We exchanged small talk at the door and then Mrs. Clampet shrugged.
“I can’t guarantee anything. I think he has written off Sycamore High.”
I sat in their living room, which still had unopened boxes. The fact that Mr. Clampet had gone to all this trouble and spent all sorts of money trying to create a special year for his child … well I know some people think he is crazy but I know love when I see it. Toby appeared on the stairs after some murmured voices upstairs and looked even paler and his eyes were even darker.
“Hello Miss Fielding,” he said, as I stood up.
“How are you, Toby?”
“I am fine.”
“Good.”
He sat on the chair opposite me as if he had a board running up his back.
“I just wanted to come by and see how you are doing,” I began.
“I am fine. But I am not returning to high school,” he said staring at some point above my head.
I nodded slowly.
“Well, I really think you should Toby. Everyone misses you.”
“No they don’t. They just want to see the person who tore their clothes off in the gym.”
I shook my head.
“No, I think they want to see their friend Toby Clampet.”
“I don’t have any friends at Sycamore High. People were paid by my father to be my friend. I don’t need that.”
“Well, I know Amy Sohm misses you in class.”
“She was paid by my dad, too.”
“How do you know that Toby?”
“Because he paid Macy, Randy, Coach Williams, the float people, and he paid for the Homecoming dance and he even hired a football team. The entire high school experience has been financed by my father. I don’t need to see people who have been paid to be friends with the retarded guy who took his clothes off. Even though I am autistic, I understand my disability and I don’t need people feeling sorry for me.”
I leaned in and tried to catch his eyes.
“Toby. Nobody thinks of you that way.”
He shook his head. “Yes they do. You are paid by the state to be an unbiased witness and treat all kids the same under your tutelage. It is actually in your contract. But that doesn’t change the fact that opinions and prejudices exist outside the prevue of teachers, such as yourself, and they determine the worth of the high school student and not the opinions of the teachers or others in positions of adult authority which in fact kids don’t care about anyway. So, no. They think I’m a retard.”
I didn’t know what to say. He was like an unmovable rock. I spent some more time trying to coax him back, but he was polite and firm and at the door was very nice when he said, “For the record, I hope you and Coach have a happy life together after he gets divorced from his wife.”
I stared at him.
“Does everyone know about Coach and me, Toby?”
He didn’t smile but something passed through his eyes.
“Yes. It was apparent you and the Coach are dating from your routine. I would say the Coach needs to work some splits into his disco routine though.”
“Oh, well I will tell him,” I said unsteadily.
“Yes. He should probably watch Saturday Night Fever again,” he continued. “Although I think they used a stand in on those moves and tell the Coach to wear a cup. I crushed my testacies three times on the gym floor.”
“Oh!”
“Goodbye Miss Fielding,” he said, shutting the door.
JOIN THE CLUB
AMY
I DON’T KNOW WHAT it is about me, but every time I date a guy he ends up shutting himself in a room playing Xbox. Toby did not come back to school after pulling all his clothes off in the gym. He’s pretty well hung by the way. I heard the whole story about his dad, all which is really weird. Talk about a midlife crisis. So I went and knocked on their door and his mom answered. She was pretty. One of those women you see on The Good Wife or Law and Order. She really looked like she should be in Chicago instead of some jerkwater small town in Indiana. She stared at my nose ring and my belly button stud and my pierced eyebrows.
“Is Toby here?”
“He’s in his room and not really seeing anyone.”
“Oh. Well tell him Amy is here. “
From what I heard Miss Fielding went to see him. So I don’t know I thought would see what I could do to get him out of GI Joe land.
“Hello Amy,” he said coming down the steps looking more zombie-like than ever. “I want you to know I will never return to Sycamore High School.”
“So. What do I care? I just came to see how you are doing.”
“I am fine.”
I squinted at his dark-circled eyes and greasy hair.
“You don’t look fine. You look like shit.”
He paused.
“That is because I have been reclusive and not outdoors in the sunlight and I am probably Vitamin-D deficient.”
I looked at their living room with all these boxes stacked up.
“You going to ask me to sit down or you going to stand on the stairs like some kind of warlock?”
He stared at the couch. I shook my head and went and sat down anyway.
“Come sit down Toby,” I told him.
He walked in and you could see he was freaked. I glanced up the stairs.
“So, what are you doing up there, Xboxing all day?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I am on level 305.”
“Sounds stupid.”
He frowned. “No it is very good for eye-hand coordination.”
Mrs. Clampet came in then and asked if I wanted anything to drink.
“If you have some Diet Coke that would be awesome.”
“Diet Coke and Coke are used to remove rust.”
I stared at Mr. Fun and snorted. “Good, I want to remove some rust then. So what are you a health food freak now?”
He stared at the floor then shook his head.
“No.”
