The Road Through Wonderland: Surviving John Holmes

by Dawn Schiller

  While Dad works, Pen Ci and I share household chores and melancholy.

  I spend hours sitting at the front window, staring out at the parking lot, fantasizing that John will appear and take me away. I wonder how Terry is taking the flak of our departure and if she is waiting for my call. I have no money for a pay phone, and I can’t figure out how to explain to Pen Ci why I need to place a longdistance call.

  Pen Ci spends hours lying down in her room trying to stay warm under layers of Dad’s clothes, rereading letters from Thailand, and listening to tapes with Jack’s tiny voice talking to his mother here in the faraway United States.

  “But why is she so sad all the time? Aren’t you sending for Jack soon?” I ask Dad one evening.

  “Yeah, we plan on it as soon as we get more settled. But she misses her country and, besides, it’s way too cold for her here.” Dad explains with compassion in his voice, and I can see he loves her and his new son.

  The sun shines warmer than usual for a late winter’s morning in Riverside. Pen Ci is in the kitchen motioning for me to help her pack some food and drinks into a picnic basket.

  After we’ve packed she says, “Ma,” with a come with me motion of her hand. “By teow.”

  I follow her out the door, carrying the folded grass mat and a plain green umbrella. She has spotted a huge rock perching high on the hill behind our apartment that is sunny and level enough for us to enjoy our small feast on. Laying out our spread on the warm rock and placing the umbrella nearby, we silently begin our meal. The sun feels good on my face, and Pen Ci’s cooking is deliciously spicy and sweet. She makes a sign to me that she is happy I enjoy her food; it pleases her.

  We finish quietly, staring out at the billowing clouds in the blue winter sky. A small lone bird flies close overhead and catches our eyes. Pen Ci looks at me; her small hands make the motion of a circle around her chest, telling me she knows I am brokenhearted. I break down. Tears of sadness pour down my face at the relief of finally having someone who understands. With broken English and crude sign language, I tell her of a true love I have left behind in Glendale and how deeply I miss him; that he doesn’t know my whereabouts and how desperately I want to contact him. I tell her Dad doesn’t like John and I’m scared to ask him if I can call. As I explain with my hands and my heart, she understands.

  Decisively, she signals for me to pack things up. Then she leads the way back to the apartment and hands me the phone. Nodding curtly, she leaves me to my call. Fear engulfs me as I hold the receiver. What if no one is there? What if Sharon answers? What does Harriet have to say about me leaving with my father? I bite the bullet and dial.

  “John?” I ask timidly after I hear his hello.

  “Dawn?” There is a pause. “Is that you?”

  “Yes. John, I’m in Riverside.”

  “Still with your dad?”

  “Yes.” I start to cry. “I miss you.”

  “I miss you too, baby,” John says, his voice softening. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. Everyone here is pretty mad at your dad.”

  “I know. I can’t help it,” I sob, feeling a sting of guilt. “I don’t want to be here, John.”

  “I know, baby. I wish you were here. Near me.”

  “How’s Terry? Can you tell her that I called?”

  “Terry and Juan moved out a couple of days ago. They went back to Florida. I thought you knew.”

  “Huh? No!” My voice catches in my throat, and sadness overwhelms me.

  “Baby? Dawn? You still there?”

  “I didn’t know, John,” I forced the words through the telephone receiver. “I didn’t know about any of it.”

  “I know; I know, baby. Let me think. Listen. You know my brother, David, right?

  “Yeah.”

  “Call his number. I’ll be there waiting at four tomorrow afternoon. Okay? I’ll figure something out, baby.”

  “Okay, John. I will. Four tomorrow.”

  “I gotta go now. You know I love you, Dawn.”

  “I love you too, John.”

  “Tomorrow, ‘kay? Bye, baby.”

  “Bye.”

  Pen Ci appears like a ghost and asks me in broken English if I am “good” and draws an imaginary circle around her heart again.

  “Good,” I answer, smiling. “Tomorrow?” I point to the phone.

  She nods.

  John is waiting by David’s phone for my four o’clock call. “Hey, baby.” He sounds out of breath.

