The Lesson

by Welch, Virginia

  As she pulled it from the closet, she silently prayed that Kevin would show up in uniform and leave his civilian clothes at home.

  Chapter Eleven

  The Garage, Boston Avenue, San Jose

  Just as he said, Kevin arrived exactly an hour later. When Gina heard the familiar, tinny sound of his beetle, she hurried to her living room window to see what he was wearing. She was relieved to see him step from the car wearing dress blues. She was about to meet him at the door, but that might make her look eager, so she waited for him to knock. She knew she looked good, and as she opened the door she saw Kevin quickly look at her from head to toe and smile.

  Kevin spoke enthusiastically of Gilbert and Sullivan as they drove the six miles to the Montgomery Theater at the corner of West San Carlos and South Market in San Jose. Gina had no expectations of a comic opera, but he seemed to know all about this one, so she listened politely as he gave her a detailed background of the story. She was just glad to be out of her claustrophobic apartment for the evening, and she liked wearing her blue dress. Kevin wasn’t wearing anything that would cause people to stare, so before long she started to relax.

  Original Joe’s restaurant was only a half mile from the theater so they decided to have dinner there. While they ate “Joe’s Special”—a unique and surprisingly tasty scramble of fresh spinach, eggs, and ground chuck—Kevin entertained her with hilarious stories of sailors who disappeared while their ships were at sea. Gina hadn’t been brought up to make jokes of the tragedies of others (except when the tragedies involved her sisters) and was privately aghast at his accounts. But Kevin always turned tragedy into grand comedy. She felt guilty about laughing so hard at his riotous jokes but she couldn’t help it.

  “So what happened to them?” Gina asked.

  “Well, no one knows for sure, but often they were unpopular, noxious types anyway, so you can pretty much figure it out. It was commonly assumed that some of their fellow sailors thought they made better fish food than cabin mates. Especially if they snored.”

  “They wouldn’t really throw someone overboard just for snoring, would they?” said Gina, horrified. It was hard to tell when Kevin was serious or just teasing.

  “Well, let’s just say that certain guys, if they slept at all, found it more healthful to sleep on their backs.” He paused and smiled. “With their eyes open.”

  “You don’t know anyone who’s done that, thrown someone overboard, do you?”

  “No,” said Kevin, “but I know lots of puny guys who have used the threat of it as leverage with big bullies. The Davy Jones’ Locker defense. Very effective. To be honest, I’ve thought of using it myself a few times.”

  After dinner they walked to Montgomery Theater to watch the show, a silly story marked, in Gina’s interpretation, by a lot of hand wringing and shouting. It was only nine o’clock when they emerged from the lobby, passing through Spanish arches under the red tile roof of the 1930s theater to the sidewalk in front. The evening air was clear and balmy, and though the sun had set completely, the evening didn’t seem finished yet. Gina wondered what they could do to kill some more time on this pretty evening. She didn’t want to go back to her silent, empty apartment. Then Kevin spoke.

  “I want to show you something, a surprise.” He motioned for her to come with him as they walked the two blocks to his beetle.

  “What is it?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, smiling. He seemed to take great pleasure in his little secret. “It’s close. We’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

  They drove southeast on South Market Street toward West San Carlos. They turned right on San Carlos and then soon turned right again onto Boston Avenue. Gina had spent little of her growing up years in this part of San Jose and didn’t know where she was, but Kevin seemed right at home. And he was correct: it took only about six minutes before he turned into the driveway of a very small parcel of property, a little one-story house with a one-car-wide driveway to the right. The modest 1920s cracker box appeared well kept and homey, the kind elderly widows live in with their overfed cats. Its wood siding was painted a tired gray. It had a small front porch with a wood lattice to the left for privacy. To the left and right of the central front door were single windows. At the end of the driveway was a maintained but weathered, single-car, unpainted wood garage. Both structures were dark. Apparently whoever lived in the little house had gone to bed.

  Kevin parked the beetle in front of the garage and turned off the engine. Towering deciduous trees that had not yet shed their leaves blocked most of the thin glow of streetlight. The darkness pressed into the beetle. Kevin reached for a flashlight he kept between the seats.

  “What is this?” said Gina.

  “You’ll see,” he said again, and then he opened his door.

  Kevin walked around to her side of the beetle and helped her out. But this time she didn’t quickly let go of his hand after exiting because it was so dark. He led her confidently to a side door at the end of the garage farthest from his beetle and facing the backyard. He pulled a key from his pocket and let them both in. Inside the garage was even darker than the yard because the ancient wood structure had only one small window not far from the door. For once Gina was glad to be standing so close to Kevin. He told her to stand still a moment—which he needn’t have bothered to do because her feet were frozen to the floor in that pitch black room—while he searched for the pull chain. A few seconds later Gina heard a scratchy sound, and then a single bare bulb came to life above their heads, casting its ghostly yellow pall on the two of them.

