Snowed in Together (2 page)

Chapter Two

I quickly positioned my books in front of my gonad region. "El-Ellyce Larkspur?"

"And Cari Keet," Jeff said.

"And Tiffany Miller," Tony added.

"So? What about them? I mean, what do they have to do with taking inventory in the art room?"

"You'd better explain," Tony said, giving me a shove in Jeff's direction. "I've gotta catch my bus."

"Okay," Jeff said.

We slogged our way through the steady
Oregon
drizzle toward our own bus. Though the three of us were all finally sixteen, none of us had our licenses. Not that having them would've mattered. None of us could afford a car anyway.

We'd almost rather walk to school, which was at least one step above the lowest form of transportation, that being, of course, the bus, but we all lived several miles from school. About fifty years ago some rich couple donated the land for
Willamette
Valley
Regional
High School
. It was a generous gesture, I guess, but so remote that cell phones were useless, a major shortcoming in the minds of the many (teachers not among them) who owned cell phones, but a source of comfort to those who hated overhearing one-sided conversations and/or didn't have a cell phone. What passed for the centers of the three towns that made up the school district were all miles away.

I slumped down on a window seat on Bus Seven, where I had a good view of Matt Cummings helping Ellyce Larkspar into his silver SUV. He could practically ride up the side of
Mount
Bachelor
in that thing. I sighed. What chance did I have with Ellyce when Matt Cummings was almost always pasted to her side? Not only was he tall, wide-shouldered and handsome in a tough-guy way, he was also a star of the football team, which didn't hurt his image.

I would've liked to work up a real hate against him, but, trouble was, he was a pretty nice guy and fairly intelligent too. Not as smart as I was, of course, but no dumbass, unfortunately. At least then I could've felt superior on that count.

I spotted Tiffany Miller riding off in Derek Hogan's sports car. Now, Derek
was
a dumbass, but I wasn't turned inside out by Tiffany, so I didn't care. Besides, since Tiffany arrived at WVRHS in September, she had a different boyfriend every month. She was always wearing a T-shirt with some guy's name on it. The rumor was that she had a drawer full of them at home.

The bus lurched forward. I realized Jeff was not filling me in on the connection between Ellyce, Tiffany and Cari and doing inventory in the art room.

I turned to him and started to say, "Hey--" But when I saw he was staring straight at Cari Keet, across the aisle and one row up, I waited. I figured, let the guy fantasize for a minute. After all, fantasizing was one of the few pleasures in life
I
could count on most days, so why deprive Jeff of the pleasure.

Soon enough, the bus squealed to a stop. Cari got off. As she trotted up her driveway and out of view, Jeff started to return to earth.

"So. Why are we going to the school tomorrow morning?" I asked.

Jeff shook himself out of his reverie. "I overheard Ms. Tenray telling the girls that since they were new to the squad, they'd need extra practice," Jeff said, as if that explained everything.

I stared at Jeff and waited.

"I was trying to figure out how to take advantage of that, when Korman asked for volunteers."

If you could really burn holes in someone with your eyes, Jeff would have spontaneously combusted.

Jeff sighed, and spoke in a be-patient-with-him voice. "We'll be at the school tomorrow morning. The extra cheerleading practice is at the school tomorrow morning!"

My eyes cooled down to body temperature. "What good will that do us? We're in school with them every day anyway."

"It'll be just the six of us," Jeff said, as if he was explaining how to tie your shoe to a two-year-old. "No distractions! No competition!"

"I dunno, I'm not sure that'll do us any good." I tried to hang on as Henry, the bus driver, roared around a hairpin turn. Henry was one of the more exciting drivers, if you considered fearing for your life exciting. "It's not as if we'll be marooned on a deserted island with them."

"Think positively." Jeff grabbed the seat in front as we flew around another curve. "We've got until morning to think of some way to make good use of our time and connect with the girls."

"If I were good at thinking up ways to make it with girls, don't you think I'd've done it by now?"

"Think of the opportunity!" Jeff pointed his finger toward the sky, as if answers to everything were up there. "Just us and them. You've got 'til seven-thirty tomorrow morning. We'll pick you up then."

