Links

 ZAck DANCES WITH the Dotherines

Picture a seemingly ordinary Sunday afternoon in September in the late 1960s—half a dozen boys are playing touch football on their street in a small Virginia town not far from the Blue Ridge Mountains. Neat green lawns with patches of brown left over from the summer’s heat lead up from the sidewalk to small, brick, ranch and colonial style houses. One of the boys whose hair flops over his forehead punts and the ball lands right in front of Dottie Moldau who is standing on her lawn. She is a trim woman of 36 with long, straight, brown hair, wearing snug jeans and a tie dyed tee shirt which reveals her obvious but not voluptuous curves. She throws a perfect high spiral which lands in Zack’s arms. He’s a handsome boy of 16 with long eyelashes, wavy blond hair, large blue eyes, uneven front teeth and the remains of acne.  And is he tall!—over six feet and still growing. Miss. Moldau, Dottie, as Zack will soon call her, motions for him to throw it back to her—a gentle lob which she easily catches. She throws it to a short, gap-toothed boy then she and the other boys throw the ball back and forth until by some unspoken understanding she jogs out to the street and joins their game—something they’ve never seen their mothers or even their sisters do.  In one play she throws a bullet right to Zack and in another she runs, feints right and goes left, stops short, fakes giving the ball to Johnny B., then runs. The boys pretend to try to tag her out but feel awkward about touching her.  After the game, she invites them all to her house for lemonade. Only Zack goes—the others say they have to go home. You should know something that none of them yet know: over the next year, much against his parent’s wishes, Dottie, and Katherine who Zack will soon meet, will become his best friends and his life will be changed forever.

When Dottie led Zack into the house he caught a glimpse of the polished, black baby grand piano in the living room and the overflowing bookshelves which lined the walls. He was startled by the bright red and orange abstract paintings hanging in the entrance hall and a reclining nude placed over the credenza in the dining room. He’d never paid any attention to paintings before, but then again, no house he’d ever been in had anything like them. He kept turning around looking at them as they walked into the kitchen where Miss. Moldau said, “Zack, I’d like you to meet my dear friend, Katherine Geneva.” He looked at her, a woman with wild red hair that stuck out in all directions, and said, “Pleased to meet you ma’am.” She was seated reading the newspaper; a cup of tea was on the table next to her. She looked up, smiled warmly and held out her hand, “How nice to meet you Zack.” Her hand felt soft and warm. He shifted his feet and withdrew his hand quickly. Dottie went to the fridge and called out over her shoulder, “Katherine, how about joining us for some lemonade outside?” Soon the three of them were seated at their redwood picnic table drinking lemonade and eating cookies. Dottie smiled, “Katherine, I just played touch football with Zack and his friends and did it bring back memories! I guess I’m still okay--the boys couldn’t tag me out, or, come to think of it, maybe they were just being polite,” she looked knowingly at Katherine who laughed and joked, “Zack, don’t mind my friend, she’s just living on past glories. Thanks for letting her score.” “Oh, she was really pretty good,” Zack smiled graciously, “for a…” he stopped himself and they all laughed. 

A few yards from the table, dozens of birds, some of which Zack had never seen before, fluttered and chirped loudly around their bird feeders. Dottie saw him looking at them so she got up, put some seed in her hand, moved closer to the feeders, held out her hand very still and soon a little black and white bird, she said was a chickadee, came and stood on her hand to eat the seed. Then she called him over, put seed in his hands, told him to be very still and soon he saw the chickadee in his hand, its feet grasping his thumb while it pecked at the seeds. Zack watched with a smile of delight on his face. After it flew off, Miss. Geneva, (Zack will soon call her Katherine.) who wore a mini-skirt with a yellow sash, showed him their small patch of vegetables. She picked a few cherry tomatoes and gave one to him, “Try it, they are marvelous—and just look at that color.” Say Dottie,” she called over, “you’re the artist, what would you call this color?” She held up a tomato. Zack turned to see her response. “Tomato!” she pronounced. They all laughed. “It’s unique. That’s the color: ‘tomato.’” Zack popped the whole thing in his mouth, bit down and felt the tangy explosion of seeds and juice against his tongue and cheeks. Miss. Geneva took a bite and the juice dribbled down her chin. She laughed wiping it away with the back of her hand. Then she sniffed her other hand and held it up to his nose, “Here, you can still smell the tomato leaves. Wonderful isn’t it?” “Yes!” Zack, his whole face one big smile, nodded toward the garden, “this is sooo nice.”

As they walked back to the table, the sounds of a polka from a neighbor’s phonograph entered the yard and Katherine held out her arms, “How about a little polka Dottie?” Dottie got up and off they flew for a few steps when Katherine stopped and called over Zack, come on, let’s dance. “I…I …” Zack looked down and then at Katherine, “I don’t think I can do that.” “Oh come on,” she urged, “everyone can dance. Here I’ll show you,” she motioned for him to come over and held out her arms for him. Zack got up hesitantly and held Katherine at a distance while she steered him around for a few steps. He soon got the hang of it and they were dancing enthusiastically, he with a big grin on his face, his curly blond hair falling into his eyes, and she with her red corkscrew curls flying out in all directions. When the tune was over they stopped and stood panting. “You’re a great dancer Zack, we’ll have to do that again!” Zack laughed loudly, “Thanks, that was terrific.”

When he had gone, Dottie said, “I just have to draw that boy’s face some day!” Katherine laughed, “If I were fifteen, twenty years younger and interested in boys, I’d sure be interested in him.” “Well, it’s more than that,” Dottie was thinking out loud, there’s something about him I can’t just put my finger on, maybe a reserve, a tentativeness…something,  and you know, he…” her voice dropped, “he reminds me of Peter too.” They were both silent. Katherine put her arm around her.

When Zack got home and walked into the living room, his father, a short man with close cropped hair and steel gray eyes, was seated in his easy chair, smoking a cigarette. He lowered his newspaper and asked, “Where have you been?” Zack stopped and said cheerily, “Oh up the street,” he pointed back over his shoulder, “at the house where those two women moved in last month—Miss Moldau played football with us and invited us back for lemonade.” “Well, that’s the last time you’re to go there.” “Why? Zack pulled back and wrinkled his eyebrows together in confusion. “What’s wrong with them?” “Well for starters you know something is wrong when they paint the trim on their house bright yellow and the shutters purple, then put a peace sticker on their car. This is a nice neighborhood—no one else here does that. They’re just a couple of hippies.” He folded down the paper. Zack sat down on the sofa while his father preached on, “How can they be against the war when our brave boys are fighting for freedom in Vietnam? Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were, you know,” he leaned forward and whispered, “communists.” Then proudly, “I fought in WWII,” (He once showed Zack his Purple Heart and Bronze Star.) and looking at him seriously over his glasses, “Those women should be ashamed of themselves. It goes without saying—you stay away from them. You hear?” Zack paused and then looking down at the gray carpet, uttered a reluctant, “Yes sir.”

A few weeks went by. Zack went to his classes, ate his bologna sandwich with mustard on white bread alone at a table off to the side in the high school cafeteria.  He opened a small bag of potato chips, popped open a can of Coke and poured it into a paper cup. Mostly he sat chewing and just looking off to a dreamy distance; sometimes he watched the other kids or looked at a text book or the school newspaper. Two tables in front of him, a boy was practicing the saxophone while two of his friends were “playing” the drums on the table. Two girls were polishing their nails at a table across the aisle. A girl with curly brown hair, wearing a tight angora sweater walked slowly by a table of boys who were talking about cars. She looked at them out of the corner of her eye to see if the one wearing a jacket with a big ‘L’ and a football on it noticed her. Two boys, their sleeves rolled up, were arm wrestling while the crowd around them was calling out encouragement to one or the other. His friend Paul passed by and called out, “I bombed Chem.” “Bullshit—you always do well,” Zack waved him off and laughed. A pretty girl with straight red hair and freckles, thin, with an almost boyish figure came over and stood close to him, “Zack, could you tell me what the math homework was?” When he looked up he was eye level with her breasts and could make out the stitching on her bra underneath her blouse, “Oh sure Sue,” he turned away quickly, “it’s right here,” he took out the assignment. The chair scraped as she pulled it out and sat down to copy the problems. When she was finished she returned the assignment sheet, stood up, put her hand on his arm, “Thanks Zack, you’re a doll.” Her hand lingered for just a moment. “Anytime,” he smiled and put the page back into his notebook. Most of the kids paid no attention to Zack and some who knew him thought he was either shy or moody or even unfriendly but none of that was true. He was quiet, yes, but he just preferred to observe and watch rather than to banter with the others. One other thing: he was totally oblivious to his good looks.

