11 Bustling
"Tommy seems really nice, I like him; I think you found a good mate," said Tasma with a little flatness to it to Jill.
"Well, I suppose, I mean, everyone likes him, he's not like Johnny, I mean, wild like Johnny and me, but maybe I need that," she said unenthusiastically.
Tasma simply avoided the subject, it was, or could surely end up, too deep for her understanding. From what she remembered of Jill, it would be an ongoing open-ended conversation and end up with Johnny somehow dominating the scene.
After breakfast was over and everything put away, they both went to Jill's bedroom, she had to waitress at the bar in an hour or so, and then before dusk, Tommy would take over as the waiter.
[The Bedroom] Tasma noticed Jill's bedroom was quite spacious, at least, twice the size of hers. She had a number of paintings, sketches and photographs of nudes on the walls, possibly a dozen or so; even one of Elvis, a photo a record, it looked signed, the Doors, Beatles and Janis Joplin all photos. Tasma's eyes opened up wide as an owl checking out corner to corner of the room, wall to wall. She even noticed holes in the wall used for incense: it seemed she must have burnt some, for there was still a strong smell in her room.
Then over the bed was kind of a bookcase, there was somewhere around twenty books on it—all on psychology, behavior modification, counseling and psychotherapies. They were obviously Tommy's, she concluded.
As Jill changed into something more favorable for waitressing she noticed on the side of the bed on a stand was a picture of Tommy. And next to that were a number of magazines on hunting, shooting and sailing.
"You can borrow any one of my magazines if you wish Tasma," Jill commented.
She had also noticed in the living room a number of volumes on Patrick O'Brien, another kind of Jack London I suppose, she may have concluded. Possibly they belonged to her father, or who knows, maybe her; she noticed one book called "The Pat Hobby Stories," her father had that one in Minnesota, the last book to her understanding of F. Scott Fitzgerald, just published last year [l966] she thought. Some 75.cent paperback Tarzan books were lying about. Jill could see Tasma pacing and looking about through her mirror, "The Tarzan stuff belongs to Tommy, not sure why he likes him, he is far from the macho Tarzan himself."
Tasma was not going to touch that remark, it was too precarious, and she could see from the side of her eye Jill curiously waiting (should she stick up for him or not). But she had learned from her family arguments: she did not need to respond to every rhetorical question someone brought up to her, or what she felt was rhetorical. It didn't surprise her that Jill didn't have any classical books, like Hemingway, or older Fitzgerald books, or books by Faulkner, or Jack London, writers she liked, and writers her father liked—as they say, 'like to like,' when it comes to father and daughter in writing, she'd always say that. And I suppose no matter what, we pick up traits from our parents. She was in essence looking for a romance novel, but couldn't find one describable to her liking; she noticed one she had not seen before though, the novel itself, nor had she heard of the author, The Promise of Love, but paid little attention to it, it was a paperback and the book on the back showed something of a hospital, and she didn't care for hospitals in particular, but the front was appealing, it showed two people hugging (Mary Renault). There was another book that caught her eye "Granite & Rainbow," by Virginia Woolf; the author was recognizable but not the book. So she had her female writers as well, she figured.
—Jill was now ready, and without reluctance, Tasma opened the door to the hallway, and bustled out.
"Listen up," said Jill, "If you need to talk about why you're running away: feel free to do so, if not, well, that's also fine with me. Sometimes it helps to get it out, or so I've heard by everyone it seems, and I suppose sometimes it doesn't."
"No big reason, other than I had to go, or so it seemed at the time, kind of like Elvis' song goes: It's Now or Never."
"Hmmm," came from Jill's voice—"Bustling out or breaking out, or running away, it's all the same to me; never thought you'd do such a thing though. Should I call your mother and let her know you are safe?" She then lit a cigarette.
"You're not pregnant, are you?"
Tasma with an eyebrow almost touching the top of her forehead (with a chuckle) said, "Of course not Jill—gosh no!"
