Fiction : Julie Sokolow
A Reservation off the Parkway
Donald burrowed his face under Jane’s arm and clamped his nose between her breasts. Jane’s nostrils whistled as she ran her nails through the curls of Donald’s hair, tracing circles in his scalp down to the folds of his neck. Donald wondered why the minutes before waking seemed estranged from the rest of his minutes. Only when the milky yellow light started to drift in did Jane’s wrinkles seem to unfurl and fingers become delicate. Donald gazed up at the crust in the corners of Jane’s eyelids and dragged the comforter up over their heads.
“What are you doing?” Jane muttered.
Donald exhaled warm fog and clutched her hips.
“You want to suffocate the both of us?” Jane said and kicked the comforter off the bed.
She squatted and yanked open the curtains. Donald squinted at the particles of light whizzing around Jane’s white underwear.
Donald thought Jane looked like a pelican as he sat in bed and watched her dress. Swooping under grey cotton, she tugged her tights up her legs with her jaw jutting out at him. Donald swam under the sheets and molded his knees into his stomach. His lips vibrated and spluttered.
“Are you humming?” she asked, gripping his shoulder and pressing her ear against his cheek. “What are you humming?”
“Don’t Worry, Be Happy.”
“You sound like a dying bumblebee.”
Donald’s humming dwindled to a low buzz as Jane shuffled through hangers in the closet.
“I’m not your mother,” Jane said and dropped a suit on Donald’s head.
He peered through his dress pants at Jane closing the door behind her.
Donald tucked his stomach under his belt and strapped suspenders over his chest. Jane had bought the suspenders for Donald on one of her mall trips. She had wrenched his belt out of the loops in his pants and told him that his gut sagged so much, it looked like it was frowning. She had said that suspenders were kind of like a corset for older men.
Donald stumbled down the stairs and leaned against the threshold of the kitchen. He crept up to the table and sat watching Jane climb the stepping stool up to the top shelf of the freezer. Jane had insisted on renovating the kitchen and now the refrigerator was taller than Donald. Something about its height and metallic shine made him nervous. At night, he wondered if anyone had ever been buried in a stainless steel refrigerator.
“Don’t think that this is for you,” Jane said as she lowered a white cake to the marble tabletop.
Ever since Donald had stopped running, Jane made sure he had become aware of his weight gain. Sometimes, she would tug on handfuls of his stomach and tell him he could use an abortion. Other times, she would stand up from the table when she was done eating and hover over Donald until he was done too.
Donald watched Jane’s dress swirl around her knees as she flung open the silverware drawer. She poked eight candles into the cake and Donald spread his elbows out on the table. He cupped his face in his hands.
“Am I boring you?” Jane asked.
Donald sat up. He looked out through the sliding doors at the shrubs and weeping willows. He wished there was a pool there instead. A deep end for him to dive into instead of flat land. Jane had said that she didn’t like the idea of a hole being dug out of her property.
“You look half dead,” Jane said.
“Then I must look half alive,” Donald muttered under his breath.
Donald pivoted his chair against the tile and watched Edith gallop in. Edith had frizzy red hair and breathed with her mouth open. Donald thought she looked primitive. Like she didn’t belong in a stainless steel kitchen. Some of the kids in school called her Chucky. Edith had never seen a horror movie, so she grew to like the nickname. Once, she even told Donald to call her by it. He had said he would as long as Jane wasn’t around.
“Happy Birthday, Edith,” Jane said, bending over the cake and lighting the candles. Donald peeked above the loose neck of Jane’s dress at the bones in her chest. Edith sat across from Donald with her freckled arms spread out on the table. Jane inched a placemat towards Edith until her arms fell into her lap.
Jane sang and Donald mouthed the words. Jane glared at Donald like he had altogether missed his cue. Whenever Jane looked at him he felt like he had forgotten something.
“Blow out the candles,” Jane said.
“Why?” Edith asked.
Jane crossed her arms.
“If you don’t, the house will burn down.”
Donald watched Jane nibble at the cookie crumbs that had fallen onto her plate. He bit down on his cake and felt the chocolate lodge in his teeth. He tried not to smile at Jane.
“I want to comb your hair after you eat,” Jane said to Edith.
“Why?” Edith asked.
“Because you look like a troll.”
Donald tried to smile at Edith. He remembered the time when Jane had told him that she wanted to dye Edith’s hair. Jane had said that most redheads were either Irish or had Down syndrome. Donald had wanted to say that he thought Jane should dye her hair red instead.
Donald had finished half of his slice and the rest was melting. He mixed the goop and sprinkles with his spoon.
“Not hungry?” Jane asked.
“Full,” Donald said.
“That’s unusual,” Jane said.
Edith smiled at Donald. Chocolate bits were wedged in the gaps between her teeth.
“Ready?” Donald asked Edith.
Donald opened the garage door and Edith grabbed her backpack from under the table. Donald scuttled to the driver’s side and Edith ran behind him.
“Can I sit in the front today?” she asked.
Donald stretched his seatbelt over his stomach.
“Don’t tell your mother.”
Donald steered the gold Mazda down the circular drive. The driver’s seat felt like a leather throne. It propped him up so that he had to wince and scrunch down to see through the side-view mirror. Jane had picked out the model and color. Donald wished he had told her how uncomfortable he felt driving a minivan that was dressed up as something else.
Edith sat in the passenger seat with her backpack strapped to her chest. She held out a compass on a keychain and traced the needle with her left eye wide open.
“What did you wish for?” Donald asked.
“I’m not supposed to tell.”
“That’s good. Keep it to yourself,” he said. He thought that if Jane had been driving, she would have said something else.
The minivan was gliding down the road bordered by the park’s wooden fence. Donald thought of the trail that looped up the hill and circled back to the main entrance. He remembered running the hill and wishing that it led somewhere. For a while, he had imagined it would lead to a cliff where he could sit cross-legged by a bonfire looking down at a stream of water near train tracks. He had stopped running when he realized he’d never get there.
“That’s where I used to run,” Donald said and pointed his finger against the glass.
“I know.”
“Your mom wants me to start up again.”
“Why?”
“She says I’m getting fat.”
“So.”
Donald looked at Edith squinting at her compass. He thought she looked like someone who was on an expedition.
“Where are we going?” Donald asked.
“The needle keeps spinning around.”
Donald pulled the minivan into a parking lot behind a lane of yellow buses. He peeked out the window and saw kids trudging over brown leaves and through revolving doors. Donald remembered how excited Edith had been when they first moved. When she had thought that Indian Hill Elementary was a school on a hill run by Native Americans. The school’s name had been borrowed from a reservation a few miles off the parkway. On the first day of school, Edith had run cross country with her gym class and ended up alone on the side of the road, running towards the exit for the reservation.
Edith unbuckled her seatbelt and looked at Donald. Her hair was still tangled and frizzy and her teeth were still speckled with chocolate. She climbed out of the car and skipped through a line of kids marching on the sidewalk. The other kids had slicked back hair and upright postures, but didn’t look like they knew where they were going.