Chapter 7: Involvement

When the phone rang Thursday at 9:30, Marilyn was sitting down to breakfast.

“It’s for you, Marilyn,” Mom said.

“Hello?” Who’d call her this early?

“Marilyn, it’s Molly. You said to call you this morning.” She hadn’t said to call before dawn, though. Maybe she should have left more time between her day-date with Andy and her talk with his sister. But there wasn’t all that much time. These guys were going home on Sunday.

“Look, I’m just starting breakfast. How about I come over to your place in an hour?”

“I know where you live. Why don’t I come there?”

“Okay.” And, a little after 10:15, the bell rang. It was Molly, dressed in jeans and tennies like hers. She was wearing a good top while Marilyn was wearing a tee, but she wasn’t going to change. She checked that she had her keys and $2 and left with Molly.

“Let’s head towards the lake,” she told Molly when they got to the walk. She started out and Molly got beside her. “Okay, the rules. You’ve heard part of them. You can ask anything you please. I’ll answer what of it I please. I don’t tell what you’ve said, and you don’t tell what I’ve said. You don’t tell what questions you asked, either, nor which ones I answered. Okay?”

“Sure.” Which wasn’t the firmest promise ever heard, but she could get more specific if her answers called for that. She closed her mouth and let Molly choose the subject.

“Did April tell you about how The Turd treated her?”

“If you want me to keep your secrets, it’s weird to start off asking what your sister and I spoke about under my promise of secrecy.”

“Well, she told me some, and I know some more, so why don’t I tell you? You do know who I’m talking about don’t you?”

“Yeah.” That wasn’t any great secret, especially since Andy, too, seemed to use that nickname.

“Well, the first thing is that he’s always been like, ‘I’m your father now.’ And he wasn’t. He even calls Andy ‘Andrew.’”

“Really?”

“Mom does. Andy likes that. Nobody else does. Like my calling April ‘The Moppet.’ She doesn’t like that, and I haven’t for a year. Anyway, The Turd has been told, told privately by Mom and told quite openly by Andy, that he shouldn’t use that name. I’ve even told him that Dad doesn’t. He thinks it’s his right and that Andy is being rebellious. Now, Andy is often rebellious -- he can cut The Turd up one side and down the other -- but that name isn’t about rebellion.” She took a breath.

“Anyway, he was always faking the super-parent, and none of us liked it. Mom may have custody. I was even asked. April wasn’t; she was too young. Mom may have custody, but he doesn’t have custody. But he was always kissing and hugging as if he loved us, which he doesn’t. Well, when I got my period and the boob fairy visited, he got worse. Dad changed, too, but it was more avoidance. He has this hug where he wraps his arm around your back and grips your right shoulder real tight. He pulls you a little sidewise against that arm. You really know you’ve been hugged, but only one of your boobs even touches him. Well, Elliot is the opposite. As I got more boob, he hugged tighter. One hand pulled tight, the other rubbed my butt -- sometimes squeezed my butt. He started to kiss open-mouth. Mostly, I was able to keep my mouth closed.”

“Sounds like a struggle.”

“It was, but it was always his pretending to be a father. It got worse, and, then, it didn’t get any worse. Then, when the boob fairy visited April, he let me a little alone to zoom in on her. Anyway, I think he can be held off. He might be scared of our telling Mom.”

“If not, of course...”

“Yeah. Wouldn’t that be horrible for her? Getting raped must be God-awful. But having it be your first time? It would be terrible.” Which left Marilyn wondering whether Molly had had sex already. Well, she’d told April that adults don’t ask. And, anyway, 17 wasn’t like 14. Maybe she hadn’t, and it clearly hadn’t been rape if she had.

“Okay,” Marilyn began. “This I will tell you that I told her. You have your dad’s phone number including area code. It might be wise to have it written down. Things can slip your memory in emergencies. If this guy gets worse, if he does anything that can’t be covered up, even if he does something he can excuse but that scares either of you shitless, call your dad. Call him collect if necessary. Get to a friend’s house or a pay phone. Call him. You know when he’s home?”

“Yeah, and that’s one blessing. Elliot has a job. He’s home sometimes in the day but not often. And, in the day, either of us can find a friend to visit. You didn’t talk to Andy about this did you?”

“Hell no. I’m breaking secrecy as it is, but not much. All I told you is that I told April this. Why?”

“He said the same thing. ‘Call dad,’ I mean.”

“Well, it’s not like that’s some great secret discovery. He’s a man with power and money, and he loves you both. That’s what you need. Andy loves you, but there’s little he can do.”

“Yeah, but you two think alike. You’re good for him, you know?”

“I don’t know. How am I good for him?”

“Well, since you, he’s been much nicer. Not to The Turd, maybe, but to me. I don’t think he fights with Dad as much either.”

“I’m glad you think so.” What did it mean to be good for Andy?

“Yeah. You guys doing it?”

“I told your sister that this was one question that she wouldn’t ask people when she got a little older. Apparently, I should have said a lot older.”

“Nah! She’s more sensitive than I am. I’m the middle kid, and I have to scream to be heard. Anyway, I guess that answer’s the hint that I won’t get an answer. You should, if you’re not. Andy wants to. He doesn’t tell me his secrets -- would you? But I can see him look at you.”

“Well, what boys want is more than what boys get. And men -- and your brother is a man -- have realized that.”