Finally on a Sunday morning about three weeks after meeting Dottie and Katherine, he walked up his street to their house. He didn’t like disobeying his father, but he kept thinking how good he felt when he fed the birds and Katherine got him to dance; but it was more—they just seemed free and being with them made him feel free. He’d planned to go then because he knew that his parents would be in church. They had insisted he accompany them until he was sixteen but then agreed to let him decide for himself. Maple trees lined the street and their leaves had begun to change color; it was now cold enough for him to wear a jacket. He knocked on their door. Dottie who wore jeans along with a big turtleneck sweater opened it and gave him a wide smile. She called out over her shoulder to Katherine, “Why, it’s Zack,” and taking his arm, “how nice to see you again, come on in.”  She led him into the kitchen, “Would you like something?” “Good morning Miss. Geneva,” Zack smiled cordially. Katherine was still in her bathrobe—a bright blue chenille affair which made her blue eyes seem bluer and her wild red hair even redder. “First things,” Katherine laughed, “I’m Katherine and this is Dottie—please call us by our first names…okay?” Zack was surprised since he always said, Miss., Mrs. or Mr. but he nodded, and smiled shyly, “Thank you.” “Good. Now second, how about some coffee or something?” “Well, actually, I wondered,” he nodded toward the feeders in the back yard, “if it would be all right if I fed the birds.” “Of course, please—and,” she stepped over to the window tying the sash on her robe and looked out, “I can see the feeder is almost empty, so that would be a help.” He went into the back yard where he filled the feeders from seed they kept in a small metal garbage can. He put seeds on his shoulders hesitantly and then seeing that Katherine was laughing through the window, took more seeds and put them on his head and stretched out his hands filled with even more seeds. Katherine gave him a “thumbs-up.”  He held still while the chickadees flocked around him to eat and stifled his laugh so he wouldn’t scare them off.  Dottie had come over and stood next to Katherine at the sink and, smiling, watched him through the window. “If I did that,” joked Katherine, “they’d just crap all over me.” When he came inside, Katherine pointed to an empty chair at the table, “It looks like you really got into it—how about something to eat now.” Zack took off his jacket, hung it over the back of the chair and sat down, “It’s amazing,” he exclaimed, “they just crowd around and you can feel their feet on your hands and head!” Katherine poured coffee, placed some toast in front of him and moved a jar with pictures of oranges on the label, in front of him, “Here is some marmalade if you like.” Dottie got up, took the small orchid with red-striped yellow flowers from the window sill and placed it next to the marmalade, “Just look at those colors will you—so joyous it makes you want to dance,” and she did a little twirl. Zack smiled while Katherine clapped. “Speaking of color,” Katherine got up and pointed to a brilliant red and yellow sugar maple across the way, “now that is a regular party!” While they ate their toast, their green parrot who was in the far corner of the kitchen chattered and whistled something Zack couldn’t understand. Finally Zack got up to get a closer look at him and a moment later Katherine took him out of the cage and placed him on Zack’s shoulder, “Verde,” she addressed the parrot, “this is Zack, say ‘Zack.’ ”

By mid-November, he had been visiting regularly on Sunday mornings. They sat in the kitchen drinking coffee, Zack in his usual seat facing the garden with the parrot sitting on his shoulder. He could feel its feet grasping his flannel shirt. Dottie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, “I’d love to do a drawing of your face—would you mind sitting?” Zack’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me?” he pointed to himself, Why?” She smiled in amusement, “You have an interesting face, a nice face and I’d like to draw it. You could have the drawing when I’m finished, if you like.” She knew enough not to embarrass him by saying he was handsome. Zack looked away; his hands got clammy thinking how he couldn’t take the drawing. Then after what seemed like a long time, during which Dottie and Katherine looked at one another questioningly with raised eyebrows, he said, “Well, okay, but you can keep the drawing, my parents aren’t much for art.”

When his parents came home from church that Sunday, his mother called up to Zack who had just come in and was studying in his room, “Zack, we’re home!” “Oh hi,” he called back and he came part way down stairs. His mother was taking off her coat, “It’s getting chilly now. And, Zack,” she looked at him seriously, “The sermon was really good today, you missed something special. It was all about responsibility and growing up.” She nodded and looked at him for a moment longer hoping he’d say that he wished that he had been there and that he’d join them in the future, but he was silent. She walked into the kitchen, took an apron off the hook and tied it around her waist, ready to prepare lunch. Zack followed her and she called out over her shoulder, “What did you do this morning?” Zack grabbed the garbage to take it out, “Oh not much.” His mother turned on the radio, The Grateful Dead was singing, “A friend of the devil is a friend of mine…” she muttered, “Get that junk out of my kitchen,” then switched stations where the Rolling Stones were singing, “Waiting for a girl and she gets me into fights, Waiting for a girl we get drunk on Friday night.” She angrily turned off the radio, and looked in Zack’s direction, “There’s nothing left for decent folks—it seems like everywhere you turn today there’s nothing but,” she lowered her voice, “sex.”

The following Sunday there was a special bounce to his gait as he walked up the street to the “Dotherines,” as he now thought of them. He smiled at the thought that Dottie really wanted to do a drawing of him. By now the trees were losing their leaves and his feet crunched them as he walked smiling to himself and singing the Beatles’, “So How Come No One Loves Me,” which was ironic since he sensed that Dottie and Katherine really did love him. 

Zack sat for his portrait in Dottie’s studio upstairs, a converted bedroom with large windows, white walls and a gray linoleum floor.  He was seated in a plain folding chair, his hands resting in his lap while Dottie looked at him from behind a large easel. They chatted about school, “How did chemistry work out?,” “I did okay,” he kept his three-quarter pose but glanced over at her. “I never could do chemistry,” she picked up another brush, “at least not when I got to college—but I’ll bet you have the head for it.” “It’s hard but I study with my friend Paul and we do okay,” he turned and looked at her for just a second and then returned to his pose. Then as she worked Dottie asked, “What are your dreams for the future?” Zack turned toward her for just a moment, “I’m applying to college for now.” She was holding a brush in her mouth and “where?” came out as “way-eh.“ “UVA, UNC, Duke, American” She took the brush out of her mouth, and stepped from behind the easel to look at him,  “They’re all fine schools but I don’t mean what are you going to do next year, but what are your dreams for yourself?” Zack looked up at her, hesitated, “I’m not sure; no one has ever put it that way.” “Well,” she put her brushes down and leaned against her stool, “I bet you have dreams too, but maybe you’re just not aware of them. I’m not talking about sexual fantasies; I’m sure you have them—everybody does—I’m not talking about that, but dreams for your whole life.“ Zack studiously kept to his three-quarter pose trying hard to hide his embarrassment that she would know about his masturbatory fantasies; and yet, he also felt pleasantly surprised that an adult would mention such things, would understand him, would actually accept his feelings and fantasies, and most amazing of all, would admit to having them herself. Dottie, well aware that Zack’s embarrassment prevented him from looking at her, switched gears, “When I was your age,” she pushed a stray hair off her face, “actually a little older, and in art school in New York, I wanted to live in France and do paintings that would hang in the Museum of Modern Art.” “Do you?” he turned and asked in a serious tone.  Dottie laughed, “No, not yet anyway.” “Well, you may have some there some day,” Zack stood up, stretched his arms up and then sat down, “What about France?” “I did back-pack around for a summer but that is all. In time I decided that just painting good paintings was dream enough and I’ve done a few I like. The best thing about New York was that I met Katherine,” she smiled and nodded her head. “It was at one of the early peace rallies in Washington Square.” She picked up a brush, “Think some more about those dreams, I’d like to hear about them.” Dottie stepped behind the easel to continue working and Zack began to ask her what she was painting and why. Every time she answered he got up to look at what she had done and then asked questions. After an hour, she put down the brushes, “It’s time for a break,” so they went down to the kitchen where she poured each of them coffee. They carried their cups back upstairs and when Zack was seated Dottie asked, “You seem very interested, would you like me to teach you to draw and paint?” Zack’s face exploded into one big smile, “Oh yah!”

