One More Stop (11 page)

‘Would anyone mind if David reads Alexandra’s response?’ Unanimously, the class agrees to give David another turn at his imagined dialogue.

‘David, do you mind?’

‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to go again?’

‘It’s fine. Go on.’

Willwrite nods his go-ahead. David unfolds a few more pieces of paper. Tentatively, he begins his second exercise.

‘Go on. We’re waiting for you.’

‘Here goes. Dear David, I received your letter a few days ago. I read it in the beautiful moonlight. Have you ever looked up at the sky, looked up and counted the stars in the deep dark night sky?’

She whispers in my ear: ‘
If you tell a secret to anyone else, all of the stars will die because of the moon’s disappointment. One by one their light will fade
…’

Shh not here. Not now. You promised.

‘Those stars were made for you. The sky was made for you. The wind, the snow, the dust, they were created for you. It is a damn shame, forgive my language, but it is a damn shame that a young boy like yourself does not appreciate the beauty that kisses his eyes. Every moment that you are alive is a moment of unparalleled beauty.’ He can’t help but wonder how the word unparalleled landed on his piece of paper.

‘That’s beautiful, David. Keep going.’

‘You may never see the likes of these stars, the dust and all of these elements anywhere else in the world. When you leave the prairie behind, you will leave every bit of its magic.
Certainly
there will be beauty of some other kind, but it will not be the same open, untouched, stark beauty. I bet that you have never hiked up to the mountain peaks of Nebraska, have never taken the time to watch the prairie sky as it changes color over and over again at sunset. Have you ever tasted the dirt from the ground before or after a spring or summer rain? Have you
never taken a breath so deep that the air made you dizzy until you felt like you might faint dead away from its power.

‘David, look around you. Don’t forget to live your life as if the place you are living in is the only place on earth – no matter where that might be.

‘I am so sorry to hear about your mother’s passing. You are so young to have lost a parent. In my time that was a common occurrence. But, think of your great-grandmother. She
survived
. She lived a full rich life. She loved the prairie. Love it, David. The only way to love anything in this life is to first see it, then know it, all of it. See it, David, as if you had new eyes, as if you never saw your prairie before. Look through it. Don’t look at it. Look through it and look to it. Only then will you see and understand what many of us have seen and understood before you.

‘Life is never easy. The land understands the secrets of
survival
. Let it be your teacher. Thank you for your letter. I hope this finds you well. Love to your father. I knew his great-
grandfather
. We were great good friends. He too loved the prairie. That is where your father gets it from.
Generation
to generation, it is handed down, hopefully it will continue. I have work to do. So for now …

Goodbye.

Always Alexandra.’

Do we, any of us, appreciate the world that we inhabit? Do we? If I am in this world, what is so interesting about the world next door? If I allow myself to love this prairie, why move on to another prairie? Do we merely have this unquenchable need to step outside of one world simply because somebody, anybody, inhabits a different world, a greater world, a world
with more corners than our world? But, there are only four corners. Within these four corners, there are four directions: north, south, east, west. Each direction is somehow related to the other. And the sum total of these directions represents the entirety of the traveler’s geographical journey. All corners, all directions are forever in relation to one another. Look no further. This is home. This prairie, wherever that may be, is home. Wherever you are, you will take yourself with you, so that wherever you go, you will have already been there.

There are ghosts forever haunting each and every corner of me and my directions.

She is with me. No one else knows that. Take a breath. Acknowledge where we have been. David, you have forgotten the litany of no can do. Now you can travel through a
landscape
of can dos … I am so glad for you.

‘Thank you, David. That is beautiful work. It relates to us all. Please make me a copy – both parts, if you don’t mind? I want to take them back home with me, and show them to my
education
director.’ Asshole. Is he sending me to Montana or not?

David is elated. ‘I’ll bring them in tomorrow.’

‘Don’t change anything.’

‘My spelling’s pretty lousy.’

‘Don’t worry about spelling. Now, we have a few minutes to get into the last exercise – the next generation. What do you say to someone you meet along the way to your future?’ Five hands. Count ’em. Good response. No, Molly, I can’t pick you. Why not? Hmm that chubby girl in the front row could use some noticing. Look, Molly, if I pick you, that would be a form of prejudice, special treatment. I can’t do that. ‘Yes. What’s your name?’

