Hometown (9 page)

“Slide on our butts, probably,” said Border. “Liz can lead the way.”

Liz lifted her arm and pointed. “If I led you that way, we’d come to a creek.” She shifted slightly. “That way to New Mexico and,” she moved again, “that way to Kuwait.”

“Weird, isn’t it?” said Border. “To think that while we’re sitting here with nothing to do but get cold, there’s a war going on.”

“No one’s looking at stars in Iraq,” said Liz.

“Probably it’s already day there,” said Jacob.

“Then they’re looking at bomb damage,” said Border.

“There’s no way,” Jacob said, “that you would not go crazy. I mean, if where you lived was being bombed. Killed or crazy—some options.”

“The noise must be incredible,” said Border. “The sound of the missiles coming down, then exploding. One after another—you’d hear them and wait for one, maybe the next one, to hit you.”

“Like I said, you’d go crazy.”

“Pooch certainly would,” said Liz. “She can’t handle a thunderstorm. First crack and she’s under the table whining.”

“I don’t want to whine,” said Jacob, “but is anyone else cold?”

“Sure,” said Liz. “It’s winter.”

“I’m sort of cold,” said Border. “I suppose it would be smart to go.”

No one moved. They sat, looking and listening, seeing only stars and hearing nothing more than a soft wind through bare tree branches.

“If you were in a war,” Border asked, “would you bother to save your pet? Do people leave pets behind to go to a bomb shelter?”

“Don’t know,” said Jacob.

“Do other cultures even have pets? I mean kids in other places, do they have dogs or cats? Are there Labradors in Iraq?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” said Liz.

“And if there are pets and they get killed during the bombing, do they get buried?” Jacob asked. “Or can’t people take the time to do that?”

“Probably not,” said Border.

Jacob nodded. “Maybe they just get the bulldozers and—“

Liz pounded on her brother’s arm. “Stop that. What an awful thought.”

They quieted. Border was cold, but he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to move. Just sat there with the others, watching the clear, peaceful sky. Thinking about war, thinking about dogs in Baghdad.

Public Transportation
—

Snow, snow, and more snow. On Monday Border walked out of the school and got it slapped in his face. Turned to the person next to him, no one he knew, and snarled, “I hate Minnesota.” She hustled away.

The buses were lined up, stinky exhaust choking everyone. Since losing his keys, Border had walked to school, rising early, getting home late. Two cold miles, but he had survived.

“It’s gonna be a blizzard,” he heard through the noise, and looked down to see Liz.

“No school tomorrow?”

“We can hope.”

He followed her onto a bus. It was packed, three to a seat. Jacob waved from the back. Border nodded, then he sat behind Liz, wedging in beside two skinny kids, junior high types.

The kids started tussling. Border got bumped.

Boys behind him kicked the seat.

Something flew through the air. The driver shouted and closed the door. The bus lurched and pulled away, and a girl in the aisle fell into Border’s lap.

“Gawd!” she said and hurried away.

“Get a feel?” one of his seatmates asked.

Border stared at Liz’s hair. There was a piece of string just above her collar. He poised his fingers to pick it off and just then the boys slugged each other, bumping him. His hand grazed her neck.

She turned around.
“
What
are you doing?”

“There was some string on your hair.”

“Don’t bother, Border.”

The boys giggled. Border cooled them off with a stare. “I can hurt you now,” he said, “or I can hurt you later. Or you can be quiet.”

They shut up and sat still the rest of the ride.

All He Wanted
—

Border got off with Liz and Jacob.

“Come over?” said Jacob. “There’s another cake.” Border’s stomach growled, and he nodded.

Pooch met them at the door, paws and tongue on the glass, tail whacking the floor.
Woof woof, woof woof, ah-rooo!
She went outside when the door opened and ran circles in the snow.

Liz joined them to eat cake, three forks attacking the pan. “Border made a pass at me on the bus,” she said to her brother.

“I’m sure you liked it,” he replied.

Border reached, lifted string off her hair.
“This
was all I wanted,” and he dropped it on the table.

Wind pelted snow against the windows. Border plunged his fork into the cake. It was nice and warm in this kitchen.

Oh, No
—

At home he was alone. He made a sandwich for supper, turned on the TV. The local weather man predicted snow. Border looked out to where it was piling up.

“And now our special report,” the anchor said, stumbling over those simple words. “We have four guests in the studio tonight who will share their stories of how war changes lives.”

Border looked up from making a second sandwich and saw his father on the screen.

Discipline, II
—

You could have told me about this; you could have asked me.

They called me at work. I didn’t have time.

You know what trouble I’ll get at school?

How bad can it be?

I have been kicked, Dad. I have been jumped and punched and kicked.

What? Why didn’t you tell me?

You weren’t around. You didn’t notice.

Is that why you’re mad? Is that the real reason?

You don’t notice your kid’s been slugged, but, boy, your tennis game’s getting better.

You’re feeling pretty darn sorry for yourself.

Why shouldn’t I?

Why should you? What is so awful about your life?

It’s in the wrong place.

Don’t walk away from me. Don’t you dare slam your door. You slam that door and—

Bang!

—you’re grounded!

Punished
—

In Red Cedar, Minnesota, what’s there to miss when you’re grounded? A hockey game? Back home there was stuff to miss. The stores, parties, driving up into the foothills, hiking, the tourist crowds in Old Town tossing money into his hat, late nights with friends.

He’d been grounded once before, for driving when he was fifteen, no license. His parents had a long phone consultation about appropriate and effective punishment. He’d listened to his father’s end of it for a while, then left, staying out with friends and on the street for three days and two nights, then coming home to find out he was grounded.

