“I’m sorry, Mrs. Smith.”
“No!” she cries. “No! You have no right! You didn’t want him! You wanted her to have an abortion!”
Evan stares at her incredulously. He didn’t want an abortion! How many times does he have to say it? First Brad, now Ellen? Everyone pushing his own truth. Well, Evan’s got his truth, too.
“That’s not true!” he yells. “That’s a lie! When she told me she was pregnant, I told her we would get married and raise the baby ourselves. I told her we could do it. But she said no, so I gave her money. She insisted on the abortion and took my money, and then she didn’t do it; and then you stole Dean from me!”
Ellen, shocked, clasps her hands over her mouth.
“Oh my God, ” she says through her palms. “Is that true? Oh my God.”
“Yes, it’s true. And then you went into hiding.”
“We didn’t go into—”
“You stole him away from me.”
“We didn’t steal . . . Tracy said . . .”
“What did she say?” Evan demands.
Ellen stands; her eyes are wide and they search the room distractedly.
“Oh my God, ” she repeats. “This is all a terrible mistake. A terrible mistake.”
“Mrs. Smith—” Evan starts, but he doesn’t say more. Her search has become more frantic. She is desperate to find something. She doesn’t see Evan and doesn’t hear him.
“A terrible mistake, ” she repeats in a hoarse whisper to herself. “Terrible.”
And then she finds it. The door. Her eyes lock on the door and draw her to it; her hand turns the knob. She glances at Evan. “A terrible mistake, ” she says again. And then she leaves.
TRACY SAID WHAT? Evan wonders. What did she say?
And when did she say it? Did her story change over time? T Did she tell Frank one thing in the heat of battle and tell Dean something else entirely, when he was older, nearly grown-up, ready to know the truth?
Or did she take the truth to her grave?
Perhaps she was waiting to tell Dean soon. Maybe even that fateful night. A mother-son discussion over pepperoni pizza and carrot sticks.
Who knows what, and when did they know it, and what were they doing when they learned it? This is the Rashomon that is Evan’s life.
HE KNOCKS ON the door to Dean’s room and opens it without waiting for a response. Dean is lying on his bed reading a book. Evan looks around.
The room is dim: the shades are pulled down even though the summer evening is still bright outside; the overhead light seems to be missing a bulb. The bed is unmade, clothes litter the floor. The room is decorated with several posters, including an R. E. M. concert poster, which Evan is happy to see. There are two large bookcases filled with books, next to which stands an open file cart filled with neatly arranged road maps. There is a desk with a sizeable computer on it, a mini stereo system, and a clothes hamper that obviously isn’t often used.
“Can I help you?” Dean asks, looking up from his book.
“I wanted to talk to you, if you’ve got a second.”
“I’m busy.”
Dean goes back to his book; Evan wanders over to the bookcase and looks at the titles. Fiction, mostly, except for a few reference books.
“What are you reading?” Evan asks.
“You mean, what am I trying to read?”
“Are you having trouble?”
“Yeah, someone keeps interrupting me.”
Evan smiles. Smart-ass kid.
“What are you trying to read, then?”
“Crime and Punishment. Ever read it?”
“I think I was sick that day. Is it good?”
“Let me guess, ” Dean says, “you’re going to bug me with stupid questions until I say I’ve got a second, right?”
“Basically.”
“Okay, ” Dean says, putting down his book.“Go ahead.”
Evan takes a deep breath and sits backwards on the desk chair. It’s time for him to have a little talk with Dean. Ellen and Brad don’t really matter. They can think whatever they want about Evan and how it all happened. But Dean’s opinion matters. Dean has to know the truth. He has to know Evan’s side of the story.
“Dean, a lot of things happened in the past that weren’t really supposed to happen the way they did.”
Dean looks at him unblinkingly.
“I mean, with how we got into the situation we’re in. I don’t know what your mother told you—”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, your mother must have told you something about me, about why I wasn’t around, right? At some point you asked who your dad was, and she told you something, and you asked why I wasn’t around, and she gave you an answer. I just want to set the record straight. I mean, you should hear both sides. You’ve heard what she told you, but you should also hear my side of it.”
“Okay. So what’s your side?”
“Well, why don’t you tell me what your mother said first?” Evan says. “Then I’ll tell you my side.”
Dean shakes his head.
“What did your mother tell you about me?” Evan repeats.
Dean makes a pained face. He lifts his book and starts to read it, then puts it back on his lap facedown and runs his fingers up the spine deliberately; he scratches his nose; he doesn’t answer.
“She must have told you something about me, ” Evan continues. “Maybe not about me, personally, but about why she was raising you by herself. I’d just like to know what she said, so if I think anything’s wrong, I can tell you what really happened.”
Dean shakes his head again.
“What did she say?” Evan asks.
“Nothing, ” Dean answers.
“She must have said something.”
“Nothing. She never said anything.”
“Never?”
“No.”
Evan considers it a moment.
“I don’t believe you, ” he says. “Did she tell you I abandoned you? Is that what she said?”
“No.”
“What, then?”
“Nothing.”
