Back Door Man

Copyright K Brogan2006

CHAPTER 1

FIGHTERTOWN USA

Fightertown U.S.A. was made famous in the Tom Cruise movie, "Top Gun", but we were familiar with the Naval Air Station, Miramar, California, long before the movie came out. My Dad was a Navy pilot who received orders to report for a teaching position at 'Fightertown' in January, 1977. His orders were for three years, so that meant that my mother, brother and I could actually live in a real house and not Navy housing. We were going to be stationed long enough in one place for it to be more profitable for my parents to purchase a home than to rent.

The new orders meant that, once again, we were being dragged from our schools, our friends, and our home and transplanted to a new environment. My half-brother, Jeff, and I were supposed to suck it up and adapt to the new surroundings, just like we had a dozen times before. Jeff had just graduated from high school, so he was entering college the next semester. He wanted to be a chemical engineer, so he talked Dad into taking him up to register for the fall semester at UCSD.

My parents found a house on Sierra Drive in Rancho Penasquitos, a newer community just North of the Naval base. It was a two story house with Spanish roof tiles. The house was three years old. Next door was a larger, single story house with a big swimming pool in the back that I could see from my upstairs bedroom window. It was a neat pool with a patio off to the side and a big built-in barbeque. The back yard looked like a Hawaiian paradise. Our back yard was rocks, dirt and weeds and it would stay that way until the day I moved out of that house.

When we first moved in, I could hear a lot of yelling next door. It was obviously a father yelling at his son. It happened so often that I learned to ignore it. I tried to concentrate on my diary each night rather than their voices down below. But over the weeks, I began to feel sorry for both of them. They sounded more frustrated with each other than angry. It was if they were talking, but not really communicating to each other what they really wanted to say. Occasionally I would hear a woman interject her voice and ask "John" to "calm down" or "Greg" to "listen to his father." But she sounded sad and desperate when she did.

My Mom didn't yell; she didn't say much at all. She once told me I was a huge disappointment because I didn't want to take ballet or go shopping. She thought that when she had a girl, we would share our souls, play Barbies, shop for clothes, engage in 'girlie' things. I was more into books, music and sci fi. I knew I had disappointed her; I wasn't sure if my Dad had similar feelings. He was rarely home, spending most of his time in the cockpit or at the Officer's Club. My Mom spent most of her time trying to find the bottom of a gin and tonic.

About three months after we moved into the Sierra Drive house, I came home from school and found my Mom's room torn apart and clothes strewn around, but I couldn't find her. I called my Dad who came home right away. After finding anote stuck in a #10 envelope, my Dad started to cry. I was nine years old and it didn't take a genius to know that something was wrong. Turns out Mom ran off with the construction guy that had been working on the roof across the street.

My Dad was very sad so he spent most of his time taking comfort at work. My brother was "in charge" of me, but Jeff was usually stoned on weed most of the time. I ended up learning how to make myself dinner, clean my clothes and get myself to bed. But I didn't have anyone to help me with my homework or tell me why Mom had chosen the contractor over us. I was in advanced classes at school, but I was struggling. We were working on fractions and I was having a hard time dividing a fraction with a fraction. Frustrated, I started crying.

I decided to wait for Dad or Jeff to get home, no matter how late it was. Sitting on the front doorstep, I watched the neighbors come and go. My brother was at his friend's house (probably smoking dope) so I doubted he would be the first one home. He usually stayed out late these days or didn't come home at all. Dad was teaching the fighter pilots some "tricky" maneuvers which meant Dad would be late too.

I could hear an electric guitar playing in the garage next door. The door was partially up and I could see feet and some Keds tennis shoes and an amplifier. I listened to the guitar rifts and wondered who was playing? Could it be John? Was it Greg? I hadn't met our next door neighbors. I had seen a woman on occasion; she was pretty with lovely dark hair. She didn't look at all like my Mom did. She looked graceful and manicured, like she cared what she looked like. There was a military sticker on her car so I knew that her husband must be in the service. She even smiled and waved at me once when she was outside watering the front yard. I waved back.

Our front yard still had patches of green grass, but they were quickly going brown. The planters had weeds and the tropical plants were overgrown. I don't think the neighbors appreciated our landscaping talents. Everyone else's yards were cut, mowed, trimmed, fertilized and green. We had quickly become "those" neighbors; the one family in every neighborhood that everyone else looks down on.

The music stopped next door and the garage door opened up. A skinny guy about mybrother's age stepped out into the driveway. He went over to the 1966 Blue Mustang in the driveway and leaned on it as if he was waiting for someone to come. Wearing 501 levis and a blue plaid cotton shirt, he had shoulder length reddish-brown, wavy hair. I could only see the back of him as he glanced down the street. I sneezed and he whipped around and glared at me. His eyes were blue, this cold, cold, piercing blue. He looked at me as if he could read everything about me. He looked me up and down.

