Yeah, I say. We ought to call him Jumbo. Jumbo Junior.
Okay, she says, Jumbo Junior. And then, so brave for someone so small, she says, Catie, are you okay?
I watch the sun dipping down into the water. From here I can make out the dark shapes of whales like submarines down in the sea, hear their songs. They sing James Taylor; they sing Paul Simon. I see the drowned boy on his stepfather’s shoulders in 1951, wading in the freshwater pool at the Sutro Baths, his wide-hipped mother waving from the tiers above. I see tall Jacob spinning the roulette table at the Sands. I see Peter out on the savanna with the African white rhino, rubbing ointment on its stump, encouraging the horn to grow back. O! You swim like a duck, he says. I see Jumbo Junior and my beautiful long-legged unborn niece swayed to sleep by his mother’s great gray trunk.
Acknowledgments
Thank you:
Christopher Coake, my mentor, pep talker, and friend. This book exists in large part because you took me aside and said it could.
Nicole Aragi, for your vision and your vigor.
John Freeman, my fairy godfather, for picking up what I was putting down.
The MFA program at the Ohio State University and my extraordinary teachers there: Michelle “Do Better” Herman, Erin “The Good Is the Enemy of the Great” McGraw and Lee K. “Let Us Not Get in the Habit of Excusing Poorly Executed Art” Abbott. Thanks also to Henri Cole, Kathy Fagan, Andrew Hudgins and Lee Martin for your wisdom and support, and to Kelli Fickle, for looking after everyone.
My top-notch professors at the University of Nevada, Reno, especially Michael Branch, David Fenimore, Justin Gifford, Gailmarie Pahmier, Hugh Shapiro and Elizabeth Swingrover.
Percival Everett, Sue Miller, Padgett Powell and Christine Schutt for advice and encouragement.
My editors, Rebecca Saletan and Ellah Allfrey, for believing in this book, and for making it better. Jynne Martin for all the sage and all the good vibes that came along with it. Elaine Trevorrow and Yuka Igarashi, wondrous helpers. Christie Hauser, the Sir David Attenborough of publishing.
The magazine editors who first put these stories out into the world: Aaron Burch and Elizabeth Ellen, John Irwin, Kathryn Harrison and Robert Arnold, Patrick Ryan, James Thomas and D. Seth Horton, Scott Dickensheets, Hannah Tinti and Maribeth Batcha, Lorin Stein and David Wallace-Wells, Caleb Cage, Jill Patterson and Jonathan Bohr Heinen, Conor Broughan and Jessica Jacobs, Susan Burmeister-Brown and Linda Swanson-Davies.
The Ohio State University Presidential Fellowship and the Sewanee Writers’ Conference, for financial support. My exceptional colleagues at the Sewanee Young Writers’ Conference and Bucknell University. The Journal. My students. Peter Harrison, ever-hospitable dreamer. Kirsten Chen and Lumans. Every single person at Riverhead.
Reno, especially Nicole and Justice Mañha, Seth Lagana, Mallory Moore, Andrei, Jonathan Purtill, Jeff Griffin, Curtis Bradley Vickers and Jessica Seidl, Ben Rogers, Sundance Books, the Boyntons, the Laxalts and the Urzas.
Pahrump, especially Jesse Ray and the Tungs: Ryan, Jason, TJ and Jan.
Columbus, especially the Go Big Tuesdays: Alex Streiff, Bill Riley, Clayton Adam Clark and the Hammer. Special thanks to my friend G. Robert Urza, Nevada royalty, for taking it out and chopping it up, and for always talking me down. Isaac Anderson, Kim Brauer, Michael Brennan, Catie Crabtree, Brad Freeman (who supplied the best line in this book), Ben and Lily Glass, Holly Goddard-Jones, Donald Ray Pollock, Samara Rafert and Pablo Tanguay. And the best damn band in the land: Cami Freeman, Gina Ventre, David Macey, Dr. Jess Love, Andrew Brogdon, Maria Caruso, K. C. Wolfe, Christina LaRose, Elizabeth Ansfield, Jenny McKeel, Ken Nichols and the Albers: Mike, Julie, Natalie and Willy.
Beth and Annie, my dearest friends. Tri-tri’s forever.
My family, who never made art less than essential: Aaron, Aunt Mo and Uncle Jack. Ron Daniels and the whole Daniels clan. For all their insanity and all their love, the Watkinses: Al and Vaye, Uncle John, Auntie Jane, Aunt Lynn and Uncle Chris, Ben, Shannon, Lea, Luke, Eli, Jos, Paulie, Zanna, Char, Kai and Una.
Mary Lou Orlando-Frehler, toughest lady in the West, for the thrift stores, Zion, the doilies crocheted with obscenities, Caesar’s Palace, the cowboy boots, the turquoise and sterling silver, long johns, ponchos, Willie Nelson, Wet ’n’ Wild, the hats and hats and hats for winter. For everything.
Nic Baker and the tender, spazzy, virtuoso bean, Delilah Claire.
Derek Palacio. Thank you for having me. Thank you for being.
My sisters, Lise and Gaylynn, whose love goes everywhere with me. This book is you.
Battleborn: Stories Page 23
