Monday July 19, 1988
Forget solo fishing at the river, the Swansons made an impromptu trip up to see Paps and Gramma, for which they were due. They had called first but still found them dozing off in the living room. Paps had been more tired than usual lately and was almost convinced to get a fresh checkup, just to be sure.
So that trip did its trick and thankfully no messages on the machine, and watching the miles and farms and towns go by helped our hero process the past week, this scrawny, loony and potentially genius gal had really gotten deeper inside his veins, but now it feels like the needle’s being snapped off.
They dined on wonderful leftovers and didn’t get back till prime time reruns, just reruns and movies, but still, Nick took the couch and joined Irene for Murder She Wrote then dozed in and out during some movie.
After a shower he found hearts of space and dozed off to that, woke up having to pee, thought about shortwave but kept the classical on.
The worst part is not being able to make her laugh. Even if he could call her room…she needs to rest and heal.
He has been trying not to think about, what if she has feelings, hasn’t been time to explore yet. It’s great when they sit close but it doesn’t really stir anything carnal, it’s pretty free from that, like a safe space - a cartoon? Yea, it’s like being in a cartoon the way they riff and play tricks, but it’s just...nice.
Things are never cut and dry in life, are they?
Geena…Geena, Geena, Geena….there’s a bit of stirring there, but too many questions he wouldn’t want to ask.
This is no time for such meanderings though.
Gradually he dozes off longer and longer each time until he hears the piano and abruptly sits straight up, really having to pee at this point and not wearing a stitch. He scrambles himself into some clean drawers, old jeans and a muscle shirt bearing the logo of Ned’s employer then darts into the bathroom, does the morning business and heads down to pour a bowl of generic honey-nut Cheerios.
Before reaching the bottom step, Miss Geena darts over at lightning speed and proves she has freakishly strong arms,
“OH Nick I’m so sorry!”
He tries to respond but can only grunt.
Irene just looks at them with a mixture of surprise and amusement as Geena buries her head in his collarbone and whispers, evidently in prayer.
Finally he manages, “Can’t breathe.” He could actually breathe a little, but the grip she had was quite powerful and he needed to feel free. Plus, her rather pert forbidden fruits pressed against his ribcage are a sensation one does not relish while his mother is watching.
She relents, “Sorry, sorry Nick,” and reaches up to peck his cheek, which sends half his face into a tingly flutter, again, in front of Mom. “You know she’s in God’s hands, we hope for good news today.”
“Yeah definitely.”
Geena heads back to the piano and they pick up as Nick seeks refuge in the kitchen for some late brefkist. Sometimes surrealism becomes a buoyant, sustaining matter in and of itself.
He figures the call will come sometime around mid-day, so there’s a little time for something, but nothing sounds good.
After cereal and some peanut-butter toast he heads upstairs and gets his acoustic out, seems appropriate to bang out some Smoke On The Water in C, but then that’s never been his favorite riff, so it becomes a meditation in some minor chords, Am, Dm, Em, and seems G and C fit in there, all derived from a Mel Bay book.
Nick sets it down to just listen to the piano churning out the familiar bible school standards that they used to sing in the sanctuary amid the crafts, lessons, punch and cookies. One year the aging Mrs. Wallace was handing out the cookies on a napkin and made sure Nick held his with both hands, barking, grab a hold if it! - evidently one little hand wasn’t enough. Nick mentioned that to Irene in recent years and she admitted that Mrs. Wallace wasn’t very pleasant to be around, but then, why the hell did he nearly get decapitated for pointing that out back then?
He may have dozed off again but awakens to some repeated chord phrases that Geena must be working through, so he picks up the guitar again and picks up where he left off. At one point she yells up the stairs,
“That’s pretty, can I come up there?”
Nick gets chills. “Yeah sure.”
The footfalls get closer and she emerges.
Nick keeps the guitar in hand and motions for her to sit on the bed (damn), then asks,
“Are you finished?”
“Taking a break, almost ready for prime time.”
