long journeys across sand and wind and time. Felt his spirit reaching across lifetimes, across incarnations, felt freedom. This body only a dream.
The banging at his door, though, was not a dream, and finally he had to take off the headphones. Iâm coming, he yelled. Jesus. The worldâs not going to end if we donât have dinner.
He pulled up his underwear and shorts, then decided to put on jeans instead. Jeans could hide a boner. Just being near her heâd have a boner instantly. There was no stopping it.
Coming down the stairs, what he felt was dread, the same as any animal being led to slaughter. Meal of a Hundred Humiliations, he mumbled to himself, because it was better to give it a name in advance. That could take away some of its power. He moved slowly, his bare feet on the wood which was almost cool compared to the air.
Why are you wearing jeans? his mother asked.
Felt like it, he said. All three of them looking at his pants.
In this heat?
He sat down. A long, narrow table for twelve. He was in the middle, across from his cousin, only a few feet away. His mother and aunt farther away at the ends. They were already eating, piggies in a blanket. And theyâd put one on his plate, half a hot dog wrapped in dough, baked. Side dishes of ketchup and mustard.
You need to eat, his aunt said. Even your eyeballs are starting to stick out.
Galen closed his eyes. They were in an enormous hot valley, a dust bowl, the Central Valley of California, and what he hoped for was a twister, a hot, dry tornado that would build for three hundred miles and come through the walnut orchard to explode the house. His aunt and mother and cousin lifting in their chairs, winging through the air, shattered wood like shrapnel all around, the little piggies flung from their blankets.
Our heavenly father, his cousin said. Give us this day our cheeks and neck and other bits of flesh.
Stop that, Jennifer, Galenâs mother said.
I think we should pray that poor Galen be made whole again.
I said stop it.
Suzie-Q, his aunt said.
Fine, his mother said. I wonât reprimand your little angel, Helen.
Galen opened his eyes. Now that the crossfire had started, perhaps he was safe.
Thatâs rich, his aunt said. Galen will be at your tit until heâs fifty. Donât talk to me about coddling.
Galen smiled. He liked his aunt. She didnât hold back. He thought of himself clinging to his motherâs tit, tiny baby gums but an otherwise grown body. He laughed, and then he liked laughing, so he stretched and developed it a bit, chortled and added little yelps.
Okay, Galen. Thatâs enough, his mother said.
But Galen kept laughing, let it bubble forth, and somehow it fed itself and he was feeling much better, lighter and almost free.
His mother got up and left, and without her here to feed it, the laughter slowly wound down. He had tears in his eyes. Ah, he said. That felt good.
Youâre a freak, Jennifer said. But I kind of enjoyed that. You should consider the circus.
Weâre already in the circus.
His aunt smiledâor what was a smile for her, anyway, lips pulled straight backâand looked up toward the far corner of the ceiling, her arms folded. Well, she said. Well, well, well.
Galen looked down at the little piggy. He was vegetarian. He was also starving, deep cramps in creases that folded and stapled him from the inside. It hurt so much he had trouble sitting up straight. His mother knew he was vegetarian, and she had served him this. Red nub of hot dog poking out of dough. The side dishes condiments.
You do realize, his aunt said, that at some point youâll have to become something. Youâll have to go to school or get a job or do something. You canât remain a child forever.
I donât know if thatâs true, Galen said. Look at my mom, for instance.
His aunt laughed. Thatâs true, she said. That is true. Little Suzie-Q.
Youâre a trip, Galen said. I like
Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath