Crushed--Part IV



I shouldn’t have been alone with Jake. These days I try not to be alone with a guy--ever.  See, I’ve figured out something about people.  One woman plus one man plus time alone (in person, on the phone, on the computer) equal, pretty much always, intimacy—emotional, if not physical.  Not necessarily a bad thing, unless of course, the two are married.  To other people.

I didn’t plan on going to Jake’s on Monday.  I’ll make him wait. ‘Til tomorrow.

I was sitting at the kitchen table making out the grocery list when Silas walked in. With Millie on the leash.

            “You ready?” he said.

            I put my pen down.  “For what?”

            “For Jake’s. It’s Monday.”

            “I didn’t tell him we were coming for sure.”

            “No, but we should.”

            “We should, should we?” I said. “Why?”  Like I didn’t know.

            “’Cause it’s the right thing to do,” Silas said.  He had a don’t-you-know-anything smirk on his face.  “Don’t you think?  I mean, he’s probably bored to death over there, all by himself.”

            I sighed and pushed back from the table. “I reckon you’re right. Give me a minute.”

Millie barked when she spied Jake.  Strained at the end of her leash.  When Jake heard her, his chin lifted and he turned toward us.  A smile opened his face.  He’s been waiting for me. For us. He stood and started snapping and whistling.   I squatted and unhooked her leash.  Gave her rump a swat. She trotted toward him.  Tail like a windshield wiper—left, right, repeat.  When she crashed into him, he dropped onto the grass.  Laughed.  She crawled into his lap. Covered it with her white and tan-spotted self. He flipped his face side to side in an attempt to dodge her tongue.  Finally, he gave up. Pursed his lips and let her lick.  I shook my head and chuckled. That man needs a dog.

            “Howdy, Jake,” I said.

            “Morning, Dana.  Silas? You there too?”

            Silas started to wave then stopped. “Yeah.  Right here, Jake.”

            Jake buried his face in Millie's neck for a moment.  Not before I saw his grin.  He stood and headed toward the house. Millie followed. The leash trailed behind her.

            I stayed put.  “It’s nice out here,” I said. “Don’t you want to be outside?” Where everybody and their brother can keep an eye on us?

            “It is nice,” Jake said, “But Jenny made coffee.  I just have to flip the toggle and we’ll have Italian Roast.  You do drink coffee, don’t you?”

            “I do.  The boy child, however, does not.  Not yet.”

            “Lemonade cool with you, Si?”

            Silas smiled.  “Sure.”

            Okay, so maybe one cup.

            Jake led the way.  Knew exactly when to step up. I stood in the middle of the kitchen and rotated.  Wow, that green is almost black. Love it. Oh, and the snakey silver light fixture is really cool.  They’ve got the minimalist thing going on.  Or is it a-don’t-leave-anything-out-that-Jake-could-trip-over-or-break thing?

            “I love your house,” I said.

            Jake fiddled with the coffeemaker on the other side of the island. “Tell Jenny.  Design is her thing. Silas, glasses are in the cabinet over the dish drainer.”

            When I heard the coffee maker gurgle, I went over and stood next to Jake. 

            He swatted his hand around. Never found me.  “I’ve got this.”

            “Great,” I said. I bit my lip when I saw Jenny had put out china cups and saucers.  What was she thinking?  That I’d be in charge of coffee detail?  “Do you want to sit in here or go out on the sleeping porch?”

            “You can go on out.  Silas, why don’t you stay here and give me a hand?”        

            Silas made his way toward Jake.  “Sure thing.”

            I went outside to wait.  Perched on the edge of a wicker rocker.  Glanced at my watch. I’ll time them.  How many guys does it take to serve coffee?  In china cups.

            “Ca-rap!”  I jumped up.  It was Jake.  “Why can’t anything ever be easy?”

            I hurried inside.  “What’s wrong?  Are you hurt?”

            Jake turned.  The front of his polo shirt was drenched in coffee.  He ducked his head and peeled it off.

            “Holy Schmoly,” Silas said.

            My eyebrows headed for my bangs.  You can say that again.

            Silas started laughing.  At me.  “Mom!  Stop staring!”

            Jake flicked his head in Silas’s direction then mine. “What?  What’s she staring at?”

            “You,” Silas said.

            “Me?  Why me?”

            “’Cause you’re ripped.  That’s why?”

            A grin grew on Jake’s face. “Dana, are you staring at my muscles?”

            I fanned my face with my hand.  “Maybe. It’s just--  They’re--”

            “They’re what?” Jake said.

            “It’s just . . . they’re so . . . Goldilocks.”

            The guys tilted their heads.  “Goldilocks?”

