“Totally right,” I said. "The name keeps them back. McDonald’s has power behind it, but it can adapt make different things that aren’t hamburgers. Burger King will always be ‘burger,’ but maybe McDonald’s will one day only serve sandwiches like Subway. Or it could become the new Starbucks, we really don’t know, they might just serve coffee all the time.”
“I see the name is fungible," Nathan said, “Like court records. With enough money you can erase yourself clean.”
“Yes, with enough money,” I said.
We stood up. We carried our plastic trays to the trash can. Ketchup was smeared on the revolving flap to the trash can. We pushed open the revolving flap with our trays. We didn’t want the ketchup to get on our hands. We wanted it to get on the trays. McDonald’s could handle the messy trays and trashcans.
We got in Nathan’s car. He drove me back to Lenox.
“Do you hate Sbarro’s or Red Robin more?” he asked.
“Red Robin,” I said.
“Do you hate Red Robin or Johnny Rockets more?” he asked.
“Johnny Rockets.”
“Which do you hate the most? Chipotle, Qdoba or Moe’s?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t know,” I said.
“I hate Moe’s the most,” Nathan said.
“On their commercials, they say ‘Welcome to Moe’s’ and I hate that,” I said. “I prefer authenticity like those cars named with made-up words.”
“Did you know in New York City people say ‘bodega’ in all seriousness?” he asked.
“Is that authentic?” I asked.
“It’s kind of like here, when we say ‘Coke’ but just a mean a carbonated drink. That’s how they say ‘bodega.’”
“That sounds real fake,” I said.
I opened the car door in front of Lenox and got out of the car.
***
Obama:
“And as America leads the world to long-term exploration of the moon, Mars, and beyond, let’s also tap NASA’s ingenuity to build the airplanes of tomorrow and to study our own planet so we can combat global climate change. Under my watch, NASA will inspire the world, make America stronger, and help grow the economy here in Florida.”
XXXVI
Next to the vending machine was the phone. A red one on the wall, red for importance, sign next to it said: “WORK CALLS ONLY” an obsolete sign, no need for this, non-work calls made on non-work phones all during work time, this stranglehold on the communication of life away from paper shredders and jams and money orders from 1985 no longer made sense. No heart to acknowledge the new reality, the sign stayed.
“Perry’s not here right now.” someone on the other side said.
“I need to call Perry for maintenance,” I said.
“Hold on,” she said.
“This is Perry,”
“Perry I need maintenance.”
“Wallace?”
“The shredder is jammed again,” I said.
“Well call maintenance.”
“Kevin always tell me to call you.”
“All I’m going to do is call maintenance.”
“Alright, what’s the number for maintenance?” I asked.
“I have no idea,” Perry said.
The only dreams I had regularly were about a possible recall of Chrysler Sebrings.
***
The phone rang again.
It was Perry.
“Found a place for you.”
“What about the rest of the papers?”
“We’ll get it later, I already called maintenance...”
“I thought I was supposed to call maintenance.”
“Don’t bother. They’re hard to get a hold of over there. But I need you to file. Sales.”
“Alright.”
“On the third floor. Take the elevator.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Find Tyesha, she’ll tell you what to do.”
The elevator was silver, with buttons that glowed yellow and red. I pushed the button that said “3.” The elevator hummed and whizzed. It was moving up in the world.
The third floor looked like the second floor. But now sounds of the Glen Miller Band, like document management was a sympathetic orchestra of rollicking good ol’ days working together in harmony, for the common goal of paper destruction.
Then a smell like chili cheese Fritos and Lysol.
“Where’s Tyesha’s office? I’m from the second floor?” I said to the nearest person. There was no receptionist. There was no one to greet anyone, as if this was the corporate emblem of the corporate shoulder.
The nearest person looked annoyed. I was sure he did this all the time, becoming the defacto receptionist at the same rate as of a business/marketing analyst, but probably falling behind on his projects because he had to tell jerk offs like me where Tyesha’s office was. Perhaps he should just print out a sign. But I don’t know much about anything.
“Tyesha!”
“Yep.”
Tyesha came out of her office. A high bob, with one of those long needle-pin things sticking -- her lips, that simple black dress at the park, watching the ducks quack and flock by, the way we kissed, the way we held -- her name was Tyesha? -- nothing that impressive ever happened in the sculpture class, and it didn’t even need to be said, didn’t even need to ask her, it was too easy to know -- this changes everything.
Tyesha stopped.
A swallow from me.
“I’m Wallace, from downstairs. I’m supposed to file,” I said.
She put her head down and then said, “You’ll be helping out in sales. Not making calls, but filing for the sales.”
“Got it,” I said, curved my head down making her eyes meet mine. She straightened.
“Okay, kind of like downstairs,” she said and turned. No one cared, no one knew, only us cared or knew, and it would be only us who knew; the end of individual care was almost here. “Each cart has a sales rep’s name on it. There are only 5 reps, you’ll get it.”
Tyesha left me by the carts. I watched her leave. No one thought. No one cared. Not even Tyesha.
I looked at the metal carts. Five of them.
I went to the first cart. The sign on the cart said “Ellie Sanchez.”
