The Sun, the Moon, and Maybe the Trains

by Rodney Jones

  Was she playing with me? I didn’t know, but at the moment, I didn’t care. We walked up to a counter that separated the dining room from a noisy kitchen full of tall, shiny machines and people bustling about wearing flimsy-thin, clear gloves. I could see their hands through them, clear as glass. And they all were wearing the same blue trousers, both the men and the women, and the same yellow shirts and funny-looking yellow hats. The smell in the air, like an ox roast, had my mouth watering.

  One of the gals with the yellow hats approached. “Can I help you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know if you can, but it’s kind of you to ask.”

  “He wants a number three, and I’ll have… ah… make that two. Two number threes.”

  The gal lightly tapped a panel mounted to the counter top. “That’ll be nine fifty-nine.”

  I wanted to ask, What would be nine fifty-nine? Tess reached into her bag, pulled out a wallet, slipped a thin, blue card from it, and handed that to the gal behind the counter. The gal no more than gave it a brief glance before striking the panel with it and then giving it back. She then gave Tess a tiny slip of paper and thanked her. I followed Tess to the other end of the counter, scratching my head.

  While we stood there waiting, I studied the signage behind the counter. It seemed to be covered from corner to corner in gibberish. “What is all that?”

  Tess gave it a quick glance. “A menu.”

  “What?”

  “No restaurants in the nineteenth century?”

  “Well, yeah, just about every town has an inn. Nothing like this, though.”

  A high-pitched squawking and a short blast repeating over and over came from back among the machines. There were other noises, but none as persistent as that one.

  Tess seemed oblivious. “Well, it’s the same idea as the paper ones that they give you in real restaurants.”

  The squawking stopped.

  “I’ve not actually been in one.”

  She appeared puzzled, but then turned and looked around. “Oh, we should’ve gone to a better place.”

  “A better place? From the looks of the folks eating here, I’d guess this is a better place.”

  She glanced toward a lady sitting at a nearby table, turned back to me, gave me a little shove, and then again looked up at the sign. “A menu. It’s a list of the food they serve and the prices.”

  “Those are dollars and cents?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Four dollars and forty-nine cents for a… Philly Burger?”

  “Well, yeah, and it includes a medium fry and a large drink. And you get change back for your five.”

  “So, that gal—nine fifty-nine—she meant dollars and cents?”

  “She could’ve meant the time, in which case, I overpaid.”

  “Nine dollars and fifty-nine cents for a meal… for just two people? Is that right?”

  “This is cheap, John.”

  The gal in the yellow hat slid a red tray across the counter in front of us. The food was all wrapped up in paper, and there were two large, empty cups, which appeared also to be made of paper. I didn’t see any dishes, forks, or spoons.

  Tess lifted the tray. I followed her to the big, colorful contraption to our left. She set the tray down, took one of the cups, pressed it into the machine, and ice dropped into the cup.

  “Sprite, Coke, Diet Coke, or Dr. Pepper. What would you like?”

  “Uh, Coke, I reckon.”

  We sat opposite each other at a table near a large window looking out onto the street. Cars streamed by, some going north, others south, the noise from behind the counter, people mumbling, slurping drinks, paper rustling, feet shuffling—everyone and everything, on and on, busy doing something. I unwrapped my food, which vaguely resembled the thing in the picture. I couldn’t help but smile with Tess laughing about it. The food sure tasted better than it looked.

  chapter eight

  AS TESS AND I WERE nearing Jim’s house, Tess turned to me from the driver’s seat of her car and said, “Don’t be asking what this or that is, or how that or this thing works.”

  I nodded.

  “Just use your best judgment.”

  “What’s left to judge?”

  She steered her car to the side of the street and stopped, then grabbed her bag and rummaged through it. “Here. I’ll write down my phone number. He’ll have a phone. If you run into any kind of problem, just pick up the phone and press these numbers, and only these numbers, in the order I’m writing them. Don’t lose this.”

  “Tess, do I look like a five-year-old?”

  She sighed. “I’m just nervous for you.”

  “Well, don’t be. I can do that plenty well on my own.”

