Chapter Nine

Marlene

Marlene's car was in the driveway when Mary Lou puiled the truck up and stopped in front of the house. Marlene's street just looked regular. I guess with all the bad stuff going on, I thought everything was going to look all different. Same old crummy street, though.

"You got a key?" said Mary Lou.

"Yeah," I said. "She might be in there, you think?"

"Doesn't look like it," said Mary Lou. There was three or four rolled-up newspapers laying on the step, and the window cur­tains was all pulled shut. The grass needed mowing bad, and weeds was grown up all around the fence.

We got out of the truck, all bent~up like old women. A cheese­burger wrapper fell out on the curb when I slid out the passen­ger door, I picked it up and put it in a brown paper sack that was laying on the floorboard. While I was at it, I picked up two pop bottles and a coffee cup lid and a french-fries box and a candy-bar paper and a bag with crumbs of corn chips in it.

"Whew, no wonder my stomach feels like it does," I said.

"You want a Rolaid, honey?" said Mary Lou. She had a coffee spot on her shirt front, and tired eyes from staring at the yellow road stripe.

"Yeah, you have one?" I said. "No, wait, better give me two."

She peeled off a couple from her roll and put tire rest in her shirt pocket. "Ready to go in?"

"Yeah," I said. "I guess."

We went up and opened the screen door and I knocked.

When I touched the front door, it clicked open. "Not locked," I said. "Maybe I better just go in and see. You wait outside here, all right?"

"You sure?" Mary Lou said. "I don't want you in there by yourself."

"It'll be all right," I said. "I'm used to her, she's my old lady."

"All right," said Mary Lou. "Come back out if...it ain't safe. Or call me. Okay?"

"Okay," I said. I opened up the door and went in. "Marlene? You here? Marlene?"

What a pit, it looked like a garbage dump. Newspapers all over the floor, a cottage cheese thing with green crud in it, she was using the floor for a ashtray.

"Is it all right?" said Mary Lou through the screen door.

"So far," I said. I flipped the wall switch but the lamps didn't go on, the electricity must of been out. I walked over a pile of shoes and clothes and dishes so I could get to the window and open up the curtains, to let a little light in.

I climbed over the junk piles and went to the back of the house. I walked by the bathroom. What a stink, the toilet wasn't flushed. The shower curtain was pulled down, half laying on the floor and half floating in the tub. Marlene had broke the mirror on the medicine cabinet. A big piece of mirror was laying in the sink.

"Oh man," I said.

"What?" yelled Mary Lou. She opened up the screen door.

"It's all right, stay there," I yelled. "The toilet stinks, that's all."

I went to the doorway of Marlene's room. It was real dark, the window light from the living room couldn't reach all the way down the hall. There was a pile of crap on her bed, blan­kets and clothes and who knows what else. I went in and opened up the bedroom curtains. When I turned around I seen a bunch of grayish- brown hair laying on the pillow.

"Marlene?" I said.

She didn't move. Oh man, she's dead, I thought. What am I supposed to do, call the ambulance? No, what would she need it for if she's dead. Go get Mary Lou? No, I don't want her to see dead Marlene. Call somebody? If the phone worked. I picked it up to see if it was still buzzing. There was a little noise in the bed. Did she move?

"Hey," I said. "You...there?"

She was crying, just barely alive and crying in her filthy dirty pillow. Her hair looked like it never had been washed in her whole life. She used to be beautiful, I thought. Like a movie star.

"Hey, Marlene," I said. "Hey, it's me. What's the matter with you? Marlene, what's going on?"

She said something, the words was so weak and little I couldn't hear her. I put my ear down close.

"Are you the police?" she said.

"The police?" I said. "No, it's me, it's Carol. Marlene, it's Carol."

She started mumbling so I put my head down to hear. "Carol...will you let me call Carol when we get to jail? I want to call my daughter...! get my one phone call, I want to call my—"

"Marlene, it's me," I said. "Look at me. Can't you see who it is?"

"I'm sick, lady," said Marlene, real loud all of a sudden. "I got pain in my back, bad pain in my back." She took her hand and rubbed it back and forth on the hurting place.

"We better—" said somebody. I jumped. Mary Lou put her hand on my shoulder. "We better get a doctor. You want me to call?"

"She don't even know me," I said. "She don't even recognize her daughter."

"I'm going to call a doctor," said Mary Lou. "Honey, now don't cry. It's all right. The doctor will be right here."

* * *

It took an hour for the doctor to show up. Maybe more than that, I wasn't sure, tire alarm clock on Marlene's bedside table was stopped. The doctor said we didn't need the ambulance, we took Marlene to the hospital in the truck. Me and Mary Lou followed him. to the hospital in Mary Lou's truck, with Marlene in between us on the front seat. She smelled horrible but she held still.

At the hospital we got Marlene checked in and they sent us to the waiting room. After a while a nurse came and said, 'The doctor would like to speak with you."

"Can Mary Lou come too?" I said.

"The doctor asked just for you," the nurse said, and she took me back to one of the examining rooms.

When I come out, Mary Lou had a lit cigarette and a hot cup of instant coffee waiting for me. She give them to me, and I sat down and pulled up the ashtray. "She can go home pretty soon, maybe tomorrow," I said. "He said it's delirium tremens, that's when you drink and it messes your brain up. She just forgot for temporary, he said she will go back to herself. But she's pretty sick, he said she hasn't gone to the restroom for two weeks or something like that. It poisoned her bowels and blood and stuff, we have to build her up with good food and lots of salad and all that, make her drink water."

"So she'll be all right, when she gets out?" said Mary Lou. "She can, you know, go home and everything?"

"No," I said. "He wants me to send her to the nuthouse. Well, first he said a nursing home but there ain't money for that. So he said Central State, but I said no. I'm not going to send her off to the nuthouse. I wouldn't put a animal in Central State. Mary Lou, can we get out of here? I got to lay down and rest, my brain is going crazy."

"Yeah," said Mary Lou. "Come on with me, I'll take you in the truck and—where should we go to? Not—"

"Not Marlene's," I said. "I guess we could go to a motel, no wait, let me call somebody." Mary Lou walked me down to the pay phone. I put my dime in and dialed. "Hi, Vivian? It's Carol, Rusty's friend? Yeah, hope I didn't get you up out of bed. My mom is sick, we're in town, my friend Mary Lou and me and we don't have a place to stay."

When I hung up, Mary Lou said, "If s okay? How do we get over there?"

"We got to go to a motel," I said. "Viv don't have room. Rusty's brother got thrown out, his wife threw him out, he's staying at Vi Vs so there's no room."

