The Newman Resident

by Charles Swift

  “I don’t think—”

  “It didn’t look like the teacher yelled. What could she have said that scared him so much?”

  “It’s called ‘life,’ Richard,” Carol said. She headed toward the exit where a Newman host was waiting to take them to the superintendent’s office. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, okay?”

  Carol left the auditorium with the host. Richard stood up and walked down the steps to the stage. He looked back, but he was alone. After he climbed up onto the stage, he parted the curtain with his hand but couldn’t see anything through the one-way mirror. Then he put his ear up against the cold wall, thinking he heard something. He wasn’t sure, the sound was too muffled, but it sounded like a child crying.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Hunter opened the door to the superintendent’s office, but only slightly.

  “Are you two sure about this?” he whispered to Richard and Carol. “It’s not too late to keep Christopher with us.”

  Carol was about to reply, but Richard pushed the door open so the superintendent could see them. He didn’t want to give Carol a chance to back out. Hunter introduced them to the superintendent, and everyone sat down.

  “What did you think of the orientation?” Hunter asked.

  Carol spoke quickly. “It was nice to go through it again. It looks like you almost have the funding you need to expand.”

  “We’re getting closer,” Hunter said. “Have most of the key players on board.”

  No one said anything. Richard looked at his watch, his eyes following the second hand.

  “We appreciate your taking the time to meet with us,” Carol said to the superintendent. “I’m sure you’re no less busy than Dr. Newman.”

  The superintendent smiled and scooted his chair back to cross his legs. “He and I work very closely together. He used to introduce himself as the mad scientist, and me as the man who made the experiment a reality.”

  “No one asked me if my son could be the subject of an experiment,” Richard said.

  “Pardon me?” the superintendent said.

  “You have a lot to be proud of,” Carol said. “And the Newman Home is an experiment, in the sense that it’s something that’s never been done before.”

  “Exactly.”

  “In fact,” Hunter said, “I think it’s fair to say it’s no longer an experiment. We’ve arrived at irrefutable scientific conclusions. I wanted to show you both something.” He pointed to a wall. “Brain scan.” A large image of a human brain appeared. “More than any other—”

  “Superintendent,” Richard said, “what’s the next step to taking our son out for the sabbatical? I’m sure he’s waiting for us.”

  “Actually,” the superintendent said, “I’m not entirely enthusiastic about this sabbatical.”

  “No one around here seems to be,” Richard said.

  “That policy is a relic from the early days when parents weren’t accustomed to having their young children enroll in school full-time,” the superintendent said. “We quickly found that even regular visits home made it more difficult for the residents to progress cognitively, but we were not as quick to rewrite the policy. No one has ever requested a sabbatical before, so we simply didn’t think there was an urgency to correct the policy.”

  “I find it difficult to believe no one has ever requested one before.”

  “Three months is a long time for a resident to be out.” The superintendent picked up his ruler. “I don’t know if he will be able to keep up with his peers once he returns. Emotionally and academically. Our first concern must be the welfare of the resident, not the whims of a parent.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you a minute ago with this brain scan,” Hunter said, pointing to the image on the wall. “When a resident is away from the stimuli we offer here, even for a short period of time, there’s a decrease—”

  “Look, maybe you don’t understand what’s going on here,” Richard said to the superintendent, ignoring Hunter. “Our decision has been made. Christopher—‘the resident’—is going to reside with us for a while. We aren’t going to torture him into forgetting everything he’s learned. In fact, we may even teach him something. He’s taking the sabbatical.”

  “Of course, Mr. Carson,” the superintendent said. “I’m merely concerned that you’re dragging the resident into your fantasy world of playing and story writing.”

  “Just give us the papers. It’s time to get our son home where he belongs.”

  “I’m sorry, Superintendent,” Carol said. “Perhaps it would be best for us to simply sign the sabbatical papers and be on our way. We’ve already read the papers and are familiar with their content. I’m afraid when my husband is this determined, there’s not much left to say.”

  The superintendent pulled the papers out of the drawer. “Just to be certain, you both realize that while it takes both signatures to receive the resident for the sabbatical, only one signature is required to return him before the sabbatical is over. This is in keeping with the original contract when you enrolled your resident.”

  Richard and Carol reviewed the papers and signed them. She thanked the superintendent, shaking his hand, then turned to Hunter, who seemed to shake her hand a little too long and nod, just a little.

  After they left the office, Richard could hear the muted sounds of Hunter and the superintendent talking after the door closed. The superintendent’s secretary looked up from her desk and the host, sitting on a sofa nearby, stood up.

  “Thanks for letting me do all the talking,” Carol said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “Anytime.”

  The host led them through the halls until they got to the oak door. Richard and Carol walked into the lobby where he paced while she sat on the couch to wait. Every few minutes he would complain about it taking too long and she would remind him it hadn’t been that long. Finally, the oak door opened and Christopher stepped through. Alone.