  “John, I miss you.”

  “Me too. Listen. David and Karen are willing to meet you and talk to you about what happened with your dad. They just want to make sure you are cool, and if everything works out, they are willing to let you stay with them until we can get you your own place.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, baby. I miss you…I can’t wait to hold you, kiss you all over. When can you come?”

  “I, I don’t know, John. Anytime.”

  “Your dad—he doesn’t like me. Can David or Karen come pick you up?”

  “Okay. That’s fine. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  We are in each other’s arms making love that weekend in David and Karen’s back room. John can barely keep his hands off of me, and he is very open with his affection, apparently not minding that they know about us.

  There is nothing David and Karen want to know about my involvement with my father. They already believe John. David does take an authoritative moment with me, though. Still in his pajamas, he asks if I am willing to get a job and take being on my own seriously. I tell him I am. “Cool,” he drawls slowly. He pulls a long drag of his cigarette, looks over his thick glasses at me, and asks, “Did John tell you about the garage apartment coming open?”

  “No. What apartment?”

  “You…John, you didn’t tell her yet?” David grins slyly.

  “Hey, not yet. We’ve been busy!” he says and proceeds to maul me playfully on the couch.

  “I’ll tell her then,” David says, grinning. “The garage apartment is coming up for rent next month. If you want to, you can stay here until it’s available. There’s just one thing.” He raises an eyebrow.

  “What?”

  “Sharon. You gotta clear it with Sharon. And as it stands, she thinks you knew about your dad using Harriet for money. And, well, you have to get a job and promise to pay rent.”

  John doesn’t speak. I am scared now. My skin bristles. “Yeah, I’m serious about getting a job and”—I swallow hard—“I’ll ask her if I can rent the place too.”

  “No, no, baby. I’ll clear it with her if that’s what you really want. Is it?” John comes to my rescue, hugging me tightly. He flings David a hard look.

  Is John letting David test me? I let the thought go.

  “Sharon is staunch about maintaining this place; you can’t bullshit her,” David warns. “You need to be responsible.”

  “I’m serious,” I repeat and dig my face into John’s warm shoulder.

  Dad knows I went back to Glendale, even though I never said where I was going. “To a friend’s house for the weekend” was the only explanation I offered. When I come back, he is in a foul mood.

  “Is your pain bad?” I ask, concerned that his face may be feeling worse.

  “Naw. Nothing. It’s the same. It’s just…I got served with papers. Harriet. She’s moved back with her folks, and she’s suing me for breach of promise! She knows I’m gonna pay her back. We’re struggling here. Awww. This country. This is a load of shit! Only in this country!” He flings his newspaper across the room. Pen Ci says nothing. “We’re outta here.”

  “What do you mean, ‘we’re outta here'? Where are you going?” “Back to Florida. She’s too cold here anyway”—he points to Pen Ci—“and when Jack comes, well, he can’t take the cold weather either. Florida’s weather is more like their home anyway. Sued for breach of promise…Can you believe this shit?” he mumbles angrily.

  I think for a long moment. “Dad?�
� I muster up my courage. “What, Dawn?”

  “I don’t want to go back to Florida.”

  “Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t want to go. You want to be with John. I know.”

  Dull shock pounds in my ears, and I can’t look at him. “Yeah. I love him.”

  “So what are you going to do, Dawn?”

  “Get a job. Rent the back apartment. Be with him.” I’m still not brave enough to look him in the eye.

  Dad is silent for a while, then breathes one of his heavy sighs. “Okay. If that’s what you want, Dawn. More power to you.” His tone rings heavy with unspoken words: Bad idea.

  By week’s end, Dad has quit his job and everything is ready to go. Standing outside next to the fully packed green Chrysler, I flash on moments of our trip to California: picking up Marty, the Grand Canyon…The slam of the trunk brings me out of my daydream. I hug Pen Ci and give her my best wai.

  “Chok dee ka,” she says, shivering from the cold air. Without further expression, she climbs into the passenger seat.

  Dad stands next to the car with his hands in his pockets and stares at the ground. “Well, uh, I guess this is it.” He kicks a small rock.

