Natural Bridges

by Debbie Lynn McCampbell

  “Thanks, Clem,” I said. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Get on in there, shut this door,” he said, from way down the driveway. “And fix you a piece of that pie. It’s Thanksgiving, got to eat pie on Thanksgiving.”

  When I went to bed that night, it seemed a little less lonely. I gazed out the window at the wintry sky, and made a mental list of things I was thankful for. I fell asleep counting.

  40. In Line

  At least twenty more students stood in front of me, all wanting to sign up for the same course. The advisor from the Biology Department had warned me about this, told me to get in line early, as the class was only held twice in the spring. Registration had started at eight o’clock that morning, and about five hundred students were standing in one of several lines in the McAlister Auditorium at Transylvania University.

  I’d asked permission to come in late at work so I could take care of this. They were all for it there, me going to school. When I had told the laboratory staff what I was doing, they complimented me on my initiative again. One of the head veterinarians had suggested an anatomy course.

  It felt good to have Clem behind me, too. I was glad to have his support, especially since I didn’t have my family backing me up. He and I’d tried ice-fishing together since we’d made up, and Birdie and I’d helped him Christmas shop for his grandkids.

  I’d been in line under the “BIOLOGICAL SCIENCES” sign for almost a half-hour, my mind wondering. I began to worry that they’d close admission to the class that I wanted before I could get up there. I didn’t know a soul in the whole crowd, and was a little scared just being there, in the middle of all the bustle. The sounds were so foreign to me.

  I read the class catalogue and listened to conversations around me. The popular topic seemed to be what everyone did over the Thanksgiving holiday. It seemed to be a big sports-spectating weekend for most of them; I bet myself no one else had spent the day alone with an old blind bloodhound, waiting on the Lord.

  The sound of noisy chatter and computer keyboard clicks filled the auditorium. I kept trying to see around the others standing in front of me, looking for the “CLOSED” sign to flash on the terminal behind the sign-up desk.

  Then I saw Connie. She was just five people in front of me, waiting to get in the same class. I tensed up, opened my catalogue, and hid my face. I wanted to say hello, to talk to her, but I wouldn’t know what to say if she mentioned Culler. I didn’t want to talk about him, even think about him. I wanted to put the whole mess behind me. Seeing Connie brought him and his cold attitude to the forefront of my mind. Busy with work and getting ready for school, I hadn’t realized how much his blowing me off still hurt.

  Connie was at the desk. I could hear her familiar voice, making small talk with the administrators handling the registering. She wanted a Tuesday night class, which was the same one I wanted. When she turned around, she saw me and looked surprised.

  I smiled faintly.

  “Hi, Fern,” she said. “Long time. Are you taking a class?” She shied away from me a little distance, looked behind her.

  I nodded. “I applied back in October, I’m just taking one class, something to give me more of an advantage at work.”

  “So you’re still working at that livestock center?”

  “Yes, I like it pretty much.” There was only one person left in front of me now. I paid close attention to the line.

  “I’ll wait over here.” Connie pointed towards the printers, where class registrations rolled out continuously.

  There were still three seats left in the class I wanted. I was relieved and felt important blackening in the little bubbles.

  I joined Connie at the printers.

  “So what class are you taking?” she asked, still acting kind of distant.

  “Anatomy.”

  “Me too. What section?”

  “Tuesday nights.”

  Her eyes widened. “Me too.”

  “That’ll be nice,” I said. “At least it’s not another one of those accounting classes you had last term.”

  “That’s the truth. I ended up with a C in there.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I’m only going to carry nine hours this semester, try and do better.” Again, she looked around. “Want to go sit in the cafeteria? It’s hard to talk in here, with all the noise.”

  I hesitated, knowing full well Culler would somehow creep into the conversation. But I had really missed Connie; it would be good to talk. I’d wanted to call her a few times but had lost my nerve. “Sure,” I agreed finally. “I can’t stay long; I’m going straight into work.”

