Better Homes and Gardens

By Garrett Ivn Coln

I
December, 1968
School was nearly out. For the day. For the year. For the rest of my
life. Mrs. Herron's eighth grade English class was twenty-two seconds
away from escaping the wretched resonance of her overgrown
fingernails grinding against the scuffed classroom blackboard. The
seconds were disintegrating away as a group of boys in the back of the
room began a countdown, disregarding Mrs. Herrons attempt to stop
them. Ten. Tick. Nine. Tick. Eight. Tick. A final nudge on the shoulder
from Charlie, the class creep, leaning over my shoulder from behind my
desk and insisting that I write him over winter. Five. Tick. Four. Tick. The
last few spitballs fired from the back of the class, extra soggy, courtesy
of the back-of-the-class kids. One last assemblage of paper balls
launched past me, just before the final ring of the bell triggered a
momentary cease-fire, followed by the anticipated rampage of Oak
Ridge Middle School students. Classroom doors began to swing open,
stampedes of children being set free for the season. Marcia Dennings
and I were the last two girls to leave the classroom, shadowed by the
lanky silhouette of Mrs. Herronthe sound of her clacking heels
overpowering even the loudest of students. Dozens of black armbands
were being flung into the air, many of which bore a white peace sign. It
was a frigid afternoon in Thorne Valley, one of the loneliest towns in all
of Iowa, and it became increasingly cold as the days vanished.

I walked home that day, as I did every daycold, alone, and free
to breathe in the air of life for the better part of a mile. The wind was
harsh, and the last of the leaves were collapsing from their trees as I
walked along the road. The seasonal snow was just beginning to fall. I
lived on the left side of Redwood Drive, and so I walked on the left side
of the street. Cracked and crumbled concrete for a sidewalk, potholes
along the asphalt, and moss bleeding through every crevice in sight.
Marcia Dennings and I walked a similar path, though we hardly talked to
each other. Each and every weekday afternoon, as soon as we
approached Redwood, she took a right, and I made a dreaded left.
Enjoy your winter on the left side, if you can, she sarcastically
shouted, then giggled.
Marcia always knew what to say. She always knew exactly how to
tear me into tiny pieces, much like the deteriorated sidewalkcrumbled
at every corner. The right side of Redwood Drive was beautiful. Homes
of all shapes and sizes, though they were all equally gorgeous. The
landscape was always intact, always fresh, always inviting. In the
distance, the eastbound lake, Lake Ella, was absolutely breathtaking. To
welcome each new day, each and every morning, the sun rose from the
east, directly over Lake Ella. The westbound lake, Lake Arlen, belonged
to the left side of Redwood Drive, and it wasnt so beautiful.
I continued to walk, in shame, letting every last word of Marcias
comment sink beneath my skin. It was cold outside, but the house that I

lived in was always colder, so I went hometo Lake Arlen. As much as I

admired the distant view of Lake Ella, I wouldnt be caught dead on that
side of Redwood. Despite my hopes and dreams of, one day, seeing the
light on the right side, Id come to know my own lake as my home. That
afternoon, I walked the lake for hours, letting the time pass, allowing the
only peace Id ever known completely submerge me. The land
surrounding the lake was as vacant as it had always been. There were
rocksrocks everywhere. I began carving letters and faces into tree
bark, skipping rocks along the lake, and keeping the prettiest ones in my
pocket to bring back to the house that I lived in. I sat by the edge of the
lake and peeked over the still water, where I saw my own reflection. Id
frequently stare into my own reflectiona constant reminder that there
was someone there for me through anything and everything. Because
depending on my own family was much like a lion depending on its
young cub to retrieve supper for the pack. In fact, thats exactly what it
was like, which reminded me that I had to start preparing our meal for
that evening.
As I treaded on back to the house that I lived in, Id toss up and
catch one of the rocks that I found at Arlen to let the time pass. I
creaked open the front door, the outside of which was a moss garden,
the inside decorated with an abstract assortment of dents, chipped
wood, and knife carvings. Walking my way through an airless flow of
cigarette smoke toward the kitchen, I could hear and see the blare of

news coverage and the seizure-inducing flash of the television coming

from down the hall. The front door was nearly in direct line of the
hallway leading to the family rooman angle that allowed me to see no
more than the left resting arm of the couch, holding the weight of a
hairy arm firmly gripping onto a bottle of low-end whiskey. I heard my
younger sisters voice as I approached the kitchen.
Hey Dannie.
Coming as no surprise, Marla had already started getting supper
ready. Shed been home for nearly an hour by the time the middle
school side of Oak Ridge was let out. Oak Ridge housed most of Thorne
Valleys elementary, middle, and high school kids, all in separate
buildings.
Ongoing efforts to receive information regarding United States
prisoners being

held captive by the North Vietnamese remain, for the

most part, unsuccessful.

