Face Of The Monster

22 - Change

The phone is ringing and ringing and ringing. Answering it will take a decided, deliberate action on my part. I cannot accidentally answer the phone. If I hit talk, it means I want to engage myself in this conversation.

My finger lands on the button. It's his voice.

"Emma?" he says. "Hey there! How's my girl?"

A sort of warm contentment trickles through me at the sound of his voice. If I don't think about it too much, I'm glad I picked up the phone. I love him. I should talk to him, shouldn't I? It doesn't matter if he's done some things wrong; everyone makes mistakes. And so many people make much worse mistakes than he did. "Hello. I'm doing alright, how about you?"

My uncle snorts. "No way are you doing 'alright'. Your mom told me all about your husband, you know. Says he had a . . . what, a fuckin' aneurysm?"

"Um, yes. A stroke."

I am in a booth at a local diner. It's called Freddy's or Kenny's or something, I don't remember. It's Monday evening and I don't think I can stand one more dinner with Isabel's family. I'll explode, I'll throw something, I'll cry. Instead, I'm here alone, watching other families laugh and talk together.

"Stroke, right. That sucks major balls, man."

Why did I take this call? Ever since Uncle Felix moved to Irvine, he's been working on releasing his inner surfer. All he does now is surf, eat, sleep, and a few other annoying hobbies such as sleeping with barely-of-age girls and calling me with unhelpful advice. "Felix, it more than 'sucks major balls'."

"So like, elephant balls."

He's a good guy, my uncle. Good enough. He took me in when I moved down to California, which he didn't have to do. I remind myself of this as I respond. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, sounds like you're hanging in alright. Done any surfing lately?"

I want to shout that my husband just had a stroke, does he think I have time for surfing? But I take a bite of my grilled chicken sandwich instead. It tastes of ash and wilted lettuce. "Nope, haven't been able to. Been working."

"Right!" he exclaims. I can hear the waves crashing behind him, now that I'm thinking about the beach. Envy seizes me like a fishing net. "How's the hair cutting? Found any good lice?"

"Felix, why are you calling me?"

He pauses. A seagull caws. "I dunno, Em. Just worried 'bout you, really. I know you get a little uptight when things go wrong."

My envy loosens into a seething rage. He's unfettered, my uncle, doesn't know anything about responsibility. Keeping calm is easy for him. When one opportunity hits a wall, he believes another will come to rescue him. And usually, it does. He worked for a gift shop at the airport when I lived with him, but he got fired after they caught him stealing, of all things, candy from the shop. Then he and his buddy opened up their own shop, selling t-shirts and key chains and useless things that nobody needs but people still buy. That only lasted for a little while. The store was running fine, making a profit, but the work got to be too much for old Felix so he opted out and moved to the coast where he now plays his guitar on the boardwalk and sometimes doesn't eat dinner or wear clothes.

"I think I'm allowed to be a 'little uptight' right now, okay? My husband might never walk again."

"He's a strong dude, Emma," Felix croons. "He'll be alright."

He's only met Ricky once and that was on our wedding day. In fact, Felix walked me down the aisle. He was more of a father to me than my real dad, anyway. He was never super loving or supportive or whatever, and we were never really that close, but he's the one who got me through to adulthood, not my parents.