Far-Flung (18 page)

“Hi, John Calvin,” Kittery said. “You winning or losing?”

“I’m just killing time.”

“I should call Duane,” Kittery said. “Do you have a dime?”

Both John Calvin and I gave her a dime. She kept both of them, and went into the back to use the phone.

John Calvin took out a cigarette and lit it. “So what’s new?” he asked.

“I’ve decided I’m going to be a ballet dancer,” I said.

“A ballet dancer? Huh. What made you think of that?”

“We’re learning it in school. I’m getting pretty good.”

“You’ll have to move someplace to do that,” John Calvin said. “There’s not much demand for ballet dancers around here.”

“I’ll move to Europe or something,” I said.

“Kittery seems more like the one who should be a ballet dancer.”

“Kittery’s clumsy,” I said. “Plus she’s too tall. The woman can’t be too tall, or they dwarf the men, when they stand up on their tippytoes.”

“Huh,” said John Calvin. “You’re not serious about any of this, are you?”

“No.”

“That’s good. Otherwise, I’d worry about you.”

Kittery returned. “Guess what?” she said. “Topsy ran over Rocky!”

“Is he dead?” I asked.

“Rocky? No. But he crawled under the house and won’t come out. He’s making strange noises. Duane wants me to pick up a can of tuna. You want a ride home?”

“Can you drop me at Elsa’s?” Elsa was my girlfriend.

“Sure,” said Kittery. “Good night, John Calvin. You want to finish my beer?”

Mrs. Ellwood, Elsa’s mother, was standing at the dining room table, cutting out a pattern. I watched her for a moment through the screen door before I knocked. Johnny Carson was on the TV in the living room, but the sound was turned off. His guest was Barbara Eden.

Mrs. Ellwood looked up when I knocked, her mouth full of pins. She took them out and said, “Come on in, Dominick.”

I opened the door and went inside.

“Elsa’s out back,” Mrs. Ellwood said. “Doing her insects.”

“O.K.,” I said. “What are you making?”

“The costumes for
Brigadoon.
The Jaycees are putting it on next month.”

“What’s Brigadoon?”

“It’s a musical,” said Mrs. Ellwood. “About Mary, Queen of Scots.”

I went through the kitchen and out the back door. Elsa was standing under the grape arbor with a notebook, pen, and flashlight. For the science fair, she was doing a project about insects: charting a certain area of the backyard, checking it once during the day and once at night, recording all the insects she saw. My project involved coating teeth with different types of toothpaste, soaking them in Coca-Cola, and seeing which ones rotted first.

“Ssshh,” Elsa said. “I’ve got some weird moth here.” She bent into the grape arbor, her face disappearing among the leaves. “Where have you been, anyway?” she asked. “What time is it?”

“It’s about midnight,” I said. “I’ve been everywhere.”

“I’ve been no place,” said Elsa.

I walked across the lawn and stood beside her. She extracted her head from the vines. “Look at this,” she said. She pointed her flashlight into the tumble of grape leaves at a powdery, blue-tinted moth.

“What kind of moth is that?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll check the book. There are so many.”

“It’s kind of disgusting,” I said. “All these insects.”

“I think it’s great,” said Elsa. “It’s wild. I’ve found some that aren’t even in the book. They must be mutants or something. How are your teeth coming?”

“They’re all rotting pretty good.”

The moth batted its wings and flew up into the night, like a confused snowflake. I sat on the lawn. Elsa sat beside me, shining the flashlight at my face. Then she turned it off. “You smell like smoke,” she said.

“I was in Ransom’s,” I said.

“Who with?”

“Kittery. And John Calvin.”

“Watch,” Elsa said. “I’ve been practicing. I can do it.” She stood up and assumed first position. She began spinning around, pivoting off her feet, keeping her head forward and jerking it around at the very last second. Elsa and I were taking ballet for our gym elective that semester. Spotting is a technique dancers use so they don’t get dizzy while they spin: They focus on one point, and turn their heads just once each spin. If you do it right, you can spin forever.

“Get up,” Elsa said. “Let’s see you do it.”

I stood up. “I was practicing before,” I said.

“Well, come on. Let’s see,” said Elsa. I started spinning but I couldn’t find my focus point. I was going around too quickly. I got dizzier and dizzier. Finally I closed my eyes and just spun till I fell on the ground. I lay there with my eyes closed.

