Shoulder the Sky

by Lesley Choyce

  “Garlic will keep away vampires.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  The intercom buzzed then and it was the secretary.

  “Declan. Clean up needed in room 235.”

  Declan clicked the intercom. “I’ll be right down.”

  “Man, right after lunch. She didn’t even have to say what it was. Somebody hurled in biology. I’ve got an instinct about these things.”

  And then I was alone in the furnace room as Declan rolled his mop and bucket out into the hallway. I listened to the sound of the furnace for a while and then kneeled down in front of it and looked in through the glass window so I could see the flame. I found it bright and cheerful. The flames looked like yellow leaves or flowers or something. I thought about finding Kathy when the bell rang and telling her that my “innermost desire” was to have sex with her — to make love to her — but I knew if I said it, it wouldn’t be my voice. It would be someone else’s. I was pretty sure I could bring myself to say it, to explain that Norway was a joke. It was a code word, I would say. Going to Norway was like “going all the way,” as they used to say.

  But I began to realize I was headed into some outlandish psychological territory and was bound to screw things up worse. I remembered something my English teacher had said about the semicolon: “When in doubt, leave it out.” That semicolon advice seemed pretty good for now. I wouldn’t mention anything to Kathy about anything. But I did have a strong impulse to reach into the furnace and pick her a handful of flowers as an apology. It was summer in there and I missed summer — the way it used to be. Instead, I tucked my hands under my legs and waited for Declan to return with news about who had puked and what it looked like.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “I read a quote the other day,” I told Dave. “The poet Muriel Ruckeyser said the universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

  “I like that. Jesus, Martin, you always floor me with something new.” He tried to sound cheerful but I could tell something was actually bothering him today.

  “Dave, I’m not normal,” I blurted out. “There was this girl who wanted to talk about sex and I wasn’t interested.”

  “That’s not normal. But Martin, it’s so you. You have your own planet in the universe of stories. It’s your story. If you don’t want to talk about sex with a girl, it’s your privilege. She can’t make you.”

  “I’m just not interested in sex.”

  “You’re unique for your age.”

  Dave opened his green steno book and flipped some pages. “Let’s see. You’ve ruled out smoking, anger, and sex. There’s probably more. I understand that you are a kind of cerebral type kid and that makes it all the more interesting for me. What are you interested in the most?”

  “I am interested in death.”

  “You want to talk about your mother?”

  “No. I want to talk about death.”

  “In the abstract?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does it seem interesting to you that you mentioned sex to me and then shifted right over to wanting to talk about death?”

  “There’s a connection, right?”

  “Maybe. But let’s not go there now.”

  “Dying is a wild night and a new road — Emily Dickinson.”

  “Skip Emily Dickinson. Go for Martin Emerson,” Dave suggested.

  “It’s like the story thing. The story keeps going but I can’t read it. It’s like I bought this big fat paperback novel about my family and me. I got up to chapter seven and the pages are all blank after that. I’m the protagonist — confused but brilliant — and I keep thinking the world is full of all kinds of possibilities. But none of them are for me. I’ve got a really strange but interesting family, and I’m reading along to page seventy-six and I turn the page and discover there’s nothing but empty pages from there to the end of the book — three hundred pages later.”

  “Somebody else wrote this book, right?”

  “There had to be an author.”

  “Why doesn’t he finish the book?”

  “I don’t know. He got tired of writing it. Or he got a real job.”

  “Or he died.”

  “He didn’t die.”

  “Why don’t you pick up the story from here? You could write it.”

  “I have problems with the characters. My father opted out of the story. There’s not much to say about him. Lilly would get mad at me if I wrote about what she is really doing with her life.”

  “And you?”

  “I would just wander from page to page.”

  “Wandering is good. How’s your friend the Egg Man? Darrell?”

  “Since I started ignoring him, he started his own dot-com company. People pay him to steer unaware Internet users to their websites. Has something to do with spiders or something. He doesn’t know what to do with the money he’s making. He says it’s just a game and it doesn’t feel real.”

  “Good ol’ Darrell.”

  “Money is on my list of things that aren’t real,” I said.

  “Expand the list.”

  “Well, nothing on television is real. Trees are real; television is not. Sex is not real; death is. I think in terms of pairs — binary coding like a computer. Lilly is real, but I don’t think my father is. My mother is still real, but that’s only because time is not real.”

  “The Buddhists think time is an illusion.”

  “Maybe I’m a Buddhist then.”

  “Go on.”

  “School is oddly real.”

  “That’s good.”

  “After school is not. I go home, I drift, and I do homework. I wander. I argue with Lilly. And she says, ‘Get real,’ but I can’t. Like, the other day I stole some seeds from the hardware store.”

  “That’s good. What kind?”

  “Brussels sprouts. Broccoli.”

  “Good vegetarian grub.”

  “I know. Flowers too. Delphinium, cornflower, alyssum.”

  “Of course.”

  “I wanted to get caught.”

  “Natch.”

  “Headline reads, ‘Kid Caught Shoplifting Packets of Seeds.’ I wanted the experience of being questioned.”

