Pagan Babies by Greg Johnson

Author:Greg Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pagan Babies
ISBN: 978-1-4804-4027-2
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 1993-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Janice took forever to get ready, she was slow and disorganized and forgetful, always asking for “just one more minute”—she needed to do “just one more little thing”—before disappearing into the bathroom again. By the time Clifford finishes loading the car, checking the doors and windows, putting the key under a large white rock in the backyard to be retrieved by the landlord, Janice is still “not quite” ready, she isn’t even dressed yet, her hairbrush and face cream and body oil are still spread along the top of the sink, and so Clifford returns to the bathroom door and says smartly, “Hey, what happened to the natural look? Come on, Janice, we’re just going to be driving all day—no one’s going to see you.”

She looks over, smirking, wrinkling her nose in a way that reminds him of that college kid, that poor sweet-faced doomed Brandon, and so Clifford hurries forward with an empty garbage bag and begins unceremoniously dumping Janice’s things inside. He takes the bag and stuffs it inside the trunk with all their other things, and then takes the wrinkled map of “The Southern United States” out of his back pocket and unfolds it for the umpteenth time—for he’s nervous, unaccountably nervous, his hands shaking as he holds the map so that he can’t quite focus. He finds southeastern Texas but can’t make out where they are, exactly, much less where they’re going, and as he sits sideways in the front seat with his sneakers digging aimless patterns in the graveled driveway, Janice finally comes out, hesitating on the front porch, squinting out at Clifford.

On this mild balmy gray April morning Janice is a vision, abrupt and powerful, a sudden unexpected apparition in a white jumper and skirt, the skirt very short, and a pair of white sandals, and a matching necklace and bracelet—oversized white-and-crimson beads, Janice calls them her “bangles”—and a white leather handbag with a long strap, flapping at her side. On either side of her face she has brushed her hair long and straight, the part very neat in the center of her head, and as she grins and starts toward him Clifford thinks, She looks like a kid, still—like that girl back in junior high, like a little girl at her First Holy Communion. He’s wearing an old pair of jeans and a black T-shirt, he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and when Janice gets to the car he stands awkwardly and asks, “Why’re you so dressed up?”

She puts one palm on each of his cheeks and brings her face toward him, crushing the map as their bodies press together and Clifford’s arms respond, reflexively, gathering her close, and after a long wet kiss she steps back and says, “Why the hell not? This is a pretty big day, isn’t it? Like, the biggest day of my life?”

She’s jocular and grinning but also serious, he sees that; he sees the look of hope, of childlike desperation, in her wide longish blue eyes.

“Of

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