by Jonah Black
“What?”
“When we went to Yellowstone. We stopped at Mammoth Caves on the way back,” I reminded her.
“I didn’t go to Mammoth Caves,” Honey said. “I didn’t go to Yellowstone, either.”
“Honey,” I said. “We have pictures of us there. This was just before the divorce. Mom and Dad fought the whole way in the car as we were driving west.”
“I wasn’t there,” Honey said and turned the music up again.
Sometimes I think Honey and I grew up in different families.
(Later. Somewhere in Tennessee.)
I’ve been doing my arm exercises while we drive north and I’m almost done with the canned peaches. My arm still hurts, though.
We just had lunch in this diner near the Smoky Mountains called Sam’s. I love diners. And I liked everything about Sam’s—the pink uniforms the waitresses wore, the round lime-green stools at the counter, the little mini-jukeboxes at the table with the Out Of Order signs, the round glass canisters for sugar, and the little stand where they stack up the jelly packets. At the counter an overweight, balding man was smoking a cigarette and eating meatloaf at the same time. An ambulance drove by and he turned around to watch it pass. He was wearing a T-shirt that said Harvard Business School. I wonder if he just got the T-shirt at the Salvation Army or if he really went there. If he did go there he didn’t look like he’d gotten much out of it.
Honey was watching the guy, too. She got this weird look on her face. She pushed her home fries around in the runny yellow goo of her eggs.
“What?” I said.
“You know what,” she said.
“It’s not going to be that bad,” I said.
“You know what, Weinerdog?” she said. “It’s going to be exactly that bad.”
She ate a big forkful of eggs and some of the yolk ran down her chin. She dabbed herself with a napkin, then crumpled it into a ball and let it drop onto the counter. I took a bite of my silver-dollar pancakes.
“I know what you’re afraid of,” I said, looking at her. “About Harvard, I mean.”
“Shut up,” suggested Honey.
“I know,” I insisted.
“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about fitting in there,” I said, ignoring her. “You’ll be fine.”
Honey looked at me like I was a medical curiosity. “What’s this now?” she said. “Believe it or not, I’m lost.”
“No, you’re not,” I said.
She kind of squinted at me. “So you think the reason I don’t want to go to Harvard is that everybody up there is going to be like me? That I’m going to walk into a classroom, and all the girls are going to look just like me, like my music, want to do the stuff I like to do?”
I nodded. “I think that’s possible. It’ll be good for you, though. It’ll be nice for you not to have to stick out for once. You know, be the freak.”
“You think I’m not going to be the freak up there?” she said, shaking her head. “Man, are you confused.”
“You’re not going to be the only freak. There will be lots of them,” I said. “But that’s good. I think you’ll like it.”
“Woohoo!” Honey yelled, The guy at the counter looked over at us. So did everyone else in the restaurant.
“Harvard’s not going to be any better,” she said. “It’s going to be worse. You know what people are like at Harvard?”
“Not really,” I said.
“Love Story,” she said. “You ever see that movie?”
“No.” It sounded corny.
Honey rolled her eyes. “You didn’t miss much. This chick goes out with this hockey player. They all walk around wearing tweed. The only good thing about the movie is, she dies of cancer in the end.” She took another bite of her eggs. “That’s what Harvard’s going to be like.”
I smiled. “You won’t get cancer,” I said. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Shut up,” Honey told me.
The waitress came over. She was wearing a name tag that said Aglet, which is a name I’d never heard before. “How’s everybody doing?” she asked.
Honey and I both answered in unison. “Fine.”
(Later. Fort Mitchell, Kentucky.)
Okay, let me just say the Museum for Retired Ventriloquists’ Dummies is actually really cool. They have like, three hundred dummies in there, in a bunch of different rooms. In one room they’re all sitting in chairs, like kids in an auditorium. In another they’re sitting on bleachers. And all of them are looking back at you, staring. They have tags on their toes, too, like corpses, and the tags say what their name is and what the name of the ventriloquist was who owned each one.
