#5

The day I was born, my father hopped into his purple Cougar, the plush, velvet interior giving under the weight of his beer belly. Oil dripping onto the driveway. The car hadn’t been washed in about a month. He put his key into the ignition and headed off towards Rainier. The traffic was bad, but not as bad would be ten years from now, when the influx of Californians would make Seattle’s freeways swell with road rage and a general lack of courtesy waves. He smoked a cigarette and listened to the oldies station on the radio. The Temptations were playing as he drove by the Kingdome. The sun coming out of the east hitting the top of the dome and skipping off into the sound.

It was September, but autumn had yet to hit. There was still a tepidness in the morning dew and the smell of wood-burning fireplaces had yet to cross his mind. Nonetheless, there were two cords of wood in the garage and the oil company would have to find money from someone else.

My father scratched his stomach as he pulled up to a small building that stood alone in a little lot with a sign that read Kim’s Teriyaki; it was across the street from a strip of building containing a cake shop and a beef jerky factory. He would often barter lunches for cakes and beef jerky. As he pulled around the back, a couple of homeless people got up from the restaurant wall on which they were leaning. They started to walk away, but as my father got out of the car, he called to them.

“Hey,” he said, “are you two hungry?”

The two men looked suspiciously at him and confusedly at each other.

“Yeah, what of it,” one of them said.

“Wait here,” said my father.

He found the restaurant key and walked into the restaurant. It was a small restaurant, a small kitchen and enough seating for fifteen people. Red, plastic gingham sheets on the tables and metal chairs with black padding on the seats and backs. He walked into a small closet to the right, right next to the circuit breakers. When he walked back outside, he was carrying two brooms.

“Sweep the parking lot and I’ll give you guys some food,” my father said.

“Really?” one of them said.

“Yeah,” said my father and walked back into the restaurant, closing the door behind him.

About thirty minutes later, my father came back out with two Styrofoam boxes of teriyaki and some plastic forks. He set them on the bolted down picnic tables and pulled a couple of sodas from his pockets.

“Here you go,” he said.

He grabbed the brooms and started walking back to the restaurant.

“Hey!” one of the homeless men said.

My father turned.

“You got any cigarettes?” the homeless man said.

“Yeah, sure,” my father said. He pulled out his pack of Vantages and handed them each a smoke. He pulled out a third for himself, lit the smokes and sat on the picnic table.

“Thanks,” both men said.

“Thank you,” said my father.

He handed the two men two more cigarettes.

“For after you eat,” he said.

The phone in the restaurant started ringing. My father put out his smoke and went to answer the phone. He was wearing white, Reebok sneakers, khakis and a yellow polo t-shirt.

My mother had slept in, or, at least, she tried to. With my head pushing on her bladder, she kept having to get up to urinate. She was hungry, but didn’t feel like getting out of bed to make anything. Her husband was not the most considerate of types and had left without seeing if she needed anything. After staring at the ceiling for several minutes, she finally got up to make herself some breakfast. Some scrambled eggs and toast. About a month later it would be discovered I was allergic to eggs, and allergy that would leave along with my infancy.

She ate breakfast at the kitchen table. Tucked in the corner across from the mustard yellow fridge, scraping off small bits of burnt toast with a butter knife. There were leaves imprinted on the handle. It was a quiet morning and my aunt would be coming over any minute now to keep her company and check up on her. After breakfast, my mother put her dishes away and sat on the funky looking green and brown couch. She picked up a book and looked at the cover, thinking about reading.

My aunt walked in without knocking. She walked to the couch and sat down next to my mother.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” my mother said, “either I wet myself or my water just broke.”

“Oh!” said my aunt.

My aunt grabbed the phone and called my father.

At the hospital I started crowning.