Rich Shapero

by Too Far

  "Get down, get down." With their noses in the moss, a new world opened up. There were glades of tiny trees without branches or leaves, each with a shaker tipped at its top. If you said, "Shake loose some dreams," they all shook, and dreams sprinkled out. There were forests of tiny antlers with bowls raised to collect blessings from Dawn, and remembrances of her marriage—cream-colored candle drippings, upside down. Mushroom caps were everywhere—apricot, lavender, and hot fudge brown. The Dream Man showed them how, if you looked from beneath, each was a world free and complete, a great mountain floating above the earth.

  But all these things were just by the way. Before long, the dragonfly was hovering over "Put-Your-Arm-In," which was the special place the Dream Man had in mind.

  It was a hummock of loose cone scales, and it was punctured with holes—some shallow, some deep. You fixed on one—how far did it go? You didn't know until you put your arm in. Fristeen tried it first. She wasn't afraid. She picked a hole, felt with her fingers and slid her hand in to the wrist. Then she closed her eyes and leaned forward. Her arm disappeared to the shoulder.

  "What do you feel?" Robbie asked.

  "Is that your hand?"

  "No!"

  Fristeen giggled. "Fooling, silly." Her eyes were still closed. "See if you can."

  So Robbie chose a hole, held his breath, and reached his arm in as far as it would go. It was cool and damp.

  "You've got the idea," the Dream Man said. "Would you like it back?"

  It was then Robbie realized what "Put-Your-Arm-In" was really about. The Dream Man was preparing them.

  So they put their arms in, and then their legs. And sometimes they came right out when you pulled. And sometimes they didn't. They just disappeared. The Dream Man did that so you could see how it would feel. How it would be when you gave your body up. It was scary, but fun. When you had both your arms in, and your eyes closed tight, you imagined you were bodiless and floating, just smoke drifting across a stormy sky. And the Dream Man was with you, whispering close, like a finger in the soft mud of a Too Far pool, drawing out a runnel down which new thoughts would flow.

  But he left without a word.

  They were jabbering and gasping, and they opened their eyes and the Dream Man was gone.

  They found the way back on their own.

  ***

  Late that same night, Robbie was jerked from sleep. There was a choking sound, like a dog with something caught in its throat. He rose and opened his door. From his parents' bedroom, Mom's muffled voice reached him. Then the choking again— It was Dad, sobbing. Robbie listened until he couldn't bear it any longer. He lay back down and put his pillow over his head. "It's okay, Dad," he thought. "It's okay, it's okay."

  Robbie didn't say a word to his parents the next morning. He thought he might not even tell Fristeen. But they kept nothing from each other, and he wanted to talk about it, so that's what he did.

  "My dad was crying last night."

  Fristeen nodded. "Grace cried when she ran out of love for Dada. It's like the fire in your stove when you run out of wood. It gets smaller and smaller, and you get colder and colder. That's what Grace said."

  The heart of the forest was getting colder, too. Time was racing forward, and there was no holding it back. In the space of a few days, all the busy creatures vanished; the buzzing ceased and the woods grew silent.

  It was during this quiet that things finally came undone.

  Robbie and Fristeen had spent the first part of the day in Too Far, idling around the Pool. They talked about their gods and the Cabin. They dared each other, and made short forays down the path, but it didn't go beyond that. In the early afternoon, they retreated to the Jigglies, and when the light grew dim, Robbie escorted Fristeen home.

  Grace wasn't there.

  No sooner had they arrived than the rumble of a motorcycle sounded outside.

  There was a rap on the door. They didn't answer, and the rapping turned into pounding.

  "Guess who," Duane shouted. "Grace?"

  More pounding. Fristeen and Robbie huddled in a corner.

  The pounding stopped. A brief silence. Then a large rock shattered the living room window, and a black boot followed, shards flying across the room.

  Duane climbed through the frame, glanced around, and saw them crouched on the floor. "Where's Grace?" he said.

  "She's gone," Fristeen replied.

  "Uh-huh." He smirked, swaying, clapping his hand to the wall to steady himself. "She's only around when she's out of dope. Hey!" He tromped through the living room, bumped into a floor lamp and swiped it aside. It struck the wall and went crashing to the floor.