Zack was just putting on his coat getting ready to leave and Dottie had opened the front door, when he glanced through the storm door and saw his father walking rapidly by. His hands were stuck in the pockets of his jacket and his head was bent into the cold wind. He looked like a quarterback charging head down into the opponent’s line. Zack ducked back into the house, mumbled how all of a sudden he had to go to the bathroom and ran down the hall. He waited for a few minutes pacing up and back between the sink and the toilet, trying to imagine how long it would take for his father to walk down the street and out of sight. He flushed the toilet then turned on the sink as if he were washing his hands. Dottie, who had come to the door with him, and Katherine, who had just come out of the kitchen to say good-by, stood in the hall looking at one another quizzically. Dottie whispered, “I think that was his father who he just saw.” “Doesn’t he want his father to know he was here?” whispered Katherine in return. Just then Zack came out of the bathroom, “I think I’m okay now—must have been something I ate last night.” He smiled, “Thanks, I’ll see you next week.” He walked to the door peeking quickly in both directions trying not to show what he was doing and then stepped out onto their front path. Katherine pulled Dottie into the kitchen, “What the hell is going on?” Dottie settled into a chair, and noticing some crumbs on the table, swept them into her hand, then got up and put them in the garbage pail before sitting down again, “I’m not sure, but I have a feeling that he doesn’t want his father to know he was here.” “Oh shit; that isn’t good,” Katherine glanced at Dottie as she put a tea bag into her cup and poured water from the kettle, “do you want some tea?” “No thanks, I just had some coffee.” When they were both seated at the table, Katherine’s cup sending up plumes of steam, she repeated, “That isn’t good, he should be up front with his parents,” she blew on her tea, then looked up, “But his reaction was so strong, I have a feeling that they might not let him come if they knew.” Their parrot screeched from his perch. Katherine held up her spoon and used it to point toward the sugar bowl which Dottie passed to her. “Look Dottie,” she stirred sugar into her tea, “he’s almost seventeen, he’ll graduate in June and be off to college, I think it’s time for him to stand up for himself instead of sneaking around,” she raised her eyebrows and nodded her head in affirmation of what she was saying. Katherine picked up her spoon and waved it in the direction of the front door where Zack had been, “We have to ask him about it and insist he tell them,” the spoon jumped out of her hand and landed with a clatter on the floor.  “Oh come on Katherine. Think about it for a minute,” Dottie shook her head and scrunched up her face in disagreement, “We don’t know what goes on in his house,” she tapped on the table for emphasis, “we don’t know his parents, so how can we do that?” Irritation crept into Dottie’s voice, “If we insist, he might not be able to tell them, then he might not come back and if he does tell them they might not let him come back and that would be awful for him, and,” she looked down adding softly, “for us too.” Dottie pushed back her chair ready to get up and end the conversation. Katherine raised her voice, “Shouldn’t we at least discuss it with him?” she held out her hands, slightly exasperated.  “Why? It’s not our business,” Dottie insisted. “If he wants to talk about it he will. There is nothing wrong in him being here. We have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to hide. This is between Zack and his parents—stay out of it, please!” Dottie stood up as if to say that the matter is settled. Katherine, slightly deflated, “Okay, I’m not sure if that’s what we should do, let’s leave it at that now, but if we see anything else, we may have to speak with him.” She picked up her cup and saucer with the half finished tea and brought them over to the sink.

By December, Zack had been visiting them nearly every Sunday since he first met them. The trees were now bare and the leaves all raked up. Walking over he could see his breath out in front of him, his ears were cold and he pulled his head down into the collar of his school “letter” jacket with leather sleeves and a quilted lining.  There was a big ‘L’ on the front with Zack stitched below it. “Panthers” was written in white over a white basketball on the red wool back of the jacket. Katherine greeted him at the door, and called out “Happy Birthday!” Zack smiled and laughed, “How did you know?” “We have our ways,” Dottie held up her head and let her voice trail off affecting an air of mystery. They led him into the dining room where Zack looked around at the streamers and balloons. “This is wonderful!”  He walked over to get a closer look at a big “17” Dottie had drawn in rainbow colors on a large piece of paper and highlighted with rainbow lines coming out of it like “Wow” written in a comic book. As soon as he was seated they placed a top hat decorated with blue glitter on his head, “We dub you King Zack,” and then took out a red and purple crepe paper cape which they draped around his shoulders. Zack lifted up his fork and towering above his friends he gestured, “I dub you Princess Dottie and Lady Katherine,” he paused, “but where are your tiaras? Quick Princess Dottie make two.” She opened a drawer and took out gold colored paper and scissors and made two more crowns, “Here King Zack, you have to crown us.” Zack completed his royal duties by placing the crowns on their heads after which Katherine asked him to sit down, turned out the lights and Dottie appeared with a chocolate cake with eighteen candles—seventeen and one for good luck.” After singing happy birthday to him, he blew out the candles, made the first cut and Katherine served the cake. They gave Zack a glass of Coke and then Katherine came over with a bottle of rum, “Here Zack, you’re seventeen now, time to add a little extra cheer.” She poured a little in his glass after which they raised their cups while Dottie and Katherine proclaimed, “Long live King Zack!” Zack took a drink, “Best Coke I ever had!”  After eating, they gave him two presents. One was from Katherine, “Twentieth Century Art,” inscribed, “To Zack who will soon learn how to see, with love from Katherine,” and the other one was from Dottie. Her eyes glistened as she reached forward and handed him a small box wrapped in the comics section of the newspaper. He opened it carefully, even glancing at the comics, then lifted the cover. Dottie followed his every motion carefully all the while smiling in anticipation so broadly that her entire face was a smile and yet she had tears in her eyes. His face turned from serious anticipation to a big smile when he opened the box and found a watch—a Timex watch with a plain steel case which had some scratches and dents in it but with a new brown leather band. He turned it over and read the inscription, “To P from D with love. 1949” Zack held the watch carefully and looked at Dottie who was explaining,  “That watch,” Dottie swallowed hard trying to keep her composure, ”belonged to someone very special to me, someone I loved very much and you remind me of him when he was your age.” A tear slid down along the side of her nose and to her mouth. Zack handed her a napkin. “Oh I am sorry,” she smiled, “this is a happy time and I am really very happy that you have it now.” “Who was he?” Zack asked softly.  Dottie dried her eyes, “He was my brother; I gave it to him when he graduated high school,” then she wept again. Zack wanted to ask about him but was afraid he’d only upset her more. He smiled, and put on the watch, “These are the best gifts I have ever received. “Dottie seemed more composed so Zack asked, “I, could you, what…happened.” Katherine answered softly, “Korea…killed…only 20.” Zack took a deep breath, ”Oh no…” his face softened and he said quietly, “Don’t you want…I mean don’t you want to keep it,” he began to take it off.  “No. Zack,” Dottie touched his arm and smiled a sad smile, “I’d like you to have it.” She nodded, affirming what she’d just said. They each kissed him on the cheek and then Katherine went over, put her arm around Dottie and whispered, “You okay?” Dottie nodded, yes.” When he left, he took off the watch and put it in his pocket thinking that he would hide it at the back of his closet in an old shoe so he could easily get it when he’d visit the “Dotherines.”

