The Song Reader

by Lisa Tucker

  He draped his arms across the steering wheel. I heard what sounded like a barge moving down the Mississippi.

  It took me a minute. “Is this why you’re always too busy to come over?”

  “No. I mean, I have been working. But okay, yeah. I don’t want to hurt you. I’d rather not see you than hurt you.”

  “Oh, Mike, you’re not going to hurt me.” I touched his arm. I was so relieved I almost laughed. “This is sweet but it’s crazy. You’re nothing like George or Kyle.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because they’re jerks.”

  “Maybe I’m a jerk, too.”

  “Come on, they would never spend one second wondering what you’re wondering right now. God, Kyle still doesn’t think he did anything wrong at that party. You know that.”

  “True.”

  “And I don’t care what you were thinking in St. Louis. You were nice to me. You listened and held me and it was sweet.” Then I did laugh. “The main thing is, you’re not dumping me and you don’t think I’m fat.” I gulped. “You even said you loved me.”

  “Because I do.” He took both my hands in his, lacing our fingers together. “I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life.”

  “Well then?”

  “But—”

  “It’s okay. We’re married, remember?” I smiled. “Kiss me, you fool.”

  And finally he did. He kissed me and I kissed him until we were both out of breath. At some point, he pushed the seat back so we’d be more comfortable. He was sweating and I was definitely warm enough to take off my clothes when he reached for the zipper of my gown.

  He told me he would take it slow. He made me promise to tell him if it hurt even a little bit. Then he whispered, “Are you afraid?”

  “No,” I said. It was true. His fingertips were running over me like they were touching velvet. The feeling was as intense as if I’d just discovered the existence of my skin.

  The moonlight was gone now, lost in clouds, but I could still see the woods. There were fireflies blinking in the trees. “Sparks of hope,” Mary Beth used to call them, when I was a little kid and she would catch them for me in Agnes’s backyard. The evidence, she insisted, that things would all work out in the end.

  As I felt Mike’s chest rising against mine, his breath in sync with my breath, I thought the tiny flashes were just about the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. It was the last thought I had before I became my body, all eagerness and girlish desire, wanting nothing but this.

  chapter

  twenty-one

  My sister left St. Christopher’s Hospital the third week of May. It was a Wednesday afternoon, and she checked herself out AMA: against medical advice. She had to sign a paper that said she was aware Dr. Kaplan did not feel she was ready. “But it’s just so I don’t sue them,” she said, grinning at the nurse who’d handed her the clipboard and pen. She turned to me. “And so you don’t sue them, if I walk out of here and straight off a bridge.”

  I carried her suitcase as we walked down the hall. She was singing a song I’d never heard. “F means I’m forever walking on. R means I got rails to move along. E-E-D is all that’s left of need. O-M, omit the misery. FREEDOM, brother, is what I’m going for. FREEDOM, sister, is waiting out that door.”

  “What’s that called?” I was just making conversation. I figured it had to be called Freedom, but she said she hadn’t given it a title yet.

  “You wrote it?”

  “Just now,” she said, and looked at her watch. “Maybe I’ll call it May 16, 1:42.” She shrugged. “Dr. Kaplan thinks I need to stop reading songs for other people and start writing them for myself. So I do, whenever I can remember. Well, I don’t write them exactly. I think them up, but I don’t care if they get saved.”

  “Why not?”

  “It doesn’t matter. There’s always more.”

  “How many have you written so far?”

  “A hundred? A thousand? I don’t know. Whenever I want one, poof, it’s there.”

  I glanced at her, trying to decide if she was serious. She seemed to be. And she didn’t seem crazy or dangerous or whatever it was I was supposed to make sure she wasn’t before I agreed to take her home.

  She’d called me at seven-thirty that morning. I was getting ready for school. Juanita and Tommy were already gone; Dad was at his table, drinking coffee and arranging the envelopes. I was very surprised to hear her voice, and even more so when she told me to come get her.

  “You have your license now, right?”

  “Sure,” I said. She’d sensed my hesitation. “Does Ben know about this?”

