Free Stop Here by Beverly Gologorsky Page A

didn’t come home.
    He breathes in the sea air, conjures up his usual vision: China Beach, nurses frolicking in the water. Joyce, his big-boned mate who wasn’t yet his wife. Inhaling those weed killers took her lungs as sure as any soldier’s. At the end she moaned because anything louder would’ve put him in a box beside her. One tough lady who kept his mind focused, his body functioning, which was no easy feat. She had a mantra: life’s a jigsaw puzzle.
    â€¢ • •
    When he peeks into Glory’s room, the computer screen is silver bright stars into the stratosphere. Asleep, her curly red hair is bright against the white pillow, one freckled cheek hidden. He tiptoes out and leaves the door open, the signal he’s home. In the four years since Joyce died he and Glory have worked out a routine of sorts broken by his occasional bad days. Which reminds him . . . he follows the worn runner to the bathroom where an array of pill bottles summon him. A handful each morning to ease blood pressure, scare away migraines, lower the decibel of voices. A tiny aspirin to keep him alive. It’s a joke.
    Glory comes up behind him. “Skip one and Mom will clobber you.”
    â€œI hate these damn things, get stuck in my throat, turn my piss orange. Jesus, even if I want to forget mortality, I can’t.”
    â€œSome people are deaf, blind, and paralyzed, but they still manage to smile if it’s sunny out.”
    â€œI smile.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œYou mean that?”
    â€œTotally.”
    He gazes at her, trying to remember where it was Joyce offered him ten dollars to laugh.
    â€œI need to brush my teeth, and other personal things. You going to be long in here?” she asks.
    â€œI’m out of here to sleep. What about you?”
    â€œWhat worthy tasks am I about to undertake for the day?”
    â€œYeah, something like that.”
    â€œHow about job interview. Or a college visit?”
    â€œSounds good.”
    â€œWell, truthfully, that’s not it. I’ve been meeting with people who started a local antiwar collective. I bumped into them online a few weeks ago. They’re very interesting. We meet in one of their houses, not far from here. But after, I really do have a job interview at IHOP.”
    He groans.
    â€œIt’s just temporary, till I figure something or everything or a little bit of everything out.” She kisses his cheek, making a loud sucking sound the way she did as a kid.
    â€¢ • •
    For reasons he can’t locate, sleep eludes him. Is it the start of one of his bad days? He’s tired but not edgy, his mind blank, not whispery. He imagines Ava beside him, her lovely hair unpinned, flowing. His affairs have been brief, itch-fulfilling but nothing to ruminate about, no one to bring home. Anyway with Glory here, it’s not particularly lonely.
    â€¢ • •
    He opens his eyes, the room is hot, his mouth dry. A dreamless sleep, thank god. Hoisting himself off the bed, he stares at his feet, but remembering depresses him. The old wall clock reads 6 : 20 . Yesterday he conked out for two or three hours, today ten. His whole life lacks regulation. Glory’s in the kitchen noisily preparing dinner. The girl can’t cook but whatever she serves, he eats.
    After a shower, he pads to the kitchen; the table set for two.
    Glory seems nervous, excited even, as if she can barely contain news.
    â€œWhat is it?” he asks.
    She studies him for a second. “Let’s eat first.”
    Tension grips his body. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œThe group I told you about, the one I spent the afternoon with, they’re amazing. They’re part of an organization that’s global. People from lots of different countries go together to become witnesses for peace in the Middle East. It’s a way to stop the killing and the torture, to show the rest of the world all the evils that are going on so