In the fall, Dottie had set Zack up in her studio which faced the back yard. She had clipped a pad of newsprint to her old easel with old splotches of paint along the dark wood giving it a well-used look. One day in February he concentrated so hard on his work, looking at the still life set-up of apples, bananas and pears in a white bowl and then at the drawing on the paper, that he did not hear her leave the room. He put down the charcoal and wiped his hands on the old towel they used as rag, stepped back to look at his work, nodded raised his eyebrows as he examined the bowl but frowned when he looked at how he drew the apple and then went down the hall to the bathroom, still wiping his hands with the old towel. He had one hand on the doorknob when he heard a sound in the bedroom. He looked in that direction, the door was open and saw Dottie and Katherine kissing passionately. He quickly looked away and then back to see Katherine holding Dottie’s head in her hands while Dottie had her arms tight around her. Their mouths were a mixture of lips and tongues. Zack turned away quickly and was frozen for a moment still holding onto the doorknob as if he could neither retreat nor open the door. Finally he turned the knob quietly and went in as fast as he could. He quickly and quietly closed the door behind him then leaned up against the wall, breathing heavily and saying to himself, “Oh my God, Oh my God, what did I see,” over and over. He dropped the rag and held onto the sink to steady himself, then sat down on the toilet lid, holding his head in his hands and shaking his head, confused about what he saw, afraid they had seen him. He took a deep breath, got up and stood at the sink, turned on the cold water and splashed hands-full after hands-full of water on his face, then took the towel from the rack and slumped back down on the toilet with his face still dripping, wondering if he really saw what he thought he saw, embarrassed that he had seen something which he shouldn’t have seen, angry he didn’t know who they really were, and barely aware of his now subsiding erection. He slowly and absentmindedly wiped his face then put his hands on his knees to push himself up and rested the towel on the edge of the sink thinking that he couldn’t stay there forever.

He opened the door quietly then tentatively walked back down the hall to the studio--Dottie was already there. Without looking at her, he said in a voice burdened with awkwardness and irritation, “I just remembered that I have to get a report ready for school.” “What’s wrong Zack?” she asked several times holding out her hands, “Please, can you talk to me?” He put away the charcoal and paper and quickly turned to leave. “Nothing’s wrong,” he mumbled, “I, I just, I just gotta go, that’s all,” and ran down the stairs.

Dottie followed him to the top of the stairs and as he closed the door behind him she cried, “Shit, shit, shit,” she slapped her leg, “Damn it all.” Katherine hurried out of the bedroom, “What’s wrong?” “Zack just ran out,” tears dripped down her face. “He probably saw us,” she sat down on the top step and Katherine came over, sat down next to her and put her arm around her then stroked her hair, “He’ll be back, I’m sure he’ll come back. He was just confused that’s all.” Dottie burrowed into Katherine’s embrace shaking her head. Katherine was about to suggest calling him but she caught herself. She knew that Zack wouldn’t want his parents to know that he had been there even if Dottie wouldn’t admit it. This was no time to bring up a sensitive issue. 

Zack wandered around the neighborhood for an hour, passing the luncheonette, the grocery store, the cleaners and then stood in front of the store-front Army recruiting office—all small store fronts with apartments for the proprietors above them. He looked at the posters in the window and mumbled a confused, “I’d go to Canada first or maybe I should just join after graduation.” He kicked a Budweiser can someone had left on the sidewalk, then he walked back to the luncheonette, sat down at the counter and ordered a root beer. Mrs. Luneborg, an always bubbly neighbor, came in, picked up a copy of the Sunday paper and flipped through the sections to make sure they were all there. When she looked up and saw Zack, she chirped, “Hiyah Zackie, how’s everything?” Zack cringed—he’d hated that nickname even when he was a little kid, now he found it unbearable so without even taking a sip of the soda or paying for it, he got up and ignoring her, headed for the door. Mr. Bruno, the owner, called after him, “What’s wrong, don’t you want it?” Zack didn’t even turn around to answer him. Mrs. Luneborg pointed at him and mumbled, “What’s wrong with him?”

He wandered around some of the side streets near his house with his hands in his pockets, stopped at a park, sat down on the swings and dragged his feet back and forth, then walked over to the slide and sat at the bottom remembering how he loved to slide down when he was little. He walked over to the basketball court and dribbled an imaginary ball making a perfect jump shot from behind the keyhole. When he finally got home the house was thankfully empty—his parents were still at church. He went to his room and flopped down on the blue corduroy bedspread. The bed squeaked and he bounced a few times, then he lay staring up at the ceiling. He got up, took out his dictionary to look up, ‘lesbian,’ hoping it would tell him something helpful but knew it couldn’t. He lay down again. Maybe my father was right, he thought, maybe they are weird. And they lied to me--they said they were just good friends. He felt foolish, manipulated and lay there tossing his football up in the air and catching it, then threw it on the floor. Damn! He pounded his fist into the bed.

He stayed away for a few weeks and even avoided them when he saw them shopping. At first he walked on the other side of the street, then after a few days he walked past their house hoping they would see him. The first time he walked fast and without turning his head he glanced at the house. Then he passed their house at night, and standing on tip-toes and craning his neck to look in the window, he saw Dottie reading in the living room. He had to admit that he missed them—he just felt free and good being with them; and, the more he thought about it, the more he felt that they weren’t weird or anything like that. Being lesbians was, he thought, their business—why would they even tell him such a thing? He knew that he wanted to go back and see them but didn’t know how. Several more weeks went by. Then on a Wednesday after school when he was coming out of the grocery store with the quart of milk his mother had sent him for, he ran into Dottie who was on her way out of Bruno’s Luncheonette carrying a newspaper under her arm. “Hi Zack. We’ve missed your visits,” she said earnestly. “Well, I’ve been, well, busy,” he avoided looking at her. She walked up the avenue with him toward their block. She waited for a noisy bus spewing black diesel smoke to go by, “Zack, I think it must be something else.” He was silent. “You saw us kissing, didn’t you?” Zack didn’t respond. “Isn’t that it?” Zack shrugged, then nodded, looking at the ground. Dottie stopped and after taking a few steps he did too without looking up. She looked directly at him, “I know people here don’t understand us but we’re not ashamed. We love one another, the way many men and women love one another. You didn’t see anything bad.” “But,” he cried looking up, “you told me and everyone you were just friends!” His voice shook and he looked away. “Zack,” she pleaded softly, “please look at me,” He turned half way around and glanced at her. It was getting dark; the cars had their lights on. “Katherine and I are friends. That’s true—we didn’t lie to you. Of course, we are a great deal more as well but that ‘great deal more,’ is really no one’s business. Anyway, they wouldn’t understand, but, “she hesitated, then said softly, “we hoped that you would…understand,” then reached out to touch his arm reassuringly, but he pulled it back. “Please Zack, we didn’t do anything wrong and you didn’t see anything bad.” Zack glanced up and mumbled, “Do you want the watch back?” “No. I don’t want it back,” she said firmly, but, “I’d, we’d,” she said softly, “we’d like you back.” She stopped; he looked up at her, she added, “We’re your friends, we love you and your visits are,” she paused, “important to us—and by the way,” she smiled, “you have ability in art and I’d like to teach you.” She wiped her eyes still smiling. He smiled back weakly. “We know that it just isn’t what you are used to and we’re sorry if we made you uncomfortable.” Zack took a deep breath and smiled again. “So we’ll see you Sunday?” Dottie asked expectantly. Zack nodded, “I’ve got some work to do on that still life.”

