The Flying Troutmans (9 page)

Well, there's that, I said. You guys still friends?

Of course! said Logan. What do you think?

I loved that. I loved that Logan and his friends could plot secretly to kidnap another friend of theirs, scare the hell out of him, probably almost suffocate him, definitely scrape him up a bit by throwing him around and everything, get his parents on their asses, not to mention the law, and still come out,
natch,
as friends! Beautiful.

Logan was quizzing Thebes with a German accent. He'd spent about five minutes getting his hair to stand straight up. Now he was asking her scientific questions about histograms and grids and bio-amplification.

Thebes told us about her book report. She'd taken one of Min's books:
Clara Callan.
I wrote that Clara is independent, said Thebes, and makes her own decisions. She decides that she doesn't believe in God and that she will stop going to church. Another decision she makes is to have an abortion in New York City after being raped by a monkey-faced hobo near the train tracks. I concluded that I thought these were excellent decisions because it means Clara is taking control of her own life, and because I knew Min would like the sound of that.

Logan told us there were three girls with babies in his Family Studies class.

Really? I said. And the fathers?

He shook his head slowly, sighed like a burned-out social worker with an impossible caseload, and said in a fake earnest voice, Yup, where are the fathers?

 

seven

I WONDERED WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO MIN
right now. Was she strapped to a gurney with wires stuck to her head and a spoon in her mouth, wild eyes, and eighteen thousand sparky volts of electroshock frying her brain, filling up the spaces with smoke and ash, and helping her to reconfigure her negative thinking into something less painful but empty? I imagined her doctor sitting in a
room next to hers, staring at a computer screen, saying boo-yeah! with every direct hit to her memory target. Or who knows, maybe she was strong enough to sit up and join the “Koombaya” gang in the common room.
Hey there, Min, what do you see down by the river?
Maybe she was enjoying a moment in her life, a sliver of light, a flash memory of one of her kids, something sweet and approaching reality.

I remembered Min telling me that Logan had had an imaginary friend for a while when he was three or four. His name was Jackson Whinny. He was a football star but he could never play because he was always injured and he only ate fast food and he lived with his mom even though he was a grown man because he needed her to take care of him and his injuries. His other imaginary friend was named Willie the Ghost, but he wasn't around too often. Min said Logan's little mind was creating a more gradual exit for the people who had once been in it and then—
BOOM
—one day weren't. She said he was subconsciously buying himself time to get his brain around it.

 

Hey, said Thebes, there's someone behind us flashing his lights. We're gonna get jacked!

I checked the rear-view mirror. Two guys in a half-ton. Logan turned around for a look.

Don't pull over, he said. Speed up.

No, that's dumb, I said. But I sped up anyway. Isn't this supposed to happen in Miami or something? I said.

We're all gonna die! said Thebes.

The truck drove along next to us and the guy in the passenger seat rolled his window down.

Just so you guys know, said Thebes, I love you with all my heart and even if you two don't have heaven-cred, I do, and I will put in a word with the Big Guy and tell—

Thebes, I said, will you please shut up.

I'll meet you on the other side, my friends! she said.

Here we go, said Logan. He pulled his hoodie way down over his face.

Circle of life, said Thebes. She threw her arms into the air.

That's not even original, said Logan. That's Bart Simpson—

You don't have to be original when your time is up, said Thebes. Word to yer mama.

Hey, what's up, I said to the guy. He was smiling. I smiled back.

Nice flowers, he said, pointing to my head.

Thanks, I said. We smiled some more. We could get this massacre over civilly at least.

You're dragging something, he said. Just wanted to let you know.

They took off, flashed their taillights goodbye, and I pulled over to the shoulder once again. Logan jumped out.

Fuck! He said. Fuck! We'd been dragging his headphones for miles. The wire had been stuck in the door. They were all dusty and torn up. He went over to them and knelt down and picked them up and held them, swearing softly, bereft and tender, but mad as hell. Then he raised his face to the heavens, to his malevolent
maker, and screamed, how could he live without his headphones! Why had this happened to him? What had he ever done?

Thebes popped her head out of the van and said that if he wanted to have a funeral for them in the field, she could lead it, no charge, “Amazing Grace,” the works. I yanked her back inside and told her to leave him alone. She took a picture of him, boy grieving, with her disposable underwater camera. She and I gave him some time alone with his headphones.

I see Troutman corpses piling up, she said. We have to stop in the next town and get him new ones. Key to our survival.

