by Amy Harmon
“Oh, and Johnny? Maggie is my girl. Sorry, man. I’ll forgive you this time, ‘cause you didn’t know better. But this?” Shad pointed from Maggie to Johnny and back again. “This here? This ain’t happ’nin’ - clear?”
“Shad!” Maggie was no longer grateful or amused. Johnny looked like he was going to explode, however. His face had gone almost as red as hers had been seconds before, but it wasn’t from embarrassment. He was laughing at her. Shad was clueless as ever, and he turned to Maggie then, sliding his arm around her shoulders.
“Do you wanna dance, Mags? I got something good coming up after this!” Shad waggled his eyebrows suggestively. She shrugged Shad’s arm from her shoulders and would have turned him down just for being such a pain, but then she caught Johnny’s expression as he turned his head to stare out across the dance floor. He looked out at the writhing figures, at Dara as she ran her hands through her hair and strutted around the floor. Then he eyed Maggie doubtfully. He slid his hands along the back of his plastic seat and smirked the smallest bit.
“You said you love to dance, right Maggie? Let’s see you. Go on now. Your boyfriend wants to dance.”
Maggie felt her temper flare and burst in her skull. What was with him? He seemed to relish making her feel completely undesirable. What? Did he think she couldn’t dance? Did he think mousy Maggie with her big glasses couldn’t do the same moves Dara and her trashy trio were doing? He didn’t find her attractive? Fine. She would show him a thing or two.
Maggie shot to her feet, shoving Shad out of the booth and setting her glasses on the table. She didn’t look at Johnny as she walked away. Instead, she called over her shoulder, “Don’t wait for me....I might be a while.”
Shad had chosen her favorite song, thank God for small miracles. It was several years old, but the driving beat and the funky base line were hypnotic and gritty, and she threw herself into the song, pulsing and popping with the rhythm, prancing around the floor as if she owned the place. Shad tried to keep up, but knew within seconds Maggie was in rare form. Instead, he hollered and raised his hands, the first to form a circle around her. By the end of the song, Maggie had quite the audience. Take that, Johnny Kinross. She raised the damp hair off of her neck and spun a little, soaking up the whoops and whistles around her, dropping into a sloppy curtsy, blowing a big air kiss to all the admiring bystanders.
She walked triumphantly out of the dancing throng to see that the table she and Johnny had occupied was empty. Maggie whirled, wondering if Johnny had so disapproved of her display that he had left Shimmies. But no...she could see his car through the windows, still parked in the same spot. She sat down in dejection. So much for showing Johnny how attractive she could be. “Showing someone” wasn’t effective if he didn’t care enough to watch. Her eyes wandered around the dining area, wondering where Johnny was, feeling silly sitting alone, especially after she had just called so much attention to herself.
Her eyes lit on him seconds later. He was standing in the entrance to the hallway that led to the restrooms, eyeing the assortment of pictures that adorned the long wall. Maggie continued to watch him, studying him as he drank in the history of the Shimmy and Shake. He hardly moved, and after two or three minutes, Maggie felt a frisson of alarm. Relinquishing her prime booth and swinging her purse over her shoulder, Maggie wove her way to his side.
Johnny was standing in front of an old picture of his mother and Chief Bailey. In fact, all the pictures along the wall were quite dated. Maggie had never noticed the picture before. She’d only been to Shimmies a few times, and whenever she had walked down this hall it had been with the intent to pee, not to peruse. The shot was a cute one, though. The Chief had his arm around Dolly’s Kinross’s shoulders, and she was smiling up at him sheepishly. The picture next to it was a picture of another couple standing in front of Shimmies on opening day, big smiles on their faces and balloons billowing around them. There was something familiar about the two, and Maggie looked closer, trying to place them.
