2000 Deciduous Trees : Memories of a Zine (9781937316051) (4 page)

Hollace sat braced in his seat. Every muscle
in his body was tense with her proximity. Though he was concerned
for her happiness he was also concerned with his own, and he could
smell her. From the corner of his eye he could see the line of pale
flesh that ran from her elbow along the curve of her armpit and up
over her breast as she sat with her arms folded on top of the seat
in front of her. He could also sense her thighs through the thin
wrinkles of the muslin bloomers. Just as she could not stop crying
to breathe, Hollace Dupree could not possibly lift the weight of
restraint from his own breast in order to catch some air.

He swallowed hard several times and felt his
Adam's apple against the tight collar. He pursed his lips and
relaxed them again. He tilted his head, up and back, up and back,
all the while looking out the window. The back of his neck was hot,
surely a result of air not circulating well through the synthetic
materials from which airplane headrests tend to be made. His
eyebrows danced between wide-eyed inspection and fervent
disapproval. And although so much motion was occurring above his
shoulders, from the neck down he was clenched. His left hand held
his pants so tightly that the carefully-placed crease was dying by
strangulation under his grip.

Around them the passengers still regarded
the girl with some fear. Not because she looked abnormal, but
because the entire plane echoed with her dramatic crying. By this
time she was beating the seat in front of her with a small fist and
screaming, "No. You fucking jackass bastard! No. God damn it. No!"
Over and over and over again. And wailing through her tears in such
a way that the flight attendants retreated to the ends of the cabin
in two closely-huddled groups and unconsciously spun their heavy
wedding bands around bony red-nailed fingers. One of the women went
into the restroom, took off her bow tie, and retied it altogether.
Those passengers who were sitting nearby became such a shifting
mass of energy that static electricity built as frictive pantyhose
and wool pants rubbed against fireproof synthetic seats.

The copilot quickly slammed the door that
divided the flight crew from the cabin. Even though there were no
reassuring or informative announcements, the plane started and the
pilots began to recover the few lost minutes. The plane shifted
with anticipation and began to roll out of the gate, but there was
no sign that the girl would ever stop crying. It was apparent all
other parties were diligently avoiding the situation, which left
Hollace Dupree alone to comfort the poor thing, although it was
hard to feel sorry for someone so violent.

Drawing in a quick breath to sustain his
determination he prioritized his possible courses of action. At the
office he might offer her a cup of coffee, water, or even juice. He
could allow her to sit at his desk for a few minutes to quiet
herself. However, they were not at the office. He considered the
situation. There seemed so few resources. He might offer her the
window seat, but that seemed excessive. He decided instead upon,
"Hello there. Hmm. Let's see. Here's my card."

Now, this might not have been the most
tactful thing to say, but Hollace Dupree was practiced at the
statement and knew he could rely on it for a response. He wasn't
sure his sentimental skills would project confidence. The girl, it
seemed at first, reacted positively. In one motion she cast the
backpack onto the floor in the aisle, ran her sweaty hands over her
face several times, threw herself against her own seat back, and
grabbed the card.

Rendon and Associates Inc.

Hollace Dupree, CPA

Outstanding Balance and Property

Humbly serving the community since 1964

Having read the card and with the
stultifying shock of its presentation wearing off, the girl
replied, "Don't you want to know why I'm in such a fucking fit? Why
do you people always think about business? I mean for God’s sake I
need some humanity here. Look at me. Do you think I'm going to need
a—.” She looked at the card for some evidence of his position.
“Whatever you are? I'm a complete wreck, and all you can think of
is how you can score one for your business? I hate you."

Hollace decided that while he probably
should have offered her the window seat initially, he certainly
would not do so now. This girl was a defiant creature. "Always
thinking about scoring and business." The thought! What he would do
for any other seat on that plane. His character did not allow him
to make such a request now. But this was too much.

The girl continued her attack. "What are you
anyway? Going off to some rich business brunch. Going to look at
some expensive graphs and eat catered food off of paper plates. Or
are you going to go back to your wife after a night of fucking your
whore in another city? Don't forget to put your wedding ring back
on, asshole.”

