Archive of Our Own ^beta

The south New Jersey air was cold, dewdrops clinging to the grass against the morning air as Stanley Pines fidgeted with the faux gold chain around his neck, setting about getting his tiny stand on the Glass Shard Beach pier ready for the day. A sigh escaped his lips as he rubbed an indentation on his cheek where his car’s steering wheel had pressed into his skin.

“Okay, Stanley…” He whispered into the grays and pinks of the sunrise. “You can do this. Another day, another dollar, another step closer to gettin’ back home.” Stan tried not to look past the pier, tried not to look to the small dock further down the beach, where the silhouette of a dingy, rotting old sailboat was still visible along the shoreline. A sailboat that Stanley knew no one had approached in about six months. Once, he swore he saw his brother standing before the boat, duffle bag in hand, staring out at the waves, salt water licking at his feet. But that was months ago. Now the old sailboat bobbed with the waves, a lone beacon against an ocean painted pink and red by the rising sun, untouched for months. Ford had likely gone off to college by now, safe from the war in a cozy dorm room while Stan was stuck burning his draft card and failing to report to the recruitment office back last August, when a draft notice arrived in the P.O. box he’d had to set up to mail out orders for the Sham-Totals.

Stan grit his teeth, finishing setting his booth up for the day. Soon… Soon he’d have his fortune, he’d have a house and a family and maybe Ford would want to talk  to him again, if he only sold enough of those cheap shammies and—

RING!

Stan’s hand was on the receiver in an instant, a fake smile on his face, a fake tone in his voice. “Good morning! I’m Stan Pines, of Stanco Enterprises, creator of the Sham-Total: It’s a Total Sham! How many shammies do ya want?”

“Stanley?” The voice on the other end of the line was shaky, soaking wet with tears. “St-Stanley, is ‘at you?”

Every muscle in Stan’s body froze, twisting and tensing. He shrunk away from the receiver, the voice burning and pressing against his skull until he was sure he’d implode from the pressure.

“Ma?”

“Stanley? H-How ya doin’, hon?” Martha Pines’ voice fizzled through the reciever. “How’s my little free spirit?”

“I’m—” Stan glanced around the pier. “Oh, um, I’m doing great! Really raking in the dough. I’ve almost got enough to pay back dad.”

A bead of silence hung in the air, thick and heavy, like molasses.

“Everything okay?” Stan’s chapped lips pressed together in a thin line, his teeth digging into the flesh, millions of reasons why his mother could possibly be calling scrolling through his head.

“It’s Stanford.”

Stanley’s heart dropped.

A teary call from Ma Pines, about Ford, halfway through February when he should be doing fine at whatever bigshot university Ford was hiding in, could only mean three things: Ford was either hurt, sick, or dead.

“Ma? Ma, what’s goin—”

“Couple’a months after ya… after ya left, Stanford got drafted.” Martha Pines’ voice shook as she spoke. Stan could hear her taking a drag from her cigarette on the other end of the line.

“Oh shit,” Stan said. So this ain’t about Ford then, she was worried I got shipped off without lettin’ her know… “I mean, I got a notice too, so I guess it’s not surprisin’. I never showed up to the induction center, though. I’m fine, Ma, I promise. If they come after me, I’ll high tail it to Canada to something. I know a couple’a guys who are gonna try to cross the border, I can probably hitch a ride. Listen, I’m gonna be just fine. And hey, at least Stanford’s not going anywhere—”

“Stanley… Filbrick wanted ‘im to serve, he told him to go to the induction center and… and not come back,” Martha stammered.

“The hell is dad’s problem!” Stan’s grip on the phone was so strong, he could hear the plastic cracking underneath his knuckles. That son of a bitch… it wasn’t enough for him to kick me out… he had to go and kick Ford to the curb, too! “He knows better than anybody that Ford can’t serve in the military! They won’t let ‘im cause of his extra fingers!”

“Stanley…” Martha took a deep breath. “Stanley, when Ford went to the induction center… they told ‘im he was a natural sharpshooter. Who knew, huh? My baby, whose only D was in gym class, a sharpshooter.” Her voice was light and heavy all at the same time, and it made Stanley’s head spin. “They made an exception and shipped him off. We got a few letters here an’ there but… yesterday, there was a telegram—”

“What?!”

