All Things Different

by Underhill, Shawn

  There was a high-pitched burst of laughter from the front of the car. I slumped back uncomfortably in the tiny back seat.

  “It’s got a tool logo,” Sara said.

  “This is kidnapping,” I said to Kate’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m still a minor.”

  “You get cranky when you’re hungry, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He’s always hungry,” Sara told her. “He should work at the diner with you, I swear.”

  “I’ll buy anything you want to eat if you cooperate,” Kate promised, smiling bright in the mirror. “As much as you can possibly eat.”

  Low-down, dirty tricksters, I was thinking. “I want a steak and cheese from Chef’s, and a Blizzard from DQ.”

  “Done,” Kate aid.

  “Yay,” Sara clapped. “See, it won’t be so bad.”

  But it turned out very badly. In the course of the next few hours I heard the word cute used more than I had all that year to date. This is cute, that is cute. Oh—my—gosh—that is SO cute. Is it on sale? No? It should be. Oh, here it is, twenty percent off. Yup, this is just too cute. This should fit him. Well, he might grow. Oh well, it’ll last through the fall all right. Okay, just try it on to be sure it looks cute on you.

  I was poked and prodded, put on display before mirrors while strange people looked on. I was relieved of my Boston Red Sox hat and handed piles of mostly ugly clothes to try in a cramped changing room. I was barged in on while in the changing room, pants down of course, in a store populated predominantly by females. And, to top it all off, once I’d finally agreed on two outfits and thought I was off the hook, the two of them began pawing through clothes for themselves, instead of taking me to eat, as was promised.

  Thankfully, the good people that run the outlet mall provide benches outdoors along the walkways, I’m guessing, in anticipation of people like myself who cannot tolerate actually being in their stores. When things got too bad inside, I’d head out to a bench with my $74 bag of clothes I didn’t want, sit back, and wait for the girls to find me. In all, I tried out four of those benches, and ate peanuts from a vending machine while I watched the crowds walking by.

  When the ordeal was over and the day was growing dim, I was awarded my steak and cheese, minus onions per Sara’s request. I downed the large sandwich fairly quickly while Kate and Sara ate smalls with more self-control. I waited a minute, drinking my iced tea, and then went up to the counter and ordered another, only a six-inch, but with onions. Finally, on the way back through town, I got an M&M Blizzard from DQ.

  From the back seat, between bites, I was muttering something along the lines of, “I hope you both had a lot of fun with this, because I’ll never trust either of you again.”

  My old man was cooking chicken on the grill when Kate dropped me by the house. He eyed the bag in my hand as I stepped up onto the porch.

  “Don’t even ask,” I said.

  “Fair enough.”

  I tossed the bag on the floor and sat down in my chair.

  “Hungry?”

  “Nah, I ate with them after the shopping. I’m stuffed.”

  “How long did that take?”

  “All afternoon. It’s their idea of helping me, I guess.”

  “Help, you say?”

  “Yeah. Sara wants to help me look up to par for school. Just a waste of money, if you ask me.”

  “Well then,” he laughed low, “I’d say you got more than your share of help today, judging by the looks of the lawn.”

  27

  Sunday morning, Dad and I were on the lake at first light while Sara stayed behind at our place. It was a slow day for fish, but not awful considering the time of year. I caught one decent trout, a keeper which I later cooked to Sara’s chagrin, and a few perch that I threw back. The old man hooked a nice bass, enjoyed a good fight, and then let him go after landing him. Before noon we were satisfied and headed back home. It was Labor Day weekend, and even on our quiet end of the big lake there was extra boat activity on the water, and by dusk there were fireworks, personal and professional, up and down the entire lake.

  Sara and I sat on the dock facing south that night, watching the big colored flashes that looked small in the distance over the big beach, hearing the deep boom of each liftoff, the whine of flight, and the sharp pop-crackling with the bursts of colors against the dark sky. After the show we had zero traffic or crowds to contend with, and we went up to bed and slept well through another night.

  Monday was quiet superficially with a mounting tension just beneath the surface, the eerie calm before the school storm. I rowed alone in the morning and then spent the majority of the day with Sara. I could tell she was getting excited, although we barely mentioned it. In an attempt to sidestep the sinking mood I was feeling, I suggested a funny movie to lighten things up. I offered up Mr. Deeds for consideration.

  “That looks so silly,” Sara said.

  “That’s the point.”

  “I like funny, but—”

  “I can’t do another princess movie just yet.”

  “I know, you poor thing,” she huffed, going through my stack of DVDs. “Are you obsessed with Adam Sandler movies?”

  “No. They’re just funny. You ought to see the old man laugh when he watches Happy Gilmore playing golf.”

  “I’m not watching a golf movie.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll try this one,” she said after a while, holding up 50 First Dates. “It looks cute, and I like Drew’s hair in this picture.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Let’s watch it.”

  All said and done, Sara really liked the movie. She laughed, cried, laughed some more, and confessed a sudden craving for waffles. After that, we coasted easily through the remainder of Monday.

