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| THE SANDQUARTER AND THE STARFISH | |
| By Ra | ||||||
| 17 September 2006 | ||||||
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This story is the first in a planned collection of interrelated stories. THE SAND QUARTER AND THE STARFISH When Troy left for work Jean’s tension broke like a fever. She watched from the kitchen window while he crossed the garbage-strewn parking lot, passed the overflowing dumpsters to their three-year-old 1965 Chevy Impala coupe, her mood lifting higher as he drove away. She would have to pay for the day ahead when he returned, but for now she felt light and free. Turning to gather the children’s cereal bowls she said, “Put on your swimsuits. We’re goin’ to the beach.” Kim and Jake raced for the bedrooms with pixie-haired, wiry four year old Kim ahead of her brother (the deep and dreamy one), who was two years older. Eight year old Kyle sat at the table wearing Troy’s tight-jawed scowl. “Who’re we goin’ with?” he asked. “A friend of mine,” answered Jean, growing tense again. Kyle could make her feel she was dealing with Troy instead of their son. She leaned across the table for Kyle’s bowl, but he drew it back with his spoon poised in the mottled milk, bloated flotsam of Captain Crunch circling it slowly. “Who?” “A friend, I said,” Jean snapped. “Her name’s Gwen.” Grinning, Kyle gave the spoon handle a sharp tap, flinging the sticky milk at her face. Kyle was up, dancing out of her reach saying, “Mom! Mom, I’m sorry.” He laughed a nervous, high-pitched laugh. “I didn’t mean to.” Jean caught him by the sleeve of his T shirt with a lunge across the table, mopping her eyebrows with her free hand. “Mom, I didn’t mean it, OK?” Jean pulled him closer, bent down eye to eye and said, “Go…get…on…your… swimsuit.” Once beyond her reach, Kyle tossed back, “Yes, Sir,” getting anxious giggles from Kim and Jake who had edged back through the hallway. Kim stood there, clutching her bathing suit—bright Sear’s price tag still attached—until satisfied Kyle hadn’t pushed their mother too far. Jean hurried to get ready before Gwen arrived. She cut off a pair of Troy’s Levi’s and pulled them over her first bikini. The day after arriving in California they had gone to see the ocean, and she had noticed women dressed this way. Leaning close to the bathroom mirror, she dabbed liquid makeup sparingly over the green and amber bruise along her left cheekbone, more on the purple tinged eyelid. *** They had moved west to start over. Troy had begged Jean to leave Oklahoma with him. “We can forget what’s happened,” he promised. “Just let’s stay together.” So they sold their home quickly—a distress sale, the agent had called it—and at a loss. In the early years of their marriage, she and Troy often dreamed of life together in Southern California, but after their hasty move they were shocked to find what they could afford. Their garage in Tulsa was almost as big as the two bedroom unit. The complex of individual huts near Long Beach was once housing for Naval personnel, now occupied mostly by poor single parent families. A pack of unsupervised children overran the barren grounds and quickly changed Kyle, Jake, and Kim from trusting to wary. They were greeted by foul mouth taunts and often had to dodge rocks when they braved going out. The second morning there they woke to find their bicycles had been stolen from the back porch. Jean and Troy slept on their mattress in the living room and told each other this was temporary. But Troy didn’t forget. His rage simmered and boiled over without warning. “You queer,” he would call her, popping her with his fist. “Whore,” he yelled, tossing her across the room by her hair. Jean’s father used to tell her, “If anyone hits you, hit’em three times before they can hit you again.” After the first time Roy hit her she always came up swinging. *** Troy and Jean’s late model car set them apart from their neighbors as a curiosity; Gwen’s silver Peugeot pulling up in front of their apartment was a scandal. Two sullen women stood glaring from screenless doorways across the courtyard. Gwen hopped out, her flag of riotous hair waving out around her shoulders. Circling the Peugeot, she gestured toward the giant red “T” towering above the rooftops blocks away on top of their local Try It Store—one of a chain—and called in a raspy voice, “That’s cute. You live right by the TRY IT STORE.” She hugged Jean as they met on the porch, whispering in Jean’s ear, “Shall I try it?” Jean felt herself blush, but she laughed and herded her skeptical children into Gwen’s car. Driving down Pacific Coast Highway with “SKY PILOT” playing over the radio, Gwen had them all laughing, even Kyle. “Now tell me, Kyle, just what is okra?” she teased. “I’ll bet it’s what people in Oklahoma call