The Boy Who Couldn't Fly Straight (The Broom Closet Stories)

by Jeff Jacobson

  He told Diego what they’d said to him, how Julio had hit him in the head and the stomach, how they’d threatened him with a knife.

  He expected Diego to become angry. He thought he would yell at Charlie for not telling him. He figured Diego would run off and call Principal Wang and Ms. Boyd immediately, to hold meetings, to put together something he called a task force.

  What he didn’t expect was to see Diego’s troubled eyes start to glisten, to fill up with water until the tears spilled over the rims and ran down his cheeks in twin tracks, leaving droplets of moisture on his eyelashes.

  He didn’t expect Diego to put his head in his hands and whisper, more to himself than to Charlie, “Damn it. Damn it. I knew this would happen. Damn it…”

  He wasn’t crying so much as mumbling to himself as the tears flowed from his eyes.

  “Charlie, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know, I’m so sorry.”

  Charlie was dumbfounded. What was he sorry for? He hadn’t done anything. It was Julio and his gang who’d threatened him.

  “What do you mean, ‘sorry’?”

  “I got you into this. It’s my fault. If I hadn’t asked you about being gay, then maybe…”

  “Diego, that’s ridiculous. You didn’t make me gay, or turn me into a homosexual!” Charlie said, hoping it would sound funny, hoping it would make Diego smile.

  “I know, I know! But I did rush you into coming out.”

  “No you didn’t, you…”

  “Yes I did! I came after you at the farmers market, I invited you to the party, told you I thought you were gay, all because I thought you were cute, and I was lonely and tired of not having a boyfriend, and you just showed up, so nice and handsome, and I wanted you. I wanted you to be my friend, my boyfriend, my, I don’t know what. I’ve been selfish and stupid, thinking that we could just parade around school, showing off in front of everybody.”

  He stood up. Protruding from the sleeves of his rain jacket, his fists were bunched so tightly that he squeezed all the blood from his hands, turning them nearly as white as Charlie’s.

  “Diego, no you haven’t been! Come on, I wanted to be your friend, I…”

  “That’s just it. You wanted to be my friend. I pushed for more, I flirted with you, I manipulated you, I…”

  “You did not!”

  “I did too! I knew what I was doing when you came over to my house that first time. I wasn’t being nice or friendly. I wanted you to come over to the bed, to take, to take off your clothes, and…”

  A choke stopped his words short. He shook his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand as he looked out over the creek bed, all the while avoiding Charlie’s eyes.

  “I wanted you so badly, Charlie,” he whispered. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about kissing you, touching you. I thought this time it could work out, that maybe it wouldn’t be just another one of those stupid crushes that wouldn’t turn into anything, where I’d have to smile, and pretend that I wasn’t totally in love with somebody yet again.”

  “Diego, it is working out. I mean, I know it’s maybe slower than you want, but…”

  Diego spun on him, the hood of his jacket slipping from his head, exposing his dark hair, the wild look on his face lit by the faint afternoon sun.

  “Working out?! Are you crazy, Charlie? You call this working out? You basically have to fend me off, and yet I still keep throwing myself at you. And now this? This crap Julio and Dave did to you…”

  His voice caught. He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “If I hadn’t started this with you, you’d just be a quiet kid at school who everyone left alone. But no, loudmouth Diego had to pull you into all of his drama, and now…”

  Charlie hadn’t seen Diego like this before. He knew that beneath his friend’s confident demeanor was worry and fear, but he hadn’t seen the boy spin out like this, as if he were on an icy slope and, having lost his footing, was slipping and sliding toward a huge crash. Diego wasn’t listening to Charlie, didn’t hear how stupid he sounded. Charlie couldn’t stand how lost and off-base his friend was.

  “Shut up! Just shut up!” he yelled, standing up and facing the boy.

  Charlie hadn’t been sure why he’d wanted to tell Diego about the incident beneath the bleachers. He knew it would upset him, and hadn’t been sure it would be a good idea. Now, with a sudden burst of clarity, he knew why.

