Dave Eggers - Heroes of the Frontier

“I have to go,” Josie said, and stood. There were a few murmurs of regret, and someone, maybe Cooper, told her to come back again, that they played every Saturday and Sunday at noon, that anyone was welcome, and while he was talking, Josie realized it must be Saturday that day, thus the parade, thus everyone off work, and that tomorrow they would be playing again, that she wanted to be there.

She walked back to the bouncy wave, and for a while watched her children sliding down, jumping off, climbing back on. This was not civilized, though. There were too many kids, and they were all bigger than Paul and Ana, and bodies were everywhere, tumbling over one another on the way down, feet and elbows narrowly missing faces and necks. “Careful,” she said, but her children were not listening. They were not afraid, they were capable of fending for themselves. Here Josie was watching resilience at the genetic level. She watched them climb the inflated steps, kids above them, feet stepping on their hands, and then watched them tumble down, their heads landing on the knees and stomachs of other children, and though Paul’s and Ana’s eyes were first round with shock and awareness that they could be aggrieved by their slight injury, they chose to roll off the wave, and climb back, again and again.

“Wait here,” she said to Paul. “I’ll be right back.”

She turned around, walking back to the circle of musicians, but they were gone. She scanned the park, and finally found one of them, Cooper, walking toward the parking lot. She ran to him, making sure she could still see the wave that contained her children. He saw her approach, and a curious smile overtook his face.

“Woody Guthrie,” he said, standing still, holding his guitar case.

“This will sound strange,” she said to him, “given I don’t know anything about music, but for a while I’ve had some music in my head, and ever since I heard you guys playing, I’ve wondered if you could help me.”

“You have music in your head?”

She gave him an imploring look that said Please don’t mock .

“No, no,” he said. “I get it. You need a composer?”

Josie didn’t know if it was composing or something else she had in mind. “I don’t know,” she said. “I think if you play some chords, I would know which ones were the sounds in my head, and we could go about it that way.”

“Hm,” he said, staring at the grass, a private smile overtaking his face. Josie knew he was thinking this was some excuse to get him in bed. She needed to keep this linear, and this required a lie.

“We’re up here for a few weeks while my husband is in Japan on business,” she said, happy her children were not near, hearing this canard. “But when I saw you guys playing, I had this thought. I could compensate you guys. I couldn’t help noticing that dental care might be welcomed among some of your band. I’m a dentist.”

Cooper rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “So, lessons in exchange for dental care?” he said. He seemed to find this a perfectly rational transaction.

“Not exactly lessons,” Josie said, and explained that she wanted him to play, and she could listen, and when she heard something she liked, she might tell him to play it more, and faster or slower. She would know what she wanted to hear once she heard it. That she had no musical aptitude, but she knew music, or had heard it, and had composed countless tunes in her mind, or had thought of them at least, flashes here and there, but couldn’t articulate the music in her head, or write music on paper, or even know which instruments made which sounds.

Cooper nodded slowly, taking it all in.

“Makes sense,” he said.

—

“Where were you?” Paul wanted to know.

“Over there,” she said. “Just near the trees.”

For some reason she didn’t want to explain the hootenanny circle to him just yet, though she couldn’t figure out why. Paul, being all-knowing, knew she was withholding, made this clear with his searching and disappointed eyes, but he didn’t press it.

“We’re hungry,” he said.

They walked through town, looking for a grocery store, expecting to find a small market, but instead, at the end of the main road, there was an enormous store, big enough to fit everyone in town. And in front, next to the entrance, was an incomprehensible thing: a pay phone. “Come,” Josie said, gathering coins. They set up in front of the booth, Paul and Ana and Follow, watching the locals come and go into the store, restocking their barbecues and picnics. Josie’s stomach leapt. She had been living for weeks utterly removed from her Ohio life, from Carl, Florida, lawsuits, possible police pursuit.

“Ready?” she asked her children.

“For what?” Paul asked.

“Nothing,” Josie said, realizing she was asking herself, and knowing the answer was God, no . She dialed the number without thinking. A distant tinny ring came through the line.

“Hello?” Sunny’s chandelier voice.

“Sunny, it’s me,” Josie said, and looked down to Ana, whose eyes opened wide. Josie’s eyes filled.

“Oh Josie honey,” Sunny said, “where are you now? I talked to Sam. She said you left without saying goodbye.”

Josie pictured Sunny in her house, the same house, sitting in her dining room, where she liked to take phone calls as she watched hummingbirds alight on the feeder she’d installed.

Josie did a messy job of describing something of their trip since seeing Sam. It seemed years since they were in Homer.

“I always wanted to go up there,” Sunny said. “Too old now.”

“Shush,” Josie said.

“Carl called,” Sunny said, and seemed to be waiting for some expression of shock, but Josie couldn’t breathe or muster words. Given Sunny’s age, Josie wondered: Could she have given Josie’s location away?

“What’d you tell him?” Josie asked.

“Oh, I didn’t answer. I didn’t call back. Should I?”

“No, no. Please don’t. I’ll call him.”

Ana was reaching for the phone, and Josie relinquished it. “Hi,” she said. “This is Ana.” For a minute Ana held the phone close to her face, nodding occasionally. She tended to forget the listener couldn’t see her, and thought facial signals would suffice. Losing interest, she handed the phone back to Josie.

“Josie,” Sunny said. Her voice had dropped an octave. “Did you know she died?”

“Who died?”

“Evelyn Sandalwood.”

Josie did not know.

“It was just five days ago,” Sunny said. “She was undergoing some procedure related to the cancer.”

Josie said nothing.

“You didn’t know — oh god, that’s what I figured. Josie?”

“I’m fine,” she said, but heard a hoarse tremble in her voice.

“Helen took the liberty of calling your attorney. Apparently nothing’s changed. But you probably could have assumed that.”

Josie had no idea what to say. She looked around her, to the tops of her children’s heads. Ana was stroking Follow’s tail, while Paul was watching one of the parade floats, now disassembled, drive home.

“All that struggle, it meant nothing,” Sunny said. “She gets nothing from it all. She’s dead. You get nothing. It’s senseless. But Josie.”

“Yes?” Josie said.

“They did not defeat you.”

Josie knew this. “I know,” she said, then felt a surge of strength. What she was feeling was not defeat, but triumph. She was thinking: Evelyn, I flew north of your rage. She thought of Evelyn’s son-in-law, the lawyers, all their devious eyes, and she thought, I flew north of your anger. I flew away and felt none of it. I was gone. I am gone.

“You’ve had plenty of reasons to doubt,” Sunny said.

But Josie did not feel doubtful. She felt invincible. She felt like continuing. She needed nothing she did not have there with her. She had Sunny’s voice, she had Ana, she had Paul. She told Sunny that she loved her, that she would call again soon, but she wasn’t sure when that would be. She had planned to call Carl, too, but now she felt that could wait. Enough news from home for today.