Bright Side

by Kim Holden

  He hands me my coffee, which I gratefully take with both hands.

  Resting his elbows on the counter, interlacing his long, slim fingers, he fires back. “First off, no one would say Zeppelin sucks.”

  I nod in concession. “I agree. That was a bad example.” I set my two dollars on the counter.

  “And The Cure was mediocre,” he continues.

  I can’t even pretend to contain myself. “Dude?! I’m calling bullshit on you. That’s outright and blatant blasphemy. The Cure is epic, timeless, one of the greatest bands. Ever. Period.”

  He shakes his head. “No way.” He smiles. “The Smiths were better.”

  I allow myself a smile. “Kudos to Morrissey, but Robert Smith is a … he’s a God!” It’s a declaration.

  He holds his hands up in defeat, but he’s smiling. He puts my bills in the register and hands me my change.

  I put the change in the tip jar. “I guess all I’m saying is that you should give classical a chance. It has a bad reputation. Sure, some of it can be boring, but it can also be beautiful and sexy. Check out Debussy.”

  “Sexy, huh?” His crooked smile emerges. I picture him practicing it in front of a mirror, fully aware of its effect on the opposite sex.

  I wink. “You might be surprised.” I raise my coffee in salute. “Thanks for the early morning conversation. Have a stellar day, Keller.”

  He salutes back. “See you around, Katie. And thanks for the tip on the ground beef at Sam’s.”

  “Don’t forget the meatloaf dinner at Our Lady of Everlasting Glory.” I call back without turning around. Sometimes I test people, just to see if they really listen to me.

  “That’s Eternal Light.” I can hear the smile in his voice. “And it’s spaghetti,” he adds just before the door shuts behind me.

  I smile too, because he totally passed.

  Thursday, September 8

  (Kate)

  It’s 3:30pm and I’m on my way to Minneapolis. I don’t have to be there until 4:00, but due to the fact that the last time I drove this stretch I had Clay and Shelly praying for their lives, I’ve decided to leave a little early and drop my speed to a respectable seventy-five. I feel geriatric.

  The elementary school I’m looking for is supposed to be only a few blocks from Maddie’s apartment building. Sure enough, it doesn’t take me long to find it.

  Sometime last week, I realized that I had this need that wasn’t being met. So I talked to my guidance counselor about volunteer opportunities. I didn’t tell him the specifics because I don’t need psychoanalysis. Besides, I don’t need anyone to tell me what’s wrong. I already know. It’s simple. I miss Grace.

  Anyway, Mr. Guidance Counselor put me in contact with this elementary school in Minneapolis that works closely with Grant. Turns out that there’s a fifth grader, Gabriel, whose regular Grant tutor isn’t available for two weeks due to surgery. That’s where I fit in. I’m so excited, because to be honest, I have way too much free time on my hands. I’m having no problem keeping up with my classes and work, and I need something more. Something more makes me feel good. Something more is helping someone else. But I’m also a little selfish, because something more has the potential to help me in ways they’ll never know or understand.

  I check in at the school office and because I already emailed them all my paperwork a few days ago, they take me straight to the cafeteria where the after-school program meets. The woman from the office introduces me to the director of the after-school program. Her name is Helen and she’s nice, but she keeps her eyes glued to me while we talk, like a mama bear protecting her cubs. “Gabriel has Down syndrome. He’s a sweet, sweet boy ... ninety-nine percent of the time. Now and again he can act out.”

  “Sounds like most kids. I’m familiar.”

  “Familiar with children with Down syndrome?” she asks, looking doubtful.

  “Yes ma’am, my sister,” I say. More familiar than you’ll ever know, I think.

  “Oh, I see. Yes, of course. I expect you’ll show him the attention and patience he needs and deserves?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  She nods curtly. “I will expect a full report after each tutoring session before you leave so that I can pass along the information to his mother. You’ll come and get me if there’s a behavioral situation?”

  “I can do that. Where’s Gabriel? I’d like to meet him.”

  She inhales and exhales. She turns slowly and calls out, “Gabriel.”

