That's Not a Feeling

by Dan Josefson

  “Well, one day, a young child approached the turtle Aliaphone. He had golden curls, and he seemed curious and friendly. Slowly, as the boy showed himself to be harmless, Aliaphone began to trust him. She came out of her shell and played with the child. But of course this was only another of Zeus’s disguises, his most ingenious, and he took his chance, in the form of this infant, to have his way with Aliaphone.” In the silence Aubrey stepped slowly to the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “My point,” Aubrey said, “is that inside each of your children is a god.” He paused, looking each of the new parents in the eye. “That’s the truth. But it means we must be more vigilant, not less! So go out there, and enjoy the day with your children, and don’t you dare let them intimidate you.” Slowly the parents shook themselves loose from his spell and stood. The man who had laughed at Aubrey’s story clapped his hands and smiled at the woman sitting beside him, who applauded briefly as well. Two Regular Kids pulled the doors all the way open, and Aubrey led the parents out to the refreshments.

  It was the first time I’d seen my parents in about three months. I was furious and relieved. They were awkward, at once energized by Aubrey’s talk and cautious toward me. My dad smiled and slapped me on the back. I gave my mother a hug. I didn’t yet know she had been burned, but parts of her skin were pink and waxen, and there was a tightness to her face that let me know something was very wrong. I had planned to stay angry at them, to refuse to talk at all, but seeing them, I knew I wouldn’t.

  When it was our turn to thank Aubrey, my father told him it had been a great speech. “Really gave me food for thought,” he said. He thanked Aubrey for looking after me and said he could tell just by looking that I was doing better.

  “Is that true, Benjamin? Are you doing better?” Aubrey asked. It was the first time he’d spoken to me since my intake.

  “Um, I don’t really know.”

  “Well, I-don’t-know is probably a good place for you to be right now. Are you planning to take your parents somewhere off campus?”

  “I, I’m in New Boys—I didn’t think we were allowed to leave campus.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “I’d forgotten Benjamin switched dorms. Something about an alarm clock.” Aubrey turned to Mrs. Pfaff, who was standing beside us. “Mrs. Pfaff,” he said, “have you met the Greihls?”

  She was standing a few feet away, watching the other new students and their parents leaving the Great Hall. “No,” she said, startled, “I don’t believe I have.”

  “I’m sure you’re here to speak with me about Laurel,” Aubrey said.

  “Actually, I am,” Mrs. Pfaff said, and paused.

  “We don’t have any need for secrets here. I’m sure the Greihls would benefit from hearing the concerns of a parent who’s been involved with the school for some time. Mrs. Pfaff’s daughter Laurel,” Aubrey explained to my parents, “has been restricted to her room.”

  “For two weeks,” Mrs. Pfaff added. “If we’re going to be frank, I’ve got to tell you, I’m a bit confused and not at all happy to hear what’s been done with her.”

  “And why not, may I ask?”

  “Because it’s a waste of her time, and I don’t see how sitting in a room trying to remember a conversation about writing letters—”

  “Mrs. Pfaff, you’re going to be unhappy with me, but I’ve got to tell you something. This is not about Laurel. Laurel is a liar, and a pretty good one, which is why she’s here and not at home. It would make sense for Laurel to be upset about being roomed, and I imagine she is, but there’s no reason as far as I can see for you to be upset. You’re not restricted to your room.” He paused. “Why do you think you’re letting this make you so unhappy?”

  “Mr.—”

  “Please—Aubrey.” Only a few parents sat on the couches, and the Great Hall felt enormous. I remembered my first day, running in there from the Reception Room, shouting for my parents. Now they were here, right in front of me, and we were politely listening to someone else’s problems.

  “I’m upset, Aubrey, because she’s my daughter, and she doesn’t know what to do about getting out of her room. And I’m not paying tuition for—”

  “Mrs. Pfaff, I think it’s much simpler than that. You’re upset because you’re too closely connected to Laurel, which isn’t good for either of you. You’re insulted that your daughter is being treated like everyone else because you feel that you’re special and that your daughter must be special, too. And of course you’re right. But neither of you is more special than anyone else.”

