Window Boy

by Andrea White

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Sam hears footsteps in the entranceway.

  In a very remote corner of his brain Sam realizes, at last, she’s home.

  “What are you doing in the middle of the room?” Miss Perkins asks. “Hello,” she calls out. “Are you here, Mrs. Davis?”

  The ticktock of the clock in the kitchen and the hum of the refrigerator are her only replies.

  “I must have forgotten to set your brake,” Miss Perkins decides.

  “YYes,” Sam squeaks. His mouth is so dry.

  “What’s the matter?” Miss Perkins peers down at him. “How can you look so hot? It’s chilly in here.” She leans closer and presses her freezing hand against his forehead.

  “Why, you’re burning up with fever! Mrs. Martin told me that a bad virus is going around the school. You must have caught something from one of the kids.

  “Oh, my poor Sam. I was gone, and you needed me. What good is someone you love if they’re not there when you really need them? I’m so sorry that I stayed away so long. I’ll explain everything someday, darling. I had to go. I’ll wash you down with a cool cloth and get you to bed. You’re probably thirsty, too.”

  Sam listens to the soft pat of nurse’s shoes heading to the kitchen. With Miss Perkins here, the rat won’t bother him. Finally, he can relax.

  ***

  Miss Perkins feels sorry for her poor boy, but she can’t help but be happy. Surely, since Sam has a high fever, Mrs. Davis won’t send him away tomorrow.

  His illness will buy her a few more days to think and plan.

  Mannville Institution. A three-storied gray building in the country surrounded by farmland. Cleaner than a public institution but not a loving, caring place by any means. Better than she had feared. But still impossible. The staff seems kind, but few attendants watch over many boys whose parents don’t want them. Some residents have been institutionalized since birth and have no visitors. Not all of them are small, sweet boys; many have large muscles and small IQ’s. Miss Perkins is sure that the attendants will have no time for a smart but quiet boy like Sam.

  From the next room, Sam cries out in delirium, “Rat. Get the rat.”

  Miss Perkins hurries to bring Sam a glass of water. Frantically, she thinks, what else can I do to make my poor boy more comfortable?

  A few minutes later in the kitchen, Miss Perkins opens cans of tuna and cream of mushroom soup. Mannville doesn’t even offer a school for its charges. She pours the tuna and soup over the noodles and tosses the mixture together. Only informal tutoring.

  Sam will never achieve her dream for him and attend college if he’s parked at Mannville.

  She crunches a handful of potato chips and sprinkles the pieces on the top of the casserole. The image of Emily returns to her. The girl’s poor body twisted by the concrete. Mannville would be Sam’s death. A slow death. She opens the oven and sticks the casserole inside. She wipes her hands on her apron.

  She did come home with one tiny bit of good news. Mannville has heavy staff turnover, and the director is looking for a nurse’s aide. The application is in her purse.

  The key turns in the lock. Mrs. Davis has returned.

  Although Miss Perkins had to leave the kitchen many times to take care of Sam, she is proud that the casserole is in the oven. Mrs. Davis will have no chance to complain about dinner.

  Mrs. Davis starts to take off her wool coat.

  Miss Perkins knows that she ought to wait, that Mrs. Davis can’t stand it when Miss Perkins pours out her problems immediately. “Mrs. Davis.” Too late, she notices that Mrs. Davis has barely begun removing her second arm from the coat sleeve. “Sam is sick. With due respect, he cannot go to that place tomorrow. I visited it today. It is a fine place for some, but not a boy of Sam’s intelligence, and…”

  “Miss Perkins,” Mrs. Davis interrupts coolly. She draws herself up to her full height. “I am Sam’s parent. Not you.”

  Miss Perkins wants to ask, if you’re his parent, why are you acting like a spoiled child? But she tells herself, think of Sam. Think of the poor little boy. Think of how he kept his temper today when Mrs. Martin told him that he had to leave school.

  “And I made my decision about Sam’s future based on what’s best for us,” Mrs. Davis adds. “Neither Sam nor I want to be living on the street. Why can’t you understand?”

  Perhaps Mrs. Davis hadn’t understood her. “Sam is sick,” Miss Perkins explains again.

  “That’s one of the wonderful things about this institution. They have a full medical staff,” Mrs. Davis says.

