It Looks Like This

by Rafi Mittlefehldt

  It’s mostly finished and I have my pencil in my hand, hovering over my paper, but I’m staring out the window, out at the front lawn of the school. Behind it is the road that goes over the bridge and into my neighborhood.

  Mr. Kilgore says, Mikey!

  I jerk my head, startled. There’s a second where I stare at him, blinking, and then he says,

  Finish your drawing, Mikey. You can watch the birds outside later.

  His voice is cross like always.

  The day goes by so slowly.

  Sean gets to French class late and Madame Girard is already in full swing, rattling off conjugations while everyone takes notes as fast as they can. I don’t get a chance to talk to him until after class.

  The bell rings and Madame Girard reminds us that we only have two weeks until the end of the semester when our project is due, but no one’s listening to her because it’s Friday and the last bell just rang.

  I turn around with my books just in time to catch Sean’s eye.

  He says, Hey, I gotta run to a quick practice, but you wanna come over around eight?

  I say, Uh, yeah. Sure.

  He says, Cool. See you then.

  And then he’s gone.

  I have my backpack stuffed with clothes for tomorrow, my toothbrush, deodorant, a pack of cards, my French book and notes.

  It’s seven forty-five and I head downstairs, one strap of the backpack over my shoulder. Charlie is looking at me with his ears perked.

  Mom and Dad and Toby are at the dinner table, but I’ve been excused from dinner because Sean told me his parents are getting us pizza.

  I say, Bye.

  I have my hand on the doorknob and Dad says,

  Oh, I thought I would take you.

  I look at him and Mom, and they look back.

  I say, He lives just a few blocks away. I can walk.

  He says, Well, I thought it’d be nice to meet his parents.

  I shrug and say, It’s fine, it’s not far at all.

  Dad’s plate is still half full. He looks down at it for a second.

  I say, You can meet them some other time.

  Dad looks back up and says, All right, have fun.

  Charlie watches me as I close the door behind me, still hoping I’ll invite him to come along.

  Sean opens the door in his basketball uniform.

  Not the Wizards jersey but the school team jersey, black with gold lettering.

  He says, Hey.

  I say, Hey.

  He moves aside to let me in and closes the door and says, I just got back five minutes ago. Coach made us do like an hour of relays and then we had to run laps. He’s been so pissy lately.

  He turns to me while I take my shoes off. His hair is a bit damp and I get a whiff of sweat, faint but there.

  He says, You mind? I’m gonna take a shower real quick. You can watch TV if you want.

  I say, Okay, cool.

  Sean walks upstairs and I walk into the living room, which I’ve never really been in before.

  The walls are cream colored, covered in photographs and art. There are some African-looking masks on one of the walls near a photo of Sean’s dad and mom wearing khaki cargos and shirts and posing in front of a rhinoceros in the distance. On an end table there are hand-carved wooden figurines: giraffes, elephants, lions. Men with spears.

  There’s a complicated-looking sound system with speakers spaced out around the room. All-glass coffee table with three African photography books. Cream leather couch to match the walls, windows facing a backyard garden.

  The TV is huge. I stare at it for a while, a big flat widescreen set into a glass stand with shelves and shelves of Blu-rays. My reflection stares back.

  I lean my bag against the wall and sit down.

  The remote’s on the arm of the couch. I pick it up and press the big red power button, and there’s this electric hiss and the image pops in from black: a TV news anchor standing in the parking lot of some mall, talking about Christmas shoppers.

  I flip the channel a few times, but I’m not really paying attention to what’s on.

  Above me I can hear the shower running.

  I settle on an old rerun of some show I can’t remember the name of and watch that for a few minutes, but then I realize Sean’s parents aren’t home.

  I mean I guess I probably noticed right away, but I just didn’t really think about it until now.

  I stand up, looking around the living room, listening to TV laughter and the water in the pipes.

  Then I look up at the balcony.

  I walk back over through the entrance hall, letting my socks slide on the tiles, and toward the staircase. I put my hand on the wooden rail and look up again, listening.

  TV music and running water.

  I walk up, slowly, not really sure why I’m being so quiet but doing it anyway. The carpet on the stairs is super soft.

  From the landing I can see over the balcony into the living room. Straight ahead is the game room next to Sean’s room.

  I head toward the pool table, but once I’m at the end of the balcony, there’s a short hallway to my left leading to Sean’s bathroom. The shower noises are a lot louder now, and I realize it’s because the bathroom door is partly open.

  I can see part of a light green shower curtain, and past it I can just barely make out a shadow that must be Sean. I stop. My heart starts beating faster. The shadow’s arms reach up to its head as it turns around under the showerhead. Sean’s washing his hair.

  Then I turn and walk quickly to the pool table, out of view of the bathroom.

  The pool table is already set up for play, like it was the last time I came over. I guess they always have it set up.

  I look at the arrangement of the ten colored balls, trying to see if there’s a pattern. Pretty quickly I can find one. Solid then stripe then solid then stripe, with like colors next to each other. I wonder if there are rules about this or if that’s just the way they do it.

  I’m looking at the billiard balls up close and right when I realize I can’t hear the water anymore I hear,

  Keeps ’em pretty clean, huh?

