When Horses Had Wings

by Diana Estill

  I had no earthly idea where that came from or to whom he might be referring. “The western rifle maker,” he said.

  “How about you?” I asked, shifting the subject to something more interesting. “Are you married?”

  He flashed the backside of his left hand at me. “Not yet. My girlfriend works here in the personnel center. You might have seen her.”

  Girlfriend? Oh, no. I didn’t want him to have a love interest. “The one with the long black hair?” I prayed I’d guessed wrong.

  “Darlene. That’s her. Yeah, I know before you say it. She’s pretty. Everybody tells me that.”

  ~

  Simply knowing that someone like Anthony would speak to me sent my confidence soaring. That meant that if, under the right circumstances, I met another nice man—say, one without a gorgeous girlfriend—that he might find me interesting, too. For right now, it was enough that I had a name and a face to attach to the man I’d previously only known as “the underwear guy.” In my sleep, I imagined our steamy trysts. And when I’d awaken, I could hardly bring myself to look at Kenny. I hadn’t broken any wedding vows, but my X-rated thoughts disturbed me. Clearly, my daddy and I had more in common than I wanted to admit.

  “We don’t get to talk all that much at work,” Anthony said one afternoon. “Maybe I could call you some night when Kenny’s not home...to keep you company. I spend lots of evenings alone myself.”

  It began that innocently, with harmless phone conversations. Really. We just talked about layoff rumors and Anthony’s engineering classes. Sometimes I’d tell him what Sean had done that day that was cuter than anything I’d ever seen. And Anthony would mention that Darlene was away, visiting her sister or mother for the evening.

  Pearly said I should have known things would get complicated.

  One night, Kenny’s street sweeper broke down and he became stranded inside the City’s break area for several hours. The pay phone there had gone on the blink, and it was letting everyone dial out for free. Either out of boredom or suspicion, Kenny suffered a mental flash to call me.

  “What the hell?” he screamed, when he finally got through. “I’ve been trying to call you for over an hour. Who you been on the phone with this late at night?”

  “I haven’t been on the phone,” I said, trying to think fast. “Sean must have knocked it off the hook. I noticed the receiver was crooked, so I jiggled it into place and it rang.”

  “You better not be lying to me. I might come home early and find out.”

  That conversation had been enough to put a gun-load of fear back into me. So the next morning, during my morning break, I informed Anthony, “You better not call me anymore.”

  “Why not? Don’t you want to talk to me?” He looked like I’d stolen his last ounce of happiness. But actually I’d squashed my own. In my instant awakening, survival had trumped any thoughts of happiness or pleasure.

  How could I make him understand I was married to a crazy man who wasn’t above using both our skulls for target practice? If Kenny found out I was talking to Anthony, he’d go berserk. And if Anthony ever learned what Kenny was capable of, he might decide to relocate to another continent. “Of course I want to talk to you. Our conversations are all that keep me going. I’m just afraid Kenny or Darlene will find out and get mad.”

  Anthony slipped his hands over mine. “You can quit worrying about Darlene. I sent her packing a few days ago.”

  I wanted to register disbelief, but it was all I could do to keep from shouting, “Praise God!” Though I was pretty sure the Lord had little to do with that.

  Those dark circles underneath Anthony’s eyes had been explained. “You kicked her out?” I wanted to hear the good news one more time.

  Anthony sighed. “Found out her sister wasn’t who she’d been seeing. Let’s leave it at that. Okay?”

  ~

  “Damn!” I said. “Have I got news to tell you!”

  “You finally left him?” Pearly guessed.

  Darn if she hadn’t found a way to steal the better part of my enthusiasm. “No, not yet,” I replied at half-power. “Darlene’s gone.”

  Pearly clucked her tongue and gave me a look of disapproval. “Mm, hmm. Girl, trouble’s ‘bout to start. You better get yo’self outta there, whilst you still can.”

  I passed a plastic tub filled with calculator units to the woman seated next to me so she’d get to work and quit listening to my not-so-private discussion. “Here. These are ready for you,” I said to Miss Nosey.