  Sick or not, Sam must go tomorrow, Miss Perkins thinks bitterly.

  “Have you taken Sam’s temperature?” Mrs. Davis asks casually.

  “It’s 103,” Miss Perkins says.

  “Have you tried aspirin?” Mrs. Davis asks.

  The two of them have lived for years with the anxiety of caring for Sam, and they have both learned not to overreact. But at this particular moment, Miss Perkins finds her employer’s casualness infuriating.

  “Yes. But his fever hasn’t come down. I’ve tried to reach Dr. Adams, but I got his answering service…” Miss Perkins tries once more.

  “I’ll call Mr. Jordache,” Mrs. Davis interrupts. Her voice sounds tired. “If the institution is still willing to pick him up, we’ll both leave in the van with him as planned.”

  “Surely, we can wait a few days, ma’am?” Miss Perkins says.

  “Now that Sam is taken care of, Mr. Jordache has invited me on a business trip with him to Europe. When we come back, I may be,” she pauses, trying to swallow her grin which is growing unusually wide “his wife.”

  So that’s what’s going on, Miss Perkins realizes. But she can’t help feeling suspicious: if Mr. Jordache plans to marry Mrs. Davis, why hasn’t Mr. Jordache even bothered to meet Sam?

  “Our tickets are for this weekend,” Mrs. Davis continues, and the excitement in her voice is unmistakable. “I have a lot to do before then.” She pauses. “Stop staring at me like that. Besides, I spoke with the principal of that school you like so much. Principal Cullen agrees with me that Mannville Institution is a great place for a boy like Sam.”

  “Has Principal Cullen visited Mannville lately?” Miss Perkins baits her.

  Mrs. Davis refuses to meet Miss Perkins’ eyes. “I didn’t ask him. Now, I’d like my dinner,” she says.

  Miss Perkins resists the impulse to dump the hot tuna casserole on Mrs. Davis’ clean floor.

  One potato. Two potato. She tries but can’t hold back a harsh reply. “Ma’am, you’re going to need to get your dinner yourself,” Miss Perkins says firmly.

  “Fine. Be that way.” Mrs. Davis heads to her bedroom.

  Miss Perkins pulls off her apron. “I’ll check on Sam and be back in the morning. Mark my words, you’re making a mistake.”

  Instead of answering, Mrs. Davis slams the bedroom door.

  Chapter Thirty

  It’s dark, and Sam hears voices. He feels movement. He’s in a car. He doesn’t have a chance to feel worried because a rough worn hand squeezes his.

  It grows darker. He grips the hand.

  When Sam wakes up, he’s lying on a narrow bed. Too narrow, he thinks. The mattress is both softer and lumpier in places than his own. Sensing that he is not home, he has to force himself to open his eyes. He’s not staring up at his bedroom ceiling. This one is higher. The sheets that he is resting on are scratchier.

  Someone lies next to him. Whoever it is coughs a lot. Sam wants to turn and face him, but he’s too weak to move his body.

  The next time Sam awakes, the bed closest to him is quiet.

  A woman wearing a white nurse’s uniform flits in and out. Her hand is soft when she touches his forehead. Her steps are light when she approaches his bed. But mucus blurs his vision and seems to cover the stranger’s face with a white gauze. Right after he opens his eyes, he feels himself overcome by sleep again. Glad to leave this strange place, he doesn’t fight the tiredn
ess, just gives in.

  He dreams fitfully. In one dream, Mickey Kotov crumbles Sam into tiny seeds and scatters them by a basketball court. A tiny Sam-seed grows into a huge apple tree. Its tangled branches overhang the court. In another, Sam’s mother stands by his bedside. She is murmuring to him words that he can’t hear.

  One morning, Sam’s eyes open wide. He’s still sleeping on the same lumpy, soft bed and staring up at the same high ceiling. But he realizes that he’s been asleep for a long time, and he’s doesn’t know where he is.

  In panic, his head flops about. Thank goodness, his gaze lands on Miss Perkins. She is wearing a white dress, sort of like a nurse’s uniform, sitting in the metal chair next to him.

  Miss Perkins answers one of his questions before he can form even a word to ask them.

