also by haven kimmel -...
TRANSCRIPT
AlsobyHavenKimmel
AGirlNamedZippyTheSolaceofLeavingEarly
Orville:ADogStorySomethingRising(Lightand
Swift)
FREEPRESSADivisionofSimon&
Schuster,Inc.1230AvenueoftheAmericas
NewYork,NY10020
Copyright©2006bySvarakimmelIndustries,LLC
Allrightsreserved,includingtherightof
reproductioninwholeorinpartinany
form.
FREEPRESSandcolophonaretrademarksofSimon&
Schuster,Inc.
DesignedbyKarolinaHarris
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-Publication
DataKimmel,Haven.
Shegotupoffthecouch:andotherheroicactsfrom
Mooreland,Indiana./HavenKimmel.p.cm.
1.Kimmel,Haven—Family.2.Kimmel,Haven—Childhoodandyouth.3.Authors,American—
Homesandhaunts—Indiana—Mooreland.4.Authors,American—21stcentury—
Familyrelationships.5.Authors,American—21stcentury—Biography.6.Mothersanddaughters—
Indiana.7.Mooreland(Ind.)—Sociallifeandcustoms.PS3611.I46Z4742006
813’.6—dc222005051964
ISBN-13:978-0-7432-9597-0ISBN-10:0-7432-9597-8
TheauthorgratefullyacknowledgespermissiontoquotefromTheSkinofOurTeeth,byThorntonWilder.
Copyright©1942TheWilderFamilyLLC.Reprintedwith
permissionfromTappanWilderandTheWilder
FamilyLLC.
VisitusontheWorldWideWeb:
www.SimonandSchuster.com
Igreatlyadmirethetwo-wordDEDICATIONPAGE.
Iamevenmovedandpuzzledbythosebookswhichbearno
DedicationorAcknowledgmentspageatall,Asifthebookwerecomposed
onarockyknollBytheMusealone.
MAYBENEXTTIME.
Thisbookisdedicated,firstandforemost,tomyincomparable
mother,DelondaHartmann.
Itisalsoformybrotherandsister,DanJarvisandMelindaMullens,
Andinmemoryofmyfather,BobJarvis,andgrandmother
MomMary.ItisforElaine,Rick,JennyandJessica,JoshandAbby,AndWayne,whogotTheGirl
afterall.
ItisforBethDalton,brave
andtruefriendofthirty-sixyears,
Whosehearthasneverclosedtome,andwhoallowsmeTostandandconsiderwith
herTheMolly-shapedholeinthe
world.
ItistheonlywayIwilleverknowhowtothankJulieNewman.
ItisformybelovedAmy
Scheibe.
ItisforChristopherSchelling,whoreaditonthe
subwayAndinthedeadofnightand
whilehehadafever.Starsarebeinghammeredontohiscrownrightthis
second.
ItisdedicatedtothepeopleofMooreland,Indiana,
Withmyabidinggratitudefor
theirsupportandfinesympathies.
Formymistakes,misjudgments,andglib
unkindnesses,Ihopetosomedaybe
forgiven.
ItisforBen.
Itisformychildren,KatandObadiah,whoareevennow
writingthestoryoftheirownTimeand
Place.
AndthisbookisJohn’s,Astheyallhavebeenandall
willbe.
ContentsPreface
TheTestIKnewGlenBeforeHeWasaSuperstarTheRulesofEvilQueenVacuumCleanerCowboysTheLoveBug
TreasureAMemberoftheWeddingBrotherChurchCampHairlessTailsAShortListofRecordsMyFatherThreatenedtoBreakOverMyHeadIfIPlayedThemOneMoreTimeAShortListofRecordsThatVanishedfromMyCollection
BullAugust8,1974LateSummerValedictionIntheMoodFallExperienceItTeethOneLeperSilverPinkLikeMe
SlumberParty,1977BlizzardBaby,1978GoldLawEnforcement
AcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor
Preface
AfewyearsagoIwrotesomeessaysaboutthetowninwhichIgrewup.Mooreland,Indiana,wasparadiseforachild—myoldfriendRoseandIhaveoftensaidso—small,flat,entirelyknowable.
WhenIsayitwassmallImeanthepopulationwasthreehundredpeople.Icannotstressthisenough.Peopleapproachmetosaythey,too,grewupinsmalltownsandwhenIaskthesizetheysay,“Oh,sixthousandorso.”Atownofsixthousandpeopleisawildmetropolis.Onceawomantoldmethatshe’dgrownupinasmalltownoffifteenthousand,andIwasforcedtoturnmyhead
awayfromhercrazygeographicassessment.Thesepeopledonotknowsmall.Ofcoursetherewastheelderlywomanwhotoldmeshewasrearedinahamletwithapopulationoftwenty-six.Iofferedtobeherservantfortherestofherlifebutshewastoopolitetoaccept.Becausethetownwasso
knowableandthetimestheywerea-changin’(itwasthesixtiesandtheseventies),
MoorelandwasblessedwithacastofcharactersmyfamilyandIfoundinterestingandsowetalkedaboutthemalotovertheyears.Thereweremyparentsthemselves,ofcourse,andmybrotherandsister,mymost-lovedgrandmother,MomMary,andmyauntDonita.Therewasthewomanwholivedacrossthestreetfromus,Edythe,whodailythreatenedtokillmycatsandwho,in
fact,wasnotaversetosnuffingoutmyownlife,tohearmysistertellit.Thereweremybestfriends,Roseandred-hairedJulie,andtheirparents,who,withoutasighoracomplaintwhereIcouldhearit,keptmerelativelycleanandwellfed.Thereweremynext-doorneighbors,thekindandlovelyHickses,andallthepeopleoftheMoorelandFriendsChurch.Butforcharacternothing
rivaledthetownitself,thethreeparallelstreetsborderedatthenorthendbyacemeteryandatthesouthbyafuneralhome.Itwasthedearestpostagestampofnativesoilapersoncouldwishfor.Istartedwritingtheessays
asawaytoamusemymomandsister.I’dwritesomething,call,andreadittothem.Ihadnoambitionsfortheessaysandoneneedonly
readtheaboveparagraphstounderstandwhy.Indianaisnotthestateournationaleyeturnstowardforfascinatingnarratives,strangelyenough.Moorelandisdefinitelynotameccafortheliteraryarts,althoughitisrichwithcrafts.Andnoonecaresaboutthereminiscencesofonemorechildwithonemoresetofparentsandneighborsandfriends.Imyselfhavebeenknowntowinceasifstabbed
withwide-boreneedleswhenfacedwithyetanothercoming-of-agememoir.SoIwrotemyessayswith
nothingmuchinmindandeventuallythereweresomanyessaysaboutnothingtheymadeabookandthenIdon’tknowwhathappened.Iturnedaroundonedayandthebookwastakenonbyapublisherandthenithadacover—andIamtalkingaboutthemostunfortunate
coverimaginable:measasix-month-oldbaby,wearingadressmymothermade.Iwasatragiclittlemonkeychild:bald,withthekindofearsthatlookfineonwoodlandcreaturesbutinhumanculturetendtobecorrectedsurgically.IwasholdingMom’swatch,whichwasdrippingwithdrool,asIwasteething.I’msorry,Ineedtosaythisallagain.Onthecoverofthebookwasmy
cross-eyedmonkeybabypicture,holdingadrool-drenchedwatch.InearlyfaintedthefirsttimeIsawit.Icalledmyeditorandaskedifshewasseriousandshesaidyes.ThusdidAGirlNamedZippyskitteroutintotheworld,andthuswasmyself-respectlaidtorest.Ididn’texpectmuchfrom
thatlittlebook.Iwasandremainsurprisedthatsomepeopleboughtitandlikedit.
Buteventhoughitwaskindlyreceivedinsomequarters,IsworeI’dneverwriteasequel.Idon’tlikesequels,byandlarge,althoughsometimestheyarewelcome.Themostimportantreasontoforgoafollow-upwasthatI’dalreadysentstrangersuninvitedintothetownandthelivesofpeopleIloveandrespectandIcouldnotimaginedoingsoagain.Astrangethinghappened,
though,onthemanybooktoursthatsupportedthepublicationofZippyandofmytwonovels.IneverycityIwasaskedwhatbecameofthepeopleI’ddrawn—accordingtomyownlightsandinkeepingwithmymemoryofthem—wheretheywerenowandiftheywerehappy.Thatwastobeexpected.ButIwasalsoalwaysaskedthis:“Whataboutyourmom?Didshe
evergetupoffthecouch?”ThefirsttimeIheardthequestionalittlebellrangonafarawayhill,andIknewifIeverdid(andIwouldn’t)writeafollow-up(whichIabsolutelywouldnotdo),thatwouldbethesubjectandthatwouldbethetitle.OfcourseIgaveintothe
sixorsevenpeopleclamoringforasequel.InthebeginningIdidn’tintendtowriteanythingbutacontinuing
portraitofmyfamily,inparticularofmymother.TowardtheendofZippymyfatherandIwatchedMompedalawayonmynewbicycle,ridingtowardpointsunknown;weknewsomethingwasafootbutwedidn’tknowwhat.SheGotUpOfftheCouchbeginsatthatpoint—itseemedanappropriatejumping-offplaceforabookaboutanindividualwomaninaveryparticular
place.ButwhenRosereadthefinaldraftshepointedoutthatMother’sevolution,personalasitwas,isalsothestoryofagenerationofwomenwhostoodupandrockedthefoundationsoflifeinAmerica.Theydidn’tknowtheyweredoingso—theyweretryingtosavetheirownlives,Ithink—butintheprocesstheytookitonthechinforeveryonewhofollowed.Iknowmyown
motherdid.Iwillneverdoanything
halfsograndorimportant.Icouldn’ttellthisstoryanywayexceptthroughmyowneyes,butthatdoesn’tmakemethestaroftheshow.AsZippywasabowtoMooreland,Indiana,thisisaloveletter,humblyconceivedandevenmoremodestlywritten,tomyfather,mybrother,thesisterwhoismyverybreathoflife,andmost
ofalltothewomanwhostoodup,brushedawaytheporkrindcrumbs,andescapedbytheskinofherteeth.Itisalettertoallsuchwomen,wherevertheymaybe.
Mr.Antrobus:
Well,how’sthewholecrookedfamily?
—THORNTONWILDER,TheSkinofOurTeeth,ACTI
TheTest
ThecouchinthedenwasthecolorthecrayonpeoplecalledFlesheventhoughitresemblednohumanoranimalfleshonPlanetEarth,andthecouchfabricwasnubbledinapatternof
diamonds.Itwasbesttopreventthenubblesfromcomingintodirectcontactwithone’srealFlesh,sotherewasusuallyablanketoratowelorclothingspreadoutasabuffer.Alsonoonewantedtopickuptheblanket,thetowel,andtheclothingandfoldthem.Orevenpickthemup.Soitwasafinearrangement.Shehadalamp,asmallend
tablesocoveredwiththings
—layeruponlayer—thatthestuffatthebottomwasfromadifferentdecadethanthestuffinthemiddle.Shehadacardboardboxinwhichshekeptbooksfromthebookmobile;herfavoriteafghanforemergencynapping;anotebookandpen.TherehadbeenyearswithnotelephonebutmostlythetelephoneworkedandwasoftennearMother’shead—oftenenough,infact,that
DadreferredtoitasherSiamesetwin.Thetelevisionwasonlyafewfeetaway,andtherewerealwaysanimalsforcompany.Fivestepsinonedirectionwasthekitchen;fourstepsintheotherwasthebathroom.Inwinterthedenwastheonlyroominthehousewithheat,sowealllivedthere.InsummeritwassohotIfearedspontaneouscombustion,whichDr.Dementoreportedwas
happeningtoCanadianpriestswithregularity.Ipoppedinandoutoftheden,IwasaverybusypersonandmyresponsibilitieswerenumerouswhichMotherunderstood.Dadcameandwent—healsohadengagementsfarandwideandwehadlongsinceceasedaskingwhattheywere.Amanhadtoprotecthismysteries;itwasoneoftheprimaryLibertiesof
Manhoodinourhome.Thereweremanyothers.Myolderbrother,Dan,wasgonetohisgrown-uplife;mysister,Melinda,wasonherway,atseventeen.Allmylifetherehadbeen
certainconstants,factssosteadyIassumedtheywereliketreesormountains,thingsyoucouldtrusttostaywhereyouleftthembecausetheyweremountainsandyestheBiblesaysfaithcanmoveone
buttheBiblealsosaysawholelotofstuffthatifyoutriedtomakeittrueyou’dendupintheEpilepticVillage.Myconstantswerethesameaseveryoneelse’s:ahousewithquiteafewroomsandutilitiesthatcameandwent.Churchthreetimesaweek.ChurchsofrequentlyandwhichIsomuchcouldn’tgetoutofIconsideredrippingoffmyownfingernailsinprotest,or
betteryetsomeoneelse’sfingernails.Myfamily.Andnooneasdependableasmymom,burrowedintothecornerofthatsprungsofacushion,readingandeatingcrunchyfoods,thetelevisionon,thetelephoneringing.We’dneversaidawholelottoeachother,giventhatIwasacitizenoftheworldandwasgenerallyonmywayoutthedoor.ButshealwayssmiledwhenIpassedher,gavemea
wave.AndwhenIgothome,thereshewas.
SomethinghadbeenontherisewithMomforafewmonths.Thereweremanytearfulmeetingsofherprayercell,andatleasthalfadozenthrown-downfleeces(bargainsmadewithGod)andphonecallsandarrangements.OneofherfleecesinvolvedatelevisioncommercialofAbraham
Lincolninaclassroom.HewasstandingatapodiumsayingifIwasthinkingofgoingbacktocollege,didIknowthatIcouldtestoutofsomerequiredcoursesbysigningupfortheCLEPTest,whichstoodforCollege-LevelExaminationProgram.Thiswasallnewstome.IheardMomtalktoherwomenatchurchaboutthatcommercial,andanagreementwasreached:ifshe
sawitonthefollowingFriday,anytimebefore6:00P.M.,shewouldcallthenumberonthescreen.OnthatFriday,althoughI
didn’tknowwhywewerewaitingforitorwhatitwouldmeanifshecalled,IspentthewholeafternoonnervouslywatchingTVwithMom.Dadwasgone,soitwasjustthetwoofus.Threeo’clockcameandwent,andthenfour,andfive,andMomsank
deeperanddeeperintoaheavysilencepunctuatedwithheartbrokenlittlesighs,becauseafleecethrowndownisanunbreakablecontract.At5:55shegotupandwentintothekitchenandstoodholdingontothesink,asifshemightthrowup.At5:57,shebowedherhead.At5:58shelookedup;Ithoughtshehadcometoadecision,orwasconstructinganewsheltermadeofresignation.At5:59I
feltmyownthroatswellwithempathy,andat5:59and30seconds,AbrahamLincolnwalkedacrosstheclassroomthatwouldbecomemymother’slife,andwhenIlookedupather,shewasstaringatthetelevisionscreenwithhereyeswideandhermouthopenandIknewthatwhatIwaswitnessingwasnolessthanamiracle.
Wehadonlyonevehicle,
Dad’struck,andDaddidn’tplantobehomeontheSaturdayMomneededtobeinMuncie,thirtymilesaway,toregisterforthetest.Hewasn’tmeanaboutit,buthewasn’texactlyflexible,either.Ihadtobehomebythe
timethestreetlightscameonintheevening,andthatspringIspentmorethanonetwilighttearingdownthestreettowardhomeasiftheDevilwereonmycase,trying
tobeatthespecificlightthatshoneonthecornerofCharlesandBroad.Ihadtakentospendingallmytimeoutofschoolawayfromhome,becausetherewerechangesafootthatcouldn’tbenamedorevendescribed.Walkingintomyhousefeltlikehittingwaterbellyfirst;itlookedlikeonething,butitfeltlikeglass.Mydadstillsatinhischairandsmoked,watchingWesternsand
drinkingwhiskey,andmymomstillreadandtalkedonthephoneandwouldscratchmybackifIaskedher.Buttherewasastrangeresistanceinher,somestubbornnessthatmadeherunreachable,andthewayDadkepthisjawsetwasafencearoundhim.Myoldersister,Melinda,QueenoftheFairandall-aroundpinchingmachine,stilllivedathomebutbarely.SointheeveningsIwentto
myfriendRose’shouse,whereallmannerofwonderprevailed.Foronething,theyhadamint-greenkitchen,andtheykeptVelveetacheeseintheirrefrigerator,alongwithfreshmilkfromactualcowsandsometimesJoyceskimmedthecreamoffthetopandletushavesome.Itwashorrible,andanexperienceIhadrepeatedmanytimes.WhenJoycebakedachickensheletme
havetheskin.“Youcanhavesomeofthe
meat,youcrazykid,”she’dsay.“Nothanks.”JoycemadeAutumnSoup,
whichwassomeveryreliableformofsoupwithvegetablesandhamburgerinit,andRose’ssisterMaggieandIhadtopeelthepotatoes,becauseRosehadsomeskindiseaseonherhandsandpeelingpotatoesmadethem
breakoutinarash,whichseemedlikeaconvenienttimeforlunaticitching,butitworked.AndRose’slittlebrotherPatrickwouldsitonaboxforhoursifyoutoldhimtowaitthereforthebus.He’dsittheretillJoycefoundhim,anyway,andthenshe’dthreatentostartsmacking,andmaybeatthatpointI’dhavetogohome,becauseJoycewasnotabovesmacking—shewasa
Catholic—butIwasaQuakerandsmackingwasn’tpartofourreligion.Butthemostinteresting
thingRosehadwasapersimmontree,anotherCatholicdelicacy.ItgrewbetweenherhouseandthehousethatservedasaparsonagefortheNorthChristianChurch,andsometimesitwasthecauseoffeuding.Almostinvariablyafterthepersimmonsgotripe
abigwindstormcameupandcausedthemtoflythroughtheairandsplatterontheparsonagelikelittleballoonsfilledwithorangepaint.TheNorthChristianswereagainstit,andsometimesthreatenedWilliamandJoycewiththeLaw.ButWilliamandJoycejustwentmerrilyontheirway,eatingsteaks,drinkingcocktails,andsmokingcigarettes.Justaglanceatpersimmons
revealsthemtobesuspiciousfruitsandyetweatethemconstantly.Joyceputtheminjamsandpies,sheevenmadesomethingwiththeword“pudding”inthetitlealthoughofcourseitwasnotrealpuddingbecauseitwasn’tchocolateandithadn’tcomefromabox.Iwastoopolitetopointthetruthout.Whenweweren’teating
persimmonswewerefindingotherusesforthem.Oneday
thatspringRoseandIweresittingunderthepersimmontreejustasitwasblooming.Rosepickedoneoftheblossomsoffandhelditonthetipofherfinger.Atthecenterwasaseedandallaroundtheedgeswerewhitepetals.Ilookedatit.“Doyouknowwhatyoudo
withoneofthese?”Roseaskedme.Ishookmyhead.“Youputitinyournose
likethis,”shesaid,placingtheseedpartjustinsidehernostrilsothatthepetalsflaredoutaroundhernose.Itwasbeautiful,likenostriljewelry.“Givemeone,”Isaid,
pickingalittleblossomoffthetree.Roseaddedanothertoher
ownfaceandthenshereallylookedlikeaflowergarden.IwasadjustingminewhenIforgotwhatIwasdoingandinhaled.Up!wentthelittle
seed.Up!wentthelovelylittlepetals.“JeezOFlip!”Ishouted.
Thelittleseedwasallthewayupinmybrainpart.Roseleapttoherfeet.
“Okay,look,we’vegottogetthatoutanddon’ttellmymom.Orelselet’sjustleaveitinthere.”Shelookedaround,furtiveasoneofthedopefiendsonDragnet.“Howdoesitfeel,canyoubreathe?”
IstudiedherasIfeltaroundalongthesideofmynoseforthelocationoftheseed.“Youshammedme,”Isaid.I’dalwayscountedonRosetobeastraight-up,good-grades,book-readingkindofgirl,andhereshewasgettingfrisky.Thelittleflowerhadbeendustywithpollen.Isneezed.“Ididn’texactlysham
you,”RosesaidasIwalkedoutofheryard.
Isneezedagain.“Oh,yeah?ThenwhydoIhaveapersimmonupmynose?”Ishoutedback.Isneezedagain.Thewholethingwasbecominguncomfortable,andIcouldhardlygetanyairupmyleftnosehole.OnthewalkhomeI
sneezedtwelvemoretimes.IhadreadintheGuinnessBookofWorldRecords,whichhadbecomemyfavoritebook,thatamanhadspentthelast
fewyearsofhislifesneezingandthenhisheartworeout.IstoppedinfrontoftheMarathonandfeltmyheart.Isneezedagain.WhenIwalkedinthe
house,Momcoveredthemouthpieceofthetelephone.“Godblessyou,”shesaid.“Thanks.”Iheadedstraight
upstairs.IwasafraidforMomtodiscoverthetruth,becausesheonlyhadthreerulesintheentireworld,
whichdoesn’tamounttomany,andthusitwasimprobablyrudethatI’dbrokenoneinpublic.
1.There’snosuchthingasafreelunch.(Thiswaspatentlyuntrue,sinceabouthalfmyelementaryschoolwasontheFreeLunchprogram.)2.Don’tgiveadviceto
God.(SecretlyIdidnothingelse,butIdidn’tfigureMomneededtoknowit.Isaidto
God:Findmyhouseslippers.Closeschooltomorrow.Feedthedogs.GivemymomacarsoshecangototheCLEPthing.)3.Don’tstickanythingup
yournose.
Itriedtopokeattheseedwithapencil,butitseemedIjustpusheditupfarther.Disasterloomed.IfinallyfiguredoutwhatIneededtodo.Ifetchedthevacuum
cleaneroutofMomandDad’scloset,anddisconnectedthetubepartfromthebigflatpart.Ididn’thavemuchexperiencewithvacuumcleaners,butIhadplentywithTakingApart.Iheldthetubeuptomyleftnoseholeandturnedthesweeperonwithmyfoot.Therewasallmannerofdustandcathairinthetube,andthecombinationofthedustandthenoisethemachine
madecausedmetojumpbackwardandlosecontrolofthehose,whichjumpedaroundonthefloor.Ibegansneezinginearnest.Nowaywouldmyheartsurvivethisone.Igaveonebigfinalsneezeandtheflowercameout,justasMomturnedthecornerintoherbedroom.Ispeedyquickputmyhanddownandletthevacuumcleanersuckuptheseed.“Whatareyoudoing?”
Momasked,trulybewildered.“Sweepin’,”Ianswered,
pointingtothevacuumcleaner.“You’resittingonthefloor.
Whatareyousweeping?What’salloveryournose?”Sheleanedover,lickedherthumb,andthreatenedmewithaspitbath.“Wereyouvacuumingyourface?”“Ha!Wouldn’tthatbe
ridiculous.”IpulledmyT-shirtupandscrubbedhardat
mynose,destroyingtheevidence.“ImusthavejustgottendustyplayingatRose’s.Whew!That’sadustyplace.”Momlookedatmefora
minute.“Putthesweeperaway,please,”shesaidassheturnedbacktowardtheden.“Okay!Notaproblem!”Ilookedoutthewindow.
Therewasstillanhourorsoofdaylightleft.Ileftthevacuumcleanerlyingin
piecesonthefloorandranoutside.
MomshouldhavebeenupsetaboutmissingherchancetotaketheCLEPtest,butshewasn’t,andforawhileIcouldn’tfigureoutwhy.Thenonenight,weeksafterwesawAbrahamLincoln,Iwassittingonthecouchwithherandcoloringinmycoloringbook,listeningtohertalkonthephone.Sheoftentucked
thephoneagainsthershoulderwhileshetalked,andinthatwaycouldcontinueknittingorreading.I’dneverseenapersondosomanythingsatonce.Andhervoicewasjustasteadymurmur,likeavoiceIsometimesheardasIwasfallingasleep.Shewastalkingtooneof
herwomenfriends;Icouldn’ttellwho.Iheardhersay,“Ihavetobetherebytenthis
Saturdaytoregister.No,it’sokay,it’salltakencareof.”Thenshechangedthesubject,andinafewminutesshehungup.Thephonerangalittlelaterandshesaidthesamethingtothatfriend,andbythetimeI’dfinishedcoloringSnowWhiteinHerGlassCasket,she’dsaidittofourorfivedifferentpeople.Iwatchedheroutofthecornerofmyeye,herheadtuckeddown,herknittingneedles
tickingtogetherinarhythmic,hypnoticsway.AllthoseyearsIhadthoughtshewasjustsittingthere,butitturnedoutshe’dbeenquietlyamassinganarmy,andnowtheywerecomingtotakeherhome.
OnSaturdaymorning,Daddidn’tgoanywhere.Heputteredinhistoolshed;hetookalittleconstitutionalaroundtown.Hedrankcoffee
andwhistled,andinhiswhistlewassomethingtobedevoutlyavoided.Istayedaroundthehouse.Wewereallwaitingonsomething.AlittleafternineacarpulledupbehindDad’struck.ItwasMom’sfriendCarol,whowasoneofmyfavorites.Carolhadpeachy-coloredskinandworeherhairwrappedaroundthetopofherheadlikeastickybun.Shehadabeautifulsmile,andwhenshe
hadlaundrytodoshesaidshehadtogettoherwarshing.HerWienerDoghadbeenthefirstdogtoeverbiteme,butIdidn’tholditagainsteitherofthem.“Hey,kiddo!”Carolsaid
whenshesawme.Shehadabigvoice.“Hi,Carol!Mom’sinside!”
Ihadabigvoice,too,whenCarolwasaround.Wewalkedinthefront
door.Momlookedatus.She
stoodup.
TheyleftwithoutsayinganythingtoDad.Hecamedowntothesidewalkandstoodwithmeaswewatchedthemdriveaway.“Timewas,awoman
wouldn’thavegotteninaman’smarriagethatway,”Dadsaid.Iwasn’tsurewhathe
expectedmetosay.Times
change?OrdidhewantmetorememberoneofMom’shandymottoes,likeWemustlivewhileitisday?Ilookedupathim.Hewasn’treallytalkingtome.
Mybrother’sbiggreenPlymouthwasstillsittingwherehe’dparkeditwhenheleftforFortPolk,Louisiana.Ithadn’tstartedinthreeweeksandthewindshieldwipersdidn’twork.Dad
complainedonceadaythathe’dlostthekey,andsoinadditiontohavingittoweddowntothemechanicwhoworkedattheoldgasstationonthesouthendoftown,hewasgoingtohavetohaveakeymadebeforeDancamehomefrombootcamp.TheCLEPtestwas
scheduledforaWednesday,andonMondayafternoonasIwalkedhomefromschoolIsawthemostamazingthing.
MomwassittinginDan’scar,tryingtostartit.InmyentirelifeI’dneverseenmymothersitinthedriver’sseatofanything.Iwalkedupandtappedonthewindow.Shewasstaringstraightahead,andappearedforamomentnottoseeme.Itappedagain.Mom’sshouldersroseandfellinasighassheopenedthedoor.Iwatchedherslipthelostkeyintothepocketofherhouse-dress,thenshe
climbedoutofthecarandkissedmeonthetopofmyheadandstartedtowardthehouse.Iclosedthecardoor.Nooneeverpreciselyaskedmeto,butgoodLordifI’donlyhadanickelforeverysecretIwasobligedtokeep.
OnWednesday,LindyandIstayedhomefromschool.Rainwascomingdowninsheets,hardenoughandfastenoughthatIfearedforthe
littleMayflowers.MelindaaskedMomwhatshewasgoingtowear,andMomproducedanenormousorangedressfromthebackofhercloset.“MomMarylentittome,”
Momsaid,holdingitupforinspection.Melindaswallowed.“What
sizeisit?”“It’sa24.Thatshouldbe
justaboutright.”LindyandIdidn’tlookat
eachother.AfterwegotMominthe
dress,sheputontheshoesMomMaryhadgivenhertogowiththedress.“Ohno!They’retoobigandI’mrunningoutoftime!”“Okay,okay.Don’tpanic.
Sweetheart,”Melindasaid,turningtome,“gogettoday’snewspaper.”Iraninthedenandgrabbed
theCourier-Times.Lindytorethefrontpageinhalf,wadded
itupandstuffeditinthetoesoftheorangehighheels.“Trythis.”Momhadputherhair,
whichwasthinandbaby-fine,inabun,andwhensheleanedovertoputtheshoesonasecondtime,someofitslidoutofthepinsandfellaroundherface.Shewalkedabitunsteadilyintothebathroomandlookedinthemirror.“DearGod.Ilooklikea
drunkenschoolbus.”
WhenMompickedupherpurseandheadedforthedoor,IknewshewasgoingtotryDanny’scaragain,andIfeltDad’svoicewellupinmythroat:You’llnevermakeit.Youdon’tknowhowtodrive,andthatcar’sgotnowindshieldwipers.Wouldyoutradeyourlifeforthis?ButIdidn’tsayanythingandneitherdidMelinda.MomkissedmeonthecheekandhuggedLindy,andthetwoof
usgirlswenttothepicturewindowinthelivingroomandwatchedher.Shewalkeddownthesteps
andoutontothesidewalk,therainpummelingherplasticrainhatandtheoldplaidcoatshewaswearing.Shetookthekeyoutofhercoatpocketandgotinthecar,thenputherheaddownonthesteeringwheel,andasshesatthatwaytheraingraduallybegantoease,andthenshesatupand
triedtheignition,andthecarstartedandtherainstoppedallatthesametime.“Well,I’llbeamonkey’s
uncle,”Isaid,flabbergasted.Momturnedandwavedat
us.Danny’scarlurchedintoCharlesStreet;stopped;lurchedagain,andMomfiguredoutwhatshewasdoinganddrovestraightondownthestreet.Wewatchedheruntilshe
turnedontoBroadStreetand
outofsight.Melindastraightenedup.“Shedidn’taskformuchinthepasttwenty-sevenyears.”“Iguessshedidn’t.”“She’sgoteighty-sixcents
inherpurse,nothingelse.Idon’tknowwhatwillhappentoherifthecarwon’tstartwhenit’stimetocomehome.”IknewIshouldstillbe
worried,butIsuddenlyfeltthatanythingwaspossible,
andthatmostthings,thoughcertainlynotall,wouldturnoutokay.
Afewweekslater,anenvelopecamefromBallState.MomopeneditlikeitwastheAcademyAwards,andsatforafewminutesstudyingtheresults.“What’sitsay?How’dyou
do?DidyougetaAplus?”Iasked,tryingtopeeroverhershoulders.
“Itestedoutoffortyhours,”Momsaid,flippingthroughacatalogthathadcomewiththeletter.Icounted.Fortyhourswas
notquitetwodays.Buttwodaysoutofschoolwasbetterthannothing.“Sorryaboutthat,Mom,”I
said.IthoughtImightridedowntoRose’shouseandtellherMompassed.“That’sawholeyear,
sweetheart,”shesaidasI
headedtowardthedoor.Istopped.“Awholeyear?”Momnodded.AndthenI
sawonherfacethatshewasasshockedasIwas;shedidn’tknowanybetterthanIdidwhattomakeofthenews.Forafewmoresecondswewerejustfrozen,andthensheshruggedhershoulders—Whatcanyoudo?—andreachedoverandpickedupthephone.
IKnewGlenBeforeHeWasaSuperstar
Dadcalledmeinsidewhenitstartedtogetdark.HetoldmethatifI’dcomeinandtakeabathwithoutfightinghimIcouldwatchtheGlenCampbellshow.Iactedbored
withGlenCampbell,butinfact,IthoughthewasthebestsingerintheworldbesidesBarryGibb.Plushislittlecapofblondhairalwayslayonhisheadasstillandsoftasasleepingcat.Ihadanalbumofhisthat
hadonitmaybethebestsongofthedecade,“Where’sthePlaygroundSusie,”whichisessentiallyaboutagood-lookingblondmanaskingfordirections.Dadsometimes
calledmysisterSusie,forvaguehistoricalreasons,andMelindaandGlenwouldhavemadeaveryhandsomecouple,soIwasgladtheyhadnevermet.ItwasbadenoughthatmysisterhadtheattentionsofJoeOvertonwholiveddownthestreetandwasafriendofmybrother.Hehad,strictlyspeaking,beenmyfirstlove,andIwasonlybeginningtorecoverfromhim.
OnceIgotinthetubIusuallyhadquiteagoodtime.IplayedanongoinggamethatwasessentiallyabathtubversionofEvilQueen,myfavoritegametoplaywithRoseandMaggie,reducedtojustoneplayer.InthisgameIwasforcedtoslaveawayatanEvilLaundromat.BeforegettinginthetubIcollectedallthewashragsIcouldfind.Myjobwastowashthemin
frontofme,thenswirlthemaroundintherinsewateronmyrightside,passthembehindmefordrying,andfoldthemonmyleftside.AtagoodLaundromatthatwouldhavebeentheendofthegame,butbecauseitwasEvil,assoonasIgotthemfoldedIhadtostartalloveragain.Thewashragsnevergotcleanenough.Ihatedpersonalhygiene,
andyetonceIgotinthetubit
washardtogetmeout.DadusedtobecomeconvincedthatI’ddrowned,becauseIplayedsoquietly.Iworriedhimtonoend.Thebathroomwasconnectedtoourden,wherewedidallourliving,andsoDadkepttimeonhiswatchfromhisfavoritechairinfrontofthetelevision.Everysevenminuteshewouldcallout,“Zip?Youallright?”andIwouldyellback,“Playing!”
IfinallygotoutofthetubonlyafewminutesbeforeGlenCampbellwassupposedtobegin.Iwashotandthirstyfromsittinginthewatersolong.Wehadourownwell,whichhadthecoldest,mostsharplymetallicwaterintown.Allotherwatertastedlikesoaptome.Rose’swater,forinstance,passedthroughasoftenerandanaeratorasitcameoutthetap,soitwasfoul-tastingandfullofholes.
OnthebathroomsinkwasaplasticcoffeecupBlueBonnetmargarinecamein.Wehadamillionofthem.Istoodnakedinfrontofthesink,drinkingcupaftercupofcoldwater.IprobablydrankeightcupsbeforeIfeltbetter.OnceIputthecupdownIrealizedthatmybellywasstickingoutlikeanorphan’sandthatIcouldn’tveryeasilybenddowntopickupmypajamas.Itookastep
towardthebathtubandheardwatersloshingaroundinmystomachasifinajar.Istopped.Itookastep.Waterwasmostdefinitelymakinganoiseinmystomach.Ithrewopenthebathroom
doorandranstarknakedintotheden.Mydadturnedandlookedatmewithoutanydiscerniblesurprise.Momlookedupfromhercornerofthecouch,whereshewasknitting.
“Listen,listen!No,wait—turndowntheTV!”Dadstoodupandturned
downthesound.Myparentsgatheredclosetome,andIswungmysuddenlyfatlittlebellybackandforth,andthereitwas,thesoundofthesea.“Well,listentothat,”Dad
said,wide-eyed.“Now,whatdoyou
supposeisinthere?”Momasked,lookingatmydad.
“It’swater!Idrankaboutahundredcupsofwaterandit’sallsloshingaround!”Beforetheycouldexpressanymorewonderatmytrick,theGlenCampbellshowstarted.“Okay,that’senough,
everybodysitdownfortheshow,”Isaid,directingthemtotheirstandardlocations.“Aren’tyougoingtoget
dressed?”Dadasked,turningupthevolumeontheTV,by
whichtimeIwasalreadycurleduponthecouchnexttoMom.“Shecansitherelikethis
foralittlewhile,Bob.Lethergetdressedduringacommercial.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Letherget
dressedduringacommercial.”Mompulledtheendofthe
afghanshewasknittingovermylegs.Itwassoftandwarm,eventhoughithadso
manyholesinit.Dadhandedmemybestcoloringbook,“SleepingBeauty,”andmycrayons.IhadtohavemyownbecauseIpresseddownsohardthatMomandMelindarefusedtosharewithmeanymore.AndallthroughGlenCampbellnooneremindedmethatIhadtogetdressed,andsoIgottospendtherestoftheeveninghappilyworkingonmycoloringbook,naked.
TheRulesofEvilQueen
ObjectoftheGame:EvilQueenhasnoobjectiveotherthancomplainingandtheavoidanceofbeheading.
ThePlayers:Rose,Maggie,andZippy.Patrickplaysonly
bycontributinghisclothdiapers.(Note:Alwaysusecleandiapers.Thegamecantakeadisastrousturnifthediapershavebeenusedevenalittle.)
TheRules:PlayerOnestandsatthebabywashtubandwashesthestackofclothdiapersbyhand.ShethenhandsthemtoPlayerTwo,whoisstationedatthecanopybed.PlayerTworemovesthe
canopypegsandhangsupthejust-washeddiapers,holdingtheminplacewiththecanopypegs.Theydryimmediately.PlayerTwohandsthediaperstoPlayerThree,whoisstationedattheminiatureironingboard,whichZippysecretlycovetsforitssmallness.PlayerThreeironsthediapersandhandsthembacktoPlayerOne,whowashesthemandhandsthemtoPlayerTwo,etc.
Restrictions:Playersmaynot,atanytime,discussanythingbuttheirowndowntroddennessandtheshockingfertilityoftheEvilQueen,whohas137children.Playersmayoccasionallynotethesufferingoftheotherserfs,suchasthoseworkingintheEvilBreadShoppeandtheEvilForge,whereinaremadetheEvilBreadsandEvilHorseshoes,butPlayersmustendlesslyremindone
anotherthatnooneworksharderorunderworseconditionsthantheEvilDiaperService.(Note:Restrictionsapplytoallvariationsofthegame,includingEvilLaundromat—washcloths—andEvilShoeshine.)
ConclusionofPlay:Oftencorrespondstodinnertimeorthesudden,uncontrollablesleepinessofPlayerThree.
VacuumCleaner
Thefollowingisatranscriptofanactualtapemadeonmybluetaperecorder.ThesettingismyMomMary’shouseonShoppeAvenue,inNewCastle.
DAD:Donita,lookatthis.
DONITA,MYDAD’SSISTER:(Shouts)Mother,whatareyoudoinginthecloset?
MOMMARY,MYGRANDMA:(Inaudible,fromthecloset)
DAD:Donita.
DONITA:(Shouts)Iknow
you’retearingsomethingupinthere.
GRANDMA:(Stillinaudible)
DAD:Donita,lookatthis.
MYMOM:What’sshedoing?
DONITA:Godknows.Itsoundslikeshe’stakingdownallthewintercoats.
DAD:It’sataperecorder.
DONITA:Iseethat.It’sverynice.
DAD:IgotitfortapingLindy’sspeeches.Youjustpushthissilverknobaround:upforPlay,leftforRewind,rightforFastForward.Torecord,youpressthisredbuttonandtalkintothemicrophone.
DONITA:FortapingMelinda’sspeeches,yousay?
DAD:Yeah.Thiswayshecanhearwhatshesoundslike.Shecantimethem,too.
MYMOM:Look,shemadeitoutofthecloset.Lord,she’sgothervacuumcleanerwithher.Isshegoingtostartsweeping?
DONITA:Mom,justturnaroundandputthatvacuumcleaneraway—
GRANDMA:(Comingintotheroomtalking,shebecomesaudibleinsomethingliketheoppositeoftheDopplerEffect)…showBobbymynew—
DONITA:—becausewe’vegotcompanyandyou’renotgoingtostart—
GRANDMA:—vacuumcleaner.
DONITA:—sweepingagain.Thishouseisascleanasit’sgonnaget.
DAD:It’sgotprettygoodsound.Lindysaysshedoesn’tsoundlikeherselfontape,butshedoes.There’sprobablyalotwecould—
GRANDMA:Bobby?
DAD:—dowithit.Recordalotofthings.
GRANDMA:Bobby,Iwantyoutolookatthis.
DONITA:That’srealnice.
MYMOM:Bob,yourmother’stryingtoshowyousomething.
DAD:IsawitatGrant’s,andIthought,well,IcouldgetthattohelpLindywithherspeeches.Youknowshe’sgoingtothestatefinalsinSt.
LouisinMay.
MYMOM:I’lllookatit,Mom.
GRANDMA:Kennethboughtitforme.It’sgotthislonghoseandthecorddoesn’ttangle.Onmyoldonethecordwasforevergettingtangled.
MYMOM:ThatwasveryniceofKenneth.
GRANDMA:I’llmissthatoldone—
DONITA:WhereisMelinda?
MYMOM:She’shelpingDannylookforanapartment.
GRANDMA:—though.Ihaditfornearlytwentyyears.
MYMOM:He’sdecidedtomovetoNewCastlesincehe’sworkingatAnchor
Hocking.
DAD:Themicrophonecamewithit,Ididn’thavetopayextra.Itoldhimheshouldstayhomewithus,butno,no,hecan’tjustlistentohisolddad.
GRANDMA:Bobby?
DAD:There’splentyofroominourhouseandthere’snoneedtojustrushoff—
MYMOM:Dannygetshismindsetonsomething—
DAD:—thisway,butyoucan’ttalktotheboy.
MYMOM:—it’sdifficulttotalktohim.
GRANDMA:Bobby?
DAD:Yep.(Stretching)We’reallgoingtoSt.LouisinMay.We’restayingina
hotel.IfigureLindycanpracticeherspeechallthewaythere.
DONITA:Yousayyou’reallgoing?(Turningtome)You’reawfulquiet.
DAD:She’salwaysquiet.She’smygirl.Whosegirlareyou?Tellitintothetaperecorder.
ME:Daddy’s.
DAD:Whew!She’sstillmygirl!Iwasworriedyoumighthavechangedyourmind.
GRANDMA:Bobby?Iwantyoutoseesomething.
MYMOM:Here’syourpooroldmothersittingrighthereandyoushownocompunctionaboutsayingyou’reDaddy’sgirl.Whonursedyouforeighteenmonths?Whocarriedyouon
herhiptillyouwerethree?
DAD:(Inhalinghiscigarette)St.Louisisaroughplace.Butwe’reallgoing.
GRANDMA:Didyoueatanyofthiscake,Dee?Havesome.
MYMOM:Ihadabigpiece.Itwasgood.No—that’sokay,Idon’twantanymore.
GRANDMA:Well,giveittothatchild.Shedon’teatenoughtokeepabirdalive.Ineversawachildsoskinny.
MYMOM:Idon’tthinkshecaneatanymoreeither.Shehadabigbowlofchickenandnoodles,too.Youwantanymore,honey?Shecan’teatanymore,Mom.
GRANDMA:It’sanapplesaucecake.
MYMOM:It’sgood.
GRANDMA:Youshouldhavesomemore.
MYMOM:Ican’t.SeeifBobwillhavesomemore.Itsurewasgood,though.Moist.
GRANDMA:That’stheapplesauce.Bobby?Youwantsomemorecake?
DAD:Ihadenoughcake.
You’realwaystryingtooverfeedme.
DONITA:Ihopeitstopsrainingsoon.Ineedtomow.
DAD:Youmowtoomuch.
MYMOM:Bobdoesn’tbelieveincuttingthegrassuntillittlechildrenbegindisappearinginit.
GRANDMA:Bobby?
(Therearemanyflurriesofnoise.EnterDannyandMelinda.Melindaenterstalking.)
MELINDA:YoucouldtoohaveturnedonAAvenue.
DANNY:(Silence)
MYMOM:Hey,kids.Didyoufindsomething?
GRANDMA:Sitdownand
havesomecake.Youbothlooklikeyoudon’teatenough.
DAD:She’sgoingtotrytokillyouwithcake.ForGod’ssake,sitdownandhaveapiecesoshe’llshutup.
DONITA:Didyoufindanapartment?
MELINDA:Well,wefoundsomething,butitwasn’tbig
enoughforhim.Tellthemaboutit.Hesaiditwastoosmall,whichwasabunchofcrap,becausehowmuchroomdoesheneed?Enoughforhissleepingbagandhisfossilcollection.That’sabouteightsquarefeet.Andheneedsakitchenforstoringhisfive-gallondrumofpeanutbutter.Tellthemaboutthesecondone.Hesaiditwastooexpensive,whichwasalsoabunchofcrap,because
hedoesn’tspendhismoneyonanything.
GRANDMA:Didyougetyousomecake,honey?
MELINDA:Thanks,Mom.Idon’tknowwhathewants.He’simpossible.
DAD:DidyouseeI’vegotyourtaperecorderouthere?
MELINDA:Iseethat.
DAD:IwasjusttellingDonitahowyoucantapeyourspeechesonit.
MELINDA:Yep,that’swhatheboughtitfor.
DONITA:Hesaysyou’regoingtoSt.Louis.
MELINDA:InMay.
DONITA:Hesaysyou’reallgoing.
MELINDA:That’swhathetellsme.
GRANDMA:Danny,son,doyouwantsomemilkwiththatcake?
DANNY:(Silence)
MYMOM:I’llgetit,Mom.
GRANDMA:Lord,honey,I’malreadyup.(Sheleavesforthekitchen.)
DONITA:IfIdon’tmowsoon,theneighborswillstartcomplaining.
DAD:Youmowtoomuch.Thatgrassisbarelypeekingoutoftheground.Giveitachance.
GRANDMA:(SettingdownDanny’smilk)Bobby?
MYMOM:Bob?
MELINDA:Dad?Yourmotheristryingtotalktoyou.
DAD:Weneedtohittheroad.I’vegotstuffI’vegottodo.
MYMOMandMELINDA(inunison):Placestogo,peopletosee.
DAD:That’sright.
MELINDA:Whatimportant
stuffdoyouhavetodo?
DAD:It’sprivate.Thislittleoneherehastogettoherfeeding.There’ssomestarvinganimalsathome.
MYMOM:Bob,we’veonlybeengoneanhour.
GRANDMA:Bobby?
DAD:Mother,whuu-uu-uut?!
(Briefsilence)
GRANDMA:Iwantyoutoseemynewvacuumcleaner.
DAD:Isthatit?Thatall?It’srealnice.
GRANDMA:Kennethgotitforme.
DAD:(Lightingacigarette)SoIhear.Bullyforhim.
GRANDMA:Thecorddoesn’ttangle.I’dhadmyoldonefortwentyyears.Thishere’saKenmore.Ishouldhaveitalongtime,too.
DAD:Well,that’srealnice,Mom.I’msogladthatKennethcouldbuyyouanewvacuumcleaner,sincehenevercomestovisit.
GRANDMA:Oh,Bobby,now.He’sjustbusywithhis
carlot.
DAD:Hmmmph.Youalwaysdidlovehimbest.
GRANDMA:Ididnot!Thegriefyou’vecausedme,Ihardlyhadtimetoloveanybodyelse.
DAD:I’manangelonthisearth.
(Thiscausesageneralized
uproaroflaughter.)
DAD:(Smacksthetable)We’vegottogo.Zip,whereareyourshoes?Didyouevenwear—
(Therecorderisabruptlyshutoff,andbeginsinthemiddleofaspeech:)
MELINDA:—doaboutAmericanapathytowardscrime?Wecanbeginby—
(Interruptedbymuchcracklyhandlingofthemicrophone,andthenGlenCampbellsinging“WichitaLineman”ontelevision.Inthebackgroundadogbarks.)
Cowboys
EverycoupleofweeksJulieandIrodeourbikesdowntothejunkyardhalfamilefromtheNewmans’farmtoscouritfortreasures.Wecalleditajunkyard,butreallyitwasjustastretchofwoodsof
questionableownership,wherepeoplestoppedbythesideoftheroadandthrewtheirtrashin.Thesethingsnever
changed:awringerwasherslowlysinkingandtwooldtractortires.Forawhiletherewasametalkitchenchairwithayellowplasticseat.Sometimeswesatonit.EventuallyJuliegottheideatomoveittoourtreehouse,whichjustleftfourholes
wherethelegsusedtobe.Wehadlongagopulledallthepopbottlesoutofthedirtandcashedtheminatthedrugstore,leavingalittleminefieldofhalf-buriedaluminumcans,theirjagged,toothytopsproppedopeninaparodyofdinner.Sometimeslivethingsfellinthecansbetweenourvisits.Wesquatteddowntoinspect.“Now,becarefulnotto
touchthosecanlids,Julie
Ann,”Isaid,everalerttohertendencytocourtbaddiseases.“Mydadsaysyoucangetlockjawfromrustymetal.”“Hmmm,”Julieanswered,
throughhernose.“Ifyougetlockjawthey
justhavetostraightawaykillyou,becausethere’snohopeofyouevereatingagain.”Thisgotherattention.
“Howdotheykillyou?”“Theyjustwhompyouin
theforeheadwithabighammer.Ihearitmakesyoureyespopouttohere,”Isaid,holdingmyhandoutafootfrommyface.Juliedidn’tanswer,butjust
verygentlyreacheddownandranthetipofherfingeralongoneoftherustylids,causingmyhearttoskatepastabeat.Iknewbetterthantoacknowledgemyfear,however,becauseshewouldjusttakeitasadare.Once
whileplayinghide-and-seek,Juliehadskitteredhalfwayupagiantpinetree.WhenIsawherredhairthroughthebranchesImadeonelittleinnocentsqueal,causinghertoclimballthewaytothetop.Bythetimeshereachedtheuppermostbranches,thetreewasswayingbackandforthasifinawindstorm.Istoodupcasually,
pretendingthatJulie’sbloodwasnoissuewithme,and
gavethejunkyardanappraisingsquint.Therewasacathunkereddownattheedgeofthetreeline,watchingus.“Hey,Dumpcat.C’mere,
Dumpcat,”Icalled,holdingoutmyarmsandheadingtowarditatthesametime.Thecatmovednothingbutitseyes,watchingmegetcloserandcloser.Icouldseethathewas
junkyard-colored,probablya
graytabbyunderallthelayersofgrime,andoneofhisearswasahopelessjigsaw.EverycatI’deverownedhad,duringsomebrawl,lostahunkofear.Itwasastandardcatcondition.TheDumpcat’slefteyedrooped,too,andheappearedtohavelostallhiswhiskers.Thisstoppedmeinmytracks,becauseIknewfrommydadthatcatsusedtheirwhiskerstohelpthemsee.Dadtoldme
acatwon’tstickhisheadanywherehisbodycan’tfitthrough,andhiswhiskerstellhimhowwidehisbodyis.GoodLord,Ithought,thiscatisheadedfordisaster.AsIgotcloser,hemadea
littlerumblesounddeepinhischestanddartedaway.Thiskindofcatwasatest:onecouldeitherloseone’stemperanddiveathimorbeagoodQuakerandkeepgoingathimwithgentleness.
Ipursuedhimnicely,inawaythatwouldhavemademysisterproud,withthevagueideathatImightcatchhimandputhiminthetreehousewiththechairandthedirtymagazinewe’dfoundinthebarnandcouldn’thardlystandtolookat.Duringmyfriendlypursuit,
Juliehadwanderedoversilently,likearedheadedIndian,andsuddenlyshewas
rightatmyside,causingmetojump.Thecatsatstill.Julieleanedoverandheadedtowardhim,movingherfingerslikeshewasaskingformoney.Shegotcloserandcloser,andbeforeIcouldevenworkupanindignationshewasscratchingthebackofhisheadandhewasallraisingupbumpingintoherhandandmakingaratchetypurr,likeatractorthathadn’tbeenstartedallwinter.
“Now,youcanjustlookatthatcatandknowhesmells,”Isaid,seeminglyinvoluntarily.“Youbecareful,JulieAnn,aboutringworm.Itgetsoutoftheirbuttsandisperfectlyround.Ifyougetitonyou,theyhavetocutoffthatpartofyourskin,becausenothingcankillaringworm.”“Howdotheycutitoff?”
sheasked,scratchingthecat’schin.Icouldseefleasjumpingshipbythedozen.
“Withscissors.Ithurtslikethedickens.Andaftertheycutofftheringwormtheypouriodinestraightintheopenhole.YoucanbegallyouwantforMercurochrome,butforgetit.It’siodineorgangrene,andyoudon’twanttoknowaboutthat.”“Iknowaboutgangrene,”
shesaidquietly.Thecathadflippedontohisback,andwastwistinguplikeaquestionmarkunderJulie’s
fingertips.Itwasaprettylong
sentenceforJulie,soIassumedshewasdrunkwithcatlove.Ihadseenhergetthatwayathome,withhercalicocat,Tiger.Tigerwassquareandheavyasabrick,andoncethosetwogotgoingtherewascathairallovertheplace,andclawmarks,dander,younameit.TigerlostababytoothoncelovingJulie’sshoetoohard.
Iturnedandheadedtowardthebabyswing,whereweusedtoswingourbabydollsalongtimeago.Actually,IswungmybabydollsinitandJulieswungherLoneRangerdoll.Shehadtwooutfitsforhim:atanonethatlookedlikerealleather,andtheotheralight,lightbluewithfringeonthesleeves.Juliecalledithisdress-upsuit.TheLoneRangerandTontoandtheirmany,manyhorsesandtheir
many,manysaddlessatonashelfJulie’sdadhadmadeforher;wedidn’tplaywiththemanymore.Ididn’thaveanythingtoputinthebabyswing.“Hey!”Isaid,havinga
greatjunkyardidea.“DoyouthinkRebeccawouldletusbringherbabydownhereandswinghim?He’daboutfitinthisthing.”“Nope,”Juliesaid.Shewas
nottheleastbitinterestedin
babies.Iwasthinkingabouttrying
tofittheDumpcatintheswingwhenIsawit:achild’srockinghorse,thebigplastickindonametalstandwiththicksprings,completelyburiedinthedirt.Justitssideandheadwerevisible.“TheLord,”Iwhispered,
andmotionedforJulietocome.Thehorse’sheadwas
thrownback,asifsomeone
hadpulledtoohardonhisreins,andhismouthwasopen,filledwithdirt.Hewasbitingatthedirt.Icouldseetherivetthatheldtheplasticreins,butthereinsthemselvesweregone.Allofthehorse’scolorshadfadedintoonepinky-goldcolor,andintheblackdirtandtheshadeofthetreesitappearedthathewascastingoutlight.Hisoneeyewaswild.Bothofusstoodmotionlessa
momentinthepresenceofahorseinthedirt,andthenJuliekneltdownandstartedtobrushatit.“Becareful;that’safossil,”
Itoldher.“Youcangotojailfordisturbingafossil.Mybrothertoldmeallaboutit.”Infact,mybrotherhad
quitealargefossilcollection,many,manypoundsofstolenrock.Thecollectioncompletelysurroundedhisbedwhenhelivedwithus.It
seemedthatnooneinmyfamilyhadthoughtitoddthathekeptthepointystonesthere,evengivenhispropensitytorolloutofbedafewtimesaweek.Itusedtowakeusallup,thethump,themoan,thegranitescrapingacrossthefloorashemadehiswaybackupintohissleepingbag.He’dalsosetuptrapsinthedoorwaytohisroom,somebigenoughforabadger,soIdon’tknowwhat
wewouldhavedoneifhe’devergottenreallyinjuredfallingonarock.Mymomhadconcludedthathiswholebedroomsituationhadsomethingtodowithhowhardhe’dgottenJesus.JustrememberingJesusouthereinthejunkyardmademewanttospit.Ispat.Juliespat.Herhand
lingerednearthechestofthehorse.TheDumpcatwatchedussilentlyfromdeepinthe
trees.Ilookedatthehorseandjustknewhewasnevercomingoutoftheground:What’sdoneisdonewastheprincipleinoperation.AsIstoodupInoticedfiveorsixstickerburrscaughtinJulie’sblueknitcap,andoneactuallyinherredhair,gatheringatangleuparounditlikeanest.“Julie,”Isaid,standingup.
“Webettergethomeandgetthatstickerburroutbefore
everyhaironyourheadgetscaughtupinitandwehavetowhackitalloffrightdowntoyourscalp.Ionceheardofawomanwhoaboutlostherscalptoastickerburr.Ithinkpeanutbutteristhetrickforgettingthemout.”Aswewalkedtowardour
bicycles,Juliereachedupsilentlyandpulledtheburroutofherhair;dozensofflame-coloredstrandscamewithit.Shetossedthewhole
messdowninthejunkyard,where,forjustamoment,itblazedup,andwasconsumed.
TheLoveBug
AwomannamedBonniemovedintoahouseonJeffersonStreet,andneverinmylifehaveIbeenmoretemptedtoberude.TheveryfirsttimeImentionedhertoMomIalmostsaid,“Have
youseenthatBigFatBonniewoman?”AndoncewhenIwasridingmybikeandpassedhergettingintohercar(atotallysurprisingdarkblueVWBeetle,abouthalfthecarnecessaryforsuchaperson),Ijustaboutshouted,“Hey,BigFatBonnie!”Itwasn’tasifIdidn’thaveexperiencewithplumpwomen,someofitinmyownhome.ButtherewassomethingaboutBonniethatwasessentiallylarge.I
didn’tknowwhatitwasuntilsheandMombecamefriends.Icamehomefromschool
onedayandthereshewas,sittinginourlivingroom.Shewaswearingapinkpolyestertopthatzippedupthefront,andwhitepolyesterpants.Theoutfit,alongwithherpiled-upblondhair,madeherlooklikeanenormousicecreamsundae,withstrawberries.“Well,I’llbe&*@!ifI
can’tteachyouhowtodrive,andIwill,too,youcanbetyour&*@!”Bonniewassaying.“NomanwouldkeepMEfromdrivingacar,forgetit!Whatisthis,aTurkishprison?Whatdoyoudoallday,justsitaroundwatchingthe%*#^TV?!”Momblushed,butalso
lookedabitsheepish,thennoticedme.“Bonnie,thisismydaughter.”Ijustcontinuedtostand
frozeninthedoorway.Iwantedtoraisemyhandandwave,butIwasafraidI’dbreakthespellandmissawholestreamofgoodswears.“Yeah,Iknowwhoyou
are,youlittlemonkey,”shesaid,fishingapackofcigarettesoutofhershirtpocketandscrewinguphermouthlikeatruckdriver.Shewaspretty,inatruckdriverway.“Youdon’teverdoyour
homework,doyou?”Thiscaughtmeoffguard.I
shookmyheadno.“Ofcourseyoudon’t!
You’retoo&*#@busyridingaroundtownonthatbicycle.”“Bonnie,”Momsaid,
quietly.Isuddenlyrealizedhowverydemureandladylikeshecouldbe.“ThisisactuallyaChristianhousehold,andwetrynottousesuchlanguage.”Bonnietippedherhead
backandroaredwithlaughter.“Yeah,Ihearthat.”Shewipedhereyes.“I’llbetyourhusbandisa%*$#Christian,too,isn’the?Andthat’swhyhekeepsyoulockedupinthislittle(#%)holeofatown,right?”“You’dbestgooutsideand
play,sweetheart.”Momonlyglancedatme.Shewasembarrassed,butshewassmiling.Iturnedaroundandheaded
backoutside.“Dadain’taChristian,actually,”IsaidasIturnedthedoorknob.Bonnieblewsmokeout
throughhernose.“Iknewthat.Whenyoucomehomelookupthedefinitionofsarcasm,youlittleNe’er-Do-Well.Nowscoot,shoo,outthedoorwithyou.”JustasIsteppedoutsideI
heardhersaytoMom,“Sowhataboutthose+&^$drivinglessons?Youwant
’em,ornot?”IguessedMomhadgotten
atastefortheopenroad,anddecidedsheneededadriver’slicense.
WhenDadleftthenextSaturdaymorningtogowhereverhewentanddowhateverhedid,MomcalledBonnieandsaidshewasready.Iwentouttowaitonthefrontporch,andfromtheswingIcouldhearBonnie’s
bluecarstarttwoblocksaway.IheardherdrivedownthealleythatranbehindEdythe’shouse,andthenthereshewas.Shepulledupinfrontofourhouseandhonkedherhorn,eventhoughIwassittingrightinfrontofher.Thehornsoundedlikeacatvomiting.MomwalkedoutandwavedatBonnie,andBonniekepthonking.Momopenedthepassengerdoorandturnedtotellme
something,andBonniehonkedagain.“Forheaven’ssake,”Mom
said,lookinginthecar.“Well,speeditup,”Bonnie
said.“Wehaven’tgotallday.”“Wedohaveallday,
actually.”“Actlikewedon’t.”Bonnie
revvedthecar’slittleengine.Momwavedatmeandsaid
she’dbehomesoon.Iwalkeddownandstoodintheyard;I
couldn’twaittoseethetwooftheminthatonesinglecar.AfterMomclimbedin,thatVolkswagenwasliterallystuffedwithwomen.HowtheyfoundthegearshiftI’llneverknow.
IwasjustleavingthepostofficeparkinglotonmybicyclewhenMomdrovepastmeintheBug,itsenginemakingalittletuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-asound.
Shewasdrivingaboutamileanhour.Thecardiedatthefour-waystopsign,soIbeatherhomebyaboutfiveminutes.ButwhenshesteppedoutIwouldhaveswornshe’dwontheKentuckyDerby:hercheekswerepink,herhairwasflying,andsheandBonniewerelaughingtobeattheband.Bonnieclimbedoutofthecarandgaveahootthatsentaflockofstarlingsflying
forcover.“How’ditgo?”Iasked
whenIreachedMom.“Wekilledachicken!”
Momsaid,withthesametoneshemighthaveusedtosay,WescaledthenorthfaceofEverest!Ipeekedunderthecarand
sureenough,thereweresomefeathersstucktotheundercarriage.Iwhistledthroughmyteeth.“What’sDadgonnasay
aboutthis?”Iasked,scratchingmyhead.“Aw,#*$&himifhecan’t
takeajoke,”Bonniesaid,wrappingherbigarmaroundMom.AndthetwoofthemlumberedupthesidewalkandintoourChristianhousehold.
Treasure
Icouldn’tforthelifeofmefigureouthowlongapersonhadtolive,orhowgoodshehadtobe,togetherhandsonsometreasure.Mymom,forinstance,spentallhertimesittingonthecoucheating
porkrindsandreadingbooksfromthebookmobile,andyetshehadsomevaluablesthattemptedmesorely,thingssofabulousIwantedtostealthemandthendestroythemsoIwouldn’thavetothinkaboutthemanymore.Shehadatrickbox,forinstance,thathadbelongedtoherdeaddaddy.Itwasanormalboxshape,exceptitwasformedoutofthinstripsofwood,andnowaywouldthelidopen.It
couldn’tbepriedorprayedopen.Thetrickwastopresstwoofthestripsofwoodatthesametime,whichcausedtheendtoslideoutlikeadrawer.Oh,itvexedme.Momrefusedtoteachmehowtoopenit,andwithgoodcause.Butshedidletmeseewhatwasinside:atokenfromthe1929World’sFair.Alittlenakedplasticbabydoll.Adriver’slicenseissuedtoherfather,EdwardA.
Bartuska,ofWhiting,Indiana.Longdeceased.Abeautifulwatchthatdidn’trun.Apictureofmymomasalittlegirl,withtheexpressionshealwaysworeasachild:comicalandworried.(Itturnedoutshe’dneededglasses.)AMasoniclodgepin,inthecenterofwhichwasafabulousandgenuineredstone.Momwouldletmepawthroughtheboxmaybeonceayear,
takingeverysinglethingoutandaskingherwhatitwasandwhereitcamefrom,andthenIhadtoputitallbacknicelyandshewouldputtheboxaway.Myfather!Myfatherhada
wholejarofteeth.Theyoncebelongedinsidethemouthsofstrangeandexoticanimals.Hehadashark’stooth,theincisorofagrizzlybear,alittlemolarfromacoondog,thetwoyellowedfrontteeth
ofahorse.Hehadawatchonasteelbandthatwasquiteodd-looking,anditwastheonlywatchhecouldwear.Heshutoffallotherwatcheswhenhegotnearthem.WhenIaskedhimwhyhesaiditwasbecausehisbodywasmagnetized,andafterthatIwasafraidofhimgettingstucktotherefrigerator.Hehadabottleofliquidmercury.Ididn’task.Once,heletmepouradropofitout
onatray;hesaid,“Don’ttouchit!”andIdidn’ttouchit,butIwantedtoputmywholefingerinit.Themercuryremainedaperfect,crazyglobe,androlledaroundonthetraylikeamarble.Mysisterhadalong,long
chainmadeoutofgumwrappers,whichwerepreciselyfoldedintolittletriangles.ItwasoneofthemostbeautifulthingsI’dever
seen,andsmelledlikenothingbutgoodnews.JuicyFruitandTeaberry.Shealsohadthreestatuesofalittlenakedboyandgirl(whodidn’thaveanyparts);eachstatuedescribedadifferentruleaboutlove.MyfavoritewasLoveIs…NeverHavingtoSayYou’reSorry.Thiswas,thegoodLordknew,adreamofmine.ButeverytimeIrefusedtoapologizeforsomething,Loveseemed
tojustflyoutthewindow.IstolethelittlestatuefortwowholedaysandtookitwithmeeverywhereIwent.IwasgoingtoflashitlikeabadgeifIgotintrouble.ButLindyfoundmeoutandgavemeahardpinch,andthenIsaidsorryandshedidn’t.Mybrotherhad,andthis
hardlyseemspossible,anactualbow-and-arrowset.Hetookthemdeerhunting.Thereweresomepartsofthe
bowthatattractedme,liketheveryshinywoodengrip,andtheknotsattheendofthebowstring.Itwasadelicateoperationonthewhole,andyetverypowerfulandstrong.ButwhatIreallywantedwerethearrows,especiallythelittlehairypartsontheend.Thearrowtipsweresharpasarazorandjustcoldsteel,andthenrightdownontheotherendoftheshaftweresomecoloredpartsthat
lookedliketheheadofawoodpecker,andyoucouldonlyrubthemoneway;ifpushedthewrongwaytheywouldhavebeenruined,andsowouldI.DannyhungthebowandthebagofarrowsoffahookattheendofDad’sgunrack,andsometimesintheeveningIwouldstandonthebackofthecouchandrubmyfingersoverthecoloredpartsuntilIwasnearlyhypnotized,andthenmydad
wouldnoticewhatIwasdoingandthunder,Zip!WhichmeantDidIthinkforamomentitwasallrighttoplaywithadeadlyarrow,andI’dgetdown,butmyfingertipswouldfeelsmoothassilk,likeI’drubbedmyownfingerprintsoff.Imyselfownednothing
goodandcouldnotimaginethedayIeverwould.WhenIcomplainedtomymomaboutit,shepointedoutthatIhad
notonebuttwostuffedthingsIloved,bothofwhichshehadmadeforme:mybabydoll,SuzySleepyhead,andalittlebrownvelveteenbearwithcrossedeyesnamed,naturally,Gladly(theCross-EyedBear).Yeah,yeah,I’dsay.Whattheheckgoodwerethose?IwantedsomethingsoexcellentandstrangethatwhenIshowedittomyfriendstheirbellieswouldstarttoachewith
covetousness,thewaymineachedawholebunchofthetime,almosteverytimeItookalookattheworldandsawhowlittleofitbelongedtome.
Anothergreatthingmymomownedandtookforgrantedwasacollectionofrainhatsthatcamefoldedupinsidetheirownlittlesuitcases.Thesuitcaseswereplastic,in
variouspastelcolors,smallerthananegg.Someofthemhadtheirownlittlehandles,andonthetopofeachlidwasabunchofplasticflowers,andI’mnottalkingaboutpainted-onflowers,thesewereflowerssittinginalittlebouquetrightontopofalittlesuitcase,andinsidewasanactualrainhat.Therainhatswerefoldedlikethemostcomplicatedmapintheworld,forward/back,
forward/back,maybe7,000times,untilthewholethingwasskinnierthanaruler,andthenthelengthofitwasfoldedoverandoverintoaone-inchsquare.Ican’tthinkofagreatermomentthantheoneinwhichMompoppedopenthelid,tookoutthefolded-upsquare,andshookouttheclearplastichat,whichwouldtieunderherchin.Iwantedtofindallthelittlesuitcasesintheworld
andopenthemallatonce,andtakeoutalltherainhatsandshakethemlikethestarscomingout.AfterthatIwasunclearwhatwouldhappen,becausenooneinthefreeworldcouldfigureouthowtogetthehatsbackintoasquare.SometimesMomwouldlet
meweararainhatifI’dbeenparticularlygood.Theyweretoobigforme,andoftenslippeddownovermyeyes.
“Ah!I’msuffocating!Keepawayfromchildren!”“Sweetheart,justscootit
backonyourhead.”“Oh.”Dadwaslatecominghome
fromworkatDelcoRemy,whichwasentirelyusual.IwassittingonthefloorcoloringinmyDisneyPrincessescoloringbookwhenIheardhistruckpullupoutside.Myrainhatwasdownovermyeyes,andI
couldseethroughitjustenoughtoknowwhichpageIwason,butnotenoughtoknowwherethelineswere,soIwasjustcoloringrandomly.ThefrontdooropenedandI
couldhearDadtalkingtosomeone.Nooneevercametovisitus.Istaredatthedoorwaytotheden.Mydadappeared,rainy-shaped,andbesidehimwasarain-shapedstranger.Idroppedmycrayon
andlookedatMom.Shewasablur.Ipushedupthehat.InearlieryearsIhadbeen
terriblyshy,butIwascomingoutofit.IjumpedupandranovertoDadandwhoeverwaswithhiminthedoorway.“Dad!Hey!Who’sthisguy
withyou?”Andthen,tothestranger,“Whoareyou?Whatchadoin’here?What’syourname?”“Zip!Slowdown,sit
down.”DadturnedtoMom,
whowaslookingathiminaninterestedway.There,infact,wasthesamefaceasinthemagicbox:funny.Abitalarmed.“Dee,thisisGeorgeChristy.He’sgoingtobestayingwithusafewdays.”Georgecouldsee
immediatelythatsomecharmwasinorder,sohecrossedthedeninasinglestride,steppingovermycoloringbook,astackofMom’slibrarybooks,apairofDad’s
shoes,myemptylemonphosphatecup,abowlofpopcornseeds,asleepingcat,abasketfullofunfoldedlaundry,andadisassembled12-gaugeshotgunonanopenednewspaper,whichDadwasintheprocessofcleaning.“I’mpleasedtomeetyou,
Dee,”Georgesaid.Istudiedhimprettyhard.
