In the middle of that herd, I didn’t care. In the middle of that noise, I didn’t care. I leaned down and kissed him, long and slow, and we heard a strange combination of shrieks, “Whoah!”s and scattered applause.
It always made me marvel about gleeking. That’s when the salivary glands under your tongue simply squirt out a little blast, like skewed windshield wiper fluid.
My tears’ ability to spring out of my eyes like that, not merely drip, made me smile.
“He was good, and useful, and he will be missed.”
I offered a solemn silent salute as a tow truck driver, having strapped the front end of the van to a hoist, raised the oblong vehicle of our last fours years at an odd angle. It wobbled as if in a few last gasps of existence.
“Farewell, Love Machine,” Everett said in a faux-somber tone.
We watched as the tow truck pulled out and dragged our beloved four-wheeled wonder to its final destination, probably a scrap yard.
“You coming in?”
“We need more packing tape.”
“The movers didn’t leave any?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, enjoy your journey.”
“It’s only three blocks.”
“Which you could have driven, if not for our loss.” Everett pretended to shed a tear. Perhaps this was his way of really grieving, making fun of the whole process.
When I returned, Everett was in the kitchen, sorting through dry goods.
“You got a package; certified mail. I signed for it.”
“Where is it?”
He pointed to the counter top.
Curious, I found a thick manila envelope with an address from a law firm in Bradford Woods. I slid open the envelope and found a small stack of legal papers. I was confused until I saw, among the multiple forms and signatures, the phrase “the estate of Wesley Thompson Sweigard.”
Attached with a paper clip was a certified check for twenty thousand dollars.
“Everett!”
The rooms nearly empty, my shout echoed more loudly than I’d expected.
“Did you see this?”
Preoccupied by his kitchen excavation, he muttered, “See what?”
“Your friend Wesley apparently gave me a load of money from the grave.”
He finally looked up. “Oh. Well, great.”
“What do you mean, ‘great’? I can’t take it.”
“What do you mean, you can’t take it?”
“It’s…But why me? He was your…”
“Remember when he said he didn’t want to give it to his family, that they basically disowned him and were acting like vultures?”
“Sort of.”
“Well, maybe he wanted to give some of it to one of his own species instead.”
I pondered the utter improbability of it. Then it came to me. “You did this.”
“Nope.” He tossed a bag of dry pasta into a bag. “I may have mentioned, in one of our phone calls before he died, about your dad losing his job, and how hard you work.”
“But you’re totally stacked.”
“I don’t get my trust fund unlocked for a few years. I’m just getting the interest.”
“But this is too much.”
“Actually, it’s not. He told me he was going to give it all away, just to spite his parents. I gave him suggestions on a few charities.”
“I have to call this lawyer.”
“Let me see that.” Everett looked over the papers, then in his officious tone, said, “It’s all fair and square.”
“I can’t…”
“Yes, you can, Reid. He liked you. He was happy for us.”
“Twenty thousand dollars worth of happy?”
Everett shrugged.
“So, I’m the rich one now?”
“Which means you’re the alpha male, economically speaking, pro tempore.”
“Damn.”
He nodded, rolling away, then back, as if pretending it were some awkward first date. “So, then. Where are we going this summer… sugar daddy?”
I tickled my chin, pondering. “Maui?”
“No M’s.”
“Not even Madagascar?”
He shrugged.
“Maybe I can buy us a new van.”
“I don’t think you’ll need to do that.”
“Why not?”
Everett smiled, the spark in his eyes vowing silence.
The dedication for the portable wooden ramp for the historic yet more often ignored house, set back on a lonely expanse of weedy lawn in Fairmount Park, was sparsely attended.
A few park rangers, one of my professors in landscape architecture, and Everett and I, congratulated each other on the minor accomplishment.
“Finally, one ramp. And all the bureaucracy and inter-departmental paperwork gave fruit,” I sighed. A few perfunctory photos were taken.
“It’s nice,” Everett said. “Now, even crips can be bored to tears by the house tour.”
“May I?” I held my hand out, Everett ambled to the base of the ramp, and I helped him up.
Although clean, it still felt a bit musty. The old-time furniture pieces were reproductions, but looked authentic. We played around for a bit, mimicking what we thought was the chatter of the house’s long-gone residents.
“Wouldst thou care to frolic on the sofa?”
“Tis rather creepy inst here. Shall we saunter outside?”
“Oh. Oh, okay.”
The few celebrants had dispersed, and we shied off getting a ride back as one of rangers locked the building. A side path led further into the wooded area, and Everett wheeled halfway around.
“One last attempt for floral fun?” Everett smiled.
We wheeled down the street side for several blocks, until a nearly hidden path led his interest.
That afternoon’s air thickened with three or four chirping, creaking creatures. We found a small shaded grove away from the main paths. Everett scooted himself down in a sort of cradle between a massive gnarled set of roots. I wiped my glasses to get a marvelous view of the glints of sunlight filtering down between the branches.
“Comfortable?”
“Comfortable enough to get a little naked?” He glanced back and forth, smirking with a jaunty grin.
“Have you…tested it?”
