What a Trip, page 20
“Don’t you think it’s time I met your parents?” Reuben asked one morning in late February.
“My mom went from monster to moron,” Fiona said. “The doctor has her on some kind of pills. She thinks it’s for headaches. My dad says it’s for her nerves. The doctor’s worried she might be headed for a nervous breakdown.”
“You’ve told them about me, right?” Reuben asked.
“Sure. My dad wants to meet you. I don’t want you to get freaked out by my mom.”
“My father went through his shit last year. How much worse could it be? Why don’t you see if we can visit this Saturday? Even if I can’t stay overnight, I could at least come for dinner.”
“My mom’s cooking is one step up from cafeteria food, not like your mom’s,” Fiona said, shaking her head.
“It’s not about the food. It’s about them getting to meet me and making a statement about our relationship. Or don’t you feel that’s important?” His eyes narrowed for a moment as he stared into hers.
Fiona weighed her options. She could bring Reuben home or risk ruining their relationship. She had proven herself strong these last two months. Perhaps it was time to take a stand.
“Okay, let’s do it,” she said.
To Fiona’s surprise, Reuben dressed in a blue oxford button-down shirt and a pair of gray wool slacks to meet her parents. She hoped his conservative clothing would minimize his shoulder-length chestnut hair, which he tied back with a leather thong.
“Look at you, Mr. Conservative.” Fiona smiled.
“You dressed up for my parents. I want to do it for yours,” he said.
“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” Fiona kissed his cheek.
Mr. O’Brien met the couple at the town bus station.
“FiFi’s told us so much about you. I feel like I know you already,” her dad said.
Reuben tilted his chin, and with a grin he mouthed, FiFi?
Shhh! she mouthed back and smiled.
“Your mom’s making a special ham dinner tonight. Hope you brought your appetites,” her dad said.
Fiona knew many Jews avoided ham and other pork products. She was relieved Reuben didn’t follow the tradition. It was one less thing she had to explain.
Reuben and Mr. O’Brien hit it off. Reuben spoke of his writing and his family. He encouraged her dad to talk about his work as an engineer. Politics and religion remained off the table.
Before entering the O’Brien home, Fiona’s dad winked at her as if to say, He’s okay in my book.
Now all she needed to do was convince her mom.
Mrs. O’Brien greeted them in a green-and-brown-plaid two-piece ensemble. Her makeup and hair were as neat and precise as the house, which had returned to showroom condition. Not a speck of dust was to be found. Not a chair, curtain, or magazine out of place.
Fiona suspected the doctor had adjusted her mom’s medication. She hoped her mom could keep it together through the visit and avoid any controversial conversations.
Reuben was quick to praise Mrs. O’Brien on her outfit and home decor.
“I try,” she said.
“You do more than try,” Reuben said. “Our house is always turned upside down.”
But it’s so much homier. You don’t know how lucky you are.
Her mom ate up the compliment. “Dinner’s just about ready,” she said. “Why don’t you men have a seat? Fiona, help me in the kitchen.”
Fiona knew Reuben would be safe with her dad. But how safe would she be?
In the kitchen, her mom said, “He seems like a nice enough boy. But that hair. If you’re going to get serious with him, he has to get it cut. I don’t want my daughter going around with a longhaired hippie. It will create a very bad impression here in town.”
“Come on, Mom. I can’t tell him to get a haircut, and neither can you.”
“Well, I see you haven’t toned down your snotty attitude.”
“I’ll bring in the salad and rolls.” Fiona grabbed the food and slipped into the dining room.
Mrs. O’Brien trailed after her daughter with a pitcher of water.
“The salad is delicious,” Reuben said.
Fiona shot him a sideways glance.
Black olives and chunks of orange cheese rested on top of sliced iceberg lettuce. Mrs. O’Brien had dressed the salads with Wishbone Italian dressing. Fiona assumed her mom didn’t want the orange of her usual French dressing to clash with the cheese.
The ham was adorned with canned pineapple rings and whole cloves. As much as Fiona hated meat, she appreciated the extra effort her mom had taken to make the meal special. She even served real mashed potatoes and candied carrots.
