Misunderstood

by Jay Sherfey

  “Would you say you are symptom free?” The doctor cocked an eyebrow, waited.

  “Yeah. I haven’t crashed any walls or doors in a long time.”

  “No voices? You have been sleeping normally?” Lipton pulled on his pipe and held it. He released the bluish smoke slowly.

  “No voices or anything like that. No uncontrolled voices. And I’ve been sleeping OK.” Jason glanced around the office again, looking for more changes.

  “Good.” Dr. Lipton stared at the coals in the pipe bowl. “I think, Mr. Sutter, considering where we started and given these rather extraordinary outcomes, I no longer see the need for you and I to meet.”

  Jason choked. He was going to be abandoned by one of the few safe adults in his life.

  “You are obviously,” continued Lipton, “out of trouble. How and why has eluded me.” He tapped down the tobacco. “I am tempted to try and keep you as a patient to try to unravel this mystery but the State of Pennsylvania does not want to pay for my time.”

  “Why not?” Jason’s heart pounded in his chest. “You have helped me a lot.” Jason felt his world break into pieces; no safe place existed. The good doctor was a constant when other adults failed. “I …I…Please, don’t do this!”

  “Hmmm.” He fired up the lighter again, inhaled, and pulled the flame into the bowl. “Professionally, you are a miracle defying long held dogma.” He waved his hand toward the shelves of books. “You are a poster boy to our misunderstanding of psychosis. Personally, I find myself caring about what happens to you.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward in his chair. “I like you. And…there is something about you that I am missing. Maybe if I knew what that was, I could help you even more.” He put the pipe back in his mouth and sat back; he waited for a response.

  “I….” Jason wanted to tell him everything, keep him in his life. With appointments stopping he felt cut adrift in a storm of high seas. “There’s this…thing.” He stopped certain that nothing should be said about his abilities. He changed direction. “I don’t have many friends and I counted on you as one of them. Not seeing you anymore really stinks.”

  “Well, we agree on that point. Here.” Dr. Lipton smiled and gave him a card. “If you want to talk to me or need something, call the number on the card. I do not want to lose contact.”

  “Thanks,” said Jason despondent; his eyes watered. He stared at the card. His thumbs rubbed the card, feeling the reality of it in his hand. He stuffed it in his pocket. This would go directly into his notebook for safe keeping. It may become a life preserver to be used in case of emergency.

  “I intend,” followed Lipton, “to keep searching for information on your parents. I will keep you informed on my progress.” Jason nodded. They did not speak for awhile. Finally, the doctor said, “Did I ever tell you about my crazy nephew?”

  Jason looked up.

  “Well, you must understand this was before we understood that hyperactivity was not crazy. We, like others, took self-control as a sign of sanity much too far. But Timothy cured me. It was 1955 as I recall…”

  Jason barely paid attention, crushed by the weight on his heart. His mother, his father, and now Dr. Lipton abandoned him. It wasn’t fair. If he could change places with Russ, give up his telepathic abilities, he would do it in a second.

  On the drive back to the house Frank sensed that Jason was upset. The phone rang, as they entered the house. Frank picked up the receiver. He watched Jason trudge down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Hello,” said Frank, worried about boy. He heard the screen door slam; Jason headed to the shed.

  “Franky, Franky what am I going to do with you.” Sly sat at his desk with his feet on the top, opened drawer. “The guys up Philly-way are done with you. They figure you’re a lyin’ bastard, not worth a bullet.”

  “Lying? What are you talking about?” All concerns about Jason vanished. Frank sat at the desk in the front room upright and scared. Sweat darkened the back of his white shirt.

  “I’m not stupid, Franky.” Sly considered his fingernails; he needed to improve his grooming. “You had fire power backing you up. Surprised the Philly boys and me.”

  “What? Fire power?” asked Frank, dumbfounded.

  “OK, Franky. You want to keep it secret. I can play that game. It’s your funeral.” Sly leaned forward and picked up a toothpick. He worked his teeth.