“No, I did not. Although I perused its perimeter, sir.” I wasn’t sure if I were becoming more comfortable with these tamed woods, but I wondered if I was instead claiming a turf, or if we were bidding it goodbye.
And that’s how we recaptured that loamy magical feeling, with a bouquet of communal smooches, some discreet fumbling, and a bit of peat spat off a hand. Spontaneity got a boost from a little exploratory planning.
Chapter 41
May, 1983
Hundreds of cap-and-gowned graduates sat in blocks on the floor of the Civic Center Convention Hall. Seated high up in the bleachers between my parents, that morning, we listened and watched as author Chiam Potok gave an earnest speech, the university’s Glee Club sang, and the Provost even noted that one of U. Penn’s early commencement ceremonies included no less than George Washington.
But I was only focused on one person. Despite the distance, it was easy to spot Everett; in the front row, one of only two wheelchair-using graduates.
As a student behind him helped him push up the ramp to the stage, a noticeably louder round of applause rose as he was handed his diploma. I felt a swell of pride, fought back a droplet of a tear as my father rubbed my shoulder.
“Oh, there they are,” Mom pointed to a much lower row, where Everett’s parents sat, while Holly jumped up to cheer her brother.
Anyone who didn’t already know him knew of him. They didn’t know what he’d been through, or that he was mine, my guy. But right then, it didn’t matter.
My own ceremony would take place a week later than Everett’s, and in a much more modest setting. But that day, after the ceremonies, our families once again gathered. The polite large dinner, reserved
weeks in advance due to the flood of families visiting the city, was endured with all-around joviality, possibly aided by Holly’s referee-like presence, but mostly due to talk of my parents’ plans for the week’s visit.
My mother was never happier, not only to share a bit too much about their visit and upcoming days traveling with Dad, but to trump Diana Forrester, since they were obviously supporting both me and Everett.
“First a city tour, then museums, and after our son’s graduation, a weekend in Atlantic City.”
Mrs. Forrester seemed to have withheld some disparaging remark, and merely smiled.
“Watch those card sharks,” Everett’s father warned with a smile.
Holly told us about a recent musical she’d worked on whose scenic designer had borrowed the style of boardwalk sideshows. For a moment, I was silent, listening to different conversations, and I felt a flash of panic. Leaving Philadelphia in days, returning to Greensburg, just to wait for Everett’s call; it felt like some kind of impending limbo.
My father and Mr. Forrester talked softly about business. He caught my look, offered a sly wink. Despite Dad having found a job doing the accounts for a small chain of grocery stores, Mom would later confide that, along with the vacation, some corporate managers were met with, thanks to Mr. Forrester, and some form of advancement for my Dad at a new job seemed promising.
“I’m so glad for you both,” Mrs. Forrester announced. “I’m so sorry we can’t return for Reid’s ceremony. I’m only weeks away from my benefit, which I assume Everett has told you about.”
“Uh,” Everett offered an awkward glance.
“Oh, son. You didn’t? Well, I suppose you’ve been busy, what with graduation and all.” She gave him a mildly scolding glance, then announced, “I’m chairing a scholarship fundraiser next month for handicapped high school students.”
“Disabled, Mother.” Everett corrected.
“Yes. It’s at the William Penn, in Pittsburgh, in June. I thought you’d all been sent invitations…”
As Everett’s mother continued, I felt relieved that she had once again diverted the conversation back to herself, and not her excuse to miss my graduation ceremony. I didn’t tell her she hadn’t been invited. Everett’s father also had plans, but slipped Everett an envelope that looked promising.
As our meal ended, Dad and Mr. Forrester had a friendly argument over the tab, each of them trying to claim the check. They settled on splitting it.
“Alpha male battle,” Everett muttered to me.
Chairs were pushed out, and awkward hugs and handshakes followed.
But then Everett’s father interrupted the farewells, as if he’d forgotten something. Mrs. Forrester broke into a grin. It seemed the cat was about to be unleashed from the bag.
“Could you all step outside for a minute?” Mr. Forrester said in a teasing manner.
We all followed, and waited. Something was up. I wasn’t sure.
Holly was staying with us for a few days, and asked us to wait, as she had some private discussion with her own parents at the doorway. As we waited in the lounge, my mother inquired about our plans.
“One of our friends is having a few graduates and faculty over,” I said. “That’s Saturday. After that, we have to pack our stuff. You’re taking some in your car after you get back from Atlantic City, right? Ev’s dad said he’d–”
“No, I meant your future. With Everett in graduate school, what will you do?” she asked.
“There’s a lot up in the air, but I’ll probably get a job with the Parks Service. I haven’t heard back from them yet. I think we just have to wait until we get there.”
Was I supposed to say it yet, that we might be leaving them sooner than they had thought? My mother’s anxious look seemed ill-timed, what with all the celebrations.
“We’re going to miss you so much,” she almost cowered, her face tightening, as if holding back a wave of emotion, until I had to hug her.
Then we saw Mr. Forrester waving us forward, and out the hotel’s front door. In the driveway, an attendant approached with a set of keys to a gleaming new small truck, its body a deep orange-yellow.
