Chasing Windmills

I was in Tony's friend's bathroom, giving Natalie a bath, when the question first came up.

She doesn't talk a whole lot, Natalie. I mean, she's starting to. But she still chooses her moments carefully. When she said that thing to Tony's friend about not being a baby, I just about fell off the couch. That's about a month's worth of comments from her.

So I was not expecting her to ask any questions.

I was washing her hair, with real baby shampoo. Tony's friend had real baby shampoo. Which I thought was interesting. At home I had to wash her hair extra carefully with regular shampoo, because Carl thinks it's stupid to buy two kinds. Too expensive. I just had to be really careful not to get any in her eyes. But here I was in a house with no baby, and there was real baby shampoo. I felt like I'd landed in a place where everything I needed would appear before my eyes. I wondered if it would be that way from now on. Now that I had gotten brave enough to run away.

I was looking at Natalie's little ribs. How skinny she is. I think it's more than just normal skinny. Not that she's sick or anything. I know she's not. I took her to a doctor.

He said there was nothing wrong with her and I said, Well, then why is she so skinny? He said she had something called “failure to thrive.” I asked him a lot about what that meant, but the most I could get was that there was no real physical cause. Like a fancy medical term for “it just is that way.” Medicine is funny. Science, too. They have to think of names for things they can't explain, otherwise they'll never get any sleep at night.

Sometimes I feel like she's trying to disappear. Like she wants to subtract herself right out from under the world.

Maybe she'll eat more when we get there. Maybe we both will.

So I started telling her what it was going to be like, in this new place we were going to. Which was hard, because I didn't know much myself. So I just stuck with things I know. Like there wouldn't be any yelling and we could do what we wanted when we wanted.

I didn't mention hitting, even to tell her it was over, because that might just upset her more. Even bringing it up like that in conversation.

That's when she opened her mouth and asked that question I didn't expect.

“Where's C.J.?”

I was so surprised. It took me a minute to answer.

“Well, he's home. With Daddy. He's going to be with Daddy. And we're going to go someplace new.”

She was quiet for a minute. I was rinsing the last of the baby shampoo out of her hair. She has beautiful hair, Natalie. Even though it's thin. But it's so soft and shiny. I could just touch it all day long.

“Where's C.J.?” She asked it again.

“He's at home, honey.”

“Where's C.J.?”

That's when it hit me, everything that she was really trying to ask. She doesn't know thousands of words. She's only two. If she's going to try to get some information, she has a limit to the number of ways she can ask.

That's when it hit me that she wanted to know more than where C.J. was. She wanted to know why.

I was counting on not having to explain that. I thought I was headed somewhere where nobody I met would know enough to ask.

“He's just not coming with us, honey.”

“Where's C.J.?”

Translation: Why on earth not?

Part of me wanted to tell her not to ask that in front of Tony. But I couldn't do that. That's the sort of thing Carl would do. Carl is the kind of person who would actually tell somebody else what they were and were not allowed to say. So I figured I wouldn't be.

I decided to just keep my fingers crossed that she had gotten the question out of her system.

But it stayed with me. It took away that nice happy feeling that everything was going to be okay now.

I guess I'm pretty good at pretending. If there's not a soul around who knows what's missing from this picture, I can pretty much pretend there's nothing missing. But all it takes is one person to remind me. I think I might be too sensitive about how I look through other people's eyes. What they think of me. At least, that's what a therapist told me once. Right after my mother died.

I thought it was only grown-up people, but it turns out you can look into the eyes of a two-year-old and feel a big sense of judgment come down on your head.

“Let's talk about something happy,” I said.

But I did all the talking from that point on. She never said another word.





Natalie wouldn't go to sleep on Delilah's bed unless Maria was there with her. And she wasn't all that quick to go to sleep. So the way it shook out, I bedded down on the couch alone. And the three of them ended up in Delilah's bed. Which I guess was okay. We'd never get two on the couch anyway. And I couldn't ask someone with broken ribs to sleep on the floor. And no matter where we slept there was no real privacy anyway.

But it felt lonely.

After midnight, I got up. Decided to go upstairs to my father's apartment. Make sure there wasn't anything else I cared to take along.

