Boy on Hold

by J D Spero

  It worked. Tyler staggered groggily downstairs. Wolfed down a cheese omelet with his eyes closed, almost.

  Hen shut off the Chipmunks. “Can we open presents now?”

  Mom made Tyler sit in the middle of the couch so that everyone could sit around him.

  “Is this where Dad slept?” Tyler fiddled with his hoodie straps.

  “Yes, Tripp slept on the couch.”

  Mr. Tripp-and-Fall.

  Bernie handed out the presents. First, from Santa to Hen: a Lego set. “I don’t play with Legos.”

  “Well, sweetie.” Mom ruffled his hair. “Maybe that’s because you don’t have any. This is your first set. All little boys like to play with Legos. Didn’t you, Tyler?”

  Tyler shrugged, glum all of a sudden. “Don’t really remember.”

  Second, from Bernie to Marcella: gold earrings.

  “Oh my goodness, Bernie. You shouldn’t have.” She put them on. “They’re like tiny little leaves.” They caught the light within her loose hair, shimmering. Bernie smiled bigger than ever.

  “Mom, you’re a princess,” Hen said.

  Third, from Marcella to Tyler: a new Baja hoodie. “I thought you could use another one. The colors in this one will bring out your eyes.”

  Hen wrinkled his nose. “It’s not stinky either.”

  They all laughed. Even Tyler.

  Hen couldn’t wait anymore. Tyler’s gift was hidden at the back of the tree. Tyler seemed confused when Hen handed him what looked like crumpled tissue paper.

  “Open it.” Hen hopped on his toes.

  “I didn’t know you had a gift for Tyler.” Pride rang in Mom’s voice.

  It seemed to make Tyler sad, though. He put it aside—maybe for later?—and turned to Hen. “I’m sorry about Thanksgiving.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I have something for you too. It’s nothing special, really.”

  “Okay.”

  “Wait here.” Tyler left the crumpled tissue on the couch and went upstairs to get Hen’s present. He held it behind his back. “Close your eyes, hold out your hands.”

  Hen did.

  It felt like a piece of paper. He felt around with his fingers, keeping his eyes closed. Definitely a piece of paper.

  “Okay. Open!”

  On the paper was a pencil drawing—a cartoony drawing.

  “A hedgehog!” Hen pressed the paper to his heart. “A hedgehog, a hedgehog!”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.”

  “I made it just for you.”

  “You’re quite the artist, Tyler,” Bernie said.

  Hen found the crumpled tissue in the crease of the couch, handed it back to Tyler. “Now, you. Now, you. I made mine just for you.”

  The room warmed as the fire crackled. The tree lights blinked to a slow rhythm. The white flowers on the mantle filled the room with pretty smells. Hen was too excited to keep still. Tyler unwrapped the tissue paper, and—

  “What the hell?” He flinched from the thing. Like it was a spider. “What the hell is that?”

  Hen stumbled in shock, nearly falling into Mom’s lap.

  “Tyler? What is it?” Mom craned to see, holding Hen up by the shoulders.

  “Is this some sort of sick joke?” His voice was acid. He glared at Hen in a way he’d never seen. Fear spread through Hen’s limbs like wildfire. Mom tensed by his side. Tyler threw the thing across the room. Smack into the wall near the fireplace.

  “Tyler!” Mom called.

  Hen’s sob was too big for tears. Too big for sound. He opened his mouth in a big, silent wail, heat spreading all over.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” Mom said, then to Tyler, “What’s this about? What made you so upset?”

  Tyler didn’t answer Mom. He stomped upstairs and slammed his bedroom door so hard the whole house shook.

  Mom turned to Bernie. “What was in the tissue paper?”

  Bernie held up the beaded bracelet, the one Hen made at his classroom’s holiday party. An exact copy of the one found in Miss Sally’s on that terrible night. Hen wanted to make it better, put things right. Tyler misunderstood. He didn’t know what Hen was trying to do.

  Hen sucked back his tears and took the bracelet from Bernie.

  Mom scrambled off the floor. “Where did you get that? Give it to me.”

  No. Tyler didn’t understand.

