The multi-colored matches had been approved without comment. The boss left the proposals on Joe’s desk, signed, no notes. Now Joe had to design two different drug store matches for stores mere blocks apart. A nice challenge for the afternoon. Give one a clipart pharmacist, give the other a stylized mortar and pestle; traditional type for one, zoomy big modern RX for the other. Finish the first by noon, the second by five: Tuesday was all laid out.

Except that he hadn’t started either one. It was ten, and for the last few minutes he’d been studying at a matchbook from Salt Lake City. It was in the inside pocket of the coat Mom gave him on his visit. A nice coat, perfectly good, shame it was just sitting there in the closet not getting any use. You take it. It looks nice on you. He got out of there before she started giving him pants. That would have been odd.

Frankly, he was frankly surprised she’d kept anything.

He turned it over, examined the spine. Empire Hunter Export.

When had Dad ever gone to Utah?

If a man has a secret life, what sort of secrets take you to Salt Lake City, for heaven’s sake?

He picked up the phone. She was surprised to hear from him, as she always was, and this gave him a pang of guilt.

“This is going to sound silly, Mom –“

And then he wondered if this was really the right thing to ask about. It’s peculiar how you grow up thinking one parent knows everything about the other, how they don’t have any secrets. After all, what did they talk about when you were in bed, listening to them chat, if not their deepest secrets and desires?

“ – but, ah, do you have any more coats or stuff like what I took? This is just a great coat. I’ve gotten compliments on it.”

“From girls?”

From no one. Not even the elevator operator. “Yeah, Mom, from the hatcheck girl at the Mocambo last night. Anyway, don’t throw anything out for a while, okay? I’ll pick them up next time.”

He set the match on his desk.

Lousy job. It’s either extraordinary sea food, he thought, or sea food extraordinaire. And the word “grotto” never did much for him either; it was like some kind of rash in your privates you got from a damp cave. Doc, you gotta give me a salve, I have grotto down there.

Then he put it in a drawer and thought: At least I'm better than that. Now, did he want blue and orange or orange and blue? Joe grinned, and began.

this is a work of fiction c. 2005 j. lileks. / joe home / lileks.com home