Mary Jane

by Jessica Anya Blau

  “When I was a kid, my family always sang in the car,” Sheba said.

  “Can I have a Lorna Doone?” Izzy asked me, though her mother was the one who had packed the cooler with snacks and placed them in the wayback of the station wagon.

  “Yes. Anyone else?” I flipped around in my seat and leaned into the wayback.

  “Bring out the whole pack,” Mrs. Cone said.

  “We sang mostly school songs,” Sheba said. “Like ‘My Country, ’Tis of Thee.’”

  “My country ’tis of thee—” I started the song as I sat back in my seat and opened the box of cookies. I handed one to Izzy and tried to give one to Mrs. Cone, who waved her hand to mean no, thanks.

  “Sweet land of liberty—” Sheba joined in.

  I sat forward and handed Dr. Cone and Jimmy each a cookie. Sheba and I kept singing. When Jimmy twanged in with his rumbling voice, it suddenly sounded beautiful.

  “Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrims’ pride, from ev-ryyy mountain side, let freedom ring!”

  “Why did the fathers die?” Izzy asked.

  Mrs. Cone reached over my lap, took Izzy’s unfinished cookie, bit into it, and then handed it back. “I guess they’re talking about the dads who died in the Revolutionary War.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When Americans decided they didn’t want a king or a queen.” Sheba reached over, grabbed the box of cookies, and pulled one out. Mrs. Cone took the box from Sheba and pulled out a cookie for herself.

  “Maybe Izzy knows this one,” Jimmy said. “If I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning, I’d hammer in the evening. . . .”

  Jimmy sang and everyone joined in. Izzy made hand motions as she sang, her fist bumping up and down for a hammer, her hands over her head and her head tocking back and forth for a bell. By the time we were on the last chorus, everyone was doing the hand motions.

  We sang “The Star-Spangled Banner” and then “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” in a round. Next Dr. Cone sang us a song he had learned at camp as a boy. It was about a cannibal king playing the bongos under a bamboo tree and kissing his girlfriend. Izzy loved the song, especially the part where you made big kissing sounds. It went Boom boom (kiss kiss) Boom boom (kiss kiss). It only took a couple of minutes for Dr. Cone to teach the song to everyone, and soon we all sang it with as much exuberance as Izzy.

  “Again! Let’s sing it again!” Izzy said.

  We did as Izzy requested, only this time everyone turned to someone beside them and kissed. Jimmy even kissed Dr. Cone’s cheek. I’d never seen a man kiss another man like that, and it seemed so funny that I was still laughing as I kissed Sheba’s cheek.

  We all sat in the car and stared at the low, long white clapboard house. The shingles and shutters were old-looking, faded pea green. The house seemed lonely against the beach. The neighboring houses were so far away, they reminded me of the little green homes in Monopoly.

  “It looks like a Hopper painting,” Mrs. Cone said.

  Jimmy sang, “Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and grey —”

  “Isn’t that song about Van Gogh?” Dr. Cone asked.

  “I’m about to pee my shorts,” Sheba said.

  “Really you will? Sheba, will you pee your shorts?” Izzy asked.

  “Where did I put that key?” Dr. Cone was searching his pockets. He leaned past Jimmy and opened the glove box.

  “I have to go NOW!” Sheba burst out of the car and ran to the sand dunes. The rest of us got out of the car, Dr. Cone still patting down his pockets. Sheba turned around to face us, then pulled down her shorts, squatted, and peed. I looked around. No one seemed to be paying attention, except Izzy.

  Izzy ran to Sheba. “I want to pee in the sand!”

  “Got it!” Dr. Cone pulled the key from his breast pocket. He unlocked the house and propped the front door open. Jimmy and Mrs. Cone started unloading the car.

  I looked over at Izzy squatted at the base of the dune. “Mary Jane!” she shouted. “Come pee in the sand!”

  Suddenly I did want to pee in the sand. Just for fun. Just because the nudest I’d ever been in public was two weeks ago when I put on my bra in the dark beside my own house. I looked toward the car. Dr. and Mrs. Cone were pulling out suitcases and placing them on the driveway. Jimmy was carrying a brown-and-mustard-patterned suitcase toward the house. He looked back at me and said, “Go for it, Mary Jane!”

  Before I could think it through, I ran to Sheba and Izzy. They were both standing now, with their pants pulled up.

