Getting Nowhere Read online

  “I’m not,” I said in a surly tone.

  “Yes, you are. Everything I say, you snarl at me. You’re getting to be a pain in the butt.”

  He clattered down the stairs. Jeff stowed his slightly used cigar in his pocket.

  “The kid has a point,” he said, not looking at me. “I’ve got to split. My old lady threatens extermination if I don’t get home early tonight. See you,” and he was gone too.

  I’ve got a voice inside my head, screaming at me.

  Before he got married, my father had a talk with me. “No one will ever take your mother’s place, Mark,” he told me. “Pat knows that. It’s important that you do too.”

  “That’s O.K., Dad,” I remember saying, anxious to get this over with. “If you want to get married, go ahead.” I gave him my permission. I didn’t know then what a difference it would make.

  “Just one thing more I want to say,” my father went on. “Remember, it takes time and patience and effort to love. And to make love. Loving isn’t necessarily easy or even always pleasant. A person you love can hurt you more than someone you don’t care about. Because of that some people are afraid of committing themselves, are afraid of getting involved, so they never love anyone but themselves.”

  For a brief minute, I remember, he put his hand on my head. It felt light and warm, resting there. We very rarely touched each other. Sometimes, on the television news or in foreign movies, I’ve seen men embracing one another, hugging, kissing. Maybe they’re fathers and sons, maybe brothers, maybe just friends. I think that’s a European custom. Nobody thinks the guys are sissies, nobody accuses them of being queer. I think it’s kind of nice.

  In a way, my anger lets me get around the room. Without it, I might not move.

  The voice inside me tells me to do hurtful things, makes me do things like whipping the towel against Tony’s legs. Up until about a year ago I never heard it. Now it lived inside me, never left me. Sometimes it was so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. It shut out the sounds of love. It was taking over.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  When it happened, it was like a ripe plum falling into my lap. I was in the principal’s office waiting to see Mrs. Murray about my English test.

  “You going to call him tonight?” a voice I recognized came from out in the hall. Something turned over in my chest. It might’ve been my heart except that it was too big to be a heart. I inched closer to the door to hear better.

  “Why not?” The snicker was familiar. “We got him on the ropes, let’s polish him off. He’s got it coming. What say we invite him to another party given by some other young lovely next Saturday? That ought to pin him against the wall.”

  It was them. The same two. The rear attackers, the groin kickers. Rage made me strong. They were facing each other. I put up both my hands, one on the back of either head and shoved as hard as I could. I moved like greased lightning. They didn’t know what hit them. Their skulls came together with a satisfying clunk. A hollow sound. I hoped it felt like running into a stone wall in the middle of the night. From the expression on their faces, maybe it did.

  “It’s lucky for you,” I told them, “that I don’t have my twenty-two with me.” I was pleased to note that my voice was calm and even. It was only my bones that were trembling, deep inside me, where they couldn’t see.

  “If I did, I’d shoot you both. I’d aim for the gut. That’s what pros do.” They looked at me as if I were crazy. And, in a way, I was.

  “Stomach wounds are nearly always fatal,” I told them. I’d read that somewhere last week.

  I walked back into the office and caught Mrs. Murray coming out. For once in my life the timing was perfect. It was like a well-executed play in baseball or basketball. Everyone did what they had been practicing. There were no slip-ups.

  When I came back into the hall, it was deserted.

  For the rest of the day I was filled with a sense of exhilaration. It was a terrific, unaccustomed feeling that I wouldn’t have minded getting used to. I smiled at everybody. I held the door open for someone’s mother and gave her directions on how to get where she wanted to go.

  “Why, thank you,” she said in a surprised voice. “You’re very kind.” I could almost hear her that night at supper, telling her husband and her kids that at least some young people still had manners, giving her children the hairy eyeball the whole time.

  If I’d been a businessman, today would be my day for making a stupendous deal. A multimillion-dollar deal. If I really was going to take up skydiving, this would be the time to start. Nothing could go wrong with me today. It was my time to howl. I’d hop out of that old airplane, skim over the tops of trees and rivers and lakes, and make a perfect three-point landing.

