Rufus + Syd

by Julia Watts

  “We?” Rufus says, wiping away a tear.

  “We,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders. “We’re still a ‘we,’ Rufus. I’m not ditching you. I’ll write, I’ll call. And someday we’ll drink champagne in Paris together.”

  Rufus nods. “I know you have to do this. It just hurts because I love you, you know?”

  “I love you too,” I say, and we hold each other and cry for a while.

  “Syd?” Rufus says into my shoulder. “You’re not leaving right now? This isn’t good-bye?”

  I kiss his cheek, which is wet with tears. “No, this isn’t good-bye.”

  Rufus

  JOSEPHINE, COLE, Syd, and I are watching The Wizard of Oz together at Josephine’s house on a dark and rainy Saturday afternoon. I’m so glad it’s raining. You can smell it in the air, and it also feels right. It’s just the blue-green world that I’m needing right now. Coupled with The Emerald City.

  All four of us are sitting on Josephine’s sofa, snuggled together, our mugs that held Josephine’s homemade hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of us, rims encrusted, the plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies is now empty—except for a few crumbs and one lonely, shriveled raisin. I don’t even like raisins, but I feel like this one. Meanwhile, Josephine’s cat Lola Lola is aggressively rubbing up against our legs. Back and forth she goes.

  Syd and I are sitting next to each other, our bodies touching. It’s as if we’re joined at the hip. I guess I’d thought we were.

  It’s the perfect movie for the occasion—Josephine’s choice, of course: she’s so wise in this and so many other ways. She couldn’t believe that Syd and I had never seen it, adding that she considered it required viewing. “I guess it’s a whole new generation,” she said, shrugging. Cole added that it had been “many, many, many years” since he’d seen it. One adjective is never enough for him.

  We’ve all laughed, we’ve cried, and we’ve been filled with awe and wonder. It is a great movie. I think it must be near the end now, Dorothy is getting ready to go home, back to Kansas, and she’s saying good-bye to all of the friends she made on her way to Oz. Everyone but Josephine is crying, although I think it could safely be said that Syd and I are actually sobbing. We’re much more of a mess than Cole, who’s merely tearful. Maybe whimpering is the best way to describe what he’s doing.

  It’s interesting, because most people would probably think it would be just the opposite—the older folks losing it and the younger ones more stoical. Maybe it’s because Syd and I had never seen the movie, whereas Josephine and Cole had. Or maybe it’s because Josephine and Cole have been through it. But I think that I have too, now—been through it, I mean—and Syd would probably say the same thing about herself. What, exactly, do I mean by “been through it”? Shit. Hell. It has been one hell of a horrible few days, and here’s why: Syd is moving away. I still can’t quite believe it.

  Leave it to Cole, who has worn a very shiny emerald-green satin shirt for the occasion, to break the ice and make us laugh. “I have never in all my life understood why that poor girl Dorothy Gale would want to go back to the black-and-white world of Kansas,” he says, “when she could live happily ever after in colorful Oz! I mean, I think there really is someplace like home—or someplace better than home, y’all know what I’m sayin’? Wouldn’t you want to stay?”

  His comment makes me think about how much Vermillion looks like Kansas. We have all come to love Cole dearly, but the frequency with which he talks during movies is maddening. These two things are not mutually exclusive. Early on, when the house fell on the Wicked Witch of the East and we were all tense, waiting to see what would happen next, Cole broke in, telling us that he would have worn ruby-red slippers today if he had any.

  Now Judy Garland as Dorothy speaks, saying good-bye to the Tin Man and telling him not to cry or he’ll rust.

  In response, the Tin Man says that he must have a heart after all, because it’s breaking.

  Cole interrupts the movie again. “Which character would y’all want to be if you could choose?” He looks at each of us. “I’d—”

  “For God sake’s, Cole!” Syd sounds really exasperated now. She mimes a zipping motion across her lips. Cole shrinks back into his seat.

  Dorothy quickly says good-bye to the Lion, and then moves on to the Scarecrow. She hugs him and half whispers into his ear that she thinks she’ll miss him the most.

