Bend

by Nancy Hedin

  Straight Teeth spoke. “Charity, I was so wrong. I never should’ve sent you away.”

  It was Kelly! It had to be Kelly, but what did she mean that she sent Charity away? Charity had told me that she’d broken up with Kelly. The breaker and the broken mattered to me. I wished it didn’t, but it did.

  Oh God, no. They were dancing. They danced to music I couldn’t hear or feel. Kelly dipped Charity and then raised her up again and nuzzled her neck. It got worse. They bantered. They had a history they could banter about. It was a conversation of “remember when’s” posed by Kelly, and Charity recalled each incident. I felt sick.

  Kelly waved her arm around. “How can you stand being here in this backwoods closet?”

  At first I assumed that Kelly had insulted Charity’s apartment, but Kelly wasn’t talking about the studio. She was talking about Bend and all the people and things here. As much as I wanted out of Bend, I couldn’t endure Kelly talking about it like it was nothing. Criticizing Bend was restricted to only the people who lived there and loved it some too. I planned to come back to Bend as soon as I could do it as a certified vet.

  “What keeps you here? Leave this place. Come home with me,” she said.

  Before I had a chance to think about it too much, I scooted out of my hidey-hole. Both Kelly and Charity jumped, and Charity screamed. Then Charity recognized it was just me and not an ax murderer.

  “Raine? What—”

  Dust bunnies clung to my skin. I brushed them off and tried to make my voice casual. It was hard to be dignified in my underwear in front of a stranger who was movie-star beautiful and had a history with Charity. I settled for brief and to the point.

  “Charity is home. She’s been home for over a year now.” My courage drained away as I compared myself to Kelly. “You two seem to have a lot to discuss. I’ll just get my clothes and skedaddle.” I looked at Charity. “I’ll talk with you later when you’re free.”

  “Ah, you must be Stormy,” Kelly said.

  Now that obvious, cheap insult pissed me off. I stood up straighter, picked up my clothes, but held them to my side. I had a body that God had made. Charity had said so. I pointed my perky breasts at Kelly. My nipples were like bullets, and I reminded myself that Charity had been with me since she’d come to Bend. We had made out across the county.

  “My name is Raine, although I am feeling pretty stormy right now. You must be Kelly. What, you couldn’t find any girl scouts to seduce?”

  “Ooh, I’m wounded. You’re adorable. I wish I could paint you sometime,” Kelly said, but her face betrayed that I had hit a nerve.

  “Yeah, well, I wish I could throw you on a pottery wheel.”

  “Hello, I’m here too,” Charity said.

  Neither Kelly nor I looked away from each other. It was a staring duel. I won. Finally, Kelly blinked first, and we both turned to Charity.

  “I’m tired,” Charity said. “Definitely too tired for this discussion. I didn’t invite you here Kelly. And obviously Raine, you were trying to surprise me. I appreciate the effort. I think you both should leave now. None of us need this drama.”

  She appreciated my efforts. That sounded like a euphemism for being awarded second runner-up. I pulled on my jeans and blouse, slipped on my boots, and put on my parka. Charity touched my shoulder as I passed her in the doorway. Kelly made no movement toward leaving.

  “See you at church tomorrow?” Charity asked.

  I nodded, leaned in, and kissed Charity’s neck before I left. Kelly didn’t follow me out. I stood in the cold air and waited. She’d said she appreciated my effort. I waited and waited. The door never opened again. Charity’s lights went out. I walked back to where I had parked Dad’s truck and drove home.

  The next day was Sunday. The last place I wanted to be was church, but I had told Charity I would be there. So I went to church and fidgeted. I could have sat with Momma, Dad, Kenny, Becky, and Little Man. There was room for me, and I might have taken some comfort or at least distraction from being close to Little Man, but I was preoccupied. I looked for Charity in the sanctuary during the service and downstairs in the Sunday school rooms, but she wasn’t there. Jolene played piano that day, so she was sequestered up front by her dad. I couldn’t ask her where Charity was or if she was coming late.