"That's all right," said Mary Lou. 'We can go to the Downtowner Inn."

The Downtowner Inn said they didn't have a room. I could see the keys hanging on the hooks, but they said they was full. I don't know if it was cause we was lesbians, or maybe they thought we was going to invite over a bunch of men and have a wild party. We said the hell with it, and we drove over to Marlene's and parked the truck in Marlene's driveway. Mary Lou went in Marlene's house and got a couple blankets and we crawled up in the truck bed and went to sleep.

It started patting down rain about five o'clock in the morn­ing, I was getting a chill so I woke up. Mary Lou already was awake, she had her blanket wrapped around her legs and she was propped up on the wheel well, smoking a Camel.

"Could you not sleep?" I said.

"Not too good," she said. "This metal is pretty hard. But I got rested, kind of. A little bit." She took one more drag on her cigarette and dropped it down over the side into the wet gravel. "What do you want to do? I don't want to sit out here in the rain."

"Let’s go get us a donut, want to?" I said.

"Good plan," said Mary Lou. "You know a place?"

"Ha," I said. "You think I could live here my whole life and not know where a good old greasy bear claw is?"

It was nice and dry in the South Side Pastry Corner, but noisy and crowded, full of maintenance men getting ready to go to work. The light fixture was flicking on and off, it would of ru­ined my mind if it wasn't ruined already. Me and Mary Lou drunk coffee till we was jittering on and off too.

"I got to do something," I said. "I can't let them put Marlene in Central State."

"Is there anybody that could, you know, take care of her?" said Mary Lou. "That could go stay in her house with her?"

"No," I said. "Unless it's me. I couldn't stand it, Mary Lou. It would make my nerves feel so bad, you not there and Rusty not there, and Marlene setting fire to the kitchen and—"

"Quit," said Mary Lou. "I didn't mean you, I wouldn't let you. Don't Marlene have, like, sisters or somebody? They could maybe take her in?"

"Tallulah's dead," I said. "Greta's got nine kids to take care of, maybe Clara? Her kids are all grown and gone, but she ain't close with Marlene. They never did get along that good."

"Okay," said Mary Lou. "Marlene will come and stay with us in New Naples. There's rooms at Frank's that nobody is using. You and Marlene can come and stay."

"I couldn't do that to you, Mary Lou," I said. "Or me, either. If d break us up, I'd be shook up from Marlene so bad, and she don't know-how we are, we'd have to sneak around. She'd drive Frank crazy, anyway, what if she sets fires in Frank's house? She ain't safe."

"Well, a nursing home, then," said Mary Lou. She sounded a little bit aggravated, which was fair. She was thinking up all the ideas and I was just jittering and saying No, no, no.

But I had to say no again anyway. "No money," I said. "Them nursing homes cost, she ain't got it, I ain't got it."

"The house," said Mary Lou. "That’s hers, ain't it?"

"Sell her house?" I said. "She don't want me to sell her house, that's all she's got, her house."

"Well," said Mary Lou. She got up. "I got to go use the rest­room." She had a patient face, but when she walked off her back was stiff.

"You was right," I told her when she come back. "Somebody buys the house, we could pay for Marlene to stay in a rest home. She'll be so lonely, she has felt bad since I went off with Rusty. I can't even come back and see her, except what? Once, twice a year?"
"Reed," said Mary Lou.

"What?" I said. "Read what?"

'"Where you work," said Mary Lou.

"Oh, Reed," I said.

"Let's take Marlene back with us," said Marlene. "If she was at Reed, you could see her every day. Take care of her and all. If we get one of those real estate places to sell Marlene's house, we can take her back to Frank's when she gets out of the hospital."

"Man," I said. "I don't know if I want to see her every day. I know I don't."

Mary Lou give me a strong look.

"Sorry," I said. "All's I do is complain."

"Yeah," said Mary Lou. "I know."

"Well," I said, "I guess it's see Marlene all the time or not any of the time. Let's go over there, is it visiting hours yet? We can ask her how she would like to come live in New Naples."

* * *

We never got the chance to ask Marlene nothing. We drove over to the hospital and went in and stood waiting for the ele­vator. The arrow said it was on 4. When the number 1 lighted up red and the doors opened up, Marlene's doctor got off.

"Miss Frehardt?" he said. "I'm so sorry, we had no way to reach you."

"Sorry?" I said. "What for?"

He looked at my face. "You surely know that your mother passed away last night? Surely a nurse or someone stopped you and told you? As you came in?"

"Passed away," I said. "Died, you mean, she can't of died. She wasn't that sick, just run-down, you said the delirium stuff would wear off—she killed herself? Did she kill herself? Didn't you watch her, what kind of a doctor are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"Carol," said Mary Lou.

"We did not kill your mother, Miss Frehardt," said the doctor. He put his hand on me and made this big deal of looking at my eyes like he give a shit one way or the other. "This may not be the best time for discussing circumstances, you must be very distressed. If you'd like, I can summon a nurse, she could give you a little something to help you get through this."

"I don't want no somethings," I said. "How come you let my mother kill herself? Some hospital."

"She didn't kill herself," said the doctor. "Well, not directly. However, her health practices of the last few years—"

"Her what?" I said.

"Your mother's, ah, alcoholism strained her ability to handle toxins," he said, "to clean her blood. There was scarification, that is her liver tissue was, ah, hurt. Her intestinal tract was not expelling waste. She didn't eat well, perhaps she was not eating at all."

"Oh," I said. What did he care, it wasn't his mother. He prob­ably wouldn't care if it was. Maybe I ought to just hit him, hit him right in the face. Then he'd care, he'd care about that. But poor Mary Lou, she wouldn't like it if I hit the doctor.

"Let's go," said Mary Lou. "Let's go on now, Carol."

"All right," I said.

* * *

Mary Lou took me back to Marlene's. When we got there, I said, "I can't go in the house." Mary Lou said, "Honey, you're hurting, so I don't want to bitch and complain and carry on. But I feel like we been driving on the road since I got bom. I am tired and dirty and I slept in a pickup bed last night. And we don't have much money, we haven't got a good place to stay. We best just stay at the house, just a day or two, settle the business, get our dresses. We got to get nice clothes to wear to the funeral, and some shoes." She opened up her billfold and looked. "Is there a Goodwill or someplace second-hand? I have to drop you off and go look for funeral clothes. You're gonna call one of your aunts, right?"

* * *

When I called long-distance to Kentucky, Aunt Clara said she would come help with the funeral, if she could get away. Her husband Gene needed somebody to stay and cook for him and, if Clara could call around and find somebody to help Gene, then she'd call me back. I guess she never could find nobody.