Hewaswearingablueworkshirtthatappearedtohave
beenaroundalongtime,withthesleevesrolledup;apairofkhakiwalkingshorts;awideleatherbelt;woollysocksthatmostpeoplewouldhaveworninwinter—anditwasJune—andhikingboots.Hewastallandbroadandmuscular,likemydad,onlyyounger.Hehadverydarkhairandeyesandabigbushymustache.Igavealittleastonishedwhistle.Momshookhishand.“Nice
tomeetyou,George.Howdid…wheredid…”Dadclearedhisthroatand
pickedupapileofblanketsattheendofthecouch,soGeorgecouldsitdown.“Actually,IjustmetGeorgeafewminutesago.HewassittingatthesideoftheroadinfrontoftheShivelyHomeplace,andIstoppedandaskedhimifheneededaride.”Momswallowed.“So
you’reahitchhiker,George?”“Hey!”Isaid,bombarded
withinformation.“Waitasecond.Youweresittin’atthesideoftheroad?AcrossfromtheMountSummitcemetery?Whatwasyoudoin’there?What’sahitchhiker?Where’syourcar?Where’syourhouse?”“Sweetheart,that’s
enough,”Momsaid.“No,ma’am,I’mnot
preciselyahitchhiker,”
Georgebegan.“What’sahitchhiker?”“I’mactuallywalking
acrosstheUnitedStates,”hesaidtoMom.“Ijustgraduatedfromcollege,andIstartedoutinCaliforniaatthebeginningofMay.I’vewalkedtwenty-fourhundredmilessofar.Yourhusbandhere”—GeorgesmiledatDad—“offeredmeaplacetocampforacoupledays,sinceIdidn’tactuallyneedaride.
Ifthat’sokaywithyou,thatis.BecauseIcanjustheadon,ifyou’dlike.”“No!”Ishouted.“It’sokay
withher,it’sjustfine.Wehavehitchhikersallthetime.Shelovesthem.”“Bob,canItalktoyoujust
aminute?”Momasked.ItookGeorgeouttothe
porchswing.Somethinghugeandorangewasproppedupagainstthehouse.“Whattheheck?”
“That’smypack.Icarryitonmybackbythesestraps,andthisbarunfoldssoitcanstanduponitsown,see?Doyouwanttotrytoliftit?”Islidmyarmsinsidethe
straps.IhadanoldArmybackpackthatwasbigenoughforacanteen,apocketknife,somebeefjerky,andacomicbook,soIthoughtI’ddofine.ButGeorge’spackweighedabout482pounds,andwasastallasmyshoulders,and
whenItriedtoliftitmylegsstartedwobblingandmyfaceturnedpurple,andhelaughedandsaid,“Whoa,there.Don’tblowagasket.”“Areyoureallya
hitchhiker,andwhat’sahitchhiker?”“No—hey,isyourhead
screwedontight?Becausedidn’tIjustsayI’mnotahitchhiker?Doyoueverstoptalking?Ahitchhiker’sapersonwhostandsattheside
oftheroadwithhisthumboutlikethis.Youtry.Excellent.Youwereborntohitchhike.Andhetriestogetstrangerstogivehimrides.It’sawayoftraveling.”“Butyoudon’tdothat?
Youjustsitatthesideoftheroadwithyourthumbstuckedin?”Georgethrewhisheadback
andlaughed.Wesatdownontheswing.“Whatall’sinthatbag?
Youthinkmaybeyoucouldshowmetomorrow?”“Sure.There’sasleeping
bag,andatent,andsomeraingear.”“I’vegotthisrainhat.”“Yes,Isee.”“Whatelse?”“There’sfoodandsome
dishes,acanopener,acoupleofbooks,myjournal.Postcardsandstamps.Cleanclothes.”IwassoflabbergastedI
couldhardlyspeak.GeorgeChristyownedmorestuffthanIdid,andhecarrieditaroundinahugeorangebagonhisback.“I’lltellyouwhatIdon’t
have,though,”hesaid,studyingme.“Idon’thaveashirtwithabigfishonthefront.”Ilookeddown.“Yeah.I’ve
gottheonlyone.”Dadwalkedoutandjoined
usontheporch.Hesmokeda
little,flippedhiscigarettetowardthesidewalk.“Nicenight,”hesaid.“It’sbeautiful,”George
answered.“Deesaysyou’rewelcome
tostay,aslongasyoucampintheyard.Shesaysitwouldn’tbeappropriateforyoutostayinthehouse,sincewe’vegotthesetwogirls,Ziphereandourolderdaughter,Melinda.”Dadseemedmorethanalittlemiserabletobe
makingsuchaspeech.“Oh,ofcourse,Iwouldn’t
have…Idon’treallystayinhouses.It’sagainstmyrules.”Dadtookadeepbreath.
“You’realuckyman.”Georgesmiled.Hesmelled
likepineneedles.
Georgewentbackinthehousetohavesomepopcornwithusbeforebedtime.HesatonthecouchwithMom
andIsatonthefloor.“Hey!Doyouknowany
jokes?”Iaskedhim.Heponderedaminute.“I
doknowaprettygoodjoke.Okay:Whydoduckshaveflatfeet,Zippy?”“Why?”“Tostampoutforestfires.”Igasped,thennearlyfell
overlaughing.ItwasthefunniestjokeI’deverheard,andI’dbeencollectingjokesforawhile.
“No,wait!There’smore.Whydoelephantshaveflatfeet?”Icouldn’tspeak,soMom
askedwhy.“Tostampoutburning
ducks.”Ijustcollapsedface-first
ontomycoloringbook.Irolledaroundinalittleballuntiltearswererunningdownmyface.Georgemadeasoundlikea
firetruck.“Emergency!
We’vegotaburningduckdownoverhere!”EvenDadhadtolaugh.
“George,you’regonnakillher.”Ifinallystretchedouton
mybackandbeggedformercy.Hitchhikers.GoodLord.
Isleptinmyclothesallsummer,soIcouldjusthopupinthemorningandgo.Iwasworkingonsimplifying
mylife,whichIhaddiscoveredcouldbedoneveryeasilyifIceasedtodothefollowing:washmyface,brushmyhair,brushmyteeth,wearshoes.ThemorningafterGeorgearrivedIgotupwiththefirstlightandtiptoeddownthestairs.Momwasstillasleep,butthelivingroomanddensmelledlikecoffee,andIcouldhearDadinthebathroom,shaving.Islippedoutthe
frontdoor,carefultocatchthescreenbeforeitslammed.Andthereitwas,sitting
rightinthemiddleofourbackyard.Ayellowtentwithamaninit.Icreptacrossthedewygrass,silentasanInjun.Istudiedthetentfromeveryangle.Itseemedtobemadeoutofcanvas,andhadseenbetterdays.Ididn’thavemuchexperiencewithtents,butGodknowsIwantedsome.Whenwewent
campingwealwaysstayedinatrailer.I’dhadonebrieftentexperiencewiththeBrownies,beforeI’dgottenkickedoutforstreaking.Butthisonewasentirelyprofessional.Iwasstandinginfrontofthezipperedflaps,imagininghowIcouldlivealltherestofmylifeinatent,whenadeepvoicesaid,“IsthataBARsneakingaroundmycabindoor?BecauseIbelieveIhearaBAR
outside.”Ijumpedbackward
probablythreefeet,slippedonthewetgrass,andfellstraightdown.“No!HitchhikerMan,don’tshoot!It’sjustme!”Georgequickunzippedthe
tentandstuckhisheadout.“Oh,hello.”“Hello.”“Idon’thaveagun,
actually.”Thiswaspuzzling.“You
bettergetone.There’sdangereverywhere.”Georgeshookhishead.
“Listen,you’rebyfarthemostdangerouspersonI’vemetonthistrip.”“Psshht.Youshouldmeet
mysister.”LindyhadspentthenightatherfriendCheryl’sandhadnotyetreceivedthenewsofthehitchhiker.Georgepartedtheflaps,
thenclimbedoutofhistent
andstretched.He,too,hadsleptinhisclothes.Heevenstillhadhisbootson.Ifsomeonehadspokenthewords“soulmate”tomerightthen,Iwouldnothaveconsidereditoutofthequestion.TherewasnodoubtinmymindthatGeorgeChristywaslivingmyreallife.
“AndthisiswhereRoseandMaggielive,”Isaid,onour
walkingtourofMooreland.“Roseisleft-handedandhasacanopybedwithawhitecanopyandmatchingwhitedressers,plusalittlebrother,aboxcollection,andaminiatureironingboardandiron.Oh,andalittlerecordplayerofherveryownwitharecordthathasthesesongsonit:‘ItsyBitsyTeenieWeenieYellowPolkaDotBikini’‘LittleNashRambler’the‘MonsterMash’andone
thatsays,‘Makin’loveundershadyappletrees.’Rosewantstoknowwhat‘makin’love’means.”“Hmmm,”Georgesaid.“Doyouknow?”“No,”hesaid,shakinghis
head.“Yeah,it’samystery.”WewalkedpastDana’s
house.“ThisiswhereDanalives.She’satcamprightnow.ShehasaPing-Pongtableandaveryfancypairof
rollerskates,andyellowcurtainsinherbedroommadeoutofsheets.HerpicturegottakenfortheMoorelandFairPrincesscontestandshe’sdeadseriousinit.”Backatourhouse,George
askedwhatsortsofthingsIhad.IonlyhadtwothingsIcouldshowhim.Onewasmylittleofficeinthecornerofthelivingroom.I’dbeenbuildingitforweeks.Theofficehadatableinitanda
stool,andIhadtakenabigcardboardboxandcutoffonesideofit,soitformedwallsaroundthetable.Ikeptallmyworkina
cigarbox.“Iwriteupthebillslikethisrighthere,thenIscootthemovertothissideofthetableandstampthemwiththisstamper.Thenfold’em.Thentheygounderneaththedesktogetmailed,andwhenIpickthemupontheothersidethey’reallfinishedand
gointhisbox.”“Isee,”saidGeorge.“What
aretheybillsfor?”“Well,thisoneisforsix
hamburgers.Thisisforatractoranddisc.Thisoneisfor‘servicesrendered,’Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.Momtoldmetowriteit.Thisone’sforastatuemysisterstoleoutofmyrightfulpossession.I’mchargingher$4.72forit.That’swithtax.”“She’llneverpayit,”
Georgesaid,shakinghishead.“Darntootin’she’llpayit,
orI’llcontacttheLaw!”“Didyouhearthatina
movie?”“Iguessso.”“What’sthishangingonthe
wallsofyouroffice?”Georgeasked,pointingtomymessages.TheywerehungupwithScotchtapeIstolefromMom.“Iwrotethoseoutmyself.
That’smyhandwriting,there.Mysistersaysit’sshameful.Thatoneisthebirth-of-Jesusstorythatstarts,‘ForlountoyouthisdayachildisborninBethlehem.’Thishere’sapartofaTrixieBeldenbook,TheRedTrailerMystery.I’llreadittoyou:
Thegirlsatehungrilyanddrankseveraltallglassesofthedeliciousspicedjuice.Theyweresobusyeatingand
listeningtoMrs.Smithrambleonandonthattheydidn’tnoticehowdarkithadsuddenlybecomeasstormcloudsscuddedacrossthesky.“Andtothink,”Mrs.Smithwassaying,“Imighthavecalledinthepolice.Oh,dearieme,heavenbepraisedthatIdidn’t.Natwouldneverhaveforgivenme.Buthe’llshootthatcrowthisverynightormyname’snotMarySmith.”
“Whatdoyoulikesomuchaboutthat?”Georgeasked.“Oh,”Isaid.“There’s
plentytolikeinthere.”Iwentupstairstogetthe
onlyotherinterestingthingIowned.Ihadtofishitoutfromundermysister’sbed,whereIhadhiddenit.Itwasapuzzleinacan.Myparentshadgottenitformeinafitofcompletemadness.I’llneverknowwhattheywerethinking.Thepuzzleshowed
adarkstreetinaveryoldandexoticcity,likeLondon.Themoonwashighinthesky,andtearingdownthestreet,runningrighttowardme,wasDracula,andhewasinastate.Hiscapewasflyingoutbehindhim,hewasfuriousaboutsomething,andtherewasbloodrunningdownhischin.Iheldthepuzzlecanoutin
frontofmesoIcouldn’tseeDracula.Georgetookitand
shuddered.“That’shorrible,”hesaid.“Ithinkso,too,”Isaid,
pushingitunderthecouch,“butit’saboutallI’vegotinthewayoftreasure.I’vedugaroundinthebackyardsome,butIcan’tfindanything.Dadletmeusehismetaldetectoroutthere,butallIfoundwerebottlecaps.Ireckonmylifeisnevergonnagetanybetter.”“Hmmm,”Georgesaid,
thinking.“Lookstomelikeyou’vegotitmade.Ifyouclosedupyouroffice,everythingyouownedyoucouldcarryonyourback.Ithinkthat’stheonlywaytolive.”Istudiedhimaminute.
Whathe’dsaidsoundedsuspiciouslylikesomethingmydadmighthavesaid.TherewasalessonaspecttoitIdidn’tlikeonebit.“Yeah,well.IfIhadan
orangebackpacktoputitin,maybe.”
OnGeorge’slastnightwithuswehadmyfavoritemeal:cornbread,tomatoes,andhotdogs,allcookeduptogetherintheoveninacast-ironskillet.MelindacamehomeandsheandGeorgegotalongfine.Hetoldheracouplejokesthatalmostmademyheartstop.Thenextmorningweall
gatheredontheporchtosaygood-byetohim.Heshookmydad’shandanddeclaredhimaGoodMan.HehuggedMomandmadeheralittleteary.TheyhadapparentlyhadsomeconversationsaboutthenatureofCollege,whichshewouldbestartinginthefall,if,asshesaid,theGoodLordwaswillingandthecreekdidn’trise.ThenhetookmyhandandaskedifI’dwalkhimtothecorner.
“Zip,itwasapleasure.”“Thanks,”Isaid,scuffling
myfoot.“I’mheadingthatdirection.
What’soverthere?”Ilooked.“Thecemetery.
Thehighway.”“Andthenwhat?What’s
waypastallthat?”Whatavexer.“Idon’t
know,”Isaid,shrugging.“Well,that’swhatyouneed
toaskyourself.”Ilookedupathim.His
clothesstilllookedclean,andhisblackhairwasshiningintheearlysunthewayRose’sdid.Thatbigmustachewassomethingtosee.Hehitcheduphispackandfastenedabeltaroundhiswaist,thenmessedupmyhairwithhisopenpalm,asifmyhairneededmoretrouble.“Ithoughtofsomething
youhavenooneelsedoes,”hesaid,walkingbackwardawayfromme.
“What’sthat?”Iyelled,eventhoughhewasstillclose.“Yourownhitchhiker,”
Georgesaid,thenturnedaroundandwalkedaway.
AMemberoftheWedding
Inevercouldgetwhatwasthebigdealaboutbeingpretty,itallseemedlikeabunchofhokumtome.Whohadtimetothinkaboutsuchthings,andwhowouldbother?Iknewgirlswho
evenhadthoselife-sizeddecapitatedBarbieheads,andtheywouldveryconcentratedlypaintBarbie’seyelidsashadeofbluenotseenonahumanfacesinceMooreland’stoobriefacquaintancewithatownslut(orasmymothercalledher,man-dependent).AndBarbie’slipswouldgetpaintedacheapcrayonypink,withlumpsandstreaks,anditwasnotmanyhoursafter
Christmasmorningthatmytoiletry-leaningfriendsdiscoveredthatnomatterwhatonedidwithBarbie’shairitturnedoutcreepyandcouldn’tbeundone.Thenthereshesat,gatheringdustonhercheerful,ruinedfaceandchopped-upvinylhairandIdon’tknowwhymyfriendsdidn’tjustgetthemselvesatalkingevilclowndollandbedonewithit.
Butmysisterwasadifferentstory.RosesaidLindywastheprettiestgirlshe’deverseen,theprettiestofalltheirbabysitters.IwouldhavelikedtosaythesamebutI’dneverhadababysitterinmylifeexceptMelindaherself,andgenerallyourtimetogetherinvolvedpinching(her)andbeingspunaroundintherockingchair(me)untilmyeyesshookbackandforth
andIstumbledaroundthelivingroomlikealittledrunk.“Someday,”mybrother
commented,afterseeingmewalkdirectlyintoadoorframe,“we’regoingtoshakesomethingpermanentlylooseinthere.”“That’sthehope,”Melinda
replied.Melindawasprettywithout
meaningtobeandwithouttrying.Shejustcouldn’thelpit.Herhairwasblue-black
andhereyesweregray-greenwithlongblacklashesandshehadthesweetestsmileintheworld.NevermindthatshewasmadeofpureSatanandthatourfamilyneverhadthemoneyforclothesormakeuporBarbieskullsonwhichtopractice.Melindajustwaswhatshewas,andthesamewentforme.(Actually,MelindawaswhatshewasandIwasnotwhatIusedtobe,beforesheandmy
brotherfiguredoutthatiftheyspuntherockerhardandfastenough,Icouldn’tgetoutbecauseofcentrifugalforce.ButIwasmakingthebestofwhatwasleftofme,whichwasn’tmuch.)
BothDanandMelindawereinthemarchingbandwiththedirectorwhotheycalledMr.M.Mr.M.wasinallwaysthemodelofabanddirector,andbythatImeanhecould
haveledanassaultonaninnocentnation,enslaveditspeoples,andhadthemmarchinginpinwheels,allinthecourseofoneprofoundlyhotafternoon.Danwasadrummer—hemarchedwithasnare,butcouldalsoplayakit—andMelindaplayedtheclarinet.Danhadageneticsenseofrhythm(sodidDad,sodidI)andmarchedintimeasifhisfeetweremachines.Inthiswaythefamilywas
divided,asMomcouldnotkeeptimeiftherewereapistolheldtotheheadofoneofherbeloveds,andMelindawaslittlebetter.Lindycouldn’tplaytheclarinetandmarchatthesametimeatall,soshehadtochoose.Mr.M.helpedherchoosebysmackingthebacksofherthighswithhisbatonwhenshefelloutofstep,whichmeantthatforthefouryearsshewasinmarchingband,
shefingeredthenotesandpursedherlipsandnevermadeasound.Andstillsometimesshegotsmacked.ItriedtofeelsorryforherbutmostlyIjustwantedtostealherclarinetcase.Ididn’tcareabouttheinstrument,butthepurplevelvetinsidethecasemademecrazedwithlonging,asdidthetinymusicstandshecouldclipontotheclarinet.Andalsothatyellowcleaningcloth,whichwasso
softIdidn’tunderstandwhyeverythingwasn’tmadeofit.Mr.M.smackedLindyforlosinghersandlatershesmackedme.InthefiefdomofMr.M.
thereweremanycrimes.Onecouldtalkinclass.Onecouldfailtomemorizeapiece,forgetnewreeds,raiseorlowerone’smusicstandtooquicklyortooslowly.M.himselfcouldplayeveryinstrumentwithsuchgracehe
mightwellhavebeenPaulMcCartneyandshuckedtherestoftheBeatles.Hewaseightfeettall,incrediblyhandsome,charismatic,andunyielding.Duringthebasketballseasonthebandassembledinthebleachersinatightrectangle,andnogamewascompletewithoutitsflawlessrenditionoftheVikingsfightsongandthevariousworksMr.M.usedtosomehowmakeIndianahigh
schoolbasketballevenmoreexcitingthanitalreadywas,whichwasnearlyunbearable.Duringthesummer
marchingseason,Mr.M.stoodatopawoodenplatformsomefifteenfeetintheairattheendofthepracticefield,wearingaviatorsunglassesandwhiteshortsandshirtssobrightheseemedarogueplanet,oraneclipsethatthreatenedblindness.Heblastedhiswhistlethreetimes
forthebandtobeginandbegintheydid,ontime,instep,somathematicallyperfectthelinesofeachsectioncouldhavebeenconnectedbyinvisibleelectricthreads.Ifhesawsomethingthatdidn’tsatisfyhimfromtheplatform,he’dcomedownthescaffoldtwitchinghisconductor’sbaton,veryoftenatmysister,whowasmarchingalonginthepunishingheat,not
makingasoundwithherclarinet.
“DidheLEAVE?”Melindashouted,cominginside,thescreendoorslammingbehindher.Iwaslyingonthecouchin
thedimden,watchingTheBeverlyHillbillies.Oneofmyfavoritegameswastotrytoanticipatethedialogueandchangeitverysubtly,soifMissHathawaysaidofher
boss,Mr.Drysdale,“Idon’tknow;hewasherejustamomentago,”I’dsecond-guessherandsay,“Idon’tknow;hewasrootbeerjustamomentago.”“Didwholeave?”Iasked,
notlookingather.“YOURFATHER.Didhe
leavewithoutme?”“Iguess.Hewasrootbeer
justamomentago.”“I’mgoingtoKILLHIM.
Hedoesthisonpurpose.
Where’sMom?”Ishrugged.“OhGodohGodohGod,”
Melindasaid,pacing.“HowamIgonnagetthere?”“Where’sWayne?”Lindystopped;lether
handsdroptohersides.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.”Imissedherboyfriend,
WayneMullens,whohadbeenaroundforawhile.ImissedhimeventhoughhecalledmeNuisanceand
sometimesPesty.Iwasn’tsureheevenknewmyactualname.WhileMelindaandWayneweredating,Dadusedtomakemesitontheporchswingbetweenthemsotheycouldn’tholdhands.Dadalsomademegoontheirdates.DuringthetimesIwasn’tbeingforcedtoaccompanythem,IaccompaniedthembecauseIwantedto.AllIknewwasthatoneday
MelindahadWayne’sclass
jacketandhisgiganticringandthenextdayitemshadbeenthrown,shoutsshouted,andWaynewasgonetoanothercitytodoatemporarycarpentryjob.Ididn’tknowforsure,butitseemedtheshoutshadconcernedanothergirl,orrumorsofanothergirl.Onlyonethingwasforcertain,whichwasyoudidn’twanttogetmysisterthatangryorelseaclassjacketwouldgoairborne.
“I’mrunningdowntoCheryl’stoseeifshe’lltakeme,”Melindasaid,grabbingherclarinetcaseandherpurseandflyingoutthedoor.OntelevisionGrannysaid,
“I’vemadesomepossumstew,”whichIfranklycouldn’timprove.BeverlyHills,whereverthatwas,lookedlikethegrimmest,mostunhappyplaceintheuniverse.IwouldhaveratherbeeninLandoftheLost.
LindyrantoCheryl’sbutCherylwasgone,sosheheadedforthebanktoseeifanyonewasintheparkinglotandnoonewas.Justaboutthattimeayoungman,someonenotfromMooreland,walkedoutofthedrugstoreandheadedforhiscar,agreenCamarowithaspiderpaintedonthehood.Helookedalittleseedy,Melindawouldreportlater,orasifhewerewearingaseedy-
personcostume,butwasinfactaspureasalamb.“Hey,whoa!”Melindasaid,
runninguptohiscarandopeningthepassengerdoor.“Whereareyougoing?”Theboyfroze.“Towork.”“Great,”Melindasaid,
climbinginthecar.“IneedaridetoBlueRiverrightthisverysecondanddon’ttryanyfunnystuff;I’vegotatleasttwoinchesandfortypoundsonyou.”
Rick,hisnamewas.Hejustdidasshetoldhim,gotinanddrovehertobandpractice.Withinacoupleweekshe’dgivenuphisnickname,Spider,andstoppedhangingwithborderlinehoodlums,andthenextthingIknewhewasaroundourhouseallthetime,quiet,hardworking,gum-chewing,asdependableasthesunrise.Hedidn’tcallmenamesorteasemeinanyway,andthefactthatI
accompaniedhimandmysisteroneverydateseemedjustfinewithhim.Hewaswillingtotakemeeverywhere,anywhereMelindasaid,whateverMelindawanted.RickonlyhadonefacialexpressionandIbelieveiftherewerearecipeforityou’dmixundyingdevotionwithfortitudeandshock.Mysisterhadbeenthebiggestsurpriseofhislife.Hewasshocked
everytimehesawher.Iwasveryfondofhim,butIstillwonderedwhereWaynehadgone.
Suddenlytherewastobeawedding.ItookthisnewsasifsomeonehadreportedthatvegetablepodshadovercomethewholeofhumanityandIwastheonlythinkingpersonleftstanding.Mysisterwastobemarried?Shewasseventeenyearsold.Shewas
justaseniorinhighschool,stillgettingstungbyabanddirector’sbaton,stillgettingcaughtrollingastolenwheelychairdownoneofBlueRiver’slong,waxedhallways.WehadjustaccompaniedhertoSt.Louis,whereshewallopedalltheotherspeakersbecauseshewasthatgood,andshewouldgetbetter.Thatwasherroomatthetopofthestairsandtotheright,paintedlightblue,
andeventhoughIcoveteditIhadn’tmeanttostealit.Thatwashercorkboard,herlongchainmadeoforigamigumwrappers,herlittlestatuesofhuggingnakedpeoplethatdeclared“LoveIs…”Thosewereherrecords,herbell-bottoms,herstuffedanimalswonattheMoorelandFairbyboyswhocouldnevergetnearher.Itallhappenedsofast:the
creamyinvitationswithan
embossedpeacecrossthatread“OurJoyWillBeMoreCompleteIf”ontheinside.Rose’smother,Joyce,whowasthemostfrightfullytalentedwomansince…well,ever,hadofferedtomakeMelinda’sweddingdressandveil.Joycewasgoingtomakethem.Shemightaswellhavesaidshewasgoingtomakegravity.MelindaaskedifIwould
standupwithher.Herfriend
CindywouldbehermaidofhonorandIwouldbeherbridesmaid.Inodded,ofcourse,ofcourse,Ihadnoideawhatitmeant,whatIwasbeingaskedtodo,butMomwasmakingmydress:pinksatinwithawine-velvetsasharoundthewaist.I’dneverwantedtobeamaidenheadbutforMelindaI’devenwearsomethingpinkandscratchy.Therewasan
announcementoftheengagementintheCourier-Times.TherewerefittingsatJoyce’shousewherewecouldseethelaceandbeadsshe’dsewnonbyhand,theintricatecuffsofthesleeves.TherewerephotographstakeninthedressaheadoftheeventbyJimmyCarnes,ourlocalphotographygenius,andinallofthemyoucanseeMelinda’ssweetsmile,tearsinhereyes.
AtnightIlayinmybed,clutchingmySuzySleepyheaddollandsobbing.Iwouldn’tletMelindaknow.Iwasterrifiedtoletherknowthatifsheleft,ifshereallygotmarriedandmovedoutofthehouse,Iwouldhavenothing,Iwouldhavenoone,Imightaswellbetossedinarivertiedupinasack,likeabagofkittens.
Onthedayofthewedding,
June23,Melindajustbarelygraduatedfromhighschool,Iwentlimpasaragdollandallowedmyselftobemanipulated.Iwasbathed,myhairwasrolledupincurlers,IdidasIwastold.Imovedandfeltlikeazombie,onlywithouttheflesh-eatingjoythatseemstodrivezombiesaroundneighborhoodslikeJehovah’sWitnesses.IkeptpassingLindy’slittlealligator-green
nightcasesittingonachairbythefrontdoor;itmademefeellikeIwasgoingtothrowup.AtonepointIcarrieditoutsideandtriedtohideit,asifthatwouldstopthewholemess,butIknewthebagwasn’ttheissuesoIbroughtitbackinside.Wewalkeddowntothe
churchandgotreadyintheprivateplacebridesgo,andMelindawasveryshaky.“Idon’twanttodothis,”she
keptsaying,andnoonewouldlisten.Itwasnerves,Momsaid,andCindytoldherallbridesfeelthisway.ButIcouldfeelmyheartbeatinginmyface—Icouldn’tgetnearherenoughtosay“Thendon’t,youdon’thaveto.”CharlieKurz,aspirited
friendofthefamily,wasplayingtheorganfortheceremony.He’dalsodrivenMelindainhisconvertible
MGwhenshewasMoorelandFairQueen,andhaddressedinaStyrofoamhatwithared,white,andbluebandfortheparade.Hehadanimpressivemustacheandwasnotagainstadrinkinthemiddleoftheday.Itwas,perhaps,thecasethathehadtippedthebottleabitbeforethisparticularevent.WeheardhimplaythesongsMelindahadrequested(IsthisthelittlegirlIcarried?Isthisthelittleboy
atplay?)andthensomethingnoneofusrecognized.Itturnedouttobeaslow,waltzingversionof“HotTimeintheOldTownTonight.”WhenMomrecognizeditandstuckherheadout,CharliemovedhismustacheupanddownandgaveMomthewink.Itwastime,longbeforeI
wasready,tofollowCindydowntheredaisle,eachpewdecoratedwithapinkbow.
Everyonekeptremindingmetowalkslow,walktothebeat,untilIfeltlikejustgoingonawildslappingspree—Iwastheonewithrhythm,Iwasn’tgoingtospeedupwhatalreadyfeltlikedeath.AndthenjustbeforeItookmyfirststepIheardMelindameetDadinthevestibule.Shehookedherarmthroughhis,thathandsome,well-dressedJohnnyCashofafatherand
theyoung,gray-eyedgirl,theprizeofthecounty,ifanyonewasreallypayingattention(Rickwas).Itshouldhavebeenaphotographfortheages.Thereshouldhavebeenmonumentsbuilttothescene.ButwhatIheardhersaywas“Idon’twanttodothis,please,pleasedon’tmakemedothis,”inavoicesoshakyInearlystumbledontherunner.Dadresponded,“We’vepaidforthis
wedding;getmoving.”Someonetookaphotograph
ofmejustasI’dbegunthedescent,andit’sclearI’mcryingthosebrand-newtears,myfacecompletelysolemnandunmoving,justtearaftertearstreamingdownmyface.I,whohadsatsostoicallyatthescreeningofBambimysisterbelievedmetobeafrogspawnofHell.Inthenextpicture:MelindaandDad,Lindystillwearingthat
photographicsmile,anditoccurredtomelater,lookingatthealbum,thatreallyshewassmilingatJimmyCarneswhomsheloveddearly,tryingtobeasbraveaspossibleforhim.NotforDad,whoissodignifiedastoseempresidential.Maybehe’dhadafewwithCharlieKurzoutintheparkinglot.Drunkmenalwayswalkwithgreatercarethanthesober.
BelovedPastorEddyClineasked,“Whogivesthiswomaninmarriage?”andmydadanswered,hisdeepvoicemoregloriousthantheMoorelandFriendsMeetingwasaccustomedto,“HermotherandI.”HeliftedMelinda’sveilandkissedhertenderly,handingherovertoRick,thissweetstranger.IstoodatthealtarjustbehindCindy,eachofusclutchingoursingleredrose.Istood
frozen,listeningtothesermon,theexchangeofvows,thecatchinMelinda’sthroat,andmighthavestoodthatwayforeverexceptthatwhenRickandMelindawentbehindthealtartolighttheUnityCandle,Melindaturnedherheadtooquicklyandherveilcaughtfire.Thereisnothingquitelikeabrideaflame—itreallyputsacapperonanotherwiseordinaryday.Rick,whohad,
asthesacramentwouldsuggest,alreadybecomeahusband,putthefireoutwithhisbarehand,anditwasonlythoseofusupclosewhosawtheneardisasterandstoodhelplesstopreventit.
ThereceptionintheFellowshipRoom,whichwasreallyjustindoor-outdoorcarpetingandslidingplasticdoors,wastheusualfare.Foldingchairs,longtables
coveredwithwhitepaper,streamers.TherewasthewhitecakewithCriscoroses;thebowlsofmixednuts;themintsmadeofbutter,sugar,andmintflavoring.MyauntDonnamadethem,andIlovedthoselittleleaf-shapedwonders.Ihadonceeatenthemuntilmygallbladderseized.Therewasnodrinkingatthereception,nodancing,nomusic,justthepaperplatesandpeoplemilling
around,andthenRickandMelindaopenedtheirweddinggiftsandeveryoneoohedandaahedoverthedishtowelsandcrochetedpotholders.Isatinafoldingchairinamostunladylikefashion,thinkingonlyofthealligatorovernightbagwaitingbythefrontdoorathome.IfeltlikeTrixieBeldenorNancyDrew,someonetrappedinamineshaftorabouttobehitbya
sawblade…whattodo,whattodo?HowtopreventthishoneymooninKentucky?Howtopreventherfromleaving?Howtosomehowironoutthespikythinggrownupbetweenherandmyfatherthatwasmakinghermarrysomeoneinthefirstplace?Andthenitoccurredtome:Iwouldjustsayno.Iwouldjustsayshecouldnotleave,Iwouldn’tallowit,IwashersisterandIhadmy
rights.Itwasdarkbythetimewe
gotthechurchcleanedup,thecoffeeurnwashedandputaway,thefloorsswept,andtheslidingplasticdoorsslidclosed.RickandMelindastayedtotheveryend,stackingthefoldingchairsandplacingthemonthecart;thisiswhatonedidataweddingattheMoorelandFriendsMeeting.Thenightwasgorgeousandfaironthe
shortwalkbacktoourhouse,andIheldMelinda’shandallthewaythere.Itwasn’tuntilwewereinthedoorthatIsaid,“Youcan’tgo,youcan’tleaveme,Ican’tletyougowithoutme,”andthelookonherfacemusthavebeenidenticaltomyown,becausesheturnedtoRick—herhusband—andsaid,“Ithinkweoughttotakeherwithus.”Andhe,whateverhehaddreamedoformostfervently
wishedorevenexpected,justnoddedandsaid,“Sure,Melinda,whateveryouwant.”SoIrantothedirtyclothespileinmyparents’bedroomandgrabbedwhatIthoughtIwouldneedandjumpedinRick’scarandoffwewent,marriednow,toKentucky.
Brother
Whenyouhaveabrothersofaraway,youwilltakewhatyoucanget;youwillstealmemories,youwilleavesdropandsneakpicturesoutofboxesifthat’swhatyouhavetodotogetnearhim.Ibarely
knewhim.Hewasthegreatphysicalthingintheworld,awonderlikeNiagaraFallsifNiagaraFallswasyourbrother.Sotallheduckedindoorwaysandsatslouchedincars;oneofhisearshadaboldhorizontalscarfromthetimeDocAustermanwreckedhistruckwhenDanwasworkingasaveterinaryassistant.Hisarmsweremuscular,enormous;hishandsweremyfather’smade
evenmorerefined.Hehadonegoldtooth,acap,rightinthefrontonthebottom,anditwastheflawthatmadehimtoohandsometotakein—apirateflashinamanofunqualifiedhonor.Beforebasketballpracticeheatecerealoutofagiantmixingbowl,andpeanutbutterfromafive-gallonbucketthatcame,somehow,fromthegovernment.Onthecourthewasgraceandrage
personified;heshotfreethrowsasifinprayer,andweattendedeverygame.Therewassomethingbetweenhimandmyfatherthatflaredupblackasthefairytaleyoudon’trepeatorrecord,butinthegymnasiumDadnevertookhiseyesoffhissonandhecheeredhimwithanopennessweneversawanyplaceelse.ThereisevenaphotographthatappearedinDan’ssenioryearbook:Dad
isleaningforward,clapping,thelookonhisfaceoneofjoyouspride,andIamleaningoveronDad’sleg,yawning.Thecaptionwas“ExcitementforDadIsBoringforSister.”Myhairlookslikeithadbeenpurchasedatarummagesaleafteralltherealhairwasgone.HerearethethingsI
remember,andtheyaremine:oneHalloweenasMelinda
andIwerewalkinghomefromtrick-or-treatingwithLindy’sfriendCheryl,DannycamerunningdownadarkalleytowardusinaDraculacapeandwecouldn’tseehisfaceuntilhewasrightuponusunderastreetlightdimmedfortheoccasion,andallthreeofus,thegrowngirlsandme,nearlydiedfromheartattacks.Itwas,perhaps,themostfrightenedIhaveeverbeen,andyetassoonasI
knewitwasmybrotherhesweptmeupoffthegroundandcarriedmehomeonhisshoulders.ThatnightIlayinbed,stuffedwithReese’scupsandsurroundedbycandywrappersandIcouldn’tforgetit;ithadbecomeamomentnotofterrorbutofbeautysosharplyhonedithurtmeinsteadofscaringme.Iwantedtoseeitagainandagain—hisgreatsilentstride,thecapeflying
outbehindhim,thesplitsecondwhenthethreeofus,stunned,recognizedhimandclutchedourheartsandweregrateful.Girlscalledourhousefor
himandMothertookmessagesbecauseDannywouldn’ttalktothem,hewouldn’tdate,hewouldnottrifle.Abeautifulblondgirlpursuedhimformonths,agirlwhocouldhavehadanyone,andhestoodhis
groundmilesawayfromherbecausehewaswaitingforsomeoneelseandhehadn’tmetheryet.Helovedfossils;heloved
fishingandhunting.Hecouldshootabowandarrowandhitarunningrabbit.Hisvisionwasflawless,heneverlethishairtouchhiscollar,hebelongedtotheFellowshipofChristianAthletesandhesanginaChristiangroupcalledtheNewBeginning.
Hisvoicewassofineheevenmadearecord,aChristmassongaboutagianttreethatdidn’twanttobecutdownbutendedupinfrontoftheWhiteHouse.Hisroomwasnexttomine
anditwasgrayandfossilyandabovehisbedtherehunganoldframedpictureofawolfstandingonawinterhill,howling.Thereisavalleybelow,andlightsoninthesmallhouses,smokecoming
fromthechimneys,butthewolfisalone.Hesleptinhisbed,inasleepingbagandundermanyblankets,allthroughthewinter,nomatterthattherewasnoheatupstairs;therestofuscampedinthedenaroundthecoalstovebutDanstayedinhisroom.AtnightIusedtoliewith
myearpressedagainstthewallsoIcouldhearhimsing.Onenightheputonarecord
andsangalongwithit;heplayeditmanytimesuntilheunderstoodhowtosingitbetterthantherecording.Islippedoutofbedandlaydownonthefloorinfronthisdoor,myearinthegap,holdingmybreathsohewouldn’tknowIwaslistening.OnmylittlebluetaperecorderIhadcapturedhoursofuselessconversationandevenhoursoftelevision,butiftherewereonlythingI
couldgobackandpreserveitwouldbethatnightandhisvoiceandthatsong.Herancross-country;he
playedpracticaljokeswithhisfriends.OnetimemyfatherhithimsohardDannywasknockedhalfwayacrossourstreet,andwhenhegotuphedidn’tsayanythingordoanything,althoughbythattimehewassuchaspecimenofamanhecouldhavekilledBobJarvis.Thatmomentwas
themeasureofhim,andhedidnotfail,dependingonyourpointofview.Hereferredtothecrazyold
womanacrossthestreetas“Ede,”whichdroveheroffherremainingthreeinchesofcliff.Hesometimesaskedherondates.Edytheshook,hemadehersoangry;clearlyhedidnotunderstandtherules,whichwerethathewastobeafraidofherasIwasafraidofher,andhewastokeepa
distancewhichshedictatedandsheowned.Dannydidn’tseethingsEdythe’sway,andsohewasforcedonenighttowriteonthestreetoutsideherhouse,insoap,Ede!WillYouMarryMe??Andthenwegottositonthefrontporchandwatchherpourboilingwateronhisproposalandscrubatitwiththebroomshehadprobablyjustclimbedoffofafteratriptothebank.Likemyfather,hewasa
naturaldriverofanything,anyvehicle,andlikeDadhewasnotaversetodrivingangry.Heflexedhisjawmusclesalmostallthetimeandcouldnotbemadetoconverseifhechosenotto,butwithhisfriendshelovedtotellastoryandhelaughedandlaughed.Therewasneveratimehedidn’tloveJesus;therewasneveraperiodinhislifewhenhewasfaithless,andashegrewuphebecame
moreandmoredevout,andmorehurriedinhisdesiretoleavehome,whichhedid.HejoinedtheNational
GuardandtherewasbootcampatFortPolk,Louisiana.HewrotelettershomeandincludedapictureofhimselfonhisbunkinawhiteT-shirt,asweetsmileonhisfacewerarelysaw,andthenhecamehome.Hehadbecomeamanmeanttowearauniform.Uniformswereonlyconcepts
untilthefirsttimeDanJarvisworeoneandthentheuniversesteppedbackandsaidAh,sothat’swhotheywerefor.Hefoundagirlsopureshe
couldhavebeenmadefromIvorySoap.WhenIfirstmethersheseemedonlybarelyolderthanI,shewassopetiteandshy,andshehadthedelicatefacialfeaturesofacat:blue,almond-slantedeyes,highcheekbones,a
smallnose,longblackhair.Mysistersaidshewasasize“aught,”andmaybeherdresseswereeveninthenegatives.Elaine.Imetherandthoughtshemusthavebeenfloatingaroundinapuritybubbleallseventeenofheryears,nothingmeanorcrudetouchingher,butitturnedoutshewasstubborninhergoodnessandthat’showshehadkeptit.Shewassotendertomeandherhands
weresosmall;whenDangaveherhisletterjacketshelookedlikeachildadriftingiant’sclothes.WhereElainewasconcerned,quietasshewasamidourfamilyofscalawagsandjesters,therewasnothingnottolove,andDanmarriedherasfastashecould.Thehighschoolgirls,thelovelyblondeswithmoneyandlakehouses,disappearedlikedandelionfluff.
HeandElainegaveusourfirstnewbaby,Jenny,andshetoowasbreathtaking,andallofushadtoacknowledgethattherehadbeenacertainamountofbeauty,apoolavailabletoourfamily,andDannygotnearlyallofit,thengaveittohisdaughters,includingJessica,whocametwoyearslater.Andnoneofusresentedit,becauseyoucan’tresentthesublimewhenyouareluckyenoughtosee
it,andit’spointlesstoresentamanyoucannotreachortouch.Hetookhiswifeandlittlegirlsandmovedaway.
HerearememoriesIstole.HehadaterribletemperandMomaskedDr.Heilmanthebestwaytodealwithit.Dr.Heilmansaid,“Ifhethrowsatantrumtellhimyou’regoingtotakeawayhisfavoritethinguntilhecalmsdown.Thengiveitbacktohim.”
Dan’sfavoritethingwashisDavyCrockettcoonskincap,andoneafternoonwhenhelosthistemperMomsaid,“Danny,I’mtakingyourcapawayuntilyoucanbehaveyourself.Whenyou’redoneactingthisway,youcanhaveitback.”Helookedherdeadintheeye.Hewasthreeyearsold.Hesaid,“Idon’teverwantitback.”Andsheknewrightthenthatshehadsnappedalittlesomethingin
himentirelybyaccident,apartofhimthatmusthavebeenbornfearingthewayloveunzipsusandleavesusvulnerabletoassault.Hezippedthatpartup.Momnevertookanythingawayfromhimagain,butitwouldn’thavematteredifshedid.Shecouldnotpreventhim
fromsneakingoutsideandpeeingonthestreet.Whensheaskedhimwhyhe
insistedondoingso,hesaidhedidn’twanttomissanything;hewantedtowatchthecarsgoby.Hehadalittleredwagonin
whichhepulledaroundatombstone.Thetombstoneremainsamystery,buthelovedit.Theninwinterhewouldsilentlyleavethehouseinthemorning,pullthewagondowntotheelevator,andpickupscrapsofcoaltohelpusheatthehouse.Our
fatherdidn’thelphim,didn’tstophim,didn’tacknowledgeit,andDanperformedthistaskwithoutaword.Laterhedidmanythingsto
savemyfatherfromshame,andeventhoughthosethingsmighthavemadeDanfeelashamedhimself,theytooweredoneinsilence.Hewasjustaboy.Mysisterusedtohideunderherpillowandweepaboutthewagonandthedisgrace;shecouldn’t
bearit.Thosearehermemoriesbutshehaslentthemtome.
TheywereonefamilyandIwasanother,solate,anAfterthought.TheyhadonesetofparentsandIhadanother;theyhadadecadealreadyshotpastandImissedit.ButIlovedhim,lovedhim,alittlegirlishelplessagainstherloveforabrother.Iclimbedonhim,harassed
him,beggedhimtocarryme,takemewithhimwhereverhewasgoing.Fromadistanceheseemedbothcoldandreceding,amanwhosemostfamiliarfeaturewashisbackashewalkedawayasfastashecould.Buttherearepicturesofhim,manyofthem,holdingmeasababy,standingwithmeasalittlegirl,andtheeyeofthecameraseeswhatnearlyeveryonebutElainemissed:a
tendernesssowoundedithadgrownferociousandfixedastheeveningstar.Really,Ibarelyknewhim.Whenourfamily’sdarkestdaysarrivedhecouldnotbereached,hedemandedtobeleftalone,hewantednopartofit,andforyearsIbelievedhehatedus.Ithoughthehadsimplywanderedintothewrongfamilyinthefirstplace,likeatoddleratastrangepicnicwhogrewintothe
handsomestofprincesbutremainedboundbynameandhistorytothepeasantswhohadluredhimwithpotatosaladandatricycle.Intruth,iftherecouldbe
saidtobeonetruthaboutmybrother,itisthathecarriedbothatombstoneandscrapsofcoalinalittleredwagon,andwhatthatdidtohimandwhatitmeanttohimiswritteninaclosedbookinalibraryguardedbydragons.
Hesanglikeanangel,hewasfaithfultoGodandhewaitedhonorablyforthewifehebelievedGodchoseforhim.Hemadetwodaughterswhoshonelikemirrorsinthedirectsun;heblazedhispathwithascytheandhisbroadshoulders,andhewaswhohechosetobe,whichisthehardestandbravestthingamancando.Helookedatus,hisparents,hissisters,hiswholecrookedfamily,andhe
flexedhisjawmuscles,packeduphistruck,anddroveaway.
ChurchCamp
WhenMelindafoundoutshewaspregnantshetoldmeinthelibraryofmyelementaryschool,whereshe’dcometopickmeupafterschool.Istillrememberwhatshewaswearing:itwasearlyMarch
andshehadonapairofpaleblueandblackplaidpantswithapalebluemockturtleneck.Herhairwasinaponytailandshewaswearinggrayeyeshadow.Lindywasfriendswithourschoollibrarian,Mrs.M.,whowasmarriedtotheveryhandsome,tyrannicalbanddirector,Mr.M.Melindahadevenboughtapuppyfromthem,aparti-coloredcockerspanielnamedCallie.
Calliopia.ShewasoneofthosepreciouscockerswitheyeslikeaWaltDisneydog,nottheotherkindthatbitechildreninthefaceforkicks.Lindytoldme,andshetold
Mrs.M.atthesametime.Mrs.M.wasatall,gorgeous,elegantblondwomanwithperfectlystraighthairandaperfectlystraightnoseandteeth;shehadcomefromanotherplanet,obviously,andhadanauntshecalledDaDa.
Mrs.M.exclaimed,“That’ssowonderful!Congratulations!”andtouchedMelinda’sbellyinaproprietaryway.Sheaskedthestreamofquestionsthatwasboundtofollow,“Whenareyoudue,doyouwantaboyoragirl,whatdidRickdowhenyoutoldhim?”IjuststoodthereinJuvenileFiction,tryingtogetoutofreadinganotherbookbylocalauthorDorothyHamilton.
ShewaswonderfulandIwasveryveryhappywehadanauthorinIndiana(theyweren’tthickonthegroundintheHoosierState),andI’dalreadyreadaboutahundredofhernovels.WhatIreallywantedwassomethingbyJudyBlume,somethingnotaboutfreckles.IwasaimingforthescoliosisbookandprayingMrs.M.didn’tseemesneakitofftheshelf.JudyBlumewasthepersonal
saviorofeverygirlintheMoorelandElementarySchoolandIswearifnotforhernoneofuswouldhaveknownthefirstthingaboutthefirstthing.Ihadmyhandonthebook
butIwasn’tmoving,becauseMrs.M.andLindywerechatteringawayandMelindawaspregnant.Itwasn’tasifitshouldhavesurprisedme;she’dwantedababyeversinceshegotmarried.She’d
madeanurseryinherlittlehouserightaway,paintingabigsmilingyellowsunonthewallsoitwouldbethefirstthingthebabysawinthemorning.Shehadsewnwhiteeyeletcurtains,andevensetupacrib.Shehadmadearoomsoirresistiblenobabyfloatingintheheavenscouldresistit.Andonehadseenher,andflowndown.Iwashappyforherand
slightlysickatthesametime.
Therewasthepregnancysituation,whichwasmysteriousandatadghastly,andtherewasANewThingwheretherehadonlybeenmysisterandmebefore.ShecalledusWarBuddies.ShesaidwesharedthesamememoriesoftheTrenches.Ihadexactlyonesisterandsodidshe,amathematicalsituationthatseemedtosuitusbothfine.Yes,IwasaNuisanceandPestybutthe
preschoolerJesusknewIcouldkeepasecret.Notwithoutaprice,butIcouldholdontoinformationanyway.TherehadbeenthetimeshewasbabysittingmeandwedecidedtowalkovertothetrailerwhereRickwaslivingattheedgeofthepark(thisiswhentheyweredating),anentirelyforbiddenthingtodo,andMelindatoldmeifI’dwaitoutsideonthericketywirestepsandnottell
MomandDadshe’dbuymeanewjumprope.Iwasagreatjump-roper.IforcedhertotossinalittledollI’dseenandwesealedthedealandnotonewordwasutteredbyme.Igotthewholepackage,eventhoughshewasn’tintherebutacoupleminutes.Weleftfromschool
togetherandMelindaseemedveryhappy.“So,”shesaid,“doyouwantaboyoragirl?Anepheworaniece?”
Ishrugged,slippedtheJudyBlumenoveloutfromundermyshirtwhereI’dstolenit.“Idon’tcare.”“You’resuchagigantic
turd,”Melindasaid,lookingawayfromme.“Youare.”
Melindawasoneofthosepregnantwomenwhodon’tcomplainanddon’tgetweirdanddon’tsufferthesortofpsychosisthatmakessome
motherswanttosliceouttheirbabiestosavethemfromtheirownbabyevil.Shewasrelaxedandphilosophical,andastimepassedIbecamequitefixatedonwatchingforthebabytoturnorkickorhiccup,anythingtosuggesttherewasapersoninthere.Itwasgross,forsure,butalsoquiteinteresting.RickcalleduswhenLindy
wentintolaborandwedrove
tothehospitalinNewCastlewithoutsinging;everyonewasnervous.AllofMomandDad’schildrenhadbeenborninthesamehospital.ItwasearlyDecemberandbitterlycold;Daddrovewithcareonthesnowyroads.InthewaitingroommydadpacedandsmokedasifthiswereaCaryGrantfilm,andMomworkedonasweaterandmadefriendswithotherpeoplepassingthrough.I
staredattheclock.Everythingseemedreallyfestive,likewe’dallfoundourselvesinthemiddleofanaturaldisaster—trappedinacabininablizzard,orridingoutatornadoinashelter.IfIhadbeenasked,before
Melindahadababy,ifIknewwhatlovewas,Iwouldhavesaidsure.IwouldhavesaidIlovedTheBeverlyHillbilliesandGlenCampbell.IlovedMountainDew.Ireallyreally
lovedmybicycleandJulie’shorseAngel,andotherthingsinvolvingtransportation,likeridinginthebackofDad’struck,orliftingupmyshirtonasteaminghotdayinmysister’snewgreenImpala,thenlettingmybacksticktothevinylseat.Thenpeeeeelmyskinofftheseatandletthewindblowit.Thenleanbackandgetsweatyagain.Thenpeeeeeel.TherewasevenevidenceI
lovedmyparents,andIsurefeltsomethingformysister,althoughsometimesitwasapalmitchingtohither.Thenthedoubledoorsleadingtothedeliveryroomopened,andRickwalkedoutwithmynephewJoshinablueblanket,anditturnedoutI’dbeenrightaboutdisaster,becausethat’swhathappenedtomeassoonasIlookedatthebaby’sface.There’snootherwaytodescribethatsort
oflove.EvenifI’dbeenwarned,I’dhavegottenitwrong,Iwouldn’thaveunderstood.Mypassionforhimwaslikeacartoonanvilfallingonmycartoonhead.
MomandIwerewalkingtochurch.IwasthinkingaboutJosh,aboutwhetherMelindahaddressedhimwarmlyenoughandwhetherhehadtakenupanynewhabitssinceI’dseenhimthenightbefore.
Momwassaying,“Andaspecialofferingwastakenupjusttosendyou.TheMeetingispayingforyoutogo.”“I’msorry.Areyou
talking?”“Yes.Churchcamp.The
Meetingispayingforyoutogo.”“Idon’tcare,”Isaid,
kickingabigrockandhurtingmytoe.“Theycanjustgettheirmoneyback,becauseIain’tgoing.”
“Don’tsayain’t.Yes,youaregoing.”Mymomhadmademedo
someentirelyobjectionablethingsinthepast,thingsthatmademespittingmad.I’dbeenforcedtoweardresses,andtakeonebiteofspinach,andwashmyhair.Butshe’dneverinsistedonanythingthatscaredme,untilnow.Westoppedonthecorner
ofCharlesandJefferson,rightatReedandMaryBall’s
house,andlookedbothways.Nothingwascoming.“Icannotpossiblygoto
churchcamp,andIwon’tgotochurchcamp,andifyoutrytoforcemeI’llgodowntothewoodsattheedgeoftheparkwhereyousaytheremightbebadmenandIwillhopafreighttrainwiththem.”Shetookmyhandaswe
crossedthestreet,outofhabit.Ipulleditaway.
“You’lllovecamp.There’sabeautifullakethere,andcabins,andyoucanplaygamesandsleepinthewoods.Youloveallthatstuff.”Istoppedwithmyhandon
thedoortotheMoorelandFriendsChurch.“No,Icertainlydonot.Notanymore.Ican’tabideanyofthosethingsyoujustnamed.”Wewalkedinsidequietly,
andmyeyesautomatically
scannedthepewsforMelindaandherlittlefamily.NotsolongagoIonlywantedtositwithAndyHicksandLaurieLee.Buteverythinghadchanged.IsteppedoverOnisHatcher,averyfatoldwomanwithabrightpinkscalp,asifshewasn’tthere.MelindawasholdingJoshagainsthershoulder.Shedressedhimlikeeverydaywaspictureday,andonthisSundayhewaswearinga
knittedwhitejumpsuitwithahoodthatmadehimlooklikealamb.Thehoodevenhadears.Ifeltsomethinginmystomach,somethinglikejoymixedupwithblindpanic.“Givehimtome,”Iwhispered,andLindyhandedhimover.HisnecksmelledlikebabylotionandhissuitsmelledlikeDreft.Hewassoperfecthecouldhavebeenababyinapainting,oronthefaceofmoney.Nowaywas
Mothergoingtomakemegospendaweek(sevendays!)withabunchofstrangeChristiansIdidn’tknowanddidn’tinmywholelifeeverwanttoknow.Nowaywasshegoingtomakemeleaveahelplessbaby.Melindawasagreatmomandall,shereallyunderstoodthewholelamb-suitconcept,butIfelt,deepinmyheart,thattheonlythingthatstoodbetweenJoshandtragedywasmyconstant
attention.Hewasfivemonthsold.Hegurgled,blewaspitbubble,raisedalittlefist,andhitmeinthecollarbone.Helovedmebest;itwasperfectlyclear.
NotonlydidIhavetogotochurchcamp,I’dendedupgettingplacedintheteenagerweek,becausemyownagegroupwasfull.Iwasn’tsurethenewscouldgetworse.MaybeifMomhadsaid,
“Andoh,bytheway,crazyEdythefromacrossthestreetwillbetherewhistlingandbangingonanout-of-tunepiano.Andyou’llbeeatingrabidboarandhominy,”maybethenIwouldhavebeenmorescared.I’dseensometeenagersinmyday,andithadn’tbeenpretty.TheonlypersonthereIwouldknowwasanolderHicksboy,Robin,whowasnicejustlikealltheHickses,andvery
nicetome,butIfearedhemightholdasecretgrudge,becauseoncewhenwewereplayingHotPotatointhebackyardIthrewtheHotPotatowithmaybejustslightlytoomuchenthusiasmandbrokeoneofhisfrontteethinhalf.I’mtalkingaboutoneofhisbig,front,permanentteeth.Brokeitrightintwo.AndneitherhenoranyoftheotherHickseshadeveractedliketheywere
madatmeaboutit.Itseemedtobejustanotheraccident.Therulesatchurchcamp
weresimpleenough.GirlshadtowearaT-shirtovertheirbathingsuitswhileswimminginthelake,evenifthesuitwasaone-piece.EveryonehadtobringaBible.Daysweredevotedtoactivities;afternoonswereBiblestudy;afterdinnerwaschapel.Everynight.Churcheverynight.Theboys’camp
wasdividedfromthegirls’byawidetrail,calledtheMason-DixonLine,andbythecounselors’cabins.Camperscommittingseriousinfractionswouldbeaskedtoscrubthepierwithatoothbrush,whichdidn’tsoundsopacifisttomeandwhichMelindahadbeenforcedtodowhensheherselfwasacamper.Myfamilyalreadyhadahistoryonthatpier.
Threeweekslater,earlyonaSaturdaymorning,Isatonthefloorofthelivingroom,packingandrepackingmyfewbelongingsinmyArmybackpack.MysisterhadlentmehernumberonefavoriteT-shirtformodestswimming.ItwaswhiteandhadMickeyMouseonthefront(theolder,skinnyMickeyMousewhostilllookedsomethinglikearodent).IhadmylittlepinkNewTestament,whichIhad
nointentionofopening.Ihadmynoseplugs;abottleofChigarid;abottleofCampho-Phenique;asmallcanofOff!;mycowboypajamas;acouplechangesofclothes;andatowel.Momwasgoingtomakemetakeatoothbrush,eventhoughtherewasnopoint.IthoughtImightburstintotearsatanymoment.IknewthatjustdownthestreetJoshwaswakingup,smearingbreakfast
everywhereandmakinghisnew“oooooo”sound,wonderingwherehisauntiewas.HeprobablybelievedI’dtakenupwithsomeother,lesserchild.Momcameinandsawme
sittingonthefloor,bereft.“I’vegotsomethingsfor
youtotakewithyou,”shesaid,holdingastackofclothesandathinwhitebag.“Whatarethose?”Iasked,
pointingtotheclothes.They
lookedsuspiciousanddegrading.“Well,youhavetoweara
skirttochapeleverynight,and—”“WHAT?”“Andpantyhose.It’sa
rule.”Ifellstraightbackonthe
floor,bonkingmyheadsohardIsawstars.“Youhateme.”“Situp.YouknowIdon’t
hateyou,Iloveyou.Now.I
borrowedtheseskirtsandblouses,someofthemmightbealittlebig…”Itriedtomakemyheart
speedupandkillme,thewayrabbitscould.“…soI’vesentsomesafety
pins.Justgatheruptheextra.”DownthestreetMelinda
wassaying,“Who’sagoodboy?Who’saperfectcerealeater?”AndJoshwassmackinghishandsupand
downonhishigh-chairtray,slingingsquashyriceandbananaseverywhere,gleefully.“Andpantyhose?”Isaid,
nowveryclosetotears.“HaveIdonesomething?”Iquicklycorrectedmyself.“Somethingnew,Imean?”“Thepantyhosearealso
notgoingtofit,unfortunately,”Momsaid,tuckingtheminmybackpack.“Justpullthemallthewayup
androllthetopsdownasbestyoucan.Andyou’llneedtotakeyoursaddleoxfordsforchurch,notjustyoursandals.Oh”—Momheldoutthewhitepaperbag—“andhere’stheotherthing.”“Whatisit,”Iasked,not
evenasaquestion.“It’sstationery.Thereare
stampsontheenvelopesalready,soallyouhavetodoiswritetousandmailit.Doyouknowouraddress?”
Isighed.Forheaven’ssake,sheactedasifI’dbeeninaterriblecaraccident.“Yes,jeez.Areyoureallygoingtomakemedothis?”“Makeyouwriteletters?”“No,makemegofaraway
tothisbadplace!Areyoureallygoingtomakemego?”“Sweetheart,”Mombegan,
sittingdownontheedgeofthecouch.“Thisexperiencewillbelikelotsofotherthingsinlife:you’llbe
reluctantatfirst,andthenyou’lldiscoveryou’rehavingawonderfultime,andastheyearsgobyyou’lllookbackonitwithgreatfondness.”“Doesthatmeanyouare
goingtomakemego?”Mompulledoutherbig
gun,asmottoeswent,andshehadamillion.Shegenerallysavedittotheend.“Happinessisadecision.Youdecidehowhappyorunhappyyou’regoingtobe.”
Istoodupandgrabbedmybackpackbythestrap.ImarchedouttothetruckwhereDadwassittingwaitingforus.Hehadhisarmoutthewindowandacupofcoffeeinhishands,asifhewerealreadyontheway.Iclimbeduponmyboxnexttohim.“Readytogo,Zip?”he
asked,startingthetruck.“Yes,butI’vedecidedtobe
unhappyaboutit.”
“Ah.Beentalkingtoyourmom,Iguess.”Momcameoutandgotin
thetruckwithus.“Okay,let’sgo!”shesaid,cheerfully.“Shallwesingonthistrip?”
Therewerefivegirlsinmycabinbesidesme,allofthembetweenfifteenandseventeen.AtfirsttheythoughtImightmakeanexcellentmascot.Onesaidshehadalittlesisterathome,
andshe’dbehappytoteachmehowtoapplymakeup.Imadeavomitface,politely.Withinaboutsevenminutes,allthegirlshadrealizedIwasnotgoingtobethesortoflittlesisteranyofthemhadeverwanted,andtooktoignoringme.Ilayonmyupperbunk
whilethegirlsarrivedonebyone.Therewasnothingtodountillunchtime.I’dalreadylookedattheallegedly
beautifullake(itwasalake;I’dseenplenty),andthepierIwasundoubtedlygoingtohavetoscrubwithatoothbrush(intimidating),thedininghall(institutional),thechapel(rustic,theendoftheworld).Lunchtime.MelindawouldfeedbabyJoshandputhimdownforanapinhislittleyellownurseryroomwiththesunnyfacepaintedonthewall.Mystomachstartedtoache.Whatifshe
puthimtooclosetohisstuffedbear?Whatifsheforgottowindhismobile?Whatifshesetthehouseonfireagain?Isatuponmybunkandput
myheadbetweenmykneesandtookdeepbreaths.Thegirlswerechatteringwithoneanother.Itseemedtheyallhadverydramaticproblemsthattheytookdeadseriously.Noneofthemmentionedbabiesorburninghouses.
RichGirl’sparentshadn’taccompaniedhertocamp,they’dhadherflowntosomerinky-dinkairportinshedidn’tevenknowwhattownandthendrivenherebyastrangerwhosmelled.Onegirlhadaboyfriendwhohadn’tcalledhersincehe’dgottentohisgrandparents’houseinNevada,andshe’dhadtohavesurgeryonherkneesbecauseshe’dalreadywornthemoutwithsports.Thisgirlhad
takentousingsomethingcalleddryshampoowhileshewasrecoveringinthehospital,andnowsheuseditallthetime.Itcameinacanlikehairspray.SportsGirlbentoversoherheadwasupside-downanddemonstrated.Herlongstraightblondhairfellnearlytothefloor.Shesprayedherscalpwiththeaerosol,whichlookedalittlepowdery,thenflippedherhairupand
brusheditwiththesamesortofblack-bristlebrushmysisterused.Mysister,Melinda.Itwassummer,Iremindedmyself.Shewouldn’tbeusingtheFranklinstovewhenthetemperaturewas88degrees.Thethirdgirlfeltherselftobeunderaninhumanamountofstrain,becausesheplayedonherschool’svolleyballteam,butwasalsoin4-H,andwouldprobablybethe
valedictorianofherclass.Valedictorianmadevaguereferencetoaboyfriendwhopressuredher.Theothergirlsallnoddedinagreement.Thefourthgirlwas,evenbymymodeststandards,sophysicallytragicshecouldn’tpossiblyknowwhatboyfriendpressurefeltlike.Shewasn’tallowedtowearmakeup,shesaid,andevenIcouldseeshedesperatelyneededit.Infact,she
probablyneededsurgery.Shehadalmostnoeyebrowsandnoeyelashes,sosheappearedstartledanddesperate.Herhairwasbrownandfrizzy;shehadterribleacne,andherteethwereyellow.IwatchedthegirlsverysubtlyshiftawayfromUgly,actingatfirstasifshewereoneofthem,asiftheywereinterestedinher,andthenasifshewereinvisible.Andthenthelastgirl
entered,lateandoutofbreath,allapologies.“Hi,I’mClaire,”shesaid,butfromtheexpressionsoftheothercampers,Chermightaswellhaveintroducedherself.“Ijustgothere,whichbunkisleft,oh—good,I’lljusttakethatone.Whatadrive,IthoughtI’dnevermakeit,Ihategettingupinthemorning.Hi,whoareyou?”Thegirlspresented
themselvesonebyone,
remindingClairethatthey’dbeenatcampwithherforthepastthreeyears.“Andwhoareyou?”she
asked,poppingherheadupoverthetopofmybunkandgivingmewhatbyallaccountswasawinningsmile.“YoucancallmeZippy,”I
said,studyingher.Herdarkbrownhairwasshinyandlikeliquid,chin-length,andwaspulledoffherfacewitha
rolled-upredbandanna.Theeffectmadeherlookcasual,evenwoodsy,andefficient.Herskinwasflawlessandtanned,andhereyeswerethewarmestchocolatecolorI’deverseen.Shehadnarrow,fineeyebrows;fulllips;andteethsostraighttheycouldhavecomefromaChrissydoll.ThelittleredshirtandwhiteshortssheworemadeeverythingaboutClaireclear:shewasfullybaked.
“Well,hello,Zippy.Iguesswe’rebunkmates.”“Ireckonso.”Clairelookedattheother
campers,pointedbackatmewithherthumb.“Shereckons.”Theyalllaughed,notwhollyatmyexpense.Clairemovedhersuitcases
overbesideherbunkandfloppeddowndramatically.“JesusH.Lord!”shesaid.“I’vegotcrampssomethingawful.”
Ileanedovermybunktoseewhatwaswrongwithher.SometimesafterridingmybikealldayIgotcharleyhorsesinmylegsthatmademelight-headed.Theothergirlsinthecabin
allflutteredaroundClairelikehens.“Pooryou!”“Doyouneedsome
aspirin?”“Didyoubringaheating
pad?”“Wouldyoulikemeto
bringyourlunchbacktoyou?”ClairelookedatUglywith
awide-eyedvulnerability.“Wouldyou?Howsweetyouallare!Lunchwouldbegreat,andaspirinifyou’vegotit.Oh,andiftheyserveCokewithlunchbringmeonebutifit’smilkforgetit.Unlessit’schocolatemilk.”Uglydashedovertoher
suitcaseandrippedapageoutofadiarywithanorange
sherbet-coloredcover(whichborethetitleAllAboutMe)andbeganwritingwithalittlepencil.ShetookClaire’sorderasifwewereallatBill’sdinerinNewCastleonfriedchickennight.Iwatchedtheproceedingswitharaisedeyebrow.“Oh,”Clairesaid,
rememberingonemorething.“There’llbeaboyatlunchnamedScott,youcan’tmisshim.He’sgotbrownhairand
he’stanandthin.Andtall.He’llbewearingajerseyfromTri-Highcross-countrywiththenumber17ontheback.JusttellhimI’mhere.”Aftertheothergirlshadleft
thecabin(whisperingaboutScott,whoeverhewas),Ijumpeddownoffmybunkandheadedforthedoor.“Hey,Zippy,”Clairesaid.
ShewasraisedupononeelbowholdingabookcalledThey’llNeverMakea
MovieStarringMe.“Yeah?”“Remembermeinyour
prayersatlunchtime,”shesaid,smiling.Ilookedatherbandanna;at
thepinktoenailpolish.Inoticedforthefirsttimethatshewaswearingalittlesilverchainaroundherankle.“Surething,”Isaid.Ididn’tbothertellingherthatIwasn’tmuchforpraying,andevenifIhadbeen,Iwouldn’thavewasted
mytimeonsomebodywhoalreadyhadeverything.
