Radio Free B

by jkatejohnston

I hate leaving out the Enzo parts, I mean his sayings, which have been declared private. He’s so funny! And so good! And I don’t want to misstate things so let me add, such a complete pain in the ass sometimes but not very often!

A few days ago I was in hearings all day. My files where too big to take on my bike, so I had to drive in high heels and traffic which I’m horrible at. I’m a menace, a very slow one. Forgot my lunch. Coffee and almonds at Starbucks. And in the afternoon I was so jittery and tired, and the way the evidence came in—I don’t want to waive privilege here so that’s enough of that.

By the time I got home Teresa and Enzo had already had dinner. Teresa took Waddie for a walk. I stood at the kitchen counter eating the lunch I’d forgotten and drinking an big glass of red wine and listening to the news on the radio. And then I turned it off and listened to Enzo in the living room: small crashes and thumps and explosions and machine gun fire and the sound of blades swishing through the air: Radio Free B.

(I see that doesn’t work unless I explain that “B” is one of Enzo’s nicknames, and surely people are familiar with Radio Free Europe—or was that strictly Cold War propaganda?)