When I called Aunt Greta's number, it was busy. I waited fifteen minutes, then I called back. My Uncle Billy said, "Greta ain't home. I'll have her call you back when she comes home from the laundrymat."

But she didn't call. She just showed up. A taxicab with squeaky brakes pulled up in front of Marlene's house, and a woman with three kids got out of it. The taxicab give one more big squeak and took off down the road. Greta and her two kids come up the driveway. The kids was holding onto the ends of a stick pushed through the handle of a suitcase. Greta had a dia­per bag over one arm, and in the other arm she had her new baby, a big fat thing. The little boy on one side of the suitcase was maybe five years old, and the girl looked about eleven or twelve. Greta had three more kids at home, and three that was out on their own. Aunt Greta was way younger than Marlene and Clara, fourteen years younger than Clara, she must have got married young.

I was standing in the doorway holding open the screen door for them. When they all got to the door, the kids put down the suitcase. The five-year-old got hold of Greta's skirt, and the big one started trying to ask her something. She kept saying "Mommy? Mom?"

Greta had blonde hair and big green eyes. She might of been a pretty woman if it wasn't for being wore out. She looked like she was born exhausted, her face lines was cut deep and her hands was so red and rough it hurt me to look at them. The baby had hold of a handful of Greta's hair.

"Just wait a minute, Holly," said Greta. 'We just got here, we got to say hi to Cousin Carol first. Hey, Carol, how you doing?  Let me get the kids settled down and we can start taking care of whatever. Kids—Holly, Eddie—you take the baby and go play in the yard. Stay in the yard, don't get out in the busy street. Now, go on."

Holly, the biggest one, said, "Play what? There ain't nothing to do in the yard," but Greta told her to go on and take Eddie and the baby with her.

"Carol," Greta said, "you need a cup of coffee or something. Here, you sit down at the table. I'll make you a cup." She looked at all the junk and crud that was laying on Marlene's kitchen table, and said, "Wait a sec."

She went out on the back porch and I heard metal clang, it was Greta taking the lid of the garbage can and putting it down on the porch floor. She swung the can through the kitchen door ahead of her, and put it down next to the edge of the table. Then she pushed all the crud off the table. Her hand just went rake, rake, rake, and it was all gone, the old milk cartons and electric bills and dirty underwear. Then Greta dragged the garbage can around to all the kitchen counters. Whenever she got to a pile of crud, she pulled all of it off into the can. When she got to the Frigidaire, she opened up the door and pulled out every single thing, ketchup bottles and stuff wrapped up in foil. By the time she got to the back door the garbage can was piled up full, I got up so I could open the door for her. "Sit," Greta said. "I can get it."

When she come back in and shut the door, she took a dish towel off the hook on the wall. The dish towel was clean, the only thing in the house that wasn't disgusting. Marlene never washed a dish, she ate her cold food out of the can. Greta took the dish towel and wet it down in the sink and started wiping. She wiped down the table and all the counters and the sinks. When she was done she rinsed the towel off underneath the faucet, and hung it up over the edge of the sink. Then she took the plug for the coffee percolator and put it in the socket be­tween the cabinet and the Frigidaire, and she got the Maxwell House can down off the back of the stove. When Greta had the coffee water popping in the percolator, she picked up a tuna-fish can off the floor and brought it to the table. She took her purse off the other chair and pulled out her pack of cigarettes. She give me one and lit herself one. While we was smoking, we put our ashes in the tuna-fish can. She looked at the coffeepot, water was still popping up in the little glass bubble on the lid. "We'll have to drink it black," she said. "There was milk in the icebox, but I don't trust the food in this house."

"Yeah," I said. "Nothing good in this house."

"Oh, there's been some good," said Greta. "I remember your Uncle Billy and me come up to visit when Holly was a baby. We was here when Marlene give you a birthday party. You was about five, it was when Jerry got out of the service." Jerry was Poppy's name. "Do you remember that?" The coffeepot quit perking, I started to get up but Greta beat me to it. She left her cigarette burning in the tunafish can, and got down two coffee cups.

"Kind of," I said. "I was awful little. I remember Marlene made us wear little party hats, I didn't want to. That's all I can think of, except flashbulbs popping. They must have took a lot of pictures."

Greta give me a coffee cup and sat down with hers. "Uh-huh, we got a few of them pictures in the album at home. I'll send you some when I get back. Give me your address, sometime before you go." She drunk a little coffee. "We need to start on the funeral arrangements, I can only stay for a couple days, the kids start school Thursday." She got up and looked out the kitchen window. "Where did they go? I told them stay in the yard." She opened up the kitchen door. "Kids! Oh, okay. I couldn't see you. Yeah, pretty soon. We'll go in the car and get something. Holly, watch the baby, now. I'm trusting you." Greta shut the door and come back to the table. "I need to go to the grocery store pretty soon, they act out when they get hungry."

"I wish there was something here," I said.

"It’s okay, hon," Greta said. "We had a big lunch. Was there a funeral home you was thinking of? We got to call and have them go get her out of the hospital."

"I hadn't even thought yet." I said. "How much does it cost? I don't even know how to pay them, I don't have—•"

"There was insurance," said Greta. "Mommy give us all in­surance for our wedding present when we got married. Burial insurance and a life insurance for five thousand. We got to find the papers on it. Where did Marlene keep her important papers at?"

"Used to be under here," I said. I opened up the little doors underneath the dish cabinet.  "I don't know about which funeral parlor," I said while I was looking. "How do I know which one? I never had to decide nothing. I'm not sure." I found the insurance papers in a old brown envelope. "Here's the stuff." I give it to Greta.

"Well," said Greta. "I done Tallulah's funeral. Do you want me to just do it? I could."

"You could?" I said. "Could you?"

Greta done it all, called the funeral home and went with me and picked out the coffin and the flowers. At the funeral home, they wanted to know what visiting hours to put in the paper. If it was me, I wouldn't of had no visiting hours. How many peo­ple was going to come look at dead Marlene? But Greta said, 'We got to have one afternoon, it's decent."

She was right. Maybe twelve or fifteen people come and looked at her, Marlene had more friends than I thought. All of them from Joe's Bar, probably, but they was her friends and so what? I wished I had called somebody I knew, I could of called Elsie Pelton from Redskin to come sit with me.

Marlene didn't look too bad, the funeral people had her fixed up. She had on too much makeup and they teased her hair too high, but she looked okay. Not peaceful, nobody ever bothered saying she looked peaceful, but she looked like she'd got used to being dead.

