LIBRARY
Michigan State
University

 

 

 

This is to certify that the

thesis entitled

. PLUMB MISERABLE: -
A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES

presented by

JACKIE A . CARLSON

has been accepted towards fulfillment
of the requirements for

M.A. degree in English

Major professor

Date May 1, 1986

 

0-7639 MSUisnn Agfimnn'u» ‘ ' " m" ‘, Institution

 

 

 

RETURNING MATERIALS:
}V1ESI_] Place in book drop to
LIBRARIES remove this checkout from
.gzggggessn. your record. FINES will

 

 

 

be charged if book is
returned after the date
stamped below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PLUMB MISERABLE: A Collection of Short Stories

BY

Jackie A. Carlson

A THESIS
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

Master of Arts

Department of English

1986

 

/:3‘rspfia/

9/

 

ABSTRACT

PLUMB MISERABLE: A Collection of Short Stories
BY

Jackie A. Carlson

This collection of short stories involves places and
people from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, with the
exception of gig Friends, Pearly Whites and Egg Mother.
Paulie is a story about a handicapped child who visits his
cousins living in a small peninsula community and how his
lack of experience becomes a primary interest for the
little boys.

In Pearly Whites, a twelve year old girl cannot face
her peers after they learn about what took place when she

had one of the boys over for Sunday dinner, with an angry

mother who hid the main course.

 

who after moving from one clinging relationship to another,

leaves a husband who has threatened her with his suicide,

for the last time.
A mother who is concerned more with her company than

her children and their statement about her lack of

 

 

Jackie Carlson

attention for them is described in Egg Mother.

Plumb Miserable, with the same two boys presented in
Paulie, is an account of their trying to cope with an
environment that has been altered drastically by a failing
economy.

Sad Sack describes a child's perception of a friend

 

who was said to be mentally deficient and who hanged
himself.

Ihg Unveiling focuses on a woman, who with the help of
her friends, rebels against the plastic surgery performed on
her nose, which was what her husband had decided was needed
for her improvement.

Qld Friends describes the strange development of a
friendship between two women when one locks herself in the

toilet and the other is visited by old school chums.

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank Sheila McGuire for her assistance,
patience, and insight during the compiling of this short
story collection; but mostly I wish to thank her for her
friendship and support while I have attended Michigan
State University. I would not have come this far without
her because I could not have reached it alone.

I thank Maria Holley for my beginning. She, too,
with her constant prodding of encouragement and her
wonderful humor, moved me ahead.

I thank Diane Wakoski for her unwavering faith in me.
And to my father, who, when I called and said, "Dad, Dad,
I won my first fiction contest.", replied, "That's great!
I didn't know you liked fishing.", it will be nice to send
you a book which I have written myself.

To Colin and Eric, my sons, there's too many things
to thank you for.

 

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Paulie...........................................page
The Unveiling.......................... .......... page
The Mother.......................................page
Plumb Miserable.................... ....... . ...... page
Sad Sack........ ........................... ......page
The End of a Private Road ............. . .......... page
Pearly Whites .................. .. ................ page

Old Friends ................................... ...page

ii

28

41

48

69

86

 

 

Paulie

The road runs along Wilsey Bay adjacent to Lake
Michigan. Each year the bay rises and the road becomes
narrower. It winds around lighthouse point and past a few
remaining camps set off the road and hidden by pines. 513
ends at the driveway that leads to the red house,
approximately a quarter mile from Stu Potter's and Oliver
Wickler's trailers, twenty-two miles from the nearest town.
The road is never really traveled much: only by the few
families that live at its end and by determined hunters and
fishermen who park along its edge and either head for the
woods to hunt or tackle the lake. It's 'everyday' to see
coyotes on the road, bear in the apple orchards, and deer
in the fields or coming down to the lake to drink.

The logging road was hard from the November
temperatures, and there were deep ruts filled with water
and mud that became deeper each day the logging trucks
rolled in and out again.

Billy was off the main road, into the woods about
fifty feet, working in a clearing where Hjalmar had been
stacking his cuttings. Judd found Billy peeling logs in
his chook, choppers, and snowmobile boots and sweating

l

 

inspite of the snow falling. "Billy, what's ya doin'?"

"Peelin' posts."

"What for?"

"For money."

"Who's gonna pay ya?" Judd wiped his nose on his
choppers.

"Hjalmar."

"How much?" Judd wiped his chopper on a log.

"A dollar a post."

Judd sat down on the log pile that had been stacked
and was waiting to be peeled, then sent to Anderson's
Lumber Co. to be sold for fencing and do—it-yourself log
cabin kits.

He watched Billy anchor the blade and draw the knife
toward him stripping a section of bark that curled around
into a coil and fell to the ground.

"Can I try?"

"Aw, Judd, it ain't so easy." Billy pulled the knife
with short quick pulls trying to remove the bark from a
knot. "See what I mean. These knots are hard to get over.
It's hard to cut through them."

"Like toenails?"

"Yea, like toenails."

"Like Fred Bjerman's toenails. I'd seen them in his
ashtray."

"Come on, Judd, is that what he really does with

them?"

 

 

"Honest. He keeps them in his ashtray piled up on one
side. I saw them when I was over there helping him clean
smelt...Bi11y, let me try to do it just once."

"All right." Billy stepped aside and handed the blade
to Judd. "Judd, don't stand right in back of the
blade...stand off to the side of the log a bit. That blade
can come down on ya quick as the screamers do with the flu
and out ya in half like a hunk of side-pork."

Judd was unable to get the blade of the draw-knife
beneath the bark. He yanked on the knife, and it slid
across the top of the log and out of his hands onto the
ground. "I don't wanta do it no more. It ain't no fun...
I wish I had a snowmobile and could go bombin' around the
woods."

Billy picked up the knife and began stripping the
post. Judd sat on the stump and drank from Billy's
thermos. "Don't you wish you had a snowmobile?"

"Nope."

"I want one. I want to fly through the woods...all
over the trails...and beat the pants off Ronnie Olsen. How
come you wanta make money?"

"Cause."

"What's ya gonna do with all the money ya make?"

"Buy somethin'."

"What? A Snowmobile?"

"Judd, ya know we can't afford one of them machines,

and I wouldn't want one anyhow. I don't like 'em, and they

 

make the woods stink."

"Well, what are ya gonna buy?"

"It's a surprise."

"For who?"

"For both of us...to use this winter."

"When are we gonna get it?"

"As soon as I get enough money, but if I don't quit
talking to you I ain't never gonna get done." Billy put
another log on the draw-post.

"How much is enough money?"

"Judd, just wait and see. Why don't you pile up them
posts that I already got done and get rid of them shavings.
Throw them out into the woods."

Judd picked up the peelings and puttered around the
clearing.

When the snow begins to fall in the woods it can be as
silent and as calm as the bottom of a pond. You can hear
the waves of the Great Lakes washing up on the shore, then
slipping away trickling the pebbles and beer cans along the
limestone shore. The Chainsaws can be heard and the trees
tearing the branches of other trees with their fall.

Judd stopped what he had been doing and stilled

himself trying to catch a sound which he had heard off in

the distance. "Billy."
"What?"
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh."

"What's the matter with you?"

 

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh."

Billy stopped to listen.

"Did ya hear it?"

"Yea, I do now. It sounds like 01' Tanner is onto
somethin'"

"What do ya think he's runnin?"

"I don't know. I can tell he's pretty far off.

That's why it sounds like it does. It's just
carryin'...kinda driftin' to us."

They both listened to the hound in the woods 'yaoo,
yaoo, yaoo'. That was the only thing that could be heard.
The Chainsaws had stopped and the logging trucks were
idling. Everyone working out in the woods was a hunter and
had stopped to listen, wondering what the hound might be
tracking.

"What do ya think he's runnin'?"

"I don't know...coon, maybe. All the bear is up by
now. I s'pose it could be a bear. Some old dump bear
maybe that ain't up yet. I know that whatever he's onto
he'll get no matter what. I know that ma said he'd dragged
home a hindquarter of a deer last week, but it could have
been from one that had been shot and nobody had bothered to
track. He'll be back on home later, and we'll see what he
drags home with him. We best go and check to see how he
got loose and if Annie and Ripple are around." Billy piled
the posts that were peeled. "It's almost supper anyway.

Let's go. I'll finish peeling tomorrow."

 

They left the clearing with Billy pulling Judd on the
sled up highway 513. It was that time of day when daylight
and twilight mingle. The wind dies down and the deer begin
to yard up.

Judd and Billy saw a young buck step from the woods
daring to go out in the field and feed on any corn it could
find beneath the snow.

Before going into the house they checked the dogs.
Annie was in the shed sleeping. Ripple was hanging half in
and half out, lifting up his head every now and then as if
he had become faintly alerted to a familiar, but fleeting
scent.

Billy and Judd scrubbed in the sink in the basement
trying to get the sap from the logs off their hands.

"Billy, I can't get this stuff off. Is this good
enough?"

"No, it ain't near good enough. Ya gotta get it all
off, or ma will just send ya back down here again."

"It don't wanta come off, and I can't keep my sleeves
rolled up. How 'bout if I just wear my choppers to
supper?"

"Judd, take this little brush here and put lots of
soap on it and then scrub it off. Pretend you've been hit
by a nasty ol' skunk."

Judd scrubbed, and when he finished they went up to
dinner.

"Ma, you've been baking. I can smell it. What are

 

you bakin' for?"

Their mother placed their supper on the table in front
of them.

"How come you're baking all this stuff? Is somethin'
special comin'?"

"Yes."

"What? What's special...turds."

"Judd." His mother rapped the top of his head.

"Aw, Ma, everytime there's somethin' special I got to
put myself into all them clothes that are in the back of my
closet and be dragged off to someone's house where we don't
have no fun and everybody will talk about how fat my face
is and how I don't do up my zipper...I ain't goin'."

"We aren't going anywhere...I'm just doing this for
your Aunt Mary Jane."

"What she need it for?"

"Your cousin Tina is getting married."

"Tina...Tina getting married, that heifer. Aw, God,
Tina is getting married, Billy." Judd rolled his eyes and
pulled down the corners of his mouth. "Who's gonna marry
fat Tina?" Billy couldn't help laughing at Judd filling up
his cheeks and batting his eyes.

"Judd, your cousin is not fat. she's just a big
girl."

"Everyone always says that when they don't wanta call
someone fat. They say that about Wilbert, and he's as big

as a barn. Ma, Tina...we always have Tina be the first one

 

out on the bay when it freezes over. We have her test it.
If she don't fall in the water then we know that the whole
grade school can go out and skate."

"Judd, you'd better pipe down, or you can go out and
clean the barn where nobody has to listen to you."

"When I went to the beach with Tina she sat right down
in front of me, and honest to God, I couldn't see the ore
boats comin' in. She blocked them right out."

"Ma, who is Tina gonna marry?" asked Billy.

"One of the Thorsen boys."

Judd swallowed quickly. "Ha, she could marry two of
them, and if she kept one in front of her and one back all
the time they'd never even see each other."

"Judd, stop it now," said his mother as she poured
more milk.

"When is she getting married?" asked Billy.

"Next week."

"Are we gonna go to the wedding?"

"No. I don't think we'll go. They're getting married
up near Houghton. We're going to take care of Paulie."

"How come we gotta take care of Paulie?"

"Judd, you ask too many questions."

"Well, how come we got to take care of Paulie?"

"Your Aunt is going to have a lot of our relatives
staying with her for the wedding and for sometime after.
It's going to be like a family reunion."

"They don't want him around," added Billy.

 

"Paulie will have fun here." Judd grabbed another
roll. "I'm gonna take him to Moonshine."

"Judd," said his mother, "you can't do that."

"Why? I'm gonna show him a good time."

"Paulie can't go outside and do the things you do.
He's sick a lot."

"How come?" Judd asked between mouthfuls of stew.

"Judd, finish eating," said Billy. "Ma, Tanner was
runnin' something. We heard him in the woods when I was
peelin'."

"You better try to see what he drags in, and find out
how he got loose."

"I'll check and see."

"Ma, I'll help ya take care of Paulie," offered Judd.
"Paulie can sleep in with me."

"Finish your supper, Judd."

The boys finished and went outside to check on the
dogs. Tanner wasn't back yet, and the woods were quiet,
quiet like an empty gym over Christmas break.

Tanner was in his house in the morning when the boys
went out to clean the barn. Judd went to get the sled and
Billy dragged the leg of a deer away from Tanner.

The boys took off with Judd on the sled being pulled
by Billy, holding onto the thermos and lunch they had
packed for the day ahead of them, to finish peeling posts.

"Billy, what was that, that Tanner had?"

"Part of some poor 01' deer."

 

10

"How come ya took it away when it's dead already?"

"I didn't want Annie and Ripple gettin' into it, too.
They was about going crazy. We don't need a whole pack of
dogs runnin' down deer...and don't you tell Ma."

"Billy, I don't remember Paulie. I was thinkin' on it
last night. I can't remember him...do you?"

"Yea, a little. He don't come around much, and nobody
likes to bother with him."

"How come...and how come he's sick?"

"Judd, why don't you get off and walk. It's hard to
pull you on the sled. The snow is getting deeper and it
ain't been packed down enough yet."

"I will in a minute. My legs are cold."

"Did ya remember to do up your zipper?"

Judd reached inside his snowmobile suit and checked.
"Yep, it's up. Now tell me about Paulie. What's he like?"
"Paulie just don't do all the things that we do."

"Why?"

"He's different." Billy slipped the rope over his
head, so that it crossed his waist, and leaned forward to
keep the sled moving.

"What do ya mean different?"

"I don't know what ya call it, but I guess he ain't
got all he needs."

"What's he missin?"

"Gears, a couple of gears. All he's got is slow, like

our old tractor that runs, but ya can't do nothin' with

 

11

it. 'I

"What are we gonna do with him?"

"I don't know. He can't do much. He needs someone to

look after him all the time."

"Well, I'm gonna help him...he's gonna have fun."

"Come on, now, get off the

peelin‘ done."

sled and help me get this

"Are ya gonna get the surprise."

"Yea, if Hjalmar will give

me a ride into Gladstone."

"Where are ya gonna go in Gladstone...Buckman's

Store?"

"Never mind. Why don't ya

Billy finished peeling the
into Gladstone with Hjalmar and
sled.

The dusk to dawn light was
home. He unloaded the surprise

into the house.

find somethin' to do."
posts and hitched a ride

sent Judd home dragging the

on when Billy finally got

in the front yard and went

Judd had been waiting for him. "Where is it?"

"Outside."

"Outside. What are ya doin' keepin' it outside?"

"It's too big to bring into the house."

Judd slipped his snowmobile boots on without any socks

and started to run out the front door.

"Judd, get a coat on it's cold outside."

Judd tore his snOWmobile jacket off the hook and had

one arm in a sleeve heading out the door.

 

 

12

"Judd, ya better do up your zipper."

Judd looked down and yanked up his zipper. "These
things never stay up."

Judd was out the door. "Oh, Jesus. Aw, Jesus,
God...it's great."

Judd ran around it and stopped at the front to stroke
it, then ran around to the back and stopped there to stroke
it by running his hand over the back of the seat and
sliding it down to the rails to the runners.

"Do ya really like it?"

"Jesus, God, it's the best...does it work?"

"Well, yea...I think so. I guess we won't know until
we hook up the dogs."

"What do ya mean hook up the dogs? How do we hook up
the dogs? What dogs are we gonna hook up to it? What are
the dogs gonna do?"

"Pull it."

"Pull it?"

"Yea."

"What dogs are gonna pull it?"

"Tanner, Annie and Ripple."

"Jesus, Billy, by God, they ain't no huskies. They're
hounds. They can't pull no sled. They ain't no sled
dogs."

"They can do anything a sled dog can do. They're big
dogs, and they're smart."

"When are we gonna do it?"

 

I
u_

13

"Tomorrow. I'm gonna go down to Stu's and borrow his
leads and harness and start working with the dogs tomorrow.
I might even ask him if he'll let me use that old female
Siberian of his. He says she knows her leads."

"We can go anywhere with this sled. We can go all
over...yep, we can go to the store for Ma and anywhere else
she wants. I can't wait. I CAN'T WAIT. Let's get ready.
Let's go. I'll wax the runners...ya got wax for the
runners? Oh, Billy, how am I gonna sleep tonight?"

"No more of me pullin' your fat self around."

Judd sat down on the sled looking up at the northern
lights with his arms stretched out. "Billy, I can just see
it." He placed his hands behind his head. "I can just see
me in this sled with all the dogs hooked up goin' down the
road like forty goin' north and you standing on the runners
behind me hollerin' your orders, whipping and yelling and
us flying...us flying...and passin' all them stupid
snowmobiles."

Billy worked with the dogs every chance he had. He
was out in the back field when they brought Paulie to stay.
He put the dogs up and went into the house for lunch. Judd
was waiting for him at the door.

"Can I help after lunch?"

"Yea, you can help me. It's hard to get the harness
on. They jump around and get so tangled."

"Paulie is here."

"I know. I saw them bring him up in the car."

 

 

14

"He's at the table with ma...he is different. He
don't talk or smile. I was telling him about our sled, and
then I showed him some of my things and he didn't do
nothin' but sit there."

"That's the way he always is."

"Yea...I wish he'd say somethin'. He just watches
things...and he slobbers...and he's got cotton in both his
ears with stuff leakin' out and his hair is stickin' up all
over. He's got one of them bowl haircuts like Arnold used
to give us."

Judd and Billy went in for lunch. Judd sat next to
Paulie and Billy sat down opposite him.

"Hey, Paulie." Paulie turned to Judd. Judd had his
thumbs in the corner of his mouth pulling them down while
his index fingers drew down his cheeks with his eyes rolled
up into the lids.

"Judd, what are you doin'?" asked Billy.

Judd stuck out his tongue and bobbled his head back
and forth.

"Judd, what are ya doin' actin' so crazy?"

"I'm trying to make Paulie laugh. I'm gettin' him to
warm up to me."

Paulie stared at Judd. Judd ate his food and watched
Paulie watching him.

"Judd, if ya want to come and help me then hurry up
and finish."

Judd concentrated on eating and only took occasional

 

15

peeks at Paulie. "Aw, Jesus, Ma. Aw, Jesus, Ma...look at
him. The food is fallin' right outta his mouth. I can't

stand this. Why is the food fallin' out of his mouth like
a baby?"