"I am not married." Hollace drew his
handkerchief out of his pocket and patted his face. Though the
cabin was cool he seemed to be sweating.

“
Oh, I get it. So you like
it from the boys down in the mailroom. I should have known. Fucking
handmade pointy shoes. You're wearing purple socks, for Christ’s
sake.”

The socks along with the tie which Hollace
was wearing had been a present from his sister-in-law the previous
Christmas. In any event he knew that neither was purple; they were,
in fact, plum. His sister-in-law had assured him they were not
purple. Hollace Dupree would never wear purple socks. These were
definitely plum. The plane was just completing its ascent. Hollace
had completely missed takeoff. He was incensed.

Sitting up straighter and turning toward the
girl he asked, "Is there anything that I might do to protect myself
against this early-morning tirade?"

The girl was taken aback. She looked around
for her defense. No one supported her. The other passengers were
busy with their papers and coffee, listening. "You know why I'm on
this plane? Because this is the gate where my friend was working.
She works at the counter for this airline, and she gave me a
boarding pass. We go out all the time and she always says that if I
want to go somewhere I should just come to the counter where she
works and she'll slip me on the plane. So here I am. I don't know
where this plane is even going. And you know what? I don't have to,
because I don't care."

Hollace decided from this obvious display of
insecurity that the girl was probably around twenty-three years of
age—old enough to have serious problems but still too young to
handle them by herself. He was regaining strength.

She adjusted her bodice.

Hollace watched her writhing long enough to
decide that she must be exceedingly uncomfortable. Then, without
daring to try, he wished he had looked a little longer.

As though she had come full circle by that
statement, she returned to his question. "Yes. You can. If you want
me to shut up you can tell me why all men are such assholes.”

Maybe only twenty-one judging from the
overwhelming generalization. "Do you mean any particular man,
because I certainly cannot speak for us all?” Hollace tried not to
smile at the girl. He wanted her to be assured that he was taking
her plight seriously.

She saw the kindness in his eyes. "Okay,
well then, Jake. Tell me why Jake is such an asshole.”

"Jake of Jake's Lawn Care or Jake of Jake's
Pizza?"

A beautiful young pink smile. "Jake of my
asshole ex-boyfriend cheating ass, Jake.”

"Oh. Not an entrepreneur of the usual sort,
I see."

"More usual than you think, Mr. —,” again
consulting the business card, "Dupree."

"I suppose this is so."

"You never cheated on a girlfriend?"

Hollace considered the question. After
dismissing a confusing incident in college that may have fit the
definition of infidelity but certainly was a misunderstanding by
all parties, he decided to go with his statistical average which
was a decided, "No."

"Why not?"

Oh. These questions. Why not look out over
the billow of cloud that spread out to the horizon making the view
from the window a treasure for a moment? It was only six in the
morning. Why not look at the sunrise? What a rare thing to be so
close to it. Why think about some foolish young man 30,000 feet
below and miles behind? He avoided the question since she was
obviously torturing herself. Self-inflicted romance problems are
prominent at nineteen—but she must be older than that.

"I never cheated on a girlfriend because I
never considered the stuff of romance to be a game. One might cheat
at cards and board games, not in relationships. Relationships are
business. Negotiation and respect. Always took it as serious
business, I'm afraid. May I ask a question of you, Miss—?” He
solicited her last name.

"Well, as of one thirty this morning it's
Mrs. Jake Russell. We eloped."

Definitely twenty-two. "Well, Mrs.
Russell—”

"Don't call me that. He's such a rat
bastard.”

"Regardless of your name then, why did you
board the plane this morning in such antiquated attire?"

She tore at the dress's narrow cap
shoulders. She pulled off some cheap earrings and wiped her nose in
a disgusting manner with the back of her hand. "I fucking hate my
job. Do you know that I have four of these dresses? And on the
Fourth of July I have to wear one that is all red, white, and blue,
with stars and a fucking patriotic parasol. Eight years. First I
sold lemonade. That wasn’t so bad. I smoked cigarettes with all the
Mexicans and only had to wear some stupid paper pioneer hat. I work
at Merton Village and Historic Theme Park. It's awful.

