As the bus pulled away from the stop sign, Tack and Clover watched Vero through their bus windows with mortified expressions on their faces. Angus pointed at Vero, shook his head, and laughed. Vero knew exactly what Angus was thinking: Wait ’til my dad hears about this!
6
THE SNOW ANGEL
That night in his dream, Vero walked down a dark alley in a large, unknown city. Despite the recent rain, the alley was dirty and dingy. Vero stepped in puddles that had nowhere to drain. A light flickered on and off over a doorway. Large hairy rats climbed into an open dumpster in search of a meal. A yellow mutt with wiry fur hobbled over to Vero and knelt down, allowing Vero to stroke his head. Vero noticed the dog was missing his back left leg.
Suddenly, the dog’s ears perked up, and Vero heard the faint sound of distant music. Vero scanned the upper apartment windows but saw nothing. Nor was anyone standing on the metal fire escapes above him. The dog got up, sniffed the air, and started walking farther down the dark alley. He looked back at Vero and barked, prompting him to follow.
Vero walked deeper into the eerie darkness, growing more and more apprehensive. He wanted to turn back but felt compelled to find the source of the music. In spite of the eerie blackness surrounding him, Vero noticed a vast number of stars in the sky overhead, and their glimmering lights comforted him despite the deep shadows of the alleyway.
Vero’s three-legged guide turned a corner, and Vero lost him. He called out to the dog, but it had disappeared. Boxes and garbage lined the street ahead and stood in haphazard piles in dim corners, leaning against decrepit brick walls covered with spray-painted symbols. The music was louder here. Vero tentatively jostled the piles of boxes in turn, eliminating each as the possible source of the enthralling music.
When Vero moved a big box out of his way, he saw Clover sitting on the sidewalk with her back against a brick wall. He gasped at the sight of her. Her clothes were torn and dirty. She seemed to be out of breath, and her hair was wet with sweat.
Despite her appearance, Clover smiled at Vero. Instantly she transformed into the old Clover — the sister who’d been his closest companion. His confidante. The sister he loved. Yet this version of his sister was older. She had aged. Clover reached out her hand, and Vero helped her up.
Still the music persisted. Clover motioned for Vero to follow her, and as they walked on, the music grew louder and became more distinct. Vero could make out the sounds of a lyre and a flute. An exquisite voice sang, and Vero was charmed by its melody. Vero thought of the irresistible sirens of Greek mythology that lured unsuspecting sailors to their deaths, powerless to resist the bewitching songs. He, too, felt captivated by the music, drawn to it.
Vero and Clover turned a corner and came upon a crowd of people crammed into a tiny alley, their faces were hidden as they stood gazing upon something. He felt compelled to get a glimpse of it as well. The source of the music.
Clutching Clover’s hand, Vero made his way through the throng of onlookers. He tapped a man’s shoulder so he would let them pass, but when the man turned and was no longer obscured in shadow, Vero saw that he had the face of a lion. But Vero didn’t feel threatened, just curious — curious enough to pause his search for the source of the music, which was definitely coming from whatever object all of these people were staring at.
The man turned his head toward Clover, and his face transformed into that of an ox, then an eagle, and finally a human, with striking violet eyes and a peaceful, welcoming expression. It reminded Vero of a program on his laptop where he and Tack once took Clover and Vicki’s school photos and morphed them into animals.
“Who are you?” Vero asked, but before the man could answer, Vero’s alarm clock woke him up.
Unlike the Clover in Vero’s dream, the real-life Clover was in a foul mood that morning.
“He’s ruining my life!” she shouted across the breakfast table to her parents.
Vero stared at his sister, trying to catch a glimpse of the old Clover who was nowhere to be found. And now after he’d spent some time with the old Clover in his dream, Vero realized he missed her even more. He felt a deep ache combined with an almost overwhelming disappointment.
“What!” Clover barked, when she noticed Vero was staring at her. “It’s true!”
