Hills of Home

David Lieberman sat in the noisy classroom his eyes focused on the book in front of him. Through the din, his name came drifting from across the room.

“Look, Stan. Queer David is back.”

Just then Mrs. Griffith stormed into the room. Clearly in a bad mood, she looked around to target her anger. Suddenly her eyes came to rest. “David Lieberman,” she crowed. But she pronounced it like “Lover‑man” and the class tittered.

He'd forgotten his admit slip. Pushing up the sleeves of his new sweater, he came forward.

She put her arm around him. “Did you bring your pencil box and cray‑o‑las?”

The class roared.

David twisted out of her grasp, and with eyes averted, stumbled back to his seat.

Forty minutes later he was back outside, hurrying down the hall. Joyce, a plump brunette tried to comfort him, but he only muttered “Go to Hell!” and stormed out of the building. It was just three o'clock but he was exhausted. Audrey, his guardian, had brought him, getting there early so she'd be on time to work after they finished in the principal's office.

Coming back to school was hard. Meeting Mr. O'Hearn was harder. “Yes Sir, I've been a chronic truant. Yes Sir, you don't have to take me back. Yes Sir, I'll be expelled next time...” David was eighteen. It was graduate now or take the GED. And everyone knew that the diploma was better. His stomach flipped as he continued outside.

He arrived at the corner just in time to catch the city bus. He'd ride his motorcycle to school once the weather warmed up. It was almost Easter. He remembered chocolate chicks and jellybeans...

Then they were at his stop and as he swung down the steps he could feel a light rain on his face. Breaking into a run, he arrived at the bungalow where he lived. Up the steps, he plunged his key into the lock and heaved his weight at the door. Inside, the scent of Audrey's perfume mixed with the smell of bacon and onions.

“Anyone home?” He tossed his books on the faded couch and turned just in time to face Audrey coming through her bedroom door. She was clutching a light robe around her shoulders. “What's the matter? You sick?”

She moved forward and in the wedge of light on the bed, David could see a man's naked form. “You remember Joe. He stopped in and wasn't feeling well...” 

“The kid's eighteen. He knows the score.”

Joe was right. David knew.

Angrily, David slammed back outside, screaming “God‑damned bitch!” over his shoulder. The cold mist on his face said he should have grabbed his poncho but he wasn't about to go back.

Damp, chilled and grumpy, he caught the empty bus on its return, aiming for the shopping mall a mile past the school. At South Hills, it stopped for another load of laughing, shivering students. He did not look up even when a classmate sat next to him, nudging him on the shoulder.

“Hi, David. That was some deal Griffith pulled this afternoon, changing your name and all.”

“It wasn't funny, Joyce.” David turned back to the window.

“Are you going to the prom?”

“No. I just want to get finished and get out.”

“Maybe we could go together...”

“Jesus Christ, Joyce, I don't even know you!” Then more gently, “Dancing isn't my thing.”

Joyce sat smiling. Then without a change of expression, hissed, “I guess the guys are right, Lover‑man. You just don't like girls.”

“Oh for God's sake, grow up!”  And David forced his way past her to the back of the bus.

It was only minutes before they rounded the mall parking lot where he got off. It was four o'clock and he was hungry. But first he wandered to the bookstore, and finally calmed, bought a short story anthology and continued through the mall.

At McDonald's he bought a hamburger and fries, then settled down to read. After a while, he put the book in his pocket and walked to the theater, sitting through a mindless comedy. When the house lights came on, he left with a handful of others yawning and squinting.

Outside it was warmer. The rain had stopped. He had missed the last bus, but felt like walking anyway. He began to wonder if Audrey was home worrying. “Some foster mother,” he confided to the passing cars, feeling almost tender.

His thoughts shifted. Last week he'd called his mother saying he would be coming home for Easter. The boozy slur in her voice was missing. “Why sure, Honey. Bring a sleeping bag. How long'll you be here?”

Only a visit. And yet, and yet...

He quickened his pace once more, hoping Audrey wasn't mad. “Oh, to hell with her.”  And he marched up the steps, opening the door quietly on the chance that Audrey might be asleep.

Instead, she sat curled up on the couch in fuzzy robe and slippers, a book on her lap and a welcoming smile as he entered. “Hi. Where've you been?”

“I went to a movie. Sorry I didn't call. I fell asleep.”  A half‑lie.

“That's okay. I know you can take care of yourself.” Another lie. “Have you eaten?” 

“Yes. I’ll just get myself a Coke.”  David disappeared into the kitchen, coming back to tell her about his day, leaving out the part with Griffith and Joyce. “Do you suppose I could go home on Thursday instead of Good Friday?”  He tried to make it sound casual.

Audrey shook her head, her expression wary. “One slip and you'll be out for good.”

She was right. Today was Monday. Could he hang in for three more days?  More important, for six weeks after that?

He finished his Coke and went back for another, glancing at the table with its surface faded from frequent cleaning. He liked to cook. Did that make him queer?  At eighteen you were supposed to know.

