I hadn't been home in years when I got the call from Grandma, that my father was in the hospital, and now suddenly here I was ....... Like a lot of families, ours had its share of secrets. My sexuality for example, which was known but never discussed, under a shadow of omerta. Or the fact that my grandmother was an actual witch. My sister Joy + I only found THIS out when Grandma body swapped us, in hopes that leaving us like this a while might teach us something. So when we visited my father's bedside he assumed that I was Joy, and I couldn't believe how awful he was being to me! But I had no idea what awful was until I was left alone with him, and learned another of our family's secrets...

PLAY . . NICE!
LAIKA PUPKINO ~ 2008
PART FOUR: PAPA DON'T PREACH

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[TRIGGER WARNING: THE FIRST  ¼ OF THIS CHAPTER PORTRAYS INTENSE VERBAL ABUSE.
IF YOU ARE PARTICULARLY SENSITIVE TO SUCH A THING, BE ADVISED. IT AIN'T PRETTY...]

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||| SATURDAY OCTOBER 4 (still) ~~~

A half hour into our visiting Papa in the hospital, my grandmother dragged my sister off on some half hour errand that sounded like she'd made it up on the spot. Suddenly alone together, my father and I looked at each other. I could feel his attitude toward me hardening by the second. Tension filled the room.

I grinned, and just to be saying something said, "She's a character, isn't she?"

"I guess if you don't have any," he said flatly.

"What?"

"Character. Decency. You can leave too, you know. Don't let me keep you."

He's never been a good patient, even just being home with the flu, I reminded myself, and pretended to miss his point. "Okay, sure. In a little bit. You're tired huh?"

"You could say that. My mother is ten times the woman you'll ever be. It makes me sick to hear you talk that way about her."

"Like what? That she's a character? We always kid about her like that."

"You and who? The junkies? Planned Parenthood? Hilary Goddamn Clinton?"

"No, you know. Like that time she-"

My memory came up blank. And I realized I never had seen him and Joy just kidding around.

Or rather, the last time I can recall this happening she had been at the age when she was totally gaga over horses; and he was making her giggle uncontrollably by pretending to be a horse, but one that said he found hay and oats disgusting, that he'd rather be fed pizza and tacos and Chicken McNuggets. Joy was probably around twelve then .......... But once boys entered the picture---and OVER MY DEAD BODY met YOU CAN'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO---the screaming started, and didn't end until she moved out at 18. But in her adulthood they had reached a state of détente, of at least pretending to be civil. So whatever this was it was fairly recent, and it was huge.

"Well I really do love Grandma Rosa," I said.

"She took you in again. That's what you love. She's a soft touch, always giving someone another chance. Just don't get too used to it. I plan on coming home soon, and you're out of there. Capisce?"

"That's fine, I understand. I do need to get a job, my own place to live."

"That's lovely," he intoned sarcastically. He muttered, more to himself than to me, "God damn it's hot in here!"

"And I hope with time I'll be able to make up for, uh ................. For what hurt you."

"How the hell would you do that? I know you're not stupid, so don't act stupid."

"If we could just talk about it," I said, trying to find out what "it" even was.

"If you were looking for a way to break my heart, you finally did it. I'm done discussing this. And like I told you, I'm done with you. You think I was kidding about that or something? Now LEAVE!"

"Look, I know we might have had our differences-"

"You won't leave? Of course not. You're gonna do whatever you want to, you always have. And I'm too weak to throw you out. So fine. Sit down and don't talk. Can you do that? Can you please at least do that?"
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The desperation in this plea was surprising. I knew I should have left, and let him be. But there was some key event in the Farranino Saga that I had missed. A real mystery. I hadn't seen him this mad at Joy since she stole his beloved coin collection and spent all those rare coins at face value, on a couple of Beanie Babies or something...

.
So I sat. Picked up a PEOPLE magazine, and read an article about "unlikely" celebrity art collectors. I didn't see what made them so unlikely. Because they were young and didn't fit some elegant & snooty stereotype of the culturati? They were all actors and musicians and skateboard pros; of course they would like art. Then I found a pen in Joy's purse and tried to finish the crossword puzzle, glad that someone had already filled in all the weird little three and four letter hip-hop related answers, names like XXL and ZDOG which would have stymied me...

