Now Is the Hour (51 page)

I looked down at George's face, just as the words of the song went
a new Georgy Girl!

George's dark eyes. Even though I wasn't up close, I knew. Tiny veins, little red lightnings, in the whites of George's eyes. From out of the dark rounds, bright, sharp light.

Motherfuckers! George yelled.

In nothing flat, George running to beat hell, then there he was jumping over the fence.

The three guys all opened their doors and got out of the car.

It's funny how easy it is to tell about something after it's over, but while it's happening it's all just one thing after another flipping past your eyes.

My leap off the truck had me flying through the air. I think I flew the whole way to the fence. Then I was jumping over the fence, running up through the barrow pit.

The Lincoln's license plates were from Idaho Falls. The guys looked like they were from Idaho Falls too. Long hair and beads. Bell-bottom pants. Guys from Idaho Falls are weird.

All three of them were taking punches at George, but George was holding his own. None of them saw me coming. Not even George. I still had my leather gloves on. I hit the first guy I came to square in the jaw. Didn't even look at his face before I hit him. The guy went sprawling out onto Tyhee Road.

When the other two guys looked around and saw me, they freaked out. It wasn't three to one, it was three to two, and looking back on it, I think those guys could tell. Those weeks, and that week especially, neither George nor I was putting up with any shit.

In no time at all, that hot-rod Lincoln was leaving rubber on Tyhee Road.

Then it was just a little white speck of white Lincoln on the horizon.

George and I stood on the pavement, both of us, leaning against our knees, looking down at our shoes, trying to catch our breath. Fights ain't like you see on TV.

The sky was starting in with blue, not just bright. The sun already on its way to down. Gold starting up, and the long shadows. George started to say something, then stopped.

Were they the guys who beat you up? I said.

George stayed leaned over, breathing hard.

Thanks for the help, he said.

Then: Where'd you learn to land a punch like that anyway?

That's when it happened. That weird sound that comes from inside and goes up and out.

My chest, my shoulders, everything about me, started moving weird, strange snorts and shit coming out my mouth.

Laughter is so weird, man.

Pretty soon, I'm on my hands and knees, slapping the pavement. Dark and deep and weird the way laughter comes up like that. So much like weeping. Tears are coming out of my eyes, and I can't talk. I'm just kneeling in the middle of the road having a conniption fit.

What is it? George said. What's so fucking funny?

One long, long moment of no sound coming out at all. My mouth was moving, but it was no use.

George took a step over to me, pushed my shoulder.

Georgy Girl,
George said. What's so fucking funny about
Georgy Girl
?

Still, I couldn't speak. Only weird sounds. You can't do anything about laughter, you just got to let it run through you.

It's a movie, George said. It's a good movie.

I wanted to say,
I saw the movie.
I wanted to say,
You're right, it's a good movie.
I wanted to say,
That's not why I'm laughing.

But I couldn't say any of that.

What I finally said, what finally came out of my mouth after howling like a damn dog and rolling around on the pavement, finally, finally, finally, I said:

I'm so glad, I said.

I'm so glad we weren't fucking.

Driving into town, I had to stick my head out the window and take deep breaths. In my mind, I was practicing what I was going to say to Billie. Then I started saying things out loud, then screaming them. Lots of fuckers and fuck-yous and fucked-ups.

At the Snatch Out, Billie climbed in the pickup, slammed the door like a true Idaho girl. There was no breath inside me and a world of farts.

Billie looked almost scary-differnt. Her face was full and round, and she'd gained a lot of weight. Plus she had tear duct cancer, and her eyes were red. She wasn't ratting her hair anymore, and her hair was longer than I'd seen it. She was wearing my black T-shirt, which was huge on her, and a pair of black stretch pants, and black strapped sandals with a low heel. Her Midnight in Helsinki blue toenails and fingernails. She wore no lipstick, no eye shadow, no mascara. Hippie earrings that were turquoise Indian beads.

