by Heidi Ayarbe
I didn’t want to be like him—stuck on a day, stuck in an era.
I watched the three of them walk away. Troy and Pinky walked ahead—the first sign of the end of Alex’s golden years.
I sat against the lockers to catch my breath.
Kohana grabbed his portfolio and sat next to me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. You?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“You, too, man.” I rubbed my temples.
“What they say about Jason and stuff. That’s not cool. They’re losers.”
I leaned my head against the lockers. “Fuck, it’s complicated.” Kohana flipped through his portfolio. “Are your pictures okay?”
“Thanks to you.”
“I know they mean a lot to you.” I sighed. “Your stories.”
Kohana took out his camera and took a picture of the hallway. “This was a good story, too.”
“What’s the story? Getting picked on by the school tools?”
Kohana shook his head. “No. Friendship.” He cleared his throat and smiled.
I wondered if that was okay. Would it be okay with Chase and Jason that I had a friend? Plus I still wasn’t completely sure I hadn’t shot my last one on purpose. Maybe I ought to come with a “friendship warning label.” I closed my eyes and sighed.
“How can you be so okay with things, Kohana? Doesn’t it just piss you off?”
He laughed. “Seriously, nobody’s worth that.”
“Worth what?”
“There’s this old Native American thing Gram said to me one time. It sucked at first, growing up here. My mom died. Dad left. He didn’t want to be the dad of a deformed kid. I had no friends.” Kohana wiped his camera lens. “I didn’t see the point of anything, you know. One day Gram said, ‘Kohana, I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.’”
“Huh?”
Kohana sighed. “That’s what I said. I was only eight. But I got it after a while. Everything fell away, you know. And I was alone. So I had to figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
“What sustains me.”
We sat in silence for a while.
“Gram gave me this camera, the first one she ever used. She was a professional photographer before I came along.”
“Is that what sustains you?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It can never be a thing. This is just a tool. But it helps. So that’s what you’ve got to figure out.”
What sustains me? I’d have to think on that. “Hey, thanks.” I said.
“For what?”
“For your story.”
“Yeah, and what about yours?”
“Another time?”
Kohana nodded. “Another time.”
“I think you should take a picture of your camera.”
Kohana smirked. “Kinda hard to do.”
I stood. “Maybe you want to hang out at the library?” I’d never wanted to share that space with anybody before.
Kohana pushed his hair out of his face. “I dunno. I’m not really a group person.”
“Three people are a group?”
“Hey, man. I’m used to hanging solo.”
“True. It’s a good place, though. I’ll introduce you to Mr. Cordoba. He seems mean, but he’s not. He’s a”—I mumbled the words—“a friend.”
“Then he must be pretty okay,” Kohana said.
We walked down the hall. “You know, Gram has a friend with a cabin up in Squaw Valley. Sometimes we go for the weekend to hike and mountain bike and stuff.”
“Yeah? Sounds cool.”
“Maybe you can come next time.”
“I’d like that.” Then I paused. “Squaw Valley’s in California, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit, man, I’m not sure if I’m allowed to leave the state.”
“Oh.” He looked disappointed.
“I can ask my PO.”
“PO?”
“Parole officer.”
Kohana turned to me. I shrugged; then we buckled over, laughing.
46
I started to sleep better at night, but I’d always wake up really early in the morning. The mornings were the hardest. The house was so damned quiet and the neighborhood looked dead, like an empty movie set. Nobody’d show up until seven A.M. to bring it to life. I wished Mr. Cordoba would open the library at five A.M. or something. That would’ve helped. At least sometimes there was shoveling to do.
One morning, I couldn’t take the quiet anymore, so I got dressed and stood outside Chase’s window. “Chase,” I whispered and tapped on the window.
Nothing.
“Chase!” I flicked a couple of stones at the window.
His head popped up and he rubbed his eyes. “What?”
I motioned to the backyard and jumped the side fence.
The back door creaked open. Chase peeked his head out. “I don’t pay overtime, you know.”
I shook my head. “You don’t pay me at all. Remember? Pro bono.”
“It’s dark. It’s cold.”
I nodded. “I know. Get your slippers and robe on.”
It took a thousand years, but he finally came out all bundled up.
“What took you so long?”
“Had to brush my teeth.”
“No you didn’t.”
“I always brush my teeth first thing when I wake up. Don’t you?”
“Okay. Yeah.”
“Breathe on me. I betcha you don’t.”
“I do, too, Chase.”
“Breathe on me.”
I breathed.
“You have smelly breath. You didn’t brush.”
“Okay, so I forgot. It’s early. I usually wait until after breakfast.”
“How many cavities do you have?”
“Not many.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hmmph.”
We sat on the back porch and looked up at the stars. “Can you show me dandelion?”
“You mean Taraxacum officinale?”
“Yeah. I never remember the name.”
Chase looked around and pointed up to a cluster of stars. “That’s it.” He turned to me. “That all you need?”
“Are you doing okay? About your dad and all?”
