The Vast Fields of Ordinary

by Nick Burd

  “Vicki?” he asked.

  “Yes. Vicki.”

  He cleared his through. “Vicki and I are no longer seeing each other.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “It was the right thing to do.”

  “I agree.”

  We were quiet for a moment.

  “So where are you going?” I asked. “Is this trip happening for sure?”

  “For sure. We’re going around Europe for a couple of weeks. We’ve wanted it and now’s the time to have it. Now’s as good a time as any. We’ll be back a week before you head off to Michigan, so don’t worry about that.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said with an obviously forced smile. “I wasn’t.”

  “Dade, your mother and I need to know that you’re going to be okay here on your own.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Mrs. Savage is going to be checking in on you while we’re gone, but she won’t be babysitting you. Because you’re not a baby. Obviously. But she’ll be checking in.”

  “Obviously.”

  “No drinking, Dade,” he said. “No lawn shenanigans. There’s a part of me that’s apprehensive about leaving you here.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “If you honestly want your mother and me to try our best to work these things out, then we need to be able to trust you.”

  I didn’t really see what one thing had to do with the other.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “And I want you to know that your mother and I are fine with your homosexuality. We are. Really.”

  I nodded. For some reason I didn’t believe it. I don’t know why. Maybe it was because my father was the kind of person who told himself things over and over until he believed them, who could justify almost anything. What I wanted was for it to really be okay. I wanted him to really not care, to maybe even be happy about it. Instead he was acting like I was making a bad career choice, like I was passing up an English degree at Fairmont in favor of a bartending certificate at the local community college.

  “Did you really always know?” I asked.

  “I had my suspicions.”

  I took a bite of pie. My father looked out over the golf course as he always did. The sun was just beginning its descent. His sun, his sky.

  “Beautiful evening,” he said.

  “So it’s okay?” I said.

  He looked back at me. “Yes. It’s fine.”

  I nodded slowly and went on eating.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.

  “Um . . .”

  “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said. “I just figured—”

  “No,” I said. “Actually, there is someone. It’s just that it’s hard to describe exactly what he is.”

  “Oh. Okay. I get what you mean. What’s his name?”

  “Alex.”

  “Alex,” he repeated. “You know, I always thought that maybe you and Pablo were . . .”

  “Pablo and I were just friends, Dad. Nothing else. And we’re not even that anymore. All that is through.”

  “You know, I never liked him.”

  “That means a lot to me, Dad. It really does.”

  “He was a scowler. He was always scowling.”

  I thought back to the previous night, of Pablo somewhere off in the shadows watching as I left with Alex.

  “Yeah,” I said. “And he still is.”

  When we got home we found my mother in the living room reading some book called Finding Your Awareness. My father sat down beside her and put his arm around her, then leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She gave him a sideways glance and strained smile. I fought the urge to retreat to my room and instead took a seat on the sofa across from them.

  “How was dinner?” my mother asked.

  “Dinner was great,” my dad said. “It’s always good to spend time with Dade.”

  I looked off into the dining room, the kitchen. There were no other lights on on the first floor. I hated when the house was lit like this, when the idea of even going into the kitchen carried some weird abstract terror. I thought of walking upstairs, seeing Jenny on the first-floor landing, and literally dying of shock.

  “Did you have the sea bass?” my mother asked.

  “I had steak. Dade had scallops.”

  “You love scallops,” she said.

  What to say to that? “Um, yeah. Totally.”

  “Did your father tell you about our trip?” she asked.

  “He did. I told him I was jealous.”

  “Rome, Paris, Florence.”

  “It’ll be great,” my father said. “New beginnings.”

  “New beginnings.”

  Weren’t kids supposed to hold out hope for their parents, to believe until the bitter end that they weren’t going to get a divorce? That’s what the after-school specials always said. But right then, all I wanted was for it to be over. What I wouldn’t have given for one of them to go upstairs, pack their things, and walk out the door toward a happier existence. I didn’t care which one. Somebody just needed to do it, for all of our sakes.

  “Can Alex come over for dinner sometime before you go?” I asked.

  “Who’s Alex?” my mother asked.

  My father said, “Alex is Dade’s friend.”

  “My special friend,” I added. Both my parents shot me a watch-your-tone look.

  “Boyfriend?” my mother asked.

  Who knew? He hadn’t answered my text from earlier. I thought of him out with some other guy, driving around in his car with him, making out at stoplights. No, he wasn’t like that. I pushed the thought away.

  “It’s sorta indefinable right now, but I guess he’s on the boyfriend track. Maybe.”

  My mother looked over at my father. He was looking at me and grinning broadly. It was hard to believe he was actually there in the moment. His smile seemed forced, like it was hiding something.

  “I’d like you to meet him,” I said. “He’s become sort of a big part of my life.”

  “How long have you known this boy?” my mom asked.

  “A few weeks.”

  “How did he become such a big part of your life in such a short amount of time?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It just happened. You know?”

  My mother looked over at my dad.

