Hometown

by Marsha Qualey

  The kids started tussling. Border got bumped.

  Boys behind him kicked the seat.

  Something flew through the air. The driver shouted and closed the door. The bus lurched and pulled away, and a girl in the aisle fell into Border’s lap.

  “Gawd!” she said and hurried away.

  “Get a feel?” one of his seatmates asked.

  Border stared at Liz’s hair. There was a piece of string just above her collar. He poised his fingers to pick it off and just then the boys slugged each other, bumping him. His hand grazed her neck.

  She turned around. “What are you doing?”

  “There was some string on your hair.”

  “Don’t bother, Border.”

  The boys giggled. Border cooled them off with a stare. “I can hurt you now,” he said, “or I can hurt you later. Or you can be quiet.”

  They shut up and sat still the rest of the ride.

  All He Wanted—

  Border got off with Liz and Jacob.

  “Come over?” said Jacob. “There’s another cake.” Border’s stomach growled, and he nodded.

  Pooch met them at the door, paws and tongue on the glass, tail whacking the floor. Woof woof, woof woof, ah-rooo! She went outside when the door opened and ran circles in the snow.

  Liz joined them to eat cake, three forks attacking the pan. “Border made a pass at me on the bus,” she said to her brother.

  “I’m sure you liked it,” he replied.

  Border reached, lifted string off her hair. “This was all I wanted,” and he dropped it on the table.

  Wind pelted snow against the windows. Border plunged his fork into the cake. It was nice and warm in this kitchen.

  Oh, No—

  At home he was alone. He made a sandwich for supper, turned on the TV. The local weather man predicted snow. Border looked out to where it was piling up.

  “And now our special report,” the anchor said, stumbling over those simple words. “We have four guests in the studio tonight who will share their stories of how war changes lives.”

  Border looked up from making a second sandwich and saw his father on the screen.

  Discipline, II—

  You could have told me about this; you could have asked me.

  They called me at work. I didn’t have time.

  You know what trouble I’ll get at school?

  How bad can it be?

  I have been kicked, Dad. I have been jumped and punched and kicked.

  What? Why didn’t you tell me?

  You weren’t around. You didn’t notice.

  Is that why you’re mad? Is that the real reason?

  You don’t notice your kid’s been slugged, but, boy, your tennis game’s getting better.

  You’re feeling pretty darn sorry for yourself.

  Why shouldn’t I?

  Why should you? What is so awful about your life?

  It’s in the wrong place.

  Don’t walk away from me. Don’t you dare slam your door. You slam that door and—

  Bang!

  —you’re grounded!

  Punished—

  In Red Cedar, Minnesota, what’s there to miss when you’re grounded? A hockey game? Back home there was stuff to miss. The stores, parties, driving up into the foothills, hiking, the tourist crowds in Old Town tossing money into his hat, late nights with friends.

  He’d been grounded once before, for driving when he was fifteen, no license. His parents had a long phone consultation about appropriate and effective punishment. He’d listened to his father’s end of it for a while, then left, staying out with friends and on the street for three days and two nights, then coming home to find out he was grounded.

  Wow, discipline! Okay, Dad.

  He had been tired, anyway, needed to catch up on his sleep and practice his music. That was the first time.

  This time, could he tell the difference? Border lay on his bed in the house in Red Cedar and thought not.

  After an hour in his room, Border went back to the kitchen. His father was reading the paper. Border poured milk, drank it in loud slurps. He burped.

  Jacob called and said school had been canceled for the next day because of the snow. Did he want to go to the preserve and try cross-country skiing?

  “Can’t go,” Border said, making sure his father heard. “I’m grounded.”

  Connie called. Could he help with the shoveling?

  “Can’t help you, Connie,” Border said. “I’m grounded.” His father grabbed the phone from him and said, “He’ll do anything you need, anytime.”

  “So I’m not grounded from everything?” Border asked.

  “Except for school and helping. You can still do that.” Later, he listened from his bedroom while his father talked on the phone to his friend.

