Banana Rose (37 page)

I dropped down into the soft dirt and pine needles on the other side. I walked far enough into the woods that the streetlights of the condo village were only a glow. I sat down, leaning against a pine tree. Even though there was a 7-Eleven a quarter of a mile away, it seemed like a wild forest, a place I could breathe. For the next fifteen minutes I tried to figure out what to do with my life.

There was nothing to be done. I sunk my back into the tree and felt the weight of my legs on the pine needles. The air was warm. It was hard to believe that Minnesota was still so cold. There must be a way out, I thought. I can’t stay this unhappy forever. I wished it were ten years from the date of my divorce.

I walked back to the fence, climbed over it, and returned to the white square condo that held my mother and father. The television was still on in the living room, my father snoring in front of it. I tiptoed over to turn it off.

As soon as the television clicked off, my father stirred. “Nell, please, leave it on. I’m watching.” I sighed and turned it on again. I didn’t bother to argue that he had been asleep and at 1
A.M.
there was nothing on but fuzz.

I went to my room, put the quilt on the floor, and slept there. The bed in the guest room was too soft.

My father shook me with his foot to wake me. He couldn’t bend down to the floor. I looked up. “Nell, why do you sleep this way? We have a perfectly good bed. Come. It’s morning. I squeezed you some orange juice.”

“It’s early. Let me sleep.” I tried to remember my dream.

“You don’t need to sleep. Your mother and I don’t see you enough. Get up.”

My parents began their special diet that morning. By the time I came into the kitchen, they had already eaten their quotient of four ounces of lean meat.

My father asked me, “Did you go out last night after I fell asleep? Nell, you shouldn’t do that. There are rednecks in Florida. If you want to go for a walk, I’ll come with you.” As he spoke, I noticed my mother slip M&M’s in her mouth from a dish on the cocktail table in the living room. I didn’t tell my father.

That whole day they were grumpy and couldn’t wait to go for dinner. They both planned to get a steak. They mentioned it often. We went shopping in the late morning. They wanted to show me the citrus groves and the peacocks that were let loose to wander among the orange trees. My father sat down on a nearby bench. “God, am I hungry! We should go home and change to get ready for dinner. There are big crowds at this steak house. We have to be early.”

“But, Dad, it’s only one o’clock. We have all afternoon. I want to go to the beach,” I said.

He scowled. He couldn’t believe dinner was so far away.

By 3:30, my father insisted we dress and drive out to the restaurant, which was only twenty minutes away. “We should be there when it opens at five. We can be the first in line.”

I gave in. I went to my room and put on a sleeveless white dress and a pair of Mexican huaraches. When I stepped into the living room, my father was at the other end of it.

“You can’t go to dinner like that!” he yelled.

I looked down. “Why not?”

“Those shoes—they look like you stepped out of the jungle. And you didn’t shave your armpits.”

“It’s none of your business,” I yelled back. I’d put up with him all day, and all of a sudden something in me snapped. “Get off my back!” I screamed, turned around, and went into my room. I grabbed my suitcase, threw open the bureau drawer, and tossed my clothes helter-skelter into the gray nylon bag. I zipped it up, reached for my sun hat, flung my purse over my shoulder, and stormed out the front door.

As I charged down the walk, my father shouted through the screen door, “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” I screeched back.

“Good riddance,” he shouted again, and slammed the front door.

I marched through the gate of condo city. Outside of it there was only a highway. I crossed to the divider island and walked along it, heading west. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t even thinking. I was blind and walking fast toward the airport fifteen miles away.

A white Buick pulled up. I turned my head toward the car as the man rolled down the window. It was my father. “Please, Nell, come home. Your mother is hysterical.”

I continued to walk, my eyes straight ahead. “If she’s hysterical, why doesn’t she come get me?” I said.

“She can’t. She’s too upset. She wanted me to come,” my father answered.

“Well, what do you feel?” I asked, still walking hard, suitcase in hand. He drove along beside me at three miles an hour.

“Me? About what?” he said.

“About me leaving?” I asked. He drove so slow that the car stalled. He turned the key and started it again.

“Nell, I’m hungry. Please, let’s go to dinner,” he pleaded.

“I’m not going to dinner. If Mom wants to see me, let her come and get me,” I said.

A police car pulled up behind the white Buick. “What’s goin’ on here?” the officer drawled. “Is he bothering you, miss?”

