Stranger, Father, Beloved (14 page)

CHAPTER TEN

A few days after the first class, Ryan had woken up early and felt pulled to go to the energetics class secretly, without Jill. She left the house undetected a little after six thirty, a mug of coffee in her hand, and she felt very adult drinking it in the car in the early morning by herself. During the class, she could feel Dari's eyes on her. They all stretched in the darkness, and she lay limp while Dari realigned her legs and arms in relation to her spine. Lying there like a rag doll in confident hands, she went into a kind of half sleep while she was moved into and out of positions. After class, the two girls stood in the sunshine as the day awakened. Ryan clung to her mug of coffee from earlier, taking sips. Dari talked about backpacking out west, about camping in the desert.

“You want to hang out sometime?” Dari had asked her, for the first time her voice losing its casual nature.

“Yes, I would,” Ryan responded, and they both looked out at the rocky beach spreading ahead of them behind the little rickety studio. The sea was alive that day, jumpy at the surface due to the wind. Sailboats were out, as well as the many fishing boats that always chugged out from the shore to sea and back again, unloading lobsters, bluefish, cod, and striped bass from black mesh nets on a mechanized belt that
brought them up to ground level for visitors to see. Gulls hovered around the port to the girls' left, screeching with delight and taking little airborne dives to try to get at the fresh fish. Both girls watched the vibrant ocean and the busy boats and quietly sipped their coffee, savoring the new friendship and stealing smiles at each other.

Ryan returned to the class often and a few times she was late for school because of it, but when she walked through the front doors, the hallways were empty. And when she slipped into her classroom, no one paid any attention, not even the teacher. It was odd, this looseness and this tolerance. She felt it from all the adults she knew. The doors at the end of each hallway were propped open, fresh air pouring in, and the brightness of the sun outside glittered on the windows that lined the shadowy hallways. Everything was emptied out—it was the end of the school year, and everyone had their minds focused elsewhere.

She quickly retreated to her own mind and thought of Dari, petite little Dari with her easy smile and her bony body. That morning the two of them had sat outside drinking coffee together from a thermos Ryan had brought. Dari was a couple of years older, yet she had that ageless creature appeal, an almost elfin look to her that made her seem childlike or androgynous. She asked none of the typical questions, demanded no formalities or pep. The two of them had an unspoken agreement that they would see each other often, as often as was possible. It felt as if no matter what they ended up doing, they would somehow find their way back to each other. They spoke on the phone at night, right before bed. Ryan found it the perfect way to be sent into sleep, curled up in her bed in the dark, their voices low, saying whatever came to mind. Life itself seemed to have changed over the past couple of weeks—never had she known such peace. She felt tolerance toward her mother for the first time in years. When it came
down to it, her mother was harmless, after all, and there was no use in harboring anger toward a harmless person.

Dari had graduated a year before from the same school, and had been a universally liked person. So when she showed up at the end of the school day to spend time with Ryan, Ryan felt a surge of pride to be connected with such an easygoing, pretty, and likable sort of person. Dari always wore her brother's bomber jacket, half hanging off her tiny frame, and her hair was disheveled in an attractive kind of way. The girls stared at her with a mix of puzzlement and envy—she was thin, and there was something lovely about her.

Ten minutes before her last class got out, Ryan would sit, excitement growing inside, and feel as if she might explode out of her seat. At the end of class, she would seek out her friend loitering in the halls, and they would leave the school together. The weather was balmy and windy as they drove through Orin and stopped for fries and a Coke at Sammy's on their way out of town to sit by the water. The owner, Rick, tall and ruddy-faced, still came over to talk to Ryan because he had seen her grow up over the years. He brought their food over himself and beamed at the two pretty girls. It was getting close to summertime, and they anxiously discussed options for spending the upcoming days well. Sometimes Dari would sit behind her on the rocks and would place one hand on Ryan's forehead and one at the base of her throat. They would sit that way as Dari balanced out her energy, and although Ryan often felt skeptical that anything was happening, she knew only that the touch felt right on her skin.

