A Shadow Passed Over the Son

by Ryan Schneider

Before them, protruding from Sky City Hobbies and Toys, filling almost the entire promenade of the great Sky Mall, was a massive line of people. The line of parents and children and teenagers poured out of the toy store, ran past Fool’s Gold Jewelry Store, past the Twist and Shout Soft Pretzel Shoppe, obscured the Yellow Snow-Cone and Lemonade Stand and Rock-n-Cinnamon-Rolls, and completely hid all but the big red sign for HulkaBurger. The line curled around and ran up the opposite side of the mall, obscuring the entrance to both Sky Pups Corndogs and Shepherd’s Pie. It even stretched past Rattle and Hum. They would have to walk slowly past the music store if they wanted to stay in line.

  “Well . . . ,” said Bubba, as they surveyed the long line, “at least we won’t go hungry while we wait. You guys want to grab a Triple HulkaBurger first?”

  “Let’s just get in line,” said Parker.

  They walked across the promenade to the end of the line and looked around at the sea of people.

  Fifteen minutes later, they had moved about five feet.

  Fifteen minutes after that, they had moved about another five feet.

  “I guess Colby Max has more fans than we thought,” said Bubba.

  A boy of similar age turned around in line to face Parker, Sunny, and Bubba. He wore a white helmet adorned with sparkling silver and gold lightning bolts like the helmet worn by Colby Max, and a puffy, brown leather bomber jacket with sheep’s wool lining the collar and wrists. He grinned at them but didn’t say anything. Bubba leaned close to Parker and murmured, “He looks like a potato wearing a helmet.” Parker pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing.

  “Hi,” said Sunny after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.

  The boy continued to grin at them from inside the helmet. Finally he droned, “Colby Max is the best pilot in the world.”

  “No, he’s not,” said Bubba, “my friend Parker is.”

  “Nuh-uh,” said the boy.

  “Is too,” said Bubba, “he’s had the high-score at Skycade for three months.”

  “Bubba . . . ,” said Parker.

  Bubba met Parker’s gaze, saw Parker preferred he let it go.

  The boy in the helmet turned around and moved forward as the line progressed.

  After an hour, the kids were standing in front of Shepherd’s Pie. Parker knew the aroma of pizza baking in the brick oven would prove too much for Bubba to resist.

  “You smell that?” asked Bubba. He inhaled deeply. “Green bell peppers . . . and black olives . . . and sausage . . . . I’m hungry. You guys want a slice?”

  Parker and Sunny shook their heads. “Let’s wait until we can go in and sit down,” said Sunny, “after we’ve met Colby Max.”

  “I’ll be right back,” said Bubba. He left the line and went into the pizzeria. The line shuffled along and five minutes later Bubba returned carrying a wide triangle of steaming cheese pizza. He folded it in half length-wise so it looked like a taco and took a big bite. “Mmmmmm . . . .” He smiled, his eyes half-closed, nearly lost in ecstasy while he chewed. He held a napkin in each hand and more napkins stuck not only out of his side pockets but from his back pockets as well.

  “What’s with all the napkins?” said Sunny.

  “I dunno,” said Bubba, “I just like ’em. You never know when you might spill.” He took a hearty bite of his pizza and grinned again as he ate. Parker was well aware of Bubba’s habit of requesting extra napkins.

  The line inched forward. Parker watched as Rattle and Hum grew steadily closer. He stood on his toes and looked for the security guard, the white shirt and gold badge.

  “Nervous?” Bubba smiled as he chewed.

  “No.”

  “Liar.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Sunny. “They didn’t catch you in the act so you’re safe now. If anything happens, just act dumb.”

  “That won’t be hard,” said Bubba. He winked at Sunny, studied his slice of pizza, and took a huge bite.

  Sunny grinned. Parker smiled, too.

  “I should’ve made you take that poster down and bring it back to the store,” said Sunny. “That’s what my mom did to me when I stole a Cherry Lip Lover five years ago.”

  Parker again noticed the sweet cherry sheen on Sunny’s lips. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” said Sunny. “The store manager pitched a fit and said I should go to jail.”

  “Were you scared?” Bubba asked, and took another large bite of pizza.

  “Not really. Even back then I was pretty sure they wouldn’t send an eight-year-old girl to jail for swiping a two-dollar Cherry Lip Lover. I knew that when I took it.”

  “How’d you get caught?” asked Parker.

  “My mom saw me smearing it on my lips. She knew I didn’t have any money so I must’ve stolen it. I screamed and cried and said I was sorry but she still made me take it back the next day and apologize.”

  “Were you sorry?” asked Parker.

