Nearer Than the Sky (11 page)
Read Nearer Than the Sky Online
Authors: T. Greenwood
Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Family Life, #Psychological, #General
“It’s pretty, Ma,” I said.
“Chintzy fabric,” she said, shaking her head. “It’ll fall apart after one wash. And the flowers are plastic. The ones in the catalogue are silk. Hopefully, the judges won’t be able to tell the difference from so far away.”
“Why don’t you buy the one in the catalog then?” I asked.
“Ask your father,” she said, turning to face me. Her face was pinched tight, cinched into small pleats like the skirt of Lily’s new dress.
I was careful not to let the water splash on the pages of the catalog. I’d dropped one of my own books in the creek once and couldn’t get the pages to lay flat again after it had dried in the sun. On page 454, past the party dresses and maternity bras and Barbie accessories, were the few pages of sporting goods. A free-standing basketball hoop. A bowling machine with tiny pins on strings. And two different styles of pool cues. The one I wanted had the biggest picture.
Spalding personalized 2-piece pool cue. 57” maple shaft with inlaid blue, black, and white rings. Brass to brass joint. Nylon sleeve included. 2 lbs. $29.99.
Ever since the catalog arrived in the mail I had been eyeing that stick. The pages opened up to this almost as quickly as they opened up to the frilly dresses and shoes of my mother’s fantasy.
Spalding personalized 2-piece pool cue. 57” maple shaft with inlaid blue, black, and white rings. Brass to brass joint. Nylon sleeve included. 2 lbs. $29.99.
Ever since the catalog arrived in the mail I had been eyeing that stick. The pages opened up to this almost as quickly as they opened up to the frilly dresses and shoes of my mother’s fantasy.
At night I imagined walking into Rusty’s, carrying that beautiful bag. I imagined sitting down at one of the booths near the pool tables and screwing the two pieces together while all the other tournament contestants watched. I imagined the way the smooth wood would feel in my hands. Not like the warped sticks that hung in the rack on the wall.You had to aim just a little off the mark to make a shot with those cues. When you rolled them across the smooth felt, they wobbled. But the Spalding personalized two-piece pool cue wouldn’t wobble a bit. And the tip was probably perfectly rounded. No chips or dings at all. I had twenty-three dollars saved. I was hoping Daddy might splurge for my birthday, but I doubted it. Plus, there would be shipping and handling charges. Two pounds. To get it here on time for the tournament would cost me a fortune. There was also the matter of getting Daddy to let me enter. But now, with him agreeing to let Lily and Ma go to Phoenix for the pageant, I figured he’d have to let me play. It only cost $5.00 to enter.
I ran my finger across the glossy picture and then closed the catalog. I could see Benny just beneath the surface of the water, silent and graceful. He could hold his breath for hours, it seemed. It used to make me panic a little, but now I didn’t worry about him anymore. He was smart in the water.
The geometry books were to help me with some of the trick shots that Little Ike had been teaching me. Little Ike was my size. He offered to teach me how to shoot because he knew better than anyone else that there were special skills needed to play pool when you were only four-foot-six. Plus, he was the only one who didn’t seem to mind playing with a kid. Some of the older guys pretended that I wasn’t even there, especially when I was playing really well. One time I played against an older guy and beat him in one turn. After he broke, he didn’t even get a chance to shoot again. He kept slamming his hand down on Daddy’s pool table and checking the pockets like he might find some trap doors or magnets inside that sucked all the balls in. People didn’t like being shown up by a kid, and certainly not by a girl. I was polite, though. Little Ike also taught me how to be a good sport.
Always shake hands before the game starts and after it’s over. Always say, “Good game.”
I remember the guy’s hand was big and sweaty. Up close I could smell motor oil on him. Motor oil and beer.
Always shake hands before the game starts and after it’s over. Always say, “Good game.”
I remember the guy’s hand was big and sweaty. Up close I could smell motor oil on him. Motor oil and beer.
