Tom ambled into the lobby of the clinic wearing jeans and a blue Michigan sweatshirt. He'd just been through his third day of detox. He was unshaven and thin and he said he hadn't been able to eat much. He was short, but normally a pretty stocky guy, and seeing him look pale and gaunt was a bit of shock. I tried not to stare at him.
"Don't I look great?" he said.
"Better than Mikey," Nick said.
Tom led us down the pristine white hallway to a room he called the lounge, which had a fridge full of Sprite and bottled water, and a hot-beverage machine that only served decaf coffee and herbal tea. We sat around a card table and drank thick, lukewarm coffee with powdered creamer. Across from us, a man in his late forties sat with two teenage girls. He was looking at a magazine, and he kept reading items out loud and trying to make the girls laugh. They looked like they'd been crying all day though, and they weren't in the mood.
"How bad is it?" Nick asked, lighting up a cigarette for Tom and then one for himself.
"It's not so bad," he said. "Man, I'd kill for a drink, you know? But it's not so bad. It might be the best thing that ever happened to me."
"Really?" I said.
"Sure," he said. Soft music played on a radio somewhere. "Margaritaville" came on, and someone turned the radio off. "I mean, how long can you be an asshole who drinks too much?"
"You don't drink too much," Nick said.
At lunch, the lady at the front desk told us that we were allowed to go out to McDonald's and bring some back for Tom. We got him a twenty-piece Chicken McNuggets, but Nick and I ate most of them. Tom just sipped on the milk shake we'd given him. He looked around and said, "I got two weeks in here, but I can stay up to six. Man, this is a helluva milk shake."
"Well, two weeks isn't so bad," I said.
"I think I might stay the full six," he said.
"Why?" Nick said. "You're not really an alcoholic. I don't think so. Do you, Mikey?"
"I think you should stay two weeks," I said. "You don't want to be in here at Christmas."
"No," Tom said. "But I don't want to be here ever again, either. I don't want to be that kind of guy."
"You won't be," Nick said.
"No way," I said.
"Gentleman, we need to step back for a moment and take a look at ourselves," Tom said. "Oh-fucking-kay?"
Normally this would have been just the kind of sudden and passionate Tom Slowinski speech that would have made us bust out laughing. Instead, Nick and I looked at each other and shrugged. Then we each dunked another nugget in barbecue sauce and finished our lunch in silence.
Finally, Tom spoke. "How are the strike plans going, Nick?"
Nick looked around the room, like he was afraid he was being tailed. "It's okay, Tom," he said. "It's going fine."
On the way home, Nick said very little. When we were back on the interstate I said, "I think old Tommy Too Slow is sad that he is going to miss the strike."
"Maybe," Nick said. "A few people are starting to bail on us, you know. About a dozen people have already told me they're having second thoughts. A lot of guys with kids. It'd be a shitty time to lose a job if you had kids."
"Who needs those guys?" I said. "Weak links."
I was thinking about Ella. What would she do if she lost her job over this strike? What would she get Rusty for Christmas? She'd have to win a whole lot more bikini contests to pay the bills without her job at the Book Nook.
The day was windy and some snow blew around, dotting the windshield with ice. The sky over the interstate was gray and the bare trees along the highway looked desperate for warmth, like they might snap in two if the wind picked up any more.
"It's not even Christmas," Nick said, "and I'm already fucking sick of winter."
***
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Nick and I were on break smoking cigarettes behind Victoria's Secret. More snow was drifting down from the sky when he said, "I need to talk to you."
"We're talking," I said.
"I've called it off," he said. "Okay, Mikey? It's not going to happen."
"What?" I said.
"The strike. I've already got people spreading the word. It's off."
"Why?" I said. "Because of the election? All this recount bullshit? Is that it? Because if anything, now would be the perfect time to—"
"No," he said. "That has nothing to do with this. It's just not going to happen."
He threw a cigarette butt out ahead of him. It was still smoking when it landed. We were quiet for a minute watching it get covered in snow.
