Quentin and the Cave Boy

by Susan Gabriel

  “I wouldn’t kid about something like this,” I say.

  “Okay, don’t panic,” Dex says. “Give me a minute to think.”

  I look over at Moss who is staring at the telephone like he’s trying to figure out what it is. “It’s Dex,” I say to Moss.

  Moss’ eyes widen with horror, as though Dex has been shrunk to the size of a portable telephone.

  “Calm down,” I say to Moss. “He thinks you’re actually in the telephone,” I say to Dex.

  “I don’t know how you’re going to explain this one,” Dex laughs.

  “Me, either,” I laugh back. But the reality of the situation causes our laughter to fade. “Oh, and I’ve also got cave art all over my wall,” I say, “except minus the cave. And Mom’s already found it. She came in my room before I could stop her.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still alive to talk about it,” he says. Dex has spent enough time around my mom to know her reaction to things.

  “Barely,” I say. “I have to clean up my room.”

  Dex, knowing the scope of this project, moans.

  “But that’s the least of it, Dex. Once she sees the evening news, I’ll really be dead.”

  Moss circles me while holding one of my plastic baseball bats, like he’s considering busting the phone open to get Dex free. I push him away, which is like trying to push a cement wall away. But he gets the message and stops.

  “Oh, and you know what else?” I ask Dex. “Mr. Richie called during dinner.”

  “No!” Dex says. “Did he say anything about Moss?”

  “He said something about my visitor.”

  “What did your mom say?”

  “She asked who this visitor was and I said it was one of your friends.”

  “Oh great, now she’ll come after me,” Dex says.

  “Not a chance,” I say. “You’re her favorite kid.”

  Moss is still circling, but at least he’s put the bat down.

  “Listen, I’ll be over soon,” Dex says. “But for now, unplug all the televisions if you have to.”

  “Okay,” I say. Even though Dex is only three months older than me, he’s the closest thing to a big brother I’ve ever had.

  “And don’t panic,” Dex says. “We’ll figure this out.”

  I hang up the phone and study the drawings on the wall. I haven’t taken the time to notice how beautiful they are. These walls would be worth a fortune if anybody knew who really drew them. People visit caves in Europe and Asia all the time to see the same kind of art. I might be the only guy in the world to have genuine drawings by a cave boy on the wall of his room.

  In the meantime, I don’t want to think about what will happen if Moss is discovered. Among other things, my whole room might be dismantled and put into the Smithsonian. All of a sudden I’m wishing I could go back to a time before Dad left, when life was boring for days and months on end. I had no idea how great boring could be.

  PAPARAZZI

  “Don’t panic,” I say to myself for about the hundredth time. Moss looks with longing out the window at the azalea bushes, so I sneak him into the bathroom to avoid a repeat of this morning. I stand guard outside the door. After he finishes the longest pee in history, he flushes the toilet four times in a row until The Voice yells Stop it! And then threatens to come upstairs.

  I stick my head inside the bathroom and he has a big grin on his face from watching the water swirl around inside the toilet bowl.

  My sister comes out of her bedroom, and I freeze. I run down the hall and sequester her near the stairway.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says. “And you know what about.”

  “Later,” I say.

  “Not later, now,” she says.

  Moss sniffs from behind the bathroom door, and I am amazed at how far the sound carries. I throw in a few sniffs to throw Katie off scent, and she looks at me like I have brain damage.

  “Why are you standing out here in the hallway?” she asks.

  “Just headed downstairs,” I say.

  She gives me a long, skeptical look.

  “I’ll be in my room,” she says. “Bring twenty dollars if you want me to keep quiet.”

  Sibling blackmail seems to be on the rise in our household.

  I am about to go get Moss out of the bathroom when my mom comes around the corner. I almost jump out of my skin.

  She puts a stack of clean laundry in my arms. The Voice tells me to put my laundry away and not to put them on my floor.

  I hold my breath hoping Moss—who is at the other end of the hallway in our tiny house—doesn’t grunt, laugh, or flush the toilet in the next few seconds. “Thanks, Mom, for the clean clothes,” I say.