"Okay," I said, grateful that at least we'd get a ride to the school. During the week, Jeff's parents worked in
Eugene
, but on weekends they'd drive us anywhere, any time.

The bus's brakes screeched, signaling my stop. I squeezed past Jeff. "See you tomorrow."

"Remember." Jeff tapped the side of his head. "Think."

"Right." As I stepped off the bus, I shrugged my shoulders up to my ears. I'd worn just a thin cotton jacket. Not that I had much choice. It was my only jacket. I couldn't afford one of those big, water-resistant parkas that were perfect for the wet
Oregon
winters.

I tried to avoid the puddles forming in our dirt driveway as I hiked through the woods to my house. The way was marked with old
Hudson
cars in various stages of deterioration. Dad collected them. He said that fixed-up they'd be worth thousands of dollars. Trouble was, he never got around to fixing them up. He never got around to much of anything since Mom left.

A snowflake drifted in front of my face. Then another. Though it was mostly still raining, I started to worry. I knew Dad would not be home yet.

A lousy half inch of snow was a disaster around here, because it hardly ever snowed and no one was prepared for it. Few people had snow tires, or carried chains. None of the nearby towns had snowplows or sanding trucks.

I checked the sky again and relaxed. Nothing but rain now. Heavier than usual, but only rain.

Though it was not quite four o'clock, the towering fir trees that seemed to pierce the clouds wrapped my house in darkness. Dad and I never remembered to leave a light on. As Dad said, "It was always your mother who kept the home fires burning, Wes. She was the one who made it shine."

He'd say that, then take a long pull on the bottle of beer he always had in his hand. Oh, he never drank at work, never let drinking interfere with his job, but every night he drank, and all day on weekends. He just sat at the kitchen table, softly mumbling about Mom and drinking himself numb.

In the darkness, I fumbled with the key. Finally, it slid into the lock and I let myself in. Immediately I turned on the hall light, then went into the kitchen and turned on both lights in there. I hated being alone in the dark.

I stuck my jacket in the back room, which served as a closet, pantry and laundry room. A pile of dirty clothes sat on the washer. I pulled out the white things, stuffed them in the washer, poured in a cup of detergent and turned on the machine. If remembered to put the wash in the dryer, at least I'd have clean underwear for my big day at school in the morning.

I thought about trying to hatch some fantastic plot to win Ellyce, but my stomach felt as if it was scraping against my backbone.

I checked the refrigerator. A half carton of beer. A stick of margarine. A few eggs. A chunk of moldy cheese that was still good enough to use if I cut off the mold.

At least I could make omelets for supper. I got out the skillet. I hoped Dad would bring home some supplies so we'd have something for the weekend. Fridays he was supposed to shop for groceries. He always remembered to get beer. He didn't always remember to get food.

The snapping margarine in the skillet got my attention. I poured in the omelet mixture I'd fixed and as the edges set, I drew that part toward the center with a fork. When the eggs were set, I turned up the heat to quickly brown the bottom, then tossed in a few shards of cheese I salvaged from the moldy chunk.

I'd had to learn fast after Mom left, but I discovered that I liked to cook. Of course, it'd be more fun if I had a steady source of food, and more variety than what Dad brought home.

"Damn! It's cold out there." Dad slammed the door and stomped into the kitchen, splattering water all over the floor. He carried a box from the discount grocery store. As soon as he set it on the counter, I checked it out.

There was more beer. No surprise. But I also found a bag of potatoes, a pound of hamburger, cereal, milk, bread and orange juice. Even a few vegetables, which was a real shock. At least for the next few days I'd have a full stomach.

Dad shook more rain off his jacket and tossed his boots into the pantry. "Mmm, mmm. That smells good," he said, waving his nose over the skillet. "You sure can cook. Almost as good as your mother."

Sober, Dad always referred to Mom cheerfully, as if her absence was only temporary and she would be home any minute. It wasn't until he belted down a few beers that he moaned that she was gone and wasn't coming back. Then the glazed look of despair would spread over his face and he'd mumble his anguish as tears fell and soaked the collar of his shirt.

"Food's all ready, Dad." I slid the eggs onto plates and poured each of us a glass of milk. We sat down to eat.

