by Lois Walden
I unzip my belly bag. ‘Let me get this one.’
‘Absolutely not. You’re our guest.’ Bill pulls out a wad of bills from his pants pocket.
‘Thanks, Bill.’
‘Thanks, Uncle Bill.’
‘You’re welcome. It was a great evening.’
It wasn’t. But we did get through it.
And now ladies and gentlemen, once again, Ol’ Blue Eyes ‘Fly Me To The Moon’ … I loved that song. I hate it now.
Rear-view Mirror /Good Visibility
’03
Gotta pack. Gotta go to school; last class in Beatrice. Does it have any meaning for Maggie? Does everything have to have meaning? At my age, absolutely! Where is my vanilla incense hiding? Last stick … good packing job. I will never again have a jacuzzi in my living area. I know what they mean by a sunken living room. Where’s my navy blue Gap sock? Maggie must have put it on by mistake. Room smells like sex. Where is Simone? What the fuck am I going to do when I get home? Class. Gotta get to class. Where’s my scarf? There you are. Amazing. After all these years. When did she give you to me? When I wasn’t aware that life was full of endings. You, you are still lovely. Finish packing later. Check out after class. Hope it’s great! Better not set myself up for disappointment. Simone. Talented, sexy Simone. Years. Do we know each other? How will I ever find a way to get back here to see Maggie? … Feel like crying. Leave Dina a message; tell her that I’m coming home. It’s nine thirty a.m. I’ve got five minutes. Sick of the phone.
‘Hello.’ She sounds exasperated.
‘What are you doing home?’ A long pause.
‘I took the day off.’
Try again. ‘Why?’ An even longer pause …
‘I was up all night with Pop. Ralph and I took him to the hospital. He’s fine. He’ll be fine.’
‘What happened?’
‘He fell, lost his balance. He fell in the downstairs bathroom. You do know that he’s no longer sleeping upstairs.’
‘He told me.’
‘He was so happy you called. He cracked one of his bonded teeth, cut his lip, had to have a few stitches, bruised his forehead. He’s very weak from the chemo. He’s getting weaker. It’s so sad.’ She cries. My heart breaks like fine china thrown on a divorcing couple’s kitchen floor. My arteries tighten. The pressure cooker inside my chest blows out steam through my ears, as she continues. ‘Ralph can’t handle it.’
I interrupt. ‘Can you?’
‘Not without you,’ she admits. ‘Are you coming home soon?’
‘That’s why I called. I’ll be home late tonight.’
‘Should I save you some veggies?’
‘Late like one a.m.’
‘I can heat them up tomorrow. You could come over then.’
‘First thing in the afternoon. When is he getting out of the hospital?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘I’ll try to see him over the weekend.’
‘That would be great. Is Simone home yet?’
‘… Dina?’
‘What?’
‘Do you like Simone?’
‘She’s part of the family.’
Wrong answer. ‘Do you like her?’
‘Yes. I do.’
‘Do you think she’s good for me?’
‘Does she make you happy?’ I don’t answer. ‘Does anybody?’
‘Maggie Malone.’
‘You’ve known her four days.’
‘You’re right. But she makes me happy. Simone and I have broken up five times in the last three years … and … I don’t miss her when I’m gone.’
‘Do you miss anybody?’
‘You! I miss you. Even when we’re in the same city, I miss you. You’re my only family. I don’t know what I’d do … if … if …’ The thought of losing Dina takes my breath away.
‘You’re not breathing.’
‘You’re …’ gasp …
‘Eleven, twelve,
Here we go round the mulberry bush …
Here’s sulky Sue
What shall we do?
And when she was bad
She was horrid’
‘Impossible!’
‘What?’
‘Now, she’s mixing and matching.’
‘Well, isn’t she clever.’
‘Thank God you still have a sense of humor.’
‘I love you. Everything’s fine. Go teach your class. Remember, you’re the best. Those kids are lucky to have you.’
‘Can’t wait to see you.’
‘Me too.’