            I swallowed.  “Yeah.  Not too big.  Not too small.  They’re—“

            “Just right,” they said.  Jake’s smile seemed to make his face glow.  I wiped the sweat mist from under my nose and looked at the ceiling.  I can't believe I said that.

            Silas squeezed Jake’s bicep.  “How did you get ‘em that big?”

            “Let’s go outside,” Jake said.  “Silas, can you get the tray?”

            Silas and Jake settled onto the wicker sofa.  Millie flopped at Jake's feet. I returned to the rocker. Tried to focus on my coffee cup.

            “Kevin asked me to work out with him before he went out for soccer this year.  So we did.  Started in January.”  He leaned toward the coffee table. “Dana, will you please pour me a cup?  Black’s fine.”

            “Here,” I said. I tapped his knuckles and handed it to him when he was ready.

            “Turned out, the coach wanted cardio strength, not muscular.  This guy wants those boys to be able to run ten miles a day, no problem.  Can you believe that? So now Kevin runs every day.  I still do our strength workout though.  Push ups, sit ups, wall squats.  Gives me something to do.”

            Don’t stop.  For Jenny’s sake.

            Silas turned to me.  “Hey, maybe Dad would do that with me.”

            I smiled.  “That would be great,” I said.  On multiple levels.  “Now why don’t you see if you can find Jake a clean shirt?” 

            Jake bent to pet Millie but not before I saw he was grinning to beat all.

Crushed--Part III

“’That you are, Missy.  That you are.’”

            I clasped my hands and rested them on the notebook in my lap.  “The end,” I said.  
            Jake chuckled.  “That was good. Funny.  Now read another one.  Please.”

            I fanned through my stories. “What’re you in the mood for?   Animals? Memories of childhood? Spiritual? Poetry?”

            His eyebrows raised.  “Poetry?”

            “There’s not much, and I’m not sure how good it is, but occasionally one issues forth.”

            Jake looked at the rusted Alfa Romeo, almost consumed with weeds, across the street.  At least, he seemed to.

            “Sad,” he said. “Read me something sad.”
            I wrinkled my nose. “Really?”

            “Yeah.  The saddest thing you’ve got.  I haven’t cried since I don’t know when.”

            My breath wheezed.  Oh, Lord.  Anything but this.  I spread my fingers over my heart.  The place that is so tender toward a man who will weep.  Not loud with nose blowing.  Just a crystalline tear or two bound to commit suicide off a chin.

            “The saddest thing I have is—" I bent toward him. Spoke softly. “Come closer.”

            He leaned. I felt the warmth of him. I imagined it was pulsing so I pulled back a little.

            “Killing Her Softly,” I said. “It’s about Millie’s sister.  When she . . . “

            Jake’s hand swept the area near his feet.  Found Millie’s hind end.  He circled her tail with his thumb and middle finger.  Followed it to its end.

            “Will she be okay?”

            “Millie?  I think so. She’s crashed and besides, she’s—“

“Deaf. Not completely, but almost.”

            “Right,” I said. “Do you have tissues in your bag?”

            “Are you serious?”

            “Oh, yeah,” I said.  “Very.  Plus, I’ve never read this one out loud to anyone.  I might—“

            He fished a little plastic package of Kleenex out of his bag and tucked it under his leg.

            “Okay.  I’m ready.”

            Jake ended up needing three tissues. More for shredding than mopping.  I just kept smoothing and refolding the same one.

            “I can’t believe you read that,” he said.

            I huffed. “You’re the one who asked for it.  Said you wanted to cry.”

            “Well, that should certainly do me for a while,” he said.  He tilted over the side of his chair and groped.  Found a dog leg.  Held it captive until she pulled it away. 
            “Poor Millie.”

            I snorted. “Poor Millie?  She wasn’t there.  It’s more like, poor me.  And poor Joel.”

            I relocated to the grass.  Stretched out.  Put my hat over my face.  Let the sun soak the rest of me. Low humidity.  What a gift.  A rare one in this town in summertime.  Or maybe in any town, in a valley, with a river.

            Jake extended his legs and his foot brushed my side.  I scootched an inch to the right.

“Are you afraid?” Jake said.

            I sat up. My hat fell to the side.  I propped myself on my elbows.

            “What do you mean?” I said. “Am I afraid.  Afraid of what?” How do you know? How can you tell?

            “That you’ll have to do it all over again. With M-i-l-l-i-e.”

            My elbows gave out and I hit the grass. Shoulders then head. I squeezed my eyes shut.  Felt my heart flinch.  When I answered, I could barely hear myself.

            “Yes,” I said. “Very.  For me.  For all of us.  But mostly for Silas.  They sleep together every night now.  Share his pillow. Sometimes they spoon.   It’s so . . . “

            Salt hit my sinuses. I sucked air into my nose.  Spoke in a whisper on the exhale.

