The route from Allentown to Lafayette missed out Mobile altogether. The road went down the side of the Mississippi River down through Vicksburg, small roads to Jackson where Sarah’s father wanted her to go to college. Maybe he could hitch some parts and save money. No. He just needed more money. $90 was not enough. He needed more, a lot more — another $100, maybe $150 like if it was an accordeon on top of the bus-fares. If he could save money he would but how could he do that? Unless if he hitched part of the way. Why not? People did. At home they did. They did here too; ye saw it on the movies although then it was like the Horror Channel; chainsaw massacres and vampires ripping ye limb from limb. It depended on Allentown. Everything was fine if he got a lift down with Sarah’s family, and the loan of an accordeon too; maybe the turquoise if Queen Monzee-ay thought it was okay. If not, it was just money, he needed money.
But like pocket money anyway. Imagine the pocket money Dad owed him! He never gave him any! Ha ha.
It was true but. Dad forgot. He wasnt mean, he was just like forgetful. It was a bloody fortune! Ever since Mum died. When ye thought about it. He would pay it back anyway. However much he took, it was borrowing, Murdo was going to borrow. It was just like a loan.
He shut the Road Atlas book. He stretched out on the bed. No music. Maybe he didnt want any. Not just now.
Aunt Maureen too, jeesoh, whenever he passed her she smiled or said something cheery about tomorrow. It was hopeless, acting like it meant something. And what did it mean? Nothing. He was just lying. Looking and speaking. Just everything. He lied and lied. Really, he was just a bloody liar. And the greatest people in the world, that was Aunt Maureen and it was Uncle John too.
He got up from the bed and opened the door, waited for the all-clear then upstairs to the bathroom. He shut the door and snibbed it. The bathroom mirror.
He didnt mean to see his face but he did. So he had to look, to really look and really just
jeesoh, his stomach. He splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck, to get fresh.
He didnt like his eyes. What was his eyes? He didnt like them. His eyes were not, they were not something. He needed to smile. It wasnt a smile. Ha ha. Not a smile.
Strange about lips, that wee bit on the upper one shaped like a V and that wee valley bit up to between the nostrils. That was yer body and how it worked. Things fitted. That was like tunes and how ye made one up, this note came before that note, and ye just went with it and then looked at it later and shaped them all out, making it smooth, making “it” smooth. “It” was one urge all the way through.
Maybe he needed a shave. Maybe he didnt. He didnt have to, unless he thought so. Seeing his face. He wanted Eilidh and Mum to be there.
He made a smile. It was his smile.
He didnt have as many pimples. Probably the sun. His face and neck were red but hardly any suntan on his body. Maybe he had a body that didnt go brown. Some people’s bodies stayed white, or else just red.
He did a thing and everybody else was affected. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. They are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? You make a decision but it is their life too.
They know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. Nothing gets hidden. Nothing can be hidden. Ye cannay even tell a lie because the truth is always there and somebody knows, somebody knows. Dad is close and Mum is closer, yet both are further because Eilidh is inside, she is inside, so ye cannot hide, nothing ye can do is hidden, like no private access for anything, damn bloody anything, stupid nonsense shit and porn sites, and any damn anything not caring because who cares if everybody knows, ye just say it and do it like life if that is how ye live, who cares, who hears, everybody is nobody. Except the person left behind, always a person left behind. That is the plus one.
Then about lies too, how ye could say it wasnt a total bunch of lies never-ending, not like an infinity, because if ye took away that one most basic lie, then nothing else was there, it all just disappeared. A tissue of lies. One lie made the tissue. Take away the one and there wasnt a tissue. That bigger and bigger pile of lies was really just the one: he said he was going and he was not going.
He heard a door closing. Uncle John had come home from work.
*
They didnt start eating until 8 o’clock. Uncle John opened a bottle of wine and included a wee one for Murdo. Dad just smiled. They were going home next Tuesday. Murdo’s head was so full he had forgotten. He sipped the wine, it was tasty. Wine could be tasty although never quite like what ye expected. Beer was better.
He hoped Dad and Uncle John would go the last hour to the pub but they were too busy with packing and stuff; Aunt Maureen too, dotting between the house and the driveway. It suited Murdo because he could stay downstairs. Later Dad sat in the lounge by himself watching television. So that was Murdo’s chance: Will I go and tell him now?
When he told Dad Dad would tell Uncle John and Aunt Maureen. They would think he was ill. Viruses were everywhere. Uncle John made jokes about medical care in America. It cost ye a body part to pay for the medical bill. Ye went in with a broken leg and the operation cost ye a liver. They would worry then come downstairs and like Oh what’s wrong with ye son are ye ill? No. What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong I’m just like eh
whatever.
They would see he wasnt ill. Maybe he is coming down with something. He isnt ill just now but tomorrow he might be. Maybe it is a mental issue. Too much stress. Would they be upset? Yes. But not a big bit. Dad would still be going. They had other friends that were going too so they wouldnt call it off. They would just wonder.
Murdo stayed in the basement. Whatever time it was. Then Aunt Maureen had been in her own room for ages. Murdo was wanting to say goodnight to her. Maybe she was in bed reading a magazine. So it was too late.
It was, it was too late.
And Dad and Uncle John were in the lounge, probably with a beer. It would have spoiled everybody’s night.
*
Next morning people were up and about on the final preparations. It was the last chance. He didnt want to see Uncle John and Aunt Maureen and waited downstairs until it was Dad in the bathroom, then waiting for him to come out, the door to open, just that moment. He didnt feel bad, just his stomach and nerves nerves nerves, that jumpiness ye get, having to do it, do something, whatever. When it did open Murdo was upstairs quietly. Dad held the door for him but Murdo said: Dad can I speak to ye a minute?
What’s up? said Dad.
Nothing, just eh
Is there something wrong?
No Dad I just eh Dad I need to speak to ye. Sorry Dad I just eh… Murdo sniffed and returned downstairs.
Dad followed. Inside Dad closed the door over. Murdo was standing by the foot of the bed, maybe four yards away, and he felt better there and even like limbering up, like running on the spot, that was how felt. The most stupid thing but just silly silly and he had to breathe in, standing as still as he could, put his hands in his pockets and was going to start crying, Oh Dad
he was going to start crying, Oh Dad.
What’s up? What’s up?
Dad I cant go. Murdo shook his head. Dad…I cant go. I cant go. I just cant. I cant. Dad I cant.
Why not?
Dad I cant. Murdo closed his eyes, lowering his head and he breathed in deeply.
Son what’s up? Dad made a movement towards him and hesitated.
Dad I’m so so sorry.
Calm down.
Murdo breathed in.
What’s wrong?
I just cant go Dad I’m sorry like the thought of it Dad, being away and just like being with people and the whole day and everything, just sitting there and everything like all the talking and everything, everything, Dad I dont eh I dont… Dad I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry; but I just feel I need to opt out, I need to opt out.