What’s up, asshole? I heard the radio show yesterday. Then arrived home to find your letter and my necklace. Mind blown. If you delivered it in person you would’ve been blown as well. But it’s allergy season and I can barely breathe through my nose. So it’s for the best.
Seriously. I’m an overwhelmed and sloppy mess from this. But I wanted to let you know I got it. And thank you. Thank you for being the kind of guy to step in and help lug a stove out. Thank you for being the kind of guy to hunt me down and send back the thing that means the world to me. I don’t have words to tell you how much I appreciate it. (Other than “suck” and “cock,” of course.)
I’m taking care of my ass. It’s not as high and tight as it used to be, but it’s in one piece. And it is sorry...
I won’t fucking call you. But I fucking thank you.
E
Part Six: Kees
Testicular Failure
Melanie came to him one night, sat on the ottoman and put her hand on his outstretched legs. Erik looked up from the guitar he was stringing to see she wasn’t crying, but her eyes were bright and her mouth trembled.
“Honey, what’s wrong?”
“I got my period,” she said.
He stared at her. He didn’t want to say “And?” out loud but he was completely confused.
Melanie sighed, closing her eyes. Her mouth was set somewhere between a smile and a grimace. The last time she had this expression was when she dropped her cell phone in the toilet.
“Mel, you look like you need a body buried. What’s the matter?”
She took her hand off his shin. “I stopped taking the pill a year ago.”
“A year?” Erik set guitar and strings aside. “A year ago you stopped?”
She picked at her fingernails. “Nothing’s happening.”
He was too shocked to put a sentence together. “All right,” he said, pulling his hair back from his forehead. “But…” He exhaled, hands open. “Mel, I had no idea you’ve been trying to get pregnant since 2002.”
“I know,” she whispered.
He barely recognized her. They had their moments of miscommunication, true, but this bit of clandestine business seemed deliberate and devious. It was almost manipulative.
“Oh, Mel, that ain’t cool,” he said, trying to let her know he was upset, but not be harsh with her. Every line of her body was already laced in misery. She was crying now.
“I’m almost thirty-seven,” she said. “I’m worried something’s wrong.”
He took his feet off the ottoman, leaned forward and gathered her to him. “Don’t cry,” he said, running his hand along her hair. She had taken her cornrows out a year ago and had it straightened. “Everything’s fine, nothing’s wrong with you. Don’t cry.”
“Do you want to have a baby?” she asked.
He opened his mouth. An unequivocal yes should have tumbled right out but he had nothing. “I figured we would,” he said. “Of course. But let me get used to this, honey. You’ve been kicking it around for a year. I’m just coming into the picture tonight.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to wait too long.”
He held her away, thumbed away the tear tracks on her face. “We won’t wait too long.”
They barely waited at all.
Male plumbing is less complex than female, so Erik got tested first.
Locked in a small room at the urologist’s office, a room loaded with every kind of porn in every medium imaginable, he ought to have felt like…
“A man in a room loaded with porn,” he mumbled. “Candy store, my ass.”
He felt ridiculous.
Trying to get comfortable in one of the recliners (he felt stupid), and staring at his cup (he felt even more stupid) he spent a few minutes laughing. Then he sighed a lot. Then he picked up one of the magazines and tried.
He tried another magazine.
“Whoa,” he said, peering at a page. A naked woman with long dark hair was turned partly away from the camera, looking over her shoulder at him. She was top-heavy: giant, augmented breasts on a too-slender body. But Erik wasn’t looking at her breasts. He was looking at her legs. With keen interest his eyes trailed the length of thigh and calf, down to her feet.