37

 

       ERIC

   

    The stick taps a few times and stubs against the rock.  He tries to flip the rock up out of the ground but the stick bows.  The rock stays where it is.

    Well, what do you think?

    I dunno.  I guess the Mustang.  If it was me, I'd hang on to the Chevelle.  You put a lot of work into that car.

    You like it, I'll sell it to you.

    Me?  What am I gonna buy a car with?  And what am I gonna do with it?  I'm only fourteen.

    Hell, I was driving around in the lot behind our house before I was twelve.

    Well, my dad ain't your dad.

    The smell is almost too much to stand.  The apricots are just about over.  The strawberries and the sour cherries are coming in.  The blossoms.  Like Doug says, it smells like industrial strength fruit cocktail in this yard.  You can't breath but you smell the fruit.  The air's so thick with it you could choke.  Doug says it's like a room full of cheap incense

    Well?

    What?  I wasn't listening, I tell him, rubbing the place in my ribs where he elbowed me.

    I could have told that myself.  I asked you how you were going to like living up here.

    The stick snaps.

    I dunno.  Daddy's talking about putting up for sale signs down home.  He already called the real estate guy up.  I guess it don't matter if I like it or not.

    That isn't what I asked.  He tilts the end of the stick up to his face and looks at the break.  After a minute, he throws it into the weeds beside the new brick work.

    The idea of eating every meal across from him, of hearing him in my sleep, of trying to act like I don't know what's going on when he          loses control of himself.  Listening to him coughing.  Watching his hands pressing and kneading at the folds in his lap.  And someday to come downstairs and find him          I lay awake thinking about it now.  The smell of Kreml and the Old Spice Janice gets him every Christmas.  The sardines and the oysters.  The dreams with his eyes open.  The oldness just    there.  The whole world smelling dusty and moldy no matter how often you wash the walls and air out the cushions.  I don't know, I tell him again.  I said I don't know.  Susan called the other night.  She and Wes are coming for the Fourth of July.

    Oh yeah?  When'd she call?

    The other night I said.  Night before last.

    What'd she say?

    Not much.  They'll miss the fireworks and the parade 'cause it'll be Wednesday and they'll only be here for the weekend.  The seventh and the eighth.

    I thought you said she'd be here for the fourth.

    You know what I mean.

    What are they coming at all for then?

    Don't ask me.

    Doug likes to needle me.  He asks me questions that I don't know the answer to; he asks me what I ask myself, and he knows it.  I can see it in his eyes.  The laughing and the knowing.  It's almost a game now but not quite.

    Mom said she probably thinks we're gonna have a big to do about her coming home and that she better think again.  She went on about fatted calves and all that most of the night.

    Well, that's the way your mom is, he says.  What's your daddy say?

    You know him.  Susan can do no wrong.  He was mad, but when Mom started in on her, he defended her.  You know.

    Where'd you hear that?

    What?

    That Susan-can-do-no-wrong crap.  Sounds like your mom.

    Maybe.  She's got a right.  After all.

    After all what?  What Susie ever do to you?  What she ever do to your mom?

    She never comes home.

    Hell, she's coming home now, and just listen how you're acting.  What do you expect?  Hell, I wouldn't come home at all!

    She doesn't say anything to her when she's here.

    And you think she don't know?  Your sister ain't no dummy.  They don't give out degrees in Medical Technology to dummies.

    Mom says college is nothing but a waste of money.  Snobs and parties and money down the drain

    Mom says.  Just listen to you.  And since when did your mom become and expert on college?  I wasn't aware she'd been.

    I just look at him.  What are we talking about this for anyway?

    He laughs that I-got-you-that-time laugh.  I don't know.  You ought to just be proud of your sister.  Lots of people move away from home.  Don't you think I would if I could?

    What's keeping you?  I try to get back at him.

    He laughs again, but it's a different laugh.  He doesn't get mad like I thought he would.  Yeah, he says after a minute, You're right.  Why are we talking about this?

    We both stare at the ground for a while.  He starts to pick at that rock again with a new stick.  The dog starts a slow, nervous half-circle in front of the box.  It makes little fretful noises like a baby makes when it wants something.  Somebody starts up a chainsaw down the street.  A dog begins to bark, a little dog by the sound of it.  John Plummer comes around the corner of the house and starts up through the trees.  He carries a wooden step-stool and a couple of buckets.  A pair of pruning shears sticks out of his pocket.  Boys, he nods.

    We nod back.  Doug says, John.

    How's your mother, Doug?

    She's just fine.

    And your folks?  He looks at me.

    They're fine too.