“You sound really good.”
She just smiles.
Nick goes on with his chords, been trying arpeggio and sometimes it comes together, sometimes just a pile of notes, but then he doesn’t do this every day.
“I always wanted to play guitar.”
“Same here.”
She giggles.
“Yeah I just mess around with it, wanted to do metal but that seems lame now.”
“Someone loaned me a Stryper tape one time and it was too much.”
Nick just smirks and keeps strumming, then thinks, why not,
“Do you have time to take a walk? There’s the playground down the street.”
He looks up to find her evidently surprised and maybe delighted.
“I’ve got time, sounds really nice.”
What do girls mean by that? Oh yeah, he uses that word too.
“Cool.”
She shifts her position a couple times, then gets up, “Well she’s probably about ready to keep going, I’ll, umm….”
“Okay.”
Nick watches her leave and notes she smells wonderful, kinda floral, and her white shorts are not revealing but just package her well. The thought of sniffing where she sat makes him chuckle on the inside but he’ll probably turn the bed cover over since it would be like invading her privacy.
He shakes his head, but then, Sab is all about finding fun little distractions wherever she goes, and so…yeah.
* * * * *
“So what do you listen to these days if not metal?”
“Mostly stuff from the library or on 106, found a lot of stuff form the early 70s, Yes, Mott the Hoople, Bad Company, Zeppelin of course, and some newer stuff here and there. I try to tape stuff I like.”
Geena just holds a gaze, an expectant gaze as they stroll to the playground.
“So yeah, mostly rock, starting to like the bluesier stuff.”
She looks forward, time to bring her into it,
“Howbout you?”
After a pause, “You can probably guess, Amy Grant, Sandi Patty, Carman.”
“Why would I guess that?”
“I’m lame.”
“Geena.”
“Nick…how do you feel free…to listen to whatever you want, didn’t you challenge your old church - I mean, sorry if that’s a sore subject.”
“You’re fine, and I just…well, it’s like American history, you have to fight for freedom.”
She sighs heavily.
Nick lets her ponder.
“I’m not sure I want to be that free.”
For some reason a line from Star Trek comes to mind, not that he knows the episodes well, but one time Ned pointed out the one with Khan from the movie. So he offers this,
“Do you watch Star Trek?”
She muses, “Here and there, that's mainly my dad’s thing, why?”
“One time Khan is talking to the woman, she’s part of the crew but they fall in love, he says, stay or go, but do it because you want to.”
After a few steps, “So…”
“Well, to me it’s like, if you find a home in the church, then stay…”
“Oh…and you didn’t?”
“Damn right.”
She giggles.
“Yeah it never made sense to me, and I saw things that seemed wrong, and no one else seemed to care or wanted to fix it.”
She looks over, “You’re an idealist.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
She smiles and takes his arm, and this unlikely pair hits the swings, and she picks it up.
“So you don’t think I’m a square?”
“Actually you’re a babe.”
“WHAT?”
“Did I stutter?” He smiles to soften it up a bit.
“Nick.”
“What?”
“I didn’t expect a complement.”
“How about honesty?”
“I know but you have a girlfriend!” This is in a very emphatic tone, reminds him of Natalie on Facts of Life.
“She’s a friend that happens to be a girl. We just hang out and goof off. It’s like a cartoon.”
They lock eyes through several head-turning cycles of the swings at near-opposite phase, until she looks away and shakes her head. Nick notices her eyes are not brown but a dark suede blue, like that Cars song, but he’s not about to point that out right now.
Finally she continues, “Nick I hope I’m not leading you on, this is really nice, and I didn’t think about starting anything.”
“This is really nice, and I’m in no condition to start anything either, wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Weren’t you seeing someone last year?”
“Yeah, until the apocalypse happened.”
“Oh, yeah, did you stop talking?”
“I got a letter, it messed her up, everyone asking her about it…umm…” Nick trails off.
After a pause she looks at him, “So you haven’t spoken since?”
“The world changed and, well, water under the bridge, you know.”
