Welcome to Fred (The Fred Books)

by Brad Whittington

  “Good evenin’.” He nodded and took a sip of Coke. I nodded back. “How much is yer paper?”

  “A quarter.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Human-interest stuff, puzzles, recipes, jokes. That kind of stuff.”

  “No news of the war?”

  “No, it’s not that kind of paper.”

  He contemplated the purchase with another pull at the cigarette, fished a wad of bills from his shirt pocket, and peeled off a Washington. “Where you from?”

  I dug in my pocket for some change.

  He frowned and shook his head. “Keep it.” He tossed the paper into the passenger’s seat.

  “Thanks!” That kind of tip didn’t come often in Fred. When it did, it was always from guys who were a little rough around the edges. Women were either exact in their purchase or gave me an extra quarter. “I live over near the school.”

  “No, I asked where you from, not where you live. Yer not from around here, that’s fer certain.”

  “I was born in Fort Worth.” I didn’t see the need to mention the four years in Ohio.

  He regarded me with a penetrating stare that told me he suspected the four years but was too polite or lethargic to challenge my confession.

  “OK.” A long silence hung between us, and I turned my bike. He flicked an ash toward me. “I ain’t seen ya out here before.”

  “Nosir. I haven’t come down this road before.”

  He nodded, admitting the factual nature of the statement. “How often does this paper come out?”

  “Weekly.”

  “Come a little earlier next time.”

  “Yessir.”

  He dismissed me with a nod and turned his attention back to the sunset. I turned my bike toward home and pedaled like mad.

  The next week I directed my bike to the knobby knoll on my river bottom route. The Pontiac was absent. A girl in her early twenties was sitting on a glider swing on the porch at the house across the road. I stopped in the weeds that carpeted the yard and flashed a paper in her direction. “Would you like to buy a Grit?”

  She sized me up without breaking her rhythm on the swing. “Nope.” She wore short cutoffs and a work shirt with the tail tied in a knot over her stomach. She might have been a prom queen at one time. Now she was just a girl on a porch on a Saturday afternoon, bored.

  “Where’s the guy in the car?” I jerked my head toward the field.

  The swing slowed to a stop. “What?”

  “The guy in the Pontiac. He was parked over there last week.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “He usually shows up a hour before sunset.”

  “Oh.” I shoved the paper back in the pouch. “Thanks.”

  She gave me a last look and kicked the swing back into action. I returned late in the afternoon. The Pontiac was there, the left hand hanging out the window, smoke rising from the cigarette. The girl was lengthwise on the swing leaning against an armrest, facing the old man in the car. She didn’t acknowledge my arrival. I returned the favor by veering to the car.

  The man pulled his attention away from the sunset and raised the cigarette in my direction. I pulled out a paper in anticipation of another lucrative sale. He responded by pulling a Coke from a cooler in the backseat. It was glistening with moisture, unopened.

  “I brought an extry in case ya showed up.” We exchanged the Coke and the paper. He tossed the paper in the back and a dollar on the passenger’s seat. “Hop in and take a load off. Enjoy the view.” He waved vaguely with the cigarette. I couldn’t tell if he was gesturing at the sunset or the girl.

  I collapsed into the Pontiac. It smelled of stale smoke, dust, and a faint sweet, pungent whiff of whiskey. I looked around but didn’t see any cans or bottles. Just a pack of Lucky Strikes and a gold lighter on the dash, and a square medal with blue and white diagonal stripes hanging from the rearview mirror. I peeled the ring-tab off the Coke. It wasn’t Dr Pepper, but in the wilderness one cannot be choosy. I slid the ring-tab up my index finger. Heidi collected them, making chains she hung in her room.

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded in my direction, dismissing my appreciation without breaking the silence or his gaze toward the sunset and the swing. I followed his lead, staring at the clapboard house silhouetted against the yellow-orange sky and sipping the Coke, feeling the carbonation burn down my throat. We admired the view in silence for several minutes.

  “Long way from” —he glanced sideways in my direction— “Fort Worth to Fred, ain’t it?”

  “Pretty much.” I took another sip.

  “Especially when it ain’t in a straight line, I figure.” He took a drag on the cigarette in the same fashion I had seen the week before, clapping his hand over his mouth. I noticed that most of the fingers on his left hand were lacking a joint or two.

  “Yep.” I didn’t see any point in volunteering information. Besides, it wasn’t the fashion in Fred to grow garrulous on any given point.

  He nodded as if satisfied with the answer, set his Coke on the dash, and shot his right hand toward me. “Vernon Crowley.”

  I wiped my hand on my pants. “Mark Cloud.”

  It was a firm grip on both sides; mine slightly calloused from bike handlebars, push brooms, rake handles, lawn mowers, and other random evidences of my serfdom as a teenager. His was smooth.

  A few minutes later he broke the silence again. “Not a bad rag. What’s new this week?”

  “Not much. A guy in Oregon grew a giant turnip. Won a prize or something.”

