by Anna Kerz
I hope this guy isn’t expecting to be friends, he thought as he glared at Aaron and shimmied to the left. Aaron didn’t seem to notice. He was already busy unraveling the elastic from the top of his socks.
Mr. Collins limped to a chair and sat. Then he raised his right hand and waited for silence. “I checked out the
Farmer’s Almanac,” he began with a crooked grin. “You’ve heard of that, haven’t you?”
The kids shook their heads. Jeremy wasn’t surprised. Why would these city kids know what an almanac was?
“The forecast for September is rain, rain and more rain,” Mr. Collins went on. “That’s not good for the harvest and it’s not good for cross-country runners, because it means that we’re going to get wet and cold and muddy when we run.” There were groans. “If you have a problem with that, you might as well forget about running and quit now.” He looked around as if waiting for someone to get up and leave. “No? Well then, I can tell you that we’re going to begin our training indoors.”
There were relieved chuckles.
Mr. Collins divided the kids into teams. Jeremy found himself sitting last on a team with a bunch of girls and Aaron. Great, he thought, I’m never gonna get away from this guy. He decided that the only good thing about his team was that one of the girls was Karima. When he checked, he saw that the other teams all had more boys than girls, and the team Tufan was on was all boys. Jeremy’s shoulders drooped. It doesn’t matter what we play, we’re gonna lose this one.
“Your job is simple,” Mr. Collins began. “Run to the wall, pick up a skipping rope, take ten turns, then run back and tag the next person.” There were a few groans from some of the boys, but everybody started shouting as soon as the first runners took off.
Jeremy was surprised at how fast the first girl in his team could run. She was small and skinny, but she really moved. When she began skipping, he started to cheer. On all the other teams, the first runners were boys, and not one of them knew how to skip. Their arms jerked the ropes up and over their heads and then smacked them hard to the floor. They pulled up their knees and jumped high enough to clear a fence, but the ropes tangled in their legs and slowed them down. By the time it was Aaron’s turn, their team was actually ahead. “Go! Go! Go!” Jeremy shouted, excited at the possibility of a win.
Aaron took off, his neck stretched, his body bent so that the top was almost parallel with the floor, but his eyes were lifted to the ceiling. As he ran his toes pointed out to the sides and his feet made loud smacking noises when they hit the floor. His arms flapped with each step so that he looked like a wounded duck trying to take flight.
When he reached the skipping rope, Jeremy saw that all hope of winning was gone. Aaron couldn’t bring it over his head. His arms rose, but the rope twisted in the air and his legs bent like pretzels every time he came down. Jeremy felt sorry for him all over again. He understood why Aaron chose to let the rope fall. Instead he bounced up and down on the spot ten times and headed back across the gym. There were calls of, “Cheater! Cheater!”; but Jeremy ignored them, and when Aaron tagged him he took off running.
The last runners on the other teams were already skipping when he reached his rope. Beside him, Tufan was huffing and muttering about “girly stuff” as he struggled to finish. Jeremy jumped twice. On his third jump he went as high as he could, stretched his legs forward and bent from the waist so that he seemed to be doing a sit-up in the air. Then he turned the rope fast. It whistled as it whipped around him four times before his feet came down, and then four more times on the next jump. When he was done he found himself racing back to his team behind Tufan. Last, but not dead last. There was a fine difference. He was prepared for more calls of “Cheater!” for not taking ten separate skips, but they didn’t come, and when he looked up, Mr. Collins was looking back at him.
“Well, Jeremy,” he said when the kids were quiet, “where’d you learn that?”
Jeremy paused. Should he tell? There didn’t seem to be much choice. “I was on a skipping team back home,” he said. Then he looked down.
“Are there other things you can do with a rope?” Mr. Collins asked.
“A few.”
“I’d like to see some. Anybody else interested?” he asked.
Some of the kids began to clap, so Jeremy took the rope Mr. Collins handed him. He hadn’t skipped in months. Not since before the accident. What tricks would his leg allow him to do? He began with simple heel-toe taps. They were enough to make people clap again, giving him the courage to go on. He folded his arms back and forth to do cross-overs. They were harder. He felt his bad leg tiring. Should he stop?
