She tries to imagine her mother looking worried and calling “Bunny!” in a scared way. But her mother would have to lean her head out the window and nobody would hear her above the Broadway traffic. Bunny tilts her head now, trying to direct the stream of water running down her cheek into her mouth. If only she had a cup. Bunny had volunteered to make breakfast this morning because it was her mother’s birthday. That was how everything started. Bunny had a present for her mother. She had made it herself, an embroidered jacket, and it had her mother’s name, Bernice, and also Bunny’s and Merle’s and flowers entwining everything. Bunny had thought about Merle when she made it; that was why it was so good, unicorns and sunbursts and rainbows and shooting stars. It used to be Merle’s, but Merle hadn’t finished embroidering it. So it was from both of them in a way. But Bunny didn’t give it to her. Mook had come into the kitchen and Momma had put the unopened present back on the table while she jumped up. “Look who’s here!” And it turned out Mook was about to install wall-to-wall carpeting for Momma and air-conditioning and they were going to clear out Merle’s room and Bunny said, “But where will she stay when she comes home?” Momma stopped smiling. “Jesus Christ, Bunny,” she had whispered and then gone into her room and closed the door. Mook had followed her, and after a while music came drifting out and Bunny knew they’d be in there for hours.
Then it was like God sent a spotlight down and it made a big circle around her feet like a clown in the circus and the idea came into her head to run away. She didn’t make any noise except that she was crying like an idiot for no reason and then she calmed down. She made baloney sandwiches. She packed her knapsack with a box of Mallomars and the sandwiches. She took the money out of the desk and she took all the laundry quarters. That was for making calls from the road if she needed to. Then she looked around and it seemed as if she’d never even lived there and so Bunny just started emptying stuff on the floor. Sugar and flour and coffee and a whole box of rice and then a can of old chocolate syrup on top of that. It scared her, but once she had started it was hard to stop. She ripped open TV dinners and frozen peas and dumped them too. She unrolled all the toilet-paper rolls and spread them over the living room and kitchen. It was a mess. Then she stole the hash brownies. Bunny’s mother would freak when she saw the kitchen but what she’d miss most were the brownies.
Bunny starts to giggle but stops because it sounds so noisy in the woods. Nothing else is making a sound except water dripping from the leaves. She wishes she had a cigarette. And it’s nice how fresh the woods smell but there isn’t anyplace to sit. Bunny thinks there is a gas station a little way back where Gary stopped for gas and she got out to pee. If the bathroom door isn’t locked she could spend the night in there. Then tomorrow figure out what next. She doesn’t really have a plan. For a terrible second she doesn’t know which direction she came from but then remembers. Left. Bunny still feels like something might be watching her but nothing is. Those are stumps and shadows and bushes. If she were home there would be sirens and horns honking and music in the hotel down the block. Bunny thinks for moment about her bed but then dismisses the thought. She doesn’t want to go back. She is on her way.
THE DOOR ISN’T locked. It sticks but she gives a hard push. That is a good omen, and she goes inside and takes a long drink of water from the tap without turning the light on. Then she stands up straight, sighs, and wipes her chin on the back of her hand. Stepping back outside she can see a light is still on in the office, and the man is still there, his feet propped on the desk. As she stands there watching he stretches and yawns and looks at his watch. He takes one foot off the desk and then the other and after a second he stands up. She sees him light a cigarette (Bunny wishes she had a cigarette) then he puts on a jacket that is hanging off the back of the chair. He looks around, turns off all but one little light, and locks the gas station door behind him. Bunny is crouched behind a bush. He is humming something. Bunny hopes he doesn’t check everything before he takes off. He doesn’t; he gets in his car and he drives away. For just a second Bunny sort of misses him.
Bunny waits until she has counted to fifty. Then she stands up, takes her tarp off, and shakes it before stepping back inside the bathroom. It takes her a while to remember the light switch is a string hanging down. She doesn’t want to leave the light on too long, but she needs to make sure the bathroom floor is okay, nothing disgusting anywhere before she settles down.