  We both ordered hot chocolate and took a table by the window. Here I was, I thought, a real student in the cafeteria. About a dozen others were in there, comparing class schedules. Secretly, I was anxious to take my tray back up, put it on the belt that rode to the kitchen, just like a regular.

  “How was your Thanksgiving?” she asked.

  “Real quiet.” Then, seeing no choice other than to reciprocate, I added, “Yours?”

  She was silent a moment, blew at her hot chocolate. “Okay, I guess. I would like to have gone home.”

  “Did you watch football?”

  “No. What about you? Did your family have a big dinner?”

  “Every year,” I said. I rubbed a circle clear in the window to look through. It was bitter cold out, the snow was almost a half foot deep. Students leaned into the wind, hurried to class. “It’s freezing out there.”

  “So how are things? How have you been?”

  “Real fine, just staying busy.”

  “I read in the newspaper about that fire, where you used to work. That was bad. Did they ever figure out what caused it?”

  “Lightning. Struck a soda machine.”

  “That was really weird. I showed the article to Culler, he freaked out.”

  There it was. His name cut the air like a knife. I didn’t say a word, only nodded.

  Connie sensed my discomfort. “I’m sorry, Fern. It’s hard for me, you know, you and I, we were friends, too. I wanted to call you, really, I must have picked up the phone a dozen times, but I felt awkward, like I was caught in the middle.” She was jumpy.

  “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong. These things happen all the time. Win some, lose some.”

  “I know, but I still don’t understand what happened. Culler won’t talk about it. Not at all. He hates for me to even bring up your name. I just can’t figure him out. The day after that Halloween party, all he could do was talk about you; I think he was crazy about you. He said he’d never met a girl like you before, such a live wire, or whatever he called it. But then the next day, when I showed him that article about Clem’s place, he got real strange on me. Then after that, he wouldn’t mention your name even.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to what Connie was saying, but I couldn’t help but wonder to myself if maybe Culler had remembered. Remembered everything about that night. If he knew, from the start, about the lantern.

  “So now I feel bad,” she continued. “That you and I can’t talk. I knew he probably upset you, and I didn’t know how to act. I guess I felt partly responsible, me being related to him.”

  “It’s over now,” I said. “Besides, you can’t be responsible for someone else’s actions. Let’s just drop it. Maybe we can do things in the spring, when we’re in class together. Just forget about everything else.” I looked at her earnestly. “That is if you want to try.”

  “Sure. Sure I do, I’ve really missed you.” She gave me a warm smile, slurped her cocoa through a straw. “I haven’t met any neat girls like you around here. Most of them seem so stuffy, so preppy, like Leslie.”

  “Leslie?”

  “Yeah, Culler’s girl from back home. She was up Thanksgiving weekend. She drove us crazy. I don’t know why he even invited her. They don’t do anything but argue anyway. I can’t stand her; she whines about everything. She’s either too hot, or too
cold, or too bored, or wants to go do something. Drives me nuts.”

  Hearing about Leslie gave me a side stitch. I swallowed hard. “So they’re going out again?”

  “Not really, I think he was just lonely so he asked her to come up. I just don’t get it. I thought he really cared for you; he told me so. Way back when we were coming home from that picnic. All I know is that he thought he caused you too much grief with your family, and that he got them mad at you for something. That’s all he’d say.”

  “What’s done is done.”

  “I know. I guess so.” She picked up her spoon, stirred the chocolate mix that had settled, licked the spoon. “Remember that guy, the one from my class at the party?” The color had returned to her face at the mention of him. “His name’s Jim.”

  “Yeah, what about him?”

  “Well, we’re kind of an item now. He turned out to be an okay guy. Pre-law major. I really like him.”

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”

  “Me too. I just wish sometimes … oh, never mind.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. It’s just that sometimes, I wish that we could have, well that we could have double-dated. You and Culler were such a great couple.”