  “Hello, dearie. I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing all dressed up in my aide’s uniform, with this little hat on my head.” She points to a white hat that he hadn’t noticed. “I had to get a job here. Actually, it’s a decent place to work.”

  But Miss Perkins fails to answer his most urgent question.

  Then Sam realizes: he hasn’t forgotten the answer to this question. He’s never known it.

  “That way I can be here all the time.”

  Miss Perkins says the word ‘here,’ so casually.

  Where is here?

  “I’m on duty in the ward, so I can’t stay with you for long.” In a gesture that Sam has witnessed thousands of times, Miss Perkins pulls a Kleenex out of her pocket and blows her nose. Only Sam is not reassured.

  Ward? He must be at a hospital, but why would Miss Perkins get a job at a hospital? If Sam’s in a hospital, he ought to be able to leave some day soon. No one lives in a hospital. But what if he’s at Principal Cullen’s special school?

  One of the many problems with not liking to talk is that people—even Miss Perkins—assume so much. He’ll never get used to it.

  “But at least you’re better, dear.” Miss Perkins smiles. “I’ll bring you some broth. You’ve lost so much weight. I can carry you easily now. I have to go help with lunch, but I’ll be back.” Her lips graze his forehead before she disappears.

  Sam stares again at the strange gray ceiling.

  Having spent much of his life lying on his back and looking up, Sam is an expert on ceilings. He has identified three circus animals in the gray discolorations—an elephant, a monkey and a skinny crocodile—when he hears a cough and realizes that he’s not alone.

  He struggles to flip over and to stretch his head. A gray woolen lump lies in the bed next to him. He guesses that the blanket hides a kid.

  On the side of the blanket facing him, he reads: ‘Mannville Institution.’’

  He flips onto his back again and gazes upwards. The circus ceiling is less worrisome.

  Sam must have fallen asleep again, because when he opens his eyes, a lady with golden hair smiles down at him.

  “I’m Nurse Beck.”

  He recognizes her green eyes from his dreams.

  “You must be a very special boy to have Miss Perkins so devoted to you,” Nurse Beck says.

  After any illness, even a cold, Sam’s voice box feels far away. Following this long illness, it has sunk to his toes. All he can do is stare at her dimpled mouth.

  “I’m told that we need to fatten you up. When your mother comes again, we want her to be able to recognize you,” Nurse Beck says cheerfully.

  Sam notices that she uses the word ‘again.’ Perhaps, Sam’s vision of his mother wasn’t a dream.

  “So try to stay awake long enough for me to get you some food,” Nurse Beck says.

  Sam nods.

  “Now I want to turn you.” Nurse Beck helps him turn ever so gently onto his side. He should be able to do this by himself, but he is so weak. He faces the bedside table.

  My Early Life, by Winston Churchill, lies there, alongside an open card.

  He can’t read the front, but the inside bears his mother’s handwriting. She won the penmanship award in third grade, and every word is perfectly formed:

  Get Well For Me. I’ve Gone to Europe but Will Have Some Exciting News Soon,

  Love,

  Mom

  Tears begin to dampen Sam’s cheeks. He longs for Ann. Yes, I can cry, he wants to tell her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  While Dr. Brandon examines Sam, Miss Perkins waits in the clinic.

  Will Sam be released tomorrow? Or the day after? Miss Perkins knows that it will be soon. She blows her nose and tries to get her mind off the prospect of Sam in the ward.

  Now that Miss Perkins has worked at Mannville for a week, she’s learned a lot more about the residents. Although a few have cerebral palsy, polio or other problems moving around, most of the kids are simply retarded. The institution is understaffed, and many of the kids are quite active. With Sam so weak, she’s afraid that one or two of the bigger boys will be a danger to him. Particularly, she’s worried about a boy named Ralph.

  No sane parent…But she won’t allow herself to think about Mrs. Davis either. She’ll just get angry. Before Mrs. Davis left for Europe, she spent an afternoon at the clinic. The poor boy was so sick that Miss Perkins doubts that he even remembers her visit, but Miss Perkins will never forget it.

  On her way out, Mrs. Davis had cooed, “I’m so relieved that you’re here, Miss Perkins. I know we had our disagreements, but I’m not sure that I could leave the country while Sam was sick if you weren’t with him.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready to tour the ward, Mrs. Davis?” Miss Perkins snapped.

