The Light Years

by Chris Rush

  * * *

  THE BABY NEVER stopped crying, and after two weeks Donna and Vinnie were worn out. Feedings, diaper duty, the mystery of colic. Only the baby existed—a screaming sun that never let us sleep.

  When Owen came over, we escaped, wandering around the desert, toking and talking. Owen discussed his dreams, even the wet ones. I listened closely, hoping I might make an appearance—but the dreams were always a little vague. “Someone’s hand … not mine.”

  I was happy to have a friend. Donna and Vinnie were happy that I’d found someone my own age to take drugs with.

  * * *

  “DO YOU WANT to go camping?” Owen asked me one day. “Just the two of us. My dad has plenty of gear and my mom will drop us off at a trailhead.”

  The next Saturday, Vinnie drove me over to Owen’s. His father was ex-military: square jaw, wide shoulders, steely blue eyes. He preferred to be called Lieutenant. Lieutenant Spoon didn’t exactly smile, but he seemed pleased to help Owen and me assemble our gear. He had a hoard of Forest Service equipment in the garage and helped find me what I needed. He warned of frost.

  He said, “Owen tells me you live with your sister?”

  “Yes, sir. And her husband.”

  “What about your parents?”

  When I couldn’t manage a reply, Lieutenant Spoon said, “And you’re a Catholic?”

  I wasn’t sure what I was anymore. I said, “Yes. I studied at the monastery.”

  After lunch, Owen’s mother drove us to the top of Mt. Lemmon, an alpine peak just north of Tucson. Lily Spoon was probably ten years younger than my mom, but she was weatherworn, with jagged wrinkles, hair already thinning. She smoked nonstop and sang along to country radio.

  It was obvious how much Lily adored Owen. At the trailhead, she smoothed his hair and kissed him goodbye. “You boys be careful. Don’t fall off the mountain.”

  * * *

  OWEN AND I planned to spend the night at the Wilderness of Rocks. We had identical Forest Service backpacks and mummy bags, and made our camp on a high granite cliff above the pines. Watching sunset, we ate the cheese and mustard sandwiches Lily had made—with homemade pickles. After dinner, Owen secured the food and tidied up the area. Dressed like a mountain climber, he had every possible piece of gear: flashlight, pocketknife, wool hat, down vest.

  I had purple sneakers and a turtleneck.

  He said I needed hiking boots. I said he needed LSD. I handed him a single white tab. I took three.

  As the moon rose red, I began to shiver. It was cold. I suggested we build a fire.

  But Owen said no. “If we light a fire, we won’t see the moon. Let’s just get in our sleeping bags.”

  On a big pile of pine needles, we rolled out our bedding and lay down next to each other. Though we were in separate bags, I could feel his thigh resting against mine. The acid came on nicely and we talked under the moon for hours—nonsense and real life. I told Owen about the baby, about the drug dealers, about my friend Pauly who believed in the Devil.

  “Wow,” he said. “You’ve had a really weird life.”

  The moon was bright. I turned away because I didn’t want him to see my embarrassment.

  Owen told me about Idaho, about his house up there, the horses, the rivers, the hot springs. Then, in the middle of a sentence, he fell asleep.

  The sudden silence was eerie. I could sense the blue expectancy of space, between the peaks, under the stars. I tried to measure the emptiness, imagined falling through it, like a stone tumbling from a cliff. I listened to Owen’s breath and studied his smooth face, the moonlight glowing in his hair.

  I leaned over to smell his skin, to understand.

  I touched his cheek. But the moon said: Wait.

  * * *

  WHEN I CAME BACK from the mountain, my sister and Vinnie were sitting stiffly on the couch, in a room full of blazing candles. Immediately, I knew something was wrong.

  “Chris, we’ve got great news,” Donna said, her eyes all wet.

  “So why are you crying?”

  “Because we’re happy. Everything has been so hard lately and we’ve been praying and asking for guidance and…”

  I waited. Lately, I’d become irritated by how they dragged things out, how every announcement had to have a Jesus-y prelude.

