juliaj
06-25-2011, 12:19 AM
Egypt, Texas
Pop. 26
My dad whooped and held onto his new cowboy hat, as if he was riding a bull into our new hometown rather than an SUV.
“I guess they’ll have to change the sign to 28 now, huh Wendy?” he said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Dad had decided that it would be a character-building adventure for us to run a farm for a couple of years. I didn't mind the idea of working on a farm, but I did have a problem with the location. What people don’t realize about Texas is that it is in fact a civilized state, even in the rural parts. Except for Egypt. Egypt can’t be called back-woodsy because there are no woods, and the people can’t be called Hillbillies because there are no people. If Dad really wanted an adventure, we should have moved to the actual country of Egypt. The only thing that would build my character in Egypt, Texas was the antique shop.
We pulled into our dirt driveway with the moving vans just behind us. I felt a little ridiculous carrying our wide screen tv and magic bullet into our new Egyptian home, but then I remembered that no one was around to see it. There were only two houses close enough to call neighbors. After Dad had visited both of them, I learned that the house to our left belonged to a “lovely” sugar cane farmer and her son, who was sixteen, a year my senior. His name was Marvin, and he was tall and lanky with greasy black hair. His mother invited us to dinner that night. Marvin spoke very little, and kept staring at me throughout the meal. One of the few things he mentioned was that he collected family heirlooms. I assumed this meant Grandma’s hairbrush or Grandpa’s war medals, but to Marvin, family heirlooms were other people’s discarded bowling trophies and lost teeth that he found at garage sales or in the dumpster behind the antique store. In the house across the street lived a retired rancher and his wife, who’s twelve-year-old grandson thought he could achieve great advancements for the scientific community by blowing things up in his front yard. These two guys were my only contacts for the remaining four weeks of the summer, before school started. I decided that it would be best if I spent those weeks sitting in my house alone.
“Why don’t you invite Marvin over?” my father suggested one morning as I sat glued to the old television, as usual. I didn’t even bother responding to that one.
“Oh come on,” he replied to my silence, “I know he’s different from your friends back in Dallas, but you should give him a chance. His mother is nice.”
“You mean she’s pretty.”
“Just give him a shot,” Dad said, ignoring my retort, “He’s close to your age. You’ve got to have something in common.”
I grumbled, not moving from my chair. Dad sighed and left the room.
That Saturday at 6:13 AM, I awoke to what sounded like a revolutionary war battle across the street. I grabbed my robe and ran through the kitchen. I checked Dad’s room- he hadn't even stirred. Out the front door and across the street, smoke was rising in a pathetic twisting cloud from a smoldering bike. A small, thin boy with messy brown hair looked on proudly a few yards away. My hand tightened into a furious fist. This was not the first or second time this had happened. I ran over to the kid and yelled, “Are you crazy?! It is six o’clock.”
I thought that would make everything clear to him, and I waited patiently for what would be a proper response; “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I was unaware my blowing up of things was detrimental to the neighborhood. Please be assured it will never happen again.” Instead, I was served a simple stare of sarcastic confusion: so?
“You’ve woken me up every morning this week!” I cried, after I was convinced the kid wasn’t going to offer any excuses.
“I believe I only ran my tests on-” he paused and checked the clipboard he was holding, “Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and today.” the boy declared.
“Oh. My mistake!” I exclaimed. I swore under my breathe and turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said, starting toward me, “d-do you want to look at it?”
I stopped. The kid looked at me expectantly.
“Ok.”
The boy smiled. He reached behind the burning wreckage and pulled out his invention.
“I built it myself,” he said, his voice cracking with enthusiasm.
What he had built was quite ingenious for a twelve-year-old living in the middle of nowhere. He had connected a homemade fuse to a metal pipe filled with oxidizer and powdered sugar.
“I piled a collection of burnable objects together to test the explosion,” he explained, “then I set the pipe in the heap, capped it, and lit the fuse.” I was pretty impressed.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Um, Anthony,” said Anthony, “You’re Wendy. Grandma told me your name when you and your dad moved in. I was hoping you’d be my age.” I struggled to think of a reply, but before I could say anything he continued, “Have you ever made anything explode before?”
“Uh, no. Not really.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” I began pacing back across the road.
“Wendy,” said Anthony, “Maybe you can come watch my next experiment?”
“Yeah. Sure. When?”
“Tomorrow at 5:30 AM.”
I laughed. “ Sounds fantastic, I’ll be there.”
~~~~~~
I woke up again at one o’clock that same day. I was eating a big bowl of cereal in the kitchen when Dad commented on what a deep sleeper I was. Sheesh. I got dressed and decided to venture outside. A great current of hot air welcomed me through the back door. Massive crickets bounded through the thick ocean of grass that expanded as far as I could see. No clouds. I loathed summer. More unpleasant warm wind was coming my way, so I headed to the one tree in the yard for shelter. I clamored up the strong branches, finding a seat amongst the whistling leaves.
