The Road Through Wonderland: Surviving John Holmes

by Dawn Schiller

  “I love you too, John.” My words come to life in my heart even as I speak them. Sparks light in John’s eyes; my words ignite him. He is on fire. He lifts me up and showers me with dozens of kisses. He rips his shirt off, throws it to the floor, and tears my blouse open with his teeth. His lovemaking is frenzied passion. I follow his lead—he likes to tell me what to do—but I silently worry that I don’t have the right moves. I’m getting better at blocking out the pain. I have never felt as loved as I do at this very moment.

  We spend the weekend visiting John’s favorite places, lying around the pool, ordering room service, and guessing the identities of the other hotel guests.

  “I bet that one is his secretary and they are supposed to be out on a business trip.” John starts the game playfully. “Oh, look, they’re going to their room to fuck. I’ll bet money! Wanna peek in their window and watch?”

  “No way! Really? No, they’re not, John. Quit it! They’re looking.” I’m embarrassed and blushing. But John is like a kid in a candy store. He loves this game; it excites him. He checks to see if the coast is clear, takes me by the hand, and leads the way to the back of the couple’s bungalow.

  “Shhhh!” John lifts his finger to his lips. We lie quietly for a few moments till he feels safe enough to steal a peek inside. He takes the first rubberneck look and lifts me up to spy on the unsuspecting couple too. A pile of clothes sits on the floor near the corner of the bed. I try to stretch my neck farther until John, unable to contain a laugh, can’t hold me up any longer. We fall in the bushes laughing hysterically all the way back to our bungalow.

  People stare at us constantly, and I finally realize that John is being recognized. I remember the group that followed us at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. He attracts people.

  John loves the attention, but ever protective of me, whenever people look, he holds me closer, more possessively and intimately, as if to say, “She is mine.” Holding my hand everywhere, John guides me to all his favorite haunts. We eat at an old family-owned Mexican place famous for its authentic food, ride the tram to the snowy top of the mountains that overlook Palm Springs to eat barbeque, and feed the squirrels as we look for the ocean through the large bluff-top binoculars. Then, back at our bungalow, we make love again until we fall asleep.

  I don’t want these days to end. Still Sunday comes, and it is time to go back to Glendale. Heaviness hangs on our final day, but on the ride home, a more comfortable feeling of permanence settles in between us. Our moves have become synchronized, and we sense each other’s needs before words are ever spoken. John, taking the opportunity to kiss me every time we come to a stop, assures me that my father will not know about our weekend alone.

  I hope he is right. I’m not looking forward to facing Dad with a lie on my lips.

  John drops me off in the front of the cottages so I can walk in first with my sleeping bag and make it look like we have come from the beach. Instead, I make a mad dash for Terry’s door to see if she has any news of Dad. No one comes to the door. “Shit.” I kick the door and try not to panic.

  Dad is sitting on the couch when I step in, his feet up on the coffee table. He’s watching TV and smoking a Salem menthol.

  “Hey,” he calls out, looking up from his smoky corner. “Where you been?”

  “The beach.”

  “The beach, huh? With who? John and, uh…?”

  “Yeah. Everybody went,” I finish his sentence and quickly duck into the kitchen, hoping that will be the end of the questions.

  Dad follows me. “Listen,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. You need to pack your things. We’re leaving.”

  “What? Leaving?” I shoot back, reeling from the blow of his announcement. “I can’t, but…but…what about school?” I begin to get hysterical.

  “I’ll sign you out. Shhhh. Calm down. Listen.” He motions for me to bring down my voice.

  Bracing myself, I hold my breath as Dad explains his latest plan.

  “I got a place. In Riverside. Pen Ci is flying in to meet us. She’s been waiting a long time. Harriet doesn’t know, so keep it…to yourself.” He stops, looks side to side. “I told her you want to go back to your mother’s in Florida and, uh, I have to take ya. She, uh, well, you know, likes me too much and, uh, she just won’t understand this thing about Pen Ci.” He thinks for a moment and then speaks to me again as if I am his buddy. “God, I can’t stand it anymore. It’s like, like…work being with her…and pretending I love her,” he practically spits as a visible chill runs down his spine. “Just get your things together, Dawn. Unless you got somewhere else to go.”

