by Owen Thomas
“Mmm.” He nods and finishes his glass. He reaches for the bottle at his feet and refills. “You sure?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Mmm. Just asking.”
“My Principal and I don’t see eye to eye on some issues. We’ll get past it.”
“Suspended?”
I have been here before, many times. There is no way he can really know, and yet somehow, blindfolded, he knows exactly where to throw the dart. When I was seventeen I wrecked the family station wagon, driving like an immortal savage with a bunch of friends. I came home that night very late, hoping my parents had gone to bed. My plan was to get up at the crack of dawn and to take the car to an auto shop owned by the father of one of my friends. Never mind that the whole passenger side was caved in and that one of the windows was shattered. A little teenage magical thinking and terror-induced denial turned it into a workable plan. If confronted, I would explain how the car had been inexplicably bashed in – probably by a drunk driver – while I was at the movies.
When I walked in the house, the entire family was asleep except my father, who was down in his study sitting in the dark listening to music. Actually, he too may have been asleep, but just not as deeply as I would have liked. When I passed his door on the way to my room he called my name. I stopped, swallowed hard and backed up. His back was to me and his feet were propped up on the desk. He took a sip of wine.
Everything okay?
What?
I said, is everything okay?
Yeah, dad. Sure.
You wreck the car?
Uh… well... yeah.
You okay?
Yeah.
Go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.
Oh… okay.
And that was that. There had been no phone call, no police inquiry, no neighbor who just happened to see our station wagon wrapping itself around on-coming traffic. He simply knew what he could not have known. Intellectually, I know that it was simply a lucky guess, fashioned in the form of a question and delivered with the tonal suggestion that he already knew the answer and that lying about it would only dig the hole deeper. So I don’t tell the lie and I fess up. Brilliant. He just as easily could have been wrong, in which case he would have turned around and winked at me and told me that he was just trying to ring my bell, and I would have headed off to bed. But he wasn’t wrong. Intellectually, I know how it all works. But emotionally, he is a fucking psychic. And here we are again.
“Suspended?”
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know, dad. It’ll work itself out.”
“Mmm hmm… Need some money?”
“Nah. Thanks. I’m good. It’s with pay, so... yeah. I’m good.”
“You’re mother is concerned about drugs.”
“Isn’t everybody?”
“Mmm hmm. You know what I mean.”
“Do I look like a druggie to you?”
“No. No you don’t look like a … druggie, if that’s the word for it these days.”
“I told you…look, it will all work out. It’s just a disagreement over the history curriculum and my unwillingness to teach the stupid textbook. Okay? It’s politics.”
“Mmm hmm.”
“It is.” I fucking hate how defensive I sound.
“If you say so. I’m just asking.”
I can feel my emotions backing up. Rage and self-loathing rise up in my throat like bile. He knows it all. Impossible, but he does. He knows it all and I cannot stop lying. He is testing my integrity and I am failing. Bill Clinton would have been so much better to just own up to all the sex. The sex would have been forgivable. But not the lying. Monica was about judgment. Lying about Monica was about integrity. Fuck.
“It’s just…it’s fine, Dad.”
“So you’ve got your days free, then.”
“Yeah. For now. Just a little while. I expect to be right back at it soon.”
“What are you doing with your time?”
“Oh, getting caught up on things. You know. Cleaning house. Working on lesson plans. I’ll be able to hit the ground running when I go back.”
“Mmm. Sure you don’t need some cash?”
“I’m good. Thanks.”
“Okay.” The word comes with the signature intonation. He is done. Utterly unconvinced if not fully disbelieving, but done for now.
“I heard from Tilly yesterday.”
He doesn’t answer, but nods enough to keep me from repeating myself. He has reached that familiar point on his arc of consumption where words are a hindrance and, as part of an inefficient, second-rate, poor man’s language, to be avoided.
“She’s planning a trip to Africa for a new film. It’s based on that Angus Mann story. You know the one? She based her story on it. The one she wrote in high school.”
“…”
“Dad?”
“Hmm?”
“You know Angus Mann?”
“Yes.”
“The Lion Tree?”
“Yes.”
“Now she’s working on the movie. Isn’t that, like, kind of amazing?”
“Mmm. Could be.”
“I think it is. Well, anyway, she’s going to Africa and she needs her birth certificate and her shot records. She says you guys have them. If you can just tell me where to find them I’ll take them with me.”
He purses his lips and rocks back and forth on his feet, not responding.
“I guess 9/11 has made getting a new passport a real bitch. You have to cough up documentary proof of life before you can come or go any more.”
He is staring enigmatically off into the dark. The stars are out now.
“Dad?”
“Isn’t it amazing that we are looking at ancient light?” He points up to the stars with the lip of his glass, looking at the cosmos through his wine. “Everything we see up there happened billions of years ago.”
