by Deb Caletti
Ian stuck a ferry schedule from one of the racks into his pocket on the way back to the car. Everyone squeezed in their vehicles and the guys in the orange vests unhooked the chains so that the cars could ba-bamp, ba-bamp off of the ferry. Captain Ed headed off in the direction opposite us. Ian’s mind was obviously still on his lessons, and as we drove through the city and headed onto the freeways toward the mountain passes, I could see him looking at the time, watching for the point we’d have to turn back around before he’d be late.
“It’s still early,” I said.
“If I miss, Dino’ll kill me, is all.”
“Aren’t you ready enough? You’ve been practicing nonstop for weeks. How much better can your pieces get?”
“Ix-nay on the violin-talk-say,” Bunny said. And I thought I was the only one who could never get the hang of pig Latin.
“Dino says I’m uneven. I go from brilliant to shit, in his words. My partita is weak.” Bach’s Partita No. 3 in E Major. One of his hardest audition pieces, far as I could understand. He explained to me that his performance was supposed to demonstrate that he could handle different styles from different time periods, multi-movement pieces, and technically difficult ones. The Bach was in the last category.
“Dino will kill you in the process,” I said.
“He’s halfway there, if you ask me,” Chuck said. “Anyone else hungry? I got Corn Nuts.”
“This is a day off from violins,” I said. “What have you got, barbeque or ranch?”
“Both,” Chuck said.
“Yum,” I said. I popped my hand over the seat when the foil bag appeared, and Chuck shook some into my palm.
“There can’t be days off until after the audition.” Ian watched the speeding scenery. We had driven over one of Lake Washington’s floating bridges, long concrete air mattresses that connected Seattle to its suburbs. Then we had passed the wide expanse of Lake Sammamish, which sat to our left, the second lake in five minutes. Mount Rainier was on our right. It looked as if it had been plunked down in the middle of civilization, and not the other way around. That’s how we talk about it too. On sunny days when it’s visible we say, “The mountain is out,” as if a crew of burly guys haul it out only on occasion.
The speed limit had started to increase, and so did the amount of trucks, most of which were piled high with loads of huge, bound tree trunks. We passed the point where humans had sprawled, which meant you started to see only towns with one gas station and a cemetery, bringing to mind the obvious question of where the latter got its customers. Maybe you’d see one or two houses every zillion miles, and you wonder what they do when they run out of milk, and what they do for fun. Watch the rust grow on the broken tractor? Stir up some excitement with another UFO report?
“So when do you get a day off?” Bunny asked. “When you’re the best in your class? When you win more awards? When you—”
“Quit it,” Ian interrupted. “Why are you making me wrong, here?”
“I’m not making you wrong,” Bunny said. “I’m making your mother wrong.”
“I don’t think that’s fair,” Ian said. “And you know it’s not.” There was a bite to his voice. Dino’s own words flashed in my mind. Shut this child up about my mother! Was this the secret to genius violin playing? Unresolved mother issues?
“I don’t know it,” Bunny said. “Everyone’s got their own journey. This is about her pride.”
“What? What’s going on?” I asked. “Is your mother a frustrated musician?”
“She doesn’t even know?” Bunny said.
“Shut up, Bun.”
“You don’t share these details with your girlfriend?” Bunny said.
“I said, shut up.”
“What’s going on?”
“I like the ranch better than the barbeque,” Chuck said, crunching.
“What, are you ashamed?” Bunny said.
“What?” I said. I took Ian’s hand.
“It’s just, my family’s situation.”
“Your mother’s situation,” Bunny said. “She’s broke. Way beyond broke. Seventy thousand dollars in debt.”
“God damn it, Bunny. Shit.”
“She should at least know what this is all about. Don’t you know anything about communication?”
“The biggest stumbling block to a healthy relationship. Next to sex,” Chuck said.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said.
“They lived in their car for a few weeks in California before I heard about it,” Bunny said.
“Enough, okay?” Ian said. “Enough.” His face was red. He had let go of my hand and was combing his fingers through his hair.
