by K. M. Malloy
Melissa laughed. “Mine too. Oh,” she said, turning to Sarah. “Sarah, I forgot to say congratulations on your brother getting a job at the General Delivery. I’m so happy for him.”
“Me too,” Sarah said. “Mike is so excited to finally get a job. He’s been on the list for years now.”
“Good for him,” Troy nodded.
“What about Mrs. Jacobs?” Aire said, her fists beginning to clench. All fantasies of Troy vanished as anger began to swell within her.
“What do you mean?” Sarah asked.
“I mean, yeah cool Mike gets a job,” she said, the heat rising in her face beginning to quicken her words. “But Mrs. Jacobs gets her whole life taken away from her. How is that fair?”
“Aire,” Melissa said.
“No,” she continued. “It just makes no sense why the army would want a forty-seven year old woman who bakes cookies. No sense at all.”
“What the heazy, dude?” Melissa said. “Why are you getting all worked up over nothing? The army is a good thing and we should all be happy to make those sacrifices. Besides, you know the army only recruits people with moxy. It’s a compliment to the recruited person really.”
“Moxy?” Aire said, her eyes widening. “Moxy? What does that word even mean?”
“It’s a…” Melissa said, waving her hand in a circular motion. “You know, like…you know, it’s moxy.”
Aire shook her head, sucking in air to cool the simmering heat coursing in her veins. “Sorry, never mind. Congratulations on your brother’s job.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said.
The quartet quieted to begin their work drawing outlines, brainstorming topics, assigning workloads. A quiet half hour passed as Aire flipped through the pages of a water stained geography book, writing down notes and citing sources. The heat had dissipated, her mind clearing as she delved into the project. Mrs. Jacobs had been sent to the back of her mind, but the African had moved forward.
“Hey, Troy,” she said. “If the Africans went extinct over a thousand years ago, why is there a photograph of one of them in our book?”
“What?” he said, looking up from his notebook.
“I mean, cameras weren’t invented until little over hundred years ago, so how could you take a picture of an extinct species nine hundred years before that?”
“Oh,” Troy said. “Maybe it isn’t really a photograph. Maybe it’s a really good drawing. Remember how at last year’s art contest everyone thought Nick Lanning’s picture had been a photograph instead of a drawing because it was so realistic? Maybe that’s what it is.”
She turned her textbook towards Troy and pointed at the caption below the picture. “Then why would it say photographed by Elosha Vans?”
“It’s probably a misprint,” Melissa said. “People make mistakes you know. It’s not a big deal. And why are you even thinking about that anyway? Does the picture really matter?”
“You’re right,” she sighed, and picked up the book to hide her face within its pages. “It was a silly thought. Forget I mentioned it.”
She slumped back in her chair and stared at the picture as the others went back to their reading. She looked closer at the photograph. It was a photograph. She could see the glare of the sun that caught on the lens, the haziness in the top corner from overdevelopment. And since it was a photograph, that meant Africans couldn’t have gone extinct so long ago, but why the lie? Why lie to students about the history of Africans? Did this mean they in fact still existed? Or was there another story behind their extinction someone didn’t want them to know about? What bothered her even more than the lie behind the picture was that she seemed to be the only one questioning it.
She felt something graze her skin. Without looking up from his book, Troy had pushed a slip of paper under her elbow.
-I don’t think it’s a silly thought. I think it’s brilliant, just like you-
He gave her that sideways grin that drove her crazy, and suddenly the African faded from her mind as a smile tugged at her lips. She saw Melissa wink at her, and Sarah put a hand over her mouth to cover up a smile. Aire found herself grinning, and was happy to have something good to talk about when they finished their studies, something Sarah and Melissa actually understood.
***
The afternoon had warmed up enough to make jackets uncomfortable, and the girls had taken them off and tied them around their waists. Books in hand, the three talked excitedly as they made their way down Main Street past Parson’s Pharmacy (no one knew who Parson was) and Lola’s Fine Fashion (no one knew who Lola was either, but the store had the coolest clothes the town could offer a teenage girl, which wasn’t much, but undoubtedly better than the shirts they sold in JT Threads, which looked and felt like burlap sacks) towards Maggie’s, the only burger and ice cream shop in John’s Town. Some of the few old timers left did know Maggie. Aire’s generation only knew that she had been Bowie Sandoval’s grandmother and that she cooked the best fried green chili burgers in the Community.
The early spring breeze blew Melissa’s blonde hair around her face as they passed the Yarn Barn, and she carelessly brushed the strands away as she asked about Aire’s new development with Troy. She was disappointed he couldn’t come with them because had to go home to babysit his little brother while his parents placed their quarterly orders at the General Delivery, but pleased she could have a little girl time to talk about their recent encounter.
“Oh my gosh, Aire! That is so exciting that Troy finally passed you a note. That means he wants you to be his girlfriend. What did it say?” Melissa asked.
“I bet you it was a love confession,” Sarah giggled.
“It kind of was,” Aire smiled. “He said I was brilliant and that’s why he liked me.”
Their high pitched squeals startled the old woman asleep on the front porch of the Book Cellar in her rocking chair at the corner of Main and Fourth Street. Mrs. Amos jutted up with a start, sending a fat grey tomcat tumbling from her lap.
