Works and Days

Two

Grits

The air was scentless.

There was no promise of dinner to be inhaled. Usually this meant if Russell walked downstairs and stood in front of his mother for a few seconds, Patti would say, “I guess I should get up and throw something together,” and she would and they would eat.

Now, as he headed downstairs, there was laughing and then conversation.

“And so we can go over the Creed at our next meeting—”

And he froze at the head of the stairs.

It was Mr. Cordino.

Whose class he had missed for two days now.

Russell inhaled, shook himself, and then ran back to his room, locked the door, and looked at Moby-Dick open on the bed.

It was a large room with hardwood floors, that shot out from the rest of the house so that three of the walls had large windows, one leading to a little rusted and useless balcony overlooking their yard and across the fence that of the Yarborough’s. Russell fantasized that he could climb down the balcony, and over the fences through successive yards until he got three blocks down to Chayne’s house. Too late now. He was locked in his room as long as long as Mr. Cordino was here. And what if the man brought up Russell’s truancy?

Steady, steady now. All he could do was go on reading.

Russell had only gotten a page or so further when there was a knock on the door, but there was no telling how much time had really passed. He tended to blank out when anxious, and now he could smell cooking downstairs. Knocking was not like Mom. Usually she would take her broom and hit the butt of it to the ceiling to call him down for dinner. He opened it and—

It was Mr. Cordino.

“Your Mom was going to come up and tell you it was time for dinner, but I suggested going myself.”

Russell opened his mouth to say something. Nothing came.

“It’s not ready yet,” said Jeff Cordino. “So we’ve got a few moments. Could I talk to you a second, Russell?”

Oh, God! and he said it so nicely. Russell only nodded and invited Mr.Cordino—Jeff—into his room.

“This is a nice place you’ve got. Oooh, and lots of books,” he sounded shocked as if the bookshelves had snuck up like a small pet to sniff his leg. He sat on the edge of Russell’s bed and Russell stood, looking at him.

“You’re a smart kid, Russell. A smart young man I should say.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cordino.”

Jeff Cordino shrugged. He looked very young in jeans and a button down shirt. “We’re not in school right now. You can call me Jeff. I’m only twenty-four.”

He smiled. Then his face grew serious.

“Russell, you’re one of the best if not the best student I have, and you’re good. I want to know what—why you won’t come to school. If I can help you, I want you to tell me.”

Until that moment Russell had seen his truancy as a personal choice in a shitty situation. Coming out of Mr. Cor—Jeff’s mouth—it seemed like an illness, something that called for a twelve step program, a problem needing attention, and this new view so shook Russell that he said, “I don’t know what to say.”

“What don’t you like about school, Russell?”

“How about asking me what I like about it?” Russell said.

“I hate everything. I hate everybody. When I was going to Saint Adjeanet’s I thought high school would be better and Mom told me about how cool high school was, how much fun all the activities were! And when I started high school I tried to do all that stuff. Choir, drama cause I’m not good at sports. But you know what? I don’t like it. I don’t like the pep rallies. I think it’s all stupid. I hate everybody. Whenever anybody tries to insult me I wanna punch him because it’s not insulting it’s stupid and it’s like—I’m supposed to make a comeback with that. I hate all the teachers, they’re all stupid too—except for you, Mr. Cor—Jeff,” Russell screwed up his face and threw out his hands, “Mr.Cordino, whoever you are, now. I hate sitting in class, sleeping through everything and still being able to get an A, or the classes like algebra and general science I’ll never get an A—or a B or maybe even a C in that I—don’t—care about. I hate Ralph Balusik, I hate Jason Lorry. I hate Jeremy. I hate my classes, I hate the way the school smells. I hate being a teenager. I hate that I have no friends my own age. I hate gym class cause I can’t dribble a ball or climb that rope—AND I DON’T WANT TO! I hate that there’s no more recess! And I hate that I’m sitting in some stuffy classroom being bored to tears when I look out of the window and there’s this whole summer world outside and so… and so I don’t come.”

Then, looking at the slightly dumbfounded Jeff Cordino, he said, “And, Sir, there’s nothing you can do about any of it.”

Russell and Jeff, ran down the stairs, when they heard the crash, the thud and smash of glass. They had just missed what had happened in the kitchen. Anna Castile had been helping Patti. She was a pretty, silent girl who wanted to say several things to Patti but considered them all out of place, so she just helped. If she’d spoken she would have said that she knew she and Jeff should not have popped on over, and that it wasn’t right for Thom Lewis to have just called an impromptu dinner.

But Anna Castile did not speak. She just went out into the dining room to put out the glasses. Patti had been lifting the casserole out of the oven when Thom was coming into the kitchen, and he stopped in his tracks and looked at her, horrified.

“What?” she said.

“Is that the best you could do?” Thom demanded, pointing to the casserole dish.

Patti stared straight at him, held out the casserole dish and dropped it on the kitchen floor. The whole house heard. Hot casserole splattering his hands and trousers and cheeks, Thom lost his breath, and then his wife turned on one heel and marched upstairs.

“Patti, open the door.”

“Patti, please, let me in. Patti, open the door,” Thom hissed through the door and shook it a little, playing with the handle. “Patti, com’on. What’s this gonna look like to Russell?”

The door opened so quickly Thom nearly fell in, and eyes flashing, tendriled curls waving like snakes, his wife hissed, “Don’t you dare bring Russell into this!”

