-
18. Star Stick
- Minnesota Historical Society Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
The grasses of the farm fields are taller, but the pine trees along the side of the dirt road seem smaller. Mrs. Sheehy slows her car down as soon as she sees Whiskey racing toward us from around the corner of the house. The farmhouse looks more gray, even older. When we turn into the driveway, I see a flat football and a tricycle with the front wheel twisted. I think my father must have run it over when he came home drunk some night. My father stands by the side of the garage with the lawn mower on its side. His hat is on sideways, and he has grease stains on his overhauls. Mrs. Sheehy honks her horn as we reach the end of the driveway . I point to my father, who walks toward the car, then I jump out and fall on the grass with Whiskey. I look up at the grimy kitchen window and wonder if anyone else is home. My father rubs his hands on the sides of his pants. He walks to Mrs. Sheehy, who is still in the car, leaning her arm out the window. My father laughs a little and says he would greet her with a handshake, but he gets pretty stingy with his oil. “Oh! Don’t worry about that!” she says. “My boys have spent the entire summer in our garage working on an old Buick.” f18g Star Stick 173 174 1973 My father looks at me and asks if I enjoyed camp, if I learned how to tie a sailor’s hitch. I don’t know what that is, but I nod my head yes anyway. When Mrs. Sheehy starts telling my father that I must have had a great time at Camp Buckskin because I was so sad to leave, crying until we stopped for a cheeseburger and malt, I get up and decide to go inside. “Now, where’s Corrine?” Mrs. Sheehy asks. I hear my father telling her that my mother has not been feeling well since she got back from her trip to Milwaukee. I see only John when I get inside the old house. He’s in the living room on the couch. He barely says hi to me because he’s glued to the TV, watching one of those British comedies. The dining room table is cluttered with Pepsi bottles and empty bags of Oreo cookies and cardboard pizza boxes. I ask John who bought all the food. And then I have to ask him again, louder this time. “The old lady got her Indian check last week,” he says, still staring at the TV. “There isn’t a lot left, though. The check wasn’t as big as she thought it would be, and she had to pay Dennis back for her trip to Milwaukee.” I go into the kitchen to see if there’s any of that pop left in the refrigerator. I glance out the window and see my father taking my box of camp clothes out of the trunk. I open the last Pepsi. I pick up a letter off the table. It’s written to my father. My mother sent it to him when she was in Milwaukee. I skip the first few lines about my mother asking how things are going at the farm, if Philly was taking time to help Robert learn to walk. She asks if Jerry found work. I turn to the second page. . . . I went over to Sylvia’s for supper on the second night. When Frankie dropped me off, I made him promise to come back and get me [44.192.132.66] Project MUSE (2024-03-28 17:50 GMT) Star Stick 175 after he got off his shift. As much as I was excited to see my sisters, I didn’t want to spend a sleepless night with them and their drinking. All their goofy laughing and arguing. Frankie took us bowling last night. Well, I didn’t bowl, but Germaine did. That Germaine looks more gorgeous than ever. She just glows all the time. She can’t wait until the wedding in December. Frankie said he’s been saving a little from each check for me. He wants me to come back down here for the December wedding, but I don’t know . . . John calls for me, and I wait a few seconds just so he knows I’m not gonna be bossed around anymore. I slowly walk into...