Six Going on Seven, Chapter 2 ~ Ixion

Margaret was a friend of Mom’s from work.  She had a husband named Dave and one son, Grant.  Elly thought they were dull; Margaret a round woman with round eyes and round hair and a round smile, Dave a bony man with thinning hair like a V on the top of his head.  Grant was twelve, had his father’s bony body and his mother’s owl face, and didn’t much care for younger children.

The two families often went back and forth between households for dinner.  Margaret and Mom would chat about boring things they seemed to find interesting.  Dad and Dave would look helplessly at each other while they tried to come up with something that interested both of them.  Grant would play computer games and try to ignore Marcus and Eric.  Elly watched.

Watching, she had come to understand many things.  Mom thought that Dave was the kind of man Dad should spend time with; he was “intelligent, mature, and grounded.”  He had a steady, full time job.  He was not very good conversation, but Mom never saw that.  Margaret and Mom were talkative women; Dad and Dave were listeners.  Elly saw that when two listeners who had nothing else in common were together, not much was said.

Margaret’s church was large and made of stone.  It was full of people with bright Sunday spirit, which Elly liked to see so long as she could just watch them socialize with each other.  She always felt uncomfortable in the pit of her stomach when she was thrown into a midst of over-curious adults.  Elly never felt more painfully visible than when she stood in her powder blue Sunday dress, white tights that were loose, and powder blue shoes that shouldn’t be scuffed, listening to people say what a pretty sweet thing she was.

She wished she could escape, like Dad, after the service was over.  He stood with Mom for a little while, saying “hi” to people and not much else, but he got to go home before Elly did.  He slipped away before the picnic, turning Elly back when she tried to follow.  “You know your mom doesn’t like you hanging around the guys,” he said, ruffling her hair, and that was that.

Marcus and Eric enjoyed themselves that afternoon, running and playing with the other young boys and girls.  Elly put herself to the side, keeping an eye on her mother, and also the other girls her age.  Their parents had introduced her to them; they’d said hello and quickly forgotten her.  She preferred to watch them.  No, she would have preferred to go home, and sit in a corner of the garage watching Dad and Uncle Jake with their friends.  Elly liked the band.  They were not the sort of guys Mom thought Dad should spend time with; they were the opposite of Dave.  But he enjoyed their company a lot more than he did Dave’s or anyone like Dave.

She watched the girls play delicate tag in their Sunday dresses, and boys play rough and tumble football regardless of their Sunday clothes.  She listened in on her mother’s conversations.  I want to go home.

Eric made her wish come true after an hour.  He was only four, and clumsy, all feet and no balance.  He slipped, hitting his head on the bench of a picnic table, making his head bleed.  Mom ran to him as he screamed.  Elly knew then that they would be going home soon, and they did.  Mom took Eric inside the church and one of the ladies got out a first aid kit.  They bandaged up Eric’s head, which wasn’t hurt bad for all that showy blood.  Once Eric realized he wasn’t going to die, and had a bandage on his head, he was happy again and wanted to play, but Mom was more shaken than he was.

Mom was always more shaken than anyone when one of them got hurt — Elly could still remember the hug she’d gotten when she fell off a merry-go-round Dad had got spinning too fast.  Elly had begged him to make it go as fast as he could, and so the air was knocked from her lungs and she lay on the ground gaping like a fish and thinking she would explode.  Even when Elly felt fine again, Mom was shaken and angry with Dad.

Now she was angry with Dad again, because when she tried to call him he didn’t pick up the phone.  He was out in the garage and couldn’t hear a thing, and for a moment Elly thought that would ruin their chance to leave early, but then Dave offered to drive them home.  Elly didn’t think he was so dull then, even though his conversation was dull all the way home.  Marcus had been enjoying himself at the picnic and grumbled about leaving till he found one of Grant’s handheld computer games wedged in the back seat.  Eric felt his bandage over with a look of pride on his tiny round four-year-old face, saying he couldn’t wait to show Daddy.  Boys liked wounds, which Elly understood though Mom didn’t seem to.

The garage door was shut when they got home, but the pulsating noise of the band could be heard from the street.  Mom thanked Dave but didn’t pause to invite him in, instead picking Eric up and carrying him to the house as if he were too hurt to walk.  Elly saw that Marcus still had Grant’s game, but she didn’t care to point it out.  She ran to the garage before Mom could notice, and slipped in the side door.