"What are you looking at?" He snarled at me.

"Nothing." I looked away from him and down at my shoes.

He turned back towards the street and sighed. A few minutes later a car drove up and he walked slowly up to the window. He reached in his pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, giving it to the boy in the passenger seat. Another guy in the back handed him a plastic bag or something out the window. The car left and the guy turned around and stared at me again.

"What's your name?" he asked more like a demand than a simple question.

"Maggie." I said.

"Maggie? Or Margaret?"

My voice dropped and I looked down, "Just Maggie."

He walked over to the step I was sitting on and put his foot up. "Man when they say, there goes the neighborhood.' they must be referring to your family. Doesn't your old man water or weed?"

I was nervous, "He's working late."

"What about your Mom?"

"She's not here."

"What do you mean, not here?'"

"She left last month and hasn't been back." I said, still looking down at my shoes.

There was a pause and then he nodded towards my paper, "What's that in your hand?"

"Fractions."

"Let me see." He grabbed my homework out of my hand and looked it over. He scowled, "You've got this one wrong. It's a stupid mistake. You don't multiply here, you multiply this number."

"Why?"

"Because you always multiply the inverse number in these equations. Hand me your pencil." He spent about ten minutes showing me what I was doing wrong and then said. "Don't they teach you anything in school? Or are they all as dumb as you are?"

"I'm not dumb. I'm only in fourth grade and fractions are hard."

He smirked, "Yeah, well, so is life." He started to spin around when he heard a car approaching. "Crap it's the old Flyboy himself."

"Who?" I asked.

He came to a mock attention, "My Dad, he commands the Marine squadron of pilots down at Fightertown." He looked again at his father's car and then at me, "Well, you're boring me, time to go." He started back over to his driveway.

"Hey, what's your name?" I yelled at him.

"Greg, Greg House."

"Thanks Greg." I waved my paper of fractions at him. He rolled his eyes.

I waited on the step for my Dad anyway. With my fractions done, there was nothing for me to do and I was bored. I again sat and watched the neighbors come and go. The lady next door came out, waved at me and then got in her car and drove off. About two hours later she pulled back into her driveway. It was dark but I had the front porch light on. She got out of her car, stopped in her driveway and waved again at me. I waved back. She started to go back inside, looked over her shoulder at me, paused as if she might come over, but changed her mind and continued to go inside.

At 10:30 pm my dad pulled up in our car. He was so handsome. Grey eyes, prematurely grey hair and a nice, warm smile, "Hey Pumpkin, what ya doin sitting out here? You waitin for me?"

"Yeah." I said as he gave me a peck on the cheek. I could smell the beer on his breath.

"What did you have for dinner?"

"I had a sandwich and some soup." I lied, I had forgotten to eat, but I knew he would just get upset if I told him the truth.

"Where's Jeff?"

"You just missed him, he went to his friend's house." Another lie, to protect Jeff.

"Hey kiddo, do you think tomorrow you could do a load of laundry? I need some skivvies."

"Sure Dad."

"Pumpkin, you need to get to sleep, now go to bed. Give me a kiss before you do." I kissed him goodnight and went up to my room.

I heard some yelling from next door. Now I had a face to put with "Greg" and one to put with "John". From then on out, when I would hear voices I would picture them arguing.

About two weeks later there was a knock on our faux Spanish from doors. When I answered it, the pretty woman from next door was standing there. She was in clam diggers and a cotton top.

"Is your Mom home?" she asked while looking behind me for an adult.

"No, ma'am."

"Your Dad?" She asked.

"No, ma'am."

"Are you here alone?"

"My brother Jeff is in his bedroom."

"I see. Can I come in?"

I opened the door for her to come inside. "I'm Mrs. House, I live next door. My son says that your Mom is gone. Is that true?"

"Yes, Ma'am. She left a little over a month ago."

Mrs. House was looking around the room. I tried to keep the house clean, but I couldn't get our vacuum to work anymore. It was plugged up. The kitchen was pretty clean because I had just finished the dishes and wiped down the counter.

"Have you eaten? You look pretty skinny. What's your name?" she said in rapid fire.

"Yes, I've eaten Ma'am. My name is Maggie Malloy."

"What did you eat for dinner?"

"A sandwich and some soup."

"Show me what you put in the sandwich." She was nice but authoritative. I felt like she was a principal and I just got caught cheating. She seemed like she could tell that I was lying.

"I ate it Ma'am. There's nothing left."

