Jane Two (16 page)

“Y'all must be new! I'm Christina Parsifal, and this is my baby boy, Baxter. We saw the two of you drive up and just wanted to come on over and welcome you to the neighborhood. Invite y'all to dahn with us at the country club, or bingo, and we got them sportin' events right here to watch anytime, polo and swimmin'. Y'all gon' love it here.”

“Well thank you very much, that's so sweet; I'm Lola. My daughter, Jane, is around here somewhere. JANE!” From the corner of the garage I watched Jane inside the VW van through its opened sliding side door gathering up her record collection to take into the house. She heard her mother and parted the curtains inside the van to peer out at the street. “JANE!” Jane ducked down below the window as if she'd rather not be social. “JANE, please come!” From my vantage point, the street was partially blocked to my view by the van. Finally, Jane resigned herself to come out, and with an armful of records she hopped down from the van. When her feet hit the cobblestone driveway, her gaze landed on my bare feet. She straightened up slowly until her eyes found me, frozen in place. But Jane didn't move; the two of us stared at each other intently with her name rolling in the air. Her eyes finally left mine as her mom came around the van and approached her. I didn't know if she was scared or intrigued. I certainly wondered about her stare, but I only knew about mine. “There you are, honey. Come and meet our new neighbors.”

Jane looked down at her record collection and hesitated a moment, before glancing back up at me, then reluctantly followed her mother around the van. She got about halfway down the driveway when she stopped and turned around, looking right at me again. I waved, before turning and heading off to swim team practice. Then I remembered. I removed the cylinder from my back pocket. Between the shiny chrome-plated springs of Jane's trampoline, I tucked the cylinder of WD-40. It was a brand-new trampoline, which blew my mind, but I left her the can just the same, knowing that without it, the shine would eventually fade to rust.

Something inside me woke up that summer, like up until then I had almost been asleep. I thought about that look in Jane's eyes as I rode back across the golf course, slowly unbuttoning my shirt. At the cart path where I had left Firefly, a golf cart was approaching, and its driver was waving at me. Then I noticed Firefly hiding in a stand of trees grinning up a storm. His pockets bulged with golf balls.

“Who was that chick eyeballin' you, Mic? When you was by the trampoline.”

I looked back, but Jane was gone.

“Hey, kid!” I froze, staring at Firefly with his pointer finger to his lips. “Seen any balls layin' around this area?”

For a long moment, I stared at this golfer and more carts behind him circling: So many men also searching for their balls. A smile crept through my soul as the entrepreneur inside me recognized opportunity in our most abundant natural resource on that golf course: lazy people.

“No, sir, but I might be able to help you find 'em.”

“Well, that'd be great, kid!”

“Buck a ball, sir.” I heard myself state it like it was God's honest truth.

“Seventy-five cents.”

“Buck a ball, sir, five for $4.50, if ya go bulk.”

“Huh, impressive, well, hell, that seems reasonable.”

From that day on until our first swim meet, Firefly and I cleaned up on golf balls and fueled ourselves with garbage from the Snack Shack after each swim practice. All on account of having finagled a way to be nearer to Jane, my world changed, and I witnessed what financial independence could provide.

“Firefly, you know rich people got lawn mowers that push themselves.” We stood in awe and wonder. Self-propelled, guys would keep walking behind to steer. They were all the rage till some kids got their toes cut off because the mower was too heavy to pull backwards without leaning so much that your toes went under the spinning blades. Or, guys just kept walking, not paying attention under their headphones plugged into radios, and then lost toes trying to pull it to a stop. To be even closer to Jane, I mowed lawns near the golf course. I was a little marketer. I even had flyers. In contrast to the big eight-foot-wide mowers on the golf course and baseball fields, mine was a simple push mower. But that was okay, because I always preferred the safety of my own momentum.

I loved the Great State of Texas. Year-round it still got hot enough for grass to need cutting, though on rare occasions in the winter, folks would have to leave their faucets dripping so pipes would not freeze. The smell of Texas was the smell of progress. My nose was intoxicated by the scent of newly imported Formica, and brand-new swimming pool liners, still empty, and fresh-cut chlorophyll rinsed away each time a wall of water passed through. I would hide with my push mower under the lush trees and wait. Seventeen minutes later the torrent of rain would move on with its cloud bank to wash someplace else. The heat would come back up, and with it came aromatic success. So by the time of our first swim meet I had earned a grand total of $223 on golf balls and cutting grass, and Firefly and I were good and sugared up.
Two hundred twenty-three dollars.
Man, it seemed so much at the time.

