complimented the attention I was giving to the attractive woman in the commercial. Begrudgingly, I dug the silver Motorola from my jeans pocket. Before flipping open the cover, I quickly glanced at the screen. This allowed me the delay needed to modify my behavior. Mildly disturbed by the unforeseen interruption, I faked my best and most pleasant “Hey, Boogie! How are you doing?”
After a little banter that vaguely resembled an attempt at conversation, he eventually got to the purpose of his call. After 47 years of dealing with Ben, I have learned that he never calls just to say hello. This would be no exception.
“I have some vacation time coming up and wondered if I could visit for four—, or 5 days, sometime in the last two weeks in July?”
Before answering, I reflected on my wife’s rule: Always Ask Hannah. It has taken me over 30 years to remember to implement that imperative.
Hesitating only a moment, I offered lightheartedly, “Let me look at my social calendar”—an annual gift from friends in the UK that I mostly use to list my medical appointments. Inspecting it and my memory very carefully, I said, “Looks OK for me, but hold on and let me check with Hannah.” I should have studied the July picture of Conwy Castle, Gwynedd, Wales much longer.
Walking to the steps, I yelled upstairs for Hannah. Climbing quickly, while muffling the phone against my chest, “H, It’s Boogie. He wants to come visit for four—, to 5 days in late July. I checked our calendar and it’s clear. Have you got something going on that isn’t on there?”
After just a few seconds Hannah stuck her wet head around the corner of our bedroom door. Face-to-face with the crisp smell of soap and shampoo has always brought a provocative smile to my face. Hannah claims that it is more lascivious than anything else. Either way, it was soon neutralized as Hannah responded with neither enthusiasm nor bile, “Nothing that I can remember. Whatever you want to do!”
Returning to Ben, as I went downstairs out of Hannah’s hearing range, I raised the phone and said eagerly, “Boogie, it’s a go!” while simultaneously trying to think how to stall. I tried for a few more micro seconds to figure out the best approach by speaking bluntly, “With one condition.”
Warily he asked, “And what would that be?” After a brief pause to try and anticipate my demand, he said with fake humor, “I promise to smoke outside on the deck.”
“Oh, I know you will or Hannah will have both our heads.” Moving to continue before he could bale on the call or redirect the conversation away from my impending demand, I added candidly, “I’ve been wanting to write about you for about ten years and want to interview you.”
Silence.
To gain some momentum, I exaggerated just slightly, “I think you have led an unusual life and want to capture all of your funny stories. The ones Hannah and I have heard for years, plus the ones we missed. I know most of the rough facts from the parts of your life when we weren’t in close contact, but not the details.”
Silence.
Before completely losing him, and hoping his ego was considering the offer, I made my final pitch. “It will only take about two—, to 4 hours a day—at the most.”
Boogie’s muffled groan was clearly audible.
Hoping that the demand for something in return (for a change), plus the not too subtle flattery was sufficient, I asked cheerfully, “How does that sound? Not too difficult in return for room and board, I hope? And we’ll spread the interview around depending on how each of us feels. Based on past experience, I find that either from boredom or fatigue, or just the need for food and bathroom breaks, most people can only go for about 60-90 minutes per session. So, what do you think?”
“We’ll work something out,” said Boogie, without making any specific commitment and devoid of much conviction or passion. Following another silence, he eventually and not unexpectedly gave me his practiced, “Let me go. I have a customer walking in. I’ll call you when I’ve made arrangements,” and quickly hung up.
Sitting there a few seconds, I decided that nothing was going to come of that conversation. Another failed attempt on my part for getting him to show any humanity or decency. Getting up, I went to Hannah to share the conversation, knowing after thirty plus years that she often saw through the smoke screens of people and would come up with something revealing that I had missed.
Retelling the brief call (one could not really call it a conversation), Hannah quickly decided, “He’s up to something! He just doesn’t call for the heck of it. Probably won’t call back unless he needs something. Besides, it’s only June and he’ll change his mind or make other plans or just won’t show up. Don’t worry about it.”
“And if he does?”
“So he’ll come for a few days. No big deal. We’re used to his BS for a long time. And maybe he’ll cooperate and you may get the interview you want, anyway. It’s worth a try.”
She hadn’t finished before my cell again vibrated and rang. It hadn’t been ten minutes.
“All set. I got a great deal on a rental car and a really cheap flight on Air Tran and will arrive from Florida on Thursday afternoon August 5th and leave Wednesday the 10th.”