  She feels my forehead again to see if I have a fever.

  “I’m not sick, Mom. Can’t a kid just be grateful?”

  “Quentin, you’re scaring me,” The Voice says, dead serious.

  “I’ll put those away right now,” I say, “and hey, let me take this stack of clean towels, too.” I take the towels out of her arms.

  She looks confused and walks away. I may have found a new secret revenge for when Mom’s bugging me: niceness.

  Finally, I walk down the hallway and open the bathroom door. “The coast is clear,” I say to Moss. I find him standing in the shower, staring into the shower head waiting on the water to come on again. He’s naked.

  “Put your clothes back on!” I say. I drag him out of the tub and stand there until he dresses himself again. Then I pull Moss toward my room. We’re a few steps away from safety when my sister bursts through her bedroom door and bumps right into Moss. We all jump, like a trio of Mexican jumping beans my dad bought for me once at a souvenir shop in the Grand Canyon.

  I’m about to shove Moss into my room when she steps in front of him and blocks his path. My worst nightmare continues.

  “Hey, you’re the kid on the news!” Katie says to Moss. “Who are you?”

  “Nobody,” I say.

  “Does Mom know he’s here?” she asks me. “Does she know you’re both on TV?”

  “Of course she knows,” I lie. “This is Moss. He’s new at my school. I’m helping him get caught up with classes.”

  “His name is Moss? His first name is our last name? That’s strange,” she says, like she doesn’t believe my story for one second.

  Moss isn’t saying a word, which is the smartest thing he could do. Meanwhile, Coltrane sniffs the crotch of Moss’ pants for remnants of meatballs.

  “I think I’d better talk to Mom,” Katie says. “If she knows about this why isn’t she screaming or something?”

  “Wait!” I panic.

  She folds her arms across her chest, eyeing Moss. “Who is this cretin?” she says.

  Moss starts to growl.

  “Is he growling at me?” Katie asks. She snarls her lip and shows her teeth.

  Moss backs off. They’re having a stare-off. A part of me wants them to go at each other just to see who would win.

  “I’m telling Mom,” she says again.

  “No, no!” I plead. “She’ll kill me.”

  Katie starts down the hall. I sink to my knees and beg her not to tell Mom. I cling to her skinny, Moss family legs and make no remarks about McNuggets or Colonel Sanders.

  Instead of appearing pleased with her advantage, she looks worried. She glances at Moss again. “Q-ball, what kind of trouble are you in?” she asks me.

  To my horror I start to cry. Quietly, of course, so our mom won’t hear. Until now, I didn’t realize how upset I was. In a surreal moment both Moss and my sister try to comfort me.

  “Whatever it is, Quentin, we’ll figure it out,” my sister says. Her sincerity is about as shocking as having Moss materialize from a dream. “I won’t tell Mom, okay? Now, tell me what’s going on.” We step into my room. I blow my nose on a dirty T-shirt and tell her everything.

  I guess as far-fetched as it is, with Moss sitting there as proof, it’s hard not to believe it.

 
“I think we should call Dad,” Katie says. “He’s good at stuff like this.” As far as I know, our dad has no experience with time travel or cave boys, but I go along with it. Katie chews on her bottom lip. I wonder if she misses him as much as I do.

  “Dad probably won’t even answer the phone,” I say, thinking that he’s already deserted me right as I’m ready to hit adolescence, so why would he show up now?

  “I’ll try him on my cell.” She narrows her eyes and gives Moss another long look before leaving the room. My panic seems more manageable now that I’ve confessed. While Katie is gone, Moss looks through another book at all the pictures. A few minutes later Katie comes back. “I left a message.”

  “What did you say?” I imagine a message that goes something like Dad, Quentin’s gotten himself in big trouble. He dreamed up a cave boy and now he can’t get rid of him.

  “I just told him to call back,” she says.

  “Do you think he will?”

  “He’d better. But in case he doesn’t, let’s think about what to do.”

  The three of us sit on my bed. We keep glancing at each other like we’re waiting on somebody else to have a bright idea.

