by catt dahman
I wanted to talk to Annelle Stevenson and see what she thought about everything Brad had told me, but I needed more time to think and to get it all organized in my head. This was a lot to explain.
I went home to my parents’ house where Mom had dinner ready for Dad and me, real food: grilled chops, corn on the cob, cornbread with butter, and turnip greens. I declined dessert since I was so full, and I watched the sun begin its journey behind the houses across the street. It was hot.
When the shadows were nice and deep, Will came over so that we could swim and catch up.
Over the years, I had seen Will a few times; I had the money and was able to spring for us to meet up around the country. Vegas had been a riot. He seemed to enjoy the book signings more than I did.
Will brought a bag of ice, a huge plastic jug of pink lemonade, some ripe limes, and a bottle of vodka.
In the kitchen fixing my parents’ drinks, Will laughed at himself for his drink choice as he squeezed the quartered limes into each glass, dropping them into ice. Entertaining my mother, he poured the cocktail glasses full of his concoction but pulled out big plastic glasses and filled them for us. The drinks were sweetly tart, cold, and strong.
We both cannon-balled off the diving board with giant splashes, then swam to the side to float while drinking. Coming up through the water there at my parents’ pool, I felt as if I were eighteen again, free and weightless. Something about the taste of lemonade, the cool water, the sights and smells of home made me feel young.
For half of my life, I had been mourning Grace, living with survivor’s guilt, missing her, and trying to figure out what darkness had surrounded my hometown. It wasn’t going away soon, but for those few seconds, I imagined what it felt like to have lived without all the pain.
I would gladly suffer it all again to be with Grace.
“I can’t believe you went to see Brad before me.” Will splashed me.
Splashing back, I explained as succinctly as possible what we had talked about. In a way, it all sounded insane as I told him, but he nodded and agreed with the evaluation I had come up with. “So?”
“So, I’m glad you and Brad talked. I wouldn’t have thought he would, but you’re stubborn, and he respects you. He was impressed with your books, whether he said so or not.”
“I know most of this could be an over-active imagination; just ‘cause we share the same delusions doesn’t mean they are real.” I chuckled.
Times like this, everything seemed so normal and good. If you are wondering, yes, I did think it was possible that I had gone insane back then and imagined a lot of this being real; I knew I had been very obsessive, and I was aware that my mental status wasn’t quite okay. But do you really think crazy people know they are crazy? Maybe. Maybe we know, and we covet that insanity.
We swam for hours, floating around, drinking until quite drunk, and swatting at mosquitoes Will was so bombed that he had to spend the night in the guest room. We nursed hangovers over Mom’s breakfast the next morning. It was a good time.
Chapter 23
I threw on a lime Polo, khakis, and leather shoes to attend my high school reunion, sweating despite the air conditioner. While I wasn’t overly stylish, I was comfortable; I refused to get all dressed up.
Parking at the Country Club, I went in to face my demons. Sitting close to the doorway at a table was a blonde knockout, body filling out her shiny blue dress with curves, lush and sensual. Her bright blue eyes lit up as she jumped up with a squeal, almost toppling the small table, and madly threw herself into my arms to kiss my face. Wow. Enthusiastic. With slow clarity, I realized this was Lorene Remonte, grown up and gorgeous.
“I never dreamed you’d show up!” she said excitedly, bestowing more kisses while dancing around.
“I would have shown up before if I’d known you were gonna smother me with kisses. Damn, Girl.” I hugged her tightly.
“You look so good.”
“You look better.”
“I hope so; I paid enough for this figure.” She twirled around, tossing her mane of hair, displaying her curves, 38-D at least. Perfume filled the air around her.
“Money well spent then. How are you?”
“Doing good. Oh, David, I have all your books, even the nasty ones.” She grinned. “Those bad men were so bad.”
“Yes, they are pretty bad, but people like reading about them. ‘Bad’ sells.”
She giggled. I didn’t recall her having such raw, nervous energy. Her hands and eyes were never still, always moving. It wore me out just watching her expended energy.
