She Rode a Harley

by Mary Jane Black

  He reaches up with one hand and caresses her cheek. “I’m going to be fine, Jessie Lane.”

  Janice tells her they need to go home and let her father rest. She stops and glances at me. “Mary will take care of your dad.” They leave with a promise to visit him soon.

  As they walk out the door, I notice that Kathy is gone. She left without a word.

  Dwayne asks, “Did I just dream that both Kathy and Janice were here with you?” I smile and say yes.

  He laughs. “Damn, that almost gave me another heart attack.” I know he’s better if he’s back to joking about his ex-wives.

  Midafternoon the doctors announce it was an angina episode, not a heart attack, probably caused by a virus he caught in a research laboratory somewhere doing his job. Relieved, I take him home. We spend the next few days experiencing waking up together each morning and ending the day as a couple.

  Sometimes in the middle of the night, he wakes with a violent lurch and a shout. I hug him and he whispers, “In country again.”

  I cradle him in my arms until he falls back asleep, hoping Vietnam and the war don’t wake him.

  After a week, I need to get back to my classroom. My students will be missing me, and it will take days to recover from a substitute teacher. Dwayne returns to winching out a car motor in his garage, so I know he’s gotten back his strength.

  He takes me to the airport. As the plane rises into the air, I look down at the flat brown land beneath me. “That’s my new home,” I whisper.

  THE PROPOSAL

  Three weeks after my return home, I fly into Philadelphia on a bitterly cold January day to help him finish a job at the zoo. We drive through the icy streets on the day after thirty-eight inches of snow have fallen.

  The next morning we begin building more protective hibernation cages for polar bears. Zoo workers lead us down a short hallway with concrete block walls to get to the main compound where we’ll build the thick-walled enclosures for the bears, creating warm caves for them.

  On our right a pair of steel doors with a row of padlocks keeping them locked shakes and rattles. The zoo worker yells over his shoulder, “We put the bears in there until you get the cages built. Make sure you stay to the left. They like to stick their paws under the door.”

  Dwayne and I press ourselves against the rough concrete wall, away from the doors. A loud roar fills the air. A grimy white paw appears in the gap under the door. The claws dig into the concrete floor. Dwayne reaches back and takes my hand, and we move past the paw as it disappears again.

  When we reach the area where we’re building the cages, stacks of steel poles and sheets of metal are piled up. They have set up the welder for Dwayne under a makeshift tent with his toolboxes, which were shipped from his company.

  We begin to work. I cut the metal with a buzzing saw. Dwayne welds pieces together, the flame blazing in the shadowy light. Out in the icy enclosure, I grip the walls until he taps them tightly into place, drilling the screws into the metal.

  By afternoon sleet falls and covers us. My eyelashes freeze shut. Siding off my gloves, I hold my warm hand over them to melt the ice.

  Dwayne sends me back to the workroom, saying he will finish the last of the job. “You’re a hell of a worker, but I don’t want you to get sick.”

  I grade my students’ essays while I wait. Zoo workers come in for coffee and then go back out into the cold. I stop and talk to them as they come and go, and sometimes they share their food.

  Finally, Dwayne comes to get me. He strips off his frozen coat and hat. I hand him a paper cup of acrid coffee. He wraps his hands around the hot cup. “Shit, us Texans can’t stand this cold.”

  The door swings open with a bang, and all the workers crowd into the room with us. One man yells at Dwayne, “Hey, you gotta marry this girl! She sat here all afternoon and didn’t say a goddamn word.”

  “Hell, my old lady would have started bitching within thirty minutes,” another man shouts at us.

  Several voices join the chorus. “Yeah, we like this girl.”

  “If you don’t marry her, I will.” Loud laughter fills the room.

  Dwayne smiles. He reaches out and takes my hand. “Can you see spending your life with a scrawny Texas redneck? Will you stand in front of a preacher and marry me?”

  “Is that a formal proposal?” I shake my head and smile at the unromantic setting and the public decision I’m going to have to make. The workers fall silent.

