Seven
Mary & Green Geneseo
June 16, 1998
Mary had promised to be at the hospital at five with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. It was now almost six. It wasn’t so much the lateness that bothered Green, but that he couldn’t complain to anyone about it. Complaining made him feel better, and what he really wanted to do right at this minute was run at the mouth to someone, the nurse most likely, since she was around. He could write a note. But then she’d have to read it. That had been a disaster this morning, when he’d had the nurse send flowers to the Brazen Bull for Mary. Green couldn’t spell worth a dang, and he hadn’t wanted the nurse to know that because then she’d judge him and he didn’t want to be judged. So he purposely wrote sloppy, hoping the nurse wouldn’t notice that he couldn’t spell. But she couldn’t read what he wrote. And, to make matters worse, he didn’t know the address of the Brazen Bull and had to have the nurse look it up. While she was out of the room, he took his time with the note, trying not to misspell anything. Jesus, it took him like five minutes to write that note. It was bad enough he’d had a stroke. But, then, to have people know that he couldn’t spell. He couldn’t deal with that. Not to mention that writing a note delayed the complaining, and complaining needed to be immediate, a stream of consciousness kind of thing. Green wanted very much to spew a batch of complaints, like, for example, that Mary should be sitting in that chair, the one right over there. And that she should have been here an hour ago—one hour and three minutes ago, according to the clock in the hallway, which he had a view of if he leaned over on his right elbow. She should be feeding him. She should be dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin. She should be holding his hand. She should be talking to him in a gentle, soothing voice, making him feel loved, making him feel wanted, making him feel like he didn’t almost goddamn die on the driveway of some stupid rental house in Peoria goddamn Illinois.
She was probably with some guy. That’s why she was late. Maybe he had his arm draped over her shoulder like some baboon, holding her close like she belonged to him. Maybe they were driving in his car, a Cadillac probably, with the windows down, and she had her head on his shoulder. Maybe right now they were in this guy’s Cadillac, sitting in the drive-through of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. That was his goddamn stinking luck. The one woman he ever loved gets cancer and dies, and two years later, he has a stroke and the woman he married because he couldn’t stand to be alone runs off with a guy who drives a Cadillac. Green wanted to voice these complaints to someone, but couldn’t write that on a goddamn Post-it Note.
It was now 6:07. She was one hour and seven minutes late. He wanted to get out of the hospital. That’s what he really wanted. Get out of here and away from that stupid television that was affixed to the wall and was unwatchable for three or four hours in the afternoon because of the glare, which meant that for three or four hours in the afternoon he had to read, which he didn’t want to do. He hated reading. It was work, and he didn’t want to work, he just wanted to lie in bed and watch reruns of Friends. He liked that show. He liked Joey, though he identified with Ross. He was so nice, like Ross, but he was always getting the shaft, like Ross. No matter what he did, things never went his way. Except for Jane. Things went his way with her. Except for the cancer.
Green wished he had never come to Peoria. He wished he was back in Las Vegas at the hospital where Jane had been treated. He used to visit her every day after he got off work. She had a roommate, a woman named Laura, who also had cancer. Laura had flowers all over the room and cards pinned up on the bulletin board. Green used to bring Jane flowers (and he was the only one who did) and put them in a vase on her nightstand, and each time he walked in with flowers, Jane would smile, even if smiling was the last thing she wanted to do. Luckily, he didn’t have a roommate. That would make it worse—some guy recovering from surgery with his whole family sitting around his bed and flowers all over the place and cards pinned to the bulletin board. Maybe he should have bought more cards for Jane. She only received a couple the whole time she was in the hospital, one from her sister who lived in New Mexico and another from her cousin Becky. Green wished he had a family sitting around his bed and a bunch of flowers. Jane, she would be here, and if he were in Las Vegas, Tim Lee would be here. Jane’s cousin, Becky, would be here, maybe, or at least, she would have sent a card. The only person he knew in Peoria hadn’t shown up with his fried chicken. God he missed Jane.
Out in the hallway, he heard a nurse say, “He’s up.” Then he heard Mary’s voice. “He wanted fried chicken.” She sounded happy. She was happy? “Hey there,” she said, coming into the room.
Green pretended to be watching television, but the set wasn’t on. He’d shut it off when the glare was so bad he couldn’t see the picture.
“You look mad. I’m sorry. I got caught up at work. But I got the chicken like you wanted.” Mary set the bucket down. “You want a leg or a breast?”
Green grunted and picked up the golf pencil and the Post-it Note pad and wrote, Leg.
Mary put a leg on a paper plate. He wrote, Get any rolls?
“I got coleslaw.”
Hate coleslaw.
“Sorry. I didn’t know that. I can go back. You want me to go back?”
Green shook his head no. He took a bite of the chicken. Jane would have known to get rolls, and she would have gotten butter, too.
