Melody (5 page)

Alice's mother was very proud of their home, which she told me on more than one occasion was a colonial revival, a house with historical architecture. It had two stories and a front porch. They had an attached garage. The house had twelve rooms. The living room looked as big as our entire trailer. Alice's room was certainly twice the size of mine, and her brother Tommy's room was even bigger. The one time I looked in at the master bedroom with its own bathroom, I thought I had entered a palace.

Tommy was in the kitchen when we entered the house. He sat on a stool, smearing peanut butter on a piece of bread and holding the phone receiver between his ear and shoulder. The moment he saw me, his eyes widened and his eyebrows lifted.

“I'll call you back, Tina,” he said and cradled the receiver. “I'm sorry about what happened to your father. He was a really nice guy.”

“Thank you.”

He looked at Alice for an explanation of what we were doing, why she had brought me to their house. Everyone was making me feel as though I carried a disease. No one wanted to be directly confronted with sorrow as deep as mine.

“We're going up to my room,” Alice told him.

He nodded. “Would you like something to eat? I'm just having a snack.”

I hadn't really had anything substantial to eat for days and my stomach bubbled at the suggestion.

“Maybe I should eat something.”

“I'll make us some sandwiches and bring them up to my room,” Alice said.

“Mother doesn't like you to have food in your room, Alice,” Tommy reminded her.

“She'll make an exception this time,” Alice retorted. Her older brother retreated from the fury of her eyes and her stern expression.

“I don't want to make any trouble,” I said softly.

“I guess it will be all right as long as you don't make a mess,” Tommy relented. “How's your mother doing?”

“She's doing fine,” I said hesitantly. He nodded, gazed at Alice who continued to glare at him defiantly, and then he took a bite of his sandwich.

“Let's go up to my room, first,” Alice suggested, pivoting and taking my hand. I followed.

We went quickly up the carpeted, winding stairway to her room.

“Sorry my brother is such a dork,” she said. “We're always fighting because he's so bossy. You can lie down if you want,” she said nodding at her fluffy pillows and comforter on her queen size bed. It had pink posts and a frilly light pink canopy. The headboard was shaped like a Valentine heart. I dreamed of having a bed like this instead of the simple mattress and box springs I had now.

I took off my coat and sat on the bed.

“I thought Bobby Lockwood was going to come to your house,” Alice said.

“I knew he wouldn't. He looked terrified at church and at the cemetery,” I said.

“I know you like him, but I don't think he's that mature,” Alice remarked.

“No one's very mature when it comes to this sort of thing. I don't blame him for running away from me.”

“If he really liked you, he would want to be with you, to help you.”

I knew Alice hated whenever I had a boyfriend because it took me away from her.

“Right now, I don't care very much about boys,” I said.

She nodded, pleased.

“I'll run down and make us some sandwiches and bring them up with milk, okay?”

“Don't get in trouble on my account.”

“I won't. Just rest or read something or turn on the television set, if you want. Do anything you want,” she offered.

“Thanks.”

After she left, I did lie back and close my eyes. I should be with Mommy now and she should want to be with me, not Archie Marlin. She'll be sorry when he leaves and she's all alone in the trailer, I thought, and then I decided I wouldn't stay away that long. I kept hearing Daddy explaining her actions, cajoling me to understand her weaknesses. He always felt more sorry for her than he felt for himself. I was sure he was doing the same thing right now, even though it was he and not she who was shut up in a coffin.

I wondered how long it would be before my friends would stop looking at me strangely. It would be so hard to return to school, I thought: all those pitying eyes aimed at me. I imagined even my teachers would gaze at me sorrowfully and speak to me in softer, sadder tones.

Maybe Mommy was right: maybe it was better to pretend nothing had happened. That way other people weren't so uncomfortable in your presence. But wasn't that like slapping Daddy's memory in the face? Somehow, I had to find a way to keep my sorrow private and go on with my life, as empty as it now seemed to be.

