Tully

‘Hey, where did he come from?’ said one of the plaid-shirted men excitedly. ‘I was driving, didn’t see nothing, and then all of a sudden this thing just jumps out in front of my car, poor bastard.’

‘And I hit him,’ said Robin, shaking his head.

‘Nah, he bounced off my car, man, there was nothing you could do. I feel bad, though, he must be a guard dog for one of them barns over there. His owners are gonna be pretty sad when they find him.’

‘My God,’ said Tully. ‘He’s not even dead.’

And it wasn’t. The Doberman was trying in vain to lift its head, but all the while its black eyes were open, staring mutely at Tully and at Robin. They looked at each other, and then at the road. A car was coming. ‘We gotta move him,’ said Tully.

‘Nah, he’ll be better off if a car puts him out. Look at him, he is suffering,’ said the guy.

‘We gotta move him!’ said Tully louder, looking at Robin.

All four of them had to move out of the road. The car slowed down but didn’t stop as it went barreling past them and over the Doberman, flinging the animal a little closer to the shoulder, but not close enough, because seconds later another car went by, and this one didn’t even slow down as it ran over the Doberman. The dog remained in the road, no longer trying to move its head. Amazingly, it was not dead. Its mouth was open as it slowly gulped some air, its black eyes still open, and still watching. The four of them stood motionless. The only sound in the air was the dog’s belabored, difficult breathing. Tully wrung her hands and moved toward the three men. ‘Guys, please! Just move him, move him, don’t let him be hit again, please! Robin!’

Robin stepped over to the dog. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you,’ said the plaid-shirted driver. ‘You don’t know how that thing’s gonna react, man. It’s a Doberman, for God’s sake. He may just get crazy right then and there, rip into you or something. I wouldn’t do it. Just let him be. He’ll die soon enough.’

Robin stopped. ‘He is right, Tully,’ he said.

‘God!’ Tully screamed. ‘The dog is in the middle of the road! Hasn’t he been run over by enough cars? Goddamn it,’ she said, walking over towards the animal, ‘you’d move it if it was your mother lying in the road, wouldn’t you?’

Tully grabbed the Doberman’s hind legs, and with great effort dragged it ten feet, all the way into the grass. The three men watched her, and the driver of the other car leaned over to Robin and whispered, ‘She is crazy, man, crazy. That thing goes for her and she’ll be in bad shape. Crazy, I tell you.’

Tully wiped her hands on the grass and said to Robin. ‘Let’s go.’ She did not look back at the dog.

‘Well, it sure is pretty eventful being with you, Tully,’ said Robin, parked in front of Jennifer’s house on Sunset Court.

‘What do you mean, with me? Nothing ever happened to me until I started being with you,’ said Tully.

‘Somehow,’ said Robin, ‘I find that pretty hard to believe.’ And Tully smiled.

‘I’d like to see you again,’ Robin said.

She stared at her feet. ‘It will be a little difficult,’ she said at last.

‘That’s all right.’

‘I can’t get out much.’

‘Still, though.’

‘I can’t stay out.’

‘Well, there you go,’ said Robin.

‘Aren’t you going out with Gail?’ Tully asked him.

‘We’re not serious.’

‘You are not serious,’ she corrected him.

Robin smiled. ‘I’ll talk to her. I really want to see you.’

‘When?’ asked Tully.

Robin breathed out. ‘I work every day,’ he said, and tried not to show his pleasure. ‘Uh, except Sundays. How about next Sunday?’

‘Sunday is okay,’ she answered. ‘Same deal? In the afternoon? ’Cause I usually go to church on Sunday mornings.’

‘You go to church, Tully?’ said Robin with surprise.

‘Well, you know,’ said Tully. ‘Just to keep Jen company.’

‘That’s fine. Next Sunday, I’ll take you to lunch. Somewhere nice.

‘Okay,’ she said, leaning over and kissing him on the lips. It was a long time before Robin stopped seeing her serious gray eyes and smelling the coffee and meringue on her breath.

