Ellen June Wright

Ignorance remains
the steadiest path to mistakes/errors
“hey I didn’t know” is slightly
superior to “I was drunk”, or that
chestnut, “it was a long time ago,
things were different then”.
Don’t fall for it.
To hit your kids is as wrong
in 1970 as it is today, as
wrong as princes in the tower
or cigarette burns on a toddler’s back.

Night, the anger rises.
Rage, rage, rage against the 
Perceived slights of today,
not paid enough, not promoted,
night shift chain smoking 
by the hour, this job deserves a
walk out, but to where?

Later, a hit down, swing low
to meet your self esteem, 
those little shits need to learn
to shut up.
Survey the wounded.
Bathroom door, photo frames,
dog cowering by the door.
Patch the sheetrock, make 
apologies with pizza, toys.

Research reveals that the abused
so often become abusers in turn.
Poor fools, quick to anger and
quick to self delusion. Poor excuses.
Social Services knows your family name.
The same smile, bad teeth,
good with their hands. 
That one was a star athlete.
Dark rivers run strongest at night
as owls regard the trailer with
wide, wide eyes while the moon,
Uncle Moon, looks away.

The tricolored blackbird is a native of California, and reputedly the inspiration for the electronic sounds of R2D2, for which it received no credit, no benefits, no compensation:  it is an officially threatened species.  A feather from the epaulet can be used in divination.  The blackbird is a tri-gendered subject.  It is majestic.  And economically oppressed.  It is related to the red-winged blackbird, its far more common cousin.  The tricolored blackbird of California is underprivileged; 80% of its urban population is located in federally designated food deserts.  They subsist by dumpster diving.  Those still in the wild eat their fledglings, Medea-like, in acts of vengeance against unfaithful partners.  The blackbird’s rating on the Quality of Life Index (developed by M.D. Morris) is 16 out of 100.  Its metalinguistic habits have not yet been explored.  The tricolored blackbird is asexual and aromantic.  Specimens in aviaries reproduce by IVF.  In the wild, they rely heavily on social reproduction.  A recent government grant provided $1.2 million to tag 10,000 tricolored blackbirds.  The recipient is a major R1 institution with plans to attach electrodes to the blackbird’s brain and transliterate each caw into English with the long-term goal of constructing a Franco-English-Blackbird pidgin.  No one asked the tricolored blackbird what it thinks of being tagged.  Increasingly, they are found with BP oil slicked on their wings.  Poachers have been known to kill them for a single red feather from its wing. The blackbird is itself and nothing else.  But this one here is special, No. 07115.  The blackbird is itself, but we all need some ID.    

He was a boy and he lived in a house of men, or the house of boys, as his grandmother called it. He was transported between the two houses, his dad’s father’s house and his mom’s mother’s house because he wasn’t old enough to ride his bike to and from yet.

His grandpa “Pop” was Tom, and he taught college students economics, which wasn’t on his own school schedule, but math was on there, and Pop said it was like math, plus how people worked. His dad was Thomas, and he was an engineer, which had to do with math plus machines. The house of the house of men was large and had a decent-sized backyard.

Grandma and mom’s house was smaller and smelled like banana bread usually, unless she cooked something else and then it smelled like that for a bit before going back to banana bread. It was good banana bread, but you had to specifically request chocolate chips, otherwise you were going to get just plain banana bread.

The house of men was always cleanest on Tuesdays because that was when Lola came. She mopped and she vacuumed, and she adjusted the china so that it was just right. That was the only time the china was touched, so Tommy wasn’t sure why it needed to be adjusted. In the house of men, they often ate takeout on paper plates with plastic forks that all went into the garbage right after, which was nice because then there was no disruption to their TV watching.

They were outside on a warm fall night and Tommy knew he wouldn’t be sent to bed on time because there was no clock outside, and both their phones were inside, charging. Dad had his laptop with football on, and Pop was looking wistfully out into the distance, glancing at the game whenever he took a swig of beer. They were finishing dinner of take-out barbecue when Dad asked Pop about Thanksgiving. Pop was non-committal because he was sad. No Angie.

“But we’ll be here, and I was wondering what we should have for dinner.”

“I’m supposed to ask everyone what they’re thankful for – Mrs. Stanton said so,” interjected Tommy.