LunchwassoupandgrilledcheesesandwichesandtherewascertainlynoCoketobehad,whichClairewouldhaveknownifshe’dbeenanysortofQuaker.ButIwasbeginningtounderstandthattherewasaworldofdifferencebetweenQuakerA(thePhiladelphiasort,whospentthewholehourin
silenceandforwhomnoonewasincharge)andQuakerB(ourkind,whohadministersandSundayschoolandlovedtosingsongs).ThisexperiencewaspotentiallygoingtobeQuakerC(morelikethePentecostals,wherepeopleactuallygottheFruitsoftheSpiritandfelldownslain).Isensedweepingandsalvationintheair,twoofmyleastfavoritethings.Beforelunchwehadprayedfora
loooooongtime,longerthanwasrespectableandsomethingcertainlyprohibitedbyPaul’sLettertotheHebrews,wherehesaysprayershouldbeprivateandsilent.Butwhoaskedme.Iatealone.Iwalkedback
tomycabinalone.ThewoodsaroundQuakerHavenweredenseandhearingpeopletalkingbutnotbeingabletoseethemwasfestive,andIwouldhavegivenanything
nottobethere.InthehoursfollowinglunchweweretoreadourBibles(ohfattestofchances)andthenmeditateonwhatwe’dreadthere.InsteadIgotoutmystationeryandwrotemyfirstletter:
DearMomlisten.JoshlikestohaveTOOpugsnotjustone,helikestokeepthebluepuginonecornerofhismouthandthepinkoneinthe
othercornerthisishisfavriteway.ItlookssillyandfunnyandIthinkthat’swhyhedoesit.NowIknowitiswarminthedaysbutthenightscanstillbechillysotellMelindatomakesuresheputsonhisBLUEfuzzyjacketwiththeHOODandtoputthehoodUPandTIEIT.AlsosheshouldattachBOTHpugstotheDonaldDuckthingybecauseheisforeverspittingthemout.Shewillremember
thattimeinkmartwhenwesearchedhighandlowforthebluepugandwhenwegothomeitwasINSIDEthebluefuzzyjacket.Makesureshedoesnotcookwithgreasewiththeflametohighandremindheritisflournotwaterthatputsthosefiresoutassheprobablycanrecallanyway.Ihatethisplaceandwanttocomehomeitismeanthatyoumademecome.How’sDadandallthe
animals?Howareyou,Imissyoueventhoughyoudidthisverymeanthing.Love.Xoxo
IwasflatwornoutfromwritingthatletteranditsureseemedIwouldneverwriteanother.Forgoodmeasure,andbecausesomeoftheothergirlswereinthecabin,IflippedthroughmylittlepinkNewTestament,readsomeofmystolenJudyBlumebook,thenlaydownandtookanap.
Wedidallthecounselorshadthreatened:wecanoed,weswam,weplayedtetherball.AllwasdonewithprayerandwiththeferventhopeJesuswouldbepresent.Perhapssomebuiltdams,Idon’tknow.Idideverythingalone.Thenitwastimeforchapel,andwewentbacktoourcabinstochange.ThiswasapparentlyaveryimportantmomentinthelivesofRichGirl,SportGirl,
Valedictorian,Ugly,andClaire,becauseitmeanttheygottoseeoneanotherrelativelyundressedasiftherewereacontest,whichanyonejustwalkingintheroomfortheveryfirsttimewouldseewasnocontestatallbecauseClairehadwonbeforeshearrived.Sheputonalittleblueskirt,therequisitepantyhose,andawhitesweaterwithherinitialsembroideredaboveone
breast.Shehadshoweredafterswimmingandnowherdarkhairfellperfectlystraighttoherchin.Theblousemymothersent
hadperhapsbelongedtooneofherfriendsatchurch,becausetheshoulderskeptslippingoffme.Iknewsafety-pinningwascriticalbutwhere?Howtosafety-pinsomethingtoyourshoulder?Thentherewastheplainbrownskirt,sobigIhadto
doublethewaist,andeverytimeIputthepininandfastenedit,itjustpoppedbackopenandstabbedme.IfoundthatifIpinnedittotheminimumamountoffabricitwouldstayclosed,soItookmychances.Thentherewerethepanty
hose.Claire’sweresosheerandnudelytheywerejustcalledNude.MinewereacrossbetweenaBand-AidandSillyPutty,andMomhad
beencorrect,theywerequeensize.Iwrangledthemon,rolledthetopdown,rolleditdownagain.Itwasnevergoingtowork,soIendedupputtingmyunderwearonOVERthepantyhosetokeepthemup,somethinganoldwomaninchurchusedtodowhenherdementiareallygotupandgoing.Istuffedtheoversizepantyhosefeetinmysaddleoxfordsandfollowedmycabinmates
downthepathtothechapel.
Theministerwasanemotionalmanwhowasdeeplyconcernedaboutthetemptationsfacingusasteenagers.Ihadnotyetmetasingletemptationthathadn’tworkedtomyadvantage,somostlyIstaredathim.Wehadtosingalotofold-timeyemotionalsongsaboutthebloodofJesusandthepoweroftheCross,andsureenough
theministergotteary-eyed,andhiswife,awomanwholookedlikeagiantcanary,wasflatdistraught.Icouldfeelit—Icouldfeelsomethingbuildinglikeahigh-pressuresystem,andIdidnotlikeit.“Margie,”MinisterBob
saidtohisbirdwife,“play‘ICome’forus,slowandquiet,whileIinvitetheseboysandgirlstojoinmeatthealtarforprayerandhealing.Thisis
whatyou’vecomeherefor,myfriends,toinvitetheLordJesusintoyourheartpermanently.I’mgoingtostandherewithmyeyesclosedandletthepoweroftheLordworkitswaydownthroughmybody,andyoujustcomeondowntothealtarandlettheLordfillyou.Ifyou’renotready,justkneeldownandcloseyoureyesandprayalongwithyourbrothersandsisters.”
Kneeldown?Ilookedatthefloorofthechapel;itwasroughboardswithgapsbetweenthemwideenoughtohold—andthiswasjustinmylineofsight—abobbypinandtwopennies.IwasaQuaker,notaKneeler.RosekneltatSt.Anne’sbutCatholicswerepreparedforthissortofthingandthoughtfullyprovidedalittlepaddedrailfortheoccasion.“Justgoaheadandgeton
yourkneesandasktheLordwhatHewouldhaveyoudo,”MinisterBobsaid,readingmymind.Allaroundmeobedientcamperswerestrugglingdowntothefloor,andMargieCanarywasplayingthesamebitsoftheslowhymnoverandover,tryingtohypnotizeus.Igaveupandknelt,joinedthepeoplearoundme,cursingMinisterBobandmymotherandindeedthewholeof
Christendom.Iwatchedwiththestink-eyeasanumberofpeoplewenttothealtarandgothandslaidonthem.Therewasmuchweepingfollowedbyjoy,andIhatedeveryonethere,andwhenIstoodup,thekneeshadtorninmyqueen-sizepantyhose.
Weweresupposedtolearntosailontheperfectlyflat,windlesslake,soI
volunteeredtocleanthekitcheninstead.DuringtheNatureWalkIofferedtostraightenourcabinandtakeClaire’sturnatlatrineduty.IhadnoexperiencecleaninganythingandIvolunteered—suchwasthedepthofmydespondency.EverydayIwrotehometoMom,lettersmoreandmorebitterandfrantic,certainthatJoshhadforgottenmeorthatMelindahadshovedhislittlehead
throughthebarsofhiscribbyforgettingtotiedownthebumperpad.“ThebumperpadmustbeTIEDSECURLY,”Iwrote,“evenifitlookslikeit’sontheirfineTIEITAGAIN.”Joshwasblond,blue-eyed,aperfectperfectAmericanangelspecimenofrightness.“Youknowhe’sgotthatlittlewhitehatthatlookssomelikeGilligans,asortofbabyfishinghat.Nowyoushould
makesureLindyputsthatonhimbeforegoingoutinthesunorelsethestrawberrymarkonhisheadwillgetevenbrighterandmaybesunburn,IverymuchhopeyouarenotjustthrowingtheselettersawaybutgivingthemtoMelindawhoasyouknowHASBEENKNOWTOSETTHEHOUSEAFIRE.”
Onthesecondnightofchapel
Iworethetornpantyhoseandbelieveditmightshamemeforever.Alltheothergirlshadbroughtmorethanonepair.Ididnotacceptthealtarcall,andMrs.Canarybegantogivemeboththebird-eyeandthebeak.Clairedevelopedsuchbadcrampsfrombeingreligiousthatonthewalkbacktothecabin,Scott,whoboreanunhealthyresemblancetoShawnCassidy,wasallowedto
supporther,eventhoughitmeantbreachingtheboycamper/girlcamperline.Clairewascryingandlimpingalittle,andInoticedasmallgoldcrossonadelicategoldchainagainstherthroat.Scottheldhertenderly,andbackinthecabinalltheothergirlsministeredtoherandshewasgrateful.ACokeevenappeared,asifJesushimselfhadsentheragift.
OnthethirddayIaskedtousetheofficetelephone,explainingthatmyfamilywaspronetoemergencyappendectomies(true)andIbelieveditwasmytime.MomansweredthephoneandIsaid,“Well,nowI’vegoneandgottenreallysickandit’stimeformyappendixtocomeout.”“Isthatright,”shesaid.I
heardherturnthepageofa
book.“Yes.Idon’tbelieveIneed
toremindyouthatDanny’sburstontheoperatingtableandhadtoberemovedwithaspoon,andifyou’dwaitedtoolongyou’dbesonless.”“Tellmewhatyour
symptomsare,”Momasked,withoutinflection.Mymothercouldnotabideasickpersoninanyform,notfevers,burns,protruding
bones,heaving,headaches,diabetes,oramputations.ShehadoncebeenaChristianScientistandithadgotteninherlikeavirusandeventhoughshehadbeenaQuakersincelongbeforeIwasborn,shestillbelievedtheSevenBeautifulDaughtersoftheSevenBeautifulKingswerePerfectlyHealthyWithinUs.“I’vegotanacheinmy
side.”That’swhatIrememberedfromwhenJulie
hadit.“Whereinyourside.”
Again,thiswasnotaquestion.“Over,youknow,between
myribsandtherestofme.”“Whichside?”Blastthewoman!Blasther
eyeballs!Ionlyhada50–50chanceandthosewerenotgoododdsasanydaughterofBobJarviswouldknow.IdidtheonlythingIcould:Iguessed.“Theleft.”
“I’llseeyouattheendoftheweek,sweetheart,”shesaid,hangingup.
IwouldnotsingKum-Bye-Yaaroundthecampfire.IwouldroastmarshmallowsbutIwouldnotsing.Iwouldnotplaygamesoftaginthedark,wheretheboysandgirlswereallowedtohuntforoneanother,andfindeachother,inwaysthatmademyveinsruncold.Theairwas
desperate,scentedwithblood.Isnuckbackintothemesshallandwashedallthetableswithbleach.
Duringthedaysweswam.Scottwasalifeguardandworepracticallynothing,justtrunks,sunglasses,andawhistlearoundhisneck.HelookedlikehewaspreparingforalifeasananemicErikEstrada.TheT-shirtClaireworeoverherstringbikini
somehowmanagedtobemorerevealingthanthesuititself.EverydayshewouldswimlanguidlyouttothedockwhereScottwassitting.She’dpullherselfupslowly,waterstreamingoffherasifshewereaseal,thensitinthechairnexttoScottwhereitwasperfectlyobviousnooneelsewasallowedtosit.Theywouldtalk,andthensomethingfriskywouldhappenandwrestlingwould
commence,andClairewouldgetthrowninthewater,andthewholethingwouldbeginagain.Ilayonaninnertubenotfarfromtheshore,floatingaroundincirclesinMelinda’sMickeyMouseT-shirt,watching.
IdidnotacceptJesusasmypersonalsavioronTuesdaynight,orWednesday,orThursday,orFriday.Mypantyhosewerenowin
shreds.ItwasFridaynightthatClairedecidedtogo,havingwaitedformosteveryoneelsetotaketheirmomentupfrontwithMinisterBob.ItturnedoutthatwhenClairedidopenherheartitwasawide,wideavenue,becauseshesobbedandvowedtochangeallhersecretways,andBobwassomovedhekepthishandsonheralongtime,andMrs.Canarybobbedherheadso
steadilyitappearedshemightgoallthewaydownandtakeadrinkofwater.Nearlyeveryoneweptthatnight.Istayedonmybruised,abradedkneesandimaginedthelightinJosh’snurseryfirstthinginthemorning,thewayhewokeupbabblingahappybabylanguage.Clairewassosaved,asamatteroffact,thatScotthadtowalkherbacktothecabin,onlyhalfwaytheretheytookaturn
anddisappearedintothewoodsandIwastheonlyonetoseethemgo.
AtbreakfastonSaturdaymorning,whichwouldbeourlastfulldayandnightatchurchcamp,Mrs.CanarytoldmethatIwastheonlycamperwhohadnottakenthewalktothealtar.Shehadtearsinhereyesasshesaidthis,andtoldmethatitwasa
greatpaintoMinisterBobandtoallthestaffbutmostespeciallytoJesushimself.Couldn’tIjust?sheaskedme.Couldn’tIjustputwhateverwasstoppingmeasideandaccepteternalsalvation?AndifIcouldn’t,didIrealizeIwouldn’tbeabletoattendthegoing-awaysockhopthatnight?BecauseIcouldbeaninfluence,shesaid,stillonthevergeofcrying.Icouldbeadark
influenceonallthebeautifulsoulswhohadalreadysaidyes.
AtchapelSaturdaynightthemomentforthealtarcallcameandIcouldnotmove.Becauseitwasthelastnight,likethelastnightofafair,everybodystreamedpastme,makingmystubbornnessevenmoreapparentandperverse.Therewasloudprayingandshouting;Claire,
Ithink,cameclosetofainting,andthereIstayed,onmyknees.ThesafetypininmyskirthadcomeundoneandwasperformingtheappendectomyIdidn’tyetneed.Theoldbirdatthepianowatchedmewithheroneblackeye,andIwatchedherback,andwhenweleftthechapelthatnighteveryoneelseheadedtothedininghallforthesockhopandIheadedbacktothecabin.
Isatonthefrontstoopinmycutoffshorts,barefoot.MyT-shirtandbathingsuitandtowelwerehangingonthelineinthemoonlight,drying,andforsomereasonIfoundthesightveryreassuring.Noonewasaround;thecricketswerenoisy,andIcouldhearthemusicfromthedancecomingupthehillveryclearly,butitwasn’tformeandIdidn’twantit.Iheardfootstepsandfearedan
assaultbyaministerialbrigade,butitturnedoutjusttobeRobinHicks,myneighbor.Hesaid,“Hey,you.”Isaid,“Hey,Robin.”Hesmiledatmeandthere
wasthatbrokentooth—Ihaddonethatandhestilllikedmejustfine.Hewasseventeen,andIwaseleven.“Icameupheretoseeifyou’dliketodance.”Thesongthatbeganwas
“If,”byBread,asongIalreadyfoundsopainfullybeautifulIcouldn’taddittomyrecordcollectionathome.Ifafacecouldlaunchathousandships,thenwhereamItogo?Istoodupintheleavesandpinetwigs,andtookasteptowardRobin.Heverygentlyputonehandonmywaistandoneonmyrightshoulder,andweswayedsoslowlyIbettothestarsitlookedlikeweweren’t
movingatall.Whenthesongwasoverhekissedthetopofmyheadandwalkedbackdowntothedance,andIwentinsidethecabintopack.Togohome.
HairlessTails
Ourthreefaceshadseenbetterdays.Rosewassittinginherbackyardstudiouslyavoidingbeesoranyreferencetobees,becauseshehadbecomeconvincedthatshewasallergictothem.Shenolongerwalkedbarefoot
becauseofthepremeditatedwaybeeshungaboutinthegrassexactlywhereherfootmightland.Hersting-allergyfearwasunrelated(exceptperhapsatsomeverydeeplevel)tothefactthatthewholeleftsideofherfacewasswollenandbruised,theresultofadogbitebyaSaintBernardatafamilyreunion.Thedog,agrownmalewhohadbeenunprovoked,hadgoneforhereye—hergood
eye,theonethatdidn’twander—andhadmissedbyaboutaquarterofaninch.Shewasfull-outtraumatized,andIfearedbythedejectedwayshewassittingthatshemightbecomeafraidofanythingwithteeth,anythingwithstingers,andeventually,anythingwithseeds,likeawomaninourchurchwhowasconstantlypointingouttheseedsincertainvegetablesandfruits.
Threedaysearlier,Maggie,inanactofderring-do,hadtwistedtheringsontheswingsetuntiltheywereonlyabouttwoincheslong,thenhungonthemastheyrightedthemselves.Bytheendshehadlookedlikealittletornado.Herfeetgotoutofcontrol,andthemomentummovedupherbody,endingwithherhead,whichsmackedagainsttheswingsetataboutthespeedofsound.
Remarkably,thesoftpartofhertempleconnectedexactlywithoneoftheswingsetbolts,whichenteredherheadasifithadbeenmadeofbutter.Shehadrequiredstitches,andnowthesideofherheadwasallagreeny-yellowbruise,andsherefusedtoleaveherbandageon,sothestitcheswerecrawlingacrosshertemplelikeablackbug.Afterbraggingtogreat
excess,andformanyyears,thatIwasimmunetopoisonivy,Ihadcontractedadeadlycaseofpoisonsumacwhilecampingthepreviousweekend.Itwas,apparently,arareformofcreepingrash,becauseithadbeguninthebendofmyelbow,hadcrawledallthewayupmyarm,myshoulder,andmyneck,andwascurrentlyinflamingtheleftsideofmyface.Itoldallthewhitetrash
kidsintownitwasleprosy,whichmadethemruninsidetotheirfatmamas.Rosewassodeeplyworried
byherdogbiteandMaggie’sheadinjurythatIdidn’tknowwhattosuggestwedo.MyboredomandherquietnesswerebothsoacutethatIstartedtofeelspooked.Maggiewassittingontheswing,notreallyswinging,becauseherheadinsideswerestillwobbly.
Rose’shousewasborderedatthebackandononesidebyalleys;acrossthesidealleysatanabandonedhouse.Itwasagood-lookinghouse,asfarasIwasconcerned,althoughithadoccurredtomethatIcovetednearlyeveryhouseintown,andspentafairamountoftimeimagininglivinginthem.Thisonewaslarge,wooden,andhadavarietyofshapes,likeahouseawitchwould
livein.Atthebackwasanenclosedsittingporchthathadfloor-to-ceilingwindowswithsomanysmallpanesthattheyhadprobablybeencleanedonceinthepastcentury,andthenbysomeoneconscripted,asatonementforactsofpublicindecency.ThesittingporchwastheonlypartofthehouseIhadexplored—therestwastoofrightfulevenforsomeoneasintrepidandwithsuchlow
standardsasmyself.Whatstoppedmeinthelivingroom,inadditiontothegeneralmetrictonofdetritus,wasapairofmen’soveralls,lyingspreadoutinthedoorwayasiftheiroccupanthadsimplyvanishedwhilecrawlingintothehouse.Somethinghadeatenaholeclearthroughthebottomandintothecrotch,andIwasdeeplyafraid,notoftheholeorthecrotchbutofthe
Something.Thesittingporch,however,wasaboutascivilizedassomepartsofmyownhouse.Thereweresomemetalchairsstillarranged,byaccident,asiftoaccommodatealongconversationoverlemonade.ThefloorwascoveredwithbrokenBalljars.Walkingonthemcreatedanoisethatwasakintoawhole,dreadfullifetimeoftoothgrinding.Ienjoyedit.Thereweresome
intactjarsintheretoo,blueonesandgreenonesthathadbubblesrightintheglass,andoldwhiskeybottles.Iconsideredtellingmydadaboutthem,butitwasaprivateplace,asfarassuchthingswent.SittinginRose’syardthat
day,IcouldseehercatSnowballcomingandgoingfromthehouse,sometimeslanguorousandsometimesagitated.Hewentinthrough
abrokenbasementwindowandcameoutthroughaholeinthebackdoor.Hesatontheporchlickingonepawandrubbinghiseyeswithitlikeasleepybaby;lookedupattheskyasifhehadjustrememberedthesinglemostimportanteventinhislife,thenturnedhisattentiontohisbutt.IlosttrackofhimforafewmomentswhilelookingatRose,andthenheardascufflecomingfromthe
basement.Snowballmadefurioushissingandscreamingnoises,followedbywhatsoundedlikeafootballbeingthrownagainstthedoorofaclothesdryer.RoseandMaggieandIranoutthegateandintothealleyasquicklyasourplaguesandpuncturesandsutureswouldallow,justasSnowballemergedfromthebasementcarryinginhismouththebrokenbodyofayellowish-whiteratfullyhalf
hissize.Thethreeofusskiddedtoa
stopafewfeetfromthecat.Snowballwasmakingalowmoaningsoundinhisthroatthatwashalfpleasureandhalfrevulsion.Therathungupsidedownasifitsboneshadalljustgivenuphope.Takingafewmorestepstowardus,Snowballdroppedtheratinthegravel,invitingustoinspectit.Weallsquatteddownaroundit,our
handstuckedprotectivelyagainstourlegs.Iguessedittobeamalerat,
byitsgeneralfiercehideousness.Hewassomenacinghecouldhavebeentheleaderofsomeoutlawratposse.Hisfronttwoteethwereyellowedandlongandprotrudeddownoverhisbottomliplikesomethingprehistoric,andhisclawswerestillengagedinafightingposition.Ipickedup
astickandturnedhimoveronhisbelly,sothathewaslookingatus.Evenindeath,hiseyesweregrotesquelyintelligent,andtheycontinuedtoemitakindofbrightnessthatmademystomachclench.Hislongtail,apinkcable,laystretchedoutbehindhim,theendofitcurvedinanimitationofgrace.Istoodup,light-headed.
Snowballhadgonebackto
groominghimself.Hewas,obviously,asolidwhitecat,andveryclean.Iguessedhekepthimselfsobeautifulinordertocompensateforhisdeafness.RoseandMaggiecontinuedtopokeattheratasIstartedhome.Theafternoonsunwasblinding,andIfeltlikeIeitherneededtoeatorhadgottentoofull.TherewasnoplaceIwasfullysafe.Mywholelifewasinfested.
IamsurethemicewerealwaysthereandIwasn’tawareofthem,butasIgrewolderthereweremoreandmore,untilfinallymylifewaspunctuatedbyencounterswiththem.Forinstance,oneafternoon
Iwaswalkingthroughmyparents’bedroom,onmywayupstairs,andasIpassedtheirbedIsteppedonsomething,andthewaythesteppingonitfeltmademeliftmylegup
slowly,withoutlookingdown,andremovemysock,andturnaroundandwalkoutofthebedroomasifIwassidlinguptoatrancestate,andgocallmysisteronthephone.“I’vesteppedon
something,”Isaid,clearingmythroattogetallthewordsout.“Goodforyou,”Melinda
said.Icouldhearherstirringherhusband’slunch.
“Idon’tknowwhatitwas.”Shestoppedstirring.“Are
youhurt?”“Ithinkyoubettersend
Rickoverhere.”Itwasmyfavoritepairof
socks,too,whitetubesockswithabluestripebetweentwobrightyellowstripes.Iconsideredthemmydressysocks,andoftenworethemtochurch.Theyhadgrownverysoftwithwearing.Ifeared,rightly,thatIwouldneversee
themagain.WhenRickandMelinda
arrived,Iwassittingonthecouchstaringstraightahead,myhandstillrestingonthephone.Ipointedtothesceneofthedisaster,andRickwentstraightinandsquatteddownandliftedupmysock.Melindawasstandingafewfeetoutsidethedoorway,closeenoughtogossipwithbutfarenoughawaynottosee.
“Whatisit?”sheasked,leaningjustslightlytowardthemess.“Idon’tknow,”Ricksaid
slowly,“butithadaneyeball.”Melindahadawayof
stiflingahootthatinvolvedquickputtingherhandoverhermouthandlettingitjustcomeoutofhernoselikeasneeze.Itmadehereyesgetreallybiglikemaybeherwholeheadwasgoingto
explode.Hermethodofunlaughingwasactuallyworsethanifshe’djustletitcomeout.Ipulledmylegsupandput
myheaddownonmyknees.“Lindy,you’dbettergetme
somekindofabag,”Ricksaid,“andaspoon.”Imoanedoutloudand
Melindahadtoturnherbacktometokeepmefromseeingthedevilishtransformationsofgleeherfacewas
undergoing.Whenshecameoutofthe
kitchenwithatrashbagandatablespoon,LindyaskedifIwantedtogositontheporch,butIjuststayedwhereIwas.Itcouldn’tpossiblygetanyworse.Iwouldcarrywithmeforeverthefeelingofmyweightcomingdownonmyheel,andthesomethingunderneathitgivingway,andthesounditmade.“Whatdoyouwantmeto
dowiththissock?”Rickcalled.“Just,Rick,just”—
Melindawavedherhandsathim—“justputitinthebag.”Shewalkedovertomeand
kneltdown.“Let’stakethisotheroneoff,sweetie,”shesaid,peelingitoffandtossingitintowardRick.“Thoseweremybest
socks,”Isaid,frombetweenmyknees.
“Well,honey,theyweretherewhenyouneededthem.”
Wekeptafifty-poundbagofdogfoodonthebackporch,andoneeveningmydadreachedinwiththedog’span,andaratranuphisarm.Dadthrewthepansoharditbrokethelightfixtureabovethedoor,andintryingtoshaketheratoff,spunhimselfaroundinacircleand
smackedhisfaceagainstthedoorframe.Therewasn’tjustonerat,either,therewerethree,whichIbelievequalifiesasapodofrats,andthetwowhohadnotassaultedmydadbecameagitatedandbegantoeattheirwayfranticallythroughthewaxypaperofthedogfoodbag.Dadtookoffrunninginthewrongdirection,andendedupsprawledovertheoldwringerwasher.Allofthis
happenedinjustafewterribleseconds,andthenhewasbackinthehouse,batteredandwild-eyed.Themethodof
exterminationmydadchosewastoputoutsomuchpoisoninthebasement,wherethedogsandcatscouldn’tgettoit,thatmymomfeareditwouldseepintothegroundandkilleveryoneinMooreland.Hehad,apparently,discovered
quiteanestdownthere,andhewashavingtroublesleepingatnightforfeartheratswouldcomeupthebasementstairs,useacreditcardandunhookthelatchonthebasementdoor,creepintothedenpastthedogsandthecats,andclimbintoourbedsandeatoffournoses.“Aratwilleatoffyournose
?”Iasked,horrified.“They’reespeciallyfondof
noses,asIunderstandit,”he
said,mixingsometoxicratcocktailthatwasfillingupthewholedownstairswithmustardgas.“Whatisthatyou’re
mixing?”“Idon’tknow.Ifoundit
downatthehardwarestore.Roscoesaidit’ssodeadlyitwasbannedaboutthirtyyearsago.Hehadacaseofitinthebackroom.”Ipickedupthepaperygray
boxthepowderhadcomein.
Thirtyyearsagopackagingwasnotsosophisticated,andthedistributorshadchosenastheirbrandnamePoison.Underthenamewasaconvincingskullandcrossbones,andawarninglabelthatstatedthecontentsincludedarsenic,andthatapotentialingestorstoodabsolutelynochanceofsurvival.“Thisoughttodothe
trick,”Isaid,puttingthebox
downandwipingmyhandsonmyjeans.
Theratcarcassesbeganpilingup.Atfirstwejustputtheminthebarrelwhereweburnedourtrash,butonthefirstWednesdayweattemptedaratpyre,abirdflewtooclosetothesmokeanddied.Wehadtofindanalternativeplan.Wecouldn’treallyburythem,becauseofwhatitwouldhavedonetothegrass.
Momwasgrowingwearyofthewholemess,andtoldDadshedidn’tcarewheretheyendedupaslongastheirwretchedbloatednesswasoutofthehouseandshedidn’thavetosmellthemanymore.Weallhadheadaches,andmydadhaddevelopedanervousjerkoftheshoulders.Theonlyoptionlefttous
wasthecountydump,andDadstarteddrivingthemthere.Oneday,however,he
leftforworkwithouttheday’sallotment,andwhenIwentoutsideforthefirsttimeIsawtwoplasticbagssittingonthefrontsteps,thehandlestieduptight.IknewifIleftthemthereIwouldbedeviledbythemallday,theshapesinthebottomthatwerejustbarelydiscernible,andthefumesrisingupoutofthemlikeheatoffahighway.Iwassoreluctanttopickthemupthatmymouthbeganto
water,asifIhadtospit,butIgraspedtheknottedhandlesandheadedformybike.JustasIwasclimbingon,mysisterpulledupinfrontofthehouseandsaidshewasheadingforGrant’sdepartmentstore,inNewCastle,andwantedtoknowifI’dliketoridealong.Grant’smeantonethingandonethingonly—afrozencherryCoke,forwhichIwouldhavecompromisedanyprinciple
—butIhadmyratstoworryabout.“Iwasjustgonnaridethese
ratsoverandtosstheminthegravelpit,”Isaid,raisingthebagsenoughthatshecouldseethem.“Oh,forGod’ssake,”she
said.“Whydidn’tDadtakethem?”“Heforgot,Ireckon.
Anyway,Ican’tjustleavethemsittingthereallday.”“Well,comeon.I’llgopast
thedumpontheway.”Iopenedthepassengerdoor
ofherbiggreenImpalaandstartedtogetin.“Don’teventhinkyou’re
bringingthoseratsinsidethecarwithus,”shesaid,shooingmebackout.“What…didn’tyoujusttell
meyou’ddrivemetothedump?”“Yes,butyou’renotputting
themuphere.”“Well,unlockthetrunkfor
me,then,andI’llputthembackthere.”Sheopenedherdoorand
startedtogetout,thenthoughtbetterofit.“No.Idon’twanttheminthetrunk,either.Idon’twantthemanywhereinsidethecar.”Ithoughtmaybeshewasa
littlesensitive,becauseonetimesheandherfriendTerrihadsetoffonabigadventuretoMuncieandhalfwaytheretheenginestartedtosmoke,
andwhenMelindapulledoverandopenedthehood,thesourceofthesmokewasTerri’scat,Poot,whowaspermanentlyaffixedtothemotorandacoupleotherhotplacesontowhichhe’dleaked.Ithrewupmyhands.“I
giveup.Howdoyousuggestweallgettothedump,then?”Intheendwetiedthetwo
bagstothedoorhandles,oneonherside,oneonmine.As
wepulledawayfrommyhouseInoticedMelindawasdrivingrathergingerly,butafterafewmilesshespedup,andbythetimewegottothedumpthebagswereflyingoutbesidethecarlikeears,sometimestwistingaroundandthumpingagainstthedoors.Themanwhoattendedto
thedumpwavedusoveraswepulledin.“Hey,Larry,”Melindasaid.
“Hey,Melinda.Gotsomeratsthere?”Shenodded.“Yourdad’sbeenthrowing
themrightoverthere.Youcanseethere’saprettybigpilealready.”Igotoutanduntiedthe
bags.Melindasatmotionlessduringthewholeoperation.Iwalkedovertotheedgeofthebigpitandlookedaround.Thesightsinthecountydumpcouldtakemybreath
away.Therewererefrigeratorsandtiresandbrokentoys,anoldpiesafemissingitsdoors,akitchenchair,allmannerofpaperanddebris.Itlookedlikeashadowhouse,turnedinsideout,alifebeinglivedinvisibly.IarcedmyarmbackwardasifIwerepitchingabaseball,andthrewthefirstbagofratsin,andasitwassailing,Ithrewinthesecond.Theywerebottom-
heavy.Theydidn’tgofar,eventhoughI’dthrownthemashardasIcould.
Anotherthingeverygrown-upinmyfamilywasobsessedwithwasconservingheat,averyboringtopic,quiteclearly.Ourhousewasn’tinsulated,andsomyparentswerealwaysschemingtokeepheatinaroom,ormoveheataroundaroom,orgetheatfromoneroomto
another.Itwasahopelesstask.Built,apparently,during
theperiodofAmericanhistorywhenhumanheightoftenexceededtenfeet,andnoone,ever,caredaboutconservingheat,ourceilingsweretwelvefeethigh.Assoonasthetrendarrived,intheseventies,ofloweringceilingswithaflimsymetalframeandpaperysheetsofpressedfiberglass,mydad
wasalloverit;hestartedintheden,whereallofourheatbeganandended.Whenhewasfinishedwe
wereastonishedtodiscoverthatfinally,onesinglethinginourhouselookednormal,likethehousesofotherpeople.Wehadauniform,whiteceiling.Mymomwassomovedbyitthatshethrewcautiontothewindandinvitedherprayercellovertoourhouseforcoffeeone
afternoon.Idon’tthinkanyofthechurchwomenhadbeeninsideourhousebefore.Bythetimetheyarrived,
thehousewasasrespectableaswecouldmakeit.Ratherthansittinginthelivingroom,whichwaslargeandairyandmanagedtobeliewhatwasactuallyhappeningintherestofthehouse,Momchosetohaveeveryonesitintheden,underthenew,pristineceiling.Myjobwas
tohover,offeringmorecoffeeormoresugarcubes.Evenstraightenedup,the
denwasshocking.Therewasalmostnolight;thefurniturewasold,unmatched,andbeatentoapulp;catsanddogslayaboutcoughingandscratchingandattackingtheirdander.Mostoftheroomwastakenupwiththeblackenamelcoalstove.Besideit,inastrangealcove,stoodatallmetalmedicinecabinet
thatwouldn’tfitinourone,tinybathroom.Thedoorstothemedicinecabinethadlongsinceceasedtoclose,sofromanyplaceintheroomonecouldseethestackofthintowels,boxesofsanitarynapkins,andvarioussundriesthattookupthetopshelf.Thechurchwomenwerekindandfondofmymother,butthesituationwasclearlyworsethantheyhadexpected.Onewoman,BettyHardaway,
seemedespeciallydisconcertedbytheomnipresenceofweapons:aboveoneofthecouchesmydad’sgunrackloomed,theriflesandshotgunspolishedtoadeadlyshine,boxesofammunitionstackeduponthebottomshelf.HangingnexttothegunrackwasthebowandquiverofarrowsDannyhadleft.Fishingrodsandtackleboxesrestedagainstthewallbehindthetelevision,andon
Dad’slittletablenexttohischair,wherehekepthisbrownradio,hisashtray,andhisglassforwhiskey,washisjarofanimalteeth.Atwhatprobablywould
havebeenthemidwaypointoftheordeal,theceilingbegantoemitastrangesound.Ifroze,desperatelytryingtopinpointthesourceofit,butmymomcontinuedtotalkasthoughsheheardnothingunusual.
Itwasmice,andfromthesoundofit,aboutfiftyofthem.TheywereapparentlybeingdisgorgedfromoneoftheholesintheoriginalceilingthatDadhadn’tbotheredtopatchwhenhehungthenewone.Itsoundedasiftheywereallgettingoffabigmousebus,happyandfriendlyandlookingforwardtotheirvacation.Theyskitteredanddugaroundamomentinonecornerofthe
room,andthentookoffrunningasaherd,rightoverourheads.Whentheyreachedtheoppositecorner,theyturnedandranback.Allofourcatsleaptuponthebacksofthefurnitureinagitation,staringattheceilingandmakinggrowlsdeepintheirthroats.Thedogswatchedthecats,interested.Thesoundofthelittle
mouseclawsrunningoverthehollowceilingwasdeafening.
IlookedatMom,mymouthopeninhorror,andsawthattheprayercellwomenwereallbitingtheirlipsandstaringattheircoffeecups.Momcontinuedtospeak,seeminglyunfazed,aboutherplanstoleadalocalboycottagainsttheNestlécorporation.Soonenough,oneofthe
womenwithleadershippotentialannouncedthattheprayercellwasofonemind
ontheNestléissue,andthattheyoughttobegoing.Mymomsawthemtothedoor,andthencamebackinandbeganpickingupthecoffeecupsandplates.“Haveyouever?!”Isaid,
myarmsraisedinsurrender.“Itsoundedliketheywere
playingfootball,”Momsaid,carryingdishesintothekitchen.Ifloppeddownonthe
couch,sendingupacloudof
dust.“Doyouthinkthechurchladieswillevercomeback?”“Oh,Idon’tthinkso.”Ilookedupattheceiling
where,itsuddenlybecamecleartome,alloftheheatintheroomwouldgo.Themicehadcometoasauna,andtherewasnodoubtinmymindthat,asthemonthsgrewcolder,theywouldtelleveryothermouseintheworld.Thewholeflimsystructure
trembledundertheircollectiveweight.
Igrewphobicofmice,justasthereweremoreandmoreofthemtofear.Mycat,PeeDink,whomyfathersworewasretardedsimplybecauseofacombinationofunfortunatephysicalcharacteristics,wasaterrificmouser,andbecauseofthecrazyandabidingloveweshared,henaturallywantedto
giveallofhisdeadmicetome.MyparentswalkedinonmanyscenesofPeeDinkchasingmearoundthehouse,mescreamingandwavingmyarmsintheair,thepoorcapturedmousekickingitshindlegs,tryingtofreeitselffromPeeDink’sjaws.Likemostcats,hewasn’tinterestedinflat-outkillingvermin;hewantedtokillthemjustalittlebitandthenplaysomereallyfungames
whichinvolvedthemicetryingtogetawaywhilehekilledthemalittlebitmore.OncewhenmydadcamehomefromworkIwasuponthebackofthecouchandPeeDinkhadleftthreedeadmiceonthefloorforme.Hehadgrownsofatonmicethathenolongershowedanyinterestineatingthem.Onesummernight,afterI
hadmovedbackupstairstomybedroom,Iawokefroma
deepsleepanddiscoveredthattheabsoluteworstthinghadhappened.Momwasasleepinthebedroomatthebottomofthestairs,andwithoutmovingamuscleIbegantocallforher.Sheheardme,evenoverthedeafeningracketmadebythefansrunningbetweeneveryroom.Whenshereachedmybed,
aftertrippingandkickingherwaythroughthewreckageon
mybedroomfloor,sheaskedmewhatwaswrong,andItoldherthatthereweretwenty-sevendeadmiceonmybed.Theywerecompletelysurroundingme,sothatIcouldn’tmoveanypartofmybodywithouttouchingone.Shestoodupstraightandlookedmeintheeye.Iappearedwideawakeandlucid,butwasnot.“WhatshouldIdo?”she
asked.
“Youneedtopickthemupandthrowthemaway.”Shelookedaroundthe
roomuntilshespottedmytrashcan.Itwasoverflowing,soshejustdumpeditonthefloor,thenwalkedovertomeandbeganpickingupthemice.“Countthem,soIknow
yougeteveryone.”“Here’sone,”shebegan.
“I’mgoingtogettheseonesaroundyourheadfirst,soyou
canturnit.Here’stwoandthree.”Andinthiswayshe
removedalltwenty-seven,pickingthemupbytheirphantomtails,thepartofamousethatunnervedmethemost.Whenshewasdoneshebentoverandkissedmeontheheadandtoldmetogobacktosleep.“Whatareyougoingtodo
withthem?”Iasked,tryingnottolookrightatthetrash
can.“Whatdoyouwantmeto
dowiththem?”“Iwantyoutomakethem
gone.”Shenodded.WhenIgotup
inthemorning,theyweregone.
BythefollowingChristmas,Rose’sfacehadhealedperfectlyfromherencounterwiththerogueandmurderousSaintBernard,andMaggie
justhadalittlezigzaggyscaracrosshertemple.Ihadcompletelyforgottenaboutpoisonsumac,whichleftnotraceofitsdevastationonmybody.IspentChristmasnight
withRoseandMaggie,andaroundmidnightwewereawakenedbyacrashandastrangeglow.Weranovertothewindowandsawthatrightacrossthealley,directlyacrossfromwherewestood,
theabandonedhousewasonfire,andinaseriousway.Itwasabeautifulfire,ragingbutnotspreading,andthethreeofusstoodtherealongtimeinournightgowns,noteventhinkingaboutgettingRose’sparentsorcallingthevolunteerfiredepartment.Itburnedandburned.Iknewthattherehadprobablybeenmanyratsandmicelivinginthathouse,givenhowcolditwasoutside.Iremembereda
timewhenthedeathofthemwouldhavecausedmepain,whenIwouldhaveconsideredtheirsuffering,butIcouldn’tfeelitanymore.AllIfeltwasthatwarmshotofrelief,thekindthatcomeswithbreathingwhenyou’veheldyourbreathtoolong,asthewindowsofthekitchenblewoutand,somewhereinthedistance,asirenbegantowail.
AShortListofRecordsMyFatherThreatenedtoBreakOverMyHeadIfI
PlayedThemOneMoreTime
1.“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”byPaulSimon.Youneedonlylistentothissongoncetorealizeitisthegreatestworkofgeniussince“BeepBeep(TheLittle
NashRambler),”bythePlaymates.Also,itprovidesapersonwiththebonusofrewritingthechorus700timesaday.Forinstance,agirlmightsay,“I’mridin’mybike,Mike,”or“I’mgoin’tomysister’s,mister.”Shecouldalsostringtogethermanysuchsentences,asin,“I’mfeelin’sad,Dad.Maybeyoucouldgetmesomecandy,Randy.Don’tbesuchaslob,Bob,justlistentome.”
IftheDadeveractuallyheldtherecordinhishandsinathreateningway,hecouldbetoldthattheemergencybackupPaulSimonsongwas“MeandJulioDownbytheSchoolyard,”whichforsomereasonwasevenmoreobjectionable.
2.“BeepBeep(TheLittleNashRambler),”bythePlaymates.Amoralitytaleaboutalittlecar,aCadillac,
andatransmissionproblem.Thissongbrilliantlygainsmomentum,andissungfasterandfasterrightuptothehystericalending.Couldbesunginthetrucksofranticallythefatherinquestionwouldsometimeshavetostickhisheadouthisopenwindowwhileprayingaloud.
3.“SomeoneSavedMyLifeTonight,”byElton
John.Iunderstoodonlyonelineofthissong:“Andbutterfliesarefreetofly,flyaway.”Therestwascompletelylostonme.IassumedtheBritishdidnotspeakEnglish,whichwasapuzzleastheyweresometimesreferredtoastheEnglish.Notunderstandingthelyricsrequiredmetolistentothesonghundreds,perhapsthousandsoftimes,fillinginwithnonsense
words,whichmysistersaidmademelookoxygendeprivedandsad.
4.“SomewhereTheyCan’tFindMe,”bySimon&Garfunkel.Inadditionto“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”thiswasprobablymymostobviousthemesong.Itcouldhavebeenwrittenforme.Thesingerhasdonesomethingterribleandnowhisonlyoptionistosneak
away:“BeforetheycometogetmeI’llbegone,somewheretheycan’tfindme.”Ohindeed.Howveryverytrue.
5.“HeAin’tHeavy,He’sMyBrother,”bytheOsmonds,featuringDonnyOsmond.Alie,asanyonewhoknewmybrothercouldattest.ButifitwassungbyDonnyOsmondIcouldtrytobelieve.Iwantedtobelieve.
Thiswasafavoritetoplaynotattopvolumeinmybedroom,butdownstairsonthestereothatwasshaped,improbably,likeaColonialdesk.IlikedtosingalongwithDonny(wehadthesamevoice)whilesimultaneouslypretendingtodraftaversionoftheBillofRights,usingafakequillpen.(Intruth,aturkeyfeather.)Thiswasacombinationofactivitiesmyfatherfoundinteresting,
blasphemous,andwrong.
6.“AlongComesMary,”bytheAssociation.Awordysong.Awordy,psychedelicsong,themeaningofwhichhasneverbeendeterminedbyhumans.Tailor-madeforme.Fromthebeginning,thesongisjustonelongpuzzle.“EverytimeIthinkthatI’mtheonlyonewho’slonelysomeonecallsonme.”Who?(Mary,mysisterwould
explain,throughclenchedteeth.Yes,butMarywho?)Whatfollowsissounusualitdoesn’tbearrepeating,althoughImostassuredlycould.
7.“IStartedaJoke,”bytheBeeGees.Again,aworld-classhead-scratcher.Hestartedajoke,anditstartedthewholeworldcrying.IsensedastonishingdepthintheBeeGees’lyrics,andalso
weretheyallboys?IncludingtheonewiththeBugsBunnyteeth?Wasshetrulyneverfunnyandthat’swhytheworldwept?Iknewpeoplelikethat.Laterinthesongoneofthem,aBeeoraGee,beginstocryandthatgetsthewholeworldlaughing,soeverythingturnsoutfineintheend.(Anadditionalworkofgeniusis“TheLightsWentOutinMassachusetts.”Massachusetts:Astate?A
prison?Dadwassilentontheissue.)
8.“SwampGirl,”byFrankieLaine.Oneofthegreatpiecesofpoetryinthecivilizedworld,andflat-outterrifying.FrankieLaineissick,ortired,orboth,andabadwoman(thekindwithnarroweyes,I’mguessing)iscallinghimfromtheyuckofaswampwhereshelives.“Wherethewater’sblackas
theDevil’strack—that’swheremySwampGirldwells.”Howsimpleitwastosecretlychangethelyricto“wherethewater’sblackastheDevil’scrack,”nevereverlettinganyonehearmedoitbecausethisisadeadserioussongandalsoonedoesn’trhymelightlyabouttheDevil.Particularlywherethere’saSwampGirlinvolved,herhairfloatingonthewater.FrankieLainewasfamousfor
othersongsaboutrawhideorjerkyorwagontrains,somethinglikethat,andallalonghismasterpiecewasknownonlytomeandmyfamily.Ashame.
9.“TheNighttheLightsWentOutinGeorgia,”byVickiLawrence.WoetothepersonwhobelievedVickiLawrencewasmerelyCarolBurnett’sseparated-at-birthtwinandgamesidekick!No!
Shealsoperformedthisstunner,asongabout…wait.Badthingsinabadplace.Thenight“they”hunganinnocentman,andnottrustingyoursoultosomehmmmhmmmsomethinglawyer.Whereverallthishappened,someplaceinGeorgia,wasaboutasuglyasitgets.Peoplehadbloodalloverthemandessentiallynoonewastobetrusted,whichmadeforachorusIcould
singfordays.
10.TheBestofEdAmes,byEdAmes.AmemberoftheAmesbrothers,EdalsoplayedDanielBoone’sfaithfulIndiancompanionontelevision.Thiswasbecause,Iwasquitecertain,hewasarealliveIndian.MymotherinsistedhewasLebanese,whateverthatmeant,asifaLebanesewouldlookthatgoodinIndianclothesandas
ifhisnamewasn’tAmes,asin“aimsabowandarrowlikearealliveIndian.”Intruth,EdAmeswasmoreshockinglyhandsomethananymanI’dlovedbeforehim,includingGlenCampbellandmybrother’sfriendJoeOverton.Edwasinadifferentcategoryofattractive,Iwasdiscovering.Healsohadavoicethatdefieddescription;itwasbiganddeepandpure,allthose
things,butitwasalsosadinsomesongs—heartbroken—andangryinothers.Hesangthewaymenwouldtalkaboutthingsiftheyevertalkedaboutthings.TheBestofwasprimarilyshowtunesandnewsongsthatwereflatphilosophical,like“WindmillsofYourMind”and“WhoWillAnswer?(AleluyaNo.1).”Whatwasthisabout?Whoputa“No.”inasongtitle?Itwasthe
unmatchedwonderofEdAmestocombinesuchgroundbreakingeffectswithsongsthatmovedmymothertotears,andmademeimaginelifeonthefrontier,wherebuckskinstayedsoclean.Iwaswillingtosharetherecordwithmymom,asamatteroffact,rightupuntilsheheardmerepeatingaphrasefrom“WhoWillAnswer”—“inourstarsorinourselves”—
andsheneedlesslytoldmethatShakespearewrotethosewords.IwavedheroffandfromthatpointonEdstayedinmybedroomwherehebelonged.
AShortListofRecordsThatVanishedfromMyCollection
“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”byPaulSimon“MeandJulioDownby
theSchoolyard,”ditto“BeepBeep(TheLittle
NashRambler),”bythePlaymates“SomeoneSavedMyLife
Tonight,”byEltonJohn,also“Don’tLettheSunGoDownonMe,”probablyforgoodmeasure
AllSimon&GarfunkelrecordsTheAssociation’sGreatest
Hits,butitjustwenttomysister’shousebecauseI’dstolenitfromherearlierandshe’dstolenitbackDittowithalltheBeeGees
records“TheNighttheLights
WentOutinGeorgia,”byVickiLawrence,metaparticularlyghastlyfateinourtrashbarrel.Ieventually
foundonlythecharredlabel.
IwasleftwithFrankieLaineandEdAmes,whowerehiddeninmycloset.Lifemighthavetakenaviciousturnhere,butmybrother-in-lawRickgavemehisoldeight-tracktapeplayer,alongwithtwoJohnDenvertapes.JohnDenverbecametheonlygood-heartednaturalistmyfathereverthreatenedwithalynching.
Bull
Ididn’tknowwhyeveryonewasalwaysgoingonsoaboutshoesshoesshoes—whatwasthepointwhenwehadbeengivenperfectlyadequatefeetforgettingaroundon?Samewithhairbrushesand
toothbrushesandwashcloths.Absolutelynouse.ButIreachedtheconclusionthatI’dlostafightandwasgoingtokeeponlosingit,soImightaswelldecideonwhatkindofmeannesswasgoingtogetputonmyfeet.Ichosethedignifiedsaddleoxford,whiteandblackwiththeliver-coloredsole.Idon’tknowthereasonforthischoice,particularlyasthesoleswereslickassnotandI
couldoftenbefoundsailingdownthehighlywaxedstairsofmyelementaryschool,clingingtothehandrailandhopingforsomethingotherthananotherheadinjuryuponlanding.Ihavenomemoryof
shoppingforthesaddleoxfords;theysimplyappearedyearafteryear,andnevernew.Theyhadcomefromsomeotherperson’sfeet,thesolesworndowntoa
glassysmoothness.MymomwouldhandthemoverandI’dutterminoraddressestotheinfantJesuswhoasfarasIcouldtellhaddonenothingsofarbutforsakeme,andthenI’dputtheblastedthingson.Theyweresupposedtobe
savedforschoolandgenerallyIdidthat,becauseifIwasn’tinschoolandIwasn’tinchurchIhadnoneedforfootwearanyway,butononegreatSaturdaylate
inthesummerDebbieNewmanwasleavingtheMarathonstationandshesaidgrabsomeshoesandhopinandcomeonhomewithmeandthoseweretheshoesIgrabbed.Ialsopulledapairofwhitebobbysocksoutofthelaundrypileinmyparents’bedroom,apileinashapeIlaterrecognizedinCloseEncountersoftheThirdKind.IfalienshadcometoMoorelandthey
wouldhavelandedonthatlaundrymountain,andwhatashockforthem.Thesocksdidn’tmatchandtheyweren’tthesameshadeof“white,”buttheyweregenerallyshapedthesameandwhocaredanyway.TheNewmansalwayshada
nicecar,abigboatysilvercarwithmarooninterior,andeventhoughtheircarswereniceandnewerthananythingwedrovetheystillsmelled
flatlikethebarnyardandsometimesbitsofstrawwaggledintheairvents.Infact,corndustandfertilizerandmanurecoveredthedashboardandthewindows,andonceinawhilethere’dbeatraceofanhydrousthatIfoundpleasing.Notasdeliciousasleadedgasoline,butclose.Iwasn’tsingingontherideouttotheNewmans’,orevenmakinganysound,asmytalkingdroveDebbieto
distractionandshewouldoftenhavetotellmesoinwaysthatweredirectlytothepoint.JuliewasinthebackseatbesidemeinherjeansandcowboybootsandawhiteT-shirtwithabigredVikingheadonit.ThatwasthethingaboutJulie;shealwayslookedexactlyrightforwhatevershewasdoing,whereasIalwayslookedlikeI’dwalkedthroughthewrongdoorintoastorythathad
nothingtodowithme.IbelieveIwaswearingshortswithmyunmatchedbobbysocksandusedsaddleoxfords,andsomeinappropriateupper-wear,likeadiscardedshort-sleeveddressshirtbelongingtomyfather.“Whatarewegonnado
today?”IaskedJulie.Sheshrugged.Thatcould
meanalotofthings.Itcouldmeanshehad62,000chores
andIwasgoingtohelpwitheveryone.Itcouldmeanweweregoingtoridehorsesorelsetakehernewmopedoutaroundthecountryside.ItcouldmeanherbedroomneededpaintingandifIdidn’tworkfastenoughshe’dgivetheraisedmiddle-fingerpunchontheupperarmthatleftabruisefordays.Orhershrugcouldmeannothing.Itcouldmeanshedidn’tknowandsincewewereonlygoing
tothebestplaceontheEarth,whereeverysingleminuteofeverydaywasdifferentandfilledwithpromise,whattheheckdifferencediditmakewhatweweregonnado.
Welookedatsomekittensthatgotborninthepolebarn.Theywerewaylittleandtheireyeswerestillgluedshut.Themamacathoveredaroundhissingatus—shewasferalandwouldnever
tame.WeshotalittlepoolonthebumperpooltableinthediningroomandJuliebeatmesohardsomanytimesIputmystickdownandtoldhershewascheating.Sheignoredthis.Julienevercheated.Wewentouttoridethegoodhorse,Angel,butshehadacutonherforelegandBigDavesaidno.WethoughtaboutsneakingoffonMingo,thehorseinleaguewiththeDevil,butdecided
againstit.Prettysoonwewereclimbingoverthebarbed-wirefenceandoutintotherollinglandacrosstheroadthatwasn’tfarmable,wasn’tquitegrazableexceptupbytheroad.Itwasn’tworthmuchbutbeauty.Therewasasteepwalkdowntoastream,andonhorsebackthehorseswouldhavetowalkwithsmall,carefulstepsasweleanedcompletelyback,almostlyingdownto
accommodatetheangle.Therewasmaybethirtyacresoverthere—thegrazinglandforsomecows,thevalleyandstream,andtheriseuptoastretchofwoodswhereafewtimeswe’dseenagreathornedowl.Werodethatlandall
summer,mebehindJulieonAngel’swideback.Werodewithoutspeaking.IoftengotthwackedbybranchesthatmissedJuliealtogether.Julie
couldsetAngeluptoacanterthatseemedtoworkfineforJuliebutshookallmyinternalorganslooseuntilIwasgoogly-eyedandbeggingformercy,butnotveryloudlyasmylungshadcollapsed.Onlyamonthbeforeourcurrentstrollwe’dtakenAngelaroundonaslowwalk,leadinghertotheoldpumpattheedgeofthefield.Wemeanttopumpwaterforher,butinsteadwefoundadead
catthere.Shewasablackandgraytabbycat,asprettyascouldbe,lyingonhersidewithheronegreeneyestaringatthesky.Angelstopped.JulieandIfroze.Isaid,“Isthisoneofourcats?”Juliesaid,“Nope.Butshecouldhavebeen.”AndAngelwouldn’tdrinkfromthepumpsowerodeon.Todaywewerejustonour
ownfeetanditwashotoutside.Wepassedthecows,
stoppedtolookatsomecalves,thenheadeddowntowardthecreek.Wekneltattheedge,lookingforcrawdaddiesorsnakesoranythingreally,butitwashotenoughoutsidethatalllivingcreatureshaddepartedforshadierplaces.Wecrossedthecreekonrocks,aleaptotheleft,theleft,theright,theoppositebank,andclimbedthehilluptowardthestretchofforest.Weweren’tsaying
much,weren’theadinganywheredirectly,whenbothofusheardthesamenoiseandfroze.“Whatwasthat?”Isaid,
lookingaround.“Shhhh.”Thesoundcameagainand
itturnedouttobetwosounds—asmall,lowingcryfromonedirection,andadeep,bass-noteexhalationthroughwhatsoundedlikebovinenostrils.Ononesideofus,
Juliefiguredout,wasacalf,maybeonlyadayortwoold,andontheotherwasthemama.Sureenough,herecamethemamacowpawingatthegroundandmovingwithaswiftassurancethatcowsaretypicallynotpermitted.“Getupthattree!”Julie
said,notquiteyellingasthatwasn’therway.Iranbehindhertoa
gnarledoldsomething,I
neverbotheredfindingoutthenamesoftreesaswhatdifferencediditmake,andwatchedhertakethetrunkinasinglegesture.Idon’tknowhowshedidsuchthings;itwasn’tasifshehadtentaclesorsuctioncups,shewasjustared-hairedhumangirlbutnothinghadanyforceoverher.ShewasupthetreeandoutonafathorizontalbranchwhileIwasstillholdingontotwolittlebranches,mybutt
outintheairwherethecowcouldeatit,mysaddleoxfordsslidingdownthetrunklikethey’dbeendippedinbabyoil.“Ummm,”Isaid,pulling
myselfup,slippingdown.“GoodLord,”Juliesaid,
layingherselfflatdownonthebranchandreachingformyhands.Shesomehowmanagedtopullmeupbesideherjustasthecow,whichIcouldnowseewasthesizeof
amobilehome,hitthetreetrunkwithherflank—shewasthatmad.Plushereyeswererollingaroundinthewaythatgaverisetotheterm“Wild-eyedCow,”alookmydadsometimesgot.“Thatisabull,”Isaid.“Psshh.”“I’mtellingyouthatisno
cow,JulieNewman.”Whateveritwascontinuedtostareatusandsnortoutgreatblastsoffurythroughits
nose,whilethebabycontinuedbleatingawaysomewherebeyondthetreeline.“Yousawthebullbehind
thefencewithyourowneyes,Dumb.”Juliescannedtheareabehindus,lookingforthebaby.“Afinething,lettingabull
justrunaroundlooselikethis,fixingtokillsomechildren.”“Hushup.”
Hourspassed.Oh,hoursandhours.Thebullstaredatusandchuffedandpawedatthegroundandmadeaterriblesadsoundabouthisbaby,butwouldn’tmove.Thenthebabywouldcryoutandthewholethingwasnearlytragic.“Mybuttisaboutbroke,
andI’vegotbarkallupinmyshorts,”Isaid,throwingapieceoftwigdownontothebull’sback.
“Hushup,Isaid.”Thebabycrashedaroundin
thewoodsandthecowstoppedgivingusthemurderoushairyeyeballforjustaminute.“Doyouseeit?”I
whispered.“Imightseeitifyouever
stoppedtalking.”Thebabycamealittle
closer,makingasoundthatwassolike“mama”itmadeapersonwonderabouthow
naturewasreallyorganized.Thecowpawedatthegroundandrantowardanoldstretchoffence,onlyaboutsixfeetlongandmostlylyingflat.Calvesaren’tverybright,asitturnsout,becausethisonehadthoughtitselftrappedbehindthebrokenfencetheentireeighteenhoursJulieandIhadbeenstuckinthetree.Mother/fatherandbaby
werereunitedwithgreatlicks
oftheirgigantictongues.“I’mgonnajump,”Juliewhispered,“andyoufollowme.Thenwe’regonnahavetorun,Jarvis,youhearme?”“Wecan’tjump!We’relike
ahundredfeetintheair!Ourankleswouldturntosausage!”“Hushup,”Juliesaid,
leapingtotheground,herredhairfanningoutbehindherlikeacape.Andjustlikethat,thebulldecidedtheGirl
Threatwasstillimminent,andcamecharging,soJuliejustreversedcourseandwasbackupbesidemebeforeI’deverseenherland.“Oh!Oh,thisisrich!”I
said,wavingatthebeautifulweather,thestreamfiftyyardsaway,thecloudsofmosquitoesallaroundus.“Whendoyoureckonthey’llfindusuphere,huh?Whenit’stimetoslaughterthatcalf?Afterit’smadetheroundsat
the4-HFair?”Juliegavemethelook,soI
turnedmybacktoher.“PlusIamstarvedoutof
mymind.”“You’reoutofyourmind,
allright.”“ANDIhavewasteda
wholedayIcouldhavebeendoingsomethingelse.”Juliesaidnothing.“Icouldhavebeen,Idon’t
evenknowwhat.”Silence.
“YourmommademeputonshoesforthisandIamcovered,IamoutrightcoveredItellyouwithmosquitobitesandIdon’tknowwhat-all.Thishorseflyhaslandedonmetwentytimesnowandhorseflieshaveteeth,JulieAnn.”Thebigcowandthelittle
cowwerenowhappilyrestingunderourtree,thebabynursing,themamagrazingandperiodicallylookingoff
acrossthepastureasifinappreciationofitsbeauty,justbeforeshelookedbackatusasifshehadrabies.“Andwhathappens
when…”Juliepunchedmeinthe
arm.“Youstoptalking.”NowIknewIwasdoomed.
Juliehadnoideasandthesunwasgoingdown.I’dgottentheknuckle-punchandmythighswererubbednearbloodyfromtheroughbark
ofwhatevertreeitwaswewerein.Wecouldhaveyelledandyelledandnoonewouldhaveheardus;therewastoomuchlandandtoomanyanimalsbetweenusandtheNewmans’house.Therewasn’tjustthecowlotneartheroad,therewerepigs,andtwosecretsaboutpigsisthattheyneverstopwaggingtheirtailsandtheynever,evershutup.There’ssomenoisecomingoutofthosethings
aroundtheclock.Iwastryingtoimagineone,evenonesingleoptionwhenJuliesaid,“There’sDavidLee.”Nowifthiswholeevent
hadhappenedatmyhouseandmysisterhadeventuallycomelookingforme,itwouldhavegonelikethis:shewouldhavestoppedaboutfiftyyardsawayandyelled,“Whatareyoudoingupthere,bigstupid?”AndI’dhavehadtoyellback,“I’m
trappeduphereinthistreebyabulldownbelow!Abullanditsbaby!It’sthebiggestthingI’veeverseenandmeanashell!”AndMelindawouldhavesaid,“I’mtellingMomyousaid‘hell.’”Thenmaybeshewouldhavesavedmylifeormaybeshe’dhaveletmestewforalittlewhilelonger.ButattheNewmans’,thiswasthecourseofaction:DavidLeecameupthehillfromthestream.Hesawthe
cowandthecalf.HesawJulie’swhiteshirtandredhairupinthebigbranch.HetookoffhisseedcapandhisownwhiteT-shirtandwaveditintheair,yelling,“Whoo!WhooeeMama!”whichcausedthebulltoturnandlookathimforaboutasplitsecondbeforedecidingDavidLeeneededkilling.Theinstantthebullran,Julienotonlyjumped,shepulledmedownwithherandIlandedin
suchawaythatbothmyanklesfeltlikesomeonehadrammedlitsparklersinmyshoes.DavidLeeran,ziggingand
zaggingdownthehill,yelling,andthebullfollowedhim.JulieandIranstraightdown,rightthroughthecreek,upthehill.TwicethecowdecidedithatedusmorethanDavidLeeandchangeddirection,andthenDavidwouldhavetowavehisshirt
evenharderandyellevenlouder.Weranpasttheoldpump,andratherthantowardthecowlot,wewenttowardthepigs,whichweresurroundedbyawoodfence,nobarbedwire.“Jumpthatfence,”Julie
said,notevenwinded.“OhLord,”Isaid,mylungs
aflame.ButIjumpedit,andlandedintwofeetofmuckygoo,Indiana’squicksand.Juliepulledhercowboyboots
upandoutwithasquelchingsoundIwouldn’tsoonforget,andkeptgoing.TherewasnowayshewasgoingtoleaveherbrotheroutinthehinterlandswithBabetheOxchasinghim.Sheclimbedthefenceattheroad’sedgeandIdidthesame.Welandedinthegrassandsomethingfeltfunny.IlookeddownandIhadneithershoenorsockoneitherfoot.“Huh,”Isaid,lookingback.
Andtheretheywere,stucklikebonesinatarpit,sinking.Apigwalkedoverandpickeduponeofthesocks,carrieditawaylikeato-goorder.Werantothemudroom
door,whereDebbiewashoistingasaddleontoasawhorse.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”sheyelled.“Where’syourdoggonebrother?Youwashthosefeetoff,Jarvis,beforeyoucomeinmy
house,andthenJulieAnntherearepotatoesthatdon’tknowhowtopeelthemselves.”DavidLeeranupbehind
us,hisshirtbackon,hiscapbackonhishead.“Aren’tyousupposedtobe
helpingyourdad?”Debbiesaid.“Geton,youbuncha
lazies.”
ThatnightJulieandI
practiceddoingbackwardsomersaultswhilewatchingcowboymovies,andwhenournecksstartedtohurtweateahalf-gallonofvanillaicecreamrightoutofitsbox.WhileweweresleepingDavidLeewalkedintoJulie’sbedroomwithablanketwrappedaroundhim,hishairstandingstraightupasifhe’djustpulledhishatoff,hiseyesunfocused.Juliesaid,“You’resleepwalking,go
backtobed,”andheturnedaroundanddisappeared.Inthemorningwewere
calledforbreakfastanditwasbeefbrains.“I’mnoteatingthis,”Ialwayssaid,everytimeDebbiefixedit,andshewouldanswer,“You’lleatitoryou’llgohungry,”soI’dpilemyplatehighbecauseintruthIthoughtitwasdelicious.Scrambledbeefbrains.Theytastedlikewildmushrooms,likesomething
strangeanddangerousyoucouldonlyfindbyaccident.
August8,1974
SheknewmebeforeIwasborn.Herhandswouldtracethespanofmymother’sstomachandOlivesawmewholebutwouldn’ttellwhatsheknew,onlythatIhaddecisionsyettomake.When
IwasbornIbecamesoillInearlydiedfromastaphinfectioninmyinnerear,andOlivetoldMomtoletgoofme,thatIbelongedtoGodandIwasn’tatallcertainwhetherIshouldstayonthisearth.SoMotherrockedmethatday,fallingasleepasshedidso,andasshesleptsheletmego.Theinfectionburstandmyheartturnedoutward,orsoOlivesaid,andsomepartofmecametobelieveI
couldsurvivetheworld.IfQuakershadsaints,then
OliveOvertonwouldhavebeenone.Shehadnarroweyesthatinameanwomanwouldhavebeenthreateningbutinherwerelikealaughhappeningnooneelsecouldhear.Herlipswerethinandshehadmoleseverywhere—sometimesIsatbehindherinchurchandcountedthembutitwaslikecountingrowsofcornandIalwaysgaveup.
Shekepthergray-and-blackhaircutshortandspringywithlittlecurlsshemadewithbobbypins,andshealwaysworeadressandsensibleshoesandoftenanapron.Sheunderstoodtheoldways,whereyouhadyourtwosonsandthenyouwereamatronwitharoundbellyandhandsbrightredfrombleachwater.Idon’tbelieveapuffofpowderoratraceoflipstickevertouchedherface,norso
muchasanearring,becauselifewasabouteverythingbutadornments.LifewasaboutreallyhotConstantCommentteainchippedmugs,itwasaboutChinesecheckersanddoingrightatalltimes.Itwasaboutkeepingyourironingdoneandyourflowersplanted,andyourlittlecurlsspringyfromtheirpins.IfInamedathousandperfectthingsabouther,onewouldhavetobeherson,Joe,
whomIlovedsomuchIwroteletterstohimincrayonwhenhewasattheVietnamsituation.Ihatedwritinglettersanditwasaflatwasteofcrayon,buthewashandsomelikeamoviestarandOlivewashismother.JoeandmybrotherrantogetherandsometimestheywouldcomehomeintheirdarkbluehoodedsweatshirtsandevenforonesuchasI,whoseheartbelongedtoTellySavalasand
GlenCampbell,thosetwowereasightthatstartedaclockkeepingtime.
OlivelivedwithamannamedOrville,anoldbachelorwithsuspiciouslygoodtasteinfurniture.Heownedahousethatdidn’tbelonginMooreland,withaglassed-insittingporchandrattanfurniture.Insidewasamuseumofdarkvelvetsandcurvedlegs,breakfronts
sittingonthebacksofgargoyles,Orientalrugshe’dacquiredonjourneystoplacestherestofMoorelandwouldneverhearof;evenifaspinningglobestoppeddeadonthatcountryandsomeoneasked,“Whatdoesthatsay?”theanswerwouldbe“Idon’tknow.”Olive“livedin”withOrville,whichwasaboutasweirdaslifecouldgetifyouaskedme,livingwithanoldmanwhokepttohimselfand
hadanunnaturalaffectionforantiques.([a-z]+)hadherownbedroomandbathroomandtheywereplainintheQuakerway,withjusttwophotographsonherdresser,oneofherlatehusbandandoneofhersons,CharlieandJoe.AllthroughtherestofthehousewasflockedwallpaperandTurkishrunners,glass-frontcabinetsfilledwithporcelain.Thereweresomanydoiliesitwas
bestjusttonotevenlook,butwhenyousteppedintoOlive’sbedroomtherewasnothingandthatwasmuchmoreintimidating.IclosedmymouthgoodwhenIenteredOlive’sbedroomandIdidn’ttouchanything,either,orevenrestmyfingersonherclosetdoorthewayImighthaveatsomeoneelse’shouse.BecauseOliveknewme,andthatisbothagoodthingandabadthing,
dependingonthemoment.