“Do you know these people?” Maggie asked, tapping the glass lightly. She glanced up then, looking into Johnny’s face for the first time since she had joined him at the wall. His face was wet with tears. The shock of seeing him that way made Maggie gasp audibly. He turned abruptly and walked out of the Shimmy and Shake. Maggie hesitated briefly and then ran out after him. She would call Shad later. She followed Johnny to his car and was surprised when he beat her to her door, opening it for her before she could open it herself.
As soon as Maggie sat down, an image of Johnny sitting by another girl, here in his car, flashed on the periphery of her vision. The busty blonde had her arms wrapped around his neck, and she was sprawled against him. He was kissing her soundly. Maggie gasped and snapped her eyes closed, willing the ghostly replay away. Johnny slid in beside her and gunned his car, screeching out of the lot as curious bystanders stopped to watch.
He pulled out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. They rode in silence. Maggie gnawed at her lower lip, wishing he would talk to her, knowing he wouldn’t. She waited until he had pulled in front of Irene’s house. She hadn’t told him where to go. He made a move to get out, most likely to open her door, as it seemed to irk him when she did it herself. She took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Who were those people in the pictures?” She couldn’t comfort him if she didn’t know. For a minute she thought he wouldn't answer. Then he sighed and his voice shook slightly.
“My momma and Chief Bailey.”
“I recognized them,” Maggie paused briefly. “Who were the others?”
Johnny leaned against the steering wheel, peering out at the full moon that was rising in the sky, casting a soft white light down on his upturned face. Maggie was grateful for the illumination; it made it easier to read his emotions. He seemed devastated, not by the picture of his mother but by something else.
“The one in front of the restaurant was Carter and Peggy. Apparently they own the place. There were several pictures of them. The last shot was them on what looked like a fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration. They must have gotten married in the fall after we graduated. I had a feeling they were hiding something. I think Peggy was pregnant.”
Maggie stayed silent, waiting to see if he would continue. He didn’t. She thought of the blonde she'd seen in her vision of the prom, and the girl she'd seen him kissing in his car for that brief second before she'd closed her eyes to the ghostly replay.
“Did you love Peggy? Is that what’s bothering you? That she married your friend?”
Johnny laughed, a humorless snort that negated her supposition. “No. I didn’t love Peggy. She was always Carter’s girl, though it took her a while to figure it out. I just tried to help them along.”
“So.....you’re glad?” He didn’t seem glad. Maggie was a little lost, and she feared he would put an end to her questioning before she got some answers. At the moment, she was striking out. “So what upset you so much...back at Shimmies?”
He looked out the far window, depriving her of his profile. She had almost given up when he resumed speaking.
“There were pictures of a couple of guys I knew. It looked like they were in the army or something. There was a newspaper article framed up too. It had a list of names. I knew almost all of them. The article was about men lost in a place called Vietnam.” Johnny turned stricken eyes on her. “Was there a war?”
Maggie felt his despair wash over her. She nodded, realizing suddenly what was coming. “Yes. There’s been more than one, but...yes. The Vietnam war started in the sixties and lasted into the seventies.” At least she thought it did. She was much more familiar with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, the wars of her generation.
“The article was about a monument they were going to erect here in Honeyville. Jimbo’s name was in the article. He’s gone, Maggie. And Paul Harper, and Grant Lewis...and so many other names I recognized. They’re dead....” Johnny suddenly slammed his hand into the dash, causing her to jump in sur
prise. “What the hell happened, Maggie? Why am I here?”
Maggie struggled to find words and then abandoned her attempt as Johnny continued.
“I’ve missed my whole life, the life I should have already lived. The people I care about are old or....dead!”
The silence inside the car was thick and stifling, Johnny’s words sucking all the oxygen from the space.
“The people I care about are old or dead too,” Maggie whispered.
Johnny barked out an incredulous laugh and shot a stunned look at Maggie. She stared back, daring him to challenge her statement.
“It’s not the same thing!” Johnny looked like he was about to break something, but Maggie held her ground. His eyes blazed in the dim light, and his jaw was clenched hard enough to shatter his teeth.
