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Going Home

Steven Hicks

    Richard sat at the small wooden table that occupied a large portion of his room. The window was open and the curtain drawn to the side, letting in what passed as a breeze. He was irritated at the bill in his hand — Rent: May 1942 — $22.50 — Richard creased it twice and shoved it into his shirt pocket. He never missed a month’s rent, not even when he was suspended from work for three days without pay. The note was on the door when he got home. On the table, in front of him, was a half empty bottle of Old Crow (with its familiar black bird logo), his only drinking glass, and a white sealed envelope.
    Richard wiped sweat from his forehead and rubbed at his ears; he could never get his ears warm enough. After ten-hours in the packing plant, it always took two or three drinks to start feeling warm again. Mondays were always the hardest. He poured another glass and, as he looked around the room, his gaze fell on the old nightstand. The torn and yellowed letter from his mother lay creased where he put it. It was the promise she made so long ago, and he still read it every night. Next to it was a dried rosebud, the first thing that Marie had given him. Richard looked back toward the window. It didn’t take much to see everything in this small room that became his home twenty-two months ago.
    Richard took a drink and leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed.
    Twenty-two months. Almost the same amount of time he’d spent in Yuma. He’d been sentenced to fifteen months, which had turned into twenty months, eighteen days. Richard got the additional five months tacked on after he snuck food from the dining hall back to his cell. The warden had called it theft. Richard had just called it hunger.
    The knock at the door startled him.
    “Rich! Phone for you, and hurry it up buddy, would ya?” Rod bellowed through the door.
    “Yeah, yeah. Coming.” Richard got up and, draining the glass, followed the receding footsteps from his room. He took the creaky stairs two at a time and turned left at the bottom. The black phone was on the counter, the handset on its side near the phone. Richard smoothed his hair and picked it up.
    “Marie?” he said.
    The voice on the other end was quiet and a bit weak, definitely not Marie’s. Then he knew.
    “Aunt Lucille? How are you doing?”
    “Oh, you know. It’s been tough off and on. It got pretty bad awhile back, just before I got the first letter from you. You know how it is. I can’t thank you enough, Richard. Those letters you’ve sent have made all the difference in the world. I’ve been okay. ‘Cepting it’s no fun getting old. Things just sorta wear out.”
    “Yep, they do.” Richard’s voice trailed off. He rubbed his ears without thinking.
    “Hey! Our little Janie ain’t so little no more. She’s getting married. Just over a month from now, June twelfth. She’s marryin’ that Boldridge boy, Seth.”
    A fleeting picture of those seven brothers flashed through Richard’s mind. They were one of the few families back then that had gone to St. Stephens.
    “Seth just finished his training over at Fort Sill, and is about to get sent off somewhere. He is dead set on gettin’ out there to fight them Japs. We are prayin’ that he’s sent somewhere else. Anyway, I know it’s been a long time and I know how you feel, but can you make it here for the wedding, Richard...? Richard...?” she asked.
    He paused, “I’m not sure if I can. Will Janie want me to be there, Aunt Lucille? I can’t picture her being too happy to see me, especially since...well, everything.”
    He had stayed away a long time, not because he didn’t love her, but because he never figured out how to tell Janie he couldn’t keep his word. It was his fault that their daddy had to leave to find work. How was he supposed to tell her what happened? That he had finally gotten one of those WPA jobs, building that Highway 81, down from Wichita to Dallas, and then managed to get himself hit by a truck. Richard still didn’t know how he would tell her that both their parents were dead.
    “Boy? Are you listening to me? Richard, I told you that old stuff don’t matter no more. It was those times; everyone had it bad. Maybe you more’n most.”
    “Well,” Richard said, “I’m not sure if I can get the time off, we been working a lot of overtime, and then there’s Marie. She’s my girl and it’s gotten pretty serious.” Richard could hear his aunt’s drawn out sigh through the phone. “The train will take a while to get there and back. Hey, I almost forgot, I got an envelope here I was about to send out your way.”
    “Richard, stop. I’ve heard you try and change the subject since you was little.”
    “All right. I’ll try. That’s all I can say. Just don’t tell Janie I’m coming yet. In case I don’t make it.”
    “You just get down here, and bring that envelope as a weddin’ gift. Anyway, I love you boy. You know you always have a home here.” Lucille’s voice always could melt butter.
    “Love you too.”
    Richard hung up the phone and walked away. He hoped Lucille was right, although it wasn’t just about going home again. He got the idea that it was more about Janie than home. He just didn’t have it all worked out. As he climbed the stairs, he muttered wistfully, “It would be real nice to have a sister again.”