OnaparticulardayinAugust,IwasinvitedtospendtheafternoonandnightatOrville’sasIsometimeswas,andstayingwithOlivegotinsidemeandsavedthosepartsofmylifethatwerestillmaybefence-sittingonthewholestayingalivebusiness.Ididn’thavetotellheranything;noonedid.Shewasmymother’sbestfriendandI
don’thaveonememoryofthemtalkingoutloud.OliveunderstoodthatIwasbornanoutcastinanancientandsubtleway;Iwasconceivedoutofsomegriefordarknessandwouldbemadetopayapriceforit.Onceshetookmyhandinchurchandpressedintoitasleepingdollsheknewhowtomakeoutofahandkerchief,andIheldthedollbutsawmyselfthatsmall.Notsick—Iwasn’t
sickinwhatIsaw,Ihadbeenlefttodie.Istrokedthelittlecottonhanky-head.Olivewasononesideofme,mymotherontheother.Inthenextrowupwasmyevilsister.Idon’tknowwhatIthought,Idon’tknowhowIsawit,butIknewthatworld,theworldwhereIhadbeenabandonedinaforestoronahill,hadbeenonepossibilityandithadpassedaway,andinsteadIhadarrivedwhere
thesewomenwere:mygentlemother,wholetmegoandsoIlived;Olive,whosmelledofcoughdropsandmothballsandwasamaidtoamannoneofuswouldeverknow;andMelinda,whoifI’ddaredtrytotakemyleaveofthislifewouldhavejerkedaknotinmytail,thenpinchedmeinthatsoftplaceundermyarm.
OnmywaytoOrville’sIcrossedthestreetsoasnotto
runintoEdythe,whowaspacingthesidewalkwithherhandsbehindherback,whistling.ItookapeekinSaffer’sstore,longsinceabandoned,andgavemyselfajunglecaseofshiversthinkingofthehundredsofpairsofshoesstillstoredintheupstairs,lineduplikesoldiers,someofthemthekindthatrequiredabuttonhook.Atnightthoseshoesmarched,Iknewfor
absolutelycertain,butduringthedaytheykepttheirpeaceandforthatIwasgrateful.IskippeddownBroadStreetpasthouseswhereIknewpeopleandhousesIwasshyof.IskippedpasttheSouthChristianChurchparsonage,whichalwayssmelledofCampbell’sChickenNoodleSoupandwheremysister’sbeautifulfriendCheryllived.Herewasthehouseofthemanwhosoldacertainkind
ofcornseedandIthoughthisnamewasTodd’sHybrids.IcalledhimMr.Hybridwhenwehappenedtomeet.TherewastheFarmer’sStateBankofMooreland,wherekindlyred-hairedJoyceDickworked,whogavemelollipopseverytimeIhappenedtostrollpastthedrive-throughwindoweventhoughIneverhadonesinglepennytogiveinreturn.Thebankpresident,JohnTaylor,
lookedexactlylikeRichardNixon,andIbelievedthepictureofthePresidentthathunginthepostofficewasactuallythatofJohnTaylor,andwonderedwhyourmailwastobeinhonorofhim.Parkinglot.Tony’sbarbershop;thedrugstorewhereallgoodthingswaited.Therailroadtracksandthegrainelevator,thenthehousewherethesmart,toughgirlDanalived.Ilovedherand
shewashardasnails.ThehomeofMonkElliottwhocharmedmefornoparticularreason.Houseafterhouse,allheadingoutoftown,includingthebigblackandwhiteonewiththewraparoundporchwherethetwounmarriedsisterssateverydayasifwaitingfortheir133,oneofthem,Peggy,wearinglipsticksobrightreditcouldgiveapersonaheadachejusttosee
it.Ipassedmyelementaryschool,thenAstorMain’sFuneralHome,andtherewasOrville’shouse,rightatthetownlimits.Anotherhalfablockbeyondwasnothingbutfields.Iwentintotheglassed-in
porch,whichhadaveryparticularsmellofpottingsoil(nopottingsoiltobeseen),thenrangthedoorbell.Oliveappeared,herfingertoherlipstoindicateOrville
wasnappingordoingwhateverOrvilledid,whichwasnobodyknewwhat.IcreptinlikeacatandfollowedOlivetothekitchenwheresheproceededtostripmecompletelynakedandputallmyclothesinthewashingmachine,asshedideverytimeIenteredthehouse.Ijustheldoutmyarmsandlegsandletherdoit.SheranabathandscrubbedmesohardIlostthetoptwolayers
ofmyskin,eventhegrayringaroundmyneckmysistersworewaspermanentandmarkedmeasafuturejuveniledelinquent.Olive’sfingernailswerecutdownshortbutshedugthemintomyhead,shampooingmewithsomedevilishconcoctionoftarandlye,whichwouldleavemyhairsohugeandunmanageableIwassurelythefirstchildtowearaQuaker-fro,althoughIdidit
withoutprideoranypowertomypeople.IsatinabigtowelontheedgeofthetubuntilmyclothesweredryandthenIwasallowedtocomebackdownstairsandhaveacupofConstantCommentsohotIburnedmylip,andplayChinesecheckerswithOlivewhobeatmeeverytime.Inevercouldrememberwhatcolormymarbleswereorwhattheobjectwas,soIjustmovedaroundhitherandyon
andOliveletmebutshealsoletmelose.Wedidn’tsayonthat
afternoonoranyotherthatmaybeitwasunusualhowshehadtowashmyclothesandgivemeabath;Rose’smotherdidit,too,andsheneversaidanything.Melindadidityearinandyearout.Olivedidn’tmentionthatIhadtwograndmotherswhoweremyrealgrandmothersandIhadneveroncebeen
askedtospendthenightwiththem.Abigthing,agiganticwingedthing,hoveredwherethatconversationmighthavebeen,andonlymysisterwouldspeakofit,howwelovedmyMomMaryandDonitawithallourheartsandsouls,butsheandmyauntanduncleskepttothemselvesandlovedmycousinsandtookthemplaces.Theywenttoeveryschoolfunctionandcameandwentfromone
another’shomes,buttherewassomethingaboutusthatkeptusoutandmadeusother.MomMarywasgoodtouswhenweweretherebutitwasmycousinsshesaweveryday,andmyuncleKenny’swifeAuntDonnalovedmebutitwastherestofthefamilythatclungtogetherlikeaunitwhileBobby’schildren,myfather’schildren,watchedfromadistanceandtookitin.My
sisterwouldsaywithherteethclosedtightthatshewouldn’tstandoutsidethedoorlikeawarorphan,beggingforadmittance,butIdidn’tknowwhatawarorphanwas(althoughIwascomparedtooneoftenenough,givenmysenseoffashion)andI’dneverbeggedforathinginmylife.SoIwasfine.Iwashappyenough.Olive’shousewassilentbutforthetickingofa
clock,justlikeinourQuakerMeetingHouse,andtheclickingofherpalebluemarblesasshejumped,jumped,jumpedovermylittlemessofredones,tryinginherwaytoteachmesomethingIsimplycouldn’tgetaroundtolearning.
Orville’sgreat-nieceandnephewswerecomingforavisit;thatwaspartofthereasonI’dbeeninvited.They
werecomingfromanotherstate,thechildrenofanieceornephewwhohadnevervisitedMoorelandbefore(andlikemanyothers,wouldneverreturn).Thechildrenwerearoundmyagebutstrangeandtalkative;theyweredressedasifforchurchandtheyseemedtotakeeverythingforgranted.Orville’sporchmeantnothingtothem,northeskreakyleatherchairorrugswiththe
birdsofparadise.Ifollowedthemaroundunsureofwhattodo.Theyaskedmequestionsthatmadenosenseandtheywouldn’tsettledownandplayanythinggoodandtheywouldn’tgooutside.Iwaspreparedtotakethemtothepartoftherailroadtrackswherehoboescamped,ortothegravelpitwherewecouldeachriskdrowning.Ifallelsefailedtherewastheteeter-totterfilledwith
splintersthatwouldtakeupagoodpartoftheafternoon.Instead,theywantedto
openthechinacaseintheparlorandtakeoutOrville’scollectionofglassanimals.Suchathingwouldnothavecrossedmymindin879years,butassoonasthedoorswereopenedandthechatteryniecehadremovedadelicateswanwitharedbillanddotsofblackglassforeyes,myhandreachedoutas
ifI’dlostmyscantbitofmind.Ihelditinthepalmofmyhandanditweighednothing;itwasimpossibleandbeautiful.“Lookatthisone,”the
niecesaid,takingoutasheepwithtinyblackhooves.“Iwantthehorse,”a
nephewsaid,hisclumsyhandreachinginforwhatlookedtobeanunderfedquarterhorse,brownwithablackmane.Inreachingforthehorse,he
knockedoverafamilyofducksandapolarbear,andinthattinklingmoment,OlivecamearoundthecornerwhereIstood,thepalmofmyhandflatoutandtheswanrestingthereasifonaplacidlake.“Whatareyoudoing?”she
hissedatallofus,inavoiceI’dneverheardbefore.“Wewantedtolookat
UncleOrville’sanimals,”theniecesaidblandly,and
withoutaglanceatOlive.“Putthemback
immediately,”Olivesaid,growing,itseemed,evenangrier.Thechildrencasuallyput
theanimalsbackinnoorder,leavingtheducksontheirsides.Olivesnatchedtheswanfrommyhandandputitback,thengrabbedmehardaroundmyupperarm.“Howdareyou,”shewhisperedinmyear,hereyessonarrow
nowtheyweredifficulttosee.Icouldn’tswallow—Iwas
barelybreathing—butImanagedtosay,“Theydidit,theyopenedthecabinet.”Olivesqueezedmyarm
evenharderandsaid,“Youaresupposedtobebetterthanthem.YouarebetterthanthemandItrustedyou.”SheletgoofmyarmandIfeltthelooseningofthepressurelikeabulletinmychest.Fora
momentIthoughtImightfaint,butinsteadranoutoftheroomandupthestepsandintoOlive’sroom,wherenothingwasoutofplaceandtherewasnosoundordustorconfusion.IlayfacedownonherbedandcriedsohardmyeyesswelledshutandmynosestuffedupandImightaswellhavejustgottenpneumoniaanddiedlikegirlssometimesdidinthegothiccomicbooksIkepttucked
undermybedathome.Ifellasleepthatway,andstayedasleepuntilthenieceandnephewswerelonggone.
Olivecalledmedownforteaandtoast.IsatinthebrightyellowkitchenwiththehighceilingsandlistenedwithOlivetoLawrenceWelkontheradioassheironedOrville’swhiteshirts.Theywerepiledinabasketandtherewereaboutamillionof
them.Idon’tknowwhereheworethemasIdon’tbelieveheworkedorifhediditwasinasecretplace.Olivesprinkledstarchontheshirts,sprayedthemwithwater,loweredtheoldironthatweighedasmuchasaBuick.Thesteamroseupandmademayhemofherpincurls,andsometimesshetookahandkerchieffromherpocketandwipedherbrow.EverythingLawrenceWelk
saidanddidwasplainstupid,butIatemytoastanddrankmyteaandletmylegsswingunderthetable.Olive’skitchenwasthecleanestplaceonGod’sacre,andIwascleanandmyclotheswereclean,andmostlyOliveandIsatinsilence.Whenitwastimeforbed
shelentmeapinknightgownthatwassobigIcouldhavefitinjustthesleevebutItookitgratefully.Islippedoutof
myclothesandfoldedtheminfrontoftheclosetdoor,knowingI’dbewearingthemagainwithoutawashinganditwashardtosayhowlong.Olivechangedontheothersideoftheroomintoherown,peach-colorednightgown.Wehadchangedinthesameroombefore,butonthisnightIaccidentallyturnedtoosoonandsawherstandingthere,hergirdleremoved,herhugegraybralyingonthedresser.
Shewasinjustherunderpantsandwasabouttoslipthenightgownoverherhead.Iquicksnuckunderthe
coversandpretendedtobesosleepyIwasabouttodie.MyheartwasyappingaroundinmychesthardenoughIwassureOlivecouldhearit,andmystomachwasdoinganextraweirdthingthatcausedittosinkinonitselfinspasms.Myfeetwere
freezingandIcursedmyself(curses,curses,Isaid)forhavinganeyelikeacamera.IhadjustaddedsomethingtothephotoalbumofThingsIWishedI’dNeverSeen.Thisonecouldbecross-referencedunderNotSureWhatItWas.Olive’sbodyhadbeen
coveredwithstretchmarksandvaricoseveins,likeamapyouturnoverandcannevermakesenseof.Dottedallaroundthesilverystripesand
thebrightblueraisedveinsweremoreandmoremoles,thousandsofthem.Herbreastswerelargeandhungtoherwaist,andeverythingwassinkinginfolds—athickribbonofskinovertheelasticofherunderpants;pocketsaboveherknees.Theskinthatwasn’tbluewithveinsorblackwithmoleswasaswhiteasthebellyofadeer,andthentherewerethosebrightredhands,so
chappedshenolongerhadfingerprints.“Didyousayyour
prayers?”Oliveasked,climbinginbedbesideme.“Jesuslovesme,Godis
love,goodnight,”Isaid,repeatingthewordsmymothermademesaybeforebedeveryevening.“Godblessyou,”Olive
said,turningoverandsettlingintosleep.ButIdidn’tanswer.Ilet
myhandsrestonmyhipbones,whichweresopronouncedmydadsworehecouldhangcoffeecupsfromthem.Myskinwashoney-coloredinthelatesummerandtautasadrum.Itracedthelineofmyneck,mysternum,myelbows.Iwasswimminginthepinknightgown;therewasnothingtomeandneverhadbeen.ButeventhoughitwasOlivewhocouldseethefuture,not
me,Ishookandblinkedinthedarksilentroom,andIjustwantedtokeepit,IwantedtokeepwhoIwas,forthefirsttimeinmylife.
“Sweetheart,”Olivewhispered.Iburiedmyheadinmy
pillow,thoughtDearGodIjustfellasleepandshe’sgettingmeupforchurch,willtherebenoendtomypunishment.
“Orvillesaysthere’ssomethingontelevisionweshouldsee.”Igotoutofbedandlet
Olivewrapmeinabigbluerobe.Iheldupthehemaswewalkedquietlydownthesteps,overtheTurkishrunner,intothelivingroomwhereOrvillesatinhisstarchedwhitepajamasanddarkpaisleyrobe.Hedidn’tsayanything,butnoddedatthetelevision.
IsatbesideOliveandtriedtodiscernwhatIwasseeing.TheFarmer’sStateBankpresident,JohnTaylor,wasspeakingtotheAmericanpublicandhewasinasorrystate.No,no—itwasactuallyRichardNixon.Irememberednow,becauseitwasNixonwiththejowlsandJohnTaylorwhowashandsome.Nixonwassayinghenolongerfelthehadthepoliticalsupporttoleadthe
nationandwouldberesigningthatverynight.OliveandOrvilleweremotionless,butIwasmosttakenwiththebluebandcrawlingacrossthebottomofthescreen,theissuanceofatornadowarningforpartsofHenryCounty.Atornadohadbeenspotted…somewhere…Ineverunderstoodthepartsaboutnorth/northeast,orsixmileswestof375North,whattheheckdidanyofthat
meananyway.Mypalmsbegantosweat,andIturnedtoOliveandsaid,“Iwanttogohome,Iwanttocallmydad.”Sheshushedme,seeminglyunawareofthepossibilityofatornado.Nothingscaredmemore.Nothingexceptrats,beingkidnapped,orbeingthrownintoblackwater.Alsoyellowmustard.Buttornadoeswerewayhighonthelistofthingsthatterrifiedme,andsinceI
couldn’tgetOlive’sattentionIgotupandrantothebigplateglasswindowintheparlorwhereIcouldseethesky.BehindmeOliveand
OrvillekepttheirvigilandRichardNixongotkickedaroundgood,butforthelasttime.Iwatchedtheblacksky,tryingdesperatelytohearanything,ortheabsenceofanything,thesilenceprecedingthesoul-rumble,
thefreighttrainmusicofatornado.Istoodsilentandstrainedasadog,watchingthesky,waitingfortherealdisastertostrike.Thenightwasblack—nothinglikethesicklygreenthatmeanstheendofanentiretown—andthenthereitwas,milesabovethetownandwhiteastheghostofJesuswhohadonceappearedinourlivingroomwindow.Aghosttornado,spinninglikeachild’stoy
throughtheatmosphere,aninnocentphenomenon,allthingsconsidered.IwatcheditpassoverAstorMain’s,andthecornfieldnextdoor,thenranoutsideandwatcheditspinitswaydowntheWilburWrightRoadtowardtheLuellenfarms.Itwouldnottouchdown.Itwouldharmnoone.Itsparedus,andonthefollowingSundaymorningIsatnexttoOliveatchurch,rubbingherruined
fingertipswithmyown,whichweresmoothasglass,youngaslambs.
LateSummer
Dadsomehowcamebyasideofbeefnotapprovedbythemeat-menoftheFDA,withtheproblemthatwewouldhavetopackageit.Thehidewasgone,mostofthebonesweregone,butotherthanthat
itwaslikeacowsuitandwehadtoturnitintofrozenpackagesofcivilizeddinners.Itwasdeterminedwe’d
holdthefestivitiesatMelinda’shouse(becauseMelinda’shousewasclean,foronething),andDadshoweduptherewitharefrigeratedtruckandastackofbutcherpaperandtape.Hehungstripsofflypaperfromtheceiling,becausethemanwouldnottolerateflies.The
giganticredmeat-thingcameinsideinfourpieces,andwhileDadandRickmadethevariouscuts,Mom,Melinda,andIwrappedandlabeled.TherewasalongmomentrightthereatthebeginningwhereIthoughtImightnotbeabletodoit,mightnotbeabletopickupthequiveringliverandcenteritonthebutcherpaper,allowingmyhandsandclothestobecomecoveredinblood.Isawthe
lookonMelinda’sface,too,andsurelyMotherwasrememberingthetimeDadhadcomehomewitharaccoonfordinner,whichhe’dskinnedandshe’dputintheoventobake,exceptthatnakedandpinkyandlyinginapanitlookedexactlylikeahumanbabyandMombecameabitagitated,whichistosayshebecamehystericalandsworeshewouldneedelectricshocksto
recover.Buttherewassomething
elseinusthatsawweeksandweeksofdinner,andsowejustsettoit,andbeforeIrealizedithadhappenedIwaspickingupfreshlycutmeatandwrappingitwithquicknessandefficiency,andwhenIlookeddownatmylarge-mouthbassT-shirtitwascompletelyredwithbloodandIdidn’tcare.Theshirtwastoosmallforme
anyway;Ijustcouldn’tletitgo.Ididn’tthinkaboutitmuch
—butattheendoftheday,afterthehundredsofpoundsofmeathadbeendividedbetweenRickandMelindaandus,asDadandIloadedourtakeintothetrucktoheadforhome,Iknew,driedblooduptomyelbowsandinmyhair,thatit’spossiblewhennecessarytogetusedtoanything.
ThenewbikemydadandIbuilttoreplacemyoldone(withthepurplesparklybananaseat)weighedaboutsevenhundredpounds,butwhenIgotitgoingitflew,renderednearlygravity-freebyitsmomentum.Iwantedtoridefartherandfartheroutoftown,wheretheflatstreetsofMoorelandgavewaytosomehills.Thenewbikewasfartooheavytojumpofftheloadingdockofthe
Moorelandpostoffice;itwastoobulkytoridealongthelowwallsattheedgesofneighbors’yards.Whatitwasbuiltforwasspeedandlongdistances,soIembarkedonacampaignforfreedom.RequestingfreedomfrommydadwasratherlikewaitingforJesustoreturntoPlanetEarth:youcouldhopeallyouwanted,buttheanswerwasstillno.Iwastallandknew
Moorelandbetterthanpeoplewho’dbeenalivethreetimesaslong,andDadstillhadalittlepanicaboutmecrossingBroadStreettogettoRose’shouse.WhenIwasinthebathtubhestillcalledout“Zip?”everysevenminutestomakesureIhadn’tdrowned.Beforeanyonecouldtouchmeasaninfant,heenforcedhand-washingwithrubbingalcohol,includingbymyownhuman
mother.Wewentroundandround.
Icajoled,andstressedmydeepinnatesenseofpersonalresponsibility,whichwebothknewtobenonexistent.Heshookhisheadandsaiditwastoodangerous.ItwastoodangerousbecausepeopleinruralIndiana(andprobablyinruralTexasandruralMinnesota)drivecountryroadsasiftheyarebothimmortalandparticipatingin
astockcarevent.Itseemedthatonceayearsomeoneflewupandoverablindhilldoingninety,eitherinthecompletelywronglaneordeadinthemiddle,whichiswheretheyendedup.Menespeciallydidthis,andfarmboysintrucks.Itwasn’tbecausetheythoughttheyownedtheroad,asthesayingwent,itwasbecausetheydidowntheroad,andafterthefifty-secondtimeyou’ve
stuckyourhandinajammedthresherandstillnotlostanarm,what’stheWilburWrightRoadtoyou?IwonbecauseDadhad
otherthingsonhismind,andbecauseIwasrelentless.Hegavein,tellingmeIcouldrideasfarsouthasthecrossroadsatMessick,butthenIhadtoturnaroundandcomeback,ANDIhadtoridewithagiganticflagpokingupoutofmybackfender,aflag
sixfeettallandcoloredblazeorange.“Isthattokeepmefrom
gettingshotbyhunters?”Iaskedasheinstalledthethingytheflagslippedinto.“Becauseyouknowthere’snotalotofhuntingoutinthattomatofield,Bobby.”“StopcallingmeBobby.”“Notalotofdeerjust
hangingaroundinthewideopenfourmonthsbeforehuntingseason.Inthe
tomatoes.”“Doyouunderstandwhat
orangeshowsupagainst?”heasked,givingmeahardeyebrow.“Nature.Youridewiththeflagonthebikeoryoustayhomeandswingfromyourtoes,it’syourchoice.”“Fine,”Isaid,stomping
halfwaytothefrontdoor.Istompedback.“ButIjustwantyoutoknowIthinkthatflagisuglyonmybikeand
alsoitdoesn’tseemsoaerodynamicallysound.”“Huh,”Dadsaid,tightening
abolt.“Youhearthatonacommercial?”Inodded.“ThePorsche
911,youknowthatonewiththetunnels?”Isatdownonthesidewalkbesidehimandrecountedtheentirespeedyplotoftheadvertisement.
TheideawasthatIcouldbeinalittlediporcrestingahill
andanoncomingcarwouldseetheflaglongbeforetheysawme.Igotit.Iwentoutthefirstdayandworkedmywayuptospeed,whichnearabouttoremyhamstrings,andbythetimeIgottothehousemysistercovetedwithallherheartIwasprettymuchairborne.Iwasridingonthecorrectsideoftheroad,flagwhistlingandflappingandslowingmedown,whenacarcameup
overahillinentirelythewronglaneandhadtoswervetomissme.Alocalwomanwithsuchbeautifulstraightblondhairthatsherefusedtorolldownherwindowspassedby,tooted,waved.Ihadtoclimboffmybike,sitdowninthegraveloftheshoulderandhangmyheadbetweenmykneestokeepfromhyperventilating.Iwouldnever,evertellDadaboutthis.Iturnedaround
andwenthome,andthenextdaywentalittlefarther.
Therearehorribletorturesinthisworld,likegoingtochurchandthatmomentyoursisternoticesyouhaveneveronceinyourentirelifewashedbehindyourears.Dinnerisroutinelylateandhomeworkisagiven.Therearemeanboyswhotalkaboutunderwear,andmeangirls,buttheonlyoneIknew
(Dana)Ireallyliked.Thereisthetortureofthedeadbabypigpileatyourbestfriend’shouse,apilewhichisfrozeninthewinterbutinthesummermustbefacedsquarely.Yourhamster,Skippy,drownsinyourpottychairandyoursisterandbrotherWILLNEVERLETYOUFORGET,eventhoughSkippywasabiter,andindeedwasfoundwithhismouthwideopenandhis
teethaslonganddangerousasthoseofasaber-toothedrodent.Thereisthecrueltyofbeingmadetowearshoes;thereisthefactofanunheatedhouseinthewintertime;thereisacriticallackofplumbingformonthsatatime.ButnotortureIknewasa
childcomparedwithcanningseason,whichseemstohavebeendevisedbySatantoreproducetheenvironsof
Helllongbeforewegetthere.Imagineakitchenattheheightofsummer,pansboilingandpressurecookerssteaming,Balljarsbeingsterilized(andnotbysomethingcold),Dadrunningtheoperationlikeabanddirectorwithagrudgeandatwitchingbaton.Weputupapplebutter,weputupsnapbeans.Weboiledcornonthecobthensliceditoffinstripswithasharpknife.There
werebread-and-butterpickles,chowchow,yellowsquash.Butnothingmatchedthesheer,violenthatefulnessofcanningtomatoes.Theyhadtobepicked,for
onething,thendestemmed,boiled,dumpedintothesink,andslippedfromtheirskinswhilestillatatemperatureof8,000degreesFahrenheit.Thelarvapart,oncedenuded,wasdroppedquicklyintojars,plopplopplop,untilthejar
wasfull,atwhichtimeDadgotthejoboftheparaffinandthelid,whichseemedtometoperhapsbetheleastoftheevils,butofcoursehewasincharge.AndifIcomplained,he’dtellmetostandinfrontofthefan,whichwasblowingthewholeshebangaroundlikethebroilingwindinDeathValley.Onthenightbeforethefirst
tomatocanningdayItoldDadIwasgoingtogetup
earlybecauseIwasgoingtorideallthewaytotheend,tothelimit.Iwouldstopatthecrossroads,haveamoment,thenturnaroundandcomehome.MaybeI’ddoitasecondtime,ifIwasfeelingsprightly.Dadsaidno,absolutelynot,
weweregettinganearlystart.Thiswasamanwhowentfishingatthreeinthemorning,andeachyearwhenBlueRiver’sbandmarchedin
theStateFairparade,weleftatfiveA.M.inordertogetagoodparkingspot.Hewasroutinelyupforthedayatfour,newsblaringbysix.SoIknewwhenhesaidearlyhemeantit,andifIwasgoingtosneakoutofthehouseitmightmeandoingsointhedeadofnight,neverhavingslept.Ilayinbedonmydaisy
sheets,whichhadbeenonthebedaslongasIcould
remember,infrontoftheboxfanwiththelittlemouseskeletonstillinthebottom.I’dlongsincestoppedstaringatit.Itriednottosleep.IimaginedDracularunningdownthestreetsofOldLondon,runningrightatme,andthatgotmyheartgoingforawhile.IrememberedthedreamI’dhadthatatrollwaseatingmyhair,andthetimeMelinda’sclowndollhadtalkedtomefromawicker
chair.Thosethings—terrifyingatthetime—hadworndown,hadbecomejustWhatHappened.Theclowndolltalked,that’sjusthowitwas.ThetrollwaschewingonmyhairbutwhenIwokeupitwasPeeDink,myretardedcat.Sowhatwasreallyscary?
Thedaymysistergotmarriedandlefthome;thatonestillstung.TheloveIfeltformynephew,Josh,andhowitfelt
whenIthoughthemighthavestoppedbreathing.Tornadoes,nuclearbombs,beingstrandedonamountaintopinablizzard,anyeventthatcausedmetohavetosliceoffthefattypartofotherpeople’sbottomsandeatthembecauseIwasstarvingtodeath.Mannequins,obviously,andmyfather’stemper—thetimehewentafterMelindawithabeltbecausehe’d
gottenherapairofshoesthatdidn’tfitherandshesaidso.Andsomethingaboutmymom.Somethingaboutmyfamily.Ilayonmybackintheswelteringnight,wideawakeandsickwithfear,andthatlineofthoughtsureworked.Thatoneworkedlikemagic.
Dadgotupandwentouttohislittleshed.Iturnedoffthefanandcouldhearhimout
therewithhisbeeswaxandhistraps,histoolsandchains,whistlinganddrinkingacupofcoffee.Islippedoutofbed,stillinyesterday’sclothes,andmademywaydownthecreakystepsbyslidingonthebanister.Noonebarked,noonesawme.Imanagedtokeepthescreendoorfromslamming,andIwheeledmybikeofftheporchsoquietlyIknewIhadspecialpowersIwould
eventuallyneedtoinvestigate.AttheedgeoftownI
pulledtheblazeflagoutofitsslotandleftitinfrontofAstorMain’sfuneralhome.Theflagwasaprimeirritant.Itookoff,thefieldsaroundmejustbeginningtoglowwithdawn,ascentintheairandadensityoflightthatalmostmademeunderstandwhyDadgotupsoridiculouslyearly.Iwent
upthefirsthill,pastMelinda’sCovetThyNeighbor’sHouse,andsailingdown;thetreelinesendedandthefieldsopenedupbeforeme,thousandsofacres.AndIhadanimage,thewayIsometimesthoughtaboutbeingsickjustbeforeIgotsick,ofatimeoutatJulie’swhenafoxhadstreakedacrosstheroadinfrontofus.Irememberedthefoxandjustlikethat,
somethingcrashedoutofaravineontheleftsideoftheroadandgallopedacrosstotheright,maybeacouplehundredfeetfromme—justcloseenoughformetoseetheshapebutnottheface.Istoppedmybikeandwatchedthethinglumberacrossthefieldanddisappearintoaclumpoftrees.Mybreathingwasskittery
andmyrightlegshook.Ihadthoughtatfirstithadbeena
cow,butitwasn’t,anditwasn’tahorseorastag.Istaredatthefields,replayingtheimage.IknewexactlywhatI’dseen.Iturnedaroundandheadedhome.
Dadwaswaitingonthefrontporch,hisarmscrossed,acigaretteburningnearhischest.“I’dsuggestyougetoffthatbicycle,”hesaid,fullofmenace.“Now,listen,”Ibegan.
“No,youlisten.IfItellyouyou’renotridingyourbikeofamorningbecausewe’recanningtomatoes,whatdoesthatmean?”“Ihavetotell—”“WHATDOESTHAT
MEAN?”Ileanedmybikeagainsta
treeandwalkedupintotheyard.“ItmeansIcan’tridemybike.”“Correct.Andwhycan’t
you?”Henevertookhiseyes
offme,whichmademehavetokeeplookingdownatthescrubbyyard.“Becauseyousaidso.”“Getinthehouseandhelp
yourmother.”HedrewalasttimeonhisLucky,flippeditnearlyhalfwayacrossthestreet.Iwalkedinside,lettingthe
screendoorslam.TheinsideofthehousewasalreadysohotIcouldfeelmylungsshrivelinguplike
prunes.Somepeople,whoweremorecivilizedthanmydad,builtalittlecanningshedoutside,sotheycoulddoitintheopenair,ratherthaninanoldkitchenwithexactlyonewindowthatcouldberaisedexactlythreeinches.Iopenedthescreendoor
againandstuckmyheadout,knowingIwasriskinglifeandlimbbydisobeyinghimtwice.“That’sjustfinethen,Iwon’ttellyouhowIgot
halfwaytothecrossroadsandaMOOSEranacrosstheroadinfrontofme,Iwon’tbothertellingyouaboutthat.”Iquickpulledmyheadbackinandclosedthedoor,thenranintothekitchenwhereMomwasinherapronboilingtomatoes,herhairundoneandfrizzedaroundherface.She,ofcourse,hadneverknownI’dbeengone.“Goodmorning,sweetheart,”shesaid,withthevaguestof
glances.
Iheldonesideofthepotaswepouredthetomatoesintothebigcolander.Balljarswerelineduponatowelbesideus,asifwewereinasciencelab.Oh,Iwassufferingallright.Dadwalkedin,coolasabread-and-butterpickle.Helookedatthetomatoesonthestove,thebushelsonthefloor.Hecrossedhisleftarmoverhis
chest,studiedthenailsonhisrighthand.“Amoose,yousay.”He
didn’tlookatmeandIdidn’tlookathim.“That’swhatIsaid.A
moose.RanrightacrossfromjustpasttheThornburgs’,acrosstheroadandintoatreeclump.”“Hasn’tbeenamooseseen
inthesepartsin”—Dadthoughtaboutitamoment—“ever.AsfarasIcantell.”
Idroppedmyovenmittandputmyhandsonmyhip.“DoyouthinkIdon’tknowthat?Iknowwedon’thavemooses.That’sthewholepoint,wedon’thavemoosesandyetIsureasheck-firesawone.”“Don’tyell,”Momsaid,
handingmymittbacktome.“Amoose,”Dadsaid,his
headtiltedtotheleftinawayIparticularlydidn’tlike.“That’sRIGHT.A
MOOSE.Runacrossthe
ROAD.”Dadnoddedasifitall
madesensetohim.Hewalkedintotheden,whichwasseparatedfromthekitchenbya“breakfastbar”atwhichnobreakfastwasevereaten,andpickedupthegreentelephone.Hepausedamoment,checkingforanumberinthebackofthethinphonebook,thendialed.“Hello,”Iheardhimsay,in
hismolassesvoice.“Isthis
WCTW?ThisisBobJarviscallingfromMooreland,Indiana.I’mfine,thankyou.I’mjustwonderingifyouoryourlistenershavegottenanycallsaboutamooserunningwildoutneartheMessickRoad?”Hislipsmovedaroundsquirrellythewaytheydidwhenhewastryingtokeepapokerfaceagainstlaughing.“Ohno,I’mquiteserious.Mydaughterhere—”Heputhishandoverthe
phoneandasked,“Doyouwantmetotellthemyourname?”“No,Idonotwantyouto
tellthemmyname!Hangupfromthatradiostation!”“Mydaughter,”he
continued,“wasoutridingherbikeearlythismorningwhenshewasn’tsupposedto,andamoosejustcrashedacrosstheroadrightinfrontofher.”Helistenedamoment.“Nope,notadeer.
Notacow.Shesaysitwasamooseandshe’sstickingtoit.”Helistened,nodded.“Youdothat.Youputthewordoutandseeifyougetanycalls.Isureappreciateit.”Hehungup,strolledinto
thekitchenwithhisvictorywalk.“Don’tworry,”hesaid,“we’llgettothebottomofthis.”IwassomadIslippedon
therubberglovesandtookup
theworstofthetomatojobs:squeezingtheboilingblobsoutoftheirskins.Iwasnonetoogentle,either.Islammedaroundalittlewhile,thensaid,“Youcouldhaveatleastaskedthemtoplay‘OneTinSoldier.’Ifyouweregonnamakeagiganticfussyoucouldhaveatleastrequestedmyfavoritesong.”MomandDadworked
besideeachothersilently.Shefilledthejars;hesealed
them,thenwrotethedateonthebrasslidswithapermanentmarker.Hisbeautifulhandwriting.We’ddatedthebutcherpaperonthesideofbeef,too,beforeweputitinthechestfreezer.Wethoughtweweredoingitforonereason,butitturnedoutweweredoingitforanother.Thosearethesortsofthingsyouonlyknowlater,ofcourse.Noonecalledaboutthemoose.Nooneelseever
sawit.
Antrobus:
What?Oh,that’sthestormsignal.Oneofthoseblackdisksmeansbadweather;twomeansstorm;threemeanshurricane;andfourmeanstheendoftheworld.Astheywatchitasecond
blackdiskrollsintoplace.
Mrs.Antrobus:
Goodness!I’mgoingthisveryminutetobuyyouallsomeraincoats.
Gladys:
Puttinghercheekagainstherfather’sshoulder.Mama,don’tgoyet.Ilike
sittingthisway.Andtheoceancominginandcomingin.Papa,don’tyoulikeit?
—THORNTONWILDER,The
SkinofOurTeeth,ACTII
Valediction
Forherfirstdayatcollegemymomworeavoluminouspurpleshirtwithblackpoodlesdancingabout,madeofpolyester,andblackpolyesterpantswithaforgivingelasticwaistline.
Shehadmadethepoodlesuitherself.ShealsoworeIndianmoccasins,becausetheyweretheonlyshoesshehadthatstillfit.Bythetimeshecamehome
thatfirstdayIwashangingaroundonthefrontporch,sometimesmakingtheporchswingsmackagainstthehouse,sometimesspinningaroundandaroundintheyarduntilIfelldown.Icheckedforearthwormsbutitwasa
drySeptemberday.Ihoppedupanddownononefoot,chippedsomepaintoffaporchpost,triedtogetmyoldimaginaryfriends,PickyandBogey,wholivedinthehousesiding,totalktomeagain.ButtheywerelonggoneandIcouldjustimaginewhatsortofidiotIlookedlike,standingtherewithmynosepressedagainstthegrittyvinyl.MomdroveupinDanny’s
car,parkingitbackaways,leavingroomdirectlyinfrontofthehouse,theplacewiththebigholealwaysfilledwithwater,forDad.Shemadeherwayoutofthecarwithunusualweariness,pausingperiodicallytolookaroundasifshewasn’tquitesurewhereshewas.Iignoredher,some.Istudiedheralittle,butnotsoshecouldtell.Shetrudgedupthe
sidewalkandstairs,herwornArmysurplusbackpackheavyonhershoulders.“Hello,”shesaidtome,almostasanafterthought.“Hey,”Isaid,studying
Saffer’sstore.Assoonasthescreendoor
closedbehindherIopeneditsneakyandslippedin.Momheadeddirectlyfortheden,whereshedroppedherbackpackinapileofknittingandfloppeddownonthe
couch.Shesatstaringforward,notblinkingorspeaking.Idoveontotheothercouch,
armsoutlikeSuperman.Ilandedhard,withawhoomph,andfeltashiverofworrythatperhapsmymostrecentlong-losthamster,Merle,wasstillsomewhereinthesofawherehe’ddisappearedafewweeksago.EachdayIstuffedcrackersorpopcorndownbetweenthe
cushions,justincase,buthe’dyettomakeanappearance.Hewasabitstupidreally,ashamstersgo.He’dbeengiventomebyagirldownthestreetwhodidn’tlikerodents,andtheveryfirsttimeItookhimoutofhiscagehesankhisgiganticcurvedteethintomythumbsohardIsawspots.ThenIgotsomadIgrabbedhimbythethroattotrytomakehimletgo,andhislittle
beadyeyespoppedoutsomeandthetopteethcamefreebuttheonesatthebottomwerelikethesizeofelephanttusksandIhadtoactuallypullthemoutofmyownthumbflesh,whichwassomethingItriednottorememberwhenfallingasleepatnight.Idroppedhim,naturally,andheskittereddownbetweenthecouchcushions,andeventhoughItookthethingapart,wearing
thickleathergloves,hewasneverseenagain.Dadtoldmelaterthatoncewhenhewasnappingonthatverysofa,hehadfeltascritchscritchscritchagainsthisbluejeans.Heignoredit.Hefeltitagain:littletinyfingernailsfranticallyscratchingtickatickatickaagainsthisbutt,andconsciousnesssweptoverhimandhewasfirsthorizontalandthenhewasverticaland
standinginanotherroom.Momstillhadnotmovedor
spoken,soIbrokethesilence.“Well?”Isaid,throwing
myarmsoutatherinfrustration.“Well?”Sheasked,looking
atme.“Well,didjaLEARN
anythingtoday?”Shelookedbackatthe
blankspotonthewall,considereditamoment.“Idon’tknow.Askmelater.”
Thiswasnogood.Icouldseewhatwashappening,soIwentupstairsandgotmyScooby-DoocoloringbookandRayBradbury’sTwice22,abookI’dreadsomanytimesitshouldhavebeencalledTwelve22,andcameandsatdownattheendofMom’scouch,verycasual-like,asifsheandIjusthappenedtobesittinginthesameplaceeventhoughitwasstilllightoutsideandI
hadohplentytobedoing.Therewasahill,forinstance,overbytherailroadtracksthatsomeonehadseenfittomowforthefirsttimeinmylifeanditwaswickedsteepforMooreland.Allthingsbeingequal.ForweeksI’dbeenridingmybikedownitwithnohands,causingthebiketoshakeandveryoftenspinoutofcontrolinthesoftdirtatthebottom.Itwasheaven.
Fine,though,fine,I’djustsitinthedimclammydenwithMominherpoodlesuituntilshepickedupthephoneandcalledsomeone,andthenI’dcolorsoquietlyshe’dforgetIwasthereandprettysoonI’dknowwhatthiswasallabout,thisthingshewasdoingcalledcollege.SoonenoughIheardher
dialingthegreentelephone.ShewascallingCarol,whichwasgood,becauseshe’dtell
Caroleverything.Herfirstclassoftheday
hadbeenAmericanLiterature240,asurveyclass,whichmeantnothingtomeasIhadseensurveyorsathousandtimesandthethoughtofthemwiththeirinstrumentstrainedonabigfatanthologymadeaboutasmuchsenseasahousemadeofhair.Momsatinthebackoftheclassroom,embarrassedtobeamongthethin,lovelynineteen-year-
oldswhorightlydeservedtobethere.TheProfessorcameinexactlyonthehour.Heworeabluesuit,adarktie,andawatchonachain,whichhetookoutofhispocketandplacedonthepodiuminfrontofhim.Therewasadecidedtremoramongthestudentsasheintroducedhimself:Dr.Satterwhite.Heexplainedthathewouldnotbetakingattendance,astherewasnoneedtofamiliarizehimself
withpeoplewhowould,inamatterofdays,simplybedroppingtheclassoutoffearandlazinessanyway.Hesaid,“Atleasthalfofyouwillvanishduringdrop/add,”atermMomwrotedowninherspiralnotebook.Drop/add.Liketheinstructionsinarecipe.Dr.Satterwhite,according
toMom,lookedeitherpresidentialorlikeamemberoftheJohnBirchSociety.I
didn’tknowwhattheJohnBirchSocietywas,buttherewasahand-paintedsignnotsofaroutintheboondockspastMountSummitthatadvertisedtheclubwiththemessageGETU.S.OUTOFTHEU.N.!Helookedlikeoneofthose,butwasn’t.Helaunchedintoalecture
withoutbenefitofabookoranote.Helecturedforexactlyforty-fiveminutes,duringwhichtimeMomtookfrantic
notesinherprecise,femininehandwriting.Hethenledthemthroughthemostterrifyingsyllabus(notthesortofvehiclemysisterwouldputmein,apparently,butascheduleofreading)Momcouldimagine.Manystudentsfoldedit,preparingtoleaveitinthetrashcanastheymadetheirwaytodrop/add.AttheendofthehourDr.Satterwhitesnappedhiswatchclosedandasked,
“Invaledictionoftoday’slesson,doesanyonehaveanythingtoadd?”Noonespoke.“Carol,”
Momsaidintothephone,bothlaughingandbeginningtocry,“Iburstintotears.”Whentheotherstudents
hadfledtheroomheaskedMominhisbrisk,militarytone,“Madam,mayIaskwhat’sthematterwithyou?”Momsaid,“Ilivein
Mooreland,andI’venever
heardanyonesay‘invalediction’ofanythingbefore.Ithinkyou’rewonderful!”Dr.Satterwhiteflushed,
clearedhisthroat,andlefttheroomabruptly.
MomcalledMomMaryandtoldherabouthernextadventure,apsychologyclassthatwasheldinabigroomwith250students.Momdidn’tlikeit,becausethe
textbookhadbeenexpensiveandoneofthestudiestheyreadaboutdescribedhowpsychologistshadspent$90,000tryingtodeterminewhetherbabiespreferredtoberockedbackandforthorsidetoside.MomMarysaidsomethingandmymomlaughedherbiglaugh,leaningherheadbackagainstthecouch.WhenshehungupIsaid,“WhatdidMomMaryhavetosay?”
“Shesaid”—Mompreparedforherperfectimitationofmygrandmother—“‘Laws,Icouldatoldthemthatforfifteendollars.Everbodyknowsitain’tnaturaltorocksidetoside;fronttobackisthewayrockersisbuilt.’”Inodded.MomMarymay
haveonlygottenthroughthethirdgrade,butyoucouldn’tputmuchpasther.
MomalsohadaclassthatdaywithDr.Reiss,athinwomanwhoworeawatchtoobigforhersoitspunaroundonherwrist,makingherlookevensmaller.Dr.ReisstaughtSpeech210,andherPh.D.wasinInterpersonalCommunications,aphrasethatsetmyteethonedgebutIdidn’tsayso.IcouldtellfromthewayMomtalkedtoJodellefromchurchthatSpeechwasmaybetheplace
shewasreallygoingtoshine,eventhoughshiningwasallshe’ddonesofar.Shementionedotherclassesshemighttake,likeAfterDinnerSpeaking,whichwasnotsomethingdoneveryofteninourhousesoitwashardtopicture.IcouldhavegottenanA+inAfterDinnerTelevisionWatching,butofcourseIwasn’tthecollegestudent.MomtoldJodellealittle
aboutDr.Satterwhite,andasshespokeshegotoutthedreadedsyllabus.“Ourfirstassignment,”Momsaid,“istowriteapaperonOfPlymouthPlantation,andlistentothis:hesaidithastobecoherentandbrilliantandperfect.”Mom’seyesfilledwithtearsagain.Itwaspossiblethatshewasgoingtocryallthroughheryearsofhighereducation.
Momwroteherpaperfirstinlonghand,thentypeditontheoldSmithCoronaonwhichshe’dwrittenherscarystories,including“AwayGame,”astorythatbotheredmesomuchIknewIwouldneverrecoverfromit.Whenshegotthepaperback,Dr.Satterwhitehadwritten,“Concise,well-written,youtypesplendidly.A.”
Dadcameinlate,theevening
ofMom’sfirstdayofschool.Momwassurroundedbybooksandsillybuses,herglassesalittlecrooked.IwaswatchingtelevisionandPeeDinkwasdozingonmychest,drooling.IheardDadtakeoffhisholster,whichmadeenormousleathernoises,andhangitonthebackofoneofthechairsinthelivingroom.Heranasmallcombthroughhishair.Hetookhiscigarettesand
lighteroutofhispocketandwalkedthroughthecurtainthatdividedthetworooms.“Zip,”hesaid,sittingdown
inhisbrownchair,pullinghispurpleashtrayontothearm.“Hey,Daddy.”“Delonda,”hesaid,staring
straightatthetelevision.“Hello,dear,”shesaid,
turningthepageofahandout.“Howwasyourday?”“Justfine.”Dadflickedthe
wheelofhislighter,lithis
LuckyStrike,snappedthelighterclosed.
IntheMood
OhIhatedschool,itwasmeantomakemego,myfingersgotallcrampyaroundapencilandmysistersaidIhadthehandwritingofapsychomurderer.Ididn’tunderstandonethingabout
math,notone,orscienceeither;Goahead!Iwouldsaytomyteachers.Makemedrawandcoloranothercell!YoumightaswellmakemedrawandcolorapictureofyourdeadauntEthelforallitmeanstome!Andthentheleafcollections,everybodyhastohavealeafcollection,it’ssoveryveryimportanttocollectleavesforsomereason,andifI’mnotstudyingleaveswhynot
makemewriteoverandoverthattheprimaryexportofGambiaisthecocoabeanorwhatever,becausethatmatters.Wewouldgettoschool,on
thedaysmydadmademegotoschool,andtherewouldbeRosewitheverysinglethingperfectlydone,includingherleafcollection(forwhichshehadtomakeatriptotheRichmondArboretum)andhermathandspellingand
littlestoriesandcells—shenevergotonesinglethingwrongnordidsheeverskipanythingandshewasleft-handed.Itwasanepicpuzzletome.Icouldbarelymakeitthroughtheday,IfeltlikeIwasbeingpokedwithhotsticks,Ifeltliketherewerespiderscrawlinginmyclothes.OnmanyanoccasionIhadtositonmyhandstokeepfromjumpingupandscreaminglikeahyena.Why
wasitlikethis,IwouldsaytoMelinda,why?“Roseismuchsmarterthan
you,foronething,”sheanswered,stirringCreamofWheatinalittlepanonherstove.“Well,that’sforsure.Rose
issmarterthananyoneexceptforRonnieLewis.”OurclassalwayshadtheSuperSmartGirlcategoryasseparatefromtheSuperSmartBoycategory.“Buthowdoes
shegetthroughtheday?”“She’sprobablyinterested
inschool.There’saconcept.”Icrossedmyarms,kicked
thechairlegs.“I’mnotinterested.Ihateit.”“Iknow,sodidI.”“SodidDanny,”Isaid,
rememberingmybrother’sstruggles.“Yep,”Melindasaid,
reachingforabowl.“We’rejustdefective.”“Oooh,nowthere’s
somethingthatinterestsme,beingadetective.Wouldn’tIbegoodatthat?”Melindathoughtaboutit.
“Wecouldstartourownagency,”shesaid,“Iwouldbethebrainsandyoucoulddoallthegrossstuff.”Isighed.Shehadjust
namedmydreamlife.
WhenMomwasregisteringforclassesherfirstquarteratBallState,thedeanofthe
HonorsCollege,Dr.WarrenVanderhill,tookalookatherSATscoresandtoldhersheshouldtaketheHumanitiesSequence,aseriesofthreeclassesoverthreequarters.Youchoseaprofessorandstayedwithhimorherforthewholeyear.Dr.VanderhillrecommendedDr.JohnMood.“He’llbeperfectforyou,”Dr.Vanderhillsaid,withashineinhiseyeMomdidn’tquiteunderstand.
ThefirstclassMomhadwithDr.JohnMood,onherseconddayatBallState,shecamehomelookingasifshehadjustspentthedaybeingchasedbyawild-eyedcow.ItwaseveningtimewhenshewanderedinandIwassittingonthecouchwithmy“homework”onmylapandontopofittheSupermancoloringbookIwassteadilymakingmywaythrough.“Hey,”Isaid,scooting
downandturningmybodyjustslightly,soshecouldn’tseewhatIwasdoing.Notthatshewouldhavecared.Idon’tbelieveMomeveraskedmeonesingletimeifIdidmyhomework,andshesurewasn’tsuggestingwetoodleovertotheRichmondArboretum.Momletherbackpackfall
tothefloor,wherethedogsbegantosniffit;shedroppedherselfintoherhollowed-out
placeinthecornerofthecouch.“Ohhh,”shesaid,sighingandclosinghereyes.“Where’syourfather?”sheasked,withoutlookingatme.“Gone.”“Didyoursisterfeedyou?”“Yes,listen,we’vestarted
thisgamewhereweseewhocaneattheraweststeak.Shethawsthemoutandthenputstheminapanandflipsthemover.Afteraboutaminuteshesays,‘Thinkyoucaneatit
likethis?’andIsay,‘YoubetIcan,’andIdo,soshehasto.Thatwaslastweek.Tonightshebarelycookeditatall,therewasjustsomelittlebrownstreaksontheoutside,shesaidtoapretendwaiterwhohadpretendaskedushowwewantedourmeatprepared,‘Justmakeitsufferalittle.’”“That’snice.”Momstill
hadn’tmoved.Evenherhandswerelimp.Weboth
jumpedwhenthephonerang,althoughIdon’tknowwhy,asitrangabout700timesaday.Shesaidhelloandthen
turnedherbodyslightlyawayfromme,asifshedidn’twantmetohearwhatshehadtosay.However,itwasindisputablythecasethatoneofthereasonsIwouldbeagooddetectivewasthatIhadincrediblepowersofbothobservationandhearing,but
couldpretendtobeuninterestedinmysurroundings.MostlyIwasuninterestedinmysurroundings,soI’dhadlotsofpractice.“Idid,”Iheardhersay,“I
hadmyfirstclasswithhimtoday.Carol,hesaidthatninetypercent,”andheresheloweredhervoiceevenmore,“offarmboyshavetheirfirstsexualexperiencewithananimal.”
MyearslifteduponmyheadlikelittleMartianantennae.What???Iknewsomeveryrudimentarythingsaboutwhatmyformerlypiousmotherwassoblithelyreferringtoas“sexualexperience,”andtheywerenotpretty.Theywerebizarreandwrongandnooneactuallydidthem.Butaddingtheword“animal”openedawholenewcanofworms.“Iknow!”Momsaid,her
facebrightred.“AnEnglishclass.Dr.Mood,”shesaid,openinghersatcheltolookforanotebook.“Yes,that’shisrealname.”
MomhadclasseswithDr.MoodTuesdaythroughThursday,andsuddenlyIcouldn’tbeanywhereelsewhenshegothome.Ididn’tdareaskquestionsoutright;Ijusthoveredaroundandwaitedforhertostarttalking
abouthim.HerewerethethingsIhadlearnedbyeitherlisteningorhidingmybluetaperecorderbehindapillowonthecouch.
1.Dr.Moodwastheworld’sgreatexpertonsomeonecalledRainingMariaRilkuh.ThissoundedtomelikearealliveInjun,althoughIdoubtedseriouslythatTontowouldwritepoetry,norwouldareal
Indianhaveawoman’smiddlename.Curiously,RainingRilkuh’spoemswereallinGerman,andDr.Moodcouldspeakitandtranslateit,andhadeventranslatedabookofRaining’spoemscalledRilkuh:LoveandOtherDifficulties.GermanIndians?IwouldhavetoaskRose.
2.Heworeclothesofwildcolors,includingpantswithflowersembroideredupthe
side.Heworejewelry,alargenecklaceofsomethingmymomcalledOnk.Withhissandalsheworeelectric-bluesocks.Thiswasunspeakablycurious.Hehadlongblackhairandlongfingernails,andheusedsaidfingernailstotucksaidhairbehindhisears.
3.Dr.Moodcouldhavebeenastand-infortheDevilhimself.Momshowedmea
pictureofhimthathadbeeninthepaperandIcouldonlywhistleandbackaway.Inadditiontohislonghairhehadabeardlikeagoat;hewasthinandblack-eyed,anditappearedhewasleadingagroupofstudentsintosomerabble-rousing.Behindhimtherewerestudentsallmuch,muchyoungerthanMotherandwhenIaskedMomwhatDr.Moodwasdoingshesaidhewasreadingpoemsout
loud.TheywerebysomeonenamedAllenGinsbergandwhoknewacrowdwouldturnuptohearpoems.Probablyafterthereadingtherewasmischief.
4.BeforehetookupwithRainingRilkuhandbecameaprofessor,hehadbeenanevangelicalminister.HewasanordainedministerwhohadabandonedGodfortheshadowworldofcollege.He
wasnolongerevenalittlebitofaChristian,somethingIsecretlylovedinaperson.Iwasalwayslookingaroundfornonbelievers,justtoseehowtheygotbywithoutbeingputinprison.Forawhile,mydreamwastofindanatheistmidgetandthenlightoutforaghosttownintheWildWestwithhim,butwhenImentionedthistoJulieshesaidyoudidn’treallywanttoputamidgetona
horse.
5.Dr.MoodwasnotanactualmedicaldoctorbutMomcalledhimDr.anyway.
6.Heneveractuallytaughtanything.Hedeclaimedsomethings,andthenhereadaloudthenaughtypartsofbooks.IneveroncecapturedMotherontapedescribinganyofthesenaughtyparts,orevenwhatthebookswere,afailure
asadetective,Iadmit.
7.Dr.Moodrodeamotorcycletoworkandratherthanparkit,hesimplydroveitstraightintothebuildingwherehetaughthisclassesandparkeditoutsidetheclassroomdoor.
8.Eachdayhecarriedanemptytunafishcanintoclasswithhim,whichhewouldgraduallyfillupwithashes
andcigarettebutts.Fortunatelymymomwasaccustomedtolivingwithmydad,sochain-smokingwasfinewithher.
9.OnedayayoungmanaskedDr.Moodifthepaperstheyturnedinhadtobeinplasticfolders.EvenIcouldhaveguessedtheanswertothatone.Dr.Moodwaslikeme,hewasnotthetypetostomachsuchtrivialities.He
said,lightingacigarette,“Idon’tcareifyouturnitinontoiletpaper,aslongasit’sgood.”MyeyeslituplikeChristmaswhenIheardthis.Schoolworkontoiletpaper—nowtherewasapieceofbrillianceifeverI’dheardone.ThefirstpaperMomwroteforhimshetypedupinhernormalwaybutsheletmemakeacoverforitusingpapertowels.Iwrotethetitleanddrewanaturescene.
Whenshegotitback,sheletmeseewhathe’dwritten:“A.Closereading,greatideas.Coolflowers.”
Iwentrightonhatingschoolasmuchasanyvegetableleftinvinegar,butLordIlovedcollege.Ididn’twantthesemesterstoeverend.Suchscandalousthingshappenedthere.TheBiblewastaughtinamythologyclass;Momwasforcedto
readbooksbyagroupofpeoplecalledtheExistentialists,includinganentirebookaboutnothingbutvomiting.Shereadpoemsbyhomosexuals,andoncethatconceptmadeitswayintomybrainawholelotofthingsbecamecleartomeaboutsomepeopleIknewwhosenamesIwouldn’tmentioneventoRose.OnceinthecarwithMom,
whenshe’dforgotten
somethingatthelibraryandtookmewithhertofindit,Iwasthiiiiisclosetoaskingherwasitthesameforhomosexualfarmboysastheothers.Ninetypercent?Closertofifty?ButIkeptmymouthclosed.IfsheknewhalfofwhatI’doverheardshe’dhavesentme,thosedearevenings,intothelivingroomtofreezetodeath.
EverydaywithDr.Mood
wasasurprise,Igathered,andnotonlybecauseofthenaughtypartsbutbecause,asMomputit,hehadafriendlyrelationshipwithavarietyofchemicals.Alotofprofessorswerepart-timechemists,itseemed,includingonemanwhowasconsistentlydeclared“agenius”butspenthiseveningsinworking-classbarsgettinghisteethknockedout.Saidgenius’steethweremissingtheweekendhe
hostedapoetoncampusnamedW.H.Auden.Infact,asIheardlater,GeniusmanagedtogetAudeninabarfight,too.IlovedthesemenandwantedtogotocollegewithMominsteadofelementaryschoolwithRosebutMomwouldhavenopartofit.AndthatonetimeI’dbeeninthebiglibrarywithher,astudenthadjoinedusintheelevatorandcalledmeapygmysoitwasprobablyfor
thebest.Itwasattheendofherfirst
semesterwithhimthatDr.MoodshockedMomhardest.Hecametoclasswithahandout,thefirst,last,andonlytimehewoulddosomethingsotraditional.Itwasanoutlineofthe
BookofMark—interestinglyenough,theonlybookoftheBibleIeitherlikedortrusted.Therestseemedlikeabunchof
hooey.HebeganwithanoutlineofHealings,detailingtheExorcisms,Cleansings,andRestorations,citingchapterandverseforeach.Theyaddedup,hebelieved,toaRestorationoftheReader.ParttwowasBread
Imagery,andDr.Moodarguedthatcitationsoffood(bread,fish,etc.)graduallybuildtopresentJesusastheBreadofLife,preparingthe
wayfortheLastSupper.(AlthoughhepointedoutthatthetextualreferencetotheLastSupperwaspotentially“spurious,”awordthatgotinmeandwouldn’tletgo.Ihadnoideawhatitmeant,butitseemedtoturnJesusintoacowboyandtherewasnotonethingbetteronthisearththanthat.)Thethirdsectionwas
NumbersinMark:fivesacredloavesofbread,fourdisciples
called,fourhealings,etc.Dr.MoodkneweverysingleplaceanumberwasmentionedinMarkandtheyseemedtoadduptosomething.Well,theyaddedup—totwelvedisciples,anddown,tooneloafofbread(Jesus).EverytimeIsnuckthishandoutfromMom’sBibleIstudiedhardonthenumbersandwouldhavemadebettersenseofitifI’dhadevenanodding
relationshipwithmath.Thelastpartwasmy
favorite,becauseIthoughtonlyIhadnoticedit.Dr.MoodcalleditSecrecy.TherewasImplicitSecrecyandExplicitSecrecy,twowordsIhadtoactuallylookupinthedictionary.Ihateddictionariesbutthiswasworthit.BecauseallmylifeI’dbeenburningmybuttupinchurch,threetimesaweeksittingthereinagony,and
we’dreadfromMarkandI’dseeitasifwritteninneon:TellnooneIwashere.Nowwhy,Iwondered,wasitrighttosay,JesussaidBlahandsothat’swhatwemustdo,andJesussaidWhateverandsothat’swhatwemustdo,butwecouldjustgoaheadandignorethefactthattherealbetrayalofhimwasbythemultitudeswhocouldn’tkeeptheirstupidmouthsshut.Dr.Moodcited
alltheplacesJesusasked,“Doyouunderstand?”“Doyounotunderstand?”“Doyounotyetunderstand?”and“Theydidnotunderstand,”anditseemedtomethattherewassomethinggiganticgoingonanditwasneartomeandalsoveryfaraway.
OnthedayDr.Moodgavehisfirst,last,andonlyhandout,Mothersatthroughhislectureenthralledand
enraged.Whenshegothomeshewasstillallnervousandindignant,thewayshe’dbeenwhenshediscoveredthatdownatthedrugstore,onthenewsstand,someonehadplacedPhilosophyintheBedroombytheMarquisdeSade.ThisatatimewhenthepostmasterrefusedtodeliverherTimemagazinebecausehesaiditwasCommunist.ThateveningIscoochedup
ascloseasIcouldtoheron
thecouch.Sheignoredmewhenthephonerang.Iheardhersay,“IwentuptohiminthehallbeforehegotonhismotorcycleandIshookmyfingerrightinhisface.Isaid,‘Icameheretolearnsomething,youhavenoideawhatthisiscostingme,andallthissemesteryouhavegrandstandedandentertainedandallthewhileyoucouldreallyteach.Howdareyoukeepthisfromme,how
dareyounotteachmeeverythingyoucouldwhileyouhadthetime?’Iwasevenshakingthehandoutinhisface.”Carolmusthaveasked
whathisanswerwas.Momlookeddownather
lap,twistedthephonecord.“Hestaredatmeforagoodlongminuteandthensaid,‘Fatwomenalwaysdidturnmeon.’”
Attheendofthatyearhedisappeared.Hetookhisrosepants,hisOnk,hismotorcycleandtunacanandheadedwest.Therewerelotsofrumors,somebelievable,somenot.ThemostpersistentwasthathehadtakenajobdrivinganicecreamtruckaroundatownwithSantainthetitle.Thatmadeperfectsensetome.Icouldjustimaginehim,hisblackeyes,hisLuciferface,riding
aroundandaroundtothatsinistermusic.HeunderstoodmoreaboutJesusthananyoneI’deverheardof,andheknewwhatIknew:thatJesuswasn’tthethinblondangelboyofSuperstar,notlikeIusedtothinkofhim.Hewasanoutlaw,hewouldratherdiethangivein.Jesuswouldhaveputthesmack-downontheRichmondArboretum,justlikehedidwiththefigtree.JohnMood,Ithought,
musthavebeenthesameinhisway.Whateverthecollegeworldhadaskedofhim,Dr.Moodhadsaidnothanks,andhe’dspreadhisarmsandflownaway.Hechangedmymotherpermanently,hechangedme,andallheleftbehindwasabookofOtherDifficultiesandasingletwo-pageoutline,whichMomkepttuckedinherBibleandwhichsheandIbothtookoutperiodicallyandstudied,like
evidence.
Fall
Attheendofthefourth-gradeschoolyear,myfirsteverboyfriend(fromkindergarten),walkeduptomeinthehallwayandasked,notcruellybutwithgenuinecuriosity,“Doyouevenowna
differentpairofpants?”IlookeddownandrealizedI’dbeenwearingthesamebluepolyesterpantsMomMaryhadgivenmeforChristmastheentireschoolyear.Ididn’tknowhowtoanswerhim.MaybeIhadanotherpairofpants,butifIdidIdidn’tknowwheretheywereorwhatI’ddowiththemifIfoundthem.There’dbeensomedecline
inthelaundryareafromthat
plateausinceMotherstartedcollege,andasafamilywehadn’thadalotfurthertofall.ImissedthedaysattheLaundromatinNewCastle,whichsmelledofTideandDownyandhadfluffyballsoflintfloatingintheair.Awomanworkedthere,amanager,Iguess,whocarriedabigapronfullofquartersandalwayslookedlikeshe’dheardajokeshedidn’tdarerepeat.Outsideshesmoked
cigaretteaftercigarettewithmydadwhenhewentwithus,butinsidetheairwaslintyandpure,anditwaspossibletoclimbintherollinglaundrybasketswiththeIVpolesandcreategreattrouble.Plusyoucouldbuyindividualboxesofdetergentandfabricsoftener,evenbleach,andtherewasnothingthatmademegrindmyteethwithpleasuremorethanarealthingshrunkendownsmall.Thefirsttime
mydadshowedmeatoothachekitfromaboxofequipmentfromtheKoreanWarandIsawthetinycottonballs(thesizeofverysmallballbearings),Inearlyswooned.“Letmeholdoneofthose,”Isaid,almostmadathim.Hegaveittomewithatinypairoftweezers.Iletitfloatinmypalmamomentandthenmadehimtakeitback.MiniaturizationwasagiftfromGod,nodoubtabout
it,andthereitwas,rightinavendingmachineintheplaceweusedtodoourlaundryinNewCastle,Indiana.Mysisterhadscroungedup
aredpolyestershirtforthenextschoolyear,andapairofplaidpantsthatfollowedthebasiclawofmyphysicaldeformity.Theywerelongenough,whichmeantthewaistwasgiganticallytoobig.Iworethemfoldedoverandpinned,justatmybelly
button.Theshirt,theplaidpants,ausedpairofshoes.Itwasatypicalyear,exceptformymissingmother.
MissSlocum,ourfifth-gradeteacher,belongedtooneofthemanyreligionsthatgavewomenbun-headandmadethemweardresseseveryday.Shewaspaleandspokethroughwhatappearedtobesomeoneelse’snose.Thatyearshereadaloudtous
everyday,startingwithWheretheRedFernGrows,andIcriedsohardattheendIhadtogototheprincipal’sofficeandapologize.Hewasquitekindaboutit,giventhatI’dbeeninhisofficeforfarworseinfractionsonmultipleoccasions.MissSlocumalsomadeuswriteourownpoemsandreadthemaloudtotheclass,whichwasformeastorturousandexquisiteasaminiaturecottonball.I
workedandworkedonmypoem,whichwascalled“IfICould,”anditwasinfourstanzas.ThepoemconcernedwhatIwoulddoifIcouldbefourdifferentthings—abird,alion,anantelope,oracloud.Iwasn’tdreamyaboutit;Iwasquite,quitepractical.Ipracticedreadingitaloudmanytimes,andwhenthedaycametoperformitIfinallygotsomethingrightandMissSlocumlikeditand
gavemeanA,perhapstheonlyAIevergotinthirteenyearsofpublicschool.OtherkidsreadtheirpoemsandsomewereI’msorryjustobviouslystupid,andthenaboymostofthegirlshadacrushon,atalljock-ishboycalledTommy,stoodupandreadaloudaJohnDenversong,“TheEagleandtheHawk.”Mychestflushedredandthenmyface.IturnedandlookedatRose,butshe’d
yettocatchuptothesublimityofJohnDenver,althoughintimeIwouldforceenoughofhimonherthatshewouldbegformercyanddemandwereturntoPaulSimon.Tommyreadthewholething,twoperfectstanzas,nochorus,nobridge.ItwasJohnathisfinest,Ithought.“IamtheHawkandthere’sbloodonmyfeathers.”MissSlocumsatperfectlygullibleandsmiling,
becauseofcoursetheNazarenesorwhoeverwouldnothavebeenstudyingonJohnDenversoshejustthoughtTommywasagenius.Imadefistsandpoppedmy
jawmuscleslikemybrotheralwaysdidandwaitedforthebelltoring.WewerebarelyoutthedoortotheplaygroundwhenIturnedtoJulieandsaid,spittingmad,“Hestolethatpoem,hedidn’twriteit.HestoleitfromJohn
Denver,it’soneofJohn’sbestsongsandIcanstandrighthereandtellyouthewholething,everyword.AndI’lltellyouwhatthatmakesMr.Basketball,JulieAnn,itmakeshimacommonthiefandaliar.”Juliekeptwalking.“I’mgoingoverthere,right
uptohisface,andtellhimIknowwhathedidevenifnooneelsedoes.AndthenI’mgoingtoMissSlocumand
Mr.DavisandI’mgoingtotellthemwhathedid,too,becauseIdon’tknowexactlywhatkindofcrimethisis,butitisA.Crime.For.Certain.”Juliewalked.“Aren’tyougoingtosay
something?”Sheshookherhead.
“Nope.”“Areyougonnagowithme
incasehegetsmean?”Juliestopped,shovedme
slightly.“Letitgo,Jarvis.Juststoptalking.”Istompedovermadasa
henandplayedtetherballwithhereventhoughIshouldhavemadeherplaywithaboynamedJeffwhowasshortandtough.InsteadJuliebeatthecrapoutofmeninetimesinarowwhichIthinkshethoughtwouldmakemeforgetaboutTommybutitdidn’t.Ididn’tsayanythingtohimortoMissSlocum,but
thateveningIrodemybikedowntoRose’sandwhilewelistenedtoDr.DementoontheradioItoldherwhatTommyhaddoneandRosegotalookonherfacelikeshe’djuststeppedinsomethingfoul.“Whatapig,”shesaid,andallthatevening,ofmytwobestfriends,Ilovedhermostofall.
