THENEWYORKER,AUGUST19, 2019 53
We bellow What loudness for
good we make! Then something
occurs One BastardTurdCreepIdiot
suddenly is over here On our side
Among us! Bellowing! At us! So
close I can see his sore on lip The
quietest Greg gives him a slap He
slaps quiet Greg right back Our larg-
est Vince moves a fist to face of Bas
tardTurdCreepIdiot BastardTurd
CreepIdiot goes down No longer
bellowing Just covering face Duck-
ing down meek Several Williams, a
slim Conor, three Vinces gather rough
around him Their feet and legs
start going.
Say that must that must really
I withdraw Breathing hard Here
is a small bathroom house That re-
ally smells like it I sit inside against
one of its wall Heart leaping in bad
manner Is brief rest fine during Job?
Hope so.
Here comes Jer.
What the hell are you doing in here,
89? he says. Jesus, come on.
Greg, I say.
Greg, right, sure, whoever, says Jer.
Dragged, by Jer, past water fountain
Which runs on and Though no one
drinking from Past three baby trees,
wired to ground Pushed by dear Jer
back over with my
Hoo boy.
My Conors Gregs Vinces my
Good old Jer.
Kudos, Jer.
No Root Beer for me thanks on way
home.
Because of crying.
I know crying I just have never
done it.
I cry and cry.
Jer, softly, close to me: What are you
doing, 89, why are you crying?
Me: I don’t know, sorry, sorry.
Jer: Stop. You need to stop. Do you
see anyone else on this bus crying?
No, I say.
Kicking Conor and the kicking Wil-
liams and kicking-punching Vinces are
just happily drinking Root Beer.
Take this, Jer says.
Gives me a small white bit of
Jer you always have my back
Jer Thank you Jer You do not want
my cohort to see me crying And
I do not want my cohort to see me
crying too.
Eat, he says. Eat it, dummy. You can’t
just hold it. It’s a pill. Eat it.
Mere secs later don’t feel sad At
all Though face still wet, I feel pretty
pretty darn good And sleepy Pretty
darn good pretty darn sleepy.
If slumping down and with left eye
look out window:
Nighttime farms fly by.
Why must all nighttime farm win-
dows be orange? is a sweet mystery to
think upon as down to sleep youM
ust be night as heat is on.
Feel like taking sweaty greens
off.
Do so.
Start again crying Why crying
again? That kicking that kicking that
punching That darn
Beatdown.
That word springs into my
Just like snap.
And just like snap I know beatdown
is: kickingkickingpunching in alley.
What the what! As Jer might
say From where did that?
And just like snap I know alley is:
wet black floor outside, with music com-
ing from back of:
Tom’s Dizzy Oasis.
Music Ha! Tom’s Dizzy Oasis
Ha ha!
To who did beatdown happen? To
whom? To whom did alley beatdown
to music behind Tom’s Dizzy Oasis
happen to?
Me, I say. Greg.
No, I say.
89? I say.
No, I say.Silence Room Valiant does its
usual Hum clackclock Then a sound
like something medium just dropped
off table Although nothing did.
Elliott Spencer, I say.
Hum clackclock Hum clackclock.
Elliott Spencer Elliott Spencer, I say.
Jer comes in Bearing breakfast.89, Christ, put some clothes on,
he says.
Elliott Spencer, I say.
Jer drops breakfast.I
n come Meg and Kennedy B.
You’re not in trouble, 89, says Meg.
Hope not, I say.
Smells like O.J. in here, says Ken-
nedy B.
But who is Elliott Spencer? says Meg.
Me, I say. Was. Was me.
Was when? says Kennedy B. Was
you when?
Before, I say.
Jer: Eyes go wide Taps knuckle on
table once two three.
Before when? says Kennedy B.
Before I came here, I say. In van.
Egads, says Meg.
And you were there, I say to Jer.
Look on Jer’s face says: If still hold-
ing breakfast, would drop it again.P
er Meg we hasty redo my Scrape Test.
In which Jer runs by me some
words Do I know them or in the
slightest recall:
Schenectady NO
Coleman Street Bridge NO
Reverend Barry Knox NO
There you go, Jer says. Clean.
I don’t know, says Meg. Freaks me
out. The name? The van? Freaks me out.
We need forty, Jer says. Do we have
forty?
We have thirty, says Meg. Counting
58 and 31.
Don’t count 58 and 31, says Ken-
nedy B.
58 can’t take the simplest directive,
says Meg.
And God forbid someone asks 31 a
frigging question, says Kennedy B.
Meg: Maybe let’s don’t do this in
front of—
By which she means me.
89’s cool, Jer says. Right, 89?
Hope so, I say.
And I do hope so I am cool for
sake of Jer Good old Jer! Kudos,
Jer Who leaves behind own family every
morning deep in Burbury Estates Sandi,
Ryan, Little Jerry, baby Flint Who each
night they await your return As each
morning I await your return Jer who
in early times my brain so blankslate all
I could say was blegblegbleg taught
me word upon word in his good firm