by Emmens, Joye
“Not now. I have a life out here.” She looked out the phone booth window to the park across the street.
“We all want you back. You won’t be in trouble if you come home. Everything has changed. They just want you back. Nothing is the same here without you.”
“I will, someday. I just wanted to let you know I’m safe and I’m doing well. Please don’t worry about me.”
“Of course we’re worried about you. Can you call back soon? When Mom and Dad are here?”
“I can call back tomorrow.”
“They’re not back until Monday. Can you call then?”
“It’s hard. I don’t want the calls traced.”
“They’ll be crushed they weren’t here to talk to you. I almost don’t want to be the one to tell them you called.”
Her heart pounded in her ears and her throat closed up. “I want to talk with them too. Tell them I’m fine and I love them. I’ll try and call again soon.”
“Jolie, just come home.”
“I’m mailing a letter.”
“Do you need anything?”
“No, I have everything I need, except for you guys.” The operator broke in, asking for more coins. She deposited the last of the coins. James updated her with the goings-on of the family. Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t wipe them away fast enough. She was talking to her brother. It was so good to hear his voice. When she ran out of coins, all she could hear was, “Come home, Sister, please just come home.”
Jolie hung up the phone and slumped to the floor in the phone booth. Crushed by a weight, she hugged her knees and sobbed. After a while she became aware of tapping on the glass.
She heard a woman’s voice. “Are you okay?”
She looked up to see two women standing next to the booth, waiting their turn. She stood up and walked out. Numb, she crossed the street to Sunset Park. The park was full of families with Fourth of July picnics spread out on blankets on the grass. Footballs, baseballs, and Frisbees flew by. She found a tree away from the action and sat cross-legged on the grass in the shade. Across the park the skyline of Manhattan stood out. Her head hurt from crying and her entire body was in knots. She thought contacting her family would ease the pain but now she felt worse.
Overcome with nausea, she replayed the conversation. Her parents were torn up and she’d hurt them inexcusably, but they still loved her. She couldn’t face them now. Or could she?
But what about Will? He loved her, too, and they’d started a life together. She wanted to be with him. She tried to balance her emotions. She must be deeply flawed to have done something that horrendous to her family. Girls didn’t just leave home. What was wrong with her? She closed her eyes, fighting back tears, but they flowed through in a river.
They still loved her.
A Frisbee grazed the grass near her and sunk to the ground. She rose, tossed it back, and started to walk back to Leah’s. At the edge of the park she paused. The Statue of Liberty loomed far off on the skyline. She snapped a picture of it and walked on. Near the corner store was a mailbox. She took the letter out of her purse, kissed it, and whispered, “Please forgive me.” She dropped it into the mail slot.
She’d done what she came to New York to do.
Leah and her family were still out. Upstairs, she washed her face with cold water; her head pounded from crying. In her guest room, she meditated. Her mind was stuck on Anahata, the heart chakra. She focused her energy flow into the heart and inhaled the color of emeralds, envisioning an emerald-green line flowing through her body and through all of her energy centers. Later, when her eyes blinked open, she was calm, but her heart was raw with a dull pain.
She showered and laid out her clothes for the festivities. The last thing she felt was festive. She dressed in a fringed skirt, sandals, and the vintage blouse she’d bought that morning. The undulating lines of lace on the blouse reminded her of waves lapping at a shore. She took the blue-green peacock-colored silk scarf and tied it around her neck. Voices and footsteps came up the stairs. There was a knock on her door. Leah looked in.
“We’re back. Are you okay? You look so, so, oh I don’t know, serene…but sad.”
Jolie nodded.
“Meet me in my room.” Leah dashed down the hall.
Jolie and Zack met up in Leah’s room. Leah wore her flapper dress. Zack wore the Sergeant Pepper jacket, despite the heat. Leah was hyper and tried out some flapper dance moves. Soon they were trying to outdo each other. The doorbell rang, and they bounded downstairs. Sarah and her parents had arrived for dinner.
Sarah stood in the foyer in her new vintage sleeveless lace shift, looking cool and crisp in white with her dark curls. Leah’s mother and father turned to see the three of them standing behind them in the living room.
“What in the world?” Leah’s mom said, looking at Zack in his jacket. Zack saluted. Her eyes landed on Jolie’s scarf. “Is that a Versace?” She came closer to inspect.
Leah’s mom laid out platters of food, and they ate in the formal dining room. As daylight faded, they raised glasses of wine and drank. It was time for the fireworks on top of Leah’s father’s office building, ten blocks away.
The adults drove, and the foursome walked. On the streets, thousands of people were seated in chairs or stood, waiting for the fireworks. The girls followed Zack, snaking their way through the masses of revelers.
On the rooftop garden Jolie was on top of the world. A spectacular view of the city skyline lay before them. She took out her camera, adjusted the exposure, and snapped photos of the skyline and Leah, Sarah, and Zack. Boom, boom, boom…the sky lit up in bursts of color in endless designs.
She was in New York, on top of a building with a garden with her friends, watching the incredible celebration. It was a very different experience from the first time she’d been in New York only three months earlier. Her thoughts turned to her father. He was still searching for her. A wave of sorrow overcame her.