“I’m thankful for you buddy! And that you’ll be with us on Thanksgiving” said Dad in his Dad voice, ruffling Tommy’s hair. “What are you thankful for Tommy?”

Dad had a “Dad” voice for Tommy and sometimes Pop, and a regular voice for most other people and the TV when football was on. Both were good voices. Pop just had one voice, and Tommy liked that too.

“Ummm my parents and my grandparents and food and education and-“

“Is that what your teacher told you say,” said Pop wryly. “I’LL tell you what you should be thankful for kid – private property rights!”

“Private – what?”

“Private. Property. Rights. They’re the most important thing we have. Without them we couldn’t have an economy, we couldn’t build anything, we wouldn’t own anything! Anyone could just come to our house and say that it was theirs!”

“Ok, I’m thankful for private property rights. Because I like our yard and I like making fires,” said Tommy.

“And private property rights aren’t just about land – your stuff, your ideas are your property too,” said Pop, leaning in and putting down his beer so he could talk with both hands.

“Mrs. Stanton says we’re supposed to share our stuff with people.” said Tommy.

“WELL,” said Pop, “how would she like it if I just borrowed her car sometime? Yeah, I don’t think so. Also, if everyone just gave everything away all the time, it wouldn’t be worth anything. And then no one would ever bother making stuff again because they have no INCENTIVE, no INCENTIVE to work or invest their resources.”

Tommy just listened. He liked when Pop waved his arms around and talked loud like this.

“You tell the kids in school to be thankful for private property rights.” Said Pop, “No one can just take their stuff or just come into their house.”

Tommy nodded.

“I think it’s time for bed Professor,” said Dad in his Dad voice.

The house of men was done for the night. And they all went to bed with dreams of private property rights dancing in their heads.

The next morning Tommy went to school with his usual things packed since he was going to the house of women afterwards. And so he did, and grandma was there to greet him as soon as he stepped off the bus.

“It’s my Tommy!” She said, taking his backpack off his shoulders and carrying it over her arm after she hugged him.

“How was school?”

“Good”

“What did you eat for lunch?”

“A sandwich”

“What kind of sandwich”

“Ham”

“Just ham? Did you eat enough? Are you hungry? Are you tired, do you want to nap?”

“No”

“No not hungry? What about a nap?”

“No”

“No? Ok, let me know if you want a snack later.”

“Okay”

The questions stopped briefly as they walked inside and Tommy took off his shoes, because that what was you did in the house of women.

The house of women had many things in it that could break, so running space was limited. There were plates not used for eating, dolls not used for playing, and vases not used for flowers.

But there were also things you could touch, like a kaleidoscope and snow globes. There was always food offered to you and usually more cooking in the oven for later. Mom lived there with Grandma, who was usually home. Mom wasn’t there a lot because her job was to fly on planes but was almost always there when he was there. There were also lots of questions in the house of women – about how school was, and how Dad and Pop are, and how things are at their house, and if he washed his hands, and what the teacher said, and how he felt about all of these things, and if he felt sad about it or mad about it, and what he was looking forward to that week. Often, he did not know the answers or thought he got the answer wrong. Since there were so many questions in the house of women he preferred to go on weekends and not right after school, since that was all questions too.

He was doing his homework when Grandma asked if he’d like a snack, and if he’d like chips, and if he’d like potato or tortilla, and if he’d like something to drink with that and if he’d like milk or water and how his homework was going. He was brought potato chips and water and continued with his subtraction problems.

Once Mom came home, they would all sit together at the table for dinner. There was never TV during dinner at the house of women. Tommy sometimes missed TV, but Mom and Grandma sat across from each other so watching them was a bit like watching a show. That night was about Stephanie Winder who had grown up in the neighborhood and moved away and was now back with a family in tow, because Seattle was probably too expensive and her parents will need help in a few years, or at least her dad will, and the mother isn’t all there you know. After covering the news of the day, they would turn towards him and begin the interview.

“Did you finish your homework?” Asked Mom.

“Yep”

“Any tests or projects coming up?”

“I have to make a diorama.”

“A diorama? Of what?”

“Something from Alice in Wonderland.”

“Oh ok. We’ll figure out what stuff to get for it. Unless you’re already working on it at Dad’s?”

“Nope”

“Ok so he hasn’t bought anything for it?”

“No”

“Okay, well make a list of supplies.” Said Mom, very business-like.

