I say, I called Mr. Kilgore a dick.
Sean raises his eyebrows. There’s a second or two where he just stares at me like that, and then he grins wide and his eyes light up and he says,
Well, holy shit. Really?
I nod.
He laughs and says, Are you in trouble?
I think about the phone call to Dad. Mr. Whitman didn’t take his eyes off me while they talked. I couldn’t hear what Dad was saying but I can guess what’s coming.
I say, I will be.
We hand in our magazines, and Madame Girard makes us all take a couple minutes to show the class what we did.
After about twenty minutes of this, she lets us talk quietly for the rest of the period. Everyone’s excited about the break.
Through the windows we can see the few icicles left on the trees slowly melting, dripping onto the grass and sidewalk below.
When class ends, Sean and I leave together. He stops at the end of the hallway because his locker is in another direction.
He says, So let’s hang out during the break. We get back from Boston the day after Christmas.
I say, Sure, that’d be cool.
He says, And then we can do something for your birthday. Maybe you can come over or something.
I nod and smile.
He smiles back.
Then he turns around and walks toward his locker.
And I walk toward mine.
It’s too cold to walk Toby home so I take the bus. She has her own bus that she’ll take.
The ride home is bouncy and loud and full of kids who can’t wait to start their vacations.
I sit near the back, thinking about the next two weeks. Thinking about my birthday.
The kid sitting next to me is some sophomore who lives a couple blocks away. I’ve seen him a few times but I don’t really know him. I think his name is Brendan.
We don’t talk.
I get off at my street. My house is pretty close to the stop. I’m still thinking about my birthday when I open the door.
Dad is sitting at the dining room table. He looks up.
He says, What in the world is wrong with you?
I stare. His words cut through the air, surprising me.
He shouts, Answer me!
I mutter something. Probably: I don’t know.
Dad’s hands are balled into fists, resting on the table.
He taps one foot really fast. I can barely hear the soft pat pat pat against the carpet.
He says, That was one hell of a stunt you pulled today.
I don’t know what to say. I never know what to say.
He stares for a few moments longer. I’m starting to sweat under my jacket. The heater’s turned up high. Mom’s doing.
Then he says, You’re grounded. For the break.
I say, I’m —
He says, For the whole break, Mike. Until school starts again.
I open my mouth to say something, then close it. Then open it again.
I say, My birthday’s on New Year’s Eve!
He shouts, Then you should’ve thought about that before you disrespected your teacher!
I’m breathing deeply through my nose. I’m thinking about Sean.
I say, This sucks.
Dad shouts again. You’re goddamn right this sucks! And now maybe you won’t act like a goddamn brat!
I stare at him. My hands are shaking.
Quietly this time, he says, Go to your room.
I do.
That night we go to Toby’s school for her choir’s holiday concert.
Mom and Dad let me go because they don’t realize I want to, and they think I should support my sister. But I’ve always supported my sister.
Dad seems annoyed that they’re calling it a holiday concert instead of a Christmas concert. But Toby points out that one of their songs is about Hanukkah.
Dad taps his thumbs on the steering wheel. I see his eyebrows scrunch together in the rearview mirror.
He says, There are songs about Hanukkah?
Toby rolls her eyes and says, Yes, Dad. Jews like to sing too.
Dad considers this for a minute and then kind of shrugs. He says, Okeydokey.
The holiday concert is actually a big combined concert with both the choir and the band, so there are a million people there already when we pull in. But we’re still early.
Toby runs off to join her choir as we walk in. The side entrance to the school opens almost right into the cafeteria, which has been set up with stepped platforms for the band and choir. Folding chairs sit in rows in the rest of the cafeteria for the audience. There are hundreds of people walking around, talking, laughing, hugging. Three sixth-graders walk by with tubas bigger than they are. Mrs. Deringer tries to herd her students together in one corner. She has the same huge bright smile she did the last time I saw her.
We find seats toward the right, closer to the choir side, Mom between me and Dad to give us a buffer from each other. We sit and wait for the show to start. I look around and watch the chaos.
But I’m thinking about my birthday and Sean. I’m thinking about the message I have to send him later.
The last song to play is “Silent Night,” my favorite. It’s a pure, slow version that starts quiet, swells, becomes intense and powerful without ever picking up speed, choir and band alternating at times, then together at the end. I close my eyes and imagine the music as something physical, as wind, as something swirling in the air above me, around me, through my hair. I love it.
The Hanukkah song was “Rock of Ages.” It wasn’t bad.
Mom tells me to go get Toby after it’s over.
I find her near the corner of the cafeteria, half in the entrance to the choir room. Her back is to me and she’s talking to some other kids in the room I can’t see.
She turns right as I reach her. I ruffle her hair and say,
Time to go home, kiddo.
She giggles and says, It’s Toby, you dick.
Her classmates gasp and then giggle too, which makes her grin.
She says, Let’s go.
My room is quiet and still. Even with Charlie.
He’s sitting near the edge of the bed, staring up at me, wagging his tail but being so quiet, waiting for me to do or say something.