  Sunny’s head tilted and she looked up at the monorail depot, considering the question. “Yeah,” she said at last, “I was. You shouldn’t take things that don’t belong to you.”

  Parker thought again of the guy who stole the paperback on the train. He was shot and killed by the sky marshal for taking something that didn’t belong to him. “Did you ever steal after that?”

  “No,” said Sunny. “My dad came to me the next day and put his arms around me and gave me a big hug and said, ‘If you ever want something bad enough to steal it, come talk to me and we’ll see what we can do.’ That was the end of it.”

  Parker felt he would gladly steal a thousand posters if it meant feeling his dad’s arms around him.

  The line inched forward until Parker, Sunny, and Bubba were standing in front of Rattle and Hum. There was no sign of the security guard. “I don’t see him,” said Parker.

  “He’s probably in line to get Colby’s autograph,” said Bubba. “I think every mall employee must be in this line.”

  They crossed the promenade, making their way closer to the entrance to the toy store, standing idly in front of Rock-n-Cinnamon-Rolls. Bubba craned his neck to look inside, probably trying to catch a glimpse of the giant, fresh-baked cinnamon rolls gleaming with warm, melted icing. Without saying a word, he disappeared inside. He returned a few minutes later not with a giant cinnamon roll in his hands but carrying several smaller shrink-wrapped pastries.

  “What’re those?” asked Parker.

  “Frinkies,” said Bubba. He smiled as if this explained everything. When he realized his friends were still staring at him he said, “Deep-fried sponge cake. My absolute favorite.”

  “Since when?” asked Parker.

  “Since I was five and I had my first one at Coney Island, in line for the Cyclone. These are Special Edition Go-Boy Frinkies.” He held up the package. “Look, you can even enter to win a Go-Boy Battle-Suit.” Bubba studied the fine print. “It says to send in one hundred proofs-of-purchase for a chance to enter. Millions will enter, only one will win. Figures. Some lucky sap will be walking around with a Go-Boy Battle-Suit. And some righteous love handles.” He tore open one of the crinkly wrappers and took a bite. The crispy outer shell crunched, revealing golden sponge cake inside, surrounding white creamy filling. The white filling smeared on Bubba’s lips and the tip of his nose. Bubba grabbed a napkin from his pocket like a gunslinger drawing his six-gun. He daintily dabbed the corners of his mouth as if dining in a classy French restaurant, wiping his mouth with fine silk rather than a cheap paper napkin. Parker and Sunny laughed.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the orphan and his friend Captain Tub O’Lard.”

  Parker, Sunny, and Bubba turned around to see three boys walking toward them from the exit of the toy store. Leading the way was Brent Spade, followed by Harry and Barry Harvey. Brent grinned his buck-toothed grin. The Harvey boys fell-in behind Brent, where they stood like slobbering gorillas. Though a fair bit shorter than Bubba, they were large for their age. Brent wore his trademark leather flight jacket,
covered in aircraft and military insignia patches, identical to the jacket sported by Colby Max on his SV show and in his movies.

  “What’s that on your nose, Bubba?” asked Brent. “You and your butt buddy been off huffing snowballs again?” Brent shifted his gaze, grinned, and said, “Hi, Sunny.”

  “What do you want, Brent?” asked Parker. He spat the name as though it were a morsel of rotten meat.

  “Oh, I already got what I wanted.” Brent held up a cardboard tube. “I shook Colby’s hand and he said he really liked my jacket. He’s signing posters and eight-by-tens. But they’re not free, you have to buy them first. Plus, he’s leaving at one o’clock. Doesn’t look like you’re going to make it.” Brent pretended to consult his wristwatch. “Too bad for you guys.”

  “We’ll make it,” said Bubba.

  “Maybe when you guys move out of the slums, like me, you can be on time,” said Brent. About a month after goading Parker and Bubba into exploring Kingdom City Municipal Park in the middle of the night, Brent had changed schools. His dad was a plastic surgeon and opened an office near the top of Sky City North. Their family had moved to the north tower, a fact about which Brent was forever reminding those around him. He and the Harvey boys still spent a great deal of time in Skycade, much to the chagrin of Parker and Bubba.

  “I said we’ll make it,” said Bubba.

  “Make it what . . . a Triple HulkaBurger with everything?” asked Brent. He eyed Bubba, who still held a Frinkie in each hand. The dab of white cream filling remained on the tip of Bubba’s nose and white napkins still poked out of his pants pockets.

  “I like your jacket.” The boy in the helmet had turned around and was watching Brent. “It’s just like Colby’s.”

  “Shut up, loser,” said Brent. “Get a real jacket.”

  “Back off, Brent,” said Parker.

