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ITERARY
The Things We Forget_Jennifer McQueen
Stainless Steel and Sleeplessness_Jeremy Crawford
In the Gallery_Jennifer McQueen
Yellow Flowers_Caroline Darrow
Pink_Jennifer McQueen
Truth Bubbles_Charles Ball
On Building Character_Ryan Kirby
Also Defined as the Punctuation at the End of a Sentence...{Men DonTt Get It)_ Beth Corson
Bullshit, Pullshit_Jeremiah Johnson
Daffodils_Ed Ballard
Wings on Hemlock_Ed Ballard
Beautiful Actor_Amber Brown
Beauty in Ink_Beth Corson
Death of a Woman_Christina Miller
NON-FICTION om
-REDIT
Staff
Image Bank
Acknowledgements
Notes
292
294
298
304
:
:
;
|
Amber Brown Beautiful Actor
ou rsesowell
But what story do you tell
The lies that we weave
The words that deceive
But what do they mean
beautiful actor
you smile so bright
you tell no one
of your tears at night
what do | fear you ask
when did | start to hide
behind this mask
beautiful actor
how you live so simply
yet you put your head in the mo
of the only beast that is hungry
take your bow
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aoejd pug Aye 42143ed
aoejd puz IqeMeN eIWwAY ex149
aoejd 4s} IqeMeN e1wAy ex119
Caroline Darrow
rounded her frail body like barbed wire. My grandmother stared out at me,
as if her cloudy eyes were the only things her eighty-one year-old cage had
yet to capture. | could tell she was happy to see me. She was always social
and wanted to talk about every little thing. SheTd mention the same subject
three or four times, and I'd give the same response, or sometimes a
different one, just to get her to laugh. She was always able to laugh at her
condition. She'd laugh like nobody was looking. | can hardly remember how
it Sounded; | just know that it was great. She'd tilt her head back, and
Maybe scrunch her delicate nose, almost to let the world know it hadn't
conquered her yet. It hadn't.
_Though she forgot the day, the year, and the name of the boy | was dating,
she remembered everything there was to remember about our family. oIs it
Charles you're dating?� she'd ask. oNo, Grandma itTs Paul.� Five minutes
later she'd begin, oAnd how is Charles doing?� She'd mention at least three
times that my brother Russ had called. And Aunt Jean was not doing well
in Georgia. If | mentioned one of my friends doing art at school, her
automatic response was, oSo is your cousin, Sylvia. She designed lots of art
for a mall in Georgia...� She knew what the art looked like, the name of the
mall, and every detail on the shopping bags. Those stories were wonderful.
Such wonderful moments. During them, she wasnTt complaining that
she'd forgotten something. She knew the names and numbers and she
was Grandma again.
_As | stared into her blurry eyes, | wondered what was going on inside her.
What could a person who has seen so much think in her mindTs eye? Is it the
Same as everyone else? Does she have some profound thought that no one
will ever know because she'll forget to share it with someone before sheTs
gone? When | shifted around in the orange- cushioned chair, she asked if |
was cold. When the nurses strolled in and out, she struggled to recall their
names. When | asked who sent her flowers, she usually couldn't remember.
Once, my brother sent her flowers and she called me three times to ask me
to come see them. | finally found the time to go to her house and she
29
pointed them out over and over until | could only sigh, laugh, and say, Yes,
ct inina | saw the flowers.� Before | made it home, there was a message
on the answering machine: Caroline? ItTs Grandmama. Did | remember to
show you the flowers Russ gave me? They are purty. Call me back.� Then
she d leave her phone number. Of course | knew it. She'd lived in the same
house as long as I'd been alive. I'd call her back, careful not to embarrass
her. She always took the calls with the same good-hearted defiance.
Perhaps it should've saddened her, but instead she laughed it away to
corner of the room. But it would stay in that corner and peer out at her
an angry old man waiting for his next move in a chess game against her
mind. She couldn't win
She was in good spirits that day. | felt guilty for wanting to leave. I'd make
it out to the parking lot and the sobbing would begin. Hospitals are full of
those creatures that feed on oneTs mind while peering out from the corners
of the ill-lit hospital rooms. They sometimes pry into the bricked up walls of
the healthy minds that visit the sick. ThatTs when you leave crying and
depressed with the circumstances. Those were the uncontrollable sobs that
ertake oneTs body"
a
2
| | Viel = 4
HOST A
VOMITING
the way children do. When tenderhearted people spend time ina hospital
and become the prey to the mind games, they sometimes lose, not only the
game, but control. After they get out of the situation, they shudder off the
depressing things and regain control of their thoughts, a little stronger for
the next visit. ThatTs how people build up immunity, to the point that the
creatures can't affect them anymore. The hard of heart have no sympathy for
the suffering they witness within hospital walls.
_She talked about the food and the nurses, and | drifted into thoughts about
how healthy she was less than a decade ago. She started picking me up
after school in third grade and did faithfully until | relieved her of her duties
when | reached high school. The days when she picked me up remain some
of my fondest memories of her. She'd take me to the RoseTs that has since
been torn down. She'd show me off to her friends in the store while | begged
for a Barbie or a coloring book. She gave me so much attention. She took
care of me and drove me around. She was always concerned with whatever |
was doing, from sports to dancerreqitals. oHas your name heen in the paper
for swimmi wpe ask with sO.
m U ch hi 0 p e = My brother and sister were wonderful
tennis players, and she kept up with their matches so much she earned the
nickname oTennis Grandma.� Perhaps she was too old to pick up a new
sport, since | didnTt follow the tradition of playing tennis. (I played, but |
wasn't a number one seed like Russ and Dodi}. But she'd make it to
whatever | was doing when her cage would allow it. And though she couldn't
pick out which one | was on the field or on stage, she knew | was up there,
and that was enough.
_The days of tennis matches, swim meets, soccer games, and dance recitals
whisked past us the way the wonderful Christmas season does.
If the world is a Stage, then it is a cruel one. My grandmother and |
unintentionally traded scripts. | began to pick her up and take her to run her
errands. When she got into my car, I'd help her get the seatbelt on. We'd
head off to the grocery store. She'd look for her bargains and whatever she
32
had coupons for. oThis was in this weekTs circular,� sheTd remark. Then
she'd pick up a bunch of bananas that satisfied her eyes, pick one off the
bunch and set it back on the stand, and then pick one off another bunch
and put it in the cart. To her, it was control. To her, it made sense. She had
her five bananas, and the one extra, and she was satisfied with thirty-nine
cents a pound. I'd help her sign checks and she'd get the part of the bill
We werenTt to mail back and shred it to pieces, envelope and all. It made
Sense. She was in control.
_But at this moment, in the hospital, she wasnTt in control of anything,
except her eyes. Her body was separate from her mind. A tube allowed her
to use the bathroom without moving. She still had her mind, but it was
fading...sheTd be left with only control of her eyes. They'd peer into
the world with defiance, but they couldnTt laugh with the spirit that
her mouth could.
These hospital stays became more frequent as my grandmother lost con-
trol. SheTd stop taking her diabeties medication, defying the
doctors...surely if she ate right, she'd not need the insulin. If she could
just get control of her blood sugar. If. But she couldnTt, and my mother
would find her on the floor...in control of nothing. Just lying there. She'd
only had enough strength to move to the end of the couch where the phone
Was. She couldnTt move her arm to Lift th
We er againjin the sn O- Chastise
er Badvde Teton and
pneduinge er to just take
» She wanted to dance at our
weddings"my brother's, my sisterTs, and mine. She'd hold her fist as tight
as she could, shake it in the air, and promise she wouldnTt make that mis-
take again. oIf only | could be well! | want to go to the beach again!�
Somehow, this time | knew she wasnTt going to the beach again. | thought
at first Perhaps the thing lurking in the corner whispered the secret into
my ear...but ITm now sure God told me, so | could make my peace with it.
33
. a EN EEE FE Sa ee r -
oO ; :
It had worked at the telephone company for forty-four years. The ring on her
finger was given to her upon her retirement. Forty-four was age she
gle, le.m SheT ehaat=) ent er, as mall chi
mon nBF° fOr Neg rkey kek ae
picture of those moments. It was too late to ask bs about them.
_She knew | was there. ITm not sure how, but she did. She said my name, |
think. | canTt remember much of it now. But | remember the flowers. For
some reason, the room was covered with yellow flowers. All her friends had
chosen to give her yellow flowers for this hospital stay. As | held her hand, |
gazed around the room in wonder of those yellow flowers. Why yellow? It has
since become my favorite color. What a coincidence, | thought, or as a wise
person once told me, a God-incidence. | considered this God-incidence for a
moment and continued to look at the yellow flowers that sang around my
grandmother. And | began to pray.
_oGod, please take each of these flowers, and make it an angel. Please use
each of these angels to watch over my grandmother. | want her to stay. |
graduate in two days and | want her to see it. But | also donTt want her to be
in pain. So please do what's best for her and not what | want.� | knew what
was best somehow, and so | continued. oPlease take each of these yellow
flowers, the ones on the table and the ones in the picture on the wall. Use
these flower-angels to carry my Grandmother safely up to you. DonTt let her
suffer anymore. She canTt even see. Please just let everything be okay, and
let her be happy again.�
_My Grandmother died at around 3:00 or 4:30 in the morning. Whatever time
it was, both my Dad and my brother woke up and looked at the clock. A
whisper told them what had happened, but they went back to sleep. | was
alerted to what happened in the morning. For a while | wondered why | did-
n't wake up in the middle of the night too, but | realized that | had already
made my peace, and there was no one to whisper to me.
36
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. F
_When | returned from graduation practice on Friday morning, my sister had
made it into town from Raleigh. She was sifting through a book of program
covers for the funeral. | moped about the house, staring at all my graduation
presents mixed with the flowers and food for my grieving family. It was
strange to see visitors come up with a promising and hopeful gift in one
hand and melancholy flowers in the other. My sister called me into the |
kitchen because she'd chosen a program cover. She wanted me to look at it,
to see if | liked it. It was the most reassuring and wonderful thing I'd ever
seen. There inside a rectangle about the size of a greeting card lay a picture
and a verse. A quaint white church sat alone in a field with grass that would
come up to your knees. And in the grass, scattered about the church in all
different directions, was nothing but yellow flowers. /RBL_44
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Beth Corson Beauty in Ink
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10
Charles Ball Truth Bubbles
WITH
VOICES
Bl 4:
WATER
_Drops of truth colliding and splashing violently
around the room. The kitchen walls, soaked with
old arguments, ripple with each change in tone.
_ You said you'd get it fixed last year.� The tin foil
in her hands makes its signature percussion as she
tears it from the roll. Shelly avoids any eye contact,
afraid she'll lose ground by slowing down to look at him.
_o| know, but fixing the lawnmower hasn't really been
on the top of my ~To DoT list.�
_oAll you had to do was take it in. Or throw the damn
thing away.� She presses the edges of the foil down
around the blue Tupperware bowl.
_oIf | threw it away you'd still be pissed that the
lawn isnTt mowed for your party.�
_"oMy party? This is your damn tradition. Your idea
of a fun way to start the summer.� She rips off another
piece of foil for the large plate of deviled eggs. The
paprika looks perfect on the top of the light yellow
peaks of yolk.
oIt would be fun if | didnTt have to worry about cutting the
grass the way your father likes it.�
_o| didnTt say you had to cut it like him. | just donTt wanna
have to hike through overgrown grass to get to the picnic
table.� She slides the three-bean salad toward the back
of the refrigerator to make room for the eggs and the
potato salad.
