Hollywood and Maine

by Allison Whittenberg

  When I got home I asked Ma, “How come you never told me about the bomb?”

  “Charmaine, what are you talking about?” she asked me, and promptly put me to work. Before I knew it, I was working the rolling pin. She said we were having apple sour cream pie, which sounded way complicated. Luckily, all I had to do was the shell.

  I pinched the dough around the pan to make a high crust. “Do you know about gamma rays?”

  “Child, I wish you’d stop talking about that around this food. You’re liable to contaminate the whole kitchen.”

  Her comment really got me imagining life in a bomb shelter. The movie said to be sure to have a wide assortment of canned foods on hand. With my luck, the can opener would probably break the first day. Even if it didn’t, life would be so monotonous. I could picture Ma pacing and wringing her hands, slowly going stir-crazy after being robbed of her favorite hobby: cooking every day. And it’s not like canned foods even come in a wide array. Any candied yams? Any black-eyed peas? Probably we’d have lousy tomato soup seven days week.

  Of course, you shouldn’t be picky at the end of the world. When the earth was beset by Armageddon, your perspective would naturally adjust.

  And then there’s also freeze-dried food, which wasn’t mentioned in the movie. Horace told me that during basic training he was given MREs (Meals Ready to Eat). He said they came in plastic sacks and featured food that all he had to do was add water to (hot, preferably, but cold would do) and stir. Still, this sounded so gross. Can you imagine dry lumps that you wet into beef stew and flakes that turned into applesauce? For beverages, there was instant coffee or a cherry drink that stained your mouth an unnatural bright red color and made you look like a vampire.

  The next day in chemistry class, nuclear destruction was still the topic, and the fallout continued. Initially, Mr. Mirabelle was able to get some questions on topics other than race. Someone asked, “How many people can fit in a bomb shelter?” That was the premise that had launched at least a thousand sci-fi stories, where the bad guy kicked people out, complaining that there wasn’t enough air to hold everyone. How cruel to be thrown out and have the door slammed behind you. I know if my daddy were running a bomb shelter, he’d never do anything like that. In fact, he’d leave the door propped open, to help out any stragglers.

  Mr. Mirabelle was happy to tell us about carbon monoxide (bad) and carbon dioxide (good), but then someone else raised his hand and we were back to talking about the lack of inclusion.

  Finally, Mr. Mirabelle said the chances of a bomb striking were remote. “Nuclear annihilation was more of a possibility in October of 1962,” he explained. “Back then we were in the throes of the Cold War. It was John F. Kennedy versus Nikita Khrushchev.”

  “Which one won?” someone in the back asked.

  After class, by my locker, I felt someone tug my arm. I turned and beheld the megawatt smile of Demetrius McGee. He said, “Charmaine, you can come to my bomb shelter anytime.”

  I was broiled. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about, what with my uncle in jail!

  I’d thought Demetrius was low before, when he wanted me to do his homework. This term, he wanted to use me all over again—only this time it was to make his girlfriend jealous.

  Dinah loomed in the background.

  I took a deep breath and delivered what I hoped would be my farewell address to him. “I’m not going to be a part of your ploy to spice things up between you and Dinah. There was a time, not so long ago, that I was hungry for any morsel of attention you felt like tossing my way. But Demetrius, I mean this sincerely: If the end of the world ever happened and my choice was your bomb shelter or doom, I’d rather glow in the dark.”

  twenty-five

  I stayed up until my eyes felt sandy, aimlessly paging through the movie star book, wondering what was on the hit parade that night.

  But there was no show. Uncle E had been gone almost two weeks now, and with the silence, all I could do was strain my memory muscles. I strained so much, I was surprised I didn’t get a hernia in my head.

  Then it came. A musical dusting at first, it became as bright as stars and moved in sequence with the slow-moving branches of the tree that stood to the right of the house. The cynical side of me concluded it was probably best not to get too used to people. Nothing in life was certain, and all you were really left with was an image or a melody, a memory of what had been. But at least, I knew that Uncle E’s voice and guitar playing were real and not some staged act. I placed the movie star book to the side and took out a letter that I had smuggled from Uncle E’s room. I’d been rereading it since my uncle had been gone.