  The boy in the helmet looked down at his less-impressive jacket, then hung his head and stared at the ground. He turned back toward the front of the line.

  “Hey, Sunny,” said Brent, “did you hear about Lonnie? His brother killed himself.”

  Sunny inhaled audibly and covered her mouth. “What happened?”

  “The entire platoon under his command got killed. So they sent him home on leave for a month. The day before he had to ship out to go back to the front, he got up in the morning, bought an old car for five hundred bucks, drove through Jersey and out to the narrows, sat in the car and ate a pizza and drank thirteen Colby Max Longneck Lagers, wrote one letter to his mom, one letter to his dad, and one to Lonnie. Then he put his military-issue pistol to his chest and fired two rounds into his heart.”

  “That’s terrible,” said Sunny.

  “He was everything Lonnie wanted to be,” said Brent. “Now this. Anyway, Lonnie asked if he could throw a party for his brother. His parents went to Key West to shop for a yacht, so he’s having a Go-Boy movie marathon slumber party tonight. Pretty much everyone’s going. You should come. Lots of kids from school have been asking about you. Especially Lonnie. And if you don’t like him, I’m available.”

  A strange sensation filled Parker’s body, originating somewhere near his stomach. His therapist said the naming of a thing takes away the fear of it, and takes away its power. But he couldn’t define the feeling, the emotion. It was part anger, part fear, part hurt, part regret. Despite the tragic news about Lonnie’s big brother, he wanted to hurt Brent. He tried to stay calm. If he attacked Brent, it wouldn’t be like getting suspended from school for a few days; he would probably be arrested. And after having the good fortune of not running into the Rattle and Hum security guard, it would be stupid to get busted now. He took a deep breath. He waited for Sunny’s response. Would she accept Brent’s invitation? It had been difficult for Sunny to change schools midway through the school year and she often spoke fondly of the kids at her old school, many of whom she had known throughout elementary school. They would probably swim in Lonnie’s heated, private pool and order in lots of food and spread out their sleeping bags in Lonnie’s home theater. Parker had only met Lonnie once and though Brent was a certifiable jerk, Lonnie seemed like on okay guy. Despite the sad circumstances, there was no doubting it would be a good time.

  “I already have plans,” said Sunny.

  “Plans to dump these losers from Southie and get some real friends whose dads don’t neglect their responsibilities?”

  Parker lunged at Brent, reaching for his neck. Bubba stopped him, placing an arm across Parker’s chest. “No, Park. He’s not worth it.”

  “Listen to Tub O’Lard, Parker,” said Brent. “You wouldn’t want to get suspended from school. Again. You might get in trouble with your father. Oh, that’s right, he’s not home. All you’ve got is that crazy cleaning lady and Tub O’Lard’s mom to look after you.”

  “I’m warning you,” said Bubba. He held Parker back, though now with much more effort.

  “You couldn’t warn an old lady not to pee on her electric blanket,” said Brent. “You couldn’t warn your mom not to—”

  At the mention of his mom, Parker’s anger flared. He lunged forward again, harder this time, and Bubba barely held him back. Brent flinched badly and fell backward into the Harvey boys, who just stood there as Brent slid down their legs and landed on his butt on the floor. He got quickly to his feet, one hand rubbing his backside, the other retrieving his cardboard photo-tube from the ground. “Southie losers,” he muttered and began backing away. He looked at Sunny. “I’ll tell Lonnie you’re coming.” He turned and walked away. The Harvey boys still just stood there. “Come on!” barked Brent. The Harvey boys turned and walked away.

  “How did you put up with his crap in school?” said Parker, turning to Sunny. Before her dad’s promotion and their subsequent move to Sky City South, she must have run into Brent almost every day at school. She probably had classes with him. Lonnie, too.

  “Brent’s desperate for attention,” said Sunny, “so he gets it any way he can, even if it means being a clone of someone like Colby Max. The truth is his dad’s never home, either. He’s too busy running his clinic, doing face-lifts and sucking fat out of those lazy North Sky Country Club women.” Sunny took an extra napkin from Bubba’s pocket and wiped the white dab of filling from the tip of his nose.

  “Thanks,” said Bubba.

  Parker shook his head as the line inched forward. He imagined Lonnie’s brother, sitting there in the cheap car, eating pizza and drinking beer while he looked out at the Atlantic ocean, with the gun on the seat next to him, racked with guilt over the soldiers lost under his command. Parker wondered what he would do if he were in charge and got his friends killed.

  An hour later, they were finally inside Sky City Hobbies and Toys. Yet even then there was more waiting to be done. The line wound up and down the rows of toys like a giant snake.