  Even with the light on, the dingy little room remained in shadows. The bulb glowed weakly, so that all four corners loomed dark and menacing. Gina looked all around in wonderment. It was obvious that someone, likely two people, lived in this dreary little garage. Directly across from the side entry door that they had stepped through was a lumpy, low-to-the-ground, twin-size bed. Cater corner from that bed was another twin-size bed, equally humble. Matching dull brown sleeping bags stretched out flat on both beds, the side zippers completely fastened and the bag openings concealed by pillows. Likely to keep things from crawling inside, thought Gina. The crude wood shelves along the walls held all sorts of oddments, mostly folded clothes, books, a man’s hat, men’s shoes, and the like. Above the first bed she noticed a smoker’s pipe and a can of tobacco. That explained the rank stench of pipe smoke that permeated the room. Every surface was covered with something, mostly books, and there were piles of items on the gray cement floor, neatly pushed against the walls. Gina got the feeling that the piles were a permanent form of storage. Though nothing was exactly dirty, everything was drab and dusty, including a few mismatched throw rugs that had been thrown haphazardly over the concrete floor. It was like being inside the basement of a turn-of-the-century house, but drier. Gina clutched her purse tightly and kept her arms near her body so that she wouldn’t brush up against anything that moved of its own power, especially if it moved on more than two feet.

  She was surprised at how tiny the room was. The outside of the garage had looked to be long enough to house a car and store household items, but it appeared half that size on the inside. Then Gina noticed that someone had constructed a crude wall in the center of the garage, which broke up the interior space into two small rooms. At the head of the second bed was an opening to the second room. She walked over to it and put her head through the dark doorway. She saw an old kitchenette, which was even darker than the first room because the single bulb didn’t shine back there. The kitchenette clearly hadn’t been used in a long time. It was filled with storage items, mostly junk. The counters and floor were covered with boxes; other forgotten items of daily living were stacked on top of them. It was too small even for a two-person table, and its narrow aisle too cluttered for a person to enter. The sink was filled with old books. A dusty, ancient curtain covered one small window.

  “Kevin, what is this place?” Gina said as she pulled her head back into the first room. Kevi
n had been standing there silently, watching her. She got the feeling he was anxious to see her response.

  “I live here. That’s my dad’s bed,” he said, pointing toward the first one across from the door, where the pipe and tobacco can lay on the little shelf above it. “He’s away this weekend, visiting his girlfriend. And that’s my bed,” he said, pointing to the other.

  “You LIVE here?” She was incredulous. “I thought you said you shared an apartment with your dad.”

  “I did, but that was before, when I was in high school. That’s farther down Boston.” He pointed north, toward the backyard. “My dad wanted a cheaper place to live, so after I joined the Navy and shipped out, he moved in here.”

  “But where do you cook? Where’s the bathroom?” She couldn’t imagine that anyone could call this dreary garage “home.”

  “We don’t cook. The water in the kitchenette was turned off a long time ago. And besides, we prefer to eat out. We use the bathroom on the back porch of Hazel’s house,” he said, motioning toward the little house on the property. “It has a shower too. My dad rents from her. She’s a widow and the money helps her out. We like it and it’s comfortable. Cheap too. What do you think?”

  What did she think? She thought it was awful! It was dark, dreary, and cramped. It had no insulation like a proper house, and Gina could already feel the crawling things and hear the skittering things that lurked, she imagined, under the beds and in every dark corner. Kevin and his dad had to cross the yard, winter or summer, day or night, to use the toilet or take a shower and there was no place to make coffee. But Kevin seemed proud of his garage-home. It was obvious to her that he had brought her here to impress her, so her instantaneous response was alarm: she didn’t want her horror and revulsion to show. She didn’t know how to answer. She was aghast at the awfulness of that place, but worse, she was embarrassed for Kevin. He had no idea how turned off she was by the place he called home. If he knew what she was thinking he would be mortified. She couldn’t let on how upset she was. She willed herself to calm down and not let her face reveal what she was really thinking.

  “It’s small, but some people might call it cozy,” was the best she could manage. She continued to grip her purse in front of her like a shield, standing motionless so as not to disturb any critter that might be lurking, just as terrified and motionless as she was, in one of the shadowy corners.

  She was still trying to process the fact that this sweet boy lived in this hovel when he stepped close to her, intimately close, and looked into her eyes. She could smell the manly scent of his cologne and the military smell of wool cloth. Funny, it had never occurred to her that he wore cologne. It seemed incongruent that a guy who wore such quirky street clothes would care about smelling sexy. Though he was close enough to kiss her, she didn’t step backwards; his home might have been a house of horrors but, other than his clothes, there was nothing scary about Kevin. Neither was there anything in his aura to make her feel conscious of his being a man and her being a woman and all the sexual awareness that usually entails. She felt nothing.

  She was acutely conscious, however, that it was not like that for him.

  She waited. She could tell he wanted to say something. He reached up with his hand to grasp hers, and as he did, she knew intuitively that this was a critical, even passionate scene for him. Obviously he had planned it. She held her breath so she could focus. She refused to take his hand; instead she grasped her purse-shield ever tighter. This was his moment. If she gave her hand to him, she would enter into that moment, and she couldn’t do that. So she kept both hands tightly on her purse, pretending that she didn’t realize he was trying to take her hand. Surely he must sense her refusal, but strangely he was not deterred. Finally, his eyes still fixed on hers, he spoke.

