Turning Season

 

 

“I’m gonna get married,” she said.

Her name was Madeleine Stephanies; she was 17, she was blonde, and beautiful. Her skin was made of porcelain, her eyes were blue candies, and she had gentle, sloping curves which assumed modesty suggested something more -- and she was sitting in the passenger seat of George Hallam’s car. George was messy, lanky, 18, and seemingly unfit to be in Madeleine’s presence. Where Madeleine was blonde and beautiful, George had a large brown fop of hair, a thin, wheat colored beard, and a 1994 Toyota Corolla. Bags full of fast food wrappers had been stuffed sloppily beneath seats before Madeleine was allowed to come into the car, but George had forgotten one empty Cola can, which seemed to eye him warily from the backseat.

He slumped across his steering wheel, and was confounded.

“What?” George asked, looking stunned and a little defeated at her announcement.

“I’m going to get married,” Madeleine repeated simply. “I love him, George, and I’m gonna marry him.”

“You’re 17,” George said. “You can’t get married. I don’t even think it’s legal.”

“It’s legal,” Madeleine assured him. “It’s legal, and I’m gonna do it. We already looked at an apartment, and we’re gonna move in together.”

“Where is it?”

“Near Sedgeway, on 216th,” she said. “It’s a nice little place. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen with an island, even, and there’s an outdoor pool in the front.”

George looked pained. His hands flexed, whitened, relaxed again. “How are you gonna afford that?” he asked her. “How?”

“We did the math,” she said, a little defensively. “We’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“What about college? What about your future?”

“What about it? I have the grades,” she said. “I can get scholarships.”

“Jesus Christ,” George said, running hands through his hair. “You’re gonna get married?”

“I know, right?” she laughed drily. “He proposed to me last night.”

“Oh yeah?”  

“Mhhm,” Madeleine said, reclining in her seat. “He took me out by Oakway pond. It was black out, and all we could see were the city lights,” she said. “And then he took me by the hand, and he looked at me and said ‘Madeleine, I want to tell you something.’ And all of a sudden, I don’t know how he did it, but he turned on a bunch of lights; before we went he’d set up a bunch of Christmas lights around the trees and bushes and stuff. They were the plain white kind.”

“So he gets down on one knee, and by then I know what’s happening, but I couldn’t believe it. And he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the box, and he opens it, and there’s a ring; and I’m just crying, and crying, and I couldn’t even hear him when he asked me if I wanted to marry him. I just kept saying ‘Yes,’ over and over again.”

“Oh,” George said. He was starry-gazed, watching a girl walk with her boyfriend on the adjacent sidewalk. They were saying hello to a man in a ditch. He was picking up trash from the ditches lining the road, putting what he found into a large, white garbage bag. He was old and bald, and was wearing a dirty suede coat. A dog’s leash was tired to his wrist; a heavyset Labrador Retriever followed. The man and his dog looked jolly enough together, and the girl and her boyfriend kept looking back at the two, that odd couple on the street.

“It was amazing,” Madeleine sighed, turning George’s attention toward her again. “It really was.”

“When’s the big day?” George asked.

“I dunno. I haven’t figured it out yet -- I mean, we haven’t figured it out yet,” she corrected herself. “Probably in the next few weeks.”

“Your parents know?”

“Not yet,” Madeleine said spitefully. “And I don’t care if they know or not. I don’t want them at my wedding.”

“Do his parents even know?” George asked incredulously.

“I don’t know,” Madeleine said, and she turned to George. “I’m getting a feeling here that you’re against this.”

“Well it doesn’t sound like you planned it very well,” George said wryly.

“Oh, my God, George,” Madeleine said, rolling her eyes. “You and your goddam plans. You can’t just ease up. Be happy for me, you know? Live a little.”

“I do,” George replied angrily. “I do live a little. I do things I like doing, and I have plans, and I go to school. I can balance everything that I want to do with my life. What I don’t do is propose to some girl I’ve been dating for only six months. That’s stupid. How long do you expect your marriage to last?”

