Pieces of Broken China Read online

  I interrupted boldly, “I told you why I was in your bedroom. I detected the odor of weed lingering in this house. When I mentioned this to you and Susan, you played me for a fool. I knew you were lying. So I did some searching while you were gone. That’s when I found a Ziploc bag full of weed in the top drawer of your dresser. If Susan hadn’t come to your defense, you’d have been history. I don’t do drugs.”

  “I don’t smoke weed in your house. Besides, what I do with my private life is none of your business!”

  “This is my house, my rules. You’re a loser, an addict to boot.”

  “I hate you!” He stood inches from my face. “You’re going to die in this house old, feeble, and lonely.”

  Bruce stepped back as I clenched my fist. “That’ll be the last mistake you make with me,” he warned.

  “Get out!” I yelled, pointing to the front door. He stormed out of the house and slammed the door shut behind him so hard the walls shook.

  I sat at my computer workstation most of the afternoon and stared at photographs of Mom and Dad. My mind wandered in no particular direction as I glanced at three photographs of Susan, Bruce and me attending our graduation celebration at the end of our freshman, sophomore, and junior years of college. Bruce had scribbled, “The best is yet to come,” on the back of our freshman photograph, in which Susan sat between Bruce and me with an empty bottle of tequila in the middle of the dining room table.

  An hour later Susan returned, sweaty from running. Susan’s blue clothes clung to her body. She sat at the dining room table and there followed by several awful moments of silence.

  Finally I sat across from her.

  “What do you see in Bruce?”

  “What’s it to you?” Susan fanned herself with her hand and then smoothed her tangled auburn hair, letting it drop against her back. She looked at me and began, “Unlike you, Bruce and I were raised in this wonderful tiny hamlet, with its white picket fences, row houses, and as many churches as there are bars and all its hookers. Some of them go to church.

  “My father’s the deacon at the First Baptist Church. He knows all the women in this town well... very well. My parents, like a lot of other families in this town, live unhappy lives. Dad’s a busted-up logger. Mom toils at the local restaurant, comes home at night, cooks his dinner, and listens to him bitch all night because she wasn’t there to take care of him. He’s a drunk, full of self-pity because he can’t go out and do the manly thing anymore.”

  “Manly thing?” Susan asked.

  “Work, Caleb. Something you don’t know much about.” Susan rested her left arm over the top of her chair, looked at me, and said, “Tell me about your parents.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m trying to understand, Caleb.” She grinned.

  “Dad was working out of the San Francisco office recruiting for the State Department at a job fair when he met Mom. They married a year later. In the spring of 1966, Dad returned with Mom to Israel. While Dad was in the field, Mom remained home—she was not a social person. Three months after they settled in Israel, she told Dad she was pregnant.” I paused. “She insisted on finding a place stateside, safe to raise a kid.

  “It was Dad’s secretary who told him about this area. I guess she had attended Middleport College and left after graduation. When Dad brought Mom here, she fell in love with Middleport. While they were looking around, Dad found and bought this property.

  “He departed for Israel on June 1, 1967, four days before Israel’s counter-offensive erupted with Syria, Egypt, and Jordan. That’s the last time Mom heard from him. The State Department never gave her a satisfactory answer as to what happened to him. He had the house insured, so the policy paid off the mortgage plus other assets that left her well off. Money was never an issue with Mom. I never understood their marriage, because he was gone from our lives so much. She never remarried and lived with Dad’s memorabilia surrounding her. Two years after his death, Mom died. She just gave up.” I paused as I glanced at the photograph of my parents above my computer workstation. “All of Dad’s plaques and letters of commendation that Mom framed are boxed and stored in the basement.”

  “What did you do with your mom’s stuff?”

  “Shadowboxes with demitasses and lifelike figurines mostly from Israel covered an entire wall. They’re in boxes in the basement. She watched television from her wicker rocker and taught herself knitting, crocheting, and quilting. She made afghans and blankets. Those are in her cedar chest in my bedroom. Why?”