“You’re hopeless,” I heard Elsa say.

I didn’t move. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the starry sky swaying above me. Elsa lay down on top of me. She put her hands inside my shirt, touching the skin of my chest.

“I heard today,” she said.

“Heard what?”

“From Princeton. I got in.”

Elsa had applied early decision to Princeton.

“Wow,” I said. “Congratulations.”

“I wish you would go, too,” she said.

“I’m going to Bloomington,” I said. “I can’t get into Princeton.”

“You could try,” said Elsa.

“You know I can’t,” I said.

I opened my eyes. I watched the stars swing slower and slower until they stopped.

“Well, in a way I envy you,” I heard Elsa say. “IU’s a good school. And you’ll know people there. You’ll have friends right from the start.”

“Kittery hated it there. She said everyone was a moron. All they did was throw up, she said.”

“Kittery’s friends probably did. But you’ll meet different people.”

I didn’t want to talk about college so I didn’t say anything.

Elsa withdrew her hands and stood up. “Let’s practice that thing. That lift thing where you pick me up. I heard that they might discontinue ballet because fifth period, Eric Bloor dropped Debbie Shaddock on her head. Stand up.”

I stood up and put my hands on Elsa’s small hips, lifted her up. She was thin, and I was strong. “O.K.,” she said. “Twirl me.”

On my way home I walked through town, and stopped back in Ransom’s. It was pretty empty, but John Calvin was still there, sitting in a booth by himself. A green plastic cover lay over the pool table. It looked like a made bed.

John Calvin looked up at me. “Dominick,” he said. “What are you still doing up?”

“It’s Friday night,” I said. I sat down across from him.

“That’s true,” John Calvin said. “Kittery’s gone. She left about an hour ago.”

“I know,” I said. “I left with her.”

“But you came back.”

“I know.”

“Kittery didn’t,” John Calvin said, as if he were winning an argument. He killed his beer and set it carefully in the middle of the table, on top of a carved heart. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a car?”

“No,” I said. “I’m walking home.”

“I guess I am, too,” John Calvin said. “I’ve been waiting for someone with a car to drive me home. But no luck.”

“What happened to your car?”

“Nothing. My car’s fine. I lost my license.” He stood up, and put some money on the table. “Let’s walk,” he said.

John Calvin walked with one foot on the curb and one foot in the gutter, then got tired of it, and walked next to me on the sidewalk. He hummed. “What’d Ellen do tonight?” he asked after a while.

“She was in bed when I left. She’s still a little spooked, I think. I had to walk her home.”

“You walk a lot,” John Calvin said.

I didn’t answer.

“It was me,” John Calvin said.

“What?”

“It was me in the woods,” he said. “In case you hadn’t figured.”

“Oh,” I said. “No.”

“I was gonna surprise her. You know, just say BOO or something. Just surprise her. I was waiting in the woods, just standing there. She was walking so slow, and as she got near me, I realized she was singing. I never heard her sing. She was standing under the streetlight, singing, like she was on a stage or something.”

“What was she singing?”

“I don’t know,” John Calvin said. He reverted to his awkward form of walking, his hands in his jeans pockets. “Some song. But something about it got me mad. It just irritated me, hearing her sing alone, like that. ’Cause she never sings. Did you ever hear her sing?”

“No,” I said. “Well, at church, maybe.”

“I just started throwing things at her. Not to hurt her, just to—hell, I don’t know. Just to make her stop, I guess. I didn’t yell names at her. She made that part up.”

We were in front of the high school. Some cars were parked in the lot, with kids drinking beer in them. We could hear the music from their radios.

“Punks,” John Calvin muttered. “I’m gonna cut through the football field,” he said. “You think she knows it was me?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t think so.”

John Calvin shrugged. “Don’t tell her, O.K.?”

I shook my head no.

John Calvin reached out and touched my shoulder. “I love her so much,” he said. “Sometimes it makes me be crazy.” He walked off across the football field.

I watched John Calvin disappear. A voice from the cars called me but I didn’t answer; I walked to the end of the street and turned onto Cobble Road. I hadn’t walked very far when Kittery pulled up beside me. The radio was playing loud. She turned it down a little.

“Finally,” she said. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I’ve just been walking home,” I said.