  Tess pushed a tiny, glowing button alongside Jim’s front door. A few moments later, the door opened, and confusion spilled out—a crowd of voices, people laughing, and noises I couldn’t pin down to anything in particular. I was wound up tight as a pocket watch as introductions were made. More than once, I glanced past Jim, trying to piece together an idea about what the ruckus was. I couldn’t see anyone in the room behind him, but noticed a steady flicker of lights, shifting about like heat lightning in a far-off cloud. Jim stepped to the side and asked us in. I turned at a voice from the other end of the room and nearly stumbled back into Tess.

  “Jim,” Tess said, “do you mind if we turn the TV off while we talk? John has ADD. Seriously.”

  He turned to me—I was yet stumbling around in my mind—then to Tess, and then toward the large panel with the people talking. It took all I had to hold my tongue and pretend I hadn’t noticed. I willed my eyes to something they couldn’t care less about.

  “Uh, okay, sure.” He stepped over to a thickly padded piece of furniture, picked up something resembling Tess’s cell phone, pointed it toward the panel, and snap! the whole thing went slate black and dead-still quiet.

  I looked at Tess, wondering if she had any idea of how close I was to jumping out of my skin. Her eyes drilled into mine, her head shaking ever so slightly.

  “Jim, did Liz tell you John’s house caught fire this morning?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah. His dad is out of state, travels a lot in his work. He lives with his dad.”

  Jim was a big fellow, in a wide kind of way. “Man! That really sucks!” He looked at me. “Was that here in Rutland?”

  “No,” I said.

  “Manchester,” Tess offered.

  “No friends in Manchester?”

  Tess jumped in again. “They just moved there this summer… from Ohio.”

  “Where’d you get the grubbies?”

  “Aren’t they cool? He makes his own. Hates buying that shit from China. Don’t you, John?”

  She seemed perfectly at ease, but I was feeling every bit all-overish. I couldn’t imagine anyone believing a word she said. “China? No, no, I don’t like shit from China.” A drop of sweat ran down my side.

  Jim’s eyes dropped to my feet. “Jesus, you made your own shoes, too?”

  Tess nodded. “Sweet, huh?”

  I looked down at my shoes and then at Jim’s, which hardly resembled shoes at all. I could only assume it was what folks in China were wearing.

  Jim gestured toward the room behind him. “You want a seat?”

  “Yeah,” Tess said, “but I can’t stay too long.”

  My eyes drifted to the blank panel near the wall to our right. Under different circumstances, I might have dismissed the moving pictures as something I’d imagined. I mean, I’d have to. A black box sat on a shelf below it, a tiny red light glowing, dials and buttons, black cables running this way and that. Tess nudged me. I turned. The look she gave me, I couldn’t quite place. She made a half-cocked nodding motion with her head. I gave my head a subtle shake and shrugged my eyebrows.

  “Sit,” she hissed, and then coughed.

  I took a seat at the end of the sofa, and Tess plopped down next to me.

  Jim lowered his impressive posterior onto a chai
r to our left. “Want anything to drink? I have diet cola and tap water.”

  I nodded. “Yes, please, I’d like a Coke drink.”

  “No, thank you,” Tess replied, “but if I could use your phone real quick. My cell died. I need to let my mom know I’m on my way.”

  “The phone.” He pushed himself up and looked around. “Is it there on the couch by you, John?”

  I glanced down to my right. Tess, on my left, quickly shoved her hand behind me and then out. She stood and looked down at where she’d been sitting.

  “Isn’t that it?” I pointed to the device lying on the small table in front of us. Both Tess and Jim turned.

  Tess gave me her “What’d I say about asking questions?” look. “That looks remarkably like a TV remote, John.”

  My cheeks warmed as I nodded. “I reckon it does, doesn’t it?”

  “Here it is. First place you should always look—the crack.” Jim handed the phone to Tess.

  John’s phone was three times larger than Tess’s, and the numbered bumps were on the outside rather than in, remarkably like the TV remote.

  Tess sat back down, snug against me, the phone in her lap. “John, watch,” she whispered. She pressed a bump that had TALK printed on it—I heard a faint peep—then the numbered bumps—peep, peep, peep. She brought the thing up to the side of her head and waited.

