****
By Monday, I had gotten most of my strength back and decided I’d go to band rehearsal. My mother was still saying I should visit the doctor with her, but I refused.
“If I go to the doctor’s office, in my rundown state, I’ll probably catch something else. I hear there’s a new virus going around.”
Mom gave in and dropped me off at Michael’s, unwilling to let me wait for the bus. There’s a sign on the back of her SUV that says: Mom’s taxi. I’ll admit it’s appropriate.
At first, no one answered the door at Michael’s house. I rang a second time, glancing at my watch. It read seven p.m. yet there was no sign of Jimmy’s beat-up van. I supposed I’d been the first to arrive. Michael answered after the third ring. His hair was tousled and he was dressed casually in worn-out jeans and a faded black tee shirt.
“Michael, did you cancel practice and not tell me?”
“Sorry, Liz was supposed to phone you about that but she probably forgot. I just assumed she’d take care of it and didn’t double check that she had.”
“Well, my mother’s already gone so I might as well come in for a while and keep you company.”
His expression was doubtful. “You’ll be running the risk of getting sick all over again. I came down with something nasty myself.”
“I’ll take my chances.” I walked past him into the living room and realized that he must have been lying down on the couch because a pillow had been tossed down there. “Besides, you probably got sick from me in the first place.”
He sat down unsteadily on the couch and I came over and plopped down beside him. I gave a light touch to his forehead.
“Nice cool fingers,” he commented.
“I think you’re running a temperature.”
“I do feel kind of chilled.”
“Are you drinking liquids?”
“Now and then.”
“Not good enough. You’ve got to drink continually.”
“Yes, nurse.” He seemed amused.
“That’s doctor to you!”
“Whatever you say. I’m in no mood to argue.”
I knew he must be sick if he wasn’t going to argue with me. “Where’s Liz?”
“She went out shopping for groceries. Jimmy took her.”
“I’ll be right back,” I told him.
I’d never been in the kitchen of the Norris house before, but I had no difficulty finding it. Unlike the living room, the kitchen had a cheerful quality to it, maybe because it was large and old-fashioned. I located glasses in the cupboard over the sink, found juice in the refrigerator, and brought it out to Michael who was sitting unusually still. He drank the orange juice I handed him without any comment. Then we sat together for a time, an awkward silence between us.
“Maybe we could agree to a non-aggression pact,” I suggested.
“Like Russia and Germany in World War II?”
“Hopefully ours would work out better. I do prefer friends to enemies.”
“I never think of you as my enemy,” he said in his serious way. “Look, when Liz and Jimmy get back I’ll ask Jimmy to drive you home, okay? I’m sorry about the mix-up tonight.”
“Don’t put Jimmy to any trouble.” Again there was a tense silence between us. I found it difficult to talk to him. “Michael, it occurs to me that I don’t know anything about you.”
He adjusted his dark glasses carefully. “Nothing to know. I’m a real dull guy.”
“You’re a musical genius. That hardly qualifies you as dull.”
He seemed embarrassed by my compliment. “That remains to be seen. Would you be offended if I lay down for a while? My head is splitting.”
“Of course not,” I said, standing up. “Why don’t I get you something for the fever. Where do you keep your medicine?”
“Don’t bother, I just need to rest.”
I took the juice glass back to the kitchen, washed it out and put it back where I’d found it. In the cupboard over the stove, I found several cans of soup. I took down chicken noodle, located a can opener and went to work. Nothing like chicken soup, it’s mother’s penicillin. Like the old joke went, it might not help but it couldn’t hurt.
About ten minutes later, I was back in the living room carrying a bowl of soup for Michael. He was lying on the couch face up, breathing in and out in shallow rhythm. I realized he’d fallen asleep; so I put the bowl down with a quiet motion over a magazine on an end table. The soup was too hot for him right now anyway.
He looked so vulnerable when he was sleeping, like a little boy. He even had a cowlick like my brother. But he was nearly a man almost six feet tall with features that seemed sensitive almost handsome in repose. I even detected a touch of the same vulnerability I had observed in Liz. Seeing Michael with his guard down provided an enlightening experience.
He moved, restless in his sleep. Then he thrashed around and started moaning. Suddenly, he was sitting up, shielded his face with his hands. “Watch out!” he yelled, knocking his glasses off.
I saw his scars for the first time and shuddered.
“No! No!” Perspiration stood out on his forehead like small pearls.
“It’s all right,” I told him in a comforting voice. I placed my hands on his. “You were just having a bad dream.”
He was shaking all over now. I spied a blanket draped over a faded wing chair, brought it over and wrapped it around him in spite of the summer heat.
“Same dream every time,” he said, his chest heaving.
“About your accident?”
He turned his unseeing eyes toward me, a surprised expression on his face. “You know?”
“Sometimes it helps to talk about it with other people. Maybe then the nightmare might go away.”
He shook his head, running his long, tapered fingers through straight sand-colored hair. “There’s nothing to say. I just keep reliving that night.”
“What happens in your dream?”