Wednesday night, Saint Francis De Sales night, Billie Cody and I, at the Snatch Out drive-through window, picking up a cherry Coke Ironport with extra crushed ice, a regular Coke, and a large French fries. We drive through the Snatch Out parking lot, which was thankfully pretty empty, then left on Ashby. Billie and I didn't say much. We just said the French fries were good and stuff like that. Mostly it was Billie who said stuff. I was playing it cool. I made especially sure when I reached for the French fries, I didn't get the ketchup cup.

As we drove, the warm wind was blowing through the cab, blowing through Billie's long, loose hair. The radio was playing the top-ten hits. My hands were fists around the steering wheel. I didn't look around, only stared straight ahead.

Parked next to Russell's grave, out the windshield the moon was a half-moon and was sitting on top of the huge American elm. On the radio it was “All You Need Is Love.” Billie sat across the cab from me. We both stared ahead.

In a moment, when I smelled Billie's French smell, my breath came back.

Across from me, sitting on the pickup seat, was my friend, Billie. My pregnant friend. A life was growing inside her. She wasn't married, and that had to be tough.

Still though, no matter what, Billie was the one who had to start the talking.

When the radio started playing “Ode to Billie Joe,” Billie reached over and shut the radio off. She pulled her legs up and sat like Buddha. Her cigarette was a three-ring circus.

I got a lot to say, Rig, Billie said. A lot. I need you to listen to me, OK?

I did one of my coolest French inhales. Tried to make my face like James Dean would look if his girlfriend slept around.

Billie closed her sore eyes and inhaled deep on the cigarette, then leaned back.

I called you, Billie said, so I could talk to you face to face. You deserve that.

Billie looked up and out of the window when she spoke. Billie always did that when she didn't know what to say.

This is not an easy thing to do, Billie said.

But it's authentic, I said.

Billie looked up and out the window again.

Rig, I am sorry, Billie said. Her best Simone Signoret ever.

In a moment, all the fuck-yous, all the practicing over and over in my head, stopped. If I moved my hand, my hand would touch Billie's knee.

Billie scooted so her back was against the door. Her legs were up on the seat, her feet curled under her. She slurped her cherry Coke Ironport with lots of crushed ice, set the cup on the pickup floor.

I slept with Chuck the night of your sister's wedding, Billie said.

The sharp pain next to my heart. I made my hand into a fist and slammed the steering wheel.

Fuck, I said.

Please listen, Billie said.

Billie's hands were on my arm. I wanted to pull my arm away but didn't.

I don't know why I did it, Billie said. I was drunk. I wanted you. I
was pissed you took your mother home. There's all kind of excuses, and I'd do anything now to go back and change things, but I can't.

As fate would have it, I said.

I knew those words would hurt her. But I was glad.

Billie looked up and out the window. Silence like only in a cemetery. Silence only like when you talk like this.

Then: Those weeks when you were trying to get a hold of me, Billie said, I had three dates with Chuck. I just met him, and we mostly just drove around. He was older and cool. He's got a job. I'd never gone out with a guy who had a job. I liked his car.

Billie's long drag. That cigarette was hot-boxed already.

I did a perfect French inhale.

We did it a second time, Billie said. Because the first time it hurt, and I was curious.

I made my hand into a fist and slammed the steering wheel.

Fuck! I said.

Rig! Billie said. Please listen.

All there was was my cigarette and me smoking, smoking, and the whole time Billie was talking, but I didn't hear a word. When I checked back in, Billie was saying this:

After that, though, it was like we were married or something. He started telling me to do things. Telling me how to dress. He told me I shouldn't smoke and cuss.

Billie's blue eyes were all red around the rims. Her tiny hands were shaking.

And you know, Billie said, he's not very smart. Chuck and I can't talk like you and I talk.

The goddamn moon. Wind in the very top of the big old elm tree.

I knew I was pregnant after the second time, Billie said. I was throwing up in the morning, my boobs were getting bigger, they hurt. I was a real bitch. I mean, all the signs were there.

