Machine Dreams

on speaking softly, with such worry in her voice that Billy didn’t say anything back, only nodded. But all he could think of while she talked was the sound of her footsteps, every early morning all summer, up the stairs from the basement. Ever since they’d moved from the house on Brush Fork, almost two years ago, she’d slept down there in a single bed. Billy hadn’t paid much attention before, but that summer he began to notice everything. He got up early, drove the fifteen miles to his job, opened the swimming area by nine. But before he could drive to the park, where it was quiet and lush, he had to listen to his mother’s footsteps. He lay in bed, waking up, and listened. Her steps were heavy with a resignation he couldn’t fathom. Later he sat by the river and heard the rush of water. He stared at the moving surface, and finally all other sounds left his mind.
    After he went away to school, he missed the river badly.
    He was in Bellington by four in the afternoon. November light went fast and it was already dusk. On impulse, he drove through an alley off Main Street and pulled up behind the billiard room. The barbecue grill he’d bought the previous spring was still on the fire escape landing; it would rust in the winter if she didn’t take it inside soon. Didn’t seem right to use the fire escape steps, so he went around front. He didn’t want to walk through thebilliard room and see people and talk, so he went in the other door, up the dark, narrow stairs that led to the upstairs apartment. His walking was loud in the enclosed hallway. Before he got to the top to ring the bell, she opened the door and looked down. He stopped, waiting.
    Dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, barefoot, she hugged her arms in the chilly hallway. “Billy.”
    He thought he must seem like a fool. He said nothing and leaned against the wall. She looked like she’d been sleeping, her hair tousled. It occurred to him she might be with someone. “Anyone here?”
    “No. I was taking a nap.” She walked down two steps. “Billy, is anything wrong?”
    He shook his head. “Just wanted to talk to you. Haven’t seen you in a while. How you doing?”
    “Okay.”
    “Can I come in, or do you want me to go?”
    “You want to come in?” She shrugged, flustered. “Sure. Come in.”
    He followed her inside. She shut the door behind them and he looked around. After the carpeted dorm with its modernistic furniture, the square room looked even more spare. She sat down on the couch a little nervously; he sat beside her but not too near. “So,” he asked, “how have you been?”
    “Pretty good. I’ve been working downstairs, but last week I got a job at the newspaper.”
    “Yeah? Reporting?”
Keep talking
, he thought,
it’ll get better.
    “Just typing, but maybe later they’ll let me do more. I mean, at least write up birth announcements and things.”
    “Kato, that’s good.”
    She nodded and took a cigarette from a pack on the table. She tamped it down and lit it, then picked up an ash tray and put it on the cushion between them. She tucked her legs under her and turned toward him. “So. You met any nice people up there?”
    At first he thought she was mocking him, then understood again that she was nervous. He didn’t want her to be, but itencouraged him. She was asking him about girls. “Well, yeah, I mean it’s real easy. But no one special.”
    Her face betrayed no relief. “How is school?”
    “I quit school this morning.” It was the first time he’d said it. He leaned a little forward and put his hands on his knees, then clasped them. He realized he was sitting as his father did, and he sat back. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come by, but I wanted to talk to someone before I told my parents. I guess I wanted to talk to you.”
    She didn’t answer right away but looked across the room at the window. Then she tapped the ash of the cigarette and looked at him. “Why did you quit?”
    “I didn’t want to be there. I was just waiting until December really, to find out what my number was. Like, if I did what I was supposed to do and sat through all the classes, my number would be high, and then I could quit.” He shook his head. “Stupid. The number is going to be the same, whatever. If it’s low, there’s no deferment anyway. School isn’t going to help. And later, I don’t want these grades on my record. I haven’t really tried. I couldn’t get myself to care.”
    “You thought about what you’re