Wide Blue Yonder

by Jean Thompson

  Local Forecast had a lot to keep track of. Winds coiling up and then unraveling, all the watches and warnings, storm surges, rainfall totals, evacuations. Most nights he sat up late, waiting for updates. It took a lot of concentration to keep it all straight in his head. Especially since now there was this girl sleeping on the couch. He had to scootch around her just so he could see.

  He woke her up when Dennis’s winds jumped to seventy-five miles per hour, official hurricane strength. All the lights were off except the television, and the weather was turned down low so as not to disturb her. She had her face buried in the cushion and her hair was every which way. Local Forecast coughed experimentally. She didn’t move. Then he fiddled with the television volume. It got away from him and went loud, right in the middle of a Slim-Fast commercial.

  She rolled over with a fuzzy look on her face. “Wha?”

  “Dennis is a hurricane now.”

  “Dennis who?”

  “He’s a hurricane.”

  “God,” said the girl. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. On the television a lady was dancing around in front of a mirror, happy about losing a hundred pounds. “There’s a hurricane here?”

  “Nananana. In the ocean.”

  “Well that’s exciting. That’s a news flash.” She rolled off the couch and went into the bathroom and Local Forecast tried not to listen to her in there. The toilet flushed and she came back out. “God, Harvey. It’s two in the morning. Oh, well. It’s not like I have to get up for anything.”

  She sat down on the couch and wrapped the blanket around her knees. “So Harvey, look, if my mom calls, you haven’t seen me. It’s sort of a game I’m playing with her. Like hide-and-seek.”

  “Hidenseek.”

  “Or anybody else. Even the police. Especially the police. I just need to hang out here a little while longer, okay?”

  They were showing the ocean from yesterday. It had a bumpy, bulging look to it. He’d never been to the ocean. It wasn’t fair. Somebody should have taken him. Then when it was on the television, he could point to it and say: You see that there? That’s an ocean, don’t let anybody tell you different.

  Then maybe they wouldn’t make fun of him. He wasn’t dumb, he could tell when they pitched their voices up a notch, pretending they liked him more than they did. A stupid game he played along with because that’s what people expected. (Hidenseek?) Sometimes he wanted to tell them: Listen, I know what you’re doing. I’m not some born-yesterday kid. But they talked so fast, by the time he got it worked out what he was going to say, they’d either gone away or they were pestering him about something different that needed different words.

  Nobody made fun of hurricane experts. You could go on television. The thought grabbed him by the top of the head and spun him around. He just had to figure out how it was done, where you had to stand so you ended up on the screen. He figured they had people who were in charge of those things. So how expert was expert? Did you have to take a test?

  “Uncle Harvey?”

  She yawned it out, Har-vee. The Weather’s blue screen was quiet, giving temperatures. “Why don’t you want to get your eyes fixed?”

  He shook his head and kept shaking it. The girl reached up and held his chin to make him stop. “Really. Why not?”

  “Scairt.”

  “What are you scared of? People get it done all the time. It turns out fine. They just take off the cataract part. It doesn’t hurt. I don’t even think they knock you out anymore. It’s lasers or something.”

  Local Forecast put his hand in front of his face and wiggled his fingers. His eyes were fine.

  “You could seriously go blind if you don’t get it done. You understand?”

  Oh doctor doctor. No thanks no doctor.

  “They’re plotting something. My mom and dad. I think they want to have you declared crazy.”

  Because everything had to stay the same. Always the Weather, the Forecast, and him here to watch it. Or else it was The End. Sky falling down nobody everybody alive and dead.

  The girl said, “All right. I’m going back to sleep. But I’m worried about you. You could end up in some boot camp too. Crazy boot camp. I wouldn’t put it past my mom.”

  The girl wrapped herself up in the blankets but kept talking. “So don’t tell her anything if she comes around. Zero. I don’t trust her. We’ll both just have to lay low.”

