“Listen to me, Dunph. You can’t spend your whole life worrying about yesterday. It’s gone and it’s not your fault; you’re not God.”

“So it’s God’s fault? I’m glad that’s finally cleared up.”

“You know what I mean,” he said. “Don’t let guilt control you. It’s your life, do something with it.” There was silence. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Don’t be. It’s typical. My brother gets crippled, my old man sends me here, the only girl I ever loved hates me, my best friend loses it and ends up dead. My mother … everybody I like gets fucked.” I dragged on the butt then ground it into the ashtray. “Even my teams get burnt. Barnes breaks his leg, Aparicio slips rounding third, something always messes up. Could’ve been the happiest day in history and Barnes has to break his leg.” I stopped. Hadn’t meant to reveal so much self-pity. And I was getting carried away. Happiest day in history?

“Go on,” Dave said.

“It’s not important,” I said, throwing my arms down in disgust. I got the feeling that he thought I was snapping. First Mao-tse-Tung and now Marvin Barnes. “It’s just a typical example. Providence College, my favorite hoop team, was in the N.C.A.A. semis a couple years ago and they were bombing Memphis State by something like fifteen points in the first half and suddenly God looks down and sees me and my brother and poof! Sure as shit, our big man breaks his leg, P.C. gets trounced, and everyone forgets about us. Story of my life.” I gulped my beer. “Same thing with the ’72 Red Sox. Aparicio slips rounding third, we lose the final game of the season by a run, and the pennant by a half game. A half game.”

Dave looked puzzled so I said, “That was the year of the players’ strike. The schedule was all messed up.”

Suddenly I noticed I was crying. The beer seemed to break down whatever had held back the tears. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d managed a single drop. Not when Jackie broke his neck. Not even when Mousy died. Then I remembered. My mother was giving my brother and me a bath and Jackie was crying because the water was too hot, and I was starting to cry until my mother said, “Look at Timmy, Jackie. Timmy doesn’t cry because he’s a big boy,” and I did stop and I was proud and I hadn’t cried since. It all came out. I began hemorrhaging tears.

“I love my father,” I said. “I love my father.”