  “The good news is,” Katie begins, “that Mom is on a deadline and she’s in her office working. She won’t be watching anymore TV, and as long as he doesn’t start swinging through the trees outside her office window I don’t think she’ll notice. Just keep your door closed.”

  “And locked,” I add.

  “Definitely,” she says.

  “Locked,” Moss agrees. He leans over and sniffs Katie’s hair.

  “Oh, gross! What’s he doing?”

  “He’s harmless,” I say. “He just likes smells.”

  Moss moves in to get another whiff. “Down, cave boy,” Katie says.

  “Your hair probably just smells like something he would eat,” I say.

  “Actually, I do use a mango and papaya conditioner,” she says.

  “That’s probably it,” I say. I look over at Moss who is acting more interested in my sister with every second.

  “We’ll wait until Dad calls. For now, I’m going back to my room,” Katie announces. She gives Moss a final look of curious disgust, and then studies his handiwork on the wall. “It’s amazing the amount of trouble you’ve gotten into in just one day, Quentin.”

  “Tell me about it,” I say. I walk her to my door. Moss joins us.

  “So what is this going to cost me?” I ask Katie.

  She opens the door and glances down the hallway to make sure Mom’s not around. “For starters, you have to clean up my room.”

  I wince. Cleaning one disaster zone is enough, but two?

  The Voice yells from downstairs, asking if everything is okay up there.

  “We’re fine, Mom,” Katie calls back, cool as one of her cucumber facial masks.

  The Voice makes us promise that we’ll call her if we need her, and then she goes into her office.

  “And since I just saved your butt again, you can wash my clothes, too,” Katie says.

  “Hey, that isn’t fair,” I say. She has the Mt. Everest of clothes piles in her room that way surpasses mine.

  “Take it or leave it,” she says, looking over at Moss.

  Even though I feel like I’ve just been given two wedgies after gym class, I agree to do her clothes. It’s humiliating to have to do whatever my sister says. I’m glad nobody’s watching except Moss.

  “Why aren’t you saying anything?” she says to Moss.

  Moss sniffs in her direction. Then he releases a cave-sized belch right in her face that reeks of garlic and spaghetti sauce.

  “Neanderthal,” Katie sneers.

  “Exactly,” I say back to her.

  “By the way, I leave for drama practice at nine in the morning, so you can start cleaning up my room then.”

  Now it’s my turn to look disgusted. “You say one word and the deal’s off,” I say to Katie.

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” she says. “And tell your mossy friend he’s got Mom’s spaghetti sauce in his ears.” She walks into her bedroom and closes the door. I usher Moss back into my room.

  “Close,” Moss says.

  “Not close. We got nailed,” I say. “But I think she’ll keep her mouth shut.”

  “Nailed,” Moss repeats with regret. He yawns.

  While I wait for Dex I study the artwork on my walls. It’s like a scene from an ancient movie. Bison are running and drawn in mid-stride. “Hey, you know these drawings are really good,” I say to Moss.

  Moss smiles. Then he yawns again, revealing all his bicuspids. I give him a pair of pajamas to change into that Mom got me for Christmas last year that I wouldn’t dream of wearing. Except for his wild hair and bulging muscles, he’d look like a normal kid.

  We clear space on the floor, and I put down a sleeping bag for Moss even though it’s not even eight o’clock. The doorbell rings, followed by a loud knock. Coltrane starts barking like crazy. I tell Moss to wait in my bedroom and follow Katie downstairs to see who it is. Mom opens the door. A tall police officer stands in the doorway. For a second, Katie and I lock eyes.

  “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am” the police officer says. “We had an attempted robbery in the neighborhood earlier today and from the video cameras inside the store we think your son and some of his friends were witnesses.”

  My mom turns to look at me, the shrillness of a three-alarm fire in her eyes.

  I shrug to camouflage my panic. I begin to hiccup.

  “It’s one of his friends we’re actually looking for,” the police officer continues. “It seems one of the boys with your son stopped the robbery. It was quite impressive on the tape.” The police officer smiles. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen it on the news. The local station has been airing the video every hour, looking for the boy. The mayor wants to shake his hand.”