Dumbfounded at the finality of his plans, it was me who was briefly silent.
After Hannah and I had said ‘Yes,’ I was expecting him to research the details and get back to me in a few days—not get a call back almost immediately! And I never expected him to change the dates or the length of stay. Too many changes from our conversation. Too many places to yell ‘What the hell is going on?’ It overwhelms me every time. I always am astounded and speechless when someone is a Dumb Ass and says something totally startling. I just don’t respond well, let alone immediately, to rude or unnecessarily aggressive people.
I eventually said, “I know money is tight and I could pick you up and drop you off just to save you a few bucks.”
“No, I got a rental. It will be fine. See you then.”
“OK, see you then,” as I closed the phone’s lid.
“H, you won’t believe this!” I called out to Hannah as I climbed the stairs and stood in the doorway of the front bedroom. Converted to a guest room 8 years ago—with the departure of our now 30-year-old married son, David, and the recent addition of a computer—it had become a semi-office/work space for paying the bills. “Hannah, just to be sure … what dates did Benjamin say he wanted to come here and visit?”
For some reason Hannah’s Southern refinement and upbringing doesn’t allow her to call him ‘Boogie,’ and she always uses his given name. I occasionally try to accommodate her.
“For four—, or 5 days, sometime at the end of July. Why?” Hannah’s face tensed sharply in anticipation of some unanticipated change. She is quicker than me when it comes to setting up defenses and preparing for bad news or unforeseen changes to her plans.
“Well, that was Ben. He called to confirm that he had just purchased non-refundable tickets starting the first week in …August. For six nights!”
“I knew it. He’s up to something. It was too convenient that he asked for one date and in a few minutes has a confirmed reservation that doesn’t match the original two-week window. I’ll bet he was sitting at a computer waiting ‘til we said OK then hit the purchase button based on price rather than dates. What a cheapskate! It’s always about money. I just know he has another agenda up his sleeve for wanting to come here.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Boogie called me three weeks later. “Meant to tell you, I’m still coming, but I will be staying at a motel the first two nights.”
Small shock, but not really surprised at another change in his story, I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Well, I just heard that someone was suing me, and that a Hearing is being held early Friday morning. So I’ll just stay out near the airport Thursday night.”
“What do you mean, ‘You just heard’?”
“Well I just changed stores again and moved and even though I haven’t received a subpoena, I figured I better show up to clear up things instead of asking for a postponement or be held in contempt.”
“Oh, that explains everything,” I said, trying to disguise my bad attitude with just a slight rise in voice. Asking a little louder, “Tell me again why you are being subpoenaed?”
“I’m being sued.”
“Well, are we going to play ‘Twenty-Questions’ or are we going to my friend the dentist and try and pull teeth to get some more information?” I asked acerbically.
Not missing a beat, or just oblivious to my intended insult, Boogie immediately answered, but in a shockingly straightforward and factual way, “He says I owe him $20,000.”
“Do you?”
A brief silence followed.
With no clear ‘Yes’ or ‘No,’ Boogie just went on with his version of the truth, as if he never heard my question. “Before—when I left Maryland—the attorney told me to run up all my credit cards to the max, then declare Bankruptcy. The credit card companies have left me alone, but this guy wants his money.”
≈ It’s amazing how, when he gets caught in a lie—or a truth concealed—by someone asking the wrong question—or not wording the question just right—he answers in a normal tone of voice, never admitting his lie or mistake. He merely responds as if it’s just time to move on. Mystifying! ≈
“Does he have a Cousin Guido?” I kidded.
Laughing, “No, or he wouldn’t be taking me to Court. He’d be taking me for a ride.”
“And Friday night?”
“I have to check on my house in Bowie, so tell Hannah I won’t be needing a bed until Saturday.”
“I just want to remind you that I need time to interview you. I’ve spent about fifty—, to 60 hours researching and buying the right recorder and figuring out its compatibility with voice files and speech recognition software, microphones, headphones and Dragon Speak. Because my typing sucks, I thought it would be fun to record you then play it back slowly, while I repeated your words, letting DNS type my dictation. Easier for me to correct and edit after I get it roughed out.”
I knowingly used initials and some other jargon that I hoped would be unknown to him, just to see if he was listening. I wasn’t disappointed. There is a certain amount of satisfaction in being right, even if it is about anticipating someone’s bad attitude or inappropriate behavior.