  Instead of his uniform, he wore blue jeans and a brown corduroy shirt Richard had bought him during his last visit in the winter. They still looked new, though small for him now. “Newman Home” was embroidered on his safari backpack.

  Christopher looked at his shoes, not moving. He didn’t look up at his parents, and his left hand, dropped to his side, shook.

  Richard kneeled down next to him so their faces could be close. “Hi, Christopher. How are you doing?”

  “Hello, Richard,” Christopher almost whispered, still without looking. “Hello, Carol.”

  “Hello, Christopher,” Carol said. “Are you okay?”

  “Have I done something wrong?” Christopher asked.

  “No, Christopher,” Richard said. “Why do you say that?”

  “Why am I going to your apartment before the break?”

  “You haven’t done anything wrong. We just want you to be home with us. Right, Carol?”

  Carol was looking away, trying to keep her composure. She took a deep breath.

  “It’ll just be for a little while,” she said. “You’ll get to come back before you know it.”

  “Good. I can’t fall behind in my studies.”

  “Don’t worry about your studies for a while, okay?” Richard said, standing up. “Let’s just go home.”

  Richard held out his hand for his son, but the little boy never reached up to hold it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Christopher just stared at the floor as Richard locked the front door to their apartment. On the subway ride home, he had tried to have a conversation, but Carol was in no mood and Christopher would only nod at anything said to him. Carol took the bags of takeout to the kitchen while the other two went to the bedroom down the hall.

  “I think you’ll really like your room, Christopher. I got it all ready for you.”

  “Thank you, Richard.”

  Richard opened the door and turned on the light. The boxes and stacks were gone, and the small room almost looked large with just the bed and dresser. There was s
till nothing on the walls; the Brooklyn Bridge photograph on the dresser of the three of them was the only thing in the room that made it look like something more than a room in a boarding house.

  “How do you like it? There’s a lot more room with the boxes cleared out, isn’t there?”

  “Richard, how long will this visit be?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I need to make my plans,” Christopher said. “And to make my plans, I need to know how long this visit will be.”

  “Didn’t they talk to you about what was going on?” Richard asked.

  “No. One of the hosts got me out of class this morning and took me to my personal area. He made me change into these clothes, took away my safari uniform, and then took me to you. No one told me anything. I’ll get my uniform back, won’t I?”

  Richard sat down on the bed and pulled his son closer to him. “You’re taking the summer sabbatical. That means you will be home with us for three months. This month, next month, and August.”

  Christopher’s eyes opened wide. “Then what?”

  “Then you’ll go back home,” Carol said, standing in the doorway. “And, if you want to go back sooner, just let us know.”

  Richard stared through her. He couldn’t name what he felt, he was afraid to, but it was like when he’d first met his future mother-in-law and sensed that he was being condemned by a one-woman jury. Or on the first day—no, the first entire month—of law school. It wasn’t hatred, or fear, or even anger, though they were all part of what he felt.

  “I’d like to go back home now,” Christopher whispered.

  Richard looked up at Carol. She wouldn’t look at him, and she wouldn’t look at their son. Then it came to him: betrayal. When he’d met his future mother-in-law and when he’d started law school he’d felt Carol was betraying him. And now the feeling had returned.

  “You’ll go back,” Richard said, “if that’s what’s best. Right now, you’re visiting us. You can at least stay a week, like you do at Christmas. Then we can talk about Newman if you want. For now,” Richard said, standing up, “you need to get unpacked.”

  Richard unzipped the safari backpack and took everything out: a pair of underwear, two pairs of socks, and a pad of paper with a pen. Christopher grabbed the paper and pen and sat back on his bed. Richard put the clothes in the drawer and opened the closet. The boxes and files and magazines were stacked so high and tight they left no room for even the small bag. He’d have to move all the stuff to the basement tomorrow.

  He placed the bag under the bed instead. His son held the framed picture of the three of them as though studying a relic discovered at some ancient burial site.

  “Do you need anything before we get dinner ready?” Richard asked.

  Christopher kept looking at the picture. “How am I supposed to keep up with the other residents if I’m gone so long? I won’t know anything when I get back home.”

  Carol shook her head and left. Richard knelt down next to his son.

  “It’s going to be all right,” Richard said. “You’ll remember everything. And you’ll learn a lot with us. You’ll see.”

  Without looking up, Christopher motioned with his finger for Richard to come closer. “Do you promise?” Christopher whispered.

  Richard had put the takeout in serving bowls to make dinner look more special. Each of them picked at the orange chicken and rice like scientists in a lab. Once in a while, someone actually took a bite.

  “How do you like your dinner?” Richard asked.

  “Thank you for preparing it.”

  “I wasn’t sure you liked Chinese food, but you didn’t seem to know what you wanted when I asked.”

  “They never ask us what we want to eat at home,” Christopher said. “We just eat what they give us.”

  “I imagine this is better than what you had to eat at the school, isn’t it?”