When he progressed to the point where he was ready to draw faces, Katherine would sit in a chair with a light on her face which emphasized the light and shadows of its contours. Dottie began, “First look at the shape of her head and face, is it more round or oval or square or heart shaped?” Zack drew an oval that was on the round side. “How’s that?” “Okay, but try a little more oval.” Zack erased a few lines and redrew them. He looked up at her. “Okay, now block in the features so that they are all in the right places but you have to look carefully, see where the eyes are—only a little above half way up the head. Zack drew ovals for eyes and sat back. “Fine, you’ll get the shape later. Now, where is the nose? See where it starts and how long it is. Katherine chimed in, “I do not have a long nose.” “Quiet over there,” Dottie joked. She went on with the placement of the other features and then instructed, “You have to study her face, learn every curve and nuance, every shadow, every blemish—yes Katherine,” she turned toward her, “you’re not perfect, but you have a nice face and I love it, but,” she turned back to Zack, “you have to draw it the way it is or at least the way you see it.” Zack squinted concentrating hard, looked at Katherine then looked at the paper and drew, erased, redrew, erased and redrew again. “This is really hard,” he leaned back and put down the pencil, “it doesn’t look like anyone I know.” Dottie turned away from her drawing and urged, “This is only your first attempt—it could take years to learn to do it properly—how about giving yourself a break?” She looked at his drawing closely, “Actually you did pretty well for the first attempt—you got the features in the right place and that’s no small thing.” When they finished, Katherine got up and rolled her head around her shoulders, chest and back to stretch her neck. As Zack was putting on his jacket Dottie raised her eyebrows making her eyes look large, “Next Saturday we’re going to an anti-war rally, you’re welcome to join us.” Zack looked away then glanced at her doubtfully, “Where is it and how long will it be?” “It’s just down town, a protest against the newspaper which has been so pro-war.” Zack thought a moment and realized that he could tell his parents that he’d gone over to Paul’s house, “Sure. I can go.” He smiled. “Great. Be here at 9:00 then we’ll drive down town together.” After Zack left, Dottie was putting away Zack’s stool and moving the easel over to the side of the room when she looked at Katherine, “I think if he had a problem with his parents he wouldn’t go—maybe there really isn’t an issue.” Katherine put away the chair she was sitting on, “I hope you are right.”

The following Saturday Zack found himself standing at a rally with about a thousand people most of whom wore jeans and tie-dyed tee shirts or tee shirts with peace signs on them. A few like Zack wore light jackets. At first he raised his shoulders, pulled his head in and his jacket collar up around his ears to be as inconspicuous as possible. He thrust his hands into his pockets and stooped to make himself shorter. The street in front of the newspaper was narrow and people were pushed together so that every time Zack moved he felt his arms pressed against either Katherine who held a sign: “No More War,” or one of the college students with hair over his ears and wearing a khaki army jacket, chanting, “Hell no! We won’t go!” and raising his clinched fist into the air. Zack glanced around to see if anyone who knew his parents might see him there—he was relieved not to see anyone and relaxed. He had noticed that Schwarmer’s Stationary was right next door to the newspaper and decided that if anyone told his parents they had seen him at the rally he would say that he and Paul had been to the stationery store. He breathed easier, although the police holding night sticks and standing shoulder to shoulder covering the front door of the newspaper office made him feel nervous. As the crowd grew he was pressed closer to Dottie and Katherine—he found it reassuring. When a band backing up a singer with long straight hair and wearing jeans sang, “Where Have All The Flowers Gone,” the crowd joined in, “long time passing…Where have all the soldiers gone…” Zack added his voice and swayed with them feeling the shoulders and arms of the students and Dottie who were on either side of him. He felt his body moving with the crowd as if he were part of one large organism, giving him the sense that he was part of something important. The crowd surged and he was swept forward by the bodies around him, their shoulders and arms against him, two unseen hands on his back, brought him right up in front of Rev. Cornelius Vanderhaag—a thin man with unruly brown hair wearing jeans and holding a bullhorn. Zack’s parents called him “godless” because he was a Unitarian minister and a “traitorous rabble-rouser” because he advised men on how to avoid the draft. Zack thought he was brave. When Rev. Vanderhaag began in his deep, deep voice, by reading excerpts from the editorials of the Lynch Daily News which argued for the domino theory, Zack thought—my parents think that paper is gospel and that all that stuff is true. Vanderhaag’s voice became higher and louder as he charged into his blistering attack on the paper: “This paper has taken on the slogan, ‘America, Love it or leave it,’ and claims we aren’t patriotic, but we,” he held out his arms toward the crowd and then gestured toward himself, “are the patriots.” A girl in a red sweater raised her fist in the air and she and everyone including Zack, who was caught up in the roar which went out like a single voice, clapped and cheered. He smiled at Dottie who smiled back. “We,” the Reverend shot his hands in the air, “are the ones who want to set our country on the right course,” and immediately Zack joined in the rhythmic clapping begun by a group of gray haired men and women in the front row. He clapped so hard his hands hurt. Shouts of, “Right on!” came from all sides. “We,” Vanderhaag called out, “are the true patriots!” He grabbed an American flag and waved it back and forth across the steps of the newspaper where he was standing. The band and singer started up again, “ Look what's happening out in the streets/Got a revolution Got to revolution/Hey I'm dancing down the streets…” and Zack swayed then felt his hands being grasped by two students who led him into a long line-dance which snaked through the crowd bumping into people as they went. Zack smelled the smoke of someone smoking pot—he took a deep breath. Another line of dancers pushed through his line, and Lois, a pretty girl with long, straight brown hair wearing a red and yellow tie-dyed tee shirt, who was in his English class and who he liked but hesitated to ask out, grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her, pushing by a student in a torn sweater clapping his hands high over his head, trying not to step on people’s feet, feeling the softness of a breast here and there against his arm or back as he squeezed through a group of girls in tights and miniskirts, careful not to jostle a man wearing his old army jacket and leaning on crutches. He felt himself smiling, euphoric even, feeling a part of the crowd like he’d never felt part of anything before. Everyone clapped and cheered and when the band slowed down, Dottie and Katherine took Zack’s hands as everyone joined hands swaying body-to-body and singing, ”Two, one two three four, ev'rybody's talking about…This-ism, that-ism… All we are saying is give peace a chance. All we are saying is give peace a chance.”

Dottie and Katherine, then strangers around him, hugged him and one another as Zack and the others reluctantly left the rally. He was walking with Dottie and Katherine when he saw Lois walking to the bus stop so he dropped back and went over to her, “Hi Zack,” she smiled, “nice to see you here.” “It was great wasn’t it?” “Sure was.” “Well…” she turned to see the bus approaching then hesitated. Zack quickly said, “I was meaning to…uh…how about a movie next week?” Her face became a warm smile, “I’d love to! Give me your hand.” Zack looked questioningly at her but held it out. She took out a pen and he felt her warm soft skin holding his hand while she wrote her number on his palm, “Call me.” Zack flew back to the car. He was sitting in back and Katherine, who was driving, called over her shoulder, “New girlfriend? She’s cute!” Zack smiled, “Could be.” “What’s her name?” “Lois.”  “Ah, that means ‘desirable’ and she looks her name,” Katherine winked and smiled at Dottie. Zack took it all in, enjoying their approval.

