“Horsie go,” she said in a wonder-filled voice.
“Sure,” said Beverly. “Horsie goes. Right.”
She turned away. She opened the door to the store.
The boy named Elmer was behind the counter. He was holding an oversize book with wings on the cover of it.
The wings were a bright, impossible, glorious blue.
“What are you reading?” said Beverly.
Elmer slowly lowered the book and looked at her. His face was still red. Acne. Lots of it. His eyes were a brownish gold.
“It’s a book,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Beverly. “I thought so. What’s it about?”
“Italian Renaissance art,” he said. “Any more questions?”
“Yeah. Is your name really Elmer?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know, maybe because Elmer is an old man’s name. Or the name of somebody who hunts rabbits and doesn’t ever catch them.”
“Maybe I am an old man,” said Elmer. “Maybe I’m ten thousand years old. Maybe I’ve been living in this convenience store for the last thousand of those years. In addition, maybe I hunt rabbits. Maybe I catch them and strangle them with my bare hands.” His acne-covered face was getting redder. “But if I’m a ten-thousand-year-old rabbit hunter, I’m not going to tell you about it, am I? I would be a myth, a superhero. I would be a scientific marvel. And I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you, would I?
“If you’re here to buy something, you should buy it. If you’re in here to ask questions, then the question-and-answer session is over. Because I’m not participating anymore. Got it?” He gave her a long look. And then he raised the book so that it covered his face.
“Wow,” said Beverly. “Okay.”
She turned away from the counter. She walked down the aisle. Her heart was beating fast. She felt like she had been running.
She looked around her. Toilet paper. Beef jerky. Corn chips. Windshield-wiper fluid. A baseball cap that said Alligator Meat.
What did that even mean?
Outside Zoom City, Beverly could see that Vera was still on the horse. At least you got a lot of time for your dime, even if you did end up in exactly the same place you started.
Beverly stood and studied the candy section: Red Hots, licorice whips, gum. She grabbed two pairs of wax lips and took them up to the counter.
“You’re buying wax lips?” said Elmer. He slammed his book shut. “Nobody buys wax lips.”
Beverly studied the blue wings on the cover of the book. They belonged to an angel who was hovering over a woman with her hands on her cheeks. The woman didn’t look all that happy.
But then, neither did the angel.
“Well?” said Elmer.
“They’re a gift,” said Beverly.
“Some lucky person’s going to be overjoyed.”
“I saw what you did with the girl and the horse.”
“Yeah?” he said. “What did I do?”
“You gave her a dime.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that you’re sitting here reading a book about art and angels, and you give dimes to little kids who want horse rides. You pretend like you’re tough, but you’re not tough.”
Elmer’s face was getting redder.
Beverly handed him a dollar. “The other thing your name makes me think of is glue,” she said. “We used Elmer’s glue all the time in grade school. I got in trouble for eating it. I think that’s why I ate it. I ate Elmer’s glue even though I didn’t really like how it tasted. It was just a way to piss the teachers off. Anyway, it occurred to me that maybe you were telling the truth. Maybe you are a ten-thousand-year-old man who hunts rabbits and kills them with his bare hands, but then maybe what you do is glue the rabbits back together with Elmer’s glue, because, like I said, you aren’t tough at all. And you feel remorseful about what you did to the rabbits. Maybe that’s who you are.”
Elmer stared at her.
He was smiling, but also trying not to smile.
His face was very, very red.
Beverly picked up the wax lips and said, “You can keep the change.” And then she walked out of Zoom City without looking behind her.
Those were the most words she had said to anybody in a long time. It could be that they were the most words she had ever said to anybody at one time in her whole life.
It was possible.
She looked down at the wax lips in her hand.
Something inside of her was fluttering, turning. She felt like there was a bird trapped in her stomach, flapping its wings.
She walked down to the ocean and threw Jerome’s graduation tassel into the water. It floated there for a minute, looking like some exotic sea creature, and then it disappeared, borne out to sea on a retreating wave.
