The savage tribe eats a pecan pie...my story for my fiction writing class
The Savage Tribe Eats a Pecan Pie
Peanut butter clung to the bottom of a jar; the clear plastic, now naked without its label, allowed light to shine through the steamy water, which filled the container. Little brown specs swirled to an unknown rhythm in the liquid. Next to the peanut butter jar, a row of immaculate cat food cans sat on the white and gold-flecked counter. In front of the “finished” cans, lay another row of cans, waiting in preparation; each was filled with sudsy water, the bubbles spilling out over the sharp rims. In the corner, empty juice boxes had been stacked on top of the counter several weeks prior to this particular Saturday. Two half-eaten granola bars, barely peeking out from their shiny wrappers, lay next to the juice boxes, attracting a trail of teeny black ants who ventured in through the cracked kitchen window above the sink. Dirty dishes, speckled with crusty food, were stacked in the twin stainless steel sinks. Each sink had a low level of tepid water, which smelled of tomato sauce and dish soap.
On the floor, a box of Fruit Loops cereal lay on its side, its rainbow colored contents spilling onto the linoleum. A fat yellow tabby perched himself at the mouth of the box, nibbling slyly on the sugar coated rings which made for a tasty follow up to his generic-brand-name cat food breakfast. Towering above the cat, Ben Wolfe stood at the sink in the narrow kitchen, with a half burnt joint clinging to his lips. White hairs dotted the five-O’clock shadow, which carpeted his chin and neck. The end of the joint illuminated as he inhaled a deep, soothing hit.
“How many roads must a man walk down,” he sang weakly, straining his voice as he held the smoke in his lungs. “Before ya call him a man?”
Ben exhaled slowly, watching the smoke float toward the dandelion yellow curtains flapping at the window. The voice of Bob Dylan continued to fill the kitchen space, the raspy words surrounding Ben as the haze thickened. He held one of the cat food cans in his left hand as he methodically circled a yellow sponge around the inside over and over again. He marveled at the can’s smoothness and the perfection of its curves. He shifted the can, catching rays of sunlight, which glimmered back at him. Unconsciously, he nodded his thick, wavy, salt n’ pepper mane from side to side, smiling at the gleams of light. Finally, satisfied with the spotlessness of the can, he placed it next to the other finished recyclables. He then turned to his right, with the yellow sponge in one hand and his other patting against his red flannel shirt. The Fruit Loops crunched and popped sharply beneath his bare feet.
“The answer, my friend,” he cooed pensively, joining back into the song as he slapped the dripping yellow sponge onto the counter on the other side of the sink. “Is blowin’ in the wind. The answer is blowin’ in the wind.”
The sink of dirty dishes held no interest for Ben, but a crusty mound stuck on the countertop looked to be a qualified challenge. He began to grind the sponge onto the mound; the gold flecks in the countertop caught his attention, causing him to pause in thought for a second or two. Sudsy water oozed from the pores of the sponge as he pushed his worn hands downward. Ben wondered to himself about the origin of this particular stain. It hadn’t lived on the countertop long enough to grow mold, but it was rock hard, making it difficult to remove.
As he struggled against the mound, his wife, Lisa entered the kitchen, but stopped just inside the entryway. A billowy white peasant blouse hid her voluptuous body, and her dark brown hair was pulled back with a turquoise barrette, allowing her square jaw and sculpted cheekbones to make a presence. According to her mother, Lisa was one sixthteenth Cherokee Indian; in the kitchen’s bright and revealing light, she looked like a tribal princess. Ben failed to notice her until she spoke, her burdened voice interrupting the flow of Dylan in the air.
“We’ve got a pink one,” she said as she waved an envelope in the air. The words “THIRD NOTICE” were plastered on the front.
Startled, Ben looked up from the countertop and grunted, “From who?”
“Electric company,” she sighed, walking toward him.
“Anything else come?” Small drops of gray water fell from the sponge onto the floor as he spoke.
“Your AARP newsletter,” she chuckled as she handed the red and white paper to him. “Good news old man, you can get a deal on a time share in Sun City.”
Ben rolled his bloodshot eyes at her as he reached for the newsletter. His wet hands wrinkled the crisp paper while he handled it. He folded it and stuffed it into his back pocket.
“I’ll keep it for good luck,” he said, winking hopefully. Ben a had habit of keeping newspaper clippings, small notes, business cards, and even old mail in his pockets, in the hopes that they would someday come in handy, making him seem thoughtful and wise for holding on to such a valuable message. His motto in life was: “one day, this will come in handy.”
Lisa leaned against the counter while she continued to rifle through the mail, which she later tossed into the growing pile on the kitchen table. The table was a deep mahogany with Pacific Northwestern Native American carvings engrained on the sides. Depictions of smooth curling waves and geometric whales gave the table a unique sense of character and mystery. Ben’s father had always favored the brisk forests of Washington and Oregon, dragging his son along on a secret camping adventure one summer. The table was a gift from him, and Ben treasured its unfading beauty. Ben returned to the stain on the counter, which was now filed down to a smooth spot on the counter.
In the living room, their 17 year-old-daughter Stevie sat on the sagging, but plush, denim upholstered couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons. She wore a hot pink cotton t-shirt and gray underwear; her bowl of Fruit Loops balanced carefully on her belly as she studied the fighting tactics of the Powerpuff Girls. On her right, a rottweiler, Bubbles, snored quietly on the couch, which was blanketed in black dog hair. On Stevie’s left, a stack of day old clean laundry threatened to topple over at any second. Stevie maintained her focus on the television, which stood in front of the east wall. The television was placed on top of an old, broken television, which had not been removed when the Wolfes bought the replacement set three years prior. Ben had left an empty glass and crumb-dusted plate on top of the working television four days earlier, but forgot to remove them, so they remained, a subtle reminder of his absentmindedness. A collection of Disney movies and a few older, but still contemporary, family films were stacked next to the tower of televisions.
A series of four framed nude sketches hung on the west wall behind Stevie; Lisa had drawn them during a studio art class in college. On the south wall, two large teak bookcases, both grazing the ceiling, crowded each side of the entryway to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The bookcase on the right of the hallway was home to a record player and speaker set that Ben bought when he first moved out of his parent’s house, forty years ago. Ben and Lisa also kept their combined collection of LPs stacked, in no particular order, on the remaining shelves. That bookcase was full of legends. The Grateful Dead and Buffalo Springfield were alive and jamming in those dust-powdered shelves. Lou Reed and David Bowie, peered sexily from their record sleeves, waiting for Lisa to relive her suffocated high school nights when she would dance seductively in her room to “Ziggy Stardust.”
The other bookcase held dozens of hard covered art history and architecture books filled with pages of large full color pictures. Lisa dreamed of traveling to Italy to visit her favorite paintings, but three kids, a dog, a cat, an unemployed husband, and a mortgage put that dream just slightly out of reach. Ben was a different story. After high school, he headed off to UC Davis, hoping to pursue a career as an architect. He admired the function and beauty of Frank Lloyd Wright’s structures the most. However, heartbreaking tragedy, the excitement of Vietnam Protests, and the desire to fight “the man” overshadowed previous goals; a long-term battle against authority and American institutions ensued after his first year.
In addition to the photograph filled books, Lisa kept her late mother’s collection of Literature’s Greatest Authors. The series of cloth covered hard backed texts, thick with the smells of crowded bookstores and English classrooms, filled the large bottom shelf; the books covered literature’s legends, from Candide to Faulkner. Lisa’s mother, a 10th grade English teacher, also left behind a 1965 set of encyclopedias, which rested against the other series on the bottom shelf. The smaller middle shelves were stuffed with an eclectic selection of paperbacks. Ben’s high school copy of Catcher in the Rye, filled with dog-eared pages and emotional notes written in the margin sat next to Grass: The Benefits the Government Won’t Admit To. Practically unused, Suzanne Summer’s Guide to the Thigh Master was squished in next to an English translation of short stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Disheveled stacks of old Arizona Highways, Time, and People magazines were shoved into the upper levels of the bookcase, leaving a small space for a half-assed attempt at a family photo display. Framed photos of all three of the Wolfe children as infants in the hospital, red-faced and pouting, a snapshot of the Lisa and the girls building a sandcastle at Mission Beach, and a portrait of an 8-year old Janis in her ballet tutu, stood at the edge of the shelf. Ben and Lisa’s wedding photo, several grades worth of the kid’s school pictures, and an intimate shot of Ben sleeping as he held a 2-year old, pigtailed Stevie, were hidden in the shadows behind the other photos. Throughout the different shelves, little trinkets were scattered among the books, magazines, and photos. A soft pink Conch shell was tucked in the bottom corner in front of the encyclopedias. A miniature Wedding Barbie from a McDonald’s Happy Meal smiled from the stacks of magazines. A peanut butter jar filled with screws, nails, and washers held up a group of paperbacks. Those bookcases were the Wolfes’ dedication to legends: music, literature, themselves.