“If I didn’t grab that steering wheel, we would have had been in a head-on collision,” he explained again.
“Every single person on that bus — including me — said that car was never any threat,” Clover said. “I was mortified!”
Dennis and Nora exchanged glances.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Dennis said.
“I know what I saw,” Vero said firmly.
But Vero held back some information, like that second driver in the backseat. Vero knew that if he were to divulge that information, they’d lock him up for good in the nearest loony bin.
“Come on, Clover. Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit?” Nora said in a slightly accusatory tone.
“No!” Clover snapped. “You always accuse me of having an overactive imagination. But not this time! He’s off! He needs help!”
Clover glared at Vero, wishing she could get inside his head. Sure, she’d probably never live this one down, and she may forever be known as Crazy Vero’s Big Sister. But she knew Vero was hiding something.
“Vero, the principal called and said you’ll need to meet with a counselor before he’ll allow you back on the school bus,” Nora said gently.
Vero saw the pain in his mother’s face, and he felt guilty for having caused it. He nodded, hoping his compliance would take a little of that pain away.
“Okay, that’s that,” Nora said, fighting back tears. “Now, since today is a snow day and there’s no school, we’ll make it a cleaning day.”
“Oh great,” Clover groaned.
For once, Vero didn’t mind wiping down kitchen counters, mopping hardwood floors, or even scrubbing toilets. He was grateful for the distraction. His mind needed a rest, and at least he wasn’t at school.
His first job was to clean out the toy closet. As Vero pulled out his old Hot Wheels cars and Legos, he accidentally stepped on the World War II Corsair model airplane he’d built with his dad. As he picked up the broken airplane and ran his fingers over it, he was surprised that he wasn’t more upset. Vero had a fleeting thought that the crushed model was just a relic of childhood. Strange.
“Vero!” Clover called from downstairs. “Mom said you’re supposed to collect all of the laundry and put it in the washing machine!”
Vero placed the remains of the model airplane on a shelf. He couldn’t bring himself to throw it away.
Vero grabbed the laundry bag off the washing machine and went from bedroom to bedroom looking for stray socks. He hesitated at Clover’s bedroom door. She no longer allowed Vero access to her room, but gathering laundry was an exception.
Lucky me, Vero thought.
Clover’s room looked the same as he remembered it. Posters of pop idols and boy bands hung on the walls. The lava lamp she’d received from their grandmother sat on Clover’s nightstand, forming new blobs of purple bubbles. Her stuffed animals were scattered across the window seat, looking very much neglected. He looked at her ceiling fan and saw that little bits of dried toilet paper still covered the multicolored blades.
He remembered a day he’d spent with a ten-year-old Clover — three years ago now. It had been raining for days, they’d been cooped up inside, and they were bored out of their minds. Of course, this was when Vero was still allowed in Clover’s room, so they’d been hanging out and trying to think of something to do.
“I just thought of a cool game,” Clover said. She disappeared for a minute and returned with two straws and a roll of toilet paper. She handed Vero a straw and said, “Quick, turn on the ceiling fan.”
Vero pressed the remote, and the blades began to spin.
“Now take some toilet paper and wet it.” Clover handed him a roll of toilet paper.
Following Clover’s lead, Vero ripped off a tiny piece and chewed it.
“We’re gonna make spitballs and shoot ’em at the fan. You’ve got to lie on your back and hit the moving target to get any points. The red blade is five points, the blue is three, and the others are one point each.”
“Cool,” Vero said, and he and Clover spent the rest of that rainy afternoon shooting spitballs at the fan.
Vero smiled at the memory as he emptied Clover’s hamper into the laundry bag. He looked on the floor of her closet for any stray items. Then he got down on all fours and searched under the bed. As he reached for a white T-shirt, something caught his eye. Clover’s dream journal. Vero hadn’t seen that in a long time.
Ever since she was little, Clover had kept the journal by her bed and would quickly jot down what she remembered about her dreams right when she woke up.
