The Memory of Running (8 page)

and violet eyes. I swear to God. Violet. Lashes this long. You know, a priest trains
himself to look away. Not unlike a married man, to look away. And I looked away, even
though, as I said, the eyes seemed to me almost an aberration of beauty. Violet.

Later that evening she . . . called again. Providence. East side. Family money and all.
She said she needed to ask a couple of ques- tions about the God and Country. The Catholic
award is called Ad Altare Dei. I explained that although its given in conjunction with
Scouts, its not really a Scouting award. Its bestowed by a religious leader. It involves
special service and so forth. She was extremely keen on the idea of her Scout earning the
award and asked me if I thought her priest, the guy over at Immaculate Conception, was up
to helping the boy earn the award.

He paced a little. I felt tired. Sleepy.

I dont know why, but I said Id come over and maybe we could set up an independent course
of study and he could essentially earn the award independently. Well, it was one of those
grand houses. Thayer Street. Actual Tiffany stained glass above the front door. Ele- gant.
It was Saturday afternoon. April. There was a light drizzle, and the damn old Volkswagen
of mine with the bald tires . . . I mean . . . I slipped all over the place, but I finally
made it. She met me at the front door in these, oh, simple yet stylish yellow linen slacks
with a rose-colored blouse. Her hair, her fine brown hair, was pulled high, and a few
strands waved carelessly in the breeze of her walk when she took me around to the living
room. There was a fire, and it drove the chill completely from the room.

He paused for a moment and remembered. I worked to keep my eyes open. Bethany stood by the
watercooler.

Her son was out, but I sat on this leather couch, and it was cool, and she sat next to me.
She smelled like lemons and lilac. This really has nothing to do with anything, but later
that evening, in my little sitting room upstairs, I wrote a poem entitled Lemons and
Lilacs:

A woman resplendent of smells repentant to run tormented on legs cemented.

I can smell the lemons, the lilacs whenever I recite that. Its a prayer. Its a mantra.
Jeneen Dovrance had this young skin, pink like a schoolgirls, even though she was in her
mid-thirties, and her lovely full breasts pressed against the rose blouse.

He stopped and bit his lower lip, and his mouth trembled a little. I woke up. Bethany
disappeared.

They pressed against the blouse? I asked, needing to say something.

Like they were, somehow, captive. They yearned, actually. I gave her the packet for the Ad
Altare Dei, and beside each requirement I noted how other boys had accomplished them, and
at the bottom of the set of papers I included my name and address. Jeneen put her handher
pink, almost translucent handonto my knee and thanked me, over and over, for making the
trip and being so atten- tive. I got up, but as I did, my own hand brushed ever so
reassuringly on hers. It was a small moment, but of such intensity I cant begin to say.
Anyway I . . . called her the very next day under the pretense of concern over the
Scouting thing, but Ill say it right out: I simply had to hear her voice and imagine her
ensemble. Is that so wrong?

He looked at me and seemed angry. No, I said. Its not a human vow. Historically its not
grounded in anything.

Property, money, I dont know, but I dont believe that the church can justify it.

He looked out the window at the dark. I had sex a few times in high school, he sort of
mumbled. I had been with three women. Been with them in bed, sexually

I mean. They were all in-country and prostitutes. I paid them ten dollars in American
money, and they were very happy, even though I could feel how much they hated me, months
after. Like they put a curse on me so I would remember how they felt. I was the beast
Bethany used to say Id be. My fat ass, my hopeless self. Even when I smiled at a woman, I
felt I was inflicting myself into her nice life. Sex.

They were lovely young girls, but this woman sank into my un- conscious. I called her
again. And again. And each time she laughed and chatted in her breathless little way.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Words, he said. I just dont know about them. We were on the phone, and I was upstairs in
my little bedroom, and I asked about her kid and his progress with Ad Altare Dei, et
cetera, and she said . . . she said, Its very hot. Im just going to take this off, just a
second. Well, Im on the other end thinking, My God, what? What has she taken off ? So I
ask her casually. I say, So . . . what did you have to take off ? and she says, Oh, my
sweater, and I say, Are you cooler now? and she says, Actually no, Im still pretty hot,
and theres a pause, and finally I say, I say . . . Why dont you, why dont you take off the
rest of your clothes so your full, ripe breasts can cool off ?

He looked at me as if I should say something. But I dont know things. Ive always thought
they must get hot, but I just dont know. I smiled stupidly.