  Nails bitten, swivel-headed, I sat through a long church service and marathon sermon. Pastor Grind expounded on the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, which he hammered on more often than any story except Abraham’s near killing of his son, Isaac. I wondered if he would ever get beyond those reruns.

  When the service finally ended and I was just a few feet from fresh air, Jolene stopped me and gave me a note. “Don’t read this until you’re home. Promise me.”

  “Okay. I promise.” I stuffed the note in my pocket. “Where is Charity?”

  Jolene shook her head and scuttled off without answering. Pastor Grind grabbed me by the sleeve and motioned for me to follow him to his office.

  I stared at him. I searched for any physical traits he’d passed on to Charity. I felt more generous toward him knowing he had helped make someone so beautiful, kind, and queer. I appreciated his genetics. I noted how his hair was a dull brown like my own. He didn’t have Charity’s perfect nose. His nose was squat like mine. I chalked up the missing likeness to Charity’s good fortune to take after her mom more than her dad.

  Monstrous bookcases bordered every wall of Pastor Grind’s small paneled office. There were more books than I thought it possible to read, especially if they were all about God and sin. Some books were thicker than my head. As I scanned the room, I startled. We weren’t alone.

  J.C. McGerber, Bend’s philanthropist extraordinaire, was sitting in a brown vinyl upholstered club chair at Grind’s right-hand side. I suppose McGerber was Jesus to Grind’s perception of himself as God Almighty. McGerber didn’t acknowledge me. The balding elder patriarch had pockets bulging with hard candy, butterscotch and peppermints he gave out to children at church. I probably had a couple of cavities attributable to his Willy Wonka philanthropy.

  McGerber seemed fascinated by something on the heel of his shoe. He scrutinized the spot with his leg crossed over the other leg at the knee.

  Pastor Grind scraped a tan folding chair across the linoleum, put it in front of his desk, and closed the office door. I sat in the cold, hard chair and waited for the old man to say something like, Why, aren’t you the intelligent young girl who is going to make good use of my scholarship? I understand you want to be a veterinarian. Nothing.

  Pastor Grind wedged himself behind his desk and plopped into an overstuffed, high-back office chair.

  “Well, I’ll come to the point, Lorraine,” Pastor Grind said. “I’ve known your mother since we were both teenagers, and I’ve known you and your sister since before you were born. It’s a shame that Becky didn’t win that scholarship, but rules are rules.”

  McGerber sighed and shifted in his chair. He found something equally interesting on his other shoe. I hoped it wasn’t my future he was scraping away at like used gum or wet tar.

  “Which brings me to you, Lorraine. As you know, there is a morality clause in the McGerber scholarship guidelines. Those guidelines don’t allow the money to go to a girl pregnant out of wedlock or any person of questionable moral character. I received a disturbing phone call today—this morning actually—informing me that you . . .” Pastor Grind stumbled here, which I knew wasn’t like him, because he had memorized all the sins and likely much of the penal code. “You have unnatural desires, Lorraine. I have learned that you have homosexual leanings.”

  Leanings? Hell, I’d fallen all the way over.

  “I had no choice but to inform Mr. McGerber. As a consequence, he has decided to withdraw his offer of a scholarship to you, and I have informed your school that you no longer have that money available to you. You’ll get a letter, but essentially, your registration has been canceled as you would expect. I wanted you to know now so you can make other arrangement
s for your f-f-future.” Pastor Grind’s words bumped and skipped out of his mouth, but each one landed like rocks against me.

  What future? Bussing tables with Momma?

  I wanted to ask him what “arrangements” he thought I could make. I had planned to leave in the next week and apply for jobs near the school, but without the scholarship, I wouldn’t have enough money to start school and pay for housing. How could he cancel my application and acceptance to college? The college didn’t need to know I didn’t have the money. That was my business.

  My body lost all air and hope like I had fallen from a great height. Still, my ass was glued to that metal folding chair. I couldn’t stand. How could I lose so much in less than twelve hours?

