The Boys of Summer

by Richard Cox

  It was no wonder, then, even though he had been awake for some time now, that Todd suspected he might still be asleep. How could he know for sure these six weeks weren’t just another dream, that eventually his parents wouldn’t disappear, along with this new neighborhood where they lived? Honestly he didn’t care all that much. Todd would accept any reality in place of infinite white nothingness.

  His doctor was an older man, very thin and athletic-looking for his age. His name was Robbins. He wore shiny and spotless pointed shoes and looked at Todd like he was some kind of science project. Dr. Robbins had been treating him for more than four years, and upon Todd’s (miraculous) awakening, had explained his condition in simple terms.

  “Your brain became locked into a slow wave sleep-like pattern that would normally last only a few hours. This happened because you experienced a very serious head injury when you were hit with debris from the tornado, and your brain needed special help to heal. Unfortunately this healing process took much longer than we expected.”

  Todd could not remember the tornado, nor anything about the four years since it had ravaged the town, and this gap made the world seem very strange. For instance, one of his last memories was a conversation with his friend, Matt, about the upcoming sequel to Star Wars, which Matt had heard was being filmed in Europe. They had spoken breathlessly about what might happen in such a movie, since Luke had already destroyed the Death Star, but then the tornado happened. While Todd was asleep the second movie had come and gone and now there was a third Star Wars movie in theaters. Darth Vader had turned out to be Luke’s father, Princess Leia was his sister, and the whole world seemed to have lost its mind.

  The changes to his physical form were even stranger. His body had swollen with muscle, sprouted pubic hair overnight, and everything in the world was nine inches lower than where he expected it to be. To top it all off, whenever he spoke, it sounded as if there was a frog in his throat. But in this case Dr. Robbins could not be sure if it was a symptom of puberty or because he had so rarely exercised his ability to speak over the past four years.

  His doctor was unsure about many things. For one, he didn’t know why Todd had remained asleep for so long—it seemed people rarely suffered a condition like his for more than a few weeks, let alone months. The official title of his diagnosis was “catatonic schizophrenia,” though his mother didn’t care for the second word, because she said it implied he was crazy. The doctor also wasn’t sure what sort of long term consequences Todd might face as a result of his injury and sleep, and could not rule out a relapse into the catatonic state. Which was just another way of explaining how the white void was still out there waiting for him.

  The other thing his doctor did not understand was the reality of his dreams. Dr. Robbins accepted that Todd had experienced dreams, but didn’t believe these “episodes” had anything to do with the world around him. When he tried to explain how he had seen things in his dreams that he could not have known, that no one could have known, the old man smiled in a condescending way that made Todd want to punch him.

  There was great concern over his education. Lately his parents had been talking with a counselor from the school district to decide what grade level would be most appropriate. His dad refused to send him back to the fourth, but his mom was afraid Todd would be so far behind students closer to his age that he would hate going to school and fail every class. She seemed to think any kind of school would ruin his whole life and as such wanted him to learn at home. But Todd’s four-year sleep had filled him with a loneliness so intense he could not imagine another day with only his mom and dad as company.

  Today was the first time he’d been given approval to venture out the front door on his own. Until now his time outdoors had mainly been spent in the back yard throwing the football with his dad or having dinner with both parents on the back porch. The way his mom looked at him in these moments made him feel like an insect being examined under a microscope, and whenever she whispered something to his dad, Todd wanted to yell, “I’m right here, Mom! I know you’re talking about me!” Finally, yesterday evening, his parents had taken him for a walk through the new neighborhood—over to Shady Lane, around to Craigmont, and back to their house again. His dad explained this two-street loop was as far as he was allowed to venture and called the area his perimeter. He emphasized it that way, like with italics, in case Todd didn’t know what the word meant. As if Todd were still nine years old.

  This morning his mother had come into his room, her voice all fake and singsong, imploring him to “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” explaining how today was the first day of the rest of his life. She couldn’t wait for him to venture outdoors and informed him about two boys she thought might live over on Shady Lane. But Todd wasn’t stupid. He could hear the anxiety in her voice, which only served to magnify his own fear.

  The thing was, he shouldn’t have been afraid. Just yesterday Todd had seen what it looked like out front: houses and trees and streets, just like any other neighborhood in town. But this morning, when he first approached the door, Todd couldn’t bring himself to open it. And if it felt terrible and pathetic to fear going outdoors on his own, his mother watching from the living room made it that much worse. It was awful to be unable to perform a basic human task, but it was far worse for someone to witness such a failure. There was a particular word for that feeling, one he’d learned while asleep: impotent. A terrible word for a terrible feeling.

  After the failed attempt he retreated to his room, and a few minutes later his mother appeared in the doorway to announce she was headed to Safeway for some groceries.

  “You want me to stay inside until you get back?”

  “Not at all,” she replied. “I hope you have a great time. Remember those boys I told you about. And please don’t do anything crazy. The doctor says your head is fine, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself again.”