“I’m her father!” my father shouted indignantly.

“He’s not my father!” I yelled back at the officer.

“Come on, mister. Now move along here. Leave the little lady alone,” the officer ordered.

My father turned so that half his body was now twisted, hanging out his open window. His right arm was wrapped around the steering wheel, and his left fist was clenched and pointed toward the police car.

“Nell, tell him who I am!” he shouted at me.

“I won’t. If you don’t know what you feel, go get my mother.” I was beginning to break.

“Okay, I’ll go get her. If you wait here!” he shouted.

“I’ll wait here.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

I leaned against the guardrail and dropped my suitcase at my feet.

The officer called to me as my father pulled away. “Are you okay, miss? Was that your father?”

“Yes.” I nodded my head. “I’m okay.”

He pulled away. I bent my head. I cracked open inside and began to weep.

My parents pulled up. My mother jumped out of the car in a beige polyester pantsuit. She stood on the shoulder opposite me and screamed across the traffic, “Nell, what’s wrong?”

My face was in my hands, but I had to say something. Right then, I felt raw and naked and knew I could only tell the truth. I couldn’t protect them anymore. I looked up, tears running down my cheeks. “Mom, I’m lost. I’m lost since Gauguin left.”

My mother broke down, weeping. “Oh, Nell,” she cried.

My father stood behind her with the car keys dangling in his hand. He was embarrassed. “Please, can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

My mother turned to him. “Irving, who cares about eating? Our daughter is lost.”

“We can talk about it at the restaurant. I’ve been dieting all day. Please...”

A yellow Oldsmobile stopped. “Do you need help?”

“Yeah, take me to a steak house.” My father made an attempt at humor. “No, we’re fine.”

My mother crossed over to the divider and touched my hair. “Nell, let’s go home.”

“Okay.” I was spent. They knew the truth now.

We drove the one block back to their condo. I went in to wash my face. I didn’t even look in the mirror.

At the restaurant my father drummed his fingers on the tabletop, waiting for our order. My parents were embarrassed around me now. I had exposed myself in front of them. They ate their steaks, and I picked at my chicken.

The next day the three of us took a walk along the beach. We progressed slowly. My parents had suddenly grown old. Every few hundred yards, we stopped and sat on a cement bench. In the distance you could see palm trees and mansions along the shoreline.

My father pointed. “That’s a big house.”

Yes, I nodded.

He reached his hand out to touch mine. We got up and walked at the rate of what seemed like two steps per half-hour. My mother needed to sit again. The sun was too hot. She wore a white bonnet and sandals on her feet. Her feet were calloused and there was a bunion on her small left toe. She pushed her foot through the sand. We were quiet and shy with each other, like swans. For a brief moment we hung suspended in the tropical air. I told my mother I loved her. She said, “And I love you.” We looked at each other and then away. The warmth felt good.

The next morning they said, “Our Nell is suffering, we can’t diet,” and we all sat down to bagels and lox. My father squeezed fresh orange juice for the three of us.

The night before I left, my father and I watched television for a long time. There was a rerun of
Gunsmoke
, followed by a situation comedy, then a program about the Amazon River. We ate chocolate ice cream out of round white bowls. I spooned the last bit into my mouth and looked down at the empty bowl on my lap.

“Nell,” my father said.

“Yes?” I looked up.

“Don’t remarry out of loneliness.” Those words drifted over to me across the chasm between his chair and the sofa I sat on. We looked at each other and I nodded.

“I won’t,” I said.

After he said that he fell asleep. He must have been thinking it for a long time. Just then, on television they showed the crocodiles on the river. It was the part my father had wanted to see the most.

The next day, I flew back to Minnesota.

M
ATTHEW FROM UPSTAIRS
tied a blue cowboy kerchief around my neck. He said that that was what the Tibetans did to say good-bye. He and Marian stood at the curb and waved.

The sun was just coming up as I drove south on Highway 35. Just before the Burnsville exit, I pulled over to the shoulder, got out of the car, and stood with the traffic of bleary-eyed commuters passing me by in the opposite direction. The sky was streaked with pink and yellow, caught in fast-moving clouds. I looked back at the city and saw the IDS Building, Minneapolis’s tallest skyscraper, the one that King Kong could not climb.