  “You know what? You are so wrong right now I can’t believe it. You not only didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do, you gave me a nice slap in the face and told me to stop hiding, to stop being afraid of everything all of the time. My mom is like that. Worried all the time, scared to do anything, afraid of people and what they might do to her. Afraid of her own shadow. I don’t want to be like that anymore, the scared, shy kid. I’ll never be like you, so talkative and friendly with everybody all the time, but still. I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t have to be.”

  He took a deep breath. Diego watched him, lips closed, eyes bright, a look of surprise on his face.

  “So quit telling me that you made me do anything. I did it, okay? It’s what I wanted. I wanted you. You just helped me see it.”

  Diego lunged for him, throwing his arms around Charlie and taking them both to the ground.

  “What are you doing?” Charlie grunted, barely able to talk as most of the wind was knocked out of him.

  Diego’s mouth found his. And he tried to talk, tried to laugh, even tried to cry as his lips pressed over Charlie’s.

  Charlie pulled his head back and looked up at the boy, whose face was cast in shadow from the bright gray sky above them, which had started to rain again.

  “I can’t understand what you’re saying. You’re…”

  Diego lifted his upper body away from Charlie.

  “I said…”

  “Ow! You’re crushing me!” Charlie yelled, as the boy’s full weight rested on his ribs.

  “Oh God, oh God Charlie, sorry!” Diego said, putting his hands on either side of Charlie to distribute the weight.

  “I said…” the boy continued, looking into Charlie’s eyes.

  “I said this,” he whispered, then bent down and placed his full sweet lips over Charlie’s mouth.

  It was all Diego needed to say. Charlie could tell that the boy had calmed down, and he was so glad that he forgot for a moment about all the dangerous things happening around him, and simply let himself be kissed, let himself want Diego without holding back.

  All the while the rain fell lightly on them, and the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds.

  Chapter 71

  Charlie stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. He hung his wet jacket on the coatrack mounted on the wall, then took his boots off and placed them in the corner near the others.

  “Hey, buddy,” his uncle called from the kitchen. “Wash up and come help me set the table, will you? We’re having lamb burgers for dinner.”

  Charlie set his backpack near the foot of the stairs, washed his hands in the first-floor bathroom, then walked into the kitchen, where his uncle was sprinkling spices in a large mixing bowl filled with ground meat. Several buns, fat as hens, sat on a baking sheet. A tossed salad layered with bright vegetables filled a white ceramic bowl.

  “This is the way I defy the end of summer,” Randall said, smiling at him. “Grilling in the rain!”

  Charlie thought about how much he liked his uncle’s face. His eyes were nearly always twinkling, except when he was mad and ready to explode. Nothing was hidden from view.

  “Your face is like a cocker spaniel,” Charlie heard Beverly say once to her husband. “Everything happening on the inside shows up on the outside.”

  “Are you saying I have to bid adieu to my poker career?” Randall had laughed.

  Even though his mouth smiled most of the time, his dark mustache and eyebrows gave his face some weight. Lines that etched across his forehead thickened when he questioned something.
Crows feet marked the years of laughter at the corners of his eyes. Slightly larger than normal ears added a boyish look to his overall appearance.

  He liked Beverly’s face too, though it was different. It was more like a deep river. You could make out what was happening on the surface, but had no idea what might be churning underneath. Smooth, mostly unlined, Charlie thought that she could be the queen of poker if she wanted to be. He’d seen emotions on her face, from delight, to hurt, to rage. But mostly she held an inscrutable expression, which at times made him nervous.

  “I feel different today,” Charlie announced to his uncle.

  “You don’t look any different,” Randall replied, wiggling his hand near his mouth as if he were holding a cigar, in a Groucho Marx imitation. Then his smile faded.

  “Oh, you’re serious. Tell me,” he said.

  Charlie went over to the cupboard and pulled down three plates, then began opening drawers to gather the silverware and glasses for the dining room table.

  “I’m tired of being afraid all the time. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”

  Randall’s hands, which had been mixing the ground lamb meat in the bowl, stopped moving.