  “I tried to live without you and couldn’t do it. I thought I was going to die, and you’re all I wanted to see before I did.” He pulls me to his chest. I feel his warmth beneath the chilly shirt. “Mary Jane, will you marry me?”

  I nod a yes. The workers slap us on the back and congratulate themselves on being such good matchmakers.

  Two weeks later I fly to Houston for a visit and to talk to Jessica about marrying her father. Dwayne meets me at the gate with a diamond ring. He slips it on my finger, and as we walk through the terminal to the parking lot, everyone we see yells at us, “Did she say yes?”

  He holds up my hand with its new ring and gives them a thumbs-up. “Welcome home to Texas, baby.”

  A WEDDING VOW AND A FINAL GOODBYE

  We marry on a sunny June day in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Our minister and wedding photographer owns the Wild Bill Wedding Chapel. Dwayne wears his black Stetson, bolo tie, starched Wranglers, and polished cowboy boots. Our daughters and I dress in saloon girl outfits for our wedding photograph. Dwayne adds a sheriff’s badge and a fake six-shooter in a holster to his wardrobe.

  We stand outside on the curb after the wedding. A group of Harleys arrive with a loud rumble and roar of pipes. With our hands linked, we watch them push the motorcycles’ back tires against the curb in front of us.

  Dwayne points to them, waving his cigarette in the air. “God, I miss riding a Harley. It’s all that saved me after I got back from Vietnam.”

  “Let’s get one together,” I decide for us. We smile at each other.

  He holds my left hand with its new wedding ring against his chest. “Joined at the heart.”

  On our wedding night we play miniature golf and eat pizza with our daughters. Later we lie side by side in bed for the first time as a married couple, my head fitting into his shoulder.

  The sound of an I Love Lucy marathon drifts up from downstairs where Stephanie and Jessica are sleeping. We listen to their quiet giggling. They took turns using the Jacuzzi tub in our honeymoon suite.

  Dwayne whispers in my ear as I fall asleep, “I’ve never been a lucky man until now. A wife and two daughters. You’re stuck with me now, baby.”

  “We’re going to grow old together.” We fall asleep curved into each other.

  One week after our wedding Dwayne and I drive a moving truck to Tom’s house after he demands I come see him. Since our divorce, we only talk on the phone when we’re arguing about Stephanie not visiting him. He hangs up if Dwayne answers the phone. He knows Dwayne and I are a couple. But he doesn’t know we are now married.

  Yesterday the phone rang as I carried a box to the truck. We were loading it for my move to Texas. I answered it, and without a hello, Tom responded, “Stephanie is supposed to have dinner with me and her brother. Is she going to come?”

  “I’ll remind her about dinner.” Then I forced myself to say, “Tom, I got married last week, and I’m moving to Texas.”

  His labored breath and raspy throat clearing grated against my ear. “What about Stephanie?”

  “She has decided to go with us.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “The judge told both of us that at seventeen she makes her own decision about where to live.”

  “You may be his wife now. He won’t get my daughter too.”

  I clutched the phone in my clammy hand and waited for his next demand.

  “Get your ass out here to talk to me.”

  “I won’t come to that house.”

  Then he insisted I bring
a piece of his furniture to him before I left town: an old oak washstand of his mother’s I refinished years ago. I stared at it against the wall as he reminded me it was his mom’s, not mine. One last unreasonable demand, I told myself.

  “We will be there at ten tomorrow morning with it.” I gripped the receiver. “Then I never want to see you again.”

  “We? You bitch.” He slammed down the phone.

  Now Dwayne swings the truck onto the narrow road leading to Tom’s house. My stomach knots, and I lean against the sun-warmed window. My hands clench against my thighs.

  Dwayne reaches across the truck and lays one gentle hand on my shoulder. I sit up straight on the hard vinyl seat and flinch away from his hand.

  “Baby, he can’t hurt you anymore.” He grabs my hand and laces my fingers through his. “You’re like a beat dog with him.”

  “Thanks to you, I’m not afraid anymore—but I dread seeing him again.” I scoot next to him and squeeze his hand in mine.

  In front of us the large brick house looms. As Dwayne backs up the truck, I watch the door open. Tom comes out on the front step and stops.