  “Caleb... get out. Move. Sell this mosque. Travel. Do something, for God’s sake. If I had the money you have, I’d never live in Middleport.”

  “Where would I go?”

  Susan laughed. “You’re going to die in this house just like your mom did: old, grizzled, lonely, and dull.”

  “I am not!”

  Just then Bruce barged into the house, sweating. Without a word spoken he disappeared down the hallway and into his bedroom.

  I looked at Susan and asked, “What’s wrong with him?”

  She shrugged. “Do I look like Bruce?”

  Susan was about to get up when Bruce walked out into the living room carrying his sleeping bag and pup tent. He plopped the sleeping bag on the chair between Susan and me, looked at me, and said, “I’m leaving.”

  “For where?” I asked.

  “Anywhere but here.”

  I darted a glance at Susan and then looked at Bruce. “What’s this all about?”

  “Bruce... please!” Susan called out.

  Bruce started for the door, stopped, and spun around. Glaring at Susan, he said, “You can stay here if you want. Three-and-a-half-years of his”—he pointed at me—“bullshit is enough. I stayed because you’re here, Susan.” Bruce glared at me. “I’ve never been welcome here, only Susan has.” He glanced at Susan then shot a glare at me again. “Maybe if I were a woman I’d have been your private fuck!”

  “Oh, God,” I groaned, massaging my forehead, the sound of the slammed door ringing in my ears.

  “Give it a couple of days, and I’ll go talk to him,” Susan said.

  “Where will he go?” I asked.

  Susan cocked her head and asked, “Do you really care?”

  My silence confirmed to Susan that I didn’t care where Bruce went or what happened to him, only that he was gone.

  After Bruce left, our days followed a routine: after her day at school, she came home and we visited for five minutes or so before she went up to her late dinner in her bedroom, studied, and left for the evening. She returned hours after I had gone to bed.

  One evening, after I had been alone all day, I had a pity party for myself. Yes, I wanted to be family with Susan and Bruce. But my idea of family had never been theirs. I hated their free spirits and their ability to roll with the punches life gave them. Money in the bank and a home paid for were my security. Money meant nothing to them, and neither did a nice home. Later that evening Susan came home. She stopped a few feet from me, eyeing the littered front yard.

  “I’ll clean them up someday, but not now.” I sat on the edge of the porch, my legs sprawled out before me like two limp branches over the wooden steps. I wore faded blue jeans and a white pullover with the word bitch scribbled on the front. “So, did Susan and Bruce have a better day than I did?”

  “Your monthly menstruation cycle?” Susan asked, gesturing to the broken dishes and then added, “They seem to be getting more violent these days.”

  “I want a cigarette.”

  Susan grimaced. “You don’t smoke.”

  I cocked my head to one side and said, forcefully, “I want a cigarette.”

  Susan removed two cigarettes from her pack, lit them both, and handed one to me.

  While I blew smoke out of my nostrils, I said, “I’m learning to let out my feelings.” I leaned toward Susan and said, “All of them! Breaking dishes gives me a great deal of pleasure. I can’t go to jail for breaking dishes.”

  “What’s this all a
bout?” Susan asked.

  “Where’s Bruce?”

  “What does Bruce have to do with all of this?”

  I glared at Susan and said, “I hate him.”

  “You’re obsessed with him,” Susan blurted out.

  “Am not!”

  Susan leaned into my face and said, “Are!”

  I got up and tore open a paper bag I had been sitting on and began tossing the broken dishes inside.

  “You’ve always been an odd duck,” I heard Susan say. I continued picking up the broken dishes. She continued, “I remember when I first caught sight of you. You wore dress shoes, slacks, white shirt, and a tie and sport coat to school. God, you were out of place.”

  I faced Susan and said, “That’s the way Mom dressed me.”

  “Her little hubby!” Susan winked.

  “You’re sick,” I said as I tossed the paper sack laden with broken dishes into the tall plastic garbage can next to the steps. “Why do I put up with your crap?” I asked as I returned to the porch.