  I could feel my eyes welling up.

  Connie looked at me, understanding. “You still do care, don’t you?”

  I blinked. “Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.” I wasn’t too sure if I ought to open up to her, but I trusted her. “I still do care about him and think about him. But I’ll get over it.” I finished my hot chocolate, gathered up all my stuff. “I have to get to work, but you can call me sometime.” I gave her my new phone number. “I live alone now.”

  “You have your own place?” She took the napkin with my number, put it in her bookbag.

  “I’m renting.”

  “Wow, that’s great.” She stared at me, surprised. “Well, it was good seeing you, Fern. We’ll get together soon. I really want to. See you in class, right?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The snow crunched with every step as I headed back to my car. The ride home was a long, cold one. It was hard to keep any heat in a convertible. All the way, I thought about some things Connie had said about Culler. My hands and feet were numb. And I realized, driving along the icy road, it would be a long time before my heart thawed.

  41. More Scents

  After work, I was still depressed from hearing about Culler, so I stopped on the roadside in Stanton and bought a Christmas tree. I knew I could find enough fabric scraps and junk around the house to make some ornaments. Maybe if I decorated for the holiday, I’d feel better. I drove home with the top down, the tree sticking up out of my backseat.

  Birdie was waiting to greet me with the mail on my front stoop. I didn’t know how she could stand it, sitting there on the cold cement like that. She had her key, but would always go in, get Heidi, then wait outside.

  “Anything for me?” I asked her from the driveway.

  “Nope. But guess who came home?”

  “Who? Grandma?” I opened the door. “Come help me get this tree in the house.”

  “You bought a Christmas tree?”

  “Yeah, get over here. So Grandma’s home?”

  “No, Florabelle.”

  We dragged the tree in through the front door, and I brushed the snow off my boots. “Easy now,” I said. “Let’s lay it down by the window.”

  Birdie whistled for Heidi.

  “Wipe her off,” I said, opening the curtains. “A tree will look real nice here, don’t you think?”

  Birdie slammed the door and dried Heidi with a dish-towel. “Did you hear me? Florabelle’s home.”

  “She was home last night, for supper, right? I think I saw the truck.”

  “Yes, she wrapped up some leftovers for Jason, went home and came back around midnight. Jason left her.”

  “What? What do you mean left her?”

  “High and dry.”

  “He’s gone for good?” I dropped the tree against the wall.

  “She took a bus, brought Daisy and all her clothes with her. She’s moved back in your old room.”

  “What happened?”

  Birdie shrugged. “Nobody’ll tell me. Florabelle’s mad as a hornet one minute, crying the next. She won’t talk to me, Daddy’s mad, and Momma’s trying to take care of Daisy. All’s I know is that Jason took off to Tennessee with somebody. Maybe a girl.”

  “Poor Florabelle,” I said. I sat down on the chair, slipped off my boots. “That Jason, I swear. He just never did care enough. Bird, why don’t you tell her to come up here and talk to me, if she wants.”

  “She wants to see you. I told her I’d tell her when you got here. You want me to go in there and call her?”

  “Yeah, but maybe you ought to leave us alone to talk.”

  Birdie folded her arms, pouted. “No one ever tells me what’s going on,” she complained.

  “Sometimes you’re better off not knowing everything.”

  “Are you guys going to hang ornaments?”

  “I don’t have any. But if we do decorate, I’ll save the tree-topper for you. How’s that?”

  Birdie weighed the offer, nodded.

  “Now go send Florabelle up. Tell her to bring me a strand of tree lights from the basement. There must be twelve strings of lights down there in a Mayflower box.”

  “Daddy hasn’t got us a tree yet. Says he’s not in the mood.”

  “Well you tell him you want one. Make Momma tell him.”

  “I don’t want Christmas to come if you ain’t coming home, anyway.”