  Hi, Uppercase E,

  Hope you are well. I’m back home since the day finally came (I’d thought I’d be pregnant forever). I’m sure you’ve heard all this but he’s seven pounds, nine ounces and that’s perfect according to my medical books. He’s adorable to look at, and thanks to our big brother he has two names. Peyton said just calling him Tracy would confuse people. I don’t think my son looks like a girl baby at all, and as you can see from the enclosed photo he’s bald. (Doesn’t his picture make you smile? It certainly has that effect on me.) But Peyton got his way and he’s named John, after Pop Pop. Peyton has been such a help to me these past few months, him and Lela Mae (what a nice lady). I wouldn’t have been able to finish school without them. Speaking of school, are you still taking that composition class? I’m sure as smart as you are, you’re breezing through it. I read about a guy who went all through college, then got his law degree behind bars. You don’t have to go that far but whatever you can get done while you’re there will definitely help. I know there will be a lot out here waiting for you. I’m taking Tracy John for his second outside walk, so we can drop this in the box. Be forewarned, I’m going to be off for the next five weeks, so you’ll be hearing a lot from me.

  Love,

  Karyn and Tracy John (four days old!)

  The next morning I woke up super-early so I could catch Daddy before he left for work.

  “I’ve decided against showbiz, Daddy. You’re right, that agency is pretty fishy. But even so, I don’t want to be on the cover of some dumb magazine.”

  “But that’s what you wanted.”

  “I thought so too, but now I don’t. Is that okay?”

  “Sure, as long as you’re sure about it, Charmaine. You know, there are other places that’d be more legit.”

  “Skip it. Hollywood’s not me. I’m of the people.” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks again for offering to pay for the lessons.”

  With that done, I went back upstairs, as I still had over an hour before I usually left for school.

  No sooner had I shut my eyes than I heard Tracy John say, “So I guess I won’t get my ten bikes.”

  I sat up in bed. I was the biggest eavesdropper in the house, but he was a close second. “I thought you wanted twenty bikes.”

  “You told me not to be greedy,” he said. “Are you really going to give up on modeling forever and ever?”

  I nodded. “I think I want to do other things with my life.”

  “Me too. That’s why I’ve decided not to play football.”

  I put my hand to his head. “Are you feeling all right?” I asked him.

  “I mean just play football. I want to play football and baseball.”

  There was a hunger that burned in his penny-colored eyes as he said it. But it wasn’t a hunger for fame or glory. He wanted personal satisfaction. “I want to hit a home run like my mommy did. I want to hit the ball so it goes over the fence.”

  twenty-six

  By now we had settled into a routine. (1) I’d go to meet Tracy John at the end of his practice, (2) he’d write a few finishing touches to the letter, (3) we’d both haul our behinds over to the Dardon post office, (4) Tracy John would do his ritual over the letter before releasing it, (5) he and I would leisurely walk home.

  But Wednesday put an end to all that. As I opened the door to 614 Dardo
n Avenue, I heard two voices inside, one soft and Southern (Ma, obviously) and the other deeper and with melodic undertones (Uncle E!).

  Seeing was believing. As we stepped inside, we both goggled at his lean frame and those sad eyes, which lifted when he saw us.

  “Uncle E!” Tracy John rushed up to him in one of his tackles. It was like water rushing against rock.

  Triple awwwww. If only cameras had been rolling right then, this heartwarming scene could have been sent to the evening news to melt away all the usual doom-and-gloom reportage.

  I stood a little back from the fanfare, glad on the inside.

  “We just sent you a letter,” Tracy John told him.

  “Well, I better get on back there, then,” Uncle E joked.