  “Hi, Mom. Just calling to let you—” Tess stared blankly ahead for a long moment. “She did?” Her head rolled back, as did her eyes. “Yes, well, I can explain, Mom. Just— Yes, Mom, I know— Liz’s brother, Jim. I know, I know, I know. I’m sorry. I— I know, Mom. I can explain, and I will as soon as I get home— No, we’re not drinking. No, Mom— Mom, I’ll be home in twenty minutes. I will. Bye, Mom.”

  Jim grinned. “Sounds like you have some ’splainin’ to do.”

  “A little mix-up.”

  I let out a sigh. “I’ve been nothing but trouble.”

  “You’ve been nothing but fun, John. That thing with my mom”—she looked down at the phone in her lap and shrugged—“it’s normal.” She turned to me. “Really.”

  “All right.”

  “Jim, you don’t mind if John uses your phone, do you?”

  “Local?”

  “Oh, yes, Wallingford.”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.” She nudged me with her shoulder. “See me to my car, will you?”

  A minute later, we stood, face to face, on the sidewalk alongside Tess’s car.

  “I’m sorry about all this. I know it’s not the greatest.” She rolled her eyes. “Not the greatest. I sound like my mom. I wish you could come home with me. It’d be so much easier.”

  “I’ll be all right here.” I twisted my head around toward Jim’s apartment. “Jim’s fine.”

  “Mom’ll have my car again tomorrow, so I’ll get the bus into town. We can hang out, get this figured out.” She looked me square in the eye. “You’ll get home.”

  “You think so?”

  She took a deep breath and then let go a big, worrisome huff. “Yes, I do.” We stood there moving our feet about, unsure about everything. “Well.” She stepped around to the other side of the car and opened the door. “Sleep well.”

  “Be careful.”

  I felt a thousand miles from home as I watched Tess’s car disappear up the street. It was as though she had kept me anchored to my time, to reality, and without her, I was adrift. I recalled the time when Pa was killed, and I had to move in with my aunt and uncle—not really where I wanted to be. J.W. had been my anchor then.

  I turned toward Jim’s front door and all the pretending behind it. I considered walking away, up into the mountains, closer to home, but then, I had just been there, and that didn’t feel right either. And it wouldn’t be fair to Tess.

  Tess. I could talk to her with Jim’s phone. “Call me,” she’d said. I wasn’t convinced I could. I had a number. That was all it was, though, a number. I stepped through Jim’s front door and closed it behind me.

  “That you, John?” Jim’s voice came from another room.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “You hungry? I’m having a little ice cream, then I’m off to la-la land. I have to be to work early. You want any?” He walked into the front parlor carrying a bowl of ice cream.

  Ice cream—it wasn’t something to just whip up on a whim. The only time I’d ever had it was at the spring church socials in Weston and occasionally around Christmas. “Yes, thank you. I’d very much appreciate some.”

  “Vanilla, cookie dough, or peanut butter fudge swirl?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve got vanilla, cookie dough, and peanut butter fudge swirl.”

  “I’m fine with just some ice cream. Thank you.”

  “Okay.” He went into the next room—I could hear him shuffling around, dishes clanking and a-rattling—then came back and handed me a bowl of ice cream with a spoon poking up from it. “You can sit. I don’t care. I eat anywhere I feel like and anytime I feel like.” He patted his belly and shrugged. “I probably should watch what I eat more. Go ahead. Have a seat.”

  I took the same place on the couch.

  “So, you and Tess—you, like, a thing?”

  “A thing?”

  “Going together.”

  “Uh, going where?”

  His face scrunched up. “Dude! You’re yanking my chain.” He grinned.

  I smiled and nodded. “Did you make this?” I shoved a second spoonful of the ice cream in my mouth.

  “No.” He snorted. “Made in China.”

  Like a lot of things in 2009, that didn’t seem possible. But then, Tess had said I should ask only when necessary, so I left it there. “It’s very good.”

  “How’d your house catch fire?”

  My house. How does a house catch fire? Not the fireplace or the wood stove, being summer, as it was. “I knocked a lamp off the table. Got the rug going. Before you know it, it was more than I could handle.”

