Treat Dodd's Acheson

How did you meet? Well, you see, your father said the father was one night was very lonely and I locked myself in my room and I burst into tears. Had there been a pause here, it would have been an awkward one, but the father plowed on. So I picked up a newspaper and I began leafing through the classified ads and I found your mother's ad and fell in love. Were you disappointed when you met her? Well sure I was. I remember the picture she sent me. It was dark and a little fuzzy -- she told me her camera was no good, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Turns out she had hung a blue sheet over the window to let in just the right color light and covered the lens with saran wrap, and she used a smoke machine and was wearing a mask and was standing in one of those Coney Island novelty things with the headhole cut out over the muscleman's or the bikini babe's body. The thing I remember about the picture was her hair, the color of a 1992 penny. 1992? Or any year -- just -- the point being, not brand new, it's been around the block a few times, but not so old either. The color, I mean. So mostly brown but with a deep redness -- it's much less poetic now that I describe it, I mean, but -- I don't know, kind of red but not bright red, I guess. Her hair was kind of red but not bright red. Anyway, we met and I was instantly disappointed. What did she look like? Her head was the shape of a neck. The father tried to duplicate this shape with his hands in the air, but gave up and shrugged. I don't know. Weird and fat and not round -- very weird shape for a head. Like a neck -- like I said. What did she think of you? Oh, she was perhaps even more disappointed in me than I was in her. All the pictures I'd sent her were of me in long sleeves, so she couldn't see the funny shape my arms have at the elbows, with the bones jutting out in ways they shouldn't. But it was 90+ degrees that day, and I couldn't've credibly worn long sleeves, so she saw the arms. That and I'd gotten an awful new haircut and in all my pictures I'd sucked in my cheeks to accentuate my cheekbones and strong jaw, when really I have kind of a fat little face. Yeah. Plus I was utterly boring. So we had a drunk, I paid, we were on our way, and we never saw each other again. You never saw each other again? Nope. So how am I here? Well that's the thing.

"Happy Mother's Day."

"Oh my! What a nice surprise! In June!"

"I have something for you."

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything for Mother's Day!"

"Happy Mother's Day. HERE'S $25,000."

"Oh my. Don't you need this $25,000?"

"No I do not."

I'm sorry, but no. I have other people I know whom I would rather date. I understand. I understand. It is understandable. I'm glad you can see it my way. Would you still like to be friendly? I suppose. Oh, I was hoping you'd say no. I don't see how it is possible, really. Oh. Yeah, I guess, neither do I, I guess. It would be awkward, is what I'm saying. You know, it would really throw the whole power-dynamic of our otherwise friendly relationship off-kilter. Do you want to know how I figure. It isn't important. But I guess. Well, because I assume our proximity and friendly relations would only mean that you would continue to carry a torch for me. Torch? Yes. I'm not sure. Perhaps the better I got to know you as a friend, the more I would become disgusted with you and I would be glad that things didn't work out between us. Ah, but this would be an empty rationalization, and you would know it. Wouldn't you? No. Yes, you would, because you'd keep coming back to the fact that I was the one who turned down your request for a date. And the more you came to dislike me, the worse this fact would eat away at you, until you became with obsessed with the idea of...how...how could that have happened? Well, then I would be able to laugh about it. That would be better for me. And I can laugh about these kinds of things. I have a sense of humor about these kinds of things. Ah, but you wouldn't laugh. You'd only hate yourself more. If that person declined to date me, that person I now find so odious, imagine what that must make me. Is what you would say. I think you are making too big a thing about this. Are you sad? Well sure I'm sad, but I don't hate myself. I mean, anymore than I already did. Give it time. OK. So even though we can't remain friendly, I wish you nothing but luck and happiness in the future. Thank you. I appreciate that. And I hope you don't feel rejected. Well, I have just been rejected.

"Hey. We noticed you a couple blocks back."

"Oh. Yeah."

"We walked faster than you."

"I guess."

"That's how we got ahead of you. Don't feel bad though. You'll walk faster if you practice."

"Thanks."

"Have you tried taking longer strides?"

My daughter -- I got her the regular way. One of the regular ways. My brother and his wife left her to me in their will. It was written like a wedding invitation: "To my brother and guest." They died when their helicopter crashed. She was just a baby when I had her, a very tiny baby. I invited my friends and cousins over one night to get a look at her, and the first opportunity they had when I turned my back they hid her in the ceiling. I didn't know she was in the ceiling at first -- it was only after I found her in the ceiling that I realized. But for a while I was looking for her everywhere. My daughter! What have you done with her! They looked embarrassed. They thought I would find it funny. I found her in the ceiling -- they had put her on a duct of some kind. Then they went off to a strip club. I moved to an apartment building in Middletown. It was mostly drug users and Wesleyan students, and then me and my daughter. I didn't think it was a great atmosphere, but I didn't have a lot of money at the time, so I did what I could. My daughter was three. How old are you, I asked her. It was half a game and half because I didn't really keep track, but I figured she'd know. I'm three, I said, and I said yup, that sounds about right. And do you know how old I am, I asked. You're two, she said. We locked ourselves out of the building one night. A drug dealer let us back in -- I told him we lived there. He said all right, but chided me for being irresponsible with my keys. On the other end of the door, behind a corner, one of the drug dealer's younger friends hid. He jumped out and was ready to beat me up, but saw I was no one and let me go. I was holding my daughter. I thought, this is not a very good place for my daughter, whom I loved very much, and I will have to find a different place for her. We finally got back to our apartment and no sooner had I shut the door when someone started knocking. My apartment was two floors, though it was taller than it was long or wide. The bottom floor had a kitchen right by the door and a small living room area, and the top floor was a tiny thin bedroom my daughter and I shared. I answered the door. It was my brother and his wife. We're back from the hospital, they said (hospital?). We're here to take our daughter back. I wanted to say no, but knew I had no legal right, little moral standing, even. I handed her over. I felt sad. Here, my brother and sister-in-law said, have this cat in exchange. They handed me a big fat orange cat. I held it under its front legs, stomach towards the door. It started to slide. Well, see ya later, they said, and they went off with our daughter. I put the cat down. WELL, it said, YOU GOT ANY CAT FOOD AROUND HERE OR WHAT??? It turned on the TV, the volume very very loud, much louder than I like it.