"Maggie, I don't think there was a sandwich or soup. Every time I see you you're skinnier. Let me see your refrigerator."

I took her into the kitchen and she opened the refrigerator. She turned up her nose and took out the carton of milk and threw it out. She also grabbed some of the bad vegetables and threw them away. "Honey, there's nothing in here to eat."

"My Dad is going to go to the grocery store when he gets home tonight."

"Honey, it's 7:00 p.m. He won't be going tonight. I want you to come over to my house for a snack and talk to me. Go tell your brother. Ok? Come on."

"Yes, ma'am." I went into my brother's room but he was sleeping. He either slept, smoked dope or played guitar with his buddies. He wouldn't miss me so I went with her next door.

When I stepped into their house, I thought I had walked into one of the Better Homes and Gardens magazine rooms. Occasionally, I would make friends with new kids and get invited to their houses. Their homes would look like this, clean, decorated, nice furniture, sparkling floors. I felt funny being there because I knew my Dad would be upset with me. But I was hungry. Mrs. House sat me at the table while she went into the kitchen. A man with brown and gray hair, the Flyboy that I assumed was Mr. House, came into the dining room and said, "Hi sweetie, who are you?"

"Maggie, sir."

"Oh, you're the little girl next door, right?" he was serious but was still smiling at me.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you Commander Rory Molloy's daughter?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sorry about your mother." he said calmly and with a little hint of pity in his voice.

"Thank you, sir."

He went into the kitchen and asked his wife what I was doing there. The voices were muffled, but I could hear Mrs. House tell him that my house was messy, there was no food and no one watching me. Mr. House told her that my dad was doing the best he could, but that the training was going late most of this month. She told him she wasn't going to let me go home hungry.

I kept looking around for Greg, but I didn't see him. I kept thinking about his eyes and his tall, thin frame and how smart he seemed. A few minutes later Mrs. House brought me out a plate with roast beef, potatoes and gravy, and some green beans. She gave me a glass of milk to go with it. I thanked her and tucked in. It was great. My mom didn't cook much when she was around so I wasn't used to having a hot meal for dinner.

Mr. and Mrs. House watched me like I was an alien that just landed in their dining room. I tried to eat with my mouth closed and sit up straight, but they were still staring when I finished a couple minutes later. "Maggie, would you like some more? You ate that rather quickly."

I felt a little weird being fed by these strangers, but the food was so good I couldn't resist, "Yes, ma'am, if you have some more and it wouldn't be a bother."

She took the plate into the kitchen and I heard her tell Mr. House, "I told you that girl was hungry."

Mr. House told her that he would talk to my Dad. Mrs. House brought me another plate when I heard the front door open and close. My heart made a flip flop motion. I tried to look over by the front door but couldn't see around the wall. Then I heard his voice as it got closer to me. "Mom, have you got ... What are you doing here?" He stopped and looked at me with those eyes.

He was standing in front of the table in brown corduroy pants and a short sleeved shirt. He reached over and took a piece of roast beef off my plate and started to put it in his mouth. His mother slapped his hand. "Whaaa?" He looked at her.

"Don't take food off her plate, she's hungry. What did you want?"

"Do you have five bucks for the movies? There's a new movie out called Star Wars and we're going to go see it."

"Yes, but when are you going to get a job like your Dad told you?"

He scrunched up his face like he found the idea distasteful. "I'm going to look next week. Can I get that 5.00 now?"

Mrs. House went to get her purse. Greg looked at me, "Don't they feed you at your house?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I fed myself when I could find food. I ate lunch every day as long as my Dad remembered to leave me lunch money for the school cafeteria. It was 40¢ a day or 2.00 a week. Sometimes he forgot to leave the money on the counter. All I knew was that the last meal I had was breakfast and the milk on the cereal had tasted terrible.

I looked up at Greg and blurted out, "My brother told me he was going to take me to see Star Wars some day. He saw it a week ago and said it was cool." I tried to make conversation so that he would stay and talk to me.

"Yeah, yeah...well we know what a loser your brother is, don't we? You'll be lucky to see Star Wars when you're old and your boobs are scraping the floor."

His mother came into the room and handed Greg 5.00. Greg was off. I watched him saunter towards the door and then I heard it close.

"Are you done honey?"

"Yes Ma'am. Ma'am?"

"Yes Maggie?'

"Could you please ask Mr. House not to tell my Dad I was here? My Dad won't like the fact that I came here for dinner; he thinks I fixed my own dinner."

"But honey, your Dad needs to know you need help taking care of yourself."

"My Dad works hard and I don't want him to worry about me. I'll ask him for grocery money this weekend and I'll get some food to cook with. Please don't say anything. He'll ground me."

