Wayfaring Stranger - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Boaz’s apartment was laid out the same as hers, but with way more furniture and accouterments. Her family had tried not to bring too much with them and, to be honest, as much as they moved they didn’t really accumulate detritus. Boaz’s apartment was covered in decorative dishes and other knickknacks. They had the same face on them that was vaguely familiar. Sale papers and junk mail could be found on every flat service. It was stacked showing that someone cared about it, but there was so much of it that it made Mara wonder why they cared. 

Boaz closed the door and interrupted her analysis, “What’s going on?”

Mara fingers fidgeted together and breathed out, “I had a fight with my mom and I left and I didn’t have a coat or anything thing so I thought I would come here for a bit, but I can go if you’re busy or something.”  She finally looked at him in the face. He was dressed in his usual jeans and long sleeve t-shirt. He had on white socks instead of his boots.

He gave a little smile, “Not busy,”  He pointed to the couch. “Have a seat.”  Mara perched on the couch. The TV was on the home shopping network. It didn’t seem like Boaz’s kind of show, but how much did she really know about him? 

“What are you doing?”  Mara asked.

Boaz shrugged, “Lazy Saturday. Hanging out at home. Playing video games in my room.”  

Mara nodded. She cleared her throat, “My brother and his friend are into some video game where you go around killing zombies in a shopping mall. They really like it.”

Boaz nodded. 

“Is that what you play?” asked Mara trying to get a conversation thread going. 

“No, I’m more into ‘Call of Duty.’ “

Mara nodded. “Do you live here on your own?”

Boaz shook his head, “No, I live here with my dad.”

Again Mara nodded. She heard a door creak open. Boaz was sitting on the edge of his chair with his hands clasped in front of him looking down at the floor. He looked defeated--resigned. 

“Boaz,” came a voice from the bedroom, “Is it okay?”

“It’s safe, dad. It’s just a friend of mine from school. She lives in our building. You can come out if you want,” Boaz called.

The door opened more. A large, dark shape stood in the doorway. He was an older man, older than her 37 year old father. He probably weighed three hundred pounds. He had short, sticky-up hair that Mara guessed he cut himself or maybe Boaz did. He wore a pair of large grey sweat pants and a white t-shirt stained at the belly. He slowly came into the room. 

Mara stood up. Boaz stood up. “Mara, this is my father, Jacob Norton. Dad this is my friend Mara. She just moved here from California.”

“Hello, Mr. Norton,”  Mara extended her hand. Slowly, cautiously he raised his plump hand and gently shook hers. Then he moved toward a brown corduroy lazy-boy recliner. He eased himself down into it, folded his hands across his expanse, and looked at Boaz. Boaz gave him a smile that meant good job, Dad. 

Mara wondered at the relationship between Boaz and his dad. Just who was in charge here?  Mara looked at Boaz. Boaz was looking elsewhere. Mara looked at Mr. Norton. He was looking at her. His gaze was intense. It said I don’t know why your here and I don’t know if I like you. Mara’s thoughts scurried around trying to think of something to say. 

“Would you like a drink?” asked Boaz. 

Mr Norton echoed Boaz asking if she would like a drink. His Texas accent was stronger than Boaz’s and it sounded more like “Woo-dchew la-ike a dra-ank?”  Words in Texas had more syllables than they did in California.

“Yes, please,” answered Mara.

“Boaz, would you be so kind?” 

“Yes, Dad. We have water, milk or coke.”  Boaz stood and pushed down the legs of his jeans down over his thighs.

“Coke would be fine, thank you,” 

“Do you want something, Dad?”

“I believe I’ll have some Coke as well.”

Boaz disappeared into the tiny kitchen. Mara heard the sounds of the refrigerator and cabinet doors opening.

Mr. Norton leaned forward and asked in a whisper, “Do you know any famous stars?”

“No sir.”  Something about being in Texas and talking to a Texan made the use of sir seem natural.

“But you’re from California.”

“I’m from northern California, up by San Francisco. Most of the stars live in southern California.”  After a pause she added, “Sorry.”

She remembered something and straightened up with vital information, “Clint Eastwood does have a home in Carmel. That’s just down the road from where I lived. I lived in Monterey.”  Mr. Norton’s mouth dropped open. “You know Clint Eastwood?”

“No. I never saw him. He supposedly lived nearby.”

Boaz came back with two plastic glasses filled with ice and soda. He handed one to her and one to his dad then returned to the kitchen.

Mara took a sip and tried not to make a face. Diet soda. Gross. 

“I met Johnny Cash,” Mr. Norton said, “I worked at a diner out on the highway and his bus came through one day. He told me I made really good eggs. Told me he’d like to take me with him just so I could make him eggs. I don’t spare the butter. The butter brings out the taste of the yolks. They kinda taste buttery and the butter helps that. He really liked my eggs.”

Boaz came back in with his own glass. Mr. Norton sat up straight with a guilty look. 