No questions, no comments, no more conversation. Just silence. I had experienced this before with Boogie, when he didn’t want to disclose his agenda—when he didn’t want to cooperate, give up something personal, or contribute anything of himself. Something definitely was going on. He wasn’t going to share it. He was using Hannah and me again, but this time I had a surprise. A ‘Sting,’ if you please. I was going to play along. Hannah knew my plan, too. We were going to let him come, be on guard, hide the cash and jewelry, but pretend to be nice. Everything apparently normal, as usual! But I was going to record his answers to what I intended to be some very personal questions.
I ended the conversation with a brief, “I’ll make sure she gets the message.”
And I did.
Afterwards, Hannah again had that ‘I-just-smelled-a-dead-skunk’ look on her face, just like when we had driven past some road kill in Montana or the Carolina’s. Scrunching up her nose and pursing her lips in that intense ‘Bewitched’ way of hers, she said, “I am definitely calling him to see what’s going on.”
And she did—off by herself in the living room.
When she was through, she came into the TV room and began her report with a cute I-knew-it smirk on her face. Twenty thousand dollars was really $130,000! It seemed that besides the man who was suing him for $20,000, he owed several others an additional $110,000. They hadn’t gotten around to suing or had, hopefully, just written him off.
~~~~~~~~~~
I spoke to Boogie the next day. It was to let him know that H had filled me in and to make sure he understood that our calls to him were to make certain that he wasn’t bringing his difficulties to our home. ”No problem,” he said softly.
~~~~~~~~~~
Sixteen days before his intended date of arrival, Boogie called.
~~~~~~~~~~
Ten days before his intended date of arrival, Boogie called again.
~~~~~~~~~~
≈ Boy, he must be in some big trouble! ≈
~~~~~~~~~~
Five days before his intended date of arrival, Boogie called once again.
~~~~~~~~~~
≈ I‘VE SEEN THIS BEFORE rang loud in my head—this type of uncertainty, desperation … repeatedly calling me at two—, or 3 o’clock in the morning, high on something and not noticing or caring about time zone differences, thrown out of California by Court Order and needing to be reassured that there would be an airplane ticket waiting for him at LAX and a place to crash with me in Norfolk ≈
~~~~~~~~~
The day before he was to arrive, Boogie called to again confirm that we were expecting him. He waited until I said, “Yes, the room is still available,” before he threw in an additional and novel twist. Court apparently was going to be postponed until October 1, so I should “Tell Hannah that [he would] be needing that bed starting Thursday night!”
≈ What a surprise, Boogie! Your plans change and we’re supposed to jump! ≈
“Boogie, that’s not going to happen!” I knew that he wasn’t going to back out of the trip at this point. And I knew I wanted to get the interview and tape his stories. Although I needed to speak carefully, it was going to be from a position of control. “I just want to let you know that when you weren’t expected to arrive until Saturday, we ‘rented’ the spare room out for Thursday and Friday to my niece, Cathy and her husband. They’ll be leaving early Saturday morning.” [Nick is really my nephew and Cathy is his wife, but I like her better and it’s an inside joke when I introduce them to others that way.]
Unflappable Ben said, “It’s OK, I just need a sofa.” End of call.
~~~~~~~~~
Hannah later suggested inflating the airbed and putting it in the basement. Fine with me. I remembered he liked it cold anyway. So the basement, with the air mattress placed only 10 feet from the furnace room—where the air would blow the coldest—was selected as the place where Boogie would bunk. At least for the first few nights.
~~~~~~~~~
On Tuesday night, after shopping for food, picking up the house, vacuuming the carpets and cleaning three bathrooms in anticipation of the arrival of Boogie, our nephew, and Hannah’s father—Grandpa Waverly—who decided at the last minute to drive ‘up North’ from Virginia Beach with his grandson Nick and his wife, Cathy—a very full 4-bedroom house when combined with the five existing residents—Hannah broke out in a rash!
After a night of Benadryl-induced sleep, and with the family doctor off on Wednesdays, Hannah drove herself and her histamine-induced Botox-looking lips, hives and scratching to the local hospital’s ER. They discharged her 7 hours later with a diagnosis of allergic something-or-other of ‘undetermined origin.’
The Thursday morning of everyone’s expected arrival, having been up most of the night with swollen lips and a rash, including welts on her back, stomach and arms, Hannah woke me at 6:30 a.m. to say she was driving herself to the ER, and taking my 91 year old mother, Edith, along for company, sympathy and to protect her against all the drugs she is allergic to.
