Neil Healdsburg — 1976 Pity and Friendship

Neil roams the woods after school collecting mushrooms and looking for animals. He takes whatever jobs he can, wherever he can find them, giving one quarter of the money to Alma. The rest he wraps inside an old wool sock and hides it beneath a loose floorboard by his bed. He splits logs for firewood, growing strong and muscular. After school and weekends, he works for the local veterinary. Neil has healing hands, at odds with his appearance. Wounded animals find comfort in his arms. He brings orphaned kittens, puppies and even an occasional rabbit home to foster.

“I cannot stand the smell of that stuff you feed them,” Alma says. “They are dirtying my sheets. I want you to get rid of them right now.”

Neil looks at her with steady, emotionless eyes and says nothing. Alma retreats, wondering why her life has become a series of misunderstanding and bad fortune.

On Neil’s birthday, Alma bakes him a flourless chocolate cake. She tries to be careful, reading the recipe twice through before she even begins to mix four ounces of bittersweet chocolate, butter, and eggs. But the cake is so bitter even Neil’s growing puppies, who eat spoiled refuse, will not taste it.

When there is a parent meeting at Healdsburg High, Alma goes hoping for the pity of friends. She does not realize that pity and friendship never reside under the same roof.

Over punch and cookies, the mothers chatter like quails. Only Alma’s banana bread, sour with resentment, is left untouched.

“My Jenny just spends all her time doing homework,” Sally Parsons says. “I really worry if it’s normal for her to not have more social life... but she is determined to get all A’s.” Sally sighs and opens her palms in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. Alma hates Sally and her oh-so-perfect daughter. She never has to worry about bills or wonder if the mixture in the blender contains puréed rats.

“Neil spends all this time in his room with tiny animals he brings home from the vet,” Alma says. “He even takes them to bed with him, that can’t be healthy, can it? They dirty my sheets, and lord knows, I spend enough time washing as is.

“He uses saucepans, my sauce pans, supposed to be used for humans, to make baby formula for dogs, cats and rodents. It smells horrible. Really, it makes me feel ill. Once he even got ringworm. But does he listen when I tell him to get rid of all those animals? No. He looks at me as if ...”

“He loves animals — that means he’s got a good heart, dear,” Sally Parsons says, patting her hand. “You should thank God for having such a boy.”

Of course, Alma thinks, it’s easy for Sally Parson’s to bless Neil’s heart. Sally Parson’s girl would never dirty a sheet or bring home vermin. She would never boil odd concoctions late at night or ignore her mother.

“You don’t know how lucky you are to have a boy who never gets into trouble,” sighs Mrs. Jackson, the sheriff’s wife.

“And he even has a job and brings home money, I hear,” says Sara Kelly. “With my Chip, it’s all football, football, football and girls, girls, girls — you really are blessed.”

But Alma can see the pride behind Sara Kelly’s eyes. She knows Sara would never trade her football star for a boy who suckles rodents. She tightens her lips and says nothing.