WHAT IT IS

I have just one headlight. I have not registered my car because my license is suspended. Though I'm worried about the police pulling me over, I drive to work anyway because no buses run at two or three AM. Earlier today, I started digging a hole for my trailer. I have an Airstream trailer--one of those long, silver, hot-dog-shaped ones that were popular in the 70s. The trailer has a skylight on its top. If I make my hole deep enough, and if I bury the trailer as I want to, then I will make sure that the skylight serves as a hatch. That's how I'll get into my trailer once it's buried. I'd be able to live underground then, and I'm sure that if I were to live underground, it would be quiet.

There's a warrant for my arrest--but not for anything violent. Just one headlight. On my way to work just before three AM, I see a patrol car, so I flash it with my one light, and it flashes me back. I'm not sure why patrol cars never pull me over so long as I flash them with my one light. Maybe it's because my flash is blatant. It's as if my flash says, "Yes, I'm aware of my delinquency, but, believe me, I will take care of it." Or maybe I don't get pulled over because it's one of my job's perks.

And I am aware of my delinquency. I'm aware that I owe my children thousands of dollars of back child support. I am aware that their mother is still dead and that they live with their sick and old grandmother in the suburbs. I'm aware that they don't want to visit me because, as my son says, "Your domicile is not fit for habitation." The last time I visited my kids in the suburbs, I was impressed by how clear their complexions were. I myself remember picking and squeezing through years of cystic acne. When I visited, I saw that my son had taken to taming magpies. He would steal them from their mothers when they were young and raise them as his own to do his bidding, which was mostly that he wanted them to bring him coins and jewelry.

I was surprised that my son decided to tell me his terrible secret about how he best tamed his magpies. I didn't expect him to tell me anything--let alone his best secret. He told me that when the magpies were little, he would break one of their legs. They never remembered he was the one who broke their legs, of course, and they probably also didn't remember that he was the one who brought them back to health. He made sure, though, that their legs never completely healed. All his tame magpies had limps, and it was painful for me to see how loyal they were to him, how they brought him things they could barely carry from far away. They brought him coins and bracelets. They brought him rings.

"I once saw a bird of mine peck a woman until she gave it her pendant," he told me.

My son. My son also told me that someone was tying gold ribbon around lit cigarettes so that his birds would pick them up and bring them to him. My son wasn't sure if this person who planted the cigarettes was trying to be his friend or if this person was already his enemy.

"Is this person trying to give me gifts of lit cigarettes? Or is this person trying to burn me down?" my son asked.

I told him I couldn't tell him--only that it wasn't I who was doing it. I sometimes saw limping magpies near my trailer in the city, and I wondered if my son had sent them to take my coins. I did, after all, owe my children thousands.

I don't know much about my daughter except that she administers dialysis to her grandmother three times a day. I know that she rides her bike fast and without a helmet. It is not my place to tell her to wear a helmet.

I arrive at work. I have a simple job. It's to clean a bar from three AM to seven AM. The bar, by law, is supposed to close at two, but it stays open for an hour extra because that's when all the police come in to drink. The owner of the bar knows that I have stopped drinking. He likes to tell the police that he'll give them free drinks if they can force me to drink.

"Free drinks for anyone who can get this waste to drink," the owner says. He says this tonight.