Hometown (10 page)

Guy your size, what sports do you play?

A musician? Got a band, right? Smash guitars, that sort of thing?

You
don’t
skateboard?

Dana’s brother? You smart?

Diana’s son? You write?

Gumbo’s boy? Run, chicken, run!

Closing Up
—

“Four hundred packages!” Mrs. McQuillan said. “That’s twice as many as we’d hoped to get done tonight. We’ll finish the others next week, then start our letter-writing project.”

“Why wait until next week?” Dot Tully asked. “Let’s meet again on Thursday—let’s come twice a week. Everybody, whatcha think?”

A quick vote was taken, and it was agreed to meet Mondays and Thursdays; then it was also decided with a show of hands to have a few people plan future projects.

“We need a name,” the chocolate torte woman said. “We need a checking account, too, for contributions so people don’t end up paying out of their own pockets.”

Names were suggested, but nothing appealed to everyone. Then, “I’ve got it,” said the torte woman. “Local Involvement in our Country’s Military.”

People grumbled.

“Don’t you get it? We’d be L-I-C-M: Lick ’em!”

Oh… Yeah! The name was approved.

Border frowned. Lick ’em. Sounded a little obscene.

He and Jacob loaded the finished care packages into a van and stowed supplies in a closet. Tables put away, dishes cleared and washed. Still, people didn’t rush home. Someone turned on a TV and people pulled up chairs around it. Talking, mostly, with minimal attention to the screen. Border wished he had his recorder and his hat. He was so broke. Would they think it weird? His fingers tapped.

“Music again?” said Jacob, sidling up.

Border started to explain what he’d been thinking about playing for money. Would they cough anything up, he wanted to know.

“Isn’t that sort of like begging?” Jacob asked.

Border shrugged. “I guess. I didn’t really mean it.”

A soap commercial gave way to news from the Gulf, and people stopped talking. The big, bald general appeared. He spoke precisely and calmly about the war.

Border was as enchanted as the others. The general was a mesmer. Cool, competent, manly. The perfect father.

Discipline, Interrupted
—

I don’t like being disobeyed.

I didn’t.

What are you saying? I come home at ten and you’re not here. You’ve been grounded, kid, what do you think that means?

You set the rules; I was following them.

Where the hell were you?

Do you have to yell? Schwarzkopf doesn’t yell, Dad, and he’s running a war.

Don’t get smart, Border. Where were you?

I was helping. When you grounded me, there were two exceptions: school and helping. I was helping.

You weren’t at Connie and Paul’s. I called and got them all worried.

I was at church.

What?

Making care packages for the soldiers. Helping. Got it? Helping the war effort, Dad. Proud of me? Everyone there knew you, Dad. The Vietnam draft dodger.

What’s going on, Border? Is this some little revenge game? You tell me.

I should…I oughta…

Hit me? Course not. Send me to Santa Fe?

I’ve thought about it.

Would you be happier then? Dump me on her? Just get rid—

“Would you two shut up! I was sleeping.”

Then There Were Three—

“Dana!”

Border stood still, while the old man lurched forward and hugged her. “You could have let us know you were coming,” he said, still holding her.

She wiggled loose and turned to her brother. “I can’t believe your hair. It’s gone!”

“Lost it in Missouri.”

“Gawd, Border, it’s so sexy.”

“Great. Just what I want to hear from my sister.”

“Where have you been?” his father asked.

“Didn’t you get the message I left?”

“We did,” said Border, “but that was over a week ago.”

“Battle Creek, Michigan. I love Corn Flakes, right? So after I toured Coke and Hershey, I thought it’d be cool to see how they make my favorite breakfast food. It was pretty amazing; they give away these toys on the tour, like the kind they put in cereal boxes.”

“Have you called your mother?”

“Should I? I suppose. I’ve been on the bus for days. Weeks, really. I took some side trips. I got held up in some small town in Michigan. This punk took fifty bucks off me. I couldn’t believe it; he was a pip-squeak, no more than five-five or something. I mean I had at least six inches on him, and he just sneaks up outside the bus station and twists my arm and feels me up until he finds money. That’s when I knew I was tired and wanted to get off the road. No way, with enough sleep, that I’d let some punk roll me.”

“How did you get in the house?” asked Border.

“The lock is feeble, guys. I did it with my driver’s license. Just slipped it in the door frame and, zip, I was in.”

“How long are you staying?” he asked.

“I’m not
staying
here.” Dana opened the fridge. “I’m living here.”

Border didn’t need to look at his father to know he had paled.

“Okay,” said his father. “Whatever. That’s okay.”

Border rolled his eyes. What a general. “You can’t have my room, Dana.”

“Don’t want it. I’m sleeping down in the basement. The sofa folds out and it’s really nice, and I was sleeping perfectly until I heard the shouting.”

“Call your mother.”

“Couldn’t you? Tell her I’m sleeping or something.”

“She’ll want to talk, Sis.”

“Duh.”

The phone rang. Border shook his head. His mother the mind reader, probably.

The old man picked it up. “Thanks for worrying, Connie. He’s home. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Here’s another good one—Dana has showed up. Yes, here. Okay, good night.”

Border slumped. “Dad.”

“What?”

“It’s too late for company.”

“I didn’t invite her over.”

“Since when is it necessary to invite her?”

“What are you guys talking about?” Dana asked.

Border walked to the living room and looked out the window just as the garage across the street opened. Taillights flashed and the Cadillac backed down the driveway. Within a minute, Connie was at the door.