“Way cool!” A voice called out. It was enough encouragement to make him decide to try his very best trick.
Jumping at a steady pace, he went faster, then lifted his arms and let the rope fly up. As it rose, he kept his feet moving until it dropped again, into his waiting hands. He skipped for a few more beats, then trapped the rope under his raised toes and stopped.
There was a long moment of silence, filled only with the short sharp gasps of Jeremy’s breath, until Aaron’s voice called out, “Go, Skipper, go!” Then there was laughter and more applause, and Jeremy felt good.
On his way out of the gym with all the other kids, he was bodychecked into the wall. It happened fast— too fast to see who did it. It might have been an accident except he was sure that he heard someone say “Suck-up” just before he was pushed. He thought he recognized the voice, but he wasn’t sure until recess the next day, when Tufan pointed to right field and said, “Skip out there and try not to trip.”
TEN
On Friday night Jeremy lay in bed, his hands behind his head. His eyes followed the finger-like shadows of tree branches that slid across his ceiling and down his walls. It was hard to sleep in the city. For one thing, his bedroom never got completely dark, and even with the curtains pulled, streetlights and porch lights and the probing beams of passing cars brightened the room. From Queen Street came the sounds of traffic: the clickity-clack of streetcars, the rumble of a passing truck, the occasional squeal of tires, the blare of a horn. The house was silent. Not even tv voices drifted up the stairs. Milly must be reading. He turned and snuggled into his quilt as the shadows danced on.
“Don’t wait up,” his mother had said. “I have to stay late for the store inventory.” But he wouldn’t sleep. Not until he knew she was home, and safe.
The front door opened and closed. A murmur of voices. He waited, expecting his mother’s steps on the stairs. She always checked on him before she went to bed. Instead he heard the click of cups on the table. The shrill whistle from the kettle. They were going to have tea.
Unwilling to sleep, he slipped out of bed and padded across the room and into the hallway. His mother’s voice drifted up from the kitchen: soft, sad, tired. He tiptoed to the landing and sat on the top stair in time to hear Milly say, “…in bed for a couple of hours.”
For a while the only sound was the clink of a spoon in a cup. That had to be his mother. She always stirred and stirred her tea. His father used to tease that she couldn’t drink before the spoon was worn out and cried uncle.
Finally there was a soft murmur of voices. At first he couldn’t make them out. Then he heard his mother say, “Dan loved cars,” and later, “…but I quit school and we got married.”
They talked for a while, about Nova Scotia, about his grandparents. Jeremy yawned and thought about going back up to bed. Milly’s words stopped him. “He worries about you,” she said.
“I know. He never used to. But…” There was the sound of a stifled sob. It was enough to make Jeremy’s stomach cramp. He folded his arms across his middle and leaned his head against the railing.
“Sorry,” he heard his mother say. She blew her nose. “It’s been…It’s been a bad day. Back home I thought about Dan all the time. I thought it might be a little easier here. It is, I guess. Until today.” There was another long silence. “It’s kind of an anniversary. Fo
urteen years ago today Dan and I went on our first date. And now… It all happened so fast.”
Jeremy groaned. She’s going to tell, he thought. She’s going to tell. He was afraid of what was coming. He didn’t want to hear, but he couldn’t stop listening.
“It was near the end of March,” she said. “We’d had a few warm days. The ground was still frozen, but most of the snow had melted. There were puddles on the road. Jeremy had a practice to go to. His skipping team was going to perform for some provincial group. Gym teachers, I think. Doesn’t matter.”
Silence.
Jeremy could almost hear her take a breath before she went on.
“Anyway, Jeremy was out front, waiting. Dan was supposed to come home early to take him, but he was late.”
I was playing with Henry.
Jeremy remembered tossing the Frisbee, the dog sprinting back and forth, leaping to catch the flying disc, until they were interrupted by the sounds of a motorcycle turning into the driveway.
“It was bad enough that he was late”—his mother’s voice was louder now—“but he showed up on a motorcycle. One of the guys he worked with had this big black Harley. Dan thought he’d give Jeremy a thrill and ride him to his practice on it.”
