Taking Off (9 page)

“Huh. Well, you got me, Annie.”

I smiled a little, liking the sound of that. I glanced up and saw him watching me again in the rearview mirror. I brushed off my mouth real quick to make sure there were no bits of chips hanging out.

“You gonna tell me?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” I said, but thinking that wasn’t true. “I got to meet Christa—you know, the teacher who’s flying? She’s cool, and doing something really amazing. I’d like to be there when she realizes her dream.”

“It’s a long way to go for someone else’s dream.”

“Not that far,” I said, watching the green
WELCOME TO LOUISIANA
sign go past. “It’s too bad it’s dark now. I’d like to see Louisiana.”

“Right here, along I-10, it’s flat, just like home.”

We drifted into not talking.

“Hey, you want me to drive?” I asked after a while. He was rubbing his eyes.

“I’m fine.”

Yes you are
, I thought. “I don’t mind.”

“I’ve only been driving a few hours.”

“I’d like to,” I told him. “I’m wide awake.”

“Okay. Sure.”

He pulled over in a gas station. Dad looked up at the sudden quiet, then stumbled out of the car into the store without saying a word. Tommy filled the tank while I went to the bathroom.

Dad still wasn’t back when I settled into the driver’s seat, readjusting the seat and the mirrors and trying to get a feel for the Beatmobile. Soon, we were all back in—Tommy in the front with me, and Dad sprawled out in the backseat, sleeping again.

“It’s so obvious he likes to drive at night,” I said sarcastically.

Tommy shrugged. “He went out last night. A friend of his was playing at a club.”

I started the car.

“We’re about to drive over the swamps of Louisiana,” said Tommy. “It’ll be a long bridge.”

I got back on the interstate, sorry it was nighttime. I would have liked to see the trees growing out of the dark water. My first time out of Texas, and I couldn’t see anything. Regardless, I was flipping with excitement.

Soon, I was crossing the Mississippi. Now I felt like I was going somewhere. As a kid, this famous river of song and story had always seemed like a big chasm in the middle of the country, separating my life from the bold, fascinating cities of the East like Washington DC and New York City.

It was a peaceful night, and quiet in the car. I pretended to see ghostlike steamboats floating below and to hear ghostlike blows of a jazz horn floating up from New Orleans. I’d finally leaped over the Great River.

CHAPTER 21

H
ey, you doing all right?”

I looked over at Tommy. I could barely see him in the dark. A car’s headlights flickered across his sleepy face.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I told him.

“I’m sorry I zonked out. How long did I sleep?”

“You were pretty quiet when we crossed the mighty Mississippi.”

“Where are we?” he asked. I liked his voice. Before, I was looking at his face and not thinking about how he spoke. But now that I couldn’t see him I was drawn in by his voice. It was a man’s voice, but not too deep. It also had a sleepy quality to it, soft, rhythmic.

“We’re in Alabama. Just.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope.”

“You must be tired, Annie.”

“We need to stop for gas.”

“We need to stop for you.” He looked behind him. “Your dad.”

I laughed softly. “Still out. Must have been some night.”

“He likes to party.”

“That he does,” I said. “I’m getting off here.”

Dad stumbled out of the car again and toward the restroom. When he came back, he was drinking a coffee.

“That has got to be awful,” I said.

“It’ll keep me awake,” Dad said. “Give me those keys, Annie.”

I hesitated.

“Go ahead and sleep in the back, Annie,” Tommy said. “I’ll keep your dad awake.”

“I’m okay,” I said, not telling him there was no way I was going to fall asleep in front of him. What if I snored like Dad?

“We’re only about four hours from the campsite. You rest.”

“All right,” I said, thinking I would just rest my head on the pillow, but wouldn’t be able to fall asleep.

- - - - -

I woke. It was still dark.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Oh, we just ran over something,” Dad said.

“What? A dead body? That was a big loud jolt, Dad.”

He waved his hand. “It wasn’t a dead body, Annie. I don’t think.”

“Where are we?” I asked.

“At the beach campsite. You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Dad left the headlights on, which lit up a clear spot. The guys got the camping gear out. Tommy set a kerosene lamp on the ground and lit it.

