“Who’s gonna stop me?”
Matt, without releasing his hand, turned to Mrs. Hayward. Lane watched a look pass between them before Matt jerked the boy from his seat and pushed him out of the classroom. Mrs. Hayward continued her class as though uninterrupted.
“So now, Lane wants to learn how to read with proper expression. Let’s hear you read this poem.”
The teacher, her eyes twinkling as she flipped the pages, handed Lane a book open to Longfellow’s poem, “Paul Revere’s Ride”. Lane took a deep breath and began to read. She knew enough not to allow a natural sing-song cadence, but the reading lacked a natural flow that makes hearing poetry truly beautiful.
“…for the country folk to be up and to arm.”
“Very good. It was a credible attempt, really. You didn’t make it sound like a jump-rope ditty. I don’t want to start counting which is better than most can do. Let’s see…Leticia, come up here and read this same passage.”
A beautiful girl of racial obscurity sashayed to the front of the room tugging her minuscule skirt to swing lower on her hips giving the room a perfect view of her pierced navel. Lane shuddered inwardly at the sight, but smiled and handed the book to the gum smacking teen.
Mrs. Hayward handed her a tissue and the gum disappeared. Lane didn’t hear a poem as the girl read. She was transported to a cobble-stoned street in old Boston and overheard the whispering of Paul Revere and his friend Dawes. She protested as Leticia stopped at the same break as she had.
“No! That’s beautiful!”
Mrs. Hayward took the book from her student and handed it back to Lane. “Leticia, what would you tell Lane to try first?”
“You gotta enunciate every word, but don’t pause at the end of each line unless you would if you were just talking to someone. Oh, and this is a conspiracy. Make it sound like it. You gotta get the feel of what is happening and then act it out like you’re on stage.”
“Excellent, Leticia! You may take your seat. Yes, every good reader has a bit of an actor in them. Why don’t you try that section again?”
Matt reentered as Lane was on her fourth try. At the end of the line, Mrs. Hayward nodded her approval. “Excellent, Lane. Now class, we’ve taken up our time with Spencer on Longfellow, but the refresher was important. Go home and read the canto that Matthew read to you and try to get a similar rhythm and cadence as you read. We’ll read it aloud again tomorrow.”
Students filed out of the room giving Matt curious looks as they did. Mrs. Hayward replaced her books with care and precision and didn’t seem to hear the jarring bell that announced the change of classes. “Did Franco give you any trouble, Matthew?”
Lane’s eyes flew to Matt’s face. The same bored expression seemed permanently etched on his features. As he smiled, however, his trademarked charming grin erased any evidence of earlier trouble. “I sent him to the bathroom until the bell rang. I wanted to let him save face.”
“Everything’s alright?”
“We’re going to play some hoops this weekend.”
Mrs. Hayward chuckled lightly. “Lane, welcome to the city. Where you’re from people probably duke it out with fists or pistols or words. Here, a game of basketball settles all scores.”
“How did you know—”
A wise smile answered her before Lane could continue. “I’ve taught in this city for thirty-nine years. I can tell when someone is from out of town.”
Matt snickered. “And maybe the comment about sheep and pastures didn’t help? After all, the last time I looked, you have to drive to New Cheltenham to see a sheep.”
“Oh, are those sheep yours?”
Lane shook her head kicking Matt as he snickered again. “Nope. Afraid not—”
“What a choice of words—”
After another swift kick, this one making Matt grunt in pain, Lane turned her brightest smile on Mrs. Hayward. “I’m from Montana. I met Matt after he stood for four hours in our pasture too terrified to move lest our vicious sheep trample him in a mad stampede.”
“Since when do sheep stampede?”
Giving Matt a self-satisfied expression, she smiled at the amused teacher. “Clearly Matt needed you for biology as well.”
~*~*~*~
Lake Danube buzzed with boats and jet skis. Lane and Matt wandered along the shore, kicking the water as they went. The morning with Mrs. Hayward had given Lane a glimpse into how Matt became the man he was now. They’d driven to Fairbury in a thoughtful silence that seemed to knit their hearts closer than ever. Now as they meandered along the shore of the lake, it was as though they continued their conversation from the night before without interruption. Lane’s hand crept into Matt’s as their eyes met, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived.
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t go to college. Aren’t there scholarships or grants or anything you could have gotten?”
“Lane, it isn’t that easy. It seems like it, but it isn’t. I didn’t even begin to apply myself until my second semester my sophomore year. I never did catch up in math. I’d goofed off too much in Jr. High and the first two years of High School. I graduated with great scores in Lit and some of the other LA classes, but—”
“LA?”
“They called them language arts. You know, writing and grammar and lit and stuff.”
Lane sat on the sand and watched the waves lap the shore. “So you became a welder? How’d you decide to do that?”
“I went to work at the shop as a packer. I liked working there, so I found out who made the most money and then took night classes in welding until I got my certificate. I took it to Brad and asked if there was an opening. I think he was impressed. He asked why I became a welder and I told him because they made more money than everyone else. I guess that was a good enough reason, because he put me on the line.”