“I know. It’s not,” she soothed. “But alone is still alone however you come by it. And you and I really aren’t all that different.”
Maggie reached out tentatively and smoothed the hair from his brow, resting her hand alongside his face. His eyes closed briefly, and he pressed his cheek into her hand for less than a heartbeat. Then he pulled away with a groan, and Maggie’s hand dropped back to her lap.
“Ah Maggie. Just go...just...please, go. I apologized once, and I don’t want to have to do it again, but at this point the only kind of comfort you can give me does not involve conversation.”
Maggie’s heart stuttered and then sped up at the implication of his backhanded offer. His eyes met hers defiantly.
“Go!” he ordered. He leaned across her to open the door, and then he shoved it wide. Maggie burned where he’d brushed against her. He looked away, waiting for her to exit the car.
Maggie slid out without another word, shutting the door behind her. It wasn’t until Johnny had pulled away that she remembered Irene’s car was still at Shimmies. Sighing, she began the long walk back to the place she had started from, in more ways than one.
***
She worried about Johnny all day Saturday. She slept restlessly, ate poorly, and generally couldn’t get his distraught face out of her head. It’s easy to stay away when you’re pushed, easy to believe you’re not needed or wanted. And it was even easier to imagine that Johnny would do fine without her. He was strong and capable and more resilient than anyone she knew. But it wasn’t easy to stop loving him, not easy at all. So she worried.
Finally, by Sunday afternoon, she decided she would just stop in and check on him, put her mind at ease, and quickly retreat. It had rained steadily all day, and Maggie swerved to hit every puddle she could on the way to Jillian Bailey’s house, just to distract herself. When she reached the Bailey bungalow, she hopscotched through the water to reach the front steps and, taking a deep breath, rapped several times on the door. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jean jacket and braced herself for an answer.
But Johnny wasn’t home. It was Jillian Bailey who answered the door. Maggie had psyched herself up for nothing. Jillian sniffed experimentally out at the saturated air and then inhaled deeply, closing her eyes in appreciation.
“I’ve been waiting for the rain to stop so I could sit out here and enjoy the aftermath.” Jillian sank down on the top step of her little porch and patted the spot next to her.
“Sit with me for a minute, Maggie.”
The concrete was slightly damp, but Maggie acquiesced, perching on the step and pulling her knees in close to her chest so she could prop her chin on them.
“I thought after the last time you came that you might not come again,” Jillian confessed and shot a sympathetic look Maggie’s way.
“He was in rare form after you left. I couldn’t even get him to come in for dinner, and he kept that music on until all hours of the night, even though I know he doesn’t care for it. I finally understood what it was like to actually raise a teenager and not just send them home at the end of the school day.”
“He apologized....but I definitely don’t seem to have a calming affect on him, that’s for sure,” Maggie added, and smiled ruefully to ease the sting the words left in her heart. “That’s actually why I’m here. I saw him Friday night. He gave me a ride home.” Although she hadn’t actually needed one, Maggie added silently. “He saw some pictures at Shimmies that upset him. I wanted to make sure he was okay.”
“Ahhh, so that’s what set him off,” Jillian sighed.
“He says everyone he knew is old or dead.”
“He’s right, Maggie. They are.”
“I told him everyone I care about is old or dead too, though that isn’t entirely true. I care about him.”
“He cares about you too, Maggie,” Jillian supplied softly.
Maggie bit her lip to stop it from trembling. Why was it that kindness reduced her to a puddle? Call her names, reject her, neglect her, and she could handle it, but say something kind or sympathetic, and she was defenseless.
“He calls your name in his sleep,” Jillian continued. “He may push at you and pretend that he doesn’t want you, but there’s a reason you don’t have a calming affect on him. You’ve gotten under his skin.”
“He calls my name?” Maggie exclaimed, shocked.
“He may not remember you here,” Jillian tapped her head, “but he knows you here,” she settled her hand on her heart. “He’s not really fighting you, he’s fighting the contradiction. Although it probably feels that way.”
