The Gunners

by Rebecca Kauffman

  Mikey said, “Oh.” He looked at John Callahan’s wrinkled old face—so obvious now that they shared no physical resemblance whatsoever. John Callahan’s rough skin, rough bones, rough thick nose, chapped purple lips, deep creases at the corners. John Callahan had 20-20 vision, even at age sixty-six. John Callahan, with the bad knees, who knelt to the ground for each animal. Touched them with his bare hand. Mikey felt something lifting up off of him. Some dark weight that had been camped out on his chest for as long as he could remember.

  From across the room, a gate was cranking and shifting, an animal was entering, black hair visible between bars. A stocky mustachioed man waved at Mikey’s father, and the man with the black stunning apparatus glanced over to make sure he knew it was almost time, to make sure he was on his way. “Another one comin’, John-John!” the stocky man hollered across the room.

  Mikey’s father nodded and waved back, indicating that he’d be right there.

  He turned briefly back toward Mikey as he put his hard hat back on. “We’ll figure something out,” he said.

  As he made his way up the endless hallway to the lobby of the plant where he had entered, Mikey recalled Lynn’s words about love—It’s like finding the ground—and he was struck by a memory from childhood, when he had attended the Erie County Fair with his friends.

  It was Alice’s parents who had taken them, but the children were old enough to split off and be on their own. Alice quickly decided, for the group, that they would start the day on the giant spinning swing ride. The ride terrified Mikey, who hated heights and had a weak stomach, but he didn’t want to miss out, or ruin the fun. He got into the last available seat, behind the others, strapped in with a leather buckle between his legs, a bar over his groin. Jerky circus music blasted out through speakers mounted at the base of the center post, which was bright and ornate, covered with scores of gaudy fake jewels in every color.

  The giant disc rose into the air and began to spin. Faster and faster, the seats swooping out far and wide. Happy shrieks, hands in the air. Mikey clutched the chains at his side and closed his eyes. Stomach churning, lungs swollen with silent terror, brain rattling within his skull, a terrible time.

  Finally, finally, the ride reached its end, the spinning disc slowed, the swings gently drew inward, the wheel lowered. Everyone’s hair blown back, laughter, relief. Mikey felt no relief. He was slick and cold with sweat. He felt certain he was going to either faint or vomit in public, and he wasn’t sure which would be worse. It would be terrible. He would not recover. Everyone would witness his shame.

  The seats lowered farther, and Mikey stretched out his little feet, desperate for the solid ground, but still they did not reach. He was not going to make it. Mikey felt hot vomit brimming up through his esophagus. It was going to happen right now. He would try to contain it in his lap. Oh, everyone would see.

  And just when the vomit burned at the back of his throat and he had lost all hope, Mikey felt something perfect—the ground rising up to meet his feet. His stomach settled instantaneously. His heart rate slowed, his body went calm. Logically, of course, Mikey knew that the ground couldn’t move; this could not actually be the way it happened, and yet . . . that was how it had happened—he was certain of it. The ground rose, the earth swelled up and found him.

  Chapter 26

  Poor Friday was famished by the time Mikey made it home that afternoon. Mikey poured him dry food, which Friday devoured, and a dish of whole milk, a rare treat, and he ran his hand over Friday’s spine.

  Mikey plugged in his charger to power up his phone, which had died several hours earlier when he was at lunch with Jimmy. He unpacked his toothbrush and the flannel pajamas he hadn’t worn since he had fallen asleep fully clothed in the arms of his friends. He took off his shoes. He opened his refrigerator and pulled out a Labatt Blue, an overripe clementine, and a little baggie of Black Forest ham. He went to his living room, sat in the La-Z-Boy, reclined it. Friday came bounding into the room and onto Mikey’s lap, where he settled himself and purred. Mikey peeled the clementine and ate it several slices at a time. He popped open the beer.