I could hear his labored breathing. Could sense him looking at me this whole time. Finally he spoke. "That's some get-up you're wearing. What a damn slob you've turned into!"

"I'm going clothes shopping later. I promise I'll wear something nicer tomorrow. And wear some makeup- I was kind of rushed this morning."

"Christ! I'd hate to see what a slut like you thinks is 'nice'."

Now wait just a fucking minute, I thought. With all of Joy's faults, all the things you could rightly call her, slut was one label that did not apply to her. She fell in love with one guy at a time, and if there had been a lot of them it was mainly because she was so hard to get along with.

But Dad tended to just make junk like this up and decide it was true. Like the time he had more or less called me a slut, way back when. Nevermind that I was still a virgin then, he knew all about these queers. That once I entered that cesspool of unnatural desires I was doomed to lose all self-control, becoming this raging insatiable pervert who lurked around park bathrooms, and shortly thereafter an AIDS statistic; A fate that---unless I was willing to go get myself "cured"---I would more or less deserve. I can't even tell you how much that pissed me off!

"I'm not a slut," I said, my voice rising.

"Oh, did I offend you?" he sneered, "It's a little late to start acting all moral, you've shown what you are. You should get you some big black moolie pimp, at least you'd be making money off it!"

That did it. I got up to leave. "I'll see you next time. I don't know what this is about, but I want you to know that I love you."

"Sure you do. You're just full of love! But I guess that's the new way, isn't it? Things don't mean what they mean anymore. Up is down. Black is white. Hate is love. Murder is a 'choice'."

"What did you say?!"

"You heard me."

I found myself dropping back into the chair. "Joy got an abortion? When?"

"What kind of person are you? To do a thing like that, it should be eating you up inside. Instead you make jokes about it."

"I can't explain," I stammered, "but I wasn't making a joke. You have to believe that!"

He spat, "Have to believe you? Well then yes ma'am, anything you say! You murdered a helpless baby and you never told me. You gave me some bullshit story, where you went; and I had to find out from the long distance bill. 'East Side Women's Reproductive Care Center'. That's another of these beauties, where they make things mean what they don't. Care Center! And women's? No real woman would ever go there. She wouldn't deny God's greatest gift to her sex!"

"Real woman? Who are you to decide what a real woman is?"

"Somebody who knows something, that's who. Right and wrong. All you know is how to get drunk and bang losers and LIE! Even after I confronted you, you lied, how you let this girlfriend use the phone," his voice took on an insipid feminine tone, "'Newww, really Papa! It was Jenny-fer, I swear to God!' You are one sick piece of shit, you know that?"
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I was totally lost inside this role now. I'm not saying that I believed I was Joy, or was remembering some life different from my own. But the way my father's eyes bored into mine, devoid of anything but hatred---hearing him say such things to me with such conviction---was having a weirdly hallucinatory effect on me. The hellish reality here in this little room was overpowering everything that lie outside or came before, robbing it of meaning.
.

My jaw trembled, tears were welling up under my eyes, "Please don't say that."

"And then you joke. My grandson, you joke about! Y-you-" his shouting turned to a wracking coughing fit, doubling him over. But when I started over to help him he frantically motioned for me to stay away, to keep my repulsive paws off of him. I was untouchable.

"Listen Papa. Just listen! I know we have different views about abortion, and I respect yours-"

"You don't respect anything, least of all yourself. You go 'Oh gee, I'm pregnant'; and just waltz down to that place like you were getting your hair cut!"

"But it's not like that," I said, and the dam that was holding my tears in crumbled, "Please! It was a really hard decision for me. It always is, when it's yours, no matter what those people tell you. It weighs on you, keeps you awake at night. So don't think I don't feel it, Papa. The ......... the loss, it's with me!"

Where did THAT come from? But I did feel it- a physical sense of emptiness in my stomach, and in ............... my womb. The infant who should be asleep right now in my arms. It had been Joy's child, but I felt the time he'd been in this body, remembered the little bulge of my belly, my swelling breasts. Was I going insane? All I knew was I couldn't stop crying...

But if my tears moved him at all it was to greater loathing, "Oh my, you lost some sleep! I'm supposed to be impressed with that? If you had any decency you wouldn't be able to consider such a thing. It's MURDER!"

"Now wait, please! You say murder like there's no discussing it. You shout, like whoever's the loudest or gets the angriest has to be right! But there are other beliefs about when a person is a person."