  Today I was invincible.

  I had planned to stop after school at the Baumgartners’ to check on what needed doing. First I stopped at the Hartleys’ to collect what they owed me.

  “Come back tomorrow!” Mrs. Hartley shouted. She was dyeing her hair at the kitchen sink. This week she was going to be a redhead, I could see.

  Mr. Baumgartner was sitting in his chair, his eyes not so dim, a little color in his cheeks. He looked pleased to see me.

  “Doesn’t he look beautiful?” Mrs. Baumgartner stood back, her head to one side, admiring her husband. “I’ve always loved that tie. You look so handsome.” She kissed him. He raised his hand off his lap slightly. I know if he could’ve, he would’ve touched her.

  “Is there anything you want me to do?” I asked.

  “Has something nice happened to you, Mark?” she said, studying me. “You look happy. You should smile more often. Smiling becomes you. I’m glad to see you look happy.”

  “I am,” I said. I don’t think she would’ve liked to hear what made me happy, so I didn’t tell her. A car pulled up outside and the doctor came up the steps, carrying his black bag.

  “I’ll check around outside and see what stuff I have to do,” I told Mrs. Baumgartner as she showed the doctor into Henry’s room.

  I checked the garage and the yard and got out the clippers and went to work on the hedge that screened the garbage pails. Even to me, the place was starting to look run-down. Especially compared to the other places around. It took a lot of work to keep a joint in shape, that’s for sure. There were a couple of panes of glass that needed replacing and the house could stand a coat of paint. On the trim, anyway. And I had to get to work earning the money to pay my father back. Still, if I got myself organized, I could manage my other jobs and have a few hours a week free to work here.

  The doctor and Mrs. Baumgartner came out onto the front steps.

  “You’re running yourself into the ground,” I heard him say.

  “No, no,” she protested.

  “If anything happens to you, I’d never forgive myself for not doing something, for letting you go on this way. I’m afraid it’s time, Martha.” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she stared at her feet, not saying anything.

  “I’ll make the arrangements,” the doctor said slowly. “I’ll call you within a few days and let you know.”

  He got into his car. Mrs. Baumgartner went back into the house. After a couple of minutes, I followed her. When I called her name, she didn’t answer. I walked to the bedroom door and tapped. There was no sound so I looked in. They were sitting there together: She had pulled up a chair and was patting his hand gently, over and over, while Henry smiled into space as if something wonderful had just happened.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Something smells good,” I told Pat.

  She looked over her shoulder. When she saw who it was, she stopped what she was doing.

  “It does?” she said.

  My sense of exhilaration, of power, was so strong it had lasted even through what had happened at the Baumgartners’.

  “Yeah,” I said magnanimously. “What is it?”

  “Stew,” she answered. She looked at me and I smiled at her. Tentatively she smiled back.

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nbsp; “Your father and I are going to have dinner and go to a movie tonight,” she said. “I fixed dinner for you and Tony. Just put any leftovers in the refrigerator, will you?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She kept looking at me as if she wasn’t exactly sure who I was.

  A face appeared at the window over the sink.

  “Hey, Mrs. Johnson,” Jeff called, “can Mark come out to play?”

  Pat started to laugh. She laughed harder and harder until tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “I don’t know why that’s so funny,” she said, gasping for breath. “Jeff, would you like to stay for supper with the boys?”

  In a flash the face disappeared and Jeff was sitting at the table in an attitude of anticipation.

  “I’d be pleased and honored to stay,” he said. “That is, if my mother will let me. My mother blows hot and cold. Sometimes she’s glad there’s one less mouth to feed. Other times she acts like I suggested that she and my father go to a nudist camp for the weekend. Her voice gets all uptight and scratchy and I can practically see her pursing her mouth.”

  “Do you want me to call her?” Pat suggested.