"Ok, Maggie. But if you get hungry, you just come over here and I'll feed you, ok?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

CHAPTER 2

NEIGHBORHOOD WATCH

Over the next few months I ate a lot with Colonel House and Mrs. House although I never told my Dad. Greg rarely was in the same room as his father so I didn't see him much when I was at the table.

There was a fierce tension between them. I could tell just by the looks Greg gave his Dad behind his back that he was constantly mad at his father. I didn't understand it since I loved my Dad so much and we got along so well. I wished that Greg and his Dad wouldn't snap at each other while I was there, but they constantly barked at each other.

Greg and my brother slowly became friends once Greg found out that my brother played the guitar really well. Greg also liked my brother's pot and the high end musical equipment he owned. They jammed together in Greg's garage for awhile but then realized there were no adults at our house, quickly moving the music and the hangout into our garage.

I watched Mrs. House clean up and I tried to clean our house like her. But I still couldn't get the vacuum to work. I dragged the vacuum out to the garage to see if Jeff could fix it. There was a haze of dope hanging in the air as Jeff, a friend and Greg got high. Jeff was lying back on an old sofa smoking pot and Greg was sitting on a stool playing various songs on his guitar.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Jeff asked me.

I pulled the vacuum, which was bigger than me, towards him, "Can you fix this darn thing? It won't work and I can't vacuum. Please?"

"Get out of here, I'm not going to fix a stupid vacuum so that you can play Suzie Homemaker. Christ, you are about as dumb and ugly as they come." Jeff yelled while waving me away.

I was pretty sure he was right, I was ugly, that's what the boys said at school and I must be dumb if I couldn't even figure out how to make a vacuum work. I dragged it back inside through the back door, sitting on the kitchen floor to see if I could figure out why it wouldn't work.

The back door opened and I was excited to see Greg walk into the kitchen. He stared at me as he opened the refrigerator and grabbed one of my Dad's beers. He opened it with a bottle opener and looked down at me. "What happens when you plug it in?"

I had stopped fiddling with it when he walked in. For some reason, when he was around, I would just stare at Greg. My mouth would go dry and it would be hard to swallow. "It makes all the right noises but it doesn't pick up any dirt."

He sat his beer down and opened up the back of the machine. "Your problem is that you need a new vacuum bag, this one is full...really full. Do you have a bag?"

"I'll go look." I went in the closet where the vacuum was kept. I found some bags that looked like the same kind. I brought one out to him.

"Now watch me, because I'm only going to show you this once and don't you dare tell my Mom that I know how to change a vacuum bag."

He showed me step by step how to change it. It was pretty easy. I plugged it in and it picked up dirt really well. I smiled at him, "Thank you." He just nodded, took his beer and went back to the garage.

My brother had a job at the local Farrell's Ice Cream Parlor in Mission Valley. He waited tables on snotty kids and fresh teenagers who came in for ice cream specialties after the movies. Whenever he left for his job, Greg would stay behind in the garage and play his various musical instruments. Greg had found a job too, but it was only twenty hours a week working at the local ambulance company. He cleaned and stocked the ambulances after they came in for the night. He said that a lot of times he cleaned out blood and body parts. It paid well for 1977, $4.97 an hour. He liked it because it allowed him to have the rest of his summer days and nights free.

Greg frequently came over and played music even when my brother was gone. When he was alone I would go out in the garage and sit on the sofa, listening to him play. He ignored me for the most part. But every once in awhile he would ask, "Did you like that one?" when he was working on a new song.

The truth is that I would have liked anything that Greg House played. I had a huge crush on those eyes, those long thin arms and legs, and that voice. Sometimes he would break my heart by bringing some 18-year-old girl over and making out with her in the garage on the sofa. Sometimes I would see underwear on the floor and when Greg would hear the garage side door open, he would yell for me to get out of there. The girls never lasted long. My brother told one of his friends that it took Greg House about two days and a few make-out sessions before he started putting down his girlfriends. If they lasted two weeks Jeff would tease Greg about it getting serious.

When the other guys would come over they all pretended that they were a band, jamming for hours. They had drums, bass, treble guitar, and a keyboard that was humongous. I would sneak in and sit on the floor under some old furniture and listen. I don't think my brother knew I was there, he was too stoned, but once in awhile Greg would look under to see if I was ok. "You still alive? You must be, I can still smell you." I'd wash and wash and wear some of my Mom's Evening in Paris perfume that she had left behind, but he always said, "Your cognitive process stinks."