  I jump, heart beating fast, and immediately feel stupid.

  Sean says, Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.

  He’s leaning against the entrance to the short hallway, light green towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still mostly wet from the shower. I look at the drops collecting on his collarbone.

  Then I look away and mumble, Sorry, there wasn’t anything on TV.

  Sean shrugs and says, It’s cool. Dad would love to know that his billiard ball polishing efforts aren’t going to waste.

  I don’t really know what to say to that but then Sean speaks again.

  He says, You hungry?

  I nod and then realize it’s true.

  He says, Lemme get dressed and then we’ll order a pizza. Dad left a twenty.

  He turns and as he walks into his bedroom he says, You okay with Papa John’s?

  I nod again but then realize he’s not facing me so I say,

  Sure.

  I don’t know what else to do, so I just stand there and wait.

  The pizza will take forty-five minutes to get here, so when Sean hangs up we decide to snack on Cheetos and Chips Ahoy. He sits on the kitchen counter, and I grab a seat at the breakfast table.

  Neither of us says anything for a while. We just eat.

  I start getting a bit anxious for some reason, maybe because of the quiet. One of my legs starts bouncing a bit and I force it to stop.

  I say, I brought my French stuff.

  The words hang there for a minute. Sean looks almost surprised by what I say, like he’s not sure what I’m talking about, and then his face relaxes and he says,

  Oh right. Yeah, cool. Sure, we can work on that.

  He takes another cookie from the bag and stuffs it in his mouth, two quick large bites.

  There’s another few moments of quiet and I try again.

  I
say, So your parents like Africa?

  The question sounds weird as soon as I get it out, but Sean nods immediately.

  He says, Yeah, they go a lot. Usually on church missions, but they stay a bit longer for vacation. They love the art.

  I say, Have you been?

  He says, Oh yeah. A couple times to Uganda and once to Kenya. Mom and Dad also went to Sudan once when I was a baby, before it split. Africa’s really awesome, just an amazing place. I mean there’s a lot of war and poverty and shit, but the land itself is really cool.

  I nod. Eat another Cheeto.

  Sean is looking not at me but at the wall, lost in thought. I watch him for a bit and then he says,

  Haven’t been in a few years, but they said we might go again next spring. They always check with the government to see what the political situation is over there and if it’s safe to go, and it hasn’t really been stable for a few years, I mean less stable than usual, but it looks like it might finally be getting better again. Maybe.

  I let him speak, just listening, until he stops finally, staring at the wall.

  Then I say, So they go on missions?

  He looks at me now.

  He says, Yeah, with Grace Fellowship. There’s a group of churches that sponsors mission trips almost every year, but Grace is ours. Or theirs, anyway.

  I say, We go to Grace.

  I have never seen Sean there, but it’s a big church.

  Sean nods. He says, Oh yeah? I don’t go that much. Maybe once a month.

  I say, It’s about the same with me. We’ve probably just been missing each other.

  He nods again.

  There’s a pause and then he jumps down from the counter, startling me.

  He says, Come on, I wanna show you something.

  I get up without saying anything and follow him back into the living room.

  He walks over to a wall shelf filled with small framed photographs, ones I only glanced at earlier.

  I’m right behind him and he goes straight to one with a man and a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen, their backs to the camera, looking out from a hilltop over a deep valley beyond. It’s dusk in the picture: pink and orange skies, deep blue mountains barely visible in the background.

  He points to the boy and says, Me. Last time we went. And Dad. Mom took it.

  I look at the boy, the back of his head, in my mind comparing him with the Sean in front of me. I look at what he’s looking at, the sunset over the valley.

  I say, That’s really cool.

  Sean nods, smiling a bit now. He points to a couple little black marks dotting the grassland in the valley.

  He says, Elephants.

  I look closer and now I can see them, minuscule blurs that look like legs and trunks.

  I picture the valley as it must’ve looked to him, huge and beautiful. Tiny elephant specks moving slowly across the grassland, trumpeting back and forth, barely loud enough to hear from the distance. The breeze, the sunset, the smell of the air.

  I say, That’s really cool.

  I feel dumb saying the same thing twice, but then he puts a hand on my shoulder. Just a pat, real quick. The feel of it lingers and then spreads from the spot to the rest of my back. I can feel the hairs standing on my neck.

  He says, Maybe you could come in the spring with us.

  After a bit the spot on my shoulder stops tingling and I nod.

  I say, Yeah, that would be cool,

  but I’m thinking about my dad.

  We work on the magazine for only about twenty minutes.

  I’m sitting on his bed, him next to me, like last time. We’ve gotten a couple of the articles written and now we’re translating them. It’s hard work. We use what we remember from class when we can but usually we end up passing the dictionary between us.

  But we get into it and it goes faster than I thought it would.

  Sean sits close as we look over each other’s shoulders, studying the dictionary and our own notes. Our weight makes the mattress sag a bit, making our legs touch. Sean doesn’t seem to care or maybe he doesn’t notice.

  I frown in the middle of one of the sentences he’s dictating. The translation sounds off to me.

