2000 Deciduous Trees : Memories of a Zine (9781937316051)

by Jones, Nath

  Hollace, choosing the lesser of two evils, allowed his eyes to go back to the men outside. He took his chances that they might notice his vicariously enjoying their fun.

  The girl, still crying uncontrollably, flung herself toward the empty seat in the 14th row. As if to assure the other passengers that she had a right to be there, she sat down next to Hollace Dupree with a deliberate flounce, settled herself, and after kicking him more than once she was established there and cried freely. She leaned against the seat in front of her sobbing breathlessly.

  Hollace sat braced in his seat. Every muscle in his body was tense with her proximity. Though he was concerned for her happiness he was also concerned with his own, and he could smell her. From the corner of his eye he could see the line of pale flesh that ran from her elbow along the curve of her armpit and up over her breast as she sat with her arms folded on top of the seat in front of her. He could also sense her thighs through the thin wrinkles of the muslin bloomers. Just as she could not stop crying to breathe, Hollace Dupree could not possibly lift the weight of restraint from his own breast in order to catch some air.

  He swallowed hard several times and felt his Adam's apple against the tight collar. He pursed his lips and relaxed them again. He tilted his head, up and back, up and back, all the while looking out the window. The back of his neck was hot, surely a result of air not circulating well through the synthetic materials from which airplane headrests tend to be made. His eyebrows danced between wide-eyed inspection and fervent disapproval. And although so much motion was occurring above his shoulders, from the neck down he was clenched. His left hand held his pants so tightly that the carefully-placed crease was dying by strangulation under his grip.

  Around them the passengers still regarded the girl with some fear. Not because she looked abnormal, but because the entire plane echoed with her dramatic crying. By this time she was beating the seat in front of her with a small fist and screaming, "No. You fucking jackass bastard! No. God damn it. No!" Over and over and over again. And wailing through her tears in such a way that the flight attendants retreated to the ends of the cabin in two closely-huddled groups and unconsciously spun their heavy wedding bands around bony red-nailed fingers. One of the women went into the restroom, took off her bow tie, and retied it altogether. Those passengers who were sitting nearby became such a shifting mass of energy that static electricity built as frictive pantyhose and wool pants rubbed against fireproof synthetic seats.

  The copilot quickly slammed the door that divided the flight crew from the cabin. Even though there were no reassuring or informative announcements, the plane started and the pilots began to recover the few lost minutes. The plane shifted with anticipation and began to roll out of the gate, but there was no sign that the girl would ever stop crying. It was apparent all other parties were diligently avoiding the situation, which left Hollace Dupree alone to comfort the poor thing, although it was hard to feel sorry for someone so violent.

  Drawing in a quick breath to sustain his determination he prioritized his possible courses of action. At the office he might offer her a cup of coffee, water, or even juice. He could allow her to sit at his desk for a few minutes to quiet herself. However, they were not at the office. He considered the situation. There seemed so few resources. He might offer her the window seat, but that seemed excessive. He decided instead upon, "Hello there. Hmm. Let's see. Here's my card."

  Now, this might not have been the most tactful thing to say, but Hollace Dupree was practiced at the statement and knew he could rely on it for a response. He wasn't sure his sentimental skills would project confidence. The girl, it seemed at first, reacted positively. In one motion she cast the backpack onto the floor in the aisle, ran her sweaty hands over her face several times, threw herself against her own seat back, and grabbed the card.

  Rendon and Associates Inc.

  Hollace Dupree, CPA

  Outstanding Balance and Property

  Humbly serving the community since 1964

  Having read the card and with the stultifying shock of its presentation wearing off, the girl replied, "Don't you want to know why I'm in such a fucking fit? Why do you people always think about business? I mean for God’s sake I need some humanity here. Look at me. Do you think I'm going to need a—.” She looked at the card for some evidence of his position. “Whatever you are? I'm a complete wreck, and all you can think of is how you can score one for your business? I hate you."