I helped set up the two tents. One was small, and the other was very small. I was given the very small one. I set it up pretty far away from the guys. I wanted privacy.

“Not too close to the water, Annie,” said Dad.

“I’m not even close,” I told him.

He peered at it, then gave a small shrug.

I threw my bag and my sleeping bag in the tent. Home, sweet home. Now it was time for food. I’d seen some sandwiches in the cooler. With Dad, no telling what they were.

“What are you doing, Dad?” I asked, picking up a sandwich that turned out to be peanut butter and banana on white bread.

“Getting wood for the fire,” he said, holding a few pieces of driftwood. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Did you see the sign clearly stating no fires?” I asked, glancing at Tommy.

“Sure,” Dad said, shining a flashlight around. “Would you mind helping? I’m having a devil of a time finding any wood, which makes me think people haven’t been paying attention to that sign you’re talking about.”

Tommy gave my arm a squeeze and me a small smile. “I thought I saw some when we drove up, Jesse. I’ll go.” He waved his flashlight at me. “Want to come, Annie?”

“Sure,” I said, following him.

“A fire will be nice,” Dad called out. “You’ll see.”

Maybe so, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to yell it out. But then again, the beach was deserted. I could see a few lights in the distance.

Tommy and I found a scattering of wood. The wind whistled in my ears as I filled my arms. It was cold. It was also three o’clock in the morning. I wasn’t exactly sure why we weren’t asleep. But then again, I was with Dad. I glanced over at Tommy, who was trying to pull a big chunk of driftwood out of the sand. And, yes, Tommy was here.

The fire ended up not being too big. We were close to the outer reach of the waves. I heard the sea’s soft whispers as the surf gently slid over the sand. Dad was right. This was nice. I wasn’t sleepy. I felt excited sitting here with Dad … and Tommy.

Dad had a stick and was poking at the embers under the flames. “So, Annie, if you were a boy, what would your name be?”

“Well, Dad, you are my father,” I said, sipping my hot chocolate. Not the good kind made with milk, but it did have tiny marshmallows in it. “Seems like you would remember what boy names you and Mom had picked out.”

“No, no. Not that. This is about you, Annie. What do you see your boy name being?”

“But I’m not a boy.”

“You’re no good at this,” he said. “What about you, Tommy? What would your girl name be?”

“Probably still Tommy.”

“No, no,” said Dad.

I laughed.

“Both of you are crap at this game,” said Dad.

“Well, what would your name be?” I asked him.

“Margaret.”

“So why that name?” asked Tommy.

I didn’t say anything.

“It’s Annie’s mom’s name,” Dad said. “It was also her great-grandmother’s name. Did you know that, Annie?”

“I knew that,” I said quietly.

Dad took a swig of his beer. “What was it that Ginsberg said about love in his poem ‘Song,’ Annie?”

“I don’t know, Dad,” I replied, even though I did know.

Dad was weird, just plain weird. Why did he do this? Act like he loved Mom so much, that they were two halves of a whole? If he wouldn’t have run around on her, they’d probably still be married.

“The poets speak for us,” Dad rambled on. “Don’t they, Annie? Give us the words we don’t have.”

“Yep,” I said.

Tommy hit my foot with his foot. “You want some more hot chocolate? I can boil more water,” he said, gesturing to the Coleman stove.

“I’m all right,” I said, glad he was here.

“Okay,” said Dad, “if you were a city, what city would you be?” I could see him shrug in the firelight. “It could be a town.”

“What city would you be, Dad?”

“I’d be my hometown of Kemah, if I could keep it from changing, that is.”

“You can’t fight progress,” I said.

“Well, you can try,” he said. “So, Tommy, what city would you be?”

“Austin, I think. Austin’s cool, and it’s still in Texas. I missed Texas when I left.”

“Did you?” I asked. “I can see that actually. I think I’d miss it too. If I left.”

“So what city would you be, Annie?” asked Dad again.

“I don’t know.”

“You have to answer. Tommy answered.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to forgive that betrayal of his.”

Tommy laughed.

“He shouldn’t encourage you,” I told Dad.