  “Afraid of…?”

  “Afraid of everything. Of saying the wrong thing. Of looking stupid. Of worrying about what other people think. Of liking boys. Of Grace. My mom was always shy and hiding out, afraid of everything. I think she taught me to do that. But maybe that’s not really me, you know? I think I just I learned to do it. Like maybe, I was born speaking, uh, Spanish, but she taught me how to speak…”

  “Swahili?”

  “Yeah, Swahili. And even though I can, it’s not my native language. I want to speak Spanish like I’m supposed to.”

  “That’s a pretty amazing realization, Charlie.”

  He shrugged. “After what happened the other night with Grace, I started to feel really bad about Joan and Beverly, and the others who saved my life. I mean, I felt really guilty.”

  “I know.”

  “You knew?”

  “Charlie, you started moping around here with a hangdog look on your face. It was obvious. But I also thought it might be about…coming out to us.”

  “Yeah, it was. But I just got scared too. I mean, I started thinking about what I did and how it hurt others. And how witchcraft got me into trouble. It freaked me out. But then Diego said some stupid stuff today that made me think.”

  He explained about his conversation with Diego.

  As Randall listened, he washed his hands in the sink, wiped them dry, then sat on the edge of the counter.

  “It’s pretty amazing that you told him that, Charlie. Most people never fess up to any that stuff.”

  “I’m just tired of hiding all the time, of hoping no one will notice anything. I thought I was good at it. But even Grace knew about Diego. So why bother? Why not just keep up with what’s really happening instead of pretending that it’s something else? I mean, what I still feel bad about is sneaking out on my own and putting others at risk. But not that stuff about who I am.”

  Randall paused, then shook his head slowly. “Charlie, you are destined for greatness. Most people never in their whole lives figure out what you just did.”

  “Well, most people don’t have all this creepy stuff happening to them.”

  “True. I guess if everyone were hunted down by Grace, they’d all admit to having crushes on Diego,” he said with a mock stern expression before winking. Then he slid off the counter and walked over to Charlie.

  “I’m proud of you, son,” he said, and wrapped his arms around him.

  Charlie used to feel shy when Randall hugged him. But today he let himself enjoy being enveloped in his uncle’s strong arms, the smell of Beverly’s homemade laundry detergent on his shirt, the way he felt safe and comfortable. Even the way Randall had used the word “son.”

  But something distracted Charlie. Something Randall had just said…

  He pulled back, breaking the embrace, and looked up at his uncle.

  “Why did you say ‘if everyone were hunted down by Grace?’” Charlie asked.

  “I don’t know. What do you mean?”

  “Beverly and everybody keep talking about how Grace is kidnapping kids. But you said, ‘hunting.’”

  “You’re right. I did. What’s the difference?”

  “I don’t know. Hunting.”

  Charlie paused, trying to find the words. “Well, when you hunt something, it’s to kill it, right? To kill it and to eat it.”

  “Yeah. You think Grace is eating kids? Like some fairytale witch?”

  “No, not exactly. Well, I don’t know. But…hunting is different from kidnapping, isn’t it? Maybe she is hunting them down. Maybe she’s…”

  They heard the front door open and Beverly’s voice carry down the hallway toward them. “I’m home. Sorry I’m late. Traffic on Aurora was backed up.”

  She walked into the kitchen, smelling of the outside rain mixed with something floral. “What’s for dinner, honey?” she asked. Then, looking from Randall to Charlie, “What? Did something bad happen?”

  “No. Just a chat. And something that can be continued once I get dinner finished.”

  “Great, I need a shower. Don’t say anything interesting until I get back.”

  Randall walked out onto the back deck to get the grill ready. Charlie set the table in silence, trying to grasp some of the vague ideas floating around inside his head.

  “So, what were you two talking about?” Beverly asked as they sat down to eat.

  The lamb burgers were delicious. Randall had spiced them with garlic, cilantro, cumin, then added feta cheese. They were thick and meaty.

  Charlie and Randall both spoke at once.

