Empty Pockets (13 page)

“Well, let's eat out then,” I said.

The cat was rubbing itself against Cliff's leg.

“Radical!” said Bruce.

“Naw,” Cliff said, “it's too fucking late. What time does your plane leave?”

“Midnight,” I said.

“Well, fuck. You'd think she'd at least leave something for poor ol' Weird. She loves the ol' Weirdster, you know.”

Bruce and I laughed.

“Sure, Cliff,” Bruce said to him.

“C'mere. I want you guys to see this.”

He walked off toward the bathroom.

“Look at this. You haven't seen this.” He was unwinding the bandage from his hand. A long, deep-looking cut, barely scabbed-over, curved across his palm.

“Jesus, Cliff!” I said.

“Not that. I mean this.”

He snapped on the light.

It was blood. Blood on the walls. In long smears. More was on the tile over the tub. In splatters on the mirror over the sink.

Blood-soaked towels lay wadded up on the floor.

“Jesus Christ!” I said. “All that from your hand?”

“Yep.”

“From that one cut?”

“That's it.”

“She did that?”

“Unbelievable!” Bruce said. “She's a fucking maniac!”

“Isn't she,” said Cliff.

“Take a look at this.”

I was looking in the toilet. A gold wedding band lay motionless on the porcelain bottom of the bowl. It shone in the water.

“Was that in there this morning?”

“No,” Cliff said.

He laughed.

“C'mon,” Bruce told us, “let's get out of here.”

“Suits me,” I said.

“No.”

Cliff was looking in the bowl.

“Nice touch, that girl.”

I looked at him. His head was turned so I couldn't see his face.

“She must of come back while we were out picking you up at the airport.”

“Well, let's go,” Bruce said. “We'll make a night out of it. You can catch another flight, can't you?”

“Out having fun, was how she put it.”

“For sure,” I answered.

The cat appeared around the door. It looked at us, then turned and left.

“Fun.”

“Well, let's go,” Bruce said.

“No.

“No,” he said again, looking up at us. He wasn't crying. I thought he had been, but he hadn't.

“You guys go on.”

“Sure,” I agreed, stepping past him.

“Listen,” Bruce said, “she'll be back.”

“No, Bruce,” he answered, “no, she won't. That's a fucking stupid thing to say. I don't need that.”

Bruce looked at him.

“I don't need it.”

“Right,” Bruce said. He stepped back. “It is. I apologize. You're right. That was really stupid.”

“I hate her, you know. I hate her fucking guts! I'm the one that told her to go! To get her fucking ugly ass out of here! It was me!”

He turned away again.

This time he was crying.

We stood there watching him go through it.

“Listen,” he said, “I'm really sorry I brought you guys here. I didn't mean to do this.”

“Hey, Cliff,” I said. “It's okay.”

“I didn't,” he said.

Apache Trails

Phillip,

W
hen I was a girl, four years old, my mom gave a party and at some point late in the evening I was still awake (my dad was overseas) and a man came in my room and sat down on my bed. I don't remember the exact conversation, but he sat and talked with me, and he did something remarkable. He took a book and put it under my pillow. He told me to keep it there, that whenever I felt I wasn't a part of things, it wouldn't make any difference because I would have something of my own to do. All I had to do was take the book out and read it. I was too young then to know how to read, and he probably didn't know that, and I'm sure if he had he still wanted to plant that seed, and to this day I don't know who he was, but I do know the effect that had on me: I still believe people are understanding and compassionate.

And I assume that first about them.

Experience has shown me that other people weren't as lucky as that, and they distrust others first. And when they see compassion/niceness in people they think it's weakness.

I think you've made that mistake. You've seen my compassion as unsureness, my niceness as weakness.

I'm not saying this in any sentimental idea of us ever seeing each other again, but I do know that in the future when you meet someone, if you judge them as you did me, even if it is you that leaves first again, once more you'll be alone.

Gloria

Blue Skies

SPRING

I
‘m into making my room as visually attractive as possible. I buy old lace curtains and have plants. I do needlepoint. I was into the feminist thing for a time. I moved in with three other girls. Women should support other women. It's a rough world out there. But it was just a tight circle among them. It was a defeat. I certainly didn't expect that. And you don't get over defeat either. People say you do but you don't. Sure, you can rationalize it and say, Yes, I'm actually stronger at the broken place than I was before, but it isn't true. You don't get over it. You may be stronger at the broken place, but that just sets you up to get broken at some other place. So I moved out of there and now I'm living with three boys. They confuse me, too, but at least they're safe. I said to one, “Where are the men anymore?” and he said, “Where are the women?”

“A thing that intense has to burn out. I saw one of the last notes she left her: ‘Sometimes I think you want more of me than there is to give.' I know if I saw someone looking into my eyes with that kind of intensity I'd be afraid. No one can meet that kind of need.”

SUMMER

N
ed, the island of Mykonos looks exactly like this. I live three minutes from this street. Life is primitive here—it is paradise! I live very cheap here. My baggage was stolen in Rome. So I am here for the summer. If you can, please write me: General Delivery, Mykonos Is., Greece. I rent a room for 3.00/a day, soon to move to a cheaper place. All the gay men in the world, I think, congregate in Mykonos—the influx begins now!