  “Yeah, uh, I guess so.” I don’t want to get emotional. I know how much Dad doesn’t like it when I cry.

  “Well, uh.” He thinks for a minute. “'Kay, here.” He hands me a twenty-dollar bill from deep inside his pocket. “Oh, also, there are two days left on the rent, so I guess you can stay till then and, uh…well, let me know where you are, okay?” Dad scrambles to get our good-byes over with.

  “Okay. I’ll be in touch with Mom. Tell Terry to call me too. I love you, Dad.” I wrap my arms around his shoulders and give him a kiss.

  “I love you too, Dawn,” he says and quickly climbs in the car to start the engine. “Good luck.” Dad pokes his head out of the window and waves as dirt billows off the gravel behind the disappearing car.

  “Good luck to you too,” I call back weakly. In a trail of dust, I wave good-bye to my father as he heads back to Florida. In my hand I hold the twenty-dollar bill he has given me. Two days’ rent and twenty dollars…Thanks, Dad. Well, I’m really a Californian now.

  I feel a surge of independence lift my spirits. Little do I know that Carol City was only a boot camp compared to what California has in store for me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Rose of Sharon

  Making it to David and Karen’s is more of a hassle than I think it will be. John has to be in San Francisco for a shoot, and he leaves David in charge of helping me.

  On the other end of the phone, David pulls an audible drag from a cigarette. “Got some problems. Can’t get the car started.”

  “Oh. What do I do? I can only stay here a couple more days.”

  “Can you meet me halfway tomorrow?” His words slur, and I hear the cigarette sucking noise again.

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I am using up part of my twenty dollars for the pay phone and worrying about having enough.

  On my last day in Riverside, I finish off the last of the rice from the plastic containers Pen Ci has left in the kitchen and gaze over the empty apartment. How sad this place is. Curling up in my sleeping bag on the cold living room carpet, I fall into a restless, uncomfortable sleep.

  I am running for my life, being chased by something giant, invisible, yet terrifyingly real. It is coming closer…I keep running and running…trying to escape. Just as the darkness is about to pounce on me…

  I open my eyes, thankful to be awake. Whoa. I’m glad that was a dream. I try to shake off the wrestling shadows of the night, but they linger miserably, their memories haunting until daylight.

  In the morning I pack the rest of my belongings and, without looking back, walk out of the cul-de-sac to a busy part of town. Taking a deep breath to muster my courage, I stick out my thumb. Instantly, I get a ride.

  An old man in his seventies driving a beat-up Chevy truck comes clanking to a stop. “Where you going?” He flashes his long, tobacco-stained teeth in a smile.

  “LA,” I pant. “Glendale.”

  The man looks to the sky for a second and says in a slow drawl, “Yep, well, I’m going in that direction. Hop in.” The ride is long and bumpy. He pulls out a bottle of whiskey from his jacket pocket, takes a swig, and offers me some.

  “I’m fine.” I lean tensely against the door, balancing my bags between my knees.

  “Is Long Beach close enough?” he asks after we have been driving awhile.

  “Long Beach? If it’s near LA. Sure.” I figure that will be okay. I think I heard of the place when I was in Glendale. It shouldn’t be too far for David to pick me up from there.

  “I can take you to my sister’s there if you want.” He is drunk and offers several times to take me there.

  “No, thanks. Right here is fine.” I nervously point to a Denny’s, pretending I’m not scared.

  The old man takes his time changing lanes. He is getting agitated but finally pulls into the parking lot. I hop out and thank him again, walking quickly into the restaurant without waiting for a response. I dig for the last of my coins in the pocket of my corduroys, plunk them into a lone pay phone near the newspaper stands, and dial David’s number once again.

  “Hello.”

  “Uh, hi. John?”

  “Dawn? Where are you?”

  “Long Beach. At a Denny’s off the 710 Freeway.”

  “Long Beach! Why are you there?”

  “'Cause David told me to find a ride halfway. His car isn’t working very well.”

