Authors: Willy Vlautin
The Free (P.S.) (21 page)
“They ran out of syrup?” Freddie asked.
“Yeah, imagine that. A breakfast restaurant running out of syrup.”
The tow truck arrived in town just after 6:00
PM
. The driver backed the Comet in front of a closed auto-repair shop. He set it down and left. Freddie and his daughters walked to the two motels the man had mentioned but both were full. The second front-desk clerk called the remaining motels in town but none had a room. They walked to a Mexican restaurant and ate dinner. Afterward they went back to the last motel and Freddie left a deposit of one hundred dollars and rented two blankets. They began the walk back to the Comet to spend the night in the car.
“See, I told you,” Kathleen said as they went along the sidewalk. “She’s so slow.”
“It’s not Ginnie’s fault,” Freddie said. “Let’s not talk like that anymore.”
“And it’s snowing and it’s freezing, too.”
“I’m going as fast as I can,” Virginia cried.
“I know we’re all tired,” Freddie said. “But the main thing to do when you’re tired is to remember to be nice. Remember to be kind. So let’s make it that we are, understood?”
Solemnly his daughters both said, “Okay.”
“I think I can start the car if I leave it in park. That way we can heat it up so it won’t be so freezing. It won’t be that bad. Candy’s got a great heater and I’ll tuck you guys in and tomorrow they’ll have rooms and we’ll be fine.”
“And then Candy will get fixed.”
“And then Candy will get fixed.”
They came to the mechanic’s shop and Freddie put the car in park and started the engine. Blue smoke engulfed them briefly, but soon the engine idled quietly. He turned the heater on full. He put Kathleen in the backseat and put a blanket over her. Virginia slept in the front, covered in a blanket with her head on his lap. Every hour he’d start the car and warm them.
The night wore on. He tried not to think of his ex-wife or the people who were going to live in his house or of the paint store and how mad Pat would be when he got back to work. He tried not to think of Leroy Kervin and the soldiers like him who would come home maimed and wrecked. He tried not to think of his daughter’s leg and the bills that still loomed over his head. Would he even be able to continue to afford insurance for her? Would the insurance company drop her? Hardest of all, he tried not think if he’d be a good father on his own. Whether his daughters would suffer without a mother around. Would he, just being who he was, somehow ruin them? But all these problems would be, they would always be in the shadows, and every person has their shadows. He’d keep his job and with his daughters back he had a home again and a purpose. His life wasn’t a nightmare anymore. He was free. His mind finally stopped racing and he grew tired. He could hear Kathleen softly snoring in the backseat and he closed his eyes.
At 8:00
AM
a car pulled into the lot and a middle-aged woman and a small dog got out.
Virginia opened her eyes and said, “Is someone here?”
“Yeah, somebody just drove up,” Freddie said and looked down at her head resting on his lap. He gently brushed her hair from her face. “Are you ready to get up?”
“I think so,” she said.
The woman saw the Comet and walked over to it, noticing Freddie in the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window. “Good morning,” he said. “We broke down on the highway and the tow truck dropped us off here last night. There weren’t any motel rooms so we slept here.” Kathleen sat up and then so did Virginia.
“You poor things,” the woman said, looking at the girls. “I’ll get the woodstove going and make coffee, so come on in. My husband will be in at nine. He’ll love your car. He’s a MOPAR man, but he loves all the classics.”
“You think you guys will have time to get to it today?”
“Once I tell him you had to sleep in your car, he’ll get working on it.”
“She has a dog,” Kathleen said from the backseat.
“I can’t see it,” Virginia said excitedly and tried to stand on the seat.
“Her name is Lollipop,” the woman said happily. “She’ll be excited to meet you girls.”
“Thank you,” Freddie said to the woman. He opened the car door and he and his daughters got out.
Pauline was seated at her desk in the middle-school nurse’s office. In the back were three green cots, and a twelve-year-old boy lay sleeping in the middle one, recovering from an epileptic seizure. The lunch bell rang, but the boy didn’t stir. Minutes later an eleven-year-old girl walked into the room. She was small and frail and wore a red eye patch over the empty cavity that was supposed to hold her right eye. She set her book bag down on the floor and opened it. She took a paper sack from it and went to Pauline, and sat down in the chair next to the desk.
“Hi, Colleen,” Pauline whispered and pointed to the sleeping boy. “I like that shirt.”
“Thanks,” she whispered back.
“What did she make for you today?”
“Looks like hummus and tomato and red pepper and lettuce.”
“Your mom sure knows how to make a sandwich.”
“I also have carrot sticks and she made chocolate chip cookies. She put four extra in for you.”
“Maybe I’ll have just one. I’m on a diet.”
“For how long are you on a diet?”
“Depends,” Pauline said.
“You were on a diet last month.”
“I know.”
“You’re not fat.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
“Then maybe I’ll have two.”
The girl reached into her bag and took out the cookies and set them on the desk.