  “No. I, uh. No…I don’t.” I shake my head, scared of his backhanded threat to leave me.

  Suddenly, it all makes sense. Dad is spending so much time alone with Harriet; Harriet tries to act like our mother; Dad is gone while Harriet is at work. She has fallen in love with him, and Dad’s only intention has been to lead her on till he wants to leave. Does John know what’s going on between Dad and Harriet? Is that why he is so sure Dad won’t say anything if we’re together? Or maybe he thinks I’m in on it! Like a dark morning gloom, the unanswered questions cloud my head.

  “What about Terry?” I ask, little by little realizing the impact of Dad’s decision.

  “She’s not coming.”

  “No! Why? Did you ask her?”

  “She’s with Juan now.” He shrugs his shoulders. “She made her decision before we left Florida.”

  “Does she at least know we’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, I told her today,” he mumbles. “So, uh, I’ll go to school to tell them with you in the morning, ‘kay?”

  I nod numbly. He leaves me standing in the kitchen. Quick as I can, I race out the back door and take the few long steps to Terry’s back porch.

  Knock, knock, knock. No answer. Knock, knock, knock. Nothing.

  So this is probably why no one answered at Terry’s. I turn back to the house. They’re upset. My mind whirls. It is difficult to breathe. Does John know we’re leaving? I sit down at the table and put my head in my hands. John? What about John and me? Will this be the end of… I can’t bear to think about it. Tears spill down my cheeks. Do I have to choose between Dad and John? I feel like I have no choice; I have to go. Dad is my legal guardian. But, I let out a deep sob, I’m in love with John.

  Mom. She’ll be worried. I haven’t written her since before my birthday. I have to send her a letter. I rummage through the kitchen drawer for a pen and paper and find several drafts of the letter I sent Mom last month.

  Dear Mom,

  Sorry for not writing sooner….

  Thank you very much for the pictures. They are very nice. As soon as I got them I showed them to everyone in the courts (where I live). They all said I have a very pretty mother and foxy brother. Most of them think me and Wayne look like twins. I think so too…. I’m sorry I don’t have any recent pictures of me except for the ones we took at the nude beach and I don’t think you would like a picture of me naked….

  School ends Friday for the Christmas holidays and starts again January 3. Please forgive me for not sending anything except my love. But I have no money and no one wants me to do any work for them because they need the money for Christmas presants too.

  Oh yeah! My bladder infection is gone. The doctor gave me anti-biotics for it. I’ve been taking them for almost two weeks now.

  I will be sweet 16 in two weeks from Wednesday. Remember the birthday party last year. I had a good time. So did you I think?…I still thank you Mom it was one of the nicest things you did for me. I’ll always remember it and you mostly. I miss you and Wayne so much. Especially now durring Christmas time. I only spent one other Christmas away from home 2 years ago….

  Well I better go now…. Sorry my writing is so sloppy….

  Merry Christmas early!

  All my love,

  Dawn

  xxxxxxxxxx

  It was all I could bring myself to say: tidbits
of catching up, with no real mention that maybe something else is going on, maybe I was scared of being sick or the way things were playing out here in California. I know she can’t do anything if I write her again, and I really don’t want her to worry. I fold the letter and place it back into the drawer. Sad and exhausted, I pull down the sofa bed and cry myself to sleep.

  John’s morning wake-up call is a rap at the door. Today, I am already up and waiting for him. “Morning.” He has a cheerful glint in his eye that says, Remember our weekend?

  “Hey.” I open the screen door, step out into the cold morning fog.

  John’s face drops. “What’s the matter?”

  “We’re leaving.” I choke back a rush of tears.

  “What? When? Now?”

  “I’m not sure. I think tomorrow. Dad is checking me out of school today, and he told me to pack my things,” I blurt out, a few tears breaking free. I lean against the stucco cottage wall, put my arm across my eyes, and let out a few sobs.