  “The school?”

  “Yes, Newman.”

  “No,” Christopher said, “the food back home is actually very good.”

  “Oh.” Richard took a drink and went back to rearranging his food on the plate. “So, they have pretty good food at the school?

  “Yes.”

  Richard smiled, but then quit when he couldn’t figure out what to say next. Chinese? he thought. What a stupid choice to get for a little boy. Hamburgers, tacos—anything would’ve been better. He looked up at his son, but he didn’t look back. Then he looked at his wife, but she was looking down as well. She hadn’t said a word when they were setting the table.

  After dinner, Christopher went to the room while Richard and Carol cleaned up. When they were done, they found him sitting on the bed. He wasn’t looking at the picture or reading or getting undressed. Just sitting.

  “What are you doing?” Richard asked.

  “Thinking.”

  “Oh.” Richard looked at his wife, but she kept her eyes on their son. “Well, I guess it’s time for you to go to sleep,” he said. “It is, isn’t it? I don’t want to make you go to bed too early.”

  “No, it’s time for me to go to sleep.”

  Richard could feel the time pouring over him in some sort of molasses way. “It’s good to have you here,” he said, trying to leave the room. “Good night. Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good night,” Carol finally spoke.

  “Good night, Carol.”

  “Sleep tight,” Richard said as he was closing the door.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What?”

  “What does ‘sleep tight’ mean?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just something my folks used to say to me every night. Haven’t I said it to you during your visits?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure I have.”

  “No. If you had, I would’ve asked you about it before. What does it mean?”

  “It means to enjoy your sleep,” Richard said as he closed the door, hoping to escape any other explanation.

  “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”

  After he closed the door, Richard turned to speak to his wife, but she was already at her office door down the hall. He walked towards her.

  “It’s always a little awkward the first night,” Richard said. “It’ll get better soon.”

  “No, this is different. Before, he knew he’d be back home soon. He doesn’t know what’s happening this time. He’s scared.”

  “You’re making too big a deal—”

  “I’ve got some catching up to do,” she said as she closed her door.

  “So do I,” Richard said.

  He walked back to Christopher’s door, putting his ear up to it. He thought he could hear crying and put his hand to the doorknob, but the sound stopped.

  “Christopher, are you okay?” Richard asked.

  “Richard, I’m asleep.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I’ll be home late tonight,” Carol said from the front door. “Don’t wait up.”

  Richard sat back down at the kitchen table. Christopher stood next to the stove like he was guarding it from thieves, his left hand twitching. Richard wanted to run over to his son and hug him and talk to him and listen to him. He wanted to grab that hand and hold it so tight it couldn’t twitch, or so tight the twitch would leave his son’s body and enter his. But he didn’t want to do the wrong thing, so he just stayed in his chair.

  “Christopher.”

  The boy didn’t move.

  “Christopher. It was an accident. You didn’t mean to spill the milk on her.”

  Christopher turned, his eyes so blank, so empty—it was like the boy wasn’t even in the room. Worse, it was like he wasn’t anywhere else, either. He was nowhere.

  “Christopher, let’s finish breakfast.”

  “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  “You didn’t eat much for dinner last night.”

  “I apologize for not eating enough—”

  “No, don’t say
that. I was just saying you must be hungry.”

  “I’m sorry for saying ‘I apologize’.”

  Christopher walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Richard stood in the kitchen, rubbing his forehead, trying to come up with something, anything. His father always made being a father look so easy, so natural, but he couldn’t make it through the first morning without everyone being upset.

  He found Christopher on the couch and offered to turn on the television for him, but his son wasn’t interested. Richard looked around the room as if there might be some cue card that would tell him what to say. Writing dialogue was hard enough; saying it at times like these was impossible.

  “Richard?”

  “Yes?”

  “I slept tight.”

  “What?”

  Christopher looked up at his father. “I slept tight. Just like you told me to.”

  “’Sleep tight’ isn’t an order.” Christopher looked away again. Richard knelt down near his son. “But I’m glad you slept tight. It’s good to have you home with us.”

  Christopher looked at Richard out of the corner of his eye like he wasn’t sure he believed his father.

  “Well,” Richard said, “one thing I’ve been wanting to do is call Grandma and Grandpa and let them talk to you. They were excited when I told them you’d be home for the summer, and they’d kill me if we didn’t call.”

  Christopher looked shocked.

  “No, I mean they’d be disappointed.”

  Richard picked up the phone. The phone rang only once when Richard’s mother picked it up.

  “This had better be Richard Carson, or I’m throwing this phone in the fireplace,” she said.

  “You don’t have a fire going in June, do you?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t need a fire, your father and I have been burning up wondering if you’d remember to call us. Now, let me talk to that grandson of mine.”

  “Hey, I just barely got on the line, don’t—”

  “I can talk to you forever, but I’ve only got the summer with that little boy. Put him on!”