pants when Fibber got to talking to that little girl, Teeny, the two of them getting their words so balled up that neither of ’em knew what the other one was talking about. But Dad, he don’t hardly even crack a smile no more. Then one night at suppertime, while Ma is dishing up raisin pie for dessert, he tells us some news that about makes Ma’s jaw drop off its hinges.
“The Oldsmobile plant in Janesville, they rolled their last car off the line last week and turned their whole production over to making shells. With most of the young men gone now, and women taking over the assembly lines, they’re looking for a few men to fill the foreman positions. I contacted them last week, Eileen. I start on Monday.”
“Without even discussing it with me first?”
“I’m sorry, Eileen, I knew you’d be upset, but I don’t have a choice, honey. The garage is barely making overhead costs. I’m hiring Delbert Larson to run the station, at least so people can get their piddling-ass drops of gas to get to work and back. He’ll work for forty-three cents an hour.”
“But the drive, how can you make that drive now with—”
“I won’t be driving it every day. That wouldn’t work. I’ll put myself up in a boardinghouse during the week and come home Friday nights.”
Ma drops her fork onto her plate. “You’re leaving me here by myself, Hank? At a time like this?”
“You won’t be alone,” Dad says. He wags his fork toward me. “You have Earl here. He’s almost eighteen now. He’s good company, and he’s a good helper. You’ll take care of your ma, won’t you, Earl?” I nod.
I’m busy staring at my pie. I don’t like raisin pie, and seems it’s the only dessert we get anymore since the sugar rationing. Don’t that just figure, I think every time Ma cuts me a slice of that pie that looks like it’s made with rabbit turds and snot, that goddamn raisin pie is the only kind of pie that don’t need sugar. I scrape the innards out and eat the crust. When I’m done, Dad tells me to take the supper scraps outside to Lucky.
Ma scrapes the leftovers onto my plate, her fork moving all jerkity-jerk, then she hands the plate to me. Lucky gulps them scraps up like a pig, raisin filling and all. I scratch him behind his pokey-up ear as he eats, and when he’s done, he starts to licking me.
It’s almost dark now, so I untie Lucky to bring him inside. Ma and Dad are in the living room arguing, so I scoop up Lucky and take him quick up the stairs.
Used to be back when Jimmy was home, Ma and Dad, they hardly ever had one of them arguments. Now it seems that’s about all they do.
I don’t like hearing Ma and Dad fight, yet I can’t make my ears not listen. It’s like them times when somebody comes into the store and starts telling Ma about so-and-so who got hurt bad or killed bad on the farm or in the woods while they was working. You want your ears to close up, ’cause you don’t wanna hear how somebody got their hand caught in their corn chopper and how that machine chewed their arm clear up to the shoulder, or how they got clobbered over the head by a falled tree and their head cracked open like a egg. You don’t wanna hear it, yet you just can’t get your ears to stop listening. Worse yet, you even find yourself moving closer to the counter so you can hear every goddamn bloody word they say. It’s like that when Ma and Dad fight. I don’t wanna hear what they’re saying, yet I go straight to that vent and lean over so I can hear every goddamn word.
“You can’t stand the sight of me anymore, Hank. That’s the real reason you’re leaving,” Ma says.
“What on earth are you talking about, Eileen? I’ve got to work, for crissakes.”
Ma starts crying. Seems that’s about all she does since Jimmy left. Cry and yell and work. Cry and yell and work. “You’re leaving home to punish me,” she says.
Dad scratches his head, right on that bald spot that is shiny and a bit bumpity. “For
“The Oldsmobile plant in Janesville, they rolled their last car off the line last week and turned their whole production over to making shells. With most of the young men gone now, and women taking over the assembly lines, they’re looking for a few men to fill the foreman positions. I contacted them last week, Eileen. I start on Monday.”
“Without even discussing it with me first?”
“I’m sorry, Eileen, I knew you’d be upset, but I don’t have a choice, honey. The garage is barely making overhead costs. I’m hiring Delbert Larson to run the station, at least so people can get their piddling-ass drops of gas to get to work and back. He’ll work for forty-three cents an hour.”
“But the drive, how can you make that drive now with—”
“I won’t be driving it every day. That wouldn’t work. I’ll put myself up in a boardinghouse during the week and come home Friday nights.”
Ma drops her fork onto her plate. “You’re leaving me here by myself, Hank? At a time like this?”
“You won’t be alone,” Dad says. He wags his fork toward me. “You have Earl here. He’s almost eighteen now. He’s good company, and he’s a good helper. You’ll take care of your ma, won’t you, Earl?” I nod.
I’m busy staring at my pie. I don’t like raisin pie, and seems it’s the only dessert we get anymore since the sugar rationing. Don’t that just figure, I think every time Ma cuts me a slice of that pie that looks like it’s made with rabbit turds and snot, that goddamn raisin pie is the only kind of pie that don’t need sugar. I scrape the innards out and eat the crust. When I’m done, Dad tells me to take the supper scraps outside to Lucky.
Ma scrapes the leftovers onto my plate, her fork moving all jerkity-jerk, then she hands the plate to me. Lucky gulps them scraps up like a pig, raisin filling and all. I scratch him behind his pokey-up ear as he eats, and when he’s done, he starts to licking me.
It’s almost dark now, so I untie Lucky to bring him inside. Ma and Dad are in the living room arguing, so I scoop up Lucky and take him quick up the stairs.
Used to be back when Jimmy was home, Ma and Dad, they hardly ever had one of them arguments. Now it seems that’s about all they do.
I don’t like hearing Ma and Dad fight, yet I can’t make my ears not listen. It’s like them times when somebody comes into the store and starts telling Ma about so-and-so who got hurt bad or killed bad on the farm or in the woods while they was working. You want your ears to close up, ’cause you don’t wanna hear how somebody got their hand caught in their corn chopper and how that machine chewed their arm clear up to the shoulder, or how they got clobbered over the head by a falled tree and their head cracked open like a egg. You don’t wanna hear it, yet you just can’t get your ears to stop listening. Worse yet, you even find yourself moving closer to the counter so you can hear every goddamn bloody word they say. It’s like that when Ma and Dad fight. I don’t wanna hear what they’re saying, yet I go straight to that vent and lean over so I can hear every goddamn word.
“You can’t stand the sight of me anymore, Hank. That’s the real reason you’re leaving,” Ma says.
“What on earth are you talking about, Eileen? I’ve got to work, for crissakes.”
Ma starts crying. Seems that’s about all she does since Jimmy left. Cry and yell and work. Cry and yell and work. “You’re leaving home to punish me,” she says.
Dad scratches his head, right on that bald spot that is shiny and a bit bumpity. “For
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