by CW Ullman
Charlie gave Ronnie a moment to compose himself before he asked, “Help me out here. What’s the problem?”
Ronnie sat up, brushed the sand off his hands then sat back in his chair. He got a beer, took a swig, stared into the fire for awhile, and then slowly spoke.
“When we were disbursing the refugees around the Enterprise, it was a complete cluster fuck. You remember we had old people, women, babies, everybody?” Ronnie remembered. “They were crying, moaning, collapsing, and basically being pains in the ass. When we had to split them up to even out the weight distribution onboard the ship, he and I were just thinking of moving bodies. Well, the families did not want to be split up and they wailed the worst, so we kept them together. Rusty and I were running up and down stairs with these people for hours. They’re scared, we’re getting yelled at by the chiefs, it was completely fucked.
“When we’d open a door to put the refugees in one of the rooms, we’d be fine unless there were sailors in there. They’d yell, ‘You’re not leaving those gooks in here. Get them the fuck out of here.’ So, we started putting them in compartments where there were no sailors. Then one of the chiefs grabbed us and told us we couldn’t leave non-navy personnel alone onboard a military vessel, which meant we had to go back and find all the refugees and redistribute them with Navy personnel who were bitching and moaning worse than the goddam refugees.”
Ronnie stopped talking lost in thought. He was mulling something over that changed the expression on his face. His eyes became soft, almost melancholy and his shoulders sagged while he leaned back in his chair.
He continued, “When we were younger, we hung out a lot together. We got into our fair share of trouble. You know kid’s stuff: we’d skip school, shoplift shit, smoke pot, once we stole his old man’s car. Well, Rusty was actually a pretty good kid, and he looked up to me. If I suggested we put M-80s in Old Man Donaldson’s mail box, Rusty would go along. He would follow whatever I told him to do.
“While we were running back and forth onboard with these people, we came upon an open door to the water. I said our job would be a whole lot easier if we…just threw them overboard.”
Ronnie went quiet and stared into the fire and started to tear up.
“I wasn’t serious,” Ronnie paused. “Back when the Old Man had us at attention, I was watching Rusty out of the corner of my eye, and I…saw him look back at us…at me…just before he….grabbed the girl…and I always wondered if he thought I was promoting one more of my crazy stunts? If I hadn’t had said anything…would he have…you know?”
Ronnie paused, “I just feel so fucking responsible for the whole thing.”
Rusty never said anything or acknowledged what Ronnie was saying; he just kept staring into the fire. An awkward ten minutes passed before anyone spoke.
“I don’t know about the rest of you guys, but I feel responsible as well,” Charlie said and then turned to Ronnie. “I know one thing: what you said had nothing to do with her going over the side. The Old Man was in Rusty’s face and gave him a direct order. I’ve gone over that day a million times in my head and I don’t think there was anything we could’ve done. The question I have is, what would I have done if the Old Man had given me that order?”
They nursed their beers, stared into the embers, and contemplated Charlie’s last conjecture. Would they have put the girl overboard? If they refused, what would have been the consequences? About fifteen minutes passed and Rusty cleared his voice. The others turned and looked at him, and a slight smile came to his face.
He said, “We sure blew the fuck out of that mailbox.”
At first, the others were stunned Rusty had spoken and then howled in laughter. Charlie and Curtis slapped Rusty’s arm and smiled at him. Rusty stared at the fire along with the others. A few minutes passed and Rusty’s delayed response to Ronnie’s mailbox story still caused ripples of laughter. The laughter also brought a certain comfort with the knowledge that at least part of the old Rusty was still there. Eventually, they packed up their chairs and coolers and were leaving the fire ring when Ronnie approached Rusty.
“I’m sorry, man,” Ronnie said. Rusty did not acknowledge him; he just walked to the car with Charlie and the two of them drove off. Ronnie stood alone in the parking lot and cried. It was a relief telling the others about the guilt he had been harboring. He wondered, as the rest of them wondered, what Rusty heard and what he did not want to hear.