  “Sly, what is going on?” Frank felt like he was in a car sliding uncontrolled on a patch of ice. Nothing could be done to avoid a wreck.

  “They want nothing more to do with you or me,” said Sly. “We both got screwed.”

  “What does that mean?” Frank began to hope; this whole drug business might be over.

  “All the drug deals are at an end. Our relationship will also disappear. Just as well, don’t you think?” Sly sat up and started to flip through envelopes on his desk. His lips held the toothpick at the side of his mouth.

  “You mean, we are out of this business?” Frank smiled; relief flooded his body.

  “Out, free and clear, except…” Sly sat still to deliver this last message.

  “Except what?” Frank sounded frantic, taken aback.

  “Except that, and this is them talkin’ Franky,” Sly paused. “They said that revenge is a dish best served cold.”

  “Damn.” Relief evaporated. Frank held his head in his free hand. The other white knuckled around the receiver.

  “Can’t say when anything might happen, but you were never any big deal with them.”

  “So, if we’re no big deal, they’ll just forget about us. Right?” Frank closed his eyes and prayed for Sly to throw him a life preserver.

  “Well, they got bigger fish to fry, if ya know what I mean?” Sly pulled the toothpick from his teeth and tossed into the dark green waste can next to his desk. “So…it could be that your one fly they won’t bother swatting.” Sly yawned.

  “OK, Sly. I appreciate the call.” Frank did not feel comforted.

  “We’ve done some pretty good business over the years, Franky. It was the least I could do.”

  “You gonna land on your feet?” Frank would feel worse, if Lydia’s and his actions got someone else hurt, even Sly.

  “Me?” Sly pulled the receiver from his ear and stared at it. He did not know what to do with anyone caring about what happened to him. He smiled and put the phone back to his ear. “Always.” After an uncomfortable pause he said, “Gotta go, Franky.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Frank hung up, sat back in his chair, and worried about what might happen. He took a deep breath and blew it out, trying to calm. The guys from Philly had come and gone. He stood up and decided to walk the front and backyard. There would be signs of a visit. Since no one was hurt and no damage done, Frank expected to find nothing. He crossed the front slowly. He covered the ground, the house, and the garage. The front was clear. At either side of the house nothing unusual could be found.

  In the back all looked normal except the grass and weeds grew high around the shed. He cursed.

  “How many times do I have to cut this damned stuff?” he said. It would be harder to discover any clues. The kid could get the lawnmower and cleanup his own space from now on.

  “Holy Jeez!” Frank came up short; he found the gas can behind the shed. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to remember why he would do something so stupid. The shed would go up in flash. A whiff of gasoline could be detected in the air. He grabbed the red can and immediately took it to the garage to be stored safely. The metal cabinet, however, had its own red can. Frank placed the extra in the corner and stepped outside. Upset, he put two and two together.

  “They were gonna burn down the shed.” Frank left the second gas can in the garage and ran to the backyard to perform a detailed search. His search among the weeds gave up no new information.

  He entered the kitchen from the back porch. At the sink he rolled up his shirt sleeves and splashed water in his face. He felt sick. Frank grabbed a dish towel and dried hims
elf. From the cabinet he grabbed a glass, filled it from the faucet, and drank. His hands shook. For the first time in years he wished he had something stronger.

  “So, what’s the deal with Sly?” asked Lydia when she walked into the kitchen. Frank turned startled. He placed the empty glass on the counter. He wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead with the towel.

  “We are out of the business.” He looked at her and watched, as the news moved over her face. First, her jaw clinched, she frowned, finally a vein popped up on her right temple. Frank looked on amazed at how her reactions never changed.

  “Get that lowlife on the phone now!” she yelled. Her fisted hands clung tight against her sides.

  “The mob paid us a visit.” Frank spoke calmly. “They didn’t do anything. At least not yet, but they were here.”

  Lydia stopped in mid rant. “You’re sure?” Frank nodded. “Why didn’t they do something?” she asked.

  “Maybe just checking the landscape. They left a full can of gas behind.” Frank tilted his head toward the backyard.