‘Sandy Caulfield.’

‘What have you got for us?’

‘I just want to tell you that I’m having a really good time.’ She beams. ‘I am so glad that you decided to come to Beatrice.’

Oh, Mom, they love us in your town. ‘Thank you so much. I was afraid that maybe I had gone a little too far out with you. You and your town are an inspiration.’

‘I don’t know if you’ll think that when you hear what I wrote. It’s not very positive.’

‘So? Who ever said the future is positive? How many of you think that the future looks positive?’

Two hands in the air; two out of twenty-eight young adults, one fourteenth of this room believe in the future as a
positive
probability. Kids are in sync with the rest of the conscious population of our country. ‘Let’s hear it.’

Sandy is brilliant; a young woman who clearly presents the future as if it were a frightening certainty. She describes the next generation; a dissociated generation that will emerge from the self-consciousness of our weary misaligned time. ‘Nobody in the future is interested in anybody; no conversation. None. It’s all about feeling isolated, being isolated. It’s creepy.’ Sandy continues: ‘I can’t wait to get away from it.’ She runs like hell, leaves the future behind. ‘Everything is theoretical,
mechanical
, non-feeling. Imagine a world where nobody cares about anybody but themselves!?’

Welcome to the twenty-first century. This is not tomorrow. You see it coming. But, my dear girl, what you see is
au
courant
. We’re not looking for a way out, but for a way in, a way to navigate within our emotional states during these hard times.

Bell rings. Class is … No. This class is never dismissed.
After class, Molly chases me down the neon corridor. ‘Why didn’t you call on me!? I had my hand up. You never even looked at me? Why!’

I stop. ‘I thought about calling on you, but I decided it was inappropriate because we know each other. It would be a kind of bias if I called on you. As it turns out, I was biased not calling on you. Stupid.’

She mutters. ‘You can say that again.’

‘I figured that we would talk after class, like we’re doing now … I’m sorry.’

‘I wanted everyone in that class to hear what I had to say, not just you. For your information, I have never raised my hand in that class before. Mr Willwrite thinks that I’m lazy. I’m not, you know!? And, I’m not as stupid as my father thinks I am either. I’m not stupid at all. I have got a very good brain. I have ideas too. You’re not the only idea person in the world. You piss me off! Grown-ups are so insensitive … All of you!’

Molly sprints down the hall.

I run after her. ‘Wait a second. Come on, Molly. Damn it!’ I race down the high school corridors like a prison guard chasing an inmate escaping from Alcatraz. I don’t stand a chance. Oh Christ! There’s the happy-go-lucky vice principal. Bang … She’s out the door.

‘Hello Ms Greene. How was class today?’

‘Very stimulating.’ That little fuck called me a grown-up. I have been called names before, but I have never been called that. No saving for the future; no sensible shoes here! I am not in the grown-up category! ‘Molly Malone, get your ass back here right this minute!’ The glass door slams in my face. Molly keeps going. I continue the chase. In front of the school, the Beatrice High marching band plays a John Phillips
Sousa melody. Molly takes a sharp right, marches solo down the school driveway. The trumpets are so far out of tune, I could almost swear they are playing a rag time version of ‘Ave Maria’. While next to the tuba I shout, ‘Molly! Young lady, don’t you dare walk away from me. Who the hell do you think you are?!’

‘Who do you think you are, young lady? Don’t you dare turn your back on me. Don’t you ever speak to your father like that. Never! You have no idea how hard he works!’

‘I don’t care. I hate you! When I get back home, I’m going to move in with Mrs B. You’re the worst mother in the world. You’re crazy.’

‘Apologize right now, young lady.’

‘Here we go round the mulberry bush.’

‘Molly!’

‘I hate you!’

‘Molly, please. I made a mistake. Please forgive me.’ Molly stops. The dust swirls around her body like a tornado. She turns around. There is fire in her eyes. The stare-down begins. I am losing ground here. I walk toward her with my grown-up tail between my legs.