Lorene wrote my name on a sticky label, writing the letters in squared-bold script, stuck it on my shirt beneath the Polo icon, and hugged me again. She pointed me towards the next door. “I’ll find you later.”
“You better.” I winked slyly, making her giggle.
I saw people back slapping and shaking hands and heard women giggling and exclaiming, as well as a low buzz of conversation. Some stood around; some couples and groups sat around tables, watching the door expectantly to see who would show up next to be fodder for comments.
When I walked in, conversations died slowly as people went quiet, staring at me standing in the doorway. Then people were waving, shaking my hand, offering me hugs.
Thankfully, Will came striding over to lead me to a table of people. He went to grab drinks for us, and I urged him to hurry. It was hard seeing all these people again, strangers, and, yet, familiar to me, a bitter-sweetness filling me as I took in older faces. I mumbled a ‘hello’ with a smile.
I was quickly seeing who had changed and how, memories flashing like a strobe light as I took in each face, so much history. These people had shaped my life, giving me good and bad times.
“Hey, David. Did you come alone?” Colli smiled, a confidence in her face. She was pretty, but heavily made-up, and was wearing a dress that was way too tight.
“All by myself.”
“Divorced?”
“I never got married.”
“You serious?” She probed. “What a waste.”
“Awe, I never had the time to date or the inclination to marry.” Several people around the table laughed.
Colli, rolling her eyes, groaned. She introduced me to her husband, Edward, while they both chain smoked menthols. “I used to date David, but he didn’t like me too much.” She laughed while telling him.
I bit back several rude things I could have said.
Charles Crabtree shook my hand. He hadn’t attended high school with us but had dated Patsy since they were seniors; they had married. He was dressed as casually as I was but in shirt sleeves. His hand shook, and I saw it was a type of palsy; he was painfully thin, with a pale face and bloodless lips.
“Glad to see you and Patsy are still together,” I told him.
“We split for a while when I went off to the University of Arkansas, but then, a friend of mine set me up on a blind date with his girlfriend’s friend; I was hoping for big kazoombahs and got Patsy instead.” He chuckled at his own joke, one told, obviously many times over the years. It gave him a bit of color.
Patsy rolled her eyes. “He was set up. I managed to catch him again.”
“Good for you both. You both look fantastic.” That was a stretch with the way Charles looked. Patsy had gained an enormous amount of weight, rolls of fat hanging beneath her chin, face distorted by the extra doughy flesh. Neither one of them was in good health.
They weren’t the best looking of the group, but they were somehow better as a pair; they looked similar in thick glasses, the little skinny man and his chubby wife. I did catch the shocking glimmer of light on Patsy’s hand, noting the huge three or four carat diamond ring that matched a gold and diamond bracelet. She wore a large ruby and diamond pendant with matching earrings, big money there. Charles had done well for them, I saw.
“Any kids?” I was guessing they had a few from the maternal look they both carried.
“Seven.”
“Wow.
”
“Gawd,” Colli hissed, drinking from her glass. “I can’t imagine.”
Will brought our drinks.
“I loved being pregnant,” Patsy said.
I smiled at her. Colli groaned.
“Just ‘cause you didn’t…” Patsy narrowed her eyes.
“I never had kids, but I was pregnant.” Colli shot back.
Conversation stalled for a breath. I gulped my drink, seeing several others do the same. There’s a tension, a heaviness that precedes a storm, when the air gets heavy. It felt like that.
Colli pushed strands of limp hair behind her ears, giving her husband a quick warning look to stay out of the talk while she asked him to get her another drink. She leaned back a little, almost causing her tight lavender blouse to pop open at the bust line. “You all remember Jim Summerall?”
We nodded.
“He’s back somewhere near the bar.” She glanced over her shoulder, to motion with her chin.
There was a loud crowd over that way.
“He knocked me up, back in ’59.” She exhaled menthol smoke from her nostrils. “It was hell; I was sick: puking all the time; it was bad.”
“It passes,” Patsy pointed out.