‘Me three. Breeeeeeeeathe. Listen to the wind. Find the crack in the window.’
‘… What window?’
‘If you tell a secret, all of the stars will die because of the moon’s disappointment … The stars protect everyone’s very important secrets.’
‘Say hi to Pop. Tell him I’ll see him when I get home.’
‘That’ll make him very happy. Love you again.’
‘Me too.’
‘Hush-a-bye baby,
Daddy is near.’
‘Leave him alone, Ma. Leave the poor bastard alone. He’ll be with you soon enough. When he arrives, you can even carry him over the threshold. As for now, the guy has quite enough on his plate. Remember what it was like near the end? No? You were too far gone. Natural causes … unnatural causes; A different point of view that leads to the same inevitable outcome.
Why can’t I find that sock!? Where would you be if you were a key? I will not be late. Sit down. Collect yourself. There you are. Thank you. How can I get excited? They’re keys.
I drive that familiar route 77 through our town, turn left at the stop light, past the grocery store. Help Wanted sign in the window. I wonder how much they pay in Beatrice, Nebraska? ‘Hey Ma. You want a job?’ How fast am I driving? No police car behind me? Slow down, girl. Roll down the window. Much better. What a lovely day. Nice breeze.
This parking lot is packed. Fuck it. I’ll park in the wheelchair access space. No one will notice … ‘Hey you! Sorry.’ I never saw that girl before. Must be a nightmare wheeling yourself around; in high school; good for the arms. I hope she has a loving family. The entire world is paralyzed.
Late again. Gotta run. Hey, there’s the vice principal. ‘Hi.’ What is his name?
‘Hello, Ms Greene. It won’t be the same around here without you. The students have given you a rave review.’
‘This is a great school.’
‘We think so. Stop running. Those kids are not going anywhere. When you get there, they’ll be waiting.’
‘I hope so.’ I run up the stairs, turn the corner, enter Willwrite’s room.
The quintessential old maid, bun and all, is seated in Willwrite’s chair. Where is Willwrite? I approach with trepidation. ‘Hi. I’m Loli Greene, the teaching artist. Where’s Mr Willwrite?’
‘How do you do, Ms Greene. I’m Lydia Laws, the substitute teacher. Mr Willwrite is out sick today. Your students are present and accounted for. I sub quite a bit, and I have rarely seen them this well behaved.’
‘I can’t believe that Willwrite has ever missed a class.’
‘He’s had a difficult year. Fortunately, the Mayo Clinic has given him a clean bill of health – good news for all of us. He is Beatrice High School’s best teacher.’
‘I’m so sorry that I didn’t thank him and say goodbye. I’ll drop him a note, leave it with the vice principal.’
‘You can leave it with me. I’ll make sure that he gets it. He has so enjoyed having you in his classroom.’
‘He has?’ How would she know?
‘I’m Mrs Willwrite. Laws is my maiden name, my teaching name. A pleasure to meet you, Ms Greene. If you need me, I’ll be in the teacher’s lounge.’ She exits.
I am delighted that there is a Mrs Willwrite. The Mayo Clinic? Wonder what that’s about? ‘Hello, everybody. Are we ready to bend our little brains today?’
&
nbsp; Listen to the feeble cries. ‘Yes.’
‘I am on my own, so be nice. It’s scary up here without a real teacher.’
Molly is seated in the third row. We acknowledge each other. She is beautiful, like her mother. ‘This is my last day in Mr Willwrite’s room … in your room. You have been very generous. I will never forget this class. Never.’ Don’t get weepy. ‘So, we will do one last ancestor exercise. Wrap up the week with a final process that will hopefully bring our week’s work full circle.’
Crack … pop … crack …
‘W-ho’s chewing gum? Could you curb the cracking? I have never been able to figure out how to do that. How ’bout a lesson after class? … Just kidding.’ I perch on the edge of the desk, look around the room, take them all in, take a deep breath. They are inside my belly.