One of the few Americans recently

released from captivity has made use of his

acclaimed photographic

memory by tape-recording the recalled names and faces

of over fifty

prisoners still being held. At this time, their families have been
notified.
Marla and I often listened in on the news surrounding the Vietnam
War, even though we werent exactly supposed to. Rumbling from our
father would progressively evolve into shouting, and the rattling that

followed from the pressure of his fist aggressively slamming against the
coffee table amplified down the hall.
Dannie can you please help me get the skillet down please?
With all my strength, I gripped my two arms around Marlas waist, lifted
her, and leaned back, allowing her to pull the skillet off of the rusted pot
rack.
Youre getting heavy, Mar. Wheres your step stool?
I dunno. Ma needed it. She swiped it from under me while I was
trying to get the boiling pot earlier.
Bonding with my younger sister was the only thing that ever
brought me a sense of joy in that house that I lived in. She was a little
me. So much of her was me, and so much of me was her, too. We both
resembled our motherbrown eyes, dark brown hair, often mistaken for
black from any further than ten feet away, and butter-white skin that
demanded a tan, but couldnt get one without making lobsters of
ourselves. She was all that I had left, ever since my brother was drafted
into the war in early 66. A few of the boys on our side of Redwood went
off to war with James, too. They were close friends of James that swore
to stay by each others sides through anythingthe kind of friendship
that Id always wanted, but my mother would never allow. James was
just a rebelmilitary material, one might say, so he would do whatever
he wanted. By the time he turned 18, he was fed up with the system,
fed up with Oak Ridge, with Thorne Valley, with our side of Redwood

Drive, our familyhe wanted out. I didnt blame him. To forget the day
that he departed would be impossible. It was the loudest slam of a front
door that Id ever heard before.
Marla and me would always eat dinner together at the little round
table in the kitchen, since our parents didnt eat with us. Without a
word, Dad would grab his plate, a beer, and bring it back into the living
room. Mom would take her food to her room and eat in sheer solitude.
Ritual will tell that after every supper, Id go upstairs to my room,
initiating a trail of creaks from all but one of the moldy wooden steps. Id
usually talk to James for a while each night, before going to bed. While
in his room, he was often quiet and kept to himself. Something about his
ongoing interest in the military gave me comfort and security that I
hadnt found elsewhere in the house, which always made me smile. The
walls of his room were decorated with all sorts of flags, military and rock
band posters, collected pocket knivesall kinds of manly boy stuff.
When he left, Id still visit his room before going to my own. Everything
was still as it was from before he was drafted, except the room was filled
with darkness, emptiness. Marla would never come into his room with
meit was always too scary for her. When James left, it sunk in right
away. Id often find myself on his floor, in tears, realizing that the
comfort and security Id once felt from his presence had walked out the
door with him.

Soon after he went, I made friends with a girl next door to me

her room window parallel to my brothers window. Id found her with her
arms crossed on the windowsill, resting her head and looking down at
the ground with a face of gloom that resembled my own, so I opened
Jamess window and waved for her attention. We would meet at the
window at around 6:30 in the eveningevery evening. It wasnt until
about a week into our friendship that we discovered each others
names.
By the way, what is your name? I heavily whispered across the
window.
Kristina. But you could call me Kristy if you want.
Kristy was a few years younger than me. She was about Marlas
age.
Im Danielle, I told her, but everyone just calls me Dannie.
Kristys smile shone from across the patch of grass that separated
our homes. It was a one of a kind smile that lit up the entire left side of
Redwood Drive. Unfortunately, it was also a smile that was seldom seen
in her home. She would tell me stories of a careless pair of parents, an
abusive teenage brother, and her pet rock, Jenny. Kristy was of a frail
mind and bodynot by nature, but by neglect. Shed usually keep her
pet rock on the floor next to the box spring that she slept on. Soon
enough into our friendship, she began to leave it on her windowsill at

