The Memory of Running (6 page)

pose. Her hair was longer than before, and the creamy skin caught the last of the sun. My
beautiful sister, Bethany. Perfectly still. I opened the screen porch and walked to the
garage.

Bethany. Mom and Pop. Theyre gone, Bethany. Youre gone. What am I gonna do?

I get tired. I get drunk. I see her. Clearly. Her green eyes. Im a fool.

I walked into my pops garage and leaned my big butt against Moms little blue car.

Bethany, I said again, almost like a prayer. I lit a cigarette and smoked for a minute.

Pops garage was about smells. Like Moms kitchen and Worcester- shire sauce, the garage was
3-In-One Oil, citronella candles, kero- sene, and latex paint. Good smells. Smells that go
on.

I looked around and appreciated Pops order. I dont have order. Pop had a place for
everything. Shelves for paint. Hooks for rope and garden hose. Nails for the rakes and
shovels. Above the small window in the back, hanging over Pops long workbench, was my
Raleigh. My Raleigh. I never saw it there.

I was drunk, but that was my Raleigh. I stood on Moms blue hood and pulled it away from
the hooks.

We both crashed onto the roof of the car, me and my Raleigh. The bike pitched again, over
me and out the garage door. I lay in the dent of the car roof for a few minutes, then
rolled off and walked to the bike.

My Raleigh. My maroon three-speed. I set it on its wheels and popped the kickstand. It
still had the light on the front, but there were no batteries inside. It still had my
small leather pack hooked onto the back of the seat. I unzipped it.

The zipper works good, I said out loud.

I threw a leg over, and the bar sat way below my crotch. Had I grown that much? I sat on
the seat, keeping balance with my left leg. It was a tight fit, like the blue suit I had
on, when I sat down I

couldnt keep it buttoned. The tires had no air, so they groaned un- der the beer and
pickled eggs, and the tire rims crunched on the pavement. I lit a cigarette and sat on my
bike.

I sat smoking until the cigarette was gone. Then I put up the kick- stand with my heel and
walked with the bike between my legs, to the end of the driveway. It must have been around
eight, because I re- member a full moon.

Now, I dont understand this, except I knew there was a Sunoco station at the bottom of our
street, and it probably had an air pump, but, as I said, this is a gray area because all
of a sudden I gave the Raleigh a few steps, sat ridiculously on the seat, and began to
coast on the flat tire rims of my bike, down our little hill.

After the Red Bridge Jump, Bethany went into what Pop called a lull. She was put on a
tranquilizer by the doctors at Bradley that lulled the hell out of her. Almost always the
bill of goods on these medications is that they are calming. Bethany was calmed. In fact,
my sister pretty much slept through my junior year of high school. She couldnt wake up in
the morning and couldnt stay awake when she did. My pops take on it was almost mystical.
He truly believed that during this long rest period, her body and mind were healing.

Sometime around the beginning of May, I realized that Bethany had been cutting down on her
dosage. At night, when I was pretend- ing to do homework, I could feel her looking at me.
When I would glance up, though, her eyes were closed. Id talk to her those times, but shed
pretend to be asleep. I had this really bad feeling she was planning something, or at
least her goddamn voice was, and it made me nervous. It was one of those things that get
inside your head and wont get out. From May on, I had a terrible baseball season. When
Coach finally benched me, he told me I had no glove and no bat. Thats baseball for being a
shitty player. But how can you turn the double play when youre nervous about your sisters
goddamn voice?

I did get a date for my junior prom, though. It was going to be at Rhodes on the Pawtuxet,
this beautiful old dance place. Mom told me there was a bandstand in the middle and
everyone danced around it. Thats where her prom was. I was pretty excited. I had never had
a date before, and I really didnt think Id be able to get one, what with not knowing
anybody and not having too many friends. Like most things that happen to me, though,
getting a date just happened.

I was walking to baseball practice, and the only way you were al- lowed to go if you had
on cleats was through the basement hallway past the music room. You couldnt go the direct
route by the science labs on the first floor, because the hall had green linoleum and the

cleats would dig it up. So Im walking by and feeling crappy because Im not getting to play
much for stinking so bad, when I hear this wail. Like a scream, only a little less, and
then lots of big crying as if someones just been hurt. I look into the music room, which
is usu- ally empty because its after school, and theres Jill Fisher and Billy Carrara.

