I went to pay another week on my room and the little foreign guy behind the desk told me I had a message.
“A message? What do you mean I have a message?” I couldn’t think of anybody who would even THINK of leaving a message. Who does that? I didn’t owe anybody; and anybody I would’ve owed money to certainly would not have left a message.
“Yees sir,” the little guy nodded. He was easier to deal with than the chunky bitch he split desk duty with. And he was even mildly friendly – as long as you could pay him. I saw him rip into a tenant once because he was trying to work out a deal. The guy had enough money to pay for three nights, and he said he just needed a little more time to come up with the rest. The problem was, he only had enough money for three days at the weekly rate, and he was trying to play off of the desk clerk’s sympathy. He used all the cards. Unemployment. Alimony. Child Support. A sick mother in need of a kidney transplant. I had to hand it to the guy; he knew better than to try and go up against the bitch. She would have had him out on his ass three seconds after the words left his mouth. The little foreign dude – who told everyone to call him Dave – stood and listened. And the more the guy talked, the less Dave smiled. And when the tenant was finished, Dave laid into him with a litany of English curse words and insults mixed with some other language that only made Dave sound like he was putting a voodoo curse on the poor bastard. By the time Dave was finished, the guy put down the cash he had – which only gave him another night at the regular rate – and slunk away like a beaten dog.
Dave liked me because I paid on time and I paid in cash. He didn’t like credit cards because the motel still used one of those carbon copy receipt machine and it usually took a month or so to find out whether the card was still good. But I paid in cash and I didn’t make trouble. I put money down for another week, and he gave me a hand written receipt, along with a piece of paper with a name and a phone number written on it.
It was the number to another hotel. My sister Ruby was in town.
Yeah, I thought. She would leave a message. That was just her style. Ruby traveled a lot because of her job. She’d gone to college, dropped out, started working as a secretary and worked her way up over the years and after countless night and online classes to the mid-executive level of a fairly successful educational software company. Her husband was a thoroughly devoted school teacher at a small private high school, and their kids were prodigies in waiting who attended private schools that would, in Ruby’s words, “draw out their talents and expand their possibilities.” She talked like that a lot. Sometimes I got the sense she borrowed heavily from infomercials and pamphlets she found in the various hotels she stayed in when she traveled.
I thought about not calling her. Don’t get me wrong; I love my older sister. But we never had much in common. She was a full ten years older than me. She was out of the house and on her own before I turned nine. I saw her on holidays, and sometimes on my birthdays. The last conversation she and I had was about a job I’d quit in a soap warehouse that our uncle had gotten for me. She did most of the talking. She called me spoiled and lazy. She said I was a leech. She told me she wished mom would just kick me out of the house. Then she said that I was making mom’s life harder than it needed to be and if I loved her at all, I’d get a job and get out. I left home not long after that.
Against my better judgment, I decided to go ahead and call her. I didn’t want to take the chance that she’d actually come looking for me; not that I thought she would. But there was always the chance, and I didn’t want to hear her bitch about how I lived. I called hoping she would be out. No such luck. When the phone in her room rang she picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?”
“Hey sis,” I said. “How are things?”
“I wasn’t sure you’d call,” she answered. “I thought I was going to have to come and find you.”
“I figured you’d be too busy for that,” I answered. “Besides, why wouldn’t I want to talk to my sister?”
She snorted. “Yeah, well. So, how have you been?”
“Peachy. You know. Living the life.”
“Which life is that?”
“Mine.”
She snorted again, and I thought I could hear her rolling her eyes. “I see. Are you going to be free for dinner in the next couple of days?” she asked. “Or does living the life take up most of your time?”
Sigh. My head was started to hurt. “I can be free. How long are you in town?”
“Until Wednesday,” she said.
“Ok.” Shit. “What day is it?”
Ruby sighed audibly. “It’s MONDAY, kid. Geez. Don’t you look at a calander?”
“How about tomorrow night?” I asked.
“Fine,” she answered. “Where do you want to meet?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said.
“That works,” she said. “How about six o’clock?”
“Smashing,” I said. “Just smashing. You’ll know me by the red carnation in my lapel.”
“Whatever,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”
After she hung up I went up to my room and debated the wisdom of my decision. Clearly Ruby was in town on business and seeing me was a convenient afterthought. I hadn’t seen anybody in family since I left home. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide, exactly. I always made sure they had some idea where I was. But there wasn’t a lot to say. If something was wrong at home, Ruby wouldn’t have waited until the next night to see me; she would’ve told me over the phone.
I took the bus to her hotel. Naturally she was close to the airport, staying at the Marriot and it took me three connections to get there. The Marriot isn’t the swankiest hotel chain around; but it’s one of those places where the people behind the reservation desk smile and greet you when you walk through the door. It’s a little unnerving, actually. They’re all bleached smiles and coordinated outfits with ugly blazers. I nodded at them and made my way through the lobby to the bar. All shiny hardwood and brass fixture. All the beers on tap were imports. The bottles of liquor shined like a dozen stars. I ordered bourbon over ice and told the bartender to put it on Ruby’s room. The flat screen TV above the bar was turned to Fox News. Bill O’Reilly was ranting and trying to stir up the national xenophobia that had made him rich. You watch guys like him long enough and the words start to run together; then all that’s left is a big clown head making hissing noises and with veins popping out of their enflamed foreheads. They’re like bad Macy’s Day Parade balloons that never seemed to float away.