Greg was teased a lot by my brother, because Greg wanted to be a doctor. "How are you ever going to make it through med school? You're as lazy as I am...and you're going to have to be a slave to Residents, Attendings, Chiefs of Staff...how are you going deal with that? You don't exactly respond well to authority."

Greg would make a snide comment about Jeff's lack of cajones, "Yeah, well if you really wanted to be a chemical engineer, why didn't you apply to Cal Tech or MIT? Oh, that's right, your Mom got the hots for the hot mopper and now you're stuck babysitting your sister and have to stay here in San Diego."

They would always end up in a yelling match that would be resolved by a rift war.

There was no doubt in my mind that Greg was the best musician in the group. I envied him being able to play so many instruments. I had wanted to play the violin but my mother wanted me to play the flute. I refused to playthe flute, so I didn't get to play anything. When she left, I asked my Dad if I could play the violin and he told me to wait for Christmas. But I never got one.

One Saturday in July, my brother and Greg had decided to take off to the beach and cruise for chicks. They got into their trunks, t-shirt and zorries, and took off, not knowing that I had hidden myself on the floor behind the front seat. When we finally arrived in Ocean Beach they parked the car and got out. I kept my body tucked down for a few minutes and then stuck my head up and saw that they were long gone. I took off my new pink sweater because it was too hot and left it in the back seat. Getting out, I started to walk around Belmont Park, an old seaside amusement park. It was next door to the Plunge, a large indoor swimming pool that sat a football field away from the ocean.

Oblivious to time, I walked around the amusement park and then the down to the beach. I rarely got to go anywhere, so this was a great adventure for me. My brother never took me out and my Dad was either working or at the Officer's Club. It was fun being out somewhere new. I loved the smell of the carmel corn, the ocean, and the sound of the waves pounding the shore. It was so cool to see the surfers and watch the kids on styrofoam boards bellysurf the waves with them.

Later that week when I asked, Greg told me that when they got back to the car he spotted my sweater. "I told your brother,'Your sister must have been hiding in the car...look her sweater is in the back seat.' But your brother said you probably left that when he took you to school the other day. He wanted to go to a party, but I insisted that you must be somewhere at the beach, that the sweater wasn't on your back seat when we got in or I would have noticed it. Your brother thought I was crazy but I told him, "I would have noticed it. I notice things and that sweater wasn't there.' He started to look around the parking lot, pissed at not being able to find you. We split up with a rendezvous point and time."

They both looked, but it was Greg that finally spotted me. When he found me I was squealing and giggling as I ran in and out of the ocean, letting the waves catch up to me. Then I stood as the sand was pulled out to sea around my feet. Greg told me that I looked so innocent and happy playing in the surf by myself.

When I saw Greg, I thought I was in trouble so I almost ran away. But he took off his shoes and joined me in the water. He splashed me, I splashed him back and we chased each other around in the surf playing tag. About ten minutes later he grabbed my wrist. "Time's up. We have to get back."

As we were putting on our shoes he said, "You act like you've never been in the ocean before."

I just kept my mouth shut and looked at my feet.

"Well, have you?"

I pretended to be upset by his assumption, "Yeah, of course I have. I saw some pictures where my Dad is holding me at the edge of the water and my feet are dangling in it. So I must have been to the ocean."

"How old are you?"

"Nine."

"But this is the first time you can remember being in the ocean, right?" I looked away and nodded, "That's pathetic. You're pretty pathetic, did you know that?"

I looked away and nodded. "That's pathetic. You're pretty pathetic, did you know that?"

He smirked at me. "That's pathetic. You're pretty pathetic, did you know that?"

"Yeah, I guess."

When we got back to the car, Jeff hit me hard upside the head about a half dozen times until I got a headache and Greg told him, "Enough."

On the way home Greg asked Jeff, "Doesn't your sister go anywhere or do anything?"

"Nah, she's such a loser, she doesn't have any friends here yet. She's in those brainiac summer classes and so she only meets geeks. She just sits at home and does her loser stuff."

"Don't you take her anywhere? Didn't you promise to take her to see Star Wars?"

"Yeah, but when I went the second time with Sam, my Dad said it was too late for her to go, so... her loss." He didn't sound sorry.

It made me mad that he talked about me like I wasn't there. I told them, "I got to go to the shopping mall with Dad the other day and he bought me some new underwear and shoes."

Greg started howling, "Whoa...now that's the high life for you," Greg shook his head like I was crazy, "a trip to the mall to buy panties! Can't wait 'til he takes you to buy a training bra." He and Jeff howled with laughter.

I could tell he was making fun of me, but I didn't know why. Even though they were laughing at me, I didn't care. That day had been fun. My Dad even let me look in the toy store while he went to look at some shoes. I didn't think it was funny at all.

