“And what was that?” Thad snapped, pointing out the window of the truck.
“What?” I said, making a left hand turn to head toward Tuesday Morning. He was in a mood.
“You just cut that car off.” His voice was shrill, a sound I hated.
“No, I didn’t. It was a four way stop and I got to go.”
“No, no,” he countered. “You got there after that car. She should have gone first.”
“No, we got there at the same time” I said exasperated, not in the mood to deal with his crankiness, but due to his now almost holy status per the whole Gaga thing, had to just smile and continue nicely. “She was in a minivan and we’re in a truck. There is an inherent hierarchy of automobiles, and trucks always beat minivans, so I got to go.”
“What?” he said incredulously.
“A truck always trumps a minivan at a four-way stop if they arrive at the same time. It’s just logical. It’s a minivan, full of kids, usually with a harried mom driving. She’s not taking any risks, she’s going to wait. So a truck beats that and gets to go first.”
“That doesn’t make any sense at all,” he scoffed. “The person who was there first should go first.”
“Yes, but if both cars get there at the same time and everyone just waits on the other person to go first, especially a minivan, no one will go, and it will take forever. So truck trumps minivan and gets to go first.”
“Okay, that’s stupid, but whatever.”
“No, it’s perfectly logical.”
We were silent as we drove on. With no real impetus or particular reason Thad had spent all of lunch today moodily sulking. On the second time I asked him what was wrong, he had sighed, “Just sad about my birthday.” And that was before he got the phone call from his Mother this afternoon.
I could tell his 40th was weighing heavy on him. One: he seldom spoke of it, and two: when he did, he was terse. He had already told me he wanted “No party-no surprise! No nothing! Got it? It’s just another day, but with presents. I just want it to be over.” I was not going to disavow him, but wanted to make sure he was not disappointed. When I had told him this he had said, “Oh, don’t worry. I will be disappointed no matter what.” He was sullen that way. So there was already a general pallor draped over the entire impending event that every day was slouching closer towards us.
And then this afternoon, once I was back at school, he called my office to say he had just received a frantic phone call from his mother about his grandmother. Ma’am had been found by a neighbor man late last night, wondering down the street in her nightgown. She knew she lived somewhere but could not remember exactly where. The neighbor, who had known her for years, walked her home and delivering her to a terrified Esteban. He had called Patty, Thad’s Mom, this afternoon and told her what happened, and then Patty had called Thad, frantic. From what Thad said, it sounded like Patty had drug poor Esteban over the coals for letting Ma’am out of his sight.
I had asked Thad when Ma’am first started showing signs of Alzheimer’s, but he refused to talk about it. Instead he instructed me that as soon as I got out of class today we needed to start his birthday shopping-a solid month in advance- so he could make sure I got him just the perfect gifts. And I agreed, knowing he was deeply bothered, and now not just about his birthday.
“So what trumps a truck?” Thad asked as we came within view of the strip mall that contained Tuesday Morning, one of his favorite stores.
“A bigger truck. A bigger truck always wins.” We pulled up to a stop light to idle.
“What about a school bus?”
“Oh, a school bus always wins, of course,” I answered. “It’s got kids on it. That’s just logical.”
“But the minivan has kids…”
“Yes, but the school bus has a professional driver, unlike the minivan driver. The school bus driver knows what they’re doing. That’s their job: they drive. So they go first. The same goes for emergency vehicles, service vehicles, and any car larger or more expensive than yours always wins, as long it’s not a minivan. Minivans are like the proverbial Job of the car world: they always lose.”
“So a corvette would beat this truck?”
“Absolutely. And why? Anyone with a corvette has a lot of money and something to prove, and is probably a little-dicked lawyer, so you just let them go. Otherwise they’ll probably just smash into you and then sue you over it.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“No, not at all, really.”
Tuesday Morning seemed to brighten his day, and mine as well. It was like the fabulous attic to my home, full of tony well-priced treasures. We walked among the silver picture frames and fingered the decorative figurines before stopping to gawk at discounted Waterford.
“Oh, this is nice.” Thad said, picking up a vase and handing it to me, “Feel how heavy.”
As I took it, “Good lord! It must weigh ten pounds!”
He took it back, a glisten in his eyes. “Yeah. Too bad I can’t have one in my new house.”
“Why?”
He turned dramatically to me and lowered his voice, “You know that terrible flowery vase Mother gave me last Christmas that I just hated?”
“The Italian footed Capodimonte?”
“Yeah. Bettina-the-Black-Witch broke it.”
“You’re kidding?” I gasped, clutching the pearls. “How?”
“I don’t know. She had people over one night last week. I had it on the mantle. She wasn’t even sure if it was Bayne or her, something about roughhousing. But when I got up, it was in pieces all over the floor. She said she would pay me for it, but she hasn’t.”
“Does she drink a lot?” I said before I could meter myself. He had been rather tightlipped about Bettina lately, so I had to take any inroad I could to glean information on their doings. But I had to be sly or he would shut down.