Lane wasn’t sure if she should ask her next question. Matt saw the hesitation and nudged her. “Spill it. You’ve got another question. You’re not going to offend me.”
“Okay, but you can’t get mad at me. I’m just curious, not accusing.”
“Yeah…” Matt gave her a sidelong glance and then prompted, “Come on, out with it. I’m not going to be upset about something like this.”
“I just don’t understand why you picked a job based upon how much money you could make at one place. How did you know you’d like it? Would you have made more money somewhere else? Did it need to be all about the money?”
Matt slipped his sandals back on and pulled Lane to her feet. They wandered through the picnic areas to the wooded area behind the summer picnickers. “Lane, not everyone has the luxury of doing what they enjoy most. Some of us have to find a job that will keep us out of the projects and off welfare. We do what we have to do to maintain some dignity.”
“But your parents wouldn’t have kicked you out or anything. You had time to go to a community college and make up for lost time and then do whatever you wanted with your life. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being a welder. I’m not saying that. I just don’t understand the mental process that got you there.”
Under a canopy of tree branches, they walked as Matt tried to explain. “During my senior year, the rent almost doubled on our apartment. Mom worked weekends; Dad took any extra shifts he could. And they barely made it. I know they racked up a lot on their credit cards that year. I helped out Mrs. Hayward and some of her neighbors on Saturdays doing yard work or shoveling snow. I didn’t make much, but it was enough never to have to ask for lunch money or a new jacket when mine got stolen. It paid for my graduation expenses too. When I graduated, I needed a good job and fast.”
Lane shook her head. The difference between her world and his seemed light years apart. Her brothers were encouraged to branch away from just raising sheep if they chose. They knew a job was always there, and they had a livelihood ready to be passed down when her father died, but they weren’t tied to needing a paycheck to survive.
“The biggest disappointme
nt was when I cashed my first paycheck. By the time I bought the next week’s subway ticket, I barely took home five bucks an hour. I kept fifty and gave my parents the other one-fifty something.”
“I thought you were making ten dollars an hour!”
Matt’s rueful expression was one she recognized. She saw the same one every time he spoke of his life in Rockland. “I did. Actually, it was ten-twenty an hour. But taxes, union dues, insurance, and uniform fees took almost half of it.”
“How do people here survive?” Lane’s voice was deeper than ever with pain as she realized the kids she saw that morning would have a similar experience.
“They get married. They find jobs that pay more and work under the table on weekends. They send their kids to subsidized daycare and hope they make it. A lot end up on food stamps and Medic-aid.”
“How’d you get the money for welding school?”
Matt’s silence was unexpected. She glanced at his face and saw something she didn’t know how to identify. Was it anger? Fear? What emotion or memory caused such an unfamiliar look?
“I did what all of us do. I just existed for a while. I spent my fifty bucks on alcohol, pizza, and protection every week. It was usually gone by Wednesday.”
“Protection! You have the mafia down here too?” Lane’s eyes were wide with amazement.
Matt hugged her, whispering in her ear, “I love you, Lane.”
“I’m serious! I had no idea!”
“Not that kind of protection Lane. Not that kind. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some kind of organized crime in the city. I’ve heard that the Japanese and Russian gangs are working for the mob, but I was more worried about getting diseases from my extracurricular activities.”
She ignored her red face and continued the conversation as though she hadn’t just embarrassed both of them. “So if you were spending your money—”
“I overheard Mom and Dad talking. They were just making it every month with what I gave them. Mom was afraid I’d decide to move in with one of my friends—I’d thought about it—and that’s when I realized I needed to find a way to make more money. I needed a way that if I wanted to move out, I could do it and still help them.”
Her arm slipped around Matt’s waist and she hugged him once more. “You are such a good man, Matt.”
“Dad and I talked. I told him what I wanted to do and asked how much they needed to keep above water until I could get my certification. Dad said he could make it with seventy-five and he’d take a job delivering pizzas at night until I had it to help me make it through.”
“Couldn’t you qualify for some kind of financial aid or some kind of financing or something?”
Matt sagged against the nearest tree. “I hate debt, Lane,” he forced himself to confess. “I’ve seen what it does to people. It’s a choke chain. You get a bit of reprieve where you can breathe until it jerks you back to reality and chokes you, and then it starts all over again.”
They wandered through the little wood talking. Lane tried to find a natural place to tell him about her discussion with Tad, but none presented. She finally abruptly changed the subject.
“Tad and I talked last night.”
Something in her voice caught his attention. “What about?”
“Men.”
Nodding as though her response made any kind of sense, Matt prodded. “And?”
“I’m sorry I was so difficult about the room thing.”
“Room thing?” Matt wasn’t following her.
“Tad said I was selfish and naïve to be so upset about the whole loveseat by the elevator thing.”
“You were really that upset? I thought you were just frustrated that it was necessary— like me.”
Shaking her head, Lane’s face took on a sheepish expression. “I thought you thought we’d both give into temptation and—”
“Oh, Lane, no! I knew neither one of us would risk our relationship by being premature that way. It’s just so hard to explain—”
“Tad explained,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry, though. I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d realized you didn’t know how frustrating it was for me. I really felt a little insulted.”