CHAPTER 3

I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND!

In August, Greg and Colonel House had a big blow out. I could hear them yelling from my upstairs bedroom.

"I don't understand you...you've been given a good home, food on the table, and an allowance and you do stupid things like this. You're always testing the boundaries. You shoplifted guitar strings when you had the money in your pocket to pay for them? What the hell were you thinking? If you want to get into med school, you better start acting like an adult."

"Yeah, like you didn't do stupid things, like run off and join the Marines so you could kill those commies."

There was a muffled sound, almost like a struggle and then I heard Mrs. House yell at both of them to stop. Their house went quiet. The next day Greg spent it in our garage playing the same Hendrix song over and over, "House Burning Down."

I was in summer school making up some work I missed during the move. As a celebration for the end of the summer school period, the school always took the kids to Disneyland for the day. "Dad, it's $20 for the ticket into the park and the bus ride. I have to wear nice pants and a nice top, no jeans, and they are going to send home a permission slip for you to sign. Please, please can I go?"

"Ok, I think you deserve it. Well here's the $20.00, where's the permission slip?" he asked as he looked in my backpack.

"They said they'll send it home on Monday. We need to return it by Wednesday when we go."

"Ok sweetie, no problem."

For the next five days, whenever Greg was in ear shot I was in his face. "Greg, did you know they have a ride called the Autotopia? It's like miniature cars and you get to drive them!"

"Jesus Christ, Maggie, I've been to Disneyland a million times, I know the rides. If you don't stop talking about it, I'm going to have to kill Mickey Mouse and put his head in your bed."

"What does that mean?"

"You know, the Godfather?" He looked at me, but I shrugged my shoulders, "Man you need a life. Don't you ever see movies?"

"I went a few years ago and saw Cinderella with my Mom."

"You really are-"

"I know, pathetic."

Monday night I brought the permission slip and laid it out on the table for my Dad to sign. It wasn't signed the next day. I panicked and waited up for him Tuesday night to get his signature, but he didn't come home because of a security alert on the base. I went to school on Wednesday in my nice slacks and blouse, sensible shoes, sun hat and my $20.00. I also had $5.00 that Colonel and Mrs. House had given me to spend at Disneyland. But my teacher sent me home because I didn't have the permission slip signed. I asked her to call my Dad, that he would say it was ok for me to go, but that wasn't good enough, the school and Disneyland required a "liability waiver.

I got home at 9:00 a.m. and put my things down in the dining room. I went and buried my head in the sofa to cry. I cried myself to sleep until I felt a hand on my shoulder shaking me.

"Maggie, Maggie May...did you miss the bus to Disneyland? Are you ok?"

I stared up at Greg with eyes that looked like they had just cried a river and a lip that was quivering. "Ah crap Maggie May, what's wrong?" I pulled out the permission slip from my pocket and showed him. "You forgot to get your Dad's signature?"

"Ah crap, Maggie May, what's wrong?" I pulled out the permission slip from my pocket and showed him."You forgot to get your Dad's signature?"

"I...(sniff)...put it ...uh...out for him...to sign...but he...(sniff)..didn't" I grabbed on to Greg and buried my face in his belly.

I could tell he was very uncomfortable by the way his whole body tensed, but he felt so warm and smelled so good I didn't care. He patted my head, "Ok, ok...I'm sure you'll get to go to Disneyland some other day. Don't worry."

After I calmed down, he brought me a can of Coca Cola from his house, popped the top for me and handed it over. His mother followed him over. She petted my head and said quietly to me, "Oh honey, why didn't you come over this morning and tell me? I would have signed it."

"Yeah Maggie May, I would have signed it too."

"Greg!"

"Mom, I'm 18, what's the big deal?"

"Mrs. House, here's the five dollars you gave me to spend at Disneyland. Thanks for thinking of me."

Greg looked away from me as I tried to give her back the money. Mrs. House patted my hand. "Oh Maggie, that money is for you. You keep it."

Greg smiled, "Look, I tell you what. Let's take that money and go see Star Wars!"

My eyes must have gotten as huge as saucers because both he and his Mom laughed at me. "Could we?"

He looked in the newspaper for the times it was playing. I was so excited that I almost peed my pants. I was going to get to see Star Wars and I was going to see it with Greg House!

Mrs. House gave her son a short hug of appreciation and then went back next door. Greg and I took off in his Dad's Mustang for Mission Valley where it was playing on the big screen. Even though it was in the middle of the day, in the middle of the week, we still had to wait in this huge line for half an hour.

I asked Greg while we waited, "Why are you going to be a doctor?"