  Hollace decided that while he probably should have offered her the window seat initially, he certainly would not do so now. This girl was a defiant creature. "Always thinking about scoring and business." The thought! What he would do for any other seat on that plane. His character did not allow him to make such a request now. But this was too much.

  The girl continued her attack. "What are you anyway? Going off to some rich business brunch. Going to look at some expensive graphs and eat catered food off of paper plates. Or are you going to go back to your wife after a night of fucking your whore in another city? Don't forget to put your wedding ring back on, asshole.”

  "I am not married." Hollace drew his handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his face. Though the cabin was cool he seemed to be sweating.

  “Oh, I get it. So you like it from the boys down in the mailroom. I should have known. Fucking handmade pointy shoes. You're wearing purple socks, for Christ’s sake.”

  The socks along with the tie which Hollace was wearing had been a present from his sister-in-law the previous Christmas. In any event he knew that neither was purple; they were, in fact, plum. His sister-in-law had assured him they were not purple. Hollace Dupree would never wear purple socks. These were definitely plum. The plane was just completing its ascent. Hollace had completely missed takeoff. He was incensed.

  Sitting up straighter and turning toward the girl he asked, "Is there anything that I might do to protect myself against this early-morning tirade?"

  The girl was taken aback. She looked around for her defense. No one supported her. The other passengers were busy with their papers and coffee, listening. "You know why I'm on this plane? Because this is the gate where my friend was working. She works at the counter for this airline, and she gave me a boarding pass. We go out all the time and she always says that if I want to go somewhere I should just come to the counter where she works and she'll slip me on the plane. So here I am. I don't know where this plane is even going. And you know what? I don't have to, because I don't care."

  Hollace decided from this obvious display of insecurity that the girl was probably around twenty-three years of age—old enough to have serious problems but still too young to handle them by herself. He was regaining strength.

  She adjusted her bodice.

  Hollace watched her writhing long enough to decide that she must be exceedingly uncomfortable. Then, without daring to try, he wished he had looked a little longer.

  As though she had come full circle by that statement, she returned to his question. "Yes. You can. If you want me to shut up you can tell me why all men are such assholes.”

  Maybe only twenty-one judging from the overwhelming generalization. "Do you mean any particular man, because I certainly cannot speak for us all?” Hollace tried not to smile at the girl. He wanted her to be assured that he was taking her plight seriously.

  She saw the kindness in his eyes. "Okay, well then, Jake. Tell me why Jake is such an asshole.”

  "Jake of Jake's Lawn Care or Jake of Jake's Pizza?"

  A beautiful young pink smile. "Jake of my asshole ex-boyfriend cheating ass, Jake.”

  "Oh. Not an entrepreneur of the usual sort, I see."

  "More usual than you think, Mr. —,” again consulting the business card, "Dupree."

  "I suppose this is so."

  "You never cheated on a girlfriend?"

  Hollace considered the question. After dismissing a confusing incident in college that may have fit the definition of infidelity but certainly was a misunderstanding by a
ll parties, he decided to go with his statistical average which was a decided, "No."

  "Why not?"

  Oh. These questions. Why not look out over the billow of cloud that spread out to the horizon making the view from the window a treasure for a moment? It was only six in the morning. Why not look at the sunrise? What a rare thing to be so close to it. Why think about some foolish young man 30,000 feet below and miles behind? He avoided the question since she was obviously torturing herself. Self-inflicted romance problems are prominent at nineteen—but she must be older than that.

  "I never cheated on a girlfriend because I never considered the stuff of romance to be a game. One might cheat at cards and board games, not in relationships. Relationships are business. Negotiation and respect. Always took it as serious business, I'm afraid. May I ask a question of you, Miss—?” He solicited her last name.

  "Well, as of one thirty this morning it's Mrs. Jake Russell. We eloped."

  Definitely twenty-two. "Well, Mrs. Russell—”

  "Don't call me that. He's such a rat bastard.”

  "Regardless of your name then, why did you board the plane this morning in such antiquated attire?"

