Alice Bliss

by Laura Harrington

  Ellie hugs the box after they seal it up and plants a big kiss right on Dad’s name.

  They rush into jackets and boots and head to the post office. As if what they’re all feeling right now will reach him, as if the hustle and the bustle will somehow cross the miles.

  They stop at Gram’s, where she has very carefully packed up a loaf of Matt’s favorite harvest bread made with pumpkin and walnuts. She has followed the army guidelines to the letter and has real hopes this bread will make it and still taste good by the time it gets there.

  Slipping inside the post office at a whisper before twelve, they’re giddy because they’ve made it in time. The two boxes go on the scale: they fill out the customs forms and pay the postman. But then there’s the walk from the counter to the door, with the postman following behind to lock up. Just those few yards and the air starts to go out of the balloon. Outside, Angie pulls her coat around her as though she could hug away the loneliness, and reaches out to take Ellie’s hand.

  “Let’s go to Gram’s for lunch.”

  “I meant to ask if I could go to Gram’s with Henry.”

  “That’s fine. Ellie and I can have a booth all to ourselves, right sweetheart?”

  Alice takes a look at her mother standing on the steps of the post office squinting into the rain. She wants to say, I see it; I notice all the things we are not saying, all the moments we are silently agreeing to ignore. It’s like a shadow that follows them and falls between them; this other life full of other feelings, this yawning emptiness where her father belongs.

  And then Henry is there, materializing out of thin air, twirling Ellie off her feet and singing something right into her ear that makes her laugh out loud.

  “Don’t tell,” he whispers.

  “I won’t,” she grins back at him.

  They walk to Gram’s and for some strange reason it’s pretty quiet. The line out the door is gone. Ellie and Angie sit at a booth while Henry and Alice settle in at the counter.

  Sally, who is trying yet another shade of strawberry blonde, comes over to pour coffee as Gram sticks her head out from the kitchen to say hi.

  “Hi, Gram!”

  Ellie rushes her for a hug.

  “I’ll join you for a cup of coffee as soon as I can.”

  Gram gives Alice a kiss and says to both of them: “If you want to help me clean up, breakfast’s on me.”

  “But I wanted to . . .” Henry begins.

  He gets off the stool and whispers to Gram: “I invited Alice, Mrs. Bird.”

  “Really.”

  “I’ve got snow shoveling money.”

  “You’re too young to date.”

  “This is not a date. And her mother’s right there.”

  “Don’t go getting any ideas.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Yes, you would.”

  “Not in front of you and Sally and Ellie and her mother I wouldn’t.”

  “I could still use your help with sweeping and washing the floors and the final round of pots and pans. For that you get the employee discount.”

  “Deal.”

  “This is not a date, Henry.”

  “Absolutely not, Mrs. Bird.”

  Henry slides back onto his stool next to Alice.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he says. “I’m having the lumberjack special.”

  “You are not! You can’t possibly eat all that.”

  “Wanna bet? Are you actually drinking coffee?”

  “With a lot of milk and sugar. Wanna try it?”

  She pushes the mug toward him. He sips. Considers. Hates it.

  Sally sits down next to them to take their orders, leans into Henry, with a lot of cleavage, and enjoys his blush.

  “You should’ve seen it in here an hour ago. All morning! A madhouse! We’re out of every kind of bread except white and English muffins. No more eggs Benedict, no more Canadian bacon.”

  “You got the lumberjack special?” Henry asks, looking anywhere but at Sally.

  “Bacon or sausage?”

  “Bacon.”

  “How do you want your eggs?”

  “Over easy.”

  “Pancakes or French toast?”

  “Get the French toast,” Alice says.

  “French toast, please.”

  “Is this a date?” Sally wants to know.

  “What?” Alice asks.

  “Your Gram’s all worried this could be a date or something and you’re too young.”

  “It’s not a date,” they both say simultaneously, and perhaps too loudly.

  “Alice helps me with math all the time. I just wanted to do something nice for her.”

  “Awwww. . . . The usual for you, Alice?”

  “I want my dad’s usual.”

  “Corned beef hash comin’ up.”

  There’s an awkward pause as Sally shouts their order into the kitchen. Alice glances up into the long mirror over the counter and catches a glimpse of Ellie snuggled up close to Angie. Angie is stroking Ellie’s hair, lost in thought.

  “You can’t do anything around here without everybody trying to . . .”

  “I think it’s really nice, Henry.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “But let’s not get weird, okay?”

  “No, no, no. Of course.”

  “Like you’re acting nervous and stuff. And you should quit it.”

  “Okay.”

  He looks at her. He looks away.

  “Listen . . .” and he trails off, uncertain how to proceed.

  “What?”

  “You know how there’s the dance coming up in May?”

  “Henry!”

  “What?”

  “Okay. Wait a minute. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions. Is there somebody you want to ask?”

  “Duh, Alice.”