Jennifer and Julie were waiting for Tully in Jennifer’s kitchen.

‘Well,’ said Julie. ‘Do tell all!’

‘Not much to tell,’ replied Tully, sitting down and taking a sip from Jennifer’s Coke. Jennifer got up and got herself another one.

‘Where did he take you?’ asked Julie.

‘For a drive. Jennifer, you should’ve told me his father has lung cancer.’

Jennifer stared at Tully. ‘I didn’t think it was my place,’ she replied. ‘Did you want me to tell him stuff about you?’

Tully rolled her eyes. ‘Can you tell me if he is nice, Jen?’

‘Of course he is, very nice, but what do you think?’

‘He is very good-looking,’ Julie put in. ‘And drives such a good-looking car! What does he do?’

Tully said, ‘He manages his father’s ritzy-glitzy men’s fine clothing store,’ adding, ‘And he is good-looking. He knows it, too.’

‘This bothers you?’ Julie smiled. ‘But what does a handsome, well-off, grown-up guy like him want from you?’ She poked Tully in the ribs.

Tully was unperturbed. ‘The same thing,’ she said, ‘that an ugly, poor, young guy wants from me.’

The girls drank their Cokes.

‘Are you going to see him again?’ asked Julie.

‘Next Sunday, if Jen’s willing.’ Tully patted Jennifer on the head and turned back to Julie. ‘Are you going to see Tom again?’

‘Tully!’

‘Yes, yes, of course. You looove him!’ Smiling, Tully turned to Jennifer, who sat there, spaced out. ‘Jennifer? Has he called?’

Jennifer looked at Tully and Julie as if she couldn’t be sure which one spoke to her.

‘Jennifer, has he called?’ repeated Tully.

Jennifer got up. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘He hasn’t called!’ Tully and Julie chimed in unison.

‘You both are so silly and immature,’ said Jennifer.

‘I agree,’ said Tully. ‘But Julie, have you ever seen a guy who wears tighter Levi’s?’

‘Never,’ said Julie. ‘But I hear it’s a sign of maturity –’

‘To lust after someone with tight Levi’s? Absolutely,’ finished Tully.

‘Girls,’ said Jennifer, ‘I really think it’s time for you to be driven home.’

She ran into Jack on Monday.

He walked over to her locker and said, ‘Hi, Jen, great party, thanks for inviting us, hope we didn’t all trash the place, hope you can make it to the Homecoming game in a couple of weeks.’ Hope this hope that thanks for this thanks for that, blah, blah, blah.

And Jennifer smiled and nodded politely and said of course and yes and I’ll see you at practice and I hope you play well at Homecoming, and then he left and she closed her locker, took her books, and went to her American history class, where she had to take a surprise quiz and failed.

Back home, she walked past her mother, went upstairs, closed the door behind her, and lay face down on her bed until her father came home and it was dinnertime.

Jen kept to herself at dinner, slightly amused at the recurring topic of dinner discussion nowadays: Harvard. Harvard and the SATs. Harvard, the SATs and med school. Harvard, the SATs, med school, and isn’t she amazing, Lynn? Isn’t she just amazing? And she, their amazing daughter, sat and concentrated very hard on driving each of her fork tines through four green peas. Sometimes she only managed to get two or three instead of the full four and this made her want to fling the entire plate across the room. But she set her jaw and kept on, while Lynn and Tony continued. So what if the mean SAT score was 1050, while Jen got a combined 1575 on her mock SATs last year, out of a possible 1600? Mock SATs! Even Jack got 1100 on them. And Tully got 1400, except no one knew it because no one cared. Nobody cared what Tully got on her mock SATs, and that was really okay with Tully, Jen thought. At least she didn’t have to hear this during dinner seven days a week for months. Jennifer thought of telling her parents that she had no intention of going to Harvard; Jennifer and Tully had their plans. But she just couldn’t be bothered. She excused herself, went back to her room, and spent the rest of the evening calling his number and hanging up before it rang.

