by Lee Thompson
“He’s not hurting anyone.”
“Not yet,” she said. “He’s probably scheming.”
“Scheming?”
“Planning a crime, casing a house,” her mom said. “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I’m not tired.”
She thought, And I want to see if he sits there all night.
Her mom grunted. “Well, I’m hitting the sack. Don’t you stay up late or your grades will suffer.”
But they wouldn’t. Her grades never suffered. Her mother knew that which is why she let Nina do just about anything she wanted as long as it didn’t put her physically in harm’s way or get her knocked up. They weren’t exceptionally close—her mother worked a lot, and Nina preferred time to herself—but she respected her mother because her mother had enough courtesy to offer Nina the benefit of the doubt when it came to the level of her common sense.
After her mom disappeared deeper into their home and the shower drowned out all the quiet groans of the house, she moved closer to the window, crossing slabs of moonlight on the polished hardwood floor. The gazebo was too far away and too trapped in shadow for her to see if Jacob had eaten the two sandwiches she’d left him. She hoped he had, or would, but she couldn’t be sure. Later, after she went to her bedroom and lay down, she stared at the dark ceiling and listened to Rick try to coerce her mom into having sex.
She blushed for listening to Rick’s entreaties, which sounded so lame and funny.
Eventually she heard the slap of flesh on flesh though, and she giggled, and then buried her head beneath her pillow.
Wednesday
The next morning, with the sky lightening from pale gray to a bruised pinkish-blue in the east, Jacob wasn’t sitting on the gazebo steps any longer. For a second Nina experienced a terrible sense of loss until she noticed him stationed like a quiet and unmovable sentinel halfway to the jungle gym and sandboxes. There were no children playing there that early in the day, but it still made her sense of loss transform into a slight apprehension and she didn’t know why.
Nina swallowed, feeling unsteady, as if her usual snap judgments about people were off. Her mom slept in late since she worked second shift but Rick was up early to mow lawns. He carried his coffee into the living room. He was burly, and hair seemed to cover his entire body, even growing up around his small, dark eyes despite how often he shaved. It was gross, Nina thought, and she felt bad for thinking so at times, knowing that he couldn’t help it.
“Is that the same guy your mother was talking about?”
“His name’s Jacob,” she said.
“What’s he doing?”
“I don’t know. Just sitting there.”
“It’s strange.”
Nina nodded. She didn’t mention that it was strange that he was moving toward where all the children played. She didn’t want to be like so many other people who took the smallest things and blew them out of proportion. As practical as her mother usually was, she sometimes did that. And she knew many kids at school who did that. And there were a couple of dozen adults who weren’t any better at restraining their imaginations.
Sometimes she thought that people craved drama more than anything else, and it was understandable since real life could be so boring. She thought it was why they had affairs and cheated on their taxes and professed their love of God but went and acted selfishly once they left the sanctuary.
Rick said, “Why were you talking to him?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you approach him?” he said, then sipped his coffee, looking from her to the window. “Your mom doesn’t like you talking to strangers, you know that.”
“He’s harmless,” she said. “And I can talk to strangers. I’m thirteen, not five.”
“If he’s harmless then why do you look scared?”
Something clicked in her throat. She ran a hand over her blouse and tried to remember to breathe, to remember what it felt like to imagine herself as someone who could save this man who seemed to have his soul wrapped in barb wire.
“I’m not scared,” she said. “I’m just thinking about something else.”
“Right,” he said, then smiled. “Stay away from him, all right?”
He carried his coffee back to his bedroom and closed the door.
After Nina went to her room and dressed she snuck to the entryway and put on her shoes and a light jacket. Then she paused, a hand on the doorknob, and figured it was better to wait for Rick to leave before she approached Jacob again. Only there wasn’t time for her to do so because shortly after he left for work she would have to head to school. She bit her lip, weighed her options—which didn’t take long since more than anything she thought of what it had been like to look into Jacob’s eyes—and she opened the door. She walked across the street to the gazebo. The sandwiches were gone. She smiled to herself. It felt good. Her friends would have thought her crazy, and maybe she was a little. Her dad had been pretty crazy. He’d made lots of choices that nobody else approved of. There was a strength in that, she thought, even if it did make a person kind of an asshole.
The day was breaking, the sky pink and gray and purple and beautiful. The morning’s crisp air felt good entering her lungs. Jacob had his back to her, facing the deserted playground. She didn’t want to approach him when he had just told her yesterday that he only wanted to be left alone, but she was curious about his staying in the park all night, and curious why he had moved from the gazebo out into the middle of the lawn.
She took a deep breath and let it loose and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t any type of investigator, but trying to be one, at home, at school, finding little clues in what people said and what they didn’t say, all thrilled her. She hadn’t ever told anybody how much it thrilled her because she thought it might be viewed as unhealthy and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to a therapist again. She didn’t even know the whys of her own motivations, and didn’t want to. But when it came to the whys of others, it was a natural, exhilarating moment for her to notice something out of the ordinary.