  “Cripes, Jeff, I haul him off to a new town and he gets beat up and all I’m smart enough to do is scream my head off. What a screwup. I am so good at that, you know? I don’t care what Diana’s life is like these days, maybe it would be better for him to be with her… Don’t try to tell me that, I know when I’m failing…”

  Border buried his head under his pillows. He’d heard enough.

  Helping—

  “Are you still grounded? Can you do something tonight?” Liz wrapped her arms around her backpack. “It’s been a week.”

  Border nodded. “He didn’t say for how long, so I guess I’m still in trouble. Or maybe he just forgot. That’s possible. Dad’s not very experienced at being tough, and he’s probably trying to forget about it.”

  “What did you do that was so bad?” she asked.

  “I slammed a door.”

  Jacob gasped and Liz covered her mouth. “Not the dreaded door slam!” said Jacob.

  Border nodded. “Worst of all sins.” The bus engine churned and they bounced in their seats. “What did you have in mind about tonight?”

  Liz glanced at her brother. “Something at our church.”

  “No thanks.”

  “Don’t panic. It’s not religious,” she said. But people are getting together at the church to pack up stuff to send to the soldiers in the Gulf. Our mom’s kind of behind it. They’ve got all these donations from stores, and she’s worried there won’t be enough people to get the stuff boxed up.”

  “There’ll be food,” said Jacob. “Some of the ladies are really good cooks.”

  “But if you’re grounded, never mind,” said Liz.

  “What kind of food?”

  “The best,” said Jacob. “There’s one woman who makes these great tortes.”

  “It’s not just eating, right? There’s work to do? You might say I’d be helping?”

  Liz nodded. “Definitely.”

  Border smiled. “Then I can go.”

  Church Basement—

  “Nothing to eat until you’ve worked for an hour.”

  Jacob turned to Border. “This is my mother.”

  The woman tucked strands of hair back under a bandanna. “Nice to meet you at last, Border. Glad you came. Your father didn’t mind?”

  “He wouldn’t.” Not exactly, that is. If he knew, which he didn’t. Border hadn’t told him, hadn’t even seen him.

  “You mean he doesn’t know you’re here?”

  “He was doing something tonight, so I couldn’t ask.” Mrs. McQuillan frowned. Border smiled. “How can we help?”

  Heavy labor, they were good for that. Border and Jacob set up tables and chairs, then unloaded donated goods from a van. They carried a full coffee urn out of the kitchen. It leaked on Border’s jeans.

  A gray-haired woman, tall as Border and many pounds heavier, swooped up to the refreshment table. “Just what I need! Here boys, do something with this while I get myself a cuppa Joe.” She handed Jacob a cloth-covered pan. He lifted the cloth and smiled. Chocolate torte.

  By the time they took a break, the room had filled with people. Border and Jacob carried their plates and glasses and sat where they could give advice to Liz,
who was working with five women assembling mailing boxes.

  “Get to work,” she said. “We have a thousand of these to tape together.”

  “We’ve been busy,” said Border.

  “Men’s work,” said Jacob.

  “Nothing that needs brains!” quipped one of the women, and her companions laughed.

  “Gotcha,” said Liz.

  “Saw your dad on the news last week,” another woman said to Border. He frowned. How did she know him? Had they been introduced?

  “I’m Dot Tully. His pop’s that Vietnam draft dodger,” she said to the others. One or two nodded.|

  “Fred and Maureen’s boy?” a woman next to Border asked. “He’s back in town?”

  “Living right in their own same house,” Dot Tully said. “Let me tell you—what’s your name, exactly? Boomer, something like that?”

  Jacob and Liz chuckled.

  “It’s Border.”

  “Well, Border, listening to your pop on that news show was a revelation. It was the first time I thought that what he did made sense. Not that I think going to Canada was right, but I understand it now. Understand him is maybe what I mean.”

  “Vietnam,” said the woman next to Border, “was a mistake.”

