Story Girl (27 page)

The vines outside the shed were rather beautiful. I studied the elaborate way in which they’d been wrapped and twirled and looped. They seemed fragile but they were strong, having to hold the weight of heavy sustenance.

I left the lizard and the sailor and the vines, and set out for my father on a bike that was, like my childhood bed, two sizes too small.

chapter
39

M
Y KNEES NEARLY
circled my cheeks.

But oh well, I was riding Lindsay Wagner and that’s what mattered. The pink banana seat was a little faded, but still wore remnants of the gold speck glue I had slathered on two decades prior.

I swerved along my old street, thinking it remarkable how little a neighborhood could change in twenty years. Aside from an updated version of mid-sized sedan or mini-van, it was as though I was riding through 1985.

My legs started hurting, so I had to stand and pedal. I also had to roll my right pant leg up to the knee to keep it from getting caught in the chain; the side of my rather saggy calf muscle was soon streaked with old grease.

Dark clouds were moving in from the northeast, so I decided to take preemptive shelter in a donut shop. I bought my dad and I some old-fashioned ones with the sloppy pink glaze, along with some chocolate donut holes for myself.

Luckily, I had never removed the big white Easter basket that would now carry the deep-fried dough to the motel. To my own childhood credit, I hadn’t buckled under the peer pressure that demanded I either remove the basket or spend the rest of pre-pubescence exiled to Geek-Ville. I couldn’t even remember where I’d found the strength to ward off such an onslaught of ridicule.

I liked to compare that challenge to Ms. Streisand and her unwillingness to screw around with her nose; she never had it chopped, shaved, or otherwise beautified in any way – and consequently retained the greatest voice in the history of popular music.

The rain never came, but my knees felt like cement balls by the time I rode into the motel parking lot. I leaned my bike on its kickstand next to my father’s car, and then knocked on his ground-level door.

He was startled to see me – so much so that a tinge of shame crept through me. I shouldn’t have come so soon.

“Did you really ride your bike all the way here? That old thing?”

“Yep.”

“The Wonder Woman?”

“Lindsay Wagner.”

Since he still hadn’t invited me in, I pushed past him with my donuts and sat on one of the two double beds that were facing a large mirror, an ancient television, and a garish painting of fluorescent yellow fish splashing around in an aqua blue forest stream. The carpet was a marmalade shag, and the bed quilts were a yucky variation of brown.

A very beautiful couple was making out on the screen; they seemed so perfect – so profoundly meant for each other. It was almost funny the way such un-reality created an impossible standard for most people to live up to. And yet, my particular reality seemed to be dedicated to adding my own contributions to that same world of make-believe.

My father quickly turned off the couple.

“You were in the shed?”

“Yes.”

“So it’s still standing?”

“It was when I left.”

My father offered me a beer, and I gave him a donut.

“That shed is really something, Dad. That curtain you picked really matches the walls.”

“It was an old boat cover I found at a flea market.”

“So you sewed it?”

“On the sly.”

“And the tomatoes look incredible.”

“Did you try one?”

“I’ll let you give me one when you think they’re ready.”

“A bigger shed would block out the sun, shadow those vines, ruin the math, ruin the angles, ruin the fruit altogether.”

“I thought tomatoes were vegetables?”

“Technically, they’re fruit. Didn’t you know that?”

“No.”

He looked so disappointed, as if I’d never learned anything of real value.

“The cucumbers?”

“They’re fine, Dad.”

My father looked at me like he was calculating a very difficult math problem in his head, but I knew he was just trying to brace himself for such an enormous loss. It occurred to me that I’d never taken much of an interest in my father’s interests – I’d really only seen him as a digit in the equation known as ME.

“I hear you make one heck of a garden sandwich,” I offered weakly.

He looked at me as though I’d just dismissed a year’s worth of parking tickets, “Who said?”

“Word on the street.”

“There’s nothing like a cucumber and tomato sandwich – nothing like it in the world. The marriage of the two – between bread – is perfection. People are always squawking on about the tomato with the damned bacon but really it’s the union of the garden dwellers – the health of the two.”

I nodded as though he were describing how to perform a surgical incision.

“You cut them into cubes and soak them in a bath of oil, vinegar, and salt. And if you use the coarser salt, use less of it. Your
mother enjoys it when I add a hint of red onion, but I like the cukes and tomatoes alone yet intermingled.”

That’s what James and I were now – alone yet intermingled. His presence was like an echo on the ether, and I could almost feel him in the next room.

“Make sure the olive oil is the good stuff – same with the Balsamic. Then you toast dark brown bread, and add a little bit of mayo and more olive oil – and then you load on the perfection.”

“I won’t let her take it down.”

My father looked at me as though the entire endeavor was hopeless anyway, as if the invading army was already outside our door.

“She could be taking it down now for all you know.”

I couldn’t tell him about the big hammer she’d requested.

“Why don’t we just haul the new one away – all those pieces? Just dump it somewhere, Dad? Like a body in the night.”

I imagined us as two shadowy figures laying low, eating bad food and waiting for the law to come down heavy.

“Don’t you get it, Tracy?”

“What?”

“Your mother doesn’t respect me.”

“That’ll change now that you’re here.”

“No, it won’t,” he said, spewing bits of pink-iced donut.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s not happy with herself.”

“It’s my fault,” I blurted.

“How’s it your fault?”

“If I’d stayed in Hollywood, you’d still be in the basement.”

“Yeah, right. I’d still be living in the basement with my life stored in the backyard. Your mother would still be unhappy.”