“Whatever. I barfed morning, noon, and night. Jim got tired of me complaining, and, of course, I didn’t wanna have sex anymore with the puking. I bitched all the time; I was so scared my parents would find out. They thought I had a flu; what was I gonna do with a baby and no job and Jim hating me?
So one day, he mentioned abortion, and by then, I hated him, the kid, and myself, and so I jumped at the chance to get it all over with. No kids for me,” she spoke simply, but I could see the glimmer of pleasure she got from shocking and offending the rest of us with her cold, harsh tone.
Patsy’s eyes went wide. “What?” She was insulted.
Colli shrugged. “So that was that.”
Buddy Pascow broke in, “You make it sound easy. Jeez, Colli. Some of us are parents; that’s just way out of line.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t say it was easy. I said it was over. None of it was easy. Sometimes we get choices, and sometimes we don’t.” She shot me a look.
“It must have been a rough time,” I muttered.
Will agreed.
“You had a choice,” Buddy told her.
“I would never do that.” Patsy was stricken.
“Well, I was young and scared and stupid and desperate. You all know what it was like discovering sex: fun at the time, but then, sometimes you find you’ve gotten in over your head and fallen into a bad place. I was old enough to screw but not old enough to know the responsibilities or to make wise choices. You never know what you’ll do when life gets to be a living hell.” Colli glared, lighting a fresh cigarette while finishing her drink. She looked around to see where her fresh drink and husband were. “So, no kids.”
“Well, then you weren’t meant to be a parent.” Charles patted his wife while frowning at Colli.
“Oh, I’d say so. It was what they call a back-alley abortion, now.”
“Colli…for God’s sake,” Edward said, sitting her drink down on the table.
“We’re just catching up, Ed.” She laughed loudly. “You’d all know the doctor’s name if I told you; he did it in his basement; he did those back then, did you know?
So Jim took me, and a ‘big man’ he was; he waited to drive me home. Good ole Jim. So the great, drunk Doc did the job with me clamping my jaw down on a piece of leather, can you believe? Leather! Don’t know if the instruments were dirty or if he were drunk; you know he was always drunk, right?”
She said he hadn’t used anesthesia because it would have been too complicated and taken too long for recovery for something done clandestinely. Never knowing what was used specifically since her eyes were shut tightly, she said it hurt badly, making her nauseated. She had smelled and felt disinfectant being poured and swabbed afterwards, but not before, had listened to the radio while he did the procedure, and had cursed him, Jim, and herself.
We listened in silence. It was like a train wreck we couldn’t look away from.
“Maybe it was both: his being drunk, I smelled the whiskey, and unclean instruments, or just my body. Dark basement, it smelled so mildewed; what’d I expect for a hundred bucks? The good news was I aborted. The bad news was it wasn’t a proper procedure. I bled like a stuck pig, and he panicked, I guess, stuffing me like a Christmas goose, full of gauze, sent us away with some pain killers.”
She told us Jim yelled at her for bleeding in his car; she fainted on the way home but was able to hobble to bed to sleep, with a towel wadded between her legs.
This was the same doctor who treated children, ‘trust in him’ was ingrained in the town residents.
Someone made a squeaky noise while Patsy went pale. I had heard worse. “So you were okay after that?”
“No, David. The doctors said I was lucky to have lived. I had a helluva fever, lost a ton of blood, and went through so much pain. I never would tell where I had the abortion. I was in the hospital a while with painkillers and antibiotics, but when the doctors fixed me up, I was unable to have kids. Hysterectomy.”
“Good.” Patsy glared. She shivered.
“Wasn’t it though?” Colli grinned cruelly. “I’ll be back.”
She lurched sideways as she headed to the ladies’ room. Edward had the graciousness to apologize for her, watching her walk away, worry in his eyes, saying it was a nightmare part of her past.
“She’s not right,” Patsy told Edward, “she’s not mentally right.”
“Is anyone?” Will tried to lighten the mood.
“She’s just crazy.”
“She may be,” Charles said, giving Edward a meaningful glance. “That’s just awful.”
