American Chordata: Magazine of New Writing Issue One, Spring 2015 | Page 66

48 • FI CTION

Lo u i s F r a t i n o

Fall Party, 2014

yourself. Nobody needs to know where you’re going.
Just let the candles drip.
Sit up straight. At Mother’s boarding school
there were nails in the back of her dining room chair.
Be grateful your chair does not have nails.
The hand not holding the fork stays in your lap.
When you’ve finished eating, put your knife and
fork in the four o’clock position.
Don’t push your plate forward like a convict.
Don’t interrupt.
Don’t talk with your mouth full.
If you have a story to tell, tell it briefly.
When old people enter the room, stand up and
wait to be introduced.
When you shake someone’s hand, shake firmly.
If their hand is already shaking, do not giggle. They
could have Parkinson’s.
Writing your thank-you note is not enough. You
have to address the envelope, put a stamp on it, and
take it to the mailbox on the corner.
Do not read letters on someone else’s desk.
Do not eavesdrop.
Respect absolutely every person on this earth.
If you pick up the telephone and someone is
talking on the extension, interrupt immediately and
say “excuse me for interrupting.” Then hang up.
Which is what I have every intention of doing, but
in the second it takes to get used to the idea that
interrupting is allowed, I hear my father say “honey”
and a woman with a deep voice say “love.” Then a
cupboard door shuts. I don’t hear what they say next
because I have just broken the rule about eavesdropping and am burning with shame and hang up without saying excuse me. I thought my father was in
the basement but there’s no phone in the basement
so he must be in the kitchen.