"Look what I brought you," Caleb said, closing the door behind him as he entered the darkened room. He raised the window shade to let sunlight stream in through the grimy windows. "Why do you stay here in the dark? It's such a nice day outside-you should really get out more."
But his pa just lay there, unmoving except for his hands, which twitched spasmodically at his sides. Caleb moved closer, holding out his prize. They were still wet and dripping onto the floor, so he fished a Kleenex out of his pocket and dried them off.
"Good, aren't they?" he said, bending down so his father could see. "I like blue eyes, don't you?"
There was no reply, but he was used to that. His pa didn't talk much anymore. Caleb preferred it that way-when his father used to talk all the time, his words were so hard and cold they hurt Caleb's ears. No, it was much better like this, much easier. He could take care of his pa, and bring him what he needed-even clean him up when he soiled himself, which he was doing more often now. It was the least he could do, after all his father had done for him-brought him up all by himself, and looked after him, keeping Caleb away from wicked women and their influence. No, it was no trouble at all to look after his pa now, Caleb told himself-a good son does that when his father gets old and feeble.
He turned and put his prize in the jar with the others, then took a moment to admire them as they bobbed gently up and down in the formaldehyde. This was his first pair from a human, which was very exciting, but the others were nice, too. So many different shades of brown and blue, and one pair that was even a little bit green-hazel, his mother would have called them. Those belonged to a golden retriever who lived next door to them a few years ago, and had the unfortunate habit of waking Caleb up late at night with his barking. No one had even suspected him when the dog disappeared.
The dog's eyes were hazel, like his mother's, with little flecks of caramel brown. Even now his mother's eyes floated through his dreams at night, the brown flecks spinning and whirling like the kernels in the air popper she used to make them popcorn on Sunday night. That's when Caleb's favorite show was on-The Wonderful World of Disney. He liked to watch Tinker Bell fly around waving her wand as the fireworks exploded behind her-the sight always made his stomach tingle. He thought Tinker Bell looked cute in her little green outfit, and wondered if she had a fairy boyfriend who was as tiny as she was. He imagined what it would be like to be that small, and imagined himself kissing Tinker Bell. He always thought she would taste lemony, like his mother's dishwashing liquid.
When his mother was still around, she watched his show with him. They would eat popcorn together, sitting side by side on the big green sofa, their faces lit by the glow from the television screen. He still had that air popper, and now he made popcorn for himself and his father on Sunday nights. That show was no longer on the air, so he and his pa watched football, or 60 Minutes, or whatever was on. It's too bad his mother turned out to be wicked in the end-even so, sometimes he wished she were here so she could sit with them and eat popcorn in front of the television on Sunday nights.
He put the jar back in the closet by the bed, and looked down at his father. He was working his jaw, trying to say something, but all that came out was a high squeaking sound, like a frightened mouse.
Caleb smiled indulgently. "What is it-what are you trying to say? Concentrate now," he said, bending lower so that their faces almost touched. His father's breath smelled rusty, like old coffee grounds. "Remember what I said about concentrating on each word," Caleb said with a tolerant smile.
His father struggled to speak, his face growing redder until it was a mottled scarlet. Caleb smiled down at him. He would be patient until his pa got the words out. He didn't mind waiting-he had all the time in the world.