"The money." Then he paused, "I love to read about strange diseases and try to figure out from symptoms what people have. I enjoy all the minutia about the human body and how everything fits together like a puzzle. I think I would make a good doctor, it would be fun."

"I think you'd make a good musician. I like the way you play guitar, especially when you play Jimi Hendrix. I wish I could play guitar like you."

"You like Jimi Hendrix? I thought you'd like disco...or pop."

"I do, but I also like Hendrix, Cream and Zepplin."

"For a nine-year-old girl, you're weird."

"I guess." I paused. "Greg? Am I really ugly?"

He turned bright red and looked around. "Damn, I'm not the best person to ask. I'm not good at telling people what they want to hear."

"I don't want to hear a lie. I'm nine, not five. If I'm going to be ugly all my life then I'll just have to be really, really smart."

"You're going to be really, really smart anyway Maggie May and that's not what I meant. It's just that I'll tell you bluntly what I think and it may not make sense to you."

"I'm ready."

"You're nine. There's no way in hell anyone is going to be able to tell whether you're going to be ugly when you grow up or not. Right now you're cute. You have a small nose, nice shaped eyes, a little mouth, a pixie haircut that shows off your little ears...and freckles. You're cute for a nine-year-old."

"Thanks." I was over-the-moon that he hadn't said I was ugly.

I had never seen a movie like Star Wars. It looked so real! I was sure that the starships had to be real, they moved so slowly through the screen, like majestic ocean liners. I was hooked from the first moment when the words, "Star Wars" appeared on the screen and the crowd whooped and hollered. Most of them had seen the movie multiple times and were back for more. When it was over, I had to contain myself from going out and pretending I was Princess Leah. Greg nodded for me to get up so we could leave. I followed him to the parking lot, almost skipping for joy. He was smiling at me. I guess he could see that I was happy.

When we got home I went inside and up to my room and dreamed of Hans Solo, Luke Skywalker, and Darth Vader. It was a week before I came down from my high.

Whenever Greg would see me and my silly grin he would shake his head and roll his eyes. "For God's sake Maggie May, it's just a movie!"

CHAPTER 4

GETTING A HEAD

Being around my brother, Greg, and their friends, was always an education. I probably learned more from osmosis in that garage about the world than I did in school or on the playground. One day I was in the garage listening to the group jam while I started thumbing through one of my brother's Playboys. It was the one that I had noticed Greg reading earlier. He had taken a really good look at the centerfold, longer than usual. I wanted to see what she looked like and what he saw in her. She was a brunette with really big breasts, big eyes, and ample hips. She wasn't skinny like me. She liked dancing, skiing, and long walks on the beach or nights by a fireplace. She planned to go to UC Santa Barbara next fall. Her name was Nancy.

I started reading the articles in the magazine and one was where people wrote in and asked questions about things, especially sex. I looked up and during a break between songs I asked Greg, "What does 'giving head' mean?"

He choked on his coke and some of it came up through his nose. They all started laughing at me. I didn't understand why, but Greg looked a little nervous. Greg wiped his nose and scrunched up his face at me. I still wanted to know. "Maggie May, I think your brother should tell you."

"Hell no, she asked you." my brother was laughing and shaking his head no.

"Maybe I'll tell you in a few years." Greg tried to placate me, but I wasn't placated.

"If you don't tell me then I'm going to tell your Dad that I gave head to you."

Greg went white and the rest of the guys roared. "No, no, no Maggie...that could get me in a lot of trouble...a lot of trouble!" He sighed and paused, looking at an oil stain on the floor of the garage. I didn't think he was going to answer and then he finally said, "You really are a pain in the ass. "Giving head" is when a woman ...well..sucks on a guy's private parts."

My face went red once I realized what I had said about telling his Dad. "Yuck. Why would anyone want to do that? Doesn't it hurt?"

"Uh...I'm not sure why women do it. And no, it doesn't hurt. Now get the hell out of here, you've bugged us enough today." He shook his head and started laughing with the guys.

Greg was waiting to see if he was going to get the scholarship he needed to get into undergrad school at the University of Michigan. The students who went to U.M. were considered first for the University of Michigan Medical School where Greg wanted to go. If he didn't get the scholarship, it meant he was going to have to stay in San Diego and attend UCSD. UCSD was a great school, but to Greg it meant living with his parents and that was pure torture.

The Saturday that the letter came, Greg's parents were away visiting friends in Los Angeles. I was in my house watching some television when the back door in the kitchen opened and a jubilant Greg ran inside.

"Jeff, hey Jeff. " Greg stormed into the living room with a huge smile on his face. When there was no response, he barked at me, "Where's your brother?"

"He's at work."

"Crap." He looked around, he was obviously happy and bursting at the seams, "Come on Maggie May, let's go play some music."

