Boyish Dreams of Manhood
Joey nearly topples under the weight of his aluminum bat as he swings
his office door closed with a sigh and, tossing cold takeout on his desk, he
Gallops across the dusty backyard, plastic silver gun gleaming in its holster, pulling
the knot of his tie straight before he enters the conference room, shaky about his
First sixth-grade dance, the one where he plans to ask Marjorie Coleman to
hold his calls — boss wants to see him — God, how he needs some antacid to settle
The score with Eddie, who pushes his glasses up on his nose while he talks, saying
it’s the worst report he’s ever seen come across his desk and maybe he ought to
Go outside and watch fire trucks roar past, waving at the men in hats who grin and
apologize, promising to do better next time, feeling his shirt collar grow warm
In the sunshine, sherbet dripping between his fingers, a Daddy Longlegs lazily dragging
his briefcase past the shiny black sports car to his own dusty wagon and opens
His sleeping bag with a whoosh! Lighting the coal oil lantern he giggles and munches on
the end of a cigarette, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to
The hush of ghost stories told on blankets of marshmallows, staying up all night to
rock the crying baby and send wide-eyed worries to the ceiling before
Morning comes and Mom brings hot cocoa and the boys hurry to get to practice and
briskly kisses his wife goodbye to start it all again. So much to do. So much to do.
So much to do, but still Joey pauses a moment to imagine himself as a grown man, he
pauses to remember himself as a little boy. He can almost feel the holster warm on his hip.