Honey thought this was just about the greatest place she’d ever seen in her life. She kept walking around with this big smile on her face, as if she’d finally seen something that surprised her. That doesn’t happen very often.
Our tour guide was the widow of the guy who originally collected the dummies.
“Can you make them talk?” Honey asked her.
“No,” she said, kind of sadly. “I don’t know how to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Throw my voice,” she said. “My husband was the ventriloquist, but he’s not with us anymore.”
“Man! They’re so incredibly creepy,” Honey said, awestruck.
“I don’t find them creepy,” said the woman.
“Yeah, well,” Honey said. “Let me tell you, you’re wrong. They are wicked creepy.”
Later we were sitting in front of the museum eating hot dogs. Honey had that new green ketchup all over hers. “You think her husband ditched her?” she asked.
“I think he died,” I said. “She said he ‘wasn’t with us anymore.’ I think that means he’s dead.”
Honey shook her head. “I think that means he ran off with somebody. Maybe some other ventriloquist. You think somebody with that many dummies wants to hang around with some chick who can’t even throw her voice? I don’t think so.”
“Well, if he did take off, he left the dummies behind,” I pointed out.
“He probably took all the good ones with him,” Honey said, and stuffed the rest of her hot dog in her mouth. She chewed it, deep in thought.
“’Course, you know what,” she said. “If you’re a good enough ventriloquist you don’t need anybody else. You know what I mean? You can just do the voices of everyone you want to hang out with and be left alone.” She sounded really sad, in her own twisted way.
“That’s deep,” I said.
“Shut up,” said Honey.
“Maybe I should get you a dummy for Christmas this year,” I said.
“Too late, kid,” said Honey. “I’m going to be at Harvard, remember? They got all the dummies I need.”
Anyway, I’m glad we stopped at the dummy museum. It made me think about Amelia Earhart and her trip around the globe. I guess she must have seen some pretty unusual stuff, too.
Jan. 30. Ohio.
Another crummy motel last night, although this one was nowhere near as disgusting as the one in Daytona. This one was just the standard boring ice-machine-in-the-hallway kind of place. I think there are about eight million other hotels exactly like it, all across the country. At least it was clean.
Because I can’t drive, there’s not a lot for me to do on this trip besides look out the window and think, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing for me. I keep thinking about Molly and wondering if I should have handled things differently. Maybe if I’d told her what I was thinking and told her she was getting on my nerves, we could have talked about it and worked things out. But I was just too mad at her. I guess I’ve screwed up another perfectly good relationship.
Of course I keep thinking about Sophie, too. I’ve definitely figured out that I need to know the deal with her before I can really have a relationship with anybody else. I just can’t get Sophie out of my head. That’s what wrecked things
with Posie, and basically that’s what’s wrecking things with Molly, too.
But maybe I’m not supposed to have a relationship with someone else. Maybe Sophie and I are meant for each other.
But what if Sophie is just plain nuts? I mean, every time I’ve had anything to do with her, things got pretty weird pretty fast. And I don’t think I was meant to be with a total schizo. But maybe I can help her. She deserves that.
Oh, God. I think I’m in love with her.
Honey just took out the Cradle of Filth CD, which we’ve listened to about eight million times now, and put in Flathead, which we’ve only listened to about nine million times. And she’s chain smoking, which she doesn’t usually do. I think she’s nervous about seeing Dad, and probably nervous about going up to Harvard, too. I’m kind of nervous, too, but for entirely different reasons.
(Later. Outside Brook Park, Ohio. Heading east on the Ohio Turnpike.)
Okay. The World’s Largest Monopoly Board turned out to be a parking lot. And we almost got into a fight there. We were walking around the parking lot, which instead of numbers in the lot is organized with signs that say BOARDWALK or B&O RAILROAD or PARK PLACE, and the guy who ran it was kind of annoyed that we were walking around looking at it. He kept hassling us because he thought we were car thieves. He didn’t even believe us when we said that his parking lot was listed in the book of 100 strangest places in America.