I'd been up there twice in the middle of the night. Taking clothes, mostly. A book or two. A few basic grooming items. I kept thinking something had to have sentimental value. But nothing did. It was all part of a life I didn't want to remember. If you could call it a life at all.

The only thing I really regretted leaving was my computer. But it was a desktop, and I just couldn't imagine any way to bring it along.

I stood in the hall outside his apartment door. What I'd called “our door” for all those years. It had only been a matter of a couple of weeks since I'd walked out. It was amazing how over that whole period of my life felt. How quickly it had become buried in the past.

I put my ear to the door and listened. Nothing. I opened it quietly.


The lights were all off. He'd taken his sleeping pill and gone to bed. Part of me felt relieved, and another part of me felt disappointed. Just all at once like that. I remembered Delilah saying two things can be true at the same time. That I would find that out. I think I knew now what she meant. Of course I didn't want to see him. Or talk to him. And yet part of me expected some kind of showdown. Some sense of conclusion. And instead the dark, quiet apartment just felt like an anticlimax.

The record cabinet lay empty. No record player, no records. But he hadn't put anything in the cabinet to take their place. It was just an empty, gaping hole I had created. Just for a minute I felt bad. To have done that to him.

I walked into my room. No note on the pillow. He must have been convinced I was really gone.

I poked around in my closet, but only managed to find one more shirt I wanted. The rest was just old stuff. Barely even me anymore.

I booted up my computer one last time. Deleted all the Internet history. So he couldn't see that I'd been looking up Mojave. If he got smart enough to check, and found someone who knew computers well enough to help him. None of which was likely. But I did it all the same. Then I shut it down for the last time. Ran my hand over the top of the monitor. Feeling sad. But then I realized the reason I loved it so much. Because it was my link with the world. But I wouldn't need a window onto the world where I was going. I'd be a part of it. For real.

When I turned to leave my bedroom, I expected to see him standing there in the doorway. Blocking me. It was like a sudden image that flashed in my head. But the doorway was empty. And it was time to go.

It felt weird to leave without saying good-bye. So I went into my bathroom, picked up a bar of soap, and wrote it on the mirror. I had no idea how long it would take him to go into my bathroom. If he ever did. But at least he could never claim I left without saying good-bye.


WHEN I GOT BACK DOWNSTAIRS, I peeked in the door to the bedroom.

Delilah was snoring like a buzz saw. I was amazed I hadn't heard her from the living room. Maria was in the middle, and she looked asleep. She was faced in my direction, and I just stood there looking at her face. Thinking about how it would feel to lie awake every night and every morning and watch her sleep.

Natalie was sleeping on the outside with her right thumb in her mouth. In her left hand she held one of Delilah's enormous fuzzy slippers. She'd managed to fall asleep with her cheek against it, and I could see her fingers move against the long fur even in her sleep. Stroking.

Then Maria opened her eyes. Not like she was waking up. Like she'd only been lying there with her eyes closed. Not sleeping at all.

I smiled at her, and she smiled back. I got that warm thing in my stomach again. But I didn't run away from it. I just stood there and smiled at her.

A minute later she lifted up the covers and climbed over Natalie without waking her. Tucked her back in, and then came to where I stood in the bedroom doorway and kissed me on the cheek. She was wearing a big checkered flannel shirt that came almost down to her knees, and it was hard not to stare at her legs. Beautiful long, thin legs. Woman legs. A new thing to me. I mean, like this. Not that I never saw a woman on the street in shorts or anything. But this was different.

“Can't sleep?” I whispered.

“No, how can I?”

“I know. The excitement and all.”

“Oh, yeah. I meant the snoring. But that, too.”

I took her hand and pulled her out into the living room and we sat down on my bed on the couch. For a few minutes we just sat that way, with my arm around her, and no one said a thing.

Then she said, “I'm lucky. That you're not most guys. Most guys would've changed their mind.”

“My mind is pretty made up,” I said.

“Your friend is really nice.”

“Yeah, she is.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I thought I had four months to tell you. And that if we got to know each other a little better … you know … it would be easier.”

I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say.

“She's a good girl. Really. And she'll get to like you. If you can just get to know her.”

But I didn't really want to talk about that. I wanted to talk about us. So I said nothing.

