Mary and Alvin Ch. 32

The Pocket Jar

Hannah sat on the wooden bench and ran her fingers over the rough letters carved in the seat.

"Eagle over there, watching us," Bonita said.

"Where?" Hannah asked, scanning the far bank of the beaver pond.

"That tall pine. Straight across."

Hannah caught sight of the bird's white head just as it spread its wings and flew over the pond and disappeared beyond the trees.

"Everything leaves, sooner or later," Bonita muttered.

Hannah took her hand. "I'm coming back," she said.

"Everybody says they are coming back. Most of them don't."

"Jennifer came back. Andy came back."

"Charlotte didn't come back. She went to college, then she went to Pennsylvania. Aunt Di and Uncle Bob moved to fucking North Carolina. Can't even start to figure why someone would do that."

"Because it's not ten below in January? Come on, honey, please don't guilt trip me about this."

Bonita leaned forward, picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. A pair of ducks, startled by the splashing, skimmed across to the far side of pond. "I'm sorry. That's not what I'm trying to do."

"I know. But it was your choice not to go to college."

Bonita shrugged. "I didn't get good enough grades."

"And that was your choice. You could have gotten good grades if you had made the effort, but you never cared about school."

"That's because for as long as I can remember, I knew what I was going to do when I grew up."

"Yes, but still..."

"Jeezum, Hannah, you don't think I've heard this a million times? I believe you've met your mother?"

They sat quietly for a while. Hannah wished she could reassure Bonita. It was her intention to come back to Londonderry when she finished college. She loved her hometown and felt a deep desire to return and to not just be a part of it, but to be of service to it. Like Bonita, she had known what she wanted to do for as long as she could remember. She was going to be a teacher. As a girl, she loved everything about school. She loved the way the children's voices echoed in the halls, the way the motes of dusk hung in the sunlight in the classrooms, even the smell of the floor powder as the janitor pushed his big broom. She had wished she could stay there forever, and now she wanted nothing more than to return. But she could not find the words to make Bonita accept the truth of her intentions. She understood. It was not a matter of distrust, Bonita's fear was realistic, most young people who left small town Maine, whether they sought education or employment, never came back. Frustrated, she resorted to small talk. "You know," she said, "we always call this the beaver pond, but I've never seen a beaver."

"Everything leaves," Bonita said, then chuckled. "I'm sorry, that was kind of a cheap shot."

"I know you're hurting," Hannah said, "it's okay."

"It feels like getting my arm cut off." She skipped another stone. "I remember when I gave up telling people that you are my aunt, not my sister."

Hannah laughed. "Yeah. Me too. You know, for a while, I thought Bonita was my middle name, because all the adults were always hollering 'Hannah Bonita! Hannah Bonita!'"

"Sorry I got you into trouble so often," Bonita grinned.

Hannah leaned over and kissed her cheek. "All is forgiven, sweetheart."

Bonita hugged her. "I guess you better go, you got a lot of driving to do."

"I'm only going as far as Boston today. I'm going to stay with Rachel tonight and then drive the rest of the way to Pittsburgh tomorrow."

"There's another one who didn't come back," Bonita said as she stood up.

"She has her summer place on Islesboro."

Bonita shook her head. "Not the same," she said.

"You know what I'd like?" Hannah asked.

"What, babe?"

"Let's stop and see our boys."

"Good idea."

Bonita started up the path. Hannah rose, then hesitated. She looked down at the bench, at the crooked letters they had long ago carved in the seat of the bench.

HANNAH BONITA

FOREVER

Holding back a tear, she followed Bonita up the hill. As they neared the forest's edge they turned down a side path and into a sun speckled clearing, startling a flock of woodcocks. A varnished board was nailed to a tree near the entrance to the clearing. Alvin had wood burned the words Puddledock Memorial Garden on it. Other boards stood scattered about the clearing, each adorned with similar wood burned letters. Along the tree line, in a neat line the girls always thought of as Alpaca Row, they read Henrietta, Elvira, Dotsy, Caldonia . In the center of the clearing, two more boards stood side by side, Angus and Fang. To one side, off by itself, another read Virgil.

Hannah and Bonita walked past the graves to the far side of the clearing, where a pair of markers stood side by side. Kneeling in the grass, Hannah touched the one on the left.

"What a good boy you were, Buster," she whispered.