“Okay,” I said to myself begrudgingly. “You learned a lot here. Go ahead and say good-bye.” And I closed my eyes and wished the whole Midwest well. When I opened my eyes, I smiled and nodded. I waved my hand, then got back in the car and pulled into the traffic, heading away from all I had just said farewell to.

South of Albert Lea, I turned my car on the cloverleaf and faced west. I stopped in Worthington to tank up. The gas station attendant told me that I was standing in the Turkey Capital of the United States. I told him I was impressed as I surveyed the flatness all around me.

He said, “Yup, a town in Texas once challenged us. They had the nerve to say they were the Turkey Capital.” He yanked the nozzle out of my car. “The citizens here got up in arms. To settle the matter,” the attendant, now leaning against the pump and biting the tip off a cigar, continued the saga, “we had a turkey race down Main Street. Their turkey’s name was Ruby Begonia and ours was Paycheck. We figured a paycheck goes fast. The whole town came out for the race. The schools shut down.” He closed his thick-lidded eyes and shook his head, remembering. “It was fun. That dumb turkey of theirs flew to the top of a pole, and they couldn’t get him down. Paycheck didn’t take any straight route himself, but he had all the time in the world to win, since Ruby wouldn’t come off the pole.”

The attendant smiled. “We won. Yup, you’re standing in the Turkey Capital of the World. You should be proud.”

“Oh, I am, I am,” I said, holding out a ten-dollar bill, hoping he would take it and I could go on my way.

He looked at the bill. “Where ya goin’?”

“Out west.”

“Be careful.” He handed me four dollars’ change. “They’re crazy out there.”

“So I heard,” I said as I lowered myself into the driver’s seat. I shot my hand out of the car window at him, and as I pulled onto the road, I noticed through my rearview mirror that he was still watching me.

I crossed into South Dakota, and after a while I stopped in a town so small it had only eleven stores, seven on the west side and four on the east. There were two cafés on opposite ends of the street. One was open for lunch and one for dinner. I pulled into the town at three in the afternoon, so the dinner one had just opened and the lunch one had just closed. The dinner one was named Covey’s. They sold postcards of the café, and while they set up the salad bar, I wrote one to Blue. “Dear Blue, I’m in South Dakota. I’m on my way. I’m sitting at the counter of the café you see on the other side. See you soon. Love, Nell. P.S.” I drew a rooster. “How’s old Sylvester doing?”

I paused, put the non-ink end of the pen in my mouth. Then I wrote under my signature another signature: Banana Rose. It felt good to write her name.

The salad bar was ready. I piled my plate high with cottage cheese and marshmallow salad full of bits of canned pineapple. This was my ride and I was going to enjoy it. I looked at the local newspaper, which came out of Sioux Falls. Heifers were going at a higher price. A little girl named Polly made eleven dollars selling lemonade on the corner of Eighth Street and Oak Avenue.

As I sat there finishing the last of a dish of canned corn kernels—you could go back to the salad bar as many times as you wanted—I knew I had to go see Anna. I hadn’t planned to. Originally, I felt this trip was only about me, about my return alone to New Mexico, but now I ached to see her. I knew she’d be home. She was teaching summer school.

I headed for Dansville, and this time I knew how to get to her house.

I ran up the side steps and knocked hard, screaming through the screen door, “Anna! Anna, where are you?”

“Nell? Nell, is that you?” she called back. “Just a minute. I’m in the bathroom. Just come in. Door’s unlocked.”

Anna came running out and grabbed me as I let myself in. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I just decided. I’m heading home.” I had a big grin on my face.

“To Minnesota?”

“No, silly, that’s not home. I’m going to New Mexico, Anna. I’m moving back.”

“You are?”

“Yes.” I nodded. Just then I noticed how thin Anna had become and that her eye had gone in. I grew quiet. “Anna, you’re not going crazy again, are you?”

She sat down on a stuffed green chair. All the color drained from her. She picked at a thread on her pants. “I’ve been having a hard time, Nell.” She paused. “That’s why you haven’t heard from me in a while. I don’t think I’m going crazy exactly, just—I don’t know.” I knelt beside her and she tousled my hair. “My mother went into a home a month ago. She had another stroke and didn’t come out of it. And before that we weren’t getting along very well.” She paused again. “Dad’s feeble and a bit senile, but he still lives in the house we grew up in. Daniel keeps an eye on him.”