After a while she turned her face up to me, so I kissed her. A little longer and deeper than anything we'd ever done before. Everything changed inside me, and the kisses got breathier, but I just kept my hands in her hair or on her neck or shoulders, because I was scared of hurting her. I couldn't think of any way to touch her with either my hands or my body without hurting her ribs. I thought about touching her legs, but if I did there'd be some sense of needing to move forward to something, and I just didn't see how we could. Not with her broken ribs and with two other people in the apartment. There was just nowhere to go.

So we just kissed.

I don't really remember stopping. I don't remember a moment when we decided, That's enough kissing. Like such a thing was even possible. I just remember Delilah in the kitchen, with the baby on her hip, waking us up by saying, “Honey, you best get up now so's you don't miss your bus.”

It was morning, and light, and we were sleeping sitting up— mostly sitting up—with her head against my chest.

I whispered good morning to Maria. For the first time ever. A new tradition. A start on a new way to be.


LEAVING WAS HARD. It was a hard set of good-byes.

Natalie didn't want to let go of Delilah's slipper. And I didn't want to let go of Delilah.

Natalie fussed and cried. Not cried with tears, but cried out with indignant and unhappy noises. I mostly kept my thoughts to myself.

“I'm sorry,” Maria said. “She's usually such a well-behaved girl.”

“Well, honey,” Delilah said, “cut her some slack. This is all so new to her. If my son hadn't given me those slippers …”

“No, they're yours. They need to stay here. She just misses her daddy's fur collar. This leather jacket with a fur collar that un-snaps. She used to carry it all over the house. But we had to leave it behind.”

That rattled around in my brain in an unpleasant way. She misses her daddy's fur collar. Would she also miss her daddy? Did she have some kind of relationship with that man? Something good? Did he care about his daughter? And if so, how would that feel, to never know where she was or how to see her again?

Delilah broke up my thoughts by handing me a big paper grocery sack. “Food,” she said. “For the small fry here, as well as the two of you. And there's an envelope in there. Make sure it doesn't get thrown out. It's got my address and phone number in San Diego. I'll be back there by the end of the month.”

I took it, wanting to say thank you, but not able to say much of anything at all.

Natalie was still fussing. Making indignant noises. Not words, just sentiments.

“Now, call me if you miss that bus for some reason,” she said. “Not that I think you will. But if I don't hear from you, I'll figure that's the bus you're on. And then I'll call your grandma and tell her. So she'll know when to come and get you.”

It had never occurred to me that Delilah would call her for me. But I was thrilled. Because if I didn't talk to Grandma Annie until we saw her, then I wouldn't have to decide whether or not to warn her about the third party. Part of me felt like that might be the last straw. I hoped I was making too much out of it. Maybe Grandma Annie loved babies, like Delilah did.

I looked at Delilah and almost didn't want to go.

“What am I going to do without you?” I said.


“Oh, now, honey, don't go getting maudlin on me. It's not good-bye forever. It's just See you later. We're only three or four hours apart in California. You'll come visit.”

“I know, but …”

“I know, child, I know. I'm sort of accustomed to having you around, too. Now don't make a long good-bye out of this. Just go on and don't look back. You got more waiting for you than what you're leaving behind. Go make a life, okay?”

I nodded. And decided to follow her advice.

“Okay, Delilah,” I said. “Thanks for everything. See you later.”

And we walked out together, the three of us. Two terrified barely-grown-ups and one fussy baby. And I didn't look back.


I LEARNED A COUPLE OF THINGS about Maria at the Port Authority bus station. Hanging out waiting to get on the bus and go. And it was funny, because she never opened her mouth to say a word. But I learned a couple of important things all the same.

First, I found out that there was only one face in the whole world, as far as I was concerned, and it was hers. Exactly hers. Nobody else's. It matched the one I had been trying so hard to remember, to see in my head, for so long. And it wasn't just her features, either. It was her smile. The way she cut her eyes away. The way she moved.

It was like a key that fit into a lock when no other key would.

And then everything was open. Everything that had been locked up all my life. Just open wide.

It was almost too much to bear.

I learned another thing, too. I really didn't know her.

That amazing face, those eyes, that hair, the smile, and the body language all belonged to a relative stranger. We had so much invested in each other. Yet most of who the other person actually was remained a mystery.

I also figured out that she was scared. So I guess that's three things, huh? But I guess I don't blame her. I was scared, too.