Mrs. Clampet came back in with my Diet Coke and left. I drank pretty heavily because I was thirsty as hell from getting bombed the night before.
“I can’t stay long because I have go to work, but I wanted to tell you I had a great time at the dance.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“Why not, it’s true.” I looked at him. “So, why aren’t you coming back to school?”
His right leg started jumping then. Like there was a spring or something under his foot. I snapped my fingers.
“Hey Earth to Toby, are you there?”
“I am not going back to school because everyone there thinks I am retarded after my dad lied to me and paid people money to make me look good.”
I put my Diet Coke on the table and pulled out a cigarette then remembered where I was.
“So everyone there thinks I’m a dyke. Big deal.”
“It is not the same.”
“Why’s that?” I asked sliding the cigarette behind my ear.
“Smokers have an increased risk of lung cancer and other diseases.”
“So what.”
“You shouldn’t smoke “
“And you shouldn’t sit in your room feeling sorry for yourself and hiding from the world playing Xbox. I think it’s pretty cool what your dad tried to do. My dad doesn’t give a shit if I’m alive or dead.”
“I know what people think of me.”
“So why is it different if people think I am a dyke?
He looked at me for the first time. “Because you aren’t.
“And you aren’t retarded.”
“It doesn’t matter. I looked like a fool to the entire student body. I don’t want to be embarrassed like that again. “
I pulled my hair back and reclipped it.
“Why is your hair pink?”
“Because I colored it yesterday.”
“It was purple before.”
“I got tired of it.”
“Hair color has carcinogens,” he told me.
I rolled my
eyes.
“Listen Toby. High school sucks. Most people hate high school and now you are one of them. Join the fucking club. “
“My dad loved high school. His senior year was his best year. This was supposed to be mine,” he said staring at something on the wall.
“Oh yeah,” I nodded. “So this is what this all about?”
“Yes.”
“Well the world was different when your dad went to high school. It was like fucking Happy Days or something, and blacks and gays and transgender people didn’t exist and people listened to crappy classic rock about white people. Nobody was autistic or had ADD—or anything. People just didn’t give a shit. That kind of world doesn’t exist anymore, and it will never come back. The best you can do is work with what’s there you know, and find something that can make you happy.”
Toby stared at the floor and shook his head.
“You don’t have to be here. I know my dad paid you.”
I stared at him.
“Hey Zombie boy. Nobody paid me for fucking anything.”
He shook his head.
“Of course he did. That’s why you went to the dance with me.”
That really pissed me. As if I could be bought.
“I am not that fucking dumb bitch Macy. I don’t sell out for anybody, and I went with you because I thought you were weird and I like that. So you can apologize any time you want.”
He frowned, staring at the floor.
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“You are such a moron. I went to the dance with you asshole because you seemed like a fun guy. I wouldn’t take money from your dad. What do you think of me?”
He started moving his hand together real fast.
“I still don’t know what you mean,” he said, frowning.
“I mean that you think I would take money from someone to go on a date with you, and what then, have sex with you? You have me confused with someone else.”
“Everyone else took money, so I assumed you did too.”
“Well don’t make assumptions asshole, and quit worrying about what everyone thinks about you. You aren’t the fucking prom king. Who cares about your best fucking year or whatever? I haven’t ever had a best year. I have had more shitty years than probably just about anyone else in high school … so what?”
He looked at me then.
“Don’t you want to be popular?”
“Fuck no! That’s for like all the losers. Those people suck and become like the assholes in Washington and Wall Street. They become like the suits. Fuck that! You just gotta quit feeling sorry for yourself and be yourself. You are an autistic guy who looks weird … so fucking what!”
He seemed to actually take that in and I noticed his leg slowed.
“You hate high school then?”
“Of course. And I just think it’s better to be an individual than someone who just wants to do what pleases everyone so they can be popular. You might not believe it, but the fact that you are weird as hell has made you popular.”
He squinted.
“You mean like Bruce Springsteen or Mick Jagger?”
“Well, I dunno about Jagger or Springsteen. They are like dinosaurs, but more like Drake or Kanye.”
He kept his eyes on something outside the window.
“You mean rappers singing the poetry of the ghetto?”
“Yeah. Rappers singing the song of the ghetto. You kill me Toby.”
Toby frowned again and his eyes became dark.
“But my dad lied to me.”
“So what. He’s a parent. Parents always fucking lie to their kids. It’s for your own good.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” he said shaking his head.
“What does? Look I gotta go to work. “
He stood. “Thank you for coming by.”
I don’t know, he just looked so alone that I hugged him. He sure needed to put some weight on I could feel like all his bones. He stood there stiff as a board.
“Am I going to see you at school tomorrow Mr. Rebel Without a Cause?”