  “A lamp?”

  Lamps. Right, they were all electric. Couldn’t electricity cause a fire, though? “Yeah, the place was smokin’ like the dickens.” My cheeks and forehead seemed to feel the heat of my imaginary fire.

  “Okay.”

  From the way he looked at me, I couldn’t be sure he’d understood what I said, anyway. We both went back to our ice cream. Some moments later, I heard his spoon scraping the sides of his bowl in an effort to extract whatever residue was left clinging there. His spoon came to a rest with one last rattle.

  “I only have the one bed,” he said, “but you’re welcome to the couch. You want to watch some TV, help yourself. There’s the remote; just keep it down.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, pointing toward the wall behind him. “I don’t want to piss off the neighbors.”

  Keep it down? I glanced at the big black screen.

  “When you’re done with your bowl, put it in the dishwasher, if you don’t mind. Oh, and the bathroom is through there and to the right.”

  “Thank you so kindly, Jim. Good night.”

  He stood, looked like he was searching for something more to say, then walked off with his bowl and spoon.

  I finished my ice cream, wondering about all the strange objects in the room. All sorts of noises came from different parts of the house and some from outside. I identified the sound of water rushing through plumbing and could feel the floor vibrate from Jim moving about. I heard a door open and then shut. A faint, mournful whine came from outside, something in the distance. It faded to nothing, and then another just like it started.

  I stood and stepped around the little table in front of the couch to get a better look at the lamp fixed to the ceiling. Electric, like Tess said. Everything was electric, everywhere. I studied the thing a good while. I couldn’t begin to imagine how something such as that might work. I reached up, slowly lifting my hand to it until I could feel the heat. I would’ve liked to have taken it apart and had a look inside. I’d never seen a
nything electric. I had heard of it, of course, heard of a man right there in Vermont who made a motor that ran on electric, but I’d never seen it. It was back in my pa’s day, but I don’t know that he’d ever seen it, either.

  chapter nine

  THE NIGHT DRAGGED ON LIKE a lesson never learned, the same senseless dream starting and stopping, again and again, until the bump and shuffle of Jim brought it to an end. I glanced toward the window to the left of the front door. Light leaked through the thin slats hanging over it, and the persistent hush of traffic passed through—the start of another day in the future.

  I rose from the couch and followed the sound of clinking dishes to a small, well-lit room just off the parlor.

  “Morning,” Jim said. “Sleep okay?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Oh, you’re like me. Gotta have my own bed.” He pulled open the door of an overhead cabinet and lifted down a brightly colored box. “Care for a bowl of Froot Loops or Honey Nuts?”

  “Froot Loops?”

  “Froot Loops it is, then, super vitamin fortified. If you believe what they say here on the label, you’d never need anything else.” Jim flipped open the box and tipped it above a bowl on the counter. An assortment of tiny, oddly colored, O-shapes tinkled into the bowl. He fetched a jug of milk from a tall, shiny white cabinet and poured some over my Froot Loops. “So, what’s the plan? You going to be hanging around here today?”

  “I’m not rightly sure.” I lifted the bowl from the counter and looked more closely at its contents.

  “Help yourself to my PS2, if you want.”

  I gave him a clueless smile and nodded. “I’m much obliged.” I shoved a spoonful of Froot Loops into my mouth and munched away. “Pretty good.”

  “Hell, yeah, they are.” He grinned. “Have some more if you want.” He glanced at a small device strapped to his wrist. “Oh. I’ve got to get going. I’ll catch you later.”

  Once he left, I carried my breakfast into the parlor, where I sat and devoured it, then went back to the kitchen for more. I soon emptied my second bowl and was tempted to go for yet another, but the whole time I sat there eating, Jim’s phone was lying on the low table in front of me, tugging at my curiosity. I dug the slip of paper from my pocket and looked over the ten digits Tess had written. I didn’t want to get it wrong, as I had no idea what wrong would mean. I picked up the phone and looked over all the letters, symbols, and numbers I could press right or wrong. I pressed TALK as I remembered seeing Tess do and heard a faint buzzing, then I touched each of the numbers, one at a time. I held the phone to the side of my head, same as Tess had done.