Given that she was a frequent, repeat and valued customer—the ER immediately gave Hannah a forced rest with Prednisone, etc. Six hours later, the hospital admitted her for overnight observation of her angioedema and urticaria.
~~~~~~~~~~
With 3 empty spaces on my driveway, plus ample on-street parking available, Boogie pulled up the ramp and stopped behind the white Honda at approximately 1:30 p.m. I hadn’t actually heard or seen him drive up, but was alerted to his arrival by the darting brindle-blur of Rocket, my youngest son’s 55-pound English Bulldog.
≈ ‘But Dad, it’ll only be for a few months. Just until he is house-trained and then Leah and I can move into an apartment without worrying that he is destroying the place while we are at work,’ said Darin—That was 4 ½ years ago ≈
Next, I became immediately aware of a conflict about to erupt even before Boogie set foot in the house. Darin’s beautiful Filipino-American girlfriend was dressed for her part-time job. With a harried look, Leah complained out loud—I didn’t take it personally—how late she was, before yelling over her shoulder in frustration, “I can’t believe he blocked me in with all the other room to park!”
There wasn’t enough time to explain to her that Boogie couldn’t possibly know that she was working as a waitress in Bethesda, developing her own baking and cake-decorating business in our dining room and kitchen, while simultaneously student-teaching and going to graduate school for her certificate, which didn’t allow for a lot of sleep. So I went out and asked Boogie to please park on the street so that Leah could get to her waitress job on time. In her rush to leave, Leah almost reversed into his front fender before he had completely—and slowly—finished backing down the slope.
Turning back, I returned to the house to alert Hannah and my mother of Boogie’s arrival. I stopped short at our bedroom door when I remembered that Hannah was still at the ER. With no cell phone usage allowed, I hadn’t heard from Hannah since she woke me on her way out at 7 a.m. When I came down the steps to greet him, I noticed that although he had parked parallel to the house, he had placed most of his car on our grass and only some on the street, as I had requested.
≈ Well, he got half of it right. This will get Hannah agitated before Boogie even puts his bags down. Maybe I should have been more specific, like, ‘Park on the street, not on the grass.’ Thinking too much already! He’s not here 5 minutes and already I‘m playing What-If and trying to balance a houseful of personalities. ≈
I showed Boogie to his ‘room’ in the finished basement, inflated and helped him make up the air bed with the sheets and pillow case that Hannah had already piled on the coffee table sometime in the middle of the night or before she went off to the hospital. As I stood with one foot on the first step, holding the rail—before returning to the first floor and my book—I asked him to please use the shower and sink in the basement bathroom until after Nick, Cathy and Grandpa Waverly leave early Saturday morning and he ‘transferred’ from the basement into David’s old bedroom on the second floor.
I left Boogie to his own devices and decided, instead of reading any more Ray Bradbury, to go to my bedroom to get my digital recorder checked out and set up. Fifteen minutes later I left my room with my recording equipment and barely noticed the sound of water or the light coming from under the door of the second floor hall bathroom—next to Darin and Leah’s room.
Between Leah’s crazy—demanding and ever-changing—schedule, and Darin working out, making deliveries, shopping for merchandise, or going out with his friends, their shower and bathroom can be occupied at any time of day.
When I came down the steps, on my way to the kitchen, I passed the room where my youngest son conducted his burgeoning eBay business—our former computer room and library—and immediately noticed the invisible steam coming out of his ears. Even without the benefit of his eye contact, I was met head-on and blasted with, “I can’t believe him. Haven’t even seen him yet and he’s already pissing me off. I was the one who asked mom to keep him out of our bathroom!”
Completing the final two steps of my journey to the kitchen, I patiently tried to sort out the source of Darin’s anger from the minimal number of pronouns, verbs and general lack of specific information supplied. I also attempted to postpone my response and minimize facial ‘tells.’ My control was rewarded when my athletic, 27-year-old (Magna cum laude) psychology graduate spat out, “What is wrong with Boogie! Doesn’t he understand that girls prefer some privacy and wouldn’t want to share their shower let alone the toilet seat with a 60-year old man if they can help it.” The last sentence was tossed over his shoulder as he left the kitchen, thus saving me the need for asking specifically what was wrong and limiting the need for further discussion. I saw no point in speaking to his retreating back to tell him that I had received the message earlier, that ‘mom’ and I had already discussed the shower issue, and that I had dutifully and politely passed on the request to Boogie.