night, the crooked marker-drawn smile and eyes facing in my direction

to take place of Kristys absence.
As the days, weeks, and months passed, she would detail nearly
every aspect of her life to me, and I would exchange the same. Kristys
dark history of abuse and abandonment made me realize that perhaps
things werent so bad on my side of the grass patch. I was brought to a
point of realization that others had it much worse than myself, and I felt
for her. I yearned to hug Kristy after each of her devastating anecdotes,
though her parents would never allow her out of that prison of a home.
From time to time, from Jamess window, Id catch glimpses of her father
or brother barging into her room and beating her around for forgetting
to do something or another. They would throw dirty dishware at her wall,
merely out of frustration. Her parents were almost always in a heated
feud. Her brother was an addict; her fatheran alcoholic. Id never
heard those penetrating screams and shouts until Id opened my eyes to
the reality of what was happening just across from Jamess window. As
time went on, I began to learn to appreciate the little that I had, but it
wasnt enough for me to just accept my secret friends misfortune. I
couldnt tell anyone. My parents would care less. I didnt want to
frighten Marlashed already been afraid of Jamess room as it was. I
couldnt contact the police without Mom and Dad knowing, and even
then, they wouldnt allow me to. This went onand onand on. Kristy
bore a new bruise nearly every time wed meet at the window. She

began forcing her smiles. Enough forced smiles and forged happiness
ought to make a young girl fall apart, and thats exactly what happened.
She began to cry when we would meet at the window. Kristy cried to
me. She cried to methe only remaining source of this ten-year-olds
happiness. Watching what happened behind that window was like
watching the worst movie anyone could possibly imagineonly this was
real life.

II
There was one night, in particular, that I knew Id never forget.
After supper, Id climbed my way up the stairs, to Jamess room window,
at our usual 6:30. It was a cool and rainy evening. Kristys window, for
the first time in weeks, was sealed shut and foggy. Realizing that she
wasnt there waiting for me triggered something wrong in my mind. All I
could distinguish was a slow-burning candle on Kristys windowsill, two
inches beside a now sad-faced Jenny, dotted markings under the drawnin eyes, representing tears, and a gut-wrenching speech bubble drawn
from the newly-made frown that read: help me.
That would be the last that I would take of the nightmare. My
parents hadnt been home on that particular evening. At the top of my
young lungs, I cried out for Marla. As I began to hear her bare footsteps

10

pounding against the wooden floor, I realized that she ran right past
Jamess room and into mine.
Im in here!
Where is here?
In Jamess, I told her, as I pried open his rope-tied closet door
with one of his pocket knives.
Im not going in there, she asserted.
You need to. I need you.
I said Im not goi
Dammit, get in here Mar! This isnt a game.
No! Its too dark in here and theres alotta weird scary stuff. All
power had been cut off in Jamess room, after he was drafted.
Fine. Whatever. Stay by the door and put this on. I tossed her a
jet-black wrist band with a white cookie-sized peace sign printed on it,
then pulled one onto my own wrist. I found an entire case of them in
Jamess closet.
What is this? she demanded.
Rule number one for the night, Marla, dont ask any questions.
Please.
Look I dunno what youre up to but you better tell me or
I shushed Marla as I stuffed the pocket knife and rope into my
jacket pocket. I grabbed black beanies for each of us.
Go put your shoes on, Mar. Were going out.

11

Wheres out?
Next door. Now go getchur stuff!
To my surprise, she began to listen. I stood by the front door and
waited for her, clenching a small backpack of runaway essentials. It was
time for a mission of my own. It was still raining, but that wasnt going
to stop me. Id felt, for the first time, as if Jamess courage and ambition
were shining through me, all the way from Nam. As Marla ran down the
steps, creak after annoying little creak, I opened the door and grabbed
her arm, stepped out, and closed the door, though something didnt feel
quite right.
Wait! Hold on, I shouted.
You forget something?
Yeah, I told her, let me do this the right way.
I opened the front door, and in Jamess name, slammed it shut
with all of my barely-teenage strength.
Marla gave me an unusual look. Youre an odd one Dannie. But I
love you.
I grabbed her arm as we treaded through the small puddles along
our yard, making a quick left around the side of the house. Dads ladder
had still been leaning against the roof from the previous week.
I pointed. Mar! Get on that side of the ladder and lift with me!
What are we even doing? she questioned.
Were being heroes! Just trust me on this.

