Stranger in Dadland (8 page)

Cora dropped me and Dad off first. She just pulled up in front of Dad’s building and we got out. Iris and I said, “Bye,” but Dad just grunted and Cora silently stared straight ahead. Good, I thought. No more Cora was just
fine
with me—although I wouldn’t have minded seeing Iris again.

When we got upstairs, Beau came galloping up as if he’d been waiting all day, like Ditz. He was dragging Claude along by the hand. Beau took one look at us and said, “The
beach?
Without
me?
Harsh!”

Both Dad and I laughed. “I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Dad said. “Then I’ve got a ton of work to do. Why don’t you guys…” He made a get-lost gesture with his hand.

I was caked with sand and itchy with salt. “Well, I need to shower too,” I said, hearing the whine in my voice. I wanted to pull out my tongue.

Dad just nodded at his whimpering son. “You go first,” he said.

I ducked into the apartment and took the fastest shower in the history of bathing.

Beau got rid of his little brother, and we headed for the Laundromat where he said there were video games. As we walked, kicking things down the street, we told corny dumb-blonde jokes, making up our own. Then I told him that my dad and Cora had gotten into a really quiet fight. “So quiet that Iris had to tell me about it.”

“Who’s Iris?” Beau asked.

“You don’t know Cora’s niece?” I said.

Beau shook his head, so I guess he didn’t know
everything
about my dad.

Then, out of nowhere, Ditz was on my mind. It kept happening, like terrorist attacks—grief ambush with no warning. But there was still something numb about it. I wondered if the numbness was because I was here instead of there. Could distance make death seem less real? Did that
mean that if my dad dies while I’m back home in Kansas,
his
death will seem unreal too?

I suddenly felt stupid for thinking these things. Did other guys, guys like Beau, ever think about their parents dying and junk like that? Maybe I was just weird.

“You dreaming about her?” Beau asked, poking me with his elbow.

“Huh?”

“The niece,” Beau snickered. “You zoned right out.”

“I was, uh, thinking about something else,” I stammered.

“Sure you were,” Beau kidded, jabbing me in the ribs again.

I tried to remember what we were talking about. “Did you ever see people fight quietly?” I asked him.

“My parents are screamers,” Beau said. “Door-slamming screamers.” By that time we were at the Laundromat playing games. Beau went through way more quarters than me.

When we were both out of money, we went back to the apartment building and threw rocks from the back steps near the trash cans. Then Beau’s brother Eric appeared. I practically ducked, half expecting to get clocked on the head.

“Got any dough?” Eric asked.

Beau shook his head.

Eric pointed at Beau as if his finger were a gun and said, “Deliver.”

Beau turned his pockets inside out as proof of poverty. I just stood there, afraid Eric was going to ask
me
for money. But he never looked at me or gave any sign that he’d noticed
I was there. Then he turned and sauntered away, calm, in control.

I exhaled and that kid Alex from back home popped into my head. Alex had been calm like that too. It never seemed particularly thrilling to him that he was ruining my life. Like Eric, Alex tortured in an offhand way as if he were just killing time. Meanwhile, I’d be cowering, feeling my chest close up, trying not to cry, wishing I were dead.

Back then I’d thought that if I had a dad, a
real
live-in dad, I’d ask
him
what to do about it. But it wasn’t a long-distance phone call kind of problem. Plus, I’d been afraid Dad would agree with Alex that I was a worm, for having to ask him what to do.

I hadn’t told Mom because I knew she’d get hysterical, run to the principal, and make a scene. And I hadn’t told my sister because she would’ve said to go for Alex’s jugular. And if Liz had found out that I couldn’t fight back, she-would’ve come to my school and beaten Alex to a pulp
for
me.

Having my enemy beaten up by my sister would’ve been fatally uncool. Having him annihilated by my big
brother
, however, would’ve been fine. In fact, all my fantasies of revenge back then included a brother the size of an oak tree who’d obliterate Alex, growling, “This is for John. And
this
is for John,” with every bone-crushing blow.

But how did it work, I wondered, if your enemy
was
your big brother? I watched Beau continue to pitch stones at the garbage can as if nothing had happened. One of his pockets was still sticking its tongue out.