Maggie’s chin trembled again, and she fought for composure. Jillian seemed to understand and gave her a moment to regroup.
“My mother always said he would come back.” She deftly turned the subject away from Maggie. “She made arrangements for him. She wouldn’t even refer to him in the past tense and wouldn’t allow me to, either. It drove my dad nuts, but he loved her, so he tolerated what he thought was a mother’s inability to let go.”
“But she was right,” Maggie contributed quietly.
“Yes....she was. I wonder how things would have been different if she’d been able to move on. But she never could. She wasn’t a bad mother, but she was distant and distracted. She even named me Jillian in honor of them--John and William combined.” Jillian shrugged like she’d come to terms with it. “My dad loved her madly, and she loved him, but she wasn’t ever what I would call a happy woman, though she devoted herself to making him a happy man.”
“Your dad was a good guy, wasn’t he?”
“He was the best.” Jillian spoke fiercely, and it was her turn to get emotional. “He looked for Johnny too, you know. He said there were just too many loose ends. It always ate at him. I wish they could be here now. I hope somehow they know, wherever they are.”
“And Billy?”
“And Billy.” Jillian smiled a little. “Billy didn’t haunt my mother the same way Johnny did, though she grieved for him too. Whenever she talked about Billy she could smile. Death is a pain that we can heal from. Not knowing is an open wound that never heals.”
“It’s the not knowing that is making this so hard for Johnny,” Maggie whispered.
“But that’s where you come in.” Jillian reached for her hand. “You are the miracle that will fill in the blanks...”
“I can’t make him remember.”
“But you can help him forget.”
~8~
A Time to Mourn
Two days later, Johnny was waiting for Maggie when she exited the school. She was tired and hungry; lunch had been hours ago, and her afternoon janitorial duties had taken longer than usual. Her feet were sore, her back was stiff, and her glasses had been giving her a headache since the morning of the ghostly promenade in the school gymnasium. Maybe it was because she had been too nervous to take them off, even when she slept; they seemed to keep her in the present. She slipped them off now and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily, closing her smarting eyes to the blushing pink of the sunset.
“Do you need a ride?” he said, his voice coming out of nowhere.
Maggie’s heart leaped in traitorous joy at the familiar vo
ice and then plummeted almost as quickly when reminded of the unrequited nature of her feelings. Her eyes snapped open and her head shot up to see him leaning against the pole she’d chained her bike to almost ten hours earlier. He looked like an ad from a fashion magazine, so nonchalant and carelessly good looking against the backdrop of the setting sun.
“How did you know where to find me?” she stuttered out ungraciously, slipping her glasses reluctantly back on her nose. She preferred the days when she could only see him without her glasses.
He shrugged noncommittally, not breaking eye contact, but not answering her question. “Do you need a ride?” He said again.
“No, actually.”
“Come on. I’ll take you home.”
I don’t need a ride. That’s my bike.” Maggie pointed to the bike at his feet. He didn’t look down at the bike, which made Maggie think he was aware all along that it was hers.
“It’ll fit in my trunk.”
“No, thank you. I’ll ride it home. It’s a big bike.”
“It’s a big trunk.”
Maggie stared at him, confused by his sudden appearance and his even more sudden interest in spending time in her company.
“Why?”
“It was made that way. Most of the cars made in the ‘50’s had decent sized trunks.”
“Ha ha, very funny. That’s not what I meant and you know it. Why do you want to take me home?” Maggie almost smiled at his dry attempt at humor. But she didn’t. It still hurt too much to look at him, to be near him, and her smile stayed dormant.
“I want to talk to you.”
“I had the very distinct impression the last time we were together that I made you angry. Plus, I’m thinking your driver’s license is long expired. You shouldn’t be driving.”
“Ha, ha, very funny,” Johnny mimicked her. “Have you always been such a goody-two shoes?”