  “Do you have to pee?” Sheba asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s like being a cat. You just kick sand over it when you’re done.” Sheba kicked sand over the big, wet oval near her feet. Even though I had gotten used to being with Sheba, my brain dinged a little alarm that said, You’re looking at Sheba’s pee.

  Izzy tried to kick sand over her wet circle. She was barefoot and her toes kept hitting the pee spot.

  “Can you barricade me from their view?” I asked.

  “Yes!” Izzy shouted. “What does that mean?”

  “Stand in front of her so no one can see.” Sheba moved so she stood between me and the house. Izzy positioned herself beside Sheba.

  I backed up a bit so I wouldn’t pee on their feet, and then pulled down my shorts. The hot sun on my bare butt was a totally new feeling. When I was done, I quickly pulled up my shorts and then kicked sand over my spot.

  “Can we poop?” Izzy asked.

  “No!” Sheba and I said together.

  The house was mostly on one floor, with a small second floor that had only a bedroom with a sitting room. The five remaining bedrooms were on the first floor, lining a long hallway. Some of the bedrooms shared a bathroom and some had their own bathroom. Mrs. Cone told Sheba and Jimmy they had to take the second-floor room, and they did. She and Dr. Cone took the front-most bedroom, facing the beach. This left four bedrooms for me and Izzy.

  Izzy took my hand. “Will you share a room with me?”

  “Sure.” I had been wondering what I was supposed to do after Izzy went to sleep. Was I to join the adults, or stay in my room? Even if Izzy and I shared a room, I could go in another bedroom to read.

  Izzy pulled me into the room next to Dr. and Mrs. Cone’s. “Do you think there’s a witch here?” She dropped my hand and turned in a circle. The room had two single beds with anchor-print bedspreads that matched the wallpaper.

  I turned in a circle too. Then I dropped to my knees and flipped up the bed skirt on the first one, and then the other bed. “No. There’s definitely no witch here.”

  In the next room we looked again for the witch. This room had rowboat-and-fish wallpaper that matched the rowboat-and-fish bedspreads. The bedside lamps each had a copper rowboat for a base.

  The next room had a double bed with daisy-print wallpaper and a solid white bedspread with lacy scalloped edges.

  “Witch?” Izzy asked.

  “Hmm, I dunno. But I don’t like this room. Don’t you think we should be in a beachier room since we are, actually, at the beach?”

  The last room had beach-ball-and-beach-umbrella-print wallpaper with matching bedspreads. Izzy and I agreed that although it was beachy, it was too colorful to be peaceful.

  “Rowboats or anchors?” I said.

  “Rowboats,” Izzy said.

  Once Izzy and I had finished unpacking, I took the week’s worth of recipe cards I had brought to the dining room table and read them to Izzy. She wanted to pick the order of meals. The dining room was open to the kitchen, where Mrs. Cone and Sheba were unpacking the bags of groceries—mostly snacks—we’d brought. They were talking about Jimmy and his progress. The way they spoke made Jimmy sound like a little boy—taking responsibility, learning to be alone, figuring out how to sit still with his thoughts, stopping himself and thinking before he takes action. I was glad Jimmy wasn’t around to hear them.

  Dr. Cone walked onto the screened porch off the kitchen. “BONNIE!�
�� he shouted in.

  “WHAT?!” Mrs. Cone shouted back.

  Dr. Cone lowered his voice. “What if we worked here?”

  Mrs. Cone and Sheba walked into the screened porch. Izzy and I watched. Sheba thought it was too public and the rest of us would feel banned from the house.

  Jimmy came downstairs, wearing his jean shorts and nothing else, and sat at the table with me and Izzy. Hanging from his neck was the leather-and-feather necklace. In his hand was a wide-brimmed straw hat with a red bandanna-print scarf tied around it. The hat looked like it belonged to a woman. “What are you two up to?” he asked.

  “We, uh . . .” I blushed. We were eavesdropping, but I didn’t want to admit it.

  “We’re making the order of the dinner. Here.” Izzy stood on the chair and spread out the index cards like a train in front of Jimmy. “First, mac ’n’ cheese! Which one’s mac and cheese?”

  “Find the letter M and then A,” I said. “M, ma ma ma. And A, ah, ah, ah.”

  “Ma, ma, ma.” Izzy ran her finger along the cards.