_From the other side of the kitchen, Gil watches her bend
over, admiring the way her body has remained the same for
the past ten years. He looks down at his side and follows his
belt until it disappears beneath his stomach and the tight
plaid shirt covering it. He pulls his beer can away from his
lips, listening to the carbonation bubbling inside.
_oYeah, and if | didnTt cut it in perfect squares, you know
your father would hav ae > fe} t how | need to buy a
Van l fuel ant h 0
Ca ant
Sfent stral tit
_oMaybe you should ih a new one, seeing as that one
doesn't work.� Her hands, now empty, rise up like a
question mark over her head.
_oLook, I'll either fix it myself and cut it tomorrow morning
before anyone gets here, or I'll borrow Keith's. You did invite
Keith and Mary, didnTt you?�
_"Of course | invited them. The whole damn neighborhood's
gonna be here. That's why | wanted the lawn mowed before
the morning. Now everyone's going to get grass clippings
on their shoes.�
oTell them to take their shoes off.� He waits for her to fire
back, she looks at him, silenced. He lifts his right hand,
finger pointing upwards in declaration of an idea. oWe'll have
the first Shoeless Memorial Day PicnicT. Anyone who dares to
wear shoes will be force-fed deviled eggs until they puke.�
oWhy do you do that?�
oWhy do | do what?�
oWhy do you make fun of me, when all | ask is that you
mow the lawn?�
oWhy do you get so upset about the lawn?�
~Because, Gil, it matters to me. Just because you donTt care
doesnTt mean you should get all upset and yell at me.�
_The saturated walls drip on the floor, making the tile slick. She looks
down at her bare feet and watches the water rise around her ankles.
_"You always wait until the last minute to do things.�
_"You're the one that waited until tonight to start making food.
Don't blame me because you feel rushed.�
_"The eggs would spoil if | made them any earlier. And if you actually
helped instead of standing there drinking beer and yelling at me |
might not feel so rushed.� c
oDrinking b2er and yelling at you? | e S U S (3 A el Si f
Sia e Uy, you make me sound like a damn redneck.� Her
eyebrows climb and her expression flattens.
_"Oh, is that it? Am | just some worthless redneck who doesn't mow
the lawn, drinks beer all day, yells at his wife, and runs around behind
her back?� He stood motionless and exposed, waist deep in his own
idea of truth.
_"l| wasnTt even going to bring that up.�
_"oWhy not? You know you want to. You might as well throw it
on top of the fucking lawnmower. ItTs not going to fix itself either.�
_The turbulent currents swirl around the two. Neck deep,
their toes lifting and searching for solid ground. For dryness.
With a wet face, she struggles to stay afloat.
_"| told you | don't care about that anymore.
| told you | just wanted to let it go.�
_ "Well, itTs hard to believe that you've let
anything go when you won't even sleep with me anymore.�
_The sounds blur as the truth creeps into their ears and over their heads.
Spoken words escape in the form of bubbles, hanging in front of their faces,
a visible reality they are forced to see. Floating to the top, they burst with a
liquid violence that settles as fast as they erupt.
3
bd
a
*
_oIs it my fault? Did | force you to do it?� Her arms climb
an imaginary ladder, struggling to get to the surface. He is
suspended, free of any truth in front of his face.
_ oWell, maybe | needed something more. Something besides
constant nagging. Fix this, buy that.T You drove me to it.�
From his corner of the kitchen Gil stands, anchored by his
ability to breathe in an environment void of air and truth. He
looks up and watches her swim to the top. She is greeted at
the surface with freshness and simplicity that she hasn't
known for ten years. /RBL_44
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Jeremy Crawford Stainless Steel and Sleeplessness
Q
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cm
_Everyone has a story these days.Even Skitch here probably thinks heTs got
some romantic epic that he could pawn off as being some great sentimental
piece of literary splendor. Life isnTt literary splendor. ItTs insomnia-driven
nights of intoxicating boredom that | endure for a generous $6.25 an hour.
ItTs standing here, eyes drift from one reveling whore to the next, scantly
clad and wasted, as they stumble under stale lighting through the automatic
doors and make their way across the tile floor, blackened from the tread of
squeaky shopping cart wheels. ItTs about nights like this and me and Skitch
watching this demented ballet take place from the comfort of our seclusion
behind the three-bed stainless steel sink of BoTs food market deli/bakery,
our eyes peering just above the burgundy tile counter and below the party
tray poster casting its ominous shadow over our bodies buried behind it.
Just the simple image of me and Skitch back here, hollow eyes with
darkened rims peering out, is enough to keep customers from asking
ate oprob ins ~bablyT Phat lack of work
tha fifee eeps me ere. | mean Skitch has been
sitting there cleaning the same damn knife for an hour and a half now,
just in case the night manager walks by our little cubicle, so he doesn't
get caught not working. Me, | just fixate on the whore ballet till my eyes
are sore and red from the smell of sanitizer rising from the sink beneath
me. The only work | actually do is cleaning away the splattered, abstract
expressionistic masterpieces of pink and green cake icing that the royalty
of our realm leave during the day for us lowly pawns to mop each night.
_ItTs not the most glamourous work in the world, but it does have its perks.
There is of course Mrs. Colston. She's that mother-of-a-guy-in-grade-
school-that-the-only-reason-anyone-ever-went-to-his-house-was-to-see-
her kind of woman. The kind that just sitting there at the counter watching
her mop the floor was more exciting than going upstairs to play Atari.
It's the same sort of woman. Of course the only difference now is the
counterTs changed,
2, Us 14
10 Ala
among other things, while me and Skitch try desperately not to bust
out laughing.
_Conversations were always frivolous between me and Skitch. Of course the
deli retains enough formidable boredom to cease any chance of intellectual
thought. Speech mostly consisted of whatever Saturday Night Live reruns
we caught last night, or Skitch pointing out which whores he'd like to take
into the walk-in with him, behind where we keep tomorrow's salads and
sandwiches. Between that image and the smell of sanitizer in my lungs
it's hard not to get a little sick to my stomach.
_It was a little unusual tonight though, just seemed like talk was drier than
it usually is, almost to the point of being awkward. It wasnTt quite awkward
though, more like we both were just waiting for something interesting to
happen, which we knew would come. So Skitch kept oer that lodi Cc
knife, and I'd cr at_my watch, more out of habit or a
a rm asm rather than to actual ~Be
because | knew itTs only thirty or so seconds later then the last time |
checked it. Then Skitch began tapping his foot, and I'd scratch my arm, and
he'd cough, and I'd drum my fingers on the sink until the sanitizer would
splatter a small rose colored mist of rain against my already moist fingers.
_After about ten minutes we began to sound like a production of STOMP,
with the rhythmic pattern of our anxiety.
_Middle-aged housewives come in droves, searching for this and_that, trying
to please their anxious husbands waiting for a meal at home. Older ladies
shake their heads and give stern looks to the price of day old fruit counters
in the produce department.
CIRCLE...
LOOK...TA
P...SCRAT
CH...COU
GH...DRU
M...SPLAT
TER
CIRCLE
LOOK |
...TAP...S
CRATCH
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es St} ee,
eh was mid-way between the scr
[ean when she walked in. Her pa
med Skechers grazed gentl
fe infested floor. Her body twist
Surth, to the right of the flower
eft of the coke display, making
B fresh salad trays which were me
mer this afternoon.
CIRCLE...LOOK...TAP...S
CRATCH...COUGH...DRU
M...SPLATTER
_She wore an ash gray tank top and navy blue sweats which hung low on
her hips, exposing a trim of tan stomach underneath. Her softly curled
auburn hair was pulled back loosely with a clip she probably grabbed
off her dresser just as she was running out the door, so a few strands
of auburn fall to rest against her freckled cheeks.
ist of her hips
ao 4
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"BEST YET BEEF NOODLE
119
| try not to seem too busy. | try to look busy, but not too busy. Otherwise
she'll think that | donTt notice her. But | donTt want her to know that I'm over
here because of her because then I'll just look like some freak or psycho. So
4 | continue looking busy but not too busy, and | finally edge close enough that
she looks up, so | try and act startled as if | hadn't been standing there the
entire time with the Pantene and eclairs and ash gray and auburn. She
smiles at me, and after my look of being startled | dash a smile in hopes
that she'll say something, anything, just to hear her speak, but she doesn't.
a Instead her smile diminishes and changes to a look of embarrassment, like |
caught her doing something wrong, and | give her the same look, and her
eyes wander down and away. Her hips twist to take her away towards the
vegetables to find something that won't indulge her guilty pleasures, and |
am forced to do the same. A plainness falls over my face as | watch her drift
f past the racks, her image gone from my sight. My eyes focus back on Skitch,
still polishing and realize that itTs Saturday which means its my turn to wash
away the masterpiece tonight.
_| unwrap the dingy orange hose, dropping the web onto the burgundy tiled
floor. | spray away the icing caped masterpiece, only to find a woman,
probably in her late fifties standing at the counter, a stern look of
impatience on her face.
_| give a look to Skitch and of course his eyes are fixated on his knife now,
purposely avoiding eye contact with me or her so | have to be the one to wait
on her. The feel of warm water begins to run down my hand from the loosely
screwed on head on the hose. | get close enough to smell her hair dye,
covering the gray as her raised brow stares me down. | lean to gently place
the spigot on the floor when, in what seemed like an eternity, it slips from
my hand and falls to the ground. As if by some adverse miracle, it lands on
the handle, becoming a fountain that sprays over my right shoulder, the
rubber of the hose holding it in place. After my mind gets over the shock
and comprehends what just happened, | pick up the hose from about three
inches below the spigot as a warm mist falls against my back. Fearful, my
103
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eyes drift above the counter to find the woman, soaked from head to toe,
her eyes wide, mascara dripping down her wrinkled cheeks and stenched
hair matted to the top of her head. Slowly my focus drifts back to Skitch,
no longer polishing his knife.
_! canTt believe they actually asked for the name tag back, like there
going to sit around and wait for some guy named Eric to otire d
fo: r'be has*got a story. One of 0 rc uy got himself | r
ing am ro » Me, alll have is the feel
of wet rubber still on g hands against the leather of a steering wheel, and
a picture in my mind of a girl. Wonder if she'll come back looking through
the cakes tomorrow to see if I'm there. /RBL_44
a Sap SRR GES SS Sr orn Se =
Beth Corson
oDo | have to deal with this for the resto
prime?
xg 4 o-
gy :
and taking up
~*
Who knew curves could be so painsta
And they just keep growing and expa
shame on my development,
shame on my curves.
They are vulgar and distasteful. _ 4
Streamline, narrow, tight, like the the magazines.
They are beautiful, and | am not. {
O, to be like a Little girl again,
with no worries about white pan
No worries about last nightTs ice
my
ass-ets.
This beautiful, free life
is not as nature intended.
down,
ge contributing
An
=e
runn ne lace t d 2
Dry one month and then another
The thought of no choice, | longed
To be woman again.
a a
when | was still a girl,
| ng | was the last one in the
nan-what | longed to be.
Proud. Powerful. Goddess. Full- cpigy
The joy and pain of that first day;
| was confused and
satisfied.
| felt warm and
complete.
| belonged to the elite, Woman.
As quickly as the mid-morning sun burn
reality set in.
Cramps and fatigue (donTt make me get c
But | should be joyous of this special gift
Who asked if | wanted them anyway?