  He’s wearing a starched shirt and tie, ready to go to work. Every Sunday after church, I would starch and iron those shirts. He’s president of the State Employees Credit Union, and one time his connection to the Highway Patrol cut off my escape from him. A patrolman advised me to go home to my husband when I tried to report bruises and sprains.

  As Dwayne rolls up the rear door, I watch him walk toward us. He keeps his eyes on me, and I step backward on the hot asphalt. Dwayne glances at me. Then he swivels to face Tom. The two men face each other. Tom looks away first. He glares over Dwayne’s shoulder at me.

  I move forward and place my hand on Dwayne’s arm. “You wanted the washstand. Here it is.”

  Tom looks at me and points at Dwayne. “He can take it inside. I want to talk to you alone.”

  Dwayne stiffens. “Take your goddamn washstand off the truck. You aren’t talking to my wife.”

  My wife hangs in the air. Standing side by side, Dwayne and I are immobile in the hot June sun. Tom glares at us.

  Finally, Tom goes to the truck and begins to slide the small washstand off the truck. He struggles to lift it down, but neither of us moves to help him. He staggers when he tries to carry it. The back of his blue shirt darkens with sweat.

  Dwayne moves to the front door and opens it. Tom maneuvers the stand through the door. Dwayne looks at me. He turns to watch Tom’s back as he moves down the hallway. Then he steps inside and closes the front door behind them with a bang.

  I drop down on the truck bumper and wonder what’s being said on the other side of the heavy wooden door. After a few minutes, Dwayne comes outside. He shuts the door behind him.

  I stand up, and he says, “Let’s head to Texas.”

  As he starts the truck, I put one hand on the steering wheel. “What did you say to him?”

  “I said what needed to be said.” He clicks the truck into gear, and it lurches forward. “He’s Stephanie’s dad, but he’s never going to mess with you again.”

  We drive to Mom’s house to pick up his truck. Stephanie is staying with her and joining us in two weeks. I gave in to her pleading and crying for a few more days with her friends since she won’t be with them her senior year.

  Mom and Stephanie join us in the driveway to say goodbye. Dwayne and I take turns hugging each of them before we leave. I hold Stephanie close and whisper in her ear. “I swear I’ll do anything I can to give you a real home.”

  “I’ve never lived anywhere but here.”

  I tuck her hair behind her ears and kiss her cheek. For a minute, she leans into me.

  “Let’s go, baby.” Dwayne flips his cigarette butt onto the concrete. “You want to drive the U-Haul or my truck?”

  Mom looks at me in surprise. “Mary can’t drive that big U-Haul.”

  “Mary can drive any vehicle. Hell, someday I’m putting her on a Harley.”

  My eyes swing between the two of them. Then I climb up into the driver’s seat of the moving truck. I turn the key, and the engine rumbles to life.

  A NEW HOMETOWN AND A NEW FAMILY

  Idrive the bulky U-Haul truck south six hundred miles to Bryan, Texas. Springfield, my home for over twenty years, grows smaller in the rearview mirror until it fades from my sight. Around me the familiar mountains smooth into broad grassy fields, tall grass waving in the wind. Night falls somewhere near the Texas state line. The glow of Dwayne’s headlights behind me guides me though the darkness. At a truck stop in Dallas, I put gas in the truck, and the heat and humidity blanket me.

  Dwayne buys his weekly lottery ticket. He says, “Redneck retirement. I could give you and our girls everything you want with that kind of money.”

  Finally, at midnight I turn onto Welcome Lane, Dwayne’s street. I’ve always thought it was the perfect name for a street for him. Our lights glare across the yard, and the shabby mobile home stands in the spotlight.

  Simultaneously we shut off our truck motors. Dwayne’s truck door bangs shut behind him. I swing my door open. In the glow of the yard light, he reaches into the truck and takes both of my hands to help me step out of the truck. Hand in hand we walk across the patchy brown grass and the wooden deck to the front door. He sticks the key in the lock and swings open the front door. But he puts a hand on my elbow and stops me from walking through it.

