“There won’t be any boyfriends.”
“Whoa Nellie, you’re my pretty little princess! The boys will come in flocks!”
“Yes, just like crows, and my girlfriends and I will shoot them. Dad, Mom, I guess it’s time to tell you.”
“We already know your name is Nancy, not Nellie,” Dad boomed, the eternal Mr. Clueless.
Whit was thinking, “Uh-oh…I think I see where this is going.”
Nancy wiped her bright red lips daintily. “I’m a lesbian,” she announced, standing and almost bowing. Then she turned on her heel, and left the building. Well, the dining room, anyhow. They heard the hall closet open and shut, and then the front door open, and shut loudly, behind her.
Dad looked around the table. “It’s just a stage she’s going through,” he tried.
“You realize she’s been going through your porn stash, don’t you, Dorchester?” their mother commented rudely, and then she left the table, got her coat, and left the building, also slamming the door behind her.
“Well, that went well,” Whit said, smiling at Lisa, who just sat there swinging her feet, looking confused. “She doesn’t look like any of the lesbians I know,” she mused.
“You know lesbians? You’re eight years old!” Dad sputtered.
“I don’t like girls,” Whit bubbled, thinking that she was about to burst out laughing but not knowing quite why.
Lisa’s eyebrows had been drawing together, a bad sign. Whit knew she was getting upset and put her hand out to touch her sister. Lisa shrugged it off. “At least you’ll still love her,” she said to their father. “She loves girly things!”
“And girly parts!” Whit had to say, knowing she shouldn’t. Lisa turned and stared at her, mirroring perfectly their father’s horrified, but yet confused, face.
Lisa, still annoyed, said, before Dad could use his own line, “Shut your mouth, Dad, you look like a fish!” and she scraped back her chair, exited stage left, sort of, grabbed her coat and slammed the door behind her.
Dad shut his mouth. His favorite line had just been used against him, on top of everything else, and Whit could see it jarred him. “Ah well,” he got out. “At least you’re normal.”
“For this family,” Whit answered, “apparently, that’s exactly what I am.” She left to get her coat, leaving Dad sitting there with the dishes, cold food, and a bewildered look on his face. She went back and hugged him quickly, just because sometimes clueless is sweet, and then ran out the door and headed for school.
* * * *
Normally Danny would not have been walking along this route to school, but since he was coming from Rodger’s Home for the Agedly Gifted, he was on Seventh Street at just the right time. He was rehearsing the moves he’d learned, in his head, muttering the steps to himself, when he heard a horn honk. Looking around, he saw Beau’s father’s SUV coming down the street behind him. He could see it was Beau driving, and just lifted a hand to wave, wishing he had the guts to just wave one finger. He reached the corner just as Beau did, and just exactly as a small boy on a new Christmas bike came tearing down the half-salted, half-snowy road to cross in front of them. Danny stopped, but neither the boy nor Beau did, even though it was a four-way stop. Beau was leaning on the horn and he and a couple of buddies were shouting things out the windows at Danny. Just you wait till I get you at school, Danny was thinking, hoping that the bully he hated would indeed start something that he, Danny, could finish. Then he saw the boy on the bike trying to brake and it was obvious that he did not remember he had graduated to the big boy’s bike with handlebar brakes. Danny could see the child pumping at nothing, and even accelerating right into the path of the big vehicle.
He didn’t even take time to swear. Danny just went into a forward roll, pushing the boy off the bike, and letting the bike careen on across the intersection rider-less, while he tucked and rolled and protected the boy’s head, almost forgetting to tuck his own, but making a good shoulder roll through the snowy street anyhow, backpack flying, little boy leaking tears and snot that froze on his face, and then landed on top of Danny where he sprawled out in the snowy road. He heard another car, then saw it stop and heard the door slam as someone came running over. He’d just managed to catch his breath and sit up, standing the boy on his feet in front of him. They were both crying, and Danny’s glasses were sitting crookedly on his face with the left earpiece pointing straight up in front of his forehead. There had been a loud crunch and the bike was history, barely two weeks old.
