He jumped out of bed, grabbed his black marker, went over to his wall calendar, and crossed off the day. “Only twenty days left of school,” he said to himself. He walked to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and took a shower. With a towel wrapped around his thin body, he went back to his room. His mother had laid out his clothes—brown chinos, a light-blue button-down oxford shirt, and a pair of brown socks. He dressed and went downstairs to the kitchen.
On the counter sat a bowl of Cocoa Krispies and a brown paper bag. He opened the refrigerator, took out the half gallon of milk, and poured some of it over his cereal. He left the carton on the counter and ate his breakfast; he disliked it when his cereal became soggy.
“Paolo?”
“Yes, Mom?”
“Don’t forget you have to clean up your room today after school,” Lynn said as she climbed the stairs from the utility room to the kitchen. Dressed in a blue bathrobe, she walked over to the counter, took the carton of milk, and placed it back in the refrigerator.
“I won’t, Mom.”
“I packed your lunch—Genoa salami and provolone cheese.”
“Did you pack any Yodels?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
She patted her son on the head, kissed him on the forehead, and went upstairs to get dressed. “Don’t be late for the bus.”
“I won’t. Do I need a jacket today?”
“No, it’s warm outside.”
“Okay.”
Paolo finished his breakfast, rinsed the cereal bowl, and placed it in the dishwasher. He wiped his mouth with his hands, grabbed the brown paper bag, jumped down the three steps to the foyer floor, and ran out of the house. He got to the end of the driveway, turned, and looked back to make sure he’d shut the front door. He glanced at his Timex and jogged to catch the school bus. He arrived at the corner at the same time as his friend, Bill Conti.
“Hey, Paolo.”
“Hey, Bill.” Bill was an inch taller than Paolo and a little chunky around the stomach. He sported a Beatles-style haircut. His dark brown eyes hid an inner intensity of reckless abandonment. Bill was always ready to take the dare before anyone else. He loved the adrenaline kick; his heart raced with the sensation of indestructibility.
Paolo, the conservative, always weighed his options; he often refused to take risks. Bill always stuck by Paolo’s side and defended him vigorously. The two were best friends; both liked the New York Yankees, the New York Giants, and Wilt Chamberlain. And, of course, they liked pretty girls. The two partners in crime—nicknamed by Paolo’s father—did everything together.
Intellectually Paolo held the edge, physically Bill; they defended each other and neither one would betray the other.
The two boys waited patiently at the bus stop. “Hey, we’re going to the sandpits today, are you gonna come?” Bill said.
“Sure, I have to clean up my room first. Who’s going?”
“Tony, Steve, Vinnie, and Mark.”
“Neat.”
The thirty-five-seat yellow bus screeched to a halt. The door swung open and gobbled the two boys as they climbed the short set of stairs. They walked down the aisle to their favorite spot at the back of the bus.
“Hello, Paolo.”
“Hi, Lisa.” He blushed.
“Hello, Paolo,” Bill said in a high-pitched voice as he puckered his lips and formed a kiss.
“Shut up, jerk,” Paolo said as he pushed his friend into the green padded seat.
The boys talked about the previous night’s Yankees win as the bus pulled up to the entrance of the school.
“I’ll see you at recess,” Paolo said.
“See ya later.”
They went their separate ways to their classrooms on the third floor.
Recess was every morning at ten-thirty. Today there was a kickball game between the fourth- and fifth-grade boys. The girls mingled about and sat on swings, chatting away. Lisa and her friends, Rosalie and Maryann, watched the boys.
The school bell rang, ending recess. The fifth-graders, victorious, gave a yell and patted each other on the back. The students filed in a single line toward their classrooms. Paolo trailed behind.
“Paolo, Paolo,” Mrs. Sullivan shouted. “Are you coming with us?”
“What, what? Ah yeah, I mean yes, Mrs. Sullivan.” Paolo trotted up to the line.
Mrs. Sullivan walked to the young student, “Paolo, are you alright? You look a little pale. Are you warm?” She touched his forehead. “You don’t have a fever, but maybe you should go to the nurse.”
“No, Mrs. Sullivan, I’m okay, really I’m okay.”
