by Chris Rush
It was fun and when I came, I felt weirdly proud—perversely wishing that everyone I knew could have watched, including my father. My brothers knew what was going on and were a bit confused.
Mom had met Julie a few times—and eventually asked if the two of us were dating.
“I think so.”
Mom had on her good apron, the serious one: white canvas, no pockets, no stains. She was stirring some sort of crucial sauce for dinner.
“I like Julie very much,” she said. “She reminds me of myself at that age.”
Uh-oh, I could feel a monologue coming. I knew the signs: the tilted head, the faraway eyes.
“I used to have so much fun, Chris. You know, I was never going to get married. I was actually dating another boy when I met your father, and one night he waited on my doorstep until I came home. It was three in the morning. Your father proposed to me in the dark. I couldn’t even see his face! I said, ‘Is that really you—Charlie Rush?’ It might have been the Devil for all I knew. He grabbed me and he just wouldn’t let me go. I was sixteen! Now he’s mine forever … good God.”
She stared into the saucepan, lost. There was only the sound of her spoon, moving in circles—the cookbook open beside her.
When I approached, I saw that she’d underlined the words:
Do not be tempted to turn the heat up. The sauce will thicken.
Be patient. Do not leave your post.
Owen called the next day. He said he loved me.
Love. I sighed. I knew it was complicated.
25.
A Better Man
IN APRIL, there’s a late snowstorm. I take one of Dad’s cars and drive over to Julie’s house. She’s outside, waiting—somehow knowing I was on my way. We’re like that now—telepathic.
We sit in the T-bird with the heat on, perplexed. When we were children, snow required an immediate response: running, throwing, flapping like fallen angels. But now that we’re adults—almost seventeen—snow is an abstraction.
Julie and I drive out to the Pine Barrens. The snow is dazzling, useless. The last time I was in the Pine Barrens was with Flow Bear—who kissed me and put his finger in my mouth. Now I’m with a girl I love and don’t love. We listen to the radio and watch the white-shouldered pines.
After a while Julie says, “Let’s go back to your house.”
When we walk in, we hear yelling. There’s a sheet over the doorway to the dining room. Julie pulls it aside. The crystal chandelier—my mother’s prize possession, bought in Ireland—is gone.
My brothers are mad with laughter.
The chandelier has been disassembled—its many crystals now hanging in the living room window, attached to strips of elastic cord. Sunlight passing through the crystals throws prisms about the room—a room in which my brothers have draped dozens of white sheets over everything to capture each rainbow flash.
Obviously, they’re tripping.
When I ask what they’re doing, Michael answers, “Destroying the universe!”
Both boys are barefoot in long underwear and hats.
“Hi, Julie,” Steven says shyly. “Do you wanna play?”
The light swims about the room like tropical fish through an aquarium. Julie’s face flickers purple, then pink.
Michael strums the hanging crystals as if playing an instrument. The colored bullets fly. My brothers jump right in their path—demented soldiers in a psychedelic war zone. They are yelling: Uh—Uh—Uh!
Julie says, “Take me home.”
In the car, she asks me if I gave them acid.
“No,” I lie. “It’s probably some crap they got at school.”
She shakes her head. “Everything is so fucked up.”
We sit for quite a while in front of her house—and then I ask her if her father’s had his court date.
“It was postponed,” she says. “The shit’s still in the freezer.”
We know this is somehow funny—but we can no longer laugh.
* * *
ONE SATURDAY MORNING, I’m sitting at my desk. I light a beautiful fat joint—my first of the day—when my door flies open.
“What the fuck are you doing?” It’s my father. He’s already drunk; his eyes are red ruins.
I look right at him. I do not put out the dope. Instead, I take a long pull on the joint, sucking the smoke into my heart; what’s left floats from my nose. I’m a dragon. I feel victorious—my father frozen in place.
