Your mother,
Laura
Later, in the shower, a memory, like a dream, came back to me … showering with my father, he was shampooing my hair, my head came just to his belly button … and outside the bathroom, my mother, laughing, calling, Are you two going to be in there forever?
Sixteen? A man? My own person? Clinging to the slick wet tile I was a child again, a little boy, shivering and close to tears.
Twelve
Every Wednesday and Friday, a big silver refrigerator truck out of Boston delivers fresh fish to Lombardi’s Fish Market on Railroad Ave. on the corner beneath the Interstate overpass. Gene gets ecstatic over eating fresh fish and if he can’t get away from the office himself, he sends me over to Lombardi’s.
Inside, a sign posted on the wall above the scale says, LOMBARDI’S FAMOUS FRESH FISH MARKET! WE HAVE SERVED THE PUBLIC FOR 50 YEARS!! NO ONE DOES IT BETTER THAN WE DO!!! I never read that sign without wondering what it is they do better than anyone else. I took my number card off the sprocket on the counter. The room is small and fishy smelling, and people were packed in like sardines (ha ha). Friday is actually the worst day to go to Lombardi’s because, besides the fresh fish, they also sell fish and chips dinners. Hordes of people come just for that. The door opened and shut constantly as people poured in. All of a sudden I saw Cary Longstreet—or was it Yancey?—right in front of me. I hadn’t even seen her come in, and now she was close enough to touch—but I wouldn’t dare. She had that cool princess-of-the-realm look spread over her face like a mask. I had to remind myself of that little smile she’d given me, a fresh mischievous little smile that had given me heart.
“Cary—” I said, but just then the clerk called my number. “Twenty-four! Step up, please, don’t hold other people up!” She wore a bloodstained white coat like a doctor.
I ordered two dozen clams and a pound of red snapper. “Clean it and leave the head on.” Gene made a fish soup from the head. I glanced over my shoulder at Cary, wondering if she recognized me. She had moved away, toward the other end of the counter, where they sold the fish and chips.
Outside, I hung around, waiting for her. Practice being Drew, I told myself, give her that old Gregoretti smile, that old Gregoretti charm. As soon as she came out, I tossed her a big smile and said, “Hi!”
“Hi.” She put the white bag of fish and chips into the saddlebag of a red boy’s bike and rode off. Was that it? For one moment I looked after her in despair, then I ran after her. I caught up with her at the corner where she was waiting for a break in the traffic.
“Hi,” I said again. “Do you remember me at all? I’m Pete. I came into the shop—”
“I know. Yo’re the one with the friend.”
“No, I told you—the friend—forget him. I’m the one, I’m the guy who wants to know you.”
“Mmm,” she said, and pushed off.
I caught up with her again at the next corner. “Going the same way you are,” I lied.
“Uh huh.”
I ran after her, block after block, barely keeping her in sight. Once, twice, she glanced back at me. At the corner of Elm and Bridge streets, I had a lucky break when a policeman halted traffic for a funeral procession.
I trotted up to Cary. “Listen, don’t you think I’ve run far enough? How about giving me a ride? I’ll pedal.”
“You’re nervy, aren’t you?”
“Hey, I’m not fussy. I’ll ride the handlebars.”
“Where are you going?”
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“What street?”
“Franklin Avenue.”
“What do you know! Just where I’m going!”
“You live on Franklin?”
“I know someone who lives there.” That was the truth—now.
“Who’s that?”
Then another lucky break—I didn’t have to answer. The policeman blew his whistle, beckoning the line of waiting cars forward, and Cary bumped off the curb.
“How about that ride?”
“You are a pest,” she said, but she smiled.
“Don’t you think it’s a sign of character to be persistent? What’s the verdict? Do I keep running or do I go to Franklin Avenue in style?”
She touched one of the little gold bird earrings. “Oh … why not? But I pedal.”
