The Light Years

by Chris Rush

  Dad, on the other hand, had a furtive, impatient look. Sometimes, he glared at me—or offered his just-as-dangerous inscrutable smile. Never a word.

  When Mom announced that she and Dad were headed to Florida, to the penthouse, I knew it was another attempt at Love. Only Danny would join them. Michael, Steven, and I would stay at home. My brothers were thirteen and fourteen, and used to my parents’ sudden getaways.

  “Does she usually get you guys a babysitter?”

  Michael sneered. “We can take care of ourselves.”

  “We haven’t had a babysitter,” Steven said, “since Grandma Loey died.”

  * * *

  THOUGH THE NEW HOUSEKEEPER in red Keds came and went, the three of us were basically alone for a week. My brothers pulled Ore-Ida French fries from the oven and made fake throw-up sounds as I boiled my brown rice. They watched Wide World of Sports at maximum volume. I did consider hating them but felt sorry for them, too. For a while I’d had Donna and Vinnie, Lu and Jingle; my brothers had had nothing but Mom and Dad. Now, we’d all been abandoned.

  As little kids, the three of us had been inseparable. Chris-Mike-Steve: the pirate trio, stealing candy, setting the woods on fire, diving from great heights into shallow water. Best buddies in blood and mud and sugar.

  My pink cape had been the end of all that. Whenever I returned from St. John’s and Star Farms, my brothers had shunned me, taking their cues from Mom and Dad.

  But now, even as they mocked my food and femmy hair, I found them looking at me like they needed me to explain something.

  One night, Michael walked into my room and sat down on the satin duvet.

  “I know what you do in here,” he said.

  I assumed he was going to say jack off, but then he added, “You take drugs.”

  Steven walked in the room now, too. He must have been waiting outside the door. “Did you really try to kill yourself?”

  “No. Who told you that—Mom? I was almost murdered.”

  “Really?” Steven sat beside Michael on the bed.

  Steven was sensitive—and, like me, suggestible, prone to nightmares. I changed the subject back to the initial line of inquiry.

  “Listen, I smoke a little pot. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I’m not talking about pot,” Michael said. “A friend of mine said you sold his brother acid.”

  “A lot of people say you sell it,” Steven chimed in.

  “So what are you guys, narcs now?”

  Fearlessly, Michael opened the closet door. At fourteen, he was already more mannish than I’d ever be. Behind thick glasses, he was muscled and sweaty, with the first smudge of mustache.

  “Get out of there,” I yelled.

  “Is this it?” Michael said, holding up a bottle he’d found under Donna’s abandoned sweaters.

  “Oh my God,” Steven said.

  “What are you gonna do—turn me in to the cops? Or tell Dad? Fine, I’m not planning to stay here that long anyway.”

  They looked at me, baffled. “We just want to try some, Chris.”

  “No way,” I said, taking back the bottle. “Come on, you guys—just go watch TV. Or don’t you have girlfriends or something?”

  “Not at the moment,” Michael said. “We’re dry right now.”

  * * *

  FOR DINNER I made cinnamon bread—from the Ten Talents cookbook.

  “Not bad,” Steven said. “The walnuts are good.”

  “Betty Crocker,” Michael mumbled, replaying one of Dad’s stupid nicknames for me. I watched my brothers eat—slouched in their chairs, food all over.

  “It’s not like a can of beer,” I said.

  “What’s not?”

  “Acid. You don’t just take it for fun.”

  “Someone at school said it was like taking a vacation,” Michael said.

  “Mom and Dad are on vacation,” Steven concurred.

  I asked them if they’d ever gotten stoned.

  “Of course,” Michael said. “We’ve been stealing pot from you for years.”

  Steven laughed. “You never noticed?”

  Michael shoved half a slice of bread into his mouth. “If you don’t give us the acid, we’re just gonna steal it.”

  * * *

  MARCH 19, 1973. Full moon (I’d checked the lunar cycles in The New York Times).

