Making It Work

by Kathleen Glassburn

  Two years before, at twenty-one, Bradley had burned his draft card. He, as well as thousands of others, was never prosecuted. Spock and Coffin took the blame for this kind of criminal act. Other celebrities and singers like John Lennon were using their voices to protest the war.

  “Aren’t these, um, interesting?” Sheila placed Mary Beth’s candles in front of Bradley.

  “Great.” He never glanced her way.

  “Do you like them?” Mary Beth had a shy smile on her plump face, awaiting his approval.

  He looked up. “Sure. They’re great. You need to bring some of these candles to Mom. She’ll love them.”

  “I’m going to send an assortment for her birthday.”

  “In January? You’ll be home by then.”

  “No I won’t!” Her face compressed into angry lines.

  “Do you want to keep on hurting her like this?”

  “Me hurting her? What about you?” She pushed a flyaway clump of brown hair off her cheek.

  “Mary Beth, it’s time for you to go home. To get a job. To live like a normal person.” Bradley jabbed his pencil at her with each statement.

  “My name’s Willow Tree, and what kind of normal person are you—hiding up here with Sheila?”

  “I’m working for something important. More than you’re doing. Living off Lucas.”

  “No matter what you say, I won’t change my mind. Lucas needs me. I belong here. If you can’t get that through your thick head, you can just … fuck off!” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her baggy tan dress and stomped out of the room.

  “I’ve never seen her that angry.” Sheila was on Bradley’s side, but since his arrival, he had been push-push-pushing, like a cat scratching at a carpeted post. She hated the house set-up as much as he did. Had Sheila known of the living arrangements, she never would have come to San Francisco. But she was here, and with her job at the music store, her work for the movement, and singing, always singing, she was making the best of it.

  Two months later, Sheila sat in her attic room on an orange floor pillow, working out chords for Lennon’s new song, “Come Together,” trying to understand the puzzling words. Bradley had gone to a meeting for the Moratorium. Their group would be caravanning from San Francisco to Washington, DC, in a couple of weeks.

  She was relieved to have a little quiet time, away from Bradley’s constant political talk. When he wasn’t writing about the movement he was talking about it. But then, a tap at the door startled her. Sheila tensed. What if it’s Lucas? Since the blow-up, Mary Beth never came to the top of the house. Lucas couldn’t stand that Sheila seldom joined the others. When she did see him in the kitchen or passing in a hall, he made cutting remarks about Bradley staying with her, even though he was matching her rent money. But Lucas never forced the issue.

  Sheila set her guitar atop the yellow afghan and opened the door a crack. There stood Mary Beth, her cushy shoulders slumped.

  “I saw Bradley leave. Can I come in?”

  “Of course. What’s up?”

  “I’ve meant to see you, but …”

  “Yeah?” Sheila felt funny, like they were going behind Bradley’s back.

  “I’ve been remembering how it was after Daddy died. Bradley and me growing up together. One time, it was my twelfth birthday, I made fancy pink invitations and hand-delivered them to girls in our neighborhood. No one came to my party. Afterward, Bradley went around and called them a bunch of creeps.” Mary Beth blinked as she studied a water spot on the ceiling. “All the while, Mom hovered, coaxing me to feel better with ice cream and chocolate birthday cake.”

  “Did Bradley help?”

  “Nobody ever invited me over, but after that they were more polite. Laura Lee, a girl down the block, asked for tutoring on arithmetic tests. She became kind of a friend. I knew she only acted that way because of wanting to hang around my big brother. He was pretty cute, even then.”

  Sheila pictured Bradley’s straight eyebrows and wire framed glasses and thin body. These features made him seem earnest and full of important ideas. I’d never call him “cute.”

  “Probably everyone came to every birthday party of yours.”

  “Maybe they did.” With constant moves to different apartments, and her mother drunk so much of the time, there were few parties to remember.

  “I have something to tell you.” Mary Beth leaned closer.

