Subtraction

He existed as a laceration of my doubts, more than anything else. I watched his car disappear down the dirt road that August and couldn't help but think of the exact distances between the tire treads. It couldn't have been more than an inch and half. Maybe two inches. I realized what I was doing with a scowl. It clicked together in my head like Lincoln Logs, echoed like a public reading: I was trying to block the image out. Where my mother would take a shot of Sazerac to dull the abilities of her memory, I did internal math problems. My mind flicked back to the inside of my closet. I had squatted with my back against the door, whispering times tables to myself while the firemen searched the rest of the house for me.

Truman's leaving awoke that familiar escape inside my head. It wasn't enraged or even awkward. My whole life I knew Truman would just as soon kill you as shake your hand, but I had forced myself to see past that small area of his character. I know now that I was only inviting something to come and change my mind. It arrived in the form of a newspaper headline. The local police were following up on a murder case, searching for a man of average height, dark hair, Caucasian. When Truman arrived home that evening, I was waiting for him in the kitchen. I had spent hours practicing looking casual. I didn't want to frighten him back out onto the street. I didn't speak, only held up the front page of the paper.

He stared at it for a few seconds and then raised his eyebrows at me.

"You're looking rather elusive tonight, aren't you Tru?" I said, my voice faltering. He cleared his throat and waved his hand, as if to dismiss the headline as entirely libelous. The subject was dominating the room and I found it hard to break away from it, but we both knew it was too large a question to leave hanging in the kitchen that night like a wet dishtowel.

"Did you kill that man, Truman?" I directed the question at him as if it were a guided missile. I wasn't angry. I was curious. I wanted to be free of all doubt before I let him leave. He gave a terse nod. I sighed and pointed the newspaper toward the door, hanging my head. He unhooked his hunting jacket from behind the door where it had been disrupted from it's stationary sleep so soon after being deposited there. I watched from the window as the car drove smoothly down that dirt road and the math started up again in my head.