Memphis with a Red Glaze

And you see, you can hold her hand in the limo, if you want. I hold hands in limousines. I get nervous. People get nervous when they start to get things good. My mother never had a good day in her life, but she was never nervous. Buy her a coke and she’s Queen for a Week. So put her in the limo and hold her hand and I won’t say a word. Take her to that nice bistro on Palmer Avenue and ask them to do the Memphis for you with the red glaze. They’ll know what you mean and they’ll know who sent you.

She teaches at a private school, doesn’t she? Very happy at a private school. Very happy at the talk of kids. Very happy thinking one day those kids will go to that school and they’ll get a discount on the tuition and everyone will walk to school together in the spring weather. Her and the kids while you go to school. On Friday nights, you’ll get a babysitter. You’ll take a car into the city so you both can have as much to drink as you want, and maybe you’ll get a hotel room and make love like you’re having some kind of affair. How many kids do you want? You don’t have to answer that now.

Then, one weekend, you’re away on business. Some trip to shore up a deal that’s stable enough, but you never know. You never know, do you? While you’re gone, a man breaks into your house while she’s asleep upstairs with the kids. The alarm goes off. The man runs. Nobody’s hurt. Nothing is stolen. Nothing is even touched. Still, you rush home. She’s fine. The kids are fine. Everybody’s fine. She told you that you coming home wasn’t even necessary. The alarm did its job. Oh sure, she’s a little shaken up, and the kids won’t stop crying, but burglaries happen. You’re in a nice neighborhood. It’s a fluke. He’s never coming back. The police take a report. You get a dog. A big dog. The kids love it. Name it Killer. Another lock is put on the front door. Three locks now. Three locks in a nice neighborhood. Almost seems like too much, doesn’t it? But you don’t even want to go away again. But deals keep coming and not all are stable. One is about to fall apart. You’re called away again. Your wife wants to stay home with the kids. She’s fine. The kids are fine. Go, she says, go. We’ll be fine. You suggest that she and the kids come with you. They don’t want to. You assert your position as the head of the family. They will come with you to Boston. They will have fun. They will go to the aquarium. They will be safe. Your wife is irritated. The kids cry. But you all go to Boston. Killer is sent to a kennel. While you’re in Boston wining and dining a client who will stick to the deal and while your wife is at the aquarium with your children learning about sea turtles and while Killer is trying to figure out where he can relieve himself at the kennel, the man goes back to your house, puts a key in your front door, and walks inside. He makes himself a sandwich. He plays a song on the piano none of you use. He takes all the clothing out of every closet and drawer and dumps it on the staircase. He pisses in the fireplace. He unscrews all the lightbulbs. He goes down in the basement and asks himself if there’s some way he can sabotage your furnace, but how does one sabotage a furnace?

He leaves.

When you arrive home from Boston, your wife asks if this is some kind of joke. Your children cry when they see their clothing on the staircase. Killer runs around the house barking. What if the man is still inside the house? Something tells you he’s not. Everyone gets back in the car. You drive everyone to a hotel. You’ll stay at the hotel until somebody can tell you what the hell is going on. You forget that you have your sister’s second wedding the following weekend. Who does she think she is having a big wedding when she’s already been married once? Why do you even have to go? You’ve been traumatized. Your entire family has. Doesn’t that selfish woman you’re related to but barely know care about the kind of damage that’s been done to your mental state? You and your wife ride in the limo. The same kind of limo that Byron and Baxter and Carson sent for you when they wanted you to come help them stabilize deals in the big city. The kind you and your wife took to that bistro when you were told to ask for the Memphis with a red glaze. Now you have such a great life and a man has broken into your house and tried to ruin it, but he can’t. He won’t. Your daughter can’t sleep. Your son sleeps with a fake gun that your wife bought him even though she doesn’t believe in guns and it won’t do any good anyway, because all it fires is a sign that says “Bang!” Your wife needs to make love to you every night now, but she says she’s fine. Better than ever. She wants a third child, and maybe a fourth. You can afford it, can’t you? A fourth lock is put on the door. A second dog is purchased. This one is named Soldier. He and Killer don’t get along until they do, and then you learn that Soldier is a girl dog, and now you have puppies, and the kids won’t let you give any of them away. Besides, dogs make the house safe, don’t they? The more dogs and the more locks and the more children the more people and a house full of people is a safe house even if the people are small and vulnerable. Numbers and numbers and safety all around, right?

Isn’t that right?

One night you’re eating takeout from the bistro. They forgot the red glaze. It’s no good. Nothing is any good. Your wife is upstairs sleeping; pregnant with your fourth child. The third is in the bassinet in the nursery that used to be a guest room, because when will there ever be any guests? You’re sitting on the couch chewing on a Memphis when you see the sixth lock turn on the door. You should have added a seventh, but would it have mattered?

Eventually there isn’t room for another lock.

Eventually, you just…

Run out of room.