I want to say what I was scared of, but … No, wait, that was a stupid thing to say. I was scared of everything. I was leaving behind everything that had ever been familiar to me. The only parent I'd ever known. Such as he was. But still. My best friend, Delilah. The only city I could ever remember living in. All behind me. And in front of me, something entirely new. I wasn't even sure I knew exactly what.

But there was a bigger piece to it. Something more specific. And it's hard for me to talk about, because I was taught that there are some things a gentleman just does not say. It had to do with those delicate issues of our finally getting a moment to be alone together. You know what I'm saying. Those old habits die hard, so this is hard for me to say.

But it was about the broken ribs, and the kid. And having nothing but a fold-out couch at Grandma Annie's in front of us.

I felt like it was never going to happen.

I don't mean I was upset that it might be postponed. I mean I felt like it was never going to happen. Do you know the feeling I mean? When no matter how hard you chase something, it's always just beyond your reach? Always just disappearing around the corner? And you start to think it always will be? That in some ways it isn't even real?

Enough. I was making myself crazy with this. And we had a bus to catch. And a cranky little girl with no fur collar and no fuzzy slipper. And she was scared, too.

And I didn't blame her, either.

I walked over to the vending machines and got her a bottle of water. And brought it back, and opened it for her. But she pushed it away. And kept fussing.

I caught Maria's eye and saw how apologetic she felt. She wanted Natalie to behave, but you can't just will a thing like that and make it true. Besides, why should she behave? Her entire world was changing. I wasn't sure I felt like behaving myself.

I smiled at Maria, to try to help her feel better. And she smiled back. Just for a minute we decided to try to have a moment together. To try to pretend that Natalie wasn't haven't a semi-noisy tantrum.

“You look scared,” I said. Because I guess saying it felt better than not saying it.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “You?”

Just then they announced the boarding of our bus. So I didn't have to answer. Which is just as well.


WE WATCHED THE CITY CHANGE. Watched the heart of the city turn into the outskirts of the city. Factories. Wrecking yards. Train yards. Billboards. El train tracks.

If I had ever seen the outskirts of the city, I had sure forgotten it since.

I think we could both feel that we both had the same reaction to what we were seeing. What did I expect to see, after we left Manhattan? I hadn't thought much about it.

“Ever been out of the city?” I asked her.

“Not since I was a baby,” she said. Speaking of babies, Natalie was still fussing. Little grunts and groans and angry-sounding bursts of air. “She might be hungry enough to eat something,” Maria said. “At this point she might actually eat a tiny bit.”

So I pulled out the big paper grocery sack full of food. I'd had it stashed under the seat in front of me. I wanted to be sure to pull out the envelope with Delilah's address. Save it in a safe place before I let either or both of them plow around in there.

I held the envelope tightly while Maria dug around and found a candy bar.

She unwrapped one end, and Natalie sucked on it. Never even took a bite, that I could see. Just ate it like it was a chocolate Popsicle.

The silence was a beautiful thing.

I looked away and opened the envelope.

Inside was a paper with Delilah's address on it, a note in her handwriting, and fifty dollars in cash.

I read the note. It said, “You are a brave warrior.”

That's all it said. But it was enough to make me cry. I blocked it, though. I sat on it. I wouldn't let myself. But I scraped pretty close, all the same.

In my own head, I vowed to pay back that fifty dollars.

All through New Jersey, it was all I could do to keep from crying. It was a full-time job.


MARIA TOOK HER LAST PAINKILLER in Ohio. Vicodin, I think they were.

“That doesn't seem like very many,” I said. “Wasn't that only about five or six days' worth?”

“Supposed to be a week,” she said. “But they only lasted six days.”

“Doesn't seem like much for all those broken ribs. And the thing with your lung.”

“I was supposed to be able to refill it. But then I left.”

“Oh.”

I thought of maybe calling her doctor at the next stop. Or calling the pharmacy where she had the prescription filled. Seeing if they could somehow phone it in to a pharmacy on the road. But when would we stop near a pharmacy? And then I realized we didn't want to leave any trail to suggest which way she had gone.

So I said the only other thing I could think of. “Want me to get off at the next stop and see if I can get you some Tylenol or something? Advil?”