“Everyone is screwed up,” Bobby Hines stated. He sat across from me in a wheelchair, upper body strong with muscles. His lower body was hidden by the big table, his formerly handsome face partially covered by a thick mustache and beard. His eyes were bright and his face lined, and his long hair was pulled back into a low pony- tail. He looked like a hippy, but his aged face, knowing eyes, and hand-movements suggested something else to me. He was watchful. “If I haven’t said it, ‘welcome back, David. Good to see you.’ Guess you don’t know my story, but hearing that shit…that ain’t nothing compared to getting your legs blown off.”
“Jeez, Bobby, I didn’t know. Sorry to hear that, and it is good to see you.” I wished Will had told me, but he had kept his secrets, too over the years, and now, I could see why. Those secrets had allowed me to go on with my life, without mourning my old friends so much, as I had with Grace.
“We’re airing the bad times, huh?” Bobby shook his head.
“Not everyone. I’m certainly not going to air all my health issues,” Patsy declared.
“We’re catching up, Patsy…can’t help it if the bad stuff is more interesting than staring at wallet photos of a bunch of kids.”
Unfortunately, Bobby was right. We sat, enthralled, without considering leaving the table. In retrospect, that wasn’t very normal or healthy, but for my excuse, I was a storyteller who enjoyed hearing tales as well, even wicked stories. I encouraged it, “What happened, Bobby?”
“Nam,” he stated, “Ong Thanh, October 17, 1967.”
“Damn.”
“Second Battalion, 28th Infantry, Delta Company. The boys called me Papa ‘cause so many of them were just babies, eighteen years old; I didn’t get how young they were: in high school and innocent one day, in a foreign jungle, watching their buddies get slaughtered the next.
I was older, but I’d never have imagined there were places that were that hot and wet, always dripping. I never knew if it was my own sweat or rain, but I stayed wet.
Some of those boys were barely shaving: were suddenly dressed up like a soldier, handed a gun, and told to kill. Most didn’t know why they were there except to kill people; the Cong was the same; they didn’t know why we were ove
r there killin’ them, either.”
“When we’d fight, the boys would yell over the roar of the guns, just to hear something human besides screaming. I watched boys lose arms and legs, saw heads blown off, and guts opened up, and they all cried for their mommas while they died.”
“When we went into a village, I didn’t see babies or old people; I saw guns aimed at me. I saw my brothers dying. I dunno…I saw ghosts then…I see them now.”
“Do you know that when we came home, people spit on us and called us names?” ‘Baby-killers,’ they said.
“But it was October 17, the night before, B-52s carpeted for us so we could move ahead; they dropped bombs, ahead of us so we could move in safely. We camped that night by the stream, watching and listening as the planes dropped their loads. We didn’t sleep; it was too loud, and adrenaline was pumping.”
“In the morning, the air was misty, my feet were damp, my pants flapped around my thighs from weight loss, and it was hot, but man, I had butt lit: we were forcing bravado, telling jokes, and rocking ready. We had found a bunker system the day before and had retreated so that we could get air support to go in first. We were going in to finish up,” he said.
Bobby saw his audience was hanging on every word. “It was supposed to be pretty simple as far as combat goes. We had prepped: it was just covering ground, cleaning up the bunkers, moving forward. Another day in the life, but the boys were jumpy. Even the rawest troops could feel it.
There’s a word for it; we say sometimes things feel ‘hinky’; it means that although it may sound and seem okay, there is something not quite right, that it’s impossible to grasp…a feeling. ‘Hinky’. You can watch a soldier’s eyes when he feels ‘hinky’; he’ll kind of squint…head never moving...eyes roving…up to the sky, down to the ground…’cause you know it’s there and can’t find it.”
One of the boys asked, ‘What’s out there, Papa?’ He was green and scared of a mission that was supposed to be easy. We had a helluva command with us, were a little thin, but ready to go. I told the boys not to be ‘Nancies’…made ‘em laugh some…lit off my butts as I watched. We moved out behind Alpha.”