  I turned to Pearly, picking up where we’d left off. “I’m going to. But I don’t quite have everything worked out.”

  The look on Pearly’s face told me she knew better. “You been tellin’ me that forever. You been tellin’ me that for more’n a year. You ain’t never gonna leave that man. But you ‘bout to start playin’. And playin’ll getcha hurt. Getcha hurt bad.”

  “You act like I’m sleeping with him. And I told you I’m not. Not even planning on it—at least not while I’m still married.”

  Pearly bent her body below the table surface and lifted a few more units from the tub next to her chair. She popped up like a hound chasing a rabbit through a wheat field. “I know you think I’m jiving. But I been ‘round enough to know how playin’ starts. And you’re doing it now.”

  I checked to see who else might be listening. “Well, it ain’t a sin unless I’m sleeping with him. And you can’t fault me for thinkin’ about it.”

  “’Course you is thinkin’ ‘bout it. Any woman in your shoes would be.” Pearly’s facial features softened with her tone. “All I’m saying is you gotta get out, first. Then you can play all you want, even find that drumma fella—”

  “David?” I chuckled.

  “Tha’s right.” With her screwdriver, she tightened the back of a calculator into place. “You can have him and Anthony and two or three more while you is espermintin’. But not while you’s married.” She set the unit aside. “You don’t want to go actin’ like yo’ crazy daddy, now do ya?”

  ~

  Daddy’s first letter arrived about three months after he divorced Momma. Why he’d never called, I couldn’t say for sure. Maybe he thought writing was a safer form of communication, a better way to announce his latest love, the one he’d dredged up after Janice Sontag had tired of him and returned to her former family. He wrote from someplace he called Silicon Valley. Sounded like a community full of women with breast implants to me. From the photo Daddy enclosed with his letter, I suspected his new gal had some of those synthetic cones herself. On the picture’s backside, Daddy had written, “I can’t wait for you to meet my new partner, Celeste. She’s an intelligent, funny lady I met at a New Age church in San Diego.”

  I had no idea what he meant by “new age,” but the woman in that photo looked like she hadn’t lived half my momma’s years. Maybe that’s why Momma cried so much when I showed her that picture.

  “He’s never coming back, Renee. He’s never coming back, is he?” Her chest heaved as she sobbed. I didn’t have the heart to ask why this hadn’t occurred to her earlier, like maybe when she’d signed those divorce papers.

  That same afternoon, Momma gave me Daddy’s black leather Bible. “Doesn’t look like he’ll be back for it.” She dusted its cover with one hand. “I guess I been hanging on to it because it reminded me of him and what else he threw away along with me.” She sighed and then gave a lighthearted laugh. “I always figured I was in good company. But you might have more use for it.”

  I clutched the zipper-bound Scriptures to my chest, fighting back my emotions, and then I promised to read the Bible again as soon as I found time. But in my heart I didn’t think it would do me much good. The way I had it figured, the Holy Book hadn’t kept Daddy at home with Momma any more than it was going to make me stay with Kenny.

  NINETEEN

  Pearly sat next to me, a pink sponge roller dangling from her bangs, waiting for the starting bell to signal us from the break area. She looked like sh
e might be having a rough morning, so I decided to keep quiet.

  I stretched out my right hand to admire my costume ring.

  “What kind of jewelry is that?” Pearly asked.

  I pushed my new accessory closer for her inspection. “It’s a mood ring. Turns blue when you’re calm, purple when you’re happy, and black when you’re mad or stressed.”

  “Why the hell can’t it turn black when you’re happy?” She rolled her eyes. “And why you need a ring to tell you what kinda mood you’re in, anyway? You white folk kill me...paying good money for something can’t even be pawned.”

  “I sure don’t need a ring to tell me your mood today,” I said, withdrawing my hand from her view.