Hundreds of times, many hundreds she must have called his number, and hung up many hundreds of times, dialing it with unseeing eyes, in her master bedroom.

2

Robin finally called Gail. Her voice was like ice, and he was not surprised. His adoptive mother was as warm as the noon summer sun, but Gail was nothing like his mother. Robin apologized to Gail, saying he had never misled her; they were never in any way serious. Gail asked him if he actually thought she would stand, could stand him seeing both of them at the same time. Robin was surprised at this: he had no intention of seeing Gail at all. But to her he said, ‘No, of course. I understand. I could never stand being two-timed, either. I hope we can still be friends.’

The following Sunday, Robin took Tully to Red Lobster with Jennifer’s help. They ate well. Tully wanted to know if he had said anything to Gail, who had been slithering past her in school like an old cobra.

‘I swear, I never saw her before in my life,’ Tully said. ‘And this week, I see her every day and she walks past me and hisses venom in my direction. You haven’t talked to her, have you?’

‘I have,’ Robin replied, ‘but what’s there to say?’

‘Watch out,’ said Tully. ‘Or she’ll start telling you things about me.’

Robin smiled. ‘What kind of things?’

‘Oh, all sorts of things of a very sordid nature.’

‘All damnable lies?’ he wanted to know.

‘Of course not,’ said Tully. ‘But of a very sordid nature.’

Robin suggested that she tell him about these things herself, but Tully declined politely, saying only that she used to dance well, and for a while everyone knew it.

‘Used to? Have you stopped?’ he asked.

Tully nodded. ‘I haven’t stopped, I’ve just…cut down.’

‘How is your mother?’ Robin wanted to know.

‘Splendid,’ said Tully.

‘Have you always gotten on so well with your mother?’

‘Yes,’ said Tully with mock cheeriness. ‘We have a very special relationship.’

In the parking lot of Red Lobster, Robin kissed her and Tully put her hand on the back of his head, and he touched her hair and felt that old familiar stirring. They drove out to Lake Shawnee and quickly and efficiently had sex again. The lake was gray and beautiful; the trees had shed many of their leaves; it was windy; but Robin didn’t notice the lake much, so busy was he making love to Tully. Afterwards, Robin wanted to touch her, to do something for her; Tully refused. ‘Not necessary,’ she said evenly.

‘But I want to,’ persisted Robin.

‘I don’t,’ replied Tully.

‘You’re really something,’ he said as they were driving away from the lake. ‘I just can’t figure you out.’

‘What’s to figure out?’ asked Tully. ‘I’m an open book.’

‘Yeah, and I’m your knight in shining armor,’ said Robin.

3

‘You wanna go for a drive?’ Jennifer asked Tully one Sunday on the way back to the Grove.

‘Yeah, sure,’ replied Tully, looking at her friend. It had been three weeks since Jennifer got her car and this was Tully’s first invitation for a drive. The girls usually sat in Jen’s kitchen and looked over college catalogs. Twice Jennifer let Tully get behind the wheel. In the driveway.

‘Where do you want to go?’ asked Jennifer.

‘California.’ Tully smiled. ‘But I’ll settle for Texas Street.’

Jennifer smiled back. ‘It’s been a while since we’ve been there,’ she said.

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Tully, getting comfortable in the seat. ‘I go there all the time.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Jennifer. ‘It’s four miles away from you. How do you get there?’

‘I walk,’ said Tully, and then, seeing Jennifer’s expression, added, ‘It’s worth it, to see it.’

The girls drove to Texas Street, a short narrow road between the Topeka Country Club and Big Shunga Park. The southwestern end of Texas Street curved downward to a dead end, but if they walked through the trees, they came out to the Shunga Park fields. That’s how Jennifer and Tully found Texas Street the very first time, five years ago. They were still playing softball then, and they left a game early – their team was losing 2-17 – and wandered into the woods, coming out onto Texas Street.

The oaks stood ancient and tall on opposite sides of the street and their branches intertwined in the middle, casting Texas Street in perpetual shadow through which glimmers of sunshine struggled.