  “Gina,” he said, “Do you know that you’re exactly the type of girl I’ve always hoped to marry?”

  Now Gina was more than a little upset. She was overwhelmed with discomfort. Her tongue seemed thick in her mouth. She couldn’t speak. She was very sorry she had agreed to go out with him tonight. What had she gotten herself into? This charming but artless boy had bared his heart to her, but all she felt was embarrassment for him and revulsion at this dump that, for reasons she didn’t understand, he wanted to show off to her. She was too overcome to respond, and even if she could bring herself to speak, she knew there was no good reply to such a confession. As she looked into his clear and innocent, steel-gray eyes, she felt as though she were looking into his very soul. She was unable to return his tender feeling, and knowing that she was the focus of it gave her pain.

  “You’re sweet, Kevin,” she choked out. “And I enjoy your company. But when you talk like that it really upsets me. I don’t feel that way about you. Please don’t talk like that.”

  Kevin said nothing, just continued to look into her eyes. What did she see there? It was hard to tell. She remembered looking into Michael’s eyes, many times, and seeing distinctively male longings. Kevin, she had learned, was quite normal in that regard, but tonight was different. She saw affection without guile. She also saw great calm, though she wondered if it was a facade. He had rehearsed tonight, she sensed it, and she had let him down. The deflation in the room was palpable. No matter what was said next by either of them, it was bound to be awkward. She shouldn’t have come out with him tonight. She shouldn’t have come.

  “It’s late, Kevin. I have to get home. Can we go now?”

  Kevin nodded, but still he said nothing. He was so normally talkative and light; surely she had broken his heart and to save face he was holding his tongue. Her painful words hung in the air between them. She could feel them. They continued to echo in her head as he helped her out the door of the garage. He left the bare bulb burning to make it easier for them to exit. The ride back to Santa Clara was unusually quiet, but thankfully, it was also short.

  She already had her apartment door key in her hand by the time they reached the curb in front of her place. She didn’t wait for him to open her car door as she usually did. She told him she didn’t need an escort to her door, said a proper but quick thank-you for the dinner and the show, flung open the passenger door, and hurried up the walkway. She could hear Kevin exiting the beetle behind her to escort her just the same. Hurriedly she fumbled with the door lock on her dark front stoop, and finally, unlocking the knob, she entered her apartment, shutting the door behind her, pretending she did not hear him coming up the walk. She didn’t even think to be jumpy about entering her apartment alone tonight.

  Some things were more disturbing than the dark.

  #

  Gina changed into a nightie and settled into bed with a book. She needed a distraction from the events of the evening. Books always did that for her. Tonight’s true crime thriller recounted the story of a young co-ed who had gone missing after hiking alone in the Rockies. A pair of hikers had found her blackened, charred body smoldering at a remote camp site.

  “Hiking alone. Tch, tch. Even a Brownie knows to take a buddy. Stupid girl.”

  The phone in the living room rang, breaking the late night stillness of her tiny apartment. Reluctantly she pulled back the covers, exposing her bare legs to the chilly night air. The air in the living room was even chillier.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Gina. I hope it’s not too late to call.”

  Gina signed a big sigh. Kevin was so impossible. What could she say that would be appropriate to this moment after he’d practically proposed to her on their first real date? He was so clueless. Following her around and mooning over her like that. He was throwing himself at her and was too inexperienced to understand why it bothered her so much. She wouldn’t even try to explain.

  “Where are you, Kevin?”

  “In Concord. At a pay phone near the ship.”

  “It’s Saturday. I thought you’d be at your dad’s.”

  “I can’t. I have watch at zero dark thirty,” said Kevin.

  “Which means?”

/>   “Pacing back and forth on a freezing, dark deck like a duck in a shooting gallery from midnight to four, interrupted only by a plain box lunch delivered at two containing a cold bologna sandwich, an apple, and a cookie.”

  “You drove all the way to San Jose from Concord to take me to Montgomery Theater, only to drive all the way back to the ship to stand watch?” said Gina.

  “I had to stay up anyway to stand watch.”

  “It’s late, Kevin.” Her weary voice reflected the late hour.

  “I know. But I heard some news from the ship when I got back tonight. I wanted to tell you.”

  “Oh?”

  “Some guy got back about an hour before I did. He was really wasted. He injured himself coming aboard.”

  “Oh no. What happened?” Gina had a disturbing vision of the young man falling over the side of the metal gangway, smacking his head on it as he went down, then landing unconscious with an ominous splash in the cold, dark water many feet below.

  “He fell through a screen on an upper deck,” said Kevin.

  Gina was stricken. She didn’t like to think that some poor young sailor had foolishly maimed or injured himself just because of a few drinks—well, maybe more than a few. She’d seen Navy ships up close at Norfolk Naval Air Station with her family as a child. Upper decks could be twenty to thirty feet above water; aircraft carrier upper decks could be twice that. It must be bad or Kevin wouldn’t bother to call with the news.

  “Was he injured bad?” she asked.

  “No, not bad. Just strained himself.”