*
     Richard watched Marie making her way back to the table. Even at a distance he saw the beauty of her shoulder-length red hair, which bounced as she walked towards him. Although she was gone for only a few minutes, it was long enough for Richard to check his wallet. The Mission Inn was expensive, and he wanted to make a good impression. He saw the table as lavish, a starched tablecloth, butter pressed into the shape of a rosebud, two wine glasses, and a crystal candlestick with a glass chimney. Richard looked up to her standing behind her chair, a vision in a blue dress, with white gloves and a small clutch under her arm. He jumped up to pull her chair out for her, and slid it in as she sat. The Spanish Patio was beautiful.
    Conversation was hushed; it formed an intimate bubble around them. They spoke of unimportant things, such as work and what movies were playing at the theater. They also talked of deeper things, the war (for Marie’s brother was already in Hawaii) and her parents. Although Richard had met her parents several times, Marie had never told him what they thought of him. They were two people having supper together, sharing a moment, and holding hands across the table. Richard tried to tell her about Janie and Oklahoma, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He did point out to Marie that Judy Garland was being seated, three tables over. He knew she loved that actress.
*
    Richard stood in line the same as every Friday, waiting outside the boss’s office like everyone else, to collect his pay envelope from that tight-fisted roly-poly Mr. Edward. Richard knew now how to wait quietly for his pay. While he waited for his very first paycheck, he had talked with another box man who was complaining about his pay. It was funny that Richard couldn’t remember what that man’s name was, or what was actually said, but Mr. Edward overheard them and docked Richard’s next check for discussing private information with another employee. Since that time, Richard had never complained again, or listened to any complaints, within earshot of the boss.
    “Mr. Edward?” he said.
    “Yes, Richard. Something I could do for you?” Mr. Edward swiped at his nose with a dirty handkerchief.
    “Yes, Mr. Edward. My baby sister is getting married in June and I haven’t seen her in years.”
    “Fine, Richard. Sounds real fine, but what do you need?”
    “Well, the wedding is actually on the twelfth, but I will need to take the train out to Oklahoma and back again. Then, I’ll have to spend a couple of days there with my aunt, and make sure everything is all right. She’s a widow and has a pretty big place.”
    Mr. Edward wiped his nose again. “You’ve been a good worker here, Richard, and I would hate to lose you. However, I just can’t spare anyone right now. You know how it is; we are short men already, and with this war on we’re sure to be losing more. The owner has already suggested we start hiring women.” Disgust was heavy in his voice.
    “But, Mr. Edward. This is important to my family and me. I wouldn’t just ask for time off for any old thing, I hope you know that.” Richard hated begging. It made him feel like a child who had shit his pants in public.
    “I’m just telling you how it is. I can’t approve you leaving, and if you take time off without approval, we will have to find someone else to fill your spot.”
    “Thanks, Mr. Edward. I appreciate your understanding.” Richard wheeled around and left the office. “Thanks, a lot.” Pulling out his watch, he saw he had about twenty minutes to get to the bank. Richard carefully closed the watch and picked up his pace. He passed the Texaco on Eighth, and the old Washington Restaurant, now closed. A big banner still hung inside the front windows proclaiming, “We are Americans.” Richard had watched, weeks ago, as soldiers put the Harada family into a truck and drove away. The bank was at the corner of Seventh and Market.
    Richard entered the Bank of America with seven minutes to spare. He filled out his deposit slip and decided to keep out a few extra dollars to buy something nice for Marie. He was certain that she was not going to like the discussion about Oklahoma. Maybe some flowers or a box of chocolates would help. The teller smiled as he stepped up. “Hello Mr. Mullins. How are you today?”
*
    Richard sank deep into the plush velvet seats of the Lido Theater. Marie had surprised him by being dressed and ready to go on time. Settled in, his right arm around Marie’s shoulders and her head resting against his; they waited for the premiere of Citizen Kane to begin. He still had no idea what to do about Janie’s wedding. His hope of a boring movie giving him a chance to think and decide was shot when Marie said she had been waiting weeks for this movie to come out. Richard checked his watch again, and saw that there was still five minutes to go. He closed the watch, listening for that slight metallic snick.
    The sheriff down in Goree had given him the watch along with his father’s wallet. In the wallet, Richard had found his father’s driver’s license, an old wedding picture, a WPA work card, and three two-dollar bills. The money had been long spent, the wallet with the license and work card had been thrown away, and the picture was for Janie. He had kept the watch. Later that day, he stood over his father’s grave, unable to find words that sounded appropriate.
    “I love you, Daddy. I know that you’re with Momma now.” Richard wondered how he was ever going to tell Janie.
    Richard looked over at Marie, and found her staring at the screen, her arms crossed over her chest and lips in a pout.
*
     “So where does that leave us?” Marie asked. She sat across from Richard in the small Gaslight Café. Two cups of coffee and an unopened Whitman’s Sampler box were on the table.
