by Han Nolan
I stand there a moment, stunned, but then I think of Dad and I hurry back home, stopping on my way at our neighbors' houses. Only one person has come home from work, so far, and she says it's been weeks since she's seen my dad—or her newspaper.
LAUGH TRACK: Uh-oh!
I run home and head upstairs to get into a dry pair of jeans and a dry flannel shirt and wool sweater. I notice Dad's coat missing on the rack at the bottom of our stairs. At least wherever he is, he's got his coat.
I wait in the living room by the windows so I can see Pete coming down the road. I want to meet him outside so he doesn't come in and find out how we've been living.
"My dad has mental problems." I say this out loud just the way I said it to Pete. I listen to the sound of it.
CRAZY GLUE: You did that real good, goob. It sounds just as natural as saying your dad has a blue car or he's got a pocket watch.
Pete's orange VW Beetle pulls up outside. I hustle out the door and wave before he has a chance to step out of his car. He leans over and unlocks the door for me on the passenger side, and I get in.
"Thanks for coming, Pete." I notice a crystal hanging from the rearview mirror. The car, an old seventies model, smells like a garage—heavy on the gasoline.
"No problem." He smiles. "I've just got to be back by seven. We're doing that intervention for my dad tonight."
I shake my head. "I shouldn't have called you out here. I'm sorry. I just didn't know who else to call."
"Really, it's no sweat. This will take my mind off my own family's mess for a while." He snickers. "Fathers, huh?"
CRAZY GLUE: "Snickers"? Did you just say "snickers"?
"Yeah." I nod. "Fathers."
He pulls out into the street. "So, where should we look first?"
I shake my head. "He could be almost anywhere. I've gone into all the shops, but I thought we could maybe ride down all the back roads along here and see if we can see him, and then go over to the park. He and my mom used to like to go walking there."
"Good, okay." Pete speeds up and shifts into third gear.
"So, what's your father been into lately? Maybe that would give us a clue."
CRAZY GLUE: Being nuts!
"Mythology, I guess. I mean, my dad and I are both into Greek mythology, only now he's—he's kind of living in it full-time." I grip the door handle. I can't believe I'm telling him this.
AUNT BEE: Go ahead, dear. It's all right.
Pete looks at me as if he doesn't understand, so I push myself to explain some more.
CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, you don't want him to think you're nuts, do you?
"So it's like every morning when I leave for school, he thinks I'm Jason, of Jason and the Argonauts, off to capture the Golden Fleece, but in the afternoon he thinks I'm Apollo—that's my middle name—and I'm just home from the war. He thinks the Furies, or uh, the goddesses of the underworld, blame him for my mom's death."
"Uh-huh. Wow. For real?" Pete nods to show he's listening to me and scowls as he studies the road ahead. The sleet has turned to rain and the cars in the streets are churning up dirty water and mist with their tires, making it hard to see. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and one on the stick shift, and leans his shoulder against his door. I look left and right for my dad.
"So, has he always been ill? I mean, ever since you can remember, or—?"
"No! Oh no. He's been healthy lots of times—well, I mean, pretty healthy—I mean, he's mostly healthy—most of the time. It's no big deal."
CRAZY GLUE: Or—uh, sorta-kinda.
"I've always just been used to the way he is. My mom—she was—she was always there keeping things—or uh—him under control. He's nervous around people and loud noises and stuff, so that's why I'm surprised he's disappeared. He never leaves the house."
"Yeah, I see," Pete says, only I'm worried he doesn't. I'm worried he doesn't really get how great Dad is.
"He's great. He's a great father. I mean—he—I—I don't want you to get the wrong idea."
CRAZY GLUE: Watch it. Don't oversell it, goob.
"No, I don't," Pete says. He shakes his head; then he turns onto one of the cobblestone roads and we bump along. I keep a watch out for Dad.
"Me and my dad, we like to canoe on the canal, and this one time—it's so funny—this one time we found this torpedo, out in the woods where we had stopped to eat our sandwiches. I mean, what was it doing there?"
"No kidding?" Pete smiles at me, his brows raised.