ItwasautumnandI’dfinallygrownintoasweatshirtmy
sisterhadpasseddowntome;itwasblue,withourschool’snameandlogo,theVikingheadinprofile,inred.Ilovedthatsweatshirtandthankedtheelementsforeverydaythatwascoldenoughtowearit.Inadditiontherewastheroller-skatescraze.Ithinkitbeganwithapretty,newgirlcalledChristina,wholivedbehindRoseandcouldsignhernameintheshapeofaswan.Shewasanexotically
coloredpersonandmysterious.Onceshehadskatesweallhadtohavethem.MinearrivedinmuchthesamewayIgotmysaddleoxfords:Idon’tknowhow.Theskateswerelikewiseused—bungedupontheplasticwheelsandgrayatthetopandonthesidesofthewhiteboots.RoseandItookto
practicingnotonthetoothy,dangeroussidewalks,buton
thepavedparkinglotnexttotheNorthChristianChurch.Weskatedforwardandback,forwardandback,nothingtoofancy.Iwantedtoskatefaster,buttherewasn’tasinglehillinMoorelandthatwasn’tcoveredwitheithergravelorrailroadtracks,soImadedowiththenewchurchasphalt.Christinastartedshowing
up,andDana,andevenJuliegotinontheskatebusiness.
PrettysoonsheandDanawerebetterthaneveryoneelse,tothepointtheyprobablyshouldhavejustmovedoutofMoorelandandjoinedtheOlympics.ItwasDanawhohadtheideatoformawhip,withmeatthefrontbecauseIwasthetallest,pullingtheothersbehindme.Bythistimetheothergirlswerewearinglightjackets,andRosehungontomysweatshirt,Christinato
Rose’scorduroyjacket,thenJulie,withDanaattherear.Westartedoutandthepeopleatthebackwhippedbackandforthanditwasreallyquitehystericaluntilsomeforceofeithermomentumorkarmacausedadominoatthebacktofall,andthatgirlfellonthenext,andsheonthenext,onetwothreefourfivegirls.Ifellforwardandtriedtocatchmyselfwithmyarmsoutstraightandmywristscurved
outwardandinturneachgirlfellontopofme.Therewasagrindingpop,
asifatoothhadbeenextractedfromthegumofagiant.Everyonewasontopofmeandthengraduallyclamberingoff,laughing,andIcouldn’tmoveatall,butsomehowI’dmadeittomyback.Therewasthesky.Noneofthiswaslikeme.Itwasveryunlikemetoliesoperfectlystill.Itwasvery
unlikeJulietofreezeasshedid,lookingdownatme,orforRosetorunoffsaying,I’mgettingmymom.IturnedmyheadandlookedatmyrightarmandwhatIsawwasmyshouldertouchingthegroundandthebacksofmyfingerstouchingthegroundandeverythingelselikeahorseshoepointingtowardtheasphalt.Myarmwasinaheap.Myrightarm,whichwasforallintentsand
purposesmyonlyarm.WithoutitIwouldhavetobecomeCatholicandtakelessonsinBeingGoodfromRose.Ilookedbackupattheskyandcouldn’tthink.Rosesaid,“There’smymom”asherstationwagondroveupbesideme,andtwothingshappenedatonce:Ithought,Pleasedon’ttouchme,andjustasIthoughtitmydadrodeuponhisbicycle.Itwasanautumn
afternoon.Myfatherwasridingabicycle.HerodedirectlytothespotIhadjustfallen,andhearrivedattheexactmomentthatifJoycehadtriedtoliftme,shewouldhaveleftmyarmbehind.“Hey,Zip,”hesaid,leaning
overme.“Hey,Daddy.”“Girls,everyoneofyou
givemeyourjackets,getthemoffrightnow.”Hepiledthejacketsontopofme.
“You’reinalittlebitofshockthere,sport,”hesaid,nevertakinghiseyesoffmine.“Joyce,ifyou’dgocallan
ambulance,andalsobringbacksomeblankets.”Mywhipoffriends
disappeared,althoughIknewtheyweretheresomewhere,ontheperiphery.Icouldonlyseemydad,andthesky.“Canyoutellmewhat
happenedhere?”“No,”Isaid,notmoving
myhead.“Doyouknowwhatdayit
is?”“Ineverknowwhatdayit
is.”“It’sTuesday,”Rosesaid,
helpfully.Joycecamerunningaround
thecornerwithablanket,andinthedistanceIcouldhearasiren,ormaybesomeonewascrying.DadtuckedtheblanketaroundmeandIstartedtolookagainatthe
miraculousproblem,myarminaU-shape,buthetookaholdofmychinandsaid,“Canyouhearthatsiren?”Inodded.“Whydon’tyoulistento
that,andtrytoconcentrateonstayingwarm.”“I’mnotcold,”Isaid,and
realizedIwasshaking.TheyoungEMTspaused
onlyamoment,shakingtheirheadsandwhistlingtoletmeknowtheywereimpressed.
Theyradioedtheemergencyroomtosaytheywereontheirway,andslippedanoxygenmaskovermyface,andanaircastovermyarm—Iwasn’tallowedtowatch,buttherewasamomentwheneverythingwentblackandIfeltmydadpinchmycheek,justenoughtowakemeup.Theaircastwasgraduallyinflatedandplacedonasplint,andIwasloadedintotheambulance.
EverytimethesirenwailedaswespeddownHighway36Ijumped,butDadmademekeeplookingathimandtalkingtohim.“Youaren’tgoingtocry,
areyou?”Dadasked,makingasternface.Ishookmyhead.“Becauseyoudidn’tcry
withtherockinyourknee,didyou.”Ihadnot.“Andyoudidn’tcrywith
thesixty-sixsplintersinyourbutt.”No,Ihadn’t.“Youcancryifyou’resad,
butyou’rethetoughestpersonIknowandthisisnothingtocryabout.”AnEMTmovedbetween
us,tapedmyfingerstogether.“You’reafighter,huh?”heaskedme,touchingmesogentlyIwasn’tsureitwashappening.“Youbetshe’safighter.”
Dadtouchedhisbreastpocket,checkingforhiscigarettesandlighter.“Shecancatchorthrowanything,I’veneverseenanyonelikeher.Shepulledoutherownbabyteethwithastringaroundadoorknob.She’sfallenoffherbicyclemoretimesthananylivingperson.Ihaven’tseenthetumbleyetthatcouldmakethisonecry.”Ihadnoideawhohewas
talkingabout.Itwassome
girlheliked,thatwasforsure,butitcouldn’tbeme,becausethatothergirlhadbouncedoffthepavementtimeandagain;Ihadgonedownandstayed.Iwasbroken.
Iwaswellknownintheemergencyroom,butthisfussingwasn’tlikethatotherfussing.Thistimetherewasnowaiting,noflirtingwithmydadbythenurses,no
smalltalk.Therewereshots,afallingtwilight.Iwasawakenedinaprivateroom,darkbutforasinglelightabovemybed,byaverylargemandressedinscrubsandwithwhatappearedtobeaflashlightonhishead.Myowndoctorwasthere,Dr.Heilman,andDadhadfoundMotherandgottenherthere,andIwasbeingintroducedtothisenormousman,anorthopedicsurgeonfrom
Indianapoliswhohadapparentlybeeninterruptedathometocometendme.“You’veheardofme,
surely,”hesaid,wagglinghisflashlight.“Nope.”“I’mDr.Linceski,I’m
knowntheworld’round.IwasathomewithmymapsandmyexoticfishwhenIgotyourcall.Iassumeyoubrokeyourarmonpurpose.”“Nope.”
“Youdidn’tdothisjusttomeetme?”“Istilldon’tknowwhoyou
are.”“Well,that’sappropriate.
We’veonlyjustmet.”HelookedatmyparentsandDr.Heilman,raisedhiseyebrowsasiftoacknowledgethattheoddswereagainstme,giventherascalfringesurroundingme.“FromwhatIheardyouwerecrackingthewhip,huh?andabunchofgirlsfellon
you?It’sallabarrelofmonkeys,isn’tit,withyoucrazytypes,untilSOMEBODYhasadoublecompoundfracturethatEXTRUDESthroughtheskinwithportionsofboneSHATTEREDbythecompatriotswholandedonyou.DoyouknowwhatImean?”“Notaword.”“Good.AllI’mtryingto
sayisheckuvajobthere,
heckuvabreak.It’sgoingtotakeallofmyforeignmedicaltrainingtomakeitright.Nowlook,”hesaid,asanorderlywheeledinabed.“We’retakingyoutothe
O.R.rightnow,whywastetimeismymotto.”Iwastransferredtothe
otherbedandDr.Linceskitalkedandtalked.Myparentsweresilentandstricken-looking.TheybothbentdownandkissedmyforeheadasI
waswheeledthroughthedoubledoorsintotheshockinglightsoftheoperatingroom.Ithappenedtoofastformetobeafraid.“Andhere,”Dr.Linceski
said,“ismyanesthesiologist,Dr.Wang.Thatishisrealname,Dr.Wang,Ikidyounot.He’sgoingtomakesureyoustayasleep.”Dr.Wangwasround,
moonfaced,wearingalittlehat.Heappearedtobe
Chineseandwaswearingflip-flopslippers,notbooties.Hehadaflyswatterinhishand.“Hello,”hesaid,inaChineseway,bowingalittleandwavingatme.“Isthataflyswatter?”I
asked,becausewhenyou’reabouttobemadeunconsciousbyDr.Wang,it’sbesttoknow.“Yes,isflyinroom.”Dr.Linceskiwhistled,
scrubbedhisarmsasiftrying
toremoveatattoo.HetalkedtoDr.Wang,whopursuedtheflyanddidn’tanswer.Iheardaswatsomewherebehindme,thenthesprayingofantisepticandtheeek-eeksoundofasqueegee.“Awwwright,then.”Dr.
Wangwassuddenlyaboveme.“Weplacethismaskoveryourfaceandyoubreatheverydeep.Thenyoucounttotenbackwardforme.Youdothat?”Heinjectedsomething
intomyIV,stillwatchingmyface.Hepattedmygoodarmandsaid,“Wetakegoodcare,nothingwillhappentoyou.”Inoddedandsaidten,and
everythingwentblack.
ThenextdaymyarmwassuspendedabovemeandwhenDr.LinceskicameinhedrewacirclearoundaplaceonthecastwhereIhadbledthroughitinthenight.Hedrewthecircleinyellow.The
bloodstainwasvaguelytheshapeofOhio.“That,”hesaid,“iswhere
thebonesprotrudedandwherewehadtoaddabitofsyntheticbonetoholditalltogether.Guesswhomadethatsyntheticbone?”Ishookmyhead.“Phillips66.”“Thegasstation?”“Yep.I’dkeepthatasecret
ifIwereyou.”Hetappedonmyfingertips.“Canyoufeel
this?”Icouldn’t,butIsaidIdid.“You’relying,butthat’s
okay.I’dlie,too,ifIwasgoingtohaveascarthisbig.”“I’mgoingtohaveascaras
bigasOhio?”“No,nowI’mlying.I
actuallyperformedcosmeticsurgeryonyoufreeofcharge,becausethat’sthekindofguyIam.You’llhaveascar,allright,butitwillshrinkandshrinkasyougetolder,until
somedayyouwon’tbeabletoseeitatall.”“Thankyou,”Isaid,queasy
andwobblyandstillsomehowbackonthegroundoutsidethechurch,lookingatthesky.“Doyouknowwheremymomanddadare?”“They’reinthecafeteria,
whereIwishallparentswouldstay.Doyouneedsomething?”“Ijust…”Iwasafraidto
tellhim.“Ijustwonderwhere
mysweatshirtis.”Dr.Linceskipursedhislips
asifheunderstoodmecompletely.“Inshreds,Ifear.Wehadtocutyououtofit.”Iturnedandlookedoutthe
window,pressingmyteethtogethersohardIthoughtmycheeksmightburst.“Itwasyourfavorite,huh.”“Itjustonlygottofitme.”Hepulledupachair,
straddleditbackward.“Youknowwhat?Idon’ttell
peoplethisveryoften.Youalmostlostthatarm.Ihadtoreconnectnervesandyou’llstillhavenervedamageforthenextyear.That’stheworstbreakI’veeverseenoffafootballfield.You’regoingtobewearingacastforthreemonths,andwe’lltakeitoffwhenyoucomeinforaskingraft.Thenyou’llwearanewcastforthreemonths.Here’swhatsavedyou:yourdaddidn’tletanyonepickyouup,
andyouwerewearingasweatshirtthatheldyourarmtogetheruntiltheambulancegotthere.Soitwasagoodone,butit’sdonefornow.”Istaredattheceilingand
wouldn’tanswer.Dr.Linceskistoodup,put
hischairbackagainstthewall.“I’veheardallaboutyou,thingsstuckupyournoseandinyourears,aparticularlittleincidentwhereyouranoveryourownfoot
withthebicycleyouwereon.”Hepattedhispockets.“Youoverwhelmmewithrespect.Ishallreturnonthemorrow.”Whenhewasalmostout
thedoorIsaid,“Youstillshouldn’thavecutitoff.”Heshrugged,gaveawave.
Inthehallwayheshouted,“WhenIamPresidentoftheseOnionStates,Ishallmakeallroller-skatingillegalpostfacto!Pronto!”
Everydayduringthehospitalvisitinghourstherewasthissilentpainfulthingbetweenmyparents:mydaddidn’twantmymomtogotoschoolwhileIwasstillhospitalized;Iwantedhertogo.Iwanteditforher,andbecauseIwantedtohearmoreaboutherprofessorsandthethingstheysaidaboutthedirtypartsofbooks.ThenMelindawouldarriveandsomehowsweepeverythingoutintothe
hallway,andeitherMomwouldbethereorshewouldn’t,butthereDadwouldbe,sittinginthesamechairatthefootofthebed,untilthenursesaskedhimtoleave.Hesatwithhisarmscrossed,hisfacelikeabrick.Melindamadeupaslewof
occasionaljokesthatwentlikethis:Q:Whatdoyoucallaone-armedgirlatafluterecital?A:Zippy.Q:Whatdoyoucallaone-armedgirlwho
can’tgetherpantsallthewayfastened?A:Zippy.Onandon,ohyouarejusttremendouslyfunny,I’dsaytoher,narrowingupmyeyesandgivingherthewhat-for.EventuallyIwasallowedto
gohome,wearingacastwithabloodstaincircledinyellowandsignedbyallthenurses,thecastinalightblueslingwithpaddingattheneck.Ialsohadastuffedautograph
dogandmyfavoritesignatureonitwasMomMary’s,becauseshehadonlyfinishedthethirdgradeandIloveditwhenshewrotesomething.Ihadabagfilledwithstrangehospitalaccessories—myownvomittray(neverused),awaterpitcherwithmyroomnumberonit,abottleoflotion,acontainerofbabypowder,atoothbrush,andatubeofColgatesosmallIkeptitinthepalmofmy
goodhandallthewayhome.Iwastakendowntothe
frontdoorinawheelchairthatwasn’tnecessary;Ikeptsayingit,“Idon’tneedawheelchair,”butintruthIwasdiminished,thinnerthanwhenI’darrivedandstillshaken.WhenIclosedmyeyesIsawDr.Wangleaningoverme,tellingmetocounttotenbackward;IrememberedthefeelingofblacknesssocompleteIknew
deathhadtobesomethingjustlikeit.IwonderedwhatIhadlookedlike(somethingthathadnevercrossedmymindbefore),lyingthereonthepavementundertheblueIndianasky,orintheemergencyroom,mylightsoutassurelyasthoseanimalsI’dseenaliveoneminuteandgonethenext.
Itwasjusthimandme,heremindedme,andhegotto
decidewhenIwentbacktoschool.Soforthefirstweekhesaid,“Let’sseeifyoucanrideyourbikewithonehand.”Abreeze.Thesecondweekbecame,“Let’sseeifyoucanbatleft-handed,orpitch,”thencouldIgobowling,couldIcastmyShakespearerodandreel,couldIwritemynamebothforwardandbackward(somethinghecoulddowitheitherhand).Mybluesling
grewgrottybutnoonethoughttowashit.Somedayshedisappeared
alldayandIsimplylayonthecouchintheden,watchingmoviesandscratchinginsidemycastwithapencil.Otherdayshesaid,“Let’sseewhat’snewintheworld,”sowe’dgointoNewCastleandI’dendupwithamilkshake.EveryfewdaysRoseorJuliebroughtmyhomeworkassignmentsto
meandIdidn’tsomuchaslookinthedirectionofthem.Therestofthehousegrewcold,andthentoocold,andIknewthateverythingI’dleftinmybedroombeforeIfellwouldremainjustasitwasuntilspring—therecordalbums,thesheetofpaperinthetypewriter,whereIwastryingtoimproveonmyfirstpoem.Momcamehomeinthe
eveningsandsatinhercorner
ofthecouchwithherbooksspreadoutaroundher,talkingonthephonewithonehandandtakingnoteswithanother.Heavenknowswhatthewomanwouldhaveaccomplishedhadshebeenbornanoctopus.Whenshewashome,Dadwasgone,andIstayedontheothercouch,facingtheTV.Inthewallabovethe
televisionallmannerofthingshadgonewrong;the
plasterandlathhaddisintegratedandthereseemedtobenothingbetweentheoldgraywallpaper(someofwhichwascomingapart)andtheout-of-doors.OnedayIheardasoundinthewallandclimbeduponafootstool.Therewasasparrowtrappedinapocketofwallpaper,cheepingaway.Icouldn’tseehowitgotinorhowtogetitbackout,butIrealizedthat
thehousemustberiddledwithavenuesforcomingandgoing—themiceintheceiling,theratsinthelaundryroom,andnowahousesparrowrightintheden.Itcheepedallthatday.ItoldDadandhesaidhe’dlookintoit.ItoldMomandshesaidtotellDad.Somethinghappenedfrom
lyingonmybackallthattimeanditinvolvedmykidneys,whichIhadnotuntilthen
knownexisted.BythetimeIwassupposedtogobackintothehospitalIwasfeverish,butwellenoughtocallMelindaandsay,“Lindy,youbettersendRickdownhere.Abirdhasmovedin.”Evenforapersonwithnostandards,thesmellcomingfrommycastwasheinousenoughtomakemeslightlyproud.
Dr.Linceskisaidhe’dnever
SEENsuchahorrorastheinsideofmycast;heaskedhadIbeentryingtowriteMobyDickinsidethere.Isaid,“Ihavenoideawhat
you’retalkingabout.”“Lookatallthis!”He
carriedmyoldcast,cutinhalf,intomyhospitalroomaftermysecondsurgery.Itwashorrible:deadskin
anddriedblood,andaboutseventhousandpencilmarks.“Well.Icouldn’tverywell
scratchwiththeeraserend,couldI?”“Areyousomesortof
pygmy?”heasked.“HaveyouneverheardofLEADPOISONING?”Hewasthesecondpersoninmylifetocallmeapygmy,afactthatwouldrequirethoughtwhenIreachedthepointofthinkingaboutthings.“IaskedMomforaknitting
needlebutshesaidno.”“Whataboutthepossibility
ofNOTSCRATCHING?”“Areyoualwayssoloud?”“Youhadanopenwoundin
there.Youarescarredforlife.Icannotgetthroughtoyou;it’sliketalkingtooneofmyfish.”Istaredathim.“Ishallreturninone
moon,”hesaid,turningtowardthedoor,rubbinghisflashlightupanddownonhisforehead,likeabearscratchinghisbackagainsta
tree.“AndIshallhopeyouhavechangedinthemeantime.”Antibioticsclearedupmy
infectionandIstartedtoregainfeelingintwoofmyfingers.BythetimeIgotbackhome,thebirdwasgoneandwinterhadfullyarrived.
Bythespringmysecondcastwasremovedandwhatwasrevealedwasanarmthesizeofachickenwing,gray-
skinned,withapinkpuckeredscarwheremyboneshadEXTRUDED.Dr.Linceskiassuredmethearmwouldbecomestronger,butitwascurvedjustslightly,andIhadgrownaccustomedtoholdingitagainstmysidelikeakitten.Ihadmissedforty-onedaysofschoolthatyear,withonethingandanother,andwhilethedoctorsaidthearmwouldreturntonormalhealsosaid,“Youmustnever
throwabowlingballwithit;youmustneverhitavolleyballoratetherball;youmustnever,everbreakitagain,orevenlandonitwithyourhandbentbackward.”SoitseemedasifhemeantonethingbynormalandIunderstoodanother.SometimesIcaughtmyself
actuallycarryingmyarmaround,restingmyrightwristinmylefthandasIwalked.Icarrieditupthestairswhen
thehousewasonceagainwarmenoughtoventureinto.IpassedthepianoIhadn’tplayedforsixmonthsandtouchedthekeys;thehammerssoundeddamp,bereft.Iwalkedintomyparents’bedroom,wherethemountainofdirtyclothesstillheldthewinter’schill,andupthestairstomybedroom.Ikickedmywaythroughthedebrisandopenedmywindowwiththelefthand,
andDadhadbeencorrect—thatarmhadgrownverycompetent.IsatintheopenwindowandlookedoutatthebackyardoftheHicksesandatthebudsonthetrees,thenewgreen,thenewdaffodils,everythingsonew.
ExperienceIt
DuringMom’sfirstyearatBallState,havinggivenmybrother’scarbacktohim,sherodetoandfromMunciewithseventeendifferentpeople.Sometimestheywouldremembertopickherupbut
forgettobringherhome,andinthewayofthingsadifferentsomeonewouldarriveandsayHopin,Iwasgoingthatway—thoughnooneiseverreallygoingthedirectionofMooreland.Rogerwasherlongest
connection,andtheyrodetoandfromMunciewithRoger’sstereoplayingsoloudlyMomhadtowearearplugsjusttosurvivetheonslaught.Eventhenthe
musicgotupinherribcageandrattledsomethingsloose.Rogerdroppedoutofschoolafterthreeweeks,andMomwascertainitwasbecausehewasstone-deafandhadn’theardasinglelectureintheirtimetogether.ThenMomreadinthe
paperaboutaVolkswagenBeetleforsaleinMountSummitfor$200,whichwasbothgoodandbad—goodbecauseshecouldafford
$200outoftheNationalDefenseLoanshe’dtakenoutfortuition,andbadbecause,well,itwasacarfor$200—soshewenttoseeit.Therewasalsoabitofdestinyinthefind,shethought,becauseithadbeenaBeetleshe’dfirstlearnedtodrivewithBigFatBonnie.Theseller,amannamed
Pete,saidhe’dmeetusattheedgeofagravelpitnearMountSummit.Melinda
droveusovertoseeit.Wepulledin,andthereshesat.Icouldonlywhistleandshakemyheadasproxyformydad,whowasneithertherenordidheknowwewere.Buthewasthereinspirit,certainly,amanwholovedanewcar,anewtruck,ahusbandandfatherwhohadnearlybankruptedusmorethanoncebyshowingupinanunexpectedvehiclemoreshinyandimmaculatethana
surgicalfloor.ThedoorsoftheVWonly
lockedfromtheoutside,soifyouwantedtobesecureinsideyouhadtorolldownthewindows,leanout,andlockyourselfinwiththekey.Theprocesshadtobereversedtogetout.Istartedtoexplainthatthisseemedawickedbadideatome,asperiodicallyapersoniscalledtomakeaswiftanddramaticexitfromacar,aswhenone
stallsonatraintrack,orwhentheCavalryischarging,orwhenyougoflyingoffabridgeintodarkwater.Momshushedme.Weopenedthedoorsand
therewasthatveryparticularVWsmell,whichIguesswasthedecayofGermanrubberandefficiency.Alsosomethingaboutthesixties,whichhadpassedaway.Momwedgedherselfinandputthekeyintheignition;thecar
started,butbarely.Itsoundedlikeabarnyardanimaldownandnotsoontorise.“Ohboy,”Melindasaid.Therewasaswitchforthe
windshieldwipersandtherewerewindshieldwipersbutthetwohadnorelationship.“Howdoyougetthesetowork?”MomaskedPete.Herubbedhisnose,looked
attheground.“Mydaughterusedastring,Ithink.”“Astring?”
“Yep.”MomsatandMelindaandI
stoodinpuzzlement.“Wheredidsheputthe
string?”Momasked,finally.“Awww,youknow,”Pete
said,lookingoutatthehorizon.“Sheheldoneendonhersideandherboyfriendheldtheotheronhisside,andtheymoveditupanddownthewindshield,likethis.”Hemadeateeter-tottermotionwithhisarms.
Inodded.We’ddonethatbeforeoutontheNewmans’farm.Ialreadyknewtheimplications,butittookasecondbeforetheysettledonMomandLindy.“Soinessence,”Mom
began,“yourleftarmisoutthewindowintherainstorm?Andyou’resteeringandshiftinggearswithyourrightatthesametime?”“That’saboutit,”he
agreed.
“Isn’tthat…”Mommighthavesaid“futile”butchose“…dangerous?”Petenodded.“Shedonehad
onewreckinit,thatplaceIshowedyouonthefrontquarterpanel.Idingeditoutfine.”TheplaceonthefrontquarterpanellookedlikeapieceofaluminumfoilusedandsavedandusedandsavedbysomeoldwomanwhorememberedWorldWarI.“Doestheheatwork?”
Melindaasked.ShehadaBugofherownandknewthattheGermansconsideredheatersademandoftheweak.Themanscratchedhis
head.“Well,itdependsonwhatyoumeanby‘work.’Thecarwilleventuallygetwarmbecausetheenginewilleventuallygetwarm,ifyouseewhatImean.”Melindajustflat-out
laughed.“Soitworksinthesummerreallywell,huh?”“Yep,”hesaid.“That’sfor
sure.”“Howarethebrakes?”
Momasked,pullingupontheemergencybrakeanddiscoveringitofferednoresistance.Peteteeter-totteredhishand
again.“Nyeh.Butitdon’thardlygofasterthanthirtymilesanhoursoitdon’thardlymakeadifference.”He
scuffedhisfootinthedirt,spat.“You’llnoticeit’sgotasunroof.That’sanextry.”“Well,yes,”Momsaid,
lookingaboveher.“Iseeithasasunroof,butdoesitclose?”Heshrugged.“Almost.”Melindawanderedoverand
satdownunderthelonetreeinthedustylot.“Tellmewhenthisover,”shesaid,“oraftersomeoneiskilled.”Icircledthecar,counting
rustspots.Ikickedareartireforgoodmeasure.“Iwouldn’tdothat,”Pete
said.“You’resupposedtokick
tires,”Isaid,givinghimtheeye.“Yeah,well.Iwouldn’t,is
all.”Melindacalledoutfromthe
underthetree,wherehereyeswereclosed,“Mom,askdoesitcomewithbicyclepedals,orsquirrelsonawheel,
somethinglikethat.”“Squirrels,Mom,”I
explained,“likeonFredFlintstone’scar.”Momsighed,putherhead
downonthewheel.“I’lltakeit,”shesaid,reachingforthecheckbook,anaccountthathad,forthefirsttimeinherlife,onlyhernameonit.
OnthedrivebacktoMoorelandMelindafollowedus,certainMom’snewcar
wasgoingtogiveoutanysecondandwe’dhavetopushitoffHighway36intoaditchlikeadeaddeer.Evenafterwereachedourtopcruisingspeedofthirty,Melindacontinuedtodriveverycloselyandflashherheadlights.I’dturnaroundandwaveandMelindawouldwaveback,hergleeful,evilsmileperfectlyvisibleinthesunnyday.SometimesMelindawouldhonkand
eventhatsoundedasifshewereenjoyingthewholethingveryverymuch.“Honkback,”Isaid.“Ican’t,I’m
concentrating.”“Mom,we’recoasting
straightdownhill.”“Youhonk,then.”Ipokedaroundonthe
steeringwheelwhereaproperhornwouldbebutnothinghappened.Ipushedonsomeveryrudimentary-looking
sticks,thingsthatoughttohavebeenturnsignals,butnothinghappened.Finallymyhandlandedonsomething(wenevercouldfinditagain),andaterriblelittlesoundemerged,likeabootontheneckofamallardduck.Melindamusthaveheardit,becauseshetootedbackandflashedherlightsandwasinallwaysamenace.Wepulledupinfrontofthe
houseandMomgotout,
lookingasifshe’drunaverycruelobstaclecourse.Whenshetriedtoclosethedriver’sdooritswungshutandthenopenagain.Sheclosedit;itopened.Shegaveupandrestedthedooragainsttheframe,thenputbothhandsontheroof,likeacircuitpreacherperformingahealing.“I’mnamingherSabrina,”shesaid,hereyesclosed.Melindanodded.
“Optimistic.”
MomhadalwayshadCarolHoopingarner,whomIlovedforathousanddifferentreasons,andthenshefoundasecondCarol,CarolJohnson,wholivedinNewCastleandneededaridetoBallStateeveryday.TheyhookeduptogetherandCarolpaidMom$1aday,whichgaveMomjustenoughtogetsomething,evenasmallthing,forlunch.
Carolwasstudyingpsychologyandwasloud,shesaidexactlywhatwasonhermind,andifithurtyourfeelingsallthebetterbecauseprobablyitwassomethingyouwereindenialaboutandneededtohear.IadoredhereventhoughshehurtmyfeelingsapproximatelyeverytimeIsawher.Ihadgrownupwiththequietest,mostpoliteQuakerwomen,withonlyRose’smotherJoyceand
Julie’smomDebbietoshowmeanyotherway.ButCarolJ.wasinaclassallherown,andwehadthesamebirthday.ThatwastwopeopleIshareditwith,mycousinMikeJarvisandnowCarol.Isecretlybelievedweformedalittletribunalandwouldeventuallybecalledupontomakejudgmentsupontheworld,somethingbothCarolandIseemedmorethanpreparedtodo.
Carolhadadeep,huskylaughlikeasmokerandahusbandsituationInevercouldgetstraight.ShesaidthingsaboutmydadIprayedtothesleepinginfantJesusDadwouldneverhear.Shewasmorethanwillingtopullthewindshieldscreenonrainydays,and,likemanypeoplewhoarriveunbidden,shewasyetanotherformofsalvationformymother.
Itwasinteresting,I’dhearMomsayatchurchortoherfriendsonthephone,howlongapersoncanmakeacarlastrelyingonlyongravityandGoodSamaritans.EverydayMomparkedSabrinaonahillinaparkinggarage,andspenttheentirecurlyroutedownpower-clutchingherintoignition.Butitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeherluckranout,andweallknewit.
Oneeveningshecamehomewithanadshe’dfoundintheBallStateDailyNewsforacorporationcalledBeetleboardsofAmerica.BeetleboardswasbasedinLosAngeles,andthey’dhadtheverybrightideaofusingVolkswagenBugsasrollingbillboards,marketingthecampaigndirectlyatcollegestudents.TheadstatedthatBeetleboardswouldpaystudents$20amonthtoallow
theircarstoberepaintedwithgraphicsadvertisingavarietyofthings,butprimarilycigarettes,bluejeans,stereos,andbeer.Thegraphicswerematchedtothedriver;forinstance,bluejeanscompaniespreferredclean-cut,athleticyoungmen.Itseemed,infact,thatalloftheproductsfavoredyoungmenofonestripeoranother.Motherremainedoverweight,middle-aged,andmissing
teeth.Westudiedandstudiedthe
ad.Itseemedabithopeless,butMomcouldn’tgetovertheideaofthe$20amonth,whichwouldpayforbothgasandparking,andthecarwouldgetrepaintedintheprocess.ItwasCarolJohnsonwho
finallyconvincedhertherewasnoharmincalling.Shecouldjustcall,forheaven’ssake,howmanyother
decoratedBugswerethereatBallState?HowmuchmoneywasBeetleboardsmakingoffsomebodyelse’sbehindinMuncie,sheasked,usingdecidedlydifferentlanguage?SoMomnervouslycalledLosAngeles,thisatatimewhenonesimplydidnotmakelong-distancephonecalls,andCaliforniawasasmuchaconcept,andasfaraway,asaBangladeshiprison.Momspoketosomeone,explaining
thesituation,andhekindlycalledherbacktospareherthebill.Sheusedthevoice,avoicethatwouldcausehertobeahitinspeechclassesandintheaterclassesandinradio—anywhere,infact,thatvoicesmatter.Itwasunassuming,melodic,andintimate,andgaveawaynothingoftheactualfactsofherlife.SheusedthephoneinthelivingroomandIpacedintheden,eavesdroppingbut
hearingonlysounds,nowords.IknewwhatMr.Beetleboardswasgoingtosay:therewasnoadvertisementappropriatetohercondition,particularlynotinMooreland,Indiana.Andifbychanceshegothimsofarastobeconvincedshewasalong-hairedathleticyoungmaninathleticyoungbluejeans,andthenhesawTHECAR—oh,allwaslost.Butsomehownoneofthat
happened.ThemaninCaliforniasuggestedthatMomandSabrinamightbeperfectforanewcampaign—MissClairol,specificallytheHerbalEssenceGirl,whowasablondcartoonwaifwithlongflowinghairrisingupoutofatropicalpool.(ShewastheoppositeoftheSwampGirl,inotherwords.)Momdrovethecarslowly
andwithpainfuldeliberationallthewaytoIndianapolis,to
adealershipownedbyEarlScheib,whereSabrinawaspaintedtherequisiteseafoamgreen.Whilethereitseemsshewastinkeredwithjustabit,justenoughtomaketheridehomefeelslightlymoreluxuriousandlesslikeacareeningdisasteratatwo-bitcarnivaloperatedbyconvicts.ThenayoungmanflewallthewayfromLosAngelestoapplythedecals,andwhenhewasdonewhatwassittingin
frontofourhousewassomethingthelikesofwhichMooreland,Indiana,hadneverseen.TheHerbalEssenceGirl
roseupandcoveredeachdoorpanel.Herfacewasimpassive;herhairfellinsheetsofsilkencrème.OneofherhandswasturnedpalmupandsittingonitwasabottleofbrightgreenHerbalEssenceshampoo,solifelikeyoucouldnearlysmellit.The
hoodandtrunkofthecarwerecoveredwithexoticbutterflies,andabanneracrosstherearwindowread“ExperienceIt.”Thedesigncontained,as
Momwasthefirsttoadmit,afairamountofwhatshecalledinnuendo.TheClairolGirlwasnakedafterall,risingupoutofapoolthetemperatureofahotbath.Itlookedthatway.Eventhebutterflieswereslightly
obscene,flyingallovertheplace,includingontheroofwhereotherdriverscouldn’tseethem.Itwasasifthecarhadjustblossomedoutofsomewildlylivelyplace—themostun-Quaker,un-Mooreland,un-Hoosierspotonanimaginarymap.Momadoredit.Dadwasstunned.Thebestpart—iftherecouldbesaidtobeanyonepartbetterthananother—wasthatthedeal
includedagiganticboxoffreesamples.Idon’tknowwhatwe’dusedforshampoobeforeMissClairolcametotown;indeed,Ihavenomemoryofshampoobeforeheratall.ButafterwardtherewasalwaysalittlebottleofbrightgreenHerbalEssenceinthebathroom,alongwithaconditioner,anditdidinfactsmelllikeParadise.
Theywerequiteapairafter
that,MomandCarolJohnson,HerbalEssencingofftoBallStatetostudypsychologyandpublicspeakingandEnglish.OnemorningDadandIweresittingonthefrontporchasMomlefttopickupCarol.Sabrinastillsputtered,wasstillfickleatstopsignsandclimbinghills.DadwatchedMommaketheturnontoBroadStreetwithhisarmscrossedoverhischest.
“Nothingstopsher,”hesaid,shakinghisheadandflippinghiscigaretteoutintothestreet.“Nope,”Isaid,unsurehow
tomeasuretheword.Therewasalothemeanttotellme,andIcouldfeelitallinthepitofmystomachliketheapproachofaflu.Nothing,hemeant,asinnomoney,nodriver’slicense,noteeth,nojob,nosupport,nosupplies,nosafecar.Andnothing,he
meant,asinhimself.Orme.Iknewhewasright,inadarksadcornerofmybones,andstill.Still,Iwasproudofher.Still,itwasabeautifulcar.
Teeth
Mrs.SchaefferwasawonderfulmusicteacherandbecauseofherIknewplentyabouttheworldoftheater.Inthesecondgradeshe’dallowedmetosingasoloinclass,“FeedtheBirds,”
fromMaryPoppins,andtoldmeIhadalovelysoprano.AtHalloweentimeeveryyearsheshowedusafilmstripcalledDanseMacabre,accompaniedbyarecordonherportableturntable;ineachsceneacorpseorapumpkinoratreeinadarkcemeterydancedtoclassicalmusic.ThatwastheclosestI’devercometogreatart,andIwishedwecouldwatchiteveryday.ButMrs.Schaeffer
wasrighttoholdontoitandletusseeitonlyduringHalloween.Inthefifthgradewewere
oldenoughtostartputtingonshowsforthepublic,andMrs.Schaefferdecidedwewoulddonotaplay,butamedleyofsongsfromtheall-timeperfectmusicals,performedinthegym.TheproblemwashowtoavoidgivingallthesongstoRose,whonotonlyhadthemost
beautifulsingingvoicebutalsoknewhowtostandjustsoandlookalittlewaysupandintothedistance,herheadthrustjustslightlyforward.Hermotherhelpedherputonlipstickforspecialoccasions,somethingmyownmotherwouldhaveeatenatoadbeforedoing.Rosewasinallwaysmorepreparedforalifeonstage,andeveryonecouldseeit.Intheendshewasgiven
“I’mGonnaWashThatManRightOutaMyHair,”sungwithagroupofothergirls,and“SomeEnchantedEvening,”fromSouthPacific.Her“EnchantedEvening”wassoprofessionalthatmysisterturnedtomeintheaudienceandsaid,“Ashameyouhavetofollowthat.”Rosehadevenrememberedtoenunciate,asMrs.Schaeffertaughther,“youmaymeetastrang-ooor.”
Jock-ishTommy,whowasfeettallerthananyoneelseintheclass,gottosing“OldManRiver,”andshockingly,hehadaflat-outbassvoice.Fifthgrade.Isang“Edelweiss”andwaspartofthechorusforthesong“Oklahoma!”whichmeantIhadtodoalittletwo-stepIfounddemeaningandhopedmysisterwouldsomehowsleepthrough.Shedidnot.Oncethetheaterbugwas
awakenedinus,RoseandIcouldn’tstop.Westolehermother’stwo-albumsoundtracktoJesusChristSuperstarandplayeditoverandoverinRose’sroom,wearingolddiapersonourheadssowewouldlikelooktheBlessedVirginMary.Well,RoselookedliketheBVMandIlookedlikeMaryMagdalene,butthatwasfinebecausethatmeantIgotthegreatestsonginthewhole
play,“IDon’tKnowHowtoLoveHim.”CertainlythathadbeentrueofJesusandmemywholelife,soIfeltjustifiedinclaimingthepart.EventuallyRosegottiredofsinging“Hosanna”andsaidshewantedtobeMaryMagdalene(castingagainsttype,Itriedtoexplain),althoughheryoungersisterMaggiewasalwayshappytobeHerod.Maggiehadapreternaturallydeepvoicefor
athird-grader,andpulledofftheHerodrolewithgreataplomb.Wesangwiththerecordforalongtime,thenbegansingingintomybluetaperecorder,listeningtoourselvescriticallyandtryingtoimaginehowMrs.Schaefferwouldhaveussaycertainwordsdifferently.IwasconvincedthatM.Magdalenewouldsay,“He’samahn,he’sjustamahn,”sortoflikethebaldmanin
the7-Upcommercialswhoputthelimeinthecoconut.(Nococonutin7-UpasfarasIcouldtell,butIadoredbaldmen.)
Momsaidshehadasurpriseforme.ShewasgoingtotakemetoBallState,justthetwoofus,toseeaplay.“Ialreadyknowalotabout
plays,”Isaid.“I’msureyoudo.”“I’vebeenin…gosh,Sound
ofMusic,Oklahoma!,IhadthatbitinMusicMan.”“Thisisn’tamusical,”
Momsaid,lookingfortheticketsinthesatchelthathadreplacedherArmysurplusbackpack.“Herewego.Fridaynight—adate?”“Adate,”Isaid,looking
away.IthadbeenalongtimesinceI’dspentanytimewithjustmymom,andIwasthrilledandalsohorrifiedandwhatiftheactorswere
terrible?WouldIbeabletositthroughit?IwishedthatRosecouldgowithme,sowecouldholdhandsandcriticize.
Wetookoff,SabrinasputteringandthreateningtostalleverytimeMomtouchedthebrake.“It’sfreezinginhere,”I
said,tuckingmyhandsundermyarmpits.“It’llwarmup.”
Iwaitedaminute.Maybehalf.“It’sfreezinginhere.”“Theheatcomesoffthe
engine,sotheenginehastogetwarmfirst.Ikeepablanketinthebackseat;spreaditoveryourlegs.”“Let’slistentotheradio,”I
reachedforthestrange,foreign-lookingknobs.“Youknowtheradio
doesn’twork.”“Howaboutturningonthe
heatthen?”
“It’llwarmup.”“Whatdoesthisbutton
do?”Iasked,pointingtoablack,rubberyknobthatappearedpartchewedbyrodents.“Ithinkit’sthe—Idon’t
know,”Momsaid,strugglingtogetthelittleforeigngearshiftintothird.“Iknowasongabouta
gearshiftcalled‘BeepBeep(TheLittleNashRambler).’Wouldyouliketo
hearit?”Momnodded.“Iknowthat
song.”Itookoffsingingitinthe
self-importantvoiceofthemanintheCadillacwholooksinhisrearviewmirrorandissurprisedtofindthesillyRamblerfollowinghim.Momdidn’tknowthewordssowell,andgotlost,especiallywhenthesongspeduptoitsdesperatelyfastconclusion.
“Whew!”shesaid,asifI’dwornherout.“Nokidding.Ittookme
yearstobeabletosingthatwholething.Whatisthisplaycalledagain?”“TheSkinofOurTeeth.It’s
byThorntonWilder.”“TheSkinofOurTeeth?!
Doteethhaveskin?”Itwasagruesomeconcept.“Notliterally,no.”“Thenisitastupidplay?”“Notatall.”
“Doyouknowthisman,ThornWild?”“ThorntonWilder.”Mom
leanedtowardthewindshieldasifshecouldmakethecargofaster.“No,he’safamousplaywright,he’snotfromaroundhere.HewrotetheplayOurTown.”Motherhadseriouslytakenupwiththedramadepartment.Shewasallthetimereadingplaysandtalkingaboutthemandhadevenwrittenone.
“OurTown,hmmm,”Isaid,scrubbingfrostofftheinsideofthewindshield.“Youcouldwriteaplaycalledthat.”“Notnearlyaswell,I’m
afraid.”Shescrubbedatthefrostonthewindshield.“Butmaybeyoucould.”Ithoughtaboutit.“Maybe
so.Ididwritethatonegoodpoem.”WereachedHighway3andheadedtowardMuncie.Momdrovethisrouteeveryday,itoccurredtome.She
didthingseverydaythathadnothingtodowithme.Iswallowed,feelinghomesick,butIwasn’tsurewhatfor.Ourhousewassocoldwe’dhadtoputarollawaybedrightnexttothecoalstoveandthat’swhereIsleptatnight.Anditwasn’tasifDadwasthere,anyway,sittinginhisbrownchairwithhisglassofwaterandhispintofwhiskey.Itwasn’tasifhewasstaringinhisfixedway
atthetelevision,theriflerackbehindhim,hisbrownradiosettotheEmergencyChannel,hiscollectionofanimalteethinajaronthetablebesidehim.Itwasn’tasifIknewwherehewas.Thehousewasjustbackthere,emptyandfreezingexceptfortheanimals,whosleptcurledupagainsteachotherinlittleknots,catindistinguishablefromdog.“Thisplaydoesn’tevenhaveanymusicinit?”I
asked,aggrieved.“Notlikeyoumean,
sweetheart.”Momleanedforward,lookingouttheonesquareofwindowSabrina’sdefrosterhadmanagedtodefrost.Shekepthereyeonthespaceavailabletoher.
Momknewexactlyhowtogettotheparkinggarage,whichwaspossiblymyfirstparkinggarage.SheknewhowtowalkdownRiverside
AvenuetoEmensAuditoriumandupthecirculardriveintothebrightspaceofthelobby,wherehundredsofpeopleweremillingaroundtalking,drinkingwhatappearedtobeapplecideroutofplasticcups.Thelobbywasbrightandloudasifsomegreatexcitementhadtakenovereveryone,somethingbiggerthanabasketballtournamentortheFairQueencontestattheMoorelandFair,where
thetrickwastolookasifyoudidn’tcareatall.Herepeoplelaughedloudlyandshoutedtodiscoveryetanotheracquaintance,andtherewerewomendressedinwaysI’dneverseenbefore,meninsuitsofstrangecolors,menwithponytails.Ohdearohdear,Ithought,imaginingifDadcouldseethiswhathewouldsay.ItwouldnotbeChristian(thoughneitherwashe)orrepeatable.Therewere
someVietnamveteransoutinthefarreachesofthecountyandsomeofthemhadponytails,butIwasnottospeaktothemeventhoughmydadwasdeadpatriotic.Theseponytailedmenwereemployed—theywereticketholderstothetheater—notgun-totinghairtriggershookedonskunkweed.(Iwasunclearwhatthatlastpartmeant,butitgotsaidoftenenough.)
Momhadourticketsoutandwepassedthroughaseriesofdoors,oldermenandwomeninbrightredblazershandingusalittlebookabouttheplayanddirectingustoourseats.Wewereledtotheleftbankofseats,closetothefrontandneartheaisle,whereIcouldseeeverythingveryclearly.EmensAuditoriumwasso
enormousIwouldhaveguesseditsatonehundred
thousandpeople.Mymomsaidactuallytwo.Twothousand.Andtherewassomethinggoingoneverywhere,morepeoplemillingaroundandushersstudyingticketstubsandanorchestrasomewhereunseentuningup.ThiscouldnothavebeenmoredifferentfromthegymintheMoorelandElementarySchool,whereourmusicalshadbeenheld.Wedidn’t
haveactualsets,foronething;wejustdressedincostumes(whateverwecouldfindathome)andcameoutonstageandsang.Thegymwassooldeverythinghadfadedtoauniformshadeofgray.Therewereenormousmetalsupportpolesinthebuckledfloorthatranuptotheceiling,andthey’dbeenwrappedinthickpadding—obviouslytopreventtraumaticbraininjury—and
thepaddinghadgonegrayandshreddy.Thewallsaboveandbehindthebleacherswerefadedtothecolorofrock.AwoodenboardstillboreBigDaveNewman’sscoringrecordfromthelate1950s,whenMoorelandhaditsownbasketballteam,theBobcats,beforeallthecountyschoolsincorporatedandtheBobcatsbecameghosts.AndEmensAuditoriumwasverydifferentfromtheBlueRiver
HighSchoolcafetoriumwhereplayswereheld,calledassuchbecausetherewasastageattheendofthecafeteria.Aneconomicaldesign.Despitethediscrepancy,ajanglewassetupinsideme,rememberingatraumaticmomentinmywaypast.Yearsearlierwe’dgone,
MomandDadandme,tothecafetoriumtoseemysisterperforminaplaycalledUp
theDownStaircase.Iwasareallystupidlittlegirl,maybeonlysixyearsold,andthesetlookedliketheoutsideofaschoolbuilding,threestorieshigh.Charactersopenedthewindowsandspoke.TherewasnowaytoknowLindywasbehindoneofthosewindowsuntilthecardboardshuttersopenedandshespokeherlines,andIwasveryshockedtoseeherthereandalsoshewasquite
convincingandthewholethingupsetme.Ididn’tknowwhattodoorsay,soIjustkeptwatching,andthencametheworstpart:oneofMelinda’soldestfriends,DebbyShively,whowasarealactress—shewassucharealactressshewasatBallStaterightthisminutestudyingactingasIsatinEmens—hadthemostimportantpartandshegotinafightwithherteacher.It
wasjustthetwoofthemintheclassroom.TheteacherwasreadingfromaletterDebbyhadwritten,readinginameanway,asDebbycrossedherarmsandlookedmiserable.Theteachersaidsomethinglike,“‘Iloveyou’isacliché.”Itwasn’tjustthewayhesaidit,orthewordsthemselves,butthatDebby’seyesverysubtlyfilledwithtears,thewaytheywouldifyouwereabadgirl,ormaybe
agoodgirlhavingaverybadday.MystomachflewupintomythroatandIthoughtIwasgoingtoburstoutcrying,too,andIcouldn’tputittogetherthatthiswasaplay,Debbywasacting,allIsawwasmysister’soldfriend,someoneI’dknownmywholelife,herarmscrossedandanexpressiononherfacelikeloss,ordoom.Andthenthehouselights
dimmed.Iglancedoverat
Momforreassuranceandshesmiledatmefrombehindheroldcat’s-eyeglasses,andtheThornWildplaybegan.Ontheblackvelvetcurtain,whichseemedtostretchacityblock,agrainynewsreelranwiththewordsNEWSEVENTSOFTHEWORLD.Therewasapictureofasunriseandanannouncertellingus,deep-voicedandauthoritative,thatthesunhadrisenthatmorningandsothe
worldhadonceagainnotended.Therewasapictureofaglacier,andtheannouncersaidtheunexpectedsummerfreezehadpushedsomepieceofworldIdidn’trecognizethenameoftosomeotherpieceofworldfaraway.Thetonewasfunny,menacing.Isquirmedinmychair,decidedtotakeupnail-biting,oneoftheonlybadhabitsI’dneverbeeninterestedinbefore.
Thecurtainopenedonadomesticscene,butoneoff-kilter.Therewerefourwallsbutperiodicallyonewouldtiltandamaid(orwhatevershewas)wouldhavetopushitbackintoplace.Shewasworriedthemanofthehousewouldn’tmakeithome,andgetthis:therewasadinosaurinthehouse,andamastodon.Notreal,unfortunately,asthatwouldhavemadeforquiteaplay.
IleanedovertoMom.“Whenisthishappening,thisplay?”Momwhispered,“Pretty
muchrightnow.Inthe1940s,Ithink.”Isatback.Itwasmentioned
thatthehusband,Mr.Antrobus,wasbusyinventingthewheelandalsothealphabetandnumbers.“Whataboutthose
dinosaurs,I’mwondering?”“Shhhh.”
Ididn’tunderstand.Ididn’tunderstandtheAntrobuses,whohadbeenmarriedfivethousandyears,astheybattledtheglacierinthefirstact,thefloodinthesecond(whereinMr.AntrobusalsobecamePresidentoftheAncientandHonorableOrderofMammals,SubdivisionHumans).Ididn’tunderstandthethirdact,aftertheunnamedwar,andthepeoplewanderingaroundintheback
withbigclocks,quoting,atnineo’clock,someonecalledSpinoza,atteno’clock,Plato,andattheend,Aristotle.ButIcouldn’tmove.Icouldhardlybreathe.Everyoneseemedsogiddy,sooptimistic,evenwheninthesecondacttheblackcirclesbegantoappear,thefirstforaregularstorm,thesecondforahurricane,thethirdforaflood,thefourthfortheendoftheworld.Itwasasifthe
worldwereabouttoendallthetime,everytimetheAntrobusesturnedaround,andyettheyloadedtheanimalstwobytwo,andeventuallytheretheywere,backintheirlittlehouseintheirlittletown,216CedarStreet,Excelsior,NewJersey.GeorgeAntrobusdidashewished:heinventedthewheel,thealphabet,thenumbers—heevenrejoicedinhavingthehundredafter
hundredafterhundred,asifhe’dgoneoutandmadeitso,thewaymyowndadmightbuildachickencoop.Iwasdizzy.Iwantedittoneverend.Ilovedthedinosaurs.
AftertheplayMomtookmetoArby’sRestaurant,whereIhadneverbeen.ItwasjustatinyplacenotfarfromBallState,acounter,really,whereyouorderedfoodandsatatoneofthreetables.There
weretwoexquisitethingsaboutArby’s:onewasthatthefloorwasinlaidwithmosaictilesthatformedthefaceofalonghornsteer,andtheotherwasthattheyhadpotatocakesinplaceoffrenchfries.AlsosomethingcalledaJamochaShake,whichtastedunlikeanythingI’deverhadinmylife.WesatatourlittletablewithourroastbeefsandwichesandpotatocakesandIknewIwas
abrand-newperson.“Whatdidyouthinkofthe
play?”Momasked,asifIwereagrown-upwithanopinion.Ishrugged.“Itwasall
right.”“Didyouunderstandit?”“Nope.”Momtookadrinkofher
shake,pushedherglassesuphernose.Ihadnomemoryofherevertalkingtomeinquitethisway.“Doyouknowthe
word‘catastrophe’?”sheasked.Ithoughtaboutit.Idid,
actually,becauseinschoolsomeonehadonlyrecentlymispronounceditwhilereadingaloudas“cat-astrofe.”“Itmeans…it’ssomethinglikedisaster.”“Yes,it’slikedisaster,only
bigger.Acatastropheissomethingthatchangesyourlifeforever.Sometimestheyhappenintheworld,likein
nature.”“Thewaytherewasa
glacierandaflood.”“Right.Andsometimesit
happensathome,”Momsaid,lookingatmeintently.Iswallowedmypotato
cake,staredatthefloor.Isaid,“Likethewaythemaidisgoingtostealthehusbandandthefamilywillbeover.”Momsatback,smiledat
me.“Youdidtoounderstandit.”
“Didnot.Alsoitwasjustsilly,thosedinosaursandanimalsandpeoplespeakingdifferentlanguagesandGladyspoppingupoutofthefloor,thatwasjustaboutretarded.”Wefinishedeatingand
headedoutintotheblack,coldnight.“I’mfreezingtodeath,”I
said,asMompulledoutoftheArby’sparkinglot.“It’llwarmup.”
WehadthehighwaytoourselvesandIcouldthinkofnothingbuttheplay,thewayGeorgeAntrobuskeptrepeatingthattheyhadsurvivedtheDepressionbytheskinoftheirteeth;onemoretightsqueezelikethatandwherewouldtheybe?IsawDebbyShively’seyesglazedwithtears,herarmscrossedprotectivelyoverherchest.Itwasasadandsinkingwinternight,andyet
I’dneverseenthestarssohardinthesky,shiningasiftheycouldharmus,butwouldspareusonemorenight.Momleanedforward,pressedtheVolkswagenhome.
OneLeper
Motheralwayssaidshewasasize7womanshekeptwrappedinfattopreventbruising.WhenshestartedatBallStatesheweighed268pounds,sotheThinMominsidewasabundantlysafe.
Butbytheendofhersecondfullschoolyear,shehadlostahundredpounds,oranentireotherThinMom.Shestillhadlonghairshehatedandworeinabun—Dadwouldn’tlethercutit—andshewasstillmissingsomeofherteeth,buttherewasnodenyingshehadchanged.Itwasn’tuntilIstoppedand
lookedbackthatIsawwhatshehaddone:shehadtakentheCLEPtestand
leapfroggedoveranacreofrequirements.Shehadfinagledrideswithseventeendifferentpeopleoverherfirstyear.ShehadfoundSabrinaandredeemedherwithadvertising.Hertoosolidfleshhadmelted;shehadgonetothetheater;shehadwrittenaplaythathadbeenperformedasastagedreading;shehadtakenmetothebigcampusandmademefeelcomfortablethere,the
waybirdsmaketheirbabiesflyfartherandfartherafield,allthewhilesaying,“See?It’sjusttheworld,youknowtheworld.”WhatIhadn’tnoticed,orhadn’trecognized,werethecourseoverloads,thepunishingsummerschedule,theargumentswithadviserswhotoldherno.(Shehandedtome,inthoseyears,oneofhergreatestgifts:theabilitytosaywithasmile,“Tellmewhowillsay
yes,andthendirectmetohisoffice.”)Shehaddoneallthese
thingsandshewasgoingtograduatesummacumlaude,whichmeantGoodButLoud,fromtheHonorsCollege,andshehaddoneitallintwenty-threemonths.Ittakessomepeoplemoretimetohangacurtain.
Twothingshappenedtendaysbeforegraduation:one
wasthatshereceivedaletterfromtheuniversitypresident,Dr.Pruis.SheopeneditonaneveningMelindaandRickwerevisitingwithJosh,andDadjusthappenedtobehome.“Whatisit?”Melinda
asked.InJarvisLandanofficialletterwasalmostalwaysguaranteedtobeathreatofgarnishedwagesorInterruptedService.Momscannedthethick
paper.“Dr.Pruissayshe’sproudofme.He’sinvitedmetocomeinandseehimbeforegraduation.”Iwhistled.Melindasaid,
“Thepresident?”Notmovinghiseyesfrom
thetelevisionDadsaid,“It’saformletter.”“No,itisn’t,”Melindasaid,
inatoneofvoicethatwouldhavecausedDadtogostraightupandscatter,asMomcalledit,inthedays
beforeMelindawasmarried,inthedaysbeforetherewasahusband-personsittingtheremakingsureitdidn’thappen.“Heprobablyknowsherstory,knowsshe’sgraduatingwithhonorsandisproudofher.”“It’saformletter,”Dad
said,lightingacigarette.“Howdoyou—”Melinda
began,hervoicerising.“Lin,”Momsaid,folding
theletterandslippingitback
intheenvelope.“I’lljustmakeanappointmentandfindout.Howaboutthat?”“Yes,dothat.”Melinda
reacheddownandpickedupJosh’sdiaperbag.“Yes,dothat,”Dadsaid,
stillnotlookingatanyofus.
ThenextmorningMomwalkeddowntothepayphoneattheNewmans’Marathonstation;ourtelephonehadbeen
disconnected,althoughDadclaimedtohavepaidthebill.SheusedthecoinsIhadn’talreadystolenfromherpursetobuyMountainDewsanddialedthenumberontheBallStateletterhead.“OfficeofthePresident,”a
womansaid,inaspecialOfficeofthePresidentvoice:groundglassinhoney.“MayIspeaktoDr.Pruis,
please?”“Thisishissecretary.What
isthenatureofyourbusiness?”Momwasperhapsnervous.
“Ah,isthisananimal,vegetable,ormineralquestion?”“Whatisthenatureofyour
business,madam?”Thehoneycooled,hardened.“Ireceivedaletterfrom
him,”Momsaid,clearingherthroat,“andhewantsmetocomeinandseehim.”“Yourname?”
“Myname?”“Whatisyourname,
ma’am?”“Oh.Yes.DelondaJarvis.”“Holdplease.”TheOffice
ofthePresidentleftMotherhangingwithoutbenefitofmusic,thenreturned.“IhandleallofhiscorrespondenceandIhavenorecordofsuchaletter.”Thentellmewhowillsay
yes.“It’spersonal.”O.ofP.tookhertime
sighing.“YoumayseehimTuesdayattwo.”Motherrememberedher
ownelegantvoice.“Thatwillbesatisfactory.Thankyou.”Shemadetheslight,distractedsoundofawomansqueezinganobligationintoafrightfullybusyday,thenhungupthepayphone,whichreekedofaxlegreaseandgasoline.Backinthehouseshe
contemplatedherwardrobe,
whichdidnotexist.Herthreepairsofblackpolyesterpantsnolongerfit,andherstunningcherryredpantsuit,whichsheclaimedcouldcauseretinaldamageindirectsunlight,wasbigenoughfortwoorthreeunbruisedmothers.ShesatdownatherSingersewingmachine,themachineonwhichshehadmadeallofourclothes(exceptforDad’s,whichwerestore-boughtand
fashionable),andthedollsMelindaandIhadlovedtopieces:SamanthaPollyanna,RebeccaMathilda,andSuzySleepyhead,nottomentionGladly,myCross-EyedBear.Shetookupthesidesofthecherryredpants,didherbestwiththesprungelasticwaistband.Shewouldleavethetopasitwasandbeltit.Theproblemwasthatthecrotchofthepantsnowhitherintheknees,sosheput
themonandpracticedtakingverysmallsteps.IcamedownstairsjustintimeforthisrunwaymoveandMomaskedmehowshelooked.Istudiedheramomentandsaid,“Youlooklikearadioactivepotato.”“Hmmm,”Momsaid,
noddingherhead.“That’snotsobad.”Shepickedoutawigtowearonthespecialday,too,astyleandcolorsheconsidered“subtle”and
whichIthoughtsaid“Pekingese.”
ThesecondthingthathappenedinthoselasttendaysinvolvedherprofessorofInterpersonalCommunication,Dr.Reiss.AfterclassonTuesday—theveryTuesdayshewastomeetPresidentPruis—Dr.ReissaskedMothertostepintoherofficeforamoment.“Couldwe—isthisvery
—”Momasked,glancingattheclockinthehallway.“Justamoment,please.”Dr.Reisswasatiny
woman,butshehadalong,manlystride,andshereachedherofficenearlyafullminutebeforeMotherdid.“Areyouallright,Mrs.Jarvis?”sheasked,studyingMom’snewgait.“Fine,fine,”Momsaid,
carefree.“I’msimplytryingtoslowdownandenjoylife
more.”ProfessorReissoffered
Momachairandsatdownfacingher.Shecrossedherarmsoverherstomach.Momtriednottolookaroundforaclock.Shetriednottoglancedownatherwatch,orhaveanervousbreakdown.“You’reaverybright
woman,”Dr.Reisssaid,breakingtheinterminablesilence.“Thankyou.”
“AndIunderstandyouhaveaperfectfour-pointGPA.”Mombrushedaway
somethingimaginaryfromherpantsleg.Nothingwouldactuallysticktotheredfabric;allwasrepelled.“Yes,that’sright.”“Ashame,then,thatIshall
begivingyouaCinthisclass.”Sothiswasit,Mom
thought.Shehadmanagedto
foolanentireuniversitythroughtheforceofwillalone,andshehadcomewithininchesofmakingacleanescape.ButDr.Reisscouldseethroughher,couldseethewholebleakstory:thescholarshiptoMiamiUniversityshe’dsacrificedatsixteentomarrymyfather,whoshethoughtwastwenty-sixyearsoldandapilot.(Hewaseighteenandagambler.)Thetwenty-fouryearsof
povertyandterrorandennui;thesexy,unpredictablemanwhomanageditall,dominatedeveryonearoundhim,animalseven.Herchildren,whohadneverbeforehadanyreasontobeproudofher,andwhonowsawherinanewway,childrenshehadadoredandignoredsimultaneously,becauseshesimplycouldnotgetupoffthecouch,shecouldnotcleanacondemned
housewithnorunningwater,shecouldnotcookmealswithfoodthatdidn’texistorwashclotheswithoutawashingmachine.Withoutclothes.Shecouldn’tdriveacarshedidn’thave,withoutalicenseshecouldn’tacquire.Shehadtakenhervowsandthentheyhadtakenher,andtheforcesamassedagainstherweregreaterthanlove,greaterthanobligation.Theywereelemental,heavyasa
deadplanet.Onechance—that’swhatshehadseenshehad—oneflyingleapthatwasreallycomposedofeightthousandseparatepossibilitiesforfalling,andshehadtakenthatchanceandcomethisfarandbeenfoundout.Andinastupidclassfullofselfish,self-indulgent,narcissistic,spoiledchildrenwhowereencouragedbyDr.Reisstotalktalktalkabouttheirfeelings,whenwhatthey
oughttohavebeendoingwasshuttingupandstudyingtheconversationsoftheireldersandsuperiors.Itwashere?Hereshewouldbedonein?Momnodded,sighed.
“HaveInotgottenanAoneverypaper?Attendedeveryclass?”“Youhave,”Dr.Reiss
agreed.“ButthiscourseiscalledInterpersonalCommunication,Mrs.Jarvis,andIhaveyettosee—or
hear—youcommunicatewithourclassatall.Youhaverevealednothingofyourselfthisquarter.”Momsatback,stunned.
“Youmustbejoking.Thestudentsdiscuss‘warmfuzzies’and‘coldpricklies.’Adiagramoftheir‘feelings’couldbeusedonSesameStreet.”“Nonetheless,youseemnot
totakethegoalofcommunicationvery
seriously.”“Interpersonal
communication,youmean.”“It’sanimportantfieldof
study.”Dr.Reissturnedherbraceletsaroundandaroundhersmallwrist,leanedtowardMotherwithintensity.“Itisthroughamorefeminineapproachtodialoguethatwewilleventuallybreakthroughthehegemonyofthepatriarchy,Delonda.Nolessthanthat.”
“Isee.”Momlookedatherwatch,tookadeepbreath.“Ihavenotedthatyourevealabsolutelynothingofyourselfinclass,Dr.Reiss.Youareasclosedasaprisonguard.”ProfessorReisssatback,
blinkedfiveorsixtimesbehindherthickglasses.“WritemeafinaltermpaperjustifyingyourselfandIwillrethinkyourgrade.Youaredismissed.”
TherewasnopossibilityshecouldgettotheAdministrationBuildingontime.Sheranupthehill,awayfromtheEnglishBuilding,raninteenytinysteps.Agirlonabicyclestoppedtowatchher.“Areyouallright?”The
girlwasyoung,athletic,tall.“Weren’tweinaclasstogether?”Motherwassowindedshe
couldbarelycontrolherlips.
“Ihave…a…oh,God.”Sheheldherside,triedtocatchherbreath.“IhaveanappointmentattheAdBuildinginfiveminutesandIdon’tthinkIcanmakeit.”TheTallGirlsaid,
“Bummer.Canyourideabicycle?”“OfcourseIcanridea
bicycle,”Momsaid,thinkingofmine,whichwastrustyanddearandevenhadabell.“Thisismyboyfriend’s
bike—youcantakeitifyou’llbecarefulandlockitup.JustleaveitinfrontoftheAdBuildingandI’llgetitlater.”TallGirltookoutacombinationlockonachaininaplastictube.Aplastictube.Momhadabsolutelynoideawhatshewasseeing.“Areyouready?”Momnoddedandtriedto
getonthebike.ItturnedoutTallGirlhadaTallBoyfriend,andMomcouldn’t
getherfootoverthecenterbar,particularlywiththecrotchofherbrightredpantsnearlydownaroundherankles.Shehikedupthepants,exposingwhitetubesocksshe’dborrowedfromRick.Acrowdbegantogather.Someoneyelled,“Jumponitfromtheback,likeahorse!”Shetriedthatandfoundittoberegrettable.Finally,aboywithaGary,
Indiana,accent,someone
fromtheRegion,said,“Hey,lady,youwannagetonthatbike?Givemeyourfoot.”ShetrustedhimwithherfootbecauseshehadgrownupinWhitingandsotheywerepracticallyfamily.TheboyhadtwofriendsbraceMomonherrightside;hepulledonefootupandover,theotherboyspushed,andbeforesheknewitshewasontheseat,thetinylittleseatoftheVeryTallBoyfriend’s
bicycle.TheRegionboyssaid,
“Ready?”Momwhispered,“Yes.”Theypushedherforward,
downthehilltowardwhatwascalledthescramblelight,anintersectionwherestudentscrossedfourlanesoftrafficinsixdirectionsatthesametime,infaithbelievingthat(a)theywereimmortal,and(b)carswouldstopforthembecausetheywereyoungand
pretty.ButMom’sbikekeptgainingspeed,nomatterhowfuriouslyshepedaledbackward.Shehadneverheardofhandbrakes,Ihadneverheardofhandbrakes;allcivilizedbicyclesinallthedecentnationsoftheworldhadback-pedalingbrakesandthatwasallweknew.Assheapproachedthe
massesatthescramblelight,realizingthatshewashomicidallybrake-freeand
travelingatroughlyfiftymilesanhour,Momdidtheonlythingshecoulddo:shebeganscreaming,“I’moutofcontrol,I’moutofcontrol!Getoutoftheway!Run!!!”Innocentchildrendoveto
thegroundandMommadeitthroughthelightandontothesidewalk,wheresomeidiotprofessorwasgettingoutofhiscarwithoutevenbotheringtoseeiftherewereformerlyfatwomenbarreling
downthesidewalkscreaming.Momflewtowardhim,screaming,andhedoveintothebushesaroundtheScienceBuilding.Shewasslowingjust
slightlyassheapproachedthefrontoftheAdministrationBuilding,enoughthatshethoughtshemightbeabletogetoffthebikeifshejustthrewherselfsideways,whichshedid.Shelandedonherelbowsandknees,
abradingandde-skinningherselfinwayswithwhichIwaslongfamiliar.Miraculously,thecherry-redkneesofherpantsdidnottear,buttheydidturnblackfromgrassandblood.Mom’sheadlandedonherbookbag,breakingthelittlebottleofAvonTimelesscologneshehadcarriedspeciallythatdayinordertodababitbehindherearsbeforemeetingthepresident.Thebagbeganto
leak.Momroseslowly,noteven
pretendingshehadreservesofdignity.Shewasbruisedandbleeding,herwigwasaskew,butshetookthetimetolockupthebicycle,asshehadpromised.ShemarchedintotheAdBuildingandupthestairstothepresident’soffice,limpingandtryingnottowhimper.SecretarytotheOfficeof
thePresidentlookedMother
upanddownandsaid,ratherfaintly,“Areyouthetwoo’clock?”Mothernodded,gasped.Asthesecretaryledherinto
hisoffice,PresidentPruisrosefrombehindhisvastdeskandstudiedMomwithacautiousexpression.Hissuitwassosubtleshealmostcouldn’tseeit.“Won’tyouhaveaseat?”heasked,directinghertoaleatherarmchairthesizeofMom’s
car,butwithmorepower.Shesat,stillgaspingperiodically.PresidentPruisbeganto
speak,asapoliticianwilldo,tofillthesilence,theinexplicableappointment.Hetoldherwhatawonderfulyearithadbeenfortheuniversity,howwellthebasketballteamhaddone,howmuchmoneythealumnicommitteehadraisedforanewbuilding.Hisspeechhadthecomfortingrhythmone
offerstochildren,oldpeople,andresidentsoftheEpilepticVillage.Finallyheasked,“Canyoutalk?”“Yes,”Motherwhispered.“Canyoutellmewhyyou
wantedtoseeme?”“Igotyourletter.”“Whatletterwouldthat
be?”Momtookitoutofthe
bookbag;itwasdrippingwithTimelesscologne.Dr.Pruishelditatarm’slength,
glancedatit,quicklyhandeditback.Shesawitonhisface:itwasaformletter.Hewasn’tproudofher.Hedidn’tknowanddidn’tcarethatshewasbeinggraduatedsummacumlaudefromtheHonorsCollegeaftertwenty-threemonths.Shelaughed.Shelether
bodygolimpandfeltherwigslipjustslightlymoreandknewtherewasabsolutelynothingtodobutlaugh.“It’s
aformletter,”shesaid,“butthat’sokay.It’sokay.IguesswhatIreallycametosayisthatthereweretenleperswhowerehealed,butonlyonecamebacktothankJesusforhealinghim.”Dr.Pruisblanchedabit,as
onedoeswhentheword“leprosy”popsupinapeculiarconversation.“I’msayingIwanttothank
youforallthethingsBallStatehasdoneforme.Inever
dreamedIwouldfinallygetacollegeeducation,andnowIhave,thankstoyou.”Henodded,askedherwhat
hermajorwas,whatclassesshehadtaken.Heaskedaboutherscholarshipsandloans,aboutthepeoplewhohadbeenmosthelpfultoher.Atlastheasked,gesturingtoher,well,everything,“Whathappenedtoyou?”Shetoldhimthestoryof
thegiantbicycle,herperilous
journey,theprofessorwhodoveintothebushesandwouldprobablysue.PresidentPruislaughedandlaughed,heshookhisheadandpulledastarchedhandkerchieffromhispocketandwipedhiseyes.“Ah,”hesaid.“I’msogladIinvitedyoutovisit.MayIwalkyoubacktotheEnglishBuilding?”
