by Paul Clayton
The ride back was unpleasant. Tina had settled into an angry, irritable mood and her neurotic, backseat driving was almost too much for Allen to bear. Several times she wanted him to beep at the other drivers when they violated the rules or were rude. He ignored her. “Why do you stay in this lane?” she demanded at one point when the traffic in his lane had slowed. He sighed inaudibly and said nothing.
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He thought it would burst; he was so angry and tense. Reynaldo sat next to him, uncharacteristically quiet. Christine leaned against her mother in the back seat, dozing in the afternoon heat. Allen turned on the radio. He glanced in the rear view. Tina’s face remained stony, her eyes refusing to meet his. On the radio, some rock band played. Guitars rang out, the drummer pounding hypnotically as the singers crooned in soothing harmonies. He slowly tuned out and went with them to their special place. In his fantasy he was dancing. Tina did not dance and was indifferent to music. Now he, like a man in a wheelchair who dreams of running on the beach, was on the dance floor, colored lights flashing as his feet moved deftly, moon walking, spinning, watched by several pretty young women—all while the recently-vacated husk of him sat in the driver’s seat, its primitive yet capable brain stem scanning the road ahead through auto-pilot eyes, directing the hands on the wheel and the feet on the pedals in performing the very simple task that driving had become for the modern male Homo Sapiens.
On Saturday morning Allen went again to see his therapist Joel Beckett. Entering the old Victorian house, he closed the heavy door, shutting out the street noise. He sat in the waiting room, the hiss of the white noise generators making him sleepy. Moments after he closed his eyes the door opened. Joel’s girlfriend Sheila looked out at him. Allen had met her once before when he was leaving Joel’s office.
“Come in,” said Sheila.
Allen felt odd sitting in the office when Joel wasn’t there. Sheila took Joel’s chair and sat down. “I’ve had to meet with most of Joel’s clients today,” she said. “You’re the fifth.”
Allen nodded and smiled slightly, wondering what it was all about.
“Joel is dying,” said Sheila.
“Huh?” said Allen dumbly.
“He has inoperable liver cancer. He has two, maybe three weeks left.”
“Oh,” said Allen, aghast. He looked at her, searching her face for the pain he knew she must have been feeling. But it was hidden from him, perhaps by medication. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Sheila nodded grimly and took a calling card from the desk and handed it to him. “Joel is referring all his patients to Karen Pendleton. He has a very high regard for her.”
Allen took the card she gave him and looked at it.
She looked at him, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He got to his feet. “Tell him I said hello.” Allen felt stupid as the words left his mouth.
Sheila nodded. Again he tried to read her face and could not. He turned and quickly left the office.
On Sunday morning after Mommy had gone to the grocery store, Reynaldo was playing with his cars on the rug. He looked up and saw Daddy watching him. He smiled. Daddy didn’t smile back. Daddy seemed sad.
Daddy blinked the way he did when he was thinking and walked over. “Reynaldo, have they told you about earthquakes at school yet?”
Reynaldo shook his head. “Earthquakes?”
Daddy nodded. “Yes. Sometimes the earth shakes very hard, hard enough to make some houses fall down.”
Reynaldo smiled. “Is an earthquake coming, Daddy?”
Daddy’s smile was sad. “Maybe, maybe not. I hope not. But we have to be prepared. I will show you what I want you to do if there is an earthquake.”
Reynaldo nodded. “Okay, Daddy.”
Daddy led Reynaldo into Reynaldo’s room. “If the house starts shaking, you must get out right away. And if you cannot get out of the front door, you must go out the window.” Daddy pointed to the window in Reynaldo’s room.
Reynaldo frowned. “Mommy says I can’t open the curtains. She says that if the curtains are open I’ll just look out my window all day and not do my work.”
Daddy nodded. “I know. But if an earthquake comes you must open the curtains and the window too.”
“How, Daddy?”
Daddy nodded. “I will show you. But there is one more thing. You must take your sister with you. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Daddy walked over to the window and drew the curtain back. “Here,” he said, “put your hand here.” Daddy placed Reynaldo’s hand over a moving part on the window.