“Come on, what city?” asked Tommy. “Make your dad happy. He did take you on this trip, didn’t he?”

“Now I do feel betrayed!”

“What would it be, Annie? In Texas?”

I thought about Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, Austin. None of them fit. “Not a big Texas city, no.”

“What about Luckenbach, Texas?” Tommy asked, singing the song about Luckenbach a little. He had a nice singing voice, deeper than I’d thought it’d be. “With Waylon and Willie and the boys?”

“No.”

“Dripping Springs?”

“No.”

“Dime Box?”

“No.”

“Okay, okay,” Dad interrupted. “Not in Texas. Where, then? In the U.S., Annie?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I’ve never been anywhere outside of Texas.”

“Really?” asked Tommy.

“You’re here,” said Dad, waving his arms. “On a white sand beach in Florida.”

“Well, then, maybe for tonight, I’ll be a beach in Florida. And tomorrow, I’ll be something else. And next year, something else. Why do I have to be one thing?”

Dad took another drink. “You don’t, Annie. No, you don’t.”

- - - - -

I lay in my tent, on my sandy sleeping bag, listening to the ocean.

CHAPTER 22

I
took a walk on the sugar-white beach. It was already after noon and we hadn’t left yet. But this schedule of Dad’s had its moments, like last night when we stayed up to watch the stars disappear and the orange-yellow sun peek over the horizon. Dad had looked over at me. I’d smiled back and thought of our early stargazing days—and how sharing simple moments could reach the deepest.

Now Dad wanted a freezing midday dip in the ocean. For some crazy reason, Tommy went with him. I stayed on the shore, my red-gloved hands in the pockets of my jean jacket, watching them bouncing in and out of the cold waves. I knew they wouldn’t be in long.

We’d already packed up the tents and the sleeping bags, and scattered the logs and the embers, so no one else would think of a fire on the beach.

I kept watching the guys having fun and finally couldn’t resist. I rolled up my jeans and walked into the icy, clear green sea before me. The emerald color of this water was very different from the brown of the Galveston Gulf, muddied by river water flowing out of the Mississippi.

My feet were like ice. After a few long seconds, I splashed my way back out, rolled down my jeans, and ran back to the car. I fell into the backseat, with one door open, and shook the sand out of my shoes. I threw a blanket over me and read some of Hilda Doolittle’s Imagist poems, loving the famous one about the sea, and let my cold feet dry. I didn’t like the gritty feeling of sandy feet in tennis shoes.

Some of the poems I whispered as I read. I liked to hear the words out loud, especially with the sound of the surf in the background.

I was cold, so I shut myself in the backseat. I pulled out my notebook and started writing:
A wave crests / ponders the fall.

I felt I was in that stillness, that point before movement, like the space shuttle on the pad. Was my future a fall from the crest or a rising from the earth?
Too dramatic
, I thought, and scratched out the line.

Dad and Tommy piled in the car. They were in dry clothes, and their hair was almost dry. I closed my notebook and put it away.

“Hey, start it up, son,” said Dad. “Let’s get ourselves to Cocoa Beach!”

Son? I stared at Dad. When had he ever called anyone son? I knew he didn’t have a son, but still he had never called Mark son. He’d known Mark for years. He’d gone fishing with Mark.

“Sure,” said Tommy, turning the ignition. Suddenly, a loud noise filled the car, sounding like a very, very gone-wrong engine.

“What is that?” I asked.

“Kill it, Tommy!” shouted Dad.

“What is that smell? Awful!”

We all got out, and Dad put his hands on his hips and stared at the Beatmobile. “We have a problem.”

“Shouldn’t you look at the engine, Dad?”

“I’m afraid I know what it is.” He looked at Tommy. “I had an exhaust manifold leak, so I used J-B Weld on it as a temporary fix.”

“Oh,” said Tommy. “I guess it didn’t hold.”

Dad grinned and shrugged. “Worth a try.”

“This isn’t funny, Dad. Will it take long to fix?” The Beatmobile was temperamental, but I knew Dad could get any car running.

“We have plenty of time, Annie. The launch isn’t until Saturday. Two days. No problem.”