“Andy mostly gets what he wants. The secret is to want few things. Hell to buy that guy birthday presents -- you’re lucky you skip that. He wants you, as I’ve said, but he doesn’t want many things. I buy SF older than his interest in the field. You can check copyright dates. Dad gets him hard-cover biographies. Dad really knows biographies. April gives him things which he loves ‘cause they’re from April. Anyway, Andy wants you, and independence, and to be an engineer. When he gets the third, he’ll get the second. Dad isn’t keeping him on a leash; he’s paying his tuition. That only leaves you. Did you really refuse him the first time he asked you for a date?”

“Well, I was going steady at the time.”

“Well, that only goes to show. Andy takes no for an answer. He didn’t use to until he learned better. Mothers used to call up Mom. If he asked again, he really wanted you.” That was something to think about. Having reached the Northwestern campus, she sat on a bench. Molly sat with her. There wasn’t another soul within hearing distance, and not all that many within sight.

“Well, I was going steady, as I told you. Then, at the University, I wasn’t.”

“Patience. He tries to tell me about patience. But I want so much. It’s hard to be patient about a lot of things at once.”

“You know, your being his sister it’s odd I don’t already know the answer to this. You’re going to college starting in thirteen, fourteen months?”

“Yeah. Do you think I’d fit in at the University of Illinois? I’m thinking of there.”

“Great.” Although she thought of California as swimming -- almost drowning -- in schools. “But what I was asking was what your major will be.”

“Well, I haven’t really decided that.”

“What do you want to be?”

“Not a secretary. Mom says that they’re overworked and underappreciated.”

“Well, there are worse jobs. There are better ones, too. But most professional-level jobs are filled with people really committed to their fields. You’ve had teachers who only are there for the paychecks, but those are mostly burnouts. They used to want to teach, and now they’ve given up. Most people who have what you’d call interesting jobs have a fascination with them. There are two sorts of jobs like that.”

“Now, you disagree with Andy. He says there’s only one.”

“Well, if you split it the way I do, there are two. Some jobs you have to be great at. You want to be a concert violinist, you have to beat out something like a dozen violinists, very good violinists, for any one opening. And a novelist. Actually, anybody can be a novelist; all you need is a typewriter, and a couple of reams of paper. Being a published novelist is a lot harder. You have to compete with dozens of novels coming into the same publishing house from beginning novelists at the same time.”

“So?”

“A lot of other professional jobs are somewhat easier. Mine and Andy’s choices, for example. Sure, we have to pass a lot of courses, but -- if we do well in those courses -- somebody is almost certain to hire us at the end. Knock on wood.” She rapped the seat of the bench beside her. “Doctors and lawyers are a little in between. There’s a hard test to get into med school or law school, and a test at the end, but those are tests. Once somebody is a doctor or a lawyer, they usually get some sort of job in their field. Being a major-leaguer or a movie star means competing with a million people who want the same thing for very few slots. I’ve wandered off track.”

“Another way you two are well matched.” Gee thanks. She might wander, but she wasn’t as bad as Andy.

“What I’m saying is that getting most desirable jobs means getting a good education first. That’s the usual path, the usual hurdle. After all, if anybody could do the job and it’s pleasant work, why should the boss pay much more than minimum wage for doing it. Some jobs have other hurdles. Construction jobs on skyscrapers pay very well. So few people can keep their heads when they’re up that high on a narrow beam, that they’ll train you if you’re willing to go up there. But, mostly, it’s the schooling. And, if you don’t give a damn except for the money, the school time starts to get agonizing.”

“Worse than high school?”

“A lot like high school, except that the standards are much higher ‘cause you’re sitting in a classroom with kids who do find the subject fascinating. Look at Andy. How’d you like to take a class in physics where most students think the physics is as interesting as Andy does? And the teacher agrees, and expects you to find it fascinating, too. So, the teacher teaches to the Andys and goes on when they’re clear.”

“Sounds like hell.”

“Well, it’s one circle of hell ‘cause after a while, you take all your classes with guys like that. You take distribution, of course. But to earn a degree in a field you have to take lots of courses competing with students who are fascinated by that particular field.”

“So?”

“So, find something that interests you this next year. Preferably something which both interests you and can pay a salary. But, really, finding something which is interesting is the more important part.”

“Teaching doesn’t pay all that much.”

“Really, it doesn’t. But compare it to waiting tables in a restaurant, sometime. It’s not at the bottom of the pay scale by any means. That’s not why I chose it, though. I chose it because I love literature, and some teachers fed that love. I want to be a teacher feeding that love in kids.”

“Well...”

“You don’t have to share my desires. I sure don’t share Andy’s. But if you end up not wanting to do anything, you’ll end up spending 40 hours a week doing something you don’t want to do. Have you ever seen your brother bored?”

“Most of the things he does are boring. Maybe not with you.”

“Thanks. Most of the things he does would bore you to tears. And, honestly, some of the things he studies would bore me to tears. That isn’t what I asked. He studies things, with few exceptions, that interest him. But many things interest him. He is seldom bored, and that makes for a pleasant life. If you spend your energy looking for reasons to be bored, you’re sabotaging your own life.”

“Yeah?”

“Look, I’m starting to sound like Polonius, even to myself. Let’s start back.” They went back to the Trainor house, and then Marilyn went home.

“Did you have a good time, dear?” Mom asked.

“You’ve heard of old bores, but I’m not 20 yet. Can I be a young bore?”

“Dear?”

“I spent the morning sounding like Polonius to Andy’s sister.”

“Oh, was Andy with you?”

“No, thank God. Andy was safe at the hardware store. Surely more interesting than listening to me.”