CHAPTER VII
After ten years of marriage, Charlie and Cindy had a big problem: at the age of fourteen Molly had discovered life was made miserable by her mother. If Cindy could change her voice and stop asking Molly to do things, like get out of bed in the morning, life would be so much better.
Molly had also become a sore point with Charlie and he did not know how to handle it. Charlie felt as though she had literally changed overnught. One day she was going to school, making good grades, and playing soccer. Seemingly overnight, she did not want to go to school and was bored with soccer. She spoke to Cindy and Charlie with a tone of annoyance and could not be bothered to do chores around the house. Her disagreeable behavior finally spilled over to the surf shop.
Molly and one of her friends had stopped in Girl’s Eyes. Darla, working the counter and tagging merchandise, periodically looked over at them to see what they were doing. Darla had been keeping her opinion of Molly to herself, even though Molly’s behavior had created a problem between Darla and Cindy. A few days before when Cindy and Molly were in the store, Molly asked Darla for a bag and Darla added, “Please?” Cindy, standing nearby, did not say anything, but Darla saw out of the corner of her eye, Cindy look darts at her.
On this day, Molly and her friend were standing behind one of the displays of bathing suits whispering and giggling. While Darla was watching them, Rusty brought out from the shaping area a recently finished surfboard. He stood next to Darla behind the counter, waiting to have his back rubbed. Darla was distracted watching the two girls, and saw Molly furtively stick one of the bathing suits into her friend’s tote. They started to leave when Darla called out to them.
“Molly, can you come up here?” Darla asked.
“I have to go, I’ll catch you later,” Molly said.
“Molly, it’s important, I need to see you, now,” Darla shot back. Molly, with an air of exasperation, walked back to the counter.
“What?” Molly huffed.
“Your friend needs to pay for the bathing suit you just stuck in her purse,” Darla said.
Molly did not miss a beat, “Oh, it’s okay.”
“What do you mean, it’s okay?”
“Charlie said it was fine.”
“Molly, you know Charlie calls ahead of time to let me know that somebody in the family is going to pick something up. I never got a call.”
“Oh…I’m sure he just forgot,” Molly said.
“In that case, why don’t we just call him now and clear up the confusion? Is he still at home?” Darla challenged as she picked up the phone to dial Charlie’s house.
Molly turned red, became flustered, and said, “Don’t call the house.”
Molly’s posture slumped, but she had fire in her eyes, “My friend doesn’t have the money right now and needs it for a party this weekend. She’ll pay next week or whenever. It’s no big deal.”
“Yeah, well, Molly, it is a big deal. It’s shoplifting; she needs to put it back on the rack,” demanded Darla.
“Really, Darla? Like you don’t just take things when you want them?” Molly accused.
“No, I just don’t take things and, by the way, who do you think you’re talking to? She needs to bring the suit back now and you need to change your tone with me,” Darla scolded.
“Britney, come here,” Molly called Britney to come to the counter and asked for the pilfered suit. Molly held the suit in her hand.
“Is this the all-important suit you wanted?” Molly said and then flung it in Darla’s face. Darla did not go after Molly, because Rusty h
ad stepped around the counter and grabbed Molly’s arm.
“Rusty!” Darla yell. She stepped around the counter, put her hands on Rusty and said, “You need to let me handle this. Go in the back.”
Rusty let go of Molly and dutifully went to the back.
“I’m gonna tell my mom,” Molly said. “He should be locked up. I know about that Asian girl stuff.”
“Yeah? That’s a great idea, Molly, you tell you’re mother and then I’ll have to tell her you and Britney were trying to steal a bathing suit. Then I’ll call Britney’s mom,” Darla’s threat was interrupted by Britney.
“Please, don’t call my mom. She’ll kill me. I thought you said this was all okay, Molly?” Britney said. “I’m totally sorry. I don’t steal stuff; she said it was okay, really.”
Molly looked at Britney with venom for selling her out, then back at Darla and then kicked the counter. Turning to leave, she huffed, “Whatever.”
