Would You Read Free Page A

dry dirt and tied on with string. I don't even want to think about what if the string breaks. He's got yellowy nails that curl over the end of his toes like he's some prehistoric reptile.
    He comes at 11:59 for the noon lap swim and takes ten minutes to get down the ladder. Then it takes him fifteen to paddle his way from this end of the pool to the other. We call him Driftwood. We take bets on his time. He's so slow it's mesmerizing. I've been tricked more than once into thinking he's dead in the water. He stops moving and floats along, as if there's a current. And I'm going, Please no, I have to do mouth-to-mouth on Driftwood?
After Work
    I go to Audrey's after my job, before her job. We have an hour to lie in her backyard as naked as we can get, wearing screw-you-ozone oil, SPF 4. Zack's not here because he's digging in somebody's garden or serving ice cream. So it's just us, hanging.
    “If I had my eyebrows shaved off completely,” I say, “I'd have such a great tan line.”
    “Mmmm,” says Audrey. “Let's consider that for our initiation ceremony.”
    “Initiation to what?”
    “To our club.”
    “What club?”
    “Let's start a club.”
Who's Hot, Who's Not
    The guy next door turns on his lawn mower and Audrey groans.
    “Mr. Buckle is pornographically fixated on his lawn,” she says. “I'm not kidding, every Saturday, he gets practically horizontal to pick up twigs.”
    “And you call him Buckle because?”
    “His belt buckle is always open, swear to God. I'll give you five dollars if you look over that fence right now and his buckle is done up.”
    “I'm not risking it,” I say. “But isn't he the guy with Hot Jimmy for a son? The boy who works the bar at O'Dooleys?”
    “He's not as hot as the new Pizza Shack guy,” says Audrey, flipping over. “And definitely not hot enough to overcome the idea of ever having a conversation with his father.”
    “Are parents really relevant?” I ask.
    “Parents are
so
relevant,” says Audrey. “How else are you going to know if the guy will be bald someday?”
    “Bald is so wrong,” I agree.
    “And don't you think parents should be considered when selecting a life mate?” says Audrey. “What about Thanksgiving?”
    “Whoa! That question is loaded with flaws.”
    “As in?”
    “You don't select a mate the way you choose a shampoo, Audrey. They're not all lined up in front of you at the same time displaying themselves for possible selection. And why are you using the phrase
life mate?
There shouldn't even be such a thing.”
    “Too true,” says Audrey. “Who wants to be stuck with the same guy?”
    “For
life”
I say.
“Forever.
All you have to do is look at any of our parents to know what a pointless concept it is.”
    “My point exactly,” says Audrey.
    “What? That parents are relevant?”
    “Yes.”
    “As the lowest rung of comparison, maybe.”
What If
    “What if,” says Audrey. “What if I got turned into an insect but you could hear me speak and I was still the same person, but I was an insect.”
    “What kind of insect?”
    “Something benign.”
    “A praying mantis?”
    “Sure.” Audrey rolls over and lunges for the sunblock.
    “Well, I'd keep you in my room … on my dresser, maybe, so you could see in the mirror. And I'd talk to you. But it really wouldn't be the same.”
    “No kidding.”
Worst Words
    “What's your all-time worst word?” Audrey starts a new game.
    “No discussion. The worst word is
moist. Moist!
Could anything be more explicit?
Mmmmooyysssst.”
    “Ew!” says Audrey. “And I hate
mustache
, don't you? Isn't that just nasty? I hate the thing and I hate the word.”
    “How about a moist mustache?” I say. “The bald gynecologist had a moist mustache.”
    “Ew!”
    “Oh, and another one,” I say.
“Dangling.
What about
dang-guh-ling?
”
    “Ew! Ew! Extreme ew!”
    Audrey has to get ready for work. Her uniform, naturally, is at the Ding-Dong, but she combs her hair.
Getting Ready Again
    Probably