Swimmers took their positions with pink and purple index fingers from dipping them in boxes of fruit-flavored Jell-O and licking off the powder that reeked of chlorine and fake fruit. Smiling proudly as the large crowd cheered and burst into applause, the bleachers were chock-full with friends and family and kids in Speedos cheering on teammates. As our relay race was under way, Coach Randall, Firefly, and I were behind the starting block in lane five as our teammate swam ferociously toward us. Firefly prepared to take his mark and turned back to us, all nervous.

“Aw shit, I think I'm gonna pee my pants, Coach.”

“As long as you do it once you're in the pool, Lawrence, no one'll notice.”

“I've never even made a whole length before; I mean, what if I can't make it, Coach?”

Coach Randall leaned in, right up close to Firefly's face. “Listen to me, Firefly, if you have to touch, go ahead, there's nothing to be ashamed of, but I don't think you'll have to. I've got faith in you!”

Firefly looked anxiously at me, and I pointed over at the kid on the block in the next lane whose teammate was neck and neck with ours.

“T. rex 'em! And hey, water at your hairline, man.”

“Yeah, water at your hairline, man.”

Trimmer now, Firefly's fat was well on its way to becoming muscle bulk. He climbed onto the block and tucked down, waiting for our teammate to touch.

“You gotta want it, Lawrence! Want it, man!” Coach Randall watched and waited as he murmured to me, real quiet, “He ain't never
had
to make a whole length.”

“He can't touch from this lane anyway, can he?”

“Not even if he grew a foot. I'm a second away from him the whole way, though.” Never taking his eyes off Firefly, Coach Randall kicked off his flip-flops and dropped his shorts with the lightning bolt logo, so he was wearing only his Speedo. He held his hand above Firefly's back. “Okay now, Firefly, just like in practice.” The two swimmers touched almost at exactly the same time. Randall slapped Firefly on the back. “GO!”

Firefly's mass splashed into the water, displacing his opponent in his wake and causing the kid to lose a whole second. Immediately Coach Randall ran around to the side of the pool to follow Firefly's trajectory, all the while shouting encouragement. Firefly attacked the water with passion, but going nowhere fast he lost ground quickly to his opponent. He was halfway down the pool dropping us now to third place, but he was still paddling. As he neared the edge, Trent, our former quarterback, stepped up. Coach Randall was leaning over the edge in front of Trent cheering Firefly on. “Okay, Trent, it's your race, baby! Just get us close!” Finally, Firefly touched. “GO! Trent, go!”

Coach Randall scooped Firefly out of the pool and hugged him, while Trent plunged in hot pursuit, closing us to second place. Coach raced around the pool to me on the block already stretching. Ever louder, the crowd cheered and chanted. I looked out across the pool, tracking Trent's every stroke. I was tucked and ready for a launch when I saw it. The volume continued to mount to a deafening blur as I recognized the blossom of yellow at the far end over at the wrought iron gate, and everything became clear and silent. It was Jane, dressed up for supper in my favorite dress of hers, the one from my first touchdown, the bright yellow one with white piping, sleeveless and baggy, leaning, looking at me with her head through the iron bars. Her tan fingers gripped the bars like an inmate. Her naked feet stood on the lower horizontal connector, her 95s dangling around her neck. And then, through the silence, she slowly waved. I was paralyzed on that starting block, as I wanted to look behind me to see if that wave was for me, but my lips gave a smile anyway.

“
Be here now
, Mic!” barked Coach Randall, snapping me back to the block. “On your mark!” Trent approached the wall, tied for second place, and about two seconds behind the leader. Exhilarated, I crouched on the block perfectly still and turned to my competition in the next lane, who looked nervously at me coiled there grinning. I glanced back at Jane, and she was bouncing once again, with her hands clasped in that little silent prayer. I was completely lost in her when I felt the sting of Coach Randall's hand impact my back with a “GO!”