Billy looked at Judd, rested his arms on the table,
leaned over, and said, "Judd, just eat."

"I can't eat now. I ain't used to it. The food is
hanging on his bottom lip half chewed. Ain't ya gonna do
somethin' Ma?"

"Judd," his mother answered, "Paulie is gonna stay
with us for awhile, so you're going to have to find a way
to get used to things about him."

"He will, Ma. We're gonna go out and work with the
dogs."

"You be careful. I don't like you boys fidling with
those crazy dogs in a harness. They don't know any thing
but running down some poor old coon or bear. I don't like
this idea, and you remember not to take off out of that
field where I can see you."

"Ma, the dogs are doin' great. It's all right...ain't
nothin' gonna happen."

Judd and Billy got their heavy coats on, and, with the
dogs hooked to the lines, they went to the front field to
work. Judd dragged the sled, and Billy kept the dogs apart
at the end of their leads. "Billy, it made me sick. I
can't help it. I don't know how I'm gonna get used to

that."

 

 

16

Billy pulled Judd's hat over his eyes. "Judd, it'll
be all right."

"Why do ya s'pose he does that?"

"Maybe he got sick of you looking at him and making
all them faces. Now, you got to hold onto each one of
these dogs as I get them hooked up, so they don't get all
tangled. When I tell them to hee ya got to guide them to
the left, and when I tell them to haw ya got to guide them
to the right." Billy hooked the main line to each line that
ran from the harness around the dog, then attached it to
the eye-loop at the end of the sled.

"Ain't they s'pose to know which way to go without me
up here with 'em? I want to ride in the sled. I ain't
gonna run around at the front of them and pull them to
turn."

"You won't have to, once they get used to it."

"How long does it take them to get used to it? We've
been working with them for a long time, and it 'pears to me
that by the time we get these hounds hee-ing and haw-ing
the snow will be thawing."

Judd stood in the front of the dogs, holding Tanner
out in front and Annie and Ripple behind. "Where are ya
gonna hook up stu's dog?"

"I'm gonna put her in the front, so she can lead the
others."

"Billy."

"What?"

 

17

"Billy, look up at the window."

Billy looked up at the house and saw Paulie standing
in the large bay window.

"He's watching us."

"Yea. Judd, I said hee is to the left. Turn around,
so you're facing the same way the dogs are."

"What do ya think he's thinkin' about us being out
here?"

"He probably wonders where I got such a fat little
lead dog that don't know his left from his right...now turn
around and pay attention."

Judd faced the same direction as the dogs and held
onto Tanner while Billy got the other two ready. "Ya know,
he don't ever have to go to school."

"I guess he don't."

"I wouldn't mind staying home all day. He don't have
to do nothin."

"Yea, but I feel sorry for him."

"Why?"

"He don't ever have no fun. He never gets to do
nothin'. He's got to stay in the house all the time. Mary
Jane don't never take him any where to do nothin'. She
says he's sick and that he don't know what doin' anything
is...like if ya don't do nothin' then ya don't miss
nothin', but I don't believe that."

"Yea. I wonder if he ever laughs. He don't seem to

do nothin' but sit... hold on a minute Billy. I'm gonna do

 

18

somethin'."

Judd climbed up on the well, about three feet off the
ground, and did a flip into a snowbank. He stood on his
head with his feet kicking around in the air as if he was
stuck. He jumped up and brushed himself off. "Was Paulie
watching?" He looked up to the window and hollered, "Did ya
like that Paulie?"

Judd stayed out with Billy for little over an hour,
then went into the house and left Billy working with the
dogs. Billy remained outside, even when it became dark, by
staying under the dusk to dawn light.

He put the sled away and fed the dogs. When he came
into the house Paulie was sitting on the sofa and Judd was
doing cartwheels. Judd's feet really didn't get too far
above his head. He could barely get them off the ground.
With his belly hanging out from under his shirt, he would
flop down and flip around like a bluegill out of water. He
stood on his head, then tried to tuck his head under his
legs and rollover. The finale was when he walked into the
wall and pretended that he hurt his nose and fell back.
Each time he did a trick he would look at Paulie. Paulie
just stayed on the sofa and watched him emotionless.

"Why don't you quit all this stuff?"

"I don't know." Judd sat down on the sofa. "I want to
see him have fun."

"He's gonna have fun."

"He ain't. He don't even know what it is. I just

 

 

19

would like to see him laugh or something, but I guess I
just don't know what he'd like. He just sits there all the
time, and that ain't good. Billy pulled Judd down to the
floor and pulled his shirt over his head, then waited for
him to get it straightened out before he began to arm
wrestle with him. They pulled and tugged and sucker
punched one another.

"I think he likes the dogs," Billy said.

"I think he would like to go outside."

"He watches us all the time when we're out there."

"He watches us all the time when we're out there."

"Judd, ya can't use two hands."

"Judd, ya can't use two hands."

"Ya better quit repeatin' after me," Billy said, and
they wrestled. "I ain't gonna leave the bathroom light on
if ya don't stop."

"Let's watch TV." Judd rolled over and pulled out the
knob with his toes.

The boys worked with the dogs by walking with the sled
until they could make a complete circle around the field
without missing a lead. Judd would sit in the sled wrapped
up in an old army blanket, and Billy walked behind with a
face mask on. They had the dogs following stu's female
with the skill of any novice who had a dog-team composed of
two Redtick hounds, a hound crossed with a Greyhound and a
Siberian crossed with a coyote. The Siberian picked up her

leads quickly and was easy enough for Billy to handle. The

 

20

dogs couldn't pull a great weight, but they could make good
time with just the two small boys. If they kept to the
packed snowmobile trails, they made even better time; they
took to those trails every chance they had. Paulie
continued to watch them every moment they were out with the
sled. He sat by the window on the hide-a-bed and remained
there until the boys had finished and brought the dogs
right up to the window beneath where he stood.

The boys were on the floor watching the television
when their mother came in. Paulie was on the sofa watching
them.

"You boys have to stay in for a while and watch Paulie
while I go into town."

"We'll be all right. How long are ya gonna be? We
want to take the dogs out."

"I'm not sure and you just forget about them dogs
until I get back."

They watched cartoons: Bugs Bunny, Road Runner and
then the Munsters. Judd sat and ate cereal from the box.
He offered some to Paulie. "He can't have none," said
Billy.

"Why?"

"Ma said he can't have all that sugar. He takes
medicine and it don't mix too good."

Judd looked at Paulie, shrugged, then turned back to
watch cartoons. He rested his head on his hands and

stretched out on his side looking at Billy then at Paulie.

 

21

He rolled over on the floor face down and rolled back
again.

"Let's take Paulie outside." He waited for Billy to
answer. When Billy didn't reply he went to the closet and
dragged out Arnold's snowmobile suit. "He can wear this."

"We can't take him out."

"Ma will never know."

"That ain't it Judd. If he gets sick easy, it ain't
gonna do him no good to take him out. It's about the
coldest day we had all year. Put that stuff back."

Judd dropped it on the floor in the hallway and
returned to his spot in front of the television. "Wouldn't
you want to go out if you was Paulie?"

"Yea, but it ain't the same."

"Why? How do we know? He ain't been out to play in
so long."

Billy thought this over, looked at Paulie, at Judd,
then grabbed the suit and started to dress Paulie. They
put Arnold's suit on him and rolled up the sleeves, so they
could put the choppers on his hands. They put a chook and
face mask on him and made sure his ears were covered well,
then they wrapped a large scarf around his neck. They
slipped their mother's sorrels on his feet and got dressed
themselves.

They took him around to the barn to see old Sal.
Paulie petted her and fed her some grain from the palm of

his hand. They took him to see the dogs and let Tanner

 

22

loose, so Paulie could play with him. They walked in the
apple orchard and down to the pond. They threw snowballs
gently at Paulie and made some for him to throw, which he
clutched in his hand. They walked to the shoreline and
showed Paulie all the ice shacks on the bay. They took him
into the barn, and Judd climbed up into the loft and threw
down handfuls of hay. Paulie watched it come down lifting
and dropping with the drafts.

Paulie saw the sled next to the barn, went over to it
and sat down. Billy and Judd pushed him around a little
and were ready to take him into the house, but Paulie would
not get out of the sled. So, they sat there and waited
while he stayed in the sled.

"He wants a ride, Billy."

"Yea, he looks like it, but no way. There's just no
way."

"Ma ain't gonna be back for a while. It takes at
least two hours to get back from town."

"Aw, Judd, it'd just be our miserable luck that she'd
come back when we'd have him out on the sled. And you know
what happens everytime we do somethin' we ain't suppose to
do...ya remember what happened to Sal?"

"We can see her coming and be able to get him in the
house."

"Naw, Judd, she'd kill us if she found out. We'd have
to kiss that sled good-bye."

Paulie remained seated in the sled. Judd and Billy

 

23

we're sitting on a bale of hay leaning back on the barn.
Billy tried to get him up again. Paulie stayed seated.
Billy sat down, again, on the bale of hay next to Judd.
They both watched Paulie. While they were sitting there, a
hawk circled above the field and dropped quickly to get
something on the ground. Billy tried to get Paulie up
again, but Paulie stayed. Billy looked at Judd watching
Paulie and then at Paulie waiting in the sled. He looked
back at Judd. "Get the lines," he said.

"All right." Judd ran in the barn for the lines.

"I guess I figure that he ain't never felt nothin'
like a sled ride and he's gotta at least do somethin' once.
Ain't nobody bothered with him, and if he wants a sled ride
so bad then we'll help him out," Billy said to himself out
loud.

Judd came out with the lines and they both hooked up
the dogs. Billy got an extra blanket from the barn and ran
to get Paulie another scarf. They made sure Paulie was
bundled well and then led the dogs hooked to the sled out
to the back field. Judd squeezed in beside Paulie. Billy
gave the commands and started the dogs off by pushing the
sled and running along behind.

The temperature was colder than it had been, and
Billy's feet were breaking through the surface snow. The
snow in the field was getting too deep. The dogs were
having trouble keeping the sled moving. "Judd, there's too

much snow and too much weight on the sled. I'm trying to

 

24

help these 01' hounds, but it ain't any easier for them.
I'm gonna cut down this logging road and turn around in the
clearing by Lewis' camp." Billy guided the dogs around and
onto the logging road. The pulling became easier for the
dogs. Billy watched ahead for stumps and ruts, but it was
hard to determine what was beneath the deep snow. The
stillness of the woods and being out of the wind left only
the sound of the dogs panting and the runners gliding
across the top of the snow. Billy ran along the back
hopping onto the runners occasionally for a rest. Judd and
Paulie sat looking like two heads on one body, holding the
blanket up to their necks watching the dogs in front of
them and looking to the sides watching the trees passing
and ducking every so often to avoid a low branch. Judd
yanked Paulie down each time he saw a low one ahead. They
both would reach out trying to grab a branch letting it
spring back throwing snow into Billy's face.

Billy was off the runners holding onto the sled with
one hand. He was trying to tighten the scarf that he had
wrapped around his mouth with the other hand when Tanner
must have caught the scent. The sled jerked ahead as the
dogs lunged, and Billy fell losing his grip on the sled.

He tried to catch the sled by reaching out for the runner,
but it was out of reach and heading down the trail. He was
up on his feet yelling, "Whoa, hee, stop."

Tanner was yelping and the others were barking. They

all were excited and had caught the deer's scent just

 

25

before the young buck lunged onto the logging road in front
of them. Billy was running after the sled shouting
commands. Judd was squealing with his arm stretched across
Paulie to brace him. The deer stayed on the logging road,
darting back and forth looking for a break to get into the
woods. Billy kept coming up behind screaming at the top of
his lungs, "Whoa...stop...Tanner...oh, ya fool
hounds...whoa, ya goddamn fool hounds...no good
dogs...Tanner get back here."

Billy couldn't be heard over the four dogs howling
through the woods. From the back he saw that the the sled
would raise on one side and looked as if it would tip when
a runner passed over a stump, like a broken buggy down a
bumpy road. Judd and Paulie scooted down as far as they
could get to avoid the branches. They could feel the sled
hitting the bottom of a deep rut, when the back runners
would slam at the bottom and the sled would be jerked
forward. "Oh, Jesus..." Billy yelled. "Aw, Jesus,
miserable luck...stop you damn dogs...hee...stop...hold
onto Paulie, Judd!"

He kept on running, yelling, "Aw, Jesus, miserable
luck."

Tanner kept right on the deer, slowing only slightly
when the sled was pulled over windfall. They went through
the woods, like a runaway tractor zig-zagging along the
trail, turning every way the deer did.

The deer found an opening into the woods and cut

 

26

through a group of pines. The dog-team followed. Billy
followed. The break between the trees was large enough for
the sled to make it through and they stayed right on the
deer, until the sled bottomed out on a large tree and pile
of windfall across the path. The dogs made it over, but
the front runners of the sled slipped beneath the log. The
sudden stop jerked the dogs off their feet and threw Judd
and Paulie forward and out of the sled. Billy caught up.

The dogs kept lunging, jumping and began snapping at
one another. The lines had become tangled around the
branches and stumps of the windfall. Ripple had jumped
back over the logs hoping to get loose and was caught in
the sled.

"Aw, Jesus, miserable luck." Billy ran to help Paulie
to a spot away from the dogs and the wreck, then ran back
to get Judd.

Judd was covered by the blankets and wasn't moving.
Ripple was stepping on him and Annie was trying to get over
the log where Judd was lying. Billy took out his pocket
knife and cut the lines to turn the dogs loose, so he would
be able to get to Judd.

Judd remained motionless beneath the blanket. "Judd,"
Billy said, "Judd." There wasn't any response. Paulie came
up beside Billy. With the dogs gone the silence returned,
like the silence of a still photograph. Billy pulled the
blanket off of Judd's head. Judd still didn't move. His

head looked as if it might have hit the log that it rested

 

 

27

against. Billy picked him up. Judd's eyes rolled open and
then rolled back up and under his lids. Billy started to
walk away carrying Judd while trying to hold onto Paulie.

"Please be all right, Judd. God, please let him be
all right. Jesus, miserable luck. Ma is gonna be mad this
time." Billy looked at Paulie. "Aw, Paulie, right now
you're lucky. Right now you're lucky, real lucky."

Judd's eyes opened. He looked at Billy and grinned.
"That was the best ride I ever had." Billy dumped him in
the snow and moaned, "Jesus, Judd, you scared the hell out
of me. Don't ever do that again." They started to pull
Paulie home in the sled.

"Look at Paulie."

Billy turned around to look.

"Well, Billy," Judd looked proudly at Paulie and said,
"what do you think? Is Paulie a new man, since his big
'sperience."

"He ain't missin' much now. And he don't look like it
either. Once you cover up that haircut and cotton in his
ears with a chook he don't look no different."

"Think Mary Jane will see that he's a new man?"

"Naw, ain't nobody gonna notice. They‘ll stick him
back in his room and that'll be it."

Judd raised his eyebrows. "Until he comes back here

again."

\

The Unveiling

Sookie was sitting on the hide-a-bed staring at her
reflection in the fish tank when the girls started
arriving. She watched the pirannha swim through her head
and seaweed float out her ear, drifting toward a half-eaten
tadpole bobbing at the top of the tank.

Pam and Brunie let themselves in and found her in the
living room. Pam peaked over her shoulder and greeted her
image in the tank. "I thought you'd have those off by now."
Pam moved closer. "When are you going to take those
bandages off your face?" Looking still closer, she
said, "You're not black and blue any more."

"I'm never taking them off." Sookie watched the
pirannha attack the air hose, then go for the rest of the
tadpole.

Brunie screwed up her face. "They're unraveling. You
have tiny strings dangling all over your face," she pointed
out. "You could change them...I haven't seen you without
those for four weeks."

"I don't care to see it." She jiggled the tank.

"Why?" Denise asked entering the room. "It cost you a

28

29

bundle."

Sookie remained staring into the tank, responding as
if to herself. "It's not mine....and I don't want to see
it.

"Why did you do it then?"

Sookie shrugged and said, "Maybe I've become too
domestic." She trailed a finger over her nose, down the
bridge and around both nostrils. "He didn't like it. He
kept on and kept on and kept on about it...and I listened
to him," she admitted, and with a small net cornered the
fish, and with a sponge on the end of a stick in the other
hand, poked the pirannha repeatedly. In a tone that
sounded both reluctant and bitter she addressed her image
in the tank. "It's his now; like everything in this place,
it's what he likes. There's nothing of me in here, and now
he even has this." She pointed at the reflection of her
bandages in the tank. "That is his. He picked it out.

It's not mine. I didn't pick it out. They had a whole
portfolio to choose from and told me what I'd look best in.
Then they had a consultation when I was already under." She
turned to face the girls. "He held sketches up to me. I
couldn't see them. He was leaning over me, holding up some
drawings, asking which one I wanted. I couldn't make
anything out. I vaguely remember seeing one that I didn't
want."

Pam looked at Brunie, rolled her eyes. "You must have

been looking at his face." Sookie turned away.

 

30

"So, what was the menu of choices?" Denise asked,
watching Sookie from behind.

Sookie swung around, crossed her legs and looking up
to the right corner of the ceiling replied, "There was the
Bob Hope, with the little dip at the end..."

"Yuk, that old fart, his is too wrinkled from the
sun...looks like a golf tee." They all held their thumbs
down.

"... the Barbra Streisand..."

"Much, much too big and ugly." They held their thumbs
down again, wrinkled their noses and shook their heads.

"He and the doctor and the nurse discussed the
possibilities," Sookie said, "they had a vision for me."
Sookie turned back to the fish tank. Pam began stroking
her nose. Brunie leaned forward to examine hers in the
window, smiled and leaned back comfortably.

Pam sat forward. "Look, Sookie, you have to take them
off. Just rip those suckers off, and it'll be over."

Denise added, "I agree. It can't be that bad...I
mean, you know, it can't be that bad. Just get it over
with. Take them off."

"No." She watched the bubbles coming from the top of
her head. "No damn way."

"You'll feel better." Pam stood up. "Let's get them
off."

"No. That won't make me feel better...having mine

will make me feel better."

 

31

Pam flopped down on the couch. Brunie shifted on the
coffee table. Denise rolled over onto her back on the
floor near Sookie. In silence, they all stared at the fish
tank. The pirannha began swimming from one side of the
tank to another, banging into the glass, thrashing and
spilling water over the top, then attacked the already
disfigured plastic mermaid stuck upside down in the gravel
at the bottom of the tank.