“Did she tell you I didn’t want to keep you? Because that’s not true and I—”
“Yeah, ” Dean breaks in.“That’s what she said. She said that.”
“What? That I didn’t want to keep you?”
“Yeah. She said you gave her money and told her to go have an abortion and then you told her you never wanted to see her again.”
“She said that?” Evan exclaims.“Why would she say something like that? That’s not at all how it happened.”
“Well, ” Dean says, “that’s what she said. Sorry.”
Evan leans back in the chair and stews.
“I can’t believe it, ” he says.
“Sure, you can.”
“I mean, yes, I can. She told your grandmother some things, so I guess—but I thought she would have told you the truth, you know?”
He looks up at Dean, who’s looking a little smug, enjoying Evan’s pain.
“What else did she tell you?”
“She told me you had rich parents who never gave you anything, ” Dean says, “but who gave you money for the abortion, but they were too cheap, they should have given more.”
Evan is confused.
“Why would she tell you that?” he asks. “They didn’t give me money—that was money I saved by working summers.”
“And that you were so stupid, she had to help you with your homework all the time.”
“One time!” Evan cries.“One time she helped me. Did she really tell you that?”
“Yeah. And you know what else she told me? You aren’t my father. It was some other guy she was dating, but he moved away and she needed to find someone. You acted guilty so she picked you.”
“What?”
“And I met my real father, too. He’s a really rich stockbroker who lives in Tokyo and wants me to come live with him. He’s sending me a ticket—”
&nb
sp; “You’re making this all up.”
“All I have to do is get a passport and then I’ll go.”
“You’re lying about everything.”
“I’ll go live with him. He has a really nice summer house in Fukagawa—”
“Stop lying, Dean, ” Evan says, standing angrily. “Knock it off.”
“And we’ll eat wild cherries in the orchard while he reads me haiku he’s written over the winter—”
“Stop it!” Evan shouts.“Shut up, Dean! Shut the hell up!”
Dean shuts up. They glare at each other. Evan is so angry, he doesn’t know what to do. All he wanted was to have a real talk with Dean, and it exploded in his face.
“I mean, Jesus, Dean. I wanted to have a man-to-man talk.”
“So go find another man, ” Dean snaps.
Evan instantly decides he’s not taking any crap from Dean.
“I don’t want to make your mother sound bad, ” he says, “but I need to tell you what happened. She was a senior and I was a junior; she was a year older than I was.”
“Stop talking. Get out of my room.”
“Spring of her senior year. It was an accident. She told you that. It definitely wasn’t a planned parenthood.”
“Stop talking about my mother. It’s none of your business.”
“She was going to a really great college. It made sense. We discussed it. Neither of us wanted to do it, but it made sense—”
“Shut up and leave me alone!” Dean shouts. He jumps up off the bed up and confronts Evan.“Get out of my room!”
“You need to be told the truth, Dean, ” Evan shouts back. “I wanted to keep you. Do you understand that? I gave her money, yes, but I only did it because I loved her and I thought that was what she wanted.”
“Get out of my room! Leave me alone! I hate you.”
“I would have married her and raised you with her, but they stole you away.”
Dean lets out a scream of frustration; he stomps his feet and wheels around in a tight circle, screaming. When he stops, his face is bright red and his eyes are teary.
“Stop talking about my mother. You never even knew her!”
“Dean—”
“I’m only here because Frank’s dangerous. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t even like you.”
“Dean—”
“I don’t want to be with you!”
“Well, who the hell do you want to be with?” Evan asks sharply. “Tell me who you want to be with and I’ll try to arrange it.”
Dean’s just barely holding himself together. It’s all he can do to remain standing. Evan lets him off the hook; he walks to the door, pauses, tries one more time.
“I wish I knew what she told you about me, ” he says.
Dean looks up at him. He’s been broken. Tortured to the breaking point, there’s nothing left for him to hide.
“She didn’t tell me anything, ” he says quietly.
And Evan is hit with the realization: Dean is telling the truth. He’s been telling the truth the whole time. Tracy told him nothing. She never said a word.
“Dean—”
But Dean’s lower lip quivers, and Evan sees that he’s just a little kid. Smart, but a kid: So go find yourself another man.
“Would you please leave my room?”
Shit. She never said a thing. There were no lies to correct, there were no minds to change. And Evan, soulless Evan, rushed in and destroyed the one thing that Dean really owned: the pure memory of his mother, which now lies amongst the rubble, like a felled statue of Lenin in Red Square.
“Please leave.”
THE NEXT MORNING, Evan wakes up with the previous night’s encounter spinning in his head. To distract himself he checks in with Lars.
“What do you want first, the good news or the bad news?”Lars asks.
“Oh, let’s go for good, ” Evan says.
“Okay. Remember when Billy said he’d pass our demo around?”
“Yeah?”
“Well, he did. And we got a call.”
“Really? From whom?”
“Template Records.”
“No way, ” Evan says, genuinely surprised. Template Records is huge for a Seattle-based independent label. Almost Sub Pop. “They’re interested?”
“Very. You’ve heard of Mel Kidd?”
