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Show Blue Run/12 came home He dragged a water hose from a fence line spigot, popped the hood and sprayed the radiator It bubbled and hissed until Buddy tied a towel around one hand and unscrewed the cap Overflow spurted up over our heads onto the trailer roof, so that the whole bunch of them stepped through the busted out screen, like walking through a blank space with their dogs to welcome me home. Buddy's mom, Violet, stared me through. I was two month pregnant with Joey, and-honest-it felt like she was seeing my baby straight through me. They threw a party that first night. One of the brothers walked over to a liquor store and came back with a quart of tequila dangling from either arm, a shriveled up lime in his pocket and a carton of Marlboros. The men-Buddy and his brothers, and maybe one of the resurrected plasma drunks-cooked, roasting meat over charcoal in a foil-lined hole in the dirt Somebody'd drug out half a goat or lamb-Jesus I hope goat or lamb-though it was probably dog. I'm sure now, dog. A mutt. So they cooked this great big side of what they said was goat or lamb-but was really dog-over charcoal and drank tequila and smoked Marlboros while the sisters and Grandma Violet asked me everything from my shoe size to whether or not I 'd been a virgin before Buddy and I did it The radio was loud-a Spanish station rolling the Rs-and all of them smoked and kept offering their packs to me until I started saying yes and took a cigarette and a few tequilas. They asked about my people, what religion we were and if anybody had any money, which they didn't, until in came a roasting pan full of dog that I told myself was goat or lamb Give it to them, it tasted good with black beans and charred corn and all these salsas. A brother, taller and heavier than Buddy, started dancing with one of the sisters. The godawful dogs barked outside. One of the boys asked me to dance and I did, and we drank tequila and they spoke Spanish- Buddy's big pretty smile bright now. |