Nothing Gold Can Stay (12 page)

“But you all said it was too expensive,” Sabra said.

“Your daddy argued we should figure in a couple of dollars for all the ice cream you’ve missed this summer. Anyway, it looks to be a good year for us. All that June rain will get us through this dry spell. We’ll have that barn filled with hay and curing tobacco come fall.”

Sabra’s mother poured the last of the grease into an old coffee can, turned, and smiled.

“See, that’s not expecting the worst, is it?”

“No, I guess not,” Sabra said.

“Then put a smile on your face and call your daddy and brother in to eat, and don’t let on you know about that record player. He wanted it to be a surprise.”

Once all the farmhouse lights were out, Sabra took the flashlight from under her pillow. She took off her bra and put on an orange T-shirt with
TENNESSEE
on the front, quietly made her way to the kitchen, and filled a grocery bag. How she’d explain the missing food tomorrow, Sabra did not know. Probably won’t need to explain it, she told herself, but I’m at least going to go see.

Sabra eased out the front door and headed to the barn, the porch’s bare bulb, and habit, guiding her. She was almost to the barn mouth when she saw the small orange glow, thought it a lightning bug until she turned on the flashlight. Thomas sat on the barn floor, his back against a stable door. Wendy sat a few feet away. A bright-yellow backpack lay between them.

“Daddy don’t allow lit cigarettes in the barn,” Sabra said.

Thomas smiled.

“Well, it’s not a cigarette, at least the kind he’s thinking about.”

The orange tip glowed as Thomas inhaled. After a few moments, he pursed his lips and let the smoke whisper out of his mouth. He passed what was in his hand to Wendy, who did the same thing.

“You ever smoked a joint?” Thomas asked.

Sabra shook her head and looked back toward the farmhouse. If the marijuana’s odor lingered long enough, her father would smell it. It won’t, Sabra told herself. You’re just thinking the worst.

“You don’t look like you much approve of it,” Thomas said.

“I’ve heard what it does to you.”

“Good things or bad?” Thomas asked, and took the joint from Wendy.

“Bad,” Sabra said.

Thomas exhaled again, let the smoke haze the air between them.

“And who told you that?”

“My health teacher,” Sabra said.

Thomas raised the joint and made a slow swirling motion as if writing something in the air.

“You think he’s ever gotten stoned?”

Sabra tried to imagine gray-haired Mr. Borders, who was a church deacon and didn’t even smoke cigarettes, inhaling and holding the marijuana smoke in his lungs, letting it out slow like Thomas and Wendy did.

“No,” Sabra said.

“Then he doesn’t know, does he?” Thomas said.

“I guess not,” Sabra said, freeing a horse blanket from a nail.

The joint was just a stub now, hardly enough left to hold. Thomas brought it to his mouth a last time and laid what was left on his pants leg, rubbed it into the cloth with his palm.

“All gone,” he said, raising the hand.

Sabra set down the grocery bag on the horse blanket, positioned the flashlight to cast the light before them. She took out two forks and two paper plates, then the Tupperware bowl and quart jar of milk.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t heat it up for you,” Sabra said, “and I didn’t bring cups.”

Thomas placed corn bread and chicken on his plate, forked out some potato salad. He took a big bite out of the chicken.

“Damn, that’s good,” he said, and pointed his fork at Wendy. “You had better dig in now or there will be nothing left.”

“What about you, Sabra?” Wendy asked.

“I ate plenty at supper,” Sabra said, and lifted the jar of milk from the bag. “I didn’t have room for cups, but I figured you’d not mind about that.”

Though some milk remained in the jar, the Tupperware bowl was soon empty except for a few bones.

“The radiator boiling over was the best thing that could have happened,” he said.

“It was,” Wendy agreed. “We’d have passed right by and never known a new friend was just over the hill.”

“Maybe it was meant to be,” Thomas said, meeting Sabra’s eyes. “Things happen for a reason. What’s that quote you like so much, Wendy, the one about destiny.”

“We don’t find our destiny, it finds us,” Wendy answered.

“I believe that,” Thomas said, still looking at Sabra. “Don’t you?”

“I guess so,” Sabra said.

Thomas settled his head against the stall door, his eyes half closed. Wendy opened the backpack and brought out a strand of beads like the ones she wore and gave it to Sabra.

“I made these for you while we waited.”

