I mean, The Humanist is a huggy enough guy and everything. But we usually all make it through a shift without throwing our arms around each other.
He claps Jordy on the back twice and then breaks away. Grabs his car keys off the little desk in the corner and heads out the back door.
Jordy looks at me again and sees me watching. Smiles again. And I look away, like I did the first time.
I’m trying to put my finger on something. But it’s hard.
Something changed when I wasn’t looking. It’s like he’s not nervous anymore. But I have no idea what that means.
I climb into bed with Jordy.
I know. Believe me, I know. But I really tried.
I’m still trembly from what I dreamed. I can still hear the sound of that tiny scream in my head. I can still see the shock of the color. Bright red on pure white.
Maybe Kevin changed his mind. Maybe his truck broke down, and he found this nice new place to live, like Jordy and I sort of accidentally started living in Morro Bay. Maybe I don’t have to learn to sleep alone for real. Lots of things could happen that we don’t expect. My whole life, stuff has been happening that I never would have guessed could happen even a minute before it suddenly did.
Jordy rolls over and puts one arm over me. Right away, I stop shivering.
“What did you dream about?” he asks. Still sleepy.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh. The rabbits.”
I’m so surprised that he could know, I can’t even say anything for a minute. Does a dream stay in your eyes for everybody to see? But it’s dark in here, and I don’t even think Jordy is looking at my face.
“How did you know that?”
He stretches. Sighs. Like he’s just getting that he needs to wake up for real.
“Because I know that was the worst one for you. I remember…when you were telling me all about the horrible things you went through…the rapes and the beatings and getting tied up and locked in the cabinet for days at a time and all this horrible stuff you would think would kill a poor little kid…but your eyes were dry the whole time you were telling me. You never cried one tear for yourself. But when you told me about the rabbits, you started to cry. That’s when I knew you were a really good person. I mean…I’m sorry, I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I knew you were a good person, but I didn’t quite get how good. Until I found out that you’d rather have that one awful foster father do anything at all to you than sacrifice those poor rabbits. It’s like you cared more about the rabbits than you did yourself.”
“They were innocent, Jordy. They didn’t do anything to deserve that.”
“Neither did you.”
Then we don’t say anything for a long time. But I know we’re both still awake.
Ethel takes her nose and pushes it under the top of the covers and lifts them up to try to get under. I hold them up for her, and she skinnies all the way down to my feet and curls up.
Without Ethel and Jordy, I know I could never talk about this stuff at all. I guess it must be them, because I seem to be about to talk even more.
“Why would Satan want rabbits anyway, Jordy? They’re little and cute. They don’t seem like anything the devil would even like.”
“I don’t believe there is such a thing, Chlo.”
“You never saw a rabbit?”
“Satan, Chlo. I don’t believe in Satan.”
“Oh. Do you believe in God?”
“I think so. I didn’t used to. I didn’t when I met you. And I still don’t believe in God like some white-bearded guy in a long robe who’s waiting to punish us for making mistakes. But I think I believe now that there’s something out there. Yes.”
“Well. If there’s a God…doesn’t there have to be a Satan?”
“No. I don’t think so. I think it’s like…I think God is like light. Like the sun when it shines. If you block the light, it seems to get dark. But dark is really just blocked light. I’m not sure it’s a real thing in and of itself. It’s just the absence of light.”
“That’s interesting, Jordy, I wonder why we never talked about this before.”
“You understood that?”
“Oh, no. Not a word of it. But I just think it’s interesting that we’re talking about it.”
I pet Ethel with my foot.
I’m just about to ask him about how he doesn’t seem nervous anymore. But before I can open my mouth, he starts talking again.
He says, “That belt I gave you has been on the floor by the couch for weeks.”
“It has?”
“It’s okay. I mean, I gave it to you. I just wonder if you still do yoga.”
“Oh. No. I guess I don’t.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. When I was doing it, I guess it was because something reminded me. So I guess I sort of got unreminded.”
Then we don’t talk for a minute, and I feel bad, because I feel like I disappointed Jordy somehow by not doing yoga anymore. I guess he thought if I started it, I should keep it up. I sort of do life more by feel.
I guess if we’re going to talk about that other thing, I better get started.
After a time, I say, “You don’t seem nervous anymore.”
“He didn’t change his mind. He’s on his way back.”
My stomach feels heavy. Like I swallowed a brick.
“You talked to him?”
“Yeah. He’s been calling.”
“We don’t have a phone, Jordy.”
“He’s been calling me at the restaurant.”
“Does The Humanist mind?”
“Not at all. He’s been very sweet about it. Today right after the lunch rush, he gave me a big hug and told me he was really happy for me.”
“How far did Kevin drive already?” I ask. Thinking his truck could still break down.
“He’s almost to the Texas Panhandle.”
Of course, I have no idea what that is. Except that it’s in Texas. But this is no time to change the subject.
“How long does it take to drive here from there?”
“Maybe two days. If all goes well. Or three if he gets tired.”
Or more if his truck breaks down.
“Wow. I’m not making very good progress on this sleeping thing.”