This was the best part of our move. The tree was like nothing I’d had back in the city. It grew freely and unkempt, with no concrete to suppress its winding roots below the surface. It was huge and lush and meant for climbing, with knotholes like the tree in To Kill a Mockingbird. I kept expecting to find a soap bar carved to look like me nestled in one of the crevices. When I wasn’t rotting in front of the TV feeling sorry for myself, I was up in my tree, thinking. I leaned back on one of the tree’s arms and closed my eyes, letting the peaceful song of the gentle brush of leaves envelope me.
“Hey.”
I yelped and nearly rolled out of the tree. Marvin, dumpster-diving extraordinaire, was halfway up the trunk.
“What are you doing?” I cried, “Isn’t this like, trespassing or something?”
When he reached the top, Marvin replied, “I guess. Want to go to the arcade in town?” I was a little wary to agree, but discovering that there might be something fun to do in this place piqued my interest.
“Sure.”
We climbed down the tree and I followed Marvin to his car. With a sadly sunken fender and the back window anonymously shattered, it was a dented excuse of a pickup that was practically asking for someone to write “wash me” on its dusty body. “Hop in,” Marvin called as he shook the door open. The engine moaned as Marvin turned the key a few times. After a futile resistance, the car burbled to life, and we were off.
There was silence for a few minutes.
“So uh,” I broke in, “what’s the high school like out here?”
Marvin gave me a slight smile, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“It’s alright.”
“How far away is the town?”
“Aways.”
When that engaging discourse came to a close, we were silent for nearly the rest of the ride. When we reached signs of civilization, I kept my eyes peeled for a mall or a similar entertainment facility, but suddenly I felt that uncomfortable, surprised feeling of turning somewhere unexpected as Marvin quickly pulled into the parking lot of “Northington Saloon.”
Some arcade. Next to the bar were two pinball machines and a pool table. One of the pinball games wore an “out of order” sign. An ancient man with black, crackling skin sat behind a counter at the back of the room, snoring. An old black bowler hat crowned his balding head. Marvin started across the room toward him, and I followed.
Marvin slammed his hands on the counter. “Wake up, Arch!” The old man grunted and sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at me and then Marvin.
“Why hello, sonny!” the man affably replied.
“Archie, this is my new neighbor, Wendy.”
“Hi,” I said, offering him my hand.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mindy,” said Archie, firmly shaking it.
“It’s Wendy.”
“Marvin, my boy, I have another somethin’ for your collection. Could you come to the storage room for a minute?”
“Sure. Hold on a second, Wendy, I’ll be back.”
They exited through a dark door behind the counter. I moseyed over to the functioning pinball machine. The theme of the game was some sort of generic Martian attack. I drew a couple of quarters out of my pocket and popped them in. A bombardment of silly sounds and blinking lights hurtled toward me, and a silver ball suddenly appeared in the space at the bottom. The sound effects faded. The machine lay in wait, anticipating the mighty heave of the handle that would release the ball and begin the game. I pulled it, and with a great thwack the ball was soaring through the army of mechanical Martians. After a series of bangs and bounces and what have you, the ball fell through the jaws at the bottom of the machine.
Before I could put in another quarter, Marvin and Archie emerged into the main room. The old man whispered something to Marvin and patted him on the back.
“Ready to go?” he said to me.
“Um, yeah. I guess so.”
There wasn’t much discussion on the way home. Every so often Marvin would reach into his pocket, fingering some small object. It must have been the thing Archie gave to him, but I thought it impertinent to ask what it was. He dropped me off and headed home. The sun was sinking into the horizon, but Dad was still out on the tractor. That’s all that he had been doing since mom died a few years ago- working. I went inside and made a frozen dinner.
~~~~~
Announcing the grand arrival of the morn, my alarm clock barked at me to arise. I arose. 5:30.
When I left the house, the sun dimly lit the world from below the horizon, casting pink and yellow light across the puffing clouds veined across the sky. Across the road, two figures stood adjacent to a large contraption. I headed toward them. Anthony was talking with Marvin, pointing to the big thing every so often.
“Hey Wendy!” Anthony called out as I approached them, “I invited Marvin to come too. This is the final culmination of all my research. I’m going to set off a rocket!”
I looked at Marvin. He appeared vaguely troubled. I turned to Anthony, who was beaming confidently.
“Really? A rocket?”
“Yeah!” he exclaimed, “I’m almost completely certain it’s gonna work.”
The kid ran over to the rocket to make adjustments.