Dad inhaled his omelet and swallowed the milk in practically one gulp. "Mmm, mmm." He smacked his lips, but really he'd mostly eaten supper for my benefit. He was like a kid who ate his vegetables just so he could get to dessert.

What he wanted was his beer. But he knew I'd put up a fight if he didn't eat something first. I figured he might not drink himself to death so fast if he had some food in his stomach.

It was a ritual for us. He'd eat supper. I'd clean up the kitchen and try to ignore the fact that he was going to drink himself blotto the rest of the night.

After I finished the dishes, I left Dad softly crying in his rocking chair and went to my room. I flopped down on my bed and tried to think. I had to come up with something to make good use of our time at school tomorrow.

Tony was right. We'd been nothing but horny long enough. I was tired of being socially inept. It was time to act.

But what could I say to a girl like Ellyce? What would she think if she knew the whole truth about my mother? What would any girl think if she new that my Dad sat around drinking himself into a stupor every night? No girl in her right mind would want anything to do with me.

I was getting that tight feeling in my stomach that I got so often since Mom took off. I tried not to think about her, or Dad. I tried not to think at all. I knew I had just decided it was time to act, but it was late and I was too tired. It was so much easier to relax and let my glands take over.

I closed my eyes. The image of Ellyce drifted over me in a rosy mist. Surrounded by a soft glow, her green eyes sparkled, her brown curls floated in a gentle wind. She ran toward me, arms outstretched. All that she had to offer was mine, all mine.

The next thing, I was sleeping, reveling in a fantastically dirty dream

Chapter Three

I unbuttoned Ellyce's blouse. My hand slid over her smooth skin. Her body arched toward me. "Oh, Wes," she said, soft at first, then louder. "OH, WES--"

Bz-z-z-z-z-z!

Damn! The alarm clock laughed in my ear.
It was only a dream. It was only a dream. Ha, ha! It was only a dream.

I smothered the clock with my hands. The alarm stopped, but the clock continued its snide message.
It was only a dream.

I scrunched my eyes shut and tried to go back to sleep. But it was no use. The clock went right on taunting me.

I sat up, rested my feet on the cold floor, and ran my hand across what passed for stubble on my chin. What was I doing dreaming about wild, passionate love with Ellyce, anyway? I'd never even worked up the nerve to say more than Hi to her.

Why did I say I'd go to the school with Tony and Jeff today? We'd be in the art room, the girls'd be in the gym and totally "never the twain shall meet," as noted by that Kipling guy whose stuff we read in Freshman Language Arts class. I couldn't think of a way to get the girls to notice us, short of stripping naked and streaking through the gym, and, somehow, I didn't think that'd have the desired effect. If they didn't faint from shock, they'd probably laugh.

I figured not being noticed at all was better than being humiliated.

But I'd said I'd show up at school, so I would. I figured we'd go, take inventory in the art room and go home. Then we'd sit around and fantasize about what we should've done to impress the girls. In other words, except for going to school, it would be an ordinary Saturday.

But because there was a one-in-a-zillion chance that I might do something so bold-and-rash as saying more than Hi to Ellyce, I decided I'd better shower and shave. On my way to the bathroom, I checked on Dad. He was asleep in the rocking chair, snoring softly, a dozen or so empty beer bottles on the floor at his feet.

At least the snoring meant he was still alive. One of my worst nightmares was that one morning I'd wake up and Dad would be dead. God, what would I do then? I'd probably have to tell somebody. And then what would happen to me?

I got up and looked out the window. It was raining. A strong wind rocked the tops of the trees. I checked the thermometer. Thirty-five degrees. Brrr. I wished I had a warm jacket.

I stepped into the shower and tried not to think about it. As the hot water hit me, I pictured Ellyce naked. Picturing Ellyce naked could take my mind off of just about anything. I hoped that didn't make me a pervert, because it sure was fun.

After I finished showering, I shaved. I must've used half a can of shave cream. I didn't want to cut myself. A cut would be bad enough, but my skin was so sensitive that the cut wouldn't be the worst of it. My face would turn red for about two inches all around the cut.

"You have beautiful skin, Wes. Just beautiful," Mom always said. Then she'd sigh and pat my cheek. "My beautiful, skinny Elvis." I didn't think I looked much like Elvis, except maybe for my hair.