  By Tuesday it was unavoidable—Sara was a moody bundle of nerves. She spent hours searching through clothes and holding up potential outfits before the mirror, and before me, asking opinions but seldom considering my input. In the process of her preparations, I discovered there was even more to the problem than I’d been aware of. It wasn’t only clothes—there were hairstyle options to be considered, accessories, footwear, even weather was a factor, and everything was hoped to come together into some magical perfection in order for her to have the ideal first day.

  “Why do you need my opinion?” I asked, sulking on her bed.

  “Mom’s not here yet and I need help.”

  “I’m no help. And you don’t listen anyway.”

  “I do so. I just don’t always agree.”

  “Try never,” I muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Why does it all matter so much?”

  “I want to look my best.”

  “You always look fine.”

  “It’ll make me feel better if I look my best when I’m meeting new people.”

  “Who cares what they think?”

  “I care how I feel.”

  “Clothes change how you feel?”

  “They can help.”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “Yes, they can, Jake,” she glared.

  “Only in your head.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Then why worry if it doesn’t matter?”

  “Ugh! You don’t get it!”

  After all the stress, she had dinner with her mother, laid her final outfit out on her bed, and then settled in to wait until Kate was asleep.

  On the porch where I sat reading, I was a century back in time somewhere in northern Michigan, so far into the story that at first, when Sara arrived, it seemed like she’d entered into the scene and looked very out of place. After a moment everything from the story dissolved and I was on the porch again, watching her.

  I’d been reading The Last Good Country. Nick was hiking deep into the old forests and the mood of it had pulled me in entirely. It was hard going through hard country until he reached the untouched places where there’d been
no logging or obvious intrusions of men on the countryside. Nick was running from trouble with the game wardens, heading for an old hideout, a secret place, to wait for everything to blow over. To me, then, the idea was perfection. At once Nick was heading off into the wilds and escaping everything, yet those wilds were familiar and comfortable to him, I imagined like the feeling of homecoming. Beginning my reading in the mood of the night before school, a part of me wished very much to escape everything as Nick was escaping, to have that freedom and that control. I’d be much better off in the wilderness, I believed. I didn’t need any of this school trouble or the strangeness at home, just my fishing pole and a stream, my sleeping bag and a tent, a few supplies and an open fire to cook on. But when Sara stepped up onto the porch and I set down the book, all that started slipping away.

  “Nick again?” she teased.

  “Watch it, girly.”

  “What’s he doing now?”

  “Hiding out in the boonies, fishing and camping. God, I’d love to fish these streams he talks about. The trout are so big and so hungry.”

  “You’re silly.”

  “So I guess your book guy is busy saving the world.”

  “Of course,” she smiled. “Did you pick out clothes?”

  “Guess.”

  “Aren’t you the tiniest bit excited?”

  “I’d rather go to the dentist.”

  “Are you nervous?”

  “Irritated.”

  “You have two nice new shirts. Please wear one.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “And please tell me you won’t wear work boots.”

  “I can’t promise that,” I smiled.

  “Ugh.”

  “How about a walk?” I stood up. “It’s our last night of freedom.”

  Sara stood and we went quietly out.

  “I’ll miss walking at night,” I said away from the house.

  Sara took my hand. “We can still walk, can’t we?”

  “It’s not the same. Half the appeal is the mood of summer.”

  “It’ll still be nice, now and then, I think.”

  “There’s other stuff too. I mean, school sucks, but it’s the interference that really gets me.”

  “With work?”

  “Dad takes on a lot. He doesn’t know when to quit.”

  “I’m starting to see that.”

  “When I’m around, he takes things a bit slower. And I just feel better being there with him, you know?”

  “Makes sense.”

  “A few more years,” I said. It was better to view it that way. The odds were shifting in my favor now. I was practically sixteen.

  “It’s sweet that you worry about him,” Sara said.

  “He doesn’t need my help. I just like being with him.”

  “I’m serious, Jake.”

  I felt a tug at my arm as she stopped walking. I stopped too, looking up at the ceiling of treetops overhead.

  “Do we have to be serious?”

  “Yes.” She took her hand away and moved around in front of me. “This is one of the things I love about you.”

  “C’mon, Sara,” I stammered, and I felt her hands moving on my arms up to my shoulders, and then her baby-soft cheek moving on my chin. Her breath was touching the side of my face. Her lips moved over, lightly dragging as they searched, and then their softness found my lips very gently. I held my breath with my eyes closed until I felt her move away again. I could not raise my eyes to her. Then her hand found mine again and she pulled at me gently, leading me back toward the house. My legs felt absent as we walked.

  “Let’s sit on the dock before bed,” she said near the house.

  “Yeah.” I walked along beside her. Most times when we walked, I was in the lead.

