C24
Public Record
Excerpt from novel: Best Cellar

Isaac was the spitting image of me.

Everyone said to Carrie,
"He's got your eyes" or "he's got your smile",
but they were all reaching for something or making it up.
They saw me thirty years younger in bright blue overalls:
thick black hair, crooked teeth, big ol' nose, the works.
So he's eight-and-a-half years old, this kid,
riding around on a bike as shiny as his smile is wide.
It's still got the training wheels on it because the kid's clumsy as hell
and doesn't know balance from bananas.
I'm washing the second coat of wax off the car,
just sort of staring at the colors water’s making from the hose.
Then suddenly, noise is all friction.
Tires against asphalt, scrambled eggs against a miniature skull,
breath squeezed through an esophagus.
Then sound dies altogether.
Four witnesses total, all whispering their frantic breaths.
I ran toward my boy and scooped him up.
I looked to see if the car was dented,
which I guess was either shock or that's just the fucking guy I am.
By the time I picked him up he was limp as a wet noodle,
my big ol’ nose and crooked teeth all mashed up and shiny with blood.
“Don't go too far!" That was the last thing I said to him.
Don't go too far, and he was gone.

My neighbor's radiator got kid brains all across the front of it.
I'd bet that's a tough thing to get out of your radiator.
Mostly emotionally though.
Probably just spray it off with a hose I'd imagine,
give it a once-over with a wire brush maybe,
but then you've got kid brains in your driveway,
pooling into a pool of fleshy pebbles all in your lawn.
He put his car up for sale after it happened.
I always wondered if he put that up in the ad.
“ERA 20 Sundra LaVoy For Sale:
Eighty-four thousand miles, candy apple red, brand new tires.
Minor wear to the grill, dashboard cracking a bit,
some kid brains in the radiator. Original owner.”

Thresher Charles