The Vast Fields of Ordinary

  I got in my car and put the key in the ignition. I was technically supposed to be at work until three, and it was just a few minutes before noon. I sat there, ready to turn the key or pull it out. I wasn’t sure which I should do. Out the front windshield was a little grassy hill that led up to a small road, one that allowed easy access from the Food World parking lot to the mini mall across the way. Chain restaurants, a cell phone retailer, a women’s clothing store called Dress Explosion.

  I suddenly felt the need to not be in the car. The interior was hot and stuffy. I grabbed some cigarettes from my glove compartment and stepped out of the car. Outside was hot too. I was already sweating. When had this started? My back was soaked with perspiration. I longed for the cold of the milk cooler. Did I want a cigarette? I’d thought that I did, but at that moment it sounded gross to me. I threw the pack on the ground. There were still at least ten cigarettes left, but that didn’t stop me from stomping on the pack over and over again.

  I put my hands in my pocket and leaned against the trunk of my car and stared out across the parking lot. Cars and cars as far as I could see. I thought of the homeless guy I spotted at the car dealership lot when I was driving to Cherry’s with Lucy, of the way he gazed out in awe at all the cars.

  You don’t want to be part of our world. I was sending the voice in my head to wherever he was. You think you want it, but you don’t. It all comes at a cost.

  The cheerleaders squealed. One of them was hosing down her friend. Two suburban dad types were standing on the outskirts of it all, chuckling and nudging each other. I wanted to levitate away from it all. I wanted people to look up and see it happening. I wanted people to point up at me and say That boy is floating away. And then I wanted Pablo to come outside and wonder why everyone was looking up. I wanted him to follow everyone’s gaze and see me, the last thing he expected.

  Chapter 15

  At seven thirty the next night I was waiting on the couch for Alex to arrive. There was the subtlest suggestion of evening, just a little shift in the angle of the sun that meant it would be setting in the next hour or so. I was wearing my favorite pair of jeans and a polo that my mother had purchased for me during our shopping spree a few weeks back. At the time I’d hated it, but that night it felt right. Pink with a fat lavender strip across the torso. I felt my mother hovering in the space where the living room met the dining room.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Your father wants to know if he should start heating the coals.”

  “He’ll be here soon. It’s just now seven thirty.”

  “Are you nervous?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  “Well, I am too, if that makes you feel any better.”

  She’d already had three glasses of white zinfandel. And that was just what I’d noticed. How many pills had she taken that day? What parts of her were my mother and what parts of her were Peggy Hamilton, static-headed suburban housewife, a walking cocktail? Despite all this, I couldn’t be all that hard on her. I did drugs and drank for reasons that were more similar to hers than I wanted to admit. I thought back to one of my first nights out with Alex, the night when I thought I saw Jenny out by the pool.

  “Can I have a beer?” I asked.

  “Are you going to pass out in the yard?” she asked.

  “It depends on how the evening goes,” I said.

  “On second thought, why don’t you have an Arnold Palmer,” she said. “I’ve got a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge.”

  It was just then that Alex rolled up to the house. My mother saw my expression change and looked over her shoulder out the giant picture window that looked out on the neighborhood. His crappy Citation looked so out of place against the backdrop of perfect houses. He stepped out of the car wearing baggy black pants, a short-sleeved dress shirt, and a blue and yellow striped tie. He was carrying something.

  “Are those flowers?” my mother asked.

  I smiled. They were.

  He ambled slowly across the lawn toward the house, his eyes on the ground. Was his mouth moving? It was. He was talking to himself. Probably giving himself a pep talk. I broke into a wide grin and went for the door. I opened it before he could even ring the bell. He’d shaved. He didn’t look like the guy from Lube Jobs 4 anymore. He looked like my boyfriend.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” he said. He handed me the flowers. “These are for you.”

