I Can Hear the Mourning Dove (24 page)

He looks away and closes his eyes. “I wanted to give you something.”

“I guess I must be an idiot or I would have understood sooner. You wanted to give me something because we won't be seeing each other anymore. You're not going back with me, are you?”

“I can't do it, Red. Grace, I mean. Now that we've got this far, you can get back on your own easy. Use the phone at the roadhouse. Your mother or your friend can get down here in less than an hour.”

“But what will happen to you?” I ask. I feel hollow inside.

“Me and the Iron Horse will be on the road. I'll be free and clear.” His words are coming through clenched teeth. He has so much sweat.

“That's the real reason you made sure we left Allerton. That's the real reason we're here at this gravel pit. You never meant to go back with me.”

“Don't take it personal, Grace. I'm real sorry I had to lie to you.”

There are tears sliding down my face. “Teaching me to drive a motorcycle is not a real gift. If you want to give me a real gift, come back to the hospital with me.”

“There's one thing that wasn't a lie: I really do appreciate how you put yourself out for me. I can't remember when anybody cared about me that much. I won't forget it.”

I know he's telling the truth; he has far too much conscience to be a psychopath. But he's trembling. I reach over and touch his face. He is soaking wet and very warm. “You've got a fever,” I murmur.

“I'll be okay,” he says.

My fingers travel above his left knee to a place where his jeans are wet and sticky. “You're bleeding.”

“I said I'll be okay.”

The knife he used for peeling the fruit is on the ground beside him. I use it and begin slitting his pants leg from mid-calf up the inseam. It's slow going because it's so difficult to saw through the heavy denim and still be careful that the knife won't make contact with his skin.

“Oh God no.”

Blood. There is so much blood. Some of it is dried and caked, but most of it is fresh, flowing from the long and deep gash in his thigh. I have to catch my breath. I take the deepest breaths I can. So much blood. There was blood in the bathtub, it flowed like a river of red.

“This is the wound,” I say. “This is the wound from fighting with the security guard. There was blood; I asked Mrs. Grant if there was blood but she didn't know.”

He doesn't speak. He seems so passive now. I go on, “This was starting to heal. You opened it up again when you were teaching me to drive the bike.”

He doesn't answer but he doesn't have to. I know what happened and I know I have to be strong or he will die. I am still breathing hard with a rapid pulse, but I have found a calm center somewhere.

“You can go,” he says, in a hoarse voice. “All I have to do is rest a little while and I'll be okay.”

“You think you can drive the motorcycle, don't you? You can't even think properly; you've lost so much blood you aren't getting enough oxygen to your brain.”

“A little rest and I'll be okay.”

It frightens me to look at the gaping, flowing wound but I have to act. “This is absurd. Luke, you have no idea, do you? If we don't go back to the hospital, you're going to die from loss of blood.”

“I have the Iron Horse.”

“You have to listen to me. If you don't do what I say, you're going to die. You have to listen to me.”

He has the sweats and the shakes. “Jesus Christ, I'm gettin' cold. I'm about to freeze here.”

I help him squirm into his leather jacket and I zip it up. “You're cold because you have fever. That means you have infection. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. We're going back.”

He moves his head up and down several times. I guess it means yes. There is still the bleeding. I have to do what needs to be done or he will die.

“Do you have a belt?” I ask him.

“Why do you care if I have a belt?” he wants to know.

“Because there has to be a tourniquet.” I am taking off my fatigue jacket. I wind it and twist it into a ropelike shape and then wrap it in a tourniquet around his upper thigh. I am naked to the waist, but the bleeding has to be stopped. “You have to understand,” I tell him.

“I said I'd go back,” he says. He is shivering with chills. His words come through clenched teeth.

“It's not enough if you're only going back because you're too sick to do anything else. All those things we talked about at the road-house. You have to understand.”

“I don't understand things fast. I'll work on it.”

