Ourselves

by S. G. Redling

  “Don’t you want a hotdog? They’re good. We’ve got all the fixings.”

  Stell averted her eyes from the blackening meat and tried not to inhale the smell. She shook her head and held out two crumpled dollar bills. Erma filled a large paper cup with cold soda and grabbed a bag of chips.

  “Traveler’s discount, honey. This one’s on me.” Stell shook her head, suspecting a trick. “I’ll tell you what,” Erma bargained, “I’ll treat you to lunch if you sit with me on my break. I’ve been on my feet all morning. One condition, though, and I’m serious. I don’t want to hear a word about Belize!”

  Uncertain who or what Belize was, Stell accepted the offer. Grabbing her chips and drink, she followed Erma to a bench beneath the awning of the building several yards away from the madness.

  “I tend to do all the talking, honey. What’s your name?”

  “Stell.” The word popped out before she could stop it.

  “Oh that’s a pretty name. So much better than Erma. Erma. Who names their kid Erma?” Stell had no idea what the proper answer to that was and so busied herself opening her barbecue potato chips.

  “Where are you from? You’re not from around here. I know everyone around here.”

  “New York.” Her mother had told her not to tell anyone where she was from, but this was a common. Plus she was so lonely, it felt nice to be with someone, anyone.

  Erma stirred her ice with her straw. It was all she could do to not reach out and hug the child beside her but she knew she was gaining ground by keeping it casual. “What brings you out here?” The girl tensed up. “Don’t mind me. I’m as nosy as the day is long. Can’t help myself. It’s just that you’ve been waiting a while and, well, I don’t want to seem like a mother hen, although heaven knows I am one, I’m just wondering if anyone is coming to pick you up.”

  “Oh, yes.” Stell said. “Tomas is coming for me.”

  “Tomas? Is that your boyfriend?”

  “Yes. He knows I’m here. He’s on his way.”

  Erma nodded, smiling on the outside, hiding her doubt. How many girls had she seen waiting for boyfriends that never appeared? She wondered if Stell was pregnant.

  “When’s he’s supposed to get here?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m not sure where he’s coming from but his grandmother told him when I would get here so I’m sure he’s on his way.”

  “We’re pretty far from everything out here, you know. It’s easy to get lost on these farm roads. If something should happen that he doesn’t show up—”

  “He’s going to show!” Stell’s voice was louder than she intended but Erma just smiled.

  “Well, honey, you know him better than I do. But if something should happen that delays him, maybe car trouble or something, you come find me. I’ve got plenty of room at the house and I just love company. We can leave word with Billy at the ticket window to call me if anyone shows looking for you.”

  Erma caught the momentary look of panic on Stell’s face. This girl was clearly in trouble and almost definitely a runaway. She reached out and touched the young woman’s hand. “You’re going to be okay. You’re among friends now.”

  “He’s on his way.”

  “Good. I can’t wait to meet him. Maybe we can all be friends.” She rose to her aching feet. “You get hungry, you come on over and see me, okay, Stell?”

  Stell nodded, trying to build up a strong enough anger at Erma’s meddling to eclipse the fear that was chipping away at her resolve.

  They had gone through two cases of hotdogs and three cartons of paper cups by the time they decided to call it a day. Bagging up the garbage and wrapping up leftovers, the youth group members laughed and called to each other, congratulating themselves on a job well done. The sun was just beginning to sink behind the depot when Erma decided she would not take no for an answer. Stell had headed back to her orange chair after their conversation and Erma would swear she hadn’t moved a muscle in the next five hours. You didn’t have to be psychic, she thought, to know there was no boyfriend coming, and she for one was not leaving a teenage girl alone in a bus depot overnight. Bracing herself for the inevitable argument, Erma wiped her hands on a wet rag and headed into the depot.