  It was a bouquet of carnations, the kind we sold in the floral department at Food World. I knew how much a bouquet of carnations cost, and in fact, I’d once overheard Judy and Jessica talking about how if a guy ever gave them carnations they’d never speak to him again. But for some reason the memory of that just made me like him even more. He’d gone out on a limb for me, stopped at some grocery store on a whim with the idea that he was going to make this night as special for me as he could. He was going to prove himself to me in front of my parents. It felt wonderful.

  “No one’s ever brought me flowers before,” I said.

  “Really? Pablo never brought you flowers?” I laughed and shushed him.

  “Come on in,” I said.

  I remembered my mother. She’d melted away for a moment. She was still standing by the couch. Her smile was a bit forced, but it was hard for me to get upset about it. This was all new. And at least she was smiling. She came over and put out her hand.

  “Hi, I’m Peggy Hamilton. Dade’s mom.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Hamilton,” Alex said, shaking her hand.

  “Call me Peg. Actually, no. Call me Peggy.”

  “Okay. Peggy.”

  My mom laughed nervously. Then I started laughing nervously and Alex did the same, and all I could think about was moving away from the door, going farther into the house, and making the evening as comfortable as possible.

  “Let’s go out back,” I said, leading him into the kitchen. “I think my dad is playing Grill Master. Should be fun to watch. You thirsty?”

  “Yeah,” he said. He mouthed “Beer?” I shook my head.

  “You want an Arnold Palmer?” I asked.

  “What’s an Arnold Palmer?”

  “Half lemonade, half iced tea,” I said.

  “Um, sure,” he said. “Sounds great.”

  “I’ll make them and bring them out,” my mother said, coming into the kitchen behind us. “Go on outside. Alex, you can meet Dade’s dad.”

  Alex and I went out back. My father was staring at the smoking grill with a weird sort of grimace on his face like he didn’t know what was going on but was prepared to at least attempt to disprove anyone who suggested such a thing. He looked up when he heard the sliding door.

  “I accidentally bought the crappy coals and not the good ones.” He looked Alex up and down. “You must be Alex.”

  They both put out their hands and shook.

  “I am,” he said. “And you’re Dade’s dad.”

  “Call me Ned.”

  “Okay.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. I remembered the first night we’d met, how he’d done the exact same thing on the sidewalk that ran in front of the Montanas’ place. “Nice pool.”

  “Alex brought me flowers,” I said. The moment I said it, I wished I hadn’t.

  My father waited a moment and said, “Well, that was nice of you. Nobody ever brought me flowers. Dade’s mother brought home this wonderful fern when we first got married, but I think it was more for both of us. Not for me specifically.”

  “I have some more in the car if you want them,” Alex said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his car.

  “Oh. Um, no. I’m all right.”

  “Dad, that was a joke.”

  My father looked at me and then let out a laugh so loud that I gave a little start. Alex gave me a look of wild amusement.

  “Of course,” my father said. “Of course.” He turned back to the grill and poked around at the coals. An awkward silence fell over the three of us, like he’d
suddenly forgotten we were there.

  “So what’s for dinner?” Alex said, circling the grill and putting himself in my dad’s line of vision. There was nothing on there, just a heap of coals that were barely burning. They both looked at it like that evening’s meal would magically appear there at any second.

  “Kabobs,” my dad said. “Lots and lots of kabobs.”

  “Nice,” Alex said.

  “Should we sit?” I asked.

  The dining area in the corner of the yard was already prepared. The lime green plates were out, the ones my mother only used when we were eating outside. She had put out silverware, cloth napkins, salt and pepper shakers.

  “So,” my father said after we sat down. “Alex.” His name hung there in the air for a few seconds. Alex nodded at my father. He wore a good-natured smile, a less charged version of the smirk he offered those he was trying to in some way seduce. “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty-one in November,” he said.

  “So you’re twenty.”

  “Yes. Twenty.”

  “Dade’s eighteen.”

  “Yes. I am aware of that.”

