Marguerite (The Parties excerpt)
It was the Fourth of July party when the war had started; there were no firecrackers. Dad was at work that day and didn't get home until late. Everybody'd already had their picnic lunch. He had some dynamite from the mine and set it off behind the seesaw. And the dog got sick and threw up all the hotdogs and stuff we had been feeding him. It wasn't even chewed!
Nobody liked the dynamite very much and Mom and I were afraid Dad would hurt himself since he'd already had something to drink.
The biggest party was before that. The Fourth was on a Saturday that year so everybody brought a tent and put it up in the pasture and they had a weekend party! I remember you, Marguerite, and your Mom and Dad came, but only four or five couples stayed overnight: Frances and Lee, Maisie and Martin and their kids, and Edith and Rudy. Mom cooked for days and had a dozen cakes and pies and salads and ham. There was coffee brewing all day and potato salad and melons and platters of fried chicken. Beer and whiskey and gingerale and potato chips. And firecrackers! They gave us each a cigarette to light them with so we wouldn't be bothering them all the time, the women sitting in a small circle in the living room talking, with one or two of the smaller kids tugging at their slirts. The men outside with glasses of beer or whiskey.
Ronnie decided to smoke his cigarette but gave up when we didn't pay any attention. It was my job to see that the little kids didn't pick up the crackers that hadn't gone off yet. We went to the lake for a swim after dinner. The mothers came along to watch out for the little kids.
Dad doesn't wait for parties any more. He brings home paper bags full of bottles and heavy crates full of beer. Mom tells him not to, or not so much! But his face goes dark and he shouts at her. A man who works hard has a right to do what he wants to. You can't tell him what to do! Or not to do! After dark, the shiny brown bottles line up beside the chair where he falls asleep.
A hazy afternoon. They've all gone out. Restless, worried, I keep coming back to the thick wood box my dad brought home last night. Twenty-four bottles I count. It's getting worse! Can't anybody make it stop? Not allowed to tell. There's juts me; I'm the only one who can do it.
Gingerly I pull out one of the bottles and take it to the kitchen sink where the cold water from the spring is always running. I work off the cap and hold the bottom up so the dark liquid glugs slowly out the skinny neck and froths around the drain. The bottle shudders as the air tries to get in. I go to the pantry for another...and one more. There is nowhere to stop so I go on automatically, one by one. The smell of beer fills the small kitchen.
"This is taking too long," someone in my head comments. "What if they come back?... Hurry! If they don't actually see you doing it, it might not be so bad." ...Stop. Don't think. Don't be tired. I can't give up.
At last it's done. The bottles are empty and back in the box exactly as before. I even experiment with putting the caps on but they won't sit down right so I throw them in the wastepaper basket and go upstairs into the back corner of my bed where no one can see me. Exhausted. Just cold and stiff...I am protected here on two sides.
When finally the car drove up and they came inside, I heard them shuffling around for a few minutes, putting things away, changing the baby, the Dad nroared with sirprise!
"What the h***!!!" He must have gone to the box almost first thing! Stomping hard up the steps, he comes shouting for me.
"Elizabeht! Where are you? D***it! What did you do it for/" Angry arms in the air, hands like claws, he came at me, going to grab, going to really hurt this time. Suddenly Mom was there behind him, pulling him back by one arm. Strong.
"Llew, she's trying to help!" she said up into his face. He slowly fell away with her and they went down the stairs together. It was quiet. Nobody came to me.
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