“MARKY, OUR COMPANY’S HERE!”
Splursh. Spllllat!
“MARKY!” Yiayia screams from the living room.
The ketchup lands in little shiny clumps on the carpet. Marky steps in them.
He hears the front door open and some strange woman’s voice squeal hello. Yiayia and she jabber on about how long it has been and how wonderful each other looks.
Marky opens his mouth, squirts some of the ketchup inside, and keeps it there without swallowing. For good measure, he gives his white T-shirt a blast, right over his heart.
Oh, and some in his hair, of course.
He hides the ketchup bottle under his bed. Then he lies down, his matted hair right in one of the red puddles on the carpet. Facing upward, he spits. The ketchup, thinned by his saliva, trickles down the sides of his mouth.
“MARKY! Just a sec, Joyce. He’s probably got his headphones on. Eight years old and he can’t go a minute without — ”
The bedroom door swings open, and Yiayia swallows her last word. Marky wishes he could see the expression on her face, but that would mean opening his eyes.
Yiayia’s scream is worth the trouble, even though it is the loudest scream he has ever heard and he thinks he has lost some hearing.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Help!”
The gasps are great, too. Like hiccups.
Then she has to go spoil it by jumping on him. He doesn’t expect that. Also he doesn’t expect her to start pounding his chest.
Putting her lips on his is the last straw.
“Stop! Ew! Ew!” he cries.
Yiayia’s eyes are enormous. Her mouth.is ringed with ketchup, and curled into this gross shape, like a kidney bean.
Behind her, Joyce Somebody stands gaping in the doorway.
“You almost gave me a heart attack!” Yiayia shrieks. “Is this your idea of a joke?”
Marky bursts out laughing. Yiayia looks like a clown with that ketchup around her mouth.
“I want you and this room cleaned up, right now! And no dinner for you tonight!”
All riiiight! Marky thinks. He doesn’t want to have dinner with those old farts anyway. All Yiayia ever likes to talk about is one thing.
She slams the door, and Marky hears footsteps receding down the hall.
“I’m so sorry, Joyce. He never used to be like this. His parents’ death was huge trauma. I’m looking for a therapist right now for him.…”
There she goes. Starting already. Only this time he doesn’t have to sit there and take it. His parents aren’t dead. The bodies were never found. Dead bodies don’t just walk away. Someday they are going to come back.
And then what will Yiayia do? She’ll have nothing to talk about.
Which is just fine.