“Good-bye and good luck,” said Beverly.
She stood and stared at the water for a long time.
Finally, she turned and headed back to the Seahorse Court.
Iola was out in front of the trailer, sitting in a lawn chair. Nod was in her lap. His tail was hanging down, twitching back and forth.
“Here,” said Beverly. She handed Iola a pair of wax lips.
“Thank you, darling,” said Iola. She turned the lips over in her hand, looking at them. “What are they?”
“Lips,” said Beverly.
“What do I do with them?”
“You do this,” said Beverly. She put her pair of lips in her mouth, over her own lips. The wax was sweet and thick.
Iola looked at her and laughed. “Have you ever in your life?” she said. She put her lips on and held very still. Her eyes were huge behind her glasses. She looked like a little lost owl with a very big mouth.
Beverly laughed.
Iola spit the lips out. She said, “I have never before heard you laugh.”
Beverly shrugged. She took the lips off. She said, “I guess I’ve never heard you laugh, either.”
Iola put the lips back on. Beverly couldn’t help it — she started to laugh again.
She could still feel the bird inside of her, flapping its wings. She thought about Elmer. She thought about the angel on the cover of the book, and about the wings on the angel.
She had never seen anything so blue in her life.
She hadn’t known a blue like that existed.
Beverly could smell the ocean. She could hear it. Suddenly, things seemed good and possible in a way that they hadn’t before.
Iola let out a whoop of laughter, and Nod leaped out of her lap and stalked away, tail high.
A door banged. Maureen came out of her trailer and walked toward them, her red hair flaming and her arms crossed over her chest.
“Yoo-hoo,” she said. “Is everything all right over here?”
“Yep,” said Beverly.
Iola kept the wax lips in her mouth. She nodded.
Maureen looked at Beverly. She said, “Who are you, anyway? You’re no relative of Iola’s. Seems to me that you are just some con artist trash.”
Whatever had been inside of Beverly flapping its wings stopped and held very still.
Beverly stared at Maureen. She said, “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you shut up.”
Iola took the wax lips from her mouth. “This child is my niece,” she said.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” said Maureen. “I’m going to call Tommy Junior and tell him something funny is going on over here.”
“Don’t you dare call Tommy Junior,” said Iola. “I can run my own life. I don’t need Tommy Junior telling me what to do. This child belongs to me. She is my kin. And that’s all there is to it.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Maureen. She turned around and walked back to her trailer.
“Well, shoot,” Iola said after Maureen disappeared. “And here we was having so much fun. Help me up,” she said, holding out her hand to Beverly.
Beverly pulled Iola out of the chair.
“Do yo
u want me to leave?” said Beverly. “I could stay someplace else.”
“I do not want you to leave,” said Iola. “I ain’t going to let Maureen bully me. And besides, where would you go?”
Beverly shrugged.
“Do you think that’s who I am?” Beverly said. “Con artist trash?”
“No,” said Iola.
“You don’t know who I am,” said Beverly.
“That’s not true,” said Iola. “I know exactly who you are.” She looked at Beverly, and then she nodded and walked past her, up the steps into the trailer. She turned and said, “Come on inside and let me make you a tuna melt. It will give me an excuse to use that new toaster.” She smiled.
Beverly didn’t say anything.
“Come on, now,” said Iola. “It will be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” said Beverly.
She sat down in the lawn chair.
It will be fine. Everything will be fine.
She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think that anyone had ever said those words to her before.
Beverly looked down at the wax lips in her hand. They were misshapen now, starting to crumble.
She thought about how she should probably write that letter to Raymie.
In a crooked little house by a crooked little sea. It will be fine. It will be fine.
Everything will be fine in the crooked little house by the crooked little sea.
Right.
Hey,” said Jerome the next day when he came to pick up Freddie. “Hey, Beverly Anne. You seen my graduation tassel?”