"You don't have beliefs, you have excuses!" he roared, and lapsed into another bout of coughing. He grabbed up his sippy cup and drank, his eyes closed.

I dragged the sleeve of my shirt across my cheeks, knowing they would be wet again in seconds. "But I ....... I swear I thought it was for the best. What kind of life could I have given that child? With being between jobs and everything---and yes, the tweek and the vodka---I was in a bad place in my life. You know that!"

"You think Elizabeth and I were 'in a good place' when we had Teodoro? When we had you? We were struggling more than you ever did. That was supposed to be my grandchild. I mean what's Teddy going to give me? And you know I would of helped you. Or there's people who can't have kids, who are just dying to adopt. But you, you just couldn't be inconvenienced. Life is just one big crazy party to you!"

"But it's not, Papa!"

"It is. And you don't care who you hurt, you selfish puttana! Your mother died worried sick about you. And you showed up at her funeral dressed like Halloween!"

Oh God. Mom. I sobbed, the words barely recognizable, "I'm so sorry, Papa!"

"I put up with a lot from you, for years. The dope. The crumb bums you always had for boyfriends. You showing up all of a sudden to stay with us, too special to work and plan like the rest of us. I made excuses for ALL of that, because I thought underneath it all you were a good girl. Stupid wishful thinking. Because I've seen what's underneath now. And it makes me sick!"

I heard myself whimpering, a disconsolate little girl- "Please Daddy! Don't say that!"

"Then don't come visiting me," he wheezed, "If I die, I die. I sure don't need you here for that. Maybe God can forgive you, but I can't. And I'm ashamed-"

"No!"

"Ashamed I brought you into this world. Now out! Get out of my sight!"

I lurched to my feet, forgetting all about my big red bag until it spilled to the floor. Scooped it up and fled! Rushing through the door I almost colliding with an emaciated old brown-skinned man who was being slowly ushered into the room by a nurse pushing his wheeled IV stand.

"Jesus! Why don't you watch where you're going?" snapped the nurse.

"I trying," pleaded her patient.

"No not you, honey! I meant that peckerwood bitch..."

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I stumbled down the hallway in a daze of bleak despair. My cheeks were burning, so hot that I was surprised they didn't evaporate the tears streaming down them. I felt drained of energy, like a robot whose batteries were running down. My feet weighed twenty pounds each as I slowly put one in front of the other, barely aware of the people milling past me at two or three times my pace. Some glanced at me with a pang of concern before moving on. They all seemed to be even taller than they had on my way in. Everything did...

It might not have been strictly logical for me to react as I had in there. My father hadn't actually been directing those vicious words at ME; It was more like I had accidently opened and read somebody else's hate mail. Ugly, but nothing that should be taken personally. But pummelled by his words, his tone---the absolute condemnation in his eyes---I had lost all objectivity. It was like some messed up Shakespeare tragedy; the insane old King mistaking the Prince for his traitorous sister and ramming the dagger into his breast. A dagger is a dagger.

But as the curtains rise on the next act we find the fallen Prince alive and well, awakening in his nightdress, feeling his chest and finding himself unscathed. And like the Prince, as hellish as that last scene had been it was rapidly coming to have no more substance than a bad nightmare for me. I was not Joy. I had not had an abortion. My father did not hate me like that.

But poor goddamn Joy! For her this was all terribly real, and there wouldn't be any corny plot devices coming to her rescue. And she just did not deserve this! I knew she could be a real bitch, and might deserve to be poked in the pantleg with a sharp fingernail, but not to be made to feel so worthless and wrong. More than anything right then I wanted to find her and let her know that she was somebody. Not filth or shit, and not a murderer. And any spiteful old pig who thought otherwise could just fuck off! Because for all her crassness and contentiousness and thievery, she was far more worthy than him; if he could speak like that to his own flesh and blood.

Wow ........ This was a reversal in my feelings toward Joy so sudden and extreme it almost made me dizzy. I grinned ruefully as I realized how cleverly this change of heart had been engineered. And by whom.

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"Penny for your thoughts..."

I had been focused on the linoleum flooring directly ahead of me, with its pattern like a sea of roiling clouds. Looked up. "Oh. Hi Grandma Rosa."

She held out an open bag. "Salt water taffy?"

