by Chris Rush
The moment I got on the bus, my peers were transfixed. Their mouths hung open as they searched for the right word to welcome me aboard. Of course, that word was faggot. I took a seat at the front of the bus, alone, and stared out the window. Like in the cartoon where the coyote chases the roadrunner, the desert repeated itself, over and over.
At school, I knew the drill. You’re a robot—keep walking.
As I’d feared, the long-haired boys of Tamalpais High had been replaced by crew cuts and cowboy hats. Many fellows sported handsome blue jackets with yellow letters: FUTURE FARMERS OF AMERICA.
Attending school assembly in the auditorium, I was unsure where to sit. A young cowhand approached. He looked me over and smiled—his teeth Halloween black. He said, “Hey, baby, want a kiss?” and then hocked chew on my shirt.
* * *
WHEN I CAME HOME from school, the house smelled of reefer and refried beans. I hid my stained shirt behind my books.
Donna said, “So—how was it?”
I said, “My teachers are nice.”
I didn’t want her to worry. She was nine months pregnant, in a borrowed house, with no money and a nude husband.
Most days, after school, I hiked in the hills behind the house. I explored extinct volcanoes and cliffs rotten with caves. Found geodes and blue agate, pulled quartz crystals from the ground like broken teeth. Viewed from the peaks, our little house looked like a boat stranded on a rock, waiting for a wave.
But the wave never came.
The desert was a difficult place to live. By midday, boundless light overwhelmed the valley. Barely a shadow could survive. We all looked forward to sunset—its golden rays and purple shade. After hard days, the sunsets were soft and sweet.
* * *
ON SATURDAY MORNINGS, we picked up our mail at a tiny rural post office. Only then did we see our neighbors, the ranchers who lived down long dirt driveways. These men sometimes nodded, but never smiled. I studied their slow saunter, their bright eyes, their faces wrecked by sun. As we collected our letters, their wives glared at us. Maybe we seemed too happy. Maybe it was our hair.
One day, there was a package from Lu at the PO Box—some hash, I think. The old woman behind the counter spoke kindly to pregnant Donna. “Oh, I bet it’s baby clothes. What do you want, dear—a boy or a girl?”
My sister smiled. “My husband and I like both sexes.”
The woman was perplexed, staring at the feathers in Vinnie’s hair and my yellow pajama top. As she handed Donna the cardboard box, she frowned—her old-lady lips snapped shut.
* * *
WE LIVED IN pretend-Arizona. Vinnie and Donna thought they were pioneers, reading the Bible by candlelight, baking bread, birthing baby at home. But it was a fantasy, an attempt to live in a place as strange as the moon.
The baby, though, was no fantasy. Miles from medical care, we waited. The Chevy was a wreck. We had no phone. I knew that Vinnie and Donna had consulted with their chiropractor, who vigorously encouraged home birth. Dr. Kelly assured them that there was nothing to worry about. Also, Vinnie had spoken to Jesus about our situation—and Jesus told Vinnie to deliver the baby himself. And that I would assist.
No way. I suggested Donna go to a hospital.
“No hospital,” Vinnie said. “My child will not be traumatized by doctors.”
But what about my trauma?
Vinnie and Donna didn’t say much about the birth itself, but from the how-to books lying around, I’d determined that someday soon, my sister would be screaming in agony while her guts exploded.
I hoped I’d be at school.
* * *
MANY OF THE KIDS at Red Rock High were Mexican and spoke no English. I sat with them in the backs of classrooms. I did my work and, like them, said nothing at all.
One lunch, I saw a tiny boy sitting under a tree. He had on a blue Alice in Wonderland T-shirt. From under a mop of red hair, he smiled at me.
Too shy to go over, I walked to my next class.
Around this time, I got a homemade postcard from my friend Sean—whose sister, Darla, had given me the tarot reading. Sean, remembering the reading, had drawn the Fool on the front. On the back was written:
Chris, have you fallen off a cliff? Or are you in love?