“It’s okay, Chloe,” he says. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”
His voice sounds like he knows it’s not really okay. But he’s still being nice to me. I wonder how nice he’ll be in two or three days.
I never go back to sleep.
Maybe I never will again.
DRIVER CLASS
This is my paddling story for today.
Ethel and I are on the sand spit side of the bay. Estuary, I mean. Paddling south, with The Rock at our backs. Well, I’m paddling. Ethel doesn’t paddle. I guess that goes without saying. Ethel being a dog and all.
The tide is pretty low, and we’re getting to that part that’s not under water unless the tide is really high. You can almost always see the long-leg birds, the big gray fringy ones and the snowy-white ones, standing around on that spot. It looks like they’re standing on the water. But I’m smart enough about bay stuff to know that it means there are only a few inches of water where they’re hanging out.
Right around the time I notice that, I feel Blue Boat scrape the sand of the bottom. Sometimes you can push with the paddle a few times and unstick yourself. But not this time. We’re passing this sort of island place, and the tide is low, and we’re in just a few inches of water, and that’s as far as we get to paddle.
Ethel looks around at me. Wondering why we’re not moving, I guess.
I say, “Looks like we’re going to have to get out and walk.”
I get out, and of course as soon as I do, the boat floats again.
I hold the paddle in one hand and take Blue Boat by the handle, which always irritates me. Every time I grab the handle of this boat, I can hear all the little voices saying Kevin was right. But what
choice do I have?
I start to wade, and the boat pulls along behind me real easy, because now I’m not weighing it down.
“You don’t have to get out and walk,” I tell Ethel, and she looks relieved.
Then I hear a sound I’m not used to hearing. Like dozens of paddles smacking down on the water at the same time. Over and over.
I look up to see a long line of seals lying in the shallow water. Probably more than twenty of them. Some of them have their heads and their tails raised up to keep them out of the wet, which makes them look like a bunch of fat commas. And the rest are slapping their tails up and down.
I don’t know why they’re doing it. But I have to stop and watch. It’s just something I like watching. The sound is interesting, but it looks cool, too, because they’re splashing fountains of water up into the air with every splash.
And I’m still wondering why.
I see two people on rental kayaks, and they’re about as close to the seals as they can get without getting stuck on the bottom. Maybe that’s it. Maybe the people paddled too close. But I’m still not sure why the seals would do that. Usually if you get too close, they just leave. Are they trying to warn each other that people are coming? That doesn’t make a lot of sense, though, because every seal can see the people just as well as every other. Do they think they can scare them away?
I make a mental note to ask Old Ben why seals splash with their tails.
I look up at the sun and measure by stretching my arm out. And I see that the sun is two fists over the mountains behind South Bay Boulevard. Which means I have to be getting back for work.
Ethel looks at me strangely when I turn around and start walking the other way. Or at least it looks that way to me.
I see old Ben on the way back. He’s lying on a rusty, rickety old lounge chair on his fuel dock. He’s wearing a T-shirt and shorts, and his legs are so white, it’s funny. He can’t see me, because he’s facing straight up to the sky.
So I say hi very loud.
“Ah,” he says. Sitting up. Looking down to where we’re floating in the water on Blue Boat. “Chloe Nothing and her lovely Ethel.”
“Whatcha doing, Ben?”
“Exercising gratitude.”
“For what?”
“The sun. The sun is lovely and warm today. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s been winter for a long time.”
“Yeah. I noticed. Your legs are really white.”
“Well, I’m working on that as best I can.”
“Oh. So what are you working harder on? Gratitude? Or your legs?”
“Probably gratitude. It’s just about the most important thing in a person’s experience, by my estimation. Why, a man…or woman…can shape his or her whole worldview just by exercising gratitude for the important things we have. Don’t you ever stop to be grateful for what you have?”
I’m trying to think if I even have anything. Except Jordy. And even that might not be for long.
“Like what?”
“Well. Using the eyes God gave me, I’d have to say a serviceable kayak with a good-quality paddle, and a lovely pet dog.”
“Oh! That’s true. Right.” He doesn’t say anything more right away, and I wonder if I’m supposed to be thinking up more stuff. I’m bad at things like that. So I change the subject. “Do you have a dog, Ben?”
His brow scrunches up. It makes him look sad and mad all at the same time. “Not now, I don’t. I did, for years. He was a local legend, that dog. Jupiter. Everybody in town knew him. He had more friends than I did. But nobody lasts forever. Dogs least of all. He lived to be seventeen. I couldn’t bring myself to get another. Felt like I’d be setting myself up for a disappointment. I do have a pet, though. His name is Arnold. He’s a crab.”
“A crab?”
“Yes. A crab. A Dungeness crab. You almost never see Dungeness this far south. So when I caught him, it seemed like such a rare occasion, I decided to keep him. You want to meet him? He’s very sociable. I’m sure he’d enjoy the visit.”
I totally want to meet Arnold the crab. But I’ve wasted too much time already. I’m late.
“I do. I do want to meet him. A lot. But it’ll have to be later. I’m on my way to work.”