Running toward him in the road were Coach Wickers, and his sister Countess Pustulina, er, Ms. Wickers, about whom it was said they both liked the same women. Anyhow, Danny stood up, the world blurry and twisted like his $350 glasses, a trickle of blood running off his elbow where his jacket and sweater had ripped completely open. He’d just gotten the sweater he had on for Christmas and it was only the second time he’d worn it, since he hadn’t gone home to change. He was furious. He was scared as well but some of his newly-acquired confidence remained, enabling him to get to his feet and scream a long and creative string of curses after Beau’s father’s damaged SUV, which was still tearing on down the road, although it wouldn’t for long, because half the boy’s bicycle was dragging along under the bumper.
“Jesus,” shouted Mr. Wickers, running his hand through what was left of his hair. “You saved this kid’s life! That asshole in the fecking SUV never even stopped! Look, the bike is still…oh, sorry little boy, are you all right?”
Ms. Wickers had knelt down and was dusting snow off the little boy who was sobbing and stammering, “My bike, my Daddy will kill me, and I’m late for school!” all at the same time. Mr. Dub, as they called him at school, short for Doubletalk, picked up the little boy and unbelievably he stopped crying and snuggled against the big man. Danny’s opinion of him went way up. Meanwhile Ms. Dub, short for Doublewide, was holding his arm, and feeling him up, saying “Hmm, no bones broken, nice ass, I mean, nice moves. Do you have a black belt? Which martial art do you study?” Though Danny didn’t catch any of it after she felt up his rear end, making him rethink his opinion of her, too.
Down the block, the SUV finally came to a guttering, gnarling stop. The steering didn’t work right and Beau stopped right in the middle of the road. Traffic began to pile up behind it. A police car showed up and the officer encouraged Beau to step out of the vehicle.
Mr. Dub was all eyes. “Is that—that’s my star player! That’s that jerk Bogus…” but he was interrupted by his sister, who doted on Shakespeare and who had Beau in her class as well as Danny and Whit. “What a revolting hutch of beastliness they be who attempt to slay…”
Then she was interrupted by Danny, who had started laughing uncontrollably, and then found he really, really needed a bathroom. Danny finally turned to Ms. Dub, who was muttering about some busy meddling son of a butcher’s cur, and said, “I have to go—home. Right now. I’ll be at school later.” Having gotten her attention, though she still was babbling, he turned and ran back the way he had come. And as he ran, he began to cry for real. He went straight to Rodger’s, fell against the door, and almost fell into Bernie’s arms when the door opened.
A hot shower, his clothes into the dryer, some borrowed underwear, (“Or you could go commando,” Bernie suggested, leering), and a hot toddy later, Danny was calmed down enough. He sat at the table eating cookies while Bernie duct taped his eye glass piece, muttering, “old drag queen trick to keep things down,” and asking about any of Danny’s morning that he had missed. When he was done, Bernie said, “Imagine that old cun-ning…sly fox still coaching. Why the stories I could tell. I think he fancied Bernadette at one time, till he…” Rodger sighed, shaking his head and pointing at their guest. “And her—hah! Why…” But Rodger cleared his throat loudly, and Bernie subsided.
Danny said, “Just when it was getting good, too!” and Bernie blushed and laughed.
Danny hugged them both, thanked them profusely, and turned to leave. “I saved that boy
just because of what you taught me, Bernie. To be honest, I thought I was going to punch that old bully Beau-Tox right in the pie-hole” (he’d just learned that phrase from Bernie, too). “I was as surprised as I could be when it worked and I rolled and nobody got hurt. I can never thank you enough.” He thought he was going to start crying again, but then he saw Bernie smile at Rodger and lift his shoulder as if to say, “See? I told you.” He smiled, promised to be back later, and finally left for school.
He passed what was left of his backpack on the way, shuddering, and wondering if he’d get in trouble for losing his books. There wasn’t enough left of it to make it worthwhile picking up.
* * * *
School started late. Several of the buses were running late and some not at all, and obviously some of the teachers were not in on time either. In fact, English hadn’t even started by the time Whit got there. She normally would have been on time, but for some reason Nancy was waiting at the end of the block for her and incredibly, started confiding in Whit. Whit’s attention was split; she was so surprised at her sister’s friendliness but at the same time she was eager to see Danny. Once they got to the school, instead of Nancy dashing off to be with her friends, she actually hugged Whit, which usually made Whit wonder what Nancy wanted. She did smile warmly back though, selfishly grateful that Nancy had broken the ice about diversity in their household, and it was nice to find out that she had not been murdered or kicked out or even yelled at.
