“It’s such a smart idea, how they built it,” said Dad. “It’s a wonder to me that all the other drive-ins didn’t copy it.” He steered past the play-park of swing sets and slides at the base of the screen, and continued around back.
The screen was not just a screen, but a house. The house was built into the screen, or the screen had a house clinging to its back — it was a chicken or egg question. Dad said they were built at the same time by a man called Tex Mooney. The house was one room wide, stacked in three stories, connected with long ramps and motel-style stairs. Tex’s wife was in a wheelchair from diabetes, Dad explained, and he didn’t want to spend all his time running home from the drive-in to check on her. So he built them a house behind the store, so to speak.
I saw the look on Mom’s face. She had heard this story before and didn’t find it all that charming. She glared up at this odd, tall building with windows poked in it here and there. “Anything’s better than that nasty motel. But don’t y’all get attached to the idea of staying here.”
“Why not?” Dad said. “If you give it a chance, you might like it. Once I get the business up and running, we can make it real nice back here. It’s what you always wanted — country living, right here in the city.”
Mom scowled. “Daniel, get those groceries out of the car. I’m going up and lay down. I have a terrible headache.” She took her purse and left us all there.
“Are you gonna show movies, Dad?”
“Of course we are. The only reason people quit coming is cause old Tex let the place run down so bad. Old fool sitting on a dadgum gold mine and didn’t even know it. A little paint, a little of the old spick-and-span, put the right snacks in the snack bar and show the right picture shows — I believe we’ll do good. And no fake butter on the popcorn.”
“You mean you’re gonna do this for your job?” I wouldn’t have been more amazed if Dad had signed up to become an astronaut.
“The sign goes up tomorrow, ‘Under New Management.’ I hope we got enough letters to spell it.”
“Okay well, first of all, there haven’t been ‘picture shows’ since about 1930,” I said.
“Don’t smart-mouth me, mister.”
“And if you want anybody to come,” I said, “you have to show the right movies.”
“Look, Janie, we got an expert right here in the family.”
“I told you it was cool, Danny!” Janie clomped up the steps. “You and me get our own rooms all the way at the top!”
My own room? Those were words I never expected to hear.
Dad watched my face. “What you think about that?”
“Oh, Dad, really? Oh my gosh, thank you.” I wondered what was the catch.
“Jacko won’t be going up any stairs,” he said. “So you still have to come down and help him get in and out of bed.” Ah, there it was. Not too bad.
“Sure, Dad, anything — wow, this is unbelievable.”
“There’s two beds in your room,” he said. “When Buddy comes home for a visit he can bunk in with you.”
“That’s fine,” I said.
“It’s like living in our own motel!” Janie exclaimed.
“I don’t want to live in our own motel,” Mom announced from the second-floor railing. “Or a drive-in movie, or a hot dog stand, or a windmill, or anything other than a house.”
“You won’t have to lift a finger,” Dad said. “I’ll make you a nice garden. You can live back here like it’s any other house.”
“But it’s not, Lee, it’s not! Now, damn it! Look at it!” She clattered down the stairs. “Where did you get this idea that drive-in movies are the next big thing? Nobody goes to the drive-in anymore except teenagers.”
“That’s because they don’t show any good . . . movies,” said Dad. “They don’t show anything a family can go to.”
“There’s a reason the man has been trying to unload this place. Drive-ins are going out of business all over the country. I read about it in the Sunday supplement.”
“Not this one,” he said. “This one is going into business, and we’re gonna make a lot of money. Wait and see.”
“Wait and see,” she repeated. “Wait and see? Oh, I’ve been waiting. But I haven’t been seeing. You don’t even like to go to the drive-in movie, now you’ve gone and rented one, and moved us into it!”
“That is almost correct,” Dad said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, did you hear me actually say that I rented it?”
She stared. “You were talking to Mooney, you were going to offer him rent with an option to buy. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Not exactly,” he said.