Im sorry, Billy says. Oh, God! Oh, no, no, oh, no, Jill sobs. Look, Im sorry. Oh, no! Oh,
God! Im really sorry. Look, can I have my ring back? Suddenly Jill stops crying and looks
at Billy like hes just killed her

puppy. Her eyes all wet and her teeth kind of pink from where shes chewed her lipstick.

You want your ring? You want your ring? You want your damn ring? she screams.

Yes, he says, and the poor guy is already flinching.

She rips that ring off her finger and snarls at poor Billy Carrara, Theres your ring.

Jill Fisher threw the little gold ring with the red fake ruby and the East Providence
townie motto in Greek,
??????? ??????? ?????
, across the long room with all her might.

Ughhh! she screamed as she let it go. The ring flew all the way to the percussion section,
bounced off the wall, boomed against a brass kettledrum, and slid back across the room,
finally stopping at Billys left foot. He bent down and picked it up.

Thanks, Jill, he said sincerely.

He slipped it onto his finger, took out a piece of tissue paper that had been folded into
a tight ball, and handed it to her. Then Billy left the room.

I watched Jill Fisher from the doorway. She unrolled the tissue, and I noticed it was
toilet paper. Her ring was there, and she looked at it. I looked at Jills big chest. I
hadnt noticed it before, and that was

strange for me, because big chests were what I was concerned about at that time. I guess I
knew she was going out with Billy, or maybe it was because she was in a group that thought
I was a piece of shit, but for whatever reason, that day in the music room was the first
time I noticed.

Suddenly she threw her own ring and collapsed in tears. There was nothing else to do but
get the ring. I picked it up and walked over to Jill.

Here, I said. Thank you, she said. Im going to go to the junior prom. Youre a junior? Yes.
I felt relaxed and confident. Jill lifted herself off the ground and

sat in a metal folding chair. She had to take deep breaths because she was cried out, and
when she did, her chest expanded and her red blouse got tight against it.

Your ring looks okay. Thank you. Its not one of those cheap rings. Its a good ring. I was
about an inch taller in my cleats, but my practice uniform

was baggy. I tried to stick out my chest and stomach, but I didnt have either one.

I play third base. Youre on the baseball team? Third base. Thats why Im wearing cleats.
Thank you for getting me my ring. You threw it. . . . Thanks. I just . . . picked it up. I
saw Jills face and realized she was pretty. It was a round face, and

she had black eyes, or at least they looked black through her tears.

Also, she had long, straight black hair. Chest men dont notice, I guess, the details. That
day, for the first time, I noticed some details.

I got to go. I got to walk home. Billy was supposed to take me home, but now hes . . .

She threw her head back and let out one final sob/moan. I forgot about her face. I thought
she might just break that red blouse to pieces. She didnt.

We walked to the music-room door and into the hallway. Listen, Im going to my junior prom.
I know. Im going alone. By myself.

Why? I want to. Oh . . . okay. This was not good, and I was stupid. We walked to the field
door.

I was going out, and Jill Fisher was heaving her chest up the stairs. You wouldnt want to
go. You probably wouldnt like it. You

probably would hate to go. Where?

My junior prom. Im a sophomore. Thats what I mean. Id have to go with a junior, or I
couldnt go. Exactly. Some junior would have to ask you, and youd probably

say no. I guess.

Like, if I said, Want to go to my junior prom? youd say what? Id say what? Exactly. Okay.

What? Ill go.

And it happened to me in the music room like it almost always did. It just happened. I was
a pool ball, really, ricocheting off every- body and everything. So even though my boy
life didnt come com- plete with a specific plan or some logical course of action, it was
my own little way of being in the world. Being a part of the whole. But nothing happens
anymore. Im not on the pool table anymore. It wasnt getting hurt, or Bethany, or nothing,
really. I just found the TV easier, the beer, the pretzels. You put on the tube, you drink
the refreshing lager, you settle in for a good smoke, who needs contemplation?

I didnt talk to Jill for a couple of weeks. Then one day a girl passes me a note in
English class with Jills phone number, and it says to call her. That night I talk to a
girl on the phone for the first time.

Are you mad or something? she asked me, sort of pissed off. No. Then whats the story? Are
we going to the prom? Sure.