  She tore at the dress's narrow cap shoulders. She pulled off some cheap earrings and wiped her nose in a disgusting manner with the back of her hand. "I fucking hate my job. Do you know that I have four of these dresses? And on the Fourth of July I have to wear one that is all red, white, and blue, with stars and a fucking patriotic parasol. Eight years. First I sold lemonade. That wasn’t so bad. I smoked cigarettes with all the Mexicans and only had to wear some stupid paper pioneer hat. I work at Merton Village and Historic Theme Park. It's awful.

  "Now I'm the folly girl in the cafe where they serve cotton candy and popcorn to a bunch of little kids. Jake is a blacksmith. He makes all sorts of stupid trinkets out of old nails and sells them all for about seventy-five times what they're worth. So after work yesterday we went out like we always do—two and a half years. He told me to meet him by the blacksmith shop and we rode his motorcycle over to the water and got married by a gambling boat captain. Nice wedding. Can you believe I stayed with that dick for two and a half years?"

  Her vulgar language was beginning to wear on Hollace. He winced.

  "Sorry. Are you like my mom's age or what?"

  Hoping he was much younger than the mother and closer in fact to the age of the girl, Hollace hedged, "Well, how old is your mother?"

  "I don't know. I never met her. It's just a figure of speech, you know."

  Hollace didn't know. He had no idea in fact. "Yes. I suppose so."

  The flight attendant appeared with the beverage cart. Hollace asked politely about the brand of orange juice and requested a ginger ale as well, if it weren’t too much trouble. The girl ordered a Bloody Mary with four extra shots of vodka. Hollace noticed that the stewardess ignored the alcohol limit. Everyone on the plane was indebted to Hollace for dealing with the girl. There was a look of thanksgiving. Noting this and in a fit of generosity Hollace whipped out his wallet and paid for the girl's drinks.

  "You didn't need to do that." She pulled at the plastic on the lid of the vodka with her teeth. Once she had ripped the cellophane and spit it onto the floor she dumped half the vodka into her drink and drank the rest straight.

  He watched her with a combination of sickness and intrigue. “It is your wedding day. It's the least I can do." It is true that Hollace was interested in hearing the rest of this story. "So who is the harlot?”

  “The what?”

  "Jake's other—well, the other woman."

  “Oh, the cheap-ass whore?”

  "Having never met her, I'll reserve my judgment. But for the purposes of discussion and clarity, yes, the well, the cheap-ass whore.” Hollace was proud of himself. And smiled with closed lips.

  They both laughed and toasted each other. Hollace was careful not to spill his half-filled glass, and her drink sloshing wildly ran over onto the back of her hand. She sucked the liquid quickly and licked her entire hand clean. Hollace thought this was obscene and found himself intently tapping his index finger on the tray. He finished his drink and slowly poured another small amount of juice into his class.

  After opening a packet of peanuts and swallowing the entire contents without really chewing, the girl went on. "Well. God knows what her name is. People call her Bitsy. Isn't that disgusting? She's no one. She takes tickets at the Scrambler. Big hair. Bad jeans. You've seen a thousand like her at places like that. Real skinny, you know?"

  Hollace adjusted the vent above his head so that more air was flowing over him. "I guess I'm not a big fan of amusement parks. Wouldn't know the type most likely, I'm afraid."

  The girl nodded. "Right. She’s trash, if you want to know the truth." Without asking permission the girl poured one of the tiny vodka bottles into Hollace's cup. "Have a screwdriver, Hollace Dupree. You need it after listening to all this crap. Besides you paid for it."

  He did not refuse. He probably couldn't have.

  There was a lull in their conversation through a bit of turbulence. They kept drinking for a few quiet minutes. Hollace looked out over the white cloud bank that undulated under them and reflected sunlight everywhere. He thought of Jake somewhere down there. Just married and wondering where his wife was on an overcast day. What a glorious morning. What an odd beginning. The girl rummaged through her backpack for something.