I look up. It’s my turn to nod in silence.
“It’s all ancient history. All those stars exploding into existence and colliding and dying off. It’s all done and over with now and there is nothing we can do to change any of it. All we can do is watch it all play out like an old news reel.”
“Dad.”
“Hmm.”
“Tilly.”
“Yes. Matilda,” he says, not taking his eyes off the history he sees in the stars. “The proof of your sister’s existence, as you say, is down in the basement. There’s a metal filing cabinet down there.”
“Oh. Next to the old boiler?”
“Mmm hmm.” I think I have lost him again to the wine and the stars, but he is not quite done. “Appropriate, I guess,” he says. “She used to play down there a lot when she was a little girl. An odd one, your sister. She’s still playing in the basement.”
CHAPTER 38 – Susan
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m twice as old as anyone here.”
“Oh, you are not. I’m not exactly a spring chicken either so careful what you say. I’m the second oldest person here.”
“Oh…I’m at least ten years older than you, Gayle. Wait, what am I saying? Fifteen years. You’re closer in age to them than you are to me.”
“So? You sure as hell don’t look your age. And everyone likes you.”
“Not Kristen.”
“Kristen doesn’t like anybody. Except herself maybe.”
“She is rather taken with herself.”
“God damn this water is hot. I feel like a fuckin’ lobster in a pot.”
“I think I’ve acclimated already. Feels wonderful.”
“You’re just pleasantly impaired.”
“Mmmm.”
“More?”
“No. I’ve had enough.”
“Suit yourself.”
“You could have told me.”
“What.”
“You know.”
“About me and Kris?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have come if I
had told you that my ex was running the show?”
“Sure.”
“And if I had told you that we hated each other?”
“Maybe.”
“And if I told you that she tends towards psychopathic jealousy?”
“Okay, probably smart of you to leave that part out.”
“Another hit?”
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Okay. One more. Just one. Mmmm.”
“When was the last time you got stoned?”
“Oh, let’s see. Nineteen… seventy…”
“Ouch. Never mind.”
“I’m too old for this, aren’t I?”
“What? Pot?”
“No.”
“Hot tubs?”
“You know what I mean, Gayle.”
“No. You’re absolutely not too old for this. Don’t you see that you’re the only one here who knows anything?”
“Like what a hot flash feels like?”
“No. Like how to really protest a war. Like how to motivate volunteers.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true. Everyone else can see it.”
“Not Kristen.”
“Fuck Kristen.”
“She’s smart enough.”
“She is. She’s not hurting for brains, but she makes people want to run away and hide. Not a good quality in a leader.”
“You stopped sharing.”
“You said you were done. Just one more I believe were your exact words.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“No, that was like, thirty seconds ago.”
“Tempus fugit. Gimme.”
“Meredith can’t stop gushing about you.”
“Pish.”
“I’m serious. She’s ready to follow.”
“Follow who where?”
“Follow you anywhere.”
“Pish.”
“She says she likes your laugh.”
“My laugh?”
“And your smile.”
“My smile? You mean…”
“Afraid so.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Does to me. Makes a whole lot of sense to me, Susan.”
“Well…well…Jeez-Louise, Gayle.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I’m not trying to … attract anyone. You know? I mean …”
“I know. I know.”
“All I did was show up.”
“Stop worrying. She’s not bold enough to ever act on it.”
“Are Meredith and Kristen … you know …”
“Good question. Yes and no I think. You want to pass that thing back this way?”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Yeah, now who’s not sharing?”
“I was keeping it safe. Keeping it out of the water.”
“Gee, thanks, Suze. Anyway, they used to be all over each other. Both freshly on the rebound. Kris from me; Meredith from some leggy Akron chick. They fell in together and Kris just adopted Meredith’s identity as an anti-war crusader. Never one hoot of interest in Iraq before hooking up with Meredith. Suddenly it’s her mission in life. Know what I mean? Kris has no identity of her own. She is whoever she’s with. Shit. Here, hold this. I can’t take this thing anymore. A bra is not a swimsuit. Oh… that is so much better. Aaahhh. Oh, and I’ll take that back from you, thank you very much. Anyway, so Kris brought her media business connections into the equation and they whipped up an anti-war buzz and organized this little protest party. But I’m getting the feeling that now it’s turned into a day-to-day proposition.”
“How do you know?”
“Kris takes on this particular look when she’s ready to pop. She makes this face. Like she’s trying to contain an ice cream headache. I’ve seen it before. I saw it today.”
“Today?”
“In the mud baths. When you and Meredith were talking.”
“Well we weren’t doing anything. We were just talking.”
“It looked a bit intense. Kris noticed. She made the face. And I thought, yep, all is not well in paradise.”