“What’s her name?”
“Danni Eversole.”
“OH yeah Danni, wow, she’s….wow, if I’m a babe by your standards that really is a complement. We were at the same school till my junior year. Doesn’t she play sports?”
“Best pitcher I’ve ever seen, she’s magic.”
“I could probably get a message to her, you know, if you wanted.”
Nick pauses and looks forward, “We’ll see.”
She keeps looking at him, “Well, the world didn’t completely end did it?”
“No I guess not.”
She keeps looking at him, then, “Nick this is really unexpected, I didn’t think you’d want much to do with me.”
“You’re very sweet.”
“Nick.”
He looks over to find her still gazing but flushed, and instinctively hops off his swing and offers his arm. He has no idea what’s happening. But, he picks it up,
“So you’re doing the crusade thingy soon?”
“Next week, over toward Indy, someone’s putting me up until the dorms open up.”
“Ahh.”
She sighs. “Nick I…”
For some reason he interjects, “Are you seeing anyone?”
She looks at him as if relieved. “Just dates here and there, mostly group things.”
“That’s safe.”
“Yes…yes it is,” with a very knowing emphasis.
“Do you stay with your folks in town then?”
“Yeah, my old room feels smaller and more foreign every time I come home. Didn’t your brother just go into the army? I bet his room will feel strange when he comes back.”
“Still smells like him unfortunately.”
She doubles over laughing and has to stop walking.
He gives her a second to recover, then, “Are you blessed with siblings?”
“I’m the youngest of three, actually I was a surprise, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah I try to avoid surprises.”
She looks over with a very loaded expression and shaking her head. “I need to pray for your mother.”
“I get that a lot.”
She leans on his shoulder and giggles to herself. Girls.
They stroll on, just taking in the day then head back to the house, but Irene has a sober expression.
“Marci called and left her number.”
Once again his limbs feel like those of a mannequins. As he grabs the cordless Irene and Geena exchange glances and head into the living room, Nick dials the number. First try is busy, so he steps out onto the patio and tries again after a few numb, endless minutes.
“Hello?”
“Marci?”
“Yes, Nick?”
“Yes.”
She draws a breath, “I think you know, do I have to say it?”
“I won’t make you say it if you won’t make me believe it.”
She pauses. “I think it’s gonna take time to believe it.”
“Yeah, a long time.”
She takes a couple more deep breaths. “Did you go fishing?”
“No but we took a trip and I had a walk with someone.”
“Good, good.”
“How about you?”
“About the same. Well, there’s more, if you’re ready.”
He blurts out “Go,” and nearly becomes distracted at the succinctness of that command.
“Ok, she asked to be cremated, you know, if she didn’t pull through, so after that they’ll come back and have a memorial service next week. Hopefully I’ll see you then?”
“You can count on it.”
“Thanks Nick. You will always be her friend, remember that.”
“Do the same, hang in there.”
“I will, take care.”
Time to find comfort in the other room, where he relayed the news and the ladies wept, one under each of his arms, somehow, in a calculus he’ll never comprehend, this was very cathartic.
Geena declines an offer to stay for lunch, not wanting to intrude, and when Nick saw her to her car where they exchange a mutual cheek peck.
Irene suggests they go get some flowers to lay on the family’s porch, and so they do that after somber sandwiches, with a note.
Once they get back home Nick tries to reach Deke and finally does at home, and nearly breaks down in the process.
“Nicky we’ll stop by together when they get back, how’s that?”
Other than that he spends a lot of time on the little front steps or the back patio, sometimes you can’t be comfortable in your own skin.
After work Ned sits with him a while and sighs a few times.
“Nick I don’t have to say it, this just ain’t fair.”
“Yeah.”
Then pats his shoulder and heads in.
A bit of wanderlust sets in and he heads out on the bike to ride past the Staas household, and lo and behold, several other bouquets have popped up. This sets the tone for the week, to see how this does.
As the sun sets, classical radio for the save.