  McGerber growled, placed both his feet on the floor, and stood. He nodded at Pastor Grind and left the office. He seemed indignant when he left, like it was his future that had been snatched away from him instead of mine. I was glad he didn’t offer me a hard candy. I would have told him to shove it up his ass.

  Morality claws. I pictured a beast with wings and muscled legs and arms, and torn flesh stuck between jagged teeth and nails. It had swiped the same opportunity from my family twice. Before I could pry myself from the metal chair and run from the church, Pastor Grind tried to counsel me. He moved from behind his desk and sat casually on the corner of it, his holy crotch level with my eyes.

  “This news must be terribly disappointing, but not as disappointing as your sin before God. Lorraine, if you want to pray with me or review scriptures together so that you can fully understand God’s position on homosexuality, I will delay my dinner and spend time with you. Perhaps your parents could join us.”

  His attempt at comfort and offer to pray with me was the momentum I needed. I launched out of that chair. I wanted nothing to do with the God that Pastor Grind hid behind to throw his rocks. I wanted nothing to do with him.

  “This is bullshit.”

  Pastor Grind slung one more brimstone on behalf of himself, God, and whoever made that phone call. “Lorraine, I had thought you, Charity, and Jolene would be a blessing to one another. In light of your sin, I’ll expect you to stay away from my daughters, n-n-naturally.”

  I left the office and slammed the door on the way out. I wished I’d grown up the kind of person who felt justified in property destruction when my anger was kindled. I would have torn up the place, but that wasn’t who I was brought up to be. And besides, I’d be damned before I gave up the little money I’d already saved to pay for correcting a tantrum. That money was for getting out.

  Momma and Dad had already said their good-byes and given and received kisses from Becky, Kenny, and Little Man. They waited for me in the car.

  Dad offered to let me drive. Momma didn’t object. Looking back, that should have been a clue to me. If Momma had given me a crumb in those days, I should have checked it for rat poison.

  “No, I’m too mad to drive.” I got in the backseat, slammed another door, and nearly ripped the seat belt off its anchor.

  “What’s got you in such a state?” Dad asked.

  “You won’t believe it. It’s such bullshit!”

  Still no response from Momma.

  “Grind just told me somebody called him and told him I have unnatural desires—I’m homosexual. Now, McGerber won’t give me the scholarship either. It’s not fair. Becky and I had the highest grades. It shouldn’t mean anything that she’s pregnant or that I’m queer. Not only that, Grind told me that I can’t see Charity or Jolene anymore.”

  “Jesus Christ. I don’t believe it. Who would call Grind?” Dad put the car in gear, used the wipers to clear the dusting of snow off the windshield, and started down the road. He stared out the front window of the car and gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. “Oh, Lorraine, I’m sorry you lost—”

  Momma butted in. “I called him.”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe what I’d heard.

  “Oh, Peggy, no—” Dad started.

  “I said I called Pastor Grind. Last night, you came home late. Your blouse not even buttoned to at least hide something you’ve done. What would people think? Being with his daughter! He needed to know the truth. It’s McGerber’s money, and he needed to know the truth and make his decision based on the truth.”

  Momma cried into a tissue like she was greatly harmed, but still managed to pull out her notebook and write a few things down.

  “Remember to congratulate Jolene. She’s next in line for the money.” Momma spoke the words with some type of emotion, but no remorse that I could detect.

  “Stop the car, Dad.” Again, a big cow had rejected one of her twins.

  “Why?”

  “Stop the goddamn car or I’ll jump right now.”

  The snow-packed gravel shoulder crackled under the weight of the station wagon and its cargo as Dad pulled the car from the slippery blacktop. I got out.

  Dad rolled his window down. “What are you doing?”

  “I will not ride home with her. She’s gone too far. I can’t ride in the same car with someone who hates me.”

  “It’s three and a half miles home, Lorraine. For Christ’s sake, it’s ten degrees outside.”

  “I know that, and I’ve walked it before and I’ll walk it now. When I get home, I’ll decide what I’m going to do, but I will not ride with her.”