“This is the latch. Push down and then slide the window open. Like this.”
Daddy moved Reynaldo’s hand and the window slid open. A cool breeze washed into the room and Reynaldo grew excited. He had never had his window open before. Outside, the tree was doing its happy dance and the big yard beckoned invitingly.
“Bring over your chair,” said Daddy.
Reynaldo brought over his little yellow plastic chair and placed it under the window. Daddy gently placed Reynaldo’s hand on the screen. “To get out, you must push the screen out. Then you can climb out. Do you understand?”
Reynaldo frowned with concentration. He began to push against the screen and Daddy pulled his hand away. “Not now, Reynaldo. When the time comes. Now remember, you must help your sister out first. Then, when she is outside, you can climb out the window. Do you understand?”
Reynaldo smiled. He was happy Daddy had told him these things. He hoped an earthquake would come soon so he could leave the house through the window. “Yes, Daddy.”
They heard the front door slam and Daddy quickly closed the window and pulled the curtain closed. He knelt to Reynaldo. “Secret,” he said, holding a finger to his lips. “If ever you have to get out of the house fast, that is how you do it. Okay?”
Reynaldo nodded happily. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Put your chair back,” said Daddy. He quickly left the room.
Reynaldo put his chair back in its place by his bed and went out into the hallway. Daddy was carrying plastic bags of groceries into the kitchen. Mommy came in carrying two bags. She closed the door and saw him. She frowned. “Get the dictionary and get to work. Start on the page we left off on. I’ll check your work later.”
“Yes, Mommy,” Reynaldo said. He looked over at Christine where she played with her Barbies on the floor by the fireplace. She hadn’t even noticed Mommy’s arrival, so intent was she on her Barbie dolls.
Mommy came back out of the kitchen and saw Reynaldo watching Christine. “What are you waiting for? I told you to get to work.”
“Sorry, Mommy,” said Reynaldo.
Chapter 23
Rad awoke to the smell of a woman who was not Tawny. The bedroom was still dark but he could clearly see the glowing red numbers of the digital clock across the room: 7:17. He looked up at the ceiling as he thought about dancing with Jenny the night before. A dark guilt crept over him. He wondered where Tawny was. He remembered her cold anger as she got in the cab. It was an over-reaction. All he had done was dance with another girl. Then, as he became aware of Jenny’s warmth beside him, the guilt returned. He tried to recapture the feeling of righteous vindication for what he had done, but he couldn’t.
Jenny stirred and came awake beside him.
“When did you wake up,” she said.
“A few minutes ago.”
Jenny pressed herself up against him. “I know a nice place in Pacifica for coffee. You can get it to go and sit on the dunes and watch the waves come in. Would you like to go?’
Rad turned to her. “Sure. But I gotta get the bike back to my friend.”
“Okay. I’ll follow you in my car.”
“Yeah. That’ll work,” said Rad, his thoughts returning to Tawny guiltily.
Jenny rolled over on top of him. She kissed him slowly. “Let’s not go just yet,” she said.
“Nam myo-ho ren-gay
kyo, nam myo-ho ren-gay kyo…” Tawny tried not to listen to the chanting filtering through the flimsy bedroom door of the flat Terri rented in Ingleside. The second floor of an old three story Victorian, the place was creaky and drafty, but it had character, with lots of woodworking flourishes—grapevine-framed polished panels, bas relief vases, and a deliciously musty redwood scent.
Tawny sat on the couch as she sipped her coffee and thought about the previous day. Fortunately Terri had been home when Tawny arrived in the taxi. Terri stood out in front of her place, her smile like a torch atop her tiny four foot, ten inch frame. She gave Tawny a quick hug and a kiss and helped her carry her things up the stairs. At Terri’s urging, Tawny had chanted for about a half hour with her to her Gohonzon, a sort-of sacred scroll enshrined inside a black lacquer box that sat atop an old mahogany sewing machine table with a still-attached foot treadle at the bottom—Terri’s altar. Afterward, Tawny cried while she told Terri what had happened the night before. Terri listened intently the whole time, saying nothing. When Tawny had finished Terri had gently suggested that maybe it wasn’t as bad as it seemed and that perhaps it was just a friendly thing and maybe Rad had had a little too much to drink. “You know,” Terry had cooed, “the most important thing is for you to develop a strong, unassailable life force so you won’t be so easily affected. Terri’s confident reassuring words and a hot cup of chamomile tea had soothed Tawny, allowing her to step back from her emotions and get some sleep on Terri’s couch.