  Once again Syd and I are dissolving, melting, practically on the floor in a puddle of tears, and clinging to each other.

  Josephine wipes both eyes with her hand as the movie ends and says, “Oh, come on now, you two. It’s not the end of the world. Be strong!”

  Easy for her to say. I feel momentarily angry with Josephine for saying this. I mean, she’s lived a whole life outside of Vermillion and chose to come back and to remain here. I haven’t even gotten out yet, and now I’m losing my best friend in the world.

  “I was just thinking that all the Wicked Witches of the West that I know are actually men.” Cole again.

  It’s a good point.

  Josephine ejects the DVD and returns it to its case. “Okay,” she says, “who wants to be taken home first?” She moves all four mugs and the empty plate back to the tray on which she delivered them and carries it to the kitchen. Lola Lola follows her.

  Cole raises his hand. “I will.”

  And so we all say good-bye to Lola Lola and pile into the car—Josephine and Cole in the front seat, me and Syd in the back—for the last time. That’s what I keep thinking about everything now, that it’s for the last time. Though I will be seeing Syd again tomorrow, it will be for the last time before she leaves.

  At first we’re all quiet. But Cole seems uncomfortable with silence. He just can’t accept it. Or maybe it’s that he can’t tolerate it. Now he says, “I miss Judy Garland so.” There’s a lovely wistfulness in his voice. And when none of us says anything in response, he adds, “There’s just nobody like her.”

  I’m sure he’s right, though that was a few generations ago. I just don’t feel like talking, and I feel pretty confident in saying the same thing about Syd. I understand that she’s scared, and yet also that she really has to do this. And I also believe that she’ll miss me almost as much as I’ll miss her. But that doesn’t mean that I have to be happy about her leaving.

  “Madonna’s just an untalented phony and a tramp,” Cole goes on.

  When Josephine drives up in front of Cole’s house, he sighs deeply, and then says, “I have to do this fast.” He looks at Syd and says, “Get on out of the car and let me give you a proper hug good-bye.”

  I practically crumble again at his mention of the word “good-bye,” and I feel sad for him as well. I see Cole reach into his pants pocket and extract paper money of a denomination that I can’t quite make out. He hugs Syd, then presses the money into her hand and takes off running. “Bye-bye,” he waves, his voice quavering.

  Syd gets back in the car now, opens the palm of her hand, and we see that it’s a fifty-dollar bill. “Aww!” Syd and I say almost simultaneously.

  “He is such a sweet man,” Syd says. “And also really annoying to watch a movie with.”

  All three of us laugh at this.

  I’m next to be taken home. Josephine firmly announces that she’d like to talk to Syd alone. Since I’ll be seeing Syd tomorrow, I know this isn’t the last time, but it is the last time that she, Josephine, and I will be together. I say as much, and Josephine responds, “Oh, I don’t know about that. You never know, Rufus. I’m willing to bet you that the three of us will be together again, maybe here, maybe there—somewhere.”

  “There” is Chicago, which is where Syd is moving to, and during this incredibly painful half week I have asked myself if, among the many things I’m feeling, jealousy over Syd actually getting out of here and moving to Chicago is one of them? Definitely!

  Syd and I are holding hands when Josephine pulls into my parents’ driveway. Now I understand why Cole had to ma
ke the quick exit he did, because I’m feeling the same need. I thank Josephine for the movie, the hot chocolate, the cookies, and the pleasure of her company. She smiles at me in the rearview mirror. I squeeze Syd’s hand and say, “See you tomorrow.” And then I’m off and don’t look back.

  Mama and Daddy aren’t home, fortunately. I think maybe they’re out buying groceries, so I go to my room and throw myself on the bed. I’ve spent most of the past few days here, when I wasn’t in school, which has been torturous by the way, if anyone’s interested. And I’ve been crying a lot too. Mama and Daddy think the reason I’m so upset is because my girlfriend is moving away, and I’m just letting them think that, for now. I guess it is the truth, more or less.

