“Hi, Daddy,” I have to say. Dad turns toward the kitchen. It’s awful to see him, for a split second, have to think who I am. So deep he has been into Jack Sun Run. If he stood somewhere on a beach, I’d be just a small wave around his ankles.
“I told Sun he couldn’t go out,” Mom says. “I told him he will just make problems for that girl.”
Mom hits Dad like a wave behind his back.
“We kept the food warm for you again,” I say.
“Arilla, you should be in bed by now,” he says. “Did you do your homework? You should be sleeping.”
“I told him he’d better start studying and leave the night alone,” Mom says.
Wave upon wave, we hit him. Sun is easing toward the front door.
“You let him have his way,” Mom says, “and that just makes it worse.”
“Makes what worse?” I ask. “You want me to fix your plate, Dad?”
Sun is out the door.
“You see?” Mom says. “How am I ever going to teach him anything when you let him always have his way?”
“It’s nothing to think about,” Dad says. So handsome in a dark suit. Hair falling so soft on his collar. “You can’t tie him down,” Dad says. “You can’t keep his spirit in forever.”
Dad, hi, talk to me.
Dad is slowly moving around the table now, as if he’s trying to find his place. Never does he take his hands from his pockets. You can see them knotted up, holding keys and change. He gives Mom a nice kiss, but she won’t be taken in.
“You know there’s curfew not two hours away,” Mom says. “You know he’ll never get back in time.”
“He has my permission,” Dad says.
“He’s supposed to be with an adult if he’s out after curfew, you know that. He’s no different from any other teenager. He has to obey the rules.”
Dad says, “The trouble is, my kids are different. They will always be different.” A great sadness.
He is talking about me, too. Talking about me, different.
“Daddy, are you hungry? I’ll get the food from the oven.”
He touches my shoulder, meaning for me to be still.
Mom says, “If he breaks the curfew, he’s going to get the girl in deep with her father.”
“Diavolad won’t even know she’s out of the house,” Dad says.
“How can you be in favor of that? That’s even worse,” Mom says. “Supposing they get caught? What then? You are going to have to do the apologizing. I wash my hands of it.” Mom sighs. “It all will get worse just because you never want to say no to him.”
“Nobody’s going to catch the Sun,” Dad says.
“Oh, stop it, please. He’s not a god. He’s just a kid.”
Dad says, smiling at Mom, “You know better, but you won’t admit it.”
Where am I? What about me?
“I know the law polices that skating rink. And eleven o’clock comes, all kids under age better be out of there, too.”
I could tell Mom a thing or two about eleven o’clock. I could tell her how you manage the law.
“Sun has strong medicine,” Dad says, touching Mom’s face. That does it. She looks like she is going to punch him, but she won’t.
“Arilla,” she says, “go to bed. You’ll be tired in the morning.”
“I have homework.” I haven’t even seen my dad. Now I lean on his shoulder. “I have to write this paragraph.” About my first friend from the time I was very little. “We are doing our autobiographies.”
Dad pats my arm. But he is speechless now. No words for me.
A great sadness stalking the table.
“All right, then,” Mom says. “You take twenty minutes to do your homework and five or ten to get your nightclothes on. Then, into bed. Stony will tuck you in.”
I don’t need tucking in, but I don’t say it. I like my dad to come into my room, pull the covers tight around my neck, brush my hair back. Like putting parentheses around The End of the Day. Putting a period after the parentheses. I never feel the day is done unless Dad comes to make sure I am ready for sleep, parentheses, period.
“Go on now,” Dad says. Lifts his head away from me. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says. He knows how I feel. “You go on, study. I’ll be up there in a while.”
So they make me leave. “Good night, all.” Sounding lighthearted.
“Good night, Arilla.”
“Good night, baby.”