  Pearly searched through the vinyl tote at her feet, pawing her way through the clutter inside. She removed her foam house shoes and stuck them into the bag, trading the slippers for a bottle of Geritol. Brandishing the medicine, she let out a hoot. “If that Jarnell ain’t crazy. Man’s been telling me I need to take this for iron core blood.”

  “You mean iron poor blood,” I corrected. Pearly always made me laugh when I least expected it. I chuckled at her botched slogan.

  But she continued, unfazed by my ribbing. “Yeah. That could have been it. Silly fool don’t know I’s just tired ‘cause o’ my tumor.”

  “You mean, you haven’t told Jarnell?”

  Pearly looked at me as though I’d asked her to divulge her current weight. “Course not. He’d worry me to death. And I’s worried ‘nough for bofe o’ us.” Ever since she’d lost down to a size fourteen, Pearly had said that she hadn’t felt quite right.

  “How do you know it’s a tumor if you haven’t been to see a doctor?” I asked.

  Pearly removed her sponge curler. “I just know. I can feel it moving all around in my stomach. Bound to be a big ol’ cancer.”

  “More like a big ol’ fart.”

  The buzzer rang its obnoxious tone. Time to start our day on the clock.

  Pearly stood and raised one hand as if she was testifying. “Yeah, go on and laugh. Gone be a race to see which one of us goes first. You got plenty to worry about yo’self. Too crazy and fast to know it.”

  Inside our work area, Russ, our brainless supervisor, stood on one leg and braced himself off the other with a crutch. He’d injured himself, again, riding bulls. I guessed herding factory employees around all week wasn’t enough to keep him satisfied. Regularly he showed up for work on Monday mornings sporting some new rodeo injury.

  Reading from a slip of paper he held in one hand, Russ announced, “Effective May first, all overtime hours have been suspended until further notice. All work hours exceeding eight hours a day or forty hours a week will be considered voluntary and shall be worked without pay.” After that brief, but clear message, he hobbled back to his cubicle at the rear of the assembly area.

  “There goes my va-cation,” a coworker said.

  Rosemary, the gal with six dependents, spoke up. “Va-cation? Who are you kidding? I got to have overtime to feed my kids.”

  It might sound silly, but killing mandatory overtime made more people mad than happy. A low mood took hold as the assembly hummed at a muted volume, the kind typically reserved for funerals. Only, what had died had been a bunch of folks’ chances to survive between paychecks.

  Rosemary looked like she might burst out crying any second. Seated next to me, she swabbed at a calculator as though it might be a baby.

  I felt sorry for her. “Hey,” I said. “They’re offering typing classes after work on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the cafeteria. Maybe you could sign up.” She didn’t look at me until I added, “The school district’s putting them on for free. If you could type, you could put in for a higher-paying job here, and then you wouldn’t need to depend so much on overtime.”

  Pearly gave me a funny look. “You takin’ them classes?”

  I shifted in my seat. “Thinking ‘bout it.” Pearly didn’t need to know that the thought had right then entered my mind for the first time. I’d seen a sign posted the prior week. Maybe I’d gain a new skill that would lead me to a better job, one where I could toss my hair and inspect my nails instead of staring at busted gadgets all day.

  “Girl, you betta do more than think about it,” Pearly said. “’Cause you gone be a single mother soon yo’self.”

  Rosemary ignored Pearly’s comment. “Where do I go to sign up?”

  “The poster I saw said to register at the employment center,” I said. “I’ll go with you if you want, and we can do it together at lunch.” I studied Pearly. “Do you want to take typing with us?”

  “No use, girl. I don’t ‘magine it would do me no good.” She stared out the interior windows next to us at something I couldn’t see. “This tumor’s movin’ more and more ever’ day.”

  ~

  For the next six weeks, Rosemary and I left work on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons a half-hour before our scheduled quitting time. Our typing instructor somehow convinced Russ to let us go early. So for an hour every class day, we sat together in a room filled with twenty typewriters and a dozen other young women determined to find their way out of assembly work. None of us knew where we were headed next. But it would have been difficult for any move to set us in a wrong direction.