“What were you saying, Dad?” asked Boaz, “I missed it.”

“We were talking about famous people,” Mr. Norton said. Boaz nodded looking at his dad. “She was telling me about Clint Eastwood,” said Mr. Norton defensively. Boaz just looked at him. “I didn’t say too much.”  Boaz just looked. Mr. Norton appealed to Mara. “I didn’t say anything bad, did I?”

“No, Mr. Norton,” Mara looked at Boaz, “We were just talking about stars. Where I lived in California was close to where Clint Eastwood lived. He was in a town nearby to me. In Carmel. I never met him though.”  Mara was babbling. She stopped talking and took a drink of her soda. Still diet. Still gross.

“I didn’t tell her about Johnny Cash making me his personal cook.” Mr. Norton looked at Mara, “Boaz, doesn’t believe that Johnny Cash was going to make me his cook. He was going to swing back by and get me on his way back to Nashville, but something happened. He didn’t make it back. But he was going to come. I think his manager didn’t like me. Those managers don’t like anyone but them buddying up to their stars. The manager was afraid Johnny Cash and I would get to be good friends and wouldn’t listen to him any more. I think me and him would have been good friends. We probably would have started singing together. I like to sing. I don’t play anything, but I can sing ok. We would have been singing together and the manager would have had a problem because me and Johnny Cash would have been choosing the songs and doing things our way instead of his. He wouldn’t of liked that.”  

As he spoke Mr. Norton became more agitated. The plastic glass in his hand trembled and sloshed. When he mentioned the manager he would give a little pound on the recliner arm for emphasis. He was soon to the point where spit was flying from his lips. He words came faster and faster like he was fighting to keep up with his thoughts. His eyes were fixed on Mara. It was difficult to break his gaze. When she did she started to notice how much Johnny Cash memorabilia was on the walls and shelves. There was a pillow on the couch that said, “WhaT would Johnny Cash Do.”  She felt like he was pleading his case before her. Would she side with him or the manager?  He stopped abruptly.

Mara had been reassuringly nodding her head as he spoke in what she hoped was a nonthreatening, comforting way. She cleared her throat, “You really like Johnny Cash.”  

“Everyone should like Johnny Cash. He’s an American hero. I have some DVDs of his TV show. They’re real good.”  He fidgeted in his chair. Mara could tell he wanted to say something, but for some reason knew he shouldn’t. He avoided looking at Boaz and said, “Do you want to watch some with me?  They’re real good. Do you want to watch them?”

Mara looked at Boaz. He gave a small shake of his head.

“Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Norton, but I need to get back to my family. My mom will be wondering where I am.”   Mr. Norton blushed red. “I’m sorry.”

He looked so crestfallen. Mara felt as if she shot his puppy for peeing on the carpet. Mara stood up to go. Her plastic glass was still full. If their resources were like her family’s it hurt to see them wasted. Boaz stood as well. “I”ll walk you back to your place. Let me get my boots. I’ll be just a sec.”  

Mara took up her soda and tried to drink some more of it. She hated the taste. It was bitter and metallic. The after taste was worse--weirdly fighting to be sweet but not. She tried not to shudder with disgust. 

“Shall I put my cup in the kitchen, Mr. Norton?”

He wouldn’t look at her. “Go ‘head,” he mumbled. She took her drink into the kitchen and quietly poured the remainder down the sink. 

Boaz came out in his boots and jacket. He had a hoodie in his arms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, Dad.”  

“It was nice to meet you, Mr. Norton.”  He didn’t look at her. His feelings were hurt, Mara thought, or he was feeling rejected. It hurt to look at him. 

They stepped outside and closed the door. Boaz handed her the hoodie. “It’s pretty cold out and you don’t have a coat. I thought you could use my hoodie.”  He shyly handed it to Mara. 

“Thanks.”  She pulled it on over her head. The arms were down almost to her knees as was the rest of the shirt. Mara hadn’t realized how much taller he was than her. She pushed the sleeves up till her fingers poked out. A cold wind blew past. Mara pulled the hood up. 

“Let’s take a little walk. Do you think you’ll be warm enough?”

“Yeah, the hoodie will keep me from getting too cold.”

They went down the stairs and out of the building. They headed into the wind. It was almost dusk. After a while Mara broke the silence.

“My mom really likes Elton John.”

Boaz gave a snort, “Yeah?  Does she like Elton John so much that occasionally she packs a bag because she’s convinced he’s on his way to get her?  Does she spend more money than she has buying Elton John crap?”  Boaz’s voice was acrid with bitterness.

Mara ducked her head. “No,” she replied in a low voice. 

“My dad has schizophrenia. Sometimes he’s just fine. Makes dinner. Asks about what’s going on with me. Other times he’s so obsessed with Johnny Cash or people spying on him that he can’t do the basics of life--shower, sleep, understand when he’s safe and when he isn’t. The voices tell him the guy at the 7-11 is out to get him.”  Boaz viciously kicked a pebble on the sidewalk. It tumbled for a long distance. 