Then he flies across the room and socks me squarely in the jaw. I fall off my chair, bleeding; his hands are now around my neck, choking me. My brothers appear, try to pull him off. He takes one hand from my neck and swings at them. Steven is thrown against the wall.
“I’ll kill all of you,” he cries. “You’re not my brothers!”
He seems to hear his own mistake, and stops. He lets go of me. We’re all stunned by the ugliness, the pileup, the blood.
He leaves the room, the house. I listen to his car screeching away.
* * *
LATER, MY MOTHER has only three things to say. She’s crying, of course.
I’m so sorry, Chris.
He was once a better man.
I told you not to come back.
26.
What I Didn’t Know Then
A COLD FAMILY. VERY POOR, very religious.
There’s a daughter, maybe two—but in this story, it’s the boys who concern us, the sons: Burton, Charlie, and John. The Rush Brothers. Charlie, the middle one, wants to be a priest—but when he comes to school in threadbare clothing, everyone says he’s the student most likely to become a janitor. Just like his father—janitor of St. Ignatius Church.
Fuck that. The Rush boys would beat the dust, march until they found gold. Teenagers now, the three of them are hell-raisers; they steal cars, rob houses—but Charlie manages to stay focused at school, graduates top of his class. At seventeen, he joins the navy—chases subs in the North Atlantic. He leaves behind his pregnant sweetheart, Norma.
When he gets home there’s some trouble. Burton’s in Chillicothe prison. And John, just out of the marines, is always getting into brawls. He never loses, though. He fights for money in the parking lots of taverns.
When Burton gets out of prison, he drives demolition derby.
It’s not an easy life. They all have wives now, and kids. Charlie says let’s build things. Let’s make some real money.
It happens, just like he says. Rush Brothers Construction.
Hard work—but they’re hard workers.
One rainy night, Johnny, the youngest, is driving a borrowed dump truck. He’s blinded by someone’s high beams and swerves. The truck turns over; Johnny’s ejected into a field. He’s alive, but he can’t get up.
In the dark, he hears a speeding car crash into the dump truck lying across the road. Some fucking drunk.
Johnny passes out.
When he wakes up at the hospital, Charlie’s there.
“I’m all right,” he tells his brother. “What happened to the drunk?”
“He’s dead,” my father says.
And then: “It was Burton.”
* * *
BURTON HAS JUST PICKED UP the first big check for Rush Brothers Construction. He can’t wait to show it to Charlie and John.
But first he cashes it, gets drunk, plays some poker.
He bets all of it—and goddammit, he wins. Triples their money. To celebrate, he drinks even more before flying down the dark road toward his brothers—the cash in a bag beside him.
By the time he’s wheeled into the hospital and pronounced dead, the money is gone.
John says the police.
Charlie says the ambulance drivers.
“How can you talk about money?” Charlie’s wife, Norma, says. “Oh, Burton.” She can’t stop crying, thinking of his curly hair. “Beautiful Burton is dead.”
* * *
TEN YEARS LATER—I’m three years old—my father gets a call and runs out the door. There’s been an accident
, not five blocks from the house. Watching television, we’d all heard the crash.
His brother John has hit a dump truck with his new car. Another fucking dump truck! Dad wonders if he’s dreaming. And then he sees it, he sees the blood, more blood than he’s ever imagined. Johnny’s car has gone under the truck. There is only a body. There is no head. My father runs screaming: Where is it? Where is it?
* * *
AT THE FUNERAL, the casket is closed. John’s wife, Linda, becomes hysterical. She insists the coffin be opened: How can I know it’s really him? She cannot be dissuaded. The undertaker opens the box while my father holds her up.
For weeks my father is inconsolable, weeping, saying over and over, “He looked like a monster. My brother is a monster now…”
Apparently, no one in the house sleeps for days—not my mother or father—not my brother Chuck, not my sisters, Kathy or Donna. Especially not me, the baby. I wake up screaming at all hours.