"I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night," Nick said. "And then I woke up and started making calls, telling people it was off, and that felt like the right thing to do. I don't know. Anyway, there's no use discussing it anymore. It's off."
"Whatever," I said.
"Look," Nick said, "people were getting cold feet. It would have been you and me out there all alone—a couple of stupid fucks against the world. Just like old times. We know better than that now."
"There would have been more people there. Ella would be there."
"Fine. You and me and Ella. Three stupid fucks against the world."
"Just like that? You can't do that. It's the only thing anybody has to look forward to right now. I hear people talking about it all the time. That's so goddamn like you, Nick. You don't stick with anything."
"My girlfriend is pregnant. We're going to get married."
"So? So what the fuck!"
"You think anybody is going to hire the leader of a sit-down strike? We're not in a real union, Mikey. There's nothing protecting us, no laws or anything."
"So? Who cares? It was a statement. You said it yourself, you said we'd be famous."
"I need the benefits for the baby. I've worked at Liberty Bell Subs for one year just to get medical insurance. I can't fuck this up."
I had never argued Nick into anything. I knew it wouldn't happen.
"So will I finally get to meet her? This girl? Is she the one from Ann Arbor? Will you have a wedding?"
"No. We're just going to the courthouse. She doesn't want a church wedding or a party or anything."
"Fine, fine. I'll be your witness!"
"Mikey. It's Sunny."
I just looked at him. He shrugged. Then I said, "You mean, Sonya? Sonya Stecko?"
"Right. She goes by Sunny now, you know that."
"I thought you were just friends," I said.
He shrugged.
"She's the one you've been talking about?" I asked. "She's the beautiful, brilliant girl from Ann Arbor?"
"Mikey, are you pissed at me?"
"It was a long time ago," I said. "We were in high school. Do you think I would care about that?"
"I know," he said. "But if you're mad, it's okay."
"I'm with Ella now. Who cares about Sonya Stecko?"
"I know. Ella's great. She's beautiful too."
"Yeah," I said. "She is."
"Mikey, Sunny is trying to finish a dissertation. I don't want to be the guy who wrecks all that for her. So I've got to make some money, pull down some benefits."
We watched each other as our hair and coats grew white with snow. Then I quickly gave him a hug, thumping our chests together and hitting him on the back three times.
"You're going to be a dad," I said. "Holy shit."
"Amazing," he said.
"Wow," I said. "Does that mean I finally have to start calling her Sunny?"
Nick smiled and checked his watch.
"I have to get back to work," he said.
"Of course," I said. "Me too."
"I might end up getting a second job," he said. "Just to save some money until the baby is born."
"Man," I said.
That night I called Ella and told her what Nick had said.
"I know," she said. "I heard. Some guy from American Pants came in and told me. Maybe it's for the best."
"Maybe," I said.
***
WE HAD THANKSGIVING at Father Mack and my moth
er's house. Nick was with Sunny's family—Nick and Sunny had planned to break their news to Sunny's mother after she was calm and sleepy from turkey and wine. Aunt Maria was in San Diego with her new boyfriend, her first trip out of the state since she was twenty years old.
I picked up Ella and Rusty in the afternoon and, as we drove to my mother's house, I explained over and over again that Ella should not take anything anybody said seriously. That went for my mom and Mack and Kolya.
"Don't even listen to the cat," I said. "The cat is just as crazy as everybody else."
Rusty laughed from the backseat.
"Rusty, honey, pretend you didn't hear Michael say anything, okay?"
"Is your family crazy?" he said.
"No, Rusty. Michael was just being funny."
"No, Rusty, I mean it. They're wacko." I turned to my side and stuck my tongue out and made a funny face. Rusty found me pretty hilarious and it always made me excited to hear him laugh.
Ella lowered her voice. "You have to watch what you say around him, Mikey. He's like a tape recorder."
Rusty repeated her word for word.