  “Erma! Are we still washing cars?” Teddy Lass called out to her as a red pick-up truck braked sharply at the curb in the midst of the crowd. Erma turned, fully prepared to give the driver a piece of her mind for driving so recklessly but didn’t get a chance. The driver, a slim boy with longish hair, jumped from the cab, the engine running, and ran into the depot leaving another young man within the truck smoking a cigarette. The boy stopped inside the doorway, scanned the room, and began to run. What happened next brought tears to Erma Reynold’s eyes and a rare curse word to her lips.

  “Well I’ll be damned.”

  Inside the depot, the young woman in the flowered dress exploded in a smile of such joy and light you could see it from the parking lot and threw herself into the arms of the young man running toward her. He lifted her off her feet and swung her around, burying his face in her neck. She clung to him and began kissing his hair, his shoulders, and his forehead. Finally he set her down and, wrapped around each other, they headed for the door. As she climbed into the passenger door of the red truck, Stell leaned out.

  “Thank you, Erma. You’ve been very kind.”

  Erma could only shake her head as the boy with the cigarette slid behind the wheel. Stell and her boyfriend began to kiss as the driver flicked his cigarette into the bucket of wash water on the curb.

  “I guess I’m driving.”

  Tatiana and Charles had not told their son or daughter-in-law about the girlfriend Tomas had taken during his stay on Calstow Mountain. Tatiana figured it was better to avoid a fight over something that might simply fade away but when she saw the letters piling up from Tomas and then received the frantic bus-stop call from Stell, she realized she might have underestimated the relationship. She called around, knowing someone would be tracking the kids on their avalentu and found Tomas in Las Vegas. Then she bit the bullet and filled Richard and Beth in as best she could.

  After receiving his grandmother’s phone call, Tomas had struggled for all of twelve minutes before announcing he was heading east to pick up Stell. Louis tried to put his foot down, explaining to his cousin the folly of his plan but for once Tomas would not cave. Aricelli handed over the bulk of her remaining cash and Tomas saw the loaded look she and Louis shared.

  Louis refused to allow Tomas to drive across the country by himself, partly to help with the driving, mostly to try to talk him out of the choice he was making.

  “One minute you’re talking about trying to, what, break in? Convert? I don’t even know what you’ve got to do to be a Storyteller. And the next you’re driving all the way across the country—and wrecking our avalentu, by the way—for a girl you’ve known for, like, two weeks. I get it. She was your first. We all think our first is some big deal but—”

  Tomas gripped the wheel. “Don’t talk about her like that. You don’t know Stell.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “It was different with Stell. I was different with Stell.”

  Louis snorted. “Apparently. One summer with her and you’re ready to be a Storyteller. And what happens when that doesn’t work out? Going to apply to be an astronaut? At least that you can train for.”

  “Louis.” Tomas hated the way his voice broke. “Please.” He heard Louis sigh and knew his cousin was helpless against an upset Tomas.

  There had been a flurry of activity upon their arrival at Tomas’s house. Hugs and kisses and exclamations of worry flew around the room, easily dodging Stell, who hung back. Since Louis’s parents were already gone, the fuss was shared equally between the two of them.

  Tomas waited until dinner to drop his bombshell, telling his parents his desire to become a Storyteller.

  Richard met Beth’s eyes for a moment before speaking. “You know that’s a tough path you’ve chosen.” Toma
s nodded and gripped Stell’s hand under the table.

  “When did you decide this?” Beth glared at Stell. “Or did someone decide this for you?”

  “No, Mom. It’s my idea.”

  “It seems to me to be an odd time to come up with such an enormous decision. You and Louis have only been out for a few weeks and you’ve already chosen your life path?”

  Stell continued to eat, keeping her head down.

  “And what do you think, Stell?” Beth asked. “Did you have some part in this?”

  “I think Tomas tells beautiful stories,” Stell said. “Why is the decision so difficult?”

  “Well, there’s more to being a Storyteller than just telling good stories.”

  Stell looked at Richard. “Oh, I didn’t know that. What does a Storyteller do? We didn’t have them on the mountain.”

