The Glass Castle_ A Memoir - Jeannette Walls [111]
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
“Fine. Go.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. You should go. It’s a good plan.” She seemed on the verge of tears.
“Don’t be sad, Mom. I’ll write.”
“I’m not upset because I’ll miss you,” Mom said. “I’m upset because you get to go to New York and I’m stuck here. It’s not fair.”
Lori, when I called her, approved of my plan. I could live with her, she said, if I got a job and chipped in on the rent. Brian liked my idea, too, especially when I pointed out that he could have my bed. He began making wisecracks in a lockjaw accent about how I was going to become one of those fur-wearing, pinkie-extending, nose-in-the-air New Yorkers. He began counting down the weeks until I left, just as I had counted them down for Lori. “In sixteen weeks, you’ll be in New York,” he’d say. The next week. “In three months and three weeks, you’ll be in New York.”
Dad had barely spoken to me since I announced my decision. One night that spring, he came into the bedroom where I was up on my bunk studying. He had some papers rolled up under his arm.
“Got a minute to look at something?” he asked.
“Sure.”
I followed him into the living room, where he spread the papers on the drafting table. They were his old blueprints for the Glass Castle, all stained and dog-eared. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them. We’d stopped talking about the Glass Castle once the foundation we’d dug was filled up with garbage.
“I think I finally worked out how to deal with the lack of sunlight on the hillside,” Dad said. It involved installing specially curved mirrors in the solar cells. But what he wanted to talk to me about was the plans for my room. “Now that Lori’s gone,” he said. “I’m reconfiguring the layout, and your room will be a lot bigger.”
Dad’s hands trembled slightly as he unrolled different blueprints. He had drawn frontal views, side views, and aerial views of the Glass Castle. He had diagrammed the wiring and the plumbing. He had drawn the interiors of rooms and labeled them and specified their dimensions, down to the inches, in his precise, blocky handwriting.
I stared at the plans. “Dad,” I said. “you’ll never build the Glass Castle.”
“Are you saying you don’t have faith in your old man?”
“Even if you do, I’ll be gone. In less than three months, I’m leaving for New York City.”
“What I was thinking was you don’t have to go right away,” Dad said. I could stay and graduate from Welch High and go to Bluefield State, as Miss Katona had suggested, then get a job at The Welch Daily News. He’d help me with the articles, like he’d helped me with my piece on Chuck Yeager. “And I’ll build the Glass Castle, I swear it. We’ll all live in it together. It’ll be a hell of a lot better than any apartment you’ll ever find in New York City, I can guaran-goddamn-tee that.”
“Dad,” I said, “as soon as I finish classes, I’m getting on the next bus out of here. If the buses stop running, I’ll hitchhike. I’ll walk if I have to. Go ahead and build the Glass Castle, but don’t do it for me.”
Dad rolled up the blueprints and walked out of the room. A minute later, I heard him scrambling down the mountainside.
I T HAD BEEN A mild winter, and summer came early to the mountains. By late May, the wild bleeding hearts and the rhododendrons had bloomed, and the fragrance of honeysuckle drifted down the hillside and into the house. We had our first hot days before school was out.
Those last couple of weeks, I’d go from feeling excited to nervous to just plain scared back to excited in a matter of minutes. On the last day of school, I cleaned out my locker and went to say goodbye to Miss Bivens.
“I’ve got a feeling about you,” she said. “I think you’ll do all right up there. But you’ve left me with a problem. Who’s going to edit the Wave next year?”
“You’ll find someone, I’m sure.”
“I’ve thought of trying to entice your brother into it.”
“People might start thinking that the Wallses are building a dynasty.”
Miss Bivens smiled. “Maybe you are.”
At home that night, Mom cleaned out a suitcase she’d used for her collection