Paradise (pt 2)

The boy had been living in Houston for three weeks when his father came home with the plane tickets and a stack of hundred dollar bills, spreading the money like a fan and proudly handing it all over to his son. You ever seen that much money? his father asked. That’s three paychecks saved up.

Why are we going to Hawaii? the boy asked.

Don’t be a dummy, his father snorted, Everybody wishes they could go to Hawaii.

He went to find a map to see where Hawaii was and returned with an old globe of the boy’s just as a cockroach, long and brown, came up over the side of the coffee table, racing diagonally across its lacquered surface.

Kill that fucker, his father ordered but the boy hated bugs and was paralyzed; his father smashed it, wiping it on the leg of his jeans.

We didn’t have them before you got here, he said, folding money and tickets together. This place was real clean.

He looked at the globe and then held it out for the boy to take – and didn’t see that when his son reached for it his fingers moved right through it like a ghost and the globe fell to the floor, caving in one hemisphere.

Jesus, his father said, rolling his eyes. On his jeans, a roach leg was still kicking.

I’m sorry, the boy said, digging his nails hard into his palms so he did not disappear.

Sorry, his father muttered, charging out of the room. You got that right.

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