  The first night after I found out about Syd leaving, at the supper table with Mama and Daddy, he kind of laughed and said, “Oh, there are a lot of other fish in the sea, son. You’ll see.”

  But after a couple of days of my sulking, he’s beginning to lose his patience. “I think that’s about enough, Rufus. You’ve made this house into a funeral parlor, and I, for one, am sick and tired of it. Get ahold of yourself, boy!”

  Whereas Mama, later, after I had gone to my room, came in and was really sweet. She asked in a very soft voice if I wanted to talk about it. I just shook my head, but I also hugged her real quick, probably the first time I’ve touched her in years. And then as soon as she closed the door behind her I just started crying again. It’s amazing to think that was just last night!

  I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t imagine life in Vermillion without Syd. I can barely remember a time here before her, and what I do remember I’d prefer not to.

  I think I’m doomed. I’m about to be one in Vermillion.

  Syd

  IT’S AMAZING how much stuff can fit into a backpack. Thanks to careful rolling, I’ve managed to fit two pairs of jeans, six T-shirts, two dresses, a pair of ballet flats, and a decent supply of socks and underwear into the bag I carry for school. I have to leave most of my stuff behind, but it’s necessary so Mom won’t suspect I’m taking off.

  Tomorrow morning I’ll take my loaded backpack and act like I’m going to school. But instead I’ll go to the Gas ’n’ Go parking lot, where Jimmie-Sue Rumbley will pick me up in her old beater of a car. Everybody knows Jimmie-Sue skips school and drives to Dothan at least once a week, so I offered her twenty bucks to hitch a ride. When I told her I needed her to drive me to the Greyhound station, but it had to be a secret, she flashed me a lipsticked grin and said, “I’d never narc on anybody who had sense enough to get out of this hellhole. If I had the cash, I’d hop on the next bus out of here too.”

  Miraculously, I do have the cash to get out of here. Or at least I’m about to. The miracle is Josephine.

  As soon as she dropped off Rufus after we all watched The Wizard of Oz, she turned to me and asked if it was possible to talk me out of this.

  I said it wasn’t.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t think I could. It’s just that if you could finish the school year here….” She sighed. “But if you’re not to be dissuaded, there are two things I’d like to give you. The first I’ll give you now, but the second will have to wait until tomorrow.”

  She handed me a card with a name and a phone number on it.

  “Ben’s a dear friend of mine in Chicago. I want you to call him the minute you arrive in town. He’s a self-described do-gooder, and he takes in strays. Which, I’m afraid, is what you are about to become.”

  “I prefer the term free-range,” I said.

  Josephine let herself smile a little. “The second thing I want to give you is some money for your journey, which I can have ready for you tomorrow.”

  “But can you afford—” I started, but she cut me off with “I can always afford to help a friend.”

  AND SO now I’m on my way to Josephine’s. When she answers the door, she stands in the doorway, her long silver hair braided, her black dress accented by a turquoise scarf. Lola Lola is rubbing against her ankles, and for a second I just stand there looking at them, framed in the doorway like a picture I want to keep.

  “Come in, Syd.” Josephine steps aside to let me pass. “I can’t hand you an envelope full of money in broad daylight. The neighbors already think I’m peculiar enough… I don’t want them to think I’m making drug deals with teenagers.”

  It’s probably rude, but the envelope’s so fat I can’t help peeking inside. Every bill is a twenty. I take out half the money. “Here, keep this. You didn’t have to give me so much.”

  She pushes the money away. “You’ll be amazed how little that’ll buy you in Chicago. The quality of life is lousy in Vermillion, but the cost of living’s cheap. You can’t say the same for the big city.”

  I put the money back in the envelope. “Well, thank you. I’ll pay you back someday.”

  Josephine takes my hand. “You can pay me back by keeping two promises to me—first, that you’ll keep in touch with me and second, that you’ll stay in school.”

  I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cried in the past few days. And here I go again. “I promise.”

  “Oh,” Josephine says, grabbing a brown bag from the end table. “I also packed some food for the road. Nothing fancy, just enough to keep body and soul together until you arrive in Chicago and call Ben.”

