Fiction by Marc Erdrich
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Soul Mates - page 6

SON: just didn’t think they belonged in the closet. MOTHER: I want them in the house, do you hear me. I want them in the house, now! SON: Now? MOTHER: Now! SON: But mom, I can’t come over there now. MOTHER: (Crying.) Then when can you come? SON: Friday. Maybe I can come on Friday. MOTHER: Not ‘til Friday? All right, then come for dinner on Friday. I want those ashes in the house. SON: All right. All right. I’ll bring them in. MOTHER: Don’t forget. I’ll see you Friday. Good-bye. SON: Good-bye. Scene 4. The garage. Same as before. SON is cleaning the car. A Mets game is playing on the car radio. Dave Kingman is at bat. SON: Come on Kingman. You can do it. (Kingman strikes out.) Kingman, you slob. Where did you learn to play baseball? (Looks up at the urn.) He’s never there when you need him, you know. (He reaches for the urn, takes it, and retrieving a box from inside the car, places the urn in it.) Well Dad, this is it: our last game together. I’m really sorry. I’m going to miss you. You know, this is the closest we’ve ever been, these past two years. You’ve helped me to understand a lot of things. I know you lover her, but I still think you should have left her a long time ago. I think both of you would have been better off. You taught me something, though. I made my decision before it was too late. You know how I knew when it was time for me to go? Remember how you used to wave your hand at Mom when you were disgusted at something, (demonstrates) like this? Well, I started doing the same thing. I could hear you telling me, “Don’t be weak like I was.” Well, I guess this is it. I’m real sorry to see you go back into the closet; but who knows...maybe later there’ll be a chance to get you out of there. Until then, spend some time with those memories for a while. You know, the last