Heather Troyer

     My best friend when I was nine decided one night at supper that her favorite animal was a goat.  It was something she had once known and forgotten, actually, so it was more like a memory resurfacing in her stubborn gray matter.  Yeah, that's what it was.  That was the summer she wanted to be an astronaut and insisted on incorporating a shuttle launch into every adventure we took.  The aspect of setting offered no limitation.  We headed for the moon from such various destinations as our favorite pasture to the city library. . .
     "Goat Schmoat," I said.  "Who's favorite animal is a goat?  You're nuts."  Well, no, I guess I didn't say that.  I like to rework scenes from my past in my mind and imagine myself being really aggressive in them.  It's a lot better than remembering what a spineless blob of vanilla pudding I used to be.  I was such a sucker.  What I actually said to my friend after her announcement was, "Oh, really? . . ."
     I wasn't always so passive.  When I was four one time I took the hose that friend and I were getting a drink from and turned it on her.  It was a lot of fun soaking her polyester blue pantsuit to a dark navy and then watching her shake the water out of her hair like a little dog. Her mother really destroyed the jovial mood of the whole affair when she came through the screen door to tell Anna they were almost ready to leave for town.  "Oh, no--what happened?" she immediately questioned.
     "Oh, Helen put water on me," Anna explained.  Her mother surveyed the job while uttering a mixture between a sigh and a groan.  "That wasn't a very nice thing to do to a friend," she said to me reproachfully.  I suddenly felt more sickened with shame than I ever had up to that point in my life.  I expected a tragic end would soon come to Anna's and my relationship, and hopefully shortly thereafter to my own existence.  The only thing that happened, however, was that my mother came to pick me up and then she and Anna's mother both grilled me briefly before the ride home.  It really was unpleasant to be an ornery little girl.  
     Memories are nice, and all, but I'm really glad some of the awkward moments are so far into the past from where I am now. Yeah, I hadn't thought too much about Anna for a while. That's pretty much all I've been doing since I packed twenty minutes ago, though.  I can't believe she's getting married tomorrow.  I can't believe I'm leaving for Dinton, Illinois, in an hour.
     "Look at Helen, just being really helpful to herself, there."
     "Well--I've got to get this assignment done so I can hand it in before I take off in, like, fifty-seven minutes."
     "Yeah, we're just having a grand old time here trying to--wipe chunks of onion off of every object in the room . . . "
     "Jerod, that's so awful--Oh, I think I'll just take out Sybil with my laundry bag--whoops, I forgot about the spaghetti sauce I had stored in there--"
     "Yeah.  Well.  What are the chances?"
     "With you, uh, yeah.  I probably could have guessed."
     . . . "Why won't your mom let us go swimming?"
     "Well, she says it's too cold."
     "But it's really hot!  I'm sweating."
     " . . . Okay, let's leave our shirts and shorts here--"I gave Anna a lacy white hat and took a floppy pink straw one out of the dress-up box for myself.  We walked out to the backyard where the tall wading pool adorned with smiling walruses and frogs stood filled with water leftover from a dip taken several days earlier when the blood in the thermometer had filled its glass tube a little higher.  We hung our hats and panties on the water pump next to the playhouse, and I placed my inner tube in the pool while Anna dropped in the deflated beach ball she was carrying. Both of our older sisters came over just as we were stepping in.  "What are you doing?"
     "Swimming.  Do you want to?"
     "No, um--That's okay.  We'll just watch."  I only paddled about two rounds before my mother came running up to us.  We didn't get to swim that day after all.  But my mom took a picture of us looking sort of sheepish in our hats and underwear holding our gear beside the pool.
     When I was maybe twelve I told someone, my parents, I think, about how Anna always used to tell me at her place "I think we should do what I want because it's my house, "and when we were playing at my house would say, "I think we should do what I want because I'm the guest."  I laughed about it at that point; I guess it was sort of funny.  I didn't mention anything about how I would always burn with anger at the injustice I felt was directed towards me, but after a moment would always say, "Okay."
     . . . "Let's take these boards up now and stick them up for a wall over by that branch."
     " I think boards would look more like a roof than that piece of plastic.  We can put them on after the wall.  We can bring some dolls and stuff out here."
     "Dolls?  No.  I don't want to get them."
     "Well . . . "
     " I think we should do what I want because this is my house."
     ' . . . Okay."  Anna dragged the 4x6 covering her sandbox off the top of it and over to the tree.  "This could be a door--"
     . . . "How much did you make there last summer, Jerod?"
     "Well, I got $250 a week . . . "
     "Wow, that's awesome . . . "
     "Yeah, they just raised minimum wage, too, so--
     "They did?"
     "Yeah--"
     "They raised it above $4.75?"
     "Yeah."
     "That's cool."
     " Hey, I want in on this conversation--Why'd they do that?"
     "To make people with real jobs happy."
     "Yeah, just to give losers like us a thrill, Helen--ha, ha."