Bonita looked down at Moosie's marker. "Maybe I ought to get another dog," she said, kicking at the ground.

"Oh, you're going to replace me with a dog?" Hannah said as she stood and wiped the dirt from the knees of her jeans.

Bonita draped her arm over Hannah's shoulder. "You'll always be my number one bitch, honey."

As they emerged from the woods, they saw Alvin and Mary sitting on the porch steps, and Jennifer and Danni standing in the dooryard.

"Look like they are all waiting for us," Hannah said.

"Not us, just you," Bonita sighed.

Mary saw them step out from the trees and nudged Alvin. "Here come the girls now," she said.

Alvin looked up and watched them cross the field. Not girls anymore, he thought, they are young women.

Jennifer held out her arms, and Hannah walked into them. They hugged and Jennifer kissed her little sister on the cheek. "Oh, sweetie, I am so excited for you. But I am going to miss you so much."

Danni draped her arm over Bonita's shoulders. They were nearly the same height.

There was an awkward moment when no one knew what to say. Finally, Hannah broke the silence. "I guess I ought to get going," she said, "I need to get my purse and stuff."

She started up the steps, but Mary took her hand and pulled her down, hugging her and kissing her head. "Don't cry, Mama," Hannah whispered. Mary nodded and let her go inside.

"At least we know she ain't going to be living with some crazy roommates," Alvin said.

Jennifer laughed, "Well, at least none we don't know."

"Yep," Alvin said, "We don't have to get Danni to run a background check on anybody."

Danni smirked. "You think I never ran a check on Charlotte?"

Alvin laughed, but wasn't sure if she was joking or not.

"Well, I met someone pretty neat at college," Jennifer said.

"Yeah, me too," Danni replied with a grin.

Bonita rolled her eyes while her mothers kissed.

Alvin and Mary stood as Hannah came back out of the house. Alvin took her hand as she walked down the steps.

"You call us as soon as you get to Boston, honey," he told her.

"Of course I will, Papa."

"Are you sure you have everything?" Mary asked.

"Yes, Mama."

"You have your asthma medicine?"

"Yes, Mama, stop worrying."

"That ain't going to happen," Alvin muttered.

"Oh, look who's talking," Mary said.

"You're both going to drive me crazy," Hannah sighed as her parents wrapped their arms around her. Jennifer joined the group hug, and then Danni and Bonita did as well.

"Okay, I can't breathe in here," Hannah said after a moment.

Alvin stepped back. "Alright then. Bonita, let's get ready for work."

"Yeah, I need to get going too," Danni said.

Bonita started to walk away, then turned back and called to Hannah, "Hey, maybe I'll come down to Pittsburgh for a few days after we close the wharf for the season."

"Okay," Hannah replied, "Give me a call."

"Sure," Bonita said. She turned and took a few steps, then spun around and ran to Hannah, throwing her arms around her and squeezing her tightly. "I love you," she whispered, then she let go and ran off between the rows of corn before anyone could see her tears.

Danni took her turn hugging Hannah, then climbed in her cruiser and drove away. Jennifer hugged her, longer and tighter, then headed across the field to get to work. Hannah was left alone with her mother and father.

"Well," she said, kicking at the dirt, "I'll give you a call later."

Mary touched the side of her daughter's head. "Sweetheart, this is going to be a great adventure. Enjoy it."

Hannah kissed her, then gave her father a long hug, got in the car and drove down to the road. Before she turned, she rolled down her window and waved goodbye.

Mary and Alvin stood in the dooryard and waved back. Alvin put his arm around Mary's waist. Bonita was returning up the path.

" I can stay home today if you'd like me to," Alvin told Mary.

"No," Mary said, "I really think I need some alone time. Don't worry, I'll be fine."

Alvin kissed her and turned to Bonita. "You ready to go?"

Bonita nodded and they climbed into Alvin's truck.

Mary watched them go, then walked into the house. She felt a nervous energy, like she should be doing something, but did not know what. She made herself a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, but immediately got back up. It was not a good time for her to be alone, maybe she should have asked Alvin to stay home. The house had never felt so empty.

She went up the stairs and stood before the door to Hannah's room. A memory came to her, of standing here before. It was after her miscarriage, when she had been afraid to walk back into the room that they had so lovingly turned into a nursery for the baby she lost.