Sure," I said, and took one. Untwisted the paper wrapper and popped it into my mouth.
"Mmmmmm, licoriff! I thaw' you diddin' like thweets..."

"I like them too much is my problem. But I figure you kids will help me eat these."

Biting down, my jaw was held shut for a second by the sticky mass before I managed to open it. "Boy, I hope her teeth are in better shape under these caps than I think they are."

"Me too. And not just her teeth. That's some nasty stuff she was taking. But she slept the whole first day she was here, so let's hope."

"I know. I never understood her always having to be on something. But I think I'm starting to. I don't mean I approve, although I admit I like a little beer buzz now and then, but I can see, I mean..."

"Why she feels like she has too," my grandmother finished, "She doesn't like herself much."

I felt my anger boil up, "And gee, I wonder why!"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come off it, Grandma."

"You mean your father. So things didn't go well between you?"

She said this with such deadpan innocence I had to laugh. "Look at you smirking! I feel like I just went seven rounds with the Incredible Hulk. It was a nightmare! And it looked like it was about to kill Dad, getting all worked up like that ........... And Joy. It just breaks my heart, what she has to be going through! I don't think I've felt this close to her since that summer she and I decided we were artists. You really are scheming old witch!"

We stepped to the side of the hall to converse easier, to let people pass. She grinned, "I'm just awful, aren't I?"

"You are. I hope the rest of your 'lessons in empathy' a-aren't so ......... Oh hell, I'm crying again."

"You might find yourself crying more easily now."

"Oh," I said, a bit spooked by this, something that should have occurred to me before. That this body wasn't just shaped differently. And yet I didn't think the bulk of my reaction what had happened on in there could be written off as some girly hormonal thing...

I took the lace hanky she offered (fuchsia), wiped my eyes and then honked my nose into it. "I don't know. I might have held out a little longer, but that would have totally got to me as a guy too. Got to anybody. You didn't hear it!"

"But I have. Me, him and Joy in the kitchen on that night last winter when it all came to a head. I left, went to stay with my coven sister Birda for a week. I couldn't be around him, I was furious! Shut up, he kept telling me, it was none of my business. And he had a few choice things to say about my philosophy, or at least his garbled version of it."

"What a jerk!"

"Yep. He was being the king of his castle, not listening to anybody, issuing banishments. And so when Joy left ............ It's funny, both you and your father seem to think she came back here just for a place to stay. I know she's come home a lot, but not this time. I could hear it in her voice, she meant it. That night was pretty much the last straw for her. I really had to beg her. To do this for me, not him."

I felt sheepish. "I didn't know. Nobody told me all this was going on."

"Well Josepho wasn't talking about it, couldn't let our relatives know 'the shame she has brought upon this family'," Grandma Rosa wheezed, doing a pretty good imitation of Brando's Godfather, "And Joy wasn't saying anything, so I didn't."

I noticed that we had reverted to referring to my now-male sister as 'she' and 'her'. But when speaking of Joy's life as a woman this seemed to make more sense. "Yeah, but you made sure I found out. So you really could've told me."

"I'll confess, I'm just a scheming old witch. I wanted you to get the full impact, a taste of what she's gone through her whole life. He was always so proud of the fact that he never hit you kids, or Elizabeth, like this was some amazing feat. People underestimate the power of verbal abuse. Use certain words on someone consistently enough, especially a child, they'll get a sense that there's just something wrong about them, basic and unfixable. Or freezing them out---'I'm going to stop loving you now.'---whenever they displease you. You got some of that from him, but-"

This struck me like an emotional death sentance. Damnation itself-"Oh God, don't say that!"

"No Sweetie, I didn't mean that! You're nothing like him. I meant about you being on the receiving end. No, you turned out great. You're an asshole to your sister, but she ....... But other than that you're pretty darn huggable."

"I am?"

"Come here!" She held her arms open. I swung my shoulder bag back out of the way and basically dove into them. It was startling to feel my breasts flattening against her rather flaccid ones, but only for a second. Then it was just a regular old Grandma hug, and much needed. Her unalloyed love and acceptance. And it was neat that we were much closer to the same height, rather than my having to stoop way down, not a position you want to stay in for long time. She kissed me on the cheek, "Yes indeed, very huggable."

"You too. Very! I love you Grandma. In this family, it's great how you're just so ......... you."

