Skipped Parts: A Heartbreaking, Wild, and Raunchy Comedy by Tim Sandlin Page A

experience, but it can never be done right unless the two people are in love.”
    “Sounds like a crock to me.”
    “That’s what I told her.”
    ***
    A letter arrived from Caspar.
    Samuel,
    Everyone can master a grief but he that has had it.
    Pay attention. This affects the way you live and there is just a possibility that the family brains skipped a generation and you think with more than your organs.
    A man in San Bernadino, California, has invented a way of dramatically strengthening tires by blending carbon black with rubber. This means the price of carbon is going to skyrocket, which means you may be forced to find a job someday. Ask your mother if she knows what a job is. I have also heard an ugly rumor of an old retiree in a garage somewhere who has discovered “carbonless” carbon paper, a way to make carbons without discoloration of the fingers. Added to this misery, a company named Xerox may do away with carbon paper completely.
    So the Caspar Callahan Carbon Paper Company is searching for a way to expand. I am considering nylons.
    Keep all this under your hat, Samuel.
    I trust you and your mother are adapting to the weather. I understand the pass you caught against Victor, Idaho, showed resourcefulness and daring. Good work. Did I ever tell you of my days at Culver Military Academy?
    Tell your mother that I have a friend in Belgian Congo whose tenant was recently devoured by rabid Negroes.
    Your dignity and the Callahan name are your most precious possessions, Samuel. Guard them diligently.
    Your grandfather,
    Mr. Callahan
    I showed the letter to Lydia. “Are we supposed to think he makes these weird quotes up?”
    “It’s a tone-setter stratagem to make his thoughts relevant. I remember that dignity line from when I was your age,” Lydia said. “I told him I’d rather have a T-Bird.”
    “What’s this Belgian Congo deal?”
    “Next stop if we embarrass him here.”
    I studied Caspar’s company stationery. He used a red ink pen in a tiny flowing handwriting that got tinier as it approached the right side of the page. Caspar was tiny himself—under five-five, to my everlasting dismay—but he drove his stretch Continental like a tank. Curbs meant nothing to the man. That military academy crack put an ugly feeling in my gut.
    “Did you tell him about the pass?” I asked.
    “Are you kidding? My conversations with Caspar are limited to ‘Where’s the check?’ ‘Don’t be a tramp.’”
    “How did he find out I caught a pass?”
    Lydia laughed. She’d been laughing regularly since the night she came in late. “Someone’s on the payroll.”
    “Caspar has a spy?”
    “Of course Caspar has a spy.” She took my shoulders in her hands and faced me. “Sam, listen to me. Your grandfather is Santa Claus. He knows every move you make and he will always know every move you make. Nothing can be hidden. A long time ago, I realized my job is to give the spies something to report. Caspar has never done squat. He gets his jollies off by hearing the juice of my adventures.”
    “Jollies? He’s threatening me with Culver again. I know what that means. It means not having my own room and playing lacrosse instead of baseball. Only squirrels play lacrosse.”
    Lydia scratched Les under the chin. “I promise, Sammy, that old goat will never separate us.”
    Sounded like a hollow promise to me. The old goat could do anything he pleased so long as he controlled the wallet. “What about the rabid Negroes in Belgian Congo?”
    Lydia grinned, showing an intense number of teeth. “Hell, honey bunny, I can handle rabid Negroes.”
    I took that about six different ways, then gave up.
    ***
    I forgot to mention earlier that Florence Talbot was not ugly, she was actually semi-pretty, probably the semi-prettiest girl in the seventh grade, next to Maurey. She had a Lesley Gore look, soft reddish-brown hair and brown pencil-drawn eyebrows. Florence could have even given Maurey a run for the title if she’d learned