Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 2 ≈

Fire season passed in a smoky blur. Given her air liaison cert on top of her natural talent for whipping order out of chaos, she got tagged not just for local fires, but detailed to an inter-regional overhead crew as supply chief. She volunteered to do nights in camp and logged so much OT that the checks astounded her. By September, she'd banked more money than Moms ever had at one time.

But she barely caught sight of Slim and was lucky to have enough time for a short walk in the woods with Gris before collapsing. When she came home to the yurt, the dog would not just whine, but howl at the sight of her. Slim was more reticent, but she could tell he missed her. More than that, he needed her, and suffered her absence. That made her feel wonderful and guilty at the same time.

Then it was time to leave for Salt Lake and college. She found an attic apartment in a ramshackle house on the Avenues where she could keep a dog. Ginger was bunking with Krista, in a nice brick house south of Westminster College, which was a bit too far for Mary to walk to the U, up on the slope. Besides, Mary wanted some quiet and Ginger was the opposite of quiet.

Slim drove down on his days off and settled in, one of his talents. He helped her put up bookshelves and comb the flea markets for a table, chairs, rugs, and such. When he left for Jackson and work, she had a crying fit that surprised both of them. But the sharp gusts of memory that knocked her off balance grew fewer as she adjusted to classes and the university atmosphere.

One Saturday, they were practicing— Mary, Ginger, and Krista— in the brick house when someone banged on the door.

"Cops," Ginger spat. "Neighbors turned us in, the rat-bassets."

Krista opened the door and there was a girl, a Chinese girl dressed like a punk, grinning like mad.

"You guys are so-o-o-o hot," she said, "but you need a drummer."

After a cup of tea and some chatter, she trooped off and returned in an old van with her drum kit, which she set up in a dash. She did some rolls and paradiddles, crisp as parchment, to loosen up, and then said "Let's do it!"

A couple hours on, they were still at it and the neighbors did bang at the door. Apologies tendered, they sat around the table with fresh cups of tea.

"You guys are straightedge, yes?" the girl said.

"When we're on duty," Ginger smirked. "Some of us are on duty all the time."

"You didn't tell us your name—I'm Mary."

"Hey! I'm Mary, too. Mary Lou."

"Consolata Mary Browne."

"Consolata? What's that?"

"Catholic thing— means comforting."

"My folks named me Mary Lou Liu— which means that people laugh. When my Dad came to America, there was this song he heard: Hello, Mary Lou."

"Ricky Nelson," Krista said. "Great song! We all have band-names. Mel— Melisse Rozier— is Ginger Twist. Mary is Virgin Mary, Holy Virgin, et cetera. I'm Suction— no comments, please."

"So! Am I, like, in?" the girl said, beaming.

They exchanged glances and nodded happily.

"Hokay— you can call me Lulu."