But I was like your Indian friend, Billie said. I was smoking and waiting for the big bird to tell me which way to go.

Rig, Billie said. How could I be so stupid?

Billie's eyes, the clear blue inside all the red. Man, they looked so sore. Billie looked up and out the window.

I've wondered about the sex, Billie said. Why you never wanted to go any further than we did. But I understand. At least I think I do.

The feeling on the top of my lungs. No way I was going to cry.

Catholicism, Billie said. Your sister, Billie said. Rig, I'm sorry you have such a mother.

The breath thing. Oh, jeez, I was in a lot of trouble.

Pretty soon Billie's hands were back on my arm.

What's so weird, Billie said, is I really didn't want to go all the way with you either. I just wanted to sit and kiss and talk with you and look in your eyes. I love it when your eyes are gold.

Billie slid across the seat. I raised my arm and in no time Billie's face was against my chest. My arm across her shoulders, I pulled Billie in so close. Billie's French smell.

That night at the Sunset Motel, Billie said. Fuck.

Fuck, I said.

Billie's chest started going up and down, and she was sobbing big sobs, snot coming out her nose. This crying when she couldn't cry could really plug up her eyes.

If I could change anything, Billie said, it would be that night.

I knew that motel room wasn't for us, Billie said.

Room fifty-eight, I said.

But there you went, Billie said, and gave me your shirt at the Blind Lemon. Such a generous thing to do. I don't know if you realize how
considered
I felt. Through all this pregnancy stuff, with my mom, with my dad, with Chuck, I never once have felt considered.

Billie sat up, reached into her black leather purse with the silver clasp, pulled out a Kleenex. All the while that she said this whole next part, Billie was blowing her nose and talking her voice wobbly, then blowing her nose and trying to catch her breath. All the while, her eyes redder and redder, not one single tear.

That night we had such a great time, Billie said. It was your birthday, and the world for once seemed bright, Billie said. I just loved you so much. Plus Cheryl and Karen had given me the keys.

You're the only one I can talk to, Rig, Billie said. And there I was hiding from you. It was breaking my heart.

That's really all I've ever wanted, Billie said, is to be closer to you. I wasn't trying to trick you into being the father, Billie said. Rig, that's the last thing I would do.

You got to believe that, Billie said.

Dark all around us. The trees of Mount Moriah, darker shadows than the sky. Billie and I sat like that, her face against my chest, my arm around her, Billie's French smell. The moon, the goddamn
moon, down through the branches of the elm. The wind blowing the branches, flickers of shadows and moon onto Billie's face.

Then, so weird, my voice in the silence:

I suppose, I said, you're going to get an abortion.

Billie snuffed up, pulled in closer, tried to crawl inside me.

More silence. Only the wind and breathing.

I don't know, Rig, Billie said. It's not so easy when it actually happens to you.

More silence.

What about Chuck? I said. Do you love him?

Billie looked up out the window.

I hate him, Billie said. I don't love him, Billie said. Yet there's something between us, something strong.

What's growing inside me, Billie said.

When Billie said
what's growing inside me,
there's something that happened, I don't know if I can say.

Our two bodies closer than ever. Our breath together in and out. The wind just then, a gust, the Thunderbird breathing. Within the gust, Billie and I, for a moment, we were the same person.

That's when it hit me. In that moment of being so much the same, I understood something that made so much sense.

Billie and I weren't the same.

Most of all she wasn't
mine.

Even better, I wasn't hers.

I didn't have to make myself be differnt to be her friend.

So alone in that moment right then, so terrified, yet I felt free.

Maybe, if the child in her were mine, I would not have felt our differnce. The child would be how Billie and I were even more the same.

But the child grows and becomes again someone completely new.

Maybe that's what George had meant.

If I haven't ever been somebody, how could I possibly do anything on my own.

Back at the Snatch Out, Billie was looking up and out the window. Waiting for Godot. It was the moment when a boyfriend and a girlfriend kiss.

Our hands held tight to each other's. I didn't ever want to let her go.