“Alright, let’s get back to class.”
As he walked back to the classroom, Paolo tried to erase the daydream. The distraught faces of the parents, the hands sticking up out of the dark sand like dead sticks in a garden, the dirt in the open and lifeless eyes of his friends.
On the ride home, Paolo sat quietly next to Bill and looked out the window. The bus made its stops. Lisa stood in the aisle and turned around, “See you tomorrow, Paolo.”
“Bye, Lisa,” he said, without moving his head.
“Paolo, I think she likes you,” Bill said. “Paolo and Lisa sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
Paolo looked into Bill’s eyes. It was the last time Bill ever made fun of his friend. “I’m only kidding.”
“I know. Scared you, though, didn’t I?” Paolo said. The two boys laughed.
As the bus approached their street corner, the boys stood and walked down the aisle. The clamshell doors opened, and they jumped the three steps to the sidewalk. As they were about to go their separate ways, Paolo said, “I don’t think we should go to the pits today.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Paolo paused, his head hung down. “I think something bad is going to happen.”
“Something bad? You’re crazy.”
Paolo continued to look down at the sidewalk and said, “I don’t think I’m going.”
“You a girl or somethin’?”
“No,” he replied curtly.
“Yes, you are, you’re a sissy,” Bill punched Paolo in the arm.
Paolo gazed at Bill, their eyes met. “Stop looking at me like that—it gives me the creeps.”
Paolo continued to hold the gaze. “I’m not going,” Paolo’s voice was stern.
“Sissy.”
“Am not.”
Bill, angry, said, “Yes, you are, you’re afraid.” He walked away.
“Am not, you jerk. I’ll be there after I clean up my room,” Paolo yelled.
CHAPTER 4
PAOLO OPENED THE SCREEN door to his house and announced, “Hi, Mom. I’m home.”
“Hi, Paolo, how was school today?” Lynn walked out of the kitchen. She wore a violet flower-patterned apron.
“It was okay. What are you cooking?”
“Your favorite.”
“Raviolis? Are they homemade?” His eyes brightened.
“Yes, of course.”
“Jewel,” he replied.
“Jewel? What does that mean?”
“Boy, you’re getting old, Mom.”
“Well, what does it mean, this word ‘jewel’?”
“Neat, cool, nice.”
“I see. Well, why don’t you get your jewel fanny upstairs and clean your room and I will get you a snack.”
“Jewel, Mom, jewel.” Paolo ran upstairs. Lynn watched her son, shook her head, and walked back into the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, Paolo flew down the stairs. “Paolo, your snack is ready.” He stopped in the kitchen doorway. Lynn looked up from the stuffed pasta, her hands covered in flour.
“Paolo, what’s wrong? You’re so pale.”
“I have to go, Mom. Bill is in trouble.”
“What do you mean, Bill is in trouble? You stay right here.” By the time Lynn reached for a towel and wiped the flour from her hands, Paolo was out the front door.
Tears filled his eyes as
he raced his bike down the street. The playing cards attached to the forks of the wheel clacked against the spokes as he stood, pedaling ferociously toward the sandpits. As he approached the center of town, he heard the sirens. Dread overcame him, and then a wave of deep sadness. As he reached Elm and Broadway, an ambulance sped around the corner toward the dirt playground. Stunned, he turned around and went home.
The sandpits behind the high school were a common place for the boys to ride their bikes. They would race their two-wheeled vehicles in and around the mountains of dark sand as if they were professional car drivers. On occasion, the friends would leave their bikes and climb the slippery slopes to the tops of the hills.
The company that owned the eight-acre parcel surrounded the property with a six-foot-high wire fence. Signs stating “No Admittance” hung on the steel barrier. Over the years, the boys found ways to enter the prohibited area, and kept their playground a secret from their parents.
Paolo opened the screen door to his home. His mother stormed out of the kitchen, her voice angry. “Paolo DeLaurentis, Jesus, Mary and Joseph, where on earth did…?” She suddenly became quiet. Paolo sat at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, sobbing and gasping for breath. “Bill, Bill is dead.” He fell into his mother’s arms. Lynn cradled his head against her chest. He sobbed, “He’s dead. Bill is dead.”
