Dirt (9 page)

Chapter 15

T
he mafia didn't return until late afternoon. Galen's mother and grandmother on a walk at Camp Sacramento, the stew pot in the oven, smell of chicken and onion in the air, and Galen settled upstairs with
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
.

Anyone here? his aunt called out.

Yeah, he said. I'm reading. The others are on a walk.

No response after that. They settled in below and he stayed above, and that was good.

Jonathan Livingston Seagull didn't like to fight over scraps with the other seagulls. They were all obsessed with food, but he was free of that. He was testing the limits of gravity and physics, experimenting in his flight, trying to get the world to slip, trying to catch the unreality of it, just like Galen. Jonathan had midair tumbles and frustrations, just like Galen's crashing into the water. The amazing thing was that Galen came first, not the book. He was already doing all of these things before he read the book. And so the book was a kind of recognition.

What amazed Galen most was that although the entire book was a kind of metaphor—it was about seagulls, after all—Galen was living it in real life. He was living in a time that was preparing to recognize him. That was an important part about being a prophet. It was no good if you had the vision and no one could understand it. But books like this one were preparing people to understand Galen.

Galen rested the book on his chest and listened. He had his earphones in, listening to a nature tape of waves at the seashore. He listened to this whenever he read
Jonathan Livingston Seagull
, and in the sound of the waves, he could hear the impermanence of things. The forming and crashing, remaking and dissolution of the world. The self put together in the same flimsy way. The key was to feel the ebb and tug as everything receded before it built again and lumbered forward. Because in that ebb, at the very end of it, at the end of the pull, was the nothingness that was truth. Samsara, suffering, was the inability to stay in that moment. Samsara was the forming of the next wave.

A hand on his crotch and he jolted upright, eyes open. Jennifer laughing. You looked so peaceful, she said. She took a step closer and yanked his headphones out of the tape recorder. Wave sounds in the bad speakers, sounding like static. That's really beautiful, she said.

Galen pushed stop and the play lever clicked up.

You're reading about seagulls, she said, and listening to waves. How is that being here now in the mountains?

Her hair was wet and she smelled like coconut. Her eyes bright and blue. She sat on the bed and he watched her breasts under her T-shirt.

I was meditating, he said.

Meditating on these, she said, and held her breasts. She crawled up over him, lifted her T-shirt, and put her breasts in his face.

Hot still from her bath, damp, but her nipples going hard in the cool air. She rocked back and forth, slapping his cheeks with her breasts, so soft, so unbelievably soft, and he grabbed a nipple in his mouth, wasn't sure what to do, but he had his lips around it, careful not to use his teeth, and he sucked.

Mm, she said. A little weird, but it feels kind of good. I like the whiskers, too. Try just licking.

So he licked.

That's kind of nice, too. Circle my nipple with your tongue. And she grabbed a breast and held it in his mouth.

Mm, she said.

He liked the little bumps around her nipple, but he pulled his face away. Quiet, he whispered. Your mom might hear.

She's on a hike. We have the place to ourselves.

Wow.

Yeah, maybe you'll get lucky this time.

I hope, Galen said. I hope. And he had a breast back in his mouth.

Hold on a sec, she said, and got off the bed, went downstairs.

What happened?

She reemerged holding a cassette tape. The Cars, she said. I like to listen to the Cars when I have sex.

When you have sex, he said.

Your lucky day. Your last day as a virgin. You happen to be the only cock available, and I feel good. I'm rich now. We just deposited two hundred thousand dollars.

Two hundred thousand?

Yep.

Holy fuck.

We're getting a house, and I'm going to college. And we don't have to put up with your mom's shit ever again. And Grandma can fucking die, the old bitch. She'll never see us again. You won't see us again either. So this is your one lucky day. The best pussy you'll ever get. Even the Buddha would fuck this.

Galen just nodded. He didn't want to say anything to wreck it. And he knew they'd still see plenty of Helen and Jennifer once the check bounced. They'd been too greedy.

Jennifer put the Cars in and hit play. It was on “Drive” from
Heartbeat City
, and even with the crap speakers the music filled the place, turned the air into something else, a different mood. “Who's gonna drive you home . . . tonight.” Get off the bed, she said, so he did. She dropped her sweatpants and panties, kept her shirt lifted above her breasts, and lay back across the bed.

Kneel on the floor and lick me, she said. And then you can fuck me, but you can't lie down on me. You're too disgusting. You can only touch me with your cock and your tongue. That's it. I can't even look at you. She closed her eyes.