  Susan rested her head against the porch post, sighed, and said, “You’re a sadomasochist. You want people in your life, and then when they get to know you, you shove them out.”

  “I don’t like people,” I admitted out loud.

  “Then why did you invite us into your home?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t want to live alone.”

  “Get a parrot? At least the parrot will talk back to you, and when you get fed up with his jabber you can always duct-tape his beak shut.” Susan puffed out her chest and said, “Talk about power!”

  “Go to hell,” I said as I stomped back into the house.

  * * *

  Two weeks before their graduation, Bruce dropped by with Susan. I had been sitting at my computer workstation journaling. I turned in my chair at the sound of footsteps.

  Bruce was carrying two small cardboard boxes. He stopped midpoint in the living room, looked at me, and said, “I won’t be long,” as he disappeared down the hallway. I looked at Susan, who shrugged and sat at the dining room table.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “He wanted to come by to pack up the remainder of his personal effects,” she said.

  “He could’ve come by himself,” I said.

  She smiled slightly and said, “I don’t think so.”

  I took a seat at the dining room table across from Susan. I looked into Susan’s eyes and asked, “What are you doing after graduation?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I leaned forward across the table and whispered, “Stay with me. Here. Please.”

  Susan frowned, leaned back her chair, and said, “Don’t think so.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m fed up with your crap. Both Bruce and I are.”

  Bruce appeared at the end of the hallway carrying the two cardboard boxes one on top of the other. He set the boxes on the floor next to the table. He glanced at us and asked, “Mind if I join?”

  Before I had a chance to reply, Bruce sat next to Susan, looked at me, and grinned. “I won’t be a pain in your neck much longer.”

  I leaned back in my chair, looked at Bruce, and asked, “Why don’t you go home and live with your parents?”

  Bruce laughed. “I don’t have parents.”

  I grimaced and glanced at Susan and then back at Bruce. “I don’t have parents?”

  “I am the product of a one-night stand,” Bruce began. “My father abandoned my mom after he knocked her up. She abandoned me in the hospital shortly after I was born. I’ve been a pain in somebody’s ass ever since. My adopted family couldn’t handle me, so I was sent to group homes. For my thirteenth birthday, I gave myself the gift of independence—I ran away from the group home.” He pointed to Susan and said, “My hooker friend here befriended me, and we’ve been pals since.”

  “Hooker?” I stared at Susan.

  “I left home because I couldn’t stand my dad’s self-pity, Mom bowing to his every whim. The only way I could make a living was to whore myself.”

  “Here? In Middleport?” The hair stood up on the back of my neck.

  Susan laughed. “Around the state capitol. I had no problems finding employment.” She emphasized the word employment.

  I looked at Bruce, who said, “One night I found myself on the corner of State and Chestnut.” He glanced at Susan. “About three blocks from the state capitol. That’s where I found Susan.”

  “You’re an item?” I asked, looking at them.

  Bruce laughed, looked at me, and said, “She isn’t my type.”

  “My type?” I asked.

  Bruce glanced at Susan, smiled, and said, “He doesn’t get it.” He looked at me and added, “I’m gay.”

  “Oh God,” I said. “...in case you didn’t get it earlier, I’ve lived a sheltered life.”

  “You homophobic?” Bruce asked.

  “No... I don’t understand the lifestyle,” I admitted.

  “You ought to try it sometime.” Bruce winked at me and added, “You might like it.”

  Susan laid her hand on Bruce’s shoulder and said, “Drop it. Please.”

  Bruce smiled at Susan. He stood, looking down at me, and said, “I’m outta here.” He scooped his two cardboard boxes up and started for the door. “You know where to find me,” he said to Susan as he backed his way out the front door.

  After an uneasy silence I looked at Susan and asked, “How much longer before you graduate?”

  “My last week,” she said. “Then I have a week of finals.”

  * * *

  A week after she and Bruce finished their final examination, Susan purchased an ancient VW bus painted an odd assortment of pastel colors. Bruce wrote on the side of the bus, LOOKING FOR THE MEANING IN LIFE? JOIN PEACE CORPS. I was sitting on the porch swing when Susan drove up and parked the bus in front of the house.