  With one arm across my shoulders and one behind my knees, he sweeps me into his arms and cradles me against his chest. His laugh rumbles in his chest against my ear. “I’m going to start this marriage right.”

  In his arms, I enter my new home. I’ve been here before on visits. We first made love here. But it feels different now that I am his wife. Now this is my home. My daughter’s home.

  Dwayne eases me down, and I look around the living room with its sagging plaid couch and the small kitchen with the chipped refrigerator. He tells me he’ll get us a couple of glasses of iced tea.

  As he clinks ice cubes into glasses, I tell him I’ll call Stephanie. After ringing several times, she answers the phone with a sleep-filled voice. “Hi, sweetie, just wanted to tell you Dwayne and I made it. Can’t wait for you to join us.”

  Silence stretches between us. “I miss you, Mom.”

  “Miss you too.” I tell her to go back to sleep. I join Dwayne in the bedroom and stand in the doorway, watching him sip tea and flip through a hot rod magazine.

  He looks up at me. “Which side of the bed do you want?” Since the bedroom is so narrow, one side is against the wall. Whoever sleeps there will need to crawl over the other person to get out of bed.

  “I’ll take the wall side.” I strip off my clothes. Dwayne stands up and folds back the blankets. Throwing off his clothes, he joins me. My head slips into the nook of his shoulder.

  I open my eyes to sunshine streaming through the window. Sitting up suddenly, I check the time on the clock beside the bed. Eight in the morning. I press my hand against my chest with its pounding heart, filled with an unreasonable sense of panic. I can’t remember the last time I slept through the night without waking. For years, I would be startled awake by Tom’s fist pounding into the pillow by my head. He never hit me, just propelled me from sleep to consciousness in seconds. As I quivered there with my heart pounding, he’d whisper all of the things I’d done to make him mad. The attacks were random. But now I always sleep with a part of me waiting for an assault.

  On this sunny Texas morning, I take a deep breath. Safe. I’m safe here. In the kitchen, I hear Dwayne singing and smell the coffee brewing.

  Soon he comes into the room with cups in his hands. “How’s my wife doing this morning?”

  “I never woke up once.” I wrap my hand around the heat of the mug.

  “Yeah, no nightmares for me either.”

  Dwayne sits by me and leans against the headboard, holding his coffee with one hand and stroking my bare arm with the other. I stretch my legs out by his, fee
ling his warmth beside me, and listen to his story of talking the woman who owned the property into letting him move here without money up front.

  “I was homeless and divorced. I had to declare bankruptcy after Janice ran up the credit cards. Lost my business.” He describes how he drove around until he found this abandoned trailer. “It had a hell of a garage though.”

  Now it is our home. And Stephanie will be coming here in a few days.

  Dwayne stands up. “What do you want to do today, baby?”

  I climb out of bed and dig through my suitcase on the floor. “We’ve got to unpack some of my stuff, and then I’d like to go to your bank and get our account set up.”

  When he doesn’t answer, I stop dressing and look at him.

  He plops down on the bed. “I haven’t had a bank account since the bankruptcy. I pay for everything with cash and money orders.” He reaches over and opens a dresser drawer. He pulls out a large manila envelope and hands it to me. “My bank.”

  I open it and look at the cash stuffed inside it.

  He lays one large scarred hand on my knee. “I’m making good money at REC right now. I promise I’ll take care of you and Steph.”

  We sit side by side on the edge of our small bed. I rub his shoulder under his Harley T-shirt. The air conditioner rumbles, and cool air lifts my hair.

  “How about I have a bank account? Soon I’ll have the money from the house Tom and I are selling.” I tell him I’ll have paychecks again when I get a teaching job. “You keep paying cash for things.”

  He smiles. “Make it a joint account. REC pays me in cash, so I can put some in the bank for us.”

  After breakfast, we drive into town. Dwayne points out the building where he had his custom motorcycle shop after he got back from Vietnam. We walk out of the bank thirty minutes later with a joint account. We sit in the truck in the parking lot, with me holding our new checkbook.

  Dwayne starts the engine and turns on the air conditioner. He cracks the window and lights a cigarette. He takes my hand. “All I got is yours now.”