Eleanor by Johnny Worthen Page A

needing some girth before her hips filled out. Eleanor ignored her.
    Back at the table, David finally had a chance to eat his own lunch. The conversation had kept him occupied, and his chicken was cold. He counted Eleanor’s empty plates.
    â€œI haven’t seen you eat this much since, well, since ever,” said David.
    â€œGrowth spurt,” she said, relaxing now that Barbara had gone to smoke or puke or drop off the planet somewhere. “You going to eat your cookie?”
    He gave it to her.
    â€œSo you can come trick-or-treating with Wendy and me if you want,” he said. Eleanor had questioned him as subtly as she could about his Halloween plans. David had promised his mother to take Wendy out that night. He was worried about the cold front that had moved in and the argument he was sure to have with Wendy when he tried to have her put a coat over her princess costume.
    â€œNo, I’ve got to stay home and answer the door,” she said. “Tabitha isn’t feeling well.”
    â€œMaybe we’ll drop by,” he said.
    â€œThat’s a long way to go for a piece of taffy,” she said. “Wendy will hate the walk.”
    David shrugged.
    Tuesday, Eleanor checked the balance on her government food card. Tabitha’s military pension money covered the expensive medicine and paid the rent, the electrical, and the heating. By signing a paper that absolved the military for her cancer, Tabitha received a generous pension, but for food, they relied on regular government assistance.
    There was not enough money on the card for all she needed, so Eleanor examined their bank account and budgeted out forty-five real dollars to her cause. It might not be enough, but it was all she could comfortably take.
    Eleanor put her mother to bed early that night and retired to her loft to try on clothes.
    She hadn’t any that would suit the occasion. They were all too plain and serviceable. Nothing would make anyone take a second look at her. Tonight, Eleanor needed to get attention. She turned to makeup.
    Eleanor had never used makeup before, but Tabitha had, and she’d seen her mother spend an hour in front of a mirror with brushes and pencils and transform herself into a healthy middle-aged woman from a pain-wracked skeleton.
    Tabitha lay still in her bed, the pharmaceuticals giving her hours of untainted peace before slowly wearing off in the small hours to wake her in search of another pill. From her mother’s dresser, Eleanor collected the things she thought she’d need, eyeliner, lipstick, foundation, and blush, and took them to the bathroom.
    After an hour in front of the mirror, Eleanor realized she did not have the slightest idea what she was doing. Tabitha’s coloring was different that hers, and unless she made some physical change, the colors in her available pallet would only make her look like a clown. She washed everything off and settled for mascara, eyeliner and the reddest lipstick she could find. Then she wiped off the lipstick.
    Half past one, she left the house in a falling snow in her clean dress, warmest coat, and shoes that made walking hard. Her school backpack had been emptied of books and hung loose over her shoulder.
    Cowboy Bob’s Truck Stop was a beacon at the end of town. Following the flashing neon-light of its ever-burning sign, Eleanor plodded along empty side streets as far as she could, and then joined the highway when she had no other choice but that or a frozen snow-covered field.
    Cowboy Bob’s at night transformed from a humble mega-store gas station into a night club. Music poured from the restaurant and couples in boots and greasy baseball caps danced with thumbs in their belt loops and whooped to the jukebox. The parking lot was filled like a stable of resting trucks, their orange driving lights outlining their shapes, their diesel engines idling to warm the sleeping drivers inside.
    Eleanor burst through the glass doors and past