Its in two weeks. I know. Well, God! What color cummerbund are you wearing? Cumber What?
God! I mean . . . Look, a cummerbund is a wide belt they wear with tuxedos.

They come in different colors. Usually the cummerbund and bow tie are the same color. I
want you to get a purple one.

Okay. And . . . have you got some paper? Uh . . . yes. Okay, write this. A yellow corsage
with some lily in it. Doesnt

that sound perfect? Im so excited. Whats your name? Smithy Ide.

Smithy. Okay. Are you driving? Ive got my license. Okay. Call me tomorrow night, same
time. Okay. Bye. Bye. It didnt seem like much, but it was a terrific first phone call to a

girl. I felt good. I walked downstairs to the kitchen and thought about a bowl of cereal,
but I was never hungry and wasnt hungry that night. Bethany came into the kitchen in her
robe and slippers and made herself a bologna and cheese sandwich and a coffee milk.

Want one, Hook? she yawned. No thanks. She made her sandwich, put the mayonnaise and
cheese and

bologna in the fridge, and sat down at the table with me. She looked a little ratty.

Im feeling icky, she said between chews. I stopped taking those pills, and I feel clammy.

Youre not supposed to stop taking those pills. Cmon, Bethany. Theyre good for you.

She looked at me and took a bite of sandwich without looking away.

Cmon, I said again.

A lot of times, Hook, not all the time but a lot of times, you can be a real cocksucker.

I hated when she talked like that. Sometimes she could use words that made me actually
throw up. I looked away from her and out the window wearing a good hurt face. I heard her
take another bite of sandwich, but when I looked back, she was still watching me.

Asshole, she said, her mouth full of bologna and cheese. I got up to leave the kitchen,
but Bethany grabbed my arm. Im sorry, Im sorry, she laughed.

Why do you do that?

If I didnt love you, I wouldnt call you names. I heard youre go- ing to the prom. She
pretty?

I sat back down. Jill Fisher. I dont know her. Shes pretty. I went with Bobby Myers to my
junior prom. Her junior prom. The school gym. The parallel bars. The police.

Bobby Myers in that Boston hospital. Bobby and his friends all wore plaid cummerbunds and
plaid

bow ties. They looked so dumb. The stolen car, the first long disappearance. Im wearing
purple. And Im getting Jill a yellow corsage with

some lily in it. Purple and yellow? Okay. That sounds pretty good. I watched her finish
the sandwich, then rinse off her dish and put

it in the sink. Yes, I was nervous because she had taken herself off the pills, and yes,
there still was that crummy feeling that something bad was going to happen, but yes, it
was more my sister, even looking ratty, than the sleepwalker that had taken her place for
three months. She walked to the door that led out of the kitchen.

I love you, Hook. I love you, too. Are you ashamed of me? Do you hate me? I love you. I
know. Im not ashamed of you. I never hate you. Good. Bethany left the kitchen with some
energy. I never told my pop

about the pills.

A fine mist changed over to light rain, and I woke up. I lay on my back, and I could feel
uneven grass clumps under my ass. My blue mourning suit was soaked completely through. I
could hear ducks quacking overhead and the sound of water falling onto rocks. For a
moment, or a minute, or maybe five minutes, I lay still and could form no thoughts
whatsoever, only feel the rain washing me, like a dead man or a stroke man.

I tried to stand, but a crackly stiffness and pain wouldnt let me raise my head, clench my
fist, or even bend my arm. I lay still again and listened. The falling water was close,
very close. I realized that I was cold, only I wasnt sure if it was being wet or on the
ground or what. I closed my eyes and opened them and tried to think. The wa- ter on the
rocks was too much in my mind, and the thick beer and vodka ran all around my body. I
could feel my heart pumping. I couldnt think at all, and there was nothing to do under the
rain. I closed my eyes and slept.

It was like a blinkonly when I opened them again, the rain had stopped and the sun was
coming in and out of the clouds. It felt good on my wet body, the parts I could feel. I
tried to raise my arm, and this time, even though that deep, dry pain cracked me, I could.
I raised it about ten times, each time putting it down gently on the grass, until my
shoulder and elbow and fingers felt a part of me; then I did it to the other arm. I pushed
myself into a sitting position, but the fullness of the pain, the pulling and tightening,
was unbelievable. I lay back down and rolled to my side, and my fat legs plopped over like
two sides of beef. I pushed into a kneeling position and tried to stand. Its very hard not
being able to stand. Theres a helpless, hope- less feeling. I couldnt think, and now I
couldnt stand.