  “I’ll do it when I get back. I know Sam is in good hands.” Then, Mrs. Davis had batted her eyes at Miss Perkins as though she was trying to charm a boyfriend.

  “I’ll call you both often. Tell Sam that I’m sorry to leave him for this long.”

  The sound of approaching footsteps interrupts Miss Perkins’ musings.

  Dr. Brandon is a tall man. His white coat is crumpled. Often, Miss Perkins has overheard him complain to Nurse Beck about his hundreds of patients. With his ashen complexion, he indeed looks overworked. He sits down in the chair opposite her.

  “Sam’s lungs are clear,” the doctor assures Miss Perkins, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “I know he’s over the illness,” Miss Perkins argues, “but he hasn’t eaten much, and he’s so weak. I worry about him in the ward.”

  The doctor shrugs. “I think Sam should do just fine.”

  Miss Perkins says slowly, “When?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” Dr. Brandon answers. “Good luck.”

  Miss Perkins nods and exits.

  “Abigail, you’re wanted on the phone,” Nurse Beck calls to her.

  In the clinic office, Miss Perkins goes to Nurse Beck’s desk and picks up the receiver. It is Mrs. Davis. Her voice is faint. Miss Perkins presses the phone more tightly to her ear.

  “I can’t talk long,” Mrs. Davis says. A crackle sounds on the line. “Long distance is too expensive. I’m in Paris. France! How’s Sam?” she asks.

  “The doctor says he’s well. He’s moving into the ward tomorrow.”

  “Can I talk to him….?” Mrs. Davis asks eagerly.

  Miss Perkins puts her hand over the receiver. “Nurse Beck, would you do me a favor and bring Sam in here to talk to his mother?”

  “Sure,” Nurse Beck answers. She rushes off.

  “When are you coming back?” Miss Perkins says into the phone. She works to keep her tone polite.

  “I’ll be there in ten days,” Mrs. Davis pauses. “With big news.”

  “I see,” Miss Perkins says.

  “I don’t know if you can understand this, but I’ve never gotten to travel before. I’ve seen palaces. Museums. We’re going to London next week. I’m having the best time,” Mrs. Davis says.

  Miss Perkins feels herself losing her patience.

  “Now, can I say hello to Sam?” Mrs. Davis asks. “I’ve bought him a foo
tball. It’s the French sport.”

  Nurse Beck pushes Sam into the office. He has a big grin on his face.

  “Sam will like your gift,” Miss Perkins lies. His mother’s return, she knows, is the only thing Sam wants.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The instant Miss Perkins pushes Sam through the door of the infirmary, the smell changes. He no longer breathes in Nurse Beck’s flowery perfume but fried food with a hint of pee.

  Sam understands why when he sees the inmates. Inmates? Is that what he and the other prisoners are called?

  The room where he finds himself has three separate seating areas and several blue flowered rugs. In the background, more than one radio is playing.

  A few of the boys are teenagers. Some are in wheelchairs. One of the boys is perhaps nine or ten. He is wearing only a T-shirt and a huge diaper.

  A boy about his age walks up to him. Even though his hair is combed and his face is clean, the way his eyes are sunk into his pudgy face makes him look lost.

  “Daddy?” the boy asks.

  Sam resents his stiff neck which won’t allow him to turn away.

  A few boys in wheelchairs are scattered around the room. Miss Perkins pushes Sam past a group of boys who are piecing together puzzles on a circular rug. A big burly attendant, wearing a hairnet which covers her ears, is helping them.

  Sam can’t take his eyes off the large, bright puzzle pieces. The bears, cakes and houses look like they’re designed for three-year-olds.

  Miss Perkins stops in front of some purple drapes. “Your new window.” She pulls back the curtains, and sunlight floods the room.

  At first, all Sam notices is the dust cloud glittering in the light.

  Miss Perkins pushes him closer.

  Sam gazes out on a circular drive, green grass, stone benches and a big oak tree. Without a basketball court, it isn’t as interesting as his old view. But he knows instinctively that he will be able to stare at that oak tree for years and still find a new twist in its branches or a new stain on its bark.