by Han Nolan
The train kept coming, getting louder, faster.
Do it! Go on. Push him. Do it! Do it! Do it now! Now! Now!
"DO IT!" I hollered and closed my eyes, but I saw my hands in front of me, fragmented by the sparking lights. I saw my arms, saw him standing there, still waiting, watching the train, saw me push him off the platform, in slow motion, in strobe motion, saw the train go by, run right over him, it kept going, the train kept right on going. The lights sparked along the track behind it.
I felt someone shaking me. I opened my eyes. Dr. Mike stood scowling, shouting something at me. What was he saying?
I looked down the tracks. I saw the train in the distance, speeding away. I turned back to Dr. Mike. He had his hands on my shoulders. I could feel their weight, their heat, all the life still in them. I felt so relieved I broke down. I sank to the ground and cried, hugging myself and rocking and crying like a baby.
"What is it? Look here, are you okay? I thought for a second you were going to jump. I didn't mean to hurt you. Your arm okay?"
I looked up at him standing over me. I shook my head. "I was trying to kill you, not me, you bastard!"
"You'd have to get a lot closer to me, then. And it would help if you got behind me when you pushed me over."
"What?"
"You weren't going to push me."
"I was!" I cried. "I was—but I chickened out. 'Cause I'm a coward. I'm a damn coward!"
Dr. Mike knelt down in front of me. "No, son," he said. "A real coward would have pushed me."
Chapter Twenty-Six
I DIDN'T KNOW what had happened. One minute I was in my right mind, and then, in an instant, a flash, a spark, I had gone insane. I didn't know why I hadn't pushed him, what had saved me, saved him. Was it true what he said: A real coward would have pushed him? I wanted to think so.
Dr. Mike had left with some woman—sister, wife, patient? He asked if I would be okay. I shrugged away from him. I stood up and left. I crossed the tracks and boarded the next train. It took me into Philadelphia, into the Thirtieth Street station. I thought about what had happened. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing my hands pushing Dr. Mike onto the tracks. I heard his voice. A real coward would have pushed me. But I was a coward. I was afraid of everything. I was afraid of living a life without Grandma Mary. I was afraid of the people who lived in my house. I was afraid of the person Mam had become, and I was afraid because I knew I had outgrown my past before I could see a path to my future.
I found myself standing in the middle of the Thirtieth Street station with a giant pretzel in my hand. I must have purchased it, but the sight of the pretzel, with the mustard running toward my hands, made me sick. It reminded me of squished worms and bug splat on windshields. I tossed the pretzel in the garbage. I returned to the platform and waited for the train to take me back home.
I got off at the stop near my old house. I hadn't meant to do this. I watched the train pull away and stood watching it disappear, and then when it did, I still watched. The sun reflecting off the tracks burned my staring eyes. I turned away and walked down the familiar streets, past Saint Ignatius and my old house with the new salmon paint and on to the Seeleys' house, where I stopped. Were they all in there? I didn't want to find out. I looked across to the Polanskis' house. Nothing had been done to the outside of the place in years. Paint peeled, steps sagged, and a washing machine older than I sat rusting out on the porch. I headed toward the house, then cut around back, remembering how just a few days earlier I had stood at the creek with Tim. I remembered the feeling I had had when I heard the creek water rushing past me, and how it felt as if it ran right through me, as if I were a part of the creek, too. I wanted to feel that again. I wanted it to bring me back to my senses.
This time I climbed down the bank and stood, beat-up basketball shoes and all, in the water. I held my arms up and listened.
"JP?"
I dropped my arms and twisted around. Bobbi stood above me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, stepping out of the water, feeling foolish.
Bobbi laughed and edged down sideways to join me. "What are you? I saw you going around the house. I thought you were coming to see me."
"I didn't even know you were in there."
"Yeah, we came yesterday. Daddy's got bleeding ulcers."
"Sorry—I guess. So is Don here?"
Bobbi, with her arms crossed in front of her, looking cold, twisted around as if she expected Don to be standing above her. Then she returned to me. "Yeah, he's at McDonald's right now." She hunched her shoulders. Her voice had gotten quieter.