"Now I'm the folly girl in the cafe where
they serve cotton candy and popcorn to a bunch of little kids. Jake
is a blacksmith. He makes all sorts of stupid trinkets out of old
nails and sells them all for about seventy-five times what they're
worth. So after work yesterday we went out like we always do—two
and a half years. He told me to meet him by the blacksmith shop and
we rode his motorcycle over to the water and got married by a
gambling boat captain. Nice wedding. Can you believe I stayed with
that dick for two and a half years?"

Her vulgar language was beginning to wear on
Hollace. He winced.

"Sorry. Are you like my mom's age or
what?"

Hoping he was much younger than the mother
and closer in fact to the age of the girl, Hollace hedged, "Well,
how old is your mother?"

"I don't know. I never met her. It's just a
figure of speech, you know."

Hollace didn't know. He had no idea in fact.
"Yes. I suppose so."

The flight attendant appeared with the
beverage cart. Hollace asked politely about the brand of orange
juice and requested a ginger ale as well, if it weren’t too much
trouble. The girl ordered a Bloody Mary with four extra shots of
vodka. Hollace noticed that the stewardess ignored the alcohol
limit. Everyone on the plane was indebted to Hollace for dealing
with the girl. There was a look of thanksgiving. Noting this and in
a fit of generosity Hollace whipped out his wallet and paid for the
girl's drinks.

"You didn't need to do that." She pulled at
the plastic on the lid of the vodka with her teeth. Once she had
ripped the cellophane and spit it onto the floor she dumped half
the vodka into her drink and drank the rest straight.

He watched her with a combination of
sickness and intrigue. “It is your wedding day. It's the least I
can do." It is true that Hollace was interested in hearing the rest
of this story. "So who is the harlot?”

“
The what?”

"Jake's other—well, the other woman."

“
Oh, the cheap-ass
whore?”

"Having never met her, I'll reserve my
judgment. But for the purposes of discussion and clarity, yes, the
well, the cheap-ass whore.” Hollace was proud of himself. And
smiled with closed lips.

They both laughed and toasted each other.
Hollace was careful not to spill his half-filled glass, and her
drink sloshing wildly ran over onto the back of her hand. She
sucked the liquid quickly and licked her entire hand clean. Hollace
thought this was obscene and found himself intently tapping his
index finger on the tray. He finished his drink and slowly poured
another small amount of juice into his class.

After opening a packet of peanuts and
swallowing the entire contents without really chewing, the girl
went on. "Well. God knows what her name is. People call her Bitsy.
Isn't that disgusting? She's no one. She takes tickets at the
Scrambler. Big hair. Bad jeans. You've seen a thousand like her at
places like that. Real skinny, you know?"

Hollace adjusted the vent above his head so
that more air was flowing over him. "I guess I'm not a big fan of
amusement parks. Wouldn't know the type most likely, I'm
afraid."

The girl nodded. "Right. She’s trash, if you
want to know the truth." Without asking permission the girl poured
one of the tiny vodka bottles into Hollace's cup. "Have a
screwdriver, Hollace Dupree. You need it after listening to all
this crap. Besides you paid for it."

He did not refuse. He probably couldn't
have.

There was a lull in their conversation
through a bit of turbulence. They kept drinking for a few quiet
minutes. Hollace looked out over the white cloud bank that
undulated under them and reflected sunlight everywhere. He thought
of Jake somewhere down there. Just married and wondering where his
wife was on an overcast day. What a glorious morning. What an odd
beginning. The girl rummaged through her backpack for
something.

Thrusting some worn paper and a strip of
photos from a picture booth the girl, like a television lawyer,
burst out, "See. Look at this shit. After we got married he wanted
to take me to a hotel but I was cold so he let me wear his jacket
on the bike. These were in the pocket. I jumped off the bike when
he was going almost twenty miles an hour. I grabbed a bottle of
Jack from a shitty little convenience mart and just got a cab right
to the airport."