28 January 1990
Reasons
“Are you awake, Nat?” Nathan’s voice seemed to lose volume every day. He barely sounded like Nathan any more. The strength of that voice, the sureness of it, the way it had seemed to project up from the depths of his chest … all that was gone now. It sounded as though it lived in his throat and barely succeeded in making the short journey.
Nat glanced at the new glow-in-the-dark clock. Two thirty.
“Oh, yes.”
“Why didn’t you help that boy?”
“What boy?”
“The one Little Manny wanted you to help.”
“Oh. Danny?”
“Big boy. Lives with his grandmother.”
“Danny.”
“Why wouldn’t you help him? Are you still jealous of those boys?”
“Yes.”
“But you work with them every day. It’s your job.”
“But they pay.”
“They pay Manny. You get paid either way.”
“I just don’t like Danny.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just don’t. Just something about him I don’t like.”
Silence. Nat listened to the clock ticking. The wind whistling outside.
Nathan didn’t say anything.
“Didn’t you ever meet someone you didn’t like?”
“Often. But I could usually state my reasons.”
“Well, I don’t know mine.”
“See if you can figure it out and get back to me. OK?”
“Why? Because you really want to know? Or because you really want me to know?”
“Yes,” Nathan said.
In spite of himself, Nat laughed slightly.
“You know,” Nathan said, “your grandmother still calls me. To ask after you. Once a month or so. After all these years.”
“No. I didn’t know she still did. You didn’t tell me she still did.”
“I’m telling you now,” Nathan said.
“She must be quite an old woman by now.”
“I thought when I met her that she was my age. But she’s actually four years younger. So she’s just about in her mid-seventies. So she’s getting up in years, yes.”
“Meaning if I’m going to call her, I should do it soon.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m merely telling you.”
“Why now? All of a sudden? Why tell me now?”
“How many more chances do you suppose I’ll get?” Nathan asked.