Honey almost threw a punch at the guy, and I thought he was going to call the police. Fortunately, at that point I found the book and showed the guy where his parking lot was listed, but he still wasn’t all that impressed. We didn’t spend very much time there.
That was about two hours ago, and now we’re going east on the Ohio Turnpike. Stopping at all these weirdo places has added a lot of time to our drive, but I don’t mind. I’m not even sure of what I’m going to do when I get there.
About an hour ago, Honey and I had this conversation:
“So, Honey,” I said. “Remember when you said that what you really wanted to do, instead of go to Harvard, was hang out with Pompano losers, watching TV all day? Did you mean that?”
“I don’t know,” Honey said. “Sometimes, definitely. I like watching TV.”
“Well, who knows?” I said. “Maybe there are some losers at Harvard you can hang out with.”
“Not likely.” She punched in the lighter to light up her four hundredth cigarette.
“Well, wait until you get there. I bet you’re going to meet some of the biggest losers you’ve ever seen in your life.” I told her.
A slow smile crept across Honey’s face. “You really think so?” she said.
“Definitely.”
“Well, then,” Honey said. “I guess I have something to look forward to.”
Then, from the back seat, came this voice. “It is a wise man who zrpfft can stay cool, even in hell.” I kind of freaked out for a second, but then I remembered Electra. She was talking from Honey’s suitcase.
Jan. 31. Bryn Mawr, Pennsylvania.
This is really strange. I’m writing this in my bedroom in Dad’s house, and it’s got some of my stuff in it, even though I never really lived here. Honey and I got in last night about 3 a.m. and we snuck in through the dog door and crept up the stairs and went to bed. Dad still doesn’t know we’re coming. So here we are at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday and I can hear someone in the shower—probably Tiffany—and in a little while Honey and I are going to go downstairs to the kitchen and shock the hell out of them. Wait, I think I hear Honey’s footsteps in the hall.
(Later.)
Whoa! Okay. A lot has happened in the last hour and a half.
After I heard Honey’s footsteps I suddenly heard this high-pitched yipping sound, followed by a scream. It was Tiffany’s toy poodle, Cuddles, barking when he discovered Honey on the stairs. Then Tiffany screamed when she followed Cuddles out into the hallway and found Honey sliding down the banister smoking a cigarette. She probably scared Tiffany half to death. Honey is a particularly scary sight in the morning, especially to someone with a name like Tiffany, whose primary activity each week is getting her nails done.
Cuddles kept barking and barking, and Honey yelled, “Call off the rat, lady,” and Tiffany said, “Who are you? What are you doing here? I’m calling the police!” and Honey said, “I said call off the rat!” and then I heard a thunk, which was the sound Cuddles made when Honey kicked him across the hallway. Tiffany screamed again and went upstairs into her bedroom. Cuddles went after Honey again and bit her in the ankle, and Honey started screaming and shaking her leg around trying to get rid of the dog, who was holding on with a viselike grip. Then Tiffany came back out of the bedroom with a little revolver pointed at Honey. “If you don’t leave, I’m going to have to shoot,” she told her. But Honey ignored her. She just kept kicking the dog around. That’s when I came downstairs and Dad came out of the shower with a towel wrapped around him and stood at the top of the stairs. Everyone was shouting and barking and finally Dad yelled, “EVERYBODY SHUT UP!!!”
There was quiet for a second, except for Cuddles, and Dad said, “Tiffany, you know Jonah. And this is my daughter, Honor Elspeth.” Tiffany looked at us suspiciously and Honey said, “You can put the gun away, Mom.” Tiffany grabbed Cuddles by the collar and went into her bedroom with the dog and the gun and closed the door and locked it.
“Jesus Christ, look at my leg,” said Honey. It was all gouged with teeth marks. Honey looked like she wanted to cry but she didn’t want to do it in public.