  On our last day of typing class, our teacher told us we could compose a letter or do anything we wanted, as long as we typed. For some reason, I decided to bang out a letter to Daddy in San Diego.

  There’s probably nothing you can do about it from where you are, but I think you should know that Ricky quit school and I suspect he is smoking pot. Also, I’ve met a man named Anthony and I’m thinking of leaving Kenny, like you left Momma. I thought I’d tell you first since you’re more likely to understand.

  I don’t know why I felt the need to tell all that to Daddy, other than maybe I wanted him to feel bad. It wasn’t fair that he’d escaped his marriage and family obligations without suffering major loss. It hadn’t worked that way for the rest of us. And I wanted him to have to face the damage he’d left behind. I could have told Daddy about the new clerical job I’d bid on or Momma’s employment at the Get-N-Go. But I didn’t.

  ~

  A week after I mailed my letter to Daddy, I received an offer for a new position. My promotion to Marketing Secretary threatened to split Pearly and me apart before her tumor did. But as it turned out, her self-diagnosis had been a tad misleading.

  One Wednesday, right after I’d given Russell my two weeks’ notice, Pearly said, “Gir-ir-l, you ain’t even gonna be-lieve what I’s about to tell you!” Grinning like a coyote, she thrust out her chest and squared her shoulders. “I’s five months’ preg-nant!”

  “What?” I thought I must have heard wrong. “Pregnant? You said you couldn’t get that way.”

  Pearly beamed. “Couldn’t. Not whilst I was overweight and anemic. Look like all that dietin’ and Geritol done me some good.” She stood and reached behind her, pulling her blue lab coat tight across her front. The inflated tire she normally carried had pushed out into a bubble. Spinning sideways, she displayed her telltale profile. “Five months! Can you be-lieve it?”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t know it,” I said. “Don’t you know what it means when you miss your period five times in a row?”

  Pearly waved off my comment with one hand. “I done missed so many periods, I’d’a thought I’s dyin’ if I had one. But let me tell you, Jarnell never been more happy in his whole life.”

  I forced a smile. That was good news, but for some reason I couldn’t find my cheer button. “What are you going to do, now? You gonna to keep working here?” The answer I both hoped for and feared would mean I’d lose touch with her entirely.

  “Oh, no. You know better than that.” Pearly chuckled. “Jarnell said he’d work four jobs, if need be, so I can stay home.” She smoothed her work smock down over her belly. “Gonna raise this baby decent.”

  I didn’t know how to properly respond because Pearly’
s circumstances were different than mine had been. When I’d found out I was pregnant with Sean, most everybody I knew had cried. And not from happiness. Momma didn’t speak to me for three whole days, not even to tell me when it was time for supper. And Daddy sort of stepped around me, giving me a wider clearance than normal. He probably felt that if he got too close, he’d lose his temper and pound me the way he’d pulverized the lawnmower.

  For the next two Sundays, my folks stopped going to church altogether. They made up some kind of story about Daddy having a respiratory problem. And no one bothered to say that it was his daughter’s condition, and not his own, that had caused his impaired breathing.

  TWENTY

  During one of my many nighttime telephone conversations with Anthony, he said, “Since we don’t work so close together anymore, we can take the same sick days, and nobody’ll suspect anything.” I was glad, right then, that he couldn’t see my face.

  “And do what?” I asked, as if I didn’t know what he had in mind.

  “Whatever we want. Maybe go to the lake or something.”

  I let out a nervous laugh. “The only time I ever tried that, I got caught by a truant officer.”

  “A truant officer?”

  “Yeah, it was one of those harebrained schemes teenagers cook up. Skipping school. Last week of the year, too. I didn’t see any harm in it. We’d all left at lunchtime and gone to the lake. And before we’d even roasted our first weenie, we got caught.”

  Anthony snickered. “I think we’re a little too old to worry about truant officers.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. But I still have a husband to hide from.”

  For a second, we both reflected on that statement before Anthony spoke. “If you weren’t married, would you do it?”