  Inside the sack are a couple of apples, a few boxes of raisins, some peanut butter crackers, and a plastic baggie of her iced lemon cookies. “These may be the last of your lemon cookies I ever taste,” I say, sniffling.

  “Nonsense,” she says. “I make it to Chicago at least once a year. I’ll bring you cookies when I visit. Now give me a hug. I was never any good at lingering good-byes.”

  It’s a soft, warm hug. “Thank you for everything,” I say.

  “Thank you for everything too,” she says, though I can’t imagine what she’s thanking me for.

  When we pull apart from the hug, I say, “Take care of Rufus, okay?”

  “I will,” she says. “And you take care of yourself.”

  RUFUS IS waiting for me on the porch when I pull up in front of his house. His face is somber, and I’m sure mine is too. The sadness is almost too much to stand. I start the car for our last Sunday drive.

  HERE’S SYD. She looks sad. I’m sure I do too, but how could we look any other way? I am beginning to wonder if maybe this was a big mistake. But I want to try. “Hi there, sweet pea,” I say, getting into the car and kissing her on the cheek.

  “Hi.” I’m full of more feelings than I can describe: sadness, excitement, fear, hope. “So, I thought we could go to our place.”

  WE LIE under the magnolia tree, staring through the branches at the cloudless sky. Rufus is holding my hand. “It only seems like days ago that you and I took our first drive out here.”

  “I can’t talk that way, Syd, or I’ll just cry the whole time. Let’s talk about the future instead, about the excitement of Chicago, Obama’s town.”

  “Okay. You know what I want to do? I want to take an elevator to the top of the Sears Tower, stand out on the overlook and just take in the hugeness of the city and yell, ‘I’m free!’”

  “I love that! Will you do it again with me when I visit?”

  “Yes. And maybe we can yell ‘I don’t believe in God’ too. I bet it’ll be much more dramatic from the top of the Sears Tower than it was on Main Street in Vermillion.”

  “Yeah! Talk about coming from on high. But seriously, Syd, I am going to visit. As soon as you’re ready for me. And then as soon as I can, I’m going to move there too, and go to the Art Institute. You know Josephine will do everything she can to help us.”

  “I know she will. She’s already started. I went by her house before I came to see you. She gave me five hundred dollars. That’s more money than I’ve ever seen, let alone had.”

  “Wow! Josephine is amazing. So, I don’t know, how do you even know where to begin, Syd? Where are you going to live? Are you goi
ng to go back to high school? I bet the schools there are a lot better than here. But, I mean, how are you going to support yourself and everything? I’m sorry to sound like my parents, but I guess there are two kinds of people in this world, those who worry and those who just go for it. I’m a worrier.”

  “I’m worried too. I will go back to school. I promised Josephine that I would, but I’d do it, anyway. I still want to go to college if I can find a way to afford it. But I don’t know where I’m going to live or how I’ll pay my bills. Maybe there’ll be a salon that needs a shampoo girl…. God knows I’ve had plenty of experience doing that. Josephine did give me the card of this guy who she said ‘takes in strays,’ which makes me feel like a feral cat or something. But I do plan to call him.”

  “You’ll be fine, I know you will. Like that feral cat, you’ll land on your feet. You’ve got nine lives, and I figure this is just the first one. But I’m going to miss you like crazy. And speaking of worrying, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you. I mean, really.”

  “I know. I made Josephine promise to take care of you, but it’s not like she can follow you around school every day. I really do feel guilty for leaving you, Rufus. I just don’t see that I have a choice.”

  “I guess to be honest there’s a part of me that would like to play on your guilt and try to talk you into staying, but I love you too much to do that. I don’t want you to worry about me, okay? You’re going to have enough stuff to worry about. I’ll be okay. I’m stronger than I look.”

  I squeeze his bicep. “I know you’re strong. And I think you’ve got nine lives too. Vermillion is just the first life you have to pass through before you get to the good stuff.”

  “I hope you’re right. I swear you’re going to make me cry, Syd.”

  “I cried all the way to your house. I feel like Dorothy saying good-bye to the Scarecrow.”