“I hope you’re not putting a lot of those on my tab,” she said coming up behind me. “I’m on the corporate account.”
I turned to face to her. She had changed very little since the last time I saw her. The only evidence that she had aged at all was the tired look in her eyes.
“It’s nice to see you, too, sis,” I answered.
“You’re not drunk are you?”
I downed my drink. “Nope,” I said. “Only had one.”
“Just now or today?”
Some things never change. “Did you call me just to give me shit?” I asked. “I can get that other places that don’t require three bus transfers.”
She sighed and gave me a hug. I hugged her back. It felt a little odd, since I couldn’t remember her ever hugging me before. Not even when I was a kid. “It’s good to see you little bother,” she lied. “Where do you want to go? My treat.”
“Your treat, you choose.”
We left took the elevator to the garage and she drove us to a nearby steak house. While we were waiting to get be seated, she updated me on her husband and kids. Darrin, the hubby, was now a principal and looking to move into a superintendent’s position. Her daughter was in junior high and the boy was turning into a little league star. She’d just been promoted again after her company was bought out by a larger competitor. Darrin had a brief health scare, but he was taking better care of himself.
“How’s mom?” I asked after we finally got seated and ordered our drinks. Ruby drank iced tea. I ordered a beer.
“She’s fine,” Ruby answered. “Same as always. The kids love her, though.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. It makes things easier. She misses you. Talks about you all the time.”
“That’s gotta get boring,” I said. “There’s not that much to talk about.”
“Is that why you never call?”
“I call,” I shot back, “when I have something to say.” So that’s it, I thought. She called just to try and guilt trip me. I’m not sure why I was surprised. Or why it bothered me. I should have anticipated it.
“She was in the hospital a few months back,” Ruby said.
“Was it serious?”
“No,” she said. “But it could’ve been.”
“What was it?”
“Her back. She had to have surgery on her back.”
“Did she want me there?”
“She might have liked to see you, yeah,” Ruby answered. She was about to say something else when the waitress came back with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. Ruby ordered a grilled chicken taco salad. I ordered a steak dinner. If I was stuck listening to her tell me what horrible son and terrible human being I was, I figured I might as well eat something good so the trip wasn’t a total waste. Besides, I couldn’t remember the last time I had a steak. After the waitress left, I downed half the glass of beer and waited for Ruby to continue the onslaught. Some things never change, and people rarely do. The only thing I could figure was that she was bored with bullying her husband and controlling the lives of her children, so she decided to look me up. Catch up on all the verbal abuse I was missing.
“She’s fine,” Ruby said. “In case you’re wondering.”
“Good,” I said.
“But you should call her.”
“I will.”
The waitress stopped by and asked if I wanted another beer. I said yes. Ruby didn’t say anything, but she shook her head.
“How much are you drinking these days?” she asked.
“How much are you drinking?”
“I’ve been sober for three years,” she said.
“Congratulations,” I said. I never even knew she drank. Not that we would’ve bonded even then. Drinking in our family was less of a social building block and more a fact of existence. I remember going to family reunions as a kid and noticing that three of the four coolers were filled with beer. When I was seven I snuck my first taste from an older cousin’s can of Schlitz. When my grandfather died, his one remaining brother showed up to the funeral hammered. “So how much are you drinking?”
“I don’t really keep track,” I said. “That might distract me from all the important ass scratching and nose picking.”
She made a face. “Don’t be gross.”
“Not to mention my extensive navel lint collection.”
“Now you’re being an ass.”
“And you’re not? Listen, I know we don’t talk much, but that doesn’t give you the right to ride my ass. Okay?”
Ruby waved her hands in defeat. “Fine,” she sighed. For a couple of seconds she couldn’t think of anything to say. I suspected that she was going through the list in her head, trying to find something civil to talk about. I decided to through her a bone.
“So it sounds like work is going well, then.”
She shrugged. “It goes ok. We’re expanding. The recession means that state universities are losing funding and have to find ways to streamline.”
“And you’re there to fill the gap,” I said. “Good for you.”
“Have you thought about going back?”
She couldn’t last more than two minutes. “Go back where?”
“To college. To school.”
“I don’t belong there.”
“You didn’t. But maybe you do now.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have the patience for all the bullshit.”
“It’s hard work,” she said. “But it’s worth it. Sometimes I wish I’d gone straight into college instead of getting a job. Things might have been easier.”
“You’re doing pretty well for yourself.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But what about you?”
