Keeping That Airplane In the Sky
Apr. 20th, 2009 09:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraBen left voicemail. I heard it this morning when I finally went back down to Land O’ Cell Coverage.
“It’s ninety-eight degrees. There were five people at the show last night. Love you.”
I called him right back.
The real trouble was that it was 98 degrees, there were five people at the show last night, and the RV had broken down again.
Scott the mechanic had had to go on ahead with the show.”
“It’s the battery again and the alternator –“
“But you replaced them both in the last two weeks –“ I said nervously.
“Scott thinks maybe it’s the [insert name of esoteric car part I can’t remember]. Except I went to the auto parts store and the part looks different from the one that’s in the engine. I may need a real mechanic. Jesus. I hope I have enough money.”
“How much do you have?”
“Around nine hundred.”
“I can send you another two hundred on Wednesday,” I said. Although if I did, that would leave me with a four dollar per day food budget for the next week.
“It shouldn’t come to that,” Ben said. “But thanks.”
Assuming our minds still worked in synchrony, I figure we were both contemplating the irony: with all the money that had now been sunk into that piece of shit RV, Ben could have bought one that actually functioned.
But maybe our minds no longer harmonized.
“How’s Robin?” I asked.
“Robin is a real trooper most of the time. I mean, right now – well. This can’t be fun for him.”
“No,” I said. “It can’t.”
Then there was nothing else to say. We both hung up.
I dread these conversations with Ben. Everything goes so desperately wrong for him, he lurches from one crisis to the next. There’s absolutely nothing I can do for him and when I picture his situation – dogs panting, Robin sullen and bored, constant ache in his back, taste of cheap cigarettes in his mouth, smell of oil and burning rubber and always, always the heat – I get sick to my stomach from anxiety.
There’s a game I play when I’m nervous on an airplane – I look out the window, turn my intent into a filament of something supernaturally strong, will the plane to stay in the sky. If I did that with Ben and Robin, then they would stay safe and trouble-free.
Except I don’t.
I forget them.
How are you? I text Robin.
Okay. Worried about Dad.
Me 2. And I was. Both Ben’s parents had had major heart attacks by the time they were the age Ben is now. His father died; his mother too, but she was resuscitated. (“Did you see the tunnel and the white light?” I asked Nancy once. “No,” she said crisply, “none of that.”) What if Ben drops dead? I’m essentially homeless right now – how will I take care of Robin? How will I take care of the dogs? How will I get the RV back to Monterey? How will I afford to cremate him even?
If you have problems in the next few days, don’t tell Dad, Robin texted. He’s stressed enough already.
Oh, right. My problems. Well I have a lot of them, but the one I’m most fixated on is Meezer. I sneaked her over to Annie’s. I can’t hold Ben in my thoughts all day because I have to hold Meezer in my thoughts all day, make sure she doesn’t attack the bunnies or any of the other critters here in critter paradise; make sure she stays in the underbrush, far away from the house. Make sure Annie never puts on her glasses.
The circus arrived in California last weekend. I was planning to visit the GuyZ this weekend. The plan was to bring Meezer with me. I’m not sure this plan will work. If I was staying with the gypsy caravan I could be reasonably confident when I let Meezer out of the RV in the morning that she’d come back that night. She’s bonded to me. In her own antisocial way, of course. I’m not at all sure she’ll come when Ben or Robin call her though.
Still. I don’t know what else to do. After my stint at Annie’s Heidi and Bill are the next set of friends running the Hostel for Homeless Census Workers. They definitely don’t want Meezer around; they will definitely notice if she is…
“It’s ninety-eight degrees. There were five people at the show last night. Love you.”
I called him right back.
The real trouble was that it was 98 degrees, there were five people at the show last night, and the RV had broken down again.
Scott the mechanic had had to go on ahead with the show.”
“It’s the battery again and the alternator –“
“But you replaced them both in the last two weeks –“ I said nervously.
“Scott thinks maybe it’s the [insert name of esoteric car part I can’t remember]. Except I went to the auto parts store and the part looks different from the one that’s in the engine. I may need a real mechanic. Jesus. I hope I have enough money.”
“How much do you have?”
“Around nine hundred.”
“I can send you another two hundred on Wednesday,” I said. Although if I did, that would leave me with a four dollar per day food budget for the next week.
“It shouldn’t come to that,” Ben said. “But thanks.”
Assuming our minds still worked in synchrony, I figure we were both contemplating the irony: with all the money that had now been sunk into that piece of shit RV, Ben could have bought one that actually functioned.
But maybe our minds no longer harmonized.
“How’s Robin?” I asked.
“Robin is a real trooper most of the time. I mean, right now – well. This can’t be fun for him.”
“No,” I said. “It can’t.”
Then there was nothing else to say. We both hung up.
I dread these conversations with Ben. Everything goes so desperately wrong for him, he lurches from one crisis to the next. There’s absolutely nothing I can do for him and when I picture his situation – dogs panting, Robin sullen and bored, constant ache in his back, taste of cheap cigarettes in his mouth, smell of oil and burning rubber and always, always the heat – I get sick to my stomach from anxiety.
There’s a game I play when I’m nervous on an airplane – I look out the window, turn my intent into a filament of something supernaturally strong, will the plane to stay in the sky. If I did that with Ben and Robin, then they would stay safe and trouble-free.
Except I don’t.
I forget them.
How are you? I text Robin.
Okay. Worried about Dad.
Me 2. And I was. Both Ben’s parents had had major heart attacks by the time they were the age Ben is now. His father died; his mother too, but she was resuscitated. (“Did you see the tunnel and the white light?” I asked Nancy once. “No,” she said crisply, “none of that.”) What if Ben drops dead? I’m essentially homeless right now – how will I take care of Robin? How will I take care of the dogs? How will I get the RV back to Monterey? How will I afford to cremate him even?
If you have problems in the next few days, don’t tell Dad, Robin texted. He’s stressed enough already.
Oh, right. My problems. Well I have a lot of them, but the one I’m most fixated on is Meezer. I sneaked her over to Annie’s. I can’t hold Ben in my thoughts all day because I have to hold Meezer in my thoughts all day, make sure she doesn’t attack the bunnies or any of the other critters here in critter paradise; make sure she stays in the underbrush, far away from the house. Make sure Annie never puts on her glasses.
The circus arrived in California last weekend. I was planning to visit the GuyZ this weekend. The plan was to bring Meezer with me. I’m not sure this plan will work. If I was staying with the gypsy caravan I could be reasonably confident when I let Meezer out of the RV in the morning that she’d come back that night. She’s bonded to me. In her own antisocial way, of course. I’m not at all sure she’ll come when Ben or Robin call her though.
Still. I don’t know what else to do. After my stint at Annie’s Heidi and Bill are the next set of friends running the Hostel for Homeless Census Workers. They definitely don’t want Meezer around; they will definitely notice if she is…
