November 21, 2006
Chapter 17
(Filed under: The Novel)On Sunday morning Anwyn got up early again and ran. She ran past the closed post office and the gas station, the light bulbs in its sign still humming even though the sun had already risen. She ran past the train tracks and south to the river.
The air felt clear and warm. It would be hot today. Anwyn's mind raced along with her, following all kinds of rabbit trails. She thought about Catalina's paranoid rantings, about Oliver's vigor defense of Guadalupe, about her Grandpa Frank's warm interactions with the old Hispanic woman. She had never really seen her Grandpa Frank close with a woman before. She had seen him joke around with Mabel at the post office, long before she knew Mabel by name. She'd seen him give the girls working at the Café a hard time. But she'd never really seen her grandfather be affectionate with a woman, in a romantic sense.
She wasn't sure that was what was happening with him and Guadalupe, at least not yet. But the seeds were definitely there. It all made sense since Grandpa Frank's wife had died long before Anwyn was born, before even Anwyn's parents had gotten together. Anwyn had never seen her grandparents interact.
She remembered her name was Lily. Grandma Lily. It sounded so odd. It didn't have the familiar ring of Grandpa Frank. Anwyn's mom never talked about her own mom much. Jill didn't really talk about that kind of thing. Lily had died when Jill was 10. Anwyn remembered her dad telling her that much, but she couldn't remember any of the details.
She had reached the river by now and as usual stopped at the height of the bridge and looked down on the sandy beach and the muddy Arkansas River. She remembered lighting firecrackers with Isabelle and Oliver on the shore. It was another summer trip. Anwyn had probably been 8, Isabelle 11 or 12. They were there during the Fourth of July and Grandpa Frank had picked up a stash of firecrackers. They were illegal in Minnesota, which made them all the more thrilling in Kansas. It was the kind of thing they could only do with their Grandpa Frank. Their Grandpa Miller would have loved it—he probably would have threw the firecrackers close to the girls and watched them scream at each sudden pop. But their Grandma Miller would have squashed those plans. Anwyn wondered if Lily would have done the same.
Grandpa Frank had outfitted each of the girls with a bucket of firecrackers and a torch—the long brown stick that burned slowly so you could use it to light the firecrackers and not mess with matches or a lighter. They joined up with Oliver and walked down to the river to blow stuff up. It was all too violent for Catalina who opted to stay home in a huff. Anwyn had thought Isabelle would back out and stay back with their cousin, but in a rare display Isabelle broke ranks and went with the younger kids.
Oliver would bury his firecrackers in the sand, leaving only the fuse sticking out. He'd light the firecracker, holler "Fire in the hole!" and scamper off, diving behind a tree or a shrub and watching expectantly as the firecracker popped, sending up a little cloud of dust and sand.
Anwyn would just set her firecracker on the ground and then stand as far back as possible while she reached to light it, often flinching and starting to run away before it was lit. Her dad had filled her with horror stories about misusing firecrackers and she didn't want to become another fear-inducing anecdote. Knowing she was only 8, Grandpa Frank had wisely repeated a few of the stories for good measure.
Isabelle didn't care much for the stories. She liked to hold the firecracker in her hand, light it, and then throw it. The dangerous stunt horrified Anwyn, as well as Oliver, and they both urged her not to do it.
Once the fuse had burned too quickly it exploded just a few feet from Isabelle. Her ears rang and her body tensed up. She looked around to make sure Anwyn and Oliver hadn't seen.
"You didn't use all your firecrackers," Isabelle complained when they'd finished and sat back in the sand to watch the river go by. Anwyn shook her head. Her bucket was still half full. She'd even shared a few with Oliver, but she couldn't bring herself to keep blowing things up.
"They're her firecrackers," Oliver pointed out. "She can drown them all in the river if she wants."
Anwyn remembered liking that idea. She wanted to see a few dozen firecrackers floating down the river. But she didn't want to hear what Isabelle would say, the hard time she'd get for wasting half a bucket of firecrackers. In the end they walked back into town and Anwyn handed her half a bucket to Grandpa Frank.
"Didn't use them all?" he asked. "That's OK. You can celebrate your freedom by choosing not to blow 'em up."