  “Bird, maybe by then we’ll have this mess all ironed out. Right now, Florabelle needs us the most. It would be a tough thing to have a little baby and have its father up and leave on you. Now go on, send her up, and tomorrow night we can all talk.”

  From the living room window, I watched Birdie dwindle into a little red speck down the hill. Bless her heart, I thought, all this feuding was really getting to her. It killed me to hear her say some of things she did. Deep down, I also hoped I’d be invited home for Christmas day. And Grandma, too. But it wasn’t likely. Daddy was too stubborn.

  I found an old paint can in the utility closet. Then I went back outside for some river rock and brought them in to weight down the can to support the tree. I worked with it a while by the window, trying to balance each side, snapping off the branches that stuck out farther than others.

  Heidi, lying in her corner, sniffed at the fresh evergreen. I hoped she wouldn’t get confused with a tree in the house. It looked like she was watching me; she was creepy that way. Even though she was blind, she always knew where to look, what was going on around her. Sometimes I would make a face at her, lunge at her quickly, do something just to test her. It always felt like she could see, or that one day she would just open her eyes and be able to.

  I draped a white sheet around the paint can, fluffed it into a tree skirt. When I raised up, I saw Florabelle walking up the road with a bag.

  I turned on the outside light and put on a Ray Conniff Christmas album. I thought maybe the music would cheer her up.

  She charged through the door. “I got some tree lights in here. Took me forever to find them, though, that basement’s a goddam pig sty.” She threw down her bag, took off her coat. “Boy, this place sure looks different. I can’t believe you can live here, don’t it smell like old people?”

  I opened her bag; buried under some clothes and other overnight things was a strand of tree lights. “All I can smell is the tree.”

  “I smell moth balls.”

  “Help me string these lights,” I said. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I’m tired of talking about it; I just told Hazel everything. The whole thing makes me want to puke.” Florabelle flopped down in the chair.

  Heidi, recognizing her voice, sidled up next to her.

  “You let this damn dog in here? That’s what stinks.”

  “It�
��s been a bad winter so far. She’s better off inside,” I said, unraveling the lights.

  “No shit, it’s been a bad winter. You just ain’t going to believe it when I tell you what happened.” She let out a heavy sigh. “I’ve never come so close to killing two people in my life.”

  “So what happened?”

  “First of all, I don’t want to hear you saying ‘I told you so.’”

  “I wouldn’t do that. You want something to drink, first?”

  “You got any beer?”

  “No, sorry, just pop and eggnog.”

  “Never mind.” She picked up her bag, dug out a can of Pabst. “I stole one of Daddy’s.” She popped the lid, took a swig, sat back in the chair. “No, I don’t want any lecturing. Daddy told me he had it figured all along, said I should’ve known Jason’d pull something like this. I swore at him, and Momma said ‘don’t be asking for no sympathy from her until I learn how to talk respectful.’ Hazel just says it’s just like a man to do this.”

  She had me curious, concerned. “So what is it? No lectures, I promise.”

  “You know yesterday,” she began, “I was up at the house for dinner. Jason couldn’t come, said he had to work on his brother’s transmission. Well, I’d told him I was probably spending the night at the house on account I didn’t want to drive home alone in the dark with the weather like it is. He said, fine, he’d ride to work with Dwayne today.”

  She sent Heidi away, irritated with her. “Anyway, Daddy was being such a butt rash that I got fed up and left right after dessert. Then I go home, right, and what do I find?”

  I looked up at her; she was red as a beet. “Jason was home?”

  “He was home all right. In our bed with Patty Prettyman Greene.”

  “What? No way! You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “No, there she was, sprawled out across the bed, her fat legs draped over Jason, him lying there on his back, naked, hard as a pine knot. Well, let me tell you, I put Daisy down on the floor and screamed like a demon. Jason woke up real fast, covered himself, shouted at Patty to leave, who did, but not before telling me it hadn’t even been worth the risk.”