Dirt

Chapter 6

Galen tried etheric surgery. Sitting on his bed, imagining a small golden hook dangling from his right hand, he swept the hand over his wounded dick and let the hook pull through and heal. Ideally, his left palm should be underneath, to help create an electromagnetic field for the healing, but it didn’t seem right to just sit on his hand. There had to be some airspace for this to work. So he turned on his side and had his left hand out behind his bare butt and waved his right hand in front of his dick. Now his golden hook was hanging straight down, though. He had to free his mind from gravity. There was no reason the golden hook couldn’t hang out to the side. It was etheric, after all. But his mind was just stuck on the hook hanging down. He couldn’t relax properly into his breathing. And his dick hurt. It was red and puffy on one side, even when it was limp. And he had a small bruise at the base, as if the whole thing had been broken off at the stem. He was afraid a boner would hurt even worse.

He didn’t understand how Jennifer could have done this. His balls were tender, too.

Galen closed his eyes and tried to imagine the hook. Swinging tightly to the side on a slim golden chain, and then he realized he had never imagined the chain before. Was it supposed to be on a chain, or just a hook out there by itself? And did he really need airspace? How did the ether work?

He tried to feel the healing, tried to let it happen, but it wasn’t happening. He remembered a troubleshooting section in the book on etheric surgery. Something about reestablishing a field. So he held his palms still, one a few inches behind his butt and the other a few inches in front of his crotch, and he tried to feel the force field between them. He pushed them lightly toward each other, like fluffing cotton candy, felt the energy now in the center of his palms, could feel them pushing at each other.

Okay, he said.

And now he tried to feel the energy in his crotch, tried to feel the path of that energy from palm to palm as he pushed and fluffed. A kind of warmth, the ether something that was always lit and warm, a little crackly from electricity, but no, that wasn’t right, it wasn’t crackly. Just a smooth warmth and light, and now he was able to dip his right hand and swing the hook through this warmth. He could feel its tug, and it wasn’t where he expected, not on his dick itself but deeper in his crotch at some base, and this was the beauty of etheric surgery. It could find the right places, the sources, and replenish those sources. It wasn’t fooled by the surface of things. And the hook didn’t need a chain. It was swinging out there on its own.

Galen exhaled deeply into the healing. Deeply and more deeply, sinking, the hook a kind of butterfly, fluttering inside him, and when he awoke, his mother was pounding at his door and his cheek was in a puddle of drool.

Uh, he said. Uh. He wasn’t up to speech yet. He wiped his cheek on a fresh bit of pillowcase and rolled onto his back.

And stop locking the door, she yelled.

Uh, he said, and he could hear her steps down the stairs.

Galen felt like he was climbing out of a deep well. A late-afternoon nap could really knock him down.

He sat up on the edge of his bed, the world still swirling a bit. Remaking itself, the appearances all knitting together again. He put his palms out and tried to levitate a few inches in the air, right now, while the world was caught off guard, before it was fully solid again.

Come on, he said. He tried to get the ether to lift his butt, but gravity was gluing him down, and it was too late. The world had remade itself. He hadn’t been quick enough. Fuck, he said. I have to be quicker.

He looked around for his underwear. Several pairs on the floor, maybe a dozen scattered around, and he couldn’t remember which was the clean pair from this afternoon. So he just went for the closest and hoped that was right.

He pulled on his T-shirt and shorts, which stung, lathered his thighs with aloe, a cooling, wonderful relief, tied his shoes but still felt so groggy he lay back down.

Galen! his mother yelled.

So he sat up and stumbled over to the door, down the stairs to the dining room. She had set the table with candles, even though it wasn’t dark out yet. Plates at either end of the long table, using the old Polish china with the edges painted in red and blue. A large round of sourdough bread in the middle of the table, filled with a white dip.

I fixed onion dip, she said.

He walked up close to it and looked down. White with brown streaks, the onions. Crackers on a wooden board, and vegetables cut up. Hunks of broccoli and cauliflower, whole carrots and slices of bell pepper.

I fixed a vegetarian meal for you, she said. Fresh vegetables, not even cooked.

Thanks, Mom, he said. This looks great. He grabbed his plate and filled it with veggies and crackers and a few hunks of sourdough bread, then spooned a mound of dip. He was famished. Wow, he said.

He sat down, and his mother looked pleased. Thanks, Mom, he said again. Then he dipped a hunk of broccoli and put it in his mouth. Creamy and delicious, and a good crunch in the broccoli. He closed his eyes and hummed as he ate. Only the best meals brought on the humming.

Food was a meditation, an opportunity not to be missed. He sat very tall, erect in his chair, his crown chakra open, and let the food thrum through his body. He kept his eyes closed and felt for his food with his hands, dipped his fingers in the luscious dip and sucked on them, breathed in the bread before he chewed, crunched away at the slices of bell pepper, so juicy and fresh.