Uncle Jake was Dad’s half brother.  Elly had puzzled over what that meant until Mom told her that they had the same father but different mothers.  That made only a little more sense to Elly, but Mom wouldn’t tell her any more.  Elly knew the woman who was Jake’s mother, but the woman who was Dad’s mother lived far away, in Wisconsin, and Elly couldn’t remember meeting her, though she was told that she had.  Elly was born in Wisconsin but her parents moved to California before Eric came along.  Elly didn’t remember anything of the year she’d lived there, and not any of the family members she’d met.

Mom told her she had not met the man who was their father, and that she never would if Dad could help it.  Elly didn’t need to ask why, because she’d watched her parents’ conversations enough to know.

Jake played drums like he wanted to hurt them, though Elly knew he loved his drum set more than anything, even more than his girlfriend Kiki, who was going to have a baby.  He was the youngest member of the band which Mom and Dad called “Jake’s band” even though it was really Noah’s band.  Noah Conner was the singer, his brother Sam played guitar, and they had called themselves “The Conmen” when they were the only members of the band.  Jake and the bass player, Wes, joined up with them later.

Dad was not, officially, a member of the band, and they did not, officially, have a name because no one besides Noah and Sam liked “The Conmen.”  Dad was the only one of the group who had his own house, his own garage, and had been playing guitar for twenty years, which was why Jake and his friends were always coming over.  The only reason he was not, officially, a member of the band was because Mom said the whole thing was teenaged nonsense.

Elly liked to watch the teenaged nonsense, especially when they didn’t know she was around, because just like Mom and Dad they said things they never would if they knew she was there.  They didn’t play their instruments all the time, sometimes they talked about what they would play and how they would play it, and sometimes they just hung out.  Mom liked the “just hanging out” the least, and Elly liked it the most.

She didn’t make herself unseen as she popped into the garage, because she wanted Dad to know they were home.  She wanted him to know she was there, and perhaps later after Mom dragged her back into the house she could sneak back out unseen.  It was easy when Dad and the band had the big door open, but for some reason they had it closed that afternoon.  She let the side door slam as she came in, and even though they didn’t hear her, Dad saw her.  He stopped playing the guitar, and the others drifted silent after him.  Elly liked to be seen sometimes, by people she wanted to see her, and she liked their surprised expressions when they saw her enter, in her powder blue dress.

“Well hey munchkin,” said Dad, then paused doubtfully.

Jake said, “Hey kid,” and waved a drumstick at her, but the others just stared as if they still couldn’t understand why the song had stopped.

“Hi, Uncle Jake.”

“What are you doing home?” Dad asked, “Where’s your mother?”

“We’re all home,” she said, “Eric hit his head and made it bleed.”

“Is he okay?  How’d you guys get home?”

“Yeah.  Mom called but you didn’t answer, so Dave drove us home.”

“Shit,” Dad said under his breath, thinking she couldn’t hear.  “Is she mad about it?”

“Yup.  Why are you playing in the dark?”  The garage had one dim light that made everything look yellow.

“Really mad or just kind of mad?”

“Kind of.  She’s upset about Eric, and she was embarrassed about Dave driving us.  So why are you playing in the dark?”

“We’re practicing,” answered Noah, adjusting his microphone.  “For the club.”

“Club?  You’re going to play in a club?”  Elly’s eyes widened.  They’d always talked about playing in a club, but it seemed like just a dream.

“Maybe,” said Dad, lifting the guitar strap over his head and leaning the instrument against a speaker.  He headed for the side door.

“Yeah.  If your wife lets you play with us . . . otherwise we’ll suck,” grumbled Wes, plucking at his bass.

“Hey, it’s not a problem.”  Dad paused with the door open, glancing back irritably.  “I’ll be there no matter what.”  Then he left, and Wes snorted.

“He’ll be there,” said Jake.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“Yeah.”  Noah shook his head, ducking out of his guitar.  “We’ll see.”

“Of course Daddy will be there.”  Elly crossed her arms, scoffing at their doubt.

“He’d better be,” spoke up Sam, who spoke up rarely.  “’Cause I can’t play this fuckin’ riff and the song sounds like crap without it.”