Growing up, there had always been a hint of condescension in the family's conversations about Grandma when she wasn't present. That nutty Rosa. Too direct, interested in strange things, all that travelling she did by herself not quite proper in some way. Her impulsiveness could be just plain embarrassing, like when she started yodelling in that crowded museum, fascinated by the acoustics. But to me as a kid, although I only saw her on holidays and visits, she stood as a role model. An inspiration. An example of what real sanity might look like, as opposed to merely cultivating an appearance of normalcy, out of some atavistic fear of being rejected by the pack.

"That means a whole lot to me." she said, rocking me. It was a good long hug, so comforting after being reviled like that. But ultimately it was too sticky-hot a day to stay pressed together like this. When she felt me loosening my grip Grandma did too. Stepped away, her hands sliding down the lengths of my arms until her fingers clasped mine.

She mimicked panting briefly, "It's hot in here, isn't it?"

I examined at the ungainly grey conduit running down one side of the hallway's ceiling, "I think this mickey-mouse air conditioning of theirs is busted. It was hot in Dad's room too."

"So I guess we should find Joy and head on back," Grandma said.

"Back to see Papa? I don't know if I can!"

"Relax, kiddo! I meant back home. We're done here for today."

"Great," I sighed, "Because I think I would have had to take a cab home."

"I would've understood if you had to, but I need you to help pick up The Beast at the restaurant. Get it out of there before something happens to it."

"Why such a short visit?" I asked as we started walking, toward the elevators.

"I just ran into one of Jojo's doctors. He said they're taking him in for a lung capacity test, and if they think he's up for it they're doing an EKG on a treadmill..."

"I hope they can figure out what it is and fix it," I said.

"Yeah. I'm sorry that was so painful for you in there. But there was a point to that, I wanted you to see what Joy has been going through."

"Yes I figured that. He was just so judgmental! There was none of that 'Judge ye not' or 'Cast not-' stuff, like you would hope a Christian---or an ex-Christian, whatever he is---would remember. No compassion, or trying to understand her side of things, or thinking that her motives could have been anything but totally selfish and rotten."

Grandma beamed at me, like I was one of her brighter pupils back when she taught school for a living, back in the days of Hula Hoops and fallout shelters. "Well said! Now consider that this didn't just happen out of the blue, because of his rather strong views on abortion. That all this judgement and attributing the worst possible motives to her has been going on for a long time."

"I know. He always did that with me and her."

"Both of you?"

"Of course both of us," I snapped.

"I know he went completely ballistic on you when you came out. Which is kind of ironic, considering what you were doing was exactly what he'd taught you about being a man. Stand tall, be proud of who you are, don't take shit from people. Fathers believe this in theory, but they also expect a son to turn out exactly like them. Or at least within whatever limits they decide are reasonable. But as bad as that was, there was a lot that Joy went through that you missed out on. In a family like ours---'blue collar' I guess you'd call us---young men are expected to raise a certain amount of hell. You're given a certain degree of latitude..."

"That's just bull, Grandma. He was always busting my chops."

The long hall ended in a t-intersection. This new hallway had narrow windows along its far wall, meaning we had reached the outer edge of the building. It felt less oppressive being here. (I'd never been claustrophobic but I knew Joy was, slightly. Perhaps phobias were rooted in some primitive part of the brain that isn't affected by a body swap. How much of me was Joy now, and vica versa?) We turned right, toward the elevators.

"Really? Always?" she frowned, "Okay, let's say for example when you went out someplace. Did he ask you where you were going?"

"Well sure. Sometimes."

"But did he DEMAND to know where you were going?"

In a flash I saw what she was getting at. I had an image of Joy, a composite of all the times I'd seen her hovering at the door or in the parlor while he cross-examined her...

"He did do that, didn't he? Just about every time she left the house! Wow, you're right. And that tone he used when he did it. So accusing, like she was on trial. Guilty until proven guilty. I remember that. And then calling around, checking up on her. He never did that with me. So I see what you mean about latitude. And he was getting all bent out of shape way before she did anything to warrant it. It's almost like she decided, 'If I'm gonna be accused of all this stuff, I might as well be doing it!'"

"A self-fulfilling prophecy," Grandma nodded.