  He turned on the TV to Jeopardy! and watched for a few moments before realizing that something was wrong. He squinted at the screen. He listened to Alex Trebek read the question aloud, and a contestant buzzed in with the correct answer. Mikey took his glasses off and cleaned the right lens with the bottom hem of his shirt. He rubbed his right eye with the heel of his hand. He looked back at the TV, where another question was being displayed on the blue screen.

  This time it was undeniable: a cloud had appeared. Misty and gray and amorphous, it occupied a third of the TV screen. A new blind spot.

  Mikey turned the TV off.

  He ran his hand over Friday’s warm little skull and closed his eyes. The sound of Friday’s purring was practically deafening. Mikey’s hearing and other senses had grown noticeably, remarkably sharper in the past few years, as he had practiced traversing his home and accomplishing simple tasks in darkness. He would call the doctor tomorrow; then he would talk to human resources at his work.

  What would be the strangest part? he wondered. Would it be the dreams? He’d heard you continued to dream with sight if you went blind as an adult. Would it be the fact that he wouldn’t see himself age, would never know how well or how poorly his face weathered time? How strange, Mikey thought, that after longing for invisibility since he was a child, as it turned out, he would not become invisible to the world, but the world would become invisible to him. It was time. For what, exactly? Time to just resume life, he supposed. It was happening. He could hear electricity in the walls. He could feel blood swirling around his own veins, and booming through his heart.

  Chapter 27

  One week before Lynn’s wedding, Mikey received a phone call from Alice while he was preparing dinner. Friday did figure eights around Mikey’s legs as he stirred risotto. Mikey had tape over his right eye and was feeling very pleased with himself, having prepared the entire meal thus far without peeking. He had lifted the tape only briefly to locate his phone in the other room when it began to vibrate, so he wouldn’t miss the call.

  “Alice!” he said happily, returning to the stove and continuing to stir. “What’s up?”

  “It’s been a day,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  “Finn’s got worms or something. Can’t keep anything down.”

  Before Mikey could respond to this, Alice added, “And Chris and I broke up.”

  “I’m sorry to hear,” Mikey said.

  “Finn’s on meds now, so hopefully that’ll get sorted out. But he’s an old dog. It’s only a matter of time. And Chris . . . I told her I’d made the final decision to move back to Lackawanna. She’s got no interest in moving, of course. We decided it was best to end things, clean and quick.”

  “You didn’t want to try long-distance?” Mikey said.

  “Oh, God, no,” Alice snorted. “Me? Never. I need constant attention. Anyhow, she took it just fine. She’s young, Mikey. We weren’t any good for each other, anyway.”

  “Can we talk about her voice, then?”

  Alice laughed like gunshot. “Mean!” she cried.

  “I’m just trying to make you feel better,” Mikey said. “You’re doing all right, though?”

  “It’s the right thing. My pop’s in real bad shape, and they need me. Anyhow, it’s all gonna happen pretty quick. I’m planning on moving in a couple weeks. Early March. I’ll work up through Lynn’s wedding next weekend, go to that, then spend the next two weeks packing. Already got someone who wants to buy the marina here, offered me a fair deal.”

  “That right?”

  Mikey propped the phone against his cheek with his shoulder and reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio with his right hand. He could tell the risotto had thickened a bit too much, so he dumped in a splash of wine and continued to stir.


  Alice continued, “And I’ve got my eye on some real estate up in Lewiston. Place to live and a place to open another marina when I’ve got the time. I’m thinking I’ll be there for a while, Mikey. Put down some roots.”

  “I didn’t realize it would happen so soon!” Mikey said. “I’ll want to help you move in, so let me know as soon as you’ve set the date.”

  “Anyway,” Alice said distractedly, “Lynn spilled the beans, but there is something I wasn’t telling you last weekend.”

  “Oh?” Mikey had forgotten about this interaction entirely.

  “Lynn and I had talked before that weekend—I called her up to get her take on it. I was gonna talk to you about it that weekend, when we were together, but damned if I didn’t have too much to drink and mucked it up, then got shy.”

  “You? Shy?”

  “I know.”

  Alice got quiet for a moment.

