NORFOLK, VIRGINIA: 1975 EAST OCEAN VIEW
Elizabeth Gauffreau
THE GIRL WALKED ALONG THE side of Shore Drive carrying her baby on her hip. Her fine blonde hair had grown out of its cut, and every few minutes she pushed the loose ends behind her ears with her free hand. Her face and arms were lightly freckled, and on one side of her neck was a hickey, perfectly round, the size of a dime. Cars rushed by her, and she felt as if their occupants were staring at her. She didn’t see any other people walking as she glanced first behind her and then across four lanes of traffic to the other side of the street.
Squids, instantly identifiable by their squared-off military haircuts, thundered slowly past her in brightly-colored muscle cars. Some whistled at her, others made sucking noises, still others hollered, “Hey baby, nice ass! Give me some!” The girl tried to walk without moving her buttocks.
Everything looked dingy and dirty to her—the street, the store signs, the sky, and especially the bars: the Jolly Roger and the Purple Onion which both had tattooed men wearing faded tee-shirts going in and coming out, now, in the middle of the morning. Even her baby looked dingy: the three weeks he’d been out of the sun playing listlessly on the floor with his hard plastic rattles and gummy squeaky toys had turned his midsummer tan faded and muddy.
BethAnn hiked him back onto her pelvic bone and wondered how much farther it was to the Woolco. The sun was hot, and the baby was pushing his hands into her chest.
BethAnn needed to buy a shower curtain because the apartment she lived in had no bathtub, and the shower stall had no curtain. Every time she or her husband took a shower, water sprayed out all over the floor. Afterward she would mop up the water, then get down on hands and knees and dry the floor with one of Donny’s old tee-shirts. Last night he had slipped stepping out of the shower, and when he grabbed the towel rack to catch himself, it came off in his hands, screws and all.
“Oh, fuck!” he screamed.
BethAnn, sitting on the sticky vinyl couch feeding the baby a jar of strained apricots, waited for what would come next.
“BethAnn, get in here!”
“I can’t! I’m feeding the baby.”
“He’ll just have to wait, then, won’t he? Now get in here!”
“All right. I’m coming.” She set the baby on the floor and the jar of apricots in the middle of the coffee table. The baby was smearing them on the couch before she’d gotten halfway across the room.
Donny was lying flat on his back on the bathroom floor holding the towel rack above his head, his head in the doorway, his feet touching the opposite wall. “There’s water all over the floor.”
“I know. If you’ll get up off the floor, I’ll wipe it up.”
He didn’t move or answer, but the towel rack started to shake. BethAnn put her hand in front of her smile. “Why are you lying there like that? You shouldn’t have broken the towel rack. We’ll get in trouble with the landlord.”
“Can’t you see that I’m hurt? I fell in this water. Why don’t you buy a shower curtain?” He raised himself up on one elbow and twisted around to look at her. “Now, there’s a simple solution for you.”
BethAnn took the towel rack out of his hand and set it on the back of the toilet. “I can’t. We have only five dollars to last until payday.”
Donny stood up and, reaching for the towel on the floor, said, “A fucking shower curtain isn’t gonna break us.”
Later he apologized and showed her the bruise on his tailbone as they undressed for bed, telling her to be careful when they made love.
This morning she’d walked around the corner to Darnell’s Variety to buy a shower curtain. The variety store and the moldering Be-Lo Market that adjoined it were owned by the man who owned the Haven Inn Motel across the street and the small cluster of cinder block duplexes she and Donny lived in. When Linda, the girl across the courtyard, had informed BethAnn of this, she had thought that Mr. Darnell must be quite the entrepreneur to own so much property. When BethAnn said as much, Linda snorted and said, “He thinks he is. But we know how he really makes his money.” BethAnn opened her mouth to ask how, then closed it, rolled her eyes, and said, “Yeah.”