"What the hell is with that fish?" Brunie asked.

"He's disgusting."

"I'll torture him." Sookie reached into the tank and
slapped him with the net.

"What the hell do you feed him."

"Redneck fingers, excess from nose and bust reductions
and tadpoles. Just about any part of the anatomy that's
bite size."

"What do you do when the pond is frozen?" Pam wondered
out loud.

"He buys gold fish...a community. Drops them in all
at once. Some get eaten immediately, and the rest live
with it."

"I'm getting depressed...let's get started," Brunie
said, feeling slightly annoyed. "I come here to have fun
with the girls, and you're all so damn morbid and cynical."

"It's because we've all been married and you haven't,"
Pam added.

Brunie led the way into the kitchen, the rest followed

 

 

 

32

strutting exactly as she did.

"Assholes," Brunie muttered, then pulled the table
cloth off the formica table. Pam put the beer in the
vegetable bin of the refrigerator, keeping four, popping
the tops and passing them out.

Denise began dealing the cards. "Brunie get an
ashtray."

Brunie grabbed a saucer and passed it over. "Sookie,
is it all right if we use this?" she asked.

"I don't care. It's from his first wedding."

The windows were opened and change was laid on the
table. Denise included a joint. "How much will this be
worth?" she asked looking around the table.

"Nothing if it's home grown," Pam said.

Brunie wiped and dried the table in front of her. She
neatly folded the dish—cloth and placed it to the side and
said, "With your hair pulled back and that white bandage
over your face you look like a damn light bulb. Take that
dirty thing off and quit feeling sorry for yourself."

Sookie, ignoring Brunie, climbed up and sat on the
countertop.

Enjoying herself, Brunie persisted, "Doesn't he say
anything about those bandages being on still?"

"He doesn't care as long as they're not on her
crotch." Pam slugged one—half of her beer down and winked
at Sookie.

Sookie leaned back and answered, "Of course...he says

 

33

something about everything. He thinks I'm being
melodramatic and that it will look much better." Dangling
her leg over the counter, she kicked the dishwasher. With
her hands resting on her knees, she began, "Judge for
yourselves. Look at this kitchen. Does it look good? It
looks like it was decorated in early Halloween. Flesh
colored walls. Flesh walls! I wanted to paint it yellow,
and I had to call his dad to ask him. Nothing is me in
here...the china is from his first wife, the silver is his
step-mother's, the table is his sister's, the bed is his
Uncle's, and he dropped friggin' dead in it, the sheets are
from his second wife, and his clothes are left over from
the army. He won't let me replace anything. I'm nothing
more than a lamp that someone gave him."

Pam looked at her and said, "Did you say lump?"
Sookie sneered, jumped down, rummaged around the
cabinet below the sink and found a bottle of Tequilla. She

put the bottle and a salt shaker on the table, sliced a
lemon and poured a shot for herself. She licked her hand,
sprinkled salt, raised the glass into the air, and said,
"Lights out."

"All right, where did you get this? It's good." Pam
inspected the bottle. "Where's the worm?"

Denise replied, "At work." Sookie smiled.

"It's his father's...drink up." She smiled, again.

Pam poured shots for everyone. "Here's to his father

and possessions."

 

34

"Well, be grateful that he didn't have more changed
while you were under," Brunie said and bit into her lemon.

Sookie poured another shot of Tequilla. "No, shit."
She sprinkled salt onto her hand. "I'm surprised that I
don't have tits down to my knees, around my back and up
to my chin." She licked her hand, tossed down the shot and
bit into her lemon." Why is it that everything has always
got to be bigger or better...everyone wants a bigger car or
bigger house or..."

"Bigger bank account."

"Bigger tits..."

"Bigger dick...."

Sookie threw the shot-glass on the floor. "His second
wife's." She grinned, wrinkling the bandages, and
continued, "My mother did the same thing. Always altering
me. She had me joining every damn thing: ballet, baton,
Girl Scouts, Brownies, Bible school, taking piano lessons,
and dressing me in my cousins' clothes...and always made me
sit on Ivor Rake's knee."

"Kink!" Denised raised her glass.

Pam toasted, adding, "We all have an Ivor Rake in the
past. I think that's what we look for when we marry...
something weirdly familiar."

Brunie looked at Pam, and said, "You're crude. Can't
you leave men alone," and, as if she was tossing the rest
over her shoulder to Sookie, continued, "We've all had

hand—me-downs."

 

 

 

35

"My cousins are four years younger than me...I had
hand-me-ups. I was in high school and dressed like fuckin'
Heidi."

"How many cards do you want?" Brunie questioned with a
hint of boredom.

"I fold." Sookie threw her cards down.

 

"You can't fold. We haven't even started yet. Will
you play the damn game." Brunie glared at her.

"All right, Broomhilda. Give me four cards."

Brunie dealt the cards. Pam poured everyone another
shot. They toasted, nodded to one another, and tossed the
shot-glasses on the floor. By now the tile, with its
spattered, pink flowers, full of haphazard brown lines, was
littered with broken glass.

Reaching for more glasses Sookie chanted while
snapping her fingers. "Niecy Dawn does the dishes, why
don't you; Marilyn is a cheerleader, why aren't you; Marty
Shadel gets straigt A's, you drop out, your nose is too
big, and you're as skinny as a rail, tell me, oh, tell me,
where have I failed? But Mother never mentioned that Donna
got pregnant and Julie got the crabs, or that..."

"Debbie got high," Pam added.

"Kathy got laid," Denise snickered.

"Jennifer married a banker and got financial AIDS."
Pam laughed.

In unison they agreed, "We all got fucked," clinked

their glasses, stood up and bowed.

 

 

36

"Speech! Speech!" Pam pounded on the table. Brunie
rolled her eyes and kept her cards in her hand.

Sookie stood up on the counter and speaking into a
wooden spoon said, "Welcome ladies and whores, sleazes and
sluts and everyone else who's been fucked to our afternoon
poker game and possible unveiling of my new face. Why a
new face? you say. Well, why not? Don't we all want to be
someone else or have someone else be someone else. I mean
why should we be happy with ourselves. Don't we have to
give. Don't things go better when you give. Let me tell
you about the time he was sitting on the sofa wrinkling the
pages of a new Playboy and asked me why I didn't look like
the playmates instead of Ruth Buzzi." She threw her glass
on the floor. "What did I think? What did I say?" Holding
out her hand as if halting a response, she delivered,
"Well, I thought, why not try to please? It's no skin off
my nose! But it was skin off my nose and perhaps more. I
lost my sense. Why shouldn't my nose be on the wall along
with the deerhead or bear skin or thirty seven fish and one
owl."

Brunie stood up. "This is ridiculous. Take the damn
bandages off, so we can get on with it," she said and threw
her cards on the table.

Pam passed Sookie another shot. "Drink this."

Sookie tossed it down without the salt or lemon. "All
right...I'm ready. I'm prepared for change. I move the

family furniture around, I change sheets, underwear and

 

37

positions. I'm ready...I'm ready. How bad can it be?
Now, let's see what they did. Just watch where you walk
ladies. After all, there's glass everywhere."

They followed Sookie into the bathroom. Sookie peeled
the bandages off her face with her eyes closed. Opening
them, she stared into the mirror and pointed to the nose in
the mirror, grimaced then dropped down onto the toilet
seat, stood up again and looked at herself in the mirror
again. She climbed on the sink and looked closely. "Whose
is it?"

They all shrugged.

Shaking her head, "It's not mine. It's not me anymore
is it?" she said, looking for a response from their faces
in the mirror.

"Sure it is." Brunie patted her shoulder.

"No, it's not mine. It's not anywhere near mine. I
had my dad's nose. This isn't his."

"Jesus loves you," Pam added matter-of—factly.

"Sookie, it doesn't look that different," Denise
consoled her.

"Is it me. Tell me...look at me. IS IT ME?"

"It's a little different," Denise agreed.

Jumping down from the sink, raising her voice,
pointing to her nose, she appealed vehemently, "This growth
is not me. They didn't alter it, they remodeled it. I
can't live with a fuckin' mistake on my face." She left the

bathroom. They followed.

 

 

38

"You sleep with one every night," Pam added.

"Well, Sook, you can't have it back. The old is gone.
You just can't go back." Brunie assured her maternally,
"You can't do anything about it now."

"I'll do something about it." Sookie dropped onto the
sofa, with the deer head on the wall behind her, then got
up and paced the room talking out loud. "What have I done?
What the fuck is me anymore. What have I really done?

This whole place..this lamp...I hate this goddamn lamp."

She contemplated for only a moment before she lifted it

into the air, a tiny spark coming from the socket making her
jump back. After hesitating for a second, she then hurled
it to the floor and with a minor sense of satisfaction she
sauntered into the kitchen, the broken glass crunching
beneath her feet. She halted, looked around the room,
opened the cupboard. "And these dishes," she said, and one
by one she dropped them.

"All right, Sook. That's an eight!"

Pam and Denise followed screaming out scores and
prompts. "What about that vase over there?" Pam pointed to
the vase on the fridge.

"Go for it," Denise encouraged. Pam grabbed the
Tequilla and held onto it.

"This is insane. Sookie, you're breaking all his
things," Brunie said nervously to Sookie, and hushing
herself turned to Pam and Denise. "Quit feeding the fire,"

she demanded.

 

39

Sookie muttered, "Good choice." She reached up and
knocked the vase off. "I hate it." It crashed onto the
drain-board taking the plant on the window-sill with it.

"Nine!" Denise shouted.

Sookie grinned proudly and thrust her arms up.

"And what about that fish in the living room?" Pam
raised her eyebrows and rolled her eyes in the direction of
the living room.

Sookie mumbled, returned to the living room, reached
behind the fish tank and unplugged the air—hose.

Next, she flung the owl to the carpet.

"Six. Only six. It didn't break. You're losing
momentum," Pam said.

Sookie returned to the kitchen, climbed onto the
counter, reached into the far corner of the top cupboard
and withdrew four new goblets. Holding them up for View,
revolving them, displaying the stems and delicately cut
rose petals, she raised one eyebrow and announced,
"Crystal...the finest. His prize!"

"Sookie. Don't do it. This is destructive!" Brunie
exclaimed. "Don't break all his things. They mean
something to him."

"So did my nose, Brunie." Sookie slammed them to the
floor with pleasure.

Pam and Denise raised their hands above their heads
and bowed. Speaking with pride, Pam said, "Perfect score,

Sook," and passed her the bottle. "10's in three

 

 

40

categories! Total score is 30 for Lip—sync, 30 for
Appearance and 30 for Originality. How do you feel now?
Is there anything you'd like to say to the audience?"

Sookie spoke into the bottle. "Much better, I feel
much better...just like a new person. Thank you all for
coming. I feel this has been the highlight of my
career...my best performance. I found it very challenging.
Thank you all, for shopping at K-Mart."

Brunie shook her head, and said with disgust, "You're
all destructive. You've surprised me...this time you've
really surprised me. Pam you always amaze me. You sleep
with anybody you want. Denise you smoke pot all the time.
None of you has a career. You can't keep a husband."
Brunie grabbed her change from the table. "I'm not staying
here. You've gone too far." Brunie hesitated, waiting for
an explanation, waiting for something more.

Pam shrugged, took a shot of Tequilla and passed the
bottle to Sookie. Sookie slugged it down and said, "Don't
you understand? My nose, Brunie. My nose. I haven't gone

far enough." Sookie tipped the table over.

 

The Mother

Pushing her bangs down, flattening them as far as they
would go Sam left the safety of her bedroom and approached
the living room.

Mother was there performing her weekly cleaning, which
always only included dusting: the floors, wash, daily meals
were left to others. Dusting gave Mother a feeling of
aristocracy. She could move around and, with a simple
flick of the feather duster, eliminate the dust without any
effort at all. That morning Mother was constantly walking
by her dining room table which had already been set for the
company to come. When backing away from her table, she
stumbled over Peewee sitting near the coffee table on the
floor. "What are you doing just sitting here meek as a
mouse?" she asked and flicked the feather duster at her.
Peewee scrambled to her room.

Mother heard Sam dragging down the hallway. "Pick up
your feet when you walk," she hollered, not caring to know
who it was she was addressing. Sam picked up her feet and
came into the living room. Mother turned briefly, looked

at her, shook her head in disgust, and turned away saying,

41

 

42

"Take those bell bottoms off. You look ridiculous. Can't
you find something better to wear? Do you have to try to
be offensive? Are you deliberately doing this to me?" Sam
sat quietly on the sofa, brushing the carpet with the toe
of her tennis shoe, trying to answer, while Mother
continued her ranting. "We're having company. If you
can't find something better to wear, then don't even plan
on being around. Help your sister get moving, put her hair
in pigtails, and then vacuum the living room," Mother
reeled off, then turning her attention to the father
continued, "Dave, get those newspapers off the table. You
sit around with newspapers all over my nice table just
smoking and drinking coffee. Do something. Go and rake up
the yard. We have company coming. I don't want the
Ackerlands to see this place like this. It's hard enough
that I have to work all week long, but to do all this by
myself is abuse. I can't believe I've come to all this.
You've dragged me down. You've all just dragged me down."

Sam skulked into her bedroom and closed the door.

Unaware, Kevin waddled out of his bedroom to the
kitchen. Mother ran into him. "Excuse yourself," she
demanded.

"Excuse me," he replied.

"Look at you, look at you. LOOK AT YOU! You're a
disgrace. You are the worst. You can't even do up your
pants. DO UP YOUR ZIPPER. You don't want your sisters to

see you with your zipper down, or IS that what you want?"

 

43

she glared at him suspiciously.

Kevin looked down, fumbled for his zipper. "It's
broken," he answered timidly.

"Change them. Were you going to wear those pants in
front of the Ackerlands?" She rapped his head. "Get back
in there, and don't come out until you're presentable."

Mother turned her attention to the table. Pleased,
she admired it, then stroked her neck and chest.

Turning on her heels she headed for the bedrooms.
Opening the first door, she caught Kevin in his underwear.
"Get your pants on," she said, and barged in and
dragged his bedspread over the tangled sheets. "We don't
want unmade beds," she added, and left heading down the

hallway toward the next room.

She opened the door, walked over to the bed and tugged
the bedspread over the bed, covering up everything, then
marched over to the drapes and yanked them open, turned on
her heels and left.

Sam was on her bed, covered with the bedspread. "She
didn't even see me here," she thought, "she didn't even
notice me. I'm a rumpled sheet, a stained pillow, a
wet-pad."

Peewee sat on the floor near the dresser. She waited
for Sam to move.

"Sam," Peewee whispered. Sam didn't answer. Peewee
sat motionless while she concentrated on detecting some

movement from under the bedspread.

 

44

"Sam," Peewee whispered and stared at the bed.

With alarm in her voice, she whispered louder,
"Please, Sam, you're scaring me!"

Sam tore the spread off, sat up on the bed, then
heaved herself up and went to the kitchen, taking Peewee
with her.

Kevin was in the kitchen pouring himself a glass of
Coke. "Do you two want a glass?" he asked, filling his to
the top.

"Sure, thanks." Sam got two glasses down from the
cupboard.

Kevin began filling hers.

Mother entered.

She slammed the door of the refrigerator. "What are
you doing?" she asked, grabbing the bottle of Coke from
Kevin.

He shook the spilled pop off his hand. "We want a
glass of pop," he explained.

Peewee wiped her face with her arm.

"That's for our company. I brought it for them, and
we're going to save it for them. Little Charlene likes
POP-"

"We only want a glass. We're going to share just one
bottle," Kevin pleaded.

"You didn't even ask. You just came in here and
helped yourself."

"May we please have a glass?" he asked and tried

 

 

45

to sip from the glass he had poured.

She pulled it away. "No. It's for company. The
Ackerlands are coming today."

"I hate the Ackerlands."

She rapped his head.

"Why is all the good stuff for the company and not for
us? Why are we having them? Charlene is a dog, a puker."

"Little Charlene is a nice girl." With a tight grin on
her face, she added, "And she doesn't like dirty little
boys -- ones that like to keep their zipper down."

"When she's here I'd like to drag her off her mother's
lap and rap her on her head."

Mother retorted, "You are a disgusting boy."

She pushed them from the kitchen.

They scurried off.

Sam, Kevin and Peewee gathered in Kevin's bedroom.

"I don't see why we can't have some pop?" He yanked at
the bedspread.

"She made my bed while I was still in it. She pulled
the covers right over me," Sam said and thought for a
moment before she continued, "she didn't even notice that I
was on the bed."

"She plowed right over me," Kevin added.

"She tripped over me," Peewee added.

"She don't care about nothing but her rotten company."
Kevin threw his pillow on the floor.

"She's different to them. She seems to be falling all

 

46

over them in a different way. When they leave it seems
like she leaves with them."

"I hate company. I wish they wouldn't come," Peewee
cried.

"But then we wouldn't have pop, but what's the
difference, we can't have any anyway. I'm leaving my
zipper down. We can't even have one bottle of pop. It
makes me mad. We should take one anyway."

"No. She'll only holler and bring it up in front of
Ackerlands or something. That's not good enough."

They sat silent. Sam stood up and said decidedly,
"I'm going to do something more."

"What?"

"Come on."

He unzipped his zipper and followed Sam. They quietly
tiptoed to the kitchen, Peewee dragging after them.

Sam checked the hallway and living room. "She must be
in her bedroom fixin' herself up for the company." She
peaked around the corner and whispered, "Dad must be
outside."

They crept into the kitchen.

Sam opened a bottle of pop and dumped it down the
drain. Kevin's lower jaw plummeted. "Aw...aw, Sam." He
clenched his fists and hit the top of his head. "This is
deep shit."

"Give me another."

Kevin eagerly handed her the next bottle.

 

47

She poured it down the drain and reached out for the
next.

"Wait, stop."

‘Sam hesitated for a minute. Kevin held out two
glasses, and Sam filled them both. He drank one down, then
asked, "What will she do?"

"Gimme some, gimme some," Peewee urged. Kevin took
two sips and gave her the remainder.

Sam filled the glass again, then dumped all the
remaining bottles, watching the liquid disappear.

"Something...she'll do something now," she answered.

 

Plumb Miserable

I've seen it dark.