Vero couldn’t help himself. The temptation to read it was too strong. He sat on the bed and opened the book. Turning to a random page, he read about a dream in which a boy on the football team kissed Clover. Vero rolled his eyes. He then flipped to another page and read how a different boy on the soccer team kissed Clover. In the next dream, Clover got voted “most popular girl” by her class. Vero began to think these weren’t dreams, but rather wishes. He tossed the notebook aside, bored.
The journal hit the side of her nightstand and landed open on the carpet. Vero bent to close the book and shove it back under her bed, but then he saw a sketch that made him pause. There, on the open page of Clover’s journal, was a drawing of the same creature from his dream — the one with the four distinct faces of the man, the ox, the lion, and the eagle! Vero was stunned. It couldn’t be possible, but there it was, drawn in Clover’s style. Then he looked at the entry date. It was last night — the same night as his dream! How could that be possible? Somehow he and Clover had shared the same dream.
“You’d better not be in my bedroom!” Clover yelled from the hallway.
Vero quickly shut the diary and threw it under the bed just as Clover walked into the room.
“I’m getting the laundry,” Vero stammered.
“Well you got it, now get lost.”
Vero stood for a moment just staring at her. He didn’t move.
“Clover . . . ”
“What?” she snapped.
Vero wanted so badly to ask his sister about her drawing, her dream. He needed her to confide in him once again. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He picked up the laundry bag and headed for the door.
“Um, nothing . . . ”
As Vero left his sister’s room, Clover slammed the door shut behind him. His parents’ bedroom door was shut when he walked past, but Vero could still hear their voices through the closed door. He paused to listen.
Mom: “I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I won’t send him to a psychiatrist!”
Dad: “The school didn’t give us a choice in the matter.”
Mom: “Then I’ll homeschool him.”
Dad: “And take him away from his friends? Nora, he’s seeing things that aren’t there. And when he was little, he was always trying to throw himself off of high places. I love him just as much as you do, but we need to find out what’s going on with him.”
Vero’s heart sank. Am I mental? First Tack and Clover, and now his parents thought he was crazy. So the reckless car heading toward the school bus — was that just a hallucination? And the drawing in Clover’s diary — was that also imagined?
Because he’d been adopted, Vero had often wondered about his biological parents. Now an image of a man and woman wearing straightjackets came to mind. Vero dropped the laundry bag, raced down the stairs and straight out the back door. He needed to get away from it all.
Vero ran into the backyard, trying to clear his head. His life was spinning out of control. Tears burned the corners of his eyes, and he fought to catch his breath. Twelve-year-old boys shouldn’t cry. He was too old for this, but he couldn’t stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes.
What’s wrong with me? Am I crazy? He thought of the creature he’d seen in that car. Was he completely losing it?
He looked up at the low-hanging clouds as fresh snow started falling in big, fat flakes. The sight of the snow calmed him for a moment. He took in some deep breaths, and then slowly he became aware of the cold and realized he wasn’t wearing a coat or boots. He’d been so distraught when he first came outside that he hadn’t even noticed the frigid weather.
Looking around, he saw that the day’s snowfall had turned everything completely white. The snow had interrupted daily life in the suburbs, and out here, at this moment, the stillness triumphed. The world felt eternally quiet.
Vero collapsed onto his back and stared up at the cold sky, as if it might hold some answers for him. He remembered his rooftop adventure all those Christmases ago, the feeling of standing on the roof, the certainty that he could jump into the crisp, clear sky and soar. And what about the man who had caught him? Did Vero imagine him as well?
Vero forced that notion away and thought of winter days long ago, when he and Clover played in the snow for hours and made snow angels across the lawn. Vero smiled to himself and then swept his arms and legs back and forth, like he and Clover used to do. The repetitive motion soothed him.
The longer Vero swept his limbs, the more tranquility embraced him. He closed his eyes, and his old urge to fly came back so powerfully that Vero fell into a trance. For the first time in a long time, the pain in his back was gone and a content smile spread across his face.