"Exactly! No wonder she started rebelling. It's like, as soon as she started puberty, he always had something cutting to say to her. At the dinner table, in the car; just running her down!" I was growing agitated over this revelation that was unfolding in my brain, "And he did it over just the littlest, stupidest shit. How she sat, how she ate- my God, how she DRESSED! That was a big old deal with him! With me, there had been that one thing about the earrings---or tuck your shirt in, get a haircut---but nothing like he was doing to her! I never heard, 'You're not setting foot out of this house dressed like that!'; or the time he told her 'You might be the tramp of the eighth grade but you don't have to advertise it!'

"Ugh!" said Grandma, making a face like she had shit on her tongue, "I wasn't there for that one. I know I would've had something to say about that."

"What a horrible, hateful thing to say to a kid! Especially when there was absolutely nothing wrong with that outfit. That was that self-fulfilling prophecy thing again; because right after that she started shopping at The Madonna Store at the mall, sneaking the bustiers and things out and putting 'em on at a friend's house ............. What did he want her to wear, a fucking burka? Wait! You know what? He probably did! He probably ........ fucking ........ DID! You are so right, Grandma. Most of the time I had it a hell of a lot easier than her! Why didn't I notice this before?"

"You were a teenager yourself then. Teens are a pretty self-obsessed lot."

"Wait a minute! I can't say I never noticed it. I did see it. I saw him bagging on her, belittling her, undermining her like that- and I thought it was funny! I hated her that much. Plus I knew that as long as he was on her case he wasn't on mine. I was happy when he tormented her! I never considered how that must have made her feel. But you know what it all boils down to, Grandma? Why Papa acted like that? And why I didn't even see it?"

"No, tell me."

"It's this whole sick male supremist double-standard thing. Guys like Dad, it's like they think they have some right to tell the women in their lives how to live, what is and isn't 'proper', right down to the little nitpicky junk. It's such a basic part of their worldview they just assume they can do this, like they're entitled to it. I look back on my life, our family, and ........... Like him telling you to shut up like that. Or how he treated Mom! He loved her, he loved her, she was an angel, blah blah blah. But could she have her own checkbook? No, she had to come ask him when she wanted something and he decided if she should have it. He had to have control, the power, that fucking dickhead! It's all about power, isn't it? ............. Holy Shit! Everything the feminists say, it's all TRUE! I'd heard this stuff, figured there was probably something to it, but it was all theoretical to me before. It's so clear now..."

Grandma Rosa gazed heavenward, "Good Lord, I've created a monster."

"What? You don't think it's true? You of all people should see this!"

She cocked her head and said calmly, "Teddi dear..."

Somehow this got my attention. Made me aware that I had been practically shouting. "Uh oh ........... Was I going crazy?"

"Not crazy. But I've been breathing in and out here for about thirty-thousand days. And except for the three hundred and thirty-six of them I spent as a male---and a few Halloween parties---I've been a woman for every one of them. So uh, don’t'cha kinda think..."

Her tone was so droll by the end of her speech that we both started laughing. I nodded, "Okay, you got me. Pretty presumptuous of me to try to lecture you after one day."

"But it's good! Just the kind of breakthroughs I was hoping for when I swapped you and Joy. And yes it is true about men like him. But your father, he's a real dinosaur. Believe me, not all men are like that. My husband wasn't. And from what I've seen, your relationship with Joy isn't typical of how you relate to women. Yes there are still bastions of inequality in our society, and yes there's places on Earth where the situation women face is just sickening. But who ratified the 19th Amendment by an overwhelming majority? It was men, giving up privilege to do what was right. I'm not quite old enough to remember that, but I've experienced some pleasant changes in my time..."

"I guess you have," I said, "But nothing's going to change Papa."

"We'll see. Not that I expect to make a hippie out of him, but we'll see..."

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We had got to the elevators. Grandma pointed, "Ah, there he is!"

Across from the elevators was a balcony, big enough to park a couple of cars on, that Joy seemed to have it all to himself. It was one of a series of them descending the front of the building.

"Go fetch him. I have to run to the powder room," said Grandma, and headed for the nearby bathrooms.

Joy was staring broodily out across a parklike part of the campus, the Nassau Wood, which looked like it would be just beautiful in Fall, if Fall ever got here. I stepped out into a Las Vegas heat that made me realize the building's air conditioning had been working fairly well after all.

When he heard the door open he turned to face me. He saw my tear stained face, the knowledge in my eyes, and a faint tremor passed through him. He shook his head. NO.

