Your Sunday Jack

What Excites You (In 3 Parts)

Part the 1st

Entered my father’s apartment today. We’re headed to Owl Head Bagels for breakfast.

“Hungry?” I ask.

“You know I didn’t have dinner last night.”

“Why not?”

“They were closed.”

“Oh, shit, that’s right. It was Christmas and the dining room was closed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“Christmas.”

“What do you mean ‘Christmas’?”

“Christmas. Christ’s birth.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“So why’d they close? It’s a Jewish place.”

“Because a lot of the workers aren’t, so by closing, they got to spend it with their families. They didn’t bring you up anything to eat? Usually they bring you a boxed dinner.”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“No, nothing.”

A few minutes later I check the refrigerator and see two boxes.

“Dad,” I call into the next room, “I think the boxes in here were brought up by the place. One for lunch; one for dinner. Did they bring it by some time yesterday?”

“Yeah, I know. They brought them. What’s your point?”

“You said they didn’t bring you anything.”

“No, they brought them up. One for lunch, one for dinner. I mean, I didn’t look inside, I assume that’s what they were for.”

“That’s exactly what they are for. One for lunch and one for dinner.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So, did you eat?”

“Nah, I wasn’t hungry. Besides the sandwich inside there are enormous. I had a little bit.”

“(Ahem) Hey, where are you glasses?” I ask, noticing he’s not wearing his.

“I don’t know. I had them and I put them down somewhere. I looked everywhere. I always have them on or hold them in my hand because I know I’ll need them. It’s okay, I probably need some new, whatchamacallit, prescriptions anyway. But I had them. Ach!”

I look around for 20 minutes and they are no fucking around not around. We head to the car, anyway.

Part the 2nd

“Here,” I say, producing a spare pair from the console for just these occasions, “but be careful because we have to fix the frames.”

He puts them on.

“The frame is broken.”

“Yeah, I know. We have to fix them.”

“How’d they break?”

“You sat on them.”

“I sat on them?”

“Yes.”

“How did I break them?”

“You sat on them.”

“When did I do that?”

“A week ago last Monday. I don’t know when. But you broke them.”

“I don’t remember that, but no, no, these are good. But the frame is loose. You’ll need to fix them. Maybe some tape.”

“I know, but you have an extra pair, so now you can see. That’s the important thing. And we’ll get some tape.”

“Put it over the frame, here,” he takes them off to show me where he believes the tape should be affixed.

“I know.”

“But they’re good. I wonder where the hell the other ones are.”

“Stop thanking me so much. It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s not that. It’s just the frame is loose. But these are good. You have any tape?”

“No.”

Part the 3rd

We arrive at Owl Head.

“They got great coffee here, you know,” he says to me towards the end of the meal.

“I know.”

“Do you make it or do they make it?”

“Actually —”

“It’s just that the coffee is very good. The right temperature — a good flavor, sweet. Very good. I enjoy it. Question: why didn’t the girlfriend come with you today? Does she not eat breakfast?”

“No, she eats, but she was sleeping.”

“Yeah, she works hard on the days she works — physical labor, too.”

“Yes, she does,” I say.

“So what excites you, Ba?”

“What excites me?”

“Yeah, your girl, your work, your lifestyle? What excites you?”

“Great question: pretty much all those things.”

“Sa, Ba, tell me, what the hell are we doing in Tulsa? Oklahoma! That’s not a state, that’s a condition.”

I tell him about my finishing college in Tulsa, my marriages, my children, bringing him here from Las Vegas years back — a story I’ve told him approximately 112,145 times.

“Well, at least they got good coffee here.”