“So you think this is going to work?” I muttered to Marvin.
“Well, the guy is definitely talented at blowing things up, why not?”
Suddenly, the fizzing of a burning fuse sounded from the rocket. Anthony stumbled to his feet and ran toward us.
“Back up guys!”
We followed his command. A few moments later, smoke rose from the rocket. Anthony began counting down under his breath, “three…two…one…” The fizzing ceased, and in its place sharp reports blasted from the machine. The rocket shot up a total of three and a half feet before exploding, sending shattered bits of steel careening through the air.
Anthony scratched his head. I chuckled as white rocket dust splattered over Marvin’s face like flour. Perusing his clipboard, Anthony scratched his head again. “What went wrong?” He quietly inquired, to no one in particular.
“Don’t worry about it, Anthony,” Marvin said, wiping the dust from his face, “We can help you fix it up.” He looked at me.
“Really? You would?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “We can start on it tomorrow.”
Anthony grinned and began to collect the scraps of his project. I looked at Marvin. He was looking at Anthony, wearing that same half-smile as yesterday. With that, we both started home. The sun had risen.
~~~~~~~
Later in the day I was lounging in our living room reading one of dad’s old books I had picked up off the shelf, something called “Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine”. At the beginning of the book, Danny invents a machine that copies homework. Then this new girl moves in next door who knows all about science. Danny thinks she came from the moon.
The doorbell rang. I set the book down and went to open the front door, where Marvin was standing an awkwardly extraneous distance away from the threshold.
“Hey, what‘s up?”.
“Howdy,” he replied, “Anthony’s getting pretty anxious, he wants us to come over now.”
Across the street, Anthony was sitting beside an allotment of rocket parts, reviewing his clipboard. We crossed the road into his yard.
“I figured it out!” exclaimed Anthony when we reached him. He explained his mistake in cryptic scientific terms, and Marvin and I deciphered that our assignment was to rebuild the rocket using a stronger material while Anthony mixed a more powerful fuel. We quietly set to work.
After we had been working for a while, a thought came to me. “Anthony, why is it that you want to build this rocket so much?”
Anthony didn’t respond for a moment, as if trying to determine whether he wished to tell me or not. “Well, this probably sounds really dumb, but one day I want to build a real shuttle and go into space. I want to see what else is out there.” I laughed at the thought of little Anthony in his one-man rocket, blasting off out of Egypt. “I’m serious!” Anthony continued, “ I’m tired of this world.”
“You know, I agree,” said Marvin sincerely, “Earth isn’t what it used to be; it’s too complicated. Sometimes, I just want to escape all the pain and greed and anger of the world, and just leave.”
“Yeah,” I added, “I guess it would be nice to fly out of the atmosphere and just float there, by myself, for the rest of forever.”
“Well, it’s a vacuum, wouldn’t you explode or something?” Marvin said.
“Awesome,” replied Anthony.
We laughed and returned to our work. As the time went by I realized that I had meant what I said, about leaving the world behind. When my dad told me he wanted to move to Egypt, I knew it was because he wanted to escape from the pain of losing my mother, and all the neighbors’ “sorry your wife died” pies. I didn’t want to move to the middle of nowhere, but it was the only escape. But every time we ran from the memories, they caught up with us. Maybe the blackness of space was the only place to forget. “Thanks for helping, guys.“ Anthony stood up to brush off the seat of his shorts, “I need to make a few more calculations, but it should be ready to set off tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” Marvin replied. The three of us began to head home.
“Wendy, wait up,” said Marvin, jogging towards me, “ If you’ve got time, do you think you and your Dad could come over for dinner? Archie is coming, and I think he’s got something to show us.”
“Yeah, sure. Let me ask, I’ll be over soon.” There was really no need to ask, for I was pretty positive my father would leap on any excuse to see Marvin’s mother.
~~~~
In fifteen minutes, my father, all dressed up in a smart suit and tie, and I, T-shirt and jean shorts, rang the old bell at Marvin’s door. A small woman with blazing red hair and hippie attire answered.
“Why hello Brad, Wendy, welcome! Come in, come in,”
“Hello Moneta,” said Dad sheepishly.
We shuffled into Marvin’s house, which was remarkably like our own, save for the abundance of exotic house plants and African art. Down the hall, amidst the sculpture and vegetation, I noticed something I hadn’t seen last time. It was Marvin’s collection. Notebooks, postcards and photographs were quaintly sprawled across the wall and table, worn and faded with age. I went down the hall to get a closer look. A myriad of different trinkets decked the table, things that had once been special to someone; An old shoe covered in scribbled Confucius quotes, a tambourine painted with the image of a gypsy woman, a worn Raggedy Andy with one eye, a toy rocket ship with peeling silver finish and a red tail… The collection was alarmingly incredible. It was as if it represented every person in the universe and their lives, feelings. Memories. Over time, the bulk of it is thrown out, undocumented and unrecognized, into oblivion, just like the people who owned them--except those few anecdotes that had been saved on Marvin’s table.
