SO LONG

Third grade. Spring quarter. Sometime before Easter. Dad had just spent more money on a fixer-upper than he should've. It was at least three times the size of my birth-home and had a pool and carport, outdoor fireplace and stonework grill. The house was old and had been the birth-home to two boys and two girls. They had either moved on to college or had graduated and married and started families of their own. The house was a mile from my school. A white Georgian-style home on a hill surrounded by azaleas and dogwoods already in bloom. Dad and I spent our free time pulling up the shag carpet and stripping wall paper and dislodging nails and tacks and staples. We buffed floors. We painted walls. We hung drapes. He acted like I was helping him. I acted like I was helping him.

Up the street and across from school was a Shoney's Big Boy. When the house was rehabed and moved into, we went at least twice a week. All American Burger with the paper US Flag flying from the sesame seed bun. Slim Jim sandwich. Italian Feast. Liver & Onions. Salad Bar. Hot Fudge Cake. Strawberry pie with whipped topping. Waitresses in blue leather wallabees. They smelled like cigarettes and rosewater perfume. The last night we worked on the house before moving in Dad drove us up to Shoney's in the cutlass and got two pieces of strawberry pie to go. We sat on the brown booth seat waiting while a muzak version of "Stairway to Heaven" played. He drove us back to the house and plugged in a small black and white set and we watched Saturday Night Live while we ate the pie with plasticware from Styrofoam containers.

Jane Curtain and Chevy Chase doing the news. Dad laughed at a lot at jokes I didn't understand. I acted like I understood them and laughed along with him. He acted like I understood them and smiled at me. When he finished his pie he lit a cigarette and smoked it and put it out in a tit of whipped topping. Our footsteps echoed throughout the empty house. Our voices carried. It was dark. I'd never been up this late before. He pointed out Orion in the sky. His belt. His bow. We walked to the car and he backed down the long meandering drive and we looked up at the house, lit oddly by the moon, and then drove home to a house slowly emptying, growing larger, darker. I thought of the Shoney's Big Boy and his blood slit mouth, the colored flood lit face anguished in sterile compliance.