  Sean stops and looks over at the point where my pencil has stopped, breaking the edge of a lowercase d.

  I say, Wait, I think that’s wrong.

  He picks up the dictionary. I listen to the flip of pages as he finds the word. I haven’t moved my pencil.

  He shows me the page, leaning over so I can see. He puts his arm on the mattress behind me to support himself, the dictionary on my lap.

  He points to an entry and says, Right there, you’re right. Just copy that word.

  I erase the word and start it over, looking back and forth from notes to dictionary.

  Sean is close, really close. If I lean back just barely, I can feel his arm against my back.

  I finish the word and he looks up at me as I look over.

  Suddenly all I can think about is his arm against my back, him leaning into me. His hand is still on the dictionary on my lap. I can almost see his breath as he exhales slowly right in front of me, or maybe he’s not breathing anymore.

  We stay that way for a second and there is no sound, nothing.

  The doorbell rings, crisp and clear and jarring. We’re both startled. Sean stands up fast, knocking the dictionary to the ground.

  He mumbles, Pizza’s here,

  and walks out of the bedroom without looking back.

  My heart’s beating fast now, from being startled but also because I feel suddenly nervous.

  I take a breath, calming myself, then leave the room and go downstairs.

  The pizza guy is about Sean’s age or maybe a year or two older. His eyes flick between us as he gives the box to Sean and waits for Sean to hand over the bills. His face shows nothing, no expression or anything. He mutters a thanks and he’s gone.

  Sean carries the box to the kitchen. I follow him.

  He puts the box on the island and then turns without warning and I almost bump into him.

  He says, Do you like beer?

  I blurt out, I’ve never had it.

  And then I think maybe that was a dumb thing to say, but Sean doesn’t seem to care.

  Without saying anything he walks over past the fridge and through the door to the backyard along a short path that connects to the garage.

  I just stand there, not sure what to do. Through the window in the door I can see him disappear into the garage.

  He comes out a moment later holding two green glass bottles.

  I shift my weight from one foot to the other.

  Sean steps back in the kitchen and hands me a bottle. The cap is already bent and loose. I hold it up to look at it. Heineken, something I’ve seen Dad drink only a couple times. It’s warm but fizzy.

  Sean says, I got a fake ID but it doesn’t really look that much like me. I can only use it at the Citgo because they don’t care that much there.

  He smiles softly like he thinks it’s no big deal.

  I say, Cool.

  He lifts the cap off and takes a swig.

  I look at mine, stalling.

  Sean watches me as he sips again, then says,

  It’s not as bad as you think. The first taste will be a bit weird but you’ll get used to it.

  I take the cap off slowly and sniff at the beer. I bring the bottle to my lips and don’t even realize my eyes are shut tight.

  Dad has let me have a sip of beer before just to try it, and it tastes the same as last time, bitter and yeasty like moldy bread. I try not to let it show in my expression but Sean laughs.

  Not in a mean way, though.

  He says, Sorry it’s so warm. I have to hide them from my dad or he’ll kill me. He doesn’t even drink, himself.

  I smile.

  We decide to pour the beer into glasses of ice, thinking it will be worth it even if it’s kind of lame to drink beer with ice.

  This way it’s not so bad. It t
akes longer than I think to get used to it, but when we start our second bottles, the bitter bready taste isn’t so jarring anymore.

  We drink our beers between slices of pizza, sitting at the kitchen table, talking and laughing about nothing.

  Sean got a large pizza but between us we finish the whole thing. I go through two beers along the way. Sean has three.

  We stay at the table for a while after the pizza’s gone, talking over leftover crusts and five empty green bottles.

  Outside it’s full dark, has been for a couple hours. There are still crickets this late in the year, and we can hear them as we talk, chirping over us from outside in the backyard.

  We talk easily, more easily than I ever have. I look at the empty bottles.

  I say, How late do crickets usually last in the winter?

  Sean shrugs.

  He says, There’s not really much of a winter here. They’ll be gone only a month or two. You know, they’re usually gone by now, but it’s been a bit warmer this year.

  I mull this over a bit, listening to the crickets, wondering where they’ll go when it finally gets too cold.

  I say, It’s kinda nice not having it be cold all the time. I mean that’s all I ever grew up with and I’m used to it. I thought I’d never really care about warmer weather but it’s nice.

  Sean nods and says, I don’t think I could do long winters. What’s the point of living next to water if you barely get to use it?

  I think about Lake Michigan, which right now is quiet and dark and freezing, surrounded by snow, at the beginning of a long period before it’s warm enough to touch again.

  Then I think about the ocean, sitting just a mile away, expansive and mysterious.

  I say, You go to the beach a lot?

  Sean says, Yeah, as much as I can. What about you?

  I say, We went a couple times during the summer, right after we moved here. It’s all right, just always crowded.

  Sean says, Well, yeah, it’s better at night. No people, right?

  I don’t say anything for a second, just go back to listening to the crickets.

  Then I say, You’ve been at night?

  Sean raises his eyebrows. He says, You haven’t?

  I shake my head.

  He leans back in his chair, staring at me. Just sits there like that for a minute, then gets up suddenly.