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again.”
    So then he was putting the checkers back on the board and we were playing again. He jumped one of my checkers. I made a move. He jumped another one of my checkers. I made a move and then he jumped me. I wanted to tell him that this was the reason I hated playing checkers with him. I made a move and he jumped me. Then I saw him smile.
    I saw his smile and I knew that he had let me win earlier. I sat and watched him jump my checkers, just like always, one by one. He pointed to his head with his finger. That meant he was smart.
    “That’s right, little Nathan,” Ruby said. “You’re a smart feller. The world’s not smart but you are.”
     
    Then I saw myself getting my ass kicked. He pointed to the newspaper and I saw myself writing a letter that started:
    You mentioned in your ad that you are a full-figured woman and were looking for a man who appreciated a full-figured woman. Well I’m here to tell you that I like my women like I like my fried chicken—a little bit greasy and with plenty of fat around the edges.
    I saw myself writing about how his balls were the size of hawg balls, and he was a tough motherfucker.
     
    I saw him jump my checkers and I wouldn’t tell them about the feeding tube and how it smelled when there was nothing on his stomach. I knew that I wouldn’t write about how I was afraid of him when I was little. I thought he was a monster. I thought cerebral palsy was the name you gave to the monster in every family. I wouldn’t write about how he used to knock himself out to make me laugh. I wouldn’t write about how my uncles were babysitting me when I was small and they were wanting to get rid of me for a while so they could have sex with their girlfriends. They put me on the roof and I was too scared to jump off, but Nathan groaned and moaned until Grandma came to get me. I wouldn’t write about how people stared at him when I pushed him down the road. They stared and shook their heads. I knew there would be no letters sent in return.
    I knew I would never write about Nathan’s light blue eyes—eyes as blue as Christmas tree lights.
    I knew I would never write about his soft heart. The softest heart I have ever known.
     
    I knew he believed in something that none of us ever do anymore. He believed in the nastiest word in the world. He believed in KINDNESS. Please tell me you remember kindness. Please tell me you remember kindness and joy, you cool motherfuckers.

    So he started watching soap operas all the time. He thought soap operas could teach him something about women and love. Every day he went into the living room and leaned up against his little cushion and watched the women on the soap operas live their lives through story.
    He watched the women on the soap operas start falling in love.
    He watched the women on the soap operas hit their heads and get amnesia and run off and leave their families.
    He watched the people getting in car chases and running out of burning buildings just before they exploded.
    I used to sit and watch them too and wonder if he thought this is what the outside world was like—that each of us had an evil twin we didn’t know about, an evil twin that was out there somewhere trying to take over our lives and kill us.
     
    Then one day we went to Beckley for Grandma’s foot doctor appointment. After the appointment, I pushed him through K-Mart and Nathan wanted to buy a copy of the movie South Pacific . I asked why in the hell he was wanting to buy a stupid musical. He kept pointing to the cover. Then he took his hands and put them to his chest like he was squeezing his breasts. There was a picture of a woman on the cover who was wearing this itty bitty bikini.
    I told him: “Ah shit, Nathan. This is not going to be a tittie movie. This is going to be a stupid ass musical.”
    But the poor bastard didn’t listen. When he got home and put it into the VCR, instead of a woman in her itty bitty bikini, taking it off, and showing him her stuff, it was