green beans.” “Say ice tea, Jean,” she went on, drawing the words out to mock Jean’s accent. “I love the way your mommy says ice.” “How high can you fly?” sang Eric Burdon. Jean felt she was soaring. *** On the beach, Gwen picked up a sand dollar and handed it to Jake, explaining what it was. The boy accepted it without a word and sprinted ahead to show his brother and sister. Gwen glanced over at Jean and asked, “I know it’s going to take some time for Kyle to warm up to me, but how am I doing with Jake?” Jean ran her toes deep into the sand in a wide sweep, watching Jake. “Jake can surprise you,” she said. “He seems turned into himself much of the time, then he’ll let you know he was right with you all along. Like he might know all the words of a story I’d read to the kids months ago, when he didn’t even seem to be listening. Kim and Kyle will sit right next to me, but Jake’ll be playing with his cars or something. Then one day I’ll hear him repeating the whole story to himself.” “Hmm,” Gwen said, distracted by the need to bridle her hair in a gust of ocean breeze. They followed the children, climbing the rocky bed of the tide pools. Gwen crouched down calling, “Look! A sea urchin.” “It looks like a porcupine.” Kim said. Gwen poked it lightly with a stick, and Kim squealed when its spines moved. Kim discovered a cluster of colorful sea anemone. Sea flowers, she called them. Jean and Gwen sat together on one of the larger protruding rocks while the children explored the pools. Jean dared brushing against Gwen’s shoulder as they looked out across the sea, which this day was a true shade of aquamarine. “Can you get out tonight?” Gwen asked. “I want to spend time with you before I start rehearsals on the fifth.” “I think so. What’s today? The first?” asked Jean. Jake announced close behind them, “Tomorrow’s the first. July has thirty-one days.” Jean laughed at Gwen’s surprised expression and said, “He has a system. He never misses.” “The ‘Thirty days has September’ thing?” “No, his own. He worked it out numerically.” “It’s easy,” Jake said, giving Gwen his full attention for the first time. Jean saw how the intense focus of his sky blue eyes, a sudden shift from cloudy vagueness, seemed to catch Gwen off guard and startle her. “The first half of the year, plus July,” he explained, “odd months have thirty one days. The rest are even ones. One, three, five, seven, eight, ten, twelve.” “Give him some numbers,” Kim said, gently poking the sea urchin with her finger. “Numbers to add she means, ” Jean said, answering Gwen’s questioning look. Gwen’s smile looked a bit forced as she said, “OK, Jake, add 6, 13, and 20.” “Nah,” Kyle threw out in disgust from several yards away. “Jake, add 635, 1298, and 52.” Jake squinted up at the sky a moment, then looking back to Gwen said, “One thousand nine hundred eighty five.” Only Gwen bothered to work it out for herself. Kim and Kyle, used to this game, returned to their explorations. Kyle, several yards ahead, called out, “A starfish! Come see!” Fascinated by his discovery, he asked if he could keep it. Jean said, “Sure,” picturing the large ocher colored specimen entwined in netting, along with shells on the boys’ bedroom wall. When they were ready to leave, Gwen wrapped the starfish in a towel and placed it on the floorboard behind her seat for the drive home. After several miles of freeway, a wrenching sob tore from Kyle. “Mom! I think my starfish is dead!” he cried. “It’s hard.” “Well, Kyle…” Jean faltered, sensing trouble, “they die if you take’em out of the water.” “I wouldn’a took it out of the water if I knew it’d die.” Catching Gwen’s reflection in the rearview mirror he screamed, “Stop looking at me!” Then, turning his tear streaked, sunburned face to Jean he cried, “Why didn’ya tell me it’d die?” Jean felt the sick, gnawing pain of guilt that was becoming familiar. She had been too focused on Gwen, had misperceived Kyle’s plans for the starfish. Every hurt stemmed from her, each one toppling from the one before, back to the point when she first understood who she was, too late to avoid disaster. *** It was Troy Shore’s sister, Patti, who had first taken seventeen year old Jean O’Reilly into the Shore household. It was a haven to Jean. Her own family was a swirl of chaos and financial strife since her father’s near fatal fall from a scaffold the year before. Forest O’Reilly’s head injuries left him with erratic, volatile moods and unable to work. Jean was drawn to Patti, who was her opposite: Patti's wildness echoed deep below Jean’s uncertainty and reserve. Patti arranged for Jean to go to a drive-in movie with her and her older brother, Troy, who was home after dropping out of college. Handsome and reticent, Roy was a screen onto which Jean projected her awakening sexuality; but she had the most fun