The Life We Bury

I paused before approaching the reception desk, listening one last time to those second thoughts that had been whispering in my ear, petulant thoughts that told me to drop that English class before it was too late and replace it with something more sensible like geology or history. A month earlier, I had left my home in Austin, Minnesota, sneaking off like a boy running away to join a circus. No arguments with my mother, no chance for her to try and change my mind. I just packed a bag, told my younger brother that I was leaving, and left a note for my mom. By the time I made it to the registrar's office at the university, all the decent English classes had been filled, so I signed up for a biography class, the one that would force me to interview a complete stranger. Deep down, I knew that the clammy sweat that pimpled my temples as I loitered in the lobby came from that homework assignment, an assignment I had avoided starting for far too long. I just knew the assignment was going to suck. The receptionist at Hillview, a square-faced woman with strong cheeks, tight hair, and deep-set eyes that gave her the appearance of a gulag matron, leaned over the countertop and asked, Can I help you? Yes, I said. I mean, I hope so. Is your manager here? We don't allow solicitations, she said, her face becoming brittle as she narrowed her focus on me. Solicitations? I gave her a forced chuckle and held out my hands in an imploring gesture. Ma'am, I said, I couldn't sell fire to a caveman. Well, you're not a resident here, and you're no visitor, and you sure don't work here, so what's left? My name's Joe Talbert. I'm a student at the University of Minnesota. I glanced at her name tag. And, Janet, I'd like to talk to your manager about a project I have to do. We don't have a manager, Janet said through her squint. We have a director, Mrs. Larngren. I'm sorry, I said, trying to maintain my pleasant facade. Can I talk to your director? Mrs. Larngren's a very busy lady, and it's suppertime. It'll only take a minute. Why don't you run your project by me, and I'll decide if it's worth disturbing Mrs. Larngren? It's an assignment I'm doing for school, I said. For my English class, I have to interview an old person, I mean, an elderly person, and write a biography about them. You know, tell about the struggles and forks in the road that made them who they are. You're a writer? Janet looked me up and down as if my appearance might answer that question. I straightened up to the full extent of my five-foot, ten-inch height. I was twenty-one years old and had accepted that I was as tall as I was ever going to be. Thank you, Joe Talbert, Sr., wherever the hell you are. And while it was true that I worked as a bouncer, I wasn't the big meat you normally see at the door of a bar. In fact, as bouncers go, I was on the puny side. No, I said, I'm not a writer, just a student. And they're making you write a whole book for school? No, it's a mix of writing and outline, I said with a smile. Some of the chapters have to be written out, like the beginning and the ending and any important turning points, but mostly it'll be a summary. It's a pretty big project. Janet wrinkled her pug nose and shook her head. Then, apparently persuaded that I had nothing to sell, she picked up the phone and spoke in a lowered voice. Soon, a woman in a green suit approached from a hallway beyond the reception desk and took up a position next to Janet. I'm Director Lorngren, the woman announced, her head held erect and steady as if she were balancing a teacup on it. Can I help you? I hope so. I took a deep breath and ran through it all again. Mrs. Lorngren chewed over my explanation with a puzzled look on her face and then said, Why did you come here? Don't you have a parent or grandparent you can interview? I don't have any relatives nearby, I said. That was a lie. My mother and my brother live two hours south of the Twin Cities, but even a brief visit to my mom's place could be like a walk through a thistle patch. I never met my father and had no idea if he still stayed in the earth. I knew his name, though. My mom came up with the brilliant idea of naming me after him in the hope that it might guilt Joe Talbert Sr. into staying around a while, maybe marrying her and supporting her and little Joey Jr. It didn't work out. Mom tried the same thing when my younger brother, Jeremy, was born, but to the same end. I grew up having to explain that my mother's name was Kathy Nelson, my name was Joe Talbert, and my brother's name was Joe Talbert.