Hello? the voice says, wavering. There’s a dead guy. The voice felt detached. Is it really mine? Excuse me? Sir? I wasn’t answering. Sir? She sounds like she might hang up, dismissing it as some bored teenager who couldn’t sleep. I finally, slowly, open my mouth. A suicide. 47 Alcrest Road. Can I have your naI hang up before she can finish, then go back to my spot against the wall. A few days passed. Actually, it was probably no more than twenty minutes. In my mind, though, several infinities had passed. The strangest thoughts come at these times. I almost laugh at the thought of old Mrs. Greenstein correcting me: No, Andrew; multiple infinities cannot occur. By definition, they last forever, so it is impossible for them to ‘pass.’ There would be no shame in getting extra help if you still don’t understand these concepts. Anyway, there are flashing lights outside Conner’s window now. Sirens, too, but they seem muffled. Heavy knocks, more like pounding, assault the door. I can’t force my legs to move again, so the door is broken in. Pounding steps, searching every room, coming up the stairs, shouts of ‘Clear!’ These sounds fill the house. Then I notice something strange: my dad is here. Why would he be here? Oh, right, I remember numbly. He works suicides for the NYPD. ‘Heally, Conner’ was about to become another case in his filing cabinet. I never noticed how intimidating my father looked in his work clothes until he was standing over me. Andrew? Andrew! What the hell happened? “What do you think happened?” I snap. In my head, anyway. My physical self is still trying out for the lead role as a vegetative ice cube. I am light enough for my dad to pick me up with one arm. That’s exactly what he does, and he carries me down the fourteen stairs and outside onto the porch. He opens his mouth as if to say something, then shuts it and walks down the porch steps. Yellow tape is already wrapping around the yard. I watch my dad walk over to a uniform, point in my direction, then walk back inside, squeezing my shoulder with a tense bear paw on the way. Physical connection from my father is rare, an emotional one even harder to acquire. I think he started switching his emotions on and off; off to deal with his demons at work, on to be the cool cop dad. Somewhere along the way, he seemed to forget how to switch them back on. The policewoman promptly walks up and tries to gently pry information from my lips. What happened? Did you see it happen? Was there anything you 34
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