“What are you girls disturbing the peace about?” she called from the pristine white porch decorated with potted plants in every corner.
“Troy gave Aire a love note,” Sarah said.
“Yeah,” Melissa added. “And he’s going to let her wear his practice jersey next week.”
“That so?” Mrs. Amos said. She removed her half moon glasses from her tiny nose and began to clean them on her sleeve as she rocked. “Yes that Troy Culver is a nice young man. You just be sure the bubbles don’t drown your brain and keep up with your studies, you hear me, Aire?”
“Yes ma’am,” Aire said as she held up her books. “We just came from the library. I was doing research for a report on Africans.”
Mrs. Amos grimaced. “Africans, eh? Worthless creatures, they were. Savages, all of ‘em. Good riddance I say. Silly to even put them in the school books.”
Aire frowned. “What do you mean, good riddance?”
“Nothing. Silly as it may be,” the old woman said, waving her hand in the air. She replaced her glasses at rest on the tip of her nose before continuing. “You be sure to keep up with your studies. Work first, then frivolous things like boys.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Aire said. She looked at Melissa and Sarah’s unchanged smiles. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
Mrs. Amos bid them farewell, and Melissa and Sarah returned to their conversation, Aire now half listening as they continued on Main. They passed the old brick building of Tinker Trinkers, and made a right onto Bourbon, finally reaching Maggie’s a half a block down the street.
They sat on the terrace of Maggie’s enjoying their late lunch and looking out across the street to the sprawling lawn of City Hall where volunteers were hard at work decorating for the kick off dinner of the upcoming Moto. Each year John’s Town came alive for the annual event the citizens anxiously waited for all year. Already streamers in the blue and gold of the town’s colors hung from the large gazebo in the center of the immaculate two acre lawn. Miniature cardboar
d motorcycles sparkling with glitter in matching colors hung from the handrails, and blue and gold lights interlaced the tree limbs and bushes for night celebrations. The volunteers were now on to the task of erecting the small stage where the high school band would play and the winners of the races would receive their trophies. By Thursday afternoon the evenly cut lawns would be blanketed in picnic tables adorned with blue and gold checkered tablecloths, and by nightfall would be swarming with people and the intoxicating aroma of catered entrees.
An iron statue of former President Johnson stood watch over the town announcement board next to the center walk leading from Bourbon Street to City Hall. For the last month a two foot tall whiteboard reflected the days remaining until The Moto began. Sarah nudged Aire’s arm and motioned towards the board.
“Only five days left until you get to wear Troy’s practice jersey.”
“I know, I’m excited,” she said, grinning as she sipped her milkshake.
“Is Troy picking you up?” Melissa asked.
Aire frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“What?” Sarah and Melissa said in unison.
“No,” Melissa said, waving her finger as she swallowed a fry. “No way. A boy does not ask you to wear his jersey and slip you a note without offering to pick you up as his date for the kick off dinner.”
“Yeah,” Sarah added. “You need to go over there tonight and tell him he has to take you. It isn’t right if he doesn’t pick you up.”
“Right,” Aire nodded. “Tonight I’ll-“
Ambulance sirens cut her short, and the trio searched to see where the wails blasted from. A streak of red and white blazed between the buildings on Commerce Street, and Aire felt a shiver of cold splash across her skin. Ambulances made her feel afraid because most of the time their passengers never returned. She craned her neck to watch it as it continued east, and judging from the diminishing wails, it had turned south onto Buffalo Trail.
“I think it’s going for Becky Baker,” Melissa said. “Her baby is due any time now.”
“Hopefully the baby comes out alright,” Aire said, returning to her fried zucchini.
“The baby?” Sarah said. “What about poor Becky? From the looks of her that baby is going to weigh at least twenty pounds!”
“That sucks,” Melissa said.
“Seriously,” Sarah agreed. “She’s going to be gone for like a month and will miss The Moto.”
“Why don’t we go visit her in the hospital?” Aire said.
“Aire, what is wrong with you? You know we don’t go visit people in the hospital. It’s not just against the rules, it’s rude. I swear,” Melissa said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Why would you want to go to that horrible place anyway?”
“Well, pregnant ladies are in the hospital for a really long time. Don’t you think they get lonely and miss their families?”
“No, they’re doing tests and stuff. Plus they need to rest.”
“Yeah,” Sarah added. “It would be mean to not let them have their rest. And it’s against the rules and rude.”
Aire looked down at her half eaten piece of zucchini, swirling it around in white cream sauce until it was drenched and soggy. “I don’t think saying hello for a few minutes would drain her…It’s a dumb rule.”
Melissa wrapped her arm around Aire and pressed her cheek against the girl’s shoulder. “Oh, Aire, you’re such a sweetie. If you want to see Becky, all I have to say is good luck even getting to the hospital. Anyway,” she said, devouring her last fry. “It’s time to get going. And don’t forget to go to Troy’s tonight.”
“I won’t,” Aire said as she stood up from the table and put her plate into the trash. She couldn’t wait to go to school on Monday to tell them that not only was Troy taking her to The Moto kick off dinner, but that he had also taken her to the hospital to see Becky. First though, she’d have to convince Troy of this.