Chase turned away. He got up and said, “I’m going now.”
“Wait, Chase.” I patted the step beside me. “I read this book a little while ago. It was really weird. It was about this guy who woke up one morning as a bug.”
“What kind of bug?”
“Um, an insect.”
“More than one million species of insects have been identified. And in all, there are over ten quintillion insects in the world. So you might want to narrow it down.”
“Oh. Well, um, the book doesn’t really say. But he goes to sleep as a man and wakes up a bug. An insect. But it’s not science fiction or anything.”
Chase chewed his bottom lip and sat down. “Tell me more.”
So I told him about The Metamorphosis. We spent about an hour on the porch. The black night turned to the purple dawn. Porch lights flickered off. “I’d better go, Chase.”
“See ya this afternoon, Kyle. Don’t be late.” Chase pointed to my watch.
“Never.”
“Never?”
“Well, almost never.”
“Close enough. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.”
“I won’t.”
“And Kyle?”
“Yeah?” I had to get back before the Bishops came out, before Mom and Dad were up.
“You can come and tell me about your books whenever you want. You read good books.”
“Cool. I’ll be back then.” I waved from the sidewalk. Chase looked a little like an old man in his tattered robe and slippers. I hoped he wouldn’t be too tired at school.
47
Dr. Matthews strummed her fingers on her desk. She’d been losing weight and had gotten thin enough t
o stop wearing curtain-dresses. She was wearing pants and a sweater. She looked kinda nice. Chubby nice. “New journal?” Dr. Matthews pointed to my notebook.
I nodded.
“And?”
“I’m, um, trying to write the whole movie now. Like you said.” I cleared my throat and pretended to be really interested in the books she had on her shelves.
She smiled at me—a real smile. And I told her about the time Jase and I got grounded for taking his grandma’s car down the street when we were twelve. How were we supposed to know it wasn’t like driving bumper cars?
At first the memories came back one scene at a time. I’d find something, like my old Rollerblades, and that would remind me of the time Jase didn’t brake right and he ended up with eight stitches in his forehead. After a while, though, the stories flowed. It was easy to go back in time and find a piece of Jason in practically every object I had in my room.
With my director’s notes, I felt like I could edit the bullshit. I didn’t care about the times Jase blew off my Friday-night movie marathons. The new notebook let me write about the important stuff.
It was like Kohana and his camera. He could choose which stories he wanted to photograph. It could be anything—from a spray-painted locker to the bottom of somebody’s desk. He didn’t have to take pictures of the bad stuff. Neither did I.
Kohana sometimes came to the library when he missed the bus. He never bugged me about where I went for a half hour after school, and I never asked him why he liked to sit outside so much. Sometimes I’d wait with Kohana at the flagpole after library time until his grandma came around. He’d show me his pictures. We’d talk about the best angle to take a shot, to film a scene. Or we wouldn’t say anything at all.
I almost told him about the notebook a million times, but I didn’t want to ruin the magic. It was almost like Jason was coming back to life in the notebook Mr. Cordoba had given me. I wished, though, that I could take all those memories and bring him back to the Bishops—to Chase.
At the library I spent more time writing than doing homework. Homework was easy, so I usually got it done fast so I could do the other stuff. I had always been a “solid C” student until that last fall. Then I crashed to Fs and rose to Bs. My teachers almost glowed when they handed out semester grades.
“You’re really reaching your potential.”
“Oh, Kyle, I am so pleased with your effort and academic success this term.”
And Mark was right there behind them—proud of his success story—his grade contract. Even Mel took me out one night with her new boyfriend, Hoover, after progress reports came. We went out for buffalo wings, then to a movie. Hoover paid for everything. And I ate a lot. I felt kinda bad and offered to pay for at least the movie, and he said something like, “No way. This is your night.” He was trying to be gallant or something, which was pretty cool, I guess.
After all the glowing reports and happy teachers, I could probably do milk commercials for Carson City wearing one of those freakish milk moustaches.
I was the boy who shot his friend, and look at me now. Don’t let homicide ruin your smile.
Drink milk.
Mr. Cordoba was the only one who didn’t congratulate me.
“I watched Black Mask, Mr. Caroll.” Mr. Cordoba was working his way through the media center, scanning all the computers for viruses.
“Really?” I was relieved to talk about something—anything—besides my miracle grades. “And?”
“He was quite an unusual librarian.”
I laughed. Most librarians probably didn’t do kung fu stuff. Most librarians weren’t boxers, either. “Did you like it?”
Mr. Cordoba paused. “Yes, I did.”
“Good.”
“So?” Mr. Cordoba peered over his glasses.
“So what?”
“I could use a recommendation for another movie.”
“Sure,” I said. It was nice to feel like I knew a lot about something.
“How about one of your favorites. Maybe by one of your favorite directors.” Mr. Cordoba said. “One you used in your notebook.”