“Advil would be better than nothing,” she said.

The next stop was pretty slim pickings, though. The bus station wasn't near anything except a couple of fast-food places.

By the time we stopped again, I knew she was in a lot of pain. She didn't say anything, but I knew. I could see it on her face. Plus she wouldn't let Natalie sit on her lap anymore. I guess she kept bumping her ribs. So Natalie had to wedge into the middle between our hips, and she was not a happy camper. Her grunts and complaints had turned to wails, and the other passengers kept sighing and giving us dirty looks.

This time, though, the bus station was right on the main street of this little town. What little town, I don't know. I couldn't even have told you what state we were in. But there was a little market a few doors down. And I ran for it.

I passed a hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant and a Children's Hospital thrift store on the way there. Bought a big bottle of Advil, 120 count, with Delilah's money, which I still had in my jeans pocket. Wrapped around her warrior note.


On the way back, I stopped for a second in front of the thrift store.

In the window was a mannequin wearing a dark green cloth coat with a fur collar. I was wondering if it snapped off. On the mannequin's hands was some kind of piece of fur, too. White and brown in patches. Long fur. It seemed strangely out of place on a June afternoon.

I ran inside.

“What's that thing on the mannequin's hands?” I asked the woman behind the counter.

“That's a muff,” she said.

“A what?”

“A muff. Something ladies put their hands in. To keep them warm. Never saw one before?”

“I don't think so.”

“I guess its old-fashioned now.”

She stepped into the window and pulled it off, to show me. I looked out through the window and kept an eye on the bus. Made sure the door was still open. That it wasn't about to take off without me.

She set it in my hands. “Rabbit fur,” she said.

“Wow. It's so soft.” I touched it to my cheek. Got a flash of insight into what made Natalie tick.

“It's got a bad spot on it, though,” she said. “Right here.” She pointed out a place near the seam where the fur had been rubbed or torn away.

“How much?”

“Well, it's not what you might call perfect. Six dollars?”

“Sold.”

I counted out seven to cover tax and didn't wait for my change. I ran all the way back to the bus. I needn't have bothered. Nearly half the passengers hadn't gotten back on yet.

I could hear Natalie, but she was no longer wailing. Back to fussing. I wondered if she was happier when I wasn't around.

Maria's face was really showing the strain. From the pain or from the fussy baby, I wasn't sure which. Probably both.

“For you,” I said, and gave her the Advil. “For you,” I said to Natalie, and gave her the rabbit-fur muff.

Her eyes got even bigger, if such a thing was possible. She grabbed it out of my hands and held it to her cheek. Rubbed the side of her face against it. For the first time in hours, silence. I climbed over them to sit in the open window seat. Looked back at Maria.

“That was brilliant,” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“That little thrift shop. It was right in the window.”

“That was so sweet of you.”

“It wasn't even very expensive.”

“Natalie, tell Tony thank you.” Nothing. “Natalie. Tony gave you a present. I know you like it. The least you can do is say thank you.” Nothing.

“It's okay,” I said. “She doesn't have to say anything. Don't force her. I can see she likes it.”

The silence lasted. And with all that silence and the hypnotizing motion of the bus—even in daylight—it was surprisingly easy to sleep. It snuck up on us. And it was more than welcome.


I WOKE IN WHAT I THINK was the middle of the night to hear Natalie fussing again. Urgently, as if to alert us that something was suddenly very wrong.

I turned on my little overhead light. Maria was still asleep.

No muff. She must have dropped it.

I couldn't see it anywhere, but I managed to find it with my foot. But the seats were so small and I had so little leg room that I couldn't reach down to get it.

I heard a guy in the seat behind us say, “Not again.”

I turned it around with my foot, stuck the toe of my shoe into it, flipped it up, and caught it with my left hand. Handed it back to Natalie, who held it to her cheek and stroked it with two fingers. Her thumb went back into her mouth. I turned off the light again.

Maria never had to wake up.

A minute or two later, I heard the soft, wet sound of Natalie's thumb being pulled out of her mouth. “Thank you, Tony,” she said.

“You're welcome.”

Then I couldn't get back to sleep right away, so I watched dark, flat landscape roll by for a few minutes. I was wishing Delilah were here, so I could ask two questions: Is love always confusing like this? And, Are you sure?