“And child raising,” Chuck said. “Communication, number one. Sex, number two. Child raising, number three.”
“They were kicked out of their apartment. They used the bathrooms in fast food places.”
Ian covered his eyes with one hand. “Shit, Bunny,” he said. I thought he might cry. I took his hand. The car got quiet. The kind of quiet that hurt.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “You could have told me.” The words caught in my throat in the way a lie does. I thought about Dino’s craziness. All the things I never could say out loud. I thought about saying it right then, but something stopped me. Being poor was one thing. Creeping around in bushes because you think you’re being followed and almost setting the house on fire is another.
“It’s just … I don’t know. Not exactly the way to start things out with you. ‘Hi, I’m Ian. My stepfather had a long illness and didn’t have insurance, and when he died he left us destitute for my mother’s lifetime unless I can do something about it. Oh, and by the way, the only reason we’ve got a roof is my stepbrother’s charity. So would you like to go for a walk, because I haven’t gone to the movies in three years and couldn’t buy the popcorn.’”
“Oh, Ian. Oh, I’m so sorry.” I pictured again Ian’s mother with her chipped toenail polish. A man in a hospital bed with tubes in his nose and arms. Sleeping in a car. Living in a car. The Ian that I loved. The hurt of that squeezed my heart. My stomach felt sick. “It’s you I care about.”
“Okay. Here it is. If I don’t get into Curtis, we don’t have a chance of getting out of this mess. Number one, it’s a full scholarship. Number two, going there would give me what I need to get some good paying performances. Good paying performances. Recording deals, eventually. The works. We lived on my performance money when my stepdad was sick, but now that I’m older I’ve got to be much better. I can’t be just a cute kid playing the violin.”
“Oh, God, Ian.” For the first time I clearly saw the choice that sat in front of him. I didn’t know what the answer was. I could only sit there in that car, my body filled with the pain of his decision.
“Giving up what you really want—it’s not your only option, is all I’m saying,” Bunny said. “It’s not your job to solve the problem. You don’t need to, you know, give up your whole life to do that,” Bunny said.
“So what are the other choices? She has her wages garnished for the rest of her life? You feed us, and we live in your house forever?”
“She can stay there till she’s eighty, for all I care,” Bunny said.
“The average life expectancy is eighty-four,” Chuck said.
“Ninety. A hundred. Her job is going well. We deal with the hospital somehow. I don’t know. The net will appear. The net always appears if you leap,” Bunny said.
“The charity hurts,” Ian said. He was looking out the window, his whole body turned away from me.
“Charity, bullshit. She took such good care of my dad. This is family. That’s what families do.”
“You got it. Exactly. That’s why I’ve got to get into Curtis,” Ian said.
“God damn it,” Bunny said. “He’s obstinate. Hand me some Corn Nuts, Chuck, the kid is stressing me out.”
“I’d try some deep relaxation for you, but you’re driving,” Chuck said.
I took Ian’s hand
. Brought it to my mouth and held it there. He couldn’t even look at me. That was the worst thing about shame, I guess—its self-destructive power. The way it made you burn the bridges of anyone coming your way to help.
“I’m sorry” he whispered.
“I love you,” I whispered back.
“Money, number four,” Chuck said. “Communication, sex, child raising, and money.”
“Ix-nay on the money-talk-fay,” Bunny said.
The car climbed and rose around mountain bends. At first the snow was only scattered in the shady places, but gradually the whiteness grew until the road was buffeted by full-fledged snowbanks, glittery and bright in the sun. The tires crunched over sanded roads, though I could feel the wheels slip a bit on the ice, and Bunny slowed his speed. I was glad to see the summit and the lodge of Snoqualmie Pass, as the driving was getting a little nerve-racking. Bunny must have been glad too—he let out a big sigh of relief as he skidded sideways into a parking spot. The lot was nearly empty, except for a couple of cars with skis still attached to the tops, and an abandoned snowplow. It was weird. Usually at this time of year the pass would be crawling with people.