“You like it?”
I turned. Marvin stood behind me, hands in his pockets, half-grinning.
“It’s magnificent,” I replied.
After a moment, Marvin started toward the kitchen and I followed.
Archie, snoozing away under the same old hat, and my dad were sitting at the dinner table. It was apparent that everyone had forgotten to introduce my father and Archie, for Dad seemed very confused. We all took a seat as Marvin’s mother brought in the entrees. “Wake up, you old coot,” she said affectionately, nudging Archie as she served him a steaming plate of tofurky. Archie stirred. “hrmmf.. It is imperative that we explore more efficient methods of transporting solid wastes out of the atmosphere…” he murmured with a frail finger pointed matter-of-factly.
“Archie used to work for NASA as an engineer,” Marvin murmured to me, “he worked on a team that was inventing a way to throw all our trash into space, but they shot it down. He quit afterwards and ended up here.”
“Moneta, this tofurky is delicious!” My dad said loudly. Father is an ardent carnivore. Sheesh.
“Thank you, Brad,” she replied, blushing. By this time Archie had fallen head-first into his mound of potatoes, fast asleep. Moneta patted his back. “Poor dear,” she said, “Ever since Marvin’s dad left, Archie has done everything for us. But he’s getting so old.” I glanced at Marvin, but his attention had turned intently to his plate. Archie eventually woke again and managed to finish his meal (“Well hello again, Cindy!” “It’s Wendy.”) When everyone was finished, Marvin‘s mom cleared the table and Dad scurried behind her, imploring her to allow him to help her wash the dishes. Marvin and I remained at the table with Archie, who was snoozing once more.
“I’ll wake him up,” Marvin said to me, “He wanted to tell us something. Archie is always telling me these great stories about his life, and I guess he wanted to share one with you.”
He shook Archie back to consciousness and asked if he wanted to say what he was going to say.
“Well, Marvin, could you bring me the rocket ship I gave you yesterday?”
Marvin fetched the toy rocket from his collection. Placing it in the old man’s outstretched hand, he said, “Will you tell me about it now, Archie?”
Archie fiddled with the rocket for a minute and then, seeming to remember where he was, replied, “This rocket was a gift from my father. He gave it to me when I was a kid, and he would make up stories about Astronaut Archie and his adventures through space,” he chuckled, “It was he, and this rocket, which inspired me to become an aeronautical engineer. When I was young, if I ever got angry at my father, for whatever reason, I would tell him that I was going to blast off into space and never come back. And he would tell me, ‘Son, if you want to rocket up into space, then you can. You can do anything you set your mind to. But I promise you that you can’t stay there forever, because, when you’re way out there, you‘ll stop being a person--at least not until you come back.’ I never understood what he meant by that, until I was much older. He…” He trailed off there, and after a while he slowly handed the rocket back to Marvin, smacking his lips and smiling. I was a little confused, but I didn’t say anything. I looked at Marvin. That small smile was spread across his face--he knew something. A snore emanated from Archie. He had dozed off again.
Suddenly short blasts erupted from outside. Marvin and I gave each other a look and dashed outside. Down the street, the diminutive figure of Anthony waved to us wildly next to the completed rocket. He had painted it a creamy white with black lettering on the side, which was barely discernible from such a distance- something along the lines of “moon” and either “back” or “bust,” it was hard to tell. The noise ceased. Three...two...one. The rocket soared in a straight stream into the air, slicing the sky like white scissors on a blue cloth. Our necks bent back to their limits, our hands hooding our eyes so they might strain to catch another glimpse of the glorious shuttle. Dad, Moneta and Archie joined us, gasping at the speck of white flying into the clouds, leaving a trail of white in its wake. Anthony furiously scrawled notes on his clipboard, but then, giving up, he tossed his papers to the side and cheered, hands and face to the sky. Marvin and I laughed joyously. And our rocket persevered, climbing higher into the stratosphere, leaving us behind, but also leaving what we had, what we would always have, and what we needed in our lives.
~~~~~~~
Twilight had encroached upon the day, and the sun was leaving Egypt for the night. A soft breeze rolled across the plain, and the fireflies were out again. I had gone outside to turn on the sprinklers. As I started toward the house, I decided to visit my tree. It looked understanding and kind under the silver moonlight. As I stepped up onto the trunk, a shimmer caught my eye. In one of the knotholes of the tree, the little tin rocket was tucked inside, waiting for me.