“It’s always the same. My father’s driving. I’m beside him. The radio is playing. Dad is listening to the news. Suddenly, without any warning, there’s this other car coming at us out of control from the opposite side of the road. My father tries to swerve but it’s too late. The other car smashes into us, catching us head-on. The last thing I see are the headlights so bright against the darkness of the night, so bright they blind me.” In spite of the blanket he was trembling, his body racked with perspiration.
Impulsively I placed my arms around Michael and held him. “I’m terribly sorry,” I said. I wanted so badly to comfort him, to ease his pain. At the same time I couldn’t help being aware of how much I liked the touch of his skin against mine.
He moved away from me and cast off the blanket. “I don’t want your pity or anyone else’s!”
“I’m just sorry you were in such a terrible accident.”
“If what happened to me were the worst of it, it wouldn’t matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad,” he responded, his voice grim. “He was killed. The police said the other driver was drunk. The ironic part is that lousy drunk just walked away from the accident with only a few scratches.” There was no mistaking the look of agony on Michael’s face. “Awake or asleep I don’t think I’ll ever stop reliving that moment.”
“But you’ve got to! Don’t you see? You can’t stop living. I’m sure your father wouldn’t have wanted that.”
He lifted his pillow into his arms and began crushing it in an anguished manner. “You don’t understand. It was my fault. I killed him!”
“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Is the fever making Michael irrational?
“I’m responsible for my father’s death. It was my fault we were out that night. I insisted he go to the ball game even though I knew he’d come home from work tired. I was supposed to pitch that game. I had to have him see me play. It was me and my big ego.”
I took his damp hands in mine. “You’re wrong. Think back. There were plenty of other
people on the road that night, weren’t there? Did anything happen to them? Blame it on bad luck, bad timing, and most certainly the other driver but never blame yourself.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
He began to put the dark glasses back on again with an air of finality. I touched the place at the corner of his left eye where an angry red scar stood out. “That can be fixed with plastic surgery.”
“Some scars never heal,” he said in a soft voice. I had the idea he was talking to himself more than to me.
“Anyway, I heated you some soup. I want you to try it.”
He appeared exhausted and meekly accepted the bowl I placed in his hands. He’d even finished most of the soup by the time I heard the unmistakable sound of the van engine.
Liz walked into the living room followed by Jimmy, both carrying big brown paper bags and smaller plastic bags laden with groceries. I gave Liz a hand taking one of her bags out to the kitchen.
“Market sure was busy tonight,” Liz said cheerfully. I helped her and Jimmy put things away and then we went back to the living room to Michael. “How’s he been?” she asked me.
“Never mind that,” Michael said, his tone stern and accusing. “You forgot to let Stacy know that practice was cancelled for tonight.”
“Sorry, was it a problem?” Funny, Liz didn’t look sorry at all.
“I don’t mind. It gave me a chance to get to know Michael a little better.”
Liz beamed at me. “That’s great! I mean we should all get better acquainted because we’re part of a team, right?”
Michael flinched at her comment. “We’re a group, a band, not a team Liz.”
I wondered why the use of the word team had so bothered Michael. I picked up the soup bowl to bring out to the kitchen. Liz came after me.
“Please don’t bother. I’ll take care of that.”
“Not a problem.”
We walked out to the kitchen together while Michael and Jimmy talked in the living room.
Liz took the soup bowl from me, placed it in the sink and ran some water over it. “You’re good for Michael. Anyone can see that.”
“Except Michael.” Liz’s compliment had embarrassed me. “Michael mentioned his accident while you were out shopping.”
Liz tilted her head to one side. “Do you understand him any better now?”
“I think so. But I don’t understand why he blames himself for what happened.”
“I agree with you,” Liz said, forcing her tongue with vehemence over her front teeth. “Only it’s hard to convince him. You see our mother thinks pretty much the same way. You might say she put the idea in his head. Not that she meant to hurt him but she did hold Michael responsible for Dad’s death.”
“That’s so unfair!” I blurted out. “Doesn’t she realize Michael had no control over what happened?”
“I guess not.” Liz fixed her eyes on the faded linoleum.
“Have you ever discussed it with her?”
Liz looked uncomfortable. “My mother reasons with her heart not her head. Anyway she won’t talk to me about it. She still thinks of me as a kid. Mom needs to talk with someone who isn’t close to her. She would never listen to me.”
Michael was shivering when we returned to the living room. “I’m going upstairs to lie down,” he said rising unsteadily to his feet.
“Let me help you,” I responded moving fast to lend him support.
He put his arm around my shoulders and we walked toward the stairs together. The touch of his hand made me feel funny, made my stomach flutter and my senses focus with awareness. I helped him to his room all the time feeling this strangeness inside myself.
He lay down on his bed with a groan.
“Okay where do you keep the aspirin?”
“Don’t bother. I’ll get it myself when I want it.”
The room was amazingly neat and clean although austere. I decided the Norrises would have made great Puritans. My own bedroom was very different, a cluttered place where dolls, stuffed animals and other sentimental souvenirs of my misguided childhood filled every nook and cranny.
“Not much to look at is it?” He had an uncanny way of sensing my thoughts.
