John McManus - Born on a Train - 13 Stories

Mama had finished her juice, and she poured herself a drink from the Flor de Caña bottle on the table. Whitecaps, she said.

What?

Whitecaps.

Oh yes, said Celeste. How pretty. The cylinder of water widened, and the girls from next door finally emerged from the sea, whispering in each other’s ears, their inner tubes around their waists as they walked unevenly across the sand to their wood-plank boardwalk. Ben looked to see if Froggy was watching them, but he was playing his video game. Last time I saw a spout, said Celeste, there weren’t any houses. She rocked and tapped her foot upon the wood. The funnel whistled like a teapot, but maybe it was just the wind, or the swallows in their nests beneath the porch. At every clap of thunder Ginger cowered lower.

I hate that fat old bitch, Froggy whispered to Ben.

Celeste isn’t fat.

Not her, stupid. The dog.

Froggy threw his shirt on the picnic table and felt the breeze against his chest. Behind the opaque shield of storms the sun was at its zenith, and Ben got sleepy. The storm didn’t scare him. He drifted in and out of consciousness as the funnel dissipated. The sun came out at two o’clock and Mama read all afternoon. The girls came out to float again in water freshly calm, and sometime Froggy disappeared onto the beach; when Ben awoke at three his brother was gone, but the girls were still there. He wanted to go out and play with them but he didn’t know how to swim, and he didn’t want them to know. He stepped onto the boardwalk. Seagulls swooped into the sea for fish as smaller birds flew over Ben in droves. He was hot, and the sand was dry; the sky had never stormed. The sun had never sunk from its throne.

Why don’t you go talk to those girls? Celeste asked Ben.

Huh? he said, although he’d heard her.

You heard me.

He shook his head. No I didn’t, he said. She was supposed to believe him, whatever the truth was. Your family was supposed to trust your lies.

I said, why don’t you go talk to those girls. She spoke very slowly.

Oh.

Did you hear me that time?

He nodded.

Do you want to answer me?

I don’t know.

You don’t know if you want to answer me?

No, he said. That’s not what I meant. That’s the answer.

Go on out there, she said. They’re right there. They’ve been there all week.

I don’t want to, he said.

I’ll bet Froggy’s spoken to them.

Ben shrugged.

They look your age, not his.

I’d rather read my book, Ben said.

Do you like being young?

He shrugged.

Celeste’s gray hair shook as she repeated herself: Do you like it?

I don’t know, Ben said. I guess so.

You guess so.

Yeah, he said.

But you don’t know.

He shrugged.

When I was a kid we didn’t just guess so.

Ben looked out the window and thought about going down to the beach.

How old are you now?

Thirteen.

I can’t keep up, she said, and Ben hoped she wouldn’t talk anymore, but after a minute she said, Do you like it? Does it feel good to be thirteen?

I said I don’t know.

She threw her hands into the air. Which part of it don’t you know? Ben stood up and started to walk away. He didn’t understand why she was attacking him. Can’t you feel things? she continued. Can’t you tell if a thing feels good or bad? As Ben slammed the screened porch door to go inside she said, Might as well be a wrinkled old man.

* * *

Froggy stayed away all afternoon. Celeste wanted to eat out, so they got dressed and Mama went to freshen up. Celeste sent Ben downstairs to latch the storm doors. She made him fetch the rafts from where they’d blown into the dunes.

She wanted to eat at the cafe by the shell shop.

Not that old place again, said Mama. Couldn’t we go somewhere else?

Celeste looked down at her lap.

The tavern on the shore, or the seafood place that’s over on the bay.

It’s my money, you know, Celeste said quietly. Of course I don’t like to hold that over your head.

I know you don’t.

I don’t want to be the bossy old lady nobody likes, she said, her left cheek twitching.

Of course you’re not.

I’ve got a few pleasures, here and there, and I want them to stay. They’re the only ones.

Mama patted her aunt’s shoulder. Put your shoes on, she told Ben.

They’re already on.

Well, go wash your face or something.

Ben sighed and went out to the car, and eventually they followed. Mama drove them three miles down the beach to the cafe, where Celeste asked for a sarsaparilla. When the waiter said they didn’t have it she asked for cottage cheese. The waiter shook his head, and Celeste trembled. She asked for fried tomatoes.

Just bring her a tuna sandwich, Mama said.

I don’t want a tuna sandwich, said Celeste.

The waiter looked at Mama, who nodded at him. When Celeste saw it she said, Don’t do that to me.

It’s the only thing you like on the whole menu, Aunt Celeste.

I want a bowl of cottage cheese, she told the waiter. It’s my money, and that’s what I should get.

We’ll get you a whole carton of cottage cheese at the Piggly Wiggly.

I don’t want the grocery store kind.

They’ve got lots of different kinds.

They’re all the same kind. They all taste like a goddamn grocery store.

Ben felt sorry for old people. He imagined a cafe fifty years ago, full of young men sipping sarsaparilla, women spooning cottage cheese. The food they liked had vanished long ago. They were always looking for things that weren’t there.

I want to leave, said Celeste. The waiter still stood awkwardly beside the table.

Mama took Celeste’s hand in hers. You feel this way because your blood sugar’s low, she said. You need to eat something.

Celeste shook her head. It’s my money, she said through tears. Now take me to my car and drive me home.

As they drove three miles back east each house was different from the others, like a fingerprint, but bigger. Cannibals had held the island once and eaten each other’s flesh but now you couldn’t buy a sarsaparilla, and the bay was empty of its shrimp boats. Ben shut his eyes. He felt a pimple on his face, and he hoped his acne wouldn’t spread like Froggy’s had once, down his back, all the way to his ass.

* * *

Froggy was sitting shirtless on the porch when they got back. I was just heading out the door, he said; I met some girls. I’m going to their place for dinner. Grains of sand encrusted on his legs began to crumble to the ground and Ben looked at his brother’s whole body at once and wondered how he had attracted friends so fast, with the beach always so empty.

Won’t you have some tea? Celeste said, sitting down to face the ocean.

Froggy thought about it. No, he said, I won’t.

She smiled at him and returned to staring at the sea, and Froggy went inside. Ben waited a few minutes before he followed his brother into the cottage. He didn’t want to seem nosy, so he walked slowly to the corner, appearing quietly in the doorway of their bedroom, where Froggy dug into his suitcase for a shirt. His silver necklace hung below his chin. I know you’re there, he said to Ben. You breathe as loud as farts.

Ben turned red.

I hate all these clothes, said Froggy. I can’t find a single thing to wear.

Where are you going? he asked.

I wish you’d hurry and grow up, so your clothes would fit me.

Where are you going? he asked again.

I’d like you a lot better if you didn’t ask me things like that.

Ben looked away uncomfortably.

I’m going out.

Where?

Froggy pointed east, toward town.

How come you always meet people? Ben said. It happens everywhere we go.

I don’t know. It’s predetermined.