CHAPTER 6: RIVERSIDE BLUES.

3/6/1975:

Mom had to run a call or twenty throughout dad’s terminal today. Heck. Just heck. Apparently something blew up in the night. Metaphorically, that is. Some data collection issue back at the old farm or something. Jeez. Work’s spilling all out over the house, it seems.

It wasn’t like I could just ask her to stop using the terminal, so I had to walk over to Janet’s rather than sending the scanned research. Gave me all the time to soak in the negativity coming from having seen Carl half destroyed. He left our house in the early afternoon, uncharacteristically muttering something about not wanting to deal with the other vet’s mistakes. Dad watched him shamble out of our front yard with a disapproving look, frowning throughout. Can’t blame him at all. Uncle dearest looks like he needs a week off, much less just going back to work.

Janet’s house being empty didn’t help my morose attitude. We went over our notes, formatted them at best as we could. Which, considering Hannah had already taken a pen to them, wasn’t much of an issue. The actual problem was when we hit the “Conclusions” bit. The one that required us to put down some personal thoughts.

And there, there I came up empty-handed. Embarrassingly so, I have to say. What I could write down? I enjoyed it. It wasn’t too hard, even with Janet deciding to send us on a goose chase. Heck, it actually had been almost-fun. Loved the wooden Virgin Mary, loved the chance to stroll Downtown with my friends. But that was on the emotional-memnoic side, as De Santis would say. What sort of lesson I’d learned from all the historical trivia we’d collected?

We were collating notes over that gigantic oak table Janet’s got in the dining room, and as I ran my fingers over its smooth surface, it dawned on me that it was “just” some store-bought piece of furniture. A very pretty one, but not something that had been, how do I put it, crafted? Somewhere there were workers assembling these, perhaps by the dozen, slotting in limbs, drilling in screws, maybe putting the final result on a conveyor belt. Which leads into some CL&M truck, straight trip to some of those fancy furniture shops upriver. What I could say about all of that? I wasn’t an artistic soul. I wasn’t even sure I was what you’d call “smart”, despite Dad’s reassurances. It just felt weird, knowing that all the effort a member of the Lodge could be replicated with a handful of machines. Almost uneasy.

It shouldn’t have been. Weren’t my parents teleop workers? Didn’t my father operate machines that’d have required a whole squad just a decade or two ago? Heck, a few of these steel behemoths couldn’t even exist a decade ago. Looking back, I didn’t know what to write down. Janet, sweet angelic Janet, just looked at my frown and went “We just are going to write “CL&M supplanted local furniture providers.”

Aaaand that was it. Anticlimatic. Worse: Perfunctory. But hey, this was a history research, not a damn rant about economy. If this didn’t get us an A+, I swear to God the next one’s getting the Brian treatment. Heck, if he gets an A+, I am blowing my lid off.

4/6/1975:

It’s going to take a week to grade the research, Mr. Hopkins told us. He was side-eying Brian & cohorts as he said this. Maybe because after swearing up and down that theirs would be the “Most coincise, cutting research”, they dropped a twenty-pages package. Each. All while glaring to each other as Brian triumphantly proclaimed how “His version” was the best. Talk about escalation. This cloying idiocy made me appreciate Hannah and Janet even more.

Beyond Brian being a chode, today was relatively hassle-free. Tara’s organizing a riverside get-together, everyone invited. Doesn’t smell funny to me, so I’ll probably go. Speaking of things smelling weird: Apparently the CL&M bozos got their act together and are now repairing- Even expanding- The pond at full tilt. It’ll probably be ready in two-three weeks.

Should probably take notes on the hustle and bustle. Was Judith’s visit responsible for this? I’ll be looking to speed up things with Carl. He could definitely use an intern he trusts, I definitely could use some more pocket money, and the neighborhood could really use someone who knows how to stitch up dogs. Poor things. Poor owners. Poor suburbs.

Note to Self: Buy another anatomic encyclopedia. Buy another notebook while I am at it. This one’s ending. Hair still a mess. Look into buying an actual hair straightener.

5/6/1975:

Tara doled out some more specifics between History and Math. She’s aiming for the picnic area next to the Bluejay river, right before the belt. Nice spot, fairly hidden, but I doubt wholly hassle-free. So no beers this time. We’ll be making up with pies and some hand-cooked pastries. Brad let it slip that he thinks she’s gonna use the occasion to parade a new BF, and honestly? As long as she doesn’t shove him under my nose, it’ll be fine.

I spent the rest of the day tallying up the times Brian glared daggers at a classmate’s back. Poor girl- I think her name’s Jenny- Is utterly oblivious to this. Pretty sure she’s in his sight only because she’s the one who wouldn’t stand up to him. . Certainly both ironic and rather messed up, considering she also was the only one who didn’t “Try to steal credit”, as Brian said. Furthermore, it turns out Jenny beat his pale tush three to one in the Chess Club. That immediately made me like her, even if we rarely spoke. She was a bit on the mousy, plump side, with a big honkin’ pair of braids, round-rimmed glasses. Typical nerd.

But a pretty damn nice one, even though she’s an upriver girl. Must be hell, having to live in the same burb as Brian. Speaking of nerds, though, I had to double-check Timmy’s homework, and wowzers. He is getting the hang out of typing on a terminal fast. Barely a spelling error. Really glad mom followed Aunt Francis’ advice, there. Even if it was kind of sarcastic.