When she asked Mr. Darnell whether he didn’t have any shower curtains cheaper than six dollars, he laughed and said, “’Fraid not, sweetheart. What you see is what you get.” When she didn’t laugh with him, he said, “Try Woolco.”
“Where is it?”
“Little Creek Road. You just go down East Ocean View here to Shore Drive, down Shore Drive till you get to the shopping center across from the Amphibious Base. It isn’t very far. You can’t miss it.”
BethAnn paused to adjust the strap of her kidskin shoulder bag, which had slipped off her shoulder and into the crook of her arm. Her parents had given her the bag for her sixteenth birthday two years ago. She’d felt bad about using it at first when it had gotten scuffed and the baby had spit up on it, because it was special, but she didn’t think about it anymore.
She hoped Mr. Darnell hadn’t sent her on a wild goose chase because she wouldn’t buy one of his shower curtains. She’d been walking for almost half an hour and had seen nothing resembling a shopping center, unless she wanted to count a 7-Eleven and a grimy storefront with a bunch of wicker and bamboo stuff in the window. She had never seen so many motels—one every couple of blocks, up and down both sides of the street. She wondered why there were so many, how they could all make a profit located so close to one another like that. This place couldn’t get that many tourists. When she was five, the family had driven down from Vermont to New Orleans to visit her grandmother, and the first three nights it had taken her father over an hour to find a motel. The first one they’d slept at was one of those tourist cabins.
Her mother stood in the doorway, refusing to go inside. “We can’t stay here.”
Her father poked his head around her mother’s shoulder and looked around the room.
“It’s dirty,” her mother said.
“No, it’s not.” Her father set the suitcases down and walked to one of the double beds. He smiled and started to pat it, then stopped as he noticed a couple of dead flies lying in the center of the bed. “Well, maybe you’re right,” he said, straightening up. “The place is a little on the seedy side. But it’ll be fun. We can pretend we’re on the lam.”
Her mother laughed and brushed the flies off the bed. “On the lam from whom? The school board? Or did they call in the Feds this time? I’d better take Shirley to the bathroom. She’s holding herself.”
BethAnn trailed behind her mother and sister. At that age she’d loved strange bathrooms, especially those with blue or pink toilets set sleek and low to the floor. As her mother pulled down Shirley’s pants and set her on the high toilet seat, BethAnn’s attention was caught by a glass on the shelf above the sink, and she reached for it.
“Don’t touch that glass!” her mother screamed. “You don’t know who’s been drinking from it. What kind of germs . . .”
BethAnn had had the same reaction when Mr. Darnell had shown her the apartment three weeks ago. Water pipes ran exposed up the cinder block walls inside, the linoleum floors looked as though they hadn’t been mopped since the Second World War, and someone had painted the bedroom furniture with some kind of weird green stuff. The place smelled of cats. She wanted to scream, “I can’t live here! You don’t know who’s been sitting on that couch and eating at that table and walking on that floor. What kind of germs . . .”
But she took the place. It was a hundred and thirty-five a month, all utilities included, they couldn’t stay at the Holiday Inn another night, and besides, she was tired. She’d driven the U-Haul van ten hours the day before and had had to sit from ten-thirty until midnight in the pass office at the base waiting for someone to find her husband, while the baby’s urine soaked into her lap. The tall, middle-aged man behind the counter kept looking at her and shaking his head. “I’ve seen this so many times before, these young kids, so many times.” And she nodded and smiled, trying to be polite, but wished he would just shut up because he did not know what he was talking about.
Donny grinned sheepishly as he helped her into the van. “I got drunk. I didn’t think you were coming. My hair’s wet. The guys held my head under the shower.”
“Should you be driving?”
He took the keys from her hand. “Oh yuh, I’m fine. The walk down the pier sobered me up. You look terrible.”
“Thanks.”
“No, really, you look awful.”
