“I told her I’d help.”
“I need you here.”
“Mom can answer the phone.”
“You heard what I said. Clyde and I have business.” He dismissed me.
I figured I knew what they needed to discuss. I lingered out of sight, to listen. The Sea Horse Festival, a brainchild of Clyde’s, is scheduled to be held this weekend.
“People are saying we should postpone it,” I heard Clyde say, “because Gabe’s dead and everybody’s sad.”
“People die every day.”
“Lucky for you.” Clyde laughed.
Mendocino gets most of the tourists to the coast. Willow Creek is a few miles inland. Clyde came up with the Sea Horse Festival as a promotion, combining our location near the coast with what he calls “the pioneer spirit bit.” He’s hoping it will catch on and become an annual event. Then people will buy gas at Clyde’s gas station and eat meals in Clyde’s restaurant and spend the night in Clyde’s motel, and we’ll all be so grateful, we’ll change the town’s name to Clydesdale—
“Why couldn’t Gabe have gotten killed next week?” he said. “We all knew this was going to happen. The only question was when. Count on the McClouds to screw things up.”
My father said, “Gabe had a lot of friends.”
“Sure, I liked Gabe. He was a nice enough kid. Could’ve been one hell of a quarterback if he hadn’t got kicked off the team. Your kid ever play?”
“No,” my father said.
“Well, the show must go on. We can’t cancel it now. I’d still have to pay the band and the clown. Everybody’s sad, but a week from now it will be back to business as usual,” Clyde said. “Some kid gets killed, everybody’s all worked up. They blame it on society. They blame it on the family. The kid’s friends swear they won’t drink anymore. The next weekend, they’re having a big beer party at the cemetery, knocking over tombstones. You know what I’m saying.”
I could picture my father’s nod. He said, “I see it all the time.”
“What a pickle.” Clyde sighed. “What a can of worms. If I don’t have the festival, I’m out a bundle, and if I do have it, everyone will hate me. I try to put this town on the map and people just think I’m being greedy. There’s nothing wrong with making a profit. That’s how you stay in business.”
“It’s up to you,” my father said. “It’s your baby.”
“It’s not like it’d bother Gabe,” Clyde said. “He’d probably want people to have some fun. Maybe we could dedicate the whole thing to his memory.”
I was on my way out, but before I left I had to make a few phone calls.
25
Carolyn Sanders
I just got off the phone with Jennie’s mother. She was practically hysterical. She’s convinced that Jennie’s going to kill herself because she’s pregnant.
I said, “I’m sure she wouldn’t do a thing like that. She’s probably just upset.”
That’s why they pay me the big money, folks: for brilliant observations like that. Of course she’s upset. She’s devastated. She really believed that she and Gabe would stay together; that love would conquer all their problems.
Mrs. Harding talks as if Jennie has died. In a sense, she has; the little girl is gone. A woman has been sleeping in Jennie’s bed, masquerading as the dutiful daughter. How odd it must be to have a baby, who changes into a toddler, who becomes a child, who becomes an adult.… Do mothers mourn those lost babies, unreachable as the unborn?
I have no children. I have many children: all the students who pass through my classes, a steady stream of eager faces, untapped potential, bored yawns. They can’t wait to grow up and become adults, because they think we’re always free to do what we want.
Surprise, surprise.
I had spoken to Mrs. Harding on the phone in the main office. She had begun to cry.
I said, “Sharon, please don’t worry. May I call you Sharon?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“I’m sure Jennie’s going to be all right.”
“We can’t find her!” she sobbed.
“Gabe’s death must be a terrible shock for her. She probably just wants to be alone for a while.”
“She’s pregnant!” Mrs. Harding almost screamed, as if I must be stupid or deaf. “How could she do this? She’s ruined her life!”
It’s too bad she’s pregnant, but I’m not surprised. Kids think they are immune from disaster; that “just this once” it will be okay if they make love, don’t wear a seat belt, drink and drive.