So I plunged. My competitor was about a body length and a half ahead of me by the time I hit the water, and I started closing the gap immediately. I remember my body tingling during that race, the vision of Jane in her yellow dress smiling right back at me all the while. And the tingle just got stronger and stronger the closer I got. My opponent and I were about halfway across the pool as I advanced on him, even closer. I glided down lane five, with every breath glancing up at Coach Randall cheering me on. With the water at my hairline, occasionally I thought I saw Jane, like a starburst, walking right beside him and staring at me. I know I was guided by some sort of sonar that day, because I was not even there. I felt like I was with Jane the whole time, engulfed in her sort of velvet unicorn magic. It seemed like we had touched the wall at exactly the same time, but once I picked my head up out of the water, my competition was still about a foot away. The entire crowd was on their feet cheering. Coach Randall plucked me out of the pool, with Firefly screaming, “fuckin'-A that was so nigger-cock!” and Trent smacking me on the back like in football.

This was it. She had seen me do something really cool…and absolutely nothing embarrassing. My eyes went straight to the wrought iron fence, but there were too many people crowded around to see through. In the mayhem, I broke away and made for the fence, with Firefly calling for me to wait up. I pressed through the crowd, dripping wet, and reached the iron bars—but Jane was gone.

At the wrought iron fence I saw Jane headed off barefoot across the parking lot with her parents, her little wiener dog Donovan puddling after her on a leash. Sticking my head through the bars, I watched Jane walk away, unsure of what to do, until my heart made my throat just belt out, “Jane!” It was the first time I had ever voiced Jane's name to her. Her family hesitated a bit when Jane stopped as if she might have heard something. She turned around just as a car slowly drifted by between us, looking for a parking spot, separating us for what felt like forever. As soon as the car had passed, I saw them continue on toward the country club on the other side of the parking lot by the putting green. Like a contortionist, I slid my head through, then twisted the rest of my body through the bars and yelled again. “Miss Bradford!”

Firefly tried to squeeze through two rungs down, but got stuck.

“Mic, wait up!”

Jane and her parents stopped and turned to see me, still dripping wet and out of breath, just as my foot caught on the bottom horizontal bar and I tripped flat onto the concrete. Quickly, I picked myself up and ran up to them, with blood drizzling down my knee.

“Whoa! Mickey, hello! Are you okay? Troy, this is my best student I told you about.”

“Why, of course, it's Mr. Sunshine Superman!” exclaimed Jane's dad.

Jane and I stared at each other, me only occasionally glancing up at her parents.

“Hi, Mrs. Bradford, I'm okay. Hi, Mr. Troy Bradford, I just wanted to say hi, because I met Mr. Troy Bradford, and I said she can keep my ‘Sunshine Superman.' Jane, I mean.”

“Are y'all coming?!” The macadamia nut intruders descended on my precious moment again, the chunky kid in the alligator shirt and that woman that was his mother. I stopped short. Jane's parents turned to the approaching family and introduced me, as Jane and I kept right on staring at each other. The neighbors sauntered over, stiff-collared and pressed, looking a bit over the top in stark contrast to the Bradfords' unassuming manner. Jane's family was originally from Lubbock, friendly people, though compared to me Jane seemed unfathomably rich. As their new neighbors got closer, something familiar about the macadamia boy struck me but I could not yet place it. I wondered if we had fought ever, and I hoped we hadn't. When they got close enough, Steve McQueen growled at the boy, then lost interest and sniffed around Jane's little dachshund on its leash. Jane knelt down and petted Steve, and he licked her face. I felt barbaric with no leash for my Viking Steve McQueen, who towered over Jane's Donovan before plopping down to relax right next to him on the concrete. Dogs know shit.

“Oh yes, but come here a minute, Christina this is one of my favorite students. Mickey, meet Mrs. Parsifal and her son, Baxter. Mickey, Baxter and his mom just got back from vacation in Hawaii.” I had never been to Hawaii—in fact, I had never been anywhere except Grandaddy's and Mamau's and Galveston Island in Texas.

“And where d'y'all summer,
Best Student of Mrs. Bradford
?” Baxter's mother drilled in on me, sizing me up as she extended a red-taloned hand. I truly had no idea what she meant.