Vero had no idea how long he stayed there in the white stillness. Time seemed to stop, until, “Squaaak!”
A black raven flew overhead. Was that a tail hanging from its backside? Vero was suddenly very aware of the wet, cold snow.
“Gawwk!” the raven cawed again.
Were its eyes glowing red? Vero pushed himself up from the snow, and the raven flew away. Vero’s body now felt heavy. He stood up and gazed down at his depression in the snow, his snow angel, with a mix of awe and fear. The wings were at least six feet long, with feathery details that Michelangelo himself could have painstakingly fashioned! Yet Vero had absolutely no recollection of making them.
Mental. He dashed into the garage, grabbed a shovel, and frantically dumped shovelful after shovelful of snow over his splendid angel. Ruining it felt like a sin, but he couldn’t have anyone seeing this. He could only imagine what the Atwoods would say if they happened to peer over their fence and see it.
When he finished hiding the evidence, Vero leaned against the shovel to catch his breath. Then he looked up at Clover’s window just in time to see her face disappear behind her curtains.
7
THE FALL
Now, Vero, can you describe what you saw on the bus that day?” the stout, frizzy-haired counselor asked.
Vero sat on a sofa across from Dr. Weiss, who put her stubby legs up on her chair and proceeded to sit cross-legged. She picked up a yellow legal pad and a pen from the coffee table. Her brightly colored walls with murals of rainbows, stars, and cute furry animals were trying their best to relax him. But for Vero, no matter how many Skittles or M&Ms she offered him, Dr. Weiss was still a psychiatrist who had the power to lock him away in a nuthouse.
“Just take your time and tell me everything that happened.”
Vero hesitated. He knew he had to be careful about his choice of words because so much depended on it.
“We got out of school early because of the snow . . . ” he began.
“Do you like snow, Vero?” she interrupted. “I love it. I always have.”
“I like it except for when I have to shovel the driveway,” Vero said.
Dr. Weiss laughed. “Good point.”
“I got on the bus and sat behind the driver,” Vero continued.
“Do kids pick on you? Is that why you sat behind the driver?” Dr. Weiss asked.
“No, I don’t usually sit there. There just weren’t any other se
ats open because of the snow,” Vero fought to keep his voice civil.
But being a psychiatrist, Dr. Weiss seemed to notice the annoyance in his voice, and she instantly backed off. “Okay,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “Then what happened?”
“We were driving, and the snow started hitting the windshield really hard. That’s when I saw the other car coming into our lane.”
Vero paused. Should I continue?
Dr. Weiss scribbled some notes across her legal pad. “And?”
“That’s it,” Vero said, deciding that he’d better stop there.
“I think you’re not telling me everything.”
Vero shook his head. He wasn’t going to give her any more.
Dr. Weiss picked up the phone on the coffee table and spoke into it. “Could you bring Sprite in here?”
Before she’d replaced the receiver, the office door opened and a female Jack Russell terrier puppy bounded into the room. Sprite ran to Vero and immediately began tugging on his shoelaces. Vero laughed, picked her up, and held her on his lap. Sprite began licking his face.
“Isn’t she cute?” Dr. Weiss asked as she reached over to pet the dog’s head. “She’s such a good girl.” And that’s when Dr. Weiss went in for the kill. “Vero, in order for me to help you, I need to know what you saw on that bus.”
The puppy made him feel more at ease, and Vero dropped his guard. “The driver of the car was wrestling for control of the steering wheel. He was trying to yank it away from the scary guy . . . ”
But Dr. Weiss didn’t hear the words scary guy because at that very moment, an ambulance sped past the window with its siren blaring.
“What? What did you say?” Dr. Weiss asked.
The surprise of the siren startled Vero and Sprite. The puppy jumped off his lap, and the moment was over.
“Who was the driver wrestling with?” she asked.
The Ether Page 5