As he drove to find a motel, she felt relieved that she was no longer alone in a place where every street only led to another street and the houses looked unlike any she’d ever seen before, but she didn’t know what to say to him. He looked different in his uniform with its white Dixie cup jammed onto his dripping hair. His long, wrinkled military issue raincoat looked as if it belonged on someone much older, as if he were playing dress-up. He smelled different, too, like machinery and aftershave. She could think of nothing that had happened to her in the three months since she had last seen him that could possibly be of interest to him.
“I missed you,” she said.
He put his arm around her and pressed her head onto his shoulder. “I missed you, too.”
As she hiked the baby up again and wiped away a bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face, a car pulled up beside her. The driver leaned over to roll down the passenger side window. “You need a ride?” he said. “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to Woolco.”
“Woolco? That’s a couple of miles from here. Where are you coming from?”
“18th Bay Street.”
He opened the car door. “And you’re walking to Woolco? Jesus.”
She didn’t move.
“Come on, get in. I’ll run you over there. I’m going that way anyway.”
BethAnn thought, I shouldn’t get in the car with him, accepting rides with strangers is dangerous, everyone knows that, and Donny would kill me if he found out, but he won’t find out because I won’t tell him. The guy looks nice enough, he’s probably just being kind. And he certainly wouldn’t harm a young woman with a baby in broad daylight.
Settling the baby on her lap, she glanced over at the man for a closer look. He had strawberry blonde hair feathered back over his ears and a red mustache. His hands on the steering wheel were small and clean.
“That’s a cute baby you have there,” he said. “A boy?” She nodded.
“How old?”
“Eight months.”
Stopping at a light, the man reached over and chucked the baby under the chin. “Cute kid. I have three of my own. But they’re all in school now. One’s in high school, can you believe that? They don’t stay babies for long.”
“No, they don’t.” BethAnn looked at the traffic ahead of them. So many cars.
The man looked over at her and smiled. “Not much of a talker, are you? Think it would help if we were properly introduced? I’m Andy. Who are you?”
She briefly considered giving him a false name—she didn’t know why—then told him “Elizabeth.”
“Your friends call you Lizzie?”
“No,” she said, clutching her pocketbook with one hand and the baby’s wet middle with the other.
Andy shrugged and took a pack of Marlboros off the dashboard. He pushed in the cigarette lighter and asked her if she wanted one. She said yes, thank you, and started to reach for the pack, but he took one out, lighted it, and handed it to her.
“So,” he said, lighting one for himself. “You’re not from around here. Where are you from?”
“Vermont. It’s a small town. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”
He blew a ragged smoke ring. “I go skiing up in New England a couple times a year. Try me.”
“Enosburg Falls.”
“You’re right. I’ve never heard of it.”
They both laughed.
Leaning his arm across the back of the seat, he said, “I’ll bet your husband’s in the Navy.”
She nodded.
“And this is your first time away from home, right?”
“Oh, no, I used to go to summer camp at Lake Fairlee and once when I was twelve, I rode the bus by myself to visit my grandparents in Maine. It’s a beautiful place, Cape Elizabeth. The water is very clean. Cold as hell, though. Turns your whole body blue after ten minutes.”
He smiled and turned on his left blinker. “I’ll just bet it does. Here’s Woolco. See, it is a bit far for you to walk.”
She opened the door. “Thank you for the ride. I really appreciate it.”
Andy reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a small, white comb. Looking into the rearview mirror, he said, “You get what you need. I’ll wait for you here.”
“Well, I—”
“I’ll give you a ride home. You can’t very well walk all that way carrying a shopping bag and a heavy baby. Don’t worry. My boss won’t mind. I set my own hours.”
She took her time buying the shower curtain. She carefully compared prices, quality, colors, and patterns before deciding on a light blue one with white seagulls on it for $2.29. She hesitated on her way to the checkout, looking for the one with the longest line. She headed towards it, then veered off to the one right next it. She really had to get home right away; she’d left the house without making the bed, last night’s supper dishes still on the table.