  “What?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Sheila gave an involuntary gasp. “When did you find out?” She flopped down on the mattress in the corner, now a double that she shared with Bradley. The other single one was pushed up against the far wall about twenty feet away. Mary Beth, whose round shape didn’t seem any different from before, flung herself onto it. Sheila got up and moved over next to her.

  “A few months ago.”

  “You’re four months along?”

  “At least.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? We could have done something about it.”

  “An abortion?”

  “I don’t know. Something!”

  “I want this baby.”

  “What does Lucas say?”

  “He can’t wait. He says it’s time to have a bunch of kids.”

  “A bunch?” Sheila pictured the current house occupants: Monk and Magdela, both in all-black clothes, spent most of their time high on pot, lounging on their sofa in the front room, fondling each other; and frail Harmony, who had recently returned to the faded, orange house, in mourning for her cousin, Peace, who had overdosed in Los Angeles; and then all the strays (some of them kids still in their teens) who showed up for short periods of time. Occasionally, Sheila would go downstairs to see if anything had changed, to see if anyone showed an interest in the movement. On a recent visit, while she played her guitar and sang protest songs, and they passed a pipe, Harmony had been cuddled on one side of Lucas and Mary Beth on the other. Lucas seemed as complacent as an overfed lion, arms slung around each young woman, their heads resting next to his full black beard.

  Bradley, returning from a meeting, came in the room looking for Sheila. He stared at the trio. “Don’t you think one woman’s enough?”

  Lucas stood. “I think it’s time for you to leave, Mr. Dodger Man.” He lifted his hands as if to shove Bradley.

  “It is time for me to leave. And for Sheila and Mary Beth to leave too.” Bradley didn’t move.

  “Willow’s happy.”

  Mary Beth remained silent, and Lucas sprawled back on the sofa, the two girls snuggling in closer to him—the great protector.

  Bradley, his back rigid, had stalked from the room with Sheila hurrying out after him.

  “What do you think about all kinds of children in this house?” She now asked Mary Beth, and again sent a silent prayer of thanks that there’d been no pregnancy resulting from Jim’s surprise visit.

  “I guess I don’t want to have my baby here.”

  “Are you and Lucas going to move somewhere else?”

  “Lucas won’t leave. You see, Harmony’s going to have one too. He says the babies can play with each other.”

  “Harmony’s pregnant?” Haven’t any of these women heard of the pill? They weren’t even Catholic. Sheila had been back on it for months.

  “Yeah. She just found out.”

  “Mary Be … Willow, you’re right. You can’t stay here.”

  “I called Mom. She’s beside herself with worry and wants me to come right home.”

  “I’m sure Jane is upset … as well as elated.” Then, “Have you been feeling okay?” How can she stand this? Lucas making it with someone else right under her nose?

  “I’m fine.” She patted her broad hips. “Lucas says I’m built to breed.”

  I feel sick! “Do you want to stay up here with us?”

  “You don’
t mind?”

  Sheila assured Mary Beth that both she and Bradley wanted her with them.

  “Mom did seem thrilled about the baby.”

  This didn’t surprise Sheila. It would give Jane someone else to watch over. “You should rest. I’m going for a walk.”

  “Will you be back soon?”

  “Very soon.” Sheila paused. “I need to sort through this.”

  As she closed the door, Mary Beth was already dozing off.

  Sheila carefully walked down the outer, rickety stairway and upon reaching the alley, stopped to look back. Shaded by a large, unruly eucalyptus tree, the house’s orange paint resembled residue clinging to an empty jar. She had lived in more places than could be remembered, but this one, with constantly-backed-up plumbing, bindweed-infested yard, and mice in the walls had to be the worst. Still, since Bradley had come to San Francisco, she was far from lonely, at least conversation-wise. It was nothing like being with Jim, who never went much beyond talk of sports and his own unquestioned patriotism. Bradley burned with a sense of mission. The Moratorium would be the biggest demonstration yet. He said changes were coming. The war couldn’t go on much longer with unrest stirred up all around the country. When Sheila wondered why she stayed here, with a man she didn’t love, she told herself, “What I’m doing is important.” And they had their music.