"Couldn't he trust you to get here by yourself?"
Bobbi shook her head and stared down at her feet She had on a flimsy pair of toeless slippers, and I saw she'd painted her toenails black. "No, he barely lets me out of his sight"
"Sorry," I said again, and meant it more this time.
She looked up at me with a pleading in her eyes I couldn't bear to see. I faced the creek.
"He's everywhere now," she said, almost whispering. "He's on me for the least little thing. He used to be so sweet, remember? Remember all the little gifts he'd bring me?"
I didn't say anything. I never thought he was sweet.
"He never showed any sign that he was like Daddy. He never lost his temper, not at me at least. Not at first" She paused and then asked, "How do you know the way somebody's really going to treat you?"
I shrugged. "You just do."
"I don't."
"I noticed."
We stopped talking. We stared into the water. Then I caught sight of both of our reflections and I stirred them up with my foot.
"I think he's crazy," Bobbi said, almost whispering.
"You still love him?" I asked, and I couldn't keep the bitterness I felt out of my voice.
Bobbi didn't answer at first, she just stood with her head lowered. Then I saw her tears dropping into the water.
I stepped back so that I stood closer to her, but I kept my hands stuffed in my pockets.
"I understand him," she said at last, and then added, "I'm not excusing him, I just—I just understand him. And my father. People don't get it at all. They say he's a drunk. They think he gets drunk and then beats us."
"Well, doesn't he?"
"No!" Bobbi said, as if she were shouting at an imbecile. "He gets drunk because he beats us. The drinking comes after. He's so ashamed of himself. He's so helpless."
"Helpless, that's a new one," I said.
Bobbi stooped down and ran her hand through the water. "It's all so easy for you, O'Brien."
I stood above Bobbi, thinking how much I hated that she always thought everything was so easy for me. The scene at the train station flashed through my mind. Then a crazy thought came to me. I could push her. I could push her in the water. Why didn't I? The only answer I had was that I didn't want to. I didn't need to. With Dr. Mike I had wanted to push him. With every part of my being I wanted to push him, but maybe I didn't need to. I didn't know why I didn't, but maybe it had to do with the difference between the kind of life I had led and Don's life. I knew Don would have pushed him. Maybe there was a difference between being a coward and just being afraid. N^aybe, but if so, I knew that a very fine line existed between the two, and that I had come closer than I wanted to stepping over that line.
It scared me to realize this. To realize how easy it was to become the very person you never wanted to be. Bobbi had become like her mother, and I guessed Don and Mr. Polanski were a lot like their fathers.
Who had I become? Who was I like? I had thought it was Aunt Colleen, but I realized it wasn't, not totally. I had become the male version of Grandma Mary. Order had reigned in her house. Pap always did as she said. Mam lived the way Grandma Mary wanted her to. She became the dutiful daughter, the playmate for Pap. Grandma Mary always had the answers, always knew the way. Were these bad qualities? We all loved her. She was also loving and generous and warm. She was comfort and stability and safety. She demanded
a lot from all of us and she got it, but her spirit was all love. She made our house a home, something I hadn't felt in the new house. No, she had so many good qualities, many which I knew were missing in me, but I saw, too, how much we had depended on her to solve all our problems, to be everything to us, and for us. All our love had been directed at her because she gave us everything we needed, she told us what we needed. But she forgot to show us how to love each other. When she died we felt alone, abandoned, because we'd never learned to love one another, just her. Her strengths made us weak. I was weak be cause I loved too little, and Bobbi was weak because she loved too much, the wrong person, the wrong way.
I stooped down next to Bobbi.
"Mam's pregnant," I said.
Bobbi nudged me. "Real funny, O'Brien."
"Not funny, true," I said.
She looked at me. "Are you serious?"
I didn't say anything. I stuck my hand in the icy water and stared at its whiteness, waiting for it to turn red.
"Is she okay?"
"I guess. It's Dr. Mike's baby."