“Helen, you’ve outdone yourself,” her dad said.
The others echoed his sentiment.
When Mrs. O’Brien didn’t respond immediately, Fiona turned to her mom and repeated, “Great dinner, Mom. Mom?”
Her mom stared into space with eyes as glazed as the ham.
“Helen!”
“What is it, dear?”
“We were all saying what a wonderful dinner you made,” her dad said.
“Thank you. Anybody ready for dessert? I didn’t have time to make something, but I did get Fiona’s favorite lemon meringue pie from Turner’s Bakery.”
What was going on? Why was her mom going to such lengths to impress Reuben? Or was this a peace offering for her daughter?
Mrs. O’Brien became more distant over dessert and coffee. She refused Fiona’s offer to help clean up and retreated to the kitchen. Fiona and Reuben joined her dad in the living room.
“We’ll have to leave in a bit if we want to catch the last bus,” Reuben said.
“Next time, Reuben, why don’t you plan to stay overnight? We’ve got a nice guest room that doesn’t get enough use. You could join us for church on Sunday morning and stay for lunch.”
“Umm, Dad,” Fiona whispered, “Reuben’s family is Jewish.”
Her dad squirmed in his seat. “You know, I thought maybe you were Jewish with a name like Goldberg.”
“Yes, sir. My father’s family suffered greatly during the Holocaust. He was lucky to stay alive and even luckier to get to America.”
“Well, then, I guess church is out of the question. I’d still like you to stay longer.”
Fiona’s eyebrows inched closer to her scalp. Was this her dad speaking?
They thanked her mom for dinner and rode to the bus station with her dad. Before dropping them off, her dad whispered to his daughter, “Let’s not tell Mom that Reuben’s a Jew. We’ll keep that between us for now.”
“That went much better than I expected,” Fiona said as they got on the bus.
“Your dad’s a great guy. I’d like to get to know him better.”
“Politics and religion are the only two things I’ve got against him. After tonight, maybe it’s just politics,” Fiona said.
“If he can accept me as a Jew, then maybe he’ll come around on the war. Your mom, though—” Reuben didn’t have to finish his sentence.
“She was on her best behavior. I don’t think anything will change with her.”
“Tonight was special for me. I know this wasn’t easy for you. Thank you, FiFi.”
Fiona nudged him in the ribs and smiled. They snuggled into one another as the bus left the station.
Chapter 39
Political unrest escalated at colleges and universities across the country after President Nixon announced the expansion of the Vietnam War into eastern Cambodia on April thirtieth. Fiona and Reuben joined in peaceful demonstrations on campus, calling for an end to the conflict.
Eddie Mays, head of the campus chapter of the SDS, monitored the news broadcasts from the Student Union building. On Saturday, May second, he announced that a group of students at Kent State University in Ohio had buried a copy of the United States Constitution, claiming that Nixon had killed it. Later that day, the Kent State ROTC building was set on fire. The Ohio governor ordered the National Guard sent to the city.
“I’m afraid of violence,” Reuben confided in Fiona.
“I think it’s already turned violent at Kent State,” she replied.
“I mean here. I don’t trust Eddie.”
Fiona shivered. “Neither do I.”
On Monday, May fourth, Fiona and Reuben watched in disbelief as events at Kent State unfolded in front of their eyes on the Student Union television. Shortly before noon, the National Guard used tear gas on a crowd that refused to disperse. Their action sent a volley of rocks toward the Guard from the protesters, who chanted, “Pigs off campus!”
The Guardsmen, with bayonets fixed on their rifles, advanced upon the protesters. They confronted the students, shooting and killing four and injuring nine. Two of the four students killed had participated in the protest. The other two had been walking from one class to the next at the time of their deaths.
Eddie Mays addressed the student body.
“We must join in solidarity with other colleges and universities across the country and strike,” he shouted from the second-floor balcony. “Our aim is nonviolence, but be aware that things could turn violent at any minute if our demands are not met. We will not sit by and watch Nixon and his pigs take over our country.”