Ike said, “It’s all geometry. You study your geometry, and you’ll be a great pool player. It’s probably the only math you’ll ever use in real life. Except for maybe adding up your winnings.” I stared at the drawings of an isosceles triangle and then lined up some stones to try to make sense of geometry.
“Benny,” I said into the water as I shoved the catalog and textbooks back inside my backpack.
Benny would stay in the water until his skin was wrinkled up like a prune if there was nobody there to stop him. He ignored me the first few times I called for him to get out of the water. Finally, he came out of the creek and walked over to where I was gathering up our things. I handed him a towel, which he wrapped around his shoulders like a cape.
Underneath the towel he slithered out of his stinky swim trunks and handed them to me.
“They stink,” I said, pinching my nose.
“Do not,” he said, shaking his head, burying his nose in the trunks. His towel dropped to the ground.
“Get dressed,” I said, embarrassed by his nakedness, hoping that there were no tourists at the lookout above.
“Why?”
“Put your clothes on, Benny,” I said, starting to get nervous. I peered up toward the lookout, shielding my eyes from the sun.
“No!” he yelled and skipped from one rock to the next, dangling the swim trunks from one of his long, thin fingers.
“Benny,” I said. “Please.”
“Make me, make me . . .” he sang. His thin white body reflected in the rippled surface of the water. His skin was covered with goose bumps.
I heard leaves rustling above me. When I looked up I saw people in brightly colored shorts and T-shirts hiking above.
“Benny, if you don’t put your clothes on I am going to leave,” I said. And then I turned and started walking up the hill. I shouldn’t have threatened him. I knew even as I struggled through the brush that I shouldn’t even pretend to leave him. But my stomach turned as I imagined the hikers looking down and seeing my brother, my retarded brother, naked on the rocks, playing keep-away with a pair of stinky swim trunks. I knew I shouldn’t do this, but I kept moving up the embankment.
When I finally turned around, I saw Benny lying on the ground near the stream. His shorts were around his ankles, and both of his knees were bleeding. His body shook as he quietly sobbed, and I felt like I might throw up. I ran back down the bank and sat down next to him on the ground. Silently, I helped him pull the clean shorts up over his cold white bottom and poured handfuls of cool creek water on the fresh cuts in his knees.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”
“I saved your life,” Benny said, tugging on his earlobe. “You would have gotten runned over by the train. But I listened and I made you wait.”
“I know, Benny. I’m sorry.”
“The train would have killed you and you would be dead like the mouse in the dryer,” he sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I rolled up his swim trunks and stuffed them back into the bread bag. Benny’s crying subsided and I helped him up. He inspected his new cuts.
“I’ll put some Bactine on them back at the house,” I said.
“I’m gonna find that giant mouse under the porch when we get back.”
“Okay,” I said, grateful that he wasn’t mad at me anymore for leaving him naked at the edge of the water. The nice thing about Benny was that he would forgive just about anything. The one thing he didn’t do was
forget.
There was nothing wrong with Benny’s memory, nothing at all.
forget.
There was nothing wrong with Benny’s memory, nothing at all.
“It was bigger than a squirrel even,” he said. “Bigger than a cat.”
I
fell asleep on the couch with the TV on, and woke at 4:00
A.M.
to snow on the screen and snow falling softly outside. I leaned my head against the window and wondered if it was snowing in Maine. It was early, too early, and it was likely that the snowflakes, like stars, would be gone by morning. I must have fallen asleep sitting up, because when I woke up later my neck and shoulders were stiff. Outside, there was no evidence of snow. The sun was warm on my face and I could hear water dripping from the eaves.
fell asleep on the couch with the TV on, and woke at 4:00
A.M.
to snow on the screen and snow falling softly outside. I leaned my head against the window and wondered if it was snowing in Maine. It was early, too early, and it was likely that the snowflakes, like stars, would be gone by morning. I must have fallen asleep sitting up, because when I woke up later my neck and shoulders were stiff. Outside, there was no evidence of snow. The sun was warm on my face and I could hear water dripping from the eaves.