So she crossed the turf still slightly damp with morning dew and stopped next to where he sat, his arms braced against his knees. She said, “You know some people probably won’t like you sitting there watching the playground once there are kids here.”
“So what?”
“I’m just trying to warn you,” she said, laughing, “you don’t have to be a dick.”
“You’re okay. It’s good you can laugh. I think you might be an exceptionally brave kid, too. Maybe a little crazy. You might creep me out a little.”
That made her feel good too, having a stranger say she was okay, she didn’t know why, just like she didn’t know a lot of things, but what the hell. She didn’t really hear anything else he said. She smiled. “You seem really sad. Has anybody told you that?”
He nodded, still not looking at her. “I am.”
“Why?”
He rubbed his hands together as if a sudden chill overpowered him. He shrugged. “It’s not your problem. It’s not anybody’s problem. Maybe I need time to deal with something. Alone, you know? Maybe I’m not very brave, kid. Maybe my time for this world is short. I keep having bad dreams about storks.”
“Storks?”
“The birds,” he said.
“Are you suicidal?”
He was but he couldn’t tell her what it was like to want to blow your own brains out, or to slice so deeply inside your forearms that no one, no matter how good a paramedic might be, could ever reverse the damage you’ve done to yourself. She was too young to know about such things, he thought. And if he took his own life, he didn’t want anyone else to know he was gone.
“You’re kind of annoying,” he said, hanging his head, the tone of his voice suddenly so soft that she didn’t take offense; not that she hadn’t heard from others that she could be annoying with her questions. Sometimes she even annoyed herself.
He sighed deeply. “What are you doing here?”
“
I don’t know. You just look like you need someone to talk to…”
“I’m okay. Is there something else you need?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life.”
“Yeah? That’s very mature of you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “I haven’t decided yet. How did you know what you wanted for a career? Did it just come to you in a dream? What if you spend years doing something and then find out that you want to do something else? Isn’t all that time wasted then?”
“I don’t have any answers for you, kid. Do I look like someone who has it together?”
“Okay,” she said. “I don’t believe you. And whatever you’re going through, you’re not alone, okay? You know where I live if you need anything, right?” She pointed across the street but he wasn’t looking and that made her a little angry. She said, “Look.”
He looked. Then he nodded.
“Thanks,” he said. “You’re all right.”
She smirked. “You too, I guess.”
“Be careful around that guy,” he said.
“Clint?”
“Is that his name? The older boy?”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s not bad he just acts like he is.”
“Just be careful,” Jacob said.
She thought about it a second, remembering how Clint had instantly judged Jacob, and she felt like it hollowed her out. She nodded, said, “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“We say okay a lot.”
“It’s okay,” he said, smiling a little, but she didn’t miss the tears in his eyes, and she couldn’t know then, at that time, how often Santana had told him everything would be okay, how she had bolstered him when he would doubt the security of their jobs, or the health of their unborn baby, or the next ten minutes.
He nodded again. “Go on,” he said, “get out of here.”
Nina laughed. “I’m just across the street.”
“I know,” he said. “Thanks for the kindness. You’re a weird person.”
“I know,” she said. “Take it easy.”
Her heart was pounding because he looked so goddamn lost, so in need of help, but she couldn’t help him, even at thirteen she knew that no matter how much somebody else needed you, you couldn’t change a thing in their lives: you could only listen if they spoke, and you could only hold them if they leaned on you.
2
Over time Jacob had learned to lean on Santana in ways that he had never been able to lean on anyone else. At night, as they lay close in bed, her hand toying with the hair on his chest, her chin soft and cool against his collarbone, she let him talk about things that he couldn’t talk to anyone else about (because he figured most people didn’t really care, and most, unless they had experienced it, wouldn’t understand.) He told her of his years of obscurity as he learned his craft painting and how eventually, once he was ready, once he had found what had truly moved him, when he was finally able to brush his own essence onto the canvas, the attention came quickly, and it had been frightening, nothing like he’d thought it would be.
And back then he had been nowhere near the big-time, only growing fond to other artists and piquing the interest of collectors of the macabre and fantastic, for his paintings were always odd mixtures of the real and surreal. But he couldn’t produce them fast enough, and younger painters who still had to find their own path, came to him, asking him the secrets that would propel them toward admiration and stardom, and he, irritated, pushed them all away, partly disgusted that they thought he must have found a secret to achieve anything worthwhile instead of it simply being a result of his pouring his very being into his work, trusting his instincts, and honing his talent.
And Santana, though never having gone through it herself, had stroked his chest and kissed him, and whispered, “Just do what you have to do and don’t worry about anyone else. And remember this,” she cooed, “you’re brilliant and you’re all mine.”