  I looked over at Ma and saw her eyes well up. She could never hold her tears. As the reunion wore on, Uncle E kissed Tracy John on his forehead and Ma on the cheek and they all joined in a group hug. I wanted to get in on the act but held back. Uncle E caught me standing off to the side, and telepathically he seemed to say everything to me all at once. I guess I had done a lousy job all along hiding my mistrust of him, never joining in with his songs and even going so far as to ease out of a room when I found him in it. I guess that was pretty petty of me. Now that all the dust had settled and he was home free, I’d be a total hypocrite if I hugged all over him, trying to make out like I’d been in his corner all the while.

  “Come on over here, Tall Girl,” Uncle E said.

  Who could refuse such an invitation? Certainly not me. I threw my arms out wide and included myself in the warmth of our family’s huddle.

  Though it had come clear to me that I would never make it in the world of glamour and high fashion, I found out Uncle E had been a model—a model prisoner. After only serving a sliver of his sentence, he’d been let out for good behavior.

  On Sunday Reverend Clee gave a service in his honor. All the focus was on Uncle E, as if he were a celebrity. Everyone ate it up—this story of redemption.

  “I think you will agree, brothers and sisters, that this young man holding back that gorgeous tenor from us for so long—that’s the crime,” the rev said.

  Uncle E led us into the anthem “Lift Ev’ry Voice,” and it was official: With his gift of pitch and smooth vocal flexibility, he was Dardon’s own first man of song.

  Afterwards, Mrs. Langley leaned over to me and complimented, “Your uncle is such a great singer. I wonder if he could win a contest.”

  “I don’t know about that,” I said. “But he for sure could win an ex-contest.”

  That earned Ma’s frown.

  We all moved downstairs for more celebration. We had red punch and cake, yellow on the inside and chocolate on the outside. That left me with mixed emotions. Did one have to go to jail to get a standing O? Or was all this about their discovery of his vast musical talents? What would their reaction to me be if I came back from the big house inhaling and exhaling into a tuba?

  Uncle E even had a few ladies talking to him that day. Idabelle Ellis, with her big Hershey Bar—colored eyes. Clara Boyle, who worked for Bell Telephone Company and lived with her widowed father. And Bernice Jones, with her swaying walk.

  This movie was writing itself right before my eyes. I knew exactly where he was headed. Picnics in the park. Long strolls on Penn’s Landing. Maybe even marital bliss.

  Well, at least he’d be happy from now on.

  twenty-seven

  Spring raking was different from autumn raking. Live things like worms, both pink and slate gray, crawled around. The dirt was rich and black, not brown. The shaggy, soft grass had yield to it.

  I had come out to tell Tracy John and Leo that supper was in fifteen minutes. Before I was able to, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my skinny ex-paramour, wearing a grin wider than a crocodile’s, sandwiched between my best friends Millicent and Cissy. All parties had their heads back, laughing. Their coats were open because, after all, it was late March.

  Millicent lived on Orchard Avenue and Cissy’s house was way past Church Lane. Since when did they ever come this way unless they were coming to see me? They ambled on down Dardon Avenue, not even bothering to look toward my house. My eyes strained at this sight; my breathing became shorter and shallower until I felt myself surrendering to the ground. My legs kicked out, and I heard someone scream “Maine!” but it was too late. I was down for the count.

  Seconds before my eyes opened and my senses were gathered, I lingered in this state of unconsciousness. Then all of a sudden, I got drenched.

  “I’ll get another bucket to dump on her,” I heard Tracy John say.

  I opened my eyes and held out both hands. “Wait, I’m up. I’m up.”

  Ma had come out and she, Tracy John, and Leo formed a small circle around me. Leo pulled me up to my feet, and they all rushed me inside and laid me down on the living room sofa and fanned me. I was there into the evening.

  Time wore on, and I edged out of my soupiness: brain waves fine, oxygen flow okey-dokey. No sooner had I gotten to my feet than Leo’s voice rang out. “Charmaine’s up!”

  “And walking!” Tracy John shouted.

  “It’s a miracle!” Leo hollered.

