Diversion
Scott Garson
On the road we played
games.
R, said the two-year old, Sammy.
Were not on R, were on F, said his sister.
R!
Sammys right, my husband intervened. Restaurant. R.
Were not on that!
* * *
We kept going at lunch.
One day Monday I had a question and my question was this, Ellie said. Can
an omelet take a nap?
Sammy laughed.
If its tired, I deadpanned.
They laughed.
Im an omelet! Im snoring! said Ellie.
Now Tuesday, my husband went.
* * *
The kids had just stirred and risen from sleep to find they were still strapped
in their car seats. We went on.
Im orange.
Youre not orange, Sammy told me.
Ask questions.
Are you nice? said Ellie.
Not so nice.
Are you mean?
Could be. Ask something else.
* * *
And then singing, each her own song.
Non! I belted out. Je ne regrette rien! Non! Rien de rien!
Are we there? called Sammy.
And his sister: Whats Mommy singing?
Edith Piaf, their father said.
Whats it mean?
That she doesnt regret anything.
Whats that mean?
Ni le bien! Ni le mal!
Nothing.
Are. We. There?
* * *
In the hotel Sammy kept at it. We walked down the hall. It was long and perfectly
square. It was silent.
Where are we going, Tasha? he whispered.
Tasha?
Im Pablo, youre Tasha, he said.
Were going to get ice. Quit pulling my skirt down, Sammy.
Im not Sammy, Im Pablo.
The ice machine hummed. When the cubes clattered into the box, he jumped back. "Is
it scary? he asked.
I looked at him. His expression didnt falter. I swept him up into my
arms. "I
love you I love you I love you, I breathed.
Tasha, put me down, Tasha.
* * *
In the pool we played chase. I was suddenly bored. Last time, I
said. Just one more time. The pool was enclosed. Light from it
scaled the walls that circulated our voices.
* * *
When the kids had been safely guided into their sleep, one in each bed, we
sat at the table. We sipped whiskey from cups that shaped and reshaped themselves
in our hands. I kept on.
Youve taken a terrible blow to the head, I said. You
awake without memory. What do you see?
My husband made a face of dismay, then nodded, coming to terms with the premise.
No, its a question. You wake up. You recall nothing at all. Look around.
I see my wallet. I see your cell phone, with the Nirvana ringtone.
Its not ringing. You dont know its Nirvana.
I see two kids. A beautiful little girl with a daisy done on her cheek
in yellow and white face paint.
You see a daisy?
Karen.
If theres a daisy done on the cheek of that girl, it must be against
the pillow.
Im tired."
* * *
Alone I continued. I leaned in on my wrists. I leaned up to the mirror. An
old game. My expressions. My face. Someone who knows you: what will he know?
This?
This?
This?
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