Say That To My Face. David Prete
says, I got ham sandwiches.
He says to me, you like that, right?
Happy to have a destination, I say, I love ham.
He kisses me on the top of my head, lifts me off the chair and as I head for the kitchen, one of his palms catches me square on the ass.
THERE’S A RUNNING joke in my mother’s house. For years, she’s been talking about this mink coat she’s gonna buy herself. We say, “How’s the mink coat fund comin’, Ma? You save enough to buy the claws yet?” She says, “Yeah, you watch. The day I get that coat I’m gonna be laughin’ hard. You watch.” She works nights at a department store and her husband delivers bread. Where does a mink coat fit into that picture?
But this night, December 17, 1979, she calls us on our joke. We’ve just finished dinner. My sister, my mother, my stepfather and myself linger over empty dishes and I pick olives out of the salad with my fingers. Our mother says she has an announcement to make. Announcement? My sister and I make faces and validate each other’s confusion. We hardly ever have anything to talk about in this house. Who makes announcements?
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