also by haven kimmel -...

AlsobyHavenKimmel

AGirlNamedZippyTheSolaceofLeavingEarly

Orville:ADogStorySomethingRising(Lightand

Swift)

FREEPRESSADivisionofSimon&

Schuster,Inc.1230AvenueoftheAmericas

NewYork,NY10020

Copyright©2006bySvarakimmelIndustries,LLC

Allrightsreserved,includingtherightof

reproductioninwholeorinpartinany

form.

FREEPRESSandcolophonaretrademarksofSimon&

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DesignedbyKarolinaHarris

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-Publication

DataKimmel,Haven.

Shegotupoffthecouch:andotherheroicactsfrom

Mooreland,Indiana./HavenKimmel.p.cm.

1.Kimmel,Haven—Family.2.Kimmel,Haven—Childhoodandyouth.3.Authors,American—

Homesandhaunts—Indiana—Mooreland.4.Authors,American—21stcentury—

Familyrelationships.5.Authors,American—21stcentury—Biography.6.Mothersanddaughters—

Indiana.7.Mooreland(Ind.)—Sociallifeandcustoms.PS3611.I46Z4742006

813’.6—dc222005051964

ISBN-13:978-0-7432-9597-0ISBN-10:0-7432-9597-8

TheauthorgratefullyacknowledgespermissiontoquotefromTheSkinofOurTeeth,byThorntonWilder.

Copyright©1942TheWilderFamilyLLC.Reprintedwith

permissionfromTappanWilderandTheWilder

FamilyLLC.

VisitusontheWorldWideWeb:

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Igreatlyadmirethetwo-wordDEDICATIONPAGE.

Iamevenmovedandpuzzledbythosebookswhichbearno

DedicationorAcknowledgmentspageatall,Asifthebookwerecomposed

onarockyknollBytheMusealone.

MAYBENEXTTIME.

Thisbookisdedicated,firstandforemost,tomyincomparable

mother,DelondaHartmann.

Itisalsoformybrotherandsister,DanJarvisandMelindaMullens,

Andinmemoryofmyfather,BobJarvis,andgrandmother

MomMary.ItisforElaine,Rick,JennyandJessica,JoshandAbby,AndWayne,whogotTheGirl

afterall.

ItisforBethDalton,brave

andtruefriendofthirty-sixyears,

Whosehearthasneverclosedtome,andwhoallowsmeTostandandconsiderwith

herTheMolly-shapedholeinthe

world.

ItistheonlywayIwilleverknowhowtothankJulieNewman.

ItisformybelovedAmy

Scheibe.

ItisforChristopherSchelling,whoreaditonthe

subwayAndinthedeadofnightand

whilehehadafever.Starsarebeinghammeredontohiscrownrightthis

second.

ItisdedicatedtothepeopleofMooreland,Indiana,

Withmyabidinggratitudefor

theirsupportandfinesympathies.

Formymistakes,misjudgments,andglib

unkindnesses,Ihopetosomedaybe

forgiven.

ItisforBen.

Itisformychildren,KatandObadiah,whoareevennow

writingthestoryoftheirownTimeand

Place.

AndthisbookisJohn’s,Astheyallhavebeenandall

willbe.

ContentsPreface

TheTestIKnewGlenBeforeHeWasaSuperstarTheRulesofEvilQueenVacuumCleanerCowboysTheLoveBug

TreasureAMemberoftheWeddingBrotherChurchCampHairlessTailsAShortListofRecordsMyFatherThreatenedtoBreakOverMyHeadIfIPlayedThemOneMoreTimeAShortListofRecordsThatVanishedfromMyCollection

BullAugust8,1974LateSummerValedictionIntheMoodFallExperienceItTeethOneLeperSilverPinkLikeMe

SlumberParty,1977BlizzardBaby,1978GoldLawEnforcement

AcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor

Preface

AfewyearsagoIwrotesomeessaysaboutthetowninwhichIgrewup.Mooreland,Indiana,wasparadiseforachild—myoldfriendRoseandIhaveoftensaidso—small,flat,entirelyknowable.

WhenIsayitwassmallImeanthepopulationwasthreehundredpeople.Icannotstressthisenough.Peopleapproachmetosaythey,too,grewupinsmalltownsandwhenIaskthesizetheysay,“Oh,sixthousandorso.”Atownofsixthousandpeopleisawildmetropolis.Onceawomantoldmethatshe’dgrownupinasmalltownoffifteenthousand,andIwasforcedtoturnmyhead

awayfromhercrazygeographicassessment.Thesepeopledonotknowsmall.Ofcoursetherewastheelderlywomanwhotoldmeshewasrearedinahamletwithapopulationoftwenty-six.Iofferedtobeherservantfortherestofherlifebutshewastoopolitetoaccept.Becausethetownwasso

knowableandthetimestheywerea-changin’(itwasthesixtiesandtheseventies),

MoorelandwasblessedwithacastofcharactersmyfamilyandIfoundinterestingandsowetalkedaboutthemalotovertheyears.Thereweremyparentsthemselves,ofcourse,andmybrotherandsister,mymost-lovedgrandmother,MomMary,andmyauntDonita.Therewasthewomanwholivedacrossthestreetfromus,Edythe,whodailythreatenedtokillmycatsandwho,in

fact,wasnotaversetosnuffingoutmyownlife,tohearmysistertellit.Thereweremybestfriends,Roseandred-hairedJulie,andtheirparents,who,withoutasighoracomplaintwhereIcouldhearit,keptmerelativelycleanandwellfed.Thereweremynext-doorneighbors,thekindandlovelyHickses,andallthepeopleoftheMoorelandFriendsChurch.Butforcharacternothing

rivaledthetownitself,thethreeparallelstreetsborderedatthenorthendbyacemeteryandatthesouthbyafuneralhome.Itwasthedearestpostagestampofnativesoilapersoncouldwishfor.Istartedwritingtheessays

asawaytoamusemymomandsister.I’dwritesomething,call,andreadittothem.Ihadnoambitionsfortheessaysandoneneedonly

readtheaboveparagraphstounderstandwhy.Indianaisnotthestateournationaleyeturnstowardforfascinatingnarratives,strangelyenough.Moorelandisdefinitelynotameccafortheliteraryarts,althoughitisrichwithcrafts.Andnoonecaresaboutthereminiscencesofonemorechildwithonemoresetofparentsandneighborsandfriends.Imyselfhavebeenknowntowinceasifstabbed

withwide-boreneedleswhenfacedwithyetanothercoming-of-agememoir.SoIwrotemyessayswith

nothingmuchinmindandeventuallythereweresomanyessaysaboutnothingtheymadeabookandthenIdon’tknowwhathappened.Iturnedaroundonedayandthebookwastakenonbyapublisherandthenithadacover—andIamtalkingaboutthemostunfortunate

coverimaginable:measasix-month-oldbaby,wearingadressmymothermade.Iwasatragiclittlemonkeychild:bald,withthekindofearsthatlookfineonwoodlandcreaturesbutinhumanculturetendtobecorrectedsurgically.IwasholdingMom’swatch,whichwasdrippingwithdrool,asIwasteething.I’msorry,Ineedtosaythisallagain.Onthecoverofthebookwasmy

cross-eyedmonkeybabypicture,holdingadrool-drenchedwatch.InearlyfaintedthefirsttimeIsawit.Icalledmyeditorandaskedifshewasseriousandshesaidyes.ThusdidAGirlNamedZippyskitteroutintotheworld,andthuswasmyself-respectlaidtorest.Ididn’texpectmuchfrom

thatlittlebook.Iwasandremainsurprisedthatsomepeopleboughtitandlikedit.

Buteventhoughitwaskindlyreceivedinsomequarters,IsworeI’dneverwriteasequel.Idon’tlikesequels,byandlarge,althoughsometimestheyarewelcome.Themostimportantreasontoforgoafollow-upwasthatI’dalreadysentstrangersuninvitedintothetownandthelivesofpeopleIloveandrespectandIcouldnotimaginedoingsoagain.Astrangethinghappened,

though,onthemanybooktoursthatsupportedthepublicationofZippyandofmytwonovels.IneverycityIwasaskedwhatbecameofthepeopleI’ddrawn—accordingtomyownlightsandinkeepingwithmymemoryofthem—wheretheywerenowandiftheywerehappy.Thatwastobeexpected.ButIwasalsoalwaysaskedthis:“Whataboutyourmom?Didshe

evergetupoffthecouch?”ThefirsttimeIheardthequestionalittlebellrangonafarawayhill,andIknewifIeverdid(andIwouldn’t)writeafollow-up(whichIabsolutelywouldnotdo),thatwouldbethesubjectandthatwouldbethetitle.OfcourseIgaveintothe

sixorsevenpeopleclamoringforasequel.InthebeginningIdidn’tintendtowriteanythingbutacontinuing

portraitofmyfamily,inparticularofmymother.TowardtheendofZippymyfatherandIwatchedMompedalawayonmynewbicycle,ridingtowardpointsunknown;weknewsomethingwasafootbutwedidn’tknowwhat.SheGotUpOfftheCouchbeginsatthatpoint—itseemedanappropriatejumping-offplaceforabookaboutanindividualwomaninaveryparticular

place.ButwhenRosereadthefinaldraftshepointedoutthatMother’sevolution,personalasitwas,isalsothestoryofagenerationofwomenwhostoodupandrockedthefoundationsoflifeinAmerica.Theydidn’tknowtheyweredoingso—theyweretryingtosavetheirownlives,Ithink—butintheprocesstheytookitonthechinforeveryonewhofollowed.Iknowmyown

motherdid.Iwillneverdoanything

halfsograndorimportant.Icouldn’ttellthisstoryanywayexceptthroughmyowneyes,butthatdoesn’tmakemethestaroftheshow.AsZippywasabowtoMooreland,Indiana,thisisaloveletter,humblyconceivedandevenmoremodestlywritten,tomyfather,mybrother,thesisterwhoismyverybreathoflife,andmost

ofalltothewomanwhostoodup,brushedawaytheporkrindcrumbs,andescapedbytheskinofherteeth.Itisalettertoallsuchwomen,wherevertheymaybe.

Mr.Antrobus:

Well,how’sthewholecrookedfamily?

—THORNTONWILDER,TheSkinofOurTeeth,ACTI

TheTest

ThecouchinthedenwasthecolorthecrayonpeoplecalledFlesheventhoughitresemblednohumanoranimalfleshonPlanetEarth,andthecouchfabricwasnubbledinapatternof

diamonds.Itwasbesttopreventthenubblesfromcomingintodirectcontactwithone’srealFlesh,sotherewasusuallyablanketoratowelorclothingspreadoutasabuffer.Alsonoonewantedtopickuptheblanket,thetowel,andtheclothingandfoldthem.Orevenpickthemup.Soitwasafinearrangement.Shehadalamp,asmallend

tablesocoveredwiththings

—layeruponlayer—thatthestuffatthebottomwasfromadifferentdecadethanthestuffinthemiddle.Shehadacardboardboxinwhichshekeptbooksfromthebookmobile;herfavoriteafghanforemergencynapping;anotebookandpen.TherehadbeenyearswithnotelephonebutmostlythetelephoneworkedandwasoftennearMother’shead—oftenenough,infact,that

DadreferredtoitasherSiamesetwin.Thetelevisionwasonlyafewfeetaway,andtherewerealwaysanimalsforcompany.Fivestepsinonedirectionwasthekitchen;fourstepsintheotherwasthebathroom.Inwinterthedenwastheonlyroominthehousewithheat,sowealllivedthere.InsummeritwassohotIfearedspontaneouscombustion,whichDr.Dementoreportedwas

happeningtoCanadianpriestswithregularity.Ipoppedinandoutoftheden,IwasaverybusypersonandmyresponsibilitieswerenumerouswhichMotherunderstood.Dadcameandwent—healsohadengagementsfarandwideandwehadlongsinceceasedaskingwhattheywere.Amanhadtoprotecthismysteries;itwasoneoftheprimaryLibertiesof

Manhoodinourhome.Thereweremanyothers.Myolderbrother,Dan,wasgonetohisgrown-uplife;mysister,Melinda,wasonherway,atseventeen.Allmylifetherehadbeen

certainconstants,factssosteadyIassumedtheywereliketreesormountains,thingsyoucouldtrusttostaywhereyouleftthembecausetheyweremountainsandyestheBiblesaysfaithcanmoveone

buttheBiblealsosaysawholelotofstuffthatifyoutriedtomakeittrueyou’dendupintheEpilepticVillage.Myconstantswerethesameaseveryoneelse’s:ahousewithquiteafewroomsandutilitiesthatcameandwent.Churchthreetimesaweek.ChurchsofrequentlyandwhichIsomuchcouldn’tgetoutofIconsideredrippingoffmyownfingernailsinprotest,or

betteryetsomeoneelse’sfingernails.Myfamily.Andnooneasdependableasmymom,burrowedintothecornerofthatsprungsofacushion,readingandeatingcrunchyfoods,thetelevisionon,thetelephoneringing.We’dneversaidawholelottoeachother,giventhatIwasacitizenoftheworldandwasgenerallyonmywayoutthedoor.ButshealwayssmiledwhenIpassedher,gavemea

wave.AndwhenIgothome,thereshewas.

SomethinghadbeenontherisewithMomforafewmonths.Thereweremanytearfulmeetingsofherprayercell,andatleasthalfadozenthrown-downfleeces(bargainsmadewithGod)andphonecallsandarrangements.OneofherfleecesinvolvedatelevisioncommercialofAbraham

Lincolninaclassroom.HewasstandingatapodiumsayingifIwasthinkingofgoingbacktocollege,didIknowthatIcouldtestoutofsomerequiredcoursesbysigningupfortheCLEPTest,whichstoodforCollege-LevelExaminationProgram.Thiswasallnewstome.IheardMomtalktoherwomenatchurchaboutthatcommercial,andanagreementwasreached:ifshe

sawitonthefollowingFriday,anytimebefore6:00P.M.,shewouldcallthenumberonthescreen.OnthatFriday,althoughI

didn’tknowwhywewerewaitingforitorwhatitwouldmeanifshecalled,IspentthewholeafternoonnervouslywatchingTVwithMom.Dadwasgone,soitwasjustthetwoofus.Threeo’clockcameandwent,andthenfour,andfive,andMomsank

deeperanddeeperintoaheavysilencepunctuatedwithheartbrokenlittlesighs,becauseafleecethrowndownisanunbreakablecontract.At5:55shegotupandwentintothekitchenandstoodholdingontothesink,asifshemightthrowup.At5:57,shebowedherhead.At5:58shelookedup;Ithoughtshehadcometoadecision,orwasconstructinganewsheltermadeofresignation.At5:59I

feltmyownthroatswellwithempathy,andat5:59and30seconds,AbrahamLincolnwalkedacrosstheclassroomthatwouldbecomemymother’slife,andwhenIlookedupather,shewasstaringatthetelevisionscreenwithhereyeswideandhermouthopenandIknewthatwhatIwaswitnessingwasnolessthanamiracle.

Wehadonlyonevehicle,

Dad’struck,andDaddidn’tplantobehomeontheSaturdayMomneededtobeinMuncie,thirtymilesaway,toregisterforthetest.Hewasn’tmeanaboutit,buthewasn’texactlyflexible,either.Ihadtobehomebythe

timethestreetlightscameonintheevening,andthatspringIspentmorethanonetwilighttearingdownthestreettowardhomeasiftheDevilwereonmycase,trying

tobeatthespecificlightthatshoneonthecornerofCharlesandBroad.Ihadtakentospendingallmytimeoutofschoolawayfromhome,becausetherewerechangesafootthatcouldn’tbenamedorevendescribed.Walkingintomyhousefeltlikehittingwaterbellyfirst;itlookedlikeonething,butitfeltlikeglass.Mydadstillsatinhischairandsmoked,watchingWesternsand

drinkingwhiskey,andmymomstillreadandtalkedonthephoneandwouldscratchmybackifIaskedher.Buttherewasastrangeresistanceinher,somestubbornnessthatmadeherunreachable,andthewayDadkepthisjawsetwasafencearoundhim.Myoldersister,Melinda,QueenoftheFairandall-aroundpinchingmachine,stilllivedathomebutbarely.SointheeveningsIwentto

myfriendRose’shouse,whereallmannerofwonderprevailed.Foronething,theyhadamint-greenkitchen,andtheykeptVelveetacheeseintheirrefrigerator,alongwithfreshmilkfromactualcowsandsometimesJoyceskimmedthecreamoffthetopandletushavesome.Itwashorrible,andanexperienceIhadrepeatedmanytimes.WhenJoycebakedachickensheletme

havetheskin.“Youcanhavesomeofthe

meat,youcrazykid,”she’dsay.“Nothanks.”JoycemadeAutumnSoup,

whichwassomeveryreliableformofsoupwithvegetablesandhamburgerinit,andRose’ssisterMaggieandIhadtopeelthepotatoes,becauseRosehadsomeskindiseaseonherhandsandpeelingpotatoesmadethem

breakoutinarash,whichseemedlikeaconvenienttimeforlunaticitching,butitworked.AndRose’slittlebrotherPatrickwouldsitonaboxforhoursifyoutoldhimtowaitthereforthebus.He’dsittheretillJoycefoundhim,anyway,andthenshe’dthreatentostartsmacking,andmaybeatthatpointI’dhavetogohome,becauseJoycewasnotabovesmacking—shewasa

Catholic—butIwasaQuakerandsmackingwasn’tpartofourreligion.Butthemostinteresting

thingRosehadwasapersimmontree,anotherCatholicdelicacy.ItgrewbetweenherhouseandthehousethatservedasaparsonagefortheNorthChristianChurch,andsometimesitwasthecauseoffeuding.Almostinvariablyafterthepersimmonsgotripe

abigwindstormcameupandcausedthemtoflythroughtheairandsplatterontheparsonagelikelittleballoonsfilledwithorangepaint.TheNorthChristianswereagainstit,andsometimesthreatenedWilliamandJoycewiththeLaw.ButWilliamandJoycejustwentmerrilyontheirway,eatingsteaks,drinkingcocktails,andsmokingcigarettes.Justaglanceatpersimmons

revealsthemtobesuspiciousfruitsandyetweatethemconstantly.Joyceputtheminjamsandpies,sheevenmadesomethingwiththeword“pudding”inthetitlealthoughofcourseitwasnotrealpuddingbecauseitwasn’tchocolateandithadn’tcomefromabox.Iwastoopolitetopointthetruthout.Whenweweren’teating

persimmonswewerefindingotherusesforthem.Oneday

thatspringRoseandIweresittingunderthepersimmontreejustasitwasblooming.Rosepickedoneoftheblossomsoffandhelditonthetipofherfinger.Atthecenterwasaseedandallaroundtheedgeswerewhitepetals.Ilookedatit.“Doyouknowwhatyoudo

withoneofthese?”Roseaskedme.Ishookmyhead.“Youputitinyournose

likethis,”shesaid,placingtheseedpartjustinsidehernostrilsothatthepetalsflaredoutaroundhernose.Itwasbeautiful,likenostriljewelry.“Givemeone,”Isaid,

pickingalittleblossomoffthetree.Roseaddedanothertoher

ownfaceandthenshereallylookedlikeaflowergarden.IwasadjustingminewhenIforgotwhatIwasdoingandinhaled.Up!wentthelittle

seed.Up!wentthelovelylittlepetals.“JeezOFlip!”Ishouted.

Thelittleseedwasallthewayupinmybrainpart.Roseleapttoherfeet.

“Okay,look,we’vegottogetthatoutanddon’ttellmymom.Orelselet’sjustleaveitinthere.”Shelookedaround,furtiveasoneofthedopefiendsonDragnet.“Howdoesitfeel,canyoubreathe?”

IstudiedherasIfeltaroundalongthesideofmynoseforthelocationoftheseed.“Youshammedme,”Isaid.I’dalwayscountedonRosetobeastraight-up,good-grades,book-readingkindofgirl,andhereshewasgettingfrisky.Thelittleflowerhadbeendustywithpollen.Isneezed.“Ididn’texactlysham

you,”RosesaidasIwalkedoutofheryard.

Isneezedagain.“Oh,yeah?ThenwhydoIhaveapersimmonupmynose?”Ishoutedback.Isneezedagain.Thewholethingwasbecominguncomfortable,andIcouldhardlygetanyairupmyleftnosehole.OnthewalkhomeI

sneezedtwelvemoretimes.IhadreadintheGuinnessBookofWorldRecords,whichhadbecomemyfavoritebook,thatamanhadspentthelast

fewyearsofhislifesneezingandthenhisheartworeout.IstoppedinfrontoftheMarathonandfeltmyheart.Isneezedagain.WhenIwalkedinthe

house,Momcoveredthemouthpieceofthetelephone.“Godblessyou,”shesaid.“Thanks.”Iheadedstraight

upstairs.IwasafraidforMomtodiscoverthetruth,becausesheonlyhadthreerulesintheentireworld,

whichdoesn’tamounttomany,andthusitwasimprobablyrudethatI’dbrokenoneinpublic.

1.There’snosuchthingasafreelunch.(Thiswaspatentlyuntrue,sinceabouthalfmyelementaryschoolwasontheFreeLunchprogram.)2.Don’tgiveadviceto

God.(SecretlyIdidnothingelse,butIdidn’tfigureMomneededtoknowit.Isaidto

God:Findmyhouseslippers.Closeschooltomorrow.Feedthedogs.GivemymomacarsoshecangototheCLEPthing.)3.Don’tstickanythingup

yournose.

Itriedtopokeattheseedwithapencil,butitseemedIjustpusheditupfarther.Disasterloomed.IfinallyfiguredoutwhatIneededtodo.Ifetchedthevacuum

cleaneroutofMomandDad’scloset,anddisconnectedthetubepartfromthebigflatpart.Ididn’thavemuchexperiencewithvacuumcleaners,butIhadplentywithTakingApart.Iheldthetubeuptomyleftnoseholeandturnedthesweeperonwithmyfoot.Therewasallmannerofdustandcathairinthetube,andthecombinationofthedustandthenoisethemachine

madecausedmetojumpbackwardandlosecontrolofthehose,whichjumpedaroundonthefloor.Ibegansneezinginearnest.Nowaywouldmyheartsurvivethisone.Igaveonebigfinalsneezeandtheflowercameout,justasMomturnedthecornerintoherbedroom.Ispeedyquickputmyhanddownandletthevacuumcleanersuckuptheseed.“Whatareyoudoing?”

Momasked,trulybewildered.“Sweepin’,”Ianswered,

pointingtothevacuumcleaner.“You’resittingonthefloor.

Whatareyousweeping?What’salloveryournose?”Sheleanedover,lickedherthumb,andthreatenedmewithaspitbath.“Wereyouvacuumingyourface?”“Ha!Wouldn’tthatbe

ridiculous.”IpulledmyT-shirtupandscrubbedhardat

mynose,destroyingtheevidence.“ImusthavejustgottendustyplayingatRose’s.Whew!That’sadustyplace.”Momlookedatmefora

minute.“Putthesweeperaway,please,”shesaidassheturnedbacktowardtheden.“Okay!Notaproblem!”Ilookedoutthewindow.

Therewasstillanhourorsoofdaylightleft.Ileftthevacuumcleanerlyingin

piecesonthefloorandranoutside.

MomshouldhavebeenupsetaboutmissingherchancetotaketheCLEPtest,butshewasn’t,andforawhileIcouldn’tfigureoutwhy.Thenonenight,weeksafterwesawAbrahamLincoln,Iwassittingonthecouchwithherandcoloringinmycoloringbook,listeningtohertalkonthephone.Sheoftentucked

thephoneagainsthershoulderwhileshetalked,andinthatwaycouldcontinueknittingorreading.I’dneverseenapersondosomanythingsatonce.Andhervoicewasjustasteadymurmur,likeavoiceIsometimesheardasIwasfallingasleep.Shewastalkingtooneof

herwomenfriends;Icouldn’ttellwho.Iheardhersay,“Ihavetobetherebytenthis

Saturdaytoregister.No,it’sokay,it’salltakencareof.”Thenshechangedthesubject,andinafewminutesshehungup.Thephonerangalittlelaterandshesaidthesamethingtothatfriend,andbythetimeI’dfinishedcoloringSnowWhiteinHerGlassCasket,she’dsaidittofourorfivedifferentpeople.Iwatchedheroutofthecornerofmyeye,herheadtuckeddown,herknittingneedles

tickingtogetherinarhythmic,hypnoticsway.AllthoseyearsIhadthoughtshewasjustsittingthere,butitturnedoutshe’dbeenquietlyamassinganarmy,andnowtheywerecomingtotakeherhome.

OnSaturdaymorning,Daddidn’tgoanywhere.Heputteredinhistoolshed;hetookalittleconstitutionalaroundtown.Hedrankcoffee

andwhistled,andinhiswhistlewassomethingtobedevoutlyavoided.Istayedaroundthehouse.Wewereallwaitingonsomething.AlittleafternineacarpulledupbehindDad’struck.ItwasMom’sfriendCarol,whowasoneofmyfavorites.Carolhadpeachy-coloredskinandworeherhairwrappedaroundthetopofherheadlikeastickybun.Shehadabeautifulsmile,andwhenshe

hadlaundrytodoshesaidshehadtogettoherwarshing.HerWienerDoghadbeenthefirstdogtoeverbiteme,butIdidn’tholditagainsteitherofthem.“Hey,kiddo!”Carolsaid

whenshesawme.Shehadabigvoice.“Hi,Carol!Mom’sinside!”

Ihadabigvoice,too,whenCarolwasaround.Wewalkedinthefront

door.Momlookedatus.She

stoodup.

TheyleftwithoutsayinganythingtoDad.Hecamedowntothesidewalkandstoodwithmeaswewatchedthemdriveaway.“Timewas,awoman

wouldn’thavegotteninaman’smarriagethatway,”Dadsaid.Iwasn’tsurewhathe

expectedmetosay.Times

change?OrdidhewantmetorememberoneofMom’shandymottoes,likeWemustlivewhileitisday?Ilookedupathim.Hewasn’treallytalkingtome.

Mybrother’sbiggreenPlymouthwasstillsittingwherehe’dparkeditwhenheleftforFortPolk,Louisiana.Ithadn’tstartedinthreeweeksandthewindshieldwipersdidn’twork.Dad

complainedonceadaythathe’dlostthekey,andsoinadditiontohavingittoweddowntothemechanicwhoworkedattheoldgasstationonthesouthendoftown,hewasgoingtohavetohaveakeymadebeforeDancamehomefrombootcamp.TheCLEPtestwas

scheduledforaWednesday,andonMondayafternoonasIwalkedhomefromschoolIsawthemostamazingthing.

MomwassittinginDan’scar,tryingtostartit.InmyentirelifeI’dneverseenmymothersitinthedriver’sseatofanything.Iwalkedupandtappedonthewindow.Shewasstaringstraightahead,andappearedforamomentnottoseeme.Itappedagain.Mom’sshouldersroseandfellinasighassheopenedthedoor.Iwatchedherslipthelostkeyintothepocketofherhouse-dress,thenshe

climbedoutofthecarandkissedmeonthetopofmyheadandstartedtowardthehouse.Iclosedthecardoor.Nooneeverpreciselyaskedmeto,butgoodLordifI’donlyhadanickelforeverysecretIwasobligedtokeep.

OnWednesday,LindyandIstayedhomefromschool.Rainwascomingdowninsheets,hardenoughandfastenoughthatIfearedforthe

littleMayflowers.MelindaaskedMomwhatshewasgoingtowear,andMomproducedanenormousorangedressfromthebackofhercloset.“MomMarylentittome,”

Momsaid,holdingitupforinspection.Melindaswallowed.“What

sizeisit?”“It’sa24.Thatshouldbe

justaboutright.”LindyandIdidn’tlookat

eachother.AfterwegotMominthe

dress,sheputontheshoesMomMaryhadgivenhertogowiththedress.“Ohno!They’retoobigandI’mrunningoutoftime!”“Okay,okay.Don’tpanic.

Sweetheart,”Melindasaid,turningtome,“gogettoday’snewspaper.”Iraninthedenandgrabbed

theCourier-Times.Lindytorethefrontpageinhalf,wadded

itupandstuffeditinthetoesoftheorangehighheels.“Trythis.”Momhadputherhair,

whichwasthinandbaby-fine,inabun,andwhensheleanedovertoputtheshoesonasecondtime,someofitslidoutofthepinsandfellaroundherface.Shewalkedabitunsteadilyintothebathroomandlookedinthemirror.“DearGod.Ilooklikea

drunkenschoolbus.”

WhenMompickedupherpurseandheadedforthedoor,IknewshewasgoingtotryDanny’scaragain,andIfeltDad’svoicewellupinmythroat:You’llnevermakeit.Youdon’tknowhowtodrive,andthatcar’sgotnowindshieldwipers.Wouldyoutradeyourlifeforthis?ButIdidn’tsayanythingandneitherdidMelinda.MomkissedmeonthecheekandhuggedLindy,andthetwoof

usgirlswenttothepicturewindowinthelivingroomandwatchedher.Shewalkeddownthesteps

andoutontothesidewalk,therainpummelingherplasticrainhatandtheoldplaidcoatshewaswearing.Shetookthekeyoutofhercoatpocketandgotinthecar,thenputherheaddownonthesteeringwheel,andasshesatthatwaytheraingraduallybegantoease,andthenshesatupand

triedtheignition,andthecarstartedandtherainstoppedallatthesametime.“Well,I’llbeamonkey’s

uncle,”Isaid,flabbergasted.Momturnedandwavedat

us.Danny’scarlurchedintoCharlesStreet;stopped;lurchedagain,andMomfiguredoutwhatshewasdoinganddrovestraightondownthestreet.Wewatchedheruntilshe

turnedontoBroadStreetand

outofsight.Melindastraightenedup.“Shedidn’taskformuchinthepasttwenty-sevenyears.”“Iguessshedidn’t.”“She’sgoteighty-sixcents

inherpurse,nothingelse.Idon’tknowwhatwillhappentoherifthecarwon’tstartwhenit’stimetocomehome.”IknewIshouldstillbe

worried,butIsuddenlyfeltthatanythingwaspossible,

andthatmostthings,thoughcertainlynotall,wouldturnoutokay.

Afewweekslater,anenvelopecamefromBallState.MomopeneditlikeitwastheAcademyAwards,andsatforafewminutesstudyingtheresults.“What’sitsay?How’dyou

do?DidyougetaAplus?”Iasked,tryingtopeeroverhershoulders.

“Itestedoutoffortyhours,”Momsaid,flippingthroughacatalogthathadcomewiththeletter.Icounted.Fortyhourswas

notquitetwodays.Buttwodaysoutofschoolwasbetterthannothing.“Sorryaboutthat,Mom,”I

said.IthoughtImightridedowntoRose’shouseandtellherMompassed.“That’sawholeyear,

sweetheart,”shesaidasI

headedtowardthedoor.Istopped.“Awholeyear?”Momnodded.AndthenI

sawonherfacethatshewasasshockedasIwas;shedidn’tknowanybetterthanIdidwhattomakeofthenews.Forafewmoresecondswewerejustfrozen,andthensheshruggedhershoulders—Whatcanyoudo?—andreachedoverandpickedupthephone.

IKnewGlenBeforeHeWasaSuperstar

Dadcalledmeinsidewhenitstartedtogetdark.HetoldmethatifI’dcomeinandtakeabathwithoutfightinghimIcouldwatchtheGlenCampbellshow.Iactedbored

withGlenCampbell,butinfact,IthoughthewasthebestsingerintheworldbesidesBarryGibb.Plushislittlecapofblondhairalwayslayonhisheadasstillandsoftasasleepingcat.Ihadanalbumofhisthat

hadonitmaybethebestsongofthedecade,“Where’sthePlaygroundSusie,”whichisessentiallyaboutagood-lookingblondmanaskingfordirections.Dadsometimes

calledmysisterSusie,forvaguehistoricalreasons,andMelindaandGlenwouldhavemadeaveryhandsomecouple,soIwasgladtheyhadnevermet.ItwasbadenoughthatmysisterhadtheattentionsofJoeOvertonwholiveddownthestreetandwasafriendofmybrother.Hehad,strictlyspeaking,beenmyfirstlove,andIwasonlybeginningtorecoverfromhim.

OnceIgotinthetubIusuallyhadquiteagoodtime.IplayedanongoinggamethatwasessentiallyabathtubversionofEvilQueen,myfavoritegametoplaywithRoseandMaggie,reducedtojustoneplayer.InthisgameIwasforcedtoslaveawayatanEvilLaundromat.BeforegettinginthetubIcollectedallthewashragsIcouldfind.Myjobwastowashthemin

frontofme,thenswirlthemaroundintherinsewateronmyrightside,passthembehindmefordrying,andfoldthemonmyleftside.AtagoodLaundromatthatwouldhavebeentheendofthegame,butbecauseitwasEvil,assoonasIgotthemfoldedIhadtostartalloveragain.Thewashragsnevergotcleanenough.Ihatedpersonalhygiene,

andyetonceIgotinthetubit

washardtogetmeout.DadusedtobecomeconvincedthatI’ddrowned,becauseIplayedsoquietly.Iworriedhimtonoend.Thebathroomwasconnectedtoourden,wherewedidallourliving,andsoDadkepttimeonhiswatchfromhisfavoritechairinfrontofthetelevision.Everysevenminuteshewouldcallout,“Zip?Youallright?”andIwouldyellback,“Playing!”

IfinallygotoutofthetubonlyafewminutesbeforeGlenCampbellwassupposedtobegin.Iwashotandthirstyfromsittinginthewatersolong.Wehadourownwell,whichhadthecoldest,mostsharplymetallicwaterintown.Allotherwatertastedlikesoaptome.Rose’swater,forinstance,passedthroughasoftenerandanaeratorasitcameoutthetap,soitwasfoul-tastingandfullofholes.

OnthebathroomsinkwasaplasticcoffeecupBlueBonnetmargarinecamein.Wehadamillionofthem.Istoodnakedinfrontofthesink,drinkingcupaftercupofcoldwater.IprobablydrankeightcupsbeforeIfeltbetter.OnceIputthecupdownIrealizedthatmybellywasstickingoutlikeanorphan’sandthatIcouldn’tveryeasilybenddowntopickupmypajamas.Itookastep

towardthebathtubandheardwatersloshingaroundinmystomachasifinajar.Istopped.Itookastep.Waterwasmostdefinitelymakinganoiseinmystomach.Ithrewopenthebathroom

doorandranstarknakedintotheden.Mydadturnedandlookedatmewithoutanydiscerniblesurprise.Momlookedupfromhercornerofthecouch,whereshewasknitting.

“Listen,listen!No,wait—turndowntheTV!”Dadstoodupandturned

downthesound.Myparentsgatheredclosetome,andIswungmysuddenlyfatlittlebellybackandforth,andthereitwas,thesoundofthesea.“Well,listentothat,”Dad

said,wide-eyed.“Now,whatdoyou

supposeisinthere?”Momasked,lookingatmydad.

“It’swater!Idrankaboutahundredcupsofwaterandit’sallsloshingaround!”Beforetheycouldexpressanymorewonderatmytrick,theGlenCampbellshowstarted.“Okay,that’senough,

everybodysitdownfortheshow,”Isaid,directingthemtotheirstandardlocations.“Aren’tyougoingtoget

dressed?”Dadasked,turningupthevolumeontheTV,by

whichtimeIwasalreadycurleduponthecouchnexttoMom.“Shecansitherelikethis

foralittlewhile,Bob.Lethergetdressedduringacommercial.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Letherget

dressedduringacommercial.”Mompulledtheendofthe

afghanshewasknittingovermylegs.Itwassoftandwarm,eventhoughithadso

manyholesinit.Dadhandedmemybestcoloringbook,“SleepingBeauty,”andmycrayons.IhadtohavemyownbecauseIpresseddownsohardthatMomandMelindarefusedtosharewithmeanymore.AndallthroughGlenCampbellnooneremindedmethatIhadtogetdressed,andsoIgottospendtherestoftheeveninghappilyworkingonmycoloringbook,naked.

TheRulesofEvilQueen

ObjectoftheGame:EvilQueenhasnoobjectiveotherthancomplainingandtheavoidanceofbeheading.

ThePlayers:Rose,Maggie,andZippy.Patrickplaysonly

bycontributinghisclothdiapers.(Note:Alwaysusecleandiapers.Thegamecantakeadisastrousturnifthediapershavebeenusedevenalittle.)

TheRules:PlayerOnestandsatthebabywashtubandwashesthestackofclothdiapersbyhand.ShethenhandsthemtoPlayerTwo,whoisstationedatthecanopybed.PlayerTworemovesthe

canopypegsandhangsupthejust-washeddiapers,holdingtheminplacewiththecanopypegs.Theydryimmediately.PlayerTwohandsthediaperstoPlayerThree,whoisstationedattheminiatureironingboard,whichZippysecretlycovetsforitssmallness.PlayerThreeironsthediapersandhandsthembacktoPlayerOne,whowashesthemandhandsthemtoPlayerTwo,etc.

Restrictions:Playersmaynot,atanytime,discussanythingbuttheirowndowntroddennessandtheshockingfertilityoftheEvilQueen,whohas137children.Playersmayoccasionallynotethesufferingoftheotherserfs,suchasthoseworkingintheEvilBreadShoppeandtheEvilForge,whereinaremadetheEvilBreadsandEvilHorseshoes,butPlayersmustendlesslyremindone

anotherthatnooneworksharderorunderworseconditionsthantheEvilDiaperService.(Note:Restrictionsapplytoallvariationsofthegame,includingEvilLaundromat—washcloths—andEvilShoeshine.)

ConclusionofPlay:Oftencorrespondstodinnertimeorthesudden,uncontrollablesleepinessofPlayerThree.

VacuumCleaner

Thefollowingisatranscriptofanactualtapemadeonmybluetaperecorder.ThesettingismyMomMary’shouseonShoppeAvenue,inNewCastle.

DAD:Donita,lookatthis.

DONITA,MYDAD’SSISTER:(Shouts)Mother,whatareyoudoinginthecloset?

MOMMARY,MYGRANDMA:(Inaudible,fromthecloset)

DAD:Donita.

DONITA:(Shouts)Iknow

you’retearingsomethingupinthere.

GRANDMA:(Stillinaudible)

DAD:Donita,lookatthis.

MYMOM:What’sshedoing?

DONITA:Godknows.Itsoundslikeshe’stakingdownallthewintercoats.

DAD:It’sataperecorder.

DONITA:Iseethat.It’sverynice.

DAD:IgotitfortapingLindy’sspeeches.Youjustpushthissilverknobaround:upforPlay,leftforRewind,rightforFastForward.Torecord,youpressthisredbuttonandtalkintothemicrophone.

DONITA:FortapingMelinda’sspeeches,yousay?

DAD:Yeah.Thiswayshecanhearwhatshesoundslike.Shecantimethem,too.

MYMOM:Look,shemadeitoutofthecloset.Lord,she’sgothervacuumcleanerwithher.Isshegoingtostartsweeping?

DONITA:Mom,justturnaroundandputthatvacuumcleaneraway—

GRANDMA:(Comingintotheroomtalking,shebecomesaudibleinsomethingliketheoppositeoftheDopplerEffect)…showBobbymynew—

DONITA:—becausewe’vegotcompanyandyou’renotgoingtostart—

GRANDMA:—vacuumcleaner.

DONITA:—sweepingagain.Thishouseisascleanasit’sgonnaget.

DAD:It’sgotprettygoodsound.Lindysaysshedoesn’tsoundlikeherselfontape,butshedoes.There’sprobablyalotwecould—

GRANDMA:Bobby?

DAD:—dowithit.Recordalotofthings.

GRANDMA:Bobby,Iwantyoutolookatthis.

DONITA:That’srealnice.

MYMOM:Bob,yourmother’stryingtoshowyousomething.

DAD:IsawitatGrant’s,andIthought,well,IcouldgetthattohelpLindywithherspeeches.Youknowshe’sgoingtothestatefinalsinSt.

LouisinMay.

MYMOM:I’lllookatit,Mom.

GRANDMA:Kennethboughtitforme.It’sgotthislonghoseandthecorddoesn’ttangle.Onmyoldonethecordwasforevergettingtangled.

MYMOM:ThatwasveryniceofKenneth.

GRANDMA:I’llmissthatoldone—

DONITA:WhereisMelinda?

MYMOM:She’shelpingDannylookforanapartment.

GRANDMA:—though.Ihaditfornearlytwentyyears.

MYMOM:He’sdecidedtomovetoNewCastlesincehe’sworkingatAnchor

Hocking.

DAD:Themicrophonecamewithit,Ididn’thavetopayextra.Itoldhimheshouldstayhomewithus,butno,no,hecan’tjustlistentohisolddad.

GRANDMA:Bobby?

DAD:There’splentyofroominourhouseandthere’snoneedtojustrushoff—

MYMOM:Dannygetshismindsetonsomething—

DAD:—thisway,butyoucan’ttalktotheboy.

MYMOM:—it’sdifficulttotalktohim.

GRANDMA:Bobby?

DAD:Yep.(Stretching)We’reallgoingtoSt.LouisinMay.We’restayingina

hotel.IfigureLindycanpracticeherspeechallthewaythere.

DONITA:Yousayyou’reallgoing?(Turningtome)You’reawfulquiet.

DAD:She’salwaysquiet.She’smygirl.Whosegirlareyou?Tellitintothetaperecorder.

ME:Daddy’s.

DAD:Whew!She’sstillmygirl!Iwasworriedyoumighthavechangedyourmind.

GRANDMA:Bobby?Iwantyoutoseesomething.

MYMOM:Here’syourpooroldmothersittingrighthereandyoushownocompunctionaboutsayingyou’reDaddy’sgirl.Whonursedyouforeighteenmonths?Whocarriedyouon

herhiptillyouwerethree?

DAD:(Inhalinghiscigarette)St.Louisisaroughplace.Butwe’reallgoing.

GRANDMA:Didyoueatanyofthiscake,Dee?Havesome.

MYMOM:Ihadabigpiece.Itwasgood.No—that’sokay,Idon’twantanymore.

GRANDMA:Well,giveittothatchild.Shedon’teatenoughtokeepabirdalive.Ineversawachildsoskinny.

MYMOM:Idon’tthinkshecaneatanymoreeither.Shehadabigbowlofchickenandnoodles,too.Youwantanymore,honey?Shecan’teatanymore,Mom.

GRANDMA:It’sanapplesaucecake.

MYMOM:It’sgood.

GRANDMA:Youshouldhavesomemore.

MYMOM:Ican’t.SeeifBobwillhavesomemore.Itsurewasgood,though.Moist.

GRANDMA:That’stheapplesauce.Bobby?Youwantsomemorecake?

DAD:Ihadenoughcake.

You’realwaystryingtooverfeedme.

DONITA:Ihopeitstopsrainingsoon.Ineedtomow.

DAD:Youmowtoomuch.

MYMOM:Bobdoesn’tbelieveincuttingthegrassuntillittlechildrenbegindisappearinginit.

GRANDMA:Bobby?

(Therearemanyflurriesofnoise.EnterDannyandMelinda.Melindaenterstalking.)

MELINDA:YoucouldtoohaveturnedonAAvenue.

DANNY:(Silence)

MYMOM:Hey,kids.Didyoufindsomething?

GRANDMA:Sitdownand

havesomecake.Youbothlooklikeyoudon’teatenough.

DAD:She’sgoingtotrytokillyouwithcake.ForGod’ssake,sitdownandhaveapiecesoshe’llshutup.

DONITA:Didyoufindanapartment?

MELINDA:Well,wefoundsomething,butitwasn’tbig

enoughforhim.Tellthemaboutit.Hesaiditwastoosmall,whichwasabunchofcrap,becausehowmuchroomdoesheneed?Enoughforhissleepingbagandhisfossilcollection.That’sabouteightsquarefeet.Andheneedsakitchenforstoringhisfive-gallondrumofpeanutbutter.Tellthemaboutthesecondone.Hesaiditwastooexpensive,whichwasalsoabunchofcrap,because

hedoesn’tspendhismoneyonanything.

GRANDMA:Didyougetyousomecake,honey?

MELINDA:Thanks,Mom.Idon’tknowwhathewants.He’simpossible.

DAD:DidyouseeI’vegotyourtaperecorderouthere?

MELINDA:Iseethat.

DAD:IwasjusttellingDonitahowyoucantapeyourspeechesonit.

MELINDA:Yep,that’swhatheboughtitfor.

DONITA:Hesaysyou’regoingtoSt.Louis.

MELINDA:InMay.

DONITA:Hesaysyou’reallgoing.

MELINDA:That’swhathetellsme.

GRANDMA:Danny,son,doyouwantsomemilkwiththatcake?

DANNY:(Silence)

MYMOM:I’llgetit,Mom.

GRANDMA:Lord,honey,I’malreadyup.(Sheleavesforthekitchen.)

DONITA:IfIdon’tmowsoon,theneighborswillstartcomplaining.

DAD:Youmowtoomuch.Thatgrassisbarelypeekingoutoftheground.Giveitachance.

GRANDMA:(SettingdownDanny’smilk)Bobby?

MYMOM:Bob?

MELINDA:Dad?Yourmotheristryingtotalktoyou.

DAD:Weneedtohittheroad.I’vegotstuffI’vegottodo.

MYMOMandMELINDA(inunison):Placestogo,peopletosee.

DAD:That’sright.

MELINDA:Whatimportant

stuffdoyouhavetodo?

DAD:It’sprivate.Thislittleoneherehastogettoherfeeding.There’ssomestarvinganimalsathome.

MYMOM:Bob,we’veonlybeengoneanhour.

GRANDMA:Bobby?

DAD:Mother,whuu-uu-uut?!

(Briefsilence)

GRANDMA:Iwantyoutoseemynewvacuumcleaner.

DAD:Isthatit?Thatall?It’srealnice.

GRANDMA:Kennethgotitforme.

DAD:(Lightingacigarette)SoIhear.Bullyforhim.

GRANDMA:Thecorddoesn’ttangle.I’dhadmyoldonefortwentyyears.Thishere’saKenmore.Ishouldhaveitalongtime,too.

DAD:Well,that’srealnice,Mom.I’msogladthatKennethcouldbuyyouanewvacuumcleaner,sincehenevercomestovisit.

GRANDMA:Oh,Bobby,now.He’sjustbusywithhis

carlot.

DAD:Hmmmph.Youalwaysdidlovehimbest.

GRANDMA:Ididnot!Thegriefyou’vecausedme,Ihardlyhadtimetoloveanybodyelse.

DAD:I’manangelonthisearth.

(Thiscausesageneralized

uproaroflaughter.)

DAD:(Smacksthetable)We’vegottogo.Zip,whereareyourshoes?Didyouevenwear—

(Therecorderisabruptlyshutoff,andbeginsinthemiddleofaspeech:)

MELINDA:—doaboutAmericanapathytowardscrime?Wecanbeginby—

(Interruptedbymuchcracklyhandlingofthemicrophone,andthenGlenCampbellsinging“WichitaLineman”ontelevision.Inthebackgroundadogbarks.)

Cowboys

EverycoupleofweeksJulieandIrodeourbikesdowntothejunkyardhalfamilefromtheNewmans’farmtoscouritfortreasures.Wecalleditajunkyard,butreallyitwasjustastretchofwoodsof

questionableownership,wherepeoplestoppedbythesideoftheroadandthrewtheirtrashin.Thesethingsnever

changed:awringerwasherslowlysinkingandtwooldtractortires.Forawhiletherewasametalkitchenchairwithayellowplasticseat.Sometimeswesatonit.EventuallyJuliegottheideatomoveittoourtreehouse,whichjustleftfourholes

wherethelegsusedtobe.Wehadlongagopulledallthepopbottlesoutofthedirtandcashedtheminatthedrugstore,leavingalittleminefieldofhalf-buriedaluminumcans,theirjagged,toothytopsproppedopeninaparodyofdinner.Sometimeslivethingsfellinthecansbetweenourvisits.Wesquatteddowntoinspect.“Now,becarefulnotto

touchthosecanlids,Julie

Ann,”Isaid,everalerttohertendencytocourtbaddiseases.“Mydadsaysyoucangetlockjawfromrustymetal.”“Hmmm,”Julieanswered,

throughhernose.“Ifyougetlockjawthey

justhavetostraightawaykillyou,becausethere’snohopeofyouevereatingagain.”Thisgotherattention.

“Howdotheykillyou?”“Theyjustwhompyouin

theforeheadwithabighammer.Ihearitmakesyoureyespopouttohere,”Isaid,holdingmyhandoutafootfrommyface.Juliedidn’tanswer,butjust

verygentlyreacheddownandranthetipofherfingeralongoneoftherustylids,causingmyhearttoskatepastabeat.Iknewbetterthantoacknowledgemyfear,however,becauseshewouldjusttakeitasadare.Once

whileplayinghide-and-seek,Juliehadskitteredhalfwayupagiantpinetree.WhenIsawherredhairthroughthebranchesImadeonelittleinnocentsqueal,causinghertoclimballthewaytothetop.Bythetimeshereachedtheuppermostbranches,thetreewasswayingbackandforthasifinawindstorm.Istoodupcasually,

pretendingthatJulie’sbloodwasnoissuewithme,and

gavethejunkyardanappraisingsquint.Therewasacathunkereddownattheedgeofthetreeline,watchingus.“Hey,Dumpcat.C’mere,

Dumpcat,”Icalled,holdingoutmyarmsandheadingtowarditatthesametime.Thecatmovednothingbutitseyes,watchingmegetcloserandcloser.Icouldseethathewas

junkyard-colored,probablya

graytabbyunderallthelayersofgrime,andoneofhisearswasahopelessjigsaw.EverycatI’deverownedhad,duringsomebrawl,lostahunkofear.Itwasastandardcatcondition.TheDumpcat’slefteyedrooped,too,andheappearedtohavelostallhiswhiskers.Thisstoppedmeinmytracks,becauseIknewfrommydadthatcatsusedtheirwhiskerstohelpthemsee.Dadtoldme

acatwon’tstickhisheadanywherehisbodycan’tfitthrough,andhiswhiskerstellhimhowwidehisbodyis.GoodLord,Ithought,thiscatisheadedfordisaster.AsIgotcloser,hemadea

littlerumblesounddeepinhischestanddartedaway.Thiskindofcatwasatest:onecouldeitherloseone’stemperanddiveathimorbeagoodQuakerandkeepgoingathimwithgentleness.

Ipursuedhimnicely,inawaythatwouldhavemademysisterproud,withthevagueideathatImightcatchhimandputhiminthetreehousewiththechairandthedirtymagazinewe’dfoundinthebarnandcouldn’thardlystandtolookat.Duringmyfriendlypursuit,

Juliehadwanderedoversilently,likearedheadedIndian,andsuddenlyshewas

rightatmyside,causingmetojump.Thecatsatstill.Julieleanedoverandheadedtowardhim,movingherfingerslikeshewasaskingformoney.Shegotcloserandcloser,andbeforeIcouldevenworkupanindignationshewasscratchingthebackofhisheadandhewasallraisingupbumpingintoherhandandmakingaratchetypurr,likeatractorthathadn’tbeenstartedallwinter.

“Now,youcanjustlookatthatcatandknowhesmells,”Isaid,seeminglyinvoluntarily.“Youbecareful,JulieAnn,aboutringworm.Itgetsoutoftheirbuttsandisperfectlyround.Ifyougetitonyou,theyhavetocutoffthatpartofyourskin,becausenothingcankillaringworm.”“Howdotheycutitoff?”

sheasked,scratchingthecat’schin.Icouldseefleasjumpingshipbythedozen.

“Withscissors.Ithurtslikethedickens.Andaftertheycutofftheringwormtheypouriodinestraightintheopenhole.YoucanbegallyouwantforMercurochrome,butforgetit.It’siodineorgangrene,andyoudon’twanttoknowaboutthat.”“Iknowaboutgangrene,”

shesaidquietly.Thecathadflippedontohisback,andwastwistinguplikeaquestionmarkunderJulie’s

fingertips.Itwasaprettylong

sentenceforJulie,soIassumedshewasdrunkwithcatlove.Ihadseenhergetthatwayathome,withhercalicocat,Tiger.Tigerwassquareandheavyasabrick,andoncethosetwogotgoingtherewascathairallovertheplace,andclawmarks,dander,younameit.TigerlostababytoothoncelovingJulie’sshoetoohard.

Iturnedandheadedtowardthebabyswing,whereweusedtoswingourbabydollsalongtimeago.Actually,IswungmybabydollsinitandJulieswungherLoneRangerdoll.Shehadtwooutfitsforhim:atanonethatlookedlikerealleather,andtheotheralight,lightbluewithfringeonthesleeves.Juliecalledithisdress-upsuit.TheLoneRangerandTontoandtheirmany,manyhorsesandtheir

many,manysaddlessatonashelfJulie’sdadhadmadeforher;wedidn’tplaywiththemanymore.Ididn’thaveanythingtoputinthebabyswing.“Hey!”Isaid,havinga

greatjunkyardidea.“DoyouthinkRebeccawouldletusbringherbabydownhereandswinghim?He’daboutfitinthisthing.”“Nope,”Juliesaid.Shewas

nottheleastbitinterestedin

babies.Iwasthinkingabouttrying

tofittheDumpcatintheswingwhenIsawit:achild’srockinghorse,thebigplastickindonametalstandwiththicksprings,completelyburiedinthedirt.Justitssideandheadwerevisible.“TheLord,”Iwhispered,

andmotionedforJulietocome.Thehorse’sheadwas

thrownback,asifsomeone

hadpulledtoohardonhisreins,andhismouthwasopen,filledwithdirt.Hewasbitingatthedirt.Icouldseetherivetthatheldtheplasticreins,butthereinsthemselvesweregone.Allofthehorse’scolorshadfadedintoonepinky-goldcolor,andintheblackdirtandtheshadeofthetreesitappearedthathewascastingoutlight.Hisoneeyewaswild.Bothofusstoodmotionlessa

momentinthepresenceofahorseinthedirt,andthenJuliekneltdownandstartedtobrushatit.“Becareful;that’safossil,”

Itoldher.“Youcangotojailfordisturbingafossil.Mybrothertoldmeallaboutit.”Infact,mybrotherhad

quitealargefossilcollection,many,manypoundsofstolenrock.Thecollectioncompletelysurroundedhisbedwhenhelivedwithus.It

seemedthatnooneinmyfamilyhadthoughtitoddthathekeptthepointystonesthere,evengivenhispropensitytorolloutofbedafewtimesaweek.Itusedtowakeusallup,thethump,themoan,thegranitescrapingacrossthefloorashemadehiswaybackupintohissleepingbag.He’dalsosetuptrapsinthedoorwaytohisroom,somebigenoughforabadger,soIdon’tknowwhat

wewouldhavedoneifhe’devergottenreallyinjuredfallingonarock.Mymomhadconcludedthathiswholebedroomsituationhadsomethingtodowithhowhardhe’dgottenJesus.JustrememberingJesusouthereinthejunkyardmademewanttospit.Ispat.Juliespat.Herhand

lingerednearthechestofthehorse.TheDumpcatwatchedussilentlyfromdeepinthe

trees.Ilookedatthehorseandjustknewhewasnevercomingoutoftheground:What’sdoneisdonewastheprincipleinoperation.AsIstoodupInoticedfiveorsixstickerburrscaughtinJulie’sblueknitcap,andoneactuallyinherredhair,gatheringatangleuparounditlikeanest.“Julie,”Isaid,standingup.

“Webettergethomeandgetthatstickerburroutbefore

everyhaironyourheadgetscaughtupinitandwehavetowhackitalloffrightdowntoyourscalp.Ionceheardofawomanwhoaboutlostherscalptoastickerburr.Ithinkpeanutbutteristhetrickforgettingthemout.”Aswewalkedtowardour

bicycles,Juliereachedupsilentlyandpulledtheburroutofherhair;dozensofflame-coloredstrandscamewithit.Shetossedthewhole

messdowninthejunkyard,where,forjustamoment,itblazedup,andwasconsumed.

TheLoveBug

AwomannamedBonniemovedintoahouseonJeffersonStreet,andneverinmylifehaveIbeenmoretemptedtoberude.TheveryfirsttimeImentionedhertoMomIalmostsaid,“Have

youseenthatBigFatBonniewoman?”AndoncewhenIwasridingmybikeandpassedhergettingintohercar(atotallysurprisingdarkblueVWBeetle,abouthalfthecarnecessaryforsuchaperson),Ijustaboutshouted,“Hey,BigFatBonnie!”Itwasn’tasifIdidn’thaveexperiencewithplumpwomen,someofitinmyownhome.ButtherewassomethingaboutBonniethatwasessentiallylarge.I

didn’tknowwhatitwasuntilsheandMombecamefriends.Icamehomefromschool

onedayandthereshewas,sittinginourlivingroom.Shewaswearingapinkpolyestertopthatzippedupthefront,andwhitepolyesterpants.Theoutfit,alongwithherpiled-upblondhair,madeherlooklikeanenormousicecreamsundae,withstrawberries.“Well,I’llbe&*@!ifI

can’tteachyouhowtodrive,andIwill,too,youcanbetyour&*@!”Bonniewassaying.“NomanwouldkeepMEfromdrivingacar,forgetit!Whatisthis,aTurkishprison?Whatdoyoudoallday,justsitaroundwatchingthe%*#^TV?!”Momblushed,butalso

lookedabitsheepish,thennoticedme.“Bonnie,thisismydaughter.”Ijustcontinuedtostand

frozeninthedoorway.Iwantedtoraisemyhandandwave,butIwasafraidI’dbreakthespellandmissawholestreamofgoodswears.“Yeah,Iknowwhoyou

are,youlittlemonkey,”shesaid,fishingapackofcigarettesoutofhershirtpocketandscrewinguphermouthlikeatruckdriver.Shewaspretty,inatruckdriverway.“Youdon’teverdoyour

homework,doyou?”Thiscaughtmeoffguard.I

shookmyheadno.“Ofcourseyoudon’t!

You’retoo&*#@busyridingaroundtownonthatbicycle.”“Bonnie,”Momsaid,

quietly.Isuddenlyrealizedhowverydemureandladylikeshecouldbe.“ThisisactuallyaChristianhousehold,andwetrynottousesuchlanguage.”Bonnietippedherhead

backandroaredwithlaughter.“Yeah,Ihearthat.”Shewipedhereyes.“I’llbetyourhusbandisa%*$#Christian,too,isn’the?Andthat’swhyhekeepsyoulockedupinthislittle(#%)holeofatown,right?”“You’dbestgooutsideand

play,sweetheart.”Momonlyglancedatme.Shewasembarrassed,butshewassmiling.Iturnedaroundandheaded

backoutside.“Dadain’taChristian,actually,”IsaidasIturnedthedoorknob.Bonnieblewsmokeout

throughhernose.“Iknewthat.Whenyoucomehomelookupthedefinitionofsarcasm,youlittleNe’er-Do-Well.Nowscoot,shoo,outthedoorwithyou.”JustasIsteppedoutsideI

heardhersaytoMom,“Sowhataboutthose+&^$drivinglessons?Youwant

’em,ornot?”IguessedMomhadgotten

atastefortheopenroad,anddecidedsheneededadriver’slicense.

WhenDadleftthenextSaturdaymorningtogowhereverhewentanddowhateverhedid,MomcalledBonnieandsaidshewasready.Iwentouttowaitonthefrontporch,andfromtheswingIcouldhearBonnie’s

bluecarstarttwoblocksaway.IheardherdrivedownthealleythatranbehindEdythe’shouse,andthenthereshewas.Shepulledupinfrontofourhouseandhonkedherhorn,eventhoughIwassittingrightinfrontofher.Thehornsoundedlikeacatvomiting.MomwalkedoutandwavedatBonnie,andBonniekepthonking.Momopenedthepassengerdoorandturnedtotellme

something,andBonniehonkedagain.“Forheaven’ssake,”Mom

said,lookinginthecar.“Well,speeditup,”Bonnie

said.“Wehaven’tgotallday.”“Wedohaveallday,

actually.”“Actlikewedon’t.”Bonnie

revvedthecar’slittleengine.Momwavedatmeandsaid

she’dbehomesoon.Iwalkeddownandstoodintheyard;I

couldn’twaittoseethetwooftheminthatonesinglecar.AfterMomclimbedin,thatVolkswagenwasliterallystuffedwithwomen.HowtheyfoundthegearshiftI’llneverknow.

IwasjustleavingthepostofficeparkinglotonmybicyclewhenMomdrovepastmeintheBug,itsenginemakingalittletuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-a-tuck-asound.

Shewasdrivingaboutamileanhour.Thecardiedatthefour-waystopsign,soIbeatherhomebyaboutfiveminutes.ButwhenshesteppedoutIwouldhaveswornshe’dwontheKentuckyDerby:hercheekswerepink,herhairwasflying,andsheandBonniewerelaughingtobeattheband.Bonnieclimbedoutofthecarandgaveahootthatsentaflockofstarlingsflying

forcover.“How’ditgo?”Iasked

whenIreachedMom.“Wekilledachicken!”

Momsaid,withthesametoneshemighthaveusedtosay,WescaledthenorthfaceofEverest!Ipeekedunderthecarand

sureenough,thereweresomefeathersstucktotheundercarriage.Iwhistledthroughmyteeth.“What’sDadgonnasay

aboutthis?”Iasked,scratchingmyhead.“Aw,#*$&himifhecan’t

takeajoke,”Bonniesaid,wrappingherbigarmaroundMom.AndthetwoofthemlumberedupthesidewalkandintoourChristianhousehold.

Treasure

Icouldn’tforthelifeofmefigureouthowlongapersonhadtolive,orhowgoodshehadtobe,togetherhandsonsometreasure.Mymom,forinstance,spentallhertimesittingonthecoucheating

porkrindsandreadingbooksfromthebookmobile,andyetshehadsomevaluablesthattemptedmesorely,thingssofabulousIwantedtostealthemandthendestroythemsoIwouldn’thavetothinkaboutthemanymore.Shehadatrickbox,forinstance,thathadbelongedtoherdeaddaddy.Itwasanormalboxshape,exceptitwasformedoutofthinstripsofwood,andnowaywouldthelidopen.It

couldn’tbepriedorprayedopen.Thetrickwastopresstwoofthestripsofwoodatthesametime,whichcausedtheendtoslideoutlikeadrawer.Oh,itvexedme.Momrefusedtoteachmehowtoopenit,andwithgoodcause.Butshedidletmeseewhatwasinside:atokenfromthe1929World’sFair.Alittlenakedplasticbabydoll.Adriver’slicenseissuedtoherfather,EdwardA.