“As long as I want it to,” Madeleine said hotly. “It’s not like I’m throwing my life away or anything. And we’re not gonna have kids, for God’s sake.”

“You’re getting married,” George contested. “It’s not like moving out and dating. You’re signing your life over to this guy. Marriage is a contract, Madeleine, and Jesus Christ, you’re not taking this seriously enough.”

“Not taking what seriously enough? I do love him,” she said, and her eyes were reddening. “I really do. It’s not like I’m getting married to some stranger or something.”

“Oh, Jesus,” George said, hands perpetually tearing at his hair. “Jesus, Jesus.”

“I know what it is,” Madeleine said. “It’s because it’s him. You don’t like him because he’s with me, and you’re not.”

“What?” George snapped.

“I know you,” Madeleine said, and in her eyes George saw her unraveling the long and tenuous yarn that was their friendship. He knew what she was going to say, and did not want to hear it.
 

“I know you’ve always liked me, George, it’s been so obvious, even since we were Freshmen I knew. You were always tagging along, always coming to my Volleyball games, buying me things you couldn’t afford, asking me to dances. And I’ve always said no. I’ve always thought of you as a friend.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” George said. “I’ve sat through fifteen different guys, I’ve listened to you talk about all of them, and I’ve never objected. I’ve always been there for you. But I can’t stand for this. It’s really stupid. I mean, you’ve ran away, you’ve partied, you’ve done all sorts of things-- I never said a word. But this--” George shook his head, straining to find an answer.

“Why can’t you just grow up?” he finally asked her, pleaded with her. “You don’t know this guy. You’ve dated him for six months. Think with your head, for once. Please.”

“Why can’t you grow up?” she shouted at him, furious. “Just be a man and admit it. Admit you like me.”

“Oh, you childish bitch,” George snapped, and he regretted it immediately as she burst into tears.

“Why are you like this?” Madeleine asked him, and now she was the one pleading. “You’re my best friend. Why can’t you just be happy for me?” George paused, relented, looked pained again, resumed his clench on the steering wheel-- and finally:

“You’re not thinking things through,” George said firmly, and Madeleine opened her door, about to leave.

“You’re so stupid,” she said through watery eyes, “so goddam stupid,” she said and then she really was leaving.

“Wait--” George said, and she turned back to him hopefully. But he never said anything else. He kept his hands on his steering wheel, and they stayed there. She closed the door to his Corolla, and he glanced up to see her walking away -- he kept watching until she turned a corner, and was gone. His hands remained rooted to the wheel. The Cola can in his backseat seemed almost apologetic. It was just them now.

Suddenly George heard a knock on his windshield. It was the ditch man and his dog. George rolled his window down.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” the man said. He had a toothy grin.

“Yes?” George asked him.

“Your gas hatch is open,” the ditch man said. “Been open this whole time. I’ve been making my way over here to tell you about it.”

“Oh--” George checked his rearview mirror and found it was true. He had filled up his tank just before meeting Madeleine. “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll close it.”

“It’s alright, I’ll get it,” the ditch man said, and he walked over to shut it for him.

George thought he would leave, but the ditch man came idling back up to his window.

“What’s up?” George asked.

“It’s a beautiful season, isn’t it?” The ditch man asked. “Fall. It’s a turning season, you know. The leaves turn all golden and yellow and red. The weather turns sunny and rainy. Fall and Spring-- They’re turning seasons.”

“Yeah, I suppose they are,” George said.

“Leaves shrivel up and die. Insects do the same.”

“I suppose,” George said.

The ditch man sighed, and gave the sky a contemplating once-over. “Who knew death could be so beautiful?” he asked, more to himself than anyone else, and then he gave a tug on the dog’s leash and walked away.

George rolled up his window, and started the car. The engine stalled once or twice, and after another guttural whine it was running. The heater turned itself back on. George’s hands, on the steering wheel, were white again, then flushed red as he relaxed them. He laughed, hysterically at first, feeling the heat hit his face and hands -- and then he rested his head against the wheel, and he cried and cried.