The Railroad (10 page)

“Could I please have a Sausage McMuffin? And the home fries. And the apple pie. Please.”

I laughed and looked at her mother. “I guess you two going out during the day isn’t the best idea.”

“At least for now. Do you mind?”

“No. I’ll be back in a little while.” As I walked to the car I wondered if I could get away with spending the day at the movies.

While I was driving, I silently dubbed my guests
The Invaders
. They had brought complexity to my simple existence and I was pissed. Still, I kept reminding myself that I’d taken on this burden and that these two were only irritating because they’d been traumatized, something I could identify with, at least in the abstract. I vowed to keep reminding myself of that when things became tense.

Once I got back to the house, I found it hard to keep my vow. Breakfast was only a bit better than dinner had been. Eileen dropped her Egg McMuffin on the dining room table and Megan began to laugh. As she watched her mother try to gather the remains of her breakfast with what dignity she could, her face kept crumbling into fits of laughter. Looking at the pitiful job she’d done reassembling her sandwich Eileen gave up and threw it in the air; it landed in several little heaps on the table. This set Megan off for a good five minutes.

What fun
, I thought, trying to keep the disgust off my face.
I’d rather be watching TV.

*

That night Eileen made her “call” from my phone in the bedroom. She gave me an explanation of
The Railroad
much like Elena’s; security was tight and she had to call a certain number to find out if and when she could go to her next destination.

She came out, her eyes dead and tired. “Oh god, Mike. I can’t go yet. Something happened. I think maybe someone got arrested, but I’m not sure. I just know that I have to call in three weeks. If I had no place to stay they’d move us tonight. But there are other people who need help now; they have nowhere to go.” She hung her head for a second. “Damn Mike. I don’t know what to say. If you want we can leave and go to a motel.”

My heart sank. “No”, I heard myself say. “It’ll force you to be outside all the time, just to get food. I can’t let you do that. You can stay here as long as you need to.”

She argued with me, but her heart wasn’t in it. “We’ll take it as it comes,” I told her. And with those words I sealed my fate.

               I’d thought that Megan would be happy that she wasn’t going to be forced to move somewhere else for a while. That would have been logical, but I hadn’t taken into account that she was a child and that her life was a roller coaster.

She’d said nothing when her mother had announced that they couldn’t leave yet and I thought there would be peace for a while. But not a half an hour after the phone call Eileen tried to put her daughter to bed. I had just settled in to watch a
Mork and Mindy
re-run when I heard a familiar screech.

I sat bolt upright, driven suddenly from my television half-stupor. I looked toward the guest bedroom and willed Megan to shut up and go to sleep. There was a moment of tense silence, finally broken by the sound of something ceramic hitting the floor and breaking.

Without thinking I was up like a shot and into the bedroom, afraid of what I might find. There was Eileen staring in horror and some pink and white ceramic shards on the floor beside the bed. Megan had put her head under the covers and showed no sign of coming out.

Eileen looked up at me and shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Mike. I hope it wasn’t something valuable.”

It wasn’t. Years ago, Barbara had bought me a ceramic pig to underscore her criticism of the month: that I was an insensitive pig. She had an excellent way of combining ball-busting and humor; I’d always suggested she become a copywriter but she’d taken it as an insult which it certainly was. I’d left the pig conspicuously in the guest bedroom in a show of fake apathy which had the desired effect; it had driven her crazy.

I didn’t mourn the loss of the pig but I did feel a chill of foreboding at what this experience implied for however long the two of them were in my house. Eileen seemed to pick up on my thoughts. “Oh god, I promise I can control her. She’s just been bounced around a lot lately and she’s scared.”

I saw the wisdom of what she said. But I still found myself trying to manufacture reasons to get rid of them. A staged death in the family forcing me to close up the house and go back to Manhattan? A gas leak? A secret call to the police reporting two fugitives from justice hiding in my house?

No. Even I was disgusted by that last thought; I hated myself for a moment. I smiled my best Wall Street fake smile. “It’s not something I ever liked. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure she’s just tired.”

Eileen pulled the covers from Megan’s head. Or at least she tried to; the child fought her. “Megan! Please tell Mike you’re sorry. Come on, honey. He’s been nice enough to let us stay here. He’s trying to help us.”

The battle of the covers continued with Megan putting up an excellent fight. Finally the little girl threw the covers off her and stood up, her teeth bared. “I hate you. I hate Mike!” She stared at both of us, daring us to contradict her.

I didn’t try. I went out into the kitchen and made a drink.

*

I supposed that Megan had tired herself out because I didn’t hear any more outbursts that night. I sat watching TV with my nerves jangling till the scotch numbed me and I managed to stumble back to my bedroom and fall asleep. The next morning I didn’t get up till 11:45. There was an omelet waiting for me along with toast, coffee and juice.

Eileen smiled sheepishly. “I thought I owed you breakfast at least. I found some eggs and some frozen vegetables. I hope the cheese will make it good ... morning food.”  I had the feeling she was about to say “hangover food” but I let it pass. She gave a meaningful glance at her daughter who stared fixedly at the TV set, ignoring us.

“Thanks,” I said a bit more brusquely than I’d hoped.

Eileen continued to stare at her daughter; Megan ignored her with more energy, if that was possible. Finally Eileen stepped towards her, standing over her menacingly. “You have something to say to Mike, don’t you?”

Megan looked at her for a moment and then turned back to the TV “Megan!” her mother repeated.

