Single: Miss Tennessee b/w The Cryerer | Page 2

was watching.
"Look at the little man," she'd whisper. "He's going: Where's mine? Where's my toast." And I'd say: "I don't see why you guys get all the fruit and toast when you're both already so big. Look at me. I'm tiny."
Steve would catch on that we were talking about him and he'd run around the table and I'd play with him a little, batting him back and forth while he growled and snapped.
"Look," Miss Tennessee would say. "He's going: You're not so tough. You're not so tough." And I'd say: "Fuck you. You fucker. You fink." And we'd laugh until Miss Tennessee had to go take a shower.
Miss Tennessee worked eight to five in a pediatrician's office and I taught school, although not in the summers. I usually stuck around her house after she left for the day. She wore smocks covered with balloons and clowns that made little boys want to marry her, and I would kiss her goodbye on the porch.
In the mornings, I sat in the backyard and let the sun beat on my face and watched Steve march around. In the afternoons I ran errands. If I was feeling ambitious, I would cook up a pot of gumbo with ducks my brother had hunted and killed near the lakes north of the city. It would surprise Miss Tennessee when she got home, which was usually around six, seven if it was a bad day, and eight if she went to aerobics. Sometimes she came home later and we would fight over my mentioning that I had wondered where she was and if she was all right. She would say I didn't trust her and we would argue. Later we'd sit in bed, batting Steve around, and she would nudge me with her foot.
"Look. He's going: You've gotta trust people silly man." And I'd say: "People that want to be trusted should learn to use the telephone. I can't. My paws are too damn tiny." And we'd laugh until we kissed and then we'd laugh again before we fell asleep.
One night Miss Tennessee was very late. I was in bed but not asleep. Steve bounced off the bed like a spring and met her at the door. He spun around the bedroom -- up on the bed, down on the floor -- in tighter and tighter circles. Miss Tennessee didn't say anything. She just got undressed, draping her clothes over the open doors of the wardrobe.
"Well," I said as Steve gnawed on a piece of rawhide that he'd placed next to my hand so he could pretend he was gnawing on me. Miss Tennessee looked over her shoulder as she pulled on a pair of boxer shorts:
"Look honey," she said. "He's going: Better be careful with that hand, tough guy. I'm gonna bite it off."
I looked down at Steve.
"Look," she said. "He's going: Go back to your own house before I bite your hand off, you fink." She was smiling but I didn't smile back. "Honey, you heard him," she said as she got into bed. "Don't worry. I'll call you tomorrow."
I drove home wishing I hadn't said anything. My apartment was a mess. I was only there enough to mess it up but not enough to clean. Clothes hung over the furniture and the bed wasn't made. I sat for a while, thumbing through mail and bills and magazines. I folded my clothes across the back of a chair and lay there wide awake, thinking about what Steve had said.
I spent the next morning cleaning. I sorted my clothes between closet and hamper, emptied the refrigerator, and even thinned out my medicine cabinet and the bookshelf covered with small piles of change and tiny receipts that appeared to be blank except for raised bumps. Miss Tennessee called in the afternoon.
"I just wanted to make sure you were coming over tonight," she said.
"You don't have plans?"
"Of course not silly. Are you coming or not?"
"Sure."
"Let yourself in," she said.
I spent the rest of the afternoon running errands so I could cook dinner, to show her I was sorry. When I got to her house she wasn't home. Steve went berserk, running circles around the room and across the furniture. He seemed glad to see me. I sat in the backyard for a while, watching him blink into the sun before starting dinner. While he slept on the bed, I made a stew with parts of a deer my brother had hunted and killed.
Miss Tennessee was late, even for aerobics night. She came into the kitchen and kissed me on the neck as I warmed a loaf of French bread in the oven.
"I didn't know you were going to cook," she said, sniffing the air around us. "You smell funny," she said.
"I was in the yard. I'll take a