Bartuska,ofWhiting,Indiana.Longdeceased.Abeautifulwatchthatdidn’trun.Apictureofmymomasalittlegirl,withtheexpressionshealwaysworeasachild:comicalandworried.(Itturnedoutshe’dneededglasses.)AMasoniclodgepin,inthecenterofwhichwasafabulousandgenuineredstone.Momwouldletmepawthroughtheboxmaybeonceayear,

takingeverysinglethingoutandaskingherwhatitwasandwhereitcamefrom,andthenIhadtoputitallbacknicelyandshewouldputtheboxaway.Myfather!Myfatherhada

wholejarofteeth.Theyoncebelongedinsidethemouthsofstrangeandexoticanimals.Hehadashark’stooth,theincisorofagrizzlybear,alittlemolarfromacoondog,thetwoyellowedfrontteeth

ofahorse.Hehadawatchonasteelbandthatwasquiteodd-looking,anditwastheonlywatchhecouldwear.Heshutoffallotherwatcheswhenhegotnearthem.WhenIaskedhimwhyhesaiditwasbecausehisbodywasmagnetized,andafterthatIwasafraidofhimgettingstucktotherefrigerator.Hehadabottleofliquidmercury.Ididn’task.Once,heletmepouradropofitout

onatray;hesaid,“Don’ttouchit!”andIdidn’ttouchit,butIwantedtoputmywholefingerinit.Themercuryremainedaperfect,crazyglobe,androlledaroundonthetraylikeamarble.Mysisterhadalong,long

chainmadeoutofgumwrappers,whichwerepreciselyfoldedintolittletriangles.ItwasoneofthemostbeautifulthingsI’dever

seen,andsmelledlikenothingbutgoodnews.JuicyFruitandTeaberry.Shealsohadthreestatuesofalittlenakedboyandgirl(whodidn’thaveanyparts);eachstatuedescribedadifferentruleaboutlove.MyfavoritewasLoveIs…NeverHavingtoSayYou’reSorry.Thiswas,thegoodLordknew,adreamofmine.ButeverytimeIrefusedtoapologizeforsomething,Loveseemed

tojustflyoutthewindow.IstolethelittlestatuefortwowholedaysandtookitwithmeeverywhereIwent.IwasgoingtoflashitlikeabadgeifIgotintrouble.ButLindyfoundmeoutandgavemeahardpinch,andthenIsaidsorryandshedidn’t.Mybrotherhad,andthis

hardlyseemspossible,anactualbow-and-arrowset.Hetookthemdeerhunting.Thereweresomepartsofthe

bowthatattractedme,liketheveryshinywoodengrip,andtheknotsattheendofthebowstring.Itwasadelicateoperationonthewhole,andyetverypowerfulandstrong.ButwhatIreallywantedwerethearrows,especiallythelittlehairypartsontheend.Thearrowtipsweresharpasarazorandjustcoldsteel,andthenrightdownontheotherendoftheshaftweresomecoloredpartsthat

lookedliketheheadofawoodpecker,andyoucouldonlyrubthemoneway;ifpushedthewrongwaytheywouldhavebeenruined,andsowouldI.DannyhungthebowandthebagofarrowsoffahookattheendofDad’sgunrack,andsometimesintheeveningIwouldstandonthebackofthecouchandrubmyfingersoverthecoloredpartsuntilIwasnearlyhypnotized,andthenmydad

wouldnoticewhatIwasdoingandthunder,Zip!WhichmeantDidIthinkforamomentitwasallrighttoplaywithadeadlyarrow,andI’dgetdown,butmyfingertipswouldfeelsmoothassilk,likeI’drubbedmyownfingerprintsoff.Imyselfownednothing

goodandcouldnotimaginethedayIeverwould.WhenIcomplainedtomymomaboutit,shepointedoutthatIhad

notonebuttwostuffedthingsIloved,bothofwhichshehadmadeforme:mybabydoll,SuzySleepyhead,andalittlebrownvelveteenbearwithcrossedeyesnamed,naturally,Gladly(theCross-EyedBear).Yeah,yeah,I’dsay.Whattheheckgoodwerethose?IwantedsomethingsoexcellentandstrangethatwhenIshowedittomyfriendstheirbellieswouldstarttoachewith

covetousness,thewaymineachedawholebunchofthetime,almosteverytimeItookalookattheworldandsawhowlittleofitbelongedtome.

Anothergreatthingmymomownedandtookforgrantedwasacollectionofrainhatsthatcamefoldedupinsidetheirownlittlesuitcases.Thesuitcaseswereplastic,in

variouspastelcolors,smallerthananegg.Someofthemhadtheirownlittlehandles,andonthetopofeachlidwasabunchofplasticflowers,andI’mnottalkingaboutpainted-onflowers,thesewereflowerssittinginalittlebouquetrightontopofalittlesuitcase,andinsidewasanactualrainhat.Therainhatswerefoldedlikethemostcomplicatedmapintheworld,forward/back,

forward/back,maybe7,000times,untilthewholethingwasskinnierthanaruler,andthenthelengthofitwasfoldedoverandoverintoaone-inchsquare.Ican’tthinkofagreatermomentthantheoneinwhichMompoppedopenthelid,tookoutthefolded-upsquare,andshookouttheclearplastichat,whichwouldtieunderherchin.Iwantedtofindallthelittlesuitcasesintheworld

andopenthemallatonce,andtakeoutalltherainhatsandshakethemlikethestarscomingout.AfterthatIwasunclearwhatwouldhappen,becausenooneinthefreeworldcouldfigureouthowtogetthehatsbackintoasquare.SometimesMomwouldlet

meweararainhatifI’dbeenparticularlygood.Theyweretoobigforme,andoftenslippeddownovermyeyes.

“Ah!I’msuffocating!Keepawayfromchildren!”“Sweetheart,justscootit

backonyourhead.”“Oh.”Dadwaslatecominghome

fromworkatDelcoRemy,whichwasentirelyusual.IwassittingonthefloorcoloringinmyDisneyPrincessescoloringbookwhenIheardhistruckpullupoutside.Myrainhatwasdownovermyeyes,andI

couldseethroughitjustenoughtoknowwhichpageIwason,butnotenoughtoknowwherethelineswere,soIwasjustcoloringrandomly.ThefrontdooropenedandI

couldhearDadtalkingtosomeone.Nooneevercametovisitus.Istaredatthedoorwaytotheden.Mydadappeared,rainy-shaped,andbesidehimwasarain-shapedstranger.Idroppedmycrayon

andlookedatMom.Shewasablur.Ipushedupthehat.InearlieryearsIhadbeen

terriblyshy,butIwascomingoutofit.IjumpedupandranovertoDadandwhoeverwaswithhiminthedoorway.“Dad!Hey!Who’sthisguy

withyou?”Andthen,tothestranger,“Whoareyou?Whatchadoin’here?What’syourname?”“Zip!Slowdown,sit

down.”DadturnedtoMom,

whowaslookingathiminaninterestedway.There,infact,wasthesamefaceasinthemagicbox:funny.Abitalarmed.“Dee,thisisGeorgeChristy.He’sgoingtobestayingwithusafewdays.”Georgecouldsee

immediatelythatsomecharmwasinorder,sohecrossedthedeninasinglestride,steppingovermycoloringbook,astackofMom’slibrarybooks,apairofDad’s

shoes,myemptylemonphosphatecup,abowlofpopcornseeds,asleepingcat,abasketfullofunfoldedlaundry,andadisassembled12-gaugeshotgunonanopenednewspaper,whichDadwasintheprocessofcleaning.“I’mpleasedtomeetyou,

Dee,”Georgesaid.Istudiedhimprettyhard.

Hewaswearingablueworkshirtthatappearedtohave

beenaroundalongtime,withthesleevesrolledup;apairofkhakiwalkingshorts;awideleatherbelt;woollysocksthatmostpeoplewouldhaveworninwinter—anditwasJune—andhikingboots.Hewastallandbroadandmuscular,likemydad,onlyyounger.Hehadverydarkhairandeyesandabigbushymustache.Igavealittleastonishedwhistle.Momshookhishand.“Nice

tomeetyou,George.Howdid…wheredid…”Dadclearedhisthroatand

pickedupapileofblanketsattheendofthecouch,soGeorgecouldsitdown.“Actually,IjustmetGeorgeafewminutesago.HewassittingatthesideoftheroadinfrontoftheShivelyHomeplace,andIstoppedandaskedhimifheneededaride.”Momswallowed.“So

you’reahitchhiker,George?”“Hey!”Isaid,bombarded

withinformation.“Waitasecond.Youweresittin’atthesideoftheroad?AcrossfromtheMountSummitcemetery?Whatwasyoudoin’there?What’sahitchhiker?Where’syourcar?Where’syourhouse?”“Sweetheart,that’s

enough,”Momsaid.“No,ma’am,I’mnot

preciselyahitchhiker,”

Georgebegan.“What’sahitchhiker?”“I’mactuallywalking

acrosstheUnitedStates,”hesaidtoMom.“Ijustgraduatedfromcollege,andIstartedoutinCaliforniaatthebeginningofMay.I’vewalkedtwenty-fourhundredmilessofar.Yourhusbandhere”—GeorgesmiledatDad—“offeredmeaplacetocampforacoupledays,sinceIdidn’tactuallyneedaride.

Ifthat’sokaywithyou,thatis.BecauseIcanjustheadon,ifyou’dlike.”“No!”Ishouted.“It’sokay

withher,it’sjustfine.Wehavehitchhikersallthetime.Shelovesthem.”“Bob,canItalktoyoujust

aminute?”Momasked.ItookGeorgeouttothe

porchswing.Somethinghugeandorangewasproppedupagainstthehouse.“Whattheheck?”

“That’smypack.Icarryitonmybackbythesestraps,andthisbarunfoldssoitcanstanduponitsown,see?Doyouwanttotrytoliftit?”Islidmyarmsinsidethe

straps.IhadanoldArmybackpackthatwasbigenoughforacanteen,apocketknife,somebeefjerky,andacomicbook,soIthoughtI’ddofine.ButGeorge’spackweighedabout482pounds,andwasastallasmyshoulders,and

whenItriedtoliftitmylegsstartedwobblingandmyfaceturnedpurple,andhelaughedandsaid,“Whoa,there.Don’tblowagasket.”“Areyoureallya

hitchhiker,andwhat’sahitchhiker?”“No—hey,isyourhead

screwedontight?Becausedidn’tIjustsayI’mnotahitchhiker?Doyoueverstoptalking?Ahitchhiker’sapersonwhostandsattheside

oftheroadwithhisthumboutlikethis.Youtry.Excellent.Youwereborntohitchhike.Andhetriestogetstrangerstogivehimrides.It’sawayoftraveling.”“Butyoudon’tdothat?

Youjustsitatthesideoftheroadwithyourthumbstuckedin?”Georgethrewhisheadback

andlaughed.Wesatdownontheswing.“Whatall’sinthatbag?

Youthinkmaybeyoucouldshowmetomorrow?”“Sure.There’sasleeping

bag,andatent,andsomeraingear.”“I’vegotthisrainhat.”“Yes,Isee.”“Whatelse?”“There’sfoodandsome

dishes,acanopener,acoupleofbooks,myjournal.Postcardsandstamps.Cleanclothes.”IwassoflabbergastedI

couldhardlyspeak.GeorgeChristyownedmorestuffthanIdid,andhecarrieditaroundinahugeorangebagonhisback.“I’lltellyouwhatIdon’t

have,though,”hesaid,studyingme.“Idon’thaveashirtwithabigfishonthefront.”Ilookeddown.“Yeah.I’ve

gottheonlyone.”Dadwalkedoutandjoined

usontheporch.Hesmokeda

little,flippedhiscigarettetowardthesidewalk.“Nicenight,”hesaid.“It’sbeautiful,”George

answered.“Deesaysyou’rewelcome

tostay,aslongasyoucampintheyard.Shesaysitwouldn’tbeappropriateforyoutostayinthehouse,sincewe’vegotthesetwogirls,Ziphereandourolderdaughter,Melinda.”Dadseemedmorethanalittlemiserabletobe

makingsuchaspeech.“Oh,ofcourse,Iwouldn’t

have…Idon’treallystayinhouses.It’sagainstmyrules.”Dadtookadeepbreath.

“You’realuckyman.”Georgesmiled.Hesmelled

likepineneedles.

Georgewentbackinthehousetohavesomepopcornwithusbeforebedtime.HesatonthecouchwithMom

andIsatonthefloor.“Hey!Doyouknowany

jokes?”Iaskedhim.Heponderedaminute.“I

doknowaprettygoodjoke.Okay:Whydoduckshaveflatfeet,Zippy?”“Why?”“Tostampoutforestfires.”Igasped,thennearlyfell

overlaughing.ItwasthefunniestjokeI’deverheard,andI’dbeencollectingjokesforawhile.

“No,wait!There’smore.Whydoelephantshaveflatfeet?”Icouldn’tspeak,soMom

askedwhy.“Tostampoutburning

ducks.”Ijustcollapsedface-first

ontomycoloringbook.Irolledaroundinalittleballuntiltearswererunningdownmyface.Georgemadeasoundlikea

firetruck.“Emergency!

We’vegotaburningduckdownoverhere!”EvenDadhadtolaugh.

“George,you’regonnakillher.”Ifinallystretchedouton

mybackandbeggedformercy.Hitchhikers.GoodLord.

Isleptinmyclothesallsummer,soIcouldjusthopupinthemorningandgo.Iwasworkingonsimplifying

mylife,whichIhaddiscoveredcouldbedoneveryeasilyifIceasedtodothefollowing:washmyface,brushmyhair,brushmyteeth,wearshoes.ThemorningafterGeorgearrivedIgotupwiththefirstlightandtiptoeddownthestairs.Momwasstillasleep,butthelivingroomanddensmelledlikecoffee,andIcouldhearDadinthebathroom,shaving.Islippedoutthe

frontdoor,carefultocatchthescreenbeforeitslammed.Andthereitwas,sitting

rightinthemiddleofourbackyard.Ayellowtentwithamaninit.Icreptacrossthedewygrass,silentasanInjun.Istudiedthetentfromeveryangle.Itseemedtobemadeoutofcanvas,andhadseenbetterdays.Ididn’thavemuchexperiencewithtents,butGodknowsIwantedsome.Whenwewent

campingwealwaysstayedinatrailer.I’dhadonebrieftentexperiencewiththeBrownies,beforeI’dgottenkickedoutforstreaking.Butthisonewasentirelyprofessional.Iwasstandinginfrontofthezipperedflaps,imagininghowIcouldlivealltherestofmylifeinatent,whenadeepvoicesaid,“IsthataBARsneakingaroundmycabindoor?BecauseIbelieveIhearaBAR

outside.”Ijumpedbackward

probablythreefeet,slippedonthewetgrass,andfellstraightdown.“No!HitchhikerMan,don’tshoot!It’sjustme!”Georgequickunzippedthe

tentandstuckhisheadout.“Oh,hello.”“Hello.”“Idon’thaveagun,

actually.”Thiswaspuzzling.“You

bettergetone.There’sdangereverywhere.”Georgeshookhishead.

“Listen,you’rebyfarthemostdangerouspersonI’vemetonthistrip.”“Psshht.Youshouldmeet

mysister.”LindyhadspentthenightatherfriendCheryl’sandhadnotyetreceivedthenewsofthehitchhiker.Georgepartedtheflaps,

thenclimbedoutofhistent

andstretched.He,too,hadsleptinhisclothes.Heevenstillhadhisbootson.Ifsomeonehadspokenthewords“soulmate”tomerightthen,Iwouldnothaveconsidereditoutofthequestion.TherewasnodoubtinmymindthatGeorgeChristywaslivingmyreallife.

“AndthisiswhereRoseandMaggielive,”Isaid,onour

walkingtourofMooreland.“Roseisleft-handedandhasacanopybedwithawhitecanopyandmatchingwhitedressers,plusalittlebrother,aboxcollection,andaminiatureironingboardandiron.Oh,andalittlerecordplayerofherveryownwitharecordthathasthesesongsonit:‘ItsyBitsyTeenieWeenieYellowPolkaDotBikini’‘LittleNashRambler’the‘MonsterMash’andone

thatsays,‘Makin’loveundershadyappletrees.’Rosewantstoknowwhat‘makin’love’means.”“Hmmm,”Georgesaid.“Doyouknow?”“No,”hesaid,shakinghis

head.“Yeah,it’samystery.”WewalkedpastDana’s

house.“ThisiswhereDanalives.She’satcamprightnow.ShehasaPing-Pongtableandaveryfancypairof

rollerskates,andyellowcurtainsinherbedroommadeoutofsheets.HerpicturegottakenfortheMoorelandFairPrincesscontestandshe’sdeadseriousinit.”Backatourhouse,George

askedwhatsortsofthingsIhad.IonlyhadtwothingsIcouldshowhim.Onewasmylittleofficeinthecornerofthelivingroom.I’dbeenbuildingitforweeks.Theofficehadatableinitanda

stool,andIhadtakenabigcardboardboxandcutoffonesideofit,soitformedwallsaroundthetable.Ikeptallmyworkina

cigarbox.“Iwriteupthebillslikethisrighthere,thenIscootthemovertothissideofthetableandstampthemwiththisstamper.Thenfold’em.Thentheygounderneaththedesktogetmailed,andwhenIpickthemupontheothersidethey’reallfinishedand

gointhisbox.”“Isee,”saidGeorge.“What

aretheybillsfor?”“Well,thisoneisforsix

hamburgers.Thisisforatractoranddisc.Thisoneisfor‘servicesrendered,’Idon’tknowwhatthatmeans.Momtoldmetowriteit.Thisone’sforastatuemysisterstoleoutofmyrightfulpossession.I’mchargingher$4.72forit.That’swithtax.”“She’llneverpayit,”

Georgesaid,shakinghishead.“Darntootin’she’llpayit,

orI’llcontacttheLaw!”“Didyouhearthatina

movie?”“Iguessso.”“What’sthishangingonthe

wallsofyouroffice?”Georgeasked,pointingtomymessages.TheywerehungupwithScotchtapeIstolefromMom.“Iwrotethoseoutmyself.

That’smyhandwriting,there.Mysistersaysit’sshameful.Thatoneisthebirth-of-Jesusstorythatstarts,‘ForlountoyouthisdayachildisborninBethlehem.’Thishere’sapartofaTrixieBeldenbook,TheRedTrailerMystery.I’llreadittoyou:

Thegirlsatehungrilyanddrankseveraltallglassesofthedeliciousspicedjuice.Theyweresobusyeatingand

listeningtoMrs.Smithrambleonandonthattheydidn’tnoticehowdarkithadsuddenlybecomeasstormcloudsscuddedacrossthesky.“Andtothink,”Mrs.Smithwassaying,“Imighthavecalledinthepolice.Oh,dearieme,heavenbepraisedthatIdidn’t.Natwouldneverhaveforgivenme.Buthe’llshootthatcrowthisverynightormyname’snotMarySmith.”

“Whatdoyoulikesomuchaboutthat?”Georgeasked.“Oh,”Isaid.“There’s

plentytolikeinthere.”Iwentupstairstogetthe

onlyotherinterestingthingIowned.Ihadtofishitoutfromundermysister’sbed,whereIhadhiddenit.Itwasapuzzleinacan.Myparentshadgottenitformeinafitofcompletemadness.I’llneverknowwhattheywerethinking.Thepuzzleshowed

adarkstreetinaveryoldandexoticcity,likeLondon.Themoonwashighinthesky,andtearingdownthestreet,runningrighttowardme,wasDracula,andhewasinastate.Hiscapewasflyingoutbehindhim,hewasfuriousaboutsomething,andtherewasbloodrunningdownhischin.Iheldthepuzzlecanoutin

frontofmesoIcouldn’tseeDracula.Georgetookitand

shuddered.“That’shorrible,”hesaid.“Ithinkso,too,”Isaid,

pushingitunderthecouch,“butit’saboutallI’vegotinthewayoftreasure.I’vedugaroundinthebackyardsome,butIcan’tfindanything.Dadletmeusehismetaldetectoroutthere,butallIfoundwerebottlecaps.Ireckonmylifeisnevergonnagetanybetter.”“Hmmm,”Georgesaid,

thinking.“Lookstomelikeyou’vegotitmade.Ifyouclosedupyouroffice,everythingyouownedyoucouldcarryonyourback.Ithinkthat’stheonlywaytolive.”Istudiedhimaminute.

Whathe’dsaidsoundedsuspiciouslylikesomethingmydadmighthavesaid.TherewasalessonaspecttoitIdidn’tlikeonebit.“Yeah,well.IfIhadan

orangebackpacktoputitin,maybe.”

OnGeorge’slastnightwithuswehadmyfavoritemeal:cornbread,tomatoes,andhotdogs,allcookeduptogetherintheoveninacast-ironskillet.MelindacamehomeandsheandGeorgegotalongfine.Hetoldheracouplejokesthatalmostmademyheartstop.Thenextmorningweall

gatheredontheporchtosaygood-byetohim.Heshookmydad’shandanddeclaredhimaGoodMan.HehuggedMomandmadeheralittleteary.TheyhadapparentlyhadsomeconversationsaboutthenatureofCollege,whichshewouldbestartinginthefall,if,asshesaid,theGoodLordwaswillingandthecreekdidn’trise.ThenhetookmyhandandaskedifI’dwalkhimtothecorner.

“Zip,itwasapleasure.”“Thanks,”Isaid,scuffling

myfoot.“I’mheadingthatdirection.

What’soverthere?”Ilooked.“Thecemetery.

Thehighway.”“Andthenwhat?What’s

waypastallthat?”Whatavexer.“Idon’t

know,”Isaid,shrugging.“Well,that’swhatyouneed

toaskyourself.”Ilookedupathim.His

clothesstilllookedclean,andhisblackhairwasshiningintheearlysunthewayRose’sdid.Thatbigmustachewassomethingtosee.Hehitcheduphispackandfastenedabeltaroundhiswaist,thenmessedupmyhairwithhisopenpalm,asifmyhairneededmoretrouble.“Ithoughtofsomething

youhavenooneelsedoes,”hesaid,walkingbackwardawayfromme.

“What’sthat?”Iyelled,eventhoughhewasstillclose.“Yourownhitchhiker,”

Georgesaid,thenturnedaroundandwalkedaway.

AMemberoftheWedding

Inevercouldgetwhatwasthebigdealaboutbeingpretty,itallseemedlikeabunchofhokumtome.Whohadtimetothinkaboutsuchthings,andwhowouldbother?Iknewgirlswho

evenhadthoselife-sizeddecapitatedBarbieheads,andtheywouldveryconcentratedlypaintBarbie’seyelidsashadeofbluenotseenonahumanfacesinceMooreland’stoobriefacquaintancewithatownslut(orasmymothercalledher,man-dependent).AndBarbie’slipswouldgetpaintedacheapcrayonypink,withlumpsandstreaks,anditwasnotmanyhoursafter

Christmasmorningthatmytoiletry-leaningfriendsdiscoveredthatnomatterwhatonedidwithBarbie’shairitturnedoutcreepyandcouldn’tbeundone.Thenthereshesat,gatheringdustonhercheerful,ruinedfaceandchopped-upvinylhairandIdon’tknowwhymyfriendsdidn’tjustgetthemselvesatalkingevilclowndollandbedonewithit.

Butmysisterwasadifferentstory.RosesaidLindywastheprettiestgirlshe’deverseen,theprettiestofalltheirbabysitters.IwouldhavelikedtosaythesamebutI’dneverhadababysitterinmylifeexceptMelindaherself,andgenerallyourtimetogetherinvolvedpinching(her)andbeingspunaroundintherockingchair(me)untilmyeyesshookbackandforth

andIstumbledaroundthelivingroomlikealittledrunk.“Someday,”mybrother

commented,afterseeingmewalkdirectlyintoadoorframe,“we’regoingtoshakesomethingpermanentlylooseinthere.”“That’sthehope,”Melinda

replied.Melindawasprettywithout

meaningtobeandwithouttrying.Shejustcouldn’thelpit.Herhairwasblue-black

andhereyesweregray-greenwithlongblacklashesandshehadthesweetestsmileintheworld.NevermindthatshewasmadeofpureSatanandthatourfamilyneverhadthemoneyforclothesormakeuporBarbieskullsonwhichtopractice.Melindajustwaswhatshewas,andthesamewentforme.(Actually,MelindawaswhatshewasandIwasnotwhatIusedtobe,beforesheandmy

brotherfiguredoutthatiftheyspuntherockerhardandfastenough,Icouldn’tgetoutbecauseofcentrifugalforce.ButIwasmakingthebestofwhatwasleftofme,whichwasn’tmuch.)

BothDanandMelindawereinthemarchingbandwiththedirectorwhotheycalledMr.M.Mr.M.wasinallwaysthemodelofabanddirector,andbythatImeanhecould

haveledanassaultonaninnocentnation,enslaveditspeoples,andhadthemmarchinginpinwheels,allinthecourseofoneprofoundlyhotafternoon.Danwasadrummer—hemarchedwithasnare,butcouldalsoplayakit—andMelindaplayedtheclarinet.Danhadageneticsenseofrhythm(sodidDad,sodidI)andmarchedintimeasifhisfeetweremachines.Inthiswaythefamilywas

divided,asMomcouldnotkeeptimeiftherewereapistolheldtotheheadofoneofherbeloveds,andMelindawaslittlebetter.Lindycouldn’tplaytheclarinetandmarchatthesametimeatall,soshehadtochoose.Mr.M.helpedherchoosebysmackingthebacksofherthighswithhisbatonwhenshefelloutofstep,whichmeantthatforthefouryearsshewasinmarchingband,

shefingeredthenotesandpursedherlipsandnevermadeasound.Andstillsometimesshegotsmacked.ItriedtofeelsorryforherbutmostlyIjustwantedtostealherclarinetcase.Ididn’tcareabouttheinstrument,butthepurplevelvetinsidethecasemademecrazedwithlonging,asdidthetinymusicstandshecouldclipontotheclarinet.Andalsothatyellowcleaningcloth,whichwasso

softIdidn’tunderstandwhyeverythingwasn’tmadeofit.Mr.M.smackedLindyforlosinghersandlatershesmackedme.InthefiefdomofMr.M.

thereweremanycrimes.Onecouldtalkinclass.Onecouldfailtomemorizeapiece,forgetnewreeds,raiseorlowerone’smusicstandtooquicklyortooslowly.M.himselfcouldplayeveryinstrumentwithsuchgracehe

mightwellhavebeenPaulMcCartneyandshuckedtherestoftheBeatles.Hewaseightfeettall,incrediblyhandsome,charismatic,andunyielding.Duringthebasketballseasonthebandassembledinthebleachersinatightrectangle,andnogamewascompletewithoutitsflawlessrenditionoftheVikingsfightsongandthevariousworksMr.M.usedtosomehowmakeIndianahigh

schoolbasketballevenmoreexcitingthanitalreadywas,whichwasnearlyunbearable.Duringthesummer

marchingseason,Mr.M.stoodatopawoodenplatformsomefifteenfeetintheairattheendofthepracticefield,wearingaviatorsunglassesandwhiteshortsandshirtssobrightheseemedarogueplanet,oraneclipsethatthreatenedblindness.Heblastedhiswhistlethreetimes

forthebandtobeginandbegintheydid,ontime,instep,somathematicallyperfectthelinesofeachsectioncouldhavebeenconnectedbyinvisibleelectricthreads.Ifhesawsomethingthatdidn’tsatisfyhimfromtheplatform,he’dcomedownthescaffoldtwitchinghisconductor’sbaton,veryoftenatmysister,whowasmarchingalonginthepunishingheat,not

makingasoundwithherclarinet.

“DidheLEAVE?”Melindashouted,cominginside,thescreendoorslammingbehindher.Iwaslyingonthecouchin

thedimden,watchingTheBeverlyHillbillies.Oneofmyfavoritegameswastotrytoanticipatethedialogueandchangeitverysubtly,soifMissHathawaysaidofher

boss,Mr.Drysdale,“Idon’tknow;hewasherejustamomentago,”I’dsecond-guessherandsay,“Idon’tknow;hewasrootbeerjustamomentago.”“Didwholeave?”Iasked,

notlookingather.“YOURFATHER.Didhe

leavewithoutme?”“Iguess.Hewasrootbeer

justamomentago.”“I’mgoingtoKILLHIM.

Hedoesthisonpurpose.

Where’sMom?”Ishrugged.“OhGodohGodohGod,”

Melindasaid,pacing.“HowamIgonnagetthere?”“Where’sWayne?”Lindystopped;lether

handsdroptohersides.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.”Imissedherboyfriend,

WayneMullens,whohadbeenaroundforawhile.ImissedhimeventhoughhecalledmeNuisanceand

sometimesPesty.Iwasn’tsureheevenknewmyactualname.WhileMelindaandWayneweredating,Dadusedtomakemesitontheporchswingbetweenthemsotheycouldn’tholdhands.Dadalsomademegoontheirdates.DuringthetimesIwasn’tbeingforcedtoaccompanythem,IaccompaniedthembecauseIwantedto.AllIknewwasthatoneday

MelindahadWayne’sclass

jacketandhisgiganticringandthenextdayitemshadbeenthrown,shoutsshouted,andWaynewasgonetoanothercitytodoatemporarycarpentryjob.Ididn’tknowforsure,butitseemedtheshoutshadconcernedanothergirl,orrumorsofanothergirl.Onlyonethingwasforcertain,whichwasyoudidn’twanttogetmysisterthatangryorelseaclassjacketwouldgoairborne.

“I’mrunningdowntoCheryl’stoseeifshe’lltakeme,”Melindasaid,grabbingherclarinetcaseandherpurseandflyingoutthedoor.OntelevisionGrannysaid,

“I’vemadesomepossumstew,”whichIfranklycouldn’timprove.BeverlyHills,whereverthatwas,lookedlikethegrimmest,mostunhappyplaceintheuniverse.IwouldhaveratherbeeninLandoftheLost.

LindyrantoCheryl’sbutCherylwasgone,sosheheadedforthebanktoseeifanyonewasintheparkinglotandnoonewas.Justaboutthattimeayoungman,someonenotfromMooreland,walkedoutofthedrugstoreandheadedforhiscar,agreenCamarowithaspiderpaintedonthehood.Helookedalittleseedy,Melindawouldreportlater,orasifhewerewearingaseedy-

personcostume,butwasinfactaspureasalamb.“Hey,whoa!”Melindasaid,

runninguptohiscarandopeningthepassengerdoor.“Whereareyougoing?”Theboyfroze.“Towork.”“Great,”Melindasaid,

climbinginthecar.“IneedaridetoBlueRiverrightthisverysecondanddon’ttryanyfunnystuff;I’vegotatleasttwoinchesandfortypoundsonyou.”

Rick,hisnamewas.Hejustdidasshetoldhim,gotinanddrovehertobandpractice.Withinacoupleweekshe’dgivenuphisnickname,Spider,andstoppedhangingwithborderlinehoodlums,andthenextthingIknewhewasaroundourhouseallthetime,quiet,hardworking,gum-chewing,asdependableasthesunrise.Hedidn’tcallmenamesorteasemeinanyway,andthefactthatI

accompaniedhimandmysisteroneverydateseemedjustfinewithhim.Hewaswillingtotakemeeverywhere,anywhereMelindasaid,whateverMelindawanted.RickonlyhadonefacialexpressionandIbelieveiftherewerearecipeforityou’dmixundyingdevotionwithfortitudeandshock.Mysisterhadbeenthebiggestsurpriseofhislife.Hewasshocked

everytimehesawher.Iwasveryfondofhim,butIstillwonderedwhereWaynehadgone.

Suddenlytherewastobeawedding.ItookthisnewsasifsomeonehadreportedthatvegetablepodshadovercomethewholeofhumanityandIwastheonlythinkingpersonleftstanding.Mysisterwastobemarried?Shewasseventeenyearsold.Shewas

justaseniorinhighschool,stillgettingstungbyabanddirector’sbaton,stillgettingcaughtrollingastolenwheelychairdownoneofBlueRiver’slong,waxedhallways.WehadjustaccompaniedhertoSt.Louis,whereshewallopedalltheotherspeakersbecauseshewasthatgood,andshewouldgetbetter.Thatwasherroomatthetopofthestairsandtotheright,paintedlightblue,

andeventhoughIcoveteditIhadn’tmeanttostealit.Thatwashercorkboard,herlongchainmadeoforigamigumwrappers,herlittlestatuesofhuggingnakedpeoplethatdeclared“LoveIs…”Thosewereherrecords,herbell-bottoms,herstuffedanimalswonattheMoorelandFairbyboyswhocouldnevergetnearher.Itallhappenedsofast:the

creamyinvitationswithan

embossedpeacecrossthatread“OurJoyWillBeMoreCompleteIf”ontheinside.Rose’smother,Joyce,whowasthemostfrightfullytalentedwomansince…well,ever,hadofferedtomakeMelinda’sweddingdressandveil.Joycewasgoingtomakethem.Shemightaswellhavesaidshewasgoingtomakegravity.MelindaaskedifIwould

standupwithher.Herfriend

CindywouldbehermaidofhonorandIwouldbeherbridesmaid.Inodded,ofcourse,ofcourse,Ihadnoideawhatitmeant,whatIwasbeingaskedtodo,butMomwasmakingmydress:pinksatinwithawine-velvetsasharoundthewaist.I’dneverwantedtobeamaidenheadbutforMelindaI’devenwearsomethingpinkandscratchy.Therewasan

announcementoftheengagementintheCourier-Times.TherewerefittingsatJoyce’shousewherewecouldseethelaceandbeadsshe’dsewnonbyhand,theintricatecuffsofthesleeves.TherewerephotographstakeninthedressaheadoftheeventbyJimmyCarnes,ourlocalphotographygenius,andinallofthemyoucanseeMelinda’ssweetsmile,tearsinhereyes.

AtnightIlayinmybed,clutchingmySuzySleepyheaddollandsobbing.Iwouldn’tletMelindaknow.Iwasterrifiedtoletherknowthatifsheleft,ifshereallygotmarriedandmovedoutofthehouse,Iwouldhavenothing,Iwouldhavenoone,Imightaswellbetossedinarivertiedupinasack,likeabagofkittens.

Onthedayofthewedding,

June23,Melindajustbarelygraduatedfromhighschool,Iwentlimpasaragdollandallowedmyselftobemanipulated.Iwasbathed,myhairwasrolledupincurlers,IdidasIwastold.Imovedandfeltlikeazombie,onlywithouttheflesh-eatingjoythatseemstodrivezombiesaroundneighborhoodslikeJehovah’sWitnesses.IkeptpassingLindy’slittlealligator-green

nightcasesittingonachairbythefrontdoor;itmademefeellikeIwasgoingtothrowup.AtonepointIcarrieditoutsideandtriedtohideit,asifthatwouldstopthewholemess,butIknewthebagwasn’ttheissuesoIbroughtitbackinside.Wewalkeddowntothe

churchandgotreadyintheprivateplacebridesgo,andMelindawasveryshaky.“Idon’twanttodothis,”she

keptsaying,andnoonewouldlisten.Itwasnerves,Momsaid,andCindytoldherallbridesfeelthisway.ButIcouldfeelmyheartbeatinginmyface—Icouldn’tgetnearherenoughtosay“Thendon’t,youdon’thaveto.”CharlieKurz,aspirited

friendofthefamily,wasplayingtheorganfortheceremony.He’dalsodrivenMelindainhisconvertible

MGwhenshewasMoorelandFairQueen,andhaddressedinaStyrofoamhatwithared,white,andbluebandfortheparade.Hehadanimpressivemustacheandwasnotagainstadrinkinthemiddleoftheday.Itwas,perhaps,thecasethathehadtippedthebottleabitbeforethisparticularevent.WeheardhimplaythesongsMelindahadrequested(IsthisthelittlegirlIcarried?Isthisthelittleboy

atplay?)andthensomethingnoneofusrecognized.Itturnedouttobeaslow,waltzingversionof“HotTimeintheOldTownTonight.”WhenMomrecognizeditandstuckherheadout,CharliemovedhismustacheupanddownandgaveMomthewink.Itwastime,longbeforeI

wasready,tofollowCindydowntheredaisle,eachpewdecoratedwithapinkbow.

Everyonekeptremindingmetowalkslow,walktothebeat,untilIfeltlikejustgoingonawildslappingspree—Iwastheonewithrhythm,Iwasn’tgoingtospeedupwhatalreadyfeltlikedeath.AndthenjustbeforeItookmyfirststepIheardMelindameetDadinthevestibule.Shehookedherarmthroughhis,thathandsome,well-dressedJohnnyCashofafatherand

theyoung,gray-eyedgirl,theprizeofthecounty,ifanyonewasreallypayingattention(Rickwas).Itshouldhavebeenaphotographfortheages.Thereshouldhavebeenmonumentsbuilttothescene.ButwhatIheardhersaywas“Idon’twanttodothis,please,pleasedon’tmakemedothis,”inavoicesoshakyInearlystumbledontherunner.Dadresponded,“We’vepaidforthis

wedding;getmoving.”Someonetookaphotograph

ofmejustasI’dbegunthedescent,andit’sclearI’mcryingthosebrand-newtears,myfacecompletelysolemnandunmoving,justtearaftertearstreamingdownmyface.I,whohadsatsostoicallyatthescreeningofBambimysisterbelievedmetobeafrogspawnofHell.Inthenextpicture:MelindaandDad,Lindystillwearingthat

photographicsmile,anditoccurredtomelater,lookingatthealbum,thatreallyshewassmilingatJimmyCarneswhomsheloveddearly,tryingtobeasbraveaspossibleforhim.NotforDad,whoissodignifiedastoseempresidential.Maybehe’dhadafewwithCharlieKurzoutintheparkinglot.Drunkmenalwayswalkwithgreatercarethanthesober.

BelovedPastorEddyClineasked,“Whogivesthiswomaninmarriage?”andmydadanswered,hisdeepvoicemoregloriousthantheMoorelandFriendsMeetingwasaccustomedto,“HermotherandI.”HeliftedMelinda’sveilandkissedhertenderly,handingherovertoRick,thissweetstranger.IstoodatthealtarjustbehindCindy,eachofusclutchingoursingleredrose.Istood

frozen,listeningtothesermon,theexchangeofvows,thecatchinMelinda’sthroat,andmighthavestoodthatwayforeverexceptthatwhenRickandMelindawentbehindthealtartolighttheUnityCandle,Melindaturnedherheadtooquicklyandherveilcaughtfire.Thereisnothingquitelikeabrideaflame—itreallyputsacapperonanotherwiseordinaryday.Rick,whohad,

asthesacramentwouldsuggest,alreadybecomeahusband,putthefireoutwithhisbarehand,anditwasonlythoseofusupclosewhosawtheneardisasterandstoodhelplesstopreventit.

ThereceptionintheFellowshipRoom,whichwasreallyjustindoor-outdoorcarpetingandslidingplasticdoors,wastheusualfare.Foldingchairs,longtables

coveredwithwhitepaper,streamers.TherewasthewhitecakewithCriscoroses;thebowlsofmixednuts;themintsmadeofbutter,sugar,andmintflavoring.MyauntDonnamadethem,andIlovedthoselittleleaf-shapedwonders.Ihadonceeatenthemuntilmygallbladderseized.Therewasnodrinkingatthereception,nodancing,nomusic,justthepaperplatesandpeoplemilling

around,andthenRickandMelindaopenedtheirweddinggiftsandeveryoneoohedandaahedoverthedishtowelsandcrochetedpotholders.Isatinafoldingchairinamostunladylikefashion,thinkingonlyofthealligatorovernightbagwaitingbythefrontdoorathome.IfeltlikeTrixieBeldenorNancyDrew,someonetrappedinamineshaftorabouttobehitbya

sawblade…whattodo,whattodo?HowtopreventthishoneymooninKentucky?Howtopreventherfromleaving?Howtosomehowironoutthespikythinggrownupbetweenherandmyfatherthatwasmakinghermarrysomeoneinthefirstplace?Andthenitoccurredtome:Iwouldjustsayno.Iwouldjustsayshecouldnotleave,Iwouldn’tallowit,IwashersisterandIhadmy

rights.Itwasdarkbythetimewe

gotthechurchcleanedup,thecoffeeurnwashedandputaway,thefloorsswept,andtheslidingplasticdoorsslidclosed.RickandMelindastayedtotheveryend,stackingthefoldingchairsandplacingthemonthecart;thisiswhatonedidataweddingattheMoorelandFriendsMeeting.Thenightwasgorgeousandfaironthe

shortwalkbacktoourhouse,andIheldMelinda’shandallthewaythere.Itwasn’tuntilwewereinthedoorthatIsaid,“Youcan’tgo,youcan’tleaveme,Ican’tletyougowithoutme,”andthelookonherfacemusthavebeenidenticaltomyown,becausesheturnedtoRick—herhusband—andsaid,“Ithinkweoughttotakeherwithus.”Andhe,whateverhehaddreamedoformostfervently

wishedorevenexpected,justnoddedandsaid,“Sure,Melinda,whateveryouwant.”SoIrantothedirtyclothespileinmyparents’bedroomandgrabbedwhatIthoughtIwouldneedandjumpedinRick’scarandoffwewent,marriednow,toKentucky.

Brother

Whenyouhaveabrothersofaraway,youwilltakewhatyoucanget;youwillstealmemories,youwilleavesdropandsneakpicturesoutofboxesifthat’swhatyouhavetodotogetnearhim.Ibarely

knewhim.Hewasthegreatphysicalthingintheworld,awonderlikeNiagaraFallsifNiagaraFallswasyourbrother.Sotallheduckedindoorwaysandsatslouchedincars;oneofhisearshadaboldhorizontalscarfromthetimeDocAustermanwreckedhistruckwhenDanwasworkingasaveterinaryassistant.Hisarmsweremuscular,enormous;hishandsweremyfather’smade

evenmorerefined.Hehadonegoldtooth,acap,rightinthefrontonthebottom,anditwastheflawthatmadehimtoohandsometotakein—apirateflashinamanofunqualifiedhonor.Beforebasketballpracticeheatecerealoutofagiantmixingbowl,andpeanutbutterfromafive-gallonbucketthatcame,somehow,fromthegovernment.Onthecourthewasgraceandrage

personified;heshotfreethrowsasifinprayer,andweattendedeverygame.Therewassomethingbetweenhimandmyfatherthatflaredupblackasthefairytaleyoudon’trepeatorrecord,butinthegymnasiumDadnevertookhiseyesoffhissonandhecheeredhimwithanopennessweneversawanyplaceelse.ThereisevenaphotographthatappearedinDan’ssenioryearbook:Dad

isleaningforward,clapping,thelookonhisfaceoneofjoyouspride,andIamleaningoveronDad’sleg,yawning.Thecaptionwas“ExcitementforDadIsBoringforSister.”Myhairlookslikeithadbeenpurchasedatarummagesaleafteralltherealhairwasgone.HerearethethingsI

remember,andtheyaremine:oneHalloweenasMelinda

andIwerewalkinghomefromtrick-or-treatingwithLindy’sfriendCheryl,DannycamerunningdownadarkalleytowardusinaDraculacapeandwecouldn’tseehisfaceuntilhewasrightuponusunderastreetlightdimmedfortheoccasion,andallthreeofus,thegrowngirlsandme,nearlydiedfromheartattacks.Itwas,perhaps,themostfrightenedIhaveeverbeen,andyetassoonasI

knewitwasmybrotherhesweptmeupoffthegroundandcarriedmehomeonhisshoulders.ThatnightIlayinbed,stuffedwithReese’scupsandsurroundedbycandywrappersandIcouldn’tforgetit;ithadbecomeamomentnotofterrorbutofbeautysosharplyhonedithurtmeinsteadofscaringme.Iwantedtoseeitagainandagain—hisgreatsilentstride,thecapeflying

outbehindhim,thesplitsecondwhenthethreeofus,stunned,recognizedhimandclutchedourheartsandweregrateful.Girlscalledourhousefor

himandMothertookmessagesbecauseDannywouldn’ttalktothem,hewouldn’tdate,hewouldnottrifle.Abeautifulblondgirlpursuedhimformonths,agirlwhocouldhavehadanyone,andhestoodhis

groundmilesawayfromherbecausehewaswaitingforsomeoneelseandhehadn’tmetheryet.Helovedfossils;heloved

fishingandhunting.Hecouldshootabowandarrowandhitarunningrabbit.Hisvisionwasflawless,heneverlethishairtouchhiscollar,hebelongedtotheFellowshipofChristianAthletesandhesanginaChristiangroupcalledtheNewBeginning.

Hisvoicewassofineheevenmadearecord,aChristmassongaboutagianttreethatdidn’twanttobecutdownbutendedupinfrontoftheWhiteHouse.Hisroomwasnexttomine

anditwasgrayandfossilyandabovehisbedtherehunganoldframedpictureofawolfstandingonawinterhill,howling.Thereisavalleybelow,andlightsoninthesmallhouses,smokecoming

fromthechimneys,butthewolfisalone.Hesleptinhisbed,inasleepingbagandundermanyblankets,allthroughthewinter,nomatterthattherewasnoheatupstairs;therestofuscampedinthedenaroundthecoalstovebutDanstayedinhisroom.AtnightIusedtoliewith

myearpressedagainstthewallsoIcouldhearhimsing.Onenightheputonarecord

andsangalongwithit;heplayeditmanytimesuntilheunderstoodhowtosingitbetterthantherecording.Islippedoutofbedandlaydownonthefloorinfronthisdoor,myearinthegap,holdingmybreathsohewouldn’tknowIwaslistening.OnmylittlebluetaperecorderIhadcapturedhoursofuselessconversationandevenhoursoftelevision,butiftherewereonlythingI

couldgobackandpreserveitwouldbethatnightandhisvoiceandthatsong.Herancross-country;he

playedpracticaljokeswithhisfriends.OnetimemyfatherhithimsohardDannywasknockedhalfwayacrossourstreet,andwhenhegotuphedidn’tsayanythingordoanything,althoughbythattimehewassuchaspecimenofamanhecouldhavekilledBobJarvis.Thatmomentwas

themeasureofhim,andhedidnotfail,dependingonyourpointofview.Hereferredtothecrazyold

womanacrossthestreetas“Ede,”whichdroveheroffherremainingthreeinchesofcliff.Hesometimesaskedherondates.Edytheshook,hemadehersoangry;clearlyhedidnotunderstandtherules,whichwerethathewastobeafraidofherasIwasafraidofher,andhewastokeepa

distancewhichshedictatedandsheowned.Dannydidn’tseethingsEdythe’sway,andsohewasforcedonenighttowriteonthestreetoutsideherhouse,insoap,Ede!WillYouMarryMe??Andthenwegottositonthefrontporchandwatchherpourboilingwateronhisproposalandscrubatitwiththebroomshehadprobablyjustclimbedoffofafteratriptothebank.Likemyfather,hewasa

naturaldriverofanything,anyvehicle,andlikeDadhewasnotaversetodrivingangry.Heflexedhisjawmusclesalmostallthetimeandcouldnotbemadetoconverseifhechosenotto,butwithhisfriendshelovedtotellastoryandhelaughedandlaughed.Therewasneveratimehedidn’tloveJesus;therewasneveraperiodinhislifewhenhewasfaithless,andashegrewuphebecame

moreandmoredevout,andmorehurriedinhisdesiretoleavehome,whichhedid.HejoinedtheNational

GuardandtherewasbootcampatFortPolk,Louisiana.HewrotelettershomeandincludedapictureofhimselfonhisbunkinawhiteT-shirt,asweetsmileonhisfacewerarelysaw,andthenhecamehome.Hehadbecomeamanmeanttowearauniform.Uniformswereonlyconcepts

untilthefirsttimeDanJarvisworeoneandthentheuniversesteppedbackandsaidAh,sothat’swhotheywerefor.Hefoundagirlsopureshe

couldhavebeenmadefromIvorySoap.WhenIfirstmethersheseemedonlybarelyolderthanI,shewassopetiteandshy,andshehadthedelicatefacialfeaturesofacat:blue,almond-slantedeyes,highcheekbones,a

smallnose,longblackhair.Mysistersaidshewasasize“aught,”andmaybeherdresseswereeveninthenegatives.Elaine.Imetherandthoughtshemusthavebeenfloatingaroundinapuritybubbleallseventeenofheryears,nothingmeanorcrudetouchingher,butitturnedoutshewasstubborninhergoodnessandthat’showshehadkeptit.Shewassotendertomeandherhands

weresosmall;whenDangaveherhisletterjacketshelookedlikeachildadriftingiant’sclothes.WhereElainewasconcerned,quietasshewasamidourfamilyofscalawagsandjesters,therewasnothingnottolove,andDanmarriedherasfastashecould.Thehighschoolgirls,thelovelyblondeswithmoneyandlakehouses,disappearedlikedandelionfluff.

HeandElainegaveusourfirstnewbaby,Jenny,andshetoowasbreathtaking,andallofushadtoacknowledgethattherehadbeenacertainamountofbeauty,apoolavailabletoourfamily,andDannygotnearlyallofit,thengaveittohisdaughters,includingJessica,whocametwoyearslater.Andnoneofusresentedit,becauseyoucan’tresentthesublimewhenyouareluckyenoughtosee

it,andit’spointlesstoresentamanyoucannotreachortouch.Hetookhiswifeandlittlegirlsandmovedaway.

HerearememoriesIstole.HehadaterribletemperandMomaskedDr.Heilmanthebestwaytodealwithit.Dr.Heilmansaid,“Ifhethrowsatantrumtellhimyou’regoingtotakeawayhisfavoritethinguntilhecalmsdown.Thengiveitbacktohim.”

Dan’sfavoritethingwashisDavyCrockettcoonskincap,andoneafternoonwhenhelosthistemperMomsaid,“Danny,I’mtakingyourcapawayuntilyoucanbehaveyourself.Whenyou’redoneactingthisway,youcanhaveitback.”Helookedherdeadintheeye.Hewasthreeyearsold.Hesaid,“Idon’teverwantitback.”Andsheknewrightthenthatshehadsnappedalittlesomethingin

himentirelybyaccident,apartofhimthatmusthavebeenbornfearingthewayloveunzipsusandleavesusvulnerabletoassault.Hezippedthatpartup.Momnevertookanythingawayfromhimagain,butitwouldn’thavematteredifshedid.Shecouldnotpreventhim

fromsneakingoutsideandpeeingonthestreet.Whensheaskedhimwhyhe

insistedondoingso,hesaidhedidn’twanttomissanything;hewantedtowatchthecarsgoby.Hehadalittleredwagonin

whichhepulledaroundatombstone.Thetombstoneremainsamystery,buthelovedit.Theninwinterhewouldsilentlyleavethehouseinthemorning,pullthewagondowntotheelevator,andpickupscrapsofcoaltohelpusheatthehouse.Our

fatherdidn’thelphim,didn’tstophim,didn’tacknowledgeit,andDanperformedthistaskwithoutaword.Laterhedidmanythingsto

savemyfatherfromshame,andeventhoughthosethingsmighthavemadeDanfeelashamedhimself,theytooweredoneinsilence.Hewasjustaboy.Mysisterusedtohideunderherpillowandweepaboutthewagonandthedisgrace;shecouldn’t

bearit.Thosearehermemoriesbutshehaslentthemtome.

TheywereonefamilyandIwasanother,solate,anAfterthought.TheyhadonesetofparentsandIhadanother;theyhadadecadealreadyshotpastandImissedit.ButIlovedhim,lovedhim,alittlegirlishelplessagainstherloveforabrother.Iclimbedonhim,harassed

him,beggedhimtocarryme,takemewithhimwhereverhewasgoing.Fromadistanceheseemedbothcoldandreceding,amanwhosemostfamiliarfeaturewashisbackashewalkedawayasfastashecould.Buttherearepicturesofhim,manyofthem,holdingmeasababy,standingwithmeasalittlegirl,andtheeyeofthecameraseeswhatnearlyeveryonebutElainemissed:a

tendernesssowoundedithadgrownferociousandfixedastheeveningstar.Really,Ibarelyknewhim.Whenourfamily’sdarkestdaysarrivedhecouldnotbereached,hedemandedtobeleftalone,hewantednopartofit,andforyearsIbelievedhehatedus.Ithoughthehadsimplywanderedintothewrongfamilyinthefirstplace,likeatoddleratastrangepicnicwhogrewintothe

handsomestofprincesbutremainedboundbynameandhistorytothepeasantswhohadluredhimwithpotatosaladandatricycle.Intruth,iftherecouldbe

saidtobeonetruthaboutmybrother,itisthathecarriedbothatombstoneandscrapsofcoalinalittleredwagon,andwhatthatdidtohimandwhatitmeanttohimiswritteninaclosedbookinalibraryguardedbydragons.

Hesanglikeanangel,hewasfaithfultoGodandhewaitedhonorablyforthewifehebelievedGodchoseforhim.Hemadetwodaughterswhoshonelikemirrorsinthedirectsun;heblazedhispathwithascytheandhisbroadshoulders,andhewaswhohechosetobe,whichisthehardestandbravestthingamancando.Helookedatus,hisparents,hissisters,hiswholecrookedfamily,andhe

flexedhisjawmuscles,packeduphistruck,anddroveaway.

ChurchCamp

WhenMelindafoundoutshewaspregnantshetoldmeinthelibraryofmyelementaryschool,whereshe’dcometopickmeupafterschool.Istillrememberwhatshewaswearing:itwasearlyMarch

andshehadonapairofpaleblueandblackplaidpantswithapalebluemockturtleneck.Herhairwasinaponytailandshewaswearinggrayeyeshadow.Lindywasfriendswithourschoollibrarian,Mrs.M.,whowasmarriedtotheveryhandsome,tyrannicalbanddirector,Mr.M.Melindahadevenboughtapuppyfromthem,aparti-coloredcockerspanielnamedCallie.

Calliopia.ShewasoneofthosepreciouscockerswitheyeslikeaWaltDisneydog,nottheotherkindthatbitechildreninthefaceforkicks.Lindytoldme,andshetold

Mrs.M.atthesametime.Mrs.M.wasatall,gorgeous,elegantblondwomanwithperfectlystraighthairandaperfectlystraightnoseandteeth;shehadcomefromanotherplanet,obviously,andhadanauntshecalledDaDa.

Mrs.M.exclaimed,“That’ssowonderful!Congratulations!”andtouchedMelinda’sbellyinaproprietaryway.Sheaskedthestreamofquestionsthatwasboundtofollow,“Whenareyoudue,doyouwantaboyoragirl,whatdidRickdowhenyoutoldhim?”IjuststoodthereinJuvenileFiction,tryingtogetoutofreadinganotherbookbylocalauthorDorothyHamilton.

ShewaswonderfulandIwasveryveryhappywehadanauthorinIndiana(theyweren’tthickonthegroundintheHoosierState),andI’dalreadyreadaboutahundredofhernovels.WhatIreallywantedwassomethingbyJudyBlume,somethingnotaboutfreckles.IwasaimingforthescoliosisbookandprayingMrs.M.didn’tseemesneakitofftheshelf.JudyBlumewasthepersonal

saviorofeverygirlintheMoorelandElementarySchoolandIswearifnotforhernoneofuswouldhaveknownthefirstthingaboutthefirstthing.Ihadmyhandonthebook

butIwasn’tmoving,becauseMrs.M.andLindywerechatteringawayandMelindawaspregnant.Itwasn’tasifitshouldhavesurprisedme;she’dwantedababyeversinceshegotmarried.She’d

madeanurseryinherlittlehouserightaway,paintingabigsmilingyellowsunonthewallsoitwouldbethefirstthingthebabysawinthemorning.Shehadsewnwhiteeyeletcurtains,andevensetupacrib.Shehadmadearoomsoirresistiblenobabyfloatingintheheavenscouldresistit.Andonehadseenher,andflowndown.Iwashappyforherand

slightlysickatthesametime.

Therewasthepregnancysituation,whichwasmysteriousandatadghastly,andtherewasANewThingwheretherehadonlybeenmysisterandmebefore.ShecalledusWarBuddies.ShesaidwesharedthesamememoriesoftheTrenches.Ihadexactlyonesisterandsodidshe,amathematicalsituationthatseemedtosuitusbothfine.Yes,IwasaNuisanceandPestybutthe

preschoolerJesusknewIcouldkeepasecret.Notwithoutaprice,butIcouldholdontoinformationanyway.TherehadbeenthetimeshewasbabysittingmeandwedecidedtowalkovertothetrailerwhereRickwaslivingattheedgeofthepark(thisiswhentheyweredating),anentirelyforbiddenthingtodo,andMelindatoldmeifI’dwaitoutsideonthericketywirestepsandnottell

MomandDadshe’dbuymeanewjumprope.Iwasagreatjump-roper.IforcedhertotossinalittledollI’dseenandwesealedthedealandnotonewordwasutteredbyme.Igotthewholepackage,eventhoughshewasn’tintherebutacoupleminutes.Weleftfromschool

togetherandMelindaseemedveryhappy.“So,”shesaid,“doyouwantaboyoragirl?Anepheworaniece?”

Ishrugged,slippedtheJudyBlumenoveloutfromundermyshirtwhereI’dstolenit.“Idon’tcare.”“You’resuchagigantic

turd,”Melindasaid,lookingawayfromme.“Youare.”

Melindawasoneofthosepregnantwomenwhodon’tcomplainanddon’tgetweirdanddon’tsufferthesortofpsychosisthatmakessome

motherswanttosliceouttheirbabiestosavethemfromtheirownbabyevil.Shewasrelaxedandphilosophical,andastimepassedIbecamequitefixatedonwatchingforthebabytoturnorkickorhiccup,anythingtosuggesttherewasapersoninthere.Itwasgross,forsure,butalsoquiteinteresting.RickcalleduswhenLindy

wentintolaborandwedrove

tothehospitalinNewCastlewithoutsinging;everyonewasnervous.AllofMomandDad’schildrenhadbeenborninthesamehospital.ItwasearlyDecemberandbitterlycold;Daddrovewithcareonthesnowyroads.InthewaitingroommydadpacedandsmokedasifthiswereaCaryGrantfilm,andMomworkedonasweaterandmadefriendswithotherpeoplepassingthrough.I

staredattheclock.Everythingseemedreallyfestive,likewe’dallfoundourselvesinthemiddleofanaturaldisaster—trappedinacabininablizzard,orridingoutatornadoinashelter.IfIhadbeenasked,before

Melindahadababy,ifIknewwhatlovewas,Iwouldhavesaidsure.IwouldhavesaidIlovedTheBeverlyHillbilliesandGlenCampbell.IlovedMountainDew.Ireallyreally

lovedmybicycleandJulie’shorseAngel,andotherthingsinvolvingtransportation,likeridinginthebackofDad’struck,orliftingupmyshirtonasteaminghotdayinmysister’snewgreenImpala,thenlettingmybacksticktothevinylseat.Thenpeeeeelmyskinofftheseatandletthewindblowit.Thenleanbackandgetsweatyagain.Thenpeeeeeel.TherewasevenevidenceI

lovedmyparents,andIsurefeltsomethingformysister,althoughsometimesitwasapalmitchingtohither.Thenthedoubledoorsleadingtothedeliveryroomopened,andRickwalkedoutwithmynephewJoshinablueblanket,anditturnedoutI’dbeenrightaboutdisaster,becausethat’swhathappenedtomeassoonasIlookedatthebaby’sface.There’snootherwaytodescribethatsort

oflove.EvenifI’dbeenwarned,I’dhavegottenitwrong,Iwouldn’thaveunderstood.Mypassionforhimwaslikeacartoonanvilfallingonmycartoonhead.

MomandIwerewalkingtochurch.IwasthinkingaboutJosh,aboutwhetherMelindahaddressedhimwarmlyenoughandwhetherhehadtakenupanynewhabitssinceI’dseenhimthenightbefore.

Momwassaying,“Andaspecialofferingwastakenupjusttosendyou.TheMeetingispayingforyoutogo.”“I’msorry.Areyou

talking?”“Yes.Churchcamp.The

Meetingispayingforyoutogo.”“Idon’tcare,”Isaid,

kickingabigrockandhurtingmytoe.“Theycanjustgettheirmoneyback,becauseIain’tgoing.”

“Don’tsayain’t.Yes,youaregoing.”Mymomhadmademedo

someentirelyobjectionablethingsinthepast,thingsthatmademespittingmad.I’dbeenforcedtoweardresses,andtakeonebiteofspinach,andwashmyhair.Butshe’dneverinsistedonanythingthatscaredme,untilnow.Westoppedonthecorner

ofCharlesandJefferson,rightatReedandMaryBall’s

house,andlookedbothways.Nothingwascoming.“Icannotpossiblygoto

churchcamp,andIwon’tgotochurchcamp,andifyoutrytoforcemeI’llgodowntothewoodsattheedgeoftheparkwhereyousaytheremightbebadmenandIwillhopafreighttrainwiththem.”Shetookmyhandaswe

crossedthestreet,outofhabit.Ipulleditaway.

“You’lllovecamp.There’sabeautifullakethere,andcabins,andyoucanplaygamesandsleepinthewoods.Youloveallthatstuff.”Istoppedwithmyhandon

thedoortotheMoorelandFriendsChurch.“No,Icertainlydonot.Notanymore.Ican’tabideanyofthosethingsyoujustnamed.”Wewalkedinsidequietly,

andmyeyesautomatically

scannedthepewsforMelindaandherlittlefamily.NotsolongagoIonlywantedtositwithAndyHicksandLaurieLee.Buteverythinghadchanged.IsteppedoverOnisHatcher,averyfatoldwomanwithabrightpinkscalp,asifshewasn’tthere.MelindawasholdingJoshagainsthershoulder.Shedressedhimlikeeverydaywaspictureday,andonthisSundayhewaswearinga

knittedwhitejumpsuitwithahoodthatmadehimlooklikealamb.Thehoodevenhadears.Ifeltsomethinginmystomach,somethinglikejoymixedupwithblindpanic.“Givehimtome,”Iwhispered,andLindyhandedhimover.HisnecksmelledlikebabylotionandhissuitsmelledlikeDreft.Hewassoperfecthecouldhavebeenababyinapainting,oronthefaceofmoney.Nowaywas

Mothergoingtomakemegospendaweek(sevendays!)withabunchofstrangeChristiansIdidn’tknowanddidn’tinmywholelifeeverwanttoknow.Nowaywasshegoingtomakemeleaveahelplessbaby.Melindawasagreatmomandall,shereallyunderstoodthewholelamb-suitconcept,butIfelt,deepinmyheart,thattheonlythingthatstoodbetweenJoshandtragedywasmyconstant

attention.Hewasfivemonthsold.Hegurgled,blewaspitbubble,raisedalittlefist,andhitmeinthecollarbone.Helovedmebest;itwasperfectlyclear.