“Closed, I guess,” Chuck said. “Shit, I’ve been thinking about hot chocolate and lunch the whole way.”
“How can they close it? It’s a beautiful day, and we need cheeseburgers,” Bunny said. “Let’s get out anyway.”
“We can just look around,” I said. “Eat lunch in the car on the way home.” After our talk, I felt anxious to get Ian back to lessons on time. Either that, or have us both run away forever and never return home again.
“No reason we can’t play a little,” Bunny said. He leaned down, popped the trunk.
We got out of the car, stepped carefully onto the icy ground. The cold air felt great, stinging and fresh. I breathed deeply, as Chuck and Bunny pulled a pair of black inner tubes from the trunk.
“Guys, we got maybe twenty minutes, max,” Ian said.
“Enough for a couple trips down the sledding hill,” Chuck said. “Yee haw!” He gave the tube a shake over his head, his yee haw blowing in a huge puff of white from his mouth.
Bunny slammed the trunk. We walked flat-footed across the parking lot so as not to fall, then cut across the road past the lodge.
Walking was tough. If you trudged in the deeper snow you barely noticed the ice, but my pant legs were already getting soaked. We huffed behind Chuck and Bunny, who could sure haul themselves around for big guys. I was exhausted already, and realized why I’d never been a skier. Just the trip from the parking lot would make me ready to rest for the day by the fireplace in the lodge.
“I’m not sure this is such a great idea,” Ian said. “There’s no one around.”
It was a little eerie, the lodge sitting solid and empty, and the lifts deserted and still. It was impossible, though, to really muster up any feeling of warning when the sun was so bright and cheery, and when the snow was glistening like fairy dust in some hokey Disney movie. We pulled ourselves up and up, walking in the deep snow, until I felt like I’d accomplished an amazing Tight Thighs in Ten Minutes. My legs hurt, my butt muscles hurt, my lungs were hot, and I didn’t look up until we stopped at what must have been the top of a ski hill. I pictured myself on skis, looking down from this very spot, and realized I’d rather do a two-week punishing stint of math statistics then to throw myself down on a pair of matchsticks from where we stood. The hill was a sheet of ice going straight down, decorated with evergreens that were plunked in death-defying places. I changed my mind about the sledding right then and there.
“No way,” I said.
“I agree,” Ian said. “Too dangerous.”
Bunny sighed through his nose, two straight shots of white locomotive steam. “I guess you guys are right. We’ll go back to the baby sledding hill.”
“Damn,” Chuck said.
And right then, right at that moment before the word was even completely out of his mouth, his foot was yanked underneath him sure as if someone had pulled it. “Whaaa …” he cried, and Chuck was suddenly on the ground, a human toboggan, careening down the hill while still clutching his tube in one hand, the black ring skidding and turning as if having the happiest free ride of its little rubber life.
I grabbed Ian’s coat sleeve. “Oh, shit!”
“Hang on, Chuck!” Bunny called.
The crazy thing was, there was nothing we could do. We just stood there, watched his limbs fly around until he landed at the bottom.
He was silent for a moment. And still. And then came his voice.
“Fuck,” he said.
Bunny stepped forward to call out to him. “Don’t worry, Chu—” His voice was lost as he crashed to the ground. Fell on his butt with a thud and whipped and whizzed down that hill like we’d just been shown an instant replay. Bunny held his tube, too, but lost it about halfway when it skidded from his grasp, bounced off one of the trees, then bumped the rest of the way to the bottom until a part of it beaned Chuck on the skull and bounced off.
“Fuck,” Chuck said again.
Bunny slid to a stop beside him. His arms and legs were all askew, a toy man tossed by a toddler.
“Bun! Bun! Are you all right?” Ian called.
He lay flat for a moment, unmoving.
“Ow,” he said.
“Can you guys move?” Ian said.
Bunny shifted around. “Yeah, everything’s working.”
“Me too,” Chuck said.