Don't be foolish, she thought, you lost the first baby, but Hannah is alive and well. You haven't lost her. You're not going to lose her. She turned the doorknob and stepped into the room. Sitting down on the neatly made bed, she looked around. The room was so much Hannah's, it could belong to no one else. Where other girls might hang pictures of their favorite actors or pop stars, her posters were facsimile book covers for A Wrinkle In Time and The Princess and the Sailor. Her desk was neat and well organized, but her bookshelf was overfilled and disheveled. The circus animals that Alvin had painted around the tops of the walls so many years ago still marched, although their bright colors had faded.

Mary stood and, just by habit, flipped up the lid of the clothes hamper. It was half full. She looked through it and saw that the contents were light summer clothes that Hannah wouldn't need during the fall semester. Still, it wouldn't be good to leave them here, where they might get mildewed. She gathered them in her arms and turned toward the door. As she did, her gaze landed on a familiar figure. The stuffed elephant, Mister Heffalump, was perched on top of Hannah's dresser. She remembered when Hannah could not go to sleep without him by her side. One night when she woke up from a nightmare, Alvin had told her that she would always be safe in her bed, because no matter what sort of bad things might lurk about, Mister Heffalump would scare them away. Mary gave out a sob at the thought that Hannah didn't take him with her. "Please, Mister Heffalump," she whispered, "I hope your magic works at a distance."

She carried the dirty clothes down to the cellar. They were not enough for a full load, so she dropped them in a basket and set it on top of the washing machine to await the next laundry day. In front of her, where it had sat on the shelf for years, she saw the pocket jar. She stared at it for a minute then took it down and carried it up the stairs to the kitchen. She put it on the table and picked up her tea. It had grown cold. She warmed it in the microwave, then sat down and gazed at the jar.

It was just an old gallon glass jar. She assumed that it had probably come from the diner at the wharf. Maybe it had once held pickles or mayonnaise. It wasn't even the first pocket jar. The first one had been a quart mason jar. One day, when Hannah was three or four years old, Mary had been sorting laundry when she picked up one of her jumpers and felt something in the pocket. She reached in and pulled out a plastic barrette. Just a little pink hairpin that she had bought at the Dollar General. Unsure of where to put it while she finished sorting, she saw the jar on the shelf and dropped it in. She forgot all about it, but a few days later, as she did laundry, she found a blue lego piece in another of Hannah's pockets and dropped that in the jar as well. It soon became a ritual. Whatever she found in Hannah's pockets, she dropped into the jar. After a while the quart jar was nearly full. She had found the big jar in the garage, cleaned it up, and it became the new pocket jar.

Mary sipped her tea and stared at the jar. Fifteen years, she thought, fifteen years she has been finding odds and ends in her daughter's pockets and dropping them in this jar. And now, her little girl was gone, out of the house, off to college.

She picked up the jar and carefully poured its contents out on the kitchen table. She stared at the pile for a minute, then, without a plan or a conscious reason why she was doing so, she began to sort through it.

She started by picking out all the Legos. There were eleven of them; five red, four blue and two white. She snapped them all together and set them aside. Something felt gritty on her fingertips and she looked to see that they had picked up a fine yellow powder. She pushed aside a few items in the pile and saw more of the powder on the table. Holding her finger up to her face, she looked at it closely, then sniffed it. It had a slightly sweet scent. She touched her finger to her tongue and recognized the taste. It was Cap'n Crunch.

The sweet cereal brought back a vivid memory. Mary closed her eyes and saw Alvin, walking down the aisle of the Shop'N'Save. He was holding hands with Bonita on his right and Hannah on his left. The girls were no more than four years old. Hannah had her arms wrapped firmly around a family size box of Cap'n Crunch. As they approached Mary, she had chastised Alvin.

"Honey, you know they shouldn't eat that stuff," she had told him, "It's nothing but corn syrup and preservatives."

Hannah had started to cry and she remembered how angry she had been with Alvin for making her the villain who wouldn't let their daughter have the cereal.

But somehow, Hannah had gotten her Cap'n Crunch, and at some point a few pieces had found their way into her pocket and, although Mary had no memory of it, into the jar.