“Please, Norma,” my father cries. “Please make that child stop.”
27.
The Invitation
DEAR CHRIS,
I am so pleased by your interest in Amalgamated Flying Saucer Clubs of America and will be sending your back issues of the newsletter as soon as I can pack them up!
I have always believed the future of the UFO movement lies in today’s young people.
If ever you are in the Los Angeles area, please drop by.
My phone number (unlisted) is given below.
Sincerely,
Gabriel Green
President AFSCA
I felt like I’d just received a message from God. That night I barely slept. Outside, I walked in circles around our property, memorizing the roses, the dark lawn, the grim pines. Could I keep my childhood alive for a little bit longer? My face was still black-and-blue from my father’s punch. I was seventeen and ready to leave.
Above the yard, the light turned violet, the first blush of dawn. I knew my father would soon be up.
Ten minutes later, his face appeared in the kitchen window, smoking. He seemed to waver, out of focus, already fading like an old photograph.
Back in my room, I read Gabriel Green’s letter over and over, telling myself: Everything is falling into place. I’ll visit Owen in Idaho, and then hitch to L.A. to see Mr. Green. Maybe Owen could come with me. That morning anything seemed possible.
I knew Sean would freak when he saw the letter. When I showed up at his house, he was still sleeping. I didn’t care, I woke him up, screaming, “Sean, Sean, you gotta see this! I’m going to L.A.”
He grabbed the letter and sat up. Once he read it, he said, “I’m coming with you.” He must have seen the hesitation in my face.
“Dude, Gabriel was my idea. You wouldn’t even have known who he was without me.”
“I know,” I said. “But I have to go to Idaho first. To see a friend.”
“What friend?”
“Someone I know from Tucson. I’m not sure I can bring company.”
“Chris, I’m going—I have to get out of here. I can’t stay in this shit town all summer.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let me talk to my buddy”—though I had no intention of bringing Sean to the Spoons’.
Or, even worse, a girl.
When Sean told Julie I was leaving, she showed up at my house with tears in her eyes. “Where are you going?”
I told her about Gabriel—not Owen.
“Then take me with you.”
I told her not to worry, that I’d be back in a few weeks.
“No. You don’t understand what it’s like in my house—it’s not just the stupid freezer.” She was crying now. “My father is not a good person.”
Seeing her tears, I realized that I loved her. I couldn’t leave her. I loved her—and Owen and Sean. Suddenly the idea of saving my friends made me giddy. Saving them was like saving myself.
A plan was made: Sean knew some people in Boulder. We’d all head to Colorado and I’d leave Sean and Julie there—while I went to visit Owen. Then, when I got back, we’d all go to see Gabriel Green.
I pictured myself on some mauve mountain, embracing my friends in a storm of passion—a teen orgy by Maxfield Parrish.
I said yes—to Julie and Sean. Of course you can come.
* * *
IN THE POOL, my baby brother, Danny, is splashing about, a pink porpoise in a blue suit. He’s swimming with his friend Jamie, the mailman’s son. No adults in sight. The boys are seven. My parents must think they’re too old to drown.
I want to talk to Danny, to tell him I’m leaving, but both boys are underwater, wearing masks, struggling to complete some vital task. Choking and cheering, they emerge from the deep, each holding up a toy truck.
“I won!”
“No way, asshole, I won!”
Jamie demands a rematch. The boys swim to the shallow end and carefully release their vehicles one more time. In slow motion, the trucks roll down toward the bottom, monitored by aquatic seven-year-olds, hovering above. They drown their toys over and over again—never even noticing I’m there.
My brothers will be fine, I think. They’re stronger than I am.
* * *
MOM’S IN HER ROBE, sewing something on her Singer. I can see the satin trailing down like a mermaid’s tail. She hasn’t used the sewing room since 1962. The way she leans on the pedal and sighs, it’s as if she’s a concert pianist attempting her big comeback. Clearly, she’s in a fit of nostalgia. Me, too.