“Oh? Where do you work?”
He stretches while he asks the question, and I can see the lines of the tan on his arms. North of his T-shirt sleeves is just as white as his legs.
“Over at Burgers by the Bay.”
“Ah, yes. One of my favorites. Best B.L.T.s in town. I treat myself about once a week. But I never see you there.”
“I’m always back in the kitchen. I keep the kitchen clean.”
“Well, I’ll remember that. Next time I’m on a B.L.T. run, I’ll stick my head back in the kitchen and say hi. And you drop by anytime if you want to meet Arnold. He has a pretty busy social calendar, but I expect he’ll make time for a nice young woman such as yourself.”
I paddle on, wondering how much of the Arnold stuff was kidding and how much was real.
Halfway back, I realize I never asked Ben why seals slap their tails.
Between the restaurant with our tiny apartment above it and the gift shop next door is a gap of about five feet. I look through and see a little red pickup truck with a bunch of stuff loaded on the back and tied down with a tarp.
I guess it could belong to anybody.
But that creepy feeling in my gut says it doesn’t belong to just anybody.
The creepy feeling in my gut says Kevin is back.
It’s Kevin’s first day back, so of course I have to act like I like him or something.
We’re taking a walk down the Embarcadero with Ethel. It’s late in the afternoon. Almost sundown.
It wasn’t my idea.
He just sort of said, “Hey, can I come?” And I didn’t say much of anything. Which, really, if he’d been trying harder, he might’ve gotten that not saying anything actually meant “Please don’t.” But I guess he wasn’t trying, because he came along anyway.
I gave Jordy a look, hoping he would come along, too. But he just looked away again and told us he was going to the laundromat and to have a good time.
Right. Like that’s going to happen.
Speaking of not saying anything, I’m still not. And neither is Kevin.
We’re in that parking lot at Tidelands Park where people leave their trucks with the boat trailers still attached while they’re out boating. Ethel is nosing in and out between the parked cars, sniffing where birds have been.
Kevin says, “You never keep her on a leash?”
It makes me jump, because I was just getting to think we’d be quiet for the whole walk. I like the quiet better. Actually, just me and Ethel would be best of all. I like things just the way they are. I mean, were. Why are things always changing?
“No, I don’t even have a leash.”
“Aren’t you afraid she’ll get hit by a car?”
“Ethel knows all about cars. She was living on her own for a long time before I met her. She knows how to duck when a car is coming. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t even still be here.”
We’re quiet again until we turn around and nearly get back to where the Embarcadero starts.
Then I say, “Why would you even say a thing like that, anyway?”
“It’s just that I know how much you love her.”
“Then why even say she could get hit by a car?”
“I just wanted to throw in the idea that a leash might keep her safer. That’s all.”
Then I have to spend a couple blocks wondering if that was a good thing to say or not. I hate things like that. They make my brain twist around in circles until I don’t know which way is up.
I hear Kevin laughing. So I look where he’s looking. Even though, from what I know about Kevin, I’m guessing what I’m about to see probably isn’t very funny.
There’s an old man—a very old man—sitting in his car on the Embarcadero, at a dead stop, because of a seagull stan
ding on the street in front of his bumper. He moves the car forward a slow couple of feet, but the bird takes one or two steps and then stops again. The guy honks his horn, but the bird doesn’t seem to mind much, and it makes Kevin laugh a lot harder.
I stop, but Kevin doesn’t notice for a while. He walks along laughing for ten steps or so, and then he looks over his shoulder at me. He waits for me to catch up, but I don’t. Meanwhile, the old guy is still waiting for the bird to move.
Kevin walks back to where I’m standing.
I say, “You know, you laugh at a lot of things that aren’t funny. And I think that’s kind of a bad habit.”
From the look on his face, he’s not very hurt. I think if somebody said that to me, I’d be hurt.
“I happen to think that’s hilarious,” he says.
We both turn to look at the old guy, who’s driving his car in a huge curve into the other-direction lane to get around the bird. As soon as he does, a young guy in a pickup comes up behind him, slows down a tiny bit for the bird, but doesn’t stop, and the bird flies away.
“See?” Kevin says. “That’s how it’s done.”
“I think that old guy was being very nice.”
“I think that old guy was letting himself be trained by a seagull. And I happen to find that funny.”
“He was making sure he didn’t hurt the bird.”
“But that second guy didn’t hurt the bird, either. He just made him move. The bird is fine either way. Both ways are okay for the bird. The second one just works, that’s all.”
“I think you’re mean,” I say.
And I start to walk back home.
But while I’m walking, I’m thinking. The bird was okay both ways. That’s kind of hard to argue. I really still want to argue. But it’s hard.
Kevin catches up behind me.
“The one thing I still remember from my driver-education class is that you never slam on your brakes for a bird. The teacher said you’ll end up in an accident, and the bird’ll be up in a tree laughing at you.”
“A bird wouldn’t think an accident was funny.”
“How do you know? Are you a bird?”
“No, but I still don’t think so. And I don’t like your driving teacher, either.”
Always Chloe and Other Stories Page 7