I flopped forward and landed with a thump on my stomach. I lay there for a minute until my
heart stopped racing, and finally I formed

a thought. I have done something to my body, I thought. I have overdone something, like
the first day of basic training when we ran and climbed the rope and the next morning our
fingers had raised blisters and our arms and shoulders ached. There were pieces of that
ache in this ache. I raised my legs and slowly lowered them to the grass, feeling a little
more limb each time. I pushed myself up to my knees and slowly stood. I was on my feet. I
opened and closed my fingers and took a step and another and another. A mechanical man
stiffened in the rain.

The Raleigh was about ten feet from where I slept, and when the sun hit it, sparks bounced
off the stainless-steel headlight. I picked it up and set the kickstand down. The tires
had lost a little air to a slow leak, but most of the good Sunoco air was still in place.
What the hell did I do? What? I rolled down to the gas station and pumped up the tiresthen
what? And what was this place? I looked back to the grassy mound I had slept on. It looked
familiar and the square white cinder-block building next to it looked familiar.

Pump house, I said. Shad Factory.

I walked in the direction of the falling water and could see the ivy-covered factory ruins
before I saw the falls. They seemed smaller and mysterious in the early, cloudy sun. I
stood on the flat cement border of the dam and watched the water roll thinly the twenty or
so feet to the river below. It was high summer, and the pump house had been adjusted to
allow a minimal flow over the dam, but I could see the same pools below me. A man and a
boy were fishing the river. The kid had one of those spin-cast outfits, and I could see a
night crawler dangling from his hook. He cast it downstream while the man, who fly-fished
sort of heavily, with a slam of the fly on the wa- ter, cast across stream. I watched for
a while, and I thought about my pools.

Hey. The boy looked up at me. He was maybe ten or twelve. Throw it up the falls.

What?

Throw your worm up into the falls. The swirls of the falls. Itll go into the pools.

What pools? Theres deep holes up by the falls. The man kept casting in a whipping, angry
way, slapping his big

bug on the water, letting it go down about ten yards, then retrieving it so rapidly it
made a scary zzzzz sound. The boy turned up to the falls and threw his worm.

Here?

A long shadow flashed its white belly and pounced like a mur- derer. At first the boy
thought he was wedged under a rock, until the pickerel shot from his pool to another, like
a missile.

Dad! he screamed. Daddy! Play him, George, the man said, a little sourly. The boys rod
bent and straightened and bent again. What do I do, Dad? Play him. Play him. The boy
reeled frantically, and the long fish rolled out of the pools

toward him. Ive got him! Play him. Im playing him! As suddenly as the fish took the
crawler, it was gone. The boy fell

back a little at the snap of his line. I lost him, the boy said disgustedly. You didnt
play him. I played him. You didnt play him right. Hey, I called from above. Theres a lot
more up there. And the

perch are up there, too. What was that? That was a pickerel.

The lake itself hadnt changed, but the shore that had been heavy underbrush and small
trees gave way now to lawns and homes. The last time Id been up here was a couple of days
before basic training. I was nineteen and working for Hortons Fish Market. Like I said, I
never got to college, so I was put into the army, but a couple of days before I went to
Fort Dix, I rode my Raleigh up here. I could have taken my pops car, but I was still a
runner then, and I got my fishing gear and the weighted nymphs I tied in the winter and
rode up. It was November. Pretty cold, but the fish get harder, stronger in cold water. I
remember there was nothing here, not one house.

Now there were houses everywhere. And some had Winnebagos in the yards, and some had boats
on trailers, satellite dishes pointing to the stars, dogs, everything.

I felt for my cigarettes, but they werent in the suit pockets, so I walked back to my
Raleigh to see if I had dropped them on the ground. I even tried my seat pouch, but I
couldnt find them. I re- membered a small store at the top of the lake where I used to
stop and get a candy bar. Maybe it was still there. I snapped up the kick- stand and sat
on the bike. Pain shot from my ass like bullets, and I know bullet pain. I didnt realize
how swollen and bruised my poor, fat ass was. My God, I thought. I must have filled up the
tires and ridden all the way to Shad Factory in the middle of the night. And I didnt
remember anything about it. The memory was stored in my ass, and my legs, and my soft,
aching arms.