Jeremy could picture his father tugging off the helmet, smiling, shaking his head, running his fingers through his tousled hair. “Know anybody who wants a ride?” he had said.
“Jeremy!” He remembered the sound of his mother’s voice from behind the screen door. Short. Sharp. Angry. “Put the dog in the run,” she called, and he knew what else she was going to say. She was going to say no. She was going to say I couldn’t go.
“Aw, Mom! Please?”
His father’s face, hard now, the smile gone. “Do what your mother says.”
He ran to the back, Henry bounding beside him. The dog still wanted to play. Didn’t want to be locked up. Jeremy had to go into the run first, coaxing Henry to follow. Then Jeremy squeezed out, leaving the dog behind.
“And he only had one helmet,” his mother was saying, the words sounding raw as they came out of her throat. “‘You can’t take him without a helmet!’ I was yelling. I was furious with him.”
Jeremy stood, an angry shiver coursing through his body. You shouldn’t have yelled, he wanted to tell her. That’s why he gave me the helmet. He gave it to me. He should have been wearing it.
“He shoved that huge helmet right over Jeremy’s head. It was way too big and too heavy. It sat on his shoulders and wobbled. Jeremy could hardly see.”
I could so. I saw. I saw everything.
He heard his mother sob. The sound made his knees buckle, and he slumped to the stairs.
“It seemed like they were hardly gone before I heard the first sirens, and I thought, ‘No. Can’t be.’ And after a while there were more of them, wailing past the house, and it was like I knew. I knew. I was already outside, running up the driveway when Officer McKendrick pulled in.” Her words burst out between more sobs. “I thought…I thought both…”
Jeremy’s hands slipped over his ears. Stop! Stop crying! Stop crying!
It was a while before she spoke again, and this time her words were muffled by his hands. “They took me… Jeremy’s leg was…operation…two metal plates…He missed the funeral. People came to see him. He wouldn’t talk to anybody.”
They were crying. They cried and felt sorry for me. They felt sorry for me. I hated that they felt sorry for me.
“He won’t talk about it.” She blew her nose again. It was a while before she went on. “…some nights… terrible dream…”
There was a soft murmur from Milly.
“I don’t know…something triggers them…wets the bed…the doctors…something about the accident. Something he hasn’t talked about. He could tell me. He could tell me anything. Why doesn’t he tell me?” She cried again.
Jeremy slumped against the railing. Can I tell her? Not this. She’ll…
He heard Milly make comforting noises and after a while the crying stopped. The sound of chairs scraping and cups clinking brought him to his feet. He was under the quilt with his eyes closed when his mother came in. He heard her soft footsteps, felt her breath warm on his face, her lips on his forehead. More steps. Only the shadows and his memories stayed.
ELEVEN
This will be perfect, Jeremy told himself as he walked with his mother to the streetcar stop. She had a day off. The sun was shining, and they were going to spend the time together. At the corner she pulled two streetcar tokens from her purse and slipped them between her lips to hold them as she fumbled to close the clasp.
“Milly says the Queen car runs across the whole city,” she said, her voice high and thin as it came from the side of her mouth. “We can go anywhere.”
“Anywhere?” Jeremy squeaked back, and his mother hurried to take the tokens from her lips. She laughed then, and Jeremy laughed too, and something lifted from his chest. He felt good.
“We could get off at Yonge Street and walk up to that big shopping mall Milly was telling us about. The Eaton Centre?” She passed him a token. “Or we could go all the way to the other end of the city and see High Park. We could spend the afternoon there. We have time to decide. Let’s make it an adventure.” She smiled.
When the streetcar came, he got on first and led the way to the back, where he settled on the bench seat. He liked this spot. He could look out through the center aisle and watch people get on, or he could turn and see what he was leaving behind.
The streetcar rumbled and bounced along, picking up passengers at every stop. There were old ladies clutching purses; women with plastic shopping bags; students with backpacks; moms with little kids clutching their hands; old men with tired eyes; and teenagers with headphones plugged into their ears, their heads moving to an unheard beat. Most of them got on in silence, scanned the car for a seat, swung into an empty spot and then stared out the window.