* * *
I WOKE UP to the sound of a car in our driveway. I was scared, since no one ever came to the house. When I looked out my window I saw a pretty woman with a funny little kid—and then I realized it was Lu and Jingle.
I got dressed and ran into the kitchen, where Jingle was unpacking groceries. She kissed me on the head. Lu shook my hand and said, “Come with me.”
Vinnie was already outside with a flashlight and shovels.
Lu led us into the desert. By the beam of the torch, he looked like a fiend in a monster movie, limping past cactus claws and jagged rock.
Pointing with his crutch, Lu said, “See that stone? Dig next to it.”
Fearful of scorpions and snakes, Vinnie and I cautiously picked at the dirt, but soon our shovels hit metal. We pulled a big rusted box from the ground—quite heavy.
On the porch, Jingle waited with a tiny silver key. She slid it into the lock and pried open the creaky lid. Inside was a stack of mason jars, each containing a perfect specimen of a different drug. Flowers and powders and tar.
Lu grabbed a jar of buds and then, for only an instant, I saw the money. Beneath the jars of dope sat a big block of cash. It frightened me. Finally it hit me that Lu and Jingle were criminals. And I saw the precariousness of our situation.
Lu snapped the trunk shut, shooed us inside. Jingle locked the box and put the key in her apron. Then on wicker old-lady furniture, we smoked rare herb, and soon I was asleep again.
By morning, the box had disappeared from sight.
Vinnie whispered to me, “That was serious cash, man. There’s gonna be a major deal.”
I skipped school to see what would happen next.
* * *
STRANGE PEOPLE dropped by the house. Unlike Lu’s associates in Marin, these people were not hipsters. Up the dusty drive, men arrived in pickups—rugged men with short hair and sunglasses, cowboy hats and scuffed boots. They all carried paper sacks.
Each sack contained a kilo brick. The bricks represented different loads of pot that had recently crossed the border, from Mexico. Lu was shopping for product.
From the living room, I watched Jingle greet each guest with a cold beer. There were no introductions—and after a moment of small talk, Lu would open the bag. He’d sniff at the brick and peel off enough for a joint. Vinnie helped him smoke it, but his opinion was never sought.
Donna stayed in her bedroom.
Lu would always walk the dealer outside to the driveway to discuss money. For days, cowboys came and went. Sample kilos piled up under the table like trash.
By then, my sister was past her due date. She was gigantic. I could tell she liked having Jingle around. At night, when the commotion died down, Jingle would sing a hymn just for Donna.
I’d listen from the doorway.
On the table next to my sister’s bed, I saw the scissors and syringes, the gauze and bandages. These things worried me. I still wanted Donna to go to a hospital, especially with all these strange men coming and going.
At least Jingle kept singing.
* * *
THE NEXT NIGHT, very late, there were strange voices in the house. I opened my door and saw Lu and Vinnie standing with two mustached men—one with a holster and gun. I must have gasped.
Lu turned and scolded me. “Get back in your room. This doesn’t concern you.”
I locked my door and listened. I heard arguing. But I kept telling myself, Vinnie and Donna are protected by God. Nothing bad could happen.
And though I understood that Lu and Jingle were criminals—I also knew they were Christians, and that they loved me. I did the only thing that made sense. I said my prayers. Our Father Who art in heaven …
I prayed until I fell aslee
p.
* * *
I AWOKE to a scream.
Donna!
I jumped out of bed and ran from my room—stumbling over bricks of pot wrapped in pink plastic. There was a pyramid of product in the living room, stacked over my head. Squeezing past, I called out to my sister.
Everyone turned. Donna was lying on her bed, naked. Lu and Jingle and Vinnie, plus some people I didn’t know, stood around her.
Donna’s eyes met mine. “Baby’s coming.”
Vinnie put his arm around my shoulder and walked me back into the living room.
“There were men with guns,” I said. “Last night.”
“You were dreaming. Everything’s fine.”
“Where’s our furniture?”
“On the porch—just until the buyers take the product.” He whispered, “Lu promised me and Donna a nice cut.”