Blessing, curse, itTs the same thing ever
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1 &
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See prea ae ena
" "$"""""" +
Ed Ballard Wings on Hemlock
A creek passes over stones,
rocks and pebbles
in the bright shade of
barken columns and undergrowth.
On one side, between
striated, tumbled stones,
white, brown, red,
a sunny place,
a minuscule beach.
Butterflies rest,
or drink, or mate.
Disturbed by intruders,
they scatter about the
fresh, damp air,
roused from the ritual.
Iridescence, blue and yellow,
catches sun like water.
They glisten.
They flur.
They fly.
The intruders still,
enveloped, motionless.
One yellow butterfly
bared on breezes
across the creek splays
on a lacy, green hemlock.
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ofl 4i9q aneyd puZ 4a6a7 42143ed
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Jennifer McQueen In the Gallery
_Last winter | worked at The Gallery, an art store in
the Colonial Mall. It stood between the KayBee Toys and
Rainbow, a store for teenagers who like to dress in shiny,
stretchy, see-through clothes. Down from us was the
womenTs section of BelkTs and the Dollar Tree, and
across from The Gallery stood The Shoe Dept., a little
more high-class than PayLess Shoes but not as busy.
Benches sat outside, with trashcans and ashtrays. The
Colonial Mall is one of the few | know that still allows
smoking inside. From my post in the store | could also see
the kiddie rides " the jeep, space ship, sports car, airplane.
offering Jelly Bellys, M&Ms, Redhots, gumdrops, jawbreakers,
gumballs. With the candy and the rides and the adjacent toy store, 7 |
kids were a constant presence. i
_In late October an old woman came in. I'd seen her before, speed +
walking around the perimeter of the mall with a few other ladies.
When the woman walked in| said, oHey, how're you doing today?�
_This salutation was specifically against the rules of salesmanship, :
according to Linda, my trainer. Back in October, when she'd hired me, she
had suggested | say: oHello, welcome to The Gallery. Everything is hand- >
painted, and we have a wonderful sale going on today. Let me know if you t
have any questions.� | hated saying that. First of all, we always had a sale. :
|
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26
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Secondly, the whole thing felt fake and impersonal. Usually | stuck with a
traditional oHey, how are you doing today?� or the more standard, oCan |
help you?� But Linda had insisted that a good salesperson never asks the
person how they are or if they can be helped. Apparently we donTt care if
someone is happy or in need of service. Our job, Linda said, was to be
aggressive. Follow the person around. Suggest sizes and styles of frames.
The goal is to always make a sale, whether a person really needs or wants
a painting or not. |, however, did not buy into this crock, and since Linda left
Greenville after the training and The Gallery employees realized we had no
on-site supervision, | decided to stick to my own welcoming technique.
_The Gallery sold hand-painted oils on canvas. Our prices also included real
wood frames; that was our deal. People still asked me, oYeah, but how much
without the frame?� Like it was going be a lot cheaper. Only ten bucks less;
| always suggested they go ahead and pick out a frame.
_| was straightening the 24x36 paintings in the back of the store when
this woman strolled in. The paintings were displayed in vertical stacks on
display tables, arranged so one can flip through the paintings quickly, and
categorized by size. Smallest in front, largest in back. They might've been
categorized, but by no means were they organized. The tables were arranged
awkwardly, creating a sense of chaos in the room. And there was little free
floor space; frames lined the three walls, also according to size and color,
taking up most of the walking room.
_These paintings in the back didnTt really need straightening, but | liked
to get up and stand every so often to revive my legs. I'd been at my desk
playing solitaire before getting up to stretch; the cards were still scattered
on the light-colored wood. Business was slow. This particular branch of the
mall saw very little traffic, even in the Christmas shopping frenzy. Our best
one-day total just barely exceeded $1500. Most days | sat in a chair behind
the utility wood table to the left of the entrance, playing cards or reading
and watching people walk by. But | figured it could be a lot worse to get
paid eight bucks an hour to do homework and play cards.
146
_| thought this woman might have a question the way she walked up
to me. Sure steps in Easy Spirits. In the front door, around the 8x10
pictures in the front, around the utility table, straight to me, with a
purpose. Her hair was white and short, permed. Thick, light pink
glasses sat on top of her head. She scrunched her nose when she
walked in; | knew what she smelled. The store reeked of oils and wood
and varnish. | had grown used to the smell, and being a painter, the artsy
odor never bothered me much anyway. But most customers first coming
in noticed the smell.
oRead this, young lady,� she said. She held out a slip of paper and
| took it from her wrinkled hand. It was a joke sent to her via email:
A woman accompanied her husband to the doctor's office. After his
checkup, the doctor called the wife into his office alone. He said, oYour
husband is suffering from a very severe disease, combined with horrible
stress. If you donTt do the following, your husband will surely die.�
_oEach morning, fix him a healthy breakfast. Be pleasant, and make sure
he is in a good mood. For lunch make him a nutritious meal. For dinner
prepare an especially nice meal for him. DonTt burden him with chores,
as he probably had a hard day. DonTt discuss your problems with him,
it will only make his stress worse. And most importantly, make love with
your husband several times a week and satisfy his every whim. If you can
do this for the next ten months to a year, | think your husband will regain
his health completely.�
_On the way home, the husband asked his wife, oWhat did the doctor say?�
_"You're going to die,� she replied.
The woman laughed to herself as | read; she already knew the punch
line and she waited for me to reach it. | chuckled when | did. I'd actually
heard this joke before, but | acted like | hadn't. Didn't want to hurt the
lady's feelings.
oMy doctor sent me that,� she said. oHeTs always got a good joke for me.T
| nodded and smiled"polite but unsure. Who was this woman?
147
cm
Why was | reading her doctorTs joke? Did she want a painting?
_Behind the woman | spied a toddler, two or three, dark-haired and
chubby, speeding past the storeTs entrance. He was squealing, either
in delight or anger, red-faced. A moment later a mother limped by,
calling out oBilly!� while toting a stroller and diaper bag.
_oThatTs a good one,� | said, looking back at the woman. She just stood
there, folding the paper over and over again, looking at me. Her eyes
were light blue, almost colorless under her wrinkled lids. Her smile
showed teeth too perfect to be real, like my grandmother's.
_The child, Billy, ran by again, slowed to a toddle, and came just
inside the store. He held firmly onto a cup, from which he slurped noisily.
_ oBilly!� the mother called. Billy threw a look behind and walked up to the
first wen Cm ee IK "Ti Cit Te ve yi ag what
� be Wale iar = Bi eka ~aht ar re
Awa A onto ont 1e ray carpet
_ oBilly!� the mother said. She had caught up to a7 and saw the ioe
and her son standing idly by.
_oI'm so sorry,� she said, picking up the cup and Lid. oI'll clean it up.�
_oDonTt worry,"4I mY, a being thankful that he didnTt throw it 0
rr the YEG eh towels
_Meanwhile the old woman still stood in the store. She took a brief look
at the paintings on the walls, like she didnTt notice Billy or his mess. We
kept the walls covered with all sizes of paintings. The rule was to never
have more than one genre of painting on a given wall and always to change
out the pictures every week. We employees, that is, Jamie, Eugene and
myself, rarely changed out the paintings, and when we did we hardly
concerned ourselves with what genre went where. Who cared if a
landscape was next to another landscape, so long as it was pretty?
_While she looked | stepped to the back and returned with a roll of paper
towels. | let the mother dry up the red stain on her insistence, and
| kept an eye on the old woman.
oNice stuff,� she finally said. She was on her way out. | tried to think of
something to say, perhaps a pitch for the nice 12x16's, but she turned and
walked out before | could, stepping around Billy and his mother on the
a A bey eatin = (le her arm 29 n d
ndi
Bee ay figinaeeotiy Doo
hair hung ina ithe ~do, shining under the storeTs fluorescent track
lighting, and he wore the mall janitorial garb: dark blue pants, white tennis
shoes, white and blue striped shirt with ~Colonial MallT stitched on the
front pocket. Long johns extended from his shirtTs long sleeves, and a wad
of keys hung from his belt next to his walkie-talkie. Just outside the store,
the children were particularly loud. It was a Saturday in November, so that
explained it. They ran, screamed, played, hollered for quarters to ride the
mechanical contraptions.
_I'd seen this young man before. He was around 19 or 20, | guessed, only a
year or two younger than |, and he worked in the food court, bagging up
trash and wheeling around a barrow brimming with over-filled bags. | didn't
know him, so | wondered at his sudden appearance in the doorway and the
determination with which he approached me. He came right up to the table
where | was sitting, and he stood close, arms tucked tightly into his pockets,
back hunched and head hung low.
oHi,� he said, ohaving fun?� He noticed | was playing solitaire.
_oJust playing a little solitaire,� | said. | felt uneasy because | didn't
know him and | wondered why he was talking to me.
oWhere's the guy who works here?� he asked. oThe red head?�
He was referring to a co-worker, Jamie Brinkley, III.
_oHe's not working today,� | said.
_ Oh, well, | usually come in and talk to him,� he said. He looked
down at his feet briefly, then looked around the store. There was a
full minute of silence. | continued playing cards.
_ We talk a lot about music and stuff,� he said suddenly. | didnTt look
up from the cards.
a Oh?�
_oYeah, you like Metallica?�
_oSome, yeah, but not all of it.�
|
:
|
|
4
| was raised on them; | think my mom played their music even before
| was born. | know every word to every song and | can even play a few
on the guitar. I'm teaching myself to play.�
_"Oh,� | said.
_"Do you like hockey?� he asked.
_"Not really.�
_o| guess itTs not really a girl thing,� he said. oMe, | love hockey. When
| was a baby | got meningitis and it affected my spine. The doctors said
that would bother my balance and what not, so they told my mom to put
me on ice skates before | started walking to help my balance. Since | was
two | could skate, and | played hockey until | was 15. | couldTve probably
played for the NHL, because | was the best goalie my team ever had, but
then | moved here.� He spoke like his tongue was too big for his mouth,
all thick and rounded words. |
_oHmmm.� | reshuffled the deck.
_o| might play for the Raleigh team, though,� he said. oI got connections. |
Then | can move from the amateurs to the pros in no time.�
Cleee.� }
_o| lived in New York before | moved here. | plan on going back there,
probably pretty soon because my girlfriend, Donna, is thinking about
leaving me for her ex. You know what | think about that?�
_| didnTt. | tried to keep proper count when laying out the next set of cards.
_o| think itTs stupid for her to want to go back to a guy who beats her. She
has two kids by him, so I'm like, sure, | know he'll be a part of her life and
all, but | think sheTs stupid to go back to him. Me, ITve never laid a hand on
a woman and never will.�
_Outside a dark and lanky kid, and maybe 11 or 12, walked just to the edge
of the store and peeked in.
_oExcuse me,� he said. | rested my hands and the cards on the table. The
boyTs hands were in his back pockets and he shuffled his feet a little.
oMy mom wants to know if you have change for a dollar.�
151
_oYou know, | sure donTt,� | said, trying to sound as disappointed as he
looked. That was the truth. Business was so poor that | didnTt even have
change. We'd had no sales that day, but then, we were used to it.
_"'Kay,� the kid said, and | watched him step back to the rides
where his mother stood.
