A Graphic Novel
Ruby
God, how I was missing you, Ruby. I kept wondering where you were. I was feeling like you were lost to me, until I realized you were lost to yourself, and needed to find your way back. I always thought the coma was when you were doing all the seeking, you know? I had impossibly expected you to come into some kind of exalted, enlightened place when you woke up, like a guru. But instead you were a struggling mortal, like the rest of us, trying to deal with the accident. And it's taken all this time, two years, and why wouldn't it?
But I recognize you now. And it's so damn MARVELOUS. You're happy and you're glowing. You should be proud of that book, it's something. I was never into comic books before, but this is really something. You got a very important thing out of your system, it seems to me. Ojai really must be the place. Though I don't imagine you guys there much longer, I think you need your own roots. I think it's good Ray sold the Florida house—I can't imagine the memories would be all that great for either of you, after what happened. But I hope you buy something soon, Ray needs to be working for himself. Anybody can see that. He's a talented, industrious, loving, incredible man. It gives me hope, just knowing men like him actually exist.
Dean's still in the picture. I know I didn't bring him up for the visit, but it's all so back and forth. I mean, who am I kidding? He's a BABY! He's been really sweet, and it's been really hot, and considering he's in a band, he still falls on this side of responsible and committed. But I know the day will come when a chick his age will turn his head and lead him with her ticking clock straight into matrimony.
Don't get married, Ruby! You guys are so perfect just the way you are. Why not stay lovers forever? If it ain't broke, don't fix it, that's what I'd say.
Have you heard from Abbie, at all? She's changed her cell number, and I called Marin County, but her mother doesn't seem to know where she is. You and Abbie and Dean are the only native Californians I know, I realized. And all three of you are the only ones who have ever really been very real with me. Makes me wonder how you see me. Have I been a good friend? I mean, am I full of shit in any way at all? If so, please tell me. I swear all I care about these days, is being a better person.
Al—may he rot in hell—is still trying to appeal the decision. If he hadn't gotten life, I would have gone over the edge, I'm sure of it. I was heading for it. The restaurant wasn't me, it was him, and so the right thing for me to do was to sell it. I'm not concerned that I have no pet project right now. I'm not all about Dean, I'm not all about some business, or some hobby, I'm just . . . alert. You know? I'm ready. I wake up everyday grateful that I'm awake.
I bought four copies of your book and sent one to each of my sisters, the little bitches. They need to open up their minds. They'll take one look at the first page and shit in their pants, but I know that curiosity will get the better of them, after a while, and they can't help but be inspired. In some little way. You don't know how much people like you in this world, really help give us the beautiful examination we need. Maybe that's what I oughta do! Maybe I should become an art patron, eh? Can you see me hobnobbing with all of those lunching, brunching, bitchy Beverly Hills wives? Not.
Come down and visit me soon! Love you, my little chicka-roo, J.
Jeannie, we just got back from Florida. We cleared everything out of the house before it closed. Hope—the one who gave me the easel and all those square canvases—still lives next door, so I brought pictures of my old paintings for her to see, and I gave her a copy of the book. It was a special goodbye. Who ever likes farewells? But this was really intense as we discovered a meaningful connection. There's something about her work that I really respond to, and there's something in me that she seems to recognize. Before I knew her I'd actually bought one of her paintings at a garage sale for Jason and Gary, and we didn't figure this out until this meeting, until I saw her work everywhere in the house. I plan on keeping in touch with her. She's almost 7o years old, and truly doesn't look much more than in her late fifties—if you don't look at her neck. She's fit; she's got a great attitude, particularly for a widow who was so in love with her husband. I can't imagine living without Ray, and though I can't see doing myself in if he goes first, I also can't imagine going on.
We stayed with Wanda and Lou while we were there, and they gave me the nicest little 39th birthday party. Jason and Gary came, and everybody was feeling so festive. Jason and I started singing that Vegas-y tune that he and I made up—the one that woke me up out of the coma—and we were so great together, this dance we did made it seem as if we were separated at birth. I got to feeling so high for the inhibition that had nothing to do with my impairment (as I've become very reacquainted with ego, my own and others), that it inspired another impromptu dive. Fully dressed, I got up on the diving board and with precision, I plunged in. I had to do it, so I wouldn't still have this overwhelming block to get over. Ray turned blue, but everyone else clapped, and I felt so damn happy, so FREE again.