Whit walked by the office, thinking there must be something going on, because there were hordes of students milling around trying to understand the shouts that Whit finally registered. Everyone should have been to homeroom and on to their first hour classes, in her case English, by now, but instead the halls were full and overflowing, people talking and laughing, with the muted shouts still coming from the office. “I guess I don’t have to report in late,” she muttered. “What’s going on?” she asked another student, Wesley, an exchange student from England.
“Feck if I know,” he replied, “it’s barmy! Some chav is in there with the bender and the daft cow wut teaches English, and some wanking tyre-biter wanting to take some John Thomas off to visit her Majesty’s Rooming House.”
Whit just stared at him.
“Man, it’s monkeys outside, isn’t it? They’ve just lost the plot in there, it’s totally shambolic.”
“Huh?” asked Whit, dumbly.
“Don’t get shirty about it!” sneered the Brit, who incidentally, got all A’s in English. “Gotta go, I’m gonna take the old twig and berries to the loo and spend a penny. Ta.” And he left.
Whit shook her head, went to her locker and put her coat and hat in it, and headed off to the probably empty English classroom, hoping to find Danny there. The room was indeed empty and the windows were all open. Snow was drifting in and it was freezing. She shook her head and mumbled, “I hate winter. All I want to do is be warm and see the sun again; is that too much to ask?” She backed out, leaving the door open just for spite, and went down the hall to the art room. Somehow, it always felt warm and welcoming there. You know what, she thought, Danny makes me feel warm, too. He puts sunshine in my heart.
Halfway down the hall, she stopped abruptly. I wonder what our children would look like? she thought. She then laughed and smacked herself upside the head. “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit!” she said out loud. “I sound just like my grandma! I don’t even know if I love Danny yet. Well, maybe I do, a little, but we’ll just take it—what did Uncle Matt always say?—oh yeah, take it one day at a time. Stay in the now. All that sort of thing. Makes sense to me now.”
She turned suddenly when a voice sang out, “Twitley and Danny, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!” followed by a laugh and a series of giggles. Only then did she notice she hadn’t been alone. Standing in the doorway to the assisted tutoring room, she saw two of the mainstreamed girls, Grace and Erica, laughing. She knew they never meant any harm, and even though she could have turned herself into a flying rage machine, she could only smile. “But why are you two in the hall? Where’s Mr. Grogan?” she asked suddenly. “I mean I know school is weird today, but come on, let’s get you back in your room.” At least their room was warm, but after ushering them inside, she saw they had no teacher at all. There were just the two girls and three other children. They had gotten out crayons and paper and were drawing pictures and telling each other what they were drawing, behaving beautifully, and Whitney was amazed.
One boy, Todd, beckoned her over. He hardly ever spoke. She thought he was autistic and probably smarter than she was. He pointed at his iPad screen. On it he had typed, “Mr. Grogan had to leave. His son was almost hit by a car but another kid saved him. They brought him here to the school so Mr. Grogan ran down to the office. He left me in charge. He told me to have fun and we should eat cookies for lunch and order pizza, too.” Todd quirked his face up at her, and she tried to decide if he was laughing at his own humor. “Cookies and pizza, huh?” she smiled. Now she knew he was smiling. What is wrong with this school? she wondered. Just because a kid didn’t talk didn’t mean he couldn’t communicate! She wondered if he’d ordered the pizza from his iPad.
Todd nudged her. He’d been writing some more. She looked at the screen and read, “You have boy eyes. Do you have a boy soul, too?” In shock and with pleasure, she could only smile at Todd, and nod as well. She too could communicate without speaking. She felt her face flush, and knew that must show how much warmth his message filled her with. He typed more. “You have sunshine in you!” she read. She bent down and went to kiss him, but he turned away, so she smiled again, and walked away. As she left the room she saw a pizza delivery truck pull up outside.
