Kingdom

Abstract

Kingdom Scott Broker (bio) On their drive to dinner, Gwen was trying to tell Jimmy about the wolf, which had come again to their backdoor. “Last night—” “I know all about last night,” he said, veering the Mustang through a roundabout. “We fought big, loved bigger, and missed the second half of the game.” He liked to speed. He liked baseball, and the food they sold at concession stands. Had they loved big? By someone’s standard, maybe. “Not that,” she said. “Not that?” “Not that.” Jimmy looked at her. She tried to meet his gaze but was distracted by the pink blur of bougainvillea bordering the street behind his head. Gwen knew a wonderful word for their particular makeup, and that was inflorescence. Flowers had been one of her earliest hobbies in California. Poetry had been another. She planted a whole garden and then left it to the sun. Later, she tried to write a sonnet and got as far as the volta, finding no place for the poem to turn. “Then what is it?” Jimmy asked. “You’ve got my briefs in a bunch with all this waiting.” Gwen didn’t like the way Jimmy said “briefs.” She didn’t like his actual briefs, either, which were spotty with bleach. The route forward now seemed impassable. “Never mind,” she said. “Never mind?” “Never mind.” Jimmy jerked the wheel for another roundabout. At the center of its island, a kingfisher stood. Why not fly? Gwen wondered this whenever she saw a bird anywhere other than the sky. She felt terribly for flightless flocks, the roadrunners and penguins, the ostriches and emus. What had they done to God? “You drive me nuts sometimes, Gwennie. Heaven knows I love it and heaven knows I hate it. No one warned me I was marrying a Rubik’s Cube. No one said, ‘Hey Jimbo, that girl is actually a puzzle of pretty.’” They were married. Gwen sometimes forgot, startled when someone called her Mrs. Durkin even after sixteen months. Much of their material lives had changed since his accident, yet the line between their matrimony and courtship remained thin: they still shared a toothbrush, held pinkies on walks, and used condoms during sex. All marriage had really done was weigh their ring fingers down. [End Page 42] “I don’t mean to be opaque,” she said. “I’d prefer to be laid out like a beach towel.” “Careful. You’ll get me hard as a handshake right as we greet our hosts.” He patted his crotch with one hand and parked the car with the other. Gwen was surprised they’d made it already, and didn’t know why. It felt as if they’d been passing through roundabouts for hours. “Which ones are these?” she asked. Jimmy balked. “Does friendship mean nothing to you? We’re having dinner with DeeDee and Dickie. We met them at the yacht club last week.” Since coming to Los Angeles, they were always meeting people at the yacht club. Marsha and Barry and Stanley and Fran. “Right,” Gwen said, climbing from the car. Outside, the weather was the same as it always was. If Gwen had to choose one word to sum up this city, it would be homogeneous. She followed the thin trunk of a palm tree up until her neck hurt. Returning to earth, she saw that the bungalow they were headed toward looked exactly like their own, and like every other home on the street. “I miss brick,” she said. “You miss Ohio?” “I miss the un-stuccoed world.” “But stucco is glamorous.” Jimmy nearly tripped over a sprinkler head, and Gwen nearly laughed, but their trajectory continued its course without either thing happening. ________ Jimmy and Gwen had been middle class, and now were wealthy. All it had cost was Jimmy’s leg. When he called her that day, he was delirious with injury. “My leg’s all over the place, Gwennie,” he said. “We’re going to be rich. I got run over by the fattest wallet in town.” “What do you mean?” Gwen asked, admittedly distracted by the stapler in her hand. “It means this guy’s practically bandaging...