_"No, thatTs a lie,� the janitor continued when the boy had left. | looked back
from the storefront. He smiled a goofy grin, all crooked teeth. oI had to hit a
girl in my karate class but that was because the teacher said | had to or I'd
fail the test. | have a green belt in karate, and you know thatTs only two belts
away from a black belt. | was really lucky because my teacher was one of
the only certified to teach the touch of death. You have to be certified for
thats *y oy C Ao "aeath: but Ww ee to use it.�
Black nine on red ten.
_"Yeah. If | hit you right here,� he indicated to the middle of his chest with
his finger, owith all my strength, it'll knock you unconscious and stop your
breathing. So if | donTt sit you up and hit you on the back to start your
breathing again, you ll die.�
_| check the first draw of cards. An ace of spades, then a black two. Next set.
_"But I've never used it, donTt worry,� he said. He grinned again. His top left
canine tooth was missing. He leaned against one of the painting racks and
looked out at a pack of children running around their mother. She was
digging change out of her purse with one hand and at the same time
holding on to a kidTs arm and shaking him.
_oWould you hold on?� she asked while the kid writhed in her grasp.
_"o| did use karate on this guy once, in New York,� he said. He positioned
himself in a karate move, arms up like a Bruce Lee still. oYeah, he had just,
like, murdered or attacked someone and had robbed them and what not,�
he said, still in position, oand | saw him putting the money and stuff in his
trunk. So | went over and whap!� He chopped at the air with his hands, then
kicked. | looked on, as a few people outside did, in disbelief. o| conked him
152
pretty good, got him in a headlock, and held him like that till the police
came. They'd been a block down, looking for him.� He went back to a
regular stance, arms crossed.
_oReally,� | said, monotone.
_oYeah. And the police gave me $50 for helping. | bought a video game
with the money.�
_! wondered where could | put a red jack.
_"| love video games,� he went on. oVideo games and hockey and Nascar.
Do you like Nascar?�
_"Not really.�
_o| draw a lot of Nascar pictures, you know. | love to draw. | can draw
just about anything with a pencil. Any of this stuff in here,� he motioned to
the paintings, o| can draw. Landscapes, this lighthouse here. Anything but
people. My people always end up looking funny, but | can do anything else.�
_Reshuffle the deck because | lost the last game.
_"oYou know what | did? | made a model of a racetrack with scrap wood
at my house and | painted it and everything. ItTs a '/th scale of the one
Bristol, Tennessee. | keep my model cars and what not on it next to my
bunk beds. | have about 150 cars, you know.�
Jon?"
_oYeah, but my mom doesnTt like it and she wants me to throw it out. I'm
like, no way! Do you know how much money | put into this? But I'm 19, so
| do basically whatever in the hell | want to. And then I've got all my car
drawings around. If you want sometime I'll bring in my pictures so you
can look at them. | mean, you know, if you want.�
_! contemplated which king to move to an open space,
_He continued to stand at the table, his fingers tapping a beat
on the wood. | wondered how | could get him to leave. | didn't
want to be rude to him.
_"So, you go to school?�
_oYep, sure do.�
_"What you studying?� He squatted down, left hand touching
the dull gray carpet.
_' Fiction writing.�
_"So you write books?�
_'I'd like to, | guess.� | looked through my cards, but it
seemed I'd lost another game. | just needed a jack.
_oCool. Maybe if you write a book | can draw the pictures.�
_ Well, it might be a while before | write a book.�
At that moment, his walkie-talkie crackled on his hip
Tale M alm olOleccte Mate) aa
_ ~Hold on,� he said, then stepped just outside the store.
| could hear a crackly voice say, oWhat are you doing?�
_ Uh, I'm down here at the Belk and Dollar Tree end checking
for floor trash and emptying ash trays,� he said. He shuffled his
feet like the boy asking for change and looked down the hall.
_oWe need you to come back to the food court and pick up some of this
trash,� the voice said.
_oCopy that,� he said. He came back in the store, right up to the table again.
He leaned over, his palms flat on the table. His fingernails were chewed and
ragged, and his thumbnail was black like heTd slammed it in something.
_oI've gotta get back to work,� he said.
W ight. Have a good day.� Reshuffle the deck. W h r r # r F p .
FETE PED. tikes the sound
_oMaybe I'll come back,� he said, oMaybe when | get off at seven.�
_He didnTt give me a chance to respond. He turned and walked out, gangly
and loose, like the scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz except not as lovable.
_Right before Christmas and on a Thursday evening it was my shift to
close the store. | didnTt mind closing; nights were usually quiet and | got
a lot of reading done. | sat behind the computer desk situated to the left as
the customer walks. The computer desk, on which the cash register rested,
along with the phone/fax machine, a cup of dried-up pens and markers, the
credit card machine, a tape measure, a screw driver and a deck of cards,
faced the store front and sat perpendicular to the utility desk. This way |
was rather boxed in against the wall and hidden by the computer desk.
Most people didnTt even know | was there until | stood and greeted them.
_This particular evening I'd taken to building card castles. I'd found a deck
of cards in one of the deskTs cubby holes a few weeks back, and they came
in handy during long, empty store hours. The cards were still stiff; they
were perfect for building castles.
_Around eight a man walked in. Tall, thin, wearing a brown herringbone
sports jacket, yellow shirt and brown pants. His hair was white and thinning,
though it looked yellowish under the harsh fluorescent lighting, and he had
a small comb-over. Bushy white eyebrows, thin face, white mustache. He
walked around the room, not looking through the painting stacks but just
looking up and around at the walls. There was literally no empty space on
157
the walls. It was a bombardment on the senses, | thought. Landscapes,
seascapes, paintings of dolphins [these were most popular, especially for
kids and bathrooms), still lifes, African art, airbrushed paintings, lighthouses
{also popular). This was how most customers went: walk in to the right, past
the 8x10s and 16x20s, left turn at the 24x36 paintings, down the other side,
passing me at my table. His movement as he walked up to me blew over my
castle. I'd only started on the first level, so it didnTt matter. | gathered the
cards while looking up at him only briefly. He stood about three or four
feet away, arms crossed looking down at me.
_'| just love these paintings, dear,� he said. He had a lisp. He sounded
slightly feminine.
_You know | have around two-hundred paintings at home? | bought a lot
of them in Europe.�
_"Oh yeah?� | focused back on the cards. | tried to prop two agai eac
MWanitTa Barrrrer:bitite eet
she yelled. oNo, Santa will bring you Barbies,� a woman's voice said.
oNow get up off the floor or you're getting a spanking!�
_"Yes, at least two-hundred.� he said to himself. He turned to face the
table and me directly. | could smell his cologne - too musky and strong.
_ They're not all on the walls, of course.� He chuckled and offered an
effeminate, weak-wristed gesture at me.
_ But | just canTt help it. | see something pretty and | canTt help but buy it.�
_ol understand.� I'd gotten a basic card square fashioned, and now | had
to create the supporting buttresses.
_'I'm that way with orchids, too,� he said. He over-pronounced the s:
making a hissing sound.
_"| absolutely love orchids. | have about 1200 bulbs and blooms in my
greenhouse. I've always loved orchids, but retirement has let me grow
them like | want. | love retirement.� He smiled. Slightly crooked teeth
under the mustache.
_"And | have orchid pictures and trinkets.� The s-sound hissed again.
_o| was in Wal-Mart before Christmas? And | was looking for a friendTs
gift? And on this table were these jewelry boxes. And do you know what
one had etched on the glass?� He waited in expectation. | shook my head.
| did not know, nor did | care. The cards flopped over, a disorganized pile
of reds and blacks.
_"An orchid.� He smiled again and propped a hand on his hip.
_oAnd do you know what | did? | bought it.� He paused and watched me
shuffle the deck. It had taken me years to learn how to shuffle correctly
this way, creating a obridge�, and now | loved doing it for the soft sound
it produced. Whrrrrrp. Whrrrrrp.
_"And this store up here, ProffittTs?� he continued. oI saw these plates all
with orchids painted on them. | had to buy those, too.� He waved his hand at
me again, daaaahling-like. o| found more things for me at Christmas than
for anyone.�
_He looked through the 12x16 paintings half-heartedly. Landscape,
lighthouse, lighthouse, dolphin, lighthouse, seascape, lighthouse. Outside
| heard the mechanical jeep come into action; a metallic jerking sound,
accompanied by a kid's robotic voice saying,
oHOLD ON
TIGHT,
Ome PARI: s
i alia ne, Rey
Saeed &
| attempted again at balancing the cards.
_ Are you in school here, dear?� He faced me again, paintings abandoned.
_ Yeah, ITm a first-year graduate student at ECU.� Without looking at them,
| picked up the cards and stacked them in the main deck. No use in castle
building while he was there.
_ That's simply wonderful. What's your field?�
_ Creative writing. Fiction.� His white eyebrows raised and his lips
twisted at the corners.
_"That is unusual, but it is wonderful. You'll never have better times
than in school.�
_ I like it so far.�
_He went on and on and on. Told me about going to Chapel Hill for
five years to get his two majors, chemistry and biology, and four minors,
english, art, history and french. Then went on about graduate school at
Oregon State University. Majored in Marine Biology but was pissed when
they didnTt offer him a stipend.
_He leaned forward on the table, palms flat, like he was telling me a secret.
_ But thatTs not the half of it. With no money, | was barely getting by.
Eventually the biology department gave me a little job. You know what | had
to do? | had to catch snails and measure and number them. Then I'd go back
a month later and try to recatch those snails so | could chart their ages and
growth. Do you know what | learned? | learned those little buggers could
live up to thirty-seven years. Can you believe it?�
_| shook my head. | could not believe it. Seemed like snails shouldn't
live that long.
_"oThat money helped, for sure, but it still barely kept me fed. I'll tell you
what | did.� He leaned forward even more, his nose not twelve inches from
mine. | leaned back.
_"| bought cans and cans of Vienna Sausages. Ten cents a can. You canTt
buy anything for ten cents now. | got five dollars of those sausages and then
| bought a box of crackers, saltines, you know. Then I'd have a half a can of
162
sausages for lunch and the other half for supper, each with three crackers.
And you know what else? I'd go down to the student cafeteria. You could
drink all the milk you wanted there for fifty cents, so I'd go down there to
| drink my milk. Then I'd steal a tea bag "� He winked at me. ~I'd take a little
sugar, too, and then | could have my tea at night.�
| _"Hmmm, thatTs tough.� | was still thinking about the Vienna Sausages;
; | hated those things. They were like Spam or hot dogs; you didnTt know
; what was in them.
_oBut you know what the worst thing was? It was when my tea bag had
; been used and dried on the radiator so much that it didnTt even color the
water.� This last part he whispered harshly.
_"That must've been hard.�
_oIt wasnTt too bad, except at Christmas when | was all by myself and didn't
even have the money to buy Christmas cards or a present for my mother.�
oe Ee Betis
_And on and on he went. About his lack of money and counting those snails
and finding a new species.