The next afternoon it turned unseasonably warm for March and Zack’s father asked, “How about a catch?” Zack grabbed his glove and a hard ball and the two of them went out into the street to throw the ball back and forth for a while. In between the “thonk,” of the ball being caught in their gloves, Zack’s father asked him how he was doing in geometry and history and Zack answered that he was doing just fine, “Except for chemistry which I’m managing to do okay in, everything else is really good.” Zack wound up, “Here’s a curve ball.” The ball bounced out of his father’s glove but he quickly picked it up. Zack asked him if he’d gotten ready for the trout season and tied the new flies he’d been talking about. His father replied absentmindedly, “All ready to go,” then just holding the ball, took a few steps forward and asked, “Where were you yesterday?” “I was with Paul trying to figure out the chemistry as usual.” “Well,” his father pounded the ball into his glove, “your mother and I ran into Bob Thompson last night and he said he saw you down town at the peace rally—were you there?” He looked expectantly at Zack who hesitated, reddened slightly and said, “Maybe he saw me outside of Schwarmers which is right next to the rally—it was going on when Paul and I went down there because he needed some graph paper.” “Oh, okay,” his father let out a breath of relief but cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes in an expression of wariness or even skepticism, “Really?” “Yes,” Zack looked at him, “really.”  “Because,” his father went on, “if I ever found out that you went to one of those things, I’d ground you for the rest of the year.” “Yes sir,” said Zack, with a gulp, “I understand.” His father came over and as they walked back to the house he reached up and put his hand on Zack’s shoulder, “I want you to know about something that I’ve never talked about before. When I was in college in the late ‘30s a fellow invited me to a meeting of a Peace With Justice Committee or something like that. He told me they had good refreshments so, like all students, I followed the food. But when I got there I realized it was just a Communist front organization and I quickly left.” He stopped in the middle of their front walk and looked straight at Zack, “I just want to make sure you don’t get caught by the same bunch of lies. “Don’t worry about me,” Zack promised and turned to walk on but stopped when his father added: “Oh, one other thing,” his father looked at him with a sly smile, “Mr. Thompson said he saw you talking to a girl—said she was pretty.” Zack looked back at him uneasily. His father winked, “Good for you. Just remember to be a gentleman.” When they reached the front door, Zack went ahead and part way up the stairs, paused, and called out, “Thanks for the catch, Dad.” He put his glove and ball on a shelf in his room and flopped down on his bed feeling unsettled and anxious with a gnawing sense of guilt in his stomach—he hated lying to his father. He looked up at the ceiling and noticed that there was a fine crack in the plaster.

It was now May and Zack had spent every Sunday morning for the past six weeks drawing Katherine’s face. On that day Zack was still seated on his stool wiping his hands to get the charcoal dust off them, when Dottie came over to his easel and rested her hand on it, “It is time you learned some figure drawing.” Zack nodded tentatively. “You know that Katherine was an artist’s model. You must have noticed,” Dottie gestured downstairs, “that the large nude in the living room is Katherine.” Zack shook his head and said, “Yes.”  Dottie pulled her stool over and sat down, “I’ve spoken to her and she’d be happy to pose for us.” Zack reddened. She leaned forward and said matter of factly but softly, “Have you ever seen a naked woman—live I mean?” He swallowed hard and looked away, “Well, no.” He looked out the window and saw Mr. Bench mowing his lawn. “You understand that Katherine is no ‘Playmate of the Month,’ and obviously this is no peep show.” He was amazed that she would admit that she had seen Playboy and was a little shaken by her directness. He looked up at her as she went on, “She’s an artist’s model so that you can learn to see and understand the curves, shape, mass and beauty of the human body. We don’t want you to feel uncomfortable--” she paused, “are you okay with that?” “Yes, I think so,” he nodded, swallowed hard and reddened. “Good, I’m sure you’ll handle it fine and you’ll learn a lot too.”

As he was leaving, Katherine put down her book and called out from an easy chair in the living room, “How are things going with Lois?” “Great,” Zack smiled. “We went to a dance at school last night. She’s terrific!”

Over the next few weeks, they pulled down the blinds in the studio and put a chair in front of him. Katherine came in wearing a robe, took it off and sat in the chair looking off to the side. At first Zack turned red; he tried to hide his interest in her large, slightly sagging breasts, her thick thighs dotted with cellulite, the tuft of hair between her legs; true, she was no “Playmate of the Month,” but still he was aware of the sexual excitement he felt straining against his underwear and tried to ignore it. After a short while Zack was able to concentrate on drawing her body as shape and mass, light and shade, grace and angles. A warm breeze ruffled the blinds and they clanked against the window. Dottie reminded him, “Look very carefully; you have to see it clearly before you can draw it. “Zack felt awkward about drawing her breasts but soon got the curve and shape. During a break, Katherine put on her robe and came over to look at how Zack had done. The poodle next door barked. “Making progress, but don’t flatter me, I have a stomach, she pointed—I’m sure I’m at least a little pudgy in here.” When she posed again, Dottie who was also sketching her, pointed out, “Zack, look here at what I have done.” A motorcycle which sounded like it didn’t have a muffler, passed the house. “See how the breast curves this way and one leg folds over the other there?” Zack nodded. She added, “Try it that way.”

Dottie and Katherine had tactfully ignored his initial awkwardness but after he left, Dottie commented, “You know, I really found it endearing how Zack blushed when he saw you take off your robe.” Katherine laughed, “I’m flattered that’d he react to my body that way—it ain’t what it used to be,” she laughed. 

A few days later Zack picked up several anti-war fliers someone had put out at school and that evening he dropped in at Katherine and Dottie’s to show them to them. When he left, he looked up and down the street before he hurried down the steps to the sidewalk, but on that warm evening the trees blocked out the street lights and he practically bumped into his father who was coming from buying a quart of ice cream. “What were you doing in that house?” his father demanded, narrowing his eyes, “I thought I told you not to go there.” He held the brown paper bag with the ice cream so tightly that his knuckles were white. “Well I, I,” Zack tried to affect a light tone and turned to walk on, “I was just delivering a piece of mail that belonged to them.” “Wait a minute young man!” he stopped, “What mail?” His father scowled in disbelief. Zack turned and took a step back facing his father in the deep shadows, “Oh, the mailman, the new guy,” Zack offered casually, “delivered it to us by mistake.” His father eyed him, “I thought you were at Paul’s house studying.” Zack was grateful that it was too dark for his father to see his face. “Oh, well, I was there already. We’ve finished,” he gave a nervous laugh. His father felt the bag getting wet and held it from the bottom with his left hand. They walked on in silence until they got under a street light, then his father stopped, grabbed Zack’s arm with his right hand and facing him, pointed at his face, “Don’t give me any cock and bull stories Zack. I told you stay away from them and I mean it. They are hippies, peaceniks, commies for all I know. You-are-not-to-go-there!”  He raised his voice and poked his finger into Zack’s chest, “Do I make myself clear?” “Yes sir, of course,” Zack assured him, relieved but annoyed with himself for not being more careful. “I’ve told you that once and this is your second warning. If I ever find you there,” he clinched his jaw and drew in his lips tightly, then added, “I’ll ground you.” Zack nodded. There was a pause as they turned to walk on, then his father’s voice softened, sounding more worried than angry, “I just want to keep you away from bad influences, that’s all…just want to keep you safe. There are a lot of bad things happening these days and I don’t like it, not one bit.” He put his arm around Zack’s shoulders and marched him home.