  Robbie shrank, holding Fristeen to him.

  "Grace?" Duane yelled.

  Robbie saw the rage in Fristeen's face. She rose, trembling.

  Duane reeled into Grace's bedroom. "Where the hell—" They could hear drawers dropped and splintering, then a pop, and tinkling as the remains of a mirror fell to the floor.

  Then Duane stumbled into Fristeen's room.

  "Get out of there," she screamed, and she would have launched after him, but Robbie restrained her.

  They heard a window and another mirror shatter, then they saw him through the doorway, holding a doll by the legs and swinging it like a club, toys flying and clattering around the small room.

  "What a dump." Duane reappeared, surveying the damage. "My cell was nicer than this." Then he barged into the kitchen. They heard him open the refrigerator. Fristeen approached, dragging Robbie with her, and when she peered in, Duane had both hands on the refrigerator door. He gave a loud grunt and tugged, and the refrigerator swung out from the wall, screeched against the counter and thundered onto the floor.

  Duane noticed a solitary pear on the counter and picked it up.

  "That's ours," Fristeen cried.

  Duane smiled and bit in.

  "You think you're so great," Fristeen sneered.

  Duane laughed and nodded.

  "You know what Grace says about Duane?" Fristeen turned to Robbie. Her eyes were wild.

  Duane stopped chewing.

  Robbie circled Fristeen's waist with his arm.

  "Duane's a joke in bed," she crowed.

  Duane's eyes narrowed.

  "Know what that means? A joke in—"

  Robbie wrenched her back in time to evade Duane's lunge. The animals in the black jacket shrieked and snarled. Robbie stepped in front of Fristeen, shaking his head mutely at Duane to caution him away.

  Duane scowled and stooped toward them, then seemed to think better. He straightened, flung the pear aside and lumbered toward the front door.

  "A joke in bed!" Fristeen screamed after him.

  "Suck my dick," Duane muttered. Then he stomped out.

  They heard the motorcycle roar to life and fade down the drive.

  The two children collapsed together. Robbie felt humiliated. Fristeen cried.

  "I should've kicked his butt," he said.

  Fristeen shook her head. "We could have died."

  When they'd calmed down, they picked up the broken glass and put Fristeen's room back together. Then Robbie hurried home.

  ***

  As it turned out, he was in the clear. Dinner hadn't been served yet, and Mom didn't say a thing about his late return. The night was uneventful. It was the next morning that things really went wrong.

  Robbie slept deeply and was slow to wake. When he left his room, Mom was in the kitchen.

  "Is Dad still here?"

  Dad strolled down the hall, greeted Robbie with a smile, lifted him and kissed his temple.

  Mom was watching out of the corner of her eye. She turned with a melancholy expression. "Are you going to eat with us?"

  Dad shook his head.

  "I can't take much more of this," Mom said.

  "Felicia—"

  "We're nothing to you."

  "Stop it," Dad said.

  "Please—" Mom softened, making a pitiful face.

  Dad put his
arm around her, but Robbie saw his gaze flicker.

  "It's okay, Mom," Robbie said.

  "Here's a surprise," Mom glared at him. "Dad's going to take you to the lab."

  "He is?" Robbie saw Dad's expression turn dark.

  "Today," Mom nodded. "Right now. You keep asking—"

  Robbie frowned. "He's busy."

  "I don't believe this," Dad said.

  "If I'm not worth the time," she said angrily, "give it to him."

  "What are you doing?" Dad stared back, at his limit.

  "Leave us alone," Robbie shouted.

  Mom's eyes got large and she pointed down the hall.

  As Robbie trudged to his room, she let loose a fresh tirade. He closed the door behind him and paced from dresser to bed. She was driving Dad away.

  "Well?" Mom shrieked through the walls.

  "Go fuck yourself," Dad said.

  "I may as well," she raged back. "No one else wants the job."

  Robbie heard the front door slam.

  He paced and paced. When he thought enough time had passed, he ventured out. He made a beeline for the back door.

  "Where are you going?"

  "Up the Hill." There was indignation in his voice.