A bird burst forth in song outside the window. Jolie opened her eyes. The room was dark. The big house was quiet. She rose, peered out the curtain, and saw the bird in the elm tree. The street was still. She dressed and went downstairs.
In the living room, she was drawn to the bookcases. She went from shelf to shelf, reading the titles, running her finger over the spines. There were so many books to read, a sea of knowledge. Startled by a rustling sound, she turned. Leah’s father watched her from his deep velvet chair with the Sunday paper in his lap. He smiled at her, and they exchanged good mornings.
“The fireworks were amazing,” she said.
“There were more than fireworks last night.”
Was their music too loud after they got home?
He held up the front page of the New York Times. A smoldering building with blown out windows stared back at her. “Some crazy group tried to blow up the Bank of America. They did a pretty good job of it, too.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
He shook his head. “Thankfully, no.”
Will despised the Bank of America, the symbol of capitalism.
In the kitchen, Leah’s mom poured her a cup of tea, fragrant and sweet. Jolie asked her for her bread recipe, and she sat at the kitchen table, copying it onto a recipe card while Leah’s mom fussed about the kitchen.
The bank bombing haunted her. Who was behind it? She’d have to get a copy of the Village Voice before they drove back to Boston.
Eventually Leah and Zack came down. Zack wore his jacket.
“Did you sleep in that?” his mom asked.
He ignored her and addressed Jolie. “What do you want to see in New York today? Central Park, the Statue of Liberty, or the Modern Art Museum?”
“The girls have to be on the road by early afternoon,” his mom said.
Zack rolled his eyes.
“There’s a Sunday flea market,” Leah sa
id.
“I’ll go wherever you want to take me,” Jolie said.
“Then Central Park it is,” Zack said.
Leah’s father strode into the kitchen. “I’m going out to get bagels.”
Zack stood. “I’ll go with you.”
“Not in that jacket, you won’t.”
Zack shrugged and slipped it off. Minutes later the doorbell rang, and Sarah came in.
When Zach and his dad returned they placed the assorted bagels, lox, and cream cheese on the dining room table.
Jolie savored a still warm bagel. “This is the best bagel I’ve ever had.”
Leah’s dad beamed. “They’re cooked in water.”
“In water?”
He nodded.
How do you cook a bagel in water?
Zack led the girls to the subway. They emerged in the middle of Central Park amid lush greenery and trees. They walked south along a path. People on bicycles and roller skates, some wearing hot pants blew by them. They had only covered a portion of the park when it was time to head back to Brooklyn.
Later that afternoon, the three girls stood by Leah’s car in the driveway.
“Visit us any time, Jolie. You’re a lovely girl,” Leah’s mom said.
Zack gave them all a hug. He looked at Jolie. “I want to see some photos from this weekend.”
“I’ll send you some,” she said, smiling as she thought about some of the crazy people she’d photographed.
Leah’s father stepped toward Jolie, holding a large paper bag. “I went and bought another dozen bagels for you to take back. Nobody can make a bagel like we do in New York. They try, but they’re just not the same.”
Jolie stepped toward him, gave him a hug and a brief kiss on the cheek, and took the bag. The bagels were still warm.
“Take care of these girls for us,” he said, nodding toward Leah and Sarah.
“Oh, I will,” Jolie said, trying to smile, fighting back tears.
The car ride back to Boston was quieter than the ride down. They were hot and tired but happy. Jolie was glad to have the back seat to herself. She looked out the window and soaked up the passing scenery.
“I liked Zack,” Jolie said. “What about you Sarah, are you attracted to him?”
“No. We’re like brother and sister. We’re close, we hang out together, but that’s all. Why?”
“Oh, just wondered.”
“Are you attracted to him?” Sarah said.
“Well, he is damned cute with those curls.” She smiled. “But I love Will.”
The girls laughed.
“He liked you. I could tell,” Leah said.
“How could you tell?” Jolie asked.
“He wouldn’t have come with us to SoHo or Central Park if you weren’t there, that’s for sure.”
“Well, even if I didn’t have Will, and we fell in love it wouldn’t work out. I’m not Jewish.”
Leah and Sarah laughed. “That’s our lot in life,” Leah said. “But I guess you could always run away together. They’d have to forgive you both sometime. He is their flesh and blood.”
“Bridge Over Troubled Water” came on the radio, and Sarah turned it up. Jolie leaned her head back on the seat and closed her eyes.
33
Magic Bus
They rolled into Cambridge at six that evening. Leah dropped Jolie in front of her apartment. She sprang up the stairs. In the living room she found Will and Charlie. Will played the guitar, and Charlie sat reading the Sunday Globe, the headline on the front page stared back at her: Bank of America Bombed During Fireworks.
Will stood up, put his guitar down and opened his arms. “I missed you.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly.
She turned her face up to his, and he gave her a long kiss. “I gave Leon the envelope.”
“I know.”
How did he know?
Will released her from his embrace. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“Follow me.”
He walked toward the front door. Jolie gave Charlie a quick hug, and they followed Will out to the street. A few houses down he stopped and turned toward the curb.