  A dark haired little head turns at the table nearest us. Helen motions him to her. He rises tentatively and stands next to the table as if waiting for permission.

  She smiles brightly. “Gabriel, come here please. There’s someone here who would like to meet you.” She talks to him slowly and cautiously like he’s a frightened animal.

  Gabriel approaches us and looks at the ground. Before Helen can say another word I lower down on my knees in front of Gabriel. He’s taller than I am now. I offer my hand. “I’m Kate, Gabriel. I’d like to be your friend. Will you be my friend?”

  He doesn’t take my hand but when he lifts his chin to look at me he’s smiling. His smile is just beautiful.

  “Hey Smiley. Let’s go to the library so you can show me what kind of books you have in that super cool backpack.” I point to the backpack sitting on the floor next to the table he was sitting at. The backpack is black and it’s covered with a pattern of colorful guitars.

  His smile grows and he runs back to grab the backpack. “Walk, Gabriel,” Helen reprimands sternly.

  He walks back, still smiling at me. I’m still on my knees and I whisper to him, “Let’s go, Smiley.”

  He reaches down and takes my hand in his and whispers in my ear, “I’d like to be your friend.”

  I swallow the golf ball sized lump in my throat, and stand. Then I smile, because for a few seconds I can’t speak. I see Grace in his eyes.

  We walk down the hall and I swing our hands back and forth. We don’t speak until we reach the library where all of our tutoring sessions are scheduled to take place.

  “Well Smiley, this is your school and I’m kinda new here, so I’m gonna need you to tell me where we should sit.”

  He scans the room and after serious consideration he leads me to a small table with two chairs near a window.

  “I’m so glad I let you pick, because this is perfect. I would have chosen that table over there,” I say, pointing to the corner. “And then we would have missed out on this view.” There’s a small flower bed outside the window that’s still in bloom.

  He’s smiles widely. He’s proud of himself. I get the feeling he doesn’t get compliments very often.

  I point to his backpack. “Can you show me what you worked on in math today, Smiley?”

  As he unzips the bag he looks a little puzzled. “Why do you call me Smiley?”

  “Because you have just about the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.” He really does. It lights up the room.

  He’s still puzzled, but he can’t hide his smile. “But my name is Gabriel. Everyone calls me Gabriel.”

  I take his math book from him when he hands it to me and place it on the table. “It’s a nickname. It’s like a special name that only friends can call you.” He likes this idea. I see it in his eyes. “If you don’t like Smiley I can call you Gabriel. Gabriel is a great name.”

  He thinks about it. “I like Smiley.”

  “So do I.”

  “Now you need a nickname.”

  I nod encouragingly. “I definitely think I need a nickname. What do you want to call me?”

  His head tilts back and forth as he thinks and every few seconds his eyes crinkle up. He’s focused on my face and looks over every square inch of it before he blurts out, “Spots!”

  “Spots?”

  He points to my nose. “Yeah, Spots.”

  It takes a second, but then I realize he’s talking about my freckles. “Of course, I have spots on my nose, don’t I?”

/>   He nods enthusiastically.

  “Well, I think of all the nicknames I’ve ever had, Spots is my very favorite.” My heart is so happy right now.

  Smiley is definitely something more.

  Friday, September 9

  (Kate)

  Shelly’s been working on me all week. She’s on the phone now and it’s deteriorated into Shelly’s version of whining, which is still more like telling than asking. “Kate, you have to come. It’s the Back to Grant Bash. It’s a stupid tradition, but everyone goes.”

  “Shelly, why do I need to come? I’m sure all of your friends will already be there.” The truth is I’m just too tired tonight.

  I swear she’s pouting. “Because, dude, you’re more fun.” She knows I love the dude. She’s trying to butter me up—both sides, front and back, top to bottom. It’s working. “No shit, Kate, I really do have more fun going out with you. You make me step outside my comfort zone.”

  “But you hate that.” She does.

  “I know … but I also like it.”

  That small admission makes me feel less tired. “Will there be dancing? Because, if I can get a guarantee out of you that you’ll dance with me tonight, then I’m in.”