NotonlydidIhavetogotochurchcamp,I’dendedupgettingplacedintheteenagerweek,becausemyownagegroupwasfull.Iwasn’tsurethenewscouldgetworse.MaybeifMomhadsaid,

“Andoh,bytheway,crazyEdythefromacrossthestreetwillbetherewhistlingandbangingonanout-of-tunepiano.Andyou’llbeeatingrabidboarandhominy,”maybethenIwouldhavebeenmorescared.I’dseensometeenagersinmyday,andithadn’tbeenpretty.TheonlypersonthereIwouldknowwasanolderHicksboy,Robin,whowasnicejustlikealltheHickses,andvery

nicetome,butIfearedhemightholdasecretgrudge,becauseoncewhenwewereplayingHotPotatointhebackyardIthrewtheHotPotatowithmaybejustslightlytoomuchenthusiasmandbrokeoneofhisfrontteethinhalf.I’mtalkingaboutoneofhisbig,front,permanentteeth.Brokeitrightintwo.AndneitherhenoranyoftheotherHickseshadeveractedliketheywere

madatmeaboutit.Itseemedtobejustanotheraccident.Therulesatchurchcamp

weresimpleenough.GirlshadtowearaT-shirtovertheirbathingsuitswhileswimminginthelake,evenifthesuitwasaone-piece.EveryonehadtobringaBible.Daysweredevotedtoactivities;afternoonswereBiblestudy;afterdinnerwaschapel.Everynight.Churcheverynight.Theboys’camp

wasdividedfromthegirls’byawidetrail,calledtheMason-DixonLine,andbythecounselors’cabins.Camperscommittingseriousinfractionswouldbeaskedtoscrubthepierwithatoothbrush,whichdidn’tsoundsopacifisttomeandwhichMelindahadbeenforcedtodowhensheherselfwasacamper.Myfamilyalreadyhadahistoryonthatpier.

Threeweekslater,earlyonaSaturdaymorning,Isatonthefloorofthelivingroom,packingandrepackingmyfewbelongingsinmyArmybackpack.MysisterhadlentmehernumberonefavoriteT-shirtformodestswimming.ItwaswhiteandhadMickeyMouseonthefront(theolder,skinnyMickeyMousewhostilllookedsomethinglikearodent).IhadmylittlepinkNewTestament,whichIhad

nointentionofopening.Ihadmynoseplugs;abottleofChigarid;abottleofCampho-Phenique;asmallcanofOff!;mycowboypajamas;acouplechangesofclothes;andatowel.Momwasgoingtomakemetakeatoothbrush,eventhoughtherewasnopoint.IthoughtImightburstintotearsatanymoment.IknewthatjustdownthestreetJoshwaswakingup,smearingbreakfast

everywhereandmakinghisnew“oooooo”sound,wonderingwherehisauntiewas.HeprobablybelievedI’dtakenupwithsomeother,lesserchild.Momcameinandsawme

sittingonthefloor,bereft.“I’vegotsomethingsfor

youtotakewithyou,”shesaid,holdingastackofclothesandathinwhitebag.“Whatarethose?”Iasked,

pointingtotheclothes.They

lookedsuspiciousanddegrading.“Well,youhavetoweara

skirttochapeleverynight,and—”“WHAT?”“Andpantyhose.It’sa

rule.”Ifellstraightbackonthe

floor,bonkingmyheadsohardIsawstars.“Youhateme.”“Situp.YouknowIdon’t

hateyou,Iloveyou.Now.I

borrowedtheseskirtsandblouses,someofthemmightbealittlebig…”Itriedtomakemyheart

speedupandkillme,thewayrabbitscould.“…soI’vesentsomesafety

pins.Justgatheruptheextra.”DownthestreetMelinda

wassaying,“Who’sagoodboy?Who’saperfectcerealeater?”AndJoshwassmackinghishandsupand

downonhishigh-chairtray,slingingsquashyriceandbananaseverywhere,gleefully.“Andpantyhose?”Isaid,

nowveryclosetotears.“HaveIdonesomething?”Iquicklycorrectedmyself.“Somethingnew,Imean?”“Thepantyhosearealso

notgoingtofit,unfortunately,”Momsaid,tuckingtheminmybackpack.“Justpullthemallthewayup

androllthetopsdownasbestyoucan.Andyou’llneedtotakeyoursaddleoxfordsforchurch,notjustyoursandals.Oh”—Momheldoutthewhitepaperbag—“andhere’stheotherthing.”“Whatisit,”Iasked,not

evenasaquestion.“It’sstationery.Thereare

stampsontheenvelopesalready,soallyouhavetodoiswritetousandmailit.Doyouknowouraddress?”

Isighed.Forheaven’ssake,sheactedasifI’dbeeninaterriblecaraccident.“Yes,jeez.Areyoureallygoingtomakemedothis?”“Makeyouwriteletters?”“No,makemegofaraway

tothisbadplace!Areyoureallygoingtomakemego?”“Sweetheart,”Mombegan,

sittingdownontheedgeofthecouch.“Thisexperiencewillbelikelotsofotherthingsinlife:you’llbe

reluctantatfirst,andthenyou’lldiscoveryou’rehavingawonderfultime,andastheyearsgobyyou’lllookbackonitwithgreatfondness.”“Doesthatmeanyouare

goingtomakemego?”Mompulledoutherbig

gun,asmottoeswent,andshehadamillion.Shegenerallysavedittotheend.“Happinessisadecision.Youdecidehowhappyorunhappyyou’regoingtobe.”

Istoodupandgrabbedmybackpackbythestrap.ImarchedouttothetruckwhereDadwassittingwaitingforus.Hehadhisarmoutthewindowandacupofcoffeeinhishands,asifhewerealreadyontheway.Iclimbeduponmyboxnexttohim.“Readytogo,Zip?”he

asked,startingthetruck.“Yes,butI’vedecidedtobe

unhappyaboutit.”

“Ah.Beentalkingtoyourmom,Iguess.”Momcameoutandgotin

thetruckwithus.“Okay,let’sgo!”shesaid,cheerfully.“Shallwesingonthistrip?”

Therewerefivegirlsinmycabinbesidesme,allofthembetweenfifteenandseventeen.AtfirsttheythoughtImightmakeanexcellentmascot.Onesaidshehadalittlesisterathome,

andshe’dbehappytoteachmehowtoapplymakeup.Imadeavomitface,politely.Withinaboutsevenminutes,allthegirlshadrealizedIwasnotgoingtobethesortoflittlesisteranyofthemhadeverwanted,andtooktoignoringme.Ilayonmyupperbunk

whilethegirlsarrivedonebyone.Therewasnothingtodountillunchtime.I’dalreadylookedattheallegedly

beautifullake(itwasalake;I’dseenplenty),andthepierIwasundoubtedlygoingtohavetoscrubwithatoothbrush(intimidating),thedininghall(institutional),thechapel(rustic,theendoftheworld).Lunchtime.MelindawouldfeedbabyJoshandputhimdownforanapinhislittleyellownurseryroomwiththesunnyfacepaintedonthewall.Mystomachstartedtoache.Whatifshe

puthimtooclosetohisstuffedbear?Whatifsheforgottowindhismobile?Whatifshesetthehouseonfireagain?Isatuponmybunkandput

myheadbetweenmykneesandtookdeepbreaths.Thegirlswerechatteringwithoneanother.Itseemedtheyallhadverydramaticproblemsthattheytookdeadseriously.Noneofthemmentionedbabiesorburninghouses.

RichGirl’sparentshadn’taccompaniedhertocamp,they’dhadherflowntosomerinky-dinkairportinshedidn’tevenknowwhattownandthendrivenherebyastrangerwhosmelled.Onegirlhadaboyfriendwhohadn’tcalledhersincehe’dgottentohisgrandparents’houseinNevada,andshe’dhadtohavesurgeryonherkneesbecauseshe’dalreadywornthemoutwithsports.Thisgirlhad

takentousingsomethingcalleddryshampoowhileshewasrecoveringinthehospital,andnowsheuseditallthetime.Itcameinacanlikehairspray.SportsGirlbentoversoherheadwasupside-downanddemonstrated.Herlongstraightblondhairfellnearlytothefloor.Shesprayedherscalpwiththeaerosol,whichlookedalittlepowdery,thenflippedherhairupand

brusheditwiththesamesortofblack-bristlebrushmysisterused.Mysister,Melinda.Itwassummer,Iremindedmyself.Shewouldn’tbeusingtheFranklinstovewhenthetemperaturewas88degrees.Thethirdgirlfeltherselftobeunderaninhumanamountofstrain,becausesheplayedonherschool’svolleyballteam,butwasalsoin4-H,andwouldprobablybethe

valedictorianofherclass.Valedictorianmadevaguereferencetoaboyfriendwhopressuredher.Theothergirlsallnoddedinagreement.Thefourthgirlwas,evenbymymodeststandards,sophysicallytragicshecouldn’tpossiblyknowwhatboyfriendpressurefeltlike.Shewasn’tallowedtowearmakeup,shesaid,andevenIcouldseeshedesperatelyneededit.Infact,she

probablyneededsurgery.Shehadalmostnoeyebrowsandnoeyelashes,sosheappearedstartledanddesperate.Herhairwasbrownandfrizzy;shehadterribleacne,andherteethwereyellow.IwatchedthegirlsverysubtlyshiftawayfromUgly,actingatfirstasifshewereoneofthem,asiftheywereinterestedinher,andthenasifshewereinvisible.Andthenthelastgirl

entered,lateandoutofbreath,allapologies.“Hi,I’mClaire,”shesaid,butfromtheexpressionsoftheothercampers,Chermightaswellhaveintroducedherself.“Ijustgothere,whichbunkisleft,oh—good,I’lljusttakethatone.Whatadrive,IthoughtI’dnevermakeit,Ihategettingupinthemorning.Hi,whoareyou?”Thegirlspresented

themselvesonebyone,

remindingClairethatthey’dbeenatcampwithherforthepastthreeyears.“Andwhoareyou?”she

asked,poppingherheadupoverthetopofmybunkandgivingmewhatbyallaccountswasawinningsmile.“YoucancallmeZippy,”I

said,studyingher.Herdarkbrownhairwasshinyandlikeliquid,chin-length,andwaspulledoffherfacewitha

rolled-upredbandanna.Theeffectmadeherlookcasual,evenwoodsy,andefficient.Herskinwasflawlessandtanned,andhereyeswerethewarmestchocolatecolorI’deverseen.Shehadnarrow,fineeyebrows;fulllips;andteethsostraighttheycouldhavecomefromaChrissydoll.ThelittleredshirtandwhiteshortssheworemadeeverythingaboutClaireclear:shewasfullybaked.

“Well,hello,Zippy.Iguesswe’rebunkmates.”“Ireckonso.”Clairelookedattheother

campers,pointedbackatmewithherthumb.“Shereckons.”Theyalllaughed,notwhollyatmyexpense.Clairemovedhersuitcases

overbesideherbunkandfloppeddowndramatically.“JesusH.Lord!”shesaid.“I’vegotcrampssomethingawful.”

Ileanedovermybunktoseewhatwaswrongwithher.SometimesafterridingmybikealldayIgotcharleyhorsesinmylegsthatmademelight-headed.Theothergirlsinthecabin

allflutteredaroundClairelikehens.“Pooryou!”“Doyouneedsome

aspirin?”“Didyoubringaheating

pad?”“Wouldyoulikemeto

bringyourlunchbacktoyou?”ClairelookedatUglywith

awide-eyedvulnerability.“Wouldyou?Howsweetyouallare!Lunchwouldbegreat,andaspirinifyou’vegotit.Oh,andiftheyserveCokewithlunchbringmeonebutifit’smilkforgetit.Unlessit’schocolatemilk.”Uglydashedovertoher

suitcaseandrippedapageoutofadiarywithanorange

sherbet-coloredcover(whichborethetitleAllAboutMe)andbeganwritingwithalittlepencil.ShetookClaire’sorderasifwewereallatBill’sdinerinNewCastleonfriedchickennight.Iwatchedtheproceedingswitharaisedeyebrow.“Oh,”Clairesaid,

rememberingonemorething.“There’llbeaboyatlunchnamedScott,youcan’tmisshim.He’sgotbrownhairand

he’stanandthin.Andtall.He’llbewearingajerseyfromTri-Highcross-countrywiththenumber17ontheback.JusttellhimI’mhere.”Aftertheothergirlshadleft

thecabin(whisperingaboutScott,whoeverhewas),Ijumpeddownoffmybunkandheadedforthedoor.“Hey,Zippy,”Clairesaid.

ShewasraisedupononeelbowholdingabookcalledThey’llNeverMakea

MovieStarringMe.“Yeah?”“Remembermeinyour

prayersatlunchtime,”shesaid,smiling.Ilookedatherbandanna;at

thepinktoenailpolish.Inoticedforthefirsttimethatshewaswearingalittlesilverchainaroundherankle.“Surething,”Isaid.Ididn’tbothertellingherthatIwasn’tmuchforpraying,andevenifIhadbeen,Iwouldn’thavewasted

mytimeonsomebodywhoalreadyhadeverything.

LunchwassoupandgrilledcheesesandwichesandtherewascertainlynoCoketobehad,whichClairewouldhaveknownifshe’dbeenanysortofQuaker.ButIwasbeginningtounderstandthattherewasaworldofdifferencebetweenQuakerA(thePhiladelphiasort,whospentthewholehourin

silenceandforwhomnoonewasincharge)andQuakerB(ourkind,whohadministersandSundayschoolandlovedtosingsongs).ThisexperiencewaspotentiallygoingtobeQuakerC(morelikethePentecostals,wherepeopleactuallygottheFruitsoftheSpiritandfelldownslain).Isensedweepingandsalvationintheair,twoofmyleastfavoritethings.Beforelunchwehadprayedfora

loooooongtime,longerthanwasrespectableandsomethingcertainlyprohibitedbyPaul’sLettertotheHebrews,wherehesaysprayershouldbeprivateandsilent.Butwhoaskedme.Iatealone.Iwalkedback

tomycabinalone.ThewoodsaroundQuakerHavenweredenseandhearingpeopletalkingbutnotbeingabletoseethemwasfestive,andIwouldhavegivenanything

nottobethere.InthehoursfollowinglunchweweretoreadourBibles(ohfattestofchances)andthenmeditateonwhatwe’dreadthere.InsteadIgotoutmystationeryandwrotemyfirstletter:

DearMomlisten.JoshlikestohaveTOOpugsnotjustone,helikestokeepthebluepuginonecornerofhismouthandthepinkoneinthe

othercornerthisishisfavriteway.ItlookssillyandfunnyandIthinkthat’swhyhedoesit.NowIknowitiswarminthedaysbutthenightscanstillbechillysotellMelindatomakesuresheputsonhisBLUEfuzzyjacketwiththeHOODandtoputthehoodUPandTIEIT.AlsosheshouldattachBOTHpugstotheDonaldDuckthingybecauseheisforeverspittingthemout.Shewillremember

thattimeinkmartwhenwesearchedhighandlowforthebluepugandwhenwegothomeitwasINSIDEthebluefuzzyjacket.Makesureshedoesnotcookwithgreasewiththeflametohighandremindheritisflournotwaterthatputsthosefiresoutassheprobablycanrecallanyway.Ihatethisplaceandwanttocomehomeitismeanthatyoumademecome.How’sDadandallthe

animals?Howareyou,Imissyoueventhoughyoudidthisverymeanthing.Love.Xoxo

IwasflatwornoutfromwritingthatletteranditsureseemedIwouldneverwriteanother.Forgoodmeasure,andbecausesomeoftheothergirlswereinthecabin,IflippedthroughmylittlepinkNewTestament,readsomeofmystolenJudyBlumebook,thenlaydownandtookanap.

Wedidallthecounselorshadthreatened:wecanoed,weswam,weplayedtetherball.AllwasdonewithprayerandwiththeferventhopeJesuswouldbepresent.Perhapssomebuiltdams,Idon’tknow.Idideverythingalone.Thenitwastimeforchapel,andwewentbacktoourcabinstochange.ThiswasapparentlyaveryimportantmomentinthelivesofRichGirl,SportGirl,

Valedictorian,Ugly,andClaire,becauseitmeanttheygottoseeoneanotherrelativelyundressedasiftherewereacontest,whichanyonejustwalkingintheroomfortheveryfirsttimewouldseewasnocontestatallbecauseClairehadwonbeforeshearrived.Sheputonalittleblueskirt,therequisitepantyhose,andawhitesweaterwithherinitialsembroideredaboveone

breast.Shehadshoweredafterswimmingandnowherdarkhairfellperfectlystraighttoherchin.Theblousemymothersent

hadperhapsbelongedtooneofherfriendsatchurch,becausetheshoulderskeptslippingoffme.Iknewsafety-pinningwascriticalbutwhere?Howtosafety-pinsomethingtoyourshoulder?Thentherewastheplainbrownskirt,sobigIhadto

doublethewaist,andeverytimeIputthepininandfastenedit,itjustpoppedbackopenandstabbedme.IfoundthatifIpinnedittotheminimumamountoffabricitwouldstayclosed,soItookmychances.Thentherewerethepanty

hose.Claire’sweresosheerandnudelytheywerejustcalledNude.MinewereacrossbetweenaBand-AidandSillyPutty,andMomhad

beencorrect,theywerequeensize.Iwrangledthemon,rolledthetopdown,rolleditdownagain.Itwasnevergoingtowork,soIendedupputtingmyunderwearonOVERthepantyhosetokeepthemup,somethinganoldwomaninchurchusedtodowhenherdementiareallygotupandgoing.Istuffedtheoversizepantyhosefeetinmysaddleoxfordsandfollowedmycabinmates

downthepathtothechapel.

Theministerwasanemotionalmanwhowasdeeplyconcernedaboutthetemptationsfacingusasteenagers.Ihadnotyetmetasingletemptationthathadn’tworkedtomyadvantage,somostlyIstaredathim.Wehadtosingalotofold-timeyemotionalsongsaboutthebloodofJesusandthepoweroftheCross,andsureenough

theministergotteary-eyed,andhiswife,awomanwholookedlikeagiantcanary,wasflatdistraught.Icouldfeelit—Icouldfeelsomethingbuildinglikeahigh-pressuresystem,andIdidnotlikeit.“Margie,”MinisterBob

saidtohisbirdwife,“play‘ICome’forus,slowandquiet,whileIinvitetheseboysandgirlstojoinmeatthealtarforprayerandhealing.Thisis

whatyou’vecomeherefor,myfriends,toinvitetheLordJesusintoyourheartpermanently.I’mgoingtostandherewithmyeyesclosedandletthepoweroftheLordworkitswaydownthroughmybody,andyoujustcomeondowntothealtarandlettheLordfillyou.Ifyou’renotready,justkneeldownandcloseyoureyesandprayalongwithyourbrothersandsisters.”

Kneeldown?Ilookedatthefloorofthechapel;itwasroughboardswithgapsbetweenthemwideenoughtohold—andthiswasjustinmylineofsight—abobbypinandtwopennies.IwasaQuaker,notaKneeler.RosekneltatSt.Anne’sbutCatholicswerepreparedforthissortofthingandthoughtfullyprovidedalittlepaddedrailfortheoccasion.“Justgoaheadandgeton

yourkneesandasktheLordwhatHewouldhaveyoudo,”MinisterBobsaid,readingmymind.Allaroundmeobedientcamperswerestrugglingdowntothefloor,andMargieCanarywasplayingthesamebitsoftheslowhymnoverandover,tryingtohypnotizeus.Igaveupandknelt,joinedthepeoplearoundme,cursingMinisterBobandmymotherandindeedthewholeof

Christendom.Iwatchedwiththestink-eyeasanumberofpeoplewenttothealtarandgothandslaidonthem.Therewasmuchweepingfollowedbyjoy,andIhatedeveryonethere,andwhenIstoodup,thekneeshadtorninmyqueen-sizepantyhose.

Weweresupposedtolearntosailontheperfectlyflat,windlesslake,soI

volunteeredtocleanthekitcheninstead.DuringtheNatureWalkIofferedtostraightenourcabinandtakeClaire’sturnatlatrineduty.IhadnoexperiencecleaninganythingandIvolunteered—suchwasthedepthofmydespondency.EverydayIwrotehometoMom,lettersmoreandmorebitterandfrantic,certainthatJoshhadforgottenmeorthatMelindahadshovedhislittlehead

throughthebarsofhiscribbyforgettingtotiedownthebumperpad.“ThebumperpadmustbeTIEDSECURLY,”Iwrote,“evenifitlookslikeit’sontheirfineTIEITAGAIN.”Joshwasblond,blue-eyed,aperfectperfectAmericanangelspecimenofrightness.“Youknowhe’sgotthatlittlewhitehatthatlookssomelikeGilligans,asortofbabyfishinghat.Nowyoushould

makesureLindyputsthatonhimbeforegoingoutinthesunorelsethestrawberrymarkonhisheadwillgetevenbrighterandmaybesunburn,IverymuchhopeyouarenotjustthrowingtheselettersawaybutgivingthemtoMelindawhoasyouknowHASBEENKNOWTOSETTHEHOUSEAFIRE.”

Onthesecondnightofchapel

Iworethetornpantyhoseandbelieveditmightshamemeforever.Alltheothergirlshadbroughtmorethanonepair.Ididnotacceptthealtarcall,andMrs.Canarybegantogivemeboththebird-eyeandthebeak.Clairedevelopedsuchbadcrampsfrombeingreligiousthatonthewalkbacktothecabin,Scott,whoboreanunhealthyresemblancetoShawnCassidy,wasallowedto

supporther,eventhoughitmeantbreachingtheboycamper/girlcamperline.Clairewascryingandlimpingalittle,andInoticedasmallgoldcrossonadelicategoldchainagainstherthroat.Scottheldhertenderly,andbackinthecabinalltheothergirlsministeredtoherandshewasgrateful.ACokeevenappeared,asifJesushimselfhadsentheragift.

OnthethirddayIaskedtousetheofficetelephone,explainingthatmyfamilywaspronetoemergencyappendectomies(true)andIbelieveditwasmytime.MomansweredthephoneandIsaid,“Well,nowI’vegoneandgottenreallysickandit’stimeformyappendixtocomeout.”“Isthatright,”shesaid.I

heardherturnthepageofa

book.“Yes.Idon’tbelieveIneed

toremindyouthatDanny’sburstontheoperatingtableandhadtoberemovedwithaspoon,andifyou’dwaitedtoolongyou’dbesonless.”“Tellmewhatyour

symptomsare,”Momasked,withoutinflection.Mymothercouldnotabideasickpersoninanyform,notfevers,burns,protruding

bones,heaving,headaches,diabetes,oramputations.ShehadoncebeenaChristianScientistandithadgotteninherlikeavirusandeventhoughshehadbeenaQuakersincelongbeforeIwasborn,shestillbelievedtheSevenBeautifulDaughtersoftheSevenBeautifulKingswerePerfectlyHealthyWithinUs.“I’vegotanacheinmy

side.”That’swhatIrememberedfromwhenJulie

hadit.“Whereinyourside.”

Again,thiswasnotaquestion.“Over,youknow,between

myribsandtherestofme.”“Whichside?”Blastthewoman!Blasther

eyeballs!Ionlyhada50–50chanceandthosewerenotgoododdsasanydaughterofBobJarviswouldknow.IdidtheonlythingIcould:Iguessed.“Theleft.”

“I’llseeyouattheendoftheweek,sweetheart,”shesaid,hangingup.

IwouldnotsingKum-Bye-Yaaroundthecampfire.IwouldroastmarshmallowsbutIwouldnotsing.Iwouldnotplaygamesoftaginthedark,wheretheboysandgirlswereallowedtohuntforoneanother,andfindeachother,inwaysthatmademyveinsruncold.Theairwas

desperate,scentedwithblood.Isnuckbackintothemesshallandwashedallthetableswithbleach.

Duringthedaysweswam.Scottwasalifeguardandworepracticallynothing,justtrunks,sunglasses,andawhistlearoundhisneck.HelookedlikehewaspreparingforalifeasananemicErikEstrada.TheT-shirtClaireworeoverherstringbikini

somehowmanagedtobemorerevealingthanthesuititself.EverydayshewouldswimlanguidlyouttothedockwhereScottwassitting.She’dpullherselfupslowly,waterstreamingoffherasifshewereaseal,thensitinthechairnexttoScottwhereitwasperfectlyobviousnooneelsewasallowedtosit.Theywouldtalk,andthensomethingfriskywouldhappenandwrestlingwould

commence,andClairewouldgetthrowninthewater,andthewholethingwouldbeginagain.Ilayonaninnertubenotfarfromtheshore,floatingaroundincirclesinMelinda’sMickeyMouseT-shirt,watching.

IdidnotacceptJesusasmypersonalsavioronTuesdaynight,orWednesday,orThursday,orFriday.Mypantyhosewerenowin

shreds.ItwasFridaynightthatClairedecidedtogo,havingwaitedformosteveryoneelsetotaketheirmomentupfrontwithMinisterBob.ItturnedoutthatwhenClairedidopenherheartitwasawide,wideavenue,becauseshesobbedandvowedtochangeallhersecretways,andBobwassomovedhekepthishandsonheralongtime,andMrs.Canarybobbedherheadso

steadilyitappearedshemightgoallthewaydownandtakeadrinkofwater.Nearlyeveryoneweptthatnight.Istayedonmybruised,abradedkneesandimaginedthelightinJosh’snurseryfirstthinginthemorning,thewayhewokeupbabblingahappybabylanguage.Clairewassosaved,asamatteroffact,thatScotthadtowalkherbacktothecabin,onlyhalfwaytheretheytookaturn

anddisappearedintothewoodsandIwastheonlyonetoseethemgo.

AtbreakfastonSaturdaymorning,whichwouldbeourlastfulldayandnightatchurchcamp,Mrs.CanarytoldmethatIwastheonlycamperwhohadnottakenthewalktothealtar.Shehadtearsinhereyesasshesaidthis,andtoldmethatitwasa

greatpaintoMinisterBobandtoallthestaffbutmostespeciallytoJesushimself.Couldn’tIjust?sheaskedme.Couldn’tIjustputwhateverwasstoppingmeasideandaccepteternalsalvation?AndifIcouldn’t,didIrealizeIwouldn’tbeabletoattendthegoing-awaysockhopthatnight?BecauseIcouldbeaninfluence,shesaid,stillonthevergeofcrying.Icouldbeadark

influenceonallthebeautifulsoulswhohadalreadysaidyes.

AtchapelSaturdaynightthemomentforthealtarcallcameandIcouldnotmove.Becauseitwasthelastnight,likethelastnightofafair,everybodystreamedpastme,makingmystubbornnessevenmoreapparentandperverse.Therewasloudprayingandshouting;Claire,

Ithink,cameclosetofainting,andthereIstayed,onmyknees.ThesafetypininmyskirthadcomeundoneandwasperformingtheappendectomyIdidn’tyetneed.Theoldbirdatthepianowatchedmewithheroneblackeye,andIwatchedherback,andwhenweleftthechapelthatnighteveryoneelseheadedtothedininghallforthesockhopandIheadedbacktothecabin.

Isatonthefrontstoopinmycutoffshorts,barefoot.MyT-shirtandbathingsuitandtowelwerehangingonthelineinthemoonlight,drying,andforsomereasonIfoundthesightveryreassuring.Noonewasaround;thecricketswerenoisy,andIcouldhearthemusicfromthedancecomingupthehillveryclearly,butitwasn’tformeandIdidn’twantit.Iheardfootstepsandfearedan

assaultbyaministerialbrigade,butitturnedoutjusttobeRobinHicks,myneighbor.Hesaid,“Hey,you.”Isaid,“Hey,Robin.”Hesmiledatmeandthere

wasthatbrokentooth—Ihaddonethatandhestilllikedmejustfine.Hewasseventeen,andIwaseleven.“Icameupheretoseeifyou’dliketodance.”Thesongthatbeganwas

“If,”byBread,asongIalreadyfoundsopainfullybeautifulIcouldn’taddittomyrecordcollectionathome.Ifafacecouldlaunchathousandships,thenwhereamItogo?Istoodupintheleavesandpinetwigs,andtookasteptowardRobin.Heverygentlyputonehandonmywaistandoneonmyrightshoulder,andweswayedsoslowlyIbettothestarsitlookedlikeweweren’t

movingatall.Whenthesongwasoverhekissedthetopofmyheadandwalkedbackdowntothedance,andIwentinsidethecabintopack.Togohome.

HairlessTails

Ourthreefaceshadseenbetterdays.Rosewassittinginherbackyardstudiouslyavoidingbeesoranyreferencetobees,becauseshehadbecomeconvincedthatshewasallergictothem.Shenolongerwalkedbarefoot

becauseofthepremeditatedwaybeeshungaboutinthegrassexactlywhereherfootmightland.Hersting-allergyfearwasunrelated(exceptperhapsatsomeverydeeplevel)tothefactthatthewholeleftsideofherfacewasswollenandbruised,theresultofadogbitebyaSaintBernardatafamilyreunion.Thedog,agrownmalewhohadbeenunprovoked,hadgoneforhereye—hergood

eye,theonethatdidn’twander—andhadmissedbyaboutaquarterofaninch.Shewasfull-outtraumatized,andIfearedbythedejectedwayshewassittingthatshemightbecomeafraidofanythingwithteeth,anythingwithstingers,andeventually,anythingwithseeds,likeawomaninourchurchwhowasconstantlypointingouttheseedsincertainvegetablesandfruits.

Threedaysearlier,Maggie,inanactofderring-do,hadtwistedtheringsontheswingsetuntiltheywereonlyabouttwoincheslong,thenhungonthemastheyrightedthemselves.Bytheendshehadlookedlikealittletornado.Herfeetgotoutofcontrol,andthemomentummovedupherbody,endingwithherhead,whichsmackedagainsttheswingsetataboutthespeedofsound.

Remarkably,thesoftpartofhertempleconnectedexactlywithoneoftheswingsetbolts,whichenteredherheadasifithadbeenmadeofbutter.Shehadrequiredstitches,andnowthesideofherheadwasallagreeny-yellowbruise,andsherefusedtoleaveherbandageon,sothestitcheswerecrawlingacrosshertemplelikeablackbug.Afterbraggingtogreat

excess,andformanyyears,thatIwasimmunetopoisonivy,Ihadcontractedadeadlycaseofpoisonsumacwhilecampingthepreviousweekend.Itwas,apparently,arareformofcreepingrash,becauseithadbeguninthebendofmyelbow,hadcrawledallthewayupmyarm,myshoulder,andmyneck,andwascurrentlyinflamingtheleftsideofmyface.Itoldallthewhitetrash

kidsintownitwasleprosy,whichmadethemruninsidetotheirfatmamas.Rosewassodeeplyworried

byherdogbiteandMaggie’sheadinjurythatIdidn’tknowwhattosuggestwedo.MyboredomandherquietnesswerebothsoacutethatIstartedtofeelspooked.Maggiewassittingontheswing,notreallyswinging,becauseherheadinsideswerestillwobbly.

Rose’shousewasborderedatthebackandononesidebyalleys;acrossthesidealleysatanabandonedhouse.Itwasagood-lookinghouse,asfarasIwasconcerned,althoughithadoccurredtomethatIcovetednearlyeveryhouseintown,andspentafairamountoftimeimagininglivinginthem.Thisonewaslarge,wooden,andhadavarietyofshapes,likeahouseawitchwould

livein.Atthebackwasanenclosedsittingporchthathadfloor-to-ceilingwindowswithsomanysmallpanesthattheyhadprobablybeencleanedonceinthepastcentury,andthenbysomeoneconscripted,asatonementforactsofpublicindecency.ThesittingporchwastheonlypartofthehouseIhadexplored—therestwastoofrightfulevenforsomeoneasintrepidandwithsuchlow

standardsasmyself.Whatstoppedmeinthelivingroom,inadditiontothegeneralmetrictonofdetritus,wasapairofmen’soveralls,lyingspreadoutinthedoorwayasiftheiroccupanthadsimplyvanishedwhilecrawlingintothehouse.Somethinghadeatenaholeclearthroughthebottomandintothecrotch,andIwasdeeplyafraid,notoftheholeorthecrotchbutofthe

Something.Thesittingporch,however,wasaboutascivilizedassomepartsofmyownhouse.Thereweresomemetalchairsstillarranged,byaccident,asiftoaccommodatealongconversationoverlemonade.ThefloorwascoveredwithbrokenBalljars.Walkingonthemcreatedanoisethatwasakintoawhole,dreadfullifetimeoftoothgrinding.Ienjoyedit.Thereweresome

intactjarsintheretoo,blueonesandgreenonesthathadbubblesrightintheglass,andoldwhiskeybottles.Iconsideredtellingmydadaboutthem,butitwasaprivateplace,asfarassuchthingswent.SittinginRose’syardthat

day,IcouldseehercatSnowballcomingandgoingfromthehouse,sometimeslanguorousandsometimesagitated.Hewentinthrough

abrokenbasementwindowandcameoutthroughaholeinthebackdoor.Hesatontheporchlickingonepawandrubbinghiseyeswithitlikeasleepybaby;lookedupattheskyasifhehadjustrememberedthesinglemostimportanteventinhislife,thenturnedhisattentiontohisbutt.IlosttrackofhimforafewmomentswhilelookingatRose,andthenheardascufflecomingfromthe

basement.Snowballmadefurioushissingandscreamingnoises,followedbywhatsoundedlikeafootballbeingthrownagainstthedoorofaclothesdryer.RoseandMaggieandIranoutthegateandintothealleyasquicklyasourplaguesandpuncturesandsutureswouldallow,justasSnowballemergedfromthebasementcarryinginhismouththebrokenbodyofayellowish-whiteratfullyhalf

hissize.Thethreeofusskiddedtoa

stopafewfeetfromthecat.Snowballwasmakingalowmoaningsoundinhisthroatthatwashalfpleasureandhalfrevulsion.Therathungupsidedownasifitsboneshadalljustgivenuphope.Takingafewmorestepstowardus,Snowballdroppedtheratinthegravel,invitingustoinspectit.Weallsquatteddownaroundit,our

handstuckedprotectivelyagainstourlegs.Iguessedittobeamalerat,

byitsgeneralfiercehideousness.Hewassomenacinghecouldhavebeentheleaderofsomeoutlawratposse.Hisfronttwoteethwereyellowedandlongandprotrudeddownoverhisbottomliplikesomethingprehistoric,andhisclawswerestillengagedinafightingposition.Ipickedup

astickandturnedhimoveronhisbelly,sothathewaslookingatus.Evenindeath,hiseyesweregrotesquelyintelligent,andtheycontinuedtoemitakindofbrightnessthatmademystomachclench.Hislongtail,apinkcable,laystretchedoutbehindhim,theendofitcurvedinanimitationofgrace.Istoodup,light-headed.

Snowballhadgonebackto

groominghimself.Hewas,obviously,asolidwhitecat,andveryclean.Iguessedhekepthimselfsobeautifulinordertocompensateforhisdeafness.RoseandMaggiecontinuedtopokeattheratasIstartedhome.Theafternoonsunwasblinding,andIfeltlikeIeitherneededtoeatorhadgottentoofull.TherewasnoplaceIwasfullysafe.Mywholelifewasinfested.

IamsurethemicewerealwaysthereandIwasn’tawareofthem,butasIgrewolderthereweremoreandmore,untilfinallymylifewaspunctuatedbyencounterswiththem.Forinstance,oneafternoon

Iwaswalkingthroughmyparents’bedroom,onmywayupstairs,andasIpassedtheirbedIsteppedonsomething,andthewaythesteppingonitfeltmademeliftmylegup

slowly,withoutlookingdown,andremovemysock,andturnaroundandwalkoutofthebedroomasifIwassidlinguptoatrancestate,andgocallmysisteronthephone.“I’vesteppedon

something,”Isaid,clearingmythroattogetallthewordsout.“Goodforyou,”Melinda

said.Icouldhearherstirringherhusband’slunch.

“Idon’tknowwhatitwas.”Shestoppedstirring.“Are

youhurt?”“Ithinkyoubettersend

Rickoverhere.”Itwasmyfavoritepairof

socks,too,whitetubesockswithabluestripebetweentwobrightyellowstripes.Iconsideredthemmydressysocks,andoftenworethemtochurch.Theyhadgrownverysoftwithwearing.Ifeared,rightly,thatIwouldneversee

themagain.WhenRickandMelinda

arrived,Iwassittingonthecouchstaringstraightahead,myhandstillrestingonthephone.Ipointedtothesceneofthedisaster,andRickwentstraightinandsquatteddownandliftedupmysock.Melindawasstandingafewfeetoutsidethedoorway,closeenoughtogossipwithbutfarenoughawaynottosee.

“Whatisit?”sheasked,leaningjustslightlytowardthemess.“Idon’tknow,”Ricksaid

slowly,“butithadaneyeball.”Melindahadawayof

stiflingahootthatinvolvedquickputtingherhandoverhermouthandlettingitjustcomeoutofhernoselikeasneeze.Itmadehereyesgetreallybiglikemaybeherwholeheadwasgoingto

explode.Hermethodofunlaughingwasactuallyworsethanifshe’djustletitcomeout.Ipulledmylegsupandput

myheaddownonmyknees.“Lindy,you’dbettergetme

somekindofabag,”Ricksaid,“andaspoon.”Imoanedoutloudand

Melindahadtoturnherbacktometokeepmefromseeingthedevilishtransformationsofgleeherfacewas

undergoing.Whenshecameoutofthe

kitchenwithatrashbagandatablespoon,LindyaskedifIwantedtogositontheporch,butIjuststayedwhereIwas.Itcouldn’tpossiblygetanyworse.Iwouldcarrywithmeforeverthefeelingofmyweightcomingdownonmyheel,andthesomethingunderneathitgivingway,andthesounditmade.“Whatdoyouwantmeto

dowiththissock?”Rickcalled.“Just,Rick,just”—

Melindawavedherhandsathim—“justputitinthebag.”Shewalkedovertomeand

kneltdown.“Let’stakethisotheroneoff,sweetie,”shesaid,peelingitoffandtossingitintowardRick.“Thoseweremybest

socks,”Isaid,frombetweenmyknees.

“Well,honey,theyweretherewhenyouneededthem.”

Wekeptafifty-poundbagofdogfoodonthebackporch,andoneeveningmydadreachedinwiththedog’span,andaratranuphisarm.Dadthrewthepansoharditbrokethelightfixtureabovethedoor,andintryingtoshaketheratoff,spunhimselfaroundinacircleand

smackedhisfaceagainstthedoorframe.Therewasn’tjustonerat,either,therewerethree,whichIbelievequalifiesasapodofrats,andthetwowhohadnotassaultedmydadbecameagitatedandbegantoeattheirwayfranticallythroughthewaxypaperofthedogfoodbag.Dadtookoffrunninginthewrongdirection,andendedupsprawledovertheoldwringerwasher.Allofthis

happenedinjustafewterribleseconds,andthenhewasbackinthehouse,batteredandwild-eyed.Themethodof

exterminationmydadchosewastoputoutsomuchpoisoninthebasement,wherethedogsandcatscouldn’tgettoit,thatmymomfeareditwouldseepintothegroundandkilleveryoneinMooreland.Hehad,apparently,discovered

quiteanestdownthere,andhewashavingtroublesleepingatnightforfeartheratswouldcomeupthebasementstairs,useacreditcardandunhookthelatchonthebasementdoor,creepintothedenpastthedogsandthecats,andclimbintoourbedsandeatoffournoses.“Aratwilleatoffyournose

?”Iasked,horrified.“They’reespeciallyfondof

noses,asIunderstandit,”he

said,mixingsometoxicratcocktailthatwasfillingupthewholedownstairswithmustardgas.“Whatisthatyou’re

mixing?”“Idon’tknow.Ifoundit

downatthehardwarestore.Roscoesaidit’ssodeadlyitwasbannedaboutthirtyyearsago.Hehadacaseofitinthebackroom.”Ipickedupthepaperygray

boxthepowderhadcomein.

Thirtyyearsagopackagingwasnotsosophisticated,andthedistributorshadchosenastheirbrandnamePoison.Underthenamewasaconvincingskullandcrossbones,andawarninglabelthatstatedthecontentsincludedarsenic,andthatapotentialingestorstoodabsolutelynochanceofsurvival.“Thisoughttodothe

trick,”Isaid,puttingthebox

downandwipingmyhandsonmyjeans.

Theratcarcassesbeganpilingup.Atfirstwejustputtheminthebarrelwhereweburnedourtrash,butonthefirstWednesdayweattemptedaratpyre,abirdflewtooclosetothesmokeanddied.Wehadtofindanalternativeplan.Wecouldn’treallyburythem,becauseofwhatitwouldhavedonetothegrass.

Momwasgrowingwearyofthewholemess,andtoldDadshedidn’tcarewheretheyendedupaslongastheirwretchedbloatednesswasoutofthehouseandshedidn’thavetosmellthemanymore.Weallhadheadaches,andmydadhaddevelopedanervousjerkoftheshoulders.Theonlyoptionlefttous

wasthecountydump,andDadstarteddrivingthemthere.Oneday,however,he

leftforworkwithouttheday’sallotment,andwhenIwentoutsideforthefirsttimeIsawtwoplasticbagssittingonthefrontsteps,thehandlestieduptight.IknewifIleftthemthereIwouldbedeviledbythemallday,theshapesinthebottomthatwerejustbarelydiscernible,andthefumesrisingupoutofthemlikeheatoffahighway.Iwassoreluctanttopickthemupthatmymouthbeganto

water,asifIhadtospit,butIgraspedtheknottedhandlesandheadedformybike.JustasIwasclimbingon,mysisterpulledupinfrontofthehouseandsaidshewasheadingforGrant’sdepartmentstore,inNewCastle,andwantedtoknowifI’dliketoridealong.Grant’smeantonethingandonethingonly—afrozencherryCoke,forwhichIwouldhavecompromisedanyprinciple

—butIhadmyratstoworryabout.“Iwasjustgonnaridethese

ratsoverandtosstheminthegravelpit,”Isaid,raisingthebagsenoughthatshecouldseethem.“Oh,forGod’ssake,”she

said.“Whydidn’tDadtakethem?”“Heforgot,Ireckon.

Anyway,Ican’tjustleavethemsittingthereallday.”“Well,comeon.I’llgopast

thedumpontheway.”Iopenedthepassengerdoor

ofherbiggreenImpalaandstartedtogetin.“Don’teventhinkyou’re

bringingthoseratsinsidethecarwithus,”shesaid,shooingmebackout.“What…didn’tyoujusttell

meyou’ddrivemetothedump?”“Yes,butyou’renotputting

themuphere.”“Well,unlockthetrunkfor

me,then,andI’llputthembackthere.”Sheopenedherdoorand

startedtogetout,thenthoughtbetterofit.“No.Idon’twanttheminthetrunk,either.Idon’twantthemanywhereinsidethecar.”Ithoughtmaybeshewasa

littlesensitive,becauseonetimesheandherfriendTerrihadsetoffonabigadventuretoMuncieandhalfwaytheretheenginestartedtosmoke,

andwhenMelindapulledoverandopenedthehood,thesourceofthesmokewasTerri’scat,Poot,whowaspermanentlyaffixedtothemotorandacoupleotherhotplacesontowhichhe’dleaked.Ithrewupmyhands.“I

giveup.Howdoyousuggestweallgettothedump,then?”Intheendwetiedthetwo

bagstothedoorhandles,oneonherside,oneonmine.As

wepulledawayfrommyhouseInoticedMelindawasdrivingrathergingerly,butafterafewmilesshespedup,andbythetimewegottothedumpthebagswereflyingoutbesidethecarlikeears,sometimestwistingaroundandthumpingagainstthedoors.Themanwhoattendedto

thedumpwavedusoveraswepulledin.“Hey,Larry,”Melindasaid.

“Hey,Melinda.Gotsomeratsthere?”Shenodded.“Yourdad’sbeenthrowing

themrightoverthere.Youcanseethere’saprettybigpilealready.”Igotoutanduntiedthe

bags.Melindasatmotionlessduringthewholeoperation.Iwalkedovertotheedgeofthebigpitandlookedaround.Thesightsinthecountydumpcouldtakemybreath

away.Therewererefrigeratorsandtiresandbrokentoys,anoldpiesafemissingitsdoors,akitchenchair,allmannerofpaperanddebris.Itlookedlikeashadowhouse,turnedinsideout,alifebeinglivedinvisibly.IarcedmyarmbackwardasifIwerepitchingabaseball,andthrewthefirstbagofratsin,andasitwassailing,Ithrewinthesecond.Theywerebottom-

heavy.Theydidn’tgofar,eventhoughI’dthrownthemashardasIcould.

Anotherthingeverygrown-upinmyfamilywasobsessedwithwasconservingheat,averyboringtopic,quiteclearly.Ourhousewasn’tinsulated,andsomyparentswerealwaysschemingtokeepheatinaroom,ormoveheataroundaroom,orgetheatfromoneroomto

another.Itwasahopelesstask.Built,apparently,during

theperiodofAmericanhistorywhenhumanheightoftenexceededtenfeet,andnoone,ever,caredaboutconservingheat,ourceilingsweretwelvefeethigh.Assoonasthetrendarrived,intheseventies,ofloweringceilingswithaflimsymetalframeandpaperysheetsofpressedfiberglass,mydad

wasalloverit;hestartedintheden,whereallofourheatbeganandended.Whenhewasfinishedwe

wereastonishedtodiscoverthatfinally,onesinglethinginourhouselookednormal,likethehousesofotherpeople.Wehadauniform,whiteceiling.Mymomwassomovedbyitthatshethrewcautiontothewindandinvitedherprayercellovertoourhouseforcoffeeone

afternoon.Idon’tthinkanyofthechurchwomenhadbeeninsideourhousebefore.Bythetimetheyarrived,

thehousewasasrespectableaswecouldmakeit.Ratherthansittinginthelivingroom,whichwaslargeandairyandmanagedtobeliewhatwasactuallyhappeningintherestofthehouse,Momchosetohaveeveryonesitintheden,underthenew,pristineceiling.Myjobwas

tohover,offeringmorecoffeeormoresugarcubes.Evenstraightenedup,the

denwasshocking.Therewasalmostnolight;thefurniturewasold,unmatched,andbeatentoapulp;catsanddogslayaboutcoughingandscratchingandattackingtheirdander.Mostoftheroomwastakenupwiththeblackenamelcoalstove.Besideit,inastrangealcove,stoodatallmetalmedicinecabinet

thatwouldn’tfitinourone,tinybathroom.Thedoorstothemedicinecabinethadlongsinceceasedtoclose,sofromanyplaceintheroomonecouldseethestackofthintowels,boxesofsanitarynapkins,andvarioussundriesthattookupthetopshelf.Thechurchwomenwerekindandfondofmymother,butthesituationwasclearlyworsethantheyhadexpected.Onewoman,BettyHardaway,

seemedespeciallydisconcertedbytheomnipresenceofweapons:aboveoneofthecouchesmydad’sgunrackloomed,theriflesandshotgunspolishedtoadeadlyshine,boxesofammunitionstackeduponthebottomshelf.HangingnexttothegunrackwasthebowandquiverofarrowsDannyhadleft.Fishingrodsandtackleboxesrestedagainstthewallbehindthetelevision,andon

Dad’slittletablenexttohischair,wherehekepthisbrownradio,hisashtray,andhisglassforwhiskey,washisjarofanimalteeth.Atwhatprobablywould

havebeenthemidwaypointoftheordeal,theceilingbegantoemitastrangesound.Ifroze,desperatelytryingtopinpointthesourceofit,butmymomcontinuedtotalkasthoughsheheardnothingunusual.

Itwasmice,andfromthesoundofit,aboutfiftyofthem.TheywereapparentlybeingdisgorgedfromoneoftheholesintheoriginalceilingthatDadhadn’tbotheredtopatchwhenhehungthenewone.Itsoundedasiftheywereallgettingoffabigmousebus,happyandfriendlyandlookingforwardtotheirvacation.Theyskitteredanddugaroundamomentinonecornerofthe

room,andthentookoffrunningasaherd,rightoverourheads.Whentheyreachedtheoppositecorner,theyturnedandranback.Allofourcatsleaptuponthebacksofthefurnitureinagitation,staringattheceilingandmakinggrowlsdeepintheirthroats.Thedogswatchedthecats,interested.Thesoundofthelittle

mouseclawsrunningoverthehollowceilingwasdeafening.

IlookedatMom,mymouthopeninhorror,andsawthattheprayercellwomenwereallbitingtheirlipsandstaringattheircoffeecups.Momcontinuedtospeak,seeminglyunfazed,aboutherplanstoleadalocalboycottagainsttheNestlécorporation.Soonenough,oneofthe

womenwithleadershippotentialannouncedthattheprayercellwasofonemind

ontheNestléissue,andthattheyoughttobegoing.Mymomsawthemtothedoor,andthencamebackinandbeganpickingupthecoffeecupsandplates.“Haveyouever?!”Isaid,

myarmsraisedinsurrender.“Itsoundedliketheywere

playingfootball,”Momsaid,carryingdishesintothekitchen.Ifloppeddownonthe

couch,sendingupacloudof

dust.“Doyouthinkthechurchladieswillevercomeback?”“Oh,Idon’tthinkso.”Ilookedupattheceiling

where,itsuddenlybecamecleartome,alloftheheatintheroomwouldgo.Themicehadcometoasauna,andtherewasnodoubtinmymindthat,asthemonthsgrewcolder,theywouldtelleveryothermouseintheworld.Thewholeflimsystructure

trembledundertheircollectiveweight.

Igrewphobicofmice,justasthereweremoreandmoreofthemtofear.Mycat,PeeDink,whomyfathersworewasretardedsimplybecauseofacombinationofunfortunatephysicalcharacteristics,wasaterrificmouser,andbecauseofthecrazyandabidingloveweshared,henaturallywantedto

giveallofhisdeadmicetome.MyparentswalkedinonmanyscenesofPeeDinkchasingmearoundthehouse,mescreamingandwavingmyarmsintheair,thepoorcapturedmousekickingitshindlegs,tryingtofreeitselffromPeeDink’sjaws.Likemostcats,hewasn’tinterestedinflat-outkillingvermin;hewantedtokillthemjustalittlebitandthenplaysomereallyfungames

whichinvolvedthemicetryingtogetawaywhilehekilledthemalittlebitmore.OncewhenmydadcamehomefromworkIwasuponthebackofthecouchandPeeDinkhadleftthreedeadmiceonthefloorforme.Hehadgrownsofatonmicethathenolongershowedanyinterestineatingthem.Onesummernight,afterI

hadmovedbackupstairstomybedroom,Iawokefroma

deepsleepanddiscoveredthattheabsoluteworstthinghadhappened.Momwasasleepinthebedroomatthebottomofthestairs,andwithoutmovingamuscleIbegantocallforher.Sheheardme,evenoverthedeafeningracketmadebythefansrunningbetweeneveryroom.Whenshereachedmybed,

aftertrippingandkickingherwaythroughthewreckageon

mybedroomfloor,sheaskedmewhatwaswrong,andItoldherthatthereweretwenty-sevendeadmiceonmybed.Theywerecompletelysurroundingme,sothatIcouldn’tmoveanypartofmybodywithouttouchingone.Shestoodupstraightandlookedmeintheeye.Iappearedwideawakeandlucid,butwasnot.“WhatshouldIdo?”she

asked.

“Youneedtopickthemupandthrowthemaway.”Shelookedaroundthe

roomuntilshespottedmytrashcan.Itwasoverflowing,soshejustdumpeditonthefloor,thenwalkedovertomeandbeganpickingupthemice.“Countthem,soIknow

yougeteveryone.”“Here’sone,”shebegan.

“I’mgoingtogettheseonesaroundyourheadfirst,soyou

canturnit.Here’stwoandthree.”Andinthiswayshe

removedalltwenty-seven,pickingthemupbytheirphantomtails,thepartofamousethatunnervedmethemost.Whenshewasdoneshebentoverandkissedmeontheheadandtoldmetogobacktosleep.“Whatareyougoingtodo

withthem?”Iasked,tryingnottolookrightatthetrash

can.“Whatdoyouwantmeto

dowiththem?”“Iwantyoutomakethem

gone.”Shenodded.WhenIgotup

inthemorning,theyweregone.

BythefollowingChristmas,Rose’sfacehadhealedperfectlyfromherencounterwiththerogueandmurderousSaintBernard,andMaggie

justhadalittlezigzaggyscaracrosshertemple.Ihadcompletelyforgottenaboutpoisonsumac,whichleftnotraceofitsdevastationonmybody.IspentChristmasnight

withRoseandMaggie,andaroundmidnightwewereawakenedbyacrashandastrangeglow.Weranovertothewindowandsawthatrightacrossthealley,directlyacrossfromwherewestood,

theabandonedhousewasonfire,andinaseriousway.Itwasabeautifulfire,ragingbutnotspreading,andthethreeofusstoodtherealongtimeinournightgowns,noteventhinkingaboutgettingRose’sparentsorcallingthevolunteerfiredepartment.Itburnedandburned.Iknewthattherehadprobablybeenmanyratsandmicelivinginthathouse,givenhowcolditwasoutside.Iremembereda

timewhenthedeathofthemwouldhavecausedmepain,whenIwouldhaveconsideredtheirsuffering,butIcouldn’tfeelitanymore.AllIfeltwasthatwarmshotofrelief,thekindthatcomeswithbreathingwhenyou’veheldyourbreathtoolong,asthewindowsofthekitchenblewoutand,somewhereinthedistance,asirenbegantowail.

AShortListofRecordsMyFatherThreatenedtoBreakOverMyHeadIfI

PlayedThemOneMoreTime

1.“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”byPaulSimon.Youneedonlylistentothissongoncetorealizeitisthegreatestworkofgeniussince“BeepBeep(TheLittle

NashRambler),”bythePlaymates.Also,itprovidesapersonwiththebonusofrewritingthechorus700timesaday.Forinstance,agirlmightsay,“I’mridin’mybike,Mike,”or“I’mgoin’tomysister’s,mister.”Shecouldalsostringtogethermanysuchsentences,asin,“I’mfeelin’sad,Dad.Maybeyoucouldgetmesomecandy,Randy.Don’tbesuchaslob,Bob,justlistentome.”

IftheDadeveractuallyheldtherecordinhishandsinathreateningway,hecouldbetoldthattheemergencybackupPaulSimonsongwas“MeandJulioDownbytheSchoolyard,”whichforsomereasonwasevenmoreobjectionable.

2.“BeepBeep(TheLittleNashRambler),”bythePlaymates.Amoralitytaleaboutalittlecar,aCadillac,

andatransmissionproblem.Thissongbrilliantlygainsmomentum,andissungfasterandfasterrightuptothehystericalending.Couldbesunginthetrucksofranticallythefatherinquestionwouldsometimeshavetostickhisheadouthisopenwindowwhileprayingaloud.

3.“SomeoneSavedMyLifeTonight,”byElton

John.Iunderstoodonlyonelineofthissong:“Andbutterfliesarefreetofly,flyaway.”Therestwascompletelylostonme.IassumedtheBritishdidnotspeakEnglish,whichwasapuzzleastheyweresometimesreferredtoastheEnglish.Notunderstandingthelyricsrequiredmetolistentothesonghundreds,perhapsthousandsoftimes,fillinginwithnonsense

words,whichmysistersaidmademelookoxygendeprivedandsad.

4.“SomewhereTheyCan’tFindMe,”bySimon&Garfunkel.Inadditionto“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”thiswasprobablymymostobviousthemesong.Itcouldhavebeenwrittenforme.Thesingerhasdonesomethingterribleandnowhisonlyoptionistosneak

away:“BeforetheycometogetmeI’llbegone,somewheretheycan’tfindme.”Ohindeed.Howveryverytrue.

5.“HeAin’tHeavy,He’sMyBrother,”bytheOsmonds,featuringDonnyOsmond.Alie,asanyonewhoknewmybrothercouldattest.ButifitwassungbyDonnyOsmondIcouldtrytobelieve.Iwantedtobelieve.

Thiswasafavoritetoplaynotattopvolumeinmybedroom,butdownstairsonthestereothatwasshaped,improbably,likeaColonialdesk.IlikedtosingalongwithDonny(wehadthesamevoice)whilesimultaneouslypretendingtodraftaversionoftheBillofRights,usingafakequillpen.(Intruth,aturkeyfeather.)Thiswasacombinationofactivitiesmyfatherfoundinteresting,

blasphemous,andwrong.

6.“AlongComesMary,”bytheAssociation.Awordysong.Awordy,psychedelicsong,themeaningofwhichhasneverbeendeterminedbyhumans.Tailor-madeforme.Fromthebeginning,thesongisjustonelongpuzzle.“EverytimeIthinkthatI’mtheonlyonewho’slonelysomeonecallsonme.”Who?(Mary,mysisterwould

explain,throughclenchedteeth.Yes,butMarywho?)Whatfollowsissounusualitdoesn’tbearrepeating,althoughImostassuredlycould.

7.“IStartedaJoke,”bytheBeeGees.Again,aworld-classhead-scratcher.Hestartedajoke,anditstartedthewholeworldcrying.IsensedastonishingdepthintheBeeGees’lyrics,andalso

weretheyallboys?IncludingtheonewiththeBugsBunnyteeth?Wasshetrulyneverfunnyandthat’swhytheworldwept?Iknewpeoplelikethat.Laterinthesongoneofthem,aBeeoraGee,beginstocryandthatgetsthewholeworldlaughing,soeverythingturnsoutfineintheend.(Anadditionalworkofgeniusis“TheLightsWentOutinMassachusetts.”Massachusetts:Astate?A

prison?Dadwassilentontheissue.)

8.“SwampGirl,”byFrankieLaine.Oneofthegreatpiecesofpoetryinthecivilizedworld,andflat-outterrifying.FrankieLaineissick,ortired,orboth,andabadwoman(thekindwithnarroweyes,I’mguessing)iscallinghimfromtheyuckofaswampwhereshelives.“Wherethewater’sblackas

theDevil’strack—that’swheremySwampGirldwells.”Howsimpleitwastosecretlychangethelyricto“wherethewater’sblackastheDevil’scrack,”nevereverlettinganyonehearmedoitbecausethisisadeadserioussongandalsoonedoesn’trhymelightlyabouttheDevil.Particularlywherethere’saSwampGirlinvolved,herhairfloatingonthewater.FrankieLainewasfamousfor

othersongsaboutrawhideorjerkyorwagontrains,somethinglikethat,andallalonghismasterpiecewasknownonlytomeandmyfamily.Ashame.

9.“TheNighttheLightsWentOutinGeorgia,”byVickiLawrence.WoetothepersonwhobelievedVickiLawrencewasmerelyCarolBurnett’sseparated-at-birthtwinandgamesidekick!No!

Shealsoperformedthisstunner,asongabout…wait.Badthingsinabadplace.Thenight“they”hunganinnocentman,andnottrustingyoursoultosomehmmmhmmmsomethinglawyer.Whereverallthishappened,someplaceinGeorgia,wasaboutasuglyasitgets.Peoplehadbloodalloverthemandessentiallynoonewastobetrusted,whichmadeforachorusIcould

singfordays.

10.TheBestofEdAmes,byEdAmes.AmemberoftheAmesbrothers,EdalsoplayedDanielBoone’sfaithfulIndiancompanionontelevision.Thiswasbecause,Iwasquitecertain,hewasarealliveIndian.MymotherinsistedhewasLebanese,whateverthatmeant,asifaLebanesewouldlookthatgoodinIndianclothesandas

ifhisnamewasn’tAmes,asin“aimsabowandarrowlikearealliveIndian.”Intruth,EdAmeswasmoreshockinglyhandsomethananymanI’dlovedbeforehim,includingGlenCampbellandmybrother’sfriendJoeOverton.Edwasinadifferentcategoryofattractive,Iwasdiscovering.Healsohadavoicethatdefieddescription;itwasbiganddeepandpure,allthose

things,butitwasalsosadinsomesongs—heartbroken—andangryinothers.Hesangthewaymenwouldtalkaboutthingsiftheyevertalkedaboutthings.TheBestofwasprimarilyshowtunesandnewsongsthatwereflatphilosophical,like“WindmillsofYourMind”and“WhoWillAnswer?(AleluyaNo.1).”Whatwasthisabout?Whoputa“No.”inasongtitle?Itwasthe

unmatchedwonderofEdAmestocombinesuchgroundbreakingeffectswithsongsthatmovedmymothertotears,andmademeimaginelifeonthefrontier,wherebuckskinstayedsoclean.Iwaswillingtosharetherecordwithmymom,asamatteroffact,rightupuntilsheheardmerepeatingaphrasefrom“WhoWillAnswer”—“inourstarsorinourselves”—

andsheneedlesslytoldmethatShakespearewrotethosewords.IwavedheroffandfromthatpointonEdstayedinmybedroomwherehebelonged.

AShortListofRecordsThatVanishedfromMyCollection

“50WaystoLeaveYourLover,”byPaulSimon“MeandJulioDownby

theSchoolyard,”ditto“BeepBeep(TheLittle

NashRambler),”bythePlaymates“SomeoneSavedMyLife

Tonight,”byEltonJohn,also“Don’tLettheSunGoDownonMe,”probablyforgoodmeasure

AllSimon&GarfunkelrecordsTheAssociation’sGreatest

Hits,butitjustwenttomysister’shousebecauseI’dstolenitfromherearlierandshe’dstolenitbackDittowithalltheBeeGees

records“TheNighttheLights

WentOutinGeorgia,”byVickiLawrence,metaparticularlyghastlyfateinourtrashbarrel.Ieventually

foundonlythecharredlabel.

IwasleftwithFrankieLaineandEdAmes,whowerehiddeninmycloset.Lifemighthavetakenaviciousturnhere,butmybrother-in-lawRickgavemehisoldeight-tracktapeplayer,alongwithtwoJohnDenvertapes.JohnDenverbecametheonlygood-heartednaturalistmyfathereverthreatenedwithalynching.