  Hen ran upstairs after Tyler before Mom or Bernie could stop him. He needed to explain it. Tyler was confused. Maybe he thought this would get him into more trouble. That wasn’t it at all.

  Tyler lay on his bed, staring out the window.

  Hen sat, waited for Tyler to look at him. But he didn’t budge. Didn’t even blink. He looked like a statue. Or asleep with his eyes open.

  “Want your headphones?”

  “No.”

  “This bracelet—”

  Tyler jerked to life. He grabbed the beads and jolted upright. “Where the hell did you find this?”

  Hen shrunk away.

  “Hen, tell me. Where did you get this?”

  “No, Tyler, this isn’t the bracelet you wore that night.”

  Tyler shook his head and bared his teeth like an animal.

  Hen tried to explain. “Let me tell you—”

  “I don’t want to talk about the damn beads.” Tyler’s voice, icy and cruel, stunned Hen.

  He mustered courage. “Wait. You don’t get it.”

  “No, you don’t get it.” Tyler pulled at his hair, hard. Tears slid from his eyes.

  Hen rushed to explain. “I made you a new one. Since Officer Clapp took the old one.”

  That made Tyler stop. “What? How did Officer Clapp get the old one?”

  “It was…Bernie brought it to me. And Officer Clapp—”

  “Bernie?” He gripped Hen’s arms. “What did he say when he brought it to you?”

  What did he say? Did Hen remember? “He just said, ‘Look what we found. It was at Ma’s.’ Something like that.” Hen hoped he gave a good answer.

  Tyler pressed on his eyelids, the beads wedged between his fingers. “Okay. Okay. Okay. And Mom? Anyone else? Anyone know…about the beads, Hen?”

  Hen didn’t know what Tyler meant. “Know about the beads?”

  “Damnit, Hen!”

  Hen reared back.

  “Sorry, buddy. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Okay. So, Bernie and Clapp found it at his Ma’s.”

  “At Miss Sally’s.”

  “Right. At Miss Sally’s.” Tyler took a deep breath.

  “And Officer Clapp took it back. He has it now. This is a new one, see—”

  “Okay, wait up. I’m going to ask you a very important question, Hen. And you need to tell me the truth, okay? No matter what, you have to tell me the truth. Got it?”

  There it was again: truth.

  “Okay.”

  Another big breath. “That bracelet that Clapp has now. What did you tell him about it?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Why did he want it?”

  Hen shrugged.

  “Does he know you gave it to me?”

  Hen frowned. “I think so?”

  “Does he know I was wearing it that night?”

  Hen blinked at his brother. He remembered Mom’s words. Promise me you’ll tell Officer Clapp you never found the bracelet. It never touched Tyler’s wrist.

  Why would it matter if he wore those beads? Derek stole them and brought them to Miss Sally’s and did that bad thing. Tyler didn’t do anything wrong.

  Hen wanted to believe it to be true. But suddenly he wasn’t so sure.

  Tyler talked with his hands. The beads kept clicking. “Hen, give it to me straight here. You gotta tell me right now. Did Clapp know or did you tell him? And if you did, okay-well-fine, but you gotta lemme know. Okay, tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “Does Clapp know that I wore those beads that night?”

  Tyler’s eyes were frantic.
Hen felt uneasy, at the tipping point of a scale. Whatever his answer, one side would outweigh the other. And change everything.

  Tyler tried again, his voice gentler. “Hen, does anyone besides you know I wore those beads that night in Miss Sally’s house?”

  There it was.

  Tyler was in Miss Sally’s house that night.

  Truth.

  Hen looked out to the backyard. To the weeping willow that sat between their and Miss Sally’s yards. His mother’s favorite tree. Now, at Christmas, it looked skeletal, spiky. Not lush and green and soft like it did in summer. No wonder it had such a sad name.

  “Hen, answer me. Does anyone else know I wore those beads at Miss Sally’s that night?”

  Hen was sick with sadness. Too sick for tears. “No.”

  The sun was already on its way down. Hen fought the heaviness in his heart and the truth in his mind. Tyler was there—in Miss Sally’s house—that awful night. He said so himself. It wasn’t just Derek. Derek hadn’t stolen the bracelet. Tyler was there, wearing it.