“They’re as pretty as anything I’ve ever seen, even a rainbow,” Sabra said. “Thank you so much.”

She held the beads in both hands, slowly stretched the elastic, and let them tighten around her neck.

“Do they look good on me?” Sabra asked.

“They look divine, but two strands would look even better,” Wendy said. “You want to make one yourself? It’s easy.”

“Okay.”

Sabra moved closer, crossed her legs the same way Wendy did. Wendy set a spool of elastic and a plastic bag of beads between them. Sabra picked up a piece of string, watched Wendy tie a double-knot an inch from one end and did the same. She began sifting beads from the plastic bag, trying to find one of each color.

“You can do it that way,” Wendy said, “but it’s better if you let the colors surprise you, like this.”

Wendy reached into the plastic bag and pulled out a single green bead. She placed it on the string and, again without looking, brought up an orange one. Sabra did the same thing.

“They do look prettier this way,” Sabra said when she’d finished. “I guess people do this all the time in San Francisco, make things I mean.”

Wendy smiled.

“They do.”

“What else do they do there?” Sabra asked.

“Sing and dance, look after each other, love each other.”

“Get stoned,” Thomas said, his eyes fully open now. He laid a hand on Wendy’s thigh, caressed it a moment, and removed his hand. “Make love, not war.”

“And everybody’s young,” Wendy said. “You have to go there to believe it.”

“I want to go there someday,” Sabra said.

“Then one day you will,” Wendy said, “and once you get there, you will never want to leave.”

“Well, when I do,” Sabra said, “the first people I’ll look for are you all.”

“Of course,” Wendy said. “You can stay with us until you find a pad of your own, can’t she, Thomas?”

“Sure,” Thomas said, “but why wait when you can hitch a ride on the magic bus.”

At first Sabra thought Thomas was joking, but he wasn’t grinning or even cracking a smile. Wendy wasn’t grinning either. Sabra thought about what it would be like once Thomas and Wendy left. She’d see no one near her age until Sunday. But even then it would be the same people and they’d be talking about the same things and in the same way.

“You mean go with you?” Sabra asked. “Tomorrow, I mean?”

“Tomorrow or even tonight,” Thomas said.

“I would like to go with you,” Sabra said softly, wanting to pretend a bit longer that she actually might.

“You would be welcome,” Wendy said, “but it might be better if you waited awhile. I mean, how old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

Thomas looked at Wendy.

“Hell, you were just a year older when I found you. A lot of girls out there are as young or younger. This is what it’s all about, babe, being free while you’re young enough to realize what freedom is.”

“I guess so,” Wendy said.

Thomas nodded at the strand of beads coiled in Sabra’s palm.

“Why don’t you try them on,” he said.

Sabra slipped the beads over her head, tugged at them so they settled next to the other strand. She thought about what her father would say if he saw them on her. Or her mother, she’d not like them either. Thomas sifted more marijuana onto the smoking papers, twisted the ends.

“What’s it really like then?” Sabra asked. “The marijuana, I mean?”

“Like dreaming, except you’re awake,” Thomas said.

“But only good dreams,” Wendy added, “the kind you want to have.”

“But it doesn’t hurt you?” Sabra asked, looking at Wendy.

“No,” Wendy said. “It helps heal you, makes the bad things go away.”

Thomas lit the joint and held it out to Sabra.

“You can try it if you like, or I’ve got some serious mind candy.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an aspirin bottle, the label half torn away. Inside were round pink tablets mixed with blue-and-red capsules the shape of .22 shorts.

Sabra took the joint.

“Breathe in and hold it in your lungs as long as you can,” Thomas said.

“Not too long at first,” Wendy cautioned, “because it will make you cough.”

Sabra did what they said, stifled a cough, and handed the joint back to Thomas, who took two quick draws, exhaled. They’d passed the joint around twice more before Thomas reached out his free hand, twined a portion of Wendy’s hair around a finger. He pulled his finger back slowly, hair tugging the scalp a moment before he let the hair slip free.

“Come here, baby.”

Thomas inhaled and Wendy moved closer, let the smoke funnel into her mouth.

“Now you,” Thomas said.

When Sabra didn’t move, he slid over to her.

“Open your mouth,” Thomas said.

She shut her eyes, did what he asked, felt his warm smoky breath in her throat and lungs. As Thomas’s breath expired, his lips brushed hers.