Pop. 26
My dad whooped and held onto his new cowboy hat, as if he was riding a bull into our new hometown rather than an SUV.
“I guess they’ll have to change the sign to 28 now, huh Wendy?” he said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
Dad had decided that it would be a character-building adventure for us to run a farm for a couple of years. I didn't mind the idea of working on a farm, but I did have a problem with the location. What people don’t realize about Texas is that it is in fact a civilized state, even in the rural parts. Except for Egypt. Egypt can’t be called back-woodsy because there are no woods, and the people can’t be called Hillbillies because there are no people. If Dad really wanted an adventure, we should have moved to the actual country of Egypt. The only thing that would build my character in Egypt, Texas was the antique shop.
We pulled into our dirt driveway with the moving vans just behind us. I felt a little ridiculous carrying our wide screen tv and magic bullet into our new Egyptian home, but then I remembered that no one was around to see it. There were only two houses close enough to call neighbors. After Dad had visited both of them, I learned that the house to our left belonged to a “lovely” sugar cane farmer and her son, who was sixteen, a year my senior. His name was Marvin, and he was tall and lanky with greasy black hair. His mother invited us to dinner that night. Marvin spoke very little, and kept staring at me throughout the meal. One of the few things he mentioned was that he collected family heirlooms. I assumed this meant Grandma’s hairbrush or Grandpa’s war medals, but to Marvin, family heirlooms were other people’s discarded bowling trophies and lost teeth that he found at garage sales or in the dumpster behind the antique store. In the house across the street lived a retired rancher and his wife, who’s twelve-year-old grandson thought he could achieve great advancements for the scientific community by blowing things up in his front yard. These two guys were my only contacts for the remaining four weeks of the summer, before school started. I decided that it would be best if I spent those weeks sitting in my house alone.
“Why don’t you invite Marvin over?” my father suggested one morning as I sat glued to the old television, as usual. I didn’t even bother responding to that one.
“Oh come on,” he replied to my silence, “I know he’s different from your friends back in Dallas, but you should give him a chance. His mother is nice.”
“You mean she’s pretty.”
“Just give him a shot,” Dad said, ignoring my retort, “He’s close to your age. You’ve got to have something in common.”
I grumbled, not moving from my chair. Dad sighed and left the room.
That Saturday at 6:13 AM, I awoke to what sounded like a revolutionary war battle across the street. I grabbed my robe and ran through the kitchen. I checked Dad’s room- he hadn't even stirred. Out the front door and across the street, smoke was rising in a pathetic twisting cloud from a smoldering bike. A small, thin boy with messy brown hair looked on proudly a few yards away. My hand tightened into a furious fist. This was not the first or second time this had happened. I ran over to the kid and yelled, “Are you crazy?! It is six o’clock.”
I thought that would make everything clear to him, and I waited patiently for what would be a proper response; “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I was unaware my blowing up of things was detrimental to the neighborhood. Please be assured it will never happen again.” Instead, I was served a simple stare of sarcastic confusion: so?
“You’ve woken me up every morning this week!” I cried, after I was convinced the kid wasn’t going to offer any excuses.
“I believe I only ran my tests on-” he paused and checked the clipboard he was holding, “Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and today.” the boy declared.
“Oh. My mistake!” I exclaimed. I swore under my breathe and turned to leave.
“Wait,” he said, starting toward me, “d-do you want to look at it?”
I stopped. The kid looked at me expectantly.
“Ok.”
The boy smiled. He reached behind the burning wreckage and pulled out his invention.
“I built it myself,” he said, his voice cracking with enthusiasm.
What he had built was quite ingenious for a twelve-year-old living in the middle of nowhere. He had connected a homemade fuse to a metal pipe filled with oxidizer and powdered sugar.
“I piled a collection of burnable objects together to test the explosion,” he explained, “then I set the pipe in the heap, capped it, and lit the fuse.” I was pretty impressed.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Um, Anthony,” said Anthony, “You’re Wendy. Grandma told me your name when you and your dad moved in. I was hoping you’d be my age.” I struggled to think of a reply, but before I could say anything he continued, “Have you ever made anything explode before?”
“Uh, no. Not really.”
“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah,” I began pacing back across the road.
“Wendy,” said Anthony, “Maybe you can come watch my next experiment?”
“Yeah. Sure. When?”
“Tomorrow at 5:30 AM.”
I laughed. “ Sounds fantastic, I’ll be there.”
~~~~~~
I woke up again at one o’clock that same day. I was eating a big bowl of cereal in the kitchen when Dad commented on what a deep sleeper I was. Sheesh. I got dressed and decided to venture outside. A great current of hot air welcomed me through the back door. Massive crickets bounded through the thick ocean of grass that expanded as far as I could see. No clouds. I loathed summer. More unpleasant warm wind was coming my way, so I headed to the one tree in the yard for shelter. I clamored up the strong branches, finding a seat amongst the whistling leaves.