I put my fish into the saddlebag next to her package and hopped up on the handlebars. She bent forward, her head almost touching my back. “This is great,” I said.
“For you.”
“Told you I’d be glad to—”
“No thanks. I don’t let other people ride my bike.”
“Afraid I’ll steal it?”
“You can walk, you know.”
“I’m not complaining. I saw you at the bus stop the other day when it was raining.”
“I didn’t see you.” She bumped up the curb and stopped in front of a little, brown-shingled house with a sagging porch and a tiny front yard. “All off. This is where I live.”
I was surprised. Not a very impressive house for a princess.
“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way to your friend’s,” she said.
“I have a confession to make.” I held on to the handlebars. “My friend on this street is you.”
“Nooo kidding.”
I flushed. “I just wanted to get to know you.”
“You are persistent, aren’t you?”
“A persistent pest, I guess.” I looked at her, hoping she’d deny I was pest. “Well, anyway, thanks for the ride. Now I have a long walk home.”
“You don’t even live around here?”
“I live downtown.”
“Nobody lives downtown.”
“Lots of people live downtown, not just us. Street people—”
“That’s just fancy talk for bums.”
I didn’t want to get into an argument with her on the first day. “People live in the Y’s, too,” I said. “And there’s the Jefferson Hotel—that’s mostly older women—”
“Is that where you live, in the Y?”
“No, I live in a house. I’ll show it to you sometime.” A face appeared at a window. A girl with bangs and glasses tapped on the pane and beckoned to Cary. “Your sister’s calling you,” I said.
Cary wheeled the bike up onto the porch. “’Bye, Pete, it was fun. Oh, wait! Your fish.” She tossed me the package. I caught it and saluted her as she went inside.
Thirteen
“Yancey residence.”
“Can I speak to Cary, please?”
“This is Cary.”
“Hi! This is Pete.”
“Who?”
“Pete. Pete Greenwood. The one you gave a ride on your bike. The fish market? Don’t you remember me?”
“Of course I remember you.”
“Well … hi, again! Ah … how’re you doing?”
“Fine.”
“Ah … just thought I’d call and say hello.”
“Okay.”
“So! … Hello.
“Hello.”
“So, ah … Cary! It’s great talking to you. Listen, didn’t you just say ‘Yancey residence’? Isn’t your last name Longstreet?”
“What’d you say your last name was?”
“Greenwood. Green. Wood. Forest, trees, that’s the way you remember it.”
“All right, Pete Green Wood. How’d you get my phone number? I didn’t give it to you.”
“Ah …”
“And something else—how do you know my last name?”
“Would you believe I’m psychic?”
“No.”
“How about—it came to me in a dream.”
“You’re a clown, aren’t you?”
“Actually, I’m a very serious fellow.”
“You don’t sound it. Are you buzzed?”
“Not tonight. I’m giddy, Cary. Can you guess why?”
“Do you drink a lot?”
“Just a little wine sometimes. Why
?”
“I don’t like what drinking does to people. It makes them sloppy and disgusting. I used to drink some when I was younger, but no more.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to get away from yourself, to let go.”
“Maybe. I still want to know how you got my phone number.”
“Did you never hear of the great Sherlock Holmes who could re-create entire personalities from the merest details? What if I told you that I am Holmes reincarnated and that by riding the handlebars of your bike, I deduced your name and your phone number?”
“Look, can I have a straight answer?”
“You sound mad.”
“I never get mad.”
“Tell me your secret! I get mad all the time, I just suddenly—pow, I explode. But I’m not violent, don’t worry, all I do is yell and stomp around and then I’m okay.”
“You still haven’t answered my questions.”
“Okay, this is straight. I saw it on your notebook—”
“You snooped.”
“Cary, I just happened to see it. Your notebook was out on the counter—I didn’t try to memorize your phone number, it just stuck in my head. I called you once before about two weeks ago. Your mother answered and said it was too late for you to come to the phone. It was ten o’clock, I didn’t think that was so late.”