  The upside to this was that it afforded an opportunity to explore the store’s vast inventory. They played with Mechanical Max the Artificial Pooch, until his batteries died. Then the Bare-Bottom Bears, a variety of rainbow-colored teddy bears which danced in circles and pulled their diapers down. Next was the Pretty Paltry Parakeet, a robotic bird that could sing, poop, and vomit and was available in a variety of yellow, green, or blue hues. Parker didn’t know if real parakeets vomited but he did find it somewhat depressing that so many of the toys for sale were artificial representations of the real thing. But, then again, the Go-Boy Battle-Suit they were waiting to see wasn’t real, nor was Colby Max a real pilot; he was an actor, paid to pretend to be a pilot. Underneath all the computerized special effects and flying rigs and big-budget studio artifice, Colby was a kid just like them. Parker wondered if Colby’s dad was off fighting the war.

  He put down the battery-operated digital-video camera making whirring and clicking sounds and looked up at Sunny and Bubba, who had been posing in front of the cheap camera. They looked at him expectantly, wondering why he’d stopped playing.

  “Brent was right. I am an orphan. A warphan
. They said they might have to put me in base housing, until they can have a judge decide what’s best for me, since I’m a minor and can’t live alone, without a parent or legal guardian.”

  “Who said that?” asked Sunny.

  “The military guys who paid me a visit this morning.”

  “Base housing?” said Bubba. “The military base is two hours away, you’ll be outside Sky City, in a different school. We’ll never see each other!”

  “I know.”

  “They can’t,” said Bubba. “They just can’t. You can live with us! My mom and dad will say it’s okay, that’s all there is to it.”

  “So you think my dad’s dead?” asked Parker.

  “I didn’t say that,” said Bubba.

  “Forget it,” said Parker. He knew Bubba hadn’t meant to imply the worst about his dad. “They said I would become a ‘ward of the state’ until I turn eighteen. That means I go into the system, and wait for a foster family to adopt me. Like that would ever happen. Nobody adopts thirteen-year-old kids. Everybody wants a newborn baby. I’ll probably get sold off to Unity Up!, brainwashed into preaching Armageddon at your front door, asking if you’re square.”

  Sunny and Bubba exchanged glances but didn’t speak.

  “Or . . . I could go to military school,” continued Parker. “They said under the circumstances they could probably bend a few rules and get me in right away before the Fall term starts next month.”

  “Where?” asked Sunny.

  “Maryland.”

  “Maryland!” shouted Bubba. The boy in the helmet looked over his shoulder, as did several other people. “It might as well be on the moon!”

  “Maryland is just a bit closer than Luna Base,” said Sunny. “But you’re right.” She looked at Parker. “We’d still see you two or three times a year, maybe. But it definitely wouldn’t be like it is now.”

  “Unless . . ., ” said Bubba, after a long pause.

  Parker and Sunny both looked at him. Parker could see Bubba’s mind working.

  “Unless we went with you,” said Bubba.

  “Huh?” said Parker. “You guys live here. You go to school here. Your families are here.”

  “We’ll enroll in the military academy with you,” said Bubba. “I’ll have my dad make some calls, too. You know, pull some strings. I’ll tell him I want to be a commander on a nuclear sub, like him. And Sunny can . . . be a . . . a . . . bio . . . chemical . . . research . . . person. For the Army. She can say she wants to reverse-engineer viruses for them. Like her dad does. They’ll love that. We’ll be a shoe-in, Park. Whaddya say? I’m in if you’re in. Sunny?”

  After a long, contemplative pause, Sunny said, “Well, I do like bugs. And my parents will finally be proud of me. And if I’m away at school, I won’t have to clean that stupid apartment anymore.”

  They waited for his answer, virtually holding their breath waiting for him to speak.

  “I can’t ask you guys to do that,” he said at last.

  “You’re not asking,” said Sunny.

  “We’re volunteering,” said Bubba. “In fact, even if you say, ‘No,’ I’m going to do it anyway.”

  “Really?” asked Sunny.

  “No,” said Bubba, “just kidding. I’d be too scared if Parker weren’t doing it with me.”

  They both waited for Parker’s answer.

  “Well,” he began. He took his time choosing his words, “we’ll have to wait until I hear from the military guys, about my dad. But if they . . . if they say he’s . . . you know . . . ,” he couldn’t bring himself to say his dad might be dead.

  “We know, Parker,” said Sunny with a soft smile.

  “Well then,” Parker continued, “yeah. Absolutely. Count me in.”

  “Cool,” said Bubba. “This way, we can stay together, so we’ll always be friends. No matter what.”

  “No matter what,” said Sunny.

  “No matter what,” said Parker.

  Chapter 12

  Don’t Touch the Merchandise