Bull

Ididn’tknowwhyeveryonewasalwaysgoingonsoaboutshoesshoesshoes—whatwasthepointwhenwehadbeengivenperfectlyadequatefeetforgettingaroundon?Samewithhairbrushesand

toothbrushesandwashcloths.Absolutelynouse.ButIreachedtheconclusionthatI’dlostafightandwasgoingtokeeponlosingit,soImightaswelldecideonwhatkindofmeannesswasgoingtogetputonmyfeet.Ichosethedignifiedsaddleoxford,whiteandblackwiththeliver-coloredsole.Idon’tknowthereasonforthischoice,particularlyasthesoleswereslickassnotandI

couldoftenbefoundsailingdownthehighlywaxedstairsofmyelementaryschool,clingingtothehandrailandhopingforsomethingotherthananotherheadinjuryuponlanding.Ihavenomemoryof

shoppingforthesaddleoxfords;theysimplyappearedyearafteryear,andnevernew.Theyhadcomefromsomeotherperson’sfeet,thesolesworndowntoa

glassysmoothness.MymomwouldhandthemoverandI’dutterminoraddressestotheinfantJesuswhoasfarasIcouldtellhaddonenothingsofarbutforsakeme,andthenI’dputtheblastedthingson.Theyweresupposedtobe

savedforschoolandgenerallyIdidthat,becauseifIwasn’tinschoolandIwasn’tinchurchIhadnoneedforfootwearanyway,butononegreatSaturdaylate

inthesummerDebbieNewmanwasleavingtheMarathonstationandshesaidgrabsomeshoesandhopinandcomeonhomewithmeandthoseweretheshoesIgrabbed.Ialsopulledapairofwhitebobbysocksoutofthelaundrypileinmyparents’bedroom,apileinashapeIlaterrecognizedinCloseEncountersoftheThirdKind.IfalienshadcometoMoorelandthey

wouldhavelandedonthatlaundrymountain,andwhatashockforthem.Thesocksdidn’tmatchandtheyweren’tthesameshadeof“white,”buttheyweregenerallyshapedthesameandwhocaredanyway.TheNewmansalwayshada

nicecar,abigboatysilvercarwithmarooninterior,andeventhoughtheircarswereniceandnewerthananythingwedrovetheystillsmelled

flatlikethebarnyardandsometimesbitsofstrawwaggledintheairvents.Infact,corndustandfertilizerandmanurecoveredthedashboardandthewindows,andonceinawhilethere’dbeatraceofanhydrousthatIfoundpleasing.Notasdeliciousasleadedgasoline,butclose.Iwasn’tsingingontherideouttotheNewmans’,orevenmakinganysound,asmytalkingdroveDebbieto

distractionandshewouldoftenhavetotellmesoinwaysthatweredirectlytothepoint.JuliewasinthebackseatbesidemeinherjeansandcowboybootsandawhiteT-shirtwithabigredVikingheadonit.ThatwasthethingaboutJulie;shealwayslookedexactlyrightforwhatevershewasdoing,whereasIalwayslookedlikeI’dwalkedthroughthewrongdoorintoastorythathad

nothingtodowithme.IbelieveIwaswearingshortswithmyunmatchedbobbysocksandusedsaddleoxfords,andsomeinappropriateupper-wear,likeadiscardedshort-sleeveddressshirtbelongingtomyfather.“Whatarewegonnado

today?”IaskedJulie.Sheshrugged.Thatcould

meanalotofthings.Itcouldmeanshehad62,000chores

andIwasgoingtohelpwitheveryone.Itcouldmeanweweregoingtoridehorsesorelsetakehernewmopedoutaroundthecountryside.ItcouldmeanherbedroomneededpaintingandifIdidn’tworkfastenoughshe’dgivetheraisedmiddle-fingerpunchontheupperarmthatleftabruisefordays.Orhershrugcouldmeannothing.Itcouldmeanshedidn’tknowandsincewewereonlygoing

tothebestplaceontheEarth,whereeverysingleminuteofeverydaywasdifferentandfilledwithpromise,whattheheckdifferencediditmakewhatweweregonnado.

Welookedatsomekittensthatgotborninthepolebarn.Theywerewaylittleandtheireyeswerestillgluedshut.Themamacathoveredaroundhissingatus—shewasferalandwouldnever

tame.WeshotalittlepoolonthebumperpooltableinthediningroomandJuliebeatmesohardsomanytimesIputmystickdownandtoldhershewascheating.Sheignoredthis.Julienevercheated.Wewentouttoridethegoodhorse,Angel,butshehadacutonherforelegandBigDavesaidno.WethoughtaboutsneakingoffonMingo,thehorseinleaguewiththeDevil,butdecided

againstit.Prettysoonwewereclimbingoverthebarbed-wirefenceandoutintotherollinglandacrosstheroadthatwasn’tfarmable,wasn’tquitegrazableexceptupbytheroad.Itwasn’tworthmuchbutbeauty.Therewasasteepwalkdowntoastream,andonhorsebackthehorseswouldhavetowalkwithsmall,carefulstepsasweleanedcompletelyback,almostlyingdownto

accommodatetheangle.Therewasmaybethirtyacresoverthere—thegrazinglandforsomecows,thevalleyandstream,andtheriseuptoastretchofwoodswhereafewtimeswe’dseenagreathornedowl.Werodethatlandall

summer,mebehindJulieonAngel’swideback.Werodewithoutspeaking.IoftengotthwackedbybranchesthatmissedJuliealtogether.Julie

couldsetAngeluptoacanterthatseemedtoworkfineforJuliebutshookallmyinternalorganslooseuntilIwasgoogly-eyedandbeggingformercy,butnotveryloudlyasmylungshadcollapsed.Onlyamonthbeforeourcurrentstrollwe’dtakenAngelaroundonaslowwalk,leadinghertotheoldpumpattheedgeofthefield.Wemeanttopumpwaterforher,butinsteadwefoundadead

catthere.Shewasablackandgraytabbycat,asprettyascouldbe,lyingonhersidewithheronegreeneyestaringatthesky.Angelstopped.JulieandIfroze.Isaid,“Isthisoneofourcats?”Juliesaid,“Nope.Butshecouldhavebeen.”AndAngelwouldn’tdrinkfromthepumpsowerodeon.Todaywewerejustonour

ownfeetanditwashotoutside.Wepassedthecows,

stoppedtolookatsomecalves,thenheadeddowntowardthecreek.Wekneltattheedge,lookingforcrawdaddiesorsnakesoranythingreally,butitwashotenoughoutsidethatalllivingcreatureshaddepartedforshadierplaces.Wecrossedthecreekonrocks,aleaptotheleft,theleft,theright,theoppositebank,andclimbedthehilluptowardthestretchofforest.Weweren’tsaying

much,weren’theadinganywheredirectly,whenbothofusheardthesamenoiseandfroze.“Whatwasthat?”Isaid,

lookingaround.“Shhhh.”Thesoundcameagainand

itturnedouttobetwosounds—asmall,lowingcryfromonedirection,andadeep,bass-noteexhalationthroughwhatsoundedlikebovinenostrils.Ononesideofus,

Juliefiguredout,wasacalf,maybeonlyadayortwoold,andontheotherwasthemama.Sureenough,herecamethemamacowpawingatthegroundandmovingwithaswiftassurancethatcowsaretypicallynotpermitted.“Getupthattree!”Julie

said,notquiteyellingasthatwasn’therway.Iranbehindhertoa

gnarledoldsomething,I

neverbotheredfindingoutthenamesoftreesaswhatdifferencediditmake,andwatchedhertakethetrunkinasinglegesture.Idon’tknowhowshedidsuchthings;itwasn’tasifshehadtentaclesorsuctioncups,shewasjustared-hairedhumangirlbutnothinghadanyforceoverher.ShewasupthetreeandoutonafathorizontalbranchwhileIwasstillholdingontotwolittlebranches,mybutt

outintheairwherethecowcouldeatit,mysaddleoxfordsslidingdownthetrunklikethey’dbeendippedinbabyoil.“Ummm,”Isaid,pulling

myselfup,slippingdown.“GoodLord,”Juliesaid,

layingherselfflatdownonthebranchandreachingformyhands.Shesomehowmanagedtopullmeupbesideherjustasthecow,whichIcouldnowseewasthesizeof

amobilehome,hitthetreetrunkwithherflank—shewasthatmad.Plushereyeswererollingaroundinthewaythatgaverisetotheterm“Wild-eyedCow,”alookmydadsometimesgot.“Thatisabull,”Isaid.“Psshh.”“I’mtellingyouthatisno

cow,JulieNewman.”Whateveritwascontinuedtostareatusandsnortoutgreatblastsoffurythroughits

nose,whilethebabycontinuedbleatingawaysomewherebeyondthetreeline.“Yousawthebullbehind

thefencewithyourowneyes,Dumb.”Juliescannedtheareabehindus,lookingforthebaby.“Afinething,lettingabull

justrunaroundlooselikethis,fixingtokillsomechildren.”“Hushup.”

Hourspassed.Oh,hoursandhours.Thebullstaredatusandchuffedandpawedatthegroundandmadeaterriblesadsoundabouthisbaby,butwouldn’tmove.Thenthebabywouldcryoutandthewholethingwasnearlytragic.“Mybuttisaboutbroke,

andI’vegotbarkallupinmyshorts,”Isaid,throwingapieceoftwigdownontothebull’sback.

“Hushup,Isaid.”Thebabycrashedaroundin

thewoodsandthecowstoppedgivingusthemurderoushairyeyeballforjustaminute.“Doyouseeit?”I

whispered.“Imightseeitifyouever

stoppedtalking.”Thebabycamealittle

closer,makingasoundthatwassolike“mama”itmadeapersonwonderabouthow

naturewasreallyorganized.Thecowpawedatthegroundandrantowardanoldstretchoffence,onlyaboutsixfeetlongandmostlylyingflat.Calvesaren’tverybright,asitturnsout,becausethisonehadthoughtitselftrappedbehindthebrokenfencetheentireeighteenhoursJulieandIhadbeenstuckinthetree.Mother/fatherandbaby

werereunitedwithgreatlicks

oftheirgigantictongues.“I’mgonnajump,”Juliewhispered,“andyoufollowme.Thenwe’regonnahavetorun,Jarvis,youhearme?”“Wecan’tjump!We’relike

ahundredfeetintheair!Ourankleswouldturntosausage!”“Hushup,”Juliesaid,

leapingtotheground,herredhairfanningoutbehindherlikeacape.Andjustlikethat,thebulldecidedtheGirl

Threatwasstillimminent,andcamecharging,soJuliejustreversedcourseandwasbackupbesidemebeforeI’deverseenherland.“Oh!Oh,thisisrich!”I

said,wavingatthebeautifulweather,thestreamfiftyyardsaway,thecloudsofmosquitoesallaroundus.“Whendoyoureckonthey’llfindusuphere,huh?Whenit’stimetoslaughterthatcalf?Afterit’smadetheroundsat

the4-HFair?”Juliegavemethelook,soI

turnedmybacktoher.“PlusIamstarvedoutof

mymind.”“You’reoutofyourmind,

allright.”“ANDIhavewasteda

wholedayIcouldhavebeendoingsomethingelse.”Juliesaidnothing.“Icouldhavebeen,Idon’t

evenknowwhat.”Silence.

“YourmommademeputonshoesforthisandIamcovered,IamoutrightcoveredItellyouwithmosquitobitesandIdon’tknowwhat-all.Thishorseflyhaslandedonmetwentytimesnowandhorseflieshaveteeth,JulieAnn.”Thebigcowandthelittle

cowwerenowhappilyrestingunderourtree,thebabynursing,themamagrazingandperiodicallylookingoff

acrossthepastureasifinappreciationofitsbeauty,justbeforeshelookedbackatusasifshehadrabies.“Andwhathappens

when…”Juliepunchedmeinthe

arm.“Youstoptalking.”NowIknewIwasdoomed.

Juliehadnoideasandthesunwasgoingdown.I’dgottentheknuckle-punchandmythighswererubbednearbloodyfromtheroughbark

ofwhatevertreeitwaswewerein.Wecouldhaveyelledandyelledandnoonewouldhaveheardus;therewastoomuchlandandtoomanyanimalsbetweenusandtheNewmans’house.Therewasn’tjustthecowlotneartheroad,therewerepigs,andtwosecretsaboutpigsisthattheyneverstopwaggingtheirtailsandtheynever,evershutup.There’ssomenoisecomingoutofthosethings

aroundtheclock.Iwastryingtoimagineone,evenonesingleoptionwhenJuliesaid,“There’sDavidLee.”Nowifthiswholeevent

hadhappenedatmyhouseandmysisterhadeventuallycomelookingforme,itwouldhavegonelikethis:shewouldhavestoppedaboutfiftyyardsawayandyelled,“Whatareyoudoingupthere,bigstupid?”AndI’dhavehadtoyellback,“I’m

trappeduphereinthistreebyabulldownbelow!Abullanditsbaby!It’sthebiggestthingI’veeverseenandmeanashell!”AndMelindawouldhavesaid,“I’mtellingMomyousaid‘hell.’”Thenmaybeshewouldhavesavedmylifeormaybeshe’dhaveletmestewforalittlewhilelonger.ButattheNewmans’,thiswasthecourseofaction:DavidLeecameupthehillfromthestream.Hesawthe

cowandthecalf.HesawJulie’swhiteshirtandredhairupinthebigbranch.HetookoffhisseedcapandhisownwhiteT-shirtandwaveditintheair,yelling,“Whoo!WhooeeMama!”whichcausedthebulltoturnandlookathimforaboutasplitsecondbeforedecidingDavidLeeneededkilling.Theinstantthebullran,Julienotonlyjumped,shepulledmedownwithherandIlandedin

suchawaythatbothmyanklesfeltlikesomeonehadrammedlitsparklersinmyshoes.DavidLeeran,ziggingand

zaggingdownthehill,yelling,andthebullfollowedhim.JulieandIranstraightdown,rightthroughthecreek,upthehill.TwicethecowdecidedithatedusmorethanDavidLeeandchangeddirection,andthenDavidwouldhavetowavehisshirt

evenharderandyellevenlouder.Weranpasttheoldpump,andratherthantowardthecowlot,wewenttowardthepigs,whichweresurroundedbyawoodfence,nobarbedwire.“Jumpthatfence,”Julie

said,notevenwinded.“OhLord,”Isaid,mylungs

aflame.ButIjumpedit,andlandedintwofeetofmuckygoo,Indiana’squicksand.Juliepulledhercowboyboots

upandoutwithasquelchingsoundIwouldn’tsoonforget,andkeptgoing.TherewasnowayshewasgoingtoleaveherbrotheroutinthehinterlandswithBabetheOxchasinghim.Sheclimbedthefenceattheroad’sedgeandIdidthesame.Welandedinthegrassandsomethingfeltfunny.IlookeddownandIhadneithershoenorsockoneitherfoot.“Huh,”Isaid,lookingback.

Andtheretheywere,stucklikebonesinatarpit,sinking.Apigwalkedoverandpickeduponeofthesocks,carrieditawaylikeato-goorder.Werantothemudroom

door,whereDebbiewashoistingasaddleontoasawhorse.“Wherehaveyoubeen?”sheyelled.“Where’syourdoggonebrother?Youwashthosefeetoff,Jarvis,beforeyoucomeinmy

house,andthenJulieAnntherearepotatoesthatdon’tknowhowtopeelthemselves.”DavidLeeranupbehind

us,hisshirtbackon,hiscapbackonhishead.“Aren’tyousupposedtobe

helpingyourdad?”Debbiesaid.“Geton,youbuncha

lazies.”

ThatnightJulieandI

practiceddoingbackwardsomersaultswhilewatchingcowboymovies,andwhenournecksstartedtohurtweateahalf-gallonofvanillaicecreamrightoutofitsbox.WhileweweresleepingDavidLeewalkedintoJulie’sbedroomwithablanketwrappedaroundhim,hishairstandingstraightupasifhe’djustpulledhishatoff,hiseyesunfocused.Juliesaid,“You’resleepwalking,go

backtobed,”andheturnedaroundanddisappeared.Inthemorningwewere

calledforbreakfastanditwasbeefbrains.“I’mnoteatingthis,”Ialwayssaid,everytimeDebbiefixedit,andshewouldanswer,“You’lleatitoryou’llgohungry,”soI’dpilemyplatehighbecauseintruthIthoughtitwasdelicious.Scrambledbeefbrains.Theytastedlikewildmushrooms,likesomething

strangeanddangerousyoucouldonlyfindbyaccident.

August8,1974

SheknewmebeforeIwasborn.Herhandswouldtracethespanofmymother’sstomachandOlivesawmewholebutwouldn’ttellwhatsheknew,onlythatIhaddecisionsyettomake.When

IwasbornIbecamesoillInearlydiedfromastaphinfectioninmyinnerear,andOlivetoldMomtoletgoofme,thatIbelongedtoGodandIwasn’tatallcertainwhetherIshouldstayonthisearth.SoMotherrockedmethatday,fallingasleepasshedidso,andasshesleptsheletmego.Theinfectionburstandmyheartturnedoutward,orsoOlivesaid,andsomepartofmecametobelieveI

couldsurvivetheworld.IfQuakershadsaints,then

OliveOvertonwouldhavebeenone.Shehadnarroweyesthatinameanwomanwouldhavebeenthreateningbutinherwerelikealaughhappeningnooneelsecouldhear.Herlipswerethinandshehadmoleseverywhere—sometimesIsatbehindherinchurchandcountedthembutitwaslikecountingrowsofcornandIalwaysgaveup.

Shekepthergray-and-blackhaircutshortandspringywithlittlecurlsshemadewithbobbypins,andshealwaysworeadressandsensibleshoesandoftenanapron.Sheunderstoodtheoldways,whereyouhadyourtwosonsandthenyouwereamatronwitharoundbellyandhandsbrightredfrombleachwater.Idon’tbelieveapuffofpowderoratraceoflipstickevertouchedherface,norso

muchasanearring,becauselifewasabouteverythingbutadornments.LifewasaboutreallyhotConstantCommentteainchippedmugs,itwasaboutChinesecheckersanddoingrightatalltimes.Itwasaboutkeepingyourironingdoneandyourflowersplanted,andyourlittlecurlsspringyfromtheirpins.IfInamedathousandperfectthingsabouther,onewouldhavetobeherson,Joe,

whomIlovedsomuchIwroteletterstohimincrayonwhenhewasattheVietnamsituation.Ihatedwritinglettersanditwasaflatwasteofcrayon,buthewashandsomelikeamoviestarandOlivewashismother.JoeandmybrotherrantogetherandsometimestheywouldcomehomeintheirdarkbluehoodedsweatshirtsandevenforonesuchasI,whoseheartbelongedtoTellySavalasand

GlenCampbell,thosetwowereasightthatstartedaclockkeepingtime.

OlivelivedwithamannamedOrville,anoldbachelorwithsuspiciouslygoodtasteinfurniture.Heownedahousethatdidn’tbelonginMooreland,withaglassed-insittingporchandrattanfurniture.Insidewasamuseumofdarkvelvetsandcurvedlegs,breakfronts

sittingonthebacksofgargoyles,Orientalrugshe’dacquiredonjourneystoplacestherestofMoorelandwouldneverhearof;evenifaspinningglobestoppeddeadonthatcountryandsomeoneasked,“Whatdoesthatsay?”theanswerwouldbe“Idon’tknow.”Olive“livedin”withOrville,whichwasaboutasweirdaslifecouldgetifyouaskedme,livingwithanoldmanwhokepttohimselfand

hadanunnaturalaffectionforantiques.([a-z]+)hadherownbedroomandbathroomandtheywereplainintheQuakerway,withjusttwophotographsonherdresser,oneofherlatehusbandandoneofhersons,CharlieandJoe.AllthroughtherestofthehousewasflockedwallpaperandTurkishrunners,glass-frontcabinetsfilledwithporcelain.Thereweresomanydoiliesitwas

bestjusttonotevenlook,butwhenyousteppedintoOlive’sbedroomtherewasnothingandthatwasmuchmoreintimidating.IclosedmymouthgoodwhenIenteredOlive’sbedroomandIdidn’ttouchanything,either,orevenrestmyfingersonherclosetdoorthewayImighthaveatsomeoneelse’shouse.BecauseOliveknewme,andthatisbothagoodthingandabadthing,

dependingonthemoment.

OnaparticulardayinAugust,IwasinvitedtospendtheafternoonandnightatOrville’sasIsometimeswas,andstayingwithOlivegotinsidemeandsavedthosepartsofmylifethatwerestillmaybefence-sittingonthewholestayingalivebusiness.Ididn’thavetotellheranything;noonedid.Shewasmymother’sbestfriendandI

don’thaveonememoryofthemtalkingoutloud.OliveunderstoodthatIwasbornanoutcastinanancientandsubtleway;Iwasconceivedoutofsomegriefordarknessandwouldbemadetopayapriceforit.Onceshetookmyhandinchurchandpressedintoitasleepingdollsheknewhowtomakeoutofahandkerchief,andIheldthedollbutsawmyselfthatsmall.Notsick—Iwasn’t

sickinwhatIsaw,Ihadbeenlefttodie.Istrokedthelittlecottonhanky-head.Olivewasononesideofme,mymotherontheother.Inthenextrowupwasmyevilsister.Idon’tknowwhatIthought,Idon’tknowhowIsawit,butIknewthatworld,theworldwhereIhadbeenabandonedinaforestoronahill,hadbeenonepossibilityandithadpassedaway,andinsteadIhadarrivedwhere

thesewomenwere:mygentlemother,wholetmegoandsoIlived;Olive,whosmelledofcoughdropsandmothballsandwasamaidtoamannoneofuswouldeverknow;andMelinda,whoifI’ddaredtrytotakemyleaveofthislifewouldhavejerkedaknotinmytail,thenpinchedmeinthatsoftplaceundermyarm.

OnmywaytoOrville’sIcrossedthestreetsoasnotto

runintoEdythe,whowaspacingthesidewalkwithherhandsbehindherback,whistling.ItookapeekinSaffer’sstore,longsinceabandoned,andgavemyselfajunglecaseofshiversthinkingofthehundredsofpairsofshoesstillstoredintheupstairs,lineduplikesoldiers,someofthemthekindthatrequiredabuttonhook.Atnightthoseshoesmarched,Iknewfor

absolutelycertain,butduringthedaytheykepttheirpeaceandforthatIwasgrateful.IskippeddownBroadStreetpasthouseswhereIknewpeopleandhousesIwasshyof.IskippedpasttheSouthChristianChurchparsonage,whichalwayssmelledofCampbell’sChickenNoodleSoupandwheremysister’sbeautifulfriendCheryllived.Herewasthehouseofthemanwhosoldacertainkind

ofcornseedandIthoughthisnamewasTodd’sHybrids.IcalledhimMr.Hybridwhenwehappenedtomeet.TherewastheFarmer’sStateBankofMooreland,wherekindlyred-hairedJoyceDickworked,whogavemelollipopseverytimeIhappenedtostrollpastthedrive-throughwindoweventhoughIneverhadonesinglepennytogiveinreturn.Thebankpresident,JohnTaylor,

lookedexactlylikeRichardNixon,andIbelievedthepictureofthePresidentthathunginthepostofficewasactuallythatofJohnTaylor,andwonderedwhyourmailwastobeinhonorofhim.Parkinglot.Tony’sbarbershop;thedrugstorewhereallgoodthingswaited.Therailroadtracksandthegrainelevator,thenthehousewherethesmart,toughgirlDanalived.Ilovedherand

shewashardasnails.ThehomeofMonkElliottwhocharmedmefornoparticularreason.Houseafterhouse,allheadingoutoftown,includingthebigblackandwhiteonewiththewraparoundporchwherethetwounmarriedsisterssateverydayasifwaitingfortheir133,oneofthem,Peggy,wearinglipsticksobrightreditcouldgiveapersonaheadachejusttosee

it.Ipassedmyelementaryschool,thenAstorMain’sFuneralHome,andtherewasOrville’shouse,rightatthetownlimits.Anotherhalfablockbeyondwasnothingbutfields.Iwentintotheglassed-in

porch,whichhadaveryparticularsmellofpottingsoil(nopottingsoiltobeseen),thenrangthedoorbell.Oliveappeared,herfingertoherlipstoindicateOrville

wasnappingordoingwhateverOrvilledid,whichwasnobodyknewwhat.IcreptinlikeacatandfollowedOlivetothekitchenwheresheproceededtostripmecompletelynakedandputallmyclothesinthewashingmachine,asshedideverytimeIenteredthehouse.Ijustheldoutmyarmsandlegsandletherdoit.SheranabathandscrubbedmesohardIlostthetoptwolayers

ofmyskin,eventhegrayringaroundmyneckmysistersworewaspermanentandmarkedmeasafuturejuveniledelinquent.Olive’sfingernailswerecutdownshortbutshedugthemintomyhead,shampooingmewithsomedevilishconcoctionoftarandlye,whichwouldleavemyhairsohugeandunmanageableIwassurelythefirstchildtowearaQuaker-fro,althoughIdidit

withoutprideoranypowertomypeople.IsatinabigtowelontheedgeofthetubuntilmyclothesweredryandthenIwasallowedtocomebackdownstairsandhaveacupofConstantCommentsohotIburnedmylip,andplayChinesecheckerswithOlivewhobeatmeeverytime.Inevercouldrememberwhatcolormymarbleswereorwhattheobjectwas,soIjustmovedaroundhitherandyon

andOliveletmebutshealsoletmelose.Wedidn’tsayonthat

afternoonoranyotherthatmaybeitwasunusualhowshehadtowashmyclothesandgivemeabath;Rose’smotherdidit,too,andsheneversaidanything.Melindadidityearinandyearout.Olivedidn’tmentionthatIhadtwograndmotherswhoweremyrealgrandmothersandIhadneveroncebeen

askedtospendthenightwiththem.Abigthing,agiganticwingedthing,hoveredwherethatconversationmighthavebeen,andonlymysisterwouldspeakofit,howwelovedmyMomMaryandDonitawithallourheartsandsouls,butsheandmyauntanduncleskepttothemselvesandlovedmycousinsandtookthemplaces.Theywenttoeveryschoolfunctionandcameandwentfromone

another’shomes,buttherewassomethingaboutusthatkeptusoutandmadeusother.MomMarywasgoodtouswhenweweretherebutitwasmycousinsshesaweveryday,andmyuncleKenny’swifeAuntDonnalovedmebutitwastherestofthefamilythatclungtogetherlikeaunitwhileBobby’schildren,myfather’schildren,watchedfromadistanceandtookitin.My

sisterwouldsaywithherteethclosedtightthatshewouldn’tstandoutsidethedoorlikeawarorphan,beggingforadmittance,butIdidn’tknowwhatawarorphanwas(althoughIwascomparedtooneoftenenough,givenmysenseoffashion)andI’dneverbeggedforathinginmylife.SoIwasfine.Iwashappyenough.Olive’shousewassilentbutforthetickingofa

clock,justlikeinourQuakerMeetingHouse,andtheclickingofherpalebluemarblesasshejumped,jumped,jumpedovermylittlemessofredones,tryinginherwaytoteachmesomethingIsimplycouldn’tgetaroundtolearning.

Orville’sgreat-nieceandnephewswerecomingforavisit;thatwaspartofthereasonI’dbeeninvited.They

werecomingfromanotherstate,thechildrenofanieceornephewwhohadnevervisitedMoorelandbefore(andlikemanyothers,wouldneverreturn).Thechildrenwerearoundmyagebutstrangeandtalkative;theyweredressedasifforchurchandtheyseemedtotakeeverythingforgranted.Orville’sporchmeantnothingtothem,northeskreakyleatherchairorrugswiththe

birdsofparadise.Ifollowedthemaroundunsureofwhattodo.Theyaskedmequestionsthatmadenosenseandtheywouldn’tsettledownandplayanythinggoodandtheywouldn’tgooutside.Iwaspreparedtotakethemtothepartoftherailroadtrackswherehoboescamped,ortothegravelpitwherewecouldeachriskdrowning.Ifallelsefailedtherewastheteeter-totterfilledwith

splintersthatwouldtakeupagoodpartoftheafternoon.Instead,theywantedto

openthechinacaseintheparlorandtakeoutOrville’scollectionofglassanimals.Suchathingwouldnothavecrossedmymindin879years,butassoonasthedoorswereopenedandthechatteryniecehadremovedadelicateswanwitharedbillanddotsofblackglassforeyes,myhandreachedoutas

ifI’dlostmyscantbitofmind.Ihelditinthepalmofmyhandanditweighednothing;itwasimpossibleandbeautiful.“Lookatthisone,”the

niecesaid,takingoutasheepwithtinyblackhooves.“Iwantthehorse,”a

nephewsaid,hisclumsyhandreachinginforwhatlookedtobeanunderfedquarterhorse,brownwithablackmane.Inreachingforthehorse,he

knockedoverafamilyofducksandapolarbear,andinthattinklingmoment,OlivecamearoundthecornerwhereIstood,thepalmofmyhandflatoutandtheswanrestingthereasifonaplacidlake.“Whatareyoudoing?”she

hissedatallofus,inavoiceI’dneverheardbefore.“Wewantedtolookat

UncleOrville’sanimals,”theniecesaidblandly,and

withoutaglanceatOlive.“Putthemback

immediately,”Olivesaid,growing,itseemed,evenangrier.Thechildrencasuallyput

theanimalsbackinnoorder,leavingtheducksontheirsides.Olivesnatchedtheswanfrommyhandandputitback,thengrabbedmehardaroundmyupperarm.“Howdareyou,”shewhisperedinmyear,hereyessonarrow

nowtheyweredifficulttosee.Icouldn’tswallow—Iwas

barelybreathing—butImanagedtosay,“Theydidit,theyopenedthecabinet.”Olivesqueezedmyarm

evenharderandsaid,“Youaresupposedtobebetterthanthem.YouarebetterthanthemandItrustedyou.”SheletgoofmyarmandIfeltthelooseningofthepressurelikeabulletinmychest.Fora

momentIthoughtImightfaint,butinsteadranoutoftheroomandupthestepsandintoOlive’sroom,wherenothingwasoutofplaceandtherewasnosoundordustorconfusion.IlayfacedownonherbedandcriedsohardmyeyesswelledshutandmynosestuffedupandImightaswellhavejustgottenpneumoniaanddiedlikegirlssometimesdidinthegothiccomicbooksIkepttucked

undermybedathome.Ifellasleepthatway,andstayedasleepuntilthenieceandnephewswerelonggone.

Olivecalledmedownforteaandtoast.IsatinthebrightyellowkitchenwiththehighceilingsandlistenedwithOlivetoLawrenceWelkontheradioassheironedOrville’swhiteshirts.Theywerepiledinabasketandtherewereaboutamillionof

them.Idon’tknowwhereheworethemasIdon’tbelieveheworkedorifhediditwasinasecretplace.Olivesprinkledstarchontheshirts,sprayedthemwithwater,loweredtheoldironthatweighedasmuchasaBuick.Thesteamroseupandmademayhemofherpincurls,andsometimesshetookahandkerchieffromherpocketandwipedherbrow.EverythingLawrenceWelk

saidanddidwasplainstupid,butIatemytoastanddrankmyteaandletmylegsswingunderthetable.Olive’skitchenwasthecleanestplaceonGod’sacre,andIwascleanandmyclotheswereclean,andmostlyOliveandIsatinsilence.Whenitwastimeforbed

shelentmeapinknightgownthatwassobigIcouldhavefitinjustthesleevebutItookitgratefully.Islippedoutof

myclothesandfoldedtheminfrontoftheclosetdoor,knowingI’dbewearingthemagainwithoutawashinganditwashardtosayhowlong.Olivechangedontheothersideoftheroomintoherown,peach-colorednightgown.Wehadchangedinthesameroombefore,butonthisnightIaccidentallyturnedtoosoonandsawherstandingthere,hergirdleremoved,herhugegraybralyingonthedresser.

Shewasinjustherunderpantsandwasabouttoslipthenightgownoverherhead.Iquicksnuckunderthe

coversandpretendedtobesosleepyIwasabouttodie.MyheartwasyappingaroundinmychesthardenoughIwassureOlivecouldhearit,andmystomachwasdoinganextraweirdthingthatcausedittosinkinonitselfinspasms.Myfeetwere

freezingandIcursedmyself(curses,curses,Isaid)forhavinganeyelikeacamera.IhadjustaddedsomethingtothephotoalbumofThingsIWishedI’dNeverSeen.Thisonecouldbecross-referencedunderNotSureWhatItWas.Olive’sbodyhadbeen

coveredwithstretchmarksandvaricoseveins,likeamapyouturnoverandcannevermakesenseof.Dottedallaroundthesilverystripesand

thebrightblueraisedveinsweremoreandmoremoles,thousandsofthem.Herbreastswerelargeandhungtoherwaist,andeverythingwassinkinginfolds—athickribbonofskinovertheelasticofherunderpants;pocketsaboveherknees.Theskinthatwasn’tbluewithveinsorblackwithmoleswasaswhiteasthebellyofadeer,andthentherewerethosebrightredhands,so

chappedshenolongerhadfingerprints.“Didyousayyour

prayers?”Oliveasked,climbinginbedbesideme.“Jesuslovesme,Godis

love,goodnight,”Isaid,repeatingthewordsmymothermademesaybeforebedeveryevening.“Godblessyou,”Olive

said,turningoverandsettlingintosleep.ButIdidn’tanswer.Ilet

myhandsrestonmyhipbones,whichweresopronouncedmydadsworehecouldhangcoffeecupsfromthem.Myskinwashoney-coloredinthelatesummerandtautasadrum.Itracedthelineofmyneck,mysternum,myelbows.Iwasswimminginthepinknightgown;therewasnothingtomeandneverhadbeen.ButeventhoughitwasOlivewhocouldseethefuture,not

me,Ishookandblinkedinthedarksilentroom,andIjustwantedtokeepit,IwantedtokeepwhoIwas,forthefirsttimeinmylife.

“Sweetheart,”Olivewhispered.Iburiedmyheadinmy

pillow,thoughtDearGodIjustfellasleepandshe’sgettingmeupforchurch,willtherebenoendtomypunishment.

“Orvillesaysthere’ssomethingontelevisionweshouldsee.”Igotoutofbedandlet

Olivewrapmeinabigbluerobe.Iheldupthehemaswewalkedquietlydownthesteps,overtheTurkishrunner,intothelivingroomwhereOrvillesatinhisstarchedwhitepajamasanddarkpaisleyrobe.Hedidn’tsayanything,butnoddedatthetelevision.

IsatbesideOliveandtriedtodiscernwhatIwasseeing.TheFarmer’sStateBankpresident,JohnTaylor,wasspeakingtotheAmericanpublicandhewasinasorrystate.No,no—itwasactuallyRichardNixon.Irememberednow,becauseitwasNixonwiththejowlsandJohnTaylorwhowashandsome.Nixonwassayinghenolongerfelthehadthepoliticalsupporttoleadthe

nationandwouldberesigningthatverynight.OliveandOrvilleweremotionless,butIwasmosttakenwiththebluebandcrawlingacrossthebottomofthescreen,theissuanceofatornadowarningforpartsofHenryCounty.Atornadohadbeenspotted…somewhere…Ineverunderstoodthepartsaboutnorth/northeast,orsixmileswestof375North,whattheheckdidanyofthat

meananyway.Mypalmsbegantosweat,andIturnedtoOliveandsaid,“Iwanttogohome,Iwanttocallmydad.”Sheshushedme,seeminglyunawareofthepossibilityofatornado.Nothingscaredmemore.Nothingexceptrats,beingkidnapped,orbeingthrownintoblackwater.Alsoyellowmustard.Buttornadoeswerewayhighonthelistofthingsthatterrifiedme,andsinceI

couldn’tgetOlive’sattentionIgotupandrantothebigplateglasswindowintheparlorwhereIcouldseethesky.BehindmeOliveand

OrvillekepttheirvigilandRichardNixongotkickedaroundgood,butforthelasttime.Iwatchedtheblacksky,tryingdesperatelytohearanything,ortheabsenceofanything,thesilenceprecedingthesoul-rumble,

thefreighttrainmusicofatornado.Istoodsilentandstrainedasadog,watchingthesky,waitingfortherealdisastertostrike.Thenightwasblack—nothinglikethesicklygreenthatmeanstheendofanentiretown—andthenthereitwas,milesabovethetownandwhiteastheghostofJesuswhohadonceappearedinourlivingroomwindow.Aghosttornado,spinninglikeachild’stoy

throughtheatmosphere,aninnocentphenomenon,allthingsconsidered.IwatcheditpassoverAstorMain’s,andthecornfieldnextdoor,thenranoutsideandwatcheditspinitswaydowntheWilburWrightRoadtowardtheLuellenfarms.Itwouldnottouchdown.Itwouldharmnoone.Itsparedus,andonthefollowingSundaymorningIsatnexttoOliveatchurch,rubbingherruined

fingertipswithmyown,whichweresmoothasglass,youngaslambs.

LateSummer

Dadsomehowcamebyasideofbeefnotapprovedbythemeat-menoftheFDA,withtheproblemthatwewouldhavetopackageit.Thehidewasgone,mostofthebonesweregone,butotherthanthat

itwaslikeacowsuitandwehadtoturnitintofrozenpackagesofcivilizeddinners.Itwasdeterminedwe’d

holdthefestivitiesatMelinda’shouse(becauseMelinda’shousewasclean,foronething),andDadshoweduptherewitharefrigeratedtruckandastackofbutcherpaperandtape.Hehungstripsofflypaperfromtheceiling,becausethemanwouldnottolerateflies.The

giganticredmeat-thingcameinsideinfourpieces,andwhileDadandRickmadethevariouscuts,Mom,Melinda,andIwrappedandlabeled.TherewasalongmomentrightthereatthebeginningwhereIthoughtImightnotbeabletodoit,mightnotbeabletopickupthequiveringliverandcenteritonthebutcherpaper,allowingmyhandsandclothestobecomecoveredinblood.Isawthe

lookonMelinda’sface,too,andsurelyMotherwasrememberingthetimeDadhadcomehomewitharaccoonfordinner,whichhe’dskinnedandshe’dputintheoventobake,exceptthatnakedandpinkyandlyinginapanitlookedexactlylikeahumanbabyandMombecameabitagitated,whichistosayshebecamehystericalandsworeshewouldneedelectricshocksto

recover.Buttherewassomething

elseinusthatsawweeksandweeksofdinner,andsowejustsettoit,andbeforeIrealizedithadhappenedIwaspickingupfreshlycutmeatandwrappingitwithquicknessandefficiency,andwhenIlookeddownatmylarge-mouthbassT-shirtitwascompletelyredwithbloodandIdidn’tcare.Theshirtwastoosmallforme

anyway;Ijustcouldn’tletitgo.Ididn’tthinkaboutitmuch

—butattheendoftheday,afterthehundredsofpoundsofmeathadbeendividedbetweenRickandMelindaandus,asDadandIloadedourtakeintothetrucktoheadforhome,Iknew,driedblooduptomyelbowsandinmyhair,thatit’spossiblewhennecessarytogetusedtoanything.

ThenewbikemydadandIbuilttoreplacemyoldone(withthepurplesparklybananaseat)weighedaboutsevenhundredpounds,butwhenIgotitgoingitflew,renderednearlygravity-freebyitsmomentum.Iwantedtoridefartherandfartheroutoftown,wheretheflatstreetsofMoorelandgavewaytosomehills.Thenewbikewasfartooheavytojumpofftheloadingdockofthe

Moorelandpostoffice;itwastoobulkytoridealongthelowwallsattheedgesofneighbors’yards.Whatitwasbuiltforwasspeedandlongdistances,soIembarkedonacampaignforfreedom.RequestingfreedomfrommydadwasratherlikewaitingforJesustoreturntoPlanetEarth:youcouldhopeallyouwanted,buttheanswerwasstillno.Iwastallandknew

Moorelandbetterthanpeoplewho’dbeenalivethreetimesaslong,andDadstillhadalittlepanicaboutmecrossingBroadStreettogettoRose’shouse.WhenIwasinthebathtubhestillcalledout“Zip?”everysevenminutestomakesureIhadn’tdrowned.Beforeanyonecouldtouchmeasaninfant,heenforcedhand-washingwithrubbingalcohol,includingbymyownhuman

mother.Wewentroundandround.

Icajoled,andstressedmydeepinnatesenseofpersonalresponsibility,whichwebothknewtobenonexistent.Heshookhisheadandsaiditwastoodangerous.ItwastoodangerousbecausepeopleinruralIndiana(andprobablyinruralTexasandruralMinnesota)drivecountryroadsasiftheyarebothimmortalandparticipatingin

astockcarevent.Itseemedthatonceayearsomeoneflewupandoverablindhilldoingninety,eitherinthecompletelywronglaneordeadinthemiddle,whichiswheretheyendedup.Menespeciallydidthis,andfarmboysintrucks.Itwasn’tbecausetheythoughttheyownedtheroad,asthesayingwent,itwasbecausetheydidowntheroad,andafterthefifty-secondtimeyou’ve

stuckyourhandinajammedthresherandstillnotlostanarm,what’stheWilburWrightRoadtoyou?IwonbecauseDadhad

otherthingsonhismind,andbecauseIwasrelentless.Hegavein,tellingmeIcouldrideasfarsouthasthecrossroadsatMessick,butthenIhadtoturnaroundandcomeback,ANDIhadtoridewithagiganticflagpokingupoutofmybackfender,aflag

sixfeettallandcoloredblazeorange.“Isthattokeepmefrom

gettingshotbyhunters?”Iaskedasheinstalledthethingytheflagslippedinto.“Becauseyouknowthere’snotalotofhuntingoutinthattomatofield,Bobby.”“StopcallingmeBobby.”“Notalotofdeerjust

hangingaroundinthewideopenfourmonthsbeforehuntingseason.Inthe

tomatoes.”“Doyouunderstandwhat

orangeshowsupagainst?”heasked,givingmeahardeyebrow.“Nature.Youridewiththeflagonthebikeoryoustayhomeandswingfromyourtoes,it’syourchoice.”“Fine,”Isaid,stomping

halfwaytothefrontdoor.Istompedback.“ButIjustwantyoutoknowIthinkthatflagisuglyonmybikeand

alsoitdoesn’tseemsoaerodynamicallysound.”“Huh,”Dadsaid,tightening

abolt.“Youhearthatonacommercial?”Inodded.“ThePorsche

911,youknowthatonewiththetunnels?”Isatdownonthesidewalkbesidehimandrecountedtheentirespeedyplotoftheadvertisement.

TheideawasthatIcouldbeinalittlediporcrestingahill

andanoncomingcarwouldseetheflaglongbeforetheysawme.Igotit.Iwentoutthefirstdayandworkedmywayuptospeed,whichnearabouttoremyhamstrings,andbythetimeIgottothehousemysistercovetedwithallherheartIwasprettymuchairborne.Iwasridingonthecorrectsideoftheroad,flagwhistlingandflappingandslowingmedown,whenacarcameup

overahillinentirelythewronglaneandhadtoswervetomissme.Alocalwomanwithsuchbeautifulstraightblondhairthatsherefusedtorolldownherwindowspassedby,tooted,waved.Ihadtoclimboffmybike,sitdowninthegraveloftheshoulderandhangmyheadbetweenmykneestokeepfromhyperventilating.Iwouldnever,evertellDadaboutthis.Iturnedaround

andwenthome,andthenextdaywentalittlefarther.

Therearehorribletorturesinthisworld,likegoingtochurchandthatmomentyoursisternoticesyouhaveneveronceinyourentirelifewashedbehindyourears.Dinnerisroutinelylateandhomeworkisagiven.Therearemeanboyswhotalkaboutunderwear,andmeangirls,buttheonlyoneIknew

(Dana)Ireallyliked.Thereisthetortureofthedeadbabypigpileatyourbestfriend’shouse,apilewhichisfrozeninthewinterbutinthesummermustbefacedsquarely.Yourhamster,Skippy,drownsinyourpottychairandyoursisterandbrotherWILLNEVERLETYOUFORGET,eventhoughSkippywasabiter,andindeedwasfoundwithhismouthwideopenandhis

teethaslonganddangerousasthoseofasaber-toothedrodent.Thereisthecrueltyofbeingmadetowearshoes;thereisthefactofanunheatedhouseinthewintertime;thereisacriticallackofplumbingformonthsatatime.ButnotortureIknewasa

childcomparedwithcanningseason,whichseemstohavebeendevisedbySatantoreproducetheenvironsof

Helllongbeforewegetthere.Imagineakitchenattheheightofsummer,pansboilingandpressurecookerssteaming,Balljarsbeingsterilized(andnotbysomethingcold),Dadrunningtheoperationlikeabanddirectorwithagrudgeandatwitchingbaton.Weputupapplebutter,weputupsnapbeans.Weboiledcornonthecobthensliceditoffinstripswithasharpknife.There

werebread-and-butterpickles,chowchow,yellowsquash.Butnothingmatchedthesheer,violenthatefulnessofcanningtomatoes.Theyhadtobepicked,for

onething,thendestemmed,boiled,dumpedintothesink,andslippedfromtheirskinswhilestillatatemperatureof8,000degreesFahrenheit.Thelarvapart,oncedenuded,wasdroppedquicklyintojars,plopplopplop,untilthejar

wasfull,atwhichtimeDadgotthejoboftheparaffinandthelid,whichseemedtometoperhapsbetheleastoftheevils,butofcoursehewasincharge.AndifIcomplained,he’dtellmetostandinfrontofthefan,whichwasblowingthewholeshebangaroundlikethebroilingwindinDeathValley.Onthenightbeforethefirst

tomatocanningdayItoldDadIwasgoingtogetup

earlybecauseIwasgoingtorideallthewaytotheend,tothelimit.Iwouldstopatthecrossroads,haveamoment,thenturnaroundandcomehome.MaybeI’ddoitasecondtime,ifIwasfeelingsprightly.Dadsaidno,absolutelynot,

weweregettinganearlystart.Thiswasamanwhowentfishingatthreeinthemorning,andeachyearwhenBlueRiver’sbandmarchedin

theStateFairparade,weleftatfiveA.M.inordertogetagoodparkingspot.Hewasroutinelyupforthedayatfour,newsblaringbysix.SoIknewwhenhesaidearlyhemeantit,andifIwasgoingtosneakoutofthehouseitmightmeandoingsointhedeadofnight,neverhavingslept.Ilayinbedonmydaisy

sheets,whichhadbeenonthebedaslongasIcould

remember,infrontoftheboxfanwiththelittlemouseskeletonstillinthebottom.I’dlongsincestoppedstaringatit.Itriednottosleep.IimaginedDracularunningdownthestreetsofOldLondon,runningrightatme,andthatgotmyheartgoingforawhile.IrememberedthedreamI’dhadthatatrollwaseatingmyhair,andthetimeMelinda’sclowndollhadtalkedtomefromawicker

chair.Thosethings—terrifyingatthetime—hadworndown,hadbecomejustWhatHappened.Theclowndolltalked,that’sjusthowitwas.ThetrollwaschewingonmyhairbutwhenIwokeupitwasPeeDink,myretardedcat.Sowhatwasreallyscary?

Thedaymysistergotmarriedandlefthome;thatonestillstung.TheloveIfeltformynephew,Josh,andhowitfelt

whenIthoughthemighthavestoppedbreathing.Tornadoes,nuclearbombs,beingstrandedonamountaintopinablizzard,anyeventthatcausedmetohavetosliceoffthefattypartofotherpeople’sbottomsandeatthembecauseIwasstarvingtodeath.Mannequins,obviously,andmyfather’stemper—thetimehewentafterMelindawithabeltbecausehe’d

gottenherapairofshoesthatdidn’tfitherandshesaidso.Andsomethingaboutmymom.Somethingaboutmyfamily.Ilayonmybackintheswelteringnight,wideawakeandsickwithfear,andthatlineofthoughtsureworked.Thatoneworkedlikemagic.

Dadgotupandwentouttohislittleshed.Iturnedoffthefanandcouldhearhimout

therewithhisbeeswaxandhistraps,histoolsandchains,whistlinganddrinkingacupofcoffee.Islippedoutofbed,stillinyesterday’sclothes,andmademywaydownthecreakystepsbyslidingonthebanister.Noonebarked,noonesawme.Imanagedtokeepthescreendoorfromslamming,andIwheeledmybikeofftheporchsoquietlyIknewIhadspecialpowersIwould

eventuallyneedtoinvestigate.AttheedgeoftownI

pulledtheblazeflagoutofitsslotandleftitinfrontofAstorMain’sfuneralhome.Theflagwasaprimeirritant.Itookoff,thefieldsaroundmejustbeginningtoglowwithdawn,ascentintheairandadensityoflightthatalmostmademeunderstandwhyDadgotupsoridiculouslyearly.Iwent

upthefirsthill,pastMelinda’sCovetThyNeighbor’sHouse,andsailingdown;thetreelinesendedandthefieldsopenedupbeforeme,thousandsofacres.AndIhadanimage,thewayIsometimesthoughtaboutbeingsickjustbeforeIgotsick,ofatimeoutatJulie’swhenafoxhadstreakedacrosstheroadinfrontofus.Irememberedthefoxandjustlikethat,

somethingcrashedoutofaravineontheleftsideoftheroadandgallopedacrosstotheright,maybeacouplehundredfeetfromme—justcloseenoughformetoseetheshapebutnottheface.Istoppedmybikeandwatchedthethinglumberacrossthefieldanddisappearintoaclumpoftrees.Mybreathingwasskittery

andmyrightlegshook.Ihadthoughtatfirstithadbeena

cow,butitwasn’t,anditwasn’tahorseorastag.Istaredatthefields,replayingtheimage.IknewexactlywhatI’dseen.Iturnedaroundandheadedhome.

Dadwaswaitingonthefrontporch,hisarmscrossed,acigaretteburningnearhischest.“I’dsuggestyougetoffthatbicycle,”hesaid,fullofmenace.“Now,listen,”Ibegan.

“No,youlisten.IfItellyouyou’renotridingyourbikeofamorningbecausewe’recanningtomatoes,whatdoesthatmean?”“Ihavetotell—”“WHATDOESTHAT

MEAN?”Ileanedmybikeagainsta

treeandwalkedupintotheyard.“ItmeansIcan’tridemybike.”“Correct.Andwhycan’t

you?”Henevertookhiseyes

offme,whichmademehavetokeeplookingdownatthescrubbyyard.“Becauseyousaidso.”“Getinthehouseandhelp

yourmother.”HedrewalasttimeonhisLucky,flippeditnearlyhalfwayacrossthestreet.Iwalkedinside,lettingthe

screendoorslam.TheinsideofthehousewasalreadysohotIcouldfeelmylungsshrivelinguplike

prunes.Somepeople,whoweremorecivilizedthanmydad,builtalittlecanningshedoutside,sotheycoulddoitintheopenair,ratherthaninanoldkitchenwithexactlyonewindowthatcouldberaisedexactlythreeinches.Iopenedthescreendoor

againandstuckmyheadout,knowingIwasriskinglifeandlimbbydisobeyinghimtwice.“That’sjustfinethen,Iwon’ttellyouhowIgot

halfwaytothecrossroadsandaMOOSEranacrosstheroadinfrontofme,Iwon’tbothertellingyouaboutthat.”Iquickpulledmyheadbackinandclosedthedoor,thenranintothekitchenwhereMomwasinherapronboilingtomatoes,herhairundoneandfrizzedaroundherface.She,ofcourse,hadneverknownI’dbeengone.“Goodmorning,sweetheart,”shesaid,withthevaguestof

glances.

Iheldonesideofthepotaswepouredthetomatoesintothebigcolander.Balljarswerelineduponatowelbesideus,asifwewereinasciencelab.Oh,Iwassufferingallright.Dadwalkedin,coolasabread-and-butterpickle.Helookedatthetomatoesonthestove,thebushelsonthefloor.Hecrossedhisleftarmoverhis

chest,studiedthenailsonhisrighthand.“Amoose,yousay.”He

didn’tlookatmeandIdidn’tlookathim.“That’swhatIsaid.A

moose.RanrightacrossfromjustpasttheThornburgs’,acrosstheroadandintoatreeclump.”“Hasn’tbeenamooseseen

inthesepartsin”—Dadthoughtaboutitamoment—“ever.AsfarasIcantell.”

Idroppedmyovenmittandputmyhandsonmyhip.“DoyouthinkIdon’tknowthat?Iknowwedon’thavemooses.That’sthewholepoint,wedon’thavemoosesandyetIsureasheck-firesawone.”“Don’tyell,”Momsaid,

handingmymittbacktome.“Amoose,”Dadsaid,his

headtiltedtotheleftinawayIparticularlydidn’tlike.“That’sRIGHT.A

MOOSE.Runacrossthe

ROAD.”Dadnoddedasifitall

madesensetohim.Hewalkedintotheden,whichwasseparatedfromthekitchenbya“breakfastbar”atwhichnobreakfastwasevereaten,andpickedupthegreentelephone.Hepausedamoment,checkingforanumberinthebackofthethinphonebook,thendialed.“Hello,”Iheardhimsay,in

hismolassesvoice.“Isthis

WCTW?ThisisBobJarviscallingfromMooreland,Indiana.I’mfine,thankyou.I’mjustwonderingifyouoryourlistenershavegottenanycallsaboutamooserunningwildoutneartheMessickRoad?”Hislipsmovedaroundsquirrellythewaytheydidwhenhewastryingtokeepapokerfaceagainstlaughing.“Ohno,I’mquiteserious.Mydaughterhere—”Heputhishandoverthe

phoneandasked,“Doyouwantmetotellthemyourname?”“No,Idonotwantyouto

tellthemmyname!Hangupfromthatradiostation!”“Mydaughter,”he

continued,“wasoutridingherbikeearlythismorningwhenshewasn’tsupposedto,andamoosejustcrashedacrosstheroadrightinfrontofher.”Helistenedamoment.“Nope,notadeer.

Notacow.Shesaysitwasamooseandshe’sstickingtoit.”Helistened,nodded.“Youdothat.Youputthewordoutandseeifyougetanycalls.Isureappreciateit.”Hehungup,strolledinto

thekitchenwithhisvictorywalk.“Don’tworry,”hesaid,“we’llgettothebottomofthis.”IwassomadIslippedon

therubberglovesandtookup

theworstofthetomatojobs:squeezingtheboilingblobsoutoftheirskins.Iwasnonetoogentle,either.Islammedaroundalittlewhile,thensaid,“Youcouldhaveatleastaskedthemtoplay‘OneTinSoldier.’Ifyouweregonnamakeagiganticfussyoucouldhaveatleastrequestedmyfavoritesong.”MomandDadworked

besideeachothersilently.Shefilledthejars;hesealed

them,thenwrotethedateonthebrasslidswithapermanentmarker.Hisbeautifulhandwriting.We’ddatedthebutcherpaperonthesideofbeef,too,beforeweputitinthechestfreezer.Wethoughtweweredoingitforonereason,butitturnedoutweweredoingitforanother.Thosearethesortsofthingsyouonlyknowlater,ofcourse.Noonecalledaboutthemoose.Nooneelseever

sawit.

Antrobus:

What?Oh,that’sthestormsignal.Oneofthoseblackdisksmeansbadweather;twomeansstorm;threemeanshurricane;andfourmeanstheendoftheworld.Astheywatchitasecond

blackdiskrollsintoplace.

Mrs.Antrobus:

Goodness!I’mgoingthisveryminutetobuyyouallsomeraincoats.

Gladys:

Puttinghercheekagainstherfather’sshoulder.Mama,don’tgoyet.Ilike

sittingthisway.Andtheoceancominginandcomingin.Papa,don’tyoulikeit?

—THORNTONWILDER,The

SkinofOurTeeth,ACTII

Valediction

Forherfirstdayatcollegemymomworeavoluminouspurpleshirtwithblackpoodlesdancingabout,madeofpolyester,andblackpolyesterpantswithaforgivingelasticwaistline.

Shehadmadethepoodlesuitherself.ShealsoworeIndianmoccasins,becausetheyweretheonlyshoesshehadthatstillfit.Bythetimeshecamehome

thatfirstdayIwashangingaroundonthefrontporch,sometimesmakingtheporchswingsmackagainstthehouse,sometimesspinningaroundandaroundintheyarduntilIfelldown.Icheckedforearthwormsbutitwasa

drySeptemberday.Ihoppedupanddownononefoot,chippedsomepaintoffaporchpost,triedtogetmyoldimaginaryfriends,PickyandBogey,wholivedinthehousesiding,totalktomeagain.ButtheywerelonggoneandIcouldjustimaginewhatsortofidiotIlookedlike,standingtherewithmynosepressedagainstthegrittyvinyl.MomdroveupinDanny’s

car,parkingitbackaways,leavingroomdirectlyinfrontofthehouse,theplacewiththebigholealwaysfilledwithwater,forDad.Shemadeherwayoutofthecarwithunusualweariness,pausingperiodicallytolookaroundasifshewasn’tquitesurewhereshewas.Iignoredher,some.Istudiedheralittle,butnotsoshecouldtell.Shetrudgedupthe

sidewalkandstairs,herwornArmysurplusbackpackheavyonhershoulders.“Hello,”shesaidtome,almostasanafterthought.“Hey,”Isaid,studying

Saffer’sstore.Assoonasthescreendoor

closedbehindherIopeneditsneakyandslippedin.Momheadeddirectlyfortheden,whereshedroppedherbackpackinapileofknittingandfloppeddownonthe

couch.Shesatstaringforward,notblinkingorspeaking.Idoveontotheothercouch,

armsoutlikeSuperman.Ilandedhard,withawhoomph,andfeltashiverofworrythatperhapsmymostrecentlong-losthamster,Merle,wasstillsomewhereinthesofawherehe’ddisappearedafewweeksago.EachdayIstuffedcrackersorpopcorndownbetweenthe

cushions,justincase,buthe’dyettomakeanappearance.Hewasabitstupidreally,ashamstersgo.He’dbeengiventomebyagirldownthestreetwhodidn’tlikerodents,andtheveryfirsttimeItookhimoutofhiscagehesankhisgiganticcurvedteethintomythumbsohardIsawspots.ThenIgotsomadIgrabbedhimbythethroattotrytomakehimletgo,andhislittle

beadyeyespoppedoutsomeandthetopteethcamefreebuttheonesatthebottomwerelikethesizeofelephanttusksandIhadtoactuallypullthemoutofmyownthumbflesh,whichwassomethingItriednottorememberwhenfallingasleepatnight.Idroppedhim,naturally,andheskittereddownbetweenthecouchcushions,andeventhoughItookthethingapart,wearing

thickleathergloves,hewasneverseenagain.Dadtoldmelaterthatoncewhenhewasnappingonthatverysofa,hehadfeltascritchscritchscritchagainsthisbluejeans.Heignoredit.Hefeltitagain:littletinyfingernailsfranticallyscratchingtickatickatickaagainsthisbutt,andconsciousnesssweptoverhimandhewasfirsthorizontalandthenhewasverticaland

standinginanotherroom.Momstillhadnotmovedor

spoken,soIbrokethesilence.“Well?”Isaid,throwing

myarmsoutatherinfrustration.“Well?”Sheasked,looking

atme.“Well,didjaLEARN

anythingtoday?”Shelookedbackatthe

blankspotonthewall,considereditamoment.“Idon’tknow.Askmelater.”

Thiswasnogood.Icouldseewhatwashappening,soIwentupstairsandgotmyScooby-DoocoloringbookandRayBradbury’sTwice22,abookI’dreadsomanytimesitshouldhavebeencalledTwelve22,andcameandsatdownattheendofMom’scouch,verycasual-like,asifsheandIjusthappenedtobesittinginthesameplaceeventhoughitwasstilllightoutsideandI

hadohplentytobedoing.Therewasahill,forinstance,overbytherailroadtracksthatsomeonehadseenfittomowforthefirsttimeinmylifeanditwaswickedsteepforMooreland.Allthingsbeingequal.ForweeksI’dbeenridingmybikedownitwithnohands,causingthebiketoshakeandveryoftenspinoutofcontrolinthesoftdirtatthebottom.Itwasheaven.

Fine,though,fine,I’djustsitinthedimclammydenwithMominherpoodlesuituntilshepickedupthephoneandcalledsomeone,andthenI’dcolorsoquietlyshe’dforgetIwasthereandprettysoonI’dknowwhatthiswasallabout,thisthingshewasdoingcalledcollege.SoonenoughIheardher

dialingthegreentelephone.ShewascallingCarol,whichwasgood,becauseshe’dtell

Caroleverything.Herfirstclassoftheday

hadbeenAmericanLiterature240,asurveyclass,whichmeantnothingtomeasIhadseensurveyorsathousandtimesandthethoughtofthemwiththeirinstrumentstrainedonabigfatanthologymadeaboutasmuchsenseasahousemadeofhair.Momsatinthebackoftheclassroom,embarrassedtobeamongthethin,lovelynineteen-year-

oldswhorightlydeservedtobethere.TheProfessorcameinexactlyonthehour.Heworeabluesuit,adarktie,andawatchonachain,whichhetookoutofhispocketandplacedonthepodiuminfrontofhim.Therewasadecidedtremoramongthestudentsasheintroducedhimself:Dr.Satterwhite.Heexplainedthathewouldnotbetakingattendance,astherewasnoneedtofamiliarizehimself

withpeoplewhowould,inamatterofdays,simplybedroppingtheclassoutoffearandlazinessanyway.Hesaid,“Atleasthalfofyouwillvanishduringdrop/add,”atermMomwrotedowninherspiralnotebook.Drop/add.Liketheinstructionsinarecipe.Dr.Satterwhite,according

toMom,lookedeitherpresidentialorlikeamemberoftheJohnBirchSociety.I

didn’tknowwhattheJohnBirchSocietywas,buttherewasahand-paintedsignnotsofaroutintheboondockspastMountSummitthatadvertisedtheclubwiththemessageGETU.S.OUTOFTHEU.N.!Helookedlikeoneofthose,butwasn’t.Helaunchedintoalecture

withoutbenefitofabookoranote.Helecturedforexactlyforty-fiveminutes,duringwhichtimeMomtookfrantic

notesinherprecise,femininehandwriting.Hethenledthemthroughthemostterrifyingsyllabus(notthesortofvehiclemysisterwouldputmein,apparently,butascheduleofreading)Momcouldimagine.Manystudentsfoldedit,preparingtoleaveitinthetrashcanastheymadetheirwaytodrop/add.AttheendofthehourDr.Satterwhitesnappedhiswatchclosedandasked,

“Invaledictionoftoday’slesson,doesanyonehaveanythingtoadd?”Noonespoke.“Carol,”

Momsaidintothephone,bothlaughingandbeginningtocry,“Iburstintotears.”Whentheotherstudents

hadfledtheroomheaskedMominhisbrisk,militarytone,“Madam,mayIaskwhat’sthematterwithyou?”Momsaid,“Ilivein

Mooreland,andI’venever

heardanyonesay‘invalediction’ofanythingbefore.Ithinkyou’rewonderful!”Dr.Satterwhiteflushed,

clearedhisthroat,andlefttheroomabruptly.

MomcalledMomMaryandtoldherabouthernextadventure,apsychologyclassthatwasheldinabigroomwith250students.Momdidn’tlikeit,becausethe

textbookhadbeenexpensiveandoneofthestudiestheyreadaboutdescribedhowpsychologistshadspent$90,000tryingtodeterminewhetherbabiespreferredtoberockedbackandforthorsidetoside.MomMarysaidsomethingandmymomlaughedherbiglaugh,leaningherheadbackagainstthecouch.WhenshehungupIsaid,“WhatdidMomMaryhavetosay?”