“No,” he snapped, turning away and walking off. He had shut down.
Damn my aggression! I still didn’t think he was drinking, but wondered how much she was, as it couldn’t be easy on him to watch her booze it up. And she had told me she woud watch him-Huh! They were just going on two months of living together, and it had been a rocky road so far.
“Was it a party? Did she say?” I said following Thad, trying to reengage him.
“I don’t know…” he said walking over to look at champagne flutes.
“But you were there, right? So did she have a lot of people over?” I laughed to sound nonchalant, but know it sounded totally fake.
“I don’t know. I was asleep. I have to wear ear plugs to bed now. And don’t interrogate me.”
“I’m not.” I lied and then we were silent for a second until I said, “Sorry about the vase.”
“Yeah, me too. Mom will kill me when she finds out. It was old.”
And then I gasped, “What about Ma’am’s porcelain opera figurines?”
“I know, right?” he said, “Yes, thank God! I moved them into my bedroom and put them in on that table in front of the window. Bettina and her friends are not allowed in there.”
“Well, good.”
“Oh, look at this…” he said moving us down the aisle to inspect interesting tins of exotic spices.
We then wondered over to Turkish rugs and he suddenly piped-up, “Oh, I’m going on the Friday Art Walk with Bettina.”
“What?” I said hurt. “I thought we could go to that?” Norman began having monthly 2nd Friday Art Walks of the local down town galleries and stores last year, and Thad and I went to them on and off. It was a nice chance to see people and be seen and a good excuse to see local art, some of which was actually worth seeing.
“Well, I’m telling you now I have to go with Bettina. She just begged and begged. Bayne’s band Eyeball is playing at that coffeehouse next to the Diner during it, and I have to go sit with Bettina, and watch her watch him.”
“I wanted to go on the Art Walk,” I whined. “Now what am I supposed to do?”
“Go with someone else. You have my blessing.” He pretended to wave a magic wand over me.
“Yes, but that’s three days from now.” I waved me hands as if to cancel his stupid magic spell. “You know all of my friends are old and stodgy and won’t want to go on such short notice. So am I just supposed to sit at home while you go gallivant around town?”
“I’m sorry your friends suck.” He said in a baby doll voice. “Then go by yourself.”
“I can’t go by myself. I’d be scared,” I pouted.
“Oh, quit being a coward you big hairy girl, and just go.”
“Coward? Really? Have you ever had to stand in front of 150 people and lecture before?” I said in my most professorial tone.
“Yes.” He said smugly.
“Uh, huh,” I grunted. “Standing in front of a roomful of people and saying, ‘Hi my name is Thad C., and I’m an alcoholic’ doesn’t count.”
And as I said it, his eyes narrowed and I knew I had gone too far; cut too close to his gin-soaked reality.
He took a step back and I braced myself to be punched in the arm, or worse, but instead he just laughed, “That’s really funny.” Then he looked away. “You’ll pay for it. But that’s really funny.” And then he staunchly walked off.
After standing alone and frowning at lace valances for a while, I cooled off. We didn’t have set plans Friday, in fact I had kind of forgotten about the Art Walk altogether until he mentioned it. He shouldn’t have made fun of me about not having anyone else to go with, though. I was just jealous when he was social without me. And without him, I was usually left at home alone as he was my main source of entertainment now.
We ran into each other on the aisle of decorative candles. We grunted as we passed, both still brooding.
“Hey,” he said quietly, turning to me.
“Yes?” I said expectantly, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Mom asked me today to go up and check on Ma’am this weekend. And since I’m going to be busy Friday night, would you like to go visit with me on Saturday? You’ve said you wanted to see her again.”
“Yes," I smiled."I would really like that.” I liked it when he tried. I let the Art Walk grievance fade from my mind, although I was already plotting on how I could go on my own so I could stalk him there.
“Cool,” he smiled, and then pointing up exclaimed, “Oh look! Ornamental birdhouses!”
Back in the car we both seemed happier. He had pointed out a few items he would not be ‘displeased’ with for his birthday, and I was thrilled with the prospect of accompanying him to Ma’am’s, as I had only met her that once last Christmas. Really any interaction he allowed me to have with his family made me feel special; a part of his secret world.
“What if two identical trucks pulled up at a four way stop at the same,” he asked.
“That never happens.”
“Well, sometimes it must be.” He waved his hands in the air.
“Then red goes first, then black, and then the other more passive colors.”
“So a red truck would go before this truck?” he asked, motioning to my silver truck.
“Yes.”
“What if they are the same color and the same make?”
“The younger driver goes first.”
“That is just ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. Younger drivers are more cavalier than older drivers, as younger drivers are father away from death. There are written and unwritten rules in society, and this is just one of them. Without rules, civilization would be chaos.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I don’t think so.”
I just let it go, knowing he needed to win one today.
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