“Here’s your bus.”
A sapphire-blue VW bus was parked before her. She looked at Will and then back to the bus and then to Charlie.
“Get in,” Will said, opening the side door. They climbed in the back and sat on the bench seats.
“It’s perfect,” Jolie said, running her hands over the seat.
“Charlie found it. We’ve been looking for a while, and he found this sweet deal.”
They got out and inspected the engine and the exterior.
“Let’s go for a drive,” she said.
Jolie sat in the back to experience the bus feeling, and Charlie sat shotgun. Will drove out to Memorial Drive and along the river. Skullers sliced through the water. The front windows were down, and the breeze blew fresh against her skin. Will and Jolie smiled at each other in the rearview mirror. They had wheels. There was no need to hitchhike now.
“I love it. We can fix it up for camping,” she said. “We can go to the White Mountains in New Hampshire or the Green Mountains or Maine. Charlie, you can come with us.”
“Wait a minute, who’s going to run the office?” Will said.
For the next few days, Jolie worked in the darkroom every morning before work, developing the photos from New York. She studied the different characters and scenes she’d shot. She printed a few of the fireworks and the shot she’d taken of the Statue of Liberty from across the river in Brooklyn. Her favorite was the one she’d asked Leah’s father to take of the four of them on the night of the fourth. Leah glowed in her black flapper dress next to Sarah in white. Zack stood tall in his military jacket with Jolie next to him, her scarf tied around her forehead, blonde hair spilled out the sides. It captured their weekend. She printed it to send to Zack. There were so many more photos to play with.
She showed them to Will one evening. She described the fireworks show from the rooftop garden and the view of the New York skyline. “I was on top of the world.”
“Baby, don’t get sucked into that bourgeois stuff by those people.”
She stared numbly at the photos and retreated into silence. Those people? They were her friends. Or as much as she could have good friends while keeping her true identity under wraps. That night had been one of the most thrilling moments of her life but now the memory of it was tarnished by his words.
Will and Jolie planned a camping trip to the White Mountains for the weekend. They shopped at an Army/Navy store for camping supplies and early Saturday, with the bus packed for the trip, they left for New Hampshire. Will wove through thick traffic amid blaring horns to the interstate.
“I can’t wait to get back to nature,” Jolie said.
“The ranch didn’t cure you of that?”
“I wonder about them sometimes.” She unconsciously ran her fingers over her moonstone pouch.
“That’s the new thing. Getting back to the land. Hippies are moving out to the country. We did that. And now we need to focus on the Revolution, and you can’t do that in isolation.”
His socialist utopia vision was becoming more urgent, more strident, and possibly more violent. He was obsessed with the Bank of America bombing in New York. He followed all of the news reports, but there were no leads, and no one had claimed responsibility.
They drove north. She flipped through the radio stations and settled on Otis Redding’s “Dock of the Bay.” The bus purred along in the slow lane, its top speed fifty-five miles per hour. “Old Blue,” Jolie said. “Let’s name the bus Old Blue.”
They arrived at the campground three hours later and pulled into a campsite. They got out and stretched. A stand of fir trees dwarfed them. The afternoon s
un was high and glistened off the lake. They changed into bathing suits and walked down to the lakeshore. Jolie waded out and dove in, swimming underwater for some distance. The water was so refreshing and pure. Will dove underwater, and she swam to escape, squealing, but he caught up with her with his broad strokes. He brought her to him in an embrace, water beaded on their faces and hair. It was so good to get out of the city.
After swimming for some time, Will got out and lay on a towel on the shore. Jolie floated on her back, weightless and one with nature.
“Aren’t you ready to get out?”
“No, never.” She somersaulted into the depths and resurfaced some distance away.
He lay back, closed his eyes and fell asleep. Jolie got out of the water and lay beside him on a towel. It was quiet except for the wind, high in the trees. The scent of fir and pine floated on the warm breeze.
On Sunday morning, Will was ready to pack up and drive back to Cambridge. He paced around the camp like a caged animal, anxious to get back to the office.
Jolie wasn’t as eager to leave. “I’m going down to the lake for one last meditation.”
“Why do you waste your time on that?”
“Meditation? It calms my emotions. I feel stronger and more stable yet serene.”
“I’m ready to roll now.”
“Just give me twenty minutes. Relax…play your guitar.”
She sat cross-legged at the lake, her thoughts flowed through her mind in a torrent. They hadn’t even been there for twenty-four hours and he was ready to leave. If he didn’t want her meditating, what would he do if he found out about the temple? Despite the stillness she couldn’t quiet the chatter in her mind, knowing Will was ready to leave. She wanted to spend the day hiking and reading by the lake, communing with nature. The city was harsh and ungracious. She opened her eyes and looked out over the blue-gray water glistening in the morning sun. At least the temple awaited her.
34
Helter Skelter
They returned to the city midday Sunday. Will went into the office, anxious to find out what he had missed. Jolie cleaned the camping gear and repacked it, ready for their next trip. She wanted to be back in the woods by the lake. Or better yet, in the lake. Restless, she left the house for the temple.