I go on up to my room. Turn on the light. Hope to goodness I can do a paragraph when I’m so tired out. I stack all my books on the floor and open my notebook on the bed. Kneel on the floor. Not so comfortable, but better than falling asleep in a chair. I have this really neat notebook. It’s heavy cardboard front and back, and covered with real blue-jeans material, and with a blue-jeans pocket on the front cover where to keep pencils and pens. Jack Sun got me the notebopk. Every fall he goes with me for my school supplies. Mom makes him, so I won’t buy out the store, she says. Nobody trusts me to do anything well. We, Sun and me, came back with all my supplies except for a notebook.
“She wants only the one notebook,” Sun told Mom, “And it costs six dollars.”
“No notebook can cost six dollars.”
“Well, the one she’s heart-set-on is six dollars.”
“You mean, six dollars empty, with nothing in it, not even a slip of paper?”
“Six dollars empty,” Sun says.
“Never,” Mom told him.
“She wants it,” Sun says. “I’ll chip in a dollar fifty, that’s all I can spare.”
“How come you are so willing to be nice to your sister?” Mom, teasing him.
“Moon never wants anything,” Jack Sun tells her. “But this, she wants.”
Mom thought about it awhile and finally gave in. Giving Sun a good, hard look to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t: the notebook was six dollars. We went on back downtown and got it.
I knew he wasn’t being nice to me or anything. Without me saying too much about it, Sun knew I wanted that notebook. If he’d a wanted something, he’d a got it. Somehow. So he was just doing for me what he would a done for himself.
He organized the notebook for me. Putting in all the separate subject dividers and writing in the subject names on the little tabs, so I could keep my homework in each subject section. And put in all the three-ring, lined notebook paper. Glad to have him do it because I would’ve just messed it all up. Brother is the best organizer of anything. His mind is like that, ready to put things together before you know you need them put together. Mom says, “I’m out of potatoes for potato salad!” Or, “Darn it, I forgot to buy eggs.” Even before she stops talking, Sun is going down the street to get what she needs.
Well, I know I’m thinking about Jack Sun Run so’s I don’t have to think about what I’m going to write for my autobiography. ’Course, the best way to write anything is just to start writing. Mrs. Donley of Language Arts says I am most energetic and full of fresh imagining when it comes to some written word.
Keep talking in my head so I won’t think what to write. I only had one friend when I was little, is what breaks in on my head talking. So I write it down:
I only had one friend when I was little. And he was an old man. To tell you what he looked like is something I can’t remember too well. But I think that to the small child I was, he looked like a tall tree standing in shadow.
Nice. Now make a paragraph. Don’t think.
His name was Mr. James.
That’s a lie.
He rode a horse that was Appaloosa, just like the kind I have myself. He rode all across this country with his wife.
Me tightening inside. Feeling peculiar, the way I always will when trying too hard to remember. Maybe I was never a child. I mean, I was born grown-up but never even knew it. The grown up just waiting to get out. And is still waiting.
Her name was Mrs. Susanne James.
That’s part lie. I don’t want to tell their names without telling who they we
re. I’m not sure who they were. Don’t think about it. Just write. How James-Face was my friend.
Mr. James took care of me while my mom worked.
Another lie, but write it anyway.
He was a neighbor and too old to have a job. Mr. James would take me riding on his horse and show me some streams and the fishes. And show me flowers and good plants for healing, along the water.
End it. It’s long enough. Don’t tell anything about your feelings. Me. I’m talking to me, telling me to be careful.
Mr. James was a great baby-sitter. I remember we used to gather apples right off the trees in the woods. And cook fishes right out of the stream. Mr. James would make a fire and we’d cook the fishes wrapped in special leaves. I don’t know the names of the leaves. And we would bake apples between two hot rocks shaped like bowls. Or we would bake fishes between two clumps of clay, like you make a mold for something. And the clay would get hard with heat. We would let the clay get cool and then we’d open it. You can believe that was the best hot fish ever I did taste, too.
Oh, there’s more, if I could just think the good things and not feel so bad inside. But end it now.