“Who are those people?” I said, gesturing toward his and Donna’s room.
“The buyers. Nice people. Donna asked them to stay for the birth, for good luck. Praise God.”
Another scream from the bedroom.
Lu came out, sweating. He put some tabs of white acid in my hand.
“Take your sacrament. There’s going to be a miracle.”
I took five tabs, then ate a bowl of Grape-Nuts.
Twenty feet away, my sister sounded like an animal in pain.
Vinnie and Donna’s bedroom had three walls of windows, with incredible views, but that morning there were only two things anyone saw: my sister’s eyes, which were beautiful, and her vagina, which was mutating at a rapid pace.
The dealers, who’d come by to score pot, found themselves hypnotized by my sister’s privates. I think they were relieved to look away and introduce themselves. “I’m Sherry. You’re the brother? What an experience for you!”
Sherry was a short Jewish lesbian, plaid shirt to her knees. She was clearly the boss, keeping an eye on a bag in the corner of the room, which I assumed was full of cash. Buffalo, her employee, shook my hand a little too hard. He was a burly, red-bearded guy, with a belt buckle big as a dinner plate.
“Hey,” he said. “I met you when you were, like, ten. You had on a pink cape.”
A memory flashed from a distant planet.
“Meet Heidi-girl!” Buffalo said.
Heidi was blonde and pretty and pale, with fluttering white lashes. She looked a bit distressed.
No star had guided these three to the manger—it was the weed.
Heidi went to the kitchen and cut up a pineapple. Jingle made iced tea. I stood around with a flyswatter. Then came a much more intense scream. Everyone gathered around Donna. Vinnie was at her side, coaching her breathing—telling her not to be afraid. His stopwatch categorized each wave of pain. Small talk faded away.
A mountain of pot was suddenly the most boring thing in the world.
When the crown of the baby’s head appeared between my sister’s legs, I could not imagine how the creature would make it out. Donna was in a trance, breathing hard, eyes available only to her husband. When she cried, Vinnie was steady, following her agony, reminding her that the baby was almost there.
Jingle wiped the sweat from my sister’s brow. Heidi, terrified, held my sister’s hand. Lu, Buffalo, and I stood at the foot of the bed with Sherry—all of us silent, awestruck.
Vinnie turned to me. “Get your sister a glass of water.”
As I handed my sister the cup, the water glittered like diamonds. My sister drank and sighed and closed her eyes, pausing as the room slowly detached from the earth. The valley disappeared, far below.
* * *
THE SUN FOLLOWS us as we float away, bright white sheets and blood, blood, blood. I’ve never been more scared. My sister has changed shape again. She is wide open. The room is dizzy and dangerous.
The head emerges: ancient face, closed eyes, passive, patient, as if it had been waiting for centuries. I hear my sister’s wailing, pleading to God to help her. God, God, God. I feel my fear rise up again. But Vinnie is tender. He touches the new one’s face, the child stuck between worlds.
The contractions are terrible to watch. My sister pushes and screams, pushes and screams. The baby’s position is impossible. Rapt in terror, I watch the baby’s head, a red rock, an orb surrounded by sheets of blood. I do not understand. How can this dark moon be a person?
“Oh—Oh—Ohhhhh,” my sister screams, and out flies the baby.
Vinnie catches the slippery thing and brings it to the sunlight. The child, mysterious as stone, is covered with thick slime, maroon and yellow. But the stone breathes—it cries and punches the new air.
Instantly, it becomes a girl.
My sister weeps with joy. We all weep. The drug dealers hug. Donna holds her daughter, the umbilical cord still attached. The throbbing coil is inconceivably monstrous, a bloody purple snake.
I drop the flyswatter and go to my sister. As I look into her eyes, she smiles at me—tears and laughter. Up close, the child is covered with fine hair like a wolf-baby, a wolf with the face of an old woman.
Vinnie readies to cut the cord. I cannot look.
The child, untethered, joins the human race. Vinnie calls her Jelissa.
She takes my sister’s breast.