Mom had a thing about Elvis, passed down from her mother, who used to brag that she knew someone who once saw some actress Elvis once dated. A few months after Mom left me and Dad, I got a postcard from her from
Memphis
. It was a picture of
Graceland
. On the back, Mom had scrawled, "My new home. Ha, ha."

It was supposed to be a joke, but Mom was always wanting what she couldn't have. Dad worked hard, but he just couldn't afford the big house and expensive clothes Mom always talked about. When she switched from the lunch shift to the dinner shift at the restaurant in
Springfield
where she worked, she said she was going to put the money toward "a nice, big house right on the lake."

I think all along she planned to save up so she could leave. Dad loved her with all his heart, but it just wasn't enough for her. Apparently, it didn't matter enough for her to stick around for me either.

Success!
I managed to shave without a single cut. I washed off the lather and checked my sideburns. They were even.

In my room I searched through my dresser for something to wear. I tossed aside a couple of sweaters, then found the powder blue one my Aunt Miriam in
Indiana
sent me last year. I pulled it on. The bulky knit actually gave the illusion that there was some sort of body underneath. Personally, I thought the color was kind of geeky, but the one time I wore it out of desperation because everything else was dirty, Care Keet passed me in the hall and said, "Hey, great color."

Cari wasn't the sarcastic type, so I figured maybe it was okay. I checked myself out in the dresser mirror. The blue gave a spark to my gray eyes. Maybe that was good. The fact that it almost looked as if I had shoulders and a chest was definitely good.

So, anyway, I decided to go with the blue sweater. At least it didn't clash with my jeans and unfashionably cheap running shoes.

Once the big decision on what to wear was settled, I realized I was hungry. I started to head toward the kitchen, but when I saw Dad still sleeping in the rocking chair, I remembered something. Yesterday was payday for Dad.

I tiptoed over to the rocking chair and carefully slid Dad's wallet out of his pant's pocket. He always cashed his entire paycheck. No online banking for him. I took out all but a little spending money, then slid the wallet back in his pocket. I hid the rest in my room, behind a loose wall panel. That way I could dole out grocery money to Dad each week and hope that he'd actually buy groceries with it. At least the odds were better than if he kept the whole wad himself.

Fortunately, there was a mini-bank branch in Alder close enough to ride to on my bike, so I could deposit enough money there to write checks to pay our other bills. I wished there was a discount grocery store nearby. We just couldn't afford the prices in the convenience store, which didn't stock much real food anyway.

I heard a moan. Dad was starting to stir. I hurried to the kitchen and got the coffee going.

"Hi, Dad," I said, as if he had not just woken up from a drunken stupor. "The coffee'll be ready in a minute. I'm going to fix oatmeal. It's a good day for it." If I kept talking, the words would sink in and Dad would make an effort to eat breakfast.

He was a good guy, really. He didn't turn mean when he drank. He just sorta shut down.

It was a lot of work to keep propping him up, though, to keep the world from finding out about his drinking. I was sure no one at the bottling plant where he worked suspected. He'd just gotten a raise there. A small one, sure, but a raise.

Still, I was tired. It was hard taking on so much responsibility. It was hard having to pretend that things weren't the way they were. It was tough making excuses to Jeff and Tony about not coming over to my house any more, but I couldn't always hide the bottles. Besides, I was sure the house reeked of alcohol.

On top of all that, I still hadn't told anyone the truth about Mom. I'd waited until weeks after she left before I'd said anything, hoping she'd come back, even though it was clear she wouldn't. I kind of made up a story about Mom and Dad "separating" and eventually told everyone they'd gotten a divorce.

I thought that sounded more civilized. After all, lots of guys' parents got divorced. Once in a while I'd mention a letter or phone call I'd pretend that I got from Mom, so it'd seem as if she actually still cared about me.

"Mmphf, mornin'," Dad finally said. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Mmm, what day is it?”

"Saturday-I'm-fixing-you-a-hot-breakfast." I hoped to plant the idea of food in his brain before he thought too much about what day it was. Sometimes on the weekends Dad didn't eat at all, he just drank. "Coffee's ready."

