I drove down the street and tried to figure out what to say. Her eyes were squinted part way closed and her lips were pursed together hard enough to displace their pink color. She was breathing hard and puffs of air came out of her nose like a cartoon bull about to charge.
“Nic-,” I started to say.
“No,” she interrupted. “Just. Drive.”
I reached the stop sign at the open end of our cul-de-sac. The street where Nicole and I had spent our entire lives was displayed in the rear view mirror like a photograph. Every house was the same basic shape, different only in color and condition. The entire neighborhood was provided by the Falling Star mine as housing for men that came home from World War II and found work in the mines and smelters. Most of the mining in our area stopped when I was a baby and none of the people in our neighborhood were miners anymore. My dad was a salesman for a local company that sold trailers made for hauling 4-wheelers and snowmobiles behind your pickup. Nicole’s dad was one of the last people on the street still working for the mine. After the last silver and zinc was mined and smelted, the mine workers were laid off. Tim Miller was hired back as a security guard. He patrolled the old mine properties around town, protecting the dilapidated buildings from teenagers and vagrants. Neither Nicole or I had much money growing up but we were never hungry and got most of our clothes from the department store.
I flicked on my left blinker and drove out of the Silver Hills housing development and headed toward the highway that cut through town. Until fifth grade, the highway was part of Interstate and people passing through town had to make their way through Kiln Valley, stopping at every stop light. A new freeway was built that carried traffic on an elevated path around the edge of town. With interstate traffic gone, the highway was never busy and made it a good way to get from one side of town to the other.
As I made my way into downtown, the boarded up machine shops and empty lots gave way to an area the mayor liked to call “The Village.” When mining ceased to be a valid enterprise, local businessmen decided to leverage the natural beauty of the area and built a ski resort. The Village was a section of downtown where tourists would come to buy boutique clothing, ski equipment, and jewelry patterned after Native American tribal designs. The name the locals used was “The Fur Trap” referring to the tourists in fur-trimmed coats that spent money like it was nothing. Most of the shops were closed for the evening and the only signs of life came from the bars and restaurants.
One bar called The Old Mill was a favorite for fur-clad tourists to mingle with the locals around tables of rough-hewn wood and decorations made from old, rusty milling and mining equipment. As we passed The Old Mill, Nicole moved for the first time. She craned her neck to peer into the enormous window. When the bar was behind us, she turned her head toward the windshield again and I could see that her face was no longer pinched in anger.
“Hey, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you a ride home from school,” I said.
“It’s cool, you said you had to pick up your mom,” Nicole replied.
“You seemed kind of upset, are you okay?”
Nicole took a deep breath and blew air up into her bangs to get the hair out of her eyes.
“In sixth period, I got a note from the office saying my mom was in the hospital. I tried to find you before seventh period to see if you wanted to play hooky and go visit her. By the time I got to your locker, you had already left. I hurried back after class to see if you wanted to give me a ride.”
“Oh Nic, I’m sorry. Is she alright?”
“She’s going to be fine. After school, I walked to the hospital and she was just getting released.”
“What happened,” I asked.
“Dad said he came home early from work to find mom had fallen down the stairs. He took her to the hospital and X-rays confirmed she broke her arm again,” she said with a resigned tone. “She has a cast and she’s supposed to take it easy for a while.”
“I’m glad she’s alright. Good thing your dad came home early.”
Nicole’s mouth took a grim set again and I could see the muscles on the side of her jaw stand out as she clenched her teeth.
“I don’t think Dad went to work today. I don’t think mom fell down the stairs,” she said in a flat voice.
“What are you saying, your dad pushed her?”
“Pushed her or broke her arm himself.”
My family had always been aware of Tim Miller’s temper. Every other night we could hear him raise his voice about something. I always thought it was weird, especially since my parents only raised their voices at contestants on The Wheel of Fortune. Every once in a while, Tim’s shouting would be accompanied by crashing noises or the sound of breaking dishes. Sometimes days would go by and Louanne Miller, Nicole’s mom, would not leave the house. My parents had quiet discussions about it when they thought I couldn’t hear. Mom would try to convince my dad to call the police. Dad would always tell her it was none of our business. Nicole never said anything to me about it and I never had the guts to ask her.
“Have you,” I started. “Has your dad hurt your mom before? Has he hurt you?”
“Mom always sends me to my room when dad is ‘in one of his moods,’” she used air quotes around her mother’s words. “That’s when I put my headphones on, turn up the volume and listen to music until I fall asleep. Sometimes I sneak out my window and sit on the roof, watching for you to come home from practice. When I’m really lonely, I sit on your porch swing.”
“So tonight, when I found you on the swing, you had sneaked out of your window again?”
“I didn’t have to tonight,” Nicole said with a shake of her head. “My dad left during dinner. Mom had reheated some leftovers, since she can’t cook very well with the cast on her arm. Dad said he didn’t like last night’s dinner when it fresh. He put on his coat and said he was going out for dinner.”
“Is that why you looked in the window at The Old Mill?”
Nicole and looked down at her hands, which were balled into fists on her lap.
“We’re almost to David’s house, I only need to go in for a couple minutes. Did you want to come in?”
David was a friend of ours who had two claims to fame. One was that he had the complete set of the first run of Magic cards, even the rare ones. The other was his wispy mustache and early-onset male pattern baldness that made him look old enough to buy cigarettes and booze from the liquor store on the reservation. I gave him twenty dollars earlier that week to get a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of root beer schnapps to bring to the party.