“It’s good to get stuff like this out in the open though. If we can’t talk about things, we’ll be vulnerable in more ways than one. And when they leave, you know we’ll have to talk about—”
“Yeah. But not until they leave, right?”
“You can’t avoid it forever.” Matt’s finger curled absently around the hair on her shoulders.
“But I will as long as I can.”
Seventeen
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Tad’s anxious voice had kept a running commentary on her actions since he and Lane left the hotel. They’d walked to the subway station where she passed out cards to the homeless, sending Tad through the roof. They got on the train to Matt’s neighborhood, and she’d passed out the rest of her cards, stopping to buy a woman a cup of coffee and a hot dog from a street vendor.
Now they wandered up the street to Matt’s apartment building. It was quieter on a Tuesday mid-morning, but still quite noisy and dirty. She took Tad up the walk, into the building and up three flights of stairs. Tad’s horrified expression grew grim and resolute as they passed each floor. Outside Matt’s door, they stopped.
“This is where he lives. He gave me a key in case I ever got lost and found my way here. I’m going to do something really tacky and take you in. No one is home. You’ve gotta see this, Tad.”
From Tad’s perspective, the apartment was the most pathetic thing he’d ever seen. Cluttered with knick-knacks, the furniture was cheap and poorly designed to imitate quality making it look even worse than it would have. The room screamed “genuine imitation wealth.”
It also had the look of thirty years of living in the same place. The paint was old and dingy, and the carpeting should have been replaced decades earlier, but as Carol asked whenever the subject was broached, where would they put their things while it happened? So it stayed and they cleaned around it the best they could.
“Let’s get out of here. I can’t take it.” Tad’s voice was laced with a new kind of pain he’d never known.
“Wait, you need to see this. Look at Matt’s room.”
Matt’s room was different. The quality of the furnishings wasn’t any better than the rest of the house, but the simplicity of the lines made each piece seem nicer than it truly was. There were no cheap posters, no velvet Elvis pictures, and no pathetic attempts at a lifestyle he didn’t live. The room stood out from the entire surrounding area like a lone oak tree in a landfill.
“How is it—I mean how can he stand living here? He’s got something that the rest of these people—”
“Don’t say it Tad. I’m learning that a lot of these people have the same instincts, but they don’t know how to use them. Matt learned somewhere. That’s the only difference. I think they all want a better life somewhere down deep. Matt just figured out how to achieve it in the midst of the one he has.”
“What do you think made the difference?”
She led him back downstairs, across the street, around the corner, and the ten blocks to Matt’s old school. She stopped in at the office and got them passes to see Mrs. Hayward. Tad grew amazed as he watched the familiarity Lane already showed in these strange surroundings. Where she boldly pressed onward, he wanted to retreat.
“This is his old teacher’s class. We’ll just slip in the back door and listen a bit. You’ll see the kinds of things and the people who made a difference in his life.”
Mrs. Hayward was still discussing the same canto. Leticia read it very well though not nearly as fluidly as the teacher or Matt. One of the students noticed them at the back of the room and commented, “Looks like she found another dude today. That one gets around.”
Franco glanced back and growled, “You moron, they’re related. Any fool can see that.”
“Lane! Welcome back. Care to try thi
s canto with us?”
Tad watched in further amazement as Lane rose and walked to the front of the room taking the book from the teacher’s hand. She tried to read the words, but stumbled along laughing good-naturedly at herself with the rest of the class. “I’m not up to par on this one, I’d say!”
The teacher called on Franco and he read it easily if not well. “You know, Franco, you have the ability to make this poem come alive, but you won’t apply yourself.”
“I’ve gotta save some self-respect. We can’t all be like her boyfriend.”
Lane laid her hand on Franco’s arm as he moved past her to return to his seat. “I believe you could be almost as wonderful as Matt. No one can quite do it, of course, but you could probably give him a run for his money.”
~*~*~*~
“I can’t believe you’re not angry with her. She was practically flirting with the guy, and he’s just a year or two younger than she is.” Tad’s mocking tone held a trace of sincerity. He’d never seen anything like the side of his sister she’d shown that day.
“I’m proud of her. She did exactly what Franco needed. She showed confidence in him without going overboard. Showing loyalty to me gave her words power.” Matt beamed at Lane. “She’s getting it. She’s starting to understand life in this city.”
They sat in the lobby debating the differences in city life and ranch life, while waiting for Warren. Matt eyed his watch nervously. If they were late for their reservation, Ming China would give away their table. Just as he started to suggest leaving a message for Warren on his cell phone, Lane’s father strode into the lobby looking as casually comfortable there as he did in the saddle.
“Hey, all! Sorry I’m late. Tad, Lane, remember Hank Miner from Missouri?”
“Suffolks or Blackface ?”
Lane answered. “Suffolks. He came to compare us and that ranch near him to decide if he wanted to add Blackface.”
“That’s right. He remembered you two singing that night before he left and asked me to see if you two would sing at the ‘campfire’ on Friday night.”
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