I wouldn’t be able to call the radon and asbestos people for a couple days. I’d already tried every number in the Yellow Pages, and no one had any open appointments until Monday. I thought I might go into town again. Maybe go to Rusty’s to visit Rosey. She was still working there the last time I came to visit. She was there when Daddy bought the bar and later when he left it. I suspected she’d be there until the building itself crumbled.
Outside, the air was crisp and bright. I brought my coffee onto the front porch and sat down on a wooden box. The magic handkerchief had been lifted from the mountains, revealing two snow-dusted peaks jutting into the too-blue sky like monoliths. I breathed the cold air until my lungs felt almost numb. When I exhaled, a puff of smoke escaped from my lips. This was my favorite time of year when I was a kid. I loved the way autumn teetered on the edge of winter, how it could be a hot Indian summer one day and the next morning you could make angels just by breathing. In Maine, there was more warning. The leaves announced the beginning and end of fall. The air was bitter long before snow fell.
As I blew across my coffee cup, the phone rang. I opened the screen door and went into the kitchen to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Indie, it’s Rich.”
“Hey.” I was glad it wasn’t Lily or Ma. “What’s up?”
“I’m just checking on you,” he said. “Making sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “It’s a little creepy up here, though. Did you know Ma emptied out all the bedrooms? There’s a shitload of furniture in the backyard and on the porch. I think she was trying to sell it.”
“Hmmm,” he said. It was quiet behind him.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“I’m here. Judy and Lily just took Violet to the doctor. They’re taking some chest X rays.”
“Still no answers, huh?”
“Indie, your mother was talking about Lily having a history of seizures. Do you remember that?”
“Lily was always sick,” I said. “I can barely keep track of all of her health problems.”
“See, that’s news to me. I mean, Lily never gets sick now. Never. And this is the first time I’d ever heard
anything
about seizures. Even when Violet first got sick and the doctors were going through our medical histories, I don’t remember her saying anything about seizures. And now, I don’t know, it just seems . . .”
anything
about seizures. Even when Violet first got sick and the doctors were going through our medical histories, I don’t remember her saying anything about seizures. And now, I don’t know, it just seems . . .”
“Maybe Ma’s exaggerating,” I shrugged. “She’s been known to do that.”
“It’s not her that I’m worried about. I know what to expect from her,” Rich sighed. “It’s just that Lily is going along with it. All of a sudden she has this whole history of epilepsy or some other thing she’s never even mentioned before. It doesn’t make any sense.”
I sat down at the kitchen table and sipped my coffee. It was cold and bitter.
“I wouldn’t worry too much. If it’s something that might help the doctors figure out what’s wrong with Violet, I guess that’s all that matters.”
“I guess,” Rich said, sounding remotely defeated. “I’m just not making that connection. Violet stopped breathing. She wasn’t convulsing; she was completely limp. You saw her. I can’t even figure out why they’d be testing for epilepsy. I’m worried that the doctors might be wasting their time chasing after some crazy notion your mother came up with instead of figuring out what actually happened to her.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, dumping the cold coffee into the sink.
“I mean why she stopped breathing.”
“Maybe you should talk to Violet’s doctor,” I said. “Maybe something’s just getting lost in translation.”
“Maybe,” he said. He was quiet and then he said softly, “You know, I really was calling to see how
you
are.”
you
are.”
“Ready to go back to Maine,” I laughed.
“Are you really going to have those people come check the house?”
“I suppose. Who knows? Maybe they’ll find tanks of toxic waste in the basement,” I said.
“Rat poison in the water?” Rich laughed.
“You just need to remember the family you’re dealing with sometimes,” I said. “We operate on an entirely different logic than most.”