    He sets his stool down and leans it against his leg, his eyes going all over the back of the house. Yeah, yeah, starting to look real nice.  I guess your daddy's real happy with the way it's coming along.

    I nod.  I don't know what he wants me to say to that.

    He continues to look at the brick.  Yeah, well I guess you're all done with school now, eh?  Bet you're glad of that, huh?

    I nod, Uh huh.

    Yeah, I bet you are.  He just stands there like that, looking at us, trying to think of something else to say.  Finally, he gives up.  Well, I'll see you boys.  Things to do, you know.

    I nod again.  Doug motions with his stick.

    When he's gone Doug scowls, Damned old busy body.

    Ah, John's not so bad.  He's just

    Just what?  You can't blow your nose that he isn't over here.  Things to do, hell!  I'm sick of him digging at me that I have a hard time finding something steady.  I can't help

    He didn't say anything like that.

    He didn't, huh?  Well, you just listen closer.  Wait till you finish school.  Then you'll see.

    Anyway, what you worried about?  You got a job.

    Yeah, that's why I'm sitting here with you in the middle of the week.

    You mean you got fired?

    No, no, nothing like that.  But when you work for the borough office of a town this size you'd best be prepared to sit home a lot.

    We sit there like that for a while, thinking.

    Well, I guess it's her loss.  She's the one that's going to miss the fireworks and the parade and all.

    He makes a face.  Somehow I think she'll survive.  You think they don't have fireworks in the city on the Fourth of July?  And not put off by George Jacoby and the rest of those jokers down at the fire company either.  Last more than fifteen twenty minutes too.  I don't think you should worry about her crying herself to sleep over missing the big event.

    There's a laugh in his voice, and I can feel myself getting mad.

    Just in case, we should tape the junior high's big number.  You never can tell what some people just wait all year to hear.  Hate to disappoint her.

    She don't eat meat.

    What the hell's that got to do with anything?

    Well, it just goes to show you.  What kind of person don't eat meat?

    Lots of people don't eat meat.  What brought that on?

    Mom asked her what would be good when they came for dinner, and she told her that she's not eating meat now.

    He shrugs.  She wasn't eating much when she was here for the picnic back in April.  Most people eat too

    It's not the meat.  It's just how she got all weird since she moved to the city.  All kinds of stuff.  She ain't the same; she changed.

    Are you and me the same as we were a few years ago?

    Sure we are.

    He looks at me for a long time, about half a smile on his face.  Something in his eyes tells me he doesn't really feel like smiling.  It's a sickly smile at that.  Yeah, he says finally.  Well, you want to go down to the firehouse?  I told 'em I'd be down this afternoon.

    I just stare at him for a minute, that look staying with me.  No, I promised Daddy I'd be here when he got here.  He's got something he wants me to help him with.

    He laughs, but I can't get that look out of my mind.  Finally caught up with you, huh?  School's out, no more excuses.  Summer of hard manual labor.  Put some meat on you.  Bet he said that, didn't he?

    I shake my head.

    Oh, well let me be the first.  It'll put some meat on you.  You need it.  He pats my knee as he gets up.  You tell your Daddy that I said it looks real nice and I'll be up over the weekend if he needs my help for anything.  Okay?

    I nod.  Yeah, I'll tell him.

    Long after the Chevelle pulls out and I can't hear it gunnin' down over the hill anymore, I sit and stare out into the yard.  I can hear Grandpa moving around inside the house.  He thinks we both left.  You can tell; he moves faster when he thinks he's alone.  Through the window I hear a low whistle.  There's no song to it.  It's just a whistle.  The cold runs up and down me like electricity.  After a while I hear him talking, but I can't make out the words.  I think maybe I should say something, let him know I'm here, but I don't.  I might scare him or worse.  Glasses rattle on the drainboard.  The whistle starts up again.  The dog frets along on his chain and a gust of wind tosses the trees.  The fruit smell reminds me of when Mom gets twenty kinds of perfume for Christmas and has to try 'em all.  It's just one long whistle.  No breaks, no changes.  I sit there, seeing him inside without having to look.  He's sitting in there listening to that whistle too as if it were a strange sound out of the woods.  His eyes go back and forth across what little he can see out the window above his head, waiting for it to stop, trying to figure out where it comes from.  Or maybe he's sitting there staring at his hands, unaware he's whistling at all.  Or maybe he's letting the dog know he's here.  He does that too.  Keepin' in touch, Doug calls it.

    My belly growls but not too loud.  I got an itch but I don't move.  The bricks are warm against my back and the sun is hot ,and I just sit here and shiver.