There was quilt he was looking for. A soft, shear quilt. Something that reminded him of his mother, I guess. He never explained that kind of stuff. I walk in the door and he comes bounding in out of a sleep so loud that I heard his snoring before I ever got inside.
“Where’s my quilt?” he asks, already knowing I’m alive by just seeing me.
“I might be sitting on it.”
He turns around. “Throw it to me.”
“If I never saw it on near your anus, I’ll be able to sleep on it.”
I like to be reminded of things like having an anus, so I get up make the blanket into football. I throw it, but it lands five feet short. I get up and try it again. Two feet short.
He turns around and I hand it to him.
“It wasn’t near my butt,” I say.
He sniffs it. “Cut down on those chicken nuggets.”
“They're from Trader Joe’s. They can’t be bad for me.”
“Do you dip them in semen or something?”
“It’s yogurt. Pineapple yogurt. The semen is on my shirt.”