  Dave put on the mock voice for me, turned his desk lamp to shine in my face. “Why’d you steal the seeds, kid? ’Fess up.”

  “I dunno. But I walked out of the store cool as a cucumber sandwich.”

  “Then what?”

  “I went home,” I lied. I didn’t know why I felt like I had to lie to Dave. I couldn’t remember what I did after I left the store. Maybe it wasn’t important. Maybe I goofed around and then went home. But it was like turning the page again in the novel and the next page was blank.

  “What did you do with the seeds? Did you plant them?”

  “Maybe.” But I couldn’t remember what I did with the seeds. Maybe they were in my room.

  “Let me try to pull this together today. Girl wants to talk about sex and you let her down. You hang out with the janitor in the furnace room and see flowers in the fire. Then you steal some seeds from a store. We could sell the film rights to this, you know.”

  I laughed. Dave was such a crazy guy. But he still looked troubled about something that didn’t have anything to do with me.

  Then came the big confession.

  “Martin, I’ve got to tell you something that no one else around here knows. I know I shouldn’t do this. But I’ve been realizing that if I don’t tell someone, I’m going to need some kind of therapy myself.”

  “You gonna tell me you’re gay? If that’s it, it’s no big deal.”

  “No, I wish it was that simple.”

  “Let me guess. You were Hitler in a previous incarnation.”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Okay, I’ll shut up. What’s up, doc?”

  “I don’t think I’m very good at what I do. I’m a failure. See those diplomas on the wall?”

  “Sure.”

  “They don’t mean a thing. It’s
not like they’re fake. It’s just that they seem artificial. I know the textbook stuff. I just don’t think much of it works. I don’t ever seem to really cure anyone.”

  I stared at the diplomas and put a hand in my pocket, discovered that there were some loose seeds in there. The universe made up of stories. Things are not always as they appear to be. Dave had been on my list of things that were real. Dave: real. Me: not real.

  Dave kept talking, but I wasn’t paying close attention. I suddenly realized that I should have kissed Kathy there in the hallway. I should have told her that was my innermost desire. I should have proven to her that I was as much alive as Scott Rutledge was dead. Instead, I opted for flowers in a furnace.

  “I wouldn’t keep up the facade,” Dave went on, “except for the fact that my intentions are good. I want to help people. That’s why I got into this profession in the first place.”

  “Stick with it. Maybe your therapy will work one day. I think you’re doing the best you can with me.”

  “You’re not shocked and appalled.”

  “I react slowly to things as you know. Maybe it will hit me later.”

  “I shouldn’t have unloaded this on you of all people. You may want to cancel your sessions.”

  “I’d rather keep going. A guy misses an opportunity to kiss a beautiful girl, he’s got to have problems, don’t you think?”

  “Martin, we all have problems, believe me. Some of us just create bigger ones than others.”

  “Dave. Don’t tell your other patients about your doubts. They may not understand you the way I do. You’re good at what you do. People need you. That makes it pretty real, don’t you think?”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Want my advice?” I asked.

  “Shoot.”

  “Take up smoking.”

  When I walked outside, I was surprised. It was spring. I’d missed it sneaking up on us. I noticed flowers about to happen and buds on trees. I wondered if my father knew it was spring. I wondered if he could see it happening around him.

  The universe was full of stories, not atoms.

  Advice

  Roll with the unexpected. If scientists discover that the moon is truly made out of green cheese, don’t be overly surprised.

  Don’t get angry if things appear one way and are actually another. The world stands aside to let you pass if you know where you’re going. It may, however, be a disappointment when you get there. Don’t be afraid to change roads or trains or whatever form of transportation works for you. Don’t use a surfboard for a bicycle or skis on paved roads. When you are walking, realize that while you are in motion, one foot is almost always off the ground or about to be. Confusion is prior to enlightenment, says some ancient Chinese dude whose name I can’t remember.

  Missed opportunities haunt you till the end of your days, but created opportunities are the only way to make up for the loss.

  Sorry, folks, I was in one of those moods. Take your pick of the above. But again, I remind you, if you are spending a lot of time hanging out in my chat room — or anybody’s chat room — get out of the house and see if the planet is still okay. All major damage to the planet should be reported to the police. Try to avoid walking on spiders and flowers and keep your eyes out for injured animals.

  And if anyone knows how to recover from being a stupid ass in front of someone you care for, leave it on the notice board. It’s not for me, but someone I know.

  Emerso

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Opinions

  “All knowledge and all beliefs consist of judgements.”

  A. Wolf,

  Textbook of Logic

  I couldn’t decide if I was the one who should break the bad/good news about Jake to my sister. Darrell’s idea is that if you want to forget about something and just put it out of your brain you just “delete the file.” Darrell did not show up for Scott Rutledge’s funeral because he said he was close to breaking into the Microsoft data bank or possibly the Pentagon. His back-up plan was to mess with Merrill Lynch.

  “Don’t worry, Martin, I follow the prime directive of non-interference. I just want to get inside, see if I can do it. I will slip in and then slide out, undetected. Give myself a merit badge, metaphorically speaking, and then move on.”