I know the dark...like when we go to bed.

I know the dark that's still around in early morning,
but I ain't never seen the dark like it is now. I ain't
never seen nothin' so black as it is now. I guess it could
be past midnight, or it could even be closer to morning.
It's hard to tell when it's so black. Black like the tar
roof of Nelson's shed. Black like the soil Ma puts down in
the garden every year. And here me and Judd are sittin'
soaking wet, all full of mud, and scared.

I expect we're in the worst fix we've ever been in.

We both figure Arnold is gonna kill us. We might even lose
Sal. It's hard to tell.

We've been sitting here with her for hours and hours,
at least half of a day, and it ain't gettin' no better.
She's sunk down all the way up to her neck. Letting her
rest up might help: maybe she'll be able to pull her 01'
self outta that mud. I don't know.

I don't know what to do, but just sit with her holding
onto her reins. Judd is dozing and his breathing calms me;
Sal's makes me nervous. It's quicker and coming harder.

It brings me back to how dark it is and what Arnold will do

48

 

49

to us when he finds out. Judd's gets me noticing the stars
and forgetting Arnold.

Sooner or later something will happen. Someone will
find us, or we'll be out of this mess, but we won't be
clear of it neither way. It ain't gonna be no better if
Arnold comes when he's sober, or if he comes when he's
drunk.

I guess it don't do no good at all to think about how
we got into this mess now. It just happened, and here we
sit on the edge of Lake Michigan with it as quiet as an
empty church, and the only noises are the kind that make
you scare yourself.

I suppose we're kind of to blame in a way. Me and
Judd did take off, but, hell, we never would have taken off
and not told anybody where we were going if Arnold wasn't
home so much now and getting gnarly so often. He's always
cuffin' us 'bout the head and tellin' us we act like them
crazy Indians up on the Hannaville reservation. I'd rather
be caught by all the Indians there ever were, or stay here
forever, than have Arnold get us. Lord Jesus, he's gonna
kill us.

Arnold only used to come home for a few months out of
the year. He'd always be in around the end of November,
when the lakes get too wicked for the ore boats to keep
runnin'. The captains of the boats are cautious, now, ever
since the Edmund Fitzgerald went down. They ain't pushing

their luck no more. As soon as the boats quit running all

 

50

the men come home for a few months.

It was good times to be home then.

Hunting season starts the middle of November. Arnold
would usually get in in time to go to camp with old Oliver
Wickler and the Thorsen brothers, until December. Then the
holidays would come up and Arnold would be celebrating with
Oliver and the rest of the boys from the boats. And when
January rolled around Arnold and Oliver would set up a trap
line, and they'd both be off most of the time, or in the
woods cuttin'.

But now it's different.

The boats ain't running no more, not because it's the
end of the season. They just ain't running. I guess
'cause of the economy. The iron mines are shut down, and
the men are laid off. So, the boats ain't running and
everyone is laid off. And no one is cuttin' much in the
woods 'cause no one is buying 'cause everyone is laid off
everywhere. And Arnold is home all the time.

When Arnold was gone for seven or eight months and,
maybe, only got in for a weekend here or there, it was nice
to have him home. He was usually all right, but it ain't
the same. I don't think me, Judd, Ma or Arnold can get
used to him around all the time. Nobody is too happy, and
Arnold is the worst. He don't try to hide it in front of
nobody. He's always telling us to get outta his hair and
go and do something, no matter where we're at.

Everyday he and Oliver are either putting away as much

 

51
Four Roses as they got, or they're at Oliver's trailer
drinking whatever he has around and eating pickled smelt
with their fingers right out of the canning jar. They try
to make me eat that stuff. Even when I tell them, No,
thank you, they still make me eat it, but I don't chew it.
I just hold it in my mouth until I get the chance to slip
it in my pocket. Sometimes I've left them there and ma has
found them, but she don't say nothin'.

When Arnold and Oliver ain't at our place drinkin' and
ain't at Oliver's, they're driving around in Oliver's old
red pickup with a tool box in the back, a gun-rack in the
rear window and a twelve pack on the front seat.

The other night Arnold and Oliver came in from
visiting all day and Arnold wanted Judd to go get something
for him in the pickup. When Judd put on his shoes, Arnold
got up hollerin' and started cuffin' him. Judd didn't know
what was going on. I didn't know what was going on, and
Oliver he didn't care. He ain't had no kids, so I don't
expect he even knows nothin' 'bout kids at all. Judd is
smaller than me, but he's kinda rolly, like the fattest
puppy of the litter, and so he don't move too quick. He
don't move quick enough to get out of Anrold's way, so he

always gets the worst blows. He just covers his head until

Arnold quits. "Stupid goddamn kid," Arnold said, then
clobbered Judd. "Shittin' kids don't know how to take care
of nothin'. Don't you know?" He batted him again. "Don't

you know that if you slip on your shoes without untying

 

52

them you'll break down the goddamn backs?"

Judd didn't say nothin'. It didn't matter if they was
just an old pair of mine and that the backs were the only
parts not broken down already. Arnold just kept on
hollerin', Judd was hollerin' and ma got in on it, trying
to get Arnold to quit.

Those things happen almost everyday now.

I'll tell ya, Arnold is beginning to worry me, and I
know he's been scaring Judd for a long time. We just never
know what's happening, or what will happen and it makes us
both squeamish. Things just seem to go haywire and
everything gets crazy.

A few months ago our dogs took off and trotted along
the bay, like two tourists. They went over to Potter's and
killed a couple of chickens. Stanley Potter came over
having a fit, and I guess I don't blame him for that. He
said they weren't no good. "If them dogs kill chickens,"
he declared, "then they'll start running down deer."

Ma finally calmed him down. All it took was half a
bottle of Blackberry brandy and tellin' him that we'd keep
the dogs tied up. That was gonna be up to me and Judd to
do.

It wasn't too long after, when Arnold was home, that
he heard about Stanley's chickens while he was down at the
little store having coffee. As soon as he heard, he came
home hollering saying he wasn't going to pay for the dogs

to eat chicken and that if it happened again he was gonna

 

 

53

kill 'em.

Well, with deer shit for luck, a month or so ago me
and Judd let the dogs loose to clean up around their pen,
and they took off on us. We looked all over for them and
called them 'til we was hoarse, but they was long gone.
So, Arnold, with Oliver, got us in the back of his pickup
and we went looking for them and found them trotting along
the shoreline having a good 01' time. Arnold called to
Poost, our black lab and he came over. When he got up to
Arnold, Arnold got a hold of him and beat him bad and then
threw him in the back of the truck. That dog just sailed
right through the air and crashed into the truck. Then
Arnold called Kade, but Kade wouldn't come over to him.
Poost was kinda like Judd -- he just took his punishment
——, but Kade, hell, that old dog knew what was gonna
happen, and I guess he figured he'd just steer clear of
Arnold for awhile. Arnold was getting crazy calling and
calling that dog. He didn't like it when you didn't listen
to him, or when you caused him some trouble. But Kade just
kept his distance. So, Arnold told me to call him over.
He knew Kade would come over for me, but I knew what was
gonna happen if I did.

Arnold got going. "You shittin' dog. You no good
piece of shit. You goddamn mutt. You goddamn dog, come
the hell here," he hollered, then he started on me. "You
shittin' kid. You no good piece of shit. Stupid punk,

call your sonofabitchin' dog over here. I just want to get

 

54

the hell home."

That dog was bigger than me, and I just counted on him
takin' it all for both of us. When Arnold started knocking
me around, I called him over. Arnold got him by the collar
and started wrestling with him. He wrestled down there on
the ground with the dog. Me and Judd were dumb struck and
just stood there and watched. Kade was a big blonde lab
that went close to 110 pounds, but Arnold is a big man.
He's tall and heavy and has the biggest hands you'd ever
want to see. He said he got those hands from milkin' a lot
of cows. Arnold got his milkin' hands around Kade's neck
and started to choke him. You could see the veins sticking
out of Arnold's hands, and he was sweatin' and gruntin'.
Kade was lookin' like he didn't know what he was up against
and probably would have rather tangled with a wounded bear
than with Arnold.

It was a God-awful fight. Judd was crying. Oliver
was dancing around and probably would have put money on it
if anyone would have been there to take his bet. Here
Arnold and the dog were kicking up a storm of dust from
rolling around in the dirt along the side of the road, and
we knew that Arnold was going to win. You could see it,
but when Kade got the chance he bit him, then Arnold just
heaved him up by the skin around his neck and hurled him
into the truck. That was the end of that. Kade was gone
the next day. All Arnold ever said was, "We couldn't keep

no dog around that bites. Someone could get hurt from that

 

55

sonofabitchin' no good piece of shit." Then, he sunk down
into his chair with a bottle of Four Roses and watched TV,
until ma pulled him up and put him to bed.

We got into this mess we're in now 'cause Arnold was
getting nuts again. Me and Judd were sitting around the
house this morning watching cartoons, or would it be
yesterday morning now. It's hard to tell in this kind of
dark. Anyway, we weren't doin' nothin'. Arnold and Oliver
were already drinkin', only they hid it in coffee cups 'til
after lunch. They were talking about the lakes and the Joe
Block. They both used to make runs to Chicago and back
every few days on the Joe Block. They loved to be on the
boats, but were always ready to get off around November
when the weather turned bad. "Those sonofabitchin' lakes,"
Arnold would say, "ain't they rotten Oliver, just like the
teeth of the old whore Holzencarp."

"Yep, yep, by God, you betcha," Oliver agreed.

"The shoreline is just as wicked," added Arnold. Then
they both got to talking about all the tourists and hunters
and fishermen, who they've had to help out when they've
been stuck from trying to drive around the shore. "I'd
like to leave them there. They got no goddamn business
being back there anyway, no good sonofabitches," Around
would say.

Our house is at the end of the road right at the tip
of the point. People only come up here to turn around or

to look for a way to get behind our house and hunt. We are

 

56

always having to help somebody out because once you leave
our driveway you had better know the ground but good. You
have to drive out in the water a bit, 'cause there are some
tricky spots where whole trucks have gone down right on the
edge of the woods. The safest way is to stay a few feet
from the edge. Sometimes you have to go out a little
farther and other times you have to get in a little closer.
You have to know what you're doing and keep your eyes on
where you're going, or you'll end up stuck pretty bad.

Some guys have even come close to losing their truck, then
we'd have to go and get Wilbert Tillman's bulldozer to try
and pull them up. If we couldn't get close to them we'd
just watch them go down, and both Arnold and Oliver would
be drinking beer and grinning.

Well, Arnold and Oliver were drinking this morning and
talking. Arnold wanted us to turn off the TV and go do
something. Me and Judd were hoping to be able to hang
around in front of the set for a while, so at first we just
didn't make no move hoping he'd just drop it and go onto
something else. He started poking at Judd with his foot,
like he was some turtle he was trying to turn over. We
didn't budge. We just tried to act kinda sleepy, so maybe
he'd leave us alone. He didn't. Instead, he started in
and said he was gonna break the goddamn TV over our heads.

So, me and Judd took off knowing we'd best steer clear
of Arnold today. If Arnold was getting nasty early, then

he was gonna be on us hard later on.

57

We decided to do something by taking Sal out. She's
dependable. She's like an old relative, an old Aunt that
comes for a visit and never leaves and you don't really
mind. I can't ever remember not having Sal. Judd and me
figured her to be about sixty years old in our years and
about twenty in a horse's. She was missing a few teeth and
looked just like the old woman we see at Steinman's
department store, who can hardly move around and can't see
nothin', but yet they let her stay until she dies.

Sal has big, big wet sloppy lips. She can't eat
apples or carrots no more because she can't chew them.
She's always coming up to you and placing those big lips of
hers on you, and you can feel the whiskers.

When we were really little and tried to trot around on
Sal, we'd usually end up falling, and she'd just stand
there and wait for us, real patiently, just like Ma would
when we was having trouble doing something like tying our
shoes. Sal would just stand and look at us and wait for us
to get back on. She was careful of us. I do believe she
was always watching the ground more than we were while we
were on her back.

We didn't never have no saddle, and we never did need
one. Now that Sal was sloping a bit more from her withers
we would have to throw a blanket over her 'cause there was
no way you could ride too comfortably -- especially being a
boy.

We just slipped a hackamore on her. She didn't need

 

58

no bit in her mouth. We knew we'd be able to stop her. We
were more doubtful about gettin' her moving than anything
else.

We should have known that Sal would tire out. She
don't eat like she used to. We used to be able to give her
a mixture of corn, molasses, soybean and grain, and she
always got the second cutting of alfalfa. Now, with Arnold
laid off, she gets whatever. Usually, we try to give her
some plain oats, but mostly she gets hay from the first
cutting, even if it's gotten musty from dampness, so she's
wheezing and tires easy.

Me and Judd took off on Sal to get away from Arnold.
We took the fire trails that would take us to the logging
roads. As soon as we hit the trails we smacked Sal to get
her moving, and we started whopping like a couple of
Indians.

We were cowboys, Indian scouts, cavalry, hunters going
after grizzly, explorers and everything else you could be
out here where you knew there wasn't anyone around. Every
time Judd got shot, he would hang over the side of Sal on
his belly. Sometimes he would fall off of her while she
was walking along. Then, we'd be robbers escaping or
bounty hunters. It didn't matter what we were, whatever
side we were on we were the best. And Sal just kept going
along with it all.

It seems like you can go forever when you go along the

shoreline. There's the lake on one side and Hiawatha

 

59

National Forest on the other. You don't pass by no houses
or people, just big old fat pine snakes stretched out on
the sand. We could see the tip of Washington Island and
almost make out the cliffs near Fayette. The farther we
got away from near our place the more deer tracks we'd see.
You could see where they'd been herding up or coming down
to drink. We spotted a few and they just watched us ride
by. It took us awhile, but we got tired of making noise.
So, we just got to riding. Judd was holding on behind me
when he started with his stories.

"Billy."

"Ya?"

"Billy, do you remember the Olsen brothers?"

"Nope."

"Don't you remember hearing about them a couple years
back?"

"I don't remember nothin' about them."

"They used to go around dynamiting stumps for anyone
that needed it. They never charged nothin', they just
liked to do it."

"Oh, yea. I remember them. We got hay from them
sometimes."

Sal side-stepped a little, and Judd almost went off.

"Billy, you know what they did one day?"

"What?

"They tied themselves together to some old stump and

then took some blasting caps and blew themselves up."

 

60

"Come on, Judd!"

"No, Billy, I ain't kiddin'. They really did. It
happened out here near Moonshine camp. There was pieces of
them all over. Bud Hall found them when he came out to do
some cuttin'."

"Shit, Judd, that's crazy. What did they do that
for?"

"I don't know. Don't guess that anybody knew.
Everyone around here thought they was doing fine. I think
they must have been just plumb miserable."

"I guess both of them would have to have been plumb
miserable at the same time."

We rode for a while letting Sal take her time and go
about it her own way. We came up on the logging road that
led to Moonshine camp. That camp was about the only one
left that far back, and it was a ways into the woods. When
you get back that deep into the woods everything looks the
same and it's easy to get lost. Judd wanted to go back
there.

"Come on Billy, let's go back there. I ain't never
been back to Moonshine. I'm probably the only one that's
never been back to old Moonshine. Please."

"Judd, it ain't nothin' but an old camp."

"I know, but I want to see it."

"I think we should just stick to the shoreline. Sal
is pretty tired, and it's getting late. We got to be

headin' back pretty soon."

 

61

"Come on, Billy. I just want to see it. That's the
place where that girl got killed."

"What girl?"

"Turn down that way and I'll tell ya as we go. Come
on Billy, it ain't that far. We'll just take it easy. I
just want to see it really bad."

"You can't be tellin' Arnold we went back there."

"I ain't tellin' him nothin'...I promise."

I turned Sal down the trail to Moonshine and Judd got
on with his story.

"This guy took his daughter out to Moonshine camp with
him. She was only about ten years old. He was gonna cut
some wood and fix up the camp to get it ready for hunting
season. He took the girl out there with him just to spend
the day. He wanted her to see nature and all those
changing leaves and pretty stuff, like Ma likes. Anyway,
while he was out in the woods the little girl was playing
on the front porch of the camp. It wasn't a big porch,
just large enough to pile up some wood and put a chair on
the other side. While she was on the porch a big old sow
bear come up and got her. That sow dragged her off the
porch and away from the camp then killed her."

"Judd, bears don't come in and do that."

"Not often they don't, but I guess they tracked this
bear to get her before she did it again, and, since a bear
circles back to the same spot every three days, they knew

she'd come back for the rest of the girl. When she did,

 

62

they got her easy and found that she was real sick and
figured that's probably why she went after that little
girl."

Just then we came up on Moonshine camp sitting all by
itself in a little clearing, so a little bit of sun could
get to it through the pines. We jumped off Sal and tried
the cabin door, but it was padlocked, so we climbed around
and peeked in the windows. We could barely see anything.
There was some antlers on the wall above an old cot and
what looked like a little stove back in the corner. We
hung out there for awhile knocking around and both thinking
it wouldn't be so bad living there all the time.

We must have spent more time there than we thought.
'Cause pretty soon the sun was going down and the woods was
getting dark fast. I knew it was getting pretty late and
that we would have to really get on old Sal to get home
before it was too dark. I didn't want to be out in these
woods when the sun went down. It's like it's a whole
different place at night. It changes, and, as well as you
may know it in the day, it's strange to you at night.

Judd and me both wanted to get moving, so we swung up
on Sal and took off. We broke off a small branch from a
dead pine and smacked Sal to get her moving.

she was moving pretty good. I think she had enough of
us and wanted to get back. We rode her pretty hard that
day.

The best way to get out of the woods is to listen for

 

63

the waves. You can always hear them washing onto shore, so
you just head in that direction. Once we got to the
shoreline getting back home was easy.

We hit the shoreline soon enough, but by that time it
was getting really dark. We knew we were gonna be late and
that Arnold was gonna be mad and go nuts on us, so we
started pushing Sal on. We were really whacking her with
that stick. We were excited and anxious to get home, and I
think Sal must have been, too. We were pushing it hard
when she went down.

I can't even remember what the hell happened. She
went down so fast with us on her back.

We felt her going down.

Judd started yelling, "Get her on, get her outta
here." I tried. I started kicking her hard and beating her
with the stick, but she couldn't do nothin'.