It was now June. On the Sunday before graduation he was walking in the garden with Katherine and Dottie, still carrying his coffee from breakfast. They were showing him the new Queen Elizabeth roses they’d planted, “Those pink petals,” Dottie noted, “look like the color of some of the prom dresses I’ve seen in Selk’s window down town.”  Katherine turned to Zack, “You’re taking Lois to the prom aren’t you?” “Sure,” he smiled, “this year’s theme is ‘Tropical Islands.’” They strolled on; Dottie stopped to pinch off several fading peony buds, “It sounds like you are going to have some wild time,” she laughed. “You never know,” Zack responded with a chuckle and raised his eyebrows, making his eyes look large. They sat down on lawn chairs under the shade of a large catalpa tree with its heart shaped leaves. White clematis climbed up a trellis against the garage. Katherine thought a moment and then seriously, “I hear that some of the kids call prom night, ‘sex night,’ like all those couples who haven’t done it yet, do it on prom night.” A distant, unseen plane droned through the sky. Zack looked at her, surprised that she would know about, “sex night.” Katherine took a sip of coffee and asked off handedly, “Have you had sex with her?” Dottie immediately jumped in and cried, “Katherine! What a question--that’s none of your…,” but when she looked at Zack out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that he had opened his mouth to speak and she stopped herself. Zack had taken a deep breath, leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees, looked down at his cup for an awkward moment then looked at Katherine and then Dottie, “Not that I haven’t wanted to…” Katherine used the pause to quietly ask, “She doesn’t?” She played with a loose strand of her copper hair. “That’s not it really,” he glanced down into his coffee as if looking for a way to proceed. He could feel them waiting patiently. He looked up, “It’s that, well, we’ve actually talked about it and I think we’re both…well… a little afraid,” he sat up looking back and forth at both of them to see their reaction. “Why?” Katherine asked quietly, turning her head slightly. “I don’t want to, you know,” he glanced at the coffee cup he’d rested on the arm of his chair, “get her pregnant.” “Well you could, you must,” she leaned forward for emphasis, “use protection.” She opened her hands. Zack nodded that he understood. “Is there anything else you are afraid of?” The breeze carried the sweet fragrance of lilacs from the bush in the back of the garden but none of them were aware of it. “And then,” he lifted up his palms, “I don’t want to hurt her.” He slumped down a little, “And well, she’s, you know, well, she,  is a…” he searched their faces again to see if he was saying something wrong but saw that they patiently accepted what he said, so he went on, “she hasn’t done it before.” Katherine leaned forward, nodded her head listening with care, “Are you a virgin too?”  “Neither of us,” he barely whispered, “have done it before,” and, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped, added, “we don’t know if it’s right to…you know, to do it.” A squirrel scrambled around the trunk of the cherry tree in the opposite corner of the garden. Katherine reached over and touched his arm, “Look Zack, I don’t think it’s wrong and maybe it’s a little scary the first time but there isn’t anything to be afraid of. You just both have to be ready and want to. And remember, when the time comes: use a condom.” He took a deep breath, reached down and picked a dandelion and twirled it between his fingers. Zack sipped his coffee, now cold, looked at Katherine over the rim of the cup and gave her a huge smile, then sat looking into his coffee cup, smiling to himself. Finally, Dottie stood up and said, “I’m going to have some more coffee, would either of you like some?”

Zack’s parents invited their relatives to a party for him in their back yard after the graduation ceremony which was held in the high school gym. A long picnic table was set with a plaid plastic table cloth, red paper plates and white plastic forks and knives under a white aluminum awning that stretched out over the flagstone patio. It was unusually cool for June but by the time everyone arrived back at their house, they could gather comfortably without jackets or sweaters. Zack’s father who immediately put on his apron with the inscription, “Bar-b-que King,” was soon turning hamburgers and chicken on the grill with long handled tongs and a spatula. Uncle Fred who had a dramatic comb-over was lying in an aluminum lounge chair near the patio drinking a gin and tonic through a straw and laughing at the jokes he was telling Aunt Betty who sat next to him on a metal folding chair and kept flicked her cigarette ashes in a large pot holding pink petunias.

His younger cousins, named Scottie, since his mother had had a crush on the cowboy actor Randolf Scott, and the other named Alfie, because his mother loved, “What’s It All About Alfie?” and went about singing ” I believe in love, Alfie,” were running and bumping up against the adults as they played tag hiding behind an uncle, popping out from behind an aunt. His older cousin, Lawrence (never Larry) who was a college senior leaned up against the house in a condescending pose off to the side of the back door. He wore a blue button-down shirt, had a drink in one hand and a cigarette dangling from his lip. He judgmentally surveyed the scene, arching his right eyebrow. Zack went over to him hoping for a little inside information about college but before he could say anything, Lawrence who had a smug look on his face asked, “Do you know Wittgenstein?” He pronounced it “Vitgenshtine.” Zack replied, “Who? I haven’t met him.” Lawrence waved him away with the back of his hand as if he were brushing a bug off his sleeve, “You’re hopeless. Don’t even bother showing up for college,” he snickered, “you might as well join the Army now and save yourself the embarrassment of flunking out.” He walked away and found a spot near the hedge where he folded his arms across his chest and assumed his previous pose. Zack just stood looking at him, his mouth open, then shrugged and thought, “What a jerk,” as he walked away.

Uncle Bud always wore suspenders—this time they were black with red roses—which allowed his pants to dip under his stomach as if they were holding a melon in a sling. As soon as he picked up a hand-full of potato chips from the bowl resting on a folding TV table, his wife, Paula, who wore a prim blue shirt-waist dress warned, “Easy Bud, remember what Dr. Kerman said.” Zack could hear his uncle mutter, “Screw Kerman, that quack,” and defiantly grabbed potato chips with his other hand while glowering at Paula. He turned to Zack, “Congratulations my boy!” He looked up at him, “What are they feeding you? Vigero? You are growing like a weed,” he raised his hands up high, ”How tall are you anyway?” “Oh, I just reached 6-2,” Zack smiled. Zack’s mother carried out a bowl of potato salad and placed it on the picnic table. When she saw his father take a can of beer out of the tub filled with ice, wipe the dripping water off it with his apron, and hand it to Zack saying, “Now that you’ll be going to college you’ve earned one of these,” she hurried over and in a loud whisper cautioned, “Now, Bill, he’s only seventeen, do you think that’s wise?” He rolled his eyes, “Oh Vera, please! One beer won’t hurt him.” Zack drank it down fast and then took another one—his father didn’t notice. Uncle Tom who had been a Chief Petty Officer in the Navy and who had a tattoo of the Confederate stars and bars on his forearm, mixed himself a bourbon and water at the folding bridge table used as a bar. Zack’s father was busy turning the chicken and telling his sister Emma Lou, “Please bring out a platter—this chicken is just about done.” By then Zack had managed to finish his third Budweiser.

His Uncle Joe who was still wearing his dove-gray custom tailored suit and a maroon tie—all the other men had taken off their jackets—greeted Zack extending his arm, “Ah-ha, so there’s the graduate!” He draped his arm around Zack’s shoulder and steered him toward the “bar.” It’s time for you to have a shot of bourbon—that’s a real drink,” he said as he took a plastic cup, screwed the top off the bottle and poured a few fingers of Jim Beam. “Here,” he held it out, “now don’t baby it—down the hatch.” Zack looked at the drink and then smiled at him. His uncle nodded; he tossed back the shot and immediately began coughing and sputtering. Uncle Joe patted him on the back, “You’re okay. It just takes a little getting used to.”  Zack grabbed hold of his uncle’s arm, “Uncle Joe, you are one beautiful man,” and gave him a kiss.

Zack went inside to pee and afterwards walked upstairs holding the banister tightly to steady himself, went to his room, removed the gold, 21 jewel Bulova watch with the gold expansion band his parents had given him for graduation, and placed it on his desk. He then pushed aside the hangars in his closet, got down on all fours and crawled into the closet saying “woof, woof” to himself, and laughing as shirts and pants fell on him, took the watch Dottie had given him out of the old shoe at the back of his closet. He flopped down on his bed; the springs bounced; he looked up at the watch, turned it over and read the inscription then muttered--this is a fest…fest-ive…yes festive  occasion so I should be wearing my own special watch. He put it on his wrist and buckled the strap, looked at it with satisfaction, got up and went downstairs.

