Free Lifted by the Great Nothing: A Novel by Karim Dimechkie Page B

into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Bran Flakes at the round table. He disliked the gaps that the round table made up against the corner. There existed a profound unfairness in those two being forced together.
    Instead of eating, he squirted yellow dish soap into the bowl and watched the dense globules refuse to mix with the water and cereal. He wanted an egg to crack into the bowl now. What would happen? Would the yolk join the soap? Rupture and smoke around the bran flakes? Float at the top, like a sun? Would everything blend together into a brownish wet cement guck, a thick substance he could sculpt with, or throw at someone’s stupid unwelcome face?
    He opened the fridge in search of the egg but got sidetracked by a brilliant red apple sitting on the bottom shelf. A puddle of milk gleamed a few centimeters from the apple, yellowed and motionless. The apple was lighter than it should have been. Probably meant a cushion of air separated the skin and flesh. He took an angry bite, and smacked up and down on the floury consistency and that web of cold skin. He spat the patchof apple into his palm and squeezed it into a kidney-shaped lump, then pressed it back into the apple where he’d taken the bite. Placing it in the milk puddle, he rotated the bitten and replastered part away from him so that it faced the back of the fridge.
    Kelly came out wearing a brown T-shirt and dirty-white terrycloth shorts. “Ready for a big breakfast?” she said. “I’ll need some ingredients from the store.” Her thighs were diagramed with veins and olive-green bruises.
    Max wondered what she was playing at here. He stammered, “I just, it usually just takes me a second to plan out what I’m going to cook and everything, so—”
    “I know. But I’m going to take care of it this morning.”
    He should have expected this day to come. On previous Sundays she had managed to simultaneously compliment the meal Max had prepared while slipping in stories of her own breakfast achievements from her past life. Now, finally, she would be the head chef.
    “Max,” Rasheed called from his bedroom, “go to the store and get her the ingredients for breakfast, please.”
    “Okay,” he said.
    She handed him a list and twenty dollars. “Hey,” she said, “I’m not trying to take over or anything, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t make a mean frittata.” She blew him a kiss before going back into the room with his father and shutting the door.
    Outside, he saw Rodney raking leaves into a trash bag. The rake looked brittle in his hands. He boomed at Max, “Hey there!”
    It took Max off guard. They’d never exchanged a word before. “Hello.”
    “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
    His eyes beaded about. “It’s summer.” And on top of that it’s Sunday , he wanted to say.
    Rodney squinted a little harder than the sun had previously made him. “I’m Rodney.”
    “Hi, I’m Max.”
    “Good to meet you, Jack .” The way he said it, Max wasn’t sure if Rodney had misheard him or if Jack was some kind of nickname. “Too bad it’s only now you say hello. After how many months of living across the street from me?”
    You’ve never said hello either, Max thought.
    Rodney winked. “I’m just messing with you, man. Hey, make sure that bike seat isn’t too high. Don’t want to injure the goods, know what I mean?”
    Max looked down at where his goods met the seat and mumbled, “You got it.” He started riding off but stopped when Rodney continued talking.
    “I met your mommy the other day.”
    “My mo— Oh, that’s not my mom.”
    Rodney said, “That’s not very nice. You think she’d appreciate you saying that?”
    Max inspected his front tire awhile, unsure of why the truth wasn’t nice. He had a quick fantasy of dropping the bike, diving across the lawn, and spearing Rodney in the chest with the top of his head. Of course, Max would bounce right off him.
    Rodney gave another wink. “Well, all right,