  “I talked to my father,” Vinnie continued, “and he offered me a job.”

  I was confused, wondering what kind of job Vinnie would be doing for God—and then I realized he meant his earthly father.

  “We’re all going back to New Jersey,” Donna blurted.

  I stared at them.

  “Family is what’s important right now,” Vinnie said.

  I asked him what that meant. “Our family is here.”

  “We need help with the baby,” Donna said. “We’re gonna stay for a while with Vinnie’s parents.”

  I could see my sister was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to let her off the hook. “And what—I’m supposed to go back to Mom and Dad’s?”

  Donna and Vinnie stared at me, surprised by my angry tone.

  “I guess you want me to be committed. That’s what Dad said: ‘Straighten out or you’re going to a facility.’”

  “Chris, I promise, nothing will happen to you—okay? I’ll make sure. Please don’t make this difficult.”

  I asked them if they even cared about my camping trip.

  “Of course we care. How was it?”

  “Amazing,” I said, marching to my room and locking the door.

  When Donna knocked, I ignored her.

  I was unaccustomed to rage. At first I wasn’t sure what it was—like liquid silver in my veins, making my muscles taut. It felt like I was turning into an animal.

  I threw a glass against the wall.

  “I am not going!” I screamed.

  When I think back on this time in my life, it seems like some kind of amusement park ride I’ve been strapped inside—it swings back and forth, home and away, home and away.

  I want it to stop, but I can’t get off.

  * * *

  OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, I grew more upset.

  Vinnie went on and on about the circle of life. “To grow up healthy and happy, a baby needs his grandparents. I’m Italian. Grandparents were always around.”

  “Well, Donna and I barely know our grandparents.”

  I was furious. Had they both forgotten what it was like back there? Maybe Vinnie’s parents would have some interest in a screaming baby; mine certainly wouldn’t. And what had happened to our noble plan to live with God in the desert? To break through into the Light?

  It was hopeless, though. Donna and Vinnie were dead broke, and Mom refused to send more than her current amount. At least Vinnie’s parents had offered them food and a place to stay. And a job at the chemical factory!

  Unbelievable. “Why can’t Vinnie get a job here?”

  “We’re tired,” said Donna. “I just want a bath.”

  Our little house had only a rusted shower stall.

  “What happened to being poor and pure?” I asked—but by that point Jelissa was crying. We all turned toward her, the baby who’d arrived in a house reeking of pot. Soon, she’d be in New Jersey smelling meatballs and Windex and hair spray. Maybe that wasn’t so terrible.

  “Are you still going to work for Lu and Valentine?” I asked my sister.

  As the baby continued to wail, I knew the answer.

  “So—what—you’re just giving up?”

  * * *

  AT SCHOOL, in a state of panic, I told Owen the news. He said barely a word. We stood staring at each other, both of us refusing to speak for fear of what might come out.

  We cut class and spent the day smoking weed behind a shed at the edge of a cotton field. We took a stone and broke open the shed’s lock. Inside there was nothing. Not even cotton.

  * * *

  AT THE STASH HOUSE, I’d stopped shouting and crying. One night, for dinner, my sister splurged and bought a dozen green corn
tamales—my new favorite food. I ate four.

  We were leaving in a week. Donna and Vinnie had very few things—barely enough to fill one suitcase. I had even less.

  Clearing away plates, Donna stopped and said, “You know, Chris, we did love it out here. With you.”

  A spiteful sun was setting, filling the room with the most gorgeous light.

  I went to my room and looked through my sketchbook, all my drawings of Tucson. Maybe I’ll give them to Owen, I thought.

  When I saw him the next day, he just blurted it out: “My parents say you can stay with us.”

  Whatever happiness I might have felt was weighed down by confusion—my own parents didn’t want me, so why would strangers want to take me in?

  “Chris, did you hear me? You don’t have to leave. You can live with me.”

  “Your parents don’t mind?”

  “We’ve always helped people. Plus, my mom likes you.”

  I felt dizzy.