  “The situation you’ve put her in is abusive and totally unreasonable. She has to wait for her dorm parent to bring her meals, and if they forget she doesn’t get any. She told me this has happened several times.”

  “Mrs. Pfaff,” Aubrey said, taking her hand. He waited a moment and raised his thick eyebrows.

  “Michelle,” she said.

  “Michelle. If you believed for even one second a word of what you just said, you would have taken Laurel right out of the Mansion the moment you were told she’d been roomed. Because you’re a good mother, and if you believed that Laurel was being abused or starved, you wouldn’t have left her upstairs and come down to talk to me about it. You would have gotten her the hell out of here as fast as you could. Am I right about that?”

  Michelle stared at him. His eyes were dark, and he seemed entirely calm.

  “But you didn’t take her home. You left her in her room, because you know that’s where she needs to be right now. You’re embarrassed that that’s what she needs when you see all these other children allowed to roam around campus with their families. But that’s what Laurel decided. I’m sorry she did that to you, but she’s the one you should be angry with, not me.” Aubrey blinked. “But you came here to have a nice day,” he continued. “That’s a lovely pin, by the way. Is it coral?”

  Michelle looked down at her pin. “Yes,” she said, but she was shaking her head. “What you have to realize—”

  “I don’t need to realize anything,” Aubrey said. He straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket. “You need to take Laurel home. If you know better than we do what she needs, then every moment she spends here is doing her a disservice. Not to mention the past four years. You know where she is. Her things are already in bags.”

  She wasn’t going to take Laurel home, I realized, and only upon understanding this did I sense how much I’d been hoping she would. Mrs. Pfaff suddenly seemed ugly to me, an object of pity. She wasn’t going to take Laurel home because she didn’t want to.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Michelle said. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I’m just trying to understand—”

  “It seems to me that understanding is exactly what you’re trying very hard not to do. I’m finished talking about this. Shall I tell, um … Laurel’s dorm parent to get her things together?”

  “No.”

  “Good. You’re here now, and there’s no reason to let a beautiful day go to waste. If Laurel’s trying to make sure that no one can be happy unless she is, then the best thing you can do for her is to enjoy yourself without her. Then maybe next Parents’ Sunday she’ll take care of herself so that she can be with you. The way Benjamin here is set to enjoy the day with his parents. Wouldn’t it be nice to know that that was something she worked for, rather than something she made you work for?”

  Michelle sighed, defeated, and tucked a damp lock of hair behind her ear. I was thrilled to find myself in such close proximity to Aubrey’s philosophy. Glinting obscurely somewhere within what he’d said was a key to the secret that kept me there.

  “You know what I think you’d enjoy? You’re heading down to the New Boys’ picnic, aren’t you?” Aubrey asked my parents. They looked at me and I nodded. Aubrey called over to the parents sitting on the couch, “Cynthia, are you planning to go to the New Boys’ picnic, too?”

  A woman with short, curly hair twisted her head around and stood up. “Sure am,
” she said.

  “I’d like you all to take Michelle here with you,” he said, leading her by the arm toward Cynthia. “Her daughter got herself roomed for Parents’ Sunday, and this lovely lady has no place to go.”

  “Oh, dear. I am sorry. These kids get themselves turned around every which way, they don’t know what they’re doing. My Ross was doing great in Regular Kids for four months before he got sent down to New Boys. I’m sure she didn’t really mean to do this to you.”

  “Don’t apologize for her, Cynthia,” Aubrey said. “You and Mr. and Mrs. Greihl just take care of Michelle. And bring her back here for the cocktail party this evening. Your job is to teach your new friend to enjoy herself by the end of the night.”