I didn't cry at the funeral. Greta cried a little bit and some man I didn't know put his handkerchief up to his eyes. I wasn't the crying kind. Me and Mary Lou and Greta and Greta's kids went to the cemetery in a limousine. We got out and stood under a stripey tent, and the minister read the Bible. I didn't have to throw dirt in the grave, I'd seen that in the movies, but nobody made me and I was glad. We got back in the limousine and went back to the funeral parlor.

I had to go back to the funeral home and sign papers. One of Marlene's friends, the man that was crying in his handkerchief, drove Greta and the kids back to the house. After I took care of the burial insurance, Mary Lou drove me back to Marlene's house.

"When I drop you off," Mary Lou said, "I'm going down to that shopping center we passed on the way. I want to run the truck through their car wash."

"Why don't you wait till we get back to New Naples?" I said. "It's just going to get all dirty—" I shut up when I seen Mary Lou's face. She looked terrible. She wanted to get off by herself for a little while, and I was giving her a hard time.

"Never mind," I said. "Yeah, that would be good. While you're at it, do you want to stop in at the grocery store and get something for supper? A ham, maybe, why don't you get a ham? And a can of green beans?"

"Okay," said Mary Lou. "Regular green beans or those long skinny ones?"

"Regular," I said.

Mary Lou pulled up in Marlene's driveway. I opened up the car door to let myself out. Mary Lou said, "You got keys?"

"No, Greta will let me in," I said. "I'm going to lay down on the couch till supper."

"I'll be back, then," said Mary Lou. "I love you."

"Yeah," I said. "I love you too."

I didn't get a nap. When I got inside, Greta had the real estate papers for the house spread out on the kitchen table. It was all different things the real estate lady needed to sell Marlene's house.

"You tired?" Greta said. "Maybe we should wait and do this in the morning before me and the kids go back home." But I said, "No, let's get it over with." I signed three or four papers that let the house get sold, and one for Greta to get the life insurance money. I didn't want the furniture or dishes, all that, I knew Greta could use it. She didn't ask me for nothing but I took a sheet of paper and put on the date and wrote, "I give everything in this house to Greta Becker. Also, the title to the auto. Signed, Carol Frehardt." I pushed it over to Greta, but she said "Now, hon, I'm already getting the life insurance. When you're feeling better, you might want the furniture and all."

I said, "Greta, with nine kids you deserve everything you can get." She needed Marlene's life insurance money. A couple times Greta and Billy had got behind on their mortgage and the bank almost got their house.

Holly and Eddie, Greta's kids, was outside in the back yard. I could hear them fighting. They was both saying "My turn" louder and louder. Greta went to the back door and yelled, "Kids!"

She come back and poured coffee in my cup. "This house will be sold before you ever see it again," she said. "You sure you don't want nothing out of it?"

"No," I said. "I don't need none of this stuff. I don't want to be carrying around Marlene's old toaster. It probably don't work anyway."

"Not that kind of stuff," said Greta. "I meant, like, personal."

"Oh," I said. "To remember by?" I got up and started walking through the rooms. I went in my old bedroom, Marlene had lots of junk stacked up in there. She hadn't got around to taking my pictures down. When I was in seventh grade I had hung up a couple movie star pictures, Marlene Dietrich and Greta Garbo, I ordered them from the back of a Photoplay for 99 cents. They was both hanging up over the dresser, I thought maybe I should take one of them with me. But they reminded me too much of Marlene, she was the one that loved movie stars. When I was little I started reading her Photoplays.

Up over my bed there was one more picture, it was a draw­ing I brought home with me from the first day of second grade. The teacher give us manila paper and crayons and said, "draw a picture of your family." I had drew Poppy with a purple crayon, mostly, except I used red for his hair and his mustache, I don't know why, he had a black mustache and his hair was black with gray in it. I drew Marlene's dress with a blue crayon and put yellow polka dots on it. I had put a big polka dot bow on top of her head, and give her a big smile, these two rows of even square teeth. Marlene did have a perfect smile. I drew me hold­ing Marlene's hand, we was on one side of the paper and Poppy was on the edge all by his lonesome. Except he had our dog Whitey by him, standing sideways with his tail about to wag off the page, I didn't know how to draw a dog from the front.

It wasn't too much of a picture, but when I brought it home from school, Marlene thought it was funny, her polka dot hair bow and purple Poppy. She put it in a frame, I remember she took down this little framed picture we had of the Grand Can­yon. She slid the Grand Canyon out and put my drawing in, and she hung it up in the hall for a while. Then sometime it got moved to the wall over top of my bed.

There was so much dirty dust on the picture frame glass, I barely could see Marlene's polka dots. Inside the frame the paper had slid down a little bit, so the cardboard back showed at the top. But I wanted it anyway, I went over and lifted the picture frame up off the nail. I carried my picture down the hall and stopped at Marlene's door. On her dresser there was a stand-up picture frame, one of those twin ones with one picture on each side. One side was her and Poppy's wedding picture, the other side was Marlene by herself. The pictures was took on the same day, you could tell cause Marlene's dress was the same. She had her home permanent and a perfect smile and dark lipstick and a little necklace of fake plastic pearls. I set my crayon picture down on the bed and took Marlene's picture out of the twin frame. I put her inside the glass of the crayon pic­ture. I didn't take the picture of her and Poppy, I just left it laying on the dresser. If Greta or somebody wanted it, they could have it.

I brought my pictures in the living room and leaned them on the wall by the front door so I wouldn't walk off without them. Then I laid down on the saggy ugly plaid couch Poppy bought Marlene when they got the house. He got it second-hand, he said it was just temporary. Two blankets was folded up on the couch, the ones from when me and Mary Lou slept in the truck bed. I shook one out and laid it over me.

"Find some things?" Greta yelled from inside the kitchen. I could hear her sweeping.

"Yeah," I yelled back. "A couple pictures."

While I was getting settled I heard tires rolling up in the driveway and the truck door slam.

"Hey," said Mary Lou when she opened the front door. "You asleep?"

"About to be," I said. "You want to lay down too?"

"Uh, well," said Mary Lou. She was looking at the couch which was pretty full with me in it.

"No, here, it folds out," I said. I jumped up and tossed my blanket over on top of the teevee. "Here, take these." I give Mary Lou the sofa cushions one at a time and she piled them up on the floor. I took hold of the little handle on the sofa bed and yanked.

"Ow," I said. "My back."

"You all right?" said Mary Lou. "What’d you do, hurt your back?"

"I'm okay," I said. "Here, help me, can you?"

Mary Lou and me both grabbed the handle and lifted up. The bed come unstuck and lifted loose. "That's a way," said Mary Lou. "Think it's okay with the kids here?"

"Sure," I said. "All them kids probably have to sleep in the same bed." We got the legs of the bed down on the floor. "You know what this reminds me of, Mary Lou?"