When she walked into the parking lot, blinking in the sudden heat and humidity, Andy was still there. He caught her eye and smiled, and she walked quickly toward his car. After she settled herself and the baby back in, as close to the door as she could get without seeming obvious, Andy lit another cigarette and gave it to her. As he drove, he asked her more questions. How did she like living in the South? She’d just moved here, she wasn’t used to it yet. (She didn’t tell him that Norfolk was the ugliest place she’d ever seen in her life. Since he did have a southern accent, he might take offense.) Was it hot enough for her? Oh, God, yes. Did her husband go out to sea often? He was due to make his first Mediterranean cruise in five weeks, but she didn’t like to think about it.
Riding with Andy in his car, a ’74 Monte Carlo with light blue upholstery, BethAnn missed having one. When she and Donny had first started going together in high school, he had been able to use his older brother’s car, a ’69 Dodge Charger, white and always coated with a thick layer of dust. BethAnn and Donny would go riding around in the Charger every night that she could get out of the house. She would sit close to him on the seat, resting her left hand on his thigh. They would smoke Marlboros and share a Coke from a bottle. Never from a can, it wasn’t the same from a can.
They would drive up Main Street and down Main Street, downshifting into jerky first by the park, Donny popping his head out the window and hollering, “Hey, Benoit!” and BethAnn craning her neck to see who Benoit was with this time.
Donny would drive onto a dirt road to park. Some nights he went to West Enosburg, some nights to Montgomery, some nights to East Berkshire. It didn’t matter to BethAnn where they went as long as she could look out the car window and see the stars. Her being able to see the stars made their lovemaking much more romantic to her. When Donny was lying heavily on top of her after he had come, his breath panting hot and harsh in her ear, she would rub the condensation from the rear window and stare out at the stars. Then Donny would drive her home and she would fight with her parents.
When Andy pulled up at her building, she scrambled out of the car and slammed the door. “Thank you very, very much for the ride. I really, really appreciate it.”
He got out of the car and stretched both arms above his head. “Aren’t you going to invite me in for a drink? It’s hot today. And I do have a long drive back to work.” BethAnn didn’t answer him, and he followed her as she walked to the building. Unlocking her door, she said, “I don’t have anything to drink except water. But it’s been in the refrigerator, so it’s cold.”
As she walked through the living room, leaving the front door open, she shivered slightly. Her scalp prickled, and she could feel every individual hair on her head. She knew the cut-offs she was wearing were too short, but she thought she’d be all right—as long as she didn’t bend over, not even to set the baby down.
Andy stood in the doorway, looking around the living room. On the orange wall directly in front of him were posters of rock stars: Hendrix, David Bowie with pink hair, the Beatles crossing Abbey Road. He turned to look at the wall behind him. Taking a step closer, he examined two eight-by-ten photographs hanging side by side in matching metal frames. One picture was of a boy in a rented tuxedo and BethAnn wearing a ruffled yellow dress; they were holding hands and smiling. The other showed the same couple, the boy still wearing a rented tuxedo (although not the same one) and BethAnn wearing a big white dress. Each picture had a daisy pressed under the glass. As Andy stepped away from the photographs, he bumped into the coffee table. It was covered with clean, folded baby clothes, magazines, a Monopoly game, and five letters laid out in a row on top of the magazines, all with the same return address in Vermont.
BethAnn stood watching him, clutching the baby tightly to her chest. He nodded at the posters on the wall. “You like rock? I really dig it. Has your old man taken you to Peabody’s at the Beach yet?”
She shook her head. “We’ve just barely gotten unpacked and settled.” Christ, she thought. I don’t need to make excuses to him. He smiled at her over the rim of the glass. Finding a bare spot on the coffee table, he set the glass down. “Do you go out?” he said, getting up from the couch.
She cleared her throat. “Some. I take the baby for a walk whenever I can. And I go to the store and stuff.”