  "You think you know," Mom said lowly.

  Robbie took a few more steps.

  "I'm talking to you. Turn around! You might pay a little— This is unbelievable. You're no better than—"

  "Suck my dick," Robbie muttered.

  Mom's face froze. For a moment, Robbie thought that might have put things to rest, and he took another step toward the door.

  Then Mom swept down, grappled his shoulder and dragged him to the sofa.

  "Where did you get that?" "What?

  "What you just said."

  "'Suck—'"

  "Where?"

  "I don't know. From Jim, I guess." "Robbie!"

  Mom was shaking. He'd never seen her that way.

  "It was this guy—Duane."

  "Duane?"

  Robbie nodded. "He has a motorcycle." Understanding dawned in Mom's face and her eyes turned hard.

  Just then, there was a knock on the back door.

  Mom guessed who it was. She stepped to the door and opened it.

  "Can Robbie come out?" Fristeen asked.

  There was a long pause.

  "Can—"

  "No, he can't," Mom said evenly. "It's not your fault, but your friendship is over. It's a shame—what your mother is doing. I'm glad I don't know the details. What's come home with Robbie is more than enough."

  Fristeen burst into tears.

  "Mom," Robbie shouted. He rose from the sofa. "Robbie?" Fristeen cried out to him.

  "Go home," Mom demanded.

  "No, I won't!" Fristeen shrieked. "Robbie?"

  He was behind Mom now, tugging at her. Mom wheeled and cuffed him across the chest. "In your room, young man. Now!"

  When Mom struck him, Fristeen screamed, and she was still screaming. Mom grabbed her arm and dragged her across the deck. Robbie hurried after them. "Leave her alone," he cried.

  Fristeen was kicking and squealing, swinging her arms, beating at Mom's shoulders, trying to reach her face, striking her again and again. Robbie hurled himself at Mom's rear, clutching her shirt, lurching her away from Fristeen.

  "Let go," he yelled. "Let go, let go!"

  When she felt him attacking her, something happened to Mom. Robbie gasped as Mom's elbow jabbed his belly, he heard Mom's shirt rip, and he had to struggle to breathe. Mom had Fristeen by both arms and was shaking her wildly. They were at the edge of the deck. Fristeen lashed out and drew blood from Mom's chin. And then Mom just went crazy, bellowing and swinging with all her strength, slapping Fristeen full in the face. The blow threw Fristeen into the weeds. Robbie was sobbing, teeth clenched, still clinging to a wing of Mom's shirt. She wheeled on him, furious, and jerked him back across the deck, into the house.

  "You've wrecked everything!" He kicked and tugged, trying to tear himself loose. "I hate you, I hate you!" Mom's face twisted before him, and he swallowed his fear and raised his fist to her again.

  Her arm quivered as she raised it, pointing toward his room.

  But Robbie just whirled and bolted back out the door. Fristeen was gone, so he crouched in the grass. He expected Mom to come after him. The door remained open, but she stayed inside. He sat there, his frenzy fading, dark thoughts closing in.

  A few minutes later, he saw Grace coming through the shrubs. Her jaw was set and her eyes were blazing.

  "Where is that bitch?" she said, mounting the deck.

  "You better not," Robbie warned.

  "Don't you worry." Grace saw the back door was open. Instead of knocking, she just walked right in.

  She closed the door behind her.

  Robbie stood, expecting the worst. First he heard Grace yelling at Mom, and then Mom yelled back, and then they were shrieking at each other. And along with their voices, you could hear furniture grunting, and heavy things falling on the floor. One of them groaned—a chilling sound. Like when you're doubled up because someone socked you in the stomach.

  Then everything was silent. Not a sound reached Robbie from the sealed house. He retreated to the edge of the Clearing and sat in the scrub, alone with his thoughts.

  After a while, Grace left. She had a dazed look, and she was mumbling, trying to calm herself down. As she started along the path, Robbie heard her laugh. It was a Grace laugh, so there was no telling if it was rooted in cheer or defeat, or poised precariously somewhere between.

  Robbie thought Mom would come and get him, but she didn't, so he sat there till sunset. When he heard the car in the drive, he knew Dad was home.