  Mikey said, “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this for quite some time now, so I don’t want you thinking this is just one of my harebrained cockamamie ideas. It doesn’t have anything to do with my breakup, or the fact that my dog’s on his last leg. Okay? This is something that’s been cookin’ in my head for a long time. Okay? Anyway, I think I am a person who wants to have a child.”

  “What?” Mikey momentarily stopped stirring his risotto.

  “I know,” Alice said. “It’s so unlike me! But . . .” Alice fell silent again.

  Mikey said, “You’ll be a wonderful mother, Alice. You just said it a weird way, caught me off-guard. A person who wants to have a child. Anyway, are you planning to adopt, or . . .”

  Alice said, “I’d like to carry my own child. At least try. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Now . . .” Alice’s voice fell off again for a moment, and when she started speaking, it was rushed, shaky with nerves. “Now, I wouldn’t ever ask for any financial help, but . . .” Alice’s voice had shrunk to something small and scared, something Mikey barely recognized, coming from her.

  Mikey pulled the tape from his right eye. He went to the kitchen table, found his glasses and put them on, then returned to the stove.

  “You’re my favorite person in the world, Mikey,” Alice said.

  Mikey blinked. He reached for the bottle of Pinot Grigio and took a big swig, straight from the bottle. It was immensely refreshing, even at room temperature.

  “Are you asking me to help you have a kid?” he said. “To donate my sperm to you?”

  “Yes,” Alice said, and Mikey could hear her relief that he had spoken the actual words, that he had understood and said the actual thing aloud so that she wouldn’t have to.

  “Now,” Alice said, speaking very quickly again, her nerves spilling through, “I don’t want you to think I was actually trying to make it happen last weekend. When we were down by the beach, I got carried away in the moment. Drunk and silly. Reckless. I wouldn’t have gone through with that. But I’d been thinking on this for a while. Like I said, listen, I wouldn’t expect anything from you. It could end at the . . . donation. Hah! And we don’t even have to do it the old-fashioned way, Mikey. We could do it, you know, with a tube . . . I’ve done my research. Anyway, I’m going to be moving down there next month, so we can talk about it more in person . . . You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me, pal.”

  Mikey had stopped stirring again.

  Alice cut forcefully into the silence. “The point is, when I first started to have thoughts about a baby, and then once I started thinking about when and how and who, you were the first person that came to mind. You’re very . . . companionable.”

  “Companionable?”

  “Or,” Alice said, “we don’t ever have to talk about it again. If you already know the answer is no, you don’t even have to give me a reason. I’ll leave it be. We’re going to see each other at the wedding next weekend, and I don’t want it to be weird. We don’t have to talk about it then, or ever again.”

  “Alice,” Mikey said, and he stared into his risotto, unable to distinguish the individual grains of rice even now, with his glasses on. “I’m going blind.”

  Alice was quiet for a few beats. “You mean your eyesight is getting worse, or you’re going to be blind?”

  “I’m going to be blind,” Mikey said. “I was in to see my doctor last week. It’s happening. I might have a year of sight left, tops. I don’t know for sure if it’s hereditary . . . That’s not why I brought it up. I’d have to ask my doctor. It’s just that I have a lot on my mind.”

  Alice made a soft noise that was indecipherable. Then she said, “Are you scared?”

  “Not really,” Mikey said. “I’ve had a lot of time to consider the possibility and prepare. I walk around the house with tape over my eye all the time. I can get myself dressed. Even make decent meals.”

  Alice said, “Sheezus, Mikey.” She sniffed. “What are you going to do?”

  “Work for a few more months, then go on disability. Listen to a lot of music. Get a dog if Friday will tolerate it. Go on walks. Find some work that I can do. Accept pity visits from you and the others. Wait for the Rapture. It won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

  “Why is this happening?”

  Mikey said, “Early-onset macular degeneration. Rare but not unheard-of. Exact cause typically unknown, although my doc reassured me it’s not because I looked at the sun when I was a kid. Or because I masturbated too much.”

  Alice laughed. “What?”

  “Isn’t that what the Catholics say?” Mikey said. “If you masturbate too much, you’ll eventually go blind or lose all your senses or something?”