“What happened?”
The screen door opened and Tony walked in. “What’s going on?” The phone rang. Paolo pushed away from his mother and turned to his father, still sobbing. “Bill’s dead.”
“What?” Tony looked at his wife; she shrugged and ran off to answer the ringing nuisance.
Tony knelt near Paolo. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were supposed to go to the sandpits. I had a daydream—I saw the sand and the dead bodies of my friends. I called Bill’s name.”
Lynn rushed back to the foyer. “That was Joyce, Bill’s mother. There was an accident at the sandpits. She called to see if Paolo was alright.”
“See Dad, they’re, they’re all dead,” the small fifth-grader sobbed uncontrollably.
His mother knelt beside him, her voice soothing, “Paolo, Bill is alive, he didn’t die. Bill is okay.”
“He is?”
“Yes, he is fine, a little scratched up but fine.”
“What about Tony and Steve?”
She looked at her husband. Tears welled in her eyes. “They took Tony and Steve to the hospital.”
“Vinnie and Mark are dead?” Paolo asked through his tears.
“Yes. I’m sorry, honey, Vinnie and Mark went to heaven.”
“Oh,” the child cried. “Can I go see Bill?”
“Sure, I’ll call his mother after dinner. Okay?”
“Okay, I think I wanna lie down.” He turned around, “Mom, Dad?”
“Yes, Paolo?”
“Who am I?”
“You are Paolo DeLaurentis, our son.”
“Thanks, Pops.”
“Go lie down, I’ll call you when supper is ready.” Paolo walked up the stairs to his bedroom. Lying down, he fell asleep.
That night, Lynn and Tony tried to wake their youngest son for supper, but Paolo, oblivious, slept soundly. Later on that evening, they received a phone call from Bill’s father. He wanted to say thank you to Paolo for saving his son’s life. He went on to say if it weren’t for Paolo’s yell for Bill to move, his son would have died in the landslide. Lynn accepted the thank you. Tony didn’t tell her that Paolo hadn’t been there.
CHAPTER 5
“HEY.”
“Hey. Wanna go outside?”
“Sure.”
It was the first time the two boys had been alone together since the accident. Their parents watched as they trotted silently toward the brook by the two willow trees. The green grass was interspersed with bright yellow dandelions. Paolo and Bill approached the Mill River and sat on a large rock overlooking the slow-moving stream. The water rustled over twigs and stones. A dove cooed in the distance.
Bill’s hands were still swollen and bruised from trying to dig out Vinnie and Mark after the landslide, the two buried under ten feet of sand.
“Why didn’t you help us dig out Vin and Mark?” Bill waved his swollen hands in the air.
“I wasn’t there.”
“Yes, you were. You yelled at me to get out of the way! You saved my life, and Tony’s and Steve’s.”
Paolo gazed intently into Bill’s eyes. “I had a daydream after recess. I saw Vinnie and Mark’s mom crying. I had a bad feeling about the sandpits. That’s why I didn’t want us to go. Then when I got home, I was cleaning my room, and I had another daydream. I saw the guard chasing you guys, and you were hiding behind the hill. Vinnie and Mark climbed up the hill, you were at the bottom with Tony and Steve. I saw the sand slide on top of Vinnie, and I yelled for you to get out of the way. Then I snapped out of it and ran downstairs and got on my bike. When I got to the corner, I saw the ambulance going to the pits. I turned around and went home. I thought you were dead.”
“So it’s true you weren’t there. Dad said that when he got there, he didn’t see you, so I thought you ran away.” Bill’s father, Jack, was a firefighter and had been the first person on the scene. “I guess I should’ve listened to you and not gone.”
The two boys sat silently. They didn’t hear their fathers approach.
“Well, you two partners in crime, what are you doing?”
“Just talking, Dad,” Paolo looked at his father and smiled.
“You guys want some lunch?” asked Jack.
“Sure, Dad. How about McDonald’s? Come on, Pard.”
“Pard?”
“Yeah, partners. Thanks, Pard, for saving my life.” The two boys jumped off the rock.