If I had a brother like Alice had, I wouldn't be fighting with him all the time, I thought. Right now, a brother would come in pretty handy. He would help with
Mommy and we would have each other to comfort. If he were older than I was, I was sure he would be like Daddy. I resented Mommy for being too weak and too selfish to have another baby. She didn't have to have a litter, but she might have considered my need for a companion.

I must have been a lot more tired than I realized, for I didn't hear Alice return. She placed the sandwiches and the milk on the night table beside the bed and sat reading our history assignment while she waited for me to open my eyes. It was twilight by the time I did. The lamp was on.

“What happened?” I asked, scrubbing my cheeks with my palms and sitting up.

“You fell asleep and I didn't want to wake you. The milk's a little warm, but the sandwich is all right.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.”

“Go ahead. Eat something. You need it, Melody.”

I saw from the empty plate beside her and the empty glass, she had already eaten her snack. I took a deep breath and bit into the sandwich. I was afraid what my stomach might do once solid food dropped into it again. It bubbled and churned, but the sandwich tasted good, and I finished quickly.

“You were hungry.”

“I guess so. Thanks. What time is it?” I gazed at the small grandfather clock on her dresser. “Oh. I better get home.”

“You don't have to go. If you want, you could even sleep here tonight.”

“No. I should go home,” I insisted. “My mother needs me. I'm sorry I wasn't much company.”

“That's okay. Are you going to school tomorrow?”

“No. I'm not. I'm staying home at least one day,” I said firmly.

“I'll bring you all the homework and tell you what we did.”

“Thanks.” I paused and smiled at her. “Thanks for being my best friend, Alice.”

It brought tears to her eyes and she flashed a smile back at me. Then she followed me down the stairs. Her house was so quiet.

“My parents are showering and getting dressed for dinner,” she explained. “They always do that after they come home from work. Dinner is very formal in my house.”

“That's nice,” I said pausing at the front door to gaze back at her beautiful home. “It's nice to sit at the table like a family and all be together. You're lucky.”

“No, I'm not,” she said sharply and I opened my eyes wide. “We're rich, maybe, and I get the best marks in school, but you're the lucky one.”

“What?” I almost laughed. Of all days, to say such a thing, I thought.

“You're the prettiest girl in school and everyone likes you and someday, you'll be happier than anyone.”

I shook my head as if she had just said the dumbest thing, but she didn't soften her determined expression.

“You will.”

“Alice,” we heard coming from upstairs. It was her mother. “Did you bring food upstairs?”

“I'd better go,” I said quickly. “Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow,” she mumbled, and closed the door. Somehow, I don't know how, I left feeling more sorry for her than I did for myself.

When I returned to the trailer, Archie Marlin's car was gone. It was dark inside with only a small lamp on in the living room. The glasses and nearly empty bottle of gin were still on the coffee table. I gazed around, listened, and then walked softly down the corridor to Mommy's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar so I peeked through the opening and saw her sprawled on her stomach. Her robe was up around the backs of her knees and her arm dangled over the side of the bed.

I walked in and gazed at her face. She was breathing heavily through her mouth and was in a deep sleep. I covered her with the blanket and then left to clean up the
trailer. Just before I was about to go to bed myself, there was a gentle knock on the door. It was Mama Arlene.

“How are you, honey?” she asked, coming in.

“I'm all right,” I said. “Mommy's asleep.”

“Good. I brought some of the food back from the wake for you to have.” She put the covered plates in our refrigerator. “No sense letting this go to waste.”

“Thank you.”

She came over to me and took both my hands in hers. Mama Arlene was a small woman, an inch shorter than I, but according to Papa George, she had a backbone tempered with steel. Although diminutive, she still seemed able to hold everyone else's troubles on her shoulders.

“Times will be hard for a while, but just remember, we're right next door anytime you need us, Melody.”

“Thank you,” I said, my voice cracking, the tears burning under my eyelids.

“Get some sleep, sweetheart.” She hugged me and I hugged her right back. It broke the dam of tears and I started to sob again.