  “Oh,” Alice said. “If that was true, I’d be blind and deaf and dumb and dead.”

  Mikey laughed. “Listen, though. There’s something else that’s been on my mind, too,” he said. “Jimmy told me last week. My dad isn’t my dad.”

  “What? Who is he?”

  “Just a neighbor. Nobody knows who my biological father is. But my mother, I now know, is Corinne. Sally and I were half-siblings.”

  Alice was silent, so Mikey continued. “John came onto the picture because he didn’t think Corinne was . . . suitable.”

  Alice breathed a low and drawn-out “Wow.” Then she said, “You and Sally look so much alike. How did we never know? Sally knew?”

  “Yes,” Mikey said. “She’s the one that told Jimmy. It’s . . . not entirely clear why she didn’t tell me.”

  “Why wouldn’t she want you to know? I don’t get it,” Alice said. “I hate not getting things. I don’t know if there’s anything I hate more.”

  Mikey said, “So, why did you divorce The Saint?”

  “God!” Alice shrieked. “You’re like a dog with a bone!”

  “I hate not getting things, too!”

  Alice sighed. “I’d rather not talk about it. But now wait, I wasn’t done asking . . . So your father—”

  “I don’t feel like getting into it more right now,” Mikey said. “And my risotto’s about to disintegrate. We can talk more at Lynn’s wedding, after the grown-ups have gone to bed. Are you getting them a gift?”

  “You don’t think our presence is enough of a gift?”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “I disagree,” Alice said. “We bring the party. That’s our gift. See, Mikey, the party is never not where we aren’t.”

  “What?”

  “Think about that one for a bit,” Alice said. “But are you going to miss my face?”

  “What?”

  “When you’re blind.”

  “Oh. No. No, definitely not,” Mikey said. “It’s the one upside, actually.”

  Alice cried, “You’re mean! Oh, my God, you are actually the meanest man!” She was silent for a moment, then she said, “Finn’s pukin’. I gotta go.”
r />   Chapter 28

  Mikey was the first of his friends to arrive at Lynn and Issa’s home, where the wedding was being held. It was snowing lightly. Lynn had said to watch for a church; it was the nearest building to their home, and their driveway was a quarter mile beyond it. The church was a tiny thing, nestled within eastern white pines and blue spruce trees. Its white siding was peeling off in large strips. Green shutters. It looked like a birdhouse. The sign out front read community presbyterian. A yellowed roadside swinger offered the date of an upcoming spaghetti meal: family style, all welcome, bring your own

  plates & forks.

  Just up the road, a bundle of red balloons tied to a mailbox marked the driveway to Lynn and Issa’s house. The air smelled of woodsmoke and wind.

  As Mikey was getting out of his car, a white BMW SUV pulled into the next spot. Jimmy hopped out of the driver’s seat and gave Mikey a hug. He had shaved his black beard, and his hair was tied back in a neat ponytail.

  “Meet my squeeze,” Jimmy said, nodding toward the passenger door.

  A tall, heavyset man with a wild red beard came around the front of the BMW and stood before them. He wore a little green plaid cap.

  Jimmy said, “Mikey, Audwin. Audwin, Mikey.”

  Mikey shook the man’s hand.

  Audwin said in a deep voice and with a strong German accent, “Please to meet you.”

  Jimmy stood smiling up at his date. “Audwin lives in Hamburg. We’ve been emailing for years now, just finally met in person for the first time, when, this past Thursday?”

  Audwin nodded.

  Jimmy explained, “We both flew into New York. We’d settled in advance that if it didn’t click, we’d go our separate ways after one dinner, but . . .” Jimmy smiled sheepishly.

  Mikey said, “It clicked?”

  Jimmy turned to Audwin. “Would you agree?”

  Audwin said, “I don’t know what this click means.”

  Jimmy laughed. “We’ve just spent the past few days buzzing around the city. Had some great meals. Checked out the museums. After the wedding, we’re going to buzz up to Montreal, hit the slopes.”