Will He Say What? Of Course Not? Blood’s Easier to Get From Stones

Sam isn’t speaking to me, this morning. But, it is more than that, he seems upset about something. Will he say what? Of course, not? Blood’s easier to get from stones. He looks like he is going to cry when I push him for why he is seemingly upset with me, why he is silent. His big brown eyes have a pale shade of rouge surrounding them. They are almost pleading, Don't push it or I will dissolve into tears.

I ask him if I am misreading the situation, he doesn’t deny it, well, not strenuously. He just looks nervous, as though he has some big secret he has to tell me.

I don’t know what's wrong, he won’t say. Is it because I didn’t want to sleep at his place last night, telling some truths in my reasoning, bringing home to him the predicament he is in? There are lies involved here and I said I didn’t want to be a part of them.

I think this is the real reason.

We head off to the Classic Car Show. It is a beautiful day. I get a couple of smiles out of him as we head up Gertrude Street with a couple of funny things I say to him. I'm looking at him out of the corner of my eye, he's looking at me out the corner of his.

There is a queue halfway across the front court yard of The Exhibition Buildings when we get there, I am surprised. We stand in the queue dutifully.

Sam hardly says a word for the entire time we are at the show. He has his glum face on, it doesn't change.

"Are we finished?" are about the first words I get out of him.

We head outside onto the vast court yard between the Exhibition Buildings and the Museum. The Valley of the Midgets. The buildings are of such grand proportions, the people in between look like colonies of ants. It's dry and gray in the sun, concrete and flat surfaces as far as the eye can see. I want to shade my brow with my flattened hand.

 I've never been to the museum.

"I took my sister and it was boring," says Sam. "Do you want to go?"

"How could I refuse with that sales pitch?"

Sam thinks there is free admission, but there isn't, you need a coupon, or some such thing, cross promotional bah humbugery. We get free ice creams instead, apparently, the museum is 10 years old.

He only, really, starts talking when we start thinking about food. We eat Malaysian in Grattan Street, nothing quite like I’ve ever tasted before. Sam slowly starts to thaw out and speech resumes again.

The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, as he always quotes me.

He starts to smile and make jokes, it’s nice to see. Welcome back, I think.

“You made me go to that stupid car show... and I had to pay twenty dollars to get in.”

“You know, if you didn’t want to go so much, why didn’t you just say? I don’t want to make you go to something you really don’t want to go to.”

“You wanted to go, though.”

“I wouldn’t have cared, it’s just a stupid car show.”

And I wouldn’t have cared, I’ve seen all of those cars before, many times. Except maybe the Tucker, it was pretty cool, but for one car, no I didn’t have to go. And it was crowded, full of toothless morons, all shuffling along in the thrill-me-entertain-me-make-my-life-more-interesting-than-it’s-miserable-reality kind of way. I wouldn’t have cared. It was nothing special, really. I’d rather a happy Sam.

"So that's what was upsetting you?"

Those great, big eyes return, momentarily, at my question.

I guess I'm not going to find out any time soon.