by Debra Doxer
I often wished that I were a member of his family. They traveled around the country during the summer, camping in the Grand Canyon, driving to Yellowstone National Park. I'd sit in their tasteful living room pouring over colorful photographs of Old Faithful and Mt. Rushmore. My family never went anywhere. Well, we did go to Plimoth Plantation once. But that was only a half hour away so I didn't think it really counted, and after about twenty minutes of examining the blacksmith's shop and old fashioned butter churners, my dad said that he would wait for us in the car.
Seth and I talked about going to Europe together after we graduated from college. Of course we would go to the same school, somewhere in a big city where we would be roommates. Neither one of us knew what we wanted to be exactly, only that we were going to be very rich.
Seth was always the instigator of our experimentations and transgressions. It was his bottle of vodka that we took out to the woods that first time and drank until we puked up our lunches onto the grass. It was his father's Playboys that he brought over to my house and snuck upstairs to my bedroom, ripping out one particularly lewd photo for me to keep under my bed. It was his sister's marijuana that he stole as we shared our first joint one morning before school. She had a fit that afternoon. Luckily, she couldn't tell her parents what had happened.
Our friendship began to sour when Eddie came along. I was completely blindsided at the time. Seth and Eddie began to exclude me from their plans. I would approach them in school, and they would quickly end their conversation when they saw me coming. I became the outsider suddenly and without explanation. I was angry and hurt, and so I withdrew from them, concentrating on my college applications, gradually distancing myself from my connections to South Seaport with the knowledge that I would eventually be leaving for good. I didn't even ask Seth what colleges he was applying to, and I knew without asking that Eddie had no such plans.
I didn't really begin to regret the loss of my best friend until the end of my first year in college. I suppose that's how long it took me to get over my resentment of him and the way he so willingly gave me up when someone better came along. Seth ended up going to school in upstate New York. We talked occasionally, but it just wasn't the same any longer and eventually the telephone calls ended.
When I heard his parents were getting divorced, it was a surprise. They had seemed like the perfect family. But nearly everyone I met in college had parents who were divorced and that fact hardly distinguished a person in any way.
I hadn't intended to call Seth over this Christmas break, but I realized that I was glad to have run into him at the Christmas tree lot. Somewhere, a part of me wanted to get back in touch with him. I should have shut that part down and not doing so turned out to be a terrible mistake.
five
Somewhere in town, Mom had picked up a completely hideous ornament that she totally adored. It was a brown ceramic dog, sitting on its hind legs, holding a gold wrapped, red bowed gift box in its front paws. A metal hook grew up from the top of its head. It was a heavy ornament, and no matter where we attempted to place it, it caused the tree to droop under its weight. I suggested that we put it on the fireplace mantle, but Mom wouldn't hear of it. The rest of the ornaments were your standard green, red and gold shiny balls, glittering snowflakes, and several strings of yellow lights. I finally backed away from the tree frustrated by my unsuccessful attempts to hang the ceramic dog. Mom took it from me and stuck it right in the middle of the tree on the side facing the window so that it would be visible to people passing by on the street. This caused it to tilt so that it nearly leaned against the cold glass. Then she rubbed her hands together and smiled cheerfully, pleased with herself.
"Isn't the tree beautiful, Daniel?" she asked.
"Well, it kind of looks like it’s trying to escape through the window.”
She turned to me, her smile deflating. "I think it looks wonderful."
"It does, Mom, really. It looks great."
She backed up slowly, her eyes reflecting the tree lights. "You must be starving. I'll go start dinner."
We were just polishing off the leftover chicken from last night when Dad came in. He looked tired and the smell of cigarette smoke clung to him.
Mom immediately stood and began to prepare a plate for him in a flustered manner. "George, I wish I had known you'd be home for dinner. I would have made more."
He sat himself down in his usual seat and loosened his tie, wincing as though it were a noose around his neck. "Whatever you've got is fine. You don't have to make a big deal."
After asking me how my day was, he began to shovel huge forkfuls of chicken into his mouth. I studied his rough, calloused hand as it gripped the thin silver fork. His nails needed trimming, dark grime was imbedded underneath them. The familiar navy baseball cap covered his bald spot. He hadn't even bothered to take his coat off.
Exhibiting a tremendous amount of willpower, my mother waited until he was halfway through his meal before asking if he had noticed the tree in the living room. He looked up from his plate and peered over my head.
"You can't see it from here, George. Go and have a look."
He seemed annoyed. "I'd like to finish my dinner first if you don't mind."
But she did mind, very much. I wondered why she even bothered to care what he thought anymore. It saddened me that she did. "Come on, Dad. You could at least take a quick look," I suggested.
He set his fork down on the plate with a clank, pushed his chair back, his face expressionless and trudged into the living room. My mother's eyes followed his progression excitedly. I continued to eat, not bothering to turn around. His voice came bellowing from behind me.
"It's crooked, Maggie! The damn thing is going to fall over and break the window."
I looked up at her, angry with myself for not having learned my lesson by now. Her excited grin crumpled into hurt and resentment. When he came back into the kitchen, Mom stood and threw her napkin down on the table.