Hey, she said. If Logan gets to get new headphones, could I get a crimping iron?

I don't know, I said. Maybe.

A crimping iron is twenty-five bucks, she said, but if you just think about it for a minute you'll soon realize that it'll be worth every last penny.

Let me think about it for one hour, I said. I'll need you not to talk to me during that time.

 

I want to make it to Cheyenne, Wyoming, I told the kids when we were back on the road.

It was smoking hot in the van and Logan took off his shirt and hoodie and climbed into the back and plunged his head into the cooler and then shook it. Water sprayed everywhere and Thebes screamed. Then she noticed a scar on his back.

Where'd you get that? she asked. She moved her finger lightly over his skin. He stared out the window.

Hey, she said, are you in a fight club?

You mean like the movie? he said.

Yeah, whatever, she said.

You mean like that movie
Fight Club
? he said.

Yeah, or you know, a variation on the theme, she said.

A variation on the theme of the movie
Fight Club
? he said.

Yeah! Like some local chapter, she said. You know? Starring Brad Pitt? Are you?

Am I a member of a local chapter that is a variation on the theme of the movie
Fight Club
starring Brad Pitt? he said.

I suggested to Thebes that she stop talking to Logan too, and write a story. Logan commended me on my first really excellent idea on the trip so far. Thebes didn't know what to write about. Logan told her to write about a guy in a small village in South America or something like that, who is driven away because everyone thought that he had died and they were seeing his ghost and so now he lives down the road and is trying to prove that he's alive so that he can go back and live in his village, which is all he wants out of life.

So, said Logan, the problem is, how does he prove he's alive?

Thebes said she would rather rewrite the Ten Commandments on a piece of dark blue construction paper with her special gold glitter pen.

Then fucking do it already! I said. I immediately apologized.

It's okay, said Thebes. Those are just words. Language isn't real.

Yes it is, said Logan.

Not to me, said Thebes.

How can it not be real to you? I said. You use it every day.

Yeah, I know, said Thebes, but that's all.

Okay, I said.

Like you know when it snows in May? said Thebes. How much that sucks?

Yeah, I said.

I don't let my brain accept the word
snow
, said Thebes.

Hmm, I said. Okay, so…

I pretend it's something else, she said.

The snow? said Logan.

Yeah, she said.

Like what? he said.

I don't know, said Thebes. Like stuff somebody left behind.

Hey, said Logan, you forgot your stuff. It's everywhere.

Yeah, I said, my dog's shitting all over your stuff.

See, said Thebes, exactly. Hey, how's this one?

What one? I said.

Be at Peace with Yourself in this Chaotic World, she said.

Is that one of your commandments? I asked. She said yeah.

Logan said it was too vague.

How about this, said Thebes. Do Not Let Hard Words Control Your Life.

I said yeah, that was a good one.

Logan said, What do you mean? Like
harsh
words? Or like
difficult, complicated
words.

Hard words, she said.

I think it should be clearer, said Logan. Write
harsh
or something. Or how about Do Not Let Hard Liquor Control Your Life.

Logan, just let Thebes make her own commandments, okay?

Fine.

Fine.

What about Be Kind to Dogs? asked Thebes.

What if a dog is attacking your best friend? said Logan. He was carving into the dash again.

Thebes, I said, just write your commandments down, every one you can think of.

She was quiet and then she started to say something. No, no, I said. Don't. Don't talk. I'm still thinking about that thing, that crimping iron, and you have to concentrate on your commandments. Let's all be quiet. Let's have a quiet contest.

Okay, she said, but just so you know? Glenn Gould could do his playing, his live performances, while reminding himself of people he had to call, the number of the cab he'd have to call later to get home, all that stuff, and none of it interfered with his playing.

Okay, I said. Boffo. I'm buying a tranquilizer gun in Cheyenne.

Hey, I whispered to Logan, how
did
you get that scar on your back? What happened?

Shhh, he said, quiet contest, remember?

