If one looks carefully enough, Kendra’s son thinks to himself, one might notice the shape created at the very point where the ceiling meets the adjoining walls of a corner—a shadow of the letter Y. Any room will display this upright letter at least four times, Y Y Y Y.

Kendra’s son wonders if the woman notices this, if she is thinking of words that begin with the letter Y—yard, yes, yank, yearning. These four words aren’t random associations for Kendra’s son, he decided on them long ago, long before he and the woman segregated their living quarters. He named each corner back when he was nine years old. Kendra’s son has always seen the upright Y Y Y Y and these words—yard, yes, yank, yearning—within any of the rooms he has inhabited. He has always noticed such things, small details and imperfections.

Kendra’s son has never shared this observation with the woman, even though he thinks about it often, mostly at night. Kendra’s son has kept this thought to himself.

The woman’s eyes shine. She continues to stare at the ceiling from her place in the corner. The harp is playing and she’s close to crying. When she begins to do so it is quiet, the liquid running to her upper lip, running to the corner of her lip, and despite Kendra’s son’s ability to notice such details, he does not notice this.

1   Though they had not received the proper work permits for these Type-I and Type-II alterations, and they had not filed their plans with the Department of Buildings or with the Landmarks Preservation Commission, and they had not hired a licensed master plumber or electrician, and they had not followed the Zoning Ordinances or complied with Zoning Law, nor any of the Building Codes, nor the Energy Conservation Construction Codes of the state.

PENDERGRASS

Teddy, with his eyes closed, the widow’s peak touching the center, three gold chains sitting against his chest cavity and the white tank top, the white teeth. Or with a cowboy hat, the fur, and always with the white suit, the white suit jacket, five gold chains sitting atop, the white pants, the full beard set against his full mouth, the sweat, the rasp, the screaming, wet, the heat from the stage lights, his long legs, legs set apart and twisting.

Teddy with his eyes closed in the green Rolls Royce Silver Spirit, young, the tree coming close and the malfunction, a sound from the neck, his legs set wide, for forty-five minutes a woman’s perfume, and from the fifth and sixth vertebrae the light.

ADULT HEAD