I walked the bike down the pump-house path to the footbridge and out to the road. I headed
away from the houses so I could come up behind that little store, if it was still there.
After half an hour, I had to take off my suit jacket because the sun had burned away the
clouds. I put it over the seat and walked on.

My memory of Rehoboth was cornfields in the summer, and a lot of time, coming home, Id
steal a few ears of the sweet white ones for us. This August there was still corn, and it
was high and beautiful and smelled the way manure and hay make the fields smell. It was

wonderful, and I walked slow, which was the only way I could walk, being a porker pushing
a bike, but even if I could have gone faster, I believe I wouldnt have.

Another half hour later, the store was there. Still. So while there were houses instead of
the dark woods, somewhere there were corn- fields and variety food stores. I leaned my
bike in the shade and no- ticed an air pump at the corner of the store. I filled the tires
again, brought the bike back to the shade, and walked in.

The store smelled good, like lettuce and coffee, and I was getting hungry. I wondered if
they had those thick apple squares with frost- ing on them. I could have a few of those
and some soda. I was dry.

Cigarettes, too, I said out loud. Yes? a young woman at the checkout stand said. I was
just ... uh ... I guess I need ... do you know those big

apple squares? Theres like two in a pack, and theyre covered with frosting?

Im not sure. Ill look around. The vegetables looked pretty. I never looked at vegetables,
because

I didnt eat them anymore, unless it was a potato. Or corn, Id eat corn. I walked over to
the cookie section, and I found the apple squares right away. I picked up four packages.
Then I got a quart of root beer. I was very hungry now, and I realized I hadnt eaten any-
thing for a while. Since last night anyway. I put the root beer back and got a quart of
Narragansett Lager. I read where beer had lots of nutrients and things. I put the apple
squares and the beer on the counter.

Two packs of Winstons, too. The girl reached for the cigarettes, and I reached for my
money. Wait a sec, I said. I mightve left my money . . . crying out

loud . . . I might have forgot my money. Just a sec. I walked out to the bike and went
through my suit jacket. I found

four quarters. Jesus Christ.

I went back in. I got to put the stuff back. I only found a dollar. She put the Winstons
back in the cigarette rack, and I put the beer

and the apple squares back. Bananas are six for a dollar, she said. I wont charge any tax.
I hadnt had a banana in years and years. Six for a dollar? They all smelled good, and I
picked the ones that had the least

brown spots. I gave her the four quarters, had a long drink of water at the fountain by
the door, and then I ate three bananas outside by the Raleigh. Bananas are easy to chew,
and they fill you. The air was getting heavier as the night rain evaporated, but it had
that sweet summer smell, and the wetness brought up the hay and manure and other things Id
forgotten. A pickup truck came out of a side road cut into the corn and turned onto the
pavement. As it went by, I could see Bethany clear, on the back of the flatbed, balanced
per- fectly in her splayed pose, her hair straight in the breeze, her twenty- year-old
skin shining in the sun. And she was gone. I was never alarmed to see Bethany, but I wasnt
thinking about her. At least I dont think I was. I reached into my pocket and took out
Pops letter from Los Angeles. I reread the first part again. That she died. That she was
fifty-one. That it was exposure, and that it was L.A. I guessed that Pop had sent dental
records and inquiries everywhere over the twenty-seven years shed been gone. My pop was
full of energy. I read some more.

The 1931 Cohen/Hughes Act by the California legislature allocates fund- ing for the
retaining of the deceased body until implicit instructions are received from next of kin,
should they exist. Please advise the details of interment as soon as possible.

Again, the County of Los Angeles extends its sympathy to you and your family.

I folded up the letter and slipped it back in my pocket. I got an-

other drink of water, put the bananas in my suit jacket pocket, and walked off with my
Raleigh. I wondered if the big country club was still around here, and the log cabin and
the rose farm and the turkey farm. When I got to the top of the hill, I bit my tongue
against the pain in my sore ass and coasted toward Taunton Turnpike.