I love this, he said.

Shall we take our plates to the fireplace? his mother asked.

Sure, he said. We haven’t done that in a while. He piled more veggies on and they walked into the front room with the piano and high ceilings. Tucked inside, at the very center of the house, was an enormous hearth made of granite slabs from the Sierras, with rugs in front. Galen lay down, propped his elbow on a pillow, and kept eating. His mother lay down facing him.

Where are we? she asked. It was their game, from as far back as he could remember.

In mountains, he said. In front of larger mountains.

Mongolia, she said. Maybe Mongolia.

And we’ve ridden here across a wide plain.

Snow and winter, she said. The horses with blankets.

The plain had only hard tufts of grass, nothing for the horses to eat.

We’re running from someone.

Or everyone.

Yes. His mother was excited, up on an elbow now, leaning in closer. Her eyes gray with flecks of gold, similar to the granite. Running from everyone. That’s right. They don’t understand us, and we’re alone. We can’t talk to anyone.

She was too close. He could feel her breath on his face. So he sat up. I need more dip, he said, and he grabbed his plate and went for the table. They hadn’t played this game for months, and it seemed to him a strange game now. Sometimes they’d lie in front of the fireplace and whisper for hours. Inventing places and lives and telling secrets about people who didn’t exist. All his life they’d done that, but it felt creepy now. He didn’t know what it was. Maybe Jennifer calling him a mama’s boy. Or maybe seeing Jennifer up close. But something to do with Jennifer. Maybe because his mother and Jennifer were the same in some ways, separated only by age. He didn’t like to think about this. He was really creeping himself out.

Galen spooned more dip onto his plate and returned to the fireplace but this time sat on the wide stone front.

Are you enjoying your food? she asked. She was lying back on the rug, looking up at him.

Yes, he said, and he closed his eyes, focused on the chewing. The dip saltier than he had first noticed.

I’m glad, she said. I thought we’d have a nice treat since the terrible two aren’t here.

Galen tried to keep his focus on a carrot and the way it crunched in his teeth. He could feel it sever, all that solidity cracked through in an instant, a clue to how one might get the world to slip for a moment. Removal from the world. Distance. That was what he needed. It was awful how quickly he could forget that.

It was so nasty of Helen to pick a fight right before our trip. So like her. She’ll never let things just be good. She’s an unhappy person. She always has been.

What trip? Galen asked. He kept his eyes closed and tried to remain focused on his chewing.

We’re going to the cabin tomorrow.

Tomorrow?

Galen. I’ve had the trunk of the car packed for two days now. We’re leaving at eight.

Eight o’clock? Galen had his eyes open now. I hate getting up early.

It’s just one day. It won’t kill you.

But why? Why can’t we leave at noon? It’s only an hour and a half from here.

Galen.

Fine. Is Grandma coming?

Yes. Of course.

Is it true that everything goes to you in the will?

Who said that?

Helen.

Galen’s mother sat up, grabbed her plate, and walked into the kitchen. I don’t feel like talking about it, she said.

But Galen followed her in. And what about college? Is there money for college? Why was she asking for Jennifer?

His mother put her plate in the sink and ran the tap. Helen is in dreamland. She’s always been there.

But there is some way that Grandma or the trust could pay for college?

She shut off the tap and rested her hands on the sink. Look, she said. There are things written in the trust. That money can be used for medical expenses, or education, or even a house. Helen’s been trying for a house. She wants everything. But there’s not enough money for that. Mom may live another ten years, and that rest home is expensive.

How much money is there?

Galen.

I’m serious. How much money is there? Galen could feel the anger like a wave of heat. It was amazing how quickly it could come. He was standing behind his mother, looking down at the back of her neck. He was only inches away.

Stop, she said, and she walked out the back door, but Galen followed her onto the lawn. Leave me alone, she said. She looked frightened, and he felt suddenly how small she was, how frail. She was backing away from him.

I could have gone to college four years ago, he hissed. That’s what the trust is for. If it says it can be used for education, then that’s what it’s for. But you didn’t tell me. Because you want to keep it all for yourself.

Stop, Galen. You don’t understand. She was backing away toward the shed. She had her hands out, fending him off.

How much money is there? he yelled. How much fucking money?

Galen, you’re scaring me.

He growled and grabbed her by the shoulders, hard, pushed her back against the wall of the shed.

Help! she screamed. Someone help me!

Galen let go. What the fuck, he said. I’m not going to hurt you. What the fuck are you thinking? That I’d actually hurt you? I’m just trying to find out the truth. How much money are you hiding from us?

Galen couldn’t look at her. He walked back into the house and up to his room. He was shaking. He couldn’t believe she had thought he would hurt her. As if he were some kind of monster.