The house in Northville felt like a strange place to have a holiday, even though my mother had been with Mack for a few years by then. Still, all of that dark wood and new china and silverware made me feel like we were staying in some country estate somewhere. We stood in the foyer shaking hands and hugging and everybody was exceedingly polite. After all, my mother and Mack had first coupled while he was under a vow of chastity, so they were kind of sitting in a glass house. They wouldn't say anything about something as common as a single mother. But Kolya was eighteen, in his fourth year of high school, and void of all tact. He said, "So, do you know who Rusty's father is then? Or do you not have a clue?"
"Kolya," my mother said, though I bet she wanted to know the answer too.
"Shut up," I said. "Everybody."
"It's okay," Ella said. "He's just not in our lives and we're okay with that."
"I've never even seen him," Rusty said. "Except when I was little."
Everyone nearly choked when he said that, his voice so young and sad and stretched out with longing.
"Sometimes that's for the better," Mack said. He still had some priestly instinct in him and was good at diffusing situations. "You've turned into a very smart and polite young man."
"I know," Rusty said.
It wasn't too bad of an afternoon. After dinner, Ella helped Mack with the dishes, Kolya and Rusty watched football in the family room, and my mother and I brought Christmas decorations up from the basement. Mom liked to decorate the house in a timely manner for each holiday, and the day after Thanksgiving seemed to be some urgent deadline in her world. I was glad that she wasn't working two jobs anymore. She seemed to have the energy she had when I was very young. As we untangled a mess of Christmas lights, my mother said, "Ella is beautiful and charming and smart. I'm glad you found her. And Rusty is too cute for words."
We had another round of pumpkin pie and coffee and then I drove Ella and Rusty home. I walked them to the door of the trailer, and Lucky the Dog started barking like crazy, so I came in to pet him. Ella asked me to stay while she got Rusty into bed, then she came back to the kitchen wearing an old plaid robe and gray flannel pajamas. This was the first time I'd seen her in this outfit, and in some ways, it was sexier than the short, shimmery nightgowns she wore in bed. Her hair was back in a ponytail and she came over and sat on my lap.
"Michael," she said. "I love you too."
"What?"
"A few weeks ago, after the party, you said you loved me and I didn't say it back."
"Oh, that," I said, trying to sound offhand.
"When you're a parent, I think you tend to give your love away a little less easily. It's hard to explain."
"That's okay," I said.
"But I do love you," she said.
I said it back.
"Will you stay the night?" she said.
"Sure," I said. I told her that I would take Lucky for a short walk and that I would meet her in the bedroom. She made a joke about the sexy flannel lingerie she was wearing for our first sleepover. I admitted that it would be nice not to have to drive home anymore, half asleep and lonely, at three in the morning.
Lucky and I walked slowly. He'd been inside almost all day and he wagged his tail and leaped around like a flea on a string, pissing on every tree and mailbox he passed. When we got back to Ella's place, I heard shouting. Lucky started to growl. The couple across the street was having a real knock-down-drag-out. it didn't feel right that Rusty would grow up in this kind of place, in a run-down trailer with people yelling "Fuck you" and "You fucking whore" every thirty seconds while he tried to sleep. Next door, some young hipsters were standing around a barbecue with cans of beer, still trying to get their turkey cooked. I went inside, latched the screen, and turned all three bolts.
When I got to the bedroom, Ella was still awake. She sat up in bed and helped me get undressed.
"I've been thinking," she said, "maybe we should do this anyway. We should make signs and try the sit-down strike without Nick."
"Are you serious?"
"What do I have to lose?" she said. "Right? One bad job? But what if it works? This could be something."
I loved her then, even though I knew she was only trying to keep me from crashing. She wanted me to be happy. I nodded. "What do we have to lose?"
I called Nick that night—Sunny answered the phone—and told him that we still planned to picket the mall at seven o'clock the next morning. We would urge all the other mall workers to join us. "We'll either see you there or not," I said.