My hands felt clammy. I hated thinking about that notebook. I hated thinking about that scene that none of the directors could get right. Whenever I thought about it too hard, I started questioning myself all over again. I couldn’t have done it on purpose. Shit happens, right? Mr. Cordoba looked up from the computer screen. He was waiting for me to say something.
“Okay. Maybe a Clint Eastwood movie? Not Dirty Harry or anything, even though those are pretty tight. You should see this western he directed and starred in. Unforgiven.”
Mr. Cordoba scribbled something down on a sticky pad. “Why do you like it?”
“Because it’s everything you don’t expect from a western, you know? It’s about how bad somebody can feel doing what he used to do best.”
Mr. Cordoba waited.
“And it has the perfect line in it.” I cleared my throat and lowered my voice, trying to do Eastwood. “‘It’s a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he’s got, and all he’s ever gonna have….’It’s a good movie.”
Mr. Cordoba smiled. “Better than your Eastwood impersonation?”
“Much.” I grinned. Jase would’ve nailed it. There wasn’t anybody he couldn’t impersonate.
“I’ll watch it this week.”
“Cool.” I went back to the tables and pulled out a book to read.
“Mr. Caroll, have you thought about what you’re going to do after high school?”
I looked up. “That’s another two and a half years away. That’s forever.”
“Two and a half years isn’t that long.”
I shrugged.
“You’re a good student. When you want to be one.”
So he had seen my grades too. I wondered if there was some kind of “underground Kyle network” that monitored everything I did. Maybe Mark was the big spy of the whole operation, and his secret 007 lover was Dr. Matthews, totally redefining the Bond chick look.
I closed my book. “I dunno. The only reason I had ever really thought about going to college was to room with Jason and try out a ramen noodle diet.”
“A ramen noodle diet?”
“Well, you know. Like that fat guy did eating sub sandwiches, and the other guy did for his documentary on McDonald’s. Jason and I were going to see how long we could live on ramen noodles. I was going to direct a cool documentary and win awards and stuff. That was the only reason I would really want to go to college—the ramen noodle documentary.”
Mr. Cordoba arched his eyebrows. “So what’s stopping you?”
“You can’t do that kind of stuff alone.” I picked at a sticker somebody had stuck on the table. “Anyway, it was Jason’s idea. It’d be pretty shitty to steal it. He had a lot of good ones, you know.” I bit my lip. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to say shitty in the library. Twice.”
Mr. Cordoba returned to his desk and sat down. “I bet you have your own ideas as well.”
“Nah, not like Jase. I mean, Jason was an animal for insane ideas.” I laughed. “The only plan of his that backfired was trying to puff out pond frogs’ croakers by sticking straws up their butts and blowing. We thought we were onto something until one of the frogs exploded. We were only seven at the time.”
“He sounds like he was a smart guy.”
“Yeah. Funny how I ended up being his best friend.” All of a sudden my throat felt like it was closing up. My nose burned. I swallowed and counted to twenty. I couldn’t have done it on purpose.
“You don’t think you were a good friend?”
“Not like in the books.” I pointed to The Outsiders. “Those guys stood up for each other through it all—never questioned each other.”
“And that’s how Jason was with you—never questioning? Standing up for you?”
“Yeah. I guess.” I thought about Jason hanging out with Alex because I didn’t want to go to the “cool” parties; how they called me Shadow and l
aughed at me and he let them. I glared at Mr. Cordoba. “Jason was a great friend. The best.”
“I don’t doubt he was, nor do I doubt that you are.”
“Whatever.”
“So, Mr. Caroll, you still haven’t answered my question. What would you think you would like to do? After high school?”
How would Jason like to see you?
It wasn’t fair. How could I move on and leave everything behind when I stole that from Jase? I shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it.”
“Think about it.”
All I knew was that I had to stick around. I couldn’t leave Chase. I couldn’t leave Jason and the old man who raked the leaves off his grave. I couldn’t just up and go.
At four o’clock, I grabbed my things and took off. For the first time, I felt like the library was going to smother me.
48
I heard hooting early one morning. Chase stood below my window and waved up at me. I threw on a sweatshirt and went outside to meet him.
He had on his bathrobe and slippers full of holes. His nose was bright red from the early-morning chill.
“You’re supposed to hoot back.”
“What?”
“You’re supposed to hoot back. That way I know you’ve heard the signal.”
“Oh. Next time, okay?”
He shook his head and sighed. “Fine.”
“What’s up? You doing okay?” Mr. Bishop hadn’t come back to the house yet. He sometimes came to pick Chase up after school. I wondered where he was living. I wondered if he’d ever come back. But if I tried to talk to Chase about it, he’d cover his ears and turn away.
“Here.” Chase handed me a card. “Happy birthday.” He shivered and rubbed his shoulders.
“This is my first birthday card.” I traced the orange dragon.
“That was my intention. I was going to come at midnight, but I fell asleep.”
“This is perfect. Thank you.”
“And this, too.” He pulled a yellowed envelope out of his pocket. “I found this in Jason’s room.”