Charlie came to the shop a few hours later and Darla pulled him aside to recount the incident with Molly. Charlie slumped and looked dejected.
“I swear to God, Darla, I want to-,” Charlie was interrupted.
“Don’t say it. When I was her age I was a little bitch, too. She’ll grow out of it, but I think you’ve got a bigger problem. Have you noticed she’s lost a lot of weight?” Darla asked.
“I haven’t really been paying attention. She is such a pain at home right now causing a lot of fights between Cindy and me. The way she talks to her mother is so infuriating,” Charlie said. “When I was that age, if I talked to my mom like that, my dad would’ve have knocked me into the middle of next week.”
He stopped for a moment and exhaled. He asked, “What about weight loss?”
“There is an edge to her that probably comes with the territory of being fourteen, but her weight loss concerns me. Didn’t you say she quit soccer?” Darla asked.
Charlie thought for a moment, processing all that Darla had told him.
“Maybe she had a growth spurt and she’s beginning to lean out?” Charlie supposed.
“I don’t want to be an alarmist, but when I was doing coke with my friends, we all dropped a ton of weight and became real bitches. We thought everybody else was as dumb as a bag of hammers and we were too cool for school.” Darla said.
“You really think she’s doing cocaine?” Charlie said.
“No, only because she can’t afford it, but amphetamines…,” Darla said. “There’s this new thing in school called Attention Deficit Disorder. When we were in school they called it day-dreaming. Anyway, they prescribe a drug called Ritalin for it. It’s a stimulant that makes kids focus better. For the hard core cases, they’ll prescribe stronger stuff that’s more like an amphetamine.”
“What’s the street name for it,” Charlie asked.
“Black Beauties, Bennies, Speed. Long haul truckers used to take this shit to stay awake. I got turned on to Bennies when I was turning tricks outside of Moline, Illinois,” Darla said.
Charlie felt confident Molly was not doing drugs on the level Darla was suggesting. He had heard from his buddies who had daughters Molly’s age that they literally transformed overnight into demons between the ages of twelve and fourteen. Charlie’s house had become annoyingly small because of Molly. She was bitchy to everyone except her friends, who would come over and go up to Molly’s room and squeal. Charlie had given up offering parenting advice to Cindy and decided to back her on whatever she did. The only time he weighed in was if Molly’s problems involved the boys. These disagreements usually ended with Molly exclaiming that the boys got preferential treatment, because they were the offspring of both Cindy and Charlie.
Before long, the high school was calling to notify Cindy and Charlie of Molly’s absences from class, which manifested in her grades plummeting. The final rupture came when Jordan was looking for a pen in Molly’s room. When she was not home, he entered her room and while searching her desk drawer, found empty one-inch-square plastic bags. He took one of the bags to Bryce and asked him what he thought they were. Bryce thought they were spent bags of cocaine. Jordan asked what they should do; should they go to Molly first, or Mom and Dad?
Jordan and Bryce could not come to an agreement, so Jordan thought he would ask his mother a hypothetical question. While Cindy was in the kitchen making dinner, Jordan sat on a stool at the breakfast counter with a glass of lemonade. He thought he would back into the question.
“Hey, Mom, so I have this friend and he was looking through his brother’s room for a surfboard, and he found some stuff. What should he do?”
Cindy, peeling potatoes, asked, “What kind of stuff did your friend find?”
“You know stuff…drug stuff. Not actual drugs, but stuff with drugs…carries drugs…stuff,” Jordan said while perspiring and feeling hot. He was unsure if his deliberate opaqueness was working.
“How big was “carry” stuff? A backpack, a coffee can, a shoebox? How big was it?” Cindy asked.
“No, not that big; actually it was very small. It was like a small Ziploc bag size…small,” Jordan said. He held his hands up to show Cindy how small.
“Well, if I knew any of my kids found anything like that in my house, I would expect them to bring it to my attention. Do you know why?” Cindy asked.
Jordan tried to casually wipe the sweat from his forehead by holding his glass of lemonade in front of his face. However, he was so nervous, he did not cover up very well and spilled lemonade in the process.
