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Show IT WAS ONLY SIX TRILLION TONS OF ROCK HANGING IN A CARDBOARD SKY My grandfather was a family man; my father was also. I did my best but I couldn't make it stick. It wasn't Emily's fault; she was a fine, reasonable woman while she lived with me. She had one gold tooth; she liked well-lit rooms, blue carpets and sex in the morning. Wherever you are now, Emily, I want you to know that I miss you like crazy. On the concrete banks of the sad Los Angeles River I sit and weep for you. My parents had lacy curtains in Brooklyn, and an oddball living-room carpet in patterns of yellow and brown. My father hated it; my mother never knew how he felt. On Sunday nights he watched Ed Sullivan and she brought him bagels and cream cheese; in their way they loved each other. They didn't tell each other much. He hated the refrigerator, a coppertone creation that overhung the kitchen like a breaking wave. My mother had it delivered one afternoon while he was at the office, and when he stepped through the kitchen door his eyes got wide but he took |