Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [126]
We make our way to the bathroom, and Richard, now fully awake and leaning heavily on me, tells me a joke.
“Three notes walk into a bar: a C, an E flat, and a G. The bartender says he doesn’t serve minors. So the E flat leaves, and the C and the G share a fifth between them.”
Richard leans forward and steadies himself by placing one hand on the back of the toilet. He’s a tall man, and the toilet is one of those low, one-piece models, making the angle awkward and uncomfortable. Richard’s right side is still stiff and bruised. With his weakened hand he struggles to free himself, while I support him, my eyes just about level with his penis, which I try not to look at. Richard hunches over the toilet. My neck and shoulders are wedged under his arm, my head discreetly angled away. I’m sure we look ridiculous, like two teenagers playing Twister. We stand there for several moments, waiting for him to go.
This time it’s my turn. “What did the grape say when the elephant sat on him?”
“What . . . did the grape say?” asks Richard through tightened lips.
“Nothing. He just let out a little wine.”
Richard lets out a guffaw. He’s startled by the stream of urine suddenly escaping his body and struggles to bring himself under control.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a joke before,” Richard says, as the two of us hobble back to his bed, exhausted.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told a joke before, at least not as an adult,” I say.
Richard stops and turns to look at me. “Well, you have fine comedic timing, my dear. Where did you come up with that one?”
“The Big Golden Book of Jokes,” I tell him.
“You bought a book?”
“Yup, I sure did. At the variety store.”
We arrive at the side of the bed. Richard begins to pivot a fraction of a second too early, landing on the bed with a thud and bringing me down on top of him. His face is grim, but he wraps his arms around me and kisses me roughly on the top of my head.
“I hope you bought the unabridged edition. I think we’re going to need it.”
Chloe wakes early the next morning. The move and the new surroundings have unsettled her. I bring her into bed with me, hoping she’ll go back to sleep, but she doesn’t, which means neither can I. Chloe has been out of sorts for the last several days. She, like Richard, is a creature of habit, wanting order restored to her baby world but being unable to ask for it, instead communicating her desire in tetchy cries, shortened naps, and fitful sleeps. Today is Wednesday, Gymboree day. Unfortunately, though, the move has put me behind in my research—three hundred and fifty words and four recipes on low-fat Southwestern favorites due on Monday—and I really should spend the day cooking and writing. But we haven’t been there in almost a month, and I wonder if Chloe misses it.
I haven’t left Richard alone yet, except to run across the street to the market, but Gymboree is across town so we’ll be gone at least a couple of hours. When Richard awakens, I feed him and Katherine their morning eggs, and we spend some time reviewing the buzzer system, so that Richard can let his physical therapist in at noon. I tuck his cell phone and a bottle of water into a small canvas bag attached to his wheelchair. Richard wheels himself over to where he has his set of Steelers DVDs spread out across the entire length of the twin-sized hospital bed.
“I’m looking for the San Diego game, from the ’75 season. See if you can find it for me, will you?”
“Are you sure you’re going