Across the room, textured, mauve drapes were drawn together in front of the large window on the north wall to Stevie’s left, blocking the intense California sun from her view. The heaviness of the drapes made the room seem smaller than it was; without an open window, the dust, dog hair, stale food smells, and faint marijuana smoke were trapped in the enclosed area, making the air dense. The space was made smaller by four large gray Rubbermaid storage containers, which had been dropped carelessly in front of the couch. Clothes, toys, books, papers, board games, crayons, Halloween costumes, kitchen ware, tools- just about everything seemed to be spilling out from those containers. A laundry basket, filled with dirty clothes, blocked the entryway to the hallway. Near the front door, a pair of rollerblades, a pair of brown workman’s boots, three sets of high heels (pink, lavender, and black with green stripes), four sets of Old Navy flip flops, and a large pair of forest green suede Birkenstocks were piled up against the wall. A purple backpack lay unzipped, with papers sliding out of his pockets, on up against the couch. In addition, random objects, such as a toothbrush, coloring books, feathered cat toys, a Scrunchie-making-kit, a new drill set, and a case of Girl Scout Cookies had been haphazardly sprawled out around the room.
Stevie dug the heel of her foot into the soiled, beige carpet, which felt gritty as a result of high foot traffic. Her Saturday morning ritual revolved around a steady dose of television and Tylenol, in order to recover from a rough Friday night. Mascara and black eyeliner were smudged around her green eyes, and the faint odor of cigarettes still wafted from her matted hair. She rarely ventured out without a pack of Parliaments in her back pocket, as her look was to have a drink in one hand and a cig in the other. Chestnut strands fell loosely onto her eyes, forcing her to squint as she viewed her cartoons.
The Wolfe’s youngest daughter, Janis, a 15-year-old verging on 6, pranced into the living room wearing a red tutu and a black t-shirt with the band name “Bright Eyes” tattooed across her chest. Thick aqua eye shadow coated her lids, which were slightly hidden beneath a chunk of platinum blond bangs. She had a disgruntled outlook on life, a result of being the only member of her “hipster” friends who still didn’t have a driving permit.
“Are you trying to ruin my life?” Janis squealed, holding an empty box of tampons in her hand.
Angered by her sister’s blatant disregard for a hangover, Stevie retorted, “I don’t care enough to ruin your life.”
Janis wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she said, “How could you use my tampons without asking?” She furiously shook the empty box in Stevie’s face, blocking the television.
“God forbid, I use one of your tampons,” Stevie giggled, holding the cereal bowl steady to avoid spilling any precious colored loops.
“You used the last one!’ Janis screamed.
“Chill, drama queen,” Stevie requested, massaging her temples with her fingertips.
“I’m not like you, okay. I don’t have a pill to control my schedule.” Janis raised her voice loud enough to make Stevie nervous.
“Janis, keep your voice down,” Stevie whispered as she motioned towards the kitchen. “Let’s not involve mom or dad in this.”
“I don’t care if they find out you’re a sex fiend, you damn tampon thief!”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Stevie sniffed as she stood up, holding the bowl in her left hand. “Besides, there were, like, four left when I used them last week.”
As Stevie walked toward the kitchen, Janis hurled the box at the back of her sister’s head. Stevie yelped and pivoted when the box bounced off of her scalp.
“Jan-nis! You crazy bitch, no wonder you have no real friends.” Stevie glared at Janis, who returned her death stare with the same sense of conviction. “Hey, I have a suggestion, why don’t you go for a drive? Oh wait- you don’t have your permit.” The two maintained their scowls like a pair of stray dogs prepared to fight.
Just then, the phone rang, and the girls changed their focus.
“I bet that’s Malcom,” Stevie said, fluttering her eyelashes and biting her bottom lip.
“You’re such a whore.” Janis pouted as she sat down next to Bubbles.
Ben was still focusing on the mound when the phone rang; the shrill sound vibrated through his skull, sending a startled volt through his body, which caused him to drop his sponge. He looked around, wondering if someone had changed his CD; no, Bob Dylan was now singing the “Tombstone Blues.” Then he heard the sound again, its clarity growing stronger as he watched Lisa walk over to the phone.
“Hello,” she said smoothly. “Oh, how are you, Ruth?” She then made a distressed face at Ben, pursing her lips together. Meanwhile, he took a breath in preparation to speak to his mother.
Born and raised in Manhattan, Ruth Eliza Becker wore pearls and monogrammed sweaters everyday as a young woman; she ascended the social ladder poised and secretly smirking in the years leading up to WWII. At a petite 5’3”, she made up for her small stature with an overpowering personality. In the fall of 1942, she found herself at a Columbia Barnard mixer, wearing a navy blue dress, white pumps, and cherry red lipstick. Even then, she terrified her peers, especially the men. However, Joshua Wolfe, an economics major, looked for ways to prove his manliness ever since health problems prevented him from enlisting. He saw Ruth, beautiful and confident, as a challenge he could overcome. She accepted his request to dance, but repeatedly attempted to lead as they jitterbugged to energetic big band music; the two of them tugged back and forth all night long. Upon Joshua’s graduation two years later, he bought her a new white cardigan, with the initials REW sewn on the right breast, and they began their life long dance, always tugging in different directions. By the time the war ended, she was pregnant with her first son, Benjamin.
As an older woman, Eliza Wolfe still wore pearls and the occasional monogrammed cardigan. Joshua made it a point to give her a new sweater at every anniversary, up until the day he died. Ruth’s confidence only grew with time, but when she lost Joshua in 1966 to a heart attack, that same confidence warped into a bitter need to control those closest to her.
She also maintained her appreciation of higher society, and faithfully gave Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette to each of her grandchildren on their twelfth birthday.
Life continually threw obstacles in her way. She suffered from Polio when she was in her late thirties, and as a result, could not raise her left arm above her waist. This forced her to visit the hairdresser every Monday for a thorough wash and blow out, which she protected throughout the week with an army of silk scarves. After a few years of marriage, a promotion for her husband forced them to move out west, far away from the city and society she had known and loved. When her husband died, her eldest son grew his hair long and burned his draft card. Then he stopped attending classes and disappeared for three months, leaving her in a constant state of fear and anxiety. His only goal in life seemed to involve punishing her and society as a whole. With age, he grew more complacent, but never became the world famous architect she had hoped for.
“Yes, he’s right here,” Lisa frantically motioned to Ben.
Upon Ben’s first step in the direction of the phone, he felt something squishy and cold beneath his bare foot. He looked down and saw the yellow corners of his sponge peaking out from beneath his toes.
“Ugh,” he said as he picked broken fruit loops off of his foot. “Hi Mom.”
“Benjamin, dahr-ling. How is the tribe this morning?”
“Good Mom. The girls are good,” he said, shaking his head at his disheveled daughters.
“And Jerry?”
Suddenly, Ben remembered he had a son, who had disappeared among the chaos of the morning. He held the phone against his chest, and whispered to Lisa, “Where is Jerry?”
Lisa shrugged her shoulders, “I’ll find him.”
“He’s growing like a weed, Mom.”
“Just like his fah-ther,” Ruth laughed. “Lisa sounds tired. Is she alright?”
“She’s fine mom. She just had to run to answer the phone.”
“Are you sure? I am always concerned that she doesn’t have enough time for that job of hers and the kids,” Ruth coughed quietly. “Sometimes, a woman has to reorganize her priorities. A woman’s job is to raise well-bred children, not put food on the table.” She paused for a moment, waiting to make the final stab. “That’s her husband’s job.”
“I want to be around for my kids, Mom. This is the 21st century, you know,” he informed his mother. “The kids are pretty capable of taking care of themselves. It’s not like they are a bunch of savages or something.”
Just then, a mud-caked body ran passed Ben, whooping and squealing. Lisa scrambled after the gangling creature, gasping for air.
“Jerry Garcia Wolfe, don’t take another step,” she said authoritatively.
Each step deposited a hefty footprint of mud on the carpet. As Jerry ran by his sisters, who were now seated on the couch, he catapulted brown soggy tubes at them. One hit Janis in the middle of her forehead, marking her with the fresh earth as the tube slid down her face.
“Ewww!” She wailed hysterically. “Oh my God, he just threw his poop at me!”
“No, no. Janis, it’s something else,” Stevie said upon further examination of the projectile. She picked up the tube by a string that was attached to one end. “I think I know where your tampons went,” Stevie guffawed.
Janis cupped her face in her hands and wept pitifully. “I hate this family,” she howled.
Meanwhile, Lisa followed Jerry down the hallway to the bathroom, where he had barricaded himself inside. She jiggled the doorknob rigorously and pounded on the door.
“Jerry, open the door!”
“Na-ah mommy!”
Lisa took a breath, trying to compose herself. Behind the door, she heard something crash to the ground and shatter.
“Baby, what are you doing in there,” Lisa called sweetly.
“I’m nakie!” Jerry squealed.
In the living room, Ben tried to disguise the laughter in his voice as he listened to his wife’s desperate attempts in the hallway.
“No, mom, everything is fine. That’s just the television- No, they don’t watch too much.”
“Well, Benjamin, my phone call isn’t completely innocent. I wanted to stop by this evening and perhaps join you for dinner.”
“Oh, I don’t think that is a good idea.”
“But dear, I can give you that check you asked me for- you know the ‘extra help’ you want.”
Ben brought his hand up to his eyes and dragged his fingers down, lining his sandpaper jaw. “If you really want to-I suppose we could-mom, why do you always do this?”
“Lovely, dahr-ling. I’ll bring dessert. See you at 6:30. Buh-bye,” Ruth disconnected the line before Ben could respond.
