154 pages

English

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Je m'inscris

Why They Cried , livre ebook

Ecw Press - Jim Hanas

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154 pages

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Whether it's a report from the real Cannes or a young couple discovering that reading Jacques Derrida aloud can lull their child to sleep, Jim Hanas finds the strange in the everyday and the everyday in the strange. Hanas writes a lean and powerful line that makes even absurd situations-a man who cries professionally, a beauty queen leaving her slob boyfriend for an astronaut-seem painfully familiar. Why They Cried answers its own question and the answer is funnier than you think.

Informations

Publié par	Ecw Press
Date de parution	01 janvier 0001
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781554909971
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Joyland / ECW Press

Copyrig © Jim Hanas,2010 Publised by ECW Press 2120Queen Sree Eas, Suie200, Torono, Onario, Canadam4e 1e2 4166943348/ info@ecwpress.com

All rigs reserved. No par of is publicaion may be reproduced, sored in a rerieval sysem, or ransmied in any form by any process‹elecronic, mecanical, poocopying, recording, or oerwise wiou e prior wrien permission of e copyrig owners and ECW Press. he scanning, uploading, and disribuion of is book via e Inerne or via any oer means wiou e permission of e publiser is illegal and punisable by law. Please purcase only auorized elecronic ediions, and do no paricipae in or encourage elecronic piracy of copyriged maerials. Your suppor of e auor’s rigs is appreciaed.

library and archives canada cataloguing in publication

Hanas, Jim Wy ey cried [elecronic resource] / Jim Hanas.

Type of compuer ﬁle: Issued inpdfforma. Also issued inebookforma. isbn 9781554909971

i. Tile.

ps3608.a555w59 2010a 813’.6 c20109056957

Developing ediors: Emily Sculz and Brian Josep Davis Cover design: David Gee Typeseing and ex design: Troy Cunningam

he publicaion ofWy hey Crîedas been generously suppored by e Canada Council for e Ars, wic las year invesed $20.1million in wriing and publising rougou Canada, by e Onario Ars Council, by e Governmen of Onario roug e Onario Book Publising Tax Credi, by e OMDC Book Fund, an iniiaive of e Onario Media Developmen Corporaion, and by e Governmen of Canada roug e Canada Book Fund.

Mîss Tennessee 6 Pangaea 23 he Arab Bank 37 he Cryerer 59 he Audubon Socîety 83 he Adventures of Bad Badger 96 People Unlîke Aîrplanes 101 You Can Touc hîs! 116 he Guest 130 Wy hey Crîed 145

Acknowledgements 153

For my parents, Jon and Katy, and my wîfe, Alexandra.

Miss Tennessee

I loved e lile guy from e day se broug im ome. Se

carried im wrapped in a sweasir from e seler a e corner

were se’d been saying for mons se was going o go. Se se im

down on e ardwood ﬂoor and e clipped around like a fawn —

clip, clip — looking roug doorways and carefully eyeing us bo.

He was iny, bu e was srong. He was muscular and sleek, like a

miniaure greyound, and we bo waced inenly as e clipped

around, soldiering ings ou and wining under is brea.

Miss Tennessee looked a me, smiled, and said: “Well, oney?

Wa do you ink?” And I old er: “I love e lile guy.”

He was never really my dog. He was more like my sep-dog, bu

ogeer we named im Seve. We oug i was funny, giving a

dog a man’s name like a. Bu i ﬁ, like Miss Tennessee, wic

I sared jus o ease er abou being full-grown and long-legged

and prey, bu in a omboyis way a made i bo absoluely

ridiculous and absoluely plausible a se ad ever been Miss

Anying. I always made er swallow a grin. Seve’s name, on e

oer and, made i sound like e wasn’ a dog a all, bu is lile

man. Miss Tennessee oten called im a: e lile man.

Seve liked me okay, bu e loved Miss Tennessee. Wi me i

was man ings. Ater e go snipped or wen e was sung by bees

down ere, in grass a came up o is cin, e would come si by

me, oping I’d undersand. Wi er, i was everying else. Wen

se ook a ba, e sood wi is paws on e side of e ub, and

wen se wen someplace e couldn’ go e sood were e las saw

er and waied. If se wen ino a sore and let us ogeer in e

car, e sood wi is paws on e dasboard, waiing, crying, and

looking a me like maybe I was o blame.

He was oug in is own way. He growled a people passing

by and people wo didn’ give im wa e waned. I was a deep

and sincere growl, if no loud or a all inimidaing, based as i was

on anaomy smaller an a ca’s. Like a ca, e someimes broug

ome dead ings. He broug Miss Tennessee cipmunks, mice,

and assored birds, wic I buried — in is view and wi muc

MISS TENNESSEE

ceremony — in e sot, gray dir under e porc.

His conﬁdence was no unsakable, owever. He was aware

of cerain limiaions. Wen e was furious a me, or a Miss

Tennessee’s siser, or Miss Tennessee’s siser’s dog — an Alsaian

monser wo someimes came over and oarded all e lile man’s

bones — e knew beer an o srike direcly, so e would bie

someing else insead. He’d bie e arm of e couc, or a pillow,

or e lile blue rug e’d learned o pee on, and e’d snap em

around wi is ead — really killing em — is big marble eyes

locked on e real arge. I was like e was inking: “his is you.

You fucker. You ﬁnk.”

Someimes we spoke for im. “his is you, Prince. You fucker.

You ﬁnk,” I’d say wen Seve preended o bie Miss Tennessee’s

siser’s monser Alsaian, and we would all laug. here was always

someing Seve seemed o be inking, and we were always saying

i for im. Wen we ae breakfas in e living room, e’d ge up

on is ind legs o look a e frui and oas laid ou on e coﬀee

able. I was creepy o look a, like maybe e really was a lile man,

weaving back and for like a dancer. Miss Tennessee would nudge

me wi er foo o make sure I was wacing.

“Look a e lile man,” se’d wisper. “He’s going: Were’s

MISS TENNESSEE

mine? Were’s my oas?” And I’d say: “I don’ see wy you guys

ge all e frui and oas wen you’re bo already so big. Look a

me. I’m iny.”

Seve would cac on a we were alking abou im and e’d

run around e able, and I’d play wi im a lile, baing im back

and for wile e growled and snapped.

“Look,” Miss Tennessee would say. “He’s going: You’re no so

oug. You’re no so oug.” And I’d say: “Fuck you. You fucker.

You ﬁnk.” And we’d laug unil Miss Tennessee ad o go ake a

sower.

Miss Tennessee worked eig o ﬁve in a pediarician’s oﬃce and I

aug scool, aloug no in e summers. I usually suck around

er ouse ater se let for e day. Se wore smocks covered wi

balloons and clowns a made lile boys wan o marry er, and I

would kiss er goodbye on e porc.

In e mornings, I sa in Miss Tennessee’s backyard and le

e sun bea on my face and waced Seve marc around. In e

aternoons I ran errands. If I was feeling ambiious, I would cook up

a po of gumbo wi ducks my broer ad uned and killed near

e lakes nor of e ciy. I would surprise Miss Tennessee wen

MISS TENNESSEE

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