It was a quiet ride until a bunch of bigger kids streamed on, laughing, joking, jostling, shoving each other in a friendly sort of way. A couple of the girls dropped into seats near the front, but all the others stood, straddling the aisle to keep their balance as the streetcar rocked along. Some of the passengers glanced at the noisy group, then looked away. Jeremy didn’t think that these city kids looked any different than the teenagers back home. They wore jeans with tattered hems that trailed threads and T-shirts covered with words, or pictures, or both.
At the next stop the driver called, “Clear the doors,” and a few of the kids drifted toward the back, but they kept calling to each other. Then, out of the jumble of voices, Jeremy heard, “…and after the mealworms… after the mealworms, can we see the mummy? I want to see the mummy.”
He cringed. Aaron? Yes. There, beside a tall boy who was gripping the upper rail with one hand. His other hand was on Aaron’s shoulder as if to keep him grounded. Aaron had said he was going to the museum with his brother. This had to be him.
Jeremy slid lower in his seat. Between the bodies of the passengers, he stared at the tall boy. He was wearing a black T-shirt with the image of a gleaming motorcycle, the rider crouched, his head forward, his hands clutching the grips. A Harley, Jeremy thought. The rider’s helmet was black and shiny, the visor down. Only his green eagle-eyes showed.
“Dad’s eyes were brown, weren’t they?” he said.
“Yes,” his mother said.
He jumped. He hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud.
“This is Yonge Street coming up,” she said. “If we’re going to shop at the Eaton Centre we have to get off now.”
“Let’s just go on,” he mumbled.
“Can we see the dinosaurs too? I love the dinosaurs.” Aaron’s voice carried through the streetcar. The tall boy smiled down at him with that happy but tired smile people use with a barking puppy. When he leaned down and said something to Aaron, Jeremy noticed a metallic gleam in his mouth—a silver stud buried on his tongue. Without thinking, Jeremy lifted his hand to cover
his own mouth.
The movement must have caught Aaron’s attention because he stretched his neck and peered toward the back. “Hey, Jeremy!” He called and waved as he wove his way between passengers. “I’m going to the museum with my big brother. We’re gonna see the mealworms and the darkling beetles. Yeah. And the mummy, even.”
“Tell everybody, why don’tcha,” somebody called, and there was laughter.
The boy with the motorcycle shirt trailed Aaron to the back. “This is Jeremy,” Aaron said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “He’s my friend.”
“Hi, Jeremy,” several voices called.
Jeremy squirmed at the laughter that followed.
The tall boy finally caught up. He smiled and said, “I’m Paul. Aaron’s Big Brother. I get to take him out once every two weeks. He can always think of some place he wants to go on our days together.”
Jeremy’s mother smiled back. “It’s nice to meet you, Paul. You too, Aaron,” she said. Then to Jeremy, “The museum’s a great idea. Would you like to go?”
“Not today,” he said quickly.
“It’s pretty neat,” the tall boy said. “Go if you get the chance.”
“It’s way neat. Way neat. It’s got everything.” Aaron nodded.
“University! University Avenue,” the driver called.
“That’s us. C’mon, Aaron. Let’s roll.”
When the tall boy turned, Jeremy could see the back of his shirt—a motorcycle leaving, trailed by a funnel cloud.
“There’s even totem poles,” Aaron called before he stepped down into the street.
“So that’s Aaron,” his mother said with a grin.
“Now you know why he’s called Aaron Cantwait. And just so you know, we’re not friends or anything,” he added.
From the rear window, Jeremy watched the group on the sidewalk, a heaving shifting mob with Aaron bouncing in the middle.
TWELVE
High Park was filled with people—moms and dads and kids, grandparents on lawn chairs and babies in strollers. Some people had pulled together two and three picnic tables and raised canopies to keep off the sun. They had portable barbecues and coolers. Some had covered the weathered tables with brightly patterned tablecloths. All of them seemed to be talking and laughing. They looked happy.