“Shesaid”—Mompreparedforherperfectimitationofmygrandmother—“‘Laws,Icouldatoldthemthatforfifteendollars.Everbodyknowsitain’tnaturaltorocksidetoside;fronttobackisthewayrockersisbuilt.’”Inodded.MomMarymay

haveonlygottenthroughthethirdgrade,butyoucouldn’tputmuchpasther.

MomalsohadaclassthatdaywithDr.Reiss,athinwomanwhoworeawatchtoobigforhersoitspunaroundonherwrist,makingherlookevensmaller.Dr.ReisstaughtSpeech210,andherPh.D.wasinInterpersonalCommunications,aphrasethatsetmyteethonedgebutIdidn’tsayso.IcouldtellfromthewayMomtalkedtoJodellefromchurchthatSpeechwasmaybetheplace

shewasreallygoingtoshine,eventhoughshiningwasallshe’ddonesofar.Shementionedotherclassesshemighttake,likeAfterDinnerSpeaking,whichwasnotsomethingdoneveryofteninourhousesoitwashardtopicture.IcouldhavegottenanA+inAfterDinnerTelevisionWatching,butofcourseIwasn’tthecollegestudent.MomtoldJodellealittle

aboutDr.Satterwhite,andasshespokeshegotoutthedreadedsyllabus.“Ourfirstassignment,”Momsaid,“istowriteapaperonOfPlymouthPlantation,andlistentothis:hesaidithastobecoherentandbrilliantandperfect.”Mom’seyesfilledwithtearsagain.Itwaspossiblethatshewasgoingtocryallthroughheryearsofhighereducation.

Momwroteherpaperfirstinlonghand,thentypeditontheoldSmithCoronaonwhichshe’dwrittenherscarystories,including“AwayGame,”astorythatbotheredmesomuchIknewIwouldneverrecoverfromit.Whenshegotthepaperback,Dr.Satterwhitehadwritten,“Concise,well-written,youtypesplendidly.A.”

Dadcameinlate,theevening

ofMom’sfirstdayofschool.Momwassurroundedbybooksandsillybuses,herglassesalittlecrooked.IwaswatchingtelevisionandPeeDinkwasdozingonmychest,drooling.IheardDadtakeoffhisholster,whichmadeenormousleathernoises,andhangitonthebackofoneofthechairsinthelivingroom.Heranasmallcombthroughhishair.Hetookhiscigarettesand

lighteroutofhispocketandwalkedthroughthecurtainthatdividedthetworooms.“Zip,”hesaid,sittingdown

inhisbrownchair,pullinghispurpleashtrayontothearm.“Hey,Daddy.”“Delonda,”hesaid,staring

straightatthetelevision.“Hello,dear,”shesaid,

turningthepageofahandout.“Howwasyourday?”“Justfine.”Dadflickedthe

wheelofhislighter,lithis

LuckyStrike,snappedthelighterclosed.

IntheMood

OhIhatedschool,itwasmeantomakemego,myfingersgotallcrampyaroundapencilandmysistersaidIhadthehandwritingofapsychomurderer.Ididn’tunderstandonethingabout

math,notone,orscienceeither;Goahead!Iwouldsaytomyteachers.Makemedrawandcoloranothercell!YoumightaswellmakemedrawandcolorapictureofyourdeadauntEthelforallitmeanstome!Andthentheleafcollections,everybodyhastohavealeafcollection,it’ssoveryveryimportanttocollectleavesforsomereason,andifI’mnotstudyingleaveswhynot

makemewriteoverandoverthattheprimaryexportofGambiaisthecocoabeanorwhatever,becausethatmatters.Wewouldgettoschool,on

thedaysmydadmademegotoschool,andtherewouldbeRosewitheverysinglethingperfectlydone,includingherleafcollection(forwhichshehadtomakeatriptotheRichmondArboretum)andhermathandspellingand

littlestoriesandcells—shenevergotonesinglethingwrongnordidsheeverskipanythingandshewasleft-handed.Itwasanepicpuzzletome.Icouldbarelymakeitthroughtheday,IfeltlikeIwasbeingpokedwithhotsticks,Ifeltliketherewerespiderscrawlinginmyclothes.OnmanyanoccasionIhadtositonmyhandstokeepfromjumpingupandscreaminglikeahyena.Why

wasitlikethis,IwouldsaytoMelinda,why?“Roseismuchsmarterthan

you,foronething,”sheanswered,stirringCreamofWheatinalittlepanonherstove.“Well,that’sforsure.Rose

issmarterthananyoneexceptforRonnieLewis.”OurclassalwayshadtheSuperSmartGirlcategoryasseparatefromtheSuperSmartBoycategory.“Buthowdoes

shegetthroughtheday?”“She’sprobablyinterested

inschool.There’saconcept.”Icrossedmyarms,kicked

thechairlegs.“I’mnotinterested.Ihateit.”“Iknow,sodidI.”“SodidDanny,”Isaid,

rememberingmybrother’sstruggles.“Yep,”Melindasaid,

reachingforabowl.“We’rejustdefective.”“Oooh,nowthere’s

somethingthatinterestsme,beingadetective.Wouldn’tIbegoodatthat?”Melindathoughtaboutit.

“Wecouldstartourownagency,”shesaid,“Iwouldbethebrainsandyoucoulddoallthegrossstuff.”Isighed.Shehadjust

namedmydreamlife.

WhenMomwasregisteringforclassesherfirstquarteratBallState,thedeanofthe

HonorsCollege,Dr.WarrenVanderhill,tookalookatherSATscoresandtoldhersheshouldtaketheHumanitiesSequence,aseriesofthreeclassesoverthreequarters.Youchoseaprofessorandstayedwithhimorherforthewholeyear.Dr.VanderhillrecommendedDr.JohnMood.“He’llbeperfectforyou,”Dr.Vanderhillsaid,withashineinhiseyeMomdidn’tquiteunderstand.

ThefirstclassMomhadwithDr.JohnMood,onherseconddayatBallState,shecamehomelookingasifshehadjustspentthedaybeingchasedbyawild-eyedcow.ItwaseveningtimewhenshewanderedinandIwassittingonthecouchwithmy“homework”onmylapandontopofittheSupermancoloringbookIwassteadilymakingmywaythrough.“Hey,”Isaid,scooting

downandturningmybodyjustslightly,soshecouldn’tseewhatIwasdoing.Notthatshewouldhavecared.Idon’tbelieveMomeveraskedmeonesingletimeifIdidmyhomework,andshesurewasn’tsuggestingwetoodleovertotheRichmondArboretum.Momletherbackpackfall

tothefloor,wherethedogsbegantosniffit;shedroppedherselfintoherhollowed-out

placeinthecornerofthecouch.“Ohhh,”shesaid,sighingandclosinghereyes.“Where’syourfather?”sheasked,withoutlookingatme.“Gone.”“Didyoursisterfeedyou?”“Yes,listen,we’vestarted

thisgamewhereweseewhocaneattheraweststeak.Shethawsthemoutandthenputstheminapanandflipsthemover.Afteraboutaminuteshesays,‘Thinkyoucaneatit

likethis?’andIsay,‘YoubetIcan,’andIdo,soshehasto.Thatwaslastweek.Tonightshebarelycookeditatall,therewasjustsomelittlebrownstreaksontheoutside,shesaidtoapretendwaiterwhohadpretendaskedushowwewantedourmeatprepared,‘Justmakeitsufferalittle.’”“That’snice.”Momstill

hadn’tmoved.Evenherhandswerelimp.Weboth

jumpedwhenthephonerang,althoughIdon’tknowwhy,asitrangabout700timesaday.Shesaidhelloandthen

turnedherbodyslightlyawayfromme,asifshedidn’twantmetohearwhatshehadtosay.However,itwasindisputablythecasethatoneofthereasonsIwouldbeagooddetectivewasthatIhadincrediblepowersofbothobservationandhearing,but

couldpretendtobeuninterestedinmysurroundings.MostlyIwasuninterestedinmysurroundings,soI’dhadlotsofpractice.“Idid,”Iheardhersay,“I

hadmyfirstclasswithhimtoday.Carol,hesaidthatninetypercent,”andheresheloweredhervoiceevenmore,“offarmboyshavetheirfirstsexualexperiencewithananimal.”

MyearslifteduponmyheadlikelittleMartianantennae.What???Iknewsomeveryrudimentarythingsaboutwhatmyformerlypiousmotherwassoblithelyreferringtoas“sexualexperience,”andtheywerenotpretty.Theywerebizarreandwrongandnooneactuallydidthem.Butaddingtheword“animal”openedawholenewcanofworms.“Iknow!”Momsaid,her

facebrightred.“AnEnglishclass.Dr.Mood,”shesaid,openinghersatcheltolookforanotebook.“Yes,that’shisrealname.”

MomhadclasseswithDr.MoodTuesdaythroughThursday,andsuddenlyIcouldn’tbeanywhereelsewhenshegothome.Ididn’tdareaskquestionsoutright;Ijusthoveredaroundandwaitedforhertostarttalking

abouthim.HerewerethethingsIhadlearnedbyeitherlisteningorhidingmybluetaperecorderbehindapillowonthecouch.

1.Dr.Moodwastheworld’sgreatexpertonsomeonecalledRainingMariaRilkuh.ThissoundedtomelikearealliveInjun,althoughIdoubtedseriouslythatTontowouldwritepoetry,norwouldareal

Indianhaveawoman’smiddlename.Curiously,RainingRilkuh’spoemswereallinGerman,andDr.Moodcouldspeakitandtranslateit,andhadeventranslatedabookofRaining’spoemscalledRilkuh:LoveandOtherDifficulties.GermanIndians?IwouldhavetoaskRose.

2.Heworeclothesofwildcolors,includingpantswithflowersembroideredupthe

side.Heworejewelry,alargenecklaceofsomethingmymomcalledOnk.Withhissandalsheworeelectric-bluesocks.Thiswasunspeakablycurious.Hehadlongblackhairandlongfingernails,andheusedsaidfingernailstotucksaidhairbehindhisears.

3.Dr.Moodcouldhavebeenastand-infortheDevilhimself.Momshowedmea

pictureofhimthathadbeeninthepaperandIcouldonlywhistleandbackaway.Inadditiontohislonghairhehadabeardlikeagoat;hewasthinandblack-eyed,anditappearedhewasleadingagroupofstudentsintosomerabble-rousing.Behindhimtherewerestudentsallmuch,muchyoungerthanMotherandwhenIaskedMomwhatDr.Moodwasdoingshesaidhewasreadingpoemsout

loud.TheywerebysomeonenamedAllenGinsbergandwhoknewacrowdwouldturnuptohearpoems.Probablyafterthereadingtherewasmischief.

4.BeforehetookupwithRainingRilkuhandbecameaprofessor,hehadbeenanevangelicalminister.HewasanordainedministerwhohadabandonedGodfortheshadowworldofcollege.He

wasnolongerevenalittlebitofaChristian,somethingIsecretlylovedinaperson.Iwasalwayslookingaroundfornonbelievers,justtoseehowtheygotbywithoutbeingputinprison.Forawhile,mydreamwastofindanatheistmidgetandthenlightoutforaghosttownintheWildWestwithhim,butwhenImentionedthistoJulieshesaidyoudidn’treallywanttoputamidgetona

horse.

5.Dr.MoodwasnotanactualmedicaldoctorbutMomcalledhimDr.anyway.

6.Heneveractuallytaughtanything.Hedeclaimedsomethings,andthenhereadaloudthenaughtypartsofbooks.IneveroncecapturedMotherontapedescribinganyofthesenaughtyparts,orevenwhatthebookswere,afailure

asadetective,Iadmit.

7.Dr.Moodrodeamotorcycletoworkandratherthanparkit,hesimplydroveitstraightintothebuildingwherehetaughthisclassesandparkeditoutsidetheclassroomdoor.

8.Eachdayhecarriedanemptytunafishcanintoclasswithhim,whichhewouldgraduallyfillupwithashes

andcigarettebutts.Fortunatelymymomwasaccustomedtolivingwithmydad,sochain-smokingwasfinewithher.

9.OnedayayoungmanaskedDr.Moodifthepaperstheyturnedinhadtobeinplasticfolders.EvenIcouldhaveguessedtheanswertothatone.Dr.Moodwaslikeme,hewasnotthetypetostomachsuchtrivialities.He

said,lightingacigarette,“Idon’tcareifyouturnitinontoiletpaper,aslongasit’sgood.”MyeyeslituplikeChristmaswhenIheardthis.Schoolworkontoiletpaper—nowtherewasapieceofbrillianceifeverI’dheardone.ThefirstpaperMomwroteforhimshetypedupinhernormalwaybutsheletmemakeacoverforitusingpapertowels.Iwrotethetitleanddrewanaturescene.

Whenshegotitback,sheletmeseewhathe’dwritten:“A.Closereading,greatideas.Coolflowers.”

Iwentrightonhatingschoolasmuchasanyvegetableleftinvinegar,butLordIlovedcollege.Ididn’twantthesemesterstoeverend.Suchscandalousthingshappenedthere.TheBiblewastaughtinamythologyclass;Momwasforcedto

readbooksbyagroupofpeoplecalledtheExistentialists,includinganentirebookaboutnothingbutvomiting.Shereadpoemsbyhomosexuals,andoncethatconceptmadeitswayintomybrainawholelotofthingsbecamecleartomeaboutsomepeopleIknewwhosenamesIwouldn’tmentioneventoRose.OnceinthecarwithMom,

whenshe’dforgotten

somethingatthelibraryandtookmewithhertofindit,Iwasthiiiiisclosetoaskingherwasitthesameforhomosexualfarmboysastheothers.Ninetypercent?Closertofifty?ButIkeptmymouthclosed.IfsheknewhalfofwhatI’doverheardshe’dhavesentme,thosedearevenings,intothelivingroomtofreezetodeath.

EverydaywithDr.Mood

wasasurprise,Igathered,andnotonlybecauseofthenaughtypartsbutbecause,asMomputit,hehadafriendlyrelationshipwithavarietyofchemicals.Alotofprofessorswerepart-timechemists,itseemed,includingonemanwhowasconsistentlydeclared“agenius”butspenthiseveningsinworking-classbarsgettinghisteethknockedout.Saidgenius’steethweremissingtheweekendhe

hostedapoetoncampusnamedW.H.Auden.Infact,asIheardlater,GeniusmanagedtogetAudeninabarfight,too.IlovedthesemenandwantedtogotocollegewithMominsteadofelementaryschoolwithRosebutMomwouldhavenopartofit.AndthatonetimeI’dbeeninthebiglibrarywithher,astudenthadjoinedusintheelevatorandcalledmeapygmysoitwasprobablyfor

thebest.Itwasattheendofherfirst

semesterwithhimthatDr.MoodshockedMomhardest.Hecametoclasswithahandout,thefirst,last,andonlytimehewoulddosomethingsotraditional.Itwasanoutlineofthe

BookofMark—interestinglyenough,theonlybookoftheBibleIeitherlikedortrusted.Therestseemedlikeabunchof

hooey.HebeganwithanoutlineofHealings,detailingtheExorcisms,Cleansings,andRestorations,citingchapterandverseforeach.Theyaddedup,hebelieved,toaRestorationoftheReader.ParttwowasBread

Imagery,andDr.Moodarguedthatcitationsoffood(bread,fish,etc.)graduallybuildtopresentJesusastheBreadofLife,preparingthe

wayfortheLastSupper.(AlthoughhepointedoutthatthetextualreferencetotheLastSupperwaspotentially“spurious,”awordthatgotinmeandwouldn’tletgo.Ihadnoideawhatitmeant,butitseemedtoturnJesusintoacowboyandtherewasnotonethingbetteronthisearththanthat.)Thethirdsectionwas

NumbersinMark:fivesacredloavesofbread,fourdisciples

called,fourhealings,etc.Dr.MoodkneweverysingleplaceanumberwasmentionedinMarkandtheyseemedtoadduptosomething.Well,theyaddedup—totwelvedisciples,anddown,tooneloafofbread(Jesus).EverytimeIsnuckthishandoutfromMom’sBibleIstudiedhardonthenumbersandwouldhavemadebettersenseofitifI’dhadevenanodding

relationshipwithmath.Thelastpartwasmy

favorite,becauseIthoughtonlyIhadnoticedit.Dr.MoodcalleditSecrecy.TherewasImplicitSecrecyandExplicitSecrecy,twowordsIhadtoactuallylookupinthedictionary.Ihateddictionariesbutthiswasworthit.BecauseallmylifeI’dbeenburningmybuttupinchurch,threetimesaweeksittingthereinagony,and

we’dreadfromMarkandI’dseeitasifwritteninneon:TellnooneIwashere.Nowwhy,Iwondered,wasitrighttosay,JesussaidBlahandsothat’swhatwemustdo,andJesussaidWhateverandsothat’swhatwemustdo,butwecouldjustgoaheadandignorethefactthattherealbetrayalofhimwasbythemultitudeswhocouldn’tkeeptheirstupidmouthsshut.Dr.Moodcited

alltheplacesJesusasked,“Doyouunderstand?”“Doyounotunderstand?”“Doyounotyetunderstand?”and“Theydidnotunderstand,”anditseemedtomethattherewassomethinggiganticgoingonanditwasneartomeandalsoveryfaraway.

OnthedayDr.Moodgavehisfirst,last,andonlyhandout,Mothersatthroughhislectureenthralledand

enraged.Whenshegothomeshewasstillallnervousandindignant,thewayshe’dbeenwhenshediscoveredthatdownatthedrugstore,onthenewsstand,someonehadplacedPhilosophyintheBedroombytheMarquisdeSade.ThisatatimewhenthepostmasterrefusedtodeliverherTimemagazinebecausehesaiditwasCommunist.ThateveningIscoochedup

ascloseasIcouldtoheron

thecouch.Sheignoredmewhenthephonerang.Iheardhersay,“IwentuptohiminthehallbeforehegotonhismotorcycleandIshookmyfingerrightinhisface.Isaid,‘Icameheretolearnsomething,youhavenoideawhatthisiscostingme,andallthissemesteryouhavegrandstandedandentertainedandallthewhileyoucouldreallyteach.Howdareyoukeepthisfromme,how

dareyounotteachmeeverythingyoucouldwhileyouhadthetime?’Iwasevenshakingthehandoutinhisface.”Carolmusthaveasked

whathisanswerwas.Momlookeddownather

lap,twistedthephonecord.“Hestaredatmeforagoodlongminuteandthensaid,‘Fatwomenalwaysdidturnmeon.’”

Attheendofthatyearhedisappeared.Hetookhisrosepants,hisOnk,hismotorcycleandtunacanandheadedwest.Therewerelotsofrumors,somebelievable,somenot.ThemostpersistentwasthathehadtakenajobdrivinganicecreamtruckaroundatownwithSantainthetitle.Thatmadeperfectsensetome.Icouldjustimaginehim,hisblackeyes,hisLuciferface,riding

aroundandaroundtothatsinistermusic.HeunderstoodmoreaboutJesusthananyoneI’deverheardof,andheknewwhatIknew:thatJesuswasn’tthethinblondangelboyofSuperstar,notlikeIusedtothinkofhim.Hewasanoutlaw,hewouldratherdiethangivein.Jesuswouldhaveputthesmack-downontheRichmondArboretum,justlikehedidwiththefigtree.JohnMood,Ithought,

musthavebeenthesameinhisway.Whateverthecollegeworldhadaskedofhim,Dr.Moodhadsaidnothanks,andhe’dspreadhisarmsandflownaway.Hechangedmymotherpermanently,hechangedme,andallheleftbehindwasabookofOtherDifficultiesandasingletwo-pageoutline,whichMomkepttuckedinherBibleandwhichsheandIbothtookoutperiodicallyandstudied,like

evidence.

Fall

Attheendofthefourth-gradeschoolyear,myfirsteverboyfriend(fromkindergarten),walkeduptomeinthehallwayandasked,notcruellybutwithgenuinecuriosity,“Doyouevenowna

differentpairofpants?”IlookeddownandrealizedI’dbeenwearingthesamebluepolyesterpantsMomMaryhadgivenmeforChristmastheentireschoolyear.Ididn’tknowhowtoanswerhim.MaybeIhadanotherpairofpants,butifIdidIdidn’tknowwheretheywereorwhatI’ddowiththemifIfoundthem.There’dbeensomedecline

inthelaundryareafromthat

plateausinceMotherstartedcollege,andasafamilywehadn’thadalotfurthertofall.ImissedthedaysattheLaundromatinNewCastle,whichsmelledofTideandDownyandhadfluffyballsoflintfloatingintheair.Awomanworkedthere,amanager,Iguess,whocarriedabigapronfullofquartersandalwayslookedlikeshe’dheardajokeshedidn’tdarerepeat.Outsideshesmoked

cigaretteaftercigarettewithmydadwhenhewentwithus,butinsidetheairwaslintyandpure,anditwaspossibletoclimbintherollinglaundrybasketswiththeIVpolesandcreategreattrouble.Plusyoucouldbuyindividualboxesofdetergentandfabricsoftener,evenbleach,andtherewasnothingthatmademegrindmyteethwithpleasuremorethanarealthingshrunkendownsmall.Thefirsttime

mydadshowedmeatoothachekitfromaboxofequipmentfromtheKoreanWarandIsawthetinycottonballs(thesizeofverysmallballbearings),Inearlyswooned.“Letmeholdoneofthose,”Isaid,almostmadathim.Hegaveittomewithatinypairoftweezers.Iletitfloatinmypalmamomentandthenmadehimtakeitback.MiniaturizationwasagiftfromGod,nodoubtabout

it,andthereitwas,rightinavendingmachineintheplaceweusedtodoourlaundryinNewCastle,Indiana.Mysisterhadscroungedup

aredpolyestershirtforthenextschoolyear,andapairofplaidpantsthatfollowedthebasiclawofmyphysicaldeformity.Theywerelongenough,whichmeantthewaistwasgiganticallytoobig.Iworethemfoldedoverandpinned,justatmybelly

button.Theshirt,theplaidpants,ausedpairofshoes.Itwasatypicalyear,exceptformymissingmother.

MissSlocum,ourfifth-gradeteacher,belongedtooneofthemanyreligionsthatgavewomenbun-headandmadethemweardresseseveryday.Shewaspaleandspokethroughwhatappearedtobesomeoneelse’snose.Thatyearshereadaloudtous

everyday,startingwithWheretheRedFernGrows,andIcriedsohardattheendIhadtogototheprincipal’sofficeandapologize.Hewasquitekindaboutit,giventhatI’dbeeninhisofficeforfarworseinfractionsonmultipleoccasions.MissSlocumalsomadeuswriteourownpoemsandreadthemaloudtotheclass,whichwasformeastorturousandexquisiteasaminiaturecottonball.I

workedandworkedonmypoem,whichwascalled“IfICould,”anditwasinfourstanzas.ThepoemconcernedwhatIwoulddoifIcouldbefourdifferentthings—abird,alion,anantelope,oracloud.Iwasn’tdreamyaboutit;Iwasquite,quitepractical.Ipracticedreadingitaloudmanytimes,andwhenthedaycametoperformitIfinallygotsomethingrightandMissSlocumlikeditand

gavemeanA,perhapstheonlyAIevergotinthirteenyearsofpublicschool.OtherkidsreadtheirpoemsandsomewereI’msorryjustobviouslystupid,andthenaboymostofthegirlshadacrushon,atalljock-ishboycalledTommy,stoodupandreadaloudaJohnDenversong,“TheEagleandtheHawk.”Mychestflushedredandthenmyface.IturnedandlookedatRose,butshe’d

yettocatchuptothesublimityofJohnDenver,althoughintimeIwouldforceenoughofhimonherthatshewouldbegformercyanddemandwereturntoPaulSimon.Tommyreadthewholething,twoperfectstanzas,nochorus,nobridge.ItwasJohnathisfinest,Ithought.“IamtheHawkandthere’sbloodonmyfeathers.”MissSlocumsatperfectlygullibleandsmiling,

becauseofcoursetheNazarenesorwhoeverwouldnothavebeenstudyingonJohnDenversoshejustthoughtTommywasagenius.Imadefistsandpoppedmy

jawmuscleslikemybrotheralwaysdidandwaitedforthebelltoring.WewerebarelyoutthedoortotheplaygroundwhenIturnedtoJulieandsaid,spittingmad,“Hestolethatpoem,hedidn’twriteit.HestoleitfromJohn

Denver,it’soneofJohn’sbestsongsandIcanstandrighthereandtellyouthewholething,everyword.AndI’lltellyouwhatthatmakesMr.Basketball,JulieAnn,itmakeshimacommonthiefandaliar.”Juliekeptwalking.“I’mgoingoverthere,right

uptohisface,andtellhimIknowwhathedidevenifnooneelsedoes.AndthenI’mgoingtoMissSlocumand

Mr.DavisandI’mgoingtotellthemwhathedid,too,becauseIdon’tknowexactlywhatkindofcrimethisis,butitisA.Crime.For.Certain.”Juliewalked.“Aren’tyougoingtosay

something?”Sheshookherhead.

“Nope.”“Areyougonnagowithme

incasehegetsmean?”Juliestopped,shovedme

slightly.“Letitgo,Jarvis.Juststoptalking.”Istompedovermadasa

henandplayedtetherballwithhereventhoughIshouldhavemadeherplaywithaboynamedJeffwhowasshortandtough.InsteadJuliebeatthecrapoutofmeninetimesinarowwhichIthinkshethoughtwouldmakemeforgetaboutTommybutitdidn’t.Ididn’tsayanythingtohimortoMissSlocum,but

thateveningIrodemybikedowntoRose’sandwhilewelistenedtoDr.DementoontheradioItoldherwhatTommyhaddoneandRosegotalookonherfacelikeshe’djuststeppedinsomethingfoul.“Whatapig,”shesaid,andallthatevening,ofmytwobestfriends,Ilovedhermostofall.

ItwasautumnandI’dfinallygrownintoasweatshirtmy

sisterhadpasseddowntome;itwasblue,withourschool’snameandlogo,theVikingheadinprofile,inred.Ilovedthatsweatshirtandthankedtheelementsforeverydaythatwascoldenoughtowearit.Inadditiontherewastheroller-skatescraze.Ithinkitbeganwithapretty,newgirlcalledChristina,wholivedbehindRoseandcouldsignhernameintheshapeofaswan.Shewasanexotically

coloredpersonandmysterious.Onceshehadskatesweallhadtohavethem.MinearrivedinmuchthesamewayIgotmysaddleoxfords:Idon’tknowhow.Theskateswerelikewiseused—bungedupontheplasticwheelsandgrayatthetopandonthesidesofthewhiteboots.RoseandItookto

practicingnotonthetoothy,dangeroussidewalks,buton

thepavedparkinglotnexttotheNorthChristianChurch.Weskatedforwardandback,forwardandback,nothingtoofancy.Iwantedtoskatefaster,buttherewasn’tasinglehillinMoorelandthatwasn’tcoveredwitheithergravelorrailroadtracks,soImadedowiththenewchurchasphalt.Christinastartedshowing

up,andDana,andevenJuliegotinontheskatebusiness.

PrettysoonsheandDanawerebetterthaneveryoneelse,tothepointtheyprobablyshouldhavejustmovedoutofMoorelandandjoinedtheOlympics.ItwasDanawhohadtheideatoformawhip,withmeatthefrontbecauseIwasthetallest,pullingtheothersbehindme.Bythistimetheothergirlswerewearinglightjackets,andRosehungontomysweatshirt,Christinato

Rose’scorduroyjacket,thenJulie,withDanaattherear.Westartedoutandthepeopleatthebackwhippedbackandforthanditwasreallyquitehystericaluntilsomeforceofeithermomentumorkarmacausedadominoatthebacktofall,andthatgirlfellonthenext,andsheonthenext,onetwothreefourfivegirls.Ifellforwardandtriedtocatchmyselfwithmyarmsoutstraightandmywristscurved

outwardandinturneachgirlfellontopofme.Therewasagrindingpop,

asifatoothhadbeenextractedfromthegumofagiant.Everyonewasontopofmeandthengraduallyclamberingoff,laughing,andIcouldn’tmoveatall,butsomehowI’dmadeittomyback.Therewasthesky.Noneofthiswaslikeme.Itwasveryunlikemetoliesoperfectlystill.Itwasvery

unlikeJulietofreezeasshedid,lookingdownatme,orforRosetorunoffsaying,I’mgettingmymom.IturnedmyheadandlookedatmyrightarmandwhatIsawwasmyshouldertouchingthegroundandthebacksofmyfingerstouchingthegroundandeverythingelselikeahorseshoepointingtowardtheasphalt.Myarmwasinaheap.Myrightarm,whichwasforallintentsand

purposesmyonlyarm.WithoutitIwouldhavetobecomeCatholicandtakelessonsinBeingGoodfromRose.Ilookedbackupattheskyandcouldn’tthink.Rosesaid,“There’smymom”asherstationwagondroveupbesideme,andtwothingshappenedatonce:Ithought,Pleasedon’ttouchme,andjustasIthoughtitmydadrodeuponhisbicycle.Itwasanautumn

afternoon.Myfatherwasridingabicycle.HerodedirectlytothespotIhadjustfallen,andhearrivedattheexactmomentthatifJoycehadtriedtoliftme,shewouldhaveleftmyarmbehind.“Hey,Zip,”hesaid,leaning

overme.“Hey,Daddy.”“Girls,everyoneofyou

givemeyourjackets,getthemoffrightnow.”Hepiledthejacketsontopofme.

“You’reinalittlebitofshockthere,sport,”hesaid,nevertakinghiseyesoffmine.“Joyce,ifyou’dgocallan

ambulance,andalsobringbacksomeblankets.”Mywhipoffriends

disappeared,althoughIknewtheyweretheresomewhere,ontheperiphery.Icouldonlyseemydad,andthesky.“Canyoutellmewhat

happenedhere?”“No,”Isaid,notmoving

myhead.“Doyouknowwhatdayit

is?”“Ineverknowwhatdayit

is.”“It’sTuesday,”Rosesaid,

helpfully.Joycecamerunningaround

thecornerwithablanket,andinthedistanceIcouldhearasiren,ormaybesomeonewascrying.DadtuckedtheblanketaroundmeandIstartedtolookagainatthe

miraculousproblem,myarminaU-shape,buthetookaholdofmychinandsaid,“Canyouhearthatsiren?”Inodded.“Whydon’tyoulistento

that,andtrytoconcentrateonstayingwarm.”“I’mnotcold,”Isaid,and

realizedIwasshaking.TheyoungEMTspaused

onlyamoment,shakingtheirheadsandwhistlingtoletmeknowtheywereimpressed.

Theyradioedtheemergencyroomtosaytheywereontheirway,andslippedanoxygenmaskovermyface,andanaircastovermyarm—Iwasn’tallowedtowatch,buttherewasamomentwheneverythingwentblackandIfeltmydadpinchmycheek,justenoughtowakemeup.Theaircastwasgraduallyinflatedandplacedonasplint,andIwasloadedintotheambulance.

EverytimethesirenwailedaswespeddownHighway36Ijumped,butDadmademekeeplookingathimandtalkingtohim.“Youaren’tgoingtocry,

areyou?”Dadasked,makingasternface.Ishookmyhead.“Becauseyoudidn’tcry

withtherockinyourknee,didyou.”Ihadnot.“Andyoudidn’tcrywith

thesixty-sixsplintersinyourbutt.”No,Ihadn’t.“Youcancryifyou’resad,

butyou’rethetoughestpersonIknowandthisisnothingtocryabout.”AnEMTmovedbetween

us,tapedmyfingerstogether.“You’reafighter,huh?”heaskedme,touchingmesogentlyIwasn’tsureitwashappening.“Youbetshe’safighter.”

Dadtouchedhisbreastpocket,checkingforhiscigarettesandlighter.“Shecancatchorthrowanything,I’veneverseenanyonelikeher.Shepulledoutherownbabyteethwithastringaroundadoorknob.She’sfallenoffherbicyclemoretimesthananylivingperson.Ihaven’tseenthetumbleyetthatcouldmakethisonecry.”Ihadnoideawhohewas

talkingabout.Itwassome

girlheliked,thatwasforsure,butitcouldn’tbeme,becausethatothergirlhadbouncedoffthepavementtimeandagain;Ihadgonedownandstayed.Iwasbroken.

Iwaswellknownintheemergencyroom,butthisfussingwasn’tlikethatotherfussing.Thistimetherewasnowaiting,noflirtingwithmydadbythenurses,no

smalltalk.Therewereshots,afallingtwilight.Iwasawakenedinaprivateroom,darkbutforasinglelightabovemybed,byaverylargemandressedinscrubsandwithwhatappearedtobeaflashlightonhishead.Myowndoctorwasthere,Dr.Heilman,andDadhadfoundMotherandgottenherthere,andIwasbeingintroducedtothisenormousman,anorthopedicsurgeonfrom

Indianapoliswhohadapparentlybeeninterruptedathometocometendme.“You’veheardofme,

surely,”hesaid,wagglinghisflashlight.“Nope.”“I’mDr.Linceski,I’m

knowntheworld’round.IwasathomewithmymapsandmyexoticfishwhenIgotyourcall.Iassumeyoubrokeyourarmonpurpose.”“Nope.”

“Youdidn’tdothisjusttomeetme?”“Istilldon’tknowwhoyou

are.”“Well,that’sappropriate.

We’veonlyjustmet.”HelookedatmyparentsandDr.Heilman,raisedhiseyebrowsasiftoacknowledgethattheoddswereagainstme,giventherascalfringesurroundingme.“FromwhatIheardyouwerecrackingthewhip,huh?andabunchofgirlsfellon

you?It’sallabarrelofmonkeys,isn’tit,withyoucrazytypes,untilSOMEBODYhasadoublecompoundfracturethatEXTRUDESthroughtheskinwithportionsofboneSHATTEREDbythecompatriotswholandedonyou.DoyouknowwhatImean?”“Notaword.”“Good.AllI’mtryingto

sayisheckuvajobthere,

heckuvabreak.It’sgoingtotakeallofmyforeignmedicaltrainingtomakeitright.Nowlook,”hesaid,asanorderlywheeledinabed.“We’retakingyoutothe

O.R.rightnow,whywastetimeismymotto.”Iwastransferredtothe

otherbedandDr.Linceskitalkedandtalked.Myparentsweresilentandstricken-looking.TheybothbentdownandkissedmyforeheadasI

waswheeledthroughthedoubledoorsintotheshockinglightsoftheoperatingroom.Ithappenedtoofastformetobeafraid.“Andhere,”Dr.Linceski

said,“ismyanesthesiologist,Dr.Wang.Thatishisrealname,Dr.Wang,Ikidyounot.He’sgoingtomakesureyoustayasleep.”Dr.Wangwasround,

moonfaced,wearingalittlehat.Heappearedtobe

Chineseandwaswearingflip-flopslippers,notbooties.Hehadaflyswatterinhishand.“Hello,”hesaid,inaChineseway,bowingalittleandwavingatme.“Isthataflyswatter?”I

asked,becausewhenyou’reabouttobemadeunconsciousbyDr.Wang,it’sbesttoknow.“Yes,isflyinroom.”Dr.Linceskiwhistled,

scrubbedhisarmsasiftrying

toremoveatattoo.HetalkedtoDr.Wang,whopursuedtheflyanddidn’tanswer.Iheardaswatsomewherebehindme,thenthesprayingofantisepticandtheeek-eeksoundofasqueegee.“Awwwright,then.”Dr.

Wangwassuddenlyaboveme.“Weplacethismaskoveryourfaceandyoubreatheverydeep.Thenyoucounttotenbackwardforme.Youdothat?”Heinjectedsomething

intomyIV,stillwatchingmyface.Hepattedmygoodarmandsaid,“Wetakegoodcare,nothingwillhappentoyou.”Inoddedandsaidten,and

everythingwentblack.

ThenextdaymyarmwassuspendedabovemeandwhenDr.LinceskicameinhedrewacirclearoundaplaceonthecastwhereIhadbledthroughitinthenight.Hedrewthecircleinyellow.The

bloodstainwasvaguelytheshapeofOhio.“That,”hesaid,“iswhere

thebonesprotrudedandwherewehadtoaddabitofsyntheticbonetoholditalltogether.Guesswhomadethatsyntheticbone?”Ishookmyhead.“Phillips66.”“Thegasstation?”“Yep.I’dkeepthatasecret

ifIwereyou.”Hetappedonmyfingertips.“Canyoufeel

this?”Icouldn’t,butIsaidIdid.“You’relying,butthat’s

okay.I’dlie,too,ifIwasgoingtohaveascarthisbig.”“I’mgoingtohaveascaras

bigasOhio?”“No,nowI’mlying.I

actuallyperformedcosmeticsurgeryonyoufreeofcharge,becausethat’sthekindofguyIam.You’llhaveascar,allright,butitwillshrinkandshrinkasyougetolder,until

somedayyouwon’tbeabletoseeitatall.”“Thankyou,”Isaid,queasy

andwobblyandstillsomehowbackonthegroundoutsidethechurch,lookingatthesky.“Doyouknowwheremymomanddadare?”“They’reinthecafeteria,

whereIwishallparentswouldstay.Doyouneedsomething?”“Ijust…”Iwasafraidto

tellhim.“Ijustwonderwhere

mysweatshirtis.”Dr.Linceskipursedhislips

asifheunderstoodmecompletely.“Inshreds,Ifear.Wehadtocutyououtofit.”Iturnedandlookedoutthe

window,pressingmyteethtogethersohardIthoughtmycheeksmightburst.“Itwasyourfavorite,huh.”“Itjustonlygottofitme.”Hepulledupachair,

straddleditbackward.“Youknowwhat?Idon’ttell

peoplethisveryoften.Youalmostlostthatarm.Ihadtoreconnectnervesandyou’llstillhavenervedamageforthenextyear.That’stheworstbreakI’veeverseenoffafootballfield.You’regoingtobewearingacastforthreemonths,andwe’lltakeitoffwhenyoucomeinforaskingraft.Thenyou’llwearanewcastforthreemonths.Here’swhatsavedyou:yourdaddidn’tletanyonepickyouup,

andyouwerewearingasweatshirtthatheldyourarmtogetheruntiltheambulancegotthere.Soitwasagoodone,butit’sdonefornow.”Istaredattheceilingand

wouldn’tanswer.Dr.Linceskistoodup,put

hischairbackagainstthewall.“I’veheardallaboutyou,thingsstuckupyournoseandinyourears,aparticularlittleincidentwhereyouranoveryourownfoot

withthebicycleyouwereon.”Hepattedhispockets.“Youoverwhelmmewithrespect.Ishallreturnonthemorrow.”Whenhewasalmostout

thedoorIsaid,“Youstillshouldn’thavecutitoff.”Heshrugged,gaveawave.

Inthehallwayheshouted,“WhenIamPresidentoftheseOnionStates,Ishallmakeallroller-skatingillegalpostfacto!Pronto!”

Everydayduringthehospitalvisitinghourstherewasthissilentpainfulthingbetweenmyparents:mydaddidn’twantmymomtogotoschoolwhileIwasstillhospitalized;Iwantedhertogo.Iwanteditforher,andbecauseIwantedtohearmoreaboutherprofessorsandthethingstheysaidaboutthedirtypartsofbooks.ThenMelindawouldarriveandsomehowsweepeverythingoutintothe

hallway,andeitherMomwouldbethereorshewouldn’t,butthereDadwouldbe,sittinginthesamechairatthefootofthebed,untilthenursesaskedhimtoleave.Hesatwithhisarmscrossed,hisfacelikeabrick.Melindamadeupaslewof

occasionaljokesthatwentlikethis:Q:Whatdoyoucallaone-armedgirlatafluterecital?A:Zippy.Q:Whatdoyoucallaone-armedgirlwho

can’tgetherpantsallthewayfastened?A:Zippy.Onandon,ohyouarejusttremendouslyfunny,I’dsaytoher,narrowingupmyeyesandgivingherthewhat-for.EventuallyIwasallowedto

gohome,wearingacastwithabloodstaincircledinyellowandsignedbyallthenurses,thecastinalightblueslingwithpaddingattheneck.Ialsohadastuffedautograph

dogandmyfavoritesignatureonitwasMomMary’s,becauseshehadonlyfinishedthethirdgradeandIloveditwhenshewrotesomething.Ihadabagfilledwithstrangehospitalaccessories—myownvomittray(neverused),awaterpitcherwithmyroomnumberonit,abottleoflotion,acontainerofbabypowder,atoothbrush,andatubeofColgatesosmallIkeptitinthepalmofmy

goodhandallthewayhome.Iwastakendowntothe

frontdoorinawheelchairthatwasn’tnecessary;Ikeptsayingit,“Idon’tneedawheelchair,”butintruthIwasdiminished,thinnerthanwhenI’darrivedandstillshaken.WhenIclosedmyeyesIsawDr.Wangleaningoverme,tellingmetocounttotenbackward;IrememberedthefeelingofblacknesssocompleteIknew

deathhadtobesomethingjustlikeit.IwonderedwhatIhadlookedlike(somethingthathadnevercrossedmymindbefore),lyingthereonthepavementundertheblueIndianasky,orintheemergencyroom,mylightsoutassurelyasthoseanimalsI’dseenaliveoneminuteandgonethenext.

Itwasjusthimandme,heremindedme,andhegotto

decidewhenIwentbacktoschool.Soforthefirstweekhesaid,“Let’sseeifyoucanrideyourbikewithonehand.”Abreeze.Thesecondweekbecame,“Let’sseeifyoucanbatleft-handed,orpitch,”thencouldIgobowling,couldIcastmyShakespearerodandreel,couldIwritemynamebothforwardandbackward(somethinghecoulddowitheitherhand).Mybluesling

grewgrottybutnoonethoughttowashit.Somedayshedisappeared

alldayandIsimplylayonthecouchintheden,watchingmoviesandscratchinginsidemycastwithapencil.Otherdayshesaid,“Let’sseewhat’snewintheworld,”sowe’dgointoNewCastleandI’dendupwithamilkshake.EveryfewdaysRoseorJuliebroughtmyhomeworkassignmentsto

meandIdidn’tsomuchaslookinthedirectionofthem.Therestofthehousegrewcold,andthentoocold,andIknewthateverythingI’dleftinmybedroombeforeIfellwouldremainjustasitwasuntilspring—therecordalbums,thesheetofpaperinthetypewriter,whereIwastryingtoimproveonmyfirstpoem.Momcamehomeinthe

eveningsandsatinhercorner

ofthecouchwithherbooksspreadoutaroundher,talkingonthephonewithonehandandtakingnoteswithanother.Heavenknowswhatthewomanwouldhaveaccomplishedhadshebeenbornanoctopus.Whenshewashome,Dadwasgone,andIstayedontheothercouch,facingtheTV.Inthewallabovethe

televisionallmannerofthingshadgonewrong;the

plasterandlathhaddisintegratedandthereseemedtobenothingbetweentheoldgraywallpaper(someofwhichwascomingapart)andtheout-of-doors.OnedayIheardasoundinthewallandclimbeduponafootstool.Therewasasparrowtrappedinapocketofwallpaper,cheepingaway.Icouldn’tseehowitgotinorhowtogetitbackout,butIrealizedthat

thehousemustberiddledwithavenuesforcomingandgoing—themiceintheceiling,theratsinthelaundryroom,andnowahousesparrowrightintheden.Itcheepedallthatday.ItoldDadandhesaidhe’dlookintoit.ItoldMomandshesaidtotellDad.Somethinghappenedfrom

lyingonmybackallthattimeanditinvolvedmykidneys,whichIhadnotuntilthen

knownexisted.BythetimeIwassupposedtogobackintothehospitalIwasfeverish,butwellenoughtocallMelindaandsay,“Lindy,youbettersendRickdownhere.Abirdhasmovedin.”Evenforapersonwithnostandards,thesmellcomingfrommycastwasheinousenoughtomakemeslightlyproud.

Dr.Linceskisaidhe’dnever

SEENsuchahorrorastheinsideofmycast;heaskedhadIbeentryingtowriteMobyDickinsidethere.Isaid,“Ihavenoideawhat

you’retalkingabout.”“Lookatallthis!”He

carriedmyoldcast,cutinhalf,intomyhospitalroomaftermysecondsurgery.Itwashorrible:deadskin

anddriedblood,andaboutseventhousandpencilmarks.“Well.Icouldn’tverywell

scratchwiththeeraserend,couldI?”“Areyousomesortof

pygmy?”heasked.“HaveyouneverheardofLEADPOISONING?”Hewasthesecondpersoninmylifetocallmeapygmy,afactthatwouldrequirethoughtwhenIreachedthepointofthinkingaboutthings.“IaskedMomforaknitting

needlebutshesaidno.”“Whataboutthepossibility

ofNOTSCRATCHING?”“Areyoualwayssoloud?”“Youhadanopenwoundin

there.Youarescarredforlife.Icannotgetthroughtoyou;it’sliketalkingtooneofmyfish.”Istaredathim.“Ishallreturninone

moon,”hesaid,turningtowardthedoor,rubbinghisflashlightupanddownonhisforehead,likeabearscratchinghisbackagainsta

tree.“AndIshallhopeyouhavechangedinthemeantime.”Antibioticsclearedupmy

infectionandIstartedtoregainfeelingintwoofmyfingers.BythetimeIgotbackhome,thebirdwasgoneandwinterhadfullyarrived.

Bythespringmysecondcastwasremovedandwhatwasrevealedwasanarmthesizeofachickenwing,gray-

skinned,withapinkpuckeredscarwheremyboneshadEXTRUDED.Dr.Linceskiassuredmethearmwouldbecomestronger,butitwascurvedjustslightly,andIhadgrownaccustomedtoholdingitagainstmysidelikeakitten.Ihadmissedforty-onedaysofschoolthatyear,withonethingandanother,andwhilethedoctorsaidthearmwouldreturntonormalhealsosaid,“Youmustnever

throwabowlingballwithit;youmustneverhitavolleyballoratetherball;youmustnever,everbreakitagain,orevenlandonitwithyourhandbentbackward.”SoitseemedasifhemeantonethingbynormalandIunderstoodanother.SometimesIcaughtmyself

actuallycarryingmyarmaround,restingmyrightwristinmylefthandasIwalked.Icarrieditupthestairswhen

thehousewasonceagainwarmenoughtoventureinto.IpassedthepianoIhadn’tplayedforsixmonthsandtouchedthekeys;thehammerssoundeddamp,bereft.Iwalkedintomyparents’bedroom,wherethemountainofdirtyclothesstillheldthewinter’schill,andupthestairstomybedroom.Ikickedmywaythroughthedebrisandopenedmywindowwiththelefthand,

andDadhadbeencorrect—thatarmhadgrownverycompetent.IsatintheopenwindowandlookedoutatthebackyardoftheHicksesandatthebudsonthetrees,thenewgreen,thenewdaffodils,everythingsonew.

ExperienceIt

DuringMom’sfirstyearatBallState,havinggivenmybrother’scarbacktohim,sherodetoandfromMunciewithseventeendifferentpeople.Sometimestheywouldremembertopickherupbut

forgettobringherhome,andinthewayofthingsadifferentsomeonewouldarriveandsayHopin,Iwasgoingthatway—thoughnooneiseverreallygoingthedirectionofMooreland.Rogerwasherlongest

connection,andtheyrodetoandfromMunciewithRoger’sstereoplayingsoloudlyMomhadtowearearplugsjusttosurvivetheonslaught.Eventhenthe

musicgotupinherribcageandrattledsomethingsloose.Rogerdroppedoutofschoolafterthreeweeks,andMomwascertainitwasbecausehewasstone-deafandhadn’theardasinglelectureintheirtimetogether.ThenMomreadinthe

paperaboutaVolkswagenBeetleforsaleinMountSummitfor$200,whichwasbothgoodandbad—goodbecauseshecouldafford

$200outoftheNationalDefenseLoanshe’dtakenoutfortuition,andbadbecause,well,itwasacarfor$200—soshewenttoseeit.Therewasalsoabitofdestinyinthefind,shethought,becauseithadbeenaBeetleshe’dfirstlearnedtodrivewithBigFatBonnie.Theseller,amannamed

Pete,saidhe’dmeetusattheedgeofagravelpitnearMountSummit.Melinda

droveusovertoseeit.Wepulledin,andthereshesat.Icouldonlywhistleandshakemyheadasproxyformydad,whowasneithertherenordidheknowwewere.Buthewasthereinspirit,certainly,amanwholovedanewcar,anewtruck,ahusbandandfatherwhohadnearlybankruptedusmorethanoncebyshowingupinanunexpectedvehiclemoreshinyandimmaculatethana

surgicalfloor.ThedoorsoftheVWonly

lockedfromtheoutside,soifyouwantedtobesecureinsideyouhadtorolldownthewindows,leanout,andlockyourselfinwiththekey.Theprocesshadtobereversedtogetout.Istartedtoexplainthatthisseemedawickedbadideatome,asperiodicallyapersoniscalledtomakeaswiftanddramaticexitfromacar,aswhenone

stallsonatraintrack,orwhentheCavalryischarging,orwhenyougoflyingoffabridgeintodarkwater.Momshushedme.Weopenedthedoorsand

therewasthatveryparticularVWsmell,whichIguesswasthedecayofGermanrubberandefficiency.Alsosomethingaboutthesixties,whichhadpassedaway.Momwedgedherselfinandputthekeyintheignition;thecar

started,butbarely.Itsoundedlikeabarnyardanimaldownandnotsoontorise.“Ohboy,”Melindasaid.Therewasaswitchforthe

windshieldwipersandtherewerewindshieldwipersbutthetwohadnorelationship.“Howdoyougetthesetowork?”MomaskedPete.Herubbedhisnose,looked

attheground.“Mydaughterusedastring,Ithink.”“Astring?”

“Yep.”MomsatandMelindaandI

stoodinpuzzlement.“Wheredidsheputthe

string?”Momasked,finally.“Awww,youknow,”Pete

said,lookingoutatthehorizon.“Sheheldoneendonhersideandherboyfriendheldtheotheronhisside,andtheymoveditupanddownthewindshield,likethis.”Hemadeateeter-tottermotionwithhisarms.

Inodded.We’ddonethatbeforeoutontheNewmans’farm.Ialreadyknewtheimplications,butittookasecondbeforetheysettledonMomandLindy.“Soinessence,”Mom

began,“yourleftarmisoutthewindowintherainstorm?Andyou’resteeringandshiftinggearswithyourrightatthesametime?”“That’saboutit,”he

agreed.

“Isn’tthat…”Mommighthavesaid“futile”butchose“…dangerous?”Petenodded.“Shedonehad

onewreckinit,thatplaceIshowedyouonthefrontquarterpanel.Idingeditoutfine.”TheplaceonthefrontquarterpanellookedlikeapieceofaluminumfoilusedandsavedandusedandsavedbysomeoldwomanwhorememberedWorldWarI.“Doestheheatwork?”

Melindaasked.ShehadaBugofherownandknewthattheGermansconsideredheatersademandoftheweak.Themanscratchedhis

head.“Well,itdependsonwhatyoumeanby‘work.’Thecarwilleventuallygetwarmbecausetheenginewilleventuallygetwarm,ifyouseewhatImean.”Melindajustflat-out

laughed.“Soitworksinthesummerreallywell,huh?”“Yep,”hesaid.“That’sfor

sure.”“Howarethebrakes?”

Momasked,pullingupontheemergencybrakeanddiscoveringitofferednoresistance.Peteteeter-totteredhishand

again.“Nyeh.Butitdon’thardlygofasterthanthirtymilesanhoursoitdon’thardlymakeadifference.”He

scuffedhisfootinthedirt,spat.“You’llnoticeit’sgotasunroof.That’sanextry.”“Well,yes,”Momsaid,

lookingaboveher.“Iseeithasasunroof,butdoesitclose?”Heshrugged.“Almost.”Melindawanderedoverand

satdownunderthelonetreeinthedustylot.“Tellmewhenthisover,”shesaid,“oraftersomeoneiskilled.”Icircledthecar,counting

rustspots.Ikickedareartireforgoodmeasure.“Iwouldn’tdothat,”Pete

said.“You’resupposedtokick

tires,”Isaid,givinghimtheeye.“Yeah,well.Iwouldn’t,is

all.”Melindacalledoutfromthe

underthetree,wherehereyeswereclosed,“Mom,askdoesitcomewithbicyclepedals,orsquirrelsonawheel,

somethinglikethat.”“Squirrels,Mom,”I

explained,“likeonFredFlintstone’scar.”Momsighed,putherhead

downonthewheel.“I’lltakeit,”shesaid,reachingforthecheckbook,anaccountthathad,forthefirsttimeinherlife,onlyhernameonit.

OnthedrivebacktoMoorelandMelindafollowedus,certainMom’snewcar

wasgoingtogiveoutanysecondandwe’dhavetopushitoffHighway36intoaditchlikeadeaddeer.Evenafterwereachedourtopcruisingspeedofthirty,Melindacontinuedtodriveverycloselyandflashherheadlights.I’dturnaroundandwaveandMelindawouldwaveback,hergleeful,evilsmileperfectlyvisibleinthesunnyday.SometimesMelindawouldhonkand

eventhatsoundedasifshewereenjoyingthewholethingveryverymuch.“Honkback,”Isaid.“Ican’t,I’m

concentrating.”“Mom,we’recoasting

straightdownhill.”“Youhonk,then.”Ipokedaroundonthe

steeringwheelwhereaproperhornwouldbebutnothinghappened.Ipushedonsomeveryrudimentary-looking

sticks,thingsthatoughttohavebeenturnsignals,butnothinghappened.Finallymyhandlandedonsomething(wenevercouldfinditagain),andaterriblelittlesoundemerged,likeabootontheneckofamallardduck.Melindamusthaveheardit,becauseshetootedbackandflashedherlightsandwasinallwaysamenace.Wepulledupinfrontofthe

houseandMomgotout,

lookingasifshe’drunaverycruelobstaclecourse.Whenshetriedtoclosethedriver’sdooritswungshutandthenopenagain.Sheclosedit;itopened.Shegaveupandrestedthedooragainsttheframe,thenputbothhandsontheroof,likeacircuitpreacherperformingahealing.“I’mnamingherSabrina,”shesaid,hereyesclosed.Melindanodded.

“Optimistic.”

MomhadalwayshadCarolHoopingarner,whomIlovedforathousanddifferentreasons,andthenshefoundasecondCarol,CarolJohnson,wholivedinNewCastleandneededaridetoBallStateeveryday.TheyhookeduptogetherandCarolpaidMom$1aday,whichgaveMomjustenoughtogetsomething,evenasmallthing,forlunch.

Carolwasstudyingpsychologyandwasloud,shesaidexactlywhatwasonhermind,andifithurtyourfeelingsallthebetterbecauseprobablyitwassomethingyouwereindenialaboutandneededtohear.IadoredhereventhoughshehurtmyfeelingsapproximatelyeverytimeIsawher.Ihadgrownupwiththequietest,mostpoliteQuakerwomen,withonlyRose’smotherJoyceand

Julie’smomDebbietoshowmeanyotherway.ButCarolJ.wasinaclassallherown,andwehadthesamebirthday.ThatwastwopeopleIshareditwith,mycousinMikeJarvisandnowCarol.Isecretlybelievedweformedalittletribunalandwouldeventuallybecalledupontomakejudgmentsupontheworld,somethingbothCarolandIseemedmorethanpreparedtodo.

Carolhadadeep,huskylaughlikeasmokerandahusbandsituationInevercouldgetstraight.ShesaidthingsaboutmydadIprayedtothesleepinginfantJesusDadwouldneverhear.Shewasmorethanwillingtopullthewindshieldscreenonrainydays,and,likemanypeoplewhoarriveunbidden,shewasyetanotherformofsalvationformymother.

Itwasinteresting,I’dhearMomsayatchurchortoherfriendsonthephone,howlongapersoncanmakeacarlastrelyingonlyongravityandGoodSamaritans.EverydayMomparkedSabrinaonahillinaparkinggarage,andspenttheentirecurlyroutedownpower-clutchingherintoignition.Butitwasonlyamatteroftimebeforeherluckranout,andweallknewit.

Oneeveningshecamehomewithanadshe’dfoundintheBallStateDailyNewsforacorporationcalledBeetleboardsofAmerica.BeetleboardswasbasedinLosAngeles,andthey’dhadtheverybrightideaofusingVolkswagenBugsasrollingbillboards,marketingthecampaigndirectlyatcollegestudents.TheadstatedthatBeetleboardswouldpaystudents$20amonthtoallow

theircarstoberepaintedwithgraphicsadvertisingavarietyofthings,butprimarilycigarettes,bluejeans,stereos,andbeer.Thegraphicswerematchedtothedriver;forinstance,bluejeanscompaniespreferredclean-cut,athleticyoungmen.Itseemed,infact,thatalloftheproductsfavoredyoungmenofonestripeoranother.Motherremainedoverweight,middle-aged,andmissing

teeth.Westudiedandstudiedthe

ad.Itseemedabithopeless,butMomcouldn’tgetovertheideaofthe$20amonth,whichwouldpayforbothgasandparking,andthecarwouldgetrepaintedintheprocess.ItwasCarolJohnsonwho

finallyconvincedhertherewasnoharmincalling.Shecouldjustcall,forheaven’ssake,howmanyother

decoratedBugswerethereatBallState?HowmuchmoneywasBeetleboardsmakingoffsomebodyelse’sbehindinMuncie,sheasked,usingdecidedlydifferentlanguage?SoMomnervouslycalledLosAngeles,thisatatimewhenonesimplydidnotmakelong-distancephonecalls,andCaliforniawasasmuchaconcept,andasfaraway,asaBangladeshiprison.Momspoketosomeone,explaining

thesituation,andhekindlycalledherbacktospareherthebill.Sheusedthevoice,avoicethatwouldcausehertobeahitinspeechclassesandintheaterclassesandinradio—anywhere,infact,thatvoicesmatter.Itwasunassuming,melodic,andintimate,andgaveawaynothingoftheactualfactsofherlife.SheusedthephoneinthelivingroomandIpacedintheden,eavesdroppingbut

hearingonlysounds,nowords.IknewwhatMr.Beetleboardswasgoingtosay:therewasnoadvertisementappropriatetohercondition,particularlynotinMooreland,Indiana.Andifbychanceshegothimsofarastobeconvincedshewasalong-hairedathleticyoungmaninathleticyoungbluejeans,andthenhesawTHECAR—oh,allwaslost.Butsomehownoneofthat

happened.ThemaninCaliforniasuggestedthatMomandSabrinamightbeperfectforanewcampaign—MissClairol,specificallytheHerbalEssenceGirl,whowasablondcartoonwaifwithlongflowinghairrisingupoutofatropicalpool.(ShewastheoppositeoftheSwampGirl,inotherwords.)Momdrovethecarslowly

andwithpainfuldeliberationallthewaytoIndianapolis,to

adealershipownedbyEarlScheib,whereSabrinawaspaintedtherequisiteseafoamgreen.Whilethereitseemsshewastinkeredwithjustabit,justenoughtomaketheridehomefeelslightlymoreluxuriousandlesslikeacareeningdisasteratatwo-bitcarnivaloperatedbyconvicts.ThenayoungmanflewallthewayfromLosAngelestoapplythedecals,andwhenhewasdonewhatwassittingin

frontofourhousewassomethingthelikesofwhichMooreland,Indiana,hadneverseen.TheHerbalEssenceGirl

roseupandcoveredeachdoorpanel.Herfacewasimpassive;herhairfellinsheetsofsilkencrème.OneofherhandswasturnedpalmupandsittingonitwasabottleofbrightgreenHerbalEssenceshampoo,solifelikeyoucouldnearlysmellit.The

hoodandtrunkofthecarwerecoveredwithexoticbutterflies,andabanneracrosstherearwindowread“ExperienceIt.”Thedesigncontained,as

Momwasthefirsttoadmit,afairamountofwhatshecalledinnuendo.TheClairolGirlwasnakedafterall,risingupoutofapoolthetemperatureofahotbath.Itlookedthatway.Eventhebutterflieswereslightly

obscene,flyingallovertheplace,includingontheroofwhereotherdriverscouldn’tseethem.Itwasasifthecarhadjustblossomedoutofsomewildlylivelyplace—themostun-Quaker,un-Mooreland,un-Hoosierspotonanimaginarymap.Momadoredit.Dadwasstunned.Thebestpart—iftherecouldbesaidtobeanyonepartbetterthananother—wasthatthedeal

includedagiganticboxoffreesamples.Idon’tknowwhatwe’dusedforshampoobeforeMissClairolcametotown;indeed,Ihavenomemoryofshampoobeforeheratall.ButafterwardtherewasalwaysalittlebottleofbrightgreenHerbalEssenceinthebathroom,alongwithaconditioner,anditdidinfactsmelllikeParadise.

Theywerequiteapairafter

that,MomandCarolJohnson,HerbalEssencingofftoBallStatetostudypsychologyandpublicspeakingandEnglish.OnemorningDadandIweresittingonthefrontporchasMomlefttopickupCarol.Sabrinastillsputtered,wasstillfickleatstopsignsandclimbinghills.DadwatchedMommaketheturnontoBroadStreetwithhisarmscrossedoverhischest.

“Nothingstopsher,”hesaid,shakinghisheadandflippinghiscigaretteoutintothestreet.“Nope,”Isaid,unsurehow

tomeasuretheword.Therewasalothemeanttotellme,andIcouldfeelitallinthepitofmystomachliketheapproachofaflu.Nothing,hemeant,asinnomoney,nodriver’slicense,noteeth,nojob,nosupport,nosupplies,nosafecar.Andnothing,he

meant,asinhimself.Orme.Iknewhewasright,inadarksadcornerofmybones,andstill.Still,Iwasproudofher.Still,itwasabeautifulcar.