“Your graduation tassel?”
“Yeah, it’s missing.”
“Why would I know anything about your stupid graduation tassel?” said Beverly.
“It’s just that I meet you, you leave, and then I go out to my truck, and guess what?” Jerome took the toothpick out of his mouth and studied the tip of it closely.
“What?” said Beverly.
“Well,” said Jerome. He put the toothpick back in his mouth. “I go out there, and my tassel is gone. I meet you, and my tassel disappears. That’s a — what do you call them things?”
“A coincidence?” said Beverly.
“Yeah,” said Jerome. “A real strong coincidence.”
“What color was it?”
“Huh?”
“Your graduation tassel. What color was it?”
“Gold,” said Jerome.
“Gold like you were an honor grad?”
“Yeah,” said Jerome. “Gold like that.”
“Well, if I find your gold honor-grad tassel, I’ll let you know.”
“Beverly Anne!” called Mr. Denby. “Could you please see me in the office?”
“Yeah, Beverly Anne,” said Jerome. He took a step closer to her. He smelled like sweat and cologne. “Why don’t you go and see Mr. Denby in the office? Huh? Why don’t you sit down beside him and help him count out all his money?” He winked at her.
“Beverly Anne?” said Mr. Denby again.
Beverly walked away.
It was satisfying to think that Jerome’s stupid tassel was probably halfway to Cuba by now.
After Mr. Denby paid her and said that he was going to locate some paperwork for her to fill out very soon, Beverly went to Zoom City. She walked there without really planning to do it. She told herself she wanted to see the horse.
And the horse was right where she had left him — bolted in front of the store, his mouth open and his teeth showing, that look of terror and sadness in his eyes. Stupid horse. She touched his flank. It was warm from the sun.
The Zoom City door opened. Elmer stuck his head out and said, “What? Do you need a dime?”
“No,” said Beverly. “I don’t need a dime.”
“There’s no age limit, you know,” said Elmer, waving his hand in the direction of the horse. “Anyone can ride.”
“Ha-ha,” said Beverly. She looked at his face, at the mask of pimples, his heavy-lidded eyes. He stood with one foot in Zoom City, and the other foot outside. His name tag was on crooked.
Elmer.
Who named their kid Elmer?
“Quit looking at me,” Elmer said.
“I’m not looking at you,” said Beverly.
“Right,” he said. “Sure, you’re not.” Suddenly, he stood up straighter. He looked past Beverly. “Good afternoon,” he called out. “Good afternoon, Mr. Larksong.”
Beverly turned.
An old man with a cane was walking across the parking lot, picking his way slowly through the spangled brightness of pop tabs embedded in the macadam.
“Hello, Elmer,” the man called back.
Elmer pushed the door open wider. He smiled. His teeth flashed. They were straight and even and white.
“I’m going to purchase some cigarettes today, Elmer,” said the man, when he got closer to them. “Today’s the day. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
“Stevie’s not here, Mr. Larksong. And I won’t sell them to you. I just won’t. So, no cigarettes for you, I guess.” He smiled. “In any case, I don’t think that cigarettes are the answer.”
“What is the answer, then?”
The old man stood next to Beverly. He was breathing heavily. There was a peach-colored hearing aid in his ear. It looked like a misshapen seashell — something that you would pick up off the beach, look at, and then throw back into the ocean.
“Maybe you know what the answer is,” Mr. Larksong said, turning and looking at Beverly.
“Nope,” she said. “I don’t.”
He smiled at her. He had false teeth.
“Who’s your young friend, Elmer?” said Mr. Larksong. “I like her. I like anybody who doesn’t claim to know the answers.”
“I’m not his friend,” said Beverly.
“She’s not my friend,” said Elmer.
“Got it,” said Mr. Larksong. “Not friends.” He smiled again. “Let’s try it this way, then. What’s your name, young lady?”