  “No, and I don’t want you to tell him. Please.” She was whispering. “He’s done too much for me already.”

  I said I wouldn’t, but I didn’t mean it. I also didn’t mean it when I promised not to tell Dad or Juanita. As soon as I hung up, I tried to tell them all. Ben I couldn’t reach. He was flying to a conference in New Mexico today. (I wondered if Mary Beth knew this. I had a feeling she did.) Juanita and Dad both had the same reaction: if she wants to come home, let’s go get her.

  The problem was, she’d insisted I come alone. “Just you. You’re the only one. Please, baby. Please do this for your big sis.”

  It was Dad who finally said I should do it. But Juanita made me promise that I would “check Mary Beth out” before we stepped one foot from that hospital. Make sure she’s not too nutty. Make sure she’s not gonna hurt herself. Make sure.

  Was it nutty to make up a song about freedom when you’re leaving a mental hospital? Not to me it wasn’t. And Mary Beth had a really nice voice. Her high school chorus teacher had begged her to be in the school musicals but she was already working at the pizza place and didn’t have time.

  Her ditties sounded really good. She had another one for the Ford. The freedom song had a gospel sound, but this one was pure punk. “My car and me, we don’t see eye to eye. I want to drive, it wants to up and die. This car is crap! The engine raps! The floorboard’s got a hole. It makes me lose control…of…my shoooooooooe.”

  She laughed and so did I. It was fun, really. It passed the time until the Ford turned over and we were back on the road. Of course I insisted on driving. I wasn’t sure if she was up to dealing with all the midday St. Louis traffic.

  “So what do you think of the city?” she said, waving her hand out the window.

  “I like it,” I said, “but it’s a little crowded.”

  “Where are all these people going? Do you ever wonder about that? When you look in the other cars, do you wonder what they’re thinking and feeling and doing? Like that car there.” She pointed at an old maroon Datsun in the left-hand lane. “Do you think that man is going to a funeral or just headed back to the office? Does he have a wife? Maybe he has two boys or five girls. Hey, pull up closer. I think he’s listening to the radio. I want to know what song.”

  “I can’t get any closer. I’m already tailgating this Chrysler.”

  “Fine. I don’t really care anyway.” She leaned back. “It’s just a habit. I mean, really, why should I care about all these people?”

  I took a quick look at her. She didn’t look crazy, but she did look a little strange. The phrase that kept coming to mind was too bright. Like she was absorbing part of the sunshine. Like she might even glow once it got dark.

  Of course that was a crazy thought, but it was my crazy thought, so it was okay.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “A little. They fed us constantly in that place, but the food was like cardboard. One time I told Ben if he didn’t sneak me in some fried chicken I was going to scream. The greasier the better. I wanted it dripping off my fingers.”

  “Did he?”

  “He brought back broiled chicken breasts and asparagus.” She shrugged. “He tried, but the restaurants he goes to don’t serve fried anything. It wasn’t bad, though.” Her voice was softer. “We sat on a blanket outside and ate lunch like we were any othe
r couple.”

  “Do you want me to stop at a KFC?”

  “No, but thanks, baby.” She put her hand on my arm and exhaled. “You have no idea what a relief it is to be here. Just you and me, like the old days.”

  She grew quiet as I pulled onto the entrance for the highway. Maybe the familiar signs for Cape Girardeau and Cairo were reminding her that we were heading south, toward home.

  “Tommy is going to flip out when he sees you.” I smiled. “He was just telling me yesterday that his mama will be back any day now.”

  Actually, he told me his mama would be back by this Saturday, and therefore, by a logic only a kid could follow, he didn’t need to clean his room. “She’ll sleep right here,” he said, kicking his legs against his mattress. When I asked him where he would sleep, he said, “Here, too, silly!”

  “I don’t want to talk about Tommy yet,” Mary Beth whispered. She was tapping her foot like she was hearing music. Maybe another of her songs.

