Chapter 4

“Never shoot a gun in an enclosed space ... unless it’s to save a life.”

There came a stomping ... like my dad climbing up a staircase and pissed about something.

Something is another Murphy, ‘There is always something.’

“David James Austin!”

That sounds like my dad ... can’t be ... he died in ‘59 ... and that was 50 years ago ... maybe not.

The slam of the attic door against the wall.

A second set of stomps.

My mother ... couldn’t be anyone else ... no one I know has that distinctive scream... “David James Austin! You Get Rid of That Gun! Charles!”

“I’m going! Vera ... calm down.”

Yup ... Daddy! It is therefore pre 1959 ... and I am a kid again. In trouble ... again ... still.

The closet door slammed back,

“DAVID!”

I am examining the .32 caliber hole in the roof. My mighty fine womangirl is buttoning up her blouse ... her bra still draped over the hanger rail.

“Who is your young lady.”

Since I’d never been introduced I looked to her for an explanation.

“Sallyanne Baker,” Sallyanne said, “I assume you’re David’s father.”

And Mom arrived.

You don’t scream in a closet either. Almost as bad as shooting a gun.

Later ... sitting on the couch, holding hands, Mom interrogated Sallyanne.

Sallyanne is the best liar. Even better than me.

Sallyanne spun a story I won’t EVEN attempt to tell ... because I was elsewhere ... off in my own mind ... escaping reality.

I was 15 again. I was distracted from my quest for mental escape.

Sallyanne said she was 16 ... and looked 20.

And I was off ... trying to remember where my school locker was ... and the combination to the lock ... and what classes I had ... and where they were ... and the teachers names ... and the basket in the gym locker-room ... and what I was doing in Art ... did I have homework ... did I do it ... and ... oh god ... Charles Beckwith ... my brother ... and Grace and Maryanne ... where were they.

I jumped up ... and got shoved ... mom ... and pulled ... Sallyanne ... back to the couch and where did I think I was going.

And I didn’t know.

And ... finally ... Sallyanne looked me in the eye...

“Ohoh,” she said, “David ... David ... look at me ... David ... put your head between your knees. Breathe ... in ... out ... in ... out ... glass of cold water. In ... out ... in ... out...”

Mom knew the glass fetch was for her.

She jumped up and fetched a glass from the kitchen sink. She handed it to Sallyanne, “Small sips, Sally. Small sips.”

“Sips, my ass.” She drenched me.

Mom beamed at her... “You’re staying here tonight. Mr. Austin will figure it out tomorrow. I like you!”