Eye Witness by Kenneth Pobo

Officer I was there, in the suburban living with an overstuffed magazine rack, a television set with SpongeBob playing, and too much furniture. I sat in the chair at the end so I saw it all.

I’m just a family friend.

I don’t have a stake in this. You can trust me. There’s a bit of Tiresias in me, who had lived as both a man and a woman, gender just a changing of the light that gets you in and out of the mall.

I had just come from the mall. It often makes me feel that I’m on a cruise ship and we’re all coming down with some disease. The boat rocks, we puke, all in all a memorable vacation.

At Sears, I bought a new watch. I have at least fifty, but I grew up hearing my grandmother Lila say “Time is of the essence.” She never went anywhere, but time was of the essence. My watches remind me that Lila was, if not right, someone I often listened to for many years. She died when I was fifteen. Time had ended for her but the watches kept purring.

I went over to spend time with the Vandeman’s. Mrs. Vandeman makes great cakes. She’s been given prizes at the North Fragolino Presbyterian Church. I almost became a Presbyterian. Most of the Vandeman’s dislike religion. With video games to play, crossword puzzles to do, and cars to keep up, God is like the guy you keep saying you’ll go out with, but something always comes up at the last minute.

Not that you can say anything against God in their house. Mr. Vandeman, in his mid-seventies, has apoplexy over curse words. His grandson Scott said “Goddamn Yankees,” and, while Mr. Vandeman completely agreed, he stumped out of the room after tearing Scott into a thousand pieces. Mrs. Vandeman, always a clean woman, vacuumed him right up and still had dinner on at six sharp. That would have made Lila happy. She liked time that was sharp. Like needles under your nails.

When I got there, Officer, and might I say you have the shiniest badge I’ve seen since I got pulled into a speed trap and the lifeguardish officer flashed me… with his badge. He asked didn’t I know I was speeding? I had to fake it, put on a furrowed look, like my face had been nicely plowed. “No, sir, I didn’t think I was, I’m so sorry.” Ticket. Court appearance.

Anyway, the usual yackety-yak was going on. They let me in and I asked how everyone felt. I didn’t care. They asked me that too. I could have said “I turned into a medicine chest” and they’d have replied “That’s nice.”

Scott said something his brother Eric didn’t like. About cars, I think. That brought Matt into the dust-up, and before long they were yelling, Mr. Vandeman stormed out, Mrs. Vandeman piped “Boys!  Boys!” and I looked like a doorstop waiting for it to pass.

I was there when Scott turned into a helium balloon and floated up the chimney. I was an eyewitness when Eric dissolved on the carpet, leaving a piss-yellow stain that Mrs. Vandeman would have to work very hard to clean out of her “carpet”—she never says “rug.” And I saw, I swear, Matt spontaneously turn into a block of ice that started melting onto hand-sewn red pillows.

You’re looking at me like I’m guilty, like I made this happen. I’m like books—I don’t make anything happen. I’m noted for my eye witnessing skills. My dad says “Why are you always looking around. It’s like your face has twenty eyes.” 25 actually, but who’s counting?

If you need to take me in, Officer, have me sign statements, swear I’m telling the truth, I’m game. I’d like to be home before Get Smart comes on. It’s the season when Hymie gets introduced. I’ll go quietly. Like a watch that has stopped ticking. No one will miss those boys. Though they may be back already, in the living room, talking, snarling, as if nothing had happened. You doubt that. You want more information.

I’ve given you all I have. I must give more, I know, the plowed face, the politeness, all required. I must follow where you lead.