doing things that included Patti. The three hung out at the Shore home or went to movies together. Two months later Jean and Roy were married and soon were expecting Kyle. Before Kyle’s fourth birthday Jake was toddling and Kim was born. Jean marveled at the three, their varied personalities and innate gifts. Jean loved to sing to them. She missed singing in the church she had attended growing up. Roy refused to go, and Jean was embarrassed to have nothing to give when the collection plate was passed. When the church asked for a weekly commitment for the building fund, she stopped going. Money was tight, and as the older two children entered school she often brought up the idea of going to work. Troy was adamant she should stay home until, buckling under the strain of supporting the family alone, he agreed to Jean’s going with Patti to apply at a ball bearing factory. Jean had been excited about going to work. Except for hospital stays when the children were born, she had never been out of the house for eight hours without Troy. Her excitement soon wore thin. The lead man, looking at her slim arms and well manicured nails, walked her through the slamming noise of punch presses and forklifts and placed her on the easiest job in the factory: an assembly line with eleven older women. The task was to plunk a metal collar over a ring of connected steel balls passing by at a crawl on a conveyer belt. Halfway through the first morning Jean was numb with boredom, but the pace allowed plenty of time to observe other areas of the plant. The women on Jean’s line passed their days gossiping about other employees, especially those they labeled “lesbians,” making the word sound slimy. Jean had never heard it before. But when they said “queer” she thought of a girl in her high school some kids had teased and called queer: a slow, heavy-set girl in special classes. Jean felt sorry for her; but she kept her distance. Yet these women running machines and carrying boxes of parts had a natural grace about them, and strength evident in their faces as well as their bodies. Jean became curious about one such woman who loaded parts onto the belt of a monstrous wrapping machine. The woman worked alone all day, sauntering back and forth for parts with an aura of sadness about her, Jean thought. She felt a growing fascination with this woman called Teddy. The lead man seemed surprised when Jean asked to work with her, but he took her back to the wrapping area and introduced them. Teddy was a contradiction: small and delicate appearing, but like a young boy. Her shoulder-length auburn hair was not quite curly, but frizzy. Her skin was pale except for a spatter of freckles across her thin nose. Jean felt an instant pull towards her. Teddy was shy at first, but soon she seemed to welcome the company. The job was heavy and dirty but less monotonous than on the line. It involved full body movement and walking. Grease collected under Jean’s soon broken, stubby nails. Her body ached, but she was never bored. She and Teddy faced each other across the two foot wide belt talking all day. Jean’s fascination quickly grew to desire, and she recognized this had been sleeping within her all along. Feelings that had long puzzled her began to make sense. Although she had many male friends at her school, they had treated her like a buddy, someone they could confide in and consult about other girls. She had dated a couple of boys from other schools—one her cousin had introduced, the other she met through a friend from church—but she soon lost interest and broke it off. She realized now that her friendship with Patti was the sparkle that initially kept her interested in Troy. Teddy answered Jean’s questions—cautiously at first—about this life that was called “gay”. Soon Teddy was as infatuated as Jean. “For the first time in my life,” she said, “I can’t wait to come to work and don’t want to go home.” Others noticed their friendship growing intense and exclusive. News of their affair spread through the factory before going any further than lunches on the hood of Teddy’s car. Through Patti’s new boyfriend, word soon reached Troy. Confused and frightened, Jean at first denied the rumors. She had never seen Teddy away from work until the Friday evening she told Troy she wanted to go to a lingerie sale. He usually insisted they do all the shopping together and would hover nearby when she hunted for personal items, but for such a quick trip Jean convinced him it would be much easier for him to keep the children at home. She actually stopped by the department store and hurriedly bought a bra on the way to Teddy’s house. Teddy opened the door rubbing her eyes, drowsy from a nap, her hair disheveled. She was wearing a rumpled flannel shirt over a white undershirt and had started to button it when she saw