Writing on the Wall

by Christopher Cleary

  “No joking?”

  “For real.” The book was open on her lap.

  Donnie sipped his hot chocolate. “Boy, I could have saved us from getting jobs to pay for this place if I would’ve shown you where the Haviland library is.”

  Megan began copying a math problem from her book to paper. Without raising her head, she looked at Donnie with just her eyes. “I know where the library is, Donnie.” Her gaze returned to her paper. “I just like to get my homework done first, is all. It won’t take me long. I only have math today. I can do the reading for social studies in bed tonight.” She knew that Donnie’s grades could be better if he applied himself and suggested, “You might want to do the same.”

  “Read my social studies in your bed tonight?”

  Megan looked up just long enough to give him her “ha-ha, very funny” look.

  Donnie took his five-subject notebook from his backpack and began jotting down miscellaneous thoughts, none of which had anything to do with homework. Once he emptied his head of the day’s contemplations, he took a book from his backpack and read.

  Megan finished her math homework in half an hour. She looked across the unit at Donnie and the book that he was reading. “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?”

  Donnie looked up and asked, “What about it?”

  “Isn’t that a kid’s book?”

  Donnie slipped in a marker and closed the book. “It was when I got it, but now I suppose that it’s a teen’s book. You know, since I’m sixteen and all.” He flipped the book over and admired the front cover. The jacket was crinkled along the edges and the ink was faded, but like a handsome man, it grew more distinguished with age. “I suppose if I still own it when I turn eighteen, it’ll be an adult’s book.”

  Donnie’s semantic games annoyed her but not in a bad way. “What I meant was, wasn’t that book written for children?”

  “Do you assume that just because it has children in it?”

  “I never read it.”

  “You should. It’s my favorite book.”

  “I should read it because it’s your favorite book?”

  “You should read it because it’s good. Charlie Bucket is a marvelous hero.”

  “What does he save?”

  “You don’t have to save stuff to be a hero.”

  Megan wanted to flip through the worn book but feared losing the warmth she had accumulated while sitting snug in her blanket so she stayed put and inquired from her spot, “How long have you had it?”

  “Fifth grade. I try to keep it nice. It was a birthday gift from my father. He read one chapter a night to me. Thirty nights in all. It’s the only book I can remember him ever reading to me.”

  Megan blew out and fluttered her lips. “That’s one more than my dad’s ever read to me.” She took a pair of mittens that matched her knitted hat with a purple tassel out of her coat pockets. “Instead of reading that,” she said, “why don’t you read your assigned chapters for school?”

  “I prefer fiction.”

  “Why?”

  Donnie slid Charlie and the Chocolate Factory into his backpack. “I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause I like reading about imaginary things. Stuff that can’t happen or would be really far out if it did. You know, fantasies that someone drew up because they don’t already exist. What’s so great about your school crap?”

  “The opposite of your fiction. It’s cool ‘cause it’s not made up. If you read this stuff and really think about it…”

  “Yeah,” he interrupted, “that’s what I really want to spend my time thinking about.”

  She ignored him, “If you read it, I mean read it and take your time to absorb it, like take your time and imagine what was happening, it’s some of the most screwed up stuff you’ll read. And the really crazy part is that it’s all true.”

  Donnie zipped his backpack closed. “Substitute the word ‘boring’ for ‘true’.”

  “Whatever.”

  Donnie stood. “It’s cold. You ready to go?”

  Megan got her things together. “Yeah. We need a radio.”

  Donnie never listened to the radio, but it didn’t sound like a bad idea.

  SEVEN

  Megan had homework nearly every day. On days that she had a lot, she walked ahead while Donnie stopped at Swifts to make their snack and beverage purchases. Later, when he arrived at Unit #143, Megan would be sitting against her wall with a blanket wrapped around her and textbooks surrounding her.

  Stopping at Swifts for the snacks could not be considered a sacrifice for Donnie. He thoroughly enjoyed the Swifts’s experience. Even though it was cold out, he always checked the flavors on the Polar Slurp machine, just in case they snuck in a new one. He enjoyed looking for new brands of candy and to see what knick knacks were currently stocked. If anyone was ever out of touch with what was happening in America, all they had to do was stop at Swifts to find the latest fad.

  It was the first Monday in February when Donnie said, “I’ll catch up with you at Unit #143. I’m gonna cross the street to Swifts and grab a couple hot chocolates and some snackage.”

  While he was checking for traffic, he heard her say, “Not so much fatty stuff from now on, K?” Megan said it with just enough concern in her voice for Donnie to know to take her seriously.

  He turned slowly back around. “Swifts doesn’t have a lot to offer in the way of nutrition.”

  “I know,” she resigned, “but could you try?”

  Donnie honestly did not know how to go about that and asked, “How?”

  “You can start by making my drinks diet.”

  “I don’t think the hot chocolate comes in diet.”

  “On the days you get hot cocoa, I’ll take coffee with artificial sweetener.”

