Teeth

I’ve pretty much discovered that I am a loser. It’s an interesting feeling, that. I always know where I stand. Some people might not like it. I’ve found I can live with it. It even serves me on occasion.

“Jerry! Get in here!” my boss says.

I get in there.

“Where did you learn to spell? This memo is terrible!”

“I know.”

“Oh.”

It renders people speechless. It throws the curve; eliminates the otherwise inevitable insults. You are what you are, and you know it. Like at church. I say, “I’ve sinned.” It’s easy. People don’t contradict me. There is much less opposition in my life than there otherwise would be, as a general rule.

The phone rings, so I answer it.

“Hi, Jerry there?”

“It’s me.”

“Hi. This is Kevin from Carmine’s Garage. I was--”

“My car’s ready?”

“Well, no--”

“So there’s another reason for your call,“ I say.

“Uh, yeah, there is. Do you want to go out this Saturday?”

“Sure, Kevin.”

“Eight o’clock alright?”

“Uh-huh. You’ve got my address?”

“Sure.”

“See you then.”

“Yeah--then.”

I hang up. Kevin is a great mechanic. I always request him when I take my Ford in to Carmine’s.

At eight-thirty on Saturday I pull into my driveway with my dry cleaning and see Kevin sitting on my porch.

“I’m late,” I say.

“Yes,” Kevin says.

We go out to a karaoke place and order spaghetti. Kevin gets up and sings the first couple of verses of “My Girl,” looking at me the whole time. I know I have sauce below my gums, I can feel it with my tongue. I smile anyway because I suck and I know it. Kevin doesn’t care. He comes back to the table and we share a licorice shake.

I like Kevin’s apartment. Kevin likes my soft sweater, and that’s why I wear it. His kisses are too wet, but he has perfect teeth. I like to run my tongue along them. We both have church early, so he takes me home.

I’m happy. I have a dog and two cats, and all three of them love me. I think they are the only things that do, except for my brother, Phil.

Phil is a dental assistant. He cleans my teeth with that gritty dentist’s toothpaste and then scrapes the tartar off them. For this, he feels he owes me. So he invites me to lunch sometimes. His wife, Carrie, tells me that a university graduate shouldn’t be working as a secretary. Her stomach is beginning to round out with the baby. I point at it and tell her that the wife of a dental assistant shouldn’t eat so much sugar and then I laugh. I know she’s right.

I usually eat Cheerios in the morning. I like Cheerios, they’re simple. Mom sends me packages with boxes of Macaroni and Cheese and Fruit Loops. She won’t send me Cheerios, even though I tell her I like them. I don’t eat her Fruit Loops. I love my mother. She calls every month.

“Are you still working for Mr. Trace?”

“Yeah, Mom.”

“Are you taking your calcium supplements?”

“Yup.”

“How come you haven’t written?”

“Busy, Mom.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

I know she’s asking if I have a boyfriend. I never tell her about Kevin and Jack and Marcus.

“Nope.”

“Jerry--you’re twenty-eight years old.”

“No, Mom, I’m only twenty-seven.”

“Don’t contradict me.”

“All right.” I know it’s useless to argue with Mom.

“Have you seen Phil?”

“Uh-huh, had a cavity filled Monday.”

“I’ve got to take your dad to Dr. Simon’s now.”

“Okay, Mom,” I say, “I love you, you know.”

“Good-bye, Jerry.”

My mother is worried about my love life and my bones. I’d like her to ask me how I feel about things. No one ever asks me how I feel about things. I talk to Marcus the most, but he is more complex than me. I ask him how he feels about us.

He says, “Well, Jerry, it eventually goes one way or the other. There are people that work and people that just sit back and relax. I think I can give it a little time.”

I have no idea what he is talking about. I say, “But what does that have to do with me?”

He says, “You’re sweet. It’ll come down to it.” He puts my hand on his face. He says, “That’s nice.” So I smile, and laugh, and take his head between my hands. But I still do not understand.

We talk about everything. Philosophy, religion, business. Marcus is a man of business. I don’t know what kind exactly, and I don’t care, but he is an associate of Mr. Trace’s. He twists his hands up in my hair. He also tells me I am beautiful, but I think it is a form of bribery. He only compliments me when he is kissing me.

I know my nose is too short, and my chin is too long. I know because I study my face every night before I go to bed. I’ve come to accept that I am only moderately attractive, and I think it is good for me. I know women who are beautiful but unsuccessful, and it seems to me that they cannot come to terms with their failure as I have. I am satisfied with myself as I am.

Phil calls up on a Thursday and asks me if I’ve heard the news.

“What news?” I say.

“It’s Dad. He passed away last night, Jerry.”

I wrap the cord around my elbow. “Was it his heart?”

“Yeah. Carrie and I are flying in to Costa Mesa Saturday morning. Do you want me to get you a ticket?”