“Two days? What are you talking about?” I looked at Tommy, and on his face, I saw that this indeed wasn’t an easy fix. I couldn’t believe this. Mom had been right. Dad messed up everything. “I told you not to take this car, Dad!”

“Don’t get your panties in a wad,” he said.

“So what are we going to do now?”

“Well, we have to get the car to a mechanic. I can’t fix it.”

“You can fix anything.”

“Well, thank you, honey, but no, I can’t fix this.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I asked, not really caring. I just wanted it to work. I knew my dad, though. Things rarely went smoothly with him.

“There’s a leak in the exhaust manifold.”

“Get another manifold then,” I said.

“No, Annie,” he said patiently, like I was being hysterical, which I wasn’t. “Anyway, the part I need they don’t have for this car.”

“Dad!”

“What are you getting so riled for?” Dad asked.

“Only that I skipped school to see this launch and now it looks like it was all for nothing.” But it wasn’t that. I didn’t care about missing school. It was the launch. I couldn’t miss it. I couldn’t. “How could they not have the part?”

“Annie,” he said, pointing at the car, “the Beatmobile is a 1963 AMC Rambler Ambassador, 990 Cross Country Station Wagon.” I closed my eyes, knowing he was off on one of his car spiels. “It was the first year for the 327 small-block V-8.”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, trying to hold my temper.

“AMC doesn’t make an aftermarket version of this manifold, and GM swears theirs won’t work.”

“Okay, Dad,” I said. “What do we do then?”

He looked at the car. “I’m going to have to have it welded.”

“Welded doesn’t sound like a quick fix, Dad.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “But we’ll find a mechanic. We passed a store not too far back. They’ll let us make a call.”

I was so angry I had to walk off. I had the blanket still pulled around me. No one followed me, which was a good thing. I had to keep moving, had to keep quiet. I walked down the beach for a bit, and then came back.

Dad was leaning against the car, waiting for me. “Annie, aren’t you glad I pushed for us to leave home early?”

“Let’s go find a mechanic.”

I couldn’t ask how long this welding stuff would take. I didn’t want to know just then. We were five hundred miles away from Kennedy Space Center. But the launch wasn’t until Saturday. Like Dad said: We had two days. We were going to make it. We were.

- - - - -

About thirty minutes later, we were at the small grocery. The owner, an older no-nonsense kind of woman, recommended a mechanic. The mechanic agreed to come out and look at the car.

I glanced at the clock on the wall of the store. “This is taking too long.”

“It’s fine,” said Dad.

The mechanic finally got out to the beach. He was a nice-enough guy, although I swear he was moving slower than Dad does. And it turned out, he and my dad had so much to talk about. Tommy stood by them, listening.

I tried very hard not to scream.

Dad finally came over. From the looks the other two guys gave me, I knew it wasn’t good. “Now, Annie,” said Dad, “don’t go blowing a gasket.”

“What?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“We’ll get at it first thing in the morning. He’s going to have it towed to his garage.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We can still make it. We’re only seven, eight hours away.”

The mechanic was listening to us, looking pensive. I knew that look. I’d recognized it over the years when my dad was swearing up and down something was going to happen a certain way. And then I’d see someone in the background looking just like that mechanic looked now. It was the your-father-is-idiotically-optimistic look. When the mechanic caught my eye, he looked kind of guilty. “Where are y’all going?” he asked.

“To see the shuttle launch,” Tommy said.

“Oh. I thought maybe you had an art-car show or something. What with your car.”

“The Beatmobile,” said Dad.

“Yeah,” said the mechanic, looking like he had no idea what that meant. “My neighbors have an art car.”

Oh, no. No, no, no.

“Really,” said Dad, running his fingers through his hair. “What kind of art car do they have?”

The guy shrugged. “It’s an old VW minibus. They call it the Love Bus, decorated it with all sorts of couples, I guess.”

“Couples?” asked Tommy.

“Yeah. You know, from books and movies.
Romeo and Juliet
.
Bonnie and Clyde
, of course. Things like that.”

“Can you take us over there?” Dad asked.

“Sure,” he said, shrugging. “Let’s go.”