She flicked the crumbs from her fingers and returned and to the pile on the table. She separated out the coins. They were mostly pennies, with a handful of nickels and dimes and just a few quarters. One coin caught her eye. She had thought it was a quarter, but it looked somehow different and when she picked it up and examined it, she saw that it was emblazoned with the image of a lion. It was Somali. Yusef or Jamilla must have given it to Hannah.

There were seven periwinkle shells on the table, all pure white. They had taken SeaJay down to Harpswell, she remembered. After lunch at the Dolphin Marina, they had all walked along the beach. Was Hannah ten? Perhaps a bit older, maybe twelve. She squatted every few steps and looked at the rocky beach, picking up shells. Alvin gathered some periwinkles and presented them to her, but she had shook her head, rejecting them. She only wanted white periwinkles, she had told him.

"Why just white?" Mary had asked.

"That's what I want," Hannah shrugged.

Alvin had laughed and told her that she reminded him of her mother. Mary was puzzled by his comment at the time, but as Hannah grew, she realized how much they were alike, stubborn streak and all.

Most of what remained on the table were insignificant items; safety pins, paper clips, a few brightly colored pebbles. But there was also a small dried starfish. There was a tiny, tightly closed pine cone and there was a campaign button from Andy's first election to the city council and an unused sticker of the snowman from Frozen.

Mary realized that it had been a long time since she had added anything to the pocket jar. Hannah did, at least on occasion, do her own laundry, and when she did not, she had at some point started checking her own pockets before dropping her clothes into the hamper.

Mary began to cry. She did not understand what had triggered her tears at first, but she quickly realized that she should have known, probably did know on some level, that the diminishing stream of items into the jar had been telling her that her little girl didn't need her anymore.

She wiped her eyes and stood up. The jar itself was dusty from its years on the laundry room shelf. She carried it to the sink and washed it, then dried it off and set it back on the table. One by one, she picked up it's contents and returned them to the jar. She pulled apart the legos and dropped them in. When the jar was filled again, she crossed the kitchen and opened the junk drawer in the bottom of the cabinet. Sorting though the odd collection of seldom used tools and utensils, the dead batteries and half used rolls of tap, she found a half dozen jar lids. She brought them to the table and checked to see if any fit. The third one did. She screwed it on tight, then returned the others to the drawer.

As she turned back to the table, she saw a tiny folded piece of yellow paper, a post it note, perhaps. She picked it up, shook off a few crumbs of Cap'n Crunch and unfolded it. In childish script were the words I love you Mama . She did not think she had ever told Hannah, or anyone else, about the pocket jar. Had she known, and left the note in her pocket, meant to be found on some long ago wash day? Mary unscrewed the lid and dropped the note into the jar.

"I love you too, my sweet baby," she said as she put the lid back on. She picked up the jar and carried it into the living room. She moved a few pictures on the mantelpiece and set the jar down in the space she cleared. Stepping back to look at it, she thought, I like this, it will be as if a part of my little girl is always here with me.

She sat on the couch and closed her eyes. The house was too quiet, it felt so empty. This is going to be rough for a while, she thought, but I will get through it. She considered calling her mother, but she would just drift in and out of the conversation, and Mary didn't think she could deal with that in her current state of mind.

"You're just making yourself sadder," she said out loud. "Snap out of it."

She got up, thinking the best thing to do was to keep busy. She considered going into town to her office and getting some work done, but there really was not a lot to do and she'd soon face the same dilemma there. The bathroom needs cleaning, she thought, then laughed out loud at the notion that she was feeling so blue that cleaning the bathroom might cheer her up.

In twenty years of marriage, Mary had not been able to train Alvin to clean the streaks of toothpaste out of the sink after brushing his teeth. She finished cleaning it off then took a bottle of Windex from the cabinet below and sprayed the mirror. As she wiped it off she remembered the lipstick heart Alvin had drawn on the bathroom mirror in her apartment on Main Street. She'd left it there for months, until the day she moved out of the apartment and into his house.

She put down the Windex and her rag and looked at herself in the mirror. She leaned closer and examined her face. There were tiny lines beneath her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. The faint mustache on her upper lip was not as faint as it once had been. Do I look like I'm almost fifty? she asked herself. She didn't feel like it. But then again, how was she to know how fifty felt? She brushed the hair back at her temples with her fingers. Maybe it was time to stop coloring it and let the silver have its way. "Silver can be sexy," she muttered.