  She had pretty hair. It was all goldy. He touched the ends of it, just a fingertip touch. One of her bare feet stuck out of the blankets. Even her feet were pretty. The toenails were shiny red. Fat Cat, who was inclined to jealousy, jumped into his lap just then, which was lucky because he was getting a little you-know down there.

  “I don’t suppose … I asked my mom once why you went into the hospital and she didn’t know. So is it anything you can talk about?”

  “Hospital schmospital.”

  “Yeah. I guess not.”

  There was a floating space in his head right there. Like a cloud you couldn’t see past. It made him feel stupid not to remember things. Cloudy clouds. He lived with Mamma and Daddy before the hospital. Frank had up and got married. It was after the war. He had the taxi job. He didn’t remember remembering that. It was like he’d that minute pulled it right out of the cloud. He wanted to tell the girl but she was asleep again.

  After the war it was boom times. America, which was the country, flexed its muscles. Everybody had new jobs and cars and houses. Frank had a job in a bank, selling money. He wore a tie to work. America had showed its enemies what was what. Of course, there were still communists on the loose. Communists were the Red Menace. Daddy said they were Godless. Communists were sneaky. They could be anybody.

  Maybe they had sent him to the hospital for being a communist. The idea that he had been something dangerous excited him. Maybe they had sent all the communists to hospitals, cured them somehow. You sure didn’t hear a lot about them anymore.

  Frank said the next war would be with the communists. They were practicing with bombs. Airplanes would drop them. When he drove the taxi, he watched out for airplanes. You wouldn’t want a bomb landing on you. All this was before the Weather, so there wasn’t any good way to warn people.

  Nononono, he was getting confused. The Weather wasn’t for bombs anyway. What they had were sirens, just like for storms. When he thought about sirens he got all shivery. Did they have sirens in the hospital? Or bombs?

  He knew there was something important here, but he was too tired to keep squeezing his head. He went to sleep and when he woke up there was a new problem because it was Rosa day and Rosa was knocking on the front door. And here was the girl, still asleep on the couch.

  Oh boy. Rosa was going to be so mad. She hated a mess. Local Forecast ran back and forth between the couch and the front door. Get up, get up, he fretted. The girl just waved him away. She still had the blankets over her head. Rosa kept knocking. He didn’t want her to leave. Rosa!

  He peered through the glass at the top of the door. Rosa saw him and wagged her finger. It was a rainy day and she had a big umbrella with pictures of fish on it. The fish were blowing bubbles. Rosa was mad because she was out in the rain. Local Forecast opened the door and tried to hide behind it.

  Rosa set her umbrella to drip on the mat. Her feet in their little sneakers went swipe swipe swipe. Then stopped. He couldn’t bear to watch.

  Sound of blankets thrashing around. The girl said, “Oh, hello. Are you a friend of Harvey’s? I’m Josie.”

  Rosa didn’t answer. It was even harder to understand the things she didn’t say than the things she did. Local Forecast sneaked a peek. Rosa had her arms tucked up. She looked the way she did when she saw a mess. The girl said, “Oh, I get it. Spanish, huh? I’m taking French. Sorry.”

  Rosa swept past her and into the kitchen. There was the sound of her shoving dishes in and out of the sink. The girl sat up. “Jeez. Is it always so busy around here?”

  On Rosa days, she made him breakfast. So Local Forecast fe
lt better when he smelled coffee. He ran outside and looked in through the backdoor to make sure. The kitchen table had two places set instead of his just one. Two mugs, two glasses, two plates on dinky embroidered cloths. He had new plates now. Rosa had brought them from home. They had gold edges. Rosa saw him hanging around the door and crooked her finger, so he had to shuffle inside, dripping rain and embarrassed at himself.

  The girl came in with her hair in a towel from the shower. She smelled like steam and soap. “Wow, corn muffins.” She sat down and loaded up a plate and poured coffee. “So is she, what, your girlfriend?”

  Local Forecast cleared his throat. Rosa was making a racket with the breakfast things. She wouldn’t look at him. But he knew she was listening. He felt the kitchen light shining right down on top of his head, filling him with giddy heat. “Yes,” he said.