"Come on Sal," I was saying, "Come on, Sal...please."

But she went down fast, and we stayed with her until
the mud was up past her shoulders and our knees. There's
about six inches of water covering this muck, and there's
swamp grass growing out of it. It's the kind of spot where
anything can be crawling or swimming around. We had to get
off. Judd had to get off first. He slid his legs off one
side and hung onto me while he tried to feel out some
footing. He got to dry ground without much trouble. I
slipped off and kept the reins in my hand, then I crawled

next to Judd. We both got soaked and full of mud, and it

 

64

started cooling off fast. We sat down on a dry spot and
looked at the fix we got into.

This mud, that Sal is in, was covered up so well by
that little bit of water and grass that we walked right
into it. Sal must have made it through a bit, but it just
got a little too deep for her, and she went down and wasn't
strong enough to keep going to get out. She's tired.

She's having a hard time keeping her muzzle up and out of
the water. I'm trying to hold the reins up to help her a
little. I don't know if it's been doing her any good at

all, but I can't think of nothin' else.

It didn't take no time at all for Judd to come to
and start going crazy. He was jumping around, running back
and forth looking for something.

"Do something, Billy. Do something," Judd cried.

"Judd, I don't know what to do but hold the reins."

"Can't we get a log and put it under her belly and pry
her out?"

"No, she's too deep and we might hurt her more. And
we can't get close enough, and we can't get no leverage."

"Can't we fill up the hole? Can't we gather up some
sand and logs and stuff and fill the hole?"

"I don't see how we can do that. There ain't much
space between Sal and the ground we're on. She has to be
able to move her legs forward, and we can't pack her in or
she'll never get out."

"Then what are we gonna do?"

65

Judd is crying. We're both getting colder. It's dark
and we can't see much of anything. We're a long way from
home and nobody knows where we are. And Sal is still going
down slowly. She's getting deeper.

All we can do is sit and wait. I can't see a way for
us to do nothin' else. Judd doesn't want to take off by
himself, and he's too scared to sit here by himself. So
we're sitting together taking turns holding onto Sal by the
reins. It's still; full of that quiet that doesn't make
you comfortable. It's the kind of quiet that makes you
jump at every sound you hear. You can't tell where it's
coming from. It can travel across the lake like a swarm of
black flies that buzz about your ears and then travel on.

The only thing that is keeping me steady is that
constant wash of the waves as they amble onto the shoreline
then off again.

Judd's stirring.

"How long are we gonna be here, Billy?"

"I don't know. Probably 'til someone comes out this
way lookin' for us, or 'til Sal can gather enough strength
to take a lunge and get out."

It's hard to tell what time it is when night comes
heavy and so thick that you think you can just reach out
and tear a hunk off and squeeze it in your hand. Judd and
I have both been dozing. Part of us is resting and the
other part is leaning on listening to Sal's breathing.

Something brought us about, we both heard it. I swear by

 

66

God that it sounded like some woman's scream off in the
woods somewhere.

"Billy, did ya hear that?"

"Yea."

"What was it?"

"Nothin'. Some old coyote I suppose."

We sat for awhile trying hard to hear more, listening
to get a feel for what was out there.

"Billy, you know those stories I told ya?"

"Yea."

"Billy, do you reckon that the Olsen brothers and that
little girl wander 'bout in the woods?"

"No, they're gone. That's all."

"I mean like ghosts or somethin'?"

"There ain't no ghosts, and if there was I don't
expect they'd be hanging out here. It's plumb miserable."
"Billy, what do you think is gonna happen to us?"

"I don't know."

My arm is getting tired. I want to just quit. Sal
hasn't gone any deeper, but she ain't any closer to getting
out. I don't know how she could hold her head up for so
long. Judd took the reins to give me a break, but he
dropped them once, so I keep onto them. He's all busy
wrapping himself up with stories and scaring himself.

"Billy, what do you think Arnold is gonna do to us?"

"He's gonna be mad for sure. I guess it all depends

of if Sal goes down all the way."

67

"Billy, he's gonna kill us."

"He ain't gonna kill us."

"I'd rather go out in them woods and face a hundred
ghosts and fifty wounded bears than to have to face
Arnold."

"Ma ain't gonna let him hurt us. She'll be glad we're
safe."

"But Arnold, Billy, he ain't gonna be so glad."

We've sat here quiet for some time. Judd has been
sleeping a bit with his head on my leg. Sal is watching
me, I'm watching her. She seems to be breathing easier
now, like she's good and rested.

I know we pushed her too hard and that if she hadn't
been so tired out she would have made it through. I wish
Arnold would get back on the boats and Sal would get out.
"Damn, I wish that Arnold would get back on the boats and
Sal would get out. Come on, Sal."

She's listening to me.

"Come on, Sal."

Sal shifted her weight.

"Come on, Sal. You can do it."

Judd has jumped up and is running around, slapping his
leg and calling to her, like you do to a puppy that doesn't
know his name. "Come on, Sal," he's calling, "come on,
Sal. You can do it."

I've tightened my grip on the reins and have taken up

all the slack. Sal's getting ready. With light tugs on

 

68

the reins, I'm calling to her, too. "Come on, Sal. We've
been here long enough. Come on, Sal. It's plumb
miserable out here."

Giving her one good yank on the reins caused her to
try.

She lunged.

 

Sad Sack

I saw smoke coming from the woodstove at the milkman's
boathouse this morning.

It's fall again.

The windows in the living room are closed for the
first time this year. The old metal box that used to hold
the milkman's delivery is rusting by the front stairs.

The milkman isn't the milkman anymore. He quit. He
just up and left one day. He built a boathouse, and now he
rents rowboats out to fishermen. His place is at the edge
of town past the taverns and pool hall. A narrow dirt road
takes you to his boathouse with rowboats stacked seven high
and a single pier in the water.

He always took Stevie and me fishin'.

Now, watching other fishermen go out is what he does.
He's been at the boathouse, since Stevie...

since, his son, Stevie...

Dogface.

That's what everybody called Stevie.

Dogface.

He's been at that boathouse, since Stevie hung himself
last year.

Everyone always told Stevie, "Aw, go hang yourself,
Dogface."

69

 

70

And one afternoon he did, with his mother's
clothesline in the basement of her house in between reading
The Catcher in the Rye and doing some math homework.

Stevie's dad was our milkman. He was all right: if we
didn't have money for milk he'd leave milk anyway. He
always tried to be sure that we had milk. For two weeks
sometimes we'd get milk without paying. He'd just keep
sticking those little yellow bills, with the blue ink, in
the milk box, and the numbers would just keep adding up.

Sometimes, I walked to town to the milk machine on the
corner of Main and Elm because there had been too much
charged and not enough paid.

I remember when my mom sent me to the Robin Hood food
store for a half of gallon of milk. I was a kid, and it
was my first time going. I'd guess that store was three
quarters of a mile away from our house. I had to go at
night, so I dragged Stevie with me. He was always so
willing anyway. We didn't know what a half—gallon was. We
saw Half and Half and got that, walked all the way home,
got scared by witch Sedin's police dog, and then were
lectured all night and part of the next day for not
listening. We should have gotten a half of gallon not Half
and Half. We didn't know what the difference was and never
did find out because Stevie's dad was leaving milk again,
and Stevie was riding along with him. Delivering milk with
his dad was one of Stevie's favorite things. They both

liked to be out in the morning before anyone else, doing

 

71
their thing without any attention.

Stevie's older brother hated the milk truck. I heard
that Stevie's brother was pretty smart. Their mother said
it all the time. He always seemed to do things right,
never got in trouble, never fought with anybody, never got
hollered at in school and everyone seemed to like him
because he got along so well. "Night and day," Stevie's
mother would say about her two boys. "They're as different
as night and day. Bill fits right in the middle, just like
everyone else, but Stevie," she said, "is different.
There's something odd about him."

She felt that she had to help Stevie manage himself.
She was trying to help him do things right because he was
slow, but the potential was there she would say, like Jimmy
Gleason. Jimmy Gleason spoke very slowly. Some people
said he talked slow because he was slow; others said he
talked slow because he thought so fast and his mouth
couldn't keep up with his brain, and so he was a genius.
"Albert Einstein didn't speak until he was seven," Stevie's
mother would say, "and lots of smart people did poorly in
school."

Stevie never really did anything wrong. He just had
different ways of doing things that didn't work out. He
tried to make friends and would even laugh at himself when
the kids called him Dogface. His face would get really
red, just as red as when he blew his coronet; his eyes

shifted around, he'd look at everybody else; he'd nod his

 

72

head real fast and scratch the inside of his thumb with his
index finger and laugh at himself.

Stevie and I grew up together. We went to the same
church and school, since second grade.

Stevie could never sit still. In second grade Mrs.
Badders said he was always squirming around. She said,
"Stevie you can't sit in the chair right. You should sit
still. Do you have ants in your pants?" The class laughed.
Stevie laughed. But Stevie kept squirming, so Mrs. Badders
got a rope and tied Stevie up to the chair. She wrapped it
all around him, with his arms to his sides, underneath the
chair, across his legs, and tied it in a knot. The class
really laughed. Harry Johnson fell out of his seat from
laughing so hard. Stevie really laughed and nodded his
head spasmodically. I think even Mrs. Badders thought it
was funny. She left him there for a long time. The kids
teased him. They threw pencil erasers and spit balls at
him. Harry Johnson tickled him and everyone had fun and
couldn't wait until lunch to tell the other second grade.

I had to stay in that day for recess, too. I hated to
eat the breadcrust on my sandwiches. I hated them. Mrs.
Badders knew that I hated them, and she knew that I threw
them away. So, she would check my lunch bag before I threw
it in the garbage can. I'd try to throw it away when she
wasn't watching, but Mrs. Badders was always watching. We
ate in our classroom, and I couldn't leave my desk until

she checked my lunch bag. So what I did was hide them in

 

73

this little blue coin-purse shaped like a canoe that my
cousin Gordon got for me in Canada. It had a zipper, where
you would sit if it was real, and little red and white
beads sewn on the outside. I put the crusts of my bread in
there. I'd empty it out on my way home and bring it back
the next day to fill it up again. Well, Kathy Vassle told
on me. Mrs. Badders came over and opened my desk. She
found the canoe loaded up with bread crusts, then she
wanted me to eat them, after they'd been all crammed in
there. I told her I'd eat them tomorrow when they were
still attached to my sandwich. I'd even do it in front the
class, I bargained. She said, "No, eat them now." I
wouldn't. I had to stay in until I ate my crusts. So, I
stayed in with the crusts on my desk top and Stevie
harnessed to his chair.

As soon as Mrs. Badders took the class down the hall
and around the corner to go outside and play, I untied
Stevie. He helped me climb up on top of the shelves, where
the paints were kept, and we pulled the window open and
threw the bread crusts out, hoping the birds came before
Mrs. Badders returned.

I was peeking out the door when she came marching down
the hall with the class behind her, like an army of ants.
When she turned the corner by the fourth grade room, I ran
and tied Stevie up again -- a lot looser.

Stevie was always in trouble for doing something

wrong. I was always in trouble for doing something wrong.

 

74

I always knew that I was doing something bad; Stevie never
did. It was like mine was on purpose and his was on
accident. He was just trying to get along, or do what he
should. Not me. I was always fighting, and someone was
always grinding my face in the dirt. My fourth grade
teacher Mrs. Hook said that it was as if I was campaigning
during an election year because I was always flapping my
jaws.

My mother said that I was a "hell-yon". My
grandmother said I took after my dad and that I was a
"bloody" something or other. She always told me that
either the police were gonna' get me, the nuns were gonna'
get me or the boggieman was gonna' get me. She told me
once that if I ran around the house three times and turned
around a ghost would be there, a boogieman. Stevie eagerly
said that he would try it, that the boogieman could have
him. I said no, my little brother would do it. I dragged
Danny around the house, but no ghost. Danny probably
scared him off with all his yelling.

Danny, Stevie and I hung out. Part of the reason was
because Stevie's dad was our milkman and my mom knew him
and Stevie's mother; the other part was that Stevie didn't
have any one else to hang out with, and since we never
called him Dogface we were his friends. We liked being
friends with Stevie. When there was nobody else around, no
other kids, or Stevie's mom, we had lots of fun and things

went right for him. The only time Stevie seemed slow to me

 

75

was when he was running bases.

My mom and Stevie's mom were always enrolling Danny
and Stevie in clubs or lessons of some kind. Danny and
Stevie were enrolled in the Drum and Bugle Corp. They
started off on bugles, but soon after they were promoted to
drums. Neither one of them wanted to be in it, but
Stevie's mom said Stevie should join things and my mom said
Danny would join with him. So they were signed up and
given bugles. A week later they were given drums. "Try
Stevie try." I can remember his mother saying, while she'd
tap her foot. Stevie would hit the drum at the wrong time
and not hit it when he should have, and she would make him
practice over and over and over again.

They had to wear short pants. Short shorts we'd call
them. I have a picture of them in those outfits. Neither
one of them was smiling. Danny was sticking his tongue
out, Stevie wouldn't dare -- he pulled his hat over his
head.

They would both cry when they had to go to practice.
My mom and Stevie's mom would haul them to the car. Their
hats would get knocked off and their drums got knocked
around, but they'd finally be in the back seat with the
door locked, looking at me out the back window. When they
came home from practice it would be worse. Danny was
usually pouting and throwing his drums down, but Stevie
wouldn't say anything. His mom would say, "Stevie you have

to lift your knees higher when you march. You should watch

 

 

76

the other boys and hit the drum when they do." Stevie
wouldn't answer. "Stevie is so talented," she said. "So
gifted." She'd smile at Stevie. "He just needs to apply
himself. He needs someone to bring it out, encourage it to
blossom. He needs to find his little niche." So she stuck
him in every niche. He and Danny would run to change their
clothes and get the hat off. "Do you like it, Stevie?" I
asked. He shook his head no, and my chivalry took charge.
I poked a hole in each of their drums with a pencil, and
they didn't have to go any more.

Kids are expected to grow out of things. We're
suppose to go through stages and develop. Everyone seemed
to stay the same to me. Stevie never changed. And the
kids kept on calling him Dogface. Things stick with you,
if they call you slow in grade school then you're slow all
the way through high school. And teachers know it before
you have their class. I was the trouble maker, Stevie was
pegged as slow, the poor little sad sack. Jimmy Gleason
was a genius, Crazy Larry had a leak and Johnny
Neckerbeckie was retarded, after his dad ran over his head
with a tractor.

Stevie's mom never gave up. It was important to her
for him to be a part of everything and be accepted by the
whole town. She was always saying, "Stevie go and play
with all the kids. Why don't you go and play?" Stevie
wouldn't say anything. Then she'd continue, "Stevie you

should go and play with the kids. It would be so nice to

 

77

see you playing with them."

Stevie would finally tell her that they didn't want to
play with him. She would shake her head and say, "Stevie,
if you go over there and ask them, they will."

So Stevie would.

When he'd get near them, they would all start running
away from him and say, "Get outta' here Dogface. We don't
want your fleas." Then they would run around like they had
fleas and scratch and roll on the ground. Stevie would
laugh and just go off by himself, nodding his head and
scratching his finger.

Stevie was always last. Last in races, last to finish
his homework, and last to be picked on a team. The only
time Stevie was first was in a Spelling Bee. He was always
the first to sit down. Most of the time Stevie never got
picked at all. The teams would just walk off and leave him
standing there. Nobody wanted him on their team. When we
played games in school, at recess, or just games with the
neighborhood kids, Stevie never got picked first. He never
got picked third or fourth and sometimes not at all.

I was lucky because I was good in sports. Lois, my
friend, and Danny were, too. We were usually on the same
team. If one of us was captain then we'd pick Stevie
third. If one of us wasn't a captain and our captains
didn't pick Stevie then we wouldn't play. So Stevie got
picked. Sometimes he would be standing there by himself in

the middle of everybody, where you had to stand and wait

 

78

for someone to choose you. When your name was called your
friends would holler, "Yeh, all right," and pat you on the
back when you joined the team. Standing in the middle you
could hear them telling the captain who to pick next, "Get
Karl. Pick Bonnie. Don't get Dogface, he's no good." And
there Stevie would be standing all alone. Sometimes the
teams would start to walk off and get in their spots to
start playing and Stevie would still be standing there.
Stevie always ended up on our team. Sometimes it just
meant us quitting and leaving, until the kids would come
and get us later. Sometimes they never came. But if we
played, then Stevie played. Sometimes a fight would start.
It always began when someone started telling Stevie to go
home. "Why don't ya just go home Dogface. Yea, get out of
here Dogface you're just causing trouble. You shouldn't
even come. Go home ya puppy. You stink." Then the battle
would start. Everyone would fight everyone, until it was
settled that Stevie could play and they would shut up. If
we didn't get it settled that way, then we just took off
and went to our fort and planned how to get them back, that
was my favorite thing.

When Stevie got to play he batted last and was usually
stuck way out in the outfield. The only thing they really
ever let him do was chase the ball, then they'd holler at
him, "Fetch the ball." And then holler again when he
couldn't throw it in all the way.

When he got up to bat it was always, "Come on Dogface

 

79

quit scratching and hit the ball, mutt."

Stevie never hit the ball. Either the ball hit him or
he struck out. When the kids told Stevie to swing harder
he'd swing so hard that he'd spin around. Sometimes he'd
tip right over.

It seemed like Stevie never ducked from the ball when
it was thrown at him. He would let the pitcher hit him
just so he could get on base. Sometimes he got hurt. He
wouldn't do nothing, just take his base. We'd tell him,
"Stevie you don't have to do that. We don't care if you
strike out. Don't let him get you like that. He's trying
to do it." Stevie would say, "It's OK."

Stevie always took care to place the bat down. He
never threw it except for one time. He got excited when he
hit the ball. He let the bat fly. It went through
Kapelke's window.

Mr. Kapelke was a big man with long arms and big
hands. I've never seen anybody as tall as Mr. Kapelke.

His legs were as long as our sofa. All I can remember is

that he was tall and never came out of his house unless he
planned on clobbering someone, or everybody. He clobbered
his kids all the time. He had a big strap, like the kind

the barber uses to sharpen the razors.

As soon as Danny saw him in the doorway he screamed,
"Run, Stevie, run," and took off. I took off, Stevie took
off, but the Kapelke kids got Stevie -- six of them pounced

on Stevie. I can see why. If they couldn't produce Stevie,

 

80

then they had to take the blame themselves.

