Wide Blue Yonder

by Jean Thompson

  “I could get into some big-time trouble. Seriously.”

  Was he changing his mind? “I haven’t told anybody. I won’t. It’s nobody else’s business. I’m a sphinx. A repository for secrets.”

  “What’s a repository?”

  “It’s a … place you keep things. Could we leave my car here for now and take yours?”

  “OK, but where are we going?”

  Josie had assumed he’d have a plan of some sort, know what to do. And maybe he did but wouldn’t let on, maybe it was a test. She didn’t want to pipe up and say “your place,” although she assumed that was where they were going, for fear of sounding cheap or overeager, so she said, “Let’s just drive around for a while.”

  “Sure.”

  Josie couldn’t tell if it had been the right thing to say or not, since he didn’t look particularly disappointed. She wished she was old enough so they could go to a bar, the right kind of bar, and flirt with each other over drinks, but the car was fine. Even though it was only the second time she’d sat across from him in it, there was a familiar and settled feel to being there. They looked over at each other at the same time, and smiled.

  He said, “It’s great not to have to go in tonight. I’m still trying to get used to the schedule.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” Josie was a little disappointed, she might have wished him to say something more personal or intense, by which she supposed she meant something about herself. Oh well.

  “Coffee. I must drink six, eight cups a night. Maybe ten.”

  “Oh yeah, I love coffee.” Small talk. Meanwhile she had a fistful of condoms in her purse, she’d been carrying them all week, just in case. And she was on birth control-pills; she didn’t know if she should come out and tell him that. She’d only been on them a few months but she guessed they worked, considering Jeff and all. Some nights she woke from a dead sleep with the breath yanked out of her and her heart racing, thinking she’d missed taking a pill, although she hadn’t once missed. She wondered if she’d ever be able to tell him about that.

  “So what do you like to do for fun?” Mitch asked her. They were driving toward his apartment, although she wasn’t supposed to know that.

  “Fun.” She was desperately trying to remember if she’d ever had any. “Just hang out, mostly. I used to dance, ballet. Do concerts and recitals, but I don’t any more.” Hi, I’m a ballet dork. My other hobbies are brushing my teeth and picking up rocks. She made a last grim effort to find something interesting about herself. “I play acoustic guitar sort of, but I’m not that good.”

  Her poor little offering of conversation trailed off into silence. Well maybe talking didn’t matter right now. Josie focused instead on the arm nearest to her, its knots of muscle, the white shirt making his skin look almost tan, the way his wrist bone jutted, funny, how men’s hands were built like that. Her stomach was squeezing itself into peculiar shapes, nerves, she supposed. It wasn’t like she’d never done it before. Plenty of times with Jeff and once she sort of did it with Rick Conrad except they were both drunk and it probably didn’t count. God, she wished it was already over and they were lying next to each other in bed, all peaceful and close. She turned her face away from him because she couldn’t be looking at him while she thought such things. She had to remind herself that he was a policeman and nothing bad would happen.

  The night and the speed of the car were turning everything on the other side of the glass into a quick-jumping blur of fence and tree shadow and triangles of lamp-lit sidewalk. So that by the time Josie said, “Oh,” they were already a block past, and she had to ask him to turn around.

  “What is it?”

  “Just turn around, OK?”

  Mitch pulled into a driveway, his hand poised on the gear shift. “Something wrong?” She might have been gratified to see how polite and tense and annoyed he was at having to stop, but she was too distracted.

  “That’s my uncle back there. My great-uncle, really. He shouldn’t be out walking around, we have to go get him.”

  “Get him?”

  “Hurry up, he was heading the other way. He’s like miles away from home.”

  Mitch put the car into reverse. Josie craned her neck to see past him. Across the road was the Knights of Columbus and their softball field and she was afraid Harvey might have wandered off into its darkness. But no, he was even farther along the sidewalk. He was moving fast in spite of the heat. He wore a broken-crowned straw hat, his shirttails flapped, and his arms swung loose-jointed from his shoulders. He looked like an escaped scarecrow.

  “Hey Uncle Harvey!” Josie hopped out and waved him down. “Hey, it’s me. Where are you going?”