  “Really? That’s great.”

  “She’s Rosa.”

  “Rosa, huh?” The girl looked into her coffee mug, like it was part of the conversation. “Well, that’s terrific, but … do you speak Spanish? I don’t guess she speaks English. Isn’t that kind of weird?”

  Rosa put a plate of little pig sausages on the table. She had not said one word. Local Forecast stuffed sausages into his mouth and smacked them around. He wanted her to know they were good. She still wouldn’t look at him. It was all about the girl. She didn’t like the girl being here. She must be thinking …

  Coffee sloshed in the mugs as Local Forecast stomped to his feet. Rosa and the girl looked up at him with their mouths unhinged. Local Forecast made his voice loud. He said, “This girl is just here to be lying low. Nobody has to get sniffy about it.”

  Then he sat back down. He felt grand. He blew a kiss to Rosa. Something he’d never done before but he’d seen it on TV. Rosa must have seen it too, because she giggled and did that finger-wagging thing.

  The girl said, “Well, I guess the two of you have everything worked out.” She took her coffee and went and sat on the back porch to watch the rain. Local Forecast sneaked up behind Rosa and tickled her until she shrieked.

  Later the girl helped Rosa move furniture so she could do the floors. The girl said, “She doesn’t mess around, does she? She’s like samurai cleaning lady. If you can be that and still be Mexican.”

  They sat in the kitchen to keep out of Rosa’s way. “I’m glad the two of you are in love and all. I’m glad somebody is.”

  Local Forecast figured the girl just liked talking. He didn’t mind. It was what company was supposed to do.

  “You remember that night we went for ice cream? You remember that guy? Well, he’s a world-class bullshitter. Love sucks.”

  “Loveydovey.”

  “Maybe it’s easier to be with somebody if you have, no offense, diminished capacities. Your expectations would naturally be lower. You could just ignore some of the rancid behavior.”

  The rain outside was actual hurricane rain. That was something. The edge of the same storms hundreds of miles away reached as far as You Are Here. Out on the ocean it was raining sideways, in great sheets and torrents. Low-pressure systems were sucking everything into them, boats, palm trees, swordfish spinning out of the water in terror, their wet blue sails gleaming. He felt restless, like he should be getting ready for something.

  The girl started crying. “I can’t stand it, I want to be with him so bad. Why am I calling you crazy? The craziest thing in the world is when you still want to be with somebody who … Promise me if I even reach for the phone, you’ll slap my hand.”

  If there was a siren for storms, you were supposed to go down in the basement. It was the same for bombs. But he didn’t like the basement. It had a bad smell. Mamma kept her jars and home canning down there and sometimes they broke and the juices leaked out, runny and spoiled. Something in the basement was making his eyes go blind. Nononono, that was now.

  Where was Moses when the lights went out?

  Down in the cellar with his shirttail out

  Rosa saw the girl crying. She came in and petted her on the back, which made the girl cry harder. “Is anybody ever happy? Are you even supposed to be?”

  Rosa made them all tea with lemon and they sat around the kitchen table, watching the girl be sad. She said, “I’m missing school right now. So I guess that makes me truant. An official juvenile delinquent. A wayward girl.” She stopped crying long enough to drink some tea. “You know what the funny thing is? I could still get him in so much trouble. Like enormously. I hope he’s thinking about that right now. I hope he’s sweating bullets. Ha ha. The reason that’s funny is … never mind. It’s not that funny.”

  Rosa said ya ya, and shook her head in sympathy. The girl blew her nose into a Kleenex and said, “She’s really kind of cute, Harvey. And she’s not that old. I mean, I don’t think she’s any older than you are. I should get you a Spanish dictionary. In case you decide you want to have a regular conversation.”