  “We’ll live in the room next to the garage. It has bunk beds. You’ll share it with me.”

  It was frightening when God answered your prayers—especially when He gave you exactly what you’d been praying for.

  “Man, you cry too much.” Owen hugged me, his face on my chest, but he quickly pulled away since there were kids nearby. “You’ll have to talk to your parents, of course. Make sure it’s okay you can stay here.”

  I was pretty sure that wouldn’t be a problem.

  * * *

  IT WASN’T.

  Efficient as ever, Mom quickly made arrangements.

  “Makes sense for you to finish your junior year out there. I’ll be sending your checks to Mrs. Spoon now—she seems like a very nice lady.”

  “She is.”

  Though happy about this turn of events, I felt sort of insulted by Mother’s ease about my situation. Did she want me gone that much? Or was she trying to protect me from Dad?

  I lingered on the phone, wanting more from her—though I’d run out of things to say.

  * * *

  WHEN OUR STATION WAGON pulled up to Owen’s house, Donna and Vinnie said they wanted to go in and talk to the Spoons. I knew what they really wanted was to show off their baby.

  Owen grabbed my suitcase from the car and took it to his room. I stood there in the driveway, not quite ready to follow him in. I didn’t want my life with Donna to be over yet. She’d been my protectress for so long.

  Standing in front of the Spoons’ house—an army lieutenant’s house—I was confused. I tried to make out the shape of the dream my sister and I had had—about peace and love and the Holy Spirit—and I wondered if I could manage it by myself.

  Suddenly, the dream went sad.

  I’d always imagined Donna and I would be tripping together forever. When she came out of the Spoons’ house, she seemed faint in her flowered dress, as if she were already fading away. She saw my face and I could see how hard she was working not to cry. She rolled her eyes and made the tiniest gesture with her head. Not in front of strangers.

  And then I kissed her, and it was hopeless. We broke down.

  The Spoons stepped aside, as Vinnie put his arms around me and said: Hey, bro, we love you.

  Then, in a cough of blue smoke, they drove off.

  22.

  I Just Like Vegetables, Sir

  MOM HAD WARNED THE SPOONS that I was a vegetarian, and it was agreed that Mrs. Spoon would take me out once a week so I could buy my special food.

  Lily was relieved to find out I did not need to attend Catholic mass.

  I’d arrived with only a single suitcase, half-filled with clothes and books and sketchpads. The other half was filled with parting-gift pot from my sister, and the big bottle of LSD from Lu.

  “Is it okay to put out my Bible?” I asked Owen.

  “Sure,” he said, explaining that his family were Jack Mormons, which meant they didn’t go to temple anymore. I remained unclear on what exactly the Mormon Church was. Did they have priests and nuns? I didn’t want to pry.

  Owen said, “My parents drink and smoke, which is strictly forbidden.”

  “And as you probably noticed, my mom’s a little zonked from booze and pills. I think she’s in a lot of pain—from the arthritis. And my dad has nightmares, on account of his killing a lot of people in Korea.”

  I didn’t mention my own nightmares.

  Owen went on. “Dad’s chest is covered with scars from hand-to-hand combat. It’s pretty gross. I can’t even look at him when he takes off his shirt.”

  From the windows of our room, I could see both the front yard and the back. The front was raked gravel, but the backyard was cement block, swept clean. In a patch of dirt, there were roses and a lemon tree laden with fruit—each lemon so yellow it seemed impossible.

  Owen’s blonde sisters were likewise too beautiful to believe. I remember watching them run inside with their schoolbooks, laughing like an advertisement for youth and chastity: Brenda, Billie, and Barb.

  Owen was the youngest child—the only boy.

  * * *

  AFTER SCHOOL, Owen and I would hike into the desert around his house.

  Sadly, the desert was doomed. There, at the edge of town, developers were blading ten acres a day. Owen and I would come upon bulldozers scraping a hilltop we’d hiked across only a couple of days before. Giant saguaros were piled up like dead aliens, their insides slimy and green.

  Luckily, reefer made everything beautiful again.

