Rar stayed in the living room while Mom watched Oprah.
A pair of calloused furrowed hands, Dad's, held Rar, rubbing his tender spot. He put Rar on the back of the couch.
Dad put his calloused hands on Mom's shoulders, kneading.
"Ooh, Aah."
A shirt settled atop Rar, blocking his view. He could hear noises. Smacking, slurping, giggling. The couch was moving. What the hell was going on out there.
The shirt was removed from Rar.
Mom's hair was down on one side and she was laughing.
She told Dad that he still had it.
Rar wanted to see it.
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