  John steps in close to me and holds my hand. He is thoughtful, and I wish he would say something, fix this mess somehow. “Get me your address and phone number.” He bites his lip a few moments more, staring into the gray, foggy sky. “Call me.”

  The cottage door flings open before we can say any more. John quickly jumps back off the porch and pretends he is just leaving.

  “Let’s go, Dawn,” Dad purposely interrupts, his voice stern. He sends John a murderous stare.

  John throws Dad a challenging look back. “You son of a bitch!” He turns in a huff, marches to his cottage, and slams the door.

  Dad is shaken, and he fumbles with the lock and the screen door. “Ready, Dawn? Come on. Quit standing around here, and let’s get this over with.” Dad storms to the car, shaking his keys against his leg hard and loudly; he is the one in charge.

  “Why aren’t you going, Terry?” I demand, banging on the door.

  “He doesn’t want me to go, Dawn. Didn’t he tell you that?” She is about to cry.

  “No. He said you were with Juan now.”

  “No. He did kinda ask me to go with him but, right after, said he understood I couldn’t because I was with Juan. I feel like I have no choice, really.” Her voice quavers, and she turns away. “Does he even love us, Dawn?” Terry looks back at me, her face streaked with tears.

  “I don’t know, Terry. I think so.” I’m not really sure if he does.

  “He withdrew me from school today, Ter. We are supposed to leave in the morning. What am I going to do about John? I don’t even see his van. Where is he?” I hate the way my gut feels: hollow, like it’s folding in on itself. I find the couch and rock myself.

  “John knows—the whole courtyard knows—what Dad is doing to Harriet.” Terry wipes the tears from her face.

  “He does? He doesn’t think I had anything to do with it, does he?”

  “He’s not so innocent! He did hint around a couple times, ‘cause he didn’t know if you knew about it. But he likes you, Dawn. It just made it easier for him to be with you.”

  “But you told him the truth, right?”

  “I told him we didn’t know what Dad was doing, and he believes me. At least I think he does.” She gives it some thought. “And everybody knows about you and John too!”

  “I know,” I tell her with sober acceptance, but I am thinking, Now what?

  I fall asleep on Terry’s couch after hanging out with her the entire evening. I want to spend time with her before we leave in the morning, but mostly I am waiting for John to come home.

  “Where do you think he is?” It is midnight, and I am getting anxious.

  “I don’t know. I thought he would be here by now. Maybe he is scared of Dad?”

  We sit in silent worry, the both of us, as we have done so many times from our past in Carol City. Aside from our occasional getting up to look in the refrigerator, the cottage stays quiet. The only movement in the room is the spidery shadows cast by the television.

  CRACK, RUSTLE, RUSTLE! The noise comes from outside a corner window.

  “Shhh.” Terry raises a suspicious finger to her lips and tiptoes to the window.

  “What was that?” I whisper. “A raccoon?”

  She keeps her finger to her mouth for a full few minutes while we both listen carefully for any more sounds. It is quiet. Silence.

  “He’s gone.” Terry lowers her hand.

  “Who?”

  “John.”

  “John?” I jump to the window to see if he’s there.

  “Shhh. Yeah, John! But he’s gone now. Don’t you know he peeks in windows? He does it all the time. I coulda swore I saw him at your window a couple times before. Once I caught him face-to-face.” Terry wrinkles her face in disgust.

  “Yeah. I saw a shadow jump into the bushes a few times, and I figured it was John checking up on me.” I remember the window-peeking in Palm Springs. Why won’t he come to the door?

  “Checking up maybe, and wanting to see you naked is more likely!”

  I don’t answer. I tear myself up inside trying to understand why he isn’t here with me tonight, but is watching from the shadows instead. In my gut I know it’s because of Dad. Nobody likes what he is about to do to Harriet, but nobody has the courage to stop him either. I jump at every noise I hear that night till a cold and dreary morning wakes me.

  Dad is saying his good-byes to Harriet when I finish hugging Terry. She is stone-faced and won’t look at him. I can’t stop crying and when I reach out to hug Harriet good-bye, all I can say is “Thank you.” John’s van is parked at the end of the courtyard in his usual space, and the door to his cottage is shut tight with the curtains drawn.