  Hen didn’t want to believe it. Bernie had said that sometimes truth was what you believed to be real. Did it work the other way? Could he choose what to believe? Could he choose his truth?

  All Christmas day, he noodled it over. He tore into his Legos while Mom cooked up a feast. He wanted to build a big red barn but there weren’t enough red pieces. Maybe black would work? He alternated black and red bricks, making a pattern. It helped, the pattern. Snapping bricks together somehow made him feel better.

  And then, Tyler was next to him, sorting through the bricks too. “You need black ones?”

  Hen didn’t answer. He raked through the pile, listening to the plastic click.

  “Here’s one.” Tyler held it up.

  Hen took it without looking at him.

  Tyler stopped sorting. “I wanted to say sorry.”

  Hen stared at him.

  “Sorry,” Tyler said. “Okay?”

  “For what?”

  A dopey laugh. “For, I dunno. I kinda freaked out on you.”

  “Is that all?”

  Tyler pulled at his hair. “Yeah. I mean, Geez. Seeing that thing was, like, crazy. I forgot all about it, actually. And there you go and shove it in my face. It’s like it all comes back.”

  Hen stared at his Legos. “What all comes back?”

  “You know, what happened that night. All that mess.”

  What happened that night?

  Hen wanted to ask. He snapped more bricks together. Did he really want to know?

  “So that’s why I freaked out on you.”

  Hen studied his structure. It didn’t look anything like a barn yet.

  Tyler shucked Hen’s shoulder. “Hey, I said I was sorry.”

  Hen pressed a black brick to a red one. Then a red brick on top of that. He kept going. Black, red, black, red, black, red. His structure was getting taller. It still didn’t look like a barn, though. It looked like a bleeding stone wall.

  “Did you hear me?” Tyler sounded annoyed now.

  “I heard you.”

  “And? You’re supposed to say ‘It’s okay.’”

  “No.”

  Tyler chuckled. “No? What do you mean, ‘no?’”

  Hen dropped his Legos and got up. If he stood very straight, he was taller than Tyler. He made his voice really loud. “No, it’s not okay.”

  Tyler sighed. And kind of rolled his eyes. “Hen, come on. I got upset. Can you really blame me? I mean, the sight of those beads makes me think about—”

  Hen made fists at his sides. “No!” Everything bubbled up. Steam came out of his ears. His eyes burned red. His chest filled with hot air.

  “Hen, you can’t expect—”

  “I HATE YOU!” Hen screamed.

  Tyler’s bright blue, Mr. Falling-over-something-eyes stared at Hen in shock. His boxy jaw slackened.

  “I hate you!” Hen stomped on his Lego structure, his bleeding stone wall, breaking it apart. The hard edges won against his sock’s fleece. Pain shot through his foot. Hot tears sprang from his eyes, but he didn’t cry out. He kicked the plastic pieces and they scattered across the wood floor.

  Mom called to him in a worried voice, but Hen had turned off his ears. He threw on his coat and boots and ran to the only safe place. Out to the backyard.

  Hen followed his boot tracks through the snow under the back porch, to where his play tent was stored. He crawled inside. He shivered—not from the cold—but from fury. He scanned the tent for critters. A small black spider crawled up the tent piping. On reflex, he caught it between his fingers.

  His fingers were too mad. They pressed together, squeezing the spider, defeating it, killing it dead. Its slippery insides smushed out and ran down his thumb. He wiped the mess on the tent floor. Tears came, hard and fast.

  What did he just do? He just killed an innocent creature. Why? He was a horrible person. Just like his brother.

  He curled up, eyes pressed on kneecaps. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  Rocking back and forth, the tears finally stopped. It was dark now. Through the tent window, he could see a billion stars. Past the spiky willow was Miss Sally’s house. Her big bay window, dark quiet.

  Tyler had taught him not to be afraid. When it’s dark it’s dark for everyone.

  What about Tyler? What did he do in the dark? An image of the Monster shadow, its jagged edges. The Scooby Doo villain. Its long shadow—

  Hen gasped.

  Tall people made long shadows. Derek Hogg was thick and squat.

  That jagged shadow was Tyler’s, not Derek’s.