  Dr. Cone, Mrs. Cone, and Sheba returned to the kitchen. “What if you worked on the beach?” Mrs. Cone asked. “I saw a stack of chairs in the garage.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Dr. Cone looked over at the three of us.

  “MAC AND CHEESE!” Izzy waved the correct recipe card.

  “We’re gonna make an office on the beach?” Jimmy asked.

  “What do you think of that? It could be productive to feel connected to the ocean, the sky, the sand.”

  “It’s cool. I like it.” Jimmy nodded and then he stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

  “Alone?” Sheba sounded nervous.

  “Yeah. Just wanna clear my head.”

  “Maybe I should go with you,” Sheba said.

  “I’m fine. Relax.”

  “Why are you getting defensive? Why can’t I go with you?” Sheba’s voice was tightening. Her face was as pointed as an arrow.

  “I just want to be alone for a few minutes! What’s the fucking crime?!” Jimmy verged on yelling.

  “Did you phone someone?! Tell me you didn’t phone someone!” Sheba was yelling now.

  “Who the fuck am I going to phone?! We’re in a fucking shithole town in Maryland!”

  “We’re in motherfucking Delaware!” Sheba walked to Jimmy and stood so that her face was only inches from his. With her mouth drawn shut like that, she looked ten years older.

  “HOW THE FUCK WOULD I CALL SOMEONE IF I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT FUCKING STATE I’M IN?”

  Izzy climbed on top of the dining room table. She rearranged the index cards as if nothing unusual were happening. But I could see that she was anxious: her barely noticeable eyebrows were pulled together, and her mouth churned as she quietly spoke to herself.

  “It’s okay.” Dr. Cone put up both hands, fingers spread. “Jimmy, I feel your frustration. I can see that it pains you that Sheba doesn’t trust you.”

  “THE FUCK I DON’T! HE SCORED IN THE ALLEY BEHIND YOUR FUCKING HOUSE!”

  “Sheba,” Dr. Cone said. “I feel your anxiety. You love Jimmy. He had a setback. You’re carrying a lot of fear. And I can see that you feel responsible for him.”

  Izzy whispered, “Mac and cheese tonight.”

  “She’s not my fucking mother,” Jimmy said.

  “Yeah, I’m not an alcoholic chasing you around the house with a lethal wrought-iron fire poker!”

  “The FUCK, Sheba! It was an ash shovel!”

  “Why don’t we do this? Let me check Jimmy’s pockets, make sure he has no cash, and we’ll put a time limit on the walk. You okay with that, Jimmy?” Dr. Cone put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder and rubbed, as if he were trying to warm him up.

  Jimmy nodded, stuck his hands into his front jean shorts pockets, and pulled out the linings. He turned and Dr. Cone patted his back pockets.

  “Don’t forget your hat.” Izzy stood on the table and held out the straw hat.

  Dr. Cone took the hat, then looked inside it and ran his finger under the scarf. He handed the hat to Jimmy. “An hour okay?”

  “What about ninety minutes?”

  “What direction are you going?” Sheba asked. “To the left or the right?”

  Jimmy shrugged.

  “Pick one.”

  “Right.”

  “Nope,” Sheba said. “Go left.”

  “Okay, left.”

  “You’re fucking playing with me, aren’t you? You knew I’d switch it, so you gave me the opposite direction.”

  Dr. Cone looked flummoxed. Mrs. Cone was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching. Izzy had crouched back down and was rearranging the cards again.

  “Fine. You tell me what direction to go and that’s the direction I’ll go.” Jimmy’s chest was heaving. I worried he’d start throwing things or shouting again. But he didn’t. Sheba did.

  “YOU SNEAKY MOTHERFUCKER! IF YOU MEET ONE PERSON ON THAT BEACH, I’M FUCKING CUTTING OFF YOUR BALLS! YOU HEAR ME?!”

  “What are Jimmy’s balls?” Izzy whispered to me. “Do I have balls?”

  “It’s another word for testicles,” I whispered back. “You know, like in your coloring book?”

  “YOU CANNOT FUCKING POLICE ME LIKE THIS! YOU HAVE TO GIVE ME SPACE TO BREATHE YOU GODDAMMED—” Jimmy stopped and shook his head. I quickly assessed the throwable breakables in the room. There wasn’t much. He’d have to open a cupboard.

  “Breathe in, breathe out,” Dr. Cone said. “Sheba, you too. Just breathe in and out. Let’s have a quick meditation moment.”