  Just then my mother came out with drinks. She placed an Arnold Palmer in front of each of us, smiling brightly as she did so. There was something weirdly ceremonial about it, as if she was glad for the chance to play perfect homemaker in front of someone new.

  “No further schooling for you, son?” my dad asked while she did this. “Dade said you weren’t enrolled at any of the local colleges.”

  “Not right now,” he said. “Maybe someday. I’m just working. Saving money.”

  “Saving money is good,” my mother said, taking a seat.

  “Where do you work?” my father asked.

  “I work at Taco Taco. It’s over on Edgewood and—”

  “I know where Taco Taco is,” my father said.

  “We have two locations,” Alex explained.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yup yup.”

  “Your mother got sick on Taco Taco many years ago,” my dad said in a slightly accusatory tone.

  “Mine?” Alex asked. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if he actually thought my father was referring to him. My dad shot him a weird look.

  “No,” he said. “Dade’s mother.”

  “Me,” my mother said, raising her hand demurely.

  “I don’t remember that,” I said.

  “You may not have been born,” she said.

  We all reached for our beverages and went through the awkwardness of drinking them together. It was an accidental camaraderie followed by a long silence.

  Dinner was kabobs, salad, corn on the cob, and some mushroom rice medley thing that my mother always served when we had people over for dinner. She asked Alex about his family and work, and he gave her sterilized answers, things to appease her inquires but nothing to alarm her. I kept stealing glances over at my father. He appeared to be pouting about something. I wondered if all this was his worst nightmare, if he was sitting there thinking about how he’d always wanted a jock who’d bring the head cheerleader home for dinner. Instead he got some lazy, skinny, thrift-store-loving kid who brought home some dude that worked at a taco joint.

  “Ned, did you hear that?” my mother said.

  Both my father and I looked over at her. I’d also missed whatever had just been said.

  “No,” my dad said. “What?”

  “Alex’s sister is in Europe,” she said. “That’s where we’re going. Isn’t that something?” She looked at Alex. “Dade’s father and I are going to Europe next week. I can’t wait.”

  “Ah, yes,” my dad said. “It’ll be great.”

  His words came out empty and emotionless, and he went back to his food without saying anything else. The silence that followed was unbearable. Alex gave me a look that seemed to ask what was going on. I gave a subtle shake of my head to indicate he should ignore it. My mother needlessly cleared her throat and reached for her wineglass.

  “It’s hard to believe Dade will be leaving for school in less than a month,” she said. “You know, Fairmont is the same school—”

  My dad suddenly shot up, pushing the chair back noisily as he went. He grabbed his plate and headed for the house.

  “—where Dade’s father went,” my mother went on, her eyes following my father. She took another gulp of her wine. “I remember going to visit Ned—”

  “What’s his problem?” I asked after he’d slid the glass door shut behind him.

  My mom shrugged, shook her head, and waved her hand all at the same time. “I don’t know. You know how he is.”

  “This is embarrassing,” I said. “What the fuck?”

  “Don’t say fuck, Dade,” my mother warned.

  “Should I go?” Alex asked. He was already halfway out of his seat, his thumb once again pointing over his shoulder in the direction of his car and the nonexistent flowers he’d brought for my father. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “No,” I said. “Stay.”

  “Stay,” my mother said. “There’s still dessert.”

  “Unless you’d rather go,” I said. “I understand if you want to.”

  “I want to stay,” Alex said. “If that’s cool.”

  “It’s cool,” I said. I stood up and grabbed our plates. “We’ll go up to my room and finish.” My father’s plate was in the kitchen sink, but he was nowhere to be found. Alex and I took two spoons and an entire container of strawberry ice cream up to my room. We were at my bedroom door when I realized that I was about to escort him into a realm where everything was mine, covered with the fingerprints of my existence, and unable to be explained away or blamed on someone else. I thought of my Johnny Morgan shrine. It suddenly seemed childish and obsessive. I gave a long, hard blink, and silently wished that we’d walk in and find it had magically disappeared.