Danny and I hit Rhoton's fence and pulled ourselves
over. We stood behind the fence to see what was going to
happen. Mr. Kapelke was just getting a hold on Stevie,
when Danny took off for home to get our dad. I waited.

The other six Kapelkes came out to see Stevie get mauled.
"Dogface is gonna get it now, and not with no newspaper,"
they sang, relieved that it wasn't going to be them.

Perched on top of Rhoton's fence I smirked at the
bunch and told them, "Your mother's a dog." I smiled. "Old
lady Kapelke smells like a dog...a garbage dog. And you
sleep with a dog." I laughed and pointed to Mr. Kapelke. I
knew that would do it. Mr. Kapelke forgot about Stevie and
twelve of the Kapelkes charged, but I was too slick. The
Kapelke's lived to get me, but they never did succeed. I
was on guard all the time.

My mother decided to do something about me, after Mr.
Kapelke told her what I said. So, she enrolled me in
baton. I don't know why baton, except that she worked
diligently on making a lady out of me. I had to wear one
of those uniforms that looked like a bathing suit full of
glitter. I was to sparkle when I marched lifting my white
boots with the tassels to a record.

Throwing the baton up in the air was all right, but
that's all I could do with it. I never even attempted to
catch it, I just let it land wherever. The baton was put

to better use when we bent it in half in the vice-grips and

 

 

81
used it for tent stakes.

At the time I was in baton, Stevie and Danny were put
in Cubscouts. Stevie used to march up our driveway to pick
up Danny for their Cubscouts meeting, and every time my
Grandmother saw him coming she would say, "Here comes poor
old Stevie." She'd watch him meander up the driveway in his
little blue Cubscout shirt and hat, with a gold scarf tied
around his neck, and his rope, and say the same thing she
said the last time he came up the driveway, "Poor, little
sad sack. It's a shame, a rotten shame."

The Cubscouts were learning to tie knots. They spent
three months tying knots and memorizing the names. And
often, when Danny and I would go to Stevie's house, he and
his mother would be at the kitchen table tying knots.
"Apply yourself, practice. Use that brain of yours. You
have it. I know it," his mother would be saying.

Stevie never got to be alone. I think that's why he
liked our fort. He wanted to be there all the time
because whenever his mother found him alone she started in
again. "Get out and have some fun. Do some things with the
kids. Stevie you have to associate with other people." And
then she'd join him up in something. Then my mom would
join up Danny, too. Danny used to get tired of Stevie's
mom putting Stevie in everything possible because my mom
would do the same, so Stevie would have company.

When things didn't work out Stevie's mom would get

upset with Stevie. She would sit and talk to my mom when

 

82

we were all around to hear her. She would talk about
Stevie right in front of Stevie and us. Stevie's mom would
tell my mom how she wished things weren't so hard for
Stevie, but she felt that if Stevie would try a little
harder then things would get better.

We were all dragged to church almost every Sunday.
The only time we didn't go was when we'd sneak into my
mom's room and shut off the alarm, so we didn't have to go.
In the morning we would lie in our beds and whisper. We
wouldn't even go to the bathroom to keep from waking Mom
up, until we knew it was good and past the time Sunday
school began and not enough time for us to get ready, then
we'd all rush to pee. The only other time we didn't go was
when my mom went out on Saturday night and really had a
good time. She wouldn't remember to set the alarm. We
used to always tell her to go out. Every Saturday we'd ask
her if she was going out. We'd say, "Go on, Mom, have a
good time, we'll be all right." Then we'd have Stevie sleep
over so he didn't have to go.

When Mom and Dad went out, Dad always bought home candy
from Kerwin's Bar. He'd bring home chocolate stars, malted
milk-balls and chocolate covered raisins. Usually he left
them on the dining room table. We had to make sure that
Danny never got to them first because he'd eat most of it.
We'd sneak out and get the candy, then lie back in the
bedroom and eat most of it before we got up. Sometimes, to

our disappointment, mom would get up, and we knew when she

 

 

83

looked at the clock, she'd holler, "Oh, no, if we don't
hurry up the kids will be late for Sunday school. Rise and
shine. Shake a leg." And she'd come charging in the
bedroom where we'd all be sleeping under the covers with
the candy in our mouths.

I usually would come out in my pants, and she'd make
me go put on my dress. Then I'd come out in my dress and
have my pants underneath, and she'd make me go take them
off. I did this every Sunday. Kevin would never comb his
hair or tuck in his shirt. Stevie would always come out
with his hair all slicked up and he'd have on a little blue
suit and bow tie.

Kevin and I returned to Church only once after Stevie
died, and we never went after that. There's something
wrong with that Church. Something really wrong with that
Church and lot of the people that go there. Everybody does
some things wrong, but there's a difference in wrongs. Mom
couldn't get us baptized without a bunch of wheeling and
dealing. As far as I'm concerned the minister of our
Church could be the devil himself, tricking us believe that
he's minister, because of the way he treated Stevie.

The Church wouldn't give Stevie any services. They
couldn't even say a prayer for him. The minister said that
Stevie went straight to hell, straight to hell. He
explained that when Jimmy Thompson was shot accidently by
the oil man's son, he got a service. Jimmy's was an

accident, but Stevie's wasn't an accident. The way that he

 

 

84
did it proves that it wasn't an accident.

As long as Stevie's family had been going to Church
and as much as his mom needed to have a service, they still
wouldn't do it. "What a poor little sad sack. It's a
shame," my grandmother muttered for a week.

Stevie made it into high school. Going to High School
had really bothered Stevie. He tried to schedule his
classes, so that they would be the same as mine. But there
were some things I had to take that Stevie couldn't, and
other things he had to take that I couldn't.

Entering High School was on his mind all summer.
Things were changing. Stevie and Danny got ten-speeds, so
they could ride to school. I got a permanent and a bra,
and they stopped from letting me ride Danny's bike because
it was a boys bike and not for young ladies.

I was riding Stevie's bike, he was walking, and Danny
was pushing his bike one afternoon coming home from school.
We were crossing the railroad tracks. We could see in the
distance that a train was coming. Stevie stood on the
tracks. He didn't move, or even try to move. Stevie just
stood there, but just before the train reached him it had
switched tracks. I don't know if Stevie knew it was going
to switch tracks or not. And a few days after that Stevie
did it.

Danny and I found Stevie hanging in the finished
basment with Christmas lights blinking.

After the cops got Stevie down, they separated Danny

 

85
and me to ask us questions. They were sure that somebody
had helped him. They said it took a lot to hang yourself
and that Stephen didn't seem like the kind of kid that
would would have it in him.

"Why would Stephen, when in the middle of reading,
just get up and go hang himself with his mother's
clothesline in the basement?" they asked. "Stephen could
have picked an easier way," they said. "That knot was
really hard to tie. A lot of men can't do that. Stephen
could have done it a different way." Then they peered into
my face, with the minister standing behind them. "Why did
Stephen do it. He didn't leave a note. Why wouldn't he
leave a note. That's odd that Stephen didn't leave a note.
Everyone leaves a note."

They stepped back and talked softly to one another.
The minister addressed Danny and me. "You mustn't feel too
badly about this." He sneered affectionately. "We know
what Stephen was like. It's hard for you to understand why
someone would do this." He lifted his voice. "And it's
wrong. It's shamefully wrong. It's a sin. And we don't
accept what Stephen did. You mustn't either."

Danny looked at me, I could see that he was confused.
I smiled at Danny and said, "His mother's a dog."

That seemed to clear things up for Danny, but Mother
almost fainted. And from then on I was bombarded with and
endless assortment of clubs, hair-do's and lessons to make

a lady out of me.

 

The End of a Private Road

513 begins black—topped, ends mercilessly into gravel
and pot-holes, and then at the turn off to the bay becomes
a hideous dirt replica of what it had started out to be,
terminating abruptly at the end of the rocky peninsula, one
hundred feet - straight up the cliffs - above the bay. At
the end of the private road, six miles along the bay with
limestone shingling the shore and the deep breathes of the
bay rhythmically raising and lowering the water line,
trickling the broken rock across the limestone floor,
slapping the make-shift wells scattered along the bay to
draw water to be used for everything but drinking, sits a
once vacation cottage that has been transformed into a
permanent dwelling.

Susan, pressing her face against the screen, leaned
against the front door. She wondered whether Naomi would
be coming. Hindered by the metal squares, some filled with
dust, some fly wings, her view of the field was obstructed;
the dirt clogged in the metal squares blotted a portion of
the sky, but she could see the heat evaporating the morning
dew, and rising, quivering, shimmying upward the way a

86

 

8W

lightly weighted gill net will sink to the bottom of a calm
bay. The buzzing of the electric fence seemed to have an
exclusive right to her ears. Pulled taut from one post to
the next, a single strand of charged wire was all that was
needed to keep the animals in.

She rotated her head, still pressed against the
screen, and rolled her eyes to view the door at the end of
the hallway behind her -- closed tight again.

In the quiet of the summer afternoon she pushed the
screen door open, lit a Winston at the top of the stairs
and stared past the grazing mares, some futilely stamping
and swatting with their tails, and others running blindly
from one end of the pasture to another, trying to free
themselves of the late June horseflies. Dirt clung to the
ineffective repellent; their sides and neck were welted
with bites from the unceasing attack on a breezeless day.
Getting to their knees a roan and an old bay mare in foal
dropped to the ground and rolled from side to side with
legs kicking and head rocking trying to gather release.

Taking the long route around the house, past the barn,
carefully avoiding the manure pile moist and warm in the
hot sun where pine snakes baking openly or concealed were
always to be found, Susan reached the back of the house.

Before going into the barn for a bucket of oats and
rope, she walked around the side to her garden. A section
15 x 20 feet had been staked out on the west side of the

barn, and the garden had been religiously planted on the

 

88

most well-cared-for plot of soil found on the entire
peninsula, but nothing grows in the rock and sand at the
end of the road. Thirteen inches of soil is all there's
said to be, and seventy percent of that is sand. In early
June, young buds push easily through the sand, but never
grow deep enough to find soil enough to root. Without
anything to secure their roots, they blow away in the
slightest wind or shrivel up because the water streams past
too quickly to the layers of rock below: rain doesn't

seep into the ground, it vanishes suddenly.

Susan stepped carefully between the rows. Kneeling,
she very gently touched a new leaf in the lettuce row and
crawled through the aisle to reach her tomato plant to
admire the green beginnings the size of an acorn. She
stepped carefully and reached for the garden hose. First
turning down the pressure of the water to a trickle, she
watered the garden plant by plant.

Unconsciously she turned and stared at the window
directly behind her, the only window with its shade pulled,
painted shut, appearing hideously isolated. Her thoughts
went over the scene in the bedroom and the trouble
concealed behind the closed blind and closed door. At the
edge of the garden she stared at the dried up lawn, then
walked to the barn.

With a bucket of oats and a rope hidden behind her
back, she walked to the pasture to catch Muley. She

grabbed the halter when Muley's head was in the bucket,

 

89

snapped the end of the rope onto the link and led her to
the back field.

Susan started Muley in a clockwise circle with only
ten feet of the nylon lunging rope out, prodding her with
the snap of a short whip, effective only in startling the
mare. Turning her body to follow the mare on her path,
occasionally snapping the whip to keep her moving, with her
jeans rolled up to her knees, a sweatshirt cut to a
sleeveless shirt and visor on backward, Susan slowly
rotated on the same spot watching Muley. She gazed across
the bay at the cliffs along the horizon and the rusted
tractors in the fields, boarded up hunting camps, deserted
lighthouse and Stanley Parchman raking a lawn that didn't
exist. And after following the straight descent from the
tops of the pines, dropping to the waves peaking where the
currents from all the Great Lakes met, her eyes settled on
the waves rising, whipping one another.

Muley reluctantly stepped quickly enough to stay ahead
of the whip. With Susan's persistant prodding, she moved
in her circle, but after a few times around she halted and
stubbornly refused to continue. Susan coaxed her, lightly
calling to her, "Come on Muley, you onery, ugly, old thing,
keep it going." Muley started trotting in her circle.

Susan continued her rotation, consciously wrapping the
lunge line around her wrists. She slipped the end-loop
over her hand and wrapped it across her palm, then switched

to the other hand and wrapped it with the rope. Several

 

90

times before Muley had bent her head down, stretched her
neck forward and charged, usually snapping the rope from
the trainer and wildly running off in any direction, over
anything. When she'd escaped into the woods, Susan had
patiently followed on foot with a bucket of oats in her
hand and rope behind her back through swamps, down the
logging roads, and onto the plains.

While rotating with the mare, her eyes following the
horizon, Susan noticed Naomi coming up the road on her
three-wheeler. She hollered and waved her to the back
field.

Susan allowed the whip to drop. She relaxed her hold
on the rope, and turned to the bay watching the hell—divers
allowing themselves to be propelled by the currents, then
suddenly diving straight down into the water.

Spooked by the noise from the three-wheeler Muley
suddenly tucked her head down and charged off, taking Susan
by surprise, toward the barn.

With fear, Naomi watched Muley dragging Susan, with
Susan still up on her feet. Skiing past the picnic table,
past the lawn chairs, through the badminton net, Susan held
on, still on her feet. Naomi rode after, the noise
increasing the mare's excitement. "Let go! Susan, let go!"
she screamed.

Trying to avoid the John Deere, Susan went down and
lay still for a minute before a sudden jerk on the rope

started her dragging again face down through the manure

 

91

pile. Muley stopped when she reached the pasture fence
separating her from the rest of the mares. Naomi reached
the fence, jumped off her bike, quickly unhooked the lunge
rope, and turned Muley loose inside the pasture.

Susan remained, with the lunge rope twisted around her
hands, on the ground panting. Holding her arms up, Naomi
gently unwrapped the rope from around Susan's wrists and
hands. After brushing the hair away from Susan's face,
stroking her back, she waited for some movement.

"Open your hands, Sus." Susan's finger uncurled. "You
have some rope burns. Jesus, they look awful. Are you all
right?"

Susan resting on her elbows pushed herself up to her
knees. "I'm ok. Christ! look at me." She rolled over onto
her back. "She dragged me right through the shit-pile,
right through that huge shit pile."

"Damn it, Susan, why didn't you let go?" asked Naomi
attempting to brush her off.

"I couldn't. She had me," Susan said and looked at
Muley. "I used the old suicide hold." Lifting her hands
into the air, looking at the top, the sides, then turning
them over to inspect the palms, disheartened she lowered
them gently to her sides.

Naomi helped Susan drag herself to her feet. Trying
to pull the manure from her hair, Naomi started walking
Susan toward the main house.

Susan stopping looked at the back of the house and

92

shook her head. "We had better not go in there."

Naomi looked at the house, puzzled. "Why not? You
need to get cleaned up and put something on those
scratches."

"He's in there...and he's not having a good day."

"He is?" Slipping her hands into her back pockets,
then glancing at the house, she asked, "What's the matter
with this one?"

"You know. You've seen it before." Susan hung her
head and rubbed her forehead lightly to remove the dirt.

Thrusting her hands deeper into her pockets and
standing with her feet slightly apart, Naomi questioned
her, "Is he trashing the place again?"

Watching her hand while she brushed the dirt from her
stomach, Susan answered, "Let's just go to the little
house...I don't want to go in there."

Looking over the house, noticing the closed blind,
Naomi continued, "He's doing his scene with the gun again,
isn't he?"

"Please, I don't want to go in there. Just leave it."
They walked to the little house, Naomi helping her along.

Covered with dirt, it embedded in some of the
scratches on her hands, her fingers swollen, dried blood on
her face, straw and manure everywhere, Susan found an old
jug and a packet of Kool-Aid. While she was mixing
Kool-Aid, Naomi went rummaging through clothes hidden

beneath some blankets in the metal cupboards. She found a

 

93

pair old of jeans. "These look like they'll fit."

Susan looked at the jeans. "They're mine." She slowly
stirred the Kool-Aid watching the funnel created by the
brisk stirring with the wooden spoon. "I keep extra things
in here."

Susan sat down at the table across from Naomi, lifted
the window, stuck a wood block in the sill to hold it up,
lit a Winston and seemed to relax watching the smoke
curling out the window.

"How often does he do this?" Naomi poured two glasses
of Kool-Aid.

Susan shrugged. "I lost count." She half heartedly
dabbed her face with a damp wash cloth, folded the cloth
and absently began dabbing again while staring out the
window .

"He's going to do some damage...I can feel it. He's
always doing this to you. Are you so numb to it that you
don't see what's happening? What is it going to take?"

"He hasn't done damage yet." Susan turned away from
the window, looked at Naomi and shrugged again. "I've
gotten used to it." Raising her eyebrows, she continued, "I
can't even remember why, maybe I served him Cheerios when
he wanted oatmeal, or maybe I told him that I didn't have
as many orgasms as I led him to believe, but the first time
he did this I cried hard, told him I loved him, how good a
person he was and blah, blah, blah. After a while I

stopped crying. And after a few more times, I'd wish he

 

94

would do it. Now when the bedroom door is Closed, I know
that he's sitting there with a loaded shotgun cocked with
the barrel in his mouth, and I just go about my
business...I'm so used to it. I accept it...my karma. I
expect it. The last time he did this I was in the middle
of my weekly cleaning, and I dusted around him." Susan put
her head in her hands. "Do you believe that? I just dusted
around him." Tracing her finger on the table around and
around the moisture left from the glass, "I've adjusted or
maladjusted. I just leave it alone. I handle it," she
said.

"This isn't one of those things you handle."

Susan slugged down her Kool-Aid. "I know."

"Then why do you stay? Why do you put up with it?"

"Because it's no different out there than here." Susan
looked at Naomi. "Everything has a clause. I'm older.
It's not easy to go out there with all this baggage. I've
gotten used to it...just like I've gotten used to the well
freezing up in the winter, being snowed in for days, or
getting hit by the storms. You swap one thing for
another."

"But he's not a damn frozen well. Is he? Bottom line
is that he won't change. So, it's time to ditch the
baggage and dump the bastard."

Susan rubbed the top of her lip with her cigarette
between her fingers.

"Admit that he's an asshole."

 

95

Susan looked at her, inhaled a cigarette, blew out the
smoke, and repeated, "He's an asshole."

"Say it with feeling...HE'S AN ASSHOLE."