  Darrell didn’t invent new viruses or worms. “Worms are for assholes that hold grudges,” he said. “And viruses are old and pointless. No sense of humour. ‘A Man’s reach should exceed his grasp.’” Like me, Darrell had a way of holding old quotes in his head.

  “Only one link in the chain of destiny can be handled at a time,” I reminded him. Darrell was going to have to look that one up.

  He and I had discussed a computer variation of a positive virus, something that infected your computer and improved your life. We’d argued at length as to what it might do — not exactly how; that’s Darrell’s department.

  What could we do by way of your e-mail that could truly improve your life?

  We were an old-fashioned couple of nerdlings in that we came to the conclusion (again) that you had to earn something in order for it to be of value. So all we could hand out were tools. And of course that was what my site was all about. I was offering my humble advice, tidbits of logic and insight for curious brains.

  The funeral had left me feeling like I’d just been to a funeral. Talking with Jake made me feel worse. Lilly was going to feel even more terrible when Jake dumped her next time instead of her dumping him. I wouldn’t know what to do for her.

  I decided I would take the oblique approach. I would unload the problem on my father (of all people) and see if he could react. A man asleep for so many days and months is bound to wake up sometime. I missed my father almost as much as I missed my mother. Even though he was there in the house. The Invisible Man had put his home life on permanent hold. He was part of the casualty count.

  I was surrounded by body bags. Scott, for sure. Man down. For good. Mr. Miller, too. And my father. And Kathy, in a kind of Emily Dickinsonian doomed-love-struck cloud.

  Dogs barked as I passed one house after another. Pekingese, poodle. Lab. Great Dane. Newfoundland dog. All aliens transported here from other planets to find host humans who would feed and shelter them. Intergalactic scam number thirty-seven. Fair enough trade.

  Back to the body count. Darrell, the fragile egg that he was, could get himself into deep trouble. Someone would crack his safety shell. He was messing with the big boys. Bill Gates was going to find out, or the CIA or someone. Then he’d have to explain that his intentions were pure. “All rising to great places is by a winding stair,” as Sir Francis Bacon would say.

  Dave was headed for a footstep into a major psychological cow pie. I was wishing he hadn’t told me about his doubts. Maybe he was just making that part up. Rorschach test kind of thing. And now Lilly. About to be crushed. What would she pierce next?

  It was five-thirty by the time I walked up the driveway. The van was parked in the usual place. I touched the side of it as I walked by, wondering why I always had a certain kind of “feeling” each time the van was there.

  My father was in the kitchen, tie off, stir-frying vegetables. The house smelled of onions, garlic, and yes, even radishes. Men about to build pyramids or what?

  Into the stir-fry, the old man threw a red slab of steak. He looked at me guiltily.

  “Smell of red meat in the house used to really bother your mother, but she didn’t complain.”

  “Mom wasn’t a whiner.”

  “Truly.”

  “Dad. How was your day?” Expecting mono or dual syllables at most.

  “It sucks to be me,” he said, flipping the steak.

  “Why don’t you quit?”

  “And do what?”

  “Start your own business.”

  “I’m too old for that. I’ve got a path; just need to stick to it. Retire someday.”

  “You’re thinking about retirement? No way.”

  He stood back from the stove;
looked up at the ceiling. “Your mother and I started out creative. She painted, I wrote. Art and literature. You saw her stuff from art school. She was out there. Really out there in her own territory. Extraordinary. I tried to keep up. I wrote poetry.”

  “You wrote poetry?”

  “Bad poetry, but poetry. I wanted to be a poet. Grew a little beard, had a way of standing and looking off into space. Thinking poetic thoughts. I read my poetry out loud to her at night by flashlight beneath the stars.”

  “I knew you two did some weird stuff before Lilly and me came into the picture.” Something about the smell of meat frying in the kitchen and my father talking to me in full sentences made me feel like it was a big moment. We were connecting in a way that hadn’t happened in a long while.

  “I should never have been lured into advertising. I followed the money instead of my gut instinct.”

  “What did your gut instinct say?”

  “Alaska. It said, go to Alaska.”

  “That’s what you and Mom always talked about, but I didn’t think you really wanted us to do it. It was just a game, yeah?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Dad stabbed the steak with a fork and held it up in the air.

  “Want some?”

  “Shall I call Lilly?”

  “Sure.”

  “Jake told me he’s breaking up with Lilly.”

  “Jake is scum. She’s better off.”

  “She’s still going to be devastated.”

  “What do we do?”

  “I was hoping you had an idea.”

  “Jesus.”

  I knocked on Lilly’s door and told her about supper.

  “We never eat together.”

  “Dad cooked stir-fry and steak.”

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “He thinks his job sucks. So he decided to cook a steak.”

  “Okay.”

  The three of us sat at the kitchen table. Lilly opened a can of Clamato juice and poured a big glass, then added a hefty dose of Tabasco sauce. My father started to talk and Lilly looked at me with a “what is going on here?” stare.