“She wanted…it was mostly about Tilly. And the sixties college scene. And a lot of apologizing about Kristen. But mostly it was about Tilly. She wanted to know about, you know, the movies. She’s enthralled, that’s all.”
“Oh she’s enthralled alright.”
“Enthralled with Tilly.”
“If you say so.”
“Gayle, I could be her mother.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t get excited.”
“Kristen must think …”
“Fuck Kristen.”
“Maybe I should just talk with Kristen. Make peace. Put her at ease.”
“Not a good idea. Once she’s made up her mind about something…Ooo! Shooting star! Right there. Did you see?”
“No, and if you waterlog that joint…”
“Thought you were done.”
“My turn.”
“Here. Finish it.”
“Really?”
“I’ve got more. You know, I think you and Meredith would make a good team.”
“What… Gayle. I… I’m not… I’m not… I’m not, you know, attracted to Meredith. I mean, she’s lovely and I’m not saying that I’m not… I mean…”
“Relax, Suzi-Q. Not that kind of team. I think you should take a leadership role.”
“Oh, no. I can’t just step into this...”
“Why not?”
“I have a husband and a son to look after…”
“They can take care of themselves for a little while, Susan. Take a fucking vacation. You’re entitled to one every quarter century.”
“Ouch.”
“What about your life? What about you? Is that all you are? The person needed into extinction by a husband and a child? What about Susan?”
“This is a young woman’s game. They’re half my age.”
“And people half your age are dying in the sand so that George Bush can show his daddy who has the bigger dick. I know you aren’t indifferent to that.”
“Of course not. But I’ve had my turn.”
“Your turn isn’t over, Susan.”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“It isn’t. Look, Hollis tells you that you used to be young and full of it and that hurts your feelings, right? It hurts your feelings because it’s so unfair, so...”
“Because it’s true.”
“No. Okay, you’re not as young, but I’ll bet you’re just as full of it. I know you are. You’re beautiful and you’re brilliant and you’re funny and kind and you inspire me and you’ll inspire these people. I know you will. I know you can. You’re an incredible person. You’ve already got most of them eating out of your hand. Me included.”
“Oh… goodness. I don’t… I just don’t… I don’t even want to think about that.”
“Well you should think about that.”
“Gayle…”
“Okay. But you really should.”
“Enough.”
“Okay.”
“God it feels good out here.”
“It does, doesn’t it? Once you adjust to the water.”
“It’s just not that hot. Look at those stars. Billions. Zillions. It’s like the whole world is… is…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Upside down. Hanging over an ocean of glitter. An ocean lit by billions of floating candles.”
“Zillions.”
“Zillions. Like we could just let go of Earth and everything that we are and just, you know, drop in.”
“…”
“I’m too relaxed. I might just sleep in the hot tub tonight.”
“…”
“What is that, anyway?”
“What?”
“That.”
“Oh this? It’s a tree. See? Wait, I have to stand up. It doesn’t really make any sense unless you can see the whole thing. Okay, these are branches and they wrap around this a
rm… and around this arm… with the little flowers… here… and here and here. And the trunk… can you see?”
“Oh…”
“The trunk goes along the spine, back here, and wraps around to the tummy, here, and the roots wrap around this leg… and around this leg… and these are little plants that grow along the roots. And up on this shoulder is another vine with a flower that Kris calls a Venus Fly Trap, even though it isn’t. And down here, where the roots spread out at the base of the trunk, oh wait, I have to take these off too…”
“Gayle…”
“Stop worrying. No one is out here.”
“Oh… what is that?
“That’s my little pussy cat. See?”
“Oh. Oh my.”
“Tail. Paw. Paw. Mane.”
“That’s… that’s amazing.”
“Susan?”
“Hmm?”
“Remember what it was like to be young?”
“Young? Yes.”
“Before Hollis?”
“Yes.”
“Before anything or anyone could hold you to some other version of yourself? And all of Time in all directions was just… irrelevant? Like a breeze in your hair?”
“Yes.”
“Before you could predict anything that was going to happen next in your life and everything was possible?”
“Yes. That was a long time ago, Gayle.”
“But you do remember?”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Then I want you to do three things.”
“What three things?”
“I want you to open your heart to that memory.”
“And?”
“And I want you to close your eyes.”
“Close my eyes?
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Close them.”
“…”
“Close them.”
“And?”
“I want you to remember, on very the surface of your skin, all over your body… your lips…”
“Gayle…”
“Your breasts… your shoulders… your arms… every inch of you, where all of those tiny little hairs are straining to know everything that there is to know… just out of their reach …”
“Oh…”
“In all of those secret, tender places, Susan, I want you to remember what it feels like to have no earthly idea what is going to happen next in your life.”
CHAPTER 39 – Hollis