MomtoldRose’smother
JoyceaboutInterpersonalCommunicationsandhowshehadninedaysuntilgraduationandhaddecidedjusttoquit.Joycewasnotawomanwhoabidedsuchnonsenseineitherwordordeed,andshesaidtoMom,justsharplyenough,“Youcouldhangfromyourdamnthumbsforninedays,Delonda,togetthatdegree.”ThenshemadeMomtalkthroughthepapershewould
writeforDr.Reiss,andassoonasshebegantoexplainittoJoyce,itallbecameclear,andshedashedhomeasquicklyashertornkneeswouldcarryherandwroteit.
ShebasedherargumentonabookcalledThePrince,bysomeonenamedMachiavelli,whoIbelievedwasalsoasculptorandakindofaftershave.Shedescribedacertainkindofman,aPrince,
aPresident,aPotentate,whosegreatestgiftwashisabilitytoingratiatehimselftohisenemieswithfalseintimacy.Oncetheenemy’sweaknesseswereexposed,thePrincedestroyedhim,andthuswaspowermaintainedbytheamoralandpsychologicallycanny,orsoMotherwrote.ShequotedW.H.Auden,apoetwhohadoncegotteninabarfightinMuncie;shequotedRalph
WaldoEmerson,someoneIwouldforyearsbelievetobeacharacterinacartoonstrip.Momsaidthereweretrueandfalsevulnerabilities,andthattherewas“nonameunderwhichthefalsevulnerabilityshouldbecourted,novalueinachievingit.”Onthelastdayofher
collegecareer,Dr.Reissgaveherbackthepaper;MomhadgottenanAontheassignmentandanAinthe
class.Dr.Reisssuggestedtheyjointlypublishit,withherownnameasthelead:shewastheonewiththecredentials,afterall.ButMomjustopenedherhands,shemadeagestureofemptiness,smiling,andsaidtoherprofessor,“Justtakeit.Justtakeitforyourself,Idon’tneedit.”
Silver
IntheoldbuildingoncampuswhereMomhadanofficeasateachingassistant,everythingwaseithergreenorgoinggreen.ShewasstudyingtobeaMasterofEnglish,andshedidn’tmind
thateventhoughshewasabouttobetheequivalentofablackbeltinliterature,herofficecarpetwassquishyandsmelledlikeanaquarium.Ifeltcomfortablethere,asIwasaPisces.Momtookmewithhernearlyeverydayaftermyschoolyearended,andIwouldsitonthefloorinthecramped-upspace,betweenoldchairsandstacksofbooks,andcolormyfairytalesandsuperheroes.
StudentscameandwentandMomalwaysintroducedmeasifIwereafull-sizedperson.Professorspoppedin.OnceIlookedupandamanwithwhitehairandawhitebeardbutaveryyoungfacewasleaningaroundthedoorframe;Momsaid,“Dr.Koontz,thisismydaughter,”andhenoddedandsaid,“Cutekid,”thenleftwithouttellingherwhathehadcomefor.Professorscouldbethat
wayandnoonethoughtmuchofit.Thedepartmentsecretary
wasnamedMickeyDannerandsheinsistedIcallherMickey,notMrs.,andtherewasthisastonishingfactabouther:herrealfirstnamewasZilphaandshewasnotlying.HerhusbandwascalledHowardorHowie,andwithinaboutfiveminutesofmeetingeachotherheandIdeterminedthatwehadthe
exactsamebirthday,whichmadefourpeoplesoblessed.MickeywasthefirstoldpersonIeverknewwhowasbeautifulandIdidn’tknowwhattomakeofit.Howardwasold,too,buthewascraggledandshamblingandhisnoselookedasifithadmeltedandbeenreattachedattheSchoolfortheBlind.Hewaswhatoldpeopleweresupposedtolooklike.AndMickeywasveryverysmart;
Howardwasveryverynormal.Icouldtell—anyonecouldtell—thatnoneofthosedifferencesmattered,becauseHowieandMickeyhadalreadybeenmarriedsolongthey’dpassedthepointofbeingindividualsandinsteadaddedupintoasingle,averagehumanwithanoseproblem.Collegehadmademe
sophisticated,butitwasstillthecasethatMickey
Danner’ssweetnesswassodeepandtrueandconstantshemademewanttocry,andshemademewanttobeabetterperson,oratleastlieaboutthewretchedpersonItrulywas.Ihadneverbeforemetsomeonewithoutabitofdarknessinher,andmaybeMickeywastheonlyonewhoeverlived.Whenwewentouttolunchtogether—andshewoulddothat,shewouldinvitemeoutforlunch,just
thetwoofus—shewouldsay,“Now,gowashyourhandsbeforeweeat,dear,”andIwoulddashintothebathroomandwashmyhands.IfsheaskedmetolookatacatalogandhelpherpickoutnewcurtainsforherguestroomI’dtakethemagazineasifitweresacredandstudythecurtainsashardasIcould,andneveroncesayoreventhink,“Pickoutyourownretardedcurtains,I’vegot
biggerfishtofry,”whichisverylikelywhatIwouldhavesaidtomysister.WithMickeyIcursedmyselffornotknowingmoreaboutfabrics.WhenItoldher,“I’msorry,I’mnotverygoodatthis,”shetookmyhandandsaid,inhercaramellyvoice,heroldfacesobeautifulsheshouldhavebeenonapostagestamp,“Oh,Ithinkyou’regoodateverythingyoutry.Youjustchoosewhat
youthinkisprettiestandIwilltakeyourwordforit.”Afterwe’dbeenfriendsfor
anumberofmonths,Mickeyannouncedacontesttoguessthedateofthefirstsnowfall.Eachpersoninthedepartmentgottowritetheirpredictiononaslipofpapershapedlikeacandycane,ournamescarefullyinscribedbyherbeforehand.TherewasnodistanceMickeywouldnotgo.TheprizewasaSanta
Clausstatuewithasnowglobeinhisbelly.Intheglobewasavillagewithlittlehousesandstreetlights.Itwasmesmerizingandbestnotconsideredtooclosely,asitwasundeniablethatthevillagewasinSanta’sstomach.BeforeImetMickeyI
neverwouldhavedonewhatIdidwhenshehandedmemycandycaneguessingpaper.BeforeMickeyIwouldnot
haveknownsuchathingwaspossible.Itoldherthetruth:Ishouldn’tbeallowedtoparticipate,becauseIwasdevilishlygoodatguessingthingsanditwouldn’tbefairtotheProfessors.Theydidn’tstandachancewithmeinthegame.ItoldheraboutknowingthenumberofpenniesinthebigjarattheMoorelandFair,andhowonceLindyandIhadbeenatGrant’sdepartmentstoreand
sheofferedmeapennygumball.Sheturnedthehandleonthemachineandjustasshedidso,Isaid,“It’sred.”Weopenedthelittlegateandtherewasaredgumball.BeforeweleftthestoreMelindahadcashedinaquarterandIhadguessedthegumballcolorrighttwenty-threetimes.Andasifthatweren’tenough,IgottokeepthegumballsforhavingESP.Whenwegothomewe
toldMomaboutitbutshewasn’ttheleastsurprised;sherememberedwheneverybodyinourfamilyhadESP.AroundourhouseitwasjustESPallthetime.Itwasn’tthatMickey
didn’tbelieveme—shecertainlybelievedme.Butshethoughtmynaturaladvantagemightbetemperedbythefactweweretalkingabouttheweather,andnotjustweatherbutsnowinIndiana,which
wassounpredictableIalwaysexpectedtoseeitcomingupfromthegroundoneday,flyingheavenwardinareversalofphysicallaws,justtokeepusHoosiersonourtoes.IsawMickey’spoint,and
acceptedmycandycane.Ithoughtamoment,lickingtheendofmypencil,ahabitI’dpickedupfrommydad.Mickeysuggestedthatlickingleadwasn’tperhapsthe
wisestthingtodo,andIwonderediftherewasaconnectionbetweenmypencilhistoryandthefactIhadabsolutelynonotionofleftandright.Icouldhardlytellthewordsapart.AndMelindaandIbothsaid“yellow”whenwelookedatthecolorpink.Wesaidyellowwhenwelookedatthewordpink,andwebothsufferedfromaphenomenonwecalledBakerPark,afteran
actualparkinNewCastlewhichwasasquarewithstreetsaroundit.EverytimeMelindaandIgotnearBakerParkwewouldbecomecompletelylost;Idon’tmeanwedidn’tknowwhichwaywasrightorleft,ofcoursewedidn’t,Imeanwedidn’tunderstandthatwewerestillonPlanetEarth.Iwrote“November13”and
putanexclamationpointunderneathit.Mickeylooked
atmypredictionandsaid,“That’sprettyearlyforsnow.Areyoutryingtogiveeveryoneelseafightingchance?”Ishookmyhead.MickeyDannerhadgotteninmylifeandmessedmeupbutgood;Ididn’tknowifIwascomingorgoing,lyingortryingnottolie.“No,”Isaid,andthen,
“Whatwasthequestion?”
November13wasmild,with
clearskies.IsatinMickey’sofficewhileMomwasinclass.WetalkedaboutthingsandIreadtoherfrommyJudyBlumebook.Sheansweredthephoneandtyped;peoplecameandwentandthedaypassedgently.Neitherofusmentionedthecontest,andthenMomcameupthericketygreensteps,pantingfromherwalkacrosscampus,andsaid,“It’ssnowing!”Ijumpedupand
lookedoutthewindowandtheflakesweresobigtheycouldhavehadfaces—Icouldhavegiveneachoneaname.“Heavens,”Mickeysaid,
herhandoverherheart.“IguessIoweyouthis.”ShehandedmetheboxwiththeSantastatueandshookmyhand.Iopenedthebox,movedasidethetissuehewaswrappedin.TherewasthesleepingvillageinsideSanta.
IfthegifthadcomefromDr.Mood,Iwouldhavethoughtitmeantsomethingverystrangeandbeyondme(thevillageisinSanta,thevillageisINSanta),butasitwasfromMickeyIthoughtitwasjustthesweetestthing,andhadnosignificanceatall.
TheyearshebecameaMaster,Momlostanothertwentypounds,soldSabrinatoacollector,andwrote
thirteenshortstoriessodisorientingandbothersomeImemorizedoneentirelyandhidcopiesoftheothersinthesecretredboxinmybedroom.Thestoriesformedthebookthatwouldbeherthesis.Theywereallaboutwomen;eachstorywastoldtwice,itseemedtome,ormaybeIwaswrongaboutthat.MaybethestoryIhadmemorized,“HomeRemedy,”wasn’tthesameas
“Bondage.”Inthefirstahillbillywoman(IimaginedshehadmyMomMary’sKentuckyaccent)namedLoveyistalkingtoherhusband,ElzyEzekielRogers.Sheisjusttalking,tellinghimlittlethings,likehowherbedhadcomefromanauctioninarainstorm—herfatherhadstayedallday,soakedthrough,togetitforher.AsachildLoveyhadsharedthebedwithhersister,
andthenitbecamehermarriagebed.She’dnevertoldanyonethattheknobsatthetopofthefourposterscameoff.Iusedtohidesecretsintheposts,likeapoemIreadonetimethatmademecry.Icopieditoffandhiditintheleftfootpost.AndwheneverImetyouthatfirsttimeatthechurchsociableIwenthomeandwrotedownyourname,ElzyEzekielRogers,andItookoff
theballandhidthepaperinthepostonthetopleft,nearesttomyheart.Buttheyaren’tjusttalking,
thiswomanwiththesoft,mountainaccentandherhusband.Heisn’ttalkingatall,becauseheistiedtothebedposts,boundandgagged.TherearethingsLoveymustmakecleartohim:theyinvolveadaughter,CarrieBell,whoisfifteen,abeautiful,innocentchild.
Thereisatraybythebed,andonitaragsoakedwithether;ascalpel;catgutthreadandacurvedneedle.Thesedetailsaddeduplikenumbers,butevenmemorizedIwasn’tsuretowhatsum.SometimesIthinkaboutthosefirstfifteenyearsandthey’relightandgolden,likefairychildrendancingaroundamaypole.Theselastfifteenyearsarelikegoblinsinacircle,onemoreadded
eachyearthatpasses.Nowthelightandthedarkareeven,butbeforelonganotheryearwillmakesixteendarkandonlyfifteenlight,dancing,dancing,andsoonthedarknesswillwin.Itscaresmetothinkonit.In“Bondage”the
husband’snameisBuck;he’satruck-drivingbully,andthewife,Claire,isanurse,soitwasn’tthesameatall,really,exceptforthesutures,the
needle,thehandcuffs.AndadaughternamedCarriewhoisinjured.Sheistalkedaboutbutneverseen;allthroughthestoryherbedroomisquiet,herbedmade.Thereisanoldstuffedbearonherpillow,andIwonderedaboutthatalot,thatbear.Ididn’tunderstandthe
storiesbutIcouldn’tputthemdown,wouldn’tletthemgo.Lovey’svoicewasinmyheadassureasmyown,and
theotherwomen,too:theelementaryschoolteacher,Veronica,founddeadinhercloset,hersecretsspilledalloverherapartment.Thekitchenflooriscoveredwithcoffeeandsugar,blackagainstwhite,stainsonwhitewalls,andthepolicemanwhoistellingthestoryknowsthereisonlyonebodybuttwodeadwomen:Veronica,thewomantheworldsaw,andRonnie,theselfshe
despised.“AlmaMater,”abouta
womaninthecabininthewoods,whopresidesoverasmalltown’sharvestfestival.ItisshewhochoosestheHarvestKing,andthecontestisbetweentwocousins,MichaelandMalachi.Amiddle-agedman,acollegerecruiter,comestotowntobeghertolethisuniversityhaveMichael,whoisagenius;intruthhewantsthem
both.ThewomaniscalledMother;shetakesthemanintoherrose-scentedparlorandheislostanentireday.WhenhecomestohissensesheseestheMotherisold,andheishorrified:herfacechangeswitheveryshiftoflight,andshetellshimMichaelisChosenandthereisnoundoingit.“YoumaytakeMalachi,”shesays,slippingintotheshadowsofherownhouse,pushingthe
recruiteroutintotheblindingdaylightandlockingthedoorbehindhim.“MichaelwasChosen,”I
wouldsay,lyinginbedatnight,orsittingonthefloorinMickeyDanner’soffice.Atacarnivalinthespringtime,wherehewrestledwithhiscousin,andwon.“YoumaytakeMalachi,”
Mickeywouldanswer,handingmeastackofletterssheneededmetofold.
IknewtheWeddingstories,theMothers-in-lawComingtoVisitstories,theLeftTurnonMaple.Andthewomanwhohadcometobelieveintheundead;sheworeasilvercrosssheclutchedthroughoutaneveningspentwithanoldfriend—acoldevening,acoldconversationoverchilledwine,andupstairsinherimmaculatehousetheperfectlypreservedroomofafour-year-oldboy,whohad
beendeadforyears.
AwomaninMountSummitnamedWilhelminaopenedadressshopinthebasementofherhouse.Thedresseswereofamysteriousorigin:somewereveryexpensiveandnew;somewereexpensiveandonconsignment.MosthadcomefromSomewhereandbeenmarkeddownmanytimesastheytraveledtoMountSummit,theway
anythingpassedfromhandtohanddims.Motherloveditthere.She
lovedtogoandvisitwithWilhelmina,evenifsheneverboughtanything.Wilhelminawastiny,builtlikeadancer,andsheworescarvesandexcessiveamountsofjewelry.Shesmokedandgossipedandcomplimentedeverywomanwhocamethroughthedoor.Afterleavingtheshopempty-handedmanytimes,Mom
walkedinoneafternoonandtoldWilhelminashewasreadytotrysomethingon.Shewasabouttocelebratehertwenty-fifthweddinganniversaryandshewantedanewdress.Ididn’twanttogoto
Wilhelmina’s.Itriedstayinginthecar,buttheinteriorwasblackanditwasAugust,andevenwitheverywindowdownIfeltallmywickednessmelting.Igotoutofthecar
andstompedaroundandthatmademehotter.Dresses.Mymotherwasshoppingfordresses.WherewasyeoldeDelonda,Iwasbeginningtowonder,theonewhoworeMomMary’shand-me-downsyearafteryearandneverleftthehouse,thepersonwhowassomehowtoogoodforaplacelikeWilhelmina’s?Isatdownunderatree,fannedmyself,kickedatsomedusttomakeapoint.Nevermind
thelightsbeingturnedoff,thelackofplumbing,thecold,humidhazeinwhichMomsleptawaythedays,yearafteryear,asilent,unmoving,unmovablemountainunderblanketsandafghans.Whatneeddidshehavefortrivialitiesandcostumejewelry?RisinguponSundaymornings,makingdowithvirtuallynothing(andeventhatnothinghadtobepinnedtogetherandwasso
frayeditbarelyheld),shehadnotseemedembarrassedorconcerned.Mycheerful,obese,popcorn-eating,science-fiction-readingholyMother:hereyehadbeenonGod.Imissedthatwomanfiercely,butIbarelyknewwhy.AllIknewisthataslongasshewastrappedIknewexactlywheretofindher.“Honey!”TheNew
Mother,missing120pounds
oftheOld,wasstandinginthedoorwayofthedressshop,wavingtome.“ComeseewhatIfound!”
EvenIhadtoadmitthedresseswereamazing.Theywereidentical,oneblack(coffee),theotherwhite(sugar),afinelyspunsomethingorother—Iknewnothingaboutfabric—thatfeltasifitwerejustabouttoescapeyourhand.
Shewaswearingthewhiteone,whichwasfittedbutnottight,andmadeherlooklikesomeonewhohadoncehadafiguresodangerousshecouldonlyhintatitnowthatshewasagrandmother.Itwasadressthatconcealed,andintheconcealmenttoldastorywhichseemedtobetheoneMomwasworkingon;thefourteenthnarrativeinhercollectionofwomen’sfaces.“Lookatthis,”shesaid,
handingmea…whatwasit?Notabelt,butsomethinglikethat.Itwasmadeofthesamematerial,butoneachendwerethreefingerletsoffur.Idon’tbelieve“fingerlet”wasthetechnicalterm.Itwasfurinthreefinger-shapedtubes,notlongscaryfingers,morelikelittlestumpsoffur.Thebelt,orwhateveritwas,andthefurstumpsweresohopelesslyglamorousIhopedMomwouldbuythedress
justsoIcouldstealthispart.“Youtieitonlikethis,”shesaid,executingaknot,alittleturninthedressingroommirror.ThelastoftheworldasIknewitvanishedwithawhisper.“Doyouthinkyourdadwilllikeit?”sheasked,stilllookinginthemirror.
IonceoverheardMomrefertoamanassomeonewhoHadAccidentsforaLiving.Iwasfairlycertainthiswasmy
vocation,too,andIwishedIcouldinterviewthemantofigureouthowonegotpaidforwhatcamenaturallytome.Myfathertooksome
professionalfalls,too,athisjobatDelcoRemy.Iwasalwaysunclearonthedetails,butIrememberthelastone,becauseheneverwentbacktowork.Therewastalkthatoneofhislegswasshorterthantheother(ormaybeit
waslonger);itwassaidthathisspinewasdisintegrating.Hetoldushewouldbeonehundredpercentcrippledwithinthenextfiveyears.Inthemeantime,hewasondisabilityandcollectingapension,andalldayeverydayhegottodowhateverhewanted.Mymindwobbledwithfear
andgriefwhenIconsideredDad’sfutureinawheelchairasaonehundredpercent
cripple.Itwouldbetheworstthingthatcouldhappentohim;itwouldbelikeputtinghiminprison.Hewasmeanttogo,hewasbuilttostandinhisgardenjustbeforesunriseandstudyhisfruittreesandthinkhisprivatethoughts,butonhislegs,notonwheels.Awheelchairwouldbeamessafterrototilling;itwouldbeadisasterinthewoods.WhenIthoughttoohardaboutitI’dhavetorunoutsideandprop
aladderupagainstmyfavoritetree,thenclimbupandhideintheperfectbasketmadewherethefirstbiglimbspartedways.Icouldneverunderstandhowhealwaysfoundme,buthedid,andI’dpopmyheadup,thenclimbdowntheladderandnevereventhinkaboutputtingitaway.Thesummermyparents
hadbeenmarriedtwenty-fiveyears,Ihadanotherproblem
withmydad.IthadnonameandIcouldn’ttalkaboutitwithanyone,andeventhinkingaboutitmademefeellikeImightthrowuporfaint.Icouldn’ttellMomorMelindaandsurelynotRoseorJulie.Icouldn’twriteitinthejournalI’dstartedkeeping.(ThejournalhadbeenanassignmentatschoolandI’dhateditlikeleechesforaboutfiveminutesandthenextthingIknewIwas
writinginitallthetimeandthenkeepingadifferentoneathomethatdidn’thaveanythingtodowithschool.This,too,wasprivate.)IthadhappenedinJuneor
earlyJuly.I’dbeenupstairsinmyroom,listeningtomusicandIheardDad’struckpullupinfrontofthehouse.Itwaslate,andIshouldhavebeeninbed.Momwasasleeponthecouch.Iquickturneddownthemusicandchanged
intoanightgownsohe’dthinkI’dbeenabouttogotobed,andthenIactuallygotinbedandrolledaroundsoastogivemyselfpillowhair.Iwalkeddownthesteps,casual,yawning.BythetimeIreachedthedenhewassittinginhischairasifhe’dbeenthereforhours.“Hey,Daddy,”Isaid,
givinghimalittlewave.“Zip.”Dadnodded,lita
cigarette.“Whatareyou
doingup?”“Oh,nothing.Iwassleeping
butIheardyoucomeinandIjustcamedowntosaygoodnight.”IsteppedoveranimalsandbooksandaCrockpotthathadtakenupresidenceinthemiddleoftheflooroftheden;noonecouldsaypreciselywhyandnoonewouldmoveit.IsatdowninDad’slapandleanedagainsthischest,asIhaddonemillionsuponmillionsof
timesbefore.Ibreathedinthesmellthatwastheessenceofhim,asmellthatlivedinthehollowofhisthroat,andwhichwhenIhadbeenareallylittlegirlIusedtotrytosmellonhispillowwhenheleftforworkeachday,becauseIwasafraidIwouldn’tliveuntilhegothomeagain.Thescentwasimpossibletodescribebutitneverchangedanditwasintoxicating.Momcould
smellit,too;I’dheardhersaytoMomMarythatshewouldhavemarriedDadforthatalone.Allthosemillionsoftimes
I’dclimbedintohislap.Itwasroutine,sooftenrehearsedandfullymemorizedI’dnevergivenitanythought.Iwas,insomecriticalway,apartofDad’slap,andIfitinsidethecurveofhisarmlikeapuzzlepiece.Therewasahollowplacejust
belowhiscollarbonethathadbeendesignedformyhead.WewerelikeHowieandMickey;wewerejustgoingaboutourbusiness,Dadsomewhere,mesomewhereelse,butattheendofthedayorwhenIfellasleepinthecarorwhenIwassick,hepickedmeupandwewerethatotherperson.Justoneperson.Thistimehedidn’tmove,
hedidn’tmaketheright
adjustmentsorusehisarmtopullmeupcloserandsettlemeinapositionsohecouldseeovermyhair.Hiswholebodywasstiff;heseemedangry.“Hopupnow,”hesaid,his
eyesfixedonthetelevision.“Youshouldbeinbed.”Hemightaswellhavehitme.Itwouldhavebeenbetterifhehadhitme.ForamomentIjuststoodbyhischair,buthedidn’tlookatmeorsay
anythingelse,soIsteppedbackovertheCrockpot,thebooks,theanimals.Icouldn’tseewhereIwasgoing,butImadeittothedoorwaywithouttripping.Iwasabouttocrossintothedarklivingroomwhenhesaid,“You’reabiggirlnow,toobigtositonmylap.”Istoppedbutdidn’tturnaround.“Andlistentome.”Hisvoicetookonthetoneheusedwhenhewasabouttonameacardinallaw,
thedefianceofwhichwouldresultinpunishmentsodireithadnonameandhadneveryetbeenemployed.“Youarenottositonanyoneelse’slap,either.Doyouhearme?”Ididn’thavetolookathimtoknowwhathisfacewasdoing,theflameofhim,hisabsoluteauthority.“Isaid,Doyouhearme?”Inodded,mybackstillturnedtohim,andtookoffrunning.Iranpastthepiano,throughthe
doorwayintomyparents’bedroom(wheretheyneversleptanymore),upthestairs.Inearlyflewacrosstheroomthathadbeenmysister’sandontomybed,whereIlayonmystomachandburiedmyfaceinmypillowandhopedIwouldsuffocate,atrickthatneverworked.Ididn’tknowwhatIhad
done;Icouldneveraskandhewouldn’ttellmeanyway.Butsomehow,througha
failureofattention—ormaybeithadbeenaseriesofsmallcrimesaddedtogether—Ihadmadehimstoplovingme.Ihadlostmyfather.
HerearethethingsMelindawasreallygoodat:1.Havinggreatbabies.2.Undercookingmeat.3.Paintingthingsonwalls.4.Gettingimpatientandlosinghertemperandthenapologizingforitand
maybebuyingapresenttomakeupforit.5.Settingherhouseonfire.6.Rememberingbirthdaysandholidaysandgettingacardforsomeoneandsigningitfromsomeoneelse.The“someone”wasusuallymymotherandthe“someoneelse”wasDad.Andshewasreallyexcellentatplanningthingsandmakingunusualdecisionsandcausinggoodthingstoappearwherethey
hadn’tbeenbefore.SowhenshesaidthereneededtobeapartytocelebrateMomandDad’ssilverweddinganniversary,everyoneknewtherewouldbeoneandshewouldmakeithappen.Melindasaidthereshould
beaphotographtaken,aformalportraitthatwouldruninthepaperalongsideapicturefromtheirwedding.ThiswasatraditionIwashighlyagainst,becauseit
wasdisturbing.Thereweresuchpicturesinthenewspapereveryday,andIdidn’tunderstandwhyotherpeopleweren’tbotheredbythem.Oh,herewearewhenwewereyoungandstillhadourownhairandbothofourarms!Andherewearenow—theonlythingkeepingusuprightforthispictureisthefearwewilllandonourcolostomybags!(AnotherthingMelindawasgoodat:
jokesinvolvingcolostomybags.Ihadnoideawhattheywerefororwhereonekeptthembutmywordtheywerefunny.Shecouldalsobuildastoryaroundtheword“tapeworm”likenobodyelse.)Sowhatiftwopeoplehadbeenmarriedsixty-eightyears?You’dthinkthefurtherawayyougotfromhavingyourfacestillattachedtoyourheadthemoreprivacyyoumightcrave.
ItseemedmaybeDadagreedwithme,becausehedidn’twanttogotoOlanMillsandhavethepicturestaken.Infact,hewasshowingsignsofmaybenotwishingtohavethepartyatall.Forinstance,hesaidtoMelinda,whenshestoppedbytotalktoMomaboutdecorations,“Ihopeit’sherotherhusbandyouhaveinmindforthisevent,becauseI’mnotcoming.”
Melindabarelyglancedathim.“Yes,youare,”shesaid,showingMotherasamplenapkin.InMoorelandallparties
wereheldinchurches,eitherinthebigbasementoftheNorthChristianChurch,orinourFellowshipRoomatMoorelandFriends.Thatwasproblemone,rightthere.Daddidn’tliketogoinchurches;theydidn’tworkforhim.ThefewtimesI’dseenhimatthe
FriendsMeeting,helookedclaustrophobic,orasifhistireshadbeenoverinflatedandheshouldNOTbedrivingonthem.Icouldn’twatchit.Ididn’tlikehimtogotospecialsatchurch,norweddings,funerals.IfitwereuptomeI’dhavekepthimawayfromanyplacewithpewsandhymnals.Ithinkevenpodiumsandacertainkindoflightwereabadidea.Second:hedidn’tliketobe
aroundChurchPeople,particularlytheFriendsChurchPeople.Hedidn’tsayitstraightout,butIthinkhefeltjudgedbythem,andwithgoodreason.HeknewforafactthatMomhadbeenprayingoutloudforhissalvationforthepasttwenty-fiveyears;sheprayedeveryweek,threetimesaweek,atchurchandinherprayercell,formydadtobesavedandjoinherinachurchgoinglife.
Sheprayedforhimtobecomeadifferentsortofman.Heknewthis.Heknewthatinherout-loudprayers(pleaseseePaul’sLettertotheHebrews)shemaybetoldsomethingsabouthim,aboutourlife,thathewouldn’twantknown.IthardlymatteredthatshewassayingthemtoGodwhenabunchofotherpeoplewerelistening,too.Andthenonceinawhilehewascalledupontogo
standamongthosesamepeople,therighteousandthehumblealike,andpretendthateverythingwasevenbetweenthemallwhenitwassurenot.Hecouldhavehadanally
withmeonthechurchquestion,apowerlessonebutanallynonetheless,haditnotbeenforthefactthatwhenitcametochurchgoingmydad’sIndiannamewasSpeaksOutofBothSidesof
Mouth.HemademegowithMomeverySunday.Hewouldnotintervene,evenifIbeggedhimtoexplaintoherthatIwasjustlikehim.Itdidn’tmatterifshemademegoonceoreighteenhundredthousandtimes,IwasnotgoingtogiveinandIwasnotgoingtojoininandIwouldnotbeswayed.Butallheeversaidwas“Dowhatyourmothertellsyou.”ButDadmusthavenot
beenentirelyclearontheanniversaryparty,becauseonestepatatime,Melindawasvictorious.ThephotographatOlanMillswastakenandraninthepaper.Invitationswereissued,napkinspurchased,theingredientsfortheUniversalPunchweregatheredandwaitedinthefreezerinthechurchkitchen.IwastoldIwouldhavetowearadress,andbeforeIcouldreallyget
goingonthesubjectMelindatoldmeshe’dalreadyboughtitandalsoherewerenewtightsthatweren’ttoosmall,sothecrotchwouldn’tbedownholdingmykneestogether.ShesaidShutupbeforeI’dgottenevenonelittlesoundout,soIdid.
MomaskedmewithgreatseriousnessifIwoulddothehonorofbeingGuestBookGirl.Sheaskedmethisasif
thereweresomethingmarvelousattheotherend,andalsoanenormousamountatstake.BeinginplaysatBallStatehadnotbeenwastedonher;itbroughtbackhersleepinghighschoolactingcareer,whereshehadbeenthestarofeveryshowevenifsheplayedaminorrole,becausewhenshewalkedonstageeveryoneelsejustdisappearedandlookedsilly.
IsaidIwouldcertainlybetheGuardianoftheGuestBook,eventhoughIknewthatthejobwastheequivalentofbeingaskedtostandnexttoapondoradeadtreeoradeadperson,forthatmatter.Itriedtoimaginetheresponsibilityaheadofme,anycrisesthatwouldrequiremyintervention.Thepencouldbedropped.ThatwasallIcouldforesee.Iwouldpickitupifthathappened,I
toldMother,andwegaveoneanothergravelooksandwenttogetready.ItwasabeautifulSaturday
inlateAugust,adayofrareblueness.ItwaswarmbutnothingliketheusualAugustdayinIndiana,whichfeltliketheinsideofastomach.MydresslookedlikeapieceofyellowFruitStripegum;ithadshortsleevesandhungstraighttothemiddleofmythighs.Itwasmadeofsome
fabric(Ihadnoideawhat)thatwasbothunwrinkleableandunscratchy,acombinationIdidn’tknowexisted.AltogetheritwasanotherlittlemiracleonMelinda’spart.Momputonthewhitedress
withthefur-fingerletextrapart.HerhairwasinaFrenchtwistandsheputonlipstickfromoneofthelittleAvonsampletubesthatmademecrazywithitsshrunkenness.
Sheevenclippedondanglyearringswithapearlatthebottom.Momdidn’t“believe”inpiercedears,avexationinmylifeIcouldtellwasonlygoingtogetworse.Ididn’twanttowearjewelrybutIdidwantholesinmyears.Momsaidpiercinganythingwassavageandaformofritualisticscarring.MelindawentalongwithMombecausethethoughtofactuallygetting
herearspierced,theprocesspart,madeherwoozywithhorror.PeriodicallyMomwould
say,“Bob?I’velaidyoursuitout,youmightwanttostartgettingready,”andtherewouldbenoreply.Thenshe’dsay,“Bob,ItoldMelindawe’dbethereatonethirtytohelphergetsetup,”andhewouldn’tanswerfromhischair.IhadonmynewwhitetightsandLindyhad
polishedmysaddleoxfordsandIwastryingtopreventwhateverwasinevitablefromhappeningtothetightsandalsoIwaskeepinganeyeonDadbuthedidn’tgivemeanyeyeback.AtonepointhedidcallmeBarrelofMonkeysandIrealizedI’dbeendoingsomersaultsforwardandbackward,forwardandback,inthedoorwaytothelivingroom,andmytightswerecovered
withanimalhair.Butnonehadstucktothedress.Icouldn’twaittotellMelindashe’ddiscoveredthefutureandthatwhenIgrewupIwantedmywholehousetobemadeofit,whateveritwas.
MomandIwalkeddowntothechurchalone,pretendingwehadn’tnoticedthatDadwasn’twithus.“Whatabeautifuldayfora
party!”Momsaid,takinga
deepbreath.“Yoursisterwillbesopleased.”Isaid,“Wanttoseeme
hopscotchallthewaythere?”Shedid,soIdid.
Mom,Melinda,Rick,andIsetupthetablesandcoveredeachwithtwotablecloths—yellowunderneath,laceontop;wesetoutthecenterpiecesMelindahadbought:basketsofflowersinshadesofyellowandcopper
andcream.Thereweretapercandlesinshortbrasscandlesticks.RicksetupaneaselandproppedupalargecorkboardonwhichMelindahadmadeacollageofthelasttwenty-fiveyears,weddingpicturesandbirthannouncementsandfamilygatherings.Itwasamazing.Momstoodinfrontofitalongtime.“AndIstoodupand
realizedthatnofurhadstuck
tome,”IwassayingtoLindy.“Well,itisn’tflame-
retardant,sodon’tgettooclosetothecandles,”sheanswered,straighteningthenapkinsshewasarranginginadesign.“Yousaidretardant.”“Don’tmakemepinch
you.”Weworkedandworked
andwheneverythingwasreadyIcouldn’tbelievewhat
Melindahadmade.Ihadnoideahowsheimaginedsuchthingsinthefirstplace,thecolors,everything.MomandRickkept
lookingattheirwatches;soonIwouldhavetogotothefrontofthechurchandtakemyplacebytheGuestBook.Itwaspossiblehewouldn’tcome.Noonewassayingit,noonewaseventhinkingitveryloudly.Iwasthinkingitasbarelyaspossible,justas
heopenedthebackdoorandsteppedin.Hehadskippedthesanctuary,ofcourse.Hewaswearinghis
chocolatebrownsuit,theoneIlikedbest,withapinkshirtandachampagne-coloredtie.Icouldn’tbelieveitwaspossible,buthematchedthedecorations.Hishairwasfreshlycut,hewassocloselyshavedhisfacelookedsmootherthanmine,andhesmelledlikesoapand
aftershave,cigarettesandbreathmints.Melindawentintothekitchenandbroughtouttwoboxes:acorsageforMother,whichDadpinnedonherasiftheyweregoingtotheprom,andaboutonniereforhim.Itwasn’tuntilshecarriedoutthecakeandputitinthecenterofthetablethatMomunderstoodwhatMelindahaddone,andthenIunderstoodit,too,whereI’dseenthesecolorsbefore.
Melindahadre-createdourparents’weddingreceptionfromthedescriptioninthenewspaperandfromphotographs.Shehadfoundtheircaketop(notabrideandgroombuttwodoves)inaboxintheclosetandtakenit,alongwithaphotograph,toawomaninNewCastlewhohadbakedtheexactsamecakethey’dhadtwenty-fiveyearsbefore.IwatchedMomtryingtotakeitinandI
waitedforhertosaysomething,butatjustthatmomentAuntDonnacamethroughthedoorsaying,“YouknowIthoughtweweregoingtobelate,Kennethcouldn’tfindthecarkeysandIwasjustbesidemyselfandohhoneydon’tyoulookpretty,”shesaidtoMelinda,“hereareAuntDonna’smints,youdon’tneedtodoanythingbuttakethefoiloff,I’veusedthe
silverplatteryouaskedfor,Melinda,theonethat’sintheshapeofaleaf,Bobby,comehereandletmegetalookatyou.”Iheadedtowardthewaiting
GuestBook,butnotbeforeIsawthatMomhadahandkerchiefoutandDadalreadyhadthatlook.
MelindahadaskedJimmyCarnestotakepictures.Jimmywasagreat
photographer;hehadlongishblondhairandablondbeard,blueeyes.HedroveanEasyRidersortofmotorcycle,wasquietandpainfullyhandsome,shy.EveryoneIknewwashalfinlovewithhim.Iwasalsohalfinlovewithhiswife,sopartofmewantedtomarryJimmyandpartofmewantedmetobeadoptedbyhim.HesteppedintothevestibulewhereIwasstandingnexttotheGuest
Book.Thecamerahehadaroundhisneckwassobigandimpressivethismightaswellhavebeenacrimescene.ItookonelookathimandrealizedIhadbeenwronginmyearlierthinking:Ithree-quarterswantedtomarryhim.“CanItakeapictureof
you?”heasked.“Idon’tmuchliketohave
mypicturetook.Tooken.Taken.”Wherewasmyhelmet?That’swhatMelinda
wouldhaveasked.“Howaboutjustone.I’ll
makeitpainless.”PartofthereasonJimmy
wassuchagreatphotographerwas:whoonearthcouldeverturnhimdown?“Okay,”Isaid.IstoodnexttotheminiaturepodiumonwhichtheGuestBookwasdisplayed,makingsurethepenwouldbeinthepicture.Hedidn’tlie—hetookonlyonephotograph,andwhenI
sawitlaterIwassurprisedbyhowgooditwas.Inastrangetwist,thedoorsbehindmewerethesamecolorasmyhair,soitwasimpossibletoseewhatwashappeningonmyhead.CamouflagewasthesinglesolutionMelindaandIhadoverlookedinthesearchforwhattodoaboutmyhair,andJimmyhadfigureditoutrightaway.Aftereveryonewhowas
goingtoarrivehadarrived,I
wanderedbacktotheFellowshipRoomtoseehowthepartywasgoing.Itwasgoingboringwashow.Itwasjustabunchofadultsmillingaroundwithplatesandnapkins,lookingatMelinda’scollageofpictures.OhmyLordmyLord,Ithought,Icannottakethisforonesinglesecond.Dadwasasrigidasahumanironingboard,onceinawhileofferingapretendsmilethatwaspunishingit
wassofalse.Melindawasbusilyservingpunchandorganizingthings,andnogoodcouldcomefrombeingtheobjectofherattentionundersuchcircumstances.IwalkedbackwardthroughthedoorwayI’djustcomein,allbutinvisible,whatwithmyhairmatchingthewoodworkandmydressthesamecolorasthetablecloths.Icreptbackthroughthesanctuaryandoutthefrontdoorwithout
abackwardglanceattheGuestBook.
Ourchurchhadametalhandrailoneithersideofthewidesteps;itwasatube,likemonkeybarsaremadeof,andatthetopofthestepstherewereaboutfourfeetofitacross,threeorfourfeethigh.MaybewhatI’msayingisalreadyclear:eithertheFriendsorGodhimselfhadprovidedmewithalittle
pieceofperfect.ForyearsI’dbeenmasteringthehandrail,andhadworkedupsomeseriousmoves.MyfavoritewasthesimplebutimpressiveRunAcross,HittheRailatHipLevel,FlipOver,DismountinAir,LandintheNo-Man’s-WorldBeyondtheSteps.ButIalsolikedtojustflipoverandoverandover.Augustwasagoodtimeforit,becausetherewerenocoats,nozippers,myskin
didn’tsticktothemetalandgetpeeledoffinsadlittlesheets.ThemiracledressfabricwasthebestI’dfoundsofar—itwasfrictionless.Iflippedoverandover
manytimes.Iwasalmosttootallforthisgame,whichjustmadeitmorepleasurable.EachtimeIreachedtheupside-down-pointmyheadjustbarelybrushedthecementsteps.Iflipped,thenstoodupandsaid,Whoooaaaa,andas
soonasIcouldseestraightIstartedflippingagain.Iwasgoingforarecordnumberofflipsbutforsomereasoncouldnotcount,whenIheardaruckusinthevestibuleandknewrightawaythatsomethingbadwasgoingonintheareaoftheGuestBook;ofcourseitwas,becausethat’swhathappenswhenyouthinkyoucannotpossiblygetcaughtinyourshirking.Istoodup,Whoooaaa,
holdingtherailforsupport,justasthebigdoubledoorsatthefrontofthechurchopenedandDadcamestormingout,mysisterrightbehindhimsaying,“Pleasedon’t,please,Dad,pleasedon’tgo,”inavoiceIhadn’theardherusein…ever.Andthatshewouldusethattonewithhim?Unimaginable.Dadwasdownthestairs
andacrossthestreetbeforeIreallyrealizedwhatwas
happening.HewalkedrightpastmeasifI’dceasedtoexist,andhemoveddownthesidewalkwiththespeed,theglidinggracehe’dalwayshad;nothingatalllikeamanwithonelegeithershorterorlongerthantheother.LindystoodatthetopofthestepsinthebrowndressMomhadmadeher,lookingasifshewasgoingtocryinsomehuge,alarmingway,thekindofcryingthat,whenshe’d
doneitinthepast,mademewanttoslipoutofmybody,simplyleaveitbehindlikeasnakeskin.Shehadn’tcriedthatwaysinceshe’dgrownallthewayupandmovedawayfromherbluebedroomatthetopofthestairs.Ibracedmyself,butshejustturnedaroundandwalkedbackinside,carefultocatchtheheavydoorsoitdidn’tslamshut.TimewasIwouldhave
followedhim.Itwastempting.Bynowhewastearingoffthatchampagnetie,hisheadtwistedbitterlytooneside,andtossingitonthebed.Hewouldtakeoffthejacket,too,butleaveonthepantsandthepinkshirt,withthecollarunbuttonedandthesleevesrolledup.Hewouldleaveontheoxbloodwingtips,andcheckhispocketsforhiscigarettes,hislighter,hiswallet,gatherup
thesilveronthedressertop.Allmylifehehadlookedlikeamanwithmoney,nomatterwhat.IfIwerethere,inthehouse,Iwouldn’ttalkandneitherwouldhe,andthemomentwouldcomewhenhe’deithersay,“Getinthetruck,”andwe’dheadouttogether,orhe’dsay,“’Bye,Zip,”andI’dwatchhimgo.Eitherway,Iwouldn’thavetofacewhatwaswaitingattheparty.
IthoughtmaybeI’dtalktoMickeyDanner.MaybeatlunchonedayI’dtellherIhadaproblemwithnonameIcouldthinkof.Istoodinfrontofthechurchandimaginedthescene,howMickey’seyeswouldgowidewithconcern,thewayshewouldcovermyhandwithherownandsay,“Dear,I’msureyou’remistaken.Everyoneknowsyourfatherlovesyouterribly.”Shewouldinvitemeto
comespendthenightwithherandHowie,andsleepintheguestroomwiththecurtainsI’dchosen.Itwasawonderful,clean,coolroom.Thefloorboardswerepolished,therewasarugwithasunflowerinthecenter,andMickeyhadtrainedanivyplanttowindthroughthebed’sbrassheadboard.MaybeIwouldtellher.Maybenot.
Sabina:
Oh,oh,oh.Sixo’clockandthemasternothomeyet.PrayGodnothingserioushashappenedtohimcrossingtheHudsonRiver.ButIwouldn’tbesurprised.Thewholeworld’satsixesandsevens,andwhythehousehasn’tfallendownaboutourearslongagoisamiracletome.
Shecomesdowntothe
footlights.
Thisiswhereyoucamein.Wehavetogoonforagesandagesyet.Yougohome.Theendofthisplayisn’t
writtenyet.—THORNTONWILDER,
TheSkinofOurTeeth,ACTIII
PinkLikeMe
Dadcouldn’ttakeapayingjobandcontinuetocollecthispensionanddisability,sohehadtheverysmartideaofvolunteeringasacountysheriff’sdeputy.Ican’tbelievehehadn’tthoughtofit
before.Theperksforthevolunteerweregreaterthananysalary:acar,uniforms,abadge,anightstick,agun.AtnightIusedtolieinbed
andsaythenumberofhissquadcar,33-55,overandoverlikeachant,tryingtomakesenseofit.I’dpicturehimwearingthestandard-issueshoeswithwhitesocks,whichmymomsaidmadehimlooklikeanovergrownEagleScout,andthenI’dsee
thebrownpantsandshirttuckedin;thebadge;thetall,astonishinghatwiththesilverropebraid.Andtheblackbelt:gun,nightstick,blackjack,radio.Someonehadgivenmydadalegallyauthorizedholsterwitharegisteredweaponandithadbulletsinit.Thiswasnotalittlebeltwornaroundhiscalfinwhichhehidatwo-shotDerringer.Thiswasofanentirelydifferentorder.I’d
say33-55,33-55,andI’dseehimwalkingoutthedoorintheuniform,andinshort,Iwasafraid.Dadtooktothecruiser,the
uniform,thelingo,asifhe’dbeenborntothejob.Iknewforafactthatwhilehemightlosehistemperandtossadrunkagainstthesideofabuildinguntildamagewasdonetothebricks,hewouldnowaystopandtouchasickanimal,andhewouldn’t
chaseanyoneonfootbecauseitwasn’tdignified,anditseemedtomethatmorethanjustatemperwasrequiredofadeputysheriff,butmymomandsisterandIkeptourworriestoourselves.Thenhestartedgetting
partners.Hegothisfirstpartnerandbasicallywewerealllivingin1Adam-12.Thepartner,Sam,wastallwiththinningblondhairandasmilethatnotinamillion
yearscouldyoutrust,andhe’dbeenon“theforce”foralongtime.HehadawayIgotusedtoafterawhile:hecoziedup,andmaybehewouldhurtyou.SamandDadmadeuptheirroutines:SamwasthebadcopandDadwasthegood.Ortheytookturns.Onedaytheyarrestedamanwhohadbeenwritingbadchecks(whoknewthiswasacrime?Andifso,whyhadn’tSamarrestedDad?),andas
theyputthemaninthebackofthecruiser,hebegantostuffsomethinginhismouthandchewfrantically.Samwasdriving,soDadreachedaroundandthrusthishandintheBadCheckMan’smouthandpulledoutawadofpaper,gettingseriouslybittenintheprocess.Thiscausedhimtowindupintheemergencyroom,andwhenhegothomeheexplainedtheextremedangerousnessof
humansaliva,whichsoundedastoxicashyenaspit.He’dbeenlucky,hesaid,thatthemanwasmissingmostofhisfrontteeth.Allinaday’swork,mymomsaid,notlookingupfromherbook.
Ihadtakentosuckingongravel,whichdidn’tgooverwellwithmysister.Icouldn’texplainwhyIwantedtodoit,butonceaday,whenIthoughtnoonewaslooking,
I’dgooutandsitbythefencedividingourhousefromtheNewmans’Marathonstation,gatherupahandfulofgravel,andstickitinmymouth.SometimesIwasheditoffwiththehose,andsometimesIjustrubbeditonmyshirt.I’dgetitinthere,moveitaround.Peagravelmakesalotofnoiseinamouth.Ittastedexactlylikerock.I’dseehowmuchIcouldholdinonecheek,thenfilltheother,
too,agameIhadplayedwithpopcorn,marshmallows,andBBs.Imightspittherocksoutoneatatime,likewatermelonseeds,orifIsawMelindacoming,I’ddropthemallatonce.Thisnearlyalwaysleftalittletrailofgraveldirtonmychin,whichvexedLindynoend.OneafternoonIwassitting
bythefence,mouthfilledwithgravel,whenacarpulledupI’dneverseen
before.Itstoppedrightinfrontofmyhouse.Itwasn’tjustastranger’scar,itwasastrangecar—longandwhiteandfabulous-looking.Thehornhonked,andIstoodupalittleandlookedinside.Therewasmydad,driving.“Hey,Zip!”hesaid,happy
ascouldbe.“Spityourrocksoutandcometakearidewithme.”Ileftmygraveloverbythe
fenceandwalkedtowardthe
passengerdoor.Ididn’teventrytohidemywhistle,ortheshockonmyface.Thiswasalong,whiteCadillacCoupedeVilleifeverI’dseenone,andithadredleatherinterior,andtherewasmydad,sittingdownlowinthedriver’sseat,hiscigarettearmoutthewindow,wearinghisnewdeputysheriffaviatorsunglasses.Isatdownandkeptsittingandsitting.Isankintotheseatasifitwere
madeofleather-coveredMiracleWhip.ThecarsmelledofcigarettesmokeandsomethingI’dnevermetbefore.Ilookedaroundandsawit:alittlemetaltubofairfreshener,likestrawberry-scentedVaseline.“Youbuythiscar?”I
asked,aswespedoffdownCharlesStreet.Theenginemadeabsolutelynonoise,andIwasthrownbackagainsttheseatasifateamof
carburetorshadspooked.Iwastryingtoimaginethelookonmymother’sfacewhenshediscoveredhe’dpurchasedanothervehicle,asheperiodicallydid,andalwaystogreatsurpriseandperil.“Nah,itbelongstomynew
partner.”Iglancedoverathimbuthe
wasnotthesortofdeputywhogaveanythingaway.Iknewforadeadfactthatthis
wasapimpcar,andIcouldn’tseehowDadwasgoingtogetbywithit.ThesheriffofHenryCounty,JoeHarris,amanIlovedliketheGreatandPowerfulOz,didnotcutanyoneapieceofslack.Hehadoncestoppedawomanforspeedingandnoticedonherdriver’slicensethatshewassupposedtobewearingglasses.Hereprimandedherandshesaid,“Ihavecontacts.”He
shouted,“Idon’tcarewhoyouknow,yougetyourglasseson!”“Yournewpartner?”The
carhadelectriceverything,andinthemidstofpressingbuttonsIendedlyingcompletelydowninthebackseat.“Yep.”“Where’sSam?”I’dbeen
ratherfondofSam,becausehewasslickandaliarandalwaysgavemepresents.
“Goneundercover.Vice.”ThiswashowDadtalkednow.“Sowho’sthisguy?”“FellanamedParchman.”Iraisedtheeyebrow.
“Parchman?”“ParchmanWilliams.Goes
byWilly.Wanttousethecarphone?”Hepointedtothefloorboard.Sureenough,therewasanoldalmond-coloredphonesittingthere.Nocordsattachedto
anything.Ipickeditupandpushed
somenumbers.“Who’dyoucall?”“Julie.”“What’dshesay?”“Sameasever.”Wedroveoutonto
Highway36andspedup.Ileanedbackagainsttheseat,watchedthespeedometerclimbpast60,70,80,95.ThewindrocketedthroughtheopenwindowsandIwanted
tolaughoutloudbutthatwasn’treallydeputybehavior.Myhairgotallinmyfaceandpokedmeinmyeyes.I’dforgottenIhadhairandvowedtodosomethingaboutit.“Gotanyscissorsinthis
car?”Ishoutedoverthewindnoise.“Nope.There’sabowie
knifeundertheseat,”heyelledback.Ishookmyhead.I’dtaken
knivestomyhairbeforeanditwasnothingbutabunchofsawing.Wepassedacountycruiser
andmyfirstthoughtwas,Thisisit,wearefinallygoingtojail,butthecopjustflashedhislightsanddroveonby.ThenwecameuponalittleoldmaninaBuickdrivingaboutfortymilesanhour,andDadsloweddown,relaxedevenfurtherintheseat.I’dbeguntothinkofoldmenas
Raisins,andtheirwivesasRaisinettes.“YoucouldpassthisRaisin
inabouttwoseconds,”Isaid,wishingwewerebacktodrivingsofastitfeltlikespacetravel.“Nah,”Dadsaid,tossing
hiscigaretteontotheroad.“We’rejustcruisingonalovelyafternoon.”HeturnedoffthehighwayandheadedbacktowardMooreland.“Iwon’ttellMomaboutthe
ninety-fivemilesanhour,”Isaid,stickingoneofmybarefeetoutthewindow.“Yourmomcouldn’tcare
lessaboutwhereyouareorwhatyou’redoing,”Dadsaid,juststatingthefacts.“She’sMrs.Collegenow.”Ididn’tsayanything.We
passedthehouseattheedgeoftownthatsetupahardlonginginme,butIcouldn’tsaywhy.Mysisterhadsuchahouse,too,attheotherendof
town.Iturnedandlookedawayfromthehouse,atafieldofbeansjustshootingupbrightgreen,likeacarpetyoucouldwalkandwalkacross.Wepassedthehousewheremysister’sfriendJanethadgrownup,andthepatchoffieldwiththeluckyhorse,thenturnedattheMasonicLodgeonBroadStreetandDaddroveextraslow,asifhopingforsomeonetonoticeus.
WhenwepulledupinfrontofourhouseIsawthathewasright—mymom’slittleVolkswagenwasn’tthere,andwouldn’tbethere.“Youstaying?”Iasked
Dad.“Nope.Gottareturnthe
car.”Itlookedtomelikeacar
thatmorethanoncehadnotbeenreturned,butIdidn’tsayso.Dadwinkedatme,pointed
tothephoneonthefloor.“Callifyouneedme,”hesaid,thendroveaway.Iwalkedoverandsat
down,puttherocksinmymouthonebyone.Therewasalwaysthequestionofwhowouldfeedme,andsomehowitalwaysgotanswered.Rose’smom,Julie’smom,mysister.33-55.
LikeeveryothermanIknew,mydadhatedallblackpeople
andlovedBillCosby.WehadallofCosby’srecordsandhewasoneofthefewcomedianswhocouldmakemydadlaughoutloud.ForabrieftimeDadwasalsoforSammyDavis,Jr.,butthenhefoundoutthat(a)Sammyhadonlyoneeye,and(b)hewasaJew.Aone-eyedJewishblackmanwhohungoutwithDeanMartinwasmorelikeapettoDad,sohegaveSammyup.Foralittlewhile,alittletiny
while,noonesaidthatParchmanWilliamswasblack,notevenIsaiditandI’dseenthestrawberry-scentedVaseline.Dadwouldcomehomeintheevenings,orhewouldnotcomehome,andhe’dtellstoriesabouthimselfandWilly,andMomwouldlaughpolitely.Nowasshereadshemadenotesinthemarginsofherbooks,somethingshehadn’tdonebefore.Andshewrotein
spiralnotebooks,lineafterlineofherbeautifulhandwriting,soIassumedshewasbeingpunishedforsomething.Momlaughedpolitelyanddidn’tsayanythingabouthowmuchmydadandeveryothermaninMoorelandhatedblackpeople,andIdidn’tsayit,andthenonenightitwasannouncedthatthecomingweekendweweregoingtoWilly’shousefordinner,and
Iwasgoingtohavetowearshoes.Mydadhadgonetothe
specialtroubleofpickingmeupapairofsandalsatGrant’sdepartmentstore.Theywerejustflip-flops,buttheywerecoveredwithdenim,andhadadaisywherethetwostrapsmet.Theyconfusedme.Ontheonehandtheywereshoes,mymortalenemy,andontheother,theywerecoveredindenim,mydeardearfriend.
Thentherewasthedaisytocontendwith.Itriedpullingitoffbutitwasattachedhard.IthoughtmaybeIcouldruinthedaisyoff.Iputthemon,wentoutside,andranthehoseoverthem,thenstompedaround.Imadeamudpuddle,stompedaroundinit,rinsedthemoff.Aterriblethinghappened:theflip-flopsgrewtomyfeetinawaythatremindedmeofmyoldcowboypajamas,thewayI
couldputthemonandtheywerejustcowboy-printedskin.Thesewereshoes,andIlovedthem.Ihadtositdownontheswingandtrytotakethenewsin.IfIcouldlovetheseshoes,shoeswithaflowerontop,Iwascapableofprettymuchanything.Thatmademethinkabout
myhair,soIgotonmybikeandrodedowntoLinda’sBeautyShop,stillwearingtheshoes.IthoughtI’djusttake
mychances.IfLindaLeenoticedandsaidsomething,I’dnotonlythrowthemaway,I’dmaybecutmyfeetoff.I’dalsogiveherdaughterLaurie,oneofmybestfriends,achancetomockme,thoughthatwasn’treallyLaurie’sway.ShewasacousinoftheHicksesonhermom’sside(everyonebutmewasacousinofHickses,asadfact),andshewasjustnaturallyfunnyabout
everythingwithoutbeingmean.Idon’tknowhowithappenedinthatfamilythatmosteveryonewaskindandeveryonewasjustflat-outscreaming,falling-downfunny,butitwas.Inmyfamilyifyouinheritedsomethingitwasbadhairandabignose,andifyoucamefromthatparticularhollerinTennessee,yougoteverythinggood,includingbeingpretty.
Lauriewaswalkingaroundoutsidewithherdog,Pooch.PoochwasalittlebitbiggerthanaChihuahua,withatailthatcurledoverhisback,andheruledthetown.Hewentwherehewanted,whenhewanted.Hewaslikeadogwithapocketfullofmoneyandagroupofpowerfulfriends.Lauriespenthalfhertimewithhimandhalfhertimelookingforhim.Shehadawayofcallinghimthatwas
avariationonhisname—“Beee-ooo-uuuutch!Beee-ooo-uuuutch!”—thatwassofunnyhe’dcomehomeagainsthiswill.Hewalkeduptomeandsmelledmyshoes,thenwaggedhiscurlytail.Ithoughttomyself,Hmmmm.ButPoochandInaturallygotalong,somaybehewasbeingcourteous.“Igottagetthishairoutta
myface,Laurie,”Isaid,
scratchingPooch’shead.“Youdon’thardlyhaveany
hairtotalkabout,”shesaid.Ithoughtaboutsaying,Youhaven’tseenitinastolenCadillacgoing95downthehighway,butIkeptthattomyself.Laurie’sownhairwassilkyblond,wavy,andlong.Butthatdidn’tmakemehateher.Ididn’thatehereventhoughsheownedoneofthesinglemostenviablepiecesofstuffI’deverseen
inmyhumanlife:afireplacemadeoutofcardboard(withdrawnbricksandeverything)thatgotsetupatChristmastime.Therewerecardboardlogsandcardboardflames—prettybigones—thatlitupwhenitwaspluggedin.WhenI’dseenitforthefirsttimelastChristmasIcouldn’ttearmyeyesawayuntilIwasofferedabunchofcandy.“IdoubtMamacancutit
today,”Lauriesaid,watchingPoochambleoffdownthestreet.“She’sgotthreesetsandtwoperms,andarinselaterintheafternoon.”HaircameeasytoLaurie,likenothingcameeasytome.Ithoughtaboutit.Ididn’t
havelongbeforeweweregoingtoParchmanWilliams’shouse,andbetweenthehairandtheshoes,Ididn’twanthimtogetthewrongimpression.I
onlyhadtwootheroptions:mysister,whowaslikelytostabmeintheneckthenblamemeforit,orSusie’sCut&Curl,ontheothersideoftown.Onedidn’tgotoSusie’s,eventhoughshewassosweet.ShedressedliketheGrandOleOpryandinfactboreapassingresemblancetoLorettaLynn.ThemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreshehadsomethingoftheheartsickminer’s
daughtertoher.Butthereasononedidn’tgotherewasbecauseofLindaLee.Lindacouldbefunny,shecouldslapyouinthefaceifyouhappenedtoconvincehersontoeatdirt,shecouldbeterriblemean,shecouldgiveyouagooddinnerifyouneededone,shecouldcombyourhairtoohardorjustright.Butyoudidnotcrossher.IknewthisassureasIknewnottostealoneofmy
dad’sguns,thoughIwasoftenandsorelytempted.AlsoLindawouldcutmyhairandletsomebodyelsepaylater,andIneverlookedacredithorseinthemouth.“Seeya,then,”Isaid,
startingtopedalaway.Lauriewavedgood-bye,
calledout“Bee-ooo-uuutch!”andIabouthadtostopmybikeforlaughing.
AthomeIdidtheworst
possiblething,somethingIdidalmosteveryday.Ibrokeintooneofmymom’sdresserdrawersandstolefromhercollectionofJohnF.Kennedymoneypieces.Ididn’tknowhowmuchtheywereworth,fiftycents,adollar,somethinglikethat,butIknewtheyaddeduptoalemonphosphateandabagofchipsifIwasstarvingtodeath.Shecollectedthemnotthewaymydadcollected
things—becausetheyweresolidsilverorpewterorfiredrawgunpowderorwhatever—butbecauseshehadgrievedsomightilyoverKennedy’sdeath.Shehadbeenvacuumingwhenthenewswasannounced,andshehappenedtobepassingthetelevisionandcouldseethatsomethingwasgoingonwithoutbeingabletohearwhatitwas.Sheturnedoffthesweeper,heardthenews,
andhadtositdownonthecouchbeforeshefainted.I’dneverheardhersaythatoranythinglikeitbefore,thatshenearlyfainted.SoIfeltguiltysome,everydaystealingKennedy’sfaceoutofherlittleplasticbagofKennedys,butnotverymuch,becausemoneyismoney.Alsothewholething,thesweepingandthefainting,hadhappenedbeforeIwasevenbornsoitdidn’tcount.
IgrabbedafewmoneysandhoppedbackonmybikeandrodetheoppositedirectionfromLinda’sBeautyShop.Ifeltguiltyaboutthat,too,butagain,justbarely.“Howmuchofahaircut
willthisbuyme?”IsaidtoSusieassheopenedthedoorofhershop,handinghertheKennedys.“Sitdown,honey,”she
said,inherthickKentucky
accent.Moorelandwasabsolutelynothingbuthillbillies,butsomeofourflatbedtruckshadarrivedlaterthanothers.Shebarelyglancedatthechange,justputitinajaronhercounter.AsLindadid,Susiecuthairinthefrontroomofherhouse,whichhadbeenoutfittedwithtiltychairsandsinksandhairdryersshapedlikeUFOs.Susietippedmychairbackandwashedmy
hair,andunlikeLinda,shedidn’tscrubatmyscalpwithherfingernailsuntilIwascertainbloodwasstreamingawaywiththesoap.Whenshe’dtoweledoffmostofthewater,shehelduppiecesofmyhairandsaid,“Whatchoowantmetodohere?”withthatsametoneofhopelessnessI’dheardmywholelife.Ontheotherhand,shelookedingeneralasifherhusbandhadrunoffwithboth
herbestfriendandhercoonhound.“Idon’tknow.Justcutit,”I
said.“Idon’tlikeitgettingonme.”Susiesighed,andturnedthe
chairawayfromthemirror,startingontheback.TammyWynettewasplayingonaneight-trackplayerinthecorner.Ihadthattape,too,andinfact,d-i-v-o-r-c-ewastheonlywordIcouldspellbackwardandforward.Susie
cutandcut,sighing,andatonepointsaidsomethingaboutgivingmesomething“modern.”Thatmeantcompletelyzerotome.Thensheturnedthechairaround,andIlookedinthemirror.Iwasspeechless.Susiewas
speechless,thoughhereyesseemedfilledwithtears.Ikeptonsayingnothing.TammyWynettegotherheartbrokenathousandtimes.FinallyIswallowed.Ilooked
exactlylikearooster.Isaid,“Whatdoyoucallthishaircut?”“ARooster,”Susiesaid,
andwipedthetearsoffherface.
Irodetomysister’slittlehouse,prayingshewashome.Iprayedlikethis:Jesus,ifyoudon’tmakeMelindabehome,I’mgonnamakethosefortydaysinthedesertlooklikeacakewalk.Ithreatenedthe
Lord.Shewasthereallright,andwhensheopenedthedoor,insteadofsaying,asshegenerallydid,“Whatdoyouwanttoeat?”shesaid,“OhmyGod,I’llgetthehat.”I’dbeentheonetofindthe
hatatGrant’slastwinteranditwaslikestumblingonapileofrubies.Itwasjustawhiteyarnbowl,likeawhiteballcutinhalf,elasticaroundtherim,butcomingfromthecrown,whereonanormalhat
there’dbeapuffyball,therewasalongredyarnbraid.Thiswasahatthatcamewithitsownhair.Idon’tknowwhyithadn’tbeenthoughtofbefore.Inmanywaysitwasbetterthanmywig(whichwasa“fall,”andsoheldonwithacomb)becausethecatswerelesslikelytostealit.Icouldn’tcountthenumberoftimesI’dseenmywigflyingoutthedoorinPeeDink’smouth.Sometimeshejust
suckedonitandsometimeshetriedtokillit.Ithinkitwasacombinationofaratandababytohim.Ofcourse,hehadfallenoutofmanyatree,andsohisrelationshipwithawigwasboundtobecomplicated.Iputthehatonasifit
wouldsavemylife.Lindysaid,“It’sawfuldoggonehotoutsideforthathat.”“Yougotanother
suggestion?”
Shestudiedmeaminute.“Whathappened?Didyoutrytomowyourhead?”“I’llhaveyouknowthisis
amodernhaircut,Melinda,calledaRooster.”Melindacoveredher
mouth.“DidyougotoSusie?”Inodded.“Ohhoho,ohthisisgoing
toberich,”shesaid,sittingdownatthekitchentable.Shewasfilledwithglee:avery
badsign.“Lindadon’thaveto
know.”“Shedoesn’thavetoknow,
andyes,shedoes.HowmanypeopledoyouthinkwalkaroundMoorelandsportingtheRooster?Exactlyonelittleidiotchild.Andcouldyoutellme…areyouwearingshoes?IsthataFLOWER?”Istooduptoleave.Iswung
myheadaroundsomylong,brightredbraidnearlyhitmy
sisterintheface.Shejustbatteditaway,andasIslammedthescreendoorshewasstilltappingonthetablewithherfingernails,anotherofhersignsofevilhappiness.
OnSaturdayeveningwegotinthetrucktogotoParchmanWilliams’shouse.Isatbetweenmyparentsandputonedenimsandaloneithersideofthegearshift.Ipulledmyredbraidovermy
shouldersoIwouldn’tsitonit.Wedroveoutoftownsilent,Momthinkingherthoughts,Dadsmoking.Iforonewasdesperatelytryingtoimaginewhatwasabouttohappen.Ifiguredthebestplanwouldbeformetoactlikeeverythinginmylifewasjustblack,black,black.HereweretheblackthingsIknew:Sanford&Son.“Wewasrobbed!Wewasrobbed!”Veryfunny.Good
Times.Funny+disturbing.Thedadinthatshow,forareasonIcouldn’tputmyfingeron,remindedmeexactlyofmybrother.Hehadthesameuprightnessandintensity;heflaredhisnostrilswhenhewasvexed.Imeanhelookedlikemybrothertome,even,afactIhadnotyettoldanyone.MaybeIcouldsaythat,Icouldsay,“Ah,ofcourse,mybrotherisblack.”Black
peopleatethingsbutIdidn’tknowwhat.Icouldsay,“ThisweekattheNewmans’Ihadmyfavoritebreakfast,friedbeefbrainsandscrambledeggs,andthenafterwardwewentoutanddidblackfarmwork.”Blackpeopleworeclothes,butsurelynotthesameonesIwore,andtheylivedin…thatwasit.Theylivedintenements,andsodidI.Sure,theSanfordshadajunkyard,but
wehadmydad’sshed.Andokay,inGoodTimestheelevatorneverworked,butatourhouseweoftendidn’thaverunningwater.Istartedtofeelslightlymorecomfortable.MomaskeddidIwanttosing,andIsaidyes,Ialwayssaidyestosinging.ImeanttoaskdidshehappentoknowanyNegrospirituals,butshechose“DownbytheOldMillStream,”agoodchoicebecauseithadtwo
parts,andweendedupinalittlevaudevilleharmonythatpleasedmydad,althoughheneversaidso.