  “Where?” Lydia moved next to him and stared out the window.

  “Behind the shed.” Frank tossed the damp towel onto the counter. “Looks like they intended to scare us. Burn down the shed, maybe.”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t.” Lydia’s anger eased. “The kid was in the shed when they were here. He must know something. Maybe…” She tapped her clinched fist on the counter.

  “The kid’s out back. I’ll ask him.” Frank turned to her. The gears in her head churned. She stared at the shed.

  “What?” he asked.

  “That kid…something…but I can’t remember.” Lydia stepped away from the counter. She concentrated, held her hand over her mouth, and paced around the kitchen. She stopped and turned abruptly. “Something is goin’ on. I don’t know what…but something.”

  “Well, we’ll have a lot more time to find out.” Frank rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs. “School’s over. We never did get Will to set him up with any overnight camp like the other kids. So, he’s ours for four weeks.”

  “Yeah. But I’m not happy about the drugs. It went right to our bank account, to my safety net.” Lydia looked pained by the loss of income.

  “Well, your safety net might have gotten someone killed.” Frank said the words hesitantly. “Maybe me. Is it really worth it?”

  “Yes!” She turned and left the room before Frank could say another word.

  * * *

  School was over. At the breakfast table the next day the kids at the Dubois house laughed, joked with each other, and talked about plans for things to do at camp.

  “I’ll meet you out back in a minute,” said Suzy on her way to her room. She leaned over to speak softly into Jason’s ear. Jason ate his morning cereal, turned around with the spoon in his mouth, and gave her a thumbs-up. He gulped the last few mouthfuls, got up, and grabbed a bunch of books; he stowed them under his seat. The dishes were dumped in the sink; he headed to his detached bedroom. Half way there he noted the red lawnmower by the shed and the gas can beside it. At the shed door he tossed some books onto the tool counter and turned away until he heard someone call him from inside.

  “Jason,” called Frank, “come on in and sit for minute. I need to talk to you.”

  Jason entered. Frank sat on his cot with his hands clasped in from of him. His elbows rested on knees. He looked troubled.

  “What’s up, Frank?” Jason pushed himself up to sit on the tool bench beside his book bag and gazed down at his foster father. “You taking a day off or somethin’?”

  “First,” Frank ignored Jason’s question, “Will Grossman usually works out deals with local summer camps to take our kids for a month.” Frank paused. His eyes moved left then right. His interlaced fingers curled and uncurled. “Will messed up and forgot to put your name in the mix. You won’t be going. You’ll be staying with Lydia and me.”

  “Oh,” said Jason. “Well, that’s OK by me.” He thought this could be a good thing.

  “We’re going to move you back into the house too,” added Frank. “You aren’t tearing things up anymore so you should be back inside.”

  “OK. Which room?” Jason pushed up with his hands, rocked forward, and slid off the bench.

  “The one you started in. It has the cracked walls.” Frank’s foot suddenly shot out and stomped down on the floor. Jason jumped back, startled.

  “Sorry,” said Frank. “Just a spider.” Jason nodded. More of them had appeared with the warmer weather.

  “Anything else?” Jason moved to the end of the tool bench and started to unload his book bag. He blocked all of Frank’s buzzing thoughts. His control improved after the months of practice to keep the active minds at school out of his thoughts. Lately, the importance of being a regular kid took on a higher priority.

  “Yeah.” Frank pointed at Jason. “I want you to keep the backyard in better shape. You do the lawn mowing back here.” He pushed off the cot, stood, and exited the shed. He stopped at the mower. “This is not the only gas can.” He looked at Jason. “The second one came from where?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “I found it by the garbage cans and thought it was yours.” Jason started with the truth. “I put it behind the shed for safe keeping until I could let you know.” He lied.

  Frank nodded; he accepted the explanation. “You have no idea how the second can wound up by the…garbage cans?”

  “Nope.”

  Jason now understood. Frank feared the men who invaded the backyard the other night and the men who sent them. What could he say? Don’t worry Frank I scared them off with my super powers.

