Stuck in Neutral Read Free Page B

deck. Dad noticed it there, still half full of melting ice cubes and reddish-brown liquid. Suddenly Dad grabbed the glass and in one frantic, violent motion threw it hard at the crow. “Asshole,” Dad grunted again as ice cubes and tea soared out, arcing into the air, and the glass, as if shot from a cannon, flew toward the crow.
    The throw had such force that Dad nearly lost his balance. The glass hit the wire, exploding, no more than a foot or two from where the crow perched. Glass showered down onto the pavement below, and the crow quickly unfolded itself; with more of a screech than a caw, it disappeared over the neighbors’ rooftops.
    Dad watched the crow fly away, looked at the broken glass on the pavement, and breathed deeply and slowly, as if trying to quiet and steady himself.
    He turned to me and spoke, the rage in his tone gone, replaced by a sad, slow, tired voice. “What if I hadn’t been here?” I could hear his fear. “What if your mom ran in to grab that phone, planning to only be gone a minute or two, and that devil had taken your eyes while she was gone?” He paused again, breathing deeply. “You can’t protect yourself at all! How can your mother or I or anybody ever keep you safe? My God, Shawn, you’ll never be safe. How can we protect you? You’re helpless.” He turned away and spoke. “Hopeless.” Then he added, so softly I could barely hear, “Maybe you’d be better off if I ended your pain?”
    We sat there quietly, and I thought about what my dad had said. I had no idea what he meant, but it made me feel strange and a little nervous, so I tried to put it in the back of my mind.
    Mom finally came back onto the deck after she was through on the phone.
    â€œThat was for Paul,” she said to Dad; then, looking at him, she asked, “Are you all right?”
    â€œNo,” Dad said quietly, “not exactly. No, I’m not all right at all.”
    Mom and Dad kept talking. Mom never asked about her iced tea; Dad never mentioned the crow.
    But as I listened to them visiting, I knew that my dad does love me. It’s just my condition that freaks him out, that and my seizure thing.
    Did I mention that I have grand mal seizures, anywhere from half a dozen to about a dozen every day? Ever since I was born I’ve had them. When my dad said that thing about ending my pain, he must have meant my seizures. When I was little, they were painful and hard to live with. A big seizure just kind of grabs the inside of your skull and squeezes. It feels as if it’s twisting and turning your brain all up and down and inside out. Have you ever heard a washing machine suddenly flip into that bang-bang-bang sound when it gets out of balance, or a chain saw when the chain breaks and gets caught up in the gears, or an animal, like a cat, screeching in pain? Those are what seizures felt like when I was little. When I first started having them, I felt like a machine breaking or an animal with my guts spilling out. When I was young, my seizures were really terrible.
    And it was back then, when I was little and the seizures were so bad, that my dad was still around. He used to see me having seizures, hold me while I spazzed out, twisted up, jerked all around, and screamed. I remember when I was about four years old, in the month or so before he left our family, I’d see his face after I’d come back from a seizure and he’d be holding me and his eyes would be so sad-looking. He couldn’t stand to see me go through pain. He couldn’t bear it. He still can’t. But I think it’s getting worse. It’s like he’s going to explode just like that glass did. This incident last week with the crow is the first time I’ve ever seen Dad act like that. It’s so out of character for him, for how I see him and for how the world sees him.
    In ways Dad is nothing like he appears to be on all those TV talk shows, and