“No,” I say. Jack needs me. “I have work, Phil. Tell Mom I love her. Tell her . . . tell her I want her to come live with me.”

Carrie says Jack is “ridiculously old.” I know that he needs me more than Kevin or Marcus. He reminds me of the good things about my father. I see him at Albertson’s, but I usually shop at Smith’s. I go there to get bananas for thirty-nine cents a pound, and he’s there buying dog food. He buys the same brand as me.

I know what kind of dog he has. I say, “So what kind of a dog have you got?”

Jack says, “Golden Lab, and you?”

It is easy to laugh with Jack.

We have dinner a lot. Jack cooks, and he likes to cook for other people besides himself. I tell him I like pasta; he invites me for fettucine alfredo. He has kids, but they are all grown up, and his wife is gone. I don’t know if she is dead or not, and I never ask Jack about her. He has one wall for pictures of his kids, but I never see a picture of his wife. I think he is very fond of me.

He tells me, “I like blond hair. I’m glad you have blond hair.” I ask him for cooking advice and take care of his dog when he is out of town. He goes out of town every few weeks, and when he gets back he calls me first thing.

“I’m glad you’re here, Jack,” I say.

“Tonight is Serbian cheesebake,” he says.

Mother comes from Yorba Linda to live in my house. I don’t think she really wants to, but she doesn’t know what else to do. She looks around and finally sets her cosmetic case on the coffee table and lets her shoulders droop. She is usually quiet but sometimes she complains that her ribs are sore and her mouth hurts. She doesn’t understand where I go when I go out in the evenings.

She says, “Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, Mom.”

“Where are you off to tonight?”

“Do you want me to stay home?” I am wearing Kevin’s favorite sweater.

“No. You do as you please.”

Mother is sometimes different. She surprises me. She tells me I don’t have to take calcium supplements if I don’t want to. She doesn’t wear make-up. One day she tucks her feet up under her like a little girl and says, “Your father hurt me sometimes, Jerry, but I miss him. I miss home. I don’t know why I’m here.”

I say, “He hurt you all the time. You’re here because I love you, Mom.” Jack can tell when I am worried about Mom. He sometimes makes muffins or banana bread and sends them home with me for her. Mom is curious about Jack.

“Who is that man, Jerry?”

“That’s Jack, Mom. He lives three blocks down.”

“He has a nice smile.”

“Yes, Mom.” That is the nicest thing about Jack’s looks. He has gray hair and he is always wearing flannel shirts like a mountain man. He comes over to see Mom while I’m at work. My cats like Jack, and that’s saying something.

I don’t get out much when Mom isn’t well. Kevin asks me if I want a free lube job. Marcus asks me to marry him. I say no to both of them.

Phil comes and sits in the kitchen and talks to Mom about Carrie and the baby they’re expecting. I am interested, because I know I am going to have a baby too.

He says, “Don’t you want a grandchild, Mom?”

She says, “My jaw hurts.”

I think Phil feels bad about this. My pregnancy is too new for me to feel bad. Carrie is due in three weeks. He invites us both to lunch on Friday at Ruby’s and then drives away. Now that she is pregnant, Ruby’s is Carrie’s favorite restaurant. Mom says pregnant women crave grease, but I don’t know about that. Kevin still calls once in a while.

“Hi, Jerry there?”

“It’s me.” My Ford is not in at Carmine’s.

His voice sounds different. He says, “I miss you.”

I say, “Mother’s not well tonight.”

“Next week, then?”

“You call me.”

I get my hair cut. Mom doesn’t like it. Her hair is still long after all these years. I have my father’s hair and eyes.

“I don’t know why you had to cut it,” Mom says, “but it does look thicker.” Friday, Carrie tells me I look like Meryl Streep with my hair so short. I know she is lying. Meryl Streep’s nose is much longer than mine. I am not angry with Carrie. She looks happy.

I say, “What will you name the baby?”

“If it’s a girl,” Phil says, “we like Allison Elayne. And for a boy, Dennis Michael.”

“I know it’s going to be a boy,” Carrie says. She squeezes Phil’s hand on the table. Carrie is more beautiful when she is pregnant.

Kevin calls again and Mom answers.

She says, “Are you the one she’s been seeing?” Mom tells me he says that he is. I’m surprised. I haven’t been out with Kevin for a month. Mom hands the phone to me. “You’d better talk to him,” she says. My baby is not showing yet, but mothers can tell these things.

I talk to him. Kevin is a great mechanic, a good man. I don’t think he’ll call anymore.

Carrie’s baby comes a week early, and Mom is not well enough to come see her when Allison Elayne is born. I come to watch. Carrie does very well, but she doesn’t look comfortable. I don’t know what to think. I am wearing my orange corduroy coat with the pockets ripped out. Jack is standing next to me. He knows now about my baby.

He says, “I want you to be with me always.”

I am a failure, but I feel something move inside of me.