Thank you, Galen said, getting down on his knees.

This was as close as he would ever come to a shrine, he realized. This was the sacred, right here, her legs spread. He pushed her legs up, had her spread as far as she would go, the pink exposed, and just ran his lips and tongue over everything, the most beautiful moment of his life. The Cars crooning, her hot wet flesh in his mouth, and all he'd read about in
Hustler
and
Playboy
and
Penthouse
was coming true. Her clit really was there, nubby and eager, like a mini boner, and he could get her to jerk and curl when he sucked at it, and her asshole puckered more tightly when he licked.

Fuck me, she said, the most beautiful words ever uttered, and he dropped his underwear and pushed her legs back hard and spread and pushed his dick in and just couldn't believe how silky she was, how perfect and hot and soft. He was all the way in and just stayed there.

Keep fucking, she said.

I have to feel this, he said. I just need a moment.

Don't be a pussy, she said. And don't come. Just start fucking me.

There was something about the geometry of this, pushing her legs back at forty-five-degree angles, how she was exposed and flat, facing the ceiling, and he was coming in at this angle. Something about watching was as good as feeling.

Fuck me, damn it.

He pulled out slowly, feeling the soft slide, and she was tight around him, gripping him, and then he pushed back in, pushed in as deep as he could, felt his tip bump into the back wall.

Aah, she said. Yeah. He pulled out again, all the way out, and it felt good to enter again, so he just did that, just the tip, an inch or so in, and kept pulling out.

Yeah, she said.

I can't feel my feet anymore, he said. I can hardly feel my legs.

Shut up, she said.

Then he plunged all the way in again, ground his hips against hers, rocked around in a circle. My crown chakra is totally open. Oh my god. I can feel this all along my spine.

Shut up. I'm serious. I hate the sound of your voice.

So he tried to shut up, but he just couldn't. I feel so aligned, he said. He pushed in harder, started moving faster, and he could feel himself tightening throughout his body, golden strings from every limb, from the top of his head and all along his spine, being pulled into his balls.

I'm fucking you, he said. I'm fucking you hard now.

Uh, uh, uh, she was saying.

He looked over and saw his mother on the stairs. Watching him.

He stopped moving, and this made everything gather and his dick started pulsing and he knew he was going to come. He couldn't stop it now. He pulled out and came in jerks onto Jennifer while he looked at his mother. He couldn't stop his mouth from opening in a fuck-grimace, couldn't hold back the moaning. His mother seeing his face like this.

Uh, Jennifer said. I'm not done, damn it. Get down on your knees and lick. I'm not done yet.

Galen's mother stepped back down the stairs, her sound covered by the Cars, and he got on his knees and licked. His come all over her belly, the smell of it, and he was still twitching. Jennifer grabbing his head and humping it. Difficult to keep his tongue in the right place, but he did his best. She wrapped her thighs around his head, mashing his ears, and he couldn't hear a thing. Just struggling to keep his tongue out there and finally she bucked and yanked at his head as she came.

He pushed her thighs apart and managed to free his head. She had her eyes closed, head curled to her shoulder, her hands on her crotch. Her breasts so perfect and beautiful, all the soft lines of her, and he felt very sad, because he knew he'd never get to do this again. His mother would stop it from happening. He didn't know what she'd do, but she'd do something. She would certainly do something. So he took a last look, ran his hands along the soft skin of Jennifer's thighs.

Aah, Jennifer was saying. Aah. She was stroking herself with both hands, prolonging it, and she wasn't being all that quiet. Galen wondered whether his grandmother could hear these sounds over the music.

He stood there and looked down at his dick, hard still. He wanted to put it in, wanted to feel her again, so he did that.

Yeah, she said. Yeah.

Silky was the only word for it. He moved slowly, feeling every moment, and he put his hands on her breasts, last time he'd have them in his hands, and he felt so sad. She was mean to him, but he loved her. Loved her unconsciousness, her roughness in the world, loved her selfishness. And she was out of his league, of course. If she weren't his cousin, he'd never have had a chance. She was the luckiest he would ever get.

He lay down on her, and she let him. She wrapped her arms around his back, and that felt unbelievably good. He felt loved. He kissed her neck and held her hips in his hands while he pushed in as far as he could, and he could feel her building again, a panting in her breath and tightening all along her back and thighs, clinging to him. He wanted it never to end, wanted her always to cling to him like this, but then she came, tightening around him, pulsing, jerking, and moaning from deep in her throat.