  “Julie? Julie Watson?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Her sidekick, Abby?”

  “You, Alice. I want to ask you.”

  “Henry!”

  “What’s so wrong with that?”

  “We’re like almost related.”

  “We are not!”

  “Okay, but—”

  “I even asked my mom to teach me how to dance.”

  “You want to dance with me?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think the dances your mom knows how to dance may not be relevant in this case.”

  “Well, there’s all the stuff about how to hold your partner for a slow dance, and not looking at your feet, and apologizing if you step on her feet, and offering to get punch.”

  “Manners.”

  “Dance manners. Yeah.”

  Alice puts more sugar in her coffee.

  “You are full of surprises, Henry.”

  “Somebody else already asked you.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Are you saying no?”

  “No, I’m not saying no, I’m just saying . . .”

  Their food arrives.

  “If it’s no, tell me quick. I can’t stand long drawn out no’s.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. It’ll be fun.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah!”

  “You honestly think so.”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Have you ever had one minute of fun in that gym before?”

  “No, but—”

  “Maybe if it was just you and me, Henry, it might be fun. But our classmates will be there. Remember them?”

  “I don’t care about them.”

  “Do we have to get dressed up?”

  “Yes! That’s part of the fun.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? Is that yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we’ll get dressed up and everything.”

  “And we’ll send my dad a picture.”

  “My mom even said she’d drive us.”


  “Let’s walk like we always do.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t you think that would be kind of cool at night?”

  “Will your mom let you?”

  “Probably. Can I have a bite of your French toast?”

  “Sure.”

  “Gram makes the best French toast in the world.”

  He passes her the plate.

  “We could get Uncle Eddie to pick us up. In one of his retro cars.”

  “That would be awesome. Maybe a convertible. Maybe he’d wear a chauffeur’s hat and be the first car idling at the door when everybody comes out.”

  “Yeah. Maybe he would.”

  Henry, relieved, tucks into his food. Gram comes out and sits down in the booth with Angie and Ellie. Sally joins them. Alice is looking at everything. Henry with egg yolk on his upper lip, Gram tired and asking Ellie to rub her shoulders, Sally looking a little haggard, like she’s got a headache, maybe left over from Friday night, maybe from more trouble with one of her boys, Angie stretched out with her head resting against the back of the booth, Ellie kneeling behind Gram working on her shoulders with her little hands.

  Sally gets up and puts the CLOSED sign in the door and then flips the radio to her favorite country station. A song of lost love fills the room as Sally waltzes across the floor to start wiping down the counters.

  “That Teddy Thompson’s got a nice voice,” Sally says.

  “That’s not all he’s got,” Gram adds.

  “Gram!”

  “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers.”

  “What does that mean?” Alice wants to know.

  Angie is laughing and covering Ellie’s ears.

  “Means he’s so fine he can break all the rules,” Gram says.

  Henry dips his head so low it’s almost in his plate. Alice turns her back on the sight of Gram, Sally, and Angie cracking up over Teddy Thompson and concentrates on composing the perfect bite: hash, egg with some soft yolk, plenty of pepper, and a dab of ketchup. She puts it in her mouth and closes her eyes and tries to let the taste bring her dad into focus inside of her. It doesn’t work, not that she was really expecting it to. Mostly she thinks, not bad, but I wish I’d ordered waffles.

  April 10th

  Alice arrives home from practice to find Angie on the phone with Matt. Angie gives her a quick smile, then turns her back and closes the kitchen door. Alice walks in anyway.

  “Is it Dad? Can I talk to him?”

  Angie waves her away and closes the door behind her. So Alice stands just outside the closed kitchen door, furious. She can occasionally hear her dad’s voice, but very few words. She waits a minute until her mom is distracted again and pushes the door open a crack. Now she can hear the excitement in his voice.

  “C’mon, honey. It’s what we’ve trained for.”

  “You promised me, Matt—”

  “It’s the army, remember? They make the decisions.”

  “This is what you wanted. Admit it.”

  “Angie . . .”

  There’s a pause.

  “How are the kids?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Are you getting my checks okay?”

  “Two so far.”

  “I know they’re slow, but that’s pretty good. It means we’re in the system. Are you getting my letters?”

  “They take about ten days.”

  “But they’re getting there?”

  “Yeah. They’re great, Matt.”

  “Write me. Write me more. You don’t know what a letter means.”

  “I will.”

  “I wrote to both girls today. Tell them, okay?”

  “I will.”

  “I’ve gotta go.”

  “Matt, this is so hard.”

  “I know. I know it is.”

  “I wish you could call more.”

  “Me, too. But we’re moving around so much right now.”

  “Come home to me.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Stay safe.”

  “I love you, Angie. I love you.”

  Alice lets the door close completely. She can hear Angie hanging up the receiver and then crossing to the sink where she turns on the tap.