Love, Kitty

FALL

“T
wo people don't have to rot together. He showed me that. He and Ray don't. They give each other the freedom to be what they are. And that means if one has feelings that go somewhere else, then he has to be free to go somewhere else, then he's free to bring that experience back to the relationship. It's a pretty hard thing for most people to do. I'm really grateful to him for that. And I've had another insight. I'd been going out heavily. We'd all dress up and go out dancing. Studio One, the Unicorn, places like that. And I was sitting there watching everyone dance, and it suddenly occurred to me, No wonder I never meet anyone—how could I in these places? Not if you're female.”

WINTER

K
it, I am writing this before we talk. What we talked about, I've been thinking about for a long time. So it wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision. But, Kitten, really when I walked in this morning that was the end. But still never forget I'll miss you, and I love you very, very much. We've had a lot together. It won't end. This is only temporary, I hope. It's up to you also. I realize it takes two, but I can't take it anymore. There's a limit. But I just wanted you to know how much I really care. And how much thought it took to come to this. So, Kit, I hope you understand and still love me.

Forever, Julia

Come Home Please

“I
just now realized I never asked you if you like the name I picked out for him. Which is quite selfish on my part. He is too much. He climbs up and down my ribs, chins himself now and then, then decides he is getting out of there and starts to dig a hole right in my side. Usually the left side. So then the right side of my tummy is completely flat and you can see him trying to push his way out of the left side until I can't stand it anymore and I move him to the center. This makes him very upset and he starts beating on my ribs and then on my tummy so I get sick. Like I said, if you were here I would undoubtedly take it out on you, the closest person, and you would hate me for being such a bitch. And I would hate you for thinking I was a bitch. Can't you see it all now, but wouldn't it be wonderful?”

Paradise Passing By

W
e're going in the room and Gail says, Grandma talks about passing over to the other side, she calls it the other side, she talks about people who are already there. We go over and look at her. Anne touches her arm. She is Anne's grandmother and she opens her eyes at the touch, but Gail keeps her from talking. Anne stands there looking down at her. The sheet is up under her chin and little pink cloth gloves are on her hands. All the flesh is gone from under her skin. She smiles at Anne then closes her eyes. A trickle of blood comes out her nose and lies in a bright smear across her lips. It isn't hemorrhage, it is blood from where she has rubbed her nostrils raw. That's what the gloves are for, Gail says, to keep her from opening the sores in her nose. I look at the gloves. Tiny dots of blood are bright on the tips of the pink fingers.

I look at her arm lying outside the sheet. It lies over a long, yellowish plastic tube extending out from under the sheet. The tube goes down into a large, opaque plastic jar on the floor. Fluid is running in the tube. The skin of her arm is silvery and reflects light. She says something. I look up. Gail is wiping off her mouth. Her eyes are open again.

“How are you?” Anne says.

She nods and closes her eyes.

“Is the pain bothering you? Do you want the doctor?”

“Are you going to move her up?”

It's the woman in the other bed.

“She was wanting to be cranked up before you came. If you move her up you'll need to call a nurse. You can't move anyone unless you have a nurse.”

“I don't think so,” Gail answers. “Thank you very much.”

Grandma's eyes remain closed. Drops of sweat have broken out on her brow. She hasn't answered Anne's question. Her face under the fluorescent lighting is that of a tiny, old man. Gail
begins wiping her brow. Anne bends and kisses her cheek. I touch her arm. The skin is warm and powdery, hanging off the bone. I squeeze her arm. Anne looks at me, indicating we should go. She looks back at Grandma. She bends to her again. I walk out into the hall. Gail comes out in a hurry, going by me down the hall for a doctor.

We're there the next night when she dies. Anne stands at her side, stroking her brow. Grandma lies in the same position as the night before, except this time her arms are folded across her chest and her head lies to the side on the pillow. The pink gloves are still on her hands. She hasn't opened her eyes once, and we know it's close. We've only just arrived, and we know it. I'm standing back against the wall by the door. I'm looking at Anne. Gail moves to take one of Grandma's hands.

For a second I look away, glancing up at the ceiling, and then I'm looking at Anne and Gail and at her, and something goes out of the room. That's all. One second I'm looking up, and then we're all looking at her and something goes out of the room.

The Fortunes of the Day

T
he next day not looking for her I saw her. I was doing laundry and there she was, outside, going by. I could let her walk past. It was up to me. I went out after her. She was stopped just past the window, looking at a notice put up by the ballet troupe class, her face wonderful looking, gray strands in her black hair, tan Boy Scout shirt, long Levi's skirt, beat-up Lady Canada boots.

I stepped around her, putting my hand on her side. She turned, looking up at me, not recognizing me. She looked stoned. Then she recognized me. I grabbed her and we hugged.

“What,” she said, “what are you doing here?”

“Laundry,” I said, “I'm doing laundry.”

She laughed that same laugh.

“I'll help.”

We turned and went back into the laundromat. My clothes were already dry and she helped me fold the shirts and
T
-shirts and jeans and then the sheets. I saw the fastest way to do it, started to do it, she was still figuring it out. “No,” she said, “let's do it this way.” I went along, feeling it made no difference. We folded the first one, then the others. We were finished and I put the box of fresh clothes under my arm.

“Well,” she said, “don't forget your book.”

I saw I had forgotten it.

She handed it to me.

Going outside together, I said nothing. We walked to the corner and she said, “I guess we can still have our life together, it's still there, there's a lot of time.”