Ben shook his head as he hung up the phone and turned his attention toward his muddy child locked in the bathroom. He dodged the piles of junk that scattered the room, knocking a few papers to the floor as he jogged toward the bathroom. Lisa was pressed up against the door, attempting to sweet talk Jerry out.
“No baths, I promise,” she said convincingly. “Sure, we can eat pizza for dinner. Please, babe, just unlock the door.”
“Offer him money,” Ben whispered.
Lisa frowned disapprovingly. “Is this what we have come to?” She hissed.
“Jerry, it’s Dad. If you unlock the door, I’ll give you a dollar.”
There was no response from the other side, only the sound of running water. Lisa and Ben stood at the door, listening attentively.
“More!” Jerry demanded. “I want more, Daddy!”
Ben looked at Lisa, searching for an answer. She simply shook her head and mouthed the word “no.”
“How about five bucks, buddy?” Ben offered.
Magically, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Inside, Jerry was perched on the edge of the tub, which was rapidly filling with water. His skin was a rich chocolate brown because of the mud, and his eyes and teeth shone brightly. He smiled proudly at his parents, who burst into laughter upon seeing their chimpanzee like child.
“Well, at least the bath is almost ready,” Lisa sighed.
Jerry’s eyes grew wide, “You said no baths!”
Lisa nodded and held out her hand. “I have a better idea.”
She led Jerry outside into the backyard, where she sprayed him off with the garden hose. Ben brought out a bottle of Pert Plus and handed it to the six year old, who stood giggling in the April sunlight.
“Wash up buddy. Grandma Ruth is coming to dinner tonight,” said Ben.
To their right, a pair of large blue eyes peered over the weathered fence. A neighbor girl, Chelsea, gripped the top edge with her petite fingers, her bubblegum pink nails seeming too pretty to venture onto the Wolfe’s side of the fence. Jerry heard her high-pitched giggles first, and let out an excited squeak as he waved frantically at her, unashamed of his naked parts flailing awkwardly. Neither Ben nor Lisa were surprised at this intrusion; they had grown accustomed to living in the neighborhood’s spotlight.
“Hi Chelsea,” Ben shouted warmly as he walked over to the fence.
“Mr. Wolfe,” she chirped. “Why is Ben naked?”
“He’s taking a shower.”
“Outside?” Chelsea’s confusion became more visible as she lifted her head higher.
“We thought we would make the most out of this beautiful day,” Ben said, turning his face toward Lisa and smiling at her. Lisa, feeling slightly embarrassed, met his eyes for only a moment before she looked back at her uncivilized son. He stuck his tongue out, trying to catch water drops as she sprayed him with the hose.
“But Mr. Wolfe, people take showers in the bathroom. People can’t walk outside without any clothes on!” Chelsea protested Ben’s free-spirited thinking.
“Says who?”
“My mommy,” Chelsea sputtered. “She also says that good, normal people don’t leave dirty junk on their front lawns. And they,” she huffed. “Water their grass- I never see you water your lawn, like Mr. Kline or Mr. Davis.
Ben looked puzzled as he took in Chelsea’s accusations.
“Ben, she’s referring to the dismantled Ford engine you left in front of the porch,” Lisa said, sighing as she set the hose down on the ground. “I asked you to move that thing into the backyard, over six months ago.” She strolled over to the water spigot and turned the knob to the right, cutting off the hose’s supply.
Ben still stood near the fence, looking up at Chelsea while he placed his hands up on his hips. “So, you think my lawn looks bad, Chelsea?”
“Um, it could be prettier, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Hmm, well, that’ll be my project next week,” Ben said, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, if those shit heads can do it, so can I.” He mumbled to himself.
Planning projects was also one of Ben’s habits; his half finished projects were visible all over the house. In the master bathroom, he had ripped out the linoleum in order to lay down tile two years ago. The box of tiles still sat on the bare cement floor under the sink. He was a big dreamer, but lacked the motivation to see his work through.
Lisa wrapped a Barney beach towel around Jerry as Ben walked over to her; Ben gazed up at the clouds in the sky, picturing what it would be like to fly. Lisa picked Jerry up and gave him a tight squeeze as she carried him toward the back door leading into the kitchen. When they reached the safety of the linoleum, Jerry leapt from her arms and skidded off to his bedroom. Lisa turned around to face Ben, who was still doddering behind, whistling.
“Ben! Why do you let her push you around like that? You know the house is in no shape for company,” Lisa chastised.
“It’s not my fault the place looks like this,” Ben muttered defensively.
“Oh- so it’s my fault?” Lisa crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Ben.
“I just,” he stammered. “How do our kids make such a big mess?”
“You know,” she said coldly. “They aren’t the only ones. I don’t think Stevie and Janis collect old newspapers or Time.”
“Well, I can’t do this on my own.”
“I don’t have the time to help you,” she said tensely. “Remember, I work 40 hours a week. We need income, Ben.”
“That’s not fair.” He looked hurt as he stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Your best isn’t good enough.”
“Shit, Lisa. You can be so cold sometimes.” He looked down at his shoes. “Your just like my mother, you know that. Maybe that’s why you hate her so much.”
“I don’t hate your mother, Ben.”
“Then why are you so upset about her coming over?”
“Jesus Ben, look around you,” Lisa spread her arms out as though she was making an offering to the gods. “Your mom would report us to Child Services if she saw this place.”
“It doesn’t look that bad to me.”
Lisa stared into the distance behind Ben’s shoulder. “Maybe you need to stay in touch with reality a little more.”
The two of them stood there for a few seconds in silence. Sirens from the nearby six-lane parkway pierced the morning air. The sounds of the neighbor’s air conditioner hummed steadily. Ben looked up again at the clouds in the sky.
Lisa pushed her fingers up against her lips for a moment, and then said, “I can’t live like this anymore. I am losing myself, Ben.” She took in a deep breath. “Is this how you imagined us living together when we first met? What happened to living on a farm up north?”
Ben smiled, remembering how Lisa’s green eyes sparkled at him when he was first introduced to her. “Big Dreams,” he said, sniffing meakly.
Lisa looked solemnly at her husband, searching for some sign that he was actually listening to her. She craved his presence, his complete focus.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Lisa said, clapping her hands together. “Ben, do me a favor and move that engine and rake the front.” She motioned towards the street. “Pick up any other junk that’s been left out there too.”
Ben came over to Lisa, and placed his large, hairy hand up against her cheek. “All that mattered to me was being with you,” he said softly.
Lisa looked at his hand and then at the linoleum beneath her feet, seeing the crushed Fruit Loops scattered throughout the kitchen.
“Well, at least, one of us has what he’s wants,” she murmured, moving away from him. She walked over to the pantry and pulled out a broom. “Ben, you got us into this mess; please go do what I asked.”
She frantically swept around the around the table legs and near the sink. She looked at the rows of cat food cans arranged perfectly next to the sink and sighed. She saw the trail of ants leading to the granola bars, the stack of juice boxes, and the sink of dirty dishes.
She thought to herself, “Jesus, he’s here all day long everyday, and he can’t even wash a few plates.”
Ben nodded and walked into the living room, scuffing his feet. Janis and Jerry sat on the couch, their eyes glued to the screen. Bubbles had been ostracized to the floor and the stack of clean laundry had toppled over the side into a crumpled heap.
“I was going to put those away,” he thought to himself. “Kids.” He tried to sound assertive, but felt unsuccessful. “I need your help. Grandma is coming over tonight for dinner, so the living room needs to be cleaned.”
“Uh,” Janis scoffed. “I didn’t invite her over.”
“Daddy, is she going to bring presents?” Jerry asked giddily. He was still wrapped in the Barney towel, his wet hair plastered to his face.
“Um, no, not exactly.” Ben stretched his arms above his head. “I have to go tidy up the front yard a bit, but Janis, I would appreciate it if you could just put all this stuff away. Stevie can vacuum afterward,” he said, surveying the work that lay ahead of them. “By the way, where is Stevie?”
“Napping, I think,” Janis responded.
“Oh, well, wake up when you are finished, thanks Janis.’
“Um, Dad, I haven’t agreed to anything, yet. Do I get some sort of compensation for this?”
“Janis, you know things are really tight around here,” Ben began. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Janis looked at him with cold eyes. “Sure, you’ll see what you can do. Way to go Dad! You can’t even give your kids an allowance.” Janis crossed her arms and looked back at the television. “Deadbeat,” she mumbled to herself.
Ben didn’t hear her as he opened the front door and stepped outside. The warm sunlight and chirping birds refreshed him as he proceeded to the task at hand. The engine was heavier then he thought, causing him to moan as he carried the larger pieces to the backyard. On his way back to the front, he noticed something strange and disturbing. A lanky, scraggily haired teenage boy was climbing out of Stevie’s window. Ben marched over to him, pumping himself up to be intimidating.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You picked a bad house to rob, buddy!” Ben grabbed the boy by the neck of his black t-shirt and pushed him up against the wall of the house. He pushed his face right up into the boy’s, so much so, that the boy cringed at the odor of Ben’s breath.
“Wait, Daddy, no!” Stevie appeared at the window with a towel wrapped around her body.
“Stevie, call the police. This kid was trying to break into your room.” Ben glared at the boy with hateful, angry eyes. The boy had a light dusting of facial hair and a scattering of zits across his forehead. He looked down at the ground, quivering in fear.
“Um, Daddy, he was trying to leave.”