"Yeah, and my dad wants to bring it home to show my mother, so we set it long ways across the canoe, right in the center. It doesn't sink the canoe, just kind of lowers it, so we figure we're safe. Then Dad says for me to climb in the front. He climbs in the back at the same time, and the whole thing sinks. I know we looked ridiculous, sitting there with the torpedo between us going under. And that water was so freakin' cold! I thought we were going to die of hypothermia before we got home."
CRAZY GLUE (ACTING AS JASON): "Hey, Dad, water's coming in over the sides."
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE (ACTING AS DAD): "It's just a bit of water. It'll level off before we sink. We'll just be paddling a little lower, eh? We've got to expect that."
CRAZY GLUE (AS JASON): "I don't think so. It's really coming in now. Shouldn't we start bailing or something?"
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE (AS DAD): "It'll be okay."
CRAZY GLUE (AS JASON): "Dad?"
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE (AS DAD): "Well, don't just sit there, son. Start swimming!"
I watch for Pete's reaction to my story. He nods and chuckles, so I feel what I've said is okay.
"But we got the torpedo. We brought that baby home. It's still in our basement."
Pete glances at me. "Really? How?"
"We flipped the canoe and got out all the water. Then we laid the oars inside under the seats and the torpedo on top of the seats. Then we dragged it by a rope while we walked alongside it on a dirt path. We had a car back then, so when we got to the first boathouse, we called my mom and she picked us up."
CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, you lost that car when your dad tried to see if it could float in the Potomac.
"Cool, I'd like to see it sometime."
"Yeah, sure, cool."
CRAZY GLUE: Oh perfect, now look what you've done. No way can you let him inside your house!
"So, yeah, my dad's like my best friend. He's always just been my—my best friend."
"Well, you don't hear that too often," Pete says. "I hope we find him."
"Yeah, me too."
CRAZY GLUE: Me three.
I keep my head turned away from Pete and stare out my window. My face feels hot and my ears are burning. That sock is still stuck in my throat. Something doesn't feel right about my story, but I don't know what.
Chapter Nine
PETE AND I drive all over town looking for Dad, but we don't find him. By the time we pull up to my house again, the rain and sleet have stopped, but the wind has picked up and the temperature seems to be dropping fast.
"I hope wherever your father is, he's indoors," Pete says, rubbing his hands together.
I climb out of the car and turn around to face him. "Yeah, me too." I look behind me at my house. The lights are all off, but that doesn't mean anything. Dad could still be in there.
"I once found my dad passed out on top of a pile of snow in the High Street parking lot," Pete says. "You know how they shovel it all off to the sides? His toes were frost-bitten, but he didn't care." Pete lifts his hand in the air as though he's tossing a hat. Then he leans forward and peers up at my windows.
"I'll wait here to see if your dad's there. If he isn't, I'm calling Haze and Shelby."
"No. Really, that's okay," I say, waving my hand, brushing the idea away. "Really."
"Listen, you shouldn't be alone tonight. Believe me, I've been there—waiting for my dad. If it weren't for my mother and my brothers, I don't know, man—it's tough."
"Really, I'm okay," I say, sticking out my chin, trying to look con
fident. "Thanks again for coming, and good luck with your intervention tonight. I hope it works."
"It has to, or my dad's out on his ass. My mom changed all the locks."
"Well, good luck, then." I close the door and run up the steps of my house. I go inside and switch on the lights in the hallway and living room, calling to my dad as I go. The house feels too empty, too silent, for Dad to be here. I hate going back out to let Pete know this. I don't want Shelby or Haze coming over. I feel overexposed as it is.
SEXY LADY: Ooh! Overexposed. Nothing wrong with that.
I look out the window and see his VW idling there.
I go out onto the stoop and shrug to indicate that Dad isn't home. Then I smile and wave him on as if it's no big deal.
CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, no big deal. That's why your insides feel like a thousand birds clamoring to get out.