Jill seemed a bit dumfounded thinking there was more to this than meets the eye; for she herself was the only child also, as her parents had had her late in life, for they were now in their early sixities. Tasma was from a middle class family, a well educated family. They didn't drink or smoke, and went to church on Sundays, but they didn't agree on much either, and Tasma was normally the one in-between. They were in a way, like the bulk of married couples I suppose, but there wasn't much freedom in her eyes; something she envied Jill for, and evermore with Tommy. Whereas, Johnny was kicked out of his house at seventeen, his parents would had done it earlier but waited until he graduated from High School, and it was probably the only reason he stayed so long at home, so as to not get kicked out. She tried to think of a reason she ran, but there was no reason other than she ran to run, to get away, and wasn't sure how far she'd go, but here she was. Seattle had come to her mind a half dozen times, but so did a few other places. And then out of the blue, it was planned and she left. There was no real mystery to it other than her subconscious had put the puzzle together while she was sleeping, and her living it out while she was awake was now; as often times the mind works.
—Jill played with her cigarette smoke, blowing smoke-rings as she grabbed the umbrella. For that moment she didn't feel brave, as brave as she had felt; as Jill stood thinking on what next to say and Tasma feeling there was nothing for her to say. Then suddenly out of nowhere, tears broke out, erupted in the corners of Tasma's eyes; out from the long silence that prevailed between Jill and Tasma.
"You can't please anyone, ever, ever, ever. No one, everyone wants you to take their side against the other. Always in the middle; always pretending to be what they want to see from you. But you Jill, you are you; you don't have to please anyone. (A pause came; she took the moment to put herself back together, and continued with what she was about to say.) Yes, if you want you can call mom and dad, but I'm not going home. I thought you were on my side for once." She hesitated, looked down, and said in a pitiful manner, "Maybe I'll have to go home then." She had no other recourse should it come down to that, except walk the streets and that was not any life or a respectable option for her.
Jill's cigarette almost burnt her fingers, had she not felt the heat in time. She quickly put it out, staring into Tasma's rainbow greenish eyes, eyes as deep and green as Seattle's Port.
"Listen up," said Jill with a motherly tone, but the tears started to come back nonetheless; she was in another world—disassociating with Jill's voice, and almost in a catatonic state. Jill grabbed her, shook her like a bag of popcorn, by the shoulders, she had a strong grip—digging deep into her shoulder blades; she then caught her eyes as she opened them up wide.
Said Jill in a forkful manner, "I didn't mean to put you into shock I'm really sorry, what can I do for you; I'm here for yaw—really. You can stay as long as you want. But you got to find something to keep you busy, a job, school, you know, something or you'll go buggy. What can you do?"
"I don't know" snuffled Tasma.
"Well, take some time and think about it."
"Sure… (a pause, Jill looking at Tasma), I really mean it, I will think about it as you say," the house thereafter seemed to turn a silent gray for Tasma.
"You all really got enough problems," said Tasma, as if she knew something which Jill knew she didn't know: Jill looked at Tasma, and marked it as just loose talk coming out to Tasma.
"We'll have fun, you and I, us two girls, girls talking about boys," a chuckle then came out of Jill's mouth, and Tasma produced a smile.
As Tasma sat back into the sofa chair, soundlessly, Jill mentioned in passing, as she turned on the TV "St. Paul, Minnesota, should be getting their lovely autumn leaves soon (a statement-question) I suppose you miss that."
"Oh yes, it is beautiful in Minnesota during autumn, it's the best time of the year there. It was always the best time for me (long pause)— Autumn that is." Then out of the window a lawnmower was heard, they both could see their neighbor Wes cutting the grass.
12 Remote
Tasma had fallen to sleep in the sofa chair upon Jill's arrival— whereupon she woke her up, it was 7:00 PM, "Would you care to talk?" asked Jill.
"Oh," she answered, a bit groggy, rubbing her eyes, noticing it was now dusk, as she peered out the window.