Jean. She lowered her eyes, moaning involuntarily as a shy grin tugged at the corner of her mouth. Without looking up, she took hold of Jean’s shirt and drew her inside. When Jean retuned home, nervous and fevered, Troy confronted her again with his suspicions. “Where’d you go?” he demanded. “Did you go see that woman?” There—in the kitchen Jean had painted a soft salmon color, had hung curtains she had sewn from cheerful turquoise-checked muslin, had prepared three meals a day—it seemed a relief to tell the truth. Troy, who had never hit her before, slugged her full on in the face with his fist, and she dropped to the floor. The next morning, while Troy was in the garage working on his prized classic Cadillac he was restoring, Jean told the children they were leaving and packed a suitcase. The children went to their toy box and pulled out their favorite playthings. “Our Daddy hit our Mommy!” Kyle angrily pronounced, throwing toys into a box Jean had given him. Jake and Kim did the same. Their innocent indignation brought Jean to tears, but she helped them into the car and drove to Teddy’s. Teddy was shocked when they arrived at her door, but at first she made an effort to accommodate them. It took only a few hours, though, for it to become clear that she was not prepared to take on a family. When Troy’s brother arrived, having learned from Patti where to find them, Jean agreed to go home. *** Jean sat in the living room for hours on end, the house littered with clothes and toys. The children ran in and out all day, unchecked. What had she expected? That this was a problem she and Troy could solve together? He had gone to their parents, told them all. Jean’s father was waiting outside the factory the next day when she got off work. “Get in the Goddamned truck,” Forest insisted, clinching her arm, shoving her up into the cab of his pickup. He climbed in beside her and sat watching groups of women leave the plant. “This place is full of them,” he said, disgusted. His face was livid; his lips turned a sickly blue. Jean was frightened he was going to die right there. Then he said, “You’re gonna stay away from these people or we’ll take your kids,” and a cold calm blanketed her fear. Her father had taught her to use and care for firearms. Before his accident, they had spent hours together at target practice. With an even voice she told him, “If you ever try to take my kids, I’ll blow you away.” The anger drained from his face instantly, leaving him ashy and stunned. After all, she was the girl he had taught to stand her ground and fight back. He drove her home in silence. When he dropped Jean off at home he said sadly, “Your mother and I think those people are the scum of the earth.” That evening Jean’s mother barged into her living room in a fit of hysteria, crying, “What did I do wrong?” Demanding, “Tell me why you hate me.” “This isn’t about you,” Jean answered, but she couldn’t explain. She sat silent until her mother turned and left. So day after day Jean sat and weighed her choices, every choice promising unbearable loss. But it all came down to this: she would never give up her children, and she could not support them on minimum wages. She agreed to move away with Troy. *** Halfway across the country from her friends and family, it was clear Jean had to leave Troy, but not without her children. She looked for work in the late afternoons, when she had use of the car and Troy could watch the kids. And when she felt up to the battle she would stay away longer, drive up to Hollywood for a dance or two in one of the women’s clubs. That was how she met Gwen. *** Gwen drove them home in silence. Jean spotted the Ford as they pulled into the alley. “Let us out here. Troy’s home early,” she said. Abandoning his starfish, Kyle slammed the door of the Peugeot, stomped down the alley and through the kitchen doorway. Jake and Kim followed, Kim clinging to her towel, shivering. Gwen caught hold of Jean’s arm as she left the car. “Hey,” she said, “maybe we better skip tonight. I should study my lines. I’ll give you a call soon, OK?” Jean looked into Gwen’s face for any sign Gwen would not bale on her like Teddy, like others, but Gwen dropped her eyes and let go of Jean’s arm. “Right,” Jean said. She knew that call would never come. Troy was in the kitchen hunched over the sink, watching from the window as the Peugeot sped away. He spun around as Jean came through the doorway. Jake jumped between Jean and Troy holding out a fragment of his sand dollar saying, “Daddy! I brought you a sand quarter.” But Jean knew it was too late. She would have to fight her way out, dragging her short-changed children along. ___
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Thanks, Elli, for your words of encouragement
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