Writing on the Wall

by Christopher Cleary

  Megan’s mom stood silently outside the car. Her smile was constant, like a five-year-old home from her trip to the dentist and proud of her no-cavities report.

  Megan found the CD she wanted to listen to and was ready to go. “Mom?” she said impatiently.

  “Yes, honey?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Donnie looks good in that hat. Don’t you think?”

  Megan always played off how good she thought Donnie looked in his Pirates hat. This time, she replied, “I think he looks hot in it.”

  Donnie’s head whipped to his left to see if Megan was serious or being sarcastic. Her impish grin achieved what she wanted. Donnie was unable to decipher the true intention of her statement.

  Mrs. Priddy set her hands on the door and said to Donnie, “We’d like to have you and your mother over for dinner on Saturday. Do you guys already have plans?”

  Donnie and his mother never had plans. They never did anything together. She worked every other Saturday night at 10:00. The upcoming Saturday was a night off.

  “Um, no… We don’t have plans. Ah, I’ll… I’ll ask her when we get back.”

  “Super-fantastic. I can’t believe that I haven’t met her yet. I bet that she’s a great mother! She raised such a wonderful son.”

  Megan yelled, “Mom!” and turned the music on full blast. “Gotta go!” Donnie, who was sitting right next to her, could barely hear her voice over the wailing guitars.

  After they pulled into the street, Donnie turned the music down and said, “You could have warned me that was coming.”

  “I had no idea,” she pleaded. “In fact, it’s really strange. Saturday nights are my mom’s only night out alone with my dad.”

  “Never mind that,” Donnie said. “How’s her cooking?”

  SIXTEEN

  “The Priddys invited us to dinner Saturday night,” Donnie informed his mother later that evening.

  She answered, “I have to work Saturday.”

  Donnie sat at the small table in the long but narrow kitchen of their home. His mother prepared their dinner on the counter next to the stove. It was nearly 9:00 at night.

  “Close the book, Donnie, and get us a couple sodas.”

  Donnie shut his book, placed it on top of his notebook, and shoved them against the wall to make room for his plate.

  “You don’t work this Saturday,” he said, pulling a two-liter from the refrigerator. “You just worked this past Saturday.”

  “Oh, I meant that I’m busy this Saturday.”

  “OK,” Donnie was skeptical. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going bowling.”

  She put their plates of tacos on the table and he set the drinks down. They both sat. Neither spoke as they wolfed down their first two tacos. Without saying anything, his mother placed a third taco on each of their plates.

  When she sat back down, Donnie said, “It’s just that Megan is my best friend and I thought that it would be kind of cool to, um… They’re new here, so they don’t know… They never knew him so they probably… It won’t feel like they’re judging us.”

  Mrs. Betts’s chewing slowed to a near stop.

  Donnie continued, “I’d like to go. I like her. It’s nice to have friends and do stuff. I think that it might be fun. I’m going. I’d like it if you came too. Do you understand?”

  She wasn’t going bowling on Saturday. She rarely left the house for anything but work or groceries. Now that Donnie had his driver’s license, she seldom even made the trip to the store. Bowling was a poor, phony excuse that she blurted to get out of going.

  “It’s only across the street,” Donnie said.

  The throbbing pain left by her husband’s suicide interfered with her ability to properly parent her only child. The best way to dull the pain was to ignore it. The only way to do that was to stop caring. She couldn’t isolate her husband’s death from everything else so she would stop caring about everything. This would last anywhere from a day to a week. Laundry would pile up and she would oversleep. When she snapped out of it, she became overprotective of Donnie. She worried about her son’s happiness and losing him. Then the day would come again when it hurt too much and she’d revert to not caring.

  She was currently suffering through a careless phase, but Donnie’s polite encouragement pulled her from the fog and helped her remember the importance of her son.

  Donnie walked to the refrigerator to get more soda for them. With his back turned to her, she sighed. “Ask Mrs. Priddy what time she would like us and tell her that we’ll bring dessert.”