"It's not going to work, Mikey," he said. "If I thought it might, I'd be right there beside you. But it won't. It just will not work."
"You don't know that!" I said.
"This time I do."
THE NEXT MORNING, Ella and I stood at the main entrance of the mall, near the food court. Rusty was with us, all bundled up and fairly interested in the signs we had made. This spot had been the designated rallying point. We put our picket signs behind some garbage cans and waited to see if anybody would join us. Walker Van Dyke and about eight other guys showed up and looked at the three of us.
"This is it?" Walker said.
"So far," Ella said.
"Nick bailed on us," somebody else said.
"Well, he's not the only guy that matters," Ella said.
I couldn't think of anything else to say. Rusty looked a little scared. He held my hand. A Channel Two news truck slowed down in the parking lot and watched us for a minute. Then Walker and the other guys talked among themselves and decided they had better show up for work.
For the past twelve hours, we had struggled to get the word to everybody that the strike was still on. We had woken people up in the middle of the night and tried to get them to listen to us. But it was hard to reach everybody, and without Nick and his dynamic, feverish leadership, nobody wanted to go out on a limb. Most of the workers looked at Ella and me and Rusty on their way into the mall and kept on going. A few of Nick's most ardent Knights of Labor showed up with signs made on poster board—MALL WORKERS UNITED and FAIR WAGES NOW—but dropped them in the garbage cans when they saw nobody else had joined us. Ella and I didn't inspire them and instill confidence in them the way Nick did. Nick was a man of many gifts. Nick had vision.
"You've got to have vision," he used to say, whether he was playing a prank on the principal or hitting on the hottest woman in the room or organizing a mass labor protest. "You've got to have vision, man."
A few minutes before eight o'clock, Nick appeared. He gave us nothing more than a glance and a nod, not even a discreet thumbs-up or an appreciative grin. His hands were plunged into the pockets of his denim jacket. He was wearing a navy blue watch cap. His shoulders were full and hunched, and his neck was slumping, pushing his head out in front of his body. He looked like his father. From his back pocket, his Liberty Bell Subs apron and hat waved like flags.
"Well, maybe you should go in to work too," Ella said. "We might as well not be the only two people who lose their jobs, eh?"
I was due in at nine o'clock, but Ella wasn't due until four. We decided that she would bring Rusty to work with her and I would take him home, feed him dinner, and put him to bed.
"Might as well," I said.
"Nick's just trying to be a good father," Ella said. "You know that, right?"
I nodded.
"Believe me, I wish Rusty had a father like him."
"I know all that."
"These things never go like you imagine they'll go," she said. "Dreams never do." She waited a moment, watching my face to see if I really was starting to cry. I cried all the time. I cried more than my mother and Kolya. I hated myself for always crying. What the fuck was wrong with me? I was going to have to go to a doctor and have my tear ducts removed.
"I know everything you're saying," I said.
"What's really bothering you then?" Ella said.
She was looking at me like she really wanted to know. People hardly ever look at you like that, like they really want to know the answer.
"I lost him. He's not the same guy," I said. "He'll never be the same guy again."
What she did then was take both of my hands and pull me against her.
"Well, you still got me," she said. "That's enough, isn't it?"
"It is," I said.
I held her. She held me.
I wanted it to be enough.
But it didn't feel like enough, not yet.
It wasn't even close.
9. The Warning Signs and Symptoms of Depression, 2001
I WENT OVER TO MY mother and Mack's house for Sunday dinner. I'd just gotten off the early shift at the radio station, and I'd been up since 3 a.m. I should have gone home and slept.
Mack had made his famous pork roast. He and my mother had recently become Lutherans. They seemed happy to be back in God's grace in a church where the fall of a priest was more of a happy occurrence than an irredeemable sin. While he heaped meat and potatoes and carrots on my plate, he was telling Kolya and me about the brilliant, hopeful message they had heard in church that morning.
Please Don't Come Back from the Moon Page 15