“It is here.”
“That’s why I called early this time. Where do you go to school?”
“Jeff High. I’m a junior.”
“A junior! How old are you, Cary?”
“I’ll be seventeen in two months. How old are you?”
“Do I have to answer that?”
“What are you, really young? Twelve or something?”
“Twelve! I’m sixteen.”
“That’s not so bad. Pete, I have to hang up now, my fifteen minutes are up.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s the limit on phone calls in our house.”
“I never heard anything like that. What do they have, a timer on you? How about sixteen minutes? Do they cut the cord if you go over?”
“Sure, and then they lock me in the attic. I really have to hang up now, Pete—”
“Cary, wait. I want to see you again. I’ll come look for you at Jeff—”
“You’ll never find me, Pete, there’s a thousand kids there. ’Bye, Pete, it’s been fun.”
“Cary! Cary Longstreet! Listen, don’t go yet, I have to tell you something … I love you! Did you hear me? I’ll probably never have the nerve to say it again. Cary? … Cary! Oh, well. You’re going to be sorry you didn’t hang on to hear that.”
Fourteen
“Over here, Pete.” Joanie Casson waved to me from the lunch line where she was standing with Drew. It had been raining steadily for hours and, for once, the cafeteria had business.
“Drew and I saw you this morning near the trophy case,” Joanie said as I joined them. “You walked right by us, head in the clouds. Cosmic thoughts?” Joanie was probably the most artistic person in Winston High, loads of talent, her paintings were always winning prizes. She was probably also the thinnest person in the entire school. Really, it was strange looking at her with Drew: the twig and the tree.
“Ah, well, there’s this girl—” I said.
“A girl?” Joanie said, loading her tray with food. Today was foot-long-hot-dog-with-oven-baked-beans day. Joanie took double helpings. “You have a girl friend, Pete?”
I checked out the tuna fish sandwich for one with mayo dripping over the edges, the way I liked it. Did Joanie have to sound that surprised?
“Who is she?” Drew said. “Is she pretty?”
“Why do you always have to know right away if a girl is pretty?” Joanie said.
“I don’t want my friend stuck with a dog.”
“I really hate that kind of talk about girls! As if all that counts is their looks. It’s dumb, Drew.”
“I’m just teasing him, Joanie. What makes you so sensitive?”
“What makes you so insensitive?” She took her tray and walked away.
Drew shook a fist after Joanie. “I really love that girl, but sometimes I wonder. Who’s your girl, someone I know?”
“She goes to Jefferson. Her name is Cary Longstreet.”
We walked toward Joanie’s table. “Maybe I should meet her,” Drew said, loud enough for Joanie to hear, “especially if she’s great-looking. I’ll check her out for you.”
Joanie leaned toward him and spoke quietly. “I bet Pete really appreciates your thoughtfulness—you turd.”
Drew flushed. “You play rough, Joanie.”
“You don’t?”
We all ate in silence for a few minutes, then Joanie said, “You coming out to watch the game with Salem High after school, Pete? Drew’s starting.”
“Salem’s no challenge for Drew. We’re going to win, aren’t we?” After school I was going nowhere but the Nut Shoppe.
“Even so,” Joanie said. “I love watching Drew pitch. He’s so good and sooo beautiful out there. Irresistible to an artist.” She put her arm through his. “You over your mad? I’m over mine.”
After school, I made the mistake of stopping in Gene’s office to ask for a couple of bucks. The instant I stepped through the door, I became suddenly indispensable. “Oh, Pete, good,” my uncle said. “We’re all out of stamps and we’re trying to get the billing done.” He dipped a pair of frames into the hot salt solution and bent them carefully. “Mrs. Silk will tell you what we need at the post office. When you get back, you can help her stuff the envelopes. You don’t have anything else to do, do you?” he added.
“Actually, I do.”