  Harvey stopped and turned in her direction, although they were out of the zone of lamplight and she couldn’t read his face, couldn’t tell if he recognized her or not. He was half-blind anyway, he was the last person who ought to be wandering around in the dark. “Come on, we’ll give you a ride home.”

  Josie opened the backdoor invitingly. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked Mitch, who only shrugged. He didn’t have to be such a pill; it wasn’t like she could do anything else. “Come on, aren’t you tired of walking?”

  Harvey looked at her sideways, swaying a little, then began to creep forward. But he stopped at the grass that edged the sidewalk.

  “Har-vey. Don’t you want to go home?” The hat shook, shedding straw, no. “Well where do you want to go, are you hungry?”

  Sidling forward half a step. His foot curled over the curb, hesitating. “How about a cheeseburger? Fries?” The foot retreated. “Well, there’s Wienershnitzel. We could get corn dogs.”

  Mitch said, “Looks like he’s not hungry.”

  “Just give me a minute, OK?”

  “Not much of a talker, is he?”

  “Do you mind? My uncle is not a well guy.”

  “No kidding.”

  She ignored him. “Here’s another idea. Dairy Queen. I’ll get you any kind of ice cream you want.”

  Finally he stepped off the curb and shambled toward them in the dark. “Attaboy. Uncle Harvey, this is my friend Mitch. Oh don’t worry, he’s not gonna tell on us, are you, Uncle H.?”

  “What’s that in his hand?”

  The car’s dome light showed Harvey clutching a cellophane sleeve that contained a single dark red rose. His hand had already mashed the cellophane so that it was chewed and unfresh, the rose itself broken somewhere along its stem, the blossom hanging at a fatal angle.

  “What a beautiful flower. Is it for me?”

  “Ne, ne.” Harvey clutched the flower tighter, a death grip, trying to shield it from her. “Oh, it’s all right, I was just teasing.” Josie turned back around, a false and sprightly smile on her face. Mitch was looking straight ahead, like a cab driver. “Dairy Queen, anyone?”

  He didn’t answer, but accelerated, the way guys did when they were mad. In the backseat Harvey shrank into a corner. Josie imagined she could smell the rose, its bruised and darkened perfume. So now everything was all screwed up. She wished she could be angry at Harvey but what was the point of that, or at Mitch, but it was hard to blame him either. So that left only her stupid self, and at least she was on familiar ground there. But she held her smile, turned the radio up, and sang along to some sucky Britney song, like she was having the time of her life.

  At least she got Harvey to take his hat off before they went into the DQ, although he wouldn’t give over the wreckage of the rose. She didn’t even want to think what that was about. The three of them stood in line at the counter and with any luck people would think they were just a nice young couple taking their slightly addled grandpa out for ice cream.

  Josie coaxed Harvey through the menu and determined that he wanted a Dixie Belle sundae with caramel and fudge and pecans. That sounded good, but as punishment for being such a loser she ordered herself a virtuous plain vanilla cone. Mitch got a chocolate cone and he paid for all of it even though Josie got her own money out. “It’s OK,” he
said, and at least he didn’t look mad anymore, just sort of detached and bored, well sure. The big first date, an ice cream social with her barmy uncle.

  They found a booth and sat down and Josie tried to get Harvey to tell her what he was doing walking the streets, but Harvey was giving all his attention to the ice cream. Harvey eating ice cream wasn’t a thing you wanted to watch up close anyway.

  Josie was sitting next to Harvey, and Mitch was across from them. She thought dismally that he hadn’t even wanted to sit next to her. Harvey lapped and slurped. Mitch studied the ceiling tile with minute attention. He was as beautiful as ever, and as far away.

  Josie reached into her bag, fished out a small blue notebook with its cover fraying away. All she found to write with was an eraserless pencil:

  I’m sorry you’re mad. I didn’t know what else to do with him.

  She pushed it across to Mitch, who read it without changing expression. Then he picked up the pencil.

  I’m not mad.

  Josie wrote back,

  Sure.

