|Ian Christopher Hooper||The 2River View, 7.4 (Summer 2003)|
Sunday open houses,
The boss’ youngest daughter is sick, really sick,
Driving by herself to Billings, my wife nods off at the wheel, a split second, nothing more, and she calls me from a hotel room that night, laughing, she doesn’t understand why I can’t sleep, why I’m repeating fuck! fuck! you’ve got to be more careful! to her picture in the living room.
The broker unlocks the door, let’s us wander in, shows us the kitchen and the den. The balcony, though, is a platform over the city, over the world, with a sweep of roofs and trees and parks all ordered like colored dominoes beneath us, reassuringly patterned, reassuringly insignificant, reassuringly safe. And just imagine what it’d be like if we were even higher up, says my wife. Do you want to see some more? asks the broker.
Yes, yes, we say, take us all the way to the top.