     "Just kidding."
     "But doesn't that just mean everything else goes up too?  Like all the prices?"
     "Yeah, that's why it's a vicious cycle."
     "That's capitalism--I don't really understand everything, but--"
     "Hey--instead of being capitalists--we could all be surrealists.  Hah, hah."  Jerod is so odd.  It's great.  But sometimes I need a little explanation.  "What do you mean by that exactly? What would we do?"
     "Well, instead of buying things, we could do things with trees and mirrors . . . "
     Me and Anna and her cousin, our mutual friend Jeanine, were all singing one time--for quite a few months after Jeanine's brother's funeral she and Anna liked to sing the hymns "on Christ the Solid Rock I Stand" and "Children of the Heavenly Father."  I usually joined in, especially on the latter number, since we were singing it in childrens' choir at the time, though I felt like a bit of an imposter since I had shared a lot more distant relationship with the deceased than either Jeanine or Anna.  We were riding in the backseat of Jeanine's parents' car that afternoon.    "Children of the Heavenly Father--" our voices soared into the compact station wagon's red vinyl interior--"safely in His busum gather--" "It's busum," said Anna.
     "Uh-uh," I quickly returned, "it's busum."
     "No," chimed in Jeanine, "it's busum."  I couldn't believe they had joined forces against me.  They were always supposed to be opposed to each other in disagreements and jerk me back and forth between them as a pawn.  I was supposed to be the one they each came to separately to voice their frustrations about the other.  "It's busum," I said shortly and quietly, and entered into their discussion about which way we sang it in choir only briefly before retiring to the windowsill to glare at the passing countryside.  I couldn't help but notice the all-knowing glances the two threw in my direction the next week during rehearsal when the entire choir and the director most distinctly sang out the pronunciation busum, though I did go into a momentary state of shock and embarrassment over the affair, and though they did seem to attempt to assume an air of simple and unconscious curiosity through it all.  That was just annoying, though.  I assumed an air myself as I busied myself with the sheet music in my hand.  A busum was such an aggravating concept, anyway.  It was fine and all when you were just a little third grader like them and the word was just an abstract term . . .
     I'm really a rather uncoordinated sort of athlete.  I don't know why I always let Sybil talk me into playing the winner of she and Jerod's ping pong matches.  Especially thirty minutes before I'm supposed to meet my Dad's cousin to leave for Illinois.  Probably just so they can split their sides with laughter over my awful attempts to gracefully return the ball.  "Hey, Jerod--will
you get me that ping pong ball?"
     " . . . Hey, Helen, I'll get it if you get off of the table."
     " . . . Why?"
     "Because then I'd do something and you'd do something--and we'd both be doing something."
     "Well . . . hey, if you get me that ball then I'll do something with it after you give it to me, and then I'd be doing something . . . "
     "Hah--okay."  Jerod really has that sarcastically dufus-like voice down.  Of course I'll really dufus him when I catapult the ball he just retrieved for me in his direction with the ping pong net.
     "Are you looking forward to the weekend, Helen?"
     "Uh, I don't know--I haven't really talked to this friend for years.  We used to be best friends, but--sort of grew apart, I guess . . . It's just--our families are good friends . . . I guess I'm a little nervous.  I might see people I haven't seen for a long time . . . and we'll all be different . . . "
     "Well, you know--uh, cracking your knuckles sort of relieves tension--well, I mean, it does for me.  Most times.  And--"
     "Ugh, no wonder you have such monstrous joints, Jerod--you freak.  Just kidding, ha, ha."
     "Ah--thanks.  Yeah, I remember when I cracked my knuckles for the first time."
     "Oh, yeah?"
     "Yeah.  I was laying down in the back of the car, and I was looking at the sun--I mean,
right--right at the sun.  And my parents were in the front seat, and they said, 'Hey, Jerod, don't look at the sun,' and I said,'Okay,' and then I just started cracking my knuckles."
     I actually feel closer to relieving myself through tears than through any joint-popping finger stretches.  I'll probably be fine in a few seconds.  I never cry in public.  Except once I did. This one friend of mine, Laurie, shot herself our sophomore year of high school.  We hadn't been too close for a couple of years, especially since we attended different schools.  So when I walked through the visitation line I wasn't sure what to think, and I just looked over a picture of her and this little box of ashes, and then sort of randomly let my eyes travel over a painting of Jesus looking sorrowfully towards heaven and over an organ, and tried not to pay too much attention to this girl shrieking behind me because I was personally feeling extremely calm in body.  Then Laurie's mom hugged me and said, "It's been a long time--too long," and I said "Yeah--" but my vocal chords suddenly turned all jello-y and it came across more like I was choking, and I had never in my wildest dreams imagined embracing Laurie's hard-edged mother, and then I had to shake Laurie's brother's hand--he was just standing there staring at me--and then I had to walk down this endless line of people who said they were her cousins and aunt and uncle and shake their hands, and they were all just standing there staring at me really kindly because I couldn't even make a choking sound anymore and these tears were just coming out of my eyes from nowhere.  I just smiled, sort of, and was really calm.  I tried to soak up my still over-flowing sockets with my sweater when I finally got past them, but it was fairly short and itchy, and not really conducive to the task, and then I looked up, and Gary Kane was just standing there holding out this Kleenex, and I was really surprised because--because he was always just always one of those nasty boys, but I took it, and then I cried just a little more because I was thinking about how Laurie had told such wild stories, like about being from the dark face of the moon, that I hadn't really believed much of anything she said after a while--but I always sort of acted like I did, and pretty much followed every whim she ordered me to in elementary school . . . And then I kicked my shoes off in the front yard of the funeral home and started to run around the side of the building, and I heard Chuck say, "What's she doing? . . . Is she out to ruin her hose?" . . .