“No violence!” Reuben shouted from his seat on the main floor.
His statement was met with cheers of “Right on, brother!” and hands held high waving the peace sign.
A scowl crossed Eddie’s face. Rarely were his commands challenged. He and his fellow SDS members thrust closed fists in the air. “Power to the people! Strike now!”
Fiona turned toward Reuben. “I’m so proud of you for standing up to that asshole,” she whispered in his ear.
“Violence never solves anything,” he replied.
The Moratorium to End the War in Vietnam, begun the previous October, promoted the idea of a general strike on the fifteenth of every month until the war ended. Enthusiasm for the cause waned over the winter, but the Kent State shootings rekindled the fire. Protests and strikes were staged at more than 450 college and high school campuses across the country. A demonstration in Washington was planned for Saturday, May ninth.
“We have to go to DC,” Reuben announced on Tuesday. “We did our thing in New York and here, but it’s time we take a stand in a big way.”
The intensity of the last few days unnerved Fiona. “How would we get there? Where would we stay? What if it turns violent?”
“It already has turned violent. Innocent people are getting killed on our soil. No more back-seat protests. Think of the stories we’ll have to tell our grandchildren.”
Grandchildren? Was Reuben committing to a lifelong relationship or speaking of grandchildren in general? Fiona wondered as she stared into space without responding.
Caught up in the excitement of the moment, Reuben failed to notice her silence. “Listen, lassie, we talked about hitchhiking. This is our chance. The school’s on strike. We could leave Thursday morning, get to DC that night, hang out on Friday, and march on Saturday. How ’bout it?”
“Well, it would be an adventure,” she said hesitantly.
“I’ve got it all figured out. My friend Jeremy’s at Georgetown University. I called him, and he said we could crash at his pad. We could take a bus home on Sunday and be back for class on Monday. What d’ya say?”
Fiona remembered Reuben telling her about the affair he’d had with Jeremy’s mother and how she had been the one who introduced him to sex. Did Jeremy know about the affair? What would he think of Fiona? How would she compare with Reuben’s past girlfriends? She debated whether or not to bring it up, eventually deciding to keep it to herself.
“Hey, Fiona?”
“Oh, sorry. I was just weighing the pros and cons. Definitely more cons than pros, but what the hell. I’m in,” she said with a forced smile.
He nuzzled her ear and whispered, “You’re the best.”
“So are you.” She planted a soft kiss on his cheek, pushing her insecurities aside. She thought about saying, “I love you,” but held back. She wasn’t about to say it without hearing it from Reuben first.
Chapter 40
Reuben borrowed a sleeping bag and knapsack. They packed light—a change of clothes, toothbrushes, Dr. Bronner’s peppermint soap that would double as toothpaste, a road map, some snacks, and a thermos of water. Fiona wanted to bring her makeup but knew the demonstration was not a place for vanity. Reuben had seen her without makeup and would have to understand.
Hitching a ride was simple enough in town. Two guys Fiona recognized from campus took them as far as the entrance to the interstate.
“Wish we could take you the whole way, but we’ve got jobs in town. Here, take this for luck.” The guy in the passenger seat handed Reuben a joint. “Show those pigs we mean business.”
“Thanks,” Reuben said.
Fiona’s legs wobbled as she walked along the shoulder of the entrance ramp. The situation had become all too real. What if some wacko picked them up? What if they got busted for the joint?
“Wait a minute,” Reuben said, moving into the brush on the side of the road. “I don’t feel right about hitchin’ with a joint. Better smoke it before we get started.”
Fiona had thought about throwing it away. Reuben’s idea was much better.
Ten minutes later they were back on the road, giddy and ready to begin their trip.
“Hold your arm like this.” Reuben held his right arm straight at his side, thumb pointing out. “We’ve gotta look hip, like we’ve done this a million times.”
It wasn’t long before an eighteen-wheeler pulled to the side of the road. “Let me get in first in case the driver’s a pervert,” Reuben said.
What have I gotten myself into? Fiona thought as she pulled herself into the cab.