The door opened and a young, black-haired boy with cerebral palsy walked in. He wore braces on both legs and walked with a metal cane. He was thirteen but looked much younger. He set his book bag down, opened it, and took out a paper sack. He went to the desk and sat in the other chair facing the nurse.
Pauline pointed to the sleeping boy and put her finger in front of her mouth.
“I brought lettuce for Donna,” he whispered.
“Thanks, Gene,” Pauline whispered.
“Can I feed her?”
“Of course you can. You don’t have to ask. You feed her every day. Let’s just say it’s your job.”
“I’m going to eat first. Is that okay?” the boy said.
Pauline nodded and took a cookie from the plastic baggie.
“My mom made you a sandwich,” Colleen said to Gene and handed it to him.
“Then do you want my peanut butter and jam?” Gene said to Pauline.
“What kind of jam?”
“Apricot.”
“That’s my favorite,” she said. She straightened her paperwork, put it on top of the computer, and took the sandwich. The three of them ate, and when the boy finished he took the rabbit from her cage. He put her on his lap and fed her lettuce and carrot sticks until the lunch bell rang again.
“I’m afraid it’s time for you guys to get back to it.”
“Okay,” the boy said and put the rabbit back in its cage.
“Tomorrow’s Friday. I’m going to get us a pizza tomorrow,” Pauline said.
“Really?” Colleen asked.
“It’s a three-day weekend coming up and I’ll miss you guys,” she said. “So remember to tell your parents you won’t need a lunch tomorrow. Colleen, make sure to tell your mom I’ll get vegetarian on half of it. Now hurry up or you’ll be late.”
“Okay,” they both said and left the room. Pauline ate the last cookie, checked on the sleeping boy, and went back to her paperwork.
On Sunday morning the Safeway parking lot was nearly empty. Pauline pushed her cart through the aisles, picked out what she needed, and headed toward checkout. Only one checker was working and it was Leroy’s mother, Darla. She stood reading a magazine behind the register. She put it down when she saw she had a customer, and when she saw who it was, she smiled and said hello.
“How are you doing?” Pauline said and began putting cans of soup on the belt.
“I’m fine,” Darla said. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
“I work days now. Monday through Friday. I usually shop on my way home from work.”
“I always hated working nights. I bet you’re glad you’re off that.”
“I am,” Pauline said and finished emptying the cart. She stood across from her. “You know something, Darla? You look great. You cut your hair, didn’t you?”
“You think it looks okay?”
“It looks amazing.”
“I even started painting my nails.” She put her hands out showing glossy red fingernails.
“And you’ve gained a little weight, too, haven’t you?”
“You think it’s alright?”
“It really looks good on you,” Pauline said.
“How are things at the hospital?”
“I left. I’m a school nurse now.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s good. I’ve been trying for years to get the job and finally I got it. It’s a lucky break for me. I’m glad to be out of the hospital.”
“I don’t know how you could have done it every day. But now it’s kids every day.”
“Yeah,” she said and beamed. “But that’s good.”
“My big news is I have a boyfriend,” Darla said and began ringing up the items. “Not that you would care, but I can’t believe it. It’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe that’s why you look so happy.”
“Stupid, huh? An old lady like me.”
“It’s great. What’s he like?”
“He’s one of the managers here. He’d been asking me out for years but I never had it in me. I was always too tired and felt too guilty. It’s hard to let yourself have a good time when someone you love is in pain. He waited a couple months after Leroy died, and then he asked me to a baseball game. I hate sports, but instead of saying no like I always did, I said yes. I don’t know why I said it but I did. The next day I went to the mall and bought a hundred dollars’ worth of new underwear. I’m fifty-three years old and it’s like I’m in high school, until I look in the mirror.” She laughed and rang up twenty-four cans of chicken noodle soup, a twelve-pack of frozen burritos, and a jumbo-size bottle of chewable multivitamins.
“I have two coupons for these,” Pauline said and handed them to her.
“Back to chicken noodle,” Darla said.
Pauline nodded. “You have a good memory. My dad’s stubborn. He won’t eat vegetable soup. So now I’m all about vitamins, but the only kind he likes are chewable. We’ll see how it goes.”
Darla put the groceries in the cart. “It’s good to see you, Pauline.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” she said and pushed her cart toward the exit. She loaded her groceries into her trunk and then drove to her father’s house.
This book couldn’t have been written without the help of my gal, Lee, and Amy Baker, Angus Cargill, Cal Morgan, Jane Palfreyman, Jen Pooley, Sally Riley, Anna Stein, and Lesley Thorne. All have been too good to me, and all deserve a brand-new Cadillac for their effort. I’d also like to send my gratitude to everyone at Harper Collins. What luck to have such a great publisher. I would also like to thank Jessica Robertson for sharing her nursing knowledge. If you ever find yourself down and out in a hospital in Portland, Oregon, and you get her as your nurse, you’re one lucky sick person. Cheers also to Dr. Jason Bell for his medical expertise and to Aaron Draplin for his graphics help. Finally, I’d like to thank Chuck Holt for always helping a guy out when he trips up and hits the wall.
