Time sure flies when you're having so much fun. So to speak. I mean, it really does. That was about a year ago, all that I just explained. Of course I went back for my next shift. Actually, if I remember correctly, I got called in to cover the other drunk lady's shift, the one who never came back.
Now Raquel and me go out and get drinks together all the time. I am on my way to becoming a drunk-lady-direct-care-worker myself. Raquel and me practically run the place.
Some things, even with time, don't change, however.
"You want to get together?" It's Archie. I'm standing in my dad's house right now and can hear Dad out in the garage sawing on something.
"Good God," I say, and I laugh because Archie's voice sounds so familiar and yet shocking, like a CD you think is fucked-up and you press play and it's not.
"It's me."
"You were up for six years."
"Time out for good behavior. Plus Butler County ain't got no room, and it was my first offense."
He laughs, smoky-voiced. I can picture him, going bald but with a rugged face, and skin color like dank wood. And his mouth, I always can remember that fondly. Big-lipped and smiling with strong white teeth. He is so into dental hygiene.
Dad comes in sweaty, mouthing, "Who is it?"
I just roll my eyes. "Listen, I gotta go."
I hang up, and Dad looks at me: "Archie?"
"How'd you know?"
"You had that look. He calling from jail?"
Dad is washing his hands in the sink, over all the dirty dishes. He is a tall guy with freshly cut hair. He goes to the barber three times a month. On disability because of his back, so it's about the only place to go during the day, outside of his old work site and I think they might have told him to stop going there so much. Now he spends his time out in his garage/workshop making things like a vacuum cleaner with a digital display. Inventions he hopes to patent. He takes a lot of pills for pain.
"No. He's out."
Dad dries his hands on paper towels.
"Wow," he says. "You know what, I had a vision."
Dad thinks he's psychic. He even has a license to be a practicing one and goes to psychic fairs in Cincinnati and Dayton. Even has business cards: ROLAND SIMMONS, L.S.P. (Licensed Spiritualist Practitioner). With that license, he can legally marry people. He's marrying Tom A. and Tom B. tonight, in fact. Not legally, but still.
"You did?" I say.
"Yeah. I didn't want to say nothing." His eyes go so sincere, like Bill Clinton, when he talks psychic talk. It's a sad yet joyous thing, his psychic powers. Like a person who can't read suddenly being able to. The psychic stuff is one of the primary reasons Mom dumped him though.
Dad looks at me with big puffy Darvon eyes. "But I saw you and Archie together in a motel room."
He laughs but stops.
"Thanks, Dad. There is no way."
I go into the living room. I've straightened it up for the wedding tonight. It's all planned. Me and Raquel planned it. I have white and sky blue streamers and I made a cake and punch. Dad's technological shit is still everywhere in piles, cables and old TVs and VCRs and computer monitors and stuff, but I scooted all of it around to make it look like an aisle. At first, we were gonna rent a hall, but that would have drawn attention to it. This is sort of a secret operation, of course. If Kate knew, or if Tom A.'s brother, his legal guardian, knew, we'd all be fired, possibly up for charges or something.
"Think about the headlines, Anita," Raquel said one night at Applebee's after work, over cocktails and cigarettes. "Two Group Home Workers Force Clients into Homosexual Marriage." We got tickled and started making up juicier and juicier ones, ending with: "Shotgun Homosexual Retarded Marriage Performed by Crazed Psychic While Group-Home Workers Get Drunk and Laugh Their Asses Off."
Anyway, Tom A. is being made to move, or at least that's the threat. Kate Anderson- Malloy caught them one morning doing it in the bathroom about four months back, and since then she's been on a campaign, although she's totally professional about it. At a staff meeting, where all of us gather at the main office in Middletown, Kate, kind of flabby with really nice hair and an excellent pant suit, got into a sort of tirade. I mean, she's a bitch, like most managers afraid of doing any real work are, but also there's this weird, loud lovingness in her face as she pronounces her proclamations, like against her compassionate instincts she's always having to tell us these things. And so she looked at all of us in the paneled conference room, and she went:
"Look. We have tried everything with those two. I mean, I'm not against love. I'm not against human sexuality. I'm against obsession. Those two are obsessed, I mean, I talked to Mr. Allen, Tom A.'s guardian, last night on the phone, and he told me they've been like that since they were boys, and it's hard to stop that kind of behavior. I mean, you can't. So we're just gonna move Tom A. over to Franklin Street and move Juanita from over there to our place. Juanita's real cute. You guys are gonna love her. I mean, Tom A. and Tom B. can still see each other, but supervised. I mean, what I'm afraid of is that they are gonna end up hurting each other. Physically. There's all kinds of issues here. I mean, when I walked in on them the other morning, Tom A., excuse me, but Tom A. was anally penetrating Tom B."
The way she said "penetrating," I had to laugh. Raquel looked over at me, and our eyes kind of got conspiratorial.
When Kate looked at me, she had to laugh too. I mean, it was funny. Eric, another guy who works with us, laughed, and then all the people, mostly new hires, well, we all got the giggles until finally Kate had to stop us.
"I know, I know," she said. "This is the people business, and yes, the people business can be pretty funny. But let's just try to make this happen smoothly okay?"
Then it got quiet, like we were all suddenly little kids and Kate Anderson-Malloy was the teacher.
yet shocking, like a CD you think is fucked-up and you press play and it's not.
ones, ending with: "Shotgun Homosexual Retarded Marriage Performed by Crazed Psychic While Group-Home Workers Get Drunk and Laugh Their Asses Off."