  “That’d be great,” Jeff said. “Have a sort of heart-to-heart with her, will you? I mean, ease into the subject gently, then when she’s softened up, let her have it. A lot depends on what we’re having for dinner at home. Whether she’s got plenty of grub or whether she’s scraping the bottom of the barrel. If there’s not enough to go around, she’ll be glad to get rid of me. On the other hand …”

  Pat had already started to dial. “How are you?” she said to Jeff’s mother. “I was wondering if Jeff could stay for supper with Mark and Tony. We’re going to the movies.… Yes, I’ll tell him. See you soon, I hope.”

  Pat hung up. “Your mother says fine as long as you’re home by eight to do your homework. There’s ice cream in the freezer.”

  She went upstairs to change. Jeff and I hung out in front of the TV set to catch the evening news. Something about kids watching the news that lulls parents into a sense of security. They figure if the kid cares about what goes on, if he displays an interest in world events, he can’t be all bad. It’s the other programs, with the good stuff like murder and drug pushing, maybe a little singing and dancing thrown in, that gets them all tensed up.

  My father came home, washed his hands, said a few polite words. Then he and Pat jumped into the silver chariot and peeled off.

  When they were out of sight, the three of us sprawled at the kitchen table like a bunch of philosophical cowboys in a saloon.

  “You have to look at it this way,” Jeff said, brandishing his cigar. “If nobody ever told you about sex, you might not want to try it. Right?”

  Tony makes himself small when he’s sitting around and the conversation turns to sex. He’s afraid we might leave something out. What he doesn’t know is how little we really know. We just know more than he does.

  “Same with smoking pot or drinking booze or eating clams on the half shell,” I said. “If you hadn’t read or heard about them, you wouldn’t have any curiosity either. On the other hand, that doesn’t make you a better person. My theory is, in order to be well rounded, you’ve gotta throw yourself open to experience, live life to the fullest.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jeff said. “My point exactly. Don’t hold back. Let yourself be buffeted by life’s storms.”

  The glazed look left Tony’s eyes. “One minute you guys are talking about sex, the next it’s clams,” he said in a complaining voice. “I wish you’d pick a subject and stick to it.”

  “The kid is understandably confused,” Jeff said. I ladled the stew onto plates, put some bread and butter out, and poured us each a glass of milk. We ate with our elbows on the table, swooping the bread around in great arcs to get up the last of the gravy. We polished off the ice cream. Each of us had three scoops with chocolate sauce.

  “A delicious repast,” Jeff said, heaving a sigh of contentment. “My compliments to the chef.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let’s go for a spin to top off the evening.” I felt so good I didn’t want the feeling to end.

  Tony looked at me as if I’d lost my marbles. Jeff said, “Spin? Whatdya mean, spin? You haven’t got wheels.”

  “Oh, yes, I do,” I said. I took the key to Pat’s old buggy from the hook on the wall.

  “How about if we hop in and take her around the block once?”

  Tony’s eyes were huge and round. “You’re kidding,” he said. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Don’t come if you don’t want,” I said. “I can’t help it if you’re chicken.”

  I put the plates in the sink and tossed the empty ice cream cartons in the trash. “Jeff, how about you?”

  “What if a cop decides to stop you and ask to see your license?” Jeff asked me. “What’d you do then?”

  “I’m not planning to go on the throughway or the parkway or any big deal like that,” I said. “Just around the block.” If I couldn’t sky-dive or negotiate a million-dollar deal, the least I could do was drive around the block in a beat-up old car.

  Jeff studied the end of his cigar. “It’s against my principles to say no to a friend,” he finally said. “Let’s go.”

  We went to the garage and climbed into the car. At the last minute Tony came too. “I don’t think this is such a hot idea,” he grumbled. “What would Dad say?”

  “Nobody’s forcing you,” I said. “Nobody’s twisting your arm.” He huddled in the back seat, scrunching down so his head barely cleared the windowsill. We both knew what Dad would say.