≈ I think Hannah went to the ER on purpose! ≈
When my phone rang soon after that last thought, I immediately looked outside to see if the sky was clouded over. Hannah’s ESP always works better when the sky is overcast; especially when I am either talking or thinking negatively about her. She has a perfect record if I am speaking to another woman, even 3000 miles away.
She called to tell me that because there were no hospital rooms available, she had been wheeled around to and parked in the pediatric wing of the ER. She gave me her QVC order.
At 4 p.m. Boogie drove me over to the hospital in his rental to deliver the underwear, deodorant, toothbrush and the latest Michael Connelly murder mystery—Oh yes … I also went there to retrieve my mother, spend some time with Hannah in the ER and bring our SUV back home—rather than leave it in the ER Visitors Lot, where it had been since 6:45 a.m. She was not happy about being seen disheveled and gowned and vulnerable; confined there by wires and IVs.
In retrospect, I guess I should have asked Boogie to wait in the triage room, but I sensed that he was uncomfortable around sick people and crying children. Later H told me that the smell of cigar smoke on his clothes was overwhelming in the normally disinfected environment.
I know it seems that I had been more considerate of Boogie than Hannah, but—as I later explained to H: “I could have asked him to wait outside, but that clearly would have been rude and he had just arrived and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to interview him. I could have asked him to go home and wait for me, but I didn’t want to hand him a key and I wasn’t positive that Darin would still be there to let him in—or more accurately, to keep an eye on him. I could have asked him to take my mother home, while I stayed with Hannah, but my mother is easily conned by most people and Boogie has been known to be a very capable and professional liar. Besides, I did not want to later accuse her of negligence by making Boogie her responsibility should anything turn up missing.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Old prejudices don’t die easily. But it was more like past experiences with Boogie and money and jewelry and drugs that made me take him with me instead of leaving him alone in the house. Once, while he and his parents were driving me to O’Hare—I can’t remember why I was there, except possibly to catch a return flight from a business-related educational conference and had taken the opportunity to see my aunt and uncle after many years—before their own car journey back to Miami—they had been visiting their oldest son, Lenny and his young family—Uncle Harry was fighting with Boogie over something and attempted to drag me into the conversation by asking what I thought of “their Ben.” I don’t know where it came from, but I blurted out, “Hide the money and jewelry before he visits.”
My aunt had muffled a laugh, but my Uncle Harry slowly shook a lowered head and said sadly, “Ben, that’s a hell of a thing—coming from your own cousin.”
Luckily this took place on the now backed-up and gridlocked departure ramp. I remember taking the opportunity to exit the highly charged atmosphere, removed my bag from the trunk and began to worm my way through the obstacle course of awkwardly parked cars and people rushing to make their planes on this crowded 4th of July Weekend. This was before wheels were on suitcases and it was a difficult 200-yard struggle, with frequent stops and switching of hands, to drag my bag to the Sky Cap check-in line—only to find that almost all flights were delayed by at least an hour. I never looked back to see where they were, but still remember being able to hear my Uncle Harry. He wasn’t saying anything pleasant.
This may have taken place in 1974 right before I moved to Norfolk and my new job in September ’75. Boogie had just come back from California to Florida and his parents had forced him to come to Chicago with them for the same reason I didn’t leave him alone at my house while visiting Hannah: complete lack of trust.
~~~~~~~~~~
After the admitting doctor showed up to examine and officially confirm the earlier ER doc’s decision to keep Hanna overnight, we were unceremoniously, and without any bedside manner, told—NOT asked—to leave by the ‘Lisa Cuddy’ look alike.
Hannah called later to tell me that a vacancy had finally showed up on someone’s computer and, having been in the ER since before 7 a.m., she would finally be moving to a room—at 9 p.m. that night.
~~~~~~~~~~
Allowing him ample time to ‘chill’ after his arrival, Boogie had managed to sit around and basically do nothing except create future problems. He apparently couldn’t wait to throw his 275 lbs. into Hannah’s favorite wicker chair in the mesh-screened gazebo located on the deck outside of the TV room. From there, with his feet comfortably propped up on the footstool, he proceeded to leisurely smoke his cigars and flick the ashes on top of both the live miniature palm and the artificial ivy and geraniums. I offered an ash tray, but was unceremoniously waived away with a cigar-filled hand and a, “This will be fine.”