  “They’re not exactly on every street corner.” Beth shot Stell a look that both Tomas and Louis knew well. It was a look that in the past had usually ended with both boys being grounded. Tomas was surprised when Louis spoke up.

  “Maybe he can do it,” Louis said. “While I’m loath to lump my cousin in with people like the Storytellers, we just spent a lifetime traveling through every wide spot in the road in America. He’s really got a gift.”

  “And what do you know about Storytellers, Louis?” Beth snapped.

  “I’m going to do it.” Tomas said. “It’s my decision.”

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t seem as if you need my advice then, does it? Six weeks out and you know all you need to know. By all means, maybe your father and I should just move out and let you play house here with your new playmate and your personal adviser—”

  Tomas began to talk over his mother, both of their voices rising until Richard banged his hand down on the table to silence them.

  “That’s enough! Both of you.” His tone softened to a peace-making level. “Now, Beth, the entire purpose of their trip was to find out what they want to do with their lives.”

  “I think a reality check is in order here—”

  “Please don’t interrupt me.” He turned to Tomas. “Son, you have to understand what you are proposing. You’re not talking about becoming a banker or a police officer. Do you even know what’s involved in becoming a Storyteller? What the lifestyle is like? It’s not the glamorous calling you think it is.”

  “I don’t think it’s glamorous, Dad. I can’t even . . . I just . . . I think I have to do it.”

  Beth could not hold her tongue. “You could do a lot of things, Thomas. But you have to think first; you have to make good decisions.”

  “Beth.”

  “It’s true, Richard, and you know it. What about school? If you had applied yourself more in school you would have had the grades to get into any college you chose but instead you and Louis had to party and play and fool around. And now neither of you will be able to get into college on your own. Do you think Aricelli is going to need her transcripts doctored? No, she managed to get the grades—”

  “Mom! We’re not talking about Aricelli. Or college. This has nothing to do with—”

  “It has everything to do with college! It’s called having options, Thomas.”

  “And stop calling me Thomas! My name is Tomas!”

  Beth threw her napkin onto the table. “That ridiculous affectation of your grandmother’s.”

  “It’s my name! You gave it to me!”

  “I never should have let your father talk me into agreeing on it. Tomas. What’s wrong with Thomas? Thomas Wilkinson. It’s a fine name.”

  “Wilkinson? That’s my common name. Common, Mom! You do remember that these really aren’t our names, right? Or has it come to this? Have you actually become Beth Wilkinson? Going to become a Methodist and have barbecues on Sunday?”

  Beth leaned over the table. “You watch your tone with me, young man. You may think you have the world all figured out but I assure you, there are plenty of surprises ahead for you.”

  “Yeah, well here’s a surprise for you. I’m calling the Council tomorrow and finding out what I need to do to apply.” He rose and held out his hand for Stell. “And then I’m leaving.”

  There is a word, saht, in Nahan that literally means flood. Colloquially it is used to describe the feeling that permeates the air when young lovers are around. The passion, the self-absorbed hunger and overflowing pleasure are said to spread like a smell throughout the house, thereby flooding the other occupants with desire of their own. Under normal circumstances, the lovemaking of Stell and Tomas would have flooded the house with pleasure, leading Beth and Richard to a few passionate evenings of their own. Instead, the pleasure they were creating was like grit between Beth’s teeth and smelled like the smoke of spent bullets.

  In bed that night, Richard lay beside his wife feeling the frustration pulsing off of her. He had heard the sounds of pleasure coming from his son’s room and knew the effect it would have on Beth. She let out a deep sigh.

  “He thinks I hate him.”

  “He doesn’t think that, Beth. He’s just angry.”

  “He’s angry? What does he have to be angry about? He has never lived up to his potential. Another dream world, another comic book, and now he wants to be a Storyteller. A Storyteller! We have built our lives to position him to have any job in the Council he wants and he picks the one position nobody can give him. Nobody wants to be a Storyteller. Why would they?” She kicked her feet out from beneath the covers. “And what the hell is he doing with that creepy piece of ass he picked up in the mountains? And why didn’t your parents tell us about her, Richard?”

