Monday, February 13, 2006


Casey came back from summer school one day and his parents had their bags packed. They were going to a hotel across town. They hadn’t told him they were having the house painted. Casey got upset and they fought. His mother shouted at him loud and close, spraying him with spittle: “You goddamned fuckhead piece of turd!" His father shrugged. Casey decided he’d rather stay on the enclosed porch for the next week. On the day they painted that, he would sleep in the garage. The next afternoon, a couple of guys in crinkly white jumpsuits invaded, moved the furniture into the centers of all the rooms and coated the walls with colors like Toffee Crunch and Quaking Grass. Sleeping on the porch frustrated Casey, but he always stuck to his principles, even when it made him look foolish. His gangly legs could barely fit on the sofa, and the house didn't have air conditioning. That Friday, the temperature broke the 1949 city record. Casey woke up hung over on Saturday, his naked limbs rubbery-slick with sweat and tangled with the legs of a girl he barely remembered meeting. Someone's cousin from Tuscon. Trying to get more comfortable without waking her, he flopped over and fell off the couch on his butt. A car pulled into the driveway, but he didn't hear it.

JAMES HANNAHAM

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Here I am just checking your blog out after seeing it mentioned on Gawker, and what do I find? This is my sister's sofa. I am positive - I'd recognize it anywhere.

Once, her fiance lay upon that sofa for three days dry-heaving after a violent influenza bug tore his stomach lining into two large pieces (one piece was named Esmerelda, the other, Kibs, but that's another story...).

In the days prior to this wretched incident, my sister's metre-long iguana spent twelve hours ejecting stream after putrid stream of poisonous, salmonella-infested guano from its bum-bum across most of the left arm of this sofa. If you look closely, you can see a few of the stains.

All of this happened after the fire, of course...

3:36 PM  
Blogger Startha Mewart said...

It sounds like you've got a powerful memory for sofas, *and* a great flair for language. Maybe you'd like to contribute?

Startha

6:09 PM  
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