"Oh."
That's all she said, and she said it as if I had said, Looks like it might rain.
"Yup, life's easy," I said.
"You wanna trade? My life for yours?" Bobbi asked.
"No!" I pushed her shoulder and she fell over sideways and laughed.
"Here, try this," I said, standing up and stepping into the water. I lifted my arms out to my side and closed my eyes.
"The Wright brothers already tried that. You need better wings, and a propeller."
"Ha, ha. Just try it."
Bobbi stood up and kicked off her slippers. She stepped into the water, groaning and picking her feet up out of the water a few times before she settled down.
"Okay, what's supposed to happen?"
"Just listen."
We stood together in the water a moment, and I realized she was blocking part of the sound.
She opened her eyes. "What am I supposed to hear?"
"Stay there." I backed up. "Now try it." She closed her eyes again, and I said, "Listen to the water. Listen to the sounds on either side of you."
"Okay," Bobbi said, waiting.
"Doesn't it feel as if the water is running right through you? Like you are the water? Listen."
"No, it doesn't feel—"
"Just stand there and be quiet a few minutes."
I moved away from her and tookup my own spot, behind her, and waited, watching her.
"Hey, yeah! Yeah, I do. Wow!" Bobbi said. "It's washing right through me. I feel so—so powerful, like all this water is rushing through me."
"Told you," I said, thrilled that she could feel it, that I could show her a moment of discovery, the way Mam used to with me.
"It's great. It's like that song we used to sing with Sister Patricia, remember? 'Roll on, Columbia'—about the Columbia River?" She opened her eyes and looked at me. It was the nicest look she'd ever given me. Her smile was for me, truly for me this time—a thank-you smile. I smiled back and we laughed, and then we heard Don's voice calling.
"Bobbi?"
"Shh," Bobbi said, alarm distorting her smile. She grabbed her slippers and headed up the embankment. "Don't follow me," she said. "Go away, hurry, down toward your house."
"Bobbi?"
I could hear the temper in Don's voice. I wanted to go with her, defend her if I needed to, but I knew my being there would only make it worse for her. She knew more about protecting herself than I did. But I couldn't run away. I couldn't just abandon her. I couldn't move at all. I stood still and tried to listen above the sound of the water. I heard Bobbi calling to Don. She sounded out of breath.
"Look what I found. I wanted to try to find some real flowers to pick, but forsythia's pretty, don't you think?"
"Get on inside. You're in your slippers! Don't you have any sense?"
"I thought they'd look nice on the table," Bobbi said in a saccharine voice.
"Just go on, your burger's getting cold. And leave the flowers. You probably killed the bush picking those."
Bobbi said something, but I didn't catch it They had moved on toward the house.
I sloshed through the water and picked a spot close to where the water washed over a set of large rocks. Then I lifted my arms up and listened, but all I could hear was the sound of a train hurtling down the tracks.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I DECIDED TO go home. I thought about hitchhiking my way back, but I didn't want to have to talk to anyone, so I boarded yet another train, chose an empty seat, and sat down. I gazed out the window and watched the blur of grass and concrete as the train sped toward home. I didn't know what I would do when I got home, what I would say. I didn't know what I wanted from Mam anymore. I wanted to tell her I knew she had lied, I knew Dr. Mike was the father of her baby, but every time I rehearsed this in my mind my throat would close up as if I had stuffed a balled-up sock down in it.
I couldn't believe Mam had lied to me. That was the worst of it for me. She had never lied before. It proved how far apart we had grown in the past year. I remembered how Mam used to say, "Just me and you, JP," and I understood that she didn't mean to exclude the others, she just meant that we had something special between us. Maybe we did love one another once. Maybe we didn't save it all for Grandma Mary—but when she died, when she abandoned us, we all lost our way somehow, and 1 wondered if we'd ever find our way back to each other. How could we if Mam lied to us?
I sat picking at the skin along the side of my fingernail, chewing at it now and then, and trying not to think about Mam and me.