  Dad waited a couple of beats, looked at Momma. She kept her eyes straight ahead. “Take me home, old man.”

  They drove away.

  I dug out the note Jolene had given me. I thought I might as well take all the poison at once.

  Dear Raine,

  I am so sorry about last night, about everything. What a coward I am—I should be telling you this in person.

  I’m going back to St. Paul with Kelly. I don’t know that I will stay there, but I have to figure this out and can’t do it from here.

  Don’t hate me. This isn’t about anything you did wrong. There’s just some things I left unfinished trying to please everybody else.

  Keep your heart open. I will be braver soon.

  Charity

  Charity had gone back to Kelly. Would the pain never stop? I felt like an inept boxer. Uppercuts and blows came at my body from all directions. I hadn’t blocked one punch. I hadn’t even bothered to cover up. The sad score scrolled through my head: Momma had betrayed me, McGerber had taken back the scholarship, Grind said I couldn’t see Jolene or Charity anymore, and now Charity had chosen Kelly over me. I knelt in the snow, too sad and dehydrated to cry anymore.

  Before I could calculate the time I would need to be released by the blessing of hypothermia, Dad pulled up in his pickup. He’d dropped Momma off at the farm, switched vehicles, and come back for me. My dad would try to keep me alive the way farmers had to bottle-feed the rejected calf.

  He pulled the truck to the shoulder and put it in park, then opened the driver’s-side door but slid across to the passenger seat. Although I questioned his judgment in wanting me to drive, it felt good to have some power in my hands. I didn’t know how fast that beat-up truck could really go, but I had half a mind to find out, and never drive home again.

  As I drove I had awful, violent fantasies about Momma. I pictured her hog-tied and gagged with pus oozing from maggot-infested boils that she couldn’t reach to itch or clean. I pictured Momma dead.

  “I hate her, Dad. I know you love her, but I hate her and don’t try to talk me out of it today. And no goddamn animal stories. I already know some of them eat their young.”

  “I honestly didn’t know that she’d done it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “She’s not sorry. Why should you be sorry?”

  “No, I didn’t rat you out to Grind, but I haven’t done enough either.”

  The roads by Bend were windy and ice covered, and the ditches were steep and deep. Dad said that the guy running the road grader was either shit-faced drunk or dodging gunfire when he’d made our roads. The concentration needed to keep the truck on the road
helped me not to cry and rage, but not for long.

  “I hate her. I don’t care if that hate worm eats me north to south. Damn it all. How can you put up with her?”

  Dad didn’t say anything at first. Ninety-nine percent of me knew he’d never say anything bad about Momma.

  “What do golden eagles, geese, and swans have in common?”

  “I know about animals, but, Dad, you have a neocortex,” I said. “A higher-level brain. How can you stand sticking with her when she’s so stubborn and mean?”

  “I don’t know much about a neocortex—you’re the high school graduate, valedictorian. I do know that golden eagles, geese, and swans mate for life.” He took out his pocket knife and cleaned his nails. “I guess you could say when it comes to me and your momma, my brain is a bird brain.” He snuck a peek at me, probably to see if I laughed. I didn’t, but my crying slowed a bit and I eased off the accelerator.

  There wasn’t a damn thing he could tell me that day that would make it any better. I knew he would try anyway.

  I drove west with no destination in mind except away. When we were past our fields, where Dad scanned the landscape for deer, and when we had passed the cemetery where Dad expected to be buried, he pointed to a gravel road that led away from the blacktop. I turned. He called that road the bunny trail. It was a cross-country route, washboard rough and serpentine. There was no shoulder and the birch trees crowded the road, dropping clumps of snow. The road had been plowed in the last week, but there was only a single car track. The undercarriage of the truck skimmed along the snow. Dad lit a cigarette.

  “So, what am I going to do, Dad?”

  “I don’t know, Lorraine. I hope you’re going to go to college.” He took his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped some dust from the dashboard. At the same time his ash grew and drooped from the cigarette hanging off his lip.

  “You heard Momma. She called Grind and told him I’m queer and messed up the scholarship.”