“You’re lucky you have a sister,” Beau said. I thought he meant
instead of a brother who tortures you
, until he added, “You probably understand girls, know how to talk to them and stuff.”

“Sisters aren’t
girls!
” I said, and we both cracked up.

“Those girls at the corner the other day,” Beau said. “They liked you, I could tell.”

“Me?” I wished he was right, but was sure he wasn’t. “You’re crazy. If they were looking at me at all, it was because they’d never seen anyone walk into a cactus before!”

Beau rolled his eyes, as if I were nuts.

I pointed after Eric. “So, did you tell him about Chet Carter?”

“I’ve been saving it,” Beau said. “It’s too good to waste.”

Then his mom called him in to dinner and I went back to Dad’s. The TV was on. Dad was working at the computer and talking business on the phone at the same time. He nodded at me, but that was it. Even while I’m here, I thought, I don’t make much of an impression on him. I went to the guest room and picked up the mystery novel I’d started the night before. But after a while, Dad came to the door and said, “Phone for you, Big Guy.”

Oh, no! I thought. Mom with more bad news? But it-wasn’t my mom; it was Iris. I hoped my voice wouldn’t squeak.

“How’s your father?” she asked me.

“Dad?” I said. “He’s fine.”

“What do you mean,
fine?
”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” I asked.

“Well, my aunt is a total
wreck!
” Iris said. “She was crying so hard it was
scaring
me. Driving back here from your house I thought she was going to kill us both! I’m
sure
she-couldn’t see the road.”

“What’s the matter with her?” I asked.

“What do you
mean
, what’s the matter?” Iris shrieked. “Didn’t your dad say
anything?
Isn’t he at least acting sad?”

I peeked around the door. Dad was clicking away at his computer. He looked like he always looks. “Maybe he seems a little down,” I lied. “I dunno.”

“Well,
talk
to him!” Iris said. “Maybe we can fix this! I can’t stand seeing Auntie Cora so miserable. And I was really counting on being a bridesmaid.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know. He’s
your
father. Think of something! I’ll call you later.” And Iris hung up.

I peeked back out at Dad. I wondered if his fight had anything to do with the stuff I’d said about Cora. For a second it felt
great
to think he’d broken up with Cora just because I hated her. It felt great and it felt
right
—that’s what parents should do for their kids!

Great and right, maybe—but not very likely. Dad didn’t exactly have a history of doing stuff just to please
me.
But still.

I lay back down and picked up the novel where I’d left off. I was having trouble keeping all the characters straight, and in my opinion, there were way too many descriptions of scenery and whatnot. But I figured that if I just kept my eyes moving across the page, my brain would eventually catch up.

*   *   *

A couple of chapters later, Dad called out, “Who’s hungry?”

“Me!” I called back.

“Let’s get some chow!” Dad said.

My first thought was, Just us? Me and him? Thank goodness he’d broken up with Cora, or for sure she’d be tagging along!

I knew Iris would want me to grill my father on the Cora business, but I wasn’t about to blow this. In the car, he told me that he was having a great year at work. He said that he
loved
his job and that he hoped one day I’d find something that satisfied me in the same way.

I almost asked him if he thought sales would be right for
me
too. But how would
he
know? Anyway, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure exactly what it was that Dad sold, and it would have sounded incredibly stupid to ask him
now
, to admit that all this time I haven’t had any idea what he does for a living. Instead, while he talked, I listened for clues.

I’d asked Liz once what it meant to sell computer support systems and she’d said Dad sold cyber-bras and jockstraps for computers. “Get it?” she’d asked. “
Support?
Bras?” I-hadn’t gotten it at the time, but I did later and was totally embarrassed.

If Dad ran out of steam talking about work, I planned to bring up Liz’s boyfriend. Jet would be good for a few laughs, with his shaved head and everything.

But we got to the restaurant before Dad was finished talking about his work. It was a seafood place and it smelled like
it. We got a table and were just looking at the menu, when a man and woman suddenly appeared and said, “Matt! What are you doing here? Haven’t seen you in, well, way too long!”