“She projected her stuff onto me, and then I had to come out here and project all of my problems onto you guys.”

“What problems do you have, Tracy?”

“Aside from the ones she thinks I have?”

“I’m asking about what you think. Anything to do with this James person? How did you meet him?”

I shrugged and ate another donut hole, “Car crash – I rear-ended him.”

“You date the guy you rear-ended?”

“Uh – that sounds really bad. His old clunker just stopped on the freeway. Anyway, his parents have loads of money. That’s how I can afford to bring you to Hollywood.”

“They gave you money?”

“For the car and lost wages.”

“You lost your job?”

“It wasn’t stable or anything.”

“But if they have money, why was he driving an old clunker?”

“Trying to prove a point.”

“What point?”

“That he can take care of himself.”

“Apparently, he can’t.”

“Yes, he can. He will. Eventually.”

I went out onto the patio, and looked down the hill at the narrow stream that was flowing swiftly, “Can you really catch fish from here?”

“Bud swears he’s caught a wild brown trout every year for the last thirty.”

We stood side by side peering into the dark grey water.

“Why don’t you come home now?” I asked.

“I just got here. I haven’t even watched a football game yet – not even a lousy bowling tournament. You wanted me to be honest and stick up for myself, so here I am.”

“I just wanted you to resolve things – that’s all.”

“And that’s always meant resolving them your mother’s way.”

“What about your produce?”

“God’s hands.”

We went back inside the room, and I threw myself across one of the beds.

“Can I ask you something, Dad?”

“Anything.”

“Do you think I should be married with children?”

“I think life is short and you should try to be happy. Whatever that means. And by the way, you really haven’t known this guy very long.”

“So?”

“So maybe you should relax.”

“I am.”

He sat on the edge of the other bed with his chin in his hands and his elbows on his knees, “If those hives have anything to do with him, then you’re looped, kiddo.”

“I was breaking out before James. But yes, I really do like him.”

“I know.”

“You do? You can really tell?”

“Yup. And your grandma kind of filled me in.”

Despite some mild embarrassment, I was happy that they’d discussed it.

“It’s like something mega, Dad. Half the time, I can’t breathe. I mean, I can’t explain it at all. It’s so weird. It’s actually a relief to be out here.”

“Hiding out a little?”

I nodded and hid my face under a pillow – one that was far less than a Joanne Johnston kind of fresh.

“I understand. That’s how it was with your mother.”

“Really?”

“Of course – do you really think we started out where we ended up?”

I sat up and looked at my father in the motel mirror; something in our expressions matched – like we could play the leads in a script I really needed to write entitled,
The Outcasts
.

“Mega, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah – but please don’t make fun of me. I just feel like such a late bloomer.”

“Do you love him?”

“I really want to.”

My father sighed, “It’s not something you necessarily have a choice in.”

“I guess not.”

“But he’s a lucky guy.”

I looked away from the mirror and turned to face him for real, “Remember that Christmas years ago when you got so mad at me? Freaking out in front of everybody like a madman?”

He nodded, “Sort of.”

“All because I lugged firewood into the house and got a bit of dirt on her new carpet. It was a light pumpkin color meant to match her sherbet orange drapes. Everyone had to call it a stupid tapestry instead of a carpet. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“You were so mad, and the worst thing was – ”

“That I was the one who loved a fire in the fireplace.”

“Yes! You were the one that got me excited about fires and marshmallows and a family sitting in front of a roaring hearth. It was your idea. And then that ugly carpet came – an entire month’s paycheck – and no one was even allowed to walk on it. Nobody was allowed to walk on the carpet, imagine? What were we supposed to do – levitate?”

“I do remember that, Tracy.”

“Well it
hurt
,” I said. “You hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. You can kick me if you want.”

“I don’t want to kick you. And I really don’t want to kick the spirit out of James.”

My father twisted the tab off of his beer can, “You won’t.”

“But it just kind of seems to happen. What if that’s all I know how to do?”

“He won’t let you.”

We sipped more beer and ate more donuts and listened to the movement of the creek below.

“Listen, Tracy – your mother put up with a lot of stuff. We didn’t have much money. Times were stressful. Her home was her castle. It’s okay. I could never do half of what I did without her help.”

“So you do love her?”

“I’ve always loved her – more than you could ever know.”

“So it is possible for two people to love each other – for real?”

“Of course it is. Things don’t have to be so complicated. God knows I’m a simple man, Tracy. I love the simple things because they’re really not so simple. And if you’re still for long enough, you’ll feel what I mean.”

I wondered if my very own father might possess all the answers to all of the riddles that had ever stumped me, “If I had the power to grant you anything – right now – what would it be, Dad?”

“A raspberry bush.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

My father waved me over and I fell into his warm embrace, thoroughly enjoying the combination of Old Spice and fresh beer.

“You need a ride tonight?”

“No, thanks.”

“The sun will shine tomorrow, Tracy.”

“It’s supposed to rain.”

“Trust me. Tomorrow will be absolutely incredible.”

“How do you know?”

“We know stuff like that around these parts.”

“And you’re really sure you’re not ready to come back? You have a better television at home.”

“How about you come ask me tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that.”

I went outside and took my sweet time rolling my pant leg. The green trees behind the motel looked black against the moon.
Lindsay creaked under my weight and I slowly peddled away from my father; I knew he was watching me go. I made a wide loop in the parking lot so that I could see him – for what might possibly be the very last time, although I knew I was being dramatic.