I watch Pete pull away, then go back into the house. I search each room again, just to give myself something to do, and finally end up in the doorway of my parents' bedroom. I just stand there for a couple of minutes. I don't like coming into their bedroom anymore. It reminds me too much of my mom with the sheer curtains with daisies embroidered on them, Mom's favorite flowers, and the chest of drawers that still holds her fancy perfume bottles and makeup and a hand-carved jewelry box. The quilt she made by hand with the date of my parents' wedding stitched into the fabric still lies across the bed, and her clothes still hang in the closet.
AUNT BEE: It's as if you think she's coming back.
The only time I come into this room is to clean and gather the laundry or to put laundry away.
CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, and it's like the hundred-yard dash the way you rush in and out of here.
I step into the room and go over to the chest of drawers. I pick up the red nail polish Dad used to paint his wound on his chest. I shake it up and stare at the bright red color a few seconds. Then I set it down and open a bottle of perfume and take a whiff.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Odors evoke memories more strongly than almost anything. Bad idea, son.
I jam the top back in the bottle and pick up my mom's eyeliner.
AUNT BEE: I think Haze paints those small tears on his face with eyeliner.
CRAZY GLUE: Don't prisoners tattoo tears on their face to show they've murdered someone?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: Haze is just trying to express outwardly what he's feeling inside.
SEXY LADY: Go on. Express yourself, Jason.
I unscrew the cap of the eyeliner and pull the little paintbrush out. I stare at it for a few seconds, and a little blob of black starts to build on the tip. I check myself out in the mirror.
CRAZY GLUE: It's been a long time since you've taken a look at that face.
SEXY LADY: What are you so afraid of? You're hot, a little hungry-looking, though, and anxious—your eyes give you away. You need to practice looking more relaxed, and your hair is shaggy and long, but still hot. Good strong cheekbones.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: I know what he's afraid of...
Everybody, be quiet!
I lean in and place the tip of the brush at the top of my forehead, about an inch to the right of center. Carefully, with one long stroke, I paint a jagged line moving from the top of my head, along the right side of my nose, toward the middle of my lips, and all the way down to my chin. I study the line and it doesn't look quite right. I start again, this time working left of center. I draw another jagged line, down past the left side of my nose, and slowly connect it with the first line at my lips. I look at the results.
CRAZY GLUE: Yikes, it looks like you've ripped your skull open!
SEXY LADY: That's not hot.
AUNT BEE: Oh dear, I can't look. Something might spill out. Something terrible. Don't look! Don't look!
I grab my mom's hairbrush and strike the mirror. Jagged lines shoot out from the wound. The whole mirror splinters but doesn't crumble. My face looks fractured into a million pieces.
LAUGH TRACK: Gasp!
CRAZY GLUE: What'd you do that for?
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: I know ...
Shut up, everyone. Just shut up!
I reach for the light switch and turn out the light. I stand in the dark for several minutes, scared out of my wits.
I hear our doorbell. "Dad?"
I race downstairs and fling open the front door. It's Shelby.
"Hey—oh, whoa, what's that? Eew!" She presses a cold finger against my forehead and pushes my head back.
CRAZY GLUE: Yeah, that's what we want to know.
I have no answer, so I say, "I thought you were my dad." I wipe my hand over my face. Nothing comes off.
She shrugs. "Sorry, it's just me. Can I come in?"
CRAZY GLUE: Noway!
"Oh listen, yeah, this is really nice of you, but you didn't have to come over. You don't have to stay here with me. I'm doing fine." I try to block the doorway by standing with my legs spread apart and my right hand on the door frame.
Shelby eyes my forehead. "Yeah, uh-huh, I can see that you're real fine." She barrels into my arm and pushes her way in.
CRAZY GLUE: She's heading for the living room. Tackle her before she gets any farther. You don't want her seeing the house like this.
AUNT BEE: Don't you dare!
"Look, Jason—no need to put up a front for me," she says over her shoulder. "It's no fun facing this stuff alone." She turns around and smiles, then notices the room. "Wow, you've got a lot of books! What is this, some kind of used bookstore you're running?"
CRAZY GLUE: Say yes. Lie, goob, lie! Maybe owning so many books is crazy.