“Well, this shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”
Wrong. By the time I left the office, the few minutes had turned into a few hours and when I got to the Nut Shoppe, Cary was just leaving. “Closed for the night?” I said, coming up behind her.
She turned, looking startled, then smiled. “Oh, it’s Pete Green Wood. Quelle coincidence.”
“Just happen to be walking down this street on the way to see a friend,” I said, falling into step with her.
“Again? And once more you’re going the same way I am?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” We stopped on the corner and she leaned into the street, looking for the bus. “Are you going to be home tonight?” I said. “I was thinking of calling you. Is fifteen minutes really as long as you can stay on this phone?”
“That’s the rule of the house.”
“Your folks are pretty strict.”
“Yes, they are, but that’s okay, I don’t mind. There are other compensations.”
“Which are?”
“They’re wonderful and loving, and that’s really the most important thing in the world. At least I think so. Oh, here comes my bus.”
“Cary,” I said quickly, “how about doing something together Sunday? Maybe we could go for a bike ride—”
“You on my handlebars? No thanks, Green Wood.”
“I have a bike too.” I hadn’t used the old blue charger for a couple of years, but it was waiting patiently for me in the back shed.
She shifted her books. “Anyway, I don’t go out with boys. No boyfriends.”
I started to laugh, then, seeing her expression, which was completely serious, I said, trying to sound truthful, “I don’t want to be your boyfriend.” And I added, “Are you one of those women who hate men?” It was just one of those jokey, offhand remarks. In Joanie’s terms, a dumb thing to say.
“No,” Cary said very softly, “but I might be … I really might be.” And then something happened—her eyes didn’t exactly go out of focus, but they changed, deepened, and her face changed too, and I had the sensation that she had left me, left the street, was absolutely somewhere else. It was exactly as strange and surprising a moment, and as powerful and almost shocking in its effect on me, as that moment in the Nut Shoppe, weeks ago, when the Princess had been transformed into a pleading little girl. And j
ust like that moment, I saw this change happen, then saw it unhappen.
The bus arrived and stood at the corner, dirty and wounded-looking, huffing out exhaust fumes. The crowd surged toward the door and Cary’s eyes came back to the present. She went up the steps, taking out her token.
“Cary,” I called. “Sunday? A friendly bike ride, okay?”
She looked over her shoulder. “I’ll let you know. I have to talk to my mother.”
All the way home I thought about Cary. There was something odd about her—not exactly strange, but—different. Different. That was the word that popped into my mind. Different? Wasn’t that me to a tee? Me with my secrets, lies? My name is Pete Greenwood. My parents are dead. I love baseball, doesn’t every average American boy love baseball? I sniffed the warm spring air, as if I could sniff out who Cary really was, and what that difference was in her, that difference that made me more eager than ever to know her.
Fifteen
Two dark enormous figures ran down an alley where I stood in a doorway. As they passed me, I realized they were not only enormous but also as tiny as toy soldiers. I knew they were looking for me, but they passed right by me.
I woke up with a cry. The sun came into the room in bars through the Venetian blinds. I lay in bed, letting the dream go. It wasn’t all that hard to figure out.
“Pete?” Gene rapped on my door. “Fried eggs if you get up right now.”
“Okay.” I rolled out of bed, yawning. Then I remembered Cary’s phone call last night and did my push-ups in record time.
“Can you come to my house Sunday around two o’clock with your bike?” she’d asked.
“Then it’s all set?”
“Not really. My parents want to meet you and ask you some questions.”
“Questions?” I said. “Like what?”
“I don’t know exactly, Pete, just some stuff to make sure they feel okay about us being friends.” She emphasized friends. “And, Pete, they’re real bears about punctuality, so make it as close to two as possible, okay?”
I hopped around the room, pulling on jeans and a striped tee-shirt. I’d never heard of Drew’s getting the once-over from anybody’s parents.
Downtown Page 7