“Why are we going to David’s house,” Nicole started to ask. “Oh, he made a run to the res for you didn’t he?”
I pulled into the gravel driveway in front of David’s house and turned to smile at Nicole.
“You coming in,” I asked.
“Nah, say hi for me.”
I hopped out of the car, leaving it running so Nicole could stay warm and listen to the radio. I was about to knock on David’s front door when it opened. David hurried out the door and closed it quickly behind him. While the door was open I could hear his mother yelling at him.
“Go to the car,” David said through clenched teeth.
I stood on David’s porch in confusion while he hurried awkwardly down the steps. I noticed his arms were stiff and unmoving and the sleeves of his coat seemed to be stuffed full instead of hanging on his lanky frame like they normally did. He got to the back door behind Nicole and carefully tried to open the door. I began to make my way to the car just in time to see a carton of Marlboro reds fall out of his sleeve.
“Fuck,” David said as he stooped to pick them up.
He grabbed the red and white box off of the gravel, sat down, and slammed his door shut. He looked sheepishly at the window to his mother’s living room. The curtains were parted slightly to one side. A small boy looked out and scowled at us.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and looked back at David. He was trying to pull a bottle of liquor out of the other arm of his coat.
“Dude, drive,” he said.
I backed out of his driveway and tried not to laugh. David pulled a second carton of smokes, this one menthols, out of his coat and then the bottle of root beer schnapps that I asked for.
“What is all that,” I asked.
“Merchandise,” answered David.
“What the fuck are you talking about,” Nicole inquired. For some reason I liked it when she used cuss words.
“Last weekend I went to a party with my brother. It was out at some hunting lodge and everyone ran out of smokes but nobody wanted to drive in to town so I could buy more. I figured if that happens tonight, I could sell packs of cigarettes and make a killing. Here,” he said and tossed one of the red and white packs of cigarettes onto the bench seat beside me. “That one is yours.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“This too,” David said, setting the bottle of schnapps on the seat.
Nicole rolled her eyes and put the bottle in the glove box.
“So, where are we going? Where’s the party?”
“Um,” I said.
David looked incredulously at my reflection in the rear view mirror.
“Aw, for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t supposed to come, was I? I was just your hookup for booze and smokes!”
“Dave, I’m sorry,” I started to apologize.
“Whatever, just drop me off at my brother’s apartment.”
“The party is at Jerrad’s house. I’m not really supposed to bring anyone.”
“What’s Nicole doing then? Is she going to wait in the car and drive you home after you hang out with the snobs?”
“Jerrad said I could bring her.”
“Figures,” David said.
I was about to ask what that meant but we were pulling into the parking lot of the run down apartment complex where David’s brother lived.
David looked at me and then at Nicole. Then he grabbed the bottle of whiskey and opened his door.
“I’m leaving the smokes, you can bring the money and whatever you don’t sell to school on Monday,” he said and stood up. Before he shut the door, he leaned in said, “Have fun with the snobs.”
David shut the door and stormed up the walkway to the apartment complex. He arrived at the secure entry and swiped his hand across the buttons on the call box, ringing every buzzer in the building. A red light came on and the door buzzed loudly. David walked in without a look back and made for the staircase.
“That was awkward,” chided Nicole.
“Well, I told him I was going to a party and I needed a bottle and a pack of smokes. I didn’t say he could come, but I guess I didn’t say he couldn’t either.”
I used an empty parking spot to turn around and made my way back to the highway. I backtracked towards downtown and turned left onto the road that led to Jerrad’s neighborhood. Officially, the housing development perched on the hill above town was called “Pleasant View.” Most of the kids I knew called it “Snob Hill.” When I was younger, my parents would drive up at Christmas to look at the lights and displays our affluent neighbors would put up. On Halloween, my dad would drop me and my friends off for trick-or-treating since it was the only place in town where you might actually get a full-size candy bar.
One night in my first year on the varsity team, Jerrad’s dad threw a barbecue for the players and their parents. I remember my dad whistling in awe when we pulled up to the address printed on the invitation. My mom put on a fresh coat of lipstick and checked her hair before we got out of the car and rang the ornate doorbell.
I had not been back since but I found the house easily enough. It was on the highest part of the hill and as long as you were driving uphill, you would eventually come to the right street. Cars and trucks were parked haphazardly on either side of the road. Nicole and I drove past the driveway to see it also packed with vehicles. I kept going and found a spot down the road big enough to park the giant station wagon. I grabbed a couple packs of each type of cigarette and Nicole moved the schnapps bottle from the glove box to the pocket in the front of her hoodie. We got out of the car and I walked around to where she stood, looking warily at the house. Nicole had put her hands into her pocket to keep them warm and to hold on to the bottle of liquor.
“This place huge,” she said. “Are you sure you want to go in?”
You could hear kids talking loudly and music thumped from the open front door. Every window leaked light into the dark pine trees around the house. A group of kids stood on the front lawn in a circle. Every few moments one of their faces would be illuminated by a lighter, then go dark, and then the next face would be lit up. Someone was coughing and someone else was laughing in a hoarse voice.
“No,” I answered. “But I’ve come this far, might as well say hi.”
I started walking across the street and Nicole stalled a minute before following me.
Why I Stayed by Joshua Kautzman is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.