It seemed that Dari produced delight after delight, for not only was she wonderful company, but her family, whom Ryan had come to know shortly after they met, was the shining example of what a family should be. The Winstons possessed that magic of easy living that was so enviable to those who don't have it and so natural to those
who do. They were unlike any other family she had ever encountered. They lived up Route 38 several miles in a wilder part of the Peninsula's forest. Dari's father and mother had designed the house themselves, a massive wooden structure with an intricate system of wooden beams, supporting many staircases, levels, floors, and half-floors. The tiny kitchen had low ceilings and a slate counter at its center, around which the entire family sat on stools upon coming home, eating whatever was around and chatting about whatever they felt like. Dari's mother, Lydia, owned an antique store down the road that rarely got customers, and her father was often out of town derigging bombs in the Middle East. Quite an unusual job, but no one discussed it as if it were anything out of the ordinary.

Seven in total, they seemed to thrive as a group, feeding off each other's vitality. Dari had two brothers and two sisters. There were several family photos showing them all perched on some mountaintop, grinning into the sunlight, healthy and strong. All of the children were remarkably beautiful. The eldest brother, Tanner, lived in another town and hadn't yet been to visit while Ryan was there. Yet there he was in the photographs, with striking blue eyes and tan, muscular arms.

Dari had learned yoga from her mother, who had taught it in the 1970s, when she was still living in California. Lydia had once been beautiful before her body gave in to the arduous task of bearing five children. Ryan could see her, slim, smiling with Mr. Winston in the backyard of their house in California when they had first been married. Her firm flesh had become like dough over the years, tired from all the endless creating of life. It must have been incredible to have made other people who now existed in the world, who then felt like separate, individual beings. You create and then suffer, while your creations forget where they came from. You had to have a bottomless kind of tolerance to forgive that kind of neglect.

The magic increased each day that Ryan spent with the family. This kind of productive contentment had always been absent from her own family, and here was the proof that a family unit could work, that things did not have to be bleak and muted as they were in her own household. Ryan was careful never to take Dari back to her own house, because of some vague fear that if Dari were exposed to her demented family, the wonder of their relationship would dissolve under the weight of her own home's malcontent. Her father would find a way to ruin their intimacy just as he did everything else, if only by existing near it, and that idea was unbearable to her.

Ryan luxuriated in the bizarre little space that was Dari's room, up two and a half flights of stairs on a little platform area at the back of the house. Different-colored scarves hung from the rafters, and her bed had a red velvet bedspread and numerous soft pillows decorating its plush surface. A large wooden bookcase in the corner of the room was filled with books of every kind. Ryan often found several lying open on Dari's bed. They were a mixture of fiction and spirituality books, and books of love poetry as well.

Ryan loved the solemn way Dari would pick up a book, her tiny hands clasped around the spine, staring at it, delicately holding it, sweeping her eyes lovingly over the words. Dari had just turned nineteen and was still living at home because she had little interest in college and was unsure what to do now that she was out of high school. She didn't seem to mind that she was three years older than Ryan, and the two girls seemed to grow closer as each day passed.

Two nights ago, Ryan had picked up Dari's journal to read its contents. Dari always left it open, not caring who read it. The average person might jot down some notes about a dream and then proceed with her day, but for Dari that was only the jumping-off point. She would write notes and then create a story from the notes, philosophizing through
out the day about the dream. Ryan began to read the new entry: “the moving statue in bed . . . on a bunk bed . . . white marble . . . muscle . . . ropy hair . . . Greek . . . face moving with anger.” Below these notes was written, “I have a metal spear and it appears for a moment that I am triumphant as I smash it into him chipping off part of his marble. Some light blood comes out. I sleep with my spear by me on the wall. He sleeps outside but keeps hovering up to the window. He is strangely able to float. He was a lover of mine? Dad walks up, proud and slow. Dad shoots big slow glass bullets at the light. He is unaware of the danger of him (statue companion). Cannot communicate with Dad.”