I never had another friend like Mr. James. And I’II never forget him.
The End.
Good enough for Donley. She’ll write on my paper, something like “Arilla, tell us more! A.” We will have weeks and weeks of writing our autobiographies. How am I going to keep from telling about this family? It’ll take so much work, making it all up. But don’t think about it. Get to bed.
Put my notebook on the pile of books. Kick off my shoes and pull on my riding boots again. And putting my nightgown on over my clothes. Roll up my sleeves so’s they won’t show under the three-quarter arms of my blue nightgown. I’ll get too hot in all these clothes, keeping the blanket up to my neck. But I’m used to it. Maybe I won’t need to stay dressed. Might not even wake up. Anyhow, I’ll be ready.
Close the light and leave the door open a crack. Get in and pull the covers up. I’m full of little jumps of being so deep of tiredness. But I sink on down. The last thing I know is of keeping covers up over me. And I’m gone to sleep.
8
Saying that kids can sleep the sleep of the blessed. Mom. Saying that sleep is the best medicine for healing hurts. And she is right on. I come to in the dark, knowing that Dad has come and gone. I am wide awake at once. Haven’t a hurt anywhere in me, not even my leg muscles. I’ve slept as easy as a little babe, if only for three hours or so. I figure the time is around twelve-thirty. What I need is my own clock with some numbers lit in the dark. I just stay relaxed in bed and wait.
Jack Sun says the best way for to wake someone is not to hit the bedroom window.
He says, “If you use small stones against the glass, you’ll never hear them. And if you use larger stones, you’ll perchance to crack the glass.”
What he does is to take a clump of dirt, like a clod, and throw it at the house right next to the window. It’s enough of a different sound so’s to wake you up. That’s what must’ve wakened me. I wait and, sure enough, there comes the soft thud so like throwing a rubber boot on a wood floor.
I get up easy, not too slow, not too fast. Throw off my nightgown. Cross the room and out my door. Not opening the door real wide, but just so to get me through.
Jack Sun has warned me — walk down any hall and down any stairs like you walking it in daytime, when you are full of strength but walking lightly. He says if you tiptoe or move real slowly, someone is bound to hear you. Because tiptoeing is never natural. Walking slow, afraid to be heard and of every sound, is not natural. Says nobody is going to wake up when you move the way you always move.
Know he’s right, too. But it sure is hard not to slow down and get up on tip-toe. I force myself and I don’t slow down. Take the hall like going to the bathroom. Steady and easy. I get down the stairs, making whatever little noises are natural.
Comes the hard part. Getting the front door open without clicking the lock. Sun says any house-owner is primed to hear locks clicking.
But Sun is there. He has used a plastic ID card on the slip lock. I see the doorknob turn. The door slides open an inch as he holds the knob just so and holds back the clicking. All for me to do is slip off the night chain, and that isn’t easy. Sun has to close the door near to the whole way. My hands shake and the chain will clink if I’m not careful. But I catch hold of me inside and calm me down. I’m out the door.
The night air, so crisp. No stars above looking like little gems. Cloudy, and no moon tonight. A dark night and I’m going to be cold. But they’ve brought an extra sweater for me. She puts it into my hands. I can hardly see her. Angel Diavolad. Dark Angel. I know she must be smiling at me like she’s a big sister. Big brother and big sister.
We start out at once. Everyone staying quiet, staying in shadows. I never even wonder anymore where they go and what they do before coming to get me. I just am full of going.
We know how to move in the dark. Jack Sun and Angel lead the way. He has her by the hand and she has my hand. That way, if we have to hide, I’ll know it in a moment. Sun will jerk her by the arm, and they won’t need to pull me down. But we have no trouble. We stay along treelines, off the sidewalks and streets. It’s not far. We will not have to cross the highway up ahead, near the rink. We will use the way of the Little Egypt River that runs the boundary of this town. Really it’s not a river. More like a wide stream; this time of year, cold and not near as much water as in the spring. We’ll walk under the highway. We’ll go through this viaduct, along the edge of it, where there is no water rising. And we are all of us so full of nerve at being in the night and going. We are safe and unseen, with Sun leading.