12

I hardly trust you with supper!

With all of our might, we carried the ladder to the opposite house,
against the brutal wind, nearly banging the top portion of it against
Kristys window. We pulled either side of the ladder, allowing it to spread
apart.
Dannie are we breaking in this house?! Is that why you gave me
this beanie? Whats even in that backpack? I dont wanna be a part of
this Dannie. I still have a future!
Whatd I tell you about asking questions Mar? I reminded her as
I worked my way up the ladder.
When I finally made it to the top, I cupped my hands around my
face and placed myself against her window. I could see Kristys shadow,
curled up, with her knees tightly pressed against her chest. I knocked
gently, then a little louder, and louder still. Kristy ran to the window, just
as I motioned her to open it, her nose and cheeks bloodied.
I cant, I faintly heard over the falling rain.
She pointed to two locked chains, leaning against the window,
preventing her from opening it. I reached into my jacket for the pocket
knife and started to pound the bottom end of the knife into her window,
as a look of intense fear wiped across Kristys bloody, crying face. She
motioned me to stop.
Trust me on this, Kristy! I shouted through the lightly frosted
glass.

13

Despite her concern, I kept goingand goingand finally, a big

enough hole was created, which allowed me to hand over the knife.
Cut the chain links! I whispered through the shattered opening.
Her deep stare of excitement and concern overwhelmed her, but
time wasnt on our side.
Go ahead! Do it! I smiled into her eyes, handing her a tissue
from my pack.
The poor girl was speechless. She began working at the chain
links, her weak body only allowing her to offer so much strength. Once
she finally removed both chains, she pulled up the window with all of
her remaining girl-power, leaned through the window, and gave me a
brittle hug that had been a long time coming.
Who is that? I heard from the bottom of the ladder.
I looked down and placed a finger over my mouth, letting Marla
know to stay quiet.
By the time I looked back up, Kristy was already putting her shoes
on. She grabbed a notebook, presumably her diary, blew out the candle
on the windowsill, and gently stepped over. I went down a few steps,
holding her by the hand and helping her shaky body move onto the
ladder.
Wait!
What is it? I asked.

14

She reached over and grabbed a hold of her pet rock, Jenny.
Okay. Im good.
We slowly made our way down, Marla tightly holding the base of
the ladder to help stabilize us. At that point, it had just come to my
realization that the rain was slowly letting up. When we finally touched
ground, Kristy smiled and gave me another hug. She hugged Marla, as
well.
Thank you, Kristy mumbled through her weeping voice,
progressively allowing her first real smile to take shape.
Do you think your parents mighta heard us? I asked.
Dunno. What are we going to do?
Were gonna find our happiness, Kristy. Your happiness. Im not
sure when. Not sure how. Heck, Im not even sure where. But were
going to get there. Were gonna get whats ours.
She smileda look of concern about the future still hinting from
her expression.
We heard a piercing scream break out from the direction of
Kristys window, followed by a deep shout of her name.
Lets go! I whispered to both.
And so we ranwe ran down Redwood Drive, splashing our way
through puddles, and we didnt stop until we were sure that we wouldnt
be found. We drained ourselves to the point of walking. I took out three
packages of Pop-Tarts that Id kept in my pack and gave one to each of

15

the two girls, keeping one of the packages to myself. When I glanced
over and looked into Kristys hungry eyes, I couldnt help offering her
one of my two Pop-Tarts. She smiled, dried tears still traced from each of
her two candy-blue eyes. At the time, I hadnt a clue of where we would
go or where we would end up. We just had to get away by any means
necessary. All I know is, somehow, we made it to where we are now in
life, and thats what matters the most.
So where do we even go from here? Marla wondered out loud.
We go wherever it takes us.
Wherever what takes us? she persisted.
Hope.

16