Chapter Five
John’s Town
In the beginning…
Richie Tillman sawed at his brother’s ropes until they thudded to the floor, and Ronny was free.
“I think Momma only pushed the couch in front of the door this mornin,” Ronny said.
“I think so too.”
Ronny grabbed the brass handle of the door, and it easily sank down from the light pressure. He gave a crooked smile to his brother. “No chair tied on the handle.”
“Good,” Richie nodded. “Won’t be hard to push it then, specially since we almost big as Momma now.”
Both boys put their shoulder to the door and pushed. The couch screamed and thunked as it moved several inches before becoming wedged into the doorway of their bedroom. They pushed harder, teeth gritting, veins popping from their necks, until Ronny collapsed onto the floor. His foot shot out and gave it a swift kick, but still the couch would not budge.
“What are we gonna do now?” Ronny asked. “We gonna be in trouble when Momma comes home and finds us. She’s gonna whup us for sure, probably with a switch, too. A big one at that.”
Richie looked down at his brother, his face hard and set. He looked back to the door and began to kick. His first few kicks achieved only in sending a shooting pain up his heel into his knee. But on the fourth kick, a crack appeared in the wood. He kicked again, harder this time. The crack grew.
“Kick, dummy,” he commanded, his eyes never leaving the door.
Both boys began to kick the door with all their might. It sounded like high pitch cracks of thunder every time their feet made contact as the wood split and splintered until only a few wounded pieces hung in the doorway. Ronny laughed as they ducked through the pile of splinters and climbed over the couch.
“What we gonna do now that we’re free?” he asked as they rounded the hallway and passed into the kitchen.
“I got an idea,” Richie said as he opened the silverware drawer.
“What?”
Richie pulled a butcher knife from the drawer. Ronny took a step back.
“What are you gonna do with that?”
“You’ll see,” Richie said, grinning at his reflection in the blade. “Grab the matches in the cupboard.”
***
Lucita Tillman made her way across the orchards, up Calgas road, down the 66, and into the business district in silence. As she jolted and jerked through town, she attracted several odd looks when she did not even turn her blank eyes to look at those who waved hello. Roberta Amos and Maggie Sandoval waved from the dining terrace of Maggie’s Burger Shop when they saw her coming down Bourbon.
“Hey, Lu,” Maggie called. “What brings you over here this time of day?”
“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Roberta asked. “Or do you have a bug?”
Lucita ignored them, her eyes set straight in front of her. She passed by the women without so much as a nod.
“Lucita?” Maggie called. “Didn’t you hear us?”
Lucita continued to walk. They watched her as she reached the end of the street and rounded the corner to disappear down Main. Maggie put her hands on her hips and shook her head.
“Now what in the world has gotten into her?”
“Probably has something to do with those boys of hers,” Roberta said as she tapped her coffee cup with her fingers. “You know as well as I do that non-whites are no good. Do you remember what that Asian boy did to poor little Holly? Poor little thing hadn’t even sprouted woman parts yet and the weasel ruined her. I hope she’s doing better at the hospital in Parker, though I don’t think the poor thing will ever walk right again.”
Maggie pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes, I remember.”
“Or what about that oriental kid who beat that injured bird to death? Or those Mexican girls that-“
“Enough,” Maggie said. “I remember all those things and I don’t want to talk about them.”
“Alright.”
Maggie continued to stare, her eyes squinting in the sun. “Something is not right with Lucita. She always stops to say hello
.”
“I’m telling you, it’s those boys.”
“I don’t care what it is,” Maggie snapped. “I’m going over there when my shift is over to see how she’s doing. In all these years I’ve never seen that woman without a smile on her face.”
Luctia’s face remained unsmiling and blank all the way down Main until she reached the park at three in the afternoon.
School had just gotten out, and with the glorious weather all the children of John’s Town were outside enjoying their few free hours before having to go home playing kick ball, flying kites, and riding bikes. Laura Wester was among the children at Duck Park that day, laughing as she and her friends skipped rocks across the water and dared each other to jump in without their suits.
Lucita smiled.
Chapter Six
Saturday March 13, 2010
Population: 406
John’s Town rules stated that all minors had to be home for dinner every night at six; after dinner they were free to roam until nine o’clock when the city wide curfew went into effect. For most of the meal Aire remained quiet, concentrating on chewing her food slowly to keep herself from finishing early and then tapping the table while waiting for her parents and brother to get done eating their meals. Even with her efforts of taking deliberate, small bites, she was still ahead of the family, feeling as though dinner would never end. Her brother did little to help the situation. Mitch had talked nonstop about The Moto, and had barely taken two bites by the time Aire had finished half her plate.
“I can’t wait to try out my new pipe, Dad. Sammy Roberts will be eating my dust and I’ll be the one holding the Pee Wee trophy this year,” Mitch said.
“Didn’t Sammy Roberts get a new bike this year that’s ten times better than yours?” Aire asked.
“Aire,” her mother scolded as Mitch glared at her from across the table. “He’s excited. Don’t spoil it for him.”