Parchman’shousewasonIAvenue,adisappointment,asitwasnotevenremotelytheghetto.IfNewCastlehadaghetto,Iwantedtofindit.OneofthethingsonmymindasweparkedwashowIwasgoingtoholdthisoverRose:
MyBlackPeople.AlthoughontheoneoccasionI’dventuredmynewtreasure,shehadannouncedthatherchurch,St.Anne’s,hadablackfamily,andthefatherwasn’tmerelyblack,hewasCaribbeanandanintellectual.LeaveittoRosetogetablackCatholicintellectualbeforeI’devenriddenintheCadillac.TheWilliamses’housewas
aperfectlynormaltwo-story,
withwoodshinglesandacementfrontporch.Butrightthere,rightontheporch,somethingwasgoingon,becauseithadarailing(unusualamongmykind)madeofwroughtironwithcurly-cues.Andtheoutsidelightwasn’twhiteorevenyellowforbugs,butapinkishshadethatmademesquintupinsuspicion.Wewereoutofthetruck
andmovingtothedoorandI
feltlikeeverythingwastoospeedy,Iwasn’tready.Mymomwaswearingadressshe’dmadeandsomebroken-downshoes,andmydadlooked,asalways,asifhe’djustbeatthehouseinVegas.Werangthedoorbell(adoorbell),andthedoorwasopenedandinwestepped.Thehousewascool,
becausetherewerewindowairconditionersrunningineveryroom.I’dneverseen
suchathing.Infact,I’dneverseenanythinglikeanysinglepartofit.MydadcalledhimWilly
butMominsistedoncallinghimParchman,whichheseemedtoappreciate,andeitherway,hewasagreat,glowingpresence,whowassuddenlyeverywhere,shakinghandswithmydadasifthey’djustmet,andtellingMomhowlovelyitwastofinallymeetherandhowhe
hadheardshewasjustaboutthesmartestthingtoevergracetheplanet.Heturnedtome.“Andyou,miss?MayItakeyourhat?”“Nothankyou,”Isaid,
shakinghisoutstretchedhand,myveryfirstblackhand,“I’lljustbekeepingiton,butIsurelikeSanford&Son.”Mymomnearlytippedover
withshock,butParchmansaid,“NowIdo,too;Ido,
too.ImetReddFoxxonceuponatime,Icertainlydid.Wehadquiteanafternoon.”Asheledusthroughthehousehetoldarambling,quitehazy,and,inBobJarvisLand,shadystoryaboutspendinganafternoontippingthembackwithMr.Foxx,asheputit.Everydetailescapedme.Ididn’tknowwhataUniversallotwas,orwhyParchmanwasonit,orhowithappenedthatheandMr.
Foxxhadsharedalongafternoonproducing“ripostesofsuchgraciousnessBillShakespearewouldhavebeenjealous.”Iglancedatmymomandsawhermentallyrecordingthephrase.Everythingonthefirstfloor
ofthehousewasblackandgold.Theshagcarpetwasgold,andaslongasthegrassinourbackyard,whichmydadwasn’tsointerestedincutting.Thelivingroom
furniturewasblackleather,andtherewasanenormoussetupagainstonewallthatParchmancalledan“entertainmentcenter.”Therewasalargetelevisioninit,astereo,tallspeakers,Ididn’tknowwhat-all.Wehadanentertainmentcenteratourhouse,too,whichconsistedofanoldtelevisiononamilkcrateandahammerlyingnearby.Thehammerdidseemtosolvemostproblems,
includingawobblypictureandvolume-controlissues.TheWilliamses’coffeetablewasglass-topped,andtheglassrestedonthebackofablackpanther.Oneverywallwerelargepaintingsofblackpeopledoingblackthings:playingtrumpets,dancinginsmokyclubs,womenflirtingaroundlampposts.AndthenIsawit:inthecornerbesidethecouchwasawickerbasket,andrisingoutofit
wasacobra,obviouslymadeofrubber.Iwalkedtowarditandlookedinside,andtherewereanumberofrubbersnakes,coiledupasifinthenoondaysun.Arubbersnakewasstretchedoutacrossthebackoftheleathercouch,andtherewasanotherslitheringacrosstheentertainmentcenter.Buttherewasn’tarealanimalanywhere,Icouldfeelit,andIcouldtellthatthereneverhadbeen,andwouldn’t
be.Thehousewasfilledwithasmellthatdidn’tincludeanimals,butwaslayeredandforeign.TherewasthestrawberrysmellasintheCadillac,andsomethingsweetandsmoky(incense,I’ddiscoverlater);therewaswhiskey,andunusualbeautysupplies,andasharp,chemicaltangthatIrealizedwasacetone.Nexttothesofawasasmallblacktable,andonitwasatraycoveredwith
bottlesoffingernailpolish,probablythirtydifferentshades.Therewasajarofcottonballsandthreedifferentsortsoffingernailpolishremover.WhatIwantedtodowasgo
fromroomtoroomandopeneveryclosetdoorandlookineverydrawerandsmelleverysinglething,becauseIwasonadifferentplanet,farasIcouldtell.Iwasjustwanderingintothedining
room(darkwoodpaneling,blackenameledtableandchairs,afamilyportraitpaintedonvelvet),whenParchman’swifeemergedfromthekitchen.RoseandIhadalwaysbeen
inagreementthatmysisterwasthemostbeautifulpersonalive.ShelookedexactlylikethesortofgirlwhowouldstaywiththesquirrelsandlittlebirdsandsweepupthecabinwhiletheDwarfswere
atwork.Butsinceshehadgottenmarried,she’dlostalotofthatshine.Ididn’tknowwhereitwent,orwhy.Therewasnoonetoask,orevenanywaytosayitoutloud.ButLibraWilliamswasofadifferentorder.Shewalkedtowarduswith
herhandout,awelcominggesturebyabenevolentroyal.Herhairwasveryshortandwavedagainstherhead,blackwithgoldstreaks,justlikethe
livingroom.Icoulddream,Icouldpretend,Icouldoutrightlie,butthatwasnotwhatwashappeningundermyhat.Shewastallandthin,broad-shouldered.Herskinwasthecreamybrownofchocolatemilkmadeexactlyright.Shewaswearinggoldhoopearrings,threegoldchainsaroundherlongneck,goldrings,goldbracelets,andasilkypantsuitinsomesortofjungleprint.Aswith
Parchman,therewastheflurryofactivity,thekindnesstomymother,thedancearoundmydad,anoffertomeofaShirleyTemplewithanactualcherry.Libracalledupthestairsfortheirson,Tyrell,tocomedownstairsfordinner,andMomtoldmetogowashmyhands.Istaredatherblanklyforamoment.“Gowashyourhands
beforedinner,”shesaidagain,thistimewithherteeth
abitclenched.Iconsideredsaying,“Mom,Ieatrocks,forheaven’ssake,”butthenitoccurredtomeIcouldseethebathroomifIpretendedtoobeyher,soIwent.Andluckyme,because
hereParchmanhadoutdonehimself.Thecarpetwasblack,theshagwasshaggier,andthewallswerepaperedinshinygoldpaperwithlion’sheads.Butthebestpartwasthatthesinkandtoiletwere
bothgold.NotHarvestWheat.NotsomePaleAvocado.Shinygold,likeLibra’sjewelry.Iwasafraidtotouchthem.Itdidn’tmakealickofsensetomethatpeoplepeedonjewelry.Idecidedtogoaheadandwashmyhands,butthefaucet,whichwasalsogold,hadaballontopIcouldn’tfigureout.TherewasnoHotorCold.Ipushedtheballandnothinghappened.Ipulled
myhandback.IcouldeasilydestroythisthingandthatwouldbetheendofmeandMyBlackPeople.Itriedturningit,anditmovedaroundfreely,butnowatercameout.Finally,IpusheditupandoutcamewaterwithaforceIcanonlydescribeaswealthy.Therewasnoinitialspitofrust,nohesitation,nogaps.BeforeIknewwhatIwasdoing,Iputmyhandsundertheforce,justtofeelit,
andthenbecausetherewasaguestsoapshapedlikeaseashell,Iusedit.Iwashedmyhands,anddriedthemonatowelembroideredwithawhite“W,”andwalkedoutandheldthemouttomymomandsaid,“Ta-da!”Shepattedmyhatandwhispered,“Thankyou.”
Tyrellwasnine.Hewasganglyandneverstoppedmoving.Hisarmsandlegs
seemedbattery-operated.Blackpeople,itturnedout,ateexactlywhatwhitepeopleate:meatloaf,mashedpotatoes,greenbeans,dinnerrolls.TyrellandIweregivenplateswithdividers,whichIfoundtobetheheightofcivilization,asfoodtouchingmademespittingmad.WewerealsoeachgivenaShirleyTempledrink,andtherewastherealcherry,andIcouldn’tbelievehowthings
hadturnedout.Therubbersnakes,theKingMidasbathroom,theincrediblebeautyandkindnessofLibra.AndfreeShirleyTemples.Iwantedtolivewiththem,andIwaswillingtochangemynametosomethinginteresting,likeBocephus.Tyrell’sroomwascovered
withpostersofblackathletesandmusicians,andinaframeabovehisbed,aphotographofReddFoxxwithParchman,
signed“ToTyrell,MindYourDaddy.”Icouldhearourparentsdownstairs,thekindofcontinuousconversationandlaughterthatmademewanttogrowup.Inevertoldanyonethis,butIcouldnotimagineabetteragethanthirty-five.Iwouldsomedaybegrown-up—Ithoughtaboutitatnight,lyingawake—andIwoulddrivetractorsandownwolves.IwouldturnupmyGlenCampbellrecords
soloudlythewolveswouldhowl,andatdinnerwewouldhavemilkshakes,andIwoulderectscarecrowseverywhere,Iwouldhaveanarmyofscarecrows.Thathadbeenmyplanuntil
IsawthehomeofParchmanWilliams.NowIwasthinkingmaybeIwouldhaverealsnakesandablackpantherandanentertainmentcenter.TyrellandIatemostlyin
silence,andheneversaida
wordaboutmyhat.HeseemedtothinkitwasrealhairandIunderstoodhowmaybethewaysofwhitepeoplewereunknowntohim,andmaybeweallhadwhiteheadsandyarnbraids.WhenwefinishedeatingweplayedRock’EmSock’EmRobots;thenwepulledonStretchArmstronguntilTyrellfelldown.Heshowedmehisminiaturefoosballtableandweplayedthatawhilein
silence.Hewasjustquiet,whichIwasusedtobecauseofJulie.ButhisquietnessmeantIhadplentyoftimetothink,andIwasthinkingaboutthescarecrowsandmaybeaddingsuitsofarmor,whenIrememberedaneveningafewsummersbeforewhenmyfamilyhaddriventoIndianapolisintheNovawehadthentogetWhiteCastles.We’dstoppedatagasstationandour
Germanshepherd,Kai,wasinthebackseatofthecar,andasablackfamilywalkeddownthesidewalkhesprangsohardatthewindowhenearlywentthroughit,barkingexplosivelyenoughtoleavestreaksontheglass.Ithadbeenterrifyingandunexpected;Kai,whowasgentle,andreadpeoplesowellheknewenemiesfromfriendslongbeforewedid.Dadseemedtofinditfunny,
butMom,Irememberednow,hadturnedaround,grabbedKai’scollar,shushedhim,thensaidtomydad,inafierce,angrywhisper,“Youmakehimdothat.”“HowdidImakehimdo
that?”Dadasked,inhisfalse,innocenttone.“Becauseyouwanthimto,
becausehesensesthatyouhatethem.”“Hatewho,Delonda?”Momlookedoutthe
window.“There’sachildinthecar.”Icouldhearmyparents
talkingwithParchmanandLibra,Icouldheartheclinkingoftheirplatesandglasses.Icouldnot,evenforasecond,understandwhatweweredoinghere,orhowwe’dgottenhere.“Tyrell,hasyourdad
alwaysbeenadeputy?”IknewParchman,likemydad,wasavolunteer,sowherehad
allthisstuffcomefrom?Tyrellshookhisheadno.“Whatdidhedobefore?”Heshrugged,said
somethingthatsoundedlike“Own’tknow.”“Doesyourmomhavea
job?”“Sheworkatthedrive-up
bank.”Ilikedthiswayof
speaking.PerhapsIwouldadoptitformyself.Iftherewasawordoraletteryou
didn’tneed,youjustleftitout.Earlierhe’dsaid,“Thismyfavoritewrestler,”andIrealized,whoneededthat“is”inthere?Iknewwhathemeantandhegottothepointfaster.“Didyourdadworkina
factory,orlikeonafarm,orsomething?”“Afarm?”Tyrelltipped
backonthefloor,heldhissideslaughing.“Thatmannevercutabladeofgrassin
hislife.Afarm.”“Okay,afactory?”Heshookhishead.“Naw,
nofactory.Own’tknowwhathedid,’cepthemovemoneyaround.AllIcantellyou.Hemovemoneyaround.”Iwasabouttosay
something,somethingaboutourfathers,oratleastmyown,whenTyrellsaid,“YouwannawatchTV?”Isaidyes,soheyelleddownthestairs,“HeyPop!WewatchTVin
y’all’sroom?”Parchmanshoutedback,
“Yes,butyouknowtherules.”AndthenTyrellledmeto
ParchmanandLibra’sbedroom,andwhateverI’dbeenonthevergeoffiguringout,Ilostforagoodlongtime.
Theroomwaspaperedinblackandgoldfoil.IknowitwasfoilbecauseIranmy
handsoverit.Andupagainstoneofthosewallswasaroundbedthesizeofaswimmingpool,andinfactitwaslikeaswimmingpoolinthatitwasfilledwithwater,anditwascoveredwithfur.Istooddeadstillwithmyhandonthewallpaper,butTyrelljustwalkedover,floppeddownonthebed,whichswishedaroundunderneathhim,andslidopenadoorintheblack,archedheadboard.
TheheadboardarchedhalfwayoverthebediswhatI’msaying,thiswasabedwitharoof,andwhenTyrellpushedthebuttonatelevisioncameonintheroofabovehimandhelaybackonbig,tiger-stripedfurpillowsandwatchedtelevision.Lyingonhisback.Onaroundfurwaterbed.Iwalkedslowlytowardhim,slippedoffmynewsandals,andlaydown.Inadditiontothetelevision
therewerestereospeakersbuiltintotheroof,anditwasentirelycoveredwithmirrors.SoIcouldseetheTV,andIcouldseemyselfandTyrell,therewasnotonethingIcouldn’tseeonthebed.Ilaythereperfectlystill,thinking,Rosewillneverbelieveme,Melindawillneverbelieveme.Imyselfwouldneverhavebelievedme.Itoremyeyesawayfromthemirrorandthat’swhenI
sawit:directlyacrossfromthebedwasalargepainting,anditwasofnothingbutablackmanandablackwoman,andtheywerenakedasjays.Icouldn’ttellexactlywhattheyweredoing,andheavenknewthatwasforthebest,butthefactoftheirnakednesshadputashockonmyheartIthoughtmightfinallykillme.Itriedtonotmove,tojusttakeitallin,buteverytimeTyrelllaughedat
somethingonTVthewholebedsloshedaroundandnearlytossedmeout.Hisarmsandlegsneverdidstopmoving,whichIcouldforsureseenowthatIwasinabedsurroundedbymirrors.Andtherewasthatverystrongsmellagain,thatstrawberrygelatinairfreshener,andhairspraysIcouldn’tname,andthoseclothesmadeforblackpeopleandeverythingwasvery
cleanandofcoursetherewastheabsenceofevenonerealliveanimalinthishouse,notahamsterorevenagoldfish,onlytherubbersnakesandtheglasspanthersandwhatnot.ItriedtopictureLibrainahousewithjustonelittlewell-behavedsnow-whitekittenanditwasimpossible.Notevenablack-and-gold-foilkitten.NotwithLibra’sfingernailsandleathersofasandbathroomsmadeof
melted-downgoldjewelry.“Zip?”mydadcalledup
thestairs.“Youreadytogo?”Ileaptoffthebedasif
scalded.“’Bye,”IsaidtoTyrell.“Later,”henodded,still
watchingTV.Igrabbedmyshoesand
scootedpastthenakedpaintingwithoutlookingatit.Ididn’tlookatwhatwasontopoftheblackdressers,either,butIdidnotice,forthe
firsttime,aphotographonasmallsidetableoutinthehallway.ItwasanOlanMillspicture,takenwhenTyrellwasprobablythreeyearsold.TherewasLibra,thesameairofuntouchablebeauty.Shewasthesortofwomanmymomcalledfixey.AndTyrellwearingasmall,darkgreensuitandbowtie.Hewasn’thappy.ButnosignofParchmananywhere.IleaneddownandlookedatLibra’s
hands(eachfingernailwasatleastaninchlongandinthispicturetheywerescarlet,buttonighttheyhadbeenadarkerredwithagoldstreakthroughthecenter),andtherewereringsoneveryfingerexcepttheone.“Zip?”“Coming,”Iyelled,heart
poundingasifI’dbeendoingsomethingwrong.WhenIgottothebottomof
thestairseveryonewasstill
laughingandtalking.Therewasmymominhermomclothes,heroldglasses,herbatteredshoes.Libra,Parchman,andmydadmadealittletriangleandMomwasn’tinit.Shesaidtome,“Thankyourhosts,”asshedideverytimewewentanywhere,whichwasoneofthereasonsIhatedgoinganywhere,anditwasastupidruleandmademephysicallyill,whichI’dtriedtoexplain
897times.NobodyCaresIfISayThat,I’dtriedtotellher.THEWORLDWILLNOTENDIFWESKIPTHATPART.Butsomehow,tonight,itwaseasy.IheldoutmyhandtoLibraandshetookit.Herswascool,long,andnarrow.Shewasaverykindwoman,itseemedtome,andshedeservedtoliveinthiscastle.“Itwasaveryniceeveningthankyouforhavingme,”Isaid,ashadbeen
drilledintome.Shepulledmetoher,
tappedthetopofmyhat.“You’rewelcome.Comebackanytime.”Dadleanedoverandsaid
somethingtoParchman,saiditinoneofhismanyDadvoicesoutthecornerofhismouth,andParchmanthrewhisheadbackandlaughedwithagreatbusting-outjoy,awayIwasn’tusedtomenlaughing.Hepoundedon
Dad’sbackacoupletimesbetweentheshoulderblades,thenDadwaslaughing,too,andwewereallmovingtowardthedoor,floating,really.Wefloatedtothetruckinsuchgoodwill,andIsatbetweenmyparentsandwedroveoffdownIAvenue.“Whatanevening,”Dad
said,lightingacigarette.“Itcertainlywas,”Mom
agreed.“Plainnicepeople,nothing
moretobesaidthanthat.”“Verynice.Howdid
Parchmangetthatgoldtoilet,Iwonder?”Dadlaughedagain,flicked
hisashesoutthewing.“Hespray-paintedit.Tubandsink,too.”Momlaughed,Ilooked
backandforthbetweenthem.Dadseemedgenuinelyhappy,whichwassureneverguaranteed,notoneminuteofanyday,butMomkept
wearingthatpoliteface.I’dseenitathousandtimes.I’dseenitwhenhesuggestedwegetabiggercamper,whenhedecidedwehadtomovetoAlaska,whenheexplainedwhyhecouldn’tfixsomethingbrokeninthehouse,whysomethingsneededtowait,wait,andsomethingsneededtobedoneyesterday,likegettinganewtruck.IsawParchmanthrowhisheadbackwith
laughter;Kaihitthewindow,teethbared.Becauseyouhatethem.
OnedaytheWilliamsesweren’tthereandthenexttheywereaconstantfeature.HereisthemusicmydadwouldtolerateintheBeforeTime:HerbAlpertandtheTijuanaBrass.GlenCampbell,butmostlyformysake.GlennYarbrough.LenaHorne.DeanMartinorFrank
Sinatra.AfterWilliewemightpausethetruckradioonSmokeyRobinson,whowassaidtohavequiteabitoftalent,allofasudden.SamewithanumberofMotownartistsformerlyunknowninMooreland,Indiana.Dadwouldn’tgothedistanceandlistentosomeofthethingsweheardattheWilliamses’Ithoughtwereespeciallydelicious,particularlyIsaacHayes,whomademehave
un-Christianfeelings.Allofmyworstcrusheswereonbaldmen,beginningwithTellySavalasandstayingalong,longtimeonYulBrynner.OnceIrealizedtherewerebaldblackmeninadditiontobaldtanmenIknewtheworldwasopeningwide.Istayedhomewithmydad
whileMomwasstudentteachinginsummerschool,everyday,allday,and
Parchmandidn’thaveadayjob,either,andthenintheeveningsheandmydadwerepartnersonanightshift.Exceptitseemedtheyonlyworkedwhentheywantedto,sowespentalotofeveningsattheirhouse,too.Theynevercametoours.OneafternoonIwaslying
ononeoftheleathersofasholdingarubberboaconstrictor,readingacomicI’dgottenthatday.Itwas
grim.ItwasthestoryofawomanwhohadbeensenttoanInsaneAsylumbecauseshebelievedalittlegoat-footedvarmintwasafterher,andherDoctorwasamanwhoworeeyeglassesbutitwasdarkbehindthem,notlikesunglasses,butliketherewasnothingbehindhisglasses,andhesuggestedshetakeuptheflute.Andnotjustanyflute,butaflutemadeofreedsstrappedtogether,each
smallerthanthelast.APanflute,hecalledit.Firsthecausedhertomakethefluteinaclasswithothercrazypeople,thenhetaughthertoplayit,thenhemadehergooutintothegardenatnight,underafullmoon,andplayittoafountain,wheretherewas…astatueoftheverygoat-boyshefeared.IwasjustgettingtothegoodpartwhenParchmanstrolledinfromthekitchenandsat
downrightontheglasscoffeetable.Hetuggedonmyredbraid.“Zip,”hesaid,“it’stimewe
hadthetalk.”Iglancedupathim.“What
talk.”“Thetalkaboutracism.
Nowhere’showI’mgoingtostartit:you’vegotyourchocolatemilk,andyou’vegotyourwhitemilk.”Iraisedaneyebrow.“That’snotgoingtowork.”
Hethoughtaminute.“Okay,okay—listen.Haveyoueverheardanyonesay,‘Someofmybestfriendsareblack’?”Icouldnotabidealecture,
notevenfromParchmanWilliams.“Someofmybestfriendsarewhite,”Isaid,lookingbackdownatmycomicbook.Parchmanslappedhisknees
withhisopenpalms.“Well.Thatabouttakescareofthat,”hesaid,pattingmeonthe
shoulderashelefttheroom.InthekitchenIheardhimsay,“You’vegotyourhandsfullwiththatone.Lord,Bobby.”IheardthewheelofDad’s
lighter,himtakingadeepbreath.“Yep.She’smyprideandjoy.”
SometimeswhenthefourofthemplayedcardsIhungoutinthekitcheninsteadof
playingwithTyrell.Ilikedhimjustfine,butIcouldonlyspendsomuchtimetalkingaboutKareemAbdul-Jabbarorlyingonthatfurbed.Thesloshypartmademenervousafterawhile.Iwouldbegintothink,What’sreallyinhere?Ifthere’swaterandyoucan’tseeintoit,thereisalwayssomethinginit.Maybeithasteeth,maybeithastentacles,maybeitjusthasdumbfins.Ididn’tlikethinkingaboutit.
Irememberedbeingfour,five,six.IrememberedhowIwassoquietIwasghostly,andthewayIcouldhideundertablesorbehindsofasandnooneeverknewIwasthere.Istillhadtheknack,eventhoughIhadgottentootalltohide.Grown-upsstilltalkedasifIweren’tthere,andIdidn’tunderstandwhy.WhenIwasthirty-fiveIwouldnever,everletchildrenhearanythingIsaidor
thought.Dadhadmethismatchin
ParchmanWilliams,asfarascardswent.Theyhadthesamegifts:thequickhands,themaskface,thewitthatdisguisedwild-animalcompetitiveness.Theybluffedanddistracted,theytoldfunny,coldjokes,andonlybadluck—notlackofskill—coulddefeateitherofthem.MomandLibraplayedlikethewivesofmaster
gamblers.Theywerepatientandeven;goodpartnerswhojustkeptpaceanddidn’tmakemistakes.“LibratoldmeifIwant
morechildrenI’llhavetohavethemwithmynextwife,”Parchmansaid,takingadrinkofbeer.“Youheardthatright,”
Librasaid,tappingthedummyhandwithoneofherfingernails.“I’mdoneraisinganythingexceptmytax
bracket.”Parchmansaid,“IthinkI’ll
makeitdiamonds.Diamondsformydearwife.”“Hisnextwifecandoalot
ofthingsdifferent,”Librasaid,andeveryonelaughed.“Wouldyoueverremarry?”
Parchmanaskedmymom.Myearsraiseduponthe
sidesofmyheadasifIwereafoxlisteningforthefarmercomingupthedrive.Remarry?Thiswasa
wordIhadneverheardspokeninthepresenceofmyparents.ItwasnotawordRose’sparentswouldeveruse,norJulie’sparents,either.Itwasnotinthevocabularyoftheirfriends,theSpillmans.Itwasawordun-utteredintheMoorelandFriendsChurch.Mymother?Parchmanwasaskingthisofmymother,whohadgivenonepieceofadvicetomysisterwhenshemarried:Do
noteverallowtheword“divorce”tobespokeninyourhome.Ifyousayitonce,youletitin.Iwatchedher.Iopenedand
closedmyhands,tryingtoflexoutthepanic.Iwatchedmyfather.Hisfacewasblankasthenightsky.Shestudiedhercards,blinkedpatientlybehindheroldglasses.TherehadnotbeenonemomentIfeltthatParchmanandLibraandTyrellwereanydifferent
fromus,really.Notasinglemoment,regardlessofthemagnificenthouseandthesnakes.Anddependingonmymother’sanswer,Iwouldknowwhethertheywere.Butshejustshookher
head.“It’snotsomethingI’veeverconsidered,”shesaid,withoutlookingup,andIknewIshouldletitout,theterrifiedbreathIwasholding,butIdidn’t.Istoodthereattheedgeoftheroom,
watchingthemplaythehandout.Withmenwhoplayedthatwell,ithardlymatteredwhowon.Thegameitselfwasthejoy.
SlumberParty,1977
FromkindergartenthroughfourthgradewehadoneclassattheMoorelandElementarySchool;wewerealltogethereveryyear,movingfromthefirst-tothesecond-gradeclassroomwhenthetime
came.Whythisdidn’tleadtoaKilltheWeakestMemberoftheHerdtypeofbehaviorIdon’tknow,butnooneeverdiedorwaseaten.That’swherethefriendshipsformthatgobackasfarasmemoryallows:RoseandJulie,AnitaandAnnette,Kirstenwhowasbeautifuleveninkindergartenandneverhadabadyear.Margaret,Tod,Ronnie,Debby,Tony,KellyHicksofthenext-doorHickses.Ithink
wewouldhavebeenhappytostaytogetherthroughhighschoolandhighereducation(Rose,Margaret,Ronnieforsure),orlightjailtime(me),andonoutintotheworld,exceptthatduringthesummerbetweenfourthandfifthgradestheMountSummitelementaryschoolclosed,whichI’mthinkingmusthavebeenasadthing,andtheirstudentsmovedoverandjoinedusinMooreland.
Now,IamsorrytosaythatthoseMountSummitkidsjustweren’tlikeusinsomeinvisibleway,andtheykepttothemselvesandwedidthesame.Theplanwastokeeppermanentdivisionsbetweenussotherewouldbenocross-pollinationandIwasallforthat,exceptitseemedlikeonlyfourorfiveminuteshadgonebyandIwasfriendswithagirlcalledJeanneAnnwhowasalongtimefriendof
AnitaandAnnettebecauseofsomething,churchor4-H,soitwasnaturaltobewithAnitaandAnnetteandtherewasJeanneAnnandoh,alsoshewashilariousandIgotalongwithherdandy.ThentherewasthisgirlcalledKathy,shewastalllikemeandIlovedher,andstrangelyenoughIknewherdadbecauseheknewmydad.HerdadsoldcampingtrailersonalotnexttotheRamrodGun
andKnifeshop,whichwasjustaboutmyfavoritestoreinthehistoryofcommerce.IfIhadtosaywhatwouldbeonaparticularavenueinheavenI’dsaylet’sstartwithRamrodGunandKnife,andyes,absolutelyputcampingtrailersnexttoit,it’sanatural.Thereshouldbeabaitshopsomewhere,andastorethatsellsbeefjerkyandlemonphosphates,andwe’regoodtogo.
I’dvisitedwithherdadalreadysoIwentaheadandtookupwithKathy,andshewasafriendofJeanneAnn’sanyway,andthenIdon’tknowhowithappenedbutwewereallsquasheduptogether,andbythesixthgradeitwashardtorememberwhenIdidn’tknowtheMountSummitkids.
Kathyhadaslumberpartyat
herhouseandletmetellyou:whenthegirlinschoolwithstuffisalsofunandgenerousandsmart?Yes,youwanttogotoherslumberparties,andswiminherpoolandridearoundonhermotorbike,whichwassmallandorangeandtheexhaustpipeortheengineorsomethingheatedupto3,000degreesFahrenheitafteraboutthreeminutesofriding,andwewereconstantly
yellingtooneanother,“Don’tletyourlegtouchanything!”IfwewobbledevenslightlyKathywouldyell,“ForGod’ssake,don’tfallortheenginewillmeltyourflesh!”Wetorearoundtheflatacreagebehindherhouselikebandits,thenjumpedinthepoolagain.Thatnightwesleptinacamperherdadsetupinthebackyard.Abrilliantidea,anditmademelongformyownsaleslotfromwhichto
chooseforentertaining.Therewasmayheminthetrailer;itinvolvedfirsts’moresandthenraspberryjelly,andatsomepointAnitaannouncedshe’deitherforgottenorcouldn’tfindherpillowandJeanneAnnsatupwithoneinherhands.ShehelditouttoAnitaandsaid,intheKentuckytiltofherchurch’sminister,“TheLordgiveth”—JeanneAnnpulledthepillowback—“andtheLord
takethaway.”I’dneverlaughedthathardbefore—itwasthekindoflaughingthatweakensyouandmakesyouexhausted,andthenstartsalloveragain.Weweretryingtostayupallnight—thatwouldbethegoalateveryparty—andIwastheone,always,whoneverfellasleep.Icouldhaveprobablystayedawakefortwoorthreedays,really.Ididn’tmentionitattheparties,especiallyinfront
ofAnnette,whoplayedeverysporteverinvented(shepossiblymadeuptwoorthreeextras)andsowasalwaystired.She’dcometoaslumberpartystraightfromsomegruelingthreehoursofrunningupastraight,sheercliff,atthetopofwhichshewasmadetoheavebouldersatwildlifeorwhatever,andshe’dbetiredbydinnertime.IlovedherandIalwayswantedtodrawheroverto
theOtherSide,thenon–organizedsportssideoflife,wheretherewerenocoaches(I’ddiscoveredthatcoachesneverlikedmeandIreturnedthedisdain)orschedulesorwhistlesblowing.Iwasalreadyfiguringoutthereisnoprofitinaddingpaintoaday,butforsomegirls,sports—thepressure,thephysicaltoll,thegroupidentity—wereagoodthing.I’dhavetopracticesayingit:forthem,
theagony,self-chosenandself-perpetuated,isagoodthing.Theysuredidn’tharassmeforloungingaroundonthefrontporchallsummer,readingbooksanddrinkingMountainDew,waitingforthemomentsomethingwouldcomealonganddeterminethetuneoftheday.BythetimeIwanderedovertotheCokemachineatNewman’sMarathoninmypajamas,JulieandAnnettehadalready
beentrainingforsomethingforhours.Iwas,too,itturnsout:Iwastrainingtoliearoundreading.ThenJeanneAnnhada
slumberpartyanditwasdifferentfromKathy’sbecauseshewasanonlychildofOlderParentswhowerepracticalanddidn’thaveapooloraflamingmotorbike.Shelivedinthecleanest,squaresthouseI’veeverbeeninanditturnedoutwedidn’t
needtheotherstuffbecausehavemercyitwasoutrageouslyfun.JeanneAnnwasingymnasticsandcoulddostrangethings,likeabackbendandthenspiderwalkacrossthefloor.Shewassoflexibleitwasunholyandwealltriedtoimitateher,tomuchscreaminghilarityandpermanentdamagetoourcartilage.Hourswerespenttryingtoteachmetobelch,animpossibilityasI’dmade
clearfromthebeginning.Ididn’thavethepropermechanism,Iwasmissingaflaporsomething.I’dneverinmywholelifesomuchasburped.ItwasshamefulbutI’dadjusted.JeanneAnnendearedherselftomeforeverbygettingoutataperecorderaswepracticedbelching,orasshebelchedinvariouseloquentwaysandIdidwhatshetoldmeandopenedmymouthand
nothingcameout:alittlesilenceonthetape.ShefriedbolognaandwewatchedSammyTerryontelevision,andtheworstcamewhenwerealizedAnnettewasasleepandsomeone,Iwon’tsaywho,madealittlefartverynearhereartotryandwakeherup.Thatwasitforme.IthoughtIwouldhavetobehospitalized.
I’dneverhadaslumberparty
atmyhousefortheobviousreasons—infact,Ineverhadanyoneoveratall.Ivisitedmyfriends;theydidn’tvisitme.Inoticedthis,butitwasratherlikebelching—Ijustdidn’thavetheequipment.MysisterdecidedshewouldhostaslumberpartyformeatherlittlehousewheretherewasbarelyroomforMelinda,Rick,andJosh,nottomentionIwasthereprettymuchallthetime.The
solutionwaswewouldhavetheslumberpartyinthebackyard,andMelindawouldputupatentforustosleepin.Wehadagreattime,itwas
quiteshockinglyfun,butInoticedMelindabecomingslightlymorefrazzledwitheveryhourthatpassed.ShewaspregnantwithaNewBabyandIwasn’teventhinkingaboutthatasIwantednopartofit.When
wetroopedinthroughthebackdoor,pastthelaundryroom,downthehallwaythatslopedtooneside,pastthebathroom,andintothekitchenforKool-Aid,Lindywasfine,shedidn’tmakeanythreatsoranything.ShedecidedtobringthepopcorntouswhichIunderstood,butitwasn’tasifweweregoingtopeeinthegarden,weweren’tsavages.Infactwepreferredtopeeasagroup,
theoppositeofsavageryIbelieve,sowedidthat.Weusedupallthetoiletpaperbutthatwasokaybecausetherewasaboxoftissuessoweuseditinstead.Igotoutthesandwich
makerfromwhenweusedtogocamping.JulieandIbuiltafireandwetookbread,butteredontheoutside,andscoopsoffruitpiefilling(blueberrybeingtheobviousfirstchoice)andclosedthe
cast-ironsandwichshapearoundit,cutoffthecrusts.Someoftheothergirlswereamateursanddidn’twanttowaitforthebreadtotoast—adisasterintheculinaryarts,impatience.Whatyouhavewithouttoastisnothing.It’sgoo.Wewerealllickingourfingersandcontemplatingourthird-degreeburnsfromtheboilingfruitfillingwhenMelindaopenedthebackscreendoorandsteppedout
ontothedarkstep,thelightofthelaundryroombehindher.“Uh-oh,”JeanneAnnsaid
asIforcedmyselftostandandfaceit,whateveritwas.Iwalkedtowardmysister
slowly.I’dbehavingacigaretteandablindfold,please.Shewascompletelystill,anawfulsign,asMelindausuallywentfrozenjustbeforeshestruck.IwasremindedofthevipersinAfricaI’dreadabout,the
largestandmostpowerfulofallvenomoussnakes,whocouldmovefromacoiledpositionandstrikeatfifty-fivemilesanhour,probablythespeedlimitformostthings.Theycouldshattertheglassofmovingsafarivehicles.IrememberedeverythingIcouldaboutvipersasIwalked,stepbystep,towardthelightofthebackdoor,butnoneofitwasgood.
“Doyouknowwhatyou’vedone?”Melindaasked,inthequietwaythatwasthewayoftheviper.Ishookmyhead.“Youputanentireboxof
Kleenexintooursepticsystem.”WhatcouldIsay?I
believedher,butitwassortofnewstome.“You’vestoppedup
oursepticsystem.”Shesaidthisasifwehadbrought
downthewallsoftheAlamo.“We’regoingtohavetocallaplumber.”“I’msorry.”Melindaclosedthedoor
andwentbackinsidewithoutanotherword.Iwentbacktomyfriendsandreportedthedamage.Nooneunderstoodthebigproblem,butwedidunderstandwecouldn’tgobackinthehouseorwewouldgetourwindshieldsshattered.Butwheretopee?
“Let’sjustpeeinthegarden!”JeanneAnnsaid.“Yes,let’sjustpeeinthe
garden!”ItwasagreeduponandundertakenwithsuchjoythatMelindapoppedherheadoutonemoretime,aroundtwointhemorning,andtoldmeifsheheardus,ifsheheardasinglesoundagain,nottomentionifwewokeupJosh,whosebedroomwindowfacedtheyard,shewoulddountousthingsI
couldnotrepeattomyfriends.Islunkbacktothetentandsaidweweregoingtohavetobequiet,andthatwassofunnyweallhadtoburyourfacesinoursleepingbags,andthensomeoneannouncedshehadtopee.
Inthedensedarknessatfourwedecidedtowalkaroundtown.Wewalkedallover,upanddownmostofthestreets,downtoourowndarkand
silentelementaryschool,whichspookedus.WewalkedpastEdythe’shousewhicheveryonefoundunbearable,theknowingshewasintherewithherbathtubfilledwithnewspapersandherblackenedfingernails,thepiano,herlonghair.Whatnoonesaidwaswhatscaredmemost:whatwasshelikeinside?Westoppedinfrontofmy
ownhouse.Istoodtherein
thestreetwithmyfriends.“Well,thisisweird,”Isaid,sowemovedon.TheMoorelandFriends
Church,thehousesonJeffersonStreet—thetownwasanentirelystrangeandsurrealplaceattheedgeofsleeplikethis.Icouldn’tgetmymindaroundit,thatbehindeverydoortherewerepeoplestillinbed,they’dbeeninbedallnight,andsomeofthem,likemydad,
werejustabouttoopentheireyesandhavetheworldremadeforthem,asitwasremadeeveryday.Onlywe,whohadbeenonwatchthroughthehours,knewthatithadn’tcomeundoneinthemeantime,thingshadhummedalongfairlymuchasusual,justwaiting.Wegotinthetentand
climbedinoursleepingbags,chilled.Therewassomecrazytalkanditstartedto
rain.Thesoundoftherainonthetentwasenough,andonebyonemyfriendsfellasleep.Iwasshockedthattheycoulddoso,thattheirbodiescouldletgoinsuchaway.MybodydidnothingunlessItolditto,andeventhensometimescoercionwasnecessary.Ihadreachedanagewhereitwasimpossibleformetofallasleepbyaccident,itdidnotandcouldnothappen,andIlayinmy
sleepingbagandimaginedtheconsequences.ItwouldbeI,likemyfather,whocoulddriveallnightwhiletherestofthecarslept.Iwouldbetheonepacingahospitalfloororworkingastrangeshiftinafactory.Ididn’tevenlikecoffee;I’dhavetofigurethatoneout.WitheveryoneasleepI
imaginedMelinda’srelief,thesilencefromthebackyard.Melindahadachild,shewas
pregnant.Itremainedashock.Icouldremembersoclearlythenightshe’dhadaslumberpartyandthewholecastwasthere,allherfriends.They’dhadaséanceinthelivingroom,gatheredinacircleonthefloorrightnexttothecouchwhereIwastryingtosleep.InthemiddleofitI’dlookedatoneofthetall,narrowwindowsandseenJesusfloatingmanyfeetofftheground,inthearmsof
thetrees.Ihadseenhim—Icouldnotbearguedoutofit.ButIhadn’tseenhimsince.Itoccurredtomethatthere
mightbenothingmorehystericalinalltheworldthanifIsuddenlybegantosing“TheStar-SpangledBanner”asthesunrose.Iwouldn’tsingitloudly,butwithreverence,asifI’dbeenwaitingallnightandthiswasmyjob,tocomfortthetroops.Iopenedmymouthbutit
wastoofunnyandIbegantolaughinthatsilent,organ-shakingway.Iletsomemomentspassandtriedtogetaholdofmyself,openedmymouthagain.Ilaughedevenharderandhadtocurlupinalittleballinsidemysleepingbagandbitemyknees.ThethirdtimeIskippeddirectlytocrying,tearsrandownmyfaceinstreams,collectedinmyearsinlittlepools.Iwasonthevergeofsobbing,soI
buriedmyfaceinmypillowandheldmybreath.Iwaitedforittopass.Myfriendsweresosilent,sleepingsound,thatwithmyeyesclosedandpressedagainstmypillow’sdark,Iwonderediftheywerethereatall.
BlizzardBaby,1978
InIndiana,weatherwasconsideredaveryinterestingtopicofconversation.Itwastalkedaboutoffandonallday,everyday.Noonesimplystuckahandoutthedoorandmadedecisions
accordingly,ohno.Thelocaltelevisionnewswasconsulted,aswastheradio,andforgoodmeasureitneverhurttocallTime&Temperature,incaseyourhandwaslying.Hoosiershavealwaysputstockinmeteorologists;if,forinstance,BobGregory—thebestofallweatherpeople—saidbundleupyoubundledupandifyouwereslightlyoverdressedthenthankyou,
Bob,becausethat’sbetterthanfreezingintoalogperson.IfBobsaiditlookedlikeweweregoingtogetheavyrainsandwedid,thankyou,Bob,andifwedidn’t,thankyou,Bob.Better,always,tobepreparedfortheemergencythatdoesn’tarrivethantobefoundthumb-twiddlingandhalfstarvedwhenrescuedfromtheonethatdoes.
MysisterwaspregnantwiththeNewBabyandIwaspartexcitedandpartopposed,becausetherewasnothingwrongwiththeOldOneandIjustdidn’tseehowthewholethingwasgoingtoworkout.Theworld,asfarasIcouldtell,wasJosh’sworldandwewerejusthangingaroundgettingintheway,whichhewassweetabout.Iknewmyrole,whichwastoserve,anassignmentthatwouldhave
earnedaspittingfrommeifanyonehadtoldmeaheadoftimebutthankfullynoonedid.ThesummerbetweenmytenthandeleventhbirthdaysIdreamedallofMoorelandwasdesertedandIhadbeenlefttherealonewithJosh,whoneededanemergencyappendectomy.TheonlycarintownwasastickshiftandIdidn’tknowhowtodriveit,astheonlytruckI’ddriveninreallifehadagearshiftonthe
column,akindoftransmissionnotmuchindemandeventhen.Iwokeupinapanickysweat,calledMelinda,andsaid,“Allright.Youbettertakemeoutandteachmetodriveastickshift.”WewentoutontheMessickRoadandsheletmegrindthegearsandmurdertheclutch757timesandeventuallyIfigureditoutanddroveushome.Sothatwastakencareof.Whatwasa
secondbabygoingtodotomylifeandwherewouldweputit?Melinda’shousewassimplynotbigenoughandanywayIwastired.I’dmanagedtoavoid
thinkingabout“thebaby”as“ababy”untilaboutmid-December,whensomeonepointedoutthatMelinda’sduedatewasinearlyFebruary,andhowisn’titthecasethatJanuaryisthemonthwiththeaveragegreatest
snowfallandthelowesttemperatures,hahawhatifLindywentintolaborearlyathomeorinacarduringsomesevereweather,Iguesseveryoneshouldkeeptowelsandboilingwaterhandy.Haha.ItwasthenIrealizedMelindawasgoingtohaveababy,likeJoshwasababy,anditwasaratherbleakChristmasforafewreasonsnotleastofwhichwasIwassonervousIwasallbut
twitchingandIbelieveIdevelopedaholidayfacialtic.
OhshewasverypregnantbyJanuary23.Theweatherhadbeencompletelymanageableuptothen,soshecouldhavegoneaheadandgottenthewholethingoverwithandletmegetsomerest.Thetownbegantostir;itwaspointedoutthatthelastbabyborninthetownlimitshadbeen
BuckyGardwhowasfull-grown,andthereformedalittlebandofsupportersforhavingtheNewBabyrightintownsomewhere.Ithoughttheywereoutoftheirminds.Ohreally,Iwantedtosay.Wheredidthecraziesthinkitshouldhappen?Atthedrugstore?Onthefairgrounds?SuchchargeswereansweredbyJackandMarianneHalstead,whobelongedtotheFriends
Meetingandwhoknewourfamilywell.InJack’scaseI’dsayheknewmetoowell,aseverytimehesawmeheturnedjustslightlyasiftoavoidbeinghitbyimaginaryarrows.I’dsay,“Hey,mister,”andhe’dsay,“Don’tshoot!”eventhoughI’dhadyettoshoothimwithanything.Ilovedthosepeople.JackandMarianneannouncedtheywouldbedeliveringthebaby,andthey
carefullydevisedaplanforgettingMelindafromherhousetotheirs(astraightwalkdownanalleyandacrossBroadStreet)andevenhungasignabovetheirguest-roomdoor:MATERNITYWARD.WhenIsaid,“Who’sthedoctorinthispicture?”JackremindedmethatMarianneworkedatthehospitalandIsaidokaythen.OnJanuary24itrained.
What’srain?It’snothingis
whatitis.Somewhereinthere,January23or24,justusualweather,nothingtogetinafussabout,therebegantobetalkaboutahigh-pressureoverheadthingmeetinganungroundedlow-voltageoutletfromNovaScotia.ThesetwocatastropheswouldbeconvergingovertheMidwest,likeaweathersystemassociationthatchoosesChicagoforitsconvention.
Thenewsoftheproposeddisastercausedmuchgrumblingandradiotuningandpreparednesschecking,especiallyinmyhouse.Myfatherlovedanemergency;itbroughtoutthebestinhiminmanywaysalthoughIhavetosayIdoubtemergenciesfeltverygoodtohimuntiltheywerebarelysurvived.Hisanxietywasitsownsortofstormcloudhoveringoverthehouse—thepacing,the
listeningtotheradioandtelevisionatthesametime,themeasuringofprovisions.He’dtellmetocounttheblanketsandI’dstarttosayI’dalreadycountedthembutthenI’dgetverynervousandnotknowwhatthenumberwassoI’dgocounttheblankets.He’dsaycheckthosecannedgoodsagainandmakesurethecanopeneriswherewecanseeitandI’dthinkI’dalreadydonethat
butwhenIlookedatthementalcannedgoodssectionitwassureempty.FuelcanistersfortheColemanstove?Check.Gallonsofwater?Yes,twentygallonsinfourfive-galloncontainers.Blankets?Didn’tIalreadygoovertheblankets?Nowwegottoadd,asifI
neededtoaddanything,CALLYOURSISTER.Sowecalledmysisterandaskedaboutherprogressaspeople
fromIndianawilldo,whichistosayweaskednothingoutrightbecausethewholesituationisabitjuicyforaHoosier.Insteadwe’dinquireaboutherfeelings.Howareyoufeeling,areyoufeelinganything,likethat,rightupuntilMelindathreatenedbrutalviolenceagainstusifwecalledheragain.I’dhangup,pace,checktherain,listentotheradio,watchDadsmokeandpaceandlistento
theradio.Earlyonthetwenty-fifth
thetemperatureseemedominous.Thehighthatdaywas36degrees(balmy)butthenthetemperaturedroppedto19(stillratherwarm,allthingsinbalance),andtherainturnedtosnow.Fourinchesfellthatday,andDadsteppedupourexercisesuntilIbegantoseeblurryshapesattheedgesofmyvision.Andtheweatherpeople!This
wastheirShangri-la!Finallytheygottosaywhatthey’dalwayswantedto,whichisthatwecanneitherrunnorhide,becauseatmosphericconditionswillprevailintheend.Wearenitscomparedtotheweather,andatlasttherewouldbeproof.Buteventhespecterof
nationallyrespectedtelevisionpersonalitiesweepingontheair,eventheirtooth-gnashingandhair-
pulling,didn’tcausemetoturnthecornerintooutrightterror.Thatdidn’thappenuntilMelindacalledtosaythatDr.HeilmanhadsaidonlyaLifelinehelicoptercouldreachherifshewentintolabor,becauseitcertainlyappearedwewereabouttobestrandedandtheNewBabywasalmostfortyweekscooked.Dr.HeilmanwastheleastalarmistmanIeverknew,soinessencetheBeast
hadtakenovertheWhiteHouseandrevealedhistattooofsixes.AndwhoknewifHenryCountyHospitalevenhadahelicopter?Andwhatdidtheydowithitwhenthereweren’temergencies?AndhowcouldIfinaglearide?Iwonderedinmymorelucidmoments.ItoldmyparentsIwasgoingtostaywithRickandMelinda,andDadsaidabsolutelynot,hewasn’tlettingonemoreofhis
childrenoutofhissight,ifwediedwewereallgoingtodietogether,andhadIcheckedthefuelintheColemanstove?Lyingonmycotbythestovethatnight,certainIwouldneversleeponmylastnightalive,Ihadaglimmerofanidea.ItwastheclosestIwouldevercometoascientifichypothesis:inthesamewaywaterseeksitsownlevel(oneofmymother’sfavoritethingstosay,though
nooneknewwhatitmeant),theanxietylevelofahomewillrisetomeettherequirementsofthemostanxiouspersoninit.Oratleastthatwashowitworkedinmyhouse.Againstimmenseodds,Ifellasleep,anditwassnowing.
ItmighthavebeenthesimplesoundofDad’slighter,thepowerofhisattentionthatwokemeup,oritmighthave
beenbecauseIheardMomsay,“MyGod.”Andthen,“SnowisgeneraloverIreland.”Isatup.“Arewein
Ireland?!?”Itwasashockingidea,butfeasible.“No,no,”Momsaid,
continuingtostareoutthedoorthathadonceledtothebackporchanderstwhilelaundryroom(theporchhadbeentornoffwhenthehousewasbathedinvinylsiding
andalsoI’dneverknownlaundry-doingtobeaccomplishedthere)andnowlookedoutdirectlyontothebackyard.“It’sfromtheendofastorybyJoyce.”Shewasforeverquoting
someone,Ican’tdescribehowpowerfullyvexingitwas.AndhereitturnedoutthatJoyceDickfromthebankhadstartedwritingstories,too,whichmeantthewholetownwaslost.Igotupand
couldfeelit,thehumofthelow-voltageoutlet,generaloverMooreland.Therewasthewind,whichfirstpoundedthehouselikeafist,thenbackedoff,choosingtothreaditswaythroughthedoorsandwindowpanesandthewallswithoutinsulation.ButitwasthesoundunderthewindthatIthinkwecouldallfeel,staringoutthesmallwindowintothebackyard.Therewasnothinginthat
sound.Noonewasmovingorclosingacardoororcallingoutthebackdoorforthedogstoshutup.Therewerenodogs,nobirds,nogrindingbuggynoises.IrememberedastorybyJackLondon,somethingDadloved;attheendamanisdying,freezingtodeathwithhisdog.ThatwasallIrecalledofit.WhenI’dreaditthefirsttimeIcaredonlyaboutthefateofthedog—peopleseemed
ratherexpendablecomparedtoanimals.ButnowIcouldimaginetheentirescene,theworldandallofusinitbroughttoourknees,anditwasthrillinginaway,andIcouldseehowitwouldtakeagiganticwilltoendureit.“Itneverreallygotdark,”
Dadsaid,andIrealizedhe’dbeenstandingrightthereforalongtime.IfeltasifI’dseenitwithhim,thesnowfallingsohardandfastitcarriedits
ownlightandilluminatedtheskyasitcoveredtheground.“How’sMelinda?”Iasked,
slightlybreathlesseventhoughI’donlytakenafewsteps.“Phone’sout,”he
answered,notlookingatme.
Onthetwenty-sixth,thetemperaturedroppedtozerowithwindgustsreachingfifty-fivemilesanhour,loweringthewindchillto
sixtybelow.Bytheendofthedayseventeeninchesofsnowhadblownintodriftsthatrangedfromtentotwentyfeethigh,andstillitcontinuedsnowing.Dadhadtomovetothewindowinthekitchen;thebackdoorwascompletelycovered.Theradiowasneverturnedoff,andthemoreIlistenedtheworsethingsgot:theannouncerswerestrandedatthestationandsounded
happilycrazed,desperate.Therewasnotopicotherthantheblizzardandthesamethingsweresaidagainandagainuntilitseemedwe’dallbeenatitforweeks,undertakingthisevent.AfewtimesDadsaidhewasgoingtotrytostartdiggingusout,thathewouldfindawaytoMelinda’s,butevenIcouldseethathewasn’tgoinganywhere.Iwonderedifwe’dhearthehelicopteroverthe
wind,butIdidn’tdareaskforfearDadwouldtellmethetruth:Melindacouldn’tcallforthehelicopter,andevenifshecould,noonecouldflyundersuchconditions.Shecouldn’tcall;theywouldn’tcome;theycouldn’tfindheranyway.Ilayonmycotnearthe
stove,inmysleepingbag,forhoursatatime.Icouldn’tconcentrateonanythingexceptthesadfacts.Itwasn’t
justMelindaandthebaby—everyoneIloved,everyoneintheworldtome,wasburiedaswewere.MomMaryandDonita,mybrotherandhiswifeanddaughters,myauntsandunclesandcousins,Roseandherfamily,Julieandhers,andtheanimalsattheirfarm—Icouldn’tthinkstraightwhenIconsideredthepossibilities.Whyhadn’tDadandIcalledthemall,whyhadn’tIgonetoRose’sand
countedherblanketsandcheckedherwatersupply?IcouldhavecomfortedmyselfwiththememoryofthemanyfreezersRose’sfamilykeptfilledwitheverythingfromvenisontolastsummer’svegetables,alongwithbreadandmilk.InsteadIconcludedshewasprobablylivingonVelveetacheeseandthosepeculiarsandwichesshemadewithbutterandsugar.Thatpoorgirl,Ihatedthose
sandwiches.AndshewasalsomostlikelybeingmadetoreadJaneEyreagain,justtoescapehersiblings.MyeyesfilledwithtearsandIduckeddowninsidemysleepingbagsoDadwouldn’tsee.
Onthetwenty-seventh,thetemperaturestayedbetweenzeroandeighteendegrees,withawindchillstillindouble-digitnegatives.The
averagewindspeedforthedaywastwentymilesanhour,andtwentyinchesofsnowhadfallen.
Onthetwenty-eighth,whenIwokeup,itwasthreedegreesandsnowing.Thephonewasstillout.
Bythetwenty-ninthofJanuary,thirty-fiveinchesofsnowhadfallenonSouthBend,fortyonsomeother
partsofnorthernIndiana.InChicago,snowfalltotaled74.5inchesfortheyear,settingtherecordforthecity’shistory.Atourhousewesawtheskyforthefirsttimeindays,andbythetimeIgotupDadwaspacingandwaiting.“We’regoingtoyour
sister’s,”hesaid,stubbingouthiscigarette.Irubbedmyeyes,thought
aboutit.“You’vegotaplan,I
hope.”Henodded.“Firstwe’re
goingtodig,andassoonaswecanopenthedoorwe’regoingtowalk.”Well,thereitwas.Iwould
dielikeJackLondon,orDadwould,andeventuallyoneofuswouldhavetoeattheother.Snowwasdriftedupagainsteverywindowonthegroundfloor,andfromtheupstairsitappearedthespecificsoftheworldhad
simplybeenerased—thecarsweregone,thefruittreesinthegardenwerecompletelyconsumed,Dad’slittletoolshedwasjustarooffloatingonawhitesea.“Imadeussnowshoes,”
Dadsaid,andpointedtothefloor.Hehadcutthebottomsoutoffourclothesbaskets,pokedholesinashoeshapeinthemiddle,andlashedourbootstothemwiththelongstrandsofleatherIbought
everyyearwhenwewenttoFriendship,Indiana,towatchthemuzzleloadersandthepeopledressedupascowboysandIndians.Ialwaysimaginedsomethingverycraftyforthoseleatherstrips,somethinginvolvingbeadsandperhapsfeathers.Ialsotalkedmywayintoadeerhideandsomerabbitfurmostyears,andmyultimatedreamwastomarrytheleather,thebeads,thefeathers,andthe
furinagranddesign,afterwhichIwouldtrulyunderstandMotherEarthandFather…something.Juliewouldknow.“Niceworkwiththe
leather,”Isaid.“Thanks.”“Iprobablyoughttotake
mydeerhide.”“Probablyshould.”
Weworkedourwayout,startingbydiggingaroundthe
door.Insomeplacesitseemedthesnowwentonforever,andinotherswe’ddigthroughtoopenair—thedriftsundulatedlikedunes.Bythetimeweactuallystrappedonthesnowshoesandsteppedout,Isawdoom,evenwiththeprogresswe’dmade.Wetestedourshoesandforthemostparttheyworked.TheplasticwasverystiffandheldupevenunderDad’sweight.Theyworked
exceptformyleftone,forwhichDadhadusedasortofflimsybasket.WhenIsteppedonittoohard,theendscurledupanddownthatlegwent,andI’dnotonlyhavetoworkmyfootout,I’dhavetodragupsixty-sevenpoundsofsnowwiththeplasticspoonIwaswearing.“Thisismytruck,”Dad
said,standingonwhatseemedtobesnow.“AndIthinkthecarisrightthere.”
Icouldn’treallytakeinwhatIwasseeing,soIjustfollowedbehindhim,mostlyonmyrightfoot.TherewasalottosaybutIkeptquiet.Thetowncontinuedtobesilentandunmovinginawaythatcausedawingedfeelinginmystomach;eventhroughmyhat,myhood,andthedeerhidewrappedaroundmyheadIcouldhearDad’sbreathingasplainlyasmyown.Ifhehadn’tbeen
leadingthewayIwouldhavegottenlost,oratleastconfused.Ihadthoughtthetreeswouldserveasmarkersbuttheydidn’t.Weigheddownwithsnow,itstrunkburied,everytreelookedthesame,andthesunlight,weakasitwas,wasblinding.“There’sReedandMary’s
house,”Dadsaid.Isquinted.“Oh.You’re
right.”Wetrudgedonward,andat
somepointDadknewtoturnonJeffersonStreet.Afterthat,itwasalong,coldwalkforhimandalong,gameyhopforme.Iproceededbylooking
down,butDadlookedinalldirections.HepausedinfrontofMaxandAdeline’shouse,butwenton.Hepausedafewtimes,butkeptwalking.Afterwhatseemedtobedaysanddays,justatthepointIwasgoingtostartbegginghimfor
beefjerkyandtojustletmesleep,likeinthemovies,hesaid,“There’ssmoke,”pointingattheroofofLindy’shouse.Iwasquitecertainhemeant
Melindahadburnedthehousedown,butinfacttherewasjustaribbonofsmokecurlingoutofthechimney.Westaredatitamoment,boththinkingthatiftheworsthadhappenedRickwouldn’tblithelybeheatingtheliving
room.Surelynot.WetookafewmorestepsandIsawsomething,Dadsawsomething.ItwasalittleRick-shapedthingwithashovel,workinglikeamole,aswehad.DadcalledoutandRicklookedup,yelledbackthatMelindawasfine,nobabyyet.Webroketheskinofthatstormandsettheworldmovingagain.InNewCastle,snowplowswerealreadywarmingup,andall
overthecountymenwithbigtrucksweresearchingfordoorhandlesandsomegroundtostandon,mostofthemcarryingflaskstheywouldsipfromthroughouttheday.Iunderstood—itwasahardbusiness.WewouldeventuallyhelpRick,whohadaterribletoothache,andwe’dmakeourwayinsidewhereIwouldstripoffmycoatanddeerfurandlaundrybasketsandswoopup
JoshasifI’djustreturnedfromtenyearsatsea.Butfirstwestoodthere,onthetopofacarorawellhouseorachickencoop,andlookedaround.“My,my,”Dadsaid.“It’s
reallysomething,isn’tit.”“It’sbeautiful,”Iagreed.
“It’sthemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseen.”
Twodayslater,Rickhadfour
wisdomteethremovedandMelindawentintolabor.Onlyforty-eighthourstoexhumethetownandthecars,togettothehighwayandallthewaytoNewCastle.Itwasn’tmuchtime,butwetookit.AndiftherewaseveranythingintheworldforwhichIwouldfeelpermanentlygrateful,somethingI’dbethankingtheuniversefortotheendofmydays,itwasthatsliverof
time.WitheverysteptowardcivilizationwemadeIsaid,Thankyou,universe.
IcouldhearRickandMelindatalkinginthebedroomasMelindagatheredherbagsandherbookforthehospital.“No,Idon’tthinkshe’stoo
young,”Lindysaid,andRicksaidokay.Iwasstandingintheliving
roominfrontoftheFranklin
stove,intheveryexactspotwhereI’dbeenstandingtheAugustbefore,twirlingmybaton,whenmysoapoperawasinterruptedtoannouncethedeathofElvisPresley,causingmetositdownunexpectedlyonmybuttandalsotobehitbymyfallingbaton.“Andwedon’thaveanyone
else.DadandMomaredrivingaheadofustothehospital,”Melindasaid,and
Rickagreed.Hemadeanoiseofagreement,thatis,becausehisfacehadswollenupfromthesurgerythatmorningsobadly,andintwosuchdistinctspots,thathelookedlikeaneuroticchipmunk,onewhohadn’trealizedwinterhadalreadycomeanddoneitsworst.Iwashelplessagainsttellinghimso,whichwasunfortunate.AlsoIhadhadtoburymyfaceinthepillowsonthecouchtwice
becauseIwaslaughingsohardIfearedmylungshadcollapsed,notatRickexactlybutatthatsadlittlerodent.Hemadesomenoisesthat
soundedlike,“She’stwelve,”oratleastthat’swhatIheard,becauseIwastwelve.“That’strue,”Melindasaid,
“butwedon’thaveanyoneelseandwehavetogo.”Theywereoutthedoor
withinstructionsandphonenumbersandgoodbyes,andI
don’tknowwhatMelindaexpectedtoseeonmyfacebutshedidn’tseeit.Iwatchedthemcreepoffdownthesnow-packedstreetsbehindDad’struckwiththebigsnowtires,thenIsnuckintoJosh’sroomandsatonthefloor,waitingforhimtowakeup.Whenhesatupinhisnewbig-boybed,talkingandrubbinghiseyes,Ipickedhimup.Hewrappedhisarmsandlegsaroundmelikea
juniormonkeyandwesatintherockerawhile,rocking.Hesighed,wakingabitatatime,thensatupandpointedattherugonthefloor.“Punt?”heasked.“Ummm,
punter?”Trucks,hemeant,and
tractors.WouldIhelphimplowtheruginstraightevenrowswithhistrucks,histractors,andhisdisc?Iabsolutelywould.WhileweweresittingthereIsaid,
“Guesswhat?”Joshlookedup,shrugged.“We’regoingtobehere
alonetogetherforatleastthreedaysandtwonights.Justyouandme.”Hestaredatme,waitingto
hearwhetherthiswasgoodorbad.Iraisedmyarmsabovemyheadandsaid,“Yay!”Joshraisedhisarmsabovehisheadandsaid,“Yay!”Weclappedawhile,plowedtherug.Hewastwo.
Icoveredhishigh-chairtraywithCheeriosandhesatverystill.Ikneltdowninfrontofthehighchairuntilhecouldn’tseeme,poppedupabove,andsaid,“Pee-boo!”inthevoicedogsandchildrenlove.Joshjumped,smackedhistraysohardinsurpriseCheerioswentflying,thenlaughedsohelplesslyhisnosewrinkledupandhehadtoputhisheaddownrightonthecereal.Heraisedbackupand
therewereCheeriosstucktohisforeheadandchin.“Again?”Iasked.Henodded.Ididitagain,andagain,untilalltheCheerioswereonthefloor.ThenIgothimdownandweatethemoffthefloor,asGodintended.
SometimethatdayRickcalledandsaidwehadahealthygirl.Thosewerehiswords,ahealthygirl.I
thankedhimforcallingandaskedhimtogivemylovetoMelinda.WhatIreallymeantwas“Thatmakesnosensetome.JoshandIarecoloring.”
Afterdinnerandaraucousbubblebath,abathduringwhichmaybemorebubblesgotoutofthetubthanstayedin,asIwasgettingJoshreadyforbedinhisyellowfootypajamaswiththebearstitchedon,Rickcamehome.
HelookedsobadevenIcouldn’tlaugh.IaskedaboutMelindaandthebabyandhenoddedaffirmatively,calledthebabybynameashelaydownonthecouch,visiblysuffering.Abigail.Abby,hesaid.IzippedupJosh’spajamasbutotherwisecouldn’tmove.Ithoughttheword“Abby”andanarrowflewstraightintomyheart,itslammedintomychest,ourhealthygirl,ababygirl.
Abigail.Joshwalkedover,pattedRickonthechest,said,“Nighnight,Daddy.”
Overthenexttwodays,JoshworehisRobinHoodhatandrodehisbouncyhorse.WelayonthecouchlikedrunkardsandwatchedcartoonsandIneversaid,“That’saboutenoughtelevision,isn’tit?”Wemadeartprojectsthatcameoutverybadly.WhenIsaidit
wasnaptimeheclimbedupinhisbedandwenttosleep.IfIthoughthemightbehungryIasked,thenfedhim.IkeptthefiregoingintheFranklinstoveandneveroncesetthehouseonfire.AfterRickcamehomeatnightandwenttobedIlayonthecouchinthedark.Abby.TherewasanAbby.I’dhadnoidea.
Whentheygothomefromthehospital,JoshandIwere
waitinginthekitchen.I’ddressedhiminaturtleneckandbiboverallsandweheldhandsasMelindawalkedthroughthedoor.Sheseemedtiredbutotherwisequitecheerfulandjustlikeherself,andIreallyreallylovedherbutIhadtostopmyselffromsaying,“Scootchoutofthewaythere,Sister,”becauseRickwascomingthroughthedoorcarryingAbby.AllIcouldseewasthethickwhite
blanket,butIheldoutmyarmsandsaid,“Givehertome,givehertome,”andtheygavemetheirnewborn.IwasthepersonwhohadfedabiteofmudpietoLaurie’slittlebrotherandmadehimthrowup.I’dhelpedRoseconvinceherbabybrotherPatricktositonaboxinhisbedroomandwaitforthebus.I’dhelpedagirlnamedDanawritealloverherbedroomcurtainswithaninkpen.Butallof
thatseemedsofaraway;itwasbeforeJosh,beforetheblizzard,beforethemomentIliftedthecornerofthereceivingblanketandsawmyperfect,sleepingniece.Ismelledherhead,herneck.Onethingwascleartomeallthewayinmybones,itwassodeepandfactualIbarelyneededtoconsiderit:themoreIwastrusted,themoretrustworthyIbecame.“Look,Joshy,”Isaid,
kneelingdown.“Thisisyoursister.”Heleanedoverandlooked
atthelittlefacenestledintheblankets,notgettingtooclose.Hisbluetennisshoesstayedplantedonthefloor.“Seeher?”Isaid.He
nodded.IloweredtheedgeoftheblanketoverAbby’sface,lifteditagain.“Pee-boo!”Joshjumped,clapped.He
leanedoverandtookanotherlook.
