Ghosts of Tom Joad (10 page)

M
Y MOM WAS
on the bus. I think she can hear me think, or maybe I'm talking out loud, and she knew I lied to her about wanting to go to sleep that day to make her be quiet. Mom said:

I wanted that party. Even though we was just having Stan and Lori over to play cards, I wanted to do it, and I called it a party because I wanted to think of it that way. Even at work I was excited. The girls that waited tables after school started checking
in to work, and I got all huffy at them for keeping me from punching out until that clock had clicked over to 4:31. I was even intent on making up a bit with your dad. He worked hard, and the changes at the factory were tough on him, so I timed it just right to run into him just as we were both coming back to the house. We had fought a lot those days, and if you wanted to keep on the bright side, it did give us both some practice in making up and putting on best behavior.

“How's Earl doin'?” your father asked me.

“I called home this afternoon, and Earl's already making plans for tomorrow night. He's almost his old surly self again.”

“What're we having for dinner?”

“I don't know, I hate to mess up the kitchen with Stan and Lori comin' over soon.”

“Maybe we should go to Dairy Queen or something,” your dad suggested. His best behavior.

“Earl!,” I shouted to you, “Hobble yourself down here. We're going to the Dairy Queen for hamburgers and ice cream. And no excuses, we are going as a family!”

Then I knew your dad was sorry for the other night, 'cause he said:

“Earl, you heard your mother. Get moving.”

“You talk to Stan yet, Ray? Try and patch up whatever is buggin' you two?”

“No, not really. We was busy.”

“Well, that'll just give you more to talk about tonight. I gotta get some makeup on.”

Things went well at the Dairy Queen.

“Now Stan and Lori is coming in about an hour, so we can't take too long. Grab that ice cream, we'll keep it in the ice-box at home and eat it later. You can have it Earl, cheer you up. Earl's staying home one more night to recuperate.”

“Is that right? You made that decision by yourself, did you Earl?” said Dad.

Later, from up in my room I heard it all. Doorbell ringing. Mom flipping on the porch light.

“Stan.”

“Ray.”

“Well, I'm glad we could make it,” said Lori.

“Uh-huh,” added Stan as if Lori had pulled a string back of his neck.

Mom was still trying. “So why don't you all have a seat here with Ray, and I'll go get us something to eat?”

“Here, let me give you a hand,” said Lori in the kitchen. “Sissy, we almost didn't make it here tonight. I think something bad happened between Stan and Ray. I had to practically drag Stan over here.”

“What went on? Ray's been in an odd mood.”

“Stan won't tell me. Says it's some kind of man-to-man thing.”

“Well, we girls'll just have to have a good time in spite of them. C'mon Lori, we're still friends.”

I heard them move to the living room. The TV was on.

“Here's the food.”

“It looks good, honey,” said Stan.

“Well don't tell me, tell Sissy. She made it.”

“How's Rob doing?” Mom was still pitching, still hoping for a nice evening together.

“He's fine. Won his softball game last night. Factory team isn't too bad this year.”

The long pauses were filled with TV noise. Mom usually hated having it on when people were over, but I think this night she let it go on purpose.

“Uh, I heard about Earl,” Stan said, testing the waters with Dad. “He feelin' any better?”

Dad looked at Mom, who really looked back at Dad.

“Yeah. He'll be good as before by tomorrow. Ain't really hurt bad at all.”

“He gonna be able to get back to practice soon?”

Mom stepped in between their conversation. “Doctor said no. He said Earl shouldn't risk gettin' hurt again. He's done this year.”

“Boy taking it hard, I suspect?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, the card table is all set up,” I could hear Mom say. There were card shuffling noises, and it sounded like they were playing more or less quietly for a while. She and Dad were partners at the table and usually enjoyed this. I was kinda rooting for Mom.

“Excuse me for a second, gotta take a leak,” Dad said, and I heard him walk to the toilet room. The small talk once he was gone boosted Mom's spirits a little, I could tell, just by listening to her. She talked one way around Dad, choosing words slowly, like she was thinking more than she was doing now with just friends. She was happy and even suggested they switch up, with
her and Stan playing partners across the table while Lori waited for Dad to come back.

