A Bit of Nostalgia

-I’m looking for someone named Liam.
-Don’t know any Liam.
He begins scratching his ass. Casually. The way some people play with their hair or draw pyramids when they talk on the phone.
-He used to live at this address. Maybe you know where they might have moved.
-Lady and a kid.  
-Right.  
-Back in ’02.  Kid was maybe thirteen.  William or something.  
-Or something. Remember a last name?  
-Monaghan.  You a bill collector?
-Nah.  My grandparents live next door.
-Yeah? How’s his hip treatin’ him?
-Not like an old friend. Listen. They didn’t leave anything when they moved, did they?
-Just the keys and a busted toilet.  
-No boxes, huh?
-Didn’t seem like the kind of people had anything to toss in boxes, way I remember it.  
-Yeah.
-She was moving in with her boyfriend.  Guy worked at Jack & Jill.  
-Like the ice cream?  
-Yeah. Said she was finally getting’ her just desserts.  Hand to God, that’s what she said.  
-Remember the guy’s name?  
-Sorry.  
-It was a long time ago.    
-So. What was in it?  
-In the box?
-In the box, sure.
-Just some old comics.  
-They still make those?
-They do.  But these were old.  From the 80s mostly.
He stops scratching his ass for a moment.   
-Worth anything?   
-Only to me.  
-Haven’t seen ‘em.
He resumes his scratching.
-And if they had been worth something? Would you maybe have seen them then?  
-Don’t even know your name, pal.  You accusing me of extortion?  
-Guess not.  
-Guess not.  
-Mow your lawn.  Place looks like shit.  
-Fuck off.  
-Good advice.  Stand here any longer and I’m bound to get Lyme disease.
He moves to slam the door and I catch it. The guy had never given the old coots any problems. He was alright.    
-Keep an eye on ‘em for me, yeah?    
I withdraw my hand and the screen door slaps shit.  He disappears into the dim apartment.  I cross over the driveway, checking my arm for ticks.

-Teddy?
She doesn’t remember my name. Thinks I’m one of my cousins.  Close enough.  She opens the door and retrieves her soup from the piano.  She turns her back as if she’s just let one of the dogs in from the yard. 
-You remember the Monaghans, Gram?
My grandfather looks up from the obituaries.  Cocoa, their wire-haired something-or-other, perches behind his head on the top of the recliner.  Gram’s drifted up the stairs, so he answers.    
-They live out in Blue Bell now.
-Talk to them at all?  
-She called a few times for about a month or two.  
-Do we know if they’re still there?
-Why wouldn’t they be?
-People move.  
-Hasn’t been that long.  
My grandfather was born upstairs in 1923.   
-I guess not.  
-Trying to get in touch with Liam.  Dad gave him some of my old comics at the yard sale we had over here.  
-Are they worth anything?
-Only to me.  Maybe to Liam too.  I don’t know.  
-Maybe he threw them out.  
-Probably.  But I just want to find out.  If I could.  
-Probably still in Blue Bell.  
Unless he’s in college.  
-You guys need anything?
-Open up the blinds, would ya, Fred?
He hasn’t forgotten me.  Fred’s a nickname.  I open the blinds and head to the door.  She’s still sipping her bowl of Italian Wedding soup on the staircase.  
-Why don’t you sit down here, Gram?  
-It’s cold down there.  
-Put on a sweater.
-I don’t think I have any.
I pick one up from the piano bench where my aunt folds the laundry and carry it up to her.
-Now you do.  
She stares at it.  She’s worn it a million times.  But this is a discovery.  Not Christmas morning.  Just a dusty, archaeological dig.  I hold her soup while she wrestles her arms into the sleeves.  
-How much do you think your books are worth, Fred?  
-Not much.
She gives me a look.  
-They mean a lot to you.  
-Kind of.  I guess.  
-So they’re worth a lot.  
-Maybe.
-Do an old woman a favor.
-Sure.
-Enjoy it before you forget it.  
-Okay.
-And shave.
-Yes, ma’am.