While we sat through Al's trial I asked myself why I ever ran away from my problems. Because it was like an affirmation of a turning point in my life, to sit through it all, every detail, and go through the horror again. Had I stayed, I would have never lost the facility and ease with my brain. I took my health, my talent, my compassion for others, all for granted—and then all of those things I lost, and had to rebuild, had to work to attain. I could have died in that accident, I could have died on the operating table. I might have never woken up. But then, I also could have been dead had Joop dropped me off an hour earlier that Saturday morning. So, if I hadn't run away from my problems, I would never have gone to Alaska, and I would have never met Ray. Maybe there's a price you have to pay for following your heart. Maybe true love doesn't come without losing a chunk of your spirit. Or maybe you have to learn how not to look at yourself in pieces, rather than an indivisible whole. I don't know.
I did hear from Abbie the other day. She's going to call you. She was up north with her mom for a while, but then she returned to L.A. She said she's feeling very Southern Californian, shiny, happy in the warmth of the sunshine, and intolerant of the northern Cali superiority. (Though she does believe life is "deeper" up there). She's living in Echo Park and working part-time at the UCLA Hammer museum. She's trying to figure out what kind of business she could start for herself—her father said he'd back her. But I should let her tell you all this, I know she really does want to catch up with you. (I think she had the impression you were pissed off at her. She really was glad to hear that you asked about her).
You're right about life on someone else's ranch. We've just about come to the end of the rope, and Ray's been working his ass off. Still it's really been good for me, for that period of writing the book. Ray's now looking into working in the desert—all that development that's going on in the Yucca Valley area. Somebody wants him to build their home in Pioneertown. You'll have to come visit us again, wherever we end up. My sister was just here, a little after you left. You should have seen her on the horses. She just might have a life change as well. My parents, of course, forget about it. They don't understand me, nor do they understand any of this.
Give Dean a hug for me. I think of him fondly. His folks' house was so important for us. We needed some kind of neutral space to rediscover each other sexually. I needed it anyway. Initially, that was another huge loss with the accident. But we got it back! ;)~ (You're right, I'm not going to marry him. Considering my ego, rather than thinking of myself as his fourth wife, I'd much rather remain his only lover). Don't play Dean too cheap, he just might surprise you in the end. After a few more years of growing up. I've got a feeling about him. Go on, indulge yourself on emotional whims! Don't hold back. Life is so ever fucking proverbially short.
Love you, Ruby
Ruby bases her graphic novel, Parable of the Avenger, on Ray's adventures. It is first in a trilogy titled The Subordinates. The murder is changed from a passionate, justifiable act of revenge to one of a crazed mercenary plagued with patriotic zeal. She does not intend it as a work of irony or sincerity. She means it solely as a work of someone else's truth. Her drawings, like her old creations for Rootown, are childishly glossy but eerie with shadow and color that seem to morph with omen.
"It's not Dostoevsky," Abbie says to her, turning the last page of the graphic novel in Ruby and Ray's new house in the desert.
"No, it's a comic book. But I worked my ass off like it is," Ruby says.
"Okay, I see that, right?" Abbie says, smashing her lips together as if blotting lipstick. She stares at Ruby, whose hair seems to be grabbing at the walls of the saunalike room. Abbie takes a long, cool drink of her lemon blossom ice tea. She clears her throat the way Ruby normally does. "Don't you believe in air-conditioning?"
"I can turn on the fan."
"What's it gonna do?" Abbie says, looking above their head. Ruby gets up, turns on the wall switch. She gently rubs her pelvis, then touches the side of her neck.
"So don't you think you should write your own story? I mean with a protagonist closer to the likes of you? Certainly enough has happened to inspire it, right?" Abbie asks, pulling with her fingers a nibble from the zucchini banana nut muffin Ruby baked.
"I already have it in mind. The Penitent's Cycle."