Molly cries. I hold her. She wraps herself around me like a Christmas ribbon. I stroke her hair. She gulps that hiccup crying talk. ‘I … uh … just … wanted … you … to … call … on … me.’

‘Whisper, pretty baby.’

‘Shh. Tell me what you wrote. Talk to me. You can tell me anything, anything at all. You are somebody very special, Molly Malone? Has anyone told you that before?’

‘No.’

‘That is a terrible thing. Please, please tell me. What did you write?’

‘I don’t want to tell you now.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll tell my mother.’

‘No I won’t.’

‘You promise?’

‘I promise.’

… ‘My grandfather touched me. He held my breasts in his little hands. He held me in his arms and whispered. He whispered. Made me promise never to tell his secret.’

‘What secret?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No. It felt good. I liked it. It felt soft and sweet.’

What do I do now? There is a young life at stake. ‘Did he …’

‘I can’t tell you any more.’

‘Were you going to share this in class?’

‘No. I had another exercise. Yesterday’s exercise; the homework that you gave me.’

I take her hand. ‘Let’s go back to school.’ We stroll holding secrets in our hands. Molly leans her head against my shoulder. I almost kiss her forehead. I decide against it.

She asks, ‘Do all families have secrets?’

‘The whole world has secrets.’

‘Why?’

‘People are afraid of the truth. Truth hurts. We believe that secrets protect those we love.’

‘Secrets are evil.’

‘No, Molly. Secrets are what they are – a hiding place, where we bury what has hurt us the most, so the hurt won’t touch our loved ones. And then one day, we can no longer hide what has trapped us inside of our shame. When I was a little girl, my
mother taught me about keeping secrets. She said that if you told anyone else your secrets, all of the stars would disappear and their light would fade from the night sky.’

‘That’s fucked.’

‘You’re telling me,’ I laugh.

‘I love you, Loli.’ It comes out before I can stop it. ‘I love you too.’ I realize it’s okay. ‘I really do.’

‘In Dublin’s fair city

Where the girls are so pretty …

I first set my eyes on sweet …’

‘Shh. Molly Malone.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ It has been an afternoon of long lost-and-found secrets which have held us hostage. But for now, for each other, we have unlocked and shared our hiding spaces.

After school, I come back to my messy hotel room. Clothes strewn everywhere, soggy carpet, jacuzzi drain gurgling. The light is still flashing on the phone. I pick up my message. There is only one. It is from my father. I am taken aback. He beat me to the punch. I have no choice. I return the favor. ‘Hi Pop.’

‘Hello. Is that you, stranger?’

His voice has changed. It is a different color. ‘I was so surprised to hear from you.’

‘Your sister said you were lonely out there in the Midwest. Where are you exactly?’

‘Nebraska.’

‘Nebraska? Where’s that? Just kidding. What the hell are you doing in Nebraska?’

‘Damned if I know. Just kidding. I’m teaching.’

‘Thought your sister did that?’

‘She did. You still have a good memory.’

‘They paying you anything?’

‘Enough.’ It never changes.

‘And so the stone

Was left alone

Fa, la, la, la, lal, de.

You are just like your father, you know?’

‘Pay is fine. I’m fine.’

‘Never enough! Don’t you ever forget it. You’re a Greene – first class.’

A compliment. ‘I won’t. How’s the market doing? Haven’t looked at a paper for days.’

He answers abruptly. ‘Don’t follow it. No need. Got
everything
in T-bills and bonds; not a gambler anymore.’

‘Come on? You? T-bills?’

He avoids the topic. ‘So where are you again?’

‘Nebraska.’

‘You know Warren Buffet lives in Omaha. Now there’s a smart man for you. You couldn’t pay me to live in Nebraska. Where’d you say you were? What town?’

Here goes. ‘Beatrice. Bee as in honey, a as in have, trys as in tryst without the final t.’ Heavy breathing on the other end of the phone … very heavy, sad breathing. ‘Pop? You there?’ My heart breaks. This is the man who walked over my mother’s body, strolled upstairs, washed his hands, took a steam, as she lay writhing on the kitchen floor. This is the man who married my mother’s best friend, who fucked half the women in Beechwood while my mother was alive. This is the man who let the men in the white coats burn her brains
out in one institution after another. And my heart breaks.