"What?" said Mary Lou.

"When you helped me with the mop bucket. At Joy's, my first day?"

"I did?" said Mary Lou.

"The exact second I fell for you," I said, "and you don't re­member it. Real life is not the same as the movies."

"Sorry," said Mary Lou. She give me a sweet kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you," I said. "Whoa, look at this nasty mattress, what's on it? We have to flip it over or I'm not laying down."

* * *

We slept right through supper time and all night. Greta didn't wake us up when she and the kids left to go home. When I got up, it was morning and Mary Lou was already in the kitchen drinking a glass of Quik and eating a piece of toast with some kind of red jelly on it.

"Hi," I said. "Your poor stomach. Where'd Greta go? Did she leave?"

"Yeah, she left you a note." Mary Lou lifted up the Quik can. "Someplace." She lifted up the milk carton. "Here." She pulled out a little folded-up piece of notebook paper.

I unfolded it. "Dear Carol Frehardt," it started. "Hey," I said. "This is how Rusty starts out etters, first and last name both. I wonder if she's okay. Rusty."

"Probably," said Mary Lou. "Want some toast?"

"Maybe," I said. "What kind of jelly is it?"

"I'm not too sure," she said. "Greta's kids peeled the label off. Raspberry?"

"Just butter on mine," I said.

"What did Greta have to say?" said Mary Lou.

I looked at the piece of notebook paper. "Uh, let's see...Dear Carol Frehardt, You was sleeping good so me and the kids took a taxi cab to the bus station. I am going to stop at the real estate place on the way so I can give them a front door key. So they can show the house. Also I will give them your New Naples address and phone number. Billy will bring me in his truck so we can get the furn. Guess that is all. You and Mary Lou have a safe trip, keep in touch. Your Aunt, Greta."

"So, are we done?" said Mary Lou. "I mean, you know, are we ready to drive back home?"

"I guess," I said. "Feels like there ought to be more to it, when somebody dies. When your mother dies."

"There is," said Mary Lou. "You're not feeling it yet."

We locked up Marlene's house and threw our dirty clothes and stuff in the truck bed. I put my pictures in the front seat with me and we got a fill-up at the Clark station. Mary Lou turned the radio to country-western, and we started driving west.

She had a good sense of direction, Mary Lou, not like Rusty. But with Rusty, once I got her pointed the right way, I could lay back and snooze. With Mary Lou, I had to stay awake and talk to her. Mary Lou got sleepy from watching the road. She would get fuzzy-headed and let the front wheels go over the center line. Then she would wake up all of a sudden and jerk the wheel over. My nerves wasn't up to that, so I had to stay awake and keep Mary Lou company. I poured coffee down my throat and sat up real straight.

"Tell me a story," said Mary Lou when we was in Illinois and about to die of nerves.

"What story?" I said. "I don't know a story, do I?"

"Well, just like...what you remember," said Mary Lou.

"I don't know," I said. "I wasn't too great at remembering, like Music Memory and all that jazz. Let me see, um, one time I was in Girl Scouts and we were supposed to be learning about how to do first aid on somebody. So I wrapped this girl named Patty Cooning all the way up in bandages, and she was walking around acting like she was the mummy."

"Yeah?" said Mary Lou. 'Then what happened?"

"Well, that was about it," I said. "I mean, it looked funny as hell, if you would of knew her, you— Well, it was really funny, we all thought it was funny."

"It's funny," said Mary Lou. "That was funny, sweetheart. I'm just tired."

"Rusty's the one that can tell a story," I said. T never could even tell a joke, I always leave part of it out. I hope Rusty is okay, I felt bad going off and leaving her by herself. The rest home can kind of get to a person, all the sick people and the crazy ones. Rusty wasn't looking too good."

"Oh, one of Rusty's girlfriends will take care of her," said Mary Lou. "She goes through girlfriends fast, she already used up all the ones in New Naples. She's picking over the ones in Mayersvilie now."

"Yeah," I said. "She's got the charm. Not like me."

"You keep your sweethearts though," said Mary Lou. "What's the longest Rusty has ever stayed with somebody?"

"Well, let me see," I said. "She carried on with Mary Gold for what? Two months, or something."

"See?" said Mary Lou.

"Well, that don't prove nothing. She ain't had the chance to be with anybody good."

"As much as anybody," said Mary Lou.

I waited a second so I could get the mad feeling out of my voice. "You don't know her, Mary Lou. You'd feel different if you knew. How she was, how she can be."

"I'm not trying to take away your friend from you," said Mary Lou. "I just feel like it would be better for you if—"

"I'm the one that knows," I said. 'What's good for me."

We had a quiet drive for a long time. It was so quiet I could hear how smooth the truck run, Mary Lou kept it tuned up. I was happy that we was just buzzing along the highway, eating up the miles. If the truck had broke down, it might of been Divorce City. But even driving along, the empty quiet was both­ering me. "I'm kind of," I started out. I had to swallow. "I'm kind of tired, whatever."

"You and me both," said Mary Lou. "I probably should of, you know, just—"

'It's all right," I said. "I just been in the front seat too long. This year I have just lived in a car seat, slept in a car seat and ate my supper in a car seat. Before this I never went more than twenty miles my whole life, then me and Rusty got in Elsie Pelton's station wagon, and I feel like I never got out."

'We'll be glad when we get back," Mary Lou said. "For sure I will. But we might as well enjoy the ride." Mary Lou started singing, "See the U.S.A. in a Chev-ro-let."

* * *

The U.S.A. wasn't much to see, not from the windows of Mary Lou's red truck. Maybe on Route 66 people got their kicks, but on Interstate 70 we got bored. Mary Lou said we should sing but I couldn't sing and anyway we couldn't find very many songs that both of us could remember the words to.

I drove the last part of the way. Mary Lou woke up right after we went over the Missouri state line. She stopped snoring and blinked her eyes and looked out where the sun was coming up over the green fields. I was ready to tell her the good news, but she said, "Shoot, I dreamed you was pulling in Frank's drive­way. But we ain't even close. Damn, damn, leLs stop and get us something. A cup of coffee, I got to get out of this truck."

I didn't want to stop. I wanted to get home fast and sleep in my own bed. In a minute Mary Lou fell back asleep. I tried saying "Still want coffee?" I said it very quiet but I said it. She never peeped so I drove past the exit.

About lunchtime on Tuesday, we got to Frank's house. We crawled out of the truck and went in the house. Nobody was there, which was good since we was too tired to talk. We just barely made it up the stairs. I turned back the covers on Mary Lou's skinny bed and we got in.