Jeneen Dovrance said, What? And I said like a ritual lamb, like a cow in the Chicago
stockyards, I said, Why dont you slip out of your clothes so I can imagine you there,
nude, with your lovely breasts and sweet love box all full and juicy. Shejokes on me, all
right, old celibate Benny Galloshe hangs up. Know how I can remember what I said word for
word? Because Jeneen Dovrance pressed record on her answering machine after I said the
word breasts the first time, and Bishop Fuget and his goddamn toadies played it for me,
over and over and over during the inquisition. She

had transmitted this intensely private conversation to a hierarchy of pansies. You know
what they call me behind my back? Shall I tell you? They call me old full and juicy. Full
and juicy, ho, ho. Very funny. Assistant pastor. God Almighty.

He put his face into his hands, then went to the sink and splashed some cold water on his
eyes.

So you see how we go on? How we dont give up?

I saw. I slept on a couch in the rectory, and I dreamed that Bethany was running around
our backyard and Norma was chasing her. Laughter dreams good.

As soon as he was out of sight of my mom and pop, Bobby Myers lit a Marlboro.

Open the glove compartment, he said to Bethany.

Inside was a quart bottle of Four Roses Canadian whiskey, which was a favorite of the
Riverside mondos.

Thats the good stuff. I stole it from my old man. Were gonna have some fun tonight.

Bethany thought Bobby Myers looked good and cool with the Marlboro in his mouth.

Did you remember to get the corsage?

Oh, shit, Im glad you reminded me. Its in the trunk. Ill get it when we pick up Sal.

Sal Ruggerior Sal the Dago, which he was sometimes called be- hind his back, way behind
his backwas the boy in East Providence High School who, by example, led the Riverside
mondos. Without Sal we probably never would have had spot locker checks, for exam- ple.
Certainly we never would have had the Sal Walk, which all the mondos were required to do.
Hands in pockets, as close to your balls as possible, shoulders hunched so the leather
jacket rode up around your neck, and a sort of slide step with your hobnail boots. And, of
course, you chewed Dubble Bubble. It was their aroma. Sweet- smelling marauders.

Sals mom and pop were lovely people who both worked for Campenella & Cardi Construction.
He operated backhoes, and she did payroll. They went to mass on Wednesdays and Sundays and
were active in most of St. Marthas activities. They were pretty typical of the
lower-middle-class people in East Providence. They saved for everything they wanted. They
worked hard. They were ter- rific neighbors. And they adored their only childthe
evil-minded, pimply-pussed Sal the Dago.

Bobby and Sal were best friends in a way that the mondos were best friends. Theyd punch
each other on the arms and try to make the other one quit. Friends that way, the mondo
way. Sal was taking Debbie Gomes. They werent boyfriend and girlfriend or anything like
that, but she was a tough girl, and she gave hand jobs. At least thats what it said on the
wall above the urinal in the first-floor boys room.

Sal came out of the house on the first honk of the Impala. His tuxedo pants were
skintight, and instead of a bow tie, he wore his shirt open so his furry chest could
breathe.

Hey, man, Bobby said coolly. Sal jumped into the backseat. Hey, man, Sal said. Bethany
felt a little uncomfortable around Sal. Everybody did. It

was a feeling youd get that was magnetic and repulsive at the same time. Turmoil. But
Bethany also felt pretty excited and happy. Bobby was so cool, and she looked great. She
knew she did. She felt all her choices were the exact right onesfrom her tight curls,
which had loosened up enough to bounce, to her sexy blue heels. She had prac- ticed
walking in them for weeks and had perfected a natural-looking glide step. It was a very
nice package, and she knew it.

Now, Im not sure about anything, as Ive said, but I think gener- ally theres a rhythm to
young girls that they dont have to think about. Its not really spontaneous either, because
its always there. Its the big events with gowns and tuxedos and heels that point this up.
The girls somehow hear this beat, this rhythm, and thats what the night is like. The boys
do not have this rhythm, at least not for an en- tire night, and thats why the liquor gets
into glove compartments.

Bobby steered the big Impala with one hand and reached for the Four Roses with the other.
He handed it back to Sal.

The good stuff. Theres cups and orange soda to mix it with. Under the seat.

Sal filled the cups about halfway with the whiskey, then smoothed them out with the orange
soda. He handed Bobby his, then Bethany.

This is fucking great, Sal said. He lit a Marlboro. Bobby took a big swallow and watched
Bethany sip a little.