I poured hot, steaming coffee into a mug and waved it under Dad's nose, then set the mug on the kitchen table.

Dad got up from his rocking chair, and transplanted himself to the kitchen table. He sipped the coffee, then let out a long, loud, "Aaaaah. Just as good as your mother used to make."

I didn't say anything. Sometimes I got tired of Dad mentioning Mom about every other sentence. Sometimes I just wanted to forget Mom and the fact that she deserted us. One phone call and three postcards in a year and a half. Why did she even bother?

I slammed a ladle of oatmeal into a bowl.

"Careful there, Wes," Dad said. "Don't break the dishes."

I placed the bowl of oatmeal in front of Dad and handed him a spoon. He started to eat, so I got myself some oatmeal and a glass of milk and sat down across from him.

I watched to make sure he was really eating and not just pushing his food around. Once I was convinced he was eating, I said, "I'm going up to the school soon. I'm going to help take inventory in the art room. Jeff's folks'll give me a ride. I'll be home some time this afternoon."

After I finished my announcement, I waited to see if Dad absorbed what I just said.

"Okay." He nodded a couple of times.

He'd heard me. I hoped he'd remember. I thought maybe I should leave him a note, just in case.

Dad finished his oatmeal and pushed the bowl away. "That was good," he said, "but I think I need a little hair of the dog to get rid of this headache."

"Dad--"

"Don't worry." Dad scraped his chair on the floor as he got up and went over to the refrigerator. "Just one."

I checked the clock. It was seven-twenty, so I didn't have time to argue. Not that it mattered. Even if I got him to hold off on the beer, he'd just wait until I left and have it then.

I let him sink into his rocking chair with his bottle of beer and went to the bathroom, so I could brush my teeth. After, I splashed on some of Dad's Old Spice. It was kinda old fashioned, I guess, but I liked the way it smelled. I hope Ellyce would too, if she ever got close enough to smell me.

I looked at my watch. I wished I could afford a cell phone, so I could check the time that way, but, oh, well. It was almost seven-thirty. I ran a comb through my hair once more, then grabbed my jacket. As I ran out the door, I shouted, "Bye, Dad!"

I forgot to write him a note, but he'd probably be zonked out when I got home anyway, and not even realize I'd been gone. Besides, I wanted to be outside before Jeff and his folks got here.

I stood on the front porch and zipped my jacket. It was pouring out, and, man, it was cold. The wind tore through my jacket and made me feel like one giant goosebump. I had thought about meeting Jeff out by the road, but I decided not to. I didn't want to drag myself into the school looking like a drenched stray cat.

The Hughes' car pulled into the driveway. I tried to look as if I'd just then stepped outside. I waited until the exact instant the car stopped, then ran and hopped into the back seat, almost landing on top of Tony.

"Dude," Tony said, "I gave up wrestling, remember?" He shoved me off his leg.

"You didn't have to wait outside," Jeff said, leaning around Tony's broad shoulders to talk to me.

"Oh, uh, I wasn't waiting outside. I just stepped out to, uh, see if you were here, when you pulled up." It was a lame excuse, but I was running out of excuses for not letting anyone get as far as the front door.

Jeff didn't say anything, but he looked at me kind of funny.

"
Ohayo
, Wes," Mrs. Hughes said as we pulled out of the driveway.

"
Ohayo, Hughes-san
," I responded in Japanese. I knew Mrs. Hughes parents wanted her to remember her Japanese heritage and pass it on to Jeff, so, as it turned out, Tony and were picking up some of the language, such as "good morning."

"How are you?" Mrs. Hughes then asked in English.

"Fine," I answered politely.

"And your father?" Mr. Hughes asked, sounding very concerned.

"He's fine too," I said, probably too cheerfully. I curled my toes until they practically poked through the soles of my shoes. Curling my toes was an automatic reflex whenever anyone asked about Mom or Dad. It was tough trying to keep secrets.

Fortunately, Mr. Hughes didn't pursue the subject.

Tony nudged me and whispered, "What great ideas did you come up with?” He wriggled his thick eyebrows.

"Well, um, uh … nothing," I admitted. "What about you?"

Tony made a big "O" with his thumb and index finger.

We both looked hopefully at Jeff.