Meet Willy Vlautin
W
ILLY
V
LAUTIN
began playing guitar and writing songs as a teenager. It was a Paul Kelly song based on Raymond Carver’s
Too Much Water So Close to Home
that inspired him to start writing stories. He is the author of three well-received novels:
The Motel Life
, which has been made into a movie starring Dakota Fanning, Emile Hersh, and Stephen Dorff;
Northline
; and
Lean on Pete
, which won two Oregon Book Awards. He is a founding member of the internationally acclaimed alternative country band Richmond Fontaine, which has produced nine studio albums to date. Originally from Reno, Nevada, Vlautin now lives in Scappoose, Oregon.
A Conversation with Willy Vlautin
What kind of extra-literary and extra-musical jobs have you held—anything dangerous or notably mundane?
I’ve had a long series of jobs like anyone else I guess. But my first real job was at a chemical company where I loaded trucks and answered phones. After that it was mostly warehouse jobs and trucking company jobs. I did that for maybe thirteen years. I really grew to hate warehouses and even now when I drive past them I get depressed as hell. After that I became a house painter. I’d always hated house painters, and suddenly there I was one. I did it for years and eventually grew to like it all right, but Jesus, I hope I don’t have to go back anytime soon.
You somewhere expressed a fondness for John Fante and Charles Bukowski. When did you first stumble on their fiction?
I found out about John Fante later in life. A friend of mine gave me
Ask the Dust
and I plowed through it and then all his others. I think he’s a great writer. Bukowski, on the other hand, I read in college. I didn’t do much in college but hang out in the library, and I read a lot of him there. He’s one of the only things I got out of college. Crazy thing is I was young, and I had no idea about anything but I knew I liked to get drunk, and I knew I thought Bukowski was funnier than hell. I started buying all his books, and let me tell you they’re expensive and you can never find them used. So I had them lined up in my room like a shrine. At the time it was summer, and I was working for my mom. I was helping park planes during the Reno Air Races. I was hungover and sweating to death ’cause it was so hot and it was there I had this revelation: Maybe if I got rid of the Bukowski books I wouldn’t be a loser anymore. Maybe if I sold the books I wouldn’t be sweating to death and hungover. Maybe I’d have more confidence and be more normal. Maybe I’d amount to something. It had to be Bukowski’s influence that was ruining me. So I went down and sold all his books and I thought I’d straighten up and fly right, but then I had almost fifty bucks in my pocket and well. . . .
Your band, Richmond Fontaine, formed over ten years ago. But what came first, Willy the writer or Willy the rocker?
I wrote stories for myself in high school, but I never thought much of it. I wasn’t a very good student and had a hard time in English and just assumed that I wasn’t smart enough to be a writer. So I really gravitated toward music because anyone can join a band, and I loved records, records were my best friends growing up. So I started playing guitar when I was fourteen. I wrote story songs and more than anything I wanted to make a real record and have it be in a store. Have it sitting there next to all the great records of the world. So from when I was a kid up until I was thirty-five or so I just wrote novels and stories for myself. I’d just finish one and throw it in the closet and start another one.
An AllMusic.com review of your album
Miles From
, admired “the quality of Willy Vlautin’s songwriting; suggesting the clean narrative lines and morally troubling perspective of Raymond Carver, Vlautin’s tales of damaged lives and lost souls are vivid, honest, and evoke both horror and compassion in equal measures. . . .” Do you get that a lot—the Carver comparison?
I started writing seriously when I first read Raymond Carver. He changed my life. There is an Australian songwriter named Paul Kelly who wrote a song based on the Carver story “So Much Water So Close to Home.” I liked the story of the song so much I went down and found the Carver book, and I swear Carver just killed me. I was living in my girlfriend’s parents’ garage at the time, and I spent all my free time beating myself up for what a bum I was. And then I read Raymond Carver. I swear I thought I understood every line. He wasn’t better than me, he wasn’t from Harvard, he didn’t get a scholarship to Oxford, he was just a man from the Northwest trying to hang on. I was never adventurous or smart enough to be Hemingway or Steinbeck, and Bukowski lived too hard for me, but Carver was just a working-class guy with an edge that was trying to kill him. Boy, that time was something. I started writing as hard as I could from that moment on. The stories just started pouring out. I had all this sadness and darkness on my back, and I didn’t know what it was. I was just a kid. But Carver opened it all up. So yeah, I’m always grateful to get compared to him. It’s a great honor, and I’ll take it where I can get it. I know I’m just the janitor where guys like Steinbeck and William Kennedy and James Welch and Raymond Carver are the kings, but for me just trying to be a part of it is enough.