Tully and Jennifer parked near the dead end of the street, opposite ‘their’ house. They sat on the Camaro’s warm hood for a long time, not speaking.

‘Still looks magnificent, doesn’t it?’ said Tully finally.

‘Yeah,’ said Jennifer. ‘Sure does.’

‘What are you looking wistful about?’ said Tully. ‘You who live in a master bedroom on Sunset Court.’

‘Look at that porch,’ said Jennifer. ‘Have you even seen a porch that size?’

‘Yeah,’ said Tully. ‘On Tara.’

‘I think Tara’s was smaller,’ said Jennifer, jumping off the hood. ‘Come on Scarlett, let’s go.’

Tully didn’t move. ‘I wonder what the houses are like in Palo Alto.’

‘Who cares?’ said Jen. ‘We’re going to live under the shadow of the El Palo Alto, under its leaves and thousand-year-old branches. We won’t need a house.’

‘Still, though,’ mused Tully. ‘I wouldn’t mind living in this house.’

‘Who would?’ said Jennifer, looking at its four wide white columns. ‘It needs paint,’ she said. ‘Imagine having a house like that and not painting it every year. Let’s go.’

On the way back, Tully looked over at Jennifer and said, ‘Jen, you okay?’

‘Great,’ said Jennifer.

‘How’s cheerleading going?’

‘Uh, you know.’

‘I don’t know. How are things?’

‘You know,’ said Jennifer.

Tully looked away.

4

‘So when am I going to meet your mother?’ Robin asked one afternoon when he called Tully.

‘Never,’ she said jovially, but after they hung up, she sat in her room and did not feel so jovial. So she called Julie. Julie would cheer her up. But Mrs Martinez said Julie was doing something or other with her history club. Who cares what she is doing? Tully thought as she hung up. She’s never around anymore to talk to.

Tully called Jennifer, who wasn’t home, either.

Nobody’s home but me, Tully thought petulantly.

She turned on the radio and danced in her room with the windows open. Hers was the only room besides the bathroom on the tiny second floor. It almost felt like the attic. ‘I will fly away,’ she sang. ‘I will fly away/fly away/so far/I will fly away.’ She stopped dancing, went to her closet, and took out a National Geographic map from one of her milk crates. Spreading the map open on her bed, Tully knelt down in front of it. With careful fingers, she touched the towns, villages, hamlets, cities, oceans, and deserts of the state of California. Palo Alto, here we come, Palo Alto, San Jose. Nowhere else but Palo Alto nowhere else but Palo Alto nowhere else but –

Tully remembered the time. She ran downstairs to the kitchen before her mother came home. Sometimes Tully made hamburgers nicely, putting bread crumbs and egg and fried onions in them. There was no time for that tonight. It was five forty-five. She slapped the patties together roughly, unevenly, and threw them in the frying pan. Then she peeled the potatoes and put them on to boil.

Hedda walked through the door a little after six, hung up her coat, and walked past Aunt Lena and Tully on the couch. Aunt Lena was watching TV, and Tully was reading a magazine. They both looked up and said hello when Hedda came in, but Hedda rarely looked at them, rarely said hello back. Tonight was no different. She grunted past them to the kitchen. They ate in near silence a half hour later. Aunt Lena kept jabbering on about something or other; Tully did not pay any attention. After dinner, Tully cleared her throat and, not looking at her mother, asked if she could go to the Homecoming dance. Hedda, also not looking up, sullenly nodded. ‘Thank you,’ said Tully, and went to make some tea before clearing up.

Hedda took her tea into the living room, sat on the couch, and watched Walter Cronkite, then ‘Let’s Make a Deal,’ and then an old movie. Tully washed the dishes and went upstairs to her room, where she danced quietly so they wouldn’t hear her down below.

