No Senator's Son

I know there is something not quite right about Gem’s mom. There is a weight in Gem’s house that lands on my shoulders every time I walk in the door; I never get used to it. It haunts me.

Gem and I run in through her back door on Ocean Avenue and greet her mom after school. Gonna grab a snack and head out to our hangouts.

Hi, Mrs. Graham!

She smiles vaguely and waves.

She is always in her terry cloth bathrobe and shabby mint-colored fuzzy slippers and she shuffle slides through the kitchen restlessly from one end to the other, window to window, in a kind of skater's waltz with no skates. She looks out each window for a second and continues around her kitchen rink. The TV is always on but she's never watching. She never even sits. I think it's Edge of Night right now. TVs are never on in my house except after dinner and then, with strict rules. The record player is in the living room with the TV; Gem’s mom doesn’t play any records.

See ya, Mom! Be home in time for chop suey!

Gem always knows what she's having for dinner by the day of the week. It's Tuesday, so…..yeah. And, we’re off.

I can't wait ‘til after school tomorrow. On Wednesdays Mrs. Graham goes grocery shopping with their neighbor and we have the house to ourselves. I only care because of the music. Rock and roll is everything.

On Wednesdays, we slip into Gem’s brother, Stevie’s, room, grab some of his albums and crank tunes in the living room. He has every rock album ever made and, plus, he won't mind, he's dead. He died in Vietnam. Gem never told me how. He’s just dead. His room is off limits when her mom is home. We can't go in; this is unspoken but I know. The crack left in the door reveals a darkened space with curtains drawn and secrets hidden. I wonder why the door stays shut.

But Wednesdays! Off the bus, I meet Gem at the abandoned swimming pool on Seaview Lane and she hikes with me back down to her house. We go directly to Stevie’s room and gently push open the door. It smells kind of stale but kind of like patchouli, too. His room is a little eerie. Everything is left as he left it, untouched — well, except his albums. We’ve been handling his albums forever like reckless thieves returning to the scene of our crimes. I grew up with John, Paul, George and Ringo living at our house. Like 10 bazillion other humans. But, my taste in music is expanding. Every single great rock band in bookcases that are all organized by group. We grab Joplin's CHEAP THRILLS, The Stones’ LET IT BLEED, Cream’s DISRAELI GEARS and LED ZEP II. Today, though, we’ve got something of our own besides SUNSHINE OF YOUR LOVE. Gem saved her weekly allowance for, like, fifty years, and bought the double Live album MADE IN JAPAN by Deep Purple.

OHMYGOD!!!!!!!!!!

For her, it’s HIGHWAY STAR endlessly and for me it's Ian Gillan, High God of Rock Vocalists, in CHILD IN TIME with his crazy high As? Gs?, or some humanly impossible notes, and, of course, the long and Live version of SMOKE ON THE WATER. Sorry, neighborhood of Ocean Avenue!!!!! This album is OUR NEW ANTHEM!

Damn. One hour flies. Gem’s mom drives in. Gotta go now.

Get DISRAELI GEARS! Did we take the Stones?

We place each album back in its nest. I glance back as we shut Stevie's door behind us. The American flag on the wall, the India print bed covering, fatigues with multiple patches on the arms, psychedelic peace sign.

Can you see us, Stevie? Thanks for letting us listen to your albums.

C’mon, Lisa!

Gem calls to me from the kitchen.

Coming!

I wonder what it's like to have a brother who died in a war. I wonder what it's like to die at 21. Stevie was a decorated member of the 101st Airborne. Stevie killed himself in Vietnam.

Make Me - Copyright © 2021 lisa stathoplos

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