I walked down a row of offices. I found one with a sign on a door that read “Ellie Sanchez.”
I walked in and there was a sign on the desk that read “Ellie Sanchez.” Ellie Sanchez was on the phone. She saw me with the cart and the files.
She waved me in.
“We can do that pickup, that shouldn’t be a problem. How much stuff you got?”
“....100 lbs this week, wow, that’s an increase right?”
“People are buying up pools again, that’s good, that’s very good.”
To Ellie’s right was a filing cabinet. I picked up a file. The words “Perris Industries” was on the tab. I found the P and filed it. Ellie was wearing hose. Ellie wore black strapped pumps. She rolled her desk chair on a plastic mat. I was scared I would accidentally look up her dress but I didn’t.
The next folder said “Community Road Properties” on the tab. I found the “C.” Ellie rolled her chair. She bumped my leg.
“So sorry,” she mouthed.
I think that Ellie is three years older than me.
Ellie hangs up the phone.
“Thanks so much for your help, it helps so much.”
I put in the next file. Ellie clicks on her computer.
I lean back a little bit.
She has opened the website I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER.
“Can you believe that...” Ellie said. I don’t respond. I put another file away.
“That is so hilarious.”
This continues for the next 20 minutes.
The next cart says Gil Worthington. I look for Gil’s office. There is no one there. Gil is apparently gone.
I pick out a file. It says “North Tustin Tile.” I find the “N.” The next file says “Noth Lock a
nd Key.” I find the folder.
The next one says “OBAMA CAMPAIGN.”
The file is only three pages long, an invoice and contract to shred the Obama’s campaign files. It is several pounds of documents. At the bottom it says “Laurie Lindross, Assistant Financial Operations."
XXXVII
“Ander, you got everything together?” Mom asked.
Mom invited Uncle Ander, Nathan and me over to dinner.
“For what?”
“The garage sale.”
“Wallace is in charge of that.”
“Wallace, that’s nice you are taking initiative.”
“Mom, he’s like 30, he’s not a kid. He already took initiative, he just lost his job,” Nathan said.
“I’m 26."
“So good of you to stick up for him,” Mom said. She patted Nathan on the shoulder.
I look at the wall. There is a cuckoo clock.
“Mom, why do you have that cuckoo clock?”
“Your dad gave it to me for our 2nd anniversary.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“It was.”
XXXVIII
Daylight is long, it’s warm and I rode my bike to the Bronx Bar. Sitting on a park bench, my bike with a crate on the back leans next to a tree, a Tampa Bay Rays hat on my head. I identified this spot with Tyesha after last time, when her face still was nameless only known in context of passion, not in the context of shredded paper professionalism. Searching for her high-bob when I heard two laughs, two voices I knew, near the entrance of the Bronx Bar, Nathan opening the door for Mattie.
I know this, I knew this. I looked towards the retention pond with ducks. The ducks quacked. I waited for the quacking to end.
I rode my bike home.
***
“Nathan,” I was on the phone.
“What is it? I’m heading...out.”
“Bro you gotta come over,” I said.
“Wallace, what did I just say?” he said.
“It’s a girl right? Forget her,” I said.
“No...I mean, how did you know it was a girl?”
“Tell her your number one bro is sick. Real sick. So sick, he’s had a vision, you know an epiphany. Something real sick,” I said.
“Is this about the band? The band where none of us can play anything?”
“This is about the music, not just a band," I said. "What's our MySpace plays up to?"
“Whatever,” he said.
XXXIX
At the garage sale, there is a small bookshelf with books. There is a jumprope and dumbbells. There are a collection of small souvenir spoons from 39 states. There are drink coasters with american flags on them. There are three desk lamps, one from the 70s, another from the 80s, and another from the 90s. There are 4 filing cabinets. One has a dent in the side. There are two televisions. One is a console.
“Are these plasma or LED?” someone actually asks.
“What did you say?” Uncle Ander said. Someone walks away.
There are four Adirondack chairs. There are two solid wood bookcases. There were VHS copies of Sneakers and Quiz Show.
There are at least 50 forks. There are at least 50 spoons. There are at least 50 knives.
“Where’d you get all this?” Nathan asked.
“From your aunt, numbskull,” Uncle Ander said.
There are Hot Wheels Cars. There is a mug that says “#1 Ford.”
There are handtowels with Ford emblems on them. There is a metal sign that says “Built Ford Tough.”
“Why are there all these Ford signs?” It was Mattie.
“He got them when he worked in Michigan, for Ford,” I said.
“So they give them to them for free?”
“You know like morale boosters, prizes for not having too many sick days, that sort of thing.”
“Got it,” Mattie said.
I put my hands in my pockets. She looked at a red shirt my Aunt Sue-Sue used to wear. It was button up polyester.
“This is kind of cool,” Mattie said. She held up the shirt. It was white with black stripes.
“$2,” Nathan said. He had walked over while she was looking at the tables. He was smiling.
“Oh hey,” Mattie said. She picked up a pair of cotton pants. “These are awesome, but so not my size.”
Nathan put his hands in his pockets.
“So when did you guys leave Michigan?” Mattie asked.