“To tell the truth I was thinking how tidy and well-ordered everything is.”
“That’s Liz and Mom’s doing. I can’t take any credit. I’m just careful not to drop anything on the floor or move things around. That way I don’t trip and I can find my own way.”
I remembered how I nearly made him fall before I knew about his lack of sight. I felt guilty. “I’ll keep you company for a few minutes more if you like.”
He indicated a place on the bed beside him. I sat down a little uncertain.
“Not used to being alone with a boy in his bedroom are you?” There was a small smile on his lips and I could tell he was teasing me.
I rose to the challenge. “Sure I am. I’m in and out of my brother’s room all the time.”
“That isn’t what I meant. I think maybe I frighten you.”
“Not at all!” I protested, my voice too loud.
“Must be my germs then.”
“Not even if they starred in The Rocky Horror Show.”
He smiled and I realized it was the first time I’d ever seen him smile. I noticed a dimple winking in his right cheek that made my heart hurt. He took my hand in his larger one and squeezed it gently.
“I was only kidding you a little,” he said. “You’ve been good to me today and I do appreciate it.”
“You ought to rest now,” I said, feeling weird.
He pressed my hand to his cheek then surprised me by putting my hand to his lips and kissing it. When he released me I couldn’t find any words to say. So I left him to rest still touched by his gesture. He wasn’t the only one feeling feverish at that moment.
****
Downstairs it seemed that Liz and Jimmy were waiting for me. I talked with them for a while then decided it was time to go home. Jimmy insisted on driving me. I tried to talk him out of it, certain I was intruding on his evening with Liz, but they were both in agreement. Jimmy was as friendly as ever on the drive home. I let him do most of the talking, still dazed thinking about the way Michael had kissed my hand.
“How long have you known Liz and Michael?” I asked him as we rode through the humid summer night.
“Seems like forever. Michael was in my class way back in elementary school. We got to be friends then. I always admired him. He was such a terrific athlete and all. Liz tagged after us when we played. I think she’s awesome, don’t you?”
I agreed with him.
“Liz likes you a lot too. She says you’re the best thing that ever happened to Michael.”
I looked quickly away out the side window. “She said that?”
“Sure did. You think Liz likes me, I mean likes me likes me?” He spoke with surprising shyness.
“I’m certain she does.”
“Good,” he said with a wide grin. “‘Cause I’m crazy about her. I never would have got this far with music if it weren’t for Liz. I mean I always liked to play the drums but just to fool around. Liz made me want to do more but you know how she can be. My old man thinks its dumb stuff just a waste of valuable time. He’s a good auto mechanic. Anyway, he wants me in the garage with him just as soon as I finish high school. He says my real education will start when I leave school.”
“Is that where you’re working for the summer?”
“Yeah, the old man’s teaching me the business first-hand. He’s a foreign car specialist, a real artist. He wants me to become every bit as good as he is and better even.”
“Is that what you want?” I glanced over at him.
“Me? I don’t know what I want. I’m just a kid, right? My old man knows what’s right for me. He says so all the time.”
I shrugged. “Do you like playing music as much as fixing cars?”
“I like doing both. I hope I’m not forced to choose, you know?”
<
br /> I did know. I could see Jimmy might have problems with his father over this situation. I wondered if it would be the same for me. I thought of my dad and how he did the “father knows best” routine. Would he let me make my own decisions about what I wanted to do with my life or would he interfere?
“My old man’s right about one thing though, being a mechanic is good steady work and a guy needs an income if he’s ever going to support a family. Like he says, a fella’s got to be practical if he’s gonna live life in the real world.”
“Have you and Liz talked about this?”
“No way. Liz wouldn’t understand. She and Michael have bought into this music dream scheme. I know it’s probably just kid stuff and nothing’s likely to come of it but when I’m with Liz, well I just naturally have to believe it too.”
I agreed with him on that. “I think it’s more than a dream for them. They’re both willing to work hard and give it everything they’ve got. People have to try to find the kind of work that will make them happy and satisfied. Money and security isn’t always enough.”
“You make a lot of sense.”
“I don’t usually.” I felt uneasy. I was getting much too serious about things. “That’s as thoughtful as I’m willing to get. I’m glad we don’t have to make any decisions right now.”
Jimmy grinned. “Me too.”
As we reached my street I thought about Michael Norris wondering if he would ever be happy or content, wondering what it was I felt for him.
Chapter Four
Wednesday evening, we performed at the club again. Except for the fact that Michael looked paler than usual and his hands trembled after performing an extended number he seemed all right. Liz and I made sure he drank plenty of liquids during our breaks. After all, one of the benefits about working for Mr. Kemp was that he included all the root beer you could float.
After our final set Mr. Kemp took us aside and smiled at us through his nicotine-stained teeth. “You kids are a good group and real dependable. And the audience keeps increasing. I like that a lot, a whole lot. So I’m giving you a little raise. I also want you to perform for the pool members on Labor Day when I throw my annual party for the swim club. I’ll pay you extra. Just make sure you’re good. I want everyone renewing for next summer.”
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