  “Coffee?” Donnie cupped his hands around his mouth, exhaled, rubbed them together, and then shoved them deep into his pockets. “What gives? You’re worried about your weight?”

  Megan wasn’t TV sit-com thin like a lot of the girls who attended Haviland High, but she wasn’t built for the wrestling team either.

  “I’ve put on a few pounds since we started hanging out.”

  “I can’t tell.” He wasn’t saying it just to be nice. Donnie really could not tell.

  “I could and I got on the scale to check and there they were.”

  “What’s a few pounds? You’re still growing, you know?”

  “I’m not built like you, Donnie. You’re just like ultra-skinny with the metabolism of a sea otter.”

  “Sea otters have high metabolism?”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah. I saw it on PBS last night.”

  “You watch PBS?”

  “Donnie!”

  “Sorry.”

  The tip of her nose was turning pink from the cold. Donnie found this attractive for reasons beyond his comprehension.

  “I used to be… Well, I used to be… chunky… hefty,” she confided.

  “Really?” Since he only knew her to be this one size, her declaration took him by surprise.

  “It’s very important to my mom that I’m happy and for the first thirteen years of my life she was doing it with food. All that excess was adding the padding. A slice of ‘za is no biggie, but she was feeding me half the pizza and following it with a plate of homemade chocolate cake. She doesn’t work, you know, so she’d spend a good hour at the grocery store every day thinking up the things she could bake for me. Us, really. She’s kind of fat.” Megan cringed slightly at her own words. “Not really fat, but,” she searched for a better synonym with which to describe her mother, “well, she’s got a few extra pounds. It doesn’t seem to bother her though, so…”

  Donnie admired her forthrightness. Wasn’t she scared that he would make fun of her?

  “Twenty-seven pounds,” she informed him. “That’s how much I lost. I’m not like an anorexic or anything. I’ll eat a Twinkie once a week, no prob, but it’s best not to have a box, or even a twin pack, around ‘cause sometimes it’s hard
for me to stop.” She rubbed her nose with a purple mitten. “My mother is now forbidden to make Rice Krispie treats.”

  Donnie looked across the street and tried to recall the snack aisle’s offering. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “I think they have some baked potato chips or something.” He reached a hand under his hat and scratched the side of his head. “I’ve never really looked to see if they have low-fat stuff…” He shrugged his shoulders. The street was clear and he took off.

  It was too easy for Megan Priddy to remember what it was like to be large. People treated her differently. It wasn’t always intentional, but it happened. For example, Donnie, on that first day when she had asked him to walk home with her, may not have been interested in her offer. It wouldn’t have been a conscious decision. The shape of her body would have sent a subliminal message warding him off. Or, he may have walked home with her that day but would have been sure to avoid her for the rest of the school year.

  She entered the code for the gate and while she waited for it to open, changed her mind. Maybe that was how most people would have treated her, but not Donnie. He was too wholesome. His sight traveled past an individual’s superficial features. Their friendship was based on who they were and not what they looked like.

  Donnie wore a ski mask during the winter to keep the flesh on his face from freezing when he rode his bicycle. He always double-checked with his hand to make sure that the front mask portion was pulled up over his head and off his face before entering Swifts. He didn’t want to catch a shotgun blast in the chest because he was mistaken for a robber.

  He skipped his usual video game and headed straight to the storage unit after he bought one hot chocolate, one coffee, and a large bag of baked cheese puffs. He’d share the healthier puffs with her, but there was no way that he was doing the coffee.

  He arrived at the storage unit fifteen minutes after Megan. She was already cozied up in her blanket and working away on her schoolwork. Donnie found her discipline attractive and usually made it a point not to interrupt her while she worked.

  The reason he passed on video games was to prepare for an oral presentation due the next day. He may have slacked off when it came to studying but not when it involved standing alone, in front his peers. He extracted a stack of index cards bound by a rubber band from his backpack and began reviewing his notes.

  Megan blurted, “I exercise.”

  She suddenly felt warm in the cold storage unit and removed her knitted hat that held her enchanting tresses pressed against her ears.

  “We have a treadmill,” she felt compelled to explain, “in our basement, that I use.”

  Now that Donnie knew her secret, she could not get it off her mind. When she looked at Donnie, she was certain that he was thinking of her as the fat girl she once was. He wasn’t really. His mind was on improving his oral presentation, but hers was obsessing on her previous appearance. Someone now knew. She had escaped her past only to drag it up again.

  Megan rambled like the teenage girl she was, “It’s really my dad’s. He works like all day long. Then he comes home and runs on that thing while he watches some business news money crap on TV. We don’t even have dinner together half the nights. My mom makes him take her out every Saturday. If she didn’t, she’d never see him...”

  Donnie realized that Megan was freaking. His tender voice was like a massage for the ears, “I don’t care that you were fat, Megan.”

  His sincere acceptance of her caught Megan off-guard and she nearly divulged the true color of her hair. She was glad to have found someone at her new school that she could open up to but was surprised that it was a boy. She felt safe with him. Donnie was someone she could tell anything, but she held back on revealing too much about her hair. A girl’s got to have some secrets.