  Vernon nodded. After awhile, he nodded toward the house. “Now there’s a fine specimen, all things considered. I believe she even won a prize in her time.” I followed his gaze. The girl reclined on the swing, studiously ignoring us. I grunted a response, relying on ambiguity to be interpreted as his leanings dictated.

  “She does that ever’ time. Like a cat paradin’ in front of a dog on a leash, just out a reach.” He lit another cigarette, releasing the aroma of fresh tobacco. “Funny how they learn that without nobody teachin’ ’em. It’s the same the world over.”

  I tried the idea out in my head. My experience of the gentler sex was limited. I had never considered the possibility that they might be disingenuous. A surprising ignorance, considering my knowledge of Jolene’s escapades.

  He blew a twin stream of smoke through his nostrils. “I know; I seen it in enough countries.”

  Most Fredonians could count the number of counties they had visited on one hand and still have fingers left over to pick their nose. This guy was talking about countries. And he had fewer fingers available for nose excavation than the average citizen. “Yeah?”

  “Oh, yeah. England, Africa, Italy, France, Germany, Austria, Mexico . . . Texas. They don’t change, no matter where you grow ’em.” I studied him a little closer. He noticed. “The war. WWII.”

  “Ah.”

  “You can’t swing a dead cat in any city, no matter where nor how big nor small, without hittin’ two or three just like ’er. Full a themselves, like a ripe peach that’ll split open as soon as it hits the ground. But it’s all downhill fer her. High school is a playground fer the likes a her, but now she’s stuck out here, no stage ta strut around on. Soon enough her pa will get his fill a her sass and marry her off ta someone.”

  He took a long contemplative draw from the cigarette. “Or she’ll get bored and run off with one a the punks down the river.”

  I grunted to acknowledge his peroration. My contemplations of the opposite sex tended to focus on their physical attributes. And, from the look I had earlier in the day, I wouldn’t have objected if she had come throwing rocks at my bedroom window, proposing we run off together.

  We sat in the gloom for awhile. Then he suddenly reached up and cranked the Pontiac to life. “I guess I better be gettin’ on home.” He shoved the car into gear and lurched forward.

  “Hey!” I hollered, spilling Coke on my jeans. “Let me out first.”

  “Oh.” He slammed on the brakes
and jerked the car into park. I shot a hand against the dash to avoid a flat nose and jumped out. I held up the Coke. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” He slapped the car back into gear and rolled forward briefly before stopping with a thunk. He gunned the engine. The back wheels kicked up a cloud of dirt. I looked around the front of the car. He had run up against a stump about two feet high. He shoved the gearshift around, hit park, gunned it, and went nowhere. He slapped it again, hit neutral, and gunned it with the same results. He squinted at the gears and tried drive again, creating another cloud of dust.

  “Hey,” I hollered through the passenger’s window. “You’re up against a stump.” He looked at me with a confused expression. I realized he was drunk. I took a chance. “Hey, how about if I throw my bike in the trunk and drive you home?”

  He glared at me for a few seconds and nodded, the fierce expression still on his face. “Yep, I reckon that’s a doofer.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’ll doofer now.”

  He got out of the car and walked with deliberate concentration around the front of the car to the passenger’s side, stumbling over the stump on the way. I pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the trunk. It was full of glass gallon jars, the kind with a small neck with a handle on it. I slammed the trunk and maneuvered the bike into the backseat.

  “Which way?” I asked as I rolled past the stump.

  He nodded to the right toward the river bottom. I followed the road until I came to a trailer up on blocks in front of a decaying frame house. I extracted my bike. He met me behind the car. I handed him the keys.

  “This’ll just be our little secret.” He winked at me.

  “Sure.”

  I watched him climb the cinder-block steps to the door of the trailer. It was locked. He called through the open window. A dark-looking woman, black hair jerked back in a severe bun, threw the door open, began cussing, and backhanded him. He tumbled from the cinder blocks into the dirt. Before he hit the ground she had already turned away. I ran over. His lip was bleeding, but he waved me away and got up, brushing the dust from his clothes.

  “Don’t pay Gina no mind,” he said softly. “I’m terrible hard ta live with. She does the best she can, but sometimes it gets too much fer her.”

  “Are you OK?”

  “Yep, yep, right as rain.” He shook my hand slowly. “Now you best git on out a here.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice.

  Continue reading “Living with Fred”

  Discussion Questions

  Chapter 1

  Why did Mark feel alienated?

  Mark’s sense of alienation became more acute during his teen years. Why do you think this change occurred?

  Are there times during your life when you have felt alienated in some way? If so, why? (If not, how did you achieve this miracle?)

  How would you compare life in a small town to life in the suburbs? In the city?

  Is Mark’s sense of alienation a product of his isolation in a small town or because of something else?

  Chapter 2

  As a preacher’s kid, Mark bounces from one town and school to another. What effect does constant mobility have on a kid? On an adult?

  What other professions that would cause a family to move constantly? What characteristics do the children in those families share with preacher’s kids? In what ways are they different?