            “Terrified.  That's what I am.” I haven’t told anyone that.

            I could tell he, or some part of him, was near.  I peeked through my lashes.  Watched his hand hover.  Felt it land on my shoulder. Shut my eyes again.  Noticed my breath wait,waiting, behind my breastbone. It’s so . . . warm.  Just shy of hot.  Pat, pat, pat. I hesitated, then put mine over his.  Just for a second.  Then I got scared.  Snatched mine back.  Don’t. 

            I scrambled to my feet.  “We should go,” I said. I faced the house.  Cupped my hands around my mouth. “Silas!  Come on.” 

           Jake stood, unsteady then firm.  His eyes, no, probably his ears, searched for me.  His brow furrowed. Are you mad? Hurt?  Probably have no idea what’s wrong with me.  It was hard to watch him peer intently at a car instead of me so I slid my foot in and out of my flipflop, to help him echolocate. 

He adjusted his position. “You don’t have to—“

            Behind him, the screen door slapped.  He startled. 

            I bent to pick up my notebook. “Actually, I do.  I have to start supper.  He has karate tonight.”

            “Tomorrow then?” he said.

            I shook my head slowly.  Like he can see.  “I—We can’t, Jake.” I said. “It’s the weekend.  We do family stuff.” I recognized guilt in my tone.

            Silas came up behind me.  Scooped up Millie’s leash and flicked his wrist.

            “Wake up, girl.  Time to go.” Millie blinked up at us from her camp chair cave.  Her tail struck the ground but made no noise.

            Jake turned in the direction of our voices.  “Okay.  How about Monday then?”

            “We’ll see,” I said.  “I’ll try but . . .”  Be unpredictable. Don’t guarantee anything. Here’s your chance, a brick, for you to build a wall with.

            “Bye, Jake,” I said.  Silas waved.  I caught his forearm.  Pressed it to his side.

            “Thanks,” Jake said. “For coming.  For the stories.”

            Silas and I headed for the street.  “You’re welcome, Jake,” I said. “Have a great weekend.”

            I don’t think he heard.  When I glanced back he was halfway to the house.

Crushed--Part II

I’ve taken the proper precautions.  Everything’s gonna be just fine.

When we came around the bend, there was Jake.  He sat almost on the edge of his West Virginia University camp chair.  He’s waiting.  For me.

            “How does he know what time it is?” my son said.

            I shrugged.  “I have no idea.”

            Jake lifted his chin.  “Dana?  Is that you?”

            “Yes.”  Your hair.  The gold's going silver. It looks good super short. Makes you look strong.

            “And Millie?”

            “Yep. She’s here.”

            “And me,” my son said.

            “Me?  Who’s me?”

            Silas pointed to his chest.  “Me.  I’m Silas.”

            “Silas?” Jake said. “Silas!  Man, last time I saw you, you were in a pumpkin seat.”

            Silas tilted his head. “You saw me?  But I thought you—“

            I covered his mouth. Squinted one eye at him.

            “I am blind,” Jake said. “But I haven’t always been.”

            “Do you know Braille?”

            I narrowed both eyes.  Exhaled through my nose. “Cool it,” I hissed through my teeth.

            Jake snapped his fingers.  Whistled a high note.  I liberated Millie.  She went to him, tail ticktocking.  Sat in front of him.  Gave him her paw.

            He accepted it.  “Such a good girl,” he said. 

            I watched him try to locate us.  I shuffled my feet a couple times. 

            “And, no.  I don’t know Braille,” Jake said.  “Not yet.  I’ve been putting it off.  I’m pretty sure it’ll be a pain.”

            “But how do you read?” Silas said.  I reached out and pinched his lips. Didn’t let go.  He took a step back.  Shook my fingers loose.

            “Honestly?  I haven’t had to.  Jenny does whatever reading needs to be done for me.”

            “You mean you don’t read just for fun?”

            Jake sighed.  “Silas, I’m gonna shoot straight with you.  It’s been a long time since I did anything just for fun.”

            In my mind I ran through a list of what I imagined he used to do.  For fun.  Read, play cards, golf maybe.  Watch television, go on family bike rides.  Play ball.  He’d told me years ago, when we sat next to each other at the parent run pre-school, that he’d played baseball.

            “I was really good,” he said.

            “Did you pitch?”

            “I did. How’d you know?”

            “Could you throw really fast?”

            “They didn’t have speed guns back then, but I struck out a whole lotta guys.  Pitched a perfect game once. In college.”

            “I have no idea what that is.”

            That had cracked him up.  “Ask your husband.  He’ll know.”

            Jake motioned toward the empty chair on his right.  “Sit.  Sit.”