I’m sitting on the bed, staring at nothing.
There’s my window, closed but with the curtains open. Still bright outside. Neighbor across the street taking the trash out.
There’s my dresser, junk covering it.
My wall, light blue, covered with star charts and random drawings.
My door, solid white, closed. A couple old FoxTrot comics taped to it.
My computer desk. Junk all over it like the dresser, but pushed to the side to make room for the computer.
I stare at the blank screen, then get up and walk over to the desk. Charlie follows, tail wagging harder now that I’m doing something. He puts one paw on my lap when I sit down, and I pet him without looking at him.
I move the mouse and the screen wakes up. I log on to Facebook and find Sean and click on Message.
Then I stare at the screen for a while longer. Charlie whines a bit.
Finally I type,
Grounded for the break. Can’t hang out till after New Year’s. See you at school I guess.
I look at the words. More silence. Then I hit Send.
It’s cold every day now. It doesn’t always freeze, but most mornings there are small icicles hanging on our tree in the front.
Dad still lets me walk Charlie, mostly because he doesn’t want to. That’s the only time I’m allowed outside the house.
Charlie shivers and doesn’t like to be outside as long, but he still runs around enough that he keeps warm.
It’s windy, usually. I have a hat and scarf and jacket, but my face gets flushed and cold-burned. I like the feeling. I like leaning against the wind and letting it rush all around me and barely being able to see.
Sometimes I take Charlie all the way
to the ocean. We stand there and watch it, watch the waves crashing in, rough now with the wind. The beach is deserted and gray and still.
Then we walk back.
I never see Sean on these walks.
Dad is sitting in the dining room, typing on his laptop. Probably something for work. His reading glasses are close to the edge of his nose. They make him look old and tired.
I walk up to him, and he looks up from his laptop.
I say, I need to get Christmas presents. Can I go to the mall?
He looks at me for a bit and says, For Toby?
I say, For everyone.
He nods and then says, All right, that’s fine. See if your mother can take you, though. I’m a bit busy.
Mom fidgets even when she drives. She looks like she wants to say something, wants to talk, but every attempt looks like it hurts her.
She says, Do you know what you’re getting Toby?
I say, Not really.
And she winces a bit, as if not sure how to respond.
I have forty-five dollars saved up from allowances and odd jobs I’ve been able to do, like weeding Mrs. Gunther’s garden.
It sucks being fourteen and having no money.
I tell Mom I’m going to get her present first. She tells me I don’t have to get her anything, like she always says. I tell her I’m going to no matter what, so she goes off to one of the department stores while I walk into Hartford Books.
It’s a small store and it doesn’t take long to browse through the whole thing. Some employee asks if he can help me find anything, and when I say I’m just looking, he nods but follows me anyway. Probably thinks I’m going to try to steal something. But I mean if a kid was going to shoplift, he’d probably go to a video game store or something, right? Not a bookstore. Whatever.
I think about getting her a Garfield book since I know she likes it, but then figure that’s kind of lame. Then I see their religion section.
They have a bunch of Christian theology books and then a small section of Bibles. I look at these, and pretty soon I see a big navy one with gold lettering and a velvet green page marker.
Mom has tons of Bibles but none this nice. I look at the back and it’s twenty-five bucks. Kind of a lot.
But Mom will love it.
I don’t let her see the bag when we meet up. She follows me into a music store to look for Dad’s present.
Dad loves classic rock but already has a million albums on iTunes. But then Mom points to a section of vinyl.
She says, I’m going to get your father a record player, because he’s said he misses his old one. Why don’t you get him some records to start his collection?
This is actually a pretty good idea, so I look over at their vinyl section. The records are really cheap, like five bucks. I pick out two: Kansas and The Who.
All that’s left is Toby’s present. I was telling the truth when I told Mom I didn’t know what I was going to get her. I have about ten bucks left, and as we walk through the crowded mall, I look left and right at the stores for inspiration. But I can’t imagine her wanting anything from any of these places.
Then we pass by an art store. I love this store. Sometimes I go there to get drawing supplies. And suddenly I get an idea.
Mom’s eyebrows draw together when I lead her into the store, but she doesn’t say anything.
I already have a bunch of supplies, so I only end up picking out a small canvas and a couple tiny tubes of paint. Still, it comes out to like fifteen bucks.
I look at Mom.
I say, I’ll pay you back. I promise.
She still looks unsure, but takes out some bills and pays the cashier the difference.
She says, Don’t tell your father.
I don’t have much to do when we get home, so I get some wrapping paper and tape and scissors and old newspapers and go upstairs with my stuff and close the door.
I wrap up Mom’s Bible and Dad’s records. I’m not really good at wrapping presents, so they end up looking kind of messy, but whatever.
I put those in the closet and then lay out the canvas and paint tubes on the newspaper that I’ve spread out on the floor. Then I add some of the stuff I already have: more paints, a paintbrush, a pencil, and a paint palette.