“Hello-ho, kids. I knew I just couldn’t go to sleep tonight. First I was thinking about you, Border, and how your dad oughta wallop you good. And then I hear about Dana. Oh, hon, we’ve been worried about you. I’m Connie. Umm, that salad looks good.”

“Have some,” said Border’s dad, glumly.

“Can’t. Paul told me to stay just a minute. Actually he said I shouldn’t come at all, but, well, here I am. Oh, Dana, you’re gorgeous, Border’s twin almost. But, sweetheart, green hair!”

Border smiled, watching his sister stiffen and pull up to her full seventy-two inches, head proudly lifted on the long, pale neck.

“What about it?” Dana said, making a point of looking down at Connie’s copper top.

Connie’s mouth flapped twice. Border sucked air, amazed: Connie was speechless.

Not forever, of course. “It’s just…I thought… Oh, hon, why…
”
She smiled. “Why, with your complexion, I’d go with blue.”

Confidante
—

Knock, Knock.

“Are you decent?” Dana whispered outside Border’s bedroom door.

“Yes, and I’m awake, if that matters.”

She entered, switched on the light, sat on his bed.

“Come right in,” he said.

She pointed to a half-empty bottle of sparkling water on the floor. “How old is that?”

“More than a day, less than a week.”

“Good enough.” She picked it up, twisted off the cap, and drank.

“Connie is really something,” she said when she’d swallowed.

“That’s an understatement. Wait till you get to know her; words will fail you. Did you call Mom?”

“All done. Got her machine, thankfully.”

“She’s been worried. Now she’ll just be mad.”

“I don’t care. I had a good time on my trip. Now I’m here, and I’m staying.”

“Dad is stunned.”

“He’ll get over it. How’s he doing with the new life?”

“Fine. Finding lots of old friends.”

“And you?”

Border shrugged. “Good days, bad days.”

“What’s a bad day?”

“Happens when I stop and think about how small this town is. I warn you—every move you make, people are watching.”

Dana smiled. “I like being watched.”

“You’ll love it here, then.”

She yawned. “I don’t care if I love it or not. I just don’t want to go back to Santa Fe. Don’t want to go back to her.”

“How bad can it be?”

“I don’t see
you
rushing off to live with our mother.”

“I wasn’t allowed to, remember? They divvied us up.”

Dana nodded. “Boys and girls, that was the split.”

Border smiled. “I think they argued more about dividing the CD collection.”

“True enough.”

“So what’s the problem with Mom?”

“I’ll give you a clue: She’s preparing a new show.”

He made a face. “That gets intense.”

“And you know what she’s calling this one?
The Family Plot
.”

“Are we in it?”

“You need to ask?” She set down the water bottle. “I had to get out of there. When she’s rehearsing, it’s like the whole world revolves around what she’s thinking, what she believes, what she wants to say.”

“I think it’s always worse after the show opens. Remember the time that arts reporter tracked us down in school?”

Dana nodded. “Right after she did the nude thing for the first time.”

“Wanting our opinions on the obscenity charges. What a dork.”

Dana sighed. “I suppose I should give her credit for being brave.”

“She’s also a good poet,” said Border. “Give her credit for that, too.”

“Oh sure, her writing is amazing. Her performance…” They both laughed.

“I guess I can understand why you’d be going crazy living with her—two loud, tall poets in one small apartment.”

“She doesn’t think I’m much of a poet.”

“Don’t be silly. Your stuff is good. Maybe a little long…
”
She punched his foot. “When I show her some of my writing, Border, it’s like, ‘Oh, sweetheart, that’s lovely!’ I hate to be patronized.”

“She’s not patronizing you; she’s mothering you.”

“I know what she’s doing.” Dana crossed her legs. “It wasn’t just her work that was hard to handle. Lee has been around a lot, and they argue so much. I was tired of having their fights in my face. I had to get out.” She grinned, rose, made a fist, and rubbed the shaved back of his head. “And I wanted to see you, widdle brudda.”

“Go to bed.”

“I will, but first get your recorder and play me a lullaby. My head is rattling with the noise of bus engines. I want music.”

“I’m out of practice. I haven’t been playing much.”

She stood up, stretched. “Why not? You used to play for hours.”

“I don’t know. Maybe because it doesn’t fit here. Maybe because it’s something I used to do back home. People here think I’m weird enough.” He crossed his arms behind his head. “I’ll play when I need the money.”

“Or when you need the music.”

“That’s deep. Goodnight, Dana. I have to go to school tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Border punched his pillows, making a nest for his head. He dropped back down, smiling. Good to have someone to talk to.

Fitting In
—

Dana fit right in, and Border was glad to have her there and he could tell his father was too. She wasn’t his kid of course, but they’d all been together so long that those sorts of details got dim.

Dad, she called the old man, just like Border did.

The first two days, the phone was buzzing with calls between Red Cedar and Santa Fe. Border only heard Dana’s side:

“I’m eighteen, I’m out of school, I’m a free woman, you can’t make me, I’m staying.”

Border took the phone during one argument, told her he missed her, then said, “Back off, Mom.”

That felt good.

On Saturday Liz and Jacob came over to meet Dana, and Border could tell right away that Jacob was hooked, bad. “Quit panting,” he whispered to him.

Dana brought out notebooks that were filled with poems she’d written on the bus rides between food factories. “I’ve been dying to read these,” she said, “and now I have an audience.” Jacob settled in, Border groaned, Liz remembered chores at home.

“Get your recorder and play,” ordered Dana. Border glared at his sister.

Liz said maybe she would stay, the chores could wait. “We’ve never heard him play. Is he good?”