  Sara was calm that night. She’d worn herself out with worry during the day, so when we went in for the night, she settled down easily and drifted off quickly to sleep. But I could not sleep; the night-before-school mood had me in its grip. Outside the weather was still summerlike, but summer itself, the life, was lost and gone. School always killed it and left only the feeling of loss without the consolation of the colors and crisp air of later in September. But still, I was glad for Sara as she slept quietly beside me. It was good to have her there. All things considered, I didn’t think I should be kissing her yet. I liked kissing her, though. I liked seeing her and feeling her near and spending time with her. I liked everything about her, actually, even when she was annoying me. It would be better if school would keep out of our way and let us be. Of course it wouldn’t, I knew, but it was good to think about, lying awake like that. At least she was happy, though. I felt good about that much. Better than if she hadn’t been there, or if she’d been upset. Her enthusiasm affected me, but it could only do so much.

  Through the window I heard a whippoorwill start singing. It sounded quite a ways off in the woods, but his song came very clearly over the crickets in the calm night. He carried on for quite a while out there. I figured he was having a better night than me out there.

  28

  Early Wednesday morning Sara woke me when she sprang from the bed. I opened my eyes to the sight of her standing by the window, fidgeting in her bouncy way, looking out on the new day in the dim early light.

  “Get up,” she said, turning. “Wakie, wakie, Jakey boy!”

  I made my meanest bear impression and closed my eyes. Then she was back on the bed, shaking me and pulling at the covers.

  “Get up, you grump. You’re worse than my grandfather.”

  “I’m sick.” I coughed. “I can’t go.”

  “Faker!” She tore back the rest of the covers.

  I sat up, sharply cool without the covers.

  “Are you gonna row?”

  “I’d like to, yeah.”

  “Go get some breakfast and row. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “You going with me?”

  “No, I need time to get ready.”

  “Of course.”

  She hopped out of the room with her sweatshirt and sandals. I got up, got on some clothes, and went down to the kitchen for a rushed breakfast. My old man had already cleared out for the day.

  In the boat, on the lake with the sun coming up, I felt a little better. The water rocked me as I rowed smoothly, breathing deep, feeling the muscles loosen and the gloom somewhat rising and blowing off in the light wind. I remembered Nick and how he had felt better about something once when he stepped outside into the wind. Overhead the gulls were flying, and in the distance I saw a row of ducks by the opposite shore. At that point, I envied even the ducks of the world; they didn’t ride a bus and sit in classrooms all day.

  After a rest I rowed home and went inside for a shower. I dressed in new jeans and a new shirt, and from my closet I got some sneakers and went downstairs. For a moment I considered wearing my work boots, just to drive Sara crazy, but I couldn’t go through with it—not the first day, at least. I put on the sneakers and went out to get her. It was almost time.

  After a minute waiting by the door at the camp, I heard the lock unbolting. She opened the door and rushed back to the bathroom, calling that she was almost ready. I waited in the living area, marveling at the amount of commotion one small person could raise. Between the noises I could hear her humming a song.

  When she finally came out, I stood staring at her for a moment. I’d never seen her as carefully dressed and primped as she was then. She wore dark jeans with little sparkly things around the seams and a light pink shirt with a low-cut fitted over a longer white shirt. She wore lip gloss and a light layer of eye makeup. Her eyes seemed even larger now, more contrasted. Her hair was different too, with a few strategic colored barrettes holding it in a certain way that still retained the freely moving appearance as usual, framing her face and hanging nicely over her shoulders against the pink shirt. Altogether, it was like she’d aged a few years since I’d seen her last. And either she was wearing some sort of an enhanced bra, or she’d done some growing
overnight. I didn’t look for long, and didn’t figure I should ask.

  “I think I’m ready now,” she said, nervously touching her hair with alternating hands.

  “Good.”

  “No boots?” she said, looking down.

  “Just for you.”

  “Yay,” she said in a soft joking tone, and she clapped her hands lightly.

  “You look really nice, Sara.”

  “Aw, thank you,” she sparkled, fidgeting. “So do you.”

  “Right.”

  “You do.”

  “I’m not tucking this shirt in.”

  “Good. That’s not a tuck-in shirt.”

  “My grandmother used to make me tuck shirts in whenever she saw me. My mom’s mother, I mean.”

  “You poor thing.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess we should get going. It’s about time.”

  “Here we go,” she sighed, and she pulled on a small jacket, slung her purse over her shoulder, and then her book bag.

  We stepped out and Sara stopped to lock the door. Then we started up the driveway to await our yellow chariot. She took my hand after a few steps.

  “I won’t do it in front of people, if it makes you feel weird.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, squeezing her hand a little. “After my birthday we won’t have to ride the bus.”

  “You’re getting a car?”

  “A truck. I have money saved.”

  “I can ride with you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’ll be so fun.”

  “You’re telling me.”

  At the road we waited. Sara let go of me and we both paced around. I flipped down the mailbox door, knowing well it would be empty this early. I kicked rocks, scuffed my feet, moaned and groaned, and rained combinations of the worst curse words I could imagine in my head, smiling at Sara each time our eyes met. When we heard the bus in the distance, we stopped and looked at each other.

  “Ready, kid?”

  “No big deal.” She forced a smile.

  The bus stopped. The folding door opened. Sara stood aside, so I started up the steps first.

  “Cripes sakes, Jake,” Mr. Drowns greeted me. “You’re bigger each time I see you.” He touched the visor of his crooked baseball cap as Sara passed. “Miss,” he smiled.