Teeth

Mrs.SchaefferwasawonderfulmusicteacherandbecauseofherIknewplentyabouttheworldoftheater.Inthesecondgradeshe’dallowedmetosingasoloinclass,“FeedtheBirds,”

fromMaryPoppins,andtoldmeIhadalovelysoprano.AtHalloweentimeeveryyearsheshowedusafilmstripcalledDanseMacabre,accompaniedbyarecordonherportableturntable;ineachsceneacorpseorapumpkinoratreeinadarkcemeterydancedtoclassicalmusic.ThatwastheclosestI’devercometogreatart,andIwishedwecouldwatchiteveryday.ButMrs.Schaeffer

wasrighttoholdontoitandletusseeitonlyduringHalloween.Inthefifthgradewewere

oldenoughtostartputtingonshowsforthepublic,andMrs.Schaefferdecidedwewoulddonotaplay,butamedleyofsongsfromtheall-timeperfectmusicals,performedinthegym.TheproblemwashowtoavoidgivingallthesongstoRose,whonotonlyhadthemost

beautifulsingingvoicebutalsoknewhowtostandjustsoandlookalittlewaysupandintothedistance,herheadthrustjustslightlyforward.Hermotherhelpedherputonlipstickforspecialoccasions,somethingmyownmotherwouldhaveeatenatoadbeforedoing.Rosewasinallwaysmorepreparedforalifeonstage,andeveryonecouldseeit.Intheendshewasgiven

“I’mGonnaWashThatManRightOutaMyHair,”sungwithagroupofothergirls,and“SomeEnchantedEvening,”fromSouthPacific.Her“EnchantedEvening”wassoprofessionalthatmysisterturnedtomeintheaudienceandsaid,“Ashameyouhavetofollowthat.”Rosehadevenrememberedtoenunciate,asMrs.Schaeffertaughther,“youmaymeetastrang-ooor.”

Jock-ishTommy,whowasfeettallerthananyoneelseintheclass,gottosing“OldManRiver,”andshockingly,hehadaflat-outbassvoice.Fifthgrade.Isang“Edelweiss”andwaspartofthechorusforthesong“Oklahoma!”whichmeantIhadtodoalittletwo-stepIfounddemeaningandhopedmysisterwouldsomehowsleepthrough.Shedidnot.Oncethetheaterbugwas

awakenedinus,RoseandIcouldn’tstop.Westolehermother’stwo-albumsoundtracktoJesusChristSuperstarandplayeditoverandoverinRose’sroom,wearingolddiapersonourheadssowewouldlikelooktheBlessedVirginMary.Well,RoselookedliketheBVMandIlookedlikeMaryMagdalene,butthatwasfinebecausethatmeantIgotthegreatestsonginthewhole

play,“IDon’tKnowHowtoLoveHim.”CertainlythathadbeentrueofJesusandmemywholelife,soIfeltjustifiedinclaimingthepart.EventuallyRosegottiredofsinging“Hosanna”andsaidshewantedtobeMaryMagdalene(castingagainsttype,Itriedtoexplain),althoughheryoungersisterMaggiewasalwayshappytobeHerod.Maggiehadapreternaturallydeepvoicefor

athird-grader,andpulledofftheHerodrolewithgreataplomb.Wesangwiththerecordforalongtime,thenbegansingingintomybluetaperecorder,listeningtoourselvescriticallyandtryingtoimaginehowMrs.Schaefferwouldhaveussaycertainwordsdifferently.IwasconvincedthatM.Magdalenewouldsay,“He’samahn,he’sjustamahn,”sortoflikethebaldmanin

the7-Upcommercialswhoputthelimeinthecoconut.(Nococonutin7-UpasfarasIcouldtell,butIadoredbaldmen.)

Momsaidshehadasurpriseforme.ShewasgoingtotakemetoBallState,justthetwoofus,toseeaplay.“Ialreadyknowalotabout

plays,”Isaid.“I’msureyoudo.”“I’vebeenin…gosh,Sound

ofMusic,Oklahoma!,IhadthatbitinMusicMan.”“Thisisn’tamusical,”

Momsaid,lookingfortheticketsinthesatchelthathadreplacedherArmysurplusbackpack.“Herewego.Fridaynight—adate?”“Adate,”Isaid,looking

away.IthadbeenalongtimesinceI’dspentanytimewithjustmymom,andIwasthrilledandalsohorrifiedandwhatiftheactorswere

terrible?WouldIbeabletositthroughit?IwishedthatRosecouldgowithme,sowecouldholdhandsandcriticize.

Wetookoff,SabrinasputteringandthreateningtostalleverytimeMomtouchedthebrake.“It’sfreezinginhere,”I

said,tuckingmyhandsundermyarmpits.“It’llwarmup.”

Iwaitedaminute.Maybehalf.“It’sfreezinginhere.”“Theheatcomesoffthe

engine,sotheenginehastogetwarmfirst.Ikeepablanketinthebackseat;spreaditoveryourlegs.”“Let’slistentotheradio,”I

reachedforthestrange,foreign-lookingknobs.“Youknowtheradio

doesn’twork.”“Howaboutturningonthe

heatthen?”

“It’llwarmup.”“Whatdoesthisbutton

do?”Iasked,pointingtoablack,rubberyknobthatappearedpartchewedbyrodents.“Ithinkit’sthe—Idon’t

know,”Momsaid,strugglingtogetthelittleforeigngearshiftintothird.“Iknowasongabouta

gearshiftcalled‘BeepBeep(TheLittleNashRambler).’Wouldyouliketo

hearit?”Momnodded.“Iknowthat

song.”Itookoffsingingitinthe

self-importantvoiceofthemanintheCadillacwholooksinhisrearviewmirrorandissurprisedtofindthesillyRamblerfollowinghim.Momdidn’tknowthewordssowell,andgotlost,especiallywhenthesongspeduptoitsdesperatelyfastconclusion.

“Whew!”shesaid,asifI’dwornherout.“Nokidding.Ittookme

yearstobeabletosingthatwholething.Whatisthisplaycalledagain?”“TheSkinofOurTeeth.It’s

byThorntonWilder.”“TheSkinofOurTeeth?!

Doteethhaveskin?”Itwasagruesomeconcept.“Notliterally,no.”“Thenisitastupidplay?”“Notatall.”

“Doyouknowthisman,ThornWild?”“ThorntonWilder.”Mom

leanedtowardthewindshieldasifshecouldmakethecargofaster.“No,he’safamousplaywright,he’snotfromaroundhere.HewrotetheplayOurTown.”Motherhadseriouslytakenupwiththedramadepartment.Shewasallthetimereadingplaysandtalkingaboutthemandhadevenwrittenone.

“OurTown,hmmm,”Isaid,scrubbingfrostofftheinsideofthewindshield.“Youcouldwriteaplaycalledthat.”“Notnearlyaswell,I’m

afraid.”Shescrubbedatthefrostonthewindshield.“Butmaybeyoucould.”Ithoughtaboutit.“Maybe

so.Ididwritethatonegoodpoem.”WereachedHighway3andheadedtowardMuncie.Momdrovethisrouteeveryday,itoccurredtome.She

didthingseverydaythathadnothingtodowithme.Iswallowed,feelinghomesick,butIwasn’tsurewhatfor.Ourhousewassocoldwe’dhadtoputarollawaybedrightnexttothecoalstoveandthat’swhereIsleptatnight.Anditwasn’tasifDadwasthere,anyway,sittinginhisbrownchairwithhisglassofwaterandhispintofwhiskey.Itwasn’tasifhewasstaringinhisfixedway

atthetelevision,theriflerackbehindhim,hisbrownradiosettotheEmergencyChannel,hiscollectionofanimalteethinajaronthetablebesidehim.Itwasn’tasifIknewwherehewas.Thehousewasjustbackthere,emptyandfreezingexceptfortheanimals,whosleptcurledupagainsteachotherinlittleknots,catindistinguishablefromdog.“Thisplaydoesn’tevenhaveanymusicinit?”I

asked,aggrieved.“Notlikeyoumean,

sweetheart.”Momleanedforward,lookingouttheonesquareofwindowSabrina’sdefrosterhadmanagedtodefrost.Shekepthereyeonthespaceavailabletoher.

Momknewexactlyhowtogettotheparkinggarage,whichwaspossiblymyfirstparkinggarage.SheknewhowtowalkdownRiverside

AvenuetoEmensAuditoriumandupthecirculardriveintothebrightspaceofthelobby,wherehundredsofpeopleweremillingaroundtalking,drinkingwhatappearedtobeapplecideroutofplasticcups.Thelobbywasbrightandloudasifsomegreatexcitementhadtakenovereveryone,somethingbiggerthanabasketballtournamentortheFairQueencontestattheMoorelandFair,where

thetrickwastolookasifyoudidn’tcareatall.Herepeoplelaughedloudlyandshoutedtodiscoveryetanotheracquaintance,andtherewerewomendressedinwaysI’dneverseenbefore,meninsuitsofstrangecolors,menwithponytails.Ohdearohdear,Ithought,imaginingifDadcouldseethiswhathewouldsay.ItwouldnotbeChristian(thoughneitherwashe)orrepeatable.Therewere

someVietnamveteransoutinthefarreachesofthecountyandsomeofthemhadponytails,butIwasnottospeaktothemeventhoughmydadwasdeadpatriotic.Theseponytailedmenwereemployed—theywereticketholderstothetheater—notgun-totinghairtriggershookedonskunkweed.(Iwasunclearwhatthatlastpartmeant,butitgotsaidoftenenough.)

Momhadourticketsoutandwepassedthroughaseriesofdoors,oldermenandwomeninbrightredblazershandingusalittlebookabouttheplayanddirectingustoourseats.Wewereledtotheleftbankofseats,closetothefrontandneartheaisle,whereIcouldseeeverythingveryclearly.EmensAuditoriumwasso

enormousIwouldhaveguesseditsatonehundred

thousandpeople.Mymomsaidactuallytwo.Twothousand.Andtherewassomethinggoingoneverywhere,morepeoplemillingaroundandushersstudyingticketstubsandanorchestrasomewhereunseentuningup.ThiscouldnothavebeenmoredifferentfromthegymintheMoorelandElementarySchool,whereourmusicalshadbeenheld.Wedidn’t

haveactualsets,foronething;wejustdressedincostumes(whateverwecouldfindathome)andcameoutonstageandsang.Thegymwassooldeverythinghadfadedtoauniformshadeofgray.Therewereenormousmetalsupportpolesinthebuckledfloorthatranuptotheceiling,andthey’dbeenwrappedinthickpadding—obviouslytopreventtraumaticbraininjury—and

thepaddinghadgonegrayandshreddy.Thewallsaboveandbehindthebleacherswerefadedtothecolorofrock.AwoodenboardstillboreBigDaveNewman’sscoringrecordfromthelate1950s,whenMoorelandhaditsownbasketballteam,theBobcats,beforeallthecountyschoolsincorporatedandtheBobcatsbecameghosts.AndEmensAuditoriumwasverydifferentfromtheBlueRiver

HighSchoolcafetoriumwhereplayswereheld,calledassuchbecausetherewasastageattheendofthecafeteria.Aneconomicaldesign.Despitethediscrepancy,ajanglewassetupinsideme,rememberingatraumaticmomentinmywaypast.Yearsearlierwe’dgone,

MomandDadandme,tothecafetoriumtoseemysisterperforminaplaycalledUp

theDownStaircase.Iwasareallystupidlittlegirl,maybeonlysixyearsold,andthesetlookedliketheoutsideofaschoolbuilding,threestorieshigh.Charactersopenedthewindowsandspoke.TherewasnowaytoknowLindywasbehindoneofthosewindowsuntilthecardboardshuttersopenedandshespokeherlines,andIwasveryshockedtoseeherthereandalsoshewasquite

convincingandthewholethingupsetme.Ididn’tknowwhattodoorsay,soIjustkeptwatching,andthencametheworstpart:oneofMelinda’soldestfriends,DebbyShively,whowasarealactress—shewassucharealactressshewasatBallStaterightthisminutestudyingactingasIsatinEmens—hadthemostimportantpartandshegotinafightwithherteacher.It

wasjustthetwoofthemintheclassroom.TheteacherwasreadingfromaletterDebbyhadwritten,readinginameanway,asDebbycrossedherarmsandlookedmiserable.Theteachersaidsomethinglike,“‘Iloveyou’isacliché.”Itwasn’tjustthewayhesaidit,orthewordsthemselves,butthatDebby’seyesverysubtlyfilledwithtears,thewaytheywouldifyouwereabadgirl,ormaybe

agoodgirlhavingaverybadday.MystomachflewupintomythroatandIthoughtIwasgoingtoburstoutcrying,too,andIcouldn’tputittogetherthatthiswasaplay,Debbywasacting,allIsawwasmysister’soldfriend,someoneI’dknownmywholelife,herarmscrossedandanexpressiononherfacelikeloss,ordoom.Andthenthehouselights

dimmed.Iglancedoverat

Momforreassuranceandshesmiledatmefrombehindheroldcat’s-eyeglasses,andtheThornWildplaybegan.Ontheblackvelvetcurtain,whichseemedtostretchacityblock,agrainynewsreelranwiththewordsNEWSEVENTSOFTHEWORLD.Therewasapictureofasunriseandanannouncertellingus,deep-voicedandauthoritative,thatthesunhadrisenthatmorningandsothe

worldhadonceagainnotended.Therewasapictureofaglacier,andtheannouncersaidtheunexpectedsummerfreezehadpushedsomepieceofworldIdidn’trecognizethenameoftosomeotherpieceofworldfaraway.Thetonewasfunny,menacing.Isquirmedinmychair,decidedtotakeupnail-biting,oneoftheonlybadhabitsI’dneverbeeninterestedinbefore.

Thecurtainopenedonadomesticscene,butoneoff-kilter.Therewerefourwallsbutperiodicallyonewouldtiltandamaid(orwhatevershewas)wouldhavetopushitbackintoplace.Shewasworriedthemanofthehousewouldn’tmakeithome,andgetthis:therewasadinosaurinthehouse,andamastodon.Notreal,unfortunately,asthatwouldhavemadeforquiteaplay.

IleanedovertoMom.“Whenisthishappening,thisplay?”Momwhispered,“Pretty

muchrightnow.Inthe1940s,Ithink.”Isatback.Itwasmentioned

thatthehusband,Mr.Antrobus,wasbusyinventingthewheelandalsothealphabetandnumbers.“Whataboutthose

dinosaurs,I’mwondering?”“Shhhh.”

Ididn’tunderstand.Ididn’tunderstandtheAntrobuses,whohadbeenmarriedfivethousandyears,astheybattledtheglacierinthefirstact,thefloodinthesecond(whereinMr.AntrobusalsobecamePresidentoftheAncientandHonorableOrderofMammals,SubdivisionHumans).Ididn’tunderstandthethirdact,aftertheunnamedwar,andthepeoplewanderingaroundintheback

withbigclocks,quoting,atnineo’clock,someonecalledSpinoza,atteno’clock,Plato,andattheend,Aristotle.ButIcouldn’tmove.Icouldhardlybreathe.Everyoneseemedsogiddy,sooptimistic,evenwheninthesecondacttheblackcirclesbegantoappear,thefirstforaregularstorm,thesecondforahurricane,thethirdforaflood,thefourthfortheendoftheworld.Itwasasifthe

worldwereabouttoendallthetime,everytimetheAntrobusesturnedaround,andyettheyloadedtheanimalstwobytwo,andeventuallytheretheywere,backintheirlittlehouseintheirlittletown,216CedarStreet,Excelsior,NewJersey.GeorgeAntrobusdidashewished:heinventedthewheel,thealphabet,thenumbers—heevenrejoicedinhavingthehundredafter

hundredafterhundred,asifhe’dgoneoutandmadeitso,thewaymyowndadmightbuildachickencoop.Iwasdizzy.Iwantedittoneverend.Ilovedthedinosaurs.

AftertheplayMomtookmetoArby’sRestaurant,whereIhadneverbeen.ItwasjustatinyplacenotfarfromBallState,acounter,really,whereyouorderedfoodandsatatoneofthreetables.There

weretwoexquisitethingsaboutArby’s:onewasthatthefloorwasinlaidwithmosaictilesthatformedthefaceofalonghornsteer,andtheotherwasthattheyhadpotatocakesinplaceoffrenchfries.AlsosomethingcalledaJamochaShake,whichtastedunlikeanythingI’deverhadinmylife.WesatatourlittletablewithourroastbeefsandwichesandpotatocakesandIknewIwas

abrand-newperson.“Whatdidyouthinkofthe

play?”Momasked,asifIwereagrown-upwithanopinion.Ishrugged.“Itwasall

right.”“Didyouunderstandit?”“Nope.”Momtookadrinkofher

shake,pushedherglassesuphernose.Ihadnomemoryofherevertalkingtomeinquitethisway.“Doyouknowthe

word‘catastrophe’?”sheasked.Ithoughtaboutit.Idid,

actually,becauseinschoolsomeonehadonlyrecentlymispronounceditwhilereadingaloudas“cat-astrofe.”“Itmeans…it’ssomethinglikedisaster.”“Yes,it’slikedisaster,only

bigger.Acatastropheissomethingthatchangesyourlifeforever.Sometimestheyhappenintheworld,likein

nature.”“Thewaytherewasa

glacierandaflood.”“Right.Andsometimesit

happensathome,”Momsaid,lookingatmeintently.Iswallowedmypotato

cake,staredatthefloor.Isaid,“Likethewaythemaidisgoingtostealthehusbandandthefamilywillbeover.”Momsatback,smiledat

me.“Youdidtoounderstandit.”

“Didnot.Alsoitwasjustsilly,thosedinosaursandanimalsandpeoplespeakingdifferentlanguagesandGladyspoppingupoutofthefloor,thatwasjustaboutretarded.”Wefinishedeatingand

headedoutintotheblack,coldnight.“I’mfreezingtodeath,”I

said,asMompulledoutoftheArby’sparkinglot.“It’llwarmup.”

WehadthehighwaytoourselvesandIcouldthinkofnothingbuttheplay,thewayGeorgeAntrobuskeptrepeatingthattheyhadsurvivedtheDepressionbytheskinoftheirteeth;onemoretightsqueezelikethatandwherewouldtheybe?IsawDebbyShively’seyesglazedwithtears,herarmscrossedprotectivelyoverherchest.Itwasasadandsinkingwinternight,andyet

I’dneverseenthestarssohardinthesky,shiningasiftheycouldharmus,butwouldspareusonemorenight.Momleanedforward,pressedtheVolkswagenhome.

OneLeper

Motheralwayssaidshewasasize7womanshekeptwrappedinfattopreventbruising.WhenshestartedatBallStatesheweighed268pounds,sotheThinMominsidewasabundantlysafe.

Butbytheendofhersecondfullschoolyear,shehadlostahundredpounds,oranentireotherThinMom.Shestillhadlonghairshehatedandworeinabun—Dadwouldn’tlethercutit—andshewasstillmissingsomeofherteeth,buttherewasnodenyingshehadchanged.Itwasn’tuntilIstoppedand

lookedbackthatIsawwhatshehaddone:shehadtakentheCLEPtestand

leapfroggedoveranacreofrequirements.Shehadfinagledrideswithseventeendifferentpeopleoverherfirstyear.ShehadfoundSabrinaandredeemedherwithadvertising.Hertoosolidfleshhadmelted;shehadgonetothetheater;shehadwrittenaplaythathadbeenperformedasastagedreading;shehadtakenmetothebigcampusandmademefeelcomfortablethere,the

waybirdsmaketheirbabiesflyfartherandfartherafield,allthewhilesaying,“See?It’sjusttheworld,youknowtheworld.”WhatIhadn’tnoticed,orhadn’trecognized,werethecourseoverloads,thepunishingsummerschedule,theargumentswithadviserswhotoldherno.(Shehandedtome,inthoseyears,oneofhergreatestgifts:theabilitytosaywithasmile,“Tellmewhowillsay

yes,andthendirectmetohisoffice.”)Shehaddoneallthese

thingsandshewasgoingtograduatesummacumlaude,whichmeantGoodButLoud,fromtheHonorsCollege,andshehaddoneitallintwenty-threemonths.Ittakessomepeoplemoretimetohangacurtain.

Twothingshappenedtendaysbeforegraduation:one

wasthatshereceivedaletterfromtheuniversitypresident,Dr.Pruis.SheopeneditonaneveningMelindaandRickwerevisitingwithJosh,andDadjusthappenedtobehome.“Whatisit?”Melinda

asked.InJarvisLandanofficialletterwasalmostalwaysguaranteedtobeathreatofgarnishedwagesorInterruptedService.Momscannedthethick

paper.“Dr.Pruissayshe’sproudofme.He’sinvitedmetocomeinandseehimbeforegraduation.”Iwhistled.Melindasaid,

“Thepresident?”Notmovinghiseyesfrom

thetelevisionDadsaid,“It’saformletter.”“No,itisn’t,”Melindasaid,

inatoneofvoicethatwouldhavecausedDadtogostraightupandscatter,asMomcalledit,inthedays

beforeMelindawasmarried,inthedaysbeforetherewasahusband-personsittingtheremakingsureitdidn’thappen.“Heprobablyknowsherstory,knowsshe’sgraduatingwithhonorsandisproudofher.”“It’saformletter,”Dad

said,lightingacigarette.“Howdoyou—”Melinda

began,hervoicerising.“Lin,”Momsaid,folding

theletterandslippingitback

intheenvelope.“I’lljustmakeanappointmentandfindout.Howaboutthat?”“Yes,dothat.”Melinda

reacheddownandpickedupJosh’sdiaperbag.“Yes,dothat,”Dadsaid,

stillnotlookingatanyofus.

ThenextmorningMomwalkeddowntothepayphoneattheNewmans’Marathonstation;ourtelephonehadbeen

disconnected,althoughDadclaimedtohavepaidthebill.SheusedthecoinsIhadn’talreadystolenfromherpursetobuyMountainDewsanddialedthenumberontheBallStateletterhead.“OfficeofthePresident,”a

womansaid,inaspecialOfficeofthePresidentvoice:groundglassinhoney.“MayIspeaktoDr.Pruis,

please?”“Thisishissecretary.What

isthenatureofyourbusiness?”Momwasperhapsnervous.

“Ah,isthisananimal,vegetable,ormineralquestion?”“Whatisthenatureofyour

business,madam?”Thehoneycooled,hardened.“Ireceivedaletterfrom

him,”Momsaid,clearingherthroat,“andhewantsmetocomeinandseehim.”“Yourname?”

“Myname?”“Whatisyourname,

ma’am?”“Oh.Yes.DelondaJarvis.”“Holdplease.”TheOffice

ofthePresidentleftMotherhangingwithoutbenefitofmusic,thenreturned.“IhandleallofhiscorrespondenceandIhavenorecordofsuchaletter.”Thentellmewhowillsay

yes.“It’spersonal.”O.ofP.tookhertime

sighing.“YoumayseehimTuesdayattwo.”Motherrememberedher

ownelegantvoice.“Thatwillbesatisfactory.Thankyou.”Shemadetheslight,distractedsoundofawomansqueezinganobligationintoafrightfullybusyday,thenhungupthepayphone,whichreekedofaxlegreaseandgasoline.Backinthehouseshe

contemplatedherwardrobe,

whichdidnotexist.Herthreepairsofblackpolyesterpantsnolongerfit,andherstunningcherryredpantsuit,whichsheclaimedcouldcauseretinaldamageindirectsunlight,wasbigenoughfortwoorthreeunbruisedmothers.ShesatdownatherSingersewingmachine,themachineonwhichshehadmadeallofourclothes(exceptforDad’s,whichwerestore-boughtand

fashionable),andthedollsMelindaandIhadlovedtopieces:SamanthaPollyanna,RebeccaMathilda,andSuzySleepyhead,nottomentionGladly,myCross-EyedBear.Shetookupthesidesofthecherryredpants,didherbestwiththesprungelasticwaistband.Shewouldleavethetopasitwasandbeltit.Theproblemwasthatthecrotchofthepantsnowhitherintheknees,sosheput

themonandpracticedtakingverysmallsteps.IcamedownstairsjustintimeforthisrunwaymoveandMomaskedmehowshelooked.Istudiedheramomentandsaid,“Youlooklikearadioactivepotato.”“Hmmm,”Momsaid,

noddingherhead.“That’snotsobad.”Shepickedoutawigtowearonthespecialday,too,astyleandcolorsheconsidered“subtle”and

whichIthoughtsaid“Pekingese.”

ThesecondthingthathappenedinthoselasttendaysinvolvedherprofessorofInterpersonalCommunication,Dr.Reiss.AfterclassonTuesday—theveryTuesdayshewastomeetPresidentPruis—Dr.ReissaskedMothertostepintoherofficeforamoment.“Couldwe—isthisvery

—”Momasked,glancingattheclockinthehallway.“Justamoment,please.”Dr.Reisswasatiny

woman,butshehadalong,manlystride,andshereachedherofficenearlyafullminutebeforeMotherdid.“Areyouallright,Mrs.Jarvis?”sheasked,studyingMom’snewgait.“Fine,fine,”Momsaid,

carefree.“I’msimplytryingtoslowdownandenjoylife

more.”ProfessorReissoffered

Momachairandsatdownfacingher.Shecrossedherarmsoverherstomach.Momtriednottolookaroundforaclock.Shetriednottoglancedownatherwatch,orhaveanervousbreakdown.“You’reaverybright

woman,”Dr.Reisssaid,breakingtheinterminablesilence.“Thankyou.”

“AndIunderstandyouhaveaperfectfour-pointGPA.”Mombrushedaway

somethingimaginaryfromherpantsleg.Nothingwouldactuallysticktotheredfabric;allwasrepelled.“Yes,that’sright.”“Ashame,then,thatIshall

begivingyouaCinthisclass.”Sothiswasit,Mom

thought.Shehadmanagedto

foolanentireuniversitythroughtheforceofwillalone,andshehadcomewithininchesofmakingacleanescape.ButDr.Reisscouldseethroughher,couldseethewholebleakstory:thescholarshiptoMiamiUniversityshe’dsacrificedatsixteentomarrymyfather,whoshethoughtwastwenty-sixyearsoldandapilot.(Hewaseighteenandagambler.)Thetwenty-fouryearsof

povertyandterrorandennui;thesexy,unpredictablemanwhomanageditall,dominatedeveryonearoundhim,animalseven.Herchildren,whohadneverbeforehadanyreasontobeproudofher,andwhonowsawherinanewway,childrenshehadadoredandignoredsimultaneously,becauseshesimplycouldnotgetupoffthecouch,shecouldnotcleanacondemned

housewithnorunningwater,shecouldnotcookmealswithfoodthatdidn’texistorwashclotheswithoutawashingmachine.Withoutclothes.Shecouldn’tdriveacarshedidn’thave,withoutalicenseshecouldn’tacquire.Shehadtakenhervowsandthentheyhadtakenher,andtheforcesamassedagainstherweregreaterthanlove,greaterthanobligation.Theywereelemental,heavyasa

deadplanet.Onechance—that’swhatshehadseenshehad—oneflyingleapthatwasreallycomposedofeightthousandseparatepossibilitiesforfalling,andshehadtakenthatchanceandcomethisfarandbeenfoundout.Andinastupidclassfullofselfish,self-indulgent,narcissistic,spoiledchildrenwhowereencouragedbyDr.Reisstotalktalktalkabouttheirfeelings,whenwhatthey

oughttohavebeendoingwasshuttingupandstudyingtheconversationsoftheireldersandsuperiors.Itwashere?Hereshewouldbedonein?Momnodded,sighed.

“HaveInotgottenanAoneverypaper?Attendedeveryclass?”“Youhave,”Dr.Reiss

agreed.“ButthiscourseiscalledInterpersonalCommunication,Mrs.Jarvis,andIhaveyettosee—or

hear—youcommunicatewithourclassatall.Youhaverevealednothingofyourselfthisquarter.”Momsatback,stunned.

“Youmustbejoking.Thestudentsdiscuss‘warmfuzzies’and‘coldpricklies.’Adiagramoftheir‘feelings’couldbeusedonSesameStreet.”“Nonetheless,youseemnot

totakethegoalofcommunicationvery

seriously.”“Interpersonal

communication,youmean.”“It’sanimportantfieldof

study.”Dr.Reissturnedherbraceletsaroundandaroundhersmallwrist,leanedtowardMotherwithintensity.“Itisthroughamorefeminineapproachtodialoguethatwewilleventuallybreakthroughthehegemonyofthepatriarchy,Delonda.Nolessthanthat.”

“Isee.”Momlookedatherwatch,tookadeepbreath.“Ihavenotedthatyourevealabsolutelynothingofyourselfinclass,Dr.Reiss.Youareasclosedasaprisonguard.”ProfessorReisssatback,

blinkedfiveorsixtimesbehindherthickglasses.“WritemeafinaltermpaperjustifyingyourselfandIwillrethinkyourgrade.Youaredismissed.”

TherewasnopossibilityshecouldgettotheAdministrationBuildingontime.Sheranupthehill,awayfromtheEnglishBuilding,raninteenytinysteps.Agirlonabicyclestoppedtowatchher.“Areyouallright?”The

girlwasyoung,athletic,tall.“Weren’tweinaclasstogether?”Motherwassowindedshe

couldbarelycontrolherlips.

“Ihave…a…oh,God.”Sheheldherside,triedtocatchherbreath.“IhaveanappointmentattheAdBuildinginfiveminutesandIdon’tthinkIcanmakeit.”TheTallGirlsaid,

“Bummer.Canyourideabicycle?”“OfcourseIcanridea

bicycle,”Momsaid,thinkingofmine,whichwastrustyanddearandevenhadabell.“Thisismyboyfriend’s

bike—youcantakeitifyou’llbecarefulandlockitup.JustleaveitinfrontoftheAdBuildingandI’llgetitlater.”TallGirltookoutacombinationlockonachaininaplastictube.Aplastictube.Momhadabsolutelynoideawhatshewasseeing.“Areyouready?”Momnoddedandtriedto

getonthebike.ItturnedoutTallGirlhadaTallBoyfriend,andMomcouldn’t

getherfootoverthecenterbar,particularlywiththecrotchofherbrightredpantsnearlydownaroundherankles.Shehikedupthepants,exposingwhitetubesocksshe’dborrowedfromRick.Acrowdbegantogather.Someoneyelled,“Jumponitfromtheback,likeahorse!”Shetriedthatandfoundittoberegrettable.Finally,aboywithaGary,

Indiana,accent,someone

fromtheRegion,said,“Hey,lady,youwannagetonthatbike?Givemeyourfoot.”ShetrustedhimwithherfootbecauseshehadgrownupinWhitingandsotheywerepracticallyfamily.TheboyhadtwofriendsbraceMomonherrightside;hepulledonefootupandover,theotherboyspushed,andbeforesheknewitshewasontheseat,thetinylittleseatoftheVeryTallBoyfriend’s

bicycle.TheRegionboyssaid,

“Ready?”Momwhispered,“Yes.”Theypushedherforward,

downthehilltowardwhatwascalledthescramblelight,anintersectionwherestudentscrossedfourlanesoftrafficinsixdirectionsatthesametime,infaithbelievingthat(a)theywereimmortal,and(b)carswouldstopforthembecausetheywereyoungand

pretty.ButMom’sbikekeptgainingspeed,nomatterhowfuriouslyshepedaledbackward.Shehadneverheardofhandbrakes,Ihadneverheardofhandbrakes;allcivilizedbicyclesinallthedecentnationsoftheworldhadback-pedalingbrakesandthatwasallweknew.Assheapproachedthe

massesatthescramblelight,realizingthatshewashomicidallybrake-freeand

travelingatroughlyfiftymilesanhour,Momdidtheonlythingshecoulddo:shebeganscreaming,“I’moutofcontrol,I’moutofcontrol!Getoutoftheway!Run!!!”Innocentchildrendoveto

thegroundandMommadeitthroughthelightandontothesidewalk,wheresomeidiotprofessorwasgettingoutofhiscarwithoutevenbotheringtoseeiftherewereformerlyfatwomenbarreling

downthesidewalkscreaming.Momflewtowardhim,screaming,andhedoveintothebushesaroundtheScienceBuilding.Shewasslowingjust

slightlyassheapproachedthefrontoftheAdministrationBuilding,enoughthatshethoughtshemightbeabletogetoffthebikeifshejustthrewherselfsideways,whichshedid.Shelandedonherelbowsandknees,

abradingandde-skinningherselfinwayswithwhichIwaslongfamiliar.Miraculously,thecherry-redkneesofherpantsdidnottear,buttheydidturnblackfromgrassandblood.Mom’sheadlandedonherbookbag,breakingthelittlebottleofAvonTimelesscologneshehadcarriedspeciallythatdayinordertodababitbehindherearsbeforemeetingthepresident.Thebagbeganto

leak.Momroseslowly,noteven

pretendingshehadreservesofdignity.Shewasbruisedandbleeding,herwigwasaskew,butshetookthetimetolockupthebicycle,asshehadpromised.ShemarchedintotheAdBuildingandupthestairstothepresident’soffice,limpingandtryingnottowhimper.SecretarytotheOfficeof

thePresidentlookedMother

upanddownandsaid,ratherfaintly,“Areyouthetwoo’clock?”Mothernodded,gasped.Asthesecretaryledherinto

hisoffice,PresidentPruisrosefrombehindhisvastdeskandstudiedMomwithacautiousexpression.Hissuitwassosubtleshealmostcouldn’tseeit.“Won’tyouhaveaseat?”heasked,directinghertoaleatherarmchairthesizeofMom’s

car,butwithmorepower.Shesat,stillgaspingperiodically.PresidentPruisbeganto

speak,asapoliticianwilldo,tofillthesilence,theinexplicableappointment.Hetoldherwhatawonderfulyearithadbeenfortheuniversity,howwellthebasketballteamhaddone,howmuchmoneythealumnicommitteehadraisedforanewbuilding.Hisspeechhadthecomfortingrhythmone

offerstochildren,oldpeople,andresidentsoftheEpilepticVillage.Finallyheasked,“Canyoutalk?”“Yes,”Motherwhispered.“Canyoutellmewhyyou

wantedtoseeme?”“Igotyourletter.”“Whatletterwouldthat

be?”Momtookitoutofthe

bookbag;itwasdrippingwithTimelesscologne.Dr.Pruishelditatarm’slength,

glancedatit,quicklyhandeditback.Shesawitonhisface:itwasaformletter.Hewasn’tproudofher.Hedidn’tknowanddidn’tcarethatshewasbeinggraduatedsummacumlaudefromtheHonorsCollegeaftertwenty-threemonths.Shelaughed.Shelether

bodygolimpandfeltherwigslipjustslightlymoreandknewtherewasabsolutelynothingtodobutlaugh.“It’s

aformletter,”shesaid,“butthat’sokay.It’sokay.IguesswhatIreallycametosayisthatthereweretenleperswhowerehealed,butonlyonecamebacktothankJesusforhealinghim.”Dr.Pruisblanchedabit,as

onedoeswhentheword“leprosy”popsupinapeculiarconversation.“I’msayingIwanttothank

youforallthethingsBallStatehasdoneforme.Inever

dreamedIwouldfinallygetacollegeeducation,andnowIhave,thankstoyou.”Henodded,askedherwhat

hermajorwas,whatclassesshehadtaken.Heaskedaboutherscholarshipsandloans,aboutthepeoplewhohadbeenmosthelpfultoher.Atlastheasked,gesturingtoher,well,everything,“Whathappenedtoyou?”Shetoldhimthestoryof

thegiantbicycle,herperilous

journey,theprofessorwhodoveintothebushesandwouldprobablysue.PresidentPruislaughedandlaughed,heshookhisheadandpulledastarchedhandkerchieffromhispocketandwipedhiseyes.“Ah,”hesaid.“I’msogladIinvitedyoutovisit.MayIwalkyoubacktotheEnglishBuilding?”

MomtoldRose’smother

JoyceaboutInterpersonalCommunicationsandhowshehadninedaysuntilgraduationandhaddecidedjusttoquit.Joycewasnotawomanwhoabidedsuchnonsenseineitherwordordeed,andshesaidtoMom,justsharplyenough,“Youcouldhangfromyourdamnthumbsforninedays,Delonda,togetthatdegree.”ThenshemadeMomtalkthroughthepapershewould

writeforDr.Reiss,andassoonasshebegantoexplainittoJoyce,itallbecameclear,andshedashedhomeasquicklyashertornkneeswouldcarryherandwroteit.

ShebasedherargumentonabookcalledThePrince,bysomeonenamedMachiavelli,whoIbelievedwasalsoasculptorandakindofaftershave.Shedescribedacertainkindofman,aPrince,

aPresident,aPotentate,whosegreatestgiftwashisabilitytoingratiatehimselftohisenemieswithfalseintimacy.Oncetheenemy’sweaknesseswereexposed,thePrincedestroyedhim,andthuswaspowermaintainedbytheamoralandpsychologicallycanny,orsoMotherwrote.ShequotedW.H.Auden,apoetwhohadoncegotteninabarfightinMuncie;shequotedRalph

WaldoEmerson,someoneIwouldforyearsbelievetobeacharacterinacartoonstrip.Momsaidthereweretrueandfalsevulnerabilities,andthattherewas“nonameunderwhichthefalsevulnerabilityshouldbecourted,novalueinachievingit.”Onthelastdayofher

collegecareer,Dr.Reissgaveherbackthepaper;MomhadgottenanAontheassignmentandanAinthe

class.Dr.Reisssuggestedtheyjointlypublishit,withherownnameasthelead:shewastheonewiththecredentials,afterall.ButMomjustopenedherhands,shemadeagestureofemptiness,smiling,andsaidtoherprofessor,“Justtakeit.Justtakeitforyourself,Idon’tneedit.”

Silver

IntheoldbuildingoncampuswhereMomhadanofficeasateachingassistant,everythingwaseithergreenorgoinggreen.ShewasstudyingtobeaMasterofEnglish,andshedidn’tmind

thateventhoughshewasabouttobetheequivalentofablackbeltinliterature,herofficecarpetwassquishyandsmelledlikeanaquarium.Ifeltcomfortablethere,asIwasaPisces.Momtookmewithhernearlyeverydayaftermyschoolyearended,andIwouldsitonthefloorinthecramped-upspace,betweenoldchairsandstacksofbooks,andcolormyfairytalesandsuperheroes.

StudentscameandwentandMomalwaysintroducedmeasifIwereafull-sizedperson.Professorspoppedin.OnceIlookedupandamanwithwhitehairandawhitebeardbutaveryyoungfacewasleaningaroundthedoorframe;Momsaid,“Dr.Koontz,thisismydaughter,”andhenoddedandsaid,“Cutekid,”thenleftwithouttellingherwhathehadcomefor.Professorscouldbethat

wayandnoonethoughtmuchofit.Thedepartmentsecretary

wasnamedMickeyDannerandsheinsistedIcallherMickey,notMrs.,andtherewasthisastonishingfactabouther:herrealfirstnamewasZilphaandshewasnotlying.HerhusbandwascalledHowardorHowie,andwithinaboutfiveminutesofmeetingeachotherheandIdeterminedthatwehadthe

exactsamebirthday,whichmadefourpeoplesoblessed.MickeywasthefirstoldpersonIeverknewwhowasbeautifulandIdidn’tknowwhattomakeofit.Howardwasold,too,buthewascraggledandshamblingandhisnoselookedasifithadmeltedandbeenreattachedattheSchoolfortheBlind.Hewaswhatoldpeopleweresupposedtolooklike.AndMickeywasveryverysmart;

Howardwasveryverynormal.Icouldtell—anyonecouldtell—thatnoneofthosedifferencesmattered,becauseHowieandMickeyhadalreadybeenmarriedsolongthey’dpassedthepointofbeingindividualsandinsteadaddedupintoasingle,averagehumanwithanoseproblem.Collegehadmademe

sophisticated,butitwasstillthecasethatMickey

Danner’ssweetnesswassodeepandtrueandconstantshemademewanttocry,andshemademewanttobeabetterperson,oratleastlieaboutthewretchedpersonItrulywas.Ihadneverbeforemetsomeonewithoutabitofdarknessinher,andmaybeMickeywastheonlyonewhoeverlived.Whenwewentouttolunchtogether—andshewoulddothat,shewouldinvitemeoutforlunch,just

thetwoofus—shewouldsay,“Now,gowashyourhandsbeforeweeat,dear,”andIwoulddashintothebathroomandwashmyhands.IfsheaskedmetolookatacatalogandhelpherpickoutnewcurtainsforherguestroomI’dtakethemagazineasifitweresacredandstudythecurtainsashardasIcould,andneveroncesayoreventhink,“Pickoutyourownretardedcurtains,I’vegot

biggerfishtofry,”whichisverylikelywhatIwouldhavesaidtomysister.WithMickeyIcursedmyselffornotknowingmoreaboutfabrics.WhenItoldher,“I’msorry,I’mnotverygoodatthis,”shetookmyhandandsaid,inhercaramellyvoice,heroldfacesobeautifulsheshouldhavebeenonapostagestamp,“Oh,Ithinkyou’regoodateverythingyoutry.Youjustchoosewhat

youthinkisprettiestandIwilltakeyourwordforit.”Afterwe’dbeenfriendsfor

anumberofmonths,Mickeyannouncedacontesttoguessthedateofthefirstsnowfall.Eachpersoninthedepartmentgottowritetheirpredictiononaslipofpapershapedlikeacandycane,ournamescarefullyinscribedbyherbeforehand.TherewasnodistanceMickeywouldnotgo.TheprizewasaSanta

Clausstatuewithasnowglobeinhisbelly.Intheglobewasavillagewithlittlehousesandstreetlights.Itwasmesmerizingandbestnotconsideredtooclosely,asitwasundeniablethatthevillagewasinSanta’sstomach.BeforeImetMickeyI

neverwouldhavedonewhatIdidwhenshehandedmemycandycaneguessingpaper.BeforeMickeyIwouldnot

haveknownsuchathingwaspossible.Itoldherthetruth:Ishouldn’tbeallowedtoparticipate,becauseIwasdevilishlygoodatguessingthingsanditwouldn’tbefairtotheProfessors.Theydidn’tstandachancewithmeinthegame.ItoldheraboutknowingthenumberofpenniesinthebigjarattheMoorelandFair,andhowonceLindyandIhadbeenatGrant’sdepartmentstoreand

sheofferedmeapennygumball.Sheturnedthehandleonthemachineandjustasshedidso,Isaid,“It’sred.”Weopenedthelittlegateandtherewasaredgumball.BeforeweleftthestoreMelindahadcashedinaquarterandIhadguessedthegumballcolorrighttwenty-threetimes.Andasifthatweren’tenough,IgottokeepthegumballsforhavingESP.Whenwegothomewe

toldMomaboutitbutshewasn’ttheleastsurprised;sherememberedwheneverybodyinourfamilyhadESP.AroundourhouseitwasjustESPallthetime.Itwasn’tthatMickey

didn’tbelieveme—shecertainlybelievedme.Butshethoughtmynaturaladvantagemightbetemperedbythefactweweretalkingabouttheweather,andnotjustweatherbutsnowinIndiana,which

wassounpredictableIalwaysexpectedtoseeitcomingupfromthegroundoneday,flyingheavenwardinareversalofphysicallaws,justtokeepusHoosiersonourtoes.IsawMickey’spoint,and

acceptedmycandycane.Ithoughtamoment,lickingtheendofmypencil,ahabitI’dpickedupfrommydad.Mickeysuggestedthatlickingleadwasn’tperhapsthe

wisestthingtodo,andIwonderediftherewasaconnectionbetweenmypencilhistoryandthefactIhadabsolutelynonotionofleftandright.Icouldhardlytellthewordsapart.AndMelindaandIbothsaid“yellow”whenwelookedatthecolorpink.Wesaidyellowwhenwelookedatthewordpink,andwebothsufferedfromaphenomenonwecalledBakerPark,afteran

actualparkinNewCastlewhichwasasquarewithstreetsaroundit.EverytimeMelindaandIgotnearBakerParkwewouldbecomecompletelylost;Idon’tmeanwedidn’tknowwhichwaywasrightorleft,ofcoursewedidn’t,Imeanwedidn’tunderstandthatwewerestillonPlanetEarth.Iwrote“November13”and

putanexclamationpointunderneathit.Mickeylooked

atmypredictionandsaid,“That’sprettyearlyforsnow.Areyoutryingtogiveeveryoneelseafightingchance?”Ishookmyhead.MickeyDannerhadgotteninmylifeandmessedmeupbutgood;Ididn’tknowifIwascomingorgoing,lyingortryingnottolie.“No,”Isaid,andthen,

“Whatwasthequestion?”

November13wasmild,with

clearskies.IsatinMickey’sofficewhileMomwasinclass.WetalkedaboutthingsandIreadtoherfrommyJudyBlumebook.Sheansweredthephoneandtyped;peoplecameandwentandthedaypassedgently.Neitherofusmentionedthecontest,andthenMomcameupthericketygreensteps,pantingfromherwalkacrosscampus,andsaid,“It’ssnowing!”Ijumpedupand

lookedoutthewindowandtheflakesweresobigtheycouldhavehadfaces—Icouldhavegiveneachoneaname.“Heavens,”Mickeysaid,

herhandoverherheart.“IguessIoweyouthis.”ShehandedmetheboxwiththeSantastatueandshookmyhand.Iopenedthebox,movedasidethetissuehewaswrappedin.TherewasthesleepingvillageinsideSanta.

IfthegifthadcomefromDr.Mood,Iwouldhavethoughtitmeantsomethingverystrangeandbeyondme(thevillageisinSanta,thevillageisINSanta),butasitwasfromMickeyIthoughtitwasjustthesweetestthing,andhadnosignificanceatall.

TheyearshebecameaMaster,Momlostanothertwentypounds,soldSabrinatoacollector,andwrote

thirteenshortstoriessodisorientingandbothersomeImemorizedoneentirelyandhidcopiesoftheothersinthesecretredboxinmybedroom.Thestoriesformedthebookthatwouldbeherthesis.Theywereallaboutwomen;eachstorywastoldtwice,itseemedtome,ormaybeIwaswrongaboutthat.MaybethestoryIhadmemorized,“HomeRemedy,”wasn’tthesameas

“Bondage.”Inthefirstahillbillywoman(IimaginedshehadmyMomMary’sKentuckyaccent)namedLoveyistalkingtoherhusband,ElzyEzekielRogers.Sheisjusttalking,tellinghimlittlethings,likehowherbedhadcomefromanauctioninarainstorm—herfatherhadstayedallday,soakedthrough,togetitforher.AsachildLoveyhadsharedthebedwithhersister,

andthenitbecamehermarriagebed.She’dnevertoldanyonethattheknobsatthetopofthefourposterscameoff.Iusedtohidesecretsintheposts,likeapoemIreadonetimethatmademecry.Icopieditoffandhiditintheleftfootpost.AndwheneverImetyouthatfirsttimeatthechurchsociableIwenthomeandwrotedownyourname,ElzyEzekielRogers,andItookoff

theballandhidthepaperinthepostonthetopleft,nearesttomyheart.Buttheyaren’tjusttalking,

thiswomanwiththesoft,mountainaccentandherhusband.Heisn’ttalkingatall,becauseheistiedtothebedposts,boundandgagged.TherearethingsLoveymustmakecleartohim:theyinvolveadaughter,CarrieBell,whoisfifteen,abeautiful,innocentchild.

Thereisatraybythebed,andonitaragsoakedwithether;ascalpel;catgutthreadandacurvedneedle.Thesedetailsaddeduplikenumbers,butevenmemorizedIwasn’tsuretowhatsum.SometimesIthinkaboutthosefirstfifteenyearsandthey’relightandgolden,likefairychildrendancingaroundamaypole.Theselastfifteenyearsarelikegoblinsinacircle,onemoreadded

eachyearthatpasses.Nowthelightandthedarkareeven,butbeforelonganotheryearwillmakesixteendarkandonlyfifteenlight,dancing,dancing,andsoonthedarknesswillwin.Itscaresmetothinkonit.In“Bondage”the

husband’snameisBuck;he’satruck-drivingbully,andthewife,Claire,isanurse,soitwasn’tthesameatall,really,exceptforthesutures,the

needle,thehandcuffs.AndadaughternamedCarriewhoisinjured.Sheistalkedaboutbutneverseen;allthroughthestoryherbedroomisquiet,herbedmade.Thereisanoldstuffedbearonherpillow,andIwonderedaboutthatalot,thatbear.Ididn’tunderstandthe

storiesbutIcouldn’tputthemdown,wouldn’tletthemgo.Lovey’svoicewasinmyheadassureasmyown,and

theotherwomen,too:theelementaryschoolteacher,Veronica,founddeadinhercloset,hersecretsspilledalloverherapartment.Thekitchenflooriscoveredwithcoffeeandsugar,blackagainstwhite,stainsonwhitewalls,andthepolicemanwhoistellingthestoryknowsthereisonlyonebodybuttwodeadwomen:Veronica,thewomantheworldsaw,andRonnie,theselfshe

despised.“AlmaMater,”abouta

womaninthecabininthewoods,whopresidesoverasmalltown’sharvestfestival.ItisshewhochoosestheHarvestKing,andthecontestisbetweentwocousins,MichaelandMalachi.Amiddle-agedman,acollegerecruiter,comestotowntobeghertolethisuniversityhaveMichael,whoisagenius;intruthhewantsthem

both.ThewomaniscalledMother;shetakesthemanintoherrose-scentedparlorandheislostanentireday.WhenhecomestohissensesheseestheMotherisold,andheishorrified:herfacechangeswitheveryshiftoflight,andshetellshimMichaelisChosenandthereisnoundoingit.“YoumaytakeMalachi,”shesays,slippingintotheshadowsofherownhouse,pushingthe

recruiteroutintotheblindingdaylightandlockingthedoorbehindhim.“MichaelwasChosen,”I

wouldsay,lyinginbedatnight,orsittingonthefloorinMickeyDanner’soffice.Atacarnivalinthespringtime,wherehewrestledwithhiscousin,andwon.“YoumaytakeMalachi,”

Mickeywouldanswer,handingmeastackofletterssheneededmetofold.

IknewtheWeddingstories,theMothers-in-lawComingtoVisitstories,theLeftTurnonMaple.Andthewomanwhohadcometobelieveintheundead;sheworeasilvercrosssheclutchedthroughoutaneveningspentwithanoldfriend—acoldevening,acoldconversationoverchilledwine,andupstairsinherimmaculatehousetheperfectlypreservedroomofafour-year-oldboy,whohad

beendeadforyears.

AwomaninMountSummitnamedWilhelminaopenedadressshopinthebasementofherhouse.Thedresseswereofamysteriousorigin:somewereveryexpensiveandnew;somewereexpensiveandonconsignment.MosthadcomefromSomewhereandbeenmarkeddownmanytimesastheytraveledtoMountSummit,theway

anythingpassedfromhandtohanddims.Motherloveditthere.She

lovedtogoandvisitwithWilhelmina,evenifsheneverboughtanything.Wilhelminawastiny,builtlikeadancer,andsheworescarvesandexcessiveamountsofjewelry.Shesmokedandgossipedandcomplimentedeverywomanwhocamethroughthedoor.Afterleavingtheshopempty-handedmanytimes,Mom

walkedinoneafternoonandtoldWilhelminashewasreadytotrysomethingon.Shewasabouttocelebratehertwenty-fifthweddinganniversaryandshewantedanewdress.Ididn’twanttogoto

Wilhelmina’s.Itriedstayinginthecar,buttheinteriorwasblackanditwasAugust,andevenwitheverywindowdownIfeltallmywickednessmelting.Igotoutofthecar

andstompedaroundandthatmademehotter.Dresses.Mymotherwasshoppingfordresses.WherewasyeoldeDelonda,Iwasbeginningtowonder,theonewhoworeMomMary’shand-me-downsyearafteryearandneverleftthehouse,thepersonwhowassomehowtoogoodforaplacelikeWilhelmina’s?Isatdownunderatree,fannedmyself,kickedatsomedusttomakeapoint.Nevermind

thelightsbeingturnedoff,thelackofplumbing,thecold,humidhazeinwhichMomsleptawaythedays,yearafteryear,asilent,unmoving,unmovablemountainunderblanketsandafghans.Whatneeddidshehavefortrivialitiesandcostumejewelry?RisinguponSundaymornings,makingdowithvirtuallynothing(andeventhatnothinghadtobepinnedtogetherandwasso

frayeditbarelyheld),shehadnotseemedembarrassedorconcerned.Mycheerful,obese,popcorn-eating,science-fiction-readingholyMother:hereyehadbeenonGod.Imissedthatwomanfiercely,butIbarelyknewwhy.AllIknewisthataslongasshewastrappedIknewexactlywheretofindher.“Honey!”TheNew

Mother,missing120pounds

oftheOld,wasstandinginthedoorwayofthedressshop,wavingtome.“ComeseewhatIfound!”

EvenIhadtoadmitthedresseswereamazing.Theywereidentical,oneblack(coffee),theotherwhite(sugar),afinelyspunsomethingorother—Iknewnothingaboutfabric—thatfeltasifitwerejustabouttoescapeyourhand.

Shewaswearingthewhiteone,whichwasfittedbutnottight,andmadeherlooklikesomeonewhohadoncehadafiguresodangerousshecouldonlyhintatitnowthatshewasagrandmother.Itwasadressthatconcealed,andintheconcealmenttoldastorywhichseemedtobetheoneMomwasworkingon;thefourteenthnarrativeinhercollectionofwomen’sfaces.“Lookatthis,”shesaid,

handingmea…whatwasit?Notabelt,butsomethinglikethat.Itwasmadeofthesamematerial,butoneachendwerethreefingerletsoffur.Idon’tbelieve“fingerlet”wasthetechnicalterm.Itwasfurinthreefinger-shapedtubes,notlongscaryfingers,morelikelittlestumpsoffur.Thebelt,orwhateveritwas,andthefurstumpsweresohopelesslyglamorousIhopedMomwouldbuythedress

justsoIcouldstealthispart.“Youtieitonlikethis,”shesaid,executingaknot,alittleturninthedressingroommirror.ThelastoftheworldasIknewitvanishedwithawhisper.“Doyouthinkyourdadwilllikeit?”sheasked,stilllookinginthemirror.

IonceoverheardMomrefertoamanassomeonewhoHadAccidentsforaLiving.Iwasfairlycertainthiswasmy

vocation,too,andIwishedIcouldinterviewthemantofigureouthowonegotpaidforwhatcamenaturallytome.Myfathertooksome

professionalfalls,too,athisjobatDelcoRemy.Iwasalwaysunclearonthedetails,butIrememberthelastone,becauseheneverwentbacktowork.Therewastalkthatoneofhislegswasshorterthantheother(ormaybeit

waslonger);itwassaidthathisspinewasdisintegrating.Hetoldushewouldbeonehundredpercentcrippledwithinthenextfiveyears.Inthemeantime,hewasondisabilityandcollectingapension,andalldayeverydayhegottodowhateverhewanted.Mymindwobbledwithfear

andgriefwhenIconsideredDad’sfutureinawheelchairasaonehundredpercent

cripple.Itwouldbetheworstthingthatcouldhappentohim;itwouldbelikeputtinghiminprison.Hewasmeanttogo,hewasbuilttostandinhisgardenjustbeforesunriseandstudyhisfruittreesandthinkhisprivatethoughts,butonhislegs,notonwheels.Awheelchairwouldbeamessafterrototilling;itwouldbeadisasterinthewoods.WhenIthoughttoohardaboutitI’dhavetorunoutsideandprop

aladderupagainstmyfavoritetree,thenclimbupandhideintheperfectbasketmadewherethefirstbiglimbspartedways.Icouldneverunderstandhowhealwaysfoundme,buthedid,andI’dpopmyheadup,thenclimbdowntheladderandnevereventhinkaboutputtingitaway.Thesummermyparents

hadbeenmarriedtwenty-fiveyears,Ihadanotherproblem

withmydad.IthadnonameandIcouldn’ttalkaboutitwithanyone,andeventhinkingaboutitmademefeellikeImightthrowuporfaint.Icouldn’ttellMomorMelindaandsurelynotRoseorJulie.Icouldn’twriteitinthejournalI’dstartedkeeping.(ThejournalhadbeenanassignmentatschoolandI’dhateditlikeleechesforaboutfiveminutesandthenextthingIknewIwas

writinginitallthetimeandthenkeepingadifferentoneathomethatdidn’thaveanythingtodowithschool.This,too,wasprivate.)IthadhappenedinJuneor

earlyJuly.I’dbeenupstairsinmyroom,listeningtomusicandIheardDad’struckpullupinfrontofthehouse.Itwaslate,andIshouldhavebeeninbed.Momwasasleeponthecouch.Iquickturneddownthemusicandchanged

intoanightgownsohe’dthinkI’dbeenabouttogotobed,andthenIactuallygotinbedandrolledaroundsoastogivemyselfpillowhair.Iwalkeddownthesteps,casual,yawning.BythetimeIreachedthedenhewassittinginhischairasifhe’dbeenthereforhours.“Hey,Daddy,”Isaid,

givinghimalittlewave.“Zip.”Dadnodded,lita

cigarette.“Whatareyou

doingup?”“Oh,nothing.Iwassleeping

butIheardyoucomeinandIjustcamedowntosaygoodnight.”IsteppedoveranimalsandbooksandaCrockpotthathadtakenupresidenceinthemiddleoftheflooroftheden;noonecouldsaypreciselywhyandnoonewouldmoveit.IsatdowninDad’slapandleanedagainsthischest,asIhaddonemillionsuponmillionsof

timesbefore.Ibreathedinthesmellthatwastheessenceofhim,asmellthatlivedinthehollowofhisthroat,andwhichwhenIhadbeenareallylittlegirlIusedtotrytosmellonhispillowwhenheleftforworkeachday,becauseIwasafraidIwouldn’tliveuntilhegothomeagain.Thescentwasimpossibletodescribebutitneverchangedanditwasintoxicating.Momcould

smellit,too;I’dheardhersaytoMomMarythatshewouldhavemarriedDadforthatalone.Allthosemillionsoftimes

I’dclimbedintohislap.Itwasroutine,sooftenrehearsedandfullymemorizedI’dnevergivenitanythought.Iwas,insomecriticalway,apartofDad’slap,andIfitinsidethecurveofhisarmlikeapuzzlepiece.Therewasahollowplacejust

belowhiscollarbonethathadbeendesignedformyhead.WewerelikeHowieandMickey;wewerejustgoingaboutourbusiness,Dadsomewhere,mesomewhereelse,butattheendofthedayorwhenIfellasleepinthecarorwhenIwassick,hepickedmeupandwewerethatotherperson.Justoneperson.Thistimehedidn’tmove,

hedidn’tmaketheright

adjustmentsorusehisarmtopullmeupcloserandsettlemeinapositionsohecouldseeovermyhair.Hiswholebodywasstiff;heseemedangry.“Hopupnow,”hesaid,his

eyesfixedonthetelevision.“Youshouldbeinbed.”Hemightaswellhavehitme.Itwouldhavebeenbetterifhehadhitme.ForamomentIjuststoodbyhischair,buthedidn’tlookatmeorsay

anythingelse,soIsteppedbackovertheCrockpot,thebooks,theanimals.Icouldn’tseewhereIwasgoing,butImadeittothedoorwaywithouttripping.Iwasabouttocrossintothedarklivingroomwhenhesaid,“You’reabiggirlnow,toobigtositonmylap.”Istoppedbutdidn’tturnaround.“Andlistentome.”Hisvoicetookonthetoneheusedwhenhewasabouttonameacardinallaw,

thedefianceofwhichwouldresultinpunishmentsodireithadnonameandhadneveryetbeenemployed.“Youarenottositonanyoneelse’slap,either.Doyouhearme?”Ididn’thavetolookathimtoknowwhathisfacewasdoing,theflameofhim,hisabsoluteauthority.“Isaid,Doyouhearme?”Inodded,mybackstillturnedtohim,andtookoffrunning.Iranpastthepiano,throughthe

doorwayintomyparents’bedroom(wheretheyneversleptanymore),upthestairs.Inearlyflewacrosstheroomthathadbeenmysister’sandontomybed,whereIlayonmystomachandburiedmyfaceinmypillowandhopedIwouldsuffocate,atrickthatneverworked.Ididn’tknowwhatIhad

done;Icouldneveraskandhewouldn’ttellmeanyway.Butsomehow,througha

failureofattention—ormaybeithadbeenaseriesofsmallcrimesaddedtogether—Ihadmadehimstoplovingme.Ihadlostmyfather.

HerearethethingsMelindawasreallygoodat:1.Havinggreatbabies.2.Undercookingmeat.3.Paintingthingsonwalls.4.Gettingimpatientandlosinghertemperandthenapologizingforitand

maybebuyingapresenttomakeupforit.5.Settingherhouseonfire.6.Rememberingbirthdaysandholidaysandgettingacardforsomeoneandsigningitfromsomeoneelse.The“someone”wasusuallymymotherandthe“someoneelse”wasDad.Andshewasreallyexcellentatplanningthingsandmakingunusualdecisionsandcausinggoodthingstoappearwherethey

hadn’tbeenbefore.SowhenshesaidthereneededtobeapartytocelebrateMomandDad’ssilverweddinganniversary,everyoneknewtherewouldbeoneandshewouldmakeithappen.Melindasaidthereshould

beaphotographtaken,aformalportraitthatwouldruninthepaperalongsideapicturefromtheirwedding.ThiswasatraditionIwashighlyagainst,becauseit

wasdisturbing.Thereweresuchpicturesinthenewspapereveryday,andIdidn’tunderstandwhyotherpeopleweren’tbotheredbythem.Oh,herewearewhenwewereyoungandstillhadourownhairandbothofourarms!Andherewearenow—theonlythingkeepingusuprightforthispictureisthefearwewilllandonourcolostomybags!(AnotherthingMelindawasgoodat:

jokesinvolvingcolostomybags.Ihadnoideawhattheywerefororwhereonekeptthembutmywordtheywerefunny.Shecouldalsobuildastoryaroundtheword“tapeworm”likenobodyelse.)Sowhatiftwopeoplehadbeenmarriedsixty-eightyears?You’dthinkthefurtherawayyougotfromhavingyourfacestillattachedtoyourheadthemoreprivacyyoumightcrave.

ItseemedmaybeDadagreedwithme,becausehedidn’twanttogotoOlanMillsandhavethepicturestaken.Infact,hewasshowingsignsofmaybenotwishingtohavethepartyatall.Forinstance,hesaidtoMelinda,whenshestoppedbytotalktoMomaboutdecorations,“Ihopeit’sherotherhusbandyouhaveinmindforthisevent,becauseI’mnotcoming.”

Melindabarelyglancedathim.“Yes,youare,”shesaid,showingMotherasamplenapkin.InMoorelandallparties

wereheldinchurches,eitherinthebigbasementoftheNorthChristianChurch,orinourFellowshipRoomatMoorelandFriends.Thatwasproblemone,rightthere.Daddidn’tliketogoinchurches;theydidn’tworkforhim.ThefewtimesI’dseenhimatthe

FriendsMeeting,helookedclaustrophobic,orasifhistireshadbeenoverinflatedandheshouldNOTbedrivingonthem.Icouldn’twatchit.Ididn’tlikehimtogotospecialsatchurch,norweddings,funerals.IfitwereuptomeI’dhavekepthimawayfromanyplacewithpewsandhymnals.Ithinkevenpodiumsandacertainkindoflightwereabadidea.Second:hedidn’tliketobe

aroundChurchPeople,particularlytheFriendsChurchPeople.Hedidn’tsayitstraightout,butIthinkhefeltjudgedbythem,andwithgoodreason.HeknewforafactthatMomhadbeenprayingoutloudforhissalvationforthepasttwenty-fiveyears;sheprayedeveryweek,threetimesaweek,atchurchandinherprayercell,formydadtobesavedandjoinherinachurchgoinglife.