“Sleep,” she said softly. “That's the cure. That, and time.”

I took a deep breath and went to my room. I heard her leave and then all was quiet. Off in the distance, the wail of a train whistle echoed through the valley. Some of the coal in those cars, I thought, might have been dug out by Daddy before he . . . before he. . .

Some place up north, someone would shovel the coal into a stove and for a while, be warm. I shivered and wondered if I would ever be warm again.

I wondered if Mama Arlene was right about the power of time. In the days and weeks that passed, the ache in my heart became a numbness. But that ache was always resurrected when my mind went to Daddy or when I heard someone who sounded like him. Once, I even
thought I saw him walking along the road. I hated going by the mine or looking at the other miners. The sight of them made my stomach tighten and sent pins into my heart.

Mommy never returned to the cemetery, but I did—almost every day for the first few weeks and then every other day or so after that. Everyone treated me differently at school for the first few days after I returned, but soon, my teachers spoke to me just the way they spoke to everyone else, and my friends began to stay at my side longer, talking to me more, and laughing around me.

Bobby Lockwood drifted away, however, and seemed interested in Helen Christopher, a ninth grader who looked more like an eleventh grader. Alice, who somehow managed to eavesdrop on conversations all day long, told me Helen was even more promiscuous than the infamous Beverly Marks. Alice predicted it was only a matter of time before she would be pregnant, too.

None of this mattered. I didn't shed a tear over Bobby's betrayal. Things that used to mean a lot now seemed small and petty. Daddy's death had jerked me headlong into maturity. On the other hand, with Daddy gone, Mommy became flightier than ever. The biggest effect Daddy's death seemed to have on her was to make her even more terrified of becoming old. She spent a great deal more time primping at her vanity table, fixing her hair, debating over her makeup. She continually reviewed her wardrobe, complaining about how old and out of style all her clothes were. Her talk was always about herself: the length and shade of her hair, a puffiness in her cheeks or eyes, the firmness leaving her legs, what this bra did for her figure as opposed to what another could do.

She never asked about my school work, and between what I made for dinner and what Mama Arlene did for us, she never cooked a meal. In fact, she seldom even came home for dinner with me, claiming she'd get fat.

“I can't eat as much fatty food as you can, Melody,” she told me. “Don't wait for me. If I'm not home by six, start eating without me,” she ordered. It got so she was only home for dinner once or twice a week. Mostly, I ate with Mama Arlene and Papa George.

Even though Mommy was worried about her complexion and her figure, she continued to drink gin and smoke. When I asked her about that, she got very angry and told me it was her only vice and everyone need a little vice.

“Perfect people end up in monasteries or nunneries and eventually go mad,” she explained. “I have a lot of tension now with your father gone. I need to relax, so don't make any new problems for me,” she ordered. Which I knew simply meant, “Leave me alone.”

I did.

I wanted to complain too: about how often she saw Archie Marlin and how often he was at our house. But I buttoned my lips and swallowed my words. It took so little to set Mommy off these days, and after she went on a rampage—shouting and flailing about—she would break down and cry and make me feel just terrible. It got so I began to feel as if I was her mother and she was my daughter.

Our bills piled up, some simply because she just never got to them. Twice, the phone company threatened to shut off our service and once the electric company came by and put a warning on our door. Mommy was always making mistakes with our checking account. I had to take over the bookkeeping, do our grocery shopping, and look after the trailer. Papa George helped me with that, but Daddy's death had had a big impact on him, too. He looked older, sicker, and much more tired these days. Mama Arlene was always after him to take better care of himself, however he wouldn't stop smoking and he even began drinking a little whiskey in the late afternoon.

There were nights when I was wakened by the sound of Mommy's laughter and then heard Archie Martin's voice. Soon, that laughter was coming from Mommy's
bedroom. I pressed my hands over my ears, but I couldn't shut out the sounds that I knew were sounds of lovemaking.