  I gasp between hiccups. Katie gives me a quick jab in the ribs with her elbow. Cars begin to pull up behind the parked police car. Reporters with camera crews get out and rush toward the house. I cross my legs to keep from peeing on myself. The cameras point in our direction.

  The Voice asks what I know about all this.

  I stutter something that sounds like I never learned the English language. I hiccup again. Dex fights his way through the crowd and slides past the police officer to enter the house. His eyes are open wider than usual and the effect of his eyes with his hair makes him look scared to death.

  “Hey, you’re one of the other boys,” the police officer says. “But where’s the third boy? He’s the one everybody wants to talk to.”

  Dex and I look at each other. Katie and I exchange looks, too. The camera crews get closer. Now they’re on the front walk leading up to the door. A couple of flashes from the cameras interrupt my panic.

  “He’s in the backyard,” one of the paparazzi yells. The crowd, along with the police officer, followed by me, Katie, Mom and Dex, rush the backyard. Moss is in the tree house, leaning out one of the windows next to a big branch. The leaves soften his appearance, and since he’s wearing those lame pajamas he could almost pass for an ordinary boy.

  “There he is!” someone shouts. Camera flashes light up the nighttime sky like fireworks.

  I stand frozen. Dex makes an audible gulp. Katie straightens her hair in case the cameras point toward her.

  “Why don’t you come down, son?” the police officer asks Moss.

  Moss grunts. Murmurs go through the crowd. Moss looks down at me like he’s asking what he should do. He’s staring at the club in the police officer’s belt. He stares up at the night sky like he’s ready for this dream to be over. I walk over to the tree house and turn to face the crowd. All the cameras aim at me. Flashes come in blinding clumps. I smile--minus the gums--and raise myself up to my full height.

  “This is Moss,” I say to the crowd. “He’s not from around here.” I pause, unsure of what to say next. It becomes apparent that I need to buy time. “Moss
will take all your questions tomorrow. He’s had a big day.” I sound like his publicity agent.

  “Okay, let’s break it up,” the police officer says. He scatters the reporters, who take a few more parting shots. “I’ll come by tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock,” the police officer says to me. “Then we’ll take Moss to meet the mayor. She wants to give him the key to the city. Moss is a hero, you know.”

  I yell for Moss to go back to my room. He climbs across tree limbs until he reaches the roof and then disappears through my window.

  The police officer smiles and shakes his head like he’s never seen anything like it.

  It’s almost midnight. Katie goes inside to get her beauty sleep and Dex goes back home, but not before promising to come over early the next morning so we can figure out what to do next. My mom makes herself a pot of coffee and sits me down in the living room. She makes me tell her the whole story.

  THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

  To my amazement, my mom stays calm when I tell her about Moss. The Voice and The Look don’t show up once. She asks how it happened, but I have no idea. I tell her that one minute I was dreaming and the next minute I have a cave boy in my room. I remind her about Grandma Betty’s Hungarian gypsy theory and she rolls her eyes. She never really liked Dad’s mom that much, but she agrees that sometimes life is a mystery.

  I wipe my sweating palms on my jeans. Coltrane sits at my feet. He whimpers, like he’s ready to go to bed and we’re keeping him up late.

  She asks about the robbery. I tell her about going to the convenience store for snacks. Any other time I would get in trouble for this because she wants me to come straight home after school, but she doesn’t threaten to ground me for life or anything. I think it helps that my voice is shaking as I tell her. It’s like she doesn’t have the heart to come down on me too hard. And when I tell her about the attempted robbery, she gets a scared look on her face.

  “It’s okay, Mom. Moss was there. He wouldn’t have let anything happen to Dex or me.”

  “They could have had guns, Quentin,” she says. “I don’t care how strong Moss is. If they had guns, you were in danger.”

  I think this must be a mom’s worst fear: that their kid is in danger. For the first time, I think of how Moss’ mom might feel having a kid of hers disappear into thin air. She must be worried sick. I stare at my shoes and wait for my mom to finish lecturing me on safety. I also yawn a few times and realize what a long day it’s been. But despite the scary parts of my day, I don’t think I would have changed a thing about it.