“What?”
“Um, this is Malcom. He’s a friend from school.” Stevie smiled girlishly, fluttering her eyelashes, which were now clean of eye makeup.
“I thought you were taking a nap,” Ben said as he released the boy.
The boy sighed and stuttered, “I-I g-g-gotta go, Stevie. It was real.” And with that, the boy ran down the street, his limbs flying in the air.
“Wow, he’s actually running,” Stevie giggled.
“I don’t know what to say Stevie, but we are going to talk about this.” Ben had to struggle to hold back the tears threatening to soak his face. “Right now, I just need you to help your sister clean for Grandma.”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Stevie said sarcastically.
Just then, Mr. Davis from across the street stomped over to Ben, carrying a yellow furry object.
“Wolfe, your cat has been pooping in my garden, again. You said never again!” Mr. Davis pushed the cat into Ben’s arms. “I’m calling animal control next time! And while your at it, your gutters need cleaning.”
Mr. Davis pounded the pavement as he turned away, muttering to himself. Like many in the neighborhood, he thought of the Wolfes as a nuisance.
As the sun began to set, the Wolfe family held their breath. Grandma Ruth would pull up any minute, and they were still struggling to shove the last items into the hall closet. Janis and Stevie were making a few finishing touches on their own appearance. Following Lisa’s request, both girls wore buttoned down shirts. Janis still wore her bangs in her eyes and drew cat eyes around her lids. Stevie shellacked her face with makeup, preparing to make a quick getaway after dinner. She wore her hair down and wavy; black eyeliner had returned to her eyes. Jerry looked sweet in a polo shirt and khakis; for a six-year-old menace, he looked quite angelic.
At 6:30, Grandma Ruth pulled up to the curb in her cream ’75 Wildcat, her face barely peering over the steering wheel. Her dark brown curls were kept under a soft pink silk scarf. As she walked up the brick pathway to the front door, she took dainty steps, her heels clicking against each brick. She when she saw the tidy porch and signs of raking in the dirt. In her right hand, she held a white box, which contained a warm pecan pie. When she rang the doorbell, each of the Wolfes looked at the front door with scared, wild eyes.
“Okay, kids, best behavior, or you live outside for two weeks,” Lisa laughed as she walked toward the door. “Right on time, Ruth.”
“Lee-sa. My dear, I brought you a pie. Go put this in the kitchen,” Ruth instructed as she handed the box to Lisa. “Where are my grandchildren?” Ruth pushed past Lisa with her arms wide open.
“Grandma!” Jerry squawked as he leapt up from the couch. He buried his face in her stomach, inhaling her rich smell of Chanel and mothballs.
“Oh Jerry, you’re so big. Soon you’ll be taller than me!”
Stevie and Janis dutifully hugged Grandma Ruth, smiling and chuckling as they led her into the kitchen, where Ben was finishing setting the table.
“Mom, good to see you,” Ben wrapped his arms around his mother, who handed him a white unmarked envelope and a newspaper.
“What this?” he asked, referring to the newspaper.
“Your ‘help,’ in two forms. The check is in the envelope, and that is the classifieds. I figured you could use a little motivational kick in the keister too.”
Ben blushed as he looked down at the newspaper. He felt a tinge of anger, but it subdued quickly as he fingered the envelope. “Ready to eat,” Ben asked as he hid the envelop in his shirt pocket and placed the newspaper on the countertop.
“Always in a rush.” Ruth shook her head. “Hmmp, well, I will take what I can get with you.”
Ben led Ruth to one end of the table and pulled out a chair for her. Ruth slid into her seat gracefully, as though she were a foreign ambassador dining with the head of state. She placed her hands in her lap and smiled at her grandchildren, signaling that they should take a seat as well. The Wolfe’s shuffled chaotically around the table; chairs were scooted away from the table and then back again. Stevie and Janis sat on opposite sides of the table, facing off. Jerry sat next to his older sister, while the chair next to Janis remained empty. Ben walked to the other head of the table and looked into his mother’s impatient eyes as he took a seat across from her.
“So Stevie, have you given Barnard any extra thought?” Ruth cooled her expression as she began her drilling.
“Um, well, I don’t need to apply until the fall, so everything is still up in the air,” Stevie spoke without her normal air of confidence. She wasn’t ready for this type of questioning on a Saturday night.
“My dear, this is the biggest decision you will make as a young woman. If you don’t choose the right school, you might end up hunting for a job in the classifieds.” She shot Ben a look as she sipped ice water from her glass. “Oh- Lisa, this water needs Lemon.”
Lisa rolled her eyes as she pulled a tray of pre-made tofu enchiladas from the oven. “I’ll get right on it, Ruth.”
“I’ll do it.” Ben said as he scooted his chair back and stood up.
“Stevie- you might be more excited if you actually visited the campus.” Ruth’s eyes glistened in excitement. “Yes, we should take a trip out to Manhattan before the school year ends, or perhaps in the fall. Whatever would work for you dear works for me. Oh- and we could even take a look at Sarah Lawrence, as a back up.”
Stevie sat quietly, biting her lip and flexing her eyebrows. “I don’t think I want to go to school back east.”
A look of confusement washed over Ruth’s face. “Oh, why not? Where do you want to go then?”
“I think I am more of a beach girl. I am considering UCSD; they have a great creative writing program.”
Ben walked over to the table with a saucer of sliced lemons and a large wooden salad bowel. “Mom, here is the lemon. How about some salad?”
Ruth looked at him with offended eyes. “Yes, dear.” She looked back at Stevie. “What do you plan to do with creative writing- be a starving artist? You should talk to your mother about unreliable careers before wasting your money on that kind of a degree.”
“Grandma, I appreciate your interest, but my parents and I have already discussed this. It’s not your decision,” Stevie said, as she stood up from the table. She walked over to the refrigerator with her glass in hand and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from within.
As Stevie poured the bubbly cola into glass, Ruth said, “Dear, you shouldn’t drink caffeine this late at night.”
“Um, Grandma, I think I can take care of myself.”
Offended at her grand daughters stubbornness, Ruth felt there was nothing left to say at that moment.
Lisa carried the tray of enchiladas over to the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Along with the enchiladas, Lisa had prepared a bowl of black beans, seasoned rice, and tortillas. Like most meal times, the kids dove into the food. Bowels and trays were passed carelessly around the table. Jerry consistently giggled, while Janis and Stevie shot each other threatening snares. Ruth felt as thought she weren’t even present. She was also hurt that Ben didn’t offer to say a prayer before they ate, but his behavior didn’t surprise her.
Finally, dessert time had arrived. Lisa carried the pie to the table and set it in the middle, displayed for everyone to see. The custard seemed to glow beneath the light; everyone salivated at the roasted pecans, which dotted the surface.
“I bought it at a lovely bakery downtown. Family owned,” Ruth bragged, while Lisa searched through a kitchen draw for a serving utensil.
Suddenly, everyone at the table screamed in terror and disgust as a small brown object fell from the ceiling onto the pie. Lisa turned to see a mud soaked tampon lying on top of Ruth’s pecan pie. The Wolfes had forgotten to check the light fixture above the table, which had been attacked by Jerry in the same fashion as his sisters. A smirk fell across Lisa’s face as she watched Ruth gag and dry heave into her napkin.
Silence fell over the table as Janis and Stevie simply stared at each other and then at Grandma Ruth, waiting for a response. Ben, flushed from embarrassment, stared with his jaw wide open. Jerry clapped his hands and giggled hysterically.
“Oh dear, is that a-my goodness,” Ruth sighed. “You really are a tribe of hopeless savages,” she said as she stood up from the table and set her napkin down. She smoothed out her skirt and walked toward the door. “I should have given up when you named them after a bunch of those dirty hippies.”
Ruth slammed the door and walked toward her car. She walked faster then usual down the pathway, almost tripping at the end.
Ben ran after her, yelling, “Mom, wait.”
She whipped around and said to him, “Benjamin, look at her your life. Look at your kids. You don’t have a job. You live in squalor most of the time; I know you do. And, you still smoke marijuana! Your father would be heartbroken to see you like this.”
“Mom, I like my life.”
“I think you are the only one who does.” Ruth opened her car door and slammed it shut, the sound cackling though the quiet neighborhood.
As her tires squealed away, the remaining Wolfes continued to stare at each other.
“We’re freaks. It’s official,” Janis whined. “This is gonna cost me a lot in therapy. I know it.”
“I have got to go. Mom, I’ll be back late.” Stevie blew everyone kisses as she walked out of the kitchen. On her way down the walkway, she saw her father, staring at his shoes. He looked at her with big, sad eyes.
“Can I have a hug, Stevie? It’s been a long day.”
Taken aback, Stevie looked at her father for a moment and then nodded. They embraced each other in the twilight, saying nothing.
“Dad, we love you. We’re just a bit angry, but it can change. You have to take the first step though.”
Ben nodded as Stevie walked across the street. A well-dressed man, much older than the one from earlier in the afternoon, waved to Stevie as she approached the red sedan. Ben thought about how that stranger witnessed one of the most intimate moments he and his daughter had shared in years. As the two drove away, Ben felt his throat swell as a tear escaped from the corner of his eye.
“I’ve already lost them,” he said as he walked back up to the house.