And he was, all of him, all the parts he would never allow the rest of the world to see, like the paintings he had made of her the days after he’d given her the letter, the paintings that he would never sell, let alone allow anyone to view, because they were just for the two of them.
For months he waited for her to show her own creative talents, expecting that she must have some, but none manifested themselves, and he thought he would be disappointed, but he wasn’t because as he kept watching and listening he learned that her true skills were in how she made other people feel, how she lifted their burdens, and put smiles on their faces. And he thought—when he was alone in the shower, or sitting by himself in the park while she was working, and sometimes, even while he was painting—that her gift was far greater than his.
*****
Wednesday, while at school, Nina thought about Jacob sitting alone in the park, and she wanted to cry for him for some reason and her friends noticed and teased her. Clint had noticed too and she could tell that he was still mad about her running him off over a stranger, but she didn’t care, or pretended she didn’t. Jacob needed someone, she knew that, and although she could get as lost in her own head as easily as anyone else, every now and then it was nice to do kindness to a stranger.
Her heart hurt for Clint, too, despite him avoiding her all day; it hurt for how hard he tried to protect himself from other people by pretending to be something that he wasn’t. But if she had been realistic that morning she would have realized that she barely knew him, and she would have questioned if the image he showed others was different, but driven by the same impetus, that drove him to treat her in a certain manner.
On her way home from school that afternoon the weather was as nice as yesterday. She liked it, autumn, the excitement of time passing and her learning in a few years how to drive, and a couple years after that attending college like her older sister was now, caught among the others working toward the life they wanted, learning to love and be loved, thinking about their future careers and the children to whom they would give what their own parents had never given them.
As she walked, she carried her backpack draped over one shoulder, and she watched old people on their stoops and young kids on scooters playing in the streets. It was quiet here.
Here, she thought, smiling. It’s a good place.
Some people ignored her and some waved as she passed. Either way, she felt in a bit of a daze, as if her balance had grown funky since meeting Jacob. She knew that in time it would right itself, that there was very little she could do other than help him, and others, in the largest way they’d allow. But she was exhausted and Nina really just wanted to return home, wash her face, sit on her bed a minute to gather her thoughts, and then speak again with Jacob. At the time she didn’t think about crushing on him at all, nor did she think about him as some type of father figure, or even as an older brother; all she knew was that he was broken and she wanted to fix him.
Yet she didn’t know how one person was supposed to fix another person’s broken heart. There had been little tragedy inside, or even along the perimeter, of her life. The hardest thing she’d experienced was her father choosing to walk out on her, Patricia, and their mother, and all in all, though it hurt to think about sometimes, and other times made her angry with him, she knew that they were all better off with him gone.
Nina let it go the best she could and studied the trees as she walked, only a couple blocks from her home. Soon the leaves would change colors. She loved the crisp morning air and the way the afternoon light was a softer gold, as if it were aged, than the summer sunlight. She loved how only a few blocks away Lee University teemed with kids making a future for themselves, and though her mother wanted her to believe in God, and the county was dry, with more churches—two hundred and three—than any other place she could imagine, she hadn’t yet discovered what she believed other than life was precious and she found beauty in both nature and in what men had built.
She was thinking of all of this when she neared her street, turned on
to it, and looked at the park, almost expecting that Jacob would be gone. But he wasn’t. He was sitting on a bench by the playground, his smudged dress shoes planted in the woodchips, and Clint’s father, Officer Friendly, sat next to him. He was a tall, heavily-muscled cop with dishwater blonde hair cropped close to his head. A half dozen parents lay like litter in the lawn as their children teased and chased each other, their voices loud, only pausing for a second every now and then to steal glances at their parents or the two men who were there without children.
Nina slung her backpack higher on her shoulder and crossed over to them, walking in from an angle, their faces nearly in profile, Officer Friendly so large and solid that he blocked Jacob from view. She was breathing heavily by the time she stopped ten feet away. Friendly was speaking quietly. He turned and looked back at her despite the fact that Nina knew he hadn’t seen her approach. His smile was wide. He gestured for her to move closer. She stepped lightly but felt a leaden weight in her chest, knowing that Clint had sent his father to run off the miscreant. And neither Clint, nor anybody else, would lose any sleep over Jacob’s forced departure.
The pang in her stomach deepened. She abhorred cruelty, and had a difficult time accepting that some people took pleasure in it.
Friendly said, “I was just talking to your friend.”
Nina nodded. “And?”
“Well,” Friendly said, pushing himself up with his big hands smoothing his pants against his thighs, “you know how it is.”
Jacob watched the kids playing on the jungle gym, the monkey bars, the merry-go-round.
Nina nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I know how it is.”
“Don’t forget what I said,” Friendly said to Jacob. He tipped the bill of his cap at Nina, smiled again, his hands about his belt, cinching it up as he walked away. Nina slid down on the bench. She asked, “He run you off?”
“It’s like you said, it doesn’t look good me sitting here around a bunch of kids without having one of my own.”