  Do you like Mark Cloud? Check a box. _ Yes _ No.

  How does life in a house with a basement and an attic differ from a house without them? (Especially from a kid’s perspective.)

  Why do you think the author referred to M as “a Negro boy” instead of using some other term? Do you have any particular feelings about the use of this term as opposed to other terms?

  How ’bout dem chitlins?

  How much do you know about Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X and Thurgood Marshall? Why?

  Chapter 3

  The Creature refers to “the Mark.” What is the mark?

  The Creature talks in riddles. Do you recognize any of the things she mentions?

  Do you think it is important to know the background for the things the Creature says in order to understand or enjoy the story?

  Why would the Creature refuse to give her real name?

  What is the significance of the names she does give, Lilith and Naamah?

  Chapter 4

  Why is Mark drawn back to the Creature?

  What do you think of M’s comments about prayer?

  What do you think of M’s theory about God?

  M postulates that things always happen for a reason. Mark speculates that sometimes things just happen and there is no reason. Who is right?

  Chapter 5

  Popular music and pop culture has a strong influence on Mark’s world view. What things do you think have influenced your world view?

  What version of the Bible do you think Terri read?

  Chapter 6

  Why do you think Mark is both fascinated by and fearful of the counter culture and its lack of boundaries?

  Is there anything that you find fascinating and frightening?

  Why did M follow Mark to the gap? Why didn’t he go in?

  Mark nurses Pauline back to health single-handedly. What does this reveal about Mark’s nature?

  Mark learns Pauline’s name in Chapter Four, but he continues to call her the Creature until the middle of Chapter Six. Why does he start calling her by her name?

  As Pauline progresses through her story, her manner of speaking changes. How do you account for this change?

  As Pauline progresses through her story, Mark’s attitude changes. How does it change and why?

  When Pauline leaves with the knife, where do you think she is going and for what purpose?

  Chapter 7

  Evidently Pauline was stalking Victor. Why did she defend him instead of attack him?

  Mark found a card stuck in Pauline’s Bible at Psalm 51. Why is this significant?

  Chapter 8

  Why does Mark suspect that the move to Fred will be different from the others he has experienced?

  Chapter 12

  Mark reads a book that challenges his beliefs and causes him to question them. Is this good or bad?

  Did Mark do the right thing by not mentioning his doubts to anyone? What might have happened if he had?

  Should Mac and Peggy have been replaced by teachers who were more effective in the Sunday School class?

  Chapter 13

  Why was Mark reluctant to declare his love to Becky?

  Why does Mark feel comfortable around Jolene but not with Becky?

  Chapter 14

  Jolene plays jokes on everyone she dates. Why?

  Jolene never gets asked out on a second date. Why? (Explore beyond “because she plays jokes on the guy” to explore why the guy doesn’t persevere.)

  Chapter 15

  Mark sits through a funeral service realizing that though everyone around him seems emotional, he feels detached and unaffected. What are some possible reasons why he would feel this way?

  Would you consider Sonia’s reaction to the funeral appropriate? Understandable? Why?

  After the funeral Mark visits the Walker house twice selling papers. Compare/contrast the behavior of Parker and Sonia on these visits. What do you infer from their actions and comments?

  Chapter 16

  What do you infer from Parker’s comments at the fire?

  Mark and Ralph have a discussion that highlights the differing expectations for “regular” Christians and the clergy and their families. Is this double-standard justified? Why?

  Bonus question: Can you spot the technical flaw in Chapter 16?

  Chapter 17

  Does C.J. offer good advice to the lovelorn?

  What are the other reasons Matthew Cloud sent Sonia to the Harmon’s house?

  Don’t you wish you had that old Silvertone Guitar now?

  Chapter 18

  Why does Mac tell Mark a
bout his past with Sonia?

  Should Mac have been reinstated as Sunday School teacher after he recovered? Why?

  How does being drawn into Jolene’s scheme affect Mark?

  Why doesn’t Mark push past Becky’s comment about being a friend and deliver his poem?

  Chapter 19

  Discuss the reasons for the differing reactions of Mark and C.J. to the ride on the Roller Coaster.

  Is there any significance to Mark’s response to his terror during the ride on the Roller Coaster?

  Chapter 20

  How does Mark’s anticipation of meeting the girl of his dreams in California relate to his history with Becky?

  After four years of attempting to assimilate into Fredonian culture, the proposed trip to California causes Mark to resurrect his dreams of the counterculture. Is this a mistake? What are the likely outcomes?

  There seems to be a distinct difference between the way Mark views things and the way his dad views things. How are they different?

  Chapter 21

  Matt treats his faith as something very practical. Mark is willing to accept his father’s beliefs but is nervous about actually testing them. Mark seems to see Christianity more as a philosophy, a useful way of seeing the world. Matt seems to see it as an interaction with an actual entity. How would these two viewpoints affect the life of those who accept them?

  Matt assumes his insight into fixing the car is an answer to prayer. Mark is not convinced. What do you think?

  What do you think Matt would do if Mark voiced his doubts?