Peanut butter clung to the bottom of a jar; the clear plastic, now naked without its label, allowed light to shine through the steamy water, which filled the container. Little brown specs swirled to an unknown rhythm in the liquid. Next to the peanut butter jar, a row of immaculate cat food cans sat on the white and gold-flecked counter. In front of the “finished” cans, lay another row of cans, waiting in preparation; each was filled with sudsy water, the bubbles spilling out over the sharp rims. In the corner, empty juice boxes had been stacked on top of the counter several weeks prior to this particular Saturday. Two half-eaten granola bars, barely peeking out from their shiny wrappers, lay next to the juice boxes, attracting a trail of teeny black ants who ventured in through the cracked kitchen window above the sink. Dirty dishes, speckled with crusty food, were stacked in the twin stainless steel sinks. Each sink had a low level of tepid water, which smelled of tomato sauce and dish soap.
On the floor, a box of Fruit Loops cereal lay on its side, its rainbow colored contents spilling onto the linoleum. A fat yellow tabby perched himself at the mouth of the box, nibbling slyly on the sugar coated rings which made for a tasty follow up to his generic-brand-name cat food breakfast. Towering above the cat, Ben Wolfe stood at the sink in the narrow kitchen, with a half burnt joint clinging to his lips. White hairs dotted the five-O’clock shadow, which carpeted his chin and neck. The end of the joint illuminated as he inhaled a deep, soothing hit.
“How many roads must a man walk down,” he sang weakly, straining his voice as he held the smoke in his lungs. “Before ya call him a man?”
Ben exhaled slowly, watching the smoke float toward the dandelion yellow curtains flapping at the window. The voice of Bob Dylan continued to fill the kitchen space, the raspy words surrounding Ben as the haze thickened. He held one of the cat food cans in his left hand as he methodically circled a yellow sponge around the inside over and over again. He marveled at the can’s smoothness and the perfection of its curves. He shifted the can, catching rays of sunlight, which glimmered back at him. Unconsciously, he nodded his thick, wavy, salt n’ pepper mane from side to side, smiling at the gleams of light. Finally, satisfied with the spotlessness of the can, he placed it next to the other finished recyclables. He then turned to his right, with the yellow sponge in one hand and his other patting against his red flannel shirt. The Fruit Loops crunched and popped sharply beneath his bare feet.
“The answer, my friend,” he cooed pensively, joining back into the song as he slapped the dripping yellow sponge onto the counter on the other side of the sink. “Is blowin’ in the wind. The answer is blowin’ in the wind.”
The sink of dirty dishes held no interest for Ben, but a crusty mound stuck on the countertop looked to be a qualified challenge. He began to grind the sponge onto the mound; the gold flecks in the countertop caught his attention, causing him to pause in thought for a second or two. Sudsy water oozed from the pores of the sponge as he pushed his worn hands downward. Ben wondered to himself about the origin of this particular stain. It hadn’t lived on the countertop long enough to grow mold, but it was rock hard, making it difficult to remove.
As he struggled against the mound, his wife, Lisa entered the kitchen, but stopped just inside the entryway. A billowy white peasant blouse hid her voluptuous body, and her dark brown hair was pulled back with a turquoise barrette, allowing her square jaw and sculpted cheekbones to make a presence. According to her mother, Lisa was one sixthteenth Cherokee Indian; in the kitchen’s bright and revealing light, she looked like a tribal princess. Ben failed to notice her until she spoke, her burdened voice interrupting the flow of Dylan in the air.
“We’ve got a pink one,” she said as she waved an envelope in the air. The words “THIRD NOTICE” were plastered on the front.
Startled, Ben looked up from the countertop and grunted, “From who?”
“Electric company,” she sighed, walking toward him.
“Anything else come?” Small drops of gray water fell from the sponge onto the floor as he spoke.
“Your AARP newsletter,” she chuckled as she handed the red and white paper to him. “Good news old man, you can get a deal on a time share in Sun City.”
Ben rolled his bloodshot eyes at her as he reached for the newsletter. His wet hands wrinkled the crisp paper while he handled it. He folded it and stuffed it into his back pocket.
“I’ll keep it for good luck,” he said, winking hopefully. Ben a had habit of keeping newspaper clippings, small notes, business cards, and even old mail in his pockets, in the hopes that they would someday come in handy, making him seem thoughtful and wise for holding on to such a valuable message. His motto in life was: “one day, this will come in handy.”
Lisa leaned against the counter while she continued to rifle through the mail, which she later tossed into the growing pile on the kitchen table. The table was a deep mahogany with Pacific Northwestern Native American carvings engrained on the sides. Depictions of smooth curling waves and geometric whales gave the table a unique sense of character and mystery. Ben’s father had always favored the brisk forests of Washington and Oregon, dragging his son along on a secret camping adventure one summer. The table was a gift from him, and Ben treasured its unfading beauty. Ben returned to the stain on the counter, which was now filed down to a smooth spot on the counter.
In the living room, their 17 year-old-daughter Stevie sat on the sagging, but plush, denim upholstered couch, watching Saturday morning cartoons. She wore a hot pink cotton t-shirt and gray underwear; her bowl of Fruit Loops balanced carefully on her belly as she studied the fighting tactics of the Powerpuff Girls. On her right, a rottweiler, Bubbles, snored quietly on the couch, which was blanketed in black dog hair. On Stevie’s left, a stack of day old clean laundry threatened to topple over at any second. Stevie maintained her focus on the television, which stood in front of the east wall. The television was placed on top of an old, broken television, which had not been removed when the Wolfes bought the replacement set three years prior. Ben had left an empty glass and crumb-dusted plate on top of the working television four days earlier, but forgot to remove them, so they remained, a subtle reminder of his absentmindedness. A collection of Disney movies and a few older, but still contemporary, family films were stacked next to the tower of televisions.
A series of four framed nude sketches hung on the west wall behind Stevie; Lisa had drawn them during a studio art class in college. On the south wall, two large teak bookcases, both grazing the ceiling, crowded each side of the entryway to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. The bookcase on the right of the hallway was home to a record player and speaker set that Ben bought when he first moved out of his parent’s house, forty years ago. Ben and Lisa also kept their combined collection of LPs stacked, in no particular order, on the remaining shelves. That bookcase was full of legends. The Grateful Dead and Buffalo Springfield were alive and jamming in those dust-powdered shelves. Lou Reed and David Bowie, peered sexily from their record sleeves, waiting for Lisa to relive her suffocated high school nights when she would dance seductively in her room to “Ziggy Stardust.”
The other bookcase held dozens of hard covered art history and architecture books filled with pages of large full color pictures. Lisa dreamed of traveling to Italy to visit her favorite paintings, but three kids, a dog, a cat, an unemployed husband, and a mortgage put that dream just slightly out of reach. Ben was a different story. After high school, he headed off to UC Davis, hoping to pursue a career as an architect. He admired the function and beauty of Frank Lloyd Wright’s structures the most. However, heartbreaking tragedy, the excitement of Vietnam Protests, and the desire to fight “the man” overshadowed previous goals; a long-term battle against authority and American institutions ensued after his first year.
In addition to the photograph filled books, Lisa kept her late mother’s collection of Literature’s Greatest Authors. The series of cloth covered hard backed texts, thick with the smells of crowded bookstores and English classrooms, filled the large bottom shelf; the books covered literature’s legends, from Candide to Faulkner. Lisa’s mother, a 10th grade English teacher, also left behind a 1965 set of encyclopedias, which rested against the other series on the bottom shelf. The smaller middle shelves were stuffed with an eclectic selection of paperbacks. Ben’s high school copy of Catcher in the Rye, filled with dog-eared pages and emotional notes written in the margin sat next to Grass: The Benefits the Government Won’t Admit To. Practically unused, Suzanne Summer’s Guide to the Thigh Master was squished in next to an English translation of short stories by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
Disheveled stacks of old Arizona Highways, Time, and People magazines were shoved into the upper levels of the bookcase, leaving a small space for a half-assed attempt at a family photo display. Framed photos of all three of the Wolfe children as infants in the hospital, red-faced and pouting, a snapshot of the Lisa and the girls building a sandcastle at Mission Beach, and a portrait of an 8-year old Janis in her ballet tutu, stood at the edge of the shelf. Ben and Lisa’s wedding photo, several grades worth of the kid’s school pictures, and an intimate shot of Ben sleeping as he held a 2-year old, pigtailed Stevie, were hidden in the shadows behind the other photos. Throughout the different shelves, little trinkets were scattered among the books, magazines, and photos. A soft pink Conch shell was tucked in the bottom corner in front of the encyclopedias. A miniature Wedding Barbie from a McDonald’s Happy Meal smiled from the stacks of magazines. A peanut butter jar filled with screws, nails, and washers held up a group of paperbacks. Those bookcases were the Wolfes’ dedication to legends: music, literature, themselves.