Back at the house of men, Tommy was outside gathering sticks for a fire and came in to ask Pop when they could start it.

“Hi Tommy,” said Pop without getting up.

“Hi Pop!”

“Hey, I thought of something today – I don’t know what made me think of it – maybe it was that Whittaker Chambers documentary – anyway, here’s what you do if you get in trouble at school and they make you call your parents – this is what I did, and it worked like a charm. So what happens is, I have to go into the principal’s office to make a phone call to my mother because I got in trouble –“

“What did you do?”

“Oh, I don’t actually remember. Something. Probably pulled a girl’s hair. But anyway, I was-”

“Mrs. Stanton says you can’t do that – you need consent before touching people.”

“Yeah well, we didn’t have consent when I was growing up – and if a girl consents to you pulling her hair, watch out for her – don’t get serious with her, she’s crazy. Anyway, I was in school, and I got in trouble, and they told me I had to call my mom and tell her what I did. Me and another guy – Joey – Joey…Trupiano, short guy. So, Joey goes before me, and his mother picks up the phone and really gives it to him. Then it was my turn, so I dial our house, but no one answers. Well, I thought of this in the moment – the teacher was watching me and listening to me, but she couldn’t hear what was going on on the other side of the call. So, I pretended like my mother had picked up the phone and I was talking to her. I said what I did and that I was in trouble, and then I just made sure to pause long enough and say “yes mom” and “sorry” and it was a very convincing performance! I got away with it!”

Tommy was impressed. “But,” he said, “now we have voicemail, and if I called Mom and she didn’t answer it would go to voicemail, and then she would listen to the voicemail, so it probably wouldn’t work.”

“Damn, you kids have it tough. Even your dad could have gotten away with it on our landline if he got back fast enough to erase the message. I guess it would be hard to get ahold of your mom’s cell before she would see the voicemail,” said Tom with inquisitiveness.

They both continued assessing the problem and possible solutions in silence for some time.

Later that week Tommy was at the house of women waiting for Dad to pick him up for soccer practice. He glanced the clock in the kitchen to make sure he was ready, but not so often or so obviously that Grandma or Mom would notice and think he couldn’t wait to leave. This was especially important to avoid before being taken away for the entire weekend. It was crucial to get it just right – to be ready to go and to go without any perceived hesitation or worry, but to also not speed too fast towards the door. Mom could not be given a reason to say Tommy didn’t want to go with Dad, but also couldn’t have hurt feelings over him wanting to leave. It was best to simply happen to be near the door when Dad rang the doorbell.

But the doorbell didn’t ring. And this was a PROBLEM because now Tommy would be LATE for soccer practice. Tommy tried to explain to Mom that he wouldn’t be late yet, not yet, but she had other ideas.

“Let’s call him,” Mom said, whipping out her phone and handing it to Tommy, who was familiar with this routine.

“What.” Said Thomas in his regular voice.

“Hi Dad, it’s Tommy.”

“Oh hey Buddy, sorry, I’ll be there in 2 minutes,” said Dad in an extra Dad voice.

“Ok” said Tommy

“It’s NOT OK,” said Mom sharply, “tell him he’s making you late to soccer practice!”

No way out.

Then Dad said, “I’m gonna go buddy, because I’m driving –  I’ll see you in a few minutes.” Three beeps ending the call. Tommy almost took the phone away from his ear but then paused. It would work, he thought, as long as Mom didn’t get too close to the phone and see.

“You’re making me late to soccer practice.” He paused, 4 Mississippis. “ok” pause 1 Mississippis, “Ok bye.” He handed the phone back to Mom who looked pleased. He almost smiled but kept it inside of himself. He was smart and wanted to tell Pop all about it.

His only fear was that Mom would notice what time her phone said the call ended and realize. They noticed everything in the house of women. Scrapes, scratches, undone buttons and shoelaces, frowns, and even spilled water, which is almost invisible.

There was no Grandma in the house of men, just like there was no Pop in the house of women. Both had died before he was born. Pop talked about when she won big at poker in Vegas, and when they visited Japan together and spoke about her softly to Dad late at night sometimes and usually on Christmas. There had been another woman in his life – or still in his life – Angie. Pop and Angie had been married before Tommy was born, but also split up, like Mom and Dad. Tommy only remembered one Thanksgiving with her there. There were lots of people and lots of food. This was before it had become the house of men, because she was usually there. She still stopped in and saw Pop, but not as much as he wanted. Dad said to just call her Angie.