I drove Ma’s car into town and parked in the lot across the tracks from Rusty’s. Just as I was about to cross the tracks, the red lights started to flash, the arm descended, and the train whistled in the distance. I stood back from the tracks and waited for the train to come, covered my ears with my hands as it passed, and stared through the blinking spaces between the cars to the other side.
Instead of going straight into Rusty’s I walked across the street to the smoke shop for a paper. It smelled like pipe tobacco and chocolate inside. Heady and sweet. The woodstove in the center of the store was hot. I stood next to it while I waited in line. I pulled a handful of change out of my coat pocket and put it on the counter. I grabbed three nickel candies from a bin and unwrapped one while the girl behind the counter scooped my change and pocket lint into her palm.
I tucked the newspaper underneath my arm and walked across the street to Rusty’s. I stood staring at the smoked glass for several moments before I finally opened the heavy door. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, my heart sank. It had changed. Not so much that it looked like a different place, but enough that it felt off-kilter. Wrong. The booths along one wall had been removed. Now there were high round tables with bar stools situated around them like red vinyl petals on a flower. The wood-burned plaque that said
NO SNIVELING
was gone from behind the bar. The elk and deer heads that had hung on the walls like quiet friends had been replaced with ugly paintings of abstract landscapes and buildings. Oceans in unbelievable squares of green and blue. Triangular cathedrals without doors. I was happy to see that the mahogany bar Daddy had polished to impossible smoothness remained the central fixture in the room, and the mirrors behind the bar were the same beveled ones of my childhood. The jukebox that Benny loved was still there, but all the songs were different. And when I peered through the doorway where saloon-style doors used to hang, my heart sank. In the room where the extra pool table had always been, the uprooted booths and elk heads lay in heaps. Boxes and a broken cigarette machine.
NO SNIVELING
was gone from behind the bar. The elk and deer heads that had hung on the walls like quiet friends had been replaced with ugly paintings of abstract landscapes and buildings. Oceans in unbelievable squares of green and blue. Triangular cathedrals without doors. I was happy to see that the mahogany bar Daddy had polished to impossible smoothness remained the central fixture in the room, and the mirrors behind the bar were the same beveled ones of my childhood. The jukebox that Benny loved was still there, but all the songs were different. And when I peered through the doorway where saloon-style doors used to hang, my heart sank. In the room where the extra pool table had always been, the uprooted booths and elk heads lay in heaps. Boxes and a broken cigarette machine.
I thought I might be the only one in the bar until a man came out of the bathroom and sat down several stools away from me at the end of the bar. He nodded at me. Then the bartender came through the swinging doors from the kitchen, retying her apron.
“Hey,” she said. Her voice was raspy, disconnected from her pretty face. Black hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, a widow’s peak breaking the smooth white expanse of her forehead. “What can I get you?”
“Bourbon?” I said, more like a question than a request.
“Sure thing.” She smiled and spun around to the bottles. I watched her thin wrists as she handed me my drink. There were snakes tattooed around each of them.
“Thanks,” I smiled, and wished I’d ordered a beer.
She turned around to the sink where the soapy water was so greasy the bubbles were almost gone. Her shirt lifted when she bent over, revealing her back. Her spine was bony. Her skin almost transparent. I took one sip of the bourbon and felt sick.
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Yeah?” she said turning around.
“Does Rosey Jimenez work here still?”
“I don’t know. I just got this job two days ago. Is she a bartender?”
“No, she used to work in the kitchen,” I said, my heart dropping. “Back when my dad owned this place.”
“Sorry,” she shrugged. “Maybe come back in tomorrow.”
“Sure,” I said, feeling defensive and angry that the fact that my father had owned this bar didn’t seem to register, or count to her for that matter.
I left the bar and thought about trying to look Rosey up in the phone book at the phone booth outside the bar, but instead I sat in the car in the parking lot until the sun started to make my eyes ache, and then I drove to the nearest car wash and paid for the full cycle. There was something safe and familiar about this. Something pacifying about the whirring of water and the soapy circles against the glass. Inside this car, inside this car wash, nothing had changed.
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