  Hen stared into the dark quiet of Miss Sally’s window until his eyeballs got cold. The truth washed over him like a hailstorm. Why did it have to hurt so much?

  Tyler was the Monster.

  Truth.

  Last Spring

  April 1991

  Ty’s mouth hung open, awestruck by the spark. That stuff went up his nose and electrified everything, made his senses burst with feeling. Incredible. Like a super-taster, everything was enhanced.

  When Derek emerged from the pink flowery bed sheet, it seemed like an optical illusion. Ty couldn’t help laughing.

  “We’re outta here.” Derek walked right to the door. He didn’t say hi to Bear. He didn’t seem to realize what just went down.

  Ty got up, all that muddled stuff from before zapped out of his brain. He shuffled to the door, following Derek. It felt rude to leave without saying anything to Bear. Thank him or whatnot. But a thank you seemed too formal.

  “I guess we’re leaving.”

  Bear nodded, and tilted his head back, content in his own internal paradise.

  Ty dragged his feet to the truck, sniffling. Sounded like he was crying, which was both funny and depressing at the same time.

  As soon as Derek slammed the driver’s door, he railed into Ty. “Seriously, dude? My pop will absolutely kill you.”

  I guess he did realize what went down.

  Derek must’ve found Ty out as soon as he came out from behind the flowery curtain. Ty should’ve known. Derek’s nose was trained like a police dog’s.

  “Do you think I’m going to feed you that shit? You think you’re starting a habit here? Think again, my friend.” He peeled out of the gravel driveway and sped down the backstreets toward 87. “You’re not getting anything from me. That was a one-time, stupid experiment, got it?”

  “Yah, yah. Okay. Got it.”

  Derek cursed under his breath. Fury stank on him. He drove aggressively. At every curve, Ty got thrown into the passenger door.

  Ty watched him coolly. He leaned on the headrest. Despite the car’s speed, everything seemed in slow motion. A calm washed over him. And something else—an unfamiliar feeling of self-possession.

  Freedom.

  The trees they passed were trees. The moon had no face. Nothing happened in his mind as bugs splattered the windshield. No screeching. No voices. For the first time in a long time, he did
n’t feel like he had to drown something out with loud music. Silence was okay. He had control. Not just over his body, but his mind. Something about that white stuff zapped his brain, shocked him out of it. Like, for the first time in his life, he had clarity. No question what was real.

  What bliss.

  He thought about his recent episodes objectively, like a doctor. Kind of. As Derek sped along the highway, he felt safe enough to wonder: Why was he so tightly wound? Why did that wheel in his mind spin out of his control and show him things that weren’t there?

  For the first time, he felt he could slow down that wheel in his mind. Take control.

  Then, as he sat in the passenger seat, something shifted. Lifted him. That’s how it felt, anyway. Beyond that initial peaceful feeling. Better. Higher than Derek. Higher than God. Ha! Wow, this was good. As if he just had the best orgasm in his life and another was coming. His entire body tingled with it. He fought the urge to moan aloud. Euphoria. That was the word.

  Euphoria.

  Derek’s chain smoking churned like a paper mill. He was still pissed. Ty could tell by the way he smoked. He didn’t offer Ty a cigarette, which was fine. Ty didn’t need it. Didn’t need anything.

  About halfway home, Derek punched the radio on, louder than usual. No Guns N’ Roses. Some Top 40 crap.

  Ty didn’t mind. Not at all. Nothing bothered him. He pet the circle of moon through the glass as it tracked them. If he jumped out of the car window and tried to fly, he could reach it. He fanned his fingers, making a silhouette of a bird—slick black against the glowing white moon face.

  Time slid by comfortably. It just might have been the happiest Ty ever felt.

  When they turned off Route 9 onto Marina Road, the moon disappeared behind a wide swath of trees. When Derek drove onto a dirt road, the truck tires made tiny popping sounds on the gravel.

  “Where are we going?” Ty craned to find the moon beyond the trees.

  “Not home.” Derek tossed his cigarette out. He smacked his armrest and the air turned sharp. “Damnit, Ty. Why’d you do it? I can’t trust you for anything.”

  “I dunno.” Ty suppressed the urge to laugh. The uneven back road jostled him. “Where are we going?”