I tell her I’m leaving for the summer. As always, I’m sad to leave—to leave her.
She asks, “Where are you going?”
“Out west to see Owen.”
“What about Julie?” she asks with a touch of concern.
“I’m taking her with me.”
“Have you asked Julie’s father for his permission?”
“Yes,” I lie. Julie is planning to tell her father at the very last minute.
Mom is silent for a bit and then says, “I’m not sure I’d let my daughter go with you.”
“You let Donna go with Vinnie.”
“No,” Mom corrects. “Vinnie stole your sister.”
I don’t want to have this conversation. “Sean’s coming, too.”
“Sean Carney? Really? That sounds a bit complicated.” Mom’s drifting, losing interest. She adds, “You know, Chris, we had such high hopes for you once.”
She shakes her head and turns back to her sewing, never asking how long I’ll be gone for or when I’m coming back. Watching her hunched over the rumbling machine, I know she’s making a new evening gown—something bright enough to catch my father’s wandering eye.
I guess we both want to shine. We both want someone to love us.
* * *
THE BUS from New York City to Denver was endless—three days of sleeping in our seats surrounded by a shifting cast of suspicious characters. I have a pocket full of cash from dealing—and a box of hashish and LSD. I can’t wait to share everything with my friends.
While Julie and I chatted, Sean sat across from us, reading from random signs as if they were omens of great import: YOU ARE NOW LEAVING ILLINOIS! PANCAKE DINNER AT ST. ALOYSIUS!
Neither Julie nor Sean had ever left home before.
From Denver, we took a cab to Boulder. At a pay phone, Sean called his friend Tina—who was actually a friend of his sister’s; Sean had never even met her. Tina was a biker chick with a crew cut and a four-year-old. Sean hadn’t informed her he’d be arriving with company.
Tina split to her boyfriend’s and just gave us the house.
The place was filthy: dead houseplants, crappy old furniture the color of meat loaf. Sean took the guest bedroom—an empty, small-windowed cubicle with nothing but stained carpeting and the smell of cat pee. Julie and I set up camp in a weedy backyard.
In spite of my pristine camping equipment, Julie refused to have sex in a tent. She whispered: Too many people are listening.
“Who?”
&nbs
p; “Everyone.”
“I’ll be quiet.”
“You don’t know how.”
So we got stoned and fell asleep before sunset.
The next day, I took Sean and Julie to the park in Boulder, where I’d met Peter, the runaway. I mentioned that I’d done cocaine with him.
When Julie said, “I’d like some cocaine,” I took her hand and, channeling Donna, replied, “We need to protect our souls. Cocaine is a lie. I think the three of us should only take acid.”
“I agree,” said Sean. “Give me some.”
I told him to wait until we got up the mountain.
* * *
THE NEXT DAY, we hitched into the Rockies and ceremoniously took our acid. Soon we were tripping, running madly up a trail until a wall of snowcaps loomed before us like icebergs in the summer sky. We’d run so far we were actually standing in snow. Around the peaks, clouds flew by at dazzling speed—the storm light changing from second to second.
“It’s so beautiful,” Julie said. She put on her movie-star sunglasses and extended an arm into the glorious sky.
I, too, was in alpine ecstasy.
Not Sean.
Sean kept turning in circles, like a dog chasing his tail. At first, Julie and I laughed, thinking it was a joke—but then Sean took off his beads and bangles and threw everything into a stream. Even the new watch his father had given him.
Then he started screaming, tearing off his clothing. Julie and I tried to calm him. We managed to get him dressed again and lead him back down the trail toward the road. It was dark now and starting to pour.
At the highway, we tried to hitch back to Tina’s house—but Sean kept running away. When we finally got him into a car, he was an incoherent mess. At the house, he locked himself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out.
In the morning, Julie and I found Sean sleeping beside our tent.