_oI noticed on some fishTs gills there were these parasites. | identified
them down to a group, but there were no parasites known like these on the
West Coast. There were similar parasites on north eastern carp, but they
weren't the same. So | recorded all my information and research and | told
a close colleague of mine, a professor, about my find. He told me that if
| let him and two other professors continue the research, when they
published the information they'd credit the find to me. But when | didn't
hear about it for a while, | called and found out that my colleague had
given my research to the president of the college's son. He got all
the credit.�
_"ThatTs horrible.�
_oBut | made it anyway. And | taught biology at ECU for thirty-five years.
| just retired last year and | love it.�
_"Sounds like it.�
cm
PORK IN BARBECUE SAUCE
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WITH CHICKEN & PORK IN CHIC:
_"I do. It's wonderful, even though | loved teaching.�
_He turned back to the 12x16 paintings. The cash registerTs military time
clock told me my shift was nearly over. | started closing out, hoping the man
would get the hint. First | had to log off with my code, 420, then print out the
total sales from the register, then print out the batch sales on credit cards
if there were any. None that day; just cash and checks. :
_ oWell, ITm gonna go,� | finally said. I'd added my total sales for the
day and had turned off the register. We'd sold two 8x10s at twenty-two
dollars each and one 20x24 at sixty-nine dollars. Not much, but more than
some days I'd had. The man turned from the 20x24s and smiled. oMy shiftTs
over.� | said.
_"ItTs been a pleasure,� he said, and he half-bowed. oAn extreme
pleasure. Good luck with your studies.�
_oThanks. Good luck with your orchids.�
_The man left, long, lanky strides, and | stood, ready to leave. Nights
weren't too rough working, but they got long and dull and | got ready to
leave by seven. Not five minutes after the man left, though, the janitor guy
strolled in. Same janitorial garb, now covered by a heavy coat with the
Penguins scrolled across the back.
" oHey, ITm back,� he said.
_oWe're closing,� | said.
_o| just wanted to give you my number,� he said. oIn case you ever
wanna talk or if you need me to draw for that book of yours.�
_oLike | said, it'll be a while before | write anything.�
He eG, Bde tole quiere oii
uvingee | ine Ketiinnletse carat
_oLater,� he said, and walked out, hands stuffed in ae:
_On the paper he'd written: Zach Hunter, 756-1423. Call me.
166
_The older woman with the joke returned just after Christmas. She wore
pink and purple wind suit pants and matching jacket with white turtleneck
and white Keds. She still had the beige purse. In her hand she held a
sheet of paper.
_I sat at the utility desk. My cards were spread out; I'd just lost a game.
I stacked them in a pile and put them next to the hammer, box of nails
and tape dispenser on the table.
_oHere,� she said, handing me the paper. Another joke:
_An elderly couple were sitting on their front porch one evening, when
the wife picks up her cane and whaps her husband across the shins.
"oAlright woman! What the hell was that for?� he yells.
_"oThat's for sixty years of bad sex.� she replies.
_A few minutes later, the husband picks up his cane and whaps his wife
the Welt BAS TEAS pay pat
_The husband looks at her and says, oThatTs for knowing the difference.�
_! chuckled when | finished reading and handed the paper back. The old
woman smiled, perfect teeth shining.
_oMakes me think of my husband,� she said. | smiled back and kept
smiling. | wondered why she came in; was she lonely? Eager to share
humor? Crazy?
_She turned quickly, not saying a word, and left as suddenly as she'd
come. Overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed and buzzed, and one
flickered.
isi aes
_The janitor returned. It'd been a week since heTd been by; the longest
he'd gone without stopping in. It was a Wednesday in mid-January and |
had a morning shift. | had bought a biscuit at Chick-Fil-A, and when he
a ere
168
\
walked in | was opening the Little tub of grape jelly I'd picked up at
the food counter. Same janitor garb, different color long johns.
These were blue. His keys jangled at his hip.
_oHey,� he said. He gave a loose wave, like his arm was Jello and
hard to control.
_oNo solitaire today?� He motioned to the deck of cards, tucked in
one of the computer deskTs cubbies.
_ oGotta eat first,� | said. | slathered a generous portion of jelly on
one side of the biscuit.
_oLooks good.�
_|I took a bite. It was.
_oWell, | came in to tell you something,� he said. | took another bite
and chewed slowly. | looked at him expectantly. His hair was tousled,
like he hadn't combed it.
_oYou remember my girlfriend, Donna? The one | told you about?�
| nodded.
_oWell, we're back together.� He said it slowly and sadly. His hands
were stuffed in his pockets again. He looked like a little kid in trouble.
_oOh?� | didnTt know what to say. He didnTt sound too pleased;
his voice was low.
_oYeah.� He paused. oSheTs pregnant.�
_| took another bite but didnTt chew for a minute. I'd rather expected
it, what with the way he said it, but it was still a shock.
_oReally?� | mumbled, spraying biscuit crumbs on the table.
_oAnd itTs mine,� he continued. oShe told me yesterday. | didnTt believe
her, but she showed me the test. And those things are pretty accurate,
you know.�
_I'd finished with one side of the biscuit, so | put the rest of the jelly
on the other side and smeared it with the plastic knife I'd brought. |
_oYeah,� | said. Again, | didnTt know what to say.
_oSo I'm gonna be a poppa.�
169
Congratulations.T
~But | told Donna that this meant she had to stick with me. If she
so much as thinks about cheating on me or leaving me, ITm taking the
kid and leaving. I'll be damned if my child has no father.� He slapped a
clenched fist in the palm of his other hand
~She thought about, you know, not having the baby... but | said, no, this is
my kid too and we'll raise it together.�
congratulations.T
o| missed work yesterday because | had to go to a doctor's
appointment with her, and tomorrow we're going to look for a trailer.�
| finished my biscuit and crumpled the wrapper. Outside, someone had
Nanted to ride the mechanical jeep but hadn't had enough change. They'd
put one quarter in, but a robotic kidTs voice insisted oanother coin please.�
This would go on for another full three minutes
oDo you believe in sympathy pains?� he suddenly asked
y ymp yp y
~| dunno. I've heard of it
~I think I've got those. ITve been sick all morning.� He leaned on
the table again, and | scooted back so he couldn't breathe on me.
| could just be sick,� he smiled, flashing those crooked teeth.
oAnother coin please,� echoed outside, now combined with the toy store's
dancing lobster singing owon't you let me take you on a - sea - cruise!T
| hope you feel better,� | said, scooting farther back but trying not to
be noticeable
~| do now,� he said
Full silence for two minutes. | pulled out the cards finally and shuffled
Whrerrrrp. Whrrrrrp
oWell, | just wanted to tell you that.�
oThanks.�
oSee ya later,� he said, and he turned and walked out, then turned right
past the mechanical jeep still singing, oanother coin please.� /RBL_44
171
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Ryan Kirby On Building Character
es
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i remember oozing through
the parched plot of sticky leaves,
july sun pouring down
my bare back
looking up at my little brother
with resentment
for being younger and softer -
unable to handle the rigors of field work
so Mr. Curtis let him drive
the old Massey Ferguson tractor
that snorted and wheezed as it pulled
a trailer slowly beside the four of us
wading through the loose dirt,
backs bent,
or broken, it seemed
oit'll build character�
my father said
and | grudgingly agreed
with a half-hearted o| guess�
i was Satisfied with my character
my amount of character was sufficient
surely it didnTt need building in this way
-surely
it was my 15th summer
and | rose with the sun
and clad myself in worn cutoff jeans
and a sleeveless t-shirt
{which usually was discarded
by 8:30)
Wt) hae
and hopped in the bed
of a beat up brown diesel chevy
grimly rode
to a dusty field
where the obakker� plants
stood in parallel squadrons
of six single file rows
like an army of yellow-green soldiers
at attention
there was me
the tender adolescent
who had reported to the fields
in june looking like a ghost
but who now could pass for a half cousin
of my coworkers
Anatolio
whose pitch black ponytail
stuck to his sweaty shoulders
that looked like melting caramel
Enrique
who whistled beautifully
whether he was whistling oGuantanamera��"�
or chatting with a mockingbird
and Alejandro
obig Al�
an ox of a man who could lift
the back end of a japanese sedan
and whose breath always stank
from drinking quick mart wine
the three of them laughed
off the sun and whistled
and shot the breeze
en espanol
behaving as if life was beautiful
while | agonized over the thought
of thirty three days, fourteen hours, and 45 minutes
until school started back
and then one day
we all sat beneath
a sycamore tree at breaktime
drinking wal-martTs cheap imitation
of mountain dew
and eating moon pies and nekots
and it occurred to me that Anatolio
was not obuilding character�
Enrique wasn't in the midst
of transition into manhood
and big Al wasnTt here to learn
what it was to do a dayTs work
he knew-so did they all
and | felt silly and spoiled
but a half smile snuck up onto my face
as | started to see
that | would one day understand
what it was my dad was talking about
Mr. Curtis looked at me
with his amber mustache
clinging to his red face
like a cider worm on an apple
oboy, whachu smilinT ~bout?�
he asked with a mouthful of moonpie
onothing� | said
and | stretched out
for a ninety second nap.
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Christina Miller Death of a Woman
In my own 5T by 6' corner of limbo
Neither climbing nor letting go
| hang naked from this lamppost
Stripped and painted
Dark of night
And blue of saline and seawater.
Out of your precious line of sight
Yet swinging right in front of you.
Every now and then
| graze your pitifully covered bald spot
Or your hairspray stuck coiffure
With the tip of your my big toe.
But you do not seek the perpetrating foot
Crimson rain stains your starched white dress shirt
But you do not cock your head
to the tears of a dying cloud.
And so you miss the callused feet
And the burned and blistered neck
Of the shadow on your face.
And because a world without fists or shouts
does not exist on your big city sidewalks
| will hang like a sick and sadistic Christmas decoration
Where the bulb flickers and fades to black
Where | can not see the motion
But feel the crack of connection
That rattles even the cement you march on.
Even as my wasted shell falls
At the toe of your black Armani pumps
You step over my form like a puddle of sewage
So careful not to stain your shoes.
Jennifer McQueen
ry 7: |
(CHRISTMAS
JF 1996
[HAT | REAL-
|FORGOTTEN
Y MOTH-
_| was told shortly after my mother died by a school counselor who
believed she knew the extent of my grief that | would soon forget certain
things. She had gone to college and had learned the five steps of grief,
those being shock, denial, anger, bargaining and acceptance, and she
was now an expert on the subject. She said eventually the distinct
memories would fade, and soon I'd forget things. My motherTs smile.
The way she smelled. The touch of her hands. The way she laughed.
_| thought the counselor was full of shit, and | politely said as much.
_oThere is,� | said, ono way | could forget the way she laughed.�
_The counselor, whose name | now forget, shook her head solemnly.
_oWhen | was a bit older than you,� she told me, omy fiancé died in
a car accident. | know exactly what you're going through, and this is
part of the denial.�
_| remember thinking that those steps of grief were stupid. Especially
denial: it was obvious my mother was dead. She had died Super Bowl
Sunday, January 28, 1996, and we'd put her in Alabama ground four
days later. There was no denying anything.
_My freshman year in college, 1996, | traveled to a new home for Christmas
break. It would soon be one year since Momma had died. | was 17 years old.
My dad and sister Laura had just moved that November to Kentucky, during
Thanksgiving, actually. We'd been living in Idaho before. Momma had died
in Idaho, and two days later we'd flown her body on the same plane we
traveled on to Alabama.
_My dad was a civil engineer, and he worked for a company that moved
him where they needed him. We'd moved probably five times since | was
four years old; this was the first time | hadn't been made to move with
them. Dad worked at Fort Knox, evaluating the construction of new army
housing. His job was to find all the little things wrong with the houses,
and he was very good at his job.
_| had not been to this home in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. | had been in
217
school while they moved, and | had not seen my family since August.
My Southwest flight arrived at 1:48 p.m. Dad and Laura greeted me at
gate 8C in Louisville and we drove home in silence. He looked at me like
heTd never seen me before. Long side glances when he thought | didnTt
see him.