At eleven o’clock, Tully came downstairs to wake her mother and tell her to go to bed. Aunt Lena had long gone to her rooms. What does my aunt do all day? thought Tully. Every day she’s by herself, sitting there, watching TV, knitting; knitting what? She always has the knitting needles in her hands, but I never see any knitting. I’m convinced she’s had the same ball of yarn in her plastic bag since Uncle Charlie died four years ago. Poor Aunt Lena. I’m afraid mother and I aren’t such good company. But then, neither is Aunt Lena. If she really is knitting, she’s knitting with one needle, for sure.

Upstairs, Tully washed her face and brushed her teeth. After staring at herself in the mirror for a few seconds, she got a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet and plucked her eyebrows. In her room she took off her jeans, baggy sweater, socks, bra. She used to not wear a bra under her baggy sweaters, but her mother had recently taken to giving her surprise quizzes, and Tully made sure she was always prepared. Putting on an old summer tank top, Tully climbed into bed. She left the light on, lay on her back, and looked around her room.

The walls were painted light brown and stood bare of all the trappings of obsessive teenagehood – no pictures of the Dead or the Doors, no Beatles, no Stones, no Eagles, no Pink Floyd. Not even her favorite Pink Floyd. No Robert Redford, John Travolta, Andy Gibb. No Mikhail Baryshnikov, Isadora Duncan, Twyla Tharp. No postcards, no photographs obvious to the eye. No bookshelves, no books. No records. Near the window there was an old wooden table that served as a desk, a makeup stand, and a bed for Tully. In front of the table there was one chair. There was an old dresser by the corner near the closet. On the nightstand near the bed, there was a lamp and a phone. Tully did not have a TV, but she had a small AM/FM radio.

And that is all Tully saw as she lay in her bed and fought sleep. But she knew that in the closet, four milk crates belonged to her: one was filled with National Geographics, a subscription gift from Jennifer, and the others with all the books she had read, ‘presents’ from Jennifer or Julie. And in the top drawer of her table, beneath some general debris there was a photograph of little Tully, about six years old, blond and skinny, flanked by a chubby Jennifer and a dark-haired Julie. In the photo, Tully held a toddler in her arms.

Tully fought sleep for about an hour or two. She turned and tossed. She sat up, rolled her head, rocked back and forth. She laughed, stuck out her tongue, mumbled. Getting out of bed to open the window, she stuck her head out – it was cold, nearly freezing – Tully thought of screaming at the top of her lungs. But the Kansas Pike, the trains, the river, were already screaming. No one would hear Tully. Leaving the window open, she got back into bed and pulled up the covers. Finally she was restlessly asleep, sleeping just as she was awake, tossing and turning, rolling her head back and forth, rocking on her back. Tully kicked back the covers and lifted her arms up above her head, then put them back down again, sweating profusely.

As Tully dreams, she finds herself lying on her bed, trying to keep awake; she sleeps and dreams of trying to keep awake, closing her eyes, her head snapping with pre-sleep, but she is sitting up, and finally lying down, finally sleeping in her dreams, and as she sleeps she hears the door open and footsteps creaking on her wooden floor. The footsteps are slow and careful; Tully tries to open her eyes, but she can’t, she shakes her head from side to side, side to side, but it’s no good; the footsteps are close to her, they are next to her, she feels someone bending over her – to kiss her? – and then – the pillow, the pillow over her face, as she flails her arms up and twists, but the body is on top of her, holding her down, and she is twisting, twisting, she tries to scream, but she cannot open her mouth, there is no breath, she is choking, wheezing soundlessly. Tully tries to draw her knees up, but there is a body on top of her, holding her down, the pillow, oh no oh no oh no – and then she comes to, sitting up sharply, gasping for breath, drenched with sweat.

She panted and wheezed, her eyes closed; she panted, her hands around her drawn up knees; she tried to get her breath back. Then she went to the bathroom and threw up. She took a shower, dried herself, put on a sweat suit, and sat behind her desk in front of the open window. She sat there in the cold until her head was too heavy to hold up, and she put it down on her wooden desk. When she heard the first birds, Tully fell asleep.