Thomas pushed himself back against the stall door, took a long final draw, and rubbed the residue into his jeans. Wendy covered her face with both hands. She giggled, then lifted her hands to reveal a wide grin.

“I am soo stoned.”

“I told you it was good shit,” Thomas said.

“It is good,” Sabra agreed, though she felt no difference except a dryness in the throat.

“If we had brought the transistor we could dance,” Wendy said.

“I doubt they play much Quicksilver or Dead around here, baby,” Thomas said. “Motown either.”

Sabra thought of the record player, but even if she’d had some 45s there’d be no place to plug it in.

Wendy’s face brightened.

“I can hum songs, though. That will be almost as good. I’ll be like a jukebox and play anything we want.”

Wendy moved the flashlight so that it shone toward the barn’s center. She stood and placed a hand around Thomas’s upper arm.

“Come on,” she said.

Thomas got up and Wendy pressed her head against his chest.

“What song do you want, babe?”

“ ‘White Rabbit,’ ” Thomas said.

Wendy began to hum and she and Thomas swayed side to side, their feet barely moving. Sabra wished she had some water for her parched throat. She was reaching for the milk when it happened. Thomas and Wendy, the barn, the night itself slid back a ways and then returned, except everything felt off plumb. For a few moments all Sabra felt was panic. She closed her eyes and tried to block out everything except Wendy’s humming. Soon the humming seemed as much inside of her as outside. Sabra felt it even in her fingertips, a pleasant tingling. When she opened her eyes, it did feel like a dream, a warm good dream. She watched Thomas and Wendy dance, holding each other so close together. They were in love and not afraid to show it. Never had anything so beautiful, so wondrous, ever happened on this farm. Never.

Wendy stopped humming but still pressed her head against Thomas’s chest.

“What song now?” Wendy asked.

“I don’t care,” Thomas said, “but Sabra should get a dance too.”

“Yes,” Wendy agreed.

“I don’t think I can,” Sabra said. “I’m dizzy.”

Thomas went over and helped Sabra to her feet, steadied her a moment, and led her to the barn’s center.

“What song do you want, Sabra?” Wendy asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “You pick one.”

“I’ll do ‘Both Sides Now,’ ” Wendy said. “It’s a pretty song.”

Wendy sat by the stall door and began to hum. Thomas put his arm around Sabra’s waist and pulled her close. She let her head lie against his chest like Wendy had. A few times she and Sheila had pretended to dance, copying couples on television who glided across ballrooms, but this was easier. You just leaned into each other and moved your feet a little. A part of her seemed to watch from somewhere else as she and Thomas danced, close yet far away at the same time. She could smell Thomas, musky but not so bad. He leaned his face closer to hers.

“Someone as lovely as you has to have a boyfriend.”

“No,” Sabra said, not adding that her parents wouldn’t allow her to date yet.

“I find that hard to believe,” Thomas said, “just as hard to believe that you’re really seventeen. How old are you, really?”

“Sixteen.”

“Sweet sixteen,” Thomas said. “That’s old enough.”

He placed his free hand against her back, brought Sabra even closer, her breasts flattening against his chest. The hand on her waist resettled where spine and hip met, all of her pressed into him now. She could feel him through the denim. Their feet no longer moved and only their hips swayed. Sabra looked over at Wendy, whose eyes were closed as she hummed the last few notes.

“What song do you two want next?” Wendy asked.

Sabra slipped free of Thomas’s embrace. The barn wobbled a few moments and she had to stare at her sneakers, the straw and dirt under them, to keep her balance. When the barn resettled it had shrunk, especially the barn mouth.

“It’s your turn, Wendy,” Sabra said.

Wendy opened her eyes.

“I’ve had him all day, so you get him now.”

Thomas settled a hand on Sabra’s upper arm.

“Wendy doesn’t mind sharing,” he said.

“I’m dizzy,” Sabra said, “too dizzy to dance anymore.”

Thomas nodded, let his hand slide down her inner arm, his fingers brushing over her palm.

“That’s fine,” Thomas said. “The first time you do things, it’s always a bit scary. It was the same for Wendy.”

“So another dance with me, baby?” Wendy asked. “Or is it time to unplug the jukebox?”

“Time to unplug the jukebox,” Thomas said. “Time to get back on the road.”