‘So, the exercise is … how do you create a sense of home? You have recently arrived from the old country. You are a man or a woman, who has traveled thousands of miles, you have arrived in this town, a town that has not yet been named. You are a homesteader. You are living during the period of Willa Cather’s O Pioneers. You have traveled these many miles with two objects, objects that you cherish. They were given to you by … two people … people left behind in the old country. What are these objects? Who gave them to you? What is their meaning? Also, how did you get here? Who are you traveling with? What have you left behind?
‘As you write about your journey, I want you to feel … viscerally, in your body, your bones, your skin, your emotions, your sensations, all that you are; experience the journey; sense all that you have left in order to make a new life for yourself. Why did you leave? What have you lost? What have you gained? As you enter your new world, what does the prairie look like? After such a long and arduous journey, who have you become? What do your objects mean to you now that you are here? Any questions?’ Oh shit! Who is he and what does he want? I could not have been any clearer. Could I? ‘Yes.’
The gum cracker speaks. ‘I don’t … I …’
‘What’s your name?’
‘Bill Carlson.’
‘Nice to meet you, Bill. Could you ease up on the gum?’ Bill spits out his gum, sticks it behind his ear.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘What don’t you get, Bill?’
‘How can we be there when we’re here?’
‘Bill, have you been in my class this week?’
‘No. I was in Omaha on a Christian debate club trip.’
‘So, this is your first day in my class?’ Never fails.
‘It sure is.’
‘May I make a suggestion.’
‘Sure.’
‘Have you read O Pioneers?’
‘It was required reading.’
‘But did you read it?’ He nods yes. ‘What you experience here today is required imagining … You put yourself in those pioneers’ shoes, walk in their weary footsteps, travel their impossible journeys. Imagine that you have traveled from Sweden or Germany or Ireland. Wherever you choose. Imagine that you have arrived here, in your new country, with two precious items. They make you feel as if you have brought the old world with you into your new unknown world. These objects are your talisman, good luck charms. You feel safe, at home wherever you are, as long as they are in your possession. They are as important to your survival as the water you drink and the air that you breathe. What are they? Who gave them to you? Got it?’ If that isn’t clear, I don’t know what is.
‘Does it have to be two people? What if it’s one person who gave you both objects?’
What if I throw this chair at you, Bill? Be nice. He’s trying. He certainly is. ‘However it happens … one, two …’
‘Buckle my shoe.’
‘It doesn’t matter. What matters is the exercise. Do the exercise your own unique way. Just do it.’
The exercise begins. The classroom becomes the setting for the long voyage. The students leave loved ones behind, ride the seas, ride wild horses, boil in the sun, drown in the rain, burn up with fever, lose hope time after time, until finally they arrive in the town that will one day be called ‘Beatrice’. I sense their individual and unique journeys.
Molly does not come up for air. She travels and travels. When she is finished, I will call on her. It is her turn. It is her time. Finally, Molly Malone, you will be heard.
‘Oh yes, one last thing. What do you want these new acquaintances to know about your past. Do you have any secrets to hide? Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.’
‘My name is Molly Malone. I have traveled far. The sea, the sky, the wind, the rain, the moonlight, the sunlight, the land, and all of God’s infinite elements have been my guide … my compass. I was born not that many years ago, but long enough ago to know that Dublin is no longer fair. Famine has ravaged the city. It too has ravaged my family.
‘My mother Maggie is my only surviving family member. She is back home in Dublin, at least she was there when I began my long journey to this foreign land. My father, Michael, died a tragic death. Before my departure, he came down with a wicked fever. His teeth rattled inside his skull from the chill that wore him down to nothing but hot coals and wet rags. The good Lord took him from us. He was a fine bright man.
‘But me, my story, let it be told now. Whoever shall find this journal, if you do so, then I will have been taken back to the soil, become one with the elements that have guided me through this, my life’s journey.
‘I had me a fine husband named John. After we set sail from Dublin, I gave birth to the sweetest infant son. We named him Daniel. My husband died in the bowels of the steamer called The High Seas. He too had a fever, just like my father. His bones came through his skin, caused him the worst kind of pain, before the Lord took him to the mighty heavens.