  Alice retreats to the hall table where, breaking with tradition, she picks up the letter addressed to her and tears it open, not waiting for Angie or Ellie, not waiting for anyone.

  Dear Alice,

  It was great to get your letter and hear about your running. I’m so proud of you. I want to meet that girl Ginger on your team. And B. D., too.

  You asked me to describe Falluja. There’s all the stuff you’ve heard about: the trash, the bombed-out buildings, the piles of white rocks, the dead wires, the burned cars. But there’s so much else that doesn’t make it into the news. There are kids playing soccer. There are goats, and outhouses, and even beds on rooftops. Date palms, and sandcolored buildings, razor wire, fences, blast walls. From rooftops you can see the river snaking through the city and the network of irrigation canals and the desert in the distance. The dust is so fine it coats everything: your hair, your face, your throat, your teeth. The mosques—there are two big ones—are really beautiful—green and cobalt blue domes that you can see from everywhere in the city.

  Some of the market places are still thriving and the Andaloos Market, near us, is lively as anything. You can buy everything from sodas to car parts to T-shirts, sandals, scarves, soccer balls, even furniture, all along a crowded street barely wide enough for a HMM WV to pass through.

  They sell delicious flatbread that marines call “Muj bread.” It looks like a tortilla. Two bucks for 24 pieces. It’s a deal. Great with my morning coffee. If only. Ha ha!

  Write me. I love your letters. And I love you.

  Dad

  April 14th

  There is no practice today. B.D. is sick or something. Alice feels lost.

  Drifting past the high school playing fields, headed for the cutthrough to the elementary school, Alice crosses the track, starts up the hill and steps in dog poop. Shit! All these people who walk their dogs here; they know the leash laws! They know that kids use these paths. Idiots! She’s stumbling around trying to wipe the crap off in the grass, and looks up to see John Kimball laughing at her. The cutest guy in school who has never so much as glanced her way ever, not even once, not that she cares; now he takes a moment from doing something spectacular on the baseball field, now he decides to stop and look at her.

  “Asshole!” she shouts. Which only makes him laugh louder. “Asshole!” she shouts again and to her amazement, he drops his mitt and heads over to her.

  “Hey, I’m sorry.”

  “Go away.”

  “Listen—”

  “You’re just making it worse.”

  “No, that was stupid. I didn’t mean—”

  “Didn’t mean what? You’re so full of shit.”

  “You’re crying.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “I didn’t know you could cry and be mad at the same time.”

  “You don’t know much, do you?”

  “Okay, okay,” he says, and starts backing off, still looking at her.

  She looks down and can’t believe her sneaker. This must’ve been some really big dog.

  “Alice, right?” He calls out to her.

  “What?”

  “Your name’s Alice, right?”

  She looks past John and sees Stephie and Jeremy Baskin holding hands, standing with a bunch of kids, and realizes they’ve been watching and of course they’re laughing. They’re all laughing at crazy Alice Bliss.

  Fuck you, Alice thinks, as she heads blindly toward the path through the woods. She’s stumbling around like an idiot and tripping over rocks and careening into branches, which are lashing her face. Is that blood? Is her face scratched? Oh, who cares, she just wants to get this shit off her sneaker; she’s madly scraping away on rocks, on roots, in the leaves and pine needles, and good god—it’s almost
coming up over her socks! when Henry appears.

  “Alice, what are you doing here?”

  Why does he sound so mad, she wonders as she grabs the sweatshirt she’s got tied around her waist. She can’t believe she is wiping her face and blowing her nose on her favorite sweatshirt.

  “I thought you had track.”

  She rolls up the sweatshirt and stuffs it in her backpack.

  “It was canceled.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What difference does it make?! I’ve been leaving band practice early every day for three weeks to pick up Ellie. Not that you’ve noticed! Not that you care! Not that you’ve ever even bothered to say thank you!”

  “I didn’t—”

  “What is that smell?”

  She looks at her shoe.

  “Oh, my God, that’s gross.”

  And he turns and heads back to school.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Maybe if I make it through a whole rehearsal once or twice Mr. Brooks won’t drop me from band and take away my clarinet solo.”

  “Why are you so mad at me?”

  “Jeez, Alice! You are not the only person on the planet!”

  Well, I know that, Alice thinks, as she watches Henry hurry away from her. She looks at his thin back and narrow shoulders and lowslung pants and too heavy backpack, filled with homework he will actually complete, and those awful black lace-up shoes he wears just to be different. She looks at his shaggy thick hair and his beloved Red Sox hat that his brother gave him. She tries to remember the last time Henry was this mad at her and thinks it might have been her birthday party when she turned seven. The two of them spent weeks planning that party, they even had a theme, the Wizard of Oz, and his mom baked one of her amazing cakes that had the characters all over the top of it, and Henry dressed up as the Cowardly Lion. And then Alice forgot about Henry completely in her excitement over all the other little girls in their Dorothy dresses.