"Tommy's at work now, I wanted to see how you were doing?"
"Doing, oh, oh I'm doing quite fine cousin Jill," it was meant in jest, for a smile appeared between both of them. She added, "How did it all happen between you and Tommy?"
"Well," she started to say and paused while sitting down on the arm of the chair, "We kind of met at the bar, he was working on his degree in psychology, and, well, we went out between his working and going to school; and I liked how he kissed. Oh he's a little coy at times, but can be frisky; not like you, you can be spunky (Tasma like the comment she made of her, and smiled)."
Tasma commented: "Wild would be the word for you," funny she thought, spunky was a good word, it never occurred to her and it fit just fine for her ego. "But Tommy looks so tame, gentle, and courteous," she said out loud.
Jill continued, "To be frank, Johnny was a better kisser I suppose, that is, better than Tommy; I mean if I were to compare them two. Funny Johnny never called me these past years; we got along so well when I visited you." Tasma took that as a rhetorical question and said nothing, plus she was lost for words in such matters.
"Anyhow, Tommy has been living here a while, a long while now I suppose; a good two years now that I think about it. Mother and Dad didn't' say much about him moving in and here he's been, and he's been good company. I thought of Johnny often, but he just never wrote me back, nor called me. And after Tommy stayed here awhile, well, I invited him into my bedroom, and so he's stayed there ever since. Maybe I replaced him with Johnny, I hope not, I don't' think so. Let's leave this between us girls; you know it is girl talk, right?"
"Right," said Tasma with a sharp edge, and double r, with a slur to the 'R,' part of the word.
"Good girl Tasma; you're my favorite cousin [long pause], you really are you know. (Tasma just smile, again not knowing what to say) I think I was thirteen years old when I met him," said Jill.
"Met who," asked Tasma, kind of drifting off.
"Johnny of course, who else?"
"Oh yes, yes, that's right, I'm still waking up."
—"Did you forget something? I had an impression you deleted something." Jill had lost focus for a moment also, Wes next door was walking his dog, he was barking, creating a little distraction.
"We had sex a few times, Tommy and I, but I thought it not to be such a great idea after a while, we seemed too much like brother and sister, and after all we are really opposites. But recently we started back up again; it was, or never has been I expect, as fulfilling as it was with Johnny; perhaps because Johnny was my first lover."
The evening twilight brought dimly-lit shadows to her countenance. (Tasma was never sure if she was a person who could be loved, least of all, worth loving. On the other hand, Jill figured: who could fall in love with Tasma in the first place, she was safe with Tommy or anybody for that matter; in that she was so unromantic. Such a pity she murmured silently to herself.)
"I'm so happy you told me for some reason I'm more at ease. It's good you look at all sides of a relationship. I never had one so I don't know."
"Yes," said Jill, "Tommy is always preparing for life, while Johnny takes life as it comes, they are both polar opposites, are they not (a rhetorical question I would gather)."
"Oh Johnny can become a jerk at times," said Tasma.
"Yes, Johnny and I had a short summer fling, when you fixed us up, and he was rough, but no more than I, I suppose."
In St. Paul, Minnesota Mr. and Mrs. Stanley (Tasma's parents), in their bedroom (on Albemarle Street), both with their mouths slightly opened, books on their laps, covers, covering them up to their waist, laying back against the bed board, a draped light over the head of the bed, ungracefully about to turn off the lights to go to sleep. Outside the window you could see the weather was freezing up, drifting snow from one yard to another, creating little mounds along fences. Somehow Mrs. Stanley (Tasma's mother) turned her eyes to the side where Tasma's picture was on a small table by the bed-stand, where an alarm clock was also; she knew where Tasma was, Jill had notified her, and understood some of the 'why's' of Tasma's issue. As her husband turned off the lights her mind held stone-still, a reflection of the picture, her mind heavy with calmness now, tranquility was present. As she lay back down, she could see her husband's face, it did not move, lest it should not disturb his wondering thoughts, nor did she say a word. It was simple to remain still; knowing Tasma was well now she could go to sleep, not like before, not knowing anything.