When my eyes popped open, neither one of us had moved one muscle for hours and hours. I knew cause my arm was still underneath of Mary Lou's head and she was all curled up with her hand still touching her knee. I eased my arm out and rubbed it to get the blood going. Then I slid out from under­neath the sheet and went downstairs to get a drink of water. On my way back from the sink, I stopped at the kitchen table. There was a copy of the Jefferson City newspaper laying there, the sections was stacked in order. Frank was a very neat person. The front section said Wednesday, September 3.

"Wednesday?" I said, even though there wasn't nobody to hear. I went back to the sink and looked out the window. It was morning, a real sunny morning, about nine o'clock it looked like. We had been snoring for almost a whole day and night.

Mary Lou was still up in bed, poor thing. She was completely wore-out. Not just from the truck trip, but she'd had to be extra sweet to me while my nerves was upset over Marlene. We only was together a couple, three months and then the whole Mar­lene thing started up. If she wanted to sleep till lunch, then good, let her get her rest.

I put some Folger's in the percolator. There was a note on the counter that said, "Dear Mary Lou and Carol, Glad you're back. Sorry I missed you. Marty has a concert tonight so neither of us will be back till late. Lasagna is on tomorrow night's menu. Frank."

I sat down at the kitchen table and spread out the newspaper. Usually all I looked at was the funnies and Dear Abby and my horoscope. If I felt like it, I read the Backyard Gardening Tips. And I usually looked at the pictures, even if they was of old guys talking in a microphone, nobody I ever heard of. Or a smashed-up something that used to be a car or a truck. They always wrote underneath that the passengers got killed but I already could tell that from the photo.

This time the newspaper picture was a motorcycle that slid underneath of a produce truck. The wrecked motorcycle made me think about Rusty. I ought to get up and give her a call at Evelyn Price's.

I hunted around for a telephone. I looked in the living room, no luck. There wasn't a phone in the kitchen, no phone in the hall. I even looked in the downstairs restroom. There had to be a phone, I had called Mary Lou on it. Was it upstairs? No, they wouldn't run up them rickety stairs every time they heard it ringing, and half the time it would be somebody wanting to come show them a Eureka vacuum cleaner. I passed by a white door and opened it, I seen a utility room with a black telephone sitting on top of a Maytag dryer.

"Whatever," I said out loud. I dialed the number for the hall phone at Evelyn Price's rooming house. It rung and rung. Rusty must be over at some woman's house. When I hung the phone up, the stairs was squeaking under Mary Lou's feet.

"Hey, sleepyhead," I said. "Rested up?"

"Shoot, that was just, you know, my little nap," said Mary Lou. "You eat yet?"

"No, I was waiting on you," I said. '"Let's go out, want to? We could drive over to Jefferson City, and—"

 "Drive?" said Mary Lou.  "Get back in that truck?"

"I must of lost my mind for a second," I said. "Let's go in the kitchen and eat Cheerios."

While I was pouring out Mary Lou's Cheerios, I said, "I was trying to call Rusty. Not there."

"Oh," said Mary Lou.

"Probably over at her girlfriend's," I said. "Who is it now?"

"It was still Sandra when we took off," she said. "But that's been four days. Rusty'll come home sometime. You'll see her."

"Yeah," I said. "Mary Lou, let⁷s all of us go to Colorado. You and me and Rusty. When they sell Marlene's house, then we can use the money to go and get settled out there."

"Honey, what would I do in Colorado?" said Mary Lou. "Ride a horse? I don't even know how to get on one."

"No, but I'm serious," I said. "I don't know what we'll do when we get out there. That never worried Rusty—or me. What are we doing in New Naples? Working our ass off for nothing."

"People probably work their ass off in Colorado," said Mary Lou. "Same as everywhere."

"But it ain't the same," I said. "Colorado's got different stuff, mountains. And stuff."

"What's a mountain to me, honey?" said Mary Lou. "It's just another kind of land."

"But it would be different," I said. "Sure, we could end up the same, shitty jobs, no life. But I'm going to try to be different. I got a chance there, here the shit is guaranteed. Guaranteed bullshit. So you can just say, 'My life is for sure going to be trash, I can get used to that.' Marlene was real used to it, right till we put her in the ground."

Mary Lou got this "I understand" look, like "Carol's just crazy over her mom, she'll settle down."

I beat her to it. "And now I bet you say, 'Honey, Marlene passing away has been hard on you, that's why you've got bad nerves.'  Well, that ain't it, not dead Marlene. It's alive Marlene that drives me nuts, every day I am turning into her. Dumb and useless and don't know what to do."

"You're not useless," Mary Lou said. "You're never going to be like Marlene was."

                                                          * * *

After breakfast, I decided to drive over to Evelyn Price's rooming house. My Plymouth didn't want to start after it was sitting in Frank's driveway for four days, but I got it going. When I got home, the station wagon wasn't there. I could park right in front, by the big tree. When I come in the door, Evelyn Price was in the front hall

"There you are," said Evelyn. "I was wondering. How is your mother getting along?"

"She passed away, Evelyn," I said. "While we was out there."

"Oh, mercy, I'm sorry," said Evelyn Price. "I didn't know she was that bad off."

"Nobody did," I said. "My aunt come and took care of it all, it wasn't too bad. Have you seen Rusty yesterday or today?"

"Yesterday?" said Evelyn Price. "When did you all get back?"

"It was yesterday," I said. "About lunchtime, I guess. This morning I tried to call Rusty on the phone but nobody an­swered. Have you seen her the last two, three days?"

"What, did she come back ahead of you?" said Evelyn.

"Come back?" I said.

"Did she not go with you?" said Evelyn. "Back to see your mother?"

"No," I said. "She stayed here. I thought so, I mean, I can't find her."

"I hope there's nothing wrong," said Evelyn.

"Oh, she's all right, wherever she's at," I said.

"Well," said Evelyn. She stepped out on the porch and opened up the mailbox and took out two or three envelopes. She picked up something, a package, off the porch floor and looked at the address. "It's for you," she said.

I took it upstairs, to me and Rusty's room. Rusty had not been in there much, I could tell. Everything was still the same as I left it. I was pissed off when I looked on top of the dresser and seen my half of the rent money laying there.

Evelyn Price was so nice, I just talked to her and she never mentioned that the rent was three days behind. Since I didn't have Rusty's half, I had to get into my money sock. I took the rent down to Evelyn.

"What was in your package?" she said.

"I don't know," I said. "I forgot to open it."

When I got back upstairs, I looked at the box. It was from Shirley. I slit the top open with a pair of scissors. Inside the box was a little book, a paperback. The Power of Positive Thinking, by Norman Vincent Peale.

