Laid on our backs on the pea field to watch flocks of hawks fill the sky. The bushels of peas were densely packed enough for us to flop down as if upon a big, springy mattress.
The bushels were wide-spaced over dry soil to make it easy to feel no lizards were lurking. Father redirected my gaze skyward.
“There might be lizards and rats, then again, the secretary birds probably ate them all,” he said, proudly, as if he were one of them. “But don’t worry.”
So we watched the hawks, which were now “secretary birds.” Without looking away we grazed on peas in round, sweet handfuls – they grew like grapes all around us, podless, and they couldn’t find stomach’s bottom. The peas made me happy enough to be reflective without the usual fear.
“What should I do with my life?” I asked, fully expecting an answer. Without looking away from the hawks, father said “anything.”
I relaxed into this answer, which was like a big, springy mattress.
“But don’t do nothing. That would be sleazy.”
“Sleazy – why would you use that curious word to describe doing nothing? Isn’t sleazy like when you do something low or criminal?” I asked.
“Nothing more low or criminal than doing nothing,” he said. I waited.
“I’ve noticed that you refuse to let yourself matter,” he said sadly. This time his eyes were squarely on me.
My eyes, that had begun to fill with tears, were now solidly on the sky.
Father said, “…the secretary birds won’t take care of that, son…”
Later I fought with my wife about the insides of a fish. I would have demured but the exchange with my father emboldened me.
“It’s a sea anemone on the inside,” I insisted, and I peeled away the carp’s skin to reveal a big, pink anemone and this had proven the truth to my wife.
She couldn’t speak, and I spent the rest of the day looking for a place to put the carp – which was now an anemone – holding it by its foot to avoid being stung.
It began to fling it’s tendrils up over the back of my hand. Hot, stinging, invisible rending of flesh. I found a fish tank in the basement and plunked the truth about the fish into the water. I poured in some sea salt. Then I poured salt on my hand, too, which was as numb as a porkchop.