"I had no idea," I told him. "God damn that stinking son of a bitch!"

He stared down at his Hush Puppies, "I really don't want to talk about it."

I saw the anguish in his eyes. Said, "Fine. But if you ever do..."

He looked up briefly, smiling shyly. "Thanks. Maybe later."

And that was that. Hardly a big teary hug-fest, but for me and Joy it was a real milestone.

"I'll be in in a minute," he said, "Maybe you should go find Grandma."

"I found her. She'll be right along."

"Well I sort of need to be alone."

His posture seemed strange. Not like a person stands but like he was modelling his outfit. The way he was draped against the solid marble face of the railing, sort of leaning back, left hip cocked forward, in a way that looked artificial and not quite comfortable, a position dictated by the way he had turned, by the way he was holding his wrist way down past the top of the railing stuck.

Then I saw the whisps of whitish smoke curling up from about where his fingers would be. "Oh fuck! I should have known."

"Huh?"

"What's that in your hand?"

"Nothing," he said innocently as he brought his hand up. Fingers spread, empty. "What are you talking about?"

Damn. Well I'm not going to accuse him of anything without proof. He would just deny it.

"Hey," came an angry voice from the next balcony down, "Don't be throwin' no lit butts down here! I'm on oxygen fer Chrissake!"

I drawled wearily, "God damn it, Joy."

He became instantly hostile, "Here we go again .......... So I had one. Big deal!"

"There's no such thing as only one."

"You're like a broken record, you know? Everything I do ......... I'm just never gonna please you."

"Where do you get that? It's not 'everything you do'. This is about one specific, concrete thing. That's my body you're in, and I don't want you filling it with nicotine. It's not about anything but that. I'm not Papa, all right?"

"It's hard!" he protested.

"I know it's hard. It was hard enough to quit when I did. And then I inherited your addiction last night- well fine, neither of us asked to be switched. But goddamn it, I don't want to go through it all over again in November. I mean, is that so damn much to ask?"

"Alright, alright! Now get off my case," he snarled, in a way that didn't sound like he was agreeing to anything.

"That's it? 'Get off your case'? That whole big spiel you gave me this morning, I should've realized it didn't mean shit. Giving someone your word is just a short term strategy to you, saying whatever you think they want to hear to get rid of them!"

"I promised you I would try. And I did try!"

"You're really stuck in that whole teenage 'everybody's picking on me' thing, aren't you? For God's sake Joy, you're thirty-one! I'm not trying to tell you how to live your life. Just a few things I want because you happen to be in my body right now..."

"Okay, so I'm not all strong and have my shit together like you do! I'm a screw up, all right? I'm painfully aware of that!"

"I'm having a little trouble following these non-sequiters here. What does that mean exactly? That you can just call yourself a loser and exempt yourself from doing anything you don't like?"

"Well what about you and Ben and Jerry and Mr. Salty Pretzel last night?"

"WHAT?!" I cried, thinking he was accusing me of taking part in some weird orgy.

"Yeah. Pigging out like that!"

Oh, the ice cream. Yes I had some."

"Some? You had a whole fucking pint! That's over a thousand calories, and all fat!"

"How did you even know about this?"

"I saw the empties in the trash. That whole can of pretzels too!"

"What were you doing digging through the trash?"

"I was- never mind!" He stuck his chest out, all righteous indignation, "That's MY body you're in, and you just totally put a bunch of crap into it!"

"Oh yeah? The only reason I ate that ice cream was because I was jonesing over your damned cancer sticks. I still am!"

"I work really hard to keep my weight down. How many thirty-one year old women can say they weigh the same as they did in high school? And I don't want you turning me into some lardo!"

"Is that a 'lardo' body you're sitting in? Look at yourself. Not bad for a guy with a desk job," I said, and pointed out across the woods, "Go for a run around the whole Princeton campus, and come back here, and you tell me I don't know how to take care of myself. And I don't rely on snorting 'appetite suppressants' to do it. At least I hope you're only snorting them!"

"I quit all that," he said defensively.

"So you always seem to be saying."

"I DID! Have you seen me high or drunk since you got here?"

"You mean in the last eighteen hours? Why, is that a record for you?"

He glared at me miserably, "Well what if it is?!"