The table of contents got me started, when I seen "Break the Worry Habit." I had a serious worry habit. I read the whole thing right then. It helped me think right. All this time I had been trying to improve Rusty, and it was me that needed im­proving. I was the one that had to change.

* * *

Rusty was just her normal old self when she come in Evelyn Price's front door that night. Me and Mary Lou and Evelyn Price was watching "Gunsmoke" on teevee, and Rusty didn't have nowhere to sit. The couch was full so she sat down on the rug and leaned back on the couch between my legs and Mary Lou's.

When the commercial come on, she turned around to look up at me and she said, "Hey, you got back. Marlene must be doing better, huh?"
'Well, she's better off, probably," I said. "I been trying to call you. Marlene's gone."

"Lost?" said Rusty "She got lost? I guess you already called the police, but—"

"Gone,' I said. "I said she was gone. Died."

"Died?" said Rusty, but the show come back on so she turned around and we all watched Matt Dillon.

When a commercial for Tide laundry soap come on, Rusty turned around and said, "So how are you doing? Okay?"

"Yeah," I said.

When "Gunsmoke" was over, Rusty got up and went up­stairs and in a minute I went up too. She was in front of the little mirror hanging over the dresser, buttoning up a new shirt and bending around to see how her hair looked.

"Rusty," I said.

She jumped.

"It's okay, just me," I said. "Getting ready to go out?"

"Yeah," she said, "Me and Sandra are going out with Linda Wagner and some of those guys."

"Did you forget about the rent?" I said. "You was supposed to give it to Evelyn Price. When I come back it was still laying where I left it at."

"Was it?" she said. "I guess I did forget, then. You want to come with us, you and Mary Lou? You might not feel like it, though, cause of Marlene."

"I'll skip it," I said. "Mary Lou's tired, we're just going over to her house and play records. Listen, it's okay about forgetting to take the rent down, I went ahead and give it to Evelyn this afternoon. But I had to give her yours and mine both. Can I have it? That was all the money I had, till I go pick up my check."

"Well, you know what happened," Rusty said. 'I've not got it."

"You don't got enough?" I said. "What happened to your paycheck?"

"I'm not for sure," said Rusty. "I cashed it, I remember that, I cashed it at the Red-and-White One Stop Grocery, and we picked up a few beers, and everything. And when I got up in the morning to go to work, all I had in my wallet was two ones."

"You drunk up your whole damn check?" I said. "Rusty, where is your brain at? We ain't ever getting out of this town."

"I might have it someplace," said Rusty. "I didn't drink it all up. Maybe I took it out and put it someplace safe. I just forgot. I mean, a person forgets once in a while."

"Yeah," I said. "And I am going to forget you, if you don't get your butt straightened up." I started to go out the door, then I stopped and said, "I'm going over to Mary Lou's. I'll see you at work tomorrow."

"Not tomorrow," said Rusty. "Mary Jean is working for me."

"That's a great idea," I said before I slammed the door. "It's not like you need the money."

* * *

Me and Mary Lou was sitting on her little couch, with Elvis singing on the record player, and Mary Lou was kissing me on my face and hair. She stopped when she felt the tears, big wet tears was falling down my face.

"What's the matter?" she said. "Poor honey, you sad about your mother?"

I said, "I don't know." My throat hurt too bad to say nothing else. I just raised up my shoulders and let them drop down.

I was thinking about Marlene and how I was never going to see her no more. I remembered when I turned nine, how she had forgot about my birthday. But when I got home from school she thought of it. She took me to Dino's Family Restaurant and we had spaghetti for supper and then we had apple pie for dessert, with ice cream on it. But before Marlene would let me eat my pie, she pulled a napkin out of the holder and got a ink pen out of her purse. She drew a little person with a balloon coming out of their mouth like in the funnies. She fixed it so the person was singing, "Happy Birthday, Dear Carol." She said I could eat my pie then but when I picked my fork up she put her hand on me to stop, and she said, "You still get your birthday wish." I wished for a red Schwinn bicycle but I didn't get it.

So I was sitting on Mary Lou's little plaid couch, remember­ing all that and crying gallons. Mary Lou got up to get me a drink of water. While she was gone, I really started bawling cause I was afraid Mary Lou wouldn't come to Colorado with me. I cried and cried, I never would of thought I had so much sad stuff inside me. Then the tears slowed down and it took me three kleenexes to blow my nose. My throat felt a lot better. So I said, "Mary Lou, are you going to come with me? Please please come to Colorado."

"When we get there, you have to buy me a big cowgirl hat," Mary Lou said.

                                                     * * *

There was one bad thing I couldn't tell Mary Lou. I was wor­ried over Rusty. I couldn't see how to make her listen. Back when I had to be around Rusty's old lady Vivian, I never would of believed I could understand Vivian's mind. Now I could see what it was like, yelling at Rusty to turn off the teevee and open up her schoolbooks. I had watched Viv yelling and complaining and I seen how much good it done. But what else could I do to get in and reach Rusty's mind?

Rusty didn't know yet about the money I was going to get off Marlene's house and everything. Once she seen how soon we was going to be in Colorado, and how easy we could get there, Rusty would cheer up. I couldn't say nothing to Mary Lou, she was touchy on the whole subject of Rusty. I better have a talk with Rusty before I said anything to Mary Lou.

I stayed the night at Mary Lou's. The only bad thing about it was that I had to get up extra early. I needed time to stop back by Evelyn Price's and get my work clothes. Or plan everything out the night before, which I wasn't good at. Even when I packed up stuff, I usually forgot something.

When I got up, it was the same old story. I had to stop at the rooming house to get my smock. When I come in our room, Rusty's bed was empty. Well, she wasn't in it, but about every­thing else was, a pair of jeans and one sock, and one of my Photoplays and two clothes hangers and a wrinkled-up towel with a big wet spot where she had dried off her face. She must of got up late for work. At least she went.

I took the towel over to hang it on the hook behind the door. Rusty's red smock was already hanging there. She must of took off for work without it. I rolled her smock up with mine and flew down the stairs to the front door.

When I got to the rest home, I zoomed into the clock-in room and just barely got my time card in the slot before the clock clicked on the hour. I seen Mrs. Reed in the hallway, and she said, "I'm glad to see you back. I was sorry to hear about your mother."
"Thank you," I said.

I took Rusty's smock over to her wing. The charge nurse said Rusty was giving somebody a shower. "Can I leave her smock?" I said. "She forgot it;”

"I know," said the nurse. "She got wrote up for a uniform violation. But you can leave the smock and I'll give it to her."