Great? Bobby asked. Really good, Bethany said. Hey, Sal said, we dont have to pick up
Debbie or nothing. She

lives next to the car place across from the school. I told her to walk. It was a warm
evening, warmer than usual for Rhode Island. Bobby pulled into the half-full parking lot.
Sal climbed over the trunk and walked to the mondos on the grass next to the school

gym. Their dates were inside. Why dont you go in and stuff. I got to see these guys, Bobby

said. The mondos laughed that Debbie was inside waiting to give Sal

his hand job. Sal smiled, grabbed his crotch, and went inside the gym. Bobby followed him.
Big Brother Jackson Dees from WICE in Providence spun the records and in between peppered
the space with East Providence High School references. He played lots of the Drifters,
Elvis, Dion and the Belmonts, and the fabulous Fabian. The girls went back and forth to
the girls room. The boys smoked ciga- rettes just outside the door to the gym. It was, all
in all, a pretty nice prom. At eleven forty-five, Mr. Burke, the principal, flipped the
gym lights on and off, signaling last dance, and the formal portion of the evening came to
a close.

When Bobby and Bethany reached the car, Debbie was wiping her hands with some Kleenex, and
Sal was relaxing with a tall Or- ange and Roses.

Werent the decorations neat? Bethany gushed, getting into the front seat.

Real cool. Debbie yawned. Yeah, real cool, added Sal. It was Sharon Daviss idea to have a
Colonial theme. I think

Sharon did a real, real neat job.

How about some drinks up here, said Bobby. He finished his before he started the car.

Lets go to the beach, Sal said on cue. Hey, what a neat idea, said Debbie. The beach? Hey,
that does sound good. But its past twelve already. Im supposed to be home, Bethany

said. My sister felt awkward and childish, but she wanted to be re- sponsible to Mom and
Pop, and maybe even me.

Well just go to Barrington. Fifteen, twenty minutes. The big car powered out of the
parking lot, up Pawtucket Avenue, through Riverside, and into Barrington. Bethany didnt
say anything. Debbie and Sal the Dago had disappeared onto the backseat. Juicy kiss sounds
and occasional groans oozed into the front. Bobby finished Bethanys drink as they pulled
onto the rise above Barrington Beach. He turned the motor off, and they both sat looking
out over the bay. Crickets chirped. The tiniest waves rolled beneath them. Debbie growled
quietly, out of sight in the rear darkness. Bobby gently put his arm around Bethany.

Did I tell you how pretty you look tonight? She smiled but felt her body begin to go
rigid. I thought you were the prettiest girl there. Bobby leaned over and kissed her
cheek, then kissed down her

jawline until he reached the lips. Hed kissed her before, and on the lips, too, but not
with Sal and Debbie in the backseat, and not quite so differently. She felt his tongue
push through her tightened lips and whap at her teeth. In the backseat the slurping of
tongues overpow- ered the waves. Bethany turned her head away.

I dont know . . . she said.

I just like you so much, he whispered. I just like you so much. Bobby licked at her ears.
Do you remember when you took off your clothes in the school parking lot? All your
clothes? I saw your titties. I just like them so much. I like the way you took off all
your clothes.

Bethany felt his wet lips on her neck. She remembered the park- ing lot. She remembered
how the other girls had stopped speaking to her and how her skin felt all icy and then
like Brillo soap pads, and Smithy finding her underneath the water tower in the snow. And
really how her voice had lied then, no matter what it said now, tried to say. How it lied,
behind the walls, in the air above her head.

Bobby Myers turned her toward him, and his tongue jumped into her mouth like a lizard. His
left hand brushed against her chest, and his finger squeezed where her nipples would be.

I liked the way you took off all your clothes. I liked the way your titties were all
pretty and exciting.

Oh, God! Debbie screamed, still out of sight. Baby, baby, Sal gushed. Titties, titties,
titties, uttered Bobby. Take them off. Take all

your clothes off. Please. Please. Please. Bobby grabbed her right hand and pulled it
toward his crotch. See

what you do to me? See how you get me all excited and everything? Dont wipe it on my
tuxedo, Sal said from behind them. I have

to take this shit back to the store. So what am I supposed to do with it? Rub it on the
rug. Please, Bobby pushed, take it off. Take it off so I can see.

Please. I got this stuff all over my dress, Debbie whined. Her and Sal sat

up in the backseat. Pass the cups back here, Sal said. Bobby released the suction on
Bethanys neck. You guys think

you could take a walk on the beach or something? Well close our eyes, Sal snickered. We
wont watch. Debbie laughed. Cmon, Bobby pleaded.