  “Young love, Peggy. You remember when you and I first met, don’t you?”

  “Is he the one that convinced you to shave your head?” she asked.

  “That’s a complicated question.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Leave him alone, Peggy.”

  My mom shot my dad a look and then looked at her lap, at the book butterflied between her thighs. She’d been outvoted. She said, “Well, if he’s such a big part of your life, I guess we should meet him.”

  My father played absently with a piece of my mother’s hair. She went back to reading, ignoring us both. How long would he do that? How long would she let him? My phone rang in my pocket. It was Alex. I got up without saying anything. I hurried upstairs, answering when I got to the top.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m at home,” he said. He let out a sigh. “Just doing nothing. I was just thinking about you, thought I’d call. I got your text earlier, but there was a massive guacamole spill in the kitchen at work, so I was cleaning that up forever. What are you doing?”

  I smiled. So he thought about me. I wanted to know more. What did he think about me? Did he think about us making out? Or us just sitting and talking? Or did he turn me over in his mind and wonder when he’d know things like where the scar on my right shin came from or what my favorite ice cream flavor was?

  I stretched out on my bed and smiled up at the ceiling fan.

  “Do you ever just lie on your bed and think?” I said.

  “I did a lot of that this morning. My grandmother calls it bei
ng antisocial.”

  “My mother calls it meditating. My mom used to be really into meditation, but now I think she just uses her meditation room as a place to hide and sling back the booze.”

  “A hiding spot?”

  “Somewhere to go where my father and I won’t come looking for her.”

  “Wow. A meditation room? Really? Next thing you’ll say is that you have a bowling alley in your basement.”

  “No bowling alley. But who knows. One of them could suggest an addition.” I paused, took a deep breath. “Hey, my parents are leaving town. Having an emergency marriage-rebuilding vacation.”

  “Sounds urgent.”

  “Sirens everywhere,” I said.

  “Where are they going?”

  “Europe.”

  “Urgent and fancy.”

  “No kidding. Family vacations with us usually involve going to some crappy colonial place where they show you how to make your own jelly. Now they’re going to Europe without me. Figures.”

  “Ultrawack. So when do they leave?”

  “Next week.” I said. And then I let out what I’d been thinking about since my father mentioned they were going on the trip. “You should sleep over.” I winced at the phrase sleep over. What was I, twelve?

  He laughed. “Yeah. I’d love to sleep over.”

  Somehow the words seemed less juvenile coming out of his mouth, more romantic.

  “So I have another question,” I said.

  “And what is that?”

  “Do you want to come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “Dinner?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “With my parents. They kinda want to meet you.”

  “Oh.”

  An awkward pause. I winced again.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I hope you don’t think that’s weird. It’s not like I think we’re going to get married or something.” I instantly regretted mentioning the word married. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any of that. Or I did, but just not the stupid parts.”

  “No. I get you.”

  “It’s just that I want you to, like, know me.”

  “No. I know what you mean. I do.” He paused before going on. “Sometimes I think about you and I think about this town and I want to run away with you. Get you out of here.”

  This is what those pop songs were about. All those bad clichés. This is why people spoke in low voices when they talked about the serious parts of falling in love. I imagined climbing down the side of my house, climbing down a trellis we didn’t have, and running to his car as he revved the engine in defiance of everything we were about to leave behind.

  “No. I know what you mean. Is it bad that there’s part of me that’s jealous of that girl that disappeared? Jenny Moore? I feel like she’s okay. I know that sounds weird. I was really scared for her for a long time, and now I feel like she’s just in a better place.”

  “You mean, like she’s dead?”

  “No. Not dead. That’s not what I meant.” I rubbed my eyes. “I guess I don’t know what I mean.”

  He laughed. “Are you drunk?”

  “No,” I said. “I meant that she’s just like somewhere else, you know? Not dead. Just not here.”

  He laughed again. “Dude, I’m trying to follow you. Honestly, I am.”

  I sighed. “I want to tell you something. But you can’t get freaked out.”

  “Okay. I’ll try.”

  I waited a few seconds and then I said, “I saw her. I didn’t want to tell you this before because I didn’t want you to think I was crazy, but I saw her. Jenny Moore. I saw her in my backyard the night we were in the graveyard, after you dropped me off at home.”

  “I don’t know, man,” he said with a nervous laugh. “You’ve gotta realize how that sounds, right?”

  “I told Lucy,” I said. I don’t know why, but it felt like him knowing this would help. “She believes me.”

  “What did you see?”

  “She ran across my backyard and disappeared in the bushes. It was just a flash, but it was there. I’m sure.”

  “Wow. That’s some heavy shit. I—I’m not sure what to say.”

  “I shouldn’t’ve said anything.”

  “No. I’m just . . . you know. It’s a lot to ask someone to believe.”

  “I can’t doubt myself on this one. It happened. All those other people saw her. Why can’t I?”

  “You sound convinced,” he said.

  “I am.”

  “Well, in that case, then I guess I am too.”

  “Really?” I asked, a bit shocked.