I am getting the knot tied, but it's difficult, I have to be careful not to hurt him. It takes an anchor to make a good tourniquet. There is a stick on the ground which seems strong enough. When the stick is tied into the tourniquet, I twist it tight; it has to stop the bleeding. “I want you to understand the point. That's all I want.”

He shakes his head rapidly up and down. I guess it means yes. I tuck the slit pants leg into his sock as carefully as I can, so it won't gap open too much when we're riding.

I am done and I get to my feet. I'm a little lightheaded, but I take some deep breaths. “You think you can be free and clear on a bike that's stolen,” I say to him. Then I realize I'm preaching at him and I have to stop it, especially when he's down so bad. It's taking advantage, and I should be ashamed.

He interrupts my thoughts: “Hey, Red.”

“What?”

“Nice tits.”

“Stop it. You're practically dying, and you choose to make a smart remark.”

He is smiling, as much as he can through the chills. “I guess I gotta be me.”

My tee shirt and the leather jacket are both in the duffel bag on the bike. The weather is hot, but I've got chills; I put them both on quickly.

The two of us are very clumsy, the way we stumble to the bike and climb on. It doesn't seem real when I take the handlebars and he sits slumped behind me; it seems like “Let's Pretend.” Luke has his arms around my stomach; his fingers make a tight grip on the folds of my jacket.

The bike is so heavy and I've never started one before on my own. I straddle it, shaky, and try to kick the motor over. I kick down with all my might but I am too shaky. The bike is going to fall over; I am going to fail because the panic is coming.

Oh God no. If I can't do this, Luke will die.

Of course I could walk to the roadhouse; it can't be more than four or five miles. I could walk to the roadhouse and phone for help. My mother would come in the car or DeeDee would come. I am starting to cry and the tears are running salty into my mouth. I went to Allerton by myself and urged him to come back for all the right reasons. I rode on the motorcycle with him and I even learned a little bit about driving it. I made a tourniquet and stopped the bleeding. I did all of that.

Isn't that enough? Haven't I done enough? Do I really expect myself to do more? The voice wants in and so does the panic. The voice wanted to be the eye and now it wants in.

But the point is, I have done the rest of it, and now I can do this. Dr. Rowe tells me over and over that I can take control of my own life.

If I don't do this, Luke will die. I have done the rest, and I can do this.

I wipe my tears roughly on the jacket sleeve.

I yank with all my strength and kick down with all my might. Luke is grunting his pain. There is suddenly anger in me and only anger, adrenalin pumping through me like a fountain. I am angry at fear and loneliness. I am angry at suffering and paralysis. I am angry at disorientation and panic. I am furious at the scum who taunted me and molested me.

The throttle is right and the gearshift is left. The front brake is the right handbrake and the rear brake is the right foot pedal. You shift with your left toe and be sure you don't rest your leg against the tailpipe.

Once again I kick down with all my strength and the motor suddenly turns over and blubbers to life. I rev its throttle several times and ease it carefully into gear. We are in motion the way Luke taught me. I am doing this.

We are moving fast enough to keep balanced but I have to work my way carefully across the gravel surface until we pass through the wide-open gate.

I am gulping air; my gear shifting is clumsy but we gather speed. Faster, and even faster. The turns are scary, but I remember the way to the highway. The anger is still in me, and I
will
do this.

Luke holds on tight; it means he is still conscious. My father loved me. The road whizzes underneath and the cold wind whips my face and hair. The Iron Horse has a full tank of gas. The road is straight ahead.

Epilogue

11/4

I didn't win a prize at the science fair. Some of the exhibits were so sophisticated you would have thought only a professor could make them. It doesn't matter. I had a wonderful time with Miss Braverman and DeeDee, and I got to know a boy named Bryan. He's a nerd, but I'm sure I could use a good nerd in my life
.

11/6

I had to stay after school today in Mr. MacFarlane's office to talk about the people who molested me. It was real scary naming names. My mother was there and also a policeman who took a lot of notes. Mr. MacFarlane had a long letter from Dr. Rowe, although I didn't see it
.