Ryan set down the journal. Tingling warmth was creeping through her, pausing in between her legs and gathering force there. These days, she couldn't look at Dari in the same way as she had before. Dari was always surprising her with her unique ways, waking up to scribble down dreams, shifting Ryan's bad moods with her energetic work, her small hands working along Ryan's spine. When Ryan stayed over, she watched as Dari slept and to Ryan she resembled a little rabbit, her lips sometimes mumbling nonsense. She was tiny and warm, and she held on to her pillow with a silly ferocity during the night.

That night Ryan was careful not to touch her, but she found it difficult to sleep. She felt slightly delirious, lying inches away from this breathing body, wrapped up in the same comforter, looking at her face in the semi-darkness. She held back from Dari because she seemed asexual. Ryan had never heard mention of a boyfriend, and Dari never spoke of sex or romance, except for slight mentions of them in her dreams. Ryan was partially ashamed of the lust that grew inside her. She felt so exaggerated next to Dari. Full lips, big breasts, hips, hair, everything seemed so huge next to Dari's slight frame and androgynous look. And now with these raging feelings and lustful thoughts she felt even more estranged from her slender friend.

One evening, Ryan sat on a barstool in the Winstons' kitchen, talking to Dari's mother, Lydia, and drinking a cup of tea. Dari was out picking up her brothers from school, and Ryan was happily waiting for her. Her body felt limber from the yoga they had done together earlier that day, and it was a Friday, so they had the whole night free and could do whatever they wanted. She had the blissful security of knowing that time was no factor; she could sleep over and need not return home anytime soon.

Ryan felt a moment of guilt when she thought of her brother stuck in the house without her. She had been away as much as possible recently, and the last time she had returned home, she'd seen how lonely her brother had become. He had been sitting at the kitchen table, coloring books spread out before him, his face huddled over the paper in intense concentration. He'd exhaled forcefully as he bore down onto the crayon with his little hand. When he'd seen Ryan come through the door, the level of excitement on his face was evidence of the emptiness of his hours.

“Hey there, Max!” Ryan had scooped her arms around his neck. He'd closed his eyes, relieved at her touch. He had turned around in his chair and clung to her in a way that made her uncomfortable; he was desperate to be in her arms.

“Okay, okay,” she had said as she lifted him up, trying to ignore the fervor of his grip. They went out into the yard, and watched her mother and John Randolph deciding on the placement of a walkway of stones through the garden. It was dusk, and her mother had obviously been out in the garden for some time. Ryan saw that her mother had been weeding and planting in one of the flower beds in the yard because her gloves and gardening tools were still lying in the grass by the newly manicured plot of dirt.

Her mother's hair was pulled up from her neck, and her face was flushed from the day's exposure to the sun. She and John were chatting and occasionally laughing as they mapped and remapped the placement of the stones. She thought how nice it was to see her mother fully occupied by something. And how nice not to have her father around, glowering in the corner. She felt she should get a move on to prevent being there for his return from work.

Ryan went up into her room, allowing Max to follow her around. She even let him sit on the bath mat and color while she took a shower because she felt such guilt at being home so infrequently. She remembered the sight of him as she left. He stood there in the kitchen with a quizzical look on his face, watching her go.

She thought of all this as she sat on the stool waiting for Dari.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” Lydia asked her.

“My little brother. I hate leaving him over there. Something seems pathetic about it.”

She described to Lydia the way her father completely ignored her brother, the way Max was his mother's creature and would cling to her when he wasn't staring around numbly. She described how painful it was to hear him try to breathe and to witness his constant state of vulnerability. He could never feel confident because he was never comfortable and was forever at the mercy of others' aid or pity. She expected some reaction of astonishment from Lydia after hearing this sad story.