I sit down in front of my supplies and look them over. And then I think about Toby’s lost picture. Toby and Marla, on the trampoline, sun in their hair, laughter frozen on their faces. Toby’s pink-and-blue overalls.
It’s been months since I last saw the picture, but I can still remember it pretty clearly. I’m good at that kind of thing. And I think I can remember what Marla looks like.
The canvas is about the size of a book. Not big. I don’t paint that much at all, mostly draw, but if I outline it in pencil first and paint over it, I should be okay.
I do it as light as I can. I have to erase a lot. But after an hour the shape is there and it looks really familiar.
Then I start mixing paints. Pink and blue for Toby’s clothes. Marla had some kind of yellow shirt and purple pants. Light brown hair for Toby, red for Marla. Blue sky, no clouds. Green ferns in the background, dark brown fence, reddish lens flare from the sun.
The faces are the hardest, especially with this small a canvas. You have to keep changing the colors, because of light and shadow, and then you have to have a really steady hand with the details.
I do my best, and when I think I’m finished, I look away. I stare at the door for a full minute, letting the white of it wash over my eyes, getting the image of the painting out of my head.
Then I look back at the painting.
It’s not bad. I can immediately recognize Toby. Marla’s okay too. I can tell what they’re doing in the picture. I can see them laughing, I can tell what’s hair and what’s leaves and what’s sky.
It’s done.
Toby wakes me up on Christmas. It’s six thirty in the morning and she pounds on my door.
I start, sitting up in bed. She opens the door and Charlie bounds up to her, excited by her excitement.
She yells, Wake up, Mike! Christmas!
Then slams the door. I can hear her running down the stairs, singing.
I get up.
Mom and Dad make themselves some coffee, and we gather around the tree. It’s just light outside. Everyone’s in their robes. Charlie walks from person to person, licking whatever he can reach.
Dad smiles, eyes tired, and says, Toby, why don’t you go first?
We take turns selecting presents and handing them to each other.
Dad opens Mom’s record player first and his eyes light up, suddenly not looking that tired anymore. His next present is mine, and he laughs when he sees the albums.
He says, This is great, Mike! Thanks.
I nod.
Mom gets a Garfield book from Toby, which makes me glad I didn’t get her one. She hugs Toby thanks.
When she opens my Bible, her smile fades and she inhales quickly but quietly, almost a gasp. She runs her fingers over the gold lettering, tracing the grooves.
She says, Oh, Mike, this is beautiful. Thank you.
I get a computer game and some Blu-rays and a new star chart from Mom and Dad. Toby gives me an art book, which is really cool because it has a lot of Albert Bierstadt paintings. I love his landscapes because he uses color in a way that makes it look like the paintings themselves are lit.
Toby opens my present last. I can tell she has no idea what it is when she picks it up, probably thinking it was a book before she felt how light it was.
Then she unwraps it and gasps.
Mom says, What is it honey? and leans over.
Then she gasps too.
Toby looks up at me and her eyes are wet.
She squeals, Mike!
And looks at me for another moment, trying to think what to say, and then she just throws her arms around me and hugs me really tight, almost knocking me backward.
Mom says, Mike, that is really wonderful.
Dad leans over to
look at it and whistles. He looks up at me and smiles.
I smile back. Just a little.
We go to church later in the morning. It’s packed for Christmas. Toby doesn’t mind so much today because her choir is singing. Plus it’s Christmas, and it’s hard to be upset on Christmas, even for Toby.
I see Terry but he and his family are sitting a few pews over. We talk for a bit after but not much.
Mom makes Christmas dinner in the early afternoon. Ham, potatoes, corn, biscuits, cheesy broccoli. Just the four of us. It’s delicious.
I go up to my room after. I’m getting kind of stir-crazy because I haven’t been out except to walk Charlie and once to the mall.
But also part of that I think is because Sean hasn’t written back yet.
When I log in today, though, there’s a message from him waiting for me.
My heart’s pounding for no reason, and I open it.
It says,
which window is yours?
I blink a few times. For a moment I’m not sure what he means. Then I look out my window at the street below and understand.
I write back,
Second floor, closest to the street on the west side.
I think for a minute, looking at the window.
Then I add,
The electric meter’s right below it.
And hit Send.
A few hours later, there’s a new message:
stay up late on your bday. look outside at 11.
The week between Christmas and New Year’s is long and slow.
I get more and more stir-crazy. I hate being in the house so much. So I end up walking Charlie more often, to the beach when I can. I lean into the cold, letting the ocean wind blow all around us both. Sometimes we stay for the sunset.
I don’t see Sean, but one time I see Victor.
He’s near the park when I walk by. Standing near a bench, shaded by trees, smoking a cigarette.
He brings the cigarette to his lips between index finger and middle finger, takes a drag, pulls it away between thumb and index finger.
He watches me. I pretend not to see him.
But when I’m close enough he yells out,
Have a nice Christmas?
Charlie looks up at the voice, curious.
I don’t answer.
Victor yells, What’d you get? Dollhouse? Easy-Bake Oven?
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