  Dad and Juanita were expecting a call. I’d told them I’d get to a truck stop as soon as I had Mary Beth and we were back on the road. Mike wanted a call, too. He’d dropped by to take me to school this morning right as I was leaving. I was just wondering how I’d manage all this without her knowing I’d broken my promise, when she looked at me.

  “You know, Dr. Kaplan talked about you a lot. She thought I should open up to you more. Your sister loves you, she kept saying.” Mary Beth was rubbing her thumb back and forth on the armrest between us. “You can trust Leeann.”

  “It’s true.” My voice didn’t waver.

  “That’s good to know,” she said, and then nothing for maybe ten miles. The car was hot and I felt my damp legs sticking to the vinyl seat. I decided if I didn’t get to a phone, it would be all right. We’d be back by supper. They wouldn’t have to worry for too long.

  I was daydreaming about what it would be like, walking in the door with her. Especially seeing Dad and her together. What they would say to each other.

  “Okay,” she said softly. “I’m going to trust you, honey. So here’s the thing. I don’t think I can go back.”

  I inhaled. “That makes sense. I mean, I wouldn’t want to go back to that hospital, either.”

  “I’m not talking about the hospital, Leeann. You know I’m not.”

  I could feel her eyes on me, and it was true, I did know. She was talking about Tainer. She meant she couldn’t go back to our town.

  I wasn’t that surprised. Dr. Kaplan had hinted that Mary Beth might be better off in a new place. Facing your problems is one thing, Dr. Kaplan said, but facing an unthinking mob is another. I told her Tainer didn’t have any mobs, but she said she didn’t mean it literally.

  I had wondered many times how my sister would deal with being home after everything that happened. The antifamily calls had stopped since we went to Juanita’s, but the gossip hadn’t. George made sure of that, and since he owned the only hardware store for fifty miles, he had a damn near captive audience. People still needed nuts and bolts and wood glue. People still liked hearing rumors, even if they were as bizarre as the latest: that my sister was another Reverend Moon, and Holly and her husband and kids had been brainwashed into a cult.

  When I glanced at Mary Beth and noticed her hands trembling, I remembered Dr. Kaplan saying she was afraid of losing my love. It was so hard to believe. Even as a little kid, the desire to please her was one of my earliest feelings. I vividly remembered having a fit when Mom wouldn’t buy me new crayons just because I needed a new violet. My old one was worn to a nub and I wanted to draw more pictures for my sister in her favorite color.

  “All right,” I said slowly, “let’s say you did leave. Where would you go?”

  “I knew you would ask that. Ben always says you’re the most pragmatic person. But I’m not complaining, honey. I’m gonna need your practical side to help me plan all this. Okay, well, I could go to Philadelphia. That’s what Ben wants, and I did tell him I would think about it. He has all these great plans for us: kids, a house, the whole nine yards. But the thing is, he still thinks I’m like he is, just an all-round good person, out to save the world. If only he knew, right? Ha, ha.”

  She was talking so fast, I was having trouble keeping up. By the time it hit me what she meant, she’d moved on.

  “So anyway last night, I went to the hospital library and studied the maps and I think I found the perfect spot. It’s a small town. Cities are so dirty and mean, you know? It’s still on the river. I can’t imagine living anywhere without the river, can you?”

  I never cared much about the river but I knew my sister did. She used to claim she could feel its presence for miles. She was the only person I knew who drove to the bluffs to look at the Mississippi instead of a boyfriend or girlfriend.

  “And the best part is the name,” she continued. “I just love this. Waterproof, Louisiana. I kid you not.” She slapped her knee. “Don’t you love that? Can’t you see the postcards? Having a great time in Waterproof, wishing you were here. I could send ’em to Tainer the next time it floods. Juanita would get such a kick out of it.”

  I paused a moment. An eighteen wheeler was crowding me. I waved him past, and waited until he’d gone over the hill.

  “What will you do for money?”

  “I’m sure Waterproof has a restaurant. I’ll work two jobs if I have to. I’m a hard worker. Dr. Kaplan said so, too.” She let out a laugh. “I’ll have you know I was the star of occupational therapy.”