Even before I walked out on the deck, I had passed our Backgammon table in the TV room and seen where Boogie had put jewelry on the expensive wood inlays. When I came inside from the cigar visit, I placed a 5” x 5” piece of cork—that we usually used under hot serving dishes—on the inner board of the game’s playing area; and rearranged his watch and ring—taking them off the wood and carefully placing them on top of the cork—hoping he would get the message.
A few hours later, the ring was still on the cork square, but the watch was back on the walnut board. I picked up Boogie’s expensive gold watch and returned it to the protective cork, next to his ruby pinky ring.
While Boogie slept on the deck for several hours more, I took the opportunity to place a second piece of cork on the game board and repositioned his jewelry on top of the two squares. Later, while he nodded on the sofa in front of the TV, I silently moved 2 bottles of prescription medicine—the newest items to appear on the wood—as well as the ring that was now squeezed in between the 2 squares of cork—back to what I hoped would become their permanent resting place for the duration of his visit.
Now, sufficiently aggravated to justify my intention of concocting my favorite ‘comfort food,’ I marched to the kitchen with purpose. I opened up the Frige, anticipating the reverie that would be induced by the rich smooth drink—a mixture of Pepsi, milk and Bosco Chocolate Syrup—my homemade Philadelphia-bred version of a NY Egg Cream soda. Instead, I discovered several bottles of insulin, carelessly placed high on the left side of the door—precariously balanced on top of the Bonne Maman Cherry Preserves—together with Boogie’s needles, wedged next to the can of whipped cream.
~~~~~~~~~~
Nick, Grandpa Waverly and I picked up a couple of trays of Ledo Pizza for an early dinner—because my nephew, father-in-law and Darin were planning a 7:00 a.m. Tee-off on Friday. With Hannah in the hospital, I was left out of their plans. Surprisingly, 125-pound Nick—who somehow managed to be 6’ 3” tall, while continuing to feast on his childhood diet of sugar and hotdogs—liked the large Meat Lover’s special. His wife, Cathy—with a perfect smile, nice curves (even after giving birth) and a warm, agreeable personality—was easier to please and a welcome houseguest. To Grandpa, quality meant little and his perpetual attempts at dieting over the last 30 years meant even less. Even though he had paid for the meal—he has always been a generous man with his time and whatever money he had—he waited patiently for his share of the pizza. My mother was treated to a few pieces and a portion of salad by Cathy and Leah, to save her the entanglement and clash of longer arms and hands battling for little prizes of food. Watching the chaos of family members reaching and pulling apart square cuts of hot cheese, I had to quietly warn Boogie to go easy on the medium Hawaiian pizza nearest him, because it was Darin’s favorite, and he had yet to return from some errand.
~~~~~~~~~~
After some moderate cajoling, every 30-60 minutes since his luggage was placed in the basement next to the air-mattress, Boogie reluctantly agreed to start the interview after dinner at around 6:30 p.m.
First we tried outside on the picnic table, where it was “too uncomfortable”. Then in the gazebo, where it was “comfortable, but too hot!” Boogie finally settled on the L-shaped sofas in the basement, where the soft cushions, temperature, humidity and air conditioning made the ‘porridge’ just right!
“So just start. Is the headset too tight?”
A shake of his head.
“Can you hear my questions OK out of your uncovered ear?”
Boogie nodded.
“Then, tell me all about yourself.”
“Let’s start with my accident,” began Boogie, with genuine interest.
After suddenly stopping to look down while starting to wring his very large hands together, Boogie visibly froze, then followed with, “You know I was kind of taken back, sorta speak, when you first brought up about recording me. From when I called about visiting. I know I didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear, but it’s kind of poy-son-nal.”
That was always an expression and a voice he used as his way of letting you know that he was embarrassed, without publicly admitting to it.
“And to tell you the truth—”
≈ Yes, for a change, please do! ≈
“—back around when my accident happened—in the ambulance or when I was waking up in the hospital—they said … or I felt like I had been talking to myself.”
“Well, I’m not sure I follow,” I said, pleased with his selection for a first topic, and not wanting Boogie to go off in a new direction or delay any further. He had already postponed starting for three—, or 4 hours since his arrival and chill-out time, and I anticipated that this would be the regimen during his entire stay.
Knowing that the sooner he began, the more quickly he would become comfortable—and hopefully get ‘carried away,’ as he was prone to do—and give me more than I asked for or could use. So I hastily added, “Let’s just start. Tell me about your accident.”
“OK, let’s start with my accident,” Boogie said agreeably.