“The car, Dad?”

“It’s not going anywhere today,” he said. “Let’s have some fun.”

I grabbed my book of poems so I could read them and forget how I might not be seeing the shuttle launch after all.

- - - - -

The house was small, like Mom’s and mine. The yard was filled with statues and things that twirled. The Love Bus was parked out front. The mechanic left after introducing us to its owners, Bonnie and Clyde.

“Clyde’s not his real name,” Bonnie whispered to me.

“Oh,” I said. These people were weird.

She glanced at Clyde, who was talking to Dad. “His real name is Millard,” she said quietly.

“Oh.”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, nodding her head. “Now you see.”

They were big people who moved slowly, but talked very quickly. Bonnie touched my arm a lot while she talked, in a motherly way. When they found out about the Beatmobile, you’d have thought they were long-lost relatives of Dad’s.

A VW minibus is cool, but the art-car part was not all that creative. They’d just stuck a bunch of photos of couples from the movies on it and shellacked over them. Inside the bus, glued onto the tops of seats, the dashboard, hanging from the rearview mirror, were little wedding couples from wedding cakes. I looked up. More couples were hanging down, their feet glued to the ceiling. It was kind of creepy.

If Dad was disappointed, he didn’t show it. He asked them about everything. I heard dogs barking and saw dog faces appear over the backyard fence.

We ended up settling down in Bonnie and Clyde’s small den and ordering pizza, which Dad paid for. Our hosts liked to collect things—clocks, spoons, thimbles, statues, antique mirrors, baby shoes, and movie posters of couples. There was not a place to put drinks on tables because they were all crowded with knickknacks. Tommy and I ate on the floor.

“So you’re stuck?” asked Bonnie.

“We’ll fix it,” said Dad, taking a bite of his everything-on-it pizza. “On the road tomorrow afternoon. Maybe evening. At least before midnight.”

I didn’t say anything. “Maybe we could leave the car here and catch a bus. So we could be sure to make it on time?”

“We don’t want to waste money on a bus,” Dad said.

“Make it where?” Bonnie asked.

I looked up from the Japanese fan I was holding.

“Do you like that?” she asked me.

“It’s pretty,” I said, folding it and unfolding it.

“You can have it,” she said.

“What? Oh, no,” I said.

“Sure. Where’s the fun in collecting stuff if you can’t give it away?” She looked back over at Dad. “Now where did you say you were going, Jesse?”

“Well,” Dad said, picking up a miniature minibus and turning it over and over in his hands. “Well.”

“We’re going to see the shuttle launch on Saturday,” Tommy explained.

“
Maybe
we are,” I said.

“We’ll make it,” said Dad.

Right
, I thought, playing with the delicate red fan. Tommy took one of my hands and squeezed it. He gave me a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, honey-baby,” Clyde said, looking at Bonnie, thank goodness. “Anything going on special at the store tomorrow?”

“No.” She cocked her head. “I can tell what you’re thinking.”

“We’d be back on Sunday,” he told her.

A slow smile appeared on her face. “It’d be fun. Another experience to collect.”

“I have to work Sunday night,” he said.

“We can drive back bright and early on Sunday.”

“Are y’all offering to drive my daughter to the launch?” asked Dad.

“You and Tommy too,” said Clyde.

“I have to stay with the Beatmobile,” Dad said. It wasn’t a surprise he chose his car over me.

“Dad? Can I talk to you?”

“This is perfect, Annie. They can take you, and I can fix the car and drive down and join you.”

I stood. “Talk for just a sec?”

“Sure,” said Dad.

Once we were in the kitchen, I said, “Dad, we don’t know these people. And you’re going to send me off with them?”

“Not alone, Annie. Tommy’ll be with you.”

Tommy? Tommy will be with me.

The door swung open. It was Tommy. He closed it and came over. “You don’t like this idea, Annie?”

“Well … we just met them,” I said, realizing I’d also just met Tommy.

“If there’s trouble,” said Tommy, with a grin, “I think I can take them.”

Oh, he had a nice smile.

“It’ll be fine, Annie. Relax a little. These are art-car people.”