We could have gone to the beach, and it might have all gone different, I suppose, but Marlee worries about stupid things like sand fleas and the wind drying out her skin, and Mum and Jonah always listen to her, since she’s “at that difficult age,” and they don’t want to hear her whine.
I think Jonah wouldn’t have cared about whining, but Mum is still trying to make it up to us that she stepped out on Dad with Jonah, then left him, and dragged us with her. Mom is always trying to make it up to Marlee, because Marlee talks. When she’s mad, Marlee says words like ‘betrayer’ and ‘cheater’ and ‘immoral.’ Mum can usually buy Marlee off, give her the car keys, or some money for the mall. Mum’s scared of Marlee, but she’s not scared of me.
I’m eleven, and I don’t talk. I can’t find anything to say about Jonah, or Mum, or anything.
Mum says I’m just like Dad, and the way she says it, it sounds like it’s something bad. Dad never says much to anybody either, but he’s Dad, and that’s how it is. He’s Dad.
And Jonah is Jonah. Jonah thinks he’s one of the Good Guys, like in the Captain American comics where there are Perilous Evils, but the Good Guys always win. Jonah says he is an EcoWarrior. I should have thought Jonah would have cared about the things that Marlee says, but he is busy being eco-moral. He thinks people are moral and good when they’re saving the Earth and ‘thinking green.’
Oh. And when they look after their fellow man. That’s me, as far as Jonah is concerned. Somehow, he missed thinking of Dad as a fellow man.
Because Mum told him that Dad and I have ‘trouble communicating,’ Jonah’s taken it on himself to be sure I get “male companionship” that he’s heard boys need. He’s subscribed me to Boy’s Life, and himself to George. Now he’s started bugging me about having ‘man time’ with him, and ‘family time’ with Mom and Marleee, which is how we ended up at the park.
It is generic enough, on the face of things; acres of green, manicured lawns and big green trees. Eco-Jonah is thrilled, despite the fact that this is as tamed a “natural” space as I’ve ever seen. “Nothing like a nice walk on a sunny day,” he says expansively, throwing his arms wide and poking me in the arm. “Get old Mother Earth beneath your feet, toss around the pigskin a bit; you’ll feel like a new man.”
There is nothing to do when Jonah talks tripe like that to me except tune him out. I walk away from him and head toward a stand of trees at the top of a rise. His voice and Marlee’s whining sort of filter out and fade away. At the top of the hill, I see a paved plaza up ahead. Intrigued, I speed up, heading for it.
Mum is puffing along behind me, trying to keep up. “Marty?”
“[ no reply]”
“It’s nice of Jonah to bring us here, isn’t it?”
I keep climbing. There is nothing to say to that.
Artsy stuff was never Dad’s thing, and I’ve never much liked Art Period at school except if Mrs. Cordiss lets me do comics, so when I found out the plaza had nothing but a bunch of stone sculptures, it wasn’t that interesting, except I still look, because they are naked. The people are all twisted up on each other, and some of them are playing, and some of them look like they’re attacking. Some of them look dead, and there are babies there, too. They are huge, which I like. I feel small looking up at them. It is weird looking at stone that can be thought of as so hard, but the bodies look so real.
I wander around staring, sometimes wanting to reach out and touch the smoothness. Down a small flight of stairs I come to a sculpture that stops me cold. It’s Dad. It’s just like him. Dad, and someone else. Maybe me. 
The immense figures sit back to back, leaning against each other, but straight. Taking strength one from another, they touch, but strong enough, too, on their own not to lean too hard. I circle the figures, running my hands along the base of the plinth, trying to name the feelings boiling up inside of my stomach. It’s just two guys, back to back, but they’re so big, they could take over the world.
“Marty?” Mum materializes at my side, holding onto my arm with clammy hands. “You can’t keep wandering away like this. Jonah’s taken all this trouble to bring you to a nice park. Don’t you want to tell him thank you? Jonah has been very nice about how you’ve treated him, Marty, but it’s got to stop. Don’t you — “
“Mum,” I interrupt her. “I’m moving home with Dad.”
Mum’s mouth moves. “What? Marty-?”
Dad’s name is Martin. I am Marty.
Mum always used to say Dad and me were just alike, like bookends. This is how we should be, back to back, holding each other up. Dad and I are two halves of the same, set in stone.
I look up at the sculpture. Mum is still saying something, but rocks don’t hear.
Flickr Fiction is out, Ficktion Fridays are in! Visit the websites of the usual suspects: The Gurrier, Ms. Teaandcakes, Elimare, Chris, Aquafortis, Valshamerlyn, and Miss Mari, and find us on find indiviual pages on Ficktion. Ficktion: a new experiment in wordplay.