“Oh, no. It’s for him,” Mr. Forrester gestured to Everett.
“Fantastic!” Everett shouted.
Although smaller than his recently departed van, it seemed roomy enough, and thick, with wide tires.
“It’s a Blazer,” Mr. Forrester announced. “Chevy’s newest model; got a four-wheel drive.”
Everett wheeled around it, inspecting it with curiosity. I sidled up next to him.
“Why didn’t you ask for a van?” I whispered.
“I wanted something sporty.”
“It’s very … butch… and yellow.”
“It’s amber,” he corrected. “I guess we can put up curtains in the windows, for... overnighters,” he muttered with a sly grin and a wink. “Hey, Dad. Did you get the extras?”
His father opened the driver’s side door, showed off the extra handles. “And,” he tapped above the inside of the door, “a little roll bar, like you asked.”
“Cool.”
“You want to give it a test drive?” Mr. Forrester offered.
“Duh!” Everett tapped my arm, signaling me to join him.
“Oh, um.” Knowing we might not return for a while, all day even, I called out to my parents, “Um, I’ll see you guys when–”
“Don’t worry!” Dad waved us off. “Just call us at the hotel when you get back.”
“Um, Holly?” I nodded for her to hopefully join us.
“Well, alright, if you insist,” she rushed up to hop in the back.
Another car approached behind the truck, and our mutual goodbyes became a hurried fluster as the valet gave us an impatient look. Everett tested getting in by reaching up to the roll bar to the seat, then he pulled up his chair, took a wheel off, then hoisted the parts into the back seat, all in about a minute.
“Hop in,” he called out.
Before long, Everett, having managed the adjusted handles, toured us around the city. After only a few blocks, we got caught up in a bit of stalled traffic. A few horns blared, and up ahead, I heard the sound of a jackhammer.
Large yellow signs and burly construction workers blocked two parts of an intersection, with pedestrians being guided past a barrier. A man in a hardhat and an orange vest held up a SLOW sign.
“Reid, roll your window down.”
Confused, I nevertheless obeyed.
“Excuse me, sir,” Everett called out past me. “What’s going on?”
The ruddy worker shook his head, almost apologetic. “We’re puttin’ ramps on the curbs; new city law. I dunno, for handicapped people.”
Everett smiled and saluted him. “You’re doing God’s work, my man.”
“Well, he pays, so whatevah.”
The jackhammer abruptly cut off Everett’s reply. We waited until we’d driven past him before bursting out into a bit of laughter.
“Looks like all that bother might have helped,” I said.
“Sowing the seeds,” Everett replied.
I fiddled with the stereo as Holly remarked on some of the passing buildings. “I really didn’t get a chance to see the sights last time. So, where are you taking us, Ev?”
“Anywhere you want!”
Holly rattled off a list of tourist attractions. But neither of us responded with more than a few grunts. Anywhere we would go, we’d be saying goodbye.
We were each silent for a while, until Holly burst out, “Nancy!”
“What?”
Feigning insult, Everett joked, “We prefer the term pansy.”
“Nancy Schuster! My college friend in Berkeley.”
“Oh.”
“She always sends Christmas cards, with little form letters saying how happy she is, and her successful husband, her beautiful big house, blah blah.”
“Your point being?” Everett furled a brow at the rear-view mirror.
“You could stay with her
until you find a place of your own.”
“I don’t know if–”
“Oh, don’t worry. She owes me, I wrote three of her term papers.”
In between navigating a few turns, Everett looked to me for approval. “Our den mother strikes again.”
“So, where are we off to?” Holly asked.
I merely smiled. I longed to say where I wanted to go; home. But I had no idea where that would be.
Chapter 42
June, 1983
As Diana Forrester’s benefit concluded, guests gradually began to leave the ballroom at the William Penn Hotel. Most of the wheelchair-using kids, grouped in clusters, didn’t seem to notice the standing people around the edge of their circles. Everett laughed at someone’s joke, out of earshot of me. A photographer took a few last pictures of my boyfriend in his suit and perky bowtie, along with others.
I looked at one of the kids’ parents, perhaps shrugging at our apparent superfluous presence. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in such a situation, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last. I looked up at the banners, the one that featured Everett’s smiling face.
The real Everett wheeled toward me, smiling.
“I’ve got a big surprise,” he said. But his smile was a bit cautious.
“I’m getting one of those banners as a parting gift?”
“Wait’ll we get back to our room.”
“Okay.”
My congratulatory hug was interrupted by his proud mother, who swerved in between us. One of the other guests approached Everett, distracting him with a farewell chat.
“Young Mister Conniff.”
“Mrs. Forrester.” Despite her slightly more affectionate hug, with actual contact this time, I still fought a cringe of fear. After all these years, she still made me nervous.
“I want to thank you for your donation.”
“You’re most welcome, Ma’am. These kids really deserve it.”
“So, it won’t be long before you’re whisking my son away yet again.”
“He’s the one leaving, Ma’am. I’m just along for the ride.”
“Yes.” She offered a hesitant stare, as if waiting for me to melt away.
But I didn’t. Instead I blurted out, “You know, I love you.”
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