_Our house was forty-five minutes away from Louisville. Kentucky
here was not bluegrass, as I'd heard. That, Dad said later, was eastern
Kentucky, and we were in the west. Outside of Louisville, a larger
metropolitan area with tall buildings and signs for the new theme park,
Kentucky Kingdom, there were rolling foothills, dead black trees at the
highwayTs edge and faded rustic barns. The air was cold, bitter, with sharp
winds. The black trees swayed in the wind, like the dead yellow grass in
the occasional fields we passed.
_Dad had asked about the flight already, at the airport, walking from the
gate to the luggage claim. Always the same. oGood flight?� oYes.� oNo bad
weather.� oNo.� Laura smiled from behind him; she knew later we could
really talk, but mowel pvas still new and strange..Fnesh from the big city of
Birmingham,
In the car she reached to the right from
the back seat and | extended my right arm behind me and we held hands
in secret like that for the forty-five minutes. Other than the sound of the
road passing beneath our OldsmobileTs wheels and the sounds of DadTs
classic rock station on the radio, there was silence.
_When we drove up Dad said, oThis is it.� It was a gray house in the far
back of a cul-de-sac. He had sent me pictures of the unfurnished house
when he'd first rented it, but in person it looked different. Smaller. It was
a two-story house with a basement and a garage. Dad parked the car in
the crowded garage and carried my luggage inside. Boxes were still piled
in the corner. Farther inside, following Dad through the kitchen and the
dining room, | noticed boxes were in every room, hidden behind furniture
and stacked. Dad carried my luggage upstairs to LauraTs room because my
220
room had not been unpacked at all. My room was much smaller than
Laura's, which was okay because | didnTt really live there anymore.
Boxes covered my floor and bed; | could hardly step inside. | couldn't help
but think that if Momma were there, everything would have been put away.
She had always been so organized like that.
One of my first days home | found myself alone. It was a Monday,
and Dad was at work, telling the contractors what they'd done wrong,
and Laura was at school, not yet released for the holidays. | poked
around,and | even tried to put things away. I'd tried unpacking my room
already, but it was hard to be motivated for that type of thing when | knew
| wouldn't be staying there
In the living room | found aptexsfilled with videotapes. Mostly old kid
Movies, gartpons andysuch.
Near the bottom, though, family videos.
Remnants of the days Dad had his new camcorder, still a novelty then,
when he'd wanted to film everything. | swear we had three full tapes of
Our dog just running around, chasing squirrels.
| pulled out the Christmas tapes. Like every man with a camera in
hand, Dad had taped every Christmas from 1992, when he received the
Camcorder, to 1995.
| watched them all, sitting on the living room floor, still in my pajamas,
eating a bowl of cereal and drinking chocolate milk. I'd been raised on
Chocolate milk. | sat on the floor because our remote control, being
ancient, only worked if you held it right up against the TV sensor. |
didnTt have on my glasses so | needed to be close to the screen anyway.
| had seen some of them before, but 1994 and 1995 | had missed
somehow. | started with 1992 and worked my way up. In 1992 we lived in
South Carolina. We had a huge live tree, tall and thick. | remembered the
day we'd returned home after going Christmas shopping and the tree had
221
tipped over, knocking a clock off the wall and breaking a few ornaments.
In the film the tree twinkled and shined. The four of us, shown in
sickening-swift pan shots, smiled and waved, Laura only eight then
and wearing glasses, Momma with a fuzzy haircut and me twelve and
lanky. Then cut to opening presents. Shots of Momma holding up a sweater,
a ch qi ww etd W rapt me gk in a dainty crossyne His
old qight P
Rew
_1993 was very So si d en: ey our first in Idaho.
More shots of the family, circled around the bright, live tree shining in
the living room. Dad always bought live trees, the biggest we could fit in
the house, and Momma would always have it decorated by the end of the
day. Laura and | would help, but Momma always knew just where to string
the lights or hang which ornaments where. More shots of us opening gifts
followed. The camera switched from one person to the other, us all
laughing and smiling. Momma laughed at us, me and Laura, and our
reactions to presents. Laura especially was the comedian for the tapes,
and she always told jokes or made up songs. She could always make
Momma laugh.
_The '93 tape also showed Christmas morning. Even though Laura and |
both knew Santa wasnTt real, we still had visits from Santa on Christmas
Mornings. Usually our really nice presents were delivered by Santa. Dad
shot these early morning pictures, shots of me and Laura bleary-eyed
with bed-head.
1994 was no different, and the 1995 tape Mom us still m; the tree.
a ea u we aian ic ve Mma
had be bee n sick frome?
, = pa of buying a real tree, Laura and | had
Put up our old ap one. The two of us had decorated it by ourselves, but
Momma had sworn it was the prettiest fake tree she had ever seen.
_This 1995 tape showed us all still happy, but reminders of MommaTs illness
showed in her face. Shots of Momma on the couch next to Dad showed her
same smile, her same laugh, but her hair was short, just recently growing
back, and her face looked more tired, older. By 1995, too, she'd had her
mastectomy and her fake boob, one which she'd allowed me to help her
pick out, still gave her trouble.
_Dad panned to Laura and me, then back to Momma, with her smiling
sweetly but waving her hand and telling him to oget the kids.� Then
more shots of Laura and me on Christmas morning, looking for what
Santa had brought us.
_The tapes were strange because even though | remembered the
general Christmas events, | did not recall the conversations held that day.
Nor could | recall how exactly | felt or what | was thinking. And it didn't hit
me at first, but | realized after watching the first tape from 1992 that | had
forgotten my motherTs laugh. Her voice altogether sounded somewhat
foreign. | knew | had heard it before; it had that vaguely familiar ring.
But | realized that | couldn't otherwise reproduce her laugh in my head,
and that furthermore, | hadn't tried to in a long time. Her voice had
completely disappeared from my memory.
_By the 1995 tape, her voice sounded natural again. Like it had never gone
away. | watched her eyes as she laughed and remembered again the way the
corners crinkled up just so and the way all her teeth seemed to show in her
smile. And | watched myself, just sixteen then, unaware that a little more
than a month later | would be half-orphaned. It was, I'll admit, rather eerie,
and when the tape finally ended, with us waving at the camera and holding
up our gifts for display, | didnTt know quite what to think or make of the
whole thing. It was like | was watching a movie or a play I'd seen before,
and | knew the ending. | wanted to tell the characters so they'd know or
even try to change the outcome, but | could only watch and let it end the
way it always would.
_The 1995 was the last one shot. And after Momma died Santa no longer
visited our house. | guess Dad lost interest in the festivities with life after
Momma died; it was the same at our grandparentTs house. They, too, had
lost the love of the holiday; to them, it was another special day without
their daughter. | never understood their letting the holiday die; | felt then
as | feel now that Momma wouldn't have wanted them to give up the joys
of life simply because she wasnTt there, but there was little | could do
about it then.
_It wasnTt until later that day that | thought of that school counselor, the
woman who thought she knew everything about grief. It seemed she did
know something; without the tapes | couldn't remember those certain |
things about my mother that made her extra special. | felt ashamed, as
if | were a bad daughter and person for having forgotten my mother so
soon after her death. | could remember events involving her, certain
Conversations we had, times when she'd been mad at me or me at her.
But in each memory her voice, her inflection or tone, her facial
expressions even, were missing. It was as if my memories included
a faceless, toneless mannequin, just filling in for the real person.
_! asked Laura about it that night. She was thirteen at the time, just |
turned in October.
_"Do you remember her voice?� | asked. We were sitting in her bedroom,
mine still packed up and uninhabitable. She had a trundle bed and | sat
there, across from her on her own bed. The radio was on, as it always was
in her room, and Dad was downstairs, watching a football game. He'd been
Upstairs with us earlier, loitering in the doorway as he always did, and the
three of us had said nothing. He just stood there and we looked back at
him until he, wandered away.
_"I dunno,� she said. She wore long pajama pants, too long for her, and they
were rolled up at the ankles. Her hair was getting long, and she'd bunched it
225
cm
up on the top of her head like a blonde crown. She was filing her
fingernails, too long in my opinion. It was the style at her school, | think.
_"| was watching those movies,� | said, oand it was almost like she was a
stranger. Like | was hearing her voice for the first time.�
_"Yeah,� she mused. She'd finished her thumb. Now to the index finger.
oIt was weird the first time | watched those movies after.� She blew at her
finger. oI cried a lot that day, and then Dad was like ~what's wrong with you?T
and all. Told me to straighten up.�
_ I didnTt cry,� | said, feeling ashamed again. At her funeral | hadn't
cried, not for lack of grief but lack of something else. Energy, perhaps.
Maybe it was shock, as the counselor believed. oBut it was weird. Is it
bad that | donTt remember?�
_"I donTt think so,� she said. Middle finger now. The birdie finger, she
called it. The file made a scratching noise, and she'd jerk it back and forth
a few quick times, then blow. oI watch the movies to remember, but | don't
remember on my own anymore. But | like to watch the movies. | like ite)
see us happy.�
TTT TTT TT TNT TTT TTT TTT TT TTT TT
| didn't ask Dad about the movies because he was still in a weird place
He either got really emotional and sentimental when | asked about Momma,
or he got angry and quiet. Right after Momma died he'd sort of gone crazy
We all went about living our lives, Laura going to school, Dad working
and me suddenly the one to run errands, cook dinner and ten to Dad's
tearful thoughts. But he was angry, at whom | wasnTt sure. Either at God
for killing his wife or at Momma for ¢
ying. He yelled at Laura and me a lot
Even almost a year later we couldn't mention Momma without some
negative response. We didn't want that. It seemed that he could be
Emotional, but Laura and | couldn't, even if we wanted to. Maybe it
made him feel helpless to see us upset, but we'd both learned to not
express that sort of thing in front of him. Sometimes | wished he'd d
the same. I'd seen Dad cry enough for a lifetime, it seemed to me
| thought about making copies somehow of the tapes, so | could take them
back to school with me. Do like Laura and use them as a refresher. | didn't
Want to forget. But then time got away, as it usually does, and there was nc
means for me to make copies anyhow, so | ended up flying home without
anything to help
'm twenty-one now. If | sit here at my computer and think hard enough, |
can remember Momma's smile. Of course, | do at least have pictures to help
with that. | still canTt recall her laugh, and though for a while | took to
Watching those home movies every time | went home, | haven't seen them
in at least two years. | guess | realized it was okay if | didnTt remember her
laugh, so long as | could remember that she did laugh /RBL_44
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_We were at JoanneTs house in the kitchen eating Ritz crackers and
Easy Cheese, me sitting at the breakfast table and Joanne on a stool at
the counter. We'd been there since Joanne had given me a ride from
school, seeing as how that was easier and less mortifying than me being
the only junior riding the bus. We couldTve gone to my house, but my house
was
dull and small, with no cable and two little brothers who ran around in
Spiderman Underroos the minute they stepped off the bus. It was much
more interesting at JoanneTs. Her refrigerator had good food. None of
that healthy stuff my mom always bought. Joanne had Milky Ways and
Easy Cheese and Pop Tarts. And she always had interesting questions,
mostly gathered from the time-tested quizzes and informational feature
articles of her magazines.
_She swiveled around to get a better look at me.
oYou know, a dildo. A fake penis.� | stared blankly.
~You do know wha
Through the open kitchen window | could see a young girl riding a pink
bicycle, the kind with streamers on the handlebars. Her black braid flew
behind her, like a rope.