This was the best part of our move. The tree was like nothing I’d had back in the city. It grew freely and unkempt, with no concrete to suppress its winding roots below the surface. It was huge and lush and meant for climbing, with knotholes like the tree in To Kill a Mockingbird. I kept expecting to find a soap bar carved to look like me nestled in one of the crevices. When I wasn’t rotting in front of the TV feeling sorry for myself, I was up in my tree, thinking. I leaned back on one of the tree’s arms and closed my eyes, letting the peaceful song of the gentle brush of leaves envelope me.
“Hey.”
I yelped and nearly rolled out of the tree. Marvin, dumpster-diving extraordinaire, was halfway up the trunk.
“What are you doing?” I cried, “Isn’t this like, trespassing or something?”
When he reached the top, Marvin replied, “I guess. Want to go to the arcade in town?” I was a little wary to agree, but discovering that there might be something fun to do in this place piqued my interest.
“Sure.”
We climbed down the tree and I followed Marvin to his car. With a sadly sunken fender and the back window anonymously shattered, it was a dented excuse of a pickup that was practically asking for someone to write “wash me” on its dusty body. “Hop in,” Marvin called as he shook the door open. The engine moaned as Marvin turned the key a few times. After a futile resistance, the car burbled to life, and we were off.
There was silence for a few minutes.
“So uh,” I broke in, “what’s the high school like out here?”
Marvin gave me a slight smile, as if he knew something I didn’t.
“It’s alright.”
“How far away is the town?”
“Aways.”
When that engaging discourse came to a close, we were silent for nearly the rest of the ride. When we reached signs of civilization, I kept my eyes peeled for a mall or a similar entertainment facility, but suddenly I felt that uncomfortable, surprised feeling of turning somewhere unexpected as Marvin quickly pulled into the parking lot of “Northington Saloon.”
Some arcade. Next to the bar were two pinball machines and a pool table. One of the pinball games wore an “out of order” sign. An ancient man with black, crackling skin sat behind a counter at the back of the room, snoring. An old black bowler hat crowned his balding head. Marvin started across the room toward him, and I followed.
Marvin slammed his hands on the counter. “Wake up, Arch!” The old man grunted and sat up. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at me and then Marvin.
“Why hello, sonny!” the man affably replied.
“Archie, this is my new neighbor, Wendy.”
“Hi,” I said, offering him my hand.
“Oh, well it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mindy,” said Archie, firmly shaking it.
“It’s Wendy.”
“Marvin, my boy, I have another somethin’ for your collection. Could you come to the storage room for a minute?”
“Sure. Hold on a second, Wendy, I’ll be back.”
They exited through a dark door behind the counter. I moseyed over to the functioning pinball machine. The theme of the game was some sort of generic Martian attack. I drew a couple of quarters out of my pocket and popped them in. A bombardment of silly sounds and blinking lights hurtled toward me, and a silver ball suddenly appeared in the space at the bottom. The sound effects faded. The machine lay in wait, anticipating the mighty heave of the handle that would release the ball and begin the game. I pulled it, and with a great thwack the ball was soaring through the army of mechanical Martians. After a series of bangs and bounces and what have you, the ball fell through the jaws at the bottom of the machine.
Before I could put in another quarter, Marvin and Archie emerged into the main room. The old man whispered something to Marvin and patted him on the back.
“Ready to go?” he said to me.
“Um, yeah. I guess so.”
There wasn’t much discussion on the way home. Every so often Marvin would reach into his pocket, fingering some small object. It must have been the thing Archie gave to him, but I thought it impertinent to ask what it was. He dropped me off and headed home. The sun was sinking into the horizon, but Dad was still out on the tractor. That’s all that he had been doing since mom died a few years ago- working. I went inside and made a frozen dinner.
~~~~~
Announcing the grand arrival of the morn, my alarm clock barked at me to arise. I arose. 5:30.
When I left the house, the sun dimly lit the world from below the horizon, casting pink and yellow light across the puffing clouds veined across the sky. Across the road, two figures stood adjacent to a large contraption. I headed toward them. Anthony was talking with Marvin, pointing to the big thing every so often.
“Hey Wendy!” Anthony called out as I approached them, “I invited Marvin to come too. This is the final culmination of all my research. I’m going to set off a rocket!”
I looked at Marvin. He appeared vaguely troubled. I turned to Anthony, who was beaming confidently.
“Really? A rocket?”
“Yeah!” he exclaimed, “I’m almost completely certain it’s gonna work.”
The kid ran over to the rocket to make adjustments.
“So you think this is going to work?” I muttered to Marvin.
