Stuck in Neutral by Terry Trueman Page A

soaring down I-90 to see if I can spot Mom’s van. But in my spirit I don’t feel like flying or soaring or zipping across time and space. I feel relaxed, content. I float aimlessly; I am at peace. I think about all the things I remember, I think about all the things I’ve heard, and I wonder if …
    I’m back in my body again. One second I was in Elliot Bay Bookstore, floating my way between the pages of some favorite old picture books, and the next I am in my bed. It’s dark out already. I must have slept for hours.
    I hear a car pull up. One door opens, then slams shut. I hear footsteps approaching the house. There is a knock on the front door, but then someone walks on in.
    â€œHello,” I hear Dad call.
    â€œHi,” Vonda calls back.
    â€œIt’s Shawn’s father.”
    â€œAll right,” Vonda answers. I hear an edge of excitement in her tone.
    They exchange pleasantries in the entryway: Dad comments on her nails, she thanks him, a giggly blush to her voice.
    Dad asks, “How was Shawn’s day?”
    â€œOh, just fine,” Vonda answers. “It’s so exciting to meet you. I read your poem, about Shawn … I mean, of course, the one about Shawn … I mean … it was so wonderful … I’m so honored. I always hoped I’d meet you.”
    She sounds literally breathless, but she manages to go on. “I even have your book with me—I mean in my purse. I always bring it in the hope that I might … I mean that you might … what I mean is, would you autograph it for me?”
    I can hear the smile in Dad’s voice as he answers, “Sure.”
    I hear a brief rummaging, as Vonda digs into her purse. Then I hear Dad speak. His voice has a slightly distracted sound to it. “I was thinking,” Dad says casually, “that I’d like to stay over tonight with Shawn. You’ve already fed him and put him to bed, right?”
    â€œOh yes,” Vonda answers. “Will you write ‘To Vonda Quarantos,’ then something kind of personal?” She giggles, embarrassed.
    â€œOf course,” Dad says, then, while inscribing her book, in the same casual, off-the-cuff tone, he adds, “I was just thinking, there’s no sense in your being trapped here all night. I’ll stay with Shawn.”
    â€œAre you sure?” Vonda asks.
    â€œAbsolutely. You’ll still get paid for the hours, of course, but I’m not doing anything else tonight, and I’m happy to help out.”
    â€œGosh,” Vonda says. “That’d be great.”
    Dad says, “It’s a done deal.”
    I realize that in all my years of being alive, my dad has never before stayed with me all by himself overnight. Yet suddenly he’s volunteered to take care of me.
    A done deal, huh? Am I the done deal?

16
    We sat in that silent darkness,
    I felt my baby dreaming .
    His breath was Lindy and me saying good-bye .
    His breath was my grandfather’s breathing,
    his breath was my father loving us,
    his breath was my breath, we breathed as one .
    I hear Dad come into the room. I wait calmly . There’s nothing else I can do. I’m not afraid. My breathing is easy. I feel steady, relaxed, and alert. Whatever my dad has decided, whatever he decides—I can’t know whether it’s right or wrong, because I don’t really know what is for the best; maybe death is nothing like I saw that day when that dog died. Maybe death is simply flying free forever. I just don’t know.
    â€œHey, buddy,” Dad says. He comes to my bed, lowers the side, and sits next to me. He’s quiet. He, reaches down to the foot of my bed in the corner where a quilted pillow lies. He grabs the pillow and sets it in his lap. My eyes happen to focus on the pillow. Mom made the quilted cover years ago, maybe even before Dad left us. There’s a pattern of checkered blocks, light blue and off-white, and a thin band of