  Several times since moving to San Francisco, when life got to be too much for her, despite her vow to never return to the Catholic Church, she had taken this same walk and ended up at this same place—Saint Agnes Church. As before, Sheila sat quietly in the sanctuary, staring at the statue of Mary and child. Before leaving, she lit a candle for her friend and her unborn baby.

  CHAPTER 20

  Leaving San Francisco

  THE NEXT DAY, BRADLEY SAT ON THE SINGLE MATTRESS NEXT TO MARY BETH. HE HAD been angry when he found out about her pregnancy, and furious when she told him about Harmony’s, but things had settled down.

  “We need to leave early for D.C. With Mary Beth’s … Willow’s news,” he paused, then in a resigned tone, “I want to drive to Long Beach first and stay with Mom for a few days. Try to make her understand why we’re going to Washington. We’ll meet up with the rest of our marchers after that.” Bradley planned to remain on the East Coast after the Moratorium, and soon head for Canada. Several of his friends were already there. Sheila wasn’t sure what she would do, but she wasn’t going to move to Canada. Maybe there would be a job for her in D.C.

  “I need to tell Matthew right away. Give him some sort of notice.”

  “He’ll understand. These are unusual ti—”

  Suddenly, Lucas barged in, filling the room with darkness, like a thundercloud pushing the light away. He hulked over Mary Beth and Bradley. “Willow! What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I want to be up here with my brother and Sheila. They’re my real family.”

  “What about me? What about the baby?”

  “I’m going home.”

  “You can’t do that.” He yanked Mary Beth to her feet.

  Bradley stood up behind her. “Back off!”

  “I want to be with my mother.” She pulled away from Lucas and crossed her arms over her larger-than-ever breasts. “I don’t want to stay in this house anymore. I don’t want my baby to be a part of this.”

  “It’s our baby, and I demand that you remain here!”

  “No. You have Harmony and her baby.”

  Bradley put his arm around Mary Beth’s shoulders. “You heard what she said.”

  “This one is mine.” A spark of hopefulness lit her small brown eyes. “If you want to see him … or her come down to Long Beach.”

  “My family stays with me!”

  Bradley dropped his arm and stepped closer to Lucas. Sheila moved in behind him. If he tries to force her down the stairs.

  “Before Harmony came back …”

  “You’re jealous.” Lucas reached out to caress her hand. “We can all live together. The children can grow up side by side. Don’t you see? We need each other.” His tone cajoled as if trying to convince a stubborn child. Then, he glared at Bradley, his face turning red like a fire ignited. This house held Lucas’ little empire. He was accustomed to the downstairs people deferring to him. Why wouldn’t they? He supported the lot of them.

  “We’re leaving day after tomorrow. If you want to get in touch with Mary Beth, you know where she’ll be.” Bradley’s words were clipped.

  “What if I won’t let her go?”

  “You’ll have to fight us.” Bradley’s hands clenched.

  Would he hit Lucas? Despite his negative feelings about violence? What would happen if he did?” While Bradley was taller at six foot two, Lucas outweighed him by at least forty pounds. With all the lying around and smoking pot, flab covered his body. Peering at him closer, Sheila saw that his bushy black beard covered puffy, almost fine features, like a movie set façade hiding a flimsy frame.

  Backing down, Lucas turned to leave. “I can’t make you stay. I can claim my baby after its birth. Don’t think I won’t do that. I’ll keep track of you, Mary Beth Kleven. Dad has lawyers. You won’t be able to keep this baby.”

  He slammed the door shut, rattling its frame.

  “Can he?”

  “Of course not.” Bradley hugged his sister. “He does have family resources. Still, the courts won’t take a child away from its mother unless there’s an awfully good reason. You’re doing exactly the right thing by going home.”