What it is. Is a truce between Sun and me. I know just the way he has made it out, that the world he makes up for himself he fits for-real in his mind. Sun is that much superstitious to need me along with them.
The day is his. But the night belongs to me. He is the sun. But I am the moon child. I give him the safe passage through darkness and whatever danger. He’ll never want me dead in this time. So it is a truce, with him letting Angel hold my good-luck hand.
I’m catching a scent of Angel’s perfume as we go. It’s so sweet but not strong. I’m scenting it and noticing how the rink sound changes as we get closer. We are very close now. We’ve been on a curve, all the way down from the house to the Little Egypt. We walk along the sides of property, behind bushes and hedges and in between trees. Only coming out for an instant where properties end and we must go out on the sidewalk to get around fences. Just need to step around a fence and into the next property. We can stay hidden when there is a front-yard hedge. Where we have to cross side streets, we have to turn the corner, still hidden, and go down the block. Find enough darkness to cross in the open. We do that, coming up the other side, turning the corner, and hidden, walking steady, with a careful eye for cops, the way Sun knows how to do it. Sun says the police stay in close to business buildings, or out in the south plat where all the money is in big houses with alarms. Sun knows the rounds of the police as well as they do. One time we had to stand like trees for maybe ten seconds while this squad car slipped along the side street. We watched it go, a lone policeman behind the wheel.
Where’s the other one?
Maybe having a sandwich and Coke at the rink.
We’ll go in slow. Let Sun make sure before we bust in.
We have come out in the open in the light so’s to cross the dead-end road in front of the old high school. Not a school anymore, but a community center. Big and dark. Silent, and no one around this late.
Sun leads across the dead-end pavement onto grass and weeds at the top of the riverbank, right under the streetlight. He leads us fast. In an instant we are over the bank and hidden again. At the edge of the stream my brother stops and leans his back against the viaduct. There the opening is scary black where the stream goes through.
Sun says, “Hurry it up,” so softly.
&
nbsp; Angel says, “Only a minute.” I can hardly hear her or him, the rink being so close on the other side of the viaduct.
The sound of it is a steady grinding. Here you can’t hear the music as well, for the air carries it off toward home.
I’m about to die with excitement.
“Stay still,” Angel tells me. She always tells me that.
“I’m trying.”
“Keep it down,” Sun says.
I want to tell him, who does he think can hear us way down here and with that roar going? But I don’t say a word.
Angel clips these large button earrings on my earlobes. I hate the way they squeeze. She ties a silky scarf around my hair, letting it hang low to my shoulders so I will look older.
“Match,” she says.
At once Sun cups a lighted match in his hands, and she presses the make-up to my lips.
“One second and I’m putting it out,” Sun says.
She is rubbing some make-up on my cheeks. “It stinks,” I whisper.
She giggles.
The match goes out. “Okay,” Sun says. Checks the water. I see him bent over. “Arilla in the middle this time,” he says.
“You mean Moon Child,” I tell him, but he says nothing.
We take hands again, with me in the middle. We go in the viaduct. It is pitch black in here. The air is warmer. You hear the music and the grinding skates and some gurgle of water up close in your mind. The water smells of iron. I can’t see a thing. Angel’s hand is tight over mine. Sun has my other hand so strong. Oh, Sun, this is the best old time! He knows it. And which do we like the most — skating or within the night, being dangerous?
We face the water with our backs to the wall of the viaduct. Creatures scurry ahead of us. My eyes wide open, but I see nothing. We move along in a slow-dance shuffle. All around is dampness and the smell of iron. But the Little Egypt waters never touch us. We move in rhythm with — never touch us; never touch us. Left right-leg; left right-leg.
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