  We’d sit on some other hill and get high—Owen telling me about Idaho, where he hunted and fished with his dad, and swam in the canyons of the Salmon River. It was obvious how much he loved his life and his family. Though quiet and small (only five feet tall), Owen possessed not a trace of fear. His laugh was the surest thing I’d ever heard.

  * * *

  SHAPED BY BOTH military and Mormon discipline, the Spoon household was a well-run machine. Saturday morning, Lieutenant Spoon and Owen washed and waxed the Oldsmobile and the pickup. There was yard work and a trip to the dump. Mrs. Spoon and her three daughters would cook and clean house—all in matching aprons—singing to the radio.

  I wanted to join the team—but when I asked what I could do, the answer was always: You’re our guest.

  At mealtimes, the Spoons never argued or raised their voices. I had grown up around a much more competitive table. The Spoons even seemed less hungry than my family—they took smaller bites and chewed slowly, their mouths closed.

  One night, the Lieutenant asked me to explain why I was a vegetarian. With genuine interest, he listened as I described the health benefits of the New Age Diet. I simply repeated everything I’d heard Jingle say—about soy protein and the power of live enzymes.

  When I finished, Lieutenant Spoon put his steak knife down and paused.

  “Young man, I believe vegetarianism is a conspiracy against beef. I hope you realize that beef is our way of life. Owen’s grandfather is a rancher, as was his great-grandfather. You’re not against ranching, are you?”

  “To be honest, sir, I just like vegetables.”

  * * *

  I DIDN’T TELL Owen much about my family. I didn’t want him to know how crazy they were. When he asked questions about my parents, I lied and said, Oh, I never think about them …

  Of course, every week or so I’d call home—collect.

  From a phone in the living room, I’d talk to Mom while staring at photos of the Spoons. Instead of asking questions, she gave me updates, as if I’d called to check in about her. She told me she’d made up with Dad—that he was getting sober. “We’re taking it day by day.”

  She sounded tired.

  The next note, however, was bright and buoyant. “We bought a penthouse in Florida—to celebrate.”

  I told her I’d love to visit. She said, “Someday, darling.”

  “Well, I’d like to see it before I’m dead.”

  “Don’t be morbid, Chris. This is a big step for your father and I.”

  I picked
up a cute picture of Owen, wearing a blue cowboy shirt and bolo tie. Mom and I were both living in our fantasy worlds, east and west. She continued to mail checks to Mrs. Spoon—to keep me alive or keep me away, I was never sure.

  I asked her if she’d seen Donna yet.

  “She’s coming down for dinner on Sunday.”

  “Maybe I should come, too?” I said, half joking.

  “Chris, you just can’t make up your mind, can you?”

  “I have made up my mind,” I said. “I was just wondering what you thought. Forget it. How are Mike and Steve? Can I talk to them?”

  “You want to talk to your brothers?”

  I could tell she was getting distracted. My father was saying something in the background.

  “Okay, bye,” I said.

  “Bye, darling.” She was already talking to my father as the phone went down.

  * * *

  ONE AFTERNOON, Owen and I hiked far into the desert, away from the developments.

  “Whew,” I said, “it’s really hot. I think I’d be more comfortable without clothes.”

  “I agree,” Owen said.

  Nonchalantly, we pulled off all our clothes, keeping on only our shoes, as protection against cactus and sharp stones. Sneakers suddenly seemed very sexy, increasing the sensation of being naked. Of course, I remembered Jingle’s admonition about rubber cutting off the Earth’s emanations.

  I was sustained, however, by other life-giving emanations. I watched Owen’s splendid body, pink as a seashell, moving ahead of me across the sand. With mind control, I valiantly tried not to get a boner. Though Owen liked being nude, I still had no idea if he liked nude boys. He was a wholesome kid. He said he wanted to be a pilot, like his father. He could identify any plane that flew over us. Until the weather turned in mid-November, we regularly hiked in the nude—Owen hopping over boulders like a nimble elf while I lumbered behind, an awkward giant.