“Angie, come on, please – I really want you to come…but why can’t you?…No, I won’t do that again, I promise…well, just think about it, please?”

There was a pause and then Pop defeatedly said “Okay, goodbye then.”

Pop put his hand over his face and then ran it through his hair, wiping off some of his look before speaking to Tommy.

“I don’t understand women!” He exclaimed, stuffing the phone back in his pocket.

Tommy thought this made sense. Pop and Grandma were different species. Same Kingdom, phylum, class, and genus, but different families and surely species.

Later that night Tommy woke up slowly to a song outside.

Ooo baby, I love your way, everyday,

He lay in bed, listening to a voice he knew but was different. Curiosity drew him out of sleepiness, and he went to the window. In the dark, Pop was singing out in the yard, pacing around in unpredictable patterns, holding his phone up to his mouth.

Shadows grow long before my eyes,

And they’re moving across the page,

Suddenly day turns into niiiiight,

Far away, from the city

But don’t, hesitate

Because your love just something somethiiiiing..

Ooh Angie, I love your way, everyday

Wanna tell you I love your way, everyday,

This went on until Dad came running out in his underwear and ushered Pop inside. He hadn’t really sounded bad, Tommy thought. That was probably a voicemail Pop actually wanted heard.

A few nights later at the house of women, Mom had just flown in and was having a late dinner. Tommy was playing on the iPad in the next room, intent upon reaching the next level of Flying Pickle Circus, but also listening to the dialogue because it was about Mom’s work, which was usually exciting.

Tonight’s dialogue was focused on people.

“He’s the worst pilot – not at flying I mean, just terrible with people. ‘Sorry you feel that way,’ he says to me and Mona, so rude.”

“But you’re supposed to look inside the first aid kit before a flight!

“Exactly, and he doesn’t listen when we tell him the protocol has changed. Says he has to “check on that”. So I told him that it’s not just seeing if the first aid kit is there, we have to go through everything in it and check off the list – and I would know because I’ve been doing this for eight years. And then he says, “You’re not going to be doing it a day longer if you don’t announce take-off in the next five minutes.”

“Terrible,” said Grandma, shaking her head.

“And later when he confirms that I AM right, he can’t even admit it, he says, “’sorry I was direct with you, I was just trying to get us moving.’” Said Mom, slowing down and speaking each word individually when she got to the pilot’s line.

“Men and their fake apologies. ‘Sorry you feel that way.’ How about, sorry I’m constantly a jerk.” said Mom, snorting and getting up. 

Tommy wondered what the pilot was doing right now and he if knew he was the center of tonight’s dinner theatre. He often thought about being a pilot, with Mom up in the sky, making the announcements about when they would land. Perhaps he wouldn’t be a pilot now.

Mom came over and switched into her Mom voice.

“Hi honey, how was school?”

“Good”

“Good, any tests?”

“Just vocab.”

“Okay, what about the diorama? What do you need for that?

“A shoe box”

“Wait – I thought Dad already gave you one?”

“It was the wrong size.”

Mom made a sound that clearly conveyed annoyance.

“He can’t even give you the right box!”

“I didn’t know how big it was supposed to be,” Tommy said quickly.

“Did the teacher tell you?”

“Yeah, but I forgot.”

“Okay well…so the teacher told you to get another box?”

“Yeah.”

“In front of everyone?”

“ummm…yes?” Said Tommy, trying to think of how to describe the scene.

“How did that make you feel? Was it a hard day?”

He thought hard about whether it was a hard day, not wanting to get the answer wrong. Sometimes saying something was bad was bad, but sometimes it was good, and it was hard to know the difference.

“I don’t know…I guess I felt like umm…I brought the wrong thing.”

“Well, that’s not a feeling, but ok. I’ll make sure you have the right box.”

The problem was fixed, and the questions were over, and Tommy smiled at Mom.

Back at the house of men, Tommy was overhearing more phone calls.

“Angie, listen – ok stop for a minute – just listen, I’m sorry, ok? You know I wouldn’t drink like that at a holiday with people over, I mean come on! Do you really think – no, come on Angie don’t hang up, you don’t have to get so worked up over this, it was just a voicemail – hello? Hello? Angie! Hello?”