Evan’s heard of him, seen him around, been introduced to him a couple of times, but Mel Kidd would never remember Evan.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Mel called Tony and told him that he wants to take our demo to CMJ in New York in the fall. And he wants us to go with him.”
CMJ? The ultimate independent scene? Too cool for words.
“He’s going to sign us?”
“Well, maybe. There’s a catch.”
Oh. The bad news.“So what is it?”
“The catch is that you need to come back to Seattle next week so we can meet Mel, meet his publicist, take some photos, and play a gig for him so he can see how we perform.”
“That’s not a bad catch.”
“That’s cool, right?” Lars asks.
“Very.”
“You’re into that whole thing, right?”
“Very.”
“Cool.”
“So, what’s the bad news, then?” Evan asks.
Lars chuckles.
“I stopped into Fremont Guitars today. I saw your boss.”
“Yeah?”
“He wants me to give you a message. He says you’re fired.”
EVAN CALLS HIS boss, Ehud, and, indeed, he’s been fired. It turns out that Angel, Evan’s substitute, hasn’t shown up for work for three days. It’s only logical that Ehud should fire Evan for that. Evan doesn’t like it, but he understands.
And, after some thought, maybe he does like it. He definitely finds it liberating. So much has changed. He’s taken his son back from the people who stole him. His band is about to sign a record contract. He might as well wipe the slate clean and start all over.
When Dean comes home from his day as a street urchin, they eat. After dinner they retreat to their respective rooms. Once in Tracy’s room, closed off from tender young eyes, Evan decides he might be able to sneak in a little marijuana. He doesn’t need it— he’s not having an aura. But since the fight with Dean about his mother, there’s been a cooling between them, which is upsetting to Evan—upsetting enough to overshadow Lars’s good news, so he needs a pick-me-up. (This is how the line gets blurred, he thinks, as with professional athletes and their painkillers: when the ritual becomes habitual . . .) He opens the windows, lays a rolled-up towel at the foot of the door to prevent fumes from escaping into the hallway, and lights up his pipe. Mmm, that smell.
It’s always the same, that smell. The first hit of the day. There’s a brightness to the scent, an extra tanginess that vanishes with subsequent puffs. He takes a few hits and puts the pipe away. He doesn’t want to get wasted, just a little high. Take the edge off his sunburn, cozy him up a bit.
The phone rings loudly. Evan looks at it. Is he supposed to answer? It rings again. Then it stops. Dean must have gotten it. Huh. Oh, well. He lies back on the bed, closes his eyes and lets his mind wander.
BAM, BAM, BAM.
He’s startled out of his reverie by a knocking at his door. He leaps to his feet, stows the pipe in the cigar box.
“Yes?” he asks frantically, his heart racing. He’s been caught totally unawares. He panics. Where is he? What time is it? Was he asleep?
“I’m going out. Is that okay?” Dean says through the door.
“Hold on a sec, ” Evan replies quickly. He closes the box and sticks it under his pillow. He throws open the door and tries to act casual.
“Where are you going?” he asks breathlessly.
Dean looks at Evan strangely.
“You reek, ” he says.
“Reek?”
“You’ve been smoking weed, ” Dean observes.
“What are you talking about?”
&nbs
p; “I smell it. It smells like weed.”
“How do you know what weed smells like?” Evan asks with a sheepish look sweeping over his face.
“I know.”
Evan turns and walks across the room decisively.“Where are you going?” he asks.“Was that a friend who called?”
He grabs his wallet from the dresser. People who are stoned always act deliberately because it takes special effort to act not-stoned when you’re stoned. A stoned person’s momentum is in favor of all motion stopping. So the stoned person often overcompensates and moves quickly from place to place.
“Yeah. We’re going to the mall. Is that okay?”
“I guess so, ” Evan says, taking a twenty out of his wallet.
“Mom always wanted to know how I was getting home, ” Dean says with a shrug.
“How are you getting home?”
Evan turns and sees Dean sitting on the bed with the cigar box in his lap, holding the plastic baggie of pot that Evan keeps inside. Over an ounce of pot. Maybe an ounce-and-a-half. Good pot, too. Dean opens the baggie and smells it.
“Hey, ” Evan shouts. He charges across the room and snatches the box out of Dean’s hands.
“Can I have some?”
“No, you can’t have some.” He stuffs it in the drawer of the bedside table.
Dean rolls his eyes and stands.
“Dirt weed, ” he mutters as he stalks across the room.
“It’s not dirt weed, my friend. That is some of the finest marijuana on the planet. That’s hydroponically grown Indonesian sin-semilla, all female, all bud. That ain’t starter weed like you delinquents smoke here in Yakima.”
“Ooh, I’m impressed, ” Dean says mockingly. “Rick’s father is driving us. Can I go?”
“Yes, ” Evan says, holding out the twenty.“Here.”
“What’s that for?”
“Food. A movie. Whatever.”
Dean takes the bill and looks at it comically, like it’s some kind of moon rock.
“Wow, ” he says.“Big spender.” He stuffs the bill in his jeans and walks down the hallway toward the door.