  I’ll say one thing for that car. It started right up. It was old and ugly and nobody in their right mind would bother to steal it, even if the keys were left in the ignition, but it started right up. One turn of the key and the engine purred, ready to leap into action.

  I put her into reverse and backed out of the garage. I’d done that plenty of times. Actually, I backed up less jerkily than I went forward.

  “You know what you’re doing?” Jeff said.

  “Does the Statue of Liberty stand in the harbor?” I shouted, easing her into first until we hit the street.

  “Fasten seat belts!” Jeff hollered. That car had come off the assembly line long before seat belts were invented. I turned to the right, gained momentum, and threw her into second. She jerked and coughed and stalled out. I was in fourth instead of second.

  “Sorry,” I said, starting up the powerful engine once more. First, second, third. We were actually driving down the street. I concentrated on keeping away from the curb, not too far over on the left. Air whistled through the windows, the trees seemed to bend in the wind. I felt as if I were flying. Charles Lindbergh must’ve felt like this when he hopped into the Spirit of St. Louis and started across the Atlantic. I had never felt so good, so powerful, in all my life. Not even this morning. This was a day to remember.

  I checked the speedometer. We were doing fifteen miles per hour. I pressed my foot on the accelerator and hit twenty, twenty-five. The street was deserted. On either side, lighted windows showed people eating dinner, TV sets glowing like great blue eyes. Think of what all those peasants inside were missing.

  “Hey, slow down,” Tony said from the back seat.

  “Relax. Big Brother is in charge,” I told him. At the end of the street I brought her to a smooth stop, put her into neutral, then first, and eased her around the corner and into second. I shifted so smoothly their heads didn’t even wobble.

  “Smooth as a baby’s behind,” I sang out.

  Why not cruise past Lisa’s house? She lived only two blocks away. With any luck at all, her father might be out on the curb. I could whip my wheels up on the sidewalk long enough to nail his big toe, make his shoelaces wave in the breeze. Then I’d blow my horn so she’d come to the window and catch sight of me behind the wheel. Her old fossil of a father would barely be able to stagger up the steps and inside the house, he’d be so scared.


  I cruised past my turn. “Hey,” Jeff said, “I thought you said once around the block and then you’d put her in the barn.”

  “I want to swing by a girl’s house,” I said.

  “Why not quit while you’re ahead?” he asked me. I didn’t answer.

  Everything was going without a hitch, better even than I’d thought. I was barreling along at twenty-four miles per when something small and black and furry ran across the street into the path of the car. I turned the wheel sharply. The tires screeched against the pavement. The car got away from me, went up on the sidewalk and slammed into a tree. At the time I would’ve said it hit a cement bridge, but it turned out to be only a tree. The noise was terrible. The loudest, most terrible noise I’d ever heard. The night reverberated with the sound of splintered glass and grinding metal.

  All along the street, doors were flung open, men’s voices called, “What in God’s name was that?” I sat there, my hands still on the wheel, my heart pounding, fighting to get out of my chest.

  A man with his napkin still tucked in his belt came running toward me.

  “You O.K.?” he called out.

  “Sure,” I said. “We’re O.K.” Jeff was leaning against the windshield. I thought he was fooling around. “Jeff,” I said, “let’s get out of here.” He didn’t answer. I shook him and his head fell back against the seat. His face wasn’t there. Or maybe it was, behind the red pulp that ran down his forehead, dripped off his chin and disappeared inside his sweater.

  Maybe Jeff was dead. If he was, I had killed him. What would his mother say? I’d have to tell her. Mrs. Fields, Jeff is dead and I’m responsible.

  “Don’t move,” I told Jeff. It’s not good to move a dead man until the doctor sees him. You should never move an accident victim. I opened the door on my side and went around to close the window on Jeff’s side so he wouldn’t get cold. It was very cold all of a sudden.

  “I don’t want Jeff to be in a draft,” I told the man with his napkin tucked in his belt. “I’ve got to call the ambulance. Where’s Tony? Tony!” I called. “Where are you? Tony’s my brother,” I told the man.