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_ Yes,� | said, oOf course | know what... that... is. But why do you
want to know?�
_~I'm reading about it in Cosmo.� She lifted the magazine for me to see.
_"'One Hundred and Five Reasons Why You DonTt Need a Man.T� She was
always reading crap like that. | never got questions like, oWhat did you
think about the magical realism in MorrisonTs Sula?� Always stuff like
this, so | wasnTt surprised.
_ So it says we donTt need a man because we have dildos?�
_ Exactly,� she said. oAnd you know, | think they're right. Except for
getting us pregnant, which we usually donTt want in the first place,
what can a man do that a dildo canTt?�
_! shrugged, certain my answer would be wrong. Joanne slid off the
stool, pulled a chair next to me at the table and slapped the magazine
over my paperback of A Farewell to Arms.
_oLook,� she said, stabbing the page with her pointer finger. oThis article
lists one hundred and five reasons why we donTt need a man. How could
they come up with that many reasons if they weren't true?�
_! looked at the magazine, but Joanne snatched it away before | could read.
oListen to this,� she said. The n donT list Men never buy the right gift.
goes on
Men only want | ees
_ That's a list of generalizations,� | said, but | knew this argument
had been over before it started. | could never convince Joanne of
anything that wasnTt written in Cosmo or Seventeen.
_oBut this is tr she ~te How m en ve you known to ha
YEU apne don CTR hee
_'| don't know that many men,� | said.
2 ExXecee�
_She picked up her magazine and went back to the counter.
246
e AV any OU and forth te the stool and scratching her leg,
F av Urever se en's
ildd ~be
2 No; guess not,� | admitted. | leaned back in the chair and the wood
Popped. | came from a strict Baptist family. That meant no wild dancing,
No short skirts, no swearing, and no recognition of hormones or sex.
That definitely included sexual aids. | learned about sex from Joanne
when she'd smuggled illustrated library books to the playground in fifth
grade. My mother didnTt even want to talk when | got my period; she just
handed mea pad from her bathroom cabinet and gave me money to buy
My own after school. Joanne had helped me with that, too.
~"Come on, then,� Joanne said. She closed the magazine and jumped
off the stool. She wiggled her finger, beckoning style.
~! followed her upstairs to the bedroom at the end of the hall. Our feet
Scuffled across the clear plastic runner JoanneTs mom had left behind.
JoanneTs house had always been clean; her mom, who now lived in an
apartment outside of town and who'd been divorced from JoanneTs dad
for three years, lived and breathed disinfectant. When she still lived in
the house, | couldn't put a glass down without a coaster, and if | let it
Sit idle long enough, her mom scooped it up, washed it and put it away
Without me even knowing it until | went for the glass and it wasn't there.
Now that Elaine, JoanneTs dad's girlfriend of nearly two years, had moved
'N, the house looked more lived in, comfortable. Elaine said it looked like
real People lived there instead of robots. Joanne said Elaine was just too
damn lazy to clean anything.
~"Close the door and sit,� she directed, pointing to the bed. | perched
Myself on the edge, wary of the various clothes thrown over the spread
4nd pillows, and when | did, she opened the closet, slid aside another
Pile of unfolded clothes, and crouched down, opening a small box behind
@ stack of shoes.
~Then she turned and set a long pink dildo on the computer desk, wobbling
247
er pa
"""""""""i" lL
""
She rolled her eyes and plopped on the bed, folding her legs underneath.
_ A dildo, stupid,� she said. oSee?� She picked it up and it jiggled.
_ Yes, | know that,� | said, oBut why are you showing it to me?�
_~ItTs ElaineTs,� she said. She smiled, her toothy gap shining. She
set it back on the desk and we both looked at it. It was six inches
long at least, and more than an inch in diameter. It reflected off the
dusty computer screen.
_"Ew, thatTs disgusting,� | said. | made a face, sticking my tongue out
for the effect. o| canTt believe you're messing with her... stuff.�
_ oIt's not a big deal,� she said. oYou wouldn't believe where she
leaves this thing.�
_oSeriously?� | asked. oGross.�
_"No kidding.� Joanne laughed. oLike | want to see that. | tell you, that
, lady is crazy. | mean, can you believe my dad dates someone like this?�
y
4
She gestured towards the dildo. oMy dad. You know how he is. Everything
has to be perfect, no one can express emotion, all that.� She picked upa
pair of jeans and folded them half-heartedly. oMom was always trying to
get him to do stuff, and he wouldn't. Then as soon as he gets rid of mom,�
she looked at the dildo again, othis. He gets some crazy woman who dyes
her hair, and suddenly he wants to go to a play or eat Chinese food or
/ leave a damn Sex toy lying all around the house for me to find.�
_We sat on the bed for a few minutes, mostly because | didn't know
what to say. When her dad started bringing Elaine to the house, | thought
Joanne would pass a stone. She and her dad fought hard over that woman,
especially when he announced Elaine would be moving in. Joanne had
threatened to move in with her mom, but her mom had a tiny apartment
that she rarely lived in because she was an auditor for Sears. She spent
most of her time traveling from store to store, and Joanne couldn't
really live by herself, so she had to stick it out with her dad.
_! thought that as time passed Joanne would get used to Elaine living in the
house, or that | would at least have better words of comfort. Instead,
250
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~l canTt believe we're looking at your dad's girlfriend's dildo,�
| said, shaking my head
o| can't believe you ve never seen one before,� Joanne said. oGod,
what century are you living in?T
Well, | could never talk to my mom about things like that. ItTs too.
too weird.� It was starting to get dark now and the air from the open
bedroom window rushed in, fluttering the curtains.
oYeah, your mom is a little conservative.� Joanne lit a cigarette and
moved to the open window. She wasn't supposed to smoke, but she
inhaled and blew a puff out the window
~Elaine, on the other hand...� Joanne took another pull on the cigarette
and the butt burned red. oShe's a freak. | donTt know what Dad sees in her.
She's crazy. You know last weekend? After | took you home? | came back
and was watching TV and you know what they were doing?� | shook my head
~They were having sex Up here. On this bed.� | shifted a little more to the
bedTs edge. o| mean, did they = I'd be coming back home? | could hear
the headboard, for a 6 ake.� i We Joanne took prob ably
chuckled hoarsel They we as
USIN Ng tha Ng. She seth d at the dild
She shook her head and blew little smoke rings out the window. oThat
woman's crazy.�
_Later that evening Elaine came home from work, and we could hear
her bumping and banging in the kitchen, the sounds of her heels on
the tile, her purse and bag dropping on the floor in a clatter of keys
and papers. We'd been in JoanneTs room, she watching the episode of
General Hospital she'd taped that day and me trying to finish A Farewell
to Arms. When she heard the garage door opening, Joanne sighed and
said, oThe little woman's home.�
| guess | should be getting home,� | said
oOkay,� Joanne said. oI'll drive you.�
~We walked downstairs. JoanneTs house always smelled a little like stale
Cigarettes and oranges. Glade Plug-ins, | thought. The kitchen now added
the aroma of chicken. Joanne yelled, oI'm taking Camille back home!�
~ Stay for dinner, Camille!� a voice from the kitchen yelled back.
| looked at Joanne and she shrugged. oWhatever,� Joanne said.
~Elaine walked in wearing this Kimono-type robe with a pink plaid i
apron wrapped around her waist. She'd also slipped on fluffy pink
house shoes, the open-toed kind that made me think of the old {
60s style Barbie shoes, and they scuffled on the hardwood floor
~"You girls like to help with dinner?� She looked from me to Joanne,
then back to me. | looked at Joanne. She shrugged.
~ | guess,� she said. We followed Elaine into the kitchen, where she
had already put the rice on the stove. The water bubbled and sizzled |
8s it splashed on the hot eye. |
~ You can cut the carrots,� she said to Joanne. oAnd could you roll these
Chicken pieces in the marinade? | like to use a little tenderizer with it,
too.� | nodded. oSure,� | said, and she made room at the counter for
the ¢h e @f us. �
neue l love to cook, Elaine said. oHate i
Cleaning up, but | love cooking.� No one said anything. | could hear the ~
Water spitting and Joanne cutting. The silence was broken by the sounds
of the garage door groaning, and then Mr. Whitaker pushed through the
kitchen door.
~ Hello, everyone,� he said.
~ ~Hello, dear,� Elaine said, and Joanne rolled her eyes at me. oHow
Was your day?�
~ Pretty good,� he said, and he stepped around the counter after
dropping his case on the floor. He bent to give Elaine a peck on the cheek,
but Elaine twisted her head and caught him on the lips. He straightened,
and after looking uncertain for a moment, he smiled. oWhat's for dinner?�
~ Teriyaki chicken with rice and carrots,� Elaine said, and he patted his belly.
255
cm
_Need my help?� He put his arms around ElaineTs waist, bending
down again, and she laughed. oNot that kind of help,� she giggled. She
slapped at him with an oven mitt. Joanne sighed, loud and harsh, like she
had something in her throat. oGo on, now, get out of my kitchen,� Elaine
laughed. oOr you'll never have dinner.�
_o Okay, okay,� he said. oI know how you like to cook.� He rounded the
counter and the breakfast table, pushed through the kitchen door, and
| heard him pound upstairs.
_oMom liked to cook,� Joanne said quietly, once her dad had left the
room. | looked to Elaine for a reaction. She didnTt show one, and Joanne
resumed her carrot cutting, slowly, laboriously, as if the carrots were
made of wood or steel. The knife cracked against the cutting board
as she sliced through.
_oDid you two cook together?� Elaine finally asked.
_ All the time.� Crack. Crack. Carrot slices fell like fallen soldiers,
toppling on top of each other. oDad never wanted to help her, but
mom is a great cook.� Crack.
_'No, honey,� Elaine said across the counter. oYou have to cut smaller
pieces than that. Like this.� She moved around me and took hold of
JoanneTs knife. She made quick, jerky cuts, the carrots toppling in
little slices. oSee?� she said, chopping away, oLittle pieces, quick cuts.�
_ Why don't you do it, then?� Joanne said, moving back. She held her
hands up like she was being robbed.
_ But | want you to help me,� Elaine said. o| just wanted to show you
how to cut the carrots. You try.� She held the knife out, handle extended.
_ Maybe | like big slices,� Joanne said. She didnTt take the knife. Elaine
finally set it back on the counter next to the carrots.
_Fine,� she said. oDo whatever you like. Big slices, little. | donTt care.�
She went back around me and started to pull plates and glasses from
the cabinets.
_ lll finish up here,� she said, oif you girls donTt mind setting the table.�
256
By now the chicken was ready. Joanne finished chopping the carrots,
and she grabbed the dishes. In the dining room, she sort of tossed the
Plates on the table. Then she said, oCome on,� and | followed her upstairs
SO she could finish watching General Hospital.
For dinner Elaine had decided it would be fun to eat Japanese style, so we
all moved our plates to the coffee table in the den and sat cross-legged on
Pillows. Elaine even supplied chopsticks for those of us who wanted to try.
Joanne opted for the fork and knife. Mr. Whitaker eyed us and winked at
Elaine. Joanne coughed and said the chicken was dry.
~oHow are your classes?� Elaine asked me. She expertly lifted another
Piece of chicken to her lips with the chopsticks.
~ Pretty good,� | said. Elaine nodded, then she suddenly goosed Mr.
Whitaker in the side. He jerked and Elaine giggled. He cleared his throat.
~ You're taking that advanced Calculus class, right?� he asked me once
he'd regained composure.