The nurse walked in. “When you’re done, we need to take your blood pressure. And take these.” She set a pill cup on the nightstand and left the room. Mary peeled a straw out of its paper wrapper and jabbed it into the large soda she’d gotten for them to split. In the hallway, an old woman pushed an old man in a wheelchair. The old man wore the standard-issue purple hospital gown, and the woman had her purse over her shoulder. The guy looked downtrodden, an admittance bracelet around his wrist, his hospital gown riding up showing his pale, hairless leg. This was what he had to look forward to—Mary pushing him in a wheelchair. About six months, maybe a year, in a wheelchair, that’s what the doctor thought, and even after that, he might not ever walk without a walker or cane. It just really depended, the doctor said.
“How’s the chicken?”
Green nodded that it was fine. He wanted to ask Mary where she had been, what she had been doing, why she was late. He had a lot of questions, but he’d have to write them down, and he didn’t feel like doing that. Besides, his fingers were greasy. He picked up a fresh chicken leg Mary had set on his plate and gnawed the meat from the bone.
When they were finished with dinner, Mary cleared away the mess and dumped the bones and soiled napkins into the garbage can in the bathroom while Green licked his fingers. She washed her hands, then wet a washrag and wiped off his hands.
“You need to take those.” She looked at the pills.
Green didn’t move.
“Green, you know what the doctor said.”
He grunted and picked up the pills and popped them in his mouth and looked around for something to drink. Mary handed him the giant soda and he put the straw in his mouth and sucked in some soda.
“That wasn’t so bad was it?”
Green rolled his head away from her and looked out the hospital window. There was a view of the parking lot and beyond the parking lot, a parking garage and beyond that, to the west, the skyline of Peoria.
“What’s the matter with you?”
Green rolled back over and looked at her.
“I told you. I got tied up at work. I wouldn’t lie to you Green. I’m late. I’m sorry. I hurried. You wanted fried chicken. I brought that. It took me some time to find a Kentucky Fried Chicken.”
It occurred to him that he didn’t know anything about her past, except for some guy named Lyle, a guy she married when she was in her thirties, a guy she caught cheating. She made Green promise he’d never cheat on her. He promised. He meant it, too. He wouldn’t cheat on her.
Green picked up his Post-it Note pad and wrote, Take me to Brazen Bull.
&
nbsp; The nurse walked into the room again. “Mr. Geneseo, did you take your medication?”
“He took it,” Mary said.
“If you don’t mind, Mrs. Geneseo, I need to change him.”
“Sure.” Mary stood up.
Green looked away from her and out the window again. He wasn’t sure what going to the Brazen Bull would prove, but he felt like he had to go. At the same time, he was afraid to go, afraid of everyone’s reaction, afraid everyone would laugh at him. Or, if they didn’t laugh, they’d feel sorry for him. He’d see it in their faces. He didn’t want anyone looking at him and feeling sorry for him.
“OK, Mr. Geneseo. I need you to sit up. Can you do that for me?”
With the nurse’s help, Green sat up in his bed. He felt lightheaded, and the sides of his vision were tunneling in on him. He felt like he might pass out. It took a moment, as the nurse got some wet wipes from the container next to the soda, for the dizziness to pass. After it did, Green noticed the nurse was using the wipes to clean him off like he was a baby.
Lijy Waldbeeser & Ellis McMillion Or, the Waldbeeser family extended, the second time
July 10, 1960
Ellis McMillion was waiting in front of the house in his Ford Fairlane, eating an orange, the peels scattered on his lap. His shoes were off and the driver’s seat was reclined. Beside him on the passenger seat were several issues of the Journal Star and a paperback book, How to Improve Your Softball.
Lijy noticed the Fairlane as soon as the cab turned onto the street. She told the driver, an elderly black man wearing jazz sunglasses, not to stop.
He looked at her in the rearview.
“Keep going.” She tightened her grip on the baby. As the cab passed Ellis’s car, she tried to slump down in her seat, but he saw her and started up his car.
“Don’t let that car catch us,” Lijy told the cab driver. “Go, go. Step on it.”
“Lady, this is a residential area.”
“I don’t care. Lose him.”
Rather than speeding up, the driver stopped at the intersection and looked both ways. The pause gave Ellis time to glue his car to the cab’s bumper.
“This boy’s got some sorta fire in his eye. I don’t wanna test’im,” the cab driver said.
“Fine. Pull over.”
The driver pulled to the curb. Ellis jumped out of his car and ran up to the cab and stuck his beady, unwashed face in the rear window.
“That’s my son. I know that’s my son.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I followed you to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me see you. Did you get the teddy bear I sent?”
Lijy wrapped her arms around her son and turned her back on Ellis, hoping he wouldn’t see the baby, hoping he’d get the hint, hoping he’d go away. The cab driver was eyeing her in the rearview mirror. Ellis cupped his face in the window, the oil on his forehead smearing the glass. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me, Lijy.”
She opened the opposite door and slid out.
Ellis hurried around the back of the cab. “Let me hold him.”