“Where’s you’re mom?”  Mara asked.

Boaz gave a sigh, “She couldn’t take it anymore. My dad has the idea that Johnny Cash came to get him while he wasn’t there and she sent him away. He was so mad about it that he held a knife to her throat until she confessed. She took us and left after that. He didn’t hurt us though.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, I have a little sister. She’s about 5 years younger than me. She’s at the middle school. My mom lives on the other side of town.”

“Why don’t you live with them?”

“I”m old enough to choose where I can live. My dad needs someone. He can’t do it on his own. And I know my dad loves me. It’s imperfect, but he cares about me. He’s concerned with do I eat enough, do I have what I need, how school is going. He does his best to love me.”  

They walked in silence for a bit. 

“My mom has me call her every night to make sure I’m okay. I see my mom and sister every weekend usually,” Boaz said, “We go to the same church.”  

Mara wrinkled her nose.

“What’s that face mean?” asked Boaz. 

“Church,” replied Mara, “Church people never . . . like me. I’m not good enough. Or something. My dad . . . my dad’s family goes to church. They are always telling me to pray for my dad and mom. How they need Jesus. How they need to trust him. It makes me feel that my parents behavior is my responsibility. When we go to visit them we always have to go to church. Sooo boring. What needs to happen is my dad needs to quit drinking and my mom needs to realize that life isn’t going to work out just because you want it to. If I could make them change I wouldn’t make them church people.”  

“You don’t like church people?”

“No, not really.”

Boaz gave a little smile, “I’m a church person.”

Mara was astounded. “No you’re not.”

Boaz nodded, “I am. Read my Bible. Pray. Go to church. Love God. Trust Jesus. The whole bit.”

Mara wasn’t sure what to say. She didn’t like church people. She liked Boaz. Boaz was a church person, therefore she didn’t like him, but she did like him. Weird.

Boaz interrupted her thoughts by asking, “What would you make your parents do?”

“What?”

“You said if you could change them you wouldn’t make them church people. What would would you make them?” he asked.

Love me. That was the thought that popped into her mind. Or see me. Or hear me. Or listen and care. Mara’s heart started beating faster and her chest seemed to be getting tighter around it. She looked down at her shoes, “I’m not sure,” she shrugged and mumbled, “Maybe get back together so I could see my dad.”

Boaz nodded thoughtfully as he looked at her. She hoped he couldn’t tell she was lying.

Mara looked up at the sky that was filling with stars. “What about your dad?” she asked.

“What about my dad?”

“Don’t you get mad a God for your dad’s problems?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Can’t God do something about him--your dad?”

“Yes. He can,”  Boaz shrugged, “I think he does.”

“This is going to sound really mean, but after fifteen minutes with your dad I could tell he was one of the most broken people I’ve ever met.”

“More broken than your dad?”

Mara sucked in air sharply. The words were like a blow. “My dad,” Mara started, “My dad . . . “

“Cares deeply?  Wants you in his life?” Boaz’s word were sharp and sarcastic.

Anger boiled over in Mara. She turned from Boaz and just started running. He quickly caught up with her and took her arm. “Mara,” he was trying to get through her anger and the tears that were pouring out of her eyes. “Mara, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. What I said was spiteful. I’m really sorry.”  

Mara tried to quell her tears but couldn’t. Something had cracked open in her and the hurt couldn’t be pushed down any more. 

“He left us,”  she choked out, “He left us. He didn’t want us.”  She leaned onto Boaz’s chest into his puffy coat and smeared it with tears and snot. Boaz didn’t say anything. He put his arms around her and just let her cry. Eventually, Mara was sobbed out. 

“I’m sorry,” Mara said quietly, “about your coat. About what I said about your father. I’m just sorry.”

“I forgive you,” he said wiping at his coat front with his sleeve, “Another thing church people do. Forgive others.”  Boaz gave her his lazy smile. They both gave awkward laughs embarrassed by all the emotion that had spilled out between them. Boaz rocked back on his boot heels, “Do you forgive me for what I said about your dad?”

“You were pretty mean but I can find it in my heart to forgive you.” Mara tried to make a joke of it. It was difficult to say for some reason.

“Thanks.”

“We should head back,” Mara said, “My mom will be worried.”  

“Good idea,”  assented Boaz. 

Boaz walked her to her apartment door. Before she went in he asked her, “Do you read the Bible?”

Mara laughed, “Not ever.”

Boaz smiled, “No surprise there. There is something the Bible says that helps me when things are rough. It says, ‘It came to pass.’  Things don’t come to stay. They come to pass. Just an idea.”

“Okay. Thanks for . . . everything.” 

Mara’s mother was very upset and grounded Mara for a week. She couldn’t do anything but go to school and come home. Mara thought to herself that’s what I do anyways, but she could tell she had frightened her mother. She was surprised that it mad her feel sad.