  I got up and walked down off the porch to take a closer look at the bus. My stomach knotted. Finally, I faced Susan and asked, “How did you manage this?”

  “Student loan, what was left of it,” she said. “Caleb, it was a steal.”

  Susan slid the side door open, jumped inside, and lay on a makeshift bed in the rear of the bus. She grinned and said, “I’m moving to Orem, Utah.”

  I looked at Susan and said, “You’ve got to be kidding. This relic is going to get you to Orem, Utah?”

  Susan laughed. “I’ve driven clunkers all my life. None of those cars were in better shape than this bus,” she said as she leaned forward and kissed the sliding door of the bus. “I have a cousin who teaches philosophy at Brigham Young University not far from where he lives. There’s a position available.”

  “Mormon territory.” I grinned.

  Susan scrunched her face and said, her voice rising, “Not everyone who lives in Utah is Mormon!”

  After we darted hateful looks and sneers at one another, Susan started to giggle, and then I let go and laughed.

  She looked at me and said, “We might as well be married as much as we bark at each other.”

  My heart warmed and my face softened.

  “Oh, Caleb, I hope one day you find a woman for yourself.” When tears welled up in my eyes, Susan said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “You go. I’ll stay here.”

  “Caleb!”

  I changed the subject. “I want some comfort food and a tall glass of Guinness. I’ll pay the bill.”

  After our waiter seated us at our table, I ordered T-bone steak, vegetables, and a baked potato for me. Susan had salmon sautéed in lemon butter, vegetables, and rice pilaf. I added two pounders of Guinness.

  A tear dropped from Susan’s cheek as she looked at me. She whispered, “Memories, good and bad memories, between you and me.” She paused and then said, “I could’ve lived on campus. No privacy. Too many parties. I do appreciate what you did for me.”

  “I’ll miss you,” I began. I gazed into Susan’s eyes and added, “I have a confession.” Our waiter brought the Guinness. H
e returned immediately with our food. After he left, I continued, “Remember your sympathy fuck?”

  Susan stopped eating. She leaned over the table, grinned, and said, “Go on.”

  My body tingled as I felt blood rush to my face. “It was my... oh, God...”

  Susan gasped, leaned back in her chair, and said, “Virgin! You were...” Susan covered her mouth with her hand and looked around to see if anyone was listening. She leaned over the table again and giggled, “I raped you?”

  I grimaced and said, “You can’t rape the willing.” I paused and then added, “Tequila had a lot to do with it.”

  In disbelief, Susan asked, “Before that?”

  “No,” I insisted. “Mom warned me about women. She wanted better for me.”

  “Masturbation?” Susan asked.

  “No,” I said.

  “Mommy’s little hubby!” Susan winked.

  “Mom wasn’t my caretaker,” I protested.

  Susan blinked and said, “You’re walking in your mother’s shadow.”

  I protested, “Not!”

  Susan shook her head and said, “You’ll never leave Middleport.”

  I interjected, “Someday. Maybe. Someday.”

  Susan ate slowly, savoring each morsel like it would be her last. After I paid the tab, we walked out to Susan’s van. Under the lamplight we stood quietly looking at one another, not knowing what to say. I was frustrated Susan was leaving but knew there was nothing I could do to keep her in Middleport.

  The following afternoon, Bruce and Susan packed their personal belongings at my place and stuffed them into the ancient VW bus. I went for a walk, because I didn’t want to be around Bruce, but mostly I could not bring myself to say good-bye to Susan.

  By the time I returned home Bruce was already in the VW bus waiting for Susan, who was sitting on the porch swing. I sat on the edge of the porch, looked at Susan, and said, “Best to you, always.” I felt my face flush as a tear fell from my cheek. I felt helpless, alone. “I wish... I wish we could’ve...”

  Susan sat next to me, leaned forward, and kissed me gently on my lips. “I’ll call you as soon as I get to Orem.”