  “Aye-aye, captain,” Cynthia said. She picked up her purse and put on her jacket and led Michelle and the rest of us through the Great Hall and outside, explaining about the picnic as she went. “Now what you have to understand is that these boys are always on restriction. If it isn’t one thing it’s another, so instead of waiting until we got to campus to find out if maybe, by some miracle, they got off restriction, we just accepted that the boys were going to have to stay within fifty feet of the dorm.” To our right a marshy field was crowded with weeds and cattails. An assortment of bird feeders hung from a wooden arch. “So us gals and guys put our heads together and decided we’d save time if we each brought some food and had ourselves a potluck right in the Cottage. This is three years ago, when Ross was in New Boys for the first of many, many times.”

  Cynthia stopped next to a neat old-model Camry and began rooting through her purse for the keys. She wore a red jacket two sizes too big. Cynthia opened the door and pulled out a large bowl covered with tinfoil.

  “Potato salad,” she said. “And what did you do to get sent to this fine establishment, young man?”

  “You’d have to ask them,” I told her, nodding toward my parents.

  Cynthia laughed and said to my parents, “I really should know by now: if you want a straight answer, ask a parent; if you want denial and attitude, ask a New Boy.”

  When we got to the Cottage there was a gray-haired man outside placing meat on a portable grill. A woman sat on the open tailgate of a station wagon beside him. They both wore shorts and flip-flops. “Ed! Naoko!” Cynthia called, and ran over to hug them, holding the bowl of potato salad in front of her. She placed it on the tailgate, and when we caught up, Cynthia was saying, “I almost didn’t recognize you!” as Naoko stood and struck a pose, one hand on a jutting hip, the other arm straight up, bent at the wrist.

  “She lost ninety-three pounds,” Ed said proudly. Michelle, my parents, and I were introduced to William’s parents, Ed and Naoko Kay, and we all took turns shaking hands.

  “He lost forty pounds, too,” Naoko said, patting Ed’s still substantial belly.

  Thin blue smoke drifted from the barbecue, and the air was filled with the smell of grease burning off the grill. There was a slight chill, and after standing a while, shifting my weight from foot to foot in the grass, I saw New Boys approaching.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Aaron called. “I just had the boys out clearing away some deadfall and—.” He stopped to separate Ross and Han, who were slapping each other. “We’ll just drop this equipment in the shoe closet and get ready for lunch. I’m Aaron.” He looked each of the parents in the eye as he shook hands. The boys were all carrying tools, a couple of handsaws and an ax. Cynthia and Naoko waved to their sons, who waved back with the tools they were carrying. I was surprised that William looked embarrassed.

  “You take your time, Aaron,” Ed called out. I wasn’t sure whether I should join the dorm or stay with my parents, so I just stood still. Michelle was looking off toward the Mansion. I thought about the conversation between her and Aubrey; I wondered if Laurel knew, the way Aubrey had, that no matter what, her mother wouldn’t take her home.

  “Michelle’s daughter is stuck in her room,” Cynthia explained to the others.

  Naoko gasped and placed her hand on Michelle’s arm. “That’s such a shame,” she said. “You know, William’s a real wrecking ball, but I’m glad we don’t have a girl. They can be such little bitches.” She rubbed Michelle’s forearm, then let go. I couldn’t tell whether I heard a slight southern accent in Naoko’s voice. Cynthia led us all into the Cottage, carrying the bowl of potato salad.

  Inside, Han was chasing Ross around a long table carrying an open, empty garbage bag, both boys laughing. They swerved to avoid Michelle and Cynthia, who called out “Rossie!” Ross stopped, got bumped into by Han, rubbed his nose, and gave his mother a hug. William was sitting on one couch reading a paperback, and Gary was dusting a bookshelf in the back of the room. A pretty woman, heavily made up, was setting the table and singing to herself in what I thought sounded like Russian.

  “Gary,” she said, “come help your mama.”

  “Can’t you see I’m doing something?” Gary said.

  “His such a lazy boy.”

  My parents and I sat on the other couch in the living room, quietly. They looked at each other and then told me about my mother’s accident. There hadn’t been much permanent damage; the burns were healing well. She told me she was a little woozy from all the antibiotics she was still taking.

  Cynthia introduced Michelle around. Ross took the opportunity of his mother’s momentary distraction to turn and flick Han, who resumed chasing him. Han’s parents hadn’t come that Sunday.