  He closed the refrigerator. “Thanks, mom.”

  On Saturday, their roles were reversed. Since their shifts did not coincide, Donnie hadn’t seen Megan all day. She let him know on Friday that they would be grilling out, something her father claimed he loved to do but never did. Not seeing Megan before going over that evening made Donnie nervous. With each passing minute, the Priddy house across the street appeared more ominous. He never felt awkward around Megan, but around strangers, he usually did.

  Donnie’s mother noticed his anxiety and asked, “What’s the matter?”

  “What if something goes wrong?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. If I knew, I could prepare for it and nothing would be the matter.”

  “It will be fine, Donnie. I’m sure they’ll make us feel at home.”

  This thought was only somewhat comforting. He didn’t necessarily like how he felt at home. Depending on his mother’s mood, he either felt ignored or like revered royalty. He desired consistency.

  When it was time, they walked across the street with their dessert.

  The inside of the Priddy home was like a museum, not because it housed rare artifacts or extravagant artwork (although they did have a few nice pieces) but because of the meticulous arrangement of everything. Donnie didn’t know how they lived there. He was afraid to walk on the carpet or upset the neatness of the room. He didn’t feel comfortable until he was ushered to the only spot that he was familiar with, the deck in the backyard.

  He didn’t feel comfortable there for long, either. Megan’s father was preparing the grill. He definitely did his shopping in the big and tall man’s section of the store because he was both.

  When he saw Donnie, he set down the grill brush. Mr. Priddy wiped his hands off with a towel and rested them on his hips before saying, “So here’s the Donnie Betts that’s been running around with my daughter all summer.”

  “No, sir,” Donnie replied. “I’m the Donnie Betts that lives across the street. I’ve heard about that other one, though. Real unsavory character.” Nothing like breaking the ice with a joke, right?

  Mr. Priddy’s response was a brief laugh that sounded like a gun shot through a silencer, “Heh.” He looked Donnie over for a few seconds before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Donnie.” Donnie’s weak grip left an unfavorable first impression on him.

  When Donnie’s mother commented on how nice their house was, Mrs. Priddy insisted on giving her a tour.

  “Would you like to come along, Donnie?” Mrs. Priddy asked.

  He didn’t see the point in looking at other people’s homes, but recognized it as an opportunity to get away from Mr. Priddy and regroup. Before he got the chance to reply, Megan answered for him.

  “Maybe later,” she said and discreetly winked in his direction.

  Mrs. Priddy and Mrs. Betts went inside.

  “Want something to drink?” Megan asked him.

  “Sure.”

  “Are you twenty-one?” her father asked.

  “No.”

  Mr. Priddy pointed with his spatula to a red cooler with a white top. “Help yourself to anything but the beer.”

  Until that evening, Megan had forgotten how shy Donnie could be. When alone with him in Unit #143, Donnie told stories and joked around. He spoke his mind more freely. At dinner, he didn’t offer any more than he had to. That’s not to say that he still w
asn’t charming.

  Megan could tell that her mother was enamored by him; however, it was also obvious to her that her father was skeptical of him, but she didn’t know why. That didn’t bother her, though. She didn’t need her father’s approval to date Donnie. The guy was hardly around.

  Donnie was the model of politeness. When asked questions, he didn’t just shake his head no or nod his head yes. He answered with complete sentences and full thoughts. Occasionally, he would make a few subtle jokes, but Megan seemed to be the only one there who understood his humor. Maybe Mrs. Betts did, but she never showed an appreciation for it.

  Donnie was surprised by how much his mother interacted with the Priddys. He wished that she would stay that way forever. He considered that for a moment and changed his mind. He preferred that she act at the Priddys’ the way she acted at home. That was his true mother these days.

  When dinner was over, Megan said, “I’m going to give Donnie that tour now.”

  “That’s nice, honey,” her mother replied.

  As they traversed the hallways, Donnie asked, “How do you get around in here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everything is so…,” he searched for the right word, “perfect.”