  “I’ll call John as soon as we get where we’re going, Terry. I’m sure he’ll give you a message,” I assure her as well as myself. Things are complicated now. After a couple of days, Harriet will know that Dad has lied to her and, because I am with him, she will blame me too. All hell will break loose, and Harriet will see me as part of it. Everyone is bracing for the fallout. Terry doesn’t have a phone, so the only number I can call is John’s—and that will have to be when Sharon isn’t home. I am sure Sharon will accuse me too. I’ve thought about calling the answering service, but John hasn’t given me permission to call there.

  The time comes to leave, and still John doesn’t emerge. “Tell him I miss him, and I will let him know where I am as soon as I can,” I tell Terry urgently. I grab my things and throw them in the car.

  In front of the once-purple jacarandas, Terry stands on the damp sidewalk hugging her blue and beige sweater, eyes red and swollen. Then, expressionless, without a word, she turns and walks back to her cottage. It is the last time my sister and I will see each other as teenagers.

  Riverside, California, is only an hour and a half away from Glendale. I make a note of it. The car ride is a sad blur. I notice nothing on the drive except the floorboards in the backseat. I feel carsick. Large gray and brown boulders jut out of dry desert hills to greet us, but I’m not excited. The wind blows hard here in January.

  At the end of a cul-de-sac in a large apartment complex, Dad pulls up to a bottom-floor unit and taps on the door. A tiny, dark-skinned woman about four feet nine inches tall pokes her head around the corner and lets us in.

  “Sawadee ka.” The delicate lady clasps her hands together, brings them up to her eyes in a Thai greeting, and smiles.

  “Pen Ci, kup, anee ben luk sow, sur Dawn, kup,” Dad introduces me in Thai.

  Pen Ci looks up at me and nods.

  “Sa-wa-dee ka,” I imitate the proper greeting the way Dad taught me earlier, my pronunciations bouncing awkwardly like a rubber ball.

  She smiles, amused, and waves me in.

  Pen Ci is a beautiful, fine-boned woman with jet-black hair and eyes. Her daggerlike fingernails are painted red, contrasting nicely against her brown skin. She wears a traditional bright-colored sarong, one of Dad’s sweatshirts, and his oversized socks, which drag comically behind her tiny feet
as she walks.

  Right away she spreads a collapsible grass mat on the carpet. Then into the kitchen she scoops up bowls of different kinds of curries, soups, sauces, and rice. Dad changes into a more subtle, checkered male sarong, and we sit down to eat. I look around the sparse apartment, notice its dark green short shag carpet, a small television, and a roll of blankets against the wall.

  After dinner, Dad and Pen Ci speak together in Thai, and he translates.

  “She says to tell you she doesn’t speak any English, but she thinks you are beautiful.”

  “Tell her thank you.” I am flattered by the compliment. “And that she is too. I thought you said she wasn’t here yet, Dad.”

  “I had to trust you. Shhh.” Pen Ci speaks again.

  “She asks how old you are, and she wants to tell you about Jack. He’s two and a half.” Dad finishes, and Pen Ci begins to cry.

  “She misses Jack,” Dad says.

  My own tears fall down my face. “Yeah, I miss somebody too.” Dad flashes me a stern look, then hangs his head, puts down his chopsticks, and exhales a long, hard sigh.

  Pen Ci and I spend the next couple of weeks communicating in sign language and crying a lot. How long has Pen Ci been here? I wonder.

  “She keeps the green stone for me. She knows how to take good care of it. In her country, she is highly revered,” Dad tells me confidentially. “She is a healer. People will line up outside of our house to have her lay her hands on them.”

  I am impressed, but then question silently why she hasn’t taken away the pain in his face yet. I don’t say anything. Instead, I can’t stop thinking about John.

  Dad already has a job with the phone company, so a black rotary phone sits on the green carpeted floor in the living room. Man, when Dad makes plans, he really hauls ass. I am amazed. Dad is strict about using the phone, though, and I know I will have to wait till he is gone to try to call John.