I can't come up with a good lie, so I tell the truth. I walk into the living room and set my hands on one of the many shelves of books. "My dad's a writer and we all love to read, or loved to, or ... uh..."
CRAZY GLUE: Told you. You should have lied. Just don't let her upstairs.
Shelby stares at the ceiling. "Wow, the ceilings are really high in this place. What are they, like twelve feet?" She looks at me a second, but before I can answer, she's marching toward the dining room, which is looking kind of empty without the table and chairs and side table, which I sold because we needed the money.
CRAZY GLUE: Along with his bike and the canoe and...
"Really, Shelby, you don't have to stay here. I mean, what are you going to do, stay the night?"
LAUGH TRACK: (Laughter).
She turns around to look at me. "Well, yeah. You don't want me going back out in the cold again, do you? It's freezing out there—and the roads are really icing up."
CRAZY GLUE: (In a singsong voice) You're gonna wet the bed.
LAUGH TRACK: Uh-oh!
It's only now that I notice Shelby is wearing a bike helmet.
CRAZY GLUE: About time.
"You mean you biked over here?" I run to the living room windows and look out to the street. Her bike is locked to the speed limit sign.
Shelby follows me. "Well, yeah, how else was I going to get here? I live way over on Vinton Street, near the school, and my dad's out of town, as usual, and my mom can't drive—duh, and my sister's away at college, and the nurse has to stay with my mom, so ..." Shelby unfastens her helmet, takes it off, and shakes her hair out. It looks the color of cinnamon in the living room lights. It falls onto her shoulders in a mass of frizzy curls.
SEXY LADY: What an obvious move. She's trying to come on to you.
Shelby joins me at the window.
"You could have killed yourself," I say. "It's really slippery out there."
"Tell me about it."
I look at her and she smiles, lighting up her whole face.
I smile back at her, pleased that she's come out in miserable weather just to keep me company. We stand for a few seconds looking at each other. I notice that her eyes and even her freckles are the same color as her hair. She's the color of cinnamon all over.
CRAZY GLUE: (Singing) You're gonna wet the bed.
I turn back to the window. "I can't believe you rode all the way over
here."
"Right, so don't be sending me out there into the cold. Show me your kitchen; I'm hungry."
Shelby sets her helmet on a stack of books and scuttles toward the back of the house.
"So tell me what happened? You just came home and your father was gone?" she asks, still aiming for the kitchen while I struggle to get ahead of her and block the entrance. I know there's nothing to eat. I don't want Shelby going through our cupboards and finding that out.
I manage to squeeze past her just as she reaches the kitchen. She looks at me standing in front of her. "What are you doing?" She pushes her finger against my forehead again, and I remember the eyeliner. I know I look crazy.
CRAZY GLUE: But you're not, right?
"Jason, you almost knocked me down." Shelby pushes me aside and enters the kitchen.
I follow her. "Just—just would you wait a second? I haven't done any shopping lately, so all we have is—"
"Hey, I'm a whiz at making something tasty out of this and that. Just watch me." She goes toward the refrigerator, so I give up and just let the embarrassment happen.
"Nice kitch, by the way. I really like red walls."
AUNT BEE: We have such a nice memory of you and your dad painting it while your mom was in her coma. We all hoped to surprise her when she got better and she came home, but...
CRAZY GLUE: Aunt Bee, stow it already.
AUNT BEE: I was just going to say, at least someone's appreciating it.
The kitchen does look fresh, with its red walls and white cabinets and trim. We have a pine table in the center of the room with four chairs that my mom painted in different colors: red, yellow, aqua, and green. The room looks festive and warm.
Shelby opens the refrigerator to find...
CRAZY GLUE: Exactly nothing.
"I was going to get some milk and bread and eggs—really," I say.
She nods and closes the refrigerator, then removes her backpack. She digs into her pack and pulls out her cell phone. I see her texting somebody.
"Who are you talking to? What are you saying there?" I peer over her shoulder.
FBG WITH A MUSTACHE: She's broadcasting your empty refrigerator to the whole school.