At last the train pulled into the station. I stepped out onto the platform and went to the spot where I had left Jerusha's bicycle. The bike was gone. I heard a car horn and then Jerusha's voice.
"James Patrick O'Brien, are you deaf?"
I looked up and saw Jerusha sitting at the wheel of Larry's van. She waved.
How could 1 face her? I'd lost her bike. I turned away and walked along the platform and then hopped onto the tracks behind the retreating train.
"JP?" Jerusha had gotten out of the van and pursued me down the tracks. She caught up with me and said, "Hey, come on. Everybody's been looking for you."
I kept walking and she walked beside me, her long legs matching mine stride for stride. "You okay?" she asked.
I stopped and faced her. "I lost your bike!" I shouted, sounding angry at her, as if I hated her.
She blinked at me, drawing her head back as if my words had slapped her. "No, you didn't, I've got it in the van."
"What?"
"Sure. I came by here earlier and picked it up. Mike called and said you were down here. He said you were quite distressed, and I guess you are. You look a wreck."
"Thanks." I swept my hair back off my face.
"Come on." Jerusha took my hand and we turned around and headed toward the van.
"Have you been waiting for me all this time?" I asked, when we had reached the van and I saw the bicycle lying across the backseat.
"No. I've been combing the whole town for you, JP. Everybody has. I need to get you home and call off the hunt. It's getting late, in case you hadn't noticed."
I hadn't noticed, but I did then. I saw the pink sky and the dark shadows in the trees.
"Sorry," I said. I climbed into the van, and Jerusha backed out of the parking space.
"Mam's been a wreck, too," Jerusha said once we got on the road.
"She deserves it," I said. "I'm glad she's worried about me."
"Oh, she isn't, not about you at any rate." Jerusha bit her upper lip. "Sorry, if that's what you wanted," she added.
"Figures." I crossed my arms in front of me and slid down in my seat.
Jerusha shook her head and her hair slapped at her face. "No, it's not what you think She said you were too practical to run off or do anything stupid. She has confidence in you, JP, that's all."
"Yup, that's me. Dependable, responsible JP." I sat up and turned towa
rd her, as much as my seat belt would allow. "You know, I almost pushed Dr. Mike in front of a train today. I came just a millimeter away from doing it I swear I did."
Jerusha laughed.
"You don't believe me?"
Jerusha shook her head again, and I watched her dark hair fly. "Never in a million years would you have done it," she said, so sure of herself that I felt I hated her again. Then she added, "You know, JP, sometimes it's good to be the kind of person others can always count on. Actually, most of the time."
"Thanks," I said, feeling myself blush and turning to face forward in my seat. Man, I loved her.
We turned onto a street where workers were repairing potholes. Jerusha slowed down and said, as if it were just the tag end of our conversation, "Your mam's moved out of the house."
I turned to look at her and felt lightheaded. I told myself to be calm, act calm. "Yeah?" I said. "Where is she? Or do I need to ask? She's run off with the good doctor, right? Of course, I knew it. It's what I expected." My words were calm but my heart was pounding. I slammed my head back against the seat and it felt good to direct my energy somewhere. I wanted to punch something. Instead I slammed my head back against the seat again.
Jerusha touched my arm. I glanced down at her long fingers. She took her hand away. "No, she's still at the house, just outside. She says she's going to live outside from now on." Jerusha turned onto our street and accelerated up the hill.
"That makes good sense," I said. "About as much sense as Pap sitting out on the roof all day." I knew I sounded angry, and I meant to, but inside I felt relief. I looked up at the roof of the van and asked it, "Why can't we have a normal family?"
Jerusha laughed, and I smiled It felt good to make her laugh.
We turned into the drive. I saw in the last light of dusk the aluminum lounge chair with the plastic weave stretched out on the lawn. Mam wasn't in it, but I saw signs that she had been there. The afghan from her bed, one Grandma Mary had made Mam and Pap when they were first married, hung off the side of the chair, an empty plate and a mug sat on a plastic table set up beside it, and Mam's binoculars stood in the grass.