There is a lock on the door, a hook and eye, and she hooks it behind her. Some water has leaked under the door from the rain. Muddy footprints surround the sink, the toilet. There are a few paper towels on the back of the toilet but mostly it is that hot-air dryer that you’re supposed to do your hands on. She could use it to dry out her ciggybutts if she had any. But even then she doesn’t have matches. She should have stolen Gary’s lighter. It was lying on the dashboard, she stared at it the whole time he was doing himself. Spanking his monkey, ha ha. Bunny shakes her head. There is her lipstick heart on the mirror that she drew there hours ago. Was it hours ago? Has anybody been in here since then?
She bends over the sink and takes another drink of water and then she rubs her finger over her teeth. Somebody else must have been here because there are two long brown hairs in the sink. Bunny rinses them down the drain. She takes her eyeliner out of a pocket in her knapsack and does her lower lid first, then her upper, then frowns and touches up her eyebrows a little. Bunny’s eyebrows aren’t any good. They don’t arch and you can hardly see them. What she wants is to have eyebrows that look like a wolf, or some other kind of wild animal. Her eyes are boring and her hair is boring and her nose is too big and she wants to get it fixed sometime and she has a little tiny mouth. Well, not tiny, but she really does need lipstick or she is just so washed out. She frowns at her reflection in the mirror. She needs to get some waterproof mascara and some waterproof eyeliner too. Maybe blue. She looks better with eye makeup. Gary wouldn’t have done anything if she’d looked older. Bunny looks twenty when she is fixed up. Although she is fourteen she is quite mature.
Now Bunny looks at the floor carefully. Then she wets some paper towels and wipes up everything she can see. A few hairs. She takes off her sneakers and lays them on the back of the toilet and she rinses her feet with warm water and soap and dries them with toilet paper. Finally she takes the tarp and shakes it out the door again, turning off the light in case somebody drives by. She is wearing the jacket she didn’t give her mother. It is beautiful, if she does say so herself. She has been working on it almost since Merle left. Bunny frowns, digs the point of the scissors into her fingers again. Her brain has that feeling where you think it’s a puddle but instead you slip on ice. She takes her jacket off and hangs it carefully over a hook on the back of the door. She takes her jeans off too, and holds the cuffs under the hot-air blower and after a while they feel dry and she puts them back on again.
It is hard to fall asleep. Bunny sits with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out in front of her, her feet braced against the pedestal of the sink. If only she had a cigarette. She gets up to drink from the sink again; the water is wavy like a little piece of string. Then she uses the toilet and feels better. She digs around in her knapsack, hoping she’d stuck her toothbrush and toothpaste in by accident and finds a lighter she didn’t know she had. So she sits up for a while, flicking the lighter on and off, watching the shadows on the bathroom walls. Whenever she hears a rustling noise she flicks the lighter on. But it is just the wind outside blowing leaves against the door. Bunny gets up again to make sure the door is locked. Tomorrow she will find a drugstore and buy a toothbrush and toothpaste and some gum. She wonders what they said when they saw the mess. She wonders if her mother called the police.
Mook is such a jerk. He acts like the king of the world. Anytime she might be watching her favorite show he will switch to the ball game as if she weren’t even there first. “Hey, I was watching something,” she had protested the other night and he’d said, “Put a lid on
it, Bunny,” without even looking at her. She’d wanted to get up off the couch and go to her room but she’d have had to walk right past him. Then her mother had come in the room and had sat on Mook’s lap. Bunny hated it when she did things like that. Couldn’t she act more private?
Bunny holds the lighter on for a while until it begins to flicker. Just before she turns it out something catches her eye under the sink, a silvery button. She reaches for it, then puts it deep in the pocket of her jeans. Maybe this means Merlie is waiting for her. It is very exciting to have this thought and for a while it is even harder to fall asleep. Maybe Merle has left a trail of bread crumbs for Bunny to follow. She has to keep her eyes open for any sign.