“What exactly?”
“Well I asked him, but he had no interest in renting the place. The only thing he wanted to do was sell. He’s old now, he’s not interested in running it —”
“You’ve said that ten times,” Mom snapped. “Don’t tell me you bought it.”
“Yeah, I did. I sure did.”
That straightened her up. “With what?”
“The insurance money.”
“It came?”
“Friday,” he said. “While you were in Jackson.”
“While I was at the doctor, getting a Pap smear? You took that check and cashed it, and you blew it on this out-of-business, worthless piece of — drive-in — ohh!” She burst into tears, buried her face in her hands, and just sobbed.
Dad didn’t make a move. None of us did. We let her cry where she was. Poor Mom. I still feel guilty for that.
I followed Janie upstairs to have a look at our rooms. We kept our voices low.
“My room is kind of little but I love it,” Janie said. She had already arranged her dolls on the dresser and tacked up a Bo Donaldson & the Heywoods poster. (Their song “You Don’t Own Me” was her personal anthem.) “And look, Danny, you can see out through the movie screen.” Behind the narrow bed a high, square window provided a panoramic view of the speaker field in a soft, milky light.
My room had two of these translucent windows, as well as two beds, two dressers, and its own bathroom. My suitcase and my box of belongings were on one bed, waiting for me. I could not believe our good fortune. “Hey Idjit, this is the best house we’ve ever had.”
Janie frowned. “You heard Mom. She’s not gonna let us stay here.”
“She might not have a choice. I think he already bought it.”
“Yeah, he’s crazy,” she said. “But I love it.”
We crept to the edge of the balcony. They were mad enough to be fighting with their door open so we could hear.
“I got an unbelievable deal,” Dad was saying. “The man was desperate. He had no idea what the business was worth — let alone the land underneath it. He just wanted out. There’s no way we can lose at this price, this close to the interstate.”
“You didn’t even ask me! How could you do that? I’m your wife. Don’t you care what I think?”
“I saw a real opportunity,” he said, “and I jumped, and here you go tearing me down. Could I for once have a nice word from you, instead of just criticizing?”
Her voice rose. “That money was not yours to spend however you want! It was my money too.”
“That’s not what it said on the check.”
That was a low blow, even for Dad. Janie and I cringed, thinking what might come next.
“Fine. You want to run a drive-in? Run it.” The brisk click of her heels down the gallery. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done, and that’s saying something.”
Dad said, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“It’s a good thing I didn’t unpack,” she said. “I don’t care where I go. I’ll go to June’s house. Or I can stay with Mack and Wanda. They’ll be glad to have me.”
“What about the kids?”
“That’s your problem,” she snapped. “They start school Monday, were you even aware of that? You think I’m gonna jerk ’em out of school and take ’em with me to A
labama just to make things easier on you? Forget that. They seem to like it here too. Maybe you’ll all be very happy.”
Thanks a lot, Mom!
“Now just cool down, Peggy Jean,” Dad said. “Give me that suitcase.”
“I’m taking the car,” she said.
“You ain’t going anywhere, honey, just put that down and listen to me.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me.” She marched down the stairs.
“You gonna run off and leave Jack Otis to tend to himself in the hospital?” he said. “Have you lost your mind?”
“I’ve lost most of it anyway,” she said. “The little bit I’ve got left tells me to get out of here now, or I won’t be responsible. I need to go see my mother!” She stalked into the yard.
She was pretty upset. Had she forgotten Granny was dead?
“That bunch over there hasn’t lifted the first finger to see about Jacko,” she was saying. “Why is it always my job?”
“Now Peg, you know you’re not leaving —”
“Don’t you dare call me Peg!” she cried. “You know not to call me that when we’re fighting! That’s what you call me when we’re not fighting! Now you’ve ruined it!” She burst into tears.
I know she saw us watching, but she chose not to look up. She heaved the suitcase into the back of the station wagon.