"I can't."

"Get it out. Stand up on the table and scream it."
Naomi stood up on the table. "He's an asshole..a fool...a
crazy bastard!" she yelled.

Amused, leaning back on the chair, Susan watched her.

"Get up here, Susan. Come on, get up here."

"I can't."

"Come on."

Naomi tried to pull her up. "Say it and put some umph
into it."

With a little force Susan complied, "He's an asshole."

Coaxing her with her hands, "And?" Naomi asked,
encouraging her.

"And I'm sick of him?"

"And? And?"

"And this is crap." She looked at Naomi. "We're all in
the same way."

"What will it take?" Frustrated Naomi jumped off the
table and flopped onto the chair.

"It'll take more."

"It's serious, Susan. Don't you see that? I mean
it's not something you can work with. It's something you
can leave...you have to leave."

"That's what I do best. I always leave. It doesn't

 

 

96

bother me to leave. It bothers me that I can't stay.

Don't you understand that? I want to be able to stay
somewhere. I've left before. I always leave. That's all

I can do. I'm like a border. I take the landlord as long
as I can because it's easier than leaving, but I always I

go from one landlord to another. I adapt to a man the way

I do to an apartment with leaking faucets and cockroaches.

I fill it with meaningless things. How did I get here? Why
do I continue to end up the same as before? I'm like a rat
in a maze."

Susan fidgeted with her glass. Naomi watched her
without speaking. They sat, smoked and drank Kool-Aid.

A gun was discharged.

Instantly Susan jumped up. "Christ," she said
nervously and ran out the little house toward the main
house with Naomi beside her. When Susan yanked the screen
door, the top hinge gave way. She shoved it off to the
side, stepped in the house, then halted. The bedroom door
was closed.

Hesitantly, they approached the door, Naomi holding
onto to Susan's shoulders, both gathering themselves.
Susan turned the knob, the click seemed to be carried
across the water and echoed throughout the peninsula.

She opened the door. Smoke escaped into the hallway.
Confused they waited for the smoke to clear, then crowded
in.

"Jesus...shit."

97

Naomi peeked over her shoulders. "For Christ sake."

He sat on the bed grinning.

The shells had shattered the TV.

Susan stared at him in disbelief, Naomi gazed at the
remains of the TV.

He scratched his head. "I'm hungry. Anybody want to
order a pizza?" He watched Susan. "The horizontal hold was
gone anyway. It was a piece of shit. I'll buy a new one."

Susan started to close the door. She stopped, pushed
it open and stepped into the room, looked from the TV to
him and from him to the TV. "What are you doing shooting
the TV?" She held our her hand toward him. "Give me the
gun."

"No." He held the gun tighter.

"Give me that fuckin' gun," she screamed. Running her
hands through her hair and shaking her head, she told him,
"It doesn't work. Can't you understand that it doesn't
work. I don't feel sorry for you. I'm not begging and
crying for you not to do it. That ended." With mounting
frustration she continued, "What makes you believe that I
care? Is it because I clean the barn, fix your meals and
put up with your tantrums?" Tired, she leaned against the
door. "I only do it so I can live here. I only do my job.
I just earn my keep, but not to live with you, to live
here. I don't care if I live with you or not. I only do
what I have to do. Don't you know that I have to live with

a man, so I can survive a little better."

 

 

98

"You need me," he said confidently.

She shook her head. "You're a fool."

"You're a bitch."

She looked at him and said calmly, "You haven't known
that all this time I've been with you I've been buying
clothes. Even though you'd tell me not to, I'd buy them.
I'd hide them under the seat of the truck until I could
sneak them into the house. And I smoke, I never quit. I
kept my friends, and I have my own savings account. It's
all been a lie."

"If you have a savings account, then it's my money
that's in there."

"Yes, it was, but it's mine now."

She went into the room, grabbed her suitcase and
started to packed.

He put the gun down. "You won't leave."

"I will. I wouldn't before, but I will leave now. I
want to."

"You're not leaving." He stood up and blocked the
doorway.

She zipped up the suitcase and sat down on the bed.

He came over to the bed and confidently sat down
next to her.

She calmly picked up her suitcase and walked away.

She walked up to Naomi who was standing near the
pasture. She dropped her suitcase, walked to the barn and

unplugged the electric fence. With a bucket of oats, she

 

 

 

99

walked to the pasture. She grabbed Muley, picked up her
suitcase and walked them both down the road with Naomi
following behind, pushing the three-wheeler.

Standing in the doorway he yelled after them, "I'm
going to kill myself."

They didn't look back.

"I'm going to this time." He fired the gun into the
air.

They kept trotting down the road. "Will he do it?"
Naomi asked, hearing the gun fired.

"No. He'll get remarried."

 

 

 

 

Pearly Whites

I'm staying under, I'm not coming up —— ever.

My eyes are hurting. They sting, so I'll just keep
them closed. I can't see much down here anyway.

Everything is so distorted. There's all sorts of particles
floating around, drifting in their own directions. I can
only see down as far as the sun reaches: below it's dark, I
can't see anything. It's so quiet, so silent beneath the
surface, except for the loose barrel that keeps banging
against the other when a wave comes in.

The closer I get to the bottom the quieter it is.
Nearer to the surface I can hear everyone, as if they're at
a distance, jumping in and cannon-balling. I can see them
plunging down in front of me and hear them yelling, until
they hit and explode into nothing but bubbles with their
eyes closed, some with fingers clamped over their nose and
hair holding to the surface. I ought to jump out at him
when he jumps down...make him scream and gulp water.

I don't think that they've noticed I've been gone.
Maybe they think I'm on shore, or at home tracking down the
roast.

I hate him...I hate them all. You can't trust
anyone...not her...not him.

He told everyone as soon as we got here. He acted it

100

 

 

 

101

out on top of the raft, sniffing the air and asking if he
was getting warm. "No," they said, "you're cold,
cold...ice cold."

I can't go up now. I'm staying beneath the water and
under this raft until they leave. (I need air.)

I'll just wait until I get cramps from all those
potatoes and drown. I'll have to get cramps...that's the
only way I can do it. I'll always give in and go up for
air...no guts.

I can't surface. I can't face any of them. They
know. They all KNOW. I'm just going to stay here and
drown and float around with all the debris, until I bloat
and float to the surface and get hooked by some old
fisherman who will tow me in by the head. He can push me
onto the shore with his paddle, so I can be raked up with
the seaweed and burned in an old barrel, so the beaches are
kept clean, and all unsightly things are hidden from the
children. Wait until some poor little shmuck goes to the
barrel to throw his popsicle wrapper away and he sees me.

No, no, no.

I'd rather drift in with the current right into the
designated swimming area, marked by those bleach bottle
buoys, at the Village Beach, with my tongue hanging out, my
eyes bulging out, with leaches and slugs all over me, right
up to Debbie Kelsey's feet.

(I need air.)

They don't know I'm under here...they can't hear me

 

 

. 102

coming up for air...whose feet are those dangling over the
raft...I could yank them into the water, put seaweed over

my head and scare the hell out of them, making them scream
and gulp water.

I've got a twinge in my side. This is it. It must be
happening. This is it...I'm going. I'll tense up and help
it..it's gone already. It was only a twinge, a lousy
twinge...false cramps.

I can see them through the spaces between the boards,
lying next to one another. I hope they're all there when I
float up. They've had a good one over the roast. I want a
good one, too.

I want to come up with my back showing first, and when
everyone has waded into the water to see what it is, when
they're crowded around me, I'll roll over, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
That'll send them all out of the water.

Dolly did it this time...I've never forgive her, and
they'll never let me forget.

Every time I think I'm safe, Dolly does something to
derail me. I'm used to Dolly dancing her way through the
house with her arms up in the air snapping her fingers,
with her slip hanging beneath her dress. And I'm used to
her having those drapes open from the time she's up in the
morning until the time she goes to bed. (I need air.) She
likes the exposure. She wanted the house because the front
of it is all window. From one side to the other and from

the top to the bottom, it's all glass...like a damn

 

 

 

103

fishbowl.

I'm used to her, yet she still gets me, just when I
get relaxed. The family's used to her, but not the town.
And I'm Dolly's daughter. Sometimes I do things like
Dolly...it worries me. I have to watch myself. I have to
drown myself.

I get up in the morning and say, "Hello, Dolly," and
she starts singing, and, with her toe hitting the floor
first and her heel coming down hard next, dancing through
the house, singing, "It's so nice to have you back where
you belong. You're looking swell, Dolly..." Then she
dances off with those pink sponge rollers trying
desperately to remain on the ends of her hair.

(I need air.)

I can't remember ever calling her Mom or Ma or Mother.
We've always called her Dolly. My dad calls her Pat, her
mother calls her Patricia, but for as long as I can
remember her children and the neighbors have called her
Dolly.

I think my younger sister muttered "Dolly" one day
while she was waiting outside the door to use the bathroom
when Dolly was in the shower singing. Dolly always sang in
the shower. Her favorite songs are 'Hello, Dolly' and
'Mack the Knife'. Dolly must have heard my sister
repeating what she had heard because Dolly waltzed through
the door and responded to the name with unusual emotion.

She squeezed, hugged, giggled and told her how cute she

 

 

104

was. We all picked up on that instantly; that's how Dolly
came to be attached to my mother, and how we became
attached to her -— like remora.

Dolly loves Sunday dinners because that's the only day
that we eat in her dining room. And that's the only meal
in which she ever assists with the preparation. She
fusses, flutters, sets out her assorted bowls and dishes
and turns the oven on.

I don't know what made me want to have him over to eat
anyway. I've never had anyone over before, but since
everybody started doing it, I wanted it, too. It's just
like the time that I wanted to bleed because everyone did.
I couldn't wait for the time to put my nickel in that
machine in front of all the girls.

Now, I'm waiting to be waste stuck in the pipes of the
treatment plant.

(I need air.)

This morning Dolly got up to her coffee and
cigarettes, then shuffled back and forth through the house.
She wasn't talking, she was muttering. I should have
known. I should have known, but you can't always guess
what Dolly might be up to. You can't anticipate what Dolly
might do. She's unpredictable, but when she mutters it's
definitely a signal.

She was dusting around my dad, while he was reading
the funnies, and singing, "Oh, the shark has, such sharp

teeth, yea. And he shows them pearly-y-y-y-y-y-y whites.

 

 

 

 

 

105

La, da, da-da."

She began fluffing the cushions on the sofa while we
were sitting on them. She slapped the sofa and asked, "Why
didn't you get up and go to church this morning?"

Timmy answered, "You didn't wake us up in time."

She yanked him up, patted the sofa, flipped the
cushion over and said, "You're big enough to get yourselves
up." She slammed him back down onto the sofa.

Timmy spoke again, "We don't have an alarm in our
room."

"Have I got to do everything." She yanked the rest of
us up. "I work eight hours a day to feed this family." She
flipped over the remaining cushions, then slammed the rest
of us back onto the sofa.

After she finished bustling around the house, under
the guise of cleaning, she shimmied up to dad. "I'm going
to put on a pork roast. It's a nice, nice roast. Joanie's
little friend is coming to have dinner with us, then
they're going to the beach to go swimming. (I need air.)
It's a nice roast, Daddy-O. You'll like it. Let's talk
about getting that boat," she cooed and squatted on his
knee.

"No, Pat," he said, "I told you that last night. We
can't afford a boat."

"Come on, Daddy—O, let's talk some more about
it...then we'll have a nice dinner together and go for a

walk."

 

 

 

106

She got up and danced into the kitchen, singing, "Oh,
the shark has, such sharp teeth, yea. And he shows them
pearly whites," and put on the roast.

I checked to make sure the oven was on; that was the
last we saw of the roast.

She persisted in trying to convince dad to get the
boat. All morning long she shuffled up to him at the table
and started talking to him about that boat, and when he
said no, she'd do a quick step out of the room. She wanted
a boat. She told him that she had to have some pleasure
out of life...he couldn't support us...she had to work to
buy the food, well, he could just buy the food and she
could save her money for a boat. He told her that they
could plan on one in the future but, not right now. She
moved across the linoleum singing, "You're looking swell,
Dolly..." and put the potatoes on.

He came over about a half an hour before we expected
to have dinner. Nobody was too thrilled about him being

over, except me. It was my first time having a guest over

 

for dinner. And I'll never do it again, never, ever.

(I need air...how did she do it...get it out of there
pan and all?)

The table had been set with Dolly's finest dishes, a
lace tablecloth was draped to cover most of the table and
everything matched except the forks. Dolly was in her
bedroom, angry at Dad. So, as usual, he mashed the

potatoes and placed them on the table. Timmy put the peas

 

107

in a dish and Vicki poured the milk.

Nobody saw Dolly remove the roast from the oven. She
did it right under our noses.

We sat down at the table and waited for Dolly to enter
with the roast, but she never appeared.

Dad sent me to get her. I knocked on her bedroom
door. "Dolly, it's me...it's time to eat. Are you coming
out?" I asked.

"I'm not coming out."

"Dolly." I went in. "We're all in there waiting to
eat...my friend is here. Please come out and eat."

"I'm not coming out."

"Why?"

"Nobody appreciates what I do. I don't have anything.
Your father begrudges me what little pleasure I might have.
My life is a vulgar mistake."

"Dolly, don't do this now. Come on out and talk to
Dad after dinner."

"All you want is the food that I buy. You don't care
about your mother. Nobody thinks about the sacrifices I
make to keep food on the table."

"We want you to eat with us..don't do this. Not now,
please."

"I'm not coming out."

I went back to the table and whispered to Dad, "She's
not coming out.“

"The hell with her, "he bellowed, "go and get the

 

 

108

roast."

I went into the kitchen and noticed that the oven had
been turned off, but the roast was gone. I looked around
and couldn't find it. I checked the oven again, then
returned to the table and whispered into dad's ear, "I
can't find it."

"What do you mean you can't find it? Uou must have
overlooked it. Timmy go and get the roast so we can begin
eating...we don't have to wait for your mother," he
bellowed again and slammed his fork on the table.

I cringed and couldn't look at him. I couldn't turn
his way.

While Timmy was in the kitchen, we began passing the
mashed potatoes, rolls and peas. He returned, sat at the
table and uttered, "I can't find it either."

"For Christ sake...how the hell can you both overlook
a roast."

"It's not in there. We would have seen it, if it was
there, but it's not there," replied Timmy.

Just as Dad was getting up to go and look, Dolly came
in and sat at the table, pushed her plate out of her way to
make room for her elbows, lit a cigarette and said, "It's
not in the kitchen."

(I need air.)

"Well, where is it?" asked dad.

"I hid it."

(She hid it.) I knew he had heard her. She repeated

109

it, "I hid it."

I started to eat my potatoes.

Dolly went on. "It's my food...you're not getting
it," she said and two-stepped back to her bedroom.

Dad mulled the situation over, trying to accurately
determine the strategy needed to regain the roast. He sat
quietly scanning the dining room then asked, "Have any of
you seen the roast?"

"Nope," said Timmy.

Vicki shook her head.

He looked at Vicki, contemplated his next move, and
deciding that she was his only means of obtaining the
information he needed, he told her, "Go and talk to her and
see if she'll tell you where she put it."

She left the room and returned in a few minutes.

"Did she tell you?"

"No," she answered defeatedly.

"Aw, Dolly is so stupid...I'm hungry," Timmy insisted
and relinquished his hold on his fork.

"We won't get the roast that way!" hollered dad. "Did
you smell anything in the room?"

"No. I didn't smell anything like a roast," answered
Vicki.

"All right...we'll just have a look around. Check out
any place you think a roast could be." They all got up and
left me and him at the table eating potatoes and peas.

They began the search in the living room. Timmy lifted the

 

 

 

110

cushions while Vicki peered under. Dad inspected the
sideboard, and then Timmy decided to bring in the dog to
sniff it out.

They followed the dog around on a lease. The dog
found it in the linen closet under the dirty laundry.
There was an awful scuffle. I'm sure the dog won, from the
sounds of it.

I had to drag him out of there.

He wanted to stay.

As soon as we got to the beach, he kept telling them
he had something good to tell them. "Tell us now," they
said, "tell us now."

"No," he replied. "You have to wait...it's really
good."

Then he told them. He reenacted it on top of the
raft. He snuck around as if he was looking for the roast.
He sniffed the air. "It's not here," he said. Then he
played at looking some more. "Am I getting warm?" he
asked. They all laughed and took turns yelling, "Cold,
cold." And he moved to another spot on the raft and they
yelled, "Medium, medium...you're getting warmer."

As soon as I dove off, he started. I could hear them
when I came up under the raft.

I can't stay here.

I don't want to go home.

If I can only make it under water to the other side of

that pier.

 

 

111

I can just try, shove off the barrels, rock the raft.

If I can find a way to detach the anchor, I'd feel
better. Yes, I'd feel much better. I'll just follow it
down to the bottom, just to see if I can detach it. If I
can, I will. I'll let them float, float away, drift out to
sea, burn in the sun and die of thirst. Maybe, they'll have
to bargain with Dolly for water. "I hid it, she'll tell

them, "I'm saving it for my boat."

 

 

Old Friends

The room was long, narrow, and shadowed, lighted only
by a glaring bulb just above the mirror directly behind the
sink. There was only a single stall. The walls were
covered with a pale, pink paper with scattered velvet
flowers appearing degradingly fleshy. In a gold frame,
that had been screwed to the wall, hung a half-hearted
water painting of diluted flowers with leaves that seemed
to lose their freshness as dust and nicotine accumulated
on the cracked glass.

Helen retied her apron, wiped the milk from the top of

 

her shoe and tugged up her panty hose. She pounded on the
stall again, waited for a response, and when no response
came she left, passed quickly through the door and scooted
down the hallway to the dining room.

Finding Nick, she pushed her hair back, ran her
fingers through to the ends which, with both fists, she
clutched into pigtails and holding them tightly pulled them
forward to beneath her chin. clenching her teeth she told
him, "Nick, I can't get her out of there."

Absently he looked her way. "We're out of feta cheese
and Greek chicken...tell your customers."

112

 

 

113

"Nick, I can't get that woman out of the bloody can."

"You talk to her, eh?" he said while waving her to go
back, and at the same time hoisting up his trousers, with
his free hand pulling up one side and then sliding it along
his belt the way a mechanic replaces a tube on the rim of a
tire.