  Her head rested on Bradley’s narrow chest. She didn’t see the glance he exchanged with Sheila. Nothing was certain, except they had to leave.

  Since Moratorium Day on October 15, 1969, with hundreds of thousands of rallies all around the country, there had been demonstrations daily. At a candlelight vigil on the street in front of St. Agnes, Sheila played her guitar and they all sang. “Well it’s one, two, three/What are we fighting for?/Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn,/Next stop is Vietnam …” When it came to a close, one guy started, “Come Together.” Even though most of them didn’t know the words, they all stumbled through it. As the evening ended, Sheila sang “Amazing Grace” while the crowd swayed, candle flames glowing.

  Matthew leaned over and gave her a hug. “I’m going to miss you so much … and your beautiful, sweet voice.”

  “I’ll miss you, too, Matthew. I’ll come back.” Sheila was uncertain whether she would return to San Francisco anytime soon, but Matthew was alone and had been good to her. He needed reassurance.

  Next day, at a GIs Against the War demonstration, Bradley and Sheila wore black armbands and walked slowly toward the park, carrying their beat-up signs, chanting for hours with the rest of the crowd. It had been cold and tiring and her feet hurt, yet by nighttime, she felt too high on adrenaline for sleep. Mary Beth, who had been fretting about Lucas all day, snored on her mattress across the large room.

  “Disillusioned military!” Bradley said, lying on his back, his body taut with excitement. “We’re making strides.”

  Sheila rolled over and moved closer.

  “We have to get some rest,” he whispered. “It’s a long drive tomorrow.”

  “You can sleep? Things are happening. Things are going to change.” Sheila started to stroke Bradley’s faintly stubbled cheek. In the dim light, she could see his brown eyes staring at the window where the gingham curtains gaped open, letting in the moonlight. He never turned her way.

  She moved her hand aside, giving up on relaxing him, and began thinking about Mary Beth’s situation. Would Lucas give them trouble in the morning? Eventually, her thoughts turned to Jim. At the demonstration, she had seen a guy in sailor blues who looked like him. What if he changed his mind about this war, about the navy, about everything? Up close, Sheila saw that the sailor wasn’t anywhere near as big as Jim. Mostly, she felt relieved, but she also knew that if
they had been together at this moment, he wouldn’t be staring pensively off into space.

  Harmony leaned on the front porch railing as Bradley, Mary Beth, and Sheila squeezed into his dented blue Chevy. She raised a painfully thin, white arm to wave.

  Lucas sure likes contrast in his women!

  A pair of hands clamped down on Harmony’s shoulders and a mass of Lucas’ wooly black hair sizzled above her head. Moments later, he pulled her into the house.

  “Hope it’s the last time we see them.” Bradley drove the car away from the curb.

  Sheila, sitting in front with her long skirt tucked around her legs and sandaled feet on top of a cardboard box, feared that Mary Beth might change her mind.

  She huddled in the backseat behind Bradley, with their belongings stuffed around her. Pillows bolstered her head and her pale legs were flopped over Sheila’s duffel. The guitar, which Sheila had considered leaving behind, tilted against a window.

  Much to her relief, Bradley, who sold his guitar, had said, “No way. Bring it along. We need your music.” Her ability far surpassed his by this time.

  Mary Beth stared at the house’s sagging porch until they reached a corner and veered to the right. Lucas never reappeared.

  Halfway to Los Angeles—at San Luis Obispo—Bradley pulled into a truck stop. “We need to get some food and gas.” Then, “How’s your money?”

  “I have twenty-five dollars, counting change for laundry.” Sheila pulled it out of her backpack.

  “I have five hundred dollars,” Mary Beth mumbled.

  Sheila jerked her head around. “How did you get that much?”

  “Some of it’s your rent money that Lucas gave back to me each month.”

  “Get to eat more than I expected.” A grin broadened Bradley’s narrow face.

  “What about the rest?”

  “Mom sent money.” Then, in a pitiful voice, “I’m not hungry.”