  “Mom said she didn’t think it would amount to anything.”

  “Her grandson is running around with the True Family and she doesn’t think that’s important? Honest to god, I don’t know how that woman raised you.”

  Richard put his arm behind his head and let out a sigh. “Maybe Dad will have some luck with him. I always listened to my grandfather.”

  “You always listened to your parents too for all the good that did you.”

  Richard didn’t argue with her. He knew it was pointless until her anger cleared.

  She was wrong about him listening to his parents. Sometimes when he looked at Tomas, he wondered how it was possible that this strange boy could be his son. Then he would remember his own turbulent relationship with his father and how so often the only voice of reason he could find was from his grandfather. He could see the pattern repeated with Tomas. While Tomas and Richard rarely actually butted heads, a conscious choice on Richard’s part to avoid creating the same battleground he and his own father had shared, he could see the natural bond between Tomas and Charles. They seemed to understand each other, to be natural with each other in a way neither father-and-son pair could manage. Grandpa used to say that your grandchild was your reward for not killing your own child.

  Richard hoped Tomas had a child of his own soon.

  Charles and Tatiana arrived early the next morning. Tomas and Stell were still in bed, giving Richard and Beth the chance to speak openly about the situation.

  “He thinks he might be a Storyteller.”

  Tatiana raised her eyebrows in surprise but said nothing.

  “He says he’s going to call the Council today and ask what’s involved. Then he says he’s going to leave.”

  “Where is he planning to go?”

  Beth poured her father-in-law more coffee. “We thought he might have told you. You both seem to be far more knowledgeable of our son’s life than we are.”

  Tatiana refused to rise to the challenge, long accustomed to Beth’s biting tongue. “He has said nothing to us. How is the girl?”

  “Strange.” Richard looked into his coffee as he spoke. “Hard. Not the sort of girl I ever would have pictured Tomas with.”

  “Especially if he has even a chance with Aricelli Capp.”

  “Aricelli is a lovely girl,” Tatiana said, “but perhaps she is a bit too lovely for Tomas?” At the quest
ioning glances, she continued. “Aricelli is perfect in every way. She is lovely, she is gracious, and she is very polished. She would be a feather in any young man’s cap but maybe our Tomas does not want a feather in his cap or a cap at all. I don’t think I am saying anything new when I say that our Tomas, while a lovely young man himself, is a touch . . . odd.”

  “Odd? Our son is not odd.”

  Tatiana gave a conciliatory nod. “Maybe odd is the wrong word. He is unique. I think he may be full of surprises, our Tomas. Perhaps he is Storyteller material. They are an unusual lot.”

  “I thought my ears were burning.” All heads turned to see Tomas and Stell in the doorway. He smiled and moved across the room into the outstretched arms of his grandmother. Stell followed close behind.

  Tatiana held Stell out at arm’s length. “Look at you in your city clothes!”

  “Do you like them?” Stell tugged on the hem of the formfitting t-shirt, pulling it down against the faded jeans. “Tomas bought them. He said my dress was . . . it didn’t . . .” She let the words die off, hiding behind Tomas as he stepped in front of her to pour coffee. But Tatiana caught her shy smile when Tomas whispered in her ear.

  “So I understand you are planning on calling the Council today.”

  “I already have, Grandpa.” Across the room Beth faltered for a moment then continued to butter her toast. “I talked to Mentor Davenheim about how to apply. He said someone would call me back so I could set up a meeting with a Storyteller.”

  “You actually meet with one?” Charles sounded impressed.

  “Davenheim said that was the only way to apply. He said there were all kinds of requirements to go through with the first meeting.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as he has to meet my family first. And my closest friends. Otherwise he won’t meet with me.” His eyes drifted up to his mother.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” Beth said without looking up. Instead she took crisp swipes at crumbs on the table. “You do live here. Your grandparents are here, one set at least. Louis is welcome to stay until the meeting and, of course, your . . . Stell, you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”