Shit, said Sal. He climbed on the hood. Debbie followed him. Thanks! yelled Bobby after
them. Bethany felt heavy and sleepy

and somehow chilled. She watched Sal and Debbie walk toward the water. She felt separated
from this place, and the beach, and even the water. It seemed sometimes that the only
connection in a world of disconnection was the steadying call of the voice deep in
whatever it was she was. She never spoke of the voice, the words, anymore, and she
regretted she ever had, because no one could give her the under- standing, the sympathy,
her private voice required. Indeed, it seemed to anger the people who loved her more and
more, until no mat- ter what problems arose, the voice was always assumed to be at the
center.

Bethany looked down, and Bobby was removing her panties. He pulled them over the blue
heels. She watched his hands run up her thigh and his fingers plunge into her pubic hair.
He kissed her lips. She watched herself as if in a mirror.

Touch me, he breathed. Touch me now.

She looked away from herself and saw that Bobby had unbuttoned the tuxedo pants and
brought his penis into view. He moved her hand to it.

My dick, he breathed romantically. My dick, my dick, my dick.

Bethany held the object of his intensity curiously. She moved it left and right like a
stick shift.

No, no, up and down, he drawled. I understand it now. Now I get it, she said, removing her
hand. Get what? I wasnt talking to you. She looked to where Sal lay humping Debbie on the
sand. I want to take all my clothes off for you, she said shyly, but I

want it to be a surprise, too. Why dont you just take them off ? Ive already seen your
thing. I just want it to be a surprise. How about this? How about you

get in the trunk, and Ill take off all my clothes, and then you can see all of me, with
nothing on?

And Ill take my clothes off, too. Ill take them off in the trunk. And Ill give you a big
blow job, she said sweetly. A blow job? A blow job? Blow job? This was thought about by

the Rhode Island mondos to distraction, but none of them ever be- lieved theyd get a girl
to actually put her mouth around it and blow! Crazy girls were great. They were crazy,
man. Bobby ran around to the rear of the car and unlocked the trunk.

Give me the keys, quick, she said. I have to get out of my dress. I have to let my titties
out.

Bobby leaped in, and Bethany closed the trunk. She walked around to the drivers side of
the car and put her panties on.

Thats enough, she said out loud. I dont have to do more than that.

The clear water kicked back the three-quarter moons shape. I dont want to do more, she
said loudly. Dont tell me to do more. Please.

Sal heard the car engine start and raised his head. What? asked Debbie, beneath him. The
car started. They saw the headlights flash on, and the light covered them. Sal

jumped up and zipped his pants. He gave the car the finger. Hes a dick, he said. Debbie
stood, and they brushed sand from each other. Whats the matter with that jerk?

Hes a dick, Sal said.

The big car squealed backward and stopped at the far end of the parking lot. It sat
revving. An angry rev. A crazy rev. Then the sound fell into the gentle hum of the
Chevrolets eight perfect cylinders.

Whats he doing? Debbie asked.

Sshhhh, whispered Sal. He looked behind him. They were about twenty or thirty yards from
the water. He didnt know why, but he noted it. He looked back at the idling Impala.
Someone was

talking in the car, but the voice didnt belong to either Bobby or Bethany. It was cackly
and high.

Whos that? Debbie whispered. I do not have a fucking clue. Suddenly the car charged across
the blacktop, toward the thin

wooden barriers separating the parking lot from the cement tidal wall and beach. It ripped
apart the barriers and flew off the wall. It seemed to Sal that the Impala actually rose
higher before it thudded to the beach, its wheels spewing a tall arc of fine sand. It
roared on through the soft granules, but as it closed on Sal and Debbie, the beach became
harder packed and the car found new traction.

Shit! Sal screamed. He grabbed Debbies hand and headed toward the water. Behind them the
snarl of engine grew louder.

Cmon, cmon, cmon! Sal urged.

They hit the freezing May Atlantic at a gallop, then frantically dragged their soggy
bodies deeper into the bay. The Impala swerved, half in the water, half out, and the
closeness of the heavy metal chas- sis seemed like the end. The engine faded, and they
turned their eyes back to land. The car had driven onto the lip of the ocean and was now
several hundred yards down the beach. In the distance Warren, Rhode Island, twinkled in
its harbor. Sal thought he heard a muffled scream from inside the car; then it turned into
the high reeds and disappeared.