I cannot remember my mother’s breast.
* * *
I DON’T RECALL ever feeling the acid Lu gave me. I remember only the trip of a baby coming into this world. I remember the delirious fear that struck me soon after seeing the umbilical cord cut. Who will protect this tiny thing?
It takes me a few seconds to remember: It has parents—it has a family.
* * *
LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, Vinnie and I drove to a pay phone to call our folks. He spoke to his first, smiling and crying. My call was more complicated. Donna had lied to Mom, claiming she was having the baby in a hospital. Mom was thrilled by the news and asked me the name of the hospital so she could send Donna flowers.
“Actually,” I said, “we had the baby at home. I helped Vinnie deliver her.”
“Are you insane?” my mother shouted—so loudly that Vinnie could hear.
We both started laughing.
And then Mom was laughing, too.
I told her I loved her.
* * *
AT THE HOUSE, Donna and the baby were asleep. Jingle cooked dinner while the menfolk got high. The buyers had gone to get a truck.
I recall someone helping me to bed.
In the morning, the load was gone. I helped Jingle sweep up the shake from the floor—stems and pot dust. When I saw her about to toss it out the back door, I said to her, “Don’t throw it away! I can share it with my friends.”
I was thinking of the shaggy-haired boy in the Alice in Wonderland T-shirt.
Jingle shook her head and put the shake in a paper grocery sack, and then sealed it shut like an oversized lunch bag. “God bless you and your dirty little friends.”
Vinnie and I moved the furniture back into the living room. The house smelled like hay, diapers, beans.
Before nightfall, Lu and Jingle were ready to leave. Lu gave me a bottle of LSD, which he shook like a baby rattle. Jingle laid her hand silently on my head. I could feel the blessing she was giving me.
Outside, she sang a final hymn:
When I thirst, He bids me go,
To where the quiet waters flow …
21.
The Spoons
AFTER MY SISTER GAVE BIRTH, something came out of me, too.
Suddenly I had a voice. I’d been terrified and now I felt strong. I had a home, a new family. The relief was tremendous.
I took a joint to school and when I saw the red-haired boy sitting again under the same tree, I approached him, said hello.
His name was Owen Spoon.
When I suggested we get high, he took me to a safe spot he knew, out past the playing fields. He told me he’d just come from Idaho, where his father was a bush pilot. “My mom has arthritis, really bad, and so we spend the win
ters in Tucson.” He said he was Mormon, which I thought meant Protestant.
I told him I was a Catholic from California. “Actually, New Jersey.”
“I hear it stinks in New Jersey.”
I could not disagree. When I told him about the poisoned red river, he said, “Blood cometh from every pore.”
I smiled at his sudden intensity.
“It’s not funny,” Owen said. “It’s from the Book of Mormon.”
“No, no, not funny at all,” I said. “It’s beautiful.”
We were instant buddies. He was fifteen, a year younger than me.
The next Saturday, his mom dropped him off at my house. I met her in the driveway. She had a disastrous perm and a Belair 100 dangling from her mouth.
In a husky voice she said she liked my long hair.
Owen and I were getting stoned in my room when Vinnie knocked. He told us to keep our voices down, and to stop laughing so much. “There is a child sleeping.” He said our laughing was disrespectful. “Never forget—this house is a temple.”
It was embarrassing. Still, I had to admire Vinnie’s seriousness, his dedication to my sister and their kid.
But nothing could stop Owen and me from giggling.
* * *
VINNIE WAS IN A BETTER MOOD after dinner. He had that peculiar sway that came over him when he double budded—a joint and a couple of bottles of Budweiser. Outside, on the porch, he put his arm around me and said, “You know, Chris, there’s nothing wrong with you.”
I gritted my teeth, counted stars.
“We know about you, Chris. Your sister and I. But we prayed, and Jesus said it’s fine. What you are.”
“Okay.” My cheeks were red.
“Of course,” Vinnie continued, “sex between a man and a woman is the most beautiful thing in the world. I hope you get to experience that, too.”