"You don't appreciate anything I do. You act like you're living in a hotel, coming and going as you please. I'm sick of it, George. Do you hear me? I can't take this anymore. I just can't. Why did you even bother coming home tonight? Now you've ruined the evening for Daniel. Move the damn tree if you don't like it there. I'm going to bed."
She pushed her chair away and went upstairs. Dad sat silently and finished his dinner. I simply stared at my plate, the familiar knot I felt when they fought forming in my stomach.
"You couldn't have just said that you liked it?" I finally asked.
He picked up his empty plate and brought it over to the sink. "She's not mad about the tree, Daniel."
"Then what is she mad about?"
"It's something between your mother and me,” he answered. Then he left the room.
I looked at the dirty dishes in the sink, the carved up chicken carcass on the table, the crusty pots on the stove, and I thought to hell with it. I didn't come home to clean up after them and listen to them do battle. I grabbed my coat off the living room couch. The car keys were still in the pocket. I could hear them jingling. I stepped out into the cold night, my breath forming frosty white puffs, and I got into the car. For one fleeting moment, I thought I might drive all the way back to school. Instead, I started the motor and sat there waiting for the heat to come up. When I backed out of the driveway, I didn't think I had a specific destination in mind, but after a few minutes I realized that I was steering the car toward Seth's house.
As I slowly pulled up in front of the grey shingled structure, I noticed the driveway was empty, but that several lights were glowing warmly through the drawn curtains. I headed up the walkway wondering if Seth had been sincere when he casually mentioned getting together over the vacation. The knot in my stomach tightened. I didn't quite know why I was there. I wasn't sure if we were really even friends anymore.
When the door opened, he looked at me with surprise. "Dan, hi."
I stood there sheepishly. "I hope I'm not bothering you. I was jus
t driving by and I saw the lights on so..."
"You're not bothering me. My mom went to work, and I was just making myself something to eat. Come on in.”
I followed him inside through the plushly carpeted family room with its long maroon sofa. I walked past the tall bare tree in the window and entered the bright kitchen. Their kitchen was nearly twice the size of ours. On the table were the makings for a sandwich. There was an uncut wedge of orange cheese, two pieces of crinkled aluminum foil which contained heaping piles of bologna and salami, a package of whole wheat bread, and a large jar of spicy mustard. Next to this spread were two empty amber Sam Adams bottles.
"Want one?" he asked when he noticed me eyeing the beer bottles.
"Okay.” I sat down, not taking off my coat, waiting for the chill to wear off. The salty smell of the salami was strong.
Seth had on old faded jeans and a long sleeved, black t-shirt. I was surprised to notice that his once thick curly hair seemed to be thinning on top. When he spotted me looking, he self-consciously ran a hand over his head. Then he began piling slices of meat onto a piece of bread. He asked if I wanted a sandwich, and I declined. As I watched his sandwich grow taller, I finally said, "Sorry about your parents, Seth."
He shrugged. "It's no big deal. It was a long time coming.” Suddenly, he looked up at me smiling. "Hey did you hear? My sister's getting married."
"Wow. Really?”
"Yeah, I guess there really is someone for everyone."
He put the final slice of bread atop his fist size sandwich. I drank from the cold bottle he’d handed me and watched as he brought the sandwich to his open mouth with both hands and took a huge bite from one corner. When he lowered it, there was a dab of yellow on the side of his mouth. As I finished off the beer, the knot in my stomach slowly began to loosen.
Seth chewed noisily and swallowed. He got up and went to the refrigerator for another beer, bringing one back for me also. "So how's college life?" he asked when he was seated again.
"Good, I guess.”
"You must really love it there. You never come home."
"Being there is preferable to being here. I'm only home now by default. Some other plans fell through," I explained.
"Parents still driving you crazy?" he asked knowingly.
It was my turn to shrug.
"Would you believe that my dad has a twenty-eight year old girlfriend? She's hot, too. They’re living together. Got an apartment in Boston. I told him that he'd better not be thinking about having any more kids. Could you imagine?”
I tried to imagine his overweight, balding father with a young, hot girlfriend. It wasn’t easy.
After a pause, with another large bite in one side of his mouth, Seth said, "At least your parents are still together."
"Lucky me," I responded sarcastically.
"See, that's always been your problem, Dan," he said gesturing toward me with his sloppy sandwich. "You’ve never appreciated what you've got. You’re an only child, and your mom dotes on you. My mom's always working or going out with her friends. And remember how my sister used to steal all my stuff and then lie about it? You were spoiled Dan, and you didn't even know it.”
"Spoiled?” That caught my attention. “Are you kidding me?” I looked at him carefully. Did he really believe what he was saying?
Seth swallowed before he answered. “It really used to piss Eddie off.”
“What? You and Eddie talked about this?”
He shrugged offhandedly. “Sometimes. But then you stopped hanging out with us and we found other interests.” He smiled at me, but it wasn’t real. He looked hurt.
“I wasn’t the one who stopped hanging out with you,” I told him. It was hard to understand how his perception of events differed so much from mine.
"Sure you did. Besides, by senior year you were always with your girlfriend. What was her name?"