  “Sorry, Frank, I really have no idea.” Jason joined him outside the shed. “How do you work this thing, anyway?”

  Frank stared at the ground miles away in his mind; he saw the house engulfed in flames. He snapped back and looked at Jason startled. “What?…Oh, oh yeah. Let me show ya.”

  Jason with his hands in his pockets watched carefully. Frank checked the gas level in the reservoir, set the ignition, and gave the cord a few strong pulls. It started rumbling in idle. After Frank killed the engine, Jason repeated the process. Frank left him to finish the job. Jason mowed the backyard and wondered where his actions over the last few weeks might lead.

  Chapter 10

  Jason tromped around in the undergrowth in the park, as the kids in the Dubois house knew it. The undeveloped tract of land was the James Lewis Bird Sanctuary, a mile from the house. During the first three weeks of summer Jason, Rachel, and Suzy clapped, whistled, and laughed, cheering Russ at his games. When there was none, Suzy, Russ, Jason worked together in the tool shed. It became their clubhouse after Lydia and Frank moved Jason to his original second floor bedroom. Three weeks of effort to help him move objects with his thoughts failed. Jason’s head hurt and the failure made him short tempered. With Russ and all of the Dubois foster kids off to overnight camp, he was on his own for four weeks. He discovered the sanctuary on his first day alone when he explored the neighborhood.

  Among the trees, the early morning air smelled fresh and clean. The sun poured through the cathedral branches interlaced high above. A choir of bird calls echoed. Jason felt peaceful. Alone, sometimes, was a good thing, he thought. He sat on a stone outcrop and soaked in the serenity.

  “Nice room,” said Suzy, he recalled on the day he moved from the shed. “Why did they allow you into the house?” The room was small, but it had a window. She jumped on the bed and laughed. She jumped off and went through the built-in drawers below. She opened every drawer in the small desk beneath the window. Jason paused, ignored her, and ran his fingers over the lightning bolt plaster cracks. His history of insanity etched these walls.

  “Not sure.” He unpacked the box full of books taken from the house and his clothes. He took special care of his notebook. A new hiding place was essential. “I overheard the guy from social services who brought me here say something about an inspection re
quested by my shrink. There may be some trouble with the doctor over the pills and things Lydia and Frank want so much.”

  “The inspectors wouldn’t like it, if they found you living in a tool shed.” Suzy stood by the bed; then fell back and bounced a few times. “At least now you have a real bed. Very comfortable.”

  “If you haven’t worn the springs.” Jason turned to her and chuckled. He caught the momentary look of concern on her face. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

  “Well, I…kinda told one of the younger boys who’s having some trouble to come see you,” she blurted. Suzy smiled sheepishly, hoping he would not be upset. “You have a way of helping even if you don’t know how it works. Everyone you’ve touched is better, except Lydia, of course.”

  “Well, Lydia’s a special case.” Jason pulled the drawers out of the desk and looked up under the openings. “I don’t mind you telling people I might be able to help. Just let me know you’re goin’ to do it.” Not finding what he hoped for, he pulled one of the bed drawers out. “When’s this guy goin’ to show up?”

  “Soon, I think.” As Suzy stood to go, a boy appeared at the open door. “Jason this is Stephen. See ya later.” She slipped by the boy, gave him a reassuring nod, and skipped down the hall.

  Jason recalled as he sat on the rock outcrop in the sanctuary that Stephen looked twitchy like a mouse looking out for the cat. He slid off the rock to the dirt path below. Exploring the woods, felt good. It cleared his head and helped his headaches. The pain came more often these days. A thicker wall of trees beckoned. He stepped off the path and pushed through underbrush and disappeared into a forest of evergreens.

  Stephen’s problem, he remembered, ducking under a prickly fir branch, like all the others, related to terrible adults. At twelve years old he still wet the bed at night. Sick of the teasing from his roommates and fearful of the Frank’s threats about sleeping in the backyard to save on laundry, he sought help from Rachel and Suzy. Stephen heard them at night in their room below his. They sounded…happy.