  Shelly exhales. It sounds pained. “I’ll dance,” she says, although it’s a whisper through clenched teeth.

  “What? You’re going to have to speak up. I didn’t hear you,” I say the last part in a sing-song voice.

  “Goddamn you, Kate. Yes, I’ll dance. Do you want me to go outside and scream it for the world to hear? Would that make you happy?” There’s a smile in there somewhere. It’s wedged between the grimace and the menace.

  “Um, yeah, actually that would make me the happiest fucking girl in Grant today. Can you throw in a little booty shake while you’re yelling? That would make it perfect.”

  “Don’t push it, Sedgwick.”

  “But I’m not dressing up. I heard it’s a costume party and I don’t do costumes.”

  “Neither do I,” she agrees.

  Shelly picks me up from the dorm at 10:00 and two minutes later we’re parked in front of a frat house on campus. It looks like a ghost town.

  “What the hell? Where is everyone?” She looks pissed. I know she said it was stupid, but I think she was looking forward to it. She spots someone coming out of the building’s side door, and her whole body tenses. She’s like a lion ready to pounce. “Stay here. I’m going to find out what happened.”

  She tracks down her prey and begins questioning the poor guy like she did me the first time we met. I know how intimidating she can be when you don’t know her. (And sometimes even when you do know her.) The guy’s hunched over like he’s protecting his soft, vulnerable underbelly from an attack. Then she pulls her cell phone out of her back pocket and dials someone. There’s a brief conversation with lots of hand gestures and she returns with the scoop. “Cops broke up the party twenty minutes ago. Some drunken idiot dressed up like Superman decided to jump out of a second story window on a dare. He broke his femur. It was so bad they had to call the ambulance. That’s when the cops came. You know the rest.” She rolls her eyes, irritated. Shelly doesn’t tolerate stupidity. “Dumbass.”

  I offer my condolences. “Sorry, dude. To tell you the truth, I’m more bummed about not seeing a grown man jump out of a window donning a Superman unitard. I mean I’m sorry the party was shut down and I’m really sorry the dude got hurt, but that must’ve been hilarious.”

  “It’s ludicrous.” She corrects.

  “Hilarious. Ludicrous. The difference is so subtle.” I’m going to babble on until she cracks a smile. “They play well together, like they’re both members of the same humorous constituency, but—”

  A smile starts in her eyes. “Shut up, Kate.” It giggles its way out.

  “Seriously, a twenty-year-old in tights who thinks he can fly? That shit’s not funny to you? I know I’m simple and easily amused, but to me that’s good stuff.”

  She’s laughing now, and even snorts a little. I’ve only heard her snort once before when she laughed really, really hard at the club in Minneapolis. It’s her summit. Every time I hear her laugh, I feel satisfaction in knowing I can bring that kind of uninhibited happiness to this serious girl. She’s let me in, and that feels good.

  She hits the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “Thanks, dude. I needed that.” She looks resigned. “Now, let’s go have a few drinks.”

  “Okay. But promise me you’ll stop before you attempt any superhero, second-story leaps of faith.”

  When we pull up in front of Three Petunias, I assume we’re going up to her apartment. No problem; I can walk back to the dorms from here. When she gets out and crosses the street I’m confused. “Where are we going?”

  “To see The Boyfriend.” It’s funny that she calls him that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard his real name. It’s always The Boyfriend. “Let’s see if he and his roommate got their drunken asses home yet. They were almost home when I talked to him a few minutes ago.”

  “How far away do they live?” I’m rubbing my arms because I’m only wearing a T-shirt and hoodie and it’s unseasonably chilly tonight. I didn’t really count on walking very far.

  “Just down the street. They rent out the room behind Grounds.”

  The walk is short. We turn the corner at Grounds and walk around behind the building. There’s a gigantic ancient Suburban parked in the alley. It’s pale green and rusty, but the driver’s door is red. Next to the car is the door to what I assume must be The Boyfriend’s apartment, or “room” as she called it.

  She tries the doorknob but it’s locked, so she beats her fist against the door.