I don't know what the consequences will be for DeWayne and Butch and Brenda. They will probably be suspended or even expelled. I don't dare think about the consequences for me, it's much too scary. I only hope I'll be able to sleep tonight. The next time I see Dr. Rowe I'll tell her all about this. She usually makes me feel better when I'm real scared
.

11/8

My mother and I talked to Dr. Rowe today. We talked about my escapade on the road with Luke and how it was a bad decision because it was so desperate. But Dr. Rowe said at least I acted, now I have to learn about actions and decisions that are appropriate
.

I'm supposed to see Dr. Rowe on Saturday mornings. Sometimes when I see Dr. Rowe, Mother is going to go with me. Mother is brand-new at therapy and she's not comfortable with it yet. We are supposed to try to figure out how the dynamics of an intense father and a withdrawn mother helped make me the way I am today. At least Mother and I will be working on it together
.

I know I'll never be a cool person, but with the right medicine and my mother, I believe I can make it. I hope to have DeeDee and Luke in my life; friends make a difference. I can learn control and I can have a future. Dr. Rowe tells me so, and I trust her
.

11/13

Today, I talked to Luke on the phone. He is back at Clark House, on the strictest probation there is. There's a name for it, which I can't remember. Sometime soon he's going to have a bench trial, which means a judge but no jury
.

He has decided to go back to school. One reason he's allowed to do it is that Dr. Rowe wrote a supportive letter to the authorities. When we were talking on the phone, he told me I was right; Dr. Rowe is no bullshitter
.

When he goes to school, he will be taken and picked up by a parole officer, but we will get to walk together in the halls. He still has stitches and a leg bandage, so we will walk slow. But that will be good for me; I always walk much too fast and keep my eyes down. I don't know if we will hold hands or not
—
I've never held a boy's hand and certainly not in public. It will feel secure being by his side. I wonder if Dr. Rowe would think that's a good way for me to think
.

Who knows? Luke did tell me it's okay for me to come over to Clark House sometimes and help him with his homework
.

11/15

DeeDee came over and we spent most of the day working on the pitiful Russian olive tree. I'm not sure why I wanted to, it must be important somehow. She gave all of the advice and did as much work as I did. We pruned and pruned. DeeDee says the fall is a good time to try to resuscitate a sickly tree. She had her uncle's deep-root feeder so we watered it and fertilized it down deep. It was hard to do it at what she called the tree's drip line, because of the concrete and gravel and blacktop, but we did our best and she has some hope for the tree. We got some occasional grief from some of the Surlies in the parking lot, but we mostly just ignored it
.

At night, I had a dream that a mourning dove landed in the tree and cooed at me on my balcony, ever so peacefully. I'm not sure if the dream has a meaning, but I'll ask Dr. Rowe about it
.

11/18

After school today, I picked up some trash and litter from around our building. There was some jeering, which made me shaky, but I wasn't about to get scrambled, and I got a full bag
.

It was warm before supper, so I sat on the balcony to read. I have taken down the blankets and towels from the railing; I can see my tree better that way. One day there may actually be a mourning dove perched in it, who knows?

The book I am reading is called
On the Road,
by someone called Jack Kerouac. Luke gave it to me. It's not my type of book, but Luke says it's a classic, and maybe we'll be able to discuss it together. It's a book, I think, which a lot of people read in the fifties, then basically vanished. Some day I may tell him what a classic really is. His feelings won't be hurt. He'll just tell me what a good mind I have. He has a good mind too, but he doesn't realize it
.

11/22

I have decided to spray paint the Beast. Mother and I are going to the mall today; I need to find a color which is an exact match with the rest of the sculpture. I reread the Beauty and the Beast story and the point is, the Beast is not really ugly at all, he only
appears
to be
.

The most important thing about the spray painting is that I'm sure my dad didn't get the sculpture finished. He would have wanted it this way. I don't hear his voice anymore, but when I'm finishing the sculpture, I pray that somehow he will be hearing mine
.