But the conversation home was dominated by another relative, for good and for ill. I spoke to dad about my internship plans, and he 100% agreed. “You know how self sacrificing he is”, he said over some A+ grade steaks with gravy. I ended up agreeing to sneak poor uncle some decently-cooked lunches, and making sure he didn’t spend too many waking hours fussing over his charges. We didn’t talk about the why of such a sudden influx of new wards. Up until Timothy made what I think was a puma noise. Real funny. Dad just raised an eyebrow at him. “We’re gonna feed you to the wolves if you don’t eat your spinach.” Teasing tone, but nonetheless the kind of “joke” that would make mom upset.

Then Timmy said something that’d have made her even more upset.

“Well, yeah, and Mr. Dreyfuss is going to protect me. He will make these dumb overgrown dogs choke on his shell. Why do you think they haven’t visited our backyard?” And if to prove a point,

he made some ghastly guttural noises which I assume were his idea of a puma suffocating from an overgrown turtle.

Unfortunately, then, the topic turned to why he had to eat spinach while I didn’t. Pointing out I spent a considerable amount of time trotting about didn’t seem to mollify him any. We danced around the issue, eventually settling on the idea that he “Had to be strong.” He didn’t seem to buy it 100%, but he did stop protesting.

6/6/1975:

One of Brian’s friends swear that he saw a huge dog roaming around yesterday, around St. Barbara. “A shaggy grey mongrel.” Like a bigger Willow? Jeez, I hope not. But this does give some credence to this thing being a coyote, to the point Brad did mention he was seriously considering changing his own tune. He showed up this afternoon to talk about the PVC fence with dad, telling him that his own pa’s willing to lend a hand. Which is a code for “Let’s hang out and drink some of that beer you no longer can drink. “ But hey. Don’t shoot the messenger.

7/6/1975:

Boring, slow day. Mr Hopkins let it slip he reviewed our research first. “A plus, if I may allow myself this indiscretion”, he told me during lunch break, smiling coyly, if weakly. Everything’s going right with the baby, but it’s still a ways off before the missus can come back home. Hopefully she’ll be back to teaching next year. Egads, do I miss her. And her ability to shut up Brian with a glance and a smile. Boy, I know you are a smart one, but I am not teaching just for you, am I? So calm down and stop talking. All said without a single word.

Maybe I could visit her. Really, I should visit her. And maybe Janet and Hannah ought to come as well. Out of us three I am probably the one who owes her the most, sure, but I’d rather have my companeras around. People’d probably think I am weird if I show up alone. Well. Weirder.

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Tara's get-together was pretty much one of the least interesting parties this year. 1) It's clear her heart wasn't in it, 2) So close to a public park meant no booze and 3) I can actually kind of get behind it being a slower, less exciting affair. One of the local freaks put on some Bob Marley and we sat over towels on the grass. Our own little Woodstock took place under a softer Sun, a few clouds. Even a little bit of breeze. Here's hoping the rest of the summer is like this.

Jenny was there too, looking as hapless as an octopus' egg. She swayed in the current, drifting from group to group with a hang-dog look. Inevitably she came to settle next to us, and Brad being Brad invited her closer.

She's a lot more bitey outside the classroom. Sharper. Between a cola and a sandwhich she told us about her Brian Experience, In True Sensoscape Ultracolor. The subject of our talk was blissfully unaware, trying to mack on some upriver girls he seemed to have some degree of familiarity with.

Brian apparently doesn't play fair, and neither do the other nerds. They nearly came to blows when one of them- So far unknown- Left behind a little parting gift on Brian's terminal. Bricked it for a week. But Brian wouldn't be Brian without some extra cash to spare, so he'd booted up an old machine. Jenny helped there.

Her reward was being rudely told off not two days before they would compile all the raw data into a presentable format. Girl, you are a capital-letter S Saint for not telling him off. Or, well, maybe a bit of a pushover. Both, perhaps! Still, she didn't retaliate. A round of applause.

To top the sundae with a cherry, mom was home early today. She did a lot of talking with Timmy on the subject of summer camp. Mostly prepwork, from what I had spied while going upstairs. First time going out into the big green unknown with his own age-group, and she's worried it may be overwhelming. Dad had brushed off some of her concerns earlier this week, downplaying the risk of confusion. How he said it, though, kind of stuck with me: “A lot of these kids are like Tim. Camp staff'll know how to handle things.”

I hope he's right.

8/6/1975:

Aaaand Lauren throws, without aiming. Aaaaaaaand Lauren scores, ladies and gentlemen! Carl said yes. Sure, he said it while prepping for some surgery work on a cow that'd been run over by a trampler, but it was a yes. Now I just have to wait for school to be over. Aaand all of my friends to leave me to this little heck-hole of a 'burb while they go riding buses down South or visiting the breezy, Sunswept beaches of Florida. Or, well, skulking off in the depths of the woods to do what Rangers do. C'mon, Brian, I am not going to tattle if you tell me all about your midnight strolls. Are you hunting commies out there?

Speaking of the red menace, today Mr Hopkins breached the topic of pre-Soviet literature. Some fellow called Tolstoy Tolstoi Tolstoj, big fat book about pre-Soviet nobility, rather predictability. Showed us an old copy- Must’ve had thirty or so years- He’d gotten from a friend in England. And the crazy thing, the translator was a broad whose son was a novelist, and Janet apparently read a novel of his about a lady turning into a fox. What a small world.

So small that people were gawking at the idea of Janet reading a book. Guess popularity does that to you, huh? Suddenly it was the talk of the class, everyone too busy going “Huh, sure” (Tara) or suddenly seeing a reason to hit on her again (Brian.) Lost in the noise, no one noticed that Jenny had read it as well. She’d piped up, ignored hard enough that I saw her moping slightly during lunch. Went over to talk to her because hey, my friends may be leaving for a while...But nothing says I can’t make some new ones meanwhile.