She had learned in life there were different kinds of contentment, this was one of them. There she lay falling to sleep observing the night thin away as her eyelids shut. Thank God for little favors she hummed to herself.
Jill had left for work and Tasma sat back in the sofa chair, she was getting used to it, seemed like her little haven in the house when not in her room. She noticed a book by an author Colleen Grant, the title being: "Bustling." Hence, she grabbed it and read it for about an hour. Then thinking: Tommy will be home soon, carefully enough she emerged with a comb from her purse, as if it was urgent, or just nervousness. She flung her hair back to give a more youthful exposed face to her pose, and continued in brushing it out with a rat-tailed brush and comb. If one had planned for her to create a pose, it would have been this, as she leaned forward, looking at the long and wide mirror on the back of the door from her chair, and from her own angle, looking into a smaller mirror in her freehand, put herself quickly together.
—There was a banging at the door, Tasma had fallen to sleep, and Tommy was simply making noise coming in, a bit awkward. He saw Tasma in the chair, said: "Don't mind me," his face looked surprised. "Studying can be frustrating," he added.
Tasma had woken-up partially, but didn't really understand if he was talking to her or someone else, so she slowly opened her eyes, bending forward a little, eyebrows up a little, "Me, are you talking to me?" she asked.
He now took notice, she had been sleeping (and with a perfectly head of hair combed), not just resting. "Sorry about my noisy entrance, I got to get ready to replace Jill at the bar, the Due-Drop-Inn; got little more than an hour."
"I hope whosoever book this is they don't mind if I read it?"
"It's mine, I don't mind," said Tommy with a joyful smile. There were two more similar books on the cabinet where Tasma found this one by the same writer.
"I wrote it, I also wrote the two on the shelf over there (pointing)."
Tasma opened her eyes wider, "You're kidding," she said as she woke up more and leaned forward. "But the author's name is a girl?" she added.
"Yes indeed it is, and do you think if I put my name on the book, girls would buy it?"
"I, I don't know, but I suppose they'd think twice."
"Yes, of course, that's exactly what they'd do," Tommy trying to be polite. "Do you like it?" asked Tommy.
"Well, it's about a girl from San Francisco, a youthful one who falls in love with a man who seems to be a lot older than she, she's also quite busy, it's a fast paced book, and from what I see at this moment, there is a gender gap, I'll have to read more to see if they can work out their differences."
"Good girl, you summed it up pretty easy."
"Well, I guess I'm a pretty simple girl, and that is how I see it."
"Do you hope they can mend their differences, and put it together?"
"I know you're majoring in psychology, so I'm not sure what the twist will be. But something tells me life for them will not be easy no matter how it ends."
"And do you think life should be easy for them?" Tasma looked deep into his eyes, and wasn't sure what to say, he had deep blue eyes.
"Should it be…? (she repeated his words)—that's a tricky question. I think the shape of words on paper will never tell the whole story one way or the other, I mean, it should be to me straightforward,—uncomplicated; if their relationship is so hard, and difficult, then maybe it shouldn't be. I mean, life seems to be hard enough, that if it's hard in the beginning, how can one expect a happy ending." Tommy smiled.
"That's some good insight. It's like love and God, they are words which can produce many questions and I have produced my own concerning these issues also—both words are choices I do believe."
"I've only read some forty pages," she commented.
"Women don't quite think the same way men do, I had to ask a lot of women at the bar how they see things," said Tommy.
"And did they surprise you with their comments?"
"I seem to have understood about one third of what they said, or should I say, told me, but I used as much insight as I could from them to perfect my story, feeling it has to come from their point of view, not mine (being a male); that is: how they think and feel, which is important."
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com Dennis' new book, "Poetic Images out of Peru," should be out in another week so you can be checking your local bookstore, or http://www.bn.com |
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