Wow, discipline! Okay, Dad.

He had been tired, anyway, needed to catch up on his sleep and practice his music. That was the first time.

This time, could he tell the difference? Border lay on his bed in the house in Red Cedar and thought not.

After an hour in his room, Border went back to the kitchen. His father was reading the paper. Border poured milk, drank it in loud slurps. He burped.

Jacob called and said school had been canceled for the next day because of the snow. Did he want to go to the preserve and try cross-country skiing?

“Can’t go,” Border said, making sure his father heard. “I’m grounded.”

Connie called. Could he help with the shoveling?

“Can’t help you, Connie,” Border said. “I’m grounded.” His father grabbed the phone from him and said, “He’ll do anything you need, anytime.”

“So I’m not grounded from everything?” Border asked.

“Except for school and helping. You can still do that.” Later, he listened from his bedroom while his father talked on the phone to his friend.

“Cripes, Jeff, I haul him off to a new town and he gets beat up and all I’m smart enough to do is scream my head off. What a screwup. I am so good at that, you know? I don’t care what Diana’s life is like these days, maybe it would be better for him to be with her… Don’t try to tell me that, I know when I’m failing…”

Border buried his head under his pillows. He’d heard enough.

Helping
—

“Are you still grounded? Can you do something tonight?” Liz wrapped her arms around her backpack. “It’s been a week.”

Border nodded. “He didn’t say for how long, so I guess I’m still in trouble. Or maybe he just forgot. That’s possible. Dad’s not very experienced at being tough, and he’s probably trying to forget about it.”

“What did you do that was so bad?” she asked.

“I slammed a door.”

Jacob gasped and Liz covered her mouth. “Not the dreaded door slam!” said Jacob.

Border nodded. “Worst of all sins.” The bus engine churned and they bounced in their seats. “What did you have in mind about tonight?”

Liz glanced at her brother. “Something at our church.”

“No thanks.”

“Don’t panic. It’s not religious,” she said. But people are getting together at the church to pack up stuff to send to the soldiers in the Gulf. Our mom’s kind of behind it. They’ve got all these donations from stores, and she’s worried there won’t be enough people to get the stuff boxed up.”

“There’ll be food,” said Jacob. “Some of the ladies are really good cooks.”

“But if you’re grounded, never mind,” said Liz.

“What kind of food?”

“The best,” said Jacob. “There’s one woman who makes these great tortes.”

“It’s not just eating, right? There’s work to do? You might say I’d be
helping
?”

Liz nodded. “Definitely.”

Border smiled. “Then I can go.”

Church Basement
—

“Nothing to eat until you’ve worked for an hour.”

Jacob turned to Border. “This is my mother.”

The woman tucked strands of hair back under a bandanna. “Nice to meet you at last, Border. Glad you came. Your father didn’t mind?”

“He wouldn’t.” Not exactly, that is. If he knew, which he didn’t. Border hadn’t told him, hadn’t even seen him.

“You mean he doesn’t know you’re here?”

“He was doing something tonight, so I couldn’t ask.” Mrs. McQuillan frowned. Border smiled. “How can we help?”

Heavy labor, they were good for that. Border and Jacob set up tables and chairs, then unloaded donated goods from a van. They carried a full coffee urn out of the kitchen. It leaked on Border’s jeans.

A gray-haired woman, tall as Border and many pounds heavier, swooped up to the refreshment table. “Just what I need! Here boys, do something with this while I get myself a cuppa Joe.” She handed Jacob a cloth-covered pan. He lifted the cloth and smiled. Chocolate torte.

By the time they took a break, the room had filled with people. Border and Jacob carried their plates and glasses and sat where they could give advice to Liz, who was working with five women assembling mailing boxes.

“Get to work,” she said. “We have a thousand of these to tape together.”

“We’ve been busy,” said Border.

“Men’s work,” said Jacob.

“Nothing that needs brains!” quipped one of the women, and her companions laughed.

“Gotcha,” said Liz.

“Saw your dad on the news last week,” another woman said to Border. He frowned. How did she know him? Had they been introduced?

“I’m Dot Tully. His pop’s that Vietnam draft dodger,” she said to the others. One or two nodded.|

“Fred and Maureen’s boy?” a woman next to Border asked. “He’s back in town?”

“Living right in their own same house,” Dot Tully said. “Let me tell you—what’s your name, exactly? Boomer, something like that?”

Jacob and Liz chuckled.

“It’s Border.”

“Well, Border, listening to your pop on that news show was a revelation. It was the first time I thought that what he did made sense. Not that I think going to Canada was right, but I understand it now. Understand
him
is maybe what I mean.”

“Vietnam,” said the woman next to Border, “was a mistake.”

“Be careful what you say and how loud you say it,” another woman answered. “Look around. Why, I bet almost every man in this room is a veteran of World War Two.” Heads turned, eyes scanned.

“That was different. That was Hitler.”

“Time sure changes how you look at things,” a woman said.

“True,” said Dot. “Still, I was a bit surprised,” she said to Border, “to see you here helping.”

“He’s
not
helping,” said Liz, and she took his plate and exchanged it for some box flats and tape. “Be useful, Boomer.”

“Why were you surprised?” Border asked Dot Tully. Be pleasant, he ordered himself.

“Well, you being the son of your father. What would you expect?”

Expectations—

Expectations. He lived with them; everyone did. He knew that. Border never felt sorry for himself or anything. Not really. But it was tiresome.