  Sunset on the roof was excellent. I gave Michael a single white tablet, then one to Steven.

  Summoning Valentine, I said, “This is sacrament,” but the words fell flat.

  For some reason, I’d decided not to trip with my brothers. Maybe I wanted to be clearheaded to protect them, or maybe I just wanted to watch the Experiment—get some sense of what it had been like, to drop acid the first time. At least my brothers were pubescent. I’d been the real experiment—the grinning cherub, dosed at twelve.

  I sat with my brothers on an army blanket and smoked a joint, watching the jagged pines fade to black. Not fifteen minutes later, Michael was grimacing.

  Steven pointed to the east. “Uhhh!”

  There was a spark in the trees, a flicker—then slowly a red eye rose from the earth. We were speechless—none of us daring to interrupt the moon.

  My brothers looked strange, their eyes swimming. I didn’t know how to guide them. All my years of tripping, and I had very little wisdom to offer.

  Break through the ego—find the void. I stayed quiet.

  The night was beautiful. Cirrus clouds whipped by, throwing great gobo wings across the moon. Michael stood, his figure floating above the swimming pool, the tennis court. Moonlight shimmered on his glasses; he looked mildly insane.

  “Do you see them?” he said. “Do you see the animals?”

  Steven started giggling. “Yes, yes.”

  I couldn’t see a thing. Without acid, I was an idiot.

  “Michael,” I said. “Steven.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Listen to the animals.”

  I climbed down the ladder and went inside. I heard my brothers above me, laughing and walking on the moon.

  I wrote a letter to Owen. I’ll be there this summer. No matter what.

  24.

  Julie

  A GIRL STARTED FOLLOWING ME around school, always there when I turned a corner or climbed the stairs. Then she was standing beside a tree in front of my house.

  “Who’s that?” Michael said.

  She was pretty as a boy—white skin, black hair, Disney-red lips.

  When I went outside, she adopted a hip-out stance and said, “I need to score. Emogene said talk to you.” Her bold manner was undercut by a rather tremulous voice—like a cartoon bunny rabbit.

  We went to my room and got stoned. “Good stuff, right?”

  “Yeah—but I want acid.”

  I guess word was getting around.

  I sold her a few hits. She came back for more.

  Though beautiful, the girl was odd. One day, she seemed rather distracted. When I asked her what was wrong, she sighed. “I have a head cold with none of the symptoms.”

  She didn’t smile—but her hands moved constantly, nervous as birds.

  * * *

  WE STARTED TRIPPING together—skipping school.

  One day, we ended up back in my room, door locked.

  “Love your décor,” she said, stroking Donna’s pink phone. Then she leaned back on the canopy bed and opened her blouse.

  Her breasts were perfection.

  She kept talking. She asked if I was a virgin.

  “I’m not really sure.” I didn’t know how to explain Owen. “Are you?”

  She blushed. “God, no. Why don’t you kiss me?”

  As the weeks went on, we became more like playmates than lovers. We went about town, holding hands, laughing. We were both sixteen, but at six foot two I towered above her.

  Julie lived in a huge Victorian—immaculate, but without a trace of color. Walking into her house was like traveling from Oz back to Kansas. In the gloom, Julie could only whisper.
>
  Her mother had died when Julie was eight or nine. She now lived with her little sister and her father, who’d been married and divorced numerous times since her mom’s death.

  The day I first went there, the house was empty. The living room was very dark. I said, “Why don’t you open the curtains?”

  “I can’t. The sun hurts my father’s eyes.”

  “But he’s not here.”

  “I’m not allowed—okay? Would you like a glass of juice?”

  I walked with her into the kitchen.

  “I’ll probably move out after my dad gets married again. He’ll marry someone new. He always does.”

  The juice was warm and I asked for some ice.

  “We don’t have ice.”

  I said, “Everyone has ice,” and reached for the freezer door.

  Julie screamed, “No!”

  I pulled back my hand.

  “It’s just…” She sat down at the table and covered her face.

  “What?”