‘My baby boy is still alive. He is lying on the ground beside me, lying on a piece of cloth that my mother gave me before I left home. She thought the cloth might come in handy. As always, she was right in her thinking. But, my little boy is ill with a blight that eats away at his skin. What is even sadder still, is that my boy has gone blind. He can no longer see the light of day, or the moonlight, or his mother’s eyes.
‘My breasts have dried up. There is no milk inside this hag called mother. I cannot feed my boy. Before too long, he will starve to death. Whether I live or die does not much matter anymore. All that matters is Daniel.
‘I am here in some godforsaken land with no water, no ocean, no water on any side of me, only sky; the biggest sky I have ever seen. Wherever I turn, there is sky and then there is more sky painted in every color of the Lord’s canvas. It has a beauty to it, like the beauty of death after a long struggle.
‘My body is weary, my breath is heavy, my sleep is not what I know sleep to be, but more it is like a waking dream. I am afraid that if I sleep, the night beasts will devour Daniel and me. Maybe that would be for the best. I am not sure whether living like animals is what God had in mind for any of his human creatures. But, I still pray with all my heart to go on. I pray to God. I pray for his help and for his guidance. I pray for the safety of my mother.
‘I pray for my darlin’ departed father, wherever his soul might be. My father, before he passed away, gave me two buttons from his one and only woolen jacket. I promised him that I would sew them on the first dress that I made after I reached my new home in America. That way he would still be part of the fabric of our family in the new world. These buttons are buried within a sack lying on the ground. My Daniel’s head rests on that sack, that sack made from an old burlap potato bag. It is filled with grain and those two buttons. It was sewn by my mother’s hand. This pillow might be the final resting place for the last two generations of our family.
‘I have no secrets to hide, no shameful lies. I am a young woman who has lost more than my share of family, that which matters most to me. I have no friends here. There are those who have been kindly toward me as I have traveled, but in this camp of many cultures, I do n
ot feel safe. It is every man for himself.
‘My child is not a burden to me. However, there are those who feel that he should be left behind. They say, “Let the creatures of the night take care of his suffering. His soul will be set free.” That is what the foreigners say. We are all of us foreigners here. But, I will not abandon my boy. He is my responsibility until death. And I love him dearly.
‘The moon is full tonight. Because of its light, I can see many tiny spring flowers popping their heads up through the tired earth. It’s spring in Dublin. I wish that I were there with my dear mother Maggie. I wonder if she is still selling cockles and mussels. No matter how far away I am from her, I hope she can still feel my love. We will always be together. This I know for sure.
‘As the night creatures howl, I will sleep wakefully, all the time praying for my dear father’s soul, for my mother, my husband, for my sweet child, and even for myself. I do believe that God is with me somewhere here … wherever here is.
From the hand of Molly Malone.’
Molly Malone has been heard. The class is speechless.
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone.
‘Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!’
Crying. Crying.
‘Alive, alive oh!
‘Alive, alive oh! alive, alive oh!’
Crying. Crying.
I drive south on route 77 toward Lincoln airport. As I speed down the highway, I want to make sure that the Malone girls are close behind me. In my rear-view mirror, I catch a glimpse of two heads bobbing up and down. Molly’s head is the less buoyant. But, I notice an animation in her body like I have never seen before. She must be regaling Maggie with tales of her success in English class, and expressing her disappointment at Willwrite’s absence. But, Molly Malone has been accepted by her peers. She is no longer the silent lazy girl in eleventh grade English.
I turn the radio up full tilt boogie, be bop my way toward the rental car return. I am filled with sadness; the tears build up in my right eye. I so do not want to leave. After a few moments of analyzing my feelings, I glance into my side-view mirror. I see a figure sitting in between the Malone girls. There sits my mother. She reads a Mother Goose nursery rhyme book. I wonder which rhymes she has chosen for the girls. What I am seeing is an impossibility. Rub eyes. When I look back again, she is gone.