  It made a weird kind of sense, but I suddenly felt like I had to know if all this was just crazy talk. Did Waterproof, Louisiana even exist?

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said. “We can get gas, too.”

  We pulled off at the next exit and into a Texaco. While Mary Beth was pumping the gas, I went into the office and asked to look at the atlas. Sure enough, Waterproof was real and right on the Mississippi. I thought the people who named that delta town had some sense of humor.

  The phone was outside, only a few feet from the car. But I didn’t call them. I didn’t want to lie to her, and we were already halfway home.

  For the next thirty or so miles, she kept up a steady stream of talk about what it would be like to move to a brand-new place. Her brightness was more intense than ever. It was more like a vapor than a light. It seemed to fill up the whole car.

  “I can come back for Tommy,” she was saying. “As soon as I get work and a good place lined up. It won’t take long, I’m sure. A month or two, tops.”

  I could see his big black eyes, hear his sweet lispy voice asking why his mama hadn’t come home yet. A month or two was an infinity to a little kid. Mary Beth knew that as well as I did, or at least she used to know.

  But maybe she had to do this. Maybe the only alternative was more time in the hospital, or even worse, slipping back to where she’d been last November and December.

  I wanted to be supportive but I was so confused. Shouldn’t I at least tell her that I would miss her? Or would that mess her up again? Dr. Kaplan had said many times that it was too much responsibility that led to my sister’s breakdown. But she also said Mary Beth was afraid of losing my love.

  A Camaro full of teenagers passed us. The guy in the passenger seat was staring at her, mouth open. Maybe he saw the brightness, too.

  “Well, it might work,” I said. It was just hitting me that this was the first time in years I’d been in the car with Mary Beth without the radio playing. No wonder our pauses seemed so loud. “Of course you’d have to call me and let me know you’re all right.” I forced a smile. “Let me know if Waterproof is living up to its name.”

  “Call you? Oh honey, you don’t think I’m going without you? God, I could never leave you behind.” She touched my shoulder. “Don’t you remember? You’re my baby princess.”

  I hadn’t thought about this in so long, it felt like a detail of someone else’s life. It was years and years ago, before Mom died, before Dad left. She was in high school; I wasn’t
a baby, but I was younger than Tommy. She used to hold my hand, swing it back and forth, and sing. “My little dolly, cute as can be, she wouldn’t kiss any frogs. But then the prince came and took her away, oh, bring back my doll girl to me. I went across the whole wide, wide world, I found my dolly under a tree. Now it’s a baby princess I see, no baby could be sweeter. My baby princess, cute as can be, no prince can take her away from me.”

  She’d made up the words, of course. Was this something she’d always done?

  It was finally dawning on me what she had in mind here. She wanted us to go to Waterproof right now. Today, the two of us. This is why she checked herself out of the hospital. This is why she wanted me to come all by myself.

  “You don’t even want to go by Juanita’s?” I couldn’t help it; my voice sounded shocked.

  “I do want to, Leeann. It’s not that.” She stuck her hand out the window again and after a minute or two, broke into another of her songs. It was a long and convoluted country-western about a woman who’d done things, seen things, said things—and now she had to go away. The “things” weren’t specified. The part about her little boy was the only part that really got to me. Her voice sounded so beautiful and heartbroken. “Don’t show me how he’s grown. Don’t tell me what he plays with. Don’t bring him to the phone. Don’t ask me to wave bye-bye. If I take just one look, I know I won’t be able. To leave my little darlin’. To cut out my own heart.”

  I kept my face straight, eyes on the road. I was still too stunned to think of what to say to her.

  When she was finished with her song, she stretched her arms out. “We do need to make one stop first.”

  At least I knew this was coming. I’d figured it out long before I got to St. Louis, when I realized as I left Tainer this morning that today was Mom’s birthday.

  The cemetery was a few miles past town; we still had a ways to go. Mary Beth used the time to reassure me that I would be okay in Louisiana. “You’re gifted,” she said, patting me. “You’ll be fine in any school.”