  “I saw that,” Aaron yelled from the kitchen, which was adjacent to the living room where we all were. “Any more of that and nobody gets any potato salad,” he said, and the whole room laughed. “But seriously,” Aaron said, “I’ll put you two in the corner, Parents’ Sunday or not.”

  Aaron administered meds ostentatiously, as if to make sure that everyone saw that he knew what he was doing. Ed brought in a few trays of hot dogs, burgers, steaks, and sausages. Everyone was very nice. Varvara, Gary’s mom, was unable to get over her amazement at Aaron’s ability to spend so much time with us boys. “My Gary, his so lazy,” she said many times, as if that were his biggest problem. She wore a large T-shirt with the image of a panda bear on it, decorated with rhinestones. “Your daughter,” Varvara said to Michelle at one point, “she must be very beautiful.”

  Ed and Naoko talked at great length about how they had managed to lose the weight and seemed unable to keep their hands off each other. “Now we look like a family,” they said to William.

  My family was more quiet. My parents answered everyone’s questions politely but didn’t say much more than that.

  But mostly we ate. Varvara had brought sweet potatoes and whole ears of corn that Aaron boiled in the kitchen, and there was bread and a deli platter from the school kitchen. The other boys talked and argued quietly among themselves, and the parents talked when they weren’t eating, but mostly, they ate. I wondered, Don’t these people realize where they are? Time seemed to pool here like still water and gently knock or tap against the living room windows, but not so anyone would notice. If this afternoon were to last forever and lunch were never to end, Ed and Naoko and Varvara and Aaron, and the rest of New Boys for all I knew, would be perfectly happy to spend eternity eating barbecue and talking about whatever it was they were talking about; I could no longer tell.

  After lunch was done and the table cleared, each family found a place around the Cottage where they could talk quietly or sit sullenly and wait out the remainder of the afternoon. William and his parents sat together on a bed in our bedroom, while Varvara commandeered a couch with Gary. Cynthia and Ross went for a walk in tight circles around the Cottage. My father and I waited while my mother went to the bathroom to apply some lotion to her scars. Then we all sat at a picnic table just behind the dorm.

  “You don’t understand,” I said. “This place is awful. They’re making it look good today, but this isn’t really what it’s like. Some of these kids are really criminals, like Gary in there. He beat William with a closet rod. I’m
scared all the time.” I’d spent many nights thinking about exactly what I would say to them when I had the chance, but now I didn’t remember what I had decided. I was just talking.

  “Gary seemed very nice to me,” my father said. “And you don’t seem much the worse for wear.”

  “Well, what about that girl Laurel stuck in her room?”

  “I don’t know about that. But I trust Aubrey. He makes a lot of sense. And they seem to know how to take care of you here.”

  “They don’t,” I said, and pounded the picnic table for emphasis. I turned to my mother. “Why didn’t you write me? I didn’t get any letters from either of you.”

  She seemed stung. “I, we, we did write,” she said.

  “Well, I didn’t get any letters. They must have kept your letters from me. Is that the kind of place you want me to be? Where they don’t let me read your letters?” I was crying and I didn’t care. “This place isn’t going to do me any good. I hate it, it’ll just make me worse. I promise you, it will. It’s going to make me worse.”

  “Benjamin,” my father said, “that’s exactly what they told us you would say. It’s what all the kids say when they get here, and a lot of them do get better.”

  “Just because they told you I’d say it doesn’t mean it isn’t true!” I pounded the picnic table again, at first to make a point but then faster and faster so that it lost all connection to what I was saying and continued into the silence that followed.

  My father sighed. “Aubrey said that you’d say that, too.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Boy, have they got your number here.” We sat like that for a while. “Now, I think we’ve got to get you back, because we’re supposed to go to some kind of cocktail thing at the Mansion, isn’t that right?”

  “No,” I said. “Let’s just go home. We could just leave. Please. Take me home.”

  My father smiled and mussed my hair. “You’re going to be all right.”