It’s John Lennon in the booth across the empty dining room! Dad doesn’t even notice, but I do. Dad’s always missing things. John Lennon over Dad’s dark shoulder. John Lennon underneath the yellow light. John Lennon upsetting the white tablecloth. John Lennon alive!
—Dad, look. Did you see?
—Yeah, I saw. John Lennon in the corner.
Yes, it’s him. Dad sees him, too. And Dad doesn’t lie. All the tight-money times. All the times Mom died, every night. Mom in the hospital, Mom on the internet asking for money. Dad never tells a lie. It’s like this, he says, and tells me what it’s like. It’s like this. Death underneath the sheets, death at the bank, gray death, death by money, death underneath the tablecloth.
—Should we say something, Dad?
—John Lennon doesn’t like it when you talk to him in public. He’s a private man.
That song of his about the people living for today. Where else are people alive? Alive in the past. Alive next door. Alive! Dad hates the song, says it was about communism, communism is a bad thing, a lot of bad things were communism. The past is better, Dad says.
I have him alone, now. John Lennon in a little wooden chair in an empty dining room, underneath the yellow light, upsetting a white tablecloth, alive. Suddenly, he’s up. He pushes in his chair and sees me staring. He nods towards Dad and me, Dad who’s reading something on the menu. John Lennon passing underneath the door frame. John Lennon pointing his crooked witch’s nose toward me:
—I’ll see you later, says John Lennon.
—I’ll see you later, John Lennon.
At home, I take Dad’s phone into the bathroom. I watch the music video for “Imagine.” I’m afraid Dad will hear, so I can only watch: a big empty garden, John Lennon wearing a hat, a little coat, a big empty house, this is not here, a big empty room, thick white shades, a white piano, then music! Imagine there’s no heaven, John Lennon in the corner of the room, John Lennon playing the piano, a woman watching John Lennon playing the piano, John Lennon singing, staring, staring at me, no religion too. No religion!
I flush a couple times. I throw some toilet paper in to make a louder splash. Dad’s fussing with the trash. I slip the phone underneath a magazine. Magnificat. Yes, Dad was right about the people living today. I like Religion, I like my friends.
At school, they hand out trophies once a month. The trophies say Faith in Action. And I won last month. The church was out of chairs, so I was sitting on the floor behind a pew. I was talking to my friend Billy, Billy and me on the floor behind the pews.
—I think she likes me, Billy said. I talked to her friend about it yesterday. Says she likes me. Definitely. Kimmy likes me. I want to ask her out.
And suddenly, Jack sitting next to Billy:
—No, don’t do that. That’s what girls want. You wait for them. You wait for them, otherwise you’ll never forget it.
—That’s true, Billy said. Say we go out for a couple years, then high school, then what? You know she’s going to the other Catholic school. I have to wait for her, otherwise I’ll never forget it.
Billy and Kimmy at the movies. Billy taking off her sweater, the sweater with the pair of sewn hearts. Billy kissing Kimmy. Kimmy kissing Billy.
—Nelson!
Billy and Kimmy in high school. Billy and Kimmy behind the bleachers. Billy and Kimmy forever.
—Nelson?
Me alone.
—They are calling you, Nelson, said Jack. You won!
I’m running down the aisle. I’m smiling, taking the gold trophy from the green priest. Nelson, Nelson, Nelson.
Yes, dad’s right about John Lennon. John Lennon the communist. John Lennon in Hell. John Lennon the friendless.
—Sarah’s coming over, Nelson, says Dad. She’s having dinner with us. I hope you’ll be nice this time.
Mom dies every night Sarah comes over. I want to tell Dad. I want to tell him that you wait for them. You wait for them, otherwise you’ll never forget it. Dad and Sarah, Billy and Kimmy, me and John Lennon.
—Okay, Dad.
—I put out some clothes. They’re on the bed.
Death on the tablecloth, death at dinner, death on the bed.
Sarah rings the doorbell. Dad says she’s here, and they kiss underneath the door frame, Billy and Kimmy…
When they’re through with kissing, Sarah hands me something wrapped in green paper.
—I got you something, Nelson. I found it the other day and I thought you’d like it. I hope you do.
—I’m sure he’ll love it, Dad says.
I tear open the bright green paper politely, my back turned. True Stories of Real Heroes, a picture of a fireman on the cover, a fire behind him. These are real heroes.
—Thank you, Ms. Sarah.
—Your Dad tells me you love to read, and I saw this, and I thought of you.
—Thank you, Ms. Sarah.
Dad makes my favorite for dinner, Dad above the cooking food, Sarah above the water boiling, Dad underneath the yellow light, Dad soaked in sizzle, Sarah’s face smiling out of steam, light quitting between the blinds, night coming on. Mom dying on a sunny day.
On the couch, I open the book to the first true story of a real hero. It’s like this. There was a homeless man by the highway. His mind was blasted, the story said, he always asked for cigarettes on the side of the road, someone always gave him one, he was famous around town, he wore dirty clothes. Then, one day he asked a man at the stoplight for a cigarette. No, the man said. I won’t give you a cigarette, but I’ll give you something better. He told the blasted man to get in the car. The man driving was a priest. Rosary beads dangled from his rearview mirror, tapping on the dashboard. Blasted on the interstate, blasted in the back of a car, blasted before God. The priest got him on his feet, gave him food, read to him, taught him how to read. Now the homeless man’s a priest, hasn’t smoked in over twenty years.
Dad wearing a tie. Dad kissing Sarah’s pink cheek:
—Nelson saw John Lennon today.
Sarah with a smile:
—Oh? Is that right?
John Lennon underneath the yellow light, John Lennon upsetting the white tablecloth, John Lennon will see me later.
—Yes, I say. He’ll see me later.
Settling the table: two forks, a spoon, a dull knife.
—I’m sure he will, says Sarah.
—It’s a sad case, that one. Mr. Lennon, says Dad. An unhappy life.
John Lennon with a blasted mind.
—How do you figure that? Sarah asks.
—Well, there’s the matter of his father. A merchant seaman or something. Left the kid and his mom. Mom was a prostitute. Nothing left for poor John. Then he got famous. His aunt called him The Lucky Idiot. Shot on a stoop, unlocking the door. An unhappy life.
Billy leaving Kimmy, Kimmy going to another school, Dad across from Sarah, Sarah walking toward Dad. Mom underneath a stone, A devoted mother and wife, Sarah underneath a stone, Dad underneath a stone, the same stone, all of us, the same stone, John Lennon underneath a big stone. Me dropping flowers, always missing someone, missing Dad, Dad missing Mom, Sarah missing Dad, the blasted man missing cigarettes, the priest missing Jesus, John Lennon living for today, missing yesterday, John Lennon the idiot, John Lennon and his unhappy life.
—Then there was that bad business with his wife, dad says. Well, the first one.
—A wife before Yoko? I didn’t know he had one.
—Yep, a secret one, but it’s complicated, I guess. They didn’t want the fans to know.
Dad watching me watch him, true stories of unhappy heroes.
—Well, why get into it? It’s not our business. I guess he just didn’t treat her nice. That kind of thing happens all the time. And that song of his, Mother. You had me, but I never had you. He wasn’t a nice man.
You wait for them, a brotherhood of man, his witch’s nose, Dad’s dark shoulder, yellow light and cigarette addictions, Faith in Action, Nelson! Sarah leaning over a full plate, Sarah whispering to Dad:
—I think Nelson’s crying.
—What’s wrong, Nelson? Don’t you like your gift?