“Your hands are dirty. You can’t touch him like that. He doesn’t like that.”
The driver rolled down his window. “Somebody needs to pay me my money.”
Lijy looked at Ellis. He sighed and took out his wallet. The cab driver hopped out and keyed open the trunk and took out two hard-shell suitcases. He then accepted the bills from Ellis, shoving them in his pocket and not asking him if he wanted any change.
“Wait a second. Before you go.” Ellis held out a camera to the driver. “Can you take a picture of us?”
“No pictures, Ellis,” Lijy said. “I don’t want any pictures.”
“One picture. Geez.” He pushed the glasses up on his nose and put his arm around Lijy. The cab driver stared at the camera. “It’s that button there on the top,” Ellis told him. “There. Yeah. That’s it.”
The cab driver put the viewfinder to his eye. “Ya’ll ready.”
“Cheese,” Ellis said.
“Tell your woman to smile, Commander.”
“Lijy, please.”
“The woman’s still not smiling.”
Lijy forced a quick smile. The cab driver snapped the picture, then handed Ellis the camera, hopped back in his cab, and sped off.
Lijy started to walk away, not even bothering with the suitcases on the sidewalk. Ellis picked them up. They were heavy, and he struggled with them. “What the hell do you have in these things?”
She didn’t answer him, walking down the middle of the street holding her son close to her chest. The last person in the entire world she wanted to see was Ellis McMillion. This whole situation felt like something spilled, a mess that kept spreading all over the floor. His tongue had been in her mouth. She’d touched his penis. Actually, she’d done a whole lot more than touch it. She couldn’t believe she’d let him do the things he’d done to her, experimental things, strange things, things that hadn’t felt very good. She had only wanted to get Buddy’s attention, and now she was forced to live this horrible, godforsaken lie. Chic had done the biggest favor anyone had ever done for her. She knew that, and she owed him. A few weeks ago, she had tried to call him, but Diane answered and immediately hung up. She called back. Diane said they must have been disconnected and told her she would go get Chic. Lijy waited. She could hear activity in the background. Someone filled up a glass of water from the tap. The back door slammed. Lijy said hello a few times, but no one picked up. She waited ten minutes before she finally hung up. Poor Chic. He had no idea. She knew what she had done was wrong. And selfish. She needed to thank him. Maybe send him a card. Or maybe put a gift or something in his car. She had so much to do. She had to start getting her life back in order.
When she reached the house, she glanced over her shoulder. Ellis was still halfway down the block, struggling with the suitcases. He would pick them up, take a few hurried steps, set them down, then pick them up again and take a few more hurried steps and set them back down.
Lijy unlocked the front door. Inside, she sat down on the sofa, cradling the baby, and waited. He was coming, and she’d have to deal with him. She started to sing quietly to the baby:Shoo, fly, don’t bother me,
Shoo, fly, don’t bother me,
Shoo, fly, don’t bother me,
Shoo, fly, don’t bother me,
For I belong to somebody.
There was a knock on the door. “Let me in,” Ellis called from outside. “I need to talk to you.”
Lijy opened the door. Ellis used a hanky to dab the sweat on his forehead, then straightened and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “What’s that smell?”
“I don’t smell anything.”
He sniffed at the air and looked at the baby.
Lijy smelled the baby’s bottom. Sure enough, he had pooped. She laid him on the sofa. It was the first diaper she’d changed by herself, and she had some trouble with the safety pins. Ellis hovered behind her, breathing heavily.
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes, of course I know what I’m doing.”
“Here, let me help.”
“Don’t . . . no. Ellis. I don’t need your help.” The baby squirmed, and Ellis tried to muscle his way in, but Lijy elbowed him in the chest.
“Jesus. You don’t have to hit me.”
“I don’t need your help. You’ve already made this difficult. My brother-in-law had to take the rap for this, you know.”
“Your brother-in-law? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
After Lijy got the diaper changed, she picked up the baby and snuggled him close to her chest. “You know, Ellis, if that’s really your real name . . . ”
“It’s my real name.”
“You seduced me that afternoon.”
“I did nothing of the sort. You wanted to give me a massage. You told me to take my shirt off. I thought that was an invitation.”
“I was using you, Ellis. The whole time y
ou were doing that . . . that . . . I didn’t like that, by the way, but that’s beside the point. The point is the whole time you were . . . you know . . . I was thinking about Buddy.”
“Who’s Buddy?”
“My husband.”
“His name is Buddy?”
“Yes. His name is Buddy.”
Ellis smirked.
“What?”
“Don’t you see the irony?”
“His real name is Bascom. Bascom IV.”
Ellis chuckled to himself, then started nodding. Lijy thought he was going to say something, but he just kept nodding.
“Why are you nodding like that?”
“Nice try. Very good, Lijy. Buddy. Bascom IV. That’s a real laugh. You’re making this up. You don’t have a husband.”
“I have a husband.”
“I have been in front of your house for two days, and I have not seen anyone enter or leave this house.”
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