I don’t remember the stairs. The first step into the
basement. Or how we ended up. In a corner. Between the boxes. Ma looked at
me. A halo of dust. Tangled hair. As if to say something. Then turned and
picked up a box. Moved it, left to right. No words. A sigh. Clenched teeth.
Left to right. She struggled. Something heavy. My hands went out. And we
stood there. Between everything. Holding a stupid piece of cardboard. That
was my chance. I see that now.
There were a million ways out. I could drop it. (He mimes
dropping a box.) Kick it. (He kicks it.) Scream. (He screams.) Tell a joke.
God, the possibilities! But I took it from her, instead. Started a pile. She
lifted another. We fell in together. An assembly line. Left to right.
(Pause.) In between the activity, I peered over my shoulder for this taller,
more together woman. — Hoping to catch, in the corner of my eye — And she
turned, looking for this scrawny kid who never screwed up. I turned. She
turned. I turned. And thought — Christ. Here we are in the basement, looking
for ghosts. Things that passed out of the world. (He laughs.) She would’ve
liked that. If I’d told her.
I always end up here. In between. I see things that
shouldn’t exist. People who never met. Moments a decade apart. Faces
swirling around. I used to be able to keep them apart. It was easy. I could
leave. Close my eyes. (He closes his eyes.) Pretend not to hear. Keep the
past past. The present present. Everything in its place. But somewhere. In
between. It all stopped working.