  “It’s just so embarrassing.”

  I told her it couldn’t be any worse than the stuff that happened at my house.

  “I bet your father doesn’t keep his underwear in the freezer.”

  She had me there. I sat down beside her, while Julie explained about her father’s recent speeding ticket. “He told the cop he was having a ‘bathroom emergency,’ but he still got a ticket. So he’s keeping the underwear—as evidence.”

  She stood and opened the freezer. In a large plastic bag was a stiff pair of white briefs, stained and bulging with what appeared to be—“Oh my God, is that…?”

  “Yes, Chris—it’s shit. My father said that because the cop pulled him over, he didn’t make it home in time.”

  She slammed the freezer door shut.

  I asked her how long the “evidence” had been there.

  “Two weeks—and the court date isn’t until next month. I’ll never be able to eat ice cream again.”

  * * *

  AROUND THIS TIME, I also started to hang out with Sean again. His hair was as wild as ever, and I was happy to see him in his harem pants, to see the stack of UFO pamphlets piled up on his desk.

  “So you’re still into this stuff?”

  “Definitely. Gabriel Green’s a genius.”

  “He’s the president of that flying saucer club, right?”

  “Chris—he’s not just president of one club. He’s president of all of them. The Amalgamated Flying Saucer Clubs of America.” Sean was getting very excited. He sat up and grabbed my arm. “I think I might be an Xian.”

  I wondered if it was another word for homosexual.

  “What is that?” I asked.

  “Xians are the people who are able to see the ships. You might be an Xian, too.”

  “Maybe,” I said, handing Sean his package.

  Sean was buying a fair amount of weed. I had an excellent supply of Colombian from Lu and Valentine, through my sister and Vinnie.

  Sean put the package under his bed and said, “Let’s go swimming.”

  It was March. It was raining. I said, “Uh, maybe not the best weather.”

  “I need to swim! Are you coming or not?”

  We hitched over to the beach. I sat on the sand as Sean, a Viking in boxer shorts, fought the dark Atlantic and swam out into the freezing waves. When he emerged from the depths, he was blue—and limping. He’d cut his foot on something. I bandaged the wound with kelp, then put a few strands in his hair. He lay there shivering, a merman washed up from the depths.

  I put my coat around him. It couldn’t have been more than forty-five degrees.

  “You better get dressed. And we should take care of your foot,” I said.

  “Let’s just sit here a little longer, okay?” He stared at the waves, nodding his head, as if to music I couldn’t hear.

  My mom had told me that something had happened to Sean while I was away. Instead of asking him questions, I stayed next to him, tried to keep him warm.

  * * *

  MY PARENTS and Danny arrived one night with their luggage—back from another getaway. Dad and Danny went straight to bed. Mom stayed up, silent, sorting the mail and emptying the dishwasher.

  She broke a bowl and cursed.

  When she saw me standing in the doorway, she jumped. “You scared me! How long have you been standing there?”

  I asked her how her trip was and she said, “Why can’t you and your brothers rinse things before you put them in the dishwasher?”

  I sat at the table, reading one of Gabriel Green’s newsletters as my mother sighed and scraped at plates with her fingernails. Gabriel’s message was reassuring—interplanetary peace. He’d been personally contacted by the aliens and asked to spread the word. He reported back to the Alliance of Planets telepathically.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Gabriel Green.”

  “Who in the world is that?” my mother said.

  I recited the bio at the back of the pamphlet, citing the most impressive bits—about Mr. Green’s runs for U.S. president in 1960 and 1972, and his run for the U.S. Senate, in which he’d received nearly two hundred thousand votes.

  “Really? I don’t remember him. But, you know, your father and I saw a UFO.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes. We were sailing on the bay one night and this thing just zoomed out of nowhere with glowing red lights. Then it stopped over the boat as if to watch us. It was quite remarkable. We weren’t scared a bit.”

  My mother and father—Xians? I was confused—and jealous. I was the one who needed to see a saucer! I went to my room and penned a fan letter to Gabriel Green.