  “The world is a weird place,” he said. “Who am I to say I know everything that’s going on in it? I don’t. I know I don’t.”

  “I feel the exact same way.”

  There was a fat silence, one that seemed almost reverent of all the things in the world that couldn’t be understood.

  “So dinner,” he said. “I work tomorrow night, so I can’t. But the next night I’m free.”

  I smiled. I’d forgotten this whole conversation had started because I asked him to dinner.

  “Great,” I said. “I’ll call you or text you with the details. Exact time and all that. Is there anything you don’t eat?”

  “So polite of you to ask, but no, there’s nothing I don’t eat. I’m a growing boy. Some would say I’m a food vacuum.”

  I laughed. “Well, cool. Sounds like a plan. I should really go now.”

  “You should.”

  “I should.”

  “You know what’s funny?” he said. “If we did get married, your name would be Dade Kincaid. How funny is that?”

  “Well, if you took my last name you’d be Alexander Hamilton. Are you saying that’s not equally funny?”

  “Um . . . is it bad that I don’t know who that is?”

  I laughed. “Are you serious?”

  “I know he’s a history guy, but that’s it.”

  “He’s on the ten-dollar bill. He was the first secretary of treasury.”

  “Not fair. You’re fresh out of high school. And you didn’t get your education from Cedarville South.”

  “Fair enough. I should go.”

  “I should too. I promised my grandmother I’d do the dishes.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll get in touch with you about dinner.”

  “Looking forward to it,” he said.

  I hung up the phone and he was gone. Like he’d just been in the room a moment ago and had disappeared. I stretched out on my bed again. I stared up at the whirling blades of the ceiling fan. I thought of all the times I’d told it I was gay. That night I told it I was falling in love.

  I had to work the next day. As always, I took the entrance around the back of the store. The purple-haired woman from the bakery was there, blowing the smoke from her Capri toward the metal bread racks waiting to be retrieved by the bread deliveryman and scratching the inside of her wrist with a construction orange fingernail. I’d never noticed her name tag before. It said Orla. Beside her name was a yellow chick sticker, probably from last Easter.

  It was around noon when I was stocking the milk and heard someone enter the dairy cooler through the blue swinging door. I looked up, expecting to see my supervisor. Instead it was Pablo. I froze, unable to do anything or even move. He didn’t appear angry. In fact, he seemed eerily calm.

  “Yo,” I finally mumbled.

  He just kept on staring at me.

  “I got your text the other night. Sorry I didn’t write back.” Nothing.

  “Fine,” I said. “Don’t answer me.”

  He walked slowly over to me, stood just a few inches away. How could someone’s face register almost nothing? I couldn’t tell if he was going to hit me or start crying or ask me to borrow a dollar.

  “What are you doing here?” I said. “I thought you were working up front today.”

  “So was that your new whatever?” he said.

  “That’s none of your business.”

  He spit in my face. It caught me of
f guard. My jaw dropped as a new kind of shock radiated through my body, especially in my chest. The pang of heartbreak mixed with anger and humiliation. I wiped the spit from under my left eye.

  “Why are you doing this?” I whispered. “If you don’t like me like that, then why are you doing this?”

  The question seemed to be too much for him. I could read the frustration in his eyes, the inability to really explain what was going on.

  “So you have nothing to say?” I asked. My lower lip was quivering. I wanted to cry, but not because I was sad. I wanted to cry because I was so angry. “You just spit in my face and that’s all that you got?”

  Nothing.

  “Sad,” I said. “Beyond sad. Tragic.”

  I turned around and went back to stocking the milk, shoving it toward the front of the cooler to be taken moments later by customers. The endless refilling. I thought back to English class, to the tale of Sisyphus.

  I heard the rattle of his belt coming undone followed by the sound of his zipper. I turned around. His pants were partially down his thighs and his dick was hanging out.

  “Dude.” His voice came out quiet and mangled, like an injured animal flopping painfully out of its hiding spot, and the massiveness of how sad it is to want someone suddenly fell on my head like an anvil in some comically violent cartoon.

  “Oh my God.” I turned and hurried out of the dairy cooler. The back area of Food World was a maze of pallets stacked with products. Ketchup, paper towels, grape soda, macaroni and cheese. All on cardboard flats and wrapped in plastic. Their noisily bright colors flashed by in the corner of my eyes as I hurried toward the back door. Twice I checked over my shoulder to see if Pablo was following me, but he wasn’t. Of course Orla was still sitting on an overturned milk crate at the back door and smoking.

  “See you later, Dade,” she said in a wobbly voice as I hurried by.

  As if we’d spoken a hundred times before. As if all of this was normal. And then I thought, How did she know my name?

  The Cedarville Warriors cheerleading squad was hosting its annual car wash on the far edge of the parking lot. All the girls were in tiny shorts and bikini tops. Someone’s car stereo was playing some terrible Top 40 bubblegum crap. The girls were using the hose on each other, almost completely ignoring the gold Suburban they were supposed to be washing.