Across the room, textured, mauve drapes were drawn together in front of the large window on the north wall to Stevie’s left, blocking the intense California sun from her view. The heaviness of the drapes made the room seem smaller than it was; without an open window, the dust, dog hair, stale food smells, and faint marijuana smoke were trapped in the enclosed area, making the air dense. The space was made smaller by four large gray Rubbermaid storage containers, which had been dropped carelessly in front of the couch. Clothes, toys, books, papers, board games, crayons, Halloween costumes, kitchen ware, tools- just about everything seemed to be spilling out from those containers. A laundry basket, filled with dirty clothes, blocked the entryway to the hallway. Near the front door, a pair of rollerblades, a pair of brown workman’s boots, three sets of high heels (pink, lavender, and black with green stripes), four sets of Old Navy flip flops, and a large pair of forest green suede Birkenstocks were piled up against the wall. A purple backpack lay unzipped, with papers sliding out of his pockets, on up against the couch. In addition, random objects, such as a toothbrush, coloring books, feathered cat toys, a Scrunchie-making-kit, a new drill set, and a case of Girl Scout Cookies had been haphazardly sprawled out around the room.
Stevie dug the heel of her foot into the soiled, beige carpet, which felt gritty as a result of high foot traffic. Her Saturday morning ritual revolved around a steady dose of television and Tylenol, in order to recover from a rough Friday night. Mascara and black eyeliner were smudged around her green eyes, and the faint odor of cigarettes still wafted from her matted hair. She rarely ventured out without a pack of Parliaments in her back pocket, as her look was to have a drink in one hand and a cig in the other. Chestnut strands fell loosely onto her eyes, forcing her to squint as she viewed her cartoons.
The Wolfe’s youngest daughter, Janis, a 15-year-old verging on 6, pranced into the living room wearing a red tutu and a black t-shirt with the band name “Bright Eyes” tattooed across her chest. Thick aqua eye shadow coated her lids, which were slightly hidden beneath a chunk of platinum blond bangs. She had a disgruntled outlook on life, a result of being the only member of her “hipster” friends who still didn’t have a driving permit.
“Are you trying to ruin my life?” Janis squealed, holding an empty box of tampons in her hand.
Angered by her sister’s blatant disregard for a hangover, Stevie retorted, “I don’t care enough to ruin your life.”
Janis wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes as she said, “How could you use my tampons without asking?” She furiously shook the empty box in Stevie’s face, blocking the television.
“God forbid, I use one of your tampons,” Stevie giggled, holding the cereal bowl steady to avoid spilling any precious colored loops.
“You used the last one!’ Janis screamed.
“Chill, drama queen,” Stevie requested, massaging her temples with her fingertips.
“I’m not like you, okay. I don’t have a pill to control my schedule.” Janis raised her voice loud enough to make Stevie nervous.
“Janis, keep your voice down,” Stevie whispered as she motioned towards the kitchen. “Let’s not involve mom or dad in this.”
“I don’t care if they find out you’re a sex fiend, you damn tampon thief!”
“I don’t have to listen to this,” Stevie sniffed as she stood up, holding the bowl in her left hand. “Besides, there were, like, four left when I used them last week.”
As Stevie walked toward the kitchen, Janis hurled the box at the back of her sister’s head. Stevie yelped and pivoted when the box bounced off of her scalp.
“Jan-nis! You crazy bitch, no wonder you have no real friends.” Stevie glared at Janis, who returned her death stare with the same sense of conviction. “Hey, I have a suggestion, why don’t you go for a drive? Oh wait- you don’t have your permit.” The two maintained their scowls like a pair of stray dogs prepared to fight.
Just then, the phone rang, and the girls changed their focus.
“I bet that’s Malcom,” Stevie said, fluttering her eyelashes and biting her bottom lip.
“You’re such a whore.” Janis pouted as she sat down next to Bubbles.
Ben was still focusing on the mound when the phone rang; the shrill sound vibrated through his skull, sending a startled volt through his body, which caused him to drop his sponge. He looked around, wondering if someone had changed his CD; no, Bob Dylan was now singing the “Tombstone Blues.” Then he heard the sound again, its clarity growing stronger as he watched Lisa walk over to the phone.
“Hello,” she said smoothly. “Oh, how are you, Ruth?” She then made a distressed face at Ben, pursing her lips together. Meanwhile, he took a breath in preparation to speak to his mother.
Born and raised in Manhattan, Ruth Eliza Becker wore pearls and monogrammed sweaters everyday as a young woman; she ascended the social ladder poised and secretly smirking in the years leading up to WWII. At a petite 5’3”, she made up for her small stature with an overpowering personality. In the fall of 1942, she found herself at a Columbia Barnard mixer, wearing a navy blue dress, white pumps, and cherry red lipstick. Even then, she terrified her peers, especially the men. However, Joshua Wolfe, an economics major, looked for ways to prove his manliness ever since health problems prevented him from enlisting. He saw Ruth, beautiful and confident, as a challenge he could overcome. She accepted his request to dance, but repeatedly attempted to lead as they jitterbugged to energetic big band music; the two of them tugged back and forth all night long. Upon Joshua’s graduation two years later, he bought her a new white cardigan, with the initials REW sewn on the right breast, and they began their life long dance, always tugging in different directions. By the time the war ended, she was pregnant with her first son, Benjamin.
As an older woman, Eliza Wolfe still wore pearls and the occasional monogrammed cardigan. Joshua made it a point to give her a new sweater at every anniversary, up until the day he died. Ruth’s confidence only grew with time, but when she lost Joshua in 1966 to a heart attack, that same confidence warped into a bitter need to control those closest to her.
She also maintained her appreciation of higher society, and faithfully gave Emily Post’s Book of Etiquette to each of her grandchildren on their twelfth birthday.
Life continually threw obstacles in her way. She suffered from Polio when she was in her late thirties, and as a result, could not raise her left arm above her waist. This forced her to visit the hairdresser every Monday for a thorough wash and blow out, which she protected throughout the week with an army of silk scarves. After a few years of marriage, a promotion for her husband forced them to move out west, far away from the city and society she had known and loved. When her husband died, her eldest son grew his hair long and burned his draft card. Then he stopped attending classes and disappeared for three months, leaving her in a constant state of fear and anxiety. His only goal in life seemed to involve punishing her and society as a whole. With age, he grew more complacent, but never became the world famous architect she had hoped for.
“Yes, he’s right here,” Lisa frantically motioned to Ben.
Upon Ben’s first step in the direction of the phone, he felt something squishy and cold beneath his bare foot. He looked down and saw the yellow corners of his sponge peaking out from beneath his toes.
“Ugh,” he said as he picked broken fruit loops off of his foot. “Hi Mom.”
“Benjamin, dahr-ling. How is the tribe this morning?”
“Good Mom. The girls are good,” he said, shaking his head at his disheveled daughters.
“And Jerry?”
Suddenly, Ben remembered he had a son, who had disappeared among the chaos of the morning. He held the phone against his chest, and whispered to Lisa, “Where is Jerry?”
Lisa shrugged her shoulders, “I’ll find him.”
“He’s growing like a weed, Mom.”
“Just like his fah-ther,” Ruth laughed. “Lisa sounds tired. Is she alright?”
“She’s fine mom. She just had to run to answer the phone.”
“Are you sure? I am always concerned that she doesn’t have enough time for that job of hers and the kids,” Ruth coughed quietly. “Sometimes, a woman has to reorganize her priorities. A woman’s job is to raise well-bred children, not put food on the table.” She paused for a moment, waiting to make the final stab. “That’s her husband’s job.”
“I want to be around for my kids, Mom. This is the 21st century, you know,” he informed his mother. “The kids are pretty capable of taking care of themselves. It’s not like they are a bunch of savages or something.”
Just then, a mud-caked body ran passed Ben, whooping and squealing. Lisa scrambled after the gangling creature, gasping for air.
“Jerry Garcia Wolfe, don’t take another step,” she said authoritatively.
Each step deposited a hefty footprint of mud on the carpet. As Jerry ran by his sisters, who were now seated on the couch, he catapulted brown soggy tubes at them. One hit Janis in the middle of her forehead, marking her with the fresh earth as the tube slid down her face.
“Ewww!” She wailed hysterically. “Oh my God, he just threw his poop at me!”
“No, no. Janis, it’s something else,” Stevie said upon further examination of the projectile. She picked up the tube by a string that was attached to one end. “I think I know where your tampons went,” Stevie guffawed.
Janis cupped her face in her hands and wept pitifully. “I hate this family,” she howled.
Meanwhile, Lisa followed Jerry down the hallway to the bathroom, where he had barricaded himself inside. She jiggled the doorknob rigorously and pounded on the door.
“Jerry, open the door!”
“Na-ah mommy!”
Lisa took a breath, trying to compose herself. Behind the door, she heard something crash to the ground and shatter.
“Baby, what are you doing in there,” Lisa called sweetly.
“I’m nakie!” Jerry squealed.
In the living room, Ben tried to disguise the laughter in his voice as he listened to his wife’s desperate attempts in the hallway.
“No, mom, everything is fine. That’s just the television- No, they don’t watch too much.”
“Well, Benjamin, my phone call isn’t completely innocent. I wanted to stop by this evening and perhaps join you for dinner.”
“Oh, I don’t think that is a good idea.”
“But dear, I can give you that check you asked me for- you know the ‘extra help’ you want.”
Ben brought his hand up to his eyes and dragged his fingers down, lining his sandpaper jaw. “If you really want to-I suppose we could-mom, why do you always do this?”
“Lovely, dahr-ling. I’ll bring dessert. See you at 6:30. Buh-bye,” Ruth disconnected the line before Ben could respond.
Ben shook his head as he hung up the phone and turned his attention toward his muddy child locked in the bathroom. He dodged the piles of junk that scattered the room, knocking a few papers to the floor as he jogged toward the bathroom. Lisa was pressed up against the door, attempting to sweet talk Jerry out.