  “Nice digs,” he said as we walked in. Despite my wish, dozens of Johnnys grinned and posed on the far wall. “Love the high ceilings. Makes my room at my grandma’s look like a jail cell.”

  I laughed lamely, unsure how to respond. I perched on the edge of my bed with the ice cream and spoons as he walked the perimeter of my room. He closely examined the postcards I’d taped to the wall, images by Lichtenstein, Warhol, and Cindy Sherman. He briefly perused my bookshelf, hums of interest coming from his throat as he scanned the titles.

  “What’s all this?” he asked when he came to the pile of stuff my mother had bought me for college.

  “Stuff for my dorm,” I said.

  “Ah,” he said. “Your dorm. I keep forgetting.”

  “Keep forgetting what?”

  He went over to my desk and flipped open my laptop. “Can we put some music on?”

  “I’ll get it,” I said. I put on a collection of Vasectomy B-sides that I hadn’t listened to in a while. The sad opening chords of “Lava Lamp” started and I returned to my bed.

  Alex noticed the Johnny Morgan shrine and laughed. “Love it.”

  I felt my face get hot. I looked away. “I should take that down. It’s lame.”

  “Whatever,” he said. He came over and sat by me. “Johnny Morgan’s a hot piece. I’d hit it.”

  He took the ice cream from me and opened it up. We sat there eating it and listening to the music and not saying anything.

  “So what did you mean that you keep forgetting?” I finally said. “You keep forgetting that I’m going to school?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Michigan’s far.”

  “It’s not that far,” I said.

  “Far enough.”

  I didn’t like the way he said it, like he’d already decided something about what was going to happen to us after the summer ended. He was looking around my room, not completely invested in the conversation. It occurred to me that we’d been alone for over five minutes and we hadn’t kissed yet. I put my hand on his knee. He gave me a smile, warm and maybe a little bit forced. It felt like a consolation prize. I moved my hand
away.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He furrowed his brow. “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. Am I acting like something’s wrong?”

  “Frankly, yeah. A little. Did dinner freak you out?”

  “No. Not at all. The food was good.”

  “I’m sorry about my dad.”

  “Don’t be. God only knows how my parents would’ve acted in the same situation. At least your dad had the courtesy to just get up and leave instead of causing a scene. Mine probably would’ve just gotten drunk and thrown something.”

  “We went out to dinner the other night, and he said he was going to try,” I said. “He said he wanted to understand everything.”

  “Bummer.”

  He was holding the ice cream and looking distractedly around my room. I was convinced that he was plotting his escape. Why hadn’t he kissed me yet?

  His phone rang. He took it out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. He gave me a look that asked if he could take it, and I gave him an overly permissive nod. He stood up and moved slowly to the corner of my room and answered.

  “Hey, Jarvis,” he said. “How can I help you this lovely evening?”

  Alex took the liberty of opening my window and lighting up a cigarette. He leaned far out as he blew the smoke into the night. It vaguely pissed me off, but I didn’t know what to say. I lit some incense and went over to my closet. I took off my collared shirt and tossed it on the ground near my shoes. I was over that shirt, over this night in general. All I wanted was for Alex to leave so I could call Lucy and commiserate with her about how crappy the evening had been. I went through my clothes, noisily pushing the hangers down the rod as I went, until I finally settled on a tight green T-shirt that bore the logo of some heating and cooling business, one of my favorite thrift store purchases.

  “Hey, man,” I heard Alex say to the caller. “I should go. I’m at a friend’s. But I’ll be there in thirty. We can talk more later. . . . Okay, peace. . . . Right, I won’t forget. . . . Okay. Bye.”

  “You gotta go,” I said for him as he hung up.

  “Yeah.” He came over to me and kissed me on the forehead and rubbed my shoulders. There was something so condescending about it. I suddenly couldn’t wait to get him out of the house. “I gotta go.”