John McManus - Born on a Train: 13 Stories

Libby is also the name of a Confederate prison, two hundred miles east of here. It is short for Elizabeth, my middle name. Conditions there were marginally improved, says the calendar in Hirams bathroom, but overcrowding remained the norm. Hiram is an old mans name, but his name on-line was Wheatboy. I had a list of all their names until I left my journal in California where Richard may be reading it now, learning what I thought of him, which I dont anymore, because hes much too far away.

On our third night at Hirams house, I stood by the kitchen window listening through the wall as Mother spoke into the cordless phone on the back porch with a tissue to her nose. Hiram and his sons were asleep and snoring. Ill be so embarrassed if I have to leave again so soon, said Mother. I knew I should have picked the one in Georgia.

Ten seconds of silence.

The other one, she said. The freelance writer. No, you dont know that.

Five seconds of silence.

Shell see that no one loves me, Mother said. Its already happening. I feel so ashamed when she looks at me.

Silence.

Im just doing this so shell be happy, Mother said.

The blaring from the earpiece was finally loud enough for me to hear, although it wasnt language, only sound.

Polly, Mother said, if you were here Id slap your face. She switched ears and leaned her head against the phone. Aunt Polly works with the Peace Corps in Uganda, where it isnt even winter, where the sun was maybe rising as she spoke. Hirams a good man, Mother told the phone, and I like him a lot. She knocked her head against the glass twice as Polly spoke, and when she hung up she turned around and saw me through the open window. Itll work out fine this time around, she said to me. Whatever I say.

He buys you things, I said.

She nodded. Thats one of the reasons itll work out. Hell buy you things, too.

Hiram hasnt worked for several years. He sued a boy over a fender-bender and won a hundred thousand dollars, and he sued a Mexican restaurant for habaero pepper salsa that burned his stomach up, he said, and all inside his throat. Hes suing now to make the neighbors cut down four magnolia trees that block his mountain view, because the house was there before the trees were ever born.

His three sons all have bright red hair. Eammon is six months older than me, with a drivers license.

Just think if wed known him when he was thirty, Mother said on the fifth day.

You would have been my age, I said.

I mean if we were the same age, she said.

He could be your father, I said.

No, she said, I was born in Walla Walla. Hirams never been out west before. She peered through the blinds and sighed. The landscape looks so different here, she said. The little ways.

I shook my head and said, Hes forty-seven.

And Im thirty-two.

Plenty of fathers are fifteen years old.

Name one, she said. Name one father.

I dont know any, I said.

Im glad youve still got your sense of humor.

Its amazing how it stays there all over the country, whatever boyfriend it is.

I never knew about any boyfriends, Mother said.

Yours, I said.

Dont yell at me, she said.

I never had time to find one.

Itll be easier once you start up school again.

Ill go to school the next place, or the place after.

Youll go to school here, she said.

Well be gone in a week.

Oh honey.

You dont even know the name of the school here.

Its named after a war hero, or somebody, or a founding father.

You dont know the governor. You dont know the mayor or the sales tax or the zip code.

Well learn all that together, she said, trying to smile. When she stroked my cheek, I backed away and left the room and went to read my book. On our way to Virginia, Mother had bought me a field guide to birds so I could educate myself. The birds inside are rusty, green, raw umber. Hiram doesnt know its the rufous-sided towhee singing drink-your-TEA each morning in the trees. Few birds display such geographical variation in their voices. Birds squawk at Hirams dog, which makes it very sad. The dog lay at my feet as Mother flipped through the book and laid it on her lap and squinted and asked me what raw umber means.

Its a crayon, I said.

No, its a bird.

I shrugged.

They probably meant lumber, she said.

They meant umber, I said.

I suppose you know, she said.

Youre the one who bought it.

Were not talking about the crayons, she said. Were talking about lumber.

Lumber cant be raw, I said.

Of course it can be raw, she said. Anything can be raw.

Like what?

Like a stupid old mutt, she said. It was silent when Mother kicked its belly, because it wasnt a fighting dog. I dont know why Hiram picked a dog that wasnt in the war. He doesnt take it to his reenactments. He doesnt act like real soldiers, who raped and pillaged like the cowbirds. No one knows why cowbirds became brood parasites, laying their eggs in the nests of other birds. Perhaps they followed bison herds for so many million years that they never had the time to build nests of their own.

Lets rearrange the furniture, Mother said.

Jackson and Leroy, the younger boys, came downstairs as Mother pushed the hassock to the wall. They stopped at the landing to watch her unplug the lamps. Jacksons lips and tongue were purple from a Dum-dum. I imagined cutting off his head and switching it with Leroys, just like Mother was switching the two coffee tables with each other.

Arent you going to help? she said to me.

I like the furniture the way it is, I told her, but I didnt like it at all, either way. Leroy whispered in Jacksons ear. They grinned at me together. Mother folded up the bearskin rug and carried it outside to shake it free of dust by its flat, clawless legs.

Eammon said, said Leroy.

Sshhh, said Jackson.

He said to ask her.

Only if we want to.

Were spose to.

Ask me what? I said.

What thirty-six twenty-four thirty-six is.

Its a song, said Leroy. Eammon said youd know what it means.

Eammon wants to know? I said.

Leroy nodded as Jackson shook his head no.

Its a rock song, said Leroy.

Then you know what it is, I said.

What is it?

Its a song.

Horses galloped across the pastel prints on the living room wall. We had another sister once like you, said Leroy.

She had purple pants, said Jackson.

They were pink, said Leroy.

What happened to her? I asked.

It was her mama, Jackson said.

What was her mama?

It was her mama that it happened to, said Leroy.

The young cowbird grows quickly, at the expense of the hosts young. It steals most of the food. Sometimes it even pushes the other babies out of the nest. Every third stair creaked beneath my feet as I took loud, intrepid steps to Eammons room where he sat at his rolltop desk hitting his keyboard with his fist. Thats smart, I said to him, and he swiveled around in his chair and grunted, looking startled.

I pointed to his books and said, You reading those?

He pointed to my eyes and said, You always wear that shit?

A cowlick rose up from his pixie cut like an arrow toward old webs that dangled from above. I felt my hair for fallen strands of them. Eammon saw what I was doing and said, Things was cleaner in Eureka, and I wasnt sure if it was a question. I didnt see why he ever would have been out there himself. Are you much like your mom? he asked, and when I didnt answer, he said, You find you a computer man here, too?