  “Be careful what you say and how loud you say it,” another woman answered. “Look around. Why, I bet almost every man in this room is a veteran of World War Two.” Heads turned, eyes scanned.

  “That was different. That was Hitler.”

  “Time sure changes how you look at things,” a woman said.

  “True,” said Dot. “Still, I was a bit surprised,” she said to Border, “to see you here helping.”

  “He’s not helping,” said Liz, and she took his plate and exchanged it for some box flats and tape. “Be useful, Boomer.”

  “Why were you surprised?” Border asked Dot Tully. Be pleasant, he ordered himself.

  “Well, you being the son of your father. What would you expect?”

  Expectations—

  Expectations. He lived with them; everyone did. He knew that. Border never felt sorry for himself or anything. Not really. But it was tiresome.

  Guy your size, what sports do you play?

  A musician? Got a band, right? Smash guitars, that sort of thing?

  You don’t skateboard?

  Dana’s brother? You smart?

  Diana’s son? You write?

  Gumbo’s boy? Run, chicken, run!

  Closing Up—

  “Four hundred packages!” Mrs. McQuillan said. “That’s twice as many as we’d hoped to get done tonight. We’ll finish the others next week, then start our letter-writing project.”

  “Why wait until next week?” Dot Tully asked. “Let’s meet again on Thursday—let’s come twice a week. Everybody, whatcha think?”

  A quick vote was taken, and it was agreed to meet Mondays and Thursdays; then it was also decided with a show of hands to have a few people plan future projects.

  “We need a name,” the chocolate torte woman said. “We need a checking account, too, for contributions so people don’t end up paying out of their own pockets.”

  Names were suggested, but nothing appealed to everyone. Then, “I’ve got it,” said the torte woman. “Local Involvement in our Country’s Military.”

  People grumbled.

  “Don’t you get it? We’d be L-I-C-M: Lick ’em!”

  Oh… Yeah! The name was approved.

  Border frowned. Lick ’em. Sounded a little obscene.

  He and Jacob loaded the finished care packages into a van and stowed supplies in a closet. Tables put away, dishes cleared and washed. Still, people didn’t rush home. Someone turned on a TV and people pulled up chairs around it. Talking, mostly, with minimal attention to the screen. Border wished he had his recorder and his hat. He was so broke. Would they think it weird? His fingers tapped.

  “Music again?” said Jacob, sidling up.

  Border started to explain what he’d been thinking about playing for money. Would they cough anything up, he wanted to know.

  “Isn’t that sort of like begging?” Jacob asked.

  Border shrugged. “I guess. I didn’t really mean it.”

  A soap commercial gave way to news from the Gulf, and people stopped talking. The big, bald general appeared. He spoke precisely and calmly about the war.

  Border was as enchanted as the others. The general was a mesmer. Cool, competent, manly. The perfect father.

  Discipline, Interrupted—

  I don’t like being disobeyed.

  I didn’t.

  What are you saying? I come home at ten and you’re not here. You’ve been grounded, kid, what do you think that means?

  You set the rules; I was following them.

  Where the hell were you?

  Do you have to yell? Schwarzkopf doesn’t yell, Dad, and he’s running a war.

  Don’t get smart, Border. Where were you?

  I was helping. When you grounded me, there were two exceptions: school and helping. I was helping.

  You weren’t at Connie and Paul’s. I called and got them all worried.

  I was at church.

  What?

  Making care packages for the soldiers. Helping. Got it? Helping the war effort, Dad. Proud of me? Everyone there knew you, Dad. The Vietnam draft dodger.

  What’s going on, Border? Is this some little revenge game? You tell me.

  I should…I oughta…

  Hit me? Course not. Send me to Santa Fe?

  I’ve thought about it.

  Would you be happier then? Dump me on her? Just get rid—

  “Would you two shut up! I was sleeping.”

  Then There Were Three—

  “Dana!”

  Border stood still, while the old man lurched forward and hugged her. “You could have let us know you were coming,” he said, still holding her.