  Dr. Cone, Jimmy, and Sheba turned so they were standing in a circle facing each other. Mrs. Cone joined them. Sheba still had on her old lady face and Jimmy’s chest continued to heave.

  “I breathe in, I breathe out,” Dr. Cone said in a low, smooth voice, like he was the DJ in a nighttime love song radio show. He repeated the words over and over again as the group breathed in and out. I wondered if this breathing was any different from regular breathing.

  “Will Sheba really cut off Jimmy’s balls?” Izzy looked at me with huge eyes.

  “No.” I pulled her off the table and onto my lap. She pushed her head into my neck and I rubbed her back. “She would never do that. She just said that to let him know how angry she was.”

  Izzy started breathing in and out along with Dr. Cone’s instructions, and soon I felt her body melt into me like a warm stick of butter.

  “Okay, let’s keep this peace.” Dr. Cone put his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. “I’m going to walk Jimmy to the beach and send him off. Sheba, you’ll be fine and Jimmy will be fine.”

  “Yeah. Whatever. That’s good.” Sheba stared at Jimmy like she was daring him on something. “I’ll sleep in the sun and wait for you.”

  “Good. Good.” Dr. Cone put a hand on Sheba’s shoulder too. He was like a yoke between oxen.

  Sheba nodded and then reached up to her head, ripped off the blond wig, and threw it so it landed on the dining room table. Mrs. Cone took off her wig too. She looked toward the table, and then pulled the wig against her chest and held it like she was holding a cat.

  Dr. Cone drove Izzy and me to the grocery store. Izzy held all the recipe cards tight in her hand.

  When we got to the store, I grabbed a cart and Izzy jumped on the end. “Do we need to find the ratio?” she asked.

  “The ratio?” Dr. Cone asked.

  “When we go to Eddie’s, we count the employees and the customers to find the ratio.” I shrugged, embarrassed. It sounded weird and silly when I said it aloud.

  “Yesterday it was eighteen to twenty-nine,” Izzy said.

  Dr. Cone rubbed Izzy’s curls. “That’s marvelous!”

  “I think this store is too big for us to count.” I looked up and down the aisles. It was huge, like a warehouse.

  “I agree.” Dr. Cone turned toward the produce section. I had memorized most of the ingredients on the cards and started putting things in the cart.

  “The ratio of the wi
tch is three to one,” Izzy said.

  “Three what to one what?” Dr. Cone asked.

  “Me, Mary Jane, and Sheba are three. And the witch is only one.”

  “Well, I’ll join your team.”

  “Then we’ll be”—Izzy pointed at me, her father, herself, and then an imaginary Sheba standing beside us—“four! To one. Right?”

  “Yup,” I said. “There isn’t a witch in the world who could hurt a kid in the middle of a four-to-one ratio.”

  “Agreed,” Dr. Cone said. I was relieved that he didn’t seem to think the ratio game was weird or silly. And I felt strangely happy that he had been so quick to join our team. Izzy talked about the witch so frequently, I had forgotten that I didn’t believe in her.

  Before we left the produce section, I shuffled through the cards to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. “Wait! Artichokes!”

  “Fancy.” Dr. Cone loped over to the artichoke display. I pushed the cart behind him.

  “Do you like artichokes?” I asked. I worried that fancy wasn’t good. The Cones seemed anti-fancy, with Izzy standing on the dining room table, peeing on the beach, and coloring penises in her anatomy coloring book.

  “I love them. We just never eat them. Restaurants don’t serve them.” Dr. Cone put his hand on my head and rubbed, the way everyone did to Izzy. It felt so nice, I didn’t move for a second, just to sense the vibrations of that touch.

  When we returned to the beach house, Jimmy and Sheba were snuggled up together on the living room couch watching Green Acres. It had never occurred to me that people who were on TV might watch it too.

  “I love this show.” I paused, a brown bag of groceries in my arms. Izzy paused beside me. She was carrying the lightest bag.

  “Come watch!” Sheba patted the cushion beside herself.

  “I have to put away the groceries,” I said.

  “Mary Jane,” Dr. Cone said. “Watch TV. I’ll put everything away.”

  I looked at him for a second to see if he was serious. He and Mrs. Cone were paying me. Was it really okay for me to get paid to sit on a couch and watch Green Acres with Sheba and Jimmy? “Are you sure?”