“McDonald’s it is,” Jack said, “and after we eat, we’ll go see Tony and Steve.”
“Jewel, Dad.”
“Yeah, jewel, Mr. Conti.” The two boys walked ahead of their fathers, Bill’s arm around Paolo’s shoulder, and Paolo’s arm around Bill’s.
CHAPTER 6
WHEN PAOLO WAS in eighth grade, his clairvoyance and empathic sense became stronger. Nearly five years had passed since the high fever. Lynn first began to question her youngest son’s normalcy when the phone rang. “Mom, it’s Aunt Lenore,” Paolo would tell her before she could answer it. “Mom, Uncle Johnny is calling.” Lynn tried to discuss it with Tony, but Tony already knew; he kept the secret to himself.
The straw that broke the camel’s back was Monday, June 3, 1968. Paolo was eating his Cocoa Krispies and reading The Journal Courier, the local morning newspaper, before he went off to school.
“Anything interesting in the paper?”
“No, Mom, just the normal political stuff about Kennedy.”
“Do you think Bobby Kennedy will be our next president?”
Paolo gazed off into the distance.
“Paolo, are you there?” Lynn waved her hands before his eyes.
“Yes, I’m here, Mom.”
“So, do you think he will win?”
With no emotion, Paolo said, “Bobby Kennedy will be assassinated, and Nixon will be our next president.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say, Mr. DeLaurentis.”
Paolo shrugged his shoulders and said, “Yeah. Sorry, Mom.”
Two days later, Kennedy was assassinated. Lynn became frightened. Paolo was not like his brothers or his peers. Lynn needed to know there was nothing physically or psychologically wrong with him. She told her husband of the incident, and he agreed to have Paolo examined.
The following day Lynn called Uncle Doc, who referred her to a neurologist. Unbeknownst to them, the doctor they would see was involved with a government study on extrasensory perception.
“Mom, why do I have to see this Dr. Payne? I’m fine.”
“Because your father and I want you to.”
“Ugh, but Mom.”
“No buts, you’re going. And who is Dr. Payne? We are seeing Dr. Piccol
o.”
They arrived at the medical building and were ushered into a stark green room with white cabinets, a small sink, and a window that overlooked Howard Avenue. A blood pressure cuff hung on the wall and a round stool with wheels stood in the corner. Paolo jumped on the examination table, crunching the white paper beneath him.
“I really don’t want to be here, Ma.”
“Paolo, stop it.”
The door opened. “Mrs. DeLaurentis?”
“Yes.” She stood to meet the doctor.
“Please don’t get up. My name is Dr. Payne.” His voice sounded nasal.
Paolo looked at his mother and mouthed the words, “Told you so.”
The five-foot-eight, broad-shouldered man wore a long white medical jacket over a white button-down Oxford shirt, black pants, and black shoes. His hair was thinning. A stethoscope hung around his neck.
“You must be Paolo?”
“Yes, I am.” An uneasy feeling came over Paolo. “Are you a Russian?”
“Paolo, that is none of your business,” Lynn jumped in.
“No, I’m not a Russian. I’m American.” The doctor laughed.
Paolo stared at the young physician. Their eyes met, and Dr. Payne turned his head.
“Mrs. DeLaurentis, I see from Dr. Esposito’s notes that you are concerned about your son’s…”
“Mom thinks I’m a wacko because I know things.”
“Paolo DeLaurentis!”
“Well, it’s true, Mom.”
“Paolo, why don’t you tell me what you know?”
Lynn answered for him, “He told me when Bobby Kennedy was going to be assassinated, and he can also tell me who is calling on the phone before I answer it.”
Dr. Payne’s eyebrows rose. “Is that true, Paolo, or are you just a good guesser?”
“My mother doesn’t lie.”
“Paolo, answer Dr. Payne.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“Yes it’s true, Dr. Payne.” Paolo rolled his eyes.
There was a knock on the examining room door. Paolo said, “That’s Dr. Piccolo.”
“Come in.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Payne, I didn’t realize you were seeing my patient.”
Messenger From God (The Last Eulogy Series Book 1) Page 2