Oh, she said. Oh. And then she was pushing up at his chest, pushing him off. I can't breathe, she said. Get off me.

So he pulled out and rolled to the side on the bed, his feet on the floor. The end. He closed his eyes and tried to record everything, tried not to forget or lose a single moment. He wanted to relive this, even now. He wanted to preserve all of it.

Shh, Jennifer said and sat up abruptly. I think I hear something, she whispered. Someone might be back. She grabbed the roll of toilet paper off his nightstand and wiped away his come. Disgusting, she said.

She yanked down her shirt, pulled on her panties and sweatpants in a flash, and then asked him if there was anything on her face.

No, he said, and he lay back down and she left.

Samsara. And yet Galen knew he would spend every day like this, for the rest of his life, if he could. He would choose it above transcendence. Transcendence was only a consolation prize for those who couldn't find good enough samsara.

The Cars were still crooning, but it was too sad now. He couldn't bear it. So he clicked the tape recorder off, and now he could hear dishes in the kitchen.

He lay on his bed, thinking perhaps this was the prophet he was meant to be, the prophet who would free everyone from religion and send them back to bed for more sex. The prophet who would expose the sham of transcendence. But he knew this was only the boner thinking. It was still there, with no signs of fading. A sad reminder of what Galen had just had and would never have again.

What surprised him most was that he really did love her. She was the most unlikable person, but he loved her anyway. He didn't understand how that had happened. His first love, no longer a virgin. But why couldn't he have fallen in love with someone who wasn't his cousin, or someone who was nice to him? And what was it about sex that increased his love for her? He felt so vulnerable now, his chakras all wide open, exposed. The thought that he would never be with her like that again felt so heavy he began to cry. He buried his face in his pillow and sobbed as quietly as he could, and he felt how unfair the world is to those who truly love.

Chapter 16

T
he chicken and dumplings. Finally arrived. The stew pot on the stove, lid open, and Galen loved the fluffy white dumplings floating on the surface like clouds. Pure and white, browned along their edges and peaks. He lifted one carefully with the serving spoon onto his plate. The underside slick with gravy. The entire stew a thick gravy with chicken and potatoes, carrots and onions, and he heaped his plate. This is what he would have instead of Jennifer. Food.

He couldn't look at Jennifer, couldn't look at his mother. All of them crammed at that small yellow table, and he kept his eyes on his food.

You've done yourself proud, Mom, Galen's mother said. But there was no real cheer behind her voice.

I don't know, his grandmother said. Something doesn't seem quite right. But I can't remember, of course, what it should be. I can't remember anything. Sometimes I wish I could just die. I hate not remembering anything.

Mom, Galen's mother said. Don't say that.

Yeah, Grandma, Galen said. It tastes great. It's just like before. And this was true. He was savoring the rich gravy and chicken, the onions and potatoes turned almost to mush after stewing all day.

I have this awful feeling about something, but I don't even know what it's about.

Everything's fine, Mom.

It's like I can't remember what I have to fear. Like some mouse wandering around forgetting there's a cat but feeling afraid of the cat anyway.

That would be Suzie-Q, Helen said. Suzie-Q is the cat.

Don't start, Galen's mother said.

Suzie-Q is taking you back to the rest home after this. Your health is fine, and you could live at home, but Suzie-Q doesn't want you at home. She wants you in the rest home so she can take your money.

Galen's mother slumped and looked down at her food.

Is that true?

No, Mom, it's not true. Helen hates me, and she hates you, so she tells lies.

Helen doesn't hate me. She's my daughter. Why are you saying ugly things like that?

Galen's mother put both hands over her face, elbows on the table, blocking out the world. Mom, I can't do this, she said. Helen is the enemy. I'm not the enemy.

Look at that, Mom, Helen said. Calling me the enemy. Who calls her own sister the enemy? Is that how family treat each other?

She's right, Suzie-Q. Apologize to your sister right now.

Galen's mother's face hidden in her hands, her back and chest caving between her shoulders.

You apologize right this instant, Suzie-Q!

Galen wanted to help his mother, but he didn't know how. His grandmother was angry now, and she thought she was on solid ground. She thought she knew what the problem was, and maybe that was better than not knowing.

She already said she was sorry, Galen said.

What?

She already said she was sorry, but you keep asking her to apologize, so now she's crying.

