Miriam Toews - The Flying Troutmans

We were driving out of Kingman and Logan saw an ancient basketball court next to a bombed-out school. We stopped so he could shoot hoops for fifteen minutes and I could smoke a cigarette outside the van, new Theban rule. We let Rajbeer run around. Thebes and I took turns pushing each other around in circles on one of those old-timey, spinny wooden things. I sat cross-legged in the centre, smoking, feeling nauseous, but also, in spite of spinning around in circles, quite focused. Thebes ran faster and faster until she was practically horizontal, and then she flung herself on and sat next to me while we spun around and around and around and then slowly, slowly, came to a stop. After that we walked over to the court and I lay in the grass next to it and Thebes stood on the sidelines coaching Logan.

Get open, Troutman! she yelled. Box out! Baseline! Arms up! Arms up! Do I have to get down on my knees and pray? Who’s your man!

Logan was trying not to laugh.

Keep your head in the game! Stay with your man! Christ! Do I have to get out my dictionary and show you the definition of open? Who do you have, Troutman, who do you have?

Logan stopped shooting and came over to where Thebes and I were standing.

What do you think about when you shoot? I asked him.

Nothing, he said.

Oh, really? I said. You just concentrate entirely on shooting?

Yeah, I guess, he said.

Do you worry that the ball won’t go in? I asked him.

No, he said, I always believe that it will. Every time.

Seriously? I said. Even when you’ve missed a bunch of shots?

Yeah, I think it’s gonna go in every time, he said.

And then, so, when it doesn’t go in do you feel all disillusioned? I asked him.

No, not at all, he said, ’cause I’m always sure the next one will go in.

From Kingman we dipped down, straight south, and drove through a town called Needles, childhood home of Charles M. Schulz and a pit stop for the Joad Family in The Grapes of Wrath. We kept on driving and then dropped farther south to a narrow, virtually empty road through the desert that would take us right into Twentynine Palms. It was over a hundred degrees, even with the sun going down, the AC was on full blast, the highway was shimmering and the shadows were rippling like waves. Tiny rodents ran back and forth along the highway and I tried really hard not to hit them.

The kids were yawning and falling asleep, the dog had been fed and was quiet and staring out the back window, the boy’s head was back on the dash — Thebes had made him a hat, too, a pirate hat — the cooler had been restocked with ice, and it really was getting late.

Our family once went on a road trip and my father drove two hundred miles in the wrong direction. The moment of realization, for him, was a low point in the holiday. I had seen him defeated on many occasions but this was the major leagues. Min and I, for some reason, not because we enjoyed seeing our father suffer, not at all, but because it didn’t really matter to us where we were going, thought it was the funniest thing that could ever have happened. While our dad stared at the map in disbelief, our mother took us aside and said okay, girls, I know you’re going to want to laugh until you throw up, but let’s all try to think about how Dad feels and keep a lid on it. If you can’t help yourselves, please pretend that you’re laughing at something else. So for two hours Min and I pretended we were laughing at un funny things like clouds and trees and fences until finally our father said to our mother, are those two complete morons or what?

Is that supposed to be a story? asked Thebes.

Well, I don’t know, I said. What did you want? I panic when you ask for a story.

Okay, said Logan, was that last part supposed to be like a joke? Because if it was, we’d need more information, just a tiny bit, like about how Grandpa, said it, what he was implying, you know what I mean?

Okay, I said, yeah, by asking if Min and I were morons, Grandpa was making fun of himself for having driven in the wrong direction for so long. He was acknowledging that he had been the moron and that now it could all be funny and we could all just relax. That is what I was trying to convey. And that it was sweet of him to let us off the hook like that.

Okay, said Logan, then cool. I think it kind of works.

God, I feel like I’m defending my Ph.D. thesis, I said.

Did you even finish your B.A.? asked Thebes.

I smiled and told her to shut up.

I had this dream, she said. I was talking to Min on the phone but while I was talking to her I could hear this other person talking about something totally different at the same time, and then I figured out that the other person was also me, but I didn’t really like that me. And then I decided to take the bus to the hospital and see Min but when I got there my other self was already there.

Logan and I were quiet for a few seconds.

Thebes, said Logan, you should stop using hair dye. That shit can seep into the brain.

A tube of LePage’s glue flew around the van for a while, front to the back, front to the back. Rajbeer threw up a ball of duct tape and a marker cap.

After a few minutes Thebes said she had a problem. She said she didn’t know, now, if she really wanted to see Cherkis after all. It was making her too nervous. She didn’t know how she felt. She was confused. She said we’d come all this way and now she was wondering if it might be okay if she didn’t see him and was I mad. I told her I wasn’t mad and that she could see him or not see him, it was her choice. She could do exactly as she pleased.

Whatever you want, Thebie, I said. You don’t have to decide right now.

We got to Twentynine Palms in the middle of the night and checked into a motel. Thebes had fallen asleep in the van and wouldn’t wake up, so Logan and I carried her in, he took her legs, I took her arms, like we were going to count to three and throw her into the pool. We had to sneak Rajbeer in too, under the sign that said No Pets or Parties Allowed.

Logan and I sat at the table in the room in the dark and smoked a joint while Thebes and Rajbeer slept.

So what if he’s not actually here? said Logan.

I don’t know, I said.

We both started to laugh, quietly. Then we stopped, and then we started again.

HEY, MIN, I WHISPERED. The kids were sleeping and the sun was rising. I’d finally managed to get through to her.

Hattie? she said. It was only my name but hearing her say it killed me.

Yeah, I said. Yeah, it’s me.

How are you? she said. How are the kids?

We’re all great, I said. How are you? Are you okay?

Yeah, she said. I’m all right.

Really? I said. You are?

Yeah, she said. Well, you know…yeah, I’m fine. The kids are okay?

Totally, I said. They’re great. They’re fine. They miss you like crazy.

I miss them too, said Min.

I know, I said. Hey, is Superman still your roommate?

No, she said, Lex Luthor came around and…

Yeah, yeah, I said.

They’re really okay? she said.

They are, Min, they really, really are. Rock solid. You too?

I am, yeah, she said. I’m fine…well, you know, I’m here…but yeah, I’m fine. You’re sure they’re all right, Hattie? said Min. Are you telling me the truth?

Positive, I said. I’d let you talk to them but they’re sleeping right now.

But it’s…Shouldn’t they be getting ready for school?

What? I said. Oh, yeah! Damn. You’re right. I should get on that.

I promised myself this would be the last time, or very close to the last time, that I would lie to Min.

Okay, but, Hattie? said Min.

Yeah? I said.

They said I could probably go home soon.