Lydia Kiesling - The Golden State

“Okay,” Alice says. “That’s probably wise.” I pick up Honey. “I have to change her diaper, I think,” I tell her. “Would you like to try the ice cream bar? I can bring you something.” “No thank you,” she says, and I think I might want something from the ice cream bar, but I remember I have the Diamond box at home still and this time I won’t throw myself down the stairs.

I sling Honey over my hip and we walk across the room waving at the van Voorheeses and to Kimmy, who points me to the bathroom. “We’ll catch up,” she says, and I say “Absolutely” and rush Honey to the bathroom because she is starting to cry and squirm and the smell says to me that the diaper has been breached. I feel calm and capable and as we open the door to go into the bathroom I say “We are going to have you fixed up in a jiffy,” and then with the mother machine brain I run a quick diagnostic of the situation and recall that I have already put her spare pants on her but then remember that the other pants are just wet with water and so they will work as a switch if the worst has happened. There is a changing table in the handicapped stall and I set Honey down and she cries and squirms and I babble at her “You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine” and think about what we’ll need to get done before we take Alice to her last stop. We’ll need to clean up the house. We’ll need to call Engin send several e-mails to the Institute do laundry and pack everything up. Sure enough there is a smear of poop that reaches up to Honey’s back, peeking out of the diaper onto the inside band of her pants but mercifully not her shirt. I regret that poop is getting on the changing pad I’ve spread over the fold-out changing table but remember also that I have hand sanitizer because I am organized and ready for anything. I wipe Honey’s bottom put on cream put on the new diaper put on the damp previous pants and pack everything up and set her down on her feet and glance at my phone which tells me it is nearing bedtime. She grabs my leg and says “Mee-ow mee-ow mee-eow” which I realize with sudden clarity is “Pick me up!” and I say “Ah, yes! Yes I will pick you up! Listen to all this talking you’re doing” and I pick her up and kiss her a big dramatic kiss that makes her giggle and I think I don’t make her laugh enough and I do it again and again until she’s laughing so hard her hiccupy baby laugh it’s hard for her to catch her breath. I don’t do anything for her enough, I think, not enough talking singing playing teaching.

I knock the door open with my butt and pass by Kimmy who says “Can’t wait to get our kids together” and it almost dissipates the all-pervading feeling of desolation I get in Altavista, look at this friendly normal person raising her family and having a great life up here even if she is homeschooling them and teaching them god knows what. I file this thought and get back to the table and look around for someone to get us the check and Alice says “I paid,” and I consider groping around for cash I don’t have and instead just say “Thank you, that’s very nice.” I set Honey on her feet and get on my knees to clean up the wads of bread and napkin and meat and other shit all over the dense nap of the rug and tuck it into a napkin and when I lift my head I see Honey is running down the room with that forward tumbling run. By the time I’ve leapt to my feet to go after her she’s splayed headlong on the ground and wailing and I pick her up and kiss her grab the bag make sure Alice is out of her seat and walking slowly behind and wave to the van Voorheeses wave to Kimmy and I’m sweating when we get out into the cool night air.

I put Honey down on the crunchy grass that abuts the parking lot and let her run around. It feels so good outside, the air smells so good and feels so good on my skin and it’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt a good physical sensation that wasn’t immediately followed by psychic distress. Honey screams just to hear herself and pants, she’s so happy to run around.

“Well,” I say to Alice, “I guess I ought to take you back and we’ll all get ready to go tomorrow.”

“Let the little one run around some,” Alice says. “You don’t let her stretch her legs enough.” It’s amazing to me that I find a rebuke of my mothering in even the mildest statements from friends coworkers strangers i.e. “Sleepy baby!” or something innocuous but this actual rebuke, this correction, feels so natural I accept it without injury. “Stay on the grass, please, Honey,” I say and lower myself onto the low concrete wall that lines the path to the lodge. I’d love to pull the cigarettes out of my bag where I’ve stashed them just in case but there’s Honey and there’s Alice and all the promises I’ve made to myself about not being trash. Not trash. Shouldn’t say trash. Alice stays standing. “If I sit on that thing I’ll never get up,” she says. I wonder at her body, that she’s been able to drive out here all alone.

“So how will we work this?” I am feeling efficient ready to bang out some logistics. “So you’re going to call Mark and Yarrow and tell them what exactly? That you met a responsible person who is going to drive you out there and then bring you to an airport? I haven’t looked at a map yet—do you know what town this place is near?”

“It’s in Oregon,” she says. “Someplace over the border. I have it all printed out in my folder. It’s something like four hours from here.”

“That’s nothing,” I say. “Do you want to do it in one day or break it up?”

“Maybe we can see how everyone does.”

“We can stop in Berwin Falls or something if you want to spend the night. Ooh, if we leave early enough tomorrow we can drive up to Surprise Pass and have a picnic. It has a beautiful view.”

“Well, all right.”

I have been making a little grocery list for what would make the nicest picnic when I pause to realize that something about our plan makes no sense. Honey runs up to us and throws herself against Alice’s legs and I hold a hand out to Alice’s arm to steady her and say “gentle, please be gentle” and she takes off whirling unsteadily and falls onto her back in the grass and says “baaak” which is “bonk.”

“Sorry, Alice—I just realized—are we going to drive your car? And then we’ll all drive back together? You mentioned the airport, I guess I didn’t think about what would happen to your car.”

“No airport,” she says. “If I need to I’ll ask Mark to come and drive me home from Altavista. This will just be a day or two, to see the place. We can take your car. It’s more comfortable than mine.”

“The Buick! Can’t beat it,” I say. Honey is yanking on my pant legs and she has that shark look like she might bite me. “Shall we…” I say, and Alice begins moving toward the car.

We drop Alice off and agree to meet at the motel at 9:30 a.m. after I’ve stopped at the market to get provisions. She eats everything, she says, except very chewy things. Back home Honey is a damp wriggling critter thrashing in the bath but we get through it then we read the two halves of The Very Hungry Caterpillar and she puts her finger in the hole left by the caterpillar and when I put her in the Pack ’n Play she just lies right down with her head on the pillow and her butt in the air and suffers to be covered up with her blanky and the light turned off with no fuss. There is enough vodka left for two little drinks, I reckon, and I carefully pour half into a glass stir in the juice and almost run onto the deck to smoke. Inside Cindy’s lit window I see her and Ed toing and froing and when she walks out the door onto her porch I holler at her. “Hi,” she says very curtly, and carries a duffel to Ed’s truck. “Going somewhere?” I ask, but she doesn’t hear or doesn’t answer, and I realize I don’t care. I have a real friend now, I laugh to myself. Me ’n’ Alice, against the world. One more drink, I think, and amble inside to mix it feeling the whole night stretching out before me to relax in my lawn chair on my deck and look at the stars. By the time the relief of being off duty re: Honey has faded and I start to feel horribly lonely I’ll be slightly blotto and ready for the king bed to receive me. I sit down with my new drink. I pass my hand over the egg on my eyebrow and light another cigarette and again see how far I can draw it down with one drag.