Chris Bohjalian - Before You Know Kindness

THE TWO GIRLS collapsed into grass already damp with evening dew and gazed up at the stars.

“We don’t have stars like this in New York, you know,” Charlotte said.

“I do know,” Willow said. “How are you?”

“What do you mean, how am I?”

“You know.”

“If I knew, why would I ask?”

“I’m still pretty buzzed. I know that. But the giggles are gone.”

“Personally, I think you’re more drunk than buzzed. There’s a difference.”

“What about you?”

“Mellow. Mellow stoned.”

“How does your throat feel?”

“My throat feels fine.”

“Not sore?”

“It was at first. But then the buzz began and it went away. Poof.”

“I still can’t believe you did that.”

“I can’t believe we did that,” Charlotte said, and she chuckled.

“I mean your taking the pot in the first place.”

“It was no big deal.”

“I think it was: You took something that wasn’t yours.”

“Gwen wouldn’t have cared. I told you, I’ve smoked pot before-two times. If I’d asked, she would have shared some with me,” Charlotte said.

“No way. There is no way Gwen would have let a twelve-year-old kid smoke her pot.”

“Why does everyone keep saying I’m twelve-”

“Because you are!”

“No, I’m not! I’m almost thirteen. If people want to round my age, they should round it up to thirteen!”

“Fine, you’re thirteen. There is still no way that Gwen would have let a thirteen-year-old smoke her pot-or anyone’s pot!”

“She wouldn’t have had a choice,” Charlotte said, and she lowered her voice slightly. “Maybe I would have pointed out to her that I could tell the grown-ups there were kids at the bonfire with dope if she didn’t let me have some.”

“You would have done that to Gwen?”

The older girl shrugged her shoulders. In reality, Willow knew, Charlotte wouldn’t have dared. She wouldn’t have wanted to anger this young adult whose friendship she cherished or do something as decidedly uncool as rat on a teenager.

“I guess I wouldn’t have,” Charlotte said after a moment. “But I still don’t think Gwen would have minded all that much. I’m sure she would have given us a couple of puffs.”

Willow found herself nodding. Sometimes this was about as close to acquiescence as you got with Charlotte. “I think my mom had a good time,” she said, consciously changing the subject. “Sometimes she says she gets a little shy at parties. But I think she thought this one was fun.”

“My mom sure thought so,” Charlotte said, but she sounded annoyed.

“What? You don’t want your mom to have a good time?”

“I want her to have a good time with Dad.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You wouldn’t. Your mom…”

“My mom what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me.”

Charlotte draped her arm over her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said. “I think I have the munchies.”

“Tell me what you meant!”

She took a very deep breath, and when she exhaled it sounded a bit like the wind. “I was going to say that my mom is this really huge flirt-even though she’s married. It’s pathetic.”

Willow was stunned. She couldn’t imagine thinking such a thing of one’s mother, much less verbalizing the notion aloud. She told herself this was some idea that had popped into her cousin’s head because of the marijuana.

“And my dad doesn’t know it,” Charlotte continued. “He’s completely clueless.”

“They seem happy to me.”

“Yeah, right. You saw Mom with Gary at the club this morning, didn’t you? And then tonight at the party?”

“Your mom and Gary played tennis. What’s the big deal?”

“And she’s done this before,” Charlotte went on, ignoring her.

“Your mom?”

“Uh-huh. I get it from her. I’ve seen how she is with men at parties at our apartment and at school, and I’ve heard her on the phone. I’ve even picked up the phone and listened. One time-”

“You’ve listened in on her phone conversations?”

“Twice. One time she was talking to a teacher and another time it was this headmaster, but I could tell there was more going on than just school stuff.”

Willow realized this disclosure was not merely making her uncomfortable, it was scaring her. She felt cold suddenly and wanted to go inside, but-as if she were watching a desperately frightening movie-she couldn’t bring herself to leave. “Are they going to get a divorce?” she asked, and her voice sounded tiny to her.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they did someday. You know that one out of every two marriages ends in divorce. So it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Yes it would.”

“You don’t understand because your mom doesn’t drool over other men, and your father isn’t so caught up in all the other stuff he does-cows or monkeys or something-that he doesn’t even notice.”

“Charlotte, divorce would be horrible.”

“You just think that because you live in Vermont. Divorce is a lot more normal-”

“Divorce is never normal!”

“It happens, Cousin. You deal. Anyway, the thing that really gets me is the way she doesn’t take Dad seriously. Like this garden. Dad really wanted it to work, but Mom just didn’t care. I mean, if my boyfriend-”

“Husband-”

“You know what I mean. If my boyfriend or husband really cared about something, I’d take it seriously. Wouldn’t you? I’m only his daughter, but I still wish I could do something to save the garden-and not because I love radishes or beets.”

“No one loves radishes.”

“Sometimes I get pissed at both of them. I don’t think Mom would be the way she is if Dad wasn’t this public whacko. You want to know something? You’ve been to the Bronx Zoo more times than I have.”

“I think I’ve been once.”

“Well, that’s one more time than me. FERAL doesn’t approve of zoos.”

High overhead Willow saw the blinking lights of an airplane, but it was so far away that she couldn’t hear it. If she squinted, it looked a bit like a slow-motion shooting star. She decided right then that she wished Charlotte hadn’t told her any of this, because it was information she didn’t need, and then she decided she would never drink beer or smoke pot again-and, if she could, she would prevent her cousin from dabbling with either. She blamed this whole conversation-and, especially, Charlotte’s revelations-on the beer and the dope.

Over her shoulder she heard a noise from the house, and when she turned around she saw her father in the lit frame of the window of the bedroom that her parents and Patrick were sharing. His hands were on the sill and he had pulled up the screen so he could lean outside. He looked around, and she realized he couldn’t pinpoint them in the dark. He was already wearing the blue T-shirt in which he slept, and she could see the check plaid of his summer pajamas around his waist.

“Willow?” he called in a stage whisper, his voice carrying well through the tranquil night air. “Willow?”

“We’re out here, Dad,” she yelled back, trying to make her voice project without shouting. She guessed Patrick was either asleep in his crib or settling down with one of Mom’s breasts in his mouth.

“There’s an unopened packet of diapers in the trunk of the Volvo,” he told her from the window. “Could you get it, please? There are none left in the diaper bag.”

“Sure.”

He nodded, closed the screen, and disappeared back into the room.

“Babies are very high maintenance,” Charlotte said.

“They are,” Willow agreed, relieved that her father had already gotten into his pajamas and hadn’t felt like going outside for the diapers. It had taken Charlotte’s mind off her own mother and father and given the two of them an excuse to get away from this conversation about divorce. Together they stood up, the two of them still wobbly, and when Charlotte nearly toppled over like a toddler Willow grabbed her around the waist and suddenly they were both laughing hysterically once again. They walked across the yard to the car after they had caught their breath, moving gingerly because it was dark and because their feet seemed strangely detached from their legs. There Willow managed to pop open the trunk, though it seemed considerably more difficult than usual to find the button and press it.