About eleven o'clock I finally seen Rusty, in the employee lounge. I went in to get a candy bar so I wouldn't starve till lunch. Rusty was in front of the cigarette machine, pulling out the knob for a pack of Kools.

"Hey," I said. "Get your smock?"

"Yeah," she said. "Thanks."

"Let's not be mad," I said.

"Okay," she said.

"I was thinking about going over to maybe Brendville after work," I said. "To the whatchamacallit, the Big J Drive-In, and get me a cheeseburger. Want to go?"

"Sure," said Rusty. "Can we go in your car? The wagon's messing up a little bit."

"Whatever," I said. "Meet you by the time clock, you're get­ting off at four, right?"

"Three-thirty," said Rusty. "But I'll come in here and wait on you."

"Okay, that's cool," I said. "I got good news for you."

"Yeah?" Rusty said. "What is it?"

"I'll tell you at four," I said. "It'll give you something to look forward to."

"I need something," Rusty said. "Right now I have to give Sylvester Banes a shower and shave."

"Look out, they say he bites," I said.

"Yeah, Mary Jean told me," said Rusty. "That's why I'm put­ting off doing it."

"Just don't let him have his dentures till you get done," I said.

"They're his real teeth," Rusty said.

"Oh," I said. "Well, move quick then."

At 4:01 I put my time card in the slot and clicked the lever down. After I put my card back in the slot, I went to the em­ployee lounge to get Rusty. She wasn't there. I was pretty sure she said meet in the lounge. Maybe she got mixed up. I went out the back door, to see was she waiting there. Then I went back to the lounge and looked. I walked over to the employee restroom, but the door was standing open and the light was out. I went out to the parking lot, to see was Rusty sitting in her car. The station wagon wasn't there, there was just a black puddle of oil between the yellow lines.

I opened up my car door and I got in. I didn't even know I was mad till my fist starting pounding down on the steering wheel. "Quit messing up, Rusty!" I yelled, real loud. Then I was worried somebody might of heard me, my window was down. When I turned the key in the ignition, the car just went click.

I got out and did not let my hand slam the door. I shut it nice and easy. I walked around to the back of the building to get my calmness back. Mike, the warehouse man, was coming out the back door pushing a wheelchair that had one broke-off armrest.

"Hey, Mike," I said. "Just who I need to see. My car is dead, can you give me a jump?"

"Jump you?" said Mike. "Sure, I'll jump you." He give me a look I really did not like to see.

I didn't give him the satisfaction, I just went inside and found somebody else that had starter cables.

* * *

That night I slept by myself. Mary Lou's brother Marty was having a party, and Frank was out of town. Mary Lou had to stay around in case the guests started swinging off the chande­lier. I could of gone over there, but I wasn't big on parties.

It was hard to get to sleep without Mary Lou. I just barely had started snoring when Rusty come in and shut the door. She run right into the dresser. "Turn the light on before you kill yourself," I said. "You've already woke me up."

The electric light was stronger than I thought. When my eyes got used to it, I seen Rusty. She was red in the face from drink­ing beer. "Where was you at?" I said. "You said you was going to wait—"

"You're not even giving me a chance to talk," Rusty said. "You don't even—"

"All right, talk then," I said.

"I was going to come right back," said Rusty. "You wasn't done until four anyway. Me and Sherry just went out for a cou­ple minutes—"

"—to drink beer," I said.

"—for a couple minutes, and then the wagon wouldn't start," she said. "So we waited here for a while—"

"Here?" I said. "You was here? You was just going out for a couple minutes, right, but you drove all the way back to New Naples."

Rusty sat down on her bed and started taking her shoes off. "So then we called you," she said, "I called you at Reed, but they said you wasn't there. So I just figured you—"

"Yes, if s all me," I said. "That's what's wrong, not you. Not getting drunk every day, not—"

Rusty laid down on her bed and lit a cigarette. "Don't start on that, you see a person with one beer in their hand and you start."

"One?" I said. "If s not just one I been seeing."

"I don't drink that many," said Rusty. "Just beer, anyway."

"That don't matter," I said. "It's how you act, you wasn't like this before. You have been messing up."

"What's messed up?" said Rusty. She was smoking her ciga­rette, peaceful like was was discussing somebody's flower gar­den.

"What ain't messed up?" I said. "Like, going to work—"

Rusty said, "My shifts get covered. Mary Jean or Jeannie or somebody takes them. I know I owe you rent, I'll pay you back tomorrow."

"Like going to Colorado!" I said. "That's what we're doing here! Trying to get the money for Colorado!" I tried to calm my voice down so I wouldn't wake up Evelyn Price. "Now we got the money, almost got the money, and you are messing up so bad you're not even ready."

"We ain't got the money," Rusty said. She sat up on the bed.

"Shows what you know," I said. "I'm selling Marlene's house, it's mine, when they sell it we can take off. We can go, no sweat. If you just keep your butt in line till then.”

"I don't know," said Rusty.

"What do you mean?" I said. "I just told you."

"If I want to, now," said Rusty.

I needed something big to do, run over to the window and jump out of it. I got up and got myself a cigarette off the top of my dresser. "How come?" I said.

"Well, you know," Rusty said. "Sandra and everything."

"You're lying," I said. "You ain't that attached to her. You're just scared to go."

"Yeah, maybe so," said Rusty. "Can I have one of your ciga­rettes? I'm out."

"Yeah," I said. I give her the one I was going to smoke and got myself another one out of the pack. We smoked our ciga­rette down to the butt, then we got in our beds and went to sleep. Well, maybe Rusty slept. I just laid there, wishing me and Mary Lou had picked another night to stay by yourself. I wanted somebody close to me, somebody I could understand.

* * *

Mary Lou didn't understand at all. "So she don't want to go, honey," she said when I told her what Rusty said, like it was no big deal. "You've changed your mind before, right?" she said. "You know, a person don't instantly know what they want all the time. We're going, that's the important thing, we're going to go see the Colorado mountains."

"Yeah," I said. I was trying to look happy.

But Mary Lou just didn't understand Rusty. She thought the whole Colorado plan was just this little idea Rusty had one time, like going over to Pepe's Pizza for a large mushroom with extra onions. But Colorado was Rusty's dream of life, it was everything. If Rusty couldn't remember her own dream, she was in trouble. I wasn't leaving my best friend in some strange town, all by herself, while she was in trouble.

How could Mary Lou understand? She didn't know Rusty like I did, she never was going to understand. It would take somebody that appreciated Rusty to help her, but the only one that really knew Rusty was me. And maybe Vivian, but Viv wouldn't turn her hand for somebody else. But I knew one per­son that would help me get Rusty out of trouble.