  She hugged him and left, which had been ten or fifteen minutes ago, and now he was still sitting here with his Casio and his non-working radio. He spun the tuning knob back and forth, more and more slowly, until finally he was able to extract the fuzzy beat of “Billie Jean.” But there was too much static, terrible canyons of static, like he was picking up a radio station from Mars. He switched off the radio.

  Sat there in silence.

  Finally he stood up again and walked out of his room. The front door was only moments away, and soon he was in front of it, his hand on the heavy brass knob. All he had to do was turn the stupid thing. Turn and pull. But he couldn’t.

  He was afraid when he opened the door he would find nothing but white on the other side, that he was still asleep, and this whole episode of waking up was just another dream.

  The doorknob felt warm and alive in his hand, as if it might recoil from his touch. But it didn’t. He turned it nanometers at a time. The knob squeaked slightly and the latch released with a soft click.

  Todd closed his eyes, pulled the door open, and felt heat wash over him.

  The neighborhood was still there.

  He stepped furtively onto the front porch and pulled the door shut behind him. The sky was clear and nearly white with heat. Across the street stood a sprawling house, white with a gray roof, and all around him Todd heard the buzz of cicadas hidden in trees. Air conditioners droned, struggled in the humidity.

  Todd stood there, still waiting for the dream to end, because it seemed so unlikely that he really was awake.

  And yet the world continued to exist. A red Honda Accord approached the corner and turned left. Todd thought about waving to the driver but didn’t.

  With nothing else in the world to do, he set off in the direction of Shady Lane, wondering if he might run into the boys his mother had seen. He wasn’t really expecting to see anyone, and wasn’t sure what he would do if he did. He ambled down the street, past large brick homes, past expansive, green-brown lawns, and had the feeling he had seen this place before. Not just yesterday but sometime before that, more than onc
e, like maybe he had walked through this neighborhood hundreds of times. Or more.

  Eventually Todd reached Shady Lane, expecting nothing, but in fact he did hear voices yelling as he passed a brown, two-story house. The voices sounded like boys. They appeared to be coming from the back yard. Todd stood there, listening, until the yells gradually quieted and then stopped. He wanted to investigate, even introduce himself, but you couldn’t just walk into someone’s back yard, could you?

  Then the gate opened, and a wet, muscular kid in red swimming trunks emerged with a large beach towel slung over his shoulder.

  “I thought I saw someone through the fence,” the kid said, walking over. “New around here?”

  “Yeah. Moved in a few weeks ago.”

  “I’m Bobby.”

  “I’m Todd.”

  “Jonathan has a pool. You want to come in for a swim?”

  Sweat was running down Todd’s neck and had soaked both sides of his shirt. The sun was beating on him like a hammer. He would have killed to cool off in the water, but his trunks were back at home, and he didn’t relish the idea of going back to get them. If his mom had already returned from the store, she would probably think he had lost his nerve. He didn’t want her to think he was a coward.

  “My trunks aren’t unpacked yet,” he lied, “but I could hang out with you guys if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s cool,” Bobby said. “Come on back.”

  Todd followed at a reasonable distance as this well-built Bobby trudged with purpose into the backyard. The pool was a kidney-shaped hole in a kidney-shaped slab of concrete. The water shimmered. A much scrawnier kid floated on an inflatable raft, his eyes closed, the sun glinting off his hairless chest like fire. Somewhere out of sight a radio was playing “Every Breath You Take.”

  Bobby smiled and shed his towel, bounding toward the pool in three leaping steps. He grabbed his knees as he flew through the air, tucked them against his chest, and hit the water in a great, liquid explosion. The scrawny kid screamed as if shot. He scrambled for the concrete edge of the pool.

  “Bobby!” he yelled. “Dammit! I hate you!”

  “No, you don’t,” Bobby laughed, wading through the water. “I’m your favorite person in the whole world. Admit it.”

  “Whatever!”

  Bobby grabbed him. “Tell me I’m awesome or I’ll dunk you again.”

  “No!”

  Still laughing, Bobby pulled the scrawny kid from the edge of the pool and shoved his head under water.

  “This is too easy,” Bobby said. “Todd, meet Jonathan. Jonathan, this is Todd.”

  Jonathan’s arms flailed out of the water and clawed in vain for Bobby’s face.

  “You’re a lot stronger than he is, I guess,” Todd suggested.

  “Them’s the breaks.”

  Not sure what else to do, Todd stood there and watched Bobby hold his friend underwater for what seemed like eternity. If this is all they were going to do, this David and Goliath bullshit, Todd wasn’t interested. This was the same crap that went on in every city in America.

  But just when Todd decided to leave, Bobby relented. Jonathan shot out of the water like a torpedo, coughing and choking.

  “Sounds like my Aunt Jesse,” Bobby laughed. “She’s got cancer or emphysema or whatever. At Christmas she hacked the whole fucking time we were trying to open presents.”