  And then I wrote one to Owen.

  It had been almost four months since I’d left Tucson. At first, Owen and I wrote each other constantly—then the letters trailed off. When I called the Spoon residence, Lily was of no help. “I’m afraid Owen is outside with his father.”

  I kept photos of Owen on my bureau, like holy cards, but made sure to hide them whenever Julie was around.

  * * *

  SPRING CAME, at last.

  On Easter Sunday, my three brothers were dressed like Motown singers in powder-blue suits. Mom permitted me to clash: I wore a striped shirt, striped tie, and striped pants, of various persuasions. Mom was classic in a lavender dress, amethyst jewelry, floppy sunbonnet, and high heels. With her handsome boys, she promenaded down the central aisle of St. Ignatius, removing her praying mantis sunglasses only when we took our front-row seats.

  Dad was an usher at our mass. In gray silk, he passed the basket. I saw him smile at Mom as she dropped in the envelope. (For many years, the Rushes were the number one contributors to St. Ignatius Church.)

  At home, after mass, Mom put on her Italian records—music that let us know that happiness might be risked. She babied the ham and cha-cha’d about the kitchen. There was legal chocolate everywhere, in plastic baskets and crystal bowls.

  I took off my suit, put on tight jeans and a flowered blouson. Dad strolled in, saying nothing as he walked by. We’re cool, I thought, as I wandered into the dining room to fuss with the table settings and daffodils.

  Finally, at four—late as usual—Donna called out from the back door: “We’re here!”

  I ran to her and the baby. We hugged like long-lost friends. My mother, an only child, could never understand why I loved Donna so much. “You just saw each other two weeks ago. What’s the big deal?”

  On Vinnie’s shoulder was a tremendous diaper bag. With a nod, he asked if he could put it in my room.

  “Sure, man, go ahead.”

  I followed him and locked the door behind us.

  Vinnie plopped down the heavy bag and unzipped it. “It’s all here,” he said. “The hash and the Colombian, same as last time. There’s acid, too, but only about five hundred hits.”

  “Okay.” I put the various packages in my closet.

  “So total of three thousand,” Vinnie said. “And you still owe us a thousan
d from last month. You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

  I nodded and handed him an envelope full of cash.

  “God bless you, man. Your sister and I really appreciate you selling this. It makes a difference.”

  I nodded, pleased that I could help.

  When someone knocked at the door, I quickly shut the closet.

  But it was only Donna and the baby. “I need a quick toke. Mom is trying to convince me I should golf.”

  When Vinnie tried to take Jelissa, my sister snapped. “Just leave her—she’s fine. Why are you always grabbing her?” She lit a joint and took a deep, life-saving drag.

  * * *

  AT DINNER, Mom asked me to say grace, like in the old days.

  I was stoned and felt inspired.

  “Bless us, O Lord, for these Thy gifts,” I began. “For these yams and the ham. For the milk and the mushed potatoes.”

  Steven giggled.

  I looked at him and smiled. “And I would also thank God for giving me the opportunity to share sacrament with my brothers.”

  Now I directed my beatific gaze to my mother. “Lastly, I would like to thank Jesus for sending the UFOs who bring a message of—”

  “What did you say?” my father interrupted. “Did you take the Lord’s name in vain?”

  “Charlie,” my mother said, “I don’t think that’s what—”

  “Norma, shut up.”

  “Dad,” I ventured calmly. “I’m just trying to celebrate the relationship between Jesus and other spiritual forces.” I looked at Donna for support, but she shook her head: Don’t.

  “I want you to leave this table,” Dad said. He picked up the electric carving knife, his hands trembling.

  “Dad—”

  “No. You have been a pain in my ass for years, little woman.”

  “Both of you, stop!” Mother hissed. “We are not doing this again! Everyone is hungry and waiting. Charlie—carve.”

  My father’s face was purple as he sliced the ham.

  * * *

  I FUCKED JULIE for the first time on my parents’ bed.