“No baths, I promise,” she said convincingly. “Sure, we can eat pizza for dinner. Please, babe, just unlock the door.”
“Offer him money,” Ben whispered.
Lisa frowned disapprovingly. “Is this what we have come to?” She hissed.
“Jerry, it’s Dad. If you unlock the door, I’ll give you a dollar.”
There was no response from the other side, only the sound of running water. Lisa and Ben stood at the door, listening attentively.
“More!” Jerry demanded. “I want more, Daddy!”
Ben looked at Lisa, searching for an answer. She simply shook her head and mouthed the word “no.”
“How about five bucks, buddy?” Ben offered.
Magically, the lock clicked and the door creaked open. Inside, Jerry was perched on the edge of the tub, which was rapidly filling with water. His skin was a rich chocolate brown because of the mud, and his eyes and teeth shone brightly. He smiled proudly at his parents, who burst into laughter upon seeing their chimpanzee like child.
“Well, at least the bath is almost ready,” Lisa sighed.
Jerry’s eyes grew wide, “You said no baths!”
Lisa nodded and held out her hand. “I have a better idea.”
She led Jerry outside into the backyard, where she sprayed him off with the garden hose. Ben brought out a bottle of Pert Plus and handed it to the six year old, who stood giggling in the April sunlight.
“Wash up buddy. Grandma Ruth is coming to dinner tonight,” said Ben.
To their right, a pair of large blue eyes peered over the weathered fence. A neighbor girl, Chelsea, gripped the top edge with her petite fingers, her bubblegum pink nails seeming too pretty to venture onto the Wolfe’s side of the fence. Jerry heard her high-pitched giggles first, and let out an excited squeak as he waved frantically at her, unashamed of his naked parts flailing awkwardly. Neither Ben nor Lisa were surprised at this intrusion; they had grown accustomed to living in the neighborhood’s spotlight.
“Hi Chelsea,” Ben shouted warmly as he walked over to the fence.
“Mr. Wolfe,” she chirped. “Why is Ben naked?”
“He’s taking a shower.”
“Outside?” Chelsea’s confusion became more visible as she lifted her head higher.
“We thought we would make the most out of this beautiful day,” Ben said, turning his face toward Lisa and smiling at her. Lisa, feeling slightly embarrassed, met his eyes for only a moment before she looked back at her uncivilized son. He stuck his tongue out, trying to catch water drops as she sprayed him with the hose.
“But Mr. Wolfe, people take showers in the bathroom. People can’t walk outside without any clothes on!” Chelsea protested Ben’s free-spirited thinking.
“Says who?”
“My mommy,” Chelsea sputtered. “She also says that good, normal people don’t leave dirty junk on their front lawns. And they,” she huffed. “Water their grass- I never see you water your lawn, like Mr. Kline or Mr. Davis.
Ben looked puzzled as he took in Chelsea’s accusations.
“Ben, she’s referring to the dismantled Ford engine you left in front of the porch,” Lisa said, sighing as she set the hose down on the ground. “I asked you to move that thing into the backyard, over six months ago.” She strolled over to the water spigot and turned the knob to the right, cutting off the hose’s supply.
Ben still stood near the fence, looking up at Chelsea while he placed his hands up on his hips. “So, you think my lawn looks bad, Chelsea?”
“Um, it could be prettier, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Hmm, well, that’ll be my project next week,” Ben said, nodding his head enthusiastically. “Yeah, if those shit heads can do it, so can I.” He mumbled to himself.
Planning projects was also one of Ben’s habits; his half finished projects were visible all over the house. In the master bathroom, he had ripped out the linoleum in order to lay down tile two years ago. The box of tiles still sat on the bare cement floor under the sink. He was a big dreamer, but lacked the motivation to see his work through.
Lisa wrapped a Barney beach towel around Jerry as Ben walked over to her; Ben gazed up at the clouds in the sky, picturing what it would be like to fly. Lisa picked Jerry up and gave him a tight squeeze as she carried him toward the back door leading into the kitchen. When they reached the safety of the linoleum, Jerry leapt from her arms and skidded off to his bedroom. Lisa turned around to face Ben, who was still doddering behind, whistling.
“Ben! Why do you let her push you around like that? You know the house is in no shape for company,” Lisa chastised.
“It’s not my fault the place looks like this,” Ben muttered defensively.
“Oh- so it’s my fault?” Lisa crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at Ben.
“I just,” he stammered. “How do our kids make such a big mess?”
“You know,” she said coldly. “They aren’t the only ones. I don’t think Stevie and Janis collect old newspapers or Time.”
“Well, I can’t do this on my own.”
“I don’t have the time to help you,” she said tensely. “Remember, I work 40 hours a week. We need income, Ben.”
“That’s not fair.” He looked hurt as he stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Maybe,” she whispered. “Your best isn’t good enough.”
“Shit, Lisa. You can be so cold sometimes.” He looked down at his shoes. “Your just like my mother, you know that. Maybe that’s why you hate her so much.”
“I don’t hate your mother, Ben.”
“Then why are you so upset about her coming over?”
“Jesus Ben, look around you,” Lisa spread her arms out as though she was making an offering to the gods. “Your mom would report us to Child Services if she saw this place.”
“It doesn’t look that bad to me.”
Lisa stared into the distance behind Ben’s shoulder. “Maybe you need to stay in touch with reality a little more.”
The two of them stood there for a few seconds in silence. Sirens from the nearby six-lane parkway pierced the morning air. The sounds of the neighbor’s air conditioner hummed steadily. Ben looked up again at the clouds in the sky.
Lisa pushed her fingers up against her lips for a moment, and then said, “I can’t live like this anymore. I am losing myself, Ben.” She took in a deep breath. “Is this how you imagined us living together when we first met? What happened to living on a farm up north?”
Ben smiled, remembering how Lisa’s green eyes sparkled at him when he was first introduced to her. “Big Dreams,” he said, sniffing meakly.
Lisa looked solemnly at her husband, searching for some sign that he was actually listening to her. She craved his presence, his complete focus.
“We have a lot of work to do,” Lisa said, clapping her hands together. “Ben, do me a favor and move that engine and rake the front.” She motioned towards the street. “Pick up any other junk that’s been left out there too.”
Ben came over to Lisa, and placed his large, hairy hand up against her cheek. “All that mattered to me was being with you,” he said softly.
Lisa looked at his hand and then at the linoleum beneath her feet, seeing the crushed Fruit Loops scattered throughout the kitchen.
“Well, at least, one of us has what he’s wants,” she murmured, moving away from him. She walked over to the pantry and pulled out a broom. “Ben, you got us into this mess; please go do what I asked.”
She frantically swept around the around the table legs and near the sink. She looked at the rows of cat food cans arranged perfectly next to the sink and sighed. She saw the trail of ants leading to the granola bars, the stack of juice boxes, and the sink of dirty dishes.
She thought to herself, “Jesus, he’s here all day long everyday, and he can’t even wash a few plates.”
Ben nodded and walked into the living room, scuffing his feet. Janis and Jerry sat on the couch, their eyes glued to the screen. Bubbles had been ostracized to the floor and the stack of clean laundry had toppled over the side into a crumpled heap.
“I was going to put those away,” he thought to himself. “Kids.” He tried to sound assertive, but felt unsuccessful. “I need your help. Grandma is coming over tonight for dinner, so the living room needs to be cleaned.”
“Uh,” Janis scoffed. “I didn’t invite her over.”
“Daddy, is she going to bring presents?” Jerry asked giddily. He was still wrapped in the Barney towel, his wet hair plastered to his face.
“Um, no, not exactly.” Ben stretched his arms above his head. “I have to go tidy up the front yard a bit, but Janis, I would appreciate it if you could just put all this stuff away. Stevie can vacuum afterward,” he said, surveying the work that lay ahead of them. “By the way, where is Stevie?”
“Napping, I think,” Janis responded.
“Oh, well, wake up when you are finished, thanks Janis.’
“Um, Dad, I haven’t agreed to anything, yet. Do I get some sort of compensation for this?”
“Janis, you know things are really tight around here,” Ben began. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Janis looked at him with cold eyes. “Sure, you’ll see what you can do. Way to go Dad! You can’t even give your kids an allowance.” Janis crossed her arms and looked back at the television. “Deadbeat,” she mumbled to herself.
Ben didn’t hear her as he opened the front door and stepped outside. The warm sunlight and chirping birds refreshed him as he proceeded to the task at hand. The engine was heavier then he thought, causing him to moan as he carried the larger pieces to the backyard. On his way back to the front, he noticed something strange and disturbing. A lanky, scraggily haired teenage boy was climbing out of Stevie’s window. Ben marched over to him, pumping himself up to be intimidating.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? You picked a bad house to rob, buddy!” Ben grabbed the boy by the neck of his black t-shirt and pushed him up against the wall of the house. He pushed his face right up into the boy’s, so much so, that the boy cringed at the odor of Ben’s breath.
“Wait, Daddy, no!” Stevie appeared at the window with a towel wrapped around her body.
“Stevie, call the police. This kid was trying to break into your room.” Ben glared at the boy with hateful, angry eyes. The boy had a light dusting of facial hair and a scattering of zits across his forehead. He looked down at the ground, quivering in fear.