“Ting! Ting! Ting!” On the other side of the door Terri struck the bell three times and solemnly and slowly chanted her mantra. A moment later she exited her room, smiling brightly. “Ready to go?” she said.
They got into Terri’s car. Twenty minutes later Terri took the South San Francisco exit off the freeway. As she and Tawny drove down Hillside Boulevard they saw a young man sitting astride a motorcycle in a driveway. He got off and walked over to lean into the window of a blue Toyota parked at the curb.
“That’s Rad, isn’t it?” Terri asked.
Tawny couldn’t keep the emotion out of her voice. “Yeah. Don’t slow down… just drive past. Please!”
Chapter 24
1015 Skyview Drive. Reynaldo opened his eyes when the birds began chirping. Daddy had already left for work; Reynaldo could tell by the dim light. He wondered what he would do today. Then he grew sad because he knew he would spend much of the day in his room. He wished the summer would be over so he could go back to school. Then he would get homework, but the teacher would let him play more.
The birds were making quite a racket now. It sounded like there were two gangs of them, like the Power Rangers on one side and the putty men on the other, and they were shouting and taunting each other. He wanted to open the curtains and look at them, but he dared not, for Mommy might catch him. Water ran somewhere in the house and soon the outside light was bright enough for him to make out the familiar masks of the Power Rangers on his poster.
Mommy knocked brusquely on his door without opening it. “Get up and get yourself ready.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Later Reynaldo went out to the kitchen.
“What took you so long,” said Mommy. “Were you playing with the water again?”
“No, Mommy. Sorry, Mommy.” Reynaldo held back from the table as Mommy glared at him from where she stood at the sink.
“The next time you’re late you won’t eat. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
“I love you, Mommy,” said Christine.
Mommy ignored Christine as she continued to glare at Reynaldo. Finally she turned away and Reynaldo took his seat. Christine’s place was across from Reynaldo. She chewed on a piece of toast as she watched TV. Reynaldo turned around to look at the TV. Christine’s chair faced the TV and she could see it good, but Reynaldo’s back was to it. The roadrunner streaked through a trap the coyote had set for him and the coyote was smashed flat by a rock, which then shattered into a million pieces. Reynaldo laughed. He heard Mommy approaching and turned back to his plate. Mommy tossed a piece of buttered toast onto Reynaldo’s plate and it slipped off and landed on the table. “It’s okay, Mommy,” he said, but she had already turned away and was on her way back to the counter. Mommy returned with the milk carton and filled his glass.
“Thank you, Mommy,” he said, but again she had turned away. Reynaldo knew Mommy was angrier than usual, so he tried to be a good boy. He picked up his toast and ate it slowly, the way Mommy liked. He was ready to drink the glass of milk when Christine’s eyes grew large at something she saw on the TV. He turned around in his chair to see what it was. He heard a clunking sound and turned back to see that his outstretched hand had knocked over his glass of milk. The milk raced across the table in a white wave toward Christine, finally dripping down onto the floor next to her chair. Christine began crying. “I didn’t do it, Mommy,” she said. “I didn’t do it.”
Mommy came over quickly, yanking Christine’s chair back out of the way. “God damn it!” she said. Her face was bright red as she looked at Reynaldo. “God damn you!”
“Sorry, Mommy,” Reynaldo said. He repeated the phrase a couple more times in the hope that it would placate her.
“I didn’t do it,” Christine cried.
“I know you didn’t,” said Mommy. “Go to your room.”
Christine ran crying to her room.
Mommy grabbed a roll of paper towels from the counter and threw it at Reynaldo. “Clean it up, damn you!”
Reynaldo leapt off his chair, hurriedly mopping the floor with the towels. He held a sopping towel toward Mommy, looking at her. Mommy yanked the trashcan from beneath the sink and threw it across the room.