  “What? That schmuck.” John sounds pissed off. “Juss…just a minute.” I hear the muffled sounds of voices; then John comes back on the line. “Baby?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Karen’s going to pick you up. I gotta go to work, but I’ll be home tonight and meet you here. Don’t worry. I love you.”

  “I love y—”

  He cuts me off, passing the phone to David’s wife.

  “He has epilepsy, you know,” Karen says from behind the steering wheel of their 1969 orange Volkswagen Beetle. “He has to take phenobarbital every day so he doesn’t have seizures. It wipes him out a lot. People think he’s just lazy, but he’s sick.”

  “I heard,” I tell her sympathetically.

  “Yeah.” She is smacking gum and shifting gears like butter. Her straight, shoulder-length blonde hair is pinned back at the bangs with a modest barrette, and the late afternoon sun glares off of her thick bifocals. “So, you like John, huh?” she comes right out and asks.

  Taken off guard, I am suddenly shy at how vulnerable her question makes me feel. “Yeah. He’s nice.”

  She pulls her eyes off the road for a quick second, flashing me a smile. “You’re lucky,” she says, popping her gum.

  “You think so?” I answer, but I don’t really want to talk about it anymore.

  She smirks, her head cocking to the side. “So is he.”

  Karen shows me where to put my things when we get to the cottage. David is passed out on a king-sized bed that sits directly in the middle of the living room. “His medicine has kicked in,” Karen whispers.

  Aside from the large bed, the room is adorned with a mishmash of just about everything. A patched orange beanbag chair props up against the front window, and odd pieces of furniture are placed in unusable parts of the room. Massive pothos plants hang from the ceiling in three out of four of the corners of the room. It looks like the dregs of a giant garage sale have found homes here. Nothing matches.

  “Come on. I’ll show you the kitchen.” She motions for me to follow. The kitchen is in similar disarray. Bottles of prescriptions rest on the pale yellow and black tiles of the counter. A small table is pushed up against the curtains at the window with stacks of envelopes, bills, and paper strewn on top. Coffee stains on the tablecloth mark the visible parts of the table, and the sink is full of unwashed dishes.

  “I’m just too busy to keep this place up.” Karen sighs, frustrated by the look of the room
.

  “Mom.” A small, dirty-faced blond boy appears from the shadows.

  “In here. Shhh. David’s sleeping. Dawn, this is my son, Jamie. Jamie, this is Dawn. She’s going to be staying here with us for a little while.”

  Jamie looks up at me. “Hi.” “Hi.”

  “Honey, why don’t you go wash up for supper?”

  “Aww, Mom.”

  “Go.” Karen snaps a dish towel at his backside and turns to do the dishes.

  David is awake now and groggily enters the kitchen. “Hey, you made it.” He loses his balance in the doorway and catches himself on the counter. He is wearing the same black-and-yellow-striped bumblebee outfit that Terry and I had thought was so funny on John. “And how’s my sweet, sexy, beautiful mama doing?” He comes droning up behind Karen, rubbing his body against hers.

  “I’m fine,” she answers in baby talk, her bottom lip sticking out.

  I have to turn my head. I know John and I were all over each other earlier and they probably feel comfortable being affectionate in front of me, but in my eyes this is sickeningly sweet and almost a show. Well, I’m gonna have to put up with it. At least until I get my own place.

  John gets in around midnight. David and Karen are sitting up in the king-sized bed watching TV. “Hey,” they greet him, smiling.

  Half-asleep in the beanbag chair, I feel John crawl up next to me and nuzzle my neck. He smells of light, musky cologne, and his hands are strong and cold. Sitting up, he bends to pull his boots off, each hitting the floor with a thud. He opens his jean jacket, wrapping me up inside with him, warming me. He kisses my face, lips, and neck, then moans and pulls me to my feet. He throws David a film container. “Roll one up. We’ll be back in a minute.” He grins at David and leads me to the bathroom, where he swiftly pins me against the wall and passionately, possessively has his way with me.

  I check the paper each morning for work. The trouble is the only places I am qualified for employment are burger joints, and at sixteen, I need a guardian’s permission. “I am my own guardian now,” I tell myself bravely. But I don’t have any job skills.