“She hasn’t ruined her life.” I had to raise my voice over the argument escalating behind me. The kids and some of the teachers wanted to lower the flag to half-mast. The principal, flanked by his pet pit bull, Coach Decker, turned them down.
“This is not the end of the world,” I told Sharon. I could feel myself getting angry. “It’s too bad she’s pregnant, but it’s not a tragedy. Gabe’s death is a tragedy. His life is over. He’ll never get another chance. Your daughter is alive.”
“She was going to go to college!”
“She can still go to college!”
“Not with a baby! She’s too young to be a mother! She’s going to have to put it up for adoption.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to discuss that,” I said. “Your daughter will be home for dinner tonight. She’ll sleep in her own bed. Gabriel’s dead! He’s never coming home! Do you understand what I’m saying? Imagine how his parents must feel. Not that they ever gave a damn when it could’ve done some good. They crippled that kid! That beautiful child!”
“Mrs. Sanders!” The principal, Dick Peterson, was standing in front of me. Everyone was watching us. He said, “That’s quite enough. I need to talk to you. Please come into my office.”
I told Sharon I would call her back. Then I told Dick, “We have nothing to discuss.”
He flushed, appalled to have an audience. “You seem to be losing your grip,” he said.
“I’m losing my grip because I’m so upset? Gabe’s dead! How am I supposed to react?” I turned to Decker. “As for you, you little twerp, you’re just another backyard fascist. You didn’t like Gabe because he wouldn’t salute. Now you’re saying we can’t have the flag at half-mast because it might give the kids the idea that he mattered. Let me tell you something, Decker—”
“Mrs. Sanders,” Dick pleaded.
“—Gabe mattered. He mattered a lot! You’re jealous of Gabe, the good-for-nothing bum. That’s what you used to call him, remember? I’ll tell you something, Decker: You’ll have to raffle off door prizes to get people to come to your funeral!”
I left the office. It was break time. Kids were swarming in the halls. A few of them were waiting outside my room. They wanted to talk to me.
We went inside. I wanted to lock the door, to keep them with me, to keep them safe. The world is such a dangerous place. It gets crazier every day. We expect these kids to cope with so much. We fill the kiddy pool with sharks, then toss the children in. Have fun, we say, but don’t get killed. Then we wonder why they numb themselves with drugs.
The kids crowded close to me, their faces stained with tears. They wanted to do something special for Gabe’s funeral; to fill the place with flowers and his favorite music, all the stuff that he would really like.
This is the room where I begged him not to quit school. He was so close to graduating. He leaned against the blackboard with a smile on his face.
“Gabe, why are you doing this?” I said.
“No reason.” He shrugged. “I’m just bored.”
“You think you’ll have more fun at the mill?”
“At least I’ll get paid.”
“That’s peanuts. That’s nothing.” I wanted to shake him. “You can’t make any real money without an education.”
“There’s more to life than making money,” he said. “That’s what you always tell us.”
He’d do that: twist whatever you were saying so it bent around and bit you. I was angry.
I
said, “Why are you pretending to be so stupid?”
He stopped smiling. “Why are you pretending to be so smart?”
One girl stayed behind when the other kids left. “Mrs. Sanders, can I ask you something?” she said.
“Certainly, Amy.”
“Does it hurt to die?” She ran her fingers through her hair until her bangs stood up straight. “I mean, when Gabe died, do you think he felt it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It happened so fast. Maybe for just a second.”
“Does it hurt most people?”
“Are you worried about that, Amy?”
She nodded, too distraught to speak.
“I imagine it’s different for everyone,” I said. “I doubt that the moment of death is too painful. Your heart just stops beating.”
Tears were running down her cheeks. “But it seems like it would hurt,” she said. “And nobody would be there with me.”
“When you die, you mean? Or after you’re dead?”
“Both. The last, mostly. What happens to you then? I mean, after you die, where do you go?”