“They say he’s AWOL, they think he got captured by the North Vietnamese, they think he’s either a POW or he deserted, they don’t think he’ll last long but they say they’ll do everything they can to find him and—” Martha’s voice trembled and shook with her tears, with the static coming through the landline. Stan thanked his lucky stars and every higher being he could name, let alone believe in, that they didn’t have a party line, that one of the few things the Pines family could afford a private phone line, so his mother could break down in peace. “I already lost one baby and I can’t ask you to put yourself through comin’ back here with your father, Stanford made me promise I wouldn’t let ya come back here an’ I know he wanted me to think he just didn’t want you around, but he’s never been very good at lyin’ and— I just wanted to tell you what was goin’ on. I just wanted to hear your voice. Stanley, my baby, my little free spirit. It’s just me an’ Shermie an’ Filbrick now and I don’t know how much more of that I can take. A mother isn’t supposed to lose her children all at once like this,” Martha sobbed.

“...Ma, where did they last see him?” Stan’s voice was quiet, almost lost to the white noise clinging to the landline like spiderwebs.

“They say it’s in ‘the vicinity of province of Thua Thein’! My baby is missin’ and they won’t even tell me where!” Martha choked out another sob. “Stanley, I’m worried. Filbrick kicked you out, he doesn’t give a shit about Ford, and I think about the way you two turned out sometimes and wonder… is that what it’s gonna be like for Shermie? Is Filbrick gonna wait to get rid of him? Is he gonna get rid of him at all? I don’t know what I’m gonna do, Stanley...”

“Ma, it’s…” Stanley trailed off, twirling the phone cord around his fingers. He’d long since lost count of the nights when he’d try to comfort Ford with tales of adventure, of far off places and treasure hunts and a day when they’d both escape the toxic clutches of Glass Shard Beach.

And now Martha Pines wanted out, too.

“Ma, I don’t… know what to do about dad. Ford and I wanted to sail away for a reason, you know? I just want to prove dad wrong. I want to come home.” Stan took a deep breath. “No… I want my brother back.”

“Stanley… I know you miss your brother, but… Sweetie pie, I don’t think he’s comin’ back.” Martha’s voice was quiet.

“Hey, I’m, uh… off today. Wanna meet down by the Rinky Tinks Ice Cream Parlor or somethin’?” Stan asked, his eyes shifting around the docks, flickering towards the small crowd that was heading towards his booth. He put up his closed sign, hoping it would drive them away.

“Stan, it’s barely 7:30, it’s too early for ice cream. How can you even think about ice cream right now?!”

“Just… just listen to me, Ma. Bring Shermie if ya want but I’m tired of hearin’ you sob over the phone. Come meet with me. Face to face,” Stan pleaded.

“...Okay.”

“So…” Martha Pines awkwardly tapped her nails against her glass. “You’ve been doin’... television commercials?”

“Yeah, uh, the Sham-Total. Like a towel but, uh, better.” Stan sat ramrod straight, barely looking his mother in the eye. “Here, let me write down my… home phone number, so ya don’t have to call me at work next time you get another telegram.”

Rinky Tinks was a small diner, near the beach but far enough away from the pier that no one Stan knew would be there, and he knew Filbrick didn’t frequent ice cream parlors of any kind. Even better, it wasn’t far enough into spring that many people were craving ice cream at all, so the small parlor was nearly empty, with a few dead eyed waitresses behind the counter who were more interested in their own conversation than with the one between Stan and Martha Pines.

“Got a pen?” Stanley asked as he reached for a napkin, scrawling out a random jumble of numbers on the outside, but carefully unfolding it and writing a note to his mother on the inside. He slid the napkin over to his mother with a wink. “There, now doesn’t some nice ice cream make ya feel better?” He said, loud enough to convince the waitresses of their topic of conversation, but not loudly enough to draw suspicion.

Martha Pines plopped onto the living room couch. The house seemed so empty now that both Stanley and Stanford were gone, and only Shermie and Filbrick were there to fill that void.

The former was much preferable to the latter.

Her husband had never been a kind man, nor a merciful one, but between him kicking one son to the curb last spring, and the shrugging ‘I’m not impressed’ he’d given her when she’d told him about what happened to Ford… Martha Pines knew she had to find some way out of this marriage.

Or Shermie could be next.

She sighed as she lit her cigarette with a match, and opened the napkin Stanley had given her.

Ma, if you can get out of Glass Shard Beach, do it. But don’t worry about Ford. I’ll send details in the mail, later, but right now all you need to know is that I’m going to get Ford back.

Just… burn this napkin when you’re done, ok?

Martha took a long drag from her cigarette, before slowly bringing the still-lit match to the napkin and watching it go up in flames.