All our lives it had been Mom and us kids on one side, and Dad on the other. I could not believe she would leave us in the hands of the enemy.
She started the car and drove a lurchy circle around the oak tree. She turned on her headlights and drove out of there.
I ran to my room, to the screen-window to watch her go. She knocked down a speaker pole and bumped her rear tires over two hummocks before she found the road.
Dad said no way would Mom drive all the way to Alabama by herself with night coming on. On I-20 she would have to pass the hospital, and she would not be able to drive by without stopping to check on Jacko. That’s when she would come to her senses. She would be back by ten o’clock at the latest.
Ten o’clock came and went, with no Mom.
“Sometimes women just need to blow off steam for no reason,” Dad said. “Janie, don’t you be like that when you grow up.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Janie said.
That night when I went to bed I kept seeing Red’s Mustang exploding, the fire blooming over and over on the insides of my eyes.
25
THE EARLY SUNLIGHT cast a pair of delicate rectangles on the wall. I yawned and stretched and it came to me: last week of August, the first day of school! Remember what a thrill it used to be in Indiana, the first tang of fall in the air, excited hallway chatter, the chalkboards clean and fresh green as they never will be again the whole year?
Twelve years of school will bore that thrill right out of you. By the time you’re a senior, sleep is so much better — and I almost slid back down into it too, but then I got to wondering whether Tim was in jail, and then Janie was at the foot of my bed clanging a lid against a saucepan, yelling, “Get up, buttface!”
Buttface, arsonist, big brother — and a senior! This would be my last first day of school, not counting college, and at this rate who knew if I’d survive long enough to think about college. I kicked out at Janie, but she dodged my foot and went on clanging.
“Stop that, dammit! I’m awake!”
“Rise and shine, Danny,” she croaked. “First day of school!” She performed a mean imitation of Mom, who used to wake us up for this day singing at the upper end of her range.
School days, school days
Dear old golden rule days
Readin’ and ’ritin’ and ’rithmetic
Taught to the tune of a hickory stick
In younger years that song brought us bounding out of bed, rushing to crack open our new school boxes as if they contained presents from Santa Claus instead of pencils. Today we dragged ourselves down to the table for Cheerios. Dad didn’t bother to get up. He’d been awake till all hours, fiddling with the machines in the projector hut.
I balanced Janie on the handlebars of the stolen red Raleigh, which I had supposedly borrowed from a friend. “You’re too big for this, kiddo. Think one of your friends will loan you a bike for a while?”
“I’ll make Daddy drive me. He’ll have to get another car, won’t he?”
“You better get a bike.”
“Danny, you think Mom is ever gonna come back?”
“Yeah, I bet she will.”
“When?”
“A week? Two weeks? I don’t know.”
“I’m not so sure,” Janie said. “I think she might enjoy not having us around. She must not like us very much if she stays over in Alabama and won’t even call us.”
“She likes us okay,” I said. “She just needed a vacation from Dad.”
Traffic on the highway this early was nothing but log trucks — three big ones roared by us before we could turn off for Barnett Street. We bumped over the train tracks. I went the long way around to avoid the spot where Arnita fell.
A few houses before school, I pulled over to let Janie off. We didn’t want to show up together at school. Lowly freshmen don’t hang out with mighty seniors. “Have a fun day, Danny. Maybe I’ll see you in the hall or something.”
“If you do, be sure not to speak to me,” I said.
“Same here. Thanks for the ride.”
“See ya back at the ol’ drive-in.”
She said, “Will you please ride me home after school?”
“Yeah, okay. Meet me here after. Don’t make me wait!”
She stuck out her tongue. I rode on.
Today would be Arnita’s first day at school since the accident. What if we had classes together? Maybe she hated me forever, but then again —
If I tried to explain everything, she might give me a chance.
No. She hated me. And why not? Look what I did to her life.
Tim probably hated me too.