     The next night, after Laurie's funeral, I remember that two girlfriends and I and some sort of guy friends packed ourselves into a car and drove to the city to hang out.  It was, um, really boring.  Pointless.  Cruising around, yelling rude things at policeman, wandering around under bridges and over railroad tracks.  At one point we were in the hallway of a University dorm and got spooked when someone walked by.  We ran out the door and down to the place where the new spring grass met with a stone wall that dropped down to a level area bordering the street. As I kicked my legs over the side, I saw Tim below extending a hand to me.  "I don't need any help--I can do it myself!"  I heard the words shout out from my mouth.  I hadn't really planned to say such a thing, and was rather surprised at the passion with which the statement burst forth.  I jumped to the ground and started running.  It wasn't until I reached the street I realized I was by myself.  I turned around towards the wall and stopped short at the odd scenario taking place. The street lamps and buildings and the trees all sort of faded into one big piece of scenery, for all I knew, as the white stone wall drew my attention to my two girlfriends sitting atop it.  They each had ahold of a guy's hand and were getting ready to jump down.  I probably stood fixated there for about two seconds while three distinct thoughts paced their way through my consciousness.  "What are they doing?" came the first "--They don't need any help."  Then "Ohhhh--" a recognition of the little game they were playing hit me hard, and I felt disappointment in them deepen inside of me.  Along with some disgust.  Or just annoyance.  "I'm glad I didn't take any help--" the final thought of the series burst through me as I turned away to gaze at the river on the other side of the street and to revel in the sense of relief flooding me as I pondered my recent narrow escape.  Then I saw Anna come walking down the sidewalk with her current letterman.  I hadn't talked to her for several years at that point.  "Uh, hi," I said.  She smiled sweetly and returned the greeting, but didn't really slacken her pace.  I guess that was when it hit me I was entering a new phase of life. Okay, my former best friend wouldn't do anything more than show me her newly un-braced teeth after I hadn't seen her forever?  I knew she was good friends with that brat Crystal she always used to fight with.  They were almost always together in public places.  I was never anything but nice.  Nice is good.  Good girls are nice.
     "You know, I 'm going to be gone for two days here, so when I get back from the wedding, and all, we'll have to get together for a little bit, but then--we'll really have to stay away from each other next week, because I have to get stuff done before break--and the road trip!"
     "I've got to pee--Yeah--you guys--we're going to be around each other 24-7--"
     "Ahhhh!  I hate that--I hate it when you say that--"
     "Why?  Why, Jerod?  I think it's pretty catchy--"
     "Hey, I'm glad you said that, Jerod--I love to know that--Yeah, well we're going to be with each other all the time, and maybe really get on each other's nerves--"
     "Yeah, that'll be good for our relationship--"
     "I know, I mean I can't wait to fight with you guys . . . I can really get nasty--"
     "I can be really cold--"
     "But, I won't mean it, so just forgive me ahead of time, okay?  I've got to pee."  
     "Okay.  Hey, Jerod, why don't you like '24-7'--"
     "Ahhhhhhhh!"
     "I mean, I'm glad you said that, but I think it's sort of cool, you know."
     "Well--"
     "Do you think it's cliche, and all?"
     "Yeah, cliche, and it's just--"
     "Oh my gosh, I've got to peeeee!"
     "Well, okay, let's make a pact--we won't talk to each other until Thursday night--"
     "We'll talk to each other!"
     "But not for hours--we won't get sidetracked . . . "
     "Okay, Sybil, go pee, I love you, see you."
     "Can I help you carry something?'
     "Ah, thanks, Jerod . . . Yeah--I shouldn't have been fooling around so much these last couple of days.  I think, that, for the next week I'll be studying 24-7--"
     "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
     "Okay, I'll be studying 24 hours every day for the next four days, after I get back, I think . . . "
     "Hah, hah--sorry about that outburst--"
     "No problem.  I'm glad you, uh, expressed your feelings like that.  I have to say, however, that I was annoyed--I really wanted to just sock you--"
     "Hah, you shoulda' . . . "