  Thrusting some worn paper and a strip of photos from a picture booth the girl, like a television lawyer, burst out, "See. Look at this shit. After we got married he wanted to take me to a hotel but I was cold so he let me wear his jacket on the bike. These were in the pocket. I jumped off the bike when he was going almost twenty miles an hour. I grabbed a bottle of Jack from a shitty little convenience mart and just got a cab right to the airport."

  Hollace looked at the pictures. They verged on pornographic. He wondered why this girl married such a rather ugly young man. She was very pretty and judging from these photographs he was not an all up to her standard. His mind wandered as he stared blankly at the pictures. How could she possibly ride a motorcycle in that bizarre dress? Resolutely he informed her, "You could do much better than this boy. I suggest getting an annulment."

  "A what?"

  "An annulment. Void your marriage. Have it taken away. Erased."

  "But I love him."

  Hollace said nothing. He held the strip of pictures up for her to see.

  Tears formed in her eyes and she took the liberty of ripping Hollace's breast pocket handkerchief from his suit and blowing her nose in it. "It's so cheap to just quit. I want to work it out. What if that didn't mean anything to him? He loves me, you know."

  Not quite believing her, Hollace refrained from pointing out that running from the situation might not be how to work it out. "Some things are not worth fighting for. Sometimes, on days like this, one must simply assess the situation and resolve to walk away. Simply let the oppressive nature of the situation be what it is and submit to it." Hollace finished his drink resolutely. "Then, and it will no doubt be in short order, you will rise above the thing to new heights. And you will be the better for it."

  "You're one of those people that think every bad experience just builds character and crap like that, huh?" "

  "Possibly." He did not like feeling cornered.

  "I'm more of the ‘shit happens’ school myself."

  Nodding repeatedly in a mildly drunken state, Hollace showed his understanding.

  "Or maybe I should just go balls out and fuck somebody raw. Don't you think? Then we'd be even. Then we could just go on." She recanted when she saw he was shocked. "Annulment. Yeah. I guess. How do you get it?"

  Hollace explained what little he knew and gave the names of service offices that should certainly be able to give her assistance. He was a resourceful man.

  They bought two more drinks and talked about her options as the flight made headway through what breath we share.

  “But it'
s so embarrassing. God. It's so embarrassing."

  Hollace pointed out that throwing tantrums in hoop skirts on an airplane might be in a similar vein. The girl, obviously drunk, laughed. They laughed together about their first impressions of each other. Hollace explained how thoroughly she had drawn the attention of every other passenger. The girl was uplifted by the story and pleased that people had been paying attention to her. She swore she had been unaware. Maybe twenty-four. The girl apologized for making fun of his purple socks. They most certainly were plum. And besides, she liked them.

  The girl decided to change into something more normal so her sister wouldn't freak out when she met her at the gate. The plane began its descent.

  He complimented her tattoo. They talked easily as she unlaced her boots. He commented on the dexterity she had with the laces and she reminded him how long she had been wearing them. She showed him the blisters the boots caused and he noticed the silver ring on her second toe. It had been a gift from a friend. It was from Athens. The friend went to Greece every year with her grandmother to visit her great aunt. Hollace listened and stared at the toes that she wiggled over his lap. Ten toes with rosy gold polish.

  She stood up in the aisle organizing her bag and digging to the bottom for a pair of jeans. She leaned over the bag. Hollace watched her. Her springy curled hair danced around her shoulders. Sitting against the seat had caused them to become ridden with static electricity and more tangled. Hollace imagined this might be what she should have looked like anyway, waking up after her wedding night. He looked at the way her neck stopped and spilled out over the collar bone and ran into two simple reservoirs, her breasts, caught in the cups of that strange 19th century bodice. Without thinking he reached out and ran his finger from her chin down over them. She jerked her head up. They stared at one another.

  "So beautiful." His lower lip was caught by his teeth.

  The girl grabbed her clothes and went to the bathroom to change.