  “All right, boys.” Daddy, who was right behind them, cleared them away. “Give her space to breathe.

  “What brought this on?” Daddy pressed. “What happened?”

  I couldn’t tell Daddy about what had really caused my spell.

  “Maybe she has high blood pressure,” Tracy John supposed aloud, once again the junior MD.

  “I think she was frightened by a trash can,” Leo suggested, snickering.

  What compassion, what sensitivity.

  “This is not a laughing matter, Leo,” Daddy said gravely.

  “I feel better now,” I said.

  Daddy braced my shoulders. “Now, just stay still. Stay still and rest.”

  The next day, Daddy kept me home from school for monitoring. The extra hours in bed made my Afro mash down almost beyond recognition. I was combing it out around four when my visitors arrived.

  “Cissy and Millicent are here to see you,” Tracy John told me.

  “I don’t want to talk to them.” I waved my hand. “Please tell them to leave.”

  From the hallway, I heard him ignoring my request. “Come right this way,” he said.

  When Millicent and Cissy entered the room, I couldn’t even look in their direction. I could feel their eyes crawling on me.

  “You look fine,” Cissy said.

  “I’m not fine. I’m under observation.”

  “Psychiatric?” Millicent asked.

  I gave a fake laugh.

  “When are you coming back to school?” Millicent asked.

  I turned to them. “What difference does that make to you?”

  “I guess eight years of friendship means nothing to you,” Cissy answered.

  “You’ve got the whole thing backwards, Cissy. My friendship means nothing to either of you,” I said.

  “Your friendship meant a lot to us. You’re the one who never has any time for us,” Cissy said.

  “That’s not true. I always asked you along. You always said no.”

  “We didn’t want to be—” Millicent began.

  “And don’t start that third-wheel business. I have never tried to exclude you. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I saw you with Raymond.”

  “So?” Millicent asked.

  “You aren’t going to try to deny that?”

  “Why should we?” Cissy asked.

  “So you admit you are going out with him?”

  “How could both of us be going out with him?” Cissy asked.

  “Yeah, and besides, we would never go out with someone you used to go out with.”

  “Then what were you doing with him? And walking in front of my house, no less.”

  “Do you own Dardon Avenue?” Millicent asked.

  “Yeah, Maine, you sound really paranoid. There was a truck blocking Church
Lane, that’s why we were on ‘your’ street. But yes, we did go over Raymond’s house the other day,” Cissy said.

  “Aha!” I not only sprang up, but I pointed. “But all we did was look at Hollywood books,” Millicent said.

  “Is that some kind of code?”

  Millicent rolled her eyes. “You’ve got everything all wrong. All he ever talks about is you; Raymond is hopelessly taken by you.”

  “And we didn’t stop spending time with you. You stopped spending time with us,” Cissy said once again.

  They both turned and stomped out. No sooner were they gone than Leo’s head appeared at the doorjamb.

  “That went well,” he said.

  I threw a pillow at him. Of course, I missed.

  twenty-eight

  Time expands and contracts, even in sleep. Before dawn, I had the strangest dream. I somehow felt as if I were in a bed of small snakes. They felt like slime. They slithered all over my limbs and torso, and they were trying to get to my face, up my nose, and in my ears, but I kept vigilant. I swatted wildly. It was a battle royal, with me twisting and turning.

  And then I woke up and saw Tracy John dangling a worm over me.

  I screamed, and he took off running. I put on my robe and chased after him, but by the time I got downstairs, he was already outside by Daddy’s station wagon.

  He waved at me, and I shook my fist at him. Then he leaned over to Leo, who was standing by the car, no doubt telling him what he’d done. Soon both heads were bobbing with laughter. Daddy and Uncle E were steadily loading up the car.

  I snapped my fingers. That was right, this was the day they were supposed to go fishing.

  I marched back into the house, passing Ma, who was carrying brown paper bags.

  “Here are the sandwiches. I put in a plain cheese sandwich for Raymond,” she said.