I thought of Dad and me back in the hospital room. Thought of my conversation with Grandma. I realised that badgering Joy was hardly the best tack to take here. All it did was bring up old wounds and shut down his critical faculties. I took a deep breath. "Oh. Then .......... that's good. Seriously, if it's that hard for you, then congratulations. I mean it. No sarcasm, no hidden barbs ......... And I'll tell you what. I'll lay off the ice cream---anything bad like that---and you try to stay clean and don't smoke for the duration. "

He nodded, "All right. I'm sorry I wasn't able to stick to my word. I'll really try."

"Talk to Grandma if you feel yourself starting to slip. She's probably got all kinds of good advice, meditation tricks and stuff."

"That is a good idea!"

"So we'll both try to be good to each other's bodies this month. Shake on it?"

He broke in to a childlike grin, "Sure, Bro'!"

We clasped hands---his all but swallowing mine---and shook; A single ritualistic way up, way down, and release. Halfway through we heard a faint click.

It was Grandma Rosa with a little disposable Fuji chip camera.

"Well that's going in the Christmas newsletter!" she smiled. "Alright muchachos, let's vamoos."

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The elevator brought us down to the lobby. A mammoth room that they had taken great pains to modernize. It didn't even go with what lie on the floors above. And the air conditioning was sending a glorious stream of arctic air through the room.

We all three groaned in ecstasy, "Ahhhhhhhh!"

As we were crossing the waiting room Grandma called out, "Holy cow! It's Big Business!"

I followed her gaze to a large flatscreen t.v., and smiled, "Hey, Laurel and Hardy."

"And it's just starting. Let's grab a seat, kids."

Joy goggled at her. "Are you on glue, Grandma? You can watch TV at home."

"This would be over by the time we got there. No, we're not going anywhere for the next half hour. This is one of their all time masterpieces..."

There were six rows of cheap plastic chairs, and behind them a comfortable beige couch. As a mom and her kids vacated it Grandma and I took the couch. Joy remained standing. Fidgeting, "I can't watch that. It's in black and white."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I don't know. For some reason watching movies that aren't in color makes me feel sick to my stomach. Everybody all gray like that."

"Think of all the classics your missing," said Grandma, "It's a Wonderful Life, The Seven Samurai, Wild Strawberries, The Bicycle Thief, Sunset Boulevard, Wrestling Women vs. the Aztec Mummy..."

"I hate old shit like this," scowled Joy, "And you can't even hear it from back here. Let's just go."

"We don't need to hear it, it's a silent movie," said Grandma, "Now shoosh!"

"A silent movie? You guys are freaks, you know that?" he said, and stormed off, indignant that anyone could enjoy such a thing.

Stan and Ollie were selling Christmas trees door to door on a sunny day in Southern California. The neighborhood they were working in was up in the hills somewhere, and what was amazing was that down on the plain below you could see the Los Angeles City Hall, and instead of being lost among a jumble of nondescript office buildings like it is today, we see it is rising---all by itself---from what looks like a vast beanfield. Having been to L.A. a few times on business, it was startling to realize that sprawling mess of a city was ever so empty.

The entrepeneurs got ran off from the first two houses they tried. At the third house a balding man with a naturally pissed-off look about him answered the door, saw what they were selling, and rudely told them to scram.

"That's James Finlayson," Grandma grinned, "He worked with them a lot. Some call him 'the third Laurel and Hardy'. He's just the perfect adversary for them..."

When he shut the door a branch from the christmas tree was caught in it. To free it, they had to ring the doorbell again. He answered it, irate, yelling at them, but somehow as he slammed the door it happened again. And the next time a bit of Stan's coat was stuck in it. So they rang the bell again. By now the guy was convinced that they were doing it on purpose, and when he came out next he cut Ollie's tie off with a scizzors. They rang for him again and destroyed his hat. He cut their tree in half...

Driven by the mad logic of vendetta, the battle between the salesmen and the homeowner escalated, inexorably, picking up speed---they doing greater and greater vandalism to his house and him to their Christmas tree truck---until both house and vehicle were smashed to bits. What had started as a minor argument ended with all parties involved being ruined.

As Grandma hauled me to my feet I was laughing so hard that people were staring. And I suppose there was a tinge of hysteria to it, a release of toxic energies I'd accrued during that horrible visit with Papa.

"That was insane," I brayed. "It's like they all lost everything, just to prove a point. To get the last shot in. My God! Who could possibly be that stupid?"
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To be continued...