“Get in,” she said.

“I think I want to walk,” I said. I kind of wanted to be alone for a while.

“No,” Kittery said. “I’ve got to talk to you. Get in.”

I got into the car. Kittery drove up Cobble Road, past our house. There were lights on up on the third floor, which meant Topsy was wallpapering. No one lives on the third floor, but Topsy wallpapers the bedrooms up there when she can’t sleep. “Topsy’s wallpapering,” I said.

“I bet she is,” said Kittery.

“Where are we going?” I asked. We were driving out the Range Road, away from town. Kittery was speeding. She had her left arm extended out the window, cupping and uncupping the night. She didn’t answer me. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

Kittery looked over at me. The car went off the road, onto the flat grassy range. Kittery just kept driving as if nothing had happened. When it started to get bumpy she slowed down, and parked under a tree. She turned the engine off. Suddenly it was very quiet.

“Duane and I are leaving,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“We’re moving away,” said Kittery. “Tonight.”

“Tonight? Don’t you think that’s a little sudden?”

“There’s nothing wrong with doing things suddenly,” said Kittery. “It’s better this way.”

“Where are you moving?”

“We’re not sure. Maybe someplace like Minnesota. Or Idaho. We’re just going to drive until we find someplace we want to live.”

“What made you decide this?”

“Well, we’ve been thinking about it for a while. We’re both sick to death of Norwell. And after Topsy came over tonight, well, you know, in a way she’s right, I mean, what am I doing here? Nothing. And then when Rocky died, well, Duane decided he just wanted to leave. If we don’t leave tonight, we might never leave. So we’re leaving tonight. I’ve been driving all over trying to find you. You’re the only one we’re telling.”

“Rocky died?”

“Yes. Duane’s burying him.”

“Duane can’t just leave in the middle of the night. He has a job.”

“A job he can’t stand.”

“I think you’re both crazy,” I said.

“I was going to give you my car,” said Kittery.

“Mr. Templer will want it back. He won’t want me driving it around.”

“Well, until he does. I’m leaving it at Duane’s. There’s a set of keys in my jewelry box at home.”

“What happens if something happens? Like if you and Duane run out of money? Or can’t find jobs?”

“There’s always some job you can do. I can always sell Lottie Dale. And Duane can substitute teach.”

“Not if he leaves his job here without giving notice.”

“This will be in a different state,” said Kittery. She started the car and drove it slowly back toward the road. “Why are you being so negative? I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I think you’re crazy,” I said.

“That’s because you don’t understand. Do you know what it’s like being me in this town? Loving Duane? It’s just a mess. And it’s a mess for Duane, too.”

“What makes you think it’s going to be better someplace else?”

“It might not be better. But it will be different. It’s always different someplace else,” Kittery said. She stopped the car a ways from the house. “I’m going to drop you off here ’cause I don’t want Topsy to see the car. I’ve had enough input from her tonight.”

“Aren’t you going to say good-bye to her?”

“No,” said Kittery.

“What about Ellen?”

“I’m not going away forever,” said Kittery. “I’m just moving.”

“Is that what I should tell them?”

“Yes,” said Kittery.

“Topsy will be worried,” I said.

“That’s nothing new,” said Kittery.

I sat still for a moment. I knew Kittery wanted me to get out so she could go, but I didn’t want her to go. I didn’t want anyone to go anywhere. I tried to think of something to say. “It was John Calvin,” I said.

“What?”

“In the woods, last week. Throwing stuff at Ellen.”

“John Calvin did that?”

“That’s what he told me. He said she was singing and it made him mad so he threw sticks at her.”

“And you think I’m crazy for leaving this town,” said Kittery. “I’d get out quick if I were you.”

“I like it here,” I said.

Kittery leaned over and kissed me. “I’ve got to go. Duane wants to leave. I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know where we are.”

I got out of the car and closed the door. “Listen, be good,” said Kittery. “I’ll talk to you. Bye.”

“Bye,” I said, but I don’t think she heard me, she accelerated so quickly.

Topsy was still wallpapering when I came in. I found her upstairs in one of the little bedrooms, changing it from green stripes to a patriotic pattern of eagles and drums and bayonets. It smelled of perspiration and paste. She had pushed the iron bed to the middle of the floor, and I lay down on it.