I got up, turned the television off, and followed him into the garage. He picked up his guitar and plugged it in. He played "All Along the Watchtower" for me. After a few songs he asked me to get him a coke. I brought it back to him. While he was sitting there, he turned on the radio.

"Greg, why do you call me Maggie May?"

"After the Rod Stewart song. You know, "Wake up Maggie there's something I"ve got to say to you..." He started singing the song to me. I remembered hearing the song somewhere, but I didn't remember the lyrics. "You're Maggie May...the girl that keeps the guy from going back to school!"

"Wow...I wouldn't do that. School is fun."

"Maggie May...you are one weird chick."

"Greg, do guys ever fall in love with weird chicks?"

He chuckled, "Sometimes Maggie May, sometimes."

A song came on the radio and Greg cranked it up. It sounded old and like something my parents would listen to..but he kept it on. "Cool, this is Frank Sinatra...'Fly Me to the Moon'. Maggie May, come dance with me."

"I don't know how to dance."

"Come here, stand on my feet." I stood up on his feet and he glided around the garage with me standing on his dancing feet. I was giggling and laughing and he was making wide gestures and huge circles. My first dance with a boy was on top of Greg House's feet.

"Where did you learn to dance?"

"My parents made me go to lessons at the Officer's Club when I was twelve. I know the Foxtrot, the Cha Cha, the Waltz and the Tango."

"The Tango? That's cool...did you have to bite a rose when you did it?"

"No, that's only in cartoons."

The song ended and he picked me up off of his feet and put me down like I was a feather. He was whistling and singing and for once he seemed really happy. "Greg, why are you so happy?"

"Because Maggie May, my scholarship came in and I'm going away to school in January...far, far away!" He was grinning from ear to ear.

I burst into tears. I sobbed so hard he didn't know what to do with me. "Maggie, Maggie, stop crying. Why are you crying? For God's sake, it's not the end of the world. I'll come back and visit. Come on, stop crying. Stop it." I could tell he was getting angry with me, but I couldn't stop. I got the hiccups. I must have looked strange, sobbing, hiccuping and sniffling. "Oh man Maggie, come on, stop this. If you don't stop I'm going home and never coming back over."

I tried to control the sobs, but the hiccups and the tears wouldn't stop. He went and got me a glass of water. "Drink this without taking a breath."

I did what he told me to do and the hiccups stopped. I was almost quiet except for the occasional deep sniff and sob. For the most part, I had control over myself.

"Maggie, I'm 18, I need to get away from here. My Dad and I butt heads all the time and it makes my Mom upset. I need some space between him and me. You're going to make lots of friends this fall and you'll be having so much fun at your new school and with your new friends, you won't notice that I'm not here. I'll be home for the holidays, I'll see you then."

"But you won't be playing guitar in our garage anymore." The idea of my little universe losing Greg House was unbearable. He sometimes paid attention to me and he told me the truth. In my world, the truth and attention was hard to come by.

"Maggie, what does it matter to you? I'm not even nice to you. Man, you need friends."

But I didn't make a lot of friends in school that fall. I had two that I talked to at school on the playground, but when I went home I didn't call them and they didn't call me. It was lonely, but I was learning to deal with it. Greg was in community college getting a few credits out of the way before he transferred up to Michigan in January. So between college and his job, we saw very little of him. My brother was gone most of the time once he started at UCSD. My Dad was working just as hard as ever and was up for a promotion.

There were those rare moments when I did get to spend time with Greg. If I heard him playing the piano I would sneak over to his house and crawl under the piano while he played. I would put my back up against the piano to feel the vibration. I loved the sound and the feel of the piano when he played. I liked to watch his feet dance on the pedals. He was usually barefoot and in shorts so I would watch his hairy legs pump up and down as his long beautiful fingers floated over the keyboard. It was one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes when he finished a song he would look under the piano to see if I was still there. His mother once saw me under the piano and asked me if I was okay.

"I'm great." I told her.

"Why are you under there?" Her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure out what I was doing.

"Mom, just leave it alone. She does this all the time. She's just odd."

His mom looked at him and then me, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head, and went back to cooking dinner.

At Thanksgiving we had dinner with the House's. There were three families and they all had boys Greg's age. Mrs. House was always good to me and she would give me special projects to do. I got to make the pumpkin pies and all the adults made a big deal over them at desert time. Greg was eating a piece and watching football.

"Greg, I made the pie," I said, standing next to his chair and rubbing my foot up and down on my other leg as I waited for a reaction.

He looked at me and then at the pie and said, "Big deal." He paused and then handed me the plate and said, "Go get me some more."

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