~ Yeah,� | said. oItTs pretty hard.�
- Why didnTt you take that class?� Mr. Whitaker asked Joanne, and
She didn't look up at him. She forked a piece of chicken and lifted the
bite to her mouth slowly.
~"l suck at math,� she said with a full mouth. oI got a C in
Algebra, remember?�
~"You could've done better if you studied,� Mr. Whitaker said, but
Joanne didnTt reply. oAnd donTt say suck.�
~ Speaking of school, Joanne,� Elaine said, oyour father and | have
been discussing a Christmas vacation, and we wanted to know your
School schedule.� She looked at Mr. Whitaker, and he winked at her
Sgain. She put her hand on his knee. oWe were thinking Mexico.�
~ Mexico?� Joanne jerked like she might be choking, and she shifted
looks from her father to Elaine. oYou donTt even like Mexican food, Dad.�
~ 've never had it before,� he said, looking at Elaine.
257
_oYou've never wanted to try it before.�
_oWhatTs wrong?� Elaine asked. oDonTt want to
go to Mexico?�
_oItTs not that,� Joanne started. oBut, | dunno. You didnTt
even want to go on that cruise mom suggested a few years
ago. You said you'd starve and someone would probably
steal our money.�
_oThat was different.� Mr. Whitaker attempted to capture
a lump of rice with his chopsticks and managed to get it
to his mouth before dropping it.
_ oHow?�
_oIt just was,� he said.
_oBecause it was with mom.� Silence followed for
a few minutes.
_oDo you know where you want to go to college yet,
Camille?� Elaine finally said. She smiled, and a piece
of chicken was stuck in her teeth.
_oNot yet, but ITve still got a year to think.� | looked
between Joanne and her dad, but neither looked up
from their plate.
_oYou finish your homework yet?� JoanneTs dad asked
after a moment. He chewed hard, his jaw muscles
working. | could hear his teeth click together.
_oMostly,� Joanne said. Her face turned dark again,
unreadable. She pushed her meat around her plate,
then stabbed a carrot.
_oWhat constitutes ~mostlyT?� Mr. Whitaker asked.
He was having a more difficult time using the chopsticks;
sometimes his anticipated bite plopped back on the
plate, spattering his tie, but he kept trying.
259
_ I'll get it done, okay?� JoanneTs fork clinked on the plate
and rice splattered the cherry wood, white specks against
ooDén't smart mouth,�
Mr. Whitaker warned.
_"| saw this new movie coming out next week,� Elaine
said between chews. _oItTs got Tom Cruise in it.�
_"ItTs a weekend, anyway.� Joanne took a sip from her
glass. She didnTt bother to collect the rice off the table.
_ You waste too much time,� Mr. Whitaker said. oYou're
too smart to ruin your life wasting time.�
_"l heard it was pretty good. Said so in Rolling Stone
anyway.� Elaine looked directly at me.
_o| donTt even have that much to do,� Joanne started, but
Mr. Whitaker interrupted.
_ Then start reading ahead. Couldn't hurt with your grades.�
_oBut then,� Elaine continued, oRolling Stone isnTt always
right.� She jiggled her chopsticks at me, but | wasnTt
paying much attention.
_ Would you just stop it?� Joanne said suddenly. She dropped
her fork on the plate and a bit of chicken flew across the table
and hit Mr. Whitaker. oWe donTt care about your stupid movie.�
_ Watch your tone,� Mr. Whitaker warned.
_"This sucks.� Joanne pushed away from the table.
Mr. Whitaker said, oDonTt say suck.� Joanne rose from her
pillow. oAll you do is ride my back, like I'm some no good
kid. Like ITm out sleeping around and getting high. Like
advanced calculus is all there is in the world.� She looked
at her dad as her voice rose higher and higher, and he
seemed both surprised and exceptionally pissed. His
eyes grew two shades darker, almost black, and his
brows came down low. oAnd you keep talking about
260
@ Movie no one wants to see.� She looked at Elaine with this wild
look. oNot with you, anyway,� she hissed. | watched Joanne push
through the door. Mr. Whitaker and Elaine just stared at me, so
| followed Joanne into the kitchen. But even as | walked through
the door | could hear Mr. Whitaker pulling himself off his pillow
and Elaine saying, oNo, Bill, itTs okay.� | hurried through the door
to the other side of the room. Joanne had perched herself at the
Counter again and was twisting, twisting around.
~Mr. Whitaker pushed through the swinging kitchen door, and it
SwWung back into Elaine who was at his heels. She was saying, ~Bill,
JUst let her go,� when the door smacked her in the nose, and she
Stepped in with her hand on her face. Mr. Whitaker didnTt take
Much notice.
~ DonTt leave when I'm talking to you,� he said, and Joanne kept twisting.
~ ~What? | was getting ready to do my homework.� She hopped off the stool
and hurried past me to the stairs. Mr. Whitaker followed in a rush, footsteps
heavy, then Elaine, then me. | wanted to see what happened, but | didn't
Want to get in the way.
~'You never show any respect!� Mr. Whitaker yelled up the stairs, but
Joanne didnTt slow to turn around. She didnTt turn until she reached the
doorway of her room. She and Mr. Whitaker faced each other in the dark
hall, like cowboys ready for a gunfight.
~~Let me show you respect,� Joanne said, and she turned again, this time
Charging towards her dad and Elaine's room. Again, Mr. Whitaker followed,
and Elaine and | stayed a step behind. ElaineTs nose was red from the door,
but it wasnTt bleeding. Her Kimono robe hung off one shoulder, and the
back dragged the floor.
~We watched from the doorway as Joanne went straight to the closet
and pulled out the shoebox from underneath the clothes.
~ What in the hell do you think you're doing?� Mr. Whitaker said, but
"SHE Whipped around and
261
"" "" a
pink and
glimmering from the streetlights shining in the dark room. She shook
it at her father and Elaine and it flopped.
_"This is respect, right?� She waved the dildo around, like some
bizarre pointer.
_"Put it away, Joanne.� Her dad had taken a strangely, eerie calm tone.
He stood in the doorway, Elaine just inside and in front of him, and |
peered around her shoulder.
_"Why? You donTt put it away. ITve found this thing in the couch once. And
I've heard you having sex. You didnTt wait for me to be out of the house long,
and you certainly didnTt wait for me to be asleep.� Mr. Whitaker turned a
darker shade of red. oYou hate tacos, you refuse to even let me get
something from Taco Bell, but suddenly you can't wait to go to
Mexico.� She still shook the dildo for emphasis.
_oJoanne, we didnTt mean to "� Elaine started to explain,
but Joanne interrupted.
_oWelllfithis is what | think of Mexito,�
oand you,� she pointed to Elaine, oand this whole stupid thing.� She
whipped around the bed to the still open window, the curtains fluttering,
and she flung the dildo out the window with a quick, forceful heave. El
sucked in a breath. Mr. Whitaker clenched his fists.
aine
| caught a glimpse of
the dildo shining as it turned and arced towards the ground below. | heard
the dull rustle of leaves and the thud of its Impact with the ground. Then
Joanne just stood at the window, not saying anything but breathing heavy.
She looked at her father and Elaine and me, but she didn't
say anything.
_Mr. Whitaker's face was red, his cheeks two flaming
cigarette ends glowing in the dark bedroom. | could see him
grind his teeth, those jaw muscles working furiously. Then
| noticed ElaineTs shoulders shaking, like she was crying.
| wondered if Joanne would feel bad once she realized she
made Elaine cry. But then | realized Elaine wasn't crying.
Elaine was laughing. She shook silently, then burst out
with this high, musical kind of laugh, an infectious, girlish
laugh, and she laughed so hard tears glistened at the corners
of her pinched eyes. Mr. Whitaker turned to look at her, his
face still red but his eyes wide, surprised. But she laughed
and laughed, and she pointed at the window and laughed
harder, doubling over. She wiped at her eyes with the sleeve
of her Kimono. Joanne looked at me and | shrugged, but her
eyes stayed dark and she scowled. Then Elaine said, oNow
who's gonna get that? We can't leave it in the yard.� | couldn't
help but snicker as Elaine laughed again, and Mr. Whitaker
said, oHuh,� like he wanted to laugh but was working against
it. Joanne just stood there, arms crossed, still frowning and
heaving like she'd just finished a race.
_oCome on, Bill, letTs look for it,� Elaine said. Mr. Whitaker
looked at Joanne weakly, reluctant to let her outburst go
unpunished, but in the end he followed Elaine down the hall,
his socks and her Barbie slippers shuffling on the plastic
runner. | waited in the doorway, watching Elaine and Mr.
Whitaker walk away, and when | turned back to Joanne,
lsawshe'dcrackedasmile. |
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7
Editor
JOHN T FOUST
Art Director A
JOEY RICHEY
Photography Director
JUDSON COWAN
Design
JUDSON COWAN
JOEY RICHEY
JOHN T FOUST
Gallery Photographer
HENRY STINDT
Faculty Advisor
CRAIG MALMROSE
Student Media Staff
PAUL WRIGHT
YVONNE MOYE
Literary Judges
ALEX ALBRIGHT
PAT BIZZARRO
WILLIAM HALLBERG
Music Judges
DJ WALLY AKA PISHPOSH
ALEX SMITH
KEVIN JEKEL
Gallery Judges
MICHAEL DORSEY
JOAN MANSFIELD
CARL BILLINGSLEY
Copy Editors
CRAIG MALMROSE
ERWIN HESTER
JENNIFER MCQUEEN
TOM BRASWELL
Staff Photographers
JON CAIN
JAMES HARRIS
THOMAS BLANCHARD
GRANT STEWART
ALEXANDRA BOT
RYAN CUTHRIELL
LESLIE HOUSER
JUDSON COWAN
12_A. Bot 14_L. Houser 26_J. Cowan
31_J. Cowan 34_L. Houser 37_J. Cain
108_A. Bot ? 122_J. Cowan
Pt
124_L. Houser a x i 140_G. Stewart
_G. Stewart
196. A. Bot BC 196 G. poset _J. Cowan
TNT TTT TTT TTT TT TTT TTT TTT
$7
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210_J. Cowan
213_J. Cain
71
218_J. Harris 222_J. Harris 227_R. Cuthrielt
242_J. Cain
a? ~~) {
251_J. Cain 252_J. Cain
245_J. Cowan
276_R. Cuthrielt
Lane
Gallery Intro Photography_J. Cowan
Materials Management Jennifer McQueen
Kent Hardy Rachel Hoffman
Walker-Ross Printing Leslie Houser
Paul Wright Christy Burleson
Yvonne Moye Laura Windley
Craig Malmrose LouAnne Hager
Holly Garriott Luke Hughett
Emerge Gallery Barry at Lecoplastics
Henry Stindt Victor Rivera
Erwin Hester Yvette Fortier
Carl Billingsley Carter Printing
Michael Dorsey Trade Union Press
Joan Mansfield City Market
Pat Bizzarro City of Richmond
Alex Albright Phillip Meggs
William Hallberg
Wally aka Pish Posh Our families, friends,
Alex Smith and anyone we might
Tom Braswell have left out.
Grant Stewart
James Harris
Jon Cain
Polaroids included in RBL_44 were
taken and signed by the artists during
the Rebel Art Exhibition at Emerge
Gallery in Greenville, NC.
4000 nylon flag ties were produced
and heat stamped by Leco Plastics in
Hackensack, NJ.
A\
/END