  A few minutes later, Mom appeared at the back door.

  "Robbie," she called.

  He tramped to meet her. She had a large bandage on her arm, and a small one on her chin. He could see she was still eaten up with what he had said. Dad was waiting in the den, and Robbie expected a big scene. But Mom escorted him to his room, and she and Dad had time alone.

  The day's incidents had tipped the balance. Robbie couldn't hear their words, but their voices were loud and hurtful. The friction waxed and waned, and continued into the night. Dinner was forgotten, and Robbie along with it. That had never happened before.

  It started to rain and the house grew cold, and there was no one to light a fire in the stove. Robbie curled beneath his blankets and Shivers was with him.

  "Nice work," Shivers wheezed.

  Robbie trembled and shook, and then he began to cry.

  "It's always you," Shivers laughed. "I'm the last to point the finger, heaven knows. But it's all your fault."

  Robbie curled tighter, wondering how it would end.

  "Don't trouble yourself," Shivers sniffed. "They'll be back together, and you'll be there with them. We're all one big family, remember? In the mold. Till then— Well, it's obvious, isn't it?"

  ***

  The next morning, when Robbie opened his eyes, an arm was cradling him. A warm hand stroked his cheek.

  "Mom?"

  She lay beside him, and at the sign of his waking, she kissed his brow. There was a rusty spot where blood had soaked through the bandage on her chin. Her lids were red and swollen.

  "I'm sorry," he said with all his heart. "For being so bad."

  Mom shook her head, tears glazing her eyes. "You're the most wonderful son a mother ever had."

  "Sure?" He felt queasy. Her wild emotion had frightened him badly.

  "Robbie—" "Mmm?"

  "Your dad's left."

  He heard the omen in her voice.

  "I'm not sure he's coming back," Mom said. She took a breath. "It will be tough for us ... for a while. We'll just have to wait and see."

  He nodded.

  She hugged him. Her Mom-scent was thick. Her breasts squished his chest.

  11

  The days that followed were an ordeal. More than anything, Robbie wanted to see Fristeen, but Mom sta
yed home from work and she was viciously watchful.

  He thought she was occupied. He circled the living room, getting closer and closer to the back door. He put his hand on the knob.

  "Robbie?" Mom was standing in the kitchen entry. "Forget that little girl."

  Was Fristeen okay? Her shrieks and cries were still in his ears. He regretted he hadn't learned how to use the phone when he had the chance. But what good was the phone if Fristeen was hungry? Grace might be gone, and there might not be food.

  Mom's emotional swings were alarming, and without Dad they were unmanageable. When she was suspicious or angry,

  Robbie was afraid to be in the same room. When she was downhearted, he was afraid to leave her alone. What was going on with Dad? Mom didn't know, or she wouldn't say.

  He heard her on the phone a couple of days after Dad left. She was in their bedroom, but the door was ajar.

  "There has to be some way—" Mom sounded helpless.

  Robbie listened to the silence.

  "If I can," Mom said, "why can't you?"

  More silence.

  "I'm shocked. I'm ashamed. That's some sultan's fantasy."

  When she hung up, Robbie crept away.

  A few minutes later, Mom came to his room.

  "I'm sorry—" Mom hugged him, falling to tears. "I'm so sorry, Robbie. You'll never know—"

  He patted her, wanting to help.

  "Forgive me." She gave him a miserable look. "You will, won't you? When you're older—" Her face crumpled. "I did the best I could."

  The next day, they called Grandma. Robbie talked first, then Mom took the phone.

  "He's been wonderful," she said. And then she got sad and told Grandma that Dad might not come back. "I've tried," she said with defeat. "We had a foundation, something to build on— That's me talking. No, Mom. Really— There's nothing more I can give him. I'm not what he wants."

  Later that day, Robbie asked if he could wander up the Hill. Mom agreed, but she made him promise that he wouldn't go far and he wouldn't visit Fristeen.

  "I can't be as hang-loose as your dad," she said with a pained expression. "It'll be harder for both of us. I'm not going to lock you up. I just want to make sure that we don't get into trouble."