“Well, the guy is definitely talented at blowing things up, why not?”
Suddenly, the fizzing of a burning fuse sounded from the rocket. Anthony stumbled to his feet and ran toward us.
“Back up guys!”
We followed his command. A few moments later, smoke rose from the rocket. Anthony began counting down under his breath, “three…two…one…” The fizzing ceased, and in its place sharp reports blasted from the machine. The rocket shot up a total of three and a half feet before exploding, sending shattered bits of steel careening through the air.
Anthony scratched his head. I chuckled as white rocket dust splattered over Marvin’s face like flour. Perusing his clipboard, Anthony scratched his head again. “What went wrong?” He quietly inquired, to no one in particular.
“Don’t worry about it, Anthony,” Marvin said, wiping the dust from his face, “We can help you fix it up.” He looked at me.
“Really? You would?”
“Yeah,” I replied, “We can start on it tomorrow.”
Anthony grinned and began to collect the scraps of his project. I looked at Marvin. He was looking at Anthony, wearing that same half-smile as yesterday. With that, we both started home. The sun had risen.
~~~~~~~
Later in the day I was lounging in our living room reading one of dad’s old books I had picked up off the shelf, something called “Danny Dunn and the Homework Machine”. At the beginning of the book, Danny invents a machine that copies homework. Then this new girl moves in next door who knows all about science. Danny thinks she came from the moon.
The doorbell rang. I set the book down and went to open the front door, where Marvin was standing an awkwardly extraneous distance away from the threshold.
“Hey, what‘s up?”.
“Howdy,” he replied, “Anthony’s getting pretty anxious, he wants us to come over now.”
Across the street, Anthony was sitting beside an allotment of rocket parts, reviewing his clipboard. We crossed the road into his yard.
“I figured it out!” exclaimed Anthony when we reached him. He explained his mistake in cryptic scientific terms, and Marvin and I deciphered that our assignment was to rebuild the rocket using a stronger material while Anthony mixed a more powerful fuel. We quietly set to work.
After we had been working for a while, a thought came to me. “Anthony, why is it that you want to build this rocket so much?”
Anthony didn’t respond for a moment, as if trying to determine whether he wished to tell me or not. “Well, this probably sounds really dumb, but one day I want to build a real shuttle and go into space. I want to see what else is out there.” I laughed at the thought of little Anthony in his one-man rocket, blasting off out of Egypt. “I’m serious!” Anthony continued, “ I’m tired of this world.”
“You know, I agree,” said Marvin sincerely, “Earth isn’t what it used to be; it’s too complicated. Sometimes, I just want to escape all the pain and greed and anger of the world, and just leave.”
“Yeah,” I added, “I guess it would be nice to fly out of the atmosphere and just float there, by myself, for the rest of forever.”
“Well, it’s a vacuum, wouldn’t you explode or something?” Marvin said.
“Awesome,” replied Anthony.
We laughed and returned to our work. As the time went by I realized that I had meant what I said, about leaving the world behind. When my dad told me he wanted to move to Egypt, I knew it was because he wanted to escape from the pain of losing my mother, and all the neighbors’ “sorry your wife died” pies. I didn’t want to move to the middle of nowhere, but it was the only escape. But every time we ran from the memories, they caught up with us. Maybe the blackness of space was the only place to forget. “Thanks for helping, guys.“ Anthony stood up to brush off the seat of his shorts, “I need to make a few more calculations, but it should be ready to set off tomorrow.”
“Can’t wait,” Marvin replied. The three of us began to head home.
“Wendy, wait up,” said Marvin, jogging towards me, “ If you’ve got time, do you think you and your Dad could come over for dinner? Archie is coming, and I think he’s got something to show us.”
“Yeah, sure. Let me ask, I’ll be over soon.” There was really no need to ask, for I was pretty positive my father would leap on any excuse to see Marvin’s mother.
~~~~
In fifteen minutes, my father, all dressed up in a smart suit and tie, and I, T-shirt and jean shorts, rang the old bell at Marvin’s door. A small woman with blazing red hair and hippie attire answered.
“Why hello Brad, Wendy, welcome! Come in, come in,”
“Hello Moneta,” said Dad sheepishly.
We shuffled into Marvin’s house, which was remarkably like our own, save for the abundance of exotic house plants and African art. Down the hall, amidst the sculpture and vegetation, I noticed something I hadn’t seen last time. It was Marvin’s collection. Notebooks, postcards and photographs were quaintly sprawled across the wall and table, worn and faded with age. I went down the hall to get a closer look. A myriad of different trinkets decked the table, things that had once been special to someone; An old shoe covered in scribbled Confucius quotes, a tambourine painted with the image of a gypsy woman, a worn Raggedy Andy with one eye, a toy rocket ship with peeling silver finish and a red tail… The collection was alarmingly incredible. It was as if it represented every person in the universe and their lives, feelings. Memories. Over time, the bulk of it is thrown out, undocumented and unrecognized, into oblivion, just like the people who owned them--except those few anecdotes that had been saved on Marvin’s table.