Wouldn’t it be better not to go to school today? Just drop out. Ride away on my bike and never go back. I could become a bad guy, a hoodlum. I could burn cars and rob liquor stores and snatch old ladies’ purses and make amazing getaways on my stolen bike.
The sign said MHS — WELCOME BACK TITANS
A big crowd of kids milled in the courtyard, in front of the library. Standing up on my pedals, I noticed for the first time that the school library was just a larger version of the snack bar at the Twi-Lite — the same streamlined circular shape, the red-tiled landing pad on the roof. Who was this space-minded architect who had landed his flying saucer–shaped buildings all over Minor?
I made up my mind to go in and start my new life as a senior. If anyone asked where my family was living, I would tell them we lived behind the screen at the Twi-Lite Drive-In, and if they thought there was something silly about that, they could go to hell. I was a senior now. I had settled my scores. I would be nobody’s Five Spot this year.
I strolled across the courtyard behind the bouncy cheerleaders Mindy Maples, Lisa Simmons, and Molly Manning, my last-year buddies from Canzoneri’s government class. When Mindy saw me, she aimed her twinkle at me. “Oh my gosh, poor Daniel, we all heard what happened to your house! Are you okay?”
“Oh my gosh, Daniel,” Lisa said, and Molly said it too. They flocked around me cooing Daniel, poor Daniel, plucking at my shirt, patting my shoulder, telling me they’d been thinking of me, praying I was okay, how shocking it must be to wake up one day and your house is just gone and did you hear the other huge news?
We passed a knot of teachers gathered around the principal, Mr. Hamm, who seemed to have grown even fatter over the summer. His face was bright crimson and sweaty, as if the rigors of the first morning had worn him out already.
Some news came in the library line, some in the cafeteria. Teri Cooper lost her summer job as a log flume operator at Disney World, busted for smoking pot in a service tunnel. Gary Brantley, the star quarterback, got such bad grades in summer sch
ool that the coach was making him sit out the season opener against Magee. A black tenth-grader called Roland Simpson (whom no one quite remembered) had died in July when his car hit a tree near Yazoo City. Coach Atkins was no longer teaching driver’s ed, since someone informed the school board of his habit of buying a six-pack of Miller at the beginning of each driving session and drinking four or five bottles over the next fifty minutes as his students practiced their parallel parking. From now on the coach would teach only Mississippi History, where supposedly he could harm no one.
On the Fourth of July someone spray-painted a swastika on Bernie Waxman’s front door. Waxman was calm about it, according to Jeff Lehorn, but it upset Mrs. Waxman.
Marsha Lockner got pregnant by Mike Devoe and won’t be coming back to school.
Oh and did you hear somebody burned Red Martin’s red Mustang?
No shit.
Swear to God.
When?
Two nights ago. Burned up! Totaled! And his father’s brand-new pickup truck too!
Who did it?
Tim Cousins, I heard. Spent a night in jail for it. He’s out on bail.
Nobody came right out and told me this news. I overheard Bruce Dean and Johnny Henry in the line outside the gym.
“Fine with me,” Dean was saying. “Red is such a jerk.”
Chuck Watson said, “I bet Musgrove was in on it too.”
“You guys,” said Mary Virginia Ward. “He’s standing right here listening to everything you say!”
Our part of the line cracked up.
I said, “Did they really put Tim in jail?”
“Like you didn’t know?” Johnny said.
“I didn’t. Tell me what happened. This is the first I’ve heard of it,” I said. “I wondered why he’s not at school.”
Bruce said, “Come on, Musgrove. You had to have helped him do it.”
“Nah, that stuff is between Tim and Red,” I said. “I don’t let Red bother me.”
Some of the kids murmured their approval. The minute I left, they would all be discussing what a chickenshit I was.
The line inched forward. “I have to tell you guys, I don’t think Tim did it,” I said, as any loyal friend would.
Bruce Dean said, “Really? You don’t think so? What about if he admitted it?”