  Local Forecast never had a girlfriend before. He wasn’t sure why. He guessed it was a scairdy thing. Back in School all the girls moved in a kind of flock or herd. They put their heads together and whispered secrets and laughed at things that amused them. It was hard to focus on any one girl, cut one out of the herd, although he liked them all in general, the general look of them. Girls wore petticoats and charm bracelets and stockings and hair bows and there was always a lot of fuss about these items, their color, fit, and shape.

  In the hospital, it had been a surprise when girls had none of these things.

  All the fuss was meant to distract you, you were supposed to think that this was what was important or different about girls, clothes, and not what was underneath the clothes.

  If there was a hurricane here, it might blow your clothes right off. It wouldn’t be anybody’s fault.

  The girl said, “I’m going to lie down for a while. Maybe sleep. Watch the Weather Channel, sure.”

  When she was gone, Local Forecast and Rosa were shy again. It was like they needed somebody else to help them be loveydovey.

  The girl stayed on the couch most of the time. Even days, she slept a lot. When she was awake, she watched the hurricane news with him. Floyd was a monster. He was getting ready to dump the whole ocean on North Carolina. He was a dirty white blur on the map, a pinwheel of cloud arms with the calm space, the eye, a darkness in the center. Every day he nudged farther inland. Local Forecast worried some about his eyes. When he looked away from the television, there was still a cloud. If there was a cloud in your eyes, did you cry rain? If you saw something you should not have seen in the basement, would your eyes be punished?

  Where was Moses when the lights went out?

  The girl was asleep again. It was dark, it got dark earlier now and the crickets were back. Some stayed outside, some turned up in the closets where Fat Cat pounced on them. The cricket song rose and shrilled, like a siren, almost. It made him fretful, out of sorts, he’d been like that all day. Rosa had been here but she was gone. He should water his garden. He should pay the power and light. In North Carolina, Floyd was drowning pigs. They had acres of pigs in North Carolina and they were all underwater. It was terrible. But that wasn’t what was worrying him, nor anything else he could put a name to. When the red car pulled up in the driveway, it was almost a relief that whatever he’d been waiting for was finally here.

  Wit’s End

  Josie?

  Elaine sat up. Every light in the house was on. She thought she’d heard something. But the room stared her down. No one was there. Josie had been gone for three days and three nights.

  Gone wasn’t a word that stayed put. It kept time. Josie was gone for every minute of every hour of those three days. She was still gone, still gone, still gone. Gone kept happening.

  There were times Elaine was furious, her anger spiking through everything else, so that she could have shaken the girl hard enough to make her teeth chatter in her head, if only, if only, if only she were here to be shaken! The anger didn’t last. What lasted was gone.
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  She had lost everything. All the years of motherhood, the skin she’d grown into through long habit, birthing and tending, dispensing bedtime stories and punishments, yes you may, no you may not, because I said so, because I’m your mother, because I love you entirely and absolutely—all that she had played false and lost in an instant. She never should have pushed things to this point. Or maybe Josie was the one who’d pushed, but Elaine should not have pushed back. It didn’t matter now. When Josie was small, Elaine had the nightmares common to all parents, of her child being abducted, lost, stolen from school or stores or from her own bed. But what if the child stole herself?

  The morning after Josie escaped and didn’t come home, Elaine went to see Josie’s friend Tammy. Tammy was at work, she worked in the library. Elaine found her trundling a cart of books through the aisles, emitting that total lack of energy that seemed to accompany her every movement. “Oh, hi, Mrs. Lindstrom,” she said, rearranging her bad posture. “How ya doin?”

  Elaine wasn’t in the mood to waste time on her. “I need to know about this boy Josie’s been seeing. I need to know where she is.”

  “Haven’t seen her. Sorry.”

  “Tell me about the boy.”

  Tammy hefted a book and put it down again. “She has some kind of new boyfriend?”

  Not that Elaine expected the truth out of her. Tammy had one of those horrid eyebrow piercings, which gave her whole face a skewed, piratical look. Elaine said, “I really need to find her, Tammy. I’m afraid this boy, whoever he is, is dangerous.”