Zack’s father then announced, “It’s all done; come and get it! Bill’s Best is ready!” His mother chuckled, “Come on everyone; find a seat, anyplace you like.” As his relatives milled about finding seats, Zack took another beer wiped off the water with his hand and found a place at the table between his Uncle Joe who posted his glass half full of bourbon in front of him and Uncle Bud who made sure he was near the macaroni salad. As his father passed the chicken he leaned over and thinking that Zack was just having his second beer, whispered, “Go easy--it’s enough for now.” Zack felt a bit giddy and took a big spoonful of coleslaw dripping the juice on the table. He belched, “Excuse me.” His mother came by with her special, secret-formula potato salad and spooned a large dollop on his plate. Alfie and Scott crawled under the table then ran out and began popping the red and white balloons (the high school colors): “pop, bang, pop,” that his mother had tied to the handles of the ice tub. Just as everyone started to dig in, Zack, now flushed, stood up, steadied himself by holding the table, tapped his plastic knife against the plastic cup of beer and when that didn’t get everyone’s attention, called out in a loud voice, “I’d like to make a, you know, a…a  toast.” Everyone stopped talking and turned toward him. He held his cup up high, “To my father,” Zack belched and said a fast, “Excuse me,” bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, and went on, “to my father, the true Bar-b-que King;” everyone clapped and his father smiled but looked at Zack warily; “and to my moth…er, my moth…er, the most beautiful, beautiful woman in the world, in the whole wide world,” and he gestured grandly at his relatives who appeared out of focus, by swinging his arm in a wide arc in front of him. There were cheers and Uncle Bud whistled. His father cast a worried look at Zack but bowed gallantly to his wife; she blushed. So far no one noticed the watch which periodically appeared from under Zack’s shirt sleeve.

After the plates were cleared his mother who had a big grin across her face, carried out a large sheet cake—chocolate with white icing decorated with, “Congratulations Zack,” in red. She placed it with a flourish in front of Zack; Uncle Fred took pictures. The flash blinded Zack for a moment, then she handed him a knife and told him to make the first cut. He took the knife, thrust it up in the air triumphantly, prompting his mother to step back, “Easy, that knife is sharp.” She took his hand and guided it to make the first slice at which everyone applauded.

After the guests had left, Zack emptied out the beer and soda tub getting some of the water on his shoes and managed to fold up the bridge table after three attempts to get the legs closed in the right order. He concentrated on carefully carrying some cake plates and not tripping over the step on the way into the kitchen but he stumbled anyway, caught himself from falling by grabbing the doorknob of the open door but dropped one of the plates which crashed on the green linoleum floor sending pieces all over the kitchen. Zack called out, “Oh I’m, sorry!” His mother turned , “Zack are you okay?” and when she saw what happened, “Oh no, that was one of my good plates.” Zack repeated, “I’m sorry, sorry, yes sorry, I’ll clean it up.” He carried the remaining plates to the sink and his mother who was washing a platter, nodded at the counter next to her, “Put them right over here.” As he reached out with his left hand to put them down, his shirt sleeve pulled up above his wrist. He saw her looking at the watch and felt both uneasy and relieved. When he took a step back, his foot crunched a shard of the broken plate. He turned toward the broom closet but saw a crinkly bag of potato chips, picked it up and scooped up a handful from the bottom of the bag and stuffed them into his mouth while dropping half of them on his shirt and on the floor; he wiped his hands on his pants. “Zack,” she turned toward him looking puzzled, “where’d you get that watch,” she rested the back of her wet hand on her hip, ”and where’s the watch,” she held out her other hand, “we gave you for graduation?”  He half turned around, his mouth full of chips and mumbled, pointing up, “Now don’t you worry, it’s, it’s safe,” he held onto the counter to steady himself, “yes, it’s safe, safe, safe in my room.” “Well, what’s this one,” she demanded pointing at the watch, “it looks old.” “Oh, well now, it was a present, a birth…day present. Yes, that’s what it was,” he held up a finger telling her to wait while he swallowed hard, then lowered his voice and said to himself, “I think I should sit down.” He fell into a kitchen chair. His father, who was putting what was left in the bottle of bourbon back into the cabinet, heard the exchange and marched over. His face was red, “You have some explaining to do young man.” He pointed his finger right at Zack’s face, “Where-did-you-get-that-watch?” “I just told mom,” he held out his hands, glanced at his father then away out the window where he caught a glimpse of a cardinal standing on a lawn chair, “It was a…a…you know…a present, a birthday present,” he glanced back at his father. His father inched closer and shook his finger right in Zack’s face, “Stop avoiding the question. Who gave it to you?” “Dottie,” Zack mumbled, then louder, “Dottie, that’s who, Dottie gave it to me, the one and only Dottie from up the street.” He looked up, “Yes, it was Dottie!” he called out. His mother whispered a dismayed, “Oh,” as if to say, “Oh no!” She became stone quiet, closed her eyes momentarily and with a look of sad disappointment sighed, opened her hands at her sides in resignation. When his father lowered his hand and stepped back momentarily, Zack, seeing his mother’s reaction stood up, held on to the kitchen table to steady himself and said, “Honest Mom,” he raised his eyebrows which made him appear wide-eyed and in earnest, “I love the watch you and Dad gave me…Honest, I love, love, love it…” he pleaded, extending his hands in her direction. Zack’s father came right up close to him, his face still red, his eyes narrow, his jaw set hard, “I told you never to go to their house.” He reached up and poked his finger into Zack’s chest, “How dare you!” Zack backed up and rubbed the spot where his father poked him. His father raised his arm, “How dare you thumb your nose at me!” Zack was frightened by his father’s rage and crouching slightly, stepped back holding his hands up palms out, afraid that his father was about to hit him. His father moved forward, the shards of the broken plate crunching under his shoes, yelling, “And besides you had too much to drink. How dare you!!” His mother called out, “Oh my God!” Zack stepped away again and this time backed into the kitchen table where he jostled some plastic cups which fell on the floor clattering and bouncing as they spilled soda until coming to rest under the table. The three of them glanced at the cups, Zack said a quick, “I’m sorry,” shaking his head in an attempt to indicate that he didn’t mean it and moved back from the table. His father turned away, started to go outside and then abruptly turned around, and raised his hand to Zack when Zack’s mother, called out, “Bill! Don’t!” She put her hands up to her face and shook her head back and forth in disbelief, “And this was supposed to be such a nice day,” she wiped her eyes. Zack backed up again but suddenly stopped, pulled himself up to his full height and folding his arms across his chest confronted his father. The sound of someone setting off firecrackers in the street intruded and Zack’s father glanced in the direction of the sound, then slowly, very slowly, lowered his hand, and whispered sadly, “You’re too old for that now.” His shoulders slumped; he stepped back shaking his head sadly from side to side and slowly made his way into the darkening back yard. Zack turned and made his way out of the kitchen and up to his room. He hurriedly took off the watch, put it down on his desk and picked up the one his parents had given him. He leaned against the desk picturing his mother’s hurt face, her large brown eyes with tears just behind them, and shook his head sadly. Then his father’s red face and mouth clinched white with rage appeared before him and he found himself putting his hands up in front of his face to protect himself and then remembered how he had finally stood up and held his ground. He flopped down on his bed and after staring blankly at the darkened ceiling alternately feeling panicky and numb, relieved and proud, he fell asleep in his clothes.

He awoke much later. The house was quiet and dark. He looked at the clock: 3:20. His mouth felt like it had cotton in it and his head ached. I suppose this is what a hangover feels like, he thought. He slowly raised himself up and sat on the edge of the bed holding his head. He bent over to take off his shoes but leaning over made his head ache even more so he just kicked them off. He held onto the night table and stood up then stumbled across the floor and grabbed the door-knob. He opened it. The house was quiet. His parent’s door was closed. He held onto the wall as he padded to the bathroom where he turned on the light but quickly closed his eyes, then opened them a slit—just enough to see. He peed, washed his hands and face then brushed his teeth. He opened the medicine chest and looked for some aspirin. He leaned against the sink, opened the bottle and swallowed two before going back to his room. He took off his clothes down to his underwear and walked over to the desk. He could see the two watches in the glow of the back-door light that his father had forgotten to turn off. He looked at the watch his parents had given him and put it down. He picked up the one that Dottie had given him and examined it; he nodded his head then looked out over the scattered chairs in the back yard most of which had fallen over on the grass.