“One of the first counterculture movies besides Blackboard Jungle with Sidney Portlier and Glen Ford using Bill Haley’s Rock Around the Clock soundtrack, the first time rock music was used in a movie. People got up and spontaneously danced in the theatres.”
I stared at him.
“And you think you’re retarded?”
“No. I am autistic.”
“Then I’m going to see you tomorrow at school?”
He blinked twice.
“Maybe.”
PUT ME IN
COACH
I WASN’T ABOUT to let the Homecoming game slip away. I mean Clampet got the ball rolling so I called over to Laporte High school where I knew the coach, and we set up a game. We were on the field when Toby showed up. I was surprised as hell because Linda said she didn’t think he was ever coming back to high school, but he just walked out with those pads way up on his shoulders and his helmet high on his head and those long tight end hands hanging down. I mean we were getting ready to get our ass kicked by Laporte High, so I would take anyone we could get. He walked up and nodded to me.
“I know my father paid you to put me on the team. But it doesn’t matter to me now.”
“Okay Toby.”
He frowned and put his hands on his hips.
“I am a rebel now. A James Dean or Marlon Brando figure and I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I am reading A Catcher in the Rye. Holden Caulfield is the first literary counter-culture rebel.”
I stared at him and thought of my wife who just filed for divorce.
“I can relate.”
“Yes. I would assume you are being ostracized as well for your affair with Miss Fielding and living in the hotel with my dad has probably made you realize your only course is to be a rebel as well.”
“I think you’re right. It’s good to have you back, Toby.”
“Thank you. I will finish out the school term and graduate and I want to play in the Homecoming game. I still would like to catch a winning touchdown pass in the game, but I am alright if it is not a winning touchdown pass.”
I looked at the twelve boys on the field.
“Well that’s a relief. Why don’t you go over and start taking some passes from Randy.”
He frowned then and stared across the field.
“He is my nemesis, but I think we can have a working relationship.”
“Most people have to work with people they hate.”
He paused then. “My dad lied to me,” he said frowning.
“Well yeah, that’s true.” I said. “You may not get this now Toby. But your dad is a hero for what he tried to do. It just didn’t work out is all.”
“You’re right, I don’t get it.”
“Go take some passes.”
I watched him jog across the field.
“Hey,” I shouted. “That was a hell of a dance you did, Travolta!”
“Thank you,” he shouted back.
SUIT UP
JULIE
I FINISH WHAT I start. My son has gone back to high school and he will graduate. So I went to the motel and knocked on Paul’s door. He answered in his underwear blinking at the day even though it was almost noon.
“I know Amber went back to Chicago and I don’t care what happened between you. I want to finish this thing with Toby and then get out of this town.”
Paul squinted at me.
“He went back to high school?”
“Yes. He now dresses all in black and is wearing your leather coat. He said he was an individual like James Dean and Jack Kerouac and Marlon Brando and is ready to finish high school.”
Paul scratched his stubble.
“Great.”
“But you and I are going to finish this thing now. You promised my son he would catch a winning touchdown in a football game and that is what we are going to give him. So get dressed and I will see you at work.”
And then I turned
around and left. You have to finish what you start. That is one thing Paul and I have always prided ourselves on, and I don’t see why this should be any different. We actually work well together even if we don’t get along. I walked by the convertible Mustang and turned around.
“And get rid of this ridiculous car and check out of your room. We can’t afford two residences. I will pick you up in an hour. Your midlife crisis is officially over.”
“Where am I going to stay?” he shouted.
I opened the door to our minivan.
“On the couch,” I shouted back.
HUG IT OUT
PAUL
I WAS ON THE couch when Toby came home from high school. I stood up and faced a man in Johnny Cash black with a medallion around his neck and my bomber jacket. His skinny neck stood out against the bulk of that leather jacket and he looked paler. I thought he had lost some weight. He stared at me and then walked up and stood in front of me.
“Toby … I want to say I am sorry for lying to you about … well about everything.”
He blinked and stared at the wall.
“I know you were trying for me to have my best year like you had your best year in high school. I don’t think that kind of Americana exists in the year 2015, so I believe it was a futile attempt to capture something that no longer exists, much like the movie American Graffiti that celebrated a ‘50s America that was lost with the advent of the Vietnam war and the beginning of the counter- culture, culminating in the resignation of President Nixon. But I understand why you paid people money and made me basically look like a dick in front of the whole school.”
Well, that’s right,” I said slowly.
“But I have decided that I am an individual like Marlon Brandon or James Dean or Elvis Presley or any of the other counter-culture figures that our media and marketing is built around with rock anthems now selling cars and other products to aging baby boomers of the original counter-culture generation in the ‘60s now anthologized in many boxed CD sets sold by aging rock stars or actors playing aging boomers who attended such counter-culture events like Woodstock the largest rock concert ever taking place over three days in upstate New York. I am now reading A Catcher in The Rye.
My Best Year Page 14