Handshakes, kisses, introductions, and then, of course, two chairs being dragged over to our table. Sure, they’d be
delighted
to join us!

I slumped down and kicked the leg of the table. Kick. Kick, kick, kick—until my father said, “Hey, Big Guy, cut that out.”

I was three. I was Claude. I was having a tantrum, a sulk. Did I care if my father was ashamed of me?
No!
I gave the table leg another kick.

First they had drinks and that took years. Then they had to discuss the menu
forever.
A typical adventure in Dadland, I thought. But this time I had to admit it wasn’t Cora’s fault. Maybe it had never been Cora’s fault. Or Bobbie’s, or…who was it the year before? I searched my memory until Nadine appeared. Liz and I secretly called her Sardine.

Those women weren’t hogging Dad’s time, I realized, or keeping Dad away from us. Dadland was ruled by Dad. This was how he wanted it. He didn’t change plans just because his kids were in town. No, he did
exactly
what he would’ve done anyway. To him there was nothing special about this week, and I would always be a stranger here.

Liz was right. Dad didn’t make room for us. I suddenly wished she were here in this stinking seafood restaurant with me. She’d have made it less awful.

At first I’d been scared to go to California without her. But
then I got used to the idea, and after a while I was really looking forward to it, imagining all kinds of great father-son moments we’d have, just the two of us. Boy, was I
stupid!

Kick. Kick. And one more big
kick!

Dad glared at me.

The waiter brought our food but I’d lost my appetite. My father and his friends, however, were ripping the legs off crabs, prying clam shells open, tearing, dismembering, having a great time. Juice dribbled down the other man’s chin. It was the most violent meal I’d ever seen. I closed my eyes.

No, I thought, this is definitely not Cora’s fault. Then I felt a little sorry about her crying her eyes out. That joke about clowns tasting funny wasn’t so bad, and except for her cats and her eyebrows and music and gum chewing, she was no worse than Bobbie or Sardine or the rest of them. No worse, probably, than next summer’s girlfriend would be. Cora had at least tried to say something nice about Ditz—that’s more than my own father did!

Remembering Ditz made my chest tighten and I felt in my pocket for my inhaler. If I hadn’t come on this
stupid, stupid
trip, I probably would’ve caught her when she bolted out the door. I would have grabbed her collar as I had a thousand times before. I could see my hand sinking into her spongy black fur. I could feel my fist holding tight to her red leather collar. She’d have given a yank, then realizing she was caught, would have instantly forgotten about charging out the door and wiggled around to lick my face instead. No hard feelings.

I went to the bathroom and gave myself two blasts from
my inhaler. That helped. I came back to the table but still-couldn’t eat my food.

The adults didn’t notice. They splashed around in their plates, creating a funeral mound of shells in the center of the table while they talked and talked. It sounded like work stuff, mostly. Seems my dad did a project with this guy a while back. So what?

If my dad had been a
mural
painter, dangling from scaffolding into the freeway ditch, then it would make sense that people would want to hear about it. If there were gigantic paintings by him all over town…But my father just scurried like an ant in a necktie from meeting to meeting.

I watched him smiling, talking. He definitely did
not
look like a man suffering from a broken heart. I wondered if he’d been this calm when he broke up with Mom and left her and Liz and me. What if I’d run into the street and been hit by a car when he left us? Would he have blamed himself? I was just a baby back then. A puppy. I probably didn’t understand why Dad left
me
any better than Ditz understood my leaving
her.

In the car on the way home, I asked, “Where was Cora tonight?”

Dad shrugged, cool as a rock. “Beats me,” he said.

Of course, I probably had Ditz longer than my dad had known Cora. So maybe it wasn’t so weird that he wasn’t crying. But forget crying—Dad wasn’t
anything
-ing. On the other hand, was I showing any signs of having lost Ditz? Did that mean I was like my dad? No no no no no!

*   *   *

There’s a time difference between California and home and my mom goes to bed early, but I figured I’d call anyway. I-didn’t wake her; she was up, busily stacking her fears higher and higher as she waited to hear from me.