Pop cursed and Tommy heard a thud which was probably him slamming his iPhone down on the countertop.

It was quiet for a minute, and then Pop arrived with a soft stomp in the living room where Tommy was sitting at the table, pretending to do his homework.

“Women are just – I don’t know! Everything has to be such a big deal with them. You know what’s a big deal? Our country being a trillion dollars in debt, or China stealing our intellectual property or –“

“Don’t say a fake apology,” said Tommy.

“A what?”

“A fake apology. It’s when you…when you say sorry that they feel a way instead of saying sorry for what you did.”

“So you give advice on women now?”

Tommy shrugged.

“Well, I guess you’re around them more than I am these days,” said Pop, looking down at his hands.

After a pause Pop looked back up at Tommy. “You’re a chameleon, you know that?”

“A what?” Said Tommy, wondering if Pop was on the sauce again, as Grandma would say.

“A chameleon. You change with your surrounds. Chameleons – they’re kinda like lizards – they can make themselves look like their surroundings so predators can’t find them. They can go from green to purple to orange. Survival.”

Yes, he thought, he had been playing a chameleon all along, and now he had a name for it that he would think but not say.

The diorama was due in two days, as Tommy knew, and Mom knew, and Dad also knew. Dad had promised to fix the tree that the Cheshire cat would sit in. And he had! Tommy smiled upon seeing it.He had gathered the twigs and leaves and stayed up past his bedtime with Dad, trying to fashion a miniature tree out of these parts. But the glue wasn’t sticking no matter how long they held the pieces together. But Dad had done it. He showed Tommy the mess of wires and strings hidden by the leaves, explaining the principles of suspension.

“And here’s where the cat will sit – on this flat part of the branch,” said Dad, showing him a flattened ledge. Tommy wanted to touch everything on the tree and move away the leaves to see every detail, but didn’t want it to break. 

Against the background Tommy had drawn, it all looked better than he ever could have imagined. The real tree stood out among the two-dimensional ones he had colored, with spotted mushrooms here and there as well.

Pop appeared with the deck of cards.

“Now you’re sure you don’t want to do that part with the caterpillar smoking the pipe? Because I have-“

“No you don’t Dad, you don’t have anything,” said Thomas firmly.

“Ok you need the queen too? Queen, queen, where is she? Yeah, that broad’s always bossing the king around, always looking over his shoulder if I remember correctly.”

“She’s always yelling ‘off with their heads!’” said Tommy excitedly, waiting for Pop to pull out the final piece of the puzzle from the deck like a magician.

The next day at the house of women, it was officially time to finish the diorama. Mom handed him an old plastic doll with blonde hair in a blue dress and a tiny white apron she had sewn herself. Tommy had offered to help with the sewing, but Grandma was too worried about him sticking himself with the needle. This Alice looked much better than he had anticipated, her hair was even tied back with the smallest blue ribbon he had ever seen.

“And look at your backdrop – You even have the tiny mushrooms on here – and one big one – the one the Caterpillar sits on?”

“Yep!”

“What great attention to detail!” Said Mom with a smile. “Ok who else do we need?”

“The Cheshire cat!” he said excitedly. “He goes on this branch – Dad made it flat, so he won’t roll off.”

“Oh, look at that,” said Mom inspecting the tree’s special branch closely. “This is really good actually, I wonder how he did that,” she said seemingly to herself.

“Wires and suspension,” said Tommy, looking excitedly at Grandma who had come over with an orange cat figurine. He was going to get to draw a smile on it, a thing that seemed so forbidden, he wouldn’t believe it until he had the marker in his hand.

But true to her word, Grandma handed it over. Carefully, carefully he extended out the whiskers on either side into a smile. Not a smile that showed teeth, but a smile nonetheless. The women praised his handiwork. And with Tommy ceremoniously placing the cat on the branch, it was complete – Alice playing croquet with the Cheshire cat, King, and Queen. Not really playing, but holding her mallet, looking at the cat, a buffer between it and the king, and the king, a buffer between her and the queen.

This thing that had come together, that he would present in class, was its own house, his small piece of property, carried carefully by him from home to home, then home to school and home again. He would just have to decide which house to keep it at. He couldn’t bring it back and forth all the time, it was too fragile.