  A tall redhead with a thick beard swings the door open and then holds onto it, like he couldn’t stand without it. He smiles at Shelly—the same sappy smile she wears when she talks about him. But where hers is small and restrained, his is huge and wide open. “Honey, you’re home!” I’ve never seen anyone slur a phrase so enthusiastically.

  She kisses him on the cheek as she enters. “When did you two start drinking?”

  The slurring resumes. “I don’t remember. Three o’clock, maybe? It’s the Back to Grant Bash!” This guy is one happy drunk. I like that. I can’t be around angry drunks. It reminds me of my mother.

  He’s physically startled when he glances over and sees me waiting on the threshold. I don’t want to be rude and barge in or make any sudden movements because the dude looks like he’s seeing double, possibly triple. He’s trying extremely hard to concentrate on just one of me.

  I raise my hand and wave slowly. “Hey, what’s up? You must be The Boyfriend.”

  He squints like my image is an out of focus apparition floating in front of him. “Kate?” He looks slowly to Shelly. “Hun, is this The Kate? The one you talk about nonstop? I finally get to meet her in the flesh?”

  Shelly rolls her eyes. “Shut up, Duncan. Let the poor girl in, it’s freezing out there.”

  Duncan steps back and with a wide, dramatic, sweeping gesture welcomes me into his apartment.

  I nod. “Thanks dude.”

  He giggles, which is priceless because a guy this big and hairy shouldn’t giggle. But there’s no other way to describe it. “Wait, I know you. Don’t I know you? How do I know you?”

  Shelly hands me a beer before I can turn it down or even take my hoodie off. “Duncan, you don’t know her. How would you know Kate?”

  I look at him again and suddenly he looks familiar, too. I’ve seen that beard before, but where? And then it hits me. “Grounds. We met at Grounds before school started. Well, we sort of met. We discussed the weather I think.”

  He tries to snap his fingers, but fails miserably. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Yes. Yes! I knew it.” He points at me. “You’re in the club.” He turns to Shelly. “Hun, she’s in the club.”

  I smile and nod. “Yeah, I’m in the club.”

  Shelly shakes her head, but can’t help smiling at him like a lovesick
puppy. “Duncan, please sit down before you fall down. And no more alcohol. I’m cutting you off.”

  He shuffles over to the small loveseat and tumbles down next to her.

  I look around the room and realize now why Shelly called it a room and not an apartment. Because it is a room, just one tiny open space with high ceilings. Everything about it is small, but it’s homey and comfortable. There’s a small kitchenette along the far brick wall, a small loveseat and ratty recliner in the middle, and two screens set up on opposite sides of the door I’ve come through. I’m assuming Duncan’s bed is housed behind one and his roommate’s behind the other. Virtually no privacy. I can relate, but when I shared a small room with someone it was my sister and privacy wasn’t a priority. There are three other doors, all of which are closed. One must be a bathroom. Another is probably a closet. And the other looks like it might lead to the rear of Grounds.

  Duncan reaches over and clumsily pats the recliner next to him. “Come sit down, Kate. We won’t bite. Better take a seat while you can before my roommate gets out of the shower. Some chick was trying to put the moves on my boy at the frat house and when he wasn’t into her, she threw a glass of beer on him. What the hell? I mean, who does that? He smelled awful. Had to clean up when we got home.” He’s a very dramatic storyteller and much chattier than Shelly.

  Shelly laughs. “I’m sure he was leading her on. You know what a tease he is when he’s drunk.”

  “Hun, he’s my boy. Why do you have to be like that?” He leans toward her, practically falling right on top of her. This guy is drunk out of his mind.

  “You know how he is. When he’s sober he doesn’t give women the time of day, but when he’s drunk he flirts like hell just to wind them up.” She’s looking at me now. “He thinks it’s fun getting their hopes up and then when he shuts them down they always get pissed. And he loves it. It’s a cruel game. He’s such a tease—” Shelly stops mid-sentence because the bathroom door has just opened and she smiles mischievously like she knows she’s just baited someone up.