“Sorry, Mommy,” Reynaldo said as he continued soaking up the mess with towels and dropping them in the trash can. When he finished Mommy yelled at him, “Go to your room! I don’t want to see your face for the rest of the day. Do you hear?”
“Yes, Mommy,” he said as he backed out of the room. “Sorry, Mommy.”
All day, with only a quick lunch break, Reynaldo worked at writing down the words and definitions. Late in the afternoon, a breeze started up. Outside, the the tree branches clicked and clattered as they banged up against his window. He quietly got down from his chair and opened his door. He went to the bathroom. He could go to the bathroom to pee as long as he didn’t go too many times. He flushed and came out as Mommy hurried down the hall with a laundry basket. She brushed past him on her way to the garage to do the laundry. Reynaldo went back to his room and looked at the window. Unable to stop himself, he parted the curtains and looked out. The sun shone on the tall fence and the tree moved in the breeze, doing its happy dance. He remembered how Daddy had opened the window and placed Reynaldo’s hand on the latch. Maybe he could go out and play, then come back before Mommy found out. He heard the lid of the washing machine clang closed and he pulled the curtains closed. He quickly got back onto his chair. Mommy’s familiar footsteps trod by in the hall. Out in the living room, Christine’s cartoons droned from the TV. As Reynaldo worked, he thought about the snake he had seen on the TV. He thought about it squeezing Mommy’s neck. The thought made him feel good.
Chapter 25
In the living room of the old Victorian house, Tawny heard the now-familiar ‘ting, ting, ting,’ as Terri rang the little brass bell on her altar. After staying with Terri for the past two weeks, Tawny knew that the three sharp rings meant that Terri was about to begin Gongyo, a vigorous, rapid-fire recitation of certain portions of the Lotus Sutra.
Tawny smiled slightly as she began folding up the wonderfully-warm blue woolen blanket that Terri had provided her with for sleeping on the couch in this delightful but chilly old house. Tawny carefully placed the blanket along with the folded sheets in a plastic bin. She snugged the top onto the bin, closing it tight with a snap, and slid it under the couch. Going out into the kitchen, she poured the cup of coffee that Terri had left her in the Mister Coffee carafe. She turned on the ra
dio to get the weather report. As she listened she wondered about Rad. He’d called twice the first week she’d been here, but she had refused to take his calls. This week he had called once, and she talked to him briefly, telling him that today, Monday, her day off, she was coming by the place to get some of her things and she didn’t want him to be there. Despite the anger she still felt for him and the sadness that constantly fatigued her, she still thought tenderly of him. But she did not want him to know that. Not yet.
Ting, ting, ting! The sharp ringing of the little bell was followed by Terri’s drawn-out intonation of the Buddhist chant, nam myo-ho ren-gay kyo three times, which meant that she was concluding her morning’s meditation. Tawny had started chanting at Terri’s urging. Terri had told her that it would give her the strength to get out of her funk and give her the insight to know what to do. Tawny chanted about fifteen minutes each day, which seemed like an eternity, but was nothing compared to Terri’s two hours a day. Tawny did not get much out of it yet. Joy, or more correctly, Buddhahood, was, according to Terri, supposed to come to a person slowly as they chanted each day. Tawny certainly did not feel joyful. But whether or not it was logical or reasonable, or had anything at all to do with the chanting, she was beginning to feel a bit more hopeful about her situation. It was not a bright multicolored hope, but rather a vague black and white hope, born mostly out of the growing determination she felt to get on with her life—with or without Rad, whichever she decided in a month or so when she was ready to decide.
The bedroom door opened and Terri came out beaming, evidently having gotten her ration of joy or Buddhahood from the chanting. Tawny smiled back at her diminutive friend.
“Did you have your coffee yet?” Terri asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Terri went back to her room and quickly reappeared with her bag. “Well, I have to get going. Oh!” Terri dug down into her bag and took out a little key chain with two keys on it, handing them to Tawny. Tawny had asked to borrow Terri’s car to go back to her and Rad’s place. Terri worked only three blocks away at City College and walked to work.
