Fallout (Crank 3)

“Not until two. Anyway, how

was your Thanksgiving?”

You called to ask that?

What’s wrong with you?

“Nothing. I’m fine. I mean,

well, Dad had a DUI….”

You don’t expect me to bail

him out, do you? Does he?

“Uh, no. I don’t … I didn’t

call about that, Mom….”

WHY DID I CALL?

It wasn’t just the boredom.

It was the question that had

been burning inside me for

three days. Mom prompted,

Okay, then. Why did you call?

And out it came, slick as

a baby pig. “Why didn’t you

ever tell me how you and Dad

met, and that I have a sister?”

Very long pause. Who told you?

Duh. “Who do you think, Mother?

Anyway, that doesn’t matter.

Don’t you think I have the right

to know something like that?”

Even longer pause. I guess so.

Anger seethed. “You guess

so? I know we don’t talk much,

and when we do, it’s usually

all about you, but—”