Cindy repeated her question, “Do you know why?”
“Why?” Jordan responded.
“I know my kids care for each other so much they wouldn’t want to see their brother or sister get involved with drugs. They would want their parents to help stop whoever was using drugs and that couldn’t happen if the parents didn’t know about it.”
Jordan was barely holding it together. This was nerve-wracking and he felt like he should never have attempted it. The pressure was building to the red part of the dial that in cartoons suggested something was about to blow. The parts of his shirt not stained with flop sweat were getting a periodic dowsing of lemonade. By the time his mother was finished, so was he.
“Okay, Mom, thanks for your help. I’m going upstairs,” Jordan said.
“Hold on a second, Jordan,” Cindy said.
In Jordan’s head, all he could hear was the opening score to a 1950s black and white television show, Dragnet, which he and Bryce liked to watch. Being no match for his mother’s questioning, he was now in an excruciating position. He knew he had to get out of there before she started, because once she got going, she would open him up like a can of tuna.
“Mom, I got to go, Dad wanted me to help him at the shop,” Jordan said.
“I thought you had to go upstairs,” she said. He gulped.
Jordan realized his mistake and could feel the earth splitting apart under his chair.
“Who is this friend?”
Jordan’s brain was completely overloaded at this point. His hair was wet, his nerves were shot, and he was hoping that a tornado, the kind his dad talked about having seen in Tulsa, would blow the house off its foundation. He tried to avoid his mother’s look, because once those eyes locked upon his, she would penetrate his skull like Superman’s x-ray vision and she would know everything he was trying to conceal.
Just looking away or staring at his glass of lemonade was no match for her nuclear- fueled energy beam that was rendering futile all of his attempts at resistance. He tried one last attempt at survival before completely surrendering to ”the Look”.
“You wouldn’t know her…him,” Jordan said lamely, as though it were a question.
“Try me,” she said as flat as Joe Friday from Dragnet.
He exploded in a torrential confession, telling her what he had found and ending with a plea not to tell Molly because she would kill him. Cindy assured him his secret was safe, thanked him for his honesty, and told him to stop exaggerating, because his sist
er would not kill him. When he was about to head upstairs, she asked him if he felt better having told the truth. He just wanted to escape the torture chamber, so he agreed and went upstairs to shower. After his shower, he told Bryce he had spilled the beans. Jordan explained nobody, and he meant nobody, could withstand Mom’s Jedi Mind Torture.
<>
Things got worse when Cindy and Charlie confronted Molly. For the first time, Charlie looked a little harder at Molly and noticed the darkness under her eyes.
Cindy’s “Look” did not have the same effect on Molly as it had on Jordan. Molly denied the bag was hers and was outraged they did not trust her. They told her she was grounded for the next two weeks. That night she ran away.
Cindy was beside herself, vacillating between confusion, anger, and guilt. She was twenty-four years old when she had Molly, and at that stage in Cindy’s life, she was trying to find herself while working at an assortment of jobs. Cindy’s mother had a drinking problem and her father had been absent after her parents divorced when Cindy was fourteen.
Cindy became pregnant while seeing a bartender where she worked at the Mermaid Bar in Hermosa Beach. She had aborted twice before and promised herself that if she were ever again to get pregnant, she would have the baby.
When she told the bartender of her pregnancy, he expressed matter-of-factly that he was not prepared to be a father. A few years after Cindy had married Charley when Molly was five, her kindergarten class was preparing for Father’s Day. She asked the teacher if she should make her Father’s Day card out to Charlie or her “real” father. The teacher, surprised by the question, stammered that Molly should ask her mother.
When Molly posed the same question to her mother, Cindy was caught off-guard and she, too, stammered that Charlie was Molly’s real father. Molly reminded her mother that her real father was a mermaid man. Cindy laughed and said he was a man she worked with in a restaurant called The Mermaid.
“So, my real dad isn’t a man mermaid?” Molly asked.