  “Perfect?”

  “Yeah, like everything is right where it should be. Aren’t you scared of messing stuff up?”

  She laughed at him, “No.”

  The last stop on the tour was Megan’s bedroom. She walked inside. Donnie stayed in the doorway.

  “What’s up?” she said. “I thought you’d be excited to see my room.”

  “I am, but,” his long arm reached behind his ear where he scratched a non-existent itch, “I sort of have this vision of it. I kind of have a picture in my mind of how it should look and, um… I don’t… I like my interpretation.”

  “Screw your interpretation,” she said taking his hand. “This is the real thing!” She walked him inside.

  The room was two things: purple and white.

  The walls were a soft yet vibrant shade of purple. The carpet and the ceiling were white. All the trim, doors, and closets were white. The bookcase with hinged doors and the nightstand were white. Her desk was white. The bed was white, but the comforter was purple. There were two lamps. They were white with purple shades. Even the clock/radio’s numbers were purple.

  What was even more amazing was that those two colors were almost all that he saw. He knew that she had CDs and schoolbooks in the room, but they weren’t anywhere to be seen. Everything that wasn’t purple or white was neatly hidden away.

  “You like it?” she said.

  Donnie realized that he had been standing in the middle of her room with his mouth gaping open.

  He replied slowly, “Yeah.”

  “What comes to mind when you see it?”

  Donnie went for the obvious, “Purple and white?”

  “Yeah! Isn’t it great?”

  He nodded. Donnie expected some posters on the walls and a few CDs lying around. He thought that he’d see magazine clipping of guys here and some clothes spread out over there. It would be evident to anyone that the room belonged to a teenager, but somehow, it was a very mature room.

  “I sleep with pigs every night,” she informed him with a smile.

  “Really?”

  “Yup, look!” She pulled back the comforter to reveal bed sheets covered in pigs. “How cute are they?”

  He didn’t bother hiding his indifference, “Adorable.”

  She threw the comforter back down and pulled a picture off of the dresser. The frame was white, but the actual picture was one of the few things in the room that wasn’t either purple or white.

  She hugged the frame to her chest. The photo inside it was hidden from Donnie’s view.

  “K, Donnie,” she said. “I’m going to show you something now. It’s not to be talked about after today.”

  “I’m ready.”

  Staring at his face to see his reaction, she flipped the picture around and held it at arm’s length. It was of Megan Priddy and two other girls. Megan’s hair, straight and without style, was the color of brown smog.

  “That,” she said, “is my natural hair color. What do you think?”

  “You’re cute.”

  “Bullshit!” She said it too loud. She covered her mouth and poked her head out the door to make sure no one was around to hear. They were still on the deck. “I’m chunky and my hair is blah.”

  “Let me see,” Donnie said, taking the picture from her. “Well, you’re cuter now.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re older and… well…” He confessed, “Your hair is awesome. I love your hair. The color, the texture, the subtle detail… I mean, when I see you, I want to put my head against yours so I can be closer to it.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “Now?”

  Megan’s eyebrows crinkled in a “what do you think?” kind of way just before she sung, “Noooo.” She wrapped a lock of hair behind her ear. “But if you wanted to nibble on this sometime, I wouldn’t stop you.”

  “Hmm.” Donnie’s eyes returned to the photo. “Who are the other girls?”

  “Friends from my old school. I never talk to them anymore.”

  “Why are you wearing a jean jacket?”

  “Alllll right,” she said, grabbing for the picture, “that’s enough.”

  Donnie pulled back so she couldn’t take it. “Wait.” He inspected the photo again. Something else was different. He looked at the picture, then to Megan, then back at the picture, and then back to Megan again.

  She noticed his comparative glances and asked, “What?”

  Megan had matured. More specifically, Megan’s breasts had matured. They were considerably larger now than when they met. How could he have missed them all this time?

  “Nothing,” he answered.