"Now that's a dread-filled title!" Abbie exclaims, wiggling her head sassily. "Here you are in the baking hot comfort of your dream home in the very inaptly named town, Snow Creek. And you're making a living, once again, at something you love, even after overcoming near tragedy. I'd say regret or sin is in none of the above, but maybe there is a cycle somewhere." She sticks out her pink tongue.
"I'm thinking it will start with the waterfall we hiked to this morning."
"You were named after a waterfall, weren't you? I remember all that namesake fuss you and Ray went on and on about the night you met."
"Yeah," Ruby says, her smile breaking since she can't remember that night. "It's the reason we chose this area—a hidden waterfall in the desert? Couldn't believe it when we saw it. Seems so impossible and yet there it is. A flight of fantasy, like any good comic. Her name's Mary, and she'll be born of the waterfall, and her struggles will be human, and heroic."
"Good and corny. What about race? You didn't deal with it much, if at all, in the first one," Abbie says, now eyeing the corner with the globe on the pedestal, spotting the dog skull she hadn't noticed before.
"Because he didn't have to deal with race, he was on top of it all! But with her, they'll be throwing it at her, all right, but she won't oblige them by wallowing in it."
"That doesn't remind you of Caspar anymore?" Abbie points with her index knuckle, in the shape of a hook, at the dog skull in the corner.
"Yeah, it does. Now that's the point. I'm so glad you gave it to Ray."
"Jeannie told me a lot about him. How he was a rescued pup. Didn't have the ridge or the perfect tail or bite. How he'd been kept confined by some sicko."
"Yeah," Ruby says, nodding. In the glare of the sun, she squints her eyes, sparkling, liquid, and dark as root beer, the lashes thick with curl.
"It's funny Jeannie let him get away with a name that didn't begin with an R."
"Yeah, well, there was Tug too. She named them all," Ruby says.
"I know. But I would have spelled it with a K—I don't believe in the legend of that Hauser boy, anyway."
"And if you did, you'd figure out the way he brought the situation upon himself."
At once Abbie winks, clicks her tongue, and points at Ruby, who relaxes back in her seat.
"So, no wandering eyes for either of you?" Abbie asks, now taking a big bite of the muffin, then rubbing her fingers together, flicking away the crumbs.
"Nope," Ruby says, imitating her father.
"No hot chicks in the neighborhood?" Abbie cocks her head, wipes the corner of her mouth. Ruby presents her middle finger. "So why do you have all those cut-out babes from magazines over your drawing table?"
"Don't talk with your mouth full."
Abbie chews dramatically, then swallows just as much so. "Why do you have all those babes hanging over your drawing table?" she enunciates.
"Why do you think? There are men there too! I use them as models for the drawings. Duh." Ruby flares her nostrils for emphasis.
"You never did that before," she says in a teasing tone.
"I wasn't doing graphic novel drawings before, now was I?"
"No. All the same, there's more than four pictures of the same girl," Abbie points at Ruby again. "Is that the actress you were involved with?"
"No, you'd recognize her," Ruby says in a bored tone, because she can't really recall any of her past lovers, although she does remember the girl who told her she could never truly love herself if she'd never gone down on a woman. Ruby didn't sleep with that girl, but she remembers naively taking on the challenge.
"So who is the girl all over the wall?"
"She's my waterfall Mary's body double!" Ruby answers loudly.
"Okay, I give up. So your playing days are over," Abbie says, putting up her hands.
"When did you ever know me to play?"
"I didn't. I'm just saying, okay, so you're really married."
"We're not married."
"You know what I mean," Abbie says, trying to put her chin on her collarbone.
"You're so weird," Ruby says, shaking her head.
Abbie licks her lips, looks at her lap, then deviously puckers. Fraught with purpose, she looks up at Ruby. "Did you ever have sex with Jeannie?"
"No!" Ruby snaps too loudly, and as if blighted by blasphemy.
"Why not? I did." Abbie pushes up the nose of her glasses, folds her arms.
"Don't tell me about it," Ruby says, looking disturbed. "Does Dean know about it?" her voice cracks.
"He should, he was there."