“Um, Daddy, he was trying to leave.”
“What?”
“Um, this is Malcom. He’s a friend from school.” Stevie smiled girlishly, fluttering her eyelashes, which were now clean of eye makeup.
“I thought you were taking a nap,” Ben said as he released the boy.
The boy sighed and stuttered, “I-I g-g-gotta go, Stevie. It was real.” And with that, the boy ran down the street, his limbs flying in the air.
“Wow, he’s actually running,” Stevie giggled.
“I don’t know what to say Stevie, but we are going to talk about this.” Ben had to struggle to hold back the tears threatening to soak his face. “Right now, I just need you to help your sister clean for Grandma.”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” Stevie said sarcastically.
Just then, Mr. Davis from across the street stomped over to Ben, carrying a yellow furry object.
“Wolfe, your cat has been pooping in my garden, again. You said never again!” Mr. Davis pushed the cat into Ben’s arms. “I’m calling animal control next time! And while your at it, your gutters need cleaning.”
Mr. Davis pounded the pavement as he turned away, muttering to himself. Like many in the neighborhood, he thought of the Wolfes as a nuisance.
As the sun began to set, the Wolfe family held their breath. Grandma Ruth would pull up any minute, and they were still struggling to shove the last items into the hall closet. Janis and Stevie were making a few finishing touches on their own appearance. Following Lisa’s request, both girls wore buttoned down shirts. Janis still wore her bangs in her eyes and drew cat eyes around her lids. Stevie shellacked her face with makeup, preparing to make a quick getaway after dinner. She wore her hair down and wavy; black eyeliner had returned to her eyes. Jerry looked sweet in a polo shirt and khakis; for a six-year-old menace, he looked quite angelic.
At 6:30, Grandma Ruth pulled up to the curb in her cream ’75 Wildcat, her face barely peering over the steering wheel. Her dark brown curls were kept under a soft pink silk scarf. As she walked up the brick pathway to the front door, she took dainty steps, her heels clicking against each brick. She when she saw the tidy porch and signs of raking in the dirt. In her right hand, she held a white box, which contained a warm pecan pie. When she rang the doorbell, each of the Wolfes looked at the front door with scared, wild eyes.
“Okay, kids, best behavior, or you live outside for two weeks,” Lisa laughed as she walked toward the door. “Right on time, Ruth.”
“Lee-sa. My dear, I brought you a pie. Go put this in the kitchen,” Ruth instructed as she handed the box to Lisa. “Where are my grandchildren?” Ruth pushed past Lisa with her arms wide open.
“Grandma!” Jerry squawked as he leapt up from the couch. He buried his face in her stomach, inhaling her rich smell of Chanel and mothballs.
“Oh Jerry, you’re so big. Soon you’ll be taller than me!”
Stevie and Janis dutifully hugged Grandma Ruth, smiling and chuckling as they led her into the kitchen, where Ben was finishing setting the table.
“Mom, good to see you,” Ben wrapped his arms around his mother, who handed him a white unmarked envelope and a newspaper.
“What this?” he asked, referring to the newspaper.
“Your ‘help,’ in two forms. The check is in the envelope, and that is the classifieds. I figured you could use a little motivational kick in the keister too.”
Ben blushed as he looked down at the newspaper. He felt a tinge of anger, but it subdued quickly as he fingered the envelope. “Ready to eat,” Ben asked as he hid the envelop in his shirt pocket and placed the newspaper on the countertop.
“Always in a rush.” Ruth shook her head. “Hmmp, well, I will take what I can get with you.”
Ben led Ruth to one end of the table and pulled out a chair for her. Ruth slid into her seat gracefully, as though she were a foreign ambassador dining with the head of state. She placed her hands in her lap and smiled at her grandchildren, signaling that they should take a seat as well. The Wolfe’s shuffled chaotically around the table; chairs were scooted away from the table and then back again. Stevie and Janis sat on opposite sides of the table, facing off. Jerry sat next to his older sister, while the chair next to Janis remained empty. Ben walked to the other head of the table and looked into his mother’s impatient eyes as he took a seat across from her.
“So Stevie, have you given Barnard any extra thought?” Ruth cooled her expression as she began her drilling.
“Um, well, I don’t need to apply until the fall, so everything is still up in the air,” Stevie spoke without her normal air of confidence. She wasn’t ready for this type of questioning on a Saturday night.
“My dear, this is the biggest decision you will make as a young woman. If you don’t choose the right school, you might end up hunting for a job in the classifieds.” She shot Ben a look as she sipped ice water from her glass. “Oh- Lisa, this water needs Lemon.”
Lisa rolled her eyes as she pulled a tray of pre-made tofu enchiladas from the oven. “I’ll get right on it, Ruth.”
“I’ll do it.” Ben said as he scooted his chair back and stood up.
“Stevie- you might be more excited if you actually visited the campus.” Ruth’s eyes glistened in excitement. “Yes, we should take a trip out to Manhattan before the school year ends, or perhaps in the fall. Whatever would work for you dear works for me. Oh- and we could even take a look at Sarah Lawrence, as a back up.”
Stevie sat quietly, biting her lip and flexing her eyebrows. “I don’t think I want to go to school back east.”
A look of confusement washed over Ruth’s face. “Oh, why not? Where do you want to go then?”
“I think I am more of a beach girl. I am considering UCSD; they have a great creative writing program.”
Ben walked over to the table with a saucer of sliced lemons and a large wooden salad bowel. “Mom, here is the lemon. How about some salad?”
Ruth looked at him with offended eyes. “Yes, dear.” She looked back at Stevie. “What do you plan to do with creative writing- be a starving artist? You should talk to your mother about unreliable careers before wasting your money on that kind of a degree.”
“Grandma, I appreciate your interest, but my parents and I have already discussed this. It’s not your decision,” Stevie said, as she stood up from the table. She walked over to the refrigerator with her glass in hand and grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from within.
As Stevie poured the bubbly cola into glass, Ruth said, “Dear, you shouldn’t drink caffeine this late at night.”
“Um, Grandma, I think I can take care of myself.”
Offended at her grand daughters stubbornness, Ruth felt there was nothing left to say at that moment.
Lisa carried the tray of enchiladas over to the table. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Along with the enchiladas, Lisa had prepared a bowl of black beans, seasoned rice, and tortillas. Like most meal times, the kids dove into the food. Bowels and trays were passed carelessly around the table. Jerry consistently giggled, while Janis and Stevie shot each other threatening snares. Ruth felt as thought she weren’t even present. She was also hurt that Ben didn’t offer to say a prayer before they ate, but his behavior didn’t surprise her.
Finally, dessert time had arrived. Lisa carried the pie to the table and set it in the middle, displayed for everyone to see. The custard seemed to glow beneath the light; everyone salivated at the roasted pecans, which dotted the surface.
“I bought it at a lovely bakery downtown. Family owned,” Ruth bragged, while Lisa searched through a kitchen draw for a serving utensil.
Suddenly, everyone at the table screamed in terror and disgust as a small brown object fell from the ceiling onto the pie. Lisa turned to see a mud soaked tampon lying on top of Ruth’s pecan pie. The Wolfes had forgotten to check the light fixture above the table, which had been attacked by Jerry in the same fashion as his sisters. A smirk fell across Lisa’s face as she watched Ruth gag and dry heave into her napkin.
Silence fell over the table as Janis and Stevie simply stared at each other and then at Grandma Ruth, waiting for a response. Ben, flushed from embarrassment, stared with his jaw wide open. Jerry clapped his hands and giggled hysterically.
“Oh dear, is that a-my goodness,” Ruth sighed. “You really are a tribe of hopeless savages,” she said as she stood up from the table and set her napkin down. She smoothed out her skirt and walked toward the door. “I should have given up when you named them after a bunch of those dirty hippies.”
Ruth slammed the door and walked toward her car. She walked faster then usual down the pathway, almost tripping at the end.
Ben ran after her, yelling, “Mom, wait.”
She whipped around and said to him, “Benjamin, look at her your life. Look at your kids. You don’t have a job. You live in squalor most of the time; I know you do. And, you still smoke marijuana! Your father would be heartbroken to see you like this.”
“Mom, I like my life.”
“I think you are the only one who does.” Ruth opened her car door and slammed it shut, the sound cackling though the quiet neighborhood.
As her tires squealed away, the remaining Wolfes continued to stare at each other.
“We’re freaks. It’s official,” Janis whined. “This is gonna cost me a lot in therapy. I know it.”
“I have got to go. Mom, I’ll be back late.” Stevie blew everyone kisses as she walked out of the kitchen. On her way down the walkway, she saw her father, staring at his shoes. He looked at her with big, sad eyes.
“Can I have a hug, Stevie? It’s been a long day.”
Taken aback, Stevie looked at her father for a moment and then nodded. They embraced each other in the twilight, saying nothing.
“Dad, we love you. We’re just a bit angry, but it can change. You have to take the first step though.”
Ben nodded as Stevie walked across the street. A well-dressed man, much older than the one from earlier in the afternoon, waved to Stevie as she approached the red sedan. Ben thought about how that stranger witnessed one of the most intimate moments he and his daughter had shared in years. As the two drove away, Ben felt his throat swell as a tear escaped from the corner of his eye.
“I’ve already lost them,” he said as he walked back up to the house.