Michael Malone - Weebly

his steering wheel, an electric razor carelessly dropped
into a tub he was just preparing to step into.
Could he not make a case that only by relentless
caution and cunning (or sheer chance) he had survived
their adolescence? Had not Lance, in that ruthless time,
brazenly shoved his superior musculature and sexuality
into Abernathy's face at every opportunity: springing out
of the bathroom with a towel pushed out from his
genitals, tossing the statuesque Beanie in the air while
she laughed like a five-year-old? Had the father not
survived the challenge of wrestling matches and tennis
bouts, the green bruises squeezed into his flesh under
the guise of affection? Survived the news that Lance
found the golden chambers of higher learning "a total
drag" and endured academics only at the insistence of
the air force, which he had joined because "flying was
his trip"? Had he not survived never knowing which he
feared most—the death of his son, or the realization that
his son casually agreed to cause the deaths of others:
"So don't worry about me, Mom. I'm eighteen thousand
feet up in the air. Got a A-One pad here in Guam, good
buddies, air-conditioning, the works. We just fly them