    Richard knew no matter what he said, it would be wrong. “Marie, you know how I feel about you, but I care for my family too. Why does this have to be all or nothing?”
    “Richard,” her voice broke, “can you tell me when you will be coming back? I am twenty-three years old and not getting any younger.”
    Richard shook his head. “I’m not sure. I just don’t know how things will go.”
    “Well. You have to leave in what, seven days?”
    “Six, really,” he said.
    Marie stood. “You decide what’s more important, Richard Mullins. It seems you can’t say it so I will. I love you, Richard. You decide and let me know.”
    Richard stayed silent, his anger rising as he watched Marie walk out of the Café. He was angry with Marie and angry with Mr. Edward but, most of all, angry with himself. He sat there for a long time and finally came to the conclusion that it wasn’t about family. He could have a family here, with Marie. However, Janie held something that he needed, something that Marie couldn’t give him. The gift of forgiveness. Richard didn’t expect to receive it; after all, how could Janie forgive him, when he couldn’t forgive his Momma?
*
    It was difficult for Richard to make the final decision to go back. After the call from his Aunt Lucille, he knew he had to weigh the chance of having a family, a sister and an aunt, with the reality of what he did have, a good job and a woman who would do most anything for him. Had it not been for the conversation at the Gaslight Café, he might have decided to stay. As it was, Richard threw a few things into his suitcase, picked up his old letters, and got a train ticket out of Riverside. He headed to the train station and thought, ‘To hell with Mr. Edward, and his job.’
*
     “Ardmore! Next stop, Ardmore.”
    The conductor’s voice broke through the last veils of sleep, and Richard opened his eyes, unsettled. Inside his jacket pocket, Richard’s fingers touched the all-familiar brittle edges of creased paper, and with a feeling of reassurance he lifted the brim of his hat and sat up straight. He smiled as he felt Marie’s kiss on his lips just before boarding. Her hurried goodbye, and the whispered, “I love you. Take your time...but come back.” made him sure of his actions.
    Outside the window, the sun was low in the sky and the land had a familiar look to it. He debated hiring a car, but it was only about a three-mile walk to Aunt Lucille’s place, and he was only a little out of shape. The sun was already hot, and those three miles were beginning to feel like thirty. Richard mopped his brow and took a deep breath; he had forgotten what June in Oklahoma could be like. Auntie’s property was up ahead. There were signs of work being done, and it had a new coat of paint, but it was her house, no doubt about it. Richard ran, made it the last few hundred yards and started up the drive. Each step closer to the house made the years disappear.
*
    It had been almost dark, when Richard made it to his Aunt Lucille’s. Little Janie had fallen asleep on one shoulder, while he had carried their duffle on the other. Richard had been exhausted; he was small in stature for his sixteen years. His bare feet were sore, and he had not understood all of what had happened. He didn’t think that Auntie Lucille would be able to take on two more mouths to feed, but Momma had been so certain in her letter and she promised she would get well and come back. Her letter had said, “The doctor is sure that my lungs aren’t too bad this time, I just need rest and medicine. It may only take a couple of months and I’ll be right as rain and back here with you.” Richard never understood why she had left without even saying goodbye that morning. She left a doll for Janie, a duffle for Auntie, and a letter for him.
    He had walked up to the door and knocked, trying to keep Janie asleep. Aunt Lucille cracked open the door and, after a single look, had opened up and brought them both inside. Auntie had been wonderful, and she had tried the best she could, but it was obvious to Richard that something had to change. Auntie couldn’t have loved them more. She took care of Janie as if she was her own. However, there had not been enough of anything for all of them, since soon after they arrived. So, seven months after having come to Auntie Lucille’s, Richard woke up early one morning and went into Janie’s room. Waking her, he explained that he had to leave; that he had to go find their daddy.
    Janie looked directly into his eyes. “Are you coming back, Ricky?”
    “Of course I am. As soon as I find Daddy, and get Momma, we’ll be back here for you and we’ll be a family again.”
    Richard felt Janie’s eyes boring a hole through him. She had a way of making him squirm.
    “I promise, Janie. I will be back,” he repeated himself.
    Janie had given him a quick kiss and hug, and he went back to his room. He had written Auntie a note saying that he was headed down to Texas, to look for his father, and work. That he would send money when he could to help with his sister, and to please make sure that Janie knew he loved her.
    Richard felt horrible as he closed the door to the house and stood at the steps looking out toward the highway. He finally jumped to the ground running, in his haste to get away.
*
    The door to the house opened, and Aunt Lucille stood there. She was much heavier, much grayer, and much older looking than she had been back in 1933. Back when the President made a call to arms on the radio, a New Deal for all Americans. Stepping in, Richard opened his arms and hugged her.
    “I can’t believe you made it back here, Richard,” she said. “Janie will be so happy when she gets back and sees you.”