She reached the art room just as the back door beside it opened. The pizza delivery man raised his eyebrows at her and she pointed to the right room. Then another form slipped in behind the man, and her small smile expanded. It was Danny. He was covered in snow and his face was red and he looked like he’d been crying, but he was here. She almost ran to him, and then tugged him along with her and into the art room, which was empty, but warm. Just from sheer joy she kissed him right on the lips, feeling how cold they were, but neither of them seemed to care. His eyes lit up and burned like the sun she had so recently been craving. As she let him go and he started to take off his hat and jacket, he was already talking. “I’m so glad to see you! So much has happened since yesterday and I’ve been dying to tell you!”
Whit watched him with affection. Her eyes narrowed as they roved over his face. He was so animated, so wound up…she loved his mouth and his eyes; wait, what? “Are you wearing eyeliner?” she blurted in shock and delight. “You are! I love it!” And surprising both of them, she grabbed him by his ears, pulled him closer and kissed both his eyes and then his nose and then—the door opened, the bell rang—at least she thought it was the school bell—and people started coming into the room.
First to come in was Mr. Jay. She felt him stop behind her. She saw Danny’s eyes open wide and look upward. She drew a long breath, slow, nice and easy now, she told herself, letting go of poor Danny’s ears and inwardly cursing herself for letting Dusty have his way again.
“Is this a bad time?” Mr. Jay asked with a voice full of laughter.
As they took their seats, Danny smiled. “You need to rename yourself again,” he said. “There’s nothing dusty about that smooch! Ow, my ears hurt,” he ended.
Whit blushed. Echoing in her head she heard, Twitley and Danny, sitting in a tree…
* * * *
“All right class,” said Mr. Jay as everyone got settled. He hadn’t made Danny and Whit sit apart but let them continue to sit at the same table. He’d raised his eyebrows at them so high that they understood they were going to be watched. He didn’t need to tell them to keep their hands, and mouths, off each other. But oh it was hard, Whitney thought.
“I’m sure many of you know that something really different went on today.”
Kids murmured
. Danny flinched.
“We’re all still reeling from Colin’s suicide, but now a life has been saved. Just this morning, Mr. Grogan’s son was taken out of the way of a car. His bike was totaled, he was scared, but he’s all right.” Mr. Jay looked around at his silent students. “It’s all so fast, isn’t it?
“At the risk of being fired, here’s a Biblical quote; In the midst of life we are in death. Most people have heard of it as part of the Burial Service from the Book of Common Prayer of the Anglican and Episcopal Churches. It was read out at Colin’s funeral. I know some of you were there as well. It’s said that it’s much older, maybe even from the eighth century, and from Latin. It’s an antiphon. That’s what we usually call a song or chant that is done by two different groups, like in a litany at church, or even better, in a sea shanty on a pirate ship. It’s also called a call and response.
“Close your eyes and think about what that phrase might mean in a practical sense. Any ideas? No?”
“How quickly things happen,” Danny blurted. He hadn’t meant to speak and his voice broke.
“Can you give us an example?” Mr. Jay asked softly.
Danny shook his head, unable to speak further.
“Yin and Yang?” one boy said. Then someone said, “No, that’s like horizontal. Death is like, vertical!” Most kids looked at that one in confusion.
“Yeah, but is death the end? Or does that whatchamacallit thing mean it’s only in the middle? Like, with life after death. If life, like, alters, and continues or something.”
Another said, “Death just seems so random.”
Mr. Jay nodded. It didn’t bother him that the students seemed uncomfortable and confused talking about it. Unlike the other classes, where you could get a definite answer and use precise words, art wasn’t like that at all, in his opinion. That wasn’t what they were in his class for. Art, he believed, wasn’t about words. “Let’s get paper and whatever milieu you want to use, and draw what you’re feeling or thinking about. Go with your first feeling, or idea. I’m going to put some music on, both liturgical—that means churchy of different types so nobody gets upset,” and he looked around. A few kids laughed a little. “And some sea shanties that pirates or old Englishmen might have sung. Even our own Navy has a few things they chant. But I’m not sure those are appropriate for young ears!”
The Sun Seekers Page 4