“Thank God,” I said.
“Do you need us to get you some help?” Ian asked.
He was standing right beside me, right there, and then, bam! He was gone. Upright, talking, and then down on his back, his coat flying out behind him, riding down on the seat of his pants, sitting up as if he’d planned it that way. You really would have thought he meant to do it, if it weren’t for the yelling he was doing along the way, if it weren’t for the crash he had at the bottom, his crying out in pain.
“Oh, God,” he cried. He was crying there, in the snow. “My arm. Jesus, my arm.”
Of course, I was still at the top of that hill. I was helpless, afraid to move. All we needed was for me to go down with the rest of them and then we’d really be in deep shit. I decided I’d better go for some help, although the chances of finding anyone seemed nil after the looks of that empty lodge. I was holding the real disaster at bay in my mind—Ian’s arm, maybe broken, certainly injured, the audition, the way we might have just changed the course of his and his mother’s lives—and was trying to concentrate on the more immediate one, namely, how to get three guys, two the size of refrigerators, back into the car and safely home. I stepped back into the deep snow to anchor myself, called down to them.
“I’m going for help!” I yelled, and was glad to see that Chuck was attempting to get on his feet. I struggled back the way we came, a few steps at a time, wondering what the hell I was going to do when I got there. I was beginning to hate the sound of that crunching snow, hated the twinkling, beautiful white, when I heard a roaring sound, a loud zipping roar, like a chain saw almost. It turned out to be a snowmobile in the distance, and when the driver saw me, it quickly headed in my direction. I waved my arms around, which was unnecessary, as he had every intention of heading my way.
The guy was with the ski patrol and was pissed we were out there, wondering how we missed the signs that the place was closed. Apparently, in addition to the extremely icy conditions, there was also an avalanche warning in effect. So, hey, look at the bright side.
I put my arms around the shaking Ian when we were back in the car. I saw his wrist before the patrol guy wrapped it, the bone sticking against his skin as if trying to make a getaway, the color turning quickly to a dark purple. The patrol guy told us to get to a doctor right away and have an X ray, but there was no doubt if you saw what I did that it was broken. The bone wasn’t the only thing that had been shattered. I felt the devastation in his trembling; I listened to it in the silence on the car ride home.
If our lives had been losing stitches up until that point, they began a serious unraveling when we got home. I thought of the time when I was a kid and I had pulled one enticing loop from the afghan Nannie was crocheting. I knew I had done something awful and irrevocable, but the more I tried to hold it together, the more it kept coming undone, until the yarn sat in a wrinkled heap. Fragile things become undone at a frightening speed.
I waited in the emergency room with Chuck. Bunny, amazingly in one piece himself, went in with Ian to see the doctor. It was evening before we got out of there. They dropped me off at home, so I wasn’t there for the moment that Ian walked into his mother’s house with a cast on his arm.
I had my own train wreck to deal with at my house.
“Where in God’s name have you been?” my mother said as I walked in. “I’ve been worried sick.”
I walked past her, went up to my room, and shut the door. So what? What was a little more trouble? I couldn’t stand to face anyone. After what I’d done to Ian’s life, I wanted to drop into a hole and disappear. My own shame made powerful punishment seem certain—it was already withering my insides until I felt I might throw up. I heard Dino in the kitchen. It’s that boy, I know it. I could hear the smirk in his voice.
I shut the door behind me, lay on my bed in my quilt. I wrapped it so tight around me. I reached out for the bear in the snow globe. I wanted to throw it against the wall, destroy it, but instead I put it under the quilt with me, tucked it right inside that cocooned place.
“Cassie?”
Mom knocked, then came in. She sat down at the edge of my bed. “Cass? What happened? Come on, talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s awful. It’s terrible.” I started to cry. Since I met Ian, I was as bad as the faucet Mom left on when she was washing her sweater. Someone had turned on the emotion and now it wouldn’t go off.
“What?” She sounded like she was afraid and trying not to be. “Nothing is that bad.”