Gold
IftheMountSummitkidshadn’tarrivedIneverwouldhavehadtocontemplatehowtowalkthelinebetweenmyoldlifeandmynew,betweenmyoriginal,steadfastfriendsandthepeoplesuddenlyavailabletome.Theoriginals
weredoingit,too,andnoonemademuchofafussaboutit.MomtriedtopointouttomethattheMountSummitkidshadtheirownoriginalfriends,peoplethey’dstartedkindergartenwith,buttherewasnopercentageinconsideringsuchathingwhenobviouslytheyhadsprungupinfifthgrade,fullyformed.JeanneAnnwasnewbut
shedidn’tseemtobe;she
wastheeasiestfriendI’deverhad,andatthirteenIlovedherfiercely.Thefiercenessandeaseweretieduptogether,somehow.Julie,bycontrast,wasfamilyandlikefamilyweownedeachotherpermanentlybutohlordthewaythatgirlranmeragged.Asifthefarmweren’tenough,shewasbecominganathleteofepicproportionsanditwasaflatpunishmentforme.Therewe’dbeat
schoolandthegirlwaslikeapieceofmyownselfandnotonlythatbutwewereandhadalwaysbeentruetoeachother—trueinawayeveryonecouldseeandIknewitwasrare.ButingymclassIheldmybreathandsaidlittleprayerstoafluctuatingcastofJesusesthatourgymteacherdidn’tmakeJuliethestudentleaderbecauseitwouldmeanmycertainsuffering.Andthegym
teacheralwaysmadeJuliethestudentleaderbecausecomparedtoher,Olympicsprinterswerefatandlazy.Julie’swillwascastironandifwewereassignedfiftysit-upsshesawnoreasonweshouldn’tdoseventy-five.Quietasshewasthegirlcouldwranglesit-upsoutofusuntilourstomachmuscleswerebleedingandasruinedasoldrubberbands.Andshetormentedme,me
specifically!duringeverymannerofgrotesqueexercise!Ifweweredoingleg-liftsshe’dmakeusholdthemostviciousoneforhours.TheoverweightgirlswouldgiveupfirstandJuliewouldn’tsayaword.Thenanothergroupwouldfallandnothingfromourleader.ButeveniftheonlypeopleleftwiththeirlegsshakinganinchoffthegroundwereJulie,me,andthethreebestbasketball
playersonthegirls’team,ifIloweredmylegsshewouldbark,“Jarvis!Getthoselegsup!”andIwoulddoit,whichwaslunaticandIdidn’tevenunderstanditbutthereyougo.Whenwechosean
opponentfortennisJuliewasthestudentleadersoshegottogofirstandItriedtohidebehindothergirlsbutIwasquitetall.Iprayed,evenlettingmylipsmovea
little,PleaseJesuswhowantednoonetoknowYouwerehere,makemeinvisibleaswouldhavebeenexcellentinyourowncasesothatJuliemaynotseemeandchoosemeasheropponentandthenwallopmewithtennisballsforthenexthour,amen.Butitwasnouse.Iwouldspendthehourgoing“Whoa!Ow!Ouch,JulieAnn!You’rehittingtoohard!”AndwhenthingsgotreallydesperateI’d
try,“Ihaveanidea—ouch!Let’sseeifwecanmimeplayingtennis.”InresponseI’dseeablur,whichwasJulie’sservetraveling800milesanhour,andshe’dpausejustlongenoughtosay,“Seventy-four–love,”orhoweverthatgoes,andthen,“Nomimes.”Juliehadspentourwhole
livestogethertryingtomakemeabetterpersonandmanytimesshecamedarnedclose
tosucceeding.Shewasbothgoodandgoodateverythingsheturnedhermindto,whichwastheoppositeofme,therewasnosenseindenyingitevenfromourearliesttimes.IntracksheranthehardestracesandGodabovesheflew.Shewouldn’ttieherhairbackandnoonemadehersoitsailedoutbehindher,partsolid,partliquid,likesilkcaughtinthewindandpulledfromyourhand.Onemoment
itwasmahogany,dazzling;thenextitwasred-winedark.Onthebasketballteamshewassoquickandferocioussheintimidatedeveryone—tallergirls,girlswhooutweighedher,playerswhowouldcheatandhurtsomeone.Andvolleyball,andgolffortheloveofHeaven,sincewhendidfarmgirlsmasterGOLF?Juliewasabrilliantpainterandshewrotebeautifullettersandshe
alwaysdidherhomeworkeveninthesubjectsshedidn’tlike,andmostoftenwithoutawordshetriedtotakemewithhertothatlandwhereshelived,aplaceofgraceandpowerandrightness.Shetriedtoteachmepride,thekindyouearn,thekindthatarriveswhenbrutaleffortistransformedintomagnificence.Juliewasmagnificent,IwasproudofherwitheverybreathIdrew,
andfreelyso.ButIdidn’tneedthatprideformyself.Iwasbetteratgivingitaway.Allthoseyearswe’dfacedeachother,thatbelovedred-hairedgirlandI,withourpalmswideopen—aminormiracleiswhatitwas.IfIhadanythingJuliecouldshareit,Ibegrudgedhernothing.Muchmoreoften,maybeallthetimesthatmattered,itwasshewhohadwhatIneededanditpassed
fromherhandstomine,yearafteryearthiswasso,andallsheaskedinreturnwasthatItryjustalittleharder.Notashardasshedid,butsome.Iwasexhausted.TherewasRose,ofcourse,
whowasnothingatalllikeJulieandstillwehadn’thaditeasy.Wehadtoworktokeepfrombreakingeachother’snoses.Wehadputupourdukesonmorethanoneoccasionandalsowe’dtaken
oathsagainsteachotherandstompedhomeinafit;well,I’mtalkingaboutmyselfherebecauseitwasalwaysmehavingthefitanddoingthestompinganditwasalwaysmegoinghomefromRose’shousenottheotherwayaround.I’dmarchintothedenandpointingattheskyI’dsaytoMom,“Markmywords!ThatRoseandIarefinished,done,kaput.”MaybeMomwouldaskwhat
thetroublewasthistimeormaybeshe’dskiprightaheadtoDelonda’sLawsofLife,whichwererepeatedsooftenmysisterandIhadassignedthemnumbers.Weaskedthatinthefutureshesimplyholduptwofingersifshewantedtoremindusnottosmoke;oneifwe’dforgottenthereain’tnofreelunch.NumberfourwastheonethatmostoftenappliedtomyfriendshipwithRose:Isthis
thehillyou’regoingtodieon?IwouldshakemyheadbecausenumberfivewasThereisnevertherighthilltodieon.Momwasniceaboutitbutleftlittleroomforargument.IfIclompeddowntoMelinda’sandmademycasetoher,shewasevenlesssympathetic.SheadoredRoseandMaggieandPatrick,she’dbeentheirbabysitteratacriticaltimeintheirdevelopment,justlikeyou
havetoholdpuppiesclosetoyouforthefirstsixweeksorelsetheyturntocurs.Rosewasnotacur.IftherewasacurinthemixIpreferredshenotbesingledoutorcalledbyname.I’dpointtowardtheskyanddeclare,“Lindy!IamdonewithRoseasoftoday,”andMelindawouldsay,notevenlookingupfromhersewingmachineorfeedingAbby,whatevershewasdoing,“LuckyRose.God
knowswhysheeverlovedyouinthefirstplace.”Andthatwastheholytruth.
AssoonasIheardit,everytimeIhearditIturnedaroundandwentbacktoRose’shouseandwouldn’tyouknowsheactedasifnothinghadevergonewrongandsodidI.IfbeanbagshadbeeninvolvedIjustsettocleaningupthebeans.Isweptup,orRosedid,andthenwe’dputaBroadwaymusicalonthe
recordplayerandsingandsing.We’ddreamoutloudofhavingstraighthair,whatitwouldbeliketonotbreakallthefamilycombs,whowastoblameforhowourhairwasanyway.Shewasmytalkingfriend,
thebestgirlintheworld.Wewereoftenmistakenfortwins,welovedallthesamethings,wewereabsolutelynothingalike.IwasanexpertonthatRose,Icouldhave
testifiedincourtastohercharacterwithoutfearofperjury.ButeventhoughIwatchedhereverymoveandlivedinherhouseandwasraisedinnosmallmeasurebyherparents,somethingeludedme,Icouldn’tgetit.Icouldn’tunderstandhowshedidit—itbeingeverything,lifeitself.Ifourteacherssaid,“Thisistheassignmentandthisiswhenit’sdue,”Rosesimplydiditandshewasn’t
angryaboutitandshedidnotfuss.Heranswerswerecorrect,herhandwritingwasneatthoughtragicallyleft-handed.Shenevergotintroubleandtheteachersalwayslikedher(howthatwouldfeelI’dneverknow),anditseemedthatforRoseschoolwasasetofstairsshetrulyenjoyedclimbing;shewasalwayshappytoseewhatwasonthesixthfloorandthentheseventh.
IfithadonlybeenschoolIcouldhaveshruggeditoff,havinglongsinceadjustedtobothmyidiocyandmystatus,andalsoIwasnotpronetobeinghauntedbyfailure.Fortunately.ButRosewasalsogoodatgoingtochurchandbeingreligious—shemadeitseemeffortless—sheenjoyedit,shemeantit.AndshewasCatholic!Herchurchwasn’teveninMooreland,theyhadtogetupandget
dressedandwearpantyhose(justthefemales)andthendriveallthewaytoNewCastleinallmannerofweatherandturbulenceinordertositthroughaCatholicMass,whichwhatwasallthataboutanyway,andsheenjoyedit!IwenttochurchwithhereverychanceIgot,Istudiedonherandonthewholethinganditwasindescribablyweird,atleastforafaithlessbutnonetheless
Quakergirl.Icouldn’tkeepupwiththechoreographyofit,thestandingandkneeling,Icouldn’tfigureoutwhatIwassupposedtobesayingatanygiventime.IcouldneverseemtomemorizetheApollo’sCreed,asmanytimesasRosetriedtoteachittome.Quakerismhadgotteninme,blastit,andsoformeforalltimechurchmeantasilent,emptyroomandthehopeofanemptymindinto
whichtheSpiritmightpour.Iftherewasspeakingoutofthatsilence,noone,notevenGodhimself,couldpredictwhatwouldbesaid.IsatinSt.Anne’sandIlovedit,Ilovedit,whocouldnotlovesuchbeautyanddrama,whatmymothercalledtheChurch’smarchacrossTime?MarchingIunderstood.Mom’slongingIunderstood,thewaysheneverreallygotoverbeingexpelledfromthe
catechismforaskingtoomanyquestions.Shewastenyearsold.NomatterhowIlovedit,IknewinaninstantIcouldn’tdoit,Ineverwouldhavebeenabletodoit;silencewasmyfamiliar,andevenifIdidn’tadmititIknewthattheMeetingIwasfleeingfromhadauthorityoverme,silencehadauthorityovermethoughIsworeIwouldn’tallowit.Butobediencewasoutofthe
question.ObediencewasquitepossiblythehillIwoulddieon,whichIdidn’tmentiontoMomandassumedDadalreadyknew.Itwashishill,too.ButRosehadbeengivenan
astonishinggift,oneIenviedbutdidnotcovet,asthatwouldhavebeenstupidandacompletewasteoftime.Shehadthegiftofpiety,andofradiance.Itlookedtomeasiftheassignments,therules,the
orderoftheMass,andeventhegettingupandgoingwereforRoseasortoffreedom.Shesaid,“Tellmewhatyouwantandwhen,”andknowingtheanswerandcompletingthetaskwerelibertiesforher,notthedeath-by-a-thousand-cutstheywereforme.Shegoteverythingrightandshewasstillfree.IknowtheexactmomentI
realizedit.Wewereina
WorldHistoryclassandIwasseateddirectlybehindher.Therewasapossibilityourteacherwaslegallyinsaneandsomyrespectforhimwasunwavering.Thatdidn’tstopmefrompassingnotestothepeopleallaroundme,butnottoRosebecausethatwasn’therway.Thedayswhenitwouldhaverubbedagainstmelikeacatinasandpapersuit—thefactofthatnotbeingherway—just
fellfromme,Icouldfeelthemfalling.Ilookedatthebackofherhead,atthethickblackhairthatwouldneverbestraightandIthought,“Oh,sheisdeartome,”andeverafterIknewitwastrue.Neveragain,neverdidIimaginemylifewithoutRoseinit.Bythetimewewere
thirteenRoseandIhadbeenfriendsfornineyears.Nineyearsisaneffort,itrequires
commitment,andthatmuchhistorybecomesheavy,ithasweight.Therewereallthosenosebleeds(RosewastheonlypersonIeverknewwithchronic,scarynosebleeds,soIassumeditwasaCatholicthing);herstrangerelationshipto“whitechocolate,”whichwas,nodoubtaboutit,aleft-handedinvention.Weknewhundredsofsongsthatonlysoundedrightifwesangthem
together.Ihadmodifiedhercanopybedfromfourposterstothree,byjumpingoutofbedandswingingtothefloor.TheposterIwasswingingonbecameagiganticstickinmyhand.IhaddestroyedRose’sfurniture.Iwaswithherthedayshelearnedthatthekindergarten-agedboyoftheirclosestfamilyfriendshadbeenkilledinanaccidentsofreakishitdefiedallreason,andIwaswithherin
thedaysthatfollowed.Iknewthatononemorningherparentswokeupandturnedtogiveeachotherakisshelloandatjustthatmomenttheircat,Snowball,raisedhisheadbetweenthemandtheyendedupkissinghiscatcheeks.Thatstoryhadcausedmetofalldownlaughing.Thelistwasinfinite,whatIknewaboutRose,whatsheknewaboutme—ifcalledtotestifytohercharacterIcould
havedonesoforweeks,months,andKnowledgearrivedwithResponsibilityonitsback.Mylordthatcanmakeapersontired.Iwassparedthatweight
withJeanneAnn.Shewasajoytome,shewasanewwayofbeing,andlikeoxygen.Nightafternightsheletmegothrougheverysinglethingsheowned,everyitemintheroomshe’dlivedinallherlife,andaskheraboutit.
Wheredidthiscomefrom?I’dask,andshe’dsay,IgotthatinFloridawhenwewentthereonvacation,Iwasseven,Ihavepicturesofmyselffeedingseagulls,doyouwanttoseethem?Ididwanttoseethem.Nothingwasoff-limitstome,either;sheneveronceaskedmenottolookatsomething,nottoopenaboxoraletterorajournal.Wedidthatforhoursandthenwefriedbologna
andtookitinthelivingroom,whereJeanneAnnpracticedgymnasticswhilewewatchedhorrormoviesandteenagersdancingonTV.Itdidn’toccurtomethatgivenenoughtimeI’dknowheraswellasIknewRoseorJulieandthatourownhistorywouldbecomeaweightwe’deithershoulderandcarryforlife,asRoseandIwould,asitwouldbeforJulieandmenomatterwhat.Orelsewe’dput
itdown.WhowouldthinkofsuchathingwhilewatchingamovieaboutademonicbabycalledIt’sAlive?Whatdifferencedidallthatmake?JeanneAnnhadlong,straight,silkyblondhairthatpuddledonthefloorlikespilledcreamasshedidbackbends.Shewaspainfullyfunnyandprettyandshelovedtoeat—I’dnevermetanyonewhostayedsoclosetopleasure.Ifshewanteda
pizzashemadeone,andhermomkeptalltheingredientsonhandforthenextone.Samewithcakesandbrowniesandcookies.JeanneAnncookedandtoldmestoriesandIsatatthekitchentablesickfromlaughing.Iwasinjuredfromlaughing.Weateatallhoursofthedayandnight.Weturnedonherdisco-balllightinthelivingroomanddancedlikefoolsandsaidoutrageousthings
andgaveeachothernicknames.Weworematchingnecklacesanddividedawardrobebetweenus.Therewasnothingtoit;itwasaseasyasfallingoffabridge.AtJeanneAnn’shouse,orgoingsomewhereinthecarwithhermom,orwalkingdowntohersecretplacealongthecreekbed,IwasthehappiestI’deverbeen,everever.Weneverbickered—therewasnothing
tobickerabout.Thetricktosuchafriendshipisn’tatrickatall—youjusthavetohavethesamegoal,andwedid:tomaketheotherhappy,andtobetogether.Shecameoutofnowhere,andbythatImeanshelivedatacrossroadswheretherewerefourotherhousesscatteredaboutandthatwasit.Ifshe’dtoldmeshedidn’thaveanaddressIwouldhavebelievedherbutfollowedher,becausewho
knowswhereyouendupanyway,takingupwithsomeonenew?Wewerethirteen,andlituplikestars.
LawEnforcement
AftershebecameaMaster,MomtookherfirstjobteachingEnglishatahighschoolinUnionCity,averyfascinatingplaceasanyonefromIndianacantellyou.Itwaseitherasingletowncut
intwo,ortwodifferenttownswiththesamenamethathappenedtobeconnectedtoeachother,or.TherewasprobablyanotherwaytothinkaboutitbutIdidn’tknowwhatthatwas.AsIunderstoodityoucouldstandinaparticularplaceandstraddleanimaginaryline(youcouldn’tseeitbutitwasmostassuredlyreal)andoneofyourlegswouldbeinUnionCity,Indiana,andthe
otherwouldbeinUnionCity,Ohio.IndianaandOhioaretwoverydistinctstatesnomatterwhatpeopleontelevisionmaysay.Thefactthatasingletowncontainsbothisnotthepoint.WhatisthepointisthatUnionCitywaswaybiggerthanMooreland—thousands(threeorfour)ofpeoplelivedthere—andtheytookthismadnessperfectlyinstrideEVENTHOUGHIndiana
doesn’tbelieveinDaylightSavingsTimeandOhiodoes,andsoduringhalftheyearoneofyourlegswouldbeinthreeo’clockandonewouldbeinfour.Ohitwasvexing.Ibecameoverwhelmedwiththedesiretofindaplacedirectlyonthestatelineandputmybuttonit.Momentertainedthiswishandwelookedarounduntilwefoundadinerwebelievedwoulddothetrick,andItracedwhatI
believedtobethestatelineintoabooth,andindeeditwasrewarding.OnebuttcheekinIndiana,oneinOhio.Hoosiers,whenaskedwhattimeitwasinUnionCity,wouldask,“AreyouonGod’stime?”meaningours.Thehighschoolwhere
Momtaughtmademenotafraidofhighschool,becauseunlikewhenI’dvisitedBallStatewithherwhenIwasmuchyoungerandbeen
calledapygmy,inUnionCityeveryonewasnicetomeandbehavedasifIwerehuman.IwasespeciallyinlovewithtwoofMom’scolleagues,AlwinandTed.Alwinlookedexactlylikea
periodiccharacteronTheBeverlyHillbillies,Mr.Fahrquahr.Thismovedme.HedressedbetterthananyoneI’devermetandhedidsoeveryday.Heworetwo-toneshoes,andhadadifferentpair
tomatchallofthecolorsofhispants.WhenMomarrivedatworkeachmorningAlwinwouldglidedownthehallwaylikeFredAstaire,singing,“It’sde-light-ful,it’sdelect-able,it’sDe-lon-da.”Herownsong.Hehadbeenwritingonenovelforhiswholeadultlifeanditwasathousandpageslong—afictionalizedhistoryofthecanalsysteminIndiana.Mombroughtthefirstvolume
homeandreaditmoreslowlythanherusualpace;shealternatedreadingwithsighingandpressingherfingershardagainsthertemples.Iassumeditmustbeextraordinarilygood.WewereonceinvitedtoAlwin’shousefortea,anditwasaneye-popper.Helivedoutinthecountryinanoldhousehe’dturnedintoamansion.Iftherewereamuseumdevotedsolelytothegreatactsof
beautyontheIndiana/Ohioline,Alwin’shousewouldbethecenterpiece.Injustthebathroom—injustoneofthebathrooms,forinstance,becausetherewasmorethanone—thewallneartheceilinghadanicheiniteveryfootorso,likeshadowboxes.ForthelifeofmeIcouldn’tfigureoutwhereonefoundsuchawall.Andineachnichewasarealstatueofaman,sometimesjustahead,
sometimesawholebody,andoneofthemwasflatnakedandappearedtobepeelingoffasectionofhisownshoulder.HowIstared.Alwinhadmanythingsthat
mademecontemplatetheGoodLife,includingastuffedgreathornedowl,butitwaswhatheshowedusaswewereleavingthatstruckmespeechless.Behindthehousewasaminiatureversionoftheregularhouse,
askinnyversion,bricksandmetalroofandeverything.LookingatitfromtheoutsideIsawananswertoprayer,andtriedtoimaginesuchathinginourownyard:ashrunkenMoorelandhousecoveredwithvinylsidingandwithkitchenplumbingthatdrainedrightoutontothesidewalk.Itwouldbeminealone.IcoulddoanythingIwantedinthereandnoonewouldhaveanysay,andI
wouldhavemyfriendsoverandwewouldeatpopcornandcampfirefruitsandwiches.IwouldcovereveryverticalsurfacewithQueenpostersbecauseIhadrecentlydecidedtodevotemylifetothem,andIandmyfriendswouldmakecrazynoisesand…Alwinopenedthedoorandthereplicahousewasreallyanouthouse.Ismackedmyforehead.Evenbetter.
Tedwasthedramateacherandhemadealltheplayshappen.Hewasthecleanest-lookingpersonI’devermetexceptforRose,andlikeherhehadthestraightest,whitestteethonPlanetEarth.Theylookedlikeashiningwhitetoothbracelet.AndhewasalsolikeRose’smom,Joyce,inthathecoulddoanything,includingmakinghisownsuits—entiresuits—andalsohewasabrilliantcook
andhe,likeAlwin,livedinafinehouse.ButthebestthingaboutTedwasthatwhenhetalkedeverythinggotMAGNIFIEDandI’dneverhadthatfeelingbefore.Inmyexperienceifyouaskedagrown-upHoosieraquestion—anditcouldbeaboutanything—theanswerwouldbe“Itwasallright,”or“Itwasfine.”Therewasanunspokenrule(whichIdidn’trealizeuntilIsawitbroken)
againstsayinganythingordescribinganythingandmostespeciallyaboutgettingworkedupoveranything.ButTedwastheopposite.ThefirsttimewemethetoldmehehadawallinhishousepaintedwithascenefromGoneWiththeWind.HesaidthewordsandIgotaloopyfeelingjustfromhearingthem.Mywholebodyrememberedthemovie,howIsatwithoutmovingthrough
hourafterhourofit,includingthecommercials.Ithadmademeheartsickandfeverish,thecolorsandclothesandthelostnessofit,thewaythatworldwaslostandwouldnevercomeagain.AndinallthoseyearsinschoolIhadneverunderstoodonething,notasinglesolitarything,abouttheCivilWar,butafterGoneWiththeWindIfeltlikeI’dbeenthere.Historyclasseshadn’tgiven
meevenasmidgeofapicturetocarryaroundinsideme,notofthepeopleorthehousesoranything,justnamesIforgotassoonasIheardthem,anddates,numbers,thataddeduptonothingandsotheytoovanished.Butoncewe’dseenthemovieontelevisionRoseandItalkedaboutitconstantlyandshewentsofar—toofar,asshewaslikelytodo—astogetthebookandreadit,butIwasn’tthat
crazy.SoTedtoldmeaboutthe
wallinhishouseandmywholestomachareafloppedaroundlikeafish,andthenheaskedifI’dseenGoneWiththeWindandIwastakenabacktobeaskedaquestionbyanadultstrangerandsowelltrainedinnotsayinganythingthatIjustnodded,asifhe’daskedmeaboutFatAlbert.(IlovedFatAlbertbutnotinthesameway.)
Tedgrabbedmyhandsinhisandsaid,“Didn’titslayyou?Weren’tyouhappyandsadatthesametime?Willyoueverforgetonesinglemomentofit?”Yes,yes,andno.Icouldn’t
answer,butthatwasallright,becausehe’dmovedontotalkingaboutthecostumes—whomadethemandwhatthecostwas,andhowexpensiveitwouldbeifthemovieweremadetoday—andthe
scandalovercastingVivienLeigh.MomcouldtalktoTedjustfine,hertimingwasrightandeverything,butIseemedtobeonaslightdelay.IwantedtoseeTedeveryday,atAlwin’shouseifpossible,andjustlistenasheretoldthewholeworldtome,everythingI’dalreadydoneandseenandeverythingIwouldseeordo,soIcouldunderstand,eveninreverse,howamazingandgorgeous
andfabulousandinsaneandwretchedandperfectperfectperfectithadallbeen,andwouldbe.
Mom’scommutetoUnionCitywassolongshedidn’tgethomeuntillateintheeveningandshehadtoleaveeverymorningwhileitwasstilldark.Iwouldhavebeenhappyifshe’dstayedatthatschoolforever,buthersecond
yearasateachershegotthejobshewanted,teachingatourownschool,BlueRiver.Shecoulddrivethereinfifteenminutes,andwecouldridetogetherandI’dneverhavetotakethebus,andallthatwasgoodandIwashappyforher,butwhensheleftUnionCity,leftAlwinandTedandhersweet,funnystudentsandcamebacktoMooreland,backtoatownwithouttwotimezones,
everythingwentflatandunspokenagain.Imissedthewaythingshadbeen,evenbriefly,andIknowshedid,too.
BythetimeMoorelandwashitwithablizzardandAbbywasborn,MomwasteachingatBlueRiverandDad’sscheduleasadeputysheriffhadgrownentirelymysterious.Sometimeshehadthecar,33-55,and
sometimeshedidn’t.Heworkedmostdaysbutalsomostevenings,andwhowouldhaveeverpredictedsomethingashorribleasthis:onenightataBlueRiverhomebasketballgame,asacredoccasionthedetailsofwhichIcoulddescribeinanovelofathousandpagesandwhichwouldtakemywholeadultlifetowrite,IlookedupfromwhereIwassittingwithJulieandwhomdidIseebut
myfather,inuniform.Hewasthecountysheriff’sdeputyassignedtopatroltheschoolandtheparkinglotduringthebasketballgame.IwasinatrapandIknewit.MothertaughtattheschoolIattended,whichwasalreadygoingtosquashmystylesomethingfierce.Andhere,inmyleisuretimeandataneventwhereIwassupposedtobeleftALONE,mydadwaswalkingaroundcarrying
agun.“Haveyouever?”Iasked
Julie,whoshookherheadno.IclosedmyeyesandimaginedmyminiaturehousewithitspiesandQueenpostersandloudnoises,andthenrememberedthattheoriginalhadbeenatoilet.IputmyheaddownonmyfoldedarmsandJuliepattedmeontheback.
Ifmyfamilycouldberepresentedwithdifferent-coloredblipsonatimeline,therewouldbeyearsandyearswheretherewerefourallhuddleduptogether,althoughit’sbestnottodwelltoolongonthatpartbecauseitwouldhavebeenbeforeIwasbornandithardlymakesanysenseanyway.Followingthatwouldbejustafewyearswheretherewerefive,andsomeofthattimewewerein
apilebutformostofthemthebrother-coloredblipwaspullingaway.Thenhewasgone.Backtofour,butagain,onlybriefly.Thesisterblipmovedaway,ifnotsofar.AndforsometimeduringtheyearstherewerethreeofusIdidn’tnoticeachangebecauseit’sdifficulttothinkaboutwhatisn’tpossible.ButonedayIwokeupanditwasclear:mymomhadaworldshehadstruggledmightilyto
obtain,andshewassomeoneinit.Thepeople,thebooks,thestudents(sureenough,atBlueRivertherewereamazingfabulouswonderfulsmartfunnystudents,too,andMomhaddrawnallofthemtoherlikethePiedPiper),thesethingsaddeduptosomethinggood.Andmydadhadaworld,too,andhewasimportantinit.HehadfriendsIbarelyknew,anditwasincreasinglyhardto
figurewherehewasatanygiventime(althoughifamoretrueandhonesthistoryofthemancouldbewritten,saybythespiritwhopresidesovertimelinesandfactsandwhonevergetsthingswrongorconfused,Ithinkthatbookwouldincludepeopleandadventuresnooneeverknewaboutbuthim).Theyhadworlds,buttheyweren’tthesameone—notevenclose.Sotherewouldbealittle
pieceofthisvisualaid,afewinchesatmost,whereIthoughttherewerethreeofusbutIwaswrong.AtbesttherewasMomandmetogether,andsometimes—notnearlysooften—Dadandme.ButmostofthetimeIwassittingtherealone,anddidn’trealizeit.Amercy,thatignorance.
Menbecometheirjobs—thisissomethingprobablyeveryoneknewbutme.
Julie’sdadwasafarmer,andhewasafarmerallthewaythrough.Rose’sdadsoldinsurance,andtonameonlyonewaythatfamilygotitright,theywereinsured.Butmydadworkedinafactoryandwasn’tafactoryworker,andthenhewasretiredmorethantwentyyearsbeforeretirementage.AslongasI’dknownhimhehadbeennothingbuthimself,anunnameablequantity.My
momandMelindaandIwerealwaystryingtolabelhim:wesaidhewasamountainman.Wehadapunchlinewemadeupandrepeatedtoeachotherwithresignation:Well,he’snoJohnWalton.Eventhenwemustnothaveunderstoodmuch,orelsetherewasacategorynoonehadbotheredtoexplaintome.HewasamountainmanbutnotthesortonWalton’sMountain;ahusbandand
fatherbutnotlikethat.Hewasn’tGrizzlyAdamsorDanielBoone.Hewasn’tanyoneontelevision,asamatteroffact,soIdon’tknowhowIcouldhavebeenexpectedtofigurehimout.WhatIdidknow,whatI’d
alwaysknown,wasthatattheFatherplaceinourfamilytherewasabright,knottycontradiction.Hisruleswereironclad,eveniftheyweren’tthesameasotherFathers’
rules,andhisauthoritywascomplete.Secretscouldn’tbekeptfromhim,althoughhecoulddemandsecrecyfromus,andheseemedtoseethroughwalls.Buthehimselfwaslawless.Hewouldn’tbendtoanymanoranycodeandnotoncedidthatpresidingspiritfindmydadonhiskneesbeforeGod.InourhouseBobJarviswasthelawandhewasalsooutsideitandcoulddoanythinghe
pleased.Forthecountlessmillionsofthingsherefrainedfrom,weweregrateful.AndifhehadaGod,itsurelookedtomelikehisGodwaseitherinsidehimorwashim;eitherwayhewasanoutlaw,whichisitsownkindofhonest.Butthatuniformchangedhim.
DadhadfoundParchmanandhiswifeandthenhefoundanothercouplehelikedalot,
andhetalkedaboutthemandMomlistenedpolitely—shewasapolitepersonandsowashe—andIignoredtheconversationbecauseIdidn’tknowhowmanymorenewpeopleIcouldtakein.Whenwewereinvitedovertothiscouple’shousetoplaycardsonenightIsaidnothanksandspentthenightwithJeanneAnn.ThenextdayIcamehomeandaskedMomhowithadgonewithDad’snew
couplefriendsandshesaid,“Itwasfine.”“Didyoulikethem?Were
theyfun?”“Theywereverynice.”“Whatdidyoutalkabout?”“Honey,”Momasked,
puttingdownherpen,“don’tyouhavesomethingyouneedtobedoing?”Ilookedaround.“Areyou
talkingtome?”“Homework?
Correspondence?Haveyou
thoughtaboutcleaningyourroom?”IstaredatMotherasif
lookingatheralienreplica.Homeworkandcorrespondence?Ihadnevercleanedmyroomonetimeinmylifeaswasabundantlyclearfromwalkingupthestairs,somethingMomdidn’tdo,hallelujah.ThatroomwasbeyondhopeorhelpandI’dthoughtitwisetosurrender.“Actuallymyonlyplanwas
tositandchatwithyou.”“Doyouremember,”Mom
asked,turningapageofthepapershewasgrading,“whatIusedtosaybeforenapping?”OfcourseIdid,itwas
numberseven.“‘I’llbeasleepifyouneedme,sotrynottoneedme.’”“Yes,that’sit.”Wesatafewmoments.She
finishedgradingonepaperandpickedupanother.
“Dotheyhaveanykids?”Iasked,drummingmyfingersonmyknee.Momraisedherhead,
closedhereyes.Ihadcausedherslightpain,whichwassometimesnecessaryforgettingherattention.“One,”sheanswered.“Agirl.She’sayearaheadofyouinschool,Ithink.Ibarelysawher—she’stinyanddarkandshemovedthroughthehouselikeaghost.”
“Aghost,yousay.”“Yes.WhatifIgaveyou
money?”Inodded.“Thatwould
work.”Itookhertwodollarsandjumpedonmybike.ItwasspringinIndianaandwe’dsurvivedtheworstblizzardsinceHomosapiensbecamefarmers.Itookthelongwaytothedrugstore,iftherecouldbesaidtobealongwayinMooreland,justtofeeltheair.AfterIgotmy
lemonphosphateandbarbecuepotatochips,IthoughtI’dheadonovertoMelinda’sandcheckonthebabies.ThenI’dgohomeandcallJeanneAnnandI’daskhertotellmeeverythingshe’ddonesinceI’dleftherhousethatmorning,andshe’dprobablystartbysayingsomethinglike,“Whataboutpeeing?Doyouwantthepeeinginthestory?”Wetalkedonthephoneforhours
thatway.
ThenextmorningIwenttochurchwithMombutonlybecauseIhadtoandalsotoseeJoshandAbby.Nowthatthereweretwoofthem,Melindawasevenlaterthaninyearspast;ifthepatterncontinuedshewouldeventuallyshowupinthelateafternoonwithherperfectlydressedandunbearablysweetchildrenandtheywouldhave
thesanctuaryalltothemselves.AssoonasservicesendedI
wasupandoutthedoor,ahabitI’dpickedupfromtheCatholics.AtSt.Anne’stherewasnolollygagging.Thosepeoplewereefficient,whichIappreciated.Thesacramentshadbeenreceived,theirbusinesswasconcluded,andtheycouldn’tseetheparkinglotsoonenough.IheardMomcallmyname
fromthechurchdoorway,aplacewhereshelollygaggedwithfrighteningregularity.Oh,shetalkedtoeveryone.Shesqueezedhandsandofferedherprayersandnoddedsagelywhentoldofanaunt’skidneyproblems.Icouldn’timaginesuchpatienceorwhatwasinitforMother,itjustmadenosenseatall.InordertobehavereligiouslyIwouldhavetobedruggedandinjectedwith
plasticandeventhenI’dprobablyendupdraggingmyselftomycaronmymannequinarmsbeforethelastFriendwasassuredofmyongoingconcern.“Whaaaaaaaat,whatwhat
what?”Isaid,walkingbackupthechurchsteps.“Waitformeaminute,”
Momsaid,turningbacktothelittleclutchofpeoplewhocouldneverletthethingend.“Whywhywhy?Why?”
“Excuseme,”shesaid,andthentome,“Ihavetoruntotheschooltofinishmylessonplans.Gohomeandchangeyourclothesandyoucangowithme.”Itwastempting.Nowthat
MomtaughtatmyschoolIhadaccesstoitafterhours,whennoonewasthere,notevenajanitor.Anemptyschoolisn’teventhetiniestbitthesameasaschoolwithpeopleinit,don’tletanyone
tellyoudifferent.Emptyschoolsarevastandhollowandspookyeveninbroaddaylight;anemptygymnasiumisterrifyingandbestavoided.Butthemilesofhallway,thefloorswaxedslickasaskatingrink?Mom’swheelychair?Still,itwasSundayandspringtimeandaschoolisaschool.“DoIhaveto?”“No,yourdadsaidhe’dbe
hometoday.Youcanstay
withhim.”Ijumpeddownthestairs
andheadedtowardthehouse.Ididn’tquitebelieveit,thatDadwouldbehome.
ItwasSundayandspringtimeandbeautifuloutsidesoofcourseIwaswatchingtelevision.Iwasn’tenjoyingit,however,becauseDadwaspacinglikealioninacage.“Doyouwantmetosee
whatelseison?”Iasked.
“Nawno,no.”Hewavedthequestionaway.Hedisappearedintootherrooms,reappearedwearingsomethingslightlydifferent,asifhecouldn’tgetcomfortable.Evenhishairseemedagitated.HewasrestlessbynatureandI’dseenthesamelookonhisfacehundredsoftimesinthepast.Intheeveningshe’dcomehomefromworkorfromwhereverhewentwhenhe
didn’tworkanymoreandhewouldseemalittlepanic-stricken,likehowwashegoingtogetthroughallthecominghours,obligatedtobeathomewithhisfamilybuthisfamilywasanunreachableandpolitewomaneitherreadingabookoratschool,andadaughter.Me.Eventuallyhe’dgiveupandsitdowninhischairandwatchtelevisionlateintothenight.Sometimesheslept;
oftenhewasupatthree,fourinthemorningandhe’dgooutsidetopace.Theyardandgardenwerealsocages.FinallyIheardhimgather
uphiskeys,hiswallet,hisgun.Hecouldn’tstay.“Ihavetorunsomeerrands,gogetinthesquadcar,”hesaid,countingthemoneyinhiswallet.Healwayshadmoney.Errands?“I’mprettymuch
dandyrightwhereIam,Bob.”
“Getinthesquadcaranddon’tcallmeBob.”“CanIjustcallJeanneAnn
fir—?”“Zip.”Awarning.“I’mup,I’mgoing,sheesh.
DoIhavetowearshoes?”Heglancedatme,the
secondwarningglance,whichisonlypossibleifyouhaveacertainsortofeyeballandhecertainlydid.“Don’tpushme,now.”“Fine!I’llwearshoes!I’m
notpushing!”Irolledoffthecouchandcouldn’tfindmyshoes.“Don’ttellmeyoucan’t
findyourshoes.”“Allright!Ifoundthem!
I’mheadingoutthedoor!”Icarriedtheshoesinsteadofputtingthemon.Mybrotherandsisterhaddoneit,too,hadstuckanarmthroughthebarsjusttoseewhathewoulddo.Wouldheslapit,wouldhetearitoff,couldthey
retreatintime?Theresultshadnotbeenfavorableforthem,mybrotherandsister,onafewoccasions,butitappearedIwasinadifferentcategory.IknewjusthowfartogoandIstoppedbeforehehadsomethingtoprove.Itnevercrossedmymindtoactuallymakehimangry.Thatwasn’tit.Hecouldbesooppressivewastheproblem,andthenhe’dgoneandhadthreechildrenwho
didn’ttaketobeingoppressed.DanandMelindahadgoneaboutitboldlybutIhadthemtolearnfrom,andIwasbecomingtoowide-eyedandquicksilvertocatch.MostlyIjuststoodoutsidethecageandwavedtohim,Hello,hello,andhewatchedmewithhislion’seyesbutletmelive,becauseherememberedme.
“Wherearewegoing?”I
asked.Ihadonebarefootonthedashboardofthesquadcar,whichwasbrazenbutI’dgottenusedtocruisers.They’dlosttheirmystiqueovertime,andthisoneinparticularhadcometoseemlikejustacar,exceptitsquawked.“NewCastle,”hesaid,
adjustingthedispatcher’sradiosignal.IcouldseeweweregoingtoNewCastlebutIdidn’tsayso.AndIdidn’t
askifwecouldlistentomusicbecauseIknewwhattheanswerwas.Musicwasinthepastandnowwelistenedtothedispatcherspeakinacodedmonotone.Dadhadlovedpolicescannersallmylife—therehadalwaysbeenoneinthehouse.HealsowentthroughaperiodoflisteningtoCBradiochatter,whichIfinallytoldMotherIwouldpaygoodmoneytohaveexplainedtome.
Shedidn’tthinkaboutitforevenasecond.“It’shisformofgossip,”shesaid,andwentrightonknitting.Dadwouldhavehatedthat
answerifhe’dheardit,butforthelifeofmeIcouldn’tseehowshewaswrong.Thetimeshe’dshushedusinordertoheartheaddressofafireoradomesticdisturbanceorapublicintoxicationwerecountless.Assoonasheheardtheroadandthe
crossroadhe’dsay,“That’saPeckinpaugh,”andhewasalmostalwaysright.Helikedtoknowthings,that’sall.
Dadpoppedintothejailandshotthebreezeforawhile.IstayedinthecarandlistenedtothemusicradiountilJoeHarris,thesheriff,cameoutincivilianclothesandorderedmetostepoutofthecarandputmyhandsonthehood.Ihoppedoutand
huggedhim,thensluggedhim.Ilovedthatmanlikecrazy,hewassomekindofperfect.Joewasgreatbigandhandsome,bluffandkindheartedandfunny.Ilovedhiswifeandallhiskids,especiallyhisdaughterJamiewhowasoneofMelinda’sbestfriends.IfiguredtherewasalotIdidn’tknowandyetitseemedpossibleJoewaslikeJohnWalton,butwithasense
ofhumor.Joeissuedsomeorders
aboutchangingmybehavior,toldmehewaslettingmegowithawarning,asDadhad.“Don’tletthishappenagain,”hesaid,offeringmeahandshake.“Youwon’tcatchmenext
time,”Isaid.Joeliftedmebymyarmpits
one,two,threetimesintotheairasifIweighednothing,putmedown.“Youaresome
kindoftrouble,”hesaid,andheadedbackintohisoffice.Itwasacompliment,comingfromhim.
“Wherearewegoingnow?”“Ineedtostopandsee
someone.”Dadwasn’tsomuchthe
sorttodoregularerrands.Hedidn’tgotogrocerystoresordepartmentstores.Hewasn’tthebanktype,really.BeforeMomhadadriver’slicense
hetookuseverywhereandthatseemedtosuithim—hewaslikethecaptainofaraggedylittlearmy,andwewentwhereheledus,becausehedidallthedriving.Andthatgotpassedalong,too,becausemybrotherbecamethedriverinhisfamilyandsodidmysisterandithadalreadystartedinme.IcouldtellIwasnevergoingtoletanyoneelsedrive,evenifImarriedoneofJoe
Harris’sdrop-deadshockinglyhandsomeandmasculinesons.EventhenI’dholdthekeys.NowMomwasforever
attendingtosomething,goingtosomebankorinsuranceagent.ThiswasasentenceIwasnotunaccustomedtohearing:“Honey,doyouwanttoridewithmetothebank?”ThankgoodnessIwas
speedyenoughtoask,“Whichbank?”
AndMomwouldsay,sortofoutoftheedgeofhermouthandturningaway,“TheoneinUnionCity.”“TheoneinUnionCity!
Fortheloveofthesweetlittlesavior!WHYdoyoustillhaveanaccountinUnionCity?!?ItisinanotherSTATE,Delonda!”Sometimesshehesitated;
onceinawhileshefabricated.Buttheanswerwasalwaysthesame.“Ilike
thosepeopleatthatbank.They’reverykind.”Sheevengavealittleladylikesniff,asifsheweredismissingtheHelp.Iwouldshakemyhead,
giveaclickofthetonguetoregistermydisapproval.Bankinginanotherstate.ItwasjustthesortofthingDadwouldn’thavetolerated,ifhe’dstillbeentheonlyonewithkeys.
WewereatthehouseoftheNewFriends.Ifigureditoutjustaswepulledupinfront.ThiswaseithertheNewFriends’houseoritbelongedtoDifferentNewFriends,becauseI’dneverseenitbeforeandhadmaybeneverevenbeenonthisstreetforvisiting.Ilookedaround—that
wasn’tquitetrue.Theroadwewereonwasdividedbyoneofthealphabetstreets;
ParchmanlivedonIAvenuebutthiswasn’tI.Ontheoppositesideoftheavenue,theroadcurvedandvanishedintoatangleofgiantoldtrees.Thehousesovertherewereprobablythemostbeautifulintown,andtheybelongedtothatparticularkindofmoneywhichwaswhatmyGrandmotherMildredhadandwhatmymomhadcomefrom.Itwentbackgenerationsandits
sourcewasfoggy.IrememberedMomtellingmeaboutloungingaroundwithherwealthycousinduringthesummer,howtheyhadplannedtojointhesamesororityatIU-Bloomington;thecousineducatedMotherinexactlytherightchinatoown,whichsterlingpattern,everythingsuchpeopleknow.Butithadn’tturnedoutthatwayinMother’slife,marriedatseventeentosomeoneshe
musthavethoughtsheknewwheninfactshedidn’tknowhimatall.TherewereafewyearswhenMomcouldn’tfacethosecousinsatall,andthenonedayshewasobligatedtoattendafamilyfuneral.ShewalkedinwithDanandMelinda—DantheageJoshwasnow,Melindainherarms.Idon’tknowforsurewhatMomwaswearingorhowshelookedbutIhaveagoodidea.Thecousin
lookedupandsawherandsaid,sothewholeroomcouldhear,“Why,Delonda,Ithoughtyouweredead.”Ihadbeentooneofthose
housesontheothersideoftheavenue,withGrandmotherMildred.We’dvisitedoneofheroldladies,achurchfriendoradistantrelativeandithadbeentiresome.Thehousesonthissideweremuchmoremodestandsmallandboring-
looking,butthestreetwasstillpretty.Cherrytreesweredroppingblossomsonthewell-tendedlawns.IslippedonmyshoesandfollowedDadinside.
Thehousewasnothinglikeitseemedfromtheoutside.Thelivingroomwasaseaofdarkred,thickcarpeting,acoloroutoftime.Theroomwasfurnishedinantiques,unusualones.I’dlivedwithmydad
longenoughtoknowthatallthepieceswerefineandvaluable.Therewasaredvelvethorsehairsofawitharmsthatloweredtomakeitabed.Besidethesofaaveryoldteddybearsatonatricycle,surroundedbywoodenblocks.Atallchinacabinetheldanentirecollectionofrubywarebehinditscurvedglassdoors.DadaskedMrs.Friend
whereMr.Friendwasand
shesaidhe’dbeencalledintowork.Againstthewallsatapump
organ.Icouldn’timaginehowolditwas.Thekeyboardwasshort,onlyfortykeys,andthetoneswerecontrolledbyknobsyoupulledoutorpushedinlikeathrottle.Therewasacarvedwoodenstoolwitharedvelvetseatforthepersonwhocouldfigureouthowtoplayit;justlookingattheplaceafoot
wouldgotodepressthebellowsmademeshakemyhead.IwasintroducedtoMrs.
Friendandweshookhands;hernailswerethelongestI’deverseen,andpaintedaglitterywhite.Mrs.Friendhadadaughterayearolderthanme?Itwashardtobelieve.Whoknewmotherscouldbeso…notmotherly-looking?Soyoung?Shewaspetite(Iwasmanyinches
talleralready),withlongblackhair.Blackeyes.Atan.Sheworeafinelywovenwhiteturtleneckwithshortsleeves,blackpants,blackshoes.“Whydon’tyoucomein
andhavesomecoffeeanyway?”shesaid,andDadsaidokay.Shewentintothekitchen
andDadstoodinthekitchendoorway,talkingtoher.Ilookedaround,nottouching
anything,justwanderedfromonelovelythingtoanother.InthediningroomareaIsawanicechest,theoriginalrefrigerator.Theoutsideappearedtobeashwood—IwonderedifDadhadnoticedthis—andtherewereseparatedoorsthatopenedwithmetalhandlesyoupulledtowardyou.Iopenedthetoponeandsawthatthewoodwasaframebuiltaroundadense,gray,unusual
substance—notquitemarbleormetalbutlikeacombinationofthetwo.Itfeltlikeaveryoldicecubetray,thekinddesignedbySatan’slittleicecubetraytrolls.OneChristmasEveatRose’spartyI’dbeentryingtocracksuchanevilthingandcouldn’tgetthemetalhandletogiveatall.Iputitdownonthecounterandheldoneendwhilepullingwithallmymight.Itdidn’tmoveandit
didn’tmove,andthenitslammedbackwardandpinchedapieceofmyhandcompletelyoffandIstillhadascarbutwhocared,Ilikedscars.Thetopdooroftheice
chestclosedwithasmoothclick.Itwasaflawless,amazingthing.Mrs.Friendcameoutofthe
kitchenandgavemeatallglassofCokefilledwithicecubes.Ilikedbothscarsand
icecubesverymuch.Ithankedher,andsaid,“Thisisbeautiful,”restingmyhandontheglassysmoothashoftherefrigerator.“Thankyou,Ithinkso,
too,”shesaid,andtoldmewherethey’dfoundit,whatluckithadbeen.Shecalledherdaughter,whowasbehindacloseddoorlisteningtomusicIcouldhearthroughthewalls.WhenthedooropenedIsawthatGhostGirl
hadwithhertwosmalldogs,onewithalotofhanging-downgrayfurthatmademenervous,andadachshund,theonlybreedofdogthateverbitme.Thedaughtercameoutandshewasevensmallerthanhermother,andlookedemaciated;sheseemedtoweightheequivalentofoneofmylegs.Evensoshewasstriking.Herhair,too,waslongandblack,butthickerthanMrs.Friend’s,andwhen
sheturnedherheadacertainwayitwassoblackithadabluecast,blackerthanLindy’s,even.Hereyeswereanearlysolidblack,andIwonderedifanylightcouldgetthroughthem.WewentintoherroomanditwouldhavebeencleartoeventhemostincompetentdetectivethatGhostGirlwasinsaneforKiss.TherewassomuchKissstuffinthatroomitlookedlikeacheckerboard.Andthat
wasthemusicplaying,too.GhostputmynewQueendevotiontoshame,andIcouldseeIwasgoingtohavetouptheamperage,orwhateverthatphrasewasmydadused.Andperhaps—thishurt,butmightbenecessary—Icouldn’talsogivemyhearttoSteveMartin.Ihadonerecordofhis,Let’sGetSmall,andmydailymusicorderwasANightattheOpera,bothsides;Let’sGet
Small.ADayattheRaces;Let’sGetSmall.AndthejustreleasedNewsoftheWorld,whichthatunpredictableJulieNewmanhadgottenmeformybirthdayeventhoughIhadn’tsaidawordtoheraboutmyQueenconversionandnevertookthoserecordstoherhouseandsoshehadjustreachedupintotheairandpulleddownthebestpresentI’dgottenforalongtime.NewsoftheWorld,
whichwasstunninglygood;Let’sGetSmall.Ihadthewholerecordmemorizedandcouldquotefromitatanyspot,afactwhichamazedMotherandcausedMelindatothreatenmewithviolencenoteveninventedyet.“Doyouthinkit’spossible
tobetruetotwodifferentthings,abandandacomedian,”IaskedtheGhostGirl,sittingonherbed,“ordoIhavetopickone?”
Sheheldthenervouslittledogs.Thegray-hairedoneshookandIcouldn’tfigureoutwhereitsfacewasandIhopedtheystayedovertherewithherbecausemyinstinctshadsomehowgottentheideathatallshrunkendogswerewormyandIcouldn’tstopthinkingiteventhoughthehouseIwassittinginwasimmaculate.Mrs.Friendwasnotinanywaythewormy-dogtype.Andyet.
“Idon’tknow,”GGsaid,hervoicesosoftIcouldbarelyhearher.Shehadtheaccent,too,theIndianahillbillytwangmymomhadtoldmeawriternamedKurtVonneguthadcomparedtothesoundofamonkeywrenchbeingthrownintoamovingengine.Hedidn’tlikeit,waswhatIreadthere.MyowninflectionstendedtobelessIndianaandmoreKentucky,somethingI’d
pickedupfromMomMaryandDadandIdon’tknowwhere-all,butIhadtopaycloseattentionorIsoundedlikesomeonemarriedtoherfirstcousin,bothofusthechildrenoffirstcousins.“I’veonlygottheone,”GG
said,andwhenIrealizedshewastalkingshecontinued,“band.”“Well,you’reprobably
right.”WhichwastruebutmaybeifIconsideredthe
problemwhilelisteningtoSteveMartinthatwouldhelpmedecide.Shedidn’ttalkmuchand
shewasveryghostybutIcouldseethattheNewFriends’Daughterwasassweetandgenuineasapersoncanbe,ifthatpersonalsohappenstobesosadshewantstodieanddoesn’thaveonesinglewordtoexplainwhyitisso.I’dnevermetasadderpersoninmylife,not
atafuneral,notevenatthenursinghomewhereIsometimesplayedthepianoformybrotherwhilehepreachedandledhymns.ThosenursinghomepeoplehadbeentheundisputedchampionsofsaduntilImettheGhostGirl,who,liketheoldones,stirredawholelotofconfusionintohersadness.Shedidn’tknowhowtotakeeventheverynextstep,itseemed,andIlikedher
instantlyandwishedIwassmarterandknewsomethingtosay.ButIdidn’tknowanything.Neitheroneofusdid,butatleastIfeltfineaboutitandassumedI’dknowmorelater.“Ishouldprobablyseeif
Dad’sreadytogo,”Isaid,standingup.“Itwasnicemeetingyou.”“You,too,”Ithinkshesaid,
butshedidn’tmovefromwhereshesathuddledwith
thetremblingdogs.
Theyweresittingatadiningroomtableinasectionofthelivingroomthathadbeenseparatedbyawallthatstoppedaboutfourfeetoffthefloorandwasconnectedtotheceilingbyblackpolesandwidelyspacedlattice,allaroundandthroughwhichivyandsomeotherplanthadwoventomakeagreenwall.Ilookeddownwherethetwo
partsmettoseewheretheivywasplantedanditturnedouttobeinthewallitself,whichwashollowandfilledwithdirt.Peoplethoughtofthemostamazingthings.“Sitdown,Zip,andletme
finishmycoffee.”Isatdownacrossfrom
Dad.ItoldMrs.FriendthattheGhostGirlwasverynice,andsheagreedthatherdaughterwasnice.SheturnedbacktoDadandthey
continuedwhatthey’dbeentalkingaboutwhenIcameout,whichturnedouttobealongstoryofDad’s,involvingsomemayhemhe’dgottenintowithParchmanandhowthey’dnarrowlyescapedit.IwaswatchingDadtalkjustasIalwayshad,whensomethingcaughtmyeye—Iwasn’tsureeventhenwhatitwas.Forallintentsandpurposestherewasnothingtosee.Hewaswearingoneof
hisfavoritethree-buttonsportshirts—itwasasilkycottonthatclungtohisbroadshouldersandchest—ofthepalestseafoamgreen,whichshowedoffhisdarkskinandthebarelydiscerniblegreenflecksinhisdarkeyes.(Myfather’seyesweredarkbrown,mymother’swereanicygreen,anditseemedsomeonewaskeepingscoreamongtheirchildren:Dan’seyesweredarklikeDad’s,
Melinda’swereajewel-likegray/green,andmine—Iwasunexpected—wereanexactcrossbetweenthetwo.Sometimestheyweregreen,sometimestheywerebrown.Itwasn’tright.)TherewasnothingtoseeandyetIfrozeandstaredathim.Hewascompletelyrelaxed—thelioninhimwasnowheretobeseen.Andiftherewasnolion,therewasnocage.Hereachedthefinale,the
greatlinethathadbeenspokenbyParchmanbutwasevenfunniercomingfromDad,andMrs.Friendletherheadfallbackagainstherchairandshelaughedandlaughedthewaysomeladiesdo;therewasn’tanythingrestrainedinit,andrightatthatsecondIknew.Iknewabsolutelyandwithoutaflickerofdoubt,justthewayIknewhowmanypennieshadbeeninthatjarandwhen
thefirstsnowwouldfall.IwouldnothavesaidIdoubteditifademandwasmadetomeatgunpoint.Dadwaslaughing,too,sohardhiseyeswerealittletearyandIcouldseethathewashappy,ashehadbeenwithParchmanandLibra.Happinesswasnothisdailystate.Beforethatday,athisverybestheseemedcontent,oratbriefpeace.Hewasanaturalman,afterall,and
naturewasalwaysrightthere,allaroundus,andheknewtowalkrightintoit.Therewastheonecritical
thingIknewforcertain,buttherewereaworldofthingsIdidn’tknowatall,andagoodthing,too.Ididn’tknowthatIwouldneveragainseemyfather’sfootprintsinthesnowofourbackyard,theonesthattracedhispathawayfromthehouseandbackagainhoursbeforeIwokeup.Hisgarden
andfruittreeswouldgountendedanddie;hislittletiltytoolshedwouldrarelybeenteredagain.Weturnedthewoodenhandlethatheldthedoorclosedandleftit;aslongasitstoodthesmellneverdisappeared—hissmellofbeeswaxandtraps,ofleatherandrustandoilinarealoilcanlikethekindtheTinMancarried.Ididn’tknowthetimewouldcome,andmuch,muchsoonerthan
Iwouldhavebelievedpossible,whenMomandIwouldmovethepianooveragainstthewallclosesttomyparents’bedroom,andnightafternight—becauseshecouldn’tsleep,shethoughtshe’dneversleepagain—I’dplaythepianoforanhour,twohours,andshewouldlistenontheothersideofthewall.Nobodyknowsthosethingsinadvance,andcertainlynoonecouldhave
predictedthatbeforethatveryyearwasthroughIwouldbejudgedathreattothestateofthenewunion,becauseamongotherthings,havingmeanywherenearwasnodifferentthanhavingDelondaJarvisinthehouse.IlookedlikehimbutIsoundedlikeher,andIwouldbeexiledwithavengeance,stillthirteen.WestoodtoleaveandI
toldtheNewFriendithad
beenapleasuremeetingher,IthankedherfortheCoke.DadandIwentoutandgotinthehotsquadcar.Hewasstillchucklingasherolleddownthewindowsandflippedtheairconditioneronhigh;webelieved,heandI,inhavingbothkindsofair.Stillinthespiritofthevisit,heaskedifI’dliketogopasttheTrojanDrive-ThruandgetacherryCokeandIsaidnoforthefirsttimeinhistoryandsowe
headedhome.IneversaidawordonthedrivebutIdon’tthinkhenoticed.Thedispatcherreportedthegossipinshortburststhatmademejump.
Athomehepacedandchain-smokedanddroveawayagainandagain,andthentheworstthinghappenedandIgotsickandstayedhomefromschool.Itwasatough
call—doyouleavethedaughteralone(she’sthirteen,afterall)whenshe’ssick,particularlyifallherlifeyouhavebeentheonewhocaredforherwhentheSevenBeautifulPrincessesoftheSevenBeautifulKingswerenolongerHealthyWithinHer?Okay,soyou’renoJohnWaltonbutyouare,orhavebeentothischild,amostexcellentgoodfatherwhoissometimesinareasonably
badmood.Whattodo?Hecompromisedand
stayedwithmebutcalledhertwohundredtimes.IfIwalkedinthelivingroomhehungupthatinstantandaskedwhatIwasdoing.“I’mlookingformybook.”AssoonIwalkedbackinthedenhedialedthephoneagain,anditwasn’tasifIcouldmissit,becauseforsomescrewballreasonwhenyoudialedthephoneintheliving
room,thedialonthephoneinthedentickedthenumbers’shadowpath.Andviceversa.MomusedtosaythatMickeyMouseranourphonecompany,butitturnedouthe’dmadethephones,too.Aftermysoapoperaswere
overIwentintothelivingroomtoread,andDadhungupasfastasacat,thenmovedintothedenanddialed.
AssoonasMomgothomethatafternoonheleftonurgentbusiness.HisbusinesswasalwaysurgentandhewasalwaysleavingsoMomdidn’tnoticeathing.Shesatdownonthecouch,sighedwithweariness,andtookastackofpapersoutofhersatchel.Iwaited.Idrummedmyfingers.“Mom,Dadishavingan
affair.”Launchingthingsoutofthinairisgood,I’vefound.
Itdoesn’tlessenthestingbutatleastitgetsthingsgoing.Shestaredatmeamoment,
loweredthepapershewasgrading.“Whywouldyousaysuchathing?Whywouldyousaysomethinglikethataboutyourfather?”Iswallowed.Mythroat
hurt.“Becauseit’strue.”“Why?Howdoyouknow
it’strue?”“BecauseIsawitandI
know.”
“Yousawwhat?Whatevidencedoyouhave?”Herposturewasstiffandshewasfoldingastudent’spaperintwo.WhatevidencedidIhave?I
couldn’tputitinwords,thatithadbeenaredgumballandcouldn’tpossiblyhavebeenanyothercolor.“Hemakeslotsofphonecalls.”“Yourfatheroftentalkson
thephone.Hecallshismothereveryday.”
“Heisn’tcallingMomMary.”“Whyareyoudoingthis?
Haveyouheardhimspeakingtosomeone?”“No.”Ikeptmyeyesonmy
lap.“Butyoucouldbelieveme.”“Itwouldbedestructiveto
believeinsomethinglikethatifitisn’ttrue.”Itriedswallowingagain.
“Doyouwantevidence?Isthatit?”
Momkepthereyesonmine.“Notreally.”“Well.I’llgetitanyway.”I
pushedmythumbnailintomylegbutstoppedassoonasithurt.“I’mstayinghomefromschooltomorrow.”
TherewereamillionreasonsIembarkedonthatparticularcampaignandnotoneofthemwasknowntome.Myvisionwasnarrowedtothetaskathand,andofcourseI
wouldhavemadeafinedetectiveasMelindahadmanytimespointedout.Itookoneofmymom’sstenographer’spadsandapenandIsatbythephoneandlistenedashedialed.Itreallydidn’ttakelong;figuringoutthedigitsfromthenumberofclickswasnodifferentfromrelativepitchinmusic:ifthisisaone,thatmustbeafour.ButitcouldhavetakenmuchlongerandIwouldhavebeen
fine—hedialeditalldaylong.AssoonasIwascertainof
thesequence,therestwaspublicrecord.IjustopenedtheNewCastlephonebook.ThereweretheNewFriends—listed—andtherewasthephonenumber.Istaredatit.Ilookedatthestenographer’spad.Icheckedthetwoagainsteachotheragainandagainandtheywerealwaysexactlythesame.Thenight
beforeIhadtoldMomsomethingIdidn’tfullybelievemyself,andwhenshedidn’tbelieveiteitherIthoughtwejustmightbesafe.AndthenI’dgoneanddevisedthemostharebrained,elementaryschooltrap—somethingevenTrixieBeldenhadn’tdone,that’showstupiditwas—andIgotitinone.
WhenMomarrivedhome
Dadleftonurgentbusiness.Shecameintheden,droppedhersatchel,andsatdownwithasigh.Iwaslyingontheothercouch,watchingtelevisionwiththesoundturneddown,somethingonlycrazypeopledidasfarasIcouldtell.SheaskedaboutmydayandIsaidithadbeenfine,ItoldherIwasfeelingbetter.Iaskedaboutherdayandshesaidithadbeenbusy,thentoldmeastoryabout
howoneofherseniors,acute,muscularboywhodroveahotrodandwalkedaroundwithhismouthopen,haddonehisdemonstrationspeechthatafternoon.“Hewalkeduptothefront
oftheclasswithoutathinginhishands,itseemed,andannouncedthathe’dreallyrackedhisbraintryingtofigurewhatwasonethingheknewhowtodosowellhecoulddemonstrateit.”
“I’llbet.”“Andthenhepulledouta
boxofkitchenmatchesandsaidhewasgoingtoteachushowhelightsmatchesonthezipperofhisfly.”Iturnedandlookedather.
“Seriously?”“Yes.”“Whywouldn’thejustuse
thesideoftheboxthey’rein?”“You’dhavetoaskhim
that.”
“Sowhathappened?”“Ithoughtitwasn’tmaybe
thebestthingforhimtodoinaspeechclass,butnottheworstbyanymeans,andIwassittingtheretryingtofigureoutawaytostophimwithoutembarrassinghimandbeforeIcouldsayanythinghe’dlitthematchandsethispantsonfire.”Itippedrightoverand
landedonmypillows.Ilaughedsohardmythroat
startinghurtingagain,soIpulledupmykneeandbitituntilitdistractedme.Itookadeepbreath,wipedmyeyes.“Thatwasagoodone,”Isaid.“Yeah,youshouldhave
seenmeputtingthefireout.”Ilaybackandstaredatthe
ceilingawhile,atthetelevisionsome.IwatchedtheclockonDad’slittletable.InfiveminutesI’dhandherthepieceofpaperIhad
tuckedunderacouchcushion.Whenthosefiveminutespassed,IthoughtI’dgiveitfiveminutesmore,andwhenthosewereupthephonerangandmyheartclatteredaroundinmychestlikeI’ddroppedaboxofchinaplates.Whatwerepeoplethinking,justcallinglikethat?ItwasSharon,mymom’s
bestfriendatBlueRiver.Iwasdeeplyindebtedto
SharonbecauseIwastakinghertypingclassandwhenshecaughtmenottypingbutreadingaStephenKingnovelshedidn’tflunkme,asallmyotherteacherswouldhavedone.Insteadshemadeadealwithme:IcouldreadasmuchStephenKingasIwanted,ifIwouldalsotypeoutwhatIwasreading.Shewasasmartone,becauseKing’snovelsweresomaddeninglyinterestingI
learnedtotypefasterandfaster,justsoIcouldreadfaster.She’dshammedmesomehowbutIcouldn’tfigureoutifithadbeenforgoodorill.MomandSharontalked
aboutsomeschoolthingsandthenMomsaid,“Oh,itwentsowell.Wereadthestoryinclass,andthenItoldthemhowHemingwayissufferingareallashingintheacademy;womenstudentsare
complainingandsomearerefusingtoreadhimatall,sayinghe’samisogynistandaslaughterer,Idon’tknowwhat-all.Sowetalkedaboutthosethings—thebig-gamehunting,thebullfights,whetherthewomencharactersseemrealatall.TheysaidalltheyhadtosayandthenaskedmewhatIthought,soItoldthem.”Iturnedonmysideandwatchedher.“Isaid
Hemingwaywillbreakyourheart.Allthatfumblingaftermanhood;thedepthandfrozennessofthosecharacters.Jakestumblingaroundimpotentandlimping,FrancisMcComber,anyofthem,really.Thosemenaretragic,ultimately,don’tyouthink?AndIalsoremindedthemthathewasthesamemanwhowroteBigTwo-HeartedRiver,and…”Iwentbacktostaringatthe
ceiling.Witheveryyearthatpassed,moreandmoreofwhatthatwomansaidmadesensetome,whichwasflatterrifying.ShetalkedonandIhalflistened,untilhervoicewasjustlikewaterflowingpastme.Shewashappy.Shesoundedhappy.Iwouldwait,andtellhertomorrow.
Acknowledgments
Itriedtomakealistofallthewaysmymotherassistedmeinthewritingofthisbook,buttheresultwasanotherchapter.Sufficeittosaysheallowedmeaccesstoherjournals,sheprovidedmewithphotographs,andshelistenedtomereadeveryday’swork—theentirebook—overthephone.Iammore
gratefultoherthanIcaneversay.Mysister,Melinda,wentto
greatlengthstogetphotographsandtogetthemtome;shealsolistenedtoessayafteressay,addingdetailsI’dforgottenandcorrectingmyerrors.Itwasanunqualifiedjoytohaveheratmysidethroughthisprocess.IwanttothankDanJarvis
fortheveryhelpfultimeline
andforgenerallybeingsosupportive.HeisoneofthegoodBigBrothers.ThankstoPamJarvisfor
lendingmeherfavoritepicture,andtoDebbyShivelyParks,SharonShively,andTerriMcKinsey.Iam,asalways,sograteful
tomychildrenfortheirsanity,hilarity,andheartbreakingcompassionandtenderness.Thankyou,KatRomerillandObadiah
Kimmel.Icouldnothavemadeit
throughthelastfewmonthswithoutDianneFreundandJoeGalas.Thankyou,Jimand
ClaudiaSvaraforaninfinitenumberofkindnesses,andtoKevinSvara,KerrieLewis,andSusanandBobShircliff.AmyScheibeissimplythe
finesteditorandfriendimaginable;sheisthePlatonicidealofEditor,andI
hopeforhersakesheneverchoosestodoanythingelsewithherlifebecauseIcan’tallowitandwillbeforcedtofollowherpretendingshe’sstillmyeditor.Iwillbemerciless.ThankyouCarolynReidy,DominickAnfuso,MarthaLevin,CarisaHays,MarisKreizman,SybilPincus,JolantaBenal(anexcellentcopyeditor),andallthefinepeopleatFreePress.JohnMoodissomekindof
wonderful.Heansweredanout-of-the-bluee-mail,sentphotographs,andbecameafriendtomymotherandme.Lifeisquirkyandfabulousthatway.FortheirdailygiftsIam
gratefultoJodyLeonardandLisaKelly;SuzanneFinnamore;DonandMegKimmel;andofcourse,aseverandever,BethDalton.AllmylifeIwillbeindebtedtoJimandJudyPitcher,and
toDaveandDebbieNewman.ThankstoTimThompsonandJohnMacMullen.AndtotheOtherwiseMostLuscioussingerandsongwriterintheknownworld,DaynaKurtz,andherhusband,JeffPachman,justtelluswherethecommunewillbeandwe’llstartpacking.Muchbelatedloveand
gratitudetoJeanneAnnDuncan.EverydayIfindanewway
tomarvelatthewonderofBenKimmel.TimSommer,weloveyou
so.Nowthatmymotherhasadoptedyou,I’llexpectyoutobeginspinningmearoundintherockingchair.TomybelovedPosse(also
knownasmyOttersonlessgraveoccasions),AugustenBurroughs,ChristopherSchelling,RobertRodi,JeffreySmith:conamorefurioso.Ihopethattranslates
to“Iloveyouallmadly.”Ifitactuallypertainstoprocessedfruitpies,it’sstilltrue.Ihadadreamofsudden
richesandwhenIawakened,therewasmyhusband,John.Andfinallytom’dear
LeslieStaub:IconcuronthesubjectofImpermanence,butforonepoint.Iwillleavetheworldonlyifitisadaybeforeyoudo,soIneverhavetoliveinaworldwithoutyouinit.
AbouttheAuthor
HAVENKIMMEListheauthorofSomethingRising(LightandSwift),TheSolaceofLeavingEarly,AGirlNamedZippy,andthechildren’sbookOrville:ADogStory.ShestudiedEnglishandcreativewritingatBallStateUniversityandNorthCarolinaStateUniversityandattendedseminaryattheEarlhamSchoolofReligion.
ShelivesinDurham,NorthCarolina.
AbouttheAuthor
HAVENKIMMEListheauthorofSomethingRising(LightandSwift),TheSolaceofLeavingEarly,AGirlNamedZippy,andthechildren’sbookOrville:ADogStory.ShestudiedEnglishandcreativewritingatBallStateUniversityandNorthCarolinaStateUniversityandattendedseminaryatthe
EarlhamSchoolofReligion.ShelivesinDurham,NorthCarolina.