Sheprayedforhimtobecomeadifferentsortofman.Heknewthis.Heknewthatinherout-loudprayers(pleaseseePaul’sLettertotheHebrews)shemaybetoldsomethingsabouthim,aboutourlife,thathewouldn’twantknown.IthardlymatteredthatshewassayingthemtoGodwhenabunchofotherpeoplewerelistening,too.Andthenonceinawhilehewascalledupontogo

standamongthosesamepeople,therighteousandthehumblealike,andpretendthateverythingwasevenbetweenthemallwhenitwassurenot.Hecouldhavehadanally

withmeonthechurchquestion,apowerlessonebutanallynonetheless,haditnotbeenforthefactthatwhenitcametochurchgoingmydad’sIndiannamewasSpeaksOutofBothSidesof

Mouth.HemademegowithMomeverySunday.Hewouldnotintervene,evenifIbeggedhimtoexplaintoherthatIwasjustlikehim.Itdidn’tmatterifshemademegoonceoreighteenhundredthousandtimes,IwasnotgoingtogiveinandIwasnotgoingtojoininandIwouldnotbeswayed.Butallheeversaidwas“Dowhatyourmothertellsyou.”ButDadmusthavenot

beenentirelyclearontheanniversaryparty,becauseonestepatatime,Melindawasvictorious.ThephotographatOlanMillswastakenandraninthepaper.Invitationswereissued,napkinspurchased,theingredientsfortheUniversalPunchweregatheredandwaitedinthefreezerinthechurchkitchen.IwastoldIwouldhavetowearadress,andbeforeIcouldreallyget

goingonthesubjectMelindatoldmeshe’dalreadyboughtitandalsoherewerenewtightsthatweren’ttoosmall,sothecrotchwouldn’tbedownholdingmykneestogether.ShesaidShutupbeforeI’dgottenevenonelittlesoundout,soIdid.

MomaskedmewithgreatseriousnessifIwoulddothehonorofbeingGuestBookGirl.Sheaskedmethisasif

thereweresomethingmarvelousattheotherend,andalsoanenormousamountatstake.BeinginplaysatBallStatehadnotbeenwastedonher;itbroughtbackhersleepinghighschoolactingcareer,whereshehadbeenthestarofeveryshowevenifsheplayedaminorrole,becausewhenshewalkedonstageeveryoneelsejustdisappearedandlookedsilly.

IsaidIwouldcertainlybetheGuardianoftheGuestBook,eventhoughIknewthatthejobwastheequivalentofbeingaskedtostandnexttoapondoradeadtreeoradeadperson,forthatmatter.Itriedtoimaginetheresponsibilityaheadofme,anycrisesthatwouldrequiremyintervention.Thepencouldbedropped.ThatwasallIcouldforesee.Iwouldpickitupifthathappened,I

toldMother,andwegaveoneanothergravelooksandwenttogetready.ItwasabeautifulSaturday

inlateAugust,adayofrareblueness.ItwaswarmbutnothingliketheusualAugustdayinIndiana,whichfeltliketheinsideofastomach.MydresslookedlikeapieceofyellowFruitStripegum;ithadshortsleevesandhungstraighttothemiddleofmythighs.Itwasmadeofsome

fabric(Ihadnoideawhat)thatwasbothunwrinkleableandunscratchy,acombinationIdidn’tknowexisted.AltogetheritwasanotherlittlemiracleonMelinda’spart.Momputonthewhitedress

withthefur-fingerletextrapart.HerhairwasinaFrenchtwistandsheputonlipstickfromoneofthelittleAvonsampletubesthatmademecrazywithitsshrunkenness.

Sheevenclippedondanglyearringswithapearlatthebottom.Momdidn’t“believe”inpiercedears,avexationinmylifeIcouldtellwasonlygoingtogetworse.Ididn’twanttowearjewelrybutIdidwantholesinmyears.Momsaidpiercinganythingwassavageandaformofritualisticscarring.MelindawentalongwithMombecausethethoughtofactuallygetting

herearspierced,theprocesspart,madeherwoozywithhorror.PeriodicallyMomwould

say,“Bob?I’velaidyoursuitout,youmightwanttostartgettingready,”andtherewouldbenoreply.Thenshe’dsay,“Bob,ItoldMelindawe’dbethereatonethirtytohelphergetsetup,”andhewouldn’tanswerfromhischair.IhadonmynewwhitetightsandLindyhad

polishedmysaddleoxfordsandIwastryingtopreventwhateverwasinevitablefromhappeningtothetightsandalsoIwaskeepinganeyeonDadbuthedidn’tgivemeanyeyeback.AtonepointhedidcallmeBarrelofMonkeysandIrealizedI’dbeendoingsomersaultsforwardandbackward,forwardandback,inthedoorwaytothelivingroom,andmytightswerecovered

withanimalhair.Butnonehadstucktothedress.Icouldn’twaittotellMelindashe’ddiscoveredthefutureandthatwhenIgrewupIwantedmywholehousetobemadeofit,whateveritwas.

MomandIwalkeddowntothechurchalone,pretendingwehadn’tnoticedthatDadwasn’twithus.“Whatabeautifuldayfora

party!”Momsaid,takinga

deepbreath.“Yoursisterwillbesopleased.”Isaid,“Wanttoseeme

hopscotchallthewaythere?”Shedid,soIdid.

Mom,Melinda,Rick,andIsetupthetablesandcoveredeachwithtwotablecloths—yellowunderneath,laceontop;wesetoutthecenterpiecesMelindahadbought:basketsofflowersinshadesofyellowandcopper

andcream.Thereweretapercandlesinshortbrasscandlesticks.RicksetupaneaselandproppedupalargecorkboardonwhichMelindahadmadeacollageofthelasttwenty-fiveyears,weddingpicturesandbirthannouncementsandfamilygatherings.Itwasamazing.Momstoodinfrontofitalongtime.“AndIstoodupand

realizedthatnofurhadstuck

tome,”IwassayingtoLindy.“Well,itisn’tflame-

retardant,sodon’tgettooclosetothecandles,”sheanswered,straighteningthenapkinsshewasarranginginadesign.“Yousaidretardant.”“Don’tmakemepinch

you.”Weworkedandworked

andwheneverythingwasreadyIcouldn’tbelievewhat

Melindahadmade.Ihadnoideahowsheimaginedsuchthingsinthefirstplace,thecolors,everything.MomandRickkept

lookingattheirwatches;soonIwouldhavetogotothefrontofthechurchandtakemyplacebytheGuestBook.Itwaspossiblehewouldn’tcome.Noonewassayingit,noonewaseventhinkingitveryloudly.Iwasthinkingitasbarelyaspossible,justas

heopenedthebackdoorandsteppedin.Hehadskippedthesanctuary,ofcourse.Hewaswearinghis

chocolatebrownsuit,theoneIlikedbest,withapinkshirtandachampagne-coloredtie.Icouldn’tbelieveitwaspossible,buthematchedthedecorations.Hishairwasfreshlycut,hewassocloselyshavedhisfacelookedsmootherthanmine,andhesmelledlikesoapand

aftershave,cigarettesandbreathmints.Melindawentintothekitchenandbroughtouttwoboxes:acorsageforMother,whichDadpinnedonherasiftheyweregoingtotheprom,andaboutonniereforhim.Itwasn’tuntilshecarriedoutthecakeandputitinthecenterofthetablethatMomunderstoodwhatMelindahaddone,andthenIunderstoodit,too,whereI’dseenthesecolorsbefore.

Melindahadre-createdourparents’weddingreceptionfromthedescriptioninthenewspaperandfromphotographs.Shehadfoundtheircaketop(notabrideandgroombuttwodoves)inaboxintheclosetandtakenit,alongwithaphotograph,toawomaninNewCastlewhohadbakedtheexactsamecakethey’dhadtwenty-fiveyearsbefore.IwatchedMomtryingtotakeitinandI

waitedforhertosaysomething,butatjustthatmomentAuntDonnacamethroughthedoorsaying,“YouknowIthoughtweweregoingtobelate,Kennethcouldn’tfindthecarkeysandIwasjustbesidemyselfandohhoneydon’tyoulookpretty,”shesaidtoMelinda,“hereareAuntDonna’smints,youdon’tneedtodoanythingbuttakethefoiloff,I’veusedthe

silverplatteryouaskedfor,Melinda,theonethat’sintheshapeofaleaf,Bobby,comehereandletmegetalookatyou.”Iheadedtowardthewaiting

GuestBook,butnotbeforeIsawthatMomhadahandkerchiefoutandDadalreadyhadthatlook.

MelindahadaskedJimmyCarnestotakepictures.Jimmywasagreat

photographer;hehadlongishblondhairandablondbeard,blueeyes.HedroveanEasyRidersortofmotorcycle,wasquietandpainfullyhandsome,shy.EveryoneIknewwashalfinlovewithhim.Iwasalsohalfinlovewithhiswife,sopartofmewantedtomarryJimmyandpartofmewantedmetobeadoptedbyhim.HesteppedintothevestibulewhereIwasstandingnexttotheGuest

Book.Thecamerahehadaroundhisneckwassobigandimpressivethismightaswellhavebeenacrimescene.ItookonelookathimandrealizedIhadbeenwronginmyearlierthinking:Ithree-quarterswantedtomarryhim.“CanItakeapictureof

you?”heasked.“Idon’tmuchliketohave

mypicturetook.Tooken.Taken.”Wherewasmyhelmet?That’swhatMelinda

wouldhaveasked.“Howaboutjustone.I’ll

makeitpainless.”PartofthereasonJimmy

wassuchagreatphotographerwas:whoonearthcouldeverturnhimdown?“Okay,”Isaid.IstoodnexttotheminiaturepodiumonwhichtheGuestBookwasdisplayed,makingsurethepenwouldbeinthepicture.Hedidn’tlie—hetookonlyonephotograph,andwhenI

sawitlaterIwassurprisedbyhowgooditwas.Inastrangetwist,thedoorsbehindmewerethesamecolorasmyhair,soitwasimpossibletoseewhatwashappeningonmyhead.CamouflagewasthesinglesolutionMelindaandIhadoverlookedinthesearchforwhattodoaboutmyhair,andJimmyhadfigureditoutrightaway.Aftereveryonewhowas

goingtoarrivehadarrived,I

wanderedbacktotheFellowshipRoomtoseehowthepartywasgoing.Itwasgoingboringwashow.Itwasjustabunchofadultsmillingaroundwithplatesandnapkins,lookingatMelinda’scollageofpictures.OhmyLordmyLord,Ithought,Icannottakethisforonesinglesecond.Dadwasasrigidasahumanironingboard,onceinawhileofferingapretendsmilethatwaspunishingit

wassofalse.Melindawasbusilyservingpunchandorganizingthings,andnogoodcouldcomefrombeingtheobjectofherattentionundersuchcircumstances.IwalkedbackwardthroughthedoorwayI’djustcomein,allbutinvisible,whatwithmyhairmatchingthewoodworkandmydressthesamecolorasthetablecloths.Icreptbackthroughthesanctuaryandoutthefrontdoorwithout

abackwardglanceattheGuestBook.

Ourchurchhadametalhandrailoneithersideofthewidesteps;itwasatube,likemonkeybarsaremadeof,andatthetopofthestepstherewereaboutfourfeetofitacross,threeorfourfeethigh.MaybewhatI’msayingisalreadyclear:eithertheFriendsorGodhimselfhadprovidedmewithalittle

pieceofperfect.ForyearsI’dbeenmasteringthehandrail,andhadworkedupsomeseriousmoves.MyfavoritewasthesimplebutimpressiveRunAcross,HittheRailatHipLevel,FlipOver,DismountinAir,LandintheNo-Man’s-WorldBeyondtheSteps.ButIalsolikedtojustflipoverandoverandover.Augustwasagoodtimeforit,becausetherewerenocoats,nozippers,myskin

didn’tsticktothemetalandgetpeeledoffinsadlittlesheets.ThemiracledressfabricwasthebestI’dfoundsofar—itwasfrictionless.Iflippedoverandover

manytimes.Iwasalmosttootallforthisgame,whichjustmadeitmorepleasurable.EachtimeIreachedtheupside-down-pointmyheadjustbarelybrushedthecementsteps.Iflipped,thenstoodupandsaid,Whoooaaaa,andas

soonasIcouldseestraightIstartedflippingagain.Iwasgoingforarecordnumberofflipsbutforsomereasoncouldnotcount,whenIheardaruckusinthevestibuleandknewrightawaythatsomethingbadwasgoingonintheareaoftheGuestBook;ofcourseitwas,becausethat’swhathappenswhenyouthinkyoucannotpossiblygetcaughtinyourshirking.Istoodup,Whoooaaa,

holdingtherailforsupport,justasthebigdoubledoorsatthefrontofthechurchopenedandDadcamestormingout,mysisterrightbehindhimsaying,“Pleasedon’t,please,Dad,pleasedon’tgo,”inavoiceIhadn’theardherusein…ever.Andthatshewouldusethattonewithhim?Unimaginable.Dadwasdownthestairs

andacrossthestreetbeforeIreallyrealizedwhatwas

happening.HewalkedrightpastmeasifI’dceasedtoexist,andhemoveddownthesidewalkwiththespeed,theglidinggracehe’dalwayshad;nothingatalllikeamanwithonelegeithershorterorlongerthantheother.LindystoodatthetopofthestepsinthebrowndressMomhadmadeher,lookingasifshewasgoingtocryinsomehuge,alarmingway,thekindofcryingthat,whenshe’d

doneitinthepast,mademewanttoslipoutofmybody,simplyleaveitbehindlikeasnakeskin.Shehadn’tcriedthatwaysinceshe’dgrownallthewayupandmovedawayfromherbluebedroomatthetopofthestairs.Ibracedmyself,butshejustturnedaroundandwalkedbackinside,carefultocatchtheheavydoorsoitdidn’tslamshut.TimewasIwouldhave

followedhim.Itwastempting.Bynowhewastearingoffthatchampagnetie,hisheadtwistedbitterlytooneside,andtossingitonthebed.Hewouldtakeoffthejacket,too,butleaveonthepantsandthepinkshirt,withthecollarunbuttonedandthesleevesrolledup.Hewouldleaveontheoxbloodwingtips,andcheckhispocketsforhiscigarettes,hislighter,hiswallet,gatherup

thesilveronthedressertop.Allmylifehehadlookedlikeamanwithmoney,nomatterwhat.IfIwerethere,inthehouse,Iwouldn’ttalkandneitherwouldhe,andthemomentwouldcomewhenhe’deithersay,“Getinthetruck,”andwe’dheadouttogether,orhe’dsay,“’Bye,Zip,”andI’dwatchhimgo.Eitherway,Iwouldn’thavetofacewhatwaswaitingattheparty.

IthoughtmaybeI’dtalktoMickeyDanner.MaybeatlunchonedayI’dtellherIhadaproblemwithnonameIcouldthinkof.Istoodinfrontofthechurchandimaginedthescene,howMickey’seyeswouldgowidewithconcern,thewayshewouldcovermyhandwithherownandsay,“Dear,I’msureyou’remistaken.Everyoneknowsyourfatherlovesyouterribly.”Shewouldinvitemeto

comespendthenightwithherandHowie,andsleepintheguestroomwiththecurtainsI’dchosen.Itwasawonderful,clean,coolroom.Thefloorboardswerepolished,therewasarugwithasunflowerinthecenter,andMickeyhadtrainedanivyplanttowindthroughthebed’sbrassheadboard.MaybeIwouldtellher.Maybenot.

Sabina:

Oh,oh,oh.Sixo’clockandthemasternothomeyet.PrayGodnothingserioushashappenedtohimcrossingtheHudsonRiver.ButIwouldn’tbesurprised.Thewholeworld’satsixesandsevens,andwhythehousehasn’tfallendownaboutourearslongagoisamiracletome.

Shecomesdowntothe

footlights.

Thisiswhereyoucamein.Wehavetogoonforagesandagesyet.Yougohome.Theendofthisplayisn’t

writtenyet.—THORNTONWILDER,

TheSkinofOurTeeth,ACTIII

PinkLikeMe

Dadcouldn’ttakeapayingjobandcontinuetocollecthispensionanddisability,sohehadtheverysmartideaofvolunteeringasacountysheriff’sdeputy.Ican’tbelievehehadn’tthoughtofit

before.Theperksforthevolunteerweregreaterthananysalary:acar,uniforms,abadge,anightstick,agun.AtnightIusedtolieinbed

andsaythenumberofhissquadcar,33-55,overandoverlikeachant,tryingtomakesenseofit.I’dpicturehimwearingthestandard-issueshoeswithwhitesocks,whichmymomsaidmadehimlooklikeanovergrownEagleScout,andthenI’dsee

thebrownpantsandshirttuckedin;thebadge;thetall,astonishinghatwiththesilverropebraid.Andtheblackbelt:gun,nightstick,blackjack,radio.Someonehadgivenmydadalegallyauthorizedholsterwitharegisteredweaponandithadbulletsinit.Thiswasnotalittlebeltwornaroundhiscalfinwhichhehidatwo-shotDerringer.Thiswasofanentirelydifferentorder.I’d

say33-55,33-55,andI’dseehimwalkingoutthedoorintheuniform,andinshort,Iwasafraid.Dadtooktothecruiser,the

uniform,thelingo,asifhe’dbeenborntothejob.Iknewforafactthatwhilehemightlosehistemperandtossadrunkagainstthesideofabuildinguntildamagewasdonetothebricks,hewouldnowaystopandtouchasickanimal,andhewouldn’t

chaseanyoneonfootbecauseitwasn’tdignified,anditseemedtomethatmorethanjustatemperwasrequiredofadeputysheriff,butmymomandsisterandIkeptourworriestoourselves.Thenhestartedgetting

partners.Hegothisfirstpartnerandbasicallywewerealllivingin1Adam-12.Thepartner,Sam,wastallwiththinningblondhairandasmilethatnotinamillion

yearscouldyoutrust,andhe’dbeenon“theforce”foralongtime.HehadawayIgotusedtoafterawhile:hecoziedup,andmaybehewouldhurtyou.SamandDadmadeuptheirroutines:SamwasthebadcopandDadwasthegood.Ortheytookturns.Onedaytheyarrestedamanwhohadbeenwritingbadchecks(whoknewthiswasacrime?Andifso,whyhadn’tSamarrestedDad?),andas

theyputthemaninthebackofthecruiser,hebegantostuffsomethinginhismouthandchewfrantically.Samwasdriving,soDadreachedaroundandthrusthishandintheBadCheckMan’smouthandpulledoutawadofpaper,gettingseriouslybittenintheprocess.Thiscausedhimtowindupintheemergencyroom,andwhenhegothomeheexplainedtheextremedangerousnessof

humansaliva,whichsoundedastoxicashyenaspit.He’dbeenlucky,hesaid,thatthemanwasmissingmostofhisfrontteeth.Allinaday’swork,mymomsaid,notlookingupfromherbook.

Ihadtakentosuckingongravel,whichdidn’tgooverwellwithmysister.Icouldn’texplainwhyIwantedtodoit,butonceaday,whenIthoughtnoonewaslooking,

I’dgooutandsitbythefencedividingourhousefromtheNewmans’Marathonstation,gatherupahandfulofgravel,andstickitinmymouth.SometimesIwasheditoffwiththehose,andsometimesIjustrubbeditonmyshirt.I’dgetitinthere,moveitaround.Peagravelmakesalotofnoiseinamouth.Ittastedexactlylikerock.I’dseehowmuchIcouldholdinonecheek,thenfilltheother,

too,agameIhadplayedwithpopcorn,marshmallows,andBBs.Imightspittherocksoutoneatatime,likewatermelonseeds,orifIsawMelindacoming,I’ddropthemallatonce.Thisnearlyalwaysleftalittletrailofgraveldirtonmychin,whichvexedLindynoend.OneafternoonIwassitting

bythefence,mouthfilledwithgravel,whenacarpulledupI’dneverseen

before.Itstoppedrightinfrontofmyhouse.Itwasn’tjustastranger’scar,itwasastrangecar—longandwhiteandfabulous-looking.Thehornhonked,andIstoodupalittleandlookedinside.Therewasmydad,driving.“Hey,Zip!”hesaid,happy

ascouldbe.“Spityourrocksoutandcometakearidewithme.”Ileftmygraveloverbythe

fenceandwalkedtowardthe

passengerdoor.Ididn’teventrytohidemywhistle,ortheshockonmyface.Thiswasalong,whiteCadillacCoupedeVilleifeverI’dseenone,andithadredleatherinterior,andtherewasmydad,sittingdownlowinthedriver’sseat,hiscigarettearmoutthewindow,wearinghisnewdeputysheriffaviatorsunglasses.Isatdownandkeptsittingandsitting.Isankintotheseatasifitwere

madeofleather-coveredMiracleWhip.ThecarsmelledofcigarettesmokeandsomethingI’dnevermetbefore.Ilookedaroundandsawit:alittlemetaltubofairfreshener,likestrawberry-scentedVaseline.“Youbuythiscar?”I

asked,aswespedoffdownCharlesStreet.Theenginemadeabsolutelynonoise,andIwasthrownbackagainsttheseatasifateamof

carburetorshadspooked.Iwastryingtoimaginethelookonmymother’sfacewhenshediscoveredhe’dpurchasedanothervehicle,asheperiodicallydid,andalwaystogreatsurpriseandperil.“Nah,itbelongstomynew

partner.”Iglancedoverathimbuthe

wasnotthesortofdeputywhogaveanythingaway.Iknewforadeadfactthatthis

wasapimpcar,andIcouldn’tseehowDadwasgoingtogetbywithit.ThesheriffofHenryCounty,JoeHarris,amanIlovedliketheGreatandPowerfulOz,didnotcutanyoneapieceofslack.Hehadoncestoppedawomanforspeedingandnoticedonherdriver’slicensethatshewassupposedtobewearingglasses.Hereprimandedherandshesaid,“Ihavecontacts.”He

shouted,“Idon’tcarewhoyouknow,yougetyourglasseson!”“Yournewpartner?”The

carhadelectriceverything,andinthemidstofpressingbuttonsIendedlyingcompletelydowninthebackseat.“Yep.”“Where’sSam?”I’dbeen

ratherfondofSam,becausehewasslickandaliarandalwaysgavemepresents.

“Goneundercover.Vice.”ThiswashowDadtalkednow.“Sowho’sthisguy?”“FellanamedParchman.”Iraisedtheeyebrow.

“Parchman?”“ParchmanWilliams.Goes

byWilly.Wanttousethecarphone?”Hepointedtothefloorboard.Sureenough,therewasanoldalmond-coloredphonesittingthere.Nocordsattachedto

anything.Ipickeditupandpushed

somenumbers.“Who’dyoucall?”“Julie.”“What’dshesay?”“Sameasever.”Wedroveoutonto

Highway36andspedup.Ileanedbackagainsttheseat,watchedthespeedometerclimbpast60,70,80,95.ThewindrocketedthroughtheopenwindowsandIwanted

tolaughoutloudbutthatwasn’treallydeputybehavior.Myhairgotallinmyfaceandpokedmeinmyeyes.I’dforgottenIhadhairandvowedtodosomethingaboutit.“Gotanyscissorsinthis

car?”Ishoutedoverthewindnoise.“Nope.There’sabowie

knifeundertheseat,”heyelledback.Ishookmyhead.I’dtaken

knivestomyhairbeforeanditwasnothingbutabunchofsawing.Wepassedacountycruiser

andmyfirstthoughtwas,Thisisit,wearefinallygoingtojail,butthecopjustflashedhislightsanddroveonby.ThenwecameuponalittleoldmaninaBuickdrivingaboutfortymilesanhour,andDadsloweddown,relaxedevenfurtherintheseat.I’dbeguntothinkofoldmenas

Raisins,andtheirwivesasRaisinettes.“YoucouldpassthisRaisin

inabouttwoseconds,”Isaid,wishingwewerebacktodrivingsofastitfeltlikespacetravel.“Nah,”Dadsaid,tossing

hiscigaretteontotheroad.“We’rejustcruisingonalovelyafternoon.”HeturnedoffthehighwayandheadedbacktowardMooreland.“Iwon’ttellMomaboutthe

ninety-fivemilesanhour,”Isaid,stickingoneofmybarefeetoutthewindow.“Yourmomcouldn’tcare

lessaboutwhereyouareorwhatyou’redoing,”Dadsaid,juststatingthefacts.“She’sMrs.Collegenow.”Ididn’tsayanything.We

passedthehouseattheedgeoftownthatsetupahardlonginginme,butIcouldn’tsaywhy.Mysisterhadsuchahouse,too,attheotherendof

town.Iturnedandlookedawayfromthehouse,atafieldofbeansjustshootingupbrightgreen,likeacarpetyoucouldwalkandwalkacross.Wepassedthehousewheremysister’sfriendJanethadgrownup,andthepatchoffieldwiththeluckyhorse,thenturnedattheMasonicLodgeonBroadStreetandDaddroveextraslow,asifhopingforsomeonetonoticeus.

WhenwepulledupinfrontofourhouseIsawthathewasright—mymom’slittleVolkswagenwasn’tthere,andwouldn’tbethere.“Youstaying?”Iasked

Dad.“Nope.Gottareturnthe

car.”Itlookedtomelikeacar

thatmorethanoncehadnotbeenreturned,butIdidn’tsayso.Dadwinkedatme,pointed

tothephoneonthefloor.“Callifyouneedme,”hesaid,thendroveaway.Iwalkedoverandsat

down,puttherocksinmymouthonebyone.Therewasalwaysthequestionofwhowouldfeedme,andsomehowitalwaysgotanswered.Rose’smom,Julie’smom,mysister.33-55.

LikeeveryothermanIknew,mydadhatedallblackpeople

andlovedBillCosby.WehadallofCosby’srecordsandhewasoneofthefewcomedianswhocouldmakemydadlaughoutloud.ForabrieftimeDadwasalsoforSammyDavis,Jr.,butthenhefoundoutthat(a)Sammyhadonlyoneeye,and(b)hewasaJew.Aone-eyedJewishblackmanwhohungoutwithDeanMartinwasmorelikeapettoDad,sohegaveSammyup.Foralittlewhile,alittletiny

while,noonesaidthatParchmanWilliamswasblack,notevenIsaiditandI’dseenthestrawberry-scentedVaseline.Dadwouldcomehomeintheevenings,orhewouldnotcomehome,andhe’dtellstoriesabouthimselfandWilly,andMomwouldlaughpolitely.Nowasshereadshemadenotesinthemarginsofherbooks,somethingshehadn’tdonebefore.Andshewrotein

spiralnotebooks,lineafterlineofherbeautifulhandwriting,soIassumedshewasbeingpunishedforsomething.Momlaughedpolitelyanddidn’tsayanythingabouthowmuchmydadandeveryothermaninMoorelandhatedblackpeople,andIdidn’tsayit,andthenonenightitwasannouncedthatthecomingweekendweweregoingtoWilly’shousefordinner,and

Iwasgoingtohavetowearshoes.Mydadhadgonetothe

specialtroubleofpickingmeupapairofsandalsatGrant’sdepartmentstore.Theywerejustflip-flops,buttheywerecoveredwithdenim,andhadadaisywherethetwostrapsmet.Theyconfusedme.Ontheonehandtheywereshoes,mymortalenemy,andontheother,theywerecoveredindenim,mydeardearfriend.

Thentherewasthedaisytocontendwith.Itriedpullingitoffbutitwasattachedhard.IthoughtmaybeIcouldruinthedaisyoff.Iputthemon,wentoutside,andranthehoseoverthem,thenstompedaround.Imadeamudpuddle,stompedaroundinit,rinsedthemoff.Aterriblethinghappened:theflip-flopsgrewtomyfeetinawaythatremindedmeofmyoldcowboypajamas,thewayI

couldputthemonandtheywerejustcowboy-printedskin.Thesewereshoes,andIlovedthem.Ihadtositdownontheswingandtrytotakethenewsin.IfIcouldlovetheseshoes,shoeswithaflowerontop,Iwascapableofprettymuchanything.Thatmademethinkabout

myhair,soIgotonmybikeandrodedowntoLinda’sBeautyShop,stillwearingtheshoes.IthoughtI’djusttake

mychances.IfLindaLeenoticedandsaidsomething,I’dnotonlythrowthemaway,I’dmaybecutmyfeetoff.I’dalsogiveherdaughterLaurie,oneofmybestfriends,achancetomockme,thoughthatwasn’treallyLaurie’sway.ShewasacousinoftheHicksesonhermom’sside(everyonebutmewasacousinofHickses,asadfact),andshewasjustnaturallyfunnyabout

everythingwithoutbeingmean.Idon’tknowhowithappenedinthatfamilythatmosteveryonewaskindandeveryonewasjustflat-outscreaming,falling-downfunny,butitwas.Inmyfamilyifyouinheritedsomethingitwasbadhairandabignose,andifyoucamefromthatparticularhollerinTennessee,yougoteverythinggood,includingbeingpretty.

Lauriewaswalkingaroundoutsidewithherdog,Pooch.PoochwasalittlebitbiggerthanaChihuahua,withatailthatcurledoverhisback,andheruledthetown.Hewentwherehewanted,whenhewanted.Hewaslikeadogwithapocketfullofmoneyandagroupofpowerfulfriends.Lauriespenthalfhertimewithhimandhalfhertimelookingforhim.Shehadawayofcallinghimthatwas

avariationonhisname—“Beee-ooo-uuuutch!Beee-ooo-uuuutch!”—thatwassofunnyhe’dcomehomeagainsthiswill.Hewalkeduptomeandsmelledmyshoes,thenwaggedhiscurlytail.Ithoughttomyself,Hmmmm.ButPoochandInaturallygotalong,somaybehewasbeingcourteous.“Igottagetthishairoutta

myface,Laurie,”Isaid,

scratchingPooch’shead.“Youdon’thardlyhaveany

hairtotalkabout,”shesaid.Ithoughtaboutsaying,Youhaven’tseenitinastolenCadillacgoing95downthehighway,butIkeptthattomyself.Laurie’sownhairwassilkyblond,wavy,andlong.Butthatdidn’tmakemehateher.Ididn’thatehereventhoughsheownedoneofthesinglemostenviablepiecesofstuffI’deverseen

inmyhumanlife:afireplacemadeoutofcardboard(withdrawnbricksandeverything)thatgotsetupatChristmastime.Therewerecardboardlogsandcardboardflames—prettybigones—thatlitupwhenitwaspluggedin.WhenI’dseenitforthefirsttimelastChristmasIcouldn’ttearmyeyesawayuntilIwasofferedabunchofcandy.“IdoubtMamacancutit

today,”Lauriesaid,watchingPoochambleoffdownthestreet.“She’sgotthreesetsandtwoperms,andarinselaterintheafternoon.”HaircameeasytoLaurie,likenothingcameeasytome.Ithoughtaboutit.Ididn’t

havelongbeforeweweregoingtoParchmanWilliams’shouse,andbetweenthehairandtheshoes,Ididn’twanthimtogetthewrongimpression.I

onlyhadtwootheroptions:mysister,whowaslikelytostabmeintheneckthenblamemeforit,orSusie’sCut&Curl,ontheothersideoftown.Onedidn’tgotoSusie’s,eventhoughshewassosweet.ShedressedliketheGrandOleOpryandinfactboreapassingresemblancetoLorettaLynn.ThemoreIthoughtaboutit,themoreshehadsomethingoftheheartsickminer’s

daughtertoher.Butthereasononedidn’tgotherewasbecauseofLindaLee.Lindacouldbefunny,shecouldslapyouinthefaceifyouhappenedtoconvincehersontoeatdirt,shecouldbeterriblemean,shecouldgiveyouagooddinnerifyouneededone,shecouldcombyourhairtoohardorjustright.Butyoudidnotcrossher.IknewthisassureasIknewnottostealoneofmy

dad’sguns,thoughIwasoftenandsorelytempted.AlsoLindawouldcutmyhairandletsomebodyelsepaylater,andIneverlookedacredithorseinthemouth.“Seeya,then,”Isaid,

startingtopedalaway.Lauriewavedgood-bye,

calledout“Bee-ooo-uuutch!”andIabouthadtostopmybikeforlaughing.

AthomeIdidtheworst

possiblething,somethingIdidalmosteveryday.Ibrokeintooneofmymom’sdresserdrawersandstolefromhercollectionofJohnF.Kennedymoneypieces.Ididn’tknowhowmuchtheywereworth,fiftycents,adollar,somethinglikethat,butIknewtheyaddeduptoalemonphosphateandabagofchipsifIwasstarvingtodeath.Shecollectedthemnotthewaymydadcollected

things—becausetheyweresolidsilverorpewterorfiredrawgunpowderorwhatever—butbecauseshehadgrievedsomightilyoverKennedy’sdeath.Shehadbeenvacuumingwhenthenewswasannounced,andshehappenedtobepassingthetelevisionandcouldseethatsomethingwasgoingonwithoutbeingabletohearwhatitwas.Sheturnedoffthesweeper,heardthenews,

andhadtositdownonthecouchbeforeshefainted.I’dneverheardhersaythatoranythinglikeitbefore,thatshenearlyfainted.SoIfeltguiltysome,everydaystealingKennedy’sfaceoutofherlittleplasticbagofKennedys,butnotverymuch,becausemoneyismoney.Alsothewholething,thesweepingandthefainting,hadhappenedbeforeIwasevenbornsoitdidn’tcount.

IgrabbedafewmoneysandhoppedbackonmybikeandrodetheoppositedirectionfromLinda’sBeautyShop.Ifeltguiltyaboutthat,too,butagain,justbarely.“Howmuchofahaircut

willthisbuyme?”IsaidtoSusieassheopenedthedoorofhershop,handinghertheKennedys.“Sitdown,honey,”she

said,inherthickKentucky

accent.Moorelandwasabsolutelynothingbuthillbillies,butsomeofourflatbedtruckshadarrivedlaterthanothers.Shebarelyglancedatthechange,justputitinajaronhercounter.AsLindadid,Susiecuthairinthefrontroomofherhouse,whichhadbeenoutfittedwithtiltychairsandsinksandhairdryersshapedlikeUFOs.Susietippedmychairbackandwashedmy

hair,andunlikeLinda,shedidn’tscrubatmyscalpwithherfingernailsuntilIwascertainbloodwasstreamingawaywiththesoap.Whenshe’dtoweledoffmostofthewater,shehelduppiecesofmyhairandsaid,“Whatchoowantmetodohere?”withthatsametoneofhopelessnessI’dheardmywholelife.Ontheotherhand,shelookedingeneralasifherhusbandhadrunoffwithboth

herbestfriendandhercoonhound.“Idon’tknow.Justcutit,”I

said.“Idon’tlikeitgettingonme.”Susiesighed,andturnedthe

chairawayfromthemirror,startingontheback.TammyWynettewasplayingonaneight-trackplayerinthecorner.Ihadthattape,too,andinfact,d-i-v-o-r-c-ewastheonlywordIcouldspellbackwardandforward.Susie

cutandcut,sighing,andatonepointsaidsomethingaboutgivingmesomething“modern.”Thatmeantcompletelyzerotome.Thensheturnedthechairaround,andIlookedinthemirror.Iwasspeechless.Susiewas

speechless,thoughhereyesseemedfilledwithtears.Ikeptonsayingnothing.TammyWynettegotherheartbrokenathousandtimes.FinallyIswallowed.Ilooked

exactlylikearooster.Isaid,“Whatdoyoucallthishaircut?”“ARooster,”Susiesaid,

andwipedthetearsoffherface.

Irodetomysister’slittlehouse,prayingshewashome.Iprayedlikethis:Jesus,ifyoudon’tmakeMelindabehome,I’mgonnamakethosefortydaysinthedesertlooklikeacakewalk.Ithreatenedthe

Lord.Shewasthereallright,andwhensheopenedthedoor,insteadofsaying,asshegenerallydid,“Whatdoyouwanttoeat?”shesaid,“OhmyGod,I’llgetthehat.”I’dbeentheonetofindthe

hatatGrant’slastwinteranditwaslikestumblingonapileofrubies.Itwasjustawhiteyarnbowl,likeawhiteballcutinhalf,elasticaroundtherim,butcomingfromthecrown,whereonanormalhat

there’dbeapuffyball,therewasalongredyarnbraid.Thiswasahatthatcamewithitsownhair.Idon’tknowwhyithadn’tbeenthoughtofbefore.Inmanywaysitwasbetterthanmywig(whichwasa“fall,”andsoheldonwithacomb)becausethecatswerelesslikelytostealit.Icouldn’tcountthenumberoftimesI’dseenmywigflyingoutthedoorinPeeDink’smouth.Sometimeshejust

suckedonitandsometimeshetriedtokillit.Ithinkitwasacombinationofaratandababytohim.Ofcourse,hehadfallenoutofmanyatree,andsohisrelationshipwithawigwasboundtobecomplicated.Iputthehatonasifit

wouldsavemylife.Lindysaid,“It’sawfuldoggonehotoutsideforthathat.”“Yougotanother

suggestion?”

Shestudiedmeaminute.“Whathappened?Didyoutrytomowyourhead?”“I’llhaveyouknowthisis

amodernhaircut,Melinda,calledaRooster.”Melindacoveredher

mouth.“DidyougotoSusie?”Inodded.“Ohhoho,ohthisisgoing

toberich,”shesaid,sittingdownatthekitchentable.Shewasfilledwithglee:avery

badsign.“Lindadon’thaveto

know.”“Shedoesn’thavetoknow,

andyes,shedoes.HowmanypeopledoyouthinkwalkaroundMoorelandsportingtheRooster?Exactlyonelittleidiotchild.Andcouldyoutellme…areyouwearingshoes?IsthataFLOWER?”Istooduptoleave.Iswung

myheadaroundsomylong,brightredbraidnearlyhitmy

sisterintheface.Shejustbatteditaway,andasIslammedthescreendoorshewasstilltappingonthetablewithherfingernails,anotherofhersignsofevilhappiness.

OnSaturdayeveningwegotinthetrucktogotoParchmanWilliams’shouse.Isatbetweenmyparentsandputonedenimsandaloneithersideofthegearshift.Ipulledmyredbraidovermy

shouldersoIwouldn’tsitonit.Wedroveoutoftownsilent,Momthinkingherthoughts,Dadsmoking.Iforonewasdesperatelytryingtoimaginewhatwasabouttohappen.Ifiguredthebestplanwouldbeformetoactlikeeverythinginmylifewasjustblack,black,black.HereweretheblackthingsIknew:Sanford&Son.“Wewasrobbed!Wewasrobbed!”Veryfunny.Good

Times.Funny+disturbing.Thedadinthatshow,forareasonIcouldn’tputmyfingeron,remindedmeexactlyofmybrother.Hehadthesameuprightnessandintensity;heflaredhisnostrilswhenhewasvexed.Imeanhelookedlikemybrothertome,even,afactIhadnotyettoldanyone.MaybeIcouldsaythat,Icouldsay,“Ah,ofcourse,mybrotherisblack.”Black

peopleatethingsbutIdidn’tknowwhat.Icouldsay,“ThisweekattheNewmans’Ihadmyfavoritebreakfast,friedbeefbrainsandscrambledeggs,andthenafterwardwewentoutanddidblackfarmwork.”Blackpeopleworeclothes,butsurelynotthesameonesIwore,andtheylivedin…thatwasit.Theylivedintenements,andsodidI.Sure,theSanfordshadajunkyard,but

wehadmydad’sshed.Andokay,inGoodTimestheelevatorneverworked,butatourhouseweoftendidn’thaverunningwater.Istartedtofeelslightlymorecomfortable.MomaskeddidIwanttosing,andIsaidyes,Ialwayssaidyestosinging.ImeanttoaskdidshehappentoknowanyNegrospirituals,butshechose“DownbytheOldMillStream,”agoodchoicebecauseithadtwo

parts,andweendedupinalittlevaudevilleharmonythatpleasedmydad,althoughheneversaidso.

Parchman’shousewasonIAvenue,adisappointment,asitwasnotevenremotelytheghetto.IfNewCastlehadaghetto,Iwantedtofindit.OneofthethingsonmymindasweparkedwashowIwasgoingtoholdthisoverRose:

MyBlackPeople.AlthoughontheoneoccasionI’dventuredmynewtreasure,shehadannouncedthatherchurch,St.Anne’s,hadablackfamily,andthefatherwasn’tmerelyblack,hewasCaribbeanandanintellectual.LeaveittoRosetogetablackCatholicintellectualbeforeI’devenriddenintheCadillac.TheWilliamses’housewas

aperfectlynormaltwo-story,

withwoodshinglesandacementfrontporch.Butrightthere,rightontheporch,somethingwasgoingon,becauseithadarailing(unusualamongmykind)madeofwroughtironwithcurly-cues.Andtheoutsidelightwasn’twhiteorevenyellowforbugs,butapinkishshadethatmademesquintupinsuspicion.Wewereoutofthetruck

andmovingtothedoorandI

feltlikeeverythingwastoospeedy,Iwasn’tready.Mymomwaswearingadressshe’dmadeandsomebroken-downshoes,andmydadlooked,asalways,asifhe’djustbeatthehouseinVegas.Werangthedoorbell(adoorbell),andthedoorwasopenedandinwestepped.Thehousewascool,

becausetherewerewindowairconditionersrunningineveryroom.I’dneverseen

suchathing.Infact,I’dneverseenanythinglikeanysinglepartofit.MydadcalledhimWilly

butMominsistedoncallinghimParchman,whichheseemedtoappreciate,andeitherway,hewasagreat,glowingpresence,whowassuddenlyeverywhere,shakinghandswithmydadasifthey’djustmet,andtellingMomhowlovelyitwastofinallymeetherandhowhe

hadheardshewasjustaboutthesmartestthingtoevergracetheplanet.Heturnedtome.“Andyou,miss?MayItakeyourhat?”“Nothankyou,”Isaid,

shakinghisoutstretchedhand,myveryfirstblackhand,“I’lljustbekeepingiton,butIsurelikeSanford&Son.”Mymomnearlytippedover

withshock,butParchmansaid,“NowIdo,too;Ido,

too.ImetReddFoxxonceuponatime,Icertainlydid.Wehadquiteanafternoon.”Asheledusthroughthehousehetoldarambling,quitehazy,and,inBobJarvisLand,shadystoryaboutspendinganafternoontippingthembackwithMr.Foxx,asheputit.Everydetailescapedme.Ididn’tknowwhataUniversallotwas,orwhyParchmanwasonit,orhowithappenedthatheandMr.

Foxxhadsharedalongafternoonproducing“ripostesofsuchgraciousnessBillShakespearewouldhavebeenjealous.”Iglancedatmymomandsawhermentallyrecordingthephrase.Everythingonthefirstfloor

ofthehousewasblackandgold.Theshagcarpetwasgold,andaslongasthegrassinourbackyard,whichmydadwasn’tsointerestedincutting.Thelivingroom

furniturewasblackleather,andtherewasanenormoussetupagainstonewallthatParchmancalledan“entertainmentcenter.”Therewasalargetelevisioninit,astereo,tallspeakers,Ididn’tknowwhat-all.Wehadanentertainmentcenteratourhouse,too,whichconsistedofanoldtelevisiononamilkcrateandahammerlyingnearby.Thehammerdidseemtosolvemostproblems,

includingawobblypictureandvolume-controlissues.TheWilliamses’coffeetablewasglass-topped,andtheglassrestedonthebackofablackpanther.Oneverywallwerelargepaintingsofblackpeopledoingblackthings:playingtrumpets,dancinginsmokyclubs,womenflirtingaroundlampposts.AndthenIsawit:inthecornerbesidethecouchwasawickerbasket,andrisingoutofit

wasacobra,obviouslymadeofrubber.Iwalkedtowarditandlookedinside,andtherewereanumberofrubbersnakes,coiledupasifinthenoondaysun.Arubbersnakewasstretchedoutacrossthebackoftheleathercouch,andtherewasanotherslitheringacrosstheentertainmentcenter.Buttherewasn’tarealanimalanywhere,Icouldfeelit,andIcouldtellthatthereneverhadbeen,andwouldn’t

be.Thehousewasfilledwithasmellthatdidn’tincludeanimals,butwaslayeredandforeign.TherewasthestrawberrysmellasintheCadillac,andsomethingsweetandsmoky(incense,I’ddiscoverlater);therewaswhiskey,andunusualbeautysupplies,andasharp,chemicaltangthatIrealizedwasacetone.Nexttothesofawasasmallblacktable,andonitwasatraycoveredwith

bottlesoffingernailpolish,probablythirtydifferentshades.Therewasajarofcottonballsandthreedifferentsortsoffingernailpolishremover.WhatIwantedtodowasgo

fromroomtoroomandopeneveryclosetdoorandlookineverydrawerandsmelleverysinglething,becauseIwasonadifferentplanet,farasIcouldtell.Iwasjustwanderingintothedining

room(darkwoodpaneling,blackenameledtableandchairs,afamilyportraitpaintedonvelvet),whenParchman’swifeemergedfromthekitchen.RoseandIhadalwaysbeen

inagreementthatmysisterwasthemostbeautifulpersonalive.ShelookedexactlylikethesortofgirlwhowouldstaywiththesquirrelsandlittlebirdsandsweepupthecabinwhiletheDwarfswere

atwork.Butsinceshehadgottenmarried,she’dlostalotofthatshine.Ididn’tknowwhereitwent,orwhy.Therewasnoonetoask,orevenanywaytosayitoutloud.ButLibraWilliamswasofadifferentorder.Shewalkedtowarduswith

herhandout,awelcominggesturebyabenevolentroyal.Herhairwasveryshortandwavedagainstherhead,blackwithgoldstreaks,justlikethe

livingroom.Icoulddream,Icouldpretend,Icouldoutrightlie,butthatwasnotwhatwashappeningundermyhat.Shewastallandthin,broad-shouldered.Herskinwasthecreamybrownofchocolatemilkmadeexactlyright.Shewaswearinggoldhoopearrings,threegoldchainsaroundherlongneck,goldrings,goldbracelets,andasilkypantsuitinsomesortofjungleprint.Aswith

Parchman,therewastheflurryofactivity,thekindnesstomymother,thedancearoundmydad,anoffertomeofaShirleyTemplewithanactualcherry.Libracalledupthestairsfortheirson,Tyrell,tocomedownstairsfordinner,andMomtoldmetogowashmyhands.Istaredatherblanklyforamoment.“Gowashyourhands

beforedinner,”shesaidagain,thistimewithherteeth

abitclenched.Iconsideredsaying,“Mom,Ieatrocks,forheaven’ssake,”butthenitoccurredtomeIcouldseethebathroomifIpretendedtoobeyher,soIwent.Andluckyme,because

hereParchmanhadoutdonehimself.Thecarpetwasblack,theshagwasshaggier,andthewallswerepaperedinshinygoldpaperwithlion’sheads.Butthebestpartwasthatthesinkandtoiletwere

bothgold.NotHarvestWheat.NotsomePaleAvocado.Shinygold,likeLibra’sjewelry.Iwasafraidtotouchthem.Itdidn’tmakealickofsensetomethatpeoplepeedonjewelry.Idecidedtogoaheadandwashmyhands,butthefaucet,whichwasalsogold,hadaballontopIcouldn’tfigureout.TherewasnoHotorCold.Ipushedtheballandnothinghappened.Ipulled

myhandback.IcouldeasilydestroythisthingandthatwouldbetheendofmeandMyBlackPeople.Itriedturningit,anditmovedaroundfreely,butnowatercameout.Finally,IpusheditupandoutcamewaterwithaforceIcanonlydescribeaswealthy.Therewasnoinitialspitofrust,nohesitation,nogaps.BeforeIknewwhatIwasdoing,Iputmyhandsundertheforce,justtofeelit,

andthenbecausetherewasaguestsoapshapedlikeaseashell,Iusedit.Iwashedmyhands,anddriedthemonatowelembroideredwithawhite“W,”andwalkedoutandheldthemouttomymomandsaid,“Ta-da!”Shepattedmyhatandwhispered,“Thankyou.”

Tyrellwasnine.Hewasganglyandneverstoppedmoving.Hisarmsandlegs

seemedbattery-operated.Blackpeople,itturnedout,ateexactlywhatwhitepeopleate:meatloaf,mashedpotatoes,greenbeans,dinnerrolls.TyrellandIweregivenplateswithdividers,whichIfoundtobetheheightofcivilization,asfoodtouchingmademespittingmad.WewerealsoeachgivenaShirleyTempledrink,andtherewastherealcherry,andIcouldn’tbelievehowthings

hadturnedout.Therubbersnakes,theKingMidasbathroom,theincrediblebeautyandkindnessofLibra.AndfreeShirleyTemples.Iwantedtolivewiththem,andIwaswillingtochangemynametosomethinginteresting,likeBocephus.Tyrell’sroomwascovered

withpostersofblackathletesandmusicians,andinaframeabovehisbed,aphotographofReddFoxxwithParchman,

signed“ToTyrell,MindYourDaddy.”Icouldhearourparentsdownstairs,thekindofcontinuousconversationandlaughterthatmademewanttogrowup.Inevertoldanyonethis,butIcouldnotimagineabetteragethanthirty-five.Iwouldsomedaybegrown-up—Ithoughtaboutitatnight,lyingawake—andIwoulddrivetractorsandownwolves.IwouldturnupmyGlenCampbellrecords

soloudlythewolveswouldhowl,andatdinnerwewouldhavemilkshakes,andIwoulderectscarecrowseverywhere,Iwouldhaveanarmyofscarecrows.Thathadbeenmyplanuntil

IsawthehomeofParchmanWilliams.NowIwasthinkingmaybeIwouldhaverealsnakesandablackpantherandanentertainmentcenter.TyrellandIatemostlyin

silence,andheneversaida

wordaboutmyhat.HeseemedtothinkitwasrealhairandIunderstoodhowmaybethewaysofwhitepeoplewereunknowntohim,andmaybeweallhadwhiteheadsandyarnbraids.WhenwefinishedeatingweplayedRock’EmSock’EmRobots;thenwepulledonStretchArmstronguntilTyrellfelldown.Heshowedmehisminiaturefoosballtableandweplayedthatawhilein

silence.Hewasjustquiet,whichIwasusedtobecauseofJulie.ButhisquietnessmeantIhadplentyoftimetothink,andIwasthinkingaboutthescarecrowsandmaybeaddingsuitsofarmor,whenIrememberedaneveningafewsummersbeforewhenmyfamilyhaddriventoIndianapolisintheNovawehadthentogetWhiteCastles.We’dstoppedatagasstationandour

Germanshepherd,Kai,wasinthebackseatofthecar,andasablackfamilywalkeddownthesidewalkhesprangsohardatthewindowhenearlywentthroughit,barkingexplosivelyenoughtoleavestreaksontheglass.Ithadbeenterrifyingandunexpected;Kai,whowasgentle,andreadpeoplesowellheknewenemiesfromfriendslongbeforewedid.Dadseemedtofinditfunny,

butMom,Irememberednow,hadturnedaround,grabbedKai’scollar,shushedhim,thensaidtomydad,inafierce,angrywhisper,“Youmakehimdothat.”“HowdidImakehimdo

that?”Dadasked,inhisfalse,innocenttone.“Becauseyouwanthimto,

becausehesensesthatyouhatethem.”“Hatewho,Delonda?”Momlookedoutthe

window.“There’sachildinthecar.”Icouldhearmyparents

talkingwithParchmanandLibra,Icouldheartheclinkingoftheirplatesandglasses.Icouldnot,evenforasecond,understandwhatweweredoinghere,orhowwe’dgottenhere.“Tyrell,hasyourdad

alwaysbeenadeputy?”IknewParchman,likemydad,wasavolunteer,sowherehad

allthisstuffcomefrom?Tyrellshookhisheadno.“Whatdidhedobefore?”Heshrugged,said

somethingthatsoundedlike“Own’tknow.”“Doesyourmomhavea

job?”“Sheworkatthedrive-up

bank.”Ilikedthiswayof

speaking.PerhapsIwouldadoptitformyself.Iftherewasawordoraletteryou

didn’tneed,youjustleftitout.Earlierhe’dsaid,“Thismyfavoritewrestler,”andIrealized,whoneededthat“is”inthere?Iknewwhathemeantandhegottothepointfaster.“Didyourdadworkina

factory,orlikeonafarm,orsomething?”“Afarm?”Tyrelltipped

backonthefloor,heldhissideslaughing.“Thatmannevercutabladeofgrassin

hislife.Afarm.”“Okay,afactory?”Heshookhishead.“Naw,

nofactory.Own’tknowwhathedid,’cepthemovemoneyaround.AllIcantellyou.Hemovemoneyaround.”Iwasabouttosay

something,somethingaboutourfathers,oratleastmyown,whenTyrellsaid,“YouwannawatchTV?”Isaidyes,soheyelleddownthestairs,“HeyPop!WewatchTVin

y’all’sroom?”Parchmanshoutedback,

“Yes,butyouknowtherules.”AndthenTyrellledmeto

ParchmanandLibra’sbedroom,andwhateverI’dbeenonthevergeoffiguringout,Ilostforagoodlongtime.

Theroomwaspaperedinblackandgoldfoil.IknowitwasfoilbecauseIranmy

handsoverit.Andupagainstoneofthosewallswasaroundbedthesizeofaswimmingpool,andinfactitwaslikeaswimmingpoolinthatitwasfilledwithwater,anditwascoveredwithfur.Istooddeadstillwithmyhandonthewallpaper,butTyrelljustwalkedover,floppeddownonthebed,whichswishedaroundunderneathhim,andslidopenadoorintheblack,archedheadboard.

TheheadboardarchedhalfwayoverthebediswhatI’msaying,thiswasabedwitharoof,andwhenTyrellpushedthebuttonatelevisioncameonintheroofabovehimandhelaybackonbig,tiger-stripedfurpillowsandwatchedtelevision.Lyingonhisback.Onaroundfurwaterbed.Iwalkedslowlytowardhim,slippedoffmynewsandals,andlaydown.Inadditiontothetelevision

therewerestereospeakersbuiltintotheroof,anditwasentirelycoveredwithmirrors.SoIcouldseetheTV,andIcouldseemyselfandTyrell,therewasnotonethingIcouldn’tseeonthebed.Ilaythereperfectlystill,thinking,Rosewillneverbelieveme,Melindawillneverbelieveme.Imyselfwouldneverhavebelievedme.Itoremyeyesawayfromthemirrorandthat’swhenI

sawit:directlyacrossfromthebedwasalargepainting,anditwasofnothingbutablackmanandablackwoman,andtheywerenakedasjays.Icouldn’ttellexactlywhattheyweredoing,andheavenknewthatwasforthebest,butthefactoftheirnakednesshadputashockonmyheartIthoughtmightfinallykillme.Itriedtonotmove,tojusttakeitallin,buteverytimeTyrelllaughedat

somethingonTVthewholebedsloshedaroundandnearlytossedmeout.Hisarmsandlegsneverdidstopmoving,whichIcouldforsureseenowthatIwasinabedsurroundedbymirrors.Andtherewasthatverystrongsmellagain,thatstrawberrygelatinairfreshener,andhairspraysIcouldn’tname,andthoseclothesmadeforblackpeopleandeverythingwasvery

cleanandofcoursetherewastheabsenceofevenonerealliveanimalinthishouse,notahamsterorevenagoldfish,onlytherubbersnakesandtheglasspanthersandwhatnot.ItriedtopictureLibrainahousewithjustonelittlewell-behavedsnow-whitekittenanditwasimpossible.Notevenablack-and-gold-foilkitten.NotwithLibra’sfingernailsandleathersofasandbathroomsmadeof

melted-downgoldjewelry.“Zip?”mydadcalledup

thestairs.“Youreadytogo?”Ileaptoffthebedasif

scalded.“’Bye,”IsaidtoTyrell.“Later,”henodded,still

watchingTV.Igrabbedmyshoesand

scootedpastthenakedpaintingwithoutlookingatit.Ididn’tlookatwhatwasontopoftheblackdressers,either,butIdidnotice,forthe

firsttime,aphotographonasmallsidetableoutinthehallway.ItwasanOlanMillspicture,takenwhenTyrellwasprobablythreeyearsold.TherewasLibra,thesameairofuntouchablebeauty.Shewasthesortofwomanmymomcalledfixey.AndTyrellwearingasmall,darkgreensuitandbowtie.Hewasn’thappy.ButnosignofParchmananywhere.IleaneddownandlookedatLibra’s

hands(eachfingernailwasatleastaninchlongandinthispicturetheywerescarlet,buttonighttheyhadbeenadarkerredwithagoldstreakthroughthecenter),andtherewereringsoneveryfingerexcepttheone.“Zip?”“Coming,”Iyelled,heart

poundingasifI’dbeendoingsomethingwrong.WhenIgottothebottomof

thestairseveryonewasstill

laughingandtalking.Therewasmymominhermomclothes,heroldglasses,herbatteredshoes.Libra,Parchman,andmydadmadealittletriangleandMomwasn’tinit.Shesaidtome,“Thankyourhosts,”asshedideverytimewewentanywhere,whichwasoneofthereasonsIhatedgoinganywhere,anditwasastupidruleandmademephysicallyill,whichI’dtriedtoexplain

897times.NobodyCaresIfISayThat,I’dtriedtotellher.THEWORLDWILLNOTENDIFWESKIPTHATPART.Butsomehow,tonight,itwaseasy.IheldoutmyhandtoLibraandshetookit.Herswascool,long,andnarrow.Shewasaverykindwoman,itseemedtome,andshedeservedtoliveinthiscastle.“Itwasaveryniceeveningthankyouforhavingme,”Isaid,ashadbeen

drilledintome.Shepulledmetoher,

tappedthetopofmyhat.“You’rewelcome.Comebackanytime.”Dadleanedoverandsaid

somethingtoParchman,saiditinoneofhismanyDadvoicesoutthecornerofhismouth,andParchmanthrewhisheadbackandlaughedwithagreatbusting-outjoy,awayIwasn’tusedtomenlaughing.Hepoundedon

Dad’sbackacoupletimesbetweentheshoulderblades,thenDadwaslaughing,too,andwewereallmovingtowardthedoor,floating,really.Wefloatedtothetruckinsuchgoodwill,andIsatbetweenmyparentsandwedroveoffdownIAvenue.“Whatanevening,”Dad

said,lightingacigarette.“Itcertainlywas,”Mom

agreed.“Plainnicepeople,nothing

moretobesaidthanthat.”“Verynice.Howdid

Parchmangetthatgoldtoilet,Iwonder?”Dadlaughedagain,flicked

hisashesoutthewing.“Hespray-paintedit.Tubandsink,too.”Momlaughed,Ilooked

backandforthbetweenthem.Dadseemedgenuinelyhappy,whichwassureneverguaranteed,notoneminuteofanyday,butMomkept

wearingthatpoliteface.I’dseenitathousandtimes.I’dseenitwhenhesuggestedwegetabiggercamper,whenhedecidedwehadtomovetoAlaska,whenheexplainedwhyhecouldn’tfixsomethingbrokeninthehouse,whysomethingsneededtowait,wait,andsomethingsneededtobedoneyesterday,likegettinganewtruck.IsawParchmanthrowhisheadbackwith

laughter;Kaihitthewindow,teethbared.Becauseyouhatethem.

OnedaytheWilliamsesweren’tthereandthenexttheywereaconstantfeature.HereisthemusicmydadwouldtolerateintheBeforeTime:HerbAlpertandtheTijuanaBrass.GlenCampbell,butmostlyformysake.GlennYarbrough.LenaHorne.DeanMartinorFrank

Sinatra.AfterWilliewemightpausethetruckradioonSmokeyRobinson,whowassaidtohavequiteabitoftalent,allofasudden.SamewithanumberofMotownartistsformerlyunknowninMooreland,Indiana.Dadwouldn’tgothedistanceandlistentosomeofthethingsweheardattheWilliamses’Ithoughtwereespeciallydelicious,particularlyIsaacHayes,whomademehave

un-Christianfeelings.Allofmyworstcrusheswereonbaldmen,beginningwithTellySavalasandstayingalong,longtimeonYulBrynner.OnceIrealizedtherewerebaldblackmeninadditiontobaldtanmenIknewtheworldwasopeningwide.Istayedhomewithmydad

whileMomwasstudentteachinginsummerschool,everyday,allday,and

Parchmandidn’thaveadayjob,either,andthenintheeveningsheandmydadwerepartnersonanightshift.Exceptitseemedtheyonlyworkedwhentheywantedto,sowespentalotofeveningsattheirhouse,too.Theynevercametoours.OneafternoonIwaslying

ononeoftheleathersofasholdingarubberboaconstrictor,readingacomicI’dgottenthatday.Itwas

grim.ItwasthestoryofawomanwhohadbeensenttoanInsaneAsylumbecauseshebelievedalittlegoat-footedvarmintwasafterher,andherDoctorwasamanwhoworeeyeglassesbutitwasdarkbehindthem,notlikesunglasses,butliketherewasnothingbehindhisglasses,andhesuggestedshetakeuptheflute.Andnotjustanyflute,butaflutemadeofreedsstrappedtogether,each

smallerthanthelast.APanflute,hecalledit.Firsthecausedhertomakethefluteinaclasswithothercrazypeople,thenhetaughthertoplayit,thenhemadehergooutintothegardenatnight,underafullmoon,andplayittoafountain,wheretherewas…astatueoftheverygoat-boyshefeared.IwasjustgettingtothegoodpartwhenParchmanstrolledinfromthekitchenandsat

downrightontheglasscoffeetable.Hetuggedonmyredbraid.“Zip,”hesaid,“it’stimewe

hadthetalk.”Iglancedupathim.“What

talk.”“Thetalkaboutracism.

Nowhere’showI’mgoingtostartit:you’vegotyourchocolatemilk,andyou’vegotyourwhitemilk.”Iraisedaneyebrow.“That’snotgoingtowork.”

Hethoughtaminute.“Okay,okay—listen.Haveyoueverheardanyonesay,‘Someofmybestfriendsareblack’?”Icouldnotabidealecture,

notevenfromParchmanWilliams.“Someofmybestfriendsarewhite,”Isaid,lookingbackdownatmycomicbook.Parchmanslappedhisknees

withhisopenpalms.“Well.Thatabouttakescareofthat,”hesaid,pattingmeonthe

shoulderashelefttheroom.InthekitchenIheardhimsay,“You’vegotyourhandsfullwiththatone.Lord,Bobby.”IheardthewheelofDad’s

lighter,himtakingadeepbreath.“Yep.She’smyprideandjoy.”