Beverly stared at Mr. Larksong. He stared back without blinking. He had eyes like a lizard — tiny and bright.
“All right, then,” he said. “I’ll go first. I’m Frank. Frank Larksong. Larksong, as in The Song of the Lark. Ever seen that painting? The Song of the Lark?”
“No,” said Beverly.
“It’s a beauty,” said Mr. Larksong. “Makes you stop and listen.” He coughed. He cleared his throat. “Yep,” he said. “That’s me. Frank Larksong. And you are?”
Beverly said nothing.
“Look,” said Elmer. “Never mind. Who cares what her name is? I don’t know her name, and I don’t need to know it. Why don’t you come inside where it’s cool, Mr. Larksong?” Elmer stepped back and held the door wide.
“Come on,” said Elmer. “Inside.”
Mr. Larksong smiled his big denture-filled smile at Beverly, and then he walked past her, leaning heavily on his cane, and went inside Zoom City. But Elmer kept standing there, holding the door open. He wasn’t looking at Beverly. He was staring somewhere past her.
“Well?” he said.
Beverly could feel the cool air from inside flowing out.
She could hear the ocean.
“Well, what?” she said.
“Hurry up,” said Elmer, still not looking at her.
She shrugged. She stepped past him.
She went inside.
Mr. Larksong stood up at the counter and talked to Elmer, and Beverly walked up and down the aisles of Zoom City, looking at the toilet paper and baseball caps and beef jerky and packages of gum. She pretended that she had come in for something and wasn’t finding it — whatever it was.
Chips, antifreeze, paper towels, masking tape, aspirin, milk, hard candy, soft candy, knit hats, key chains.
Why was there so much crap in the world?
Up at the counter, Mr. Larksong kept coughing. He would say something to Elmer and then cough. Every time he coughed, he put both his hands on the counter, as if he were
working to push the counter deep into the ground.
“What are you looking for?” Elmer called to her.
Beverly thought about the blue wings on the angel on the front of Elmer’s book.
That was what she was looking for — that brilliant, impossible blue.
How stupid was that?
“None of your business,” she said to him.
“Come up here, young lady,” said Mr. Larksong. “I want to show you something.”
Beverly rolled her eyes.
She walked slowly up to the front of the store. There were three oversize books open and spread out on the counter, their glossy pages shining in the fluorescent light.
“This,” said Mr. Larksong, jabbing his finger at one of the open pages, “is The Song of the Lark.” He started to cough. But he kept his finger where it was, pointing at a painting of a girl standing in a field. The girl was holding a scythe. The sun was coming up behind her. Even without the sun being all the way up, there was light everywhere.
“I don’t see a lark,” said Beverly.
“Exactly,” said Mr. Larksong. He put both hands on the counter and coughed again. “It’s called song of the lark.”
Beverly stared at the girl in the painting. She didn’t have any shoes on. You could tell by the way she held her body that she was listening.
“You can’t paint a picture of a song,” said Beverly.
Mr. Larksong smiled at her. “But he did it anyway, didn’t he? The painter painted a song without painting a musical instrument, without even painting a bird.” He closed the book. “Elmer is going to learn all about that.”
“I told you,” said Elmer. “I’m not going to study art. I want to be an engineer.”
“Going to Dartmouth,” said Mr. Larksong to Beverly. “Sixteen years old and he’s got a full scholarship.” He slapped his palm on the counter. “That’s the kind of boy you’re dealing with here.” He coughed.
Elmer looked down at the counter. His face was getting redder.
“In the meantime,” said Mr. Larksong, “I’m dying. Cancer. Lung cancer. Cigarettes will kill you. You don’t smoke, do you, young lady?”
“No,” said Beverly.
“Good for you,” said Mr. Larksong. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll be on my way. Elmer, it was good to see you. And, you,” he said to Beverly, “whoever you are, I hope to see you again.”
Beverly, Right Here Page 5