"I tried, Nick....for twenty minutes I've been trying.
How am I supposed to take care of my tables" Looking past
him into the packed dining room, she waited for his reply
and said in frustration, "She's not even listening to
me...I don't know what's wrong with her." She looked at his
long sideburns, which widened at the bottom, and at his
hair which had been parted above his left ear and combed up
and across the top of his head, ending in tapered streamers
above his right ear.

"This place draws lunatics...'round the clock starving
lunatics. Christ, Nick, all these people are stuck
somewhere else. The kitchen and basement are packed with

illegal immigrants. I'm out of silverware, and they're

 

sharing a prostitute for break. They can't speak English.
I tell them to get some spoons and I gotta go and get one,
hold it up in the air, point to it, and say, "Spoon,
spoon," and you mumble in Greek. I had a guy beat himself
off under his booth inbetween his egg-lemon soup and
porkchops, and now I can't get into the can." She
hesitated. Nick smoothed his hair to the right and lightly

patted the crown as if pampering a favorite waitress.

 

114

Helen advanced. "Why do you always put the Rights for
Fathers group in my section. I hate to wait on
them...they're cheap bastards." Raising her eyebrows, she
continued, "I'm not doing it anymore. They treat me as
though for a few minutes they have their wives back."

Nick stepped toward her. "You talk to her more," he
said, smiled and nudged her toward the hallway.

Helen halted and looked ahead to the door marked Hers,
sighed and asked disgustedly, "Why me?"

Nick paused. "You need to use it." He smiled and
turned toward the couple coming in the front door. "How
many?" he asked and led them into the dining room.

Helen charged back down the hallway, hit the swinging
door head-on with both palms, banged on the stall and
yelled, "Get the hell out of there now!" She paced the
floor, then rested her head on the stall, waiting for a
response. This is insane, she thought, what is wrong with
this woman?

Leaning with her shoulder and temple against the door
she questioned: "Are you all right?"

There still wasn't any response from inside. She
listened with her ear to the crack between the partition
wall and door. She turned and rested with her forehead and
palms pressing against the stall.

"I can hear you breathing in there," she warned.
"Would you please just let me go to the bathroom? I know

something must have happened to you, or you wouldn't be

 

 

.l.

115

doing this. I understand. I've done some crazy things,
too, but you've got to understand how I feel." Suddenly she
did feel that this moment represented her life, the
barriers, always the barriers and the pleading. "I have to
pee," she begged, "I'm in pain."

Helen paused; she stepped back hopefully, expecting
the door to open. Then feeling the need pressing with
increased urgency, she pounded madly, deliberately, and,
she hoped, frighteningly on the stall door. To her
amazement and discouragement there wasn't any movement or
sound from inside the stall.

"What the hell is your problem?" She reached up,
grasped the top of the stall and shook the door violently.
"What are you doing in there?" she demanded. "Are you with
the living?" There was no answer. Helen felt her
aggression drain away. She went to squat against the
opposite wall, putting her hands under the lens of her
glasses and rubbing her eyes. She found herself squeezing
her legs together tightly, and she wanted to cry. "You are
ruining my health," she wailed.

Near tears, she tried reasoning: "I'm trying to talk
to you and you shut me out." This will be my hell, she
thought, I'll die and go to hell and spend my afterlife
locked out and needing terribly to pee.

Helen slid to the floor and sat with her back resting
against the wall looking at the feet showing below the

partition. She remained silent, occupied with her own

 

 

116

thoughts: I had thought that I've seen it all having been
married to three crazies. Loudly, she said to the
stranger, "I've done my time with crazies...I've been
married." Staring blankly at the wall Helen retreated to
her thoughts again: I want something called a normal
life..void of crazies. One or two occasional crazies I can
cope with, but not the whole damn parade. I want to be
able to eat when I'm hungry, not when someone else is full.
I want to sleep when I'm tired, not when someone else is
done with me. I want to pee when I feel the need. Rising
in anger, Helen spoke with uncontrollable frustration.
"I'm tired of waiting on others. Do you hear me? I'm so
tired of waiting on others. I'm so damn tired of waiting
on others." She cleared her throat and said loudly, but
calmly, while counting on her fingers, "I lived with
someone who would lock himself in the hall closet next to
the vacuum cleaner with a loaded gun to his head, someone
who locked me out of the house almost every other day, any
time of day. I'd go out to hang up the wash and I might
not be able to get back in. And I put up with someone who
locked himself in the garage for days." I spend more time
trying to reason with someone who is on the other side of a
locked door and talking through a panel of wood pleading
the way believers will in a confessional, she thought with
bitter awareness.

Helen stood up and confronted the stall. "I have to

get back to my tables and I can hardly walk. I can't do my

 

 

117

job if I can't walk comfortably," she said and bent over to
peek under the stall. "Since, I don't see your panties at
your ankles I know you must be finished." She bent slightly
at the waist and simultaneously rubbed both arms above the
elbows anxiously. I should be done with this, she thought,
this should be over. "Look this is the first chance I've
had to go. I haven't gone since this morning. It'll only
take me a minute. I only want a minute," she begged.

Helen heard a knock at the outside door. she poked
her head out and found Nick standing on the other side
facing the wall. When he saw the door open he said softly,
while watching to see if anyone in the restaurant was
watching him, "Is she out yet?"

She rolled her eyes and drew her finger across her
throat as if it was a knife. "No."

"I can't have her sitting in there all afternoon."

"I can't either. I won't make it."

Cooking his head to one side, "What are you saying to
her?" he asked and smoothed his hair, by running his hand
gently across his head and patting it affectionately. "Be
convincing. Be persuasive: the same as you are when you
convince people to order dessert or another drink. Be the
pleasant hostess. Don't get her upset. Say the right
thing -- not what you think," Nick ordered.

"Aw, Jesus, Nick, I'm not hustling rice pudding. I'm
trying to take a piss. That's all I've been trained to do,

say the right thing, do the right thing, please the

 

 

 

 

118

customers."

Nick lightly fanned his neck and chest with the menus.
"I don't want to be forced to call the cops. I don't want
to have to call the cops, but I gotta full place and people
are gonna have to get in there, and that dizzy mess has to
go. Dealing with people, that's what this is all about.
Learning how to deal with people. So pacify her. Discover
what she wants." He walked off.

Helen let the door close. She rapped on the stall and
heard the toilet paper roll unwinding and the woman inside
blow her nose. "Why are you doing this?" Helen questioned.

There was a knock at the outside door again. Helen
opened it wide. Nick was standing on the other side. She
glared at him and asked challengingly, "What are we out of
now?"

Nick stepped back. "You're orders are up. They're
getting cold," he grumbled and left.

She tucked her hair back, straightened her uniform and
tightened the bow to her apron. "I'll be back," she
announced and walked out.

Feeling awkwardly uncomfortable, Helen served her
orders and poured coffee refills while checking the door to
see who might exit. When she sensed that her tables were
content she returned, rubbed her hands over and around her
face and knocked abruptly on the door of the stall. "I'm
crawling under."

"I want my husband...," the woman cried from within

 

119

the stall. "I only want my husband."

"What for?" Helen said brightening.

"Because I want him. I just want him."

"Where is he sitting?" she asked, feeling somewhat
encouraged.

"He's not in the restaurant. He's somewhere else,
with someone else. I thought I could talk to him, I called
him. He was supposed to be here. Both of them were. He
told me I was nothing, nothing to him. He told her I meant
nothing. He pointed out everything I've done wrong. I
thought I'd gotten better."

Helen interrupted, "Do you act like this at home?" She
slumped to the floor and whined, "What the hell am I
suppose to do, if he was here I'd drag him in here. I'd
dump hot coffee in his lap. I'd do anything, but he's not
here...don't take it out on me, let me in."

"Don't you understand. My husband's needs someone
else."

Helen answered matter—of—factly. "I see it all the
time. Is that what all this is over? I have to go so bad
that it hurts, and that is the reason you're in here. Is
that why you're doing this. Why sit in the toilet? For
Christ sake, they're all with someone else, somewhere
else."

"Please, just do what you have to do and leave me
alone," the woman in the stall pleaded.

Helen stood up and moved closer to the door. "I can't

 

120

do what I have to do. Look, I caught my ex in bed with his
cousin. I know a woman who knows that her husband is
messing around with their young daugher. Ask anybody.

What has sheltered you?"

"Just go away. Can't you understand, just go away.
Leave me alone. I just want to be left alone!" she
screamed.

"You can't be left alone!" Helen screamed back.

There was a knock on the outside door. Nick was
standing on the other side. "What the hell is going on in
here? What are you doing to her? Are you crazy, too? I
can hear you all the way out in the dining room. I don't
need two crazy broads in here. Haven't you gotten her out
yet?" A long stiff strand of hair was pointing upward.

"Put in another stall. Leave us alone."

"You're just getting her upset. I don't want another
scene. Can't you just get her out. Don't try to influence
her with any of your ideas, just get her out. Get her
behind out of there without causing a big scene," he
ordered and pointed to the door. "She is a dizzy one. You
should have seen her out in my dining room causing a big
scene. She was on the phone in the lobby and started
crying and hollering. She fell against the wall and slid
to the floor when Swanson's were coming in. When one of
the busboys tried to help her, she started hitting him,
then she ran in here screaming to leave her alone flapping

her arms and swinging at anything. The busboy started

 

 

121

hollering and the cook that speaks Spanish isn't here. She
knocked over a bustub. Dirty dishes are all over the back
section. My place is full. It's the best day I've had in
a month. I don't want that looney broad running around.
Get her out. I'll tell the other girls to cover for you."
He started to walk away, and added without looking back, "I
don't care what happens to her, just get her out."

Helen let the door close and turned to face the stall.
She lit a crushed cigarette, inhaled and sighed. The woman
in the stall began crying uncontrollably. Helen exhaled
carefully and listened to her. Nick stuck his head in the
door. "Keep her quiet. If you can't get her out at least
keep her quiet"

Keep her quiet, get up your orders, push pudding, find
my husband, she thought and sat smoking while the woman
whimpered and moaned. "Don't let what he says bother you.
Don't let anyone truly bother you. You'll get over this.
You may even go through it a second time. You can't change
the past. You'll forget, people forget."

Another waitress came in to retrieve Helen, so she
could pick up a new down in her section. "What's going on
in here," she asked screwing up her face, glancing toward
the crying coming from within the stall.

"Some woman has locked herself in the can and won't
come out," muttered Helen despondently.

The waitress snickered, "Anybody we know?"

Helen stood up, smoothed the wrinkles in her uniform,

 

 

122

"Could be anybody we know," she replied and emerged from
the bathroom holding her bloated pelvis gingerly.

When Helen returned, twenty minutes later, she sat
wearily on the floor, peaked to see if the same legs were
still there, crossed her legs gently and tossed her head
back to stare at the ceiling, able for a moment to forget
her distended bladder. "Would you like to be amused?" she
asked. "Do you want to hear something crazier than us?"
She shook her head and rubbed the back of her neck, sat
silent then continued, "Hmph, listen to this. I didn't
recognize the two of them, but they knew who I was right
away. They're in my section, and they're with a
psychologist and his wife. I asked if I could take their
orders, right. I served them their drinks: a strawberry
daiquiri, two Millers and a Seven and Seven. And you won't
believe what one of the women said when I asked them for
their food order. It's so damn strange. She said, 'I'll
take a bat's wing, lizard leg and the tail of a black cat
simmered in the blood of an ox.‘ Then she started chanting
and moving her arms around and around as if she was
stirring a large kettle. They all watched me watch her and
started laughing...at me. I didn't know what the hell was
going on, or what the hell they were laughing at."

Helen rolled her head from one side to the other
trying to crack her neck and said mimicking, 'You haven't
changed,‘ they said. Then in unison, she and the man

sitting next to her said, 'Don't you know who we are...heh,

 

123

heh, heh. You really don't know who we are...heh, heh,
heh.'" Helen chuckled bitterly.

Helen lit another cigarette, inhaled and continued,
"'Think back,’ they said, snickered and nudged one another.
I didn't have any idea of what they were talking about and
I didn't care. I just wanted to feed them and get 'em out,
and come in here and find the stall open. They said,
'Don't you know? Think back about twenty-two years.' Do
you believe that? Twenty—two years. I used to always
dream about where I'd be in ten years. I don't even do
that any longer, but who thinks back twenty-two years. I
can't even remember who I was married to five years back.
I've got ten full tables, you looked in the can, I haven't
pissed since this morning, and we're out of feta cheese and
Greek chicken; and they want me to remember twenty-two
years back. I can't remember who ordered the spagetti. I
can't even remember what his cousin's name was...too many
things happen. I don't care to have total recall." She
opened the door reluctantly. "And, now, I've got to go out
there again," she said soberly and skulked out.

Reentering the bathroom, Helen gave the door a
strained kick, squeezed her legs together and began talking
out loud in a sardonic tone. "Debbie Keller and David
McClean. That's who they are, Debbie Keller and David
McClean. Mr. and Mrs. McClean. I went to school with
them, and I didn't like them then. 'What are are you doing

in this place?‘ they asked me. 'Do you work here?’ I poured

124

their water, quickly. 'Do you live around here?‘ They
didn't wait for an answer, 'We moved to Barrington Hills.‘
I'm going to school I told them." Helen raised the pitch of
her voice. "'It's so nice,' David said. 'That's really
great,‘ Debbie added." She lowered it again, and continued:
"Then Debbie looked over to the psychologist and said, 'She
dropped out of high school.‘ 'Got into pot and peace,'
David added. They just kept on and on bringing up my whole
life. 'What are you going into?' David asked. I lied and
told them electrical engineering and that I had a large
grant to do it. 'Oh...wow...it's so nice to see you
finally trying to do something with yourself. I would have
thought you would have become an actress.‘ Debbie leaned
closer to the doctor and said, 'She was always so
different...kinda crazy, a loner.‘ Then she laughed and
looked at me. 'Remember when you got a perm?...God, that
was so funny.‘ Debbie looked at the others and elaborated.
'No one got perms, and Helen had this really long kinda
stringy hair and she got a perm...when it dried it just
mushroomed...it grew and grew. God, it was the worst mess
I ever saw...no one would ever let her forget it.’ Debbie
laughed. 'She even drank cough syrup.‘ I told them I had an
order up to get away. Can you imagine what her life's been
like, if my perm is still memorable to her. And then, as I
was walking away from the table Debbie called out after me,
'I don't remember...did you end up keeping the baby or

giving it away?'"

 

 

125

Helen laughing weakly leaned against the sink. "She
knew I kept the baby. She was the first one over to see.
They did the same thing to me in school...all the time. We
were evicted when my father lost his resort business. We
lived in a small town, and so everyone knew it. The family
was scattered for awhile: one of us went with one family,
one of us went with another until we all had a place. I
stayed at Debbie's. I always sat on the edge of the corner
of the sofa. It's awkward to live with people that you
don't know. Debbie had red underpants with little hearts,
and she always liked running around in nothing but those
panties. Maybe I should bring that up at the table. Why
do people, friends, relatives drag up the past? They've
never been concerned. They believe your mistakes are
inevitable because they don't think much of you to begin
with. They may act like they care, but usually they're
relieved, because they found somebody who's dogged more
than they are. And so what little bit they have done seems
a lot better. They would ask 'Why have you and your dad
been standing in that dumpy parking lot on the corner
selling Christmas trees when it's so cold.’ Shit, they
knew. Their whole damn family knew. The school new,
everyone in Randy's snack shop knew. My father went
bankrupt. The good ol' days...for them maybe. And now
they're reliving it."

Helen returned to the dining room, served their table

and came back as quickly as she could. She ran cold water

 

 

 

126

in the sink. "They are nuts. While I was serving up their
food," she said while patting her face and neck with a damp
paper towel, "Debbie started staring into space and
speaking in an eerie voice. She said, 'At night,’ then she
stretched out her arms and continued, 'she walks with a
green mist glowing around her damp, limp hair hanging like
the barren branches of a willow.‘ David acted agitated and
said, 'I've seen her, too, by the swamp at night' I said,
Who gets the spagetti? The doctor pointed to David.

Debbie howled, in the middle of a crowded restuarant. 'She
comes for us...I've seen her,I she moaned, then groaned.
They went on and on like this. People were watching and
looking at me puzzled. I couldn't wait to get back in
here."

Helen hoisted herself up to sit on the sink. Amazed,
she said, "They were reciting scenes from a play we were
all in twenty-two years ago. The Ghoul Friends, that was
the name of it. She was Graveyard Gracie and he was
Inspector Rodman. I was the maid, Daphne. They were
calling me Daphne at the table and wanted me to recite my
lines...they still know all of theirs. They kept on cueing
me. It's as if they haven't changed. They repeated
everything exactly as they did twenty—two years ago and
talked about everyone I knew. I know, now, that Barbie
married Fat Frank and that Sue is 'way out in left field'
into religion. They want me to come to a reunion. All the

ghoul friends are getting together. We can talk about the

 

 

 

 

127

good old times: evictions, divorces and bastard children.
I used to envy what the other kids had. I suppose most of
us do when we're young. I didn't even bring anyone home.
I was embarrassed. It took me a long time to get rid of
that feeling. The feeling of being ashamed."

The stall door opened slowly, but Helen didn't even
notice. She was sitting on the sink leaning back looking
at herself in the mirror. She was startled when she saw
the other face in the mirror to the left in the background
from hers. As if she had cried black symmetrical tears the
streaks left on her cheeks from her mascara gave the
woman's face a strange evenness, except for one hideous
streak that drew the attention of Helen's eyes the same way
an ugly scare attracts notice. The intensity and color of
the eyes were diminished by the swollen lids.

"I didn't hear you come out." Helen watched sadly in
the mirror.

"I didn't want to ever come out, but I can't stay
in there. You need to use it."

"There's got to be a better way."

"Go on," the woman said and helped Helen off the sink.
"Go relieve yourself."

Helen shuffled into the stall, moaned and let the
urine fall freely. "A-a-a-a-h," she said, and again,
"A-a-a-a-h." She sighed contentedly and then flushed.

"Do you feel better now?" She heard the woman say.

"Yes," Helen replied.

 

128

"I do, too."
"Wash up, come on out. I'll treat you to dinner and

you can watch the ghoul friends recreating my past."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mlcllll'lell‘l‘lllllsll Will lllllvllelllllllllllllllllllllms
3 1293 03082 6477