Yeah, but, just—

Shhh…

This time Logan had carved the question
Who needs actions when you've got words? K. Cobain.
He had already changed the title of Thebes's secondary reading material to
Harry Pothead and the Philosopher's Stone.
Then he changed it to
Happy Pothead
…and then he changed it to
Happy Pothead and Phil Is Stoned.
I told him he'd have to buy Thebes a new book, but she doesn't want a new one. She wants the old one with the messed-up cover and the equivalent worth in Archie comics. Logan is reading
Twelve,
a book about drugs and parties and death in Manhattan, and
Heavier Than Heaven,
the Kurt Cobain biography, which is all about pretty much the same stuff and where he must have gotten the quote he'd just carved into the dash. He's got
The Tin Drum
and a George Saunders book and
Maus
and
Howl
and a book about
Saturday Night Live
all stuffed, along with his notebooks and sketchbooks, into a fake alligator-skin suitcase he bought at a Goodwill store for four dollars.

 

We drove through the heat. We didn't talk for a long time. Who needs words when you're having a quiet contest? I saw a fat guy walking slowly down the highway, hunched against the hot wind, with a faded marathon number pinned to his back. He looked tired. He was headed in the same direction as us. I wanted to talk to another adult.

I pulled up next to him and Logan rolled his window down and I leaned over and said hey.

Hey, said the guy. He barely looked at us.

We're going to Cheyenne, I said. Are you in a race?

He said no, he had been, but not any more.

Oh, I said, are you lost?

No, he said, not exactly. I liked this guy. We could become best friends, I thought. I live in a town eighty miles from here, he said. I'm the caretaker of a church.

Do you want to ride with us for a while? I asked him.

Thebes and Logan looked at me, looked at him, looked at me.

No thank you, he said.

You're gonna walk for eighty miles to get home? I asked him. He said he'd stop along the way. Where are you gonna stop? I asked him. He hadn't decided yet.

I was desperate to talk to this guy. He kept trudging down the highway and our van crept along beside him. I don't see any houses or anything around here at all, I said. He shrugged, nodded, yeah, no. So where are you going to stop? I asked him.

Points yonder, he said, and smiled.

Points yonder? I repeated. Nice. I smiled back. We kept our glacial pace and eased on down the road. C'mon, I said, hop in, just for a break. Aren't you tired? I said. He said he was but still, no thank you.

Is it because we're strangers? I asked him. He looked at us. He said he just wanted to walk if that was okay with me. Yeah, of course, I said, but how'd you get separated from the pack?

What pack? he said.

Your race! I said. I pointed at the number pinned to his back. Logan took a big breath and closed his eyes. The guy didn't say anything, just shook his head. Are you sure you don't want a ride, just for a few miles? I said. We won't hurt you, I promise.

He smiled wearily and said yeah, he was sure.

Do you want a drink or something? A bottle of water? Or we've got juice! Thebes! I said.

Yo! she said, and whipped the lid off the cooler and grabbed a bottle of water. Here, she said. She handed the water to Logan, who handed the water to the guy, who took it and said thank you very much.

Well, do you race often? I asked him.

He said no, it had been a stupid idea. He hadn't known what he was doing or what he was getting into. I loved this guy!

Listen, I said, why don't you just…get in the van.

Nope, he said. He told us he'd be just fine, really, but thank you.

I said yeah, I know but—

Jesus, Hat, whispered Logan, give it up, man, fuck.

I thought: Kidnap this odd walking man, be lost and tired together, take care of the church, laugh at our old misguided ways (Oh yeah, what were we thinking? Marathons. Searching for fathers. Hilarious!), change my name from Troutman to something like Grey…

Mmm-hmm, I said, cool. Okay. I smiled at the guy. Good luck with, you know, the whole…this, I told him, and took off.

Shh, I said to the kids, who were poised to explode with commentary. At least Thebes was.

Were you gonna marry that guy or what? she said.

Logan had said earlier what he'd needed to say. Filled his daily talking quota.

Hey, do you want to play Zit? said Thebes.

Not now, I said, okay, Thebie? I reached around and patted her stomach, although I'd been aiming for her knee. Your shirt is crusty, I told her. We'll have to cut it off you. Logan took out his knife. No, put that away, I said.

 

We were in Cheyenne, at a giant rodeo and carnival. The Granddaddy of 'em All, was what the sign said. We were floating over barns and corrals and concession stands and chuckwagons in a huge Ferris wheel. The kids were throwing mini-doughnuts at the crowds on the ground, because, according to Logan, it's tradition and it doesn't hurt. He had new headphones, but Thebes had decided to buy a plastic holster and two pistols instead of a crimping iron. She said she'd never take the holster off. Now both the kids were armed. When we were buying them a woman at the store had looked at Thebes and then at me and had said I should comb that girl's hair…was it purple? And what kind of a mother was I?