Jake coughed, jerking his head at Elly.  They all fell silent, staring at her dubiously as if they couldn’t think of what to say around her.  They usually froze up like that when they remembered that A Six Year Old was watching and listening to them.

“I’m going,” she said, swinging her arms down and heading for the door.  She trotted outside down the stepping stone path between the house and garage, catching up to her father as he went in the side door.

Inside the house, Jake’s girlfriend Kiki was sitting on the sofa watching television.  Marcus sat on the floor next to her, still absorbed with Grant’s computer game.

Kiki often tagged along with Jake when he came over, but lately spent most of her time on the couch with her feet up.  She was a skinny little girl with short blonde hair, and her belly was massive, overwhelming the rest of her small body.  Kiki was one reason Mom didn’t much like Uncle Jake — she was only fifteen, friendly and unflappably cheerful, but meek.  Too meek, Mom would say.  She looked up as they came in, and Dad asked her where Mom had gone.

“Boys’ room.”  Kiki smiled.  “Trying to make Eric stay in bed.”

They went down the hallway; Dad peeked around the side of the bedroom door, and Elly peeked around him.  “Hey sweetie,” he said, tapping the doorframe in a little knock.

Mom, sitting on the bed, looked over her shoulder.  “Eric hit his head.”  She frowned, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“So I heard.”  Dad walked in and bent over his son, looking at the bandage.  “How ya doin’, kiddo?” he asked.

Eric sat up.  “I got a cut!” he announced proudly, pointing at his head.  “A big one!”

“Really.  Cool,” said Dad, peeling back the bandage a little to get a look.  “Oh yeah.  Big cut.”  There was a grin in his voice, and he smirked at Mom.

“He bled a lot,” Mom said, still frowning.  “I want him to get some rest before he starts tearing around again.”

“Sure.  You hear that?  Stay.  In.  Bed.”  Dad poked him in the chest with each word, making him giggle.

“I don’t wanna take a nap,” Eric still protested through his laughter.  “I wanna play Jake’s drums.”

“No,” Mom said.  “You heard your father.  Stay in bed.”  She darted a look at Dad, as if to remind him to stick to what he’d said.

“Right.  If you don’t get some rest, your cut’s gonna get bigger and bigger till it’s a great big gash going from here—” Dad traced a line across Eric’s forehead, “—to here.  And then your brains will fall out.”

“Really?”  Eric’s eyes widened, his voice hushed.

Dad nodded, looking very serious.  “Yep.”

Eric reached up to feel his head.

“So get some sleep.  And,” Dad added, “after Mommy lets you out you can have some ice cream.  Freeze your brain in place so it stays up there.”

“Okay.”  Eric grinned at the thought of ice cream, and lay back down obediently.  Mom leaned over and kissed his curly black head, and Dad thumped him on the shoulder.  He smiled up at the both of them, and Elly, leaning against the doorframe, shook her head.  It was the tiniest of wounds to make such a big deal over, but that was Mom.

Her parents stood up and she moved away from the door.  They came out and Mom shut the door, putting a finger to her lips as she looked back in one last time.  Then she turned to Dad.  “Don’t look at me like that.  It may look small now but he lost a lost of blood.”

“I didn’t say anything.”  Dad put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  Neither of them saw Elly leaning against the wall, though she was visible.

“Ice cream.”  Mom rolled her eyes.  “You can’t keep on feeding them ice cream for everything.”

He just shrugged again.  Elly followed them back into the kitchen, where the band had congregated, abandoning the garage.  They looked awkward, as they always did in Mom’s kitchen, but they had found the soda in the back of the refrigerator and helped themselves.  Usually the first thing they asked was, “Got any beer?” but Mom didn’t like beer and never had it in the house, though Dad kept some in the garage that she didn’t know about.  Elly had tried a little once, and thought it was icky, but Dad would sit out there and drink it when he was upset with Mom.  He didn’t really do it that often . . . Mom was upset with him more than he was with her, but when she did drive him out to the garage, Elly would stand there in her mask and watch him, wondering why drinking something that tasted so bad made him feel better.

Mom frowned when she saw the sodas in their hands, but turned away without saying anything.

“So,” said Noah, “did you tell her . . . ?”

Dad shrugged and shook his head.

“What?” Mom turned around.  “Tell me what?”