SometimeswhenthefourofthemplayedcardsIhungoutinthekitcheninsteadof

playingwithTyrell.Ilikedhimjustfine,butIcouldonlyspendsomuchtimetalkingaboutKareemAbdul-Jabbarorlyingonthatfurbed.Thesloshypartmademenervousafterawhile.Iwouldbegintothink,What’sreallyinhere?Ifthere’swaterandyoucan’tseeintoit,thereisalwayssomethinginit.Maybeithasteeth,maybeithastentacles,maybeitjusthasdumbfins.Ididn’tlikethinkingaboutit.

Irememberedbeingfour,five,six.IrememberedhowIwassoquietIwasghostly,andthewayIcouldhideundertablesorbehindsofasandnooneeverknewIwasthere.Istillhadtheknack,eventhoughIhadgottentootalltohide.Grown-upsstilltalkedasifIweren’tthere,andIdidn’tunderstandwhy.WhenIwasthirty-fiveIwouldnever,everletchildrenhearanythingIsaidor

thought.Dadhadmethismatchin

ParchmanWilliams,asfarascardswent.Theyhadthesamegifts:thequickhands,themaskface,thewitthatdisguisedwild-animalcompetitiveness.Theybluffedanddistracted,theytoldfunny,coldjokes,andonlybadluck—notlackofskill—coulddefeateitherofthem.MomandLibraplayedlikethewivesofmaster

gamblers.Theywerepatientandeven;goodpartnerswhojustkeptpaceanddidn’tmakemistakes.“LibratoldmeifIwant

morechildrenI’llhavetohavethemwithmynextwife,”Parchmansaid,takingadrinkofbeer.“Youheardthatright,”

Librasaid,tappingthedummyhandwithoneofherfingernails.“I’mdoneraisinganythingexceptmytax

bracket.”Parchmansaid,“IthinkI’ll

makeitdiamonds.Diamondsformydearwife.”“Hisnextwifecandoalot

ofthingsdifferent,”Librasaid,andeveryonelaughed.“Wouldyoueverremarry?”

Parchmanaskedmymom.Myearsraiseduponthe

sidesofmyheadasifIwereafoxlisteningforthefarmercomingupthedrive.Remarry?Thiswasa

wordIhadneverheardspokeninthepresenceofmyparents.ItwasnotawordRose’sparentswouldeveruse,norJulie’sparents,either.Itwasnotinthevocabularyoftheirfriends,theSpillmans.Itwasawordun-utteredintheMoorelandFriendsChurch.Mymother?Parchmanwasaskingthisofmymother,whohadgivenonepieceofadvicetomysisterwhenshemarried:Do

noteverallowtheword“divorce”tobespokeninyourhome.Ifyousayitonce,youletitin.Iwatchedher.Iopenedand

closedmyhands,tryingtoflexoutthepanic.Iwatchedmyfather.Hisfacewasblankasthenightsky.Shestudiedhercards,blinkedpatientlybehindheroldglasses.TherehadnotbeenonemomentIfeltthatParchmanandLibraandTyrellwereanydifferent

fromus,really.Notasinglemoment,regardlessofthemagnificenthouseandthesnakes.Anddependingonmymother’sanswer,Iwouldknowwhethertheywere.Butshejustshookher

head.“It’snotsomethingI’veeverconsidered,”shesaid,withoutlookingup,andIknewIshouldletitout,theterrifiedbreathIwasholding,butIdidn’t.Istoodthereattheedgeoftheroom,

watchingthemplaythehandout.Withmenwhoplayedthatwell,ithardlymatteredwhowon.Thegameitselfwasthejoy.

SlumberParty,1977

FromkindergartenthroughfourthgradewehadoneclassattheMoorelandElementarySchool;wewerealltogethereveryyear,movingfromthefirst-tothesecond-gradeclassroomwhenthetime

came.Whythisdidn’tleadtoaKilltheWeakestMemberoftheHerdtypeofbehaviorIdon’tknow,butnooneeverdiedorwaseaten.That’swherethefriendshipsformthatgobackasfarasmemoryallows:RoseandJulie,AnitaandAnnette,Kirstenwhowasbeautifuleveninkindergartenandneverhadabadyear.Margaret,Tod,Ronnie,Debby,Tony,KellyHicksofthenext-doorHickses.Ithink

wewouldhavebeenhappytostaytogetherthroughhighschoolandhighereducation(Rose,Margaret,Ronnieforsure),orlightjailtime(me),andonoutintotheworld,exceptthatduringthesummerbetweenfourthandfifthgradestheMountSummitelementaryschoolclosed,whichI’mthinkingmusthavebeenasadthing,andtheirstudentsmovedoverandjoinedusinMooreland.

Now,IamsorrytosaythatthoseMountSummitkidsjustweren’tlikeusinsomeinvisibleway,andtheykepttothemselvesandwedidthesame.Theplanwastokeeppermanentdivisionsbetweenussotherewouldbenocross-pollinationandIwasallforthat,exceptitseemedlikeonlyfourorfiveminuteshadgonebyandIwasfriendswithagirlcalledJeanneAnnwhowasalongtimefriendof

AnitaandAnnettebecauseofsomething,churchor4-H,soitwasnaturaltobewithAnitaandAnnetteandtherewasJeanneAnnandoh,alsoshewashilariousandIgotalongwithherdandy.ThentherewasthisgirlcalledKathy,shewastalllikemeandIlovedher,andstrangelyenoughIknewherdadbecauseheknewmydad.HerdadsoldcampingtrailersonalotnexttotheRamrodGun

andKnifeshop,whichwasjustaboutmyfavoritestoreinthehistoryofcommerce.IfIhadtosaywhatwouldbeonaparticularavenueinheavenI’dsaylet’sstartwithRamrodGunandKnife,andyes,absolutelyputcampingtrailersnexttoit,it’sanatural.Thereshouldbeabaitshopsomewhere,andastorethatsellsbeefjerkyandlemonphosphates,andwe’regoodtogo.

I’dvisitedwithherdadalreadysoIwentaheadandtookupwithKathy,andshewasafriendofJeanneAnn’sanyway,andthenIdon’tknowhowithappenedbutwewereallsquasheduptogether,andbythesixthgradeitwashardtorememberwhenIdidn’tknowtheMountSummitkids.

Kathyhadaslumberpartyat

herhouseandletmetellyou:whenthegirlinschoolwithstuffisalsofunandgenerousandsmart?Yes,youwanttogotoherslumberparties,andswiminherpoolandridearoundonhermotorbike,whichwassmallandorangeandtheexhaustpipeortheengineorsomethingheatedupto3,000degreesFahrenheitafteraboutthreeminutesofriding,andwewereconstantly

yellingtooneanother,“Don’tletyourlegtouchanything!”IfwewobbledevenslightlyKathywouldyell,“ForGod’ssake,don’tfallortheenginewillmeltyourflesh!”Wetorearoundtheflatacreagebehindherhouselikebandits,thenjumpedinthepoolagain.Thatnightwesleptinacamperherdadsetupinthebackyard.Abrilliantidea,anditmademelongformyownsaleslotfromwhichto

chooseforentertaining.Therewasmayheminthetrailer;itinvolvedfirsts’moresandthenraspberryjelly,andatsomepointAnitaannouncedshe’deitherforgottenorcouldn’tfindherpillowandJeanneAnnsatupwithoneinherhands.ShehelditouttoAnitaandsaid,intheKentuckytiltofherchurch’sminister,“TheLordgiveth”—JeanneAnnpulledthepillowback—“andtheLord

takethaway.”I’dneverlaughedthathardbefore—itwasthekindoflaughingthatweakensyouandmakesyouexhausted,andthenstartsalloveragain.Weweretryingtostayupallnight—thatwouldbethegoalateveryparty—andIwastheone,always,whoneverfellasleep.Icouldhaveprobablystayedawakefortwoorthreedays,really.Ididn’tmentionitattheparties,especiallyinfront

ofAnnette,whoplayedeverysporteverinvented(shepossiblymadeuptwoorthreeextras)andsowasalwaystired.She’dcometoaslumberpartystraightfromsomegruelingthreehoursofrunningupastraight,sheercliff,atthetopofwhichshewasmadetoheavebouldersatwildlifeorwhatever,andshe’dbetiredbydinnertime.IlovedherandIalwayswantedtodrawheroverto

theOtherSide,thenon–organizedsportssideoflife,wheretherewerenocoaches(I’ddiscoveredthatcoachesneverlikedmeandIreturnedthedisdain)orschedulesorwhistlesblowing.Iwasalreadyfiguringoutthereisnoprofitinaddingpaintoaday,butforsomegirls,sports—thepressure,thephysicaltoll,thegroupidentity—wereagoodthing.I’dhavetopracticesayingit:forthem,

theagony,self-chosenandself-perpetuated,isagoodthing.Theysuredidn’tharassmeforloungingaroundonthefrontporchallsummer,readingbooksanddrinkingMountainDew,waitingforthemomentsomethingwouldcomealonganddeterminethetuneoftheday.BythetimeIwanderedovertotheCokemachineatNewman’sMarathoninmypajamas,JulieandAnnettehadalready

beentrainingforsomethingforhours.Iwas,too,itturnsout:Iwastrainingtoliearoundreading.ThenJeanneAnnhada

slumberpartyanditwasdifferentfromKathy’sbecauseshewasanonlychildofOlderParentswhowerepracticalanddidn’thaveapooloraflamingmotorbike.Shelivedinthecleanest,squaresthouseI’veeverbeeninanditturnedoutwedidn’t

needtheotherstuffbecausehavemercyitwasoutrageouslyfun.JeanneAnnwasingymnasticsandcoulddostrangethings,likeabackbendandthenspiderwalkacrossthefloor.Shewassoflexibleitwasunholyandwealltriedtoimitateher,tomuchscreaminghilarityandpermanentdamagetoourcartilage.Hourswerespenttryingtoteachmetobelch,animpossibilityasI’dmade

clearfromthebeginning.Ididn’thavethepropermechanism,Iwasmissingaflaporsomething.I’dneverinmywholelifesomuchasburped.ItwasshamefulbutI’dadjusted.JeanneAnnendearedherselftomeforeverbygettingoutataperecorderaswepracticedbelching,orasshebelchedinvariouseloquentwaysandIdidwhatshetoldmeandopenedmymouthand

nothingcameout:alittlesilenceonthetape.ShefriedbolognaandwewatchedSammyTerryontelevision,andtheworstcamewhenwerealizedAnnettewasasleepandsomeone,Iwon’tsaywho,madealittlefartverynearhereartotryandwakeherup.Thatwasitforme.IthoughtIwouldhavetobehospitalized.

I’dneverhadaslumberparty

atmyhousefortheobviousreasons—infact,Ineverhadanyoneoveratall.Ivisitedmyfriends;theydidn’tvisitme.Inoticedthis,butitwasratherlikebelching—Ijustdidn’thavetheequipment.MysisterdecidedshewouldhostaslumberpartyformeatherlittlehousewheretherewasbarelyroomforMelinda,Rick,andJosh,nottomentionIwasthereprettymuchallthetime.The

solutionwaswewouldhavetheslumberpartyinthebackyard,andMelindawouldputupatentforustosleepin.Wehadagreattime,itwas

quiteshockinglyfun,butInoticedMelindabecomingslightlymorefrazzledwitheveryhourthatpassed.ShewaspregnantwithaNewBabyandIwasn’teventhinkingaboutthatasIwantednopartofit.When

wetroopedinthroughthebackdoor,pastthelaundryroom,downthehallwaythatslopedtooneside,pastthebathroom,andintothekitchenforKool-Aid,Lindywasfine,shedidn’tmakeanythreatsoranything.ShedecidedtobringthepopcorntouswhichIunderstood,butitwasn’tasifweweregoingtopeeinthegarden,weweren’tsavages.Infactwepreferredtopeeasagroup,

theoppositeofsavageryIbelieve,sowedidthat.Weusedupallthetoiletpaperbutthatwasokaybecausetherewasaboxoftissuessoweuseditinstead.Igotoutthesandwich

makerfromwhenweusedtogocamping.JulieandIbuiltafireandwetookbread,butteredontheoutside,andscoopsoffruitpiefilling(blueberrybeingtheobviousfirstchoice)andclosedthe

cast-ironsandwichshapearoundit,cutoffthecrusts.Someoftheothergirlswereamateursanddidn’twanttowaitforthebreadtotoast—adisasterintheculinaryarts,impatience.Whatyouhavewithouttoastisnothing.It’sgoo.Wewerealllickingourfingersandcontemplatingourthird-degreeburnsfromtheboilingfruitfillingwhenMelindaopenedthebackscreendoorandsteppedout

ontothedarkstep,thelightofthelaundryroombehindher.“Uh-oh,”JeanneAnnsaid

asIforcedmyselftostandandfaceit,whateveritwas.Iwalkedtowardmysister

slowly.I’dbehavingacigaretteandablindfold,please.Shewascompletelystill,anawfulsign,asMelindausuallywentfrozenjustbeforeshestruck.IwasremindedofthevipersinAfricaI’dreadabout,the

largestandmostpowerfulofallvenomoussnakes,whocouldmovefromacoiledpositionandstrikeatfifty-fivemilesanhour,probablythespeedlimitformostthings.Theycouldshattertheglassofmovingsafarivehicles.IrememberedeverythingIcouldaboutvipersasIwalked,stepbystep,towardthelightofthebackdoor,butnoneofitwasgood.

“Doyouknowwhatyou’vedone?”Melindaasked,inthequietwaythatwasthewayoftheviper.Ishookmyhead.“Youputanentireboxof

Kleenexintooursepticsystem.”WhatcouldIsay?I

believedher,butitwassortofnewstome.“You’vestoppedup

oursepticsystem.”Shesaidthisasifwehadbrought

downthewallsoftheAlamo.“We’regoingtohavetocallaplumber.”“I’msorry.”Melindaclosedthedoor

andwentbackinsidewithoutanotherword.Iwentbacktomyfriendsandreportedthedamage.Nooneunderstoodthebigproblem,butwedidunderstandwecouldn’tgobackinthehouseorwewouldgetourwindshieldsshattered.Butwheretopee?

“Let’sjustpeeinthegarden!”JeanneAnnsaid.“Yes,let’sjustpeeinthe

garden!”ItwasagreeduponandundertakenwithsuchjoythatMelindapoppedherheadoutonemoretime,aroundtwointhemorning,andtoldmeifsheheardus,ifsheheardasinglesoundagain,nottomentionifwewokeupJosh,whosebedroomwindowfacedtheyard,shewoulddountousthingsI

couldnotrepeattomyfriends.Islunkbacktothetentandsaidweweregoingtohavetobequiet,andthatwassofunnyweallhadtoburyourfacesinoursleepingbags,andthensomeoneannouncedshehadtopee.

Inthedensedarknessatfourwedecidedtowalkaroundtown.Wewalkedallover,upanddownmostofthestreets,downtoourowndarkand

silentelementaryschool,whichspookedus.WewalkedpastEdythe’shousewhicheveryonefoundunbearable,theknowingshewasintherewithherbathtubfilledwithnewspapersandherblackenedfingernails,thepiano,herlonghair.Whatnoonesaidwaswhatscaredmemost:whatwasshelikeinside?Westoppedinfrontofmy

ownhouse.Istoodtherein

thestreetwithmyfriends.“Well,thisisweird,”Isaid,sowemovedon.TheMoorelandFriends

Church,thehousesonJeffersonStreet—thetownwasanentirelystrangeandsurrealplaceattheedgeofsleeplikethis.Icouldn’tgetmymindaroundit,thatbehindeverydoortherewerepeoplestillinbed,they’dbeeninbedallnight,andsomeofthem,likemydad,

werejustabouttoopentheireyesandhavetheworldremadeforthem,asitwasremadeeveryday.Onlywe,whohadbeenonwatchthroughthehours,knewthatithadn’tcomeundoneinthemeantime,thingshadhummedalongfairlymuchasusual,justwaiting.Wegotinthetentand

climbedinoursleepingbags,chilled.Therewassomecrazytalkanditstartedto

rain.Thesoundoftherainonthetentwasenough,andonebyonemyfriendsfellasleep.Iwasshockedthattheycoulddoso,thattheirbodiescouldletgoinsuchaway.MybodydidnothingunlessItolditto,andeventhensometimescoercionwasnecessary.Ihadreachedanagewhereitwasimpossibleformetofallasleepbyaccident,itdidnotandcouldnothappen,andIlayinmy

sleepingbagandimaginedtheconsequences.ItwouldbeI,likemyfather,whocoulddriveallnightwhiletherestofthecarslept.Iwouldbetheonepacingahospitalfloororworkingastrangeshiftinafactory.Ididn’tevenlikecoffee;I’dhavetofigurethatoneout.WitheveryoneasleepI

imaginedMelinda’srelief,thesilencefromthebackyard.Melindahadachild,shewas

pregnant.Itremainedashock.Icouldremembersoclearlythenightshe’dhadaslumberpartyandthewholecastwasthere,allherfriends.They’dhadaséanceinthelivingroom,gatheredinacircleonthefloorrightnexttothecouchwhereIwastryingtosleep.InthemiddleofitI’dlookedatoneofthetall,narrowwindowsandseenJesusfloatingmanyfeetofftheground,inthearmsof

thetrees.Ihadseenhim—Icouldnotbearguedoutofit.ButIhadn’tseenhimsince.Itoccurredtomethatthere

mightbenothingmorehystericalinalltheworldthanifIsuddenlybegantosing“TheStar-SpangledBanner”asthesunrose.Iwouldn’tsingitloudly,butwithreverence,asifI’dbeenwaitingallnightandthiswasmyjob,tocomfortthetroops.Iopenedmymouthbutit

wastoofunnyandIbegantolaughinthatsilent,organ-shakingway.Iletsomemomentspassandtriedtogetaholdofmyself,openedmymouthagain.Ilaughedevenharderandhadtocurlupinalittleballinsidemysleepingbagandbitemyknees.ThethirdtimeIskippeddirectlytocrying,tearsrandownmyfaceinstreams,collectedinmyearsinlittlepools.Iwasonthevergeofsobbing,soI

buriedmyfaceinmypillowandheldmybreath.Iwaitedforittopass.Myfriendsweresosilent,sleepingsound,thatwithmyeyesclosedandpressedagainstmypillow’sdark,Iwonderediftheywerethereatall.

BlizzardBaby,1978

InIndiana,weatherwasconsideredaveryinterestingtopicofconversation.Itwastalkedaboutoffandonallday,everyday.Noonesimplystuckahandoutthedoorandmadedecisions

accordingly,ohno.Thelocaltelevisionnewswasconsulted,aswastheradio,andforgoodmeasureitneverhurttocallTime&Temperature,incaseyourhandwaslying.Hoosiershavealwaysputstockinmeteorologists;if,forinstance,BobGregory—thebestofallweatherpeople—saidbundleupyoubundledupandifyouwereslightlyoverdressedthenthankyou,

Bob,becausethat’sbetterthanfreezingintoalogperson.IfBobsaiditlookedlikeweweregoingtogetheavyrainsandwedid,thankyou,Bob,andifwedidn’t,thankyou,Bob.Better,always,tobepreparedfortheemergencythatdoesn’tarrivethantobefoundthumb-twiddlingandhalfstarvedwhenrescuedfromtheonethatdoes.

MysisterwaspregnantwiththeNewBabyandIwaspartexcitedandpartopposed,becausetherewasnothingwrongwiththeOldOneandIjustdidn’tseehowthewholethingwasgoingtoworkout.Theworld,asfarasIcouldtell,wasJosh’sworldandwewerejusthangingaroundgettingintheway,whichhewassweetabout.Iknewmyrole,whichwastoserve,anassignmentthatwouldhave

earnedaspittingfrommeifanyonehadtoldmeaheadoftimebutthankfullynoonedid.ThesummerbetweenmytenthandeleventhbirthdaysIdreamedallofMoorelandwasdesertedandIhadbeenlefttherealonewithJosh,whoneededanemergencyappendectomy.TheonlycarintownwasastickshiftandIdidn’tknowhowtodriveit,astheonlytruckI’ddriveninreallifehadagearshiftonthe

column,akindoftransmissionnotmuchindemandeventhen.Iwokeupinapanickysweat,calledMelinda,andsaid,“Allright.Youbettertakemeoutandteachmetodriveastickshift.”WewentoutontheMessickRoadandsheletmegrindthegearsandmurdertheclutch757timesandeventuallyIfigureditoutanddroveushome.Sothatwastakencareof.Whatwasa

secondbabygoingtodotomylifeandwherewouldweputit?Melinda’shousewassimplynotbigenoughandanywayIwastired.I’dmanagedtoavoid

thinkingabout“thebaby”as“ababy”untilaboutmid-December,whensomeonepointedoutthatMelinda’sduedatewasinearlyFebruary,andhowisn’titthecasethatJanuaryisthemonthwiththeaveragegreatest

snowfallandthelowesttemperatures,hahawhatifLindywentintolaborearlyathomeorinacarduringsomesevereweather,Iguesseveryoneshouldkeeptowelsandboilingwaterhandy.Haha.ItwasthenIrealizedMelindawasgoingtohaveababy,likeJoshwasababy,anditwasaratherbleakChristmasforafewreasonsnotleastofwhichwasIwassonervousIwasallbut

twitchingandIbelieveIdevelopedaholidayfacialtic.

OhshewasverypregnantbyJanuary23.Theweatherhadbeencompletelymanageableuptothen,soshecouldhavegoneaheadandgottenthewholethingoverwithandletmegetsomerest.Thetownbegantostir;itwaspointedoutthatthelastbabyborninthetownlimitshadbeen

BuckyGardwhowasfull-grown,andthereformedalittlebandofsupportersforhavingtheNewBabyrightintownsomewhere.Ithoughttheywereoutoftheirminds.Ohreally,Iwantedtosay.Wheredidthecraziesthinkitshouldhappen?Atthedrugstore?Onthefairgrounds?SuchchargeswereansweredbyJackandMarianneHalstead,whobelongedtotheFriends

Meetingandwhoknewourfamilywell.InJack’scaseI’dsayheknewmetoowell,aseverytimehesawmeheturnedjustslightlyasiftoavoidbeinghitbyimaginaryarrows.I’dsay,“Hey,mister,”andhe’dsay,“Don’tshoot!”eventhoughI’dhadyettoshoothimwithanything.Ilovedthosepeople.JackandMarianneannouncedtheywouldbedeliveringthebaby,andthey

carefullydevisedaplanforgettingMelindafromherhousetotheirs(astraightwalkdownanalleyandacrossBroadStreet)andevenhungasignabovetheirguest-roomdoor:MATERNITYWARD.WhenIsaid,“Who’sthedoctorinthispicture?”JackremindedmethatMarianneworkedatthehospitalandIsaidokaythen.OnJanuary24itrained.

What’srain?It’snothingis

whatitis.Somewhereinthere,January23or24,justusualweather,nothingtogetinafussabout,therebegantobetalkaboutahigh-pressureoverheadthingmeetinganungroundedlow-voltageoutletfromNovaScotia.ThesetwocatastropheswouldbeconvergingovertheMidwest,likeaweathersystemassociationthatchoosesChicagoforitsconvention.

Thenewsoftheproposeddisastercausedmuchgrumblingandradiotuningandpreparednesschecking,especiallyinmyhouse.Myfatherlovedanemergency;itbroughtoutthebestinhiminmanywaysalthoughIhavetosayIdoubtemergenciesfeltverygoodtohimuntiltheywerebarelysurvived.Hisanxietywasitsownsortofstormcloudhoveringoverthehouse—thepacing,the

listeningtotheradioandtelevisionatthesametime,themeasuringofprovisions.He’dtellmetocounttheblanketsandI’dstarttosayI’dalreadycountedthembutthenI’dgetverynervousandnotknowwhatthenumberwassoI’dgocounttheblankets.He’dsaycheckthosecannedgoodsagainandmakesurethecanopeneriswherewecanseeitandI’dthinkI’dalreadydonethat

butwhenIlookedatthementalcannedgoodssectionitwassureempty.FuelcanistersfortheColemanstove?Check.Gallonsofwater?Yes,twentygallonsinfourfive-galloncontainers.Blankets?Didn’tIalreadygoovertheblankets?Nowwegottoadd,asifI

neededtoaddanything,CALLYOURSISTER.Sowecalledmysisterandaskedaboutherprogressaspeople

fromIndianawilldo,whichistosayweaskednothingoutrightbecausethewholesituationisabitjuicyforaHoosier.Insteadwe’dinquireaboutherfeelings.Howareyoufeeling,areyoufeelinganything,likethat,rightupuntilMelindathreatenedbrutalviolenceagainstusifwecalledheragain.I’dhangup,pace,checktherain,listentotheradio,watchDadsmokeandpaceandlistento

theradio.Earlyonthetwenty-fifth

thetemperatureseemedominous.Thehighthatdaywas36degrees(balmy)butthenthetemperaturedroppedto19(stillratherwarm,allthingsinbalance),andtherainturnedtosnow.Fourinchesfellthatday,andDadsteppedupourexercisesuntilIbegantoseeblurryshapesattheedgesofmyvision.Andtheweatherpeople!This

wastheirShangri-la!Finallytheygottosaywhatthey’dalwayswantedto,whichisthatwecanneitherrunnorhide,becauseatmosphericconditionswillprevailintheend.Wearenitscomparedtotheweather,andatlasttherewouldbeproof.Buteventhespecterof

nationallyrespectedtelevisionpersonalitiesweepingontheair,eventheirtooth-gnashingandhair-

pulling,didn’tcausemetoturnthecornerintooutrightterror.Thatdidn’thappenuntilMelindacalledtosaythatDr.HeilmanhadsaidonlyaLifelinehelicoptercouldreachherifshewentintolabor,becauseitcertainlyappearedwewereabouttobestrandedandtheNewBabywasalmostfortyweekscooked.Dr.HeilmanwastheleastalarmistmanIeverknew,soinessencetheBeast

hadtakenovertheWhiteHouseandrevealedhistattooofsixes.AndwhoknewifHenryCountyHospitalevenhadahelicopter?Andwhatdidtheydowithitwhenthereweren’temergencies?AndhowcouldIfinaglearide?Iwonderedinmymorelucidmoments.ItoldmyparentsIwasgoingtostaywithRickandMelinda,andDadsaidabsolutelynot,hewasn’tlettingonemoreofhis

childrenoutofhissight,ifwediedwewereallgoingtodietogether,andhadIcheckedthefuelintheColemanstove?Lyingonmycotbythestovethatnight,certainIwouldneversleeponmylastnightalive,Ihadaglimmerofanidea.ItwastheclosestIwouldevercometoascientifichypothesis:inthesamewaywaterseeksitsownlevel(oneofmymother’sfavoritethingstosay,though

nooneknewwhatitmeant),theanxietylevelofahomewillrisetomeettherequirementsofthemostanxiouspersoninit.Oratleastthatwashowitworkedinmyhouse.Againstimmenseodds,Ifellasleep,anditwassnowing.

ItmighthavebeenthesimplesoundofDad’slighter,thepowerofhisattentionthatwokemeup,oritmighthave

beenbecauseIheardMomsay,“MyGod.”Andthen,“SnowisgeneraloverIreland.”Isatup.“Arewein

Ireland?!?”Itwasashockingidea,butfeasible.“No,no,”Momsaid,

continuingtostareoutthedoorthathadonceledtothebackporchanderstwhilelaundryroom(theporchhadbeentornoffwhenthehousewasbathedinvinylsiding

andalsoI’dneverknownlaundry-doingtobeaccomplishedthere)andnowlookedoutdirectlyontothebackyard.“It’sfromtheendofastorybyJoyce.”Shewasforeverquoting

someone,Ican’tdescribehowpowerfullyvexingitwas.AndhereitturnedoutthatJoyceDickfromthebankhadstartedwritingstories,too,whichmeantthewholetownwaslost.Igotupand

couldfeelit,thehumofthelow-voltageoutlet,generaloverMooreland.Therewasthewind,whichfirstpoundedthehouselikeafist,thenbackedoff,choosingtothreaditswaythroughthedoorsandwindowpanesandthewallswithoutinsulation.ButitwasthesoundunderthewindthatIthinkwecouldallfeel,staringoutthesmallwindowintothebackyard.Therewasnothinginthat

sound.Noonewasmovingorclosingacardoororcallingoutthebackdoorforthedogstoshutup.Therewerenodogs,nobirds,nogrindingbuggynoises.IrememberedastorybyJackLondon,somethingDadloved;attheendamanisdying,freezingtodeathwithhisdog.ThatwasallIrecalledofit.WhenI’dreaditthefirsttimeIcaredonlyaboutthefateofthedog—peopleseemed

ratherexpendablecomparedtoanimals.ButnowIcouldimaginetheentirescene,theworldandallofusinitbroughttoourknees,anditwasthrillinginaway,andIcouldseehowitwouldtakeagiganticwilltoendureit.“Itneverreallygotdark,”

Dadsaid,andIrealizedhe’dbeenstandingrightthereforalongtime.IfeltasifI’dseenitwithhim,thesnowfallingsohardandfastitcarriedits

ownlightandilluminatedtheskyasitcoveredtheground.“How’sMelinda?”Iasked,

slightlybreathlesseventhoughI’donlytakenafewsteps.“Phone’sout,”he

answered,notlookingatme.

Onthetwenty-sixth,thetemperaturedroppedtozerowithwindgustsreachingfifty-fivemilesanhour,loweringthewindchillto

sixtybelow.Bytheendofthedayseventeeninchesofsnowhadblownintodriftsthatrangedfromtentotwentyfeethigh,andstillitcontinuedsnowing.Dadhadtomovetothewindowinthekitchen;thebackdoorwascompletelycovered.Theradiowasneverturnedoff,andthemoreIlistenedtheworsethingsgot:theannouncerswerestrandedatthestationandsounded

happilycrazed,desperate.Therewasnotopicotherthantheblizzardandthesamethingsweresaidagainandagainuntilitseemedwe’dallbeenatitforweeks,undertakingthisevent.AfewtimesDadsaidhewasgoingtotrytostartdiggingusout,thathewouldfindawaytoMelinda’s,butevenIcouldseethathewasn’tgoinganywhere.Iwonderedifwe’dhearthehelicopteroverthe

wind,butIdidn’tdareaskforfearDadwouldtellmethetruth:Melindacouldn’tcallforthehelicopter,andevenifshecould,noonecouldflyundersuchconditions.Shecouldn’tcall;theywouldn’tcome;theycouldn’tfindheranyway.Ilayonmycotnearthe

stove,inmysleepingbag,forhoursatatime.Icouldn’tconcentrateonanythingexceptthesadfacts.Itwasn’t

justMelindaandthebaby—everyoneIloved,everyoneintheworldtome,wasburiedaswewere.MomMaryandDonita,mybrotherandhiswifeanddaughters,myauntsandunclesandcousins,Roseandherfamily,Julieandhers,andtheanimalsattheirfarm—Icouldn’tthinkstraightwhenIconsideredthepossibilities.Whyhadn’tDadandIcalledthemall,whyhadn’tIgonetoRose’sand

countedherblanketsandcheckedherwatersupply?IcouldhavecomfortedmyselfwiththememoryofthemanyfreezersRose’sfamilykeptfilledwitheverythingfromvenisontolastsummer’svegetables,alongwithbreadandmilk.InsteadIconcludedshewasprobablylivingonVelveetacheeseandthosepeculiarsandwichesshemadewithbutterandsugar.Thatpoorgirl,Ihatedthose

sandwiches.AndshewasalsomostlikelybeingmadetoreadJaneEyreagain,justtoescapehersiblings.MyeyesfilledwithtearsandIduckeddowninsidemysleepingbagsoDadwouldn’tsee.

Onthetwenty-seventh,thetemperaturestayedbetweenzeroandeighteendegrees,withawindchillstillindouble-digitnegatives.The

averagewindspeedforthedaywastwentymilesanhour,andtwentyinchesofsnowhadfallen.

Onthetwenty-eighth,whenIwokeup,itwasthreedegreesandsnowing.Thephonewasstillout.

Bythetwenty-ninthofJanuary,thirty-fiveinchesofsnowhadfallenonSouthBend,fortyonsomeother

partsofnorthernIndiana.InChicago,snowfalltotaled74.5inchesfortheyear,settingtherecordforthecity’shistory.Atourhousewesawtheskyforthefirsttimeindays,andbythetimeIgotupDadwaspacingandwaiting.“We’regoingtoyour

sister’s,”hesaid,stubbingouthiscigarette.Irubbedmyeyes,thought

aboutit.“You’vegotaplan,I

hope.”Henodded.“Firstwe’re

goingtodig,andassoonaswecanopenthedoorwe’regoingtowalk.”Well,thereitwas.Iwould

dielikeJackLondon,orDadwould,andeventuallyoneofuswouldhavetoeattheother.Snowwasdriftedupagainsteverywindowonthegroundfloor,andfromtheupstairsitappearedthespecificsoftheworldhad

simplybeenerased—thecarsweregone,thefruittreesinthegardenwerecompletelyconsumed,Dad’slittletoolshedwasjustarooffloatingonawhitesea.“Imadeussnowshoes,”

Dadsaid,andpointedtothefloor.Hehadcutthebottomsoutoffourclothesbaskets,pokedholesinashoeshapeinthemiddle,andlashedourbootstothemwiththelongstrandsofleatherIbought

everyyearwhenwewenttoFriendship,Indiana,towatchthemuzzleloadersandthepeopledressedupascowboysandIndians.Ialwaysimaginedsomethingverycraftyforthoseleatherstrips,somethinginvolvingbeadsandperhapsfeathers.Ialsotalkedmywayintoadeerhideandsomerabbitfurmostyears,andmyultimatedreamwastomarrytheleather,thebeads,thefeathers,andthe

furinagranddesign,afterwhichIwouldtrulyunderstandMotherEarthandFather…something.Juliewouldknow.“Niceworkwiththe

leather,”Isaid.“Thanks.”“Iprobablyoughttotake

mydeerhide.”“Probablyshould.”

Weworkedourwayout,startingbydiggingaroundthe

door.Insomeplacesitseemedthesnowwentonforever,andinotherswe’ddigthroughtoopenair—thedriftsundulatedlikedunes.Bythetimeweactuallystrappedonthesnowshoesandsteppedout,Isawdoom,evenwiththeprogresswe’dmade.Wetestedourshoesandforthemostparttheyworked.TheplasticwasverystiffandheldupevenunderDad’sweight.Theyworked

exceptformyleftone,forwhichDadhadusedasortofflimsybasket.WhenIsteppedonittoohard,theendscurledupanddownthatlegwent,andI’dnotonlyhavetoworkmyfootout,I’dhavetodragupsixty-sevenpoundsofsnowwiththeplasticspoonIwaswearing.“Thisismytruck,”Dad

said,standingonwhatseemedtobesnow.“AndIthinkthecarisrightthere.”

Icouldn’treallytakeinwhatIwasseeing,soIjustfollowedbehindhim,mostlyonmyrightfoot.TherewasalottosaybutIkeptquiet.Thetowncontinuedtobesilentandunmovinginawaythatcausedawingedfeelinginmystomach;eventhroughmyhat,myhood,andthedeerhidewrappedaroundmyheadIcouldhearDad’sbreathingasplainlyasmyown.Ifhehadn’tbeen

leadingthewayIwouldhavegottenlost,oratleastconfused.Ihadthoughtthetreeswouldserveasmarkersbuttheydidn’t.Weigheddownwithsnow,itstrunkburied,everytreelookedthesame,andthesunlight,weakasitwas,wasblinding.“There’sReedandMary’s

house,”Dadsaid.Isquinted.“Oh.You’re

right.”Wetrudgedonward,andat

somepointDadknewtoturnonJeffersonStreet.Afterthat,itwasalong,coldwalkforhimandalong,gameyhopforme.Iproceededbylooking

down,butDadlookedinalldirections.HepausedinfrontofMaxandAdeline’shouse,butwenton.Hepausedafewtimes,butkeptwalking.Afterwhatseemedtobedaysanddays,justatthepointIwasgoingtostartbegginghimfor

beefjerkyandtojustletmesleep,likeinthemovies,hesaid,“There’ssmoke,”pointingattheroofofLindy’shouse.Iwasquitecertainhemeant

Melindahadburnedthehousedown,butinfacttherewasjustaribbonofsmokecurlingoutofthechimney.Westaredatitamoment,boththinkingthatiftheworsthadhappenedRickwouldn’tblithelybeheatingtheliving

room.Surelynot.WetookafewmorestepsandIsawsomething,Dadsawsomething.ItwasalittleRick-shapedthingwithashovel,workinglikeamole,aswehad.DadcalledoutandRicklookedup,yelledbackthatMelindawasfine,nobabyyet.Webroketheskinofthatstormandsettheworldmovingagain.InNewCastle,snowplowswerealreadywarmingup,andall

overthecountymenwithbigtrucksweresearchingfordoorhandlesandsomegroundtostandon,mostofthemcarryingflaskstheywouldsipfromthroughouttheday.Iunderstood—itwasahardbusiness.WewouldeventuallyhelpRick,whohadaterribletoothache,andwe’dmakeourwayinsidewhereIwouldstripoffmycoatanddeerfurandlaundrybasketsandswoopup

JoshasifI’djustreturnedfromtenyearsatsea.Butfirstwestoodthere,onthetopofacarorawellhouseorachickencoop,andlookedaround.“My,my,”Dadsaid.“It’s

reallysomething,isn’tit.”“It’sbeautiful,”Iagreed.

“It’sthemostbeautifulthingI’veeverseen.”

Twodayslater,Rickhadfour

wisdomteethremovedandMelindawentintolabor.Onlyforty-eighthourstoexhumethetownandthecars,togettothehighwayandallthewaytoNewCastle.Itwasn’tmuchtime,butwetookit.AndiftherewaseveranythingintheworldforwhichIwouldfeelpermanentlygrateful,somethingI’dbethankingtheuniversefortotheendofmydays,itwasthatsliverof

time.WitheverysteptowardcivilizationwemadeIsaid,Thankyou,universe.

IcouldhearRickandMelindatalkinginthebedroomasMelindagatheredherbagsandherbookforthehospital.“No,Idon’tthinkshe’stoo

young,”Lindysaid,andRicksaidokay.Iwasstandingintheliving

roominfrontoftheFranklin

stove,intheveryexactspotwhereI’dbeenstandingtheAugustbefore,twirlingmybaton,whenmysoapoperawasinterruptedtoannouncethedeathofElvisPresley,causingmetositdownunexpectedlyonmybuttandalsotobehitbymyfallingbaton.“Andwedon’thaveanyone

else.DadandMomaredrivingaheadofustothehospital,”Melindasaid,and

Rickagreed.Hemadeanoiseofagreement,thatis,becausehisfacehadswollenupfromthesurgerythatmorningsobadly,andintwosuchdistinctspots,thathelookedlikeaneuroticchipmunk,onewhohadn’trealizedwinterhadalreadycomeanddoneitsworst.Iwashelplessagainsttellinghimso,whichwasunfortunate.AlsoIhadhadtoburymyfaceinthepillowsonthecouchtwice

becauseIwaslaughingsohardIfearedmylungshadcollapsed,notatRickexactlybutatthatsadlittlerodent.Hemadesomenoisesthat

soundedlike,“She’stwelve,”oratleastthat’swhatIheard,becauseIwastwelve.“That’strue,”Melindasaid,

“butwedon’thaveanyoneelseandwehavetogo.”Theywereoutthedoor

withinstructionsandphonenumbersandgoodbyes,andI

don’tknowwhatMelindaexpectedtoseeonmyfacebutshedidn’tseeit.Iwatchedthemcreepoffdownthesnow-packedstreetsbehindDad’struckwiththebigsnowtires,thenIsnuckintoJosh’sroomandsatonthefloor,waitingforhimtowakeup.Whenhesatupinhisnewbig-boybed,talkingandrubbinghiseyes,Ipickedhimup.Hewrappedhisarmsandlegsaroundmelikea

juniormonkeyandwesatintherockerawhile,rocking.Hesighed,wakingabitatatime,thensatupandpointedattherugonthefloor.“Punt?”heasked.“Ummm,

punter?”Trucks,hemeant,and

tractors.WouldIhelphimplowtheruginstraightevenrowswithhistrucks,histractors,andhisdisc?Iabsolutelywould.WhileweweresittingthereIsaid,

“Guesswhat?”Joshlookedup,shrugged.“We’regoingtobehere

alonetogetherforatleastthreedaysandtwonights.Justyouandme.”Hestaredatme,waitingto

hearwhetherthiswasgoodorbad.Iraisedmyarmsabovemyheadandsaid,“Yay!”Joshraisedhisarmsabovehisheadandsaid,“Yay!”Weclappedawhile,plowedtherug.Hewastwo.

Icoveredhishigh-chairtraywithCheeriosandhesatverystill.Ikneltdowninfrontofthehighchairuntilhecouldn’tseeme,poppedupabove,andsaid,“Pee-boo!”inthevoicedogsandchildrenlove.Joshjumped,smackedhistraysohardinsurpriseCheerioswentflying,thenlaughedsohelplesslyhisnosewrinkledupandhehadtoputhisheaddownrightonthecereal.Heraisedbackupand

therewereCheeriosstucktohisforeheadandchin.“Again?”Iasked.Henodded.Ididitagain,andagain,untilalltheCheerioswereonthefloor.ThenIgothimdownandweatethemoffthefloor,asGodintended.

SometimethatdayRickcalledandsaidwehadahealthygirl.Thosewerehiswords,ahealthygirl.I

thankedhimforcallingandaskedhimtogivemylovetoMelinda.WhatIreallymeantwas“Thatmakesnosensetome.JoshandIarecoloring.”

Afterdinnerandaraucousbubblebath,abathduringwhichmaybemorebubblesgotoutofthetubthanstayedin,asIwasgettingJoshreadyforbedinhisyellowfootypajamaswiththebearstitchedon,Rickcamehome.

HelookedsobadevenIcouldn’tlaugh.IaskedaboutMelindaandthebabyandhenoddedaffirmatively,calledthebabybynameashelaydownonthecouch,visiblysuffering.Abigail.Abby,hesaid.IzippedupJosh’spajamasbutotherwisecouldn’tmove.Ithoughttheword“Abby”andanarrowflewstraightintomyheart,itslammedintomychest,ourhealthygirl,ababygirl.

Abigail.Joshwalkedover,pattedRickonthechest,said,“Nighnight,Daddy.”

Overthenexttwodays,JoshworehisRobinHoodhatandrodehisbouncyhorse.WelayonthecouchlikedrunkardsandwatchedcartoonsandIneversaid,“That’saboutenoughtelevision,isn’tit?”Wemadeartprojectsthatcameoutverybadly.WhenIsaidit

wasnaptimeheclimbedupinhisbedandwenttosleep.IfIthoughthemightbehungryIasked,thenfedhim.IkeptthefiregoingintheFranklinstoveandneveroncesetthehouseonfire.AfterRickcamehomeatnightandwenttobedIlayonthecouchinthedark.Abby.TherewasanAbby.I’dhadnoidea.

Whentheygothomefromthehospital,JoshandIwere

waitinginthekitchen.I’ddressedhiminaturtleneckandbiboverallsandweheldhandsasMelindawalkedthroughthedoor.Sheseemedtiredbutotherwisequitecheerfulandjustlikeherself,andIreallyreallylovedherbutIhadtostopmyselffromsaying,“Scootchoutofthewaythere,Sister,”becauseRickwascomingthroughthedoorcarryingAbby.AllIcouldseewasthethickwhite

blanket,butIheldoutmyarmsandsaid,“Givehertome,givehertome,”andtheygavemetheirnewborn.IwasthepersonwhohadfedabiteofmudpietoLaurie’slittlebrotherandmadehimthrowup.I’dhelpedRoseconvinceherbabybrotherPatricktositonaboxinhisbedroomandwaitforthebus.I’dhelpedagirlnamedDanawritealloverherbedroomcurtainswithaninkpen.Butallof

thatseemedsofaraway;itwasbeforeJosh,beforetheblizzard,beforethemomentIliftedthecornerofthereceivingblanketandsawmyperfect,sleepingniece.Ismelledherhead,herneck.Onethingwascleartomeallthewayinmybones,itwassodeepandfactualIbarelyneededtoconsiderit:themoreIwastrusted,themoretrustworthyIbecame.“Look,Joshy,”Isaid,

kneelingdown.“Thisisyoursister.”Heleanedoverandlooked

atthelittlefacenestledintheblankets,notgettingtooclose.Hisbluetennisshoesstayedplantedonthefloor.“Seeher?”Isaid.He

nodded.IloweredtheedgeoftheblanketoverAbby’sface,lifteditagain.“Pee-boo!”Joshjumped,clapped.He

leanedoverandtookanotherlook.

Gold

IftheMountSummitkidshadn’tarrivedIneverwouldhavehadtocontemplatehowtowalkthelinebetweenmyoldlifeandmynew,betweenmyoriginal,steadfastfriendsandthepeoplesuddenlyavailabletome.Theoriginals

weredoingit,too,andnoonemademuchofafussaboutit.MomtriedtopointouttomethattheMountSummitkidshadtheirownoriginalfriends,peoplethey’dstartedkindergartenwith,buttherewasnopercentageinconsideringsuchathingwhenobviouslytheyhadsprungupinfifthgrade,fullyformed.JeanneAnnwasnewbut

shedidn’tseemtobe;she

wastheeasiestfriendI’deverhad,andatthirteenIlovedherfiercely.Thefiercenessandeaseweretieduptogether,somehow.Julie,bycontrast,wasfamilyandlikefamilyweownedeachotherpermanentlybutohlordthewaythatgirlranmeragged.Asifthefarmweren’tenough,shewasbecominganathleteofepicproportionsanditwasaflatpunishmentforme.Therewe’dbeat

schoolandthegirlwaslikeapieceofmyownselfandnotonlythatbutwewereandhadalwaysbeentruetoeachother—trueinawayeveryonecouldseeandIknewitwasrare.ButingymclassIheldmybreathandsaidlittleprayerstoafluctuatingcastofJesusesthatourgymteacherdidn’tmakeJuliethestudentleaderbecauseitwouldmeanmycertainsuffering.Andthegym

teacheralwaysmadeJuliethestudentleaderbecausecomparedtoher,Olympicsprinterswerefatandlazy.Julie’swillwascastironandifwewereassignedfiftysit-upsshesawnoreasonweshouldn’tdoseventy-five.Quietasshewasthegirlcouldwranglesit-upsoutofusuntilourstomachmuscleswerebleedingandasruinedasoldrubberbands.Andshetormentedme,me

specifically!duringeverymannerofgrotesqueexercise!Ifweweredoingleg-liftsshe’dmakeusholdthemostviciousoneforhours.TheoverweightgirlswouldgiveupfirstandJuliewouldn’tsayaword.Thenanothergroupwouldfallandnothingfromourleader.ButeveniftheonlypeopleleftwiththeirlegsshakinganinchoffthegroundwereJulie,me,andthethreebestbasketball

playersonthegirls’team,ifIloweredmylegsshewouldbark,“Jarvis!Getthoselegsup!”andIwoulddoit,whichwaslunaticandIdidn’tevenunderstanditbutthereyougo.Whenwechosean

opponentfortennisJuliewasthestudentleadersoshegottogofirstandItriedtohidebehindothergirlsbutIwasquitetall.Iprayed,evenlettingmylipsmovea

little,PleaseJesuswhowantednoonetoknowYouwerehere,makemeinvisibleaswouldhavebeenexcellentinyourowncasesothatJuliemaynotseemeandchoosemeasheropponentandthenwallopmewithtennisballsforthenexthour,amen.Butitwasnouse.Iwouldspendthehourgoing“Whoa!Ow!Ouch,JulieAnn!You’rehittingtoohard!”AndwhenthingsgotreallydesperateI’d

try,“Ihaveanidea—ouch!Let’sseeifwecanmimeplayingtennis.”InresponseI’dseeablur,whichwasJulie’sservetraveling800milesanhour,andshe’dpausejustlongenoughtosay,“Seventy-four–love,”orhoweverthatgoes,andthen,“Nomimes.”Juliehadspentourwhole

livestogethertryingtomakemeabetterpersonandmanytimesshecamedarnedclose

tosucceeding.Shewasbothgoodandgoodateverythingsheturnedhermindto,whichwastheoppositeofme,therewasnosenseindenyingitevenfromourearliesttimes.IntracksheranthehardestracesandGodabovesheflew.Shewouldn’ttieherhairbackandnoonemadehersoitsailedoutbehindher,partsolid,partliquid,likesilkcaughtinthewindandpulledfromyourhand.Onemoment

itwasmahogany,dazzling;thenextitwasred-winedark.Onthebasketballteamshewassoquickandferocioussheintimidatedeveryone—tallergirls,girlswhooutweighedher,playerswhowouldcheatandhurtsomeone.Andvolleyball,andgolffortheloveofHeaven,sincewhendidfarmgirlsmasterGOLF?Juliewasabrilliantpainterandshewrotebeautifullettersandshe

alwaysdidherhomeworkeveninthesubjectsshedidn’tlike,andmostoftenwithoutawordshetriedtotakemewithhertothatlandwhereshelived,aplaceofgraceandpowerandrightness.Shetriedtoteachmepride,thekindyouearn,thekindthatarriveswhenbrutaleffortistransformedintomagnificence.Juliewasmagnificent,IwasproudofherwitheverybreathIdrew,

andfreelyso.ButIdidn’tneedthatprideformyself.Iwasbetteratgivingitaway.Allthoseyearswe’dfacedeachother,thatbelovedred-hairedgirlandI,withourpalmswideopen—aminormiracleiswhatitwas.IfIhadanythingJuliecouldshareit,Ibegrudgedhernothing.Muchmoreoften,maybeallthetimesthatmattered,itwasshewhohadwhatIneededanditpassed

fromherhandstomine,yearafteryearthiswasso,andallsheaskedinreturnwasthatItryjustalittleharder.Notashardasshedid,butsome.Iwasexhausted.TherewasRose,ofcourse,

whowasnothingatalllikeJulieandstillwehadn’thaditeasy.Wehadtoworktokeepfrombreakingeachother’snoses.Wehadputupourdukesonmorethanoneoccasionandalsowe’dtaken

oathsagainsteachotherandstompedhomeinafit;well,I’mtalkingaboutmyselfherebecauseitwasalwaysmehavingthefitanddoingthestompinganditwasalwaysmegoinghomefromRose’shousenottheotherwayaround.I’dmarchintothedenandpointingattheskyI’dsaytoMom,“Markmywords!ThatRoseandIarefinished,done,kaput.”MaybeMomwouldaskwhat

thetroublewasthistimeormaybeshe’dskiprightaheadtoDelonda’sLawsofLife,whichwererepeatedsooftenmysisterandIhadassignedthemnumbers.Weaskedthatinthefutureshesimplyholduptwofingersifshewantedtoremindusnottosmoke;oneifwe’dforgottenthereain’tnofreelunch.NumberfourwastheonethatmostoftenappliedtomyfriendshipwithRose:Isthis

thehillyou’regoingtodieon?IwouldshakemyheadbecausenumberfivewasThereisnevertherighthilltodieon.Momwasniceaboutitbutleftlittleroomforargument.IfIclompeddowntoMelinda’sandmademycasetoher,shewasevenlesssympathetic.SheadoredRoseandMaggieandPatrick,she’dbeentheirbabysitteratacriticaltimeintheirdevelopment,justlikeyou

havetoholdpuppiesclosetoyouforthefirstsixweeksorelsetheyturntocurs.Rosewasnotacur.IftherewasacurinthemixIpreferredshenotbesingledoutorcalledbyname.I’dpointtowardtheskyanddeclare,“Lindy!IamdonewithRoseasoftoday,”andMelindawouldsay,notevenlookingupfromhersewingmachineorfeedingAbby,whatevershewasdoing,“LuckyRose.God

knowswhysheeverlovedyouinthefirstplace.”Andthatwastheholytruth.

AssoonasIheardit,everytimeIhearditIturnedaroundandwentbacktoRose’shouseandwouldn’tyouknowsheactedasifnothinghadevergonewrongandsodidI.IfbeanbagshadbeeninvolvedIjustsettocleaningupthebeans.Isweptup,orRosedid,andthenwe’dputaBroadwaymusicalonthe

recordplayerandsingandsing.We’ddreamoutloudofhavingstraighthair,whatitwouldbeliketonotbreakallthefamilycombs,whowastoblameforhowourhairwasanyway.Shewasmytalkingfriend,

thebestgirlintheworld.Wewereoftenmistakenfortwins,welovedallthesamethings,wewereabsolutelynothingalike.IwasanexpertonthatRose,Icouldhave

testifiedincourtastohercharacterwithoutfearofperjury.ButeventhoughIwatchedhereverymoveandlivedinherhouseandwasraisedinnosmallmeasurebyherparents,somethingeludedme,Icouldn’tgetit.Icouldn’tunderstandhowshedidit—itbeingeverything,lifeitself.Ifourteacherssaid,“Thisistheassignmentandthisiswhenit’sdue,”Rosesimplydiditandshewasn’t

angryaboutitandshedidnotfuss.Heranswerswerecorrect,herhandwritingwasneatthoughtragicallyleft-handed.Shenevergotintroubleandtheteachersalwayslikedher(howthatwouldfeelI’dneverknow),anditseemedthatforRoseschoolwasasetofstairsshetrulyenjoyedclimbing;shewasalwayshappytoseewhatwasonthesixthfloorandthentheseventh.

IfithadonlybeenschoolIcouldhaveshruggeditoff,havinglongsinceadjustedtobothmyidiocyandmystatus,andalsoIwasnotpronetobeinghauntedbyfailure.Fortunately.ButRosewasalsogoodatgoingtochurchandbeingreligious—shemadeitseemeffortless—sheenjoyedit,shemeantit.AndshewasCatholic!Herchurchwasn’teveninMooreland,theyhadtogetupandget

dressedandwearpantyhose(justthefemales)andthendriveallthewaytoNewCastleinallmannerofweatherandturbulenceinordertositthroughaCatholicMass,whichwhatwasallthataboutanyway,andsheenjoyedit!IwenttochurchwithhereverychanceIgot,Istudiedonherandonthewholethinganditwasindescribablyweird,atleastforafaithlessbutnonetheless

Quakergirl.Icouldn’tkeepupwiththechoreographyofit,thestandingandkneeling,Icouldn’tfigureoutwhatIwassupposedtobesayingatanygiventime.IcouldneverseemtomemorizetheApollo’sCreed,asmanytimesasRosetriedtoteachittome.Quakerismhadgotteninme,blastit,andsoformeforalltimechurchmeantasilent,emptyroomandthehopeofanemptymindinto

whichtheSpiritmightpour.Iftherewasspeakingoutofthatsilence,noone,notevenGodhimself,couldpredictwhatwouldbesaid.IsatinSt.Anne’sandIlovedit,Ilovedit,whocouldnotlovesuchbeautyanddrama,whatmymothercalledtheChurch’smarchacrossTime?MarchingIunderstood.Mom’slongingIunderstood,thewaysheneverreallygotoverbeingexpelledfromthe

catechismforaskingtoomanyquestions.Shewastenyearsold.NomatterhowIlovedit,IknewinaninstantIcouldn’tdoit,Ineverwouldhavebeenabletodoit;silencewasmyfamiliar,andevenifIdidn’tadmititIknewthattheMeetingIwasfleeingfromhadauthorityoverme,silencehadauthorityovermethoughIsworeIwouldn’tallowit.Butobediencewasoutofthe

question.ObediencewasquitepossiblythehillIwoulddieon,whichIdidn’tmentiontoMomandassumedDadalreadyknew.Itwashishill,too.ButRosehadbeengivenan

astonishinggift,oneIenviedbutdidnotcovet,asthatwouldhavebeenstupidandacompletewasteoftime.Shehadthegiftofpiety,andofradiance.Itlookedtomeasiftheassignments,therules,the

orderoftheMass,andeventhegettingupandgoingwereforRoseasortoffreedom.Shesaid,“Tellmewhatyouwantandwhen,”andknowingtheanswerandcompletingthetaskwerelibertiesforher,notthedeath-by-a-thousand-cutstheywereforme.Shegoteverythingrightandshewasstillfree.IknowtheexactmomentI

realizedit.Wewereina

WorldHistoryclassandIwasseateddirectlybehindher.Therewasapossibilityourteacherwaslegallyinsaneandsomyrespectforhimwasunwavering.Thatdidn’tstopmefrompassingnotestothepeopleallaroundme,butnottoRosebecausethatwasn’therway.Thedayswhenitwouldhaverubbedagainstmelikeacatinasandpapersuit—thefactofthatnotbeingherway—just

fellfromme,Icouldfeelthemfalling.Ilookedatthebackofherhead,atthethickblackhairthatwouldneverbestraightandIthought,“Oh,sheisdeartome,”andeverafterIknewitwastrue.Neveragain,neverdidIimaginemylifewithoutRoseinit.Bythetimewewere

thirteenRoseandIhadbeenfriendsfornineyears.Nineyearsisaneffort,itrequires

commitment,andthatmuchhistorybecomesheavy,ithasweight.Therewereallthosenosebleeds(RosewastheonlypersonIeverknewwithchronic,scarynosebleeds,soIassumeditwasaCatholicthing);herstrangerelationshipto“whitechocolate,”whichwas,nodoubtaboutit,aleft-handedinvention.Weknewhundredsofsongsthatonlysoundedrightifwesangthem

together.Ihadmodifiedhercanopybedfromfourposterstothree,byjumpingoutofbedandswingingtothefloor.TheposterIwasswingingonbecameagiganticstickinmyhand.IhaddestroyedRose’sfurniture.Iwaswithherthedayshelearnedthatthekindergarten-agedboyoftheirclosestfamilyfriendshadbeenkilledinanaccidentsofreakishitdefiedallreason,andIwaswithherin

thedaysthatfollowed.Iknewthatononemorningherparentswokeupandturnedtogiveeachotherakisshelloandatjustthatmomenttheircat,Snowball,raisedhisheadbetweenthemandtheyendedupkissinghiscatcheeks.Thatstoryhadcausedmetofalldownlaughing.Thelistwasinfinite,whatIknewaboutRose,whatsheknewaboutme—ifcalledtotestifytohercharacterIcould

havedonesoforweeks,months,andKnowledgearrivedwithResponsibilityonitsback.Mylordthatcanmakeapersontired.Iwassparedthatweight

withJeanneAnn.Shewasajoytome,shewasanewwayofbeing,andlikeoxygen.Nightafternightsheletmegothrougheverysinglethingsheowned,everyitemintheroomshe’dlivedinallherlife,andaskheraboutit.

Wheredidthiscomefrom?I’dask,andshe’dsay,IgotthatinFloridawhenwewentthereonvacation,Iwasseven,Ihavepicturesofmyselffeedingseagulls,doyouwanttoseethem?Ididwanttoseethem.Nothingwasoff-limitstome,either;sheneveronceaskedmenottolookatsomething,nottoopenaboxoraletterorajournal.Wedidthatforhoursandthenwefriedbologna

andtookitinthelivingroom,whereJeanneAnnpracticedgymnasticswhilewewatchedhorrormoviesandteenagersdancingonTV.Itdidn’toccurtomethatgivenenoughtimeI’dknowheraswellasIknewRoseorJulieandthatourownhistorywouldbecomeaweightwe’deithershoulderandcarryforlife,asRoseandIwould,asitwouldbeforJulieandmenomatterwhat.Orelsewe’dput

itdown.WhowouldthinkofsuchathingwhilewatchingamovieaboutademonicbabycalledIt’sAlive?Whatdifferencedidallthatmake?JeanneAnnhadlong,straight,silkyblondhairthatpuddledonthefloorlikespilledcreamasshedidbackbends.Shewaspainfullyfunnyandprettyandshelovedtoeat—I’dnevermetanyonewhostayedsoclosetopleasure.Ifshewanteda

pizzashemadeone,andhermomkeptalltheingredientsonhandforthenextone.Samewithcakesandbrowniesandcookies.JeanneAnncookedandtoldmestoriesandIsatatthekitchentablesickfromlaughing.Iwasinjuredfromlaughing.Weateatallhoursofthedayandnight.Weturnedonherdisco-balllightinthelivingroomanddancedlikefoolsandsaidoutrageousthings

andgaveeachothernicknames.Weworematchingnecklacesanddividedawardrobebetweenus.Therewasnothingtoit;itwasaseasyasfallingoffabridge.AtJeanneAnn’shouse,orgoingsomewhereinthecarwithhermom,orwalkingdowntohersecretplacealongthecreekbed,IwasthehappiestI’deverbeen,everever.Weneverbickered—therewasnothing

tobickerabout.Thetricktosuchafriendshipisn’tatrickatall—youjusthavetohavethesamegoal,andwedid:tomaketheotherhappy,andtobetogether.Shecameoutofnowhere,andbythatImeanshelivedatacrossroadswheretherewerefourotherhousesscatteredaboutandthatwasit.Ifshe’dtoldmeshedidn’thaveanaddressIwouldhavebelievedherbutfollowedher,becausewho

knowswhereyouendupanyway,takingupwithsomeonenew?Wewerethirteen,andlituplikestars.

LawEnforcement

AftershebecameaMaster,MomtookherfirstjobteachingEnglishatahighschoolinUnionCity,averyfascinatingplaceasanyonefromIndianacantellyou.Itwaseitherasingletowncut

intwo,ortwodifferenttownswiththesamenamethathappenedtobeconnectedtoeachother,or.TherewasprobablyanotherwaytothinkaboutitbutIdidn’tknowwhatthatwas.AsIunderstoodityoucouldstandinaparticularplaceandstraddleanimaginaryline(youcouldn’tseeitbutitwasmostassuredlyreal)andoneofyourlegswouldbeinUnionCity,Indiana,andthe

otherwouldbeinUnionCity,Ohio.IndianaandOhioaretwoverydistinctstatesnomatterwhatpeopleontelevisionmaysay.Thefactthatasingletowncontainsbothisnotthepoint.WhatisthepointisthatUnionCitywaswaybiggerthanMooreland—thousands(threeorfour)ofpeoplelivedthere—andtheytookthismadnessperfectlyinstrideEVENTHOUGHIndiana

doesn’tbelieveinDaylightSavingsTimeandOhiodoes,andsoduringhalftheyearoneofyourlegswouldbeinthreeo’clockandonewouldbeinfour.Ohitwasvexing.Ibecameoverwhelmedwiththedesiretofindaplacedirectlyonthestatelineandputmybuttonit.Momentertainedthiswishandwelookedarounduntilwefoundadinerwebelievedwoulddothetrick,andItracedwhatI