Oh, fuck me, Helen said. You can't switch it around that easily. Suzie-Q needs to apologize to me, Mom. She hasn't said she's sorry.

Watch your language, Helen.

Fuck you, Mom. If your memory really is this bad, then it won't matter what I say now. I can say something else tomorrow.

Helen!

Helen what? What are you going to do, Mom? You've already destroyed my life, and I've already taken your money now, so I don't need you anymore. You're the worst mother the world has ever seen. And do you know why that is?

Stop it, Helen, Galen's mother said. You won't treat her this way.

Focus, Mom. Do you know why it is that you're the worst mother ever?

How can you talk to me like this? Aren't you my daughter?

That's the thing. I am your daughter, and you didn't protect me. That's why you're the worst mother ever. Because I'm your daughter and you didn't do anything to protect me.

You're the worst grandmother, too, Jennifer piped in. You're in love with Galen because he has a dick, but you don't even know I'm here.

Galen's grandmother was shaking her head. Her eyes were wet. No, she said. No.

This is that cat you were afraid of, Mom, Helen said. The cat is the truth. The truth about you and who you are.

We all want you to die, Jennifer said in a voice that sounded loving and caring, which made it all the more frightening. She reached out and touched her grandmother's hand. We're all waiting for you to die.

Galen's grandmother jerked back as if bitten. She was on her feet, her chair fallen backward onto the floor. She was holding the hand that Jennifer had touched, holding it close against her, protectively. I have to get away from you, she said. I have to get away from all of you.

She opened the back door and ran out. She was fast.

Galen's mother rose to follow, but Helen grabbed her arm and yanked her down onto the floor. No you don't, she said. Galen's mother tried to crawl, but Helen dove onto her and flattened her. No Suzie-Q to the rescue, Helen said. That's never happening again.

Galen couldn't believe any of this was happening. It was like some ridiculous Big Time Wrestling match, and he was supposed to tag-team. He tried to get to his mother, but Jennifer punched him hard in the side of the head.

Fuck, he said. That hurts. He turned away, and she punched him in the back.

Stop it, he said, and he tried to get away from her. He was backing toward the front door, his hands out, trying to protect, but she was slapping them away. How could you do that? he asked. I love you.

Jennifer laughed. Right there in front of him, only an hour or two after they had made love. She laughed, and she was enjoying this, enjoyed hitting him.

I don't understand you, he said.

Oh, look at you, she said. How cute. She was talking to him as if he were a child or a small dog, her eyebrows way up and head tilted. This is how we show love in this family. Welcome to the family. Then she punched him in the neck.

Galen escaped out the front door and tried to breathe. He was staggering around trying to suck for air, and his throat felt crushed. He collapsed against the railing and just held on, and then he got a breath. The air rushed in, painful. He wasn't going to die.

He needed to find his grandmother. She could be wandering around anywhere, and if she went too far, she'd forget which way she'd come. And it was cold.

Around the deck and past the shed, up through trees into the meadow. Moonlight a bright opaque white on every surface, the world turned into marble, become a solid. The cold air slipping. Grandma, he called, but his voice was weak, his throat damaged.

He humped across the meadow, bogged down in granite sand. Shadows everywhere, and the world could be seen two ways, the light or the shadows. Shapes born and landed, or the dark spaces around them, hollows that fell back infinitely. His grandmother could be either, and he didn't know how to look for her.

The hillside was tilting as he ran, his arms out for balance. He was exploding through solidity, his feet breaking apart the marble and scattering it. Somewhere in this maze she was doing the same, and he needed to sense her, catch a glimpse of the spray she kicked up in the light. Wave patterns, and somewhere she was carving the pattern, setting up a counterwave, and that was what he needed to feel. He needed to extend himself into the pattern and feel the dimpling at an edge. Grandma!

Mired in place, pinned down by gravity. Too slow, too limited by breath, too limited by this clunky body, by chicken fat and dumplings. Galen stopped and bent over, purged, tried to free himself, tried to lose this mortal shell. The air cold enough she'd never survive the night.

Too difficult to run uphill, so he turned to the side, traversed. Light and shadow, the world veering in and out of focus. He stopped and tried to squint into the high contrast and turn slowly in a circle and just look for movement. But the forest was motionless, as if the planet itself had stopped rotating. A slow drift through space, so quiet, the only sounds his own blood and breath, the tilting coming from inside him. The forest had swallowed her in stillness.

