Home: Part 23

What follows is a work of fiction. Nothing here is either true or relevant. Read at your own risk. Expect nothing, and that's exactly what you'll get. Oh: This could go on for a while.

August 1974

 
We were an hour or so south of Flomation, just before dawn. The moon was full, bright; two long stretches of orange clouds were like a diving bird's wings on what I could see of the horizon. I was having trouble keeping my eyes open as Mitchell steered with one hand. 

"You fucked up," Mitchell said. "And you almost got us fucked up. They take that stuff seriously up there, you know."

Things hadn't ended well in Marianne's. After we'd started playing pool, Mitchel went to the bar for beer and came back with four bottles and two women. "Camille and Rhonda," he said. He handed a bottle to me and set the other three on the round table near one corner of the pool table. "Camille said she wanted to meet you. She said she's been admiring how you handle that cue stick."

I shook my head and drank my beer. Camille was short, blonde, and wore her slight pudginess honestly.

"He talks you up something good," Camille said to me. Rhonda had settled on a chair at the table and was dangling a cigarette between two fingers of her left hand. 

"He talks about everything pretty well," I said.

"Want to play teams?"

"He does!" Mitchell said. "Rack them!"

We played for hours. When I could no longer see the tip of my cue clearly, I stepped away from the table and let the three of them continue. "Let's dance," Camille said when she, too, had had enough.

"Not my strong suit," I said.

"Yeah, Mitchell says you have a bad leg."

"More or less," I said.

"Come one. I've danced with worse."

Sitting in the truck with the full moon setting over Mitchell's shoulder, I tried to recall something after the dancing, but I could come up with only some loud voices and Camille yelling, "Get away from. Just get away!" Then Mitchell was behind me and guiding me toward the parking lot.

"You know I don't drink," I said. "You know that."

"Don't blame me for this. Look, what happened? The two of you seemed to be fine together. The next thing I know, you've got Camille's brothers looking to cause you some serious damage."

"I'm not sure of the details."

"Rhonda told me you said Camille was fat. Right to her face, you said that."

I wasn't surprised More than once in my life I'd made fun of people, hit them where I knew it would hurt. "I need to sleep," I said to Mitchell. "Just for a while, okay? Let me know if you want me to drive."

  

Home: Part 22

What follows is a work of fiction. Nothing here is either true or relevant. Read at your own risk. Expect nothing, and that's exactly what you'll get. Oh: This could go on for a while.

February 1975 

Shannon and I had hiked to a clearing along the river. She’d packed a picnic lunch, and as we sat in the shade of cottonwood trees that grew along the levee, she handed me what seemed to be a piece of fruit. “You ever had one of these?” 

"No,” I said. “What is it?” 

Pomegranate.” She took it from my hand. “I’ve got to cut it.” The knife she used had a curved blade, and she sliced through the pomegranate’s skin, then pulled it away to expose the seeds. 

"You sure that’s edible?” I asked. 

She had removed the white pulp and was using her finger to force the seeds into a bowl she’d set in the grass. Her fingertips were quickly stained a dark red. “Taste.” She gathered several seeds and set them on my tongue.

 Interesting,” I said. 

“Good, though, right?” 

“I’m working on that.” I watched her remove the remainder of the seeds. She picked flakes of pulp from the bowl, then used a plastic spoon to eat as though she were enjoying breakfast cereal. 

“Open your mouth,” she said. She fed me with the spoon, and as I chewed I couldn’t quite tell if the seeds were sweet or sour. “Better?"

I nodded. “A bit.” 

“I love these things.” 

“Kind of messy, aren’t they?” 

She sucked on her fingertips, though they remained red. “How are my teeth?” She grinned at me. 

“Red,” I said. “Mine?” 

She kissed me and ran the tip of her tongue along my front teeth. “They even taste red.” She ate the remaining seeds and lay on her back. “Have you ever thought that some days are just meant to be good?” 

I lay next to her. Our shoulders were touching, and I stared up through the cottonwoods to where a few clouds had formed. “I think that most days are meant to be good,” I said. “Sometimes, though, they just kind of turn crossways.” 