“It depends on what your beliefs are, Amy,” I said. “Some people believe in heaven. Some don’t. Some people believe in reincarnation: that you’re born again as someone or something else.”
“What do you believe?”
I took a deep breath. I’m supposed to guide these kids, not lead them. “I believe different things at different times,” I said.
“Do you think Gabe’s in heaven?”
“If heaven exists, I’m sure Gabe would be welcome. And some part of him will always be alive in our memories.”
“That’s what I think,” she said. “I’m going to the funeral. Everybody’s going, ’cause they love him so much. I’m scared when I die nobody will come to my funeral. Just my parents and brother. Nobody else would care.”
“Amy, that’s not true. Lots of people would care. Because the thing is, honey, we’re all connected; every one of us on this planet. When we’re mean to people, they pass along meanness. When we love them, they pass along love.” My eyes filled up. She noticed and looked frightened. I blinked away the tears. I’m supposed to be an adult. “That’s why it’s so important to be kind and helpful whenever we can; to treat others the way we want to be treated. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I guess so.” She looked doubtful. “But I still don’t want to die.”
I had to smile. “That makes two of us.”
26
Gabriel McCloud
Dear Mrs. Sanders,
Thanks for coming hear Jennie play the other night. The band sounded great. The thing I like about her flute playing is she sounds like she does when she’s talking know what I mean? If I played an instrument it would be the drum KABOOM my dad wouldn’t go for that. Another thing I wanted to play was the piano but anyway its to late for that but it sure makes me proud to hear Jennie! I want our kids to play some instruments. If we have some I mean.
David was glad you said to say hi to him. He’s standing here now and he says be sure to say hi back.
HI BACK! Now he’s punching my arm.
Jennie sure looked pretty the other night. She looked like an angle in that dress. Sometimes I don’t know what she’s doing with me (I bet you wonder that to a lot of people do.) Its my hidden charm. On the outside all you see is a stupid old redneck like all these boys in town but inside where it really counts I’m smooth and smart and full of power. Like Shadow Man that’s me! One thing about this town you get in a rut. Like your a jock or a brain or a doper or a redneck and people allways see you that way because they knew you since you were a kid. Maybe you’ve changed and your different then they think but they don’t know that.
I keep meaning to bring in a Shadow Man for you to see but you’d probly think it was stupid. But I’m telling you the drawing is really good and the words are like poems. I like the way he talks people really stop and lissen. The other day Shadow Man was helping this little boy who didn’t have any family and you could see it made the boy feel good like he finally had a big brother. It made Shadow Man feel good to he’s alone a lot. He had a girlfriend for a while but it didn’t work out but he still loves her. Some of the fans don’t go for that stuff they write in letters in the back of each issue. They want Shadow Man to be like all the other super heros there allways fighting nazis and monsters. Who cares about that crap pardon my french. Why do people say that? Its not really french. In french its crapola.
I don’t have much to say (as you can tell) I just want to say thanks for coming to the concert. Its nice to see a friendly face. Jennie’s folks allways look like they could kill me I guess you can’t blame them they probly wish I’d go away but this boy is here to stay.
What the hell do you do with these little things ’ ’ ’ ’?? Here’s a few more I have some left over ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ ’
SHADOW MAN
Gabriel:
You’re right, the concert was wonderful. Hearing that beautiful music brings tears to my eyes.
I’d love to see a copy of Shadow Man. I’ll probably even want to borrow it!
As for the apostrophes (’): You don’t quite seem to have the hang of that yet. Drop by my room during lunch or after class someday, and we’ll work on it.
C.S.
27
Jennie Harding
The tide has begun to come back in. The shift is too subtle to see. I feel it turning with my skin, as if someone is watching me.
If I don’t leave the rock soon, the rock will be gone. The baby will be gone and so will I. The sun has melted my mind; I’m paralyzed. I’m stuck here like this rock, trying not to feel anything.