“No. I mean do you go out?”
Her face flushed and she looked down at the floor. “No. No, I don’t.”
He stood quietly looking at the top of her head. The baby was fussing and struggling to get down, but she wouldn’t loosen her grip on him. He struggled so hard she almost dropped him. Andy picked the glass up off the coffee table, walked into the kitchen, and set it carefully in the sink. Crossing back to BethAnn, he took out his wallet. “Thank you for the water, Elizabeth. It hit the spot.” He took a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet. “Here, take this. You need it more than I do.”
“But—”
He pushed the money into her hand and turned to go. “Buy something for the baby,” he said as he pushed open the screen door. BethAnn bent down and released the baby. When she could no longer hear the sound of Andy’s car, she took a deep breath, went into her bedroom, and hid the money in her top bureau drawer.
When Donny got home that evening, she was sitting on the couch, feeding the baby a bottle and watching a Gomer Pyle rerun on TV. As he shut the door behind him, Donny set a small knapsack on the floor. “Those are dirty,” he said, pointing to it. She continued to stare at Sergeant Carter holding a troll doll by the hair. “I bought the shower curtain,” she said. “It has seagulls on it, and if you don’t like it, too bad.”
Donny stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt and threw it on her head. “What shower curtain?”
“The baby—”
“I didn’t hurt him. Did I, critter?” He tickled his son’s stomach, and the baby laughed, milk running out of his mouth and onto BethAnn’s bare leg.
Sergeant Carter was ranting about the troll doll. “The shower curtain you told me to buy last night, the shower curtain you ordered me to buy last night, that shower curtain.”
Flopping down on the couch next to her, Donny took his shirt off her head and tossed it onto his knapsack. “You did? Really? That’s great. What else did you do today?”
“Nothing.”
That night BethAnn couldn’t sleep. She wanted to take the ten dollars out of her drawer and hide it in a better place, but she was afraid the noise would wake her husband. She got out of bed, slipped into Donny’s bathrobe, and tiptoed barefoot into the living room. Crossing to the front window, she pushed the curtain aside and looked out, seeing the same thing she always saw when she looked out that window at three in the morning—the outline of the building across from hers and the largest of the abandoned toys in the courtyard. Then she stood in front of her two photographs and stared at them. She couldn’t see them in the dark, but she knew every detail by heart. After half an hour she went back to bed. Donny was lying on his side facing the wall and she pressed herself as close as she could to his back, molding her naked body to his. She put her arm around him and started to cry. Her crying was quiet—just tears trickling from her eyes, nothing more.
Elizabeth Gauffreau writes fiction and poetry with a strong connection to family and place. She holds a BA in English/Writing from Old Dominion University and an MA in English/Fiction Writing from the University of New Hampshire. Recent fiction publications include Woven Tale Press, Dash, Pinyon, Aji, Open: Journal of Arts & Letters, and Evening Street Review. Her debut novel, Telling Sonny, was published in 2018. Her debut poetry collection, Grief Songs: Poems of Love & Remembrance, was published by Paul Stream Press in September 2021. Learn more about her work at https://lizgauffreau.com.
Contributor’s Note:
“Norfolk, Virginia, 1975: East Ocean View”
“Norfolk, Virginia, 1975” is a coming-of-age story based on personal experience. Sadly, it’s not a story unique to me. In terms of approach and style, I wrote it during my Raymond Carver gritty realism period. The story can also serve as a time capsule of East Ocean View before urban renewal in the 1980s. While a few of those grim cinderblock houses have survived, the majority of the places in the story are now gone.
Novel
Telling Sonny is a coming-of-age story set in the 1920s, when much of vaudeville had devolved into the Small-Time—but not to a naïve girl from a tiny village in northern Vermont who lets herself be charmed by a cad of a hoofer.
Poetry Collection
Grief Songs: Poems of Love & Remembrance is a collection of photopoetry that tells the story of a loving family lost.