  Donnie shuffled a few of his cards around and Megan chewed her pen cap. Their concentration was broken and they were thinking about things other than their homework.

  Donnie asked, “Why do you suppose your mom tries so hard to make you happy?”

  Megan took the pen out of her mouth and placed the tip against the paper even though she didn’t have anything to write. “I think because she’s not.”

  They didn’t speak after that and eventually their minds went back to their schoolwork.

  Using the note cards that contained the keywords for his presentation in neat block letters, Donnie practiced his four-minute speech several times in his head.

  When Megan was changing subjects and putting one book away while getting another out, she noticed him silently mouthing the words and asked, “Are you practicing your oral presentation?” Even though she had a different teacher, they were doing oral presentations in her English class as well.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why don’t you practice it once in front of me?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “C’mon, you’re going to do it in front of everyone and you can’t do it in front of me? If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”

  Donnie considered this. Practicing out loud would have its benefits. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  “K. You first.”

  Megan Priddy honestly believed that practicing would help Donnie prepare, but she also wanted to see him perform. She wanted the opportunity to dissect every word he pronounced. She wanted to stare at his wavy black-haired head, his pudgy cheeks, and his elongated body without feeling funny about it. She wanted to admire Donnie Betts.

  Donnie moved to the back wall and launched into his oral presentation. It felt strange performing for just one person, but he practiced it just as if there were twenty-five.

  She was stunned by the professionalism of his presentation. It was as if Donnie became another person. His shy persona was devoured by the charismatic kid that she, until now, had only seen glimpses of. He was informative and entertaining. She could have easily watched him for an hour. Anyone could have.

  Megan also learned a few things about Donnie that weren’t mentioned in his speech. Underneath his awkward charm, there was an undefined bubble of potential waiting to escape. For the first time, Megan saw it. It was mesmerizing.

  When Donnie finished, he had to ask, “Well? How is it?”

  The words crept from her mouth, “It was un-freaking-believable.”

  EIGHT

  Things were slow at work during January and February. The inclement weather brought with it fewer shifts for each of them. Not many golfers wanted to practice their swing through several layers of clothing and the warm meals available at Friendly’s were good, but the main reason people frequented the restaurant was for the cold desserts.

  This provided Donnie and Megan with more time to spend at the storage unit but less money. It was important that they always pay a few months in advance to keep the Parkside Storage bills from being mailed to Megan’s home. At least they would be in Kara’s name if they were.

  While some of their friends participated in after-school activities such as sports or clubs, Donnie and Megan’s extracurricular activity was Unit #143. Their daily stop became a comfortable routine. Even on the days that they had to work, they would still stop in to unwind before heading off to start their shifts.

  Donnie always finished his homework first, or more accurately, stopped first. He never rushed Megan to finish or encouraged her to quit. He’d end up reading a book or scribbling sentences of nonsense in his notebook. There weren’t many notes in it so he had to fill it with something.

  Some days, they would talk a lot. On others, like when Megan had plenty of homework, they would hardly speak at all. They didn’t give it any thought. They didn’t have to converse to enjoy each other’s company. Simply existing together was oftentimes enough.

  Fridays were their favorite. The school week was over and it was the only weekday that Megan didn’t do her homework at the storage unit.

  Donnie tossed his empty hot chocolate cup on the pile that had been accumulating for the past few we
eks.

  Megan glanced up from the school newspaper that she was reading to say, “We need a trash bag.”

  “And furniture.”

  “I won’t argue that.” Both were getting tired of their sparse storage unit. “How would we get it here?”

  A few days earlier, Donnie had biked to the nearby store. He had done it many times in the past but never for something as big or heavy as a boom box. Even the required D batteries weighed him down. The combination radio, cassette, and CD player wouldn’t fit in his backpack until he removed it from its cardboard packaging.

  They usually listened to one of two stations. One exclusively played alternative rock and the other played a mixture of new and classic rock. Donnie found the music somewhat distracting to his reading and writing, but Megan was immune to it. He could manage to do math problems with it on in the background, but if he had to do any schoolwork that involved words, the lyrics of the song always seemed to interfere. He was conditioning himself to tune out the radio while he read, which made him wonder what the point was of having the radio on in the first place.

  He didn’t mind the distraction that occurred with some songs. He’d just stop and listen to it for a while. He not only listened to the words, but he carefully listened for the individual instruments and how they worked together.

  Donnie answered Megan’s question, “I definitely can’t fit anything bigger than that boom box in my backpack.”

  “Are you going to have your license soon?”

  “Not if I can’t get someone to take me driving.”

  Megan set the newspaper aside and stretched her legs without standing. “Why don’t your parents let you drive to the store and stuff so you can get the practice?”

  “Because if I don’t get the practice then I won’t pass the test and if I don’t pass the test they don’t have to worry about me taking the car.”

  “You should tell them that it’s too cold for you to bike to work.”

  “Even on the days I get a ride, my mom never lets me drive.”

  “What about your dad?”