"Don't tell me any more," Ruby says, sticking her fingers in her ears.
"It was the night of the Day-One-Down party—"
"La, la-la, la, la-la," Ruby says, squeezing her eyes shut, rotating her head. Abbie grabs her hands.
"Okay, okay! Subject change, right?"
Ruby opens her eyes slowly, theatrically, taking the time finally to behold Abbie's face. Abbie giggles.
"You and Ray are prudes at heart!"
"You think you're so wild," Ruby says, now folding her arms too.
"And so where are all these infamous desert meth freaks?"
"Haven't met one yet. We happened to fill our quota in the Sierra Madre Canyon, though."
"It's so quiet here."
"It was quiet there too. It's just that first place, the bungalows we were in, there were some strange people around. Once we moved, the cottage was nice."
"I thought Ray was building houses around here. All of a sudden, he's making furniture. And where's he selling?"
"Ray's got a little savings, and the book did just fine. We can afford for him to do what he's been wanting to all this time. His work is amazing, isn't it?"
"Of course," Abbie says. "He's a talented guy. It's just a tough business. I'm still trying to figure out what I'm going to get into. And it's sure high time now that I'm pushing thirty-one."
"He'll sell. Someone's already commissioned a rocking chair. It'll come together, I know it."
"Okay. I agree, right?" Abbie turns her head to the side and looks her straight on with her one good eye. "Are you pregnant?"
"Where the hell did that come from?" Ruby says, her mouth dropping open.
"I don't know. You're ever so slightly rounder, you're drinking a lot of water, you're moody, a bit on the slow side, I mean, I could actually keep up with you on that hike. You seem a little tired—" Abbie sticks out a finger for every point.
"Bullshit!" Ruby interrupts. "Jeannie told you, don't lie to me," she says, narrowing her eyes.
"Okay, she did."
"I can't believe her." Ruby grits her teeth, though she is not as put out as all that.
"Well, why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I'm worried about it. We didn't plan the baby at all, it was a total and complete surprise. Out of the blue. I always thought I was infertile, so a year ago we stopped with the birth control. I've never had an accident in my life. And then I never ever imagined having my first child at forty," she sighs heavily. "Anything can go wrong."
"I think you've already had your portion of that. Don't worry, be happy! I'm so excited for you! You should have told me yourself, you bitch. Right?" Abbie says, smiling so widely she slips a few tears.
Ray walks in, a tool belt hanging loosely, sexily on his hips. In a messy ponytail, his gold hair hasn't been combed in days, the curls near locked. His forearms, forehead, and strong cheekbones are brown with sun. He smells like toast and pungent must. Abbie quickly wipes away her tears, recovers ready to sass.
"Congratulations, you beautiful kept man, you!" Abbie exclaims.
"And when was it you said you were leaving again?" Ray says, looking at his watch.
"Come on! We should be celebrating, right?" Abbie pounds the table, gets up on tiptoe to hug him. When he lets her go, she throws her arms around Ruby's neck. She is still sitting, so from behind Abbie kisses the side of her head, where the trauma used to center. "I was just kidding, by the way, about sleeping with Jeannie and Dean," she whispers.
Ruby gasps like an old man about to have cardiac arrest. "You are so sick! That was so not funny," she says, patting her chest and looking up at Ray.
"What?" he asks, getting concerned.
"Prude, prude, prude, prude, prude!" Abbie says in the na-na tune.
Ray feeds her peaches most days of the pregnancy because Ruby's aunt said it made her cousin come out sweet. He shaves her pubic hair so she doesn't have to look at the grays in the mirror, which she can't see anyway for her belly.
No one, least of all Ruby's mother, prepares her for the lapses into emotional overdrive. She yells at telephone solicitors, she sobs after nice trivial exchanges with strangers at the store. When she draws, she can't concentrate or stay awake long enough for a movie. She watches Ray with the saws in his workshop, and sometimes hysterically worries aloud that he will get hurt. Coming out of the coma took away her original sense of self, now pregnancy returns her to the feeling of being hijacked.
