July 1976
Sometimes Dean took the van and left for the day on what he called “treasure runs.” You never knew where he was going or what
he would come back with. Batteries for the radio. Two boxes of Hershey Bars. A big floppy sun hat. A crate of canned chicken
noodle soup. Six new pillows. Big bottles of cheap wine. Twister (that was popular). Anything at all could be the cause of
a celebration. Someone found a ball on the road. Someone saw a balloon go by. It was cool. It was hot. It was rainy. It was
sunny.
Which was why, one morning in July, Blue was surprised at the reception she got when she told them something. Everyone was
sitting outside on the grass, plates of pancakes that Blue had made on their laps.
“It’s my birthday today,” Blue said, grinning widely. “I’m twenty.”
Dean picked up half a pancake, folded it, and stuck it into his mouth. He set his plate aside and rubbed his fingers together.
“Okay,” he said. “What do you want us to do?”
“Want?” Oh. They thought she wanted gifts. Blue was instantly mortified. “Nothing. I don’t want anything. I just . . .”
“So why bring it up?”
“I just . . . that’s what you do.”
“I don’t,” he said.
A little snicker from somewhere. Blue felt a nervous chill.
“Denver,” he asked. “Do you bring up your birthday?”
“Nope,” she said, popping a blueberry into her mouth.
“Cat, how about you?”
“Nope,” Cat said.
“Lacey?”
Lacey snorted in reply. Blue got the point.
“Sorry,” she said.
“No, no. You don’t have to apologize. You never have to apologize. I was just wondering why you mentioned it. Does it matter
a lot to you? If it means a lot to you, we’ll celebrate.”
“It doesn’t mean a lot to me,” she said. “I just . . . I don’t know.”
He pointed a finger at her, indicating that she had said the right thing.
“You don’t know. There it is. See, this is how the game works. They get you doing things and you don’t even know why. They
make it so you can have one day, when you should have every day. Every day is your birthday. Every day is a new start. Every day. There, just then, when you said you didn’t know, you stopped playing the game.”
The mood relaxed, and smiles returned. Blue had done the right thing, apparently, even though she didn’t really understand what the hell that was.
They went about their business. Lacey mended clothes. Sally and Cat worked in the garden. Denver followed Dean to the hammock,
which was where they spent most mornings and many afternoons as well, discussing the business of the group (which looked a
lot like napping sometimes, or just sitting and getting stoned). Sweet Jane helped Blue collect the plates and take them back
to the kitchen.
“It’s okay,” Jane said, a friendly smile spreading over her freckled face. “This is what it’s all about. Learning. I did the
same thing; I mentioned my birthday.”
“I still don’t really get why it’s bad,” Blue said quietly.
“It’s like Dean said. It’s part of the old game. You’re playing the new game. You’re in control. That’s what Dean teaches
us, about having control of ourselves. Remember what I told you about talking about our lives before?”
“But it’s just a birthday,” Blue said.
Dean had come up behind them without Blue realizing it. He leaned against the counter, spreading his arms wide for support.
“Hey, Sweet sweet Jane. Give us a second.”
Jane evaporated into the sunlight.
“You’re a good cook, Blue,” Dean said, smiling a long, slow smile and stroking her hair.
“You make decent bread. Now imagine that’s all you’ve got.
Just you and your bread. You want to be back there, back in that apartment, with people who don’t even look up when you move out?
Parents who think you’re a freak and a failure?
Nobody by your side? You want that again?
You remember how cold it was? Not just outside. Inside. Remember?”
She did remember all that. The sadness. The crush of the loneliness and the long, empty days.
“There are rules, baby Blue,” he said softly.
He was twisting a lock of her hair around his hand, at first gently, and then with a bit more firmness that made her scalp
start to hum in protest.
“I didn’t really know there were rules,” she said. “I thought we were against rules. Rules are part of games, right?”
Dean’s smile stretched farther, until his lips made a fine edge.
“Rules exist in nature. Laws. Like gravity. There’s no game in gravity, is there?”
“No,” she said softly.
“No. No game in gravity. No games in the laws of motion. An object at rest stays at rest. The rate of change, well, that’s
related to the amount of force applied. And for every action . . .”
A subtle tug of the hair.
“. . . an equal and opposite reaction.”
The hair was released.
“Even the Bible has some laws worth obeying. Thou shalt not covet—all that desire’s going to tear you up. Give up your jealousy
and your want. Don’t try to own everything. That’s why we give away what we take.”
“Thou shalt not kill,” she said.
His smile twisted into something that resembled pleasure.
“Now you’re getting it. There can be good rules, ones that keep us all safe, keep our family together. You get it now.”
“Yes,” she said. She sort of did, sort of didn’t. All she did was mention her birthday. What mattered was that he said she
got it and he was back to stroking her hair.
“I know you,” he said. “You have such a strong spirit. That’s why you’re Blue. Blue like the sky. Blue like the ocean. I knew
when I met you that you were special—you might be the most special of us all. You feed people. You nourish people.”
“I’m not special,” she said.
At this, Dean beamed warm and true. The muscles in Blue’s jaw and shoulders relaxed; she didn’t know she was holding them
so tight.
“There’s our Blue,” he said.