Grandma, he called again, and he began to feel angry. He shouldn't have to find her. He ran as fast as he could, running blindly now, no longer trying to see, crashing through branches and snags. She was out here somewhere, but with each moment, she became less likely.

He tried to listen, bent over and panting, and then he ran back the way he had come.

Farther than he had thought. Time wasted, and nothing looked familiar. He would spend all night searching, he knew, and he would never find her. She would be lost and gone.

But then he saw the big rock, staggered through the meadow, and realized where she must have gone. A path at the top of the meadow that led to other cabins and a trailhead. There was no other option, really. He'd been wasting his time, stupidly, and she'd be getting frightened by now. If she became frightened enough, she might leave the trail.

He followed this trail uphill, moving as fast as he could, passed cabins empty, boarded up, storm shutters all around, no glass to reflect the moon, only dull wood glowing white. He could smell this place, smell the dirt and weeds and pines, the familiar air and familiar path, and ahead, nearing the trail that went higher to the summit, he saw a figure passing from light to shadow to light.

Grandma, he called, and the figure paused, half in the light, herself become a half-moon. Grandma, he called again, wait for me.

She began moving again, and he ran after, tried not to lose sight of her. She could fade away so easily, a trick of the light. Wait for me, he called. And she disappeared, stopped in a shadow perhaps.

His lungs and throat ragged, no breath left at all, but he went as fast as he could toward where he had last seen her. The forest stretching, the space becoming farther. He thought he saw movement again, a dappling, but couldn't know for sure because of his own movement.

Grandma! he called. Wait for me! But he'd lost her, vanished into the shadows. He was coming close to where he'd seen her, and there was nothing. Whatever he'd seen, he'd only imagined it.

The trailhead began here, a narrower path up through forest and then exposed ridgelines of granite. The trail went for miles, and she could be anywhere along it. Or she might have gone the other direction, down to the creek, and followed that, or could be walking along the highway, even.

Galen didn't feel powerful at all, didn't feel he could extend into this forest. He was limited to one tiny point. But he was committed now to this path, and he hoped she would be on it.

A path of memory, a trail he'd followed hundreds of times from when he first began. The tree at the first bend, the open section with low growth on either side, the boggy ford across a small creek, the cabbagey plants growing out of thick mud, wide curls and folds to their leaves. The short section of meadow, the trail turning uphill again and now the granite steps, loose rocks but these low shelves, wound with roots. The scraping of his shoes, grinding the same steps from his earliest memories, but never before in moonlight. A familiar place become foreign.

Galen climbed the granite, the twists and turns in a narrow chute with growth in close on both sides, and nearly stepped on his grandmother.

Aah! he yelled. Holy shit. You scared me.

Galen, she said. With her light sweater and slacks, sitting on the trail, she looked like a piece of granite, a small boulder.

Wow, he said.

I don't know if I want to walk much farther, she said. I'm getting tired, and I'm cold. Why are we hiking at night?

We can go back.

But your mother is up ahead. We can't just leave her. She won't know to turn around.

She's not up there.

Yes she is. She's the one who wanted to go on this hike.

Grandma. It's only me and you.

No. Your mother is just ahead of me.

Mom is back at the cabin.

But I was just following her. If she's not up there, then what am I doing? Where am I going?

We're just taking a hike, just me and you.

Galen's grandmother stood up and looked away to the side, past all the small growth in close and out to mountain ranges that seemed to float on their own against the sky. It's not a hike, is it, she said.

No.

I was lost.

Yes.

And I would have just kept going, thinking your mother was ahead of me.

Maybe.

And why did I come out here? Why did I leave in the middle of the night?

Because Mom and Helen were fighting. You wanted to get away, which was a good choice. I think you did the right thing.

Do you know what it's like to not remember?

No.

It's like being no one, but still having to live anyway.

Grandma.

It really is that bad. It's like being no one. You think you're someone now, but it's only because you can put your memories together. You put them together and you think that makes something. But take away the memories, or even scramble them out of order, and there's nothing left.

You remembered this trail. And you remembered the cabin when we first arrived. You remembered how to turn on the water.

Did I? Galen could see her smile for a moment. I can remember places, I think. I do remember this trail. And I can recognize people. I haven't forgotten who you are. I just can't remember anything that's happened.

Well you've been a wonderful grandmother. I have a thousand great memories of time with you.

Galen's grandmother put her hand up to her mouth and closed her eyes. Galen looked away and waited. The mountains floating independently. The air colder now.

A deep exhale from his grandmother, and another. Okay, she said. Let's go home.