"Kristen and she had nothing to do with you and me."
"Whatever it was. You just stopped hanging out with us."
I shook my head but I didn’t say anything else. There was no point in arguing with him about events that occurred over a year ago. The truth was that after a couple of uncomfortable incidents, the lack of inclusion was unspoken but mutual and filled with resentment. Seth could not have forgotten that night on the ledge or that afternoon in Eddie's garage with his father.
Seth finished off his sandwich. I turned to look out the large picture window behind the table, but only saw my own reflection staring back at me. I was surprised to find that I was still wearing my coat.
"You should come out with us tomorrow night," he said.
I was confused for a moment when I turned back to him. "Who's us?"
"Eddie and me."
"You still talk to Eddie?"
"Sure, when I come home. He's working over at that garage out on Route 6."
I don't know why I was so shocked to hear this. Just because I had distanced myself from South Seaport didn't mean that life ceased to exist here. Maybe I thought Eddie would be in jail by now. Or that he would have left town to escape his father's fists. "Does he still live at home with his dad?"
"Sometimes, but usually he just sleeps on a couch at the garage."
"Does his father still....I mean is his dad still....”
"I don't know,” he answered, saving me from having to say it out loud. “I don't think so. He's hasn't said anything about it in a long time. Why don't you come out with us?"
I stood up, pushing my sleeve back to examine my watch. It was just past eleven, and I had to work for Professor Sheffield tomorrow. I hesitated answering while Seth watched me expectantly. "Well, I might have to work late...."
"Hey," he said raising his hands in the air, "no one's twisting your arm. Don't sweat it if you don't want to." His expression seemed to say that he had expected me to turn him down.
The truth was, I did want to go. To think that Seth had been hurt by my disappearance from his life was surprising. I had thought he’d written me off, and apparently he felt the same way about me. I still mourned the loss of his friendship. Was it possible that he wasn’t entirely at fault?
I left Seth’s house feeling uneasy. When I returned home, I half expected my mother to be waiting up for me, but the house was dark. After fumbling blindly for several moments, I finally found the keyhole, unlocked the door and stepped inside. Not once could I recall an evening when my mother had not left the outside light on for me. I wondered if something more than the usual was wrong.
six
It never fails to amaze me, the way in which the mind can rationalize even the most glaringly alarming situations and repress something that it just doesn’t want to recognize. There were many things that I should have seen much more clearly during those frigid winter days before Christmas. Had you asked me one week earlier if I ever intended to spend time with Seth Cooper or Eddie McKenna again, my answer would have been a swift negative. It seemed that I was one person at college and another in South Seaport. All the confidence I thought I had developed simply fell away, and the old Dan Hiller re-emerged timidly and about as welcome as an insect infestation. But that is the truth of the matter, which I can see now. At that time, I didn’t have this kind of clarity. Instead, a deluded voice inside me explained that I was simply looking for closure. There was never a definitive ending to my friendship with Seth and Eddie. Spending one evening with them could effectively tie up all the loose ends and sever any regrets I now harbored.
That was what I told myself that night as my head rested against the musty pillow. The acrid scent of mothballs invaded my nostrils, causing a dull headache. How could I have so easily put aside that last afternoon in Eddie's garage? As I mentioned there was no exact point where I can say that our relationship ended. In a small town, you can't help but run into people almost daily, at school, at the market or in the drugstore.
Eddie could be violent. I had seen him mercilessly bloody the face of a freshman who had dared to bump into him in the ha
llway between classes. But if I had to choose one moment where I mentally decided that Eddie was not a person I wished to be around any longer, it would have been that unusually warm and sunny afternoon toward the middle of senior year. It was a day so bright that a record number of car accidents were reported, citing the glare of the sun off the white snow as the cause.
I had only seen Mr. McKenna a few times, and he had always appeared pleasant enough, not at all the monster one might expect. He was hardly ever at home during the few afternoons we spent at Eddie's house. But on this one particular day, he was in the garage, covered in grease, working on his car, his baby, a red Mustang convertible. My family was poor, but Eddie's was one small step away from the welfare system. He and his father lived in a four room house of which only two rooms were actually usable. The other two had leaky roofs. Seth told me that in Eddie's old bedroom, there was a hole in the roof the size of a basketball. The neighbors had apparently gone to the town hall and complained that the McKenna home was causing property values to plummet.
We all walked into the garage that day after school with a pleasant beer buzz on, having spent last period sitting in Eddie's car drinking rather than in gym class. Mr. McKenna was just wiping down a wrench with a grease-stained rag. He smiled when we entered, greeting us happily. I always thought Mr. McKenna looked as though he stepped right out of a fifties movie, like Rebel Without A Cause. He greased his dark, salt and pepper hair back and wore leather jackets. He was sort of wiry and so thin that every muscle and tendon was visible beneath his skin. He was tall, too, about six foot three, but with a bent, hunched over posture. I recall him offering us all a beer and trying to act like one of the guys rather than someone's dad. Seth and I smiled incredulously at each other, quickly accepting his offer, but Eddie declined. It was the first time I had ever seen him turn down a drink.