After a minute of having her mother stare at her, the little girl got up from the couch with an air of deliberation. She marched up to me and got her face as close to mine as she could; an amazing feat considering her height. “I’m sooo sorry!” she screamed.

I started to laugh. Maybe it was release of tension, but there she was standing in front of me with her teeth bared and some snot running out of her nose.

At first Eileen was livid; she hadn’t gotten the reaction she wanted from either of us. But she softened after she watched me laugh for a moment. After a few seconds she grinned feebly and sat down.

*

The peace was not to last. Watching Megan was like watching someone do a one woman show, a series of characters and vignettes. Once she became bored with “Megan watching TV in disdainful silence” she switched to “Megan sitting on the floor and barking like a dog”. This was followed by “Megan goes into the bedroom and makes retching noises”.

Her repertoire was endless. The awful part was that her mother kept responding and giving Megan the attention she asked for, prompting her to new dramatic flights of fancy. By the tenth act, I'd had it. I searched my mind for a suitable excuse to leave but found none. And in the end I realized that they were in my house and I didn’t owe them any explanations.

I finally decided that vagueness was the best gambit. I casually sauntered out of my room with my car keys dangling and spoke to no one in particular. “I thought I’d do some shopping. Do you want anything?”

Eileen studied me intently; I obviously hadn’t been convincing. “No,” she said. “But thanks for asking.”

I felt a twinge of guilt, figuring she could see through my thin pretense. “Uh…there’s a lot of food here. Feel free to have anything you want. Oh and there’re a few more bottles of wine in the kitchen. Have as much as you want.”

She studied me uncertainly. “Okay.”

I left, feeling like I’d just abandoned a sick child.

*

What do you do when your life has taken a surprise dive into hell and, insult to injury, you find two people in your ugly house that are more damaged than you, if that’s possible. The universe seemed determined to remind me that it was a malignant rolling juggernaut bent on keeping me in my place. I was not happy to accept my lot in life.

So of course the night included large amounts of alcohol and some space between me and the Invaders. I went to the Holiday Inn.

The glitz and pretense were hard for me to take. What I had come to realize is that, out in the burbs, going to the Holiday Inn bar could be considered a big night out. A lot of people were there, wearing their going out clothes, laughing just a bit too loud, and making me nervous with their forced camaraderie. There were the usual groups of females in provocative clothing, arrayed in Conestoga wagon style near the bar; they had formed a defensive circle, daring groups of men to brave their perimeter. And, of course, those men were there, arranged far more casually in little knots. The two would never meet.

I found a stool near the end of the bar, near the service area, and watched the men watch the women. The women did their best to seem unconcerned, but would flick glances towards the men as if simultaneously telling them to stay away and come hither. I’d participated in this ballet at one time in my distant past and, like those days I was appalled at the perversity of the whole system.

I reviewed my options. It seemed that I didn’t have anything to lose by joining that game. But I also felt like a horribly damaged individual. So I watched and I drank. Eventually I entered that haze that was true inebriation. Somewhere along the line the bartender offered to call me a cab which I must have accepted because the next morning I woke up with no car in the driveway.

*

There was no breakfast waiting for me that morning. Megan was watching some TV show and ignoring me which suited my mood. I noticed the Eileen wasn’t there. The door to their bedroom was open and no one was inside.

Concern seemed to be required; I shook the cobwebs from my head. “Megan.”

No answer. “Megan?”

No answer. I wasn’t really in the mood for childish crap. “Megan, where’s your mother?”

She turned to stare at me. Then she made a squeaking sound. I became angry.

I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but I found that I resented being saddled with this type of responsibility. At that moment I felt that
they
were at fault and I had no responsibility to be kind to two houseguests I’d accepted in their hour of need. I stood up and walked in front of the TV. Megan immediately began moving her head back and forth like a demented giraffe to underscore the fact that I was in her way.

“Where is your mother?” I demanded.

She made a retching sound; it seemed to be one of her favorites. “I asked you something.” I growled.

She made a farting sound with her hands and mouth; that was a new one.

“Are you going to tell me where your mother is?” There was a growl in there, half anger, half hangover. She looked up suddenly and there was fear in her eyes.

“I want to know where your mother is,” I said sternly.

She gauged me for a second wondering what I might do. Then she made a rooster noise.

I turned around, walked over to the TV and turned it off. Then I yelled, “Where is your mother?”

It was loud and I immediately knew I’d done the wrong thing. She began to cry.

As I began to stalk off and search for her mother, she scampered off the couch and ran to the back door. She gave me one wide-eyed look before she jerked the door open and ran down the steps.

I ran after her. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” I screamed.

I was halfway down the stairs before I almost ran into both her and her mother. Eileen looked at her daughter and then back at me. Mouth open, she gave me the Momma lion look and I knew I was in trouble.

“What happened?” she rasped.

I tried to collect myself so I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. “I was worried. You weren’t around and…” Some ammunition came to me. Puffing myself up self-righteously, I asked, “What were you doing outside”.

She seemed taken aback for a second. “I planted some flowers,” she said.

“Did it occur to you that the lady behind us might very well have looked out and saw you?”

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

“And that’s a good thing. What’s wrong with you?”

“Why is my daughter crying?”

“Because I was worried about you and I wanted to get some necessary information so I didn’t have to be scared. Of course she wouldn’t tell me because, she just can’t.” I threw up my hands and turned back up the stairs.