The baby arrives five weeks premature, C-section. But Arnold Falls-Rose makes it through. (He actually remains healthy for the rest of his life, though he will die in New York at the age of sixty-eight in a taxicab accident.) Troubled by the intense pain and ache of blocked milk ducts due to the boob job, Ruby is distraught that she can't breastfeed, but Ray reassures her with an endless source of nurturing strength. Arnold is so tiny she's afraid to take her eye away; she becomes so anxious that Ray does most of the holding, bathing, burping, and diaper changing. After a while, she is convinced that Arnold prefers getting the bottle from Ray, which finally brings her up to the challenge of proving she's the mother.
Gary and Jason come to visit when he's well into his second month and Ruby's well out of the danger of a postpartum depression. One night in the rocking chair, Jason falls asleep securely holding the baby in the crook of his neck, and from this bond he becomes so attached to little Arnold that he later obsessively sends gifts when there is no occasion for it. For a while he remains as freaked as Gary that they could have given the baby such a name. Since his middle name is Ray, Jason and Gary call him Baby Ray, (though he ends up going as Arnie well past his teens).
When adding a box of twelve-month outgrown baby clothes to the attic, Ruby discovers a box of Ray's old letters. There are sexy cards from his third wife, unopened divorce proceedings from the second, though nothing to find of the first. As she keeps digging, she feels a dread so deep it could move her bowels. There are many letters with photographs from internet lonely hearts he'd courted. He was an equal opportunity dater, not a single girl is remotely alike. She checks and rechecks the dates; all envelopes are stamped after the period of his second divorce. Because she'd had no jealous horror with him since her immediate imaginings during the first months they were together, the letters static through her with electric current.
The baby sleeps soundly as she rages in his workroom—Ray pink with shock until he numbs with an almost arrogant relief that now not a single secret exists. And as she can't believe he even kept the letters, he tells her he now knows why he did. There is nothing unknown between them. Though he is never one to sit too long at the computer, after the discovery of this past, Ruby no longer trusts him. This is too bad, because never again (since the sharp post pain of the second divorce) did a chat room ever tempt him.
Ruby realizes the place jealousy always had with them—in spite of her free spirit, she needs to feel his longing to possess her. For this revs her up to spark long periods of hot sex.
By the time Arnold is two, Ruby completes the second graphic novel, which makes some money for them, though a third less than the first. No longer busting his ass on construction, an artful and skilled craftsman on his own good time, Ray is just as fulfilled by being as much of a mommy as a daddy. Arnold is a dream child— restful, cheerful, quick, and reasonably obedient. Ruby soon slips into the traditionally spoiled role of sole woman in the house. But there is never a question of which two are the lovers.
Raising a son, Ruby assumes his experiences might bring back her childhood into keener focus. But watching her sister Hannah with him—so natural she appears to make a better mother—at times she doesn't recognize either of them. Arnold's observations, his wanderings on the lunar landscape of the desert, inspire Ruby's vivid chameleon dreams. She is a different person every night, male or female, young or old. She doesn't remember that before Alaska her dreams featured speed and height—climbing, rising, flying. During the coma, and the canoe she became, descent was the perpetual swim into the self. Any marvels Arnold illuminates, all the stunts and field goals he achieves, intensify her night visions of others, rather than that of her own history.
She pulls out the skateboard and goes for long rides alone. She feels again the lovely hold of balance, and the freedom of speed. She realizes what no longer captures her attention—the obsessive need for self-analysis. To be called Mama or Babe is no compromise to her identity, small facets that they are. And they can't compare to the trap of ego, which she wants to let go altogether.
This is the base of her desire, to create or to love without worrying for the returns. She doesn't have the longing as she did before Ray, but her spirit still craves the key to all mystery. How to question when there is no resolution? She doesn't remember as a kid her relief that there were no definite answers (as in mathematics) to the most important things. By the time Arnold is five, she moves closer to the realization that everything she wants, she already has. This feeling of loss and low self-worth—due to the previous facility of her brain—vanishes with this revelation.
Each day that Ruby walks out of the door, she remembers to claim happiness. It is like meditation, but she would never call it that. Ray does too, as he is the one who first heard of the practice. And as they negotiate on contentment's terms, they learn joy.