“Don’t remember,” I said.
“Not sure,” Nathan said.
“Okkkkkkaaaayyy....” Mattie said. “Why did you leave Michigan.”
“We’ve never asked,” I said.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Nathan said.
“Hello Wallace.” I turned around.
“Kevin how’s it going?”
“I’m fine thanks. I thought I see what your uncle is to sell."
“Well there’s plenty of stuff...”
Mattie looked at me.
“Oh, Kevin this is Mattie and this is my brother, Nathan.”
Mattie nodded.
“Good to meet you,” Nathan said. Nathan stuck out his hand.
“Fine to meet both of you,” Kevin said.
Kevin saw the two adirondack chairs.
“How much?” Kevin asked.
“I’m not sure, let me ask, hold on a sec,” I said.
I looked across the lawn for Uncle Ander. I could not find him. I walked into the house.
Uncle Ander was sitting at the table. Uncle Ander had the Business section of yesterday’s New York Times in front of him.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Reading the newspaper, what’s wrong with that?”
“Well, there are all these people outside...”
“I know Wallace, we’re having a garage sale right? How’s it going?”
“Fine, I mean you could be out there answering questions and stuff...”
“Why, they see the items there. Do they need to know the history to them? I will let the vox populi decide between its use and exchange values.”
“That’s very noble of you Uncle Ander but...how much do you want for those Adirondack chairs....”
“You are an EFF ING copywriter right Wallace? Sell it for as much as you can get. You are the seller. I am wrong, I will not let the vox populi decide use or exchange values for the commodities, but you will...are you listening?” he said.
I was not listening. I was looking at Kevin in our backyard. He was watching Uncle Ander and me.
“What are you...” Uncle Ander said. Uncle Ander turned around. Kevin went back around the corner before Uncle Ander could see him.
“Come with me,” I said.
“Okay, but I’m not done....”
I walked back outside. Kevin was there.
“Kev,” I said. “How about $100 for each of the chairs..."
“$200? That is not a great price,” Kevin said.
“But the difference is, these really are Adirondack in style. Handmade. Not something from Pottery Barn.”
“Interesting.”
“Do you have any more of these chairs?” He pointed at some other chairs. Other chairs that were in the garage. Antique backwoods cottage living lake rocking chairs.
Uncle Ander was at the front door.
“Do we have any more of these type chairs?” I yelled.
“Hell no. I’m only selling the other ones, the Adirondacks,” Uncle Ander said.
“Well, that’s that,” I said.
“I will purchase them for $200,” Kevin said. He pulled out a checkbook.
“Great, great,” I said.
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
“Who does your Uncle support in the upcoming presidential election?”
“Well, Kevin, not sure....but if I had to guess, John McCain.”
“Thank you. Your answer has confirmed everything I know,” Kevin said. He handed me a check. It was for $185.
“Wait, you said you’d take them for $200...” I said.
“Yes, Wallace I did. But remember Wallace. You said they were handmade.”
He picked up two of the chairs.
“I’ll help him out with these,” Nathan said.
“I am grateful,” Kevin said. “Wallace, the next time I will see you, it will be at the workplace.”
“Yeah,” I said.
XL
“Damn."
"Uncle Ander?"
"Damn. damn."
Door opens smoothly, the grind of the bump is now gone. On the couch, Uncle Ander and Overboard on the television, Goldie Hawn/Kurt Russel hijinx ensuing, but he is silent. A puddle next to him, a puddle now a stain on the velour, a dark brown, like a mess of Dairy Queen right there on the velour. "Where is..."
"HRRMM," his finger points, follow it to the kitchen and dining room, Boris on his side, entrails trailing, now nice and cool on the tile floor, not sweating on the velour, like a water cooler with the electricity off, there is a knife of course next to Boris, everything is the chocolate syrup color like a poor live action remake of a Hitchcock movie is all I can think about, tufty black and smooth white hair, a premeditated murder of Boris, probably, no one else was dead or gone, the television in still working order, his dishwasher humming, Boris would need a bag, and some dirt scooped in his honor.
"They waited till we weren't here. Through the house and into the garage, the pricks,” Under Ander said.
"What'd they take?"
"They took those chairs. Those were Elizabeth's chairs," he said, and I knew this, he knew I knew this, Aunt Elizabeth on the parlor on the porch, in her rocking chairs.
"They were Hitchcock chairs, originals, worth about $7000-$10,000 apiece,” Uncle Ander said.
"...um"
"They were the down payment for the hotel. It was breaking my heart anyway, now this, now Boris down, now, now."
"Tests which exist to pigeonhole children’s potential, a thing which cannot *possibly* be measured, least of all by anal compulsive HUNS! And my husband may be a ‘large child,’ but that's none of your business!" said Overboard.
The dog carcass, Boris' carcass, "I'll take care of it" I told him. "Go sit down and watch Overboard. Don't sit on the couch."
I opened the screened door and headed for the shed.
***
“Somebody killed Boris."
"What?"
"Cut him, his insides, took it around the house."
"Why, what for?"
"I'm thinking because they stole the rocking chairs."
"No, you mean aunt Elizabeth's rocking chairs? Those are gone."