    “Will she?” Richard said, “Auntie, how happy do you think she can be to see the one person that lied to her? Did you tell her I was coming?”
    “No, I wanted it to be a surprise. She is just in town getting a few things. Should be home any time now. Wait and see. She is goin’ to be so happy to see you.” Auntie went to the kitchen and brought out a glass of sweet tea. Handing it over to Richard, she motioned for him to sit.
    “Auntie?” Richard said, “I am sorry for leaving here like I did back then. I just didn’t see any other way of it. You were doing all you could, and Uncle Bob was so sick. I didn’t want to be a burden on you and I needed to find daddy.”
    “Tchh. Tchh. Tchh.” Auntie stopped him. “Aint no reason to apologize. Lord, men have done what they needed to from the beginning. You were just a little young to have to become a man is all. But you’re here now. The wedding’s in two days, and we are hoping you can stay for a while. Besides, I could use a bit of help around the place.”
    “That’s why I love you, Auntie.”
*
    Richard had visited the Southern Oklahoma Sanitarium. He had found out that his mother had been moved to a different facility, down in Dallas, which was supposed to be able to attend to her needs better than they could. It took him about a year to make his way down there, only to find it gone. A patient managed to sneak cigarettes into her room and fell asleep one night with one lit. The fire had destroyed most of the building; seventeen patients and four employees had been killed. When he spoke to the head nurse, she told him that there were no personal items remaining and his mother had been number six of the seventeen. Richard finally figured out that she meant that Momma was the sixth one identified.

    The door opened, “Home, Auntie Lu.” Janie sang out.
    Richard started to his feet. He had dozed off. “Is that you, sis?”
    Janie stopped just inside the door. Richard looked up and saw her silhouetted in the doorway. She was taller than he, had shoulder length brown hair, and was beautiful. He stood, still as a statue, “Hello, Janie.”
    Janie stopped, started to speak, spun and walked back out the door, shutting it behind her.
    Richard stood, waiting. Seconds ticked away, then minutes.
    He looked back toward the kitchen to see Lucille standing there as well, her mouth hanging open.
    Taking it in stride, Lucille just said, “Richard, just sit down boy. Give her some time. Janie grew up headstrong, but she’ll come back once she takes the time to think.”
    Richard drank the coffee Lucille brought out to him. He checked his watch once more, 8:22 pm. Three hours had passed. “Auntie? Maybe I should head back to California tomorrow.”
    The front door opened again, and Janie entered. She said, “Before you say anything, just listen. I am sorry Auntie Lu; you raised me better than that. I should have given Richard a chance to talk. I acted like a child, when I am supposed to be all grown up.”
    Richard stood up, “Janie, come and sit. I need to apologize too.” He sat as his sister did. “I failed you. I couldn’t do what I promised, and I couldn’t bring myself to admit to you that I failed. No one understood how I felt back then. That if I had just been a little bigger, I could have worked. Daddy wouldn’t have had to leave. It was because of me that he left and all this happened.” Richard pulled out his wallet and, opening it, he pulled a single photograph out. He handed the wedding picture of their parents to Janie. “This was in with Daddy’s stuff when I found him.”
    Janie looked at the picture and looked back up to Richard.
    “Janie, please. Say something.”
    “Richard, I know about momma, and had a pretty good idea about daddy. You should remember that everybody around here knows what color you poop.”
    Richard couldn’t help but laugh and handed her his cup of coffee. “I never thought of you growing up. I lost sight of that somewhere along the way. It seems that I made more mistakes than I thought.
    Janie took a drink and said, “Only one, Richard. Not coming back home. I missed you and Auntie Lu wouldn’t tell me where you were. That was your doing wasn’t it?”
     “Janie. I was just away,” Richard said. A smile grew on his face. “Auntie agreed with me that it was better this way.”
*
    Late that night, Richard crept downstairs and sat in front of the still burning logs in the fireplace. Looking at the stiff, yellowed paper that held the promise his mother made him so long ago, he dropped it into the fire. As the paper caught, Richard watched it burn.
    Quietly he offered a short prayer, “It’s ok Momma. I understand now it wasn’t your fault. Maybe it will all work out. I should have believed in Janie more than I did.”
    He sat down at the wooden kitchen table and wrote a letter to Rod at the hotel. He told Rod to rent out his room, and if he had left anything in it, Rod could keep it. He sat there looking out at the fire until the embers died down, thinking of Marie. Several minutes passed and Richard stood up and walked across the room to the counter, picked up the phone and dialed Marie’s number.
    Richard knew he was going to wake her, but it didn’t matter.
    “Hello?” her voice was sleepy.
    “Marie...Marie, its me, Richard. I’ve gotta ask you. What do you think about being a farmer’s wife?”

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