  “Charlie isn’t afraid anymore!”

  “What if Grace is hunting kids!”

  “Whoa, whoa, slow down.”

  They explained to her how Charlie didn’t want to hide anymore. Beverly listened with growing excitement, and when they finished, she smiled so brightly that Charlie felt a thrill in his stomach.

  “Honey, that’s just beautiful. Really. Even people twice your age have trouble with that one.”

  “That’s what I told him,” added Randall. “Though I think it’s safe to say people eleven times his age have trouble with it.”

  “Now what’s this thing about Grace? And hunting?”

  Charlie finished chewing, then explained.

  “Everyone talks about how Grace is kidnapping kids, but they don’t know why. Daniel said the other night that there have been more kids taken than just from this community, and that he thinks it’s related, but that it’s not to use them as bargaining tools.”

  Beverly interrupted. “He isn’t sure, Charlie, though he hasn’t thrown out that idea. He’s trying to look at this from as many different angles as possible.”

  “Well, when Randall said the word ‘hunting,’ I pictured a guy with a gun and a dead deer at his feet. People hunt animals to kill them, right? To eat meat, to use the skin, or whatever.”

  “What does this have to do with Grace?”

  “Well, it’s not like a hunter traps an animal to, you know, get at its parents, or the herd.”

  He paused, looking out at the sunset and the sky growing darker.

  “What if Grace and those other witches are using the kids somehow?”

  “You mean, like eating them?” Randall asked, incredulity thick in his voice.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe something like that. Is there a way to eat someone? Or some kind of witchcraft where you kill people because it sort of feeds you?”

  Beverly’s face darkened. “Who told you about that?”

  Charlie felt the water in his throat evaporate under her gaze. He thought of how he’d compared his aunt and uncle’s faces, about how Beverly’s could seem so inscrutable. And at other times, deadly serious. Now was one of those times.

  “N…no one, Beverly. Nobody said anything. It was just h
ow Randall talked about hunting. It made me wonder, is all.”

  Beverly stared at Charlie, her eyes narrowing as if they were lie detectors scanning him for the truth. Finally, she looked away, casting a sideways glance at Randall. Charlie felt like he’d just passed a test. Barely. He exhaled.

  “You remember when Mavis grabbed you by the arm and sucked energy from you?”

  Charlie nodded.

  “That’s certainly one way. Witches try to do it to each other when engaged in hand-to-hand combat.”

  Charlie waited. There was something his aunt wasn’t saying.

  “But that’s not what you meant when you said, ‘Who told you about that?’”

  Beverly looked down at her plate and the unfinished salad. The dressing had blended together with grease from her lamb burger, leaving a small gray pool on the side of her plate.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Randall interjected. “Okay, is this one of those moments where you go into mystery mode and your listening audience is left creeped out?”

  “I do not go into mystery mode.”

  Randall rolled his eyes and looked over at Charlie. “Do you know what I mean about mystery mode?”

  “Uh, well, yeah.”

  Beverly’s eyebrows furrowed, until she gave in with a smile. “I do not.”

  “Oh puhleez!”

  “Okay, okay, okay, so I’m a woman of mystery. As I was saying…Charlie, there is so much to talk about. So many things you don’t know about yet in the witching world. It’s not my intention to keep secrets from you. But sometimes I don’t even know where to start. Filling your head with a bunch of history, or even esoteric spells when you’re still learning the basics,” she said. “That’s not a good idea.”

  Charlie waited.

  “Anyway. We witches tend to carry around a lot of fables about our kind. I say ‘fables’ because most of them are a load of hogwash. One of them concerns a legend where witches of old gained power and strength by killing people. It fits right in with all the demon worship and baby sacrifice myths that are out there about us in the normal world.

  “It’s a fable because it’s never been proven to be true. It’s like one of those urban myths. So-and-so said that in Ireland, hundreds of years ago, people did it. Then it changes to the Congo, a thousand years ago. Then Peru, five hundred years ago. Sometimes it’s a zombie story. Sometimes it’s more like Jack the Ripper.