D-Train
Michael Rogner Such a sweet boy. Dig this: he’s in school, at the lockers with his buddies. Big, toothy laughs about last period, something from their reading assignment. One of those fragments that sound dirty but isn’t. So it’s funny. They’re testing the phrase in different voices, different accents, riffing for the perfect fit. In normal times this would become a bit they’d wear out for weeks, running it underground until the new next thing. One buddy points. Daniel, Danny, our Danny boy, turns and sees his grandmother. Holy shit. It’s his ribbon day. Runner-up at the science fair. Gamgam here for the ceremony, only now she looks like a ghost ship adrift in the passage, tilting between icebergs and gazing at walls as if she’s one step away from exact star chart she’ll need to guide her back to open water, surrounded by so many kids in uniform, surrounded by the reckless eddies of youth. Danny, the D-Train, there with his bros, immediately runs and sweeps grandma in his arms. She’s so glad to see him. He’s so glad to see her. They walk, hand in hand, to the auditorium. Introduces her to his friends. This is my grandmother. This is grandma Ruth. Such a sweet kid. Skinny as a whip, our Danny, our D-Dog, the Danosaur. Still a concave chest at fifteen. Pants that are supposed to fit tight hang like the khakis in dad’s old photographs from the 90s. But he’s handsome. Nice face, and those eyes. Were he to survive he’d develop what might be called piercing eyes, or soulful. Danny’s an animal guy. A dog guy. Went fishing with pops once, caught a rainbow trout which swallowed the hook and died in his hands.