I didn’t feel like talking about me. I’d heard all of this before. Growing up, I was told from the age of five that I was going to go to college. I was tracked into college prep classes in high school when my friends were taking shop and art. I learned the art of regurgitation, thinking that once I got to college, I’d be able to think my own thoughts. But when I got to college, it was the same thing. They talk. I tell them what they just told me. There are cheaper ways to find that kind of bullshit in the world.
“So if Darrin gets this superintendent gig, does that mean you’re going to have to move?”
She shook her head. “No. It wouldn’t be good for the kids to change school districts. Besides, now is a bad time to try and sell a house. But it’ll be a short commute for him.”
“Cool.”
We forced our way through more chit chat until the food came. She talked about dance lessons. Apparently she and Darrin were taking dance lessons: ball room, line dancing, whatever. Before her business trip, they had taken a class on the polka.
“The polka?” I asked. “Why the polka?”
“Darrin’s family is German.”
“I thought he was from Illinois.”
Then she told me not to be an ass. I ordered another beer. We didn’t talk much through dinner – the whole eating while talking thing was never big in our family. The streak was thin and a little on the tough side, and the steamed vegetables were mushy; but it was a square meal and I was grateful for it. Besides, you can put enough ketchup and hot sauce on anything to make it edible. Eating dinner with Ruby made me think of family gatherings. We used to get together for Thanksgiving. The entire family, including second and third cousins and those long lost grand-aunts who send you birthday cards with a quarter taped to the inside of the card. They were always loud, talkative occasions. I usually got stuck at the kid’s table with all the cousins and I never knew what to say to them. As I got older, I just ate until I was full and then found a chair to fall asleep in. By the time I was old enough to refuse to go, the big family Thanksgivings had disappeared, along with all the grand aunts and uncles and numerous cousins who all seemed to know one another better than I knew them or they knew me.
When we finished, she offered to drive me back to the Lost Dutchman. I wasn’t sure I wanted her to see where I lived; not because I was ashamed but because I knew it would just give her more excuses to be critical.
But I didn’t feel like dealing with three bus transfers, either. So I decided to let her and just deal with whatever shit she pulled.
The chit chat in the car was even more forced; there was not a whole lot left to talk about. She asked if I was working, and I lied and said I was. I told her about the last warehouse gig I’d been on so that when she reported back home she’d have something to tell everybody. It wasn’t that I thought anybody was really worried about me; it was more like they were worried that they might have to lie for me and cover their shame. It wasn’t that I didn’t think they loved me. Loving someone and liking somebody are two different things, and so was feeling a sense of pride. People were generally proud of Ruby because she was smart and because she had earned everything she had the hard way. And I guess she deserved it. But she and I were just different, and it didn’t take anybody long to notice that. If someone did know who we were, they didn’t realize we were related until they were told.
As we pulled into the parking lot at the Lost Dutchman, I prepared myself for the attack. Surely she’d have to say something; she couldn’t help herself.
“Listen,” she said as she pulled the car into a parking spot and put it in park. “Have you thought about coming home?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” she turned to face me, “come home. You’re struggling out here, obviously. Mom wants you to come home. Out here you’re all alone, and if something were to happen…”
“I’m fine,” I said on the defense. “I know it’s not the pretty suburban life, but it’s MY life.”
She shook her head. “Listen,” she said, “I didn’t mean to sound critical. It’s just… mom is worried about you. And I know you don’t want to go back and live with her. But you could stay with us if you wanted to. Until you got on your feet. We just converted a room in the basement that you could use. It would be temporary.”
I shook my head. “There’s nothing there for me, Ruby.”
“What do you mean? What about your family?”
“Do you honestly want me living in your basement? Does Darrin? I’m not… comfortable in the same kinds of places you are, Ruby. It’s not me.”
She gestured out the window towards the motel. “And THIS is?”
“Maybe,” I said. “It’s not perfect. It’s not pretty. But it’s honest.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to.”
She sighed. “Listen, just THINK about it, okay? And if you don’t have the money to get home, don’t worry about it. I’ll loan it to you. Okay? Just say you’ll think about it.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said, not really intending to. “What time does your flight leave?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
I started to get out. “Safe travels, sis. Tell anybody who cares that I said hi.”
“I will.” She gave me another uncomfortable hug and I got out of the car. I got out, closed the door, and lit a cigarette. I waited until she pulled out of the parking to walk up the stairs. Loyce was sitting out in front of her room smoking a black and mild. She smiled at me.
“Hi honey.”
“Hi Loyce.”
“She looked nice,” Loyce said with a smile and a wink.
“My sister,” I said. “She’s in town on business.”
“Oh.” Loyce nodded. “She didn’t want to come up and see the grand palace?” She laughed.
“I thought it might be too much for her,” I said, taking a drag off my cigarette. “You know. I wouldn’t want to shock her sensibilities.”
Loyce looked at me cock-eyed. “You talk funny sometimes,” she said.
“I know.”
“You go to college?”
“Not very long.”
“You should,” she said. “You’re smart.”
“Uh-huh.” I dropped the used cigarette but, stepped on it, and turned to open my door. “Take it easy.”
“Ain’t no other way,” she said, and chuckled.