“Audrey, can I get you something from the kitchen?”

“No thanks. I'll just finish this chapter and turn in.”

He stood at the door, his eyes commanding her attention. “What do I do when I graduate?” his voice was soft, almost a whisper.

“Oh, you can get a job and go to college nights or be an apprentice. You're even welcome to stay here for a while.”  Her words echoed hollow in the silent room.

“Sure. Maybe I'll join the army.” And with a mock salute, he exited into his room at the end of the hall.

On Tuesday David went to gym class and had to do fifty push‑ups because Jackie Williams trapped him into a shoving match. On Wednesday, he was tripped in the crowded hall, his books flying in every direction, his papers trampled and torn. Thursday morning David started out for school. He almost got off at the South Hills stop. But the yelling and jostling was already building to a pre‑holiday frenzy. So he stayed on the bus until it arrived at the mall, waiting until Audrey would be gone, then went back to clean and polish his motorcycle for the trip to Breezewood. By mid‑afternoon he was ready.

He put on his jacket and helmet and left a note for Audrey on the kitchen table. Back outside, he strapped his bedroll with two changes of clothing onto the carrier plus two chocolate bunnies for the girls. On the highway, he was flanked by rolling hills that gleamed with the last of the snow, the engine throbbed in rhythm. He was going home, home, home... Afternoon shadows contrasted more sharply against the slopes ahead. He wanted to reach out and touch it all. He was going home.

The road would take him through the mountains rather than over them. He came to the first tunnel, and blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes to the gloom then four more before he reached the crest where he could look down the sharp mountainside. Breezewood lay below, muted in a fairy‑fog.

It took twenty minutes to get there. Crossing to the other side, he began climbing again, this time through backwoods, the motorcycle wheels crunching on gravel then on the dirt road ribbed with mud‑covered roots.

Coming to the house, he parked inside the split‑rail fence, brushing past untidy low branches along the path. Hanging his helmet on the handlebar he smoothed his tousled hair. A form was hunched on the front stoop peering into the shadows. “Hey Teena, you watching for me?”

His sister looked up. “I'm waiting for Mamma. She went with Gracie to gas up the car. We're moving to Virginia.” Barely twelve, her voice was already the tired whine of Appalachia.

He motioned for her to move and sat down next to her. “Nobody moves right before Easter – not even us.”

“Tell that to Mamma. She don't listen to me.”

“Poor Teena. Life's tough.”

She moved away. “What d'you know about it?”

He inhaled quickly. “Not much.” Standing up, he reached for her hand. “C'mon, let's go inside.”

After a sullen moment, she followed.

Boxes were everywhere with no visible order as to size or content. He looked sideways at Teena, noting the soft breasts swelling under her cotton dress. “You going with them?” He had been exactly her age when he’d gone to live with Audrey.

She raised her shoulders, non‑committal. “You got room for me?”

“Maybe after we're both grown we can live together. Remember the way we used to pretend?”

She acknowledged the offer with a shrug. “Sure. Tell Mamma. That'll be good for a laugh.”

They stared at one another, communicating everything, communicating nothing. Finally he turned away and went back outside, closing the door softly behind him.

He paused on the porch and took a deep breath. It was nightfall now, with the mountains barely outlined in the dark. He had to take it all in before it faded from memory – the wooden porch, the tangled overgrown bushes, the brooding desolation. He groped his way to the fence. The motorcycle was barely visible, its gleam dulled with mud.

He wondered if Audrey had found his note. Good ol' Audrey.  He hoped she wasn’t mad.

Kick‑starting the bike, he listened as the engine coughed and sputtered. Then he was back on his path to nowhere, the bedroll bouncing up and down, the sound fading on the trail behind.

Back on the highway, he stayed in the left lane that was clear as far as he could see. To his right and slightly ahead was a SUV beginning to gain on a steel-loaded flatbed truck. Then they were at the tunnel entrance. The SUV would be stuck behind the truck for it was illegal to change lanes inside the tunnel. But suddenly it veered, trying to get around the truck before it was too late, not realizing David was just to his left.  Inside the shadow of the tunnel was a small patch of ice, created by the dripping mountain and frozen in the coolness of the interior.

David could feel his body go airborne, hear the explosion of his helmet hitting the high arch of the tunnel. And that was all.

It took only moments for police and ambulance to arrive. “You give these kids a motorcycle and they think they own the road,” muttered the state trooper. The truck lay jack-knifed across the tunnel entrance, the SUV smashed in front and flattened along the side. Patrolman Schulte moved to the opposite side of the tunnel, clearing traffic for the ambulance.  He glanced down at the crushed Easter bunnies. “Damned lot of good that’s gonna do him now.”

Audrey stood in the kitchen, David’s note in her hand. Should she have called his mother to tell her David would be coming early?  Audrey had decided not to. Then she brightened. At least David would be spending the holidays with his family, having a good time.

end