            I put my notebook under the chair, then sat.  Adjusted my sun hat to shade my face.  I pointed to the ground next to where Millie was sprawled.  Silas dropped down beside her.  Ruffled her fur with his hand, then collected the wads of shed, white hair.  Blew on them and watched them float and drop.

            “Hey, Silas,” Jake said. “There’s another camp chair on the porch.  Why don’t you bring it down?”

            Silas stood.  “Okay.”

            Jake keyed on his footsteps and after a minute turned to me.  One corner of his mouth hitched up.

            “Did Joel make you bring him?”

            To protect me from a blind man?  I shook my head.  “No.”  I made me bring him.    “I didn’t want to leave him home alone.”

            Jake leaned back.  “Of course not,” he said. “What is he?  Twelve?”

            “Quit,” I said, “Besides, if I didn’t bring him, I would’ve had to sew you into a sleeping bag, like the courting scene in—“

            He grinned. “Like in Patriot?”

            I chuckled. “Exactly.”

            I twisted in my chair and glanced back at the house.  “Where’s Kevin?”

            “Soccer practice. The coach’ll bring him home later.”

            Silas returned with a green camp chair.  Pressed it down.  Spread it open.  Flopped into it.

            “Hate to make you get up so soon, Silas, but there’s lemonade in the fridge if you want to bring it and some glasses out. Or we can wait a bit.”

            Silas sprang up.  “I love lemonade,” he said.  He headed back to the house.

            Jake shifted forward.  I lay a hand on his arm. Just for a second.  “He’ll find it. You don’t have to go.”

            Jake sat back.  Sighed.  “It sucks.”                                                                              

            I know. I mean, I can imagine. “What does?” 

            “Everybody doing everything for you.  I mean, for me.  All the time.”

            I tucked my feet underneath me.  I think I’d like it.  For awhile anyway. 

            “Sorry,” he said.  “Don’t mean to be a downer.”

            Silas approached.  “I have to make another trip,” he said.  “There’s more stuff.”

            He set a tole-painted tray on the ground.  Handed me a glass of lemonade.

            “Here,” he said to Jake. Jake reached out, his hand a C.  Silas fit the glass into his grip.

            “Thanks.”

            He picked up the tray. “Be right back.”

            This time he brought a bread basket, Longaberger I think, topped with a tea towel that looked like the Irish flag.  There were plates and napkins too.  I pinched the cloth and lifted.  Banana bread.  Jenny.  I looked back toward the house.

            “Is she here? Jenny?”

            Jake shook his head.  “No.  She’s at work.  She’s always at work.” 

            “She had everything set out though,” Silas said.  “And little notes explaining everything.”

            “Did she?” Jake said.  Did she?

            “Yep.”

            I handed Jake a plate.  Then Silas.  We nibbled and sipped in silence.  I noticed the chocolate chips and coconut in the bread.  Hers is prettier though.  Bet she did an eggwash to make the top that shiny. 

            Jake put his empty plate on the ground.  Sat up.  “So?”

            I tilted my head.  So you’ve got crumbs on your face.  There.  And there. 

            I clasped my hands in my lap, beneath my empty plate. “So what?”

            “Are you going to read me a story?”

            “Oh, yeah,” I said.  I leaned over and stacked my plate on his.  Pulled my notebook out from under my camp chair.

            “She brought ‘em all,” Silas said. With his mouth full.  He lifted the three ring binder off my lap.  Placed it on Jake’s.  “It’s heavy, isn’t it?  She’s got a ton of stories.  What do you want to hear?  Funny?  Sad?  Hamsters?  Food?  Birth?  Death?”

            I took my stories back.  “Stop.  I know exactly what I’m going to read.  Jake was a ball player way back when. Baseball.  He was really good too.  Pitched a perfect game once, didn’t you, Jake?”

            Silas’s eyes bulged.  “No way.  Really?”

            Jake ran his hand across his chin.  You got ‘em.  Most of them anyway. 

            “Really.”

            “That’s awesome.”

            Jake’s mouth pulled to one side.  “Yeah.  It was pretty cool.”

            I opened my notebook. Flipped through the stories.  I had them in alphabetical order. 

            “Hey, Silas,” Jake said. “Kevin has a Wii down in the family room.  If you want—“

            Silas stood so fast his camp chair fell back.  He righted it, then came over and stood in front of me.  He blinked several times, like Puss ‘n Boots in Shrek.

            “Can I?”

            I reached out and adjusted the waistband on his shorts.  “May I.  Sure.  Go on.”

            “Through the side door and down the steps,” Jake said.

             A minute later Silas waved from the back porch.  “Thanks.”

            We’re alone now.  That’s not the way I planned this.