with the speed of the Flash, she leaped from her chair and darted for her room.
Still holding the thing with the tweezers, Dad looked at Mom, who stood up very slowly, put her chair under the table and left the room with a sob. Down the hall I heard her crying, and over that I could hear Callie wailing.
Daddy looked at me, said, “I’ll just get rid of this.”
Not knowing what it was he was disposing of, or what had actually occurred, I just nodded, and when he left the room I sat there bewildered. Eventually he returned. He sat at the head of the table and stared off into space. Finally he noticed me sitting there. He said, “You go ahead and eat, Stanley.”
I filled my plate and started in, curious about what was going on, but in no way put off my feed. I was through my second piece of chicken when Mom came back and sat down and made a production of placing her napkin in her lap.
Daddy said, “You spoke with her, Gal?”
Mom’s voice wasn’t any better. “Some. I’ll be speaking with her again.”
“Good. Good.”
She looked up at me, smiled weakly, said, “Callie won’t be joining us for dinner. Would you pass the chicken, Stanley?”
3
I T WAS S UNDAY , and the drive-in was closed. Back then Sunday was taken seriously by Christians, and no legitimate businesses were open. Some Christians argued Saturday was the true day of praise and rest for the Lord, but the law thought it was Sunday.
For years there was a thing in Texas called the blue law, which meant there were certain items you couldn’t buy on Sunday. Like alcoholic beverages. Or you could buy a hammer, but couldn’t buy nails, a drill, but no bits. Anything that might lead to the successful completion of work. If someone saw you working, they looked at you as if you had just set fire to the courthouse while it was stuffed with pink-cheeked Girl Scouts and all their cookies.
As I recall, certain bathroom items were even considered taboo to be sold.
So, back then Sunday was not a day the drive-in opened. My parents were not churchgoers, and to the best of mymemory, religion was never seriously discussed, least not from a theological standpoint.
Still, no matter what the family’s beliefs, there was no question there was some sort of moral event at the heart of Callie’s mistake. Enough that I heard Mother call on God. Twice. I think she was threatening him.
Daddy, realizing I was puzzled about the matter of the knotted balloon, tried to explain it to me that afternoon.
We were out back, inside the drive-in, under the awning over the front of the concession stand, sitting in chairs, looking at the green fence in the distance, watching what was left of the rain.
Daddy, without looking at me, said, “Son. Do you know what happened with Callie?”
“You found something in her room that shouldn’t have been there.”
Daddy sat silent for a moment. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, because, somehow, I knew this wasn’t a face-to-face kind of conversation.
“In a way that’s correct,” Daddy said. “Son, do you know about the birds and the bees?”
Of course I did. Was he asking me the difference? Was this a bird and insect lesson? I said, “I think so.”
“Well, there’s a time for the birds and the bees. You should know what it’s all about.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Callie found out too soon. Or maybe she knew, but she got involved too soon.”
“With the birds and the bees?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You’re mad about it?”
“Yes. I’m hurt. I’m a little scared.”
I did look at him now. I couldn’t help myself. Daddy,scared? My daddy seemed to me invincible. Kind of man that would go bear hunting with a switch and make the bear carry the switch home for him. And here he was upset over some birds and bugs and a knotted balloon.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because Callie is my little girl and I want the best for her, and she’s too young to be involved with that kind of
Still holding the thing with the tweezers, Dad looked at Mom, who stood up very slowly, put her chair under the table and left the room with a sob. Down the hall I heard her crying, and over that I could hear Callie wailing.
Daddy looked at me, said, “I’ll just get rid of this.”
Not knowing what it was he was disposing of, or what had actually occurred, I just nodded, and when he left the room I sat there bewildered. Eventually he returned. He sat at the head of the table and stared off into space. Finally he noticed me sitting there. He said, “You go ahead and eat, Stanley.”
I filled my plate and started in, curious about what was going on, but in no way put off my feed. I was through my second piece of chicken when Mom came back and sat down and made a production of placing her napkin in her lap.
Daddy said, “You spoke with her, Gal?”
Mom’s voice wasn’t any better. “Some. I’ll be speaking with her again.”
“Good. Good.”
She looked up at me, smiled weakly, said, “Callie won’t be joining us for dinner. Would you pass the chicken, Stanley?”
3
I T WAS S UNDAY , and the drive-in was closed. Back then Sunday was taken seriously by Christians, and no legitimate businesses were open. Some Christians argued Saturday was the true day of praise and rest for the Lord, but the law thought it was Sunday.
For years there was a thing in Texas called the blue law, which meant there were certain items you couldn’t buy on Sunday. Like alcoholic beverages. Or you could buy a hammer, but couldn’t buy nails, a drill, but no bits. Anything that might lead to the successful completion of work. If someone saw you working, they looked at you as if you had just set fire to the courthouse while it was stuffed with pink-cheeked Girl Scouts and all their cookies.
As I recall, certain bathroom items were even considered taboo to be sold.
So, back then Sunday was not a day the drive-in opened. My parents were not churchgoers, and to the best of mymemory, religion was never seriously discussed, least not from a theological standpoint.
Still, no matter what the family’s beliefs, there was no question there was some sort of moral event at the heart of Callie’s mistake. Enough that I heard Mother call on God. Twice. I think she was threatening him.
Daddy, realizing I was puzzled about the matter of the knotted balloon, tried to explain it to me that afternoon.
We were out back, inside the drive-in, under the awning over the front of the concession stand, sitting in chairs, looking at the green fence in the distance, watching what was left of the rain.
Daddy, without looking at me, said, “Son. Do you know what happened with Callie?”
“You found something in her room that shouldn’t have been there.”
Daddy sat silent for a moment. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, because, somehow, I knew this wasn’t a face-to-face kind of conversation.
“In a way that’s correct,” Daddy said. “Son, do you know about the birds and the bees?”
Of course I did. Was he asking me the difference? Was this a bird and insect lesson? I said, “I think so.”
“Well, there’s a time for the birds and the bees. You should know what it’s all about.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, Callie found out too soon. Or maybe she knew, but she got involved too soon.”
“With the birds and the bees?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“You’re mad about it?”
“Yes. I’m hurt. I’m a little scared.”
I did look at him now. I couldn’t help myself. Daddy,scared? My daddy seemed to me invincible. Kind of man that would go bear hunting with a switch and make the bear carry the switch home for him. And here he was upset over some birds and bugs and a knotted balloon.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because Callie is my little girl and I want the best for her, and she’s too young to be involved with that kind of
Similar Books
Woman Walks into a Bar
Rowan Coleman
Gunship
J. J. Snow
The Portable William Blake
William Blake
Lady of Fire
Anita Mills
Under the Gun (CEP Book 3)
Harper Bentley
Inner Diva
Laurie Larsen
State of Wonder
Ann Patchett
The Cape Ann
Faith Sullivan
Bombshell (AN FBI THRILLER)
Catherine Coulter
The Wrong Sister
Kris Pearson