Anwyn smiled at her grandfather's words as she remembered that Fourth of July from the top of the bridge. After another moment's recollection, she turned and trotted back to town.
As she passed over the railroad tracks, Anwyn suddenly turned and starting jogging along the railroad bed. She just wanted to veer away from the pavement and the usual route.
Isabelle was always about the most convenient route—to her. Maybe that's why she killed herself. Anwyn was thinking of the time she walked with Isabelle to St. Paul Western High School on a Saturday. It was a week or two into Isabelle's junior year, Anwyn's eighth grade year. Isabelle had some project to work on and had forgotten one of her books in her locker.
"Then you can walk back to school and get it," Jack said. "I'm too busy to drive you up there."
"But Dad," Isabelle whined.
"No. You left the book, it's your problem." Isabelle sauntered off to get her backpack and head back to school.
"What are you looking at?" Isabelle sneered when Anwyn peered into her room.
"Nothing," Anwyn said. "Is your school even going to be open on a Saturday?"
"Somebody will be there," Isabelle said, zipping her bag shut.
"Can I come?"
It took convincing, but Isabelle didn't have much of an argument for leaving Anwyn behind. Besides, she knew from experience that if she didn't relent and let Anwyn tag along that she might just try to follow along anyway, and that could be so much more annoying.
They walked side by side, not saying much. Isabelle walked just fast enough that Anwyn had to hurry to keep up. Whenever they passed people Isabelle would charge ahead, forcing Anwyn to fall back and let the people pass. They reached the school and found the front door open. There were enough sports teams practicing and extracurriculars going on.
Without a word, Isabelle led Anwyn straight to her locker and stuffed the forgotten book in her bag. When she turned to leave she went the opposite direction from where they had come.
"Didn't we come in that way?" Anwyn asked.
"Yep," Isabelle said, not bothering to explain. She led Anwyn past the library and the auditorium. They heard voices ahead and rounded the corner to see an open classroom door and a few students spilled out into the hallway with huge swatches of paper spread across the floor. It was one of the drama classes, working on props and sets for an upcoming production.
"Hey Amy," Isabelle said, waving at a student who just came out of the classroom. The friend waved back and Isabelle sauntered up, Anwyn following reluctantly. Isabelle and Amy started talking immediately, barely pausing for a brief acknowledgement of Anwyn.
They eventually sat down on the floor with the intent of painting a backdrop, but they got more chatting done than anything. They eventually employed Anwyn so they didn't have to worry about her bored fidgeting.
The talk turned to some of the usual crushes of late. Anwyn didn't think much of it, carefully painting the edge of the billboard she was working on. But Isabelle and Amy's tones suddenly hushed. They spoke in whispers and Amy seemed to point down the hall. More whispers. Shock and disagreement from Amy. Stifled laughter.
"I'm going," Isabelle said.
"Seriously?" Amy asked.
"Oh yeah," Isabelle answered, putting down her paintbrush. Anwyn had already painted more than her. "I'll be right back, Anwyn. You stay here with Amy." Amy gave her a fake smile and Isabelle stood up and sauntered off down the hall.
Anwyn didn't bother asking where her sister was going. Amy wouldn't tell her and Isabelle likely wouldn't tell her later. About 20 minutes later Isabelle came back. Her face was red and when Amy questioned her she just nodded and wouldn't say anything more.
She motioned for Anwyn and they left, leaving Amy to the stage sets. They walked off in the direction Isabelle had just returned from. They walked to the back of the school and then circled back to the front, a circuitous route Anwyn only realized when they reached the front door.
Standing by the door waiting for a ride was a boy with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. When he saw Isabelle and Anwyn coming he smiled and waved.
"Hey Isabelle, good to see you again," the boy said.
"Hey yourself, Danny," Isabelle said, giving the boy the flirtiest look Anwyn had ever seen her sister give. Danny's eyes followed the girls as they went out the door and down the sidewalk towards home. Anwyn didn't bother asking, but she guessed Danny was part of Isabelle's little excursion, and probably the whole reason for the trip back to school on a Saturday.
Anwyn turned away from the train tracks, jumped a fence and started across a field that would bring her just behind her house. It wasn't her usual route, but sometimes that had made things more interesting with Isabelle.
Posted by kevin at November 21, 2006 8:28 PM
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