2
THERE IS NO window in the bathroom but sunlight slides under the door. Bunny is so hungry when she wakes up that she eats a whole brownie. She knows it is a terrible idea, but maybe a whole brownie is better than a half. Maybe a whole brownie will plow through her bad thoughts and come out the other side like a truck zooming through a paper sign. Anyway, there isn’t anything else. She’ll get the munchies but she has plenty of money to buy food when she gets somewhere. She wonders where the nearest town is. If she starts to freak she will just dig the scissors into her palm until it passes. She scratched her initials into her forearm last month. It didn’t even hurt. In fact it felt good. She opens the bathroom door and sees it is a pretty day although she doesn’t know what time it is. She closes the door fast. A man is striding toward the bathroom. She checks her image in the mirror.
Bang bang bang. A man is pounding on the door and hollering, “Get the hell out of there! Who’s in there!”
“Nobody,” says Bunny. She pushes her hair back from her face and refastens the barrette. She rinses her mouth quickly to make sure there’s no chocolate on her teeth. Yelling makes her nervous. She has to get calm.
“Where’s your car at,” the man continues, still yelling, as if he hasn’t heard Bunny at all. “I don’t see no vehicle. This restroom is for patrons only. Just like a restaurant. I won’t have no no-good punks living it up in there. Now you get on out before I call the police. I reckon you’ve had plenty of time to do whatever you’re doing. Now get out!” Bang bang.
Bunny opens the door half an inch. There are big circles under her eyes from the mascara but she left them there because they look sophisticated. “I got a flat tire,” she says.
“What are you doing in there?” asks the man, his voice softer. “You got a flat?”
Bunny nods, wipes a strand of hair out of the corner of her mouth.
“Where’s your vehicle?” The man is squinting at her.
“It’s a bike.”
“Talk to me,” says the man. He is wearing a blue shirt and the name over his pocket says Earl. Bunny has opened the door another inch. “Maybe I can give you a hand. Where’s your bike at?”
“In the woods,” says Bunny.
“Stop by the office,” says the man. “I’ll see what I can do for you.”
“Okay,” says Bunny. “You got any cigarettes?”
Earl shakes his head in disbelief and reaches into his shirt pocket. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and shakes four into his hand, gives them to her. “You shouldn’t smoke,” he says. His fingers are warm and Bunny wishes he were her grandfather or something. She is always getting these wishes that come out of nowhere. “Oh, I know,” says Bunny. “Neither should you.”
The first drag always makes her want to puke, always makes her feel anxious; in fact, the whole first cigarette makes her feels sick and horrible. That is why she smokes it as fast as she can to get to the second, which is never as bad. Then by the third it doesn’t bother her at all. There is a technique to everything. Thank goodness she didn’t use up all the fuel in her lighter last night. She remembers the button and reaches down in her jeans pocket. It is still there. She didn’t dream it.
Bunny folds up her tarp and sticks it in her knapsack. Ditto her jacket. She puts her sneakers back on and they feel cool and nice. It’s going to be pretty hot today— already the sun is scorching. She doesn’t have to clean up because she didn’t make a mess. She doesn’t wipe her heart off the mirror; she draws an arrow going through it and the words Thank You. She writes it with her lipstick. Then she opens the door and steps outside. The man is in the office and he isn’t looking her way. He is talking on the phone. She feels mean not saying good-bye because he was nice, but she needs to get going. There is a sign that says NEW HOPE 14 MILES.
AFTER SHE HAS been walking a while Bunny comes to three houses on the right side of the road. They look like three little turned off television sets, each with a big gray picture window in front. Right in front of the first one is a lot of stuff on the lawn, and the words GARAGE SALE TODAY are painted on cardboard and nailed to a tree. There are a bunch of dirty kids on tricycles riding in a circle, jingling their little bells. One of the kids yells, “Hey! Customer!” and they all stop to look at her and then start riding around again.