My mother always says she wants us to be close, but she’s afraid to hear what I think. Her eyelids flicker when we discuss certain things, as if she’s pulling down the shades. No one’s home. Imagine how she’ll look when she finds out I’m pregnant; as if she’d just heard that I’d died. My daughter is dead; I don’t know this slut.… They’ve never thought Gabriel was good enough for me.
We argued about him endlessly. My mother would cry and my father would rage. You’re ruining your life! he’d shout. As if his fragile baby could be smashed like a vase.
They only saw Gabe’s hide, rough as abalone shell. He showed me the other side, the mother-of-pearl. He brought me bouquets of wildflowers. You are so pretty and smart! he’d say. I’m so proud of you, honey girl.
Recently, after a fight with his dad, Gabe said we should run away. I told him I couldn’t do that to my family. He said he was my family. He was angry.
He said we should start a brand-new life, just him and me and the baby. Forget about the past; it doesn’t matter, he said. But the past was wrapped around him like seaweed. He was drowning in the past. He couldn’t see that.
I’d say, Can’t you admit your family’s screwed up? Why won’t you see a counselor?
Talk to some stranger? he’d say, sneering. That don’t do any good. Anyway, your parents aren’t that great.
He thought that facing the truth about his family was the same thing as betraying them.
They’ve never told each other, I love you. Not once in their whole lives. He was starved for love. But the hunger made him mean. He would wound me with words that were hard to forget. I could tell when he’d been with another girl: her smell still on him, tiny bruises on his throat. I never understood if he wanted me to know or if he thought I was too dumb to notice.
That was why I wanted to break up with Gabe. I didn’t want to be part of some game that he didn’t even know he was playing. I didn’t want to be hurt, or catch some kind of disease.
Instead, I got pregnant.
Won’t people be shocked? She was such a good girl. Who would’ve thought? She’s come down in the world. Little Miss Honor Roll, look at her now, with her belly full of Gabe McCloud’s baby.
The world is such an awful place. I don’t want this child to suffer,
to ever feel sadness or despair or pain. Babies die every day. They’re killed, they starve. The old cemetery is full of little children, wiped out by ancient epidemics. We were up there one night. Some of the kids were getting rowdy, tipping over gravestones. Gabe made them stop. He replaced a stone that had toppled over. The inscription on it read:
’TIS A LITTLE GRAVE, BUT, OH, HAVE CARE, FOR WORLDWIDE HOPES ARE BURIED THERE. HOW MUCH OF LIGHT, HOW MUCH OF JOY, IS BURIED WITH THIS DARLING BOY.
He was three years old. He died in 1887. I cried as if I’d lost him myself.
The waves lap gently at this rock. In time they will erase it. A hundred years from now all the people in our town will be gone, replaced by a fresh crop of faces. Even my baby would be a memory, or a very old man or woman.
Life is so sad. I cannot stand it. You’re born, you live for a while, you die. Gabe just took a shortcut.
Oh, Gabe, I could kill you! Why did you leave me? I loved you so much, but it was never enough. You promised you’d change! You said you wanted this baby!
I’m too stupid to live. I am such a fool.
Gabe’s dog is on the beach. I can’t believe it. He’s trotting across the sand. Jack sees me and wags his tail, then picks his way along the slick stone steps until he is beside me, his head in my hands. The waves are sliding over the stones. Soon they will erase his path.
28
Gerald McCloud
When I saw James’s Harley it was like, it was like—the thing I’d been looking for all my life. Like mountains of money, or the best sex ever, when you shoot straight ahead and your brain explodes.
I saw that shiny bike and I thought: James’s toy. And the pain in my brain went away that sudden, and the music on the radio was exactly right; the Stones were screaming and my body was electric and I knew in my heart: I’m not dead, I’m alive. Gabe may be dead, but I’m not going with him. I’m here, right now, and full of power, and I had to smile, I felt so high.
The Harley was parked in front of the liquor store. James had to be in there, getting his fix. I slowed way down and all the music stopped. There was a clock inside me and it was ticking, ticking.
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