After the toilet door closed and he came back, that all quiet time lasted only a little while longer until I heard Dad make that sound, sucking in air, like he did when he was starting to get up a head of steam over something.

“What's the matter?” Dad said.

“Nothing.” Stan was buying time, sorting out that fight-or-flight question.

“No, you acted like something was wrong. What is it?” He was challenging now. Mom knew this sound, too much beer mixed with something acid-like that was always waiting inside him.

“Ray, please,” she said.

“What's eating you Stan?” It was like a summer storm gathering. It was gonna rain, just not sure exactly when, but soon enough that you started heading for the car.

“Ain't nothing eating me. I just didn't like how Sissy played that last card, that's all.”

“No, wait a minute. You can't act rude, 'specially to my wife. She's your partner here, mister, in my house.”

“Ray, c'mon, let's just play cards.” Mom tried to head it off, but the first rain drops were hitting the ground, big and heavy, puffing up the dust.

“I don't have people over to be insulting to my wife.”

“I didn't insult nobody,” Stan said.

“Stan, why don't you let it go?” Lori was pleading now, talking to Stan but chances were she was looking at Mom while she said it.

“Don't tell me what to do.”

“I'm not trying to tell you what to do, honey. I just think—”

“Lori, maybe we should serve the cake now.” Mom trying one more diversion. Cake sometimes worked.

“Maybe we don't want none of your cake,” Stan snapped, and that was it. The clouds opened and the rain started not sweet, but with purpose.

“You watch how you're talkin',” Dad said to Stan.

“You don't tell me what to do neither.” Stan stood up. Thunder crack.

“C'mon Stan, maybe we should get on home. It's getting late.”

“Yeah, maybe it is,” snapped Dad.

Just 9:30. I had a clock you could see in the dark.

“Thanks for the snacks Sissy,” said Lori. Her voice changed to a whisper. “I'll call you, okay?”

“Aw Stan—Lori. Now can't you stay just a few more minutes? I've got some nice cake.”

“We should get going,” said Lori. “I'll call you.”

That screen door shut hard. TV was back to too loud.

“Where're you going with that cake, Sissy?”

“I'm bringing it up to Earl to see if he wants any. Ain't nobody eatin' it down here. Can't go to waste.”

I hated when they fought and I wanted nothing to do with it. I knew Mom was upset, but I did not want any cake.

“What?”

“I brought you a piece of cake.”

“No thanks. I still gotta stay in shape, in case I can go back to practice.”

“Well, I'll just leave it on the nightstand. Did you see? Your dad had me looking in the garage for things to sell off at another yard sale, and I found a box of your old blocks, from when you was little. I brought them up with me in case you wanna see them.”

I remembered those blocks. They were one of my favorite toys, even as I got older. Made of wood, all the edges were worn round from being handled over and over. I built forts and firehouses, even what I thought was a pretty good replica of the factory once out of them. I'd build something and then call Mom to look. She'd be all smiling, trying to guess what it was so's not to hurt my feelings. As I got older, I figured out that game and would just tell her, “It's a spaceship.”

I was reaching for the box, you know, just to see, not that I wanted to play with them anymore, when Mom said:

“We might be able to figure something out, you know.”

“What're you talking about?”

“About college and all.”

“Ain't no scholarship coming.” I pointed at my ankle with the cake fork. I'd decided to have just a little taste after all. I knew I wasn't going back.

“I know that. I was thinking about something else, for you, honey.”

“Like what?”

“You know, a loan or something.”

“My grades ain't good enough for that.”

“I ain't talking about grades. I'm talking about me and your father helping you out somehow.”

“Dad can't do it and you know it.”

There was a pause. Seems when I think back on it, words meant more then.

“Well, maybe I will.”

She moved to hug me.

“Mom, you're gonna knock over the blocks.”

“Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. Is that what you want? 'cause if you want to go to school, your daddy and I—”

“I don't know, alright?”

“You were just sayin'—”

“I said I don't know. Are you gonna stay here all night?”

She looked hard at me. Maybe she thought I meant was she gonna run out on Dad. Words again.

“No, no, I gotta do some things in the kitchen. How's your ankle?”

“It's okay. Can you get me something to drink?”

“Yeah, sure. Earl, honey?”

“Yeah?”

“You wanna keep the door closed if you're gonna have the TV on. Your Dad's a little cranky tonight.”

I heard her walk quietly down the stairs, one of the saddest sounds that house could make. My old man was snoring, and it just got louder as Mom shut off the TV. I heard the chain pull on the light, but no more steps. She must've stood there in the dark a long time, listening to my old man snore, thinking, I don't know what.

Man, did I get out of that house the next afternoon. It looked like rain, one of those Ohio summer storms that old people always say makes the air feel “close” as they build up over the afternoon. Didn't matter to me. We had Muley's brother's car, a
great metallic purple boat of a '75 Pontiac Bonneville with bench seats front and back. The beast had maybe one of the last steering wheel spinners in Ohio. I guess in the 50's and 60's everyone had one of these, but now they were rare. A little smaller than a hockey puck, the thing bolted on to the wheel, and you could hold it in your palm and steer with one hand. The other hand was free for your girlfriend's shoulder.

It was August, we had some money, and the radio worked.

Muley beeped the horn at Tim's father, who was cutting the grass. Mr. Matlock shut off his lawn mower and walked over to the car. He was the cool dad for us all, maybe not Tim, but the rest of us thought he probably let Tim drink beer sometimes at home and we knew he didn't hide his Playboys.

“Tim! Your friends are here! You boys up to no good again, I assume? How's that ankle, Earl? I heard all about you gettin' hurt. You lookin' forward to getting back to practice?”

“Doctor says I'm done for the season.”

“Aw hell, Earl, that's too bad. What're you gonna do?”

“I don't know. Maybe watch practice, maybe help out Coach or something.”

Tim hit the back seat, Mr. Matlock returned to his lawn, and Muley spun up backing out too fast. We drove twice past Rich's house honking the horn. But he was grounded for trying to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet.

“My dad told me all about your ankle. Shit, is Coach gonna be in a mood on Monday,” said Tim over sound of the radio.

“I figured I'd walk over to practice and watch or something.”

“Uh huh, cool, Earl. Hey are we still gonna get that case of beer? I got five bucks from my old man. You guys in?”

“Who's gonna get it?”

“Why don't we go to the Convenient Mart? If Mike's sister is working, we can get it for sure, like 99 times out of a hundred.”

Parked the car, engine ticking in the heat. The three of us looked back at that metal beast, squinting to imagine three girls sitting on the big hood with enough room still left next to them to park a whole other car. But first was the beer. Mike's sister would never check for an ID if her boss wasn't around, so Tim went in with our money in ones and change. Mike's sister would cover you too, if you were a little short. We drove around some, drinking that warm beer. I remember my ankle hurt, how the thunderheads were building up to the west, how we had to hold the beer bottles down below the windows whenever we passed someone, how the radio sounded, how the asphalt smelled like summertime. Back then you waited for moments like this, but for that one second in time, I'd be happy to wait just as long again. Say what you want about small towns with nothing to do. But even though we never talked about anything more than girls and beer and what was on the radio, I thought at that moment I would hand over anything else I owned for another chance at doing that with those guys.

“Hey, shut up you guys.” Muley brought us back to attention. It had just started to rain, weren't no regular soft summer rain, something that felt meaner, fat drops, making dust into mud on the windshield as we all turned at once like in a movie to see two girls run under the Dairy Queen awning to escape the downpour. Beer was good like syrup to us, but the promise of a teenage girl was magic.

“You know those two?”

“The one used to babysit with my sister sometimes,” said Tim. “Muley, drive up there and offer them a ride.”