"Whensday - a short story by Patrick O'Leary" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'leary Patrick)

"You got married before you had sex? That's pretty backwards."
I grunt a laugh and say, "You think that's backwards...Let me tell you
about out first kiss."
Which has something to do with my idea of time. I think time is a mystery
but in my clearer moments I believe time runs backwards. That's why we're
not surprised by life. We've been there before.
Five years ago I was fooling with changing my middle name. God knows why.
It's Gabriel. It remains Gabriel for reasons of lethargy more than
anything. I don't think names are that important
But anyway I was thinking of changing my middle name to "Glynn", my
mother's maiden name. Neat. Easy. Same middle initial. It seemed a good
idea at the time. Keep my mom's name in the family. My dad was dead at
this time. So I was having a cigarette with my mom and I told her my plan.
She was tickled as they say pink. I was pleased.
Then in one of those weird backwards moments my body did one of those
dizzy things. Like when you get up too fast and all the blood rushes to
your toes and, for a second you reel. I'm standing there on a sunny fall
afternoon, talking to my mom about middle names when I realize for the
first time in my 43 years that I don't actually have a middle name.
See my middle name is my confirmation name. I was raised Catholic and it's
sort of a right of passage like, Baptism, and Communion--when you're
confirmed, the Bishop comes and lays two cold candles against your cheeks,
blesses you with words I forget then he slaps you. I'm not making this up,
he actually slaps you. I remember that even though I've never actually
understood what confirmation is.
Anyway, when you're confirmed you get to choose a "confirmation name." I
was in third grade. I chose "Fabian." He was a big star at the time and
though he couldn't sing worth a damn he had a hit called "Like a Tiger"
and he was handsome in that pre-Beatle Post-Elvis mode like Bobby Darin,
and Bobby Rydell and Ricky Nelson and any number of squeaky clean rock
stars before the Brits invaded and drugs. I think I saw him on TV and was
struck by how the girls screamed. So my confirmation name was going to be
"Fabian." But before I was confirmed we moved and I was spared that. A few
years later I chose "Gabriel." The angel at the Annunciation of Mary. The
one who tells her you're carrying a god fetus.
Back to my mom and me smoking in the warm autumn sunlight. I'm dizzy
because I realize that I don't have a middle name. But everyone has one,
don't they?
"Mom?" I ask, "How come you never gave middle names to us kids?"
"What are you talking about?"
I run through my sibling's names. "Michael John. Katherine Mary. Dennis
James. Kerry Anne. Rachel Mary. Martin Dennis." I notice that none of
their names are as odd as Gabriel. I start to feel a tingle in my throat
as if I had just urped a seven up.
"They all got middle names," my Mom says, a mischievous look on her face.
"Except me?"
"Right."
"Why on earth?"
"Well," she exhales a long puff of smoke. "When you were born I wanted
your middle name to be Glynn. Your father would have none of it.