  SEVENTEEN

  Megan’s mother called up from the bottom of the staircase, “Kids, finish up and come on down for dessert.”

  Megan gave Donnie a peck on the cheek and scooted off down the hall. Donnie set the picture down on her desk. From the top of the stairs, Megan called back to him, “C’mon.”

  He followed her down the steps and out the back door.

  The three adults were sitting around the table. The grill was turned off and the plates had been cleared. Donnie was surprised to see a beer in front of his mom. She typically didn’t drink, but must have felt obligated to join the Priddys in their consumption of alcohol. Seeing her with a beer brought back memories of his father’s heavy drinking. He shoved these thoughts into shadows of his head.

  Megan lifted the lid of the cooler and pulled out two root beers.

  “What were you kids doing?” Mr. Priddy wanted to know.

  “I was just showing him around,” Megan said.

  “Did you show him your room?” he asked.

  “Yup.”

  Mrs. Priddy asked Donnie, “What did you think?”

  “Nice.” All of them continued looking at him, expecting more. What could he say? It was solid purple and white. He didn’t want to state the evident so he reached for what was out of the ordinary. “The pig bed sheets were cool.”

  Mr. Priddy’s eyes narrowed. “What were you doing looking at the bed sheets?”

  “I was showing him the pigs, daddy,” Megan explained.

  “Hmm,” he replied with disapproval.

  Donnie’s mother began slicing the pie they had brought.

  “What flavor is it, Mrs. Betts?” Megan asked, taking her seat at the table.

  “Why don’t you ask Donnie?”

  Three pairs of Priddy eyes fell on Donnie.

  Megan officially asked him, “What flavor of pie is it, Donnie?”

  His throat dried up like a hamburger under a heat lamp. “Blackberry,” he croaked and raised his root beer to his lips.

  The Priddy women “ooohh”ed and Mr. Priddy repeated what he heard, “Blackberry.”

 
“Go on, Donnie,” his mother prodded. “Where did the berries come from?”

  His sip of soda didn’t help the dryness. “I picked them.”

  “Oh really!” Mrs. Priddy said. “Fresh blackberries! How nice is that?”

  Megan smiled proudly. It was just like Donnie to do something like pick fresh berries for dessert.

  “I just did the picking,” Donnie said. “My mother did the rest.”

  When Donnie’s mother began handing out the slices, Megan prompted her, “Just a sliver for me, please.”

  Mr. Priddy centered his slice of pie in front of him and asked Donnie, “Where did you find them?”

  “What?”

  “The blackberries.”

  “Oh, they grow in the woods across the street from my job.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “It’s a driving range.”

  Mr. Priddy became more interested in what Donnie had to say. He set his fork down and asked, “What do you do there?”

  “I retrieve golf balls.”

  Mrs. Betts said, “Honey, I told you this…”

  “It’s not like the driving range at the country club, dad,” Megan said. “He doesn’t go around in a cart that automatically picks up the balls when he drives over them. Donnie manually picks each one up.”

  “Does that get exhausting?” Mrs. Priddy asked.

  “I don’t mind it,” Donnie said.

  “He’s a good golfer, too,” Megan added. “How far can you drive the ball, Donnie?”

  “Oh, um…” Donnie was reluctant to speak about his golfing skills. “I’m not really a good golfer. I’ve never been off the range. I wouldn’t know what to do on a real course…”

  “Don’t be modest,” Mr. Priddy dared him. “How far can you drive the ball?”

  Donnie shrugged as if he wasn’t sure, “Two-hundred yards?”

  “At least!” Megan said.

  “Is that good?” Donnie’s mom asked. She didn’t know that Donnie used the driving range to practice. She just thought of it as his job.

  “Sure, it’s good,” Megan’s dad said. He picked up his fork and went to work on his pie. He spoke in between bites. “Donnie, as you may know, I have two daughters. I love them dearly, but they’re not going to do me any good in the upcoming father/son tournament at the club. If I can finagle it so you could play with me…”