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Authors: Jean Thompson
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already asleep. He always laid himself down in one position and stayed that way until morning. Ryan drew back the covers and stretched out on the thin, clean sheets. It took him a while to fall back to sleep. The room, its shapes, its strips of light and of darkness, was both entirely familiar and entirely strange to him. Blake inhaled a snore, breathed out again, silent. He was on the gray deck of a ship and the air was gray or the air was really water and people came and went up and down staircases because they were no longer on the boat but at the sort of fancy party you saw in old black-and-white movies. He was supposed to get back to the boat because it was about to sail although it didn’t have sails but some kind of loud engine.
He opened his eyes. He was still asleep because the air was gray, but no, it was early early morning and this was the first blurred sign of dawn.
He got up to use the bathroom, making sure he kept the door closed until the toilet was finished flushing so as not to wake anybody else up. He walked soft-footed out to the den, listened, heard nothing. In the kitchen the refrigerator rattled and hummed, then throttled back down. He ran the tap until the water ran cold, filled a glass with ice cubes, and drank it down. The backyard grass was wet with heavy dew. Birds were racketing and calling and he realized that he’d been hearing them all along.
He refilled the glass and carried it out to the living room. It was in a deeper shadow, and he pushed the smothering drapes aside to try and see the sun. A layer of cloud was just above the horizon, and a little light leaked around it from below. The light was dull, as if it emitted from some heavy metal, and he puzzled over it, just as the sun pushed the clouds away and shone forth and the last shreds of his dream dispersed and his eyes told his brain that Janine’s red car was gone.
Seattle
JULY 1976
Magic, magic! Alive! Alive!
You could get so holy high. This air that turned into sky. Magic! Oh blue! Oh white clouds! The comical way they bumped and shoved each other. His own little giggly heaven. Nobody would ever guess. Him one smart guy. Sweet grass underneath his head, cool breeze in his hair. Who needed anything but this? He meant, the alive part. Something like that. It didn’t matter. He knew what he knew. His mind unminded. Unwinded. A windup toy, a monkey in a jaunty little bellboy’s cap, banging on a drum. Slower. Slow. er.
“Ray! Jesus, Ray, what’re you doing out there?”
His eyes opened. Grass was in his mouth; he spat and rubbed it away with the back of his hand. Deb was standing at the back door with a look on her face.
“Fell asleep.”
“In the dirt? There’s chairs out there. Christ. I thought you were dead or something.”
“Just relaxing.” His mouth had gone dry. He didn’t want her to know he’d been smoking up, or at least, he didn’t want her to know it right away. Deb was home from work, meaning it was later than it should have been. The sky was still clear but the sun was low, and theevening’s chill was moving in. Dampness seeped in through his jeans and shirt, a clammy feeling. He stood up, trying to look spry and un-stoned. To distract and delay her from asking her questions, he got a cigarette going and said, “Why don’t you grab a couple beers, sit out here with me.”
She turned and went back into the kitchen, and he waited to see if that was the end of it. But a moment later she pushed the screen door open and stepped out, carrying two Coors in blue foam insulating jackets.
“So how was work?” he asked, once they were settled. The lawn chairs were made of woven plastic webbing that sagged in places, inviting you to burrow in and then get stuck.
“It was work.”
She didn’t offer anything more, which meant she was pissed off about something, him, probably. He finished his cigarette, stabbed it out in the abalone shell they used for an ashtray. He said, “I got some ham
He opened his eyes. He was still asleep because the air was gray, but no, it was early early morning and this was the first blurred sign of dawn.
He got up to use the bathroom, making sure he kept the door closed until the toilet was finished flushing so as not to wake anybody else up. He walked soft-footed out to the den, listened, heard nothing. In the kitchen the refrigerator rattled and hummed, then throttled back down. He ran the tap until the water ran cold, filled a glass with ice cubes, and drank it down. The backyard grass was wet with heavy dew. Birds were racketing and calling and he realized that he’d been hearing them all along.
He refilled the glass and carried it out to the living room. It was in a deeper shadow, and he pushed the smothering drapes aside to try and see the sun. A layer of cloud was just above the horizon, and a little light leaked around it from below. The light was dull, as if it emitted from some heavy metal, and he puzzled over it, just as the sun pushed the clouds away and shone forth and the last shreds of his dream dispersed and his eyes told his brain that Janine’s red car was gone.
Seattle
JULY 1976
Magic, magic! Alive! Alive!
You could get so holy high. This air that turned into sky. Magic! Oh blue! Oh white clouds! The comical way they bumped and shoved each other. His own little giggly heaven. Nobody would ever guess. Him one smart guy. Sweet grass underneath his head, cool breeze in his hair. Who needed anything but this? He meant, the alive part. Something like that. It didn’t matter. He knew what he knew. His mind unminded. Unwinded. A windup toy, a monkey in a jaunty little bellboy’s cap, banging on a drum. Slower. Slow. er.
“Ray! Jesus, Ray, what’re you doing out there?”
His eyes opened. Grass was in his mouth; he spat and rubbed it away with the back of his hand. Deb was standing at the back door with a look on her face.
“Fell asleep.”
“In the dirt? There’s chairs out there. Christ. I thought you were dead or something.”
“Just relaxing.” His mouth had gone dry. He didn’t want her to know he’d been smoking up, or at least, he didn’t want her to know it right away. Deb was home from work, meaning it was later than it should have been. The sky was still clear but the sun was low, and theevening’s chill was moving in. Dampness seeped in through his jeans and shirt, a clammy feeling. He stood up, trying to look spry and un-stoned. To distract and delay her from asking her questions, he got a cigarette going and said, “Why don’t you grab a couple beers, sit out here with me.”
She turned and went back into the kitchen, and he waited to see if that was the end of it. But a moment later she pushed the screen door open and stepped out, carrying two Coors in blue foam insulating jackets.
“So how was work?” he asked, once they were settled. The lawn chairs were made of woven plastic webbing that sagged in places, inviting you to burrow in and then get stuck.
“It was work.”
She didn’t offer anything more, which meant she was pissed off about something, him, probably. He finished his cigarette, stabbed it out in the abalone shell they used for an ashtray. He said, “I got some ham
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