She seemed to think about that. “I don’t know. I’ve wondered if we’re simply given some good days, some bad ones.” 

“Predetermined.” 

She pushed closer to me. “Yeah. Something like that. I’ve had days that started out badly, days I couldn’t change no matter how hard I tried.” 

“You’re getting a bit deep for me, Shannon.” And she was, too—I’d spent a lifetime avoiding conversations of any real consequence with most people. 

“Just baring my soul,” she said. She laughed and turned onto her side to face me. “Or part of it, at least.” 

 I looked up to her face. “Your teeth are still red. You look like some kind of demon when you smile.” 

“Maybe I am a demon.” She rubbed her teeth with her forefinger. “I should have brought a toothbrush with me.” 

 “You after my soul?” I asked. 

“I’m not the devil. Just a minor demon.” 

“A beautiful one.” “I am?” 

“You are. You’re one beautiful demon.” 

“And I’m yours, right?” 

 “All mine,” I said. She laid her head on my chest as if listening for the beating of my heart.

Home: Part 21

What follows is a work of fiction. Nothing here is either true or relevant. Read at your own risk. Expect nothing, and that's exactly what you'll get. Oh: This could go on for a while.

November 1976

 
After Thanksgiving dinner was over and the table was cleared, Ron and I found ourselves outside again. I'd been standing alone on the redwood deck and enjoying the cool air after being cooped up inside the house through dinner. The sky was clear. I recognized a constellation, maybe two. My sister's laughter through an open window reached me just before Ron opened the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the deck. The redwood creaked beneath the added weight.
"A nice night," he said. I hadn't turned around.
"It is," I said. I hoped he had found me to inquire again about my religious bent. The pine trees--or maybe they were firs--were a wave of silhouettes when the breeze picked up.
"You get enough to eat?" He set his cocktail on the railing we both leaned against.
"I did," I said. "Enough to fill a hollow leg."
He laughed, though not comfortably.  "Cindy says you were in the Philippines."
"I was. For a bit."
"Business?"
"Mostly."
He lifted his glass as if to toast the forest in front of us. "I've never been to that part of the world. Is it nice?"
"In some ways, it is. A bit dicey in a few areas, still. Nothing too serious if you know the places to avoid, though."
He held his glass to his mouth in a way that made it seem as though he wasn't sure of whether to speak or drink. "Sometimes I come out here and stand, and i just watch the sky. Cindy gets a bit spooked when it's so dark like this. Something about bats."
"She's never liked rodents," I said. 
"Bats are rodents?"
"She's always thought that anything she doesn't like is a rodent."
The ice in his drink seemed too loud outside as he used his finger as a stirrer. "Your mom and dad seem to be doing well. We don't see them as often as we'd like. Cindy gets worried, you know?"
"So do I, Ron," I said. "Cindy and I offer to help them with things, but they're a bit stubborn."
Ron turned so that his back was against the railing, so he could look through the glass door.  He gestured toward the house with his free hand. "Tom and Michelle, both of their parents are the same way. Tom's mom can barely walk, and his dad is almost blind."
"Old age is a hell of a thing, isn't it?" I said. I was ready to go back inside, the deck and the forest both having lost a bit of their luster now that I was no longer alone.
"You traveling someplace soon?" Ron asked.
I didn't answer right away. To a fault, I preferred keeping most of my plans private, though it was something that historically resulted in no small amount of frustration with people who moved in and out of my life. "Probably going to stick close to home for a while," I said.
"Be here for Christmas?"
"Most likely."
"Both of our kids will be here. Wendy will be home from Guatemala in a couple of weeks."
"She done with the Peace Corps?"
Ron had finished his drink and seemed ready to go back inside, too. "I think so. Who knows?"
I started toward the house, but I noticed that Ron stayed back."
"You know," he said.
I turned around and looked at him, and I didn't move. Half a moon was setting over his left shoulder, just above where the trees hit the horizon.
"Nothing," he said. "Let's go back inside and see if there's still some pie."