  She wiggled loose and turned to her brother. “I can’t believe your hair. It’s gone!”

  “Lost it in Missouri.”

  “Gawd, Border, it’s so sexy.”

  “Great. Just what I want to hear from my sister.”

  “Where have you been?” his father asked.

  “Didn’t you get the message I left?”

  “We did,” said Border, “but that was over a week ago.”

  “Battle Creek, Michigan. I love Corn Flakes, right? So after I toured Coke and Hershey, I thought it’d be cool to see how they make my favorite breakfast food. It was pretty amazing; they give away these toys on the tour, like the kind they put in cereal boxes.”

  “Have you called your mother?”

  “Should I? I suppose. I’ve been on the bus for days. Weeks, really. I took some side trips. I got held up in some small town in Michigan. This punk took fifty bucks off me. I couldn’t believe it; he was a pip-squeak, no more than five-five or something. I mean I had at least six inches on him, and he just sneaks up outside the bus station and twists my arm and feels me up until he finds money. That’s when I knew I was tired and wanted to get off the road. No way, with enough sleep, that I’d let some punk roll me.”

  “How did you get in the house?” asked Border.

  “The lock is feeble, guys. I did it with my driver’s license. Just slipped it in the door frame and, zip, I was in.”

  “How long are you staying?” he asked.

  “I’m not staying here.” Dana opened the fridge. “I’m living here.”

  Border didn’t need to look at his father to know he had paled.

  “Okay,” said his father. “Whatever. That’s okay.”

  Border rolled his eyes. What a general. “You can’t have my room, Dana.”

  “Don’t want it. I’m sleeping down in the basement. The sofa folds out and it’s really nice, and I was sleeping perfectly until I heard the shouting.”

  “Call your mother.”

  “Couldn’t you? Tell her I’m sleeping or something.”

  “She’ll want to talk, Sis.”
r />   “Duh.”

  The phone rang. Border shook his head. His mother the mind reader, probably.

  The old man picked it up. “Thanks for worrying, Connie. He’s home. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Here’s another good one—Dana has showed up. Yes, here. Okay, good night.”

  Border slumped. “Dad.”

  “What?”

  “It’s too late for company.”

  “I didn’t invite her over.”

  “Since when is it necessary to invite her?”

  “What are you guys talking about?” Dana asked.

  Border walked to the living room and looked out the window just as the garage across the street opened. Taillights flashed and the Cadillac backed down the driveway. Within a minute, Connie was at the door.

  “Hello-ho, kids. I knew I just couldn’t go to sleep tonight. First I was thinking about you, Border, and how your dad oughta wallop you good. And then I hear about Dana. Oh, hon, we’ve been worried about you. I’m Connie. Umm, that salad looks good.”

  “Have some,” said Border’s dad, glumly.

  “Can’t. Paul told me to stay just a minute. Actually he said I shouldn’t come at all, but, well, here I am. Oh, Dana, you’re gorgeous, Border’s twin almost. But, sweetheart, green hair!”

  Border smiled, watching his sister stiffen and pull up to her full seventy-two inches, head proudly lifted on the long, pale neck.

  “What about it?” Dana said, making a point of looking down at Connie’s copper top.

  Connie’s mouth flapped twice. Border sucked air, amazed: Connie was speechless.

  Not forever, of course. “It’s just…I thought… Oh, hon, why…” She smiled. “Why, with your complexion, I’d go with blue.”

  Confidante—

  Knock, Knock.

  “Are you decent?” Dana whispered outside Border’s bedroom door.

  “Yes, and I’m awake, if that matters.”

  She entered, switched on the light, sat on his bed.

  “Come right in,” he said.

  She pointed to a half-empty bottle of sparkling water on the floor. “How old is that?”

  “More than a day, less than a week.”

  “Good enough.” She picked it up, twisted off the cap, and drank.

  “Connie is really something,” she said when she’d swallowed.

  “That’s an understatement. Wait till you get to know her; words will fail you. Did you call Mom?”