  Mitch studied this, still not looking at her. Wrote:

  I’m not. I just don’t know what’s going on here. It’s like all of a sudden you changed your mind and didn’t want to do anything. What’s wrong with him anyway, is he some kind of mental?

  I don’t know, my mom helps take care of him. What do you mean, do anything?

  Whatever you wanted to do tonight.

  You mean, go back to your place so you can ravish me?

  He scribbled and flipped pages one-handed, his ice cream cone melting down.

  Thanks. That makes me feel like a complete creep. Maybe I just don’t understand girls. I had this one girlfriend who

  Here a line was scratched out.

  never mind but she was really weird. I don’t want to get involved in anything weird again. So don’t talk like, I know you don’t know me real well but I am not some kind of

  He shook his head, couldn’t come up with the word, pushed the notebook away. Josie took the pencil, still warm from his hand, and bore down hard enough to make grooves in the soft paper:

  SORRY. I was trying to be funny. I really really want to be with you but this is all kind of SCARY.

  Mitch read this, then closed the notebook’s cover and handed it back to her, and she wasn’t sure if she’d made things better or worse. Harvey had finished his ice cream and was blinking at the brightness of the ceiling lights, one eye weeping a little. Josie felt bad that she’d made him take the hat off just so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. She was the most selfish useless bitch in the world.

  “Come on, Harvey, let me clean you up.” She swabbed at his face with a paper napkin, which he permitted. He was docile, pre-occupied with sending his tongue around the corners of his mouth to catch the last of the ice cream taste. She felt Mitch watching her.

  “He’s really just a big sweetie.”

  “Yeah, he seems pretty …” Again he struggled for a word, gave up.

  “And he’s a weather expert, aren’t you, Harvey? Ask him a weather question.”

  “Weather question?”

  “Yeah, like how hot it’s going to be tomorrow.” Josie widened her eyes at him, “Come on, play along.”

  Mitch did so, a little stiffly. Harvey addressed the tabletop. “Fair, highs in the mid to upper nineties, less humid. Southwest winds, five to fifteen miles per hour.”

  “It’s his thing,” Josie explained. “He’s always got the Weather Channel on.”

  “Jeez. You’d think …”

  “What?” Josie prompted him.

  “Wouldn’t that drive you crazy?”

  They both sniggered, trying not to. Harvey ignored them and petted his rose. They were awful. But at least they were laughing together. In another minute they would have to get up and leave and they’d be back to nerves and silence and the whole slippery future, or maybe they didn’t have one. Why couldn’t she just enjoy this moment without dread or regret, why couldn’t you make your whole life up out of those moments, why weren’t they enough? That was all she ever wanted. To make one perfect moment count for everything.

  They were outside again in the black, dreaming night, Harvey shuffling between them. “Let’s take him home, OK?” Josie swallowed a yawn. It was late, or at least it felt late. She got Harvey into the car and settled the straw hat on his head.

  She gave Mitch directions to Harvey’s house. “Thanks for the ice cream,” she said, formally.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And for helping me with him.”

  “To serve and protect. That’s our motto.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road but he smiled, and she began to think, in an anxious way, that maybe things weren’t yet over between them.

  She walked Harvey to his door. Between the gaps in the curtains she saw the TV screen’s deep blue, the Weather Channel doing its thing in the darkened room. “Now promise me you won’t go wandering around anymore at night,” she scolded uselessly. She should probably tell her mother about Harvey’s nocturnal activities, except it would inevitably lead to a discussion of her own. She was aware of the car’s headlights on her, and of Mitch watching her, and of having to walk back to him in the lights’ glare and maneuver her way through all the hazards of her own wild hopes.

  Harvey’s rose still held its petals, although the stem was now in three pieces. It must have been some tough variety grown especially for supermarkets, like tomatoes. Josie opened his front door, sighed. “Turn on a light so you don’t hurt yourself.”

  “I’m getting married.”

  He’d only whispered it, and the next minute he’d closed the door behind him, and Josie was left blinking at it, wondering if she’d heard him right. He was nuts. Absofuckinglutely. It probably ran in the family, this was probably how she’d end up some day, walking the streets in a crazy lady’s hat, flagging down police cars and declaring her undying love.

