bubble-headed babies strapped to their yellow housecoats and hips who pumped gas into their long brown station wagons, or old leathery-mouthed hog men with big tan Stetson hats who wiped their pickups’ windshields free of dried bugs, or the young, sweaty-foreheaded farm boys in blue flannel who had borrowed their older brothers’ greenstriped El Caminos, all souped up with chrome and silver that gleamed and streamed, they all gripped those long silver handles and slid the nozzles in and stared up into the dull blue night with the cool urgency that there was indeed some kind of destiny. That night, that sky, that whole universe seemed to be in constant motion, spinning in strange orbits of circumstance above my head, but not me. Not me. Me, I was stuck, as I ever was, in the pen or at that job, it was just the same. Watching the whole world gas up and go could leave a fella feeling awfully trapped and awfully lonely, if you can see what I mean.
After work one night, I had enough, finally.
I locked up the register, switched off the pumps, made a drop into the safe, gave the floors a quick sweep, and made sure the front glass doors were locked. I just started walking then, with nowhere to go particularly. Not that I’d admit anyway. But I had been thinking of the spot all night, there was one place on my mind. I followed Junior’s sign straight to a solemn bedroom window through the rural dark. I stood outside that girl, Charlene’s, parents’ house, running my hand along their white picket fence, sweating and mumbling to myself. Their house was nice and white and big. Their yard was green and long and wide and had thick weeping willow trees planted all around. Their green eaves hung on down, slumbering and whispering so gently in the dark. I hopped over the wood fence and crept along through the soft shadows cast down by those sleeping trees, holding my breath in tight, wiping the sweat and grief out of my eyes with the back of my work shirt sleeve. There was a light on in one of the windows on that second floor. I knew it right away. Her sister Ullele’s bedroom. I had crept through the same dark the same way nearly a hundred years before. I felt out of balance all of a sudden. I hid behind a willow and took a breath. I felt like I ought to turn around. I had no idea why I was there. I looked up into that lofty bedroom again. There was the light in the window all right. There was some shadow still moving inside.
I was like some kind of teenage boy all over again. I rubbed the sweat from the palms of my hands onto my black work pants. I tried to hold in all my breath and hope and panic all at once, looking up into that shining white light, praying to see poor Charlene’s golden face and some of the sweetest, most unconsenting brown eyes I’d ever seen. I climbed the thick, rubbery willow tree, digging my hands along its thin limbs, climbing up its tallest green branch. Then I shimmied out to the glowing bedroom window, nearly entirely out of breath. I knocked against the shiny pane just once, right before I got afraid that this wasn’t Charlene’s house or bedroom window at all. I could almost see some greasy-faced machinist waking up and returning my knock with the business end of a loaded shotgun. I shook my head and began to crawl back down the tree. Just then the window shade parted a little, and the darkest, most pleasant brown eyes appeared, squinting right into mine. It was Charlene. No other lady I had ever met seemed so beautiful and detached. No other woman seemed so lovely and mean all at the same time.
“Get down out of my father’s tree.” She frowned. Her hair glistened light brown from the light cast over her bare white shoulder. She had on a thin white slip that barely covered her most soft, most sighing parts.
“This isn’t your father’s tree. It’s its own tree. I’m just borrowing it for a while tonight.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. What are doing staring in my
After work one night, I had enough, finally.
I locked up the register, switched off the pumps, made a drop into the safe, gave the floors a quick sweep, and made sure the front glass doors were locked. I just started walking then, with nowhere to go particularly. Not that I’d admit anyway. But I had been thinking of the spot all night, there was one place on my mind. I followed Junior’s sign straight to a solemn bedroom window through the rural dark. I stood outside that girl, Charlene’s, parents’ house, running my hand along their white picket fence, sweating and mumbling to myself. Their house was nice and white and big. Their yard was green and long and wide and had thick weeping willow trees planted all around. Their green eaves hung on down, slumbering and whispering so gently in the dark. I hopped over the wood fence and crept along through the soft shadows cast down by those sleeping trees, holding my breath in tight, wiping the sweat and grief out of my eyes with the back of my work shirt sleeve. There was a light on in one of the windows on that second floor. I knew it right away. Her sister Ullele’s bedroom. I had crept through the same dark the same way nearly a hundred years before. I felt out of balance all of a sudden. I hid behind a willow and took a breath. I felt like I ought to turn around. I had no idea why I was there. I looked up into that lofty bedroom again. There was the light in the window all right. There was some shadow still moving inside.
I was like some kind of teenage boy all over again. I rubbed the sweat from the palms of my hands onto my black work pants. I tried to hold in all my breath and hope and panic all at once, looking up into that shining white light, praying to see poor Charlene’s golden face and some of the sweetest, most unconsenting brown eyes I’d ever seen. I climbed the thick, rubbery willow tree, digging my hands along its thin limbs, climbing up its tallest green branch. Then I shimmied out to the glowing bedroom window, nearly entirely out of breath. I knocked against the shiny pane just once, right before I got afraid that this wasn’t Charlene’s house or bedroom window at all. I could almost see some greasy-faced machinist waking up and returning my knock with the business end of a loaded shotgun. I shook my head and began to crawl back down the tree. Just then the window shade parted a little, and the darkest, most pleasant brown eyes appeared, squinting right into mine. It was Charlene. No other lady I had ever met seemed so beautiful and detached. No other woman seemed so lovely and mean all at the same time.
“Get down out of my father’s tree.” She frowned. Her hair glistened light brown from the light cast over her bare white shoulder. She had on a thin white slip that barely covered her most soft, most sighing parts.
“This isn’t your father’s tree. It’s its own tree. I’m just borrowing it for a while tonight.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard. What are doing staring in my
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