Monday, June 05, 2006
A Story: Part One
His mother is there to greet them at the door; it looks like she has been waiting there for hours already, a tea glass clinking with half-melted ice and a murder mystery are resting on the top step. They've arrived at just the right time, just the time when the evening starts to fall around the house, when the darkness that's always waiting just on the edge where the trees stand together thickly comes creeping across the lawn.
"Honeys," his mother says, and grips Janelle in a tight hug. He is next, then Anna, who was last to get out of the car as she was carefully rearranging her things in her purse. He watches his mother, sees the slight pause in her smile as she holds Anna at arm's length and looks her up and down. There, he thinks. She sees it. And then her smile is back and they are all being chivvied inside and sat around the table.
"Miller, baby, help me set," his mother says, and Janelle smiles. She always loves that when they come to visit, it it his responsibility to help with domestic chores, while she is still treated as a guest. "It makes a nice change," she always tells him, glowing with a book in a lawn chair, happily excused from duty.
Over dinner, Anna is quiet, smiling over her food and eating without any of he voraciousness she used to have. MIller watches her spear to string beans on her fork and remembers the last time when they were here, when she would clean two plates in half the time it took the rest of them to eat one, and then be out the door again, running back to some half-finished project that had to be completed before dark. Now her dark hair is tamed into chin-length waves, the bones of her face shine clearly through her skin, and she is calm, without any of the frantic movement she used to have.
"Did you have a good birthday, Anna?" his mother asks, and Anna nods.
"Yes. I got my hair cut, and some new clothes."
"She picked it all out herself," Janelle says,"and she came out of the store looking like a little heiress. I could've been a maid, following with the bags." Janelle takes another bite of her fried chicken. "A classy heiress, not a trashy one."
Anna only gives her mother the same half-smile that she's been wearing all day and continues to eat slowly, deliberately. Miller watches his mother watching her and wills her to know, to recognize it.
After dinner, the all sit outside in reclining lounge chairs that his mother built herself, looking at the stars through the hole in the trees, talking and laughing. Anna is still quiet, but the one time she does laugh, it is like something has grabbed Miller's heart and squeezed it dry. All the air leaves his lungs, and, as it does, he looks over at his mother and sees that she, too, is sitting breathless, staring and this strange creature sitting with them.
They send Anna to bed and he thinks that he can feel everyone relaxing, enjoying the conversation. His mother has always had a filthy mouth, one which she manages to control around children and religious fanatics, but lets loose on occasion as though all the time she has spent filtering hersef has left a store of curses and filthy jokes waiting to come pouring out. At som point, Janelle reaches for his hand and he takes hers and they sit like that for a long time, separate but linked, staring up at the sky.
When Janelle has finally plead exhaustion and gone up to bed, Miller closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. When he opens his eyes again, his mother is standing over him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she says, and he can see that she's truly angry, with an expression on her face so rare he's only seen it once or twice before. "Come inside," she says, and doesn't wait for him to follow, just strides away over the dark grass toward the lighted square of the kitchen door.
"Why did you bring her here?"
"I wanted you to see her. I had to know that it wasn't just me, that I'm not going crazy."
His mother pours herself another glass of iced tea and adds a generous shot of rum to it from a bottle she pulls from a high cabinet. "I heard that voice, when she laughed," his mother says, "and I thought I might die right there. I thought my heart would just stop."
"You recognize it, then."
"How could I not, baby? How many years did we hear that, every night, that voice in your room? I could never forget it."
"Honeys," his mother says, and grips Janelle in a tight hug. He is next, then Anna, who was last to get out of the car as she was carefully rearranging her things in her purse. He watches his mother, sees the slight pause in her smile as she holds Anna at arm's length and looks her up and down. There, he thinks. She sees it. And then her smile is back and they are all being chivvied inside and sat around the table.
"Miller, baby, help me set," his mother says, and Janelle smiles. She always loves that when they come to visit, it it his responsibility to help with domestic chores, while she is still treated as a guest. "It makes a nice change," she always tells him, glowing with a book in a lawn chair, happily excused from duty.
Over dinner, Anna is quiet, smiling over her food and eating without any of he voraciousness she used to have. MIller watches her spear to string beans on her fork and remembers the last time when they were here, when she would clean two plates in half the time it took the rest of them to eat one, and then be out the door again, running back to some half-finished project that had to be completed before dark. Now her dark hair is tamed into chin-length waves, the bones of her face shine clearly through her skin, and she is calm, without any of the frantic movement she used to have.
"Did you have a good birthday, Anna?" his mother asks, and Anna nods.
"Yes. I got my hair cut, and some new clothes."
"She picked it all out herself," Janelle says,"and she came out of the store looking like a little heiress. I could've been a maid, following with the bags." Janelle takes another bite of her fried chicken. "A classy heiress, not a trashy one."
Anna only gives her mother the same half-smile that she's been wearing all day and continues to eat slowly, deliberately. Miller watches his mother watching her and wills her to know, to recognize it.
After dinner, the all sit outside in reclining lounge chairs that his mother built herself, looking at the stars through the hole in the trees, talking and laughing. Anna is still quiet, but the one time she does laugh, it is like something has grabbed Miller's heart and squeezed it dry. All the air leaves his lungs, and, as it does, he looks over at his mother and sees that she, too, is sitting breathless, staring and this strange creature sitting with them.
They send Anna to bed and he thinks that he can feel everyone relaxing, enjoying the conversation. His mother has always had a filthy mouth, one which she manages to control around children and religious fanatics, but lets loose on occasion as though all the time she has spent filtering hersef has left a store of curses and filthy jokes waiting to come pouring out. At som point, Janelle reaches for his hand and he takes hers and they sit like that for a long time, separate but linked, staring up at the sky.
When Janelle has finally plead exhaustion and gone up to bed, Miller closes his eyes and leans back in his chair. When he opens his eyes again, his mother is standing over him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she says, and he can see that she's truly angry, with an expression on her face so rare he's only seen it once or twice before. "Come inside," she says, and doesn't wait for him to follow, just strides away over the dark grass toward the lighted square of the kitchen door.
"Why did you bring her here?"
"I wanted you to see her. I had to know that it wasn't just me, that I'm not going crazy."
His mother pours herself another glass of iced tea and adds a generous shot of rum to it from a bottle she pulls from a high cabinet. "I heard that voice, when she laughed," his mother says, "and I thought I might die right there. I thought my heart would just stop."
"You recognize it, then."
"How could I not, baby? How many years did we hear that, every night, that voice in your room? I could never forget it."