He was a large man with a belly that competed for space with the steering wheel. Wisps of colorless hair poked from under a red cap that read GUARDIAN TRUCKING. Bloodshot blue eyes peered out between layers of unshaven fat. “Where you folks headin?”
“DC, man,” Reuben said.
“Ain’t goin’ that fur, but I’ll take youse ta Harrisburg. From there, ya wanna get on eighty-three south.”
“Works for us,” Reuben replied.
Fiona nudged Reuben, whispering, “I thought we were going down ninety-five.”
Reuben mouthed, It’s okay.
Turning to the driver, he said, “I’m Rube, and this is Fee. Have a smoke?” He passed his open pack of Marlboros to their chauffeur.
Rube? Fee? Where did that come from?
“They call me Bug,” the driver said, taking a cigarette. “Suppose youse are headin’ to the demonstration.”
“Right on.” Reuben continued to play it cool.
“Me, I served in K’rea. Can’t say’s I like your long-haired polly-ticks, but this here’s still America. Got the right to free speech an’ all.”
Fiona worried Reuben would start a political argument with their driver, but he remained as neutral as someone with Reuben’s convictions could be.
“I do the east–west run ev’ry week. Gives me lotsa thinkin’ time. I consider m’self a highway philosopher. Here’s what I gotta say.” Bug paused as he downshifted.
“Back in my day, we was proud to serve our country. We was fightin’ fur freedom, fur democracy, all that malarky. T’day, I ain’t so sure what the fightin’s about. I don’t say that ta many folks, but seein’ as you’s headin’ ta Washington, I’m bein’ honest. I didn’t like them National Guards shootin’ innocent kids one bit.”
“That’s why we’re marching,” Reuben said, relieved at Bug’s support.
“We got a coupla hours ’fore Harrisburg. Lemme tell ya ‘bout my family. Gits kinda lonesome drivin’ this rig. Open the glove box. Gotta scrapbook of the wife and kiddies.”
The change of subject allowed them all to relax. Bug was rough around the edges by Fiona’s standards but more intelligent than she’d given him credit for at the start of their trip. The three talked about family, friends, and travel. By the time they reached Harrisburg, Fiona was sorry to say good-bye.
“I’ll be thinkin’ a youse on Sat’day. Stay away from them Guardsmen, an’ I’ll look fur ya on TV.” Bug slapped Reuben on the back as they said good-bye.
They managed to score two short rides through convoluted roadways, eventually getting dropped off near the entrance to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. It was nearly five o’clock. The trip had taken longer than expected.
“We’ve got about a hundred twenty-five miles to go. We need to find somebody going straight to DC. Otherwise, we’re screwed,” Reuben said. “I don’t want to be out on the road at night, do you?”
“I told you we should have left earlier. If the cops don’t get us, the bears will,” Fiona fumed. She imagined the headlines: “College Students Dead on Interstate,” “Young Couple Found Brutally Beaten,” “Bears Attack Hitchhikers.”
“Don’t worry, lassie. We’ll be fine,” Reuben said.
“And what if we’re not? What if nobody picks us up?”
“Are you kidding me? There have to be thousands of people like us on their way to DC.” Reuben’s pep talk was as much for him as it was for Fiona.
No amount of arguing would change their situation. Instead, she began visualizing someone coming to their rescue.
After about thirty minutes, a blue-and-white Volkswagen van pulled to the side of the road. Garish geometric neon designs decorated the sides of the vehicle. A giant peace sign obscured the rear window.
“We’re saved!” Reuben shouted. “C’mon!”
As they jumped into the side door of the van, they were hit with the overpowering stench of unwashed bodies laced with incense and hashish. The driver, a young, lanky guy wearing a red bandana around black frizzy hair, turned and said, “Welcome to our pad. Where you cats headin’?”
“DC, man,” Reuben replied. “What about you?”
“Maryland Line, ‘bout fifty miles. Make yourselves at home.” He pulled into traffic without checking the rearview mirror.
Fiona wondered if she could endure the stench for that long.