“You like it?”
I turned. Marvin stood behind me, hands in his pockets, half-grinning.
“It’s magnificent,” I replied.
After a moment, Marvin started toward the kitchen and I followed.
Archie, snoozing away under the same old hat, and my dad were sitting at the dinner table. It was apparent that everyone had forgotten to introduce my father and Archie, for Dad seemed very confused. We all took a seat as Marvin’s mother brought in the entrees. “Wake up, you old coot,” she said affectionately, nudging Archie as she served him a steaming plate of tofurky. Archie stirred. “hrmmf.. It is imperative that we explore more efficient methods of transporting solid wastes out of the atmosphere…” he murmured with a frail finger pointed matter-of-factly.
“Archie used to work for NASA as an engineer,” Marvin murmured to me, “he worked on a team that was inventing a way to throw all our trash into space, but they shot it down. He quit afterwards and ended up here.”
“Moneta, this tofurky is delicious!” My dad said loudly. Father is an ardent carnivore. Sheesh.
“Thank you, Brad,” she replied, blushing. By this time Archie had fallen head-first into his mound of potatoes, fast asleep. Moneta patted his back. “Poor dear,” she said, “Ever since Marvin’s dad left, Archie has done everything for us. But he’s getting so old.” I glanced at Marvin, but his attention had turned intently to his plate. Archie eventually woke again and managed to finish his meal (“Well hello again, Cindy!” “It’s Wendy.”) When everyone was finished, Marvin‘s mom cleared the table and Dad scurried behind her, imploring her to allow him to help her wash the dishes. Marvin and I remained at the table with Archie, who was snoozing once more.
“I’ll wake him up,” Marvin said to me, “He wanted to tell us something. Archie is always telling me these great stories about his life, and I guess he wanted to share one with you.”
He shook Archie back to consciousness and asked if he wanted to say what he was going to say.
“Well, Marvin, could you bring me the rocket ship I gave you yesterday?”
Marvin fetched the toy rocket from his collection. Placing it in the old man’s outstretched hand, he said, “Will you tell me about it now, Archie?”
Archie fiddled with the rocket for a minute and then, seeming to remember where he was, replied, “This rocket was a gift from my father. He gave it to me when I was a kid, and he would make up stories about Astronaut Archie and his adventures through space,” he chuckled, “It was he, and this rocket, which inspired me to become an aeronautical engineer. When I was young, if I ever got angry at my father, for whatever reason, I would tell him that I was going to blast off into space and never come back. And he would tell me, ‘Son, if you want to rocket up into space, then you can. You can do anything you set your mind to. But I promise you that you can’t stay there forever, because, when you’re way out there, you‘ll stop being a person--at least not until you come back.’ I never understood what he meant by that, until I was much older. He…” He trailed off there, and after a while he slowly handed the rocket back to Marvin, smacking his lips and smiling. I was a little confused, but I didn’t say anything. I looked at Marvin. That small smile was spread across his face--he knew something. A snore emanated from Archie. He had dozed off again.
Suddenly short blasts erupted from outside. Marvin and I gave each other a look and dashed outside. Down the street, the diminutive figure of Anthony waved to us wildly next to the completed rocket. He had painted it a creamy white with black lettering on the side, which was barely discernible from such a distance- something along the lines of “moon” and either “back” or “bust,” it was hard to tell. The noise ceased. Three...two...one. The rocket soared in a straight stream into the air, slicing the sky like white scissors on a blue cloth. Our necks bent back to their limits, our hands hooding our eyes so they might strain to catch another glimpse of the glorious shuttle. Dad, Moneta and Archie joined us, gasping at the speck of white flying into the clouds, leaving a trail of white in its wake. Anthony furiously scrawled notes on his clipboard, but then, giving up, he tossed his papers to the side and cheered, hands and face to the sky. Marvin and I laughed joyously. And our rocket persevered, climbing higher into the stratosphere, leaving us behind, but also leaving what we had, what we would always have, and what we needed in our lives.
~~~~~~~
Twilight had encroached upon the day, and the sun was leaving Egypt for the night. A soft breeze rolled across the plain, and the fireflies were out again. I had gone outside to turn on the sprinklers. As I started toward the house, I decided to visit my tree. It looked understanding and kind under the silver moonlight. As I stepped up onto the trunk, a shimmer caught my eye. In one of the knotholes of the tree, the little tin rocket was tucked inside, waiting for me.