Bunny lights her last cigarette and she sucks in her stomach. She glances at the lawn with what she hopes is a sophisticated expression and something catches her eye, which is—this is so wierd—a scarf just like Merle’s, red with white fringe on it. She walks over casually, as if she isn’t really interested. But her heart is pounding. She picks it up and presses it to her face, wondering if it will smell like her sister. Merle wore patchouli oil. You could smell it a mile away.
“You want it?” A woman’s voice. Bunny looks up and sees someone standing on the cement steps of the porch. An American flag hangs off a pole there, kind of tattered at the bottom. “Two fifty.” Bunny reaches into her pocket and withdraws ten quarters.
“Okay,” she says. She walks over to the porch and climbs two sagging steps to hand the woman her money.
“What you going to do with it? It’s July.” The woman narrows her eyes as if she could see right through Bunny’s skin into her brain. This makes Bunny’s scalp tickle.
“Yeah,” says Bunny. She rolls the scarf up neatly and puts it in her knapsack. Then Bunny frowns again, and that shiny blank comes into her head. Like somebody put a steel plate in there and she can’t think for a second. But it gets better. Bunny wishes Merlie would write, but of course you can never tell what a person might be busy doing and not find time.
“You interested in anything else?” asks the woman.
“I’m just looking.” Bunny coughs and takes another drag of her cigarette. She touches an old-fashioned record player.
“You interested in music?” the woman asks.
“Kind of,” says Bunny, feeling warm all of a sudden. “My sister is.”
“Last year I sold a lot of dance shoes,” says the woman. “All colors. Does your sister dance?”
“She used to,” says Bunny.
“Is that the truth.”
“How much for the bicycle?” asks Bunny. Something in the woman’s voice makes her uneasy. She is standing next to an old blue Schwinn. It is rusty but the tires are strong and the seat looks okay. She experiments with the kickstand. Now that she’s standing so close she realizes the woman smells like syrup. Maybe Merle bought the shoes.
“Fifteen,” says the woman, wiping the back of her stringy neck with a white handkerchief.
Bunny turns her back to the woman and carefully peels a ten and a five off Mook’s neatly wrapped bundle of bills. She hands them to the woman.
The woman eyes Bunny’s backpack. “You’re not from around here, are you? You camping somewhere?”
“Not exactly,” says Bunny, her stomach rumbling.
“Don’t suppose anybody ever called it pretty around here.” She looks at the woods and then back at Bunny. “You had breakfast? Hungry?”
Bunny grips the handlebars tightly. The woman has such a friendly look. The kids are still yelling in the front on the gravel driveway. There are a bunch of straggly begonias in pots on the porch railing. “No,” says Bunny, “not really.”
“Do you
like flapjacks?”
“Well, yes.” A small brown dog comes snooping around and sniffs Bunny’s left sneaker. “Hi, boy,” she says, reaching down to touch its ears.
“I got some nice batter inside. You come on in with me. Now don’t you argue, I don’t take no for an answer. You can ask any one of the kids out there.” She points to the driveway. “Rennie!” she yells. “You get up on the porch now and be ready to make change.” A tall blond boy separates himself from the swarm and lopes toward the porch. He doesn’t do more than glance at Bunny. He has blond eyebrows even, Bunny notices. She follows the woman into the house.
The front room is dark and smells like wet dog fur. There are only two windows. There’s a big television with a broken antenna made of coat hangers on top and an ice cream sandwich wrapper sitting in an ashtray. There is a sofa with a blanket thrown over and the carpet is brown shag. The walls don’t have any pictures except a framed painting of a big ocean wave the color of a sliced cucumber. A stack of magazines sits on an old beat-up coffee table in front of the sofa, and there is a fake green leather recliner that seems to be stuck in the recline mode. The living room makes Bunny feel sad in the pit of her stomach.
Herb's Pajamas Page 9