  She walked carefully back to the car, got in. “Well …”

  “Yeah.”

  “I was thinking, maybe we could try this again some other time.”

  “If you’re sure …”

  “Yes,” Josie said, and once the word was out there in the air it seemed to grow round, hang in the air like an inflated balloon. She said again, stronger now, “Yes.”

  “Yes not tonight, or yes later?”

  “Both.” She liked the sound of herself saying it, the boldness of it. “Tonight got all screwed up. But I still want to.” She let the back of her hand rest, almost carelessly, against his crotch.

  He drew a long breath and they started in kissing and she thought maybe she’d change her mind and they’d do it anyway, right there in Uncle Harvey’s driveway. But he disengaged himself. “Boy.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Do you like the mustache? You never said.”

  “It’s totally great.”

  “You think so?” He tilted his head to catch his reflection in the rearview mirror. “You don’t think it looks faggy?”

  “Absolutely not. You should keep it.”

  “One of the guys at the station was giving me a hard time about it being faggy. But I think he’s full of it.”

  They drove back to the restaurant and her car, which sat in the empty parking lot like a reproach, and she kissed him again, almost impatient to get the good-bye part over with. When she’d already gotten out of the car she turned around to tap on his window.

  “I’m not gonna be working here anymore. So if you need to find me …”

  “Give me that notebook.” He scribbled on the inside cover. “That’s me.”

  “So I should just call you?”

  “Let your fingers do the walking.”

  When he’d gone she looked down at the number she already knew by heart. It seemed he ought to know she’d called him dozens of times, even though she’d been careful not to give herself away. He should have just figured it out. She kept shoving back down the thought that maybe he was a guy who didn’t f
igure out a lot of things you might expect.

  Roadkill

  Somewhere out in the desert, after he’d long since lost track of the days, the tape began talking back to him.

  God, Rolando hated the desert. If there were any desert guys back there in his ancestral soup, they’d been elbowed out by guys who came from jungles or the tops of big snowy mountains. He wasn’t built for this place, he had no use for it. Zero. The sun, his friend, betrayed him here, became a horrible swollen ball of pain. He kept driving east, speeding to get through to something else, because you knew as a true fact the desert didn’t go on forever. But it had a way of fucking with your mind so you started thinking maybe it was everything and everywhere, had swallowed the rest of the world into its big blank self.

  He’d never been here before. He’d never been much of anywhere. But he’d liked the idea of the desert, which he must have put in his head from some old cowboy movie and never got around to changing. He had imagined stars as thick as silver stitching in a deep blue night, cactus flowers, painted cliffs. Thunderstorms riding in twenty miles ahead of you, so that you watched chains of lightning, yellow and red, ignite the horizon. Room enough to walk for days (somehow he had pictured himself walking), until your soul rose right up into your skin and then into air and left you pure.

  He had thought there would be more out here somehow. More of anything. There wasn’t even sand. Just bare scrub dirt with some kind of tough ground plant poking up here and there like a half-grown beard. There were probably rattlesnakes—he would have liked to see a rattlesnake—but you couldn’t tell from the car. Every so often there would be some butt-ugly little town strung out along the highway, trailers and sheet-metal roofs and giant antennas and maybe a corral with a heat-stupefied old horse in the middle of it, and then Rolando would feel a shuddering relief that whatever else was wrong with his life, at least he didn’t live here.

  That first night he drove almost to Palm Springs, then pulled over at a rest stop to sleep. When he woke up it was cold, and the first white morning light was cold also, and he slapped at his wallet and his duffle bag in reflexive panic. The money still there. At the bottom of his pocket, the flattened pebble welcomed his fingers. But some other dread held him as if below the surface of water while he struggled to get free, and it was more than waking from his muzzy sleep in a strange place with a thick taste in his mouth and a crust in his eyes. Something else was missing and it wasn’t his gun or his money, it was himself. As if he’d been emptied out by anger and motion and darkness and fear. He was weighed down by absolutely nothing. He was free to go anywhere, be anyone, and maybe later that would feel good but not yet.