Dad stood there for a second looking down at the two of us, with the towel wrapped around him.
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “We’re college visiting.”
Dad nodded and said, “Good for you.”
“I think I need to go to the hospital,” said Honey.
“Lawrence,” said Tiffany through the door. “Lawrence, I need you.”
Dad looked at us sadly for a moment, then he went into the bedroom and closed the door.
“Well,” I told Honey, “I think that went pretty well.”
“I have to go to the hospital,” Honey said. She limped downstairs. “When I come back, I’m going to murder that bitch.” I wasn’t sure whether she meant Cuddles or Tiffany.
Honey got in the Jeep and drove off to the Bryn Mawr hospital. I got myself a bowl of cereal and sat down in Dad’s kitchen and read the comics in the Philadelphia Inquirer, which has more comics in it than just about any paper I’ve ever seen. I checked out my horoscope, too, which said it would be a good day for renewing old acquaintances. I hoped they were referring to someone other than Dad.
Then I walked around the house for a little bit. It’s just amazing how huge it is. The first floor has a living room that’s about the size of our whole house in Pompano. There’s a piano that no one plays and shelves and shelves of bookcases covered with books that no one reads. There’s a chandelier in the central hallway, and through the door to the right is a long dining room where no one eats, and through another archway is a family room that no one sits in. You go through another alcove and there’s what Dad calls the conservatory, which is this eight-sided glass room with a table in it where you read the paper and drink coffee. Just off the conservatory is a huge kitchen with a brick oven that no one cooks in, and all these cabinets made by the Pennsylvania Dutch. I’ve always thought Dad’s house would be great for a party, as long as Dad wasn’t home.
Dad came down the stairs after a while and sat down at the table in the conservatory with a cup of coffee and the business section of the Inquirer. I got a glass of juice and brought it in and sat with him.
“Well, you two made quite an entrance,” he said with a wry chuckle. His smile brought out all these lines in his face that I didn’t remember being there before. Dad looks older. He has more gray hair and he wears these new thick glasses that kind of magnify the wrinkles around his eyes. He had a little shaving cream on one ear. I thought about telling him it was there but then I decided it would be mor
e fun if I didn’t.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. “We got in late last night and we thought we’d surprise you.”
“You did that all right,” said Dad. “I don’t think Tiffany’s going to come down for a while.”
“I guess we should have called.”
“I guess you should have,” Dad said. His whole nice-guy-Dad demeanor kind of evaporated, and I realized how much effort it had been for him to maintain it.
“Do you think it’s possible one time,” he said, and he sounded really angry, “that you could be part of our lives without creating a federal disaster area? Just once?” His throat was turning red now. The last time I’d seen him look like this was when I got thrown out of Masthead Academy. That was the last time I’d seen him. I guess it did seem like every time he’s heard from me recently there’s been some major scene.
“I told you we wanted to surprise you,” I said lamely. “Honey’s visiting Harvard and I decided to come along to see you, and maybe visit some of my friends up here. We didn’t mean to make a scene.”
“Tiffany isn’t well,” Dad said “She needs rest. And just like that, you and Honor bring this . . . this calamity to our home.”
“Well, we didn’t mean to—”
“Jonah!” Dad yelled. “You can’t just walk in here unannounced.”
“What’s wrong with Tiffany?” I said. “Is she sick?”
Dad drank his coffee, and the red burning color faded out of his neck. “She’s pregnant, Jonah. Pregnant.”
“Ah,” I said. I let this sink in. It seemed kind of sad to me, Tiffany being pregnant, and then I realized that Dad was the father. I don’t know why I didn’t get this at first, but I didn’t.
Dad smiled. “That’s right Jonah. You’re going to have a brother.”
“A brother?”
Dad nodded. “We did the ultrasound. It’s a boy. Lawrence Hopkins Black, Junior.”
Without thinking, I got up and went over to Dad and gave him a big hug. He didn’t know what to do for a second, then he put his coffee cup down and hugged me back.