  Todd acknowledged this and then pointed at Jonathan, whose face seemed to be darkening. “I don’t think he’s getting any air.”

  Jonathan’s face was indeed turning purple, and he wasn’t choking anymore, either. Instead he was trying to suck in little bursts of air that didn’t seem like breaths at all. His mouth made a sound like water trying to drain down a pipe that had no room for it.

  “Oh, shit,” Bobby said. He turned Jonathan around and pounded on his back. “Breathe, man. Breathe!”

  Jonathan’s eyes seemed to be propped open. They were wide and glassy. He didn’t breathe.

  “Goddamn it, Johnny,” Bobby yelled and pounded some more. “Breathe already.”

  “Maybe you should try the Heimlich maneuver,” Todd said.

  “Huh? The what?”

  “The Heimlich maneuver. I don’t know if it will work with water, but you wrap your arms around him and push up below his rib cage like this.” Todd simulated the procedure on himself, but Bobby didn’t seem convinced.

  “Just try it. Try something.”

  Bobby nodded, and a couple of lucky thrusts later, water urped out of Jonathan’s mouth. In its place he sucked in a lungful of air, then another and another. He surged through the water toward Bobby.

  “You idiot. I hate you!”

  Bobby stepped backward and held Jonathan at arm’s length. “Stop it. You’re killing me, tough guy.”

  Jonathan’s arms flailed wildly, unconvincingly. “You are such an idiot! You think because you’re strong that no one can hurt you?”

  “At the very least I know you can’t.”

  Jonathan’s attack subsided and finally stopped. He looked up at Todd and then back at Bobby.

  “Don’t ever do that again, Bobby. What if I had drowned?”

  “What if, what if, what if. Get a sense of humor already.”

  “Everything is such a big joke to you. One of these days you’ll do something really stupid and it won’t seem so funny then.”

  “Whatever, tough guy. This is Todd. He just moved in down the street.”

  Jonathan’s smile seemed forced as he turned to Todd. “I’m Jonathan. Nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.”

  “Where’d you move here from?”

  “We used to live over by Weeks Park.”

  “Oh, I thought he meant from out of town,” Jonathan said. “Why’d you move to Tanglewood?”

  Todd shrugged, pretending there was no particular reason. “My parents liked the area. I guess this is the place to live these days.”

  “Best neighborhood in Wichita Falls,” Bobby bragged. “So what do you like to do? You play sports?”

  “Not in a while. I like football and basketball, though.”

  “You any good?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you don’t know,” Bobby said, “then you’re not any good. My dad always says, ‘No one will believe your greatness until you do.’”

  “Bobby’s the quarterback for the junior high varsity team,” Jonathan added. “The Old High coaches are already scouting him.”

  As starved as he was for interaction with other kids, Todd was already tired of these two. Jonathan pretended to have no patience for Bobby’s brainless antics but also seemed to idolize the guy. Bobby himself appeared to be a simple jock cliché. The whole scene couldn’t have been more predictable, except for one important detail—Todd’s ability to assess the situation. He felt oddly in control here, like he’d brought a gun to a knife fight. His parents worried he might still have the mind of a nine-year-old, but inside Todd felt more like nineteen. And from that standpoint, the only interesting thing about talking to these kids was to have a little fun with them.

  He looked at Bobby. “The high school coaches are already after you, eh? You must be a superstar.”

  Bobby grinned stupidly. It seemed like he was about to say something and then stopped himself.

  “So what else do you like to do?” Jonathan asked. “Were there a lot of kids in your old neighborhood?”

  “There were a few. These two brothers had a pool, so I hung out at their house most of the time. Sort of like you guys.”

  “Did you have a club?”

  “Was I in one? No.”

  “We have one,” Jonathan said proudly. “It’s called ‘The Dragons.’ We have four members. Bobby is the president.”

  “I could have guessed.”

  “What does that mean?” Bobby asked.

  “Just an observation.”

  “An observation of what?”

  “I just can’t see you allowing anyone else to b
e president of your club.”

  Bobby looked at Jonathan and then back at Todd. “We took a vote. I won. I don’t know what you’re trying to say, buddy, but I think your mouth is about to get you into trouble.”

  “Come on, Bobby,” Jonathan interjected. “This isn’t how you make friends.”

  “I don’t think this guy wants to be friends,” Bobby growled. “He sounds like he wants to start some shit.”

  “I’m not the one who held my own friend under water until he choked,” Todd said.

  “I was horsing around. Jonathan is my buddy.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’re new around here, man,” Bobby continued. He waded to Todd’s side of the pool and climbed out. “You don’t know how we do things, so I don’t think you ought to judge us.”

  “Maybe I should leave, then, since the autocracy around here doesn’t like to be questioned.”

  Bobby stepped forward until only a few feet separated the two of them. “Maybe you better, smart ass.”