“Into what?” he snapped a little, “Do you know what I looked like, what kind of explaining I had to do to Jeff and—?”

“I don’t give a damn what kind of explaining you had to do—”

“And to,” Thom had raised his voice. He quieted now. “And to Russell.”

“Like I said, Thom—”

“I had to feed him tonight.”

“You did?” Patti tossed her hair and affected surprise.

“Well, welcome to my world. It’s almost like you’re his father or something! Don’t tell me about how caring you are. You don’t give a good goddamn about either one of us!”

“Could we fight in the morning?”

“No, because you ignore me in the morning and in the afternoon and in the night—”

“That is not true.”

Thom came into the room and closed the door

“It is perfectly true,” Patti said, hand on one hip.

“Russell doesn’t need to hear us shouting,” Thom said pacifically.

“Um?” Patti cocked her head. “This is the first time I’ve heard you mention your son in days. And three times in a row, too—”

Thom’s face blackened and he said ,”Oh, you wait a minute, Patricia. You wait a goddamn minute—”

“What?” she grew livid the darker her husband became. “What? You wanna fight? Good. Shit, Thom I’ve been dying for a fight. Come on!”

Suddenly Thom stopped, sucked in his breath, folded his arms across his chest, threw back his head and laughed.

“What?” Patti snapped.

Thom just went on laughing.

“What?”

“I’m not going to fight with you.”

Patti went to the bed, got her pillow, ripped off the comforter and circling it about her like a cape, said, “And I’m not going to sleep with you.”

And she left Thom alone in the room.

Thom almost noticed the quiet in the house the next morning. If he’d really listened to how he felt about Patti in the recent past, Patti all unkempt, chain smoking, a half nervous wreck, he would have felt the difference more keenly. There was not the scent of cigarette smoke in the air. There was not busy energy all over the kitchen. Jackie and Felice were not present. Russell was off to school by now.

The change? Somewhere in the middle of the night, Patricia Lewis had awaken on the couch, her back in pain. She blinked up at the ceiling, waiting for it to come into focus out of the blackness before she sat up and looked around the wide living room, looked through the lace curtains as best she could in the pre-dawn darkness. Things somehow became clearer in the dark. There was no messy sunlight in her eyes, not the voices of her friends, the specter of Thom, or even the guilt of Russell. She knew what she had to do. The decision hurt so bad she wasn’t sure it could possibly be true. Then she knew, when she tried to flee from it that it had to be true. After the pain, after the tears which surprised her by coming while she stuffed the edge of the comforter in her mouth, she fell asleep, and woke up breathing in and out, praying.

“Thom?” she said. She’d only had one cup of coffee and was still in her housecoat. She sat in the living room, before the coffee table. For once he was heading out the front door.

He turned around in his suit, his briefcase in one hand, thermos in the other.

“Yeah, Patti?”

“I need to talk to you.” she stood up and approached him.

Thom nodded, satisfied. “Good. A real talk instead of all the yelling.”

“I yelled because you wouldn’t hear me when I was talking—”

“And this is good and we can talk when I get home, because I’m running late, Pat—”

“But you’ll hear me when I talk now,” Patti went on, nonplussed. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us, Thomas. And I don’t want you to come home tonight.”

Thom laughed.

“Patti, what are you—?”

“I don’t want to be married to you anymore. We’ll work out the whole thing, who gets what, what happens with the house later on. But I’ve got to do this—”

“Patti, you don’t know what you’re talking—”

“Yes—” she put a hand out and continued, talking to the floor. “I do. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and it terrified me. The truth? I don’t really think you see me, Thom. Or anything else. And I don’t think you love me.”

“Patti,” but he tried to put the laugh into his voice, to tell her she was silly.

“No, I really don’t think you do. And I’ve wondered what it is about you that has made me not leave you. You see, I’ve been Patricia Lewis for seventeen years, almost half my life, and I’ve been Thom’s girl for longer. Whatever you said, I did. All you ever had to do was give the command and smile, and everyone told me how lucky I was to have you. They did,” she nodded to herself looking back on something. “And I’m... used to you, Thom...”

Thom’s face had grown serious. His dark eyes darkened even more until they were almost black. He didn’t notice the soreness in his arm from holding the briefcase. His mouth was open a little.

“I’m used to you. I even need you. I need you badly. I discovered that last night, and that was almost the hardest discovery. But need isn’t enough, Thomas. And I might need you,” she lifted her eyes to him and they were almost honey colored. They were so full of color it hurt her husband, “but I don’t love you.”

Thom’s jaw steadied. He lifted it, narrowed his eyes a little, and clearing his throat he said, “We’ll talk when I get home.”

“No.” Patti shook her head sadly. She was looking at the floor again.

As soon as Thom walked out he heard the lock slide home. Something in him wanted to scream and rush at the door, but he’d trained that something into submission a long time ago. Thom did not display emotions unless they were happy, unless they were witty. He would be patient with